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. The American did
not make himself any more popular by pulling down the old street
sign-boards bearing Spanish names, and substituting ugly card-board
placards marked in ink with fresh names, such as America Street,
McKinley Street, and Roosevelt Street; he had also named a street
after himself! Later on I learnt that this American schoolmaster
was a kind of spy in the American secret police, and that he had to
listen outside Filipino houses at night to overhear the conversation
of suspected insurgents. I was told this by Victoriano, my Filipino
servant in the mountains, who often accompanied the American in his
nightly rounds, and was the only man in the secret. This Victoriano,
whom I always called Vic for short, was the best servant that I
have had during my wanderings in any part of the world. He spoke
Spanish and knew a little English, as he had once been a servant
to an Englishman near Manila. With my small knowledge of Spanish,
and his smattering of English, we hit it off very well together. He
acted as gun-bearer, cook, laundry maid, housemaid, interpreter and
guide. Later on he told me that he had been an officer in the insurgent
Aguinaldo's army, and that he had been imprisoned by the Spaniards for
four years on the island of Mindanao for belonging to a revolutionary
society.
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