History records that in the year 1603 two Chinese Mandarins came to Manila as Ambassadors from their Emperor to the Gov.-General of the Philippines. They represented that a countryman of theirs had informed His Celestial Majesty of the existence of a mountain of gold in the environs of Cavite, and they desired to see it. The Gov.-General welcomed them, and they were carried ashore by their own people in ivory and gilded sedan-chairs. They wore the insignia of High Mandarins, and the Governor accorded them the reception due to their exalted station. He assured them that they were entirely misinformed respecting the mountain of gold, which could only be imaginary, but, to further convince them, he accompanied them to Cavite. The Mandarins shortly afterwards returned to their country. The greatest anxiety prevailed in Manila. Rumours circulated that a Chinese invasion was in preparation. The authorities held frequent councils, in which the opinions were very divided. A feverish consternation overcame the natives, who were armed, and ordered to carry their weapons constantly. The armoury was overhauled. A war plan was discussed and adopted, and places were singled out for each division of troops. The natives openly avowed to the Chinese that whenever they saw the first signs of the hostile fleet arriving they would murder them all. The Chinese were accused of having arms secreted; they were publicly insulted and maltreated; the cry was falsely raised that the Spaniards had fixed the day for their extermination; they daily saw weapons being cleaned and put in order, and they knew that there could be no immediate enemy but themselves. There was, in short, every circumstantial evidence that the fight for their existence would ere long be forced upon them.
In this terrible position they were constrained to act on the offensive, simply to ensure their own safety. They raised fortifications in several places outside the city, and many an unhappy Chinaman had to shoulder a weapon reluctantly with tears in his eyes. They were traders. War and revolution were quite foreign to their wishes. The Christian rulers compelled them to abandon their adopted homes and their chattels, regardless of the future. What a strange conception the Chinese must have formed of His Most Catholic Majesty! In their despair many of them committed suicide. Finally, on the eve of Saint Francisʼ Day, the Chinese openly declared hostilities—beat their war-gongs, hoisted their flags, assaulted the armed natives, and threatened the city. Houses were burnt, and Binondo was besieged. They fortified Tondo; and the next morning Luis Perez Dasmariñas, an ex-Gov.-General, led the troops against them. He was joined by 100 picked Spanish soldiers under Tomás de Acuña. The nephew of the Governor and the nephew of the Archbishop rallied to the Spanish standard nearly all the flower of Castilian soldiery—and hardly one was left to tell the tale! The bloodshed was appalling. The Chinese, encouraged by this first victory, besieged the city, but after a prolonged struggle they were obliged to yield, as they could not provision themselves.
The retreating Chinese were pursued far from Manila along the Laguna de Bay shore, thousands of them being overtaken and slaughtered or disabled. Reinforcements met them on the way, and drove them as far as Batangas Province and into the Mórong district (now included in Rizal Province). The natives were in high glee at this licence to shed blood unresisted—so in harmony with their natural instincts. It is calculated that 24,000 Chinese were slain or captured in this revolt.
The priests affirm positively that during the defence of the city Saint Francis appeared in person on the walls to stimulate the Christians—thus the victory was ascribed to him.
This ruthless treatment of a harmless and necessary people—for up to this event they had proved themselves to be both—threatened to bring its own reward. They were the only industrious, thriving, skilful, wealth-producing portion of the population. There were no other artificers or tradespeople in the Colony. Moreover, the Spaniards were fearful lest their supplies from China of food for consumption in Manila,[5] and manufactured articles for export to Mexico, should in future be discontinued. Consequently they hastened to despatch an envoy to China to explain matters, and to reassure the Chinese traders. Much to their surprise, they found the Viceroy of Canton little concerned about what had happened, and the junks of merchandise again arrived as heretofore.
Notwithstanding the memorable event of 1603, another struggle was made by the Chinese 36 years afterwards. In 1639, exasperated at the official robbery and oppression of a certain doctor, Luis Arias do Mora, and the Governor of the Laguna Province, they rose in open rebellion and killed these officials in the town of Calamba. So serious was the revolt that the Gov.-General went out against them in person. The rebels numbered about 30,000, and sustained, for nearly a year, a petty warfare all around. The images of the Saints were promenaded in the streets of Manila; it was a happy thought, for 6,000 Chinese coincidentally surrendered. During this conflict an edict was published ordering all the Chinese in the provinces to be slain.
In 1660 there was another rising of these people, which terminated in a great massacre.
The Spaniards now began to reflect that they had made rather a bad bargain with the Mongol traders in the beginning, and that the Government would have done better had they encouraged commerce with the Peninsula. Up to this time the Spaniards had vainly reposed on their laurels as conquerors. They squandered lives and treasure on innumerable fruitless expeditions to Gamboge, Cochin China, Siam, Pegu, Japan, and the Moluccas, in quest of fresh glories, instead of concentrating their efforts in opening up this Colony and fostering a Philippine export trade, as yet almost unknown, if we exclude merchandise from China, etc., in transit to Mexico. From this period restrictions were, little by little, placed on the introduction of Chinese; they were treated with arrogance by the Europeans and Mexicans, and the jealous hatred which the native to this day feels for the Chinaman now began to be more openly manifested. The Chinaman had, for a long time past, been regarded by the European as a necessity—and henceforth an unfortunate one.
Nevertheless, the lofty Spaniard who by favour of the King had arrived in Manila to occupy an official post without an escudo too much in his pocket, did not disdain to accept the hospitality of the Chinese. It was formerly their custom to secure the goodwill and personal protection of the Spanish officials by voluntarily keeping lodging-houses ready for their reception. It is chronicled that these gratuitous residences were well furnished and provided with all the requisites procurable on the spot. For a whole century the Spaniards were lulled with this easy-going and felicitous state of things, whilst the insidious Mongol, whose clear-sighted sagacity was sufficient to pierce the thin veil of friendship proffered by his guest, was ever prepared for another opportunity of rising against the dominion of Castile, of which he had had so many sorry experiences since 1603. The occasion at last arrived during the British occupation of Manila in 1763. The Chinese voluntarily joined the invaders, but were unable to sustain the struggle, and it is estimated that some 6,000 of them were murdered in the provinces by order of the notorious Simon de Anda (vide p. [93]). They menaced the town of Pasig—near Manila—and Fray Juan de Torres, the parish priest, put himself at the head of 300 natives, by order of his Prior, Fray Andrés Fuentes, to oppose them, and the Chinese were forced to retire.
On October 9, 1820, a general massacre of Chinese, British, and other foreigners took place in Manila and Cavite. Epidemic cholera had affected the capital and surrounding districts; great numbers of natives succumbed to its malignant effects, and they accused the foreigners of having poisoned the drinking-water in the streams. Foreign property was attacked and pillaged—even ships lying in the bay had to sail off and anchor out afar for safety. The outbreak attained such grave proportions that the clergy intervened to dissuade the populace from their hallucination. The High Host was carried through the streets, but the rioters were only pacified when they could find no more victims.