I Determine not again to Separate from my Son--I take
him to Manilla--The Effects of the Wound I received among
the Ajetas--My Recovery--Kindness of the Spanish and other
Inhabitants of Manilla--Illness of my Son--I return with him to
Jala-Jala--Sorrowful Remembrances--The Death of my poor Boy--His
Interment--My frantic Grief and Despair--I Determine to Quit the
Philippines--I am Called to Manilla by Madame Dolorès Seneris--My
Final Departure from Jala-Jala--I Arrive at Manilla, where I
resume Practice as a Surgeon--I Embark for France--Discontent--My
Travels through Europe--I Marry again--Death of my Mother and my
Second Wife--Conclusion.
Having now concluded my last trip into the interior of the Philippines,
I was desirous of not separating myself again from my son, the only
being that remained to me of all those whom I had loved so tenderly. I
took him with me to Manilla; but I did not altogether bid farewell
to Jala-Jala, yet I had almost the intention of never going back to it.
The journey was as agreeable as my melancholy recollections would
permit. I experienced such pleasure in holding my boy in my arms,
and in receiving his gentle caresses, that I occasionally forgot
every sorrow.
I arrived at Manilla, and took up my quarters in the environs, at
the abode of Baptiste Vidie, brother of the friend whom I had left
at Jala-Jala.
After my escape from the Ajetas, I had noticed a small wound on
the forefinger of my right hand, which I attributed to having
been accidentally scratched by a branch or a thorn, while we were
endeavouring to make our escape with such precipitation from the arrows
which the savages let fly at us. The first night I spent at Manilla,
I felt in the place where the wound was such extreme pain that I fell
down twice totally senseless. The agony increased every instant, and
became so violent that I could no longer doubt that it was caused by
the poison of an arrow, shot at me by the Ajetas. I sent for one of
my confréres, and after a most careful examination, he made a large
incision, which did not, however, afford me any relief: the hand,
on the contrary, festered up. By little and little the inflammation
extended itself up my arm, and I was soon in an alarming state.
In short, after suffering during a whole month, and after the most
cruel incertitude, it seemed that the poison had passed into my
breast. I could not sleep for an instant; and, in spite of me, dead
and painful cries came forth from my breast, which was on fire. My
eyes were veiled--I could not see; a burning sweat covered my face;
my blood was on fire, and did not circulate in my veins; my life
seemed about to become extinct. The medical men declared that I could
not pass through the night. According to the usages of the country,
I was told that I ought to regulate my affairs for death. I asked
that the consul-general of France, my excellent friend Adolphe Barrot,
should be sent for.
Adolphe I knew to be a man of true heart and affection, and to him I
recommended my poor boy. He promised to take care of him as if he were
his own son, to take him to France, and to give him over to my family.
Lastly a good Dominican friar came, and with him I had several long
conferences, and after he had dispensed to me the consolations of his
ministry, he gave me extreme unction. Everything was done according
to the customary form, and nothing was wanting but my death.
However, amidst all these preparations, I alone was not so eager;
and, although in excessive anguish, I preserved my presence of
mind, and declared I should not die. Was it courage? Was it great
confidence in my strength and robust health, which made me believe in
my recovery? Was it a presentiment, or was it an inward voice which
told me: "The doctors are wrong, and how great will be their surprise
tomorrow on finding me better?" In short, I did not wish to die; for,
according to my system, my will ought to stop the order of nature,
and to make me survive all imaginable pain.
The following day I was better: the doctors found my pulse regular,
and without any intermitting symptom. Some days afterwards the poison
passed out to my skin: my whole body was covered with a miliary
eruption, and thenceforth I was safe. My recovery was very gradual,
and for more than a year I felt acute pains in my breast.
During the course of my illness I received the kindest attention from
my fellow-countrymen, and in general from all the Spanish inhabitants
of Manilla; and here I ought to state, to the praise of the latter
class, that during twenty years spent in the Philippines, I always
found amongst those with whom I had dealings, a great nobleness of
soul and a devotedness free from egotism. I shall never forget the
kindnesses I received from this noble race, for which I entertain
feelings of the warmest gratitude. To me, every Spaniard is a brother;
and to him I shall always be happy to prove that his countrymen have
not conferred obligations on an ungrateful character. I hope the
reader will pardon me for having quitted my subject for a short time
to fulfil the duty of gratitude; but are they not my recollections
which I am detailing? [25]
The wish to undertake, together with my boy, the voyage which would
restore me to my country; the hope of seeing my kind good mother,
my sisters, and all the friends whom I had left behind, reconciled me
somewhat to existence, and made me experience a little happiness. I was
awaiting with impatience the time for embarking; but, alas! my mission
was not yet terminated in the Philippines, and a new catastrophe,
quickly opened afresh all my sorrows.
I was scarcely recovered, when my dear boy--my sole delight the last
beloved being that remained to me on this earth, so fruitful in joys,
and still so destructive of them--my poor Henry fell suddenly ill,
and his disease made the most rapid progress. My friends immediately
foreboded that a great misfortune would befall me. I alone did not know
the state in which my child really was. I loved him with such an ardent
passion, that I believed it impossible that Providence would deprive
me of him. My medical attendant, or rather my friend, Genu, advised
me to take him to Jala-Jala, where his native air and the country,
as he said, would without doubt promote his recovery. I liked the
advice, for so many persons had recovered their health at Jala-Jala
that I hoped for my child a similar good result. I set out with him
and his governess; the voyage was one of sadness, for I saw my poor
boy continually suffering, without being able to afford him any relief.
On our arrival Vidie came to receive us, and in a few moments I
occupied, with my Henry, the room which brought to my remembrance two
very sorrowful losses--the death of my little daughter and that of my
beloved Anna. It was, moreover, in that very room my Henry was born,--a
cruel association of the happiest moments of my existence with that
when I was bewailing the state of my beloved boy. Nevertheless, I did
not altogether despair, for I had hopes in my art and experience. I
seated myself by his bedside, and did not leave him for a moment. I
slept close to him, and I passed every day in administering the
medicine and all the comforts in my power, but without any good result,
or any relief for his sufferings. I lost all hope, and on the ninth
day after our arrival the dear boy expired in my arms.
It is not possible for me to give an account of my feelings on this
last trial. My heart was broken, my head on fire! I became mad, and
never did despair take such a hold on me. I listened to nothing but
my sorrow; and force became necessary to tear from my arms the mortal
remains of my child.
On the following day he was laid close to his mother, and another
tomb was erected in the church of Jala-Jala.
In vain did my friend Vidie endeavour to afford me consolation, or
to change the current of my affliction. Several times he tried to
remove me from the fatal room, which I now looked upon as a scene
of misfortunes, but he could not succeed. I hoped at the time--and
I also thought that I too had a right--to die there, where my wife
and my son had breathed their last sighs. My tears refused to flow,
and even words failed me to express the full extent of my grief. An
ardent fever, which devoured me, was far too slow for the eagerness
of my wishes. In a moment of bewilderment, I was near committing
the greatest act of cowardice which man can perpetrate against his
Creator. I double-locked the door; I seized the poignard which I had
so often used to protect my life, and pointed it against myself. I
was already choosing the spot in which I should strike, in order by
one blow to terminate my miserable existence. My arm, strengthened by
delirium, was about to smite my breast, when one sudden thought came to
prevent me from consummating the crime which has no pardon--although
the crime of despair. My mother, my poor mother, whom I had so much
loved, my good mother presented herself to my mind, and said to me:
"Thou wouldst abandon me--I shall see thee no more!" I recollected
then the words of Anna: "Go, and see thy mother again!" This thought
changed my resolution completely. I threw the poniard aside with
horror, and fell on my bed quite exhausted. My eyes, which during many
days had been dry and burning, were once again overflowing with tears,
which removed the heavy weight from my lacerated heart.
The force of mind of which I stood so much in need was awakened again
within me: I no longer thought of death, but of fulfilling my rigorous
destiny. Calmed and relieved already by the abundant flow of tears,
I gave myself up wholly to the idea of embracing my mother and my
sisters. Then I wished to add the following pages to my journal. My
head was not thoroughly right. I shall translate what I then wrote
in Spanish, which was my adopted and familiar language, in preference
even to French, which I had scarcely spoken during twenty years:--
"How have I strength to take this pen? My poor boy!--my son!--my
beloved Henry!--is no more: his soul has flown to his Creator! Oh,
God! pardon this complaint in my distress. What have I done to be
thus cruelly afflicted? My boy!--my dear son!--my only hope!--my last
happiness!--I shall never again see thee! Formerly I was happy; I had
my good Anna and my dear child; but cruel fate soon tore my companion
from me. My trouble was indeed great, and my affliction was profound;
but thou wast still with me, Oh, my child! and all my affections were
concentrated in thee. "With thy caresses thou didst dry my tears; thy
smile was like that of thy mother, and thy beautiful features reminded
me of her, and in thee I found her again. But to-day, alas! I have
lost you both. What a void! Oh, God! what a solitude! Oh! I ought to
die in this room which is the depository of all my misfortunes. Here I
bewailed my poor brother; here I closed the eyes of my daughter; here,
also, Anna, when dying, bade me, bathed in tears, her last adieus;
and here, at last, thou, my son, they tore thee from my arms, to lay
thee near the ashes of thy mother.
"So many afflictions and so many troubles for one man! Oh, God of
goodness and mercy, will you not restore to me my poor child? Alas! I
scarcely feel that I am mistaken: but He will pity my bewilderment--he
who has been beloved and who has seen carried off, one by one, all
the elements of his happiness. As for me, an isolated being, and
henceforward useless on this earth, it matters little where I shall
sink under the weight of my afflictions. If it was not from the hope of
seeing my mother and sisters, I should terminate my wretched existence,
my grave should be with you--you all!--whom I loved so much. I should
remain near you, and during the rest of my miserable existence I should
every day visit your tombs! But no; a sacred duty obliges me to leave
you, and to separate for ever from you. Cruel! Oh, cruel indeed will
be the hour when I shall depart from you. And thou, my beloved, my
good, excellent wife, my Anna, thy last words shall be accomplished. I
will set out, but regret and grief accompany me during the voyage; my
heart and my memory will remain at Jala-Jala. Oh! land bedewed with
my sweat, with my blood, and with my tears! when fate brought me to
thy shores thou wast covered with dismal forests which this day have
given place to rich harvests: among thy inhabitants order, abundance,
and prosperity have taken the place of debauchery and misery. My
efforts were crowned with full success; all was prosperity around
me. Alas! I was too happy! But while misfortune strikes me down and
overwhelms me, it will have stricken me alone, my work will outlive
me. You will be happy, Oh, my friends! and if I myself have been so
in contributing to your welfare, let a thought sometimes awaken your
feelings towards him to whom you often gave the name of 'Father;'
and if you preserve gratitude towards him, Oh, take a religious care
of the tombs, trebly dear to him, which he now intrusts to you."
My readers will pardon this melancholy and long lamentation; they
will understand it if they examine with care my position. Separated
from my country by five thousand five hundred leagues, the stroke
of fate which laid all my cherished hopes in the dust was the
more acutely felt as it was unexpected. I had no relatives in the
Philippines; in France alone I might yet find some affections; and,
at the moment of quitting Jala-Jala for ever, the idea of parting with
my Indians--attached, devoted, as they were to me--was an additional
grief to the many which overpowered me. Thus I could not resolve to
acquaint them beforehand of this separation. I remained in my room,
without quitting it even at meal times. My friend Vidie did everything
possible to prepare me for these adieus, and to console me. He pressed
me to start speedily for Manilla, and to make arrangements for my
departure; but an irresistible force retained me at Jala-Jala. I
was weak; my heart was so crushed by sorrows that I had no courage
to adopt any resolutions. I put it off from day to day, and from day
to day I was more undecided. An unexpected occasion was necessary in
order to conquer my apathy; it was requisite also to triumph over me
by sentiments of gratitude--sentiments which I could never resist.
On this occasion, the motive which decided my departure was furnished
by Providence. I had a friend in Manilla, a lady of angelic goodness,
gentleness, and devotedness. United from the period of my arrival in
the most intimate manner with all her family, I had known her as a
child, and afterwards married to a highly honourable man, of whom when
she was subsequently bereaved, I afforded her all the consolations
which the sincerest friendship could offer. She was a witness of the
happiness which I enjoyed with my dear Anna, and, hearing that I was
unhappy, she did not hesitate to undertake a long journey, and in her
turn to come and take a part in my troubles. The excellent Dolorès
Seneris arrived one morning at Jala-Jala; she threw herself into my
arms, and for some moments tears alone were the interpreters of our
thoughts. When we recovered from our first emotions, she told me that
she had come to take me away, and she herself made the preparations
for my departure. I was too grateful for this proof of the friendship
of the good Dolorès not to acquiesce in her wishes, and it was decided
that on the following day I should quit Jala-Jala for ever.
The report was soon spread among my Indians. They all came to bid me
farewell: they wept, and they said to me:
"Oh, master, do not deprive us of all hope of seeing you again. Go,
and receive consolation from your mother, and then return to your
children." That day was filled with most distressing feelings.
The day following was Sunday. I went to say adieu to the remains of
those whom I had loved even in their tombs. I heard for the last time
the divine service in the modest little church which I had erected,
and in which for a long time, surrounded by my dearest friends, I was
happy to assemble, on the same day of the week, the small congregation
of Jala-Jala.
After the service I proceeded to the beach, where the boat was waiting,
which was to take me to Manilla. There--surrounded by my Indians, the
good parish priest, Padre Miguel, and my friend Vidie--I bade adieu
to them all for the last time. Dolorès and I got into the boat, which
was scarcely pushed off from the shore when every arm was stretched
out towards me, and every one exclaimed:--"May your voyage be happy,
master! And oh! return soon!"
One of the oldest Indians made a sign for silence, and then in a loud
voice uttered these solemn words:--"Brothers, let us weep and pray,
for the sun is obscured to us; the star which is going has shed light
on our best days, and now for the future, being deprived of that light,
we cannot tell how long will last the night in which we are plunged
by the misfortune of his departure."
This exhortation of the old Indian were the last words that reached
us: the boat moved away, as I, for the last time, fixed my eyes on
the beloved land which I was never again to behold.
We reached Manilla late: it was one of those enchanting nights, which
I have described in the happy period of my voyages. Dolorès insisted
that I should not lodge in any house but hers. Before she set out
her careful friendship had provided for everything. I was surrounded
by all those little attentions of which woman alone has the secret,
and which she knows how to confer with such grace on him who is the
object for whom they are designed.
My windows looked on the pretty river Pasig. I there passed whole
days in looking at the graceful Indian canoes gliding over the water,
and receiving the visits of my friends, who came with eagerness to
endeavour to divert my thoughts, and to afford sources of pleasing
conversation.
When I was alone I sought to dispel my melancholy by thinking of my
voyage; on the happiness I should experience on seeing again my poor
mother and sisters, a brother-in-law whom I did not know, and nieces
born during my absence.
The obligation of returning the visits I received, and the
re-establishment of my health, allowed me at length to enter into
affairs connected with my departure.
My friend, Adolphe Barrot, consul-general of France, was every day in
expectation of intelligence from his government, with orders for his
return home. He proposed to me to wait for him, so that we might make
the voyage together. I accepted the proposal with pleasure, and we
decided amongst ourselves that, for our return, we should take the
route of India, of the Red Sea, and of Egypt.
While I stayed at Manilla I did not wish to be idle. The Spaniards
reminded me that at a former epoch I had carried on the art of
medicine, and with great success. I soon had patients from all quarters
of the island, and I resumed my old profession, and gave advice. But
what difference between this time and that of my débût. Then I was
young, full of strength and of hope; then I indulged in the illusions
usual to youth; a long future of happiness presented itself to my
imagination. Now, overwhelmed by the weight of troubles and of the
laborious works I had executed, there was only one wish to excite
me, and that was, to see France again; and yet my recollections took
me continually back to Jala-Jala. Poor little corner of the globe,
which I civilised! where my best years were spent in a life of labour,
of emotions, of happiness, and of bitterness! Poor Indians! who loved
me so much! I was never to see you again! We were soon to be separated
by the immensity of the ocean.
Reflections and recollections beyond number thus occupied my mind. But,
alas! it is vain to struggle against one's destiny; and Providence,
in its impenetrable views, was reserving me for rude trials and
fresh misfortunes.
Having again become a doctor at Manilla, where I had such difficulty
at my commencement, I visited patients from morning until night. To
Dolorès and to her sister Trinidad I was indebted for the most touching
and most delicate attentions, calculated to heal the wounds which were
still bleeding in the bottom of my heart. I frequently saw the two
sisters of my poor wife, Joaquina and Mariquita, as well as my young
niece, the daughter of excellent Josephine, for whom I had entertained
so warm a friendship, and who so soon followed my darling Anna to
the grave. By little and little I was forming new ties of affection,
which I was soon to break, and never afterwards to renew. I could
not forget Jala-Jala, and my recollections never quitted that place
where were deposited the remains of those whom of all the world I
had most loved. My eager wishes induced me to hope that my work of
colonisation should continue, and that my friend Vidie should find some
compensation for the rough task he had undertaken. At this period, even
while I remained in Manilla, a great misfortune was nearly the cause
of throwing Jala-Jala back into its former state of barbarism. The
bandits, who always respected the place while I was in possession of
it, came one night to attack it, and made themselves masters of the
house in which Vidie had shut himself up, and defended until he was
forced to escape out of a window, and to run and hide in the woods,
leaving his daughter, then very young, to the care of an Indian
nurse. The bandits pillaged and shattered everything in the house;
wounded his daughter by a sabre-cut, of which to this day she bears the
marks; and then went off with the plunder they had made. But Jala-Jala
had become too important a point to be neglected; and the Spanish
government sent troops to it, to protect Vidie, and to maintain order.
At last, Adolphe Barrot received from the French government the
long-awaited instructions to return home; all my preparations were
made for setting out. It was in 1839; twenty years had passed over
since I left my country, which I was now about to return to with
satisfaction. For a long time I had received no news from my mother,
and the pleasure which I anticipated from seeing her was troubled by
the dread of having new sorrows to experience on my arrival. My mother
was then very old; her life had been passed in long tribulations,
and in complete sacrifice of self. The numerous moral troubles which
she had gone through must have affected her state of health. Besides,
I had been so unfortunate: fate seemed to have so roughly treated all
my affections, that I could not refrain from thinking that I should
never again see her for whom I abandoned my much-loved country. The
day for sailing came; yet it was not without a heartfelt grief that
I tore myself away from my friends, and bade adieu to the Philippines.
Here ought to terminate the account which I proposed: yet I cannot
refrain from dedicating a few lines to my return to my native land.
On board various vessels I passed the coasts of India, the Persian
Gulf, and the Red Sea.
After having often admired the grand works of Nature, I felt a strong
desire to see the gigantic works executed by the hand of man.
I went to Thebes, and there visited in detail its palaces, its tombs,
and its monolithes. I descended the Nile, stopping at every place
which contained any monuments worthy of my curiosity. I ascended
one of the Pyramids. I passed several days in Cairo, and set out for
Alexandria, where I embarked anew, to pass over the small space of
sea which separated me from Europe.
I have sometimes wished to compare the grandest of human productions
with the works of the Creator; the comparison is by no means
favourable to the former, for all those useless ornaments are nothing
but lasting proofs of pride, and of the fanaticism of a few men, who
were obeyed by a people in slavery. I also saw all that remained of
the traces of destruction committed by two of the greatest conquerors
of the world: the first was but a haughty despot, causing cohorts of
slaves to act as he pleased, and carrying the sword and destruction
amongst peaceful people, to profane their tombs, to follow up useless
conquests,--history afterwards shows him dying of an orgie; and the
other, alas! was enchained to a rock.
From the summit of one of the Pyramids, in religious abstraction, I
had contemplated the majestic Nile, which glides serpent-like through
a vast plain, bordered by the Desert and arid mountains. Looking,
then, below me, I could with difficulty descry some of my travelling
companions, who were gazing at the Sphinx, and who appeared like little
spots on the sand. And I then exclaimed: "It is not these useless
monuments that we ought to admire, but rather this magnificent river,
which, in obedience to the laws of all-powerful wisdom, overflows
every year, at a fixed period, its limits, and spreads itself, like
a vast sea, to water and to vivify these immense plains, which are
afterwards covered with rich harvests. If this immutable and beneficent
order of Nature did not endure, all these fertile districts would be
but a desert waste, where no living creature could exist."
These reflections took their origin, without doubt, from my having
spent almost all my life amidst those grand creations of Nature,
from which man continually derives sentiments that elevate him to
the Supreme Being. I had studied that Nature--in all her details,
her beneficence, and her magnificence--too attentively to allow
the productions of man's genius to make upon me the impression
which I thought might be expected, when I first formed the wish
to see the monuments of Egypt; and, while sailing for Europe, I
already anticipated the feeling that a short sojourn in the midst of
civilisation would cause me to regret my ancient freedom, my mountains,
and my solitudes in the Philippine Islands.
On arriving at Malta I was for eighteen days locked up in Fort Manuel,
and then passed the quarantine. I there received news of my family. My
mother and sisters wrote to me that they were in the enjoyment of
excellent health, and were awaiting with impatience my coming to
them. After the quarantine was over, I stopped nearly a week in
the city, while waiting for a steamer that was going to France. I
embraced the opportunity of seeing every curiosity in the island. I
then resumed my voyage to my native land, and the following week I
recognised the arid rocks of Provence and France, from which I had
been absent for twenty years.
In a few days I reached Nantes, where for some time I enjoyed, in every
respect, all the happiness which one feels when those beloved beings
from whom one had been long severed, and who formed the last living
ties of affection for an unhappy being who had been severely tried
by a capricious destiny. But the want of excitement in which I lived
soon became irksome; my life had been too active, so that the sudden
transition could not fail to prove injurious to my health, and the idea
of submitting during the remainder of my existence to a life sterile
and monotonous became intolerable. Not knowing how to employ myself,
I resolved to travel through Europe, and to study the civilised world,
which was then so strange to me. I travelled through France, England,
Belgium, Spain, and Italy, and returned to my family, without being
able to discover anything that could induce me to forget my Indians,
Jala-Jala, and my solitary excursions in the virgin forests. The
society of men reared in extreme civilisation could not efface from my
memory my past modest life. Notwithstanding all my efforts, I retained
in my heart a fund of sadness, which it was not possible to conceal. My
kind-hearted mother, who with deep regret observed my repugnance
to establish myself in any part of the country, and who entertained
fears, perhaps well-founded ones, that I should yet endeavour to go
back to the Philippines, used every means to prevent me. She spoke
to me of marriage, and in all her letters repeated that she should
not be happy until I agreed to enter into the ties of a new union:
she said my name would otherwise become extinct, and, as her last
consolation, she asked me to allow her to choose a companion for me.
The wish to satisfy her, and also the remembrance of Anna's last words:
"Return to thy country, and marry one of thy countrywomen," decided
my resolution.
I soon made choice of one, who would have fully rendered a man happy
who had not too frequently before him the remembrance of a previous
union. Nevertheless, I was as happy as I could be. My new wife
possessed every quality necessary for my happiness. By her I became
father of two children, and I began to bless the determination which my
mother had contributed so much to make me adopt; but, alas! happiness
was never for me lasting; the cup of bitterness was not yet exhausted,
and I had still to shed many tears.
In the cemetery of Vertoux, a modest tomb for thee, poor mother! is
erected, between that of a husband and a son; and soon after another
grave was opened at Neuilly. In profound affliction I had the following
lines engraved on the latter:
"Veille, du haut des cieux, sur ta triste famille;
Conserve-moi ton fils et revis dans ta fille." [26]
NOTES
[1] Pablo signifies Paul, my Christian name. I was always called thus
at Manilla and at Cavite.
[2] The betel is a species of pepper plant, the leaves of which
are wrapped round areca nuts and the chunam--the latter is a kind
of burnt-lime made of shells, and the areca nut is the fruit of
a species of palm. The Indians, Chinese, half-breeds, and a great
number of Creoles, continually chew this mixture, which is reputed
to sweeten the breath and assist digestion.
[3] During six months the winds blow continually from the north-east,
and during the other six months from the north-west: these two periods
are termed north-east monsoon and north-west monsoon.
[4] At their head was Don José Fuentès, my constant friend.
[5] Don Simon Fernandez, Oidor at the Court Royal.
[6] The most bitter enemies of the Tinguians are a race of cruel,
blood-thirsty savages, who inhabit the interior of the mountains. They
have also to fear the Igorrots, who live nearer, but who are less
savage.
[7] Evil Spirit.
[8] A malicious divinity of the Tagalocs.
[9] It is on account of this cruel custom of beheading their victims
that the Spaniards have given to these savages the name of "corta
cabesas," "decapitators."
[10] Banditti.
[11] "The nakedness of the poor might be clothed out of the trimmings
of the vain."--Dr. Goldsmith's "Vicar of Wakefield."--Tr.
[12] The Igorrots, however, according to the reports of the Indians,
are not anthropophagi; perhaps the one in question had received these
ragouts from some other savages--the Guinans, for instance.
[13] It would be difficult to establish from what nations the divers
species of men who inhabit the interior of Luzon originally came. The
Tinguians, from their fine shape, their colour, their eyes, their
almost aquiline nose, the value they set upon china vases, their music,
and finally from their habits, would appear to be the descendants
of the Japanese. It is most likely that at a very distant period
some junks from the Japan coasts, hurried along by strong northern
winds, may have been wrecked upon the Luzon shores, and that their
crews, seeing no possibility of returning to their native country,
as well as to avoid the Malayan population that was in possession
of the beaches,--it is possible, I say, that the shipwrecked persons
withdrew into the interior of the mountains, the difficulty of access
to which protected them from all invasion.
The Japanese sailors, who are merely coasters, sail about with their
wives, as I had an opportunity of witnessing on board many junks,
whither I went through mere curiosity. Those same junks, beaten by
the tempest, had steered for shelter to the eastern coast of Luzon,
where they anchored for four months, waiting for the return of the
monsoon; and had they not met with a protecting government, their crews
would have been compelled to fly into the mountains, as I suppose the
Tinguians had been obliged to do. The latter having some women with
them, must have procured others from among the neighbouring population,
and as they inhabit the finest and healthiest country in the world,
their number must have considerably increased. They are now spread
over sixteen villages: Palan, Jalamey, Mabuantoc, Dalayap, Lanquiden,
Baac, Padanquitan y Pangal, Campasan y Danglas, Lagayan, Ganagan,
Malaylay, Bucay, Gaddani, Laganguilan y Madalag, Manab, Palog y Amay.
The Igorrots, whom I had less opportunities of studying, seem to
be the descendants of the remains of the grand naval army of the
Chinese Lima-On, who, after attacking Manilla, on the 30th November,
1574, had taken refuge in the province of Pangasinan, in the gulf of
Lingayan, where he was a second time defeated, and his fleet completely
destroyed. A part of the crew escaped into the mountains of Pangasinan,
where the Spaniards could not pursue them.
The Igorrot has long hair, eyes à la Chinoise, a flat nose, thick
lips, high cheek bones, broad shoulders, strong and nervous limbs,
and bronze colour; he greatly resembles the Chinese of the southern
provinces of the Celestial Empire.
I could obtain no information as to extraction concerning the Guinans,
another people of savages, ferocious and cruel, who live in the
neighbourhood of the Tinguians.
I keep back for a future period a description of the Ajetas, or
Negritos, the aborigines of Luzon.
[14] According to Indian tradition, and to Spanish tradition
likewise, the Infant Jesus of Zébou existed before the discovery of
the Philippines. After the conquest the Infant was found upon the
sea-shore; the Spanish conquerors deposited it in the cathedral,
where it performed great miracles.
[15] The Malays.
[16] See Appendix, I.
[17] I experienced two such gales during my residence at Jala-Jala--the
one I am now speaking of, and another to which I shall afterwards
allude.
[18] Tapuzi is situated in the mountains of Limutan. Limutan is a
Tagalese word, signifying "altogether forgotten."
[19] In the eyes of the natives of Tagal all Europeans are Spaniards.
[20] While this work was in the press, Mr. Hamilton Lindsay, who has
already published an account of his "Voyage to the Northern Ports of
China," kindly furnished the Publishers with confirmatory proofs of
M. de la Gironiere's narrative, see Appendix, No. II.
[21] See Appendix III. and IV.
[22] Of the house of Russell and Sturges, a good and true friend, the
recollection of whom, often present to my mind, will never be effaced.
[23] Bernard the Hermit is a crab, which lodges in the abandoned
shell of the molluscæ, and comes at night in search of food, which
it finds on the sea beach.
[24] The skeleton is now in the Musée Anatomique of Paris.
[25] Gratitude here requires that I should name some of those to
whom I am specially indebted for marks of affection and kindness. It
would be indeed ungrateful on my part to forget them, and I beg them
to accept this proof of my recollections.
The Governors of the Philippines to whom I owe these remembrances
are:--Generals Martinès, Ricafort, Torres Enrile, Camba, and Salazar;
in the various administrations of the colony, the Judges (Oidorrs)
Don Inigo Asaola, Otin-i Doazo, Don Matias Mier, Don Jacobo Varela,
administrator-general of the liquors; Don José de la Fuente, commissary
of the engineers, who rendered me innumerable kindnesses; Colonel Don
Thomas de Murieta, corregidor of Tondoc; the colonel of engineers, Don
Mariano Goicochea; the Colonel-Commandant Lante Romana; the Governor of
the province, Don José Atienza; the brothers Ramos, sons of the judge;
all the family Calderon; that of Seneris; Don Balthazar Mier, Don
José Ascaraga; and lastly my friend, Don Domingo Roxas, whose son, Don
Mariano Roxas, after having received a solid and brilliant education at
Manilla, came to travel in Europe. He has acquired the most extensive
information in the sciences and arts, and when he shall have returned
to the Philippine Islands, he will most worthily replace his dignified
father, whom a premature death has snatched away from the industry,
the agriculture, and the advancement of his country. If gratitude
has induced me to mention here the Spaniards from whom I experienced
many acts of kindness, the same feeling compels me to allude to an
English gentleman to whom I was indebted for one of those important
services which are never to be forgotten. I allude to Mr. Thomas Dent,
with whom I have frequently conversed upon our hunting parties at
Jala-Jala, in which he was occasionally one of the principal actors.
[26] "From Heaven's height look down and see
The sorrows of thy family;
Preserve for me thy only boy,
And in thy daughter give me joy."