Three weeks before we had left Hawaii, two days later we had steamed by Midway Island. Then we passed a few days in Japan, and coasted along the superb island of Formosa, rightly named "the beautiful"—where great mountains dipped down into the still sea—and now we were entering the Philippines, the real objective point of the official party—there were eight of us—in which we were so fortunate as to be included. We were at last going to see the interesting results of Spanish rule for three centuries, upon which were being grafted all the energy and scientific and social knowledge of the twentieth-century American.
Although both Hawaii and the Philippines are under American rule, they are like different worlds. The Land of the Palm and Pine is a much bigger problem for the United States than Hawaii. The latter is nearer home, a smaller group of islands, and is quite Americanized. It is the commercial hub of the Pacific, an important coaling station, an outlying protection for the California coast. The natives are of Polynesian extraction and American education; they are quite unlike the Filipinos in character, who are Malaysian and have had centuries of Spanish influence. The Filipinos clamour for independence, the Moros and the wild tribes must be carefully handled, while the Hawaiian is contented with his lot. Besides the necessity of maintaining an army in the Philippines so far from home, one hundred and one other difficulties are to be considered. With these facts in mind, we looked forward to interesting experiences in the Islands, and we were not disappointed.
As we approached Manila, some small scout boats, all flag bedecked, came out and joined us, and fell in behind in procession, then larger boats, one bringing the excellent Constabulary Band, which played gaily. Another, which had officials on board, exchanged greetings with us across the water, and others with unofficial people added their welcome. Quarantine was made easy, and all difficulties with customs officials were spared us. When we reached the dock it was massed with the people who had landed from the boats and with crowds from the town.
GOVERNOR GENERAL CAMERON FORBES.
At once Governor General Cameron Forbes came on board to greet the Secretary of War, and then followed a reception, the guests ranging from the apostolic delegate in his robes, the consular officials and insular officers, and the army and navy in spotless gold-braided uniforms, to the leading citizens, very intelligent looking and well mannered, and members of the Assembly. The dock was lined with troops, who paid the military honours.
After the reception on shipboard the Secretary and Mrs. Dickinson and the official members of the party were whirled off in autos, with a squadron of cavalry clattering along as escort. Another motor was waiting for us, and we soon joined the procession as it moved to the palace.
We were much interested in the sights in the streets. There were numbers of carromatos, little covered two-wheeled carriages, drawn by stocky Filipino ponies. The streets in this part of the town are wide, and the houses have overhanging balconies, in Spanish style. In honour of the Secretary, the buildings were draped with flags. Near the wharf the land had lately been filled in, and great docks were in construction. There was a new boulevard near the old Luneta, and an avenue named after President Taft, besides a big hotel and a hospital that had then just been finished. The harbour was filled with vessels, electric cars were running, and autos were to be seen, so at first it all looked quite up to date, until you met a carabao slowly swaying down the street, hitched to a two-wheeled cart, with a brown boy in red trousers, piña shirt and a big straw hat sitting on his back—"carry boy," as Secretary Dickinson named the animal. The "carry boys" do not like white people, and sometimes charge them, stamping and goring them with their horns, but a small Filipino boy seems to have perfect control of them, and if they are allowed occasionally to wade in a puddle, which cools them off, they do not "go loco," or crazy.
It was in the palace of Malacañan, or Government House, as it is sometimes called, that Secretary and Mrs. Dickinson and ourselves stayed with the Governor General. This is a large, rambling structure in a garden by the Pasig River. Under the porte-cochère we entered a stone hall, off which were offices, then went up a long flight of stairs to a big hall looking into a court. This hall was hung with oil paintings of Spanish governors, quite well done by native artists, and in the center stood a huge one-piece table of superb nara wood, covered with gleaming head-axes and spears, bolos, krisses, campilans, and lantankas, used by the wild tribes and Moros.
Our rooms were large and empty, as was the entire palace—indeed, so are all the houses on account of the heat. The polished floors, too, are made of huge planks, sometimes of such valuable tropical woods as rosewood and mahogany, and are left bare. It took a little time to accustom ourselves to the hard beds with rattan bottoms, covered only by two sheets. They were carved and four-posted, and draped with mosquito netting. Two little brown lizards squeaked at us in a friendly manner, and crept down the walls, out of curiosity, no doubt, little ants kept busily crawling across the room in a line, and the mosquitoes that hid in my clothes in the rack during the daytime buzzed about at night. The heat was great, notwithstanding the electric fan, but the sliding screens that formed the sides of the room gave us some relief. These shutters are like Japanese shoji, made of small panes of an opalescent shell to soften the intensity of tropic sunlight, with green slit bamboo shades pulled halfway down.