General Aguinaldo was neither remote nor inaccessible.  His headquarters were in an Indian village, just across the bay, named Bacoor, and in less than an hour a swift steam launch carried Major Bell, of the bureau of information, a gallant and most industrious and energetic officer, and myself, to water so shallow that we had to call canoes to land in front of a church that before the days of Dewey was riddled by the fire of Spanish warships because occupied by insurgents.  The walls and roof showed many perforations.  The houses of the village were of bamboo, and there were many stands along the hot and dusty street on which fruit was displayed for sale.

The General’s house was about as solid a structure as earthquakes permit, its roof of red tile instead of the usual straw.  His rooms were in the second story, reached by a broad stairway, at the top of which was a landing of liberal dimensions and an ante-room.  The General was announced at home and engaged in writing a letter to General Merritt—­then his rather regular literary exercise.  There were a dozen insurgent soldiers at the door, and as many more at the foot and head of the stairs, with several officers, all in military costume, the privates carrying Spanish Mausers and the officers wearing swords.  We were admitted to an inner room, with a window opening on the street, and told the General would see us directly.  Meanwhile well-dressed ladies of his family passed through the audience room from the General’s office to the living rooms, giving a pleasant picture of domesticity.

The door from the study opened and a very slender and short young man entered with a preoccupied look that quickly became curious.  An attendant said in a low voice, “General Aguinaldo.”  He was unexpectedly small—­could weigh but little over 100 pounds—­dressed in pure white, and his modesty of bearing would have become a maiden.  The first feeling was a sort of faint compassion that one with such small physical resources should have to bear the weighty responsibilities resting upon him.  Major Bell had often met him, and introduced me.  The General was gratified that I had called, and waited for the declaration of my business.  He had been informed of my occupation; the fact that I had recently been in Washington and expected soon to be there again; was from Ohio, the President’s state, a friend of his, and had written a book on Cuba, a task which gave me, as I had visited the Island of Cuba during the war, an acquaintance with the Spanish system of governing colonies.

The interpreter was a man shorter than the General, but not quite so slight.  His hair was intensely black and he wore glasses.  He is an accomplished linguist, speaks English with facility and is acknowledged by the priests to be the equal of any of them in reading and speaking Latin.  It is to be remarked that while Aguinaldo is not a man of high education he has as associates in his labors for Philippine independence a considerable number of scholarly men.  It is related that in a recent discussion between a priest and an insurgent, the latter stated as a ground of rebellion that the Spaniards did nothing for the education of the people, and was asked, “Where did you get your education?” He had been taught by the Jesuits.