12

Evacuation

Lydia’s people learned that civilian fatalities in the Philippines’

were escalating with the loss of resistance fighters. This made it easy to

believe rumors of simultaneous conflicts in other countries. So if it were

truly the height of a Second World War, islanders worried how the

Americans would keep up defenses. Too many Americans and Filipinos

were now held captive in shameful concentration camps.

The enemy even improved at communicating in the Ilocano tongue,

but locals remained skeptical of their effort to win their loyalty. They

believed the Japanese would eventually force their language upon them

should they go undefeated. The people struggled daily to maintain a

positive outlook though. Displays of senselessly cruel punishments kept

them wary but also strengthened their resilience.

Word of an even greater widespread food shortage dampened their

hopes. They were already working their fingers to the bone with no

relief anticipated. Each week brought them to Market with less to sell

or trade.
 Lydia began to estimate whether her cattle, pigs, and chickens would

be consumed before war’s end. If it came to that, the enemy might very

well resort to butchering her goats or carabao. She had heard of that

kind of thing happening elsewhere in the south. Without water

buffaloes, plowing would certainly be more strenuous.

She stayed sharp though. Since the loss of the mayor, she personally

sewed a spare Japanese flag and kept it handy. She felt that by

alternating clean banners every few months would prevent the

possibility of punishments for displaying a soiled one.

Florencia admired her mother even more after Lydia insisted on

plowing the fields with the men after sundown. The fact that the

woman was smaller could not deter her. With muscles rippling and

pantaloons drawn tight beneath her skirt, she pushed on through the rice

paddies. Her people were as family, and as long as she was fit to work,

not one child would go hungry for the sake of the enemy.

As often as possible, the women still had to gather fruits for the

Japanese along with their own. They moved swiftly beneath while

shaking the trees with long-handled poles. With a basket attached to

each tip they collected their yields without dropping and bruising them.

The group then cleverly stored the best for the village and for sale at

the back of the barn. All else that had fallen to the ground were set

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nearest to the structure’s heavy front door. The enemy, not knowing the

better was satisfied to take from those what they wanted.

Florencia was now well trained in all aspects of farming the

plantation, but as of late, Lydia felt compelled to broaden her education.

With enemy occupation the time had come for her to learn the basics for

survival.

The others agreed that their families would benefit by practicing

survival techniques, too. It would make the change easier if the time to

flee ever came.

Shortages sparked ideas for substitutes. Lydia prepared soap by

hand. She burned hay to ashes, dripped water through it, and filtered the
water. Then she boiled the cloudy liquid with coconut oil to produce a

cleanser that lathered well. Coconut milk and oil were already being

used to moisturize skin and hair, and everyone expected the jungle to

supply more as they needed it.

Lydia drew on her mother’s training and demonstrated that lack of

clothing need not be a concern either. The pineapple plant’s leaves

supplied fibers which could be woven into fabric. The bark of another

particular tree could be pounded to a sheet for cloth, and its fibers could

be stripped for threads.

Everyone knew or learned that bamboo trees were invaluable no

matter the size. Depending upon the diameter of a trunk, it could be

separated at the joints to form cups, jars, or narrow pails. Knives,

fishing poles, traps, river rafts, and all sorts of items could be crafted

from the bamboo. Besides the edibility of the bamboo shoots, the seeds

could also be used to stretch or replace rice supplies.

Plentiful fish and shrimp were also still easily caught from

freshwater swamps about the rivers.

 The people of course were familiar with wild mushrooms and tender

rattan or nipa palm meat, but discovered that certain flower petals and

insects could also add to food staples. Taste for the latter had to be

acquired but they were able to stave off hunger if necessary in the depths

of the jungle.

Lydia even thought to create enough clay jugs as storage containers

for animal fat. She knew her people would find it practical to use if

their kerosene supply ran out.

It was a serious time with every hand working the fields, but the

youngsters needed and usually found time for play.

So it was that Florencia and Carmen often perched high in the trees

along the road leading out of Santa Cruz. They had seen other friends

do the same and decided to copy them. From there they would pitch

coconuts or mangoes down upon unsuspecting farmers that drove past in

their carts.

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 The poor victims always rushed off in a panic with shouts to others

that the Japanese were nearby and going to get them.

This prank became the girls favorite until the day they nicked an

animal smartly in the rear with a pebble from their slingshot.

A troop of Philippine soldiers was coming through at the time and

several men rode on horseback. The instant the stone hit the

commander’s mount, which neighed, and reared up, the men swiftly

scouted about for signs of the enemy.

Florencia and Carmen muffled their giggles when the soldiers silently

signaled to one another.

The men muttered something about a stone having kicked up and

disturbed the one horse. Then they moved away, and the girls slipped

down to dash home.

“You saw for yourselves that the children were playing again,” griped

the commander. When his men chuckled, he couldn’t help but grin and

lead them on.

 By the summer of 1944, Florencia was still absorbing all the

information Lydia could fill her mind with when new company arrived.

Philippine guerrilla soldiers found the rolling hills three miles above

Santa Cruz a strategic location to set up headquarters and replenish

supplies.

Many lost or separated American soldiers joined the guerrillas. Also,

spy runners were positioned as lookouts at various points miles away.

Although the villagers were placed at greater risk, Lydia was

nonetheless hospitable. She provided food that would have otherwise

been taken by the enemy and stripped spare linens to rewrap healing

wounds.

To date, the Japanese were still unaware of Mr. English’ presence, but

his training and instincts brought him to the front with arrival of these

allies.

The enemy was losing and now retraced their invasion route through

the Cagayan Valley. Their thought was to delay the American advance

toward their own homeland. Santa Cruz was said to be a marked target.
Emergency evacuation, long-practiced, now was real. The Japanese

used cruel means to enforce obedience and respect for their presence

since the earliest occupation. This barrio’s residents knew they could

expect no mercy. Flight was the only solution.

It was still dark when the people gathered the provisions kept in

readiness for flight.

Mr. English growled his refusal to obey Lydia’s order to leave, for

this was the hour for which he had been trained. He, now in command,

disappeared into the forest.

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She and the others had to leave without him and feared it was the last

they would see him alive. They stopped on their way out only long

enough to dig up precious belongings. The site of their cache was

marked so only they could find it.

Florencia was watching them unearth their things when she

remembered her small clothing sack. “Wait for me,” she said and ran

back to the house.

It was too late for Lydia to stop the lithe, four-foot figure before she

streaked across the field.

Florencia was inside and back out of the house just as the first of the

hated and feared Japanese army arrived.

The guerrillas, now numbering about three hundred men including

American reinforcements, had little time to properly position

themselves. They were dug in about the farm, but they were confident to

engage the enemy.

The “peek-pok” sound of the Japanese rifles combining with guerrilla

gunfire startled Florencia.

She dropped flat on her stomach. On the yard’s slope, she

immediately saw that she was trapped between the two firing lines. She

thought, If I can just crawl under the house, I could run the long way

around back to Mamma. Her eyes darted to and fro.

 “Don’t move!” came one Philippine soldier. He lay in the brush

directly beside her. “You must lie still.”

The girl cupped her ears as he triggered a burst of bullets. Then she

squeezed her eyes shut when zips of metal seared past only inches above

her head. When she dared open them again, two Japanese fighters

dropped dead several feet before her. She gasped, her face kissed the

dirt, and she covered her head. Her thanks instantly went to God for

this unknown comrade who just saved her life.

All the while, Lydia and fifteen others managed to stay safely hidden

throughout the nightmare.

People from surrounding villages were running around and out from

the plantation. Amidst exploding ammunition their cries were echoed

by family members being separated and scattered from each other.

“I’ll wait for ‘Encia as long as it takes,” came Lydia. “Go on ahead;

save yourselves.’’

The others were frightened and deeply concerned but refused to leave
her behind.

For fourteen hours, from dawn to twilight, Florencia would have to lie

beneath sporadic gunfire. Each time a session appeared to be over, fresh

bullets sang, and in every direction she witnessed bodies drop.

Farm carts serving as combat shields were shot to splintered shreds,

and the chicken house was riddled with holes.

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The girl flinched when Lydia’s kerosene barrel exploded within the

barn.

In moments, several guerrillas fled out from the cover of the barn

after its back wall crackled with fire.

It wasn’t long before flames licking at the gates of the attached pens

sent pigs and goats running amok.

Florencia was overwhelmed by compassion for the animals that

charged their way to freedom. The chaos was unbearable. She held her

breath when the windows of Lydia’s house were blasted wide and

furniture was dragged about to barricade each entrance.

The girl’s senses were keen, and she believed she picked up on Mr.

English’ muffled snarls beneath the din. She squinted, but he was

nowhere to be seen. The dog was highly trained though, so she knew

the scent and sight of enemy blood had to drive him to fury. Sic’em,

boy! she silently cheered. Participants in the fighting later said some

animal had ripped out the throats of the majority of the enemy dead.

Some time during the day, the protective soldier rolled Florencia a

canteen of water to quench her thirst.

She immediately committed his face to memory. If the two ever

crossed paths again, and he was in need of help, she would not hesitate

to be his volunteer.

Night finally came before she dared roll on to her back. Her bladder

ached, and she felt stiff all over. When she looked to the stars, she

firmly decided that now was the time to do or die.

 The fifteen-year-old prayed for deliverance and bravely inched past

the house on her belly. No survivors seemed to notice, so she broke for

the woods. She would not look back and felt her heart would burst as

she ran full speed ahead.

Earlier, her people had been forced further toward the river but now

that she was clear and free, they joyfully caught her in their arms. They

each whispered their relief it was as if the enemy were mysteriously

blinded to her escape.

“Mamma, the place is a mess.”

“Don’t look back,” returned Lydia. She kept her daughter close

while everyone rushed further up the trail.

They knew the path by heart, and no one dared stop until they

reached the fork of the Siffu and Malig Rivers.

It was there that ten other strays joined them. Lila and other women

in the party were weeping.

 Apparently, Rosita Valdez fled with people from another village,

Antonio Pasqual, was shot and killed, and his father drowned while

trying to escape along the riverbank. It was not known whether Mrs.

Pasqual survived because she was nowhere to be found.

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Timing was crucial. If the Japanese were to make it around to the

north side of the farm, the group knew they would be spotted. They

immediately broke into groups to cross the Siffu in an abandoned canoe.

The children were too frightened to cry, and with wide eyes, they

clung to their parents.

Then in silence, everyone moved northwest through the dark

between the mountains and the Malig River.

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