Governor Taft left the Philippines on or about December 23, 1903, to become Secretary of War in President Roosevelt’s Cabinet, and shortly afterward Vice-Governor Luke E. Wright succeeded to the governorship. After the accession of Governor Wright, there was no more hammering it into the American business men having money invested in the Islands that the Filipino was their “little brown brother,” for whom no sacrifice, however sublime, would be more than was expected. Governor Wright was quite unpopular with the Filipinos and immensely popular with the Americans and Europeans, because, soon after he came into power, he “let the cat out of the bag,” by letting the Filipinos know plainly that they might just as well shut up talking about independence for the present, so far as he was advised and believed; in other words, that Governor Taft’s “Philippines for the Filipinos” need not cause any specially billowy sighs of joy just yet, because it had no reference to any Filipinos now able to sigh, but only to unborn Filipinos who might sigh in some remote future generation; and that the slogan which had caused them all to want to sob simultaneously for joy on the broad chest of Governor Taft was merely a case of an amiable unwillingness to tell them an unpleasant truth, viz., that in his opinion they were wholly unfit for self-government—all of which, in effect, meant that Governor Taft had been merely “Keeping the word of promise to the ear and breaking it to the hope.”

The Wright plain talk made the Filipinos one and all feel: “Alackaday! Our true friend has departed.” But as Secretary of War Taft, after four years more of trying to please both sides, at home, at last frankly told the Filipinos when he went out to attend the opening of the first Philippine legislature, in 1907, practically just what Governor Wright had begun to tell them from the moment his predecessor had exchanged the parting tear with them on the water-front at Manila in 1903, the net result of the Wright policy of uncompromising honesty on the present political situation, may easily be guessed.

Governor Wright’s method of repudiating the Taft straddle took for its key-note, in lieu of “The Philippines for the Filipinos,” the slogan “An Equal Chance for All.” What Governor Wright meant was merely that there would be no more browbeating of Americans to make them love their little brown brother as much as Governor Taft was supposed to love him, but that everybody would be treated absolutely alike and nobody coddled. However, the Filipinos of course knew that they could not compete with American wealth and energy, and so did the Americans in the islands. So what the Wright slogan, unquestionably fair as was its intent, inexorably meant to everybody concerned except the dignified, straightforward and candid propounder of it, was, in effect, the British “White Man’s Burden” or Trust-for-Civilization theory, a theory whereunder the white man who wants some one else’s land goes and takes it on the idea that he can put it to better use than the owner. Thus early did the original “jollying” Mr. Taft had given them become transparent to his little brown brother. Thus early did it become clear to the Filipinos that behind the mask of executive protestations that they shall some day have independence when fit for it, lurks a set determination industriously to earn for an indeterminate number of generations yet to come

This book has been written, up to this point, in vain, if the preceding chapters have not made clear how much political expediency, looking to the welfare of a party in power naturally seeking to continue in power, necessarily dominates Philippine affairs under American rule. We have observed under the microscope of history, made available by the official documents now accessible, the long battle between the political expediency germ and the independence bug which began in General Anderson’s dealings with Aguinaldo and continued through General Merritt’s and General Otis’s régimes. We have seen General MacArthur’s attempt at a wise surgical operation to excise the independence bug from the Philippine body politic—so that the expediency germ might die a natural death from having nothing to feed on. We have seen that operation interfered with by the Taft Commission during the presidential campaign of 1900, because the men in control of the republic could not ignore considerations of political expediency; and we saw the consequent premature setting up of the civil government in 1901, with all its dire consequences in the then as yet unconquered parts of the archipelago, southern Luzon, and some of the Visayan Islands. We have observed the effective though heroic local treatment administered to the Philippine body politic by General Bell in Batangas in 1901–2, with a view of killing off the independence bug there. We have seen the fierce struggle between some of the bug’s belated spawn and the expediency germ’s now more emboldened forces in Albay in the off year, 1903. We are now to take our fifth year’s course in the colonial department of politico-entomological research, the presidential year 1904.

It was the way the Samar insurrection of 1904–5-6 was handled which finally convinced me that the Filipinos would not kill any more of each other in a hundred years than we have killed, or permitted to be killed, of them, in the fell process of Benevolent Assimilation.

American imperialism is not honest, like the British variety. American imperialism knows that Avarice was its father, and Piety its mother, and that it takes after its father more than it does after its mother. British imperialism frankly aims mostly to make the survivors of its policies happy, not the people it immediately operates on. American imperialism pretends to be ministering to the happiness of the living, and, though it realizes that it is not a success in that line, it resents identification with its British cousin, by sanctimonious reference to the alleged net good it is doing. Yet in its moments of frankness it says, with an air of infinite patience under base ingratitude, “Well, they will be happy in some other generation,” and that therefore the number of people we have had or may have, to kill, or permit to be killed, in the process of Benevolent Assimilation, is wholly negligible. This is simply the old, old argument that the end justifies the means, the argument that has wrought more misery in the world than any other since time began.

When Judge Taft, General Wright, and their colleagues of the Taft Commission, came out to the Philippines in 1900, they came full of the McKinley convictions about a people whom neither they or Mr. McKinley had ever seen, bound hand and foot by political necessity to square the freeing of Cuba with the subjugation of the Philippines. A perfectly natural evolution of this attitude resulted in the position they at once took on arriving in the Islands, viz., that to do for the Filipinos what we have done for the Cubans would mean a bloody welter of anarchy and chaos. And the presidential contest of 1900 was fought and won largely on that issue. After 1900, for all the gentlemen above referred to, the proposition was always res adjudicata. All protests by Filipinos to the contrary caused only resentment, and welded the authorities more and more hermetically to the correctness of the original proposition. Loyalty to the original ill-considered decision became impregnated, in their case, with a fervor not entirely unlike religious fanaticism, and belief in it became a matter of principle, justifying all they had done, and guiding all they might thereafter do. So that when General Wright “came to the throne” in our colonial empire, as Governor, and legatee of the McKinley-Taft Benevolent Assimilation policies, his attitude in all he did was thoroughly honest, and also thoroughly British. He honestly believed in the “bloody welter of anarchy and chaos” proposition, and was prepared, in any emergency that might arise, to follow his convictions in that regard whithersoever they might lead, without variableness or shadow of turning. Take him all in all, Governor Wright was about the best man occupying exalted station I ever knew personally, President Taft himself not excepted; although I still adhere to Colonel Roosevelt’s opinion of 1901 concerning Mr. Taft, quoted in the chapter preceding this, from the Outlook of September 21, 1901, notwithstanding that in the contest for the Republican nomination for the presidency in 1912, the Colonel “recalled” that opinion. Seriously, a man may “combine the qualities which would make a first class President of the United States with the qualities which would make a first class Chief Justice of the United States” and still cut a sorry figure trying to fit a square peg into a round hole, or a scheme of government, the breath of whose life is public opinion, into the running of a remote colonial government, the breath of whose life is exemption from being interfered with by public opinion.

After the Albay insurrection of 1903 had been cleaned up, I took charge of the Twelfth Judicial District, having been appointed thereto by Governor Taft just before he left the islands to become Secretary of War. In those trying pioneer days they always seemed to give me the insurrections to sift out, but it was purely fortuitous. Whenever you ceased to be busy, prompt arrangements were made for you to get busy again. Judge Ide, the Minister of Justice, wasted no government money.

The Twelfth District consisted of the two island provinces of Samar and Leyte, two of the six Visayan Islands heretofore noticed as the only ones worth considering in a general view of the archipelago such as the student of world politics wants or needs. Leyte had a population of 388,922,1 and an area of 3008 square miles.2 Samar’s population was 266,237, and its area, 5276 square miles, makes it the third largest island of the Philippine Archipelago. So that as Judge of the Twelfth District, consisting of two provinces, the Governor of each of which was ex-officio sheriff of the court for his province, I was, in a sense, a sort of shepherd of a political flock of some 650,000 people, whom I always thought of as a whole as “my” people.

Samar and Leyte are separated, where nearest together, by a most picturesque winding strait bordered with densely wooded hills. San Juanico Strait is much narrower than the inland sea of Japan at its narrowest point, and almost as beautiful. In fact, at its narrowest point it seems little more than a stone’s throw in width. It is as pretty as the prettiest part of the Golden Horn. Leyte had been put under the Civil Government in 1901, and this premature interference with the military authorities in the midst of their efforts to pacify the island had had the usual result of postponing pacification, by filling local politicians, wholly unable to comprehend a government which entreated or reasoned with people to do things, with the notion that we were resorting to diplomacy in lieu of force because of fear of them. Leyte and Samar were strategically one for the insurgents, just as the provinces of the Lake district of Luzon, described in an earlier chapter, were, because they could flee by night from one province to another in small boats without detection, when hard pressed by the Americano. The main insurgent general in Samar, Lucban, had surrendered to General Grant in 1902, but the cheaper fellows stayed out much longer, preying upon those who preferred daily toil to cattle-stealing and throat-cutting as a means of livelihood, and continuing the political unrest intermittently in gradually diminishing degree, through 1903. By the spring of 1904, however, there still remained in Samar riffraff enough, the jetsam and flotsam of the insurrection—professional outlaws—to get up some trouble, so that, as brigand chiefs, they might resume the rôles of Robin Hood, Jesse James, et al. During the first half of that year the opportunity these worthies had been waiting for, while resting on their oars, developed. The crop of municipal officials resulting from the original McKinley plan of beginning the work of reconstruction during, instead of after, the war, and among the potential village Hampdens, instead of among the Cromwells, had resulted in some very rascally municipal officials who oppressed the poor, getting the hemp of the small farmer, when they would bring it to town, at their own prices—hemp being to Samar what cotton is to the South. From the lowland and upland farmers the ever-widening discontent spread to the hills, where dwelt a type of people constituting only a small fraction of the total population of the Islands—“half savage and half child”—but loving their hills, and wholly indisposed, of their own initiative, to start trouble, unless manipulated. Obviously, then, “the public mind” of Samar—those who know Samar will smile with me at the phrase, but it will do, for lack of a better—was likely soon to be in a generally inflammable condition. By July, 1904, the Robin Hoods, Jesse Jameses, et al., touched the match to the material and a political conflagration started, apparently as unguided—save by the winds of impulse—and certainly as persistent, as a forest fire. Every native of the Philippine Islands, whether he be of the 7,000,000 Christians or of the 500,000 non-Christian tribes, is born with a highly developed social instinct either to command or to obey. The latter tendency is quite as common in the Philippines as the former is in the United States. Hence the Samar disturbances of 1904–5-6, though made up at the outset of raids and depredations by various roving bands of outlaws yielding allegiance only to their immediate chief, soon took on a very formidable military and political aspect.3 The roving bands would ask the peaceably inclined people our flag was supposed to be protecting, “Are you for us or for the Americans?” promptly chopping their heads off if they showed any lack of zeal in denouncing American municipal institutions and things American in general. Pursuant to Mr. McKinley’s original scheme—concocted for a people he had never seen, under pressure of political necessity—to rig up in short order a government “essentially popular in form,” a lot of most pitiable municipal governments had been let loose on the people, a part of our series of kindergarten lessons. The plan was as wise as it will be for the Japanese—some one please hold Captain Hobson while I finish the analogy—when they conquer the United States, to go to the Bowery and the Ghetto for mayors of all our cities. Thus by our pluperfect benevolence, we had contrived in Samar by 1904 to rouse the highland folk, or hill people, whom the Spaniards had always let alone, against the pacific agricultural lowland people and the dwellers in the coast villages. The latter, or such of them as did not join the hill folk for protection, we permitted to be mercilessly butchered by wholesale, from August to November, 1904, as hereinafter more fully set forth, because ordering out the army to protect them might have been construed at home to mean disturbances more serious and widespread than actually existed, and might therefore affect the presidential election in the United States by renewing the notion that the Administration had never been frank with the American people concerning conditions in the Philippines.

The annual report of the Philippine Commission for 1904 is dated November 1st, which was just a week before the presidential election day of that year. Their annual report for 1905 is dated November 1, 1905. In their report for 1904, the Commission deal with the general state of public order in the same roseate manner which, as we have seen, had made its first appearance during the political exigencies of 1900 in the language about “the great majority of the people” being “entirely willing” to benevolent alien domination in lieu of independence. When Rip Van Winkle was trying to quit drinking, he used to say after each drink: “Oh, we’ll just let that pass.” In their report for 1904, the Commission swallow the conditions in Samar with equal nonchalance. After stating that some (impliedly negligible) disturbances had occurred in Samar “two months since,” they add that “the constabulary of the province took the field” against the bands of Pulajans, or outlaws, and that “as a result, they were soon broken up, and are being pursued and killed or captured” (p. 3). In their report dated November 1, 1905, by way of preface to an account of the extensive military operations inaugurated in Samar shortly after the presidential election of 1904, which operations had not only been in progress for nearly a year on the date of the 1905 report, but continued for more than a year thereafter, the Commission explain their 1904 nonchalance about Samar thus: “It was then believed that the constabulary forces had succeeded in checking the further progress of the outbreak” (p. 47).

Let us examine the facts on which they based this statement, since it meant that they believed that a duly reported epidemic of massacres of peaceably inclined people, over whom the American flag was floating as a symbol of protection to life and property, had stood effectually checked by November 1, 1904, the date of their report. And first, of the massacres themselves, their nature and extent.

The Samar massacres of 1904 began with what we all called down there “the outbreak of July 10th.” In August, 1904, I went to Samar to handle the cases arising out of the disturbances there, assisted by the (native) Governor of the province, who, under the law already alluded to, was ex-officio sheriff of the court, and an army of deputy sheriffs, as it were, the constabulary, numbering several hundred. The outbreak of July 10th was always known afterwards as “the Tauiran affair.” This Tauiran affair was a raid by an outlaw band on the barrio of Tauiran, one of the hamlets of the municipal jurisdiction of the township called Gandara, in the valley of the Gandara River, in north central Samar, wherein one hundred houses, the whole settlement, were burned, and twenty-one people killed. The term of court lasted from early in August until early in November. The day after the Tauiran affair, over on the other fork of the Gandara River, occurred what was called “the Cantaguic affair.” Cantaguic was a hamlet or barrio about the size of Tauiran. The brigands killed the lieutenant of police of Cantaguic and some others, but they did not kill everybody in the place. Instead, after killing a few people, they went to the tribunal (town hall), seized the local teniente, or municipal representative of American authority, tied the American flag they found at the tribunal about the head of the teniente, turban fashion, poured kerosene oil on it, and took the teniente down stairs and out into the public square, where they lighted and burned the flag on his head, the chief of the band, one Juliano Caducoy by name, remarking to the onlookers that the act was intended as a lesson to those serving that flag. They then cut off the lips of the teniente so he could not eat (he of course died a little later), burned the barrio and carried off fifty of the inhabitants. Caducoy was captured some time afterward, and I sentenced him to be hanged. There was practically no dispute about the facts. After the Cantaguic affair, during the term of court mentioned, the provincial doctor, Dr. Cullen, an American who had been a captain doctor of volunteers, had occasion to run up to Manila. The doctor was a most accomplished gentleman, but he had a fondness for the grewsome in description equal to Edgar Allan Poe himself. After he came back he told me about having told the Governor-General of the Cantaguic affair, and repeated with an evident pleased consciousness of his ability to make his hearer’s blood curdle, how the Governor had said to him slowly, “Doctor, that—is—awful!”

Blood seemed to whet the appetite for slaughter. The records of the August–November, 1904 term of the court of first instance of Samar show all the various barrios of the Gandara Valley in flames on successive days, after the affairs of July 10th and 11th. I do not speak from memory, but from documents contained in a large bundle of papers kept ever since, in memory of that incarnadined epoch. You find one barrio burned one day and another another day, until all the people of the Gandara Valley were made homeless. One of the constabulary officers, Lieutenant Bowers, a very gallant fellow, testified before me that from July 10th to the date of his testimony, which was on or about September 28th, some 50,000 people had been made homeless in Samar by the operations of the outlaws. I deem Lieutenant Bowers’s estimate quite reasonable. His figures include only one-fifth of the population of an island which was in the throes of an all-pervading brigand uprising. The conservative nature of Lieutenant Bowers’s estimate concerning the mischief that had already been wrought by the end of September, 1904, and was then gathering destructive potentiality like a forest or prairie fire, may be inferred from the contents of a memorandum appearing below, furnished me by a Spanish officer of the constabulary, a Lieutenant Calderon, who had been an officer of the Rural Guard in the Spanish days. It contains a list of fifty-three towns, villages, and hamlets (a barrio may be quite a village, sometimes even quite a town, though usually it is a hamlet) burned up to the date the memorandum was furnished me.

In order to a clear understanding of these Samar massacres and town-burnings of 1904, as well as for general geographical purposes, a few preliminary words of explanation will be appropriate just here. A province in the Philippines has heretofore been likened to a county with us. But in the largest provinces, the subdivisions of provinces called municipalities are more like counties; and each municipality is in turn subdivided into sections called barrios. A municipality (Spanish, pueblo) in the Philippines is not primarily a city or town, as we understand it, i.e., a more or less continuous settlement of houses and lots more or less adjacent, but a specific area of territory, a township, as it were. This area or territory may be 5 × 10 square miles, or 10 × 20, or more, or less. For example, Samar’s area is 5276 square miles. Yet it contained in 1904, and probably still contains, only twenty-five townships or municipalities all told, each municipality being subdivided in turn into barrios. Municipalities in the Philippines vary in size as much as counties do with us, and their total area accounts for and represents the total area of the province, just as the total area of the counties of a State represents with us the total area of the State. The seat of government of the municipality always bears the same name as the municipality itself, just as the county seat of a county usually, or frequently, bears the same name as the county, with us. Take for instance, the name of the first municipality or township in the list which appears below, Gandara. The municipality of Gandara might be described by analogy as the “county” of Gandara, the list of barrios burned as a list of towns and villages of the “county” of Gandara.

The municipality of Gandara included a watershed in north central Samar from which the Gandara River flowed in a southwesterly direction to the sea. Within this watershed, parallel 12½ north of the equator intersects the 125th meridian of longitude east of Greenwich. Northern Samar is a very rich hemp country, Catarman hemp being usually quoted higher than any hemp listed on the London market. If you stand at the highest point of the Gandara watershed you can see four streams flowing off north, northwest, northeast, and southwest to the sea. There are some half dozen streams having their source there. Brigands making their headquarters there could always, when hard pressed, get away in canoes toward the sea in almost any direction they wished. The following is Lieutenant Calderon’s list:

RELACION POR MUNICIPIOS DE LOS BARRIOS QUEMADOS.

(List by Municipalities of the Barrios Burned.)

MUNICIPALITY OF GANDARA

MUNICIPALITY OF CATBALOGAN

(Calderon’s List of Barrios Burned, continued)

The above list of villages burned in the township of Catbalogan shows how bold the Pulajans had then grown. By that time they were committing depredations, robbery, murder, and town-burning, in all the various villages within the municipal jurisdiction of the township of Catbalogan, coming often within a few miles of the town proper of Catbalogan itself, the seat of the provincial government. In the attack on Silanga, which occurred August 9th, a number of people were killed. Silanga was but little more than an hour’s walk from the court-house at Catbalogan. The Governor at once wired Manila as follows:

On September 2d, the Provincial Governor of Samar sent to Manila the following telegram:

Of course Governor Feito did not call for the regular army of the United States. His job, poor devil, was to demonstrate as best he could that the military were not needed. He would at once have been suspected of trying to scuttle the ship of “benign civil government” if he had admitted that the regular army was needed. But to return to Calderon’s list:

MUNICIPALITY OF CALBAYOG7

(Calderon’s List of Barrios Burned, continued)

MUNICIPALITY OF WRIGHT

(Calderon’s List of Barrios Burned, continued)

A sample of the distressing communications I was getting as these massacres progressed is the notification of the Motiong affair of September 1st set forth below, which I give as a type of the methodical stoicism of those bloody times. Motiong was seven miles down the coast road from Catbalogan:

Fancy having documents like the foregoing handed you with ever-increasing regularity as you sauntered, morning after morning, from your bath to your coffee and rolls, preparatory to the daily sifting of incidents such as that which included the burning of the American flag on the head of the municipal representative of American authority already mentioned, and other like acts of poor misguided peasants stirred up by trifling scamps representing the dregs of insurrection. Motiong was not only within seven miles of the court-house at Catbalogan, but it was so near to Camp Bumpus, over in Leyte, where the 18th Infantry lay, that an order to them to move in the morning would have made life and property in all that brigand-harried region safe that night and continuously thereafter.

General Wm. H. Carter, Major-General U. S. A., well known to the American public as the able officer who, in 1911, commanded the United States forces mobilized on the Mexican border during the Mexican revolution of that year, that ousted President Diaz and seated President Madero, was in command at the time—the fall of 1904—of the military district of the Philippines which included Samar and Leyte. A word of request to him would have made life definitely safe in all the coast towns and their vicinity within two or three days after receipt of such a request.

Besides Gandara, Catbalogan, Calbayog, and Wright, Lieutenant Calderon’s list included the trio of ill-fated municipalities set forth below, concluding with the illustrious name of Taft:

MUNICIPALITY OF CATUBIG

Catubig was toward the north end of Samar. On the day of the burning and sacking of the poblacion of Catubig, September 5th, which was done by a force of several hundred Pulajans, the scouts and constabulary, so it was afterward reported, killed a hundred of the Catubig Pulajans in an engagement. If this report were correct, as is likely, it was the biggest single killing of natives since the early days of the insurrection.9 But it did not in the least check the Pulajan insurrection, which simply swerved its fury from the Catubig region toward the coast (the Pacific coast), descending upon the towns, villages, and hamlets of the townships of Borongan and Taft, thus:

MUNICIPALITY OF BORONGAN

(Calderon’s List of Barrios Burned, continued)

MUNICIPALITY OF TAFT

(Calderon’s List continued)

Of the twenty-five pueblos or townships of Samar, the Calderon list only pretended to throw light on events in nine of them, those being the only ones from which definite news had then reached headquarters. But as a reign of terror prevailed all over Samar at the time, the rest may be imagined, though it can never be ascertained. Of these nine, the last two were:

MUNICIPALITY OF LLORENTE

MUNICIPALITY OF ORAS

Now it feels just as uncomfortable to be boloed in Pagbabalancayan as it would in a place with a more pronounceable name, and the same is true of the comparatively mellifluous Jipapad. True, some of these places were mere hamlets of twenty to forty houses, but you may be sure there were five or six people, on an average, to each house. On the other hand, glance back again at the list of towns of the township of Taft that were sacked and burned, and consider that San Julian was about the size of the provincial capital, Catbalogan, and that Catbalogan, the town proper, contained a population of four thousand, though looked at from the amphitheatre of hills which surround it, Catbalogan does not look like such a very large group of houses. Filipino houses are usually full of people. It is easier to live that way than to build more houses.

After the Pulajan descent on Llorente, the people of Llorente all went off to the hills to the Pulajans for safety. They were not allowed to have firearms. This was forbidden by law, except on condition of making formal application for permission, getting it finally approved, and giving a bond, conditions which, in practical operation, made the prohibition all but absolute. The law was general for the whole archipelago. The theory of the law was that the inhabitants were under “the peace and protection of a benign civil government.” The real reason of the law was that if the people were allowed to bear arms it was very uncertain which side they would use them on, our side or the other. But, by 1904, the lowland and coast people of Samar would have been glad enough to have stuck to us and gone out after the mountain robber bands had we armed them. Left unprotected, a feeling seemed to spread in many places that about the only thing to do to be safe was to depart from under the “protection” of the American flag and take to the hills and join, or seem to join, the uprising.

Toward the last of September, the provincial treasurer of Samar, an American, a Mr. Whittier, visited the east coast of Samar, including Taft. On October 5th, he stated before me as follows:

The importance of all this testimony, relatively to its forever sickening any one acquainted with it with colonization by a republic, is that a transcript of Mr. Whittier’s statement of October 5th was placed in the hands of the Governor-General a few days later by Mr. Harvey, the Assistant Attorney-General, and yet this situation continued until shortly after the presidential election. Several years afterwards, in the North American Review, Judge Ide, who was Vice-Governor in 1904, after admitting that he was in constant consultation with the Governor-General all through that period (by way of showing his opportunities for knowing whereof he spoke), denied that the failure to order out the military to protect the people from massacre had any relation whatever to the presidential election then going on in the United States.

Mr. Whittier also stated before me that the total population of the municipality of Taft was 18,000, and that twenty-five men armed with guns in each of the four principal villages thereof that were burned would have prevented the destruction of those villages. So we did not protect the people, and we would not let them protect themselves. I do not select the pueblo of Taft on account of its distinguished name. “What’s in a name?” The fate of Taft and its inhabitants was simply typical of the fate which descended upon scores of other places in “dark and bloody” Samar between the outbreak of July 10, 1904, and the presidential election of November 8th, of that year, and between those two dates the shadow of such a fate was over all the towns of the island on which it did not in fact descend. Mr. Whittier stated to me informally that at the time he was speaking of in the above formal statement, there were pending and had been pending for a long time (he seemed to think they must have been pigeon-holed) applications for permission to bear arms from fifteen different pueblos. After Mr. Whittier had finished his statement the Presidente of Taft made a like statement on the same day, October 5th. My retained copy shows that this official bore the ponderous name of Angel Custodio Crisologo. He declared a willingness to lead his people against the Pulajans if given guns, though the fervent soul did qualify this martial remark by adding, “If I am well enough,” explaining that the presidential body was subject to rheumatism. Mr. Crisologo stated among other things that there had been eight hundred houses burned in the jurisdiction of Taft before he left the east coast for Catbalogan—about a week before. Like Mr. Whittier’s, a copy of Mr. Crisologo’s statement was delivered a few days later to the Governor-General in person by the Assistant Attorney-General, Mr. Harvey, who had been present when it was made and taken down.

This Mr. Harvey need not be, to the western hemisphere reader, a mere nebulous antipodal entity, as the Hon. Angel Custodio Crisologo might. He is a very live American, a very high-toned gentleman, and an excellent lawyer, and was at last accounts still with the insular government of the Philippine Islands, though in a higher capacity (Solicitor General) than he was at the date of the events herein narrated. There was very little congenial society in Catbalogan when Mr. Harvey came there to help dispose of the criminal docket, and his advent was to me a very welcome oasis in a desert of “the solitude of my own originality”—or lack of originality. On September 19th I had wired Vice-Governor Ide that there were 172 prisoners in the jail awaiting trial and “many more coming.” Of course no justice of the peace would be trusted to pass on whether an alleged outlaw should or should not be held for trial. If he were secretly in sympathy with the discomfiture American authority in Samar was having, he might let the man go, no matter what the proof. Also he might seek to clear himself of all suspicion in each case by committing men against whom there was no proof, thus unnecessarily crowding an already fast filling provincial jail of limited dimensions, wherein beriberi12 was already making its dread appearance.

So the writ of habeas corpus remained unsuspended, thus making it possible to so state in later official certificates covering that period. But habeas corpus cut no more figure in the situation than it did at the battle of Gettysburg, or at the crossing of the Red Sea by the chosen people, or at the sinking of the Titanic. The constabulary would worry along with such force as they had in the island of Samar, only a few hundred, certainly nearer five hundred than one thousand. And, whenever they had a battle with the outlaws, if they themselves were not annihilated, which happened more than once, they would bring back prisoners in droves and put them in the jail, and I was expected to sift out how much proof they had, or claimed to have, of overt acts by persons not actually captured in action. Of course a race then began, a race against death, to see whether death or I would get to John Doe or Richard Roe first. And though I held court every day except Sunday from August to November 8th, sometimes getting in sixteen hours per day by supplementing a day’s work with a night session, death would often beat me to some one man on the jail list whom I happened to have picked out to get to the next day. Men so picked out were men as to whom something I might have heard held out the hope of being able to dispose of their cases quickly by letting them loose,13 thus getting that much farther from the danger limit of crowding in the jail. Some of these would be specially picked out because reported sick. I kept track of the sick by visiting them myself when practicable, and talking to them. Of course many of them were brigands—-Pulajans—but some of them were the saddest looking, most abject little brigands that anybody ever saw. Of course you might catch some nasty disease from them, but nobody, somehow, ever seemed to have any apprehension on that score in the Philippines. This does not argue bravery at all. It is merely the listless stoicism that lurks in the climate. I recollect going to walk one afternoon, after adjourning court at 5 o’clock, saying to the prosecuting attorney before adjourning, “We will take up the case of Capence Coral in the morning; there does not seem, from what I can understand, to be enough proof to convict him of anything.” Of course when you were dealing with hundreds of people, you did not have any nerve-racking hysterics about any one man. Leaving the court-house I passed by the hospital, where Capence had been transferred, pending the arrival of witnesses against him and the rest of the crowd captured with him. I asked the hospital steward how Capence was. The answer was he had died at 4:45—some twenty minutes before. Death had beat me to Capence. When I meet Capence he will know I did the best I could. I was under a great strain, a sort of writ of habeas corpus incarnate, the only thing remotely suggesting relief from unwarranted14 detention on the whole horizon of the situation. I was trying to do the best I could by the Constitution, in so far as the spirit of it had reached the Philippines. I broke down totally under the strain about November 8th, came home in the spring of the following year and remained an invalid for several years thereafter; and as a noted corporation lawyer once said after recovery from a similar illness, “I haven’t had much constitution since, but have been living mostly under the by-laws.”

American office-holding in the Philippines is not so popular with the Filipinos as to have moved them to any outburst of gratitude in the shape of an effort to create a pension system for Americans who lose their health in the government service out there. When they leave the Islands they become as one dead so far as the Philippine insular government is concerned. And the men whose health is more or less permanently impaired by disability incurred in line of duty in the Philippines are not and will never be numerous or powerful enough back home to create any sentiment in favor of a pension system for former Philippine employees, since the Philippine business is not a subject of much popular enthusiasm at best. So if I had not had private resources, the results of the Samar insurrection of 1904 would have left me also in the pitiable plight in which I have beheld so many of my repatriated former comrades of the Philippine service in the last seven years, to whom the heart of the more fortunate ex-Filipino indeed goes out in sympathy. But to return to the race to beat death to prisoners in that grim and memorable fall of 1904.

In September the crowded condition of the jail had begun to tell on the inmates. The constabulary force at Catbalogan was quite inadequate for the varied emergencies of the situation, there being, besides the town itself to protect, the provincial treasury to guard, the governor’s office, the court-house, and the jail. Consequently the jail guard was too small. The jail buildings were in an enclosure a little larger than a baseball diamond, surrounded by high stone walls. But it was not safe to let the inmates sleep out in the enclosure at night. They had to be kept at night in the buildings. Any American who has visited the central penitentiary at Manila called Bilibid has seen a place almost as clean as a battleship. This is American work. But the Filipinos are not trained in sanitary matters, and all they know about handling large crowds of prisoners they learned from the Spaniards. The Governor was a native half-caste, a very excellent man, but free from that horror, which I think is an almost universal American trait, of seeing unnecessary and preventable sacrifice of human life, no matter whose the life. I inspected the jail as often as was practicable, and managed to keep down the death-rate below what it might have been, the prisoners being allowed to go out in the open court during the day. They also had such medical attention as was available. However, during the last five or six weeks of that term of court I would be pretty sure to find on my desk every two or three days, on opening court in the morning, a notice like this: