Iloilo, March 31, 1905.

Many thanks for your letter of February 23rd. We were greatly interested in your description of the radium baths, though it seems difficult, out here, to imagine that there is anyone anywhere taking so much trouble to get hot! I must say, though, that I don’t feel this heat quite so much as one might imagine, at least, as far as actually feeling hot goes. For an evening or two ago I was quite surprised, when we were in Hoskyn’s stores, to notice that the thermometer was marking 92° Fahrenheit. Of course that was in the cool of the evening, but I had not noticed any particular heat during the day. I thought how much it would interest you to get some idea of the temperature we live in, so we bought a thermometer and have hung it up in the sala. In a way, I am sorry we have done this, as we did not know before how hot we really were, and did not mind the heat half so much.

A watering-cart has begun operations, and as I write, it is passing down the street. It is a most amusing contrivance, consisting of a carabao waggon with a cask laid longways on it, and a native sitting astride the carabao, guiding with a goad and one string. The water flows out of a bamboo pole at the back of the barrel, and a spray is produced by means of a circle of holes, through which the water squirts uncertainly. The only result, as far as the roads are concerned, is a long narrow puddle and a great waste of precious water, though I expect it is sea water they use. The whole contrivance is so amusingly extravagant, shiftless, inefficient—so characteristically Filipino!

À propos of the ways of the natives, a Spanish friend of C——’s, who was here the other day, told us a long and harrowing story, which was to him somewhat of a tragedy, though to me, I am afraid, it was only a source of amusement. This man tried the venture of keeping a small stable of quilezes for hire, which is a favourite speculation with young men who want to play with a little capital, either with the idea of trying to keep body and soul together in this expensive country, or else with the perennial hope of being able to get away from it. One of the Englishmen professes to have made a good thing out of it (quilez-hiring), but when we told our Spanish friend this hopeful news, he refused to be comforted, and hunched up his shoulders and spread out his hands, saying, “Horses are cheap enough, and fares are high, which is very well from our point of view; but you have the eternal Filipino to deal with.”

“What does he do in this case?” we asked.

“He does nothing,” said the Spaniard. “In this, as in every other employment, he does not think it necessary to learn, or to know anything at all.”

We said we had observed this trait, and that anyone seemed to be confident in signing on for any job, anyhow.

“They do,” he said, “and this is the sort of conversation I have with every man who represents himself as a driver. ‘Where were you cochero before?’ I ask.

“‘With seÑor L—— at B——.’

“‘How long ago was that?’

“‘Five years ago.’

“‘Where were you cochero after that?’

“‘Oh, I was not cochero. I was cook to seÑor S——.’

“‘And then?’

“‘Then as muchacho with seÑor C——, and then as cook——’

“‘And you are a cook, not a cochero!’

“‘Oh no. Mi trabajo (my job) is really a cochero, but I went as cook to seÑor L——, and as muchacho to seÑor C——, and as——’

“‘Yes, yes. I heard what you said.’

“Then, as this is as good a man as you may hope to get, you engage him, and it is a great piece of luck if you get half your fares, and the pony not killed.”

This story, and many others I have heard to the same effect, account, in some measure, for the marvellous and eccentric driving one sees going on—one can hardly call it “driving,” though, it is simply a rough and tumble with destiny, and there are more street accidents in Iloilo in any given number of hours than in the same time in the whole of London.

It is so Filipino to be content with make-shifts—the same thing, the same lazy Malay, and Spanish MaÑana in their food, their music, their houses, their work—nothing thorough, nothing complete, no heart put into anything but cock-fighting and talk. I don’t suppose any influence could alter these racial faults, certainly not the hasty assimilation of mathematics, electric trams, and ice-cream sodas. They are stupid, too, these people, with the malicious cunning of all stupid people, and cruel—sickeningly cruel.

A night or two ago we went again to the cinÉmatograph, but the evening was rather spoilt by an unpleasant “incident.” While C—— was getting the tickets, I sat on an empty bench by the wall, whereupon a common native boy came and sat down beside me.

I got up and walked away, for there were plenty of other benches empty, and I knew this was only an act of impudence. When C—— came back with the tickets and saw what had happened, he was simply furious, wanting to kick the fellow out of the place, and pretty well out of the world too! “You should have sat there,” he said, “and beckoned to me to kick the brute out.”

But I implored him to let the thing pass unnoticed. “For,” I said, “if you touch him you know he will summons you, and the case will go against you. Besides, according to the customs of the country, the man was not doing any harm, for he thought I was an American, and his equal.”

Whereupon C—— exploded; but luckily the door of the show was just opening, so I got him to hurry in to secure good seats, and the “incident” passed off. But when one thinks of the social status of the coloured person in America!—Words fail me!

We are having more drought now—the rain-water tanks empty, and the well-water brackish. We filter the latter, even to make tea with, which makes the tea more palatable; but for washing, it is like using sand-paper on the skin, and after soap has been used the water remains perfectly clear, with the soap in a woolly cloud at the bottom. I wish some millionaire philanthropist would take it into his benevolent head to help his country with this “Trust from Heaven,” as they call the development of the Philippines, and begin with building an aqueduct from the hills into its second largest town! However, the 40-acre law would stop any extensive enterprise of that or any other sort.[6]

Water is being brought over from Guimaras and sold in the streets at fabulous prices, only I am happy to say we have been lucky enough, so far, to secure a daily supply out of a friend’s well, sufficient to get along with if we are careful.

All this time I have not told you our great piece of news, which is that we have bought a horse and trap—or rather a pony and a calesa—a sort of small dog-cart, with big, spidery wheels, to seat two, which tips up unless a third person, generally the groom, is sitting on a small perch behind. This is a very light and comfortable trap, and the pony an exceptionally good one, both being the property of an American officer we know who is going to Manila and selling off his effects. It is a great stroke of luck to get hold of such a turn-out, and we are to enter into possession in ten days or so, or possibly longer. I shall be glad to drive, as it is not very pleasant for ladies to walk about the town, owing to the way the Filipinos have of shoving white people off the footpath, when there is one, and expectorating as close as they dare.