Chapter 119: God’s Arrangement
The people on their ship were exactly dispatched by the Governor to negotiate with Great Ming government officials for cooperation in capturing Lin Qian.
Unexpectedly, after lingering in Guangzhou for several months, various documents were submitted over a dozen times, several hundred taels of silver were spent, and over a thousand cups of tea were drunk, yet the matter of cooperative capture showed no progress at all.
It also coincided with the Great Ming Emperor’s death, and the Guangzhou Maritime Trade Office nearly ground to a halt.
Juan was so angry he nearly spat blood; after secretly venting lengthy curses against the Great Ming officials, he returned to the ship and decided to personally head north to the Capital City to submit documents to His Majesty the new Great Ming Emperor.
According to Great Ming people, this was called lodging a complaint directly with the Emperor.
For this voyage, Juan had made full preparations.
He knew Great Ming merchant ships preferred coastal sailing, and sea bandits were mostly active along the shore, so he deliberately chose a deep sea route to avoid detection.
Before departure, he was still smug, thinking that with the Great Ming people’s crude navigation technology, no sea bandits could discover their ship.
Unexpectedly, before leaving Guangdong territory, they were met head-on by a fleet.
This was already no small shock for Spaniards who always looked down on Great Ming navigation technology.
Moreover, the lead ship of the enemy fleet was the stolen Santa Ana, and the fleet commander was Lin Qian.
This terrified all the Spaniards on the ship even more.
From a material perspective, the caravel’s small light cannons made it no match for the galleon.
From a spiritual perspective, was Lin Qian the devil sent by Satan to punish the Spaniards? Why was he haunting them so relentlessly, just like waiting specifically on their route?
In terms of superstition, sailors the world over were much the same.
After Juan announced the enemy ship belonged to Lin Qian, everyone fell deathly silent, and even the sail-changing and turning maneuvers were much slower than usual.
This delay allowed the enemy ship to close in a bit more.
Through the telescope, Juan could already see the enemy ship’s clear outline; apart from the three triangular sails at the bow, the rest of the hull structure was identical to the stolen Manila Galleon.
It was undoubtedly the Santa Ana.
Juan felt deeply uneasy but, as captain, could not show it, and ordered: “Course southwest, shake off the enemy ship’s pursuit!”
The First Mate loudly repeated the order.
Soon, the triangular sails filled with wind again, snowflakes slapping faces head-on without cease, sea wind mixed with spray stinging the skin painfully.
An hour later, the caravel had sailed far away.
Juan looked astern; the Santa Ana was noticeably farther, slightly easing his mind.
He glanced up at the sky; it had grown darker, with snow falling heavier.
Juan crossed himself, thanking God for protection—as long as full darkness fell, their chance of escape would increase.
“Lieutenant General, the enemy ship has turned,” the First Mate reminded.
Juan looked toward the enemy ship and saw the Santa Ana turning right rudder on the inky sea surface, vaguely exposing her port side.
“Heh.” Juan let out a mocking laugh.
The First Mate asked in confusion: “Lieutenant General, what’s so funny about this?”
Juan relaxed: “I’m laughing at the Great Ming people who know nothing of navigation and only dare coastal sailing. Now near evening, Lin Qian must think we’re heading west to shore, so he turns right rudder for early interception.”
The First Mate suddenly understood and laughed along: “Great Ming people do fear overnighting in the outer seas—a pack of cowards.”
One hand on the ship’s rail, sea wind flapping his clothes loudly, Juan shouted to the crew members: “Look, that pack of cowards has turned shoreward!”
Hearing this, the crew members gazed at the Santa Ana; tension vanished from their faces as cheers erupted.
Juan checked the sky again; light was fading further, complete darkness soon.
After dark, full speed in unfamiliar seas was highly dangerous, so to quickly evade the Santa Ana’s pursuit, the safest way was outer seas sailing—fewer reefs there, lower grounding risk, and could avoid the Santa Ana’s pursuit route.
He then told the First Mate: “Port slight rudder, turn south—don’t let the pirates notice.”
First Mate: “Port slight rudder!”
Sky darkened further; the Santa Ana’s silhouette gradually swallowed by gray-black, no longer distinct.
When the lookout shouted “enemy ship retreating,” the Spanish sailors cheered.
For safety, Juan did not immediately order the sailors to lower sails but maintained southerly course to ensure the Santa Ana was fully shaken off.
An hour later, the sea surface was pitch black; by dim moonlight, barely ten meters of surrounding sea visible.
For sailing, this visibility was no different from blindness.
Juan scanned northwestern darkness long with the telescope, confirming no movement, then sighed in relief and ordered the crew to lower sails.
The two triangular sails furled, caravel speed slowed gradually, drifting forward on inertia across the sea.
The First Mate ordered crew to lower lead line, checking if this sea area permitted anchoring.
Just as all relaxed, a dull thud came from the bow.
“Thud!”
The sound struck all Spaniards’ hearts like a heavy drum.
“Lieutenant General… seems… we’ve grounded!”
……
Three nautical miles northwest of the caravel, on the sea surface, Santa Ana lowered sails, lit ship lanterns, and proceeded slowly.
Chen Jiao loudly asked the mainmast lookout: “What do you see?”
Lookout’s voice carried afar: “Pitch black on sea… wait, ship lanterns—estimated over ten ships.”
This was outer seas; ships rarely passed, and even if they did, none sailed at night.
Approaching ships should be Lin Qian’s Sea Wolf-class Frigate fleet.
Lin Qian said gravely: “Train broadsides on approaching ships, prepare to engage, fire red flares.”
“Aye!”
Chen Jiao relayed; a crew member took flare to stern deck, ignited it, shooting over a man’s height of red light.
Moments later, an identical red flare rose from approaching ships.
Chen Jiao said joyfully: “It’s Old Seven and them, as expected.”
Short half-hour later, fleet neared and furled sails around Santa Ana.
Lin Qian: “Order fleet disperse: two ships per group, bird ships ahead, Sea Wolf ships behind, sail southeast along Ship City coral reefs searching for enemy ships. On sighting enemy traces, signal assembly with flares. If fruitless by tomorrow nightfall, return individually to island rally.”
Chen Jiao cupped fists in acknowledgment, then ordered crew lower small boat to relay orders.
Short half-hour later, fleet per Lin Qian’s orders paired up in column, sailing southeast.
Soon, ship lanterns vanished on pitch-black sea.
Too near coral reefs here; Lin Qian dared not risk Santa Ana, merely waited in place.
Next dawn, lookout’s loud shout shattered sea’s calm.
“Red flares!”
Lin Qian, sleeping in clothes, startled awake, strode to stern deck, indeed seeing red rocket light southeastern sky.
“Helmsman!” Chen Jiao hurried to deck, still dressing.
Lin Qian smiled: “Fish in net. Hoist sails, course directly east.”
“Hoist sails, course directly east!”
Orders passed level by level to rope men.
Crew roused from sleep, hastily stowed hammocks, rushed deck, worked sail cables.
“Northwest wind, port beam reach, tighten starboard sail cables!” Chen Jiao eyed wind flags, ordered.
Lei Sanxiang bellowed at crew: “All run faster, quicker!”
Short half-hour later, Santa Ana all sail cables set, sailed directly east.
Sun not risen, sea still pitch black; per Chen Jiao’s arrangements, crew posted at both ship’s rails and bow deck, eyes fixed on sea.
Coral reefs lay southeast here, Santa Ana directly eastbound—should be no grounding risk, but caution wise.
As sky ahead of bow warmed white, surrounding sea gradually cleared.
Hour sailed, then “pop” burst from starboard sea.
Lin Qian looked up, saw another red rocket burst, immediately ordered course to flares.
Dawn sun rose, sea shimmered.
“Pop!” Another rocket burst, but daylight now bright, flare indistinct.
Distant sea vaguely showed indigo blue waters.
Lin Qian ordered Santa Ana port rudder, southeast along coral reef edge.
Another short half-hour, faint gunfire audible on sea.
Lin Qian raised telescope toward sounds, vaguely spied several ship shadows distant sea.
Firelight flashed amid shadows.
“Pop!” Another rocket burst skyward.
Lin Qian ordered galleon full ahead; long sail later, within three hundred paces.
Five or six ships fiercely battling: outer three Sea Wolf ships in line, starboard to enemy, two surrounding bird ships closing, firing muskets.
Encircled was yesterday’s caravel.
Her two triangular sails now holed multiply, hull deep in water, hugging indigo blue sea periphery.
Caravel originally fast; now anchor-dragging slow, barely matching Sea Wolf-class Frigate speed.
One deck side, water ports rhythmically spurting; deck chaotic Spaniards, distant stray Spanish words audible.
“Boom boom boom…” Five cannon roars; splashes around Sea Wolf ships, one ship cabin struck, splintered wooden boards flying—but small bore inflicted no substantial hull damage.
Immediately, three Sea Wolf ships counterfired; rapid-fire cannons relentless, iron rain around caravel.
Hull multiply struck, splintered wooden boards skyward, sail newly holed, deck blood mist rose; Spaniards cowered behind bulwarks, heads down.
Bird ships and Sea Wolf ships closed to fifty paces, volley musket fire; instant bullet-into-wood nonstop, shattered wood chips wildly flying, stormlike enshrouding caravel.
Volley inflicted no kills but pinned Spaniards heads-down.
As volley faded, Spaniards peeked—another Franchi cannon grapeshot volley struck.
Caravel one bulwark struck, cannonball pierced; behind instantly blood-flesh sprayed, piercing screams.
“Helmsman, fire?” Chen Jiao asked.
Lin Qian shook head; caravel too near two bird ships—firing risked friendly hits.
Own side dominant anyway; good chance let Sea Wolf ship crew gain combat experience.
After another Franchi cannon and volley barrage, caravel starboard five four-pounder lizard cannons reloaded, fired anew.
Close range hiked accuracy; central Sea Wolf ship triple-hit—stern cabin corner collapsed, waterline two large holes, seawater surging in.
That Sea Wolf ship visibly freeboard sank, speed slowed, withdrew gradually; watertight bulkheads spared sinking.
Meanwhile, remaining Sea Wolf ships and bird ships guns blazed; gunners exposed beyond bulwarks iron-rain-shrouded.
One cannonball hit caravel deck powder keg, sparked, chain-exploded.
“Boom!”
Orange-red flash; caravel port black smoke-wrapped, hull heavy-struck, lurched starboard.
One four-pounder lizard cannon blasted five-six zhang high, sky-spun, sea-fell, huge splash.
Sea Wolf ships and bird ships guns unceasing into smoke; wood-crackling nonstop therein, enemy screams endless.
Finally smoke cleared; through bulwark breach, bloody corpse chunks littered around.
White flag protruded behind bulwark, waving air nonstop.
Lin Qian ordered: “Cease fire, board to accept surrender.”
Orders relayed; two bird ships oared forward, muskets ready, shouting Spaniards behind bulwark emerge.
Meanwhile aboard Santa Ana, Lin Qian had Jose signal surrender acceptance flags.
Moments later, surviving Spaniards emerged unarmed from hides, mustered at ship’s rail.
Lin Qian saw thirty-odd survivors, all grimy, some wounded.
Bird ships boarded, securely bound Spaniards, ferried to Santa Ana.
Lin Qian scanned kneeling captives: over ten Spaniards, rest Han ship workers.
“Voyage destination?” Lin Qian asked in Spanish and Han.
“Shuntian Prefecture.” Juan answered honestly; repeated defeats by Lin Qian too crushing, seeming God’s will—no resistance left.
“What for?”
Juan spilled identity, Governor’s commission, mission’s Guangzhou ordeals.
Lin Qian laughed wryly; thought own wanted notices plastered Guangzhou, yet Spanish mission ate months of closed door soup—truly bizarre.
Historically, Spaniards’ Great Ming coordination to capture pirate Lin Feng entailed even greater hassles.
Juan, history-minded, knew Great Ming officials’ ways, knew Governor couldn’t wait, resolutely headed north direct to Great Ming Capital City.
Unexpectedly narrow roads for foes, met Lin Qian again; God’s will, Juan accepted calmly.
Lin Qian queried Manila situation.
Juan replied Governor’s position dire; galleon loss reported Spanish crown, but distance vast, punishment pending.
By custom, crown likely dispatch new Governor; original Alonso then shipped Spain for trial.
Lightest sentence: sell land, strip nobleman title, plus jail.
Lost Manila Galleon originally Kameidi Shipyard-built; another rebuilt to fill shipping gap.
Useful info extracted, Lin Qian waved; Chen Jiao understood, coldly: “Lock ’em up.”
Crew dragged captives to cargo hold.
Juan struggled: “I’m nobleman, can pay ransom—two thousand pesos, no! three thousand pesos…”
Lin Qian unmoved; thousands taels silver meaningless to him.
Captured, no return this lifetime.
“Helmsman, searched from foreigners.”
Lin Qian looked; subordinate held three-four varying-length telescopes.
“My cabin.” Lin Qian smiled—timely telescopes.
Lookout reported: ships from south, northwest—likely others reef-searching.
Lin Qian ordered three Sea Wolf ships rally rest on-site; Santa Ana towed captive caravel, damaged Sea Wolf Seven to Nan’ao Island.
Afternoon, Santa Ana docked Nan’ao Island.
Lin Qian sent Juan etc. captives to prisoner camp guard; tasked Mute Huang dispatch shipwrights repair ships, Zhou Xiucai compute bonuses for participating three lead Sea Wolf ships, two bird ships’ crew members.
Huang Hetai bid Lin Qian farewell; Lin Qian escorted him to Shen’ao Port.
Matters handled, evening arrived.
Lin Qian deckward, stretched; caravel half-sunk, carpenters fixing wooden boards, ropemakers plugging seams with tung oil-soaked hemp rope.
Enjoying East’s advanced ship repair, this caravel fortunate.
Lin Qian spotted Mute Huang amid craftsmen, to nearby crew member: “Deliver two captured telescopes to Uncle Huang; have him replicate last sextant.”
Crew acknowledged, fetched telescopes, relayed to Mute Huang.
Lin Qian gazed afar: dock bustle rife, snack stalls’ aromas wafting far.
Crew returned, Lin Qian sent him buy Qi Lu Bing.
Crew obeyed, quick off-ship; soon ran back, cupped fists: “Helmsman, Qi Lu Bing stall absent today.”
“Oh?” Lin Qian mildly surprised; since Nan’ao City founding, Qi Lu Bing seller daily island, never missed.
But people have urgencies, perhaps delayed today—no more said.
……
Month’s end.
Fujian-Guangdong chill deepened; island cotton clothes stalls multiplied.
Today Master Hu’s first goods delivery since joining; Lin Qian rose early, awaited by ship’s rail.
Through winter haze, distant sea showed two-masted Cangshan Ship.
She late-night anchored Ma’er Ao, loaded goods, dark-sailed Nan’ao Island, Bai Langzai personally convoying.
Safe return sighted, Lin Qian relieved, roomward for breakfast.
Breakfast done, Zhou Xiucai knocked in, list-placed Lin Qian’s table.
“Helmsman, these this delivery’s goods.”
Lin Qian pointed oval table: “Hot tea there, Second Brother—warm up.”
Zhou Xiucai sat table, poured tea cup, hands-warmed thereon.
Lin Qian list-reading, asked: “Goods handover smooth?”
Zhou Xiucai: “Ma’er Ao remote, nighttime—no strangers, undetected.”
Lin Qian nodded; list myriad items: urgent bricks/tiles, lime, river sand, cloth, plus sundries—cotton, charcoal, farm tools etc.
Some off Lin Qian’s list—likely Hu Zhaoyuan, seeing cold snap, self-added.
Cheap items, yet signaled loyalty, island-mindedness—shrewd.
Lin Qian summoned Lu Zhou: list to Mute Huang, prioritize materials dry dock repair.
Lu Zhou acknowledged, withdrew.
Zhou Xiucai neared, bosom-cloth-pouch to Lin Qian.
“Right, Helmsman-wanted item.”
Lin Qian untied: thread-bound books—《Gentry Register》, 《Great Ming Code》, 《Wanli Palace Gazette》, 《Wanli Memorials Excerpts》, 《Imperial Ming Variant Records》, 《Chief Grand Secretaries since Jiajing》 etc.
All Great Ming current-affairs volumes: most folk-sold, some gentry-circled, Hu Zhaoyuan-sourced.
Southeast Coast thriving demanded Great Ming officials’ power workings grasped; these Lin Qian’s entry keys.
Zhou Xiucai rubbed hands: “Helmsman, room luxurious-looking but winter-cold; ashore better—have Old Huang build manor.”
Manila Galleon tropical perennial, captain’s cabin lacked insulation, charcoal basin sole heat—but fire-risk small.
Lin Qian shook head: “Manor useless now—all productivity, materials to dry dock construction; my charcoal basin fine.”
Next, Lin Qian, Zhou Xiucai discussed Hu Manor progress Chenghai County.
Mid-talk, crew knocked: “Helmsman, Stonemason Chu says cement mortar near-dry—view?”
“Go.” Lin Qian rose, idle today, perfect cement inspect; “Second Brother too.”
Escorts-clustered, ship-down to dock; vendors fewer.
Month to New Year, cold weather—most vendors island-shunned.
Lin Qian eyed Qi Lu Bing stall—empty still, asked around: “Qi Lu Bing seller absent how long?”
Escort pondered: “Since Helmsman last sent me buy—none seen.”
“Mm.” Lin Qian neutral, to escort: “Ask vendors: absent stalls? What doing?”
“Aye!” Escort departed.
Lin Qian party southbound island; cement wall at Guo Lao Mountain foot—natural granite quarry, most island stonemasons resident.
Wet straw mats now off cement wall: green-brick body exposed, half-finger-thick black cement betwixt.
Island’s twenty-odd stonemasons clustered before, expressions varied.
Lin Qian arrived, stonemasons parted; Stonemason Chu neared excitedly: “Wall early-month per Helmsman method, cement mortar-laid; old man privately tested—now iron-hard, as said.”
Great Ming glutinous rice mortar surface-dried month-only, strength cement-far-behind, full-set 5-6 months min, years even.
Cement mortar faster-dry, glutinous rice-far-cheaper materials; worldly-spread would quake Great Ming stonemasons’ trade—Stonemason Chu’s thrill justified.
Lin Qian calm: building designer daily assorted commercial concretes—Cement overly familiar.
Approached, eyed cement mortar hue; chisel from stonemason, joint-dug.
Experience-estimate: earth cement strength ~modern low-grade M5-M10 mortar.
Low-grade mortar poor compression; modern low-rise masonry/plaster—courtyard walls, partitions, yard walls, floor bases etc.
Load-walls: ordinary bungalows only.
Improvements galore: volcanic ash raw, clay/shale-fired, grind-finer, hot-mix, add plant ash/gypsum/egg whites, cure-longer etc.
Core: boost pozzolan reactivity, more calcium silicate hydrate.
Higher reactivity inevitably mass materials-procured, earth kilns-built, labor-invested etc.
Simply: no process instant—time accumulates.
Impatient? Massive silver.
Current juncture, M5-M10 cement mortar ample.
