An Up-country Excursion--Steaming up the River to the
Lake--Legend of the Chinaman and the Crocodile--Santa Cruz
and Pagsanjan--Dress of the Women--Mountain Gorges and River
Rapids--Church Processions--Cocoanut Rafts--A "Carromata" Ride to
Paquil--An Earthquake Lasting Forty-five Seconds--Small-pox and
other Diseases in the Philippines--The Manila Fire Department--How
Thatch Dealers Boom the Market--Cost of Living.
March 27, 1894.
The Easter holidays have come and gone, and one of the favorite
vacation trips from Manila has been brought to a close. Five of us have
seen lake, mountain, and river scenery; have been taking interesting
walks, drives, swims; have camped out in a good house and enjoyed the
hospitality of our native Indian friends. Whistling for the punka-boy
to go ahead, I will now set down the record of our trip.
The week from the 18th of March to the 25th was practically one long
holiday, but it was Wednesday, the 21st, in the afternoon, that we
left Manila for the interior. Rand and I got up the trip by procuring
a large and commodious steam-launch for five days--gratis. Having
done our share, we left our three companions to look after the "chow"
and other kindred topics. To my "boy" I merely said, "Wednesday we are
going up to the laguna; prepare what is necessary for four days." That
was all, and on Wednesday afternoon I found him at the launch with my
clothes and bedding all ready to start. Here also were assembled hams,
boxes of ice, and other provisions, big bundles of personal effects,
and the four "boys" (a "boy" may be seventy years old if he likes)
whom we were going to take along.
The whistle blew, the special artist with his camera ambled aboard,
amidst a pile of sun-hats, oranges, and excitement, and soon the
Vigilante was steaming up the river on her sixty-mile trip. Familiar
objects were first passed, but soon after leaving the uptown club new
scenes presented themselves. The launch stirred up large waves astern
that washed both banks of the river with great energy, and the first
incident was the swamping of three banca-loads of grass that were on
their way down to Manila under charge of Indian pedlers. Turn after
turn opened up new scenes; our house on the hill began to fade away,
and soon we skimmed through native villages where white blood was
"not in it." The hills increased in size, the river lessened, and
great bamboo-trees hung over toward the central channel. At one point,
high up on the bluffs, perched a Chinese pagoda-like chapel, said to
have been constructed by a wealthy Celestial as a thanks-offering for
his escape from a crocodile. He was bathing in the river, so the story
goes, when suddenly he saw the monster making for him. He threw up his
hands and vowed to build a monument to his patron saint if escape was
vouchsafed him. And no sooner had he spoken than the crocodile turned
to stone and lies there to-day, a long, low black mass, fretting the
current that ripples over it. As we passed the rock it looked as if
it had never been anything else, but the afternoon was too pleasant
to doubt the veracity of the legend. On we went. The mountains ahead
grew more to look like masses of rock and trees and less like soft
blue velvet. Pasig, an important town, was left behind, the lowlands
came again, a multitude of fish-weirs stuck up ahead, and before we
knew it the great lake was holding us on its rather muddy waters just
where it slobbered into the mouth of the river, its only outlet.
On all sides save the one by which we had entered rose the mountains
right out of the water, and I was reminded of Norway or Scotland. It
was like a sea, and the farther shore was below the horizon. The sun
had set and the full moon rose just ahead as we kept along the coast
to the north. At half after eight o'clock we anchored off a little
town called Santa Cruz that seemed to be backed up by two very lofty
mountain-peaks, and we were soon surrounded by two bancas filled with
natives who began to transfer our many effects. And so we left the
launch, were slowly poled ashore, and next found ourselves on a sandy
beach surrounded by much people and baggage. Dispatching two of our
retinue up into the town to fetch enough of the two-wheeled covered
gigs called carromatas for our assembly, in about three-quarters of
an hour we had the felicity of seeing seven come racing down the road
to the lake shore. Our destination, by the way, was a town called
Pagsanjan, about three-quarters of an hour from Santa Cruz, and
situated just at the foot of a range of mountains. The chattels were
soon loaded, there was a cracking of whips, a creaking of harness,
and the long procession started off at a rattling gait through the
town and out into the rich cocoanut groves beyond.
At Manila, outside of bamboo and banana trees, there is no sign of
really equatorial vegetation, but up in the mountains there was no
deception, and Nature did her best to let us know that the temperate
zone was far away. We bounced along at a terrific pace and presently
saw the lights of our little village. Rattling through an old stone
archway, we drew up before the house of a certain Captain Feliz,
to whom we had been recommended. The genial old man, whose face and
corporosity were charmingly circular in their rotundity, welcomed us
with open-armed hospitality, and saying he knew of just the house
that would accommodate our party, started to lead us to it. After
a few steps he suddenly stopped, apologized smilingly, said he had
forgotten his set of false teeth, and must return for them. And coming
back shortly after, he took out his teeth, commented on their grace
and usefulness, and said he could speak much better Spanish with than
without them.
In due season we drew up at a very thick-walled stone house on the high
bank just above the river, and were invited to take possession. Our
"boys" got out the provisions in short order, for a late supper; our
pieces of straw matting were spread out around the edges of the shining
floor of the large "sala" which had been placed at our disposal for a
dormitory; pillows and light coverings were duly regulated, and after
eating a bit, we said good-night to our new friends and turned in on
the floor to rest. I found the hardwood planks so soft after my bed
at Manila that before long I arose, arranged eight chairs in facing
pairs, spread out my sleeping-arrangements, and soon fell asleep in
a very good improvised bed which was high enough from the floor to
keep cockroaches from using me as a promenade. Thursday morning we
arose early, washed ourselves on the balcony that overlooked the
fashionable avenue of the village, and, as is the true Philippine
custom, sprinkled the street with solutions of soapsuds.
Now, as I have said before, the Thursday and Friday before Easter are
tremendously sacred days in the Philippines, and no carriages of any
description are permitted to move about. The little town was still as
death, and the early-morning hush was only broken now and then by the
weird caterwaulings of the peculiar Passion songs which the natives
in these parts sing off and on during Lent. Later on, as we finished
breakfast, groups of women began coming out of the various houses and
directed their steps church-ward. Most of them were gorgeously dressed
in all colors of the solar spectrum--with a little cloth added on--and
it was instructive to see an expensively gowned Indian woman emerge
from a shabby little nipa hut that didn't look as if it could incubate
such starched freshness. For the dresses that some of these people
wear are costly; and even their piña neckerchiefs often cost $100.
After breakfast we went down to the river and got into five
hollowed-out tree-trunks, preparatory to the start up into the
mountain-gorges. It was worse than riding a bicycle, trying to balance
one of the crazy affairs, and for a few moments I feared my camera and
I would get wet. However, nobody turned turtle, and we were paddled
up between the high cocoanut-fringed banks of the wonderfully clear
river before the early morning sun had looked over the mountains into
whose cool heart we were going.
Then came the first rapids, with backgrounds of rich slopes showing
heavy growths of hemp and cocoa palms. Another short paddle and the
second set of rapids was passed on foot. A clear blue lane of water
then stretched out in front of us and reached squarely into the
mountain fastnesses through a huge rift where almost perpendicular
walls were artistically draped with rich foliage that concealed
birds of many colors, a few chattering monkeys, and many hanging
creepers. Again it seemed like a Norwegian fjord or the Via Mala,
but here, instead of bare rocks, were deeply verdured ones. Above,
the blue sky showed in a narrow irregular line; below, the absolutely
clear water reflected the heavens; the cliffs rose a thousand feet,
the water was five hundred feet deep, the birds sang, the creepers
hung, the water dripped, and we seemed to float through a sort of
El Dorado, a visionary and unreal paradise. At last we glided in
through a specially narrow lane not more than fifty feet wide;
a holy twilight prevailed; the cliffs seemed to hold up the few
fleecy clouds that floated far over our head, and we landed on a
little jutting point for bathing and refreshments. It seemed as if we
were diving into the river Lethe or being introduced to the boudoir
of Nature herself. In an hour we pushed on, passed up by three more
rapids, and halted at last at the foot of a bridal-veil waterfall
that charmed the eye with its beauty, cooled the air with its mists,
and set off the green foliage with its white purity. Here we lunched,
and in lieu of warm beer drank in the beauties of the scenery.
The return was a repetition of the advance, except that we shot
one or two of the rapids, and that the banca holding the boy and
the provisions upset in a critical place, wetting the crackers
that were labelled "keep dry." We got back to our house by
early afternoon, and all agreed that an inimitable, unexcelled,
wouldn't-have-missed-it-for-the-world excursion had passed into
history.
Good old Captain Feliz took us to call on some of the native
villagers in the late afternoon, who exhibited quite a bit of Indian
hospitality. At one house was a pretty Indian girl who spoke Spanish
very well and entertained our party of six with as much grace as an
American belle. Of course the presence of five "Ingleses" in town
was quite an event in a place fifty miles from Manila, and as we
walked through street after street each house-window presented at
least seven curious faces; dogs barked, fighting-cocks crowed, and
the occupations of the moment were suspended.
After dinner we sat out on the balcony to watch the procession
that wound around through the various streets, starting from
the fortress-like church and finally bringing up there. These
church parades are a good deal like our torch-light processions,
except that here images, not mud-besprinkled men, carry most of
the torches. In this affair there were a dozen or more floats,
each one bearing a saint, an apostle, or somebody else, and each
decorated with very costly drapery, ornaments, and elaborate candelabra
illuminators. Scattered all along between the floats straggled natives
carrying poles on which were images of a candle, a hand, a spear, a
pair of nails, a cock, a set of garments, and other symbolic articles
relating to the crucifixion. Then came Peter on a very elaborate
moving pedestal, and in his hand he held the traditional bunch of
keys. Then a Descent from the Cross, with two apostles standing up
on step-ladders. Next came the band of the procession--three men
singing to the tune of an old violin--and finally the Virgin Mary
with glass tears rolling down her wax cheeks. On each side of the
line from start to finish trooped the populace, mostly women dressed
in black and carrying candles.
Next day was Good Friday. No traps of any description to be had, as
none were allowed to run, and so we spent the day about the town and in
walking up into the hills. A look into the great, solid old church in
the morning showed us a fragrant and gaudily dressed audience kneeling
in various postures on the tiled floors, while numerous dogs of various
cross breeds and tempers meandered in through the door and among
the worshippers. From the church we strolled across a very primitive
bamboo bridge over a branch river, and wandered through a luxurious
cocoanut grove beneath whose tall trees were situate a couple of very
rudimentary cocoanut-oil mills and the houses of the operators. The
machinery was very crude. One might think he was back in the days of
stone knives, seeing these simple contrivances, the awkward levers,
the foot-power grindstones, and the old pots and kettles. In the river
near the mills were thousands of cocoanuts ready to be tied together
in rafts for floating down to Manila, and everybody's business up this
way seemed to consist in watching this oily fruit fall from the trees.
In the early evening, just before another religious procession started,
we heard a great clatter up in the belfry of the old church, and
learned that the hubbub was made by "devil-frighteners." On inquiring
as to the nature of this weird clap-trap symphony, it seems that on
these especially holy days men are stationed up in the bell-towers
with huge wooden rattles, which they so manipulate from time to time
that the noise is said to act as a scare-crow to the various devils
who are supposed to be hovering about seeking whom they may devour.
After another peaceful night's rest, some of us took our morning jump
into the river, and all prepared for a twelve-mile carromata drive out
along the lake shore beneath the mountains, to a little village called
Paquil, said to be possessed of a crystal spring bathing-pool. The road
for a good bit of the way was of the Napoleon-crossing-the-Alps style,
and it got to be so bad I rather thought we were in for a walk. Not a
bit of it. The carromatas are built strong as the rocks themselves,
the wheels are huge and solid, the ponies tough as prize-fighters,
and the driver urges the whole affair along at a tremendous pace. So
we bounced along, and most of our time was spent, not on the seat,
but midway between it and the roof, which occasionally came down
and thumped our heads. On the way we passed through numerous little
villages, and in one out-of-the-way place we called on an American,
Thomas Collins, who has been practically shut in out here for
twenty-five years. It seems that he got cheated out of a hundred and
fifty thousand dollars' worth of valuable wood a good while ago by
the officials of a certain provincial district, and has been trying
to get the claim paid ever since. He was a queer chap, and had almost
forgotten how to speak American; but at last he managed to remember
the word "hell," and then his ideas began to flow more freely.
When we arrived at Paquil our conductor, the genial Captain Feliz,
walked up to the house of an acquaintance and asked him to put it
at our disposal. As before, the request was father to the grant,
and we dumped our chattels down into a parlor full of wax virgins
and crucifixes. The bath, for which the village is quite famous, is a
large pool five feet deep, with a pebble bottom. At one end a stream
of clear water gushes forth from the hillside, while at the other an
overflow brook carries off the surplus and goes bubbling down through
the village to the lake. We had our swim after all the native bathers
had left, and got back to our house in time for a tiffin that had
been brought with us in the baskets. In the early afternoon we took
our siesta, in the later hours started for our jogglety return drive,
and at Pagsanjan found prepared for us a feast of sucking pigs.
On Sunday morning we were ready for our return to Manila. The seven
gigs arrived, we said hearty farewell to our friends, presented Captain
Feliz some empty bottles and two teapots, and rattled out through the
town toward Santa Cruz, where our launch was in waiting. The trip was
cool and pleasant across the lake, but it was hot when in about four
and a half hours we got to the low river-country again. The sail down
was like the sail up, and by dinner-time we backed water to bump into
the portico of the club, where all hands disembarked for dinner. Thus
ended what I suppose is the most popular and most delightful excursion
which the foreigner can make from the capital of the Philippines in
the few days which the church feasts at Easter put at his disposal.
April 6th.
The other night I dreamt I was climbing up a long hill on a
bicycle. Once at the top, I started down over the other side at a
terrific pace. Somehow or other, by mistake, the wheel ran off into a
gutter at the side of the road, and bounced around in such a dangerous
manner that it all but upset. However, with tremendous exertion,
I managed to jump the mechanism back onto the smooth ground again,
and continued safely down to the bottom of the hill at a two-forty
gait. Arrived at the bottom, I conveniently woke up, and heard a rat
under the bed trying to slide one of my shoes off across the floor.
Next morning, on coming down to the office, several of my business
friends asked me if I had felt the severe earthquake shock during the
night. I said "No," and inquired as to the particulars. It seems that
the shock lasted some forty-five seconds, and my chum was awakened by
his bed commencing to rock around and by the four walls of his room
attempting to move in different directions. Nothing in the city was
much injured, I believe, and next day the really excellent observatory,
conducted by the Jesuits, gave out a full illustrated description of
the affair.
Up at our new bungalow, the only incidents worthy of note have been
the attempted stealing of my pony and the consumption of my best
shoes by one of our house-rats.
A Philippine burglar, curiously enough, takes off his clothes, smears
his dark skin with cocoanut-oil, and prowls around like a greased
pig that cannot be caught. One of these slippery thieves got into our
stable, unhitched my pony, and took him almost to the front gate before
the sleepy coachman found his wits. But prompt action saved the day,
and the lubricated robber escaped, leaving his booty pawing the ground.
But with my shoes I was not so fortunate. I woke up suddenly to
hear something being dragged across the floor. Thinking it was only
a rat making off with a boot-jack with which to line his nest, I
refrained from tempting Providence by leaving the protection of the
mosquito-netting. Next morning I found that one of these rodents had
pulled a pair of my patent-leather shoes off a low shelf beneath the
bed, dragged them out into the hallway behind a hat-rack, and eaten up
the most savory portions of the bindings. Complimentary to the prowess
of the rat or to the lightness of my shoes--which? I keep them now as
articles on which the patent has run out--worthless, but curiosities.
Otherwise things have run smoothly, and each evening we lie in the
long chairs on the broad veranda, watching the Southern Cross come
up over the hills, or the score of brush-fires of dried rice-stalks
that illuminate the darkness away off toward the mountains. The
music from our piano seems to give much delight to the members of
the servants' hall, now nine in number, besides several puppies and
game-cocks. The other night, although in the midst of the hot season,
we had a prodigious cold snap again, when the thermometer went down
to sixty, after being ninety-five during the day, and two blankets
were not at all uncomfortable.
I see by the papers that there are at least two cases of small-pox
in Boston, that everybody is alarmed and hundreds are getting
vaccinated. Curious state of affairs--isn't it?--when every day out
here you see small children running around in the streets, covered with
evidences of this disease. Nobody thinks anything about small-pox in
Manila, and one ceases to notice it if a Philippine mamma sits opposite
you in the tram-car, holding in her lap a scantily clothed child whose
swarthy hide is illuminated with those unmistakable markings. Some
weeks ago there were even four hundred deaths a week in Manila from
this disease alone; and from the way in which the afflicted mix with
the hale and hearty, you can only wonder that there were not four
thousand. But small-pox flourishes best in the cool, dry days of our
winter months, and is now being stamped out by the warmer weather. An
effort is being made to have everybody vaccinated, and the steamers
from Japan have brought down whole cargoes of lymph, but the natives
do not see any reason why they should undergo this experiment, and
would much prefer to have the small-pox than to be vaccinated. And this
being the case, it is no wonder that almost seventy-five per cent. of
them bear those uncomplimentary marks of the disease's attention.
Now that I have inoculated my page with a reference to this rather
unpleasant subject, it is only a bit of sad truth to tell of
the only fatality caused by the malady in our little Anglo-Saxon
colony. Recently I went into the Bay with a young Englishman who
had always lived in terror of this one disease, and had avoided
both contact with the natives and excursions into the infected
districts. The launch took me to the vessel which we were loading, and
then carried him on to that receiving cargo from his concern. Later
she returned with him, picked me up, and together we went ashore to
stop a moment at the club before going home for the day. I never saw
him again, poor chap, though I did take over his stable, for next
morning he was taken with black small-pox and died in a week.
The families of the lightermen in the Bay--crowded as they are into
the hen-coops over the stern of the bulky craft--are full of it, and
hence the fatal ending to our little afternoon excursion. As a rule,
however, the members of the English-speaking colony get so used to
this disease that they have no especial fear in suddenly turning a
sharp corner of running into some native sufferer.
In days gone by, when cholera decimated Manila's numbers, when
people died faster than they could be buried, when business was at
a standstill and the city one great death-house, were the times that
tried men's souls. But now that those big water-mains which run along
the ground bring fresh water from far up into the hills, the natives
have given up the deadly practice of drinking from the river, and,
thanks to the good supply system, no longer give the cholera free
admittance.
Besides small-pox, then, fever is about the greatest enemy, and certain
types of the malarial variety seem so common that the sufferers from
them often walk into the club, drop into a chair, and say, "Got the
fever again. Means another lay-off." If they can keep about, the old
stagers never give up; but novices buy thermometers and cracked ice,
and either go through a terrific siege, like my friend, whose eight
weeks' struggle shrunk his head so that in convalescence his hat
touched his ears, or escape with a week's initiation. Typhoid seems
also common, and there is generally one member of the colony, for
whom the rest are anxious, stretched out in ice-baths and wishing
he had never seen the Philippines. The old hands--who, by the way,
seem to be regular sufferers from the fever--all say the only way to
be safe is to drink plenty of whiskey, but so far I have found that
the less one takes the better off he is.
Someone in the States has suggested that if things get too hot it would
be well to run over to Hong Kong for a change of scene. But if there
is any place in the world that is hotter, stickier, more disagreeable
than Hong Kong, in the months from May to October, let us hear from
it. It is far worse in summer than Manila, for, completely shut in
as it is by the mountains, it does not receive the benefit of the
southwest monsoon, which blows with great force over the Philippines
during the above months. Even Japan itself gets a good roasting for
the two or three months of the hot season, and there is not much left
to do but to seek cold weather in Australia. Our only very hot months
here are said to be April and May; sometimes part of June. The sun now
is directly overhead and going fast to the north of us, but so far the
temperature has never been unbearable. The mercury stands at about
ninety-five from twelve to three each day, but somehow or other one
does not feel it so much in the cool white suits, unless he attempts
to fall asleep on some of the sheet-iron roofs. The nights are still
cool and comfortable, and what with a cold snap now and then, such
as I spoke of above, fans are having a poor sale. In the afternoon,
walking, rowing, and tennis are still possible, and the bands of the
Luneta still have enough wind left to give us the "Funeral March" or
"Prize Song."
April 28th.
Manila fare, like Manila life, is not unwholesome, but it lacks
variety, and one rather tires, now and then, of soup, chicken,
beefsteak, and toothpicks--four staples. But fortunately for us who
like variety, though unhappily for five or six hundred other people,
there occurred a vast conflagration yesterday afternoon that sent
about five or six hundred houses sailing off through the air in the
form of smoke.
As we were getting ready to leave the office for the day, clouds of
smoke suddenly began to rise over the iron house-roofs to the eastward,
and we knew that one of Manila's semi-annual holocaustic celebrations
was in progress. The church bells began to ring, and all sorts of
people and carriages started toward the centre of interest.
The Manila Fire Department consists of about six hand-engines and a
few hose-carts, and if a fire gets started it generally burns along
until an open field, a river, or a thick mass of banana-trees stops
its progress. The English houses, to be sure, have recently gotten out
from home one of their small steam "garden-pumps," and many of the
young Britons have had weekly practice in manipulating its various
parts. When the alarm for the present fire rang you might have seen
several servants, employed in their respective homes by the members
of the new Volunteer Fire Department, slowly wandering toward the
shed where the engine was kept, with some nicely folded red shirts,
coats with brass buttons, helmets with Matterhorn-like summits, and
axes that shone from lack of work. These youths did not seem to be in
any hurry, and it turned out that when they reached the engine-house,
when their masters had togged up sufficiently well to impress the
spectators, and when the engine finally got to the fire, the buildings
had been translated into their new and rather more ethereal form.
The fire was two miles, more or less, from the centre of the town. The
Volunteer Fire Brigade had to haul the engine the entire distance,
as they feared that if the usual carabao oxen were hitched on, the
speed over the pavements would be too great. After reaching the centre
of action, an hour was spent in waiting for the man who brought some
spare coal in a wheelbarrow and in choosing a location which would
not be uncomfortable for the brigade. Consequently, the "London Garden
Pump" was stationed to windward of the fire, on a side where it could
not possibly spread any farther, and thus all stray flames and smoke
were avoided. A hose was stuck down into the creek, and steam turned
on. A stream of water about large enough to be clearly visible with
a microscope suddenly jumped forth into the middle of the street,
wetting the spectators. Somebody had forgotten to attach the extra
pieces of hose that were to lead down to the fire, and steam had
to be turned off. After everything was ready to get to business,
a tram-car came along, and it wasn't allowable to stop its progress
by putting a hose across the track, even if there was a fire. And so
it went from grave to gay, the swell brigade furnishing the humorous
part of the otherwise rather sad spectacle.
A Philippine fire is like any other, except that with the many nipa
houses it does its work quickly and well, and in this instance the
whole affair lasted but a couple of hours. Hundreds of families moved
out into the wet rice-fields, with all their chattels, and there were
many curious-looking groups. In saving various articles of furniture
and other valuables, the fighting-cock, as usual, was considered the
most important, and it was interesting to watch the natives trudging
along with scared faces, holding a rooster by the legs in one hand and
a baby or two in the other. Pigs, chickens, and dogs seemed to come
next in value, and after them ice-chests and images of the Virgin
Mary. The sun went down on a strange spectacle, and it was hard
not to pity all the crowd that were thus rudely thrown out of their
habitations. Myriads of spectators there were and myriads of carriages,
of all ages and sizes, some loaded with chattels ready to take flight,
and others waiting to be. At dusk, however, all danger was over;
the mobs departed north, east, south, and west; the brigade carefully
brushed the dust off their boots and shirts, and the poor burned-out
unfortunates looked with moistened eyes on the ruin of their homes.
The wags go far enough to say that the dealers in thatch are
responsible for many of the big fires both in the capital and smaller
villages and that, when times are bad or prices for thatch low, they
arrange to "bull" the market by means of a conflagration. A lamp is
tipped over--a thousand houses go up in smoke, and as go the houses
so rise the prices for nipa thatch.
The second series of pony races occurred during the middle days of
this month, at the race-track down below our bungalow, and all Manila
again came rolling up through the dust to see the performances of
the smart ponies. The events were but a repetition of those which
took place in March, except that in many respects the running-time
was better and the races far more close and interesting.
Some of the old stagers are beginning to complain of the heat. We
take afternoon tea now and then, as is customary in all the business
houses, with some of our friends, in an office on the other side of
our building. Yesterday afternoon a thermometer placed outside of
our window registered 125° F., I suspect this was owing to some of
the reflected heat coming from the iron roofs. Inside the room the
mercury stood at 97° F., but we drank our hot tea and enjoyed the
coolness which resulted from consequent perspiration.
I have now been settled in Manila long enough to find out what it
costs to live, and the general cheapness of existence is more appalling
than I first thought. Our house is a good one, with all the comforts
of home, and is surrounded by an acre or two of land. We have stables
for our horses and outbuildings for the families of our servants. At
the end of the month all expenditures for house-rent, food, wages,
light, and sundries are posted together and divided by three, and
with everything included my monthly share comes to twenty-nine gold
dollars--less than one of our American cart-wheels--per diem.
Where in the States could you rent a suburban house and lot, keep
half a dozen servants, pay your meat bill, your drink bill, and your
rent all for less than a single dollar a day! You can scarcely drive a
dozen blocks in a hansom or buy a pound of Maillard's for that money at
home and yet, in Manila, that one coin shelters you from the weather,
ministers to the inner man, and keeps the parlor in order.
Our cook, for instance, gets forty cents each morning to supply our
table with dinner enough for four people, and for five cents extra
he will decorate the cloth with orchids and put peas in the soup. To
think of being able to get up a six-course dinner, including usually
a whole chicken, besides a roast, with vegetables, salad, dessert,
fruit, and coffee, for such a sum seems ridiculous in the extreme.
The methods of marketing are almost as noteworthy as the low prices for
"raw materials." All meat must be eaten on the same day it is killed,
since here in the tropics even ice fails to preserve fish, flesh,
or fowl. As a result, while the beef and mutton are killed in the
early morning--a few hours before the market opens--the smaller fry,
such as chickens and game, are sold alive. From six to ten on any
morning the native and Chinese cooks from many families may be seen
bargaining for the day's supply among the nest of stalls in the big
market. After filling their baskets numbers of them mount the little
tram-car for the return trips to their kitchens and proceed to pluck
the feathers off the live chickens or birds as they jog along on the
front or rear platform. By the time they have arrived home the poor
creatures are stripped of foliage, and, keenly suffering, are pegged
down to the floor of the kitchen to await their fate. Then, when
the creaking of the front gate announces the return of the master,
it is time enough to wring the necks of the unfortunates and shove
them into the boiling-pot or roasting-pan that seems but to accentuate
a certain toughness which fresh-killed meat possesses.
The washing-bill, again, is far from commensurate with the fulness of
one's clothes-hamper, and for two gold dollars per month I can turn
over to my laundry-man--who comes in from the country once a week--as
much or as little as I please. Two full suits of white sheeting clothes
a day for thirty days make one item of no mean dimensions, and yet the
lavandero turns up each week with his basketful, perfectly satisfied
with his remuneration. Then, too, he washes well, and although, when
I see him standing knee-deep in the river whanging my trousers from
over his head down onto a flat stone, I fear for seams and buttons,
nothing appears to suffer. And although he builds a small bonfire in
a brass flat-iron that looks like a warming-pan and runs it over my
white coats all blazing as it is, the result is excellent, and one's
linen seems better laundered than in the mills that grind away at home.
As servants, these boys of ours could teach much to some of their
more civilized brethren from Ireland or Nova Scotia now holding sway
in American families. They take bossing well, and actually expect
to have their heads punched if things go wrong. They don't put their
arms akimbo and march out of the house if we mildly suggest that the
quality of ants in the cake or the water-pitcher is not up to standard,
and actually make one feel at liberty to require anything of them.
And speaking of ants, these little creatures are everywhere ready to
eat your house or your dinner right from under you. The legs of the
dining-table, the ice-chest, and the sideboard must be islanded in
cups of kerosene, and even the feet to one's bed must undergo the same
treatment, in order that the occupant may awake in the morning to find
something of himself left. Cockroaches are almost equally fierce and,
endowed with wings, these creatures, sometimes four inches long,
go sailing out the window as you close your eyes and try to step
on them. They prowl around at night, with a sort of clicking sound,
seeking something to devour, and are apparently just as satisfied to
eat the glue out of a book-cover as they are to feed on the rims to
one's cuffs or shirt-collars, moist with perspiration.
What the ants don't swarm over the cockroaches examine, and what
they reject seems to be taken in charge by the heavy green mould
that beards one's shoes, valise, and tweed suits at the slightest
suggestion of wet weather.
V
Visit of the Sagamore--Another Mountain Excursion--The Caves of
Montalvan--A Hundred-mile View--A Village School--A "Fiesta"
at Obando--The Manila Fire-tree--A Move to the Seashore--A
Waterspout--Captain Tayler's Dilemma--A Trip Southward--The Lake
of Taal and its Volcano--Seven Hours of Poling--A Night's Sleep
in a Hen-coop.
May 9, 1894.
The other day the yacht Sagamore dropped anchor in the bay, her owner
and his guests, all Harvard men, having got thus far on their tour
around the world. I was sitting on the Luneta, Sunday evening, when I
saw those familiar Harvard hat-ribbons coming, and in behalf of our
little American colony welcomed the wearers of them to Manila. In
return for a dinner or two at the club and a visit to the huge
cigar-factories, where three or four thousand operators pound away
all day at the fragrant weed, I spent a noon and afternoon aboard the
yacht, glad to enjoy a change of fare. The Sagamore is a worthy boat
and seems to be loaded up with gimcracks and curios of all classes
and descriptions. A collector would positively be squint-eyed with
pleasure to see the old vases, carved wood-work, plaques, knives,
sabres, pots and kettles that her passengers have picked up all along
the way; and it is indeed the only method by which to scour curios
from the Orient. The boys thought the Luneta was the best place in
its way they had yet seen, and it was as much as I could do to get
them away from listening to the artillery-band and looking at the
crowds of people in carriages. Three men in a boat of the Sagamore's
size make a pretty small passenger-list for a pretty long voyage.
We've kept up our record as tripsters by having gone again up into
the mountains, seen pounds of scenery, breathed fine air, and received
great hospitality from the natives. Monday was a bank-holiday, so late
on Saturday afternoon four of us started in two-horse carromatas for a
mountain village called Montalvan, about twenty miles from Manila. Two
boys had been sent along a day ahead, with provisions and bedding,
to find a native hut and provide for our arrival. We had a delightful
drive out of Manila, passed through numerous native villages, forded
three rivers, saw a fine sunset, and at about eight o'clock, after
a three hours' journey, pulled up at a little native house situated
in a village at the foot of a lofty mountain-range. The occupants
seemed willing and glad to turn out of their little shanty and put
it at our disposal, and we were very comfortable. The house was not
large, but it had a very neat little parlor--curious name for a room
out here--and in the corner, covered with a light bed-quilt, stood
a wax figure of the Virgin Mary, with the usual glass tears running
down her cheeks. The family of about fourteen slept somewhere out
in the rear regions of the building, leaving us to spread out around
the floor of the little sala, like unmounted club sandwiches.
One of the party, more sensitive than the rest, woke about one in the
morning and disturbed us by finding some four-inch spiders stringing
cobwebs from the end of his nose to his ear and down to one finger. He
was for the moment embarrassed enough to shout for joy and throw his
slippers somewhere. But except for this, and a few rats that now and
then tickled our toes, we slept well, and next morning before breakfast
we went down to the shallow river for a swim. After a jolly good bath,
a hearty breakfast, and a few preparations, our party of four, with
the two boys and two guides, started up a steep valley that wound in
among lofty mountains to the so-called Caves of Montalvan.
One of our guides was the principal of a village school, who held
sway over a group of little Indian girls under a big mango-tree,
and he shut up shop to join our expedition.
In about two hours and a half our caravan reached the narrower defile
that pierced two mountains which came down hobnobbing together like
a great gate, grand and picturesque. From a large, quiet pool just
beneath the gates, we climbed almost straight up the mouth of the
stalactite caves that run no one knows how far into the mountains,
starting at a point about two hundred feet above the river. The guides
made flare-torches of bamboos, and we entered the damp darkness,
bounded by white limestone walls from which hung beautiful stalactites
that glistened as the light struck them. In we went for a long way,
now crawling on hands and knees and now stumbling into large vaulted
chambers. Blind bats flew about and water trickled. It was ghostly,
uncanny, but interesting. It seemed as if we were going into the very
heart of the mountain, or were reading "King Solomon's Mines," and this
impression was further carried out when we came to a small subterranean
river that coursed down through a dark outlet and disappeared with
weird gurglings. Unpleasant but perhaps imaginary rumblings suggested
that a sudden earthquake might easily block our exit, and, retracing
our steps, we breathed more freely on coming to the first glimmer of
light. Once more in the air, we descended, took a good swim in the
pool, lunched, and lay around for an hour. After another bath later
on, we donned our sun-hats and trudged homeward over the long, rough
path. A good walk, a good supper, a little dancing and music by the
natives who occupied our house, and we went to sleep upon the floor.
Next morning, after another early bath in the river, our party started
to climb the mountain back of the town for a little experience in the
bush. The work was hard and warm, but at the top came the reward of a
superb view for a hundred miles around. Manila and the great plain,
the bay and mountains beyond, were glorious before us, and behind
the great mountain wilds that reached to the Pacific stretched off
and up in great overlapping slabs of heavy greenness.
The plain was cut up into the regulation checker-board farms of
the richest looking description, and the scene was very much like
an English one. Far away at the edge of the Bay could be seen
the glistening white houses and steeples of Manila. Away to the
northwest and southwest were the great fertile stretches of country
that produce tons and tons of rice and sugar, reaching to the sky
or distant mountains. We had luncheon in a leafy grotto; the guides
found water, and brought it in lengths of bamboo which they cut down;
deer ran past now and then down below us, and a short siesta on a bed
of leaves finished off our morning's work. The return was so steep
that it seemed as if we should go heels over head. However, we hung
on to the long grass, and painted our once white suits with dust in
the effort to reach level ground again. After a long descent, we came
to the big mango-tree where the rural school was in session, and the
little Filipinos were immediately given a recess. They rushed about,
got benches and water for us, and the old schoolmaster, who had left
his wife to do the teaching while he went with us, set two or three
of the shavers at work mopping off his ebony skin. Our visit at the
school was in the order of an ovation. The children opened their almond
eyes almost to the extent of turning them into circles, and when the
camera was pointed at them for the first time in their young lives,
their mouths so far followed suit that recitations had to be suspended.
After thoroughly disorganizing discipline in the establishment,
we accompanied the half naked president of the seminary--who had
been our guide--to the river, and there washed off such of the day's
impressions as went easily into solution.
And finally, after returning to our hut for tea, we packed up our
baskets, whistled for the carromatas and jolted back to Manila through
a flood of dust and sunset.
Although the hot season is trying to do its best to scorch us, it has
but dismally succeeded, and we have had scarcely any severe weather
at all. The thunder-showers, harbingers of the southwest monsoon and
the wet season, began two weeks ago, and it rains now nearly every
afternoon. The nights are all delightfully cool, and a coverlet is
always comfortable. The sun is going well to the north to make hot
June and July days for people in the States, and our season of light
is growing shorter. When he gets back overhead again, heavy clouds
will protect us from his attentions.
Owing to the outbreak of black plague or something else among the
Chinese in Hong Kong, the quarantine regulations here in Manila
will cause the steamer by which I was going to send the mail to miss
connections. It was at first reported there were three thousand deaths
in Hong Kong in six days, but I believe they have now taken off one
or two ciphers from that amount. At all events Manila seems to be
below the zone of this peculiar epidemic and is much better off at
this time of the year than Hong Kong, which swelters away in that
great unventilated scoop in the mountains.
The men of the big artillery-band that plays at the Luneta twice a
week have all been vaccinated lately, and are too broken up to blow
their trumpets. The people are objecting, because the infantry band
doesn't make nearly as good music, and only plays twice a week at
most. The third regimental band is still fighting the savage Moros
with trombones down at the south, although it is rumored they will soon
return, and so at present about all the music and fireworks we have are
derived from the thunder-storms that play around the sheet-iron roofs
as if they meant business. But in spite of the terrific cannonade of
sound and the blinding flashes of lightning nothing seems to get hit,
and the iron roofs may act as dispersers of the electric fluid even
though attracting it.
June 6th.
Several days ago, a number of us went up the railroad line to see
a "fiesta" at a little village called Obando. It was a religious
observance lasting three days, and pilgrims from many villages thought
it their duty to go there on foot. A great dingy old church with
buttressed walls yards thick, a large plaza shaded by big trees,
and beyond, on all sides, the native houses. Such a crowd I have
rarely seen. Everybody seemed to think it his duty to dance; and
men, women, old men and children, mothers with babies and papas
with kids, shouted, jumped around, danced, joggled each other,
and rumpussed about until they were blue in the face, dripping with
heat, and covered with dust. Then they would stop and another crowd
take up the play. As the circus proceeded the crowds increased;
the old church was packed with worshippers who brought candles, and,
receiving a blessing, spent an hour or so on the stone pavements in
positions of contrite humility. Around the walls of the church were
placed realistic paintings of the chromo order, representing hell
and the river Styx, and as the natives looked at portraits of devils
driving nails into the heads of the tormented, of sulphurous flames
that licked the cheeks of the wicked in this world, or serpents that
twined themselves into square knots around the chests of a dozen
unfortunates, and of countless horned demons who plucked out the
heartstrings of the condemned, they counted their beads with renewed
vigor and mumbled long prayers.
Countless little booths stood like mushrooms round about outside,
and cheap jewellery, made in Germany, found ready sale. The dancing
and shouting increased as the sun sank in the west, until the ground
fairly shook and the dust arose in vast clouds. Around the edge of
the church, under the porticoes, slept sections of the multitude
who were preparing themselves to take part in the proceedings when
others were tired out. It was a motley crowd, a motley scene, and an
unforgettable collection of perfumes.
We left after a few hours' stay, and got back to Manila to find water
a foot deep in some of the streets, as a result of one of the tropical
thunder-storms which have now begun in real earnest. And speaking of
rain, everything is looking fresh and green, now that the dusty days
of the hot season are a thing of the past. All the bamboo-trees have
leafed out anew, flowering shrubs have taken life, and all nature
seems to have had a bath.
One of the most showy trees in Manila is the arbol de fuego (fire-tree)
and this product of nature resembles a large oak in general and
a full-blown Japanese cherry blossom in particular. Many of the
streets in the city are bordered with groups of these fire-trees,
of large and stately dimensions, and at present they are simply
one mass of huge flaming red blossoms growing thickly together and
showing a wonderful fire-like carnation color. Scarcely any leaves
make their appearance on these trees during the season of blossom,
and although now and then bits of green look out from the mass of red,
yet the general effect is a vast blaze of burning color.
We have left our country house on the hills of Santa Mesa, and have
moved down to a little villa on the seacoast. The third man of our
party, like many of his brother Englishmen who are burdened with
small salaries but large debit balances, has at last decided to save
money and room at his office. The house had too many regular boarders
in the form of rats and snakes, was too large and too far off for
the two of us left, and we decided to make a move to the seashore
district. Our army of servants successfully solved the transportation
problems involved, and we are now settled in new quarters. Although we
miss the view of the mountains, and even the paddy-fields, we now get
the salt air first hand, look out over the waters of the Bay, and are
lulled to sleep by the rhythmic beating of the waves on the beach. Our
view seaward leads the eye across a beautiful garden belonging to one
of the rich house-owners living directly on the shore front, and the
green of the trees, with the scent of somebody else's flowers, temper
both the excess of glare and the brackish qualities of the sea-breeze.
In Malate, where we now are, things are much civilized. We find we
miss the snakes in the roof, but we have running water in the house
and a shower-bath in the bath-room; two rooms on the first floor; a
parlor, two bed-rooms, dining-room, large hallway, kitchen, bath and
"boys'" rooms on the second floor; a small garden at the front and a
stable at the back, and all included in a rent of $15 a month. The
stable accommodates two ponies, and it is a jolly drive downtown
in the morning or home in the evening. The road leads all the way
along by the sea, Luneta, and Malecon Promenade, that runs under the
yawning mouths of the old muzzle-loaders in front of the grim walls
of the old city, between them and the beach. The salt-water bath in
the early morning is often very pleasant, though the temperature of
the liquid is somewhat too high to be exhilarating. Now and then some
of the Britons living in the neighborhood will issue a summons for
a sunrise swimming-party, and one of them will perhaps punctuate the
ceremonies by supplying a typical breakfast of fresh fish and boiled
rice, on the veranda of a house that perhaps overlooks the Bay. These
seaside houses are particularly cool and fresh now that the winds of
the southwest monsoon come blowing into the front windows directly
off the water, but later on, when typhoons become epidemic, it looks
as if we should have the wind in more than wholesale doses.
June 12th.
Although the San Francisco steamer does not sail for Hong Kong until
the 21st, it is necessary, on account of this quarantine business,
to post our letters in the Manila office to-day.
Two of our latest vessels have come in together and begun to take
in their cargoes of hemp for Boston. The captains are ruddy-faced
veterans who seem to have taken part in the Civil War. One of them,
who wears false teeth when he is ashore, and hails from New Hampshire,
is particularly fond of cooling off under our big punka. The other
may be of French descent, though he comes from Ireland, and looks
something like one of our distinguished Boston statesmen. They both
climb up the stairs to our counting-room daily, call our big clock a
"time destroyer" and so vie with each other in their efforts to handle
the truth carelessly that it is often a question who comes off victor
in these verbal contests. However, the skipper with the false ivories
generally fails to get the last word, for he often loses his suction
power by fast talking, and has to leave off to prevent his teeth
from slipping down his oesophagus. Once again the air in the office
assumes a nautical aroma, and we shall be well employed and well
talked to death. A whole parcel of American ships are now about due,
and the Bay will liven up again with the Stars and Stripes as it did
some two months ago.
It rains every afternoon now, at about a quarter past three, and just
after tiffin is over we begin to look for the thunder-clouds that
predict the coming shower. The other day a huge waterspout formed out
in the Bay, swirled along, gyrated about, scooted squarely through the
shipping, and broke on the beach between our house and the Luneta. The
cloud effects were extremely curious, and the whole display was a
number not generally down on the day's programme.
The company who are putting in the new electric lights seem to be
doing good work, and it is expected that everything will be running
by the end of the year. So far, Manila has been favored only with the
dull light given by petroleum, previously brought out from New York,
or over from China, and, curiously enough, the empty tins in which the
oil has come seem to be almost as valuable as their contents. They are
used here for about everything under the sun, the natives cover their
roofs with tin from these sources, and some of those more musically
inclined even make a petroleum can up into a trombone or cornet.
Our house by the sea continues to prove very pleasant, and, peculiarly
enough, the surf seems to beat on the beach with the same sound that it
has on the New England coast. The southwest breeze blows strong from
the Bay each afternoon, and the cumulus clouds are becoming heavier
and more numerous day by day. The artillery-band still favors us with
music at the Luneta, but before long it looks as if the rains would
interrupt the afternoon promenade.
The black plague at Hong Kong does not seem to diminish, as was
expected, and it is said that many people are leaving the city. All
steamers coming from that port to this suffer a fortnight's quarantine
down the Bay, and, if the difficulty continues much longer, Manila
markets will be destitute of two of their chief staples--mutton and
potatoes--both of which have to come across from China, or down from
Japan. And speaking of sheep, Captain Tayler, of the Esmeralda,
has had another of his usual interesting experiences with the
custom-house. Just as his vessel, fresh from quarantine and Hong Kong,
had been visited by the doctor, on her way to her berth some distance
up the river, one of the sheep died. Rule number something-or-other
in the Code of the Sanidad says that anything or anybody dying during
the day must be buried before sundown, under penalty, for neglect,
of $50. Rule number something-else in the Customs Code, however,
says that the captain of any vessel turning out cargo short or in
excess of the amount called for by the manifest shall be fined $100
for each piece too many or too little. If my good friend, the Captain,
buried the sheep, he would be fined $100 at the custom-house for short
out-turn. If he didn't bury it, the Board of Health would come down on
him for $50, for neglecting regulations. The Captain, being a wise man,
decided that it was more politic to be in the right with the doctor
than with the officials at the custom-house, and at some considerable
expense sent the sheep on shore and had it buried with due honors. He
could not have thrown it into the river, for this would have been
to incur an additional fine. Next morning, he presented the ship's
manifest and a sheep's tail at the custom-house and the discharge of
the live stock was begun. But, tail or no tail, the officials found
the ship one sheep short and the Esmeralda was fined $100. Not quite
so barefaced as the swindling of the poor skipper who came over from
China with a load of paving-stones for Manila's Street Department. His
vessel turned out seven paving-stones too many, and the fine was $700.
In the language of Daniel Webster, I "refrain from saying" that a few
dollars or a good dinner, bestowed upon the right person, in Manila,
often go a long way toward throwing some official off the scent in
his hungry search for irregularity, but am willing to admit that, in
dealing with customs men who frequently "examine" cases of champagne
by drinking up the contents of a bottle from each one in order to
see that the liquid is not chloroform or cologne, one must keep his
purse full, his talk cool, and his temper on ice.
June 25, 1894.
Last Monday was the monthly bank-holiday again, and three of us had
previously decided to take a journey southward for the purpose of
seeing one of Luzon's active volcanoes and getting a little change
of air and "chow."
So, late on Saturday afternoon, we went aboard a dirty little steamer,
which was to take us ninety miles down the coast. She wasn't as big
as a good-sized tug and was laden with multicolored natives, who were
on their way back to the provinces after a brief shopping expedition
to the capital. We were soon sailing out past the fleet of larger
vessels in the Bay, with our dull prow pointed to the mouth of the
great inclosed body of water. At nightfall we reached the Corregidor
light-house, at the Bay's entrance, and thence our course lay to
the south. At half-past two that night our craft reached a place
called Taal. During our trip down we had become acquainted with a
very pleasant Indian sugar-planter, who is as well off in dollars
as rich in hospitality. At Taal he took us to one of the three big
houses he owns, and, although only three o'clock in the morning,
gave us a delicious breakfast. We talked and chatted away comfortably,
and as the first streaks of dawn appeared I played several appropriate
selections on one of the two very good-toned pianos belonging to his
establishment. This brought out his family, and before we set out
for the river from which our start to the volcano was to be made,
quite a social gathering was in progress.
The natives all through the islands seemed indeed most courteous
and hospitable to foreigners, and although a Spaniard hesitates to
show his face outside of any of the garrison towns, yet any of the
other European bipeds is known in a minute and well treated. Our
good friend at Taal went so far as to harness up a pair of ponies
and drive us down to the river at four o'clock in the morning, and
we found a large banca, previously ordered, waiting to take us up to
the Lake of Taal and across to the volcano.
Our banca was of good size, was rowed by seven men and steered by one,
and had a little thatched hen-coop arrangement over the stern, to keep
the sun off our heads. We had brought one "boy" with us from Manila,
with enough "chow" to last for two days, and soon all was stowed
away in our floating tree-trunk. The river was shallow, and for most
of the six miles of its length poles were the motive-power. It was
slow work, and both wind and current were hostile. In due course,
however, the lake came into view, and in its centre rose the volcano,
smoking away like a true Filipino. The wind was now blowing strong
and unfavorable, and we saw that it was not going to be an easy row
across the six or seven miles of open water to the centre island. But
the men worked with a will, and although the choppy waves slopped over
into our roost once or twice so jocosely that it almost seemed as if
we should have to turn back, we kept on. Benefitting by a lull or two,
our progress was gradual, and at half after twelve, seven hours from
Taal, we landed on the volcanic island and prepared for an ascent.
The lake of Taal is from fifteen to twenty miles across, is surrounded
by high hills and mountains, for the most part, and has for its
centre the volcanic island upon whose edges rise the sloping sides
of an active cone a thousand feet high. The lake is certainly good
to look at, reminding one forcibly of Loch Lomond, and the waters,
shores, and mountains around all seem to bend their admiring gaze on
the little volcano in its centre.
Filling our water-jug, we set off up the barren lava-slopes of this
nature's safety-valve, sweltering under the stiff climb in the hot
sun. Happily, the view bettered each moment, the smell of the sulphur
became stronger, and we forgot present discomfort in anticipations of
the revelation to come. After banging our shins on the particularly
rough lava-beds of the ascent, near the top, we saw a great steaming
crater yawning below us and sending up clouds of sulphurous steam. In
the centre of this vast, dreary Circus Maximus rose a flat cone
of red-hot squashy material, and out of it ascended the steam and
smoke. All colors of the rainbow played with each other in the sun,
and farther to the right was a boiling lake of fiery material that
was variegated enough to suit an Italian organ-grinder.
It was all very weird, and if we had not been so lazy we should
probably have descended farther into this laboratory of fire than
we did. But it was too hot to make matches of ourselves and the air
smelt like the river Styx at low tide. So we were contented with a
good view of the wonders of the volcano from a distance, enjoyed the
panorama from the narrow encircling apex-ridge, and cooled off in the
smart breeze. Once more at the lake, and it was not long before we were
in it, tickling our feet on the rough cinders of the bottom. The bath
was most rejuvenating after a hot midday climb, and just to sit in the
warmish water up to one's neck gave one a sort of mellow feeling like
that presumably possessed by a ripe apple ready to fall on the grass.
The wind was now fresher than ever and more unfavorable to our
course. The captain of the tree-trunk, in a tone quite as authoritative
as that manipulated by the commander of an ocean liner, said we could
not proceed for some time, so the boy arranged the provisions and
we had a meal in our little hen-coop. After a provoking wait until
four o'clock the old banca was pushed off again and the struggle
renewed. The seven men, who had now been poling and rowing since early
morning, seemed pretty well beat, but there was no shelter on the
volcanic islands and we had to push on. The other shore looked far
away and we slopped forward sluggishly. The sun set, the moon rose,
and still we were buffeting with the choppy waves. It reminded me a
good deal of the sea of Galilee; and it did seem as if the dickens
himself was blowing at us and trying to keep us from ever getting to
that farther shore.
At last we reached the lee of a lofty perpendicular island part way
across the lake, and, although its upright sides offered no chance
to land, yet they kept off that southeast wind. The men shut their
teeth hard, and in due course moved our bark around the point and
out into more moonlight and breeze. The lights and shadows on the
great lump of rock standing a thousand feet out of the water behind
us were worth looking at, and in many places huge basaltic columns
seemed to be holding up the mass above. Not to put as much labor into
these lines as our men put into the oars, at half after ten we came
to land, seven hours from the shore of the volcano, a distance which
in fair wind ought to be covered in a little over one.
On shore there seemed to be about four huts, two pig-sties, and nothing
more. Stared at by a crowd of natives whom our arrival suddenly
incubated from somewhere, and who swarmed down to see who we were,
we talked with our boatman, but only succeeded in finding out that
we had come to a place not down on the map or on the highroad to the
next village whither we were bound. It was simply a collection of
huts, children, and pigs, situated at the lake's edge and connected
with the outer world by a foot-path that led up over the hills eight
miles to the nearest pueblo. To walk those eight miles at eleven
o'clock was out of the question, and to sleep in one of those little
dirty huts ashore was just as bad. The crowd of natives had grown,
and so, to avoid being overrun with the eminently curious, we pushed
off from shore and anchored out in the lake, to eat a little "chow"
and decide what to do. Weariness tempered our decision, which was to
sleep where we were, in the banca, under the hen-coop, and, having
made it known to our trusty but hard-looking crew, they fell down
like shots and, in less than a minute, were asleep in all sorts of
jackstraw positions. One slept on the oars, another on the poles,
a third on our collection of volcanic rocks, a fourth in the bottom
of the boat, a fifth sitting up, and a sixth--I don't know where.
We three lay down side by side in the little cooped-over roost,
and found there was just room to reside like sardines in a box. Our
feet were out under the stars at one side, our heads at the other, and
there we were, and there we slept, in an unknown wilderness. Though no
one could change his position we all rested fairly well, and nothing
happened to mar the beauty of the night. As the sun reddened the east,
feeling more like awakened chickens than anything else, we packed up,
paid out some of the heavy dollars, that made each of us feel like
sinkers on a fish-line, and loaded what little luggage we had upon a
bony pony ashore. Adieus were said to the lake and to our crew, and our
little caravan started up a broad foot-path for the village of Tanauan,
about eight miles away. It was a long walk, on no refreshment save a
night's sleep in a hen-coop, but after passing over hills and dales,
by nipa huts of all sizes and descriptions, and after being stared
at by curious natives, we arrived at our destination, a good-sized
village, in two and a half hours. We responded to an invitation
of the captain of the pueblo, to take possession of his house, and
got up a very decent breakfast out of our fast depleting stock. The
old captain treated us most cordially, and after a three-hours' stay
helped us to load ourselves and our chattels aboard two stout-wheeled
carromatas each hitched to two ponies.
Off again, once more, our course was shaped overland toward the
other great lake up back of Manila, by which the return was to
be made. The road was fearful, the ruts two feet deep in places,
and the bad sections far more numerous than the good pieces. We got
stuck in the mud, had to pry our conveyances and the ponies out, and
I fear did not enjoy the beauties of the rather tame scenery on the
way. At last the crest of a hill brought the Laguna de Bay in sight,
and in less than an hour we reached the village of Calamba, on its
shores. A shabby little native house was put at our disposal after
we boldly walked up and took possession of it; a swarm of children
were shoved out of the one decent room, and in a short time our boy
was giving us canned turtle-soup and herrings. In the afternoon we
merely lounged about the town and took a swim in the lake, while in
the evening, early after the very good little dinner gotten up by
our servant there was nothing to do but to turn in, even though the
house was surrounded by the curious, who had looked in at the windows
to watch people dining with knives, forks, plates, and napkins.
The floor of our room was of bamboo slats, just below whose many
openings were four fighting-cocks and when bed-time came we were tired
enough to tumble down on the canes just as we stood. The cock who sang
out of tune woke us at about sunrise Tuesday morning, and after one
more swim in the lake we packed up our traps and prepared ourselves
to take the little Manila steamer that left at eight o'clock on its
thirty-mile return trip. The sail down the lake and into the Pasig
River was cool, delightful, and without incident, and at noon Tuesday
we pulled up at the wharf at Manila, having completed an almost perfect
circle of travel one hundred and fifty miles in circumference, to be
heartily congratulated on having successfully made a trip which few
perform but many covet. My own cane sleeping machine seemed good again
after hen-coops and bamboo floors, and smooth roads and civilization
far better than ruts and rickety carromatas.