CHAPTER XXVI

THE PERSECUTED.

By the dim light which the moon diffused through the thick branches
of the trees, a man wandered along the forest trails slowly and
cautiously. From time to time, as if to find out where he was,
he whistled a particular melody, to which another in the distance
responded with the same air. The man listened attentively, and
afterward proceeded in the direction of the distant sound.

Finally, passing through the thousand difficulties which a virgin
forest offers in the night time, he came to a small clearing. High
rocks, crowned with trees, surrounded the place, forming a sort of
ruined amphitheatre. Recently cut trees, with their charred trunks
and enormous rocks, which Nature had covered with her mantle of green
foliage, filled the middle of the open space.

Scarcely had the unknown man arrived, when another figure quickly
appeared from behind one of the large rocks, advanced and drew
a revolver.

"Who are you?" he asked in Tagalog and, in an imperious voice, as he
cocked the hammer of his weapon.

"Is old Pablo among you?" asked the first calmly, without replying
to the question or becoming intimidated.

"Do you refer to the Captain? Yes, he is."

"Tell him, then, that Elias is looking for him here," said the man.

"Are you Elias?" asked the other with a certain respect, and
approaching him without lowering his revolver. "Then come."

Elias followed him.

They penetrated into a kind of cavern, which was hollowed out in the
depths of the earth. The guide, who knew the way, told the pilot when
he ought to get down, stoop or crawl. However, it was not long before
they came to a sala or room in the cave, miserably illuminated by pitch
torches, and occupied by twelve or fifteen armed men. The faces of
the men were dirty and their clothes ragged; some were sitting down,
others lying down, conversing among themselves in a low tone. Leaning
his elbows on a stone which served as a table and contemplating
thoughtfully the lamp, which was shedding very little light for the
amount of smoke it made, sat an old man. His countenance was sad,
and his head wrapped in a bloody rag. If we had not known that the
place was a cave of tulisanes, we would have said, on reading the
desperation on the face of the old man, that it was the Tower of
Hunger on the eve when Ugolino devoured his sons.

At the arrival of Elias and the guide, the men were about to arise,
but, at a signal from