The Story of the Philippines. Murat Halstead

words of our noble tongue. He says, "What do you want?" "Good morning, gentlemen"; "What can I do for you?" "Do you want dinner?" "No, there is no ice till 6 o'clock." He puts the Americans in mind of better days. Behind this linguist is a little woman, whose age might be twenty or sixty, for her face is so unutterably sad and immovable in expression that there is not a line in it that tells you anything but that there is to this little woman a bitterly sad, mean, beastly world. She must be grieving over mankind. It is her duty to see that no spoon is lost, and not an orange or banana wasted, and her mournful eyes are fixed with the intensity of despair upon the incompetent waiters, who, when hard pressed by wild shouts from American officers, frantic for lack of proper nourishment, fall into a panic and dance and squeal at each other; and then the woman of fixed sorrow, her left shoulder thin and copper-colored, thrust from her low-necked dress, her right shoulder protected, is in the midst of the pack, with a gliding bound and the ferocity of a cat, the sadness of her face taking on a tinge of long-suffering rage. She whirls the fools here and there as they are wanted. Having disentangled the snarl, she returns to the door from which her eyes command both the pantry and the dining-room to renew her solemn round of mournful vigilance. The Americans are outside her jurisdiction. She has no more idea what they are than Christopher Columbus, when he was discovering America, knew where he was going. When Francisco does not know what the language (English) hurled at him means he has a far-away look, and may be listening to the angels sing, for he is plaintive and inexpressive. He looks so sorry that Americans cannot speak their own language as he speaks English! But there are phrases delivered by Americans that he understands, such as, "Blankety, blank, blank—you all come here." Francisco does not go there, but with humble step elsewhere, affecting to find a pressing case for his intervention, but when he can no longer avoid your eye catching him he smiles a sweet but most superior smile, such as becomes one who speaks English and is the responsible man about the house.

      There never was one who did more on a capital of one hundred words. His labors have been lightened slightly, for the Americans have picked up a few Spanish words, such as, "Ha mucher, mucher—don't you know? Hielo, hielo!" Hielo is ice, and after the "mucher" is duly digested the average waiter comes, by and by, with a lump as big as a hen's egg and is amazed by the shouts continuing "hielo, hielo!" pronounced much like another and wicked word.

      "Oh, blanketination mucher mucher hielo!" The Filipinos cannot contemplate lightly the consumption of slabs of ice. The last words I heard in the dining-room of the Hotel Oriental were from a soldier with two stars on each shoulder: "Francisco, oh, Francisco," and the little woman with left shoulder exposed turned her despairing face to the wall, her sorrow too deep for words or for weeping.

CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

      From Long Island To Luzon.

      Across the Continent—An American Governor-General Steams Through

       the Golden Gate—He Is a Minute-Man—Honolulu as a Health Resort—The

       Lonesome Pacific—The Skies of Asia—Dreaming Under the Stars of the

       Scorpion—The Southern Cross.

      Spain, crowded between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic, was the world's "West" for many centuries, indeed until Columbus found a further West, but he did not go far enough to find the East Indies. The United States is now at work in both the East and West Indies.

      Our Manila expeditions steamed into the sunsets, the boys pointing out to each other the southern cross. The first stage of a journey, to go half round the world on a visit to our new possession, was by the annex boat from Brooklyn, and a rush on the Pennsylvania train, that glimmers with gold and has exhausted art on wheels, to Washington, to get the political latitude and longitude by observation of the two domes, that of the Capitol, and the library, and the tremendous needle of snow that is the monument to Washington, and last, but not least, the superb old White House.

      The next step was across the mountains on the Baltimore and Ohio, the short cut between the East and the West, traversed so often by George Washington to get good land for the extension of our national foundations. The space between Cincinnati and Chicago is cleared on the "Big Four" with a bound through the shadow of the earth, between two rare days in June, and the next midnight, the roaring train flew high over the Missouri River at Omaha, and by daylight far on the way to Ogden. The country was rich in corn and grass, and when one beholds the fat cattle, lamentations for the lost buffalo cease. It is a delight to see young orchards and farmhouses, and cribs and sheds fortified against tornadoes by groves, laid out with irritating precision to confront the whirling storms from west and south. The broad bad lands in which the tempests are raised devour the heart of the continent.

      I made note of the 888-mile post beyond Omaha, but the 1,000-mile telegraph pole and tree glided away while I was catching the lights and shadows on a fearfully tumbled landscape. The alkali has poisoned enormous tracts, and the tufts of sagebrush have a huge and sinister monotony. Looking out early in the morning there was in our track a "gaunt grey wolf" with sharp ears, unabashed by the roar of the train. His species find occasional scraps along the track and do not fear the trains. Then I saw something glisten in the herbage, and it was a rattlesnake, if it were not a whisky bottle.

      The gigantic lumps of tawny earth, with castellated crags of stone, ghostly ruins one would say of cities that perished thousands of years before the bricks were made for Babylon. Profound beds for vanished torrents yawned into a scrap of green valley, and the glitter of a thread of water. A town blossomed from a coal mine, and there was an array of driven wells with force pumps to quench the thirst of seething and raging locomotives. A turn in the line and a beautiful cloud formation like billows of white roses, massive, delicately outlined fantastic spires like marble mountains, carved—ah! the cloud comes out clear as if it were a wall of pearl, and there are the everlasting mighty hills with their brows of exquisite snow!

      These are lofty reservoirs from which the long days glowing with sunshine send down streams of water at whose touch the deserts bloom. The eye is refreshed as we make a closer acquaintance of the mountains. Where water flows and trees "wag their high tops" there is hope of homes. There are canyons that cause one to smile at remembrances of what were considered the dizzy gorges of the Alleghenies. There is a glow as of molten lead in one corner of a misty valley far away. It is Salt Lake, the Dead Sea of America. Beyond this at an immense elevation is a lake with the tinge of the indigo sky of the tropics. If one could stir a portion of the Caribbean Sea into Lake Geneva, the correct tint could be obtained. Thirty miles of snow sheds announce progress in the journey to the Pacific. There is still heat and dust, but beside the road are villages; and there are even fountains.

      Each stream is a treasure, and its banks are rich with verdure. There are sleek cows on bright grass. The mountains are no longer forbidding. They take on robes of loveliness. The valleys broaden and on the easy slopes there are orchards where the oranges glisten. There are clusters of grapes. We have come upon that magic land, California. There is golden music in the name. This is a conquest. The war in which it was won was not one of philanthropy. We gathered an empire.

      General Merritt never minded the weather, whether the wind blew or not, and instead of holding his ship for several hours after the appointed time, wanted to know five minutes after 10 o'clock whether the time for starting was not 10 o'clock and by whom the boat was detained. At ten minutes after 10 the gangplank was swung free, with a desperate man on it who scrambled on with the help of long legs and a short rope. As the ship swung from the dock and got a move on there were thousands of men and women exalted with emotion, and there were crowded steamers and tugs toppling with swarming enthusiasts resounding with brass bands and fluttering with streaming flags. The ladies were especially frantic. Spurts of white smoke jetted from forts and there were ringing salutes. Steam whistles pitched a tune beyond the fixed stars. The national airs with thrilling trumpet tones pierced the din, and a multitude of voices joined with the bands giving words and tone to the magnetic storm. How many miles the Newport was pursued I cannot conjecture. There were tall ladies standing on the high decks of tugs that were half buried in the foam of the bay, but as long as they could hold a "Star