Life in Manila.
Character of the Filipinos--Drivers Lashing Laboring Men in
the Streets--What Americans Get in Their Native Air--The Logic
of Destiny--Manila as She Fell into Our Hands--The Beds in the
Tropics--A Spanish Hotel--Profane Yells for Ice--Sad Scenes in the
Dining Room--Major-General Calls for "Francisco"--A Broken-Hearted
Pantry Woman.
The same marvelous riches that distinguish Cuba are the inheritance
of Luzon. The native people are more promising in the long run than
if they were in larger percentage of the blood of Spain, for they
have something of that indomitable industry that must finally work
out an immense redemption for the eastern and southern Asiatics. When,
I wonder, did the American people get the impression so extensive and
obstinate that the Japanese and Chinese were idlers? We may add as
having a place in this category the Hindoos, who toil forever, and,
under British government, have increased by scores of millions. The
southern Asiatics are, however, less emancipated from various
indurated superstitions than those of the East; and the Polynesians,
spread over the southern seas, are a softer people than those of the
continent. However, idleness is not the leading feature of life of the
Filipinos, and when they are mixed, especially crossed with Chinese,
they are indefatigable. On the Philippine Islands there is far less
servility than on the other side of the sea of China, and the people
are the more respectable and hopeful for the flavor of manliness that
compensates for a moderate but visible admixture of savagery. We of
North America may be proud of it that the atmosphere of our continent,
when it was wild, was a stimulant of freedom and independence. The red
Indians of our forests were, with all their faults, never made for
slaves. The natives of the West Indies, the fierce Caribs excepted,
were enslaved by the Spaniards, and perished under the lash. Our
continental tribes--the Seminoles and the Comanches, the Sioux and
Mohawks, the Black Feet and the Miamis--from the St. Lawrence to
Red River and the oceans, fought all comers--Spaniards, French and
English--only the French having the talent of polite persuasion and
the gift of kindness that won the mighty hunters, but never subjugated
them. We may well encourage the idea that the quality of air of the
wilderness has entered the soil. When, in Manila, I have seen the men
bearing burdens on the streets spring out of the way of those riding
in carriages, and lashed by drivers with a viciousness that no dumb
animal should suffer, I have felt my blood warm to think that the men
of common hard labor in my country would resent a blow as quickly as
the man on horseback--that even the poor black--emancipated the other
day from the subjugation of slavery by a masterful and potential race,
stands up in conscious manhood, and that the teachings of the day are
that consistently with the progress of the country--as one respects
himself, he must be respected--and that the air and the earth have the
inspiration and the stimulus of freedom. The Chinese and Japanese are
famous as servants--so constant, handy, obedient, docile, so fitted to
minister to luxury, to wait upon those favored by fortune and spurred
to execute the schemes for elevation and dominance, and find employment
in the enterprise that comprehends human advancement. It must be
admitted that the Filipinos are not admirable in menial service. Many
of them are untamed, and now, that the Americans have given object
lessons of smiting the Spaniards, the people of the islands that
Magellinos, the Portuguese, found for Spain, must be allowed a measure
of self-government, or they will assert a broader freedom, and do it
with sanguinary methods. As Americans have heretofore found personal
liberty consistent with public order--that Republicanism was more
stable than imperialism in peaceable administration, and not less
formidable in war, it seems to be Divinely appointed that our paths
of Empire may, with advantage to ourselves, and the world at large,
be made more comprehensive than our fathers blazed them out. But
one need not hesitate to go forward in this cause, for we have only
gone farther than the fathers dreamed, because, among their labors of
beneficence, was that of building wiser than they knew, and there is
no more reason now why we should stop when we strike the salt water
of the seas, and consent to it that where we find the white line of
surf that borders a continent we shall say to the imperial popular
Republic, thus far and no farther shalt thou go, and here shall thy
proud march be stayed--than there was that George Washington, as the
representative of the English-speaking people, should have assumed that
England and Virginia had no business beyond the Allegheny Mountains,
and, above all, no right to territory on the west of the Allegheny
and Kanawha, and north of the Ohio river, a territory then remote,
inhabited by barbarians and wanted by the French, who claimed the
whole continent, except the strip along the Atlantic possessed by the
English colonies. Washington was a believer in the acquisition of the
Ohio country. He was a man who had faith in land--in ever more land. It
is the same policy to go west now that it was then. Washington crossed
the Allegheny and held the ground. Jefferson crossed the Mississippi,
and sent Louis and Clark to the Pacific; and crossing the great western
ocean now is but the logic of going beyond the great western rivers,
prairies and mountains then. We walk in the ways of the fathers when
we go conquering and to conquer along the Eastward shores of Asia.
One of the expanding and teeming questions before the world now,
and the authority and ability to determine it, is in the hands of
the Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the United States, is whether
Manila shall become an American city, with all the broad and sweeping
significance attaching thereto. Manila was not dressed for company
when I saw her, for she had just emerged from a siege in which
the people had suffered much inconvenience and privation. The water
supply was cut off, and the streets were not cleaned. The hotels were
disorganized and the restaurants in confusion. The trees that once cast
a grateful shade along the boulevards, that extended into the country,
rudely denuded of their boughs, had the appearance of the skeletons
of strange monsters. The insurgent army was still in the neighborhood
in a state of uneasiness, feeling wronged, deprived, as they were,
of an opportunity to get even with the Spaniards, by picking out
and slaying some of the more virulent offenders. There was an immense
monastery, where hundreds of priests were said to be sheltered, and the
insurgents desired to take them into their own hands and make examples
of them. The Spaniards about the streets were becoming complacent. They
had heard of peace, on the basis of Spain giving up every thing,
but the Philippines, and there were expectations that the troops
withdrawn from Cuba might be sent from Havana to Manila, and then,
as soon as the Americans were gone, the islanders could be brought to
submission by vastly superior forces. There were more rations issued to
Spanish than to American soldiers, until the division of the Philippine
Expedition with Major-General Otis arrived, but the Americans were
exclusively responsible for the preservation of the peace between the
implacable belligerents, and the sanitary work required could not at
once be accomplished, but presently it was visible that something was
done every day in the right direction. There was much gambling with
dice, whose rattling could be heard far and near on the sidewalks,
but this flagrant form of vice was summarily suppressed, we may say
with strict truth, at the point of the bayonet. The most representative
concentration of the ingredients of chaos was at the Hotel Oriental,
that overlooked a small park with a dry fountain and a branch of the
river flowing under a stone bridge, with a pretty stiff current,
presently to become a crowded canal. It is of three lofty stories
and an attic, a great deal of the space occupied with halls, high,
wide and long. The front entrance is broad, and a tiled floor runs
straight through the house. Two stairways, one on either side, lead to
the second story, the first steps of stone. In the distance beyond,
a court could be seen, a passable conservatory--but bottles on a
table with a counter in front declared that this was a barroom, as
it was. The next thing further was a place where washing was done,
then came empty rooms that might be shops; after this a narrow and
untidy street, and then a livery stable--a sort of monopolistic cab
stand, where a few ponies and carriages were to be found--but no one
understood or did anything as long as possible, except to say that
all the rigs were engaged now and always. However, a little violent
English language, mixed with Spanish, would arouse emotion and excite
commotion eventuating in a pony in harness, and a gig or carriage,
and a desperate driver, expert with a villainous whip used without
occasion or remorse.
The cool place was at the front door, on the sidewalk, seated on a
hard chair, for there was always a breeze. The Spanish guests knew
where the wind blew, and gathered there discussing many questions
that must have deeply interested them. But they had something to eat,
no authority or ability to affect any sort of change, and unfailing
tobacco, the burning of which was an occupation. The ground floor of
the hotel, except the barroom, the washroom, the hall, the conservatory
and the hollow square, had been devoted to shop keeping, but the shop
keepers were gone, perhaps for days and perhaps forever! Stone is
not used to any great extent in house interiors, except within a few
feet of the surface of the earth. Of course, there is no elevator in
a Spanish hotel. That which is wanted is room for the circulation of
air. Above the first flight of stairs the steps have a deep dark red
tinge, and are square and long, so that each extends solidly across
the liberal space allotted to the stairway. The blocks might be some
stone of delightful color, but they are hewn logs, solid and smooth,
of a superb mahogany or some tree of harder wood and deeper luxuriance
of coloring. The bedrooms are immensely high, and in every way ample,
looking on great spaces devoted to wooing the air from the park and the
river. The windows are enormous. Not satisfied with the giant sliding
doors that open on the street, revealing windows--unencumbered with
sash or glass, there are sliding doors under the window sills, that
roll back right and left and offer the chance to introduce a current
of air directly on the lower limbs. One of the lessons of the tropics
is the value of the outer air, and architecture that gives it a chance
in the house. It is a precious education. The artificial light within
must be produced by candles, and each stupendous apartment is furnished
with one tallowy and otherwise neglected candle stick, and you can
get, with exertion, a candle four inches long. There is a wardrobe,
a wash stand, with pitcher and basin, and a commode, fans, chairs,
and round white marble table, all the pieces placed in solitude, so
as to convey the notion of lonesomeness. The great feature is the
bed. The bedstead is about the usual thing, save that there is no
provision for a possible or impossible spring mattress, or anything
of that nature. The bed space is covered with bamboo, platted. It is
hard as iron, and I can testify of considerable strength, for I rested
my two hundred pounds, and rising a few pounds, on this surface, with
no protection for it or myself for several nights, and there were no
fractures. There is spread on this surface a Manila mat, which is a
shade tougher and less tractable than our old style oilcloth. Upon
this is spread a single sheet, that is tucked in around the edges
of the mat, and there are no bed clothes, absolutely none. There
is a mosquito bar with only a few holes in it, but it is suspended
and cannot under any circumstances be used as a blanket. There is a
pillow, hard and round, and easy as a log for your cheek to rest upon,
and it is beautifully covered with red silk. There is a small roll,
say a foot long and four inches in diameter, softer than the pillow,
to a slight extent, and covered with finer and redder silk, that is
meant for the neck alone. The comparatively big red log is to extend
across the bed for the elevation it gives the head, and the little and
redder log, softer so that you may indent it with your thumb, saves the
neck from being broken on this relic of the Spanish inquisition. But
there is a comforter--not such a blessed caressing domestic comforter
as the Yankees have, light as a feather, but responsive to a tender
touch. This Philippine comforter is another red roll that must be a
quilt firmly rolled and swathed in more red silk; and it is to prop
yourself withal when the contact with the sheet and the mat on the
bamboo floor of the bedstead, a combination iniquitous as the naked
floor--becomes wearisome. It rests the legs to pull on your back, and
tuck under your knees. In the total absence of bed covering, beyond
a thin night shirt, the three red rolls are not to be despised. The
object of the bed is to keep cool, and if you do find the exertion
of getting onto--not into--the bed produces a perspiration, and the
mosquito bar threatens suffocation, reliance may be had that if you
can compose yourself on top of the sheet (which feels like a hard wood
floor, when the rug gives way on the icy surface and you fall) and
if you use the three rolls of hard substance, covered with red silk,
discreetly and considerately, in finding a position, and if you permit
the windows--no glass--fifteen feet by twelve, broadcast, as it were,
to catch the breath of the river and the park; if you can contrive
with infinite quiet, patience and pains to go to sleep for a few
hours, you will be cool enough; and when awakened shivering there is
no blanket near, and if you must have cover, why get under the sheet,
next the Manila mat, and there you are! Then put your troublesome and
probably aching legs over the bigger red roll, and take your repose! Of
course, when in the tropics you cannot expect to bury yourself in
bedclothing, or to sleep in fur bags like an arctic explorer. The
hall in front of your door is twelve feet wide and eighty long, lined
with decorative chairs and sofas, and in the center of the hotel is
a spacious dining room. The Spaniard doesn't want breakfast. He wants
coffee and fruit--maybe a small banana--something sweet, and a crumb
of bread. The necessity of the hour is a few cigarettes. His refined
system does not require food until later. At 12 o'clock he lunches,
and eats an abundance of hot stuff--fish, flesh and fowl--fiery
stews and other condolences for the stomach. This gives strength to
consider the wrongs of Spain and the way, when restored to Madrid,
the imbeciles, who allowed the United States to capture the last
sad fragments of the colonies, sacred to Spanish honor, shall be
crushed by the patriots who were out of the country when it was
ruined. It will take a long time for the Spaniards to settle among
factions the accounts of vengeance. One of the deeper troubles of the
Spaniards is that they take upon themselves the administration of the
prerogatives of him who said "Vengeance is mine." The American end of
the dining room contains several young men who speak pigeon Spanish,
and Captains Strong and Coudert are rapidly becoming experts, having
studied the language in school, and also on the long voyage out. There
are also a group of resident Englishmen and a pilgrim from Norway,
but at several tables are Americans who know no Spanish and are mad
at the Spaniards on that provocation among other things.
There is, however, a connecting link and last resort in the person
of a young man--a cross between a Jap and Filipino. He is slender
and pale, but not tall. His hair is roached, so that it stands up
in confusion, and he is wearied all the time about the deplorable
"help."' It is believed he knows better than is done--always a source
of unhappiness. His name is Francisco; his reputation is widespread. He
is the man who "speaks English"--and is the only one--and it is not
doubted that he knows at least a hundred words of our noble tongue. He
says, "What do you want?" "Good morning, gentlemen"; "What can I do for
you?" "Do you want dinner?" "No, there is no ice till 6 o'clock." He
puts the Americans in mind of better days. Behind this linguist is
a little woman, whose age might be twenty or sixty, for her face is
so unutterably sad and immovable in expression that there is not a
line in it that tells you anything but that there is to this little
woman a bitterly sad, mean, beastly world. She must be grieving over
mankind. It is her duty to see that no spoon is lost, and not an orange
or banana wasted, and her mournful eyes are fixed with the intensity
of despair upon the incompetent waiters, who, when hard pressed by wild
shouts from American officers, frantic for lack of proper nourishment,
fall into a panic and dance and squeal at each other; and then the
woman of fixed sorrow, her left shoulder thin and copper-colored,
thrust from her low-necked dress, her right shoulder protected, is in
the midst of the pack, with a gliding bound and the ferocity of a cat,
the sadness of her face taking on a tinge of long-suffering rage. She
whirls the fools here and there as they are wanted. Having disentangled
the snarl, she returns to the door from which her eyes command both
the pantry and the dining-room to renew her solemn round of mournful
vigilance. The Americans are outside her jurisdiction. She has no more
idea what they are than Christopher Columbus, when he was discovering
America, knew where he was going. When Francisco does not know what
the language (English) hurled at him means he has a far-away look,
and may be listening to the angels sing, for he is plaintive and
inexpressive. He looks so sorry that Americans cannot speak their
own language as he speaks English! But there are phrases delivered by
Americans that he understands, such as, "Blankety, blank, blank--you
all come here." Francisco does not go there, but with humble step
elsewhere, affecting to find a pressing case for his intervention,
but when he can no longer avoid your eye catching him he smiles a
sweet but most superior smile, such as becomes one who speaks English
and is the responsible man about the house.
There never was one who did more on a capital of one hundred words. His
labors have been lightened slightly, for the Americans have picked up a
few Spanish words, such as, "Ha mucher, mucher--don't you know? Hielo,
hielo!" Hielo is ice, and after the "mucher" is duly digested the
average waiter comes, by and by, with a lump as big as a hen's egg
and is amazed by the shouts continuing "hielo, hielo!" pronounced
much like another and wicked word.
"Oh, blanketination mucher mucher hielo!" The Filipinos cannot
contemplate lightly the consumption of slabs of ice. The last words
I heard in the dining-room of the Hotel Oriental were from a soldier
with two stars on each shoulder: "Francisco, oh, Francisco," and the
little woman with left shoulder exposed turned her despairing face
to the wall, her sorrow too deep for words or for weeping.