The fairies of Mount Banahaw

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Part of The American Chamber of Commerce Journal

Title: The fairies of Mount Banahaw
Language: English
Source: The American Chamber of Commerce Journal Volume 9 (No. 12) December 1929
Year: 1929
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Fulltext: December, 1929 THE AMERICAN CHAMBER OF COMMERCE JOURNAL 5 The Fairies of Mount Banahaw By Alfred Worm Tucked away in the virgin jungle high up on a slope of extinct old Mount Banahaw is the cottage of Juan de la Cruz, the rattan-cutter. For miles around there are no other habitations. Juan’s son, Alejandro, aged three, and his daugh ter, Silva, aged five, have never visited even the nearest village. Also, they have seldom seen a strange face, as visitors come to their cottage on the mountain only rarely and by sheer accident. Juan has been a widower since Alejandro came; the death of his good wife in childbirth took the joy out of his life, except ttoat he now lives for his children and finds contentment in their hap piness. Daily, in the morning and at evening, Juan takes the children to the four big pili-nut trees in the center of the little mountainside clearing, where is their mother’s lonesome grave. But is this grave really lonesome? is it more lonesome than those of city folk, visited only on All Saints Day or Decoration Day, when eti quette demands of the living that they don appropriate garb and visit the cities of the dead? These occasions are sometimes ostentatious, and some of the mourners wear their costliest jewels. In contrast, never once has Juan failed to bring home daily, from his rattan-cutting excur sions through the forest, some beautiful wild flow’er or rare orchid, and to plant them round his wife’s grave; so that now the spot is a collection of rare flowers and plants, some of them still unknown to science, which would delight the botanist and cause him to proffer Juan a fortune for them. Oh, no. The grave of Maria de la Cruz is not a lonesome one, but a shrine of nat ural beauty. It is but natural that such a place should attract the creatures of the jungle. So it has. They find shelter and protection there, the chil dren treating them, according to Juan’s teaching, as the Lord’s creatures. Juan himself has never killed an animal in his life, save baboy, the wild boar; the children have learned his gentleness with living things and the animals that, haunt the bower beneath the spreading pili-nuts have become quite fearless. They amuse the chil dren, whose playmates they are. When the sun nears the western horizon and the evening shadows grow long in the clearing, Juan tells the children stories of the birds and animals that come to nibble bits’of food from tlysir hands. Anloague, the w'oodpecker, acrobat of the forest, who can go upside down over a tree’s bark as well as any other way, is often among the birds. “Why does he have a red spot on his black head?” Silva once asked. “Because long ago,” said her father, “Bana haw, the blacksmith who keeps his forge burn ing hot far down in the depths of our mountain, wished to send a very important letter to his cousin Sinukuan, the spirit of Mount Arayat, in the valley of the Pampanga. When he had finished the letter, he wished to seal it securely and called upon Anloague, then a plain black bird, to fetch him some resin with winch to make a taper to melt the wax. Anloague Wrought the resin, but while he held the taper to melt the wax. some of the wax dropped on the back of his head and he was never able to get it off.” IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS? Once a little girl wrote this letter to the editor of the Neu> York Sun: “Dear Editor: “I am 8 years old. Some of my friends say that there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, ‘If you see it in the Sun, it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus? “Virginia C. Hanlon.” And the editor of the New York Sun made this reply to Virginia and to all true believers everywhere: “Virginia: “Your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They will, not believe except they see. “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generos ity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be ex tinguished. “You might get your papa to hire men to watch all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men ever see. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders that are unseen and unseeable in the world. You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest that ever lived could ever tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love and romance can put aside that curtain and view the picture—the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing so real and abiding. “No Santa Claus! Thank God, he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia — nay, ten times 10,000 years from now—he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.” The sun had set. Darkness enveloped the clearing and Juan and the children went into the cottage and bad their supper—boiled tubers, wild berries and honey, and delicious wild herbs and vegetables. All their meals are very frugal, they never have any meat unless a baboy falls victim to Juan's traps. Juan traps him because he is the outlaw of the jungle and destroys the nests of ground-breeding birds and eats or roots up, with his snout and saber tusks, everything wild or planted. Once each month Juan carries his rattan to the town far below, in the foothills of the moun tain. The way being long and Juan’s load always very heavy, the trip requires two days and the children are compelled to spend a night in the cottage all alone. As they have never known anything else, they are used to doing this and are not in the least afraid. Juan always makes one special trip to town just before Christ mas. Once he went down the mountain trail just the day before Christmas, telling the children he should surely bring Santa Claus back with him that very night, Christmas eve, with a pack of toys and dainty sweetmeats. He had toiled unusually hard during the month, and his bur den of rattan was heavier than usual; he wanted enough money for all that he had promised. He mused along the trail over what, he should buy. For one thing, he would buy the big vase he had seen in the store of the Chinese trader; this he would bring back and place at the head of Maria's grave, where he could fill it with fresh bouquets every day. There would, from such an extra quantity of .rattan, be plenty of money left for the toys and candies. He bent under his load, but kept plodding happily on.' The vegetation changed as he descended, and the footing on the trail changed from dry rocky formation over which he could make good time, to slippery mud through which he tramped only slowly and difficultly. It was hours later than usual when he reached the town, and before he had sold his rattan and made his purchases a storm came up and delayed his departure for home; he had to remain in town much longer than he had planned. But the children were all right at home. Toward sunset they made the pilgrimage to the grave alone, but of course unafraid. “Father will be home soon,” said Silva, "with Santa Claus.” Her large lustrous eyes spoke the joy she had in the thought. “Well, it has been raining very hard and I hope Santa Claus has an umbrella so he can keep the candy dry,” said Alejandro, being just a little disturbed over the weather. It grew dark in the bower, and a strange spell came over the children. Yet they thought nothing strange of it, since it was nearly bedtime and natural for them to feel drowsy. - Cradled in a fork of one of the pili-nut trees, they fell asleep. Around them the gentle beasts of the forest were asleep too, and the birds among the foliage; but tinier life was awake and foraging. It was Christmas eve at last! and two little children slept in the bosom of the forest, by the (Please turn to page 12) UNDERWOOD REVOLVING DUPLICATOR Underwood machines are pre ferred because they embody every worth-while feature UNDERWOOD STANDARD TYPEWRITER UNDERWOOD ELLIOTT - FISHER SALES AGENCY 19 ESCOLTA, MANILA TELEPHONE 2-31-71 IN RESPONDING TO ADVERTISEMENTS PLEASE MENTION THE AMERICAN CHAMBER OF COMMERCE JOURNAL 12 THE AMERICAN CHAMBER OF COMMERCE JOURNAL December, iyz9 The Fairies of Mount Banahaw (Continued from page 5) grave of their mother, waiting their father’s return with Santa Claus! The blankets of the night wrapped them round, perhaps God shield ed their innocence and helplessness. Near midnight, deep sounds emerged from the crater of the volcano, like the first notes of solemn sacred music, the sounds gradually changed into a soft melody, as of a Christmas anthem sounding low and far away. The chil dren dreamed. From the blossoms at the grave, and the blooming orchids swinging from the tree branches, emerged a troupe of gayly trip ping sprites not larger than a man’s finger. They are the fairies of Mount Banahaw, and they formed a circle round the sleeping children and danced their fairy measures with gayety and grace. The tempo of the crater’s music quickened, and the fairies changed their step with it; they danced rigodons and quadrilles, then they had a flower dance and threw handfuls of fragrant roses over the children—never once waking them. So the night passed. At the false dawn, just before Aliwayway, goddess of the rising sun, heralded the morning, the mountain hushed its music and there stepped forth from the grave of the children’s mother a figure all of loveliness and young beauty-clad in white, with flowers in her hair and a girdle of orchids round her waist. Halting momen tarily at the edge of the grave, which closed behind her, she gazed tenderly upon the children, then stepped softly toward them. Bending down, she kissed them on the lips; and then the fairies came and danced once more and sang a beautiful song; the shrouded lady wept as she took the children in her arms and carried them into their father’s cottage. It was past sunrise when Juan, all anxiety and solicitous concern, at last reached home. But could it really be home, his home? He stopped in astonishment when he reached the clearing, for the rambling thatch cottage, no more than a rude mountaineer’s hut, was gone, and in its place stood a neat little wooden house—as good as a rich man’s in town. Juan rubbed his eyes vigorously, to make sure he had not fallen asleep and to dreaming, then hurried on across the gar den and into the house. He expected it to fade into the unseen things of hope, but lo, it remained just as it was! And in a clean new white bed Silva and Alejandro were fast asleep. Toys, candies, and clothing for both boy and girl were spread upon a fine table in the center of the room, under a Christmas tree brilliant with candles aglow and burdened with garlands of fruits and nuts. A sob escaped Juan. Sinking to his knees and leaning his tired head low, he kissed the branches of the tree. For he had recognized it—the little pine sapling be had found on the very crest of Mount Banahaw and had brought down and planted at the grave. He realized that Maria had returned from Eternity that night, and made the sapling into this radiant Christmas tree. At the head of the grave, where the pine had stood, Juan set the vase from the Chinese tra der’s store, and no day passes that the children do not fill it with the choicest wild flowers the forest knows. As he gathers rattan for their wants, Juan wonders at the mystery. He is sure it was Maria who visited their lonely chil dren that night, and he thinks perhaps she will come again—perhaps at some other Christmastide. Perhaps she will. Britain at The Hague (Continued from page 7) outlined its own point of view at some length. For a time it looked as though the breakdown of the Conference was inevitable. M. Briand made an impassioned plea to put the interests of Europe before any paltry financial considera tions. I said that I agreed, and that, so long as conciliatory measures were likely to be fruit ful, we had been willing to continue. We had, however, waited three weeks. There had been no progress, no decision. The British delega tion had been most anxious to give every oppor tunity for conversations that might be fruitful of results. All through the British delegation had manifested great patience. For days we had had to sit idle, and now, as a final offer, we were asked to accept one-half of our legiti mate claims. The end of the Conference seemed at hand, but developments were imminent which showed once more that the darkest hour is that before the dawn. The room was insufferably hot, and it was suggested that wc might adjourn for ten minutes to get some fresh air. We split into little groups, and then the bargaining process began. The British delegates remained in one room, while the others went into another room. M. Jaspar acted as intermediary. M. Jaspar returned within five minutes to say that his friends would advance only sixty-six per cent. I at once rejected this, and at eight-forty-five I described on half a sheet of note paper the five heads of our minimum demands, and this I handed to M. Jaspar. Half an hour later he returned with an offer which showed some advance but was still un acceptable. I begged him to continue his efforts, and pointed out that in half an hour he had advanced £100,000 a year, and at the same rate he would come up to the minimum demands before midnight. He returned in a quarter of an hour with a further advance of £50,000. “You are doing first rate, M. Jaspar,” I said. "Be not weary in welldoing.” In the next two or three hours further small advances were made, and by eleven-thirty they had come within £240,000 of the British claim. M. Jaspar was in despair. “I cannot do more,” he said. “You have emptied all our pockets.” “Go through your pockets again,” I said very kindly, “and I am sure that you can find enough to cover what remains between us.” “You told me you had a very kind heart,” he said, “but we have never met a man like you.” I assured him that it was out of the kindness of my heart that I wished him to continue his efforts, as I was sure that he would succeed. Then someone had a brain wave, and the hitherto undiscovered means of giving us the sum we needed was discovered. At midnight our demands were accepted, and the Conference was silved. At 2 o’clock in the morning we left the conference hall. Outside were hundreds of journalists, who had been waiting all through those hours and had en livened the tedium by making a bonfire of the Young Report in the square. I had now better explain just what our per sistency has gained. We claimed, in addition to our annuities of £2,400,000, a fairer share of the unconditional annuities and some sub stantial improvement in regard to deliveries in kind. The agreement we reached on the first of these claims gives us an increase in our guar anteed annuities of £2,000,000 a year for 37 years. This is guaranteed to the extent of £990,000 by the French and Belgian Govern ments and £450,000 by Italy. We receive in addition at once a lump sum of £5,000,000, which is equal to an additional annuity of £360,000 a year. In addition, by the rearrange ment of the dates at which debt payments are to be made, we gain an additional sum of £200,000 a year. This brings the total gains under this head to £2,000,000 a year. And there is the further advantage of considerable value that, of these sums, ninety per cent are guaranteed and are therefore placed in the cate gory of unconditional annuities, and we should continue to receive them in the event of any postponement. This may be regarded as full compensation for the small sacrifice we made in the total of our original demands. In regard to the second point, we obtained a larger percentage of unconditional annuities. Under the Young Plan there was available for us a share of the undistributed unconditional annuities which would not have amounted at the outset to more than £850,000 a year. We are now receiving, in addition to the guaranteed annuities, a further unconditional payment of £2,750,000 a year. On the third of our claims —namely, delivery in kind—a very substantial improvement was secured by the agreement with Italy. They have undertaken to buy 1,000,000 tons of coal a year for the next three years. These three matters constitute our gains in the financial and commercial sphere, but the British delegation has been equally successful on the political side. Agreement has been reached between France, Belgium, and Great Britain on the one hand, and Germany on the other, by which the evacuation of the Rhineland is to be effected by the end of next June. The withdrawal of the British troops will begin at once, and it is expected that our evacuation will be complete before Christmas. May I now briefly summarize the results of our four weeks’ strenuous efforts? It has been commonly asserted in the foreign Press that the British delegation were fighting only for some sordid material gains. It is quite true that we were determined that our just rights in the matter of the distribution of reparations should be respected. These were bv no means unimpor tant, although a sum of £2,000,000 a year is an infinitesimal part of the enormous financial sacrifice which this country has made for the benefit of our Continental debtors. When we decided to resist the call for further sacrifice we desired the world to know that we had reach ed the limit of our generosity and that we could not allow England any longer to be regarded the milch cow of Europe. But beyond this, and of far greater importance, was our assertion of our international rights and our determination that international agreements should be respected. I am convinced that our stand will make a profound impression on our future relations with the other countries of Europe. The rights and the influence of Great Britain in international diplomacy have been reasserted, and there will be no reversion to the spineless policy of recent years. We have won the respect of the nations with whom we have been in acute, but friendly, controversy in the past four weeks. I made it a condition at the outset of the Conference that Great Britain would not accept any concession to her just claims at the expense of the smaller powers or of Germany. This condition has been maintained. After the final agreement had been reached I voluntarily sacrificed some share of the uncon ditional annuities to which we were entitled in order that they might be divided among the smaller nations, and this concession has won for us their ardent gratitude and respect. Through out the Conference the personal relations between the British delegates and those of the other powers have been of the most cordial and friend ly character—a striking contrast with the bitter ness of the personal attacks which have been made on me in some of the Continental news papers. One of the mildest characterized my self as the reincarnation of the man who burned Joan of Arc, beheaded Mary, Queen of Scots, and banished Napoleon. I cannot conclude without paying a warm tribute of respect and admiration to the leaders of the other delegations. M. Briand’s wise statesmanship and conciliatory spirit have con tributed much to the success of the Conference. Animated by an earnest desire to bring the Con ference to a successful end, he made concessions which I am sure his own countrymen will on consideration heartily approve. Herr Stresemann, the leader of the German delegation, who has his own internal political difficulties, showed a willingness to co-operate which was highly commendable. M. Jaspar, the Belgian Prime Minister, filled the difficult and often very unwelcome task of negotiator between the parties. His tact, his humor, and his patience were in a very large measure the means by which a satisfactory outcome of the Conference was achieved. I would just like to make one further acknowl edgment of our gratitude, and that is to the unanimous support of the British Press and of British public opinion. Without this it would have been quite impossible to achieve our object. At twelve o’clock on Saturday the Conference ended amid universal congratulations and satis faction. It was the birthday of the Queen of the Netherlands, to whose Government the Con ference was deeply indebted for its hospitality. As the delegates finally left the conference hall the band assembled in the square played the stirring old hymn, “Now thank we all our God.”