Republic Reborn: Against the Stars and Stripes-Chapter 88: Entrust

A large Chinese junk appeared off the coast of Marinduque. They were a usual sight, but since I had been tending to ships lately, I had come to appreciate their aesthetics more. While the steamship was a product of European culture, and the Garay a product of Moro culture, the vessel known as the junk was distinctly Chinese.

Contrary to what its name might suggest, it was a majestic ship. It had large sails reinforced with wooden slats, giving them a ribbed appearance, and from a distance, they spread like the wings of a dragon. The go-to ship of Chinese merchants, it had three decks and ample cargo space—perfect for the shipment we had prepared.

Francisco, ever reliable and punctual, had arranged for a merchant ship just three days after our discussion.

Just barely, we also managed to stick to the timetable. Dante Madrigal, as the Transport and Storehouse Manager, had proven to be a wise appointment.

Just last night, the last of the carts had arrived from Santa Cruz.

As I had hoped, he provided nearly half of his herd of carabaos for the task. In coordination with Señor Grimaldo, he had also managed to requisition more animals from Mogpog and Santa Cruz, expanding the fleet of carabao-drawn carts.

On the expert advice of Señor Lim, I had Señor Madrigal prioritize the transport of high-value, low-bulk goods—products that could yield high returns without hogging the limited space on the ship, and were easy to load and unload. Gunrunning, after all, was all about secrecy and space.

Early in the morning on the appointed day, the town was already alive with the sound of creaking wheels and snorting carabaos as an impressive caravan made its way from the storehouse doors to the docks.

Naturally, the cargo was composed mostly of abaca—35 tons in total, 10 percent of which came from my plantation. It was the province’s best cash crop, with an excellent value-to-weight ratio. We expected it to contribute more than half of the shipment’s total revenue. The province could have produced even more had it been harvest season.

Next came 20 tons of dried copra. While not as valuable, it remained a decent trade item and one of the most abundant products in the province—perhaps only surpassed by rice, fish, and salt.

Then there were 3 tons of beeswax, which, although produced in small quantities, would be the priciest item per ton in the cargo. Almaciga resin, harvested from the Almaciga tree and used in varnish and incense, was another compact trade good—the second priciest in terms of value per ton.

Ten tons of copper ore from the Mogpog mines—more than a third of which belonged to Don Contreras—also made it onto the manifest. Contrary to my earlier assumptions, it turned out to be a poor trade item. Most of the ore was low-grade, the product of manual mining, and it required large quantities to have any real value. Ten tons of the ore would likely fetch the same price as three tons of beeswax.

The same could be said of the hardwoods. Though traders sought them, they were slow and bulky to move. Just a few logs could take up an inordinate amount of space. Rice and salt, while plentiful, were perishable and had very low trade value.

That said, just to fill the remaining space, I added ten logs of Ipil wood, five tons of rice, and five tons of salt.

"That’s a lot to entrust to a single man... especially someone who isn’t from Marinduque," Señor Madrigal remarked as we watched the junk grow smaller on the horizon, sailing into the morning sun.

"Or a Filipino..." I said.

"What?" Dante turned to me sharply.

I chuckled. I remembered how, both times I had asked him, Francisco had delivered impressively—yet each time, he seemed disappointed in himself, always wishing he had brought more.

"He doesn’t consider himself Filipino because of the way Spaniards have treated the Sangleys. Or at least, that’s what he claims," I said with a smile.

"Personally, I think he’s already more Filipino than some of our own countrymen."

---

I sighed in disappointment when I saw Isidro emerge from the stairs into the sala.

I would have wanted him to accompany Señor Lim to Hong Kong, but he had been nowhere to be found in Boac, Mogpog, or Santa Cruz. Now, finally, he had returned—just shortly after the junk had set sail.

"Where were you all this time?" I scowled.

"I was in Gasan," he replied, his expression far brighter than mine. He looked like he was bursting with questions. He had been gone even longer than Francisco. When he disappeared, I hadn’t even started training recruits in Boac. I could only imagine the flood of information that hit him about all the events that had transpired while he was gone.

Gasan was the neighboring town southwest of Boac. While sorting through Martin’s memories for clues about what business he might have had there, one piece of information stood out—and my expression darkened further.

"Were you with that woman again?" I asked. Isidro’s large frame and unattractive face didn’t help his confidence in matters of love, but he had been courting a woman in Gasan for some time. I wouldn’t have minded that she was a commoner. The problem was, she was a known whore.

He shook his head. The grin on his face turned sheepish. "No... I have a niyugan there."

I huffed. "Ah, yes... your five-acre coconut plantation. Were your few hundred coconut trees so important that you stayed there for more than a month?"

"Tiyo, let’s talk about that another time," he said with a dismissive wave. "Let’s talk about what’s happened here."

"I left you for only a month, and not only have you started training soldiers—you declared Martial Law, fought pirates," he paused and grinned widely when he saw the kampilan sword hanging on the wall, "brought in a Moro warship, built a gunboat, and dealt with a scandal involving Don Contreras."

Left with no choice, I had him sit on the opposite couch and brought him up to speed—from the beginning until the recent appointment of civilian posts and Señor Lim’s departure.

By the end, he looked more excited than when he first arrived.

"I want to help too, Tiyo," he said, hands folded in front of him. "Are there any civilian posts still available?"

I shook my head. All civilian posts had already been filled during the last meeting. Had he been present, I would have given him the position of Supply Commissioner. He was a skilled merchant—perhaps not quite at Francisco’s level, but still fitting for the role.

He looked disappointed, but I quickly had an idea. There were no civilian posts left... but I could offer him a military one.

"How about I give you the rank of Captain?" I offered.

His eyes widened, and he pointed at himself in disbelief. "Me? Capitan, as in Capitan who commands soldiers?"

I nodded. With the three towns under control, it was time to deal with the rest of Marinduque. Gasan, being nearby to the southwest, was the natural next target.

"Yes. And your job is to announce Martial Law in Gasan and ensure their oficiales and principales cooperate," I said. "I’ll assign a few dozen soldiers to assist you."

"Can you do that?" I asked. Although, in truth, it wasn’t a difficult task—Gasan was a significantly smaller and more rural town. It would require minimal force to make it submit.

"Consider it done," he said, attempting a salute that ended up looking more like someone checking himself for a fever.