Gilpin observer., 1905-10-19
SADNESS OF SAMAR|
ovERPowERINc SENSE OF pEs
OLATiON IN ISLAND,
American Troors Seeking to Restore
Tranquility There Have Hard Task
-Evldences Of Alert but Always In
visible Enemy on All sides.

Campaigning in the Philippines al
ways involves hardships. but in Sa-
mar the very nadir of discomfort is
reached" says writer. "It is not
the mere physical unpleasantness
alone which tries the soldier, but
there Is mental wretchedness,- an
overpowering depression, which seems
an 1nseparable part of the island.
There is mans handiwork without
mans presence. Evidences of past
which render the present hundred
fold more gloomy; past represented
by the blackened poles, which are all
that remain OF what was once a town,
grim monuments of vanished pros
perity, scattered with seemingly hope
less irregularity over the weed-grown
clearings. In the hemp patches and
rice fields the weeds are rapidly
springing up, the sweet potato plants
are vainly struggling against the en-
croaching grass. The paths are almost
obliterated by the bush. Rottening
canoes drawn up on the beach, torn
fragment of clothing, dozen broken
earthware vessels, the bleaching
skull over which you trip in the long
grass, the lean NANCY ours prowling
restlessly around their former homes,
which eye you with suspicion from
afar and fee the instant you show
any disposition to approach them, the
decayed game nets, the bundles OF
hemp. gathered ready for sale, then
abandoned at the time of the sudden
flight, the broken-down fish-traps and
the wasted cocoanuts-these are the
factors which make up the unutter-
able sadness of Samar
For the natives have disappeared"
continues the same writer. "The
peaceful. inoffensive dweller of the
coast town seems to have vanished
into nothingness. One sees nobody,
save in the guise OF Pulajanes, savage,
fanatical enemies. One hears them,
though, hears them at every turn, and
the sound adds fresh note of mourn
fulness to the sense of depression. 1t
is impossible to move out of camp, to
take step in any direction, without
hearing the 'boudion,' the alarm horn,
signalling your movements. 1t is
sad note, that deep-mouthed blast,
which tells the Puiaiane to prepare
his bolo tchopper) and gun and warns
others to creep into the most shelter
ed corner of the jungle. From one
hill top to another the alarm is taken
up and passed along, bringing home
to you, with renewed vividnesss the
hopelessness OF trying to hunt down
an enemy who possesses such q per-
feet system of communications.
'One never sees the man who gives
the alarm. His identity seems merg-
ed in that Of his horn. He sounds
his alarm. then vanishes into nothing
ness. The next man takes up the
note. then he, too, seems to fade away.
thin wisp of smoke rises on
neighboring headland. An instant
later answering fires blaze up on
every hilltop. and so on the word is
signaled along. Like the boudjon
blowers, the guardians of the fires
seem utterly impersonal. One almost
ceases TO think CT them as having any
actual existence. They become mere
ly part of the gloom OF Samar. 1t
Is miserable campaign, miserable
from the conditions under which 1t is
conducted, from the pitifulness and fu.
tilitY of IL all-the setback to progress
and civilization. There is no honor OF
glory to be gained. no hope of re-
ward, save the satisfaction of having
done ones duty"