Padre Juan Villaverde.--His great trail.--The beginning of
the mountain journey.--Nozo.
The point to which we had come, San Francisco, marks the beginning of
the Juan Villaverde trail from the Central Valley of Luzon through
the mountains before us, to the province of Nueva Vizcaya. All day
the chain we were to pierce had been in sight, and I for one had been
wondering where we were to find a practicable entrance, so forbiddingly
vertical did the range appear to be.
Now the Spaniards in the Philippines at best were but poor road-
or trail-makers. Indeed, in the matter of trails they were simply
stupid, in some cases actually going straight up a hill and down
the other side, when the way around was no longer, and of course far
easier to maintain. But Padre Juan Villaverde of the Dominicans was
a great and honorable exception. Quite apart from this aspect, we
hear so much that is evil of the friars that it is a pleasure, when
possible, to point out the good they did, a thing more frequently
possible than people imagine it is. For Father Villaverde gave his
life to missionary work among the hill-people, seeking in every way to
better their condition materially as well as morally. Born in 1841,
as early as 1868 we find him on duty at Bayombong, in Nueva Vizcaya,
the province we were about to enter. From the first he seems to have
been impressed by the possibilities of the country in which he was
laboring; and, foreseeing that good communications would ultimately
settle most of the questions relating to the highlanders, he built
trails, trails that are still in use, whereas nearly all the others
(but few in number) established by the Spaniards have been abandoned by
us, where Nature has not indeed saved us the trouble by washing them
out of existence. For thirty years Villaverde worked unceasingly,
building roads and bridges and churches, and striving to civilize
the people among whom he lived; but his chief work, that by which
his memory is kept green to this day, is the great trail from the
otherwise almost inaccessible province of Nueva Vizcaya, across the
Caraballos to the Central Valley of Luzon, where access to the outer
world by rail becomes possible. This trail is officially designated
by his name, and is maintained by Government. This was the one we
were about to enter upon. [10] Accordingly we thanked our kind hosts
of San Francisco; and at last set out on our real trip. But, curious
and eager as I felt to engage upon it, I could not help regretting that
this part of our journey was over, that we had to turn our backs on the
smiling plains of Pangasinán, its hospitable and courteous people. The
day had been so cool and fresh, and our progress so easy; flat as
was the country, it had its charm, the charm of cultivated plains,
relieved by lanes of feathered bamboos, by clumps of nodding palms,
by limpid streams. But we were off, nevertheless, the Governor-General
on a cow-pony, nearly all the rest on Arabs and thoroughbreds, Van
Schaick and I riding mountain ponies. We had fifteen miles to go to
reach our first resting-place.
Crossing a stream, we began to climb at once, and as we rose the
plain of Central Luzon began to unroll itself below us, with our road
of the morning stretching out in a straight white line through the
green rice-fields. Far to the west we now and then caught glimpses of
Lingayen Gulf, with the Zambales Mountains in full view running south
and bordering the plain, while still farther to the south Mount Arayat
[11] rose abruptly from its surrounding levels. Now Arayat is plainly
visible from Manila. Here and there solitary rocky hills, looking for
all the world like ant-heaps, but in reality hundreds of feet high,
broke the uniformity of the plains. Flooded as the whole landscape
was with brilliant sunshine, the view was exquisite in respect both of
form and of color. But as we moved on, turning and twisting and ever
rising, we were soon confined to just the few yards the sinuosities
of the trail would allow us to see at one time. For a part of the way
the country was rocky, hills bare and fire-swept; not a tree or shrub
suggested that we were in the tropics. Soon pines began to appear,
and then thickened, till the trail led through a pine forest, pure and
simple, the ground covered with green grass, and the whole fresh and
moist from recent rains. It was up and down and around and around. Not
a sign of animal life did we see, not a trace of human beings.
I was disgusted, and still more disconcerted, this afternoon, to find
my pony going badly. He was perfectly willing to walk, but at a most
dignified rate, selected by himself. He apparently had no objection to
catching up the party every now and then, but only to relapse into his
funeral walk, after contact had been re-established. But then Cootes
took the lead that afternoon, and as his thoroughbred had had two days'
rest, and breasted all the rises with apparent joyousness, nobody was
able to keep up, until Mr. Worcester took the head with his black,
a powerful but reasonable animal. However, everybody gets into camp
sooner or later, and so did we all at a resting-point called Nozo,
where we all turned in after supper, for reveille was to be at three
o'clock. This had been a great day of contrasts in a descending scale,
from motors, electric lights, and telephones in the morning to our
solitary camp in the mountains at night, surrounded by watch-fires
and guarded by Constabulary sentinels. This, by the way, was the only
time we were so guarded.