moment that I had filled my mouth with liquid fire, so hot was the
stuff! If there had ever been any rice in the original composition,
it had completely lost its identity in the fearful excess of pepper
that characterized this particular vintage. It was hours and hours
before our throats forgave us.

But at last we threaded our way down, and, turning sharp to the
right, rode out on the small plateau that is Banawe, to be saluted
and escorted by the Constabulary Guard and to be received by the
shouts of thousands. They at once opened on us with speeches, but
these were markedly fewer here than farther south. The quarters of
the Constabulary officers were hospitably put at our disposition,
and our first enjoyment of them was the splendid shower.

Banawe stands at the head of a very deep valley, shut in by mountains
on three sides; the stream sweeping the base of the plateau breaks
through on the south. This plateau rises sharply from the floor of
the valley; in fact, it is a tongue thrust out by the neighboring
mountain, and forms a position of great natural strength against any
enemy unprovided with firearms. Across the stream on the east mount
the rice-terraces over a thousand feet above the level of the stream;
a stupendous piece of work, surpassed at only one or two other places
in Luzon. Elsewhere we saw terraces higher up, but none on so great
a scale, so completely enlacing the slope from base to crest. The
retaining walls here are all of stone, brought up by hand from the
stream below. This stream makes its way down to the Mayoyao country,
and I was told that the entire valley, thirty-five or forty miles,
was a continuity of terraces. Indeed, it requires some time and
reflection to realize how splendid this piece of work is: it is almost
overwhelming to think what these people have done to get their daily