Adventures in the Philippine Islands

by Paul P. de La Gironière

“My poor dear José-Maria,” said he, “had his head bitten off by a cayman that had got entangled in our nets. Ever since that night—that fatal night!—Theresa and I offer up our prayers to the Omnipotent, imploring Him to take us to himself; for, alas! nothing now has any charms for us here below. The first of us that will depart for that bourn from whence no traveller returns will be interred by the survivor beside our beloved child—there, under that little hillock yonder, which is surmounted by a wooden cross, in front of my humble cottage; and the last of us two to leave this valley of tears will no doubt meet with some charitable Christian hand, to place our mortal remains beside the bodies of those we loved so tenderly during our hapless pilgrimage here below.”

Here Relempago ceased his painful history, and, that he might give a free course to his grief and tears, he rose up, and bowed us his adieu, which we returned to him with hearts oppressed with sympathetic sorrow.

The wind had ceased blowing, and the attentive sailors were awaiting our orders, so that in a few moments afterwards we were sailing towards Jala-Jala, where we landed before sunset.

On the morrow of my arrival I entered on the business of my little government, to which my absence had been far from useful or favourable, so that I was obliged to suppress many abuses that had crept into it while I had been away. Some slight corrections, joined to an active and incessant surveillance, or inspection, soon established once more the most perfect order and discipline; so that, from that moment, I was at liberty to devote all my time and attention to the cultivation of my lands.

We were now at the beginning of the winter—the rainy and windy season. No stranger had dared crossing the lake, to come and visit us, so that, alone with my dear wife, our days glided most happily and tranquilly away, for we knew not what ennui was or meant: our mutual affection was so great that our own presence was sufficient company for each other.

This delightful solitude was soon interrupted by a fortunate and unforeseen event. A letter from Manilla—a very rare circumstance at Jala-Jala—reached me, informing me that my eldest brother, Henry, had just arrived there; that he had put up at my brother-in-law’s; and that he was expecting me with all imaginable impatience. I was not aware that he had left France to come and see me, so that such news, and his sudden, as well as unexpected, arrival, surprised and overjoyed me.

I was once more to see one of my dearest relations—a brother whom I had always tenderly loved. Ah! he who has never quitted his home, his family, and his early attachments, will with difficulty understand the emotions I experienced on receiving this agreeable letter. When the first transports of my joy were somewhat allayed, I resolved to set out at once for Manilla. Preparations for my departure were speedily made. I chose my lightest canoe, and my two strongest Indians, and a few minutes after, having embraced my beloved Anna, I was scudding over the waters of the lake, slowly—too slowly for my impatience, as I wished to be able to give wings to my fragile skiff, and to traverse the distance that separated me from my brother as rapidly as my thoughts: no journey ever appeared to me so long, and nevertheless my two robust rowers exerted all their strength to favour my wishes. At length I arrived, and immediately hastened to my brother-in-law’s, and there I threw myself into Henry’s arms. Our emotions were such that for some time we could not speak; the abundant tears we shed alone showed the joy of our hearts. When the first transport was over, I asked him questions beyond number. Not one member of my family was forgotten; the smallest details concerning these beloved beings were to me of the greatest interest. We passed the remainder of the day and the following night in incessant and interesting conversation. The next day we started for Jala-Jala. Henry was eager to become acquainted with his sister-in-law, and I to make the dear companion of my life a sharer in my happiness. Excellent Anna! my joy was joy for you—my happiness was your delight! You received Henry as a brother, and this sisterly attachment was always, on your part, as sincere as your affection for me had ever been.

After a few days spent in the most agreeable conversation about France, and about all those beloved friends who remained there, feelings of sadness that I could with difficulty repress became intermingled with my joy. I thought of our numerous family, so far distant, and so scattered over the globe. My youngest brother was, to my great regret, dead at Madagascar. My second brother, Robert, resided at Porto-Rico; and my two brothers-in-law, both captains of vessels, engaged in long voyages, were gone to the Indies. My poor mother and my poor sisters were alone, without protectors, without support: what sad moments of fear and anxiety you must have spent in your solitude! Ah! how I should have rejoiced to have you near me; but, alas! a whole world separated us, and the hope of seeing you again one day could alone scatter the clouds that darkened occasionally the happy days adorned by the presence of my brother.

After some time of rest, Henry asked to join me in my labours. I then made him acquainted with my mode of cultivation, and he took upon himself the management of the plantations and of their products. I reserved to myself the regulation of my Indians, the charge of the flocks, and that of putting down the bandits.

I had frequent quarrels, and even incessant conflicts, with these turbulent Indians; but I never boasted of these petty engagements, in which I was often obliged to take a most active part. On the contrary, I recommended strict silence to my attendants, for I did not wish to cause anxiety to my excellent Anna, nor to give my brother the desire of accompanying me. I did not like to expose him to the dangers I ran myself, as I had not equal hopes of safety for him. I relied upon my star, and really, to a certain degree, all modesty aside, I think that the bandits’ balls respected me. When I was engaged in contests in the plain, or in some of the skirmishes, the danger was not great; but it was quite a different thing when it was necessary to fight hand to hand, which happened more than once; and I cannot forbear the pleasure of relating one of those circumstances that made me say just now the bandits’ balls respected me.