this part of our journey was over, that we had to turn our backs on the
smiling plains of Pangasinán, its hospitable and courteous people. The
day had been so cool and fresh, and our progress so easy; flat as
was the country, it had its charm, the charm of cultivated plains,
relieved by lanes of feathered bamboos, by clumps of nodding palms,
by limpid streams. But we were off, nevertheless, the Governor-General
on a cow-pony, nearly all the rest on Arabs and thoroughbreds, Van
Schaick and I riding mountain ponies. We had fifteen miles to go to
reach our first resting-place.

Crossing a stream, we began to climb at once, and as we rose the
plain of Central Luzon began to unroll itself below us, with our road
of the morning stretching out in a straight white line through the
green rice-fields. Far to the west we now and then caught glimpses of
Lingayen Gulf, with the Zambales Mountains in full view running south
and bordering the plain, while still farther to the south Mount Arayat
[11] rose abruptly from its surrounding levels. Now Arayat is plainly
visible from Manila. Here and there solitary rocky hills, looking for
all the world like ant-heaps, but in reality hundreds of feet high,
broke the uniformity of the plains. Flooded as the whole landscape
was with brilliant sunshine, the view was exquisite in respect both of
form and of color. But as we moved on, turning and twisting and ever
rising, we were soon confined to just the few yards the sinuosities
of the trail would allow us to see at one time. For a part of the way
the country was rocky, hills bare and fire-swept; not a tree or shrub
suggested that we were in the tropics. Soon pines began to appear,
and then thickened, till the trail led through a pine forest, pure and
simple, the ground covered with green grass, and the whole fresh and
moist from recent rains. It was up and down and around and around. Not
a sign of animal life did we see, not a trace of human beings.