The White Man's Life.
It happened that my first home in Manila was a temporary one, shared
with a hundred others, at the _nipa_ barracks at the Exposition
grounds. Who of all those that were similarly situated will forget
the long row of mimosa-trees that made a leafy archway over the cool
street; or the fruit merchants squatting beside the bunches of bananas
and the tiny oranges spread out upon the ground? There was the pink
pavilion where that enterprising Chinaman, Ah Gong, conducted his
indifferent restaurant. After these many days I can still hear the
clatter of the plates, the jingle of the knives and forks, placed
on the tables by the Chinese waiters. There was the crowd on the
veranda waiting for the second table, opening their correspondence
as they waited. And what an indescribable sensation was imparted on
receiving the first letter in a foreign land!
The long, cool barrack-rooms were swept by the fresh breezes. Here,
in the bungalow, the army cots had been arranged in rows and covered
by mosquito-bars suspended from the wires stretched overhead. When
tucked inside of the mosquito-bar, one felt as though he were a part
of a menagerie. "_Muchacho_" was the first new word you learned. It
was advisable to call for a _muchacho_ often, even though you did
not need his services, in order to exploit your own experience and
your superiority. And here you were first cheated by the wily Chinese
peddlers--although you had cut them down to half their price--when
they unrolled their packs of crêpe pajamas, net-work underwear,
and other merchandise.
And all one Sunday afternoon you listened to a lecture from the
President of the Manila Board of Health, who told of the diseases
that the flesh was heir to in the Philippines, and cheerfully assured
you that within a month or two your weight would be reduced to the
extent of twenty-five or fifty pounds. And after dinner--where you
learned that _chiquos_ though they looked a good deal like potatoes,
were a kind of fruit--while you were strolling down the avenue beyond
the markethouse, you got a ducking from a sudden shower that ceased
quite as unceremoniously as it had begun. There was excitement in the
bungalow that night because of its invasion by a hostile monkey. An
impromptu vigilance committee finally succeeded in ejecting the
unwelcome visitor, persuading him of the superior advantages of
"Barracks B."
Together with a few dissenters, I moved out next morning, finding
better quarters in the first floor of a Spanish house in Magallanes. We
made the best of an old ruin opposite, which we considered picturesque,
and which was occupied by Filipino squatters, who conducted a hand
laundry there. Our first _muchacho_, Valentine, surprised us by
existing on the ten-cent dinners of the Chinese chophouse on the
corner. But he assured us that it was a good place; that the greasy
Chinaman, who fried the sausages and boiled the rice back in the tiny
den, was a great favorite. At our own restaurant, two Negro women
made the best corn-fritters we had ever tasted; a green parrot and
a monkey squawked and chattered on the balustrade; a Filipino boy
played marches on a cracked piano-forte.
And so we lived behind the heavily-barred windows, watching the
shifting throng--the staggering coolies, girls with trays of oranges
upon their heads, and men in curiously fashioned hats--driving around
the city in the afternoon (for Valentine was at his best in getting
_carromatas_ under false pretenses) till the little family broke
up. The first to go returned after a day or two, almost in tears
with the alarming information that the mayor of the town that he
had been assigned to was a naked savage; that what he supposed was
pepper on the fried eggs he had had for breakfast, had turned out
to be black ants--and wouldn't we please pay his _carromata_ fare,
because he was completely out of funds?
The carabao carts gradually removed our baggage. Valentine was faithful
to the last. Most of us met each other later, and exchanged notes. One
had escaped the target practice of ladrones; one had been lost among
the mountains of Benguet; another had been carried to Manila on a
coasting steamer, reaching the Civil hospital in time to fight against
the fevers that had wasted him; and poor Fitz died of cholera in one
of the most lonely villages among the Negros hills.
"Won't those infernal bells stop ringing for a while and let a
fellow go to sleep?" said Howard as he got out of bed. "Look at those
creatures, will you?" pointing to the fat mosquitoes at the top of the
mosquito-bar. "The vampires! How do you suppose they got in, anyway?"
"It beats me," said the Duke. "It isn't the mosquitoes or the bells:
that ball of fire that's shining through the window makes a perfect
oven of the room."
The merciless sun had risen over the low roofs of the walled city,
and the heat was radiating from the white walls and the scorching
streets. The Duke was sitting on the edge of the low army cot in his
pajamas and his bedroom slippers, smoking a native cigarette.
"It must be about ten o'clock," said Howard. "I wonder if the Chinaman
left any breakfast for us."
"Probably. A couple of cold fried eggs, or a clammy dish of oatmeal
and condensed milk. Shall we get up and go somewhere?"
"I can't find any clothes," said Howard; "this place is turning into
a regular chaos, anyway." It was indeed a chaos,--lines of clothes
where the mosquitoes swarmed, papers and books scattered about the
floor, pajamas, duck suits, towels on every chair, and muddy white
shoes strewn around. "Doesn't the _muchacho_ ever clean things up?"
"That's nothing," said the Duke; "wait till the Chinaman runs off
with all your washing. I can lend you a white suit; and, say,--tell
the _muchacho_ to come in and _blanco_ a few shoes."
As there are no apartment-houses in Manila, the young clerk on small
salary will usually live in a furnished room in the walled city. For
the first few months it is a rather dreary life. The cool veranda and
the steamer chair, after the day's work, is a luxury denied the young
Americans within the city walls. The list of amusements that Manila
offers is an unattractive one. There is a baseball game between two
companies of soldiers, or between the Government employees representing
different departments. There is the cock-fight out at Santa Ana,
Sunday mornings and _fiesta_ days; but this is mostly patronized by
natives, and is not especially agreeable to Americans. The Country
club--reached after a long drive out Malate way, past the Malate
fort that bears the marks of Dewey's shells, past the old church
once occupied by soldiers, through the rice-pads where the American
troops first met the Insurrecto firing line--is little more than a
mere gambling-house. It is now visited by those whose former resorts
in the walled city have been broken up by the constabulary.
The races of the Santa Mesa Jockey dub are held on Sunday
afternoons. It is a rather dusty drive out to the track. A number
of noisy "road-houses" along the way, where drinking is going on;
the Paco cemetery, where the bleached bones have been piled around
the cross,--these are the sole diversions that the road affords. The
races are interesting only in the opportunity they offer to observe the
native types. Here you will find the Filipino dandy in his polished
boots, his low-crowned derby hat, and baggy trousers. He makes the
boast that he has not walked fifty meters on Manila's streets in the
past year. This dainty little fellow always travels in a carriage. He
flicks the ashes off his cigarette with his long finger-nail as he
stands by while the gay-colored jockeys are being weighed in. Up in the
grandstand, in a private box, a party of _mestiza_ girls, elaborately
gowned, are sipping lemonade, or eating sherbet and vanilla cakes,
while one of the jockeys leans admiringly upon the rail. The silver
_pesos_ stacked up on the table in the center of the box are given
to a man in waiting to be wagered on the various events. The finishes
are seldom very close, the Filipino ponies scampering around the turf
like rats. A native band, however, adds to the excitement which the
clamor at the booking office and the animated chatter of _dueñas_,
_caballeros_, jockeys, and _señoritas_ in the galleries intensifies.
Manila, the City of churches, celebrates its Sabbath in its own
peculiar way. The Protestant churches suffer in comparison with the
grand church of San Sebastian--set up from the iron plates made in
Belgium--and the churches of the various religious orders. Magnificence
and show appeal most strongly to the Filipino. He is taught to look
down on the Protestant religion as plebeian; the priests regard
the Protestant with condescending superciliousness. Until the
transportation facilities can be extended there will be no general
coming together of Americans even on Sunday morning, as the colony
from the United States is scattered far and wide throughout the city.
As his salary increases, the young Government employee looks around
for better quarters. These he secures by organizing a small club
and renting the upper floor of one of the large Spanish houses. As
the young men in Manila are especially congenial, there is little
difficulty in conducting such an enterprise. The members of a lodging
club thus formed will generally reserve a table for their use at one
of the adjacent boarding-houses or hotels.
The fashionable world--the heads of departments, general army officers,
and wealthy merchants--occupy grand residences in Ermita or in San
Miguel. These houses, set back in extensive gardens, are approached by
driveways banked luxuriously with palms. A massive iron fence, mounted
on stone posts, gives to the residence a certain tone of dignity as
well as a suggestion of exclusiveness. Those situated in _Calle Real_
(Ermita) have verandas, balconies, and summer-houses looking out upon
the sea.
The prosperous bachelor has his stable, stable-boys, and Chinese
cook. At eight o'clock A. M. the China ponies will be harnessed ready
to drive him to the office, and at four o'clock the carriage calls
for him to take him home. Most of the Americans thus situated seldom
leave their homes. There is, of course, the Army and Navy club in
the walled city, and the University club in Ermita; but aside from
an occasional visit to these organizations, he is satisfied with a
short turn on the Luneta and the privacy of his own house.
The afternoon teas at the University club, where you can see the
sunset lighting up Corregidor and glorifying the white battleships, the
monthly entertainments at the Oriente, and the governor's reception,
are the social features of Manila life. The ladies do considerable
entertaining, wearing themselves out in the performance of their social
duties. As a relaxation, an informal picnic party will sometimes
charter a small launch, and spend the day along the picturesque
banks of the Pasig. The customs of Manila make an obligation of a
frequent visit to the Civil hospital, if it so happen that a friend
is sick there. It is a long ride along _Calle Iris_, with its rows
of bamboo-trees, past the merry-go-round, Bilibid prison, and the
railway station; but the patients at the hospital appreciate these
visits quite sufficiently to compensate for any inconveniences that
may have been caused.
During the holiday season, certain attractions are offered at
the theaters. While these are mostly given by cheap vaudeville
companies that have drifted over from Australia or the China coast,
when any deserving entertainment is announced the "upper ten" turn
out _en masse_. During the memorable engagement of the Twenty-fourth
Infantry minstrels, the boxes at the Zorilla theater were filled by
all the pride and beauty of Manila. Captains and lieutenants from Fort
Santiago and Camp Wallace, naval officers from the Cavite colony,
matrons and maidens from the civil and the military "sets," made a
vivacious audience, while the Filipinos packed in the surrounding
galleries, applauded with enthusiasm as the cake-walk and the Negro
melody were introduced into the Orient.
Where money circulates so freely and is spent so recklessly as in
Manila, where the "East of Suez" moral standard is established,
the young fellows who have come out to the Far East, inspired by
Kipling's poems and the spirit of the Orient, are tempted constantly
to live beyond their means. It is a country "where there ain't no Ten
Commandments, and a man can raise a thirst." Then the Sampoluc and
Quiapo districts, where the carriage-lamps are weaving back and forth
among pavilions softly lighted, where the tinkle of the _samosen_ is
heard, and where O Taki San, immodest but bewitching, stands behind
the beadwork curtain, her kimono parted at the knee,--this is the
world of the Far East, the cup of Circe.
There was the pathetic case of the young man who "went to pieces"
in Manila recently. He was a Harvard athlete, but was physically
unsound. As a result of an unfortunate blow received upon the head
a short time after his arrival in Manila, he became despondent and
morose. After undue excitement he would fall into a dreamy trance. At
such times he would fancy that his mother had died, and he would
be convulsed with sorrow, breaking unexpectedly into a rousing
college song. He meditated suicide, and was prevented several times
from taking his own life. On coming to Manila from the provinces,
he stoutly refused to be sent home, but lived at his friends'
expense, trying to borrow money from everybody that he met. Other
young fellows overwhelmed by debts have tried to break loose from
the Islands, but have been brought back from Japanese ports to be
placed in Bilibid. That is the saddest life of all--in Bilibid. Many
a convict in that prison, far away, has been a gentleman, and there
are mothers in America who wonder why their boys do not come home.
Somebody once said that Manila life was a perpetual farewell. The days
of the arrival and departure of the transports are the days that vary
the monotony. As the procession of big mail-wagons rumbles down the
Escolta to the post-office, as the letters from America are opened, as
the last month's newspapers and magazines appear in the shop-windows,
comes a moment of regret and lonesomeness. But as the transport, with
its tawny load of soldiers and of joyful officers, pulls out, the
dweller in Manila, long ago resigned to fate, takes up the grind again.
Sometimes, on Sunday morning, he will take the customs-house launch
out to one of the Manila-Hong Kong boats, to see a friend off for the
homeland and "God's country." Leaning over the taffrail, while the
crowd below is celebrating the departure by the opening of bottles,
he will fancy that he, too, is going--till the warning whistle sounds,
and it is time to go ashore. The best view of Manila, it is said,
is that obtained from the stern deck of an outgoing steamer, as the
red lighthouse and the pier fade gradually away. But even after he
has reached the "white man's country" some time he may "hear the East
a-calling," and come back again.