ons with the Government, and by your future conduct, not only
on account of your word pledged, but because passing events must make
it clear to you how certain proceedings, due to extravagant notions
can only produce hatred, ruin, tears and bloodshed. That you may be
happy is the desire of Yours, etc.,

_Ramon Blanco_.

He had as travelling companion Don Pedro P. Rojas, already referred
to, and had he chosen he could have left the steamer at Singapore as
Rojas did. Not a few of us who saw the vessel leave wished him "God
speed." But the clerical party were eager for his extermination. He
was a thorn in the side of monastic sway; he had committed no crime,
but he was the friars' arch-enemy and _bete noire_. Again the lay
authorities had to yield to the monks. Dr. Rizal was cabled for to
answer certain accusations; hence on his landing in the Peninsula he
was incarcerated in the celebrated fortress of Montjuich (the scene of
so many horrors), pending his re-shipment by the returning steamer. He
reached Manila as a State prisoner in the _Colon_, isolated from all
but his jailors. It was materially impossible for him to have taken
any part in the rebellion, whatever his sympathies may have been. Yet,
once more, the wheel of fortune turned against him. Coincidentally the
parish priest of Morong was murdered at the altar whilst celebrating
Mass on Christmas Day, 1896. The importunity of the friars could be
no longer resisted; this new calamity seemed to strengthen their
cause. The next day Rizal was brought to trial for _sedition_ and
_rebellion_, before a court-martial composed of eight captains,
under the presidency of a lieutenant-colonel. No reliable testimony
could be brought against him. How could it be when, for years, he had
been a State prisoner in forced seclusion? He defended himself with
logical argument. But what mattered? He was condemned beforehand to
ignominious death as a traitor, and the decree of execution was one of
Polavieja's foulest acts. During the few days which elapsed between
sentence and death he refused to see any priest but a Jesuit, Padre
Faura, his old preceptor, who hastened his own death by coming from a
sick bed to console the pupil he was so proud of. In his last moments
his demeanour was in accordance with his oft-quoted saying, "What is
death to me? I have sown the seed; others are left to reap." In his
condemned cell he composed a beautiful poem of 14 verses ("My last
Thought"), whic