A Woman's Impression of the Philippines

Mary Helen Fee

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• Publié par: shewyog
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 48
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Woman's Impression of the Philippines by Mary Helen Fee This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: A Woman's Impression of the Philippines Author: Mary Helen Fee Release Date: September 7, 2004 [EBook #13392] Language: English *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WOMAN'S IMPRESSION *** Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Distributed Proofreaders Team. From page images made available by the University of Michigan. A Woman's Impressions of the Philippines By Mary H. Fee To My Schoolmate and Life-Long Friend Martha Parry Gish This Book Is Affectionately Dedicated Contents I. The Voyage Begins 11 II. From San Francisco to Honolulu 21 III. Our Ten Days' Sightseeing 26 IV. From Honolulu to Manila 38 V. Our First Few Days in the City 45 VI. From Manila To Capiz 60 VII. My First Experiences As a Teacher of Filipinos 73 VII. An Analysis of Filipino Character 86 IX. My Early Experiences in Housekeeping 107 X. Filipino Youths and Maidens 119 XI. Social and Industrial Condition of the Filipinos 130 XII. Progress in Politics and Improvement of the Currency 150 XIII. Typhoons and Earthquakes 168 XIV. War Alarms and the Suffering Poor 179 XV. The Filipino's Christmas Festivities and His Religion 192 XVI. My Gold-hunting Expedition 206 XVII. An Unpleasant Vacation 217 XVIII. The Aristocracy, the Poor, snd American Women 232 XIX. Weddings in Town and Country 250 XX. Sickbeds and Funerals 262 XXI. Sports and Amusements 270 XXII. Children's Games—The Conquest of Fires 280 Illustrations Filipino School Children Frontispiece The Pali, near Honolulu 28 West Indian Rain-tree, or Monkey-pod Tree 34 The Volcano of Mayón 40 View of Corregidor 42 Swarming Craft on the Pasig River, Manila 46 "The Rat-pony and the Two-wheeled Nightmare" 48 The Luneta, Manila 52 The Bend in the River at Capiz 62 Street Scene in Romblón 64 Church, Plaza, and Public Buildings, Capiz 80 The Home of an American Schoolteacher 90 A Characteristic Group of Filipino Students 100 Filipino School Children 110 A Filipino Mother and Family 120 A Company of Constabulary Police 132 Group of Officials in front of Presidente's (Mayor's) Residence 142 A High-class Provincial Family, Capiz 148 Pasig Church 154 The Isabella Gate, Manila 162 Calle Real, Manila 174 Procession and Float in Streets of Capiz, in Honor of Filipino Patriot and Martyr, José Rizal 184 A Rich Cargo of Fruit on the Way to Market 194 A Family Group and Home in the Settled Interior 200 Filipino Children "Going Swimming" in the Rio Cagayan 212 Mortuary Chapel in Paco Cemetery, Manila 220 The "Ovens" in Paco Cemetery, Manila 228 Peasant Women of the Cagayan Valley 236 A Wedding Party Leaving the Church 252 A Funeral on Romblón Island 264 Bicol School Children One Generation Removed from Savagery 272 Sunset over Manila Bay 282CHAPTER I The Voyage Begins I Find the Transport Ship Buford and My Stateroom—Old Maids and Young Maids Bound for the Orient—The Deceitful Sea—Making New Friends and Acquaintances. On a hot July day the army transport Buford lay at the Folsom Dock, San Francisco, the Stars and Stripes drooping from her stern, her Blue Peter and a cloud of smoke announcing a speedy departure, and a larger United States flag at her fore-mast signifying that she was bound for an American port. I observed these details as I hurried down the dock accompanied by a small negro and a dressing-bag, but I was not at that time sufficiently educated to read them. I thought only that the Buford seemed very large (she is not large, however), that she was beautifully white and clean; and that I was delighted to be going away to foreign lands upon so fine a ship. Having recognized with relief a pile of luggage going aboard—luggage which I had carefully pasted with red, white, and blue labels crossed by the letters "U.S.A.T.S." and Buford—I dismissed the negro, grasped the dressing-bag with fervor, and mounted the gangway. To me the occasion was momentous. I was going to see the world, and I was one of an army of enthusiasts enlisted to instruct our little brown brother, and to pass the torch of Occidental knowledge several degrees east of the international date-line. I asked the first person I met, who happened to be the third officer, where I should go and what I should do. He told me to report at the quartermaster's office at the end of the promenade deck. A white-haired, taciturn gentleman in the uniform of a major, U.S.A., was occupying this apartment, together with a roly-poly clerk in a blue uniform which seemed to be something between naval and military. When I mentioned my name and showed my order for transportation, the senior officer grunted inarticulately, and waved me in the direction of his clerk, glaring at me meanwhile with an expression which combined singularly the dissimilar effects of a gimlet and a plane. The rotund junior contented himself with glancing suspiciously at the order and sternly at me. As if reassured, however, by my plausible countenance, he flipped over the pages of a ledger, told me the number of my stateroom, and hunted up a packet of letters, which he delivered with an acid reproof to me for not having reported before, saying that the letters had been accumulating for ten days. It is true that the Buford had been scheduled to sail on the first day of the month; but I had arrived a day or two before that date, only to learn that the sailing date had been postponed to the tenth. I had made many weary trips to the army headquarters in Montgomery Street, asking for mail—and labels—with no results. Nobody had suggested that the mail would be delivered aboard ship, and I had not had sense enough to guess it. I did not make any explanations to the quartermaster and his clerk, however, because an intuition warned me not to add tangible evidence to a general belief in civilian stupidity. I merely swallowed my snubbing meekly and walked off. I ambled about, clinging to the dressing-bag and looking for some one resembling a steward. At the foot of the ladder leading to the bridge I encountered two young girls descending therefrom with evidences of embarrassed mirth. They were Radcliffe girls, whose evil genius had led them to the bridge and to an indignant request to explain their presence there. They explained to no purpose, and, in response to a plaintive inquiry where to go, were severely told, "We don't know, but go down from here immediately." So they came down, crimson but giggling, and saw me (they said) roaming about with an expression at once wistful and complacent. I found a steward and my stateroom at last, and a brown-haired, brown-eyed young woman in it who was also a pedagogue. We introduced ourselves, disposed of our parcels, and began to discuss the possibilities of the voyage. She was optimistically certain that she was not going to be seasick. I was pessimistically certain that I was. And she was wrong, and I was right. We were both gloriously, enthusiastically, madly seasick. When we returned to the deck, it was crowded with passengers, the mail was coming aboard, and all sorts of bugle-calls were sounding, for we were carrying "casuals." It was a matter of wonder that so many persons should have gathered to bid adieu to a passenger list recruited from all parts of the Union. The dock was black with people, and our deck was densely crowded. Khaki-clad soldiers leaned over the side to shout to more khaki on the dock. An aged, poorly dressed woman was crying bitterly, with her arms about the neck of a handsome boy, one of our cabin passengers; and all about, the signs of intense feeling showed that the voyage marked no light interval of separation. I stood at the forward rail of the promenade deck, and fell into conversation with a gentleman whom I had met in San Francisco and who was a fellow passenger. We agreed in being glad that none of our relatives were there to see us off; but, though we made much ado to seem matter-of-fact and quite strong-minded about expatriating ourselves, I noticed that he cleared his throat a great deal, and my chin annoyed me by a desire to tremble. The gongs warned visitors ashore, and, just as all the whistles of San Francisco were blowing the noon hour, we backed away from the dock, and turned our head to sea. As the little line of green water between ship and dock widened to a streamlet and then to a river, the first qualm concerning the wisdom of the expedition struck its chilly way to my heart. Probably most of the passengers were experiencing the same doubts; and the captain suspected the fact, for he gave us fire drill just to distract our attention and to settle our nerves. The luncheon gong sounded immediately after his efficacious diversion, and the military people who were to eat in thefirst section—the Buford's dining-room was small—went down to lunch. The junior lieutenants, and the civil engineers and schoolteachers, who made up her civilian list, took their last look at San Francisco. We swung past Alcatraz Island and heard the army bugles blowing there. The irregular outline of the city with its sky-scrapers printed itself against a background of dazzling blue, with here and there a tufty cloud. The day was symbolic of the spirit which sent young America across the Pacific—hope, brilliant hope, with just a cloud of doubt. We passed the Golden Gate just as our own luncheon gong sounded, and the Buford was rolling to the heave of the outside sea as we sat down to our meal. At our own particula