Carla Kern Bayliss, Berton L. Maxfield, W. H. Millington,
Part 3 out of 4
and on the foothills thence sloping down to the west coast of the
Gulf of Davao. They practise a primitive agriculture--raising corn,
rice, camotes, and several vegetables--in fields and little gardens
at the edge of the forests. Their garments are of home-grown hemp;
and their artistic interests centre largely around the decorative
designs produced in dyeing, weaving, and embroidery.
In spite of physical barriers interposed by mountain-spurs, frequent
swift-flowing rivers, and dense undergrowth in the forests, there
is considerable intercourse between the small villages, each of
which contains from two to twenty or more houses. The people take
long journeys on horse and on foot over the trails to assemble at
ceremonial festivals and for purposes of trade, as well as for social
visiting. On such occasions, stories and songs are repeated.
That the component parts of the stories have been drawn from
numerous and widely separated sources, is apparent, even at a
cursory glance. Among these sources, the folk-lore material of
Sanscrit writers seems to have left a distinctive impress upon the
Bagobo mythical romance. Against a Malay background, and blended
with native pagan elements, are presented chains of episodes,
characteristic personalities, methods for securing a magical control
of the situation, that suggest vividly parallel literary forms in
the Sanscrit saga. Still more, one is conscious of a prevailing
Indian atmosphere, that may sometimes elude analysis, yet none the
less fails not to make itself felt. But as to the line of ethnic
contacts which has transfused this peculiar literary quality into Malay
myth,--whether it is to be traced solely to the influence exerted by
Hindoo religion and Hindoo literature during ages of domination in
the Malay archipelago, or whether we must reconsider the hypothesis
of an Indonesian migration,--this is a problem of great complexity,
for which no satisfactory solution has yet been offered.
Modern foreign increments that have filtered into the stories from
the folk-lore of neighboring wild tribes--notably that of the Bilan,
the Tagacolo, and, to a less extent, the Culaman and Ata--will have
to be sifted out eventually. In illustration of this point, one tale
known to be outside of Bagobo sources is here introduced. The story
of "Alelu'k and Alebu'tud" was told by an Ata boy to a Bagobo at the
coast, who immediately related it to me. It was unquestionably passed
on in Bagobo circles, and has become a permanent accession. Yet this
was the sole case that came under my observation of a social visit made
by an Ata in a Bagobo house; for the Ata live far to the northwest
of the Bagobo, and are extremely timid, and "wild" in the popular
sense. Recent ethnic influences from higher peoples, pre-eminently
the Moro and the Spaniard, will have to be reckoned with. The story of
"The Monkey and the Turtle" is clearly modified from a Spanish source.
The myths here presented include only those of which no texts were
recorded. A part of the material was given in the vernacular and
interpreted by a Bagobo; a part was told in English, or in mixed
English and Bagobo. The stories were taken down in 1907, on Mount
Merar in the district of Talun, and at Santa Cruz on the coast.
As regards subject-matter, the stories (ituran ) tend to cluster
into groups fairly distinguishable in type. Foremost in significance
for the cultural tradition of the people is the ulit, a long, romantic
tale relating in highly picturesque language the adventures of the
mythical Bagobo, who lived somewhere back in the hazy past, before
existing conditions were established. Semi-divine some of them were,
or men possessing magical power. The old Mona people; the Malaki,
who portrayed the Bagobo's ideal of manhood; and the noble lady called
Bia,--these and other well-marked characters figure in the ulit.
Another class of stories deals with the demons known as Buso, who
haunt graveyards, forests, and rocks. These tales have been built up
by numerous accretions from the folk-lore of many generations. The
fear of Buso is an ever-present element in the mental associations of
the Bagobo, and a definite factor in shaping ritual forms and magical
usages. But the story-teller delights to represent Buso as tricked,
fooled, brought into embarrassing situations.
Still another type of myth is associated with cosmogony and natural
phenomena. It is probable that more extended research would disclose a
complete cosmogonic myth to replace the somewhat fragmentary material
The number of explanatory animal tales thus far collected is
surprisingly small. Doubtless there are many more to be gathered. Yet,
in view of the comparatively scanty mammalian fauna of Mindanao,
we might anticipate a somewhat limited range of animal subjects.
It will be observed that these groups of stories, tentatively thus
classified for convenience, are not separated by sharp lines. Buso
figures prominently in the ulit; animals play the part of heroes in
Buso tales; while in nature myths the traditional Mona are more or
less closely associated with the shifting of sky and sun. But this
is merely equivalent to saying that all the tales hang together.
A word as to the form of the stories and the manner of narration. Here
we find two distinct styles dependent on the content of the myth. The
tales of animals, cosmogonic myths, and the folk-lore of Buso,
are all told in prose, with many inflections of the voice, and often
accompanied by an animated play of dramatic gesture. In marked contrast
is the style of the mythical romance, or ulit, which is recited in a
rapid monotone, without change of pitch, with no gestures, and with a
regard to accent and quantity that gives a rhythmic swing suggestive
of a metrical rendering.
Although Bagobo songs are often designated as men's songs and women's
songs, in the case of the stories I have found as yet no monopoly by
either sex of any special type. The ulit, however, is often told by a
young woman just after she leaves the loom, when darkness drops. She
sits on the floor, or lies on her back with hands clasped behind
her head, and pours out her story in an unbroken flow to the eager
young men and girls who gather to listen. Again, I have seen a girl
of thirteen the sole auditor while a boy but little older than she
rolled off an ulit that seemed interminable, with never a pause for
breath. The children did not glance at each other; but the face of
each was all alight with joy at the tale.
Myths Associated with Natural Phenomena
In the beginning, Diwata  made the sea and the land, and planted
trees of many kinds. Then he took two lumps of earth,  and shaped
them like human figures; then he spit on them, and they became
man and woman. The old man was called Tuglay, and the old woman,
Tuglibung.  The two were married, and lived together. The Tuglay
made a great house, and planted seeds of different kinds that Diwata
Diwata made the sun, the moon, the stars, and the rivers. First he
made the great eel (kasili), a fish that is like a snake in the river,
and wound  it all around the world. Diwata then made the great crab
(kayumang), and put it near the great eel, and let it go wherever it
liked. Now, when the great crab bites the great eel, the eel wriggles,
and this produces an earthquake.
When the rain falls, it is Diwata throwing out water from the sky. When
Diwata spits, the showers fall. The sun makes yellow clouds, and the
yellow clouds make the colors of the rainbow. But the white clouds
are smoke from the fire of the gods.
In the Days of the Mona
Long ago the sun hung low over the earth. And the old woman called
Mona said to the sky, "You go up high, because I cannot pound my rice
when you are in the way."
Then the sky moved up higher.
Mona  was the first woman, and Tuglay  was the first man. There
were at that time only one man and one woman on the earth. Their
eldest son was named Malaki; their eldest daughter, Bia. They lived
at the centre of the earth.
Tuglay and Mona made all the things in the world; but the god made
the woman and the man. Mona was also called Tuglibung. Tuglay and
Tuglibung got rich, because they could see the god.
But the snake was there too, and he gave the fruit to the man and the
woman, saying to them, "If you eat the fruit, it will open your eyes."
Then they both ate the fruit. This made the god angry.
After this, Tuglibung and Tuglay could not see the god any more. 
Why the Sky Went Up
In the beginning, when the world was made, the sky lay low down
over the earth. At this time the poor families called "Mona" were
living in the world. The sky hung so low, that, when they wanted to
pound their rice, they had to kneel down on the ground to get a play
for the arm. Then the poor woman called Tuglibung said to the sky,
"Go up higher! Don't you see that I cannot pound my rice well?"
So the sky began to move upwards. When it had gone up about five
fathoms, the woman said again, "Go up still more!"
This made the sun angry at the woman, and he rushed up very high.
In the old days, when the sun as well as the sky was low down, the
Mona had a deep hole in the ground, as large as a house, into which
they would creep to keep themselves from the fierce heat of the sun.
The Mona were all very old; but after the sun went up very high,
they began to get babies. 
Why the Sky Went Up
In the beginning, the sky hung so low over the earth, that the people
could not stand upright, could not do their work.
For this reason, the man in the sky said to the sky, "Come up!" Then
the sky went up to its present place.
The Sun and the Moon
Long ago the Sun had to leave the Moon to go to another town. He
knew that his wife, the Moon, was expecting the birth of a child;
and, before going away, he said to her, "When your baby is born,
if it is a boy, keep it; if a girl, kill it."
A long time passed before the Sun could come back to the Moon,
and while he was gone, the Moon gave birth to her baby. It was a
girl. A beautiful child it was, with curly hair like binubbud, 
with burnished nails that looked like gold, and having the white
spots called pamoti  on its body. The mother felt very sad to
think of killing it, and so she hid it in the big box (kaban )
where they kept their clothes.
As soon as the Sun returned, he asked the Moon, "How about our baby?"
At once the Moon replied, "It was a girl: I killed it yesterday." The
Sun had only a week to stay at home with the Moon. One night he
dreamed that a boy with white hair came to him from heaven. The boy
stood close to him, and spoke these words:--
"Your wife got a baby, but it was a girl; and she hid it away from
you in the box."
When the Sun wakened from sleep, he was very angry at the Moon,
and the two fell to quarrelling about the baby. The Moon wanted the
"You ought to keep it with you," she urged.
"No, no!" protested the Sun. "I cannot keep it, because my body is
so hot it would make your baby sick."
"And I cannot keep it," complained the Moon, "for my body is very dark;
and that would surely make the child sick."
Then the Sun fell into a passion of rage; and he seized his big
kampilan,  and slew the child. He cut its small body into
numberless little bits,--as many as the grains of sand that lie along
the seashore. Out of the window he tossed the pieces of the shining
little body; and, as the gleaming fragments sparkled to their places
in the sky, the stars came to birth.
Origin of the Stars
All the old Bagobo men say that the Sun and the Moon once had a
quarrel about the Moon's baby.
The Moon had a baby in her belly; and the Sun said, "If our baby is
a girl, we will kill it, because a girl could not be like me."
Then the Sun went on a journey to another town, and while he was gone,
the baby was born; but it was a girl. Now, the Moon felt very sorry to
think of her little child being killed, and she hid it in a box. In
a few days, the Sun came home to rest with his wife. Then he asked
her for the baby.
The Moon answered, "I killed it yesterday: it was a girl."
But the Sun did not believe what his wife said. Then he opened the
box to get his clothes, and there he saw a baby-girl. And the Sun
was very angry. He seized the baby and cut it into many pieces, and
threw the pieces out of the window. Then the pieces of the baby's
body became the stars.
Before the Sun and the Moon had their quarrel, they journeyed together
through the sky, and the sky was not far above the earth, as now,
but it lay low down.
The Fate of the Moon's Baby
The Sun wanted the Moon to have a boy-baby so that it would be like its
father. The Moon too hoped to give birth to a boy. But when the child
was born, it was a girl. Now, at that time, the Moon was very hungry,
and wanted to eat her own baby. Then the Sun killed the girl-child,
and ate it up himself.
The Black Men at the Door of the Sun
The men who live in that part of the world near to where the sun
rises are very black. They are called Manobo tagselata k'alo. 
From sunrise until noon, they stay in a hole in the ground to escape
the fierce heat of the sun. Just before sunrise, they put their rice
in the big pot, with water, and leave it without any fire under the
pot. Then they creep into their hole in the ground. The rising sun
cooks the rice; and, when the black men come out of the hole at noon,
their meal is all ready for them. From noon until sunset, and then
all night, the black men play and work. But before the sun rises,
they fix their rice in the pot, leave it for the sun to cook, and go
down again into the big hole.
Story of the Eclipse
Before time began, very long ago, a great bird called "minokawa" 
swallowed the moon. Seized with fear, all the people began to scream
and make a great noise. Then the bird peeped down to see what was the
matter, and he opened his mouth. But as soon as he opened his mouth,
the moon sprang out and ran away.
The minokawa-bird is as large as the Island of Negros or Bohol. He has
a beak of steel, and his claws too are of steel. His eyes are mirrors,
and each single feather is a sharp sword. He lives outside the sky,
at the eastern horizon, ready to seize the moon when she reaches
there from her journey under the earth.
The moon makes eight holes in the eastern horizon to come out of,
and eight holes in the western horizon to go into, because every day
the big bird tries to catch her, and she is afraid. The exact moment
he tries to swallow her is just when she is about to come in through
one of the holes in the east to shine on us again. If the minokawa
should swallow the moon, and swallow the sun too, he would then
come down to earth and gulp down men also. But when the moon is in
the belly of the big bird, and the sky is dark, then all the Bagobo
scream and cry, and beat agongs,  because they fear they will all
"get dead." Soon this racket makes the minokawa-bird look down and
"open his mouth to hear the sound." Then the moon jumps out of the
bird's mouth and runs away.
All the old men know about the minokawa-bird in the ulit stories.
The "Ulit:" Adventures of Mythical Bagobo at the Dawn of Tradition
Lumabat and Mebu'yan
Long ago Lumabat  and his sister (tube' ) had a quarrel
because Lumabat had said, "You shall go with me up into heaven." And
his sister had replied, "No, I don't like to do that."
Then they began to fight each other. Soon the woman sat down on the
big rice mortar,  and said to Lumabat, "Now I am going down below
the earth, down to Gimokudan.  Down there I shall begin to shake
the lemon-tree. Whenever I shake it, somebody up on the earth will
die. If the fruit shaken down be ripe, then an old person will die on
the earth; but if the fruit fall green, the one to die will be young."
Then she took a bowl filled with pounded rice, and poured the rice
into the mortar for a sign that the people should die and go down
to Gimokudan. Presently the mortar began to turn round and round
while the woman was sitting upon it. All the while, as the mortar
was revolving, it was slowly sinking into the earth. But just as
it began to settle in the ground, the woman dropped handfuls of the
pounded rice upon the earth, with the words: "See! I let fall this
rice. This makes many people die, dropping down just like grains of
rice. Thus hundreds of people go down; but none go up into heaven."
Straightway the mortar kept on turning round, and kept on going lower
down, until it disappeared in the earth, with Lumabat's sister still
sitting on it. After this, she came to be known as Mebu'yan. Before
she went down below the earth, she was known only as Tube' ka Lumabat
("sister of Lumabat").
Mebu'yan is now chief of a town called Banua Mebu'yan ("Mebu'yan's
town"), where she takes care of all dead babies, and gives them milk
from her Breasts. Mebu'yan is ugly to look at, for her whole body is
covered with nipples. All nursing children who still want the milk, go
directly, when they die, to Banua Mebu'yan, instead of to Gimokudan,
and remain there with Mebu'yan until they stop taking milk from her
breast. Then they go to their own families in Gimokudan, where they
can get rice, and "live" very well.
All the spirits stop at Mebu'yan's town, on their way to
Gimokudan. There the spirits wash all their joints in the black
river that runs through Banua Mebu'yan, and they wash the tops of
their heads too. This bathing (pamalugu ) is for the purpose of
making the spirits feel at home, so that they will not run away and
go back to their own bodies. If the spirit could return to its body,
the body would get up and be alive again.
Story of Lumabat and Wari
Tuglay and Tuglibung  had many children. One of them was called
Lumabat. There came a time when Lumabat quarrelled with his sister
and was very angry with her. He said, "I will go to the sky, and
never come back again."
So Lumabat started for the sky-country, and many of his brothers and
sisters went with him. A part of their journey lay over the sea,
and when they had passed the sea, a rock spoke to them and said,
"Where are you going?"
In the beginning, all the rocks and plants and the animals could talk
 with the people. Then one boy answered the rock, "We are going
to the sky-country."
As soon as he had spoken, the boy turned into a rock. But his brothers
and sisters went on, leaving the rock behind.
Presently a tree said, "Where are you going?"
"We are going to the sky," replied one of the girls.
Immediately the girl became a tree. Thus, all the way along the
journey, if any one answered, he became a tree, or stone, or rock,
according to the nature of the object that put the question.
By and by the remainder of the party reached the border of the
sky. They had gone to the very end of the earth, as far as the
horizon. But here they had to stop, because the horizon kept moving
up and down (supa-supa). The sky and the earth would part, and then
close together again, just like the jaws of an animal in eating. This
movement of the horizon began as soon as the people reached there.
There were many young men and women, and they all tried to jump
through the place where the sky and the earth parted. But the edges
of the horizon are very sharp, like a kampilan,  and they came
together with a snap whenever anybody tried to jump through; and they
cut him into two pieces. Then the parts of his body became stones, or
grains of sand. One after another of the party tried to jump through,
for nobody knew the fate of the one who went before him.
Last of all, Lumabat jumped--quick, quicker than the rest; and before
the sharp edges snapped shut, he was safe in heaven. As he walked
along, he saw many wonderful things. He saw many kampilans standing
alone, and fighting, and that without any man to hold them. Lumabat
passed on by them all. Then he came to the town where the bad dead
live. The town is called "Kilut."  There, in the flames, he saw
many spirits with heavy sins on them. The spirits with little sins
were not in the flames; but they lay, their bodies covered with sores,
in an acid that cuts like the juice of a lemon. Lumabat went on,
past them all.
Finally he reached the house of Diwata,  and went up into the
house. There he saw many diwata, and they were chewing betel-nut, 
And one diwata spit from his mouth the isse  that he had finished
chewing. When Lumabat saw the isse coming from the mouth of the god,
it looked to him like a sharp knife. Then Diwata laid hold of Lumabat,
and Lumabat thought the god held a sharp knife in his hand. But it
was no knife: it was just the isse. And Diwata rubbed the isse on
Lumabat's belly, and with one downward stroke he opened the belly,
and took out Lumabat's intestines (betuka).
Then Lumabat himself became a god. He was not hungry any more, for
now his intestines were gone. Yet if he wanted to eat, he had only
to say, "Food, come now!" and at once all the fish were there, ready
to be caught. In the sky-country, fish do not have to be caught. And
Lumabat became the greatest of all the diwata.
Now, when Lumabat left home with his brothers and sisters, one sister
and three brothers remained behind. The brother named Wari felt sad
because Lumabat had gone away. At last he decided to follow him. He
crossed the sea, and reached the border of the sky, which immediately
began to make the opening and shutting motions. But Wari was agile,
like his brother Lumabat; and he jumped quick, just like Lumabat,
and got safe into heaven. Following the same path that his brother had
taken, he reached the same house. And again Diwata took the isse, and
attempted to open Wari's belly; but Wari protested, for he did not like
to have his intestines pulled out. Therefore the god was angry at Wari.
Yet Wari staid on in the house for three days. Then he went out
on the atad  that joined the front and back part of the gods'
house, whence he could look down on the earth. He saw his home town,
and it made him happy to look at his fields of sugarcane and bananas,
his groves of betel and cocoanuts. There were his bananas ripe, and
all his fruits ready to be plucked. Wari gazed, and then he wanted to
get back to earth again, and he began to cry; for he did not like to
stay in heaven and have his intestines taken out, and he was homesick
for his own town.
Now, the god was angry at Wari because he would not let him open
his belly. And the god told Wari to go home, and take his dogs with
him. First the god fixed some food for Wari to eat on his journey. Then
he took meadow-grass (karan), and tied the long blades together, making
a line long enough to reach down to earth. He tied Wari and the dogs to
one end of the line; but before he lowered the rope, he said to Wari,
"Do not eat while you are up in the air, for if you eat, it will
set your dogs to quarrelling. If I hear the sound of dogs fighting,
I shall let go the rope."
But while Wari hung in the air, he got very hungry, and, although he
had been let down only about a third of the distance from heaven to
earth, he took some of his food and ate it. Immediately the dogs began
to fight. Then Diwata in the sky heard the noise, and he dropped the
rope of meadow-grass. Then Wari fell down, down; but he did not strike
the ground, for he was caught in the branches of the tree called
lanipo. It was a tall tree, and Wari could not get down. He began
to utter cries; and all night he kept crying, "Aro-o-o-o-i!" Then he
turned into a kulago-bird.  At night, when you hear the call of
the kulago-bird, you know that it is the voice of Wari.
The kulago-bird has various sorts of feathers, feathers of all kinds
of birds and chickens; it has the hair of all animals and the hair
of man. This bird lives in very high trees at night, and you cannot
see it. You cannot catch it. Yet the old men know a story about
a kulago-bird once having been caught while it was building its
nest. But this was after there came to be many people on the earth.
The three dogs went right along back to Wari's house. They found Wari's
sister and two brothers at home, and staid there with them. After a
while, the woman and her two brothers had many children.
"In the beginning," say the old men, "brother and sister would marry
each other, just like pigs. This was a very bad custom."
How Man Turned into a Monkey
Before the world was made, the monkey looked like man, and was called
manobo,  and was actually human. But after the world and people
were made, the monkey took its present form.
When people began to live in the world, they had many children. One
man was called Lumabat. His father had a number of children, so that
Lumabat had many brothers and sisters.
One day a brother of Lumabat was climbing up over the roof, and in
his hand he had a long ladle made of cocoanut-shell. He held the ladle
behind his back, at the base of his spine, until by and by a tail began
to grow. The ladle had turned into a tail, and presently Lumabat's
brother became a monkey. After that, a few other people turned into
monkeys. But all this came about before Lumabat went to heaven.
The Tuglibung and the Tuglay
Before time began,  an old woman (Tuglibung) and an old man
(Tuglay) lived in a town at the centre of the world. There came a
season of drought, when their bananas spoiled, and all their plants
died from the hot sun. Tuglibung and Tuglay were very hungry, and
looked skinny, because they had nothing to eat.
One night as the old man slept, he dreamed that a little boy with
white hair came close to him, and said, "Much better it would be, if
you wouldstay here no longer; much better, that you go to the T'oluk
Waig  ('water-sources'), where there is a good place to live."
So the old folks started on their journey to the source of the
rivers. On their way, they stopped at one place that seemed good, and
staid for about a month; but there was little to eat, and they were
always hungry. At last, one day, the man climbed up into a tall tree,
whence he could see the whole earth, even to the border of the sky. Far
away he could see a little smoke, just like a cigarette. Then he
climbed "down the tree in a hurry, and told his wife what he had seen.
"I will go and find out where that smoke comes from," he said,
"and see if I can get some bananas and things,--all we can eat."
So the man started out and travelled a long way, leaving his wife at
home. As he approached the place where he had seen the smoke, he found
himself in a vast field full of fruit-trees and sugarcane-plants. The
sugarcane grew as big as trees; the bananas were as huge as the
trunks of cocoanut-palms; and the papaya-fruit was the size of a
great clay jar. He walked on until he reached a very large meadow,
full of long wavy grass, where there were many horses and carabao
and other animals. Soon after he left the meadow-grass, he could make
out, some distance ahead of him, a big house with many smaller houses
grouped around it. He was so scared that he could not see the houses
very well. He kept his eyes on the ground at his feet.
When he came up to the big house, he saw lying under it piles of human
bones. He then knew that the Datu of the Buso  lived there. In
all the other houses there were buso living too. But he went bravely
up the steps of the big house, and sat down on the floor. Right away,
while he sat there, the children of Buso wanted to eat him. But Tuglay
said, "No, no! don't eat me, because I just came to get bananas of
many different kinds."
Then the man made a bargain with the Datu of the Buso, and said,
"Give me some bananas, and I will pay you two children for them. Come
to my house in nine days, and you shall have one boy and one girl
for the bananas." But Tuglay had no children.
Then the Buso gave Tuglay a basket of bananas, and let him go away.
Now, while her husband was away, the woman gave birth to twins,--a
boy and a girl. And when the man got home he was pleased, and said,
"Oh! that's fine! You got some babies while I was away."
But the man felt very sorry to think of giving his children to the
Buso, and he went from place to place, hoping to find some friend
who would help him. All the time, the days of the falla ("time of
contract") were slipping by. He could get nobody to help him. Now
it lacked only two of the nine days' falla. And while the children
were asleep, Tuglay said to his wife, "Let us run away, and leave
our babies here asleep, because to-morrow the Buso will come."
Then Tuglay and Tuglibung ran away, and left their children. They ran
and ran until they reached the T'oluk Waig; but they could not get
away from the falla. The nine days of falla had caught up with them.
At home, the children woke up and found no mother and father there, and
they began to cry. They thought they would run after their parents. So
they left the house, and forded the river, and began to run.
When the nine days were up, the Buso came to Tuglay's house for his
pay. When he found nobody at home, he ran after the children, carrying
with him many iron axes and big bolos, and accompanied by a crowd
of other buso. In all there were three thousand buso,--two thousand
walking, and one thousand flying. The children had the start; but the
three thousand buso kept gaining on them, until they were close behind.
As they ran, the little boy said to his sister, "When we get to that
field over there, where there are ripe bananas, you must not speak
But when they reached the banana-tree, the girl-child cried out,
"Brother, I want to eat a banana."
Then she ate a banana; but she felt so weak she could run no
longer. She just lay down and died. Then the boy-child looked about
for a place to put his sister's body. He looked at the fine branched
trees, full of fruit, and saw that each single fruit was an agong,
 and the leaves, mother-of-pearl.
To one of the trees, the boy said, "May I put my sister here?" And
the tree said that he might do it.
Then the boy laid his sister on a branch of the tree, because the
child was dead.
After this, the boy ran back toward the Buso who led the rest,
and called out to him, "I'm going to run very fast. Chase me now,
and catch me if you can!"
So the boy ran, and the Buso chased him. Hard pressed, the boy sprang
toward a big rock, and shouted to it, "O rock, help me! The Buso will
"Come up!" said the rock, "I'll help you, if I can."
But when the boy climbed up, he found that it was not a rock, but
a fine house, that was giving him shelter. In that house lived the
Black Lady (Bia t' metum ), and she received the boy kindly.
As soon as the Buso came up to the rock, he smiled, and said, "The
boy is here all right! I'll break the rock with my axe."
But when he tried to break the rock with axe and poko,  the hard
stone resisted; and the Buso's tools were blunted and spoiled.
Meantime, in the Black Lady's house the boy was getting ready for
a fight, because the Black Lady said, "Go down now; they want you
Then with sharp sword and long spear, bearing a fine war-shield,
and wearing ear-plugs of shining ivory, the boy went down to meet
the Buso. When he went down the steps, all the other buso had come,
and were waiting for him in front of the house. Then they all went
to fighting the one boy, and he met them all alone. He fought until
every one of the three thousand buso fell down dead. At last, one only
of the buso stood up, and he was the great Datu of Buso. But even he
fell down before that mighty boy, for none could conquer the boy. He
was matulus.  After all was done, the boy married the Black Lady,
and lived well in her house.
Adventures of the Tuglay 
It was eight  million (kati) years ago, in the days of the Mona,
 that the following events took place.
The Tuglay lived in a fine house the walls of which were all mirrored
glass, and the roof was hung with brass chains. One day he went out
into the woods to snare jungle-fowl, and he slept in the woods all
night. The next day, when he turned to go home, he found himself
puzzled as to which trail to take. He tried one path after another,
but none seemed to lead to his house. At last he said to himself,
"I have lost my way: I shall never be able to get home."
Then he walked on at random until he came to a vast field of rice,
where great numbers of men were cutting the palay.  But the
rice-field belonged to Buso, and the harvesters were all buso-men. When
they saw Tuglay at the edge of their field, they were glad, and said
to one another, "There's a man! We will carry him home."
Then the buso caught Tuglay, and hastened home with him. Now, the great
Buso's mansion stretched across the tops of eight million mountains,
and very many smaller houses were on the sides of the mountains,
all around the great Buso's house; for this was the city of the buso
where they had taken Tuglay. As he was carried through the groves
of cocoanut-palms on Buso's place, all the Cocoanuts called out,
"Tuglay, Tuglay, in a little while the Buso will eat you!"
Into the presence of the great chief of all the buso, they dragged
Tuglay. The Datto Buso was fearful to look at. From his head grew
one great horn of pure ivory, and flames of fire were blazing from
the horn. The Datto Buso questioned the man.
"First of all, I will ask you where you come from, Tuglay."
"I am come from my house in T'oluk Waig," replied the man.
And the great Buso shouted, "I will cut off your head with my sharp
"But if I choose, I can kill you with your own sword," boldly answered
Then he lay down, and let the Buso try to cut his neck. The Buso swung
his sharp sword; but the steel would not cut Tuglay's neck. The Buso
did not know that no knife could wound the neck of Tuglay, unless fire
were laid upon his throat at the same time. This was eight million
years ago that the Buso tried to cut off the head of Tuglay.
Then another day the Tuglay spoke to all the buso, "It is now my turn:
let me try whether I can cut your necks."
After this speech, Tuglay stood up and took from his mouth the chewed
betel-nut that is called isse, and made a motion as if he would rub
the isse on the great Buso's throat. When the Buso saw the isse, he
thought it was a sharp knife, and he was frightened. All the lesser
buso began to weep, fearing that their chief would be killed; for
the isse appeared to all of them as a keen-bladed knife. The tears
of all the buso ran down like blood; they wept streams and streams
of tears that all flowed together, forming a deep lake, red in color.
Then Tuglay rubbed the chewed betel on the great Buso's throat. One
pass only he made with the isse, and the Buso's head was severed from
his body. Both head and body of the mighty Buso rolled down into the
great lake of tears, and were devoured by the crocodiles.
Now, the Tuglay was dressed like a poor man,--in bark (bunut )
garments. But as soon as he had slain the Buso, he struck a blow at
his own legs, and the bark trousers fell off. Then he stamped on the
ground, and struck his body, and immediately his jacket and kerchief
of bark fell off from him. There he stood, no longer the poor Tuglay,
but a Malaki T'oluk Waig,  with a gleaming kampilan in his hand.
Then he was ready to fight all the other buso. First he held the
kampilan in his left hand, and eight million buso fell down dead. Then
he held the kampilan in his right hand, and eight million more
buso fell down dead. After that, the Malaki went over to the house
of Buso's daughter, who had but one eye, and that in the middle of
her forehead. She shrieked with fear when she saw the Malaki coming;
and he struck her with his kampilan, so that she too, the woman-buso,
fell down dead.
After these exploits, the Malaki T'oluk Waig went on his way. He
climbed over the mountains of benati,  whose trees men go far
to seek, and then he reached the mountains of barayung and balati
wood. From these peaks, exultant over his foes, he gave a good war-cry
that re-echoed through the mountains, and went up to the ears of the
gods. Panguli'li and Salamia'wan  heard it from their home in the
Shrine of the Sky (Tambara ka Langit), and they said, "Who chants the
song of war (ig-sungal)? Without doubt, it is the Malak T'oluk Waig,
for none of all the other malaki could shout just like that."
His duty performed, the Malaki left the ranges of balati and barayung,
walked down toward the sea, and wandered along the coast until he
neared a great gathering of people who had met for barter. It was
market-day, and all sorts of things were brought for trade. Then the
Malaki T'oluk Waig struck his legs and his chest, before the people
caught sight of him; and immediately he was clothed in his old bark
trousers and jacket and kerchief, just like a poor man. Then he
approached the crowd, and saw the people sitting on the ground in
little groups, talking, and offering their things for sale.
The Malaki Lindig Ramut ka Langit  and all the other malaki 
from the surrounding country were there. They called out to him,
"Where are you going?"
The Tuglay told them that he had got lost, and had been travelling
a long distance. As he spoke, he noticed, sitting among a group of
young men, the beautiful woman called Moglung.
She motioned to him, and said, "Come, sit down beside me."
And the Tuglay sat down on the ground, near the Moglung. Then the
woman gave presents of textiles to the Malaki Lindig Ramut ka Langit
and the other malaki in her crowd. But to the Tuglay she gave betel-nut
that she had prepared for him.
After that, the Moglung said to all the malaki, "This time I am going
to leave you, because I want to go home."
And off went the Moglung with the Tuglay, riding on the wind. After
many days, the Moglung and the Tuglay rested on the mountains
of barayung, and, later, on the mountains of balakuna-trees. From
these heights, they looked out over a vast stretch of open country,
where the deep, wavy meadow-grass glistened like gold; and pastured
there were herds of cows and carabao and many horses. And beyond rose
another range of mountains, on the highest of which stood the Moglung's
house. To reach it they had to cross whole forests of cocoanut and
betel-nut trees that covered eight million mountains. Around the
house were all kinds of useful plants and trees. When they walked
under the floor  of the house, the Moglung said, "My grandmother
is looking at me because I have found another grandchild for her."
Then the grandmother (Tuglibung) called to them, saying, "Come up,
come up, my grandchildren!"
As soon as they entered the house, the Tuglay sat down in a corner of
the kitchen, until the grandmother offered him a better place, saying,
"Do not stay in the kitchen. Come and sleep on my bed."
The Tuglay rested eight nights in the grandmother's bed. At the end of
the eight nights the Moglung said to him, "Please take this betel-nut
that I have prepared for you."
At first Tuglay did not want to take it; but the next day, when the
Moglung again offered the betel, he accepted it from her and began
to chew. After that, the Tuglay took off his trousers of bark and
his jacket of bark, and became a Malaki T'oluk Waig. But the Moglung
wondered where the Tuglay had gone, and she cried to her grandmother,
"Where is the Tuglay?"
But the Malaki stood there, and answered her, "I am the Tuglay." At
first the Moglung was grieved, because the Malaki seemed such a grand
man, and she wanted Tuglay back.
But before long the Malaki said to her, "I want you to marry me." So
they were married. Then the Moglung opened her gold box, and took out
a fine pair of trousers (saroa'r ) and a man's jacket (umpak 
ka mama), and gave them to the Malaki as a wedding-gift.
When they had been living together for a while, there came a day when
the Malaki wanted to go and visit a man who was a great worker in
brass,--the Malaki Tuangun;  and the Moglung gave him directions
for the journey, saying, "You will come to a place where a hundred
roads meet. Take the road that is marked with the prints of many
horses and carabao. Do not stop at the place of the crossroads,
for if you stop, the Bia  who makes men giddy will hurt you."
Then the Malaki went away, and reached the place where a hundred
roads crossed, as Moglung had said. But he stopped there to rest and
chew betel-nut. Soon he began to feel queer and dizzy, and he fell
asleep, not knowing anything. When he woke up, he wandered along up
the mountain until he reached a house at the border of a big meadow,
and thought he would stop and ask his way. From under the house he
called up, "Which is the road to the Malaki Tuangun?"
It was the Bia's voice that answered, "First come up here, and then
I'll tell you the road."
So the Malaki jumped up on the steps and went in. But when he was
inside of her house, the Bia confessed that she did not know the way
to the Malaki Tuangun's house.
"I am the woman," she said, "who made you dizzy, because I wanted to
have you for my own."
"Oh! that's the game," said the Malaki. "But the Moglung is my wife,
and she is the best woman in the world."
"Never mind that," smiled the Bia. "Just let me comb your hair." Then
the Bia gave him some betel-nut, and combed his hair until he grew
sleepy. But as he was dropping off, he remembered a certain promise
he had made his wife, and he said to the Bia, "If the Moglung comes
and finds me here, you be sure to waken me."
After eight days had passed from the time her husband left home,
the Moglung started out to find him, for he had said, "Eight days
from now I will return."
By and by the Moglung came to the Bia's house, and found the Malaki
there fast asleep; but the Bia did not waken him. Then the Moglung
took from the Malaki's toes his toe-rings (paniod ), and went away,
leaving a message with the Bia:--
"Tell the Malaki that I am going back home to find some other malaki:
tell him that I'll have no more to do with him."
But the Moglung did not go to her own home: she at once started for
her brother's house that was up in the sky-country.
Presently the Malaki woke up, and when he looked at his toes, he
found that his brass toe-rings were gone.
"The Moglung has been here!" he cried in a frenzy. "Why didn't you
waken me, as I told you?" Then he seized his sharp-bladed kampilan,
and slew the Bia. Maddened by grief and rage, he dashed to the door
and made one leap to the ground, screaming, "All the people in the
world shall fall by my sword!"
On his war-shield he rode, and flew with the wind until he came to
the horizon. Here lived the Malaki Lindig Ramut ka Langit.  And
when the two malaki met, they began to fight; and the seven brothers
of the Malaki Lindig that live at the edge of the sky, likewise came
out to fight. But when the battle had gone on but a little time,
all the eight malaki of the horizon fell down dead. Then the angry
Malaki who had slain the Bia and the eight young men went looking
for more people to kill; and when he had shed the blood of many, he
became a buso with only one eye in his forehead, for the buso with
one eye are the worst buso of all. Everybody that he met he slew.
After some time, he reached the house of the great priest called
"Pandita," and the Pandita checked him, saying, "Stop a minute,
and let me ask you first what has happened to make you like this."
Then the Buso-man replied sadly, "I used to have a wife named Moglung,
who was the best of all the bia; but when I went looking for the Malaki
Tuangun, that other Bia made me dizzy, and gave me betel, and combed my
hair. Then she was my wife for a little while. But I have killed her,
and become a buso, and I want to kill all the people in the world."
"You had better lie down on my mat here, and go to sleep," advised
the Pandita. While the Buso slept, the Pandita rubbed his joints with
betel-nut; and when he woke up, he was a malaki again.
Then the Pandita talked to him, and said, "Only a few days
ago, the Moglung passed here on her way to her brother's home in
heaven. She went by a bad road, for she would have to mount the steep
rock-terraces. If you follow, you will come first to the Terraces of
the Wind (Tarasu'ban ka Kara'mag ), then you reach the Terraces of
Eight-fold Darkness (Walu Lapit Dukilum ), and then the Terraces
of the Rain (Tarasuban k'Udan ).
Eagerly the Malaki set out on his journey, with his kabir  on his
back, and his betel-nut and buyo-leaf  in the kabir. He had not
travelled far, before he came to a steep ascent of rock-terraces,--the
Terraces of the Wind, that had eight million steps. The Malaki knew
not how to climb up the rocky structure that rose sheer before him,
and so he sat down at the foot of the ascent, and took his kabir off
his back to get out some betel-nut. After he had begun to chew his
betel, he began to think, and he pondered for eight days how he could
accomplish his hard journey. On the ninth day he began to jump up the
steps of the terraces, one by one. On each step he chewed betel, and
then jumped again; and at the close of the ninth day he had reached
the top of the eight million steps, and was off, riding on his shield.
Next he reached the sharp-edged rocks called the "Terraces of Needles"
(Tarasuban ka Simat), that had also eight million steps. Again he
considered for eight days how he could mount them. Then on the
ninth day he sprang from terrace to terrace, as before, chewing
betel-nut on each terrace, and left the Tarasuban ka Simat, riding
on his shield. Then he arrived at the Terraces of Sheet-Lightning
(Tarasuban ka Dilam-dilam); and he took his kabir off his back, and
prepared a betel-nut, chewed it, and meditated for eight days. On the
ninth day he jumped from step to step of the eight million terraces,
and went riding off on his war-shield. When he reached the Terraces
of Forked-Lightning (Tarasuban ka Kirum), he surmounted them on the
ninth day, like the others.
But now he came to a series of cuestas named "Dulama Bolo Kampilan,"
 because one side of each was an abrupt cliff with the sharp edge
of a kampilan; and the other side sloped gradually downward, like a
blunt-working bolo. How to cross these rocks, of which there were eight
million, the Malaki did not know; so he stopped and took off his kabir,
cut up his betel-nut, and thought for eight days. Then on the ninth day
he began to leap over the rocks, and he kept on leaping for eight days,
each day jumping over one million of the cuestas. On the sixteenth
day he was off, riding on his shield. Then he reached the Terraces
of the Thunder (Tarasuban ka Kilat), which he mounted, springing
from one terrace to the next, as before, after he had meditated for
eight days. Leaving these behind him on the ninth day, he travelled
on to the Mountains of Bamboo (Pabungan Kawayanan), covered with
bamboo whose leaves were all sharp steel. These mountains he could
cross without the eight days' thought, because their sides sloped
gently. From the uplands he could see a broad sweep of meadow beyond,
where the grass glistened like gold. And when he had descended, and
walked across the meadow, he had to pass through eight million groves
of cocoanut-trees, where the fruit grew at the height of a man's waist,
and every cocoanut had the shape of a bell (korung-korung). Then he
reached a forest of betel-nut, where again the nuts could be plucked
without the trouble of climbing, for the clusters grew at the height
of a man's waist. Beyond, came the meadows with white grass, and
plants whose leaves were all of the rare old embroidered cloth called
tambayang.  He then found himself at the foot-hills of a range of
eight million mountains, rising from the heart of the meadows, and,
when he had climbed to their summit, he stood before a fine big house.
From the ground he called out, "If anybody lives in this house, let
him come look at me, for I want to find the way to the Shrine in the
Sky, or to the Little Heaven, where my Moglung lives."
But nobody answered.
Then the Malaki sprang up the bamboo ladder and looked in at the door,
but he saw no one in the house. He was weary, after his journey,
and sat down to rest in a chair made of gold that stood there. Soon
there came to his ears the sound of men's voices, calling out,
"There is the Malaki T'oluk Waig in the house."
The Malaki looked around the room, but there was no man there, only
a little baby swinging in its cradle. Outside the house were many
malaki from the great town of Lunsud, and they came rushing in the
door, each holding a keen blade without handle (sobung). They all
surrounded the Malaki in the gold chair, ready to fight him. But the
Malaki gave them all some betel-nut from his kabir, and made the men
friendly toward him. Then all pressed around the Malaki to look at
his kabir, which shone like gold. They had never before seen a man's
bag like this one. "It is the kabir of the Malaki T'oluk Waig," they
said. The Malaki slept that night with the other malaki in the house.
When morning came, the day was dark, like night, for the sun did not
shine. Then the Malaki took his kampilan and stuck it into his belt,
and sat down on his shield. There was no light on the next day,
nor on the next. For eight days the pitchy darkness lasted; but
on the ninth day it lifted. Quick from its cradle jumped the baby,
now grown as tall as the bariri-plant; that is, almost knee-high.
"Cowards, all of you!" cried the child to the Malaki Lunsud. "You are
no malaki at all, since you cannot fight the Malaki T'oluk Waig." Then,
turning to the Malaki T'oluk Waig, the little fellow said, "Please
teach me how to hold the spear."
When the Malaki had taught the boy how to make the strokes, the two
began to fight; for the boy, who was called the Pangalinan,  was
eager to use his spear against the Malaki. But the Malaki had magical
power (matulus ), so that when the Pangalinan attacked him with
sword or spear, the blades of his weapons dissolved into water. For
eight million days the futile battle went on. At last the Pangalinan
gave it up, complaining to the Malaki T'oluk Waig, "How can I keep
on fighting you, when every time I hit you my knives turn to water?"
Disheartened, the Pangalinan threw away his spear and his sword. But
the Malaki would not hurt the Pangalinan when they were fighting;
and as soon as the boy had flung his weapons outside the house,
the Malaki put his arm around him and drew him close. After that,
the two were friends.
One day the Pangalinan thought he would look inside the big gold box
that stood in the house. It was his mother's box. The boy went and
raised the lid, but as soon as the cover was lifted, his mother came
out from the box. After this had happened, the Pangalinan got ready
to go and find the Moglung whom the Malaki had been seeking. The
boy knew where she lived, for he was the Moglung's little brother
(tube' ). He took the bamboo ladder that formed the steps to
the house, and placed it so that it would reach the Shrine in the
Sky, whither the Moglung had gone. Up the bamboo rounds he climbed,
until he reached the sky and found his sister. He ran to her crying,
"Quick! come with me! The great Malaki T'oluk Waig is down there."
Then the Moglung came down from heaven with her little brother to their
house where the Malaki was waiting for her. The Moglung and the Malaki
were very happy to meet again, and they slept together that night.
Next day the Moglung had a talk with the Malaki, and said, "Now I want
to live with you; but you remember that other woman, Maguay Bulol,
that you used to sleep with. You will want her too, and you had better
send for her."
So the Malaki summoned Maguay Bulol, and in a few minutes Maguay
Bulol was there. Then the Malaki had two wives, and they all lived
in the same house forever.
The Tuglay and the Bia
Long ago, in the days of the Mona, the Tuglay lived on a high
mountain. He lived very well, for his cocoanut-trees grew on both
sides of the mountain. But he had no hemp-plants, and so he had to
make his clothes of the soft dry sheath that covers the trunk of
the cocoanut-palm (bunut). This stuff caught fire easily, and many a
time his clothes ignited from the flame where his dinner was cooking,
and then he would have to make fresh garments from bunut.
One day he looked from his house over the neighboring mountains,
and saw the village of Koblun. He thought it looked pretty in the
distance. Then he looked in another direction, and saw the town of
the Malaki Tuangun, and said, "Ah! that is just as nice looking as
the Koblun town. I will go and see the town of the Malaki Tuangun."
Immediately he got ready for the journey. He took his spear (that
was only half a spear, because the fire had burned off a part of
the handle) and his shield, that was likewise only half a shield. He
started out, and walked on and on until he reached the mountains called
Now, on another mountain there lived a young man named the Malaki
Itanawa, with his little sister. They lived alone together, for they
were orphans. The young girl said to her brother, "Let us travel over
the mountains to-day."
And the boy answered, "Yes, my sister, we will go."
And the two climbed over the hills, and they reached the Pabungan
Mangumbiten soon after the Tuglay. And they were astonished to see
the great Tuglay. But when the Tuglay saw the young girl, who was
named Bia Itanawa Inelu,  he was so bewildered and startled that
he turned away his eyes, and could not look at the sister and brother.
Then the girl prepared a betel-nut and offered it to the Tuglay,
but he did not like to accept it. But when she had pressed it upon
him many times, he took the betel and chewed it.
Then the girl said, "Come with my brother and me to my house, for we
have no companion."
But when the girl saw the Tuglay hesitate, she asked him, "Where were
you going when we met you?"
The Tuglay answered, "I want to go to the town of the Malaki Tuangun,
for to my home has come the word that the Malaki is a mighty man,
and his sister a great lady."
Then the girl looked at the Tuglay, and said, "If you want to make
ready to go to the Malaki Tuangun's town, you ought to put on your
good trousers and a nice jacket."
At that, the Tuglay looked mournful; for he was a poor man, and had no
fine clothes. Then, when the girl saw how the case stood, she called
for beautiful things, such as a malaki wears,--fine hemp trousers,
beaded jacket, good war-shield and brass-bound spear, ear-plugs
of pure ivory, and eight necklaces of beads and gold. Straightway
at the summons of the Bia, all the fine things appeared; and the
Tuglay got ready to go away. He was no longer the poor Tuglay. His
name was now the Malaki Dugdag Lobis Maginsulu. Like two big moons,
his ivory ear-plugs shone; when he moved his shield, flames of living
fire shot from it; and when he held up his spear, the day would grow
dark, because he was a brave man. His new clothes he sent  upon
the swift wind to the Malaki Tuangun's town.
When the Tuglay started, the Bia gave him her own brass betel-box
(katakia ) to take with him. It was a katakia that made sounds,
and was called a "screaming katakia."
"May I eat the betel-nut from your box?" asked the man; and she
replied, "Yes, but do not throw away the other things in the box."
The Malaki Dugdag Lobis Maginsulu walked on until he reached the town
of the Malaki Tuangun, and sat down on the ground  before the
house. The Malaki Tuangun was a great brass-smith: he made katakia
and other objects of brass, and hence was called the Malaki Tuangun
Katakia. As soon as he heard the other malaki call from outside,
"May I come up into your house?" he sent down eight of his slaves to
look and see who wanted to visit him.
And the eight slaves brought word to their master that the Malaki
Dugdag Lobis Maginsulu waited to enter.
Then the Malaki Tuangun Katakia called to his visitor, "Come up,
if you can keep from bringing on a fight, because there are many
showers in my town." 
Then the other malaki went up the steps into the house, and the
Malaki Tuangun said to him, "You shall have a good place to sit in
my house,--a place where nobody ever sat before."
Then the Malaki Tuangun prepared a betel-nut for his guest. But the
Malaki Dugdag Lobis Maginsulu would not take the betel-nut from
him. So the Malaki Tuangun called his sister, who was called Bia
Tuangun Katakia, and said to her, "You go outside and prepare a
betel-nut for the Malaki."
As soon as the Bia had finished preparing the betel, she took the
(screaming?) katakia from the Malaki, and set it on the floor. Then the
Malaki Dugdag Lobis Maginsulu took the betel-nut from the lady. When
he had finished chewing it, he stood up and went to the place where the
Bia Tuangun Katakia was sitting, and he lay down beside her, and said,
"Come, put away your work, and comb my hair."
"No, I don't like to comb your hair," she replied.
The Malaki was displeased at this retort, so at last the woman agreed
to comb his hair, for she did not want to see the Malaki angry. By
and by the Malaki felt sleepy while his hair was being combed; and
he said to the Bia, "Do not wake me up."
He fell asleep, and did not waken until the next day. Then he married
the Bia Tuangun Katakia.
After they had been married for three months, the Bia said to the
Malaki, "The best man I know is the Manigthum. He was my first
But the Manigthum had left home, and had gone off to do some big
fighting. He killed the Malaki Taglapida Pabungan,  and he killed
the Malaki Lindig Ramut ka Langit. 
After the Manigthum had slain these great men, he came back to the
home of his wife. When he came near the house he saw, lying down
on the ground under the kinarum-tree,  the things that he had
given his wife before he went away,--pendants of pearl, bracelets
and leglets of brass, gold necklaces (kamagi ), hair-ornaments
of dyed goats'-hair and birds'-down, finger-rings, and leg-bands of
twisted wire hung with bells. As he looked at the beautiful ornaments
all thrown on the ground, he heard the voice of the Malaki Dugdag Lobis
Manginsulu calling to him, "Do not come up, because your wife is mine."
Then the two malaki went to fighting with sword and spear. After a
sharp fight, the Manigthum was killed, and the Malaki Dugdag Lobis
Maginsulu had the Bia for his wife.
The Malaki's Sister and the Basolo
There is a certain mountain that has a sharp, long crest like a
kampilan. Up on this mountain stretched many fields of hemp, and
groves of cocoanut-palms, that belonged to the Malaki and his sister.
Near to these hemp-fields lived the Basolo-man, under a tall
barayung-tree. His little house was full of venison and pig-meat and
lard, and he kept a dog to hunt pigs and deer. Although his hut looked
small and poor, the Basolo possessed treasures of brass and beads
and fine textiles. He had a kabir,  from which darted forked
lightning; and in the bag was a betel-box and a necklace of pure gold.
One day when the Malaki's sister went to look at her hemp, she felt
curious to go inside the Basolo's house. The Basolo was lying on the
floor, fast asleep, when the woman entered. She looked at the things
in the house, and saw hanging on the wall the Basolo's bag with the
lightning playing on it. Now the bag was an old one, and had a lot
of mud in it; but the woman thought it must be full of gold, because
the lightning never ceased to flash from it. So she crept across the
floor, and took the bag from off the end of the bamboo slat on which
it hung. Still the Basolo slept, and still the lightning continued
to play upon the bag. The woman looked inside the bag and saw a fine
gold betel-box, and when she lifted the lid, there in the box lay
a necklace of pure gold. Swiftly she closed the box, and stealthily
drew it out of the bag. Into the folds of her hemp skirt she slipped
the precious box with the gold necklace inside, and very quietly ran
down the bamboo ladder at the house-door.
When she got home, her brother smiled, and said to her, "What has
happened to you, my sister?"
Bright flashes of lightning seemed to be coming from the girl. She
looked almost as if she were made of gold, and the lightning could not
escape from her. Then she took out the betel-box and the necklace,
and showed them to her brother, saying that she had found them in
the Basolo's hut.
The Basolo awoke, and found his brass katakia and his fine necklace
"Who has been here?" he cried.
In a frenzy he hunted through his kabir, throwing out of it his old
work-knife and his rusty spear-head and all the poor things that he
kept in his bag. Then he began to moan and weep for his betel-box
and gold necklace.
By and by he started out to find his lost things. In the soft soil
close to the house, he found the footprints of the woman; and,
following the prints, he traced her to the Malaki's house. Right
there the footprints ended. The Basolo stood at the foot of the steps,
and called, "Who has been in my house?"
Then he ran up the ladder and rushed into the house, screaming to
the Malaki's sister, "Give me back my gold necklace! If you don't
give it back, I'll marry you."
Quick came the woman's answer, "I don't like you, and I will not
But her brother was angry because she refused to marry the Basolo. At
last she agreed to the match, and said to the Basolo, "Yes, I will
marry you; but I can't let you live in my house. You must stay in
your own house over yonder."
So the Basolo and the Malaki's sister agreed to meet and try 
each other (talabana). Then the Basolo went home.
Not long after this, there came a day when many men went out to hunt
the wild pig and the deer. And from her house the woman heard the
sound of many men gathering in the meadow. There were Malaki T'oluk
Waig and other malaki, who were there ready for the chase. And the
girl thought, "I will go out and see the men."
Immediately she hurried to dress herself carefully. She put on nine
waists one over another, and similarly nine skirts (panapisan);
and then she girded herself with a chain of brass links that went a
thousand times round her waist. Over her left shoulder she hung her
small beaded basket (kambol) that was decorated with row upon row of
little tinkling bells, a million in all, and each bell as round as
But the Basolo knew that the girl was dressing to go out, and he
was angry that she should want to go where there were so many men
gathered. In order to keep watch on her movements, he climbed up
into a hiding-place behind the great leaves of an areca-palm, 
and waited. Presently he saw the woman walking to the meadow. And she
staid there just one night. But the Malaki was alarmed when he found
that his sister had gone out to see the men. And after he had taken
off his clothes, he began to put them on again to follow his sister.
Then, when the girl's brother and all the other malaki had assembled in
the meadow, the Basolo came down from the tree and went home. When he
got into his house, he took off his coat, and became a Malaki T'oluk
Waig. His body shone like the sun (you could hardly look at him),
and all his garments were of gold. He had on nine jackets, one over
another, and nine pairs of trousers. Then he called for his horse,
whose name was Kambeng Diluk;  and Kambeng neighed into the air,
and waited, prancing, before the house. Soon the Malaki T'oluk Waig
mounted his horse, and sitting on a saddle of mirrored glass, he rode
toward the meadow. Then Kambeng Diluk began to run, just like the wind.
When they reached the meadow, there were many people there. The
Malaki's wife was sitting on the grass, with men grouped around her,
and she was laughing with them. But she did not recognize her husband
when he came riding up. After everybody had arrived, they set fire
to the long grass, and burned off the meadow, so as to bring the wild
pigs and the deer out of ambush. Then many men entered the chase and
ran their horses; but none could catch the deer or the wild boar,
except only the great Malaki, who had been the Basolo: he alone
speared much game.
When the burning of the meadow and the hunt were finished, many
men wanted to marry the Malaki T'oluk Waig's wife, and many of
them embraced her. But the Malaki T'oluk Waig stood up, fierce with
passion. His body was almost like a flame to look at. And he fought
the other malaki, and killed many, until at last all were dead but one,
and that was the woman's brother.
When all was done, the Malaki mounted his horse and rode back to his
home. His house was all of gold, and yet it looked just like a mean
little hut nestled under the barayung-tree. Then the Malaki picked up
his coat and put it on: at once he became a Basolo again. He then went
over to the woman's house and waited there for her to come back. By
and by she came loitering along, crying all the way, because she was
afraid to meet her husband. But the Basolo staid right along in the
house, and lived with the woman and her brother. Then, after they had
tried each other, they were married with Bagobo ceremony. The Basolo
took off his coat, and again became a Malaki T'oluk Waig. They lived
well in their house, and they had a big hacienda of hemp and cocoanuts
The Mona 
When the Mona lived on the earth, there was a certain man who said
to his wife, "I want to go out and make some traps."
So that day he went out and made about thirty traps, of sticks with
nooses attached, to snare jungle-fowl. His work finished, he returned
home. Next day he went out to look at his traps, but found that he had
caught, not a wild chicken, but a big lizard (palas ) with pretty
figured patterns on its back. The man said to the lizard, "Halloo!"
Then he released the lizard, and gave him his own carrying-bag and
work-knife, and told him to go straight to his house. But the lizard
was afraid to go to the man's house, for he suspected that the man
wanted to make a meal of him. Instead, he ran up a tree, taking with
him the knife and the bag. The tree overhung a clear brook, and the
lizard could see his reflection (alung) in the water.
No fowl could the man snare that day, and he went home. As soon as
he reached the house, he said to his wife, "Are you all done cleaning
"What lizard are you talking about?" returned the woman. "There's no
"I sent one here," insisted the man, "and I'm hungry."
"We have no lizard," repeated his wife.
In a hot temper the man went back to his traps, and there saw the
tracks of the lizard, leading, not towards his house, but exactly
in the opposite direction. Following the tracks, he reached the
brook, and at once caught sight of the lizard's reflection in the
water. Immediately the man jumped into the water, grasping for the
image of the slippery lizard; but he had to jump out again with empty
hands. He tried again. Hour after hour he kept on jumping, until he
got so wet and cold that he had to give it up and go home.
"The lizard is right over there in the brook," he told his wife;
"but I could not get hold of him."
"I'll go and look at him with you," she said.
So together they reached the brook; and the woman glanced first into
the water, and then up into the tree.
"You foolish man," she smiled. "Look in the tree for your
lizard. That's just his shadow (alung ) in the water."
The man looked up, and saw the lizard in the tree. Then he started
to climb up the trunk, but found himself so chilled and stiff from
jumping into the water, that he kept slipping down whenever he tried
to climb. Then the woman took her turn, and got part way up the
tree. The man looked up at his wife, and noticed that she had sores
on parts of her body where she could not see them, and he called to
her, "Come down! don't climb any higher; you've got sores." So she
Then her husband wanted to get some medicine out of his bag to give
her for the sores; but the lizard had his bag.
"Throw down my bag and knife to me!" he shouted up to the lizard,
"because I must get busy about fixing medicine for my wife." And the
lizard threw down to him his knife and his bag.
As soon as they got home, the man made some medicine for his wife;
but the sores did not heal. Then he went to his friend Tuglay and said,
"What is the medicine for my wife?"
Tuglay went home with the man; and when they reached the house,
he told him what he was about to do. "Look!" said the Tuglay.
Then the man looked, and saw the Tuglay go to his wife and consort
And the husband let him do it, for he said to himself, "That is the
medicine for my wife."
When the Tuglay was done with the woman, he said, "Go now to your
Then the man went to her, and said, "This is the best of all." After
that, the man cared for nothing except to be with his wife. He did not
even care to eat. He threw out of the house all the food they had,--the
rice, the sugarcane, the bananas, and all of their other things. He
threw them far away. But after they had taken no food for several
days, the man and the woman began to grow thin and weak. Still they
did not try to get food, because they wanted only to gratify their
passion  for each other. At last both of them got very skinny,
and finally they died.
Folk-Lore of the Buso
How to See the Buso
The Buso live in the great branching trees and in the graveyard. The
night after a person has been buried, the Buso dig up the body with
their claws, and drink all the blood, and eat the flesh. The bones they
leave, after eating all the flesh off from them. If you should go to
the graveyard at night, you would hear a great noise. It is the sound
of all the Buso talking together as they sit around on the ground,
with their children playing around them. You cannot see the Buso;
but if you do get a glimpse of one of them, it is only for a few
minutes. He looks like a shadow.
In the beginning, everybody could see the Buso, because then the Buso
and the people were friendly together. Nobody died in those days,
for the Buso helped the men, and kept them from dying. But many years
ago the Buso and man had a quarrel, and after that nobody could see
the Buso any more.
Now, there is one way to see Buso; but a man must be very brave to
do it. While the coffin for a dead man is being made, if you cut some
chips from it and carry them to the place where the tree was felled for
the box, and lay the chips on the stump from which the wood was cut,
and then go again on the night of the funeral to the same place, you
will see Buso. Stand near the stump, and you will see passing before
you (1) a swarm of fireflies; (2) the intestines of the dead person;
(3) many heads of the dead person; (4) many arms of the dead person;
(5) many legs of the dead person; (6) the entire body passing before
you; (7) shadows flitting before you; and finally (8) the Buso. But
no one yet has been brave enough to try it.
"But one thing I did when my uncle died," said my boy informant. "I
chipped a piece of wood from the coffin, and tied it to a long string,
like a fly to a fish-hook. This I let down between the slats of the
floor, as I stood in the room where the dead body lay, and I held
the line dangling. As a fish catches at the bait, so Buso seized that
bit of wood, and for about two minutes I could feel him pulling at it
from under the house. Then I drew up the string with the wood. Buso
was there under the house, and smelt the chip from the coffin."
Buso and the Woman
In a little house there lived a man and his wife together. One night,
after they had been married for a long time, the man told his wife
that he would like to go fishing.
"Oh, yes! my husband," said the woman eagerly. "Go, and bring me some
nice fish to-morrow, so that we can have a good meal."
The man went out that same night to fish. And his wife was left alone
in the house.
In the night, while her husband was away, the Buso came, and tried
to pass himself off as her husband, saying, "You see I am back. I
got no fish, because I was afraid in the river." Then the Buso-man
made a great fire, and sat down by it.
But the woman did not believe that it was her husband. So she hid
her comb in a place on the floor, and she said to her comb, "If the
Buso calls me, do you answer. Tell him that I have run away because
I have great fear of the Buso."
Then, when the Buso called, the Comb answered just as the woman
had told it. By and by the Buso went away. In the morning, the man
came back from fishing, because daylight had come. And he had a fine
catch of fish. Then the woman told him all that had happened, and the
man never again let his wife sleep alone in the house. After that,
everything went well; for Buso was afraid of the man, and never again
attempted to come there.
The Buso's Basket
Two children went out into the field to tend their rice-plants. They
said these words to keep the little birds away from the grain:--
"One, one, maya-bird, 
Yonder in the north;
Keep off from eating it,
This my rice."
Just then they heard the sound of a voice, calling from the great
pananag-tree,  "Wait a minute, children, until I make a basket
"What is that?" said the boy to his sister.
"Oh, nothing!" answered the little girl. "It's the sound of something."
Then the children called to their father and mother; but only from
the pananag-tree the answer came, "Just wait till I finish this basket
to hold you in."
Down, then, from the tree came the great Buso, with a big, deep basket
(such as women carry bananas and camotes  in) hanging from his
shoulders. The frightened children did not dare to run away; and Buso
sat down near by in the little hut where the rice was kept. Soon he
said to the children, "Please comb out my nice hair."
But, when they tried to comb his hair, they found it swarming with
big lice and worms.
"Well, let's go on now," said the Buso. Then he stuffed the children
into his deep burden-basket, and swung the basket upon his back.
On the instant the little girl screamed out, "Wait a minute, Buso! I've
dropped my comb. Let me down to pick it up."
So the Buso sat down on the ground, and let the girl climb out of
the basket. He sat waiting for her to find her comb; but all the time
she was picking up big stones, and putting them into the basket. Her
brother got out of the basket too, and then both girl and boy climbed
up into a tall betel-nut tree,  leaving Buso with a basket full
of stones on his back.
Up to his house in the pananag-tree went Buso with the heavy
basket. When his wife saw him, she laughed and shouted very loud. She
was glad, because she thought there was a man in the basket, all ready
to eat. But, when Buso slipped the basket down from his shoulders,
there was no human flesh in it, but only big stones.
Then the angry Buso hurried back to look for the two children. At last
he caught sight of them far up in the betel-nut tree, and wondered how
he could get them. Now, at the foot of the tree there was a growth
of the wild plant called "bagkang;" and Buso said words to make the
bagkang grow faster and taller:--
"Tubu, tubu, bagkang,
Grow, grow, bagkang,
Baba, baba mamaa'n." 
Handle, handle, betel-nut.
But the children, in their turn, said:--
"Tubu, tubu, mamaa'n,
Grow, grow, betel-nut,
Baba, baba bagkang."
Handle, handle, bagkang.
By and by, when the bagkang-stems had grown so tall as almost to reach
the clusters of betel-nuts at the top of the trunk, the boy and girl
said to each other. "Let us pick betel-nuts, and throw them down on
And as soon as they began to pick, the betel-nuts became so big and
heavy that the bagkang-plants fell down when the betel-nuts dropped
Then the Buso went away; and the children climbed down in haste,
ran home, and told their mother and father how the Buso had tried to
carry them off.
Datu Ayo was a great man among the Bagobo, well known throughout the
mountain-country for his bravery and his riches. He had gathered in
his house many products of Bagobo workmanship in textiles and brass and
fine weapons. At his death, human sacrifices of slaves were offered up
for him. It was not many years ago that he went down to the great city
of the dead, and many of his children and grandchildren are living
now. His sons like to think about their father's renown; and, as a
reminder, the eldest son, Kawayun, always kept in his medicine-case
two of the incisor teeth of the great Ayo, until he needed money,
and sold the medicine-case with its contents. It had made Kawayun
happy to look at his father's teeth.
When Datu Ayo died, his wife was about to become a mother. Now,
the Bagobo women know that, when they become pregnant, they must be
very careful to protect themselves from the evil Buso. On going to
bed at night, an expectant mother places near her the woman's knife
(gulat), the kampilan,  and all the other knives, to frighten
Buso away. Failing this, the Buso will come to the woman while she
sleeps, and change her baby into a Buso-child. One night, the wife
of Datu Ayo lay down to sleep without putting any knives near her;
and that very night the Buso came, and he transformed her child into
a Buso-child. She did not know when he came, nor did she even think
that a Buso had been near her, until her baby was born.
Everybody around the woman at the birth saw that something was the
matter with the child. It was little and frail, and as weak as threads
of cotton. Its body was flat, and its legs and arms were helpless
and flabby. Then all the men said, "That is a Buso-child."
As the little boy grew old enough to creep, he moved just like a fish,
with a sort of wriggling motion. He could not stand on his feet,
for his legs were too weak to support his body; and he could not sit
down, but only lie flat. He could never be dressed in umpak 
and saroa'r,  and his body remained small and puny.
Now the boy is more than fourteen years old, but he cannot walk a
step. He understands very well what is said to him, and he can talk,
though not distinctly. When he hears it said that somebody is dead,
he breaks into laughter, and keeps on laughing. This trait alone
would stamp him as a Buso-child.
One day a man went out, carrying seventeen arrows, to hunt monkeys;
but he found none. Next day he went again, and, as he walked along
on the slope of the mountain called Malagu'san, he heard the sound of
the chattering of monkeys in the trees. Looking up, he saw the great
monkey sitting on an aluma'yag-tree. He took a shot at the monkey, but
his arrow missed aim; and the next time he had no better luck. Twice
eight he tried it; but he never hit the mark. The monkey seemed to
lead a charmed life. Finally he took his seventeenth and last arrow,
and brought down his game; the monkey fell down dead. But a voice
came from the monkey's body that said, "You must carry me."
So the man picked up the monkey, and started to go back home; but
on the way the monkey said, "You are to make a fire, and eat me up
Then the man laid the monkey on the ground. Again came the voice,
"You will find a bamboo to put me in; by and by you shall eat me."
Off went the man to find the bamboo called laya, letting the monkey
lie on the ground, where he had dropped it.
He walked on until he reached a forest of bamboo. There, swinging
on a branch of the laya, was a karirik-bird. And the bird chirped to
the man, "Where are you going?"
The man answered, "I am looking for bamboo to put the monkey in."
But the karirik-bird exclaimed, "Run away, quick! for by and by the
monkey will become a buso. I will wait here, and be cutting the laya;
then, when the monkey calls you, I will answer him."
In the mean time the monkey had become a great buso. He had only one
eye, and that stood right in the middle of his forehead, looking just
like the big bowl called langungan (the very bad buso have only one
eye; some have only one leg).
After the Buso-monkey had waited many hours for the man to come back,
he started out to look for him. When he reached the forest of laya,
he called to the man, "Where are you?"
Then the karirik-bird answered from the tree, "Here I am, right here,
cutting the bamboo."
But the man had run away, because the bird had sent him off, and made
him run very fast.
As soon as the bird had answered the Buso, it flew off to another
bamboo-tree, and there the Buso spied it, and knew that he had been
fooled; and he said, "It's a man I want; you're just a bird. I don't
care for you."
Directly then the Buso began to smell around the ground where the
man had started to run up the mountain-side, and, as quick as he
caught the scent, he trailed the man. He ran and ran, and all the
time the man was running too; but soon the Buso began to gain on
him. After a while, when the Buso had come close upon him, the man
tried to look for some covert. He reached a big rock, and cried out,
"O rock! will you give me shelter when the Buso tries to eat me?"
"No," replied the rock; "for, if I should help you, the Buso would
break me off and throw me away."
Then the man ran on; and the Buso came nearer and nearer, searching
behind every rock as he rushed along, and spying up into every tree,
to see if, perchance, the man were concealed there.
At last the man came to the lemon-tree called kabayawa, that has
long, sharp thorns on its branches. And the man cried out to the
lemon-tree, "Could you protect me, if I were to hide among your leaves
Instantly the lemon-tree answered, "Come right up, if you want
to." Then the man climbed the tree, and concealed himself in the
branches, among the flowers. Very soon the Buso came under the
lemon-tree, and shouted to it, "I smell a man here. You are hiding
The Kabayawa said, "Sure enough, here's a man! You just climb up and
Then the Buso began to scramble up the tree; but as he climbed, the
thorns stuck their sharp points into him. The higher he climbed, the
longer and sharper grew the thorns of the tree, piercing and tearing,
until they killed the Buso.
It is because the monkey sometimes turns into a Buso that many Bagobo
refuse to eat monkey. But some of the mountain Bagobo eat monkey to
keep off sores.
How the Moon Tricks the Buso 
The Moon is a great liar. One night long ago, the Buso looked over
the earth and could not discover any people, because everybody was
asleep. Then Buso went to the Moon, and asked her where all the people
were to be found.
"Oh, you will not find a living person on the earth!" replied the
Moon. "Everybody in the world is dead."
"Good!" thought Buso. "To-morrow I shall have a fine meal of them."
Buso never eats living flesh, only dead bodies.
Next morning, Buso started for the graveyard; but on the way he met
the Sun, and stopped to speak to him.
"How about the men on earth?" he questioned.
"They're all right," said the Sun. "All the people are working and
playing and cooking rice."
The Buso was furious to find himself tricked. That night he went
again to the Moon and asked for the men, and, as before, the Moon
assured him that everybody was dead. But the next morning the Sun
showed him all the people going about their work as usual. Thus the
Buso has been fooled over and over again. The Moon tells him every
night the same story.
The Buso and the Cat
The cat is the best animal. She keeps us from the Buso. One night the
Buso came into the house, and said to the cat, "I should like to eat
"I will let you do it," replied the cat; "but first you must count
all the hairs of my coat."
So the Buso began to count. But while he was counting, the cat kept
wriggling her tail, and sticking up her back. That made her fur stand
up on end, so that the Buso kept losing count, and never knew where
he left off. And while the Buso was still trying to count the cat's
hairs, daylight came.
This is one reason why we must not kill the cat. If a Bagobo should
kill a cat, it would make him very sick. He would get skinny, and
die. Some Bagobo have been known to kill the cat; but they always
got sick afterwards.
How a Dog Scared the Buso
The Tigbanua' are the worst of all the Buso; they want to be
eating human flesh all the time. They live in great forests,--in
the pananag-tree, in the magbo-tree, in the baliti-tree, and in
One day a man went out to hunt, and he took his dog with him. On
his way to the woods, he speared a very little pig. By the time he
reached the great forest, night had come. He made a little shelter,
and kindled a fire. Then he cleaned the pig and cut it into pieces,
and tied three sticks of wood together, and placed them on two upright
pieces of wood stuck in the ground. On this paga he laid the pig-meat
to broil over the flames.
By and by he got very sleepy, and thought he would go under the shelter
and take a nap. But just then he heard voices up in the big trees. He
listened, and heard the Tigbanua' talking to one another.
The Tigbanua' that lives in the liwaan-tree called out to the Tigbanua'
that lives in the pananag-tree, "The mighty chief of all the Tigbanua',
who lives in the sigmit-tree, gives this command to his people: 'Don't
make fun of the man, because he has been here many times before.' "
And right there, under the trees, the man, standing by his dog, was
listening to the talk of the Buso. The dog was sleeping near the fire,
and he was as big as the calf of a carabao. Very quietly his master
spread his own sleeping-tunic (kisi) over the dog, and crept away,
leaving him asleep in the warm place. The man hid in the shelter,
Presently many of the Tigbanua' began coming down from the trees,
for some of them did not give obedience (paminug) to their Datu. They
gathered around the fire, and sat down. By and by, as they sat near
the fire, the penis (tapo) of every one of the Tigbanua' began to
grow bigger and bigger (lanag-lanag). All at once, the Tigbanua'
caught sight of the tunic spread out, and showing the form of a huge
head and body under it. They all thought it was the man; and they
rushed up to it, and hugged it. But the dog woke up, jumped out from
under the tunic, and bit the Tigbanua'. Then they all ran. One of them
climbed up the tree to his own house, the dog holding on to his leg,
and biting him all the time. But when they were halfway up the tree,
the dog fell down and got hurt. And the Tigbanua' called down to the
dog, "Swell up, swell up!" ("Pigsa, pigsa!")
All the other Tigbanua' were afraid of the big dog, and ran away. So
the man slept well all night, because the Buso could not hurt him now.
Story of Duling and the Tagamaling
Before the world was made, there were Tagamaling. The Tagamaling
is the best Buso, because he does not want to hurt man all of the
time. Tagamaling is actually Buso only a part of the time; that is,
the month when he eats people. One month he eats human flesh, and
then he is Buso; the next month he eats no human flesh, and then he
is a god. So he alternates, month by month. The month he is Buso,
he wants to eat man during the dark of the moon; that is, between
the phases that the moon is full in the east and new in the west.
The other class of Buso, however, wants human flesh all of the
time. They are the Tigbanua', the chief of whom is Datu of all the
Buso. A Tigbanua' lives in his own house, and goes out only to eat
the bodies of the dead.
The Tagamaling makes his house in trees that have hard wood, and low,
broad-spreading branches. His house is almost like gold, and is called
"Palimbing," but it is made so that you cannot see it; and, when
you pass by, you think, "Oh! what a fine tree with big branches,"
not dreaming that it is the house of a Tagamaling. Sometimes, when
you walk in the forest, you think you see one of their houses; but
when you come near to the place, there is nothing. Yet you can smell
the good things to eat in the house.
Once a young man named Duling, and his younger brother, went out
into the woods to trap wild chickens. Duling had on his back a basket
holding a decoy cock, together with the snares of running-nooses and
all the parts of the trap. While they were looking for a good spot to
drive in the stakes for the snare, they heard the voice of Tagamaling
in the trees, saying, "Duling, Duling, come in! My mother is making
a little fiesta here."
The boys looked up, and could see the house gleaming there in the
branches, and there were two Tagamaling-women calling to them. In
response to the call, Duling's younger brother went up quickly
into the house; but Duling waited on the ground below. He wanted the
Tagamaling-girls to come down to him, for he was enamoured (kalatugan)
of them. Then one girl ran down to urge Duling to come up into the
tree. And as soon as she came close to him, he caught her to his
breast, and hugged her and caressed her.
In a moment, Duling realized that the girl was gone, and that he was
holding in his arms a nanga-bush, full of thorns. He had thought to
catch the girl, but, instead, sharp thorns had pricked him full of
sores. Then from above he heard the woman's voice, tauntingly sweet,
"Don't feel bad, Duling; for right here is your younger brother."
Yet the young man, gazing here and there, saw around him only tall
trees, and could not catch a glimpse of the girl who mocked him.
Immediately, Duling, as he stood there, was turned into a rock. But
the little brother married the Tagamaling-girl.
There is a place high up in the mountains of Mindanao, about eight
hours' ride west of Santa Cruz, where you may see the rock, and you
will know at once that it is a human figure. There is Duling, with
the trap and the decoy cock on his shoulder. You may see the cock's
The S'iring  is the ugly man that has long nails and curly
hair. He lives in the forest trees. If a boy goes into the forest
without a companion, the S'iring tries to carry him off. When you meet
a S'iring, he will look like your father, or mother, or some friend;
and he will hide his long nails behind his back, so that you cannot
see them. It is the S'iring who makes the echo (a'u'd). When you
talk in a loud voice, the S'iring will answer you in a faint voice,
because he wants to get you and carry you away.
There was once a boy who went without a companion into the forest,
and he met a man who looked just like his own father, but it was a
S'iring; and the S'iring made him believe that he was his father. The
S'iring said to the boy, "Come, you must go with me. We will shoot
some wild birds with our bow and arrows."
And the boy, not doubting that he heard his father's voice, followed
the S'iring into the deep forest. After a while, the boy lost his
memory, and forgot the way to his own house. The S'iring took him up
on a high mountain, and gave him food; but the poor boy had now lost
his mind, and he thought the food was a milleped one fathom long,
or it seemed to him the long, slim worm called liwati.
So the days went on, the boy eating little, and growing thinner
and weaker all the time. When he met any men in the forest, he grew
frightened, and would run away. When he had been a long time in the
forest, the S'iring called to him and said, "We will move on now."
So they started off again. When they reached the high bank of a deep
and swift-flowing river, the S'iring scratched the boy with his long
nails. Straightway the boy felt so tired that he could no longer stand
on his legs, and then he dropped down into the ravine. He fell on the
hard rocks, so that his bones were broken, and his skull split open.
All this time, the mother at home was mourning for her son, and crying
all day long. But soon she arranged a little shrine (tambara )
under the great tree, and, having placed there a white bowl with a
few betel-nuts and some buyo-leaf as an offering for her son, she
crouched on the ground and prayed for his life to the god in the sky.
Now, when the S'iring heard her prayer, he took some betel-nuts, and
went to the place where the boy's body lay. On the parts where the
bones were broken, he spit betel-nut, and did the same to the boy's
head. Immediately the boy came to life, and felt well again. Then the
S'iring took him up, and carried him to the shrine where the mother
was praying; but she could not see the S'iring nor her boy. She went
That night, as the woman slept, she dreamed that a boy came close to
her, and spoke about her son. "To-morrow morning," he said, "you must
pick red peppers, and get a lemon,  and carry them to the shrine,
and burn them in the fire."
Next morning, the woman hastened to gather the peppers, and get
a lemon, and with happy face she ran to the shrine under the big
tree. There she made a fire, and burned the lemon and the red peppers,
as the dream had told her. And, as soon as she had done this, her
son appeared from under the great tree. Then his mother caught him
in her arms, and held him close, and cried for joy.
When you lose your things, you may be sure that the S'iring has hidden
them. What you have to do is to burn some red peppers with beeswax
(tadu ka petiukan ), and observe carefully the direction in which
the smoke goes. The way the smoke goes points out where your things
are hidden, because the S'iring is afraid of the wax of bees. He is
afraid, too, of red peppers and of lemons.
How Iro Met the S'iring
Not long ago, a young man named Iro went out, about two o'clock in the
afternoon, to get some tobacco from one of the neighbors. Not far from
his house, he saw his friend Atun coming along; and Atun said to him,
"I've got some tobacco hidden away in a place in the woods. Let us
go and get it."
So they went along together. When they reached the forest, Atun
disappeared, and Iro could not see which way he had gone. Then he
concluded that it was not Atun, but a S'iring, whom he had met. He
started for home, and reached there about eight o'clock in the
evening. To his astonishment, he saw Atun sitting there in the
house. Confused and wondering, he asked Atun, "Did you carry me away?"
But his friend Atun laughed, and said, "Where should I carry you? I
have not been anywhere."
Then Iro was convinced that a S'iring had tried to lure him into
When you have a companion, the S'iring cannot hurt you.
Animal Stories: Metamorphosis, Explanatory Tales, Etc.
The Kingfisher and the Malaki
There came a day when the kingfisher (kobug ) had nothing to
drink, and was thirsty for water. Then she walked along the bed of
the brook, searching for a drink; but the waters of the brook were
all dried up.
Now, on that very day, the Maganud went up the mountain to get some
agsam  to make leglets for himself. And when he came near to where
the bulla grows, he stopped to urinate, and the urine sprinkled one of
the great bulla-leaves. Then he went on up the mountain. Just then, the
kingfisher came along, still looking for a mountain-stream. Quickly she
caught sight of the leaf of the bulla-tree all sprinkled with water;
but the man had gone away. Then the kingfisher gladly drank a few
drops of the water, and washed her feathers. But no sooner had she
quenched her thirst, and taken a bath, than her head began to pain
her. Then she went home to her little house in the ground.
Now, every day the kingfisher laid one egg, and that day she laid
her egg as usual. But when the egg hatched out, it was no feathered
nestling, but a baby-boy, that broke the shell.
"Oh!" cried the frightened bird. "What will become of me?" Then she
ran off a little way from her nest, and started to fly away.
But the little boy cried out, "Mother, mother, don't be afraid of me!"
So the kingfisher came back to her baby. And the child grew bigger
After a while, the boy was old enough to walk and play around. Then
one day he went alone to the house of the Maganud, and climbed up
the steps and looked in at the door. The Maganud was sitting there on
the floor of his house; and the little boy ran up to him and hugged
him, and cried for joy. But the Maganud was startled and dismayed;
for he was a chaste malaki,  and had no children. Yet this boy
called him "father," and begged for ripe bananas in a very familiar
manner. After they had talked for a little while, the Maganud went
with the child to the home of the kingfisher.
The kingfisher had made her nest at the foot of a great hollow
tree. She had dug out a hole, about four feet deep, in the soft ground,
and fixed a roof by heaping over the hole the powdered rotten bark of
the old tree. The roof stood up just a few inches above the ground;
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