AN HISTORIC TRIP
The Philippine Islands as mere territory do not seem to have impressed
themselves very forcibly upon the general American mind, and the average
person one talks with really has but a vague conception of their
importance as regards number and area. There are enthusiasts who do not
hesitate to declare for the edification of wondering friends that there
are more than three thousand islands in the group, but it is necessary
to explain that a vast majority of these are mere dots upon the map not
to be considered in the sum total of habitable area. And yet the
archipelago is one of the finest on earth and not much smaller in point
of arable land than the whole Japanese island empire with its fifty-odd
millions of inhabitants.
It is a rather widely distributed territory and its population, some
seven millions six hundred thousand in number, comprises a variety of
peoples, each of which has its own language and its own traditions,
though all Christian Filipinos are much alike in general
characteristics.
Personally to superintend the establishment of civil government
throughout the Islands at a time when many of the people were still in
sympathy with armed resistance to our authority was a tremendous task
for the Commission to undertake, but it was thought that only through
direct contact could anything like sympathetic understanding be
obtained. Tranquillity had, as speedily as possible, to be restored, and
while the ungentle persuasion of armed force continued for some time to
be a necessity, the methods adopted by the civil officials never failed
to make a visible and lasting impression.
It was decided in the beginning that the ladies should accompany the
Commissioners on their long organising trip through the southern islands
and the success of our visit to Bataan proved to us that as members of
the governmental party we could make ourselves distinctly useful.
We wanted to get away much earlier than we did but the exigencies of the
still active military operations made it impossible for the Commanding
General to supply us with a transport, so it was not until the tenth of
March that we started out on what proved to be one of the most unique
expeditions of my life.
It begins to get very hot in the Philippines in March and this being our
first “hot season” in the Islands we felt it particularly. It is always
warm enough but there is a variety in the temperature which one soon
begins to appreciate. From November to February it is almost always
delightful, just warm enough; and sometimes, in the evenings, cool
enough for light wraps. But in March the heat becomes intense and not
until the rains begin in June or July can anything pleasant truthfully
be said about the climate.
However, this southern island trip was not a pleasure jaunt and it was
of such historic interest that none of us was willing, out of
consideration for personal comfort, to forego the privilege of making
it.
General MacArthur assigned to the Commission for the southern trip the
transport _Sumner_, which contained sufficient cabin space to
accommodate in comfort a large party. Besides all the ladies in the
civil government, the Commission had invited some newspaper men and a
number of prominent Filipinos who were pledged to the restoration of
peace under American control. Among them were representatives of all the
peoples in the southern islands to be visited. Then, too, we all took
our children. We had to; and it was fortunate for us that they were such
experienced and adaptable little people else they might have proved a
great nuisance in such a mixed party and on a trip where we were to stop
at twenty-odd different towns and attend innumerable meetings,
_banquetes_ and _bailes_. But, as it was, they gave us little trouble.
Mrs. Moses’ little daughter, who had just come out from San Francisco,
my daughter Helen and my son Robert, Mr. Fergusson’s son Arthur and
young Jack Branagan, were all about the same age, and they never tired
of devising games that could be played around such parts of the decks as
were not infested with grown-ups. Then, to while away the hours when
their elders were attending ceremonies on shore, they explored bays and
rivers in a sailboat which was rigged out for them by Captain Lyman, of
the _Sumner_, a most fatherly man who seemed to enjoy this unusual
opportunity to indulge his love for children. On the beaches they
collected an infinite variety of shells, corals and malodorous marine
curiosities, but these they kept on the lower decks where they could
enjoy them in peace. Charlie was, of course, the ship’s baby. He was
younger than either of the Worcester children and, I am afraid, somewhat
less well behaved. He scorned their rather quiet amusements and led a
strenuous and independent existence which gave me some uneasiness. He
rushed around over the ship with the utmost carelessness, delivering
orders in a strange jargon to his little Filipino nurse, who was always
rushing after him just far enough behind to be utterly useless in case
anything should happen to him. It was a certainty that should he fall
overboard she would reach the rail just in time to see him sink. Some of
the deck rails were low, but strange to say he came through without
accident. I think Charlie must have acquired some of the surefootedness
of a cat. He had been twice around the world before he was eight years
old, and that he managed to grow up into an unscarred and quite decorous
young man was certainly not due to natural caution on his part nor to
over-restraint on ours.
[Illustration:
FILIPINO MEMBERS OF THE ORGANISING PARTY ENJOYING AFTERNOON REPOSE ON
THE DECK OF THE “SUMNER”
]
It was an interesting party gathered on the _Sumner_. Among others were
the Atkinsons. Mr. Atkinson was the Superintendent of Public Instruction
who had recently come out from Springfield, Massachusetts, and who was
making this trip for the purpose of seeing what steps should or could be
taken to introduce a system of public instruction in a practically
schoolless land. The Commission had appropriated just as much for the
establishment of public schools as the treasury could spare, this being
the natural American thing to do under the circumstances, and no time
was to be lost in getting down to practical work. And, I should like to
note, that in no enterprise which America has undertaken in the
Philippines have we received such enthusiastic support and co-operation
from the Filipinos as in this. That they were tremendously alive to the
value of the educational privileges offered to them is proved by the
phenomenal success attained by the public school system which was
introduced. District schools, village and town schools, the high school
and the normal school are to-day as much a cherished part of Philippine
life as such institutions are a part of the great “American idea” in the
United States. And in addition to these a University has been founded
which promises to become one of the finest institutions of learning in
the whole East. Whatever may be said about the American Constitution
there can be no dispute about the fact that education follows the flag.
The Filipinos in our party, who were invited to go in order that they
might give the Commission information and advice and also, in some
measure, explain to their own compatriots the intentions of the American
Government, included Chief Justice Arellano, the two Supreme Court
Judges, Llorente and Araneta, and the originators of the Federal Party,
Don Benito Legarda, Doctor Pardo de Tavera and General Flores. The
Federal Party expected to organise in the far provinces and it was hoped
this would have a healthy effect on insular politics. There were about
sixty of us in all and I think we must have seemed rather a formidable
host to some of the nervous reception committees that were forced to
encounter us.
It was all wonderfully interesting. Our first stop was at Lucena in the
Province of Tayabas. We arrived there in the late afternoon so we had to
lie at anchor until next morning, but while the daylight lasted we gazed
eagerly at the shore through our field glasses and were astonished to
see the crowds of Filipinos not only lining the beach but wading in
throngs out into the Bay, as far as they safely could. It was as if they
had decided to walk out to meet us. And the town was decorated,
decorated magnificently. There were bamboo arches a-flutter with flags
and flags flying everywhere, to say nothing of bunting and palm leaves
and myriads of gay paper streamers.
Bright and early the next morning the reception committee came out in a
steam launch, accompanied by Colonel Gardiner, the American Army officer
in command of the garrison. The Filipinos, immaculate little
ex-insurrectos to a man, proudly climbed the gangway, stopped to adjust
their attire, then proceeded to bid us welcome with the utmost grace.
Their spokesman made the usual cordial speech, which Mr. Fergusson
solemnly interpreted. He laid at our feet everything to which he or the
town of Lucena had any claim, and assured us that the honour of our
visit was most deeply appreciated by the entire community; then he and
his companions stood smiling before us while Mr. Fergusson turned my
husband’s simple words of thanks and appreciation into Spanish metaphor
and hyperbole.
I have often thought that America never could have won the friendship of
the Filipinos if it hadn’t been for Mr. Arthur Fergusson’s clever
tongue. My husband’s smile and frank geniality accomplished much, but
his interpreter’s suavity struck a deeper and more familiar chord and
together they created harmony. They were a remarkable pair as they stood
side by side. Neither of them weighed less than three hundred pounds,
but Mr. Taft was blond and ruddy, Anglo-Saxon no less in appearance than
in manner and speech, while Mr. Fergusson was dark and rather dashing
and seemed naturally to assume the lofty mien of a Spaniard when he
spoke the beautiful Spanish tongue. Mr. Fergusson became Executive
Secretary of the Islands when Civil Government was established and
continued in that office until his death about six years ago. His loss
to the men who were then doing America’s work in the Philippines was
incalculable and the whole community, Filipinos and Americans alike,
joined in the warmest tributes to his memory that have ever been paid to
an American in the Islands.
When we arrived at the landing in Lucena we found a motley throng of
vehicles awaiting us, and were greeted by a roar of vociferous speech
from the _cocheros_ which sounded like imprecations, but which turned
out to be the Filipino equivalent for the deafening “Cab, lady! Cab,
sir!” with which travellers are welcomed at so many American railway
stations.
Mr. Taft and I, who seemed, in the opinions of our hosts, to be the only
persons of real importance present, were ceremoniously escorted to a
diminutive Victoria decorated with flowers, while the rest of the party
indiscriminately clambered into the nearest conveyances. Then started a
mad race down an execrable road, where the holes and ruts were so filled
with dust that there was no way of foreseeing or preparing for the
bumps. Our carriage, being a sedate “flower parade” all by itself, was
soon left far behind by the sportier two wheel vehicles, and when we
arrived at the Municipal Building, where the meeting was to be held,
confusion reigned. I have no doubt that several private secretaries had
been greeted as the honourable “Presidente del Commission,” but if so,
their fleeting honours detracted nothing from the welcome we received.
The streets were crowded with men, women and children waving flags and
shrilly cheering, and just in front of the hall were drawn up two
Filipino bands dressed in gorgeous, heavy uniforms decorated with such
scraps of gold lace as they had been able to procure. Together they
struck up the “Star Spangled Banner,” but they kept together for just
about two bars, each leader having his own fixed idea as to the proper
_tempo_. One band finished several bars ahead of the other, and
immediately, without so much as a lowering of instruments, it hurled
itself into “A Hot Time in the Old Town To-night,” whereupon the uplift
of “Don’t you hear those bells go ding-a-ling” collided merrily with the
solemn sentiment of “Long may it wave!” Yet nobody laughed. We were
cultivating a sobriety of demeanour because we knew we were dealing with
a people whose ears heard not and whose eyes saw not as we hear and see.
The meeting which followed our spectacular reception was exceedingly
interesting. The questions of the Commissioners elicited the information
that Tayabas had been completely pacified for more than a year, although
the surrounding provinces, Cavite, Laguna and Batangas, were among the
most unruly in the Archipelago. This happy state of affairs seems to
have been produced by Colonel Gardiner, in command of the garrison, who
had displayed great tact in dealing with the peacefully inclined
Filipinos and absolute military rigidity in his attitude toward the
insurrectos. That his methods had gained popular approval was evidenced
by the fact that every town in the province petitioned the Commission to
make him Governor. The requisite permission to do this having been
obtained from General MacArthur, who, as Military Governor, had
specially to detail army officers for such service, it was done amid
general rejoicing made violent by brassy discords from the jubilant
bands which nearly drove me out of the building.
There were many speeches and Mr. Taft, as usual, read and explained the
Provincial Code to the assembly. After I had listened almost daily for
more than six weeks to that dry-as-dust document I was sure that I could
repeat it backward if I tried. Mr. Taft finished his speech with a neat
little summing up of conditions in general,—mellifluously embellished by
Mr. Fergusson,—then he introduced Chief Justice Arellano as the ablest
lawyer in the Islands and a man whom any country would be proud to own;
which was literally true. The Chief Justice spoke for some time,
earnestly, appealingly, and with great dignity, and he was listened to
with reverence. I had hoped that his speech would end the proceedings,
but this was only the beginning of my experience with the Filipino love
of oratory and I never thereafter entertained any optimistic ideas with
regard to time limits.
But, as all things must, the meeting came to an end and, stretching our
weary bodies, we accepted an invitation to view the town. Our progress
was triumphal. In our flower-decked Victoria, with the municipal
_presidente_ on the little seat in front of us, Mr. Taft and I moved
slowly along, one band in front of us blaring out “A Hot Time in the Old
Town” with all the force of its lungs, and the other behind us doing its
best to make itself heard and appreciated in a wholly original rendition
of “Ta-ra-ra-ra-boom-de-ay.” Then came the other members of our party in
nondescript vehicles which jolted and creaked.
Speaking of Filipino bands, it may be thought that my partial
description of those in Lucena is exaggerated. Not at all. There are
more bands in the Philippines, perhaps, than any other one thing. The
Filipinos as a people are extremely musical and, in many instances, have
proved themselves capable of reaching a high point of musical
proficiency, but in the early days of American occupation a vast
majority of the musicians were the rankest amateurs who played “by ear”
only. They had never been taught, but they could play, after a fashion,
anything that anybody could whistle, sing or pick out for them on any
instrument. They had listened to the American regimental bands and they
had made selection for their own repertoires of such pieces as were
easiest to play, hence the popularity of “A Hot Time in the Old Town,”
“Ta-ra-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,” “Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey” and things
of like character. They did not know the words, or the “sentiment” of
the songs; they knew only the tunes, and these they played at all times,
for occasions either solemn or gay. Of my own experience I can testify
that “A Hot Time in the Old Town” makes a perfectly good funeral march
when reduced to a measure sufficiently lugubrious.
It didn’t take us long to see the town and when my ears could endure the
discords no longer I explained to the pleasant little _presidente_ that
I thought it was necessary for the ladies to return to the transport for
a rest before it was time to dress for the evening festivities. He
protested that the town was ours, that his house and everything in it
belonged solely to us, but I was backed up by my husband and the ladies
finally were permitted to go out to the _Sumner_ for a short respite. No
such luck for the men. They had to attend a prodigious luncheon, an
afternoon _banquete_ really, and then continue, for the rest of the day,
their interviews with Lucena citizens and American Army officers. And,
be it remembered, it was insufferably hot.
The _banquete_ and _baile_ that evening were typical Filipino
entertainments, novelties to me then and intensely interesting. It was a
procession, a meeting, a _banquete_ and a _baile_ every day for nearly
seven weeks unless by a happy turn of events it became necessary for us
to sail for our next port in the afternoon instead of at midnight as we
generally did. Under such circumstances, if any special entertainments
had been prepared for the evening, such as torchlight processions,
illuminations, or fireworks, they were duly produced in broad daylight,
thereby losing much in general effect no doubt, but nothing in their
proof of friendly intentions.
Processions and meetings may be just processions and meetings, but
_banquetes_ and _bailes_ are not just banquets and balls, and that is
why I always refer to them by their Spanish names.
We arrived at the _banquete_ in Lucena at seven o’clock and found, in a
great open room in a public building of some sort, a long table laden
with mysteries. In the centre was a tremendous ornament, made entirely
of toothpicks, built up to represent a flower garden. Whoever made it
was a genius with both imagination and delicacy of touch. All along both
sides of the table were strange, highly ornamental and formidable
looking dishes which were evidently meant to be eaten. I didn’t know
what they were, but having acquired a cosmopolitan attitude toward food
I was not at all dismayed. My chief concern related to the fact that a
Filipino host expects one to eat at least a little of everything that is
served and through endless courses of elaborately prepared meats one’s
appetite naturally becomes jaded.
The most important and distinguished Filipinos did not sit down at table
with us. It is _el costumbre del pais_ for the Filipino host to wait on
his guests, to hover about and see that he enjoys what is given him, and
until one gets used to it it is most disconcerting. The _presidentes_
and _fiscals_ and generals and other _illustrados_ were not as skilful
as trained servants and I found myself leaning this way and that in
momentary expectation that one of them, in his excitement, would
accidentally slip some sticky mixture down my back. There were speeches
of course; there always are; and then more speeches, but we had to get
to the _baile_, so they were not too long drawn out.
The _baile_ was given in the Municipal Building where the meeting of the
morning was held, and when we arrived we found the hall quite filled
with guests. The Filipino women didn’t display so many jewels and fine
garments in those days as now because, in certain quarters, the
insurrectos were still levying tribute, but the girls and women, many of
them quite pretty, were very gay in long, trailing calico skirts and
_jusi_, _sinamay_ or _pina camisas_, while the men were attired in all
manner of garments from calico and white linen to black cloth.
The men are nearly all excellent dancers, but the women are hampered
somewhat in the ordinary “round dances” by their foot gear. They don’t
wear shoes,—nor stockings either. At least, they didn’t in those days.
They thrust their bare toes into little slippers called _chinelas_ and
_cuchos_, which look for all the world like fancy bed-slippers. There
are two kinds: _cuchos_ being considered very “dressy” and having heels
which clatter on the floor, while _chinelas_ are heelless and make a
scuffing, shuffling noise.
The first dance of the evening at any _baile_ is the _rigodon_ which is
really the national dance of the Philippines. I am not going to try to
describe it because I know I can’t, though I have danced it hundreds of
times. It is the real ceremony on such an occasion. It can be likened to
an old-fashioned quadrille, but the square is made up of as many couples
opposite each other as there is space and there are couples. There are a
number of graceful and somewhat intricate but stately figures. It is a
dance unique and, as far as I know, confined to the Philippine Islands.
I’m afraid we made but a poor display in our first attempts at the
_rigodon_, but by dint of watching others night after night both my
husband and I became most proficient at it. I always had for my partner
the most conspicuous _illustrado_ in any community, while Mr. Taft
conferred the honour of his attendance upon the lady of highest rank.
This was important as a recognition of the established formalities.
[Illustration:
THE SULTAN OF SULU BOARDING THE “SUMNER,” FOLLOWED BY MR. ARTHUR
FERGUSSON, SPANISH SECRETARY TO THE COMMISSION
]
We left Lucena pretty much exhausted and slightly aghast at the prospect
of sixty consecutive days of such strenuous festivities. Our route on
the map lay like a tangled thread throughout the archipelago, and its
immediate trend was toward the Equator, further and further south. Every
point marked as a stopping place meant a full programme of business and
festivities, but, hot as it was, not one of us willingly would have
turned back. There was strong fascination in the very names of the
places we were bound for.
First came Boak on the island of Marinduque. Who wouldn’t endure a
little discomfort for the sake of seeing Boak? This province could not
yet be organised because it was not sufficiently peaceful for the
successful introduction of civil government. The Commissioners, after
endless interviews with Army officers and with leading Filipinos who
were eager for the restoration of normal conditions, promised to return
to the province on the way back to Manila and complete its organisation
if, by that time, certain stipulations should have been complied with.
This meant the bringing in of a couple of hundred insurrecto rifles and
the gathering together of properly accredited representatives of the
people from all parts of the island. We left behind us a disappointed
but a determined town, and when we returned nearly seven weeks later we
found such a difference as proved the wisdom of delay.
The Commissioners were really walking in the dark. Only through personal
investigation could they learn the exact conditions in any town or
province and this investigation had always to precede any definite
action on their part. This made the proceedings long and arduous for
them and drew the days out endlessly for the rest of us. Romblon,
Masbate, Iloilo, Bacólod; each with its distinct problem, each with its
own impassioned orators, and each offering boundless hospitality; we
left them all in better condition, we hoped, than we found them and,
certainly, we carried away from each in turn a feeling of great
friendliness and gratitude for the courtesies they so enthusiastically
extended.
From Bacólod, in oriental Negros, we set our course straight south to
Jolo, to the Sulu Islands, to the realm of the comic opera sultan, and
we woke up one brilliant morning to find ourselves in the prettiest
harbour imaginable and in the midst of scenes which we could not believe
belonged to the Philippine world. We were in Moroland. Straight before
us, in the curve of the beautiful bay, lay a little white city,
surrounded by bastioned walls which looked age-old, and backed by soft
green hills and groves of tall cocoanut palms. A high white watch tower
at the end of a long pier reminded one of piratical days and of Spain’s
never-ending troubles with her Mohammedan subjects. Off to the right,
against the farthest shore, was the strangest collection of habitations
I had ever seen. To be told that the Moros live on the water is to
imagine them living in boats, but these were houses built far out in the
water, perched up on frail wooden stilts and joined together by crooked
and rickety bamboo bridges.
The harbour was full of curious small craft; high prowed and beautifully
carved war junks, long, graceful _praos_ and slender canoes with bamboo
outriggers, nearly all carrying sails of fantastic design and brilliant
hues. Indeed, there was colour everywhere. Everything afloat was
decorated in gaudy silks and pennants, the American flag predominating,
while all the Moros who wore anything except a loin cloth were attired
in costumes which were lively and strikingly original. These were made,
for the most part, of rich silks of native weave in stripes or plaids of
vivid, crude greens, reds and yellows, and from neck to ankle the more
elegant ones were so tight that one wondered how they stood the strain.
Around his waist each man wore a bright silk sash under which was thrust
a long cruel looking knife in an ornamental and curiously shaped
scabbard.
The picturesque fleet quickly surrounded the _Sumner_ and while we
watched the lithe, naked boys diving into the clear depths of the bay
for coins that were thrown overboard for the purpose of testing their
prowess, the American Army officers came aboard to bid us welcome to
Jolo.
They explained that the Sultan of Sulu had given them some diplomatic
difficulties which, they were glad to say, they had been able to
overcome. He had at first decided to play the haughty monarch and to
extend a royal invitation to the American officials to pay their
respects to him at his “palace.” But a little reasoning had convinced
him that the Commissioners were the accredited representatives of the
President of the United States whose sovereignty he acknowledged and
that it was therefore his duty to call on them, so, it was announced, he
was on his way to the landing where the officers’ launch waited to bring
him out to the _Sumner_.
Several large war junks carrying different chiefs, or _dattos_, preceded
the imperial visitor and these men came aboard without waiting for His
Majesty. We found them extremely entertaining. They were by far the most
picturesque figures we had seen, and utterly unlike Filipinos. They were
of a different build, lithe, active and graceful, with a free and
defiant gaze which offered a strong contrast to the soft-eyed modesty of
the Christian tribes. In their sashes they all carried long knives
called _barongs_, _campiláns_ and _krises_, which Mr. Worcester induced
some of them to exhibit to our delighted eyes. They were of the most
exquisite workmanship and design, inlaid, some of them, with gold and
silver, and with hilts of hardwood beautifully carved.
Finally the officers’ launch put out from the dock and we knew that the
Sultan was approaching. As he came alongside the _Sumner_ he received a
salute of seventeen guns while we all stood by holding our ears and
stiffening our nerves against the deafening shock. We were expecting
some one similar in appearance to our friends the _dattos_, except that
we were sure he would be accoutred in three times as much barbaric
splendour. Fancy our disappointment then, when there emerged from the
low awning of the launch a figure quite commonplace; a very short, very
black little man in a heavy uniform of black cloth embroidered in gold
braid, not unlike the uniform of a British Consul. He was awkward and
homely and he had shiny black teeth; that is how I remember him. He had
two attendants who served only to accentuate his own insignificance. The
Commission got nothing out of him either. He had none of the polish and
gentlemanly manners of the Filipino leaders, and conversation of any
kind with him was found to be extremely difficult. Almost the only
interesting remark he made was to invite the ladies of our party to call
on his many wives, a thing I should have greatly enjoyed, but which was
impossible because the Sultan’s “palace” was back over the hills, on the
other side of the island, a long way from Jolo.
[Illustration:
A MORO DATU WITH HIS RETINUE, AND THE FAVORITE WIFE OF A DATU WITH HER
MAIDS-IN-WAITING
]
The problem of the government of the territory inhabited by the Moros in
a measure adjusted itself. These Mohammedans have always been unruly and
independent and were never wholly conquered by the Spaniards, and they
absolutely refused, as they have since continued to do, to be placed
under Filipino control. So it was decided to detach them from the
general organisation and to place them under a semi-military system with
an American Army officer of high rank in charge in the dual capacity of
Governor and Commanding General of Troops in the Moro Province. This
system was developed to a point where a high state of efficiency
obtained in the government to the complete satisfaction of nearly
everybody. To solve the problem of _juramentado_, or religious fanatic
outbreaks, a general order for the disarmament of Moros had to be
enforced, but only a comparatively small number of natives took part in
the armed resistance. For all of them it was hard, no doubt, to have to
surrender their beloved and time-honoured weapons, but the wisest among
them recognised the necessity of obedience for the sake of the general
good. If this had not been so it would have been vastly more difficult
to make the order effective. These wise ones are to-day everywhere busy
upholding the American policy of establishing markets and schools and
honest trade relations, and in preaching to their people that, for the
first time in their history, they are being fairly and justly dealt
with. They cling to American protection with determined faith, telling
us in plain words that if we leave them they will fight their
neighbours. So, whatever we may do with the Philippine Islands we cannot
abandon the Moros, and this adds a grave complication to our Philippine
problem.
At Jolo we received the news of the capture of Aguinaldo and his
reception by General MacArthur at Malacañan Palace. General Funston,
then a Colonel of Volunteers, was a conspicuous member of a small
company of Army officers known locally as “the suicide squad,” who
risked their lives in one exploit after another with the utmost
unconcern, not to say glee, so we were not surprised at anything he
might do. But there was a real thrill in the story of his daring venture
into the remote and isolated camp of the insurrecto general and
Dictator, and we cheered his performance with heartfelt enthusiasm,
though our ardour was somewhat dampened by doubts as to what the
arch-conspirator would do in Manila. General MacArthur was not a
politician; he was a soldier,—an officer and a gentleman,—and in his
treatment of his captured enemy he was not likely to take into
consideration the nature of the people with whom he was dealing.
However, that story has been told, well and often. We know that General
Aguinaldo also was “an officer and a gentleman,” proving himself worthy
of all the courtesy extended to him and accepting defeat with great
dignity. He is the most striking figure in the Philippines even to-day,
though one only hears of him as a peaceful and unambitious farmer in his
native province of Cavite whence he emerges only on rare occasions to be
present at some important social event in Manila where, among Americans
in particular, he is most highly regarded. But, it must be remembered
that at the time of his capture the Islands were still in a state far
from satisfactory; that he had lieutenants in all parts of the
archipelago endeavouring, under his orders, and by methods not counted
as “civilised,” to keep alive the spirit of rebellion, and that he had
an extraordinary genius for conspiracy and organisation. So it cannot be
wondered at that my husband was deeply concerned and that he wished he
were back in Manila where he could keep his large but gentle hand upon
the delicate situation.
From Jolo we sailed to Zamboanga, capital of the Moro province, and
thence to Cottabato. At Zamboanga we met an entirely different class of
Moros, more refined, better educated and less spectacular than those in
the Sulu Islands, and were entertained by the American Army officers in
the ancient Fortress del Pilar, which still bears the marks of many a
conflict between the Moros and the Spaniards. We met here two very
interesting men, Datto Mandi, a Moro, and Midel, a leading Filipino.
Mandi was said to be, and looked, part Spaniard, though he denied the
Spanish blood. He was the chief of a tribe of many thousands of people
and wielded a wide influence which the American Government never sought
to curtail. He was a good business man and intensely loyal to the
Americans, giving substantial demonstrations of his loyalty whenever
opportunity offered. He told the Commission what has since proved to be
the truth about Moro customs relative to slavery, the administration, of
justice and other matters, and displayed, altogether, a genuinely
friendly and helpful attitude. Midel, the Filipino, was himself made a
_datto_ by Mandi and seemed inordinately proud of his rank. He was an
odd individual with a doubtful record behind him. Sometime before we met
him he had sent his son to be educated at the University of California,
and it was he who delivered the province over to the American troops as
soon as they arrived, having previously disposed of a couple of
insurgent rivals of his own race who attempted to keep it out of
American hands.
At Cottabato, a long day’s sailing from Zamboanga across Illana Bay, we
met the Moros who inhabit the valley of the Rio Grande del Mindanao, a
large and sinister looking river. We communicated with these people
through their _dattos_, Piang and Ali. Piang is the most powerful
_datto_ in the province. He is the son of a Chinese carpenter and a
common Moro woman, and he won his position through shrewdness,
generosity to his people and native ability. Ordinarily a peaceful
conservative he was not always at peace with Ali, who is inherently
warlike and a _datto_ of royal descent, but a couple of American Army
officers, Colonel Brett and Major MacMahon, in charge of the post at
Cottabato, not only adjusted their differences but induced the royal Ali
to marry the commoner Piang’s daughter. Colonel Brett was Ali’s “best
man,” while Major MacMahon stood sponsor for the bride. There are
American Army officers who have seen strange service in our Far Eastern
possessions.
A few years after the time of which I write a daughter of Datto Mandi
was married at Iligan in northern Mindanao and, to quote from Foreman’s
“History of the Philippines”: “Several American officers were present on
the occasion, accompanied by a Spanish half caste who acted as their
interpreter. The assembled guests were having a merry time when suddenly
the festivities were interrupted by the intrusion of a _juramentado_
Moro fanatic, who sprang forward with his _campilán_ and at one blow
almost severed the interpreter’s head from his body. Then he turned his
attention to the other natives, mortally wounded two, and cut gashes in
several others before he fell dead before the revolver shots fired by
the American officers. After the dead and wounded were carried away and
the pools of blood were mopped up, the wedding ceremony was proceeded
with and the hymeneal festival was resumed without further untoward
incident.”
We were very fortunate that, disturbed as conditions were, no “untoward
incident” of this nature occurred to mar the serenity of our first great
trip through the Islands.
To illustrate Datto Piang’s intense desire to establish his status as a
loyal friend of the United States Government I think I must relate, in
part, the conversation my husband had with him in regard to the gutta
percha industry. The forests in the Rio Grande Valley and around Lake
Lanao, in the northern part of the island were thought to be almost
inexhaustible in their supply of gutta percha trees, and Piang was found
to be a large dealer in the product. But inquiry elicited the
information that the most primitive methods were employed in gathering
the gum and that every year thousands of trees were destroyed, no idea
of scientific conservation ever having entered the heads of the Moros.
Mr. Taft asked Piang whether if we sent him an expert who knew how to
have the trees treated he would undertake to enforce regulations which
such an expert would frame. He said he acknowledged the sovereignty of
the United States Government and held himself subject to its orders,
everyone of which he would obey. Moreover, he would make all the other
_dattos_ obey the same orders whether they were willing to do so or not.
Then Mr. Taft explained that the United States Government might desire
to lay a cable from San Francisco to the Philippines and that one of the
great items of expense in such an enterprise was the gutta percha. He
was merely trying to impress upon Piang’s mind the immense value of his
product and the necessity for its proper handling, but Piang immediately
offered to make the United States a present of all the gutta percha it
needed for a Pacific cable, declaring that all he wanted was a note from
the authorities indicating the amount required. He would see that it was
promptly gathered and delivered. Mr. Taft then told him that the United
States always paid for whatever it received from any person, whether
subject to its sovereignty or not, whereupon Piang declared that,
anyway, he preferred to sell his gutta percha to the United States, and
at a much lower price, too, than he was receiving from the Chinese
dealers. He is just a clever, crafty Chinaman himself, is Datto Piang,
but an interesting figure. After a thorough investigation of Cottabato
and a right royal entertainment provided by a number of gorgeously
attired _dattos_ and sultans, of greater or less degree, who had
gathered in the town to greet us, and gaze in wide-eyed curiosity upon
us, we went on our way around the great island of Mindanao.
At Davao we saw thousands of acres of the highest hemp in the world, and
a number of beautiful bead-bedecked hill tribes who had come down into
coast civilisation for the purpose, no doubt, of seeing what we looked
like.
These hill tribes are very interesting people. They are, perhaps, more
picturesque than any of the other non-Christians, and they have
developed to a fine point the art of making bead embroidered clothing.
So beautiful and so unusual are these garments that the ladies in the
party, forgetting everything else, made a grand rush to purchase some of
them from the various tribesmen. Our eagerness, indeed, had finally to
be restrained in order that attention might be given to the efforts of
the Commission to enlighten the people as to our mission, but having
patiently awaited the termination of business we returned to our search
for the bead-work, only to find that the finer specimens could not by
any process of cajolery be secured. Money meant nothing to the hillmen
and we had no substitutes in the way of gewgaws to offer them. The only
one of us who succeeded in getting a really good suit was Miss Anne Ide,
and her success was the result of a curious incident. She met a
chieftain gorgeously arrayed, and at a venture tried upon him the Samoan
greeting and a Samoan song which she had learned in her childhood when
her father was Chief Justice of the Samoan Islands. To her great
surprise the Bogobo answered and seemed greatly pleased. He had already
had conveyed to him the fact that the only thing the ladies wanted was
bead clothing, so he indicated to Miss Ide that he would present to her
his coat and pants, and without further ado, and much to her
astonishment, he began to divest himself of these garments which she
accepted with delight. The incident awakened natural curiosity on our
part as to the relation between the Polynesian language of Samoa and the
vernacular of the hill tribes around the Davao gulf.
From Davao we proceeded on our journey around Mindanao, sailing out into
the open Pacific and up to the province of Surigao in the northeast
corner of the island.
[Illustration:
PICTURESQUE BEAD-BEDECKED BOGOBOS OF THE DAVAO COUNTRY
]
The town of Surigao lies six miles up a swamp-bound, sluggish river and
we experienced, as we so often did in the whole course of the trip, a
sense of being in uncharted and therefore dangerous waters. We embarked
in a launch when the tide was high and had no trouble in getting up to
the village, but we were earnestly entreated by the officer in charge of
the launch to hurry with our business in order that we might start back
before the tide went out. He assured us that it would be very difficult,
if not impossible, to cross the bar at the mouth of the river at low
tide. His entreaties were in vain. The Commissioners were engaged in
interviews with Surigao citizens which they could not or would not cut
short, so the ladies and children, having seen everything and met
everybody, went back to the landing and sat in the launch patiently
waiting while the daylight slowly disappeared. The launch captain was
visibly agitated, and told us time and again about what a hard time we
were sure to have getting back to the _Sumner_. And he was quite right.
The launch was not large enough to accommodate the entire party so it
towed a cutter which also was fairly well loaded. When the men finally
arrived, full of explanations and good-natured apologies, it was pitch
dark, but, being optimists, we shoved off into the river, feeling sure
that the fears of our commanding officer were groundless.
After steaming merrily along for a few miles, becoming more and more
confident all the time, we suddenly got a shaking bump and found
ourselves fast in the mud. It didn’t take so long, however, to get
afloat again, and we were just congratulating ourselves that the
captain’s bug-bear of a sandbar was behind us when we felt a violent
impact followed by a terrifying sensation as if the keel were grinding
over rocks.
The captain swore softly and said something about striking “the ruins of
that old Spanish bridge,” then hurried forward to see what damage had
been done. The people in the cutter, riding the short waves in our wake,
were thoroughly alarmed and were clamouring to know what had happened to
us. We couldn’t tell them, but it sounded very much as if we had torn
the whole bottom out of the launch. The engine had stopped; it was inky
dark; the children all began to cry; and, to add further discomfort to
the situation, it began to rain in torrents. The launch swayed
sickeningly this way and that, then the engine started again, whereupon
came a most furious clatter aft. There is no denying that it made us
blanch with fear, but it proved to be only a blade of the propeller
which had been bent and was striking the boat with each revolution.
Three times more we slid into the mud; the last time we stuck and no
effort that could be made would get us out, so we were forced to abandon
the launch and wedge ourselves altogether into the little cutter. You
may picture for yourself the scene of men, women and children, in the
rain and with no light save the faint flicker of lanterns, dropping off
a big launch into a small rowboat over an inky stream supposed to be
filled with crocodiles.
When we reached the mouth of the river the captain began to show signs
of nervousness, though he had been entirely self-controlled throughout
the worst of our troubles. We couldn’t see where we were going, but we
could distinctly feel that the open bay lay not far ahead of us. What we
wanted was to have the _Sumner’s_ searchlight turned on our path, but
the only thing we had with us with which to convey this desire to the
ship’s officers were red rockets,—the last resort of the sailor in
distress. There was nothing else to do; the launch captain began firing
them off, and a weirder scene than was revealed by their momentary glare
can hardly be imagined. They produced the desired effect, however, and
in less than ten minutes a great shaft of light, straight from the
bridge of the _Sumner_, was sweeping the banks of the river and bay
shore and affording us just the kind of assistance we required.
But that was not the end. Less than half way to the _Sumner_ we met a
lifeboat, equipped with all the paraphernalia for rescuing us from a
watery grave, and manned by an excited crew in oilskins, who, under the
sharp commands of an almost frantic officer, were pulling in mad haste
for the river’s mouth. When they saw us they lapsed into a state of
utter disgust. They turned and rowed sadly back to the ship, and
afterward I overheard them exchanging very definite opinions as to the
possible future of a sailor who would burn red rockets when all he
wanted was a searchlight.
After calling at Cagayan Misamis, Dapitan, Iloilo, San José Antique and
Capiz, we made straight for Cebu. Cebu is, in rivalry with Iloilo and
next to Manila, the most important town in the Philippine Islands. It is
a receiving station for exports from all parts of the southern islands
and is altogether what is known as a “live” town. It is the capital of
the province of the same name which consists of a single long island
some two thousand square miles in area and with a population (at that
time) of nearly seven hundred thousand.
At Cebu we were rejoined by Chief Justice Arellano, who had left us
sometime before to go back to Manila. We were greatly interested in his
account of the effect of Aguinaldo’s capture and subsequent treatment.
The erstwhile insurgent leader was still in prison, but his prison was
made an honourable abode where he was permitted to be with his family
and to receive his friends. The mass of the people would not, for a long
time, believe he really had been captured. They thought the report was
an American fabrication to delude them and to destroy their faith in
Aguinaldo’s _anting-anting_,—or magic charm against defeat. The
shattering of that faith gave vast impetus to the general peace movement
and, though a few hundred rifles and several insurrecto officers were
still unaccounted for, and though occasional outbreaks and the
activities of marauding bands of outlaws continued for a considerable
length of time, the actual organised insurrection had suffered a
complete collapse.
The Commission kept Cebu on tenterhooks for a time as to whether the
condition of order in the province was such that they could go on with
the establishment of government there, and it was interesting to watch
the effect of this uncertainty. To be included in the general
organisation became at once the warmly expressed wish of a majority of
the people, and there was great excitement throughout the town.
Eventually Justice Llorente, of the Supreme Court of Manila, a member of
our party, and himself a Cebuano, was appointed Governor of the province
under the simple American form, and because of his integrity and real
patriotism, because of the high regard in which he was held by the
people, and because of the enthusiasm and complete faith with which he
entered upon his duties, it was hoped that he would be able soon to lead
his province into the sensible paths marked out for it.
With Cebu and the problems of Cebu behind us, we felt that our long trip
was nearly finished. Bohol, Leyte, Samar, Albay, the Camarines and
Sorsogon, each in its turn brought us nearer to our comfortable homes in
Manila and to relaxation, for which we were beginning to long.
Each district expected us to give them at least a day for business and
an evening for festivity, but this was not always possible. At Sorsogon
we found a veritable riot of decoration, with fine arches and many flags
and every indication that the town had spared no effort to make our
visit there a memorable event. In the evening, beside the _banquete_ and
_baile_, there was to have been a torchlight procession, with a
triumphal car and a Filipino maiden as the Goddess of Liberty. It was a
great pity that we couldn’t stay, but we had to sail that afternoon for
Boak, so the programme had to be advanced several hours.
The extraordinary car, or float, which had undoubtedly cost weeks of
skilled workmanship, came forth into the blistering sunlight bearing the
pretty brown girl in tinsel and white muslin, her long, black hair
almost wholly enveloping her as she held aloft the flickering symbol of
Enlightenment. It was a Filipino adaptation of the “sacred torch” which
we had ourselves been carrying throughout the islands, and I felt that
its production was a fitting climax to our laborious progress.
Two days later when we landed in Manila, after organising Marinduque and
Batangas, we were able to look back upon a singular experience, an
expedition perhaps unique in history, with which was ushered in a new
era, not to say a new national existence, for the people of the
Philippine Islands.