December 2, 1944

A spirited exchange of fire woke us up last night and alarmed the whole neighborhood of these mountains from exactly 1:00 to 3:00 A.M. The discharge of rifles, pistols and machine guns thundered through the valleys and hills, resounding with the echoes of a real battle.

We suspected the aggressors to be the guerrillas of the surrounding mountains who, on orders of some over-zealous subordinate officer, wanted to make a show of force. Thousands of armed but peaceful rebels roam these mountain ranges, awaiting orders from the High Command in Leyte to commence the offensive. Some of them whom we chanced upon in the streets, revealed to us the names of their leaders and commands, and estimated that their force which was augmented daily with new recruits from La Union and Ilocos was somewhere between 30,000 to 40,000.

A few weeks ago, a team “kidnapped” the wife of Pres. Osmeña in this city and escorted here to one of their hideaways where she stayed until she could depart for Leyte—historians did not divulge the route taken—where she joined her husband. We learned later on, however, that Doña Esperanza stayed with the guerrillas until she was brought to Dagupan after the landing of her husband in Lingayen.

Everyday we hear firings of guns of all calibres, but never have we experienced anything like the one of last night. Because of this, the police searched all houses. Some families were given four days to leave the city, others were given a month. The Army did this on the pretext that the city was overpopulated and the shortage of food has become alarming. These two extremes met on a tangible reality. That there exists a conflict between them was the fault of the civil and military authorities: the civil authorities are at fault for their insistent campaign to depopulate Manila, inviting them to this mountain retreat and guaranteeing their existence and subsistence; the military authorities are to be blamed, on their part, for posting bandits rather than sentries at all entries and thoroughfares leading to Baguio. These hungry hounds, on the pretense of looking for arms and guerrillas, search those who are transporting foodstuff, seize whatever catches their fancy, sometimes partly, and sometimes wholly.

Consequently, the people transporting food have to turn back, and the market stalls are empty. The soldiers confiscate arbitrarily, refusing to recognize the passes issued by the High Command or by Major Harada, the Chief of Police of Baguio. They laugh scornfully at those issued by civilian authorities. They would confiscate all the clothes of an assemblyman, rob another of his cigarettes and liquor, notwithstanding protests and in spite of the pass signed by Pres. Laurel and General Yamashita. What has happened to the much-lauded Japanese discipline? What is surprising is the speed with which the Philippine Constabulary is learning these bad habits.

November 26, 1944

While the planes continue unloading their fury upon the nerve of the Japanese defense—I admit that I was unable to put down in detail the daily happenings about the bombardments here in Baguio—these winged clouds pass by without greeting us a bit: they despise us. While the Manila populace, before they could enjoy a respite of a clear atmosphere, have to run for cover under any shelter, convinced that in the end, a rain of bombs and bullets would fall both on the just and the unjust, causing not a few deaths.

Here, on the contrary, we are living in Limbo. We pass our time guessing their point of departure and their unloading, following them with our fingers, our eyes, and when they are out of sight, with our hearing. They always emerge from the East as black spots, as if coming from the distant Pacific, flying almost simultaneously like a swarm of bees. They pass over our heads and disappear among the clouds, over the Gulf of Lingayen. Then comes the rhythmic thunder… boom… boom… boom… like the heavy pounding of a giant mallet deadened by distance. Rarely can the buzzing of the engines be clearly distinguished as they fly hidden behind the clouds.

November 16, 1944

The Military Police of Baguio is not far behind that of Manila in neronian cruelty. A few days before we arrived, they did something which filled the inhabitants with fear.

A month ago, two Spanish nationals—Fr. Aniano González and Paul Burgalés—together with Mr. Valles, a resident of Baguio for half a century now, were arrested and imprisoned. We don’t know why. Fr. Aniano, after 15 days of torture, was released in such a debilitated condition that he had to be brought to a hospital. The Sisters of Charity, at a great sacrifice on their part, sent him a hearty meal at the prisons, but the guard devoured it in the presence of the hungry victims. With blood transfusion and the solicitude of the good Sisters, he started to recover. When he was feeling well, he was imprisoned again. After a few days, the Military Police told the Sisters that the priest was dead and his body was in the funeral parlor. They were allowed to see his livid body, but they were warned against telling that the priest died in prison.

Mr. Valles suffered equally unspeakable tortures. Among others, they burned his body with an electric torch and he died in the hospital amidst horrible sufferings, his broken body falling into pieces.


November 15, 1944

Five hundred planes attacked Manila furiously last Sunday. The pro-Japanese propagandists tried to attribute these bombings during these festive days to the Americans’ attempt to prevent the faithful from going to church. The anti-Japanese thinkers stick to the idea that it was instead to ensure that workers and employees would not be victimized. As the radio announced, bombs were dropped in almost all district of Manila. Among the buildings destroyed were the Archbishop’s Palace, the Apostolic Delegate’s residence, the house of the Guevarra’s where a number of known persons were killed. Eyewitnesses recounted how the bombers swooped down and flew below the level of the roof of the Post Office building and machine-gunned the boats anchored at the Pasig, together with a column of soldiers marching through the Quezon Bridge.

November 7, 1944

Evacuees from Manila told us that last Sunday, the 5th of the month, was a record peak in the number and intensity of bombings. From sunrise to sunset some ten waves of bombers sowed their explosives over predetermined targets. A dozen pairs of ships were among their victims, aside from various gun positions. Yesterday, the 6th, was an exceptional day. It was the first time that the Curtiss effected nocturnal bombings, two hours before dawn. One of the trucks in our convoy was able to escape, although riot completely unscathed, a furious bombing over the airfield near Mabalacat.

Baguio, November 6, 1944

I decided to come up to Baguio, partly for reasons of health, and partly to lessen the burden of the Seminary community. Food shortage in Manila has reached alarming proportions, and as I am unemployed by force of circumstances, I am more of a burden than a help. (I have to confess, however, in foro interno, that the nervousness caused by the bombings has a lot to do with my decision.) I accepted the invitation of two families—that of Tomás Morató and that of Mr. Pratts, who, with their whole families, organized a caravan of 60 persons in three cars and six wagons loaded with utensils and supplies. The trip, even in these tempestuous times, was a pleasant one, full of exciting adventures.

We left with the group of Mr. Pratts on October 31, composed of three wagons and a car. Not knowing that the Philippine Constabulary outpost in Balintawak has been reinforced with Japanese police, we passed without stopping. The first three vehicles were able to go through in spite of the pointed guns of the sentry, but the last one had to stop when the Japanese sentry was about to fire at it. The outpost officer shouted and threatened the passengers, slapped the driver three times on the face and ordered the examination of the luggages and the search of the owners, who were ordered to line up to be slapped on their faces. Mr. Pratts, on learning what had happened, turned back and showed the papers authorizing the trip, thus saving the passengers, including Father Sádaba and the famous Spanish comedian, González Anguita, from the slaps.

After two hours of delay, the convoy proceeded without further incidents. Activities went on as usual in Bulacan, we noted. Pampanga was desolate, with abandoned fields and empty towns. There were very few people in the street aside from the military, and the houses were uninhabited, except those occupied by the Japanese. Families who were able to evacuate had gone to Manila, Baguio or to towns far from the main thoroughfares. First they were driven away by the Communists, then by the marooned troops, and now by the bombings. During this three-day journey we observed that Pampanga has remained the most desolate among the town of Luzon.

We arrived at the Bamban River on the boundary of Tarlac. We found that the bridge had been swept away by the strong current. As the night was fast approaching and we did not dare encamp at night in the ghost town by the road, we decided to spend the night in Minalin, a town eight kilometers from San Fernando where a friend and a countryman of mine, Fr. Daniel Castrillo, was the parish priest. We were thinking that we could take the Nueva Ecija Road on the following day, and since we made a complete turn, we would be hitting the Baguio road in Tarlac. We did not consider the hosts, namely the guerrillas.

Fleeing from Scylla (the Japanese), we ended up on Charybdis. Hardly had we set forth on the soil of the open neighborhood which was awed by such an usual caravan and had not seen a motor vehicle in many months, when a guerrilla contingent came to the convent to investigate what kind of guest we were.

Satisfied with our innocuous characters, they guaranteed our safe stay among them. Everyone, including the guerrillas, respected Fr. Daniel, who had given away almost all of his belongings and provisions to help those who are in need.

They asked us for paper and a typewriter ribbon for use in transcribing the orders, notices and communications they received by radio. They told us that in one of the last air raids, an American pilot bailed out of his damaged plane, landed near this town and was harbored by the guerrillas. The first thing they salvaged was the radio transmitter and receiver.

After the first group of guerrillas, a second group from another town came. Then another, and still another, until almost all groups from the different parts of the whole province had paid a visit during the whole night. The first groups were courteous, the others were rather aggressive. We were surprised at how fast the news of our arrival had spread. Fr. Daniel explained to us that the guerrillas had a well-organized system of espionage, runners and network. They are now unified and better-disciplined after the purge of radical and undesirable elements who, in the past, had been committing atrocities. Such atrocities are no longer being committed now, or if ever, very infrequently. They collect the harvests, either from the farms or from the warehouse, leaving the owners with two or five sacks of rice for planting anew. In a place near Minalin, several thousands of young men equipped with rifles, have assembled for training. The Japanese are masters of the principal roads, but the towns and barrios far from the roads are controlled by the USAFFE. As of now, each group respects the others in armed peace. Officials of the national government, the mayors and the constabulary are acting like the three proverbial monkeys. They see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil.

The first group of guerrillas who came to visit us wore medals and crucifixes around their necks. Other waves that followed had their guns strapped on their shoulders. Some were aggressive and rude, who wanted to have the whole caravan in hostage, together with the vehicles and baggages to bring them to the mountains. Fortunately, the rest of the guerrillas objected, especially those from the town, and so we were spared an unpleasant and unfortunate fate.

Someone smelled that Mr. Pratts had some arms. And because he could not deny it, Mr. Pratts proposed to enter into a gentlemen’s agreement with them: that he would place the two pistols on the table and they would choose the one they liked. And so they did. One of the commanders—that was how the guerrilla chiefs were called—placed his hand over one pistol and another commander placed his hand on the other pistol. When Mr. Pratts objected, they replied, “Guerrilla tactics, sir.”

After spending a sleepless night due to the continuous visits, we decided to leave at dawn before the guerrillas could notice our departure. But the town guerrillas came and cautioned us against taking the Nueva Ecija road. Their comrades from Mexico and Arayat would be waiting for us and could hold us in bondage. We asked them to accompany us, but they said that they did not have authority to impose themselves on other guerrilla groups who they described to be savages.

They insisted that we return to Manila. The town Mayor, fearful like a Nicodemus, approached us and made the same suggestion. We decided it unwise to proceed considering the danger to which we would be exposing the women, and we returned to Manila restless, hungry and besieged by the military police and by the air raids.

The search at Balintawak was a meticulous as it was vexatious, but we were spared the caresses on the face.

Three days later, armed with passes from Minister Recto and the Chief of the Military Police of Quezon City, we embarked on our second trip, this time in a processional of ten cars and trucks. Our arrangement was that once we had passed the Japanese line, we would proceed, each on his own. The passes, however, proved to be powerful talismans in appeasing the fury of the watchdogs who guarded the approaches to the city.

We arrived, unobstructed, at the Bamban River, whose bridge has not yet been repaired. The current had subsided and we could cross it. But only after waiting for two hours in the middle of the river, to give way to the interminable processions of army trucks. I could not tell if the sun scorched as much in the Sahara.

On making the ascent to the river bank, we hit upon a rock with a bang. The engine broke down. We were stranded at the edge of the compound of the Bamban Sugar Central, in company with a Japanese sentry who, with a sullen and grimacing face, ordered us to keep our


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We were resigned to wait the whole night for any of our companions whom we had left behind, some of them limping, others with their engines jetting out and being operated on by mechanics.

A soldier who was occupying a nearby house approached us, more out of curiosity than charity. We showed him our pass which he read and brought to his officer. The latter hurriedly came and reproached us for not having shown it to him earlier. He said he would take us to the hotel and organize a feast, with a banquet and dancing. We had no way of refusing his invitation, in spite of the fact that we did not feel like being treated to a feast by Japanese within sight of the guerrillas, who were surely in town. In a last-ditch attempt, Mr. Pratts tinkered with an unexpected piece in the engine, and it suddenly started. We left doubly glad.

A kilometer before Camp One at the entrance to the Baguio Road, we had to pass five check point. Soldiers with bayonets awaited us at each outpost. They accosted us, looked at the magic pass, and allowed us to go through. However, we were told at Camp One that the road was closed, and so we passed the sleepless night there. Three of us priests in the car of Mr. Pratts got into one of the trucks which had just arrived, leaving the car of the Pratts family. There, the full moon above us failed to evoke poetic fantasies; rather it brought back thoughts of the bombings and landings.

Unable to distract our hearing or deviate our imagination from the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, the monotonous murmur of the streams, the whisper of the breeze, we went through a sleepless night.

Decidedly, I did not count either as poet or as a guerrilla fighter. Hardly had the Japanese sentry shouted “Take it away”, and we were on our way on Kennon Road. At each corner and on every bridge, we were stopped by sentries who poked their guns at us, asking for cigarettes when they found that we brought nothing worth confiscating. They seemed more like highway robbers than guardians of security. Our short odyssey ended at mid-morning on the Dominican Hill in Baguio, where we intended to stay around until the final reconquest of Luzon, if the actual lords are going to permit us.

October 29, 1944

The press proclaimed in bold lines: “American Bombing in Leyte Ceases”.

“In the face of a terrific Japanese attack, the American fleet had abandoned the landing troops which are facing complete annihilation. American forces in the Pacific have been completely destroyed and Manila is going to be spared attacks for a long time.”

I was reading these lines this morning when, without previous warning, American planes came within visible altitude, dropping their bombs on their targets on Manila Bay. The people who are getting to be more hopeful are comparing what the Japanese are claiming and what is actually happening. Obviously, what was annihilated was the Japanese fleet, and the Imperial Air Force has been left without wings.

Today is Sunday, and the UST Chapel was full of devotees. The sermon started just when the bomb explosions were loudest, the pounding of anti-aircraft shots was most resounding and the gloomy staccato of machine guns was most frightening. Many of the faithful were feeling uneasy, glancing towards the door with one foot forward. The preacher, calmly and cooly, exhorted the people to stay in their seats as they were safe within that sacred place. The Mass—a High Mass—went on and the choir continued singing to the accompaniment of the Celestial concert outside.

Later, everybody ridiculed the Tribune editorial which promised peace and a sky free from attacks. It was a known fact that when the newspapers predicted a pleasant time, based on Japanese victories, the American planes—which were supposed to have fled or been destroyed—came attacking with greater intensity.

Expecting us to bite hook, line and sinker, the Tokyo propaganda announced naval victories of unprecedented magnitude. According to the Daihon-ei, from October 12, that is, the battle of Taiwan, to this date, the Americans had lost 49 aircraft carriers, 15 battleships, 26 cruisers, 7 destroyers, 29 unidentified ships, 78 transports, 19 landing crafts—a total of 235. Reportedly, more ships are being sunk, more planes being shot down and Americans being killed. For all the arms, munitions and machinery that the Americans could manufacture, the Japanese propaganda is manufacturing more in bluffs—the kind which nothing could excel in self-contradiction and incredible absurdity. It would be interesting to confront these allegations of the Daihon-ei to the facts of history, this advocate of eternity which usually, if not always, avenges itself against the official propagandists of today who do not look beyond the present fleeting moment.

In view of the fact that the air strategy employed by the Japanese in the first days of the war seems to have fallen into disuse, the propaganda office of Tokyo has launched a laudatory campaign for the Kamikaze contingent, the suicide group of airmen who dive with their planes on the target.

A few days ago, the officer who is occupying Letran paid me an unexpected and unexplained visit. In his broken English he told me, “Now we have very hard fight. But we cannot lose. Now no more harakiri. We smash the enemy.” He was the same officer who, sometime earlier, had told me in fatalistic tones, “I know that I shall die with Manila.”

It’s hard to tell whether the Japanese have changed strategy or they are prepared to kill and be killed, for which reason the soldiers are being assigned the task of spreading this information, in the hope of infusing fear and terror among the enemies.

The press and the radio are driving us crazy with the big talk about the suicide squad. Either they are trying to duplicate the German V-1 or V-2, or to explain the destruction they wrought on the American fleet in the Pacific, since their own fleet has failed to show up after the battle of Leyte and Eastern Luzon, in spite of their claims of resounding victory. So many things need to be explained.

October 26, 1944

The soldiers are commandeering horses, calesas, bicycles and push carts, and the people are forced to hide them. As a consequence, there is an even greater lack of transportation in Manila. This is a sign that the Japanese are running short of motorized vehicles. The trucks which they had confiscated at the start of the war are reduced to junk. They are now willing to pay ₱200,000.00 for an automobile of a reputable brand in running condition, and ₱400,000.00 for a good truck. The only cars moving about are those which are being used by the officers and ministers. There are many other cars, but their owners have dismantled them, hoping to drive them around again when the Leyte invaders arrive.


Private trucks are very few due to lack of fuel. A trip to Baguio costs from ₱50,000 to ₱70,000.

Some marine officers who were looking for hospital equipment told us that they received notice from Tokyo of the suspension of forthcoming supplies and medicine, due to lack of means of transportation. And this, in spite of the brilliant naval victories which the Japanese report that they are achieving in Leyte and east of the Philippines.

Due to lack of transportation and to air raids, the food problem is becoming acute. Rice costs ₱4,000 to ₱5,000 a sack, if it is at all available. Bananas are sold at ₱3 to ₱4 each, eggs at ₱10 or ₱12, a kilo of camote at ₱40, a kilo of meat at ₱150. People are opting for carabao meat, as it costs only ₱110. Mongo, corn and beans are as scarce as rice. In short, prices soar with each air raid. Hunger is widespread in Manila, and the aged, women and children dying of starvation are a common sight. All are praying to God to shorten this period of transition.

October 24, 1944

Some twenty planes made a thunderous attack over Nichols, catching the guardians of the city unaware. They did not hit as accurately as on the first day.

In San Pedro, Makati, bombs were dropped off-target. A boat in Manila Bay was bombed several times but it remained firmly afloat.

A Japanese official attributed this poor hitting precision to the fact that the pilots were Canadians, not Americans. That was a consolation for the Imperial Air Force which had already lost supremacy of the air in the Philippines since the first day.

A good part of the Japanese officialdom is gradually being convinced, not only of the possibility of losing the war, but also of the improbability of winning it. The troops are a small ignorant herd who, upon landing on this soil a few months ago, were asking if they had embarked in Australia. A number of officers are worried about being forced to commit harakiri should they lose this last battle. One Catholic among them, on being advised that it was prohibited for him to commit suicide, remarked that he and his family would be dishonored and could no longer live in Japan.