In poetry the dawn
of the tropics may come up like thunder and the transition of darkness
to light may be startling and sudden, but in my own experience the
tropic dawn comes slowly and pervadingly. First a faint grayness,
gradually growing brighter until the sun shoots up joyous and golden in
its glory, painting the skies with flaming banners and penciling the
tips and edges of clouds with the fires of morning. When we lazily
drifted in toward Corregidor from the China Sea that morning, it was
light enough to see distinctly for nearly an hour before the sun rose.

Presently a fluttering string of signal flags appeared on the top of the
island, and a moment later our engines resumed their throbbing and we
headed boldly into Boca Chica. Here on the left was Mariveles Bay, the
scene of the famous German ship, _Irene_, incident, which electrified
the world.

Every point that rose before my eyes was pregnant with historic memories
and suggestions. I was thrilled and yet I half-dreaded my return to
Manila, for fear that the peace and commercialism of the present days
would be disappointing to one who knew it when each day was filled with
trouble and threats of trouble; when the city lay always as if under an
impending cloud and when the borders of the bay rang with the thunder of
guns and the sputter of musketry.

As the _Yuen Sang_ steamed across the twenty-five miles of the bay it
seemed as if it were only yesterday that I had been there. The waters
were glassy and smooth, just as the bay used to be every morning of the
long blockade, when the air was still and the broad glistening water was
tranquil and at rest.

The surprises came in Manila. Great changes had taken place in the
harbor, new breakwaters were where there had been none before, new
buildings were up, and still more were building. Big electric cars
rushed along where formerly the snail-like horse cars crept painfully
by. The city was unbelievably clean and the main streets were full of
busy life.

I visited the old houses where we had once lived in economical splendor,
with servants and carriages and expenses that were microscopic as
compared to those of the present day. Upon all sides were the visible
evidences that some day Manila will be the finest city of the Orient if
the time ever comes when capital may feel assured that our occupation
has some prospect of permanence.

In my old days I used to know a beautiful Mestiza girl in Manila. She
was very