I left Biñan on Saturday afternoon, the seventeenth of December, 1870. I was then nine years old. For the first time, I saw what a steamer really was. It seemed to me most beautiful and in every way admirable. But I heard my cousin, who was with me, make remarks to the banquero that were not complimentary to her speed. I was the only passenger from Biñan. Two sailors put my baggage into a cabin. Then I went to inspect it. I thought I was going to be without a cabin-mate, but a Frenchman, Arturo Camps, who was a friend of my father, looked after me. The journey seemed very long, but finally we arrived at Kalamba.
Oh! how glad I was to see the shore! At once I wanted to jump into the first banca. A deckhand took me in his arms and put me into the captain’s boat. Then the Frenchman came and four sailors rowed us ashore. It is impossible to describe my joy when I saw a servant waiting for us with a carriage. I jumped in and soon found myself again in our home, happy in the love of my family. Here end my recollections of that period of mingled sadness and gladness, in which, for the first time, I came to know anybody of foreign birth.
CHAPTER IV
The Injustice Done My Mother
(This chapter and the next one, Rizal wrote in 1879. At that time he was eighteen years old.)
Some days after my return to Kalamba, my parents decided that I should remain, and that later, I should go to Manila. I wanted to study with a teacher of the town, even though I could learn no more than multiplication, so I entered the village school.
Rizal’s uncle. He was educated at a Calcutta English school. He was a friend of the liberal Spanish leaders of his time.