We left about seven, before the rush, as we had the trap waiting outside, and the last thing we saw was the mermaid showing somebody her tail and the poor clown crying sleepily on her mother’s shoulder.
In the evening there was a baile, which we summoned up energy to turn out for, but it was hardly worth the effort, as the floor had been spoilt by boots in the afternoon, while the band, half asleep, poor creatures, played intolerably slow and mournful music, to which the dancers crawled languidly about, for it was a very hot night, without a breath of air anywhere.
LETTER XXV.
A DAY AT NAGABA
Iloilo, April 30, 1905.
We went last Sunday to spend the day at Nagaba, a native village opposite Iloilo, in the island of Guimaras. We took the trip at the invitation of some friends who had gone to spend Saturday to Monday in a native house which happened to be empty and available for hire. I have often wanted to visit some of the places about, but the great difficulty is how to put up, for there are no inns, and no lodgings to be had in the villages. One can’t go anywhere and back in a day, unless just across to Guimaras, but even that entails going out in the heat of the day, which is never very pleasant or very safe.
We were lucky, however, in this trip to Nagaba, as the sky was cloudy and the breeze very fresh, and, though we left as late as ten in the morning, we did not suffer from the heat. I am constantly reminded of a certain book of adventure, which as children we used to love, called The Coral Island. It is by Ballantyne, I think—you remember it, I am sure? Do you remember the pictures of the three boys in the Tropic Island, standing in white sunshine, and wearing loose caps or no hats at all? and all the stories of their adventures, and how they set off at “about the middle of the day” in a canoe with sufficient meat and vegetables to last for a week, and how they went in this fashion to other small islands? This did not seem to me odd as a child, of course; and I daresay I saw nothing peculiar in the daily life of The Swiss Family Robinson, either; and probably should have raised no objections to any of these stories a few months ago, or minded a bit being told that English boys went about unscorched and alive with no protection from the tropic mid-day sun, or that meat was fit to eat after one day in a canoe, much less one week!
Well, we got over to Guimaras in a very short time, landing from the launch in a small boat, from which C—— and I and the friend who was with us were carried ashore by our servants, who had come with us—we had also, by request, brought our plates, knives, forks, and tumblers!
The house we were going to was situated on a small rocky steep leading up from the beach, a few hundred yards from a tiny village of brown nipa huts amongst the green bushes and palms in a bay at the mouth of a river. The house was a regular native dwelling, built on high poles of bamboo, with walls of nipa, and floors of pieces of split cane half an inch or so apart for coolness. The whole abode consisted of one very big room, part of which was partitioned off as a bedroom, while all along one side of the house towards the sea ran a broad balcony, built out over the rocks, and shaded by tall thickly-leaved trees, with a glorious view of the blue bay, the open green sea, and a bit of rose-purple Panay in the distance. I don’t think I ever saw a more lovely spot, and I could not help reflecting how different life in the Philippines must be to those who can live in such places as Nagaba instead of a street in a town. Though, to be practical, I suppose the food would be even worse, and ice—but one could not get less ice than we do now in the town.