Chapter M: Cowles (2)

"Wellum, I flopt down on a cheer; yessum, I sho' did. My min' wuz gwine like a whirligig an' my head wuz swimmin'. I des sot dar an' look at 'er. Bimeby she up an' say, pickin' all de time at her frock, 'I know'd sump'n wuz gwine ter happen. Dat de reason I been bringin' dem bundles here. In dem ar bundles you'll fin' all de things I fotch here. I ain't got nothin' dey give me 'cep'n, dish yer black dress I got on. I'd 'a' fotch my ol' trunk, but I dunner what dey done wid it. Hamp'll hatter buy me one an' pay fer it hisse'f, 'kaze I ain't got a cent er money.' Dem de ve'y words she say. I 'low, 'Sump'n must 'a' happen den.' She nodded, an' bimeby she say, 'Mr. Towers comin' home ter-night. Dey done got a telegraph fum 'im.'

"I stood up in de flo', I did, an' ax 'er, 'Which Mr.Towers?' She say, 'Mr. Jesse Towers.' I 'low, 'He done dead.' She say, 'No, he ain't; ef he wuz he done come ter life; dey done got a telegraph fum 'im, I tell you.' 'Is _dat_ de reason you gwine 'way?' I des holla'd it at 'er. She draw'd a long breff an' say, 'Yes, dat's de reason.'

"I tell you right now, ma'm, I didn't know ef I wuz stannin' on my head er floatin' in de a'r. I wuz plum outdone. But dar she sot des es cool ez a curcumber wid de dew on it. I went out de do', I did, an' walk 'roun' de house once ter de right an' twice ter de lef' bekaze de ol' folks use ter tell me dat ef you wuz bewitched, dat 'ud take de spell away. I ain't tellin' you no lie, ma'm—fer de longes' kinder minnit I didn't no mo' b'lieve dat Miss Sadie wuz settin' dar in my house tellin' me dat kinder rigamarole, dan I b'lieve I'm flyin' right now. Dat bein' de case, I bleeze ter fall back on bewitchments, an' so I walk 'roun' de house. But when I went back in, dar she wuz, settin' in a cheer an' lookin' up at de rafters.

"Wellum, I went in an' drapt down in a cheer an' lookt at 'er. Bimeby, I say, 'Miss Sadie, does you mean ter set dar an' tell me youer gwine 'way 'kaze yo' husban' comin' home?' She flung her arms behime 'er head, she did, an' say, 'I ain't none er his wife; I des been playin' off!' De way she look an' de way she say it wuz 'nuff fer me. I wuz pairlized; yessum, I wuz dumfounder'd. Ef anybody had des but totch me wid de tip er der finger, I'd 'a' fell off'n dat cheer an' never stirred atter I hit de flo'. Ever'thing 'bout de house lookt quare. Miss Vallie had a lookin'-glass one time wid de pictur' uv a church at de bottom. When de glass got broke, she gimme de pictur', an' I sot it up on de mantel-shelf. I never know'd 'fo' dat night dat de steeple er der church wuz crooked. But dar 'twuz. Mo' dan dat I cotch myse'f feelin' er my fingers fer ter see ef 'twuz me an' ef I wuz dar.

"Talk 'bout _dreams_! Dey wa'n't no dream could beat dat, I don't keer how twisted it mought be. An' den, ma'm, she sot back dar an' tol' me de whole tale 'bout how she come ter be dar. I'll never tell it like she did; dey ain't nobody in de wide worl' kin do dat. But it seem like she an' Marse Jesse wuz stayin' in de same neighborhoods, er stayin' at de same place, he a-fiddlin' an' she a-knockin' on de peanner er de harp, I fergit which. Anyhow, dey seed a heap er one an'er. Bofe un um had come dar fum way off yan', an' ain't got nobody but deyse'f fer ter 'pen' on, an' dat kinder flung um tergedder. I speck dey must er swapt talk 'bout love an' marryin'—you know yo'se'f, ma'm, dat dat's de way young folks is. Howsomever dat may be, Marse Jesse, des ter tease 'er, sot down one day an' writ a long letter ter his wife. Tooby sho' he ain't got no wife, but he des make out he got one, an' dat letter he lef' layin' 'roun' whar Miss Sadie kin see it. 'Twa'n't in no envelyup, ner nothin', an' you know mighty well, ma'm, dat when a 'oman, young er ol', see dat kinder letter layin' 'roun' she'd die ef she don't read it. Fum de way Miss Sadie talk, dat letter must 'a' stirred up a coolness 'twix' um, 'kaze de mornin' when he wuz gwine on dat 'scursion, Marse Jesse pass by de place whar she wuz settin' at an' flung de letter in her lap an' say, 'What's in dar wuz fer you.'

"Wellum, wid dat he wuz gone, an' de fus' news Miss Sadie know'd de papers wuz full er de names er dem what got drownded in de boat, an' Marse Jesse head de roll, 'kaze he wuz de mos' pop'lous music-maker in de whole settlement. Den dar wuz de gal an' de letter. I wish I could tell dis part like she tol' me settin' dar in my house. You'll never git it straight in yo' head less'n you'd 'a' been dar an' hear de way she tol' it. Nigger ez I is, I know mighty well dat a white 'oman ain't got no bizness parmin' 'erse'f off ez a man's wife. But de way she tol' it tuck all de rough aidges off'n it. She wuz dar in dat big town, wuss'n a wilderness, ez you may say, by 'erse'f, nobody 'pen' in on 'er an' nobody ter 'pen' on, tired down an' plum wo' out, an' wid all dem kinder longin's what you know yo'se'f, ma'm, all wimmen bleeze ter have, ef dey er white er ef dey er black.

"Yit she ain't never tol' nobody dat she wuz Marse Jesse's wife. She des han' de letter what she'd kep' ter Miss Fanny, an' fell down on de flo' in a dead faint, an' she say dat ef it hadn't but 'a' been fer me, she'd a got out er de bed dat fust night an' went 'way fum dar; an' I know dat's so, too, bekaze she wuz ranklin' fer ter git up fum dar. But at de time I put all dat down ter de credit er de deleeriums, an' made 'er stay in bed.

"Wellum, ef I know'd all de books in de worl' by heart, I couldn't tell you how I felt atter she done tol' me dat tale. She sot back dar des ez calm ez a baby. Bimeby she say, 'I'm glad I tol' you; I feel better dan I felt in a mighty long time.' It look like, ma'm, dat a load'd been lift fum 'er min'. Now I know'd pine blank dat sump'n got ter be done, 'kaze de train'd be in at midnight, an' den when Marse Jesse come dey'd be a tarrfyin' time at Gabe Towers's. Atter while I up an' ax 'er, 'Miss Sadie, did you reely love Marse Jesse?' She say, 'Yes, I did'—des so. I ax 'er, 'Does you love 'im now?' She say, 'Yes, I does—an' I love dem ar people up dar at de house; dat de reason I'm gwine 'way.' She talk right out; she done come to de p'int whar she ain't got nothin' ter hide.

"I say, 'Well, Miss Sadie, dem folks up at de house, dey loves you.' She sorter flincht at dis. I 'low, 'Dey been mighty good ter you. What you done, you done done, an' dat can't be holp, but what you ain't gone an' done, dat kin be holp; an' what you oughter do, dat oughtn't ter be holp.' I see 'er clinch 'er han's an' den I riz fum de cheer." Suiting the action to the word, Aunt Minervy Ann rose from the step where she had been sitting, and moved toward the lady of the house.

"I riz, I did, an' tuck my stan' befo' 'er. I 'low, 'You say you love Marse Jesse, an' you say you love his folks. Well, den ef you got any blood in you, ef you got any heart in yo' body, ef you got any feelin' fer anybody in de roun' worl' 'cep'n' yo' naked se'f, you'll go up dar ter dat house an' tell Gabe Towers dat you want ter see 'im, an' you'll tell Fanny Towers dat you want ter see her, an' you'll stan' up befo' um an' tell um de tale you tol' ter me, word fer word. Ef you'll do dat, an' you hatter come back here, _come! come!_ Bless God! _come!_ an' me an' Hamp'll rake an' scrape up 'nuff money fer ter kyar you whar you gwine. An' don't you be a-skeer'd er Gabe Towers. Me an' Marse Tumlin ain't a-skeer'd un 'im. I'm gwine wid you, an' ef he say one word out de way, you des come ter de do' an' call me, an' ef I don't preach his funer'l, it'll be bekaze de Lord'll strike me dumb!' _An' she went!_"

Aunt Minervy paused. Once again she had wrought the miracle of summoning to life one of the crises through which she had passed with others. It was not the words she used. There was nothing in them to stir the heart or quicken the pulse. Her power lay in the tones of her voice, whereby she was able to recall the passion of a moment that had long spent itself; in the fluent and responsive attitudes; in gesticulation that told far more than her words did. The light from the vestibule lamp shone full upon her and upon the lady whom she unconsciously selected to play the part of the young woman whose story she was telling. The illusion was perfect. We were in Aunt Minervy Ann's house, Miss Sadie was sitting helpless and hopeless before her—the whole scene was vivid and complete. She paused; her arm, which had been outstretched and rigid for an instant, slowly fell to her side, and—the illusion was gone; but while it lasted, it was as real as any sudden and extraordinary experience can be.

Aunt Minervy Ann resumed her seat, with a chuckle, apparently ashamed that she had been betrayed into such a display of energy and emotion, saying, "Yessum, she sho' went."

"I don't wonder at it," remarked the lady of the house, with a long-drawn sigh of relief.

Aunt Minervy Ann laughed again, rather sheepishly, and then, after rubbing her hands together, took up the thread of the narrative, this time directing her words to me: "All de way ter de house, suh, she ain't say two words. She had holt er my han', but she ain't walk like she uz weak. She went along ez peart ez I did. When we got dar, some er de niggers wuz out in de flower-gyarden an' out in de big grove callin' 'er; an' dey call so loud dat I hatter put um down. 'Hush up!' I say, 'an' go on 'bout yo' bizness! Can't yo' Miss Sadie take a walk widout a whole passel er you niggers a-hollerin' yo' heads off?' One un um make answer, 'Miss Fanny huntin' fer 'er.' She sorter grip my han' at dat, but I say, 'She de one you wanter see—her an' Gabe Towers.'

"We went up on de po'ch, an' dar wuz Miss Fanny an' likewise Marse Gabe. I know'd what dey wanted; dey wanted ter talk wid 'er 'bout Marse Jesse. She clum de steps fus' an' I clum atter her. She cotch er 'breff hard when she fus' hit de steps, an' den it come over me like a flash how deep an' big her trouble wuz, an' I tell you right now, ef dat had 'a' been Miss Vallie gwine up dar, I b'lieve I'd a-flew at ol' Gabe Towers an' to' 'im lim' fum lim' 'fo' anybody could 'a' pull me off. Hit's de trufe! You may laugh, but I sho' would 'a' done it. I had it in me. Miss Fanny seed sump'n wuz wrong, de minnit de light fell on de gal's face. She say, 'Why, Sadie, darlin', what de matter wid you?'—des so—an' made ez ef ter put 'er arms 'roun' 'er; but Miss Sadie swunk back. Miss Fanny sorter swell up. She say, 'Oh, ef I've hurt yo' feelin's ter-day—_ter-day_ uv all de days—please, please fergi' me!'

"Well, suh, I dunner whar all dis gwine ter lead ter, an' I put in, 'She des wanter have a talk wid you an' Marse Gabe, Miss Fanny; an' ef ter-day is one er de days her feelin's oughtn'ter be hurted, take keer dat you don't do it. Kyar 'er in de parler dar, Miss Fanny.' I speck you'll think I wuz takin' a mighty heap on myse'f, fer a nigger 'oman," remarked Aunt Minervy Ann, smoothing the wrinkles out of her lap, "but I wuz des ez much at home in dat house ez I wuz in my own, an' des ez free wid um ez I wuz wid my own folks. Miss Fanny look skeer'd, an' Marse Gabe foller'd atter, rubbin' a little mole he had on de top er his head. When he wus worried er aggervated, he allers rub dat mole.

"Well, suh, dey went in, dey did, an' I shot de do' an' tuck up my stan' close by, ready fer to go in when Miss Sadie call me. I had myse'f keyed up ter de p'int whar I'd 'a' tol' Marse Gabe sump'n 'bout his own fambly connection; you know dey ain't nobody but what got i'on rust on some er der cloze. But dey stayed in dar an' stayed, twel I 'gun ter git oneasy. All kinder quare idees run th'oo my head. Atter while some un pull de do' open, an' hol' it dat away, an' I hear Marse Gabe say, wid a trimble an' ketch in his th'oat, 'Don't talk so, chil'. Ef you done wrong, you ain't hurt nobody but yo'se'f, an' it oughtn'ter hurt you. You been a mighty big blessin' ter me, an' ter Fanny here, an' I wouldn't 'a' missed knowin' you, not fer nothin'. Wid dat, he come out cle'rin' up his th'oat an' blowin' his nose twel it soun' like a dinner-horn. His eye fell on me, an' he 'low, 'Look like you er allers on han' when dey's trouble.' I made answer, 'Well, Marse Gabe, dey might be wusser ones 'roun' dan me.' He look at me right hard an' say, 'Dey ain't no better, Minervy Ann.' 'Well, suh, little mo' an' I'd 'a' broke down, it come so sudden. I had ter gulp hard an' quick, I tell you. He say, 'Minervy Ann, go back dar an' tell de house-gal ter wake up de carriage-driver ef he's 'sleep, an' tell 'im to go meet Jesse at de train. An' he mus' tell Jesse dat we'd 'a' all come, but his ma ain't feelin' so well.' I say, 'I'll go wake 'im up myse'f, suh.' I look in de parler an' say, 'Miss Sadie, does you need me right now?' She 'low, 'No, not right now; I'll stay twel—twel Mr. Towers come.' Miss Fanny wuz settin' dar holdin' Miss Sadie's han'.

"I'll never tell you how dey patcht it up in dar, but I made a long guess. Fus' an' fo'mus', dey wuz right down fon' er Miss Sadie, an' den ef she run off time Marse Jesse put his foot in de town dey'd be a big scandal; an' so dey fix it up dat ef she wuz bleeze ter go, 'twuz better to go a mont' er two atter Marse Jesse come back. Folks may like you mighty well, but dey allers got one eye on der own consarns. Dat de way I put it down.

"Well, suh, de wuss job wuz lef' fer de las', 'kaze dar wuz Marse Jesse. Sump'n tol' me dat he oughter know what been gwine on 'fo' he got in de house, 'kaze den he won't be aggervated inter sayin' an doin' sump'n he oughtn'ter. So when de carriage wuz ready, I got in an' went down ter de depot; an' when Marse Jesse got off de train, I wuz de fus' one he laid eyes on. I'd 'a' never know'd 'im in de worl', but he know'd me. He holler out, 'Ef dar ain't Aunt Minervy Ann! Bless yo' ol' soul! how you come on anyhow?' He come mighty nigh huggin' me, he wuz so glad ter see me. He wuz big ez a skinned hoss an' strong ez a mule. He say, 'Ef I had you in my min' once, Aunt Minervy Ann, I had you in dar ten thousan' times.'

"Whiles de carriage rollin' 'long an' grindin' de san' I try ter gi' 'im a kinder inkling er what been gwine on, but 'twuz all a joke wid 'im. I wuz fear'd I mought go at 'im de wrong way, but I can't do no better. I say, 'Marse Jesse, yo' wife been waitin' here fer you a long time.' He laugh an' 'low, 'Oh, yes! did she bring de childun? I say, 'Shucks, Marse Jesse! Dey's a lady in deep trouble at Marse Gabe's house, an' I don't want you ter go dar jokin'. She's a monst'us fine lady, too.' Dis kinder steady 'im, an' he say, 'All right, Aunt Minervy Ann; I'll behave myse'f des like a Sunday-school scholar. I won't say bad words an' I won't talk loud.' He had his fiddle-case in his lap, an' he drummed on it like he keepin' time ter some chune in his min'.

"Well, suh, we got dar in de due time, an' 'twuz a great meetin' 'twixt Marse Jesse an' his folks. Dey des swarmed on 'im, ez you may say, an' while dis gwine on, I went in de parler whar Miss Sadie wuz. She wuz pale, tooby sho', but she had done firm'd 'erse'f. She wuz standin' by de fier-place, lookin' down, but she lookt up when she hear de do' open, an' den she say, 'I'm mighty glad it's you, Aunt Minervy Ann; I want you ter stay in here.' I 'low, 'I'll stay, honey, ef you say stay.' Den she tuck 'er stand by me an' cotch holt er my arm wid bofe 'er han's an' kinder leant again me.

"Bimeby, here come Marse Jesse. Trouble wuz in his eye when he open de do', but when he saw de gal, his face lit up des like when you strike a match in a closet. He say, 'Why, Miss Sadie! You dunner how glad I is ter see you. I been huntin' all over de country fer you.' He make ez ef ter shake han's, but she draw'd back. Dis cut 'im. He say, 'What de matter? Who you in mournin' fer?' She 'low, 'Fer myse'f.' Wid dat she wuz gwine on ter tell 'im 'bout what she done, but he wouldn't have it dat away. He say, 'When I come back ter life, atter I wuz drownded, I 'gun ter hunt fer you des ez soon's I got out'n de hospittle. I wuz huntin' fer you ter tell you dat I love you. I'd 'a' tol' you dat den, an' I tell you dat now.' She grip my arm mighty hard at dat. Marse Jesse went on mightly. He tell 'er dat she ain't done nobody no harm, dat she wuz welcome ter his name ef he'd 'a' been dead, an' mo' welcome now dat he wuz livin'. She try ter put in a word here an' dar, but he won't have it. Stan'in' up dar he wuz ol' Gabe Towers over ag'in; 'twuz de fus' time I know'd he faver'd 'im.

"He tol' 'er 'bout how he wrenched a do' off'n one er de rooms in de boat, an' how he floated on dat twel he got so col' an' num' dat he can't hol' on no longer, an' how he turn loose an' don't know nothin' twel he wake up in some yuther town; an' how, atter he git well, he had de plooisy an' lay dar a mont' er two, an' den he 'gun ter hunt fer her. He went 'way up dar ter Hampsher whar she come fum, but she ain't dar, an' den he come home; an' won't she be good 'nuff ter set down an' listen at 'im?

"Well, suh, dey wuz mo' in Marse Jesse dan I had any idee. He wuz a rank talker, sho'. I see 'er face warmin' up, an' I say, 'Miss Sadie, I speck I better be gwine.' Marse Jesse say, 'You ain't in my way, Aunt Minervy Ann; I done foun' my sweetheart, an' I ain't gwine ter lose 'er no mo', you kin des bet on dat.' She ain't say nothin', an' I know'd purty well dat eve'ything wuz all skew vee."

"I hope they married," remarked the lady of the house, after waiting a moment for Aunt Minervy Ann to resume. There was just a shade of suspicion in her tone.

"Oh, dey married, all right 'nuff," said Aunt Minervy Ann, laughing.

"Didn't it create a good deal of talk?" the lady asked, suspicion still in her voice.

"Talk? No, ma'm! De man what dey git de license fum wuz Miss Fanny's br'er, Gus Featherstone, an' de man what married um wuz Marse Gabe's br'er, John Towers. Dey wa'n't nobody ter do no talkin'. De nex' mornin' me an' Miss Sadie an' Marse Jesse got in de carriage an' drove out ter John Towers's place whar he runnin' a church, an' 'twuz all done an' over wid mos' quick ez a nigger kin swaller a dram."

"What do you think of it?" I asked the lady of the house.

"Why, it is almost like a story in a book."

"Does dey put dat kinder doin's in books?" asked Aunt Minervy Ann, with some solicitude.

"Certainly," replied the lady.

"Wid all de turmile, an' trouble, an' tribulation—an' all de worry an' aggervation? Well, Hamp wanted me ter l'arn how ter read, but I thank my stars dat I can't read no books. Dey's 'nuff er all dat right whar we live at widout huntin' it up in books."

After this just observation, it was time to put out the lights.

AGUINALDO'S CAPITAL

WHY MALOLOS WAS CHOSEN

By Lieutenant-Colonel J. D. Miley

Early in May, 1898, Admiral Dewey brought from Hong Kong on the United States steamship McCulloch, Aguinaldo with seventeen of his colleagues and landed them at Cavité. Aguinaldo, in addition to prosecuting a vigorous campaign against the Spaniards, at once began organizing a government, dictatorial in form and in fact, of which Cavité remained the Capital until the arrival of General Anderson early in July. When the latter had established his head-quarters at Cavité and commenced active preparations for the coming attack on Manila, Aguinaldo changed his Capital to Bacoor, a little village a few miles from Cavité, and nearer to Manila. The Capital remained at Bacoor until it was seen that General Merritt would not permit armed Insurgents to enter Manila, when Malolos was proclaimed the Capital and Aguinaldo himself took up his residence there early in September, and the newly elected Filipino Congress met at the same place on the 20th of the same month.

From that time until its capture on March 31st Malolos was of the first importance to the Insurgents, but its fall was disappointing to many, for the cry of "On to Malolos" had been very popular, and it had been expected that the consequences of its occupation by American troops would be immediate and far-reaching. It simply furnished one more instance in history where the fall of an enemy's Capital failed to bring to a successful ending a campaign or a war. The only two instances that may be cited against this statement really tend to prove the proposition, for France was defeated before the entry of Paris, and the Confederacy was in its last extremity when Richmond fell. The immediate results would have been the same in either case if neither the one nor the other had been occupied.

Malolos is twenty-two miles from Manila, in the Province of Bulacan, on the railway connecting Manila with Dagupan, the only one in the Philippine Islands. This made it very accessible, but the real reason for the selection of Malolos as the Insurgent Capital was the fact that the present revolution had its first beginnings there; that the place persistently remained a hot-bed of revolution, and as a reward for the patriotism and loyalty of this picturesque little town, the legendary seat of the Bulacan kings, Aguinaldo fixed upon it as the site of his permanent Capital.

Aguinaldo now lays claim to descent from the Bulacan kings, but the best informed Filipinos say that this occurred to him after coming to Malolos, and was prompted by an effort to inspire among his followers a greater awe and respect. His followers ascribe to him supernatural powers that enable him to perform miracles and make him proof against the bullets of his enemies. Whether he encourages them in this belief cannot be verified. This peculiar power among the Filipinos is known as "_anting anting_" and is popularly supposed to be possessed by many. A wily Filipino goes through a battle or escapes some danger and then exhibits a curiously carved knife-handle or match-box or piece of jewelry or coin, and claims that his immunity is due to this trinket. He is at once regarded as an "_anting anting_" man, and his power and fame grow and spread at each subsequent lucky escape.

The inmates have just returned, satisfied that they are safe under
American occupation.]

Malolos lies in the heart of a valley of marvellous fertility, extending north from Manila, and is surrounded by fields, large and small, fringed with rows of bamboo and cultivated principally to rice. As one rides through this valley, with the beautiful, glossy-leaved mango trees dotting it in all directions, he cannot fail to be reminded, if he has seen them both, of the beautiful Santa Clara Valley of California, so much are they alike.

The first mutterings of the revolution were heard in Malolos in 1888. In the same year Masonry was first introduced into the Philippine Islands by Don Centeno, the Civil Governor of Manila, who encouraged the diffusion of its teachings among the natives, and assisted in the formation of chapters in the city. He was influenced to do this through hostility to the Archbishop and to the Church.

Catholicism is radically opposed to secret societies of any kind, and the fight between the Archbishop, as representative of the Church, and the Masons grew so bitter that finally a determined attack was made upon the Archbishop's life. The leaders were promptly arrested and thrown into prison, and from there they sent a memorial to the Queen, remarkable for its eloquence, and for the fact that it revealed a widespread and deeply rooted devotion to the principles of freedom.

So strict was the surveillance over the meetings of the Masons in Manila, now that it was suspected they were merely a cloak for the revolutionary discussions, that Malolos soon became the Mecca for all revolutionists. It had always been a popular place for hunters and fishermen, and now many of the hunting lodges became Masonic rendezvous. The well-to-do and educated classes quickly and eagerly accepted the revolutionary teachings, and Malolos, from 1888, was regarded as a strong revolutionary centre. It must be borne in mind that the Filipino never became a pure Mason, accepting and practising the teachings of that ancient Society. Only some of the outward forms of the Society were adopted and used, under cover of which the spread of revolutionary ideas was made easy. Before 1888 there were scarcely two dozen Filipinos who were Masons, and these were residents of Paris or other European Capitals, but from that year the spread of the Society was rapid. In 1892 there were many lodges all over the Archipelago, and women were admitted as members. Its mysteries and symbols appealed to the barbaric, half-civilized natives, and these they retained, while their meetings were centres of discussions of the abstract and theoretical principles of freedom and independence with which the Malay brain is always pregnant. Discussions soon led to plotting against the Spanish authorities and the preliminary steps toward revolution, and what was Masonry only in name soon gave way to the Filipino League, of which Rizal was the leader. This league was an association with a basic form of Masonry, but whose true designs were political and anti-Spanish.

In this old church the Filipino Revolutionary Congress formulated
the Constitution which was proclaimed on January 21, 1899.]

The methods of the league were soon found to be not radical enough by a majority of the members, and the league, in 1894, was dissolved and the formidable and bloody Katipunan formed under the leadership of Marcelo Hilarío del Pilar. Its object was to secure the freedom of the Philippines by putting to the sword all the Spaniards in the Archipelago. Manila, of course, was the seat of the supreme council of the Katipunan, and its branches or chapters were established in all the provinces and principal towns of the Islands.

Every member on being initiated into the Society received a name by which he was always thereafter known to the other members, and all were masked. In this way no one knew the identity of any other member, and even a man's next door neighbor or his brother or partner in business might be seated next to him nightly at the Katipunan Lodge and he would never be the wiser. At initiation the new member took a bloody oath and subscribed to it by dipping his pen in the blood drawn from an incision in his left arm. This idea is said to have been derived from a painting called "_Pacto de Sangre_," executed in Madrid by a famous Filipino painter, Juan Luna. After the revolution broke out in 1896, the members of the Katipunan could always be identified among the dead and prisoners by the scars.

A symbolic chart was in the possession of each member, and by that he could find the Katipunan Lodge in the provinces or towns wherever he might be and identify himself by means of it. As an example of the names borne by the members, General Ricarte, now in the Insurgents' army, was known under the name of "Vivora," meaning viper, poisonous snake. The present General Pilar, of whom so much is heard in the uprising against the Americans, is not the Pilar of Katipunan fame, though it is generally taken for granted that he is. The present Pilar assumed that name some years ago, but his characteristics are such as to easily lead one to believe that he and the Pilar who originated the Katipunan are one and the same.

It carries forage, rations, fresh bread and meat, and distilled water
for the American troops, and brings back the sick and wounded to the
hospitals.]

From 1888 to 1892 Malolos seems to have been the most troublesome place in the Islands to the Colonial Government. There are slightly over five thousand towns distributed over the Archipelago, and out of these Malolos was the only one which rejected the parish priests that the Government selected. As Malolos was known to be much disaffected, great care was taken to select the most exemplary of priests to be sent there, but without avail. The first two sent were deported and the third assassinated.

_El Katipunan del Norte_ (the northern branch of the Katipunan) was most active in the Province of Bulacan and especially around Malolos. Contributions poured into the revolutionary fund, and when open rebellion finally broke out in August, 1896, the Spaniards fought the rebels over very much the same ground as the Americans fought the Insurgents in the advance from Caloocan to Malolos and beyond. Peace was agreed upon in December, 1897, at Biac-na-bato, in the Province of Bulacan, and until May, 1898, there was a period of quiet in the Islands.

While the Insurgent Capital still remained at Cavité, Aguinaldo, on June 18th and 23d, respectively, issued the proclamations which gave his government a representative form. In the proclamation of the 18th he invites attention to the Providential circumstances that had placed him in the position in which he then found himself, and signifies his intention not to shrink from his responsibilities, but to make the redemption of his people, "from slavery and tyranny, regaining our liberty and entrance into the concert of civilized nations," the aspiration of his whole life, and the "final object of all my efforts and strength." In the same proclamation the methods were given by which the chiefs of towns and provinces and the representatives to the Revolutionary Congress were to be elected.

In the proclamation of the 23d it was directed that the Dictatorial Government should thereafter be styled the Revolutionary Government and that the Dictator should thenceforth be known as the President of the Revolutionary Government. The executive, legislative, and judicial powers were defined and the manner of administering them was prescribed, and on the 27th of June the rules concerning the details of installing the government were published.

From Bacoor, on the 6th of August, was sent the letter to foreign governments, in which the "President of the Revolutionary Government of the Philippines, and in the name and representation of the Philippine people, asks the support of all the powers of the civilized world, and earnestly entreats them to proceed to the formal recognition of the belligerency of the revolution and the independence of the Philippines, since they are the means designated by Providence to maintain the equilibrium between peoples, sustaining the weak and restraining the strong, to the end that by these means shall shine forth and be realized the most complete justice in the indefinite progress of humanity."

The Augustinians had been assigned to the parish of Malolos, and in fact this body of friars held all the livings in the Province of Bulacan. In the convent forming part of a new church erected by them at Malolos, Aguinaldo established his head-quarters, surrounded by considerable barbaric splendor and ceremonial. This was known as the "White House" of the Insurgent Government. The State Department was also in the same building, and in a less pretentious structure a hundred yards away the Treasury Department was installed.

When the American troops occupied Malolos, General MacArthur made this building his head-quarters, and in it was found a small field-safe containing some drafts and a little money. The postage and telegraph stamps issued by the Insurgent Government were made here, but all had been removed. The convent with the church adjoining, and the Treasury Department, were on two sides of the plaza of Malolos, and on the third side the War Department was established in some buildings that the Third United States Artillery afterward occupied.

The old Augustinian church some distance from the plaza had been taken as the Insurgent Capitol. Here the Revolutionary Congress assembled on September 20, 1898, and sat in deliberation until, in January, 1899, the Political Constitution of the Filipino State was given to the world. The constitution was proclaimed by Aguinaldo on the 21st of the month.

Malolos has a population variously estimated at from five to seven thousand, and as the Americans entered it, every man, woman, and child left with the retreating army.

With the exception of American troops moving about, the place was in a state of desolation. The refugees tried to take with them most of their valuable possessions, but the houses remained just as they left them. It was weeks before any of them dared to return, and then they came one or two at a time, carrying over their shoulders a bamboo rod to which was attached a white cloth as a flag of truce. They timidly approached their houses, and, finding them intact, and that there was really nothing to fear, hastened back into the country to bring their families and tell their neighbors.

IN A POPPY GARDEN

By Sara King Wiley

Beyond the gold-green lane the poppy garden
Flutters and flaunts, like sunset seas aglow.
The frosty, fuzzy stalks and blue leaf banners
Ranging in row on row.

Here are some multi-petaled, ruby crimson,
Into a crumpled purple withering,
Like tattered velvet old and dim and dusty
Of a neglected king.

Whiter are these than are the moon-white lilies;
Censers that dainty fragrances exhale;
Each, when the early sun fills with his ardor,
Beams like a Holy Grail.

Pure, pure and shining gold these silk-smooth goblets,
Brimming with drowsy, heady scents to steep
The bold inbreathing spirit in gold visions,
Bright mysteries of sleep.

And here, O, here, are they the best belovèd,
Scarlet and splendid as the soul's desire,
With smouldered hearts hot from the glorious, daring
Welcome of the sun's fire.

"O, happy dreamer in the poppy garden,
Under the soft, sweet sky of summer blue,
O, happy dreamer in the poppy garden,
When will your dreams come true?"

"For every dream in this my poppy garden
A springing hope within my heart began;
Hopes are quick seeds of the world's wide garden,
Lord of whose life is man."

A COPLEY BOY

By Charles Warren

Bellingham was intoxicated; there's no doubt about that at all," said Dawson of the _Standard_. "All the men on the press noticed it, and the chairman of his own party city committee admitted it to us."

"Well, that makes no difference except that it's all the better for us," said Blakely. "It was a rascally, indecent attack, and I guess the Governor won't hesitate any longer about using that matter you and I worked up for him."

Jim Blakely was the editor of a small newspaper with a very limited circulation but having an immense political influence. More keen than the shrewdest of the political managers, more powerful than the chairman of the State committee, more resourceful than all the party candidates, Jim Blakely sat in his little office and suggested the most successful political movements throughout the State. No candidate for Governor even thought of conducting a campaign without the aid and supervision of Jim Blakely.

But Governor Clinton in this campaign had been somewhat restive under his management, and had declined to follow absolutely the lines laid out for him by Blakely and his other party associates. Clinton's opponent, Alfred P. Bellingham, the rival candidate for Governor, was a man of fifty years or thereabout—a political nonentity, having no opinion on any question which he could not readily change the next day with the greatest facility. Bellingham had evaded every honest political issue which Clinton had tried to force him to meet, and had conducted a campaign of the lowest and meanest personalities. But, in opposition to the advice of his party managers, Governor Clinton had steadfastly declined to meet Bellingham with his own weapons; and to indulge in attacks upon his private career.

Then one day the reporter Dawson had brought to Blakely's attention certain important discoveries which he had made in raking over Bellingham's past life. The first was the record of an indictment found twenty-three years ago against Bellingham for altering ballots cast at a representative election, with intent to defraud, but which had been nol prossed by the District Attorney owing to political pressure. The other was the record of an arrest of Bellingham some ten years ago for drunkenness and disorderly conduct, and his conviction and fine.

Clinton's party managers had received the news with great enthusiasm. They had recognized the splendid ammunition which these records would furnish; and they earnestly urged the Governor to make use of them upon the stump.

"No," he had said, "I won't descend to that depth. If I can't be elected without the aid of those things, then let the people defeat me." And he had persisted in this refusal, despite the entreaties of his political friends and the disgust of his managers.

* * * * *

It was a quarter before nine; and at nine o'clock it was the custom for Governor Clinton to meet his party managers every morning, to discuss the speeches of his opponent made the night before and to plan out the trend for the evening's speeches.

"This vile abuse of last night of Bellingham's I guess will settle it," said Blakely again; and he went to his safe and brought out the certified copies of the legal proceedings. As he did so Governor Clinton came into the office. He looked flushed and angry.

"Have you read that scoundrel's attack on me, Jim?" he asked, hurriedly.

"Yes," said Blakely in a casual manner, as if it was of no importance. He knew enough now not to try to force the Governor's hand.

"Well?" said the Governor.

"Well," answered Blakely, "it's only what you've got to expect all the rest of the campaign." Clinton hesitated.

"No," he said; "Jim, I've got enough. He's pushed me too far. I can't keep silent any longer. Have you got those documents you were telling me about?" Blakely pointed silently to the papers on his desk and lit his pipe. Clinton examined them with curiosity.

"How do you account for last night's speech?" he asked.

"Drunk again," replied Blakely. "Tell him, Bill." Dawson repeated to the Governor what he had just told Blakely.

"I'm going up to Stanfield at half-past nine," the Governor said, still red with wrath, "to my old school, Copley School. They've asked me to make the speech on the awarding of the prize cups. It's Founder's Day. I'm billed for a rally to-night, I believe, at Dunster. Well, give me those papers and I'll make a speech there at Dunster to-night that will make that fool Bellingham wish he'd never been born."

Blakely, metaphorically speaking, inwardly hugged himself; but he did not allow Clinton to see his joy at the Governor's conversion. Placing the papers carefully in his pocket, Clinton, after a few minutes' further talk, left the room, rode down to the station, and boarded the Southwestern Limited. Blakely waited until the door closed behind him and then slapped Dawson on the back. "I thought we'd land him finally. The Governor's a mighty good fellow, but he's got some high-toned views about politics that have to be gradually knocked out of him. His political ideas are very crude. He thinks you catch an election just as you catch cold. He expects a grateful people to present him with the election on a silver salver."

"Whereas," replied Dawson, "the usual way is for the candidate to present the silver salver, or, rather, the silver salve to the people."

On the way to Stanfield in the train the Governor dictated his speech to his private secretary. He realized that he was reversing entirely his former course of action by entering now into a personal conflict. But the attack made upon him by Bellingham had been so gross, so violent, and so savagely uncalled for in every way, that Clinton felt that the people of the State should now be told the plain facts regarding the manner of man held out to them to be accepted as their Governor.

He began his speech in a vein of cool, keen sarcasm, taking up, point by point, the portions of Bellingham's career that had protruded into the public gaze. He showed how he had started as the smallest and lowest kind of a political hanger-on, and how he had then become a ward boss. He then charged him with the indictment for altering ballots. He pointed out how, although this was twenty-three years ago, Bellingham had done nothing since which showed that he was any more fit for election now than then. To be sure, the mark of the criminal law had appeared in his life but once since then. But a negative life, a life lacking in results, was no qualification for the high office of Governor. He took up the conviction for intoxication and disorderly conduct and the payment of the fine of ten years ago. With high scorn, he asked the people how they would be pleased to have a man with that record at the State House. Then coming down to last night's assault, he declared in positive language that he could not believe that any man in his normal condition would make such statements as Bellingham had done; that there was but one explanation; and that one, an explanation which he disliked to consider, but which it was his duty to state. The Governor then repeated the account of the meeting as given by the reporters, and he asked the people to draw their own inferences. In reference to the infamous personal charges made against him, he would condescend to reply but to three. He then showed how utterly groundless they were, and demanded that Bellingham instantly furnish proof or retract them in public. Having finished with a tremendous avalanche of scorn and contempt for his opponent's personal character and accusations, the Governor turned his attention to the political issues. He showed how Bellingham had been unwilling, or else too cowardly, to declare his position on any of the great questions; how he had evaded them on every stump, and had refused to reply to the direct and pertinent questions put to him every night by the Governor, vainly seeking to find out where he stood.

The Governor grew more and more rapid in his dictation as his feelings mastered him, and the private secretary had hard work in keeping up with him. The speech, however, was wholly finished in thirty-five minutes; and the secretary drew in his breath in relief and said, "Well, Governor, if there is anything left of old Bellingham after you've made that speech, they'll have to take a microscope to find it with."

"You think I'm right in making it, don't you?" asked the Governor. "I hate to resort to this style of warfare; but I am not obliged to sit still in silence forever under such a plan of campaign as they've been carrying on, am I?"

"Not at all," said the secretary; "I consider it your duty to the people of the State to show him up."

* * * * *

Vivid had been the excitement for the last two weeks at Copley, after it was definitely known that Governor Clinton was to visit his old school on Founder's Day and make the speech awarding the cups. Founder's Day was the great day of the year at Copley. The athletic games came in the afternoon, and in the evening the prize speaking, and later a dance. Two cups were always awarded for excellence in the field sports: one, the Master's Cup, which was awarded to the House, or dormitory, whose inmates won the greatest number of points in the games; the other—vastly prized by the boy who won it, and whose name was inscribed upon it for future generations of boys to admire—was the Founder's Cup, and was given to the boy who singly won the most points, showing the greatest all-around general excellence in the sports.

Every year there was the most vigorous rivalry between the boys of the Master's House and those of Prescott House, the other dormitory, for the possession of the Master's Cup; but this year there was still keener rivalry for the possession of the person of the Governor. When it became known that the Master of Prescott House was a class-mate in college of Governor Clinton, the Prescott House boys were certain that he would lunch with Mr. Toppan and with them. The Master's House boys were equally positive that only the Head Master, "Popper" Stoughton, was high enough to do honor to the head of the State. On the Governor's decision as to lunch, therefore, depended large transfers of property; and it was said that "Goggles" Livingston had even risked a whole week's allowance upon the less favored Prescott House side.

Application to studies at the recitation building that morning had been very desultory. Although the school was not to be dismissed until one o'clock, the delightful impending event of the Governor's arrival proved a distraction disastrous to continued efforts of learning. And the subdued excitement was so pervasive that when "Stump" Taylor translated "_Gubernator navem navigat_," as "the Governor sails a boat," little Mr. Saunders, the Latin tutor, forgot to correct him.

At about a quarter before twelve, steps were heard in the outer corridor, and every boy who had sufficient ingenuity immediately discovered that it was necessary for him to ask permission to leave the room and to consult the Master about something.

The Governor crossed the threshold of the old building with an interest that was solemn, and even almost painful, for this was the first time that he had been back to his old school for eighteen years.

After a few minutes' talk with the Head Master in his room, the Governor asked that the whole school might be called together. At the first sound of the bell a race began from all over the building toward the Master's room. And as Clinton stepped forward to speak, a continuous chorus of shrill cheers split the air. "Boys," he said, when a semblance of quiet began, "boys, I'm going to make a very short speech." Again the cheers broke out. "I see you appreciate that remark as well as your elders," he said. "You will be glad of its shortness, because you'll have to listen to a longer one this afternoon. All that I've got to say is that I've asked Mr. Stoughton to dismiss you now instead of at one o'clock. He has thought best to submit to my request before I order out the State troops to enforce it. I hope you'll get lots of fresh air and sport now before we meet on the field this afternoon. This session is now adjourned _sine die_. Those of the Latin class who can't translate that will have to stay after school." Tumultuous laughter followed these remarks, as if the restricted air of the school-room made a laugh easier there than elsewhere, when it was allowed at all. Many of the boys filed out at once; but a large number clustered in the doorway and vigorously discussed the Governor in low tones.

Clinton looked round the room. How natural it seemed, and how little changed! Certainly the school must have been very conservative.

"Why, you've even got the same old desks still," he said to Mr. Stoughton. Then he stepped down from the platform and went to a very much battered and inked-up desk which stood in front of all the others, and directly under the eyes of the master as he sat at his desk. "Who sits here now?" he asked, turning to a group of boys beside him.

"That's 'Kid' Nelson's," one said.

"Where is he?" asked Clinton. Amidst a great scuffling and pulling, and with many muttered jests flung at him, a handsome boy, old in face but small in stature, with a light of deviltry in his eye, came shambling forward and gently grinned in a somewhat shame-faced fashion. The Governor paused a moment, smiling. "I rather think I know why you sit here, Nelson," he said. "I guess my old master had as much trouble with me, 'Kid,' as Mr. Stoughton has now with you. That used to be my seat most of the time when I was here." Saying this, the Governor sat down at the low desk and squeezed his long legs in under the bottom of the desk, almost prying it from its iron feet.

Meanwhile "Kid" Nelson straightened up with a proud look, and when he went back to the group he was evidently being congratulated as a hero.