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 imbéciles, 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.