Chapter 1135 - Voyage to Taiwan
The officer of the watch raised no objection, and they climbed to the deck without incident. Sailors were stationed throughout, gun covers removed, though ammunition had not yet been loaded. From this vantage point, they could observe the entire convoy cutting through the waves. Agile two-masted patrol boats used the wind to shuttle rapidly among the fleet.
Though modestly sized, the convoy was enough to stir Dr. Zhong. This was his first time witnessing the Committee's naval formation in all its maritime majesty. He gripped the bulwark and drank in every detail of the seascape before him.
What he did not realize was that these patrol boats were not the same vessels that had departed from Lingao. Several days earlier, in the waters east of Hong Kong, the Lingao Coast Guard escort team had peeled off to return home. The patrol boats now accompanying them belonged to the Navy's First Fleet.
Liu Zheng and Fang Jinghan had grown accustomed to such sights. They steered Dr. Zhong up to the poop deck, where the captain stood observing with a telescope.
Since this ship was assigned to the Remote Exploration Team, Liu Zheng was well acquainted with the captain. His name was Chen Song, a white-bearded old hand who had sailed for many years, visited the Nanyang over a dozen times, and traveled to Taiwan, Siam, Japan, and numerous other ports. He had served merchants and engaged in "capital-free enterprise." Intimately familiar with maritime conditions, he had originally retired to the Guangzhou countryside. After the Australians shelled Guangzhou and the maritime heroes who defected to them prospered, Chen Song—feeling his family fortune too modest despite his savings, and lacking capable heirs—returned to his old trade. He brought his entire family to Lingao to join the Australian enterprise, and before long, his knowledge of sea conditions had earned him a captaincy. Given his advanced age, the Navy placed him in the reserves as captain of the "Spanish Whore."
Though past sixty, the old man remained hale and full of vigor. Seeing Liu Zheng and the others, he greeted them with his thunderous voice: "How's my ship treating you, gentlemen? Comfortable, I hope?"
"It'll do. Just like you—a bit old..."
"Old is good. Less internal heat." The old man squinted and chuckled. He wore a sloppy Navy uniform bearing Reserve Navy Lieutenant insignia. The uniform was correct enough, save that the top two buttons hung open, exposing his chest and the homespun undershirt beneath—definitely not regulation Navy issue.
"Enemy situation?"
"No." Chen Song lowered his telescope. "We'll reach Takau soon. This is the most dangerous stretch of the route. If Zheng Zhilong or the Redhairs intend to intercept us, this is the likeliest leg."
This area was the chokepoint for routes to Tayouan, Bengang, and Kaohsiung. For the past half year, Committee convoys had shuttled past constantly. If an enemy intended to strike, this was the optimal location.
For precisely this reason, every convoy raised its alert status when transiting these waters.
Learning it was merely routine procedure, Dr. Zhong's momentary alarm subsided. He suddenly felt conspicuous in his steel helmet, which was rapidly becoming unbearably hot under the scorching sun. He quietly removed it.
To cover his embarrassment, he asked: "Have Zheng Zhilong or the Dutch made any moves?"
"I've run this route several times in the past six months. Occasionally a few ships approach, but nothing more." Chen Song spoke with casual indifference. "They wouldn't dare. Never mind the Dutch—their ships are small but at least look seaworthy. Zheng Zhilong's vessels are ragged and rotting; one shot would probably break them apart."
The advantages of silence were obvious. Clearly neither Zheng Zhilong nor the Dutch wished to display hostile intent. When scouting, they sent old or small ships, evidently seeking to avoid accidental conflict.
Dr. Zhong seized the opportunity to inquire about current maritime position-finding methods.
Due to delays in marine chronometer development, Committee fleets primarily employed a lead-ship navigation system. A vessel equipped with an old-timeline quartz watch served as leader, with the flagship also carrying a timepiece for backup.
For more important ships, the Captain received a mechanical watch brought from the old timeline directly—but this privilege extended to very few vessels.
Even so, the method was unreliable. Mechanical watches could stop. Lead ships might become separated or sink in storms. For most ships under Committee command, longitude was therefore determined using the Lunar Distance Method.
In essence, this involved using a sextant to measure the angular distance between the moon and sun to calculate the ship's longitude.
In 1514, the German astronomer Johann Werner had discovered through observation that the moon's relative position in the sky shifted constantly, moving approximately one lunar diameter per hour. He reasoned that this lunar motion appeared identical from any point on Earth. By observing the moon from two locations and accurately recording when it reached a specific position, one could calculate the longitude difference between those locations.
But the Lunar Distance Method required an accurate and comprehensive star catalog. In the old timeline, astronomers had spent decades compiling such data through painstaking observation. For the Committee's Technology Ministry, standing on the shoulders of giants, this posed no obstacle. Armed with existing astronomical data, computers, and astronomy software, Dr. Zhong had readily produced precise star catalogs for both hemispheres, then calculated Lunar Distance Tables for each year beginning in 1631. Thus, the Technology Ministry published the Nautical Almanac and Astronomical Ephemeris in 1632, tabulating the relationship between lunar distance and longitude for the entire year, accompanied by a dedicated slide rule. Sailors using the slide rule and almanac could determine longitude within twenty minutes, with acceptable accuracy.
Captain Chen, however, had complaints about the system. The Lunar Distance Method demanded considerable mathematical ability. Although Dr. Zhong had developed specialized slide rules and reference tables that greatly simplified the calculations, for captains of illiterate background, it remained challenging. Fortunately, most ships currently plied traditional routes with little need for precise longitude determination. They muddled through. Ships bound for Taiwan and Jeju Island were all assigned naval cadets who served as navigators responsible for the calculations.
While Captain Chen was voicing his grievances, a signalman reported a message from the flagship: an unidentified vessel was sailing three nautical miles from the formation, and escort patrol boats were already moving to investigate.
Zhong Lishi raised his Russian binoculars and looked in the direction the captain indicated. Sure enough, a solitary large Fujian junk sat upon the sea, with nearby patrol boats rapidly closing on the target.
The other vessel showed no intention of resisting and quickly lowered its sails. Marines from the patrol boat boarded the junk and began a thorough inspection.
The sailors aboard were dressed as Ming commoners and spoke with authentic southern Fujian accents. The Marine sergeant sized up the boat owner who came out to greet them; everyone looked like ordinary Ming people.
After questioning, they learned this was a Fujian junk traveling from Quanzhou to Tayouan, carrying Fujian indigo and sugar, plus over two hundred Fujian migrants. To gain labor and increase tax revenue, the Dutch offered attractive rewards to ship owners who transported migrants.
The inspection confirmed the boat boss's account. Besides trade goods and migrants, the ship carried miscellaneous merchandise. Though a few native cannons and gunpowder and lead shot were present for self-defense, nothing appeared out of order. The patrol boat released them after completing the inspection.
The boat boss, bowing and scraping, watched the patrol boat skim over the waves to rejoin the distant fleet. A calculating glint flickered in his eyes.
The "Spanish Whore," pulled by a tugboat, glided slowly into Kaohsiung Harbor. The name "Takau" had been deemed too crude, so the Central Administration had ordered it changed to the original timeline's designation: Kaohsiung.
For this bridgehead in Taiwan, the Committee Standing Committee had originally proposed establishing a "Taiwan Prefecture" or "Taiwan Province" based in Kaohsiung. But the Central Administration judged that current control over Taiwan was limited to Kaohsiung alone—even all of Tainan was not yet unified. Establishing a "Prefecture" or "Province" directly would be premature.
The final decision was to establish only a "City" in Kaohsiung. This city's Mayor was a Committee member named Wei Bachi.
At this moment, he sat beneath the Customs House eaves at the pier, preparing to welcome the arriving Committee members.
(End of Chapter)