After mass
was over, the church bell began to toll and an empty lighted bier
came out of the church. It was preceded by three acolytes bearing
a long cross and two large lighted candlesticks, and followed by a
crowd of people. They were no doubt going to call at a house for the
corpse. Shortly afterwards an old Filipino priest came out and got
into one of the quaint covered buffalo wagons with solid wooden wheels
(already mentioned), and drove slowly round by the road. It was hot
and sultry, and thunder was pealing far away in the mountains. Under
a clump of trees (of a kind of yellow flowering acacia), which grew
just outside the large old wooden doors of the church, there was
a group of village youths and loafers, and two or three men went
past with their fighting cocks under their arms, Sunday afternoon
out here being the great day for cock-fighting. There seemed to be
a sleepiness in the air quite in keeping with the day of the week,
and I was nearly dozing off when little Nicolas came in. I asked him
if he knew where the cook-fighting took place, and added, "you savez"
(slang for understand"). His eyes flashed, and he said, Me no savage,"
but when I explained that I did not call him a "savage," his eyes,
smiled an apology, and he willingly offered to show me the place
where the cock-fighting was to be.
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