Terry Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  THE FANATIC

  Terry, refreshed by a shower and change to formal white uniform, waslistening to the Major's grave summing up of the Moro problem when thearrival of the governor's car took them both down to join him. AsGovernor Mason alighted to meet him Terry felt the magnetism of theman who had been selected to attempt the difficult Moro venture.Governor Mason had grown up in the island service, had been identifiedwith the inner government circle since the days of the FirstCommission, and had been retained and promoted by each succeedingadministration. Far-sighted, patient, wary, suave, he was the mostconsummate master of Island policy developed under the Americanregime. A press bitterly hostile to the idea of giving the Moros civilgovernment had attested to his proven capacity by moderating itscriticism following the announcement that he would head the newgovernment.

  Terry was welcomed with a graceful simplicity that made him feel athome. Immediately he fell under the spell of this man whose spiritenthused the small band of whites who were redeeming a people fromtheir prehistoric lethargy. He was fit to lead; the sweep of line fromtemple through jaw bespoke an uncompromising force of character, butwas gentled by the deep cleft of chin: something in the poise of headgave him the manner best described as aristocratic but it was toneddown by the mischievous gleam which flickered, often without obviousreason, in the thoughtful eyes.

  The big car bore them swiftly through the cooling evening over smoothcoral roads which were laid down like ribbons on the green tablelandover which they sped: they shot under groves of tall cocoanut trees,past clumps of feathery bamboo which flanked the highway. Dusk wasnear when they entered the reservation and drew up in front of ared-roofed bungalow set on a great lawn facing the prison inclosure.

  Superintendent Wade rose from the wide veranda and came down to meetthem, a tall, smooth-faced man of young middle-age, evidently on mostintimate terms with the Governor and the Major. While expressing hispleasure in being privileged to entertain Terry, he bent upon him thesearching look of appraisal which is instinctive in the Orient, wherethe masses are controlled by the white man's prestige, a prestigewhich may suffer through attitude or actions of each newcomer.

  Terry halted a moment at the curb, rapt in appreciation of the spot.Acres of lawn, splashed with flaming red and yellow canna beds, sweptfrom roadway to edge of sea: wide shell roads, smooth as planks, woundin great curves into the dark groves of cocoanut palms whichsurrounded the inclosure on three sides and extended back a thousandacres in symmetrical rows of towering trunks which created endlessshaded glades: turning slowly, he saw the immaculately policed prisoninclosure showing through the steel grillwork which an intelligentmind had substituted for grim and stuffy prison walls. It seemed lessprison than sanctuary.

  The development of the prison farm, the development of its Moroinmates, was Wade's life. "Lieutenant, I am glad you like it," he saidsimply. "It is home to me."

  The Governor had strolled out on the lawn for a lingering look aroundhim. Returning to the veranda he eyed Wade and Bronner quizzically.

  "Each of you has too fine an establishment for the barren needs ofbachelors. I wish you had more confidence in the blissful state ofmatrimony!"

  Wade shook his head decisively. The Major snorted.

  "Huh! No petticoats for mine!"

  A stolid Moro servant padded up with a tray bearing four cocktails: ina moment carried them kitchen-ward, rejected.

  The Governor laughed: "Not one in four! An unusual showing, Wade." Heturned to Terry: "You never drink?"

  "I--I don't care for it, Governor."

  A pause, and he added, flushing slightly: "That was not quite honest,sir. I have never tried it."

  As they moved to the table the Governor exchanged a glance ofdelighted approval with the Major over the nice amend.

  The steady breeze off the Straits that blew across the veranda wherethey sat at dinner roused the sea into a little confusion of beachsounds. They ate leisurely, talking of the strange things of Sululand,talked as men do who find surpassing interest in the little and thebig things of their work; and Terry listened as they deliberately drewhim within their circle.

  It was a dinner deserving of the time given up to it. Following avegetable soup the Moro bore in a great lapu-lapu, fresh from theStraits: if you have never tasted the flaky substance of alapu-lapu,--don't! For once you do, you will be forever impatient ofthe quality of all other fish. Roast duck followed, with sweet corn,camotes, tart roselle sauce, a papaya salad, an ice, and pili nuts;all perfectly prepared, and flawlessly served by the expressionlessMoro boy who moved noiselessly about the snowy table.

  "I want to brag a little, Governor," Wade said as he and the Majorlighted cigars over a second cup of black coffee. "Everything we ateto-night--with the exception of such things as salt and pepper andcream,--was the product of this farm. You will be able to report atthe end of the year that we are eighty per cent self-supporting."

  Pressed by the Governor, Wade explained to Terry his system ofhandling the six hundred Moro inmates. He stopped midway in a graphicaccount of three prisoners whom he had sent out with instructions tofetch in a runaway convict dead or alive.

  "I didn't ask you down here to talk you to death!" he apologized.

  "But what happened?" insisted the Major. "Did the three skip too?"

  Wade glared at him. "Skip? My trusties? I guess not! They came in lastnight after dark, after being gone in the interior for three weeks,carrying a gunnysack. I was sitting out here, so they came right upand without a word emptied the sack on the veranda floor. They hadstayed out till they got him--his head rolled out of the sack andlanded right under where you're sitting, Major. Then the three walkedover to the prison gate and reported in."

  A moment later the Major moved his chair.

  The Governor had been quietly studying Terry. "How did the Philippinesfirst impress you?" he asked. "About as you anticipated?"

  Terry hesitated, then responded to the authority of the kindly eyes:"No, sir. I had read enough typical stories of the tropics to absorban atmosphere, but I did not find it. You know what I mean, sir: allthat stuff about _dulce far niente_, manana, gin-soakedbeach-combers,--that sort of thing. But I don't find it, sir. I find aspirit of hustle, of getting things done despite obstacles, a spiritwhich the natives seem to be absorbing,--though rather slowly."

  The Governor was frankly interested: "You doubtless have formed someopinion regarding the Filipinos--their fitness for independence?"

  Terry felt the three pairs of eyes drilling him as he answered: "Itseems to me, sir, that--disregarding such baffling obstacles toindependence as their absolute defenselessness as a nation, theprofound ignorance of the masses, lack of a common tongue, and allthat,--I think that in view of the fact that under our guidance theyhave advanced further than under four hundred years of Spanish rule,it would be kinder if we waited decision until we see what a second orthird generation of English-speaking natives are like."

  He reflected a moment, serious, then added: "In short, sir, I thinkthat it would be a great injustice to them to mistake our own drivingforce for their capacity."

  "Sus-marie-hosep!" exclaimed the delighted Major, who had fidgetedwhile his protege was undergoing the Governor's test, "Don't mistakeour driving force for--I'd like to hear the native demagogues argue onthat thesis!"

  The Governor surveyed Terry with added interest, but wasnon-committal.

  They fell silent, listening to the dark sea, in its gentlest mood,caressing the beach: the wind flowed past them steadily, like a softcurrent, stirring the long fronds into purring contact. A sharpchallenge from an alert native sentry rang clear, followed by thecrunching sound of a heavy iron gate opening and closing with gratingfinality. The hourly call was sounded by a guard, who, unseen by them,paced the main entrance to the inclosure: "All's Well." It sounded sixtimes from invisible lips. Terry pondered its ironic message to thosewho heard it from within those steel and concrete dormitories: "All'sWell," sounding to those who had
crime on their souls, and had left,somewhere, mothers, wives, children ... sweethearts.... It oppressedhim heavily.

  Then a roar of laughter rose from within the prison, the free andjoyous expression of mirth from hundreds of throats, from men whofound life good. Terry looked up to see Wade observing him closely,smiling.

  "They're having 'movies' to-night," he explained. "They're crazy aboutCharlie Chaplin."

  Then Terry understood better the spirit of the institution, and of itsinmates. This was no dungeon, it was a school where men were beingtaught how to live at peace with their kind, how to work,--and how tolaugh.

  Vaguely conscious of being the object of intent scrutiny by some onestationed behind his chair, Terry turned, restlessly, to face the Moroservant, who stood just within the circle of light cast by the lamp,his smoldering eyes fixed upon him. Unabashed, inscrutable, he studiedthe white youth unblinkingly: then, as if decision had ripened, heentered the full glare of the lamp and faced Wade, his master.

  Astounded at the extraordinary intrusion, Wade questioned him curtlyin his dialect. The Moro responded at length, in a listless monotonethat contrasted strangely with the determined gleam of his black eyes.Surprise flooded Wade's face, heightened to astonishment as the Morocontinued; and as he concluded his story with an expressive gesturetoward Terry, Wade struck his knee.

  "Well, I'll be everlastingly consumed!" he prophesied. He searchedTerry's thin face intently, then turned to the Governor.

  "This boy, Matak," he pointed to the passive Moro, "adopted me over ayear ago: just dropped in and said he was going to work for me. Ididn't need him--you know I draw on the trusties for servants--but hewould not accept refusal: he just stayed on. He is a fine servant, buta queer fish--I let him stay for both reasons! I've tried to persuadehim to go to different friends who needed servants, but he looked themover and then refused. I don't know where he came from, don't knowanything about his history: I only know that he is a very faithfulboy, with some grievance against life that leaves him morose andsilent.

  "Now he coolly announces," he paused to again study Terry'scountenance queerly, "now he says he is going with Lieutenant Terry!"

  The small but powerfully built Moro calmly returned the stare of thefour white men, his face passionless, his inert hands and thick barefeet curiously expressive of a primitiveness beyond conception.Evidently he had decided upon a course of action from which nothingwould sway him, and he waited until the white men should adjustthemselves to the fact. The Governor's face expressed his sympathywith the Moro as he turned to Wade and asked permission to address hisservant.

  "Matak, why do you wish to go with Lieutenant Terry?"

  The Moro shifted his brooding eyes to Terry, then back to the Governorbefore he answered.

  "Because I like him, sir."

  "Why do you like him?"

  "Because he understands, sir."

  "Understands what, Matak?"

  "He understands us, sir,--the unfortunate. Because he is lonely too,sir."

  The Governor had been trying all evening to solve the strange appealof Terry's countenance: the primitive Moro had understood. Gazing atthe white youth, the Governor saw that Matak was right. The tone inwhich he addressed Terry was gentle, fatherly.

  "Lieutenant, do you need a boy?"

  The Major's quick sympathy had been enlisted: "Lieutenant, you willrun your own mess down there," he interposed.

  Meeting the black eyes turned upon him in confident expectation, Terryfound their dull appeal irresistible.

  "He may come with me," he said. "I will look after him."

  Matak stood motionless a moment, then stepped to Wade and slipping toone knee pressed Wade's hand against his lips in token of gratitudeand farewell. Then he rose and went silently into the house.

  The Governor, the Major and Wade were busy men with largeresponsibilities: Terry found ample material for reverie incontemplation of what was opening up before him. The incident servedto stifle further conversation. The four settled comfortably into thelong rattan chairs drawn up near the railing, each content in the mereassociation with friends and occupied with his own problems.

  The quiet intimacy of the group was jarred by the sudden jangle of atelephone. Wade jumped up with a muttered excuse but before he hadcrossed to the open door it rang again, insistent. They heard hismurmured "hello," then an incredulous "What!" in higher pitch. Heappeared at the door, pale, excited.

  "Governor Mason," he exclaimed, "Captain Hornbecker reports that thereis a _juramentado_ loose between here and Zamboanga!"

  At the startling intelligence the Governor's feet rapped to the floor:the Major jumped to his feet, astounded.

  "Why," he protested, "who ever heard of a Moro running amuck at thistime of night!"

  "Hornbecker insists that it is true, nevertheless. He has sent adetachment out after him but was worried because the Governor and youmight have started before he got word for you to wait."

  The Governor shook his head decidedly: "We will not wait. Please callmy car."

  The Major's protest against the Executive's endangering himself diedin his throat at a quiet look from the Governor. They hurried to thecar, Wade delaying them a few seconds while he secured three heavypistols, handing one to each of the two officers. They found Matakwaiting in the seat beside the driver.

  A sharp order from the Governor and the chauffeur shot them out of thereservation and into the provincial road. The big Renault roaredthrough the night, the kilometer posts flitting by like specters, theheadlights tunneling the cocoanut groves through which the whitehighway spun.

  The four Americans crouched low in the tonneau to escape the blindingrush of air that eddied over the windshield. They shot over a bridge,tore through a dark village, rounded a corner at top speed and tookthe grassed shoulder of the road as the little chauffeur twisted thewheel to avoid a bewildered carabao which blocked the middle of thehighway. A sickening skid, and they were back in the road. At the endof a roaring flight down a long straightaway they rounded a sharpcurve into a short stretch terminating in a nipa village which seemedto leap toward the rushing car. As the powerful lights swung upon thewidened road which formed the village street the alert driver saw thatwhich brought foot and hand to the brakes in a frantic effort thatbrought the car to a grinding, sliding stop and tumbled the Americansto the floor of the tonneau.

  Crouched in the middle of the road a Moro, gone amuck, darted fanaticglances in search of the Christians he had vowed to die killing, hiseyes bloodshot with the self-inflicted torture of the juramentadorite. He balanced a great two-handed kris that gleamed like a row ofstars where the headlight struck its polished corrugations.

  A Filipino, unaware of the terrific figure behind him, had saunteredfrom the shadows into the path of light, curious, half-blinded by theglare he faced. As he reached the middle of the road the mostterrifying of all cries issued from one of the dark windows.

  "_Juramentado!! Juramentado!!!_"

  At the cry his face turned sickly green in the glare. He wheeled,uncertain, then ran blindly toward the frenzied Moro who was creepingtoward him.

  It happened with the swiftness of nightmare. By the time theAmericans had picked themselves up from the bottom of the car theFilipino's frantic burst had brought him within twenty feet of theblack-clad fanatic. His flying feet lagged to a halt, he stood stockstill in sheer horror till the Moro bounded toward him, then turnedback toward the car--too late!

  The four white men leaped out just as the Filipino turned back towardthem with fear-leaden feet, and in the moment of discovery of theMohammedan who leaped in his shadow, they saw the glistening bladerise above the Filipino's head and fall in a terrific sweep thatseemed to end at the point where neck and shoulder join. Before theireyes the body opened like a book.

  It seemed inconceivable, but the crazed face of the Moro showedthrough the cleft which widened as the victim fell.

  "God!" sobbed the Governor.

  Sighting the group of Americans the blood-crazed Mo
hammedan boundedtoward them triumphantly, swinging a kris which no longer gleamed.Bronner had reached the road first and stood in front. His heavypistol roared six times and at the last shot the leaping Moro spunclear around and fell heavily.

  He staggered to his feet and with the same implacable hatred gleamingin his eyes came on toward them, still grasping the awful weapon.Then, as Matak stepped out to meet him, armed only with a hub wrench,Terry's right hand extended in swift gesture as he shot once. The Morocollapsed to the road, limply, like a wet stocking off a line.

  His race was run, but he had taken one unbeliever with him to justifyhis claim to a choice seat in the Mohammedan heavens. There is acertain impressive earnestness about the followers of Mohammed.

  The dismayed villagers poured out into the street, venting theirfrenzied fear by kicking the dead fanatic. Captain Hornbecker, around-faced officer, arrived with his soldiers. As the chauffeur hademerged from his hiding place in the brush, the Governor turnedmatters over to the captain and the four drove on into Zamboanga. Allhad been sickened by the horror of the swift tragedy.

  They stopped at Bronner's house to get Terry's bag, then drove him tothe wharf. The _Francesca_ was about to cast off, her dim-lit decksloud with the confusion of misdirected effort.

  Terry sent Matak aboard, thanked the three warmly for their kindnessto him; after a moment of hesitation he added something that wasdrowned in a sudden rumble of winch. Two waiting sailors threw off thehawser in response to a shouted signal from the bridge. The threeAmericans remained at the end of the pier till after Terry had mountedto the deck and the boat swung out into the current.

  As they walked along the dark pier the Governor asked: "What was thathe was saying? I did not quite catch it."

  "I heard only part of it," answered Bronner. "It was something abouthow queer religions may be--he was thinking of the juramentado."

  Wade spoke: "Did you notice how hard the affair got him? Of course itwas a pretty stiff sight."

  "It wasn't that," said the Major, slowly. "From something he said tome to-day I know that he has had a horror of some day being compelledto kill a man--and the day came. I'm very sorry I didn't stop thatMoro devil--yet I hit him three times."

  The Governor walked the short distance to his residence. Wade droppedthe Major at his bungalow, and sat oblivious to the Major'soutstretched hand, musing.

  "Major," he said finally, "Matak's selecting Terry for hismaster--queer, isn't it?"

  "Huh!" growled the Major, "I would go with him myself--anywhere!"