Chapter 116: Anchoring Against The Wind
“It’s hung up, pull it up!”
“Slowly, don’t spill it!”
While talking, they saw on the Santa Ana’s port side, craftsmen standing on the deck, setting up a simple fixed pulley, pulling the rope to haul up a bucket of something like paint.
Lin Qian asked: “Is that tung oil?”
“Yes.” Mute Huang’s apprentice responded once, ran to one side, and carried over a bucket of tung oil.
The tung oil appeared yellowish-brown and viscous; as soon as it was lifted, a unique burnt smell wafted over, like the bitterness of scorched medicinal herbs in a pot.
Jose said delightedly: “Helmsman, this is good stuff.”
Europe probably had no tung oil, so Jose had only learned of tung oil’s existence after arriving at Nan’ao Island, which explained his excitement.
Basically, no one who ran ships in the Great Ming’s southeast was unaware of tung oil.
This stuff had extremely wide uses; as long as a layer was coated on timber, ropes, or ironware, it could waterproof, prevent rust, repel insects, resist corrosion, withstand heat, and resist acid.
One could say Great Ming shipbuilding heavily relied on tung oil; basically everything related to seagoing ships had to be brushed with tung oil before being installed on the ship.
For Nan’ao Island, tung oil was also an important strategic material.
If not for visiting the ship repair site today, tung oil would almost have been overlooked.
Lin Qian took a wooden strip and scooped up a bit of tung oil.
Xiao Jiu said: “Helmsman, be careful not to touch it; it’s poisonous.”
Tung oil had mild toxicity; otherwise, it would have no insect-repelling effect. Brushing a layer on wooden items made it harmless to humans after drying, but direct contact with tung oil was a different story.
Lin Qian asked: “How long can tung oil be stored?”
Xiao Jiu replied: “Raw tung oil, if stored well, can last one or two years; processed tung oil less than a year. This bucket is processed tung oil, freshly boiled from raw tung oil.”
Lin Qian thought to himself that he needed to quickly have Owner Hu procure one or two years’ worth.
Lin Qian scraped the tung oil off the wooden strip on the bucket’s edge, removed the wooden strip, and saw it covered with a yellowish-brown film.
In the sea wind, the film quickly dried and fused with the wooden strip as one.
Lin Qian discarded the wooden strip and asked: “How much tung oil remains on the island? Is it enough?”
“Master said the current inventory on the island isn’t enough to repair the galleon, but oiling and caulking seams are generally done last. After a while, Department Head Chen will buy new tung oil.”
Lin Qian nodded and asked some more things related to sail cables.
These sail cables looked like ordinary canvas and hemp rope, but they were actually made through many processes and could be considered high-end precision work in this era.
Especially the canvas; to make such a large piece of linen canvas withstand wind and rain, it was not as simple as casually sewing a couple of stitches.
In Europe, there was a profession called sailmaker who made a living sewing sails, and another called cable worker who made a living twisting cables; these two were just like the Great Ming’s ropemakers—genuine crafts with technical barriers.
That was why Lin Qian had Zhou Xiucai procure them together when going to Macau.
At dusk.
In Qing’ao Bay, fires were lit for cooking, and the cook stewed a pot of meat soup, filling the entire beach with sounds of swallowing.
But the repair schedule was tight; while the sky wasn’t fully dark yet, they could do more work, so no one hurried to eat.
Lin Qian also wanted to return to Nan’ao City while there was still daylight.
“Helmsman, eat before leaving?” Jose was deeply Sinicized and well-versed in Chinese politeness.
Lin Qian smiled: “Not eating; it’s hard to sail in the dark.”
With that, Lin Qian boarded the small boat he had arrived in and returned to Nan’ao.
The sky was fully dark when Lin Qian stepped onto the Houjiang Bay dock; his stomach was just hungry then, and the guards were probably the same.
Lin Qian planned to buy some Qi Lu Bing roadside to tide everyone over first.
Lin Qian had no utensils; he bought a few coarse porcelain bowls from the vendor and had the stall owner put the Qi Lu Bing in the bowls to distribute to the guards.
While picking the pancakes, Lin Qian chatted with the stall owner: “Uncle, you’re from Chenghai County?”
“Yes; heard Nan’ao Island was good for making money, so set up a stall.”
“More than in Chenghai?”
The stall owner laughed: “Much more than Chenghai—doubled at least!”
Lin Qian’s guards carried knives, but everyone on the island did, so it wasn’t unusual; plus Lin Qian looked easygoing with no airs, so the stall owner said more to him.
Though Nan’ao Island was isolated overseas, it shouldn’t allow earning so much more than on the shore.
Lin Qian understood inwardly that inflation was quietly taking effect.
His clerks, craftsmen, and laborers were all on high salaries, and the crew participating in operations casually got bonuses of tens or hundreds of taels of silver.
The island’s productivity was only so much; it would be strange if there was no inflation.
But there was nothing bad about it; it was precisely because of this inflationary silver that people were willing to risk dealing with pirates to come to the island for business.
Otherwise, with just Nan’ao Island’s meager local produce, the islanders would eat Boat Congee every day, his crew would have nowhere to spend, and they would compete to desert.
Though the Great Ming was a feudal society, there was still a big gap between feudal society and primitive society.
“Alright, sirs, take them!” The stall owner distributed the pancakes to the guards.
Lin Qian took one and casually asked: “What’s the surname of Chenghai’s newly arrived county magistrate?”
The stall owner was stunned: “A new county magistrate? When I go back, I’ll inquire for you, sir.”
Lin Qian smiled his thanks and took his leave.
It seemed Chenghai County had no new county magistrate in place yet, so Nan’ao Island could develop for a while longer.
On the way back, Lin Qian bit into a Qi Lu Bing and tasted flour fragrance, scorched fragrance, and a faint sweet fragrance.
Qi Lu Bing was a kind of stuffed white flour pancake with a bit of brown sugar and sesame fragments inside; it was fragrant, sweet, filling, and very popular among the people of Fujian-Guangdong.
This pancake had solid ingredients, all full white flour.
Lin Qian had eaten only half a pancake but already felt slightly full; eating a whole one would fill him right up.
It was now evening, with streets pitch black, lit only by roadside vendors’ lanterns.
Justice Department patrolling clerks could occasionally be seen on the streets; thanks to this, recent nighttime petty thefts had decreased greatly, and Nan’ao City’s security level had risen considerably.
Lin Qian held the Qi Lu Bing in his mouth and turned a corner.
He saw a brightly lit teaching stall placed in the middle of the road; the stall’s mister was holding a water-dipped brush, teaching people on a stone slab to write the “righteousness（righteousness）” character.
Five or six students sat at desks, holding twigs and following along by writing on sand trays.
Over ten people stood outside the stall, listening with great interest.
Lin Qian held the Qi Lu Bing and squeezed into the crowd for a look; he recognized the lecturing mister as Wang Hao, who had been delivering official gazettes to him recently.
Lin Qian ate the pancake while listening to Wang Hao lecture.
Wang Hao said: “The righteousness character: upper sheep, lower I.
Sheep kneels to suckle in thanks for mother’s grace—filial; horns curved and restrained—harmonious; sacrifices to heaven, earth, and ancestors use sheep as offering—auspicious.
Thus, one who abandons the small self for great righteousness is good.”
It was the first time Lin Qian had heard traditional Chinese characters explained this way, and he found it quite reasonable.
A nearby islander scratched his head: “Mister, is this the ‘yi’ of loyalty?”
Wang Hao gave an imperceptible sigh: “Yes.”
“Mister, if you’d said that earlier, I’d have understood.”
“Exactly; seafaring life emphasizes righteousness above all—this character we must remember well!”
Wang Hao looked up at the sky upon hearing this, feeling helpless as if playing a lute to a cow.
In any case.
The islanders’ enthusiasm for learning had been ignited.
The crowd stood in place and listened to Wang Hao lecture a few more characters.
During this, some people left, while new ones stood by to listen.
Wang Hao said to the standers: “Feel free to use the sand trays and twigs on the tables; everyone can sit and try writing.”
After he spoke, seven or eight people sat down at the desks one after another and took twigs to write.
Lin Qian finished the Qi Lu Bing just then and left satisfied.
Back inside the temporary house.
This house was a one-bright-two-dark three-bay structure, a typical southern folk dwelling: entirely wooden, with stone masonry wall bases, thatch roof, very low height, and compact layout.
Basically all houses on Nan’ao Island were this structure; the advantage was using local materials and simple construction.
The disadvantages were low comfort and poor protection against typhoons.
Building this way was also a helpless move due to insufficient bricks and tiles.
Fortunately, there was still a large open area south of Nan’ao City.
Lin Qian planned that once bricks and tiles were sufficient, later civilian houses would use a courtyard layout: main hall, gatehouse, plus east and west wing rooms, enclosing a courtyard structure with a central skylight well.
This layout was somewhat similar to the northern siheyuan; in the south, it was called four point gold.
Four point gold could also expand two rows of long houses to the east and west, called wing houses.
The wing houses and main house were connected by covered walkways, forming a complete large courtyard—this was the Fujian-south grand house.
Lin Qian had some knowledge of Chinese traditional folk dwellings; with enough building materials, even a large estate like Lin Mansion could be built.
Lin Qian entered the temporary house; the main hall was simply furnished with only basic table and chairs, bookshelf, washbasin stand, and such.
The furniture from the Santa Ana had been left in Qing’ao Bay—inconvenient to transport over; these were existing on the island and temporarily moved in.
Lin Qian returned to the desk, lit the White Worm Wax, opened the sea log, pulled out a list of bulk materials for Owner Hu to procure, and added tung oil to it.
At this time, someone reported outside the house: “Helmsman, Stonemason Chu is here.”
“Enter.”
Two men entered from outside; the leader was over forty, with dark skin, sturdy build, dressed in cloth clothes and hemp shirt—he was the island’s Stonemason Chu.
Following behind Stonemason Chu was an apprentice in his teens, full of youthful innocence and looking around curiously; the apprentice carried three wooden buckets filled with grayish-white paste.
“Sit.” Lin Qian said.
“I dare not; with the Helmsman’s command, this old man will reply standing.” Stonemason Chu said fearfully.
Lin Qian smiled: “It probably won’t finish in a moment; sit and reply.”
Stonemason Chu could not decline and sat down lightly; his apprentice knew the rules and did not sit with his master, standing to the side instead.
Lin Qian looked at the three wooden buckets the apprentice carried and asked: “This is the mortar, right?”
Stonemason Chu said: “Precisely; per the Helmsman’s order, this old man mixed these three buckets of mortar just this afternoon.”
“Explain in detail.” Lin Qian said.
Stonemason Chu had the apprentice place the three buckets of mortar on the ground and introduced them in order: “This bucket is lime mortar, not water-resistant, mainly used for interior walls.
This bucket is glutinous rice mortar: waterproof and firm—for major work, this is mainly used, though it’s a bit expensive.
This bucket is tung oil mortar, used for base coats.”
The base coat was the underlayer applied to wooden structures for anti-corrosion and anti-dampness, similar to brushing tung oil on planks.
These three buckets of mortar were equivalent to the Great Ming’s cement and paint.
Right now, Nan’ao Island was about to undertake major construction again, but key materials like bricks and tiles, stone, and tung oil were all choked off by the shore, so Stonemason Chu had been specially called today to understand this era’s building standards.
Lin Qian asked in detail about the mortar’s properties.
Stonemason Chu had been a stonemason for most of his life and knew mortars like the back of his hand; he answered the initial questions fluently.
The further along, the longer Stonemason Chu had to think, and many questions left him speechless.
After the questioning, Lin Qian had gained an understanding of the mortar; as a binder, Great Ming mortar could be said to have excellent performance.
Especially in toughness and durability, it was superior to modern cement.
Many ancient buildings stood for millennia without collapsing thanks to glutinous rice mortar binding.
However, in compressive strength and hardening speed, mortar was far inferior to cement.
The key technical difficulty in producing modern cement was the firing temperature, which required a stable temperature above 1,450 degrees.
Lin Qian asked: “Do you know about firing kilns?”
Stonemason Chu was stunned; he hadn’t expected Lin Qian’s question to jump so far. He thought for a moment and replied: “I haven’t fired any myself, but this old man has seen others do it.”
“When firing a porcelain kiln, how high can the furnace temperature reach?”
Stonemason Chu thought and said: “It can reach orange-yellow flame color, bright yellow.”
A 1,400-degree flame should appear bright white; this era’s furnace temperatures could not achieve that.
His carbon heat agent could produce over 1,000 degrees of high heat, but the reaction lasted too short to reach the stable temperature needed for modern cement firing.
Lin Qian sighed inwardly; sure enough, cement was too advanced for the era.
Fortunately, Lin Qian knew a homemade cement recipe—not as good as modern cement, but serviceable.
Lin Qian said: “I’ll give a mortar recipe; note it down.”
“Good.”
Stonemason Chu agreed verbally but was skeptical inwardly; glutinous rice mortar and lime mortar were handed down by ancestors for thousands of years with fixed ingredients and no room for change. But since it was the Helmsman’s order, he couldn’t refute his face and pretended to listen attentively.
“Take quicklime to a lime pit, slowly add freshwater, let it settle for several days to obtain lime paste.”
Stonemason Chu interjected: “Helmsman means the slaked lime method, right? This old man understands.”
Lin Qian nodded satisfied; quicklime released heat on contact with water and required great care in preparation—he had been about to add more on safety precautions, but now could skip it.
Talking to professionals was indeed convenient.
Lin Qian continued: “Take crushed brick, crushed tile, waste pottery; grind to extremely fine powder—rub between fingers with no gritty feel.
One part slaked lime, two parts pottery powder, five parts river sand. Spread flat on a wooden board, slowly add freshwater and mix, stir with a shovel until mud-paste consistency, ready for use.
This mud paste must be used up within two hours, or it will dry and skin over.
After laying or plastering, cover with wet straw mats or canvas and keep moist for at least seven days; preliminary strength after seven days, maximum strength after one month.”
This homemade cement’s greatest advantages were hardening speed and low cost.
Simply put, homemade cement allowed faster construction and was cheaper.
Note that the glutinous rice in glutinous rice mortar was a staple grain; the price of one shi of glutinous rice was far higher than one shi of lime, and there was a folk saying: “glutinous rice for tombs is extravagant excess.”
Thus, homemade cement was very suitable for ordinary houses, while glutinous rice mortar fit permanent fortifications—the two perfectly complemented each other.
After explaining the recipe, Lin Qian said: “Repeat it back.”
“Yes, take crushed brick, crushed tile…” Stonemason Chu could not repeat word-for-word, but the key recipe had no omissions.
Lin Qian was very satisfied and said: “Go make it; call me for the project inspection.”
“Yes.”
After Stonemason Chu left, Lin Qian pulled out the list again and added the key materials for homemade cement, such as lime, clay, and river sand.
……
As soon as winter month entered.
In Chaozhou Prefecture’s Chenghai County, two major events occurred.
First was heavy snowfall with accumulation of about an inch.
This was the Fujian-Guangdong sea area; years with snow were rare.
Elders said that in their childhood, Chenghai County had no snow for over a decade; only in recent years had there been more.
The second event was the return of Master Hu’s ship, who made Chaozhou Silk.
In Chenghai, this was an event comparable to snowfall.
Everyone knew that a few years ago, Master Hu had built a three-masted Da Fu Ship but dared not put to sea, letting it rot in port.
Such a gutless, unskilled man who only cheated weavers with usury had surprisingly succeeded at sea and returned loaded, arousing envy and jealousy in many.
In the wind and snow, many people surged to the dock to watch the big ship dock.
Small vendors took the chance to set up stalls and hawk wares; for a time, the dock bustled.
The docking ship was a Cangshan Ship with two painted red sails fully spread, bucking the northwest wind like an osprey skimming the sea surface: side to the wind, full speed approaching.
The wind and snow were heavy, blowing the Cangshan Ship slightly to port.
Compared to the Haicang Ship, the Cangshan Ship’s hull was more compact, speed faster; even at just over 300 paces from port, it did not drop sails.
The shore onlookers all felt tense watching.
Someone mocked: “The Chaozhou Silk Hu family’s ship manager really likes showing off; it’d be fun if it crashed straight into shore.”
“As the saying goes, the skilled are bold; dropping sails later allows docking closer to the pier, saving some towing fees.”
An oyster omelet seller chimed in: “This sir is right; I’ve sold oyster omelet at this dock for over ten years and seen countless dockings. Capable ship masters never drop sails outside 300 paces. The latest drop was even within 100 paces.”
The pancake seller finished speaking and glanced at the approaching ship.
The red-sail Cangshan Ship was already at about 230 paces, still with both sails fully spread, sailing full speed.
At this distance, the indistinct figures of ship workers on deck were vaguely visible; all crew members were at their duties, utterly calm.
The surrounding onlookers silently cheered in their hearts.
Fujian-Guangdong had little farmland; the people valued seafaring livelihoods, and everyone liked seaships. In moments, more people gathered at the dock.
Master Hu led over ten retainers, standing in the middle of the dock: chest out, head high, face glowing, feeling exceptionally proud.
On the pier, laborers were already waiting to tow cables.
Traditionally, galleons docked by dropping sails from far off for safety, throwing ropes for laborers to pull the ship to the pier side—this was towing.
Sometimes if too far, small boats first towed the big ship to the pier before throwing ropes.
Towing fees were charged by ship size and distance.
Some ship masters docked very close to the pier to save money, which greatly tested their ship-handling skills.
If they slipped up, hitting the pier or shore was embarrassing enough, but the whole ship might flood and sink.
Thus, seaship dockings had always been the most spectacular to watch.
Among the crowd, someone had already opened an underground book, betting on how close the ship could dock.
Currently, most bets were on 50 paces; there were also 40 paces and 30 paces.
Master Hu heard the betting calls and instructed his steward: “Take five taels of silver, bet 30 paces.”
“Yes.”
Moments later, the bookie shouted loudly: “Master Hu, five taels of silver on 30 paces!”
The surrounding crowd exclaimed in admiration again: truly, the skilled were bold.
The glow on Master Hu’s face brightened further; even wind and snow on his face felt not cold.
While the crowd chatted and laughed, the red-sail Cangshan Ship entered over 100 paces, sails still fully spread and bow not aimed at the pier—not like docking, more like grounding.
The oyster omelet stall owner also grew interested, staring unblinkingly at the approaching ship.
Betting calls and vendor shouts quieted as the Cangshan Ship drew nearer.
For a moment, the dock gathered hundreds but only the whistling wind and snow could be heard.
Under all eyes, the Cangshan Ship reached within 50 paces.
Still no sails dropped, nor ship turned sideways.
The oyster omelet stall owner muttered: “Could it be mooring perpendicular? Even for mooring, sails should be dropped.”
So-called mooring perpendicular was stopping vertical to shore, mostly for small boats.
These days, big ships stopped parallel to shore, called berthing.
Once a big ship moored perpendicular, setting out to sea again was very inconvenient; no one used it unless berths were full.
Now was peak Nanyang season, with plenty of berths at Chenghai dock; forced perpendicular mooring could only be for showing off.
In a blink, the Cangshan Ship was only 40 paces from the pier.
The dock crowd could already clearly see the Cangshan Ship’s sharp bow.
The Cangshan Ship still had no sails dropped, no turn, no aim at the pier—just charging straight at shore.
Dropping sails now was too late; it was about to crash.
Pier laborers hurriedly ran shoreward.
People facing the bow also scattered.
Master Hu’s joyful face froze; he painfully turned his head to look at Zhou Xiucai beside him, wondering if this man’s brother had gone mad.
Unexpectedly, Zhou Xiucai was also full of tension; Master Hu’s heart sank completely.
He had wanted to show his face before Chenghai County’s folks and elders today, but instead was about to suffer major embarrassment!
“Look!”
The crowd let out a cry of alarm.
Master Hu hurriedly turned; the Cangshan Ship had gone hard to starboard, dropped most of its sails, and was sailing against the wind on inertia.
The remaining strip of sail caught the northwest wind from above; the whole seaship emitted creaking wood sounds.
Against-wind sailing was unheard of; the dock crowd turned pale in horror.
Shore children stared dazed at the scene; the malt sugar in their hands dropped to the ground unnoticed.
The Cangshan Ship was sailing directly against the wind, speed dropping sharply.
Plus hard to starboard, the hull turned sideways; water resistance also reduced some inertia.
Less than 20 paces from the pier, the Cangshan Ship dropped sails, turned rudder, and dropped anchor in one seamless motion.
Under inertia, the Cangshan Ship’s port side aligned with the pier and slowly sidled over.
Until it stopped steady, with only five paces between ship’s rail and pier.
At such close range, no laborers were needed for towing; the onboard anchor man threw a knotted rope, looped it over the pier’s general post, and pulled the ship steady to the pier side.
Then the ship workers orderly laid the gangway, disembarked, secured the ropes, and unloaded cargo.
A stern-faced man disembarked and placed five taels of silver in the labor head’s hand: “Please unload the cargo.”
At this point, the onlookers finally reacted and burst into deafening cheers.
“Good!”
The crowd shouted cheers red-faced and excitedly, their expressions more thrilled than watching a 《Peony Pavilion》 excerpt play.
A burnt smell wafted; the oyster omelet stall owner looked down and found this pot of oyster omelet already charred black.
Master Hu strode forward proudly, smiling broadly and cupping hands: “Brother Bai’s ship-handling skill is truly admirable; this old man grew up in Chaozhou and is seeing against-wind sideways docking for the first time—eyes opened today.”
The crowd heard this and praised profusely, congratulating Master Hu on having a capable subordinate, a skilled ship manager, and so on.
Strictly speaking, Zhou Xiucai, Bai Langzai, and Master Hu were partners; Bai Langzai was not Hu Manor’s ship manager.
But Master Hu did not refute; when people congratulated him, he smilingly played along.
Zhou Xiucai and Bai Langzai also gave Master Hu full face; being called Hu Manor subordinates bothered them not at all—they yielded all the limelight to him, even stepping back half a pace when walking or standing so as not to stand abreast with Master Hu.
