Nationalists -- Philippines -- Fiction; Philippine fiction (Spanish) -- Translations into English; Philippines -- History -- Fiction
Matanglawin was the terror of Luzon. His band had as lief appear in one
province where it was least expected as make a descent upon another
that was preparing to resist it. It burned a sugar-mill in Batangas and
destroyed the crops, on the following day it murdered the Justice of
the Peace of Tiani, and on the next took possession of the town of
Cavite, carrying off the arms from the town hall. The central
provinces, from Tayabas to Pangasinan, suffered from his depredations,
and his bloody name extended from Albay in the south to Kagayan in the
north. The towns, disarmed through mistrust on the part of a weak
government, fell easy prey into his hands—at his approach the fields
were abandoned by the farmers, the herds were scattered, while a trail
of blood and fire marked his passage. Matanglawin laughed at the severe
measures ordered by the government against the tulisanes, since from
them only the people in the outlying villages suffered, being captured
and maltreated if they resisted the band, and if they made peace with
it being flogged and deported by the government, provided they
completed the journey and did not meet with a fatal accident on the
way. Thanks to these terrible alternatives many of the country folk
decided to enlist under his command.
As a result of this reign of terror, trade among the towns, already
languishing, died out completely. The rich dared not travel, and the
poor feared to be arrested by the Civil Guard, which, being under
obligation to pursue the tulisanes, often seized the first person
encountered and subjected him to unspeakable tortures. In its
impotence, the government put on a show of energy toward the persons
whom it suspected, in order that by force of cruelty the people should
not realize its weakness—the fear that prompted such measures.
A string of these hapless suspects, some six or seven, with their arms
tied behind them, bound together like a bunch of human meat, was one
afternoon marching through the excessive heat along a road that skirted
a mountain, escorted by ten or twelve guards armed with rifles. Their
bayonets gleamed in the sun, the barrels of their rifles became hot,
and even the sage-leaves in their helmets scarcely served to temper the
effect of the deadly May sun.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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