The time passed and after more than a year I was about to become a mother.

Andres
Bonifacio temporarily moved me to my parents' house where I had been born, and there, too, our
eldest child saw the first light of day, a boy, whom we christened also Andres Bonifacio and
whose godfather was Pio Valenzuela. After two months, I returned to Manila, and before the end
of the year we were victims of a fire in Dulong Bayan, which occurred on Holy Thursday, and
caused no little trouble. We were forced to move from one house to another until one day our
child died in the house of Pio Valenzuela, on Calle Lavezares, Binondo. In this house we lived
together for a while; then we moved to Calle Magdalena, Trozo. By this time, a close watch on
the Katipunan was already being kept by the Spanish government.

Having extended (the association's activities) to all parts of the Archipelago so that some
of its secrets had already been divulged, we returned to Caloocan. But because we were closely
watched, most of the men, including Andres Bonifacio, after a few days left town, and then the
outbreak began with the cry for liberty on August 25, 1896. I was then with my parents, but when
I learned that I was about to be apprehended I decided to leave and did so at once at eleven
o'clock at night, with the intention of returning to Manila under cover, through the rice fields to
Loma. I was treated like an apparition, for, sad to say, I was driven away from every house I tried
to enter to get a little rest. But I learned later that the occupants of the houses I visited were
seized and severely punished and some even exiled-one of them was an uncle of mine whom I
visited that night to kiss his hand, and he died in exile. My father and two brothers were also
arrested at this time.

My wandering continued and by four o'clock in the morning I reached Lico Street, now
Soler, and went to the house of an uncle of mine, Simplicio de Jesus, sculptor, but near a police
station, and after five hours I left there in a carromata to look for a safer place to live. I found a
refuge in Calle Clavel and there, with my sister-inlaw, Esperidiona Bonifacio, I stayed quietly for
a month under the name of Manuela Gonzaga. Being a member of the Katipunan, however, and
hearing the country's call, I decided to come out of hiding and left for the mountains on
November 1, 1896. My husband met me at San Francisco del Monte, and we proceeded to the
historic mountain of Balara where the sons of the country had their headquarters, between the
towns of Caloocan and Mariquina, from which place we entered Cavite province.

My second husband is Julio Nacpil. He was secretary to Andres Bonifacio and the one
given command of all the troops in the north, which put an end to the fighting in Montalban and
San Mateo. We met again as he retired to Pasig, fell in love with each other, and were later
married in the Catholic Church of Quiapo, December 10, 1898. The Philippine revolution at an
end and peace restored, we made our home with the well known philanthropist Dr. Ariston
Bautista and his wife, Petrona Nacpil. With us also lived my mother-in-law, and brothers and
sisters-in-law. Together we lived like true brothers and sisters, born of the same mother. By my
second husband I have eight children, two of whom, Juana and Lucia, are now dead, and six,
Juan F., Julia, Francisca, Josefina, Mercedes, and Caridad, are living. They were all sent to
school by Dr. Ariston Bautista, who also made it possible for my son (Juan F.) to complete his
studies, and who treated me like a daughter and sister while he lived.