Chapter 138: The Macao Navy Wiped Out

Early morning on the first day of the twelfth lunar month.

The weather was bitterly cold, and a thin mist hung over the waters off Macao.

Within the mist, twelve enormous shadows gradually emerged on the sea.

The Dutch fleet slowly sailed into Lingdingyang, and when it reached a spot a thousand paces east of Macao, it was spotted by the Macao militia.

The alarm bell on the watchtower rang out, and in moments the city bells joined in a cacophony.

"Dong! Dong! Dong!"

In no time at all, the great bell of St. Anthony's Church rang out in urgent peals, its sound reaching every corner of the city.

The city was startled from its slumber and instantly engulfed in a chaos of sounds — cries, shouts of command, the pounding of feet, and alarms all mingled together.

The militia split into several small units and surged toward the batteries, city walls, and beaches.

The remaining men took up weapons to guard their homes, while women and children fled to the churches or hid underground.

The shadow of war hung over every citizen's head.

In the Senate Hall, the Macao councillors gathered in assembly, and André, bound by duty, had no choice but to be among them.

On General's Hill, north of Macao.

The Guangdong Vice Patrol Commissioner, the Coastal Defense Circuit Intendant, and a host of other officials great and small all gathered on the hilltop, gazing out at the situation at sea.

Xiangshan County had already lit beacon fires and sent fast horsemen to carry word to Guangzhou.

At nine in the morning, the Dutch fleet reached its designated position and, from a distance of six hundred meters, opened probing fire on the Guia Battery on Macao's southeastern coast.

The Dutch force numbered twelve ships in all, with over a hundred cannons on their broadsides combined — when they fired together, the sheer might was truly earth-shaking.

Even at that great distance, with a low hit rate, the area around Guia Battery shook as if the very earth were turning over. Cannonballs struck the ground, sending up showers of dirt that fell like rain without cease; the gunners caught in the midst of it could barely keep their eyes open, forcing themselves to fire back.

At that range, even the coastal defense guns could hardly find their mark, and after several exchanges of fire, neither side had suffered a scratch.

The Dutch fleet then ceased fire, raised sail, and continued north for about a thousand meters before opening fire again in another probe; the Portuguese guns at the Penha Battery replied.

This pattern repeated several times, and by noon the Dutch fleet had worked its way from the east of Macao around to the northeast, still probing with fire from over six hundred meters.

By this time, Xu Zhaokui, the Governor-General of Guangdong and Guangxi, along with the Xiangshan County Magistrate and other officials great and small, had ridden fast horses and arrived atop General's Hill.

Because of the recent disturbances caused by the red-haired barbarians, Xu Zhaokui had temporarily set up his field headquarters in Xiangshan, which was why he could arrive so quickly.

"Your Excellency, Governor-General." The assembled officials on the hilltop greeted the Governor-General of Guangdong and Guangxi with cupped fists.

Xu Zhaokui dismounted, tossed his reins to a personal guard, and stared hard at the situation in Lingdingyang, asking in a low voice: "How goes the battle?"

The Guangdong Vice Patrol Commissioner reported the morning's events — the Dutch firing from long range.

Xu Zhaokui's expression darkened. "This is bad. They're probing the Macao barbarians' defenses — the red-haired barbarians are looking for a chance to land!"

At these words, the officials around him all grew tense. If the Portuguese lost at sea, it had little to do with them, but if the Dutch were allowed to land and seize Macao, that would be a failure to hold territory — and if the red-haired barbarians were permitted to invade Xiangshan and press toward Guangzhou, the crime would be even greater.

Xu Zhaokui asked: "Where have the Fujian-Guangdong naval forces reached?"

The Guangdong Regional Military Commissioner said: "Reporting to Your Excellency, the dispatches only went out a few days ago. The various naval stations are probably still mustering their men and ships."

Xu Zhaokui cursed inwardly but showed nothing on his face. He asked again: "What about Ma Chenglie? His Zhelin Bay is closest to Macao, and his naval forces are well trained. Where is he now?"

Since Lin Qian had taken the island, the Nan'ao Island naval forces had repeatedly distinguished themselves in battle.

At the start of the year, Ma Chenglie had even submitted a memorial reporting that with the forces of Zhelin Stockade and Nan'ao Island combined, he had held off an attack by over a hundred of Li Dan's warships and beheaded more than two hundred enemies, earning Xu Zhaokui's newfound respect — which was the source of the assessment that his "naval forces were well trained."

The Guangdong Regional Military Commissioner wiped the cold sweat from his brow and thought to himself: "The dispatches only went out a few days ago. I don't even know if they've reached that Ma fellow's hands — how would I know where his fleet is?"

Aloud, he said evasively: "General Ma governs his troops well. Surely the Nan'ao fleet is already on its way."

Xu Zhaokui knitted his brows and thought darkly: "It's winter now. From Nan'ao to Macao, with favorable winds and currents, the voyage takes at most two or three days. The Folangji must hold out until then."

"Your Excellency, gentlemen — please come and have your midday meal."

The sun had reached its zenith. Personal guards set out tables and chairs and brought out an array of wines and delicacies from food boxes.

Having watched the battle all morning, the officials were famished and gladly made their way over.

Xu Zhaokui stood with his hands clasped behind his back and said flatly: "I'm not hungry."

The officials' footsteps faltered, and they forced themselves to stop, eyeing the table of fine wine and food. They swallowed their saliva and returned to stand beside His Excellency the Governor-General.

Out at sea, the Dutch shifted to yet more probing bombardments, sailing all the way to the beach at Tonggouhuan northeast of Macao, where they finally found a blind spot in the Portuguese batteries' field of fire.

The Dutch Governor-General Coen was overjoyed and ordered his soldiers to eat their midday meal.

At one in the afternoon, the Dutch formally began landing troops by small boat.

At 2:15, the Portuguese army's last two warships suddenly appeared in Lingdingyang, followed by three armed merchantmen, charging straight at the Dutch fleet.

To guard against the Dutch blockading the harbor, these five ships had been hidden all along in the anchorage of Niushan Island, east of Macao.

The Portuguese at Macao had waited until the Dutch were committed to the beachhead before signaling these five ships to charge out, planning to strike the enemy mid-crossing.

Aboard the Batavia, Coen lowered his telescope and sneered: "The rats have left their hole. Order the Zeeland Griffin and the Night Watch to continue ferrying troops ashore. The rest of the ships will follow the flagship to meet the enemy!"

A signalman went to the stern to send flag signals.

Twenty minutes later, the Batavia raised sail and turned, heading southeast, with nine Dutch warships in line of battle following close behind.

A northeast wind was blowing across the sea. The Dutch warships were on the leeward side, but they had seized the T-crossing, and with more ships and heavy broadside firepower, they held the advantage.

The Portuguese warships dared not charge straight in. They too turned to head southeast, presenting their broadsides to the enemy.

The two battle lines ran roughly parallel, closing on each other at a slow pace. Two hours later, the gap between them was under five hundred meters.

At this point, the weakness of the Portuguese using armed merchantmen to fill out their numbers became apparent — their crews lacked the experience to hold a line of battle. In the prolonged seesawing, one armed merchantman fell out of formation, while the remaining two kept blocking each other's broadsides.

Coen spotted his opportunity and ordered a turn to port, closing on the enemy ships.

Immediately, the Dutch flagship Batavia turned to port, cutting across the Portuguese line at a sharp angle, and the gap between the two battle lines narrowed.

When they closed to within three hundred meters, the Portuguese fired first.

The Portuguese and the Andalusia were both galleons, with twenty guns per broadside.

A full volley struck with terrifying force — the Batavia took three hits in succession, and the Polaris following behind took two.

Solid iron shot tore straight through the Batavia's hull, leaving three great holes in her planking.

For a warship of this tonnage, three cannon hits were nothing more than a scratch.

Cohen gave no order to return fire, and the Dutch fleet closed in rapidly.

Once within two hundred meters, the Batavia straightened its bow and fired simultaneously—sixteen cast-iron cannons on its port side roared, their shots landing on both sides of the Portuguese, sending towering columns of water into the air.

Then the Dutch North Star fired, and the Dutch warships behind it followed in sequence.

In an instant, cannonballs rained down around the Portuguese warships as densely as a downpour.

After just one volley, the Portuguese had taken over a dozen hits, splintered wood flying from the body of the galleon leviathan like blood from a wound.

The Dutch battle line was longer—the ships at the rear, unable to target the Portuguese, poured their fire into the three armed merchantmen instead.

The two ships clustered together took the most hits. The armed merchantmen were small—after just one volley, one took a hit at the waterline, slowed, and fell out of the fight.

The other armed merchantman took fifteen hits, nearly a third of its starboard hull blown apart, its gun deck almost entirely destroyed, losing all combat capability.

As the two battle lines closed, the gap steadily shrank to one hundred meters, eighty meters, fifty meters, twenty meters…

At this range, accuracy was extremely high—nearly point-and-shoot.

With one Dutch volley, each of the two remaining Portuguese warships took at least twenty or thirty hits, their gun decks blown open and exposed to the elements.

On the sea, ten Dutch warships lay bow to stern in a line, like a sea dragon, mercilessly pouring cannon fire into the two Portuguese warships.

The disparity in firepower was simply too great. Before five volleys had passed, the Portuguese warships' gun decks were almost entirely destroyed, leaving them only to suffer the blows passively.

Around five in the afternoon, beneath a mournful crimson sunset, the Portuguese was struck in its powder room and detonated, the entire hull bursting apart from the middle as a mushroom cloud rose over the sea.

The shockwave of the violent explosion blasted splintered wood everywhere, much of it landing even on the Batavia's deck.

A few minutes later, a powder keg on the Portuguese's gun deck also detonated, the blast thundering across the sea and raising waves—like the death cry of a dying leviathan.

Fire erupted across the shattered hull, flames quickly licking up the sails and spreading with the northeast wind, growing ever fiercer. The sails on the mainmast and mizzenmast soon caught fully, the ship standing like two torches upon the sea.

The Portuguese's sailors leaped overboard one after another, seeking survival.

The Dutch shifted their main assault to the Andalusia, ten ships firing upon one.

After three more volleys, the same fate of sinking descended upon the Andalusia—multiple hits at the waterline, the hull visibly sinking at speed.

The Andalusia's cannons kept firing until the very last moment before she went under, though it no longer meant anything—more like the death wail of the Portuguese navy.

With the two Portuguese warships dealt with, Cohen ordered the fleet to turn back toward Slaughter Dog Ring Beach. On the return voyage, they casually finished off the straggling Portuguese armed merchantman.

On the Macao beach, over ten thousand Macao citizens witnessed with their own eyes that armed merchantman being shot in turn by ten Dutch warships, taking over fifty hits until scarcely a single intact plank remained on the entire vessel.

Even the mainmast was snapped by a cannonball, the ship disintegrating on the spot, becoming a field of floating timber on the sea—a scene of utter misery.

The surviving Portuguese crew leaped into the sea, clinging to planks and drifting on the waves. Within half an hour, all had frozen to death, becoming floating corpses.

Looking out across the sea, the surface was covered with planks and stiffened bodies. Further off, the Portuguese's sterncastle still blazed upon the water, burning the sky crimson.

Over ten thousand Macao citizens stared blankly at the scene, not making a sound, the atmosphere oppressively heavy.

After a moment, stifled sobs emerged from the crowd, the crying quickly joining together, drifting over the beach.

News of the Portuguese navy's total annihilation spread with the weeping into the council hall, where the councilors erupted in uproar.

Everyone knew the Dutch had strong ships and powerful guns—the Portuguese navy's Don Quixote-style charge was doomed to fail.

Yet when word of the total annihilation arrived, everyone's heart still sank to the depths.

"What do we do, what do we do now?"

"God, save us."

"Let's surrender—we've already lost. The Dutch will spare us out of respect for the nobility."

The council president slumped in his chair, no longer having the strength to call for order.

Andre collapsed to the floor, trembling uncontrollably, fantasizing about how wonderful it would be if time could rewind—back to the day Zheng Zhilong came to negotiate with him.

Never mind twelve cannons—even twenty-four cannons, Andre would have handed over without hesitation.

Amid the clamor of the council hall, Andre recalled that pirate chief Lin Qian—a man who had hijacked a Spanish Manila galleon with just sixty men.

And who, by some means or other, had established a foothold in the southeast of the Great Ming.

He had even accurately predicted the Dutch attack.

Could such a ruthless character have foreseen that he would refuse Zheng Zhilong? Might he seize the moment while the Dutch were off guard and launch a surprise attack?

Though Andre himself knew this was impossible, in his despair, he could only comfort himself with such fantasies.

In the sanctuary of St. Anthony's Church, several hundred women and children sat on the floor, faces full of terror, some sobbing quietly.

The nuns lit candles in the sanctuary, moving through the crowd to distribute blankets and bedding, hoping to bring people some comfort.

A priest stood among the crowd, quietly chanting scripture to dispel the fear in people's hearts.

Suddenly, terrified shouts came from outside the church: "The navy is wiped out! The Dutch have taken the Shaohuilu Fort!"

Screams immediately rang through the sanctuary as the women rose in panic and rushed toward the church doors.

The priest and nuns spent great effort consoling them before the crowd calmed down.

The priest stopped chanting, hesitation flickering across his face. Finally making up his mind, he said to the eldest nun, "I need to go out. The church is in your hands!"

The nun hastily blocked him, speaking in a low voice: "Father, what are you going to do? The church needs you."

The priest said firmly, "Prayers won't drive away the Dutch—the fort needs me more!" With that, he pushed past the nun and left through the door.

Though he left through the side door, many still noticed the priest's departure, and panic began to spread through the sanctuary once more.

Someone proposed leaving the church to flee for their lives—a foolish idea that immediately won the approval of most present. The crowd rose and pressed toward the church gates.

The nuns pleaded desperately, but to no effect.

Then someone said, "Run out into the streets? Going to throw your lives away for nothing?"

The words were harsh, yet the tone was steady and calm. Everyone turned to look at the speaker.

They saw a young woman of the Great Ming, plainly dressed but with fair skin and a composed bearing—clearly from an official family.

Han Chinese made up the majority of Macao's populace, and in the church, Chinese and Portuguese were about evenly split, so a woman from the Great Ming was nothing unusual.

The crowd heard the woman declare in a clear voice: "My family is from Fuqing, Fujian. When I was young, our hometown was raided by wokou pirates, and I know how to deal with them. If you all want to live, listen to me!"

What was remarkable was that the woman spoke these words in both Chinese and Portuguese.

The other women present also knew that once they left the church there was nowhere to go, but with the priest gone, they had lost their pillar of support and panicked for a moment.

Now that someone had stepped forward to take charge, and the one taking charge looked steady and composed, they believed her somewhat and gradually quieted down.

The woman assigned tasks to everyone.

"Everyone, listen to me. Tear down all the benches in this hall. Hold the short wooden sticks in your hands as weapons, and use the long wooden planks to block the doors and windows."

"Pull down all the candles—the candlesticks can serve as weapons too."

"Every candle must have a dedicated person watching over it. Once you hear the sound of the chaotic troops outside, extinguish the candles!"

The arrangements were orderly and methodical, and the women moved according to her instructions.

On General Mountain, Xu Zhaokui watched the firelight on the sea and asked, "Have troops been sent near Lotus Stem?"

The Guangdong Regional Military Commissioner clasped his hands and said, "Your subordinate has already transferred five hundred men to guard it."

"Mm." Xu Zhaokui felt somewhat relieved. Looking at the current situation, the red barbarians' landing could no longer be stopped; he could only hope to contain the disaster within Macao.

The Macao barbarians were after all petty people from foreign lands—even if their casualties were heavier, it mattered little.

As for the Great Ming commoners in Macao... they could only be made to bear the hardship.

On the sea, ten Dutch warships sailed back toward Slaughter Dog Ring Beach in a show of force, where a landing force of over three hundred men had already gathered on the shore.

The Dutch then transported more soldiers to the beach, and soon the total number of troops exceeded eight hundred.

The Dutch soldiers wore a variety of garments. Among them, a group of ronin—with katana at their waists, wearing kimono, wooden clogs on their feet, and strange topknots on their heads—were especially conspicuous.

General Mountain's summit was no more than four li from Slaughter Dog Ring Beach, and looking down from above, everything could be seen clearly.

The Xiangshan County Magistrate immediately recognized the ronin's identity and cried out in alarm: "Wokou pirates!"

The Guangdong Vice Patrol Commissioner of the Sea angrily said: "Red barbarians and Wokou pirates—truly birds of a feather flocking together, colluding in villainy!"

The Patrol and Sea Route Assistant Commissioner clasped his hands and said: "Your Excellency, your subordinate is willing to personally lead the troops at Lotus Stem to suppress the pirates!"

Throughout the entire southeast of the Great Ming, from officialdom to the common people, hatred for the Wokou pirates ran deep enough to gnash one's teeth. The Patrol and Sea Route Assistant Commissioner's post was established specifically to guard against Wokou pirates, so stepping forward to request battle at this moment was only natural.

Xu Zhaokui shook his head and said slowly: "Lotus Stem is important and cannot afford any loss. Moreover, the enemy forces are formidable—do not act rashly."

On the beach, the Dutch advanced by both land and sea and quickly captured the Shaohuilu Fort.

The fort's defenders included Portuguese, as well as many militia composed of Great Ming commoners.

The Wokou pirates charged up, hacked and slashed, cutting down all the defenders, then severed their heads and held them up in blatant display.

Seeing this scene, the Patrol and Sea Route Assistant Commissioner's eyes turned red. He clasped his hands again and said: "Your Excellency, there are also Great Ming commoners in Macao. My duties bind me—I cannot sit by and do nothing. Let your subordinate lead the troops there."

Xu Zhaokui angrily said: "Silence!"

The Dutch army had eight hundred men, plus ship cannons and firearms. The five hundred troops at Lotus Stem alone were no match for them. From the standpoint of the Governor-General of Guangdong and Guangxi, agreeing to a rash sortie was absolutely out of the question.

On the beach, the Dutch army pressed on in one surge, continuing southward, and soon attacked the base of the Carmo Fort.

This was the last fort outside the walls of Macao—once it fell, Macao would face the Dutch army directly.

Therefore, the fort's defenders fought with great tenacity, repelling the attacks multiple times. The two sides became locked in a seesaw battle, and within two hours, dozens of corpses lay strewn around the fort.

By now the sky had darkened. The Dutch army commander ordered a retreat to regroup, planning to attack again at dawn.

The fort's defenders, who had fought bitterly for so long, finally breathed a sigh of relief.

The priest of St. Anthony's Church, his face blackened with gunpowder soot, collapsed exhausted beside the cannon.

The fort commander ordered his men to tally the losses. A dozen or so minutes later, his subordinate reported: "Captain, the fort's defenders number twenty-three remaining, and only three cannons are left."

"Understood." The commander's tone was heavy.

The defenders hung their heads, no one speaking. Everyone knew in their hearts that with this meager force, they could not survive the next round of assault.

Once dawn came, the hour of death would arrive for all of them.

That night, the commander sidled up to the priest and whispered: "Father, promise me one thing."

"Please speak."

"If Macao falls, take this with you and escape." The commander pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to the priest—on it were recorded the names of the fort's defenders. "These young men died for their country. They should not be forgotten."

The priest solemnly tucked it into his bosom and said firmly: "Rest assured, Macao will be defended. God is with us!"

The Dutch army halted its attack and made camp on the beach. For a time, the Lingding Bay fell into silence, with only the howling of the northeast wind and the sound of the waves.

Coen glanced at the wind flag—the long triangular pennant was stretched taut by the northeast wind.

The northeast wind was strong tonight. In such weather, anchored ships could easily be blown sideways. Macao's waters were unfamiliar to the Dutch—if blown toward shore, they could easily strike reefs or run aground.

So Coen said: "Order the fleet to drop anchor. The Zeeland Griffin and the Night Watchman are to patrol and stand guard around the anchorage."

"Yes!" The first mate acknowledged and notified the signalman.

"Enemy ships sighted to the southeast, five thousand paces!" The lookout on the Batavia suddenly raised the alarm.

Coen's expression did not change. He raised his telescope to look.

Using the last remaining daylight before the sun set, he could clearly see that there were indeed two single-masted sailing ships on the distant sea. Their hulls were slender, their fore-and-aft sails wide—they looked different from both Great Ming ships and European ships.

But these two ships were both very small. Even if they were equipped with cannons, they would certainly be of small caliber, posing no threat to the Ahaat.

Coen judged that these two should be merchant ships or fishing boats, and ordered: "Have the Zeeland Griffin and the Night Watchman drive those two ships away."

The two Dutch warships received the order and sailed toward the merchant ships. Before they had covered even half the distance, the two merchant ships sensibly turned about and fled into the darkness.

Coen glanced at the sky. By now the last glow of the setting sun had vanished, and the sky had gone completely dark.

A slender crescent moon hung at the edge of the sky, its light extremely dim. Visibility on the sea was very low. In such weather, friend and foe could not be distinguished, and a night naval attack was impossible.

Coen set his mind at ease, gave a few instructions to the first mate, then returned to his cabin, changed into his nightclothes, and fell asleep.

The first mate gave a few more orders and also returned to his cabin to sleep. Soon only the officer of the watch and the sentries remained on deck.

In the latter half of the night, snow began to fall over the sea. Blown by the northeast wind, it became gusts of white sand that stung straight into one's face, and visibility dropped even lower.

The lookout on the Batavia was frozen numb in his hands and feet, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. Unable to bear it any longer, he simply climbed down from the mast.

There was no helping it—the crew had after all come from the tropics. Despite wearing thick overcoats, they still could not withstand the bitter cold of a northern winter.

And on a night like this, with wind and snow and no moonlight, even if the lookout stood atop the mast, he couldn't see a thing.

The officer of the watch was sheltering from the wind at the stern, so the lookout simply went to the bow to chat with the sentry.

The sentry pulled out a small bottle of coconut wine he'd stashed away, and the two of them gazed at the pitch-black sea, each taking a sip to warm themselves.

The sentry said, "If only I could go into the city after it falls tomorrow—the Portuguese are sure to have plenty of gold."

The lookout sighed, "Don't even think about it. The Governor-General won't let sentries go ashore. Ah, I really envy those bald monkeys—they get mercenary pay and plunder income on top of it."

The sentry took a sip of coconut wine and sneered, "Those Japanese mercenaries seem to love killing even more than they love gold. A bunch of savages."

A gust of cold wind carrying snowflakes slipped into the lookout's collar, making him shiver. "This weather is damned insane... Christmas is almost here, and the Governor-General said this year we'd be in..."

The sentry saw him trail off and finished, "Spending it in Macao?"

But the lookout didn't answer him—instead, his eyes went wide as he pointed at the distant sea.

The sentry followed his gaze and saw a single firelight abruptly appear on the pitch-black sea.

In the blink of an eye, several more flames flared up.

Within five or six minutes, more and more fires appeared across the sea, each spaced a certain distance apart—dozens of them in all—riding the northeast wind toward the Dutch fleet.

From a distance, the entire sea seemed to have been set ablaze.

(End of chapter)

Tofu

Pen