"BY THE DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT."
It was a dark night. The sports that had characterized the early
evening, and the throng of gay promenaders that had ranged the
streets devoted at night to the business of pleasure instead of the
pleasure of business, had given place to rest and quiet. The city
was asleep--soundly asleep. It was the sleep of exhaustion that
comes after play that is the hardest of work. Gambling houses were
closed. The cock-pit, where a few hours before so many had gathered
to participate in the great Spanish amusement, was deserted. Even at
the arsenal of Cavite, eight miles away, all was silent except for
the tread of sleepy sentinels.
New Manila, a modern city of more than a hundred thousand mixed
people, lay on the east of Passig river, a place of merchandising
and cosmopolitan in its sport and games of chance. But, though it was
the more important of the two towns that were yet one, it was within
the walled city that the public buildings and the great cathedral
were located. Several stone bridges spanned the Passig river, each
opening to a gate in the wall, which was often 150 feet through, but
hollow, with rooms inside for the storage of forage, the stabling
of animals, etc. In olden days the wall was a formidable defense,
and was supplemented, where the river did not flow, with a moat. But
now the moat was neglected and covered with a green scum, and snakes
infested it while disease was breeded from it. And the wall was no
longer a defense. The soldiers were careless now. In truth, they were
poorly paid and none too loyal to Spain. It may have been for this
reason that at one of the gates, this night, there was an opening that
would admit a man, yet that was not observable from a distance. For
some strange reason no one seemed to be watching. Dark figures filed
into this gate, and crept under the walls to the true gate, entering
the city. A squad here, a few there, but, all told, hundreds. Again,
for some mysterious reason, no soldiers were on guard. The city was
safe anyhow; it had not been invaded for many years, and the proud
Castilian felt that no one would dare to challenge him.
Up unfrequented streets a few figures stole silently, unobserved. It
was so dark that, even had they been seen, few would have known that
they were armed. It was so silent that the city seemed a place of the
dead instead of the living, and the superstitious natives who were
thus stealing into the city were more apprehensive of apparitions than
of the Spanish soldiery. As the men entered from many streets they
converged to one place. They then moved in small squads silently on
the sentries, capturing and silencing them. They moved to the public
buildings and took possession of them. They ran down the Spanish flag
and in its place hoisted the insurgent flag. It was the crowning work
of Saguanaldo.
Before this time, under his leadership, the insurgents had taken
possession of Malalos, and even now they were active all over the
island of Luzon. An election was under consideration, and Saguanaldo's
candidacy for president was uncontested. It was a peculiar situation,
due to a lull before the storm. The American fleet, after having
sunk the Spanish vessels, hesitated about taking possession of the
islands lest complications might ensue; yet it was such a menace to
the Spanish forts that they realized their helplessness. With both
the Spaniards and Americans doing nothing, the insurgents were able
to accomplish more than they had ever done before. Their success
filled Saguanaldo with delight. He arranged his troops to the best
advantage and was soon in possession of the city.
Then suddenly the stars winked out and over the wooded uplands to
the east the sun arose.
"It is the sun of Filipino independence," said Saguanaldo, pointing
to the orb of day. "How quickly has the darkness passed and how bright
the new era of the Philippines is." And then the soldiers cheered.
When morning come and the people understood the changed situation
Mrs. Rizal called on Ambrosia Lonzello that she might felicitate with
her. "Ambrosia, the city has been taken and is in the hands of the
insurgents," began the older woman. "It means Filipino freedom. Even
if we are not able to maintain our own independence, then America will
be our protector. And the night is past. Oh, thank God, thank God!"
"Dr. Rizal has won, in his wife," replied the younger woman. "I
think he must rejoice, together with all the thousands who through
the centuries have given their lives for Filipino freedom. It must
be a happy day in heaven as well as earth. Even the sun seems glad
and all nature rejoices this morning."
"For the first time since my husband suffered so cruelly and unjustly
I am happy," responded the older woman. "You will wed Saguanaldo and
you will be happy with him. You will not have to see him shot in
disgrace, Ambrosia, but instead will be hailed as the wife of the
liberator. But think not that I envy you or grumble at my fate. It
is enough for me that I have realized the dream my husband dreamed
and helped to do his work."