By the time the Rainbow arrived in 1907, the war was officially over. Aguinaldo had been captured in 1901 by General Funston and the main body of insurrectos had surrendered. However, many others continued the struggle and lives were being lost daily although little was said about it in the American papers. As a professional fighting man, the rights and wrongs of the situation did not bother me greatly. I agreed with Kipling, “Why should I hate the man I’m paid to kill?” My primary interest was that there would be fighting, and I would have the opportunity to see a new kind of warfare.
Shortly after we arrived in Luzon, I learned of the death of my classmate, Loveman Noa. He was serving on a small gunboat and went ashore in Samar with a patrol of about a dozen men. While they were making their way through the jungle, Noa stepped off the trail for a moment to answer a call of nature. The absence of their officer was noticed by the men in a very few minutes and they turned back. They found him lying on his face with the back of his head crushed in. Nearby was a long flexible bamboo pole with a jagged rock lashed to the end. Apart from this there wasn’t a sign of life anywhere in the vicinity and at no time did they see or hear anyone. Noa was an exceptionally powerful man but his physique did not do him any good. Nor had anything he had learned in four years at the Naval Academy prepared him for such an attack.
Although Olongapo is only fifty miles from Manila all communication between the two places was by water as an overland route not only lay through dense tropical jungle but involved climbing a chain of mountains. In addition to these difficulties, certain wild hill tribes frequented the region, and on several occasions during my tour of duty in the Philippines surveying parties were killed by headhunters.
Several of us were eager to see something of the country and some visiting marines told us of a Negrito village only a few miles inland. We decided to go ashore and visit it. We knew there were plenty of insurrectos about, but it never occurred to us that a party of able-bodied white men, armed with revolvers, would be in any danger. It was incredible how little the average American knew of tropical countries and tropical people. We took it for granted that we were immune to primitive weapons. Our only precaution was to take along some canned fruit and salmon as presents for the Negritos should we meet them. Our guide was Captain Swain of the Marines.
The trail led across a wide field and near a mud-and-water wallow in which half a dozen carabao lay submerged to the nostrils. This was the first time any of us had ever seen or heard of these big water buffalos that have long, straight horns and a hide not unlike that of a hippopotamus. They are used as beasts of burden, and their strength is so great that one can easily drag loads that would stagger a team of horses. Usually slow and deliberate in their movements, if angered or deprived of water for even a short period they can exhibit the most surprising activity and speed, so that even a man on horseback is by no means safe unless there are obstacles behind which he can dodge. One of their pet aversions is a stranger and particularly a white man.
None of this we knew at the time and passed about twenty feet from the wallow. As we came abreast of it, six great heads emerged simultaneously from the slime and, snorting angrily, the monsters burst out of the mud and charged us. I doubt if I have ever run so hard in all my life. We would almost certainly have been killed if the beasts’ keeper had not appeared and headed them off, shouting to us in Tagalog. Surprisingly, I found that I understood Tagalog perfectly.
He was saying, “Get out of here, you damned fools!” We obeyed him.
A mile further on we reached the banks of the Bouton River, a small stream that flows into Subic Bay. Here we noticed a series of splashes which I thought might be some variety of frog but when I cautiously approached the bank, I saw they were not frogs but fish, about six inches long. Some had even climbed up the trunks of low trees that overhung the stream and were roosting in the branches! Their eyes protruded and they could move them back and forth at will.
When I returned to America, I told several people about these curious fish and was invariably greeted with derisive laughter, and the suggestion to go easy on the hard stuff. Finally I wrote to Captain Swain and asked him if I had imagined the tree climbing fish. He wrote back, “We certainly did see those fish.” They are now quite well known and their scientific name, if you’re interested, is Periopthalmus hoelreuteri. Some fifteen years later, my son, Daniel P. Mannix 4th, who has a passion for animals bought one at Wanamakers in Philadelphia. It used to stroll around our place in Rosemont, in the Philadelphia suburbs, until it unwisely ventured on the driveway and was run over by a motor car.
I mention this minor matter because the average American was positive that he knew all about the flora and fauna of Asia — as well as the people — and anyone who challenged his beliefs was either a fool or a liar. Actually, Americans were abysmally ignorant about everything foreign. I might add that my son wrote an article on some fish he owned that gave birth to living young rather than laying eggs. The article appeared in The Saturday Evening Post and was attacked by a man who claimed to be an expert on fish. So prominent was this man and so violent was his letter that for years the Post refused to print any more contributions by Dan, considering him a nature faker. The fish in question were called guppies.
Leaving our amphibious friends we pushed through the jungle where, a mile further on, we met a native clad only in a breech clout with the bleeding carcass of a small deer slung over his shoulder. He was only about five feet high, black but without Negro features, and could have stepped out of the Stone Age. He had killed the deer with a bow and arrow, the arrow having a curious toggle arrangement which allowed the shaft to disengage as the head (carved from some hard wood) entered the body. He could speak neither English nor Spanish, but he showed us how the shaft, secured to the head by a strong vine, trailed behind and, catching in trees and vines, served to impede the flight of the wounded game through the brush. As far as I know, the American Indians and the European bowmen had never thought of this device. Under the circumstances, his bow was probably more efficient than a rifle.
While we were examining the deer we were joined by a second native who had a weapon not unlike the harpoon gun used by whalers. It was an old smooth bore musket of very large caliber, the missile being a long arrow, the butt end of which was enlarged to nearly the inside diameter of the gun making a tight fit. The gun was a muzzle loader, and the arrow rammed down on top of the charge performing the double function of bullet and ramrod. Although this man looked, if possible, even more animal-like than his comrade, it must have taken considerable ingenuity to reason out this adaptation of a firearm.
We left the natives and continued along the trail until we arrived at the place where Captain Swain said the Negrito village was reported to be, but never a sign of it did we see. We were wandering on aimlessly without the slightest suspicion that there was anyone within a mile of us when, suddenly at my very elbow, I heard a voice say, “Amigo.” I must have jumped a foot. Starting back, I saw for the first time a hole about four feet deep that had been dug on one side of the trail and skillfully covered with underbrush. In this hole was a black dwarf, a good foot shorter than the other natives, a bow in his hand and a quiver of what turned out to be poisoned arrows hanging from one shoulder. He had been waiting there for some game animal to pass along the trail and could have easily killed every member of our party without one of us knowing from whence were coming the arrows.
We hurriedly answered, “Amigo!” and, crawling out of his hole, he conducted us to the village which, though but a dozen feet from the trail, we had passed without knowing of its presence.
It consisted of a few low shacks of nipa about the size of the ordinary dog tent. Our host crawled into one of these and shortly emerged clad in a filthy white blouse which he evidently kept for state occasions. We presented him with one of our cans of salmon but after endeavoring to take a bite out of the tin he promptly returned it to us.
We then opened it for him but he took one taste of the contents and then threw it into the bushes to the intense indignation of the caterer of the Wardroom Mess who was a member of the party. As the Negritos are said to eat anything, including fat grubs they find under stones, we never let our caterer hear the last of this episode.
We then presented him with the canned fruit, which was accorded a better reception than the salmon, and took the trail back to the ship as we wished to be well clear of the brush before dark. We found our boat waiting for us and were back on board in time for dinner. We were all rather quiet for the next few days, thinking over our experience. For the first time we realized the terrific task our unthinking government had inflicted on our unfortunate troops, expecting them to hunt down and subdue people living in these impenetrable jungles armed with primitive yet deadly efficient weapons. The three people we had met proved to be friendly, otherwise not one of us would have returned alive, in spite of our modern revolvers and years of costly education. Being back on shipboard seemed like heaven. I could not imagine how the soldiers endured the long months in rain, mud, dense underbrush, and disease, never knowing when a bullet or an arrow of a poisoned blow dart would leap out of the jungle and take their lives.
From Olongapo we went to Cavite on Manila Bay about thirty miles from the city. There was no land communication between Cavite and Manila because of the insurrectos so we always went by water. Manila was very gay in those days. The central part was the ancient “Walled City”, the Intramuros Section, surrounded by high and very thick walls. This section was also surrounded by an ancient moat spanned by what were once draw bridges but the bridges had long ago become stationary. In the Intramuros Section was the old Army and Navy Club, a meeting place for all arms of the Service. There were tables under the trees, Japanese lanterns, and pretty girls. It was an attractive place to dine and decide what to do later in the evening.
Most of the girls were of mixed blood of the sort called Eurasians in China and Japan. In Manila they were called Mestizos and were perfectly beautiful. I don’t know why it is, but a mixture of Oriental and European blood seems to produce stunningly lovely women. Many had been in Paris and Madrid and were extremely well educated. They dressed exquisitely. There was a considerable amount of prejudice against them but not on the part of the American men. The American women attended to the Prejudice Department, although I did not see a single American woman who had anything like the looks, intelligence, and good breeding of these “half-cast niggers” as the American ladies contemptuously called the Mestizos.
Later on I met one of the Paris-educated Mestizos and we became very good friends. To say that she was a dream was to understate it scandalously. Then, one afternoon in the Luneta — the big open park outside the walls — we happened to meet her mother. Mama wore flat slippers and was, well, Mama was DARK. Several of our men married Mestizos but afterward left the islands taking their wives with them. If they had stayed on in Manila, I should imagine there would have been complications with the ladies’ families.
Shortly after our arrival the Army gave what they called a Wild West Show. It was one of the most interesting spectacles, amateur or professional, that I have ever seen. It was a combined military spectacle and circus with races, lariat throwing, sharp shooting, dismantling guns and loading them on mules, then unloading them, assembling them and seeing who could fire the first shot, and many other demonstrations. The Roman Race, performed by men each riding two horses in a standing position, was executed by the Tenth Cavalry, an all-Negro regiment. They were remarkably skillful although I heard a dusky-looking Roman say to another who was crowding him: “Column right, Pete.”
A number of these Negro regiments were outstanding for their skill and pluck. It was a Negro regiment that had distinguished itself at San Juan Hill, bravely charging the Spanish position when the white troops refused to advance. When one of these black regiments was in Texas they were attacked by a white crowd for having broken a local taboo, such as entering a restaurant reserved for whites or some such thing. In my opinion, those troopers would have been perfectly justified in taking their rifles and firing a volley into that mob of crackers and tarheels. My family were slaveholders and not even my worst enemy could have called me a “nigger-lover”, but those troopers were in their country’s uniform, had distinguished themselves in battle, and no civilians had any justification in molesting them.
The climax of the show was a drama described as “The Philippine Constabulary passing through a narrow jungle trail are ambushed by Wild Men from the Hills. They repulse them and drive them back to their caves.”
All the actors in this part of the show, except the officers, were native Filipino troops, the part of the Wild Men being taken by Constabulary soldiers who had defied their uniforms, arrayed themselves in breech clouts and painted their bodies like Red Indians on the war path as did the insurrectos. The Filipinos are most theatrical and throw themselves in their parts with everything they have.
We watched while the Constabulary advanced cautiously through the “jungle”; we could also see the Wild Men crawling like snakes in the underbrush prepared to ambush the advancing soldiers. There was a most convincing burst of rifle fire and the two forces met; with an inspiring cheer the Constabulary dashed at the savages with fixed bayonets and, simultaneously, the stage manager gave the signal for the Wild Men to fly to their caves. They didn’t fly; instead they flew at the Constabulary and in a moment a free-for-all was in progress that would have done credit to the Roman Coliseum. The Wild Men and the Constabulary had to be dragged apart by American soldiers.
We remained in Manila until November. Summer is the most disagreeable period in the Philippines; not only is the heat terrific but it is the rainy season, and regularly every afternoon there is a torrential downpour; anyone caught in it has but one thing to do, go back on board ship and change his clothes; he could not be wetter if he fell overboard.
Fortunately on the Rainbow we had Chinese mess attendants and, in consequence, perfect service. Every officer had his own “boy” and in addition there were a number of “makee learn” boys in training who received no pay, only rations and a straw mat on which to sleep. We always wore white uniforms and used to change them several times a day; these uniforms, perfectly tailored and fitted, cost three dollars each. Our boys kept our buttons polished brightly and always had a clean uniform laid out with buttons, shoulder marks, and campaign ribbons secured properly.
Wonderful as they were, our mess attendants weren’t quite perfect. One officer ordered his boy to have a dozen pairs of white trousers made for him by a Chinese tailor. He gave the boy an old pair as a sample that had a patched seat. When the new trousers were delivered the fit and workmanship were perfect but every pair had a patch on the seat.
I had a somewhat similar experience at Emergency Drill. Part of the Fire Drill was the formation of a bucket line. In order not to mess up the deck I directed the last man in the line to empty the buckets overboard. One day there was a real fire on the ship. Rushing aft to the scene of the blaze I found the bucket line all present and efficiently passing the full buckets along as I had trained them. However, the last man, instead of putting out the fire, was pouring the water over the side. His not to reason why!
Our greatest regret in leaving the Orient was not being able to take our Chinese boys with us; the Chinese Exclusion Act made this impossible. Even our steward, a most superior and self-respecting man who wore the Dewey Medal for his participation in the Battle of Manila Bay and who had served in our Navy for many years was not permitted to put his foot on sacred American soil. We regretted losing him many times after returning to the indifferent service and frequently poor meals provided by the American attendants.
On several occasions, the Army was required to make landings along the coast in the hopes of cutting off bodies of the insurrectos before they could escape to the jungle. We were to supply th
e boats. These men were supposed to swim in full field equipment carrying their rifles above their heads. None of them could have’ swum the required distance naked. As soon as they got into the boats and looked at the water something like panic overtook them. Even after they had lowered themselves over the side they refused to let go of the gunwales. I saw one man who let go and immediately sank. He went down screaming and came up still screaming; he didn’t even shut his mouth when he sank. We dragged him into the boat and pumped the water out of him while one of our men dove for and recovered his rifle. Nearly all these soldiers came from the West and most of them had never seen a body of water larger than a horse trough.
On the other hand, we Navy men did a lot of swimming during the typhoon season, or at least some of us did. We would hang from the rope ladders attached to the Rainbow’s boat booms and, when the big waves hit us, they would set us swinging like monkeys in a cage. Then we would dive overboard and when we came to the surface, if in the trough of the sea, we wouldn’t be able to see the ship, not even her topmasts. All we could see were walls of water. Then up we would go and in a moment would be level with the spar deck. It was great fun and, as long as we avoided being thrown against the side of the ship or being caught under the lower gangway grating, there was no danger.*
The Old Navy Page 18
