Figure 9.

Figure 9.Recognized phases of the moon.Recognized phases of the moon.Fĭs-ka′-na. Ma-no′-wa. Kat-no-wa′-na. Fĭt-fi-tay′-ĕg. Ka-tol-pa-ka′-na. Ki-sul-fi-ka′-na. Sĭg-na′-a-na. Li′-mĕng.

Recognized phases of the moon.

Fĭs-ka′-na. Ma-no′-wa. Kat-no-wa′-na. Fĭt-fi-tay′-ĕg. Ka-tol-pa-ka′-na. Ki-sul-fi-ka′-na. Sĭg-na′-a-na. Li′-mĕng.

However, the Igorot do seldom count time by the phases of the moon, and the only solar period of time they know is that of the day. Their word for day is the same as for sun, a-qu′. They indicate the time of day by pointing to the sky, indicating the position the sun occupied when a particular event occurred.

There are two seasons in a year. One is Cha-kon′, having five moons, and the other is Ka-sĭp′, having eight moons. The seasons do not mark the wet and dry periods, as might be expected in a country having such periods. Cha-kon′ is the season of rice or “palay” growth and harvest, and Ka-sĭp′ is the remainder of the year. These two seasons, and the recognition that there are thirteen moons in one year, and that day follows night, are the only natural divisions of time in the Igorot calendar.

He has made an artificial calendar differing somewhat in all pueblos in name and number and length of periods. In all these calendars the several periods bear the names of the characteristic industrial occupations which follow one another successively each year. Eight of theseperiods make up the calendar of Bontoc pueblo, and seven of them have to do with the rice industry. Each period receives its name from that industry which characterizes its beginning, and it retains this name until the beginning of the next period, although the industry which characterized it may have ceased some time before.

I-na-na′ is the first period of the year, and the first period of the season Cha-kon′. It is the period, as they say, of no more work in the rice sementeras—that is, practically all fields are prepared and transplanted. It began in 1903 on February 11. It lasts about three months, continuing until the time of the first harvest of the rice or “palay” crop in May; in 1903 this was until May 2. This period is not a period of “no work”—it has many and varied labors.

The second period is La′-tûb. It is that of the first harvests, and lasts some four weeks, ending about June 1.

Cho′-ok is the third period. It is the time when the bulk of the palay is harvested. It occupies about four weeks, running over in 1903 two days in July.

Li′-pas is the fourth period. It is that of “no more palay harvest,” and lasts for about ten or fifteen days, ending probably about July 15. This is the last period of the season Cha-kon′.

The fifth period is Ba-li′-lĭng. It is the first period of the season Ka-sĭp′. It takes its name from the general planting of camotes, and is the only one of the calendar periods not named from the rice industry. It continues about six weeks, or until near the 1st of September.

Sa-gan-ma′ is the sixth period. It is the time when the sementeras to be used as seed beds for rice are put in condition, the earth being turned three different times. It lasts about two months. November 15, 1902, the seed rice was just peeping from the kernels in the beds of Bontoc and Sagada, and the seed is sown immediately after the third turning of the earth, which thus ended early in November.

Pa-chog′ is the seventh period of the annual calendar. It is the period of seed sowing, and begins about November 10. Although the seed sowing does not last many days, the period Pa-chog′ continues five or six weeks.

Sa′-ma is the last period of the calendar. It is the period in which the rice sementeras are prepared for receiving the young plants and in which these seedlings are transplanted from the seed beds. The last Sa′-ma was near seven weeks’ duration. It began about December 20, 1902, and ended February 10, 1903. Sa′-ma is the last period of the season Ka-sĭp′, and the last of the year.

The Igorot often says that a certain thing occurred in La′-tub, or will occur in Ba-li′-lĭng, so these periods of the calendar are held in mind as the civilized man thinks of events in time as occurring in some particular month.

The Igorot have a tradition that formerly the moon was also a sun, and at that time it was always day. Lumawig told the moon to be “moon,” and then there was night. Such a change was necessary, they say, so the people would know when to work—that is, when was the right time, the right moon, to take up a particular kind of labor.

The paucity of the pure mental life of the Igorot is nowhere more clearly shown than in the scarcity of folk tales.

I group here seven tales which are quite commonly known among the people of Bontoc. The second, third, fourth, and fifth are frequently related by the parents to their children, and I heard all of them the first time from boys about a dozen years old. I believe these tales are nearly all the pure fiction the Igorot has created and perpetuated from generation to generation, except the Lumawig stories.

The Igorot story-tellers, with one or two exceptions, present the bare facts in a colorless and lifeless manner. I have, therefore, taken the liberty of adding slightly to the tales by giving them some local coloring, but I have neither added to nor detracted from the facts related.

The Moon, a woman called “Ka-bi-gat′,” was one day making a large copper cooking pot. The copper was soft and plastic like potter’s clay. Ka-bi-gat′ held the heavy sagging pot on her knees and leaned the hardened rim against her naked breasts. As she squatted there—turning, patting, shaping, the huge vessel—a son of the man Chal-chal′, the Sun, came to watch her. This is what he saw: The Moon dipped her paddle, called “pĭp-i′,” in the water, and rubbed it dripping over a smooth, rounded stone, an agate with ribbons of colors wound about in it. Then she stretched one long arm inside the pot as far as she could. “Tub, tub, tub,” said the ribbons of colors as Ka-bi-gat′ pounded up against the molten copper with the stone in her extended hand. “Slip, slip, slip, slip,” quickly answered pĭp-i′, because the Moon was spanking back the many little rounded domes which the stone bulged forth on the outer surface of the vessel. Thus the huge bowl grew larger, more symmetrical, and smooth.

Suddenly the Moon looked up and saw the boy intently watching the swelling pot and the rapid playing of the paddle. Instantly the Moon struck him, cutting off his head.

Chal-chal′ was not there. He did not see it, but he knew Ka-bi-gat′ cut off his son’s head by striking with her pĭp-i′.

He hastened to the spot, picked the lad up, and put his head where it belonged—and the boy was alive.

Then the Sun said to the Moon:

“See, because you cut off my son’s head, the people of the Earth are cutting off each other’s heads, and will do so hereafter.”

“And it is so,” the story-tellers continue; “they do cut off each other’s heads.”

A man and woman had two boys. Every day the mother sent them into the mountains for wood to cook her food. Each morning as she sent them out she complained about the last wood they brought home.

One day they brought tree limbs; the mother complained, saying:

“This wood is bad. It smokes so much that I can not see, and soon I shall be blind.” And then she added, as was her custom:

“If you do not work well, you can have only food for dogs and pigs.”

That day, as usual, the boys had in their topil for dinner only boiled camote vines, such as the hogs eat, and a small allowance of rice, just as much as a dog is fed. At night the boys brought some very good wood—wood of the pitch-pine tree. In the morning the mother complained that such wood blackened the house. She gave them pig food in their topil, saying:

“Pig food is good enough for you because you do not work well.”

That night each boy brought in a large bundle of runo. The mother was angry, and scolded, saying:

“This is not good wood; it leaves too many ashes and it dirties the house.”

In the morning she gave them dog food for dinner, and the boys again went away to the mountains. They were now very thin and poor because they had no meat to eat. By and by the older one said:

“You wait here while I climb up this tree and cut off some branches.” So he climbed the tree, and presently called down:

“Here is some wood”—and the bones of an arm dropped to the ground.

“Oh, oh,” exclaimed the younger brother, “it is your arm!”

Again the older boy called, “Here is some more wood”—and the bones of his other arm fell at the foot of the tree.

Again he called, and the bones of a leg dropped; then his other leg fell. The next time he called, down came the right half of his ribs; and then, next, the left half of his ribs; and immediately thereafter his spinal column. Then he called again, and down fell his hair.

The last time he called, “Here is some wood,” his skull dropped on the earth under the tree.

“Here, take those things home,” said he. “Tell the woman that this is her wood; she only wanted my bones.”

“But there is no one to go with me down the mountains,” said the younger boy.

“Yes; I will go with you, brother,” quickly came the answer from the tree top.

So the boy tied up his bundle, and, putting it on his shoulder, started for the pueblo. As he did so the other—he was now Co-lĭng′—soared from the tree top, always flying directly above the boy.

When the younger brother reached home he put his bundle down, and said to the woman:

“Here is the wood you wanted.”

The woman and the husband, frightened, ran out of the house; they heard something in the air above them.

“Qu-iu′-kok! qu-iu′-kok! qu-iu′-kok!” said Co-lĭng′, as he circled around and around above the house. “Qu-iu′-kok! qu-iu′-kok!” he screamed, “now camotes and palay are your son. I do not need your food any longer.”

As the mother was pounding out rice to cook for supper, her little girl said:

“Give me some mo′-tĭng to eat.”

“No,” answered the mother, “mo′-tĭng is not good to eat; wait until it is cooked.”

“No, I want to eat mo′-tĭng,” said the little girl, and for a long time she kept asking her mother for raw rice.

At last her mother interrupted, “It is bad to talk so much.”

The rice was then all pounded out. The mother winnowed it clean, and put it in her basket, covering it up with the winnowing tray. She placed an empty olla on her head and went to the spring for water.

The anxious little girl reached quickly for the basket to get some rice, but the tray slipped from her grasp and fell, covering her beneath it in the basket.

The mother returned with the water to cook supper. She heard a bird crying, “King! king! nik! nik! nik!” When the woman uncovered the basket, Tilin, the little brown ricebird, flew away, calling:

“Good-bye, mother; good-bye, mother; you would not give me mo′-tĭng!”

The palay was in the milk and maturing rapidly. Many kinds of birds that knew how delicious juicy palay is were on hand to get their share, so the boys were sent to stay all day in the sementeras to frighten these little robbers away.

Every day a father sent out his two boys to watch his palay in a narrow gash in the mountain; and every day they carried their small basket full of cooked rice, white and delicious, but their mother put no meat in the basket.

Finally one of the boys said:

“It is bad not to have meat to eat; every day we have only rice.”

“Yes, it is bad,” said his brother. “We can not keep fat without meat; we are getting poor and thin, and pretty soon we shall die.”

“That is true,” answered the other boy; “pretty soon we shall die. I believe I shall be ka′-ag.”

And during the day thick hair came on this boy’s arms; and then he became hairy all over; and then it was so—he was ka′-ag, and he vanished in the mountains.

Then soon the other boy was ka′-ag, too. At night he went home and told the father:

“Your boy is ka′-ag; he is in the mountains.”

The boy ran out of the house quickly. The father went to the mountains to get his boy, but ka′-ag ran up a tall tree; at the foot of the tree was a pile of bones. The father called his son, and ka′-ag came down the tree, and, as the father went toward him, ka′-ag stood up clawing and striking at the man with his hands, and breathing a rough throat cry like this:

“Haa! haa! haa!”

Then the man ran home crying, and he never got his boys.

Pretty soon there was a-sa′-wan nan ka′-ag3with a babe. Then there were many little children; and then, pretty soon, the mountains were full of monkeys.

There were two young men who were the very greatest of friends.

One tattooed the other beautifully. He tattooed his arms and his legs, his breast and his belly, and also his back and face. He marked him beautifully all over, and he rubbed soot from the bottom of an olla into the marks, and he was then very beautiful.

When the tattooer finished his work he turned to his friend, and said: “Now you tattoo me beautifully, too.”

So the young men scraped together a great pile of black, greasy soot from pitch-pine wood; and before the other knew what the tattooed one was doing he rubbed soot over him from finger tip to finger tip. Then the black one asked:

“Why do you tattoo me so badly?”

Without waiting for an answer they began a terrible combat. When,suddenly, the tattooed one was a large lizard, fa-ni′-as,4and he ran away and hid in the tall grass; and the sooty black one was gay-yang, the crow,5and he flew away and up over Bontoc, because he was ashamed to enter the pueblo after quarreling with his old friend.

The old men say that a man of Mayinit came to live in Bontoc, as he had married a Bontoc woman and she wished to live in her own town.

After a while the man died. His friends came to the funeral, and a snake, o-wûg′, also came. When the people wept, o-wûg′ cried also. When they put the dead man in the grave, and when they stood there looking, o-wûg′ came to the grave and looked upon the man, and then went away.

Later, when the friends observed the death ceremony, o-wûg′ also came.

“O-wûg′ thus showed himself to be a friend and companion of the Igorot. Sometime in the past he was an Igorot, but we have not heard,” the old men say, “when or how he was o-wûg′.”

“We never kill o-wûg′; he is our friend. If he crosses our path on a journey, we stop and talk. If he crosses our path three or four times, we return home, because, if we continue our journey then, some of us will die. O-wûg′ thus comes to tell us not to proceed; he knows the bad anito on every trail.”

The Bontoc people have another folk tale regarding head taking. In it Lumawig, their god, taught them how to discover which pueblo had taken the head of one of their members. They repeat this story as a ceremony in the pabafunan after every head lost, though almost always they know what pueblo took it. It is as follows:

“A very great time ago a man and woman had two sons. Far up in the mountains they owned some garden patches. One day they told the boys to go and see whether the stone wall about the garden needed repair; but the boys said they did not wish to go, so the father went alone. As he did not return at nightfall, his sons started into the mountains to find him. They bound together two small bunches of runo for torches to light up the steep, rough, twisting trail. One torch was burning when they went out, and they carried the other to light them home again. Nowhere along the trail did they find their father; he had not been injured in the path, nor could they find where he had fallen over a cliff. So they passed on to the garden; there they found their father’s headless body. They searched for blood inthe bushes and grass, but they found nothing—no blood, no enemies’ tracks.

“They carried the strange corpse down the mountain trail to their home in Bontoc. Then they hastened to the pabafunan, and there they told the men what had befallen their father. The old men counseled together, and at last one of them said: ‘Lumawig told the old men of the past, so the old men last dead told me, that should any son find his father beheaded, he should do this: He should ask, “Who took my father’s head? Did Tukukan take it? Did Sakasakan take it?” ’ and Lumawig said, ‘He shall know who took his father’s head.’

“So the boys took a basket, the fangao, to represent Lumawig, and stuck it full of chicken feathers. Before the fangao they placed a small cup of basi. Then squatting in front with the cup at their feet they put a small piece of pork on a stick and held it over the cup. ‘Who took my father’s head?—did Tukukan?’ they asked. But the pork and the cup and the basket all remained still. ‘Did Sakasakan?’ asked the boys all was as before. They went over a list of towns at enmity with Bontoc, but there was no answer given them. At last they asked, ‘Did the Moon?’—but still there was no answer. ‘Did the Sun?’ the boys asked, and suddenly the piece of pork slid from the stick into the basi. And this was the way Lumawig had said a person should know who took his father’s head.

“The Sun, then, was the guilty person. The two boys took some dogs and hastened to the mountains where their father was killed. There the dogs took up the scent of the enemy, and followed it in a straight line to a very large spring where the water boiled up, as at Mayinit where the salt springs are. The scent passed into this bubbling, tumbling water, but the dogs could not get down. When the dogs returned to land the elder brother tried to enter, but he failed also. Then the younger brother tried to get down; he succeeded in going beneath the water, and there he saw the head of his father, and young men in a circle were dancing around it—they were the children of the Sun. The brother struck off the head of one of these young men, caught up his father’s head, and, with the two heads, escaped. When he reached his elder brother the two hastened home to their pueblo.”

1The bird called “co-lĭng′” by the Bontoc Igorot is the serpent eagle (Spilomis holosplilusVigors). It seems to be found in no section of Bontoc Province except near Bontoc pueblo.There were four of these large, tireless creatures near the pueblo, but an American shot one in 1900. The other three may be seen day in and day out, high above the mountain range west of the pueblo, sailing like aimless pleasure boats. Now and then they utter their penetrating cry of “qu-iu′-kok.”

1The bird called “co-lĭng′” by the Bontoc Igorot is the serpent eagle (Spilomis holosplilusVigors). It seems to be found in no section of Bontoc Province except near Bontoc pueblo.

There were four of these large, tireless creatures near the pueblo, but an American shot one in 1900. The other three may be seen day in and day out, high above the mountain range west of the pueblo, sailing like aimless pleasure boats. Now and then they utter their penetrating cry of “qu-iu′-kok.”

2Munia jagori(Martens).

3“A wife monkey.”

4An iguana sometwo feetlong.

5Corone philippa(Bonap.).

The language of the Bontoc Igorot is sufficiently distinct from all others to be classed as a separate dialect. However, it is originally from a parent stock which to-day survives more or less noticeably over probably a much larger part of the surface of the earth than the tongue of any other primitive people.

The language of every group of primitive people in the Philippine Archipelago, except the Negrito, is from that same old tongue. Mr. Homer B. Hulbert1has recorded vocabularies of ten groups of people in Formosa; and those vocabularies show that the people belong to the same great linguistic family as the Bontoc Igorot. Mr. Hulbert believes that the language of Korea is originally of the same stock as that of Formosa. In concluding his article he says:

We find therefore that out of a vocabulary of fifty words there are fifteen in which a distinct similarity [between Korean and Formosan] can be traced, and in not a few of the fifteen the similarity amounts to practical identity.

The Malay language of Malay Peninsula, Java, and Sumatra is from the same stock language. So are many, perhaps all, the languages of Borneo, Celebes, and New Zealand. This same primitive tongue is spread across the Pacific and shows unmistakably in Fiji, New Hebrides, Samoa, and Hawaii. It is also found in Madagascar.

The Bontoc man has not begun even the simplest form of permanent mechanical record in the line of a written language, and no vocabulary of the language has before been published.

The following alphabet was used in writing Bontoc words in this study:

The sounds which I have represented by the unmarked vowelsa, e, i, o, andu, Swettenham and Clifford in their Malay Dictionary represent by the vowels with a circumflex accent. The sound which I have indicated byûthey indicate byă. Other variations will be noted.

The sound represented bya, it must be noted, has not always the same force or quantity, depending on an open or closed syllable and the position of the vowel in the word.

So far as I know there is norsound in the Bontoc Igorot language. The word “Igorot” when used by the Bontoc man is pronounced Igolot. In an article on “The Chamorro language of Guam”2it is noted that in that language there was originally norsound but that in modern times many words formerly pronounced by anlsound now have that letter replaced byr.

The language of the Bontoc area is not stable, but is greatly shifting. In pueblos only a few hours apart there are not only variations in pronunciation but in some cases entirely different words are used, and in a single pueblo there is great inconsistency in pronunciation.

It is often impossible to determine the exact sound of vowels, even in going over common words a score of times with as many people. The accent seems very shifting and it is often difficult to tell where it belongs.

Several initial consonants of words and syllables are commonly interchanged, even by the same speaker if he uses a word more than once during a conversation. That this fickleness is a permanency in the language rather than the result of the present building of new words is proved by ato names, words in use for many years—probably many hundred years.

One of the most frequent interchanges is that ofbandf. This is shown in the following ato names: Bu-yay′-yĕng or Fu-yay′-yĕng; Ba-tay′-yan or Fa-tay′-yan; Bi′-lĭg or Fi′-lĭg; and Long-boi′ or Long-foi′. It is also shown in two other words where one would naturally expect to find permanency—the names of the men’s public buildings in the ato, namely, ba′-wi or fa′-wi, and pa-ba-bu′-nan or pa-ba-fu′-nan. Other common illustrations are found in the words ba-to or fa-to (stone) and ba-bay′-i or fa-fay′-i (woman).

Another constant interchange is that ofchandd. This also is shown well in names of ato, as follows: Cha-kong′ or Da-kong′; Pud-pud-chog′ or Pud-pud-dog′; and Si-gi-chan′ or Si-gi-dan′. It is shown also in chi′-la or di′-la (tongue).

The interchange of initialkandgis constant. These letters are interchanged in the following names of ato: Am-ka′-wa or Am-ga′-wa; Lu-wa′-kan or Lu-wa′-gan; and Ung-kan′ or Ung-gan′. Other illustrations are ku′-lĭd or gu′-lĭd (itch) and ye′-ka or ye′-ga (earthquake).

The following three words illustrate both the last two interchanges: Cho′-ko or Do′-go (name of an ato); pag-pa-ga′-da or pag-pa-ka′-cha (heel); and ka-cho′ or ga-de′-o (fish).

The nouns appear to undergo slight change to indicate gender, number, or case. To indicate sex the noun is followed by the word for woman or man—as, a′-su fa-fay′-i (female dog), or a′-su la-la′-ki (male dog). The same method is employed to indicate sex in the case of the third personal pronoun Si′-a or Si-to-di′. Si′-a la-le′-ki or Si-to-di′ la-la′-ki is used to indicate the masculine gender, and Si′-a fa-fay′-i or Si-to-di′ fa-fay′-i the feminine.

The plural form of the noun is sometimes the same as the singular. Plural number may also be expressed by use of the word ang-san (many) or am-in′ (all) in addition to the noun. It is sometimes expressed by repetition of syllables, as la-la′-ki (man), la-la-la′-ki (men); sometimes, also, by the prefix ka together with repetition of syllables, as li-fo′-o (cloud), ka-li′-fo-li-fo′-o (clouds). There seems to be no definite law in accordance with which these several plural forms are made. When in need of plurals in this study the singular form has always been used largely for simplicity.

The personal pronouns are:

Examples of the possessive as indicated in the first person are given below:

Other examples of the possessive are not at hand, but these given indicate that, as in most Malay dialects, a noun with a possessive suffix is one form of the possessive.

Scheerer3gives the possessive suffixes of the Benguet Igorot as follows:

These possessive suffixes in the Benguet Igorot language are the same, according to Scheerer, as the suffixes used in verbal formation.

The verbal suffixes of the Bontoc Igorot are very similar to those of the Benguet. It is therefore probable that the possessive suffixes are also very similar.

It is interesting to note that in the Chamorro language of Guam the possessive suffixes for the first person correspond to those of the Igorot—myiskoandourista.

Mention has been made of the verbal suffixes. Their use is shown in the following paradigms:

The suffixes are given below, and the relation they bear to the personal pronouns is also shown by heavy-faced type:

The Benguet suffixes as given by Scheerer are:

The verbal suffixes seem to be commonly used by the Bontoc Igorot in verbal formations. The tense of a verb standing alone seems always indefinite; the context alone tells whether the present, past, or future is indicated.

About eighty-five words have been selected expressing simple ideas. These are given in the Bontoc Igorot language and as far as possible in the Benguet Igorot; they are also given in the Malay and the Sulu languages.

Of eighty-six words in both Malay and Bontoc 32 per cent are clearlyderived from the same root words, and of eighty-four words in the Sulu and Bontoc 45 per cent are from the same root words. Of sixty-eight words in both Malay and Benguet 34 per cent are from the same root words, and 47 per cent of sixty-seven Benguet and Sulu words are from the same root words. Of sixty-four words in Bontoc and Benguet 58 per cent are the same or nearly the same.

These facts suggest the movement of the Philippine people from the birthplace of the parent tongue, and also the great family of existing allied languages originating in the primitive Malayan language. They also suggest that the Bontoc and the Benguet peoples came away quite closely allied from the original nest, and that they had association with the Sulu later than with the Malay.

[In the following compilation works have been consulted respectively as follows: Malay—Hugh Clifford and Frank Athelstane Swettenham, A Dictionary of The Malay Language (Taiping, Perak; in parts, Part I appearing 1894, Part III appearing 1904); Sulu—Andson Cowie, English-Sulu-Malay Vocabulary, with Useful Sentences, Tables, etc. (London, 1893); Benguet Igorot—Otto Scheerer, The Ibaloi Igorot, MS. in MS. Coll., The Ethnological Survey for the Philippine Islands.]

The following vocabulary is presented in groups with the purpose of throwing additional light on the grade of culture the Igorot has attained.

No words follow which represent ideas borrowed of a modern culture; for instance, I do not record what the Igorot calls shoes, pantaloons, umbrellas, chairs, or books, no one of which objects he naturally possesses.

Whereas it is not claimed that all the words spoken by the Igorotfollow under the various headings, yet it is believed that the man’s vocabulary is nearly exhausted under such headings as “Cosmology,” “Clothing, dress, and adornment,” and “Weapons, utensils, etc.:”

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