iny season by a pack train had completed its destruction. Much of
the way it was a mere V in the earth, with deep mud at the bottom.

We left Naguilian early in the morning and stopped for lunch at
a little place properly called Sablan, but unofficially known as
"The Bells." Aguinaldo had thought at one time of establishing his
headquarters in Benguet and had planned to have a gun foundry at
Sablan. His troops accordingly stole most of the church bells in
the neighbouring lowland towns, meaning to use them for gun metal,
and compelled the unfortunate Benguet Igorots to carry them up the
steep trail. Boiler pipes, which had been used in lieu of carrying
poles, had in several instances been badly bent out of shape. There
was even an old vertical boiler which had been lugged up entire for
some unknown reason.

The labour involved must have been enormous, and we were assured
that when the Igorot bearers, prostrated with fatigue, had refused
to continue their titanic task without rest, they had been driven
to it at the muzzles of Insurgent rifles, and that some of them had
been shot as a lesson to the others. At all events, the boiler and
the bells were there, and there the boiler and the larger bells have
remained ever since!

It was still steaming hot at Sablan, and the whole countryside
was buried in the densest tropical vegetation. Major Maus was
triumphant. Things were working out just as he had predicted. However,
as we were already halfway up, we thought that we might as well
continue the journey. I had expected to find pines and oaks, but
had anticipated that they would grow amidst a dense tangle of damp
tropical vegetation.

We were all literally dumfounded when within the space of a hundred
yards we suddenly left the tropics behind us and came out into a
wonderful region of pine parks. Trees stood on the rounded knolls at
comparatively wide intervals, and there were scores of places where,
in order to have a beautiful house lot, one needed only to construct
driveways and go to work with a lawn-mower. At the same moment,
a delightful cold breeze swept down from the heights above us.

Just at sunset we experienced a second surprise, coming out on the
knife-sharp crest of a ridge, and seeing spread before us the Trinidad
Valley, which is shaped like a huge wash-basin. Its floor was vividly
green with growing rice, Igorot houses were dotted here and there over
its surface, and the whole peaceful, beautiful scene