THE WILD MEN’S COUNTRY
I should like to say here, by way of explanation, which may or may not
be necessary, that I am not trying in this narrative to pose as a woman
endowed with an especial comprehension of such problems of state as men
alone have been trained to deal with. I confess only to a lively
interest in my husband’s work which I experienced from the beginning of
our association and which nothing in our long life together, neither
monotony, nor illness, nor misfortune, has served to lessen; and it
would be practically impossible for me to write a record of memories in
which he did not figure very largely.
In the settlement of American control in the Philippine Islands Mr.
Taft, first as President of the first legislative Commission and, later,
as Civil Governor, had to contend with a varied and complex resistance
which it would be difficult for one not experienced in politics to
comprehend. If it had been Filipino resistance only it would have been
fairly easy to overcome, but Filipino resistance was indirectly
sanctioned and directly assisted by a strong opposition in the United
States to what seemed to us who were on the ground to be the only
sensible and really patriotic measures possible under the circumstances.
For reasons which I have tried to convey, as clearly as I am able, my
husband was not in favour of a continuation of military rule in the
Islands beyond the time when military activity was imperative, nor was
he in favour of abandoning a problem which grew daily more difficult and
more complicated. So he and his colleagues persisted in the tremendous
task of settling a whole people under a sane and sensible form of
government.
[Illustration:
PHILIPPINE NON-CHRISTIANS. A BONTOC IGORROTE (_TOP_, _LEFT_,) A MORO
AND TWO KALINGA CHIEFS (_WITH SHIELDS_)
]
The trip through the southern islands was particularly valuable to them
in that it gave them first-hand, working knowledge of existing
conditions in every province. They immediately set about revising their
original Provincial code in accordance with requirements which they were
able to discover only through personal investigation, and at the same
time they took up the grave business of establishing a sound judiciary.
There was always something new to be talked over at our family table, or
during the long evening hours on the verandah overlooking the Bay and,
in spite of the fact that much of our “news” presented itself in the
form of fresh delays and exasperating difficulties, life was very
entertaining.
Not long after we returned from our trip through the South Mrs. J.
Franklin Bell invited my sister Maria and me to go with her on an
expedition, on which she expected to accompany her husband, through the
mountains of northern Luzon which are inhabited by non-Christian tribes
only. General Bell was commander of troops in the North and this was to
be an inspection trip. It meant several weeks on horseback, over
dangerous trails where, in parts at least, no white woman had ever been,
but we were most anxious to go. The trouble was that I had never ridden
in my life, so I looked with considerable trepidation to the prospect of
a long and necessarily intimate association with a horse. I brought the
proposition up in family council and my husband advised me, by all
means, to go. I should probably have gone without this advice, but it
was comforting to have it because if anything happened I could “blame it
all on him.” In fact, I began to do this even before I left. When my
courage dwindled a little I promptly told him that it was all his fault;
that if he hadn’t urged me to go I never should have thought of such a
thing; but that as long as I had promised I should have to see the
adventure through, though I knew I should never survive it. He only
laughed and assured me that we would have a glorious time and that the
trip would do us “all the good in the world.”
Major Stevens, who expected to accompany us, brought me an American
horse, of formidable dimensions, and volunteered to superintend my first
encounter with him. He was as gentle as a lamb. I wouldn’t let him go
faster than a walk the first evening and the fact that I was pretty
stiff at the end of my ride made me almost hopeless. The second evening
I let him out a little, and began, much to my surprise to enjoy the
exhilaration of the exercise. By the third evening I had progressed so
far that I decided for myself that the poor old beast had no speed in
him at all.
We took a Spanish steamer, the _Salvadora_, from Manila up to Vigan,
where General Bell was stationed, and, though I am glad to have had the
experience, I shouldn’t care to repeat it. When we got on board we were
shown at once to a most promising-looking stateroom, quite spacious, and
with four berths in it. The trip to Vigan was to take from Thursday to
Saturday and we were glad to note that we were going to be quite
comfortable. But our self-congratulations came to a sudden end. Upon
inspection we found the room was indescribably dirty, the beds were
without sheets, the pillows were like rocks, there were insects galore,
and the thermometer stood at 110 degrees. Ventilation was out of the
question because the room opened into a sort of public saloon where
innumerable Filipinos, in various states of undress, slept, stretched
out on the floor, on the tables, on chairs, on anything that could serve
as a resting place. The second night I got the Captain’s permission to
sleep on the bridge, since the decks, too, were covered with a
miscellaneous crowd and were rendered additionally uncomfortable by
odoriferous strings of cabbages and other vegetables which hung from the
awnings.
The food on the ship was all Spanish; indeed, I might say, terribly
Spanish; still, I was rather used to it and didn’t mind much as long as
I could get into a wind-swept corner of the deck to eat it. But there
were some American women on board who had just come out from the United
States and they complained violently.
We were put ashore early Saturday morning; much earlier, in fact than we
had been expected to arrive. We had to drive three miles before we
reached the Bells’ house, and when we did get there we were delighted to
find that they were just having breakfast. They were eating real, human
food and, however heroically we had adapted ourselves to the
peculiarities of Spanish cookery, there was nothing we stood so much in
need of. They were a most homelike and comfortable-looking party.
Besides the General and Mrs. Bell there were two young officers, Mr.
Wilcox and Mr. Nolan, and a young lady whose name was Miss Bubb, a
daughter of General Bubb, and whose general characteristics had won for
her the nickname of “Bubbles.”
The first thing we learned was that Mrs. Bell would, after all, be
unable to go with us on the trip through the mountains. She was not at
all well and the doctor had forbidden it. We were greatly disappointed.
Mrs. Bell is so jolly and full of fun that she is an addition to any
party, and on such an expedition as we were contemplating we were sure
to miss her tremendously. But, the party was all made up. General Bell
was to take command; “Bubbles” was going; then, in addition to my sister
and me, there were Major Rice, Major Stevens, Captain Shearer and
Captain Haight—eight in all.
First let me say that the northern part of the island of Luzon bears
just about as much resemblance to the rest of the archipelago as the
Alps bear to the plains of Nebraska. We began to notice the difference
even at Vigan, though Vigan is at sea-level and is as hot as a sea-level
town is supposed to be in that latitude. But it feels and looks like a
little foreign city; foreign, that is, to the Philippines. Its houses
are well built of ancient-looking stone, with heavy red-tiled roofs; its
streets are narrow and crooked and it has a fine plaza filled with
fire-trees which, when I saw them first, were in full bloom. There is no
way to describe the magnificence of a grove or avenue of fire-trees.
They make a veritable cloud of flame which, seen against a background of
blue hills, or overhanging the mouldy, old-world grace of a Spanish
church and convent, fairly “takes one’s breath.” The world-famed cherry
trees of Japan, wonderful as they are, seem pale and soulless in
comparison. I wonder the Spaniards didn’t line the streets of Manila
with fire-trees and make for themselves the reputation of having created
the most amazing city in the world.
While we were at Vigan, and before starting on the long trip, we made an
excursion to Bangued, in the province of Abra. Mrs. Bell went with us.
This town, a short time before, could be reached only by raft up the
Abra River, no launch ever having been built that could go through the
rapids, but the establishment of an Army post made necessary the
building of a piece of road which shortened the journey at the Bangued
end. The first part of the trip, however, had still to be made by water
and all the supplies for the soldiers were sent up on a fleet of twenty
or more rafts which started out together every morning. When there was a
breeze each of them would run up a sail of bright, striped Igorrote
cloth.
We had a grand raft with a bamboo awning. And there were comfortable
rattan chairs, to say nothing of a picnic luncheon and a carefully
wrapped and jealously guarded box of ice. Ice was the rarest of all
luxuries in the provincial towns of the Philippines in those days.
[Illustration:
ON THE LONG TRAIL IN NORTHERN LUZON. MRS. TAFT SECOND FROM THE LEFT
]
[Illustration:
MR. TAFT AND CHARLIE ENJOYING THEIR FAVOURITE EXERCISE
]
We moved very slowly against the current of the swift-flowing river, but
we had no desire to hurry. It was really enchanting. From narrow, pebbly
beaches on either bank rose rugged cliffs which seemed to tower mountain
high, throwing deep shadows into the canyon and leaving only a narrow
ribbon of sky above us. And these cliffs were hung with a tangled
undergrowth through which small, white waterfalls rushed and rustled.
Where the river broadened, here and there, we came upon groups of
bright-clad natives who regarded us with great curiosity, and at one
place we saw half a dozen women starting up the steep bank with graceful
brown water-jars balanced on their heads. Each one was carrying at least
six, one on top of another, and all of them full. How they managed it
was beyond comprehension. We watched them until they were out of sight
and not one of them ever raised a hand to her head. As a matter of fact,
they were nonchalantly smoking and chattering away as if they were quite
unconscious of their burdens, though the slightest unrhythmical motion
would have spelt disaster for them all.
At eleven o’clock we reached the village where the road begins and the
whole population gathered around in curious groups and gazed at us.
White women were still a novelty in that region and I’m sure we looked
much more peculiar to them than they looked to us. There were crowds of
school children from the new American school, and one very much
embarrassed little girl, who had had her English book only about four
months, read some English for me very nicely. Likely as not that same
little girl has by this time won a normal school certificate and is
herself teaching English in an “American” school. Such is the history of
many of her generation.
When we reached Bangued the young men in the command of Major Bowen, who
was our host, gave up their house to the ladies, and we had three
comfortable beds, with mosquito nets, in a large, airy room. It was a
fine afternoon for a _siesta_ because it rained in torrents for the rest
of the day and the patter of rain on nipa thatch is a soothing sound.
The young men’s house was just across from the Major’s and by evening
the street was such a river that we had to be carried over for dinner.
But nobody minded; and we enjoyed even the music of the native band
which stationed itself down under our windows and enlivened the occasion
with a wonderful medley of sound. When the band-men came upstairs for
refreshments Mrs. Bell and two of the young officers ran down and tried
their powers on the instruments, and I can only say that the result was
joyful pandemonium.
The next morning we left our hospitable hosts and, escorted by
Lieutenant Ingram, made the return trip all the way down the river. The
water was high and, though it had taken us an interminable time to go
up, it took only three hours and a half to go down; and some of the
rapids were most exciting. We took our lunch basket and chairs ashore on
a lovely, green, shaded knoll and dallied there for several hours. Only
a month before nobody, who was not compelled to, ever went over this
route on account of the danger of being shot, but the last of the Abra
insurgents had surrendered, and so safe did we feel that we were
absolutely unarmed.
If I should try to write a detailed account of this expedition I am
afraid I could not avoid conveying the idea that we encountered nothing
but a continuous downpour. It was the “rainy season” and we were wet
most of the time, but Mr. Taft was right when he promised that we would
have a glorious time and that the trip would do us a “world of good.”
Down in the heat and the political turmoil of Manila I was taking things
much too seriously, while up in the far-away north there was nothing to
do but dismiss all worry and accept things as they came along. After we
left Vigan on the long trail the only way we could get even a letter
through was by messenger who had to travel hundreds of miles through a
most difficult country. So I enjoyed myself thoroughly, as did every one
else in the party, hardships and physical discomforts seeming only to
add to our gaiety.
At first I thought that my riding lessons in Manila were not going to do
me much good. We had had a most luxuriously easy time in the beginning.
We left General Bell’s house in an Army ambulance, instead of on horses,
for our first day’s journey on the “long trail.” General Bell was in
command and he knew what he was doing. All he had to do was to issue
orders; we obeyed. That is what it is to go camping with a soldier. One
learns what discipline means.
We were permitted to take with us only such things as were absolutely
necessary. Even then, the “absolute necessities” which we eventually
discarded as useless impedimenta would have made a long list. Everything
was done up in waterproof bundles and when we started out these were
stuffed so full that they would hardly fasten, but they grew slimmer as
time went on. The most important articles, we found, were our slickers
and wraps. It was wet and cold and we had to have them, but all our
toilet appurtenances together went easily into Miss Bubb’s saddle-bags.
The first day we forded a river—the same river—several times, and,
finally, we had to cross it on a raft which was so small that it could
carry only one thing, or one person at a time. My sister, Miss Bubo and
I sat on the bank above the ford for more than two hours waiting for all
our things to get across. While we waited many natives came along
driving carabaos, and it was amusing to see the two-wheeled, awkward
carts hustled onto the swaying raft—one thing after another falling into
the river—while each poor old carabao was forced to swim, dragged along
by his master who held fast to a string attached to a ring in the
animal’s nose. If I had been able to speak the dialect I would have
said: “Your friend the Carabao, being a water-buffalo, could probably
swim the river much more easily without your assistance.” I have had to
look on and suffer at many things in the Philippine Islands merely
because I was unable to speak a dozen-odd different dialects. In the
provinces Spanish was seldom of any use because the common _tao_ knows
little or nothing of it, and it is with the common _tao_ that one wishes
there to communicate.
On our first day’s journey we did thirty-seven miles in a jolting Army
wagon, but the air was so invigorating, and we were having such a good
time, that we were not exhausted. We didn’t even murmur when we were
told to be ready to start at four the next morning.
This was at Candon and we were joined there by Major Stevens, which made
our party complete. The next evening, at Concepción, we camped in a
lovely, new nipa-thatched house which had been built by a man who was
known generally as “Windy” Wilson, an Army captain. We were extremely
thankful for the shelter, because it was raining as it can rain only in
northern Luzon and we had every reason to believe that this would be the
last house we would be permitted to occupy for many a day. We were
striking straight into the mountains and our shelter-to-be was a small
field tent slung on the cargo saddle of a commissary mule.
Captain Wilson’s house was quite spacious. It had two rooms; one small
and one large one. The ladies slept in the smaller room on Army cots,
while the four stalwart officers of our military escort stretched
themselves out on blankets and slickers on the split bamboo floor of the
larger room. The walls and partitions were of woven nipa palm leaves,
known locally as _suali_, while the two windows were made of braided
bamboo and were set in grooves so, when we wanted to open them, all we
had to do was to give them a gentle shove. There were no “trappings of
civilisation,” but we managed to be perfectly comfortable.
[Illustration:
AN IGORROTE HEAD DANCE, AND A COMPANY OF _CARGODORES_ WITH THEIR DOGS,
WHICH ARE TO BE KILLED FOR FOOD
]
The next day, before the sun was very high, we found ourselves in the
midst of mountain-tops, on a trail which rose in great upward sweeps
around the densely wooded slopes, to an altitude of 5600 feet. By this
time we were all on horseback with eight Igorrote boys behind us
carrying a sedan chair to be used in case of accident or a dangerous
washout on the trail. I wish I could describe the magnificence of the
scene which lay all about us when we reached that amazing summit.
General Bell, who had been all through the Rocky Mountains, the
Yellowstone, and the Yosemite Valley, said there was nothing that he had
ever seen which could compare with it. And its grandeur is accentuated
by vivid colouring. The Igorrotes have, for hundreds of years, been
building extraordinary rice terraces and these have gradually climbed
the mountains until, in some places, only the rugged crests are left
uncultivated. The terraces are as symmetrical as honeycomb and are built
in solid walls of finely laid masonry out of which grow ferns and
tangled vines. The brilliant colour of the young rice fairly glows
against the dark greens of pine trees, of spreading mangoes, and of
tropic forest giants whose names I do not know. And wherever one looks
there are peaks, jagged sunlit peaks which rise from sombre valleys
upward into a strange light whose every ray seems to shine in its own
individual hue. In the far distance we could see the ocean, with white
breakers dashing against the cliffs; while in the valley below the Santa
Cruz River, though actually foaming and dashing through its winding,
rocky bed, seemed to us to be lying still, without motion of any kind,
or sound.
In my diary, which I kept on that trip, I find that at each stopping
place I have solemnly set down the observation that: “the scenery to-day
was the finest we have yet found”; and when we reached Sagada I took the
trouble to record for my own future reference that: “I shall not rest
until Will has seen it.” He never has.
At Sagada we found ourselves quite far up in the Igorrote country, where
Filipinos as a rule, do not go. We had come from Cervantes over a trail
where the horses cautiously kept to the inside, and where we were told
to let go of our inner stirrups so, in case a horse went over the edge
of the precipice its rider would have a chance of falling clear on the
_terra-firma_ side instead of being hurled out into open space. There
are a great many people who have to be taken over such trails
blind-folded, but there were no dizzy-heads among us, and as each turn
of the way revealed to us different and more wonderful views, we filled
the day with exclamation points.
Here and there we met bands of Igorrotes, marching “Indian file,”
carrying great bundles of rice up short-cut mountain trails, which wound
through the rice terraces and were “as steep as the side of a house.”
All the men had long, murderous-looking spears, while the women were
evidently the burden-bearers. Along the main trail we came, now and
then, upon a company of men leading home a whimpering and pitiful little
pack of very thin dogs. We knew these were to be killed and eaten and,
naturally, the thought was sickening, but in the Igorrote country the
dog-loving white man has to get used to this. Some day, perhaps, it will
be different, but not until herds and flocks have been substituted and
entirely new ideas have patiently been instilled into the minds of these
people. For the time being dog flesh is their most cherished article of
diet.
I wish it were known just where these curious wild tribes came from;
just what their race history is. They are as unlike Filipinos as
American Indians are unlike Englishmen. They have but one thing in
common with the Filipinos, and that is their colour, which is a soft,
dark brown. There is hardly an American who has ever lived among them
for any length of time who has not a real admiration and affection for
them and yet, to all intents and purposes, they are naked savages. They
are most amenable to civilising influences. They take to education
eagerly. They are, in their physical development, beautiful to look
upon—when they are cleaned up—perfectly formed, straight and muscular,
with features strongly marked and with wide, clear eyes which inspire
confidence. They are entirely fearless; and they are loyal to the “last
ditch.” Also, it is these same incomprehensible “naked savages” who have
built the thousands of acres of rice terraces which are a marvel and a
mystery to every irrigation expert or technical engineer who has ever
seen them.
[Illustration:
Bureau of Science, Manila.
VIEWS OF THE EXTRAORDINARY IGORROTE RICE TERRACES. PRACTICALLY ALL OF
THE NORTH CENTRAL LUZON IS CULTIVATED IN THIS MANNER
]
Bontoc, which we reached after a day’s weary, wet riding over slippery
trails from Sagada, is the capital of what is now known as the Mountain
province. For the first time in their known history the Igorrotes are
united under one central government, each tribe having its lieutenant
governor—an American always. There are the Benguets, the Bontocs, the
Ifugaos, the Ilongots, the Kalingas and others, and they have been
engaged in inter-tribal warfare since time began, their chief pleasure
being derived from the taking of each other’s heads. When I went into
the Igorrote country head-hunting was still in full force and houses
were still decorated with festoons of human skulls, while no man ever
ventured forth, even to his rice fields, without his spear and shield
and head-axe. They all carry spears even yet, but head-hunting, having
been made by the American government a capital offence, is not so
popular. Mr. Dean C. Worcester, as Secretary of the Interior, in direct
charge of all wild tribes, actually succeeded in introducing substitutes
for the sport in the form of baseball and other inter-tribal athletic
contests and peaceful, though rough and strenuous pastimes. For fourteen
years Mr. Worcester was to these children of the hills a most highly
respected _Apo-apo_,—chief of chiefs.
Miss Bubb, my sister Maria and I were the first white women who ever set
foot in Bontoc and to say that we created a sensation is to describe our
reception too mildly. We were the guests of three American miners who
had a comfortable house and who, having lived among the Igorrotes for a
long time—one of them for more than a year without visiting
civilisation—could give us much interesting first-hand information. The
people gathered around us in hordes, but they kept at a respectful, not
to say a reverential, distance. I think they were afraid of us;
especially the women, not one of whom would let us look at her baby. But
we were used to that. Many Christian Filipinos believe firmly in the
“evil eye.” There was one little dwarf who was bolder than the rest and
who followed us everywhere we went. He was like a little, brown,
toy-child, beautifully formed, and looking not more than one year old,
but we were told that he was at least fourteen.
Everybody wanted to give us things. The evening I arrived I received a
present from one of the headmen, of three live chickens, and the next
day, as we were picking our way through the native village, another man
ran after me and, very graciously and gracefully, presented me with two
fresh eggs. We learned to say “_mapud_,” which means “good,” and, in
connection with smiles and gestures, found it served us famously for all
purposes of social intercourse.
Bontoc is in a deep valley, on the bank of a wide, swift river and
surrounded by close sheltering hills, so it is not as cold as it is in
Sagada and some other places we visited; but it is cold enough, and I
failed to understand how the natives could live in a state of almost
complete nakedness. But they do and, in fact, all these people do, even
in the coldest regions. The Bontoc Igorrote wears a very bright-coloured
clout called a “G-string” with a heavy, brass chain around his waist,
while his long, black hair is tucked into a little, flat, straw hat
which is fastened, in some mysterious way, on the back of his head. They
nearly all wear heavy, brass earrings which make their ears unsightly,
and the Bontoc “dandy” usually has a long, black, homemade and
half-smoked cigar tucked behind one ear for all the world like the
pencil of an absentminded bookkeeper.
We had _canyaos_, or bonfires with “head-dances,” and all the strange
varieties of entertainment provided by the village headmen. The musical
instrument of the Igorrote is called a _ganza_, which is a round brass
gong with a handle made of a human jaw-bone, upon which the “musician”
beats a rhythmical measure with a soft, padded mallet as he whirls and
twists in his fantastic dance. These _ganzas_—some of them very old,—are
tribal rather than individual property and it is very difficult to
induce their owners to part with them. Their value is computed in
carabaos instead of in rice, or in dollars and cents. If you should ask
an Igorrote how much he would take for his _ganza_, especially if it
were one associated with tribal history, he would very likely look
smilingly solemn and say: “One hundred carabao,” or any other
prohibitive number that might happen to occur to him. This is a form of
racial pride and deserves respect.
We went from Bontoc back through Sagada to Cervantes, and then started
down the long, narrow trail straight through the mountains to Baguio. At
Cervantes we received our first messages from Manila and, among other
things, was an order to Major Stevens to report for duty. His going gave
us an opportunity to send letters down and report ourselves alive and
not at all anxious to get home, but we didn’t like losing the Major. We
had, by this time, become a very well acquainted, well-disciplined and
congenial party and we disliked seeing the beginning of the end of our
expedition. General Bell directed everything and joined in our sports
and foolishness whenever he could do so without endangering the dignity
of the “corps,” but, while he was kindness itself, he was so strict with
the young officers that we had sometimes to steal our opportunities for
relaxation.
A few hours’ riding south from Cervantes are some famous copper mines
which were owned by a Spanish syndicate. We turned off in their
direction and came into a most extraordinary country. The whole face of
the landscape looks like corroded copper, and the great, scarred gulches
where the ore has been taken out make one think of chaos, or dreams of
an inferno. I don’t know how to express an idea of bigness in a mere
touch of description as I pass on through the story of this trip, but I
want to convey an impression of overwhelming size in everything. It is a
great, wild world where one sees miles in every direction and where
nature seems to have done everything on a gigantic scale.
A mile or so beyond the copper mines we came upon a veritable mountain
paradise,—from our point of view, at least. It was the home of Don José
Mills, a Spaniard who, for some unknown reason, had banished himself to
this out-of-the-world spot and, with what labour and pains can only be
imagined, had made for himself a civilised abode. I was shown to a room
all by myself, which had in it a real bed with springs and a mattress.
It was the first one I had seen for I don’t know how long. I regarded it
with great curiosity at first, then I sat down on it most respectfully.
I lay down and stretched myself out; then I pulled up a soft blanket
and, though it was only midday, nothing short of the gravest emergency
could have induced me to move. The emergency presented itself, finally,
in the form of luncheon and I discovered that Don José had returned
hurriedly from Candon in order to entertain us and that he had brought
with him everything in the form of food and liquid refreshments that he
could find. The result was a triumph, and we decided that we should like
to remain under his hospitable roof indefinitely.
That night, amid much merriment, we initiated our host into the
mysteries and secrets of a little society we had formed and which we
called the Earring Club. Our insignia was a big, brass Igorrote earring,
and we had signs and pass-words, to say nothing of a song which nobody
but ourselves could sing. We appropriated the Cavalry tune of “For Seven
Long Years I’ve Courted Nancy,” but the words were our own and it was
not difficult to supply a new verse to fit each incident or occasion as
it came along. The song began:
[Illustration:
Bureau of Science, Manila.
IGORROTE CHIEF PROUDLY DISPLAYING HIS HOUSE DECORATIONS OF HUMAN
SKULLS AND CARABAO HORNS
]
[Illustration:
Bureau of Science, Manila.
BONTOC IGORROTES WITH _GANZAS_, SHOWING HANDLES MADE OF HUMAN JAW
BONES
]
For twelve long days we’ve hiked through mountains,
Heigh ho! Cross roaring rivers!
For twelve long days we’ve hiked through mountains,
Ha! Ha! While on our way through wild Lepanto!
Up at Sagada we came upon the only bed of mint that any of us had ever
seen in the Philippines, and as General Bell had almost an inspired
knowledge as to what mint was originally intended for, this gave us
material for three new verses:
One rainy day we reached Sagada,
Heigh ho! Among the rice fields!
One rainy day we reached Sagada,
Ha! Ha! As we toiled along o’er the hills of Bontoc!
A place most sweet with fragrant mint-beds,
Heigh ho! How did it get there?
A place most sweet with fragrant mint-beds,
Ha! Ha! ‘Way high up in the hills of Bontoc!
We didn’t do a thing but make a julep,
Heigh ho! Without the cracked ice!
We didn’t do a thing but make a julep,
Ha! Ha! With the mint we found in the hills of Bontoc!
It was a free-for-all composition contest; anybody was likely to produce
a new verse, or even a whole new song with a different tune, at any
moment, and we shortened many a long mile with such nonsense.
At Don José’s we not only sang all our songs for the benefit of our
host, but one of our number produced a harmonica, on which he played
very well indeed, and we had an impromptu _baile_. Then we “dropped the
handkerchief,” “followed the leader,” gave some original renderings of
German Grand Opera, played Puss-in-the-corner, and finished the evening
with our feet on a fender before a great, open fire, recounting, with
much appreciated embellishments, our interesting experiences.
We knew we should not find any place as delightful as Don José’s
again,—not even in Manila, because Manila would be hot,—so it was with
great reluctance that we obeyed orders to be ready to leave the next
morning at six. This meant getting out of our comfortable, civilised
beds at five o’clock, while the stars would still be out, and when the
ashes of our evening’s fire would be cold and grey on the hearth. It was
a cheerless thought, but we had to “get to Loo” said General Bell.
It was raining—of course—and there was not much scenery visible except
when the clouds would float upward, now and then, like veils lifted off
grand panoramas, but by this time we had ceased to consider the weather.
When we got to Loo we found the “town” consisted of just two empty log
huts, one with a plaited reed floor, the other with no floor at all, and
neither of them with any sort of partition. We stretched a rope across
the middle of the better one, hung Igorrote blankets on it by way of a
screen, and prepared to make ourselves comfortable on the, fortunately
flexible, floor; ladies on one side, gentlemen on the other. But along
late in the afternoon a pack train of mules and Igorrotes and orderlies
arrived from the south bringing us the astonishing news that the
Commissioners were only a few miles behind and expected to camp that
night at Loo!
The rain had settled down into a dreary, soaking patter; it was cold; we
were all wet; there was no place for a fire; and, altogether, we were
fairly uncomfortable.
The Commissioners, Mr. Worcester and Mr. Moses, with their private
secretaries and a doctor—five in all—came along about an hour behind
their pack train. They straggled in one by one, very grumpy, and we
decided right away that they had not been taught, as we had been, to
make the best of everything and to cultivate sociability on the trail.
They had had a much more difficult day’s riding than we because the
trail up is much harder than the trail down, but we were pretty certain,
on the whole, that we were much the better managed party.
With more Igorrote blankets we arranged another partition in the hut to
make room for them, then we gave them a good hot dinner—cooked in the
tent which had been put up for kitchen purposes—and immediately a social
thaw set in. We got all the news from Manila that we were so anxious
for, and all the latest gossip. The news was disquieting. A cablegram
had come announcing that the Supreme Court had decided there should be
no duties in Porto Rico against United States imports, and instructing
the Commission to suspend all legislation in the Philippine Islands
until further notice. This might mean anything, but whatever else it
meant it certainly meant renewed uncertainty and the possibility that no
change in the government would be made until after Congress met.
The politics of the situation were extremely complicated and seemed to
revolve around a question which, because of a rather pugnacious manner
of expressing it, had become a popular clamour. The question was: “Does
the Constitution follow the Flag?” In other words, really, could duties
be collected on imports from one American port to another? In any case,
the question in respect to us was one for Congress to answer and it
seemed to me we were facing another long period of uneasiness and delay.
We knew the entire Commission had expected to make a trip in June for
the purpose of organising the Christian provinces in the far north
beyond the Mountain Province, but they were halted by the order to
suspend definite activities, and Commissioners Worcester and Moses had
taken advantage of the “breathing spell” to run up into the mountains
and inspect proposed routes for roads and railways. That is how we
happened to encounter them at Loo. We shared their opinion that one of
the greatest things that could be done for the country was to make the
mountains of central Luzon, with their glorious climate, easily
accessible. The trails as we found them were mere paths worn by the feet
of Igorrotes and, besides being very narrow, were at such grades as to
make them in many places all but impassable. The party, highly
representative of American authority in the Islands, as it was, sat
around on the bamboo floor, huddled up in blankets, and talked long into
the night about hopes and fears and governmental problems of great
difficulty and importance.
We left Loo at six o’clock in the morning and after eight straight hours
of the hardest work we had yet been called upon to do, we arrived at
Cabayan. According to my own diary: “I was completely tired. The greater
part of the way we rode through beautiful pine forests, but up and down
hills as steep as the side of a house; across rivers, and up a
waterfall.” This sounds like pretty heavy going, but my account of it
written at the time was, I am sure, only slightly exaggerated. I
remember distinctly that from Loo to Baguio, five full days, we walked a
great part of the way; and not only did we walk, but we rendered
necessary assistance to our horses which, giving out one by one, had to
be dragged up the steep grades and “eased” down the opposite sides in a
way that would have been highly ludicrous had we been engaged in
anything but a very serious business. Only the steady old mules plodded
along “without a word,” and found their own way in safety around the
dangerous turns.
[Illustration:
Bureau of Science, Manila.
THE BENGUET ROAD BEFORE AND AFTER COMPLETION. NOT THE MOST THRILLING
CURVE ON THIS SPECTACULAR HIGHWAY
]
After leaving Bontoc we travelled down through Nueva Viscaya and into
Benguet, the southermost division of the Mountain province. At Cabayan
we had for camping quarters a large _presidencia_ and schoolhouse
combined, while a tent was put up and rudely equipped for bathing
purposes. This was luxury indeed, and we began to think that we had left
all hardship behind us; but the next night, after a seven hours’ “hike”
over a terrible trail, we found shelter in a miserable hut with only one
room which we all had to occupy, with Igorrote blankets for partitions.
The Igorrotes grew less and less interesting as we went along and
displayed few evidences of the industry and thrift which characterise
the more northern tribes. The mountains are higher and the scenes are
broader and more wonderful at the southern end of the range, but the
only cultivation we came upon was in the villages and along the banks of
the little rushing streams. It was evident that we were approaching
“civilisation.” Here and there we went through small groves of coffee
trees, beautiful in a wealth of snow-white blossoms, but evidently
deserted, and wretchedly ragged and unkempt.
Baguio, now the summer capital of the Philippine Islands, the
“Philippine Simla,” as it is so often called, lies at the top of what
has become justly celebrated as “the magnificent Benguet Road,” the
building of which has been the subject of more controversy than almost
any other one thing that American authority and enterprise has
accomplished in the Islands. The Benguet Road when I first saw it was
known as “Mead’s Trail,” so named in honour of the engineer who made the
original survey for it, and in some places it was nothing more than a
thin line drawn against perpendicular cliffs to indicate where cutting
was to be done.
Let somebody else argue the question as to whether or not this road has
justified the faith of the men who built it. My husband and his
colleagues were responsible for the beginning of it and Mr. Taft
authorised the payment of the large sums of money which went into it,
but he does not in the least object to honest criticism of the project.
His only question is: “How else could we have accomplished what we did?”
For which there is no satisfactory answer. I have ridden over it since
it was completed and, in common with a majority of those who have
enjoyed this privilege, I am strongly prejudiced in its favour. There
are few, if any roads in the world more spectacular, or which represent
a greater triumph of engineering skill. Fairly hewn out of the almost
solid, but too crumbling, walls of the Bued River Canyon, it winds for
about seventeen miles through constantly changing scenes of
extraordinary grandeur, then it strikes the foothills of the mountains
and rises in a succession of splendid upward sweeps to an altitude of
more than five thousand feet in less than six miles.
The Benguet Road was originally a railway project and was to have been
built by the British company which owns the Manila and Dagupan Railway.
But this syndicate wanted a perpetual grant and a guarantee from the
government which could not then be given. It was necessary, in any case,
to build a wagon-road before railway construction could be started and
Captain Mead, who was sent out at the head of a surveying party,
reported that such a road would cost at least $50,000, or $75,000. The
Commission appropriated the $50,000 and issued orders to have the work
begun, fully expecting to have to add another $25,000 before the road
was finished. Nobody knows what character of road Captain Mead had in
mind when he made his estimate, but it transpired that nothing short of
first-class construction would last through even one heavy rain.
Besides, the Bued River Canyon had to be spanned six or eight times with
tremendous suspension bridges, and before the project was completed an
unwilling government had spent something like $2,500,000 on it. This was
spread over a period of years, of course, and much of it went for
necessary improvements or for the replacement of storm-wrecked bridges
and graded sections, but its enemies like to refer to it as our two and
a half million dollar road.
The Manila and Dagupan Railway company extended its road up to the point
where the Benguet Road begins and thus a way was opened into the only
region in the Philippines where one may find really invigorating air.
And while the road was building Baguio development began. A United
States Army Camp was established on a ridge overlooking a wide range of
pine-covered hills, and a hospital was erected for the accommodation of
invalid soldiers who, before these facilities for taking care of them
were provided, had always, at great expense to the government, to be
sent back to the United States. A civil hospital and tuberculosis camp
were opened; good hotels under private ownership soon took the place of
field tents and rough board shacks; markets and stores were started,
bringing in supplies in wholesale lots, and fair-sized buildings soon
began to go up in a substantial business section; people began to build
houses as rapidly as builders could be found to do the work; churches
and schools began to appear where nothing was before; a summer camp for
the recuperation of thousands of public school teachers was started in a
high valley carpeted with pine-needles, and lecture courses for vacation
instruction were instituted; a country club was organised with golf
links, a baseball diamond, polo grounds, tennis courts and everything
that goes to make a country club successful. The plan of the city was
drawn by Architect Burnham of Chicago, who visited Benguet for the
purpose, and a great central plaza was provided with artistic, but
inexpensive buildings for the accommodation of the two branches of the
government. Cottages in rows went up almost overnight; rich Filipinos
and a few Americans built fine homes; beautifully metalled drives began
to wind in and out and over and around the hills, and a high-class
government automobile ‘bus line was put on the Benguet Road which is the
delight of every American or other foreigner in the Islands, as well as
of many hundreds of Filipinos who annually take advantage of this wholly
novel opportunity to reach a salubrious climate in their own land, and
by a route which in any European country would attract scores of
thrill-seeking tourists.
And so the Philippine Simla was begun. Its friends, or, in other words,
most people have dreams of a great future for it when it shall be a
thriving, prosperous city and a health resort for everybody “east of
Suez” who needs to seek near by a temperate and invigorating climate.
It is six years since I saw Baguio, for I visited it the last time in
1907, but even then I could not believe that it was built on the ground
that I had ridden over and found practically uninhabited only six years
before. At that time a provincial government had been organised, and an
American, Mr. Phelps Whitmarsh, who was a writer and had lived among the
Igorrotes a long time, was appointed governor. But he was governor of a
wild-tribe province which did not then boast any greater signs of
civilisation than winding foot trails and a few groups of low-thatched
huts which were known as towns.
We rode in from Trinidad, not many miles from Baguio, on the morning of
the 23rd of June and went straight to the governor’s “mansion.” We were
welcomed by Mrs. Whitmarsh into a nipa-roofed, _suali_ house which,
though it was quite large, had no partitions except such as were made of
bamboo screens and hangings of bright-coloured Igorrote cloths. But it
had a big, open fireplace and a fine blaze from odorous pine boughs was
crackling up the chimney. This seemed particularly cosy and delightful
to us because we had just been camping in native huts in which the only
place for a fire was a square of earth in the middle of the floor and we
were not only quite frozen but we were thoroughly smoked.
[Illustration:
THE ZIGZAG. HOW THE BENGUET ROAD CLIMBS TO AN ALTITUDE OF OVER 5,000
FEET IN SIX MILES
]
At Baguio we got letters and telegrams from Manila and one of the
telegrams announced my husband’s appointment as Governor of the Islands,
so I knew that an adjustment of state affairs had been made and that I
should reach Manila to begin a new era in my Philippine experience. Mr.
Taft wrote me that the plans for his inauguration were practically
complete and that he was issuing cards for a big reception in honour of
General MacArthur at our house on the evening of the Fourth of July.
This filled me with something like panic, because I didn’t expect to
reach Manila until after the first of July and I didn’t see how I could
get ready on such short notice to entertain hundreds of people. However,
it was not for me to enter a protest on such a score, so it was decided
that we would go down as soon as we possibly could.
We spent two days enjoying the delightful hospitality of our friends in
Baguio and in exploring the country round about, and I, after listening
to builders’ dreams of what was to be and now is, proceeded to select a
site for my own future summer home.
We sat around a roaring fire of an evening and sang all our songs,
rather ruefully; we recounted our many adventures, and expressed our
sincere regret that our holiday was over; then on the morning of the
25th of June, at the dreary hour of half past four, we mounted our
refreshed and rested horses and started down the long Naguilian trail to
the coast. I wish only to add that the heat in the lowlands, after our
long breath of white man’s air in the mountains, was almost more than we
could stand, and I made the fatal mistake of leaving Baguio in a heavy
flannel riding shirt and with no thin blouse handy to take its place.