Never was life more actively spent, or more crowded with emotions, than the time I passed at Jala-Jala, but it suited my tastes and my character, and I enjoyed as perfect happiness as one can look for when far away from one’s home and country. My Anna was to me an angel of goodness; my Indians were happy, peace and plenty smiled upon their families; my fields were covered with abundant crops, and my pasturages with numerous herds. It was not, however, without great difficulty and much toil that I accomplished my aim; how often did I find all my courage and all my philosophy necessary to face, without despair, reverses which it was impossible for me to avoid? How often did I behold hurricanes and inundations destroy the fine harvest that I had protected with so much labour against the buffaloes, the wild boars, the monkeys, and even against an insect more destructive still than all the other pests which I have just mentioned—the locust, one of the plagues of Egypt, apparently transported into this province, and which almost regularly, every seven years, leave the isles of the south in clouds, and fall upon Luzon, bringing desolation, and often famine. It is indeed necessary to have witnessed this desolation to be able to form any idea of it. When the locusts arrive, a fire-coloured cloud is perceived in the horizon, formed of countless myriads of these destructive insects. They fly rapidly, often covering, in a closely packed body, a space of two or three leagues in diameter, and occupy from five to six consecutive hours in passing over head. If they perceive a fine green field they pounce down upon it, and in a few minutes all verdure has disappeared, the ground is stripped completely bare; they then continue their flight elsewhere, bearing on their wings destruction and famine. At evening it is in the forests, upon the trees, that they take shelter. They hang in such dense masses upon the ends of the boughs that they break down even the stoutest limbs from the trees. During the night, from the spot where they are reposing, there issues a continual croaking, and so loud a noise, that one scarcely believes it to be produced by so small an insect. The following morning they leave at day-break, and the trees upon which they have reposed are left stripped and broken, as though the lightning had swept the forest in every direction; they pursue their course elsewhere to commit fresh ravages. At certain periods they remain on vast plains or on fertile mountains; where, elongating the extremity of their bodies in the form of a gimblet, they pierce the earth to the depth of an inch and upwards to deposit their eggs. The operation of laying being completed, they leave the ground pierced like a sieve, and disappear, for their existence has now reached its termination. Three weeks afterwards, however, the eggs open, and myriads of young locusts swarm the earth. On the spot where they are born, whatever will serve them for food is quickly consumed. As soon as they have acquired sufficient strength they abandon their birth-place, destroy all kinds of vegetation that comes in their way, and direct their course to the cultivated fields, which they desolate until the period when their wings appear. They then take flight in order to devastate more distant plantations.

As may be seen, agriculture in the Philippines presents many difficulties, but it also yields results that may be looked for in vain in any other country. During the years which are exempt from the calamities I have described the earth is covered with riches; every kind of colonial produce is raised in extraordinary abundance, frequently in the proportion of eighty to one, and on many plantations two crops of the same species are harvested in one year. The rich and extensive pasturages offer great facilities for raising a large number of cattle, which absolutely cost nothing but the trifling wages paid by the proprietor to a few shepherds.

Upon my property I possessed three herds—one of three thousand head of oxen, another of eight hundred buffaloes, and the other of six hundred horses. At that period of the year when the rice was harvested, the shepherds explored the mountains, and drove these animals to a vast plain at a short distance from my dwelling. This plain was covered by these three species of domesticated animals, and presented, especially to the proprietor, an admirable sight. At night they were herded in large cattle-folds, near the village, and on the following day a selection was made of the oxen that were fit for slaughter, of the horses that were old enough for breaking-in, of the buffaloes that were strong enough to be employed in working. The herds were then re-driven to the plain, there to remain until night. This operation lasted during a fortnight, after which time the animals were set at liberty until the same period of the following year. When at liberty the herd divided itself into bands, and thus roamed about the mountains and the valleys they had previously quitted, the only trouble caused to the shepherds being an occasional ramble about the spots where the animals tranquilly grazed.

Around me all was prosperity. My Indians were also happy, and entertained towards me a respect and obedience bordering on idolatry. My brother gave me every assistance in my labours, and when near my beloved Anna I forgot all the toils and the contrarieties I had experienced. About this time a new source of hope sprung up, which augmented the happiness I enjoyed with her, and made her dearer to me than ever. During several months the health of my wife had changed: she then found all the symptoms of pregnancy. We had been married twelve years, and she had never yet shown any signs of maternity. I was so persuaded that we should never have children that the derangement of her health was causing me serious uneasiness, when one morning as I was going to my work she said to me: “I don’t feel well to-day, and I wish you to remain with me.” Two hours afterwards, to my great surprise, she gave premature birth to a little girl, whose arrival no one expected. The infant was born before the due time, and lived only one hour, just sufficient to receive baptism, which I administered to her. This was the second human being that had expired in the house of Jala-Jala; but she was also the first that had there first drawn the breath of life. The regret which we all experienced from the loss was softened by the certainty that my dear Anna might again become a mother, under more favourable circumstances. Her health was speedily re-established, and she was again gay and beautiful as ever: indeed she appeared so handsome, that often Indian women came from a long distance for the sole purpose of looking at her. They would remain for half-an-hour gazing at her, and afterwards returned to their villages, where they gave birth to creatures little resembling the model which they had taken such pains to observe, with a confidence approaching to simplicity.

Eventually Anna exhibited new signs of maternity; her pregnancy went through the usual course, and her health was not much affected. In due time she presented me with a little boy, weakly and delicate, but full of life. Our joy was at the highest, for we possessed that which we had so long wished for, and that which alone was in my opinion wanting.

My Indians were delighted with the birth, and for several days there was a round of rejoicings at Jala-Jala; and my Anna, although confined to bed, was obliged to receive visits, at first from all the women and maidens of the village, and afterwards from all the Indians who were fathers of families. Each brought some little present for the newly born, and the cleverest man of them was commissioned to express a compliment in the name of all; which comprised their best wishes for the happiness of the mother and child, and full assurances of the satisfaction they felt in thinking that they would one day be ruled over by the son of the master from whom they had experienced so much kindness, and who had conferred upon them such benefits. Their gratitude was sincere.

The news of the accouchement of my wife brought a very numerous party of friends and relations to my house, where they waited for the baptism, which took place in my drawing-room. Anna, then almost thoroughly well, was present on the occasion: my son was named Henry, after his uncle. At this time I was happy; Oh, so truly happy! for my wishes were nearly gratified. There was but one not so—and that was to see again my aged mother and my sisters; but I hoped that the time was not far distant when I should realise the project of revisiting my native country. My farming speculation was most prosperous: my receipts were every year on the increase; my fields were covered with the richest crops of sugar-canes, to the cultivation of which, and of rice, I had joined that of coffee. My brother had taken upon himself the management of a very large plantation, which promised the most brilliant results; and appeared likely to secure the premium which the Spanish government had promised to give to the proprietor of a plantation of eighty thousand feet of coffee in product. But, alas! the period of my happiness had passed away, and what pain and what grief was I not doomed to suffer before I again saw my native country.

My brother—my poor Henry—committed some imprudences, and was suddenly attacked with an intermittent fever, which in a few days carried him off.

My Anna and I shed abundance of tears, for we both loved Henry with the warmest affection. For several years we had lived together; he participated in all our labours, our troubles, and our pleasures. He was the only relative I had in the Philippines. He had left France, where he had filled an honourable position, with the sole object of coming to see me, and of aiding me in the great task which I had undertaken. His amiable qualities and his excellent heart had endeared him to us: his loss was irreparable, and the thought that I had no longer a brother added poignancy to my bitter grief. Prudent, the youngest, had died at Madagascar; Robert, the next to me, died at La Planche, near Nantes, in the little dwelling where we spent our childhood; and my poor Henry at Jala-Jala. I erected a simple tomb for him near the door of the church, and for several months Jala-Jala was a place of grief and mourning.

We had scarcely begun, not indeed to console ourselves, but rather to bear with resignation the loss we had experienced, when a new dispensation of fate came to strike me to the earth.

On my arrival in the Philippines, and while I resided at Cavite, I formed a close connection with Malvilain, a native of St. Malo, and mate of a ship from that port. During several years which he spent at Cavite our friendship was most intimate. A day seldom passed that we did not see each other, and two days never, for we were much attached. Our two ships were at anchor in the port, not far one from the other. One day as I was walking on deck, waiting for a boat to take me on board Malvilain’s ship, I saw his crew at work in regulating one of the masts, when a rope suddenly snapped, and the mast fell with a frightful crash on the deck, in the midst of the men, amongst whom Malvilain was standing. From the deck of my own ship I beheld all that passed on that of my friend, who I thought was killed or wounded. My feelings were worked to the highest pitch of anguish and alarm; I could not control myself; I jumped into the water and swam to his ship, where I had the pleasure of finding him uninjured, although considerably stunned by the danger from which he had escaped. Wet as I was from my sea-bath I caught him in my arms, and pressed him to my heart; and then hastened to afford relief to some of the crew, who had not been so fortunate to escape without injury as he had been.

Another time I was the cause of serious alarm to Malvilain. One day, a mass of black and thick clouds was gathered close over the point of Cavite, and a frightful—that is, a tropical—storm burst. The claps of thunder followed each other from minute to minute, and before each clap the lightning, in long serpent-like lines of fire, darted from the clouds, and drove on to the point of Cavite, where it tore up the ground of the little plain situate at the extremity, and near which the ships were moored. Notwithstanding the storm I was going to see Malvilain, and was almost in the act of placing my foot on the deck of his vessel, when the lightning fell into the sea so near to me that I lost my breath. Instantly I felt an acute pain in the back, as if a burning torch had been laid between my shoulders. The pain was so violent, that the moment I recovered myself I uttered a sharp scream. Malvilain, who was within a few paces of me, felt very sensibly the electric shock which had struck me, and, on hearing my cry, imagined that I was dangerously hurt. He rushed towards me and held me in his arms until I was able to give every assurance of my recovery. The electric fluid had grazed me, but without causing any positive injury.

I have related these two slight anecdotes to show the intimacy that subsisted between us, and how I afterwards suffered in my dearest affections.

My existence has to this day, when I write these lines, been filled with such extraordinary facts, that I have been naturally led to believe that the destiny of man is regulated by an order of things which must infallibly be accomplished. This idea has had great influence over me, and taught me to endure all the evils which have afflicted me. Was it, then, my destiny which bound me to Malvilain, and bound him to me in the same manner? I have no doubt of it.

Some days before the terrible scourge of the cholera broke out in the Philippines, Malvilain’s ship set sail for France. With hearts oppressed with grief we separated, after promising each that we should meet again; but, alas! fate had ordained it otherwise. Malvilain returned home, went to Nantes to take the command of a ship, and there became acquainted with my eldest sister, and married her. This news, which reached me while I resided in Manilla, gave me the greatest satisfaction, for if I had had to choose a husband for my dear sister Emilie, this marriage was the only one to satisfy the wishes I had formed for the happiness of both.

After his marriage Malvilain continued to sail from the port of Nantes. His noble disposition and his accurate knowledge of his duties caused him to be highly esteemed by the leading merchants. His affairs were in a state sufficiently good as not to require him to expose himself longer to the dangers of the sea, and he was on his last voyage, when, at the Mauritius, he was attacked by an illness, which carried him off, leaving my sister inconsolable, and with three very young girls to lament him.

This fresh and irreparable loss, the news of which had then reached me, added to my grief for the sad death of my poor brother. Every calamity seemed to oppress me. After some years of happiness I saw, by little and little, disappear from this world, the persons on whom I had concentrated my dearest affections; but, alas! I had not even then reached the term of my sorrows, for other and most bitter sufferings were still to be passed through.

I saw with pleasure my boy was enjoying the best health, and that he was daily increasing in strength; and yet I was far from being happy, and to the melancholy caused by the losses I had experienced was added another most fearful alarm. My beloved Anna had never thoroughly recovered after her accouchement, and day by day her health was growing weaker. She did not seem aware of her state. Her happiness at being a mother was so great that she did not think of her own condition.

I had gathered in my sugar-cane crop, which was most abundant, and my plantations were finished, when, wishing to procure some amusement for my wife, I proposed to go and spend some time at the house of her sister Josephine, for whom she entertained the warmest affection. She, with great pleasure, agreed to do so. We set out with our dear little Henry and his nurse, and took up our quarters at the house of my brother-in-law, Don Julian Calderon, then residing in a pretty country-house on the banks of the river Pasig, half a league from Manilla.

Of the three sisters of my wife, Josephine was the one for whom I had the most affection: I loved her as I did my own sister. The day of our arrival was one of rejoicing. All our friends at Manilla came to see us, and Anna was so pleased in seeing our little Henry admired that her health seemed to have improved considerably; but this apparent amelioration lasted but a few days, and soon, to my grief, I saw that she was growing worse than ever. I sent for the only medical man in Manilla in whom I had confidence, my friend Genu. He came frequently to see her, and after six weeks of constant attention, he advised me to take her back to my residence near the lake, where persons attacked with the same malady as my dear Anna had often recovered. As she herself wished to return, I appointed a day for our departure. A commodious boat, with good rowers, was ready for us on the Pasig, at the end of my brother-in-law’s garden; and a numerous assemblage of our friends accompanied us to the water’s edge. The moment of separation was one of most melancholy feelings to us all. The countenance of each seemed to ask: “Shall we meet again?” My sister-in-law Josephine, in a flood of tears, threw herself into Anna’s arms. I had great difficulty in separating them; but we were obliged to set out. I took my wife into the boat, and then those two sisters, who had always maintained towards each other the most tender love, addressed with their voices their last adieus, while promising not to be long separated, and that they would see each other very soon.

Those painful adieus and the sufferings of my wife caused the trip, which we had often previously made with the greatest gaiety, to be melancholy and silent. On our arrival, I did not look on Jala-Jala with the usual feelings of satisfaction. I had my poor patient placed in bed, and did not quit her room, hoping by my continual care to afford her some relief in her sufferings. But, alas! from day to day the malady made fearful progress. I was in despair. I wrote to Josephine, and sent a boat to Manilla for her to come and take care of her sister, who was most anxious to see her. The boat returned without her; but a letter from kind-hearted Josephine informed me that she was herself dangerously ill, and confined to her room, and could not even leave her bed; that she was very sorry for it, but I might assure Anna that they would soon be re-united, never again to be separated.

Fifty days—longer to me than a century—had scarcely elapsed since our return to Jala-Jala than all my hopes vanished. Death was approaching with rapid strides, and the fatal moment was at hand when I was to be separated from her whom I loved with such intensity. She preserved her senses to the last, and saw my profound melancholy, and my features altered by grief; and finding her last hour was near, she called me to her, and said: “Adieu, my beloved Paul, adieu. Console thyself—we shall meet again in Heaven! Preserve thyself for the sake of our dear boy. When I shall be no more, return home to thy own country, to see thy aged mother. Never marry again, except in France, if thy mother requires thee to do so. Do not marry in the Philippines, for thou wilt never find a companion here to love thee as I have loved.” These words were the last which this good and gentle angel spoke. The most sacred ties, the tenderest and purest union, were then severed—my Anna was no more! I held her lifeless body clasped in my arms, as if I hoped by my caresses to recall her to life; but, alas! her destiny was decided!

It required absolute force to tear me from the precious remains which I pressed against my heart, and to draw me into a neighbouring room, where my son was. While I pressed him convulsively to my breast, I wished to weep; but my eyes were tearless, and I was insensible to the caresses even of my poor child.

The strongest constitution cannot resist the fatigue of fifty days of constant watching and uneasiness; and the state of annihilation in which I was, both physically and morally, after despair had taken the place of the glimmering hope which sustained us to the last moment, was such that I fell into a state of insensibility, which ended in a profound sleep. I awoke on the following day with my son in my arms. But how frightful was my state on awaking. All that was horrible in my position presented itself to my imagination. Alas! she was no more; my adorable companion, that beloved angel and consolatrix, who had, on my account, abandoned all—parents, friends, and the pleasures of a capital—to shut herself up with me in a deserted wilderness, where she was exposed to a thousand dangers, and had but me to support her. She was no more; and fatal destiny had torn her from me, to sink me for ever in desolation and grief.

The funeral took place on the following day, and was attended by every inhabitant of Jala-Jala. Her body was deposited near the altar in the humble church which I had caused to be erected, and before which altar she had so often poured forth prayers for my happiness.

For a long time mourning and consternation reigned in Jala-Jala. All my Indians showed the deepest sympathy for the loss which they had suffered. Anna was, during her life, beloved even to idolatry, and after her death she was most sincerely lamented.

For several days I continued in a thorough depression, unable to attend to anything, except to the cares which my son, then my only remaining consolation, required. Three weeks elapsed before I quitted the room in which my poor wife had expired. I then received a note from Josephine, in which she stated that her illness had grown worse. The note ended with these words: “Come, my dear Paul; come to me: we shall weep together. I feel that your presence will afford some consolation.”

I did not hesitate to comply with the request of dear Josephine, for whom I entertained an affection as if for my own sister. My presence might prove a solace to her, and I myself felt that it would prove to me a great consolation to see a person who had so sincerely loved my Anna. The hope of being useful to her re-animated my courage a little. I left my house under the care of Prosper Vidie, an excellent friend, who during the last days of my wife’s life had not quitted me, and departed, accompanied by my son.

After the first emotion which Josephine and I felt on meeting, and when we both had shed abundant tears, I examined her state. It required a strong effort on my part to conceal from her my anxiety, on finding her labouring under a most serious malady, and which gave me grounds for fearing that a fresh misfortune was not far distant. Alas! my forebodings were correct; for eight days afterwards poor Josephine expired in my arms, after the most poignant sufferings. What abundant sources of woe in so short a space of time! It required a constitution strong as mine was to bear up against such a number of sorrows, and not to fail under the burthen.

When I had paid the last duties to my sister-in-law I went back to Jala-Jala. To me everything was burthensome. I was obliged to betake myself to my forests and to my mountains, in order to recover a little calmness. Some months passed over before I could attend to my affairs; but the last wishes of my poor wife required to be fulfilled, and I was to quit the Philippines and return to my country. I commenced preparations for the purpose. I made over my establishment to my friend Vidie, who was, as I considered, the person best adapted for carrying out my plans, and for treating my poor Indians well. He requested me to stop a little time with him, and to show him the secrets of my little government. I consented, and the more willingly, as those few months would serve to render my son stronger, and better able to support the fatigues of a long voyage. I therefore remained at Jala-Jala; but life had become painful to me, and without an object, so that it was positively a trouble. There was nothing to distract me—nothing to remove the most painful thoughts from me. The pretty spots of Jala-Jala, over which I had often looked with the greatest pleasure, had become altogether indifferent to me. I sought out the most melancholy and silent places. I often went to the banks of a rivulet, concealed in the midst of high mountains, and shaded by lofty trees. This spot was perhaps known to no other person; and probably no human being had ever previously been seated in it. There I gave free vent to my bitter recollections—my wife, my brothers, my sister-in-law, engrossed my imagination. When the thought of my son drove away these sombre reveries, I returned slowly to my house, where I found the poor child, who, by his caresses, seemed to try to find some way to cause a change in my grief; but they seemed only to recall the time when Anna always came to welcome me home, and when, clasping me in her arms, she caused me to forget all the toil and trouble I met with when absent from her. Alas! that blissful time had flown away, and was never to return; and in losing my companion I lost every happiness.

My friend Vidie tried every means in his power to rouse me. He spoke to me often of France, of my mother, and of the consolation I should feel on presenting my son to her. The love of my country, and the thought of finding there those affections of which I stood so much in need, was a soft balm, which lulled for a while the sufferings that were constantly vibrating in the bottom of my heart.

My Indians were deeply afflicted on learning the resolution I had taken of quitting them. They showed their trouble by saying to me, every time they addressed me! “Oh, master: what will become of us when we shall not see you again?” I quieted them as well as I could, by assuring them that Vidie would exert himself for their welfare; that when my son should be grown up, I would come back with him and then never leave them. They answered me with their prayers: “May God grant it, master! But what a long time we shall have to pass without seeing you! However, we shall not forget you.”