Generally when I met these water buffaloes out of harness,
they were horribly afraid of me and stampeded, at the same time making
the most extraordinary noises, something between a squeak and a short
blast on a penny trumpet. They are usually stupid-looking brutes,
but this showed that they were intelligent enough to distinguish
between me and a Filipino. The pigs here had three pieces of wood
round their necks fastened together to form a triangle, an excellent
idea, as it prevented them from breaking through the fences. The day
following my arrival was a Sunday, and the church, a large building
of stone and galvanized iron, was almost opposite the American's
house. I watched the people going to early mass (the Filipinos are
devout Roman Catholics). All the women wore gauzy veils thrown over
their heads, white or black were the prevailing colours and sometimes
red. I thought they looked very nice in them. I had asked Camilo to
boil me some water, but he begged off very politely, as he had to
go and put on his cassock and surplice to attend the service in the
church, where he sang all alone. When he returned, I asked him to
sing to me what he had sung in the church, and he at once complied,
singing the "Gloria Patri" in a very clear and sweet voice.
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