In July the two galleons, “Encarnacion” and “Rosario,” arrived at the port of Lampon, on the coast opposite Manila, with abundance of aid from Nueva España, carefully provided by his Majesty (whom God preserve) on account of the information received by his royal Council regarding the reënforcements that were going from Olanda against these islands. With these galleons came his Lordship Don Fernando Montero de Espinosa, bishop of Nueva Segovia and archbishop-elect of Manila; he was a prelate of promise and ability, as is known to the [Spanish] court. Heaven did not will that Manila should enjoy his presence, or merit seeing him alive, but only when he was dead; for even while all the people were preparing a magnificent reception for him, with suitable festivities and rejoicings, they were called upon for tears and mourning in solemnizing his funeral rites. His illustrious Lordship reached the port with poor health. The land-routes which they had to take in traveling from Lampon to the lake [of Bay] and the river of Manila are very rough and steep, without any convenience or comfort of inns. His illustrious Lordship, by making the journey easier for others through his charity, traveled through those mountains so destitute of comforts that on the same day when he reached the lake he became seriously ill. He would not allow them to bleed him, and on that very night he was attacked by a hemorrhage of blood, so abundant that it caused his death. On the morning of the next day, a crowd of handsomely adorned boats awaited him at the mouth of the Manila [i.e., Pasig] River; they looked like a garden of flowers, and contained musicians who played their instruments together. But they received his venerated body, with the trappings of grief, and with mournful lamentations.
4. Earthquakes
This event was for Manila an omen of punishments, which were not long delayed. On the thirtieth of November, the day of St. Andrew, the patron of this city, there occurred the most lamentable and disastrous earthquake that has been known on these islands since the Spanish conquest and occupation. Manila, when it was first founded, was composed of wooden houses covered with thatch of palm leaves, which are used by the natives in their buildings; this [inflammable material] had resulted in many fires which in several years and on various occasions had burned and consumed the wealth of Manila. In order to provide against these disasters from fire, the Spaniards commenced to build their houses of stone and tiles, without any pressing fear of the earthquakes—which, although they usually occur here every year, have not [before] caused destruction [which could arouse much] apprehension. Accordingly, during the forty years, more or less, that have elapsed since the last fire, beautiful edifices were erected, and dwellings were built so high and spacious that they seemed like palaces. Magnificent temples, with stately and beautiful towers were erected within and without the walls of Manila, rendering it very handsome and distinguished; and it was not less suitable for health and enjoyment. But the result has proved that the inhabitants of Manila, while avoiding in their buildings the activity of fire, fell into the terrible power of the earth.
On the aforementioned day of the apostle St. Andrew, patron of this city—[chosen] on account of the victory gained on that day by the early conquerors and settlers over the pirate Limahon, who with sixty Chinese vessels had attacked Manila, and would have gained possession of the city if, through the intercession of the holy apostle, a few Spaniards who had retired to the fort had not returned to the defense of the city—on the anniversary of this day, then, it pleased God again to deprive us of the city, on account of our sins. The banner had been brought forth[4] in the morning, and the divine services celebrated with the customary pomp, and attendance and presence of the governor, Audiencia, and regidors. In the evening, at eight o’clock, they had just finished ringing the animas in the cathedral, the parish churches, and the convents; the sky was clear, the moon bright, and the air calm and still, after a long period, even months, of clear and dry weather. Suddenly a frightful crash was heard, and the earth began to quake so violently that it seemed as if it would become a sepulchre for all the inhabitants. As a result, during the space of four Credos—the time during which the first shock lasted, the earthquake passing from north to south, and then from east to west, with a rapid movement—in that brief time it flung to the ground the most beautiful and magnificent buildings in this city. The stone walls were shaken and bent like sheets of paper or parchment fluttered by the wind; the towers swayed and bent like trees; and the largest trees [broke] like the masts of a ship in the midst of a fierce hurricane. Nothing was heard but the crash of buildings mingled with the clamor of voices entreating Heaven for mercy, the cries of the terrified animals adding to the horror. In the streets could only be seen the heaps of stone from the ruined houses, which hindered the flight of those who in frightened haste were leaving their homes. At the first shock of the earthquake, which filled all with fear, some tried to save their lives in the open spaces of their doors and windows; but this effort availed nothing to many, for the houses falling flat, buried them under the stones and timbers. Others sought to take refuge in the churches; but as many of these had fallen, and others were in a dangerous condition, they could not find a refuge there. Accordingly, all who could directed their flight to the plazas, and, the gates of the city being at once opened, they fled to the beach and the fields, where they whom the earth cast out might look toward the heavens.
Charity animated by religious zeal was at once displayed by the prebends, canons, and members of the [cathedral] chapter, and, following their example, by all the clergy; and by the religious of the four orders—Augustinians, Dominicans, Franciscans (those of the Society of Jesus), and the Augustinian Recollects—who flourish in these islands in holiness and in zeal for the saving of souls. All, vying with each other in good works, went about amid the greatest danger, risking their lives in the ruins of the fallen houses, which were left broken and torn apart from each other, to disinter the dead, and to save the lives of those who were holding off death for a little time or lengthening their span of life in the clear space made by some timbers—which now were their defense, but soon would be the coffin or tomb of the very bodies which before they protected. Had this religious solicitude been wanting, the injured would also have failed to receive the last absolution, the remedy for the greatest sinners, since contrition is so uncertain, and in such dangers so difficult.
While engaged in this labor the religious experienced no little pain, although mingled with consolation, in hearing from the ruins voices entreating them to hear confessions. The sufferers were consoled by the religious, who exhorted them to [show their] sorrow for their sins by fervent acts of contrition; for these absolution was given to them, as is done on the battle-field or in a storm at sea. Thus all the religious incurred so great danger that no one felt himself secure; for the shocks did not cease, although they were less severe than at first. They were accompanied by so loud a crash that its noise could be heard, even before the quaking of the earth, far away—as when, in Spain, there is a hail-storm.
The night was everywhere very clear, as the moon was full; and for the sufferers night shone brighter than the day, for God greatly illumined their souls, and revealed the sins that had brought upon them this punishment. Even the children incapable of sin fell on their knees and begged to confess; nor was there any person so stony-hearted, although so many were made homeless by God, that he was not softened and turned to Him. A Franciscan-religious carried the blessed sacrament from the convent of Santa Clara to the main plaza, where a great many people had gathered; so loud were the sobs, cries, and groans of the people that it seemed like a day of judgment. Some bemoaned their children who remained buried in the ruins; others, their parents and relatives. For some, there was no one to weep, since the entire family had perished. We all lamented our sins, as a punishment for which this calamity had befallen us.
In the first shock one hundred and fifty of the finest buildings, which in other cities would be called palaces, were totally destroyed; all the other houses were so damaged and dangerous that it has been necessary to demolish them completely. It may be said with truth that only a semblance of Manila remains. There has been no means of ascertaining the actual number of the dead; those known to be missing are four hundred and fifty, and the number would have been greater if the earthquake had occurred two hours later when all would have been sleeping.
This is a general account; and we will now proceed to make some special mention of the ruins.