The so-called “Freemasonry” which had so long puzzled and irritated the friars, turned out, therefore, to be the Katipunan, which simply means the “League.”[1] The leaguers, on being sworn in, accepted the “blood compact” (vide p. [28]), taking from an incision on the leg or arm the blood with which to inscribe the roll of fraternity. The cicatrice served also as a mark of mutual recognition, so that the object and plans of the leaguers should never be discussed with others. The drama was to have opened with a general slaughter of Spaniards on the night of August 20, but, just in the nick of time, a woman sought confession of Father Mariano Gil (formerly parish priest of Bigaá, Bulacan), then the parish priest of Tondo, a suburb of Manila, and opened the way for a leaguer, whose heart had failed him, to disclose the plot on condition of receiving full pardon. With this promise he made a clean breast of everything, and without an hourʼs delay the civil guard was on the track of the alleged prime movers. Three hundred supposed disaffected persons were seized in Manila and the Provinces of Pampanga and Bulacan within a few hours, and, large numbers being brought in daily, the prisons were soon crowded to excess. The implacable Archbishop Bernardino Nozaleda advocated extermination by fire and sword and wholesale executions. Gov.-General Ramon Blanco hesitated to take the offensive, pending the arrival of reinforcements which were called for. He informed the Home Government that the rising was of no great importance, but that he required 1,000 more troops to be sent at once. The reply from Madrid was that they were sending 2,000 men, 2,000,000 cartridges, 6,000 Remington rifles, and the gunboats Isla de Cuba and Isla de Luzon. Each steamer brought a contingent of troops, so that General Blanco had a total of about 10,000 Spanish regulars by the end of November. Spainʼs best men had been drafted off to Cuba, and these were chiefly raw levies who had all to learn in the art of warfare.
Meanwhile, the rebellion had assumed alarming proportions. Among the first to be seized were many of the richest and most prominent men in the Colony—the cream of Manila society. There was intense excitement in the capital as their names gradually leaked out, for many of them were well known to us personally or by repute. No one who possessed wealth was safe. An opulent Chinese half-caste, Don Pedro P. Rojas, who was popularly spoken of as the prime supporter of the rebellion, was a guest at Government House two days before the hour fixed for the general slaughter. It cost him a fortune to be allowed to leave the Islands. He took his passage for Europe in the Isla de Panay, together with Dr. Rizal, but very prudently left that steamer at Singapore and went on in the French mail to Marseilles and thence to Paris, where he was still residing in 1905. No documentary evidence could be produced against him, and on June 1, 1897, the well-known politician, Romero Robledo, undertook his defence in the Córtes, in Madrid, in a brilliant speech which had no effect on his parliamentary colleagues. For the Spaniards, indeed, the personal character of Pedro P. Rojas was a matter of no moment. The Manila court-martial, out of whose jurisdiction Rojas had escaped, held his estates, covering over 70,000 acres, under embargo, caused his numerous steam cane-mills to be smashed, and his beautiful estate-house to be burnt, whilst his 14,000 head of cattle disappeared. Subsequently the military court exonerated Pedro P. Rojas in a decree which stated “that all those persons who made accusations against him have unreservedly retracted them, and that they were only extracted from such persons by the tortures employed by the Spanish officials; that the supposed introduction of arms into the Colony through an estate owned by Pedro P. Rojas is purely fantastical, and that the only arms possessed by the rebels were those taken by them in combat from the Spanish soldiers.”[2] But his second cousin, Francisco L. Rojas, a shipowner, contrabandist, and merchant, was not so fortunate. He was also one of the first seized, and his trial was pending until General Blanco left the Islands. During this period Rojasʼ wife besought the General to release him, but he could not do so without incurring public censure, in view of the real or fictitious condemnatory evidence brought against him by the court-martial. The chief accusation was that of importing arms for the rebellion. It even became a current topic, for a few weeks, that some German merchants had made a contract with Rojas to sell him the arms, but the Spanish authorities had sufficient good sense, on this occasion, not to be guided by public outcry. When General Polavieja arrived, Francisco L. Rojasʼ fate became a certainty, and he was executed as a traitor. The departure of Pedro P. Rojas and the serenity of General Blanco aroused great indignation among the civilian Spaniards who clamoured for active measures. A week passed before it was apparent to the public that he had taken any military action. Meanwhile, he was urged in vain by his advisers to proclaim martial law. The press censor would not allow the newspapers to allude to the conspirators as “rebels,” but as “brigands” (tulisanes). The authorities were anxious to stifle the notion of rebellion, and to treat the whole movement as a marauding affair. On August 23 the leading newspaper published a patriotic appeal to the Spaniards to go en masse the next day to the Gov.-General to concert measures for public safety. They closed their shops and offices, and assembled before Government House; but the General refused to receive them, and ordered the newspaper to pay a fine of ₱500, which sum was at once raised in the streets and cafés.
On August 26, 1,000 rebels made a raid on Coloocan, four miles outside the capital. They killed a few Chinese, and seized others to place them in the van of their fighting men. The armed crowd was kept at bay by a posse of civil guards, until they learnt that a cavalry reinforcement was on the way from Manila. Then the rebels, under cover of darkness, fled towards the river, and were lost sight of. The next morning I watched the troopers cross over the Puente de España. There was mud up to the poniesʼ bellies, for they had scoured the district all around. The hubbub was tremendous among the habitual saunterers on the Escolta—the Rialto of Manila. For the next few days every Spaniard one met had some startling news to tell, until, by the end of the week, a reaction set in, and amidst jokes and copitas of spirits, the idea that the Coloocan affair was the prelude to a rebellion was utterly ridiculed. The Gov.-General still refused to proclaim martial law, considering such a grave measure unnecessary, when suddenly the whole city was filled with amazement by the news of a far more serious attack near Manila.
About 4 a.m. on Sunday, August 30, the rebels concentrated at the village of San Juan del Monte, distant half an hour on horseback from the city gates. They endeavoured to seize the powder magazine. One Spanish artilleryman was killed and several of the defenders were badly wounded whilst engaged in dropping ammunition from window openings into a stream which runs close by. Cavalry and infantry reinforcements were at once sent out, and the first battle was fought at the entrance to the village of San Juan del Monte. The rebels made a hard stand this time under the leadership of Sancho Valenzuela (a hemp-rope maker in a fairly good way of business), but he showed no military skill and chiefly directed his men by frantic shouts from the window of a wooden house. Naturally, as soon as they had to retreat, Valenzuela and his three companions were taken prisoners. The rebels left about 80 dead on the field and fled towards the Pasig River, which they tried to cross. Their passage was at first cut off by gunboats, which fired volleys into the retreating mob and drove them higher up the bank, where there was some hand-to-hand fighting. Over a hundred managed to get into canoes with the hope of reaching the Lake of Bay; but, as they passed up the river, the civil guard, lying in ambush on the opposite shore, fired upon them, and in the consequent confusion every canoe was upset. The loss to the rebels in the river and on the bank was reckoned at about 50. The whole of that day the road to San Juan del Monte was occupied by troops, and no civilian was allowed to pass. At 3 p.m. the same day martial law was proclaimed in Manila and seven other Luzon provinces.
The next morning at sunrise I rode out to the battlefield with the correspondent of the Ejército Español (Madrid). The rebel slain had not yet been removed. We came across them everywhere—in the fields and in the gutters of the highroad. Old men and youths had joined in the scrimmage and, with one exception, every corpse we saw was attired in the usual working dress. This one exception we found literally upside down with his head stuck in the mud of a paddy-field. Our attention was drawn to him (and possibly the Spaniardsʼ bullets, too) by his bright red baggy zouave trousers. We rode into the village, which was absolutely deserted by its native inhabitants, and stopped at the estate-house of the friars where the Spanish officers lodged. The padre looked extremely anxious, and the officers advised us not to go the road we intended, as rebel parties were known to be lurking there. The military advice being practically a command, we took the highroad to Sampáloc on our way back to the city.
In the meantime the city drawbridges, which had probably not been raised since 1852 (vide p. [343], footnote), were put into working order—the bushes which had been left to flourish around the approaches were cut down, and the Spanish civilians were called upon to form volunteer cavalry and infantry corps. So far the rebel leaders had issued no proclamation. It was not generally known what their aims were—whether they sought independence, reforms, extermination of Spaniards or Europeans generally. The attitude of the thoroughbred native non-combatants was glum silence born of fear. The half-castes, who had long vaunted their superior birth to the native, found themselves between two stools. If the natives were going to succeed in the battle, they (the half-castes) would want to be the peaceful wire-pullers after the storm. On the other hand, they had so long striven to be regarded as on a social equality with the Spaniards that they could not now abstain from espousing their cause against the rebels without exciting suspicion. Therefore, in the course of a few days, the half-castes resident in the capital came forward to enlist as volunteers. But no one imagined, at that time, how widespread was the Katipunan league. To the profound surprise of the Spaniards it was discovered, later on, that many of the half-caste volunteers were rebels in disguise, bearing the “blood compact” mark, and presumably only waiting to see which way the chances of war would turn to join the winning side.
Under sentence of the court-martial established on August 30, the four rebel leaders in the battle of San Juan del Monte were executed on September 4, on the Campo de Bagumbayan, facing the fashionable Luneta Esplanade, by the seashore. Three sides of a square were formed by 1,500 Spanish and half-caste volunteers and 500 regular troops. Escorted by two Austin and two Franciscan friars, the condemned men walked to the execution-ground from the chapel within the walled city, where they had been confined since the sentence was passed. They were perfectly self-composed. They arrived on the ground pinioned; their sentence was read to them and Valenzuela was unpinioned for a minute to sign some document at a table. When he was again tied up, all four were made to kneel on the ground in a row facing the open sea-beach side of the square. Then amidst profound silence, an officer, at the head of 16 Spanish soldiers, walked round the three sides of the square, halting at each corner to pronounce publicly the formula—“In the name of the King! Whosoever shall raise his voice to crave clemency for the condemned shall suffer death.” The 16 soldiers filed off in fours and stood about five yards behind each culprit. As the officer lowered his sword the volley was fired, and all but Valenzuela sank down and rolled over dead. It was the most impressive sight I had witnessed for years. The bullets, which had passed clean through Valenzuelaʼs body, threw up the gravel in front of him. He remained kneeling erect half a minute, and then gradually sank on his side. He was still alive, and four more shots, fired close to his head, scattered his brains over the grass. Conveyances were in readiness to carry off the corpses, and the spectators quitted the mournful scene in silence. This was the first execution, which was followed by four others in Manila and one in Cavite in General Blancoʼs time, and scores more subsequently.
Up the river the rebels were increasing daily, and at Pasig a thousand of them threatened the civil guard, compelling that small force and the parish priest to take refuge in the belfry tower. On the river-island of Pandácan, just opposite to the European Club at Nagtájan, a crowd of armed natives, about 400 strong, attacked the village, sacked the church, and drove the parish priest up the belfry tower. In this plight the padre was seen to wave a handkerchief, and so drew the attention of the guards stationed higher up the river. Aid was sent to him at once; the insurgents were repulsed with great loss, but one European sergeant was killed, and several native soldiers wounded. The rebellion had spread to the northern province of Nueva Ecija, where the Governor and all the Europeans who fled to the Government House in San Isidro were besieged for a day (September 8) and only saved from capture by the timely arrival from Manila of 500 troops, who outflanked the insurgents and dispersed them with great slaughter. In Bulacan the flying column under Major Lopez Arteaga had a score of combats with the rebels, who were everywhere routed. Spaniards and creoles were maltreated wherever they were found. A young creole named Chofré, well known in Manila, went out to Mariquina to take photographic views with a foreign half-caste friend of his named Augustus Morris. When they saw the rebels they ran into a hut, which was set fire to. Morris (who was not distinguishable as a foreigner) tried to escape and was shot, whilst Chofré was burnt to death. From Maragondón a Spanish lady was brought to Manila raving mad. At 23, Calle Cabildo (Manila), the house of a friend of mine, I several times saw a Spanish lady who had lost her reason in Mariquina, an hourʼs drive from Manila.
Crowds of peaceful natives swarmed into the walled city from the suburbs. The Gov.-General himself abandoned his riverside residence at Malacañan, and came with his staff to Calle Potenciana. During the first four months quite 5,000 Chinese, besides a large number of Spanish and half-caste families, fled to Hong-Kong. The passport system was revived; that is to say, no one could leave Manila for the other islands or abroad without presenting himself personally at the Civil Governorʼs office to have his cédula personal viséd.
The seditious tendency of a certain Andrés Bonifacio, a warehouse-man in the employ of a commercial firm in Manila, having come to the knowledge of the Spaniards, he was prematurely constrained to seek safety in Cavite Province which, thenceforth, became the most important centre of the rebellion. Simultaneously Emilio Aguinaldo[3] rallied his fighting-men, and for a short while these two organizers operated conjointly, Bonifacio being nominally the supreme chief. From the beginning, however, there was discord between the two leaders as to the plan of campaign to be adopted. Bonifacio advocated barbarous persecution and extermination of the Europeans, whilst Aguinaldo insisted that he was fighting for a cause for which he sought the sympathy and moral support of friends of liberty all the world over and that this could never be obtained if they conducted themselves like savages. Consequent on this disagreement as to the modus operandi, Bonifacio and Aguinaldo became rivals, each seeking the suppression of the other. Aguinaldo himself explains[4] that Bonifacio having condemned him to death, he retaliated in like manner, and the contending factions met at Naig. Leaving his armed followers outside, Aguinaldo alone entered the house where Bonifacio was surrounded by his counsellors, for he simply wished to have an understanding with his rival. Bonifacio, however, so abusively confirmed his intention to cut short Aguinaldoʼs career that the latter withdrew, and ordered his men to seize Bonifacio, who was forthwith executed, by Aguinaldoʼs order, for the prosperity of the cause and the good of his country.