The Great White Tribe in Filipinia

by Paul T. Gilbert

The streets next morning—Christmas-day—were thronged with merry-makers. Strangers from the mountain tribes, wild, hungry-looking creatures, had strayed into town, not only for the excitement of the cockpit, but to do their trading and receive their share of alms, which are distributed by all good Catholics at this season of the year.

Here on the corner was a great wag in an ass’s head, accomplishing a clumsy dance for the amusement of the crowd. Around the cockpit chaos was the order of the day. The eager fighting-cocks, in expectation of the combat, straining at their tethers, published to the world their lusty challenges. The “talent,” with delicious thrills, were hefting favorite champions, and hastening’ to register their wagers with the bank.

The cock-fights lasted the entire week; at the end of that time the erratic “wheel of fortune” had involved in ruin many an enthusiast who had unfortunately played too heavily the losing bird.

A strolling troop of actors came to visit us that night. They carried their own scenery and wardrobe with them, and the children who were to present the comedy were dressed already for the first act. As they filed in, followed by a mob of ragamuffins who had seen the show a dozen times or more without apparent diminution of enjoyment, the stage manager arranged the scenery and green-room, which consisted of a folding screen. The orchestra, with bamboo flutes, guitars, and mandolins, took places on a bench, where they began the overture, beating the measure with bare feet and with as much delight as though they were about to witness the performance for the first time. The proprietor informed us that the entertainment was to be a comedy of old Toledo. It was somewhat of a Cyrano de Bergerac affair; one of the principals, concealed behind the “leading man,” using his own arms for gestures, sang his representative love for the señorita in the Spanish dancer’s costume. The castanet dance was repeatedly encored, especially by those familiar with the program, who desired that we appreciate it to its full extent. The actors in this dance were dressed as Spanish buccaneers are popularly supposed to dress, in purple breeches buttoned at the knee, red sashes, and gold lace....

Last night at our own church three paper lanterns, shaped like stars and representing the “three wise men,” at the climax of the mass were worked on wires so that they floated overhead along the auditorium, and finally came to rest above the altar, which had been transformed into a manger, the more realistic on account of the pigs, ducks, and chickens manufactured out of paper that had been disposed around.

To-day three men in red are traveling from house to house with candles followed by an attendant with a bell, ringing away the evil spirits for a year. The councilmen in snowy blouses and blue pantaloons, with their official canes, are making their official calls, and Padre Pedro in his pony cart has been around to visit his parishioners. The band, equipped with brand new uniforms and instruments, is playing underneath the convent balcony. Their duties during the festivities are strenuous; for they must serenade the residence of every magnate in the town, receiving contributions of pesetas, cigarettes, and gin.

This afternoon we made our round of calls, for every family keeps open house. A number of matinée balls were in session, where the natives danced “clack-clack” around the floor to the monotonous drone of home-made instruments. Our friends all wished us a “Ma-ayon Pascua” or “Feliz Pascua,” for which “Merry Christmas” they expected some remembrance of the day. Our efforts were rewarded by innumerable gifts of cigarettes and many offers of tanduay and gin. At one place we experimented with a piece of “bud-bud,” which is (as its name implies) a sweet-meat made of rice paste mixed with sugar. The hams with sugar frosting, and the cakes flavored with native limes, and cut in the shape of the “Ensanguined Heart,” were more acceptable. At one house we received a cake made in the image of a lamb, with sugar ringlets representing fleece. At our departure, “many thanks, sir, for the visit,” and a final attempt to get rid of another cigarette. It is in bad taste to refuse. A Filipino host would feel offended at your not accepting what he offered. He would feel as though discrimination were implied.

At night after the cock-fight one droll fellow brought around a miniature marionette theater, of which he was the proud proprietor. While his assistant blew a bamboo flute behind the scenes, the puppets danced fandangoes and played football in a very lifelike manner. Seated on an empty cracker-box in front, surrounded by the ragged picaninnies, sat Dolores, with her sparkling eyes, lips parted, and her black hair hanging loose,—oblivious to everything except the marionettes.

The star attraction was preceded by applause. The number was announced by those familiar with the exhibition as a “Moro combat,” and as the assistant struck a harrowing obligato on an old oil-can, the Moros appeared with fighting campalons and barbarous-looking shields. The crowd expressed its approbation in wild howls. The first two rounds were rather tame. “Afraid! Afraid!” exclaimed the crowd, but presently the combatants began to warm up to their work and to make frantic lunges at each other at the vital spot. This was the time of breathless and instinctive pressing forward from the back rows. Somebody cried out, “Cebu!” or “Down in front!” and then again, “Patai!” which means “dead.” One of the warriors at this cue flopped supine on the stage, and the suppressed excitement broke. The victor, not content with mere manslaughter, plied his sword so energetically as quickly to reduce his victim to a state of hash. At this point his Satanic majesty, the curtain manager, saw fit to intervene, and with a long spear he successfully probed the limp remains, completing the assassination. I had not known until then what a young barbarian Dolores was.

The last attraction of our Christmas week was a genuine Mystery play, the Virgin Mary being represented by a girl in soiled white stockings and a confirmation dress. The Christ Child was a Spanish doll in a glass case. There were the three wise men—one in a long beard and a pink mask, and the others in gold braid and knickerbockers—more like dandies than philosophers. “Joseph” was splendid, with a shepherd’s crook and a sombrero. Adoration before the manger was the theme that was developed in a series of ballets danced by the children to a tambourine and castanet accompaniment. At the conclusion of the play, the little actors in their starry costumes, Joseph and the Virgin (carrying the Babe), the three philosophers, and the musicians and the army of admiring followers, filed out into the moonlight, and as the sweet music of the “Shepherds’ Song” diminished gradually, they disappeared within a shadowy grove of palms.