but I wish I had brought my saddle, as there is not such a thing as a
side-saddle to be bought in Iloilo, or, the shopkeepers tell us, in the
whole Islands. This is because the _Mestizas_ never ride at all, and the
American women ride astride in large loose trousers that look like two
skirts.[9] There are very few here who ride, but I saw several going
about in Manila, and am confirmed once and for ever to my allegiance
to the side-saddle, for a more hideous and ungainly effect than women
astride I never saw, to say nothing of its vulgarity. The attitude also
brings out all the disproportions of the female figure, making it look
top-heavy and ill-balanced. It is all very well for the Amazons to look
well on a Greek sarcophagus, but no modern woman of over sixteen is
shaped like that—and I very much doubt if the ordinary ancients were
either, quite apart from corsets, boots, and collars. Besides all that,
from the point of view of sense, a woman’s knees can’t be strong enough
to grip the saddle. So as I have not brought my own saddle I shall not
be able to ride, and now we are thinking of going home, it is not worth
while to send for it.
I read in my Manila papers that there is a fearful row going on in Manila
now, because the committee who are arranging the banquets and receptions
for Mr Taft and his party have invited heads of every religious sect
except the Iglesia Filipina, and the latter are making a terrible fuss,
and insisting on Father Aglipay being included amongst the official
guests. Of course, if he is asked, the R.C. won’t come, and the Pope
will be furious, and the Insurrectionist Party will score one important
point in the public eye. On the other hand, if the authorities fall out
with Aglipay, they fall foul of his powerful following, who give quite
enough trouble as it is, so they are in a very uncomfortable cleft stick,
besides the fact of partizanship for any one religion being entirely
unconstitutional. And the trouble is aggravated, you see, by Mr Taft
being such an ardent pro-Filipino, and all the natives believing that his
advent is to be a sort of second coming to announce the millennium of
freedom.
What he _is_ coming for, besides the personal conducting of the
anti-Filipino Senators, is a staple subject of conversation, many
thinking he will be allowed to announce a great reduction in taxation as
a sort of halo to his visit. Whatever it is, I am so anxious not to miss
his visit, and I do hope our return journey will not have to begin before
he and his party arrive.
Besides the Taft excitement, Manila has been convulsed for months by
efforts to get fireworks from America for “the 4th.” Already in the month
of April there were huge “scare-heads,” as they call them, in the papers,
with letters big enough for a poster, beginning
FIREWORKS NOT GONE OFF YET,
and then another headline to the effect that
THEY WILL NOT REACH MANILA TILL JUNE.
Sometimes these headlines are very comical, whether intentionally or not
I don’t know—for instance, when the transport _Sherman_ left, there was a
headline in enormous letters,
_Sherman’s_ LIVING FREIGHT,
which I at first took to mean cows or horses, but found to my surprise it
was only a list of officers’ names.
I am sure you will be sorry to hear that one of our dear little mongeese
is dead, the little man of the party. He was very sick for a day or two,
lying on the floor on his stomach as if in pain, and when the others came
running into my room in the morning, he could only crawl very slowly
after them. At last, at about ten in the morning, he died, poor, gentle
little beast, and I made Domingo take him out and bury him in the garden.
We don’t know what he died of, but we think it was tough cockroach, as
his poor little throat was full of hard brown wings, which we hauled
out, but it did him no good to get rid of them. What I fear is he may
have picked up a cockroach which had died of rat-poison. I gave him
weak sherry and water to revive him, but he brought it all up again with
pitiful little groans and squeaks, and soon afterwards he died.
The little widows did not seem to mind much, they hopped about as usual;
but now one of them has injured an eye in some way, and has gone blind
in it, and is very sick and sorry, and I am afraid she won’t live long
either. I bathed the poor eye with cold tea, which gave the little
creature some relief, for she lifted the lid slowly, and then I saw
that the eye had a cut right across, as if some animal had scratched
it. She can only move very slowly, with her head on one side—a very sad
sight—just able to crawl as far as wherever I am, and then sit in a heap
waiting to be lifted up, when she goes to sleep on my lap, and lies still
for hours.
LETTER XXXIV.
TRYING HEAT—AN AMERICAN PROSPECTOR—NEW LODGERS—BARGAINING FOR _PIÑA_
ILOILO, _June 29, 1905_.
The weather is becoming more stormy, and typhoons are signalled, but
so far they seem to go wide of us, which is a very good thing. The
thermometer the last few days has been very low, 78° to 80°, but the damp
makes it more trying and relaxing than when we had over 90° to contend
against. With the rain, all sorts of trees have come into bloom—things
with coarse, strong foliage and huge bright flowers. The fields are all
covered with very vivid green grass and corn coming up, and sometimes
when there is a purple thunder-cloud across half the sky and all these
colours in the sun, wet with rain, shining against it, the effect is
simply like a scene cut out of glittering metals.
As I explained to you when we first arrived, life here is adapted to dry
heat, and the fears I had then about the wet season are being justified
every day, for steel and silver rust while you look at them; clothes come
out in feverish patches of blue mould; silk and satin “go” so that they
tear like tissue paper; and all sorts of mysterious “beasts” are stowed
away in our garments, while shoes have to be shaken before putting on
more carefully than ever.
C—— amused me the other day with an account of an American millionaire
who came down by the last boat from Manila to “prospect” in this
island and Negros for sugar. It seems that the fancy of this plutocrat,
who is quite a common, roughly-dressed old man, is to buy up half the
island, with which object he went to the office, as C——’s firm are the
largest, if not the only exporters of sugar in these islands. C—— said
the old chap’s notions filled everyone with amusement, for he wants
to get control of some plantations, and put up sugar mills that will
crush 10,000 tons of cane daily! The price and scarcity of labour were
represented to him as a factor in his schemes, as well as the Export Tax,
lack of roads, and other trifles. But he was not much depressed, and I
daresay he will tackle the enterprise in the American sink or swim style,
which seems rather a pity, as what the Philippines want is small and
prosperous farms—not huge trust-like businesses to produce vast sums to
be spent in New York or Paris.
You remember my telling you about the _fracas_ next door? That family
all moved away, eventually, but not to Manila, only to the next street
parallel to this. The next-door basement is now occupied by a dressmaker,
a jolly fat old Tagalo woman with a deep voice like a man, and her hair
scraped up into a knob with a comb (an ordinary white bone one for
_combing_) stuck across it. Besides the comb, she wears nothing but a
chemise, petticoat, and slippers. The work-girls are all natives, and
they sit about the big front room on mats on the floor, sewing and
cutting out and talking all day long. They are there at five in the
morning, and often work till after dark. Two have sewing machines on
tables, and they look so queer in their tight native _sarong_ and muslin
_camisa_, sitting on a Viennese cane chair at a treadle-machine.
The husband of the Tagalo is a fat, greasy Spaniard, with side-whiskers,
and an eternal cigar, who lounges all day in a cane chair in vest and
trousers, reading the _Heraldo_, and balancing his slippers on the tips
of his bare toes. They appear to hit it off very well, he and his old
native wife, for he is quite content to blowze and loaf all day, and
roll off to his club now and then, while she is a typical, thrifty,
hard-working Tagalo,[10] always amongst her work-girls, and generally
sewing herself. She sits in a chair, though, and every now and then picks
up an old cigar-box that is for ever within her reach, and rolls herself
a cigarette, scooping up very carefully every crumb of tobacco that falls
into her capacious lap.
This Filipina keeps the house much cleaner than the _Mestizas_ did,
and has more regard for privacy, in the shape of curtains of bright
cretonne nailed across the side windows. The old lady has a very pet
dog, which is exactly like herself—a huge, fat, sleek, brown creature,
perfectly good-natured, with a deep, full voice. They have a spaniel
too, and other dogs that run in and out, and I can’t make out how many
belong to the house, or how many are only friends; but I got to be quite
certain of one, which nearly always lies on the window-ledge, and to
know it by sight. After a time, however, it gradually dawned on me that
this particular spaniel never moved—and then I discovered that he was
_stuffed_! Till I knew that, he was, to me, a quiet, contemplative dog;
but since I found he was stuffed, he has become a horrible, uncanny demon.
Yesterday morning a little old native woman appeared wandering round the
balcony with a bundle under her arm. When she caught sight of me she
darted away, and in a few minutes Sotero came into the _sala_ saying that
a _mujer_ (a woman) wanted to sell some _piña_ to the _señora_.
I said I did not want _piña_ particularly, but that the woman could come
and show it to me if she liked; so in she came and squatted on her heels
in the doorway while she undid the bundle, first a piece of cotton, and
then an old newspaper, then more cotton, and at last a lot of rolls of
muslin. They were very pretty pieces of stuff, dyed in pale greens,
pinks, blues, and mauves, but she wanted sixteen or eighteen _pesos_
apiece (thirty-two to thirty-eight shillings) for them—dress lengths of
fifteen narrow yards. I said: “I will give you nine _pesos_.”
“_Santa Maria!_” she threw up her hands. “I could not live. My mistress
would beat me!”
I said that was nonsense, because she knew no Filipino lady would dream
of giving her more than seven.
“Fourteen at the very lowest, _señora_, and the American ladies gave me
eighteen without any questions.”
“That is very silly of them,” I said. But I knew it to be true, for I had
been present at a great buying of _piña_ by American tourists, and the
prices they gave were simply idiotic.
“I am not _Americana_,” I said.
“I know that” (I daresay she did, for on that point a native rarely, if
ever, makes a mistake), “so I would not think of asking the _señora_ more
than thirteen, which I hope she will not mention to anyone.”
“Why should I pay thirteen for stuff that I know is to be had in the
Filipino houses for nine?”
“If I say twelve, may the _señora_ say a prayer that I may not be
dismissed by my mistress.”
“I am _Protestante_. I think each person must say their own prayers.”
“The _señora_ is wise and good. She will give me eleven and a half.”
And so on, and so on. Before we had done, I was the kindest, wisest,
most humane, and beautiful and polite woman the sun ever shone on; I was
blessed by all the Saints in turn—but I paid nine _pesos_ for a roll of
blue _piña_, and the old woman said she would come any day and sell me
any amount more at the same price.
LETTER XXXV.
DECLARATION DAY—THE CULT OF THE FLAG—A PROCESSION, FESTIVITIES, AND A BALL
ILOILO, _July 4_.
This is a tremendous day here, and a universal public holiday—Declaration
Day, you know; the anniversary of the day when the States declared
themselves independent of the Mother Country. All the town is gay with
palm-branches and myriads of Stars and Stripes, while the fun began at
sunrise this morning by a great letting-off of Chinese crackers, and
Americans coming out on their balconies in pyjamas and firing pistols
into the air.
I think the Americans must be a very patriotic people, for out here they
keep up these anniversaries with even more fervour, I am told, than
they do at home, where they are a tradition of the soil. The cult of
the national flag, too, is a perfect passion with them, and I have yet
to see an American house out here where the Stars and Stripes do not
appear in some part or other. In very many houses the flag is used as
window-curtains, as ceiling-draperies, as _portières_, as tablecloths,
besides little extra sort of Christmas-cake flags being stuck about
wherever an ornament is wanted. One does not see this sort of thing in
colonies of other countries, but the American flag devotion is really
so sincere that one cannot cavil at its excess. Nevertheless we should
consider it odd if the houses of high officials, and of everyone, in
fact, in one of our colonies were decorated with Union Jacks in this
fashion! Of course the Spaniards laugh at it very much; but then they
are, very naturally, rather critical of all things American. One of
them was holding forth bitterly to me on this flag question a day or
two ago, and when I said that I thought it very nice to see so much
patriotic feeling, he waved his hands and replied, very hotly: “It is not
patriotism! It is farce! We, who have been born and bred for hundreds of
generations on our native soil and love our country as a mother—we hold
our flag sacred! We do not use it as furniture!”
I was much amused at his vehemence, but did not dare to smile for fear
of hurting his feelings. Instead, I tried to soothe him down by saying
that I thought the flag cult was perhaps a benefit as a direct appeal to
the elementary natures of the Filipinos. This move of mine was a failure,
however, for he burst out with renewed fury: “The Filipinos! What they
think of it! Ha! You should hear them!” So I gave him up as a bad job!
To get back to the Declaration Day. The popping of pistols and throwing
of crackers into the streets went on intermittently till about eight
o’clock, when a procession began marching about the town, and luckily
the day is extremely fine, though it is very hot indeed, as, though the
thermometer is as low as 84°, there is not a breath of wind stirring, and
all nature is very still and bright and shining.
The procession began to pass our house at about nine, so we had no more
trouble to see it than just to lean over the balcony with some friends
who had come round to profit by our position. C—— tried to get some
snap-shots, but I am afraid they may not come out very well, as the
camera is damp, like everything else in the house, and has a good coating
of the prevailing blue mould.
The first spectacle that came along was a number of American officers on
horseback, in khaki, with sashes of any colour they seemed to fancy—pale
blue, pink, scarlet—slung round one shoulder and tied in a large bow on
the hip. They rode the big army horses, which are no larger than ordinary
horses at home; but, as I told you before, they look like pantomime
animals after one’s eye is used to the Filipino ponies.
There was some hitch, out of sight, as the procession reached us, and
all the officers pulled up their horses and turned round to look back. I
don’t know what it was, but they halted a long time, trying all the time
to get into the shade of the houses, for the heat was already very great.
The men’s khaki suits were dark with perspiration, quite a different
colour! Their horses dripped puddles of sweat when they halted, and one
white horse was gradually turning _purple_!
The Americans rode in the style which I notice they all adopt. It does
not look well according to our ideas, for they slouch in the saddle and
flap their elbows, sitting with their legs sticking out straight as if
the horse had tar or something on its ribs which the rider wanted to keep
clear of. They seem to hold their reins in any sort of way, in each hand
and up to their chins being the favourite method, which looks awkward,
to say the least of it. After them came one or two Filipinos, who all
ride very well by instinct, sitting their horses firmly and gracefully,
with flat thighs, and moving as if they were part of their mount, so that
it is a pleasure to look at them. The little ponies and horses of the
Filipinos pranced and curvetted about in a most engaging manner, which
desirable result is brought about by means of an ingenious contrivance,
borrowed from the Spaniards, of a sharp iron spike which runs into the
roof of the horse’s mouth when the rein is pulled, causing the animal to
fret and foam and sidle to the admiration of beholders, who wonder how
the rider can be so brave and cool with such a spirited steed.
After this little cavalcade had got past, the procession proper came
along, headed by a military band from Guimaras, playing extremely well,
and a long column of American soldiers, all in khaki and wearing khaki
felt sombreros, such as our troops adopted in the Boer War, turned up at
one side and with a narrow blue cord knotted in front, the ends finished
off with two small blue acorns. They marched very well, all looking as
exactly alike as so many toy soldiers on an expanding frame—you know the
things? All very tall men, with long, handsome faces, narrow shoulders,
and long, thin legs, not at all a robust type, no wiriness and no depth
about them.
After the soldiers came a dozen or so of ordinary civilians in white
linen suits and _sombreros_, with stars and medals on their breasts. They
were followed by a similar group of men on foot, and these two little
bands represented the Veteran Army of the Philippines, which includes
anyone who volunteered in any capacity during the War. We told C—— he
ought to be in that company, or at least to have a medal, as he was once
made a temporary “_loo_tenant,” and fought for the Americans in Samar.
I think, however, that the V.A.P., as they call it, confines itself to
American volunteers. With the American craze for societies and so forth,
the V.A.P. are a sort of brotherhood, and have lodges and badges and
meetings, and all that sort of thing. They gave a dance when we first
came here, to which we went, and were awfully disgusted when we arrived
to find that we had come too late for a solemn Lodge Meeting at which
some ceremony had been performed.
After the V.A.P. came a lot of Philippine Scouts, quite the opposite
build to the American soldiers, as they were very small, square men,
with brown, square faces, high shoulders, long bodies, and short legs.
Sturdy-looking little people, and looking very trim and smart in their
neat khaki uniforms. Their band followed them, and behind that came the
Constabulary, more little square “brown brothers” in white gala suits,
with _their_ band.
A string of carriages came next, decorated, wheels and all, with
Stars-and-Stripes flags and filled with all sorts of Americans,
Filipinos, _Mestizos_, and Spaniards, men and women, a very gay crowd.
Following them was the Fire Brigade, consisting of natives marching
on each side of an old hand-pump, like a thing on a sailing ship, and
carrying a most amusing banner, painted with a picture of a house on
fire, where a man in the middle distance worked a hose with a Niagara
pouring out of it, while in the foreground a huge woman holding a giant
baby sat on a packing case amongst a lot of very small furniture.
Next came a Filipino Base-ball Team, in khaki knickerbockers and black
shirts, with ATLETICA in large white letters across their chests, after
the fashion of that base-ball team we once saw play in the gardens of the
Borghese.
The great feature of the procession was a large car decorated with a
quantity of American flags and portraits of Washington, surmounted by a
big pasteboard column, striped red and white, on the top of which lay
a scroll of paper, held down by a gigantic gilt ink-pot with a mammoth
quill stuck in it, and on the scroll was written CONSTITUTION in big
letters.
All the men in the Port Works went past, some carrying hammers, and some
bearing, between five or six of them, immense long boring-rods for
blasting. They were Filipinos, of course; in fact, with the exception
of the American soldiers and a dozen or so of the occupants of the
carriages, the whole procession was Filipino—all quite pleased and
childlike to march about with banners to Sousa’s stirring tunes. I don’t
suppose one in twenty of the “little brown brothers” had the vaguest
idea what their big white brothers were so rejoicing about; or if they
had ever heard of Townshend and the Stamp Duties they would think the
commemoration of the removal of a yoke of foreign bad government and
taxation was something to do with their own everlasting struggle for
independence. Besides this comical side to the rejoicings, there was the
absurd anomaly that a great part of the funds for this celebration had
been contributed by the British commercial houses!
Well, it was an interminable string of people. The Normal Schools of
Jaro, La Paz, Molo, etc., each under their own banner, a long file of
boys and then girls in all sorts of outfits and colours, but the girls
all wearing the Filipino _camisa_, and many of them carrying the branches
of artificial and gilt flowers, which they use in religious processions.
It was particularly noticeable that there was no priest of any sort in
the procession, nor were the priestly colleges or the Convent Schools
represented in any way.
We got quite tired of watching them at last, especially as the whole
thing kept on getting muddled up and having to stop for long, weary
halts. We came to the conclusion at last that as there was no crowd in
the street or at the end of it; there must be a tiger round the corner.
But a very literal Scotch friend said: “There are no tigers in the
Philippines.”
A dance was given by the Spanish Club last night, and there is to be
another to-night, at the invitation of the Presidente of the town, at his
official residence, the Gobierno. I am not well enough to go to both,
for I have not been out of the house for weeks, and even now it is rash
to stand at all till my feet are healed, but I felt I must go to one of
these functions, so I have chosen to-night, which is, according to Iloilo
notions of etiquette, far the less exclusive of the two, so it will be
much the more amusing.
I have been writing this, lying in my long chair in the _sala_, while C——
went out to the Plaza to see if he could hear any speeches or anything
funny. He has just come back, and tells me there was a platform erected
in the Plaza, where speeches had been rolled off, but he had been too
late to hear any of them. A great pity, as I daresay they may have been
amusing, because one of the speakers was a rabid pro-Filipino and the
other (both Americans) a keen pro-American. I will finish this letter
to-morrow, so as to be able to tell you all about the ball.
_July 5._
We went for a drive yesterday, late in the afternoon, and when we got
as far as the Plaza, we found a terrific _Fiesta_ in progress—all the
lamp-posts decorated with Stars and Stripes and Japanese lanterns; and
a huge stage, covered with palms and more Stars and Stripes, put up
opposite the bandstand, and full of Americans, while vast crowds of
Filipinos surged below—the men in white and the women in colours like
those in a cheap church window—and it all looked very gay and pretty. I
was very much surprised to see all this, as I had had no idea anything
of the sort was in contemplation, and I was sorry that neither I nor
the other Englishwoman had been invited to the stand, but I suppose they
thought we would not care to take part in rejoicings over the Declaration
of Independence although our countrymen had contributed, by request, a
great part of the funds for the celebration.
We pulled up and looked on for a little while, much interested in a
tug of war which was unlike anything we had ever seen. The two sides,
Filipinos, stood on a long wooden frame like a gigantic ladder lying on
the ground, and on this they lay at opposite ends, with their purchase on
the rungs, and pulled at the rope with no effect whatever to the amateur
eye; but apparently some man in command thought otherwise, for a voice
suddenly sang out that one side had won, whereupon the competitors all
let go the rope and fell quite limp, and then got up and walked away.