All About the Town.
The wide streets radiating from the Bridge of Spain are lined with
lemonade stands, where the cube of ice is sheltered from the sun by
striped awnings. Leaving the walled town on the river side--the gate
has been destroyed by earthquakes--you can take the ferry over to
the Tondo side. The ferryboat is a round-bottomed, wobbly sampan,
with a tiny cabin in the stern. You crouch down, waiting for the
boat to roll completely over, which at first it seems inclined to do,
or try to plan some method of escape in case the pilot gets in front
of one of the swift-moving tugs. You have good reason to congratulate
yourself on being landed at a stone-quay in a tangle of small launches,
ferryboats, and _cascoes_. The Tondo Canal may be crossed on a covered
barge, poled by an ancient boatman, who collects the fares--a copper
cent of Borneo, Straits Settlements, or Hong Kong coinage--much in
the same way as the pilot of the Styx collects the obolus.
Under the long porch of the customs-house, a dummy engine noisily
plies up and down among the long-horned carabaos and piles
of merchandise. Types of all nations are encountered here. The
immigration office swarms with Chinamen herded together, rounded
up by some contractor. Every Chinaman must have his photograph, his
number, and description in the immigration officer's possession. Indian
merchants, agents of the German, Spanish, and English business firms
are looking after new invoices. A party of American tourists, just
arrived from China, are awaiting the inspection of their baggage.
The Bridge of Spain, that famous artery of commerce, over which a
stream of carabao-carts, crowded tram-cars, pleasure vehicles, and
army wagons flows continuously, spans the Pasig River at the head of
the Escolta in Binondo. Here the bazaars and European business houses
are located, while the avenues that branch off lead to other populous
and swarming districts. _La Extrameña_, a grocery and wine-store;
_La Estrella del Norte_--"The North Star"--diamond and jewelry-store;
the _Sombreria_, hatstore, advertised by a huge wooden hat hung out
above the street; and a tobacco booth, are situated on the corners
where the bridge and the Escolta meet. The Metropolitan policeman--one
of the tall _Americanos_ uniformed in khaki riding-breeches and stiff
leggings--who, in former days, controlled the traffic of the street,
is now supplanted by a Filipino comic-opera policeman. Very few of
the old "Mets" are left. It was a body of picked men, the finest
soldiers in the volunteer troops, and the most efficient police
force in the world. This officer on the Escolta used to be a genius
in his line. When balky Filipino ponies blocked the traffic in the
crowded thoroughfare, it was this officer that straightened out the
tangle. If the tram-car happened to run off the track, it was the
"Met" who showed the driver how to put it on again.
The river above the bridge is lined with latticed balconies; but from
the veranda of the Paris Restaurant, when that establishment was in
its glory, one could sit for hours and watch the bustling river life
below. The thatched tops of the huddled _cascos_ formed a compact roof
that extended half across the stream. Upon these nondescript craft
hundreds of Filipinos dwelt, doing their washing and their cooking
on the decks. The scanty clothes are hanging out to dry on lines,
while naked brats are splashing in the dirty water, clinging to the
tightened hawser.
Launches go scudding under the low bridge, rending the air with
vicious toots. Unwieldly _cascos_ are poled down the river, laden
heavily with cocoanuts and hemp. Small floating islands whirl along
in the swift current, and are carried out to sea. At the _Muelle
del Rey_--the "King's Dock"--lie the inter-island steamers, and the
gangs of laborers are busy loading and unloading them. Carabao drays
are hauling fragrant cargoes of tobacco and Manila hemp, while over
the gangplank runs a chain of men, gutting the warehouse of its
merchandise. The captain of the _Romulus_ stands on the bridge,
daintily smoking a cigarette, and supervising the disposal of the
demijohns of _tinto_ wine. The derrick keeps up an incessant racket
as the hold is gradually filled. Although the _Romulus_ is advertised
to sail to-day at noon, she is as liable to sail at ten o'clock, or
possibly to-morrow afternoon; and although bound for Iloilo or Cebu,
you can not be at all sure what her destination really is. She may
return after a month from a long rambling cruise among the southern
isles. The Spanish mariners, in rakish Tam o'Shanter caps, lounge
at the entrance to the warehouse, or the office of the _Compania
Maritima_, dreamily smoking cigarettes, sometimes imperiously ordering
the laborers to _"sigue, hombre_!" (get along!) a warning that the
Filipino has grown too familiar with to heed.
Armenian and Indian bazaars, where ivory and the rich fabrics of the
Orient are sold; cafés and drugstores, harness-shops, tobacco-shops,
and drygoods-stores, emporiums of every kind,--are found on the
Escolta, where the prices would astonish any one not yet accustomed to
the manners of the Far East. During the morning hours the _quilez_ and
the _carromata_ rattle along the bumpy cobblestones, the native driver,
or _cochero_, in a white shirt, smoking a cigarette, and resting his
bare feet upon the dashboard. Behind the curtain of a passing _quilez_
you can catch a glimpse of brown eyes, raven hair, and olive-tinted
cheeks, displayed with all the coquetry of a Manila belle. A Filipino
family in a rickety cart, tilted at an impossible angle, are drawn
by a moth-eaten pony, mostly bones. Public conveyances--if these
are not indeed a myth--are most exasperating. You can never find
one when you want it, even at the "Public Carriage Station." If by
chance you come across one in the street, the driver will ignore your
signal and drive on. Evidently he selects this walk in life merely
to discharge the obligations of his conscience, for he never seems
to want a passenger, nor will he take one till he finds his vehicle
possessed by strategy. The gamins of the corner offer eagerly to find
a _carromata_ for you, but they frequently forget the object of their
mission in their search. Sometimes, when you have ceased to think about
a _carromata_, one of these small ragamuffins will pursue you, with a
sheepish-looking coachman and disreputable vehicle in tow. Then twenty
boys crowd round and claim rewards for having found a rig for you;
as they all look alike, you toss a ten-cent piece among the crowd
and let them fight it out among themselves.
The driver will begin by making some objection. He will ask to be
discharged at noon, or he will make you promise not to turn him
over to another _Americano_. When the preliminary arrangements are
completed, lighting his cigarette, he cramps himself up in the box,
and, maintaining a continual clucking, larrups his skinny pony as
the crazy gig goes rocking down the street. The driver never seems
to know the town; even the post-office and the Bridge of Spain are
_terra incognita_ to him. And so you guide him, saying "_silla_,"
left, or "_mano_," right, "_direcho_," straight ahead, and "_'spera_,"
stop. You must be careful when you stop, however, as while you are
busy with your purchases, your man is liable to run away. While,
as a general rule, he shakes his head at the repeated inquires of
"_ocupato?_" (taken?) even though the carriage may not be engaged, if
some one more unscrupulous or desperate should step in, you would find
yourself without a rig. And the result would be the same if dinner-time
came round, and he had not had "_sow sow_." Even the fact that he
had not collected any fare would not deter him from his resolution.
Is it any wonder, then, that, after all these difficulties, no
complaint is made against the rickety, slat-seated carts, with
wheels that seem to bar the entrance of the passenger; against the
sorry-looking _quilez_,--that attenuated two-wheeled 'bus, where
the four passengers must sit with interwoven legs, getting the
more implicated as the cart goes bounding on? No; the Americans
are glad enough to ride in almost any kind of vehicle. But you
must be good-natured, even though the cab is tilted at an angle of
some thirty-odd degrees, and even though, in getting out, which is
accomplished from the _quilez_ in the rear, you lift the tiny pony
off his feet. It is enough to take the breath away to ride in one
of these conveyances through the congested portions of Manila. Not
only does the turning to the left seem strange, but taking the
sharp corners--an accomplishment for which the two-wheeled gig is
well adapted--frequently comes near precipitating a collision;
and, in order to avoid this, the driver pulls the pony to his
haunches. When the coast is clear, you will go rattling merrily away,
the _quilez_ door, unfastened, swinging back and forth abandonedly,
regardless of appearances. It is impossible to satisfy the driver on
discharging him, unless by paying him three times the fee. The stranger
in Manila, counting out the unfamiliar _media pesos_ and _pesetas_,
never knows when he has paid enough. Whether to pay his fifteen cents,
American or Mexican, for the first hour, and ten cents, or _centavos_,
for the hour succeeding, and how many _media pesetas_ make a quarter
of a dollar in our currency,--these are the questions that annoy and
puzzle the newcomer, till he learns to disregard expense, and order
his livery from the hotels or private stables.
At noon the corrugated iron blinds of the shops are pulled down;
all the carriages have disappeared; the only sign of life in the
Escolta is the comical little tram-car, loaded down with little
brown men dressed in white, the driver tooting a toy horn, and all
the passengers dismounting to assist the car uphill.
The banking center of Manila, built around a dusty plaza in the Tondo
district, and consisting of low buildings occupied by offices of
shipping and commercial companies, suggests a scene from "The Merchant
of Venice" or "Othello." English firms--such as Warner, Barnes &
Co.; Smith, Bell & Co.; the Hong Kong-Shanghai Banking Corporation,
where the silver _pesos_ jingle as the deft clerks stack them up or
handle them with their small spades--are situated hereabouts.
Near by, and on an emerald plaza, stand the buildings of the Insular
Tobacco Company and of the Oriente Hotel. These buildings are the
finest modern structures in Manila. Carriages are waiting in the
street in front of the hotel, and at the entrance may be seen a
group of army officers in khaki uniform, in white and gold, or--very
much more modern--olive drab. The dining-room is entered through the
rustling bead-work curtain. Here the Chinese waiters, in long gowns
glide noiselessly around.
But the Rosario, where opium-saturated Chinamen sit tailor-fashion
at the entrance to their little stalls--where narrow galleries and
alleys swarm with Chinese life--is one of the most interesting and
complex: of all Manila's thoroughfares. On one side of the street the
drygoods-shops are shaded from the sun by curtains in broad stripes of
blue and white. The dreamy merchant sits barelegged on the doorsill,
and is not to be disturbed by the mere entrance of a purchaser. The
opposite side is lined with _Chino_ hardware stores, and in each one
of them the stock is just the same. These shops supply the stock of
merchandise to the provincial agents; for an intricate feudal system
is maintained among the Chinese of the archipelago. The rich Manila
merchants who have seen their fellow-countrymen safe through from
China, and have furnished goods on credit, reap the profits like so
many Oriental Shylocks.
At four o'clock the shopping begins again in the Escolta. Apparently
the whole town has turned out for a ride. Since the Americans
have come, odd sights have been seen in Manila,--cavalry horses
harnessed to pony vehicles, phaetons drawn by Filipino ponies, and
victorias, intended for a pair of native horses, hastily converted
into surreys. Not only do the Spanish women come out in their black
_mantillas_, but the Filipino belles and the _mestiza_, girls, in their
stiff dresses of _josé_ and _piña_ cloth. A carriage-load of painted
cheeks and burnished pompadours of Japanese frail sisterhood drives by
upon its way to the Luneta. Army officers in white dress uniform, the
wives and daughters of the officers, bareheaded and in dainty gowns,
stop off at Clark's for lemonade, ice-cream, and candy. Soldiers
and sailors strolling along the street, or driving rickety native
carts, enjoy themselves after the manner of their kind. A brace of
well-kept ponies, tugging like game fish, trot briskly away with
jingling harness, with the coachman and the footman dressed in white,
a foreign consul lounging in the cushions of the neat victoria. A
private _carruaje_, drawn by a sleek pony, hastens along, the tiny
footman clinging on for dear life to the extension seat behind.
After the whirl on the Luneta, where the military band plays as
the oddly-assorted carriages go circling round like fixtures on
a steam carousal, the pleasure-seekers leave the driveway on the
sea deserted; soldiers and citizens vacate the green benches, and
adjourn for dinner. The Spanish life is best seen at the Metropole,
where _señors_, _señoritas_, and _señoras_, exquisitely gowned,
sip cognac and coffee at the little tables, carrying on an animated
conversation, with expressive flashes of bright eyes or gestures with
elaborately-jeweled hands.
Below, in the Luzon café, the Rizal orchestra is playing the
impassioned Spanish waltzes, "_Sobre las Olas," "La Paloma_," to the
click of billiard balls and the guffaws of soldiers. When the evening
program ends with "_Dixie_," every soldier in a khaki uniform--bronzed,
grizzled fellows, many of them back from some campaign out in the
provinces--will rise immediately to his feet, respectfully remove
his hat, and as the music that reminds him of the home-land swells
and gathers volume, fill the corridors with cheer upon cheer as the
lights are put out; then the sleeping coachman rouses himself, and
starts the reluctant pony on the journey home.