Chapter 73: Sta. Cruz
nσvel.cøm The gunshots had ceased, the bloodletting was over, and all that remained was a barrio both physically and mentally scarred. Almost every hut and house had broken-down doors. Some of the smaller ones had collapsed completely, and a few had been burnt to ashes.
The villagers themselves were traumatized, each reacting in their own way—blank stares, silent sobs, and angry outbursts as we passed by. Stones were still being thrown at the pirates, now bound together by a single sturdy abaca rope to form a human chain. Some of the rocks struck our soldiers instead.
It had been a tragic event, but in truth, the damage was relatively minor. Everything the pirates had tried to take had been returned. The broken and burned huts could be rebuilt in a week. And while the five deaths were tragic, they barely dented the village’s population.
We received a few thank-yous, but expecting a jubilant welcome from people who, just hours earlier, thought they’d be butchered like pigs was asking too much. Not to mention, these people had never before been subjected to the sheer volume of gunfire we had unleashed on their soil.
It was a relief when we finally left the miserable scene at Kasily. From the barrio, Sta. Cruz was now close enough to be traveled by foot. Our procession numbered a hundred men, not counting the captives. Helping us escort the pirates was a large band of civilians from the town proper and nearby villages, armed with an assortment of melee weapons and antiquated firearms.
Because of this, I was able to leave Sargento Guzman and ten soldiers behind to distribute some of our loot to the residents most affected by the raid, and to set up a watch in case any pirate reinforcements arrived.
"Might I ask, Don Suarez... how old are you?" I asked as we rode side by side at the helm. The road, more often used for inter-barrio travel, was good enough for a leisurely pace. We were near the coast, and the shade of Talisay and Mahogany trees shielded us from the late afternoon sun.
"I get that question a lot. Thirty years old. Too young for a gobernadorcillo, no?" he said with a smile.
"Well, you must’ve been exemplary for the old fossils to give way to you," I replied.