“They call me Tan Pedro. This sounds friendlier than Col. Pedro Alcantara Monteclaro. Before the Revolution, people called me Don Pedro. I like Tan Pedro better. It makes me sound more learned.
In another hour the title of ‘Colonel’ will be nothing more than just a historical footnote of my life.
My men suggested that I and my officers should not walk, but ride horses. My white stallion was killed during the bombardment of Iloilo trenches by the American Navy. I have a ‘cuadra’ beside our home in poblacion, but I do not dare send men to take the horses from there, lest the American might think it is a provocation and start a mis-encounter. So, my men ‘borrowed’ a few of the white horses from the mountain folks of Dalije. These horses are what were left of the once impressive Spanish cavalry. We ‘liberated’ some of them and these horses are now ‘Filipinos.’
Behind me, standing five abreast, wearing their newly pressed rayadillos are the men of my command. The first platoon of about 30 men still carry on their shoulders the Mauser rifles captured from the Spanish Army. They looked menacing enough. But, the rest behind the rifled men are those with lances and bolos (the macheteros). Not much weaponry against the Gatling guns and high-caliber fast- loading rifled artillery of the mighty American Army.
One hundred meters ahead are the Americans, faces red from the sun, officers wearing brown khaki while the enlisted personnel wearing their blues. American infantry are lined up on each side of Mat-y Road, fifty soldiers on each side of the road. The belfries of Miag-ao Church are visible from where we stand. I can see enemy soldiers in the church belfry. I am sure a Gatling gun is pointed at us from one of the windows. The American ship USS Petrel must be anchored just beyond the horizon, ready to turn at a moment’s notice towards Miag-ao to send canon shells down into my town.”