ains.

After the battle at Jaro, I went out to live for awhile in the quarters
of Captain Walter H. Gordon, Lieutenant J. Barnes, and Lieutenant
A. L. Conger, 18th U. S. A. I soon realized that the war was still on,
for every day and night, the rattle of musketry told that somewhere
there was trouble.

One day I went out to see the fortifications deserted by the
Filipinos. They were curious indeed; built as an officer suggested, to
be run away from, not to be defended. One fortification was ingeniously
made of sacks of sugar. Everywhere was devastation and waste and
burned buildings. The natives had fled to distant towns or mountains.

All this sounds bad and looked worse, and yet it takes but a little
while to restore all. The houses are quickly rebuilt; a bamboo roof
is made, it is lifted to the desired height on poles set in or upon
the ground. The walls are weavings of bamboo or are plaited nepa. The
nepa is a variety of bamboo grown near shallow sea water. When one
of these rude dwellings is completed, it is ready for an ordinary
family. They do not use a single article that we consider essential
to housekeeping. Some of the better class have a kind of stove;
its top is covered with a layer of sand or small pebbles, four or
five inches thick; on this stand bricks or small tripods to hold
the little pots used in cooking. Under each pot is a tiny fire. The
skillful cook plays upon his several fires as a musician upon his
keys, adding a morsel of fuel to one, drawing a coal from another;
stirring all the concoctions with the same spoon. The baking differs
only in there being an upper story of coals on the lid.

It has been said that fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Two
or three of us American women, eager to learn all we could, because
we were daily told that the war was over and we should soon be going
home, were rashly venturesome. But we soon found that it was unsafe to
go about Molo or Iloilo even with a guide, and so we had to content
ourselves with looking at the quantities of beautiful things brought
to our door. We were tempted daily to buy the lovely fabrics woven
by the native women. Every incoming ship is beset by a swarm of small
traders who find their best customers amongst American women. Officers
and men, too, are generous buyers for friends at home. The native
weaves of every quality and color are surprisingly beautiful.

Jusa (hoo-sa) cloth is made from jusi fibre; pina (peen-yah) from