ammedan will not only refrain from eating pork, but will not
hunt the wild boar or help carry it home for fear the contact might
defile him. Wine is of course forbidden, though I have heard that
in the Philippines food over which the shadow of an unbeliever has
passed need not be thrown away, the Moros there being more thrifty
and perhaps less fanatically devout than their brothers in India.

For some strange reason these people have taken most kindly to the
Americans, though I am pained to confess that much of their liking
is due to the fact that they think we are not Christians, our brand
of religion being unlike that of Catholic Spain. This, coupled with
the fact that in several instances we have been forced, by a lack
of quarters, to shelter our soldiers in church or cathedral, has so
strengthened them in their belief that _Juramentados_, or Mohammedans
sworn to kill Christians, are without employment, it being obviously
unwise to run amuck and kill, when the Holy Writ promises reward only
to those dying while destroying followers of Christianity.

Many American customs that do not entrench on the Holy Law have been
adopted with no little avidity by the Moros, and the Stars and Stripes
float over the home of every native fortunate enough to possess a
flag. This is particularly noticeable in and around Zamboanga, but
an officer belonging to the regiment stationed there told us a tale
illustrating the Moro's love for things American, that reads like
a romance.

It seems that the post assigned to this officer's battalion was at
Davao, in the southeastern part of the island, a wild and seldom
visited country, whose inhabitants consist of a curious mixture of
Christians, Mohammedans, and Pagans. In the mountains surrounding the
town live numerous Pagan tribes, all speaking different dialects, and
wild as the country itself. Having occasion to make a reconnoissance
trip in this territory, the officer and his escort stopped overnight
in a little village of Bogobos, whose chief did the honours with a
savage dignity.

The town was dirty beyond belief, the natives were lazy even in their
curiosity, and everything pertaining to the place was in a shocking
state of disrepair. Among other items of interest, proudly pointed out
to the American officer by his host, was a gruesome collection of human
skulls, which decorated the dwelling both indoors and out. "Trophies
of war," he explained nonchalantly to his astonished guest,