Mr. Taft and I, who seemed, in the opinions of our hosts, to be the only persons of real importance present, were ceremoniously escorted to a diminutive Victoria decorated with flowers, while the rest of the party indiscriminately clambered into the nearest conveyances. Then started a mad race down an execrable road, where the holes and ruts were so filled with dust that there was no way of foreseeing or preparing for the bumps. Our carriage, being a sedate “flower parade” all by itself, was soon left far behind by the sportier two wheel vehicles, and when we arrived at the Municipal Building, where the meeting was to be held, confusion reigned. I have no doubt that several private secretaries had been greeted as the honourable “Presidente del Commission,” but if so, their fleeting honours detracted nothing from the welcome we received.
The streets were crowded with men, women and children waving flags and shrilly cheering, and just in front of the hall were drawn up two Filipino bands dressed in gorgeous, heavy uniforms decorated with such scraps of gold lace as they had been able to procure. Together they struck up the “Star Spangled Banner,” but they kept together for just about two bars, each leader having his own fixed idea as to the proper tempo. One band finished several bars ahead of the other, and immediately, without so much as a lowering of instruments, it hurled itself into “A Hot Time in the Old Town To-night,” whereupon the uplift of “Don’t you hear those bells go ding-a-ling” collided merrily with the solemn sentiment of “Long may it wave!” Yet nobody laughed. We were cultivating a sobriety of demeanour because we knew we were dealing with a people whose ears heard not and whose eyes saw not as we hear and see.
The meeting which followed our spectacular reception was exceedingly interesting. The questions of the Commissioners elicited the information that Tayabas had been completely pacified for more than a year, although the surrounding provinces, Cavite, Laguna and Batangas, were among the most unruly in the Archipelago. This happy state of affairs seems to have been produced by Colonel Gardiner, in command of the garrison, who had displayed great tact in dealing with the peacefully inclined Filipinos and absolute military rigidity in his attitude toward the insurrectos. That his methods had gained popular approval was evidenced by the fact that every town in the province petitioned the Commission to make him Governor. The requisite permission to do this having been obtained from General MacArthur, who, as Military Governor, had specially to detail army officers for such service, it was done amid general rejoicing made violent by brassy discords from the jubilant bands which nearly drove me out of the building.
There were many speeches and Mr. Taft, as usual, read and explained the Provincial Code to the assembly. After I had listened almost daily for more than six weeks to that dry-as-dust document I was sure that I could repeat it backward if I tried. Mr. Taft finished his speech with a neat little summing up of conditions in general,—mellifluously embellished by Mr. Fergusson,—then he introduced Chief Justice Arellano as the ablest lawyer in the Islands and a man whom any country would be proud to own; which was literally true. The Chief Justice spoke for some time, earnestly, appealingly, and with great dignity, and he was listened to with reverence. I had hoped that his speech would end the proceedings, but this was only the beginning of my experience with the Filipino love of oratory and I never thereafter entertained any optimistic ideas with regard to time limits.
But, as all things must, the meeting came to an end and, stretching our weary bodies, we accepted an invitation to view the town. Our progress was triumphal. In our flower-decked Victoria, with the municipal presidente on the little seat in front of us, Mr. Taft and I moved slowly along, one band in front of us blaring out “A Hot Time in the Old Town” with all the force of its lungs, and the other behind us doing its best to make itself heard and appreciated in a wholly original rendition of “Ta-ra-ra-ra-boom-de-ay.” Then came the other members of our party in nondescript vehicles which jolted and creaked.
Speaking of Filipino bands, it may be thought that my partial description of those in Lucena is exaggerated. Not at all. There are more bands in the Philippines, perhaps, than any other one thing. The Filipinos as a people are extremely musical and, in many instances, have proved themselves capable of reaching a high point of musical proficiency, but in the early days of American occupation a vast majority of the musicians were the rankest amateurs who played “by ear” only. They had never been taught, but they could play, after a fashion, anything that anybody could whistle, sing or pick out for them on any instrument. They had listened to the American regimental bands and they had made selection for their own repertoires of such pieces as were easiest to play, hence the popularity of “A Hot Time in the Old Town,” “Ta-ra-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,” “Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey” and things of like character. They did not know the words, or the “sentiment” of the songs; they knew only the tunes, and these they played at all times, for occasions either solemn or gay. Of my own experience I can testify that “A Hot Time in the Old Town” makes a perfectly good funeral march when reduced to a measure sufficiently lugubrious.
It didn’t take us long to see the town and when my ears could endure the discords no longer I explained to the pleasant little presidente that I thought it was necessary for the ladies to return to the transport for a rest before it was time to dress for the evening festivities. He protested that the town was ours, that his house and everything in it belonged solely to us, but I was backed up by my husband and the ladies finally were permitted to go out to the Sumner for a short respite. No such luck for the men. They had to attend a prodigious luncheon, an afternoon banquete really, and then continue, for the rest of the day, their interviews with Lucena citizens and American Army officers. And, be it remembered, it was insufferably hot.
The banquete and baile that evening were typical Filipino entertainments, novelties to me then and intensely interesting. It was a procession, a meeting, a banquete and a baile every day for nearly seven weeks unless by a happy turn of events it became necessary for us to sail for our next port in the afternoon instead of at midnight as we generally did. Under such circumstances, if any special entertainments had been prepared for the evening, such as torchlight processions, illuminations, or fireworks, they were duly produced in broad daylight, thereby losing much in general effect no doubt, but nothing in their proof of friendly intentions.
Processions and meetings may be just processions and meetings, but banquetes and bailes are not just banquets and balls, and that is why I always refer to them by their Spanish names.
We arrived at the banquete in Lucena at seven o’clock and found, in a great open room in a public building of some sort, a long table laden with mysteries. In the centre was a tremendous ornament, made entirely of toothpicks, built up to represent a flower garden. Whoever made it was a genius with both imagination and delicacy of touch. All along both sides of the table were strange, highly ornamental and formidable looking dishes which were evidently meant to be eaten. I didn’t know what they were, but having acquired a cosmopolitan attitude toward food I was not at all dismayed. My chief concern related to the fact that a Filipino host expects one to eat at least a little of everything that is served and through endless courses of elaborately prepared meats one’s appetite naturally becomes jaded.