Miss P——­ tells me that at Mrs. T——­’s the visitor is requested to scrape his feet in the chloride of lime at the foot of the stairs, and, on arriving at the top, is presented with a bowl of agua finecada, wherein to wash his hands.  The towel has been boiled, and, of course, a fresh one is provided for each person.  This is not so extravagant as it sounds.  We Americans are few in number, and do but little visiting these days.

October 3. Saw four cholera patients carried past to-day.  The new cholera hospital is now open, and a credit to the town.  Deaths average about fifty per day.  The town is unutterably sad.  Houses are closed at dusk, and not a gleam of light shines forth where there used to issue laughter and song.  The church, which used to resemble a kaleidoscope with the bright-hued raiment of the women, is now filled with kneeling figures in black.  So far, the sickness has not touched the principales.  Only the poor people are dying.  There is a San Roque procession every night.  Fifty or a hundred natives get a lot of transparencies and parade in front of the altars of the Virgin and San Roque.  A detachment of the church choir accompanies, caterwauling abominably.  It is all weird and barbaric and revolting—­especially the “principal” in a dress suit, who pays the expenses, and, with a candle three feet long, paces between the two altars.  I always set three or four candles in my windows, which seems to please the people.

October 6. Mr. S——­, being a member of the Board of Health, has been engaged in inspecting wells.  The natives are now saying that he poisoned them.  He is indignant, and we are all a little uneasy.  We are a handful of Americans—­fifteen at the most.  We have little confidence in the native scouts, though their officers insist on their loyalty.  We are twenty-four hours from Iloilo by steamer, and forty-eight from Manila, and are without a launch at this port.  In case of violent animosity against us, the situation might become serious.

October 7. At dinner last night, Mr. S——­ said there had been an anti-American demonstration in the market, and that a scout had cried, “Abajo los Americanos!” That settled me.  I lost my nerve completely, and went up and asked Dr. and Mrs. S——­ to let me spend the night at their house.  They were lovely about it, and salved over my mortification by saying that they wondered how I had been able to stand it so long, alone in the native quarter.  Slept badly in the strange house, and am afraid I gave much trouble.

October 8. Got some command of my nerves last night, and stayed at home, though I asked the officer commanding the constabulary for a guard.  He was most accommodating and outwardly civil, though it was apparent he thought I was making a goose of myself.  The guard came, in all the glory of khaki, red-shoulder-straps, 45-calibre revolver, and rifle—­don’t know whether it was a Krag or a Springfield.  At any rate, he was most imposing, and, as he unrolled his petate on the dining-room floor, assured me in broken Spanish that he would protect me to the last.  I bolted my door and went to bed.  Slept wretchedly, being, it must be confessed, about as much afraid of the guard as of the possible anti-Americanos.