Then we all started. The procession was led by the bands to the Iglesia, where, from the high campanile tower, the church bells were ringing. In the church the good Padre said a few words, and gave us all his prayers and blessing.
While we were inside, evening had fallen. When we stepped out into the square, we saw a fairy starry land. Some one had lighted not only the lanterns and torches, but the larger southern stars of these tropical islands were shining brightly overhead. Colored rockets were also shot up into the night.
The barrio-saint—really, the small statue of the patron saint of the village—was carried at the head of the procession.
Then to the music of the bands, we all marched home to the big upper hall, and gathered around a wonderful table. Roast pig, chicken, pheasant; mountains of rice and fruit; candied ginger and mango; pickled chutney, which is sweet and sour at the same time and also spiced; coconut and nipa wine; flowers as big as a hat and smelling as sweet as a bottle of perfume! Sandalwood and spice-incense smoked sweetly, and nearly hid the good Padre and Fil’s father, who sat at the head of the table.
The orchestra tinkled all kinds of drums, castanets, bells, fiddles; many of them having strange shapes and shrill noises. Funny, fat-cheeked boys were blowing the very life out of the flutes. All were very happy!
“Not happy to see you leave, but trying to make you so happy that you will not have time to entertain regrets to-night. We want to remember your smiling face,” said Fil’s father.
Then the table was cleared and moved. The company all gathered around the hall.
Suddenly a hush; then a clamorous call of the orchestra! Then another hush—Filippa, dressed in silver spangle, and Fil, dressed in scarlet and gold, suddenly rushed from opposite sides of the hall to do the love-dance, in which the brave soldier woos and wins his sweetheart.
They came near each other. She seemed to be coy; to quarrel sometimes; to beg; to promise. They whirled about; they executed steps; they snapped castanets. The orchestra sang, whistled, snapped, strummed. The music flowed in waltzes; it jerked in Castilian measures; it whispered. It serenaded, while Fil carried a mandolin with a ribbon. Filippa dropped her handkerchief: Fil gracefully picked it up. He danced in pleading. He showed all the pretty steps he could do. As a sign that the soldier had won his lady-love, Filippa at last consented that he should return the handkerchief, crown her proudly with it on her cloud of thick hair, and waltz away with her triumphantly.
It was a pretty tableau. The orchestra broke out in loud and full harmony, with now and then a wild Moro yell or shout, from the flutes and drums.