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. Schueck 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 _sarong_ around his loins, the
nakedness of his body down to the waist was only covered by _jabul_
(_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 Houten's 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 Sultan's 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. [264]
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 _jabul_ 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 Ma