Chapter 713 - Officials and Gentry
To address the shortage of soldiers and cannons, Li Xijue suggested at the meeting that besides ordering Foshan and other foundries to "work day and night," they could also have nearby blacksmith shops jointly cast cannons. Additionally, they might borrow pieces from the Portuguese. As for manpower, they could recruit Chaozhou toughs, valued for their ferocity and willingness to fight. Within half a month, they could assemble at least ten thousand men.
But Li Fengjie showed no interest in his proposal. Though hiring militia was somewhat cheaper than recruiting regular soldiers, ten thousand men at once would still cost considerable money. And recruiting from Chaozhou—by the time they assembled everyone and transported them to Guangzhou, travel expenses would add up to another large sum. Li Fengjie had no intention of spending that money. Wang Zunde's Lingao expedition had already depleted much of the provincial treasury.
Li Fengjie was not opposed to hiring militia—quite the contrary, he was extremely enthusiastic about it. Hiring militia was a business rich in opportunities for profit. Militia were temporary hires, disbanded when the job was done. The actual number present at camp, the wages paid to each man, spending on rations and salt money—all offered enormous room for manipulation. Countless men had made fortunes from a single militia-hiring operation.
He insisted on hiring locally—specifically, the Tanka boat-dwellers of the Pearl River banks. They were water people who made their living from the river, either as boatmen or fishermen, intimately familiar with the Pearl River system. Li Fengjie believed employing them as water militia gave him unique advantages of timing and terrain.
His other high-sounding justification was: "At this critical juncture of crop-head defense, we must fear they'll be enticed to serve as traitors, ferrying goods for the enemy. Where profit beckons, people inevitably rush. Better to employ them ourselves: one more water militiaman for the government means one fewer bandit for the enemy on the seas."
"This is the strategy of removing fuel from beneath the cauldron!" Li Fengjie said smugly. "Let traitors and crop-heads slaughter each other. Use villainy to control villainy—use poison to attack poison."
Li Fengjie's words contained both private and public motives—not purely self-interested. Intelligence reports from just days ago had mentioned crop-heads "recruiting waterborne traitors" on the islands outside the Pearl River Estuary. The rootless Tanka boat-people, expert swimmers intimately familiar with the Pearl River system, had thus become his chief concern.
The government had never obtained an accurate count of the Tanka and boat-dwellers living on the Pearl River—probably no fewer than tens of thousands. If the crop-heads enticed them to "serve as traitors," the consequences would be severe.
Li Xijue could not refute his logic. "Economizing expenses"—that argument proved unbeatable in any dynasty. But he still muttered: "The crop-heads' combat power is formidable. A rabble can hardly match them."
At this point He Chengzong interjected: were the Chaozhou recruits somehow not a rabble?
Li Xijue had no answer. Never mind such temporary militia—even the government's regular troops served no purpose against the crop-heads. Thinking this, he silently sighed and said no more.
Li Fengjie decided to first hire five thousand militia. Depending on the situation, he would hire five thousand more. This would give him ten thousand water militia on call. Water militia excelled at boating and swimming. They might not be able to fight naval battles with the crop-heads, but they could manage harassment tasks like arson and scuttling ships. In any case, water militia were temporary laborers with no official designation—minimal cost. A few more casualties would not strain the Guangdong treasury.
At current rates: each water militiaman received two taels monthly, including rations and salt money, plus a one-time settlement allowance of two taels. Before battle, additional bonuses would be given.
This silver, of course, would not come from the Guangdong treasury. Following traditional official thinking, now was the time for the people to "contribute money and effort." The poor would serve as militia; the wages would fall on the powerless but wealthy—specifically, the merchants.
Following the advisors' plan: militia expenses including three months' wages, rations and salt money, settlement allowances, and various miscellaneous public expenditures totaled 120,000 taels, to be divided among Guangzhou's three major merchant groups—the ocean traders, salt merchants, and Chaozhou merchants. Funding for emergency cannon-casting would be "contributed" by Foshan's smelting merchants—totaling ten thousand taels.
As for the boats needed by the water militia and urgently required to replenish the navy's warships, Li Fengjie similarly followed this thinking, ordering the requisitioning and sealing of Pearl River vessels for use.
Thus, following the principle of "spend less, accomplish more," the various Guangzhou defense policies were arranged and implemented. No one objected; each went off to handle their assignments.
After everyone departed, Li Fengjie kept He Chengzong behind to specifically handle the "solicitation" of donations.
The targets of solicitation, naturally, were not the "Three Merchants"—since they were already contributing a large sum for militia, matters had to be kept in proportion. The new solicitation targets were other industries plus the landlords and wealthy gentry near Guangzhou. In Li Fengjie's view, they too should contribute something. Defending Guangzhou meant protecting everyone's lives and property. Otherwise, when the crop-heads came, everyone would be destroyed together and nothing would remain.
"Your Excellency!" He Chengzong said, puzzled. "Though the treasury funds are limited, the expenses for hiring militia and casting cannons are already being raised from the merchants. To solicit more donations again seems..."—implying: don't be too greedy, boss.
"This sum of silver, sir, is for the final contingency." Li Fengjie spoke softly. "Right now we're preparing for war. But what if we lose..."
He spoke quietly, but the meaning was clear. He Chengzong suddenly understood. If they lost and the crop-heads reached Guangzhou's walls, the only way to make them quickly withdraw would be tribute money—and tribute money required substantial silver.
He Chengzong bowed. "This student understands."
Li Fengjie nodded slightly. "Go handle it. The reasons behind this need not be shared with outsiders."
"Yes, yes."
A single-masted sailboat, its much-patched sail hanging limp, slowly glided into a river bay. At the bow stood a middle-aged man with the bearing of a gentleman. Though he affected calm, his brows and eyes occasionally betrayed anxiety.
The bay lay dense with reeds; along the banks grew many mandarin orange trees, heavy with green fruit. Between the orange trees stood dense bamboo palisades, over a man's height, their tops sharpened to points.
The boat continued inward, turning into a narrow channel. Amid the lush, verdant orange groves, a tall blockhouse emerged above the treetops. The structure was brick-built, fully three stories high, its top bearing strange decorations—overhanging balconies absent from traditional Chinese architecture.
On the balcony stood several militia with wooden spears and signal horns; a brass gong also hung there.
The middle-aged man was not observing this rare sight but noting the terrain along both banks. Orange trees lined the entire shore. When the boat reached the channel's end, a stone bridge spanned the waterway. Below it hung a wooden sluice gate, currently open—but across the water stretched a thick iron chain, blocking any boat from passing under.
The bridge was stone, very sturdy. Atop it sat a bridge-house, originally open on all sides but now with the river-facing side blocked by brick, stone, and planks. Small windows had been left for observation and shooting.
The sailboat lowered its sail. Several boatmen worked together to lay down the mast, preparing to pass under the bridge.
Several militia, standing or squatting, kept watch at the bridgehead. Seeing the sailboat approach, one man stood and brushed the dust and grass from his clothes.
When they saw the two white gauze lanterns hanging at the bow—inscribed in Song-dynasty typeface with "Wanli Ji-Wei Guangdong Provincial Examination Juren" and "Luo Residence"—every man straightened respectfully. This was the local Lord Luo returning.
A militia head glanced about, wanting to ask a question. Spotting Lord Luo himself standing at the bow, he hastily shouted to the men opposite to release the cable and lower the iron chain to let the boat through.
With a few pole-strokes from the boatmen, the boat quietly passed through the bridge opening into a stone-walled pond. Layer upon layer of houses and streets lined the shore; only to the north stretched dense orange groves. Bamboo palisades were faintly visible. A river flowed through the streets into the pond; at its mouth stood a rice-pounding mill, its rhythmic thumping filling the air.
This was Sanliang Market—an ordinary market town in Dongguan County, nestled in the Pearl River Delta. Home to over six hundred households, most grew rice. But like most Pearl Delta villages, the tide of the emerging commercial economy had touched this place as well. Besides rice cultivation, Sanliang Market devoted ever more land to indigo and tobacco. The vast orange groves encircling the town also brought considerable income. During harvest season, boats heading to the county seat and regional markets departed daily laden with agricultural products, returning with rice, salt, and various daily necessities.
Though the waters had been unsettled lately, this place was not far from the provincial capital. Pirates rarely penetrated this deep into the Pearl River to raid; only small bands of river brigands troubled the area. Under the organization of the town's gentry, Sanliang Market's people had formed militia, cast cannons, and built bamboo palisades. Though they had suffered several brigand incursions, none had caused significant damage.
The pond was packed with boats of all sizes. Like most villages and towns here, there were virtually no roads—people and goods traveled mainly by water. Surrounded by water on all sides—tributaries, bays, and paddy fields everywhere—the place resembled a small isolated island. The town's buildings huddled together somewhat irregularly; the streets twisted and curved. There were three east-west streets and four north-south streets, connected by many small lanes. South of the streets lay a threshing ground that doubled as a marketplace. Directly beside it spread a large pond—essentially Sanliang Market's harbor.
On the streets stood two rice dealers, three mat shops, a pawnshop, a fish market, a distillery, and a brokerage. There were restaurants and eateries, small inns, teahouses, butcher shops, tofu shops, medicine shops, general stores, and blacksmith forges. There was a fabric shop, a tailor's shop, and a dye-house. Near the threshing ground lay a timber yard and boat-repair shop.
There were storytellers, ballad singers, opera performers, and acrobats. Though there was no licensed pleasure house, there were a dozen or so unlicensed establishments. On market days, the cries of vendors, the singing, and the clamor all converged into a great buzzing hive of noise.
(End of Chapter)