Tobacco industry.--Tuguegarao.--Caves.--The Cagayán
River.--Barangayans.--Aparri.--Island of Fuga.--Sail for
Manila.--Stop at Vigan.--Arrival at Manila.
The great valley in which we now found ourselves really deserves more
notice than perhaps it is suitable to give it here. As everyone knows,
it furnishes the best tobacco of the Islands, tobacco that under proper
care would prove a dangerous rival to that of Cuba, though it can
never quite equal the product of the Vuelta Abajo. The cattle industry
should prosper here--in fact, did a few years ago; the broad savannas,
some of which we had crossed, furnishing excellent pasturage. It was
proved long ago that this region was naturally adapted to the culture
of silk and to the raising of indigo and sugar-cane. While tobacco
was a Government monopoly, [42] the valley was wealthy, traces of
wealth being still found in the hands of the people under the form
of jewels, some of them costly and beautiful.
The passage of the Payne bill has already brightened the prospects of
the people, and especially of the small growers, for prices paid on
the spot have already gone up very considerably. The valley is sure
to flourish before many years shall have passed, and nothing else
would so much hasten this end as the completion of the railway from
Manila. But when we passed through, a sort of general apathy seemed
to fill the air: the people were listless, and so much of the tobacco
crop as we could see looked neglected. A partial explanation is to be
found in the belief, wide-spread in these parts at this time, that the
comet had come to mark the end of all things, and that any work done
would be wasted. This belief, however, did not check the native and
courteous hospitality of the people; all of us were taken in for the
night, Evans and I going to Señor Cipriano Pagulayan's, where we found
an excellent dinner awaiting us--in particular, coffee of superlative
excellence. Don Cipriano was very modest about it, explaining that the
coffee had been roasted only after our arrival and ground just before
it was set on; but none the less it was admirable. Now, this coffee,
of course, was grown in the valley, and there is no reason why its
cultivation should not be taken up on a large scale for export.
Enrile held us only for the night. The next morning we all mounted,
alas! for the last time, and, escorted by a great number of local
magnates, took the road for the river. Here we left our mounts to
Doyle, who was to return with them to Baguío. It was with great regret
that I parted from Bubud: he had carried me faithfully and well, and
I shall not soon forget his saucy head, looking after us as we got
down the bank to go on board the motor-launch of the Tabacalera. [43]
In a few minutes we had crossed and landed at Tuguegarao, the
capital of the province, and still retaining traces of its wealth
and importance in the great days of the tobacco monopoly. It has an
imposing church built of brick, a hospital, and a Dominican college,
all of substantial construction; its streets are broad and well laid
out, but of the town itself not much can be said, as a fire swept off
most of it a few years ago. Still Filipino towns rise easily from the
ashes, and there is no reason why prosperity should not again smile
upon this ancient borough.
We tarried two or three days in Tuguegarao, waiting for river
transportation and meanwhile greatly enjoying the hospitality
so generously shown us. Major Knauber, of the Constabulary, and
Mr. Justice Campbell, of the Court of First Instance, invited me to
stay with them in a fine old Spanish house they had together. Every
evening Herr ----, of the ---- Company, had us to dinner in his
beautiful bungalow. At a grand _baile_ given us the day after our
arrival, Heiser asked me if I had not dined that day and the day before
at Herr ----'s; on my saying yes, he laughed and remarked that he had
just taken up his cook as a leper to be sent to the leper hospital
on the Island of Culion. But in the East nobody bothers about a thing
like that.
Tuguegarao is a point of departure for some interesting trips,
notably one to some limestone caves, larger than the Mammoth Cave
of Kentucky. In one of these caves, receiving light, air, and
moisture from fissures in the natural surface of the ground, palms
(cocoa and other), bamboos, and other plants and trees are growing
in natural miniature. I was told that this cave was fascinating and
that I ought to go and see it. But time was pressing; although the
commanding General had set no limit on my absence, I felt I ought now
to return. Accordingly, on the morning of the 18th, our transportation
being ready, Mr. Justice Campbell and I went aboard a motor-launch
and set out for Aparri, at the mouth of the river.
All river trips here in the East have an interest; this one proved no
exception to the general rule, though it presented nothing especially
worthy of record. But the Río Grande is the great road of the Valley,
to such an extent, indeed, that there are no land roads to speak of. We
passed between low, muddy banks, frequently of uncertain disposition,
as though wondering how much longer they could possibly resist the wash
of the current. The stream itself is shallow, uncharted, unbeaconed;
its navigation requires constant attention, which it certainly got this
day from our quartermaster, who remained on duty for ten consecutive
hours. We had the ill-luck not to see a single crocodile, although the
river is said to be full of them, all of ferocious temper. On the other
hand, we did see the oddest possible ferry: a bundle or raft of bamboo,
with chairs on top, towed across stream by a carabao regularly hitched
up to it and getting over himself by swimming. This he does on an
even keel, his backbone being entirely out of the water when under way.
There is nothing picturesque about the lower reaches of the Río Grande,
though its upper course, through hilly country, is different in
this respect. The remains of one or two old towns, cut in two by the
shift of the river-bed, excited our curiosity. So did, from to time,
the _barangayans_, or native river-boats, huge, clumsy, ill-built,
and generally with but four or five inches of free-board amidships
on full load. These craft look as though they ought to sink by mere
capillary attraction. However, people are born, live, and die aboard
of them, so they must be safe enough. In the afternoon the river
widened and its right bank, anyway, grew bolder and occasionally
more permanent-looking, and finally, about an hour before sunset, we
perceived the low white godowns of Aparri. We landed not at a wharf,
but at the outer edge of the huddle of craft crowding the water front,
and put up at the Fonda de Aparri, having done eighty-odd miles in
a little over ten hours.
All the tobacco of the Valley reaches the world through Aparri;
it is consequently a port of considerable importance. But it has no
safe anchorage and is frightfully exposed to typhoons, all of which,
if they do not pass over the place directly, somehow or other appear
to step aside to give this region a blow. There is a never-ending
conflict in the adjacent waters between the currents of the China Sea
and those of the Pacific, making navigation hazardous, and for small
boats perilous. On the day of our arrival, calm and fair as it was,
a tremendous surf was beating on the bar, the spray and foam mounting
in a regular wall many feet high, and driven up, not by the gradual
attack of an advancing wave, but by the tireless energy of angry
waters ceaselessly beating upon the same spot.
Of Aparri itself little can be said here: but, small as it is, it
has nevertheless the bustle of all seaports in activity. Many of its
streets are paved with cobble-stones, and some of its buildings are,
if not handsome, at least substantial. But it is cursed with flies:
in our inn, otherwise comfortable enough, the kitchen and the temple of
Venus Cloacina were side by side. The flies were all the more annoying
that we had seen none in the mountains, nor indeed do I recollect ever
having seen them in any number elsewhere in the Archipelago than at
Aparri and in the never-to-be-forgotten plain of Tabuk. However, we
survived the flies, and late in the afternoon of the third day went
on board a Spanish steamer bound for Manila. We used our cabin to
stow our kit, but lived and slept on the deck of the poop, the main
deck between which and the forecastle was crowded with natives. Poor
things! Each family appeared to have an area assigned to it, on which
were piled indiscriminately all its earthly possessions in the shape
of clothes, bags, pots and pans generally; the heap once formed,
its owners sat and slept on it, with the inevitable family rooster
at its highest point lording it over all. In fact, every spot on the
main deck not otherwise occupied was simply filled with roosters,
all challenging one another night and day by indefatigable crowing. As
illustrating the difficulties of navigation in these parts, our steamer
was two hours getting out of the river and across the bar, a matter
of not more than a mile. Once out, she began to roll and pitch in an
incomprehensible manner, seeing there was no wind and no sea. It was
simply the never-ending contest between the Pacific Ocean and the
China Sea. Once fairly in the latter, she behaved steadily enough.
Our journey was without incident; it did not, much to
my disappointment, include the side trip sometimes made to the
Babuyanes Islands for cattle. One of these islands, Fuga, is
especially interesting; urn-burial prevailed in it in the past, the
urns in some cases being arranged in a circle around a central urn
or altar. Moreover, there is in Fuga a stone building known as the
"Castle," with arched doorways, said not to be of Spanish origin,
and near by is a plain strewn with human skulls and other bones,
probably the scene of a battle. The skulls are remarkable from their
great size, some of them being reported as extraordinary in this
respect. The present inhabitants of these islands and of the Batanes
live in stone houses, much like those of North Ireland and the islands
west of Scotland. [44] And so we had hoped, Campbell and I, that
we might get at least a look at Fuga. For, although it lies near to
Aparri, it is hard to reach; small boats, even on calm, smooth days,
being occasionally caught in the wicked currents of these waters and
swamped out of hand. The next morning we made Kurrimao, which has a
shore-line strikingly picturesque in a land almost surfeited with the
picturesque. We stayed long enough to take on a number of carabaos,
which were swum out to the ship, and then hauled out of the water by
a sling passed around their horns.
Our next stop was at Vigan, a well-built town, many of whose houses
are of stone. We reached the town in a motor-car, passing through well
cultivated fields of maguey. The mountains, rising abruptly from the
coastal plain, are here cut by the famous Abra de Vigan, a conspicuous
gap serving as a land-mark to the mariner for miles. And it is the
custom to take a ride of many hours up the pass, and then come down
the rapids in two, on bamboo rafts built for the purpose. This is
a most exciting trip; alas! we had to be contented with an account
of it! But Vigan itself was worth the trouble of going ashore; its
churches and monasteries are extensive, dignified of appearance,
and far less dilapidated than is unfortunately so frequently the
case elsewhere in the Islands. Not the least interesting item of our
very short stay was a visit to a new house, built and owned by an
Ilokano, and equipped with the most recent American plumbing. The
house itself happily was after the old Spanish plan, the only one
really suited to this climate and latitude. But then the Ilokanos are
the most businesslike and thrifty of all the civilized inhabitants:
their migration to other parts, a movement encouraged of long date
by the Spanish authorities, is one of the most hopeful present-day
signs of the Archipelago, I was sorry to take my leave of Vigan;
the place and its environs seemed full of interest. One more stop we
made at San Fernando de Unión the following day, a clean-built town,
but otherwise of no special characteristics. Here we met an officer
of Constabulary that had been recently stationed at Lubuagan, who
told us of coming suddenly one day upon a fight between two bodies
of Kalingas, numbering twenty or twenty-five men each, and this in
Lubuagan itself. According to our ideas, it was no fight at all,
the champions of each side engaging in single combat, while the rest
looked on and shouted, waiting their turn. One man had already been
killed, his headless trunk lying on the ground. On the approach of the
officer they all ran. Here, too, we heard from another Constabulary
officer, that the _insurrectos_ in 1898-1899 forced the Igorots to
carry bells and other loot taken from the _conventos_ and churches,
and would shoot the _cargadores_ if they stumbled or fell, or could
go no farther under the weights they were carrying.
Twenty-four hours later we steamed up Manila Bay. The trip was over.