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AN ENGLISHWOMAN IN THE PHILIPPINES
FIRST EDITION _July 1906_
_Reprinted_ _October 1906_
AN ENGLISHWOMAN
IN THE
PHILIPPINES
BY MRS CAMPBELL DAUNCEY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND A MAP
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY
1906
_Printed in Great Britain_
INTRODUCTION
In the following letters, written during a stay of nine months in the
Philippine Islands, I tried to convey to those at home a faithful
impression of the country I was in and the people I met. Since I came
home I have been advised to collect and prepare certain of my letters for
publication, and this I have done to the best of my ability, though with
considerable misgivings as to the fate of such a humble little volume.
It is impossible to mention the Philippine Islands, either in daily life
in the country itself, or in describing such life, without reference to
the political situations which form the topic of most conversations in
that uneasy land. On this subject also I wrote to the best of my power,
faithfully and impartially; for I hold no brief for the Americans or
the Filipinos. I merely aimed at a plain account of those scenes and
conversations, generally written within a few hours of my observing them,
which, it seemed to me, would best convey a true and unbiassed impression
of what I saw of the Philippines as they are.
CONTENTS
PAGE
LETTER I.
MANILA
Journey from Hong Kong. First sight of the Philippine coast.
Manila Bay. The Pasig River. A drive through the streets.
Old Manila. Spanish influences. Manila hotels. The Virgin of
Antipolo. Inter-island steamers. 1
LETTER II.
FROM MANILA TO ILOILO
Beautiful islands. Coin divers. A glimpse of Cebú. The hemp
industry. The Island of Mactan. Magellan. A curious record in
orthography. Fellow-passengers. Soldiers and school-teachers.
American theories. Social and racial equality. The Filipino
race. 8
LETTER III.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ILOILO
Arrival at Iloilo. Situation of Guimaras and Negros. The Island
of Panay. Climate. House-hunting. Native methods. Conant
coinage. Philippine houses. 15
LETTER IV.
A PHILIPPINE HOUSE—AMERICAN PRICES—NATIVE SERVANTS—FURNITURE
We find a house. Domestic architecture. The Azotea. Results
of American extravagance. Iloilo shops. Filipino servants.
Settling down. Chinese shops. Furniture. “Philippines for the
Filipinos.” Rumours of the Custom House. 22
LETTER V.
HOUSEKEEPING IN ILOILO
Housekeeping. Strange insects. Chinese bread. The washerwoman.
Domestic etiquette. A hawker of orchids. 33
LETTER VI.
A WASTED LAND
The road to Molo. Picturesque scenes. Custom House methods. An
unpleasant surprise. Philippine trading firms. An over-zealous
law. The Philippine bed. Christmas Eve. The tropic dawn.
Christmas Day. The water-supply. Food and drink. Scarcity and
high prices. Book-learning _versus_ agriculture. 42
LETTER VII.
CUSTOMS AND DRESS OF THE NATIVES
A Filipino _Fiesta_. The national hero. Doctor Rizal and his
work. A languid festival. A musical people. Dress of the
native women. _Piña_ muslin. Dress of native men. Scrupulous
cleanliness. A walk on the beach. Gorgeous colouring. 50
LETTER VIII.
SOCIAL AMUSEMENTS
A ball at the Spanish Club. The _Rigodon_. Curious costumes.
Bringing in the New Year. A painful interlude. Position of
Eurasians. New Year’s Day. The suburbs of Iloilo. Filipino
children. 57
LETTER IX.
TARIFFS—INSECTS
More Custom House surprises. Official blunders. House-lizards.
Roof-menageries. _Anting-anting._ Snakes. _Cicadas._ Ants.
Cockroaches. Mosquitoes. 66
LETTER X.
A FILIPINO THEATRE—_CARABAOS_
Dramatic clubs. The Iloilo theatre. An amusing experience. An
operetta. The Jaro road. _Carabaos._ An evening scene by the
river. The fashionable _paseo_. 74
LETTER XI.
SOME RESULTS OF THE AMERICAN OCCUPATION
Heat and drought. Bathrooms. A handsome cow-boy. Cost of
living. Military manners. Camp Josman. The Government of
the Philippines. A “pull.” An arbitrary tax. The Plaza
Libertad. Effects of fire and bombardment. Story of the
American occupation. Unwelcome saviours. A pretty garden. The
“unemployed.” Scale of wages. A Philippine cabstand. Filipino
dignity. A charming scene. 82
LETTER XII.
CHINESE NEW YEAR—LABOUR CONDITIONS—A CINÉMATOGRAPH SHOW
The Chinese New Year. Question of Chinese labour. A
cinématograph entertainment. Unpleasant habits. An interesting
audience. Diplomatic warfare. A half “’cute” native. A Filipino
philosopher. Tropical rain. 95
LETTER XIII.
SOME INFLUENCES OF CLIMATE, SCENERY, AND RELIGION
The _Rainbow_. Sugar industry. A beautiful view. Unchanging
charms. “Always afternoon.” The fascination of the East.
Missionaries. A keen advocate. La Iglesia Filipina
Independiente. 103
LETTER XIV.
VOYAGE TO MANILA
A journey to Manila. The mail steamer. Food for Esquimaux. A
comfortable night. Dream Islands. Dress for Europeans. Manila.
The harbour. Curious reasoning. American hustling. A charming
house. The Luneta. 110
LETTER XV.
AN OFFICIAL ENTERTAINMENT
Evening on the Pasig River. Malacañan Palace. An evening
_fête_. The Arms of the Philippines. “The Gubernatorial party.”
“Manila at a glance.” The Gibson Girl. An amusing episode. A
drive in Manila. The fashions. Manila shops. A market for the
best diamonds. A “mixed” wedding. 120
LETTER XVI.
MANILA AND ITS INHABITANTS
The suburbs of Manila. Hawks. A nursery-garden. Orchids. By
the bandstand in the evening. Manila society. A city of cards.
Intramuros. Americanised Filipinos. The American Ideal. Blind
pride. Bilibid prison. Arts and crafts. The “Exposition” and
the inquiring voter. The Philippine sky. A steamer on fire.
A procession of death and degradation. “Sport.” A visit to
Malacañan. A beautiful woman. Some lovely embroideries. Manila
prices. Mr Taft and his Chinese servants. 128
LETTER XVII.
DEMOCRACY AND SOCIETY IN MANILA
A _Mestizo_ party. Seeking for democracy. And finding
aristocracy. A shopping expedition. Chinese enterprise. Bridge
again. A devotee and enthusiast. 143
LETTER XVIII.
THE RETURN VOYAGE AND MY COMPANIONS
Home letters. The Simla of Manila. The return journey to
Iloilo. A crowded ship. My cabin-mate. Filipino schoolboys.
The first-fruits of the American Ideal. Filipino manners. Some
Filipino views. Philippine Spanish. Dawn at the mouth of the
Iloilo River. Expensive religion. Wonderful costumes. Lax port
authorities. A hearty welcome home. 151
LETTER XIX.
A _BAILE_—A NEW COOK AND AMERICAN METHODS
Carnival festivities. Lenten relaxations. A Palais Royale farce
at the Filipino Club. “Hiawatha.” At a _baile_. A walk through
the town. A Chinese graveyard. A troublesome cook. Wily native
ways. A change of staff. Municipal marvels. _Noblesse oblige._ 161
LETTER XX.
FILIPINO INDOLENCE—A DROUGHT
The rising thermometer. A Filipino watering-cart. A harrowing
story. The Filipino employé. _Mañana._ A demonstration in
racial equality. More drought. A new acquisition. 169
LETTER XXI.
THE WHARVES—AN OLD SPANIARD
Roofs of Philippine houses. A walk along the quay. Chinese
sailors. A mistaken policy. Native shops. Curious cigars.
Desolate mud-flats. One of the results of high wages. A Spanish
courtier. _Los Indianos._ A cause for panic. 174
LETTER XXII.
A TRIP TO GUIMARAS—AN ASTONISHING PROPOSAL—HOUSEBUILDING
A little trip on the sea. Marvellous scenery. The ship of the
Ancient Mariner. Coast villages. A band in the Plaza. Oriental
tastes. The difference of Eastern and Western minds. Little
comedies. How we drive in Iloilo. An importunate visitor.
Strange American customs. A peaceful scene in the sunset.
Building a house. 182
LETTER XXIII.
A TROPICAL SHOWER—OUR SERVANTS—FILIPINO CUSTOMS
The mails. A good butler. “The inevitable _muchacho_.” Palm
Sunday. Negritos. Curly hair. Beggars. A Filipino funeral. 191
LETTER XXIV.
EASTER FESTIVITIES
Easter holidays. Superfluous precautions. A gruesome
procession. The Funeral of Christ. Rival religionists. A
midnight pageant. A pretty procession. Happy children. A dull
_baile_. 195
LETTER XXV.
A DAY AT NAGABA
A trip to Nagaba. A native house. The “Philippine cuckoo.”
_Nipa_ thatch. Ylang-Ylang. A swimming-bath. A stroll along
the rocks. A fisherman’s hut. Country-folk. The village.
Pig-scavengers. The fire-tree. The _tuba_ man. Mistaken
temperance enthusiasts. Cocoanut-growing. 202
LETTER XXVI.
THE MONSOON—AN ITALIAN OPERA COMPANY
Love-birds. Traces of the Filipino mind. The S.-W. Monsoon.
Typhoons. A horrible custom. A wandering Opera Company.
Increasing heat. 210
LETTER XXVII.
A WEEK-END AT NAGABA
The departure for Nagaba. An amusing landing. Morning on the
beach. A fish _corral_. Trading vessels. A native kitchen.
Betel-nut. A row up the river. Up in the woods. A magnificent
prospect. Wild fruits. A primitive hut. The simple life. The
American theory of education before food. Wanted a Colonial
Office. Harlequins of crab-land. The tropic night. Fishing by
torchlight. A _parao_. Skilful sailorising. Home again. 215
LETTER XXVIII.
A LITTLE EARTHQUAKE, AND AN OPERA COMPANY UNDER DIFFICULTIES
A slight earthquake. Grand opera under difficulties. Barbaric
laughter. The exodus to Hong Kong. Vagaries of the Monsoon. 226
LETTER XXIX.
AN EVENING ON THE RIVER—RIVAL BISHOPS
Evening on the Iloilo River. Pleasant natives. A
cocoanut-grove. The _bolo_. Green cocoanut. Salt pits. More
trouble with the Customs. The verdict of Solomon. A hopeless
grievance. Curiosities of taxation. Religious enthusiasm. Rival
bishops. The Cardinal Delegate and the Aglipayano Monsignore.
The Plaza at Jaro. A handsome old belfry. The Angelus. Peace
and goodwill. 231
LETTER XXX.
PHILIPPINE SANITATION—DECORATION DAY
The coolness of 90°. A letter from Benguet. Expense of
travelling. Baby mongeese. Native neighbours. The sanitary
control. An appeal to _verguenza_. An ill-kept town. An inhuman
custom. The new hospital. Decoration Day. Digging up American
soldiers. Unwholesome sentimentality. 239
LETTER XXXI.
MR TAFT—TROPICAL SUNSETS—UNPLEASANT NEIGHBOURS—FILIPINO LAW
News of the coming of Mr Taft and his party. Miss Alice
Roosevelt. A simple-minded damsel. Relaxing wind. By the Molo
road. A lovely scene. An Eurasian household. A melodrama. And a
farce. A flitting. Filipino justice. 247
LETTER XXXII.
OUR MONGEESE—A FIRE—THE NATIVE EDUCATION QUESTION
A distressing malady. Habits of my mongeese. An alarm of fire.
A strange state of affairs. “Arbitrary race-distinctions.”
Undemonstrable theories. 255
LETTER XXXIII.
A PAPER-CHASE—LACK OF SPORTS—PREPARATIONS FOR MR TAFT
A paper-chase. Lack of sports. Ladies astride. A problem for Mr
Taft. Amusing headlines. Sad little pets. 260
LETTER XXXIV.
TRYING HEAT—AN AMERICAN PROSPECTOR—NEW LODGERS—BARGAINING
FOR _PIÑA_
Damp heat. An enterprising millionaire. New neighbours. A happy
household. Buying _piña_ muslin. 265
LETTER XXXV.
DECLARATION DAY—THE CULT OF THE FLAG—A PROCESSION,
FESTIVITIES, AND A BALL
Declaration Day. The cult of the Stars and Stripes. An
angry critic. The procession. American officers. Methods
of horsemanship. A cruel vanity. American soldiers. The
Veteran Army of the Philippines. “Little brown brothers.”
Representative parades. Celebrations in the Plaza. Strange
developments of athletics. A melancholy contrast. Official ball
at the _Gobierno_. An ardent anti-Taftite. An amusing assembly.
Unconventional bandsmen. A keen pro-Filipino. An ill-bred
_Mestiza_. Balancing a _quilez_. Some of the drawbacks of
civilisation. 270
LETTER XXXVI.
COCK-FIGHTING—PULAJANES
A sad loss. The Filipino and his fighting-cock. Tricks of the
ring. Off to the front. Peace and prosperity. A horrible story.
A plague of flies. A slovenly guest. The poll-tax and some of
its workings. 286
LETTER XXXVII.
A PEARL OF GREAT PRICE
Philippine flowers. A town of swamps. Monotonous scenery.
Hawking a pearl. Pearl fisheries. Plentiful fish-supply. 292
LETTER XXXVIII.
AGRICULTURAL POSSIBILITIES
A Gymkhana on the beach. An _alfresco_ domestic servant agency.
Road-mending. The foreign cemetery. Justice for the white man.
Treatment of servants. The Filipino tiller of the soil. Wasted
opportunities. A terrible disease. Some native fruits, and some
more wasted opportunities. A welcome invitation. 295
LETTER XXXIX.
A LAST DAY AT NAGABA—THE “SECWAR”
Farewell to Nagaba. The three-card trick. The Secret Police.
A pleasant sail. Through the village. A native shop. Corn
pone. An Anglipayano church. An idyll. Filipino coffee. Lack
of American enterprise. A strange word. The coming of the
_Secwar_. Human mosquitoes. A familiar type of character. 301
LETTER XL.
PREPARATIONS
Preparations for the Patron Saint. Arcadian animals. Mr Taft’s
intentions. Determined patriots. A famous phrase. The blessings
of a free press. American altruism. Political Pecksniffs. The
spell of indolence. 310
LETTER XLI.
THE FESTIVITIES
The _Comitiva Taft_. A reception that failed. Unappreciative
guests. The decorations. A culinary treat. A call in the dark
before the dawn. Gay streets. The visitors. “Miss Alice.” Mr
Taft. The “Taft smile.” Looking for equality. A well-instructed
journalist. Floats. Some strange banners. Mr Taft’s opinions.
An amusing _contre-temps_. A very informal reception. A
little mistake in tact. The banquet. Disappointed admirers.
A haphazard feast. The mermaid. Speeches. A fiery patriot.
Instructive applause. A splendid orator. Mr Taft’s mission. Two
critics. 315
LETTER XLII.
WEIGHING ANCHOR
An Iloilo hotel. A faithful servant. Complaisant Americans.
Echoes of the visitation. Skilful reporting. A disappointed
well-wisher. 337
LETTER XLIII.
HOMEWARD BOUND
A pleasant prospect. Comfortable quarters. Chop-sticks. A happy
little slave. The Chinese pigtail. An unspoilt Filipino. The
dignity of the white man. The dregs of East and West. A last
whiff of the sugar-_camarins_. 342
INDEX. 347
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
DISCHARGING HEMP FROM PARAOS (Native Boats) _To face page_ 10
A FILIPINO GIRL, AGED 10—A CASCO (Barge) ” 14
OLD SPANISH HOUSES AT MOLO ” 20
THE BACK OF OUR HOUSE, showing Azotea and Outbuildings ” 24
FILIPINO SERVANTS ” 28
RIDING A CARABAO ” 78
SPANISH ARCHITECTURE IN THE PHILIPPINES: An Old Church
at Daraga ” 89
MANILA—Malacañan Palace ” 120
MANILA—The Escolta ” 126
A STREET IN MANILA, showing the Electric Tram ” 129
MANILA—The Luneta ” 130
BIRD’S-EYE VIEW OF INLAND SUBURBS OF MANILA ” 138
A PHILIPPINE PONY ” 174
NATIVE HOUSES ” 204
THE TRACK OF A TYPHOON ” 210
A FILIPINO MARKET-PLACE ” 218
A THREE-MAN BREEZE OFF GUIMARAS—A PARAO ” 222
A PALM GROVE ” 232
CATHEDRAL AND BELFRY AT JARO ” 236
A SUBURB OF ILOILO ” 242
AWAITING SHIPMENT—Coffins containing Bones of American
Soldiers stacked in Malate Cemetery, Manila ” 244
A VILLAGE COCK-FIGHT ” 287
WATERING CARABAOS ” 293
A FILIPINO FISH-MARKET ” 294
AN ENGLISHWOMAN IN THE PHILIPPINES
LETTER I.
MANILA
MANILA, _27th November 1904_.
We arrived here early yesterday morning from Hong Kong, after three
days of rather a horrible sea voyage, as the steamer was more than
crowded, the weather rough, and we carried a deck cargo of cattle.
These conditions are not unusual, however, in fact I believe they are
unvarying, as the 362 miles of sea between here and Hong Kong are always
choppy, and the two mail steamers that ply to and fro, the _Rubi_ and the
_Zafiro_, are always crammed full, and invariably carry cattle.
The poor beasts stood in rows of pens on the main deck, each fitting
tightly into his pen like a bean in a pod; many of them were ill, and one
died. We watched the simple funeral with great interest, for the crew
hoisted the dead animal by means of a crane, with a rope lashed round its
horns, standing on the living beasts on each side to do it; but they had
a good deal of difficulty in extracting the body from its pen, in which
it was wedged sideways by two live neighbours, who stubbornly resented
the whole affair. Finally, with a great deal of advice and swearing, the
carcase was slung over the side, and it looked very weird sailing down
the ship’s wake in the sunset.
That was the only event of the voyage, till we sighted Luzon, the
biggest and most northern of the Philippines, some time on Saturday
afternoon—this is Monday, by-the-bye.
The _Zafiro_ kept all along the coast, which loomed up dim and
mountainous, but we could not see anything very clearly, for the
atmosphere was thick and hazy. Here and there on the darkening mountain
sides a column of smoke rose up very straight into the evening air,
and I was told they came from forest clearings, but we saw no signs of
human habitation. A man who had been many years in the Philippines, and
was returning to what had become his home, told me that such fires on
the mountain sides had been used a great deal as signals between the
insurgents during the Spanish and the American wars, and had been made to
indicate all manner of gruesome messages.
About two in the morning, the _Zafiro_ arrived at Manila and anchored in
the bay, and when it was light, about five o’clock, we came up on deck
and looked round, but the land lies in a section of so vast a circle that
one does not realise it is a bay at all. The morning was very dull and
grey; hot, of course, but overcast, and the sea calm and grey like the
sky. The city of Manila lay so nearly level with the water that it was
almost out of sight, just a long low mass, rather darker than the sea.
Far, far away inland a faint outline of mountains was perceptible, but
Manila is built, for the most part, on a mud-flat at the mouth of a broad
river called the Pasig. This is a curious river, only 14 miles long,
coming from a big lake called the Laguna de Bayo, but yet it is wide and
deep enough at the mouth for 5000-ton steamers to anchor at the wharves
and turn in the stream.
About seven o’clock, or earlier, our friends’ launch came out for us,
and in this little craft we steamed up the mouth of the Pasig, past rows
and rows of steamers anchored at the quays, and hundreds of huge native
barges covered over with round roofs of brown matting. I noticed numbers
of brilliantly green cabbages floating down the stream, sitting on the
water like lilies, with long brown roots trailing behind, and thought
a cargo of vegetables had been wrecked, but was told these are water
plants drifting down from inland bays up the river. They are the most
extraordinary plants, of intensely crude and violent emerald, and make
a marvellous dash of colour amongst the grey and brown shipping on the
yellow, muddy water.
We landed at a big wharf, right in the town, and close to streets with
shops, all looking strangely European after China and the Straits, the
whole place reminding me more of the suburbs of Malaga or the port of
Las Palmas than any other places I can think of. Here a carriage was
waiting for us, and we drove all through the outskirts of the town, till
we came out upon the bay again, and saw the open sea, where our friends’
house is situated in a quarter called Ermita. All Manila is divided into
quarters, or wards, with curious Spanish or Filipino names—Malate, Pasay,
Intramuros, Binondo, etc., and many names of Saints.
The days get very hot here after eight o’clock, whether the sun happens
to be shining or not, so I did not go out until the cool of the evening,
and spent the day in the house, unpacking and resting, and trying to
forget the smell of those cattle. Never again, I am sure, shall I linger
with pleasure near the door of a byre!
Everyone here goes about in diminutive victorias, very like the Italian
_carrozza_, and all the horses are tiny ponies, the result of a cross
between the little Chinese horse and a small Spanish breed. They are
sturdy little beasts, and remarkably quick trotters, with thick necks,
and look pretty if they are well kept; but some of those in the hired
carriages are very poor little creatures, though they tear about with
incredible loads of brown-faced natives.
We drove about the town, which all looks as if it had been put up in a
hurry. There are no indications of antiquity outside Intramuros, the old
Spanish Manila, founded in 1571, which stands, as its name signifies,
within walls—crumbling grass-grown old walls, very high, and with a deep
moat.
This Walled City, as the Americans called it, is the town the British
took under General Draper in 1762, and these are the walls our ships
bombarded at the same time, under Admiral Cornish, papa’s great-uncle.
When we were at home, it seemed strange that just before I came to the
Philippines, I should inherit the lovely old emerald ring which the
priestly Governor of Manila gave to the Admiral, when the former was a
prisoner of war in the British Fleet, during the few days we held the
Philippines, before we gave them back to Spain. But when I was actually
under the walls they fought for, I looked at the old ring, and the
coincidence seemed stranger still. I wished it were a magic emerald that
I could rub it lightly, and summon some mysterious spirit which would
tell me all the old ring had seen and heard. But now, Old Manila is only
a backwash leading to nowhere, for the modern town has spread itself all
up the banks of the Pasig River.
Our way did not lie through the Walled City, but along outside it,
down a broad avenue, bordered by handsome trees, over a bridge across
the Pasig, and into the town of shops and streets. The whole place
looked dull, grey, ugly, and depressing, and after Hong Kong it seemed
positively squalid. Big houses like the magnificent stone palaces of Hong
Kong, would be impossible here on account of the frequent earthquakes,
but such buildings as there are look mean and dilapidated, and the
streets are badly paved or not at all, weeds grow everywhere; in fact,
there is a sort of hopeless untidiness about the place that is positively
disheartening, like going into a dirty and untidy house. I think a great
deal of the hopelessness, too, consists in the air of the natives, who
appear small and indolent after one’s eye has become accustomed to the
tall, fine figures of the busy Chinamen.
I was particularly struck with the fact that I saw no traces of anything
one is accustomed to think of as Spanish—no bright mule-trappings, or
women with _mantillas_, or anything gay and coloured, and the houses are
not built round _patios_. I was told that the reason of this is that
the Spaniards who settled in the Philippines all came from the north of
Spain, from Biscaya, and of course the Spain one knows and thinks of _as_
Spanish is Andalusia and the South, with the wonderful glamour and poetry
of the Moorish influence.
In the course of our drive we went to a certain bridge to see a religious
procession, and as we got near the place where it was to pass, the
streets were crowded with people, and there were triumphal arches
scattered about, all looking quite pretty in the rosy-pink glow of the
sun, which was just beginning to set. We pulled up in a mass of carriages
and traps on one side of the bridge, and waited an hour or more for the
procession, which was then about three hours overdue.
While we waited there, we met and talked with a Mr —— whom I mentioned to
you before as having come out from England in the same series of steamers
as ourselves. He told us that he was putting up at the best hotel in
Manila, which, he said, was haphazard and dirty beyond belief. We said we
had had the same account from other people, and considered ourselves more
than lucky to be staying with friends.
“Yes,” he said, “you are in luck, for you can’t imagine what a Manila
hotel is like. And yet it is full of decent people. I wonder why they
can’t run a better one.”
It does seem odd when one comes to think of it, because, though Manila
is off the tourist track of the world, and there is no reason for any
mere traveller to come here, still, people do come sometimes, and anyhow
there are the Americans themselves, who want a shelter of some sort, and
that nation has the reputation of being accomplished connoisseurs in the
matter of hotels. One would imagine that a good hotel would be the first
thing they would demand or establish, but they have been here six years
now, and the Manila hotels are still a byword for unutterable filth and
discomfort.
Well, about this procession, the occasion of which was the bringing down
to Manila of a very sacred image, called the Virgin of Antipolo, from
the town of Antipolo, which is inland, to deposit her in some church
in Manila. She had been four hundred years in Antipolo, and was a very
precious and much-battered relic, so her journey was a great event, and
the procession had been travelling, by road and river, ever since before
the dawn.
At last the long lines of people began to appear, crawling over the
bridge in the last grey shadows. It proved to be a very dull affair,
simply consisting of endless files of the faithful, carrying unlighted
candles, with every now and then a band of music, and every now and then
a group of paper lanterns carried on poles, or some gaudy banner, and all
moving along to the accompaniment of a weird, unearthly chant. This kind
of thing went on and on, and after an hour we got tired of it, and drove
away without having seen the actual image, which was, we were told, a
little, armless, wooden figure, dressed in a stiff tinsel robe, perched
up on an immense high platform, decorated with lamps and flowers, and
surrounded by priests chanting, and acolytes swinging censers.
We are to sail for Iloilo to-day, after lunch, having got a permit to go
in the _Kai-Fong_, of the China Steam Navigation Company. We were to have
come in this same steamer from Hong Kong, as I told you at the time, in
which case we should have gone in her right through to Iloilo, touching
here and at Cebú, but we received the telegram too late, an hour or so
after she had left, and as we were told to start at once, we followed by
that pleasing craft the _Zafiro_.
By this manœuvre we have clashed with a vexatious local law that forbids
foreign (_i.e._, not American or Filipino) steamers to convey passengers
from Island to Island of the Philippines, so we had to apply for this
special permit, as they say the regular mail steamers, which ply between
Manila and Iloilo, are exceedingly dirty and uncomfortable. They are
owned by a Spanish Company, trading under the American flag. However,
it is all settled now, in favour of the English boat, and we sail this
afternoon.
I have only caught a passing glimpse of Manila, but I hope to be able to
tell you more about it later on, as I have been invited to come back and
pay a visit to our friends here in a month or two’s time.
LETTER II.
FROM MANILA TO ILOILO
S.S. “KAI-FONG,” CHINA SEA, _December 1, 1904_.
I hear there will be a mail going out from Iloilo to-morrow, the day we
arrive, so I will write you a letter to go by it, that you may not be
disappointed—six weeks hence!
We left Manila at three o’clock on Monday, in lovely sunshine, and had a
delightful voyage through scenery which was simply a miracle of beauty.
The sky was intensely blue, with little white clouds; the sea calm and
still more intensely blue, dotted with dreams of islands, some mauve and
dim and far away, some nearer and more solid-looking, and a few quite
close, so that we could see the great forests of bright green trees and
the grassy lawns, which cover the hills and clothe the whole islands down
to long, white, sandy beaches, with fringes of palm trees.
The islands are volcanic, mountainous, and of all shapes and sizes,
from Luzon, which is nearly the size of England,[1] and Mindanao, which
is larger still, down to tiny fantastic islets, but all rich, green,
fertile—even a rock poking its head out of the brilliant sea, has its
crown of green vegetation. I don’t know at what size an island ceases to
be an island and becomes a mere rock, but anyhow, there are two thousand
Philippines considered worth enumerating.
I noticed very few signs of cultivation, or even of human habitation,
but was told that even if there were villages in sight, they would be
difficult to distinguish, unless we passed close to them, as they are
built of brown thatch, and placed amongst the trees. Here and there was
a little group of white buildings, generally, in fact always, clustering
round a huge church. We passed quite close to some of the islands, so
that we saw the trees and beaches clearly, but even those at a distance
were very distinct, and I was particularly struck with the absence of
colour-perspective, for the islands some way off, if they were not so
far away as to look mauve, were just as brilliantly green as those close
at hand. One after another, like a ceaseless kaleidoscope, these fairy
islands slipped past all day—in fact, as I write, I can hardly keep my
attention on my letter, the scenery is so wonderful and so constantly
varying.
We got to Cebú, which is the chief town of the island of that name, at
six o’clock on Wednesday morning, and anchored just off the town, which
appeared as a flat jumble of grey corrugated iron roofs and green trees,
rather shut in by high mountains close behind. On account of these hills,
they say Cebú is much hotter than Iloilo, as the latter town lies open to
the Monsoons.
These are the chief towns of the Philippines: Manila, the capital, in
Luzon; Iloilo, in Panay; and Cebú, in Cebú; and that is the order they
come in as to size, though between the two provincial towns there is
endless rivalry on the subject of importance. In fact they are a sort of
local Liverpool and Manchester—bitterly jealous, and yet pretending to
despise each other. There was a P. and O. cargo steamer anchored not far
from us, the first ever seen at Cebú, and everyone seemed very proud of
the event.
When we went on deck, we saw a couple of canoes, hollowed out of big tree
trunks, circling round, and containing natives dressed in loin-cloths,
offering to dive for coins, in the approved fashion, west of Port Saïd.
They were fine young men, yellowy brown in colour, and they made a
great deal of noise, but did not dive very well. After breakfast some
of C——’s friends came off in a launch and took us ashore, when we drove
in the usual little victoria, drawn by two small ponies, to the British
Vice-Consulate, a large house on the borders of the town, where the
Vice-Consul, Mr Fulcher, entertained us royally.
Here I followed the same programme as I did at Manila, resting in the
cool house all the long, hot day, and driving out in the evening at about
five o’clock, when the sun had begun to go down. We drove all through
dim streets, with a gorgeous sunset fading in the sky, and I could not
make things out very distinctly, but could see that we were passing
along ramshackle, half-country roads with overshadowing trees, and every
now and then we passed a row of little open shops with bright lights in
them, and natives squatting about. There are no bazaars in this country,
by-the-bye, only little mat-shed shops where food is sold.
That was all I saw of Cebú, as I did not go out this morning, and we
sailed in the afternoon. When we came down to the wharf to get on board,
the tide, or the Port Doctor, had allowed of the _Kai-Fong_, drawing
up to the wharf, so we came on board up a plank, when one had to look
at the ship instead of the water on each side! The ship was very busy
getting a cargo of hemp into one of the holds, hemp being the peculiar
produce of the Island of Cebú and the opposite ones of Samar and Leyte,
all long-shaped islands lying almost parallel in the middle of the
Archipelago.
[Illustration: DISCHARGING HEMP FROM PARAOS (NATIVE BOATS).
_To face page 10._]
The hemp comes on board in great oblong bales, looking like oakum, and
a man told me it was the fibre of a plant like a banana tree, which the
natives split and shred very skilfully, and then it is dried and done up
in bales, and “that is all there is _to_ it,” as the Americans say.
Opposite the town of Cebú is a long, low island called Mactan, where the
great Portuguese Navigator Magellan was killed in the year 1521. The
story is that the natives of the islands, finding Magellan invincible,
and believing him to be enchanted, lured the great explorer away by
treachery to the little island of Mactan, where they had prepared a pit
covered with branches, such as they use to trap wild pigs. Magellan fell
into this trap, whereupon the savages rushed out of their hiding-places
and shot him in the joints of his harness with poisoned arrows, and one
bold man finally finished him off with a spear. They poison their arrows
to this day as they did then, by dipping the tip into a decomposed human
body.
There is a monument to Magellan on the spot where he died, but we did
not have time to go and see it, so I had to be content with looking at a
photograph, which gave me a very good idea of the quaint old three-decker
edifice of grey stone, tapering to a column at the top. The real and
original spelling of Mactan is as I have written it, but it is now
altered to Maktan, and for this change there is a very curious reason,
dating from the days, some ten years ago, when the Filipinos, headed by a
patriot of the name of Emilio Aguinaldo, revolted against the authority
of Spain. The chief element in the uprising was a secret society, called
the Katipunan, the device of which, on flags and so forth, was K K K, and
to make this fact memorable, or to prove his power, Aguinaldo ordered
the hard letter C to be replaced by K in all names in the Philippines,
making Mactan, Maktan; Capiz, Kapiz; Catbologan, Katbologan, and so on.
This alteration the Americans, some think unwisely, have not taken the
trouble to abandon, so the revolutionary spelling remains a monument of
the success of disloyalty, to say nothing of the names having thus lost
all philological significance.
We are now passing round the north end of the Island of Cebú, for Panay
lies to the westward, in a rough parallel. Sometimes the north passage
is taken, and sometimes the south, according to the wind and current.
The currents are very strong between these islands—all the Philippine
Islands, I mean, and in many places the sea is always rough, in fact it
is very seldom really calm anywhere, I believe.
Our fellow-passengers are all Americans, half of them military, officers
and privates, who address each other in most unceremonious fashion, and
the rest school-teachers. A most appropriate and characteristic company,
as the American scheme out here is to educate the Filipino for all he is
worth, so that he may, in the course of time, be fit to govern himself
according to American methods; but at the same time they have ready
plenty of soldiers to knock him on the head, if he shows signs of wanting
his liberty before Americans think he is fit for it. A quaint scheme, and
one full of the go-ahead originality of America.
I can understand the conduct of the free and easy soldiers, for such
equality is not inconsistent with American social theories; but what
puzzles me is the use of these astounding pedagogues, who are honest,
earnest, well-meaning folk, but their manners are those of ordinary
European peasants. And as to the language they speak and profess, it is
so unlike English that literally I find it difficult to catch their
meaning when one of them speaks to me direct, and quite impossible when
they talk to each other. Yet I could forgive them their dreadful lingo,
if only they would not use the same knife indiscriminately to lap up
yolk of egg, or help themselves to butter or salt. Of course these good
people are fresh from America, and utterly ignorant of all things and
people outside their native State (such ludicrous questions they ask!),
but quite apart from that, and the hopeless blunders they must make on
that account, it seems a pity that such rough diamonds should represent
to these natives the manners and intellect of a great and ruling white
nation.
But here comes the most curious phenomenon of all, for I am told that
the United States does not pose as either “white” or “ruling” in these
islands, preferring, instead, to proclaim Equality, which seems a very
strange way to treat Malays, and I find myself quite curious to see
how the theory works out. I only hope it won’t mean that we shall have
unmanageable servants and impudence to put up with. Our friends in Manila
told me ominously that housekeeping was “difficult,” and I begin to
wonder if Equality has anything to do with it!
They are a funny little people, these Filipinos, the women averaging well
under 5 feet, with pretty, slender figures and small hands and feet.
The original race was a little, fuzzy-headed, black people, remnants of
which are still to be found in the mountains and in the smaller islands,
but the Filipino, as one sees him, is the result of Malay invasions. Up
in the north, in Luzon, the Malays are a race or tribe called Tagalo,
but all this part of the Archipelago is called Visaya, and the people
Visayans. Of these broad outlines there are many subdivisions of type
of course, in the way that physique is different even in different
counties in so small a space as England; but the average Filipino is
the same everywhere. The Filipinos (by which are meant the Tagalos and
Visayans) are, as nearly as one can say, a short, thick-set people,
with yellowy-brown skins, round, flat faces, very thick lips, which
frequently jut out beyond the tip of the nose, and more bridge to the
same said nose in proportion to the amount of foreign blood in the
owner’s veins. It is not easy to lay down any very definite rule about
their appearance though, as the race is so hopelessly mixed with Spanish,
Chinese, European—every nation under the sun, that it is difficult to
say what is a Filipino face. One feature they have in common, and that
is magnificent, straight, jet-black hair, which the women turn back from
the forehead, where it makes a roll so thick that it looks as if it must
be done over a pad, while they twist the back high up, in shiny coils.
The men look as if their thick mops were cut round a basin, and they have
no beards and moustaches—I mean they can’t grow any, not that they don’t
want them! As far as I have seen, they appear to be very lazy, and to
talk a great deal. They are not a bit like the Chinese or Japanese in any
way, unless they happen to have a strain of that blood in them, and even
then the resemblance is only physical, for though the type may be varied,
the universal character remains unalterable.
I forgot to tell you that at Cebú we “collected” C——’s dog, a dear old
brown person, with one of the sweetest faces I ever saw, who answers to
the name of Tuyay, which is the Visayan for Victoria. I really must leave
off writing now, as it is long past time to “turn in,” though I feel as
if I could write on for hours, there is so much to tell you.
[Illustration: A FILIPINO GIRL, AGED 10.
A CASCO (BARGE).
_To face page 14._]
LETTER III.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF ILOILO
ILOILO, _December 4, 1904_.
We arrived here on Friday last (the 2nd), and I at once sent off a letter
to you, written on board the _Kai-Fong_, which letter ought to reach you
some time in the middle of January.
We are so glad to be at the end of this long journey—exactly seven weeks
from London—seven weeks to the very day, for we left London on a Friday
and got here on a Friday; and all that time we have been travelling
steadily, and have seen so much that it seems years already since we left
home. I hope you got all the letters I wrote on the way? One each from
Gibraltar, Marseilles, Port Saïd, Aden, Colombo, Singapore, Penang, Hong
Kong, Manila, and lastly, Cebú. I give you this list because I always
have a fixed conviction that letters posted on a sea voyage seldom turn
up, as the last one sees of them is going over the side in a strange
land, in the clutches of some oily, dark person, who swears he will spend
the money one has given him in stamps. I try to believe him, but he, like
Victor Hugo’s beggar, thinks he has to live somehow, I suppose.
Well, so here we are at last on our “Desert Island,” as you call it—which
is really a vast and fertile country, with several big towns, of which
this is the chief and largest.
We got in at dawn as usual, the run from Cebú (which I notice the
Americans call _See_-boo) being about twelve hours, so our first view
of the Island of Panay and the town of Iloilo was in the early morning
light, from the deck of the steamer, which lay, waiting for _pratique_,
in the “roads,” at the mouth of a river. We saw a long, flat, dark-green
coast line, with a high range of purple mountains far inland, and the
town of Iloilo, like Manila, almost imperceptible, as it lies so low on
the mud-flats of a big estuary. It did not look at all inviting, just a
line of very green trees, with some grey iron roofs amongst them, and it
seemed as if it must be baking hot, but, as a matter of fact, the very
flatness and the direction of the mountains keep the place cool, for, as
I told you before, it lies exposed to the N.-E. and S.-W. Monsoons, the
great arbiters of fate in the China seas.
On the map you may find marked a small island called Guimaras, which is
about 4 or 5 miles off, but in this air it looks so close that trees and
houses can be seen over there with the naked eye, and yesterday evening,
in driving down a street of Iloilo and seeing Guimaras at the end, I
thought it was part of _this_ island at the end of the road!
Guimaras is very small, with low, pointed hills, covered with forests,
as are all these islands; and behind it, 7 miles further away, lies the
big island of Negros, the mountains of which loom up, a dim, pale purple
outline behind bright green Guimaras, making one more of these marvellous
colour effects. One of the high peaks we see is a volcano called
Malaspina or Canloon, which is 4592 feet high, and only half quiescent.
At any rate, if we cannot actually see it, there is such a volcano in
Negros. There are plenty of volcanoes in the Philippines, twenty-three
of them all told, and that fact and the frequent earthquakes give an
uncomfortable impression, as of a thin crust of rocks and trees over vast
subterranean fires.
Here, in Panay, the mountains are 20 miles inland, away to the west—a
long range of peaks and serrated ridges, behind which the sun sets with
magnificent effects. From the foot of the mountains the land stretches
away quite flat, watered by big rivers, and where one of these streams
forms a wide estuary, this town is built, as I told you, on the mud, in
the same way that Manila stands on the mud-flats of the Pasig.
The first settlement of white men in Panay was only a Spanish garrison,
inside a fort built in the days when a few Spaniards in armour lurked
under shelter from the poisoned arrows of the savage natives, while now
and then a priest ventured out to see what a little talk and baptism
would do towards making life more pleasant for everyone concerned.
When the island became more civilised, or settled, or subdued, or all
three, a town called Jaro (pronounced Hahro) was founded about 3 miles up
the river, and became the capital of Panay, but now the tide of commerce
has swept down-river, and the chief town is Iloilo, all crammed down
at the edge of the sea, with many of its suburbs nothing more nor less
than sandy beach. It is a big town, with long, straggling streets, and
the houses, all two stories high, with grey corrugated iron roofs, stand
apart, separated by little bits of garden with palms and flowering trees,
which makes it quite pretty, in spite of all the buildings being totally
devoid of any architectural beauty whatsoever.
At present the N.-E. Monsoon is blowing, and everyone is anxious to
point out to me how deliciously cool the weather is, and it is certainly
not so overpowering as I had expected, but all the same I find it quite
hot enough to be pleasant and a little over. Though there is no dew,
the nights are refreshing—almost cold by contrast with the day, and
the evenings charming, while the early mornings are simply delicious.
Dawn begins at half-past five, and by six the sun is up, but the air is
exquisite till about half-past eight, when it begins to get too hot for
anything but shade and fans, if one has any choice. I think the average
Fahrenheit now is 83°, but as life here is adapted to such temperature,
you must not think that means anything like what 83° would be in England.
Still, when all is said and done, it is very hot, and if this is what
they call “winter,” I am only thankful that I have not plunged at once
into “summer.” This “winter” goes on till March, and then the weather
begins to get hotter and hotter till June, when the Monsoon shifts to the
S.-W., and the rainy season begins.
Four months dry and cool; four months dry and hot; four months wet and
hot—that is the climate over most of the Philippine Islands, but it
varies in sequence in different places—areas is a better word—and on the
Pacific seaboard the seasons are quite reversed, so that it is rainy
there when it is dry here. By rain and dry, however, I gather that a
great deal of drought or a long, steady rain is not meant, for all during
the dry season there are heavy showers, and everything remains green,
while in the wet season there are spells of fine weather. Now I think I
have described to you all I can of Iloilo till I see more of the place,
but I know how anxious you will be to have some idea of what it is like.
We are busy house-hunting, which is a tedious and toilsome business, as
there is not such an institution as a house agency—you allow a rumour
to get about that you want a house, and then people tell other people
to tell you where an empty building, such as you say you want, is to
be found. Then you go off and “find” the house—a matter, usually, of
infinite difficulties and sometimes quite impossible, as the Filipino
cab-drivers don’t know the names of the streets, or the numbers, or the
names of the people. The best plan is, get into a rickety old trap and
let the man drive about, while you lean out and ask for the house you
started out to find, and end by seeing another one with _se aquila_ (to
let) written up, and stopping as near to it as the driver can pull up his
pony, and getting out there instead.
Having thus “found” a house, you set to work to “find” the owner of it,
who is probably at the club, or a cock-fight, or playing cards; and when
he, or she, appears, you ask—and this is quite necessary—if the house
is to let; for the board does not signify much, as they seldom take the
trouble to remove one when once it has been put up. Most of the boards
are obligingly going through the process of removing themselves, one nail
at a time.
When the house really is to let, you ask the rent, and whatever the
answer is you throw up your hands in horror, and declare it is _muy
caro_ (very dear), and that you will give half, calling assorted Saints
to testify to all the drawbacks which make the house unfit for human
habitation at any price.
Then a long argument ensues, for the people never really want to lose
a tenant, as they know there is no lack of choice, for trade is very
bad, and so many houses stand empty. All the same, the rates and taxes
are appallingly high, and the rents are preposterous for this sort of
town, and for the accommodation offered. Moreover you have a strangely
lazy, supercilious, half-bred sort of people to deal with, who would
rather keep a house empty and say they must have 100 dollars a month and
starve, than take 50 for it and live on the fat of their land.