Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 84: Guns

It was with great excitement that we escorted the slow-moving caravan.

For decades, the cannons had rusted on the platforms of the Boac Cathedral walls, barely used. In time, the townspeople had regarded them no differently than statues—merely decorations.

The Spanish had placed them there, facing the river, in case of Moro pirate attacks. But when the pirates stopped targeting Boac, their purpose became merely symbolic.During the revolution against Spain last year, the defenders fired a few rounds—once or twice—though only for intimidation, not real combat.

But today, we were transferring them somewhere they could actually be of use.

Two carabaos led the caravan, pulling a cart that carried four swivel guns, dismounted from the fort’s stone parapets. I was surprised to see they weren’t actually more impressive than the pirate swivel guns found on the garay warships.

The ones from the port were plain, made of cast iron, and had limited flexibility. The Moro swivel guns, on the other hand, were ornately designed with intricate carvings, made of bronze, and could swing widely side to side and tilt sharply up and down. The European models were likely mass-produced, while the Moro cannons were hand-crafted.

I had considered stripping the garay warship of its swivel guns and transferring them to the steamship—but I doubted Eduardo and his crew would take kindly to that. Besides, the garay’s ability to tread shallow water meant it would likely be used for close-quarters battles, where swivel guns were most effective.

So the fort’s inferior swivel guns would go to the gunboat—but so would its largest cannon.

Another two carabaos followed behind, pulling a large, heavy cart containing the 8-pounder cannon. It was a labor to move and would likely cause us more hardship later on—but it was our greatest firepower asset.

It would give the gunboat its gun, granting it the ability to seriously damage enemy vessels or shore fortifications. Loaded with grapeshot, a well-aimed shot from the 8-pounder could single-handedly cause a massacre among coastal defenders.

At the rear was a single carabao with the lightest load, pulling the 4-pounder cannon. This lighter piece would be installed on the garay warship. It had half the firepower of the larger cannon but was still a serious weapon—enough for the repurposed pirate ship to offer fire support or hold its own in a skirmish.

"I still can’t believe the story about the pirates... How I wish I had been there," said Señor Alcantara.

We followed behind the caravan, moving at a snail’s pace, but we didn’t mind. We were all excited and enjoyed watching the cannons being transported.

Señor Alcantara rode beside me, and he had been beaming ever since we left the fort.

It had been more than a week since the incident.

Fortunately, the public had accepted my explanation: that the señorita had not pressed charges, and both families had resolved the matter amicably. To atone for his ’crime,’ Severino had joined the army as a common soldier and would be trained and stationed in Santa Cruz. In addition, the Contrerases paid a significant sum in reparations to the Alcantaras.

It was a better outcome than most had predicted, but the incident would still stain both families’ reputations.

To the Alcantaras, it may have seemed like an insult—after all, their daughter had been violated, and all they received was money and a lenient punishment for the offender.

But knowing what really happened—how the lad had nearly been beaten to death—they accepted the outcome gracefully. Señora Alcantara had worked her magic, and the Teniente de Navío even thanked me for how I resolved the matter.

As for the Contrerases, it was a dark blot on their family’s name. Had the crime been only estupro—the actual offense committed—it could have been resolved through marriage, avoiding much of the shame.

But Don Contreras, perhaps unsure of his grandson’s innocence and believing I might truly carry out an execution, was grateful for the arrangement and kept his end of the bargain.

With his help, I secured the compliance of much of Boac’s principalia. He also agreed to have the goods and products from his estates—including the Mogpog copper mines—requisitioned at sharply discounted prices.

As a result, I now had firm control of Boac.

Eduardo was waiting for us at the port. He and his crew now wore uniforms. Eduardo himself bore the black shoulder straps bearing two silver stars—the insignia of an Alférez de Navío. He was now a naval officer, reporting directly to the Teniente de Navío.

Upon our arrival, he and his men eagerly took the 4-pounder and began installing it on the garay.

When I had sent him back to Balanacan to settle his dues, I had given him permission to modify the ship further.

It had taken a week, and he had returned just yesterday—but even if the pirates were to rise from their graves, they would not recognize the ship.

The sails and rigging had been completely redesigned to resemble that of a schooner.

The two square sails were gone, replaced by three fore-and-aft sails—triangular in shape and running lengthwise from bow to stern, rather than across.

The mainmast had been replaced with a thicker, taller mast to carry the mainsail, and a foremast had been erected near the stern to carry the foresail. A long wooden arm sticking out from the ship’s front—the bowsprit—now carried the jib sail.

Below was a complex web of ropes, and I had only the faintest idea what any of them did. Little metal parts now glinted from crooks and corners, reinforcing the vessel.

A wooden pivot mount—one that must have required skilled carpenters—had been constructed on the prow to carry the cannon.

We had commissioned a large barge to bring the 8-pounder to the moored gunboat. The workers struggled to transport the heavy piece of metal, and their final challenge came when they had to hoist the cannon from the barge up onto the ship.

But with the help of pulleys and Alcantara’s experienced crew, the cannon finally touched the deck.

Unlike the garay warship, the steamship had not undergone a full overhaul. The modifications done at the Iloilo shipyard were limited to building a gun platform and reinforcing the hull.

It would have been far too expensive and impractical to fully coat a wooden gunboat in metal, so armor plating had been strategically installed only on vital sections: the front hull, the gun deck area, around the waterline, the engine compartment, and the captain’s cabin.

A wooden sled with four wheels had been prepared for the cannon. It was secured with ropes to prevent it from launching backward when fired. Around the sled, the deck had been reinforced—layered with extra planks and framed with iron bolts. The 8-pounder’s recoil was powerful enough to crack an unreinforced deck.

Treating the cannon like a sacred relic, the crew delicately moved it into place. The trunnions fell neatly into their sockets.

The steamship was now a gunboat.

We clapped spontaneously at the sight.

There was still more to do—the swivel guns needed their mounts, and sandbags were needed for rifle positions—but those could all be done here in Boac.

"What’s the name of that ship?" Señor Alcantara asked me as we stood at the bow, looking out toward the docks. The cannon had been installed on the garay, completing its transformation.

"Kampilan," I replied. That was the name I had given it back at Buyabod port—for a simple reason: its direct, fast assault capability made it like a swift stabbing sword.

"And have you thought of a name for the gunboat?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "On second thought, I think you deserve to name this ship. You looked terribly disappointed when I suggested I should name it."

I chuckled. "Was I really that obvious?"

"So... have you thought of any?" he asked after a pause.

The sea breeze blew gently, carrying the scent of salt and the memory of that day on the beach in Kasily.

"El Defensor," I muttered.

"The Defender," he repeated. "Simple... I like it."