The Red Book Magazine/Volume 3/Number 2/Rosario

by Henry C. Rowland

ROSARIO

By Henry C. Rowland

Little Rosario was radiantly happy, for the night before Emilio had told her that at last through industry and economy he had saved up a sufficient number of pesos to buy an interest in his brother’s shop in the Calle San Pedro. This meant that the sooner they went to the Padre and got married the more pleasing it would be in the eyes of the blessed Virgin.

Rosario’s father was a short, squat Tagal who owned three of the cascoes that carry freight to and from the little coasting vessels that run between Manila and the different ports of the Archipelago. Her home was in the after end of the largest casco, and there, for several years, she had lived happily with the five other members of her family.

Rosario’s lover, Emilio, was a young Macabebe about sixteen years of age, who owned a caribao and cart with which he did such trucking as fell in his way. After his day’s work was done he would often come down to the canal, just above the Capitan del Puertos where the casco was moored for the night, and he and the girl would squat on the basket-like roof of the cabin, smoke a cheroot together, and discuss their future. Since the American occupation, business had been very brisk. Emilio had sold his bull cart and bought a quilez with a picinio caballo to draw it, and from that time on had rapidly amassed wealth until finally he had saved one hundred pesos, which was sufficient to buy him an interest in his brother’s business of selling piño and hoosi cloth. He had taken no part in the insurrection, not being in sympathy with the Tagallos, and caring more for pretty little Rosario than for the cause of Aguinaldo.

One evening, as they were sitting together, watching the Chinese coolies carrying their cargo of hemp fibers into a warehouse, they saw a tall, thin American walking rapidly down the sea wall in their direction. He chewing his moustache nervously and, with a light bamboo cane, pettishly striking the coolies that got in his way. When he reached them he stopped.

“To whom do these cascoes belong?” he asked in bad Spanish.

“To my father, señor,” replied Rosario.

“Where is he?”

“He is here, señor; do you wish to see him?”

“Yes; go and get him; hurry up.”

“Immediately, señor.”

Rosario turned to her father, who was bathing the children in the river on the other side of the casco, but he had heard the conversation and came over to them.

“Do you own these cascoes?” asked the American.

“Yes, señor.”

“Well then, come with me.”

Manuel hesitated. The American was not in uniform, but wore the customary European civilian costume of white linen and pith helmet.

“Come along, hurry up. The depot quartermaster wants to see you.”

“Yes, señor,” replied Manuel, and followed him away. In half an hour he returned.

“We are to go out to-morrow to the big American soldier ship that arrived to-day, and help to land the troops,” he said.

“Bueno,” replied his son. “Perhaps one of the Americanos will give me a soldier hat. They are very fine, those hats of the Americanos.”

“Yes; and sometimes they give one canned food which is very good. At any rate I am to receive four times the usual price.”

“But how much will you be obliged to return to the señor quartermaster?”

“That I do not know. I asked a large price purposely, but when I asked the señor what cumshaw he was to receive, he simply laughed and said that he was not a Spaniard. They are very strange, these Americanos.”

The next morning Rosario arose early, bathed and dressed her hair more carefully than usual, anointing it with cocoanut oil, and combing it out until it fell below her waist in great black lustrous waves. Her panuela, a gift from Emilio, was brand new, and her piño blouse dropped coquettishly over one shoulder, revealing a delicate little rounded neck and the graceful upper outlines of her bosom. For some of these Americanos were very attractive. She secretly admired the yellow hair and pale eyes that many of her countrymen found so startling, and she had learned that men of all nations were very much alike where a pretty woman was concerned.

The quartermaster’s launch towed them out alongside, and the work of disembarking was soon begun. Manuel’s occupation was simply the navigation of his craft, so he squatted on his heels and watched the soldiers apathetically. Rosario found herself unable to support the gaze of so many strange and curious eyes, and retired to the cabin, where she peeped out between the lattice-work at the strange Americanos, There was one in particular who interested her especially. He was very young and very fair, with a fine athletic figure, and a frank, boyish face. Evidently he was a non-commissioned officer, for he had two V-shaped stripes of white tape sewed upon the sleeve of his flannel shirt, and seemed to be directing the other men where to stow their effects. Her brother seemed also drawn to him, for after they had started Pablo approached him diffidently, and with a most insinuating smile pointed first to his campaign hat and then to himself. The yellow-haired American laughed. “Quiere sombrero?” he said good naturedly.

“Si señor—no hay sombrero,” replied Pablo. The American dived down into his kit and shortly produced a battered-looking felt hat.

“Aqui,” he said, handing it to Pablo.

“Uh! Muchas gracias Señor Capitan,” replied the delighted boy.

The soldier laughed, then he happened to notice Rosario, who had timidly approached.

“Buenos dias, cara mia,” he said with a flashing smile.

“Buenos dias, señor,” replied Rosario musically. She thought that she had never seen so beautiful a man.

The corporal held out his hand with an engaging smile. Rosario hesitated a moment, and then her own little brown one fluttered into it. What a strong, big, firm hand he had! He pressed hers slightly, and she would have blushed if she had not been such a brown little maiden.

The soldier chatted with her in broken Spanish until they reached the dock. Rosario soon forgot her bashfulness and laughed merrily at his questions as they went up the river. These Americanos, how little they knew after all! He had just asked her if the green lettuce-like looking water-plants floating down the river were good to eat.

Before he left the casco he dived again into his blanket-bag and produced a little box of commissary candies, which he gave to her. Rosario thought they were the most delicious things she had ever tasted. She wondered why such a handsome American soldier should be so kind to a little Filipino casco girl. At last they touched the dock. The corporal jumped to his feet. Rosario rose also and held out her hand.

“Goo-by-a,” she said, as the soldiers along the dock had taught her.

The corporal laughed.

“You little darling,” he said in English. “Good-bye. In America we say good-bye so——”

Before she understood he threw one big arm lightly about her shoulders, drew her to him, and kissed her on the lips. Then he leaped up onto the gunwale. The men about him who had seen the performance laughed and cheered. Even the “señor teniente” was laughing.

“Come, corporal, no annexation without taxation,” he said.

“Quickest way to end the war, sir,” replied the corporal. “Come, boys, tumble out, pass out that junk. Pronto!”

Rosario looked up at him wistfully. Some of these American customs were very nice. And then her heart gave a great throb. For there, sitting on the box of his quilez, his face like a demon, sat Emilio. He, too, was watching the fair-haired corporal, but with quite a different expression. One of the American officers was just entering the quilez.

“Palazzo—Pronto—sigi—sigi,” he said to Emilio.

The quilez rattled off, Emilio casting another venomous glance at the corporal. The soldiers had gotten ashore and were buckling on their equipments.

“Fall in!” The men shuffled into place.

“’Tenshun! Right dress—front. Count fours.”

The customary unmusical vocalism rippled down the line.

“Fours right march—halt. Forward—column left, march!”

The company swung down the street and Rosario watched the broad-shouldered corporal as long as he was in sight. The column swung around the corner and disappeared. She sighed and went about preparing the customary dinner of fish and rice.

That evening Emilio came down to the canal as usual. He was rather taciturn at first, but finally relaxed and became better natured.

“I saw the pig of an Americano take you in his arms,” he said to Rosario. “The caribao!” (the most insulting epithet a Filipino can use). “Had he remained much longer my knife would have found its way to his heart.”

“He meant no ill,” protested Rosario. “He was a very kind señor and gave Pablo a soldier hat, and to me these sweetmeats. See, caro mio, I have saved some for you.” She handed him the box.

“Uh!” he said, “I should like to throw them in his face, but since he is not here I will throw them in the river.” He suited the action to the word.

“And if he was here he would throw you in after them. You are bad, and I hate you,” cried Rosario.

“Forgive me, Carissima,” said Emilio, “but you are so dear to me that I cannot bear to think of another giving you presents. See, I have brought you a piño handkerchief embroidered by the little sisters in the convent.”

“I will not take it. I do not love you, go away,” pouted Rosario.

“Bueno, I will go away then. You will be sorry after I am gone and when I come again will be glad to see me. Adios.”

Emilio went, but Rosario did not even look after him. How black and thin he looked after the handsome Americano! She wondered where the company had gone. Finally it occurred to her to ask the native policeman, which she did. He did not know, but said that he would find out. And the next morning he told her that they were either in the walled city, or at Malate—just beyond the Luneta.

The next day there was nothing to do, and so Rosario thought she would go over to the walled city and see a friend. Her brother paddled her across the river in their little dug-out, and she went up to the gate just beyond the Magellan monument. As she passed under the arch, with downcast eyes—for it always frightened her to go by these big, fierce, hairy-faced men in khaki—one of the soldiers remarked to another:

“Looks like your girl, Jack—the casco lady.”

“By George, it is,” replied the other.

Rosario did not understand the words, but the voice was like an electric shock. She shot a swift glance upward. There stood the corporal.

“Buenas dias, señorita,” he said in his fine big voice. It thrilled little Rosario through and through. How grand it was to be called señorita!

“Buenas dias, señor,” she replied tremulously.

He held out his hand, which she took doubtfully

“Where are you going?” he asked. Rosario told him. He walked along with her for a short distance and asked her several questions about herself.

“May I come to see you sometime, señorita? I must go back now. But I will come down to the canal to-night.”

Rosario’s heart beat wildly.

“Oh, the señor is too good,” she said. “I am only a poor girl and live on a Casco. See my dress, how poor it is. And Emilio would be angry.”

“Who is Emilio?”

“He is my lover,” answered the girl simply.

“But so am I, señorita,” said the corporal. “You are more beautiful than any woman I have seen in Manila. Already I love you madly. Do you think you could learn to love me?”

“Oh, señor, I do not know. Oh, Madre de Dios—take care!”

A quilez had swung around the corner, coming from the Cuartel Santiago. On the box was Emilio. Quick as a flash he had cut his little stallion savagely with his quirt. The corporal saw it just too late. The shaft struck him a glancing blow on the thigh, and threw him up against the wall of a building. He scrambled to his feet, and jumped around the corner. Emilio was making for the gate.

“Guard there. Hi there, stop that man!”

The guards jumped to their feet and barred the way. A long, lanky private grabbed the pony by the bridle. The corporal ran down to the gate.

“What's up, Jack?” asked one of the men.

“This nigger tried to run over me.”

“Shall I run him in?”

“No, just let me get a hold of ’im.” He grabbed Emilio by the scruff of the neck and dragged him off the seat.

“Now, blast you, what did you do that for?” he asked savagely.

“The señor was behind the corner, and I did not see him,” replied Emilio; “I was in great haste, for a señor is waiting for me at the hotel. I have a message for him.” He showed a note addressed to a captain. The corporal looked at him suspiciously. He tightened his grip and gave the man a vigorous cuff on either side of the head.

“That will teach you to be more careful in future,” he said. “Vamos!”

Emilio drove away. The corporal went back to look for Rosario, but she had gone.

 

Emilio did not go down to the canal that night, but the corporal did. And the next and the next, until he was warned by the sentry at the dock that the officer of the guard was asking about him. After that Rosario would wait until dark, and then slip quietly into her canoe and paddle over to the walled city. The corporal did not say much about his conquest to his mates. Rosario no longer sang weird little songs in minor keys as she went about her work, or sat on the top of the cabin watching the sun go down behind Corregidor. Occasionally she saw Emilio as he drove past in his quilez going to the captain of the ports, but he refused to speak to her.

The corporal’s company had left Manila, and gone out to Malate, where they were doing guard duty, and she was able to meet the soldier only two or three times during the week, and then generally in the day time. Once or twice when with him she saw Emilio, but he gave no sign of recognition. Finally she ceased to see him, and on inquiring from one of his friends was told that he had joined the insurgent army.

One night Rosario waited for the corporal, but he did not come. Nor or ten days afterwards did she see him at all. Then one day as she was coming across the Puente General Blanco she saw a familiar pair of broad shoulders in front of her under a head of golden hair. Her heart gave a great bound and she hurried to overtake him. On the other side of the bridge he turned into one of the shops kept by the little Mestiza girls. When Rosario got there she saw him sitting on the counter chatting with the pretty proprietress. Rosario looked at him appealingly.

“Ja-aak,” she said.

He looked up with the old quick smile.

“Hello, Rosy,” he said in English, and resumed his conversation with the Mestiza. Then seeing that she still remained he added lightly with a wave of the hand:

“Run along home, little girl, this is my busy day.”

Rosario did not understand the words, but the gesture was unmistakable. She walked slowly away, not home, but to the street that runs up at right angles to Calle Sta. Theresa.

 

About a week later the corporal went out with a squad of men to relieve the guard. As they were passing the wall that runs around the convent grounds, a native sprang suddenly from the lemon bushes and in a flash his bolo had shorn through the corporal’s golden hair and deep into his handsome boyish face. In another bound the man had leaped the wall and disappeared. The thing had happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that not a shot was fired until the native was almost out of sight. Then, although the bullets must have whistled in very close proximity, none seemed to find its mark. A hue and cry was promptly raised, the neighborhood was carefully searched, several arrests were made, but nothing resulted therefrom.

The bolo was the ordinary native weapon and different in no respect from any other bolo except that on the handle, which was of caribao horn, was scratched the name “Emilio.”

They carried the corporal to the hospital, but he was beyond the doctor’s skill. He was a popular man in the company, and his comrades swore to remember his wanton murder the next time they went into action—and they did. The old first sergeant, affectionately known as “Pop,” sized up the situation for all hands. He turned the bolo thoughtfully over in his horny paw.

“We won't have no peace in these islands,” he said, “until we kill the hull dam’ outfit—the sneakin’, treacherous scoundrel!”

He meant Emilio.