Ramon Blanco.
He had as travelling companion Don Pedro P. Rojas, already referred to, and had he chosen he could have left the steamer at Singapore as Rojas did. Not a few of us who saw the vessel leave wished him “God speed.” But the clerical party were eager for his extermination. He was a thorn in the side of monastic sway; he had committed no crime, but he was the friarsʼ arch-enemy and bête noire. Again the lay authorities had to yield to the monks. Dr. Rizal was cabled for to answer certain accusations; hence on his landing in the Peninsula he was incarcerated in the celebrated fortress of Montjuich (the scene of so many horrors), pending his re-shipment by the returning steamer. He reached Manila as a State prisoner in the Colon, isolated from all but his jailors. It was materially impossible for him to have taken any part in the rebellion, whatever his sympathies may have been. Yet, once more, the wheel of fortune turned against him. Coincidentally the parish priest of Mórong was murdered at the altar whilst celebrating Mass on Christmas Day, 1896. The importunity of the friars could be no longer resisted; this new calamity seemed to strengthen their cause. The next day Rizal was brought to trial for sedition and rebellion, before a court-martial composed of eight captains, under the presidency of a lieutenant-colonel. No reliable testimony could be brought against him. How could it be when, for years, he had been a State prisoner in forced seclusion? He defended himself with logical argument. But what mattered? He was condemned beforehand to ignominious death as a traitor, and the decree of execution was one of Polaviejaʼs foulest acts. During the few days which elapsed between sentence and death he refused to see any priest but a Jesuit, Padre Faura, his old preceptor, who hastened his own death by coming from a sick bed to console the pupil he was so proud of. In his last moments his demeanour was in accordance with his oft-quoted saying, “What is death to me? I have sown the seed; others are left to reap.” In his condemned cell he composed a beautiful poem of 14 verses (“My last Thought”), which was found by his wife and published. The following are the first and last verses.
Mi Ultimo Pensamiento.
Adios, Pátria adorada, region del sol querida,
Perla del Mar de Oriente, nuestro perdido Eden.
A dárte voy alegre la triste mústia vida,
Y fuera mas brillante, mas fresca, mas florida,
Tambien por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien.
Adios, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mia.
Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar.