“Do not break the peace!” he shouted. “To-morrow we will demand satisfaction: we will have justice. I will take the responsibility for our getting justice.”
“No!” some replied. “They did the same thing in Calamba. The same thing was promised, but the Alcalde did nothing. We want justice done by our own hands. To the cuartel!”
In vain the teniente mayor argued with them. The group that had gathered showed no signs of changing its attitude or purpose. Don Filipo looked about him, in search of help. He saw Ibarra.
“Señor Ibarra, for my sake, as a favor, hold them while I seek some cuaderilleros.”
“What can I do?” asked the young man, perplexed. But the teniente mayor was already in the distance.
Ibarra in turn looked about him, for he knew not whom. Fortunately, he thought he discerned Elias, in the crowd, but not taking an active part in it. Ibarra ran up to him, seized his arm and said to him in Spanish:
“For heaven’s sake! Do something, if you can! I cannot do anything.”
The pilot must have understood, for he lost himself in the mob.
Lively discussions were heard mingled with strong interjections. Soon the mob began to disperse, each one of the participants becoming less hostile. And it was time for them to do so, for the cuaderilleros were coming to the scene with fixed bayonets.
In the meantime, what was the curate doing?