The Reign of Greed
his head and smiled.
“The jeweler Simoun.”
“Simoun!!”
The profound silence of amazement followed these words. Simoun, the
evil genius of the Captain-General, the rich trader to whose house they
had gone to buy unset gems, Simoun, who had received the Orenda girls
with great courtesy and had paid them fine compliments! For the very
reason that the story seemed absurd it was believed. “Credo quia
absurdum,” said St. Augustine.
“But wasn’t Simoun at the fiesta last night?” asked Sensia.
“Yes,” said Momoy. “But now I remember! He left the house just as we
were sitting down to the dinner. He went to get his wedding-gift.”
“But wasn’t he a friend of the General’s? Wasn’t he a partner of Don
Timoteo’s?”
“Yes, he made himself a partner in order to strike the blow and kill
all the Spaniards.”
“Aha!” cried Sensia. “Now I understand!”
“What?”
“You didn’t want to believe Aunt Tentay. Simoun is the devil and he has
bought up the souls of all the Spaniards. Aunt Tentay said so!”
Capitana Loleng crossed herself and looked uneasily toward the jewels,
fearing to see them turn into live coals, while Capitan Toringoy took
off the ring which had come from Simoun.
“Simoun has disappeared without leaving any traces,” added Chichoy.
“The Civil Guard is searching for him.”
“Yes,” observed Sensia, crossing herself, “searching for the devil.”
Now many things were explained: Simoun’s fabulous wealth and the
peculiar smell in his house, the smell of sulphur. Binday, another of
the daughters, a frank and lovely girl, remembered having seen blue
flames in the jeweler’s house one afternoon when she and her mother had
gone there to buy jewels. Isagani listened attentively, but said
nothing.
“So, last night—” ventured Momoy.
“Last night?” echoed Sensia, between curiosity and fear.
Momoy hesitated, but the face Sensia put on banished his fear. “Last
night, while we were eating, there was a disturbance, the light in the
General’s dining-room went out. They say that some unknown person stole
the lamp that was presented by Simoun.”
“A thief? One of the Black Hand?”
Isagani arose to walk back and forth.
“Didn’t they catch him?”
“He jumped into the river before anybody recognized him. Some say he
was a Spaniard, some a Chinaman, and others an Indian.”
“It’s believed that with the lamp,” added Chichoy, “he was going to set
fire to the house, then the powder—”
Momoy again shuddered but noticing that Sensia was watching him tried
to control himself. “What a pity!” he exclaimed with an effort. “How
wickedly the thief acted. Everybody would have been killed.”
Sensia stared at him in fright, the women crossed themselves, while
Capitan Toringoy, who was afraid of politics, made a move to go away.
Momoy turned to Isagani, who observed with an enigmatic smile: “It’s
always wicked to take what doesn’t belong to you. If that thief had
known what it was all about and had been able to reflect, surely he
wouldn’t have done as he did.”
Then, after a pause, he added, “For nothing in the world would I want
to be in his place!”
So they continued their comments and conjectures until an hour later,
when Isagani bade the family farewell, to return forever to his uncle’s
side.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
FATALITY
Matanglawin was the terror of Luzon. His band had as lief appear in one
province where it was least expected as make a descent upon another
that was preparing to resist it. It burned a sugar-mill in Batangas and
destroyed the crops, on the following day it murdered the Justice of
the Peace of Tiani, and on the next took possession of the town of
Cavite, carrying off the arms from the town hall. The central
provinces, from Tayabas to Pangasinan, suffered from his depredations,
and his bloody name extended from Albay in the south to Kagayan in the
north. The towns, disarmed through mistrust on the part of a weak
government, fell easy prey into his hands—at his approach the fields
were abandoned by the farmers, the herds were scattered, while a trail
of blood and fire marked his passage. Matanglawin laughed at the severe
measures ordered by the government against the tulisanes, since from
them only the people in the outlying villages suffered, being captured
and maltreated if they resisted the band, and if they made peace with
it being flogged and deported by the government, provided they
completed the journey and did not meet with a fatal accident on the
way. Thanks to these terrible alternatives many of the country folk
decided to enlist under his command.
As a result of this reign of terror, trade among the towns, already
languishing, died out completely. The rich dared not travel, and the
poor feared to be arrested by the Civil Guard, which, being under
obligation to pursue the tulisanes, often seized the first person
encountered and subjected him to unspeakable tortures. In its
impotence, the government put on a show of energy toward the persons
whom it suspected, in order that by force of cruelty the people should
not realize its weakness—the fear that prompted such measures.
A string of these hapless suspects, some six or seven, with their arms
tied behind them, bound together like a bunch of human meat, was one
afternoon marching through the excessive heat along a road that skirted
a mountain, escorted by ten or twelve guards armed with rifles. Their
bayonets gleamed in the sun, the barrels of their rifles became hot,
and even the sage-leaves in their helmets scarcely served to temper the
effect of the deadly May sun.
Deprived of the use of their arms and pressed close against one another
to save rope, the prisoners moved along almost uncovered and unshod, he
being the best off who had a handkerchief twisted around his head.
Panting, suffering, covered with dust which perspiration converted into
mud, they felt their brains melting, they saw lights dancing before
them, red spots floating in the air. Exhaustion and dejection were
pictured in their faces, desperation, wrath, something indescribable,
the look of one who dies cursing, of a man who is weary of life, who
hates himself, who blasphemes against God. The strongest lowered their
heads to rub their faces against the dusky backs of those in front of
them and thus wipe away the sweat that was blinding them. Many were
limping, but if any one of them happened to fall and thus delay the
march he would hear a curse as a soldier ran up brandishing a branch
torn from a tree and forced him to rise by striking about in all
directions. The string then started to run, dragging, rolling in the
dust, the fallen one, who howled and begged to be killed; but perchance
he succeeded in getting on his feet and then went along crying like a
child and cursing the hour he was born.
The human cluster halted at times while the guards drank, and then the
prisoners continued on their way with parched mouths, darkened brains,
and hearts full of curses. Thirst was for these wretches the least of
their troubles.
“Move on, you sons of ——!” cried a soldier, again refreshed, hurling
the insult common among the lower classes of Filipinos.
The branch whistled and fell on any shoulder whatsoever, the nearest
one, or at times upon a face to leave a welt at first white, then red,
and later dirty with the dust of the road.
“Move on, you cowards!” at times a voice yelled in Spanish, deepening
its tone.
“Cowards!” repeated the mountain echoes.
Then the cowards quickened their pace under a sky of red-hot iron, over
a burning road, lashed by the knotty branch which was worn into shreds
on their livid skins. A Siberian winter would perhaps be tenderer than
the May sun of the Philippines.
Yet, among the soldiers there was one who looked with disapproving eyes
upon so much wanton cruelty, as he marched along silently with his
brows knit in disgust. At length, seeing that the guard, not satisfied
with the branch, was kicking the prisoners that fell, he could no
longer restrain himself but cried out impatiently, “Here, Mautang, let
them alone!”
Mautang turned toward him in surprise. “What’s it to you, Carolino?” he
asked.
“To me, nothing, but it hurts me,” replied Carolino. “They’re men like
ourselves.”
“It’s plain that you’re new to the business!” retorted Mautang with a
compassionate smile. “How did you treat the prisoners in the war?”
“With more consideration, surely!” answered Carolino.
Mautang remained silent for a moment and then, apparently having
discovered the reason, calmly rejoined, “Ah, it’s because they are
enemies and fight us, while these—these are our own countrymen.”
Then drawing nearer to Carolino he whispered, “How stupid you are!
They’re treated so in order that they may attempt to resist or to
escape, and then—bang!”
Carolino made no reply.
One of the prisoners then begged that they let him stop for a moment.
“This is a dangerous place,” answered the corporal, gazing uneasily
toward the mountain. “Move on!”
“Move on!” echoed Mautang and his lash whistled.
The prisoner twisted himself around to stare at him with reproachful
eyes. “You are more cruel than the Spaniard himself,” he said.
Mautang replied with more blows, when suddenly a bullet whistled,
followed by a loud report. Mautang dropped his rifle, uttered an oath,
and clutching at his breast with both hands fell spinning into a heap.
The prisoner saw him writhing in the dust with blood spurting from his
mouth.
“Halt!” called the corporal, suddenly turning pale.
The soldiers stopped and stared about them. A wisp of smoke rose from a
thicket on the height above. Another bullet sang to its accompanying
report and the corporal, wounded in the thigh, doubled over vomiting
curses. The column was attacked by men hidden among the rocks above.
Sullen with rage the corporal motioned toward the string of prisoners
and laconically ordered, “Fire!”
The wretches fell upon their knees, filled with consternation. As they
could not lift their hands, they begged for mercy by kissing the dust
or bowing their heads—one talked of his children, another of his mother
who would be left unprotected, one promised money, another called upon
God—but the muzzles were quickly lowered and a hideous volley silenced
them all.
Then began the sharpshooting against those who were behind the rocks
above, over which a light cloud of smoke began to hover. To judge from
the scarcity of their shots, the invisible enemies could not have more
than three rifles. As they advanced firing, the guards sought cover
behind tree-trunks or crouched down as they attempted to scale the
height. Splintered rocks leaped up, broken twigs fell from trees,
patches of earth were torn up, and the first guard who attempted the
ascent rolled back with a bullet through his shoulder.
The hidden enemy had the advantage of position, but the valiant guards,
who did not know how to flee, were on the point of retiring, for they
had paused, unwilling to advance; that fight against the invisible
unnerved them. Smoke and rocks alone could be seen—not a voice was
heard, not a shadow appeared; they seemed to be fighting with the
mountain.
“Shoot, Carolino! What are you aiming at?” called the corporal.
At that instant a man appeared upon a rock, making signs with his
rifle.
“Shoot him!” ordered the corporal with a foul oath.
Three guards obeyed the order, but the man continued standing there,
calling out at the top of his voice something unintelligible.
Carolino paused, thinking that he recognized something familiar about
that figure, which stood out plainly in the sunlight. But the corporal
threatened to tie him up if he did not fire, so Carolino took aim and
the report of his rifle was heard. The man on the rock spun around and
disappeared with a cry that left Carolino horror-stricken.