THE K I N G ’ S BU S I NES S
Left: A sailing vessel seen in prewar days off the Mindanao coast.
Below: A Mindanao tribes man of the Philippines.
Harvest in the Douglas MacArthur Country
By JO H N R. TURNBULL*
B LL THE WORLD k n o w s how General Douglas MacArthur l Came safely through troubled waters, after Bataan and Corregidor, to the great island of Mindanao, sec ond largest of over 7,000 in the whole Philippine area. Our readers may be interested in making a visit with iis to the very area of Mindanao from which the General J:ook o ff by plane for Australia. This inland area is reached by traveling north from Cotabato on the coast, first by one of the many small launches that ply the waters of the Rio Grande River, and. the rest of the way on foot. Travel is slow. It was our privilege, before war occurred, to traverse this region thoroughly on an evangelistic mission. At six one morning, we boarded a small craft already crowded with pas sengers and baggage. We were off fdr the Northern interior, the real Doug las MacArthur country. *Founder and director o f the World Evan gelization Service, with headquarters in Flint, Mich., Dr. Turnbull travels throughout the United States in the interest of world-wide missions. For seven years, he served as a missionary in India, and was later transferred to the Holy Land. He has been privileged to visit many mission stations around the world.
For us, the five hours’ ride was a constant delight as we passed con tinuous groves of coconut palips, little farmhouses of bamboo, children bath ing in birthday suits, dug-out canoes bobbing in our wake, a few small villages clustered a m i d towering palms, water buffalo called carabao> that were cooling themselves in the river, a large crowd attending a wed ding, dozens of gaudy green birds fluttering around their nests in the sandy river bank, caves cut out of the bank to capture shrimps; and, finally, around the bend in the river we saw Dulawan. (That was a long sentence, but it was a long river, too!) At Dulawan, the middle of the street became so packed with human beings that we had to .walk single file through the throng, picking our way among gaily clothed country folk who hafi come to town fo r .market. Tem porary booths of bamboo and burlap afforded surprising sights, strange sounds, and significant smells. Some sold fish that needed no advertising, if one Were looking for genuine an tiques. An enterprising s a l e s l a d y , seated on the ground, kept beating a set of gongs to announce her brass- ware. We had some tasty ice cream
served in pink cup-cones, and sur vived! Unfamiliar vegetables in oddly woven baskets were offered by peas ants in peculiar garments. In the evening, several Moro men, Moslems, came to the home of the missionary to pay their respects, and I had an opportunity to witness to them for an hour. The Moros are much more difficult to win than other races on the Islands, but God can melt even the heart of a Moslem. Scores of them, in fact, have turned to Christ in the Philippines. On one occasion, on one of the smaller is lands, we had thè joy of seeing fifty Moslems «in one day accept Jesus Christ as their Saviour. Above Dulawan, the palm country gave way to rice fields. We crossed a river on a primitive ferry run by a fearfully and wonderfully made en gine, composed of parts from different cars. The model T seemed predomi nant. Ahead loomed low mountains. In a hamlet of twenty houses on stilts we halted at the bamboo home of a
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