“Now,” said the Jesuit, turning to Lonzello, “take this stuff and get from the country at once. Your successor from America has arrived and is in the harbor even now.”
XXI.
“THE INSURRECTION IS OVER.”
When Saguanaldo heard of the fate that had befallen Ambrosia he was almost beside himself with rage and horror. He determined to be revenged on the Jesuit and Lonzello, and issued orders for the force to at once prepare for active service. Mrs. Rizal’s singing and speaking began to bear fruit. The story of Ambrosia spread rapidly through the island, rousing the people to something like frenzy. They came out in force. Not until now had that feeling which makes a religious war been stirred, but it was rampant at this time. Even some of the Spanish friars, who rebelled at being banished from the islands, joined the revolt. The war had turned, so that it was no longer Spaniard and native, but the native against both Spain and America.
They gathered in great numbers before Manila, coming in pairs and squads. Some were captured, but the United States troops, appalled at the demonstration that seemed to be even larger than it really was, fell back into the city, while the insurgents formed on the hills occupying the rifle pits without. It was raining and the mud was so deep that all movements were slow and disagreeable. But the forboding appearance of nature did not discourage the malcontents. Women and children were there. Some of them were unarmed, but they gathered stones for throwing and carried them. Others had nothing but clubs or bolos. But they were all mad for slaughter, ready to die.
Contrary to expectations of the Americans, they did not attack by night. Neither did they make any demonstration against the Spanish fortress of Cavite. In the early morning women and children, ragged and showing the poverty that had provoked the war, drenched by rain, muddy and miserable, marched down the streets, in irregular lines, shrieking and singing. As they marched, others came from the houses of Manila and joined them. Again there was the song:
He may be a brother of Governor Daft,
But he ain’t no friend of mine.
Instead of an army, it was a mob, something far harder to handle than an army, especially if it is composed of women and children. They broke into shops and took things to eat, munching and screaming as they marched.