Fil and Filippa Part 1

Fil and Filippa.

by John Stuart Thomson.

CHAPTER I

NAMES

It took me over a month and a half to reach the summer islands that I sought. In three weeks I had gone through the Panama Ca.n.a.l and had reached San Francisco, and in four weeks more I had crossed the world's widest, most peaceful, and bluest ocean, the Pacific.

There, like a string of pearls hanging from the golden Equator, I found thousands of wonderful islands of all sizes, but only two of them are very large. I found also my new and kind young friends: Fil; his sister Filippa; Fil's boy playmate named Moro, who came from the large southern island; their parents and friends; and the good Padre. Each one of them was shorter and darker than I. Yet they said to me: "The Stars and Stripes, now our flag also, makes us all American brothers, which we will be always."

"But how is it that you are called Filipinos, and live in the Philippine Islands?" I asked.

Fil smiled and said: "Though I believe you know without asking me, I shall tell you to show that I know our romantic and interesting history.

"Hundreds of years ago, many years before America became a nation, the roving Spaniards discovered these islands, and named them the Philip-pines, in honor of their king Philip. When the American Admiral Dewey won these islands from Spain, our name was not changed.

"And our Christian names of Fil and Filippa have the same sound, and almost the same meaning, as Philippines," added Filippa, her eyes smiling from under her cloud of beautiful hair,--hair longer and richer than an American girl's hair,--and eyes darker and deeper than an American girl's eyes. Perhaps her brows were a little bit flatter, and her nose was a little bit shorter and wider, than ours; but still she was pretty, especially when she smiled, for she had beautiful white teeth.

Then I turned to Fil's playmate, Moro, and asked him what his rolling name could mean. Moro was even more eager and darker than Fil. He replied, as he bravely touched his toy sword:

"I, too, am of the Malay race, but of a different religion from Fil. I am a Mohammedan; that is, I reverence the same prophets whom the Turks wors.h.i.+p. I come from the southern islands of the Philippines. There we spend most of our time roving in boats, and hunting over the hills. The first white man who met us saw that we were as dark, and had the same religion, as the tribes of Morocco in Africa. That perhaps is why I am called Moro, the Mohammedan, whose father fears no man; nor shall I, when I grow up."

"But we are all friends now under a new, friendly flag; and we preach and practice love, instead of fear and fighting," I replied.

Filippa looked upon me with very happy eyes, when I said this; for a girl seems to know wiser ways of settling quarrels than do boys. A boy becomes excited; a girl thinks longer and acts more slowly. Certainly, Filippa's gentle ways and the expression in her wonderfully deep eyes had more power with Fil and Moro than would strife and force.

"Every name seems to have a pretty meaning in your Edenlike Philippines," I remarked to Filippa's playmate, Favra.

"Yes," she replied, "the Padre (pa'drai), our pastor or cleric, who knows so much, tells me that my name means the friendly one who does favors."

CHAPTER II

CLIMATE, TYPHOONS, VOLCANO

Next day I met the Padre. He was seated on a cane chair under a clump of whispering bamboos, which are giant gra.s.ses as tall and as strong as trees.

We had hardly exchanged morning greetings, by saying "Buenos dias (boo ai'nos de'as)," before we heard the children running along the white sh.e.l.l path, between the parklike tropical woods.

"Every one awakens early in this wonderful climate, yet no one seems to be fully awake," I said.

The good Padre replied: "We are situated so near the Equator that the sun rises into full and bright daylight at once."

"I seem to half dream all day. Is it the balmy warm air, or the scents of new flowers, or the equatorial sun?" I asked.

The Padre explained it by saying: "The sun throws more direct rays here; and they pierce through thin hats, and especially through black clothes. It is best to wear thick, white paper helmets. Moreover, our climate is more damp than is America's climate.

"That is why you feel somewhat dreamy; and that is why everything in Nature, such as trees, fruits, flowers, ferns, and even animals and birds, grow so richly; and why the flowers shed influences and perfumes on the air. It all appeals to the warmth, color, and dreaminess in your happy imagination.

"You think of stories of Eden or Paradise perhaps, where one imagines no hard winter, no bare trees or lawns, no whiteness. Everything is more beautiful to look upon here. The birds and winds and rains drop seeds; and at once lavish plants grow up. You will soon become used to our warmer climate, because you will need to eat less meat and b.u.t.ter, which is the fuel that keeps you warm. Instead you will eat more rice and fruit, which will give you strength, without heating you."

At this moment, our little friend Moro pursed out his cheek and made a sound like a howling siren or a storm.

"That noise reminds me of your awful typhoons. I pa.s.sed through one of those whirling storms, just as I approached these islands of beauty,"

I exclaimed. "Can you explain that great wonder?" I asked.

"It is G.o.d, the Creator's, magnificent but terrible act, such as you read about in the Book of Job or in the Psalms," said the Padre, who crossed himself and bowed in piety. The good children, except Moro, all made the holy sign.

Then the wise Padre continued: "Like great characters, for a long time gentle,--like peace which has covered the earth for years,--so, in our still, summer seas, suddenly in September, everything seems to contradict and be in rebellion, with a force unknown and unexpected before,--a force all the greater, because it was acc.u.mulating quietly for many months.

"The heat becomes unbearable. The winds arise and sweep all one way, for a time. Then comes the black rain. The heavy typhoon soon begins to howl and to turn in a circle for two or three days. The wheeling storm moves from place to place, and finally dies down at sea."

Filippa inquired: "Why is such a circular storm of the Oriental tropics, called a typhoon?"

The Padre explained: "It is a word that we have taken from the Chinese, who live not many hours away from us, across the water to the northwest. 'Tai' means great. 'Fung' or 'phoon,' means a wind. These storms sweep all the way from the Philippine Islands, across the seas to China. We like the expressive word which the Chinese have given these wind storms."

"We have another natural wonder here, the volcano," said Favra.

"Yes," replied the Padre, "the Taal (Ta'al) and Mayon (Ma y[+o]n') volcanoes once were smoking and fiery mountains, shaped like a cone. Years ago fire and lava, which is molten rock that has cooled, poured from their hot, pointed tops, ran down the sides, and destroyed everything in their path."

"What is lava?" asked Fil.

The Padre replied: "Even a volcano produces some good. This melted rock, when it becomes cold, forms a light, porous stone, which is used for polis.h.i.+ng. You use it in your bathroom, to rub ink off your hands. Lava stone is easily ground into powder. When mixed with soap, this ground lava becomes a useful cleaning and polis.h.i.+ng powder."

"Nature is always useful, as well as grand and beautiful," remarked Fil's father, who, dressed in a white silk suit and abaca hat, had just then come up the path.

"Where did you get that hat?" I laughingly asked Fil's father.

"I'll tell you some other time. It is made from reeds, woven under water to keep them damp and pliant. The hat, therefore, is light, durable, and cool," he replied.

CHAPTER III

AT WORs.h.i.+P

When I arose next day and walked to the usual morning seat under the bamboos, I found only Moro there.

"Where is everybody else?" I asked.

"At the Iglesia (ig lai se'a)," replied Moro.