RECOLLECTIONS OF FULL YEARS
sixty of us in all and I think we must have seemed rather a formidable host to some of the nervous reception committees that were forced to encounter us.
It was all wonderfully interesting. Our first stop was at Lucena in the Province of Tayabas. We arrived there in the late afternoon so we had to lie at anchor until next morning, but while the daylight lasted we gazed eagerly at the shore through our field glasses and were astonished to see the crowds of Filipinos not only lining the beach but wading in throngs out into the Bay, as far as they safely could. It was as if they had decided to walk out to meet us. And the town was decorated, decorated magnificently. There were bamboo arches a-flutter with flags and flags flying everywhere, to say nothing of bunting and palm leaves and myriads of gay paper streamers.
Bright and early the next morning the reception committee came out in a steam launch, accompanied by Colonel Gardiner, the American Army officer in command of the garrison. The Filipinos, immaculate little ex-insurrectos to a man, proudly climbed the gangway, stopped to adjust their attire, then proceeded to bid us welcome with the utmost grace. Their spokesman made the usual cordial speech, which Mr. Fergusson solemnly interpreted. He laid at our feet everything to which he or the town of Lucena had any claim, and assured us that the honour of our visit was most deeply appreciated by the entire community; then he and his companions stood smiling before us while Mr. Fergusson turned my husband's simple words of thanks and appreciation into Spanish metaphor and hyperbole.
I have often thought that America never could have won the friendship of the Filipinos if it hadn't been for Mr. Arthur Fergusson's clever tongue. My husband's smile and frank geniality accomplished much, but his interpreter's suavity struck a deeper and more familiar chord and together
they created harmony. They were a remarkable pair as
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