Port of Manila

The size of these giant steel warships alone would be enough to strike fear into the enemies of the United States. The mercantile ships moored around them appeared like small fishing boats. The Diligencia would look like a toy ship in comparison.

But those who had knowledge of the armaments on these ships would be even more terrified. USS Olympia had enough firepower to pulverize a coastal town with its batteries, but another ship, USS Monterey, could wipe that town off the face of the earth with its array of 12-inch guns.

I was both in awe and in fear. If war did break out and reached Marinduque, Boac could not be defended. It would be reduced to rubble by even one of these ships.

"Well… we're here," I heard Isidro's raspy voice, and only then did I realize that I had been by the railings for quite a while. The captain had gone back to his cabin. "And yes… those ships had the same effect on me. It's no wonder the Americans won that battle in May last year so one-sidedly. It was steel against wood… giant against dwarf."

I turned around to see his newly woken face, with puffed cheeks and teary eyes. Vicente Triviño was yawning behind him, scratching his head.

"What battle?" I asked. I had read something on the USS Olympia plaque at the museum, but it had been long ago, and I could not recall the details.

"They call it the Battle of Manila Bay, where the Americans sank all of the Spanish fleet without incurring even a single scratch on any of their ships. As soon as the American cannons started firing… the battle was over," Isidro answered, both hands on his waist and his eyes on the American ships. "This is what we are up against."

I shook my head and returned my gaze to the USS Monterey. After a few moments of silence, I spoke. "If war does break out, and you have to decide for us… would you surrender, Isidro?"

"What? Where did that come from?" my nephew nervously chuckled.

"Well… answer."

"There's a reason why I became a merchant, Tiyo. I don't want to make difficult decisions like that. I leave it to people like you," Isidro slyly replied.

I huffed.

"Well, if you were to ask me, Gobernador, it doesn't matter how powerful our opponent is… together, we c—"

"Shh… tsk, tsk, tsk," I quickly interrupted Triviño before he could say his nonsense. "If… If I did ask you… but did I?"

The lieutenant shook his head and rolled his eyes. Isidro giggled right before asking, "So… we deal with the Chinese?"

"Yes…" I turned around and leaned my back against the railings. "We sell them our second- and third-grade piculs."

His chubby face twisted with confusion. "And… our first-grade piculs?"

"We sell to the Americans."

---

Boac was a far cry from the true metropolis of the time, which was Manila. As our boat neared the docks, I studied the city as it was presented from the bay. Beyond the row of warehouses stood the proud ancient walls of Intramuros. The spires and domes of the churches jutted out, pointing at the sky and catching the light of the early rising sun. A large American flag, with its stars and stripes, had replaced the red and gold of Spain over Fort Santiago.

The port of Manila was as busy as I, or more accurately, as the former Martin, had last seen it. A cart filled with sacks of sugar almost hit me as soon as I stepped off the gangway. The dockworker briefly stopped and muttered apologies before quickly moving as fast as he could while Isidro shouted profanities.

"Too early in the morning to be cursing, pamangkin," I smiled as I tucked my coat. The sea of people in front of me did not suffocate. In fact, I felt right at home in the busyness of it all. I loved the quaintness of Marinduque, but I would not mind an occasional dip into the exciting, fast-paced nature of the urban jungle.

With confidence learned as a military officer, I strode into the fray. Isidro and Vicente followed behind.

With amusement, I watched the dockworkers busy themselves unloading and loading cargo, the Chinese traders loudly haggling in broken English, and the waiting passengers grouping together, giggling and laughing in conversation.

With an odd mixture of nostalgia and dread, I glanced at the soldiers standing in the corner with hawkish eyes, visibly taking note of our arrival. They were still pale-skinned, but instead of wearing the red trousers of the Spanish Cazadores, they wore khaki uniforms.

Each of them carried a long, slender bolt-action rifle with a side-mounted magazine door. I did not own one, but I could quickly recognize what gun it was.

A Krag-Jørgensen.

It was significantly better than the rolling block, with its five-round internal magazine. It could easily suppress and even slaughter a trench full of soldiers equipped with the single-shot Remington in close quarters.

In the distance, on the bay walk, horses were pulling several wheeled Gatling guns. It was a heavy and cumbersome machine gun to operate, but a machine gun nonetheless. It could still cut down tens within seconds.

"Are you sure about this, Tiyo?" Isidro asked me, then pointed at something not far from the moving machine guns. It was a warehouse that I remembered as having been operated by the Spanish. Now, the American flag waved over it. "That's the Anderson and Co.'s warehouse… one of the American firms… you want."

I nodded. My nephew pulled my hand and had me stop walking a moment later. "You really are sure about this?"

"I know what I am doing, Isidro," I said with a sigh. "You don't need to go with me. Go arrange a trade for our second-grade and mixed-grade abaca with Señor Tiangco or Señor Sy… it's your choice."

He chuckled. "You do realize that the Americans don't speak Spanish. You'll be needing a translator."