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+font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; +} + +body, a.hidden +{ +color: black; +} + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 +{ +color: #001FA4; +font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; +} + +p.byline +{ +font-style: italic; +margin-bottom: 2em; +} + +.figureHead, .noteref, span.leftnote, p.legend, .versenum, .stage +{ +color: #001FA4; +} + +.rightnote, .pagenum, .linenum, .pagenum a +{ +color: #AAAAAA; +} + +a.hidden:hover, a.noteref:hover +{ +color: red; +} + +p.dropcap:first-letter +{ +color: #001FA4; +font-weight: bold; +} + + + +</style></head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Great White Tribe in Filipinia, by Paul T. Gilbert + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Great White Tribe in Filipinia + +Author: Paul T. Gilbert + +Release Date: March 22, 2008 [EBook #24897] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT WHITE TRIBE IN FILIPINIA *** + + + + +Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by the +Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State University +Libraries [text] and The Internet Archive [illustrations].) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="front"> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><p></p> +<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/front.jpg" alt="Original Front Cover." width="477" height="720"></div><p> + + + + + +</p> +</div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><p></p> +<div class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/titlepage.gif" alt="Original Title Page." width="493" height="720"></div><p> + + + +</p> +</div> +<div class="titlePage"> +<h1 class="docTitle">The Great White Tribe in Filipinia</h1> +<h2 class="byline">By +<br> +<span class="docAuthor">Paul T. Gilbert</span></h2> +<h2 class="docImprint">Cincinnati: Jennings and Pye<br> +New York: Eaton and Mains +</h2> +</div><div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><p class="aligncenter">Copyright, 1903,<br> +by Jennings and Pye + + + +<a id="d0e121"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e121">3</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="normal">Preface</h2> +<p>The legendary white tribe that is said to wander in the mountains of Mindoro is but distantly related to the Great White Tribe +now scattered through the greater part of Filipinia. Extending from the Babuyanes off Luzon, to Tawi-Tawi and Sibutu off the +coast of Borneo, the Great White Tribe has made its presence felt throughout the archipelago. + +</p> +<p>The following pages are the record of my own impressions and experiences in the Philippines. The few historical and geographical +allusions made have been selected only as they were significant, explanatory, picturesque. A logical arrangement of the chapters +will enable the reader to survey the islands as a great bird hovering above might do—will make the map of Filipinia “look +like a postage-stamp.” + +</p> +<p>I promise that the reader shall be introduced to all the most important members of the Great White Tribe, as well as to the +representatives of races brown and black. We will peep through the hedge together as the <a id="d0e131"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e131">4</a>]</span>savages and pagans execute their grotesque dances or perform their sacrifices to the god of the volcano. Furthermore, the +reader shall attend the Oroquieta Ball with Maraquita and Don Julian, or, if he likes, with “Foxy Grandpa” and “The Arizona +Babe.” + +</p> +<p>I ought to dedicate this book to many people,—to that wonderful brown baby Primitivo, who has written that he “loves me the +most best of all the world;” to “Fresno Bill,” that charter member of the Great White Tribe, with whom I have knocked around +from Zamboanga to Vigan; or to that coterie of college men in old Manila who extended me so many courtesies while I was there. +I send them all my compliments from the homeland, and ask the reader, if he will, to do likewise. + +</p> +<p><span class="smallcaps">Cincinnati, Ohio</span>, + +</p> +<p><i>December, 1903.</i> + + + + +<a id="d0e143"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e143">5</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e144" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="normal">Contents</h2> +<ol class="lsoff"> +<li>Chapter <span class="tocPagenum">Page</span> + +</li> +<li>I. <a href="#d0e405">In Old Manila</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">9</span></li> +<li>II. <a href="#d0e535">All About the Town</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">23</span></li> +<li>III. <a href="#d0e739">The White Man’s Life</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">36</span></li> +<li>IV. <a href="#d0e881">Around the Provinces</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">50</span></li> +<li>V. <a href="#d0e1072">On Summer Seas</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">67</span></li> +<li>VI. <a href="#d0e1200">Among the Pagan Tribes</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">80</span></li> +<li>VII. <a href="#d0e1299">A Lost Tribe and the Servants of Mohammed</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">97</span></li> +<li>VIII. <a href="#d0e1458">In a <span id="d0e206" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> Village</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">121</span></li> +<li>IX. <a href="#d0e1847">The “Brownies” of the Philippines</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">142</span></li> +<li>X. <a href="#d0e1922">Christmas in Filipinia</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">150</span></li> +<li>XI. <a href="#d0e2043">In a <span id="d0e230" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> Home</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">163</span></li> +<li>XII. <a href="#d0e2224">Leaves from a Note-book</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">181</span> + +<ol class="lsoff"> +<li>1. <a href="#d0e2229">Skim Organizes the Constabulary</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">181</span></li> +<li>2. <a href="#d0e2381">Last Days at Oroquieta</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">195</span></li> +</ol> +</li> +<li>XIII. <a href="#d0e2779">In Camp and Barracks with the Officers and Soldiers of the Philippines</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">223</span><a id="d0e266"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e266">6</a>]</span></li> +<li>XIV. <a href="#d0e3018">Padre Pedro, Recoleto Priest.—The Routine of a Friar in the Philippines</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">236</span></li> +<li>XV. <a href="#d0e3179">General Rufino in the Moro Country</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">254</span></li> +<li>XVI. <a href="#d0e3371">On the Iligan-Marahui Road</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">270</span></li> +<li>XVII. <a href="#d0e3472">The Filipino at Play</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">280</span></li> +<li>XVIII. <a href="#d0e3602"><span id="d0e298" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> Ethics and Philosophy</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">292</span></li> +</ol><a id="d0e304"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e304">7</a>]</span></div> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="normal">Illustrations</h2> +<ol class="lsoff"> +<li><a href="#d0e3729">Map of Filipinia</a>, <span class="tocPagenum"><i>Frontispiece</i></span></li> +<li> <span class="tocPagenum">Facing Page</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e399">In Old Manila</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">8</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e573">All About the Town</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">26</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e1099">On Summer Seas</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">68</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e1316">Negrito Pigmy Vagrants</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">98</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e1453">Our Latest Citizens</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">120</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e1654">In a <span id="d0e353" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> Village</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">128</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e1869">A Carabao</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">144</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e3050">The Oldest Cathedral of Manila</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">238</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e3218">General Rufino in Moro Country</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">256</span> +</li> +<li><a href="#d0e3223">Captain Isidro Rillas with the Datto</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">256</span></li> +<li><a href="#d0e3413">A Deserted Moro Shack</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">274</span> +</li> +<li><a href="#d0e3418">Moro Weapons (Spear and Dirk)</a>, <span class="tocPagenum">274</span></li> +</ol><a id="d0e397"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e397">8</a>]</span><p></p> +<div id="d0e399" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p008.jpg" alt="In Old Manila (River Opposite Custom-House)" width="720" height="441"><p class="figureHead">In Old Manila (River Opposite Custom-House)</p> +</div><p> + + + +</p> +</div> +</div><a id="d0e403"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e403">9</a>]</span><div class="body"> +<div id="d0e405" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter I.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">In Old Manila.</h2> +<p>As the big white transport comes to anchor three miles out in the green waters of Manila Bay, a fleet of launches races out +to meet the messenger from the Far West. The customs officers in their blue uniforms, the medical inspectors, and the visitors +in white duck suits and panama hats, taking their ease upon the launches without the slightest sign of curiosity, give one +his first impressions of the Oriental life—the white man’s easy-going life in the Far East. But the ideas of the newcomer +are to undergo a change after his first few days on shore, when he takes up the grind, and realizes that his face is getting +pasty—that the cool veranda and the drive on the Luneta do not constitute the entire program, even in Manila. + +</p> +<p>Unwieldy lighters and strange-looking <i>cascos</i> now surround the transport, and the new arrival sees the Filipino for the first time. Under <a id="d0e417"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e417">10</a>]</span>the woven helmet of the nearest <i>casco</i> squats a shriveled woman, one of the witches from Macbeth, stirring a blackened pot of rice. A gamecock struggles at his +tether in the stern, while the deck amidships swarms with wiry brown men, with bristling pompadours and feet like rubber, +with wide-spreading toes. With unintelligible cries they crowd the gunwale, spurning the iron hull of the transport with long +billhooks, as the heavy swell sucks out the water, leaving the streaming sluices and the great red hull exposed, and threatening +at the inrush of the sea to bump the <i>casco</i> soundly against the solid iron plates of the larger ship. A most disreputable-looking crew it is, the ragged trousers rolled +up to the knee, the network shirts, or cotton blouses full of holes drawn down outside. Highly excitable, and yet good-natured +as they work, they take possession and disgorge the ship, while Chinamen descend the hatchways after dirty clothes. + +</p> +<p>Off in the hazy distance lies Cavite, or “the port,” with its white mist of war ships lying at anchor where the stout Dutch +galleons rode, in 1647, to attack the Spanish caravels, retiring only <a id="d0e427"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e427">11</a>]</span>after the Dutch admiral fell wounded mortally; where later, in the nineteenth century, the Spanish fleet put out to meet the +white armada, the grim battleships of Admiral Dewey’s line. Where now the lazy sailing vessels and the blackened tramps are +anchored, lay, in 1593, the hostile Chinese junks, with the barbaric eye daubed on the bows, the gunwales bristling with iron +cannon that had scorned the typhoons of the China Sea and gathered in Manila Bay. + +</p> +<p>This bay has been the scene of history-making since the sixteenth century. Soon after the flotilla of Legaspi landed the first +Spanish settlers on the crescent beach around Manila Bay, the little garrison was put to test by the invasion of the Chinese +pirate, Li Ma Hong. The memory of that brave defense in which the Spaniards routed the Mongolian invader, even the disaster +of that first of May can never drown. In 1582 the little fleet put out against the Japanese corsair, Taifusa, and returned +victorious. In 1610 the fleet of the Dutch pirates was destroyed off Mariveles. Those were stirring days when, but a few years +later, the armada of Don Juan de <a id="d0e431"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e431">12</a>]</span>Silva left Manila Bay again to test the mettle of the Dutch. Another naval encounter with the Dutch resulted in a victory +for Spanish arms in 1620 in San Bernardino Straits. And off Corregidor, whose blue peak marks the entrance to Manila Bay, +the Dutchmen were again defeated by the galleons of Don Geronimo de Silva. Now, near the Cavite shore, is seen the twisted +wreck of one of the ill-fated men of war that went down under the intolerable fire from Dewey’s broad-sides. And in 1899 the +Spanish transports left Manila Bay forever under the command of Don Diego de los Rios, with the remnant of the Spanish troops +aboard. + +</p> +<p>The city of Manila lies in a broad crescent, with its white walls and the domes of churches glowing in the sun. On landing +at the Anda monument, you find the gray walls and the moss-grown battlements of the old garrison—a winding driveway leading +across the swampy moat and disappearing through the mediæval city gate. This portion of Manila, laid out in the sixteenth +century by De Legaspi, occupies the territory on the south side of the Pasig River at the mouth. <a id="d0e435"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e435">13</a>]</span>The frowning walls of the <i lang="es"><span id="d0e438" class="corr" title="Source: Curatel">Cuartel</span> de Santiago</i> loom above the bustling river opposite the customs-house. + +</p> +<p>Here, where the young American army officers look out expectantly for the arrival of the transport that is to bring them their +promotions, or to take them home, Geronimo de Silva was confined for not pursuing the Dutch vessels after the sea fight off +Corregidor. The crumbling walls still whisper of intrigue and secrecy. The fort was built in 1587, and became the base of +operations, not only against the pirate fleets of the Chinese, the Moros, and the Dutch, but also in the riots of the Chinese +and the Japanese that broke out frequently in the old days. At one time twenty thousand Chinamen were beaten back by an alliance +of the Spaniards, Japanese, and natives. On this historic ground the treaty was made in 1570 between the Spaniards and the +rajas of Manila, Soliman and Lacandola. The walls survived the fire of 1603. The earthquake causing the evacuation of Manila +could not shake them. Another prisoner of state, Corcuera, who had fought the Moros in the Jolo Archipelago, was <a id="d0e444"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e444">14</a>]</span>locked up in the <i lang="es">Cuartel de Santiago</i> at the instance of his Machiavellian successor. In 1642 the fort was strengthened by additional artillery because of an expected +visit from the Dutch. Today a soldier in a khaki uniform mounts guard at the street entrance. The courtyard is adorned by +pyramids of cannon-balls and tidy rows of <i>bonga</i>-trees. The soldiers’ quarters line the avenue on either side, and bugle-calls resound where formerly was heard the call of +the night watchman. + +</p> +<p>A number of elaborate but narrow passages—dim, gloomy archways, where the chain and windlass stand dust-covered from disuse—connect +the walled town with the extra-muros sections. The <i lang="es">Puerto del Parian</i>, on the Ermita side, is one of the most imposing of these gates. Near the botanical gardens on the boulevard, at the small +booth where Juliana sells cigars and bottled soda, following the turnpike over the moat, you come to the Parian gate, crowned +by the Spanish arms, in crumbling bas-relief. Beyond the drawbridge—lowered never to be raised again—where rumbling pony-carts +crowd the pedestrians to the wall, the passage opens into gloomy dungeons, with <a id="d0e457"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e457">15</a>]</span>barred windows looking out upon the stagnant waters of the moat. With an involuntary shudder, you pass on. A native policeman, +in an opera-bouffe uniform, stands at the further end in order to dispatch the vehicles that can not pass each other in the +narrow gate. Windowless, yellow walls, upon the corners of the streets, make reckless driving very dangerous, and collisions +frequently occur. A vacant sentry-box stands just within the city walls, and, turning here into the long street, you immediately +find yourself in an old Spanish town. + +</p> +<p>Here the grand churches and the public buildings are located; the cathedral, after the Romano-Byzantine style of architecture; +the <i lang="es">Palacio</i>, built after Spanish notions of magnificence, around a courtyard shaded by rare trees; and many other edifices, used for +official and ecclesiastic purposes. The streets are paved with cobblestone and laid out regularly in squares, in accordance +with the plan of De Legaspi, so that one side or the other will be always in the shade. Beautiful plazas, with their palms +and statues, frequently relieve the glare of the white walls. The sidewalks <a id="d0e464"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e464">16</a>]</span>are narrow, and are sheltered by projecting balconies. + +</p> +<p>The heavily-barred windows, ponderous doors, and quaint signboards give the streets an old-world aspect, while <i lang="es">Calle Real</i> is spanned by an arched gallery, like the Venetian Bridge of Sighs. Tailor-shops, laundries, restaurants, and barber-shops, +where swinging punkas waft the odor of bay rum through open doors, suggest a scene from some forgotten story-book or the stage-setting +for an Elizabethan play. In the commercial streets the absence of show-windows will be noticed. Bookstores display their wares +on stands outside, while of the contents of the other shops, one can obtain no adequate idea until he enters through the open +doors. The interesting signboards, whether they can be interpreted or not, tend to excite the curiosity. “<i lang="es">Los Dos Hermanos</i>” (The Two Brothers) is a tailor-shop, a <i lang="es">Sastreria</i>; and the shoestore a <i lang="es">Zapateria</i>. The family grocery-store, <i lang="es">El Globo</i>, is advertised by a huge globe, battered from long years of service; and <i lang="es">La Lira</i>, or the music-store, may be known by the sign of the gold lyre. +<a id="d0e486"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e486">17</a>]</span></p> +<p>These streets have been the scene of many a drama in the past. Earthquakes in 1645, in 1863, and 1880, caused great loss of +life and property. The plague broke out in 1628, when Spaniards, Filipinos, and Chinese were swept off indiscriminately. Later, +epidemics of smallpox and cholera have made a prison and a pesthouse of Manila. Only in 1902 the city suffered from a run +of cholera, and the Americans, in spite of all precautions, could not stop the spread of the disease. The streets were flushed +at night; districts of native houses were put to the torch, and the detention-camp was full of suffering humanity. The natives, +in their ignorance, went through the streets in long processions, carrying the images of saints, chanting, and burning candles, +and at night would throw the bodies of the dead into the river or the canal. The ships lay wearily at quarantine out in the +bay, and the chorus of bells striking the hour at night was heard over the quiet waters. Officers patrolled the streets, inspected +drains and cesspools where the filth of ages had collected, giving the forgotten corners of Manila such a cleaning as they +never had received before. +<a id="d0e489"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e489">18</a>]</span></p> +<p>But there were days of triumph and rejoicing—days such as had come to Greece and Rome; days when the level of life was raised +to heights of inspiration. Not only have the streets re-echoed to the martial music of the victorious Americans when Governor +Taft or the vice-governor were welcomed, but the town had rung with shouts of triumph when provincial troops had come back +from the conquest of barbarians, or when the fleets returned from victories over the Dutch and English and the Moro pirates +of the southern archipelago. And the streets reverberated to the sound of drum and trumpet when, in 1662, the special companies +of guards were organized to put down the rebellion of the Chinese in the suburbs. But in 1762 the town capitulated to the +English, and the occupation by Americans more than a century later, was a repetition of the scenes enacted then. + +</p> +<p>Because of the volcanic condition of the island, the houses can not be built more than two stories high. The ground floor +is of stone, and contains, besides the storehouse or a suite of living rooms, <a id="d0e494"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e494">19</a>]</span>the stables, arranged around a tiled courtyard, where the carriages are washed. A broad stairway conducts to the main corridor +above. The floor, of polished hardwood, is uncarpeted and scrupulously clean. Each morning the <i lang="es">muchachos</i> (house-boys) mop the floor with kerosene, skating around the room on rags tied to their feet, or pushing a piece of burlap +on all fours across the floor. The walls are frescoed pink and blue; the ceiling is often of painted canvas. The windows, +fitted with translucent shell in tiny squares, slide back and forth, so that the balcony can be thrown open to the light. +Double walls, making an alcove on one side, keep out the heat of the ascending or descending sun. The balcony at evening is +a favorite resort, and visitors are entertained in open air. In the interior arrangement of the houses, little originality +is shown, the Spaniards having insisted upon merely formal principles of art. The stiff arrangement of the chairs, facing +each other in precise rows, as if a conclave were about to be held, does not invite conviviality. There are few pictures on +the walls,—a faded <a id="d0e499"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e499">20</a>]</span>chromo, possibly, in a gilt frame, representing some old-fashioned prospect of Madrid, or the tinted portrait of the royal +family. + +</p> +<p>The Spanish residents and the <i lang="es">mestizos</i> entertain with great politeness and formality. Five o’clock is the fashionable hour for visiting, as earlier in the afternoon +the family is liable to be in <i lang="fr">négligée</i>. The Spanish women, in loose, morning gowns, or blouses, and in flapping slippers, present a rather slovenly appearance during +morning hours; also the children, in their “union” suits, split tip the back, impress the stranger as untidy. During the noon +<i lang="es">siesta</i> everybody goes to sleep, to come to life late in the afternoon. At eight o’clock the chandelier is lighted and the evening +meal is served. This is a very formal dinner, consisting of innumerable courses of the same thing cooked in different styles. +A glass of <i lang="es">tinto</i> wine, a glass of water, and a toothpick whittled by the loving hands of the <i lang="es">muchacho</i>, finishes the meal. The kitchen is located in the rear, and generally overlooks the court, and near by are the bathroom and +the laundry. + +</p> +<p>In the walled city small hotels are numerous, <a id="d0e520"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e520">21</a>]</span>their entryways well banked with potted palms. The usual stone courtyard, damp with water, is surrounded by the pony-stalls, +where dirty stable-boys go through their work mechanically, smoking cigarettes. The dining-room and office occupy most of +the second floor. This is the library, reception-room, and ladies’ parlor, all in one; the guest-rooms open into this apartment. +These are very small, containing a big Spanish tester-bed, with a cane bottom, and the other necessary furniture. The sliding +windows open out into the street or the attractive courtyard, and the room reminds you somewhat of an opera-box. My own room +looked out at the hospital of San José, where a big clock, rather weatherbeaten, tolled the hours. + +</p> +<p>Manila to-day, however, is a contradiction. Striking anachronisms occur from the confusion of Malayan, Asiatic, European, +and American traditions. Heavy escort-wagons, drawn by towering army mules, crowd to the wall the fragile <i lang="es">quilez</i> and the <i lang="es">carromata</i>( two-wheeled gigs), with their tough native ponies. Tall East Indians, in their red turbans; Armenian merchants, soldiers +in khaki uniforms, and Chinese coolies <a id="d0e530"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e530">22</a>]</span>bending under heavy loads, jostle each other under the projecting balconies, while Filipinos shuffle peacefully along the +curb. + +</p> +<p>The new American saloons look rather out of place in such a curious environment, and telegraph wires concentrated at the city +wall seem even more incongruous. + + + +<a id="d0e534"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e534">23</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e535" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter II.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">All About the Town.</h2> +<p>The wide streets radiating from the Bridge of Spain are lined with lemonade stands, where the cube of ice is sheltered from +the sun by striped awnings. Leaving the walled town on the river side—the gate has been destroyed by earthquakes—you can take +the ferry over to the Tondo side. The ferryboat is a round-bottomed, wobbly sampan, with a tiny cabin in the stern. You crouch +down, waiting for the boat to roll completely over, which at first it seems inclined to do, or try to plan some method of +escape in case the pilot gets in front of one of the swift-moving tugs. You have good reason to congratulate yourself on being +landed at a stone-quay in a tangle of small launches, ferryboats, and <i lang="es">cascoes</i>. The Tondo Canal may be crossed on a covered barge, poled by an ancient boatman, who collects the fares—a copper cent of +Borneo, Straits Settlements, or <a id="d0e545"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e545">24</a>]</span>Hong Kong coinage—much in the same way as the pilot of the Styx collects the obolus. + +</p> +<p>Under the long porch of the customs-house, a dummy engine noisily plies up and down among the long-horned carabaos and piles +of merchandise. Types of all nations are encountered here. The immigration office swarms with Chinamen herded together, rounded +up by some contractor. Every Chinaman must have his photograph, his number, and description in the immigration officer’s possession. +Indian merchants, agents of the German, Spanish, and English business firms are looking after new invoices. A party of American +tourists, just arrived from China, are awaiting the inspection of their baggage. + +</p> +<p>The Bridge of Spain, that famous artery of commerce, over which a stream of carabao-carts, crowded tram-cars, pleasure vehicles, +and army wagons flows continuously, spans the Pasig River at the head of the Escolta in Binondo. Here the bazaars and European +business houses are located, while the avenues that branch off lead to other populous and swarming districts. <i lang="es">La Extrameña</i>, a grocery and wine-store; <i lang="es">La Estrella del Norte</i>—<a id="d0e557"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e557">25</a>]</span>“The North Star”—diamond and jewelry-store; the <i lang="es">Sombreria</i>, hatstore, advertised by a huge wooden hat hung out above the street; and a tobacco booth, are situated on the corners where +the bridge and the Escolta meet. The Metropolitan policeman—one of the tall <i lang="es">Americanos</i> uniformed in khaki riding-breeches and stiff leggings—who, in former days, controlled the traffic of the street, is now supplanted +by a Filipino comic-opera policeman. Very few of the old “Mets” are left. It was a body of picked men, the finest soldiers +in the volunteer troops, and the most efficient police force in the world. This officer on the Escolta used to be a genius +in his line. When balky Filipino ponies blocked the traffic in the crowded thoroughfare, it was this officer that straightened +out the tangle. If the tram-car happened to run off the track, it was the “Met” who showed the driver how to put it on again. + + +</p> +<p>The river above the bridge is lined with latticed balconies; but from the veranda of the Paris Restaurant, when that establishment +was in its glory, one could sit for hours and watch the bustling river life below. The thatched tops of the <a id="d0e567"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e567">26</a>]</span>huddled <i lang="es">cascos</i> formed a compact roof that extended half across the stream. Upon these nondescript craft hundreds of Filipinos dwelt, doing +their washing and their cooking on the decks. The scanty clothes are hanging out to dry on lines, while naked brats are splashing +in the dirty water, clinging to the tightened hawser. + + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e573" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p026.jpg" alt="All About the Town (The Tops of Cascoes)" width="720" height="440"><p class="figureHead">All About the Town (The Tops of Cascoes)</p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>Launches go scudding under the low bridge, rending the air with vicious toots. Unwieldly <i lang="es">cascos</i> are poled down the river, laden heavily with cocoanuts and hemp. Small floating islands whirl along in the swift current, +and are carried out to sea. At the <i lang="es">Muelle del Rey</i>—the “King’s Dock”—lie the inter-island steamers, and the gangs of laborers are busy loading and unloading them. Carabao drays +are hauling fragrant cargoes of tobacco and Manila hemp, while over the gangplank runs a chain of men, gutting the warehouse +of its merchandise. The captain of the <i>Romulus</i> stands on the bridge, daintily smoking a cigarette, and supervising the disposal of the demijohns of <i lang="es">tinto</i> wine. The derrick keeps up an incessant racket as the hold is gradually filled. Although the <i>Romulus</i> is advertised to sail to-day at noon, she is <a id="d0e594"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e594">27</a>]</span>as liable to sail at ten o’clock, or possibly to-morrow afternoon; and although bound for Iloilo or Cebu, you can not be at +all sure what her destination really is. She may return after a month from a long rambling cruise among the southern isles. +The Spanish mariners, in rakish Tam <span id="d0e596" class="corr" title="Source: o’ Shanter">o’Shanter</span> caps, lounge at the entrance to the warehouse, or the office of the <i lang="es">Compania Maritima</i>, dreamily smoking cigarettes, sometimes imperiously ordering the laborers to <i lang="es">“sigue, hombre</i>!” (get along!) a warning that the Filipino has grown too familiar with to heed. + +</p> +<p>Armenian and Indian bazaars, where ivory and the rich fabrics of the Orient are sold; cafés and drugstores, harness-shops, +tobacco-shops, and drygoods-stores, emporiums of every kind,—are found on the Escolta, where the prices would astonish any +one not yet accustomed to the manners of the Far East. During the morning hours the <i lang="es">quilez</i> and the <i lang="es">carromata</i> rattle along the bumpy cobblestones, the native driver, or <i lang="es">cochero</i>, in a white shirt, smoking a cigarette, and resting his bare feet upon the dashboard. Behind the curtain of a passing <i lang="es">quilez</i> you can catch a glimpse of <a id="d0e619"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e619">28</a>]</span>brown eyes, raven hair, and olive-tinted cheeks, displayed with all the coquetry of a Manila belle. A Filipino family in a +rickety cart, tilted at an impossible angle, are drawn by a moth-eaten pony, mostly bones. Public conveyances—if these are +not indeed a myth—are most exasperating. You can never find one when you want it, even at the “Public Carriage Station.” If +by chance you come across one in the street, the driver will ignore your signal and drive on. Evidently he selects this walk +in life merely to discharge the obligations of his conscience, for he never seems to want a passenger, nor will he take one +till he finds his vehicle possessed by strategy. The gamins of the corner offer eagerly to find a <i lang="es">carromata</i> for you, but they frequently forget the object of their mission in their search. Sometimes, when you have ceased to think +about a <i lang="es">carromata</i>, one of these small ragamuffins will pursue you, with a sheepish-looking coachman and disreputable vehicle in tow. Then twenty +boys crowd round and claim rewards for having found a rig for you; as they all look alike, you toss a ten-cent piece among +the crowd and let them fight it out among themselves. +<a id="d0e627"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e627">29</a>]</span></p> +<p>The driver will begin by making some objection. He will ask to be discharged at noon, or he will make you promise not to turn +him over to another <i lang="es">Americano</i>. When the preliminary arrangements are completed, lighting his cigarette, he cramps himself up in the box, and, maintaining +a continual clucking, larrups his skinny pony as the crazy gig goes rocking down the street. The driver never seems to know +the town; even the post-office and the Bridge of Spain are <i lang="la">terra incognita</i> to him. And so you guide him, saying “<i>silla</i>,” left, or “<i lang="es">mano</i>,” right, “<i lang="es">direcho</i>,” straight ahead, and “<i lang="es">’spera</i>,” stop. You must be careful when you stop, however, as while you are busy with your purchases, your man is liable to run +away. While, as a general rule, he shakes his head at the repeated inquires of “<i lang="es">ocupato?</i>” (taken?) even though the carriage may not be engaged, if some one more unscrupulous or desperate should step in, you would +find yourself without a rig. And the result would be the same if dinner-time came round, and he had not had “<i>sow sow</i>.” Even the fact that he had not collected any fare would not deter him from his resolution. +<a id="d0e654"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e654">30</a>]</span></p> +<p>Is it any wonder, then, that, after all these difficulties, no complaint is made against the rickety, slat-seated carts, with +wheels that seem to bar the entrance of the passenger; against the sorry-looking <i lang="es">quilez</i>,—that attenuated two-wheeled ’bus, where the four passengers must sit with interwoven legs, getting the more implicated as +the cart goes bounding on? No; the Americans are glad enough to ride in almost any kind of vehicle. But you must be good-natured, +even though the cab is tilted at an angle of some thirty-odd degrees, and even though, in getting out, which is accomplished +from the <i lang="es">quilez</i> in the rear, you lift the tiny pony off his feet. It is enough to take the breath away to ride in one of these conveyances +through the congested portions of Manila. Not only does the turning to the left seem strange, but taking the sharp corners—an +accomplishment for which the two-wheeled gig is well adapted—frequently comes near precipitating a collision; and, in order +to avoid this, the driver pulls the pony to his haunches. When the coast is clear, you will go rattling merrily away, the +<i lang="es">quilez</i> door, unfastened, swinging back <a id="d0e666"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e666">31</a>]</span>and forth abandonedly, regardless of appearances. It is impossible to satisfy the driver on discharging him, unless by paying +him three times the fee. The stranger in Manila, counting out the unfamiliar <i lang="es">media pesos</i> and <i lang="es">pesetas</i>, never knows when he has paid enough. Whether to pay his fifteen cents, American or Mexican, for the first hour, and ten +cents, or <i lang="es">centavos</i>, for the hour succeeding, and how many <i lang="es">media pesetas</i> make a quarter of a dollar in our currency,—these are the questions that annoy and puzzle the newcomer, till he learns to +disregard expense, and order his livery from the hotels or private stables. + +</p> +<p>At noon the corrugated iron blinds of the shops are pulled down; all the carriages have disappeared; the only sign of life +in the Escolta is the comical little tram-car, loaded down with little brown men dressed in white, the driver tooting a toy +horn, and all the passengers dismounting to assist the car uphill. + +</p> +<p>The banking center of Manila, built around a dusty plaza in the Tondo district, and consisting of low buildings occupied by +offices of shipping and commercial companies, suggests a scene from <a id="d0e684"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e684">32</a>]</span>“The Merchant of Venice” or “Othello.” English firms—such as Warner, Barnes & Co.; Smith, Bell & Co.; the Hong Kong-Shanghai +Banking Corporation, where the silver <i>pesos</i> jingle as the deft clerks stack them up or handle them with their small spades—are situated hereabouts. + +</p> +<p>Near by, and on an emerald plaza, stand the buildings of the Insular Tobacco Company and of the Oriente Hotel. These buildings +are the finest modern structures in Manila. Carriages are waiting in the street in front of the hotel, and at the entrance +may be seen a group of army officers in khaki uniform, in white and gold, or—very much more modern—olive drab. The dining-room +is entered through the rustling bead-work curtain. Here the Chinese waiters, in long gowns glide noiselessly around. + +</p> +<p>But the Rosario, where opium-saturated Chinamen sit tailor-fashion at the entrance to their little stalls—where narrow galleries +and alleys swarm with Chinese life—is one of the most interesting and complex: of all Manila’s thoroughfares. On one side +of the street the drygoods-shops are shaded from the sun by curtains in broad stripes <a id="d0e693"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e693">33</a>]</span>of blue and white. The dreamy merchant sits barelegged on the doorsill, and is not to be disturbed by the mere entrance of +a purchaser. The opposite side is lined with <i lang="es">Chino</i> hardware stores, and in each one of them the stock is just the same. These shops supply the stock of merchandise to the provincial +agents; for an intricate feudal system is maintained among the Chinese of the archipelago. The rich Manila merchants who have +seen their fellow-countrymen safe through from China, and have furnished goods on credit, reap the profits like so many Oriental +Shylocks. + +</p> +<p>At four o’clock the shopping begins again in the Escolta. Apparently the whole town has turned out for a ride. Since the Americans +have come, odd sights have been seen in Manila,—cavalry horses harnessed to pony vehicles, phaetons drawn by Filipino ponies, +and victorias, intended for a pair of native horses, hastily converted into surreys. Not only do the Spanish women come out +in their black <i lang="es">mantillas</i>, but the Filipino belles and the <i lang="es">mestiza</i>, girls, in their stiff dresses of <i lang="es">josé</i> and <i lang="es">piña</i> cloth. A carriage-load of painted cheeks and burnished pompadours of Japanese <a id="d0e712"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e712">34</a>]</span>frail sisterhood drives by upon its way to the Luneta. Army officers in white dress uniform, the wives and daughters of the +officers, bareheaded and in dainty gowns, stop off at Clark’s for lemonade, ice-cream, and candy. Soldiers and sailors strolling +along the street, or driving rickety native carts, enjoy themselves after the manner of their kind. A brace of well-kept ponies, +tugging like game fish, trot briskly away with jingling harness, with the coachman and the footman dressed in white, a foreign +consul lounging in the cushions of the neat victoria. A private <i lang="es">carruaje</i>, drawn by a sleek pony, hastens along, the tiny footman clinging on for dear life to the extension seat behind. + +</p> +<p>After the whirl on the Luneta, where the military band plays as the oddly-assorted carriages go circling round like fixtures +on a steam carousal, the pleasure-seekers leave the driveway on the sea deserted; soldiers and citizens vacate the green benches, +and adjourn for dinner. The Spanish life is best seen at the Metropole, where <i lang="es">señors</i>, <i lang="es">señoritas</i>, and <i lang="es">señoras</i>, exquisitely gowned, sip cognac and coffee at the little tables, carrying on <a id="d0e728"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e728">35</a>]</span>an animated conversation, with expressive flashes of bright eyes or gestures with elaborately-jeweled hands. + +</p> +<p>Below, in the Luzon café, the Rizal orchestra is playing the impassioned Spanish waltzes, “<i lang="es">Sobre las Olas,” “La Paloma</i>,” to the click of billiard balls and the guffaws of soldiers. When the evening program ends with “<i>Dixie</i>,” every soldier in a khaki uniform—bronzed, grizzled fellows, many of them back from some campaign out in the provinces—will +rise immediately to his feet, respectfully remove his hat, and as the music that reminds him of the home-land swells and gathers +volume, fill the corridors with cheer upon cheer as the lights are put out; then the sleeping coachman rouses himself, and +starts the reluctant pony on the journey home. + + + +<a id="d0e738"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e738">36</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e739" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter III.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The White Man’s Life.</h2> +<p>It happened that my first home in Manila was a temporary one, shared with a hundred others, at the <i>nipa</i> barracks at the Exposition grounds. Who of all those that were similarly situated will forget the long row of mimosa-trees +that made a leafy archway over the cool street; or the fruit merchants squatting beside the bunches of bananas and the tiny +oranges spread out upon the ground? There was the pink pavilion where that enterprising Chinaman, Ah Gong, conducted his indifferent +restaurant. After these many days I can still hear the clatter of the plates, the jingle of the knives and forks, placed on +the tables by the Chinese waiters. There was the crowd on the veranda waiting for the second table, opening their correspondence +as they waited. And what an indescribable sensation was imparted on receiving the first letter in a foreign land! + +</p> +<p>The long, cool barrack-rooms were swept by <a id="d0e751"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e751">37</a>]</span>the fresh breezes. Here, in the bungalow, the army cots had been arranged in rows and covered by mosquito-bars suspended from +the wires stretched overhead. When tucked inside of the mosquito-bar, one felt as though he were a part of a menagerie. “<i lang="es">Muchacho</i>” was the first new word you learned. It was advisable to call for a <i lang="es">muchacho</i> often, even though you did not need his services, in order to exploit your own experience and your superiority. And here +you were first cheated by the wily Chinese peddlers—although you had cut them down to half their price—when they unrolled +their packs of crêpe pajamas, net-work underwear, and other merchandise. + +</p> +<p>And all one Sunday afternoon you listened to a lecture from the President of the Manila Board of Health, who told of the diseases +that the flesh was heir to in the Philippines, and cheerfully assured you that within a month or two your weight would be +reduced to the extent of twenty-five or fifty pounds. And after dinner—where you learned that <i lang="es">chiquos</i> though they looked a good deal like potatoes, were a kind of fruit—while you were strolling down the avenue beyond the markethouse, +<a id="d0e764"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e764">38</a>]</span>you got a ducking from a sudden shower that ceased quite as unceremoniously as it had begun. There was excitement in the bungalow +that night because of its invasion by a hostile monkey. An impromptu vigilance committee finally succeeded in ejecting the +unwelcome visitor, persuading him of the superior advantages of “Barracks B.” + +</p> +<p>Together with a few dissenters, I moved out next morning, finding better quarters in the first floor of a Spanish house in +Magallanes. We made the best of an old ruin opposite, which we considered picturesque, and which was occupied by Filipino +squatters, who conducted a hand laundry there. Our first <i lang="es">muchacho</i>, Valentine, surprised us by existing on the ten-cent dinners of the Chinese chophouse on the corner. But he assured us that +it was a good place; that the greasy Chinaman, who fried the sausages and boiled the rice back in the tiny den, was a great +favorite. At our own restaurant, two Negro women made the best corn-fritters we had ever tasted; a green parrot and a monkey +squawked and chattered on the balustrade; a Filipino boy played marches on a cracked piano-forte. +<a id="d0e771"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e771">39</a>]</span></p> +<p>And so we lived behind the heavily-barred windows, watching the shifting throng—the staggering coolies, girls with trays of +oranges upon their heads, and men in curiously fashioned hats—driving around the city in the afternoon (for Valentine was +at his best in getting <i lang="es">carromatas</i> under false pretenses) till the little family broke up. The first to go returned after a day or two, almost in tears with +the alarming information that the mayor of the town that he had been assigned to was a naked savage; that what he supposed +was pepper on the fried eggs he had had for breakfast, had turned out to be black ants—and wouldn’t we please pay his <i lang="es">carromata</i> fare, because he was completely out of funds? + +</p> +<p>The carabao carts gradually removed our baggage. Valentine was faithful to the last. Most of us met each other later, and +exchanged notes. One had escaped the target practice of ladrones; one had been lost among the mountains of Benguet; another +had been carried to Manila on a coasting steamer, reaching the Civil hospital in time to fight against the fevers that had +wasted him; and poor Fitz died of cholera in one of the most lonely villages among the Negros hills. +<a id="d0e782"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e782">40</a>]</span></p> +<p>“Won’t those infernal bells stop ringing for a while and let a fellow go to sleep?” said Howard as he got out of bed. “Look +at those creatures, will you?” pointing to the fat mosquitoes at the top of the mosquito-bar. “The vampires! How do you suppose +they got in, anyway?” + +</p> +<p>“It beats me,” said the Duke. “It isn’t the mosquitoes or the bells: that ball of fire that’s shining through the window makes +a perfect oven of the room.” + +</p> +<p>The merciless sun had risen over the low roofs of the walled city, and the heat was radiating from the white walls and the +scorching streets. The Duke was sitting on the edge of the low army cot in his pajamas and his bedroom slippers, smoking a +native cigarette. + +</p> +<p>“It must be about ten o’clock,” said Howard. “I wonder if the Chinaman left any breakfast for us.” + +</p> +<p>“Probably. A couple of cold fried eggs, or a clammy dish of oatmeal and condensed milk. Shall we get up and go somewhere?” + + +</p> +<p>“I can’t find any clothes,” said Howard; “this place is turning into a regular chaos, anyway.” <a id="d0e795"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e795">41</a>]</span>It was indeed a chaos,—lines of clothes where the mosquitoes swarmed, papers and books scattered about the floor, pajamas, +duck suits, towels on every chair, and muddy white shoes strewn around. “Doesn’t the <i lang="es">muchacho</i> ever clean things up?” + +</p> +<p>“That’s nothing,” said the Duke; “wait till the Chinaman runs off with all your washing. I can lend you a white suit; and, +say,—tell the <i lang="es">muchacho</i> to come in and <i lang="es">blanco</i> a few shoes.” +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>As there are no apartment-houses in Manila, the young clerk on small salary will usually live in a furnished room in the walled +city. For the first few months it is a rather dreary life. The cool veranda and the steamer chair, after the day’s work, is +a luxury denied the young Americans within the city walls. The list of amusements that Manila offers is an unattractive one. +There is a baseball game between two companies of soldiers, or between the Government employees representing different departments. +There is the cock-fight out at Santa Ana, Sunday mornings and <i lang="es">fiesta</i> days; but this is mostly patronized by <a id="d0e815"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e815">42</a>]</span>natives, and is not especially agreeable to Americans. The Country club—reached after a long drive out Malate way, past the +Malate fort that bears the marks of Dewey’s shells, past the old church once occupied by soldiers, through the rice-pads where +the American troops first met the Insurrecto firing line—is little more than a mere gambling-house. It is now visited by those +whose former resorts in the walled city have been broken up by the constabulary. + +</p> +<p>The races of the Santa Mesa Jockey dub are held on Sunday afternoons. It is a rather dusty drive out to the track. A number +of noisy “road-houses” along the way, where drinking is going on; the Paco cemetery, where the bleached bones have been piled +around the cross,—these are the sole diversions that the road affords. The races are interesting only in the opportunity they +offer to observe the native types. Here you will find the Filipino dandy in his polished boots, his low-crowned derby hat, +and baggy trousers. He makes the boast that he has not walked fifty meters on Manila’s streets in the past year. This dainty +little fellow always travels in a carriage. <a id="d0e819"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e819">43</a>]</span>He flicks the ashes off his cigarette with his long finger-nail as he stands by while the gay-colored jockeys are being weighed +in. Up in the grandstand, in a private box, a party of <i lang="es">mestiza</i> girls, elaborately gowned, are sipping lemonade, or eating sherbet and vanilla cakes, while one of the jockeys leans admiringly +upon the rail. The silver <i>pesos</i> stacked up on the table in the center of the box are given to a man in waiting to be wagered on the various events. The finishes +are seldom very close, the Filipino ponies scampering around the turf like rats. A native band, however, adds to the excitement +which the clamor at the booking office and the animated chatter of <i lang="es">dueñas</i>, <i lang="es">caballeros</i>, jockeys, and <i lang="es">señoritas</i> in the galleries intensifies. + +</p> +<p>Manila, the City of churches, celebrates its Sabbath in its own peculiar way. The Protestant churches suffer in comparison +with the grand church of San Sebastian—set up from the iron plates made in Belgium—and the churches of the various religious +orders. Magnificence and show appeal most strongly to the Filipino. He is taught to look down on the Protestant religion as +<a id="d0e838"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e838">44</a>]</span>plebeian; the priests regard the Protestant with condescending superciliousness. Until the transportation facilities can be +extended there will be no general coming together of Americans even on Sunday morning, as the colony from the United States +is scattered far and wide throughout the city. + +</p> +<p>As his salary increases, the young Government employee looks around for better quarters. These he secures by organizing a +small club and renting the upper floor of one of the large Spanish houses. As the young men in Manila are especially congenial, +there is little difficulty in conducting such an enterprise. The members of a lodging club thus formed will generally reserve +a table for their use at one of the adjacent boarding-houses or hotels. + +</p> +<p>The fashionable world—the heads of departments, general army officers, and wealthy merchants—occupy grand residences in Ermita +or in San Miguel. These houses, set back in extensive gardens, are approached by driveways banked luxuriously with palms. +A massive iron fence, mounted on stone posts, gives to the residence a <a id="d0e844"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e844">45</a>]</span>certain tone of dignity as well as a suggestion of exclusiveness. Those situated in <i lang="es">Calle Real</i> (Ermita) have verandas, balconies, and summer-houses looking out upon the sea. + +</p> +<p>The prosperous bachelor has his stable, stable-boys, and Chinese cook. At eight o’clock A. M. the China ponies will be harnessed +ready to drive him to the office, and at four o’clock the carriage calls for him to take him home. Most of the Americans thus +situated seldom leave their homes. There is, of course, the Army and Navy club in the walled city, and the University club +in Ermita; but aside from an occasional visit to these organizations, he is satisfied with a short turn on the Luneta and +the privacy of his own house. + +</p> +<p>The afternoon teas at the University club, where you can see the sunset lighting up Corregidor and glorifying the white battleships, +the monthly entertainments at the Oriente, and the governor’s reception, are the social features of Manila life. The ladies +do considerable entertaining, wearing themselves out in the performance of their social duties. As a relaxation, an informal +picnic party will sometimes charter a <a id="d0e853"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e853">46</a>]</span>small launch, and spend the day along the picturesque banks of the Pasig. The customs of Manila make an obligation of a frequent +visit to the Civil hospital, if it so happen that a friend is sick there. It is a long ride along <i lang="es">Calle Iris</i>, with its rows of bamboo-trees, past the merry-go-round, Bilibid prison, and the railway station; but the patients at the +hospital appreciate these visits quite sufficiently to compensate for any inconveniences that may have been caused. + +</p> +<p>During the holiday season, certain attractions are offered at the theaters. While these are mostly given by cheap vaudeville +companies that have drifted over from Australia or the China coast, when any deserving entertainment is announced the “upper +ten” turn out <i lang="fr">en masse</i>. During the memorable engagement of the Twenty-fourth Infantry minstrels, the boxes at the Zorilla theater were filled by +all the pride and beauty of Manila. Captains and lieutenants from Fort Santiago and Camp Wallace, naval officers from the +Cavite colony, matrons and maidens from the civil and the military “sets,” made a vivacious audience, while the Filipinos +packed in the surrounding <a id="d0e863"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e863">47</a>]</span>galleries, applauded with enthusiasm as the cake-walk and the Negro melody were introduced into the Orient. + +</p> +<p>Where money circulates so freely and is spent so recklessly as in Manila, where the “East of Suez” moral standard is established, +the young fellows who have come out to the Far East, inspired by Kipling’s poems and the spirit of the Orient, are tempted +constantly to live beyond their means. It is a country “where there ain’t no Ten Commandments, and a man can raise a thirst.” +Then the Sampoluc and Quiapo districts, where the carriage-lamps are weaving back and forth among pavilions softly lighted, +where the tinkle of the <i>samosen</i> is heard, and where O Taki San, immodest but bewitching, stands behind the beadwork curtain, her kimono parted at the knee,—this +is the world of the Far East, the cup of Circe. + +</p> +<p>There was the pathetic case of the young man who “went to pieces” in Manila recently. He was a Harvard athlete, but was physically +unsound. As a result of an unfortunate blow received upon the head a short time after his arrival in Manila, he became despondent +and morose. After undue <a id="d0e872"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e872">48</a>]</span>excitement he would fall into a dreamy trance. At such times he would fancy that his mother had died, and he would be convulsed +with sorrow, breaking unexpectedly into a rousing college song. He meditated suicide, and was prevented several times from +taking his own life. On coming to Manila from the provinces, he stoutly refused to be sent home, but lived at his friends’ +expense, trying to borrow money from everybody that he met. Other young fellows overwhelmed by debts have tried to break loose +from the Islands, but have been brought back from Japanese ports to be placed in Bilibid. That is the saddest life of all—in +Bilibid. Many a convict in that prison, far away, has been a gentleman, and there are mothers in America who wonder why their +boys do not come home. + +</p> +<p>Somebody once said that Manila life was a perpetual farewell. The days of the arrival and departure of the transports are +the days that vary the monotony. As the procession of big mail-wagons rumbles down the Escolta to the post-office, as the +letters from America are opened, as the last month’s newspapers and magazines <a id="d0e876"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e876">49</a>]</span>appear in the shop-windows, comes a moment of regret and lonesomeness. But as the transport, with its tawny load of soldiers +and of joyful officers, pulls out, the dweller in Manila, long ago resigned to fate, takes up the grind again. + +</p> +<p>Sometimes, on Sunday morning, he will take the customs-house launch out to one of the Manila-Hong Kong boats, to see a friend +off for the homeland and “God’s country.” Leaning over the taffrail, while the crowd below is celebrating the departure by +the opening of bottles, he will fancy that he, too, is going—till the warning whistle sounds, and it is time to go ashore. +The best view of Manila, it is said, is that obtained from the stern deck of an outgoing steamer, as the red lighthouse and +the pier fade gradually away. But even after he has reached the “white man’s country” some time he may “hear the East a-calling,” +and come back again. + + + +<a id="d0e880"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e880">50</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e881" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter IV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Around the Provinces.</h2> +<p>A half century before the founding of Manila, Magellan had set up the cross upon a small hill on the site of Butuan, on the +north coast of <span id="d0e888" class="corr" title="Source: Midanao">Mindanao</span>, celebrating the first mass in the new land, and taking possession of the island in the name of Spain. Three centuries have +passed since then, and there are still tribes on that island who have never yielded to the influence of Christianity nor recognized +the authority of Spain or the United States. Magellan’s flotilla sailing north touched at Cebu, where the explorers made a +treaty with King Hamabar. The king invited them to attend a banquet, where, on seeing that his visitors were off their guard, +he slew a number of them mercilessly, while the rest escaped. On the same spot three hundred and fifty-odd years later, three +American schoolteachers were as treacherously slain by the descendants of this Malay king. +<a id="d0e891"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e891">51</a>]</span></p> +<p>Not till the expedition of Legaspi and the Augustine monks visited the shores of the <span id="d0e894" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> islands were the natives subjugated, and the finding of the <i lang="es">Santo Niño</i> (Holy Child) brought this about. Since then the monks and friars, playing on the superstition of the islanders, have managed +to control them and to mold them to their purposes. In 1568 a permanent establishment was made at Cebu by the bestowal of +munitions, troops, and arms, brought by the galleons of Don Juan de Salcedo. The conquest of the northern provinces began +soon after the flotilla of Legaspi came to anchor in Manila Bay. + +</p> +<p>The idea that Manila or the island of Luzon comprises most of our possessions in the East is one that I have found quite prevalent +throughout America. The broken blue line of the coast of Luzon reaches away in a dim contour to the northward for two hundred +miles, until the chain of the Zambales Mountains breaks into the flying, wave-lashed islands standing out against the trackless +sea. Southern Luzon, the country of Batangas, and the Camarines, extends a hundred miles south of Manila Bay. +<a id="d0e902"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e902">52</a>]</span></p> +<p>In the far north are the rich provinces of Cagayan, Ilocos Norte and Ilocos Sur, Abra, Benguet, and Nueva Viscaya. The land +at the sea level produces hemp, tobacco, rice, and cocoanuts; the heavily-timbered mountain slopes contain rich woods, cedar, +mahogany, molave, ebony, and ipil. A wonderful river rushes through the mountain cañons, and the famous valley of the Cagayan +is formed—the garden of Eden of the Philippines. The peaks of the Zambales are so high that frost will sometimes gather at +the tops, while in the upper forests even the flora of the temperate zone is reproduced. Negritos, the primeval savages, run +wild in the great wilderness, while cannibals, head-hunters, and other barbaric peoples live but a short distance from the +shore. + +</p> +<p>The islands to the south of Luzon reach in a long chain toward Borneo, a distance of six hundred miles. During a journey to +the southern islands a continuous procession of majestic mountains moves by like a panorama—first the misty peaks of the Mindoro +coast; and then the wooded group of islands in the Romblon Archipelago, that <a id="d0e907"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e907">53</a>]</span>rises abruptly out of the blue sea. Hundreds of smaller islands, like bouquets, dot the waters off Panay, while the bare ridges +of Cebu of the Plutonic peaks of Negros loom up far beyond. Passing the triple range of Mindanao, the scattered islands of +the Jolo Archipelago, the Tapul and the Tawi-Tawi groups mark the extreme southern limits of the Philippines. + +</p> +<p>In nearly all these islands the interior is taken up by various tribes of savages, sixty or seventy different tribes in all, +speaking as many different dialects. There are the Igorrotes of the north, who make it their religion, when the fire-tree +blooms, to go out on a still hunt after human heads. When one of their tribe dies, the number of fingers that he holds up +as he breathes his last expresses the number of heads which his survivors must secure. An Igorrote suitor, too, must pay the +price, if he would have his bride, in human heads. The head of his best friend or of his deadliest enemy is equally acceptable; +and if his own pate fall in the attempt, he would not be alone among those who have “lost their heads” because of a fair woman. + +<a id="d0e911"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e911">54</a>]</span></p> +<p>Although the island of Luzon was settled later than the southern islands, civilization has been more widely disseminated in +the north. A railway line connects Manila with Dagupan and the other cities of the distant provinces. Aparri, on the Rio Grande, +near its mouth, is the commercial port of Cagayan. The country around is rich in live stock, and is partly under cultivation. +During the rainy season, however, the pontoon bridges over the Rio Grande are swept away; the roads become impassable. The +raging torrent of the river threatens the inland navigation, while the monsoons on the China Sea make transportation very +difficult. + +</p> +<p>The provinces of North and South Ilocos bristle with dense forests, where not only savages, but deer, wild hogs, and jungle-fowl +abound, and where the white man’s foot has never been. The natives bring the forest products, pitch, rattan, and the wild +honey, to the coast towns, where they can exchange their goods for rice. While in the mountainous regions of the northern +part, barbarians too timid to approach the coast are found, most of the pagan natives are of a mixed <a id="d0e916"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e916">55</a>]</span>type. The primitive Negritos, living in these parts, as those also living on the island of Negros and in Mindanao, are of +unknown origin—unless they are allied with similar types of pigmies, such as the Sakais of the Malay Peninsula, or the Mincopies +of the Andaman Islands in the Indian Ocean. Some anthropologists would even associate them with the black dwarfs in the interior +of Africa. These savages live a nomadic life, and seldom come down near the villages. But the mixed tribes, the Negrito-Malay, +or the Malay-Japanese, are bolder and more enterprising. The presence of the Japanese and Chinese pirates in this country +in the early days has been the cause of many of the eccentric types whose origin, entirely independent from the origin of +the Negritos, was Malayan. Here the Ilocanes, or the natives of the better class, the Christians of these provinces, although +of Malay origin, belong to a more cultured class of Malay ancestry. They are amenable to Christian influences, and their manners +are agreeable and pleasing. They cultivate abundant quantities of sugar, cotton, indigo, rice, and tobacco, and the women +weave the famous <i>Ilocano</i> <a id="d0e921"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e921">56</a>]</span>blankets that are sold at such a premium in Manila. Vigan, the capital of South Ilocos, has the finest public buildings and +the best-kept streets of any of the provincial cities. + +</p> +<p>Another tribe of people, the Zambales, are to be found toward the center of Luzon. Few Igorrotes, Ilocanes, and Negritos live +in the province of Zambales or Pangasinan. Pampanga Province also has its own tribe and a different dialect. Tagalog is spoken +around Manila, in Laguna Province, in Batangas, and the Camarines; <span id="d0e925" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> is the language of the southern islands. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>A monotonous sameness is the characteristic of most of the small Filipino towns. In seeing one you have seen all; you wonder +what good can come out of such a Nazareth, and there are very few of the provincial capitals, indeed, that merit a description. +Rambling official buildings, made of white concrete and roofed with <i>nipa</i> or with corrugated iron; a ragged plaza, with the church and convent, and the long streets lined with native houses; pigs +with heads like coal-scuttles; chickens and yellow dogs and naked brats, scabby and peanut-shaped,—such <a id="d0e935"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e935">57</a>]</span>are the first and last impressions of the Filipino town. + +</p> +<p>We reached Cebu during the rainy season, and it was a little city of muddy streets and tiled roofs. As the transport came +to anchor in the harbor, Filipino boys came out in long canoes, and dived for pennies till the last you saw of them was the +white soles of their bare feet. And in another boat two little girls were dancing, while the boys went through the manual +of arms. A number of tramp steamers, barkentines, and the big Hong Kong boat were lying in the harbor, while the coasting +steamers of the Chinese merchants and the smaller hemp-boats lined the docks. As this was our first port in the <span id="d0e939" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> group, the difference between the natives here and those of the Far North was very noticeable. There, the volcanic, wiry +Tagalog, or the athletic Igorrote savage; here, the easy-going, happy <span id="d0e942" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span>, carabao-like in his movements, with a large head, enormous mouth and feet. + +</p> +<p>Along the water front a line of low white buildings ran,—the wholesale houses of the English, Chinese, Spanish, and American +commercial firms. <a id="d0e947"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e947">58</a>]</span>The street was full of carabao carts, yoked to their uncomfortable cattle. Agents and merchants, dressed in white, were hurrying +to and fro with manifests. Around the corner was a long street blocked with merchandise, and shaded with the awnings of the +Chinese stores. There was a little barber-shop in a <i>kiosko</i>, where an idle native, crossing his legs and tilting back his chair, abandoned himself to the spirit of a big guitar. The +avenue that branched off here would be thronged with shoppers during the busy hours. Here were the retail stores of every +description—“The Nineteenth-century Bazaar,” the stock of which was every bit as modern as its name—clothing-stores, tailor-shops, +restaurants, jewelry-stores, and curio bazaars. + +</p> +<p>Numerous plazas were surrounded by old Spanish buildings and hotels. The public gardens—if the acre of dried palms and withered +grass may so be called—were situated near the water front, and had a band stand for the use of the musicians on <i lang="es">fiesta</i> days. The racetrack was adjacent to the gardens, and the public buildings faced these reservations. The magnificent old <a id="d0e957"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e957">59</a>]</span>churches, with their picturesque bell towers; the white convent walls, with niches for the statuettes of saints; the colleges +and convents,—give to the provincial capital an air of dignity. + +</p> +<p>The boarding-house, kept by a crusty but good-hearted Englishman, stood opposite the row of porches roofed with heavy tiles, +that made <i lang="es">Calle Colon</i> a colonnade. Across the street was a window in the wall, where the brown-eyed Lucretia used to sell ginger-ale and sarsaparilla +to the soldiers. With her waving pompadour, her olive cheeks, and sultry eyes, Lucretia was the belle of all the town. There +wasn’t a soldier in the whole command who wouldn’t have laid down his life for her. And in this land where nothing seemed +to be worth while, Lucretia, with her pretty manners and her gentle ways, had a good influence upon the tawny musketeers who +dropped in to play a game of dominos or drink a glass of soda with her; and she treated all of them alike. + +</p> +<p>A monkey chattered on the balcony, sliding up and down the bamboo-pole, or reaching for pieces of bananas which the boarders +passed him from the dinner-table. “Have you chowed yet?” asked <a id="d0e966"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e966">60</a>]</span>a grating voice, which, on a negative reply, ordered a place to be made ready for me at the table. Barefooted <i lang="es">muchachos</i> placed the thumb-marked dishes on the dirty table-cloth. I might add that a napkin had been spread to cover the spot where +the tomato catsup had been spilled, and that the chicken-soup, in which a slice of bread was soaked, slopped over the untidy +thumb that carried it. But I omitted this course, as the red ants floating on the surface of the broth rendered the dish a +questionable delicacy. The boarders had adjourned to the parlor, and were busy reading “Diamond Dick,” “Nick Carter,” and +the other five and ten cent favorites. A heavy rain had set in, as I drew my chair up to the light and tried to lose myself +in the adventures of the boy detective. + +</p> +<p>But the mosquitoes of Cebu! The rainy season had produced them by the wholesale, and full-blooded ones at that. These were +the strange bed-fellows that made misery that night, as they discovered openings in the mosquito-bar that, I believe, they +actually made themselves! The parlor (where the bed was situated) was a very interesting <a id="d0e973"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e973">61</a>]</span>room. There was a rickety walnut cabinet containing an assortment of cobwebby Venus’s fingers, which remind you of the mantel +that you fit over the gas jet; seashells that had been washed up, appropriately branded “Souvenir of Cebu;” tortoise-shell +curios from Nagasaki, and an album of pictures from Japan. The floor was polished every morning by the house-boys, and the +furniture arranged in the most formal manner, <i>vis-á-vis</i>. + +</p> +<p>The <i lang="es">señorita</i> Rosario, the sister-in-law of the proprietor, came in to entertain me presently, dressed in a bodice of blue <i lang="es">piña</i>, with the wide sleeves newly starched and ironed, and with her hair unbound. She sat down opposite me in a rocking-chair, +shook off her slippers on the floor, and curling her toes around the rung, rocked violently back and forth. She punctuated +her remarks by frequent clucks, which, I suppose, were meant to be coquettish. Her music-teacher was expected presently; so +while I wrote a letter on her <i lang="es">escritorio</i>, the <i lang="es">señorita</i> smoked a cigarette upon the balcony. The <i lang="es">maestro</i> came at last; a little, pock-marked fellow, dapper, and neatly <a id="d0e995"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e995">62</a>]</span>dressed, his fingers stained with nicotine from cigarettes. Together they took places at the small piano, and I could see +by their exchange of glances that the music-lesson was an incidental feature of the game. They sang together from a Spanish +opera the song of Pepin, the great braggadocio, of whom ’t is said, when he goes walking in the streets, “the girls assemble +just to see him pass.” + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 " lang="es"> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“Cuando me lanzo a calle +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Con el futsaque y el cla, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Todas las niñas se asoman +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Solo por ver me pasar: +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Unas a otras se dicen +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Que chico mas resa lao! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>De la sal que va tirando +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Voy a coher un punao.”</span></p> +</div> +<p>When the music-teacher had departed, the <i lang="es">señorita</i> leaned out of the balcony, watching the crowd of beggars in the street below. Of all the beggars of the Orient, those of +Cebu are the most clinging and persistent and repulsive. Covered with filthy rags and scabs, with emaciated bodies and pinched +faces, they are allowed to come into the city every week and beg for alms. Their whining, “<i lang="es">Da mi dinero, señor, mucho pobre me</i>” <a id="d0e1022"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1022">63</a>]</span>(“Give me some money, sir, for I am very poor”), sounds like a last wail from the lower world. + +</p> +<p>It was at Iloilo that we took a local excursion steamer across to the <i lang="es">pueblo</i> of Salai, in Negros. It was a holiday excursion, and the boat was packed with natives out for fun. There was a peddler with +a stock of lemon soda-water, sarsaparilla, sticks of boiled rice, cakes, and cigarettes. A game of <i lang="es">monte</i> was immediately started on the deck, the Filipinos squatting anxiously around the dealer, wagering their <i lang="es">suca ducos</i> (pennies) or their silver pieces on the turn of certain cards. It was a perfectly good-natured game, rendered absurd by the +concentric circles of bare feet surrounding it. There seemed to be a personality about those feet; there were the sleek extremities +of some more prosperous councilman or <i lang="es">insurrecto</i> general; there were the horny feet of the old women, slim and bony, or a pair of great toes quizzically turned in; and there +were flat feet, speckled, brown, or yellow, like a starfish cast up on the sand. They seemed to watch the game with interest, +and to note every move the dealer made, smiling or frowning as they won or lost. There <a id="d0e1038"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1038">64</a>]</span>was a tramway at Salay, drawn by a bull, and driven by a fellow whose chief object seemed to be to linger with the <i lang="es">señorita</i> at the terminus. The town was hotter than the desert of Sahara, and as sandy; there was little prospect o£ relief save in +the distant mountains rising to the clouds in the blue distance. + +</p> +<p>Returning to our caravansary at Iloilo, we discovered that our beds had been assigned to others; there was nothing left to +do but take possession of the first unoccupied beds that we saw. One of our party evidently got into the “Spaniard’s” bed, +the customary resting-place of the proprietor, for presently we were awakened by the anxious cries of the <i lang="es">muchachos, “Señor, señor, el Español viene</i>!” (Sir, the Spaniard comes!) But he was not to be put out by any Spaniard, and expressed his sentiments by rolling over and +emitting a loud snore. The Spaniard, easily excited, on his entrance flew into an awful rage, while the usurper calmly snored, +and the <i lang="es">muchachos</i> peeked in through the door at peril of their lives. + +</p> +<p>Nothing especially of interest is to be found at Iloilo,—only a long avenue containing Spanish, <a id="d0e1053"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1053">65</a>]</span>native, and Chinese stores; a tiny <i>plaza</i>, where the city band played and the people promenaded hand in hand; a harbor flecked with white, triangular sails of native +<i>velas</i>; and the river, where the coasting boats and tugs are lying at the docks. Neat cattle take the place of carabaos here to +a great extent. There is the usual stone fort that seems to belong to some scene of a comic opera. America was represented +here by a Young Men’s Christian Association, a clubhouse, and a <i lang="es">presidente</i>. The troops then stationed in the town added a certain tone of liveliness. + +</p> +<p>It was a week of carol-singing in the streets, of comedies performed by strolling bands of children, masses, and concerts +in the <i>plaza</i>. On Christmas afternoon we went out to the track to see the bicycle races, which at that time were a fad among the Filipinos. +The little band played in the grand-stand, and the people cheered the racers as they came laboriously around the turn. The +meet was engineered by some American, but, from a standpoint of close finishes, left much to be desired. The market-place +on Christmas eve was lighted by a thousand lanterns, and the little people <a id="d0e1069"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1069">66</a>]</span>wandered among the booths, smoking their cigarettes and eating peanuts. Until early morning the incessant shuffling in the +streets kept up, for every one had gone to midnight mass. Throughout the town the strumming of guitars, the voices of children, +and the blare of the brass band was heard, and the next morning Jack-pudding danced on the corner to the infinite amusement +of the crowd. As for our own celebration, that was held in the back room of a local restaurant, the Christmas dinner consisting +of canned turkey and canned cranberry-sauce, canned vegetables, and ice-cream made of condensed milk. + + + +<a id="d0e1071"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1071">67</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e1072" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter V.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">On Summer Seas.</h2> +<p>The foolish little steamer <i>Romulus</i> never exactly knew when she was going, whither away, or where. The cargo being under hatches, all regardless of the advertised +time of departure, whether the passengers were notified or not, she would stand clumsily down stream and out to sea. The captain, +looking like a pirate in his Tam o’Shanter cap, or the pink little mate with the suggestion of a mustache on his upper lip, +if they had been informed about sailing hour, were never willing to divulge the secret. If you tried to argue the matter with +them or impress them with a sense of their responsibility; if you attempted to explain the obvious advantages of starting +within, say, twenty-four hours of the stated time, they would turn wearily away, irreprehensible, with a protesting gesture. + + +</p> +<p>Not even excepting the Inland Sea, that dreamy waterway among the grottoes, pines, and <a id="d0e1084"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1084">68</a>]</span><i>torii</i> of picturesque Japan, there is no sea so beautiful as that around the Southern Philippines. The stately mountains, that go +sweeping by in changing shades of green or blue, appeal directly to the imagination. Unpopulated islands—islands of which +some curious myths are told of wild white races far in the interior; of spirits haunting mountain-side and vale; volcanoes, +in a lowering cloud of sulphurous smoke; narrows, and wave-lashed promontories, where the ships can not cross in the night; +great mounds of foliage that tower in silence hardly a stone’s throw from the ship, like some wild feature of a dream,—such +are the characteristics of the archipelago. + +</p> +<p>The grandeur of the scenery, the tempered winds, the sense of being alone in an untraveled wilderness, made up in part for +the discomforts of the <i>Romulus</i>. The tropical sunsets, staining the sky until the whole west was a riot of color, fiery red and gold; the false dawn, and +the sunrise breaking the ramparts of dissolving cloud; the moonlight on the waters, where the weird beams make a shimmering +path that leads away across the planet waste to <i lang="la">terra incognita</i>, or to <a id="d0e1096"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1096">69</a>]</span>some dank sea-cave where the sirens sing,—this is a day and a night upon the summer seas. + + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e1099" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p068.jpg" alt="On Summer Seas" width="720" height="439"><p class="figureHead">On Summer Seas</p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>At night, as the black prow goes pushing through the phosphorescent waters, porpoises of solid silver, puffing desperately, +tumble about the bows, or dive down underneath the rushing hull. The surging waves are billows of white fire. In the electric +moonlight the blue mountains, more mysterious than ever, stand out in bold relief. What restless tribes of savages are wandering +now through the trackless forests, sleeping in lofty trees, or in some scanty shelter amid the tangled underbrush! The light +that flickers in the distant gorge, perchance illumines some religious orgy—some impassioned dance of primitive and pagan +men. What spirits are abroad to-night, invoked at savage altars by the incantations of the savage priests—spirits of trees +and rivers emanating from the hidden shrines of an almighty one! Or it may be that the light comes from an isolated leper +settlement, where the unhappy mortals spend in loneliness their dreary lives. + +</p> +<p>On the first trip of the <i>Romulus</i> I was assigned to a small, mildewed, stuffy cabin, where <a id="d0e1110"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1110">70</a>]</span>the unsubstantial, watery roaches played at hide-and-seek around the wash-stand and the floor. It was a splendid night to +sleep on deck; and so, protected from the stiff breeze by the flapping canvas, on an army cot which the <i lang="es">muchacho</i> had stretched out, I went to sleep, my thoughts instinctively running into verse: + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“The wind was just as steady, and the vessel tumbled more, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>But the waves were not as boist’rous as they were the day before.”</span></p> +</div> +<p>It was the rhythm of the sea, the good ship rising on the waves, the cats’-paws flying into gusts of spray before the driving +wind. + +</p> +<p>I was awakened at four bells by the disturbance of the sailors swabbing down the deck—an exhibition performance, as the general +condition of the ship led me to think. Breakfast was served down in the forward cabin, where, with deep-sea appetites, we +eagerly attacked a tiny cup of chocolate, very sweet and thick, a glass of coffee thinned with condensed milk, crackers, and +ladyfingers. That was all. Some of our fellow-passengers had been there early, as the dirty table-cloth <a id="d0e1124"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1124">71</a>]</span>and dishes testified. A Filipino woman at the further end was engaged in dressing a baby, while the provincial treasurer, +in his pink pajamas, tried to shave before the dingy looking-glass. An Indian merchant, a <span id="d0e1126" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> belle with dirty finger-nails and ankles, and a Filipino justice of the peace still occupied the table. Reaching a vacant +place over the piles of rolled-up sleeping mats and camphorwood boxes—the inevitable baggage of the Filipino—I swept off the +crumbs upon the floor, and, after much persuasion, finally secured a glass of lukewarm coffee and some broken cakes. The heavy-eyed +<i lang="es">muchacho</i>, who, with such reluctance waited on the table, had the grimiest feet that I had ever seen. + +</p> +<p>A second meal was served at ten o’clock, for which the tables were spread on deck. The plates were stacked up like Chinese +pagodas, and counting them, you could determine accurately the number of courses on the bill of fare. There were about a dozen +courses of fresh meat and chicken—or the same thing cooked in different styles. Garlic and peppers were used liberally in +the cooking. Heaps of boiled rice, olives, and <a id="d0e1134"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1134">72</a>]</span>sausage that defied the teeth, wrapped up in tinfoil, “took the taste out of your mouth.” Bananas, mangoes, cheese, and guava-jelly +constituted the dessert. After the last plate had been removed, the grizzled captain at the head of the table lighted a coarse +cigarette, which, in accordance with the Spanish custom, he then passed to the mate, so that the mate could light his cigarette. +This is a more polite way than to make an offer of a match. Coffee and cognac was brought on after a considerable interval. +Although this process was repeated course for course at eight o’clock, during the interim you found it was best to bribe the +steward and eat an extra meal of crackers. + +</p> +<p>Our next voyage in the <i>Romulus</i> was unpropitious from the start. We were detained five days in quarantine in Manila Bay. There was no breeze, and the hot +sun beat down upon the boat all day. To add to our discomforts, there was nothing much to eat. The stock of lady-fingers soon +became exhausted, and the stock of crackers, too, showed signs of running out. As an experiment I ordered eggs for breakfast +once—but only once. The cook had evidently tried <a id="d0e1141"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1141">73</a>]</span>to serve them in disguise, believing that a large amount of cold grease would in some way modify their taste. He did not seem +to have the least respect for old age. It was the time of cholera; the boat might have become a pesthouse any moment. But +the steward assured us that the drinking water had been neither boiled nor filtered. There was no ice, and no more bottled +soda, the remaining bottles being spoken for by the ship’s officers. At the breakfast-table two calves and a pig, that had +been taken on for fresh meat, insisted upon eating from the plates. The sleepy-eyed <i lang="es">muchacho</i> was by this time grimier than ever. Even the passengers did not have any opportunity to take a bath. One glance at the ship’s +bathtub was sufficient. + +</p> +<p>It was a happy moment when we finally set out for the long rambling voyage to the southern isles. The captain went barefooted +as he paced the bridge. A stop at one place in the Camarines gave us a chance to go ashore and buy some bread and canned fruit +from the military commissary. How the captain and the mate scowled as we supplemented our elaborate meals with these purchases! +<a id="d0e1148"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1148">74</a>]</span>One of the passengers, a miner, finally exasperated at the cabin-boy, made an attack upon the luckless fellow, when the steward, +who had been wanting an excuse to exploit his authority, came up the hatchway bristling. In his Spanish jargon he explained +that he considered it as his prerogative to punish and abuse the luckless boy, which he did very capably at times; that he +would tolerate no interference from the passengers. But the big miner only looked him over like a cock-of-the-walk regarding +a game bantam. Being a Californian, the miner told the steward in English (which that officer unfortunately did not understand) +that if the service did not presently improve, the steward and cabin-boy together would go overboard. + +</p> +<p>Stopping at Dumaguete, Oriental Negros, where we landed several teachers, with their trunks and furniture, upon the hot sands, +most of us went ashore in surf-boats, paddled by the kind of men that figure prominently in the school geographies. It was +a chapter from “Swiss Family Robinson,”—the white surf lashing the long yellow beach; the rakish palm-trees bristling in <a id="d0e1152"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1152">75</a>]</span>the wind; a Stygian volcano rising above a slope of tropic foliage; the natives gathering around, all open-mouthed with curiosity. +At Camaguin, where the boat stopped at the sultry little city of Mambajo, an accident befell our miner. When we found him, +he was sleeping peacefully under a <i>nipa</i> shade, guarded by a municipal policeman, with the ring of Filipinos clustering around. He had been drinking native “<i>bino</i>” (wine), and it had been too much even for him, a discharged soldier and a Californian. + +</p> +<p>It was almost a pleasant change, the transfer to the tiny launch <i>Victoria</i>, that smelled of engine oil and Filipinos, and was commanded by my old friend Dumalagon. The <i>Victoria</i> at that time had a most unpleasant habit of lying to all night, and sailing with the early dawn. When I had found an area +of deck unoccupied by feet or Filipino babies, Chinamen or ants, I spread an army blanket out and went to sleep in spite of +the incessant drizzle which the rotten canopy seemed not to interrupt. I was awakened in the small hours by the rattle of +the winch. These little boats make more ado in getting under way than any ocean <a id="d0e1168"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1168">76</a>]</span>steamer I have ever known. Becoming conscious of a cloud of opium-smoke escaping from the cockpit, which was occupied by several +Chinamen, I shifted to windward, stepping over the sprawling forms of sleepers till I found another place, the only objection +to which was the proximity of numerous brown feet and the hot engine-room. The squalling of an infant ushered in the rosy-fingered +dawn. + +</p> +<p>Most of the transportation of the southern islands is accomplished by such boats as the <i>Victoria</i>. I can remember well the nights spent on the launch <i>Da-ling-ding</i>, an impossible, absurd craft, that rolled from side to side in the most gentle sea. She would start out courageously to cross +the bay along the strip of Moro coast in Northern Mindanao; but the throbbing of her engines growing weaker and weaker, she +would presently turn back faint-hearted, unable to make headway, at the mercy of a sudden storm, and with the possibility +of being swept up on a hostile shore among bloodthirsty and unreasonable Moros. Another time, and we were caught in a typhoon +off the north coast. We thought, of course, <a id="d0e1178"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1178">77</a>]</span>our little ship was stanch, until we asked the captain his opinion. “If the engines hold out,” he replied, “we may come through +all right. The engineer says that the old machine will probably blow up now any time, and that the Filipinos have quit working +and begun their prayers.” Generally a Filipino is the first to give up in a crisis; but I have seen some that managed their +canoes in a rough sea with as much skill and coolness as an expert yachtsman could have shown. I have to thank Madroño for +the way in which he handled the small boat that put out in a sea like glass and ran into a squall fifteen miles out. All through +the morning we had poled along over the crust of coral bottom, where, in the transparent water, indigo fishes swam, where +purple starfish sprawled among the coral—coral of many colors and in many forms. But as the wind came up and lashed the choppy +sea to whitecaps, as the huge waves swept along and seemed about to knock the little <i>banca</i> “off her feet,” Madroño, standing on the bamboo outrigger—a framework lashed together with the native cane, the breaking +of which would have immediately upset the boat—kept her bow <a id="d0e1183"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1183">78</a>]</span>pointed for the shore, although a counter storm threatened to blow us out to the deep sea. + +</p> +<p>So, after knocking around in <i>bancas</i>, picnicking with natives on the chicken-bone and boiled rice; after a wild cruise in the <i>Thomas</i>, where the captain and the crew, as drunk as lords, let the old rotten vessel drift, while threatening with a gun the man +that dared to meddle with the steering gear; after a dreary six months in a provincial town,—it seemed like coming into a +new world to step aboard the clean white transport, with electric-lights and an upholstered smoking-room. + +</p> +<p>A tourist party, mostly army officers, their wives and daughters, “doing” the archipelago, made up the passenger list of the +transport. The officers, now they had settled satisfactorily the question of superiority and “rank,” made an agreeable company. +There was the Miss Bo Peep, in pink and white, who wore a dozen different military pins, and would not look at any one unless +he happened to be “in the service.” Like many of the army girls, she had no use for the civilians or volunteers. Her mamma +told with <a id="d0e1195"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1195">79</a>]</span>pride how, at their last “at home,” nobody under the rank of a major had been present. One of the young lieutenants down at +Zamboanga, when he found she had not worn his pin, “retired to cry.” But then, of course, Bo Peep was not responsible for +young lieutenants’ hearts. If he had been a captain—well, that is another thing. There was the English sugar-planter from +the Tawi-Tawi group, who never lost sight of the ranking officer, who dressed in flannels, changed his clothes three times +a day, and who expressed his only ideas to me by virtue of a confidential wink. + +</p> +<p>For three whole days we were a part of the fresh winds, the tossing waves, the moon and stars. And as the ship plowed through +the sea at night, the phosphorescent surge retreated like a line of silver fire. + + + +<a id="d0e1199"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1199">80</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e1200" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter VI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Among the Pagan Tribes.</h2> +<p>With Padre Cipriano I had started out on horseback from the little trading station on Davao Bay. We were to strike along the +east coast, in the territory of the fierce Mandayas, and to penetrate some distance into the interior in order to convert +the pagans with the long eyelashes who inhabited this unknown region. It was a clear day when we set out on our missionary +enterprise, and we could see the black peak of Mount Apo, which, according to the legends of the wild Bagobos, is the throne +of the great King of Devils, and the gate to hell. + +</p> +<p>We struck a faint trail leading to the foot-hills where the barren ridges overlooked the sparkling sea—a vast cerulian expanse +without a single fleck of a white sail. The trail led through the great fields of buffalo-grass, out of which gigantic solitary +trees shot up a hundred feet into the air. There were no signs of life, only the vultures <a id="d0e1209"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1209">81</a>]</span>in the topmost branches of the trees. Wild horses, taking flight at our approach, stampeded for the forest. Nothing could +be seen in the tall grass. Even in our saddles it was higher than our heads. The trail became more rugged as we entered the +big belt of forest on the foot-hills. A wild hog bolted for the jungle with distressed grunts. It was a world of white vines +falling from the lofty branches of the trees. The animal life in some of the great trees was wonderful. The branches were +divided into zones, wherein each class of bird or reptile had its habitat. Around the base were galleries of white ants. Flying +lizards from the gnarled trunk skated through the air. Green reptiles crawled along the horizontal branches. Parrakeets, a +colony of saucy green and red balls, screamed and protested from the lower zones. An agile monkey swung from one of the long +sweeping vines, and scolded at us from another tree. Bats, owls, and crows inhabited the upper regions, while the buzzards +perched like evil omens in the topmost boughs. + +</p> +<p>Just when our throats were parched from lack of water, we discovered a small mountain torrent <a id="d0e1213"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1213">82</a>]</span>gushing over the rocks and bowlders of the rugged slope. Leaning across one of the large bowlders, from a dark pool where +the sunlight never penetrated, we scooped up refreshing hatfuls of the ice-cold water. Here was the world as God first found +it, when he said that it was good. It was impressive and mysterious. It seemed to wrap us in a mystic spell. What wonder that +the pagan tribes that roamed through the interior had peopled it with gods and spirits of the chase, and that the trees and +rivers seemed to them the spirits of the good or evil deities? The note of the wood-pigeon sounded on the right. The padre +smiled as he looked up. “That is a favorable omen,” he declared. “In the religion of the river-dwellers, the Bagobos, when +the wood-dove calls, it is the voice of God. Hark! It is coming from the right. It is a favorable sign, and we can go upon +our journey undisturbed. But had we heard it on the left, it would have been to us a warning to turn back. Our journey then +would have been unpropitious, and we would have been afraid to go on farther.” + +</p> +<p>“Does it not seem like a grand cathedral,” <a id="d0e1217"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1217">83</a>]</span>said the padre, “this vast forest? In the days when Northern Europe was a wilderness and savage people hunted in the forests; +in the days when the undaunted Norsemen braved the stormy ocean in their daring craft,—here, in these woods, the petty chiefs +and head men held their courts of justice after the traditions of their tribes, just as they do to-day. Here they have set +their traps—the arrows loosened from a bamboo spring—and while they waited, they have left the offering of eggs and rice for +the good deity. Here they have hunted their blood enemies, lying in ambush, or digging pitfalls where the sharpened stakes +were planted. Tama, the god of venery, has lured the deer into their traps; Tumanghob, god of harvest, whom they have invited +to their feasts, has made the corn and the <i>camotes</i> prosper; Mansilitan, the great spirit, has descended from the mountain-tops and aided them against their enemies.” + +</p> +<p>We knew that it was growing late by the deep shadows of the woods. So, taking our bearings with a pocket compass, we turned +east in the direction of the coast. There was no trail to follow, <a id="d0e1224"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1224">84</a>]</span>and we blundered on as best we could. We had now been in the saddle for ten hours. The ponies stumbled frequently, for they +were almost spent. The moon rose, and the hoary mountain loomed up just ahead of us. “We seem to be lost,” said the padre; +“that is a strange peak to me.” But nevertheless we kept on toward the east. Soon we had passed beyond the forest, which appeared +behind us a great dusky belt. The numerous rocks and crags made progress difficult, almost impossible. + +</p> +<p>“Look!” said the padre, “do you see that light?” We tethered the ponies at a distance, crept up stealthily behind the rocks, +and reconnoitered. And what we looked on was the strangest sight that ever mortal eyes beheld. It was like living again in +the Dark Ages—in the days before the sages and the sun-myth. It was like turning back the leaves of history—back to the legendary, +prehistoric times. + +</p> +<p>A lofty grove encircled a chaotic mass of rock. The clearing was illuminated by the flaring torches carried by a dusky band +of men. Weird shadows leaped and played in the dense foliage, <a id="d0e1230"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1230">85</a>]</span>where, high above the ground, rude shelters had been made in the thick branches of the trees. The form of a woman, flashing +with silver trinkets when the rays of light fell on her, was descending from a tree by means of a long parasitic vine. Around +the palm-leaf huts that occupied the center of the amphitheater, an altar of bamboo had been erected. We could see, in the +dim light, rude images of idols standing in front of every hut and near the altar. + +</p> +<p>As our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, we could make out the forms of men and women, dressed in brilliant colors and +with silver bracelets on their arms. In silence we crept closer. The crowd was visibly excited. It was evident that something +of a solemn and extraordinary nature was about to be performed. There were the chief assassins, so the padre whispered to +me, who were decorated savagely, according to the number of victims each had slain. The ordinary men wore open vests or jackets +and loose pantaloons. The women, evidently decked out with a complement of finery in honor of the celebration, wore short +aprons reaching to the knee. Some <a id="d0e1234"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1234">86</a>]</span>wore gold collars around their necks and silver-embroidered slippers on their feet. Their bare arms sparkled with the coils +of silver bands and bracelets that encircled them, while silver anklets jingled with the movement of their feet. They had +red tassels in their hair, and earrings made of pieces of carved bone. A number of dancing-girls, as they appeared to be, +had strings of red and yellow beads or animals’ teeth fastened around their necks. Their breasts were covered with short bodices +that fell so as to leave a portion of the waist exposed<span id="d0e1236" class="corr" title="Not in source">.</span> + +</p> +<p>The chief assassins were completely clad in scarlet, indicating that the wearer had disposed of more than twenty enemies. +The lesser assassins wore yellow handkerchiefs around their heads, and some were dignified with scarlet vests. A miserable +naked slave was pinioned where he had been thrown upon the ground near by. Although of the inferior race of the Bilanes from +Lake Buluan, his eyes flashed as he regarded the assembled people scornfully. They were to offer up a human sacrifice to Mansilitan, +the all-powerful god. +<a id="d0e1241"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1241">87</a>]</span></p> +<p>The head men seemed to be engaged in a dispute. A wild hog, also lying near the altar, was the object of their serious attention. +After they had chattered for a while, and having evidently decided on the pig, the drums and tambourines struck up a doleful +melody, and those assembled joined in a solemn chant. The pig was carefully lifted to the altar, and the chant grew more intensified. +A number of dancing-girls, describing mystic circles with their jeweled arms, were trembling violently, bending rhythmically, +gracefully from side to side. The music seemed to hypnotize the people, who kept shuffling with their feet monotonously on +the ground. The leader of the dance then stuck the living pig with a sharp dagger. As the red blood spurted out, she caught +a mouthful of it, and applying her mouth quickly to the wound, she sucked the fluid till she reeled and fell away. Another +followed her example, and another, till the pig was drained. + +</p> +<p>It was not difficult to fancy a like orgy with the quivering slave upon the altar in the place of the wild hog. The spirit +of Mansilitan <a id="d0e1246"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1246">88</a>]</span>then came down—the spirit was, of course, invisible—and talked with the head men about their enemies, the crops, and game. +The chiefs were chewing cinnamon and betel till their mouths were red. The master of ceremonies then brought out enormous +quantities of <i>tuba</i>, and his guests completed the religious ceremony with a wholesale drunk. + +</p> +<p>Under the cover of the darkness, Padre Cipriano and I slipped away. We shuddered at what we had just seen, and were silent. +Leading the ponies a short distance into the brush, we slept upon the blankets which the ponies had completely saturated with +their <span id="d0e1253" class="corr" title="Source: persiration">perspiration</span>. All night we dreamed of human sacrifices and the warm blood spurting from the victim’s breast.... They had the padre now +upon the altar, and the chief had bidden me to take the knife and draw his blood. But the great god—a creature with the horns +of a bull carabao—descended, crying that the enemy was now upon us and the crops had failed. From our uneasy sleep the crowing +of the jungle-fowl awakened us, and for the first time we expressed ourselves in words. “Padre,” <a id="d0e1256"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1256">89</a>]</span>I said, “it’s just like being in a book of Du Chaillu’s or Rider Haggard’s;” and the padre smiled. + +</p> +<p>After the ponies, who were very stiff, were limbered up a bit, we traveled on in the direction of the sea. We stopped beside +a mountain stream to bathe and eat a breakfast of canned sausages. That afternoon we rode into a small Mandaya settlement +where the head man showed Padre Cipriano every courtesy at his command. They listened eagerly to Padre Cipriano, who could +speak their language well, as he explained to them about another Mansilitan, greatest God of all. A number of them even consented +to be baptized; but I am very much afraid that the conversion was at best a transient one. The head man ordered that his runners +bring into the village of Davao for the padre gifts of game, wild hog, deer, and jungle-fowl, and, after the padre had presented +him with several strings of green and yellow beads—for the Mandayas have no use for black beads as their neighbors, the Manobos +have—we took our departure, guided to the trail by a distinguished warrior. +<a id="d0e1260"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1260">90</a>]</span></p> +<p>During our sojourn in the settlement we picked up many curious and interesting facts. Like most of the wild tribes of Mindanao, +that of the Mandayas is athletic and robust. The faces of the men are somewhat girlish and effeminate, while the expressions +of the warriors are unique. Upon their countenances cunning, cruelty, and diabolical resource are stamped indelibly. In front +of every house a wooden idol stands, while inside, on a little table, is a smaller image overwhelmed by gifts of fruit and +rice, which members of the family continually leave upon the shrine. A tiny sack of rice hangs from the idol’s neck, and betel-nuts +for him to chew are placed where they are easily accessible. During the preparation of the evening meal, one of the family +will play upon a native instrument, dancing meanwhile around the room, and lifting up his voice in supplication to the deity. + + +</p> +<p>The petty ruler or head man is chosen by a natural process of selection. He is invariably one who, by his prowess and intelligence, +commands the respect and the obedience of all. Assisted by a local justice of the peace, a bailiff, and a secretary, <a id="d0e1265"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1265">91</a>]</span>he conducts affairs according to the old traditions handed down almost from the beginning of the world. The families live +together, thus preserving clans, while blood feuds with the neighboring clans or tribes lead to a system of perpetual extermination, +which will be continued till the tribe becomes extinct. And if the enemy himself can not be killed, the nearest relative or +friend will satisfy the aggressor’s hatred just as well. Cannibalism has been practiced in this tribe with fearful and disgusting +rites. The human sacrifices that they make appease not only the great spirit, but the lesser ones, the man and wife, or evil +spirits, and the father and son, good spirits. When they go to war, the lighting men use lances, swords, and bows and arrows. +On their wooden shields, daubed over with red paint, arranged around the edges like a fringe, are tufts of hair—the souvenirs +of men whom they have killed. Their coats of mail are made of carabao horn cut into small plates, or of pieces of rattan. + + +</p> +<p>The only use they have for money is to make it into decorations and embellishments for their most valued weapons, anklets +and rings and collars, <a id="d0e1269"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1269">92</a>]</span>which they wear without discrimination. They are a very imaginative and a superstitious people. From their infancy they are +familiar with the dwarfs, the giants, and the witches, which, according to the tales of the old women, haunt the woods. A +crocodile that lives down in the center of the earth causes the earthquakes, and, to put a stop to these, the crocodiles must +be persuaded by religious incantations to go back to bed. A solar eclipse threatens a great calamity to them, and they are +sure that if they do not frighten away the serpent who is trying to devour the sun, their land will never see the morning +light again. To this end they unite in beating drums and making a loud noise with sticks. + +</p> +<p>They bury their dead in coffins made of hollowed logs. A pot of rice and the familiar weapons will be placed within the grave, +so that the soul will have protection and a food supply for the long journey. And, like Jacob, the prospective bridegroom +has to serve the parents of the bride for five or seven years before the marriage ceremony can take place. The marriage-ties +are sacred even with this savage race. The groom-to-be, <a id="d0e1273"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1273">93</a>]</span>making from time to time, gifts of wild hogs, rice, and weapons to the parents of the bride-elect, is finally rewarded with +the bride, and with a dowry as well; perhaps a slave, a bucket of <i>tuba</i>, or a silver-mounted bolo. The average value of a bride is five or six slaves, which the bridegroom pays if he is able. At +the marriage ceremony the contracting parties generally present each other with small cups of rice, to signify that they must +now endeavor mutually to support each other. + +</p> +<p>Among other tribes of the interior of Mindanao, in the river basins of the Salug and the Agusan, along the east coast, and +Davao Bay, and on the mountain slopes, are the Manobos, possibly of Indonesian origin, kings of the wilderness, inhabiting +the river valleys; the intrepid Attas, from the slopes of the volcano Apo; the Bagobos, with their interesting faces and bright +clothes, living to the east of Apo; the fierce Dulaganes of the forests, whom the Moros fear; Samales, from the island in +Davao Bay, strong, bearded people, with big hands and feet; Bilanes, from Lake Buluan, a wandering, nomadic <a id="d0e1280"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1280">94</a>]</span>race; and the Monteses of the north, sun-worshipers and petty traders. + +</p> +<p>All of these tribes are probably of Indonesian origin, an independent origin from that of the <span id="d0e1284" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayans">Visayans</span>, the Tagalogs, the Negritos, or the Moros, but of the same social level with the Malay-Chinese pagans of the northern isles. + + +</p> +<p>I used to see the Montese traders in the market-place of Cagayan (Misamis), their mobile mouths swimming with betel-juice, +with rings and bracelets on their toes and arms, the girls with hair banged saucily, adorned with bells and tassels, and with +bodices inadequately covering the breasts; and as they squatted down on the woven mats, around the honey or the wax they had +for sale, they looked like gypsies from Roumania or Hungary. The men wore bright, tight-fitting pantaloons and dirty turbans. +They resemble the Moros somewhat in appearance, and have either intermingled with this tribe or else can trace their origin +to Borneo. While they are not so wild or so exclusive as their fellow-tribes, they quickly resent intrusion into their towns +or their society. +<a id="d0e1289"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1289">95</a>]</span></p> +<p>They carry on a slave trade with their neighbors, stealing or kidnaping from the other tribes, and being stolen from in turn. +The women of some tribes brand their children, filling in the wound with a blue dye, that serves as an identification if they +happen to be snatched away. The various religious ideas of these pagans are intangible and indeterminate. The forest seems +to be the abiding-place of gods. Some tribes will offer feasts to these divinities, either leaving the flesh and rice out +in the woods to find that it has disappeared next morning, or, in many cases, eating it themselves, provided that the god, +who has been earnestly invited, fails to come. The god of disease is also recognized, and natives living on the coast have +been known, in the time of cholera, to fill canoes with rice and fruit in order to appease this deity, and leave the boats +to drift out with the tide. + +</p> +<p>Among the Bagobos, curious traditions and religious rites exist. Every Bagobo thinks he has two souls or spirits; one a good +one, and the other altogether to the bad. To them the summit of Mount Apo is the throne of the great Devil <a id="d0e1294"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1294">96</a>]</span>King, who watches over the crater with his wife. The crater is the entry-way to hell, and no one can ascend the mountain if +he has not previously offered up a human sacrifice, so that the Devil King may have a taste of human flesh and blood, and +being satiated, will desire no more. Cannibalism has existed in these regions more as a religious orgy than a means of sustenance. +A dish was made consisting of the quivering vitals of the victim, mixed with sweet potatoes, rice, or fruit. + +</p> +<p>Upon the death of any member of the tribe the house in which he lived is burned. The body is placed within a hollow tree, +and stands for several days, while a barbaric feast is held around it. The Samales bury their dead upon a coral island, placing +them in grottoes, which they visit annually with harvest offerings. + + + +<a id="d0e1298"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1298">97</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e1299" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter VII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">A Lost Tribe and the Servants of Mohammed.</h2> +<p>Wandering, always wandering through the mountains and forests since the years began,—destined to wander till the forests fall. + + +</p> +<p>Throughout the archipelago, in the dense mountain woods, sleeping in trees or on the ground, straying away in search of game, +without a fixed place of abode, live the Negritos, aborigines, the pigmy vagrants of the Philippines. These little men, molesting +no one, yet considering the rest of mankind as their enemy, and wishing only to be left alone, have hidden in the unexplored +interior. Where they have come from is a mystery. It might have been that, in the ages past, the chain of islands from Luzon +to Borneo was a part of Asia, an extensive mountain system populated by the tiny men found there to-day. If so, then they +were driven to the highlands by the cataclysm that in prehistoric ages might have broken <a id="d0e1308"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1308">98</a>]</span>up the mainland into islands, leaving only the summits of the <span id="d0e1310" class="corr" title="Source: moutains">mountains</span> visible. + +</p> +<p>Or otherwise, might not these wanderers, who have their prototypes among the pigmies of dark Africa, or in the dwarfs inhabiting +New Guinea—might they not have set sail from Caffraria, New Guinea, or the country of the Papuans, long years before the Christian +era, like the “Jumblies,” in their frail canoes, perhaps escaping persecution, driven by the winds and currents, to land at +last on the unpeopled shores of Filipinia? + + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e1316" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p098.jpg" alt="Negrito Pigmy Vagrants" width="443" height="720"><p class="figureHead">Negrito Pigmy Vagrants</p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>In time came the Malayans of low culture, now the pagan tribes of the interior, and a conflict—primitive men fighting with +rude weapons, clubs, and stones—ensued for the possession of the coast. In that event the smaller men were driven back into +the territory that they occupy to-day. The races intermingled, and a medley of strange, mongrel tribes resulted. They have +wandered, scattering themselves abroad about the islands. Influenced by various environment, each tribe adopted different +customs and built up from common roots the different dialects. These tribes have always been, and always will be, mere barbarians +<a id="d0e1322"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1322">99</a>]</span>and savages. In the pure type of Negritos, spindle legs, large turned-in feet, weak bodies, and large heads are noticeable. +Shifting eyes, flat noses, kinky hair, and teeth irregularly set,—these are Negrito characteristics, though they frequently +occur in the <i lang="es">mestizo</i> types. The Igorrotes of Luzon, whose ancestors were possibly the aborigines and the worst element of the invaders, are to-day +the cannibals and the head-hunters of the north. In Abra, province of Luzon, the Burics and their neighbors, the Busaos, both +of a Negrito-Malay origin, use poisoned darts, tattoo their bodies, and adorn themselves with copper rings and caps of rattan +decorated with bright feathers. The Manguianes, of the mountains of Mindoro, dress in rattan coils, supplemented with a scanty +apron. + +</p> +<p>These Malayan races were, in their turn, driven back by later Malays, who became the nucleus of the Tagalog, Bicol, Ilocano, +and <span id="d0e1329" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> races, taking possession of the coast and mouths of rivers, and governing themselves, or being governed by hereditary rajas, +just as when, three centuries ago, Magellan and Legaspi found <a id="d0e1332"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1332">100</a>]</span>them. The Moros, or Mohammedan invaders, were first heard from when, in 1597, Spain first tried to organize them into a dependent +government. These treacherous pirates, the descendants of the fierce Dyacs of Borneo, had begun still earlier to terrorize +the southern coasts, raiding the villages and carrying off the children into slavery. In 1599 a Moro fleet descended on the +coast of Negros and Panay, and would, no doubt, have occupied this territory permanently had not the arms of Spain been there +to interfere. Hereafter Spanish galleons were to oppose the progress of these pirate fleets, while troops of infantry were +to defeat the savages on land. The Spaniards early in the seventeenth century succeeded in establishing a foothold on the +island of Jolo and at Zamboanga. It was Father Malchior de Vera who designed the fort at Zamboanga, which was destined to +become the scene of many an attack by Moro warriors, and to be the base of military operations against the surrounding tribes. +A Jesuit mission was established in the sultan’s territory after the defeat of the Mohammedans by Corcuera. In the interior, +around the shores of <a id="d0e1334"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1334">101</a>]</span>Lake Lanao, the fighting padre, Friar Pedro de San Augustin, backing the cross with Spanish infantry, carried the Christian +war into the country of the infidels, continuing the conflict that for many years had made a battleground of Spain. It was +in memory of their old enemies, the Moors, that when the Spaniards met the infidels in eastern lands, they named them Moros +(Moors). + +</p> +<p>The war between Spain and the Moros was relentless. Time and again the pirates had been punished by the Spanish admirals, +until, in 1725, the sultan sent a Chinese envoy to Manila to negotiate a truce. A treaty was ratified, but broken, and again +the Sulu Moros learned what Spanish hell was like. In spite of this continual warfare the Mohammedans grew stronger, and in +1754 the ocean was infested with the Moro <i lang="es">vintas</i>, till another friar, Father Ducos, in a sea-fight off the coast of Northern Mindanao, sunk one hundred and fifty of their +boats and killed three thousand men. Bantilan, the usurper of the Sulu throne, was one of the foremost of the mischief-makers +who, in 1767, sent a pirate fleet as far north as <a id="d0e1341"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1341">102</a>]</span>Manila Bay. Although the Spaniards had repeatedly won victories in Jolo, Zamboanga, and Davao, and by treaties had made all +this country vassal to the crown of Spain, up to the time of the evacuation of the Philippines, when, as a last act, they +had sent their own tiny gunboats to the bottom of Lanao, they never had become the undisputed masters of the territory. + +</p> +<p>One of the pleasantest friends I had while I was in the Islands was Herr Altman, an orchid collector, who had risked his life +a hundred times among the savages of the interior in the pursuance of the passion of his life. “One afternoon,” he said, “when +we were in the forests of Luzon, my native guides approached me with broad grins. I thought, perhaps, they had discovered +some new orchid; so I followed them. But I was unprepared for what they were about to show me. Since then I have had much +experience among the wild tribes, but at this time everything was new to me. They motioned silence as, with broadening grins, +they now approached what seemed to be a clearing in the woods. I could not think why they should be amused; but they are very +<a id="d0e1345"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1345">103</a>]</span>easily delighted, just like children, and I thought that it would do no harm to humor them. Then I was startled by the howling +of a dog and a strange sound coming through the woods. + +</p> +<p>Still following my guides, I brought up in a growth of underbrush on a small precipice that overlooked an open space among +the trees. Looking in the direction in which they pointed, I beheld a group of tiny black men dancing in a circle around what +seemed to be a section of a fallen tree. Off to the side, the women, slightly smaller than the men, were cooking a wild hog +on a spit, over a smoking fire. Their hair was thick and woolly and uncombed. Their arms and ankles were adorned with copper +bracelets. Some of the men wore leather thongs that dangled from their legs. There were a few rude shelters in the clearing, +merely improvised affairs of branches. As the men danced they sent up a song in a high, piping voice, and several hungry dogs, +who had been watching enviously the roasting meat, howled sympathetically and in unison. It finally occurred to me that we +were the spectators of a funeral ceremony; that the section of a tree was nothing <a id="d0e1349"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1349">104</a>]</span>less <span id="d0e1351" class="corr" title="Source: that">than</span> the rough coffin of the dead Negrito. We continued to watch them for a time, while, having finished dancing, they began their +feast. The only dishes that they had were cocoanut-shells, out of which they drank immoderate amounts of <i>tuba</i>. The funeral ceremony, as I understand it, lasts for several days—as long as the supply of meat and <i>tuba</i> lasts. The coffin, which appeared to me a hollowed log, is but a section of a certain bark sealed up at either end with wax. +The burial is made under the house in the case of those tribes living near the coast; or in a stockade, which protects the +body against desecration from the enemy.” + +</p> +<p>It was with feelings such as one might entertain when looking at a mermaid or an inhabitant of Mars, that I first saw a genuine +Negrito in a prison at Manila. The wretched pigmy had been brought in to the city from his inaccessible retreat in the great +forest; he was dazed and frightened at the white men and the things they did. He was a miserable little fellow, with distrustful +eyes, and twisted legs, and pigeon toes. He died after a few days of captivity, during which time he had <a id="d0e1362"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1362">105</a>]</span>not spoken. A dumb obedience marked his relations with the guard. The white man’s civilization was as disagreeable and unnatural +to him as his nomadic life would be to us. A fish could just as well live out of water as this pigmy in the white man’s land. + + +</p> +<p>A few of the Negritos near the coast, however, have been touched by civilizing influences. They inhabit towns of small huts +built on poles, which they abandon on the death of any one within. The house wherein a death occurs is generally burned. They +plant a little corn and rice, but often move away before the crop is harvested. They are too lazy to raise anything; too weak +to capture slaves. During the heavy rains, when the great woods are saturated, they protect themselves against the cold by +wrapping blankets around their bodies. At night they often share the tree with birds and monkeys, sheltered from rain and +dampness by the canopy of foliage. They have a head man for their villages—sometimes a member of another tribe, who, on account +of his superior attainments, holds the respect of all. They hunt <a id="d0e1366"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1366">106</a>]</span>with bows and arrows; weapons which, by means of constant use, they handle with dexterity. At night their villages are located +through the incessant barking of the hungry dogs, which always follow them around. Sleeping in huts, in order to prevent mosquitoes +from annoying them, they often build a fire beneath them, toasting themselves until their flesh becomes a crust of scales. + + +</p> +<p>In the south Camarines, and in Negros, they will often come down to the coast towns, trading the wax and sweet potatoes of +the mountains for sufficient rice to last them several days. They sometimes work a day or two in the adjacent hemp or rice +fields, receiving for their labor a small measure of the rice. When they have eaten this, they fast until their hunger drives +them down to work again. Their marriage relations are peculiar. While the father of the family has but one true wife, a number +of women are dependent on him, widows or relatives who have attached themselves to him. The children receive their names from +rivers, animals, or trees. If they were taken out of their environment when very young they might be educated, as experiments +have shown that the <a id="d0e1370"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1370">107</a>]</span>Negrito children have the same impulses of generosity, the same attachment to their friends, the same joys, sorrows, and sensations, +that belong to children everywhere. Only their little souls are lost forever in the wilderness. + +</p> +<p>Neither the pagan tribes nor the Negritos read or write. The Moros, too, are very ignorant, only the priests and students +being able to read passages from the Koran and make the Arabic characters. The latest Malay immigrants, who had been influenced +by Indian culture, introduced a style of writing that is very queer. Three vowels were used,—a, e, and u. The consonants were +represented by as many signs that look a good deal like our shorthand. Although there were three characters to represent the +vowels when used alone, whenever a consonant would be pronounced with “a,” only the sign of the consonant was used. In order +to express a final consonant, or one without the vowel, a tiny cross was made below the character. If “e” was wanted, a dot +would be placed over the letter that expressed the consonant, or if the vowel was to be “u,” the dot was placed below. +<a id="d0e1374"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1374">108</a>]</span></p> +<p>Some rainy day, when you have nothing else to do, you can invent some characters to represent our consonants, and with the +aid of dots and crosses, write a letter to yourself, and see how you would get along if you were forced to use that kind of +alphabet at school. The natives use the Spanish alphabet to-day, which is much like our own. Their language, being full of +particles, sounds very funny when they talk. All you would understand would be perhaps, pag, naga, naca, mag, tag, paga; and +all this would probably convey but little meaning to you. It is a curious fact that while the dialects of all the tribes are +different, many of the ordinary words are common, being slightly changed in the transition. The language is of a Malayan origin, +but has a number of Sanskrit words as well as Arabic. From studying these dialects, comparing the construction of the sentence +as expressed by different tribes, and by comparing the inflections of homogeneous verbs and nouns, one might arrive at the +conclusion that these tribes and races, differing so strikingly among each other, mutually antagonistic, all belong to one +great family and <a id="d0e1377"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1377">109</a>]</span>have a common origin. But that is a question for the anthropologists to settle; one that will give even the professors all +the trouble that they want, and make them wrinkle up their learned foreheads, while among them they arrive at widely-varying +decisions, which will be as mutually exclusive as the tribes themselves. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>It was a rainy day in the dense woods along the Iligan-Marahui road. The soft ground oozed beneath the feet, and a continual +dripping was kept up from the low-hanging, saturated foliage. The Moro interpreter, in a red-striped suit and prominent gilt +buttons, had come into camp with the report that one of the dattos at Malumbung wanted the military doctor to come up and +treat his child, who was afflicted with a fever. The datto had offered protection for the “medico,” and, as a fee, a bottle +of pure gold. The guides and soldiers, who were waiting in the forest, would conduct the doctor to Malumbung if he cared to +go. + +</p> +<p>“This sounds like a pretty good adventure,” said the commanding officer to me. “How would <a id="d0e1385"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1385">110</a>]</span>you like to go along?” The doctor had accepted the offer of the Moros, and he now reiterated the commanding officer’s invitation. +“It’s going to be a rather long, stiff hike,” he said. “We’ll have to sleep to-night out in the woods, and there’s no telling +whether the Moros mean good faith or not. Remember that, in case the child should die while I am there, the Moros will believe +that I have killed it, and will probably make matters more or less unpleasant for us both. I operated once upon a fellow over +in Tagaloan who died under the knife. As soon as the spectators saw that he was hardly due to come to life again, they crowded +around me with their bolos drawn, and if a friend of mine among them had not interfered, I would have followed my subject +very speedily.” + +</p> +<p>It was arranged that we take with us a small squad of regulars to carry the provisions and go armed, “in case there should +be any game upon the way.” As this arrangement seemed to satisfy the Moros, though it did not please them much, we started, +covering the first half mile along the clayey road through driving rain, and turning <a id="d0e1389"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1389">111</a>]</span>off into the Moro trail around the summit of the hill. The Moros led the way with their peculiar lurching stride that covered +a surprising distance in a very short time. Soon we were in the heart of the vast wilderness. We passed by colonies of monkeys, +who severely reprimanded us from their secure retreat among the tree-tops. One of the soldiers killed a python with his Krag—a +swollen creature, that could hardly be distinguished from the overhanging vines—that measured twenty feet from head to tail. +The Moros silently unslipped their knives, and dextrously removed the skin. We camped that night in shelter tents, although +the ground was soaked, and a cold breath penetrated the damp woods. All night the jungle-fowl and monkeys kept up an incessant +obligato, and the forest seemed to re-echo with mysterious and far-off sounds. At daylight we pushed on, and late in the afternoon +arrived at the small Moro settlement. The tiny <i>nipa</i> houses, set up on bamboo poles, were rather a poor substitute for shelter; but on reaching them after our two days in the +forest, it was like arriving in a civilized community. The doctor <a id="d0e1394"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1394">112</a>]</span>went immediately to the datto’s house, a large one with a steep roof, where he dosed the infant with a little quinine. + +</p> +<p>There were about five hundred Moros in the village under the datto, who ruled absolutely as by hereditary right. While he, +of course, was feudal to the nearest sultan, in his own community he was a lord and prince. Most of the people were his slaves +and fighting men. His private warriors, or his bodyguard, were armed with krisses, <i>campalans</i>, and spears, with shields of carabao hide, and coats of mail of buffalo-horn, as defensive armor. The favorite weapons of +the datto were elaborately inlaid with the ivory cut from the tusks of the wild boar. His dress was also distinctive, and +when new must have been very brilliant. It was fastened with pearl buttons, while along the outside seams of his tight pantaloons +a row of smaller buttons ran. A dirty silk handkerchief wound around his head, the corner overlapping on the side, made an +appropriate and fitting headgear. He had several wives, for whom he had paid in all a sum amounting to a hundred sacks of +rice and twenty cattle. <a id="d0e1401"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1401">113</a>]</span>He had lost considerably on his speculations, having divorced three wives and being unable to secure a rebate on the price +that he had paid for them. + +</p> +<p>As soon as the doctor had completed his attentions to the patient, the <i>pandita</i> (priest) appeared, and asked him to account for the strange happenings that had occurred in the community. The village was +in a state of panic, and unless a stop were put to the proceedings soon, there was no telling what the end might be. It seemed +that during the night a number of children had been murdered secretly. Their mutilated bodies had been left at morning at +the gates of their respective dwellings. These murders had been going on for several days, and though the houses had been +guarded by a man armed with a <i>campilan</i> at night, the children would be mysteriously missing in the morning. It was evidently, said the priest, the work of devils. +A big hand had been seen to snatch one of the children from its parent’s arms; and under the houses of those afflicted could +be seen a weird fire glowing in the dead of night. + +</p> +<p>The people claimed the murderer was none else <a id="d0e1413"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1413">114</a>]</span>than the big man of the woods, whose footprints, like the impressions of a cocoanut-shell, had been discovered in the soft +ground near the border of the forest. There was a crazy prophet living in a tree, and he had seen the wife of the big man, +half black, half white, wandering near the territory of the lake. The prophet had also seen a star fall from the sky, and +he had followed it to see where it had struck the earth. He found there a huge stone, which, as he looked upon it, changed +to a wild hog. Then the wild hog had vanished, and a flock of birds had risen from the ground. In place of the rock, a stone +hand now appeared, and breaking off a finger of it, the prophet had discovered that, when burnt, its fumes had power to put +the whole community to sleep. In this way had the big man of the woods been able to defy the guards and to assassinate the +children at his will. + +</p> +<p>The doctor, thinking that these deeds had been performed by somebody impelled by lust—the lust of seeing blood and quivering +flesh—determined to investigate. Suspicion pointed to the crazy prophet, and the guards directed us to his impossible <a id="d0e1417"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1417">115</a>]</span>abode. The prophet was accused directly of the crime, and, being convinced that he was found out by the white man’s magic, +he confessed. The datto sentenced him to be beheaded, and seemed disappointed when we would not stay to see this operation. +He even offered to turn the victim loose among the crowd, and let them strike him down with krisses. Had we desired, we could +have had the places of honor in the line, and used the datto’s finest weapons. The people, he said, were puzzled at our lack +of interest, for the occasion would have been a sort of festival for them. But seeing that we were obdurate, the datto served +our farewell meal—baked jungle-fowl and rice—and, after offering to purchase our Krag-Jorgesens at an attractive price, he +bade us all good-bye. + +</p> +<p>On the way back, our guides surprised us by their climbing and swimming. There was one place where the Agus River had been +spanned by jointed bamboo poles; while we crossed like funambulists, depending for our balance on a slender rail, the Moros +leaped into the rushing torrent, near the rapids, swimming like rats <a id="d0e1421"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1421">116</a>]</span>against the stream, and reaching the other side ahead of us. One of the guides went up a tall macao-tree, pulling himself +up by the long parasitic vines, and bracing himself against the tree-trunk with his feet, to get an orchid that was growing +high among the foliage. Though we expressed our admiration at these feats, the guides preserved their customary proud demeanor, +and refused to be moved by applause. + +</p> +<p>Their active life in the vast wilderness has given them athletic, supple bodies, which they handle to a nicety when fighting. +Although the Moros build stone forts and mount them with old-fashioned cannon; although their arsenals are fairly well supplied +with Remingtons and Mausers, their warriors generally prefer to fight with bolos. These weapons never leave their side. They +sleep with them, and they are buried with them. Their heavy <i>campalans</i> are fastened to their hands by thongs, so that, in case the hand should slip, the warrior would not fall without his knife. +The Moros in a hand-to-hand fight are extremely agile. Holding the shield on the left arm, they flourish the bolo with their +right, dodging, <a id="d0e1428"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1428">117</a>]</span>leaping, and jeering at the antagonist in order to disconcert or frighten him. + +</p> +<p>While their religion and fanaticism render them almost foolhardy in a battle, if a Moro sees that he is beaten and that escape +is possible, he will avail himself of opportunities to fight another day. If brought to bay, however, he is desperate, and +in his more religious moments he will throw himself on a superior enemy, expecting a sure death, but confident of riding the +white horse to paradise if he succeeds in spilling the blood of infidels. + +</p> +<p>Although distrustful, lazy, and malignant, the Moro is consistent in his hatred for the unbeliever, and untiring on the war-path. +Scorning all manner of work, he leads an active forest life, killing the wild pig, which religious scruples prevent his eating, +and waging war against the neighboring tribes. He is a born slave-catcher and a pirate. He will drink sea-water when no other +is available. He shows a diabolical cunning in the manufacture of his weapons. Nothing can be more terrible than the long, +snaky blade of a Malay kriss. The harpoons, with which he <a id="d0e1434"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1434">118</a>]</span>spears the hogs, come apart at a slight pull. The point of the spear on catching in the flesh holds fast. The handle, however, +becoming detached, though held to the barbed point by a thong, catches and holds the hog fast in the underbrush. The head-ax +is a long blade turned at just the proper angle to decapitate the victim scientifically. + +</p> +<p>Ignorant and perfectly indifferent to the observations that their creed prescribes, the Moros gather at the rude mosque to +the beating of a monstrous drum. Seated around upon straw mats, they chatter and chew betel-nut while the <i>pandita</i> reads a passage from a manuscript copy of the Koran. These copies are guarded sacredly, and only the young men who are studying +for the priesthood are instructed from them. The priests of the first class are able to read and write, and it is better to +have made the pilgrimage to Mecca. The birth of Mohammed is celebrated by a feast at harvest-time. Another occasion for a +feast is given by the marriage ceremony. Bridegrooms are encouraged to provide these banquets by the administration of a beating +if delinquent, or in case the food provided fails to meet the expectations <a id="d0e1441"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1441">119</a>]</span>of the guests. On the completion of this function, the bridegroom bathes his feet; then chewing <i>buya</i>, seated on a mat beside the bride, his hand and hers are covered by a napkin while the priest goes through the proper gestures +and recites a verse from the Koran. The wedding celebration then degenerates into a drunken dance. + +</p> +<p>The bodies of the dead are wrapped in a white shroud, and buried in a crescent trench, together with enough meat, fruit, and +water to sustain the spirit on its trip to paradise. The priest, before departing, eats a meal of buffalo-meat or other game +above the grave. The grave is then turned over to a guard of soldiers, who remain there for a few days, or as long as they +are paid. + +</p> +<p>Though the Americans have tried to deal in good faith with these fanatics, little has been accomplished either in the way +of civilizing them or pacifying them. The Moro schools at Jolo and at Zamboanga have been failures. Teachers of manual training +have been introduced to no avail. The Moro could be no more treacherous if his ancestors had sprung from tigers’ wombs. A +Moro boy, employed for years by one of my <a id="d0e1450"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1450">120</a>]</span>American acquaintances at Iligan, rewarded his master recently by cutting his throat at night. As superstitious as he is fanatic +and uncivilized, the Moro is a failure as a member of the human race. Even the children are the incarnation of the fiend. +There was that boy at Iligan who worked at the officer’s club, and who hung over the roulette-wheel like a perfect devil, +crowing with demoniac glee when he was lucky. These are our latest citizens—this batch of serpents’ eggs hatched out in human +form; and those who have seen the Moro in his native home will tell you that, whatever his latent possibilities may be, he +can not yet be dealt with as a man. + + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e1453" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p120.jpg" alt="Our Latest Citizens" width="432" height="720"><p class="figureHead">Our Latest Citizens</p> +</div><p> + + +<a id="d0e1457"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1457">121</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e1458" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter VIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">In a <span id="d0e1463" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> Village. +</h2> +<p>The fountain on the corner, where the brown, barefooted girls with bamboo water-tubes would gather at the noon hour and at +supper-time, was shaded in the heat of the day by a mimosa-tree. The <i lang="en">Calle de la Paz y Buen Viaje</i> (Street of Peace and a Good Journey), flanked by sentinel-like bonga-trees and hedged in by a bamboo fence, stretches away +through the banana-groves toward the fantastic mountains. A puffing carabao comes down the long street, dragging the heavy +stalks of newly-cut bamboo. The pig that has been rooting in the grass, looks up, and, seeing what is coming, bolts with staccato +grunts unceremoniously through the bamboo fence. + +</p> +<p>In the little drygoods-store across the street, Felicidad, the dusky-eyed proprietress, has gone to sleep while waiting for +a customer. She has discarded her <i lang="es">chinelas</i> and her <i lang="es">piña</i> yoke. Her brown arms resting on the table pillow her unconscious <a id="d0e1479"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1479">122</a>]</span>head. Her listless fingers clasp a half-smoked cigarette. + +</p> +<p>The stock of <i lang="es">La Aurora</i> is a comprehensive one, including printed cotton goods from China, red and green belts with nickel fastenings, uncomfortable-looking +Spanish shoes, a bottle of quinine sulphate tablets, an assortment of perfumery and jewelry, rosaries and crucifixes, towels +and handkerchiefs, and dainty <i lang="es">piña</i> fabrics. The arrival of the <i lang="es">Americano</i> is the signal for the neighbors and the neighbors’ children, having nothing in particular to do, to flock around. The Filipino +curiosity again! + +</p> +<p>On the next corner, where the wooden Atlas braces up the balcony, the <i lang="es">Chino</i> store is sheltered from the sun by curtains of alternate blue and white. Here <i lang="es">Chino</i> Santiago, in his cool pajamas, audits the accounts with the assistance of the wooden counting frame, while <i lang="es">Chino</i> José, his partner, with his paintbrush stuck behind his ear, is following the ledger with his long, curved finger-nail. Both +<i lang="es">Chinos</i>, being Catholics, have taken native wives, material considerations having influenced the choice; but <i lang="es">Maestro</i> Pepin says <a id="d0e1509"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1509">123</a>]</span>that, nevertheless, they are unpopular because they work too hard and cause the fluctuations in the prices. By pursuing a +consistent system of abstractions from the rice-bags, by an innocent adulteration of the <i lang="es">tinto</i> wine, these two <i lang="es">comerciantes</i> have acquired considerable wealth. + +</p> +<p>The bland proprietor will greet you with a smile, and offer you the customary cigarette. And if the prices quoted are unsatisfactory, +they are at least elastic and are easily adjusted for a personal friend. Along the shelf the opium-scented line of drygoods +is available, while portraits of the saints and <i lang="es">Neustra Señorita del Rosario</i>, whose conical skirt conceals the little children of the Church, hang from the wall. Suspended from the ceiling are innumerable +hanging lamps with green tin shades. A line of fancy handkerchiefs, with Dewey’s portrait and the Stars and Stripes embroidered +in the corners, is displayed on wires stretched overhead across the store. Bolo blades, chocolate-boilers, rice-pots, water-jars, +and crazy looking-glasses are disposed around, while in the glass case almost anything from a bone collar-button to a musical +clock is likely to be found. <a id="d0e1522"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1522">124</a>]</span>Santiago would be glad to have you open an account here and, unlike the Filipino, he will never trouble you about your bill. + + +</p> +<p>The market street is lined with <i>nipa</i> booths, where <i lang="es">señoritas</i> play at keeping shop, presiding over the army of unattractive articles exposed for sale. Upon a rack the cans of salmon are +drawn up in a battalion, a detachment of ex-whisky bottles filled with kerosene or <i>tanduay</i>, bringing up the rear. Certain stock articles may be invariably found at these <i lang="es">tiendas</i>,—boxes of matches, balls of cotton thread, bananas, <i>buya</i>, eggs and cigarettes, and the inevitable brimming glass of <i>tuba</i>, stained a dark-red color from the frequent applications of the betel-chewing mouth. + +</p> +<p>Although the stream of commerce flows in a small way where the almighty <i lang="es">’suca duco</i> is the medium of exchange, gossip is circulated freely; for without the telegraph or telephone, news travels fast in Filipinia. +The withered hag, her scanty raiment scarcely covering her bony limbs, squatting upon the counter in the midst of <i>guinimos</i>, bananas, and dried fish, and spitting a red pool of betel-juice, will chatter the day long with <a id="d0e1552"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1552">125</a>]</span>the <i lang="es">señora</i> in the booth across the street. The purchaser should not feel delicate at seeing her bare feet in contact with the spiced +bread that he means to buy, nor at the swarms of flies around the reeking mound of <i>guinimos</i> scraped up in dirty wooden bowls, and left in the direct rays of the sun. + +</p> +<p>Dogs, pigs, chickens, and children tumble in the dust. Dejected Filipino ponies, tethered to the shacks, are waiting for their +masters to exhaust the <i>tuba</i> market. Down the lane a panting carabao, with a whole family clinging to its back, is slowly coming into town. Another, covered +with the dust of travel, laden with bananas, hemp, and <i>copra</i> from a distant <i>barrio</i>, is being driven by a fellow in a <i>nipa</i> hat, straddling the heavy load. A mountain girl, bareheaded, carrying a parasol, comes loping in to the <i lang="es">mercado</i> on a skinny pony saddled with a red, upholstered <i>silla</i>, with a rattan back and foot-rest, cinched with twisted hemp. + +</p> +<p>At night the market-place is lighted up by tiny rush lights, burning <span id="d0e1582" class="corr" title="Source: cocoatnut-oil">cocoanut-oil</span> or <i>petrolia</i>. Here, on a pleasant evening, to the lazy strumming <a id="d0e1588"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1588">126</a>]</span>of guitars, the village population promenades, young men in white holding each other’s hands, and blowing out a cloud of cigarette +smoke; <i lang="es">señoritas</i>, in their cheap red dresses, shuffling hopelessly along the road. One of the local characters is entertaining a street-corner +audience with a droll song, while the town-crier, with his escort of municipal police, announces by the beating of a drum +that a <i lang="es">bandilla</i> from the <i lang="es">presidente</i> is about to be pronounced. + +</p> +<p>Here you will find the Filipino in his natural and most playful mood, as easily delighted as a child. A crowd was always gathered +round the <i>tuba</i> depot at the head of the <i lang="es">mercado</i>, where the agile climbers brought the beverage in wooden buckets from the tops of <i>copra</i>-trees. A comical old fellow, Pedro Pocpotoc (a name derived from chicken language), used to live here, and on moonlight nights, +planting his fat feet on the window-sill, like a droll caricature of Nero, he would sing <span id="d0e1610" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> songs to the accompaniment of a cheap violin. A talkative old baker lived a short way down the street with his three daughters. +They were always busy <span id="d0e1613" class="corr" title="Source: pouding">pounding</span> rice in <a id="d0e1616"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1616">127</a>]</span>wooden mortars with long poles, thus making rice-flour, which they baked in clean banana-leaves and sweetened with brown sugar +molded in the shells of cocoanuts. + +</p> +<p>Sometimes a Moro boat would drop into the bay, and the strange-looking savages in their tight-fitting, gaudy clothes would +file through town with spices, bark, and cloth for sale. From Bohol came the curious thatched <i>bancas</i>, with their grass sails and bamboo outriggers, with cargoes of pottery, woven hats, <i>bohoka</i>, and rattan. On the <i>fiesta</i> days, Subanos from the mountains brought in strips of dried tobacco, ready to be rolled up into long cigars, <i>camotes</i>, coffee-berries, chocolate, and eggs, and squatted at the entrance to the cockpit in an improvised <i lang="es">mercado</i> with the people from the shore, who offered clams and <i>guinimos</i> for sale. + +</p> +<p>And once a month the town would be awakened by the siren whistle of the little hemp-boat from Cebu. This whistle was the signal +for the small boys to extract the reluctant carabao from the cool, sticky wallow, and yoke him to the creaking bamboo cart. +Then from the storehouses the <a id="d0e1640"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1640">128</a>]</span>fragrant <i>picos</i> of hemp would be piled on, and the longsuffering beast of burden, aided and abetted by a rope run through his nose, would +haul the load down to the beach. While naked laborers were toiling with the cargo, carrying it upon their shoulders through +the surf, the Spanish captain and the mate, with rakishly-tilted Tam o’Shanter caps, would light their cigarettes, stroll +over to Ramon’s warehouse where the hemp was being weighed, and, seated on sour-smelling sacks of <i>copra</i>, chat with old Ramon, partaking later of a dinner of <i lang="es">balenciona</i>, chicken and red-peppers, cheese and guava. + +</p> +<p>Much of the village life centers around the river. Here in the early morning come the girls and women wrapped in robes of +red and yellow stripes, and with their hair unbound. In family parties the whole village takes a morning bath, the young men +poising their athletic bodies on an overhanging bank and plunging down into the cool depths below, the children splashing +in the shallow water, and the women breast-deep in the stream, washing their long hair. + + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e1654" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p128.jpg" alt="In a Visayan Village" width="720" height="453"><p class="figureHead">In a <span id="d0e1657" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> Village +</p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>Here also, during the morning hours, the women <a id="d0e1663"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1663">129</a>]</span>take their washing. Tying the <i lang="es">chemise</i> below the arms, they squat down near the shore and beat the wet mass with a wooden paddle on a rock. Meanwhile the children +build extensive palaces of pebbles on the bank; the carabaos, up to their noses in the river, dream in the refreshing shade +of overhanging trees. The air is vocal with the liquid notes of birds, and fragrant with the heavy scent of flowers. A leaf-green +lizard creeps down on a horizontal trunk. The broad leaves of <i>abacá</i> rustle in the breeze; the graceful stalks of bamboo crackle like tin tubes. Around the bend the water ripples at the ford. +At evening you will see the tired men from the mountains, bending under heavy loads of hemp, wade through the shallows to +the cavern shelter of the banyan-tree. Through the dense mango-grove comes the faint sound of bells. The <i>puk-puk</i> bird hoots from the jungle, and the black crows settle in the lofty trees. + +</p> +<p>The covered bridge that spans the river near the mouth is a great thoroughfare. Neither the arch nor pier is used in its construction; +it is anchored to the shore by cables. It is not a very <a id="d0e1676"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1676">130</a>]</span>rigid bridge, and sways considerably when one is crossing it. Even the surefooted ponies step a little gingerly over the loose +beams that form the floor. A curious procession is continually passing,—families moving their worldly goods on carabaos, the +dogs and children following; <i lang="es">hombres</i> on ponies, grasping the stirrups with their toes; a padre with his gown caught up above his knees, riding away to some confession; +mountain people traveling in single file, and girls with trays of merchandise upon their heads. + +</p> +<p>Down where the <i>nipa</i> jungle thickens, fishing <i>bancas</i> are drawn up on the shore; and near by in a <span id="d0e1689" class="corr" title="Source: cocoatnut-grove">cocoanut-grove</span> the old boatmaker lives. The hull of the outlandish boat that he is carving is a solid log. When finished, with its black +paint, <i>nipa</i> gunwale, bamboo outriggers, and rat-lines made of parasitic vines, it will put out from port with a big gamecock as a mascot, +rowed with clumsy paddles to the rhythm of a drum, its helpless grass sails flopping while the sailors whistle for the wind. +These boats, although they can not tack, have one advantage—they can never sink. They carry bamboo poles for poling over <a id="d0e1695"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1695">131</a>]</span>coral bottoms. In a fair breeze they attain considerable speed; but there is danger in a heavy sea of swamping. When drawn +up on shore they look like big mosquitoes, as the body in proportion to the rigging seems quite insignificant. + +</p> +<p>The little fishing village is composed of leaning shacks blown out of plumb by heavy winds. Along the beach on bamboo racks +the nets are hanging out to dry. At night the little fleet puts out for Punta Gorda, where a ruined watch-tower—a protection +against Moro pirates—stands half hidden among creeping vines. The nets are floated upon husks of cocoanut, and set in the +wild light of burning rushes. While the men are working in the tossing sea, or venturing almost beyond sight of land, the +women, lighting torches, wade out to the coral reef and seine for smaller fish among the rocks. Early the following morning, +while the sea is gray, the fishermen will toss their catch upon the sand. The devil-fish are the most popular at the impromptu +market, where the prices vary according to the run of luck. + +</p> +<p>The town was laid out by the Spaniards in the days when Padre Pedro was the autocrat and <a id="d0e1701"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1701">132</a>]</span>representative of Spanish law. The ruins of the former mission and the public gardens are now overgrown with grass. Sea-breezes +sweep the rambling convent with its double walls, tiled courtyard, and its Spanish well. The new church, never to be finished, +but with pompous front, illustrates the relaxing power of Rome. Goats, carabaos, and ponies graze on the neglected plaza shaded +with widespreading camphor-trees. The two school buildings bearing the forgotten Spanish arms are on the road to ruin and +decay; no signs of life in the disreputable <i lang="es">municipio</i>; the <i lang="es">presidente</i> probably is deep in his <i lang="es">siesta</i>, and the solitary guard of the <i>carcel</i> is busily engaged in conversation with the single prisoner. + +</p> +<p>The only remains of Spanish grandeur in the village are the two ramshackle coaches that are used for hearses at state funerals. +Most of the larger houses are, however, in repair, although the canvas ceilings and the board partitions seem to be in need +of paint. These houses occupy the center of the town. They are of frame construction, painted blue and white. The floors are +made of rosewood and mahogany; the windows <a id="d0e1717"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1717">133</a>]</span>fitted with translucent shell. Storehouses occupy the first floor, while the living rooms are reached by a broad flight of +stairs. A bridge connects the dining-room with the kitchen, where the greasy cook, often a Moro slave, works at a smoky fire +of cocoanut-husks on an earth bottom, situated in an annex to the rear. + +</p> +<p>A walk through the main street leads past a row of native houses, built on poles and shaded by banana-trees. You are continually +stepping over mats spread out and covered with pounded corn, while pigs and chickens are shooed off by the excitation of a +piece of <i>nipa</i>, fastened to a string and operated from an upper window of the house. A small <i>tienda</i> opens from each house, with frequently no more than a few betel-nuts on sale. The front is decorated with the faded strips +of cloth or paper lamps left over from the last <i>fiesta</i>, while the skeleton of a lamented monkey fixed above the door acts as a charm to keep away bad luck. A parrakeet swings in +the window on a bamboo perch, and in another window hangs an orchid growing from the dried husk of a cocoanut. Under the house +the loom is situated, <a id="d0e1730"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1730">134</a>]</span>where the women weave fine cloth from <i>piña</i> and banana fibers—and the wooden mortar used for pounding rice. After the harvest season it is one of the <span id="d0e1735" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> customs to inaugurate rice-pounding bees. Relays of young men, stripped for work, surround the mortar, and, to the accompaniment +of guitars, deliver blows in quick succession and with gradually increasing speed, according to the measure of the music. + + +</p> +<p>In the cool shade of the <i>ylang-ylang</i> tree a native barber is intent upon his customer. The customer sits on his haunches while the operation is performed. When +it is finished, all the hair above the ears and neck will be shaved close, while that in front will be as long as ever. The +beard will not need shaving, as the Filipino chin at best is hardly more aculeated than a strawberry. The hair, however, even +of the smallest boys grows for some distance down the cheeks. The Filipino, when he does shave, takes it very seriously, and +attacks the bristles individually rather than collectively. + +</p> +<p>You will not remain long in a Filipino town without the chance of witnessing a native funeral. <a id="d0e1745"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1745">135</a>]</span>A service of the first class costs about three hundred <i>pesos</i>; but for twenty <i>pesos</i> Padre Pedro will conduct a funeral of less magnificence. The padre, going to the house of mourning where the band, the singers, +and the candle-bearers are assembled, engineers the pageant to the church. The dim interior will be illuminated by flickering +candles burned in memory of the departed soul. Before the altar solemn mass is held, intensified by the deep tolling of a +bell. Led by three acolytes in red and white, with silver crosses, the procession moves on to the cemetery on the outskirts +of the town. The padre sheltered by a white umbrella, reads the Latin prayers aloud. A small boy swings the smoking censer, +and the singers undertake a melancholy dirge. The withered body, with the hands crossed on the breast, clothed all in black, +is borne aloft upon a bamboo litter, mounted with a black box painted with the skull and bones, and decked with candles. Women +in black veils with candles follow, mumbling prayers, the words of which they do not understand. + +</p> +<p>The cemetery is surrounded by a coral wall, commanded by a gate that bears a Latin epigram. <a id="d0e1755"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1755">136</a>]</span>The graves, as indicated by the mounds of dirt, are never very deep, and while a few are guarded by a wooden cross, forlornly +decorated by a withered bunch of flowers, most of the graves receive no care at all. There may be one or two vaults overgrown +with grass and in a bad state of repair. Around the big cross in the center is a ghastly heap of human bones and grinning +skulls—grinning because somebody else now occupies their former grisly beds, the rent on which has long ago expired. + +</p> +<p>To the <span id="d0e1759" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> mind, death is a matter of bad luck. It is advisable to hinder it with <i>anting-antings</i> and medallions; but when it comes, the Filipino fatalist will take it philosophically. To the boys and girls a family death +is the sensation of the year. It means to them nine days of celebration, when old women gather at the house, and, beating +on the floor with hands and feet, put up a hopeless wail, while dogs without howl dismally and sympathetically. And at the +end of the nine days, the soul then being out of purgatory, they will have a feast. A pig and a goat will be killed, not to +speak of chickens—and the meat will be <a id="d0e1765"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1765">137</a>]</span>served up with calabash and rice; and visitors will come and look on while the people eat at the first table; and the second +table and the third are finished, and the viands still hold out. But these are placed upon the table down below, where <i>hoi polloi</i> and the lame, blind, and halt sit down and eat. And back of all this superficiality lies the great superstitious dread by +means of which the Church of Rome holds such authority. + +</p> +<p>I got to know the little village very well—to join the people in their foolish celebrations and their wedding feasts. I was +among them when the town was swept by cholera; when, in their ignorance, they built a dozen little shrines—just <i>nipa</i> shelters for the Holy Virgin, decorated with red cloth and colored grass—and held processions carrying the wooden saints +and burning candles. + +</p> +<p>Then the locusts came, and settled on the rice-fields—a great cloud of them, with whirring wings. They rattled on the <i>nipa</i> roofs like rain. The children took tin pans and drums and gave the enemy a noisy welcome. But the rains fell in the night, +and the next morning all the ground <a id="d0e1780"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1780">138</a>]</span>was strewn with locusts trying heavily to fly. The ancient drum of the town-crier ushered in the day of work, and those who +took this opportunity to pay their taxes gathered at the <i lang="es">municipio</i>—about a hundred ugly-looking men. They were equipped with working bolos, with their blades as sharp as scythes for cutting +grass, and, looking at them, you were forcibly reminded of another day, another army with a similar accouterment. Even the +<i lang="es">presidente</i> went barefooted as he gave directions for the work. Some were dispatched for <i>nipa</i> and bamboo, while others mowed the grass around the church. Another squad hauled heavy timbers, singing as they pulled in +unison. + +</p> +<p>On Sunday mornings a young carabao was killed. The meat hacked off with little reference to anatomy was hung up in the public +stall among the swarms of flies. Old women came and handled every piece, and haggled a good deal about the price. Each finally +selected one, and swinging it from a short piece of cane, carried it home in triumph. Morning mass was held at the big <a id="d0e1793"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1793">139</a>]</span><i lang="ceb">simbahan</i>, where the doleful music of the band suggested lost souls wailing on the borders of Cocytus or the Stygian creek. Young <i>caballeros</i> dressed in white, the <i>concijales</i> with their silver-headed canes and baggy trousers, and the “<i>taos</i>” in diaphanous and flimsy shirts that they had not yet learned to tuck inside, stood by to watch the <i>señoritas</i> on their way to church. The girls walked rather stiffly in their tight shoes; but as soon as mass was over, shoes and stockings +came off, and the villagers relaxed into the bliss of informality. + +</p> +<p>I learned, when I last went to <i lang="es">La Aurora</i>, that Felicidad was going to be married; that the banns had been announced last Sunday in the church. The groom to be, Benito,—or +Bonito as we called him on account of his good looks,—had recently returned from college in Cebu, bringing a string of fighting +cocks, a <i lang="es">fonografo</i>, and a piebald racing pony. “When he sent me the white ribbon,” said Felicidad, “I was surprised, but mamma said that I was +old enough to marry him—I was fourteen—and that the matter had <a id="d0e1817"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1817">140</a>]</span>been all arranged. And so I wore the ribbon in my hair, and also wrote my name <i>Felicidad</i> beneath his on the card that he had sent. And after that, when we went walking, the <i>dueña</i> was unnecessary.” + +</p> +<p>She confessed naïvely to a serenade under her balcony, of which I seem to have retained a hazy memory. And so the usual pig +and goat were roasted, and the neighbors’ boys came in to help. The bride, with orange-blossoms in her hair, the daintiest +kid slippers on her feet, and dressed in a white mist of <i>piña</i>, rode away in the new pony cart, the only one in town. The groom was dressed in baggy trousers, with a pink shirt and an +azure tie. Most of the presents came from <i>Chino</i> Santiago’s store; but the best one was a beautiful piano from Cebu. + +</p> +<p>After the service in the church, a feast was held upstairs in the bride’s house. Ramon, the justice of the peace, the padre, +<i lang="es">Maestro</i> Pepin, all the <i lang="es">concijales</i>, and the <i lang="es">presidente</i> were invited, and the groom owned up that he had spent his last cent on the refreshments that were passed around. It is the +custom in the poorer families <a id="d0e1844"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1844">141</a>]</span>for the prospective groom to bond himself out for a certain length of time to the bride’s father, or even to purchase her +with articles of merchandise. A combination of commercial interests was the result, however, of the marriage of Bonito and +Felicidad. + + + +<a id="d0e1846"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1846">142</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e1847" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter IX.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The “Brownies” of the Philippines.</h2> +<p>How would you like it, not to have a Fourth of July celebration, or a Christmas stocking, or a turkey on Thanksgiving-day? +The little children of the Philippines would be afraid of one of our firecrackers—they would think it was another kind of +“boom-boom” that killed men. A life-sized turkey in the Philippines would be a curiosity, the chickens and the horses and +the people are so small. The little boys and girls do not wear stockings, even around Christmas-time, and Santa Claus would +look in vain for any chimneys over there. The candy, if the ants did not get at it first, would melt and run down to the toes +and heels of Christmas stockings long before the little claimants were awake. Of course, they do not have plum-puddings, pumpkin-pies, +and apples. All the season round, bananas take the place of apples, cherries, strawberries, and peaches; and boiled rice is +the only kind of pumpkin-pie they have. +<a id="d0e1854"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1854">143</a>]</span></p> +<p>The fathers and mothers of the little Brownie boys and girls are very ignorant. Most of them can not even write their names, +and if you asked them when the family birthdays came they would have to go and ask the padre. Once, when I was living at the +convent, a girl-mother, who had walked in from a town ten miles away, came up to register the birth of a new baby in the padre’s +book. She stood before the priest embarrassed, digging her brown toes into a big crack in the floor. “At what time was the +baby born?” was asked. “I do not know,” she answered, “but it was about the time the chickens were awake.” + +</p> +<p>It is a lucky baby that can get goat’s milk to drink. Their mothers, living for the most part on dried fish and rice, are +never strong enough to give them a good start in life. It is a common sight to see the tiny litter decorated with bright bits +of paper and a half-dozen lighted candles, with its little, waxen image of a child, waiting without the church door till the +padre comes to say the funeral services. + +</p> +<p>In that far-distant country but a small number of children ever have worn pretty clothes—only <a id="d0e1861"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1861">144</a>]</span>a tiny shirt; and they are perfectly contented, as the weather never gets uncomfortably cold. Their mothers or their older +sisters carry them by placing them astride the hip, where they must cling tight with their little, fat, bare legs. They are +soon old enough to run around and play; not on the grass among the trees, but in the dust out in the street. Their houses, +built of <i>nipa</i> and bamboo, do not set back on a green lawn, but stand as near to the hot, dusty street as possible. To get inside the houses, +which are built on posts, the babies have to scramble up a bamboo ladder, where they might fall off and break their necks. +At this age they have learned to stuff themselves with rice until their little bodies look as though they were about to burst. +A stick of sugar-cane will taste as good to them as our best peppermint or lemon candy. All the boys learn to ride as soon +as they learn how to walk. Saddles and bridles are unnecessary, as they ride bareback, and guide the wiry Filipino ponies +with a halter made of rope. The carabao is a great friend of Filipino boys and girls. He lets them pull themselves up by his +tail, and ride him into town—as many as <a id="d0e1866"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1866">145</a>]</span>can make room on his back, allowing them to guide him by a rope run through his nose. + + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e1869" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p144.jpg" alt="A Carabao" width="720" height="442"><p class="figureHead">A Carabao</p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>I do not think that many of the children can remember ever having learned to swim. The mothers, when they take their washing +to the river, do not leave the little ones behind; and you can see their glistening brown bodies almost any morning at the +riverside among the <i>nipa</i>, the young mothers beating clothes upon a rock, the carabaos up to their noses in the water, chewing their cuds and dreaming +happy dreams. The boys can swim and dive like water-rats, and often remain in the river all day long. + +</p> +<p>The girls, when about five years old look very bright. Their hair is trimmed only in front (a good deal like a pony’s), and +their laughing eyes are very brown and mischievous. Most of them only wear a single ornament for a dress—a “Mother Hubbard” +of cheap cotton print which they can buy for two <i>pesetas</i> at the <i>Chino</i> store. The boys all wear long trousers, and, at church or school, white linen coats, with military collars, which they call +“<i lang="es">Americanas</i>,” The girls do not wear hats. They save their “Dutchy” little bonnets, <a id="d0e1889"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1889">146</a>]</span>with the red and yellow paper flowers, for the <i>fiesta</i> days. They wear white veils on Sundays when they go to mass. The boys’ hats often have long brims like those that we wear +on the farm. They also have felt Tam o’Shanter caps, which they affect with quite a rakish tilt. + +</p> +<p>Playthings are scarce in Filipinia. The boys and girls would be delighted with a cheap toy cart or drum. The dolls are made +of cotton cloth, with painted cheeks, and beads for eyes, dressed up in scraps of colored <i>piña</i> cloth in imitation of fine <i lang="es">señoritas</i>. Kite-time and the peg-top season come as in America. The Filipino kites are built like butterflies or birds, and sometimes +carry a long beak which is of use in case of war. Kite-fighting is a favorite amusement in the islands, where the native boys +are expert in the art of making and manipulating kites. Among the other games they play is one that an American would recognize +as “tip-cat,” and another which would be more difficult to recognize as football. This is played with a light ball or woven +framework of rattan. The ball is batted from one player to another by the heel. The national pet <a id="d0e1902"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1902">147</a>]</span>is neither dog nor cat; it is a chicken and the grown-up people think almost as much of this unique pet as the children do. + + +</p> +<p>Music comes natural to the Filipinos. Their instruments are violins, guitars, and flutes. The boys make flutes of young bamboo-stalks +which are very accurate, and give out a peculiar mellow tone. + +</p> +<p><i>Fiesta</i>-days and Sundays are the great events in Filipinia. On Sunday morning the young girls, in their white veils and clean dresses, +go to mass, and, making the sign of the cross before the church, kneel down upon the bare tiles while the service is performed. +The church to them is the magnificent abode of saints and angels. The wax images and altar paintings are the only things they +have in art except the cheap prints of the saints and Virgin, which they hang conspicuously in their homes. <i>Pascua</i>, or Christmas week, is a great holiday, but it is very different from the Christmas that we know. The children going to the +convent school are taught to sing the Spanish Christmas carols, and on Christmas eve they go outdoors and sing them on the +streets in the bright <a id="d0e1913"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1913">148</a>]</span>starlight. Their voices, although untrained, are very delicate and sweet. The native music, which they often sing, like all +the music of the southern isles, is very melancholy, often rising to a hopeless wail. On the last day of school the padre +will distribute raisins, nuts, and figs, which are the only Christmas presents that the boys and girls receive. At the parochial +schools they are taught to do their studying aloud, and always to commit the text to memory. If memory should fail them in +a crisis, they would be extremely liable to have their ears pulled by the priest, or to be made to kneel upon the floor with +outstretched arms, thus making the recitation somewhat of a tragedy; but there are also prizes for the meritorious. One book +includes the whole curriculum—religion, table manners, grammar, “numbers,” and geography—arranged in catechisms of convenient +length. The boys are separated from the girls in school and church, and I have very seldom seen them play together in their +homes. During the long vacation they must spend most of their time at work out in the rice-fields under the hot sun. So they +would rather go to school than have vacation. +<a id="d0e1915"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1915">149</a>]</span></p> +<p>With the new schools and the American schoolteachers a great opportunity has come to the young people of the Philippines. +New books with beautiful illustrations have been introduced, new songs, and a new way of studying. It would amuse you if you +were to hear them read. “I do not see the pretty bird” they would pronounce, “<span lang="en-x">Ee doa noat say day freety brud.</span>” The roll-call also sounds a good deal different from that in our own schools, where we have our Williams, Johns, and Henrys; +but the Filipino names are very pretty (mostly names of Spanish saints), Juan, Mariano, Maximo, Benito, and Torribio for boys; +Carnation, Bernarda, and Adela for the girls. The boys especially are very bright, and they are learning rapidly, not only +grammar and arithmetic, but how to play baseball and tag and other games that make the child-life of America so pleasant. + + + + +<a id="d0e1921"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1921">150</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e1922" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter X.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Christmas in Filipinia.</h2> +<p>While you are in a land of starlight, frost, and sleighbells, here the cool wind brushes through the palms and the blue sea +sparkles in the sun. “In every Christian kind of place” it is the time of Christmas bells and Christmas masses. Even at the +Aloran convent—about the last outpost of civilization (only a little way beyond live the wild mountain folk—sun-worshipers +and the Mohammedans) the padre has prepared a treat of nuts and raisins for the boys and girls—somewhat of a Christmas cheer +even so far across the sea. They have been practicing their Christmas songs, Ave Maria and the “Oratorio,” which they will +sing around the streets on Christmas eve. The schoolboys have received their presents—dictionaries, sugared crackers, and +perfumed soap—and now that their vacation has begun, their little brown heads can be seen bobbing up and down in the blue +sea. Their Christmas-tree will be the royal palm; and <i>nipa</i> boughs their mistletoe. +<a id="d0e1932"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1932">151</a>]</span></p> +<p>Last Christmas in the provinces I spent in Iloilo at a hostel kept by a barefooted Spanish landlady, slovenly in a loose morning-gown +and with disheveled hair, who stored the eggs in her own bedroom and presided over the untidy staff of house-boys. As she +usually slept late, we breakfasted without eggs, being limited to chocolate and cakes. The only option was a glass of lukewarm +coffee thinned to rather sickening proportions with condensed milk. Dinner, however, was a more elaborate affair, consisting +of a dozen courses, which began with soup and ended with bananas or the customary cheese and guava. The several meat and chicken +courses, the “<i>balenciona</i>”—boiled rice mixed with chicken giblets and red peppers—and the bread, baked hard and eaten without butter, was washed down +with a generous glass of <i>tinto</i> wine. A pile of rather moist plates stood in front of you, and as you finished one course an untidy thumb removed the topmost +plate, thus gradually diminishing the pile. + +</p> +<p>The dining-room was very interesting. A pretentious mirror in a tarnished gilt frame was the <i lang="fr">piece de resistance</i>. The faded chromos of the <a id="d0e1946"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1946">152</a>]</span>royal family, the Saints, and the Enfanta were relieved by the brilliant lithographs presenting brewers’ advertisements. A +majestic chandelier, considerably fly-specked, but elaborately ornamented with glass prisms, dropped from the frescoed ceiling, +and a cabinet containing miscellaneous seashells, family photographs, and starfish occupied one corner of the room. + +</p> +<p>There was a Christmas eve reception at the home of the “Dramatic Club,” where the refreshments of cigars and anisette and +bock beer were distributed with liberal hand. The Filipino always does things lavishly. The evening was devoted to band concerts—the +municipal band in the pavilion rendering the Mexican waltzes, “Over the Waves,” “The Dove,” and other favorites, while the +“upper ten” paraded in the moonlight under the mimosa-trees—serenades under the Spanish balconies, and carol-singing to the +strumming of guitars. The houses were illumined with square tissue paper lanterns of soft colors. The public market was a +fairyland of light. The girls at the tobacco booths offered a special cigarette tied with blue ribbon as a souvenir of the +December holidays. <a id="d0e1950"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1950">153</a>]</span>A mass at midnight was conducted in the venerable church. As the big bronze bells up in the belfry tolled the hour the auditorium +was filled with worshipers—women in flapping slippers and black veils; girls smelling of cheap perfumery and cocoanut-oil, +in their stiff gauze dresses with the butterfly sleeves; barefooted boys and young men redolent of cigarettes and musk. A +burst of music from the organ in the loft commenced the services, which were concluded with the passing of the Host and a +selection by the band. The priest on this occasion wore his gold-embroidered chasuble; the acolytes, red surplices and lace. + + +</p> +<p>The streets next morning—Christmas-day—were thronged with merry-makers. Strangers from the mountain tribes, wild, hungry-looking +creatures, had strayed into town, not only for the excitement of the cockpit, but to do their trading and receive their share +of alms, which are distributed by all good Catholics at this season of the year. + +</p> +<p>Here on the corner was a great wag in an ass’s head, accomplishing a clumsy dance for the amusement of the crowd. Around the +cockpit chaos <a id="d0e1956"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1956">154</a>]</span>was the order of the day. The eager fighting-cocks, in expectation of the combat, straining at their tethers, published to +the world their lusty challenges. The “talent,” with delicious thrills, were hefting favorite champions, and hastening’ to +register their wagers with the bank. + +</p> +<p>The cock-fights lasted the entire week; at the end of that time the erratic “wheel of fortune” had involved in ruin many an +enthusiast who had unfortunately played too heavily the losing bird. + +</p> +<p>A strolling troop of actors came to visit us that night. They carried their own scenery and wardrobe with them, and the children +who were to present the comedy were dressed already for the first act. As they filed in, followed by a mob of ragamuffins +who had seen the show a dozen times or more without apparent diminution of enjoyment, the stage manager arranged the scenery +and green-room, which consisted of a folding screen. The orchestra, with bamboo flutes, guitars, and mandolins, took places +on a bench, where they began the overture, beating the measure with bare feet and with as much delight as though they were +about to witness the performance for the first time. <a id="d0e1962"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1962">155</a>]</span>The proprietor informed us that the entertainment was to be a comedy of old Toledo. It was somewhat of a Cyrano de Bergerac +affair; one of the principals, concealed behind the “leading man,” using his own arms for gestures, sang his representative +love for the señorita in the Spanish dancer’s costume. The castanet dance was repeatedly encored, especially by those familiar +with the program, who desired that we appreciate it to its full extent. The actors in this dance were dressed as Spanish buccaneers +are popularly supposed to dress, in purple breeches buttoned at the knee, red sashes, and gold lace.... + +</p> +<p>Last night at our own church three paper lanterns, shaped like stars and representing the “three wise men,” at the climax +of the mass were worked on wires so that they floated overhead along the auditorium, and finally came to rest above the altar, +which had been transformed into a manger, the more realistic on account of the pigs, ducks, and chickens manufactured out +of paper that had been disposed around. + +</p> +<p>To-day three men in red are traveling from house to house with candles followed by an attendant <a id="d0e1968"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1968">156</a>]</span>with a bell, ringing away the evil spirits for a year. The councilmen in snowy blouses and blue pantaloons, with their official +canes, are making their official calls, and Padre Pedro in his pony cart has been around to visit his parishioners. The band, +equipped with brand new uniforms and instruments, is playing underneath the convent balcony. Their duties during the festivities +are strenuous; for they must serenade the residence of every magnate in the town, receiving contributions of <i>pesetas</i>, cigarettes, and gin. + +</p> +<p>This afternoon we made our round of calls, for every family keeps open house. A number of matinée balls were in session, where +the natives danced “clack-clack” around the floor to the monotonous drone of home-made instruments. Our friends all wished +us a “<i lang="ceb">Ma-ayon Pascua</i>” or “<i lang="es">Feliz Pascua</i>,” for which “Merry Christmas” they expected some remembrance of the day. Our efforts were rewarded by innumerable gifts of +cigarettes and many offers of <i>tanduay</i> and gin. At one place we experimented with a piece of “<i>bud-bud</i>,” which is (as its name implies) a sweet-meat made of rice paste mixed with sugar. The hams with sugar frosting, and the +cakes flavored <a id="d0e1987"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1987">157</a>]</span>with native limes, and cut in the shape of the “Ensanguined Heart,” were more acceptable. At one house we received a cake +made in the image of a lamb, with sugar ringlets representing fleece. At our departure, “many thanks, sir, for the visit,” +and a final attempt to get rid of another cigarette. It is in bad taste to refuse. A Filipino host would feel offended at +your not accepting what he offered. He would feel as though discrimination were implied. + +</p> +<p>At night after the cock-fight one droll fellow brought around a miniature marionette theater, of which he was the proud proprietor. +While his assistant blew a bamboo flute behind the scenes, the puppets danced fandangoes and played football in a very lifelike +manner. Seated on an empty cracker-box in front, surrounded by the ragged picaninnies, sat Dolores, with her sparkling eyes, +lips parted, and her black hair hanging loose,—oblivious to everything except the marionettes. + +</p> +<p>The star attraction was preceded by applause. The number was announced by those familiar with the exhibition as a “Moro combat,” +and as the assistant struck a harrowing obligato on an old oil-can, the Moros appeared with fighting <i>campalons</i> <a id="d0e1996"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e1996">158</a>]</span>and barbarous-looking shields. The crowd expressed its approbation in wild howls. The first two rounds were rather tame. “Afraid! +Afraid!” exclaimed the crowd, but presently the combatants began to warm up to their work and to make frantic lunges at each +other at the vital spot. This was the time of breathless and instinctive pressing forward from the back rows. Somebody cried +out, “<i>Cebu!</i>” or “Down in front!” and then again, “<i lang="ceb">Patai!</i>” which means “dead.” One of the warriors at this cue flopped supine on the stage, and the suppressed excitement broke. The +victor, not content with mere manslaughter, plied his sword so energetically as quickly to reduce his victim to a state of +hash. At this point his Satanic majesty, the curtain manager, saw fit to intervene, and with a long spear he successfully +probed the limp remains, completing the assassination. I had not known until then what a young barbarian Dolores was. + +</p> +<p>The last attraction of our Christmas week was a genuine Mystery play, the Virgin Mary being represented by a girl in soiled +white stockings and a confirmation dress. The Christ Child was a Spanish doll in a glass case. There were the three <a id="d0e2006"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2006">159</a>]</span>wise men—one in a long beard and a pink mask, and the others in gold braid and knickerbockers—more like dandies than philosophers. +“Joseph” was splendid, with a shepherd’s crook and a sombrero. Adoration before the manger was the theme that was developed +in a series of ballets danced by the children to a tambourine and castanet accompaniment. At the conclusion of the play, the +little actors in their starry costumes, Joseph and the Virgin (carrying the Babe), the three philosophers, and the musicians +and the army of admiring followers, filed out into the moonlight, and as the sweet music of the “Shepherds’ Song” diminished +gradually, they disappeared within a shadowy grove of palms. + + + +</p> +<div class="div2"> +<h3 class="normal">A Christmas Feast.</h3> +<p>When Señor Pedro gave his Christmas feast, he went about it in the orthodox way. That is, he began at midnight Christmas eve. +The Christmas pig we were to have had, however, disappointed us—and thereby hangs a tale. + +</p> +<p>Came Señor Pedro early in the morning of the twenty-fourth, and “In the mountains,” Señor Pedro said, “runs a fat pig.” <i lang="ceb">Usa ca babui uga <a id="d0e2017"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2017">160</a>]</span>dacu!</i> A regular feast of a pig running at large near the macao woods on the slope beyond Mercario’s hemp-fields! + +</p> +<p>Nothing would do but that I buckle on my Colt’s—a weapon that I had done much destruction with among the lesser anthropoids +in the vicinity. Then we set out radiantly for the hills, with Señor Pedro leading and a municipal policeman with us to take +home the pig. We soon arrived at the pig’s stamping grounds. We had not long to wait. There was a snapping of the underbrush, +and “Mr. Babui” appeared upon the scene. His great plank side and sagging belly was as fair a mark as any sportsman could +have wished. His greedy little eyes were fixed upon the ground where he was rooting for his Christmas dinner. + +</p> +<p>Bang! The bullet from the army Colt’s sped true. Our pig, flat on his back, was squealing desperately, and his feet were pawing +the air as last as though he had been run by clockwork and had been suddenly released from contact with the ground. Then the +municipal policeman went to pick him up. But lo, a miracle! Our Christmas pig, inspired by supersusine terror on the approach +of the dire representative of law, regained his <a id="d0e2024"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2024">161</a>]</span>legs, and before we could recover from our astonishment, had scudded away with an expiring squeak like that emitted from a +musical balloon on its collapse. We never found the pig. He was just mean enough to die in privacy. + +</p> +<p>But there was to be some compensation. What, though our Christmas dinner had escaped? I managed to bring down a monkey that +for some time had been chattering and scolding at us from a tree, and with this substitute—a delicacy rare to native palates—marched +triumphantly back to the town. + +</p> +<p>Exactly at midnight the <i>señores</i> took their seats around the board. The orchestra was stationed in an elevated alcove in the next room. On the benches sat +the women, from the dainty Juliana in her pink cotton hosiery and white kid slippers to the old witch Paola, the town scold. +We knives or forks. Heaping platefuls of rice were served with the stewed meat—cut in small pieces that “just fit the hand,” +and cooked with vegetables. At my request the monkey had been roasted whole. “All la same bata” (baby) cried my host, and +sure, I never felt more like a cannibal <a id="d0e2033"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2033">162</a>]</span>in all my life. I shuddered later when, the ladies at the table, Juliana gnawed the thigh-bone of the little beast with relish. + + +</p> +<p>Señor Pedro kept the orchestra supplied with gin, with the result that what they lacked in accuracy they made up for in enthusiasm. +In the dim room, lighted only by the smoky “kinkes,” we could see the hungry eyes of those awaiting the third table—the retainers +and the poor relations. On the boards below was spread a banquet of rice and <i>tuba</i> for the multitude. + +</p> +<p>The party broke up with a dance, and as the pointers of the Southern Cross faded from the pale sky, the happy merrymakers +filed off to their beds. They had so little in this far-off corner of the world, and yet they were content. Had not the stars +looked down upon them through the tropic night? Had not the blue sea broken in phosphorescent ridges at their feet? And didn’t +they have the Holy Virgin on the walls to smile a blessing on their little scene of revelry? O, it was Christmas over all +the world! And on this day at least the white man and the “little brown brother” could shake hands over mutual interests. + + + + +<a id="d0e2042"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2042">163</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="d0e2043" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter XI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">In a <span id="d0e2048" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> Home. +</h2> +<p>The shutters of the house across the street were closed. Under the balcony, near where the road was strewn with scarlet blossoms +from the fire-tree, carpenters were hammering and sawing busily. Shaped by the antiquated bandsaw and the bolos, a rude coffin +gradually assumed its grim proportions. A group of schoolboys, drawn by curiosity, looked on indifferently while keeping up +a desultory game of tag. Upstairs, the women, dressed in the black veils of mourning, shuffling noiselessly around, were burning +candles at the “Queen of Heaven’s” shrine. They murmured prayers mechanically—not without a certain reverence and awe—to usher +the departing soul into the land beyond. A smoky wall-lamp, glimmering near the door, illuminated the black crucifix above +the bed. In the dim candle-light vague shadows danced on the white walls. +<a id="d0e2053"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2053">164</a>]</span></p> +<p>The priest had heard the last confession of José Pilar. Not that José had been one of the padre’s friends. In fact, he was +suspected during the past year of having been a secret agent of Aglipay, the self-consecrated Bishop of Manila, and the target +of the accusation and invective that the Church of Rome is so proficient in. The recent rulings of the order had abolished +the confession fee; but the long road was uncertain and the dangers great. The padre rubbed his hands as he went out. He had +received a “voluntary” contribution for his services, with the assurance that a series of masses would be ordered by the widow +of José Pilar. Through the stiff palms, the cold sea, gray as steel, washed the far-distant shores of lonely islands, and +the red glow of the setting sun had died away. + +</p> +<p>The padre thought about the plump goats and the chickens in the new stockade. The simple people brought their chickens to +the convent, denying themselves all but the fish and rice. The mothers weaned their puny brats on rice; they stuffed them +with it till their swollen paunches made a grotesque contrast with their skinny legs. <a id="d0e2058"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2058">165</a>]</span>Childbirth is one of the minor incidents of Filipinia. Where is the house that doesn’t swarm with babies, like the celebrated +residence of the old woman in the shoe? When one of these sparrows falls, the little song that dies is never missed. + +</p> +<p>How many times had Father Cipriano climbed the rickety ladder to the <i>nipa</i> dwellings, entering the closed room where the patient lay upon the floor! A gaping crowd of yokels stood around, while the +old woman faithfully kneaded the abdomen. The native medicaster, having placed the green leaves on the patient’s temples, +would be brewing a concoction of emollient simples. The open shirt disclosed upon the patient’s breast the amulet which had +been blessed by Padre Cipriano, and was stamped with a small figure of a saint. The holy father smiled as he reflected how +they spent their last cent for the funeral ceremonies, while the doctor’s fee would be about a dozen eggs. And even now that +death had come to one not quite so ignorant and simple as the rest, the funeral celebrations would be but the more elaborate. +Not every one who could afford a coffin <a id="d0e2065"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2065">166</a>]</span>in Malingasag! And as the padre crossed the <i>plaza</i> he lighted a cigarette. + +</p> +<p>It was with feelings of annoyance that he saw before the side door of the church a tiny litter cheaply decorated with bright +paper and red cloth. The yellow candles threw a fitful light over the little image on the bier. It was the image of a child, +a thing of wax, clothed in a white dress, with a tinsel crown upon its head. One of the sacristans was drumming a tattoo upon +the bells. The padre motioned him to discontinue. He would have his gin-and-water first, and then devotions, lasting twenty +minutes. After devotions he could easily dispose of the small child. So the two humble women waited in patience at the door, +and the cheap candles sputtered and went out before the good priest could find time to hurry through the unimportant funeral +services that meant to him only a dollar or two at best in the depreciated silver currency. Already night was overshadowing +the palm-groves as the pathetic little group filed out and trudged across the rice-pads toward the cemetery. + +</p> +<p>The Filipinos regard the American doctors <a id="d0e2074"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2074">167</a>]</span>with suspicion. When a snakebite can be cured by a burnt piece of carabao horn, or when the leaves or bits of paper stuck +upon the temple will relieve the fever or the dysentery, what is the use of drugs and medicines and things that people do +not understand? Once, out of the kindness of his heart, an army doctor that I knew, prescribed a valuable ointment for a child +afflicted by a running sore. The child was in a terrible condition, as the sore had eaten away the flesh and bone, leaving +a large hole under the lower lip through which the roots of the teeth were all exposed. The parents had not washed the child +for weeks. They actually believed that bathing was injurious when one was sick. The doctor, giving them directions how to +use the medicine, asked them, as an experiment, what fee he might expect. He knew well that if the priest had asked this question, +they would eagerly have offered everything they had. So he was not surprised when they replied that they were very poor, and +that they did not think the service was worth anything. The doctor turned them away good naturedly, but they returned the +next day with the medicine, reporting <a id="d0e2076"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2076">168</a>]</span>that undoubtedly it was no good, because, forsooth, the child had cried when they applied it! As a peace-offering they brought +a dozen miserable bananas. + +</p> +<p>Slinging a tablet around his neck, a “valuable remedy against the pest,” the Filipino thinks that he is reasonably secure +against disease, and that if he becomes afflicted, it is the result of some transgression against heaven. I happened to receive +a startling proof, however, of its efficacy when the padre’s house-boy, rather a bright young fellow, made me a present of +his “remedy” and died the next day of cholera. Still I have seen the “<i>anting-anting</i>,” which is supposed to render the wearer bullet-proof, pierced with the balls of the Krag-Jorgensen and stained with blood. +Although the <span id="d0e2083" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayans">Visayans</span> show considerable sympathy toward one when he is sick, the native dentist cutting out the tooth with a dull knife, we would +consider almost too barbarous to practice in America. The Igorrotes have a way of driving out the fever with a slow fire; +but between this Spartan method and <span id="d0e2086" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> ignorance the choice is difficult. No wonder that the people drop off with <a id="d0e2089"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2089">169</a>]</span>surprising suddenness. Your laundryman or baker fails to come around some morning, and you ask one of your neighbors where +he is. The neighbor, shifting his wad of <i>buya</i> to the other cheek, will gradually wake up and answer <span id="d0e2094" class="corr" title="Source: somethink">something</span> ending in “<i>ambut</i>.” “<i>Ambut</i>” is a convenient word for the <span id="d0e2103" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span>, as it means “don’t know,” and even if he is informed, the Filipino often is too lazy or indifferent to explain. You finally +discover some one more accommodating who replies: “Why, haven’t you heard? He died the other day.” + +</p> +<p>Sulkiness, one of the characteristics of the girls and boys, develops into surliness in men and billingsgate in women. And +I have no doubt that little Diega, the sulkiest and prettiest of the <span id="d0e2108" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> beauties, in a few years will be gambling at the cock-fights, smoking cigars, and losing her money every Sunday afternoon +at Mariana’s <i>monte</i> game. Vulgarity with them goes down as wit, and the <span id="d0e2114" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> women make a fine art of profanity. It is always the woman in a family quarrel who is most in evidence. And even the delicate +Adela when the infant Richard fell downstairs <a id="d0e2117"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2117">170</a>]</span>the other day, cried, “Mother of God!” which she considered to be more appropriate than “<i>Jesus</i>, <i>Marie</i>, <i>Josep</i>!” + +</p> +<p>On entering one of the common houses, you would be astonished at the pitiable lack of furnishings. The floor is made of slats +of split bamboo, tied down with strips of cane. The walls are simply the dried <i>nipa</i> branches, fastened down with bamboo laths. The only pictures on the walls are the cheap prints of saints, the “Lady of the +Rosary,” or illustrations clipped together with the reading matter from some stray American magazine. The picture of a certain +popular shoe manufacturer is sometimes given the place of honor near the crucifix. If any attempt at decoration has been made, +the lack of taste of the <span id="d0e2133" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayans">Visayans</span> is at once apparent. For the ancient fly-specked chromo of the “Prospect of Madrid” is as artistic in their eyes as though +the advertisement of a certain cracker factory did not adorn the margin. The undressed pillars that support the house, run +through the floor. The <i>nipa</i> shutters that protect the windows are propped open, making heavy awnings, and permitting a free circulation <a id="d0e2139"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2139">171</a>]</span>of the breeze. There are no ceilings in these houses, and the entire framework of the roof is visible. A cheap red curtain, +trimmed with lace, is draped before the entrance to the sleeping-room. While in the better frame-constructed residences an +old Spanish tester bed with a cane bottom may be seen in this apartment, here only the straw mats and the cotton bolsters +are to be found. A basket hanging from a bamboo spring serves as a cradle for the baby, but it is a pretty lucky baby that +indulges in this luxury, as most of the children, spreading the mats upon the floor at night, pillow their heads upon the +bolsters, ten in a row, and go to sleep. A marble-topped table and a few chairs, formally arranged as though in preparation +for a conclave, are the features of the larger homes; but generally the furniture consists of a long bench, a wooden table, +and a camphorwood box, which contains the family treasures, and the key to which the woman of the house wears in her belt—a +symbol of authority. + +</p> +<p>On climbing the outside stairway to the living-rooms you find your passage blocked by a small fence. In trying to step over +this <a id="d0e2143"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2143">172</a>]</span>you nearly crush a naked baby, and a yellow dog snaps venomously at your heels. You enter the main room, where the pony-saddle +and the hemp-scales may be stored. The Filipinos are great visitors, and you will find a ring of old men squatting upon the +benches like so many hens, chewing the betel-nut and nursing their enormous feet. Some fellow in the corner, with a chin like +a sea-urchin, strums a tune monotonously on an old guitar. Your host arises, offers you a glass of gin and a cigar or cigarette, +and asks you to “<i lang="ceb">lincoot dinhi</i>.” So, at his invitation, you sit down, and are expected to begin the conversation. Such conversation is enlightening and +runs somewhat like this: + +</p> +<p>“Yes, thank you, I am very well; Yes, we are all well. Everything is well.... The beer of the Americans is very good.... Whisky +is very strong.... The Filipino whisky is not good for anything.... It is very dull here. It is not our custom to have pretty +girls.... What is your salary? All the Americans are very rich. We are all very poor.... The horses in America are very large. +<a id="d0e2150"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2150">173</a>]</span>Why?... If the people want me, I will be elected mayor. But let them decide.... After a while will you not let me have some +medicine? The wife has beri-beri very bad.” + +</p> +<p>The family arises with the chickens. For the Filipino boy no chores are waiting to be done. The ponies and the dogs are never +fed. Nobody seems to care much for the animals. With the exception of the fighting-cock, chickens, dogs, pigs, and carabaos +are left to forage for themselves. The pigs and dogs are public scavengers, and the poor curs that howl the night long, till +you wish that they were only allowed to bay the moon in daytime, stalk the barren shores or rice-pads in the hope of preying +upon carrion. A Filipino dog, though pinched and starved, has not the courage even to catch a young kid by the ear, and much +less to say “boo” to a goose. It is surprising how the ponies, feeding upon the coarse grass, ever become as wiry as they +do. Evidently, to the Filipino, animals do not have feelings; for they often ride their ponies furiously, though the creature’s +back may be a running sore. In using wooden saddles they forget to place a <a id="d0e2154"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2154">174</a>]</span>pad beneath them, and the saddle thus becomes an instrument of torture. + +</p> +<p>After the morning bath in the cool river, a cup of chocolate or a little bowl of rice will serve for breakfast. Then the women +attend morning mass and kneel for half an hour on the hard tiles. It is still early in the day, and the fantastic mountains, +with their wonderful lights and shadows, are just throwing off the veil of mist. Now, in the clear light, the huge, swelling +bosom of the hills, the densely-timbered slopes beyond, stand out distinctly, like a picture in a stereoscope. The heavy forests, +crowded with gigantic trees, seem like a mound of bushes thickly bunched. Off to the left rises a barren ridge, that might +have been the spine of some old reptile of the mezozoic age; and in the center a Plutonic ampitheater—the council-chamber +of the gods—is swept by shadows from the passing clouds, or glorified for a brief moment by a flood of light. + +</p> +<p>The boys are then sent out to catch one of the ponies for their father, who is going to inspect his hemp plantation on the +foot-hills. His progress will at first be rather slow; for he is a great chatterbox, <a id="d0e2160"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2160">175</a>]</span>and if he finds some crony along the road, he will dismount and drink a glass of <i>tuba</i> with him, or dicker with him over an exchange of fighting cocks. The birds are then brought out, and the two men squat down, +with the birds in hand, and set them pecking at each other to display their fine points. But the string of <i lang="es">hombres</i>, with their bolos slung about their waists, making for the mountains, reminds the planter that he must be getting on. His +fields are let out to these fellows, who will pay him a proportion of the hemp which they can strip. Although the process +of preparing hemp is primitive and slow, the green stalk being stripped by an iron comb, the laboring man can prepare enough +in one day to supply his family with “<i>sow sow</i>” for an entire week. If he would work with any regularity, especially in the wild hemp-fields, he would soon be “independent,” +and could buy the hemp from others, which could be sold at a profit to the occasional hemp-boats that come into port. The +only capital required is one or two bull-carts and carabaos, a storehouse, and sufficient rice or money to secure his first +invoice of hemp. The <a id="d0e2171"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2171">176</a>]</span>men who carry it in from the mountains, either on their own backs or on carabaos, sell it for cash or its equivalent in rice +at the first store. + +</p> +<p>On Saturdays, the boys go to the mountains to buy eggs. Their first stop is the <i>hacienda</i> on the outskirts of the town—a large, cool <i>nipa</i> house, with broad verandas, situated in a grove of palms. Around the veranda are the nests of woven baskets where the chickens +are encouraged to lay eggs. Sucking a juicy mango, they proceed upon their journey through a field of sugar-cane. They stop +perhaps at the rude mill where the brown sugar is prepared and molded in the shells of cocoanuts. They quench their thirst +here with a stick of sugar-cane, and, peeling the sweet stalk with their teeth, they disappear beyond the hill. Now they have +reached a wonderful country, where the monkeys and the parrots chatter in the trees. They can set traps for little parrots +with a net of fine thread fastened to the branches. Only a little further on is a small mountain <i>barrio</i>, where naked, lazy men lie in the sun all day, and the women weave bright-colored blankets on their looms. Returning with +their handkerchiefs tied <a id="d0e2184"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2184">177</a>]</span>full of eggs, the boys reach home about sundown. The thought of being late to supper never worries them; the Filipino is notoriously +unpunctual at meals. The boys will cook their own rice, and spread out the sleeping-mat wherever the sunset finds them. One +shelter is as good as another, and they just as often sleep away from home as in their own beds. Their parents never worry +about the children, for they know that, like Bo-peep’s sheep, they will come back some time, and it doesn’t make much difference +when. + +</p> +<p>Early in April the rice-fields are flooded by the irrigation ditches that the river or the mountain streams have filled with +water. A plow made of the notch of a tree is used to break the soil. A carabao is used for this work, as it is impossible +to mire him even in the deepest mud. The boys and girls, together with the men and women, wearing enormous sun-hats—in the +crown of which there is a place for cigarettes and matches—and with bared legs, work in the steaming fields throughout the +planting season. As the rice grows taller, the crows are frightened away by strings of flags manipulated from a station in +the center of the <a id="d0e2188"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2188">178</a>]</span>paddy. Scarecrows are built whenever there are any clothes to spare; but as the Filipino even utilizes rags, the scarecrow +often has to go in shocking <i lang="fr">négligée</i>. After the harvest season, when the entire village reaps the rice with bolos, the dry field is given over to the ponies, +and the carabaos, and the white storks, who never desert their burly friend, the carabao, but often are seen perching on his +back. The work of husking and pounding the crop then occupies the village. + +</p> +<p>If you should be invited in to dinner by a Filipino family, you would expect to eat boiled rice and chicken. They would place +a cuspidor on one side of your chair to catch the chicken bones, which you would spit out from your mouth. The food would +be cooked in dishes placed on stones over an open fire. The cook and the <i lang="es">muchachos</i> never wash their hands. They wash the dishes only by pouring some cold water on them and letting them dry gradually. The +cook will rinse the glasses with his hand. How would you like to eat a chicken boiled with its pin-feathers on, or find a +colony of red ants in your soup? The poorer families seldom go through the formality <a id="d0e2198"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2198">179</a>]</span>of serving meals. As soon as the rice and <i>guinimos</i> are cooked, the children and their parents squat around the bowl and help themselves, holding a lump of salt in one hand, +and using the other for a fork or spoon. The women do what little marketing needs to be done, and though the Filipino acts +in most things lavishly, the women can drive close bargains, and will scold like ale-wives if they find the measure short +even by so much as a single <i>guinimo</i>. + +</p> +<p>The <i>guinimo</i> is probably the smallest creature with a vertebra known to the world of science—a small fish—and it strikes one as amusing +when the people count them out so jealously. But all their marketing is done on retail lines. Potatoes, eggs, and fruit sell +for so much apiece. A single fish will be chopped up so as to go around among the customers, while the measures used in selling +rice and salt are so small that you can not take them seriously. The transaction reminds you of your childhood days when you +were playing “keep store” with a nickel’s worth of candy on the ironing-board. + +</p> +<p>At Easter-time, or during the celebration of <a id="d0e2213"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2213">180</a>]</span>the “Santa Cruz,” an enterprising family will get up a singing bee. Perhaps a wheezy organ will be brought to light, and the +musician then officiates behind the instrument. His bare feet work the pedals vigorously, and his body sways in rhythm with +the strains. As the performance is continuous, arriving or departing guests do not disturb the ceremony. There seems to be +a special song for this occasion, the words of which must be repeated over and over as the music falls and rises in a dismal +wail. Refreshments of Holland gin and <i>tuba</i> keep the party going until long after midnight. + +</p> +<p>As you walk down the long dusty street at evening, you will be half suffocated by the smoke and the rank odor of the burning +cocoanut-husks over which the supper is being cooked. Then you remember how the broiling beefsteak used to smell “back home,” +and even dream about grandmother’s kitchen on a baking day. And as you pass by the poor <i>nipa</i> shacks, you hear the murmur of the evening prayer pronounced by those within. It is a prayer from those who have but little +and desire no more. + + + + +<a id="d0e2223"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2223">181</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e2224" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter XII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Leaves from a Note-book.</h2> +<div class="div2" id="d0e2229"> +<h3 class="label">I.</h3> +<h3 class="normal">Skim Organizes the Constabulary.</h3> +<p>The soldiers had gone, bag and baggage, dog, parrot, and monkey, blanket-roll and cook. I stood by the deserted convent under +the lime-tree, watching the little transport disappear beyond the promontory. The house that formerly had been headquarters +seemed abandoned. There was the list of calls still pasted on the door. Reveille, guard-mount, mess-call, taps,—the village +would seem strange without these bugle-notes. The sturdy sentry who had paced his beat was gone. When would I ever see again +my old friend the ex-circus clown, and hear him tinkle the “potato-bug” and sing “Ma Filipino Babe?” Walking along the lonely +shore, now lashed by breakers, I looked out on the blue wilderness beyond. It was with feelings such as Robinson Crusoe must +<a id="d0e2236"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2236">182</a>]</span>have had that I went back then to the empty house. + +</p> +<p>Ramon, convinced that something would break loose, now that the troops were gone, had left for Cagayan. His wife, Maria, slept +at night with a big bolo underneath her pillow. There was a “bad” town only a few miles away—a village settled by Tagalog +convicts, who had been conspicuous in the revolt a few years previous. The people feared these neighbors, the assassins, and +they double-barred their doors at night. I was awakened as the clock struck twelve by unfamiliar noises,—nothing but the lizard +croaking in the bonga-tree. Again, at one, I started up. It was the rats, and from the rattling sound above I judged that +the house-snake was pursuing them. At early morning came the chorus of the chanticleers. Through the transparent Japanese +blinds I could see the huge green mountains shouldering the overhanging clouds. Ah! the mysterious, silent mountains, with +their wonderful, deep shadows! The work of man seemed insignificant beside them, and Balingasag the lonesomest place in all +the world. +<a id="d0e2240"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2240">183</a>]</span></p> +<p>One morning the sharp whistle of the launch aroused the town. Proceeding to the shore, I saw a boat put out from the <i>Victoria</i>, sculled by a native deck-hand. As the sun had not yet risen, all the sea was gray, and sea and sky blended into one vast +planetary sphere. Two natives carrying the ample form of the constabulary captain staggered through the surf. Behind them +came the captain’s life-long partner and lieutenant, a slight man, with cold, steely eyes, dressed in gray crash uniform, +with riding leggings. They had been through one campaign together as rough riders; for the captain had once been “sheriff +of Gallup County,” in the great Southwest. + +</p> +<p>The house no longer seemed deserted with this company, and as they had brought supplies for two months—which included bread!—we +made an early attack upon these commissaries. Since the troops had left I had been existing on canned salmon and sardines. +Now there were cheese, guava, artichokes, mushrooms, ham, bacon, blackberry-jam, and fruits. The captain, natural detective +that he was, caught one of the <i lang="es">muchachos</i> stealing a bottle of cherries, which he had thrown out the <a id="d0e2251"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2251">184</a>]</span>window during the unpacking, with the purpose of securing it next day. On being accused, he made a vigorous protest of his +innocence, but after a few minutes he returned triumphantly with the intelligence that he had “found” that which was lost. + + +</p> +<p>A heavy rain and the tail-end of a monsoon kept my two guests prisoners for a week. The <i lang="es">presidente</i> of the town had issued a <i lang="es">bandilla</i> that all able-bodied men were wanted to enlist in the constabulary. Accordingly came awkward natives to the house, where +the interpreter examined them; for all the Spanish that the genial captain knew—and he had lived already two years in the +Philippines—was “bueno,” “malo,” “saca este,” and “sabe that?” The candidates were measured, and, if not found wanting, were +turned over to the native tailor to be fitted with new uniforms. Some of the applicants confessed that they had once been +Insurrectos; but so much the better,—they knew how to fight. They said that they were not afraid of Moros—though I think that +they would rather have encountered tigers—and when <a id="d0e2261"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2261">185</a>]</span>finally dressed, a few days later, they appeared upon the streets self-conscious, objects of adoration in the eyes of all +the local belles. + +</p> +<p>The time came when the mists dissolved upon the mountains, and the little clouds scudded along overhead as though to get in +from the rain. The sun had struggled out for a few minutes, and the wind abated. But the sea had not forgotten recent injuries, +and all night we could hear the booming of the surf. The launch, drowned in a nebula of spray, dashed by, and sought an anchorage +in safer waters. So it was decided that we go to Cagayan in a big <i>banca</i>. But it was a most unwieldly craft to launch. We got the arms and ammunition safe aboard, and then, assisted by the sturdy +corporals and miscellaneous natives, we pushed out. A rushing comber swept the boat and nearly swamped it. But we bore up +till about a hundred yards from shore, when a gigantic breaker bearing down upon the <i>banca</i>—which had been deflected so as to present a <span id="d0e2271" class="corr" title="Source: boadside">broadside</span>—filled her completely, and she went down in the swirling spume. Up to our necks in surf, we labored for <a id="d0e2274"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2274">186</a>]</span>an hour, together with the population of the fishing village, finally to save the wretched boat and most of the constabulary +ordnance. + +</p> +<p>But, alas for the lieutenant! He had lost one of his riding-leggings, and for half a day he paced the shore in search of it. +He offered rewards to any native who should rescue it. Lacking a saving sense of humor, he bemoaned his fate, and when he +did give up the search, he discontinued it reluctantly. And two years afterwards, when I next met him, he inquired if I had +seen his legging washed up on the beach. “Some native must be sporting around in it,” he said. “It set me back five dollars, +Mex.” +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>It was a sleepy day at Cagayan. The tropical river flowed in silence through the jungle like a serpent. In <i lang="es">Capitan</i> A-Bey’s house opposite, a <i lang="es">señorita</i> droned the <i>Stepanie Gavotte</i> on the piano. <i lang="es">Capitan</i> A-Bey’s pigs rooted industriously in the compound. The teacher who had hiked in from El Salvador, unconscious that his canvas +leggings were transposed, was engaged in a deep game of solitaire. +<a id="d0e2294"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2294">187</a>]</span></p> +<p>Upon the settee in the new constabulary residence, his long legs doubled up ridiculously, still in khaki breeches and blue +flannel army shirt, lay “Skim,” with a week’s growth of beard upon his face, sleeping after a night-ride over country roads. +After an hour or two of rest he would again be in the saddle for two days. + +</p> +<p>Late in the afternoon we started on constabulary ponies for Balingasag—a ride of thirty miles through quagmires, over swollen +streams and mountain trails. Our ponies were the unaccepted present from a quack who thus had tried to buy his way out of +the calaboose, where he was “doing time” for trying to pass himself off as a prophet. + +</p> +<p>The first few miles of the journey led through the cloistered archways of bamboo. We crossed the Kauffman River, swimming +the horses down stream. Then the muddy roads began. The constant rains had long ago reduced them to a state of paste, and +although some attempt had been made to stiffen them with a filling of dried cocoanut-husks, the sucking sound made by the +ponies’ hoofs was but a prelude to our final floundering in the mud. There was a narrow ridge on one <a id="d0e2301"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2301">188</a>]</span>side near a thorny hedge, and, balancing ourselves on this, we made slow progress, meanwhile tearing our clothes to shreds. +Skim had considerable difficulty with his long legs, for he could have touched the ground on either side, but he could use +them to advantage, when it came to wading through the slosh ourselves, and dragging the tired ponies after us. At night we +“came to anchor” in a village, where we purchased a canned dinner in a Spanish store. The natives gathered around us as we +sat, all splashed with mud, on wicker chairs in front of the provincial <i>almacen</i>. Skim talked with the Spaniard, alternating every word with “<i>estie</i>,” while the Don kept swallowing his eyes and gesturing appropriately. Skim was convinced that his Castilian was fine art. + + +</p> +<p>We slept in a deserted schoolhouse, lizards and mosquitoes being our bed-fellows. Skim, the rough cowboy that he was, pillowed +his head upon the horse’s flank, and kept his boots on. At the break of day, restless as ever, he was off again. Crossing +the Jimenez River in a native ferry while the horses swam, we passed through tiny villages that had not seen a white man for +a year. Our <a id="d0e2311"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2311">189</a>]</span>journey now lay through the woods, and Skim, dismounting, stalked along the narrow trail as though he had been shod in seven-league +boots. I heard a pistol shot ring out, and, coming up, found Skim in mortal combat with an ape. Then one more plunge into +a river, and another stream spanned by a bamboo pole, which we negotiated like funambulists, dragging the steeds below us +by their halters,—then Balingasag. + +</p> +<p>In town the big <i>vaquero</i> was a schoolboy on a holiday. He was a perfect panther for prowling around the streets at night, and in the market-place, +where we now missed the scattering of khaki, he became acquainted with the natives, and drank <i>tuba</i> with them. He came back with reports about the resources of the town. There was an Indian merchant stranded at Ramon’s, who +had a lot of watches for sale cheap. He purchased some lace curtains at the <i>Chino</i> store, and yellow <i>piña</i> cloth for a mosquito bar, and with this stuff he had transformed his bed into a perfect bower. It was almost a contradiction +that this wild fellow, who was more accustomed to his boots and spurs at night than to pajamas, should have <a id="d0e2327"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2327">190</a>]</span>taken so much pains to make his sleeping-quarters dainty. Streamers of baby-ribbon fell in graceful lines about the curtains, +while the gauze mosquito-bar was decorated with the medals he had won for bravery. + +</p> +<p>A photograph of his divorced wife occupied the place of honor near the looking-glass. In reminiscent moods Skim used to tell +how Chita, of old Mexico, had left him after stabbing him three times with the jeweled knife that he had given her. “I didn’t +interfere with her,” he said, “but told her, when she pricked me with the little knife, it was my heart that she was jabbing +at.” Skim also told me of his expedition into “Dead Man’s Gulch,” “Death Valley,” and the suddenly-abandoned mining-camps +among the hills of California. And he had met the daughter of a millionaire in Frisco, and had seen her home. “And when I +saw the big shack looming up there in the woods,” he said, “I thought sure that I’d struck the wrong farmhouse.” + +</p> +<p>Skim rented a small place surrounded by a hedge of bonga palms, and here he entertained the village royally. He was a favorite +among the <a id="d0e2333"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2333">191</a>]</span>girls, and lavished gifts upon them, mostly the latest illustrated magazines that belonged to me. He ruled his awkward soldiers +with an iron hand, and they were more afraid of him that of the Evil One. Of course, they could not understand his Spanish, +and would often answer, “<i lang="es">Si, señor</i>” when they had not the least idea of what the orders were. Then they would come to grief for disobedience, or receive Skim’s +favorite reprimand of “Blooming idiot! <i lang="es">No sabe</i> your own language?” When his cook displeased him, he (the cook) would <span id="d0e2341" class="corr" title="Source: generaly">generally</span> come bumping down the stairs. The voice of Skim was as the roaring lion in a storm. Desertions were many in those strenuous +days; for the constabulary guards were not the heroes of the hour. + +</p> +<p>Always insisting on strict discipline, Skim, on the day we made our trial hike, marshaled his forces in a rigid line, and, +after roll-call, marched them off in order to the hills. The soldiers took about three steps to his one, and, trying to keep +up with him through the dense hemp-fields, they broke ranks and ran. We followed a mountain stream to its headwaters, scrambling +over bowlders, <a id="d0e2346"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2346">192</a>]</span>wading waist-deep in the ice-cold stream, and by the time we broke the underbrush and pushed up hill, big Skim had literally +hiked the soldiers off their feet. They were unspeakably relieved when we sat down at noon in the cool shade, upon the brink +of a deep, crystal pool, and ate our luncheon. Skim, insisting that the canned quail—which retained its gamy flavor—was beyond +redemption, turned it over to the soldiers to their great delight. + +</p> +<p>In spite of his severity, Skim had a soft heart, and when all dressed in white and gold, he would go up to visit Señor Roa +and his daughters; while the girls would play duets on the piano, Skim, with a little chocolate baby under either arm, would +sing in an insinuating voice one of his good old cowboy songs, regardless of the fact that he was not in tune with his accompaniment. +He always appeared on Sundays cleanly shaven and immaculate in white, and when the girls went by his house to church, their +dusky arms glowing among the gauze, appealed to him and made him sad. + +</p> +<p>No one could ever contradict Skim, though <a id="d0e2352"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2352">193</a>]</span>he couldn’t even write his own name legibly. His monthly reports were actually works of art. “<span lang="en-x">Seenyor Inspekter of constabulery</span>,” he would write, “<span lang="en-x">i hav the honner to indite the following report. i hav bin having trubel with the moros. They was too boats of them and they +had a canon in the bow. i faired three shots and too of them fell down but they al paddeled aeway so fast i coodnt catch them.</span>” And again: “<span lang="en-x">On wensday the first instant i went on a hike of seven miles. i captured three ladrones four bolos, one old gun and too durks.</span>” Then after practicing his signature for half an hour on margins of books or any kind of paper he could find, he used to +sign his document with a tremendous flourish. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>I rather miss the rock thrown at my blinds at 4 o’clock A. M. A little catlike sergeant, a <i lang="es">mestizo</i>, is in charge of the constabulary, and the men are glad. No longer does the huge six-footer, with his army Colt’s, stalk +through the village streets. The other day I got a note from Skim: “<span lang="en-x">i dont think i ain’t never going to come back there eny moar</span>,” he wrote above the most <a id="d0e2373"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2373">194</a>]</span>successful signature that I had ever seen. A few months later Skim was badly crippled in a fight with robbers. He was sent +to Manila to the civil hospital. On his discharge he was promoted, and he now wears three bars on his shoulder-straps. He +has been shot three times since then, and he has written, “<span lang="en-x">If i dont get kilt no more, i dont think that i wont come back.</span>” + +</p> +<p>To-day the constabulary is well organized. They have distinguished themselves time and again in battle-line. They have put +down the lingering sparks of the rebellion. They look smart in their brand-new uniforms and russet boots. But it was only +a year or two ago that Skim had crowded their uncivilized feet into the clumsy army shoe, and knocked them around like puppets +in a Noah’s ark. Skim, if you ever get hold of these few pages written in your honor, here’s my compliments and my best wishes +for another bar upon your shoulder-straps, and—yes, here’s hoping that you “won’t get killed no more.” + + +<a id="d0e2380"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2380">195</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div class="div2" id="d0e2381"> +<h3 class="label">II.</h3> +<h3 class="normal">Last Days at Oroquieta.</h3> +<p>I had been visiting the teachers at El Salvador, who occupied a Spanish convent, with a broad veranda looking out upon the +blue sea and a grove of palms. It was a country of bare hills, which reminded one somewhat of Colorado. <i>Nipa</i> jungles bristled at the mouths of rivers, and the valleys were verdant with dense mango copses. We made our first stop on +the way from Cagayan on Sunday morning at a village situated in a prairie, where a drove of native ponies had been tethered +near the <i>nipa</i> church. The roads were alive with people who had been attending services or who were on the way to the next cock-fight. Falling +in with a loquacious native, who supplied us with a store of mangoes, we rode on, and reached Tag-nipa or El Salvador late +in the afternoon. + +</p> +<p>One of the teachers, “Teddy,” might have actually stepped from out the pages of Kate Greenaway. He had a large, broad forehead, +and <a id="d0e2396"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2396">196</a>]</span>a long, straight nose. He conducted a school of miserable little girls, and in the evening, like a village preacher, he would +make his pastoral calls with a “Hello, girlie!” for each child he met. When he was pleased at anything, he used to clap his +hands, exclaiming, “Goodie!” “Teddy” envied me “my baccalaureate enthusiasm,” and, encouraged evidently by this quality, he +would read Chaucer in a sing-song voice, or, when this recreation failed, would make up limericks to a guitar accompaniment. +His partner was the one who wore the transposed leggings, and who walked as though continually following a plow. + +</p> +<p>Leaving for Oroquieta, in a Moro sailboat stocked with Chinese pigs and commissaries that belonged to one called “Jac-cook” +by the natives, or “The Great White Father”—a New Zealander who could have posed as an Apollo or a Hercules—the sailors whistled +for wind, and finally succeeded in obtaining it. The moon rose early over the dark waters, and the boat, behaving admirably, +rode the huge waves like a cockle. We had nearly gone to pieces on a coral reef that night if “Jac-cook,” suddenly aroused +by the unusual <a id="d0e2400"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2400">197</a>]</span>sound of breakers, had not lowered sail in time to save the ship from running on the sharp rock half a mile from land. The +sailors, perfectly incompetent, and panic-stricken at the course the boat was taking, blundered frightfully as the New Zealander +assumed command. + +</p> +<p>No doubt the best mess in the town at that time was the one conducted by the members of the hospital detachment. “Shorty,” +who did the cooking, was a local druggist in his way; that is, he sold the natives talcum powder, which they bought at quinine +rates. The acting steward, whom all the Filipinos called “Francisco,” though his name was Louis, was a butcher, and a doctor +too. Catching the Spaniard’s goat out late at night, he knocked it in the head. The carcass was then taken into the dissecting-room, +where it was skinned and dressed for the fresh-meat supply. He had acquired a local reputation as a <i lang="es">medico</i>, to the disgust of the real army doctor, who, for a long time, could not imagine why his medicines had disappeared so fast. +Then there was “Red,” who had the art of laziness down fine, and who could usually be found playing <i>monte</i> with the <a id="d0e2410"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2410">198</a>]</span>natives. With the money he had won at <i>monte</i> games and chicken-fights, he intended to set up a drugstore in America. + +</p> +<p>In a downpour of rain I left one morning for Aloran, down the coast and up the winding river. Prisoners furnished by the <i lang="es">presidente</i> manned the <i>banca</i>. They were guarded by a barefooted municipal policeman, who, on falling presently to sleep, would probably have lost his +Mauser overboard had not one of the convicts rescued it and courteously returned it to him. It was a wet and lonesome pull +up the Aloran River, walled in on both sides by <i>nipa</i> jungles, and forever winding in and out. After an hour or so, while I was wondering what we were coming to, we met a raft +poled down the stream with “Red” and a young Austrian constabulary officer aboard. + +</p> +<p>Finding a little teacup of a house, I moved in, and, before an interested throng of natives, started to unpack my trunks and +boxes with a sense of genuine relief; for I had had four months of traveling and living out of steamer-trunks. But I returned +to Oroquieta all in good time for the doctor’s birthday and the annual Oroquieta ball. I <a id="d0e2428"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2428">199</a>]</span>found the doctor wandering about Aloran late one afternoon; for he had been attending a sick Chinaman. We started back together +through the night, and, in the darkness, voices greeted us, or snarled a “<i lang="es">Buenas noches</i>” at us as we passed. Bridges that carabaos had fallen through were crossed successfully, and we arrived at Oroquieta during +the band concert. + +</p> +<p>The foreign colony at Oroquieta was more interesting than the <i lang="la">personæ dramatis</i> of the “Canterbury Tales.” Where to begin I do not know. But, anyway, there was my old friend the constabulary captain, “Foxy +Grandpa,” as we called him then, because when he was not engaged in telling how he had arrested somebody in Arizona, he was +playing practical jokes or doing tricks with cards and handkerchiefs. And then there was the “Arizona Babe,” a blonde of the +Southwestern type, affianced to the commissary sergeant. The wife o£ the commanding officer, a veritable O’Dowd, and little +Flora, daughter of O’Dowd, who rode around town in a pony cart, were leaders of society for the subpost. + +</p> +<p>Then you could take a stool in front of <a id="d0e2440"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2440">200</a>]</span>Paradies’s general store, and almost at any time engage the local teacher in an argument. You would expect, of course, that +he would wander from his topic till you found yourself discussing something entirely foreign to the subject, but so long as +he was talking, everything was satisfactory. There were the two Greek traders who had “poisoned the wells” out Lobuc way,—so +people said. And I must not forget “Jac-cook,” whose grandfather, according to his own report, had been a cannibal, a king +of cannibals, and eaten a roast baby every morning for his breakfast. Jack was a soldier of fortune if there ever was one. +He could give you a recipe for making <i>poi</i> from ripe bananas and the milk of cocoanuts, or for distilling whisky from fermented oranges,—both of which formulas I have +unfortunately lost. He recommended an exclusive diet of raw fish, and in his youth he had had many a hard battle with the +shark and octopus. His one regret was that there were no sharks in the Oroquieta Bay, that, diving under, he could rip with +a sharp knife. “To catch the devil-fish,” he used to say, “you whirl them rapidly around <a id="d0e2445"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2445">201</a>]</span>your arm until they get all tangled up and supine-like.” And once, like Ursus, in “Quo Vadis,” he had taken a young bull by +the horns and broken its neck. + +</p> +<p>All members of good standing in the colony received their invitations to the birthday party. Old Vivan, the ex-horse-doctor +of the <i lang="es">Insurrectos</i>, went out early in the morning to cut palms. The floor was waxed and the walls banked with green. The first to arrive was +“Fresno Bill,” the Cottobato trader, in a borrowed white suit and a pair of soiled shoes. Then came the bronzed Norwegian +captain of the <i>Delapaon</i>, hearty and hale from twenty years of deep-sea sailing from the Java coast to Heligoland. Came Paradies, the little German +trader, in his finest blacks, and chose a seat off in one corner of the room. Then “Foxy Grandpa” and the “Arizona Babe” arrived, +and the old maid from Zamboanga, who, when expression failed her, would usurp the conversation with a “blab, blab, blab!” +And as the serpent made for old Laocoön, so she now made for “Fresno Bill.” + +</p> +<p>Half an hour more and the party was in full <a id="d0e2457"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2457">202</a>]</span>swing. Native musicians, stationed on the landing, furnished the music, and Vivan, the Filipino Chesterfield, with sweeping +bows to every one, was serving the refreshments. Padre Pastor, in his black gown, with his face all wreathed in smiles, was +trying to explain to the schoolteacher’s wife that “stars were the forget-me-nots of heaven.” The young commissary sergeant +had secured an alcove for the “Arizona babe,” and “Foxy grandpa,” taking a nip of something when his good wife’s back was +turned, was telling his best anecdote of the southwest, “Ichabod Crane,” the big-boned Kansan—who had got the better of us +all that afternoon in argument—swinging his arms, and with his head thrown back, was trying to herd the people into an old-fashioned +reel. Grabbing the little daughter of the regiment together with the French constabulary officer—they loved each other like +two cats—he shouted, “Salamander, there! Why don’t you salamander?” Entering into the fun more than the rest, the genial army +doctor “kept the ball a-rolling.” +<a id="d0e2459"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2459">203</a>]</span></p> +<p>For the doctor was a southerner, as many of the army people are. In his dual function of physician-soldier, he could boast +that he had killed more men, had more deaths to his credit, than his fellow officers. He was undoubtedly the best leech in +the world. When off duty he assumed a Japanese <span id="d0e2462" class="corr" title="Source: kimona">kimono</span>, which became him like the robes of Nero. Placing his sandaled feet upon the window-sill, he used to read the <i>Army and Navy Journal</i> by the hour. Although he had a taste for other literature, his studies were considerably hampered by a tendency to fall asleep +after the first few paragraphs. He spent about four weeks on “Majorie Daw.” When he was happy—and he generally was happy—he +would sing that favorite song of his, “O, Ca’line.” It went: + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“O, Ca’line! O, Ca’line! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Can’t you dance da pea-vine? +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>O, my Jemima, O-hi-o.”</span></p> +</div> +<p>But he could never explain satisfactorily what the “pea-vine” was. His “Ring around and shake a leg, ma lady,” was a triumph +in the lyric line. +<a id="d0e2477"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2477">204</a>]</span></p> +<p>We used to walk to Lobuc every afternoon to purchase eggs. The doctor’s “<i lang="ceb">Duna ba icao itlong dinhi?</i>” always amused the natives, who, when they had any eggs, took pleasure in producing them. It was with difficulty that I taught +him to say “<i lang="ceb">itlog</i>” (egg) instead of “eclogue,” which he had been using heretofore. He made one error, though, which never could be rectified,—he +always called a Chinaman a “hen chick,” much to the disgust of the offended Oriental, whose denomination was expressed in +the <span id="d0e2486" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> by the word “<i>inchic</i>.” +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>I pause before attempting a description of the Oroquieta ball, and, like the poets, pray to some kind muse to guide my pen. +To-night I feel again the same thrill that I felt the night of the grand Oroquieta ball. The memories of Oroquieta music seem +as though they might express themselves in words: + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“The stars so brightly shine, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>But ah, those stars of thine! +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Are none like yours, <i>Bonita</i>, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Beyond the ocean brine.”</span></p> +</div><a id="d0e2508"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2508">205</a>]</span><p>And then I seem to see the big captain—“Foxy grandpa”—beating the bass drum like that extraordinary man that Mark Twain tells +about, “who hadn’t a tooth in his whole head.” I can remember how Don Julian, the crusty Spaniard, animated with the spirit +of old Capulet, stood on the chair and shouted, “<i lang="es">Viva los Americanos!</i>”—and the palm-grove, like a room of many pillars, lighted by Chinese lanterns. + +</p> +<p>It was a time of magic moonlight, when the sea broke on the sands in phosphorescent lines in front of the <i>kiosko</i>. Far out on the horizon lights of fishing-boats would glimmer, and the dusky shores of Siquijor or the volcanic isle of Camaguin +loomed in the distance. Here there were little cities as completely isolated though they were parts of another planet, where +the “other” people worked and played, and promenaded to the strumming of guitars. And in the background rose the triple range +of mountains, cold, mysterious, and blue in the transfiguring moonlight. + +</p> +<p>The little army girl, like some fair goddess of the night, monopolized the masculine attention <a id="d0e2521"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2521">206</a>]</span>at the ball. When she appeared upon the floor, all others, as by mutual consent, retired, and left the field to her alone. +The “Pearls of Lobuc,” who refused to come until a carriage was sent after them, appeared in delicate gauze dresses, creamy +stockings, and white slippers. And “The Princess of the Philippines,” Diega, with her saucy pompadour, forgot that it was +time to drop your hand at the conclusion of the dance. Our noble Ichabod was there in a tight-fitting suit of <span id="d0e2523" class="corr" title="Source: blacks">black</span> and narrow trousers, fervently discussing with the French constabulary man whether a frock was a Prince Albert. Paradies +capered mincingly to the quick music of the <span id="d0e2526" class="corr" title="Source: walz">waltz</span>, and the old maid, unable to restrain herself, kept begging the doctor—who did not know how to dance—only to try a two-step +with her, please. And the poor doctor, in his agony, had sweated out another clean white uniform. I had almost forgotten Maraquita +and the <i lang="es">zapatillas</i> with the pearl rosettes. She was a little queen in pink-and-white, and ere the night was over she had given me her “<i>sing sing</i>” (ring) and fan, and told me that I could “ask papa” if I wanted to. The next day she was just as pretty <a id="d0e2535"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2535">207</a>]</span>in light-blue and green, and with her hair unbound. She poked her toes into a pair of gold-embroidered sandals, and seemed +very much embarrassed at my presence. This was explained when, later in the day, her uncle asked me for Miss Maraquita’s ring. + + +</p> +<p>Although the cook and the <i lang="es">muchachos</i> ate the greater part of the refreshments, and a heart or two was broken incidentally, the Oroquieta ball passed into history +as being the most brilliant function of its kind that ever had been witnessed at the post. + +</p> +<p>The winter passed with an occasional plunge in the cool river, and the surf-bath every morning before breakfast. In the evening +we would ride to Lobuc, racing the ponies back to town in a white cloud of dust. Dinner was always served for any number, +for we frequently had visitors,—field officers on hunting leave, commercial drummers from Cebu, the circuit judge, the captain +of the <i>Delapaon</i>. The doctor had been threatening for some time, now, to give Vivan a necessary whipping, which he did one morning to that +Chesterfield’s astonishment. Calling the servant “<i lang="es">Usted</i>,” <a id="d0e2550"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2550">208</a>]</span>or “Your honor,” he applied the strap, and old Vivan was shaking so with laughter that he hardly felt the blows. But after +that, he tumbled over himself with eagerness to fill our orders. We had found the coolest places in the town,—the beach at +Lobuc, under a wide-spreading tree, and the thatched bridge where the wind swept up and down the river, where the women beat +their washing on the rounded stones, and carabaos dreamed in the shade of the bamboo. The cable used to steady the bridge +connected with the shore, the doctor explained to the old maid, was the Manila cable over which the messages were sent. + +</p> +<p>The clamor of bells one morning reminded us that the <i>fiesta</i> week was on, and old Vivan came running in excitedly with the intelligence that seven <i>bancas</i> were already anchored at the river’s mouth, and there were twenty more in sight. Then he went breathlessly around the town +to circulate the news. We rode about in Flora’s pony cart, and sometimes went to visit “Foxy Grandpa,” wife, and “Arizona +Babe.” “Old Tom,” the convict on parole for murder, waited on the table, serving the pies that Mrs. G. had <a id="d0e2560"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2560">209</a>]</span>taught the cook to make, and the canned peaches with evaporated cream. Then, on adjourning to the parlor, with its pillars +and white walls, the “Babe” would play “Old Kentucky Home” on the piano till the china shepherdesses danced with the vibrations, +and the genial captain, growing reminiscent, would recall the story of the man he had arrested in old Mexico, or even condescend +to do a new trick with a handkerchief. There was a curious picture from Japan in a gilt frame that had the place of honor +over the piano. It was painted on a plaque of china, robin’s-egg blue, inlaid with bits of pearl,—which represented boats +or something on the Inland Sea, while figures of men and small boys, enthusiastically waving Japanese flags, all cut out of +paper, had been pasted on. There was an arched bridge over the blue water, and a sampan sculled by a boatman in a brown <i>kimono</i>. There was a house with paper windows and a thatched roof. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>... <i>Chino</i> José died, and was given a military funeral. The bier was covered with the Stars and Stripes. A company of native scouts +<a id="d0e2572"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2572">210</a>]</span>was detailed as an escort, and the local band led the procession to the church. Old “Ichabod,” with a long face, and in a +dress suit, with a purple four-in-hand tie, followed among the candle-bearers with long strides. The tapers burning in the +nave resembled a small bonfire, and exhaustive masses finally resulted, so I judge, in getting the old heathen’s spirit out +of purgatory. Good old <i>Chino</i> José! He had left his widow fifty thousand “Mex,” of which the priest received his share; also the doctor, for the hypodermic +injections of the past three months. + +</p> +<p>Then came the wedding of Bazon, whose bride, for her rebellious love, had recently been driven from her mother’s home. Bazon, +touched by this act of loyalty, cut his engagement with another girl and made the preparations for the wedding feast. I met +the little Maraquita at Bazon’s reception, and conversed with her through an interpreter. “The <i lang="es">señorita</i> says,” so the interpreter informed me, “she appreciates your conversation very much, and thinks you play the piano very well. +She has a new piano in her house that came from Paris. In a little while the <i lang="es">señorita</i> will depart <a id="d0e2585"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2585">211</a>]</span>for Spain, where she intends to study in a convent for a year.” Ah, Maraquita! She had had an <i lang="es">Insurrecto</i> general for a suitor, and had turned him down. And she had jilted Joe, the French constabulary officer, and had rejected +a neighboring merchant’s offer for her hand of fifty carabaos. I have to-day a small reminder of her dainty needlework—a family +of <span id="d0e2590" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> dolls which she had dressed according to the native mode. + +</p> +<p>One day the undertaker’s boat dropped in with a detachment of the burial corps aboard. The bodies of the soldiers that had +slept for so long in the convent garden were removed, and taken in brass caskets back across the sea.... + +</p> +<p>We started out one morning on constabulary ponies, brilliantly caparisoned in scarlet blankets and new saddles. “Ichabod,” +the Kansas <i lang="es">maestro</i>, had proposed to guide us to Misamis over the mountain trail. It was not long, however, before one spoke of trails in the +past tense. The last place that was on the map—a town of questionable loyalty, that we had gladly left late in the afternoon—now +seemed, as we remembered it, in contrast <a id="d0e2600"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2600">212</a>]</span>with the wilderness, a small metropolis. The Kansan still insisted that he was not lost. “Do you know where we are?” I asked. +“Wa-al,” he replied, “those mountains ought to be ’way over on the other side of us, and the flat side of the moon ought to +be turned the other way.” We wandered for ten hours through prairies of tall buffalo-grass, at last discovering a trail that +led down to the sea. The ponies were as stiff as though they had been made of wood instead of flesh and blood. + +</p> +<p>We had Thanksgiving dinner at the doctor’s. Old Tom did the cooking, and Vivan, all smiles, waited upon the guests. Stuffed +chicken and roast sucking pig, and a young kid that the <i lang="es">muchachos</i> had tortured to death that morning, sawing its throat with a dull knife, were the main courses. Padre Pastor, who had held +a special mass that morning for Americans, “returned thanks,” rolling his eyes, and saying something about the flowers not +being plentiful or fragrant, but the stars, exceptional in brilliance, compensating for the floral scantiness. The doctor +sang “O, Ca’line,” and the captain did tricks with the <a id="d0e2607"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2607">213</a>]</span>napkins. Everybody voted this Thanksgiving a success. + +</p> +<p>The weary days that followed at Aloran were relieved late in December by a visit from the doctor, and a new constabulary officer +named Johnson,<a id="d0e2611src" href="#d0e2611" class="noteref">1</a> who had ridden out on muddy roads, through swimming rice-pads, across swollen rivers. When the store of commissaries was +exhausted, we rode back, and Johnson came to grief by falling through an open bridge into a rice-swamp, so that all that we +could see of him was a square inch of his poor horse’s nose. We pulled him out, and named the place “Johnson’s Despair.” +<a id="d0e2627"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2627">214</a>]</span></p> +<p>Our Christmas Eve was an eventful one. The transport <i>Trenton</i> went to pieces on our coral reef. We were expecting company, and when the boat pulled in, we went down to the beach to tell +them where the landing was. “We thought that you were trying to tell us we were on a rock,” the little cavalry lieutenant, +who had been at work all night upon the pumps, said, when we saw him in the morning. It was like a shipwreck in a comic opera, +so easily the vessel grounded; and at noon the next day we were invited out on shipboard for a farewell luncheon. The boat +was listed dangerously <a id="d0e2633"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2633">215</a>]</span>to port, and, as the waves rolled in, kept bumping heavily upon the coral floor. The hull under the engines was staved in, +and, as the tide increased, the vessel twisted as though flexible. Broken amidships, finally, she twisted like some tortured +creature of the deep. The masts and smokestacks branched off at divergent angles, giving the ship a rather drunken aspect. +At high tide the masts and deck-house were swept off; the bow went, and the boat collapsed and bent. By evening nothing was +left except the bowsprit rocking defiantly among the breakers, a broken skeleton, the keel and ribs, and the big boiler tumbling +and squirting in the surf. + +</p> +<p>There were three shipwrecked mariners to care for,—the bluff captain, one of nature’s noblemen, who had spent his life before +the mast and on the bridge, and who had been tossed upon many a strange and hostile coast. He had a deep scar on his head, +received when he was shanghaied twenty years before. He told strange stories of barbaric women dressed in sea-shells; of the +Pitcairn islanders, who formerly wore clothes of <a id="d0e2637"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2637">216</a>]</span>papyrus, but now dressed in the latest English fashion, trading the native fruits and melons for the merchandise of passing +ships. + +</p> +<p>Then there was Mac, the chief, a stunted, sandy little man, covered with freckles, and tattooed with various marine designs. +He loved his engine better than himself, and in his sorrow at its break-up, he was driven to the bottle, and when last seen—after +asking “ever’ one” to take a drink—was wandering off, his arms around two Filipino sailors. Coming to life a few days later, +“<span lang="en-x">Mac ain’t sayin’ much</span>,” he said, “<span lang="en-x">but Mac, ’e knows.</span>” Yielding to our persuasion, he wrote down a song “<span lang="en-x">what ’e ’ad learned once at a sailors’ boardin’ ’ouse in Frisco.</span>” It was called “The Lodger,” and he rendered it thus, in a deep-sea voice: + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 " lang="en-x"> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“The other night I chanced to meet a charmer of a girl, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>An’, nothin’ else to do, I saw ’er ’ome; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>We ’ad a little bottle of the very finest brand, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>An’ drank each other’s ’ealth in crystal foam. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>I lent the dear a sover’ign; she thanked me for the same +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>An’ laid ’er golden ’ead upon me breast; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>But soon I finds myself thrown out the passage like shot,— +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>A six-foot man confronts me, an’ ’e says:</span></p> +</div> +<p><span class="smallcaps">Chorus</span>— + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 " lang="en-x"> +<p class="line" style=""><span>I’m sorry to disturb you, but the lodger ’as come,” etc.</span></p> +</div><a id="d0e2674"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2674">217</a>]</span><p>The feature of the song, however, was Mac’s leer, which, in a public hall, would have brought down the house, and which I +feel unable to describe. + +</p> +<p>The mate, aroused by the example of the chief, rendered a “Tops’l halliard shanty,” “Blow, Bullies, Blow.” It was almost as +though a character had stepped from <i>Pinafore</i>, when the athletic, gallant little mate, giving a hitch to his trousers, thus began: “Strike up a light there, Bullies; who’s +the last man sober?” + +<span class="smallcaps">Song.</span> + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“O, a Yankee ship came down the river— +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Blow, Bullies, blow!</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Her sails were silk and her yards were silver— +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Blow, my Bully boys, blow!</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Now, who do you think was the cap’n of ’er? +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Blow, Bullies, blow!</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Old Black Ben, the down-east bucko— +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Blow, my Bully boys, How!”</span></p> +</div> +<p>”’Ere is a shanty what the packeteers sings when, with ’full an’ plenty,’ we are ’omeward bound. It is a ’windlass shanty,’ +an’ we sings it to the music of the winch. The order comes ’hup anchors,’ and the A one packeteer starts hup: + +<a id="d0e2704"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2704">218</a>]</span></p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>”’We’re hom’ard bound; we’re bound away; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Good-bye, fare y’ well.</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>We’re home’ard bound; we leave to-day; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Hooray, my boys! we’re home’ard bound.</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>We’re home’ard bound from Liverpool town; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Hooray, my boys, hooray!</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>A bully ship and a bully crew; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Good-bye, fare y’ well.</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>A bucko mate an’ a skipper too; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Hooray, my boys, we’re home’ard bound!’”</span></p> +</div> +<p>For the old maid this was the time the ages had been waiting for. What anxious nights she spent upon her pillow or before +the looking-glass; what former triumphs she reviewed; and what plans for the conquest she had made, shall still remain unwritten +history. When she was ready to appear, we used to hear her nervous call, “Doctor! Can I come over?” Poor old maid! She couldn’t +even wait till she was asked. How patiently she stirred the hot tomato soy the captain made; O yes! She could be useful and +domestic. How tenderly she leaned upon the arm of the captain’s chair, caressing the scar upon his head “where he was shanghaied!” +Then, like Othello, he would entertain her with his story about the ladies in the sea-shell clothes, or of the time when <a id="d0e2728"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2728">219</a>]</span>he had “weathered the Horn” in a “sou’wester.” She was flurried and excited all the week. The climax came after the captain +left for Iligan. The old maid learned somehow that he was going to Manila on a transport which would pass by Oroquieta but +a few miles out. Sending a telegram to the chief quartermaster whom she called a “dear,” she said that if the ship would stop +to let her on, she could go out to meet it in a <i>banca</i>. Though the schoolmaster and his wife had also requested transportation on the same boat, the old maid, evidently thinking +that “three made a crowd,” wired to her friend the quartermaster not to take them on. + +</p> +<p>We met the old maid almost in hysterics on the road to Lobuc. “O, for the love of God!” she cried, “get me a boat, and get +my trunk down to the shore. I have about ten minutes left to catch that ship.” It was old Ichabod who rowed her out in the +canoe—the old maid, with the sun now broken out behind the clouds, her striped parasol, and a small steamer trunk. It was +a mad race for old Ichabod, and they were pretty well drenched when the old maid climbed aboard the <a id="d0e2735"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2735">220</a>]</span>transport, breathless but triumphant. I have since learned that Dido won her wandering Æneas in Manila, and that the captain +finally has found his “bucko mate.” + +</p> +<p>It was old Ichabod’s delight to teach a class of sorry-looking <i lang="es">señoritas</i>, with their dusty toes stuck into carpet slippers, and their hair combed back severely on their heads. The afternoons he +spent in visiting his flock; we could descry him from afar, chin in the air, arms swinging, hiking along with five-foot strides. +If he could “doctor up” the natives he was satisfied. He knew them all by name down to the smallest girl, and he applied his +healing lotions with the greatest sense of duty, much to the amusement of the regular M.D. But Ichabod was qualified, for +he had once confided to me that at one time he had learned the names of all the bones in the left hand! + +</p> +<p>The colony showed signs of breaking up. The native scouts had gone, leaving their weeping “<i>hindais</i>” on the shore. “Major O’Dowd,” his wife, and Flora had also departed to a station <i lang="es">sin Americanos</i> up in the interior. At this, the doctor, <a id="d0e2750"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2750">221</a>]</span>for the first time in his life, broke into song, after the style and meter of immortal Omar: + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“Hiram, indeed is gone; his little Rose</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Vamosed to Lintogoup with all her clothes; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>But still the Pearls are with us down the line,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>And many a <i>hindai</i> to the <i>tubig</i> goes.”</span></p> +</div> +<p>“Tubig,” he said, “did not mean ’water.’ It was more poetical, expressing the idea of fountain, watering-place, or spa.” + +</p> +<p>It was my last day at Aloran. In the morning I ascended a near elevation, and looked down upon the sleepy valley spread below. +There was the river winding in and out; there was the convent, like a doll-house in a field of green. Vivan had gone on with +the trunks and boxes packed upon a carabao. The ponies were waiting in the compound. Valedictories were quickly said; but +there was little Peter with his silken cheeks, the brightest little fellow I have ever known. It seemed a shame to leave him +there in darkest Mindanao. Turning the horses into the Aloran River at the ford we struck the high road near the <i>barrio</i> of Feliz. Galloping on, past “Columbine” bridge, <a id="d0e2774"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2774">222</a>]</span>“Skeleton” bridge, “Johnson’s Despair,” and Fenis, we arrived at Oroquieta in good time. + +</p> +<p>But what a change from the old place as we had known it! Hiram, indeed was gone. The doctor had set out for pastures new. +The “Arizona Babe” and “Foxy Grandpa” had departed for fresh fields. Like one who, falling asleep in a theater, awakes to +find the curtain down and the spectators gone, so I now looked about the vacant town. The actors had departed, and “the play +was played out.” + + + +<a id="d0e2778"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2778">223</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div class="footnotes"> +<hr class="fnsep"> +<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a id="d0e2611" href="#d0e2611src" class="noteref">1</a></span> Johnson, the runaway constabulary officer, was killed October last by the crew of the native boat which he had captured after +the Steamship “Victoria,” which he had seized, had grounded off the coast of Negros. Four of the crew were killed during the +fight. In true brigand style he had taken the boat at the revolver’s point, and headed for the coast of Borneo. He had ten +thousand dollars of government money, and his intention was to land at various ports and make the local merchants “stand and +deliver.” I gave the following interview to the reporter of the Princeton (Indiana) “Clarion-News,” October 16, 1903: + +</p> +<p class="footnote">”’Johnson, the pirate,’ is dead, and buried in the lonely isle of Negros. Many a worse man occupies a better grave. The worst +that you can say of Johnson is, that he was wrong and that he liked to drink too much. + +</p> +<p class="footnote">“I shall always remember him in his red shoulder straps, his khaki riding suit and leather leggings. Before I had ever seen +him I had heard the old constabulary captain say: ’That feller looks like a born fighter. Bet he ain’t afraid of anything.’ +... The padre gave us a Christmas dinner, and Johnson at <a id="d0e2618"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2618">214n</a>]</span>this function took too much of the communion wine. On the way back he reeled continually in his saddle, vomiting a stream +of red wine.... + +</p> +<p class="footnote">“We often used to race our ponies into Oroquieta neck and neck, scattering natives, chickens, and pigs to right and left. +The last I saw of him was as he put out on a stormy sea in a frail Moro sailboat bound for Cagayan, which at that time was +infested with ladrones. + +</p> +<p class="footnote">“Johnson was only a boy, but he had been a sailor and a soldier, and had seen adventures in the Canary Islands, in Cuba, and +the Philippines. The boat that he held up and started off to Borneo was one employed in questionable trade. She was a smuggler, +and had formerly been in the service of the ’Insurrecto’ Government. She used to drop in at a port at night and pull out in +the morning with neither a bill of lading nor a manifest. + +</p> +<p class="footnote">“Johnson should not be blamed too much for the wild escapade. The climate had undoubtedly affected him; moreover the constabulary +has no business putting heavy responsibilities upon young boys.” +</p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="d0e2779" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter XIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">In Camp and Barracks with the Officers and Soldiers of the Philippines.</h2> +<p>Bugle-calls, loud, strident bugle-calls, leaping in unison from the brass throats of bugles; tawny soldiers lining up for +guard-mount before the officer of the day, as spick and span as a toy soldier; troopers in blue shirts, with their mess-kits +in their hands, running across the street for rations; men in khaki everywhere, raising a racket on pay-day, fraternizing +with the Filipinos when off duty; poker games in the barracks, with the army cot and blanket for a table; taps, and the measured +tread of sentries, and anon a startled challenge, “Halt! Who’s there?”—such were the days in Cagayan in 1901. + +</p> +<p>The blue sea, stretching out into the hazy distance, sparkled around the little <i>nipa</i>-covered dock where commissary stores and sacks of rice were piled. The native women, squatting on the <a id="d0e2791"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2791">224</a>]</span>ground, were selling mangoes and bananas to the boys. “Cagayan Mag,” who vended the hot bottled beer for “jawbone,” digging +her toes into the dust, was entertaining the surrounding crowd with her coarse witticisms. The corporal of the guard, reclining +in an easy steamer-chair, under his tent extension, was perusing the news columns from the States, by this time three months +old. A sunburnt soldier, with his Krag upon his shoulder, paced the dock, wearily doing the last hour of his guard. + +</p> +<p>“Do you-all like hawg-jowl and black-eyed peas?” drawled “Tennessee Bill,” shifting his bony form to a more comfortable position +on the rice-sack. + +</p> +<p>“<span lang="en-x">Reckon I ort ter; I wuz bo’n in Geo’gy</span>,” said his comrade, as he rolled a rice-straw paper cigarette. + +</p> +<p>After an interval of several minutes the same conversation was repeated. Suddenly a sharp toot sent the echoes scudding back +and forth among the hills. A moment later the small transport, with the usual blur of khaki in her bows, came swinging around +the promontory. +<a id="d0e2802"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2802">225</a>]</span></p> +<p>“<span lang="en-x">Pshaw! I thought it wuz the pay boat comin’</span>” grumbled Bill. + +</p> +<p>Then, as the <i>Trenton</i> pulled up to the dock, signs of activity began to animate that place. The guard, with leveled bayonet, began to shoo the +“Gugus” off the landing. Down the hot road, invested in a cloud of dust, an ambulance was coming, drawn by a team of army +mules and bringing the lieutenant quartermaster and his sergeants. + +</p> +<p>“Why, hello!” said Bill; “<span lang="en-x">if here ain’t little Wantz a-comin’. Got his discharge an’ gone married a <i lang="ceb">babay</i>.</span>” + +</p> +<p>The soldiers crowded around the ex-hospital corps man, who, still in his khaki suit, was standing on the shore with a sad-looking +Filipino girl in tow. Her feet were bare and dusty, and she wore a turkey-red skirt caught up on one side, and a gauze <i>camisa</i> with a <i>piña</i> yoke, and the stiff, flaring sleeves. Her head was bare, and her black hair was combed uncompromisingly back on her head. +Her worldly goods were done up in a straw mat and a soiled bandana handkerchief, and were deposited before her on the ground. + +<a id="d0e2829"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2829">226</a>]</span></p> +<p>“This is the gal,” said Wantz; “old Justice de Laguna’s daughter, and the same what uster sell beer to the Twenty-eighth over +at Tagaloan. She ain’t no beauty, but she’s a good steady trotter; ain’t you, Dell?” The girl looked stupid and embarrassed, +and did not reply. + +</p> +<p>A “rooky,” who had joined the company, stood on the dock disconsolately. His blanket roll and locker had been put off the +boat. This was his first appearance in the provinces. He was a stranger in a strange land, a fish out of water, and a raw +recruit. + +</p> +<p>The men were set to work immediately landing the commissary stores. They stripped their shoes and socks off, rolled up their +trousers to the knee, and waded through the shallow water, carrying the bales and boxes on their shoulders to the shore. + +</p> +<p>The road up to the town was lined with <i>nipa</i> houses, shaded with banana-trees and bonga palms. This was the road that was almost impassable during the rainy season. As +the ambulance rolled heavily along, scores of half-naked babies, shaped like peanuts, shouted after you a <a id="d0e2841"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2841">227</a>]</span>“Hello, baby!” and the pigs, with snouts like coal-scuttles, scattered on either side the thoroughfare. This was the famous +“Bolo alley,” down which, only a few months before, the <i lang="es">Insurrecto</i> army had come shouting, “<i>A la! á la!</i>” firing as they ran. + +</p> +<p>You passed the market-place, an open hall filled with the native stalls, where soldiers loafed around, chatting with the <span id="d0e2851" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> girls—for a freemasonry exists between the Filipino and the soldier—dickering with one for a few dhobie cigarettes, sold +“jawbone,” to be paid for when the pay-boat comes. + +</p> +<p>The troops were quartered in old Spanish buildings, where the sliding windows of the upper floors disclosed the lanes of white +mosquito-bar. Back in the courtyard, where the cook was busily preparing mess, a mangy and round-shouldered monkey from the +bamboo fence was looking on approvingly. The cook was not in a good humor. All that the mess had had for three weeks was the +regulation beans and bacon, without a taste of fresh meat or fresh vegetables. + +</p> +<p>Things were as bad, however, at the officers’ <a id="d0e2858"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2858">228</a>]</span>mess, where the rule was that the first complaint should sentence its author to conduct the mess himself until relieved in +a like manner. As might be imagined, such a system naturally discouraged an improvement of affairs. Exasperated, finally, +beyond his limit, Lieutenant Breck came out with—“If this isn’t the rottenest apology of an old mess”—saving himself by quickly +adding, “But I like it; O, I like it; nobody can tell how much I like this mess!” + +</p> +<p>There was an officer’s club in a frame building near the headquarters. Here, in the afternoon, the clan would gather for a +round of “whisky poker” for the drinks. There was a strapping young Kentuckian whose ancestors had all been army men. “The +profession of arms,” said he, “is the noblest profession in the world. And that is the profession that we follow.” It was +a rather sad sight, though, a few weeks later, after his wife, a little Southern girl, had gone back to the “States,” to see +this giant soldier playing cards and drinking whisky with the teamsters, bar-keeps, and camp-followers, threatening to shoot +the man who <a id="d0e2862"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2862">229</a>]</span>tried to interfere, and finally being taken down in irons for a court-martial. + +</p> +<p>The only one of all his friends who did not fall away from him was one, a little, catlike cavalry lieutenant, booted and spurred, +and always dressed in khaki riding-breeches, never saying much, but generally considered the most popular young officer in +all the service. And there was one other faithful one, but not an officer. The “striker,” who had followed him in many a hard +hike, and had learned to admire his courage and to consider him infallible, tried for the sake of the young Southern girl, +to keep his master from the wretched drink. + +</p> +<p>The post of Cagayan that winter was a busy one. On Sunday mornings the stern-visaged officers would go the round of all the +barracks on inspection duty. There was still a remnant of the <i lang="es">Insurrecto</i> army operating in the hills, and an attack upon the town was threatened nightly. Once a month, when pay-day came around, +a reign of terror, which began with early afternoon, lasted until almost a company of miscellaneous marauders <a id="d0e2871"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2871">230</a>]</span>could have been recruited from the guard-house. A dozen saloons and poker games were running the night long, and in those +days little money was deposited in the paymaster’s bank. + +</p> +<p>A number of detachments had been left in different towns around the bay in charge of second lieutenants or first sergeants. +Here, while the discipline was more relaxed, the pandemonium of pay-day was avoided. But the two best poker-players in the +company corraling all the money, either would proceed to narrow the financial distribution further, or would shake hands and +agree to make deposits on the next disbursing-day. Some of the men on their discharge would have a thousand dollars, or enough +to set them up in business in the States. + +</p> +<p>These “outfits” differ greatly in their character. Some are composed of sociable, kind-hearted fellows, while others may contain +a large percentage of professional “bad men” and rowdies. Each company will have its own traditions and a reputation which +is guarded jealously. There was the “fighting Twenty-eighth,” the regiment invincible. The soldiers grow attached to their +outfit. <a id="d0e2877"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2877">231</a>]</span>On their discharge, which they have eagerly looked forward to, after a day or two of Frisco, when the money has been spent +to the last dollar of the “finals,” more than one chop-fallen soldier, looking up the first recruiting sergeant, will “take +on” again. + +</p> +<p>The “company fund” is a great institution, and an “outfit” with a good fund is considered prosperous. This money goes for +extras at the table, for baseball equipments, or for company mascots. The sergeant-major usually has charge of this disbursement, +and the soldiers, though they grumble at his orders, can not help respecting him. The sergeant-major has been seasoned in +the service. He is a ripe old fellow, and a warrior to the core. The company cook is also an important personage. It was the +old cook at Balingasag—I think that he had served for twenty years—who fed me in the convent courtyard on <i>camotes</i>, egg-plant, and a chicken which he had stolen from a native. According to his theory, a soldier was a licensed robber, and +the chicken should be classed as forage—not as plunder. He was a favorite among the officers, who used to <a id="d0e2884"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2884">232</a>]</span>get him started on his favorite grievance,—the condemnation by a board of survey of a certain army mule. “I liked that mule,” +he used to say. “He was the best mule that the service ever had.” + +</p> +<p>The nightly “argument,” or “chewing the rag,” is a favorite pastime in an isolated camp. Sitting around upon the army cots +or chests, the soldiers will discuss some unimportant topic until “taps” sounds. + +</p> +<p>I will admit that “Company M” was a disreputable lot. They never dressed up; frequently they went without their footgear; +and they drank much <i>tuba</i> with the natives. They took delight in teaching the small boys profanity, and they would shock the Filipinos by omitting +bathing-suits when in the surf. They used to frighten the poor “niggers” half to death by trying to break through their houses +on a dark night. Yet I believe that every Filipino was the soldier’s friend, and I am sure I noticed not a few heart-broken +<i lang="es">señoritas</i> gathered at the shore when they departed. For my own part, I have always found the soldier generous, respectful, and polite. + + +</p> +<p>There was a great wag in the company, who, <a id="d0e2898"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2898">233</a>]</span>in some former walk of life, had figured as a circus clown. He also claimed to have been upon the stage in vaudeville. He +had enlisted in the regimental band, but, through some change, had come to be bugler of M Company. He owned a mandolin, called +the “potato bug”—a name suggested by the inlaid bowl. He had brought back to life a cracked guitar, which he had strung with +copper wire obtained by “jawbone” at the <i>Chino</i> store. It was an inspiration when he sang to the guitar accompaniment, “Ma Filipino Babe,” or in a rich and melancholy voice, +with the professional innuendo, “just to jolly the game along,” a song entitled “Little Rosewood Casket.” + +</p> +<p>It is a sorry company that doesn’t number in its roll a poet. Company M had a good poet. Local customs and the local atmosphere +appealed to him, and he has thus recorded his impression of the Philippines: + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“There once was a Philippine <i lang="es">hombre</i>;</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Ate <i>guinimos</i>, rice, and <i>legombre</i>; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>His pants they were wide, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>And his shirt hung outside;</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>But this, you must know, is <i>costombre</i>.</span></p> +</div><a id="d0e2928"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e2928">234</a>]</span><div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>He lived in a <i>nipa balay</i></span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>That served as a stable and sty. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>He slept on a mat +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>With the dog and the cat,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>And the rest of the family near by.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>He once owned a <i>bueno manoc</i>,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>With a haughty and valorous look, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Who lost him amain +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>And <i>mil pesos tambien</i>,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>And now he plays <i>monté</i> for luck.</span></p> +</div> +<p>This poem was received so favorably that the following effort of the realistic school escaped: + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>“In this land of dhobie dreams, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Happy, smiling Philippines,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Where the bolo man is hiking all day long<span id="d0e2971" class="corr" title="Not in source">,</span> +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Where the natives steal and lie, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>And <i lang="es">Americanos</i> die,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>The soldier sings his evening song.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Social wants are small and few; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>All the ladies smoke and chew,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>And do other things they ought to know are wrong. +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span><i lang="es">Presidentes</i> cut no ice, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>For they live on fish and rice,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>And the soldier sings his evening song.”</span></p> +</div> +<p>There is another stanza, but the song about the “Brown Tagalog Girl” demands attention: + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“I’ve a <i lang="ceb">babay</i>, in a <i lang="ceb">balay,</i></span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>Down in the province of Rizal.</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>She’s nice and neat, dainty and sweet;</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>She’s ma little brown Tagalog gal.”</span></p> +</div><a id="d0e3014"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3014">235</a>]</span><p>The army officers and their families still form the aristocracy of the Philippines. While army life is not all like Camp Wallace +and the gay Luneta, in the larger posts throughout the provinces, both the officers and soldiers are housed very comfortably. +The clubhouse down at Zamboanga has a pavilion running out over the water, where the ladies sit at night, or where refreshments +are served after the concert by the band. Although their ways are not the ways of the civilian; although to them the possibilities +of Jones’s promotion from the bottom of the list seems of a paramount importance, you will not find anywhere so loyal and +hospitable a class of people as the army officers. Whatever little jealousies they entertain among themselves are overshadowed +by the fact that “he” or “she” is of the “service.” And the soldiers, rough as they are, and slovenly compared to the red-coated +soldiers of Great Britain, or the gray-coated troopers of the German army, are beyond doubt the finest fighting men in all +the world. + + + + +<a id="d0e3017"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3017">236</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e3018" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter XIV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Padre Pedro, Recoleto Priest.—The Routine of a Friar in the Philippines.</h2> +<p>It might have been the dawn of the first day in Eden. I was awakened by the music of the birds and sunlight streaming through +the convent window. Heavily the broad leaves of <i>abacá</i> drooped with the morning dew. Only the roofs of a few <i>nipa</i> houses could be seen. The <i>tolo</i>-trees, like Japanese pagodas, stretched their horizontal arms against the sky. The mountains were as fresh and green as though +a storm had swept them and cleared off again. They now seemed magnified in the transparent air. + +</p> +<p>All in the silence of the morning I went down to where the tropical river glided between primeval banks and under the thick-plated +overhanging foliage. The water was as placid as a sheet of glass. A spirit of mystery seemed brooding near. As yet the sun’s +rays had not penetrated through the canopy of leaves. A lonely fisherman <a id="d0e3036"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3036">237</a>]</span>sat on the bank above, lost in his dreams. Down by the ford a native woman came to draw water in a bamboo tube. I half expected +her to place a lighted taper on a tiny float, and send it spinning down the stream, as is the custom of the maidens on the +sacred river Ganges. In the silence of the morning, in the heart of nature, thousands of miles away from telegraphs and railroads, +where the brilliant-feathered birds dipped lightly into the unruffled stream, the place seemed like a sanctuary, a holy of +holies, pure, immaculate, and undefiled. + +</p> +<p>The padre had arisen at six. At his command the sacristans ascended the bell-tower and proceeded to arouse the town. The padre +moved about his dark, bare room. Rare Latin books were scattered around the floor. His richly embroidered vestments hung on +a long line. The room was cluttered with the lumber of old crucifixes, broken images of saints, and gilded floats, considerably +battered, with the candlesticks awry. The floor and the walls were bare. There was a large box of provisions in the corner, +filled with imported sausages done up in tinfoil, bottles of <a id="d0e3040"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3040">238</a>]</span>sugar, tightly sealed to keep the ants from getting in, small cakes of Spanish chocolate, bottles of of olives and of rich +communion wine. Donning his white robe, he went out to the ante-room, where, on the table spread with a white napkin, stood +a cup of chocolate and a package of <i lang="es">La Hebra</i> cigarettes. + +</p> +<p>There was a scamper of bare feet as the whole force of dirty house-boys, sacristans, and cooks rushed in to kneel and kiss +the padre’s hand and to receive his blessing. When he had finished the thick chocolate, one of the boys brought in a glass +of water, fresh and sparkling from a near-by mountain stream. Then Padre Pedro lighted his cigarette, and read in private +for a little while before the morning mass began. Along the narrow pathway (for there were no streets) a string of women in +black veils was slowly coming to the church. Stopping before the door, they bowed and made the sign of the cross. Then they +went in and knelt down on the hard tiles. The padre’s full voice, rising and falling with the chant, flooded the gloomy interior, +where pencils of sunlight slanted through the <a id="d0e3047"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3047">239</a>]</span>apertures of the unfinished wall, and fell upon the drowsy wilderness outside. + + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e3050" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p238.jpg" alt="The Oldest Cathedral of Manila" width="720" height="440"><p class="figureHead">The Oldest Cathedral of Manila</p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>Returning from the mass, the padre refreshed himself with a small glass of gin-and-water, as his custom was; nor could the +appeal of any one persuade him to take more than a single glass or to take that at an earlier or later hour. The ancient <i lang="es">maestra</i> had arrived—a wrinkled old body in a black dress and black carpet-slippers—and she knelt down to touch the padre’s outstretched +hand with her thin, withered lips. The little children, who were waiting for their classes to be called, all followed her +example, and before long, the monotonous drone of the recitations left no doubt that school had actually begun. Benches had +filled up, and the dusky feet were swinging under them as the small backs bent over knotty problems on the slates. + +</p> +<p>The padre, passing among the pupils, made the necessary erasures and corrections, and occasionally gave unasked to some recalcitrant +a smart snap on the head. The morning session ended by the pupils lining up in a half circle around the battered figure of +a saint—<a id="d0e3061"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3061">240</a>]</span>the altar decorated with red paper flowers, or colored grasses in a number of empty beer-bottles—and, while the padre played +the wheezy harmonium, singing their repertoire of sacred songs. Then, as the children departed with the “<i lang="es">Buenos dias, señor</i>,” visitors, who had been waiting on the stairway with their presents of eggs, chickens, and bananas, were received. + +</p> +<p>“<span lang="en-x">Thees man</span>,” the padre explained to me, as a grotesque old fellow humbled himself before us, “<span lang="en-x">leeves in one house near from ze shore. He has presented me with some goud rope to tie my horses with (<i lang="es">buen piece, hombre</i>), and he says that there are no more fishes in ze sea.</span>” + +</p> +<p lang="en-x">“See, they have brought so many breads and fruits! They know well that eet ees my fast-day, and that my custom ees to eat +no meat. I can eat fish or cheecken, but not fish <i>and</i> cheecken; eet ees difficult here to find enough food to sustain ze life on days of fast.” + +</p> +<p lang="en-x">“Thees girl,” he said, “loves me too much. She is my orphan, she and her two brothers. I have bought one house for them near +from ze church, and, for the girl, one sewing-machine. <a id="d0e3084"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3084">241</a>]</span>Their mother had been stealed [robbed] of everything, and she had died a month ago. Ze cheeldren now have nobody but me.” + + +</p> +<p>She was a bright young girl, well-dressed and plump, although, when Padre Pedro had received her, she was wasted by the fever, +and near starved to death. But this was only one of his many charities. He used to loan out money to the people, knowing well +that they would never be able to return it. He had cured the sick, and had distributed quinine among families that could not +have secured it otherwise. He went to visit his parishioners, although they had no means of entertaining him. Most of them +even had no chairs for him to sit on when he came, and they would stand around in such embarrassed silence that the padre +could not have derived much pleasure from their company. + +</p> +<p>At the padre’s “<i>áver, bata!</i>” after the last visitor has gone, the house-boys run in with the noon meal. The padre had a good cook, who understood the +art of fixing the provisions in the Spanish style. I was surprised at the resources of the parish; for a meal of ten or fifteen +<a id="d0e3093"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3093">242</a>]</span>courses was the usual thing. A phalanx of barefooted waiters stood in line to take the plates when we had finished the respective +courses, broth, mutton stew, and chicken, and bananas for dessert. The padre, I am sorry to say, ate with his knife, and was +inclined to gobble. Two yellow dogs and a lean cat stood by to gulp the morsels that were thrown them from the table. When +the dinner was completed, a large tumbler of water and a toothpick were brought on. After a smoke the padre took his customary +nap, retiring to the low, cane-bottomed bed, where he intrenched himself behind mosquito-bars. + +</p> +<p>The convent was a rambling building, with adobe walls. It was raised up on pillars as long as telegraph poles, and the ground +floor was divided into various apartments. There was the “<i>calaboos</i>,” where Padre Pedro’s chickens were encouraged to “put” eggs. There were the stables for the padre’s ponies, and a large +bamboo stockade for pigs and chickens. The little friar took a lively interest in this corral, and he would feed his stock +with his own hand from the convent window. “Ze leetle goat,” he said, “eet ees my <a id="d0e3100"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3100">243</a>]</span>mind to send to Father Cipriano for a geeft.” The sucking pig was being saved for Easter-time, when it should be well roasted +on a spit, with a banana in its mouth. There were just sixty-seven chickens, and the padre used to count them every day and +notice their peculiarities. + +</p> +<p>During the afternoon the padre’s time was taken up by various religious duties, and the school was left in charge of the old +<i lang="es">maestra</i>. There would be a funeral service at the church, or a baptism, or confession. Some days he would be called away to other +<i>barrios</i> to hear a last confession; but the distance or the weather never daunted him, and he would tuck his gown well up, and, followed +by a sacristan, ride merrily away. On his return a cup of pasty chocolate would await him. Padre Pedro used to make a certain +egg-fizz which was a refreshing drink of a long afternoon. The eggs were lashed into a froth by means of a bamboo brush twisted +or rolled between the palms. The beauty of this beverage was that you could drain the cup, and, like the miracle of loaves +and fishes, stir the batter up again, and have another drink of the <a id="d0e3110"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3110">244</a>]</span>same quality. “When Padre Cipriano comes here,” said the friar, “eet ees very gay. Ah! Cipriano, he can make the foam come +up three times. He knows well how to make thees drink.” + +</p> +<p>When he would take his ebony cane and go out walking about sunset, followed by his yellow dog, the village people, young and +old, would tumble over each other in their eagerness to kiss the father’s hand. He would mischievously tweak the noses of +the little ones, or pat the tiny girls upon the head. The friend of the lowly, he had somehow incensed the upper ten. But +he had shown his nerve one Sunday morning when he had talked down one of these braggadocios who had leveled a revolver at +him in the church. + +</p> +<p>The little padre was as brave as he was “game.” He was a fearless rider, and there were few afternoons when we were not astride +the ponies, leaping the streams and ditches in the rice-pads, swimming the fords, and racing along the beach, and it was always +the little priest that set the pace. One evening he received a message from the father superior of that vicinity, old Padre +José, living ten or fifteen miles up the <a id="d0e3116"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3116">245</a>]</span>road in an unpacified community. The notice was imperative, and only said to “come immediately, and as soon as possible.” + + +</p> +<p>Padre José was eighty years old, and he had been in Mindanao nearly all his life. He spoke <span id="d0e3120" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> better than the natives, and he understood the Filipinos just as though each one of them had been his child. He had been +all around the island and among the pagan tribes who saw their spirits in the trees and streams. He had been back to Spain +just once, and he had frozen his fingers over there. As I remember him, he was a dear, grandmotherly old fellow, in a long +black gown, who bustled around so for us (we had stopped there on a certain expedition), cooking the eggs himself, and cutting +the tough bologna, holding the glass of <i>moscatel</i> so lovingly up to the light before he offered it, that I almost expected him to bring forth crullers, tea, and elderberry +pie. His convent was at that time occupied by the municipal authorities; and so he lived in a small <i>nipa</i> house with his two dogs, his Latin library, and the sacristans who at night slept scattered about the <a id="d0e3129"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3129">246</a>]</span>floor. The local conditions were unsettled at this time. The garrison at Surigao had been attacked by the so-called ladrones. +Night messages were flying to and fro. Padre José’s summons seemed a harbinger of trouble. But, in spite of the fact that +Padre Pedro had been sick for several days, he obeyed the command of his superior like any soldier, and at midnight saddled +the ponies, tucked a revolver under his gown, and started at a gallop down the road. When he arrived at Father José’s house, +nothing serious was found to be the matter. Only the dear old soul was lonesome and had wanted company. + +</p> +<p>Often at evening we would sit on the veranda till the evening star appeared—“the star that the shepherds know well; the precurser +of the moon”—and then the angelus would ring, and Padre Pedro would stand up and doff his cap, and, after a moment spent in +silent prayer, “That is good-night,’” he used to say, and then we would go in for dinner. Dinner was served at eight o’clock, +and was as formal an affair as the noon meal. The evening would be spent at study, for the padre was a scholar of no mean +ability. He had <a id="d0e3133"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3133">247</a>]</span>translated some of Stockton’s stories into the <span id="d0e3135" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> language. Speaking of Stockton, Padre Pedro said that he “knew well the spirit of your countrymen.” His work was frequently +disturbed by the <i>muchachos</i> running in with sums that they had finished on their slates; but the padre never showed the least impatience at these interruptions. + + +</p> +<p>Sometimes the “musickers” would come, and, crowding around the little organ, practice the chants for some <i>fiesta</i> day. The principal “musicker” was a grotesque old fellow, with enormous feet, and glasses rimmed with tortoise-shell. He +looked so wise when he was poring over the manuscript in the dim candle-light that he reminded one of an intelligent gorilla. +One of his assistants, meanwhile, would be making artificial flowers, which were to decorate the battered floats to be used +in the festival procession on the morrow, carried aloft upon the shoulders of the men, sparkling with lighted tapers, while +the bells up in the tower would jangle furiously. Or there would be a conference with his secretary in regard to the town +records, which that functionary kept in the big book. +<a id="d0e3146"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3146">248</a>]</span></p> +<p>One night the padre was called out to attend one who, as was explained to me, was bitten by a “fool” dog. On entering the +poorly-lighted shack, we found, surrounded by a gaping crowd, the victim foaming at the mouth. He had indeed been bitten by +a “fool” dog, and he died a few hours afterwards, as we could do but little to relieve his suffering. + +</p> +<p>We spent the remainder of the evening looking over the long mass for Easter Sunday. And the padre said naïvely, “Will it not +be necessary that I take one beer when I have reached this place, and then I can continue with the mass?” He looked back fondly +to the days when he had sung his part in the antiphony in the magnificent cathedral at Manila. + +</p> +<p>The town was always at the friar’s service. And no wonder! Had he not sent all the way to Manila for a Christmas box of goodies +for the schoolboys,—figs, and raisins, and preserves? I caught him gloating over them one evening—when he gave his famous +supper of roast kid and frosted cake for his American guests from the army post—and he had offered us a taste of these <a id="d0e3153"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3153">249</a>]</span>almost forgotten luxuries. How he anticipated the delight he had in store for all the boys! Then in the time of cholera, when +the disease invaded even the convent, although a young man, Padre Pedro never left his post. + +</p> +<p>The only time I ever knew him to complain was when the people came in hundreds to confession. The confession-box was too hot, +and the breath of the penitents offensive. “Eet ees a work of charity,” he said; “they pay me nothing—nothing.” The priest +was only human when he feigned the toothache in order to secure a transfer to Cebu. The little station in the wilderness was +too monotonous. He packed his effects in secret, fearing that the people would discover his intention and detain him. The +father superior had granted him a leave of absence. His suspicions had not been aroused. When he had reached Cebu the <i>freile</i> would be under different authority, and it was even possible that he be stationed in Manila or returned to Spain. He had +not seen his parents for ten years, but his education had prepared him for a life of sacrifice. For the first time he felt +neglected and forgotten. <a id="d0e3160"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3160">250</a>]</span>On arriving at the trading port, he learned that his parishioners had found him out. They sent a delegation to entreat him +to remain. The little padre’s heart was touched. “They love me too much,” he said, “and they have nobody but me.” + +</p> +<p>My friend the padre might have been an exception to the general rule. He was a “Friar in the Philippines,” a member of a much-maligned +religious order. Still I have met a number of their priests and bishops, and have found them charming and delightful men. +They are such hospitable entertainers that they have been frequently imposed upon by traveling Americans, who take the convents +for hotels, regardless of the public sentiment. It was the friars of San Augustin who, in 1565, subdued and pacified the Cebuanos +when the arms of Spain availed but little. It was the <i>Freile</i> Pedro de San Augustin, the “fighting padre,” who, in 1639, defeated the lake Moros. And, in 1754, a Spanish <i>freile</i>, Father Ducos, commanding the fleet of Iligan, defeated the armada of the Moro pirates, killing about a thousand of these +buccaneers. + +</p> +<p>Of course there have been friars good and <a id="d0e3172"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3172">251</a>]</span>bad. But “Father Peter,” though he might have had good cause to dislike the Americans, had always expressed the greatest admiration +for them. They were “political” (diplomatic) men. His mastering the English language was a compliment to us such as few Spaniards +have seen fit to pay. He might have been narrow in religious matters, but, above all, he was conscientious. While he could +bathe his hands or face in the Aloran River, he could not go in. His education was a Spartan one, and narrowing in its influences. +All the society that he had ever had was that of a hundred students with the same ideals and inclinations as his own. The +reputation of the friars in the Philippines has been depreciated by the conduct of the native priests. There was a padre named +Pastor, an arrant coward, and wholly ignorant and superstitious. Sly old fox, he used to bet his last cent on the cock-fights, +hiding up in the back window of Don Julian’s. Once, on a drunken spree, he let a layman wear his gown and rosary. The natives, +showing more respect for the sacred vestments than the priest had shown, went out to kiss the hand of him who <a id="d0e3174"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3174">252</a>]</span>wore the robe. The work of the friars can be more appreciated by comparing the civilization of the Christian natives with +the state of the barbarians and pagans. Whatever its defects may be, instead of the head-hunters and the idol-worshipers, +the Filipino who has come within the influence of Spanish priests, though often lavish and improvident, is neat, polite, and +sociable. But the friars can do better still. If they would use their influence to abolish the cock-fights Sunday afternoon, +and try to co-operate more with the civil government in the matter of public education, they would find that there is plenty +of work to be done yet. But some of the accusations against the friars are unfair. Extortion is a favorite charge against +them; but it must be kept in mind that there are no pew-rents or voluntary contributions, and that Spain has now withdrawn +the financial support that she once gave. The Church must be maintained through fees derived from weddings, funerals, and +christenings. And if the Filipino, in his passion for display and splendor, orders a too expensive funeral, he has only himself, +and not the priest, to blame. Indeed, the <a id="d0e3176"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3176">253</a>]</span>friars can derive but little benefit from a rich treasury, because, when absent from their parishes, they are allowed to have +no money of their own. All of the funds remaining after the expenses of the Church are paid must be sent to the general treasury. +The padre in his convent has the use of the Church money for his personal needs and charities, but nevertheless he is expected +to make large returns each year. Perhaps, then, after all, the friars—Padre Pedro, anyway—are not so black as they are painted. + + + + + +<a id="d0e3178"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3178">254</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e3179" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter XV.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">General Rufino in the Moro Country.</h2> +<div class="div2"> +<h3 class="normal">Introduction.</h3> +<p>The story of Rufino’s expedition to the Moro country in the summer of 1901 reads like a chapter from <i>Anabasis</i>. It has to do with <i>Capitan</i> Isidro’s curious experiences as a hostage in the home of Datto Amay Bancurong, at Lake Lanao. It deals with the last chapter +in the history of two American deserters, Morgan and Miller, of the Fortieth United States volunteers, who, under General +Rufino, served as officers—soldiers of fortune in a lost campaign—and who, as a last tribute of the treachery and faithlessness +of those they served, received their death-blows at the hands of Filipinos who had caught them off their guard. + +</p> +<p>The information published by Rufino shortly after his surrender has been valuable to the officers of our own army who are +now exploring the mysterious <a id="d0e3197"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3197">255</a>]</span>interior of Mindanao. <i>Capitan</i> Isidro’s intimacy with the Moros during the long period of his captivity should render his interpretation of the character, +the life, and customs of this savage tribe authoritative. General Rufino, being one of the last <i lang="es">Insurrectos</i> to surrender, has not been as yet rewarded by the Government. This fact will be of consequence in case of any further outbreak +on the northern coast of Mindanao. General Rufino lingers still about the scene of his exploit, and may be met with almost +any time in Oroquieta, or, still better, in the sullen and revengeful village of Palilan, near the border of the Moro territory. + + + +</p> +</div> +<div class="div2"> +<h3 class="normal">Rufino’s Narrative.</h3> +<p>We left Mount Liberdad on June 1, 1901, with eighteen officers, and privates to the number of four hundred and forty-two. +Our destination was the town of Uato, on the shore of Lake Lanao, where, in obedience to our instructions from the Filipino +<i lang="es">junta</i> at Hong Kong, we were to arrange a conference with the leading dattos in regard to an alliance of the Filipino and the <a id="d0e3213"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3213">256</a>]</span>Moro forces to conduct a joint campaign against the American army of invasion. + +</p> +<p>Among our officers were two deserters from I company of the Fortieth United States volunteers, Morgan and Miller, who were +mere adventurers, and who desired to clear the country and embark for Africa. Morgan was supposed to have been wanted for +some criminal offense in the United States. He claimed to have deserted as a consequence of punishments received by him which +he considered to be undeserved. His comrade Miller followed him; but I have heard that Morgan took it hard because his friend +had followed such a questionable lead. An understanding had been previously arranged between our officers and Morgan, so that +when the latter left the lines at Oroquieta we received him and his comrade at Aloran, six miles north. + + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e3218" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p256-1.jpg" alt="General Rufino in Moro Country" width="456" height="365"><p class="figureHead">General Rufino in Moro Country</p> +</div><p> + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e3223" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p256-2.jpg" alt="Captain Isidro Rillas with the Datto" width="456" height="363"><p class="figureHead">Captain Isidro Rillas with the Datto</p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>Our first stop was to be at Lintogout, a station on the river by the same name, that flows into the long estuary that divides +our country from the Moro territory. As you can see, our march was very rough. The mountain chain, of which Mount Liberdad, +Mount Rico, and Mount <a id="d0e3229"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3229">257</a>]</span>Esperenza are the most important peaks, is very wild and hazardous. A few miles from the coast the country breaks into ravines +and hills. There are no villages; no depots for supplies. The trails are almost imperceptible, and can be followed only by +the most experienced <i>Montesco</i> guides. Back in the mountains there are many natural strongholds, which are practically inaccessible. The mountain wall, +with its Plutonic <span id="d0e3234" class="corr" title="Source: canoñs">cañons</span> and precipitous descents, wrapped in a chilly fog, continually towered above us on the west. + +</p> +<p>To add to our embarrassments, we were harassed by a detachment of United States troops that had been pursuing us. Their plan +was to close in upon us in two sections, from the front and rear. Near Lintogout we came to an engagement with Lieutenant +Patterson’s command. My army was by this time seriously crippled. We had lost one hundred and forty men the previous day by +desertion. The deserting men, however, did not take their arms. Lieutenant Patterson’s command must have been quite exhausted, +for they camped at night on a plateau <a id="d0e3239"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3239">258</a>]</span>along the precipice, where an attack by us would have been inadvisable. The troops were new and untried; the experience for +them was something they had not anticipated. Yet they kept at it stubbornly, slinging their carbines on their backs, and climbing +up hand over hand in places where they had lost the trail. Their guides were evidently somewhat of a puzzle to them, as the +Montese idea of distance is indefinite. “When I have finished this cigar we will be there,” they say; and “<i lang="es">poco distancia</i>” with them means often many miles. + +</p> +<p>We were not inconvenienced much by the engagement. Our American lieutenants superintended the construction of intrenchments, +back of which we lay, and fired a volley at the enemy. At their advance our army scattered, and a number of our soldiers, +taking inexcusable advantage of the opportunity, deserted. On the next day we set out, reduced in numbers to two hundred and +fifty-two. None of our men were killed or wounded in the fight. + +</p> +<p>We then proceeded overland to Lake Lanao, <a id="d0e3248"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3248">259</a>]</span>the journey occupying sixteen days, during which time the army had no rice, but had to exist entirely on the native fruits. +Our tardiness in reaching Lake Lanao was caused by two attacks by Moros, June 15th. In order to avoid this enemy we made a +detour, coming dangerously near the coast at Tucuran. At Tucuran three men deserted. Thence our march led inland to Bacáyan, +following the south shore of the lake. Before we reached Bacáyan we were met (June 29th and 30th) by Dattos Casiang and Pindalonan, +with their combined forces. Our side lost two killed, three wounded (who were taken captive); and the Moros, thirteen killed, +three wounded. Arriving at Bacáyan July 1st, we waited there twelve days. + +</p> +<p>Then we set out along the south shore to Uato on the lake, which place we reached without engagement on the nineteenth of +July. We stopped at Uato ten days, there borrowing $500 “Mex” from Datto Bancurong. We were obliged to leave Captain Isidro +Rillas with the datto for security. The very money that we now were borrowing <a id="d0e3252"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3252">260</a>]</span>the Moros had received from us for their protection during our campaign, and for their promising not to molest us all the +time that we were in their territory. Having loaned us money, they now sold us rice, in which negotiation, just as in the +former one, they took advantage of our helplessness. The deal, however, was a necessary one, because the army had been for +a long time without funds or rations. Leaving Uato we proceeded to Liángan, on the north coast, opposite Tudela (on the Jolo +Sea). We left the Moro country on the recommendation of the two American deserters, who had been dissatisfied for some time +at the turn affairs were taking. + +</p> +<p>We were attacked the first day out of Uato by the combined forces of three powerful dattos, who had previously borrowed rifles +from us on the pretext of desiring to kill game. The engagement lasted until sunset. Of the Moros, ten were killed and many +wounded. Night coming on, the enemy withdrew for re-enforcements. They returned the next day several thousand strong, and +would have utterly annihilated us (for we were worn by fever and starvation) had it not <a id="d0e3256"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3256">261</a>]</span>been for Datto Bandia’s advice, which finally discouraged the attack. + +</p> +<p>We reached Liangan July 31st with two hundred and thirty-nine men. Here we purchased rifles from the Moros, crossed the bay +at night, and reached Tudela August 5th. Procrastination on the part of the conferring dattos made a failure of the expedition. +We had spent about $10,000 gold for rations, good will, and protection. + +</p> +<p>Morgan and Miller, when the army was disbanded, lived around Langaran for a while. One day while they were bathing in the +sea, they were cut-down by natives—I do not know why. Morgan was killed while arguing with his assailants. “We have done a +lot for you,” he said; but those were his last words. Miller, attempting to escape by running through the shallow water, was +pursued by <i>bancas</i> and dispatched. The bodies were found later in a marsh. + + +</p> +</div> +<div class="div2"> +<h3 class="normal">Capitan Isidro Rillas’s Narrative.</h3> +<p>I was to have been educated for the Church; but after studying for some time in Cebu preparatory <a id="d0e3270"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3270">262</a>]</span>to a course at Rome, I set aside the wishes of my parents, who desired that I become a Jesuit, and took unto myself a wife. + + +</p> +<p>You wonder, probably, why we <span id="d0e3274" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayans">Visayans</span>, who are very peaceable, should have assumed a hostile attitude toward the Americans. Of course, we do not really like the +game of war. But what positions would we hold among our own communities if we were to be easily imposed upon? You would have +thought it a queer army that assembled at Mount Liberdad in 1901,—barefooted <i lang="es">hombres, ignorantes</i> from the rice-pads and the hemp-fields, armed with cutlasses and bolos—for we had no more than fifty guns—undisciplined and +without military knowledge. But the appearance of your army in the war of Independence caused amusement to the British soldiers—for +awhile? The Government generously recognized a number of the leaders of the insurrection, and in doing so has not done wrong. +Our leaders are to-day, among our people, what your patriots are in your own land. And even you have no respect for those +who hid themselves among the women during the affair <a id="d0e3280"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3280">263</a>]</span>at Oroquieta. Left alone, we could soon organize our government, our schools, and army. But, of course, conditions render +this impossible, and so we think American protection is the best. + +</p> +<p>You ask for some account of my experiences with the Moros during our excursion to their territory. Our army was at first about +five hundred strong, but nearly half the men deserted on the way. We had not counted on so much hostility among the Moros, +although they are ancient enemies of ours, and until very recently have raided our coast villages and carried off our people +into slavery. But when we wanted slaves, we purchased them—young Moros—from their parents at Misamis. + +</p> +<p>Though our mission was an altogether friendly one, our hosts did not let any opportunity go by of taking an unfair advantage +of us. General Rufino was obliged to leave me as a hostage at Uato at the home of Datto Bancurong. + +</p> +<p>If we could have effected an alliance with the Moros, it would no doubt have been a formidable one. The Moros are well armed +and expert fighting men. Most of our weapons have been purchased <a id="d0e3288"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3288">264</a>]</span>from them, as they had formerly acquired a stock of stolen Spanish guns. Those living in the Lake Lanao vicinity must have +about two thousand Remington and Mauser guns, besides a number of old-fashioned cannon, which are mounted in their forts. +They manufacture their own ammunition, which is necessarily of an indifferent quality. + +</p> +<p>We told the Moros that they would all have to work if the Americans should come. We knew that they were all slaveholders and +ladrones; we knew that while they kept their slaves they would not need to work; and so we thought our argument ought to appeal +to them. + +</p> +<p>When I was left with Datto Bancurong, security for the five hundred <i>pesos</i> that Rufino had been forced to borrow, I was treated with considerable hospitality. At one time when I had the fever, he +secured some chickens for me,—they were very scarce. The datto had three wives, but one of them was rather old. I did not +notice any ornaments of gold upon them. They wore silver rings and bracelets, which the native jewelers had made. The women +are industrious, <a id="d0e3297"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3297">265</a>]</span>and consequently do most of the work. They are quite skillful with the loom, and manufacture from the native fabric, <i>ampic</i> (sashes) which their husbands wear. But for themselves they buy a cheaper fabric from the <i>Chinos</i>, which they dye in brilliant colors and make into blankets. You would probably mistake the men for women at first sight because +of their peculiar cast of features. They are dressed much better and more picturesquely than the women, wearing bright silk +turbans, sashes with gay fringe, and blouses often fancifully colored and secured by brass or mother-of-pearl buttons. + +</p> +<p>The Moro tribes, because they recognize no ruler but the local datto, are unable to accomplish anything of national significance. +Concerted action is with them impossible. Thirty or forty villages are built around the lake. They are so thickly grouped, +however, that one might as well regard them all as one metropolis. The mountains form a background for the lake, which is +located on a high plateau. The climate here is more suggestive of a temperate zone than of a place within four hundred miles +of the equator, <a id="d0e3307"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3307">266</a>]</span>and the nights are often disagreeably cold. To become a datto it is only necessary to possess a few slaves, wives, and carabao. +A minor datto averages about four slaves, a dozen head of cattle, and two wives. He wears silk clothes, and occupies the largest +<i>nipa</i> house. + +</p> +<p>The Moro weapons are of several kinds,—the <i>puñal</i> (a wedge-bladed knife), the <i>campalon</i> (a long broadsword), and the <i>sundang</i> (a Malay kriss). They also use head-axes, spears, and dirks. Being Mohammedans, they show a fatalistic bravery in battle. +It is a disgrace to lose the weapon when in action; consequently it is tied to the hand. Many of their knives were made by +splitting up the steel rails laid at Iligan. The brass work of the Spanish locomotives, also, was a great convenience in the +manufacture of their cutlery. + +</p> +<p>Although they have schools for the boys, the Moro people do not make a speciality of education. The young men are taught from +the Koran by priests, who also teach the art of making characters in Arabic. Their music is for the most part religious, inharmonious, +and unmelodious. <a id="d0e3325"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3325">267</a>]</span>The <i>coluctang</i>, their most important instrument, resembles our guitar. They seem to recognize three grades of priests—the <i>emam</i>, the <i>pandita</i>, and the <i>sarip</i>, named in order of superiority. Their churches are great, circular inclosures, made of <i>nipa</i> and bamboo, with no attempt at decoration. Sacred instrumental music is supplied by bells and drums. The drum at Uato, where +I was, being of extraordinary size, required two men to operate it. Each town contains a large percentage of ladrones, whose +influence is offset by the <i>pandita</i> (or elders), three or five for every <i>barrio</i>. These are the secondary priests, and it is necessary that they go into the church three times a day to pray. At sunrise, +at midday, and at sunset they will cry repeatedly, “<i>Aláh! Aláh! Bocamad soro-la!</i>” (Allah is god; Mohammed, prophet.) All the priests wear bright robes like the dattos, but the clergy is distinguished by +a special <i>bangcala</i>, or turban, which is ornamented by a string of silver rings. + +</p> +<p>There are about five hundred Filipinos living with the Moros, mostly slaves. Deer, jungle-cock, wild hogs, and cattle are +to be found in <a id="d0e3356"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3356">268</a>]</span>the plains and forests near the lake. The soil is fertile, and sufficient crops of corn, rice, coffee, and tobacco may be +raised, <i>Camotes</i> (wild potatoes), fruits, and cocoanuts are very scarce. + +</p> +<p>Though many of the dattos are disposed to treat the Americans as friends, three in particular will entertain a different attitude. +These are Bayang, Mario, and Taraia, who, among them, have control of many men. They realize, however, that the new invaders +will be harder to oppose than were the Spaniards of the former <i lang="fr">laissez faire</i> régime. The Filipinos will, of course, be glad to see the Moros beaten in the conflict that is now inevitable. + +</p> +<p>To conclude my narrative, we finally got the better of our hosts, the enemy. The Moros wanted $1,500 in return for the $500 +they had loaned Rufino. “Then you must let the hostage come to his own people,” said Rufino, “so that he can use his influence +among them and solicit funds; for otherwise we will not ransom him.” The situation did not look so very bright for me; but +at a conference of the interested dattos they reluctantly decided that I might depart. Eight <a id="d0e3368"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3368">269</a>]</span>Moros were appointed to accompany me as a body-guard. On reaching Iligan it was requested that the post commander furnish +me an escort back to Oroquieta, which was done. The Moros profited so much by our excursion, selling us good will and rice, +that I am sure they will forgive us for not paying them the ransom money, which is no more than the brokerage on a small loan. + + + + +<a id="d0e3370"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3370">270</a>]</span></p> +</div> +</div> +<div id="d0e3371" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter XVI.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">Along the Iligan-Marahui Road.</h2> +<p>The recent victories achieved by Captain Pershing over the fanatic More tribes in the vicinity of Lake Lanao, have opened +up for military occupation a new territory equal in fertility and richness to the famous Cagayan valley of Luzon. The Moros +under the American administration will be recognized as independent tribes, and be restricted probably to reservations similar +to those the Indians now occupy. This means that a great tract of land will some day be thrown open for American development. +The soil will yield abundant crops of corn, tobacco, coffee, rice, and other products, while the forest wealth appeals to +the imagination. Rubber, sugar, hemp, and <i>copra</i> are the natural products of the country near the coast. The lake itself is situated on a high plateau, with a prevailing +temperate climate. Where the mountains do not intervene, the land slopes gradually down to the sea. +<a id="d0e3381"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3381">271</a>]</span></p> +<p>One of the most important military operations that was ever undertaken in the Philippines was the construction of the Iligan-Marahui +road, which, having been for some time open to the pack-trains and the heavy traffic, is at present nearing its completion. +Though the work was planned by members of the engineers’ corps, all the clearing, grading, and the filling-in were done by +soldiers who had never until then known what it meant to handle pick and shovel. The younger officers, who, for the first +time in their lives, were superintending a construction job, went out and bossed the gangs as well as many an experienced +and seasoned foreman could have done. The soldiers, who deserve no little credit for their work, are members of the Twenty-eighth +and the Tenth infantries. + +</p> +<p>It was about the last of January that I made a trip to Iligan, arriving in a Moro sailboat from another port on the north +coast of Mindanao. Two or three army transports, with the quarantine flag flying (for the cholera was still in evidence), +lay quietly at anchor in the bay. Along the shore a warm breeze ruffled the green branches of the <a id="d0e3386"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3386">272</a>]</span><i>copra</i> palms. Near the new dock a gang of Moros were at work, perspiring in the hot rays of the tropic sun. A tawny group of soldiers, +dressed in khaki, rested in the shade of a construction-house, and listened dreamily to far-off bugle calls. + +</p> +<p>The Moros were dressed picturesquely in a great variety of costume, ranging from bright-colored silk to dirty corduroy. Red +<i>buya</i>-juice, was leaking from the corners of their mouths. Their turbans, though disgracefully unclean, were silk. Their coats +were fastened by brass military buttons, and their sashes, green and red, with a long fringe, were tied around their waists; +their trousers, like a pair of riding breeches, buttoned up the side. + +</p> +<p>While spending the first evening at the club, I had seen mingling with the young lieutenants, immaculate in their new olive +uniforms, bronzed, mud-bespattered officers in the blue army shirt and khaki, with the Colt’s six-shooter hanging from an +ammunition belt. These were the strangers from the town of white tents on the border of the woods. At midnight possibly, or +<a id="d0e3397"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3397">273</a>]</span>even later, they would mount their horses and go riding through the night to the encampment on the hill. The very next day +one of the immaculate lieutenants, laying off the olive uniform, might have to don the old campaign hat and the flannel shirt, +and follow his unshaven comrades up the road. + +</p> +<p>We stretched our army cots that night in the roulette room (this is not a country of hotels), and to the rattle of the balls +and the monotonous drone of the croupier, “’teen and the red wins,” dropped off to sleep. On the day following the <i>Dr. Hans</i> dropped in with Generals Wade and Sumner, and the jingle of the cavalry was heard as they rode out with mounted escort to +inspect the operations of the road. After a dance and a reception at the residence of the commanding officer in honor of the +visitors, “guard mount,” the social feature of the day, was viewed from the pavilion in the little plaza where the exercise +takes place. Its dignity was sadly marred that evening when a Moro datto, self-important in an absurd, overwhelming hat, accompanied +by an obedient old wife on a moth-eaten Filipino pony, <a id="d0e3404"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3404">274</a>]</span>and a dog, ignoring everybody, jogged along the street and through the lines. + +</p> +<p>I walked out to the camp next morning with Lieutenant Harris. Even for this short stretch the road was not considered altogether +safe. We forded the small river just beyond the cavalry corral, where an old Spanish blockhouse stands, and where a few old-fashioned +Spanish cannon still lie rusting in the grass. A Moro fishing village—now a few deserted shacks around the more pretentious +dwelling of the former datto—may be met near where the roadway joins the beach. Pack-trains of army mules, with their armed +escorts, passed us; then an ambulance, an escort wagon, and a mounted officer. + +</p> +<p>Two companies of the Tenth infantry were camped in a small clearing near the sea. Leaving the camp, we went along the almost +indistinguishable Moro trail to where the mighty Agus River plunges in a greenish torrent over an abrupt wall into the deep, +misty cavern far below. The rushing of the waters guided us in places where we found the trail inadequate. Arriving at the +falls, we scrambled down by means of vines until we <a id="d0e3410"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3410">275</a>]</span>reached a narrow shelf near where the cataract began its plunge. Upon the opposite side an unyielding precipice was covered +with a damp green coat of moss and fern. It took five seconds for a falling stone to reach the seething cloud of mist below. + + + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e3413" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p274-1.jpg" alt="A Deserted Moro Shack" width="454" height="362"><p class="figureHead">A Deserted Moro Shack</p> +</div><p> + +</p> +<p></p> +<div id="d0e3418" class="figure"><img border="0" src="images/p274-2.jpg" alt="Moro Weapons (Spear and Dirk)" width="453" height="362"><p class="figureHead">Moro Weapons (Spear and Dirk)</p> +</div><p> + + +</p> +<p>The trail back to the camp was very wild. It led through jungles of dense underbrush, where monkeys scolded at us, and where +wild pigs, with startled grunts, bolted precipitously for the thicket. A deep ravine would be bridged by a fallen tree. The +Iligan-Marahui road now penetrates the wildest country in the world, and the most wonderful. Turning abruptly from the coast +about five miles from Iligan, it winds among the rocky hills through forests of mahogany and ebony, through jungles of rattan +and young bamboo, and spanning the swift Agus River with a modern steel bridge, finally connects the lake and sea. It has +been built to meet the military road from the south coast, thus making possible, for the first time, communication <i>via</i> the interior. The new roads practically follow the old Moro trails. +<a id="d0e3427"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3427">276</a>]</span></p> +<p>The scene at early morning on the road was one of great activity. Soon after reveille the men are mustered, armed with picks +and shovels in the place of the more customary “Krag,” and long before the tropic sun has risen over the primeval woods, the +chatter of monkeys and the crow of jungle-cock is mingled with the crash of trees, the click of shovels and the rumble of +the dump-cart. The continued blasting on the upper road, near the “Point of Rocks,” disturbs the colonies of squawking birds +that dart into the forest depths like flashes of bright color. As the land is cleared for fifty yards on either side in order +to admit the sunlight and to keep the Moras at a proper range, the great macao-trees, with their snaky, parasitic vines, on +crashing to the ground, dislodge the pallid fungi and extraordinary orchids from their heavy foliage. Deep cuts into the clayey +soil sometimes bisect whole galleries of wonderful white ants, causing untold consternation to the occupants. + +</p> +<p>Each squad of soldiers was protected by a guard besides the officer, who, armed with a revolver, acted as the overseer. The +work was very <a id="d0e3432"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3432">277</a>]</span>telling on the men, and often out of a whole company not more than twenty-eight reported. Some grew as strong as oxen under +this unusual routine; others had to take advantage of the sick report. The soldiers were required to work five hours a day, +and double time after a day of rain. Considerable Moro labor was employed on the last sections of the road. + +</p> +<p>A unique feature of the work was the erection of small bridges made of solid logs from the material at hand, and bolted down +by long steel bars. The “elbow” bridge which makes a bend along the hillside near the first camp is a triumph in the engineering +line. The camps were moved on as the work progressed, and the advance guard ran considerable risk. The Moros had an unexpected +way of visiting the scene of operation, and admiring it from certain hiding-places in the woods. As they could hike their +thirty or forty miles a day along the trails, they often came much nearer to the troops than was suspected. Sentry duty was +especially a risky one, as frequently at night the Moros used to fire into the camp. Only about one hundred yards along the +trail a soldier, <a id="d0e3436"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3436">278</a>]</span>who had gone into the woods for a “short cut,” received one from a Moro who was waiting for him in the shadow of a tree. + +</p> +<p>The camp at night, illuminated by the blue light of the stars, the forest casting inky shadows on the ground, seemed like +some strange, mysterious domain. The officers around the tent of the commanding officer were singing songs, accompanied by +the guitar and mandolin. The soldiers also from a distant tent—it was their own song, and the tune “The Girl I Left Behind +Me”—practicing close harmony, began: + + +</p> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>“O, we’re camped in the sand in a foreign land +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Near the mighty Agus River,</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>With the brush at our toes, the skeeters at our nose, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>The jimjams and the fever.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>We’re going up to Lake Lanao, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>To the town they call Marahui;</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>When the road is built and the Moros killed, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>We’ll none of us be sorry.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="
 poem
 "> +<p class="line" style=""><span>We’re blasting stumps and grading bumps; +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>Our arms and backs are sore, O!</span></p> +<p class="line" style=""><span>We work all day just a dreamin’ of our pay, +</span></p> +<p class="line" style="text-indent: 2em; "><span>And d——n the husky Moro!</span></p> +</div> +<p>When taps sounded, we turned in beneath two blankets in a wall-tent lighted by a feeble lantern. <a id="d0e3469"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3469">279</a>]</span>All night long the restless jungle sounds, the whispering of the mysterious forest, and the distant booming of the sea, together +with the measured tread of the night sentry, made a lullaby which ought to have worked wonders with the “jim-jam” and the +fever patients of the Twenty-eighth. + + + +<a id="d0e3471"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3471">280</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e3472" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter XVII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal">The Filipino at Play.</h2> +<p>As in the pre-Elizabethan days the public amusements consisted of performances by priests and monks on scaffolding set up +before the church, mystery plays, “moralities,” and “miracles,” religious pageants through the village streets,—so in the +Philippines, where they have not outlived the fourteenth century, the Church plays an important part in popular <i>fiestas</i>. The Christmas holidays are celebrated still by carol singing from house to house, and by the presentation of the old-time +“mystery” by strolling bands of actors, with a wax-doll to represent the Sacred Child. + +</p> +<p>Each town, besides the regular church holidays—as indicated by innumerable red marks in the calendar—has a <i>fiesta</i> for its patron saint, which is of more importance even than the “Feast of Aguinaldo” (“Aguinaldo” is their word for <a id="d0e3487"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3487">281</a>]</span>“Christmas present”), which is held annually in December. One of these <i>fiestas</i> is announced by the ringing of the church-bells—big bells and little bells all turning somersaults, and being banged as they +go round. During the intermissions the municipal band discourses Spanish and <span id="d0e3492" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> music, coming to the end with a triumphant bang. Only on Holy Friday are the bells abandoned and tin pans and bamboo clappers, +sticks and stones, resorted to for purposes of lamentation—functions for which these instruments are perfectly adapted. + +</p> +<p>People come in from far and near, riding in <i>bancas</i> or on ponies, often spending several nights upon the way. The great church at the morning mass is crowded; women faint; and, +as the heat increases, it becomes a steaming oven. It is more spectacular at vespers, with the women kneeling among the goats +and dogs; the men, uncovered, standing in the shadows of the gallery; the altar sparkling with a hundred candles; and the +dying sunlight filtering through mediæval windows. As the resinous incense odor fills the house, through the wide-open doors +the <a id="d0e3500"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3500">282</a>]</span>sun can be seen setting in its tropical magnificence behind a grove of palms. + +</p> +<p>Then the procession, in a haze of dust—led by the band, the padre, and the acolytes; the sacred relics borne aloft on floats +encircled by a blaze of candles; young men holding each other’s hands; children and old women following, holding their tapers +and reciting prayers—files through the streets to the eternal clamor of the bells. + +</p> +<p>The afternoon is given up to tournaments—carabao races, pony races, <i>banca</i> races, cock-fights. Bamboo arches, decorated with red banners, are erected in the larger thoroughfares, and under these the +horsemen ride together at full tilt, attempting to secure upon their lances the suspended rings which are the favors of the +local <i lang="es">señoritas</i>. On dropping in at that volcanic little town, Mambajo, one hot afternoon, I found a goose hung up upon the bamboo framework +which became the property of the competitor who, riding under it <i lang="fr">ventre á terre</i>, could seize the prize, regardless of the feelings of the goose. The village had turned out in holiday attire, as <a id="d0e3515"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3515">283</a>]</span>the dense atmosphere of cocoanut-oil and perfumery proclaimed. The band, in white pith helmets and new linen uniforms, was +playing under the mimosa-tree. Down the main road a struggling crowd of wheelmen came, and from a cloud of dust the winner +of the mile bicycle-race shot past the tape. The difficulty in the carabao event was to stick on to the broad, clumsy animal, +during the gallop around the course. One of the beasts, excited by the shouts, began to run amuck, and cut a swathe in the +distracted crowd as clean as an ungovernable automobile might have made. + +</p> +<p>The ringing of a bell announced the cock-fight in the main beneath the cocoanut-trees. It was near the market-place, where +venders of betel-nut, tobacco, cigarettes, and <i>tuba</i> squatted on the ground, their wares exposed for sale on mats. As the spectators crowded in, the gatekeeper would mark their +bare feet with a red stamp, indicating that admission had been paid. On booths arranged within the last inclosure, <i lang="es">señoritas</i> sold hot chocolate and raisin-cakes and beer. Tethered to little stakes, and straining at their leashes, the excited game-cocks, +the descendants <a id="d0e3525"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3525">284</a>]</span>of the jungle-fowl, screamed in exultant unison. The small boys, having climbed the cocoanut-palms, clung to the notches, +and looked down upon the scene of conflict. + +</p> +<p>Little brown men, squatting around the birds, were critically hefting them, or matching couples of them in preliminary bouts, +keeping a good hold of their tails. There was the wicked little Moro Bangcorong, the trainer of birds that never lost a fight. +There was Manolo, the <span id="d0e3529" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> dandy, who on recent winnings in the main, supported a small stable of racing ponies at Cebu. The person entering a bird +deposits a certain amount of money with the bank. This wager is then covered by the smaller bets of <i>hoi poiloi</i>. When a “dark” bird is victorious, and the crowd wins, an enthusiastic yell goes up. But just as in a public lottery, fortune +is seldom with the great majority. As the bell rings, the spectators press close around the bamboo pit, or climb to points +of vantage in adjacent scaffolding. A line is drawn in the damp earth, and on one side all the money wagered on the favorite +is arranged, which must be balanced by the coin placed by opposing <a id="d0e3535"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3535">285</a>]</span>betters on the other side. There is a frantic rushing around at the last moment to place bets. The Chinaman waves a ten-<i>peso</i> bill excitedly, and clamors “<i>buenting! buenting!</i>”—meaning that he puts his money on the speckled bird. Somebody on the other side cries out “<i>guingan!</i>” or “green,” and thus they both find takers for their “<i>sapi</i>.” Then the <i lang="es">presidente</i>, who referees the fight, sends two policemen to clear out the ring; the sheaths are removed from the razor-sharp steel spurs; +the two cocks are held opposite each other, and are simultaneously launched into the arena. Ruffling, and facing each other +with their necks outstretched, “blood in their eyes,” and realizing to the full extent the danger of the situation, they prepare +to fight it out to death. A quick stab, and the victim, trembling violently, a stream of red blood trickling down its leg, +drops at the first encounter, and the fight is over. + +</p> +<p>While no record has been kept of how the bets were placed, every one seems to remember, and the money is handed over honestly. +If Filipinos were as honorable in all their dealings as they are in this, they would be ideal people to do business <a id="d0e3554"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3554">286</a>]</span>with; for although they will beg and borrow, or even steal, to get the money which is wagered at these “combats,” they will +never evade a debt of honor thus incurred. Regarding gambling as a livelihood, or a profession in good standing, they devote +their best hours to the study and the mastery of it. They, with their false philosophy, believe that wealth is thus produced, +and that there is a gain for every one. + +</p> +<p>The list of fights progresses, some of the cocks only giving up the struggle after a last dying kick has been directed at +the breast of the antagonist, who, desperately wounded, summons strength for one triumphant, but a rather husky, crow. Sometimes +both birds are taken from the cockpit dead. The bird that loses a fight through cowardice is rent limb from limb by the indignant +owner, and is ignominiously hung upon the bamboo paling,—bird of ill omen, that has ruined the finances of a family, mortgaged +the house and carabao, and plunged its owner into debt for the next year! + +</p> +<p>Sometimes a “free for all” is substituted for the dual contest. Eighteen or twenty fighting-cocks will be arranged in a large +circle, dropped <a id="d0e3560"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3560">287</a>]</span>at the same time in the ring, and set to work. Half of the birds, not realizing what is going on, will innocently start to +scratch for worms, or set out on a search for seeds. It is amusing then to see the astonished look they give when suddenly +confronted by a couple of antagonists. They settle their disputes in bunches of three and four, and soon the ring is full +of chickens running to get out of danger, maimed and crippled, or still innocently scratching after worms. There was a little +white cock at the recent main at Oroquieta, who avoided every fight without, however, leaving the arena. The game old buzzard +that belonged to <i lang="es">Capitan</i> A-Bey—a bird with legs like stilts and barren patches in his foliage—had put down every challenger in turn. Confronted by +two birds at once, he seemed to say, “One side, old fellow, for a moment; will attend to your case later”—which he did. Dizzy +and staggering from loss of blood, still “in the ring,” he sidled up to the immaculate white bird that had so ingeniously +evaded every fight. It was a case of out-and-out bluff. If the little bird had struck, he must have won. A single look, however, +at his reprehensible <a id="d0e3565"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3565">288</a>]</span>antagonist sufficed. The little bird made a direct line for the gate, while <i lang="es">Capitan</i> A-Bey’s old rooster, with defiance in his look and voice, was carried away in triumph. In the parade next day, where the +competing game-cocks were exhibited, the “buzzard,” though he was exempt from taking part in the proceedings, led the procession +and was loudly cheered. +</p> +<hr class="tb"><p> + +</p> +<p>My introduction to polite society in Filipinia was certainly auspicious. “Betel-Nut Sal,” the wife of the constabulary sergeant, +had a birthday, and invited everybody to the dance and the reception which would take place in the jail. The <i lang="es">Señorita</i> Tonio, most prominent of the receiving ladies, was engaged when I arrived, in meting out gin to the visitors. Her teeth were +red from betel-chewing, and a cigarette hung from the corner of her mouth. The orchestra, armed with guitars and mandolins, +had seated themselves upon a bench, barefooted with their legs crossed, ready to begin. The insufficiency of partners for +the ladies had necessitated letting out most of the prisoners on parole. A certain young dandy who <a id="d0e3577"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3577">289</a>]</span>had been locked up on charge of murder, was the hero of the hour. While he was dancing, soldiers with their Remingtons guarded +the door. I was induced to try a dance with Tonio. The hum of music could be heard above the “clack-clack” of the carpet-slippers +tapping on the floor. Then suddenly the <i lang="es">señorita</i> swore a white man’s oath, and stopped. Her carpet-slipper had come off, and as she wore no hosiery, the situation was indeed +embarrassing. Our hostess asked us twenty times if everything was satisfactory, and finally confessed that she had spent almost +a year’s income for the refreshments. “Dancee now; <i lang="es">mañana</i>, washie, washie.” + +</p> +<p>I must tell you of Bernarda’s party. “We expect you for the eating,” read the invitation, and when dinner was all ready I +was sent for. Then we sat down to a feast of roast pork, rice, and goat-flesh, with a rather soggy cake for the dessert. At +most balls it is customary for the ladies to be seated first at the refreshment-table, where the most substantial articles +of diet are boiled ham with sugar frosting, cakes flavored with the native lime, and lemon soda. Like the coy nun in <a id="d0e3587"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3587">290</a>]</span>Chaucer’s “Prologue,” she who is most elegant will take care not to spill the food upon her lap, eat with the fingers, or +spit out the bones. At wedding feasts the gentlemen are given preference at the table. + +</p> +<p>When the orchestra arrived—a trifle late after a six-mile hike through muddy roads and over swollen streams—the company was +more delighted than a nursery. The orchestra began the program with the piece entitled “Just One Girl,” to which the people +sang <span id="d0e3591" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> words. Vivan, the old clown, in clumsy commissary shoes, skated around the floor to the amusement of the whole assembly. +The chair-dance was announced, and the most favored <i lang="es">señorita</i> occupied a chair set in the middle of the room. A dozen suitors came in order, bowing low, entreating her not to reject their +plea. One after another they were thrown down, and retired crestfallen. But at last the right one came, and waltzed off with +the girl triumphantly. There was a salvo of applause, the more intense because in this case an engagement had been practically +announced. No native ball would be complete <a id="d0e3597"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3597">291</a>]</span>without the symbolistic dance which so epitomizes Filipino character. This is performed by a young lady and her partner wielding +fans and scented handkerchiefs, advancing and retreating with all kinds of coquetries. + +</p> +<p>Long after midnight, when the party broke up with the customary horse-play, the accommodating orchestra, who had enjoyed the +evening with the rest, still playing “Just One Girl,” escorted the assembly home. + + + +<a id="d0e3601"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3601">292</a>]</span></p> +</div> +<div id="d0e3602" class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><h2 class="label">Chapter XVIII.</h2> +<h2 class="normal"><span id="d0e3606" class="corr" title="Source: Viscayan">Visayan</span> Ethics and Philosophy. +</h2> +<p>He is the drollest little person in the world—the Filipino of the southern isles. He imitates the sound of chickens in his +language and the nasal “nga” of the carabao. He talks about his chickens and makes jokes about them. As he goes along the +street, he sings, “<i lang="ceb">Ma-ayon buntag</i>,” or “<i lang="ceb">Ma-ayon hapon</i>,” to the friends he meets. This is his greeting in the morning and the afternoon; at night, “<i lang="ceb">Ma-ayon gabiti</i>.” And instead of saying, “Thank you,” he will sing, “<i lang="ceb">Deus mag bayud</i>” (God will reward you), and the answer, also sung, will be “<i lang="ceb">gehapon</i>” (always)—just as though it were no use to look for a reward upon this world. + +</p> +<p>You wonder how it is that he can spend his life rooted to one spot, like a tree, passing the days in idleness. He is absorbed +in his own thoughts. If you should ask him anything he <a id="d0e3628"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3628">293</a>]</span>would not hear you; he is far away in his own dreamland. You must wake him up first, and then repeat your question several +times. If you should have instructions for him, do not give them to him all at once. A single idea at a time is all that he +can carry in his head. If he has not been broken in to a routine, he will chase butterflies upon the way, influenced ever +by the passion of the moment. There is no yesterday or no to-morrow in his thoughts. What he shall find to eat to-morrow never +concerns him. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. + +</p> +<p>Many mistakes have been made in the hasty judgment of the Filipino character. Such axioms as “Never trust a native under any +circumstances;” “Never expect to find a sense of gratitude;” “Never believe a word a native says,” are only too well known +in Filipinia. The Spanish influence has been responsible for most of the defects as well as for the merits of the native character. +Then, the peculiar fashion of the Oriental mind forbids his reasoning according to the Occidental standards. Cause and effect +are hazy terms to him, and the justification of the <a id="d0e3632"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3632">294</a>]</span>means is not regarded seriously. His thefts are in a way consistent with his system of philosophy. You are so rich, and he +so poor. The Filipino is at heart a socialist. But he does not steal indiscriminately. If it is your money that he takes, +it is because he needs it to put up on the next cock-fight. If he selects your watch, it is because he needs a watch, and +nothing more. The Filipino, when he transacts business, has two scales of prices,—one for the natives, and another for Americans. +He reasons that because Americans are rich, they ought to pay a higher price for what they get than Filipinos do. He would +expect if he bought anything from you that you would make a special rate for him regardless of the value of the article in +question. You would have to come down to accommodate his pocketbook. + +</p> +<p>The Filipino code of ethics justifies a falsehood, especially if the end in view should be immediate. He lies to save himself +from punishment, and he will make a cumulative lie, building it up from his imagination until even the artistic element is +wanting, and his lie becomes a thing of contradictions and absurdities. When <a id="d0e3636"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3636">295</a>]</span>questioned closely, or when cross-examined, his imagination gets beyond control, and it is possible that he believes, himself, +the “fairy tales” he tells. Fear easily upsets his calculations, and he runs amuck. But he will not betray himself, although +he will deny a friend three times. He may be in an agony of fear, but only by the subtlest changes could it be detected. + +</p> +<p>The Spaniards, when they left out gratitude from his curriculum, made up for the deficiency by inculcating strict ideals of +discipline. The Filipino never has had much to be grateful for, and he regards a friendly move suspiciously. But he admires +a master, and will humbly yield to almost any kind of tyranny, especially from one of his own race. The poorer classes rather +like to be imposed upon in the same way as the Americans appreciate a humbug. + +</p> +<p>In their communities the <i lang="es">presidente</i> is supreme in power; and, like the king, this officer can do no wrong. He uses his position for his private ends. Why not? +What is the use of being <i lang="es">presidente</i> if it does not profit you? I have known some who secured monopolies <a id="d0e3648"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3648">296</a>]</span>on the hemp-trade by fining all who did not sell their hemp to them. Others appropriate the public funds for entertainment +purposes, and when an inquiry is made regarding the condition of the treasury, the magistrate expresses the greatest surprise +on finding that there is no money left. This officer, however, whatever his prerogatives may be, is not ambitious that his +term of office be of any benefit. If he presides well at the cock-fights, it is all that is expected of him. If he goes to +building bridges over rivers that the horses easily can wade across, the people will object to the unnecessary labor and expense. +The <i lang="es">presidente</i> dominates the town. If he can bring about prosperity in an agreeable way, without recourse to sudden means, the people will +appreciate him and support him, though they do not take much interest in the elections. If the civil government can only get +good <i lang="es">presidentes</i> in the larger villages, the problem of administration will be solved. + +</p> +<p>Malay traditions make the Filipino proud, disdainful, and reserved—and also cruel. Not only are the ardent sun and his inherent +laziness <a id="d0e3658"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3658">297</a>]</span>accountable for his antipathy to work. It is beneath his dignity to work, and that is why he takes delight in being a public +servant or a clerk. The problem of living is reduced to simplest terms. One can not starve to death as long as the bananas +and the cocoanuts hold out. The question as to whether last year’s overcoat or straw hat can be made to do, does not concern +the Filipino in the least. If he needs money irresistibly, he can spend one day at work up in the mountains, making enough +to last him for some time. If he can spend his money so as to create a display, he takes delight in doing so. But paying debts +is as uninteresting as it is unpopular. The outward signs of elegance are much respected by the Filipino. The American, to +live up to his part, must always be attended by a servant. Sometimes, when we would forget this adjunct, we would stop at +some <i lang="es">tienda</i> and propose to carry home a dozen eggs wrapped in a handkerchief. “What! have you no house-boy?” the natives asked. Apparently +extravagant, they practice many petty economies at home. A morsel of food or a bit of clothing never goes to waste <a id="d0e3663"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3663">298</a>]</span>in Filipinia. They imitate the Chinaman in letting one of their finger-nails grow long. + +</p> +<p>The Filipino is fastidious and dainty—in his own way. He will shudder at the uncouth Tagalog who toasts locusts over a hot +fire and eats them, and that evening will go home and eat a handful of damp <i>guinimos</i>, the littlest of fish. He takes an infinite amount of care of his white clothes, and swaggers about the streets immaculate; +but just as soon as he gets home, the suit comes off and is reserved for future exhibition purposes. The women pay comparatively +small attention to their personal adornment. Their hair is combed straight back upon their heads. The style of dresses never +undergoes a change. The ordinary dress consists of three important pieces—the chemise, a long, white, sleeveless garment; +the <i>camisa</i>, or the <i>piña</i> bodice, with wide sleeves; and the skirt, caught up on one side, and preferably of red material. A yoke or scarf of <i>piña</i> folds around the neck, and is considered indispensable by <i lang="es">señoritas</i>. The native ideas of modesty are more or less false, varying with the individual. +<a id="d0e3682"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3682">299</a>]</span></p> +<p>It might be thought that, on account of his indifferent attitude toward life and death, the Filipino has no feelings or emotions. +He is a stoic and a fatalist by nature, but an emotionalist as well. While easily affected, the impressions are not deep, +and are forgotten as they slip into the past. Although controlled by passion, he will hold himself in, maintaining a proud +reserve, especially in the presence of Americans. A subtle change of color, a sullen brooding, or persistent silence, are +his only outward signs of wrath. He will endure in patience what another race had long ago protested at; but when at last +aroused and dominated by his passions, he will throw reserve and caution to the winds, and give way to his feelings like a +child; and like a child, he feels offended if partiality is exercised against him. His sense of justice then asserts itself, +and he resents not getting his share of anything. He even will insist on being punished if he thinks punishment is due him. +While revengeful if imposed upon, and bitter under the autocracy of cruelty, he has a great respect for firmness. And the +Americans would do well to remember <a id="d0e3685"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3685">300</a>]</span>that in governing the Filipino, kindness should be mingled with strict discipline. + +</p> +<p>The Filipino can not be depended upon for accurate, reliable information. His information is indefinite, as perhaps it should +be in the land of By and By. In spite of his imaginative temperament, his cruelty to animals is flagrant. He starves his dog +and rides his pony till the creature’s back is sore. He shows no mercy for the bird that loses at the cock-fight; he will +mercilessly tear it limb from limb. In order to explain—not to excuse—this cruelty, we must again regard the Filipino as a +child—a child of the toad-stabbing age. + +</p> +<p>A little learning he takes seriously, and is puffed up by pride when he can follow with his horny finger the religious column +in <i>Ang Suga</i>, spelling the long words out laboriously. Even the boys and girls who study English, often do so only to be “smart.” It is +a clever thing to spice one’s conversation with an English word or expression here and there. + +</p> +<p>Yet the Filipino is not altogether lazy and unsympathetic. Often around his houses you will <a id="d0e3696"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3696">301</a>]</span>see a tiny patch of corn or a little garden of green vegetables. He makes a mistake by showing a dislike for the <i>camote</i>, or the native sweet-potato, which abounds there. Preferring the unsubstantial rice to this more wholesome product, he leaves +the sweet-potato for his Chinese and his Moro neighbors. On every street the sour-smelling <i>copra</i> (cocoanut meat) can be seen spread out upon a mat to dry. The cattle are fed on the long rice-grass (the <i>palay</i>), or on the unhusked rice (<i>sacate</i>). A primitive trades-unionism exists among the Filipinos; every trade, such as the carpenters’ or the musicians’, having +its respective <i>maestro</i>, with whom arrangements for the labor and the pay are always made. The native jewelers are very clever, fashioning the silver +<i>pesos</i> into ornaments for bolos, hats, or walking-sticks. Ironmongeries, though primitive in their equipment, have produced, by +dint of skill and patience, work that is very passable. The women weave their own cloth on the native looms, and practice +various other industries. The children are well trained in hospitality and public manners, which they learn by rote. +<a id="d0e3716"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3716">302</a>]</span></p> +<p>While not original, they are good imitators, and would make excellent clerks, mechanics, carpenters, or draughtsmen. Some +of their devices rather remind one of a small boy’s remedy for warts or “side-ache.” In order to exterminate the rats they +introduce young pythons into the garrets of their houses, where the snake remains until his appetite is satisfied for rodents +and his finer tastes developed. Usually the Filipino does things “wrong side out.” Instead of beckoning when he would summon +any one, he motions away from himself. Instead of making nicknames, such as Bob or Bill, from the first syllable, he uses +the last, abbreviating Balendoy to ’Doy, Diega to a simple ’Ga. They are the happiest people in the world, free from all care +and trouble. It is among the younger generation that the promise lies. The little ones are bright and gentle and respectful—quite +unlike the boisterous denizens of Young America. The race is still back in the fourteenth century, but the progress to be +made within the next few years will span the chasm at a single bound. + +</p> +<p>When I return to Filipinia, I shall expect to <a id="d0e3721"></a><span class="pagenum">[<a href="#d0e3721">303</a>]</span>see, instead of the brown <i>nipa</i> shacks, bright-painted American cottages or bungalows among the groves of palm. I shall expect to see the mountain slopes, +waving with green hemp-fields, worked by the rejuvenated native. Railroads will penetrate into the dark interior, connecting +towns and villages now isolated. The country roads will be well graded and macadamized, and bridges will be built across the +streams. The cock-fight will have given way to institutions more American, and superstition will have vanished with the mediævalism. +The hum of saw-mills will be heard upon the borders of the timber-lands; sugar refineries will be established near the fields +of cane; for Filipinia is still an undeveloped paradise. The Great White Tribe has many problems yet to solve; but with the +industry that they have shown in other lands, they can improve, not only the material resources, but can stir the Filipino +from his dream of the Dark Ages, and point out the way of modern progress and enlightenment. + + +</p> +</div> +</div> +<div class="back"> +<div class="div1"><span class="pagenum"> +[<a href="#d0e144">Contents</a>] +</span><p></p> +<div id="d0e3729" class="figure"><a href="images/maph.gif"><img border="0" src="images/map.gif" alt="Map of Filipinia." width="465" height="659"></a></div><p> + + + +</p> +<div class="transcribernote"> +<h2>Colophon</h2> +<h3>Availability</h3> +<p>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give +it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/">www.gutenberg.org</a>. + +</p> +<p>This eBook is produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a href="https://www.pgdp.net/">www.pgdp.net</a>. + +</p> +<p>This ebook was prepared from scans made available on <a href=" http://name.umdl.umich.edu/ABJ8305.0001.001">The United States and its Territories</a>. Alternative scans are available from <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/greatwhitetribei00gilbiala">The Internet Archive</a>. + +</p> +<p>Paul Thomas Gilbert (1876–1953) was one of the young Americans who went to the Philippines as a teacher shortly after the +American take-over of the islands. In this book he describes his travels and adventures. After returning home, he continued +as a reporter, and became the author of the popular Betram children’s stories. An interesting page on this author by his granddaughter +can be found on <a href="http://www.bertramstories.com/">www.bertramstories.com</a>. + +</p> +<h3>Encoding</h3> +<p>In this work, the word “Viscayan” has been used for “Visayan”. This confusing mistake has been fixed, except for one reference +to the province of Nueva Viscaya. A few Cebuano words used in the text have also been corrupted, but these have been left +as they are in the source. + +</p> +<h3>Revision History</h3> +<ol class="lsoff"> +<li>2008-03-16 Started. + +</li> +</ol> +<h3>Corrections</h3> +<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p> +<table width="75%"> +<tr> +<th>Location</th> +<th>Source</th> +<th>Correction</th> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e206">Page 5</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e230">Page 5</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e298">Page 6</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e353">Page 7</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e438">Page 13</a></td> +<td width="40%">Curatel</td> +<td width="40%">Cuartel</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e596">Page 27</a></td> +<td width="40%">o’ Shanter</td> +<td width="40%">o’Shanter</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e888">Page 50</a></td> +<td width="40%">Midanao</td> +<td width="40%">Mindanao</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e894">Page 51</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e925">Page 56</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e939">Page 57</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e942">Page 57</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1126">Page 71</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1236">Page 86</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1253">Page 88</a></td> +<td width="40%">persiration</td> +<td width="40%">perspiration</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1284">Page 94</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayans</td> +<td width="40%">Visayans</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1310">Page 98</a></td> +<td width="40%">moutains</td> +<td width="40%">mountains</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1329">Page 99</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1351">Page 104</a></td> +<td width="40%">that</td> +<td width="40%">than</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1463">Page 121</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1582">Page 125</a></td> +<td width="40%">cocoatnut-oil</td> +<td width="40%">cocoanut-oil</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1610">Page 126</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1613">Page 126</a></td> +<td width="40%">pouding</td> +<td width="40%">pounding</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1657">Page 128</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1689">Page 130</a></td> +<td width="40%">cocoatnut-grove</td> +<td width="40%">cocoanut-grove</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1735">Page 134</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e1759">Page 136</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2048">Page 163</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2083">Page 168</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayans</td> +<td width="40%">Visayans</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2086">Page 168</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2094">Page 169</a></td> +<td width="40%">somethink</td> +<td width="40%">something</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2103">Page 169</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2108">Page 169</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2114">Page 169</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2133">Page 170</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayans</td> +<td width="40%">Visayans</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2271">Page 185</a></td> +<td width="40%">boadside</td> +<td width="40%">broadside</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2341">Page 191</a></td> +<td width="40%">generaly</td> +<td width="40%">generally</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2462">Page 203</a></td> +<td width="40%">kimona</td> +<td width="40%">kimono</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2486">Page 204</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2523">Page 206</a></td> +<td width="40%">blacks</td> +<td width="40%">black</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2526">Page 206</a></td> +<td width="40%">walz</td> +<td width="40%">waltz</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2590">Page 211</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2851">Page 227</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e2971">Page 234</a></td> +<td width="40%"> +[<i>Not in source</i>] + +</td> +<td width="40%">,</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e3120">Page 245</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e3135">Page 247</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e3234">Page 257</a></td> +<td width="40%">canoñs</td> +<td width="40%">cañons</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e3274">Page 262</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayans</td> +<td width="40%">Visayans</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e3492">Page 281</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e3529">Page 284</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e3591">Page 290</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td width="20%"><a href="#d0e3606">Page 292</a></td> +<td width="40%">Viscayan</td> +<td width="40%">Visayan</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> +</div> +</div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great White Tribe in Filipinia, by +Paul T. 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