There were a great many funerals during my stay here in December,
there being a regular epidemic of cholera and malaria. This was the
unhealthy season, and I was told that there were as many deaths in
Florida Blanca during the months of December and January as during
all the rest of the year put together.
One day I watched from my window a funeral procession on its way
from the church to the cemetery. The Padre was not there, and this
no doubt accounted for the acrobatic display given by the three men
in cassocks and surplices, who led the way, bearing a cross and two
candles. They started by playfully kicking each other, and this soon
developed into angry words, so that I expected a free fight. One
of them tucked his unbuttoned cassock round his neck, and egged the
other two on. The coffin followed on a lighted bier, and the string
of mourners followed meekly behind, no doubt looking upon this display
as nothing out of the common.
The interior of the church was very cold and bare, and there were no
seats. I learnt that the American and the Filipino Padre did not hit it
off together. There were one or two opposition schools in the village,
run by Filipinos, who did their utmost to prevent the children from
learning the language of the hated Americanos.
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