“Have they discovered our flight?” murmured Elias. “Lie down, Señor, so that I can cover you up with the grass, for, when we cross over to the side of the river near the powder house, the sentry may be surprised at seeing two of us in this small banca.”
As Elias had foreseen, the sentry stopped him and asked him where he came from.
“From Manila, with grass for the magistrates and curates,” replied he, imitating the accent of one from Pandakan.
A sergeant came out and was informed what was going on.
“Sulung!” (Go on!) said he. “I warn you not to receive any one in your banca. A prisoner has just escaped. If you capture him and hand him over to me I will give you a good reward.”
“All right, Señor. What is his description?”
“He wears a frock coat and speaks Spanish. With that much, be on the watch!”
The banca went on. Elias turned his face and saw the shadow of the sentry, still standing on the bank of the river.
“We will lose several minutes,” said he, in a low voice. “We will have to go up the Beata river in order to carry out my pretense of being from Peña Francia.”
The town was sleeping in the light of the moon. Crisostomo arose to admire the sepulchral peace of Nature. The river was narrow and its banks formed a plain planted with rice.