At this period a sad event plunged my house into mourning. Letters from my family announced to me that my brother Robert had returned from Porto-Rico, but that soon after a serious illness had carried him to the grave. He died in the arms of my mother and sisters, in the small house of La Planche, where, as I said before, we had all been brought up. My excellent Anna, wept with us, and exerted every means that interesting affection could suggest to alleviate the grief my brother Henry and myself experienced from this melancholy bereavement. A few months afterwards a new source of sorrow fell to our lot. Our little social party at Jala-Jala consisted of my sister-in-law; of Delaunay, a young man from St. Malo, who had come from Bourbon to establish at Manilla some manufactories for baking sugar; of Bermigan, a young Spaniard; and my friend, Captain Gabriel Lafond, like myself, from Nantes. He had come to the Philippine islands on board the Fils de France, had passed some years in South America, and had occupied several places of distinction in the navy, as captain-commandant, until at last, after many adventures and vicissitudes, he came with a small fortune to Manilla, where he bought a vessel, and set sail for the Pacific Ocean, to fish for the balatÉ or sea-worm. He had scarcely readied the island of Tongatabou when the vessel struck upon the rocks that surround this island; he saved himself by swimming to the shore, having lost everything. From thence he went to the Marianne islands, where grief and bad food caused him to fall ill; he returned to Manilla, labouring under dysentry. I had him brought to my house, and whilst there attended to him with all the care a fellow-countryman and a good friend, endowed with sterling and amiable qualities, deserved. Our evenings were spent in amusing and instructive conversation. As we had all travelled a great deal, each had something to relate. During the day the invalids kept company with the ladies, while my brother and myself followed our respective avocations. But soon, alas! a shocking event disturbed the calm that reigned at Jala-Jala. Bermigan fell so dangerously ill, that a few days sufficed to convince me there was no hope of saving him. I shall never forget the fatal night: we were all assembled in the drawing-room, grief and consternation were in every heart and pourtrayed in every countenance; in an adjoining room a few short steps from us, we heard the death-rattle of poor Bermigan, who had only a few minutes to live. My excellent friend, Lafond, whom sickness had reduced almost to the last stage, broke silence, and said: “Well! poor Bermigan goes to-day, and in a few days, perhaps to-morrow, it will be my turn. Just see! my dear Don Pablo; I may almost say that I no longer exist. Look at my feet—my body! I am a mere skeleton; I can scarcely take any food. Ah! it is better to be dead than live like this!”

I was so persuaded that his forebodings would not be delayed in being realized, that I scarcely dared to utter the smallest consolation or any hopes. Who could then have told me that he and I alone were to survive all those who surrounded us, full of life and health? But, alas! let us not here anticipate future events.

Poor Bermigan breathed his last. Our house at Jala-Jala was no longer untouched by the hand of Death—a human being had expired therein; and on the following day, in sadness and silence, we all proceeded to the cemetery, to inter the body of our friend, and to render him the last proofs of our respect. The body was laid at the foot of a large cross, which is placed in the centre of the grave-yard. For many days sadness and silence prevailed in our home at Jala-Jala.

Some time afterwards I had the gratification to see the efforts I employed for my friend Lafond were successful. By means of the strong remedies I administered his health was speedily restored, his appetite returned, and he was soon able to set sail for France. He is now residing in Paris, married to a woman possessed of every quality necessary to make a man happy, and is the father of three children. Holding an honourable position, and enjoying public esteem, he has never forgotten the six months he spent at Jala-Jala, for ingratitude never sullied his noble, loving, and devoted heart. A sincere attachment still subsists between us, and I am happy thus to assure him that he is, and ever will be, to me a valued friend.1

As I have now mentioned several persons who resided for some time at Jala-Jala, I must not forget one of my colonists, Joachim Balthazard, a native of Marseilles, as eccentric a man as I have ever known. When Joachim was young, he set sail from Marseilles. When he arrived at Bourbon, his name not being on the crew’s list, he was arrested, and put on board the Astrolabe, which was then making a voyage round the world. He deserted at the Marianne islands, and came to the Philippines in the greatest distress, and addressed himself to some good friars, in order, as he said, to effect his conversion and his salvation. He lived among them, and at their expense, for nearly two years; afterwards he opened a coffee-house at Manilla, and spent in pleasure and debauchery a large sum of money that a fellow-countryman and I had advanced him. He afterwards built upon my grounds a large straw edifice, that had more the appearance of a huge magazine than of a house. There he kept a kind of seraglio, adopted all the children which his numerous wives gave him, and, with his own family, made his house not unlike a mutual school. Whenever he was weary of either of his wives he called one of his workmen, saying to him in the most serious manner:

“There is a wife that I give you; be a good husband, treat her well: and you, woman, this is your husband, be faithful to him. Go, may God bless you! Be off, and let me never see you again.”

He was generally without a farthing, or all of a sudden rich with heavy sums, that were spent in a few days. He borrowed from everybody, and never paid them back; he lived like a real Indian, and was as cowardly as a half-drowned chicken. His light-coloured hair, sallow complexion, and beardless face, gave him the nick-name among the Indians of Onela-Dogou, Tagalese words, that signify “one who has no blood.”

As I was one day crossing over the lake in a small canoe with him and two Indians, we were assailed by one of those extraordinary gales of wind, which in the Chinese seas are called Tay-Foung (typhoon). These gales of wind, though extremely rare, are tremendous. The sky is covered with the heaviest clouds; the rain pours in torrents; the day-light disappears, almost as much as in the densest fog; and the wind blows with such fury that it throws down everything it reaches in its course.2

We were in our canoe; the wind had scarcely begun to blow with all its violence than Balthazard commenced to invoke all the saints in Paradise. Almost in despair, he cried out aloud:

“Oh, God! have mercy upon me, a wretched sinner! Grant me the grace that I may have an opportunity of confessing my sins, and of receiving absolution!”

All these lamentations and appeals served only to frighten my two Indians, and most undoubtedly our position was critical enough for us to endeavour to retain our presence of mind, so as to attend to the management of our little boat, which from one moment to another was in danger of being swamped. However, I was certain that, being provided with two large beams of bamboos, it could keep its position in the current between two waters and not capsize, if we had the precaution and strength to scud before the wind, and not turn the side to a wave, for in such case we should all have been drowned. What I foresaw, happened. A wave burst upon us; for a few minutes we were plunged in the deep, but when the wave passed over we came above water. Our canoe was swamped between the currents, but we did not abandon it; we put our legs under the seats, and held them fast; the half of our body was above water. But every time that a wave came towards us it passed over our heads, and then went off, giving us time to breathe until another wave came and dashed over us. Every three or four minutes the same manoeuvring took place. My Indians and I used all our strength and skill to scud on before the wind. Balthazard had ceased his lamentations; we all kept silence; from time to time I only uttered these words:

“Take courage, boys, we shall reach the shore.”

Our position then became much worse, for night set in. The rain continued to pour in torrents, the wind increased in fury. From time to time we received some light from globes of fire, like what the sailors call “Saint Elmo’s fire.” While these rays of light continued I looked as far around me as I could, and only perceived an immense body of water in furious agitation. For nearly two hours we were tossed about by the waves that drove us towards the beach, and, at a moment when we least expected it, we found ourselves driven into the midst of an extensive grove of lofty bamboos. I then knew that we were over the land, and that the lake had inundated the country for several miles around. We were up to our breasts in water, and it was not in our power to pass through the inundation. The darkness was too great to allow us to go in any direction; our canoe was no longer of any use to us, as it was entangled among the bamboos. We climbed up the trees as well as we could, even to the height where the bamboos end in sharp points; our bodies were much torn by the sharp thorns growing on the small branches; the rain continued to pour without intermission; the wind still blowed, and each gust caused the bamboos to bend, the flexible branches of which tore our bodies and faces. I have suffered a great deal in the course of my life, but no night ever appeared to me so long and cruel as this! Joachim Balthazard then recovered his speech, and, in a trembling, broken voice, said to me:

“Ah! Don Pablo, do write I beg of you, to my mother, and tell her the tragical end of her son!”

I could not help answering him: “You cowardly rascal! Do you think, then, that I am more at my ease than you are? Hold your tongue, otherwise I shall make you turn diver, so that I may never hear you again.” Poor Joachim then knew what to do, and did not utter a word; only from time to time he made us aware of his trouble by his deep moans.

The wind, which was blowing from the north-west, towards four o’clock in the morning suddenly changed to the east, and shortly afterwards gave over. It was almost daylight: we were saved. We could at last see one another; all four of us looked in a wretched condition; our clothes being torn to pieces. Our bodies were lacerated, and covered with deep scratches. The cold had penetrated into the very marrow of our bones, and the long bath we had taken had wrinkled the skin; we looked just like drowned people taken out of the water, where they had been for some hours. Nevertheless, crippled as we were, we slipped down from the bamboos, and were soon bathing in the waters of the lake. The effect was healthful and agreeable: it seemed like a warm bath at 30 degrees of heat.

We were quite restored by this mild temperature. We got our canoe out of the grove, where fortunately it had been caught so fast that neither the waves nor the currents could drive it any farther. We again set it afloat, and soon succeeded in reaching an Indian hut, where we dried ourselves, and recruited our strength. Calm was now re-established; the sun shone in all its splendour, but everywhere traces of the typhoon were visible. In the course of the day we reached Jala-Jala, where our arrival caused great joy. They knew at home that I was on the lake, and everything led them to presume that I had perished. My good and dear Anna threw herself into my arms in tears; she had been in such anxiety for my safety, that for some moments the tears that flowed down her cheeks alone expressed her joy at again seeing me.

Balthazard returned to his seraglio. As long as he was under my protection the Indians respected him, but after my departure from Jala-Jala he was assassinated; and all those who knew him agreed that he had deserved his fate for more than one cause.

As I have mentioned this typhoon, I am going to anticipate a little, in describing, as briefly as possible, a still more frightful one than that which I experienced in my slight canoe and in the bamboo grove.

I had just completed some pretty baths upon the lake opposite my house. I was quite satisfied and proud of procuring this new pleasure for my wife. On the very day that the Indians had added the last ornaments to them, towards evening a western wind began to blow furiously; by degrees the waters of the lake became agitated, and shortly we no longer doubted but that we were going to have a typhoon.

My brother and I stayed some time examining, through the panes of glass, whether the baths would resist the strength of the wind, but in a heavy squall my poor edifice disappeared like a castle made of cards. We withdrew from the window, and luckily too, for a heavier squall than that which had destroyed the baths burst in the windows that faced to the west. The wind drove through the house, and opened a way for itself, by throwing down all the wall over the entrance-door. The lake was so agitated that the waves went over my house, and inundated all the apartments. We were not able to remain there any longer. By assisting each other, my wife, my brother, a young Frenchman who was then staying at Jala-Jala, and myself, succeeded in reaching a room on the ground-floor; the light came from a very small window; there, in almost total darkness, we spent the greater part of the night, my brother and I leaning our shoulders against the window, opposing with all our strength that of the wind, which threatened to force it in. In this small room there were several jars of brandy: my excellent Anna poured some into the hollow of her hand, and gave it us to drink, to support our strength and to warm us. At break of day the wind ceased, and calm re-appeared. All the furniture and decorations of my house were broken and shattered to pieces; all the rooms were inundated, and the store-rooms were full of sand, carried there by the waters of the lake. Soon my house became an asylum for my colonists, who had all spent a wretched night, and were without shelter.

The sun soon shone splendidly; the sky was cloudless; but my sadness was extreme when, from a window, I examined the disasters produced by the typhoon. There was no village! Every hut was levelled to the ground. The church was thrown down—my store-houses, my sugar factory, were entirely destroyed; there was then nothing more than heaps of ruins. My fine cane-fields were altogether destroyed, and the country, which previously had appeared so beautiful, seemed as if it had passed through a long wintry season. There was no longer any verdure to be seen; the trees were entirely leafless, with their boughs broken, and portions of the wood were entirely torn down; and all this devastation had taken place within a few hours. During that and the following day the lake threw up, upon the shore, the bodies of several unfortunate Indians who had perished. The first care of Padre Miguel was to bury the dead, and for a long time afterwards there were to be seen, in the grave-yard of Jala-Jala, crosses, with the inscription: “An unknown who died during the typhoon.” My Indians began immediately to rebuild their huts, and I, as far as possible, to repair my disasters.

The fertile nature of the Philippine islands speedily effaced the aspect of mourning which it had assumed. In less than eight days the trees were completely covered with new leaves, and exhibited themselves as in a brilliant summer, after the frightful winter had passed over. The typhoon had embraced a diameter of about two leagues, and, like a violent hurricane, had upset and shattered everything it met during its course.

But enough of disasters: I return to the epoch when the death of poor Bermigan caused affliction to us all.

All was prosperity in my dwelling: my Indians were happy; the population of Jala-Jala increased every day; I was beloved and respected. I had rendered great service to the Spanish government by the incessant warfare I carried on against the bandits; and I may say that even amongst them I enjoyed a high reputation. They looked upon me, indeed, as their enemy, but in the light of a brave enemy, incapable of committing any act of baseness against them, and who carried on an honourable warfare; and the Indian character was so well known to me, that I did not fear they would play me any low tricks, or would treacherously attack me. Such was my conviction, that around my house I was never accompanied by day or by night. I traversed without fear all the forests and mountains, and I often even treated with these honourable bandits, as one power does with another, by not disdaining the invitations sometimes sent to me to come to a certain place, where, without fear of surprise, they could consult me, or even invoke my assistance. This sort of rendezvous was always held in the night, and in very lonely places. On their side, as well as on mine, a promise given of not doing any injury to each other was religiously observed. In these nocturnal conversations, held without witnesses, I often brought back to a life of peace mistaken men, whom the turbulence of youth had thrown into a series of crimes, which the laws would have visited with most severe punishment. Sometimes, however, I failed in my attempts, and especially when I had to do with proud and untameable characters, such as are to be found among men who never have had any other guide but natural instinct. One day, among others, I received a letter from a half-breed, a great criminal, who infested the neighbouring province of Laguna; he told me that he wished to see me, and begged me to come alone in the middle of the night to a wild spot, where he would also come alone: I did not hesitate to go to the place appointed. I found him there as he had promised me. He told me that he wished to change his mode of life, and to dwell on my estate. He added, that he had never committed any crime against the Spaniards, but only against the Indians and the half-breeds. It would have been impossible for me to have received him without compromising myself. I proposed to place him in the house of a friar, where he might remain concealed for several years, until his crimes were forgotten, and then he could enter into society. After a moment’s reflection, he replied:

“No, that would be to lose my liberty. To live as a slave! I would prefer to die.”

I then proposed to him to go to Tapuzi, a place where the bandits, when hotly pursued, were enabled to conceal themselves with impunity.—(I shall very soon have occasion to speak of this village.)—The half-breed, with an insignificant gesture, replied:

“No; the person I wish to take with me would not come there. You can do nothing for me, adieu!”

He then pressed my hand, and we separated. Some days afterwards, a hut in which he was seen, near Manilla, was surrounded by the troops of the line. The bandit then caused the owners of the hut to quit it, and when he saw them out of danger he took his carabine and began firing upon the soldiers, who on their side returned the attack on the hut. When it was riddled with balls, and the bandit had ceased to defend himself, a soldier approached the hut and set fire to it, so great was the fear they entertained of then finding him alive.

These nocturnal interviews having led me to mention Tapuzi, I cannot refrain from dedicating a few lines to this remarkable retreat, where men, when proscribed by the law, live together in a sort of accord and union of a most extraordinary kind.

Tapuzi,3 which in the Tagal language, signifies “end of the world,” is a little village, situate in the interior of the mountains, nearly twenty-five leagues from Jala-Jala. It was formed there by bandits and men who had escaped from the galleys, who live in liberty, govern themselves, and are altogether, on account of the inaccessible position which they occupy, safe from any pursuit which could be ordered against them by the Spanish government. I had often heard this singular village mentioned, but I had never met anyone who had visited it, or could give me any positive details relative to it. One day, therefore, I resolved to go thither myself. I stated my intention to my lieutenant, who said:

“Master, I shall find there, no doubt, some of my old comrades, and then we shall have nothing to fear.”

Three of us set out together, under the pretext of quite a different journey. For two days we walked in the midst of mountains, by paths almost impracticable. The third day we reached a torrent, the bed of which was blocked up by enormous stones. This ravine was the only road by which we could get to Tapuzi; it was the natural and impregnable rampart which defended the village against the attack of the Spanish troops. My lieutenant had just told me:

“Look, master, above your head. None but the inhabitants of Tapuzi know the paths which lead to the top of the mountains. All along the length of the ravine they have placed enormous stones, that they have only to push to throw them down upon those who should come to attack them; a whole army could not penetrate among them, if they wished to give any opposition.”

I clearly saw that we were not in a very agreeable position, and against which, if the Tapuzians should consider us as enemies, we could oppose no defence. But we were involved in it, and there was no means of retreating, it was absolutely necessary to go to Tapuzi. We had been already more than an hour in this ravine when an immense block of stone fell down perpendicularly, and broke into pieces only twenty yards before us: it was a warning. We stopped, laid down our arms, and sat down. Perhaps just such another block as what had fallen was hanging over our heads, ready to crush us to pieces. We heard a scream near us. I told my lieutenant to proceed alone towards the direction it came from. In a few minutes he returned, accompanied by two Indians, who, confident in my pacific intentions towards them, came to fetch us, to take us to the village. We proceeded cheerfully on the remainder of the road until we reached the spot where ended the sort of funnel we were walking in. Upon this height there was to be seen a plain, some miles in circumference, surrounded by high mountains. The part that we were in was stopped up by enormous blocks of rocks, lying one on the top of the other. From behind stretched forth an abrupt threatening mountain, without any signs of vegetation—not unlike an ancient European fortress, that some magical power had raised in the midst of the high mountains that commanded it. With one glance I beheld the whole of the site we were crossing, and at the same time reflected upon the great varieties nature presents to our view. We soon reached the long wished-for object of our journey—the village of Tapuzi. It lies at the extreme end of a plain, composed of about sixty thatched huts, similar to those of the Indians. The inhabitants were all at their windows, to witness our arrival. Our guides conducted us to their chief, or Matanda-sanayon, a fine old man, from the look of his face about eighty years of age. He bowed affably to us, and addressed himself to me.

“How are you come here—as a friend, or is it curiosity—or do the cruel laws of the Spaniards perhaps compel you to seek refuge among us? If such is the case, you are welcome; you will find us brothers.”

“No,” I said to him; “we do not come to stay among you. I am your neighbour, and lord of Jala-Jala. I am come to see you, to offer you my friendship, and to ask yours.”

At the name Jala-Jala the old man looked quite astonished; he then said to me:

“It is a long time since I heard you spoken of as an agent of the government for pursuing unfortunate men, but I have heard also that you fulfilled your mission with much kindness, and that often you were their protector, so be welcome.”

After this first recognition they presented us some milk and some kidney potatoes, and during our repast the old man conversed freely with me.

“Several years ago,” said he to me, “at a period I cannot recollect, some men came to live in Tapuzi. The peace and safety they enjoyed made others imitate their example, who sought like themselves to avoid the punishment of some faults they had committed. We soon saw fathers of families, with their wives and children flock hither; this was the foundation of the small government that you see. Now here almost all is in common; some fields of kidney potatoes or Indian corn, and hunting, suffice for us; he who possesses anything gives to him who has nothing. Almost all our clothing is knitted and woven by our wives; the abaca, or vegetable silk, from the forest supplies us the thread that is necessary; we do not know what money is, we do not require any. Here there is no ambition; each one is certain of not suffering from hunger. From time to time strangers come to visit us. If they are willing to submit to our laws, they remain with us; they have a fortnight of probation to go through before they decide. Our laws are lenient and indulgent. We have not forgotten the religion of our forefathers, and God no doubt will forgive me my first faults, on account of my efforts for so many years to promote his worship, and the well-being of my equals.”

“But,” said I to him, “who is your chief, who are your judges and priests?”

“It is I,” said he, “who fulfil all those functions. Formerly they lived like savages here. I was young, robust, and devoted to all my brothers. Their chief had just expired: I was chosen to replace him. I then took care to do nothing but what was just, and conducive to the happiness of those who confided in me. Until then they had devoted but little attention to religion: I wished to put my people in mind that they were born Christians. I appointed one hour every Sunday for us to pray together, and I have invested myself with all the attributes of a minister of the Gospel. I celebrate the marriages, I pour water upon the foreheads of the infants, and I offer consolations to the dying. In my youth, I was a chorister; I remembered the church ceremonies; and if I do not actually possess the necessary attributes for the functions I have given myself, I practise them with faith and love. This is the reason I trust that my good intentions will obtain my forgiveness from Him who is the Sovereign Lord of all.”

During the whole time of the old man’s conversation I was in continual admiration. I was among people who had the reputation of living in the greatest licentiousness as thieves and robbers. Their character was altogether misunderstood. It was a real, great phalanstery, composed of brothers, almost all worthy of the name. Above all I admired this fine old man, who with moral principles and simple laws, had governed them for so many years. On the other hand, what an example that was of free men not being able to live without choosing a chief, and bringing one another back to the practice of virtuous actions!

I explained to the old man all my thoughts. I bestowed upon him a thousand praises for his conduct, and assured him that the Archbishop of Manilla would approve all the religious acts he performed with so noble an object. I even offered to intercede with the archbishop in his behalf, that he might send a pastor to assist him. But he replied:

“No, thank you, sir; never speak about us. We should certainly be glad to have a minister of the Gospel here, but soon, under his influence, we should be subjected to the Spanish government. It would be requisite for us to have money to pay our contributions. Ambition would soon creep in amongst us, and from the freedom which we now enjoy, we should gradually sink into a state of slavery, and should no longer be happy. Once more I entreat of you, do not speak of us: give me your word that you will not.”

This argument appeared so just to me that I acquiesced to his request. I again gave him all the praise he deserved, and promised never to disturb the peace of the inhabitants of his village under any pretext whatever.

In the evening we received visits from all the inhabitants, particularly from the women and children, who all had an immoderate curiosity to see a white man. None of the Tapuzian women had ever been out of their village, and had scarcely ever lost sight of their huts; it was not, therefore, astonishing that they were so curious.

The next day I went round the plain, and visited the fields of kidney potatoes and Indian corn, the principal nourishment of the inhabitants. The old chief and some elderly people accompanied me. When we reached the spot where, upon the eve, I had already remarked enormous blocks of rock, the old man paused and told me:

“Look yonder, Castilla.4 At a time when the Tapuzians were without religion, and lived as wild beasts, God punished them. Look at all the part of that mountain quite stripped of vegetation: one night, during a tremendous earthquake, that mountain split in two—one part swallowed up the half of the village that then stood on the place where those enormous rocks are. A few hundred steps further on all would have been destroyed; there would no longer have existed a single person in Tapuzi: but a part of the population was not injured, and came and settled themselves where the village now is. Since then we pray to the Almighty, and live in a manner so as not to deserve so severe a chastisement as that experienced by the wretched victims of that awful night.”

The conversation and society of this old man—I might say the King of Tapuzi—was most interesting to me. But I had already been four days absent from Jala-Jala. I ordered my lieutenant to prepare for our departure. We bid most affectionate adieus to our hosts, and set off. In two days I returned home, quite pleased with my journey and the good inhabitants of Tapuzi.