The route was along the Malecon Drive where as a college student he had walked with his fiancée, Leonora. Above the city walls showed the twin towers of the Ateneo, and when he asked about them, for they were not there in his boyhood days, he spoke of the happy years that he had spent in the old school. The beauty of the morning, too, appealed to him, and may have recalled an experience of his ’87 visit when he said to a friend whom he met on the beach during an early morning walk: “Do you know that I have a sort of foreboding that some such sunshiny morning as this I shall be out here facing a firing squad?”
Troops held back the crowds and left a large square for the tragedy, while artillery behind them was ready for suppressing any attempt at rescuing the prisoner. None came, however, for though Rizal’s brother Paciano had joined the insurrectionary forces in Cavite when the death sentence showed there was no more hope for José, he had discouraged the demonstration that had been planned as Page 248soon as he learned how scantily the insurgents were armed, hardly a score of serviceable firearms being in the possession of their entire “army.”
The firing squad was of Filipino soldiers, while behind them, better armed, were Spaniards in case these tried to evade the fratricidal part assigned them. Rizal’s composure aroused the curiosity of a Spanish military surgeon standing by and he asked, “Colleague, may I feel your pulse?” Without other reply the prisoner twisted one of his hands as far from his body as the cords which bound him allowed, so that the other doctor could place his fingers on the wrist. The beats were steady and showed neither excitement nor fear, was the report made later.
His request to be allowed to face his executioners was denied as being out of the power of the commanding officer to grant, though Rizal declared that he did not deserve such a death, for he was no traitor to Spain. It was promised, however, that his head should be respected, and as unblindfolded and erect Rizal turned his back to receive their bullets, he twisted a hand to indicate under the shoulder where the soldiers should aim so as to reach his heart. Then as the volley came, with a last supreme effort of will power, he turned and fell face upwards, thus receiving the subsequent “shots of grace” which ended his life, so that in form as well as fact he did not die a traitor’s death.
The Spanish national air was played, that march of Cadiz which should have recalled a violated constitution, for by the laws of Spain itself Rizal was illegally executed.
Vivas, laughter and applause were heard, for it had been the social event of the day, with breakfasting parties on the walls and on the carriages, full of interested Page 249onlookers of both sexes, lined up conveniently near for the sightseeing.
Execution of Rizal, from a photograph.
The troops defiled past the dead body, as though reviewed by it, for the most commanding figure of all was that which lay lifeless, but the center of all eyes. An officer, realizing the decency due to death, drew his handkerchief from the dead man’s pocket and spread the silk over the calm face. A crimson stain soon marked the whiteness emblematic of the pure life that had just ended, and with the glorious blue overhead, the tricolor of Liberty, which had just claimed another martyr, was revealed in its richest beauty.
Sir Hugh Clifford (now Governor of Ceylon), in Blackwood’s Magazine, “The Story of José Rizal, the Filipino; A Fragment of Recent Asiatic History,” comments as follows on the disgraceful doing of that day: