The Reign of Greed Part 36

With the arrest of Basilio and the search made later among his books and papers, Capitan Tiago had become much worse. Now Padre Irene had come to augment his terror with hair-raising tales. Ineffable fear seized upon the wretch, manifesting itself first by a light s.h.i.+ver, which was rapidly accentuated, until he was unable to speak. With his eyes bulging and his brow covered with sweat, he caught Padre Irene's arm and tried to rise, but could not, and then, uttering two groans, fell heavily back upon the pillow. His eyes were wide open and he was slavering--but he was dead. The terrified Padre Irene fled, and, as the dying man had caught hold of him, in his flight he dragged the corpse from the bed, leaving it sprawling in the middle of the room.

By night the terror had reached a climax. Several incidents had occurred to make the timorous believe in the presence of secret agitators.

During a baptism some cuartos were thrown to the boys and naturally there was a scramble at the door of the church. It happened that at the time there was pa.s.sing a bold soldier, who, somewhat preoccupied, mistook the uproar for a gathering of filibusters and hurled himself, sword in hand, upon the boys. He went into the church, and had he not become entangled in the curtains suspended from the choir he would not have left a single head on shoulders. It was but the matter of a moment for the timorous to witness this and take to flight, spreading the news that the revolution had begun. The few shops that had been kept open were now hastily closed, there being Chinese who even left bolts of cloth outside, and not a few women lost their slippers in their flight through the streets. Fortunately, there was only one person wounded and a few bruised, among them the soldier himself, who suffered a fall fighting with the curtain, which smelt to him of filibusterism. Such prowess gained him great renown, and a renown so pure that it is to be wished all fame could be acquired in like manner--mothers would then weep less and earth would be more populous!

In a suburb the inhabitants caught two unknown individuals burying arms under a house, whereupon a tumult arose and the people pursued the strangers in order to kill them and turn their bodies over to the authorities, but some one pacified the excited crowd by telling them that it would be sufficient to hand over the _corpora delictorum_, which proved to be some old shotguns that would surely have killed the first person who tried to fire them.

"All right," exclaimed one braggart, "if they want us to rebel, let's go ahead!" But he was cuffed and kicked into silence, the women pinching him as though he had been the owner of the shotguns.

In Ermita the affair was more serious, even though there was less excitement, and that when there were shots fired. A certain cautious government employee, armed to the teeth, saw at nightfall an object near his house, and taking it for nothing less than a student, fired at it twice with a revolver. The object proved to be a policeman, and they buried him--_pax Christi! Mutis!_

In Dulumbayan various shots also resounded, from which there resulted the death of a poor old deaf man, who had not heard the sentinel's _quien vive_, and of a hog that had heard it and had not answered _Espana_! The old man was buried with difficulty, since there was no money to pay for the obsequies, but the hog was eaten.

In Manila, [59] in a confectionery near the University much frequented by the students, the arrests were thus commented upon.

"And have they arrested Tadeo?" [60] asked the proprietess.

"_Aba_!" answered a student who lived in Parian, "he's already shot!"

"Shot! _Naku_! He hasn't paid what he owes me."

"Ay, don't mention that or you'll be taken for an accomplice. I've already burnt the book [61] you lent me. There might be a search and it would be found. Be careful!"

"Did you say that Isagani is a prisoner?"

"Crazy fool, too, that Isagani," replied the indignant student. "They didn't try to catch him, but he went and surrendered. Let him bust himself--he'll surely be shot."

The senora shrugged her shoulders. "He doesn't owe me anything. And what about Paulita?"

"She won't lack a husband. Sure, she'll cry a little, and then marry a Spaniard."

The night was one of the gloomiest. In the houses the rosary was recited and pious women dedicated paternosters and requiems to each of the souls of their relatives and friends. By eight o'clock hardly a pedestrian could be seen--only from time to time was heard the galloping of a horse against whose sides a saber clanked noisily, then the whistles of the watchmen, and carriages that whirled along at full speed, as though pursued by mobs of filibusters.

Yet terror did not reign everywhere. In the house of the silversmith, where Placido Penitente boarded, the events were commented upon and discussed with some freedom.

"I don't believe in the pasquinades," declared a workman, lank and withered from operating the blowpipe. "To me it looks like Padre Salvi's doings."

"Ahem, ahem!" coughed the silversmith, a very prudent man, who did not dare to stop the conversation from fear that he would be considered a coward. The good man had to content himself with coughing, winking to his helper, and gazing toward the street, as if to say, "They may be watching us!"

"On account of the operetta," added another workman.

"Aha!" exclaimed one who had a foolish face, "I told you so!"

"Ahem!" rejoined a clerk, in a tone of compa.s.sion, "the affair of the pasquinades is true, Chichoy, and I can give you the explanation."

Then he added mysteriously, "It's a trick of the Chinaman Quiroga's!"

"Ahem, ahem!" again coughed the silversmith, s.h.i.+fting his quid of buyo from one cheek to the other.

"Believe me, Chichoy, of Quiroga the Chinaman! I heard it in the office."

"_Naku_, it's certain then," exclaimed the simpleton, believing it at once.

"Quiroga," explained the clerk, "has a hundred thousand pesos in Mexican silver out in the bay. How is he to get it in? Very easily. Fix up the pasquinades, availing himself of the question of the students, and, while every-body is excited, grease the officials' palms, and in the cases come!"

"Just it! Just it!" cried the credulous fool, striking the table with his fist. "Just it! That's why Quiroga did it! That's why--"

But he had to relapse into silence as he really did not know what to say about Quiroga.

"And we must pay the damages?" asked the indignant Chichoy.

"Ahem, ahem, a-h-hem!" coughed the silversmith, hearing steps in the street.

The footsteps approached and all in the shop fell silent.

"St. Pascual Bailon is a great saint," declared the silversmith hypocritically, in a loud voice, at the same time winking to the others. "St. Pascual Bailon--"

At that moment there appeared the face of Placido Penitente, who was accompanied by the pyrotechnician that we saw receiving orders from Simoun. The newcomers were surrounded and importuned for news.

"I haven't been able to talk with the prisoners," explained Placido. "There are some thirty of them."

"Be on your guard," cautioned the pyrotechnician, exchanging a knowing look with Placido. "They say that to-night there's going to be a ma.s.sacre."

"Aha! Thunder!" exclaimed Chichoy, looking about for a weapon. Seeing none, he caught up his blowpipe.

The silversmith sat down, trembling in every limb. The credulous simpleton already saw himself beheaded and wept in antic.i.p.ation over the fate of his family.

"No," contradicted the clerk, "there's not going to be any ma.s.sacre. The adviser of"--he made a mysterious gesture--"is fortunately sick."

"Simoun!"

"Ahem, ahem, a-h-hem!"

Placido and the pyrotechnician exchanged another look.

"If he hadn't got sick--"

"It would look like a revolution," added the pyrotechnician negligently, as he lighted a cigarette in the lamp chimney. "And what should we do then?"

"Then we'd start a real one, now that they're going to ma.s.sacre us anyhow--"

The violent fit of coughing that seized the silversmith prevented the rest of this speech from being heard, but Chichoy must have been saying terrible things, to judge from his murderous gestures with the blowpipe and the face of a j.a.panese tragedian that he put on.

"Rather say that he's playing off sick because he's afraid to go out. As may be seen--"

The silversmith was attacked by another fit of coughing so severe that he finally asked all to retire.

"Nevertheless, get ready," warned the pyrotechnician. "If they want to force us to kill or be killed--"