Note 19 — “Allah Akbar!”

Passing through the ground-floor, which serves as a vestibule and storehouse for nondescript rubbish, I was met by several armed Moros who conducted me up a dark staircase, the lid of which, at the top, was raised to admit me to the royal presence. His Highness, the Majasari Hadji Mohammad Jamalul Kiram, reclining on a cane-bottomed sofa, graciously smiled, and extending his hand towards me, motioned to me to take the chair in front of him, whilst Mr. Schück sat on the sofa beside the Sultan. His Highness is about thirty-six years of age, short, thick set, wearing a slight moustache and his hair cropped very close. With a cotton sárong around his loins, the nakedness of his body down to the waist was only covered by jábul (vide p. 146) thrown loosely over him. Having explained that I was desirous of paying my respects to the son of the great Sultan whose hospitality I had enjoyed years ago at Maybun, I was offered a cigar and the conversation commenced. Just at that moment came the Prime Minister, who spoke a little English, and at the back of me, facing the Sultan, stood his trusted warriors in semi-circle, attired in fantastic garments and armed to the teeth. From time to time a dependent would come, bend the knee on the royal footstool and present the buyo box, or a message, or whatever His Highness called for. The footstool attracted my curiosity, and my eye was fixed on it for a while until I could decipher the lettering, which was upside down. At last I made it out—“Van Houtenʼs Cocoa.” The audience-chamber needs no minute description; it can be all summed up in bare boards, boxes, bundles, weapons, dirt, a dilapidated writing-desk, a couple of old chairs, and the Sultanʼs sofa-seat. Of course the Sultan had a grievance. The Americans, he said, had appropriated his pearl-fisheries, his tribute-money, and other sources of valuable income; they were diverting the taxes payable to him into their own coffers, with detriment to his estate and his dignity as a ruler.19 The questions in dispute and his position generally were, he added, to be discussed between him and the Insular Government in Manila in the following month. Naturally, the study of the man and his surroundings interested me far more than conversation on a subject which was not my business. Speaking with warmth, at every gesture the jábul would slide down to his waist, exposing his bare breast, so that perhaps I saw more of the Majasari than is the privilege of most European visitors. On leave-taking His Highness graciously presented me with a handsome Moro dress-sword and a betel-cutter set in a solid silver handle, and, in return, I sent him my portrait from Manila.