The Diligencia

The little boat seemed like it would sink at any moment. The bow of that small fishing vessel, repurposed into a ferry, bravely rode the waves that were large enough to eat it whole. Droplets from the tumultuous sea showered us each time wood and water clashed.

The boatmen's calm demeanor, as well as the stored memories of the many times Martin had ridden a boat and survived, reassured me that I was in no danger. It just made me wonder why no one had figured out a safer, more comfortable way of bringing passengers from the shore to the ship.

The Diligencia was a small steamship that showed signs of age and some neglect. Only humble ships would wade into the humble waters of southern Luzon. Those criticisms, however, came from Martin's experiences. I was just in awe to be in front of this giant relic of the past.

I had seen steamships in my former life, but in museums. It was the first time I had seen one moored out in the open sea, with clouds of smoke coming out of the smokestack and alive with the loud noises of the steam engines. It hammered home that I was really back in time, back to when steam engines were the norm. And the child in me was jumping for joy.

If ships, tanks, and planes were as affordable as rifles, I would also have a collection of each.

The wind and the sun disappeared under the shadow of the steamship. The boat rode towards her leeward side, where the ladders had been set up. The rope ladders, which had wooden rungs on them, were what we called Jacob's ladders. And I had experienced climbing them enough times during my military career.

With some nostalgia, I reached out to hold the ladder while balancing myself on the boat which was rocked by the waves.

"I will get on first, Isidro, just in case it snaps when you hop onto it," I said with a chuckle as I stepped on the first rung.

My nephew responded with a groan.

"Are you sure it won't be your old bones snapping, Gobernador?" chirped in Teniente Trivino.

His remark garnered a giggle from Isidro, and I heard the clap of their strong high-five.

Once I broke the news that I would be going to Manila, the lieutenant was quick to tell me he would like to come along as well. He reasoned that he had not seen his parents in Bulacan for several months. And not wanting to argue, I let him, given that he would provide for his own fare.

Surprisingly, Isabela did not make too much of a fuss. She did worry about my safety, but after I told her I would be back in a week, she seemed satisfied. She had been used to her father's frequent trips.

"I am more worried if your girly legs could handle climbing a ladder, Señorita Vicente," I bantered back.

Edgardo Versoza, the boatman we hired, let out a suppressed chuckle which promptly stopped when Vicente glared at him.

With every rung I scaled, I got more comfortable. The former Martin was not the sedentary type of Don. Just as I did when I took over the identity, he would often help out on the plantation. And hard work kept age from taking away much of the strength from his legs.

I got off the ladder onto the upper deck. Modest would be the proper way to describe the condition of the ship. Rust and chipped paint could be seen on the railings. The wooden deck was polished and clean but had a few cracks and discolored spots.

Common folk idled by the railings, sitting on the floor or on their luggage under the heat of the sun. The wealthier passengers had a covered space and wooden benches near the stern. The mixture of sharp scents and the cacophony of noises was enough to make the uninitiated seasick.

With a loud thud, Isidro landed onto the deck, out of breath. Teniente Trivino closely followed behind. On the adjacent ladder, our luggage was being handed by Edgardo and his men to the stewards of the ship.

Below, I saw the flotilla of boats that followed us. A few carried passengers, but the majority of them carried abaca bales to be handed to the stewards in the cargo hold. One thousand piculs of hemp was a large amount that would require dozens of boats and several trips to be hauled from the shore. They had started hauling since morning, and they were only about to finish now that it was mid-afternoon.

"Don Lardizabal! I did not know you would be coming along," the captain of the ship called out as he strode towards me. It was not Martin's first time on the Diligencia. It was one of the ships usually commissioned to bring stockpiles of abaca, which usually filled its cargo hold to the brim.

"Would you like to be escorted to your cabins?" he asked, scanning the three of our faces.

"Escort our luggage first. We'll be staying on the deck to catch some air," Isidro answered through ragged breaths.

"All right," the captain gave us a well-practiced smile. "Please don't hesitate to ask if you need anything."

We proceeded to the covered benches beneath the canopy. We watched as more passengers came aboard until the last Marinduqueño stumbled onto the deck. A loud whistle rang in the air, signaling departure.

The boats paddled away from the ship, dispersing like disturbed ants. The crew shouted and repeated orders as the ladders and planks were pulled in. The floor beneath our feet trembled as the engine grew louder.

The steamship let out a groan as the vessel came into motion. A small toddler fell onto the floor, his crying drowned by the chugging pistons. Then everything subsided, and the ship assumed a stable rhythm of motion.

With a sigh, I watched the small island of Marinduque slowly grow even smaller and smaller.