Chapter 1486 - Test Fire

Thus Hale wished more than anyone that the Zheng clique might recover its vitality. For this reason, he and Zheng Zhifeng had hit it off instantly when the latter came seeking an alliance. In his view, although Zheng Chenggong possessed the legitimacy of a direct heir and considerable appeal—plus official backing from the Great Ming—and though the decisive strategy revealed in his seizure of Anping marked his faction as not to be underestimated, he was nonetheless the weakest in strength. The most important fleet and commercial channels had been carved up entirely, rendering him ineffectual. Moreover, Hale himself had no prior intersection with the main figures of that group; whether they could appreciate his power remained unknown.

Zheng Zhifeng, by contrast, had long cooperated with him and commanded the largest power faction in Weitou Bay. His appeal far exceeded that of young Zheng Chenggong's group—a minor lord ruling amid suspicion. Obviously, his ships and payment capacity were also far greater.

"Mr. Feng, you look very haggard."

Zheng Zhifeng removed his cloak. "The Zheng family stands in peril, and the situation in Weitou Bay is treacherous. It does not permit me a peaceful night's sleep."

"Is that so? I feel that with your appeal and strength, you shouldn't harbor such worries. You are simply lacking in decisiveness."

Zheng Zhifeng nodded silently and accepted the hot cocoa Marcos brought. He did not continue the topic.

"Are the goods I requested ready?"

"Of course. These are the items you want—look them over first." Hale was habitually efficient, without superfluous courtesies.

In the clearing before the straw shed lay cylindrical objects tightly wrapped in straw rope, each nearly one zhang in length, along with dozens of large and small wooden boxes.

Zheng Zhifeng's gaze fixed involuntarily on the cargo. As the packaging was stripped away, several dozen workers erected sturdy scaffolds and used simple iron pulley blocks to hoist the long tubular objects from their crates, then skillfully set them upon pre-assembled gun carriages.

Zheng Zhifeng scanned these novel weapons back and forth with greedy eyes. There were six fully assembled cannons in total—two large, four small. The larger pair had calibers of approximately four Ming inches (around 125 mm) and lengths exceeding eight Ming feet (about 2.5 meters). The smaller four had calibers of over three Ming inches (around 100 mm) and lengths of over seven Ming feet (approximately 2.35 meters).

These were not the Hongyipao familiar to Ming subjects—typically culverins or demi-culverins. Rather, they were cannons manufactured using the relatively modern technique of integral casting followed by milling the bore. After rifling was cut, they became muzzle-loading rifled cannons of considerable power. Because Hale knew his material deficiencies well, he had reinforced the guns with iron hoops, giving them a somewhat clumsy appearance. Fortunately, Zheng Zhifeng's requirements were mainly for naval guns and fortress defense; clumsiness mattered little.

As for the superior-performing Dahlgren guns he produced, their numbers were exceedingly small. He was neither willing nor inclined to sell those to Zheng Zhifeng. Still, even these modified versions could oppose Australian warships to a certain extent.

"Mr. Paul, are these the powerful cannons you said could rival the Australians? How is it they look inferior even to Hongyipao?" Zheng Zhifeng asked with suspicion. After all, the weapons before him looked quite different from the massive eighteen-pounder Hongyipao he had seen in the past.

A trace of contempt flickered at the corner of Hale's mouth. He said coldly: "Mr. Feng, you have reason to question what you see. After all, not everyone understands cannons. Cannons are not better simply because they are bigger." He paused, utterly ignoring Zheng Zhifeng's sour expression at being ridiculed. "I told you—my goods will absolutely not disappoint. Had your moves been faster back then, perhaps you would not have lost Xiamen so badly."

Zheng Zhifeng fell silent. Indeed—had the gun factory gone into production earlier, countering those Australian "new cannons" would not have been limited to just the few pieces removed from captured Australian ships. Throughout the entire campaign, aside from those few "Australian cannons," no firearm in the Zheng arsenal had posed the slightest threat to the Australians. Whether on land or sea, the enemy had enjoyed the advantage in range. They had even routed Zheng gunners with musket fire when no artillery support was available. Most terrible of all, they shot with astonishing accuracy—even the European gunners the Zheng family had hired could not match them.

The cannon fire of the slaughter in Weitou Bay and at Kinmen-Xiamen was branded deep in his mind, robbing him of rest and appetite. Though he had inherited the bulk of the Zheng clique's legacy and posed as the largest power faction in Weitou Bay, he knew his position was fragile. Australian double-masted clippers appeared off Kinmen and Xiamen from time to time, as if declaring sovereignty over those waters. The command flags that had once sold for two thousand taels of silver now had no takers, for Australian patrol ships would seize any vessel flying Zheng family colors. Once captured, goods were confiscated entirely. Shipowners bound for the Western Ocean had begun switching to Australian flags instead. The convoy-patrol system the Australians had established left the Zheng powerless against this. They could only sit and watch that enormous revenue drain away. Even some of the smaller factions that had split from the Zheng clique had begun purchasing flags from the Australians.

Strong enemies waited without, and within Weitou Bay there was no peace. The Zheng Cai brothers held Xiamen and paid him no heed whatsoever. Zheng Chenggong, relying on official backing, occupied Anping and remained a bone lodged in his throat. As for the other minor factions—though not enough to worry over individually—they had formed alliances, speaking with one voice and watching each other's backs to avoid being swallowed by the three major powers. His plan to consume the small ones first, then take on the large, and thereby reunify the Zheng family, had failed again and again.

Zheng Zhifeng knew very well that the Australians' current silence was only temporary. They refrained from intervening in the disputes of Weitou Bay precisely so the factions would fight to the death, consuming one another—until at last they could be swallowed in a single gulp, leaving not even bone fragments.

To break the deadlock, only a renewal of armaments would suffice. The Australian attack had opened his eyes, teaching him a true lesson in what "gap" meant. In past armed conflicts with Europeans, the Zheng clique had indeed recognized their backwardness in ships and guns, and so they had introduced European vessels, artillery, and technicians. But the disparity between the two sides had never reached the point where the Zheng clique had no power to fight back at all. In several coastal conflicts, they had usually prevailed by exploiting geographical advantage. They had not been unaware of Australian strong ships and sharp guns—but lacking any firsthand experience, key figures within the Zheng clique had long disagreed over whether to cooperate with Hale to build a new cannon foundry. After all, the expense was immense and would inevitably affect profit distribution.

Zheng Zhifeng had lamented more than once that too much time had been wasted in deliberation. Had the foundry gone into production earlier, it might not have turned the tide—but at least they would not have lost so miserably. His elder brother would not have been murdered by poison, precipitating today's fractured state.

Now his only hope lay with Hale. Zheng Zhifeng's subordinates had traveled between Manila and Kinmen many times, bringing not only Hale's letters but also eyewitness accounts of his workshops and docks. These reports had only strengthened his determination to refresh armaments at any cost.

"As per our original agreement, I will demonstrate the power of this cannon. You will see that your spending was value for money."

So saying, Hale waved to his men to begin operating the cannons.

"Do you wish to designate a target?" Hale asked. "I would not like to be accused of tricks—burying gunpowder in a mound beforehand." He offered a telescope.

Zheng Zhifeng nodded, accepted the telescope, and surveyed the island's interior for a moment.

"Mr. Paul, I want your cannon to hit that earthen mound two li away. No difficulty, I presume?"

Hale raised a monocular telescope. In the field of view, over a kilometer distant—specifically, his trained eye estimated around 1,150 meters—stood a mound perhaps nine meters in radius, solitary on a corner of the landscape, quite conspicuous. It could be seen dimly with the naked eye, but for artillery aiming, there was undeniable difficulty.

"No problem." Hale said. "Marcos, take a few gunners to fire. All six guns together."

Marcos first adjusted cannon positioning and balance using professional methods, silently calculating recoil-distance compensation so that re-alignment after firing would not introduce large errors. Then, following cannon-table data obtained from extensive prior firing experiments, he set the elevation angle with a wooden quadrant inserted at the muzzle and an adjustable sight at the breech, and moved the carriage tail brackets to determine the directional firing angle.

Next, gunners loaded paper-wrapped powder bags and copper-based conical shells according to the charge quantity specified by the cannon tables.

All guns were arrayed in a single firing line, calibrated: the four-inch guns designated A1 and A2; the 3.2-inch guns designated B1, B2, and B3. Each piece was separated by six meters. All were aimed and locked into position. Once everything was ready, Hale conducted calibration fire on A1 and B1. After all, the cannons had undergone long-distance transport and reassembly; compared to their original optimal state, there would inevitably be changes. Newly assembled guns required calibration shots.

Under normal circumstances, each cannon's condition differed; at least one calibration round was needed to determine deviation compensation. But Hale was supremely confident in the results of countless prior firing experiments and highly satisfied with his assemblers' professional skill. He therefore chose only one gun of each type as a calibration benchmark.

After two deafening boom, boom reports, one could clearly see through the telescope two plumes of dust kicked up by the calibration rounds—landing less than thirty meters fore and aft and less than fifteen meters left and right of the small mound.

Hale nodded to himself with satisfaction. Rifled cannons were, after all, far more precise than smoothbore guns, and to achieve this accuracy on the very first calibration was impressive.

"Muzzle up two degrees!" Marcos lowered the telescope and shouted a new command. Gunners immediately swung sledgehammers against wooden wedges, raising the muzzles.

(End of Chapter)