Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 40: Cavite

The travel was tiring, but the Calle Real provided a somewhat decent route—oftentimes paved, and if not, we walked over worn yet well-maintained dirt. Before nightfall, we had crossed the Zapote River and officially entered the province of Cavite.

Not far from the Zapote Bridge was a small sitio with a few huts where we sought refuge for the night. We were welcomed warmly and enthusiastically by the villagers. I felt flattered by the extra special treatment I received once they learned they were accommodating a general.

An entire hut was vacated for me and my officers. They offered us the best menu they could muster—fried tilapia, milkfish cooked in vinegar (paksiw na bangus), and small crabs in coconut milk (ginataang alimasag). Of all places, I had not expected a feast in such a small sitio.

I had to sternly insist on reimbursing them, since they vehemently refused my money, saying it was their pleasure. If they went bankrupt from my visit, I imagined they would look back on it with not as much pleasure.

The hut’s bedroom had a window that offered a glimpse of Manila Bay. I watched the little waves of the calm waters reflect the dim light of the night sky. A couple of fishing boats could be seen on their nightly catch—and not a single American ship in sight. The whiff of smoke rising from outside, where the common soldiers had made camp, completed the somewhat dreamy scene.

Not long after, I joined the already-sleeping Triviño and Dimalanta on the nipa mat. Weariness overcame the stiffness of the surface, the roughness of the pillow, and the thinness of the blankets—I promptly fell asleep.

The following day started well.

As we left the sitio, we were greeted by a pleasant surprise. Just as we were about to head deeper into Cavite, we encountered a company of Caviteño soldiers who had come to begin trenchworks along the river. The orders from Malolos had finally reached the province.

After a brief but pleasant conversation with their major, we resumed our journey in high spirits.

The Calle Real still stretched onward, providing us with a smooth and secure road. As we continued, the warmer the reception became. We were hailed at every barrio, and more than a few times we were stopped to receive gifts—rice cakes or simply cool, quenching water.

We were, after all, in the president’s home province and the site of some of the revolution’s most glorious battles against Spain.

In Bacoor, the gobernadorcillo begged us to stay at least until lunch. I was tempted by the man’s passion, but the fear of missing the steamship helped me resist.

The same happened in Imus, where a general named Tomas Mascardo offered to host us for lunch. I happily accepted—though only because it was already time for lunch.

Still, I ended up wasting time. General Mascardo held me captive at the table, eager to talk about all sorts of things—what had happened in Malolos, the situation in Manila, and my appointment. By the end of it, I had learned how devoted he was to the president, and how he abhorred the "arrogant" Luna.

But for the trouble, he gave us rice, a small boar, and two additional horses. Naturally, the mounts went to the two young lieutenants, who were overjoyed. Although they were supposed to set an example for the troops, being young and with little experience in hard work, they often lagged behind.

The worry that we had been delayed was put to rest later that afternoon.

As we entered the more remote areas of the province, the smooth road of the national thoroughfare gave way to narrow and occasionally rugged rural roads—a preview of what awaited us the next day.

Still, we managed to reach San Francisco de Malabon by nightfall. The increased pace was likely thanks to Dimalanta and Vicente no longer slowing us down.

Though the population became smaller and sparser, the sympathy for the cause and the hospitality toward a republican general like me had not waned. In town, we were accommodated in the modest mansion of a local principalia family and pampered like important guests.

Now with a proper bed and a room of my own, I slept well that night. And I would need all the rest I could get for what was to come.

The third day of our journey proved to be the roughest.

South of San Francisco de Malabon, the roads grew even narrower and more winding, snaking through hilly terrain. The unpaved paths—some of which nature had already begun reclaiming—were difficult enough. But the slopes forced us to occasionally remove the crates from the carts and drag both upward.

It seemed the day would only worsen when dark clouds gathered overhead. To make the rough road slippery as well would be hell on earth. But the heavens showed us mercy and grace—the clouds held their rain, offering us cool shade from the sun instead.

We had our lunch stop at the barrio of Muzon in Naic. We barely enjoyed our meal with the looming sight of the Maragondon mountains in the distance.

We braced ourselves for even harsher terrain. My escort, once lively in the first two days, had fallen silent. In their muddy uniforms, sunburnt and exhausted, some stared blankly into the air. Had Trivino and Dimalanta not received horses, I imagined they might have collapsed somewhere in Tanza. Yet even they looked miserable.

What followed turned out to be far better than we had expected. None of us had ever gone this far into Cavite, and we didn’t know where the roads would lead.

A local farmer told us that the road wouldn’t pass through the dreaded mountains. Instead, the path to Ternate hugged the coast, avoiding the ascent.

The soldiers seemed to take heart. Though the coastal road was muddy and still rough on the carts, there were no steep climbs. I, too, began to feel encouraged—until I remembered to scan the sea to the west of us.

There were no American patrol ships in sight... but neither was the steamship. It was already late in the afternoon, and I began to wonder if they had left us behind—or if Isidro had failed to convince Señor Alcantara after all.

We crossed the Maragondon River over a wooden bridge that creaked dangerously as our carts passed. We arrived at the small, isolated town of Ternate just as the sun sank halfway into the horizon.

The soldiers dropped to the ground in the town streets, exclaiming in both relief and exhaustion as we set foot in the town proper. Suddenly, my skin crawled. A creeping fear surfaced. What if all of it had been for nothing?

I asked the first townsman I encountered where the port was, not even bothering to dismount.

The gaunt-faced fisherman removed the straw hat from his head and squinted, trying to make out my face in the dim light.

"Are you... are you Lardizábal?" he asked.

I tilted my head and furrowed my brow. "I... am?"

He smiled. The reason his face looked skeletal was now obvious—he had no teeth.

"Ah... Señor Isidro has been waiting for you since earlier this afternoon."

I scanned the sea again. Still, I saw nothing. But just as I was about to ask if Isidro was still around, I noticed it— A silhouette jutted out against the backdrop of an island offshore.

I spotted the smokestack—it looked like a chimney atop a banana.