“Listen, SeÑor, to my plan,” said Elias, as they directed the banca toward San Miguel. “I will for the present hide you in the house of my friend in Mandaluyong. I will bring you all your money, which I have saved and kept for you at the foot of the old balitÎ tree, in the mysterious tomb of your grandfather. You shall leave the country.”

“To go to a strange land?” interrupted Ibarra.

“To live in peace the remaining days of your life. You have friends in Spain, you are rich, you can get yourself pardoned. By all means, a foreign land is better for you than your own country.”

Crisostomo did not reply. He meditated in silence.

Just then they reached the Pasig and the banca was headed up the stream. Over the Bridge of Spain a horse-man was galloping at high speed, and a prolonged, sharp whistle was heard.

“Elias,” replied Ibarra, “you owe your misfortunes to my family; you have saved my life twice; I owe you not only gratitude, but also restitution of your fortune. You advise me to go to a foreign land and live; then come with me and we will live like brothers. Here, you, too, are miserable.”

Elias sadly replied:

“Impossible! It is true that I can neither love nor be happy in my country; but I can suffer and die in it, and perhaps die for it; that would be something. Let my country’s misfortune be my own misfortune. Since no noble thought unites us, and since our hearts do not beat in harmony at the mention of a single word, at least, let a common misery unite me to my fellow countrymen; at least, let me weep with them over our grief; let the same misery oppress all our hearts.”

“Then why do you advise me to leave?”

“Because in other lands you can be happy, and I cannot; because you are not made to suffer, and because you would hate your country, if some day you should see the cause of your misfortune: and to hate one’s own country is the greatest misery.”

“You are unjust to me,” exclaimed Ibarra, with bitter reproach. “You forget that I have scarcely arrived here, and that I have already sought its welfare.”

“Do not be offended, SeÑor. I am not reproaching you. Would to God that all might imitate you. But I do not ask for the impossible and you should not be offended if I tell you that your heart deceives you. You love your country because your father has taught you to love it; you love it because you had in it your love, your fortune, your youth; because it smiled on you, and because it has not until now done you an injustice. You love your country as we all love that which makes us happy. But, on that day when you see yourself poor, ragged, hungry, persecuted, denounced and betrayed by your very countrymen, on that day you will curse yourself, your country and all.”

“Your words grieve me,” said Ibarra, resentfully.

Elias bowed his head, meditated and replied:

“I wish to set you right, SeÑor, and to avoid a miserable future for you. You remember the time when I was talking to you in this same banca and under the light of the same moon. It was a month ago, a few days more or less. Then you were happy. The plea of the unfortunates did not reach you. You disdained their complaints because they were complaints from criminals. You gave ear to their enemies, and, in spite of my reasons and pleas, you put yourself on the side of their oppressors. On you depended at that time whether I should turn criminal or allow my life to be taken in fulfillment of my sacred pledge. God has not permitted it, because the old chief of the bandits has been killed. A month has passed and now you think differently.”

“You are right, Elias, but man is influenced by changes in circumstances. Then I was blind, and obstinate. What did I know? Now misfortune has torn the veil from my eyes. The solitude and misery of my prison life have taught me; now I see the horrible cancer which is sapping the life of society, which hangs to its flesh and which requires violent extirpation. They have opened my eyes; they have made me see the ulcer; they force me to become a criminal. I will be a filibustero, but a true filibustero. I will call upon all the unfortunates, on all who have beating hearts within their breasts, on all who sent you to me.... No, no! I will not be criminal! It is never a crime to fight for one’s country! We for three centuries have given them our hand, we have asked them for their love, we have anxiously wished to call them our brothers. How have they replied? With insults and jests, denying us even the quality of being human beings. There is no God, there is no hope, there is no humanity. There is nothing but the right of force.”

Ibarra was excited. His whole body was trembling.

They passed by the Governor General’s palace, and believed they saw agitation and movement among the guards.

“Have they discovered our flight?” murmured Elias. “Lie down, SeÑor, so that I can cover you up with the grass, for, when we cross over to the side of the river near the powder house, the sentry may be surprised at seeing two of us in this small banca.”

As Elias had foreseen, the sentry stopped him and asked him where he came from.

“From Manila, with grass for the magistrates and curates,” replied he, imitating the accent of one from Pandakan.

A sergeant came out and was informed what was going on.

“Sulung!” (Go on!) said he. “I warn you not to receive any one in your banca. A prisoner has just escaped. If you capture him and hand him over to me I will give you a good reward.”

“All right, SeÑor. What is his description?”

“He wears a frock coat and speaks Spanish. With that much, be on the watch!”

The banca went on. Elias turned his face and saw the shadow of the sentry, still standing on the bank of the river.

“We will lose several minutes,” said he, in a low voice. “We will have to go up the Beata river in order to carry out my pretense of being from PeÑa Francia.”

The town was sleeping in the light of the moon. Crisostomo arose to admire the sepulchral peace of Nature. The river was narrow and its banks formed a plain planted with rice.

Elias threw the load on the bank, picked up a piece of bamboo and drew out from under the grass in the banca some empty sacks. They went on rowing.

“You are master of your own will, SeÑor, and of your own future,” said he to Crisostomo, who kept silent. “But if you will permit me to offer a suggestion, I say to you: Look well at what you are going to do. You are about to start a war, for you have money, talent, and you will quickly find aid, for, unfortunately, many are discontented. Furthermore, in this fight, which you are to begin, those who are going to suffer most are the defenseless, the innocent. The same sentiments which a month ago prompted me to come to you and ask for reforms, are those which now move me to ask you to reflect. The country, SeÑor, is not thinking of separating itself from the mother country. It asks only a little liberty, a little justice, a little love. The discontented will assist you, the criminals and the desperate, but the people will hold aloof. You are mistaken if, seeing everything dark, you believe that the country is desperate. The country suffers, yes, but it still hopes, believe me, and will only rise in revolt when it has lost patience; that is, when those who govern wish it—which is still far off. I myself would not follow you. I shall never take recourse to these extreme remedies while I see hope in men.”

“Then I will go without you!” replied Crisostomo, resolutely.

“Is it your firm decision?”

“Yes, my firm and only decision: I call to witness the memory of my father! I cannot allow them to deprive me of peace and happiness with impunity, I who have desired only my country’s welfare, I who have respected all and have suffered on account of a hypocritical religion, on account of love for my country. How have they responded to me? By burying me in an infamous prison and by prostituting my fiancÉe. No, not to avenge myself would be a crime. It would be encouraging them to commit new injustices. No! it would be cowardice, it would be pusillanimity to weep and groan while there is life and vigor, when to insult and challenge are added scoffery and contemptuous ridicule! I will arouse this ignorant people, I will make them see their misery—this people who do not think of each other as brothers, who are mere wolves devouring each other. I will tell them to rise against this oppression and appeal to the eternal right of mankind to conquer their liberty!”

“Innocent people will suffer.”

“All the better! Can you lead me to the mountain?”

“Till you are safe!” replied Elias.

They again went up the Pasig. They spoke from time to time of indifferent things.

“Santa AÑa!” murmured Ibarra. “Do you recognize that house?”

They passed by the country house of the Jesuits.

“There I passed many happy and joyful years!” sighed Elias. “In my time we used to come here every month ... then I was like the others. I had fortune, family; I was dreaming and planning a future for myself. In those days I used to visit my sister in the neighboring convent. She made me a present of a piece of her own handiwork. A girl friend used to accompany her, a beautiful girl. All has passed like a dream.”

They remained silent till they arrived at Malapad-na-batÓ. Those who have glided over the bosom of the Pasig on one of those magical nights when the moon pours forth its melancholy poetry from the pure blue of the sky, when the darkness hides the misery of men and silence drowns the harsh accents of their voices, when Nature alone speaks—those who have seen such nights on the Pasig will understand the feelings which filled the hearts of both young men.

In Malapad-na-batÓ the carbineer was half asleep, and, seeing that the banca was empty and offered no booty for him to seize, according to the traditional custom of his corps and the use made of that position, he readily let them pass on.

Nor did the Civil Guard at Pasig suspect anything, and they were not molested.

It was just beginning to dawn when they reached the lake, calm and smooth as a gigantic mirror. The moon was growing dim and the Orient was rosy with the tints of morning. At a distance, a mass of grey could be discerned advancing toward the banca.

“The falÚa (or Government steamboat) is coming,” murmured Elias. “Lie down and I will cover you with these sacks.”

The outline of the vessel became more clear and perceptible.

“She is putting in between the beach and us,” observed Elias uneasily.

And then he changed the course of the banca a little, rowing toward Binangonan. To his great surprise he noticed that the falÚa was also changing its course, while a voice cried out to him.

Elias stopped and meditated. The shore of the lake was very far off, and they would soon be in the range of the rifles on the falÚa. He thought of returning to the Pasig. His banca was swifter than the falÚa. But fate was against him! Another boat was coming up the Pasig, and they could see the helmets and shining bayonets of the Civil Guards.

“We are caught!” he murmured, turning pale.

He looked at his robust arms and taking the only course which remained to him, he began to row with all his strength toward the Island of Talim. In the meantime, the sun had risen.

The banca glided along rapidly. Elias saw some men standing up on the falÚa, making signals to him.

“Do you know how to manage a banca?” he asked Ibarra.

“Yes; why?”

“Because we are lost if I do not leap into the water and make them lose the trail. They will follow me. I swim and dive well.... I will take them away from you, and then you can save yourself.”

“No; you remain and we will sell our lives dearly.”

“Useless! We have no arms, and with those rifles they will kill us like birds.”

At that moment a chiss was heard in the water like the fall of a hot body, and was followed immediately by a report.

“Do you see?” said Elias, putting his paddle in the banca. “We will see each other again at the tomb of your grandfather on Nochebeuna (Christmas eve.) Save yourself.”

“And you?”

“God has taken me through greater dangers.”

Elias took off his camisa. A ball grazed his hands and the report sounded out. Without being disturbed, he stretched out his hand to Ibarra, who was still in the bottom of the boat. Then he arose and leaped into the water, pushing away the small craft with his foot.

A number of cries were heard. Soon at some distance the head of the young man appeared above the water as if to get breath, dropping out of sight at the next instant.

“There, there he is!” cried a number of voices, and the balls from their rifles whistled again.

The falÚa and the other banca took up the chase. A light track of foam marked his course, every moment leading farther and farther away from Ibarra’s banca, which drifted along as if abandoned. Every time that the swimmer raised his head to breathe the Civil Guards and the men on board the falÚa discharged their guns at him.

The pursuit continued. Ibarra’s little banca was already far off. The swimmer was approaching the shore of the lake and was now some fifty yards distant from it. The rowers were already tired, but Elias was not, for his head often appeared above the water and each time in a different direction so as to disconcert his pursuers. No longer was there a light trail to betray the course of the diver. For the last time they saw him near the shore, some ten yards off, and they opened fire.... Then minutes and minutes passed. Nothing appeared again on the tranquil surface of the lake.

Half an hour afterward one of the rowers pretended to have discovered signs of blood in the water near the shore, but his companions shook their heads in a manner which might mean either yes or no.