Chapter 126: The Bonfire Lure: A Method for Slaying the Jianzhou Barbarians

"General, you're going ashore to rescue people?"

"Naturally."

Bai Qingwen said with a scholarly air: "As an officer of the imperial army, I have a duty to guard the land and protect the people—how could I sit idly by while the Tartars slaughter civilians!"

These were not Bai Qing's own words, but what Scholar Zhou had taught her to say, to explain to others her purpose in coming to Liaodong.

Hearing this, a fisherman tucked his dried flatbread into his bosom and knelt at once: "If the general is going ashore to rescue people, count me in."

The other two fishermen also knelt.

"Count me in too!"

"All three of us brothers are willing to follow the general!"

The common folk of the Great Ming rarely volunteered for military service, and were even less willing to have anything to do with the official army—that they acted this way today was only because their hatred of the Jianzhou barbarians had reached the extreme.

Bai Qing smiled: "Rise first. Before we rescue anyone, we need to get a clear picture of the situation."

By evening, the camp on the island was completed.

Bai Qing, the various ship masters, and the newly submitted three fisherman brothers sat around the bonfire talking.

The three brothers, from oldest to youngest, were named Zhang Haisheng, Zhang Tie'mao, and Zhang Ganchao. The three had lost their father in childhood and were raised by their mother, making their living by fishing.

According to the Zhang brothers' introduction, the island beneath their feet was called Guanglu Island, located on the sea east of Liaodong. The nearest city was Jin Prefecture, which had already been taken by the Tartars.

The three brothers' hometown was not far east of Jin Prefecture—a village called Wanghaiguo—which had been massacred by the Tartars just yesterday, their mother dying horribly beneath the butcher's blade.

Wanghaiguo and Guanglu Island basically faced each other across the sea, which was why Bai Qing had happened upon them.

The crew members brought wine, handed it to the three brothers, and offered a few words of comfort.

Anger churned in Bai Qing's heart. Suppressing it with effort, she picked up a thick branch, stirred the bonfire, and asked: "What do the Tartars hope to gain by killing wantonly?"

Zhang Tie'mao said furiously: "Tartars aren't human—they kill just for fun. Old folks, children... they don't even spare women with big bellies!"

Zhang Haisheng patted his brother's shoulder and added: "It's not that they killed everyone. According to refugees who fled from Jin Prefecture, the Tartars kept some of the able-bodied young men and dragged them off to the tokso to be aha."

"Tokso? Aha? What do those mean?" Zhong Aqi raised his wineskin, took a gulp, and asked.

Zhang Haisheng shook his head: "I don't know. I only know that to be an aha you have to have your head shaved. If you don't shave it yourself, the Tartars hold you down and shave it. If you struggle too hard, they cut you down with one stroke."

"Shave the head?" Shi Kai, master of the Sea Wolf Third Ship, was greatly puzzled. "How do they shave it?"

Zhang Haisheng gestured at his own head: "Like this—they shave the hair front, back, left, and right, leaving only a small tuft at the back of the skull, braided into a queue. All Tartars wear their hair this way."

"Barbarians!" Shi Kai spat.

Bai Qing knew that tokso meant farmstead, and aha meant slave or serf—Lin Qian had told her all this before they set out.

Though both were forced labor, the captives on Nan'ao Island lived in what was practically paradise compared to the Jianzhou barbarians' aha.

Gazing at the bonfire, Bai Qing asked: "How many Tartars were in the band that massacred your village, and where are they now?"

"Over thirty men—ten mounted, twenty on foot. All armored, and their bows are deadly. They're moving slowly because of the aha they're driving, following the main road northeast toward Guifu Fort."

Zhang Ganchao added: "The Tartars kill as they march—by the time they've passed through a place, barely anyone is left. If the general wants to rescue people, you'll have to get ahead of the Tartars."

Bai Qing thought for a moment, then commanded: "Zhong Aqi, Shi Kai! You two put to sea tomorrow, carrying the Zhang brothers aboard as guides. Explore along the coast, one heading south and one north. Report back at once if you encounter Han refugees or traces of Tartars!"

"Yes!" The two Sea Wolf ship masters saluted in unison.

Early the next morning, the Sea Wolf Second Ship and Sea Wolf Third Ship put to sea as Bai Qing had ordered.

They returned to the island at dusk.

Shi Kai reported: "Just as the Zhang brothers said—the south is basically scorched earth. Wanghaiguo was burned to the ground. I sailed southwest along the coastline for most of the day and didn't see a single living soul. I could see Jin Prefecture's walls still standing in the distance, but I didn't dare sail closer for fear of running into Tartars."

"Mm." Bai Qing assumed a thoughtful expression, then asked Zhong Aqi, "What about the north?"

"Sailing north the whole way, no living people to be seen, but plenty of corpses." Zhong Aqi paused, then said, "I think the Tartars must be encamped at Guifu Fort."

"Guifu Fort?" Bai Qing murmured the name, then asked, "Did you sail close enough to look at the place?"

Zhong Aqi nodded: "I did. It's a small walled garrison town of a guard station, about two li in circumference, with traces of Tartar activity around it."

"How far is it from the sea?"

"About five li. The road to the shore is flat, with no cover."

Bai Qing recalled Lin Qian's instructions before departure: this expedition was primarily to rescue refugees, and they should avoid conflict with the Jianzhou barbarians as much as possible—especially avoid fighting them on land.

Naval and land warfare were worlds apart. Not only had this band of sea bandits never trained for land combat, they had no horses—and on the plains of Liaodong, fighting without horses was a crippling disadvantage.

Moreover, since the band's founding, every battle had been a smooth victory, all against the likes of Ming guard stations, camp soldiers, and sea bandits.

To suddenly clash head-on with Jianzhou cavalry—they truly had no confidence in their hearts.

Their only advantage was superior firearms—nearly every crewman carried a Portuguese matchlock musket.

But early matchlocks were dreadfully slow to reload; against a cavalry charge, they could only get off one volley.

If they were routed by the Jianzhou barbarians and the matchlocks fell into enemy hands, that would be a grave sin indeed.

Thus Bai Qing hesitated as well. After weighing the matter for a long time, she said: "We won't move against Guifu Fort for now. We'll gather refugees along the shore. A Tartar band of a few dozen men can't possibly kill every Han in Liaodong—there are surely some hiding in the mountains and forests."

The next day, Bai Qing personally led three Sea Wolf ships and six Haicang vessels to put ashore along the coastline between Wanghaiguo and Guifu Fort.

Bai Qing had her men light bonfires on the shore, then gathered fallen pine logs, pinecones, damp moss, and the like to burn beside the fires.

Soon thick gray-black smoke rose high from the bonfires, visible from more than ten li away.

Bai Qing's intent was precisely to use this method to draw the refugees out.

The method was crude, to be sure, but at least it stayed close to the coast, ensuring their safety.

The thick smoke rose from dawn until noon—yet not a single figure appeared on the shore, the main road, or in the mountain forests.

Fortunately, Liaodong had abundant timber—there was no shortage of wood to burn.

Aboard the ships, the crew had finished their midday meal and were waiting in idle boredom.

The lookout suddenly pointed at a plume of dust rising on a distant dirt road: "Someone's coming!"

"Looks like Tartar cavalry!" A crewman shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted toward the dust.

"Perfect timing!" Having heard the Zhang brothers' ordeal, the crew burned with hatred for the Tartars. Add to that their unbroken string of victories, and they held the Tartars in utter contempt—they had long been itching for a fight.

Without waiting for Bai Qing's orders, the helmsman had already ordered the crew to bring out the muskets and prepare the Folangji cannons for loading.

"Hold on!" Bai Qing stopped them.

"Shipmaster!"

"Shipmaster! Let us fight!"

Knowing Bai Qing's stance, the crew members pleaded one after another.

The crewman holding the musket blew hard on the burning matchcord, its ember glowing red-hot enough to burn.

The artillerymen had already loaded the chambers into the cannons, each cradling another spare chamber in their arms.

Looking at the ship full of proud, fierce soldiers, Bai Qing smiled and said in a low voice: "The Tartars aren't fools. Seeing how formidable our firearms are, and that we're all out at sea, they'd never come close. We need a way to lure the Tartars in—then kill them all!"

Under Bai Qing's orders, the Haicang ships all left formation and moved to open waters, while a small boat carrying over a dozen crewmen rowed toward the shore. The crew disembarked and pretended to tend the bonfire.

Murihan, the leader of the Jianzhou barbarian cavalry, reined in his horse before the coastline, with the ten riders behind him doing the same.

"Juanda, why have we stopped?" a subordinate asked in the Jurchen language.

Murihan gazed at the three large ships on the sea three hundred paces away, wariness rising in his eyes. "The southern barbarians have formidable firearms. We don't know what these three ships are about—we must be careful."

Just as he hesitated, the dozen or so men by the bonfire spotted the Jianzhou cavalry and, terrified, scrambled to their feet and ran toward the big ships.

The three ships were even worse—they directly raised sail and prepared to turn about, looking as if they meant to flee outright, abandoning even the dozen or so of their own men still on shore.

From afar, Murihan could see the decks of the three galleons in complete chaos—crewmen scrambling to raise sails and turn the helm, fumbling about in panic. After quite some time, the sails still hadn't gone up, and seven or eight men had already tripped over the ropes.

Even from a distance, he could hear the crewmen's panicked cries.

A subordinate urged: "Juanda, those are clearly just a bunch of weak roe deer. Stop hesitating—let us charge!"

Another added: "If we keep dithering, the barbarians will board their ships and flee!"

Hearing this, Murihan drew his bow, spurred his horse, and charged forward at a gallop, shouting: "Lads, follow me—kill them all!"

The ten Jianzhou cavalrymen were supremely skilled riders—from a standstill to full gallop in but a moment. Every one of them had bow in hand, shouting wildly as they charged toward the Han Chinese on the shore.

Hoofbeats thundered like rolling drums; though only ten men, they carried the momentum of an unstoppable charge.

As the distance closed, Murihan was horrified to discover that the dozen or so Han Chinese who had been hesitantly pacing at the water's edge, afraid to wade in, had stripped off their clothes and, like fish, plunged headfirst into the sea—vanishing from sight.

And the three ships that had been frantically turning about also calmed their commotion. In that instant, the world fell silent save for the sound of hooves.

Then—

"Boom, boom, boom…"

"Bang, bang, bang…"

Gunfire and cannon fire rang out densely, like bamboo tubes dumping out beans.

By the time Murihan came to his senses, it was too late. He watched helplessly as, beside him, a rider's arm burst into a mist of blood; before the man could even cry out, part of his head blew apart. As more hail of bullets struck, his whole body erupted with spurting blood, and even the warhorse beneath him let out a dying whinny before becoming scattered flesh and gore.

Murihan's heart nearly stopped from terror. Then his own warhorse let out a mournful whinny, its forelegs buckling, and crashed to the ground.

He rolled twice on the ground. When he turned back, he saw his men had run into something like an invisible scythe—blood bursting from their bodies as all life drained from them.

Those hit by more bullets were blown into chunks of flesh on the spot, no longer recognizable as human.

The entire stretch of beach was soaked in blood, a shocking expanse of crimson.

Murihan suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood. Looking down, he discovered three or four bloody holes in his own body, gushing blood steadily.

The strength drained from every limb and bone. He could no longer stand and collapsed to his knees.

In his daze, he heard a woman's voice by his ear: "Stop—leave him alive… let the Zhang brothers do it."

At Bai Qing's command, the Zhang brothers each took a dagger. The three of them didn't wait for the small boat—they leaped straight into the sea and swam to Murihan's side in moments.

Murihan had lost too much blood and was at death's door. He forced his eyes open, looked at the men before him, and bared his blood-red teeth in a sneer: "Sou—"

Before he could finish, the Zhang brothers' daggers came down. Murihan was stabbed to death in short order.

The three brothers' daggers didn't stop—they stabbed dozens of times more, nearly mincing Murihan's corpse into ground meat, before they finally stopped, exhausted, collapsing beside it as they gasped for breath and wept.

Bai Qing ordered the battlefield cleaned up. The bodies of the Jianzhou men and horses were burned, and the ashes and blood-soaked sand were thrown into the sea.

This was done purely to cover their tracks, not out of any kindness in giving the Jianzhou dead a proper burial.

After everything was done, dusk had fallen. The Haicang ships that had departed also returned, and according to one of the shipmasters, the garrison at Guifu Fort had not dared to make a move.

Over the following half month, Bai Qing set up bonfires at multiple points along the Liaodong coastline, using the same method to lure Jianzhou cavalry into killing zones.

Though the trick was getting old, they left no survivors each time, so Jianzhou cavalrymen kept falling for it.

The Jianzhou had only just taken Liaoshen, and their control over Han territory was limited. Most of their military strength was concentrated in the key garrisons and passes along the Liaoshen line. From Jin Prefecture to Zhenjiang in southern Liaodong, defenses were extremely thin—mostly Jianzhou's old, weak, and remnant troops plus small raiding parties.

Every time they fell for the trap, they were hit by saturation fire from matchlock muskets and Folangji cannons, dying without any suffering.

As more and more cavalry squads were wiped out, the Jianzhou's grip on southern Liaodong gradually weakened.

Han Chinese refugees had begun following the smoke and fire to find Bai Qing's fleet.

Moreover, Liaodong was vast and the Tartar cavalry few; quite a few villages that had escaped destruction were also picked up by Bai Qing and brought to the island.

In half a month, the camp had taken in nearly two thousand refugees.

Following Lin Qian's instructions, Bai Qing compiled statistics on the refugees' identities and occupations.

He selected thirty artisans of various trades to board the Carrier Pigeon, sending them first to Nan'ao Island, along with a letter informing Lin Qian of everything that had happened since making landfall in Liaodong over the past half month.

At the same time the Carrier Pigeon set sail—

Nurhaci, stationed at the Hun River military camp, also received word from southern Liaodong.

Inside the camp tent, Nurhaci wore full cotton armor, his gaze icy cold, the flesh on his dark face twitching.

The Great Jin had just fought through major campaigns—taking Liaodong, then bloody battle with the Ming army at the Hun River. They ought to have been resting and recuperating, consolidating their rule, preparing for next autumn and winter's campaign to press toward Guangning.

To that end, Nurhaci had just implemented the "Liaoyang New Policies," intending to show leniency toward the Han Chinese in exchange for stable rule.

He never expected Han resistance to come so swiftly—this was no different from a hard slap across his old face.

"These southern barbarians truly know not what's good for them. I let them live, and this is how they repay me?" Nurhaci ground his teeth, his voice like the low growl of a bear, exceptionally deep and grating.

In the tent, the Four Great Beiles and the banner masters of each banner all stared at the ground, not daring to breathe loudly.

Nurhaci had always thought highly of himself and looked down on the Han people, and because of the deaths of his father and elder brother as well as the long-term suppression by the Ming dynasty, he was filled with resentment toward the Han.

Since he had raised his troops, he had won victory after victory, and this time, using Mongol insiders to breach Liaoshen, he had even forced the Ming's Liaodong Military Commissioner Yuan Yingtai to burn himself to death.

His authority had reached its peak for the moment.

Yet although the Later Jin had won the Battle of the Hun River, its casualties had been heavy, which had already left Nurhaci deeply vexed, and now he received word that southern Liaodong was being harassed by the Ming navy and that Han commoners were fleeing toward the sea in droves — how could he not be enraged?

Unfortunately, the Later Jin had no navy, and their tactics of shooting from horseback at close range were useless against Ming troops at sea. He could only suffer the harassment in vain, gazing at the ocean with helpless sighs.

After brooding for a long while, Nurhaci raised his head and said in a sinister tone: "Since the southern barbarians don't appreciate my kindness, don't blame me for being ruthless. Send word to Tong Yangzhen at Zhenjiang: slaughter every last southern barbarian commoner from Jin Prefecture to Zhenjiang!"

Everyone in the tent was greatly shocked and raised their heads, yet no one dared to offer counsel against it.

After hesitating for a long time, the Fourth Beile Hong Taiji steeled himself and said: "Father Khan, Liaodong is vast but sparsely populated, and with heavy snows year after year and poor harvests, the farms still need these Han aha to till the land. If we kill them all like this, when we attack Guangning next year, military grain will inevitably run short. Rather than that... let us relocate the coastal people instead."

Nurhaci had little interest in the trivialities of civil administration but was extremely devoted to leading troops in battle. Hearing this, he could not help but consider his grand plan to attack Guangning, and suppressing his anger with effort, he said: "Go on."

Hong Taiji said: "Relocate all the southern barbarian commoners from the Jin Prefecture to Zhenjiang line into the deep interior of central Liaodong. Those who cannot be moved should be settled near the major cities of Jin Prefecture, Fu Prefecture, Hai Prefecture, Gai Prefecture, and Zhenjiang. We abandon the small coastal guard stations and fortresses, burn the coastal forests to the ground, and fortify our positions while clearing the countryside — this way, we need no longer worry about sneak attacks from the Ming navy."

Nurhaci pondered for a long while: "Your method is sound. Do it this way."

Hong Taiji performed a Manchu salute and acknowledged the order.

"However, the blood of Jurchen warriors cannot be shed in vain." Nurhaci's icy voice sounded again. "The Ming navy killed over a hundred of my warriors, so I will kill twice as many Han. Pass my order: have Tong Yangzhen kill two hundred Han and mount their heads on stakes, so the southern barbarians understand the consequences of rebellion!"

Late April.

The dry dock at Yandun Bay on Nan'ao Island.

Lin Qian was holding the blueprint of the single-masted sailboat he had designed, communicating with Mute Huang and a crowd of shipwrights, carpenters, and caulkers.

"This boat is different from Ming sea vessels — the hull is streamlined..."

Seeing that the surrounding shipwrights looked somewhat bewildered, Lin Qian changed his phrasing: "To use an analogy, a Ming sea vessel is like a flying bird; this boat is like a fish."

The craftsmen around him showed expressions of sudden understanding.

Lin Qian pointed at the blueprint and said: "This boat is three zhang long, one zhang wide, with a draft of three chi, and a crew of one to two. It uses a sharp bow and flat stern design, with the hull tucking inward near the waterline at the stern and the bottom lifting upward, which can reduce the stern wake."

Lin Qian then pointed at the mast on the blueprint and said: "This boat uses a single mast, which can carry a hard sail, or can carry two Bermuda sails, one fore and one aft."

As he spoke, Lin Qian pointed to the side of the blueprint, at the schematic diagram of the Bermuda sail.

Strictly speaking, the Bermuda sail also belongs to the category of triangular sails, but it differs from the triangular sail at the bow of the Santa Ana.

The triangular sail of the Santa Ana uses a gaff as its fulcrum and is hung diagonally from the bow via rigging — strictly classified, it should be called a lateen sail.

The Bermuda sail, by contrast, has a larger sail area, and uses the entire mainmast as the leading edge of the sail, looking like a right triangle suspended vertically against the hull.

Compared to the lateen sail, the Bermuda sail has higher aerodynamic efficiency, stronger upwind sailing capability, and requires less manpower.

Almost all modern sailboats, especially sailing yachts, use Bermuda sails.

Including the boat Lin Qian had been on when he met his end in his previous life.

So Lin Qian was extremely familiar with this type of sail.

Of course, while this sail outclassed all other sail types of the era, it was not without drawbacks — the sail area was too large and too heavy, requiring modern materials like polyester film and carbon fiber to make.

A cotton-linen sail meticulously sewn by Portuguese sailmakers might barely serve as a substitute, but the sail area would need to be reduced as much as possible, which was why this boat was designed to be only three zhang long.

Lin Qian had drawn this design long before landing on Nan'ao Island, and now it had finally found its use.

Lin Qian also explained the boat's other design concepts, such as multifunctional modular layout and standardized dimensions.

The craftsmen fired off questions one after another, and Lin Qian answered them patiently.

In his view, communication between designers and construction workers was crucial to the progress of any project; communicating well in advance could save untold trouble and greatly improve efficiency.

The discussion continued for over two hours. Lin Qian drank two pots of tea and ate lunch, and in the afternoon the craftsmen continued asking questions.

This boat was a fusion of Chinese and Western construction methods, and it also incorporated Lin Qian's original designs, so it was only natural that there were many questions.

Lin Qian's decision to have the shipwrights trial-build this type of boat first was precisely to give the craftsmen practice.

Whatever problems arose would first manifest on a small boat, and the cost of making corrections would be low.

This laid the technical groundwork for building large ships and ships of the line in the future.

Lin Qian talked with the craftsmen until evening, and by then he had more or less answered all their questions.

Mute Huang made a series of gestures at the apprentice Xiao Jiu, who looked and said: "Master says this boat should be built of camphor wood, with the mainmast made of spruce or camphor wood. Not counting the time to procure timber, the fastest construction time is three to four months."

Mute Huang then gestured a few more times, and Xiao Jiu said again: "Master says this boat is small and doesn't need to go into the dry dock — it can be built right on the beach. Master asks the Skipper: how many should we build, and when should we start?"

Lin Qian said: "Build ten first. Once the Cloud Sail sets out of the dock, we'll begin construction."

The Cloud Sail was the Jia-3 large Fujian junk from Zhelin Bay; its sister ship, the Long Wind, had already been completed and launched at the end of March, sailing far away with Chen Jiao to the Eastern Barbarian Island.

With the experience gained from refitting the Long Wind, the Cloud Sail had been repaired to be even sturdier and more solid. Since entering the dock at the beginning of April, nearly a month had now passed.

The Cloud Sail had already had its damaged hull planks replaced, had one level of its sterncastle removed, and had the Siren cannon installed — it would be leaving the dock in the next few days.

"Also, after the Cloud Sail leaves the dock, the Santa Ana will enter the dock to have its cargo hold modified and a gun deck added." Lin Qian added.

Hearing this, the craftsmen all wore wry smiles on their faces. They had to refit a galleon and build ten small sailboats, and some of the island's craftsmen had already been sent to the Eastern Barbarian Island.

The craftsmen all knew Lin Qian's temperament — he was like a man possessed, and no project he handled was ever not urgently needed.

Even if they split themselves in two, they still wouldn't be able to keep up.

Mute Huang made a series of gestures with a bitter face, and the apprentice Xiao Jiu said: "Master says, Skipper, this single-masted boat you designed is roughly a one-hundred-thirty-liao vessel. Building ten at once already requires considerable manpower, and on top of that there's the galleon refit — we truly cannot keep up. Skipper, even if you give us more silver, it won't help — we couldn't keep up even if we never slept."

Lin Qian laughed: "Don't worry, I'll add more men for you — another thirty carpenters. Is that enough?"

The craftsmen exchanged glances, wondering which coastal village's carpenters were about to come into good fortune.

On Nan'ao Island, the rough and heavy work was all done by captives; the craftsmen mostly only did fine work or directed the captives' labor.

Adding another thirty carpenters was equivalent to adding thirty more work teams, which would raise productivity considerably — perhaps enough to barely cope.

Mute Huang pondered for a long while, then nodded.

Lin Qian clapped his hands: "Then it's settled. Starting tomorrow, the small sailboat... oh, this new hull type doesn't have a name yet — let's call it the Eagle Boat."

The Ming's single-masted bird boats generally had sharp, tapering bows and long, straight hulls, with relatively fast sailing speeds.

The single-masted sailboat Lin Qian was building was, by any measure, a superior replacement for the bird boat — hence the name Eagle Boat.

Lin Qian continued, "Starting tomorrow, first have the prisoners go up the mountain to fetch timber."

"Yes." The newly appointed Director of the Works and Construction Department acknowledged while jotting down Lin Qian's order with his brush.

(End of chapter)

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen