Chapter 1250 - Grapeshot
Zheng Zhipeng galloped to the docks surrounded by his guards. The commissary had already delivered chest after chest of silver.
With time pressing, there was no weighing silver—they had sent Spanish dollars instead. Chest after chest lay open, the gleaming white coins dazzling under the afternoon sun.
"By the General's order, each man receives twenty taels! An additional fifty taels for those who achieve results!" Zheng Zhipeng announced loudly.
The sailors immediately began stirring—wealth moves hearts. Originally they had been assembled and told they were going into battle, already showing signs of wavering morale. But now the commissary had delivered all this gleaming silver, and they'd heard of such generous rewards—one by one their eyes lit with desire.
"Pay them!"
His subordinates immediately began distributing handfuls of silver coins to the sailors. Twenty shining Spanish dollars, heavy in the hand—the sailors broke into smiles. Such generous compensation was unprecedented.
Greed emboldens men. The previously flagging morale, ignited by this silver, surged back up. They howled like wolves: "Losing your head just leaves a bowl-sized scar!" As if the Australian gunfire that had terrified them moments ago was nothing special after all.
There were still some sixty fire ships between those left at Gulangyu and those that had fled back. Given the current situation, there was a fair chance of success. Zheng Zhipeng immediately ordered the entire squadron to sortie, raising full sail and charging straight toward Hulishan.
After setting out, the squadron immediately spread into a wide front, bearing down on the beach below Hulishan. The sailors, their eyes reddened by silver, howled and rowed furiously, trying to make their boats go faster.
The fire ship squadron's sortie was immediately spotted by observers aboard the Lichun. Ming Qiu ordered the decks cleared and cargo unloading temporarily suspended.
"All main guns, load grapeshot!"
The elevator rumbled, raising 130mm grapeshot from the magazine. Grapeshot was structurally similar to shrapnel shells, but the projectiles were much larger—generally used only by navies, specifically designed to engage light vessels and destroy enemy deck installations.
The fire ships, propelled by sails and oars together, advanced at an average speed of seven knots, quickly closing to within one cable's length of the anchorage.
"Commence fire."
The Lichun's two 130mm main guns roared, long tongues of flame propelling the shells from the barrels. The shells spun through over a thousand meters before bursting in the air above the densely packed fire ship squadron. The explosive charge scattered more than a dozen ping-pong ball–sized pellets from each shell, spraying down onto the squadron from above.
The grapeshot pellets tore through human bodies instantly. They punched through the firewood piled on the decks, and finally through the hull planking—seawater immediately flooded the holds.
The first salvo put three fire ships underwater and sinking. More were hit, losing control—some with shattered masts, others with dead crews. The crippled fire ships drifted broadside, and the entire formation fell into chaos. The lead boats blocked those behind; helmsmen desperately worked the rudders; the crowded ships collided with one another. Sailors cursed each other, pushing off with bamboo poles.
"All batteries, fire!"
Following the Lichun's lead, the main guns of the other four warships bellowed simultaneously. Grapeshot continued to burst over the fire ship squadron, puffs of black smoke exploding in the air, pellets raining down on the boats. Scorching pellets struck the dry firewood and sails, igniting flames wherever they fell.
The sailors, whose courage had just been stoked by silver, now wailed for their parents under this aerial hail of iron. They watched comrades beside them have their skulls blown apart, their limbs torn off, or be torn clean in half—their spirits shattered utterly. There was nowhere to hide on these boats—every pellet punched straight through to the keel.
After three main gun salvos, the ships' Hotchkiss revolving cannons and "typewriters" opened up. At just over a thousand meters, this was their optimal effective range. The 13mm and 30mm lead bullets flew at the fire ships like driving rain. Geysers of water erupted everywhere. The lead boats were instantly perforated like honeycomb, listing straight down beneath the waves.
Though Zheng Zhipeng's boat was in the rear, he saw the grapeshot's airburst carnage clearly through his telescope. Watching the barbarians deploy yet another unexpected "sorcery," his heart felt pierced by ten thousand arrows. What kind of fighting was this when you couldn't even close to contact?
Seeing the fire ships ahead jammed together, some already ablaze, some half-sunk—this fire attack, which had cost tens of thousands in Spanish dollars, was already failing. Furious and anguished, not caring whether the sailors could hear him, he stood upright on the deck and roared:
"Everyone, don't be afraid! Charge together! A hundred taels for ramming an enemy ship!"
The words were barely out of his mouth when another salvo of grapeshot burst overhead. A pellet screamed down, punching clean through Zheng Zhipeng's chest and leaving a bowl-sized hole before drilling through the deck behind him. Zheng Zhipeng staggered one step, seemingly unable to believe there was such a large cavity where his heart should be. His eyes went wide, and he collapsed on the deck.
Zheng Zhipeng's death caused no ripples—even if he hadn't fallen, the fire attack had already failed. Under the combined assault of grapeshot and rapid-fire guns, not a single fire ship made it within 1,000 meters of the transfer anchorage. The ships hit by grapeshot and set ablaze burned as they drifted on the water, sinking before reaching the anchorage. The few that got close were towed aside by small boats and left to burn themselves out.
The sea surface was choked with smoke and flames. Many fire ships were burning, but not one had threatened the barbarian warships, let alone rammed one. The barbarians' boats continued ferrying troops to the beach as if nothing had happened.
The Zheng commanders gathered on the gatehouse gazed out over the water, their faces showing dejection. Some had already backed away several steps—if not for the tower being full of Zheng Zhilong's guards, they might have fled already.
Zheng Zhilong forced himself to appear calm: "So the fire attack failed—so what. The barbarians have sturdy ships and fierce guns; we brothers can't compete at sea. Wait until they're ashore, then we'll fight them with everything we have! Everyone, organize your troops and prepare for battle!"
The commanders chorused acknowledgment and dispersed. Zheng Zhilong, with his guards and close advisors, descended from the tower. He saw the crowd jostling at the gate as soldiers collected their reward silver. Observing his troops—their formations somewhat disordered, but every man fully equipped with armor and weapons, far superior to government forces—he felt somewhat consoled.
Though the land forces weren't the Zheng family's core strength, he hadn't skimped on investment over the years. Equipment and pay had always been generous, and they had won him several victories—including a punitive campaign against the Yao people in Guangdong. Now his only hope was that his land forces could hold against the barbarians.
By the look of it, the barbarian landing force wasn't large—five hundred at most. This was somewhat reassuring. He instructed his guards:
"Summon Mateus and TĹŤ TarĹŤ."
Mateus and TĹŤ Kumo headed his Black Guard and Japanese Guard respectively. Zheng Zhilong's Black Guard had been recruited through the Portuguese, mostly escaped slaves. According to records, Macau at the time had "850 Portuguese householders... on average each has 6 armed slaves. The largest and finest of these are the Caffres, plus other peoples... The Portuguese and these men (the Japanese) have excellent matchlocks, spears, and other weapons. Few Portuguese lack 6 or 12 firelocks or flintlocks."
Caffres were black slaves from East Africa. Most had military training and were accustomed to Portuguese matchlocks. They fought bravely and posed no risk of betrayal, so Zheng Zhilong trusted them greatly, maintaining a force of about three hundred.
As for the Japanese Guard—given his connections with various Hirado domains and his former status as a Catholic, he could readily recruit several hundred Christian Japanese soldiers.
Though Mateus and Tō Tarō weren't part of the Zheng consortium's inner circle, they were Zheng Zhilong's "private soldiers"—the truly elite troops who answered only to him. Most importantly, he didn't have to worry about either man betraying him.
Mateus and TĹŤ TarĹŤ appeared before him, both dressed in Portuguese style. Apart from the twin swords at TĹŤ TarĹŤ's waist, they looked like European soldiers.
Both guard units were armed and trained in the European military manner, with particular emphasis on matchlock shooting. Whether in accuracy or rate of fire, they were top-notch. Zheng Zhilong's confidence that he could still fight was largely due to having these two units at his disposal.
"The barbarians are about to attack here," Zheng Zhilong said. "You two, assemble your troops and stand by at my side."
"Aren't we going out to engage, General?" Mateus asked. Having spent years in China after his time under the Portuguese, he spoke excellent Chinese.
"Of course we will—but you are my cutting edge. I'll use you at the critical moment. Are the cannons and gunners ready?"
"Ready. I've assigned the best gunners to man the guns on the walls—all Portuguese veterans. But the gunners haven't had proper training on those two big guns. I'm afraid there might be accidents..." Mateus said.
"That Kirishitan taught you how to use them. Just use them. The barbarians' cannons are extremely formidable—our current guns are no match for them. We have no choice but to take risks."
"Yes, General." Mateus raised no further objections.
Zheng Zhilong had someone bring silver and ordered twenty silver dollars distributed to each guard soldier. Mateus and TĹŤ TarĹŤ each received one hundred silver dollars, plus generous bonuses for the Portuguese gunners: one hundred dollars apiece.
With the arrangements complete, he detailed two thousand men to defend inside Zhongzuo Garrison using the wall-mounted cannons, while the main force and guards sallied from the city to form up in the relatively deeper terrain northwest of the garrison, ready to meet the enemy.
(End of Chapter)