Chapter 224: The Formosa Expeditionary Force

The "Formosa" expeditionary force sailed north along the eastern side of Dongning Island.

This range of high mountains, which later generations would call the Coastal Mountain Range, stretched unbroken across the island, with scarcely a patch of flat land to be seen.

As for the natives and gold—not a trace of either.

The sailors' enthusiasm for gazing at the shore began to wane.

Lieutenant Montero was not discouraged; on the contrary, he grew ever more excited. In the sailing log, the old captain had made landfall precisely at a valley surrounded by mountains on the island.

Instinct told him the River of Gold was very close now—he could even smell gold in the air.

Another day passed, and a storm suddenly swept in from the sea.

Though the fleet was near shore, the coastline here was straight and flat, with no place at all to take shelter.

The Commodore could only order the fleet to struggle on through the storm.

After a grueling day and night of sailing, the fleet miraculously burst free of the storm, not a single ship lost or damaged.

And they discovered to their astonishment that the coastline, which had run northeast to southwest, now suddenly ran east to west.

They had actually come to the north of Formosa.

The priest declared again and again that this was a miracle of God.

What made Lieutenant Montero tremble was that before his eyes lay precisely a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides!

The storm, the drift off course, the valley—everything matched the old captain's sailing log exactly.

Lieutenant Montero's heart pounded wildly; he snatched the silver crucifix from his chest and kissed it again and again.

He immediately suggested to the Commodore that they build a city here.

For Commodore Carriño, who had been dispatched by the Governor-General of Manila to lead this expeditionary force here in force, this was certainly not merely about searching for the River of Gold. Otherwise, sending an exploration party would have sufficed—there was no need for such a grand display.

What the Governor-General of Manila hoped for was to expand trade with the Great Ming, protect the shipping route from the Great Ming to Manila, and even open up the Hirado market in the future. In recent years, the rise of the Nan'ao faction had swept the Southeast Asian trade goods almost completely clean, and the number of Great Ming merchant ships sailing to Manila each year had plummeted. With its economic standing declining even as its military standing rose, the Governor-General of Manila had conceived the idea of opening a new colony.

A year earlier, he had also heard that the Dutch had suffered a heavy blow at Hirado—their trading post seized, their fleet annihilated.

This gave the Governor-General of Manila yet another opportunity to see a chance to restart trade with Japan.

Of course, apart from economic considerations—

spreading the glory of the Lord was also an important mission!

And then there was the legend of the River of Gold. If it proved true, Spain would surely relive the glory of conquering the Inca Empire!

Commodore Carriño pulled out his telescope and carefully surveyed the lay of the land.

Mountains on three sides, sea on one; offshore stood a small islet, and close to shore there was another small island, with a U-shaped sheltered harbor on the island's south side. The island was like a teacup lid for the harbor.

This place was a natural naval fortress!

It was practically a gift God had bestowed upon the brave.

Carriño put away his telescope and sent small boats ashore to reconnoiter, while also sounding the depth of the harbor.

By afternoon, the reconnaissance parties had returned one after another.

"Your Excellency the Commodore, there are vast plains on shore, with many deer and rabbits. We saw no trace of large predators."

"Your Excellency, the main channel of the harbor is six to nine brazas deep, and the harbor's inner waters are broad enough for the entire fleet to anchor."

The braza was the Spanish unit for measuring water depth—the length of two outstretched arms, close to the length of a Great Ming bu.

Carriño's face lit up with joy at the news, and he commanded: "Fleet into the harbor! Build the city on the island at the mouth of the cup. Thank God—this place is ours!"

The lieutenant hastily asked: "Did you see any natives?"

The sailors shook their heads.

Before dusk, the fleet had sailed into the harbor. The crew transferred to small boats and came ashore on the island, unloading water, grain, tents, weapons, tools, and the like. When Little Val stepped onto this land by boat, the sun happened to be setting in the west. Lieutenant Montero, holding a flagpole, drove the Burgundian cross flag into the soft, fertile soil.

The flame-shaped red cross fluttered in the wind, sunlight spilling over the lieutenant, and Little Val's face filled with rapture.

This was what a true explorer looked like!

Little Val stepped onto this unfamiliar land together with Commodore Carriño. The evening breeze, mingled with the scents of marsh, earth, and grass, rushed to meet them, refreshing the spirit.

Looking around, several dozen tents had already been pitched on the island.

Carpenters, wielding machetes and great axes, cleared an open space around the camp.

"Bang!" A gunshot rang out abruptly in the distance, startling a flock of birds into flight.

A sailor's joking voice drifted over from afar: "Damn it, don't shoot with the matchlock musket! The lead shot shatters in the meat—how are we supposed to eat it then!"

In the harbor, the small boats waiting to come ashore stretched in a long line.

Watching this scene, Little Val's heart swelled with the pride of conquering the world.

Carriño stood beneath the cross flag and announced in a loud voice: "From this day forth, this land belongs to the House of Habsburg!"

The sailors around him erupted in cheers.

The Commodore continued: "In the name of the Lord, I name this city San Salvador!"

In Spanish, "San Salvador" means the holy savior, referring specifically to the deity on their cross.

The sailors around him wore fanatical expressions, tracing crosses over their chests; the priest prayed unceasingly. The scene was solemn and devout.

Half a month later, the city of San Salvador had begun to take shape. Artillery batteries had been placed on both the eastern and western sides of the island, defending it as solid as iron. The Commodore's ambitions were great—he intended to build San Salvador into a second Manila, with the fleet outfitted to the highest standard in every respect.

The fleet had brought a total of five hundred soldiers and over a thousand sailors and craftsmen, along with countless cannons, firearms, and gunpowder.

With equipment like this, dealing with the island's natives would be nothing short of a one-sided slaughter.

Little Val was very confident of this.

The fortress had barely taken shape when Lieutenant Montero, unable to contain himself any longer, applied to lead an expedition to explore the island's interior.

During the half month, the Spanish had encountered quite a few natives and had even already fought small-scale skirmishes with them.

But the natives adorned with gold ornaments described in the old captain's sailing log had yet to appear.

The Commodore granted Lieutenant Montero's request, allocating him a hundred men and permitting him to explore inland.

Lieutenant Montero led his men toward the southern mountain region, advancing along the valley lowlands. In five or six days they emerged from the great mountains and came to a vast plain. This plain was nearly surrounded by mountains on all sides, and through its center flowed an extremely broad great river.

Several indigenous tribes lived in clusters along the great river.

The lieutenant, greatly excited, stepped forward to communicate with the natives, but the natives were highly hostile and absolutely refused to let the Spaniards approach.

Seeing that the natives wore no gold ornaments, the lieutenant was deeply disappointed. Just then, their water and provisions ran out, and they returned without success.

Yet the expedition was not entirely fruitless for the Commodore—San Salvador lacked a great river, making it difficult to control the interior.

The great river the lieutenant had discovered served perfectly as a springboard for advancing inland, and the estuary at its mouth was an ideal location for building the next fortress. Encouraged by this, the Commodore gave even greater support to the lieutenant's expeditions.

Considering the difficulty of travel through jungle and swamp, the Commodore allocated two Fujian junks to the lieutenant, allowing him to explore along the coastline.

Considering that the eastern coast had already been explored on the way here, and that the newly discovered plains and great river both lay to the southwest—

Lieutenant Montero decided to explore southwestward along the coastline.

Five days later, the fleet arrived at the mouth of the great river discovered on the previous expedition.

Both sides of the estuary were flanked by hills and high mountains. The river was extremely wide, its current gentle, its surface glittering under the sunlight like an extension of the sea. Lieutenant Montero named the river the Formosa River, marked it in his navigation log, and continued sailing southwest.

Not long after they departed, a corpse drifted slowly down the Formosa River.

The corpse had pale skin and a shaved crown; the scalp and hair at the front of the forehead were gone entirely. It wore the distinctive black cloak of a Dominican friar, and the wooden cross on its chest had vanished.

The dead man was none other than the chaplain who had sailed with the Spanish expedition.

The priest bore two knife wounds and one javelin wound—it was this javelin wound that had pierced clean through his entire chest cavity.

Drifting down alongside the priest's body were two Spanish soldiers, whose bodies bore even more wounds—a ghastly sight. Days earlier, upon hearing that an indigenous tribe had been discovered near the Formosa River, the priest had eagerly petitioned the Commodore for permission to go and preach to the natives. The Commodore gladly consented and, for safety's sake, selected four soldiers to escort him.

Contrary to the priest's expectations, the natives were deeply hostile and adamantly refused to let them approach.

The priest spread his arms to show he carried no weapon, but the moment he took a single step forward, a javelin pinned him to the ground. The natives then immediately set about hunting down the remaining four soldiers as well.

Two soldiers were caught and hacked into pulp on the spot.

The other two, scared out of their wits, fled back to San Salvador in utter panic and reported the matter to the Commodore.

In the provisional Commodore's residence, the soldiers sobbed: "The natives are nothing but a pack of crude bandits! They laid hands on an unarmed priest! They are murderers, executioners!"

Rage burned in Commodore Carreño's eyes, but he still suppressed his temper and asked: "Why did the natives attack? Did you commit any uncivilized acts?"

The soldiers shook their heads in denial: "No. We observed proper etiquette and announced to the natives that we were envoys of the House of Habsburg, bringing them the blessings of civilization—" Another soldier gnashed his teeth and said: "These natives are demons! I saw women in their village with bare upper bodies, their bodies covered in paint, dancing as if possessed by Satan himself!"

Carreño's gaze sharpened. He gave the order: "Pass the word to the troops—prepare for battle!"

A few days later, an army of three hundred Luzon mercenaries marched in full force toward the demon-possessed native village.

On the banks of the Formosa River, native warriors stood ready with curved swords and javelins, fury written across their faces.

Carreño made a rough count—the native warriors numbered fewer than two hundred.

"Form ranks!" At his command, the soldiers arranged themselves into a simple square formation.

The pikemen planted one end of their pikes against the ground, gripping them with both hands, spearheads angled forward. The soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a dense forest of long spears. Matchlock muskets flanked the pike formation on both sides—the gunners flipped open the covers of their powder flasks, poured powder into the barrels, rammed in the shot, and pressed it down with the ramrod. Beyond the musketeers, sword-and-shield men covered the flanks.

"Raise muskets!"

The captain shouted at the top of his lungs.

The soldiers planted one end of the forked rest into the ground and mounted their heavy matchlock muskets upon them.

"Fire!"

"Crack, crack…"

The heavy matchlock muskets were like small cannons; the reports echoed endlessly through the mountain forest.

The natives in the near distance looked as if struck by an invisible club—their chests burst open with enormous blossoms of blood, their whole bodies pitching violently backward.

Others were hit in the limbs—arms and legs exploded on the spot, dissolving into pulp of flesh and blood.

The Spanish matchlock was cumbersome, but its power was tremendous. The lead balls were the size of coins; upon striking a human body, they deformed and tumbled, creating massive cavities and tearing wounds, with extremely strong stopping power.

To onlookers, the limbs of those struck seemed to explode outright.

The natives were momentarily stunned by the cruel, bloody spectacle. When they recovered, they shouted and surged forward.

Behind the native warriors, a woman covered from head to toe in paint began chanting incantations in a loud voice.

This further provoked the Spaniards.

In an instant, along the banks of the Formosa River, gunsmoke rose without cease, and the sound of gunfire and battle cries never stopped.

The natives' javelins were extremely powerful—those struck were almost completely pierced through and pinned to the ground.

Yet the killing power of the heavy matchlock muskets was even more astonishing.

The natives paid the price of several dozen casualties to close the distance, but after hurling a single volley of javelins, they were shot dead by lead balls.

Amid the battlefield filled with screams and gunfire, the Spanish captain shouted: "Pikemen, advance!"

The soldiers leveled their pikes, stepped in unison, and advanced slowly, nearly pressed against one another.

Facing the dense wall of pikes bearing down like a mountain, the natives' curved swords were utterly helpless—every one of them was skewered into a sieve.

The occasional native who tried to circle around the flank was intercepted by the well-coordinated sword-and-shield men and cut down by several soldiers.

The battle ended in less than two hours.

The native warriors were extremely brave—nearly half of them died fighting. Yet on the Spanish side, only five were killed and seven lightly wounded.

Soon, the woman shaman covered in paint was dragged before Carreño.

"Kneel, and offer your repentance to God!" Carreño's voice was cold as frost.

The woman shaman struggled ceaselessly, her expression venomous beyond measure. Clenching her teeth, she made sounds like a viper hissing—words no one could understand. One Spaniard said fearfully: "This demon isn't cursing us, is she?"

At these words, the Spaniards, who had been wearing mocking expressions as if watching a circus, all turned serious.

Someone muttered: "Burn her!"

This proposal won the approval of the majority, and the cries to burn the witch grew ever louder.

Carreño followed the popular will and commanded: "Prepare the stake!"

"Yes, sir!" The surrounding soldiers beamed with delight.

The Luzon mercenaries had all converted to the Catholic faith; upon hearing the order, they were the most eager to cut down trees and build the platform.

While the pyre was being prepared, Carinio led his soldiers into the natives' village and burst into the homes of the surviving women and children, rummaging through everything.

Not a trace of gold or silver — a great pity.

This place was desperately poor, with even iron tools being a rare sight; without a doubt, it was a land of utter barbarism.

At least there was a fair amount of deer hide, and the soldiers helped themselves without ceremony to this sole scrap of plunder.

While the looting went on, the pyre had been erected, and the witch-woman, bound upon it, never ceased her curses.

Carinio ordered the soldiers to gather the natives before the pyre, then spoke: "Witch, you stand guilty of the crime of idolatry, the crime of opposing the Holy Faith, the crime of conspiring against the Crown, the crime of murder, and the crime of rebellion!

In the name of the King, I, Commodore Carinio, find you guilty as charged! Friar, please pronounce the sentence."

Beside the Commodore stood a black-robed friar, one of the ship's chaplains, who declared in a clear voice: "I thank you, Your Pious Commodore. Witch, I, Martín, friar of the Dominican Order, sentence you to death by fire in the name of God!

May Heaven have mercy on your soul!"

"Light it." The Commodore said flatly.

The flames leaped up and soon licked at the witch's feet. Her cursing stopped as she clenched her teeth and endured.

The watching soldiers wore faces full of excitement.

When the flames reached the height of the witch's belly, she could bear it no longer and let out a hair-raising scream.

The women and children around her gave muffled sobs.

Soon the great fire swallowed the witch whole; her howls gradually faded, and the air was thick with the stench of scorched flesh, punctuated by the occasional crackle of spattering fat. The Commodore ordered his men to plant the Burgundian Cross flag in the native village, then proclaimed: "In the name of the King, you are now part of the House of Habsburg. Rejoice, savages!"

While the Commodore was leading his troops against the natives.

Lieutenant Montero's ship sailed past a vast stretch of tableland, and the coastline gradually shifted to a northeast-southwest bearing.

After passing a mountain peak, a broad river-mouth plain came into view.

The plain was enclosed on three sides by rolling hills, matching the old captain's notes in several respects.

The Lieutenant accordingly ordered the two ships to approach for a closer look.

What they saw shocked him — on this plain stood an extremely large settlement, complete with a dock, and in the distance, vast tracts of newly cleared farmland were visible.

The settlement's layout was utterly unlike that of the island's natives.

This discovery astonished the crew, who all rushed to the gunwales to look.

"They're Sangley!" a sailor exclaimed.

The word Sangley comes from the Southern Min language, roughly meaning "business" or "trade traveler."

The Spanish used this term for all people of the Great Ming. It began as a neutral word, but gradually developed a derogatory connotation of greed, petty cunning, and profit-seeking.

According to the intelligence at the Governor-General's office in Manila, the island of Formosa should have been a barbaric wilderness — when had a Sangley settlement appeared here?

Lieutenant Montero's heart was full of doubt and alarm, and he ordered the ships to come ashore.

Since their ships were also of Fujian junk design, none of the people on shore paid them any mind.

Too many Fujian junks had come from Fujian these past days; the locals had grown numb to them.

It was only when the ships tied up at the pier and white-skinned, brown-haired Franks stepped ashore that the locals stared in bewilderment.

The helmsman had brought Franks along too?

The two sides sized each other up, each finding the whole situation utterly baffling.

Encountering Sangley was entirely unexpected, and the ship carried no interpreter at all. Fortunately, Lieutenant Montero was a man of wide experience and could speak a little of the Sangley tongue himself, so he stepped forward to converse with the locals.

After a halting exchange of half-understood words, Lieutenant Montero's heart was put at ease.

It turned out these Sangley, like the Spanish, were newcomers who had just arrived on the island.

Lieutenant Montero asked cunningly: "And the officials who govern you? The Ming officials?"

An elderly Sangley waved his hand: "We're under the helmsman's rule now. The Great Ming… not sure about that."

The Lieutenant's heart was greatly settled — if these people had no ties to the Ming, things would be even easier.

And even if they did have Ming ties, there was no fear — the three galleons this expedition had brought were more than enough to crush any resistance at sea.

The Lieutenant asked again: "And soldiers? How many men do you have?"

The old man was silent for a long while: "What soldiers? I'm just a farmer, never seen any! Everyone in this village fled here from Fujian. The helmsman has a kind heart — he granted us this land and gave each person three taels of silver, heh heh…"

A farmer beside him tugged at him and said in a low voice: "Old Ma, why are you telling all this to that red-haired barbarian!"

Old Ma came to himself and hastily covered his mouth: "Right, right, I'd best get back to my plowing. This land is good, just too full of weeds — needs several more passes. The cogongrass in the fields can feed the oxen…

Fifth and sixth month skies~ red earth fields~ the old man hurries to plant~ autumn grain will fill~"

Old Ma walked off toward the fields, humming a nameless tune with satisfaction.

The Lieutenant watched the farmer's retreating figure, his eyes burning hot.

He hadn't quite understood most of what the man said — "helmsman," "fled" — but those two words "taels of silver" he had heard with perfect clarity.

He then had men fetch the Cross flag from the ship, plant it in the center of the village, and proclaim: "Sangley people, from this day forward, you belong to the House of Habsburg!"

"We are under the helmsman's rule. You should go back to wherever you came from."

Montero was taken aback and looked toward the speaker, where he saw a young Sangley man staring coldly at them.

Behind the young man stood more than ten guards armed with matchlock muskets.

Flanking the guards were several dozen able-bodied young farmers clutching farm tools, all glaring at the Franks with hostile faces.

The young man said: "My name is Yuan Zheng, village head of Zhuqian. Who are you people?"

Seeing that the other side had strength in numbers, Montero changed his approach: "We have come to offer you protection. Just as in Manila, under the protection of the House of Habsburg, you may conduct your business in peace."

"No need. Please leave." Yuan Zheng's tone was harsh.

Montero was inwardly furious, but after estimating — this settlement had at least a thousand people, and with only a hundred-odd men, a rash attack would gain him nothing — he pulled up the flag and withdrew to his ship.

Several days later, word that the Spanish were active north of Dongning Island reached the city of Chi'an.

Chen Jiao's face was grim as he listened to the messenger's report.

"…The Franks haven't gone far. They've built a watchtower on the mountains north of Zhuqian. No hostile moves yet, but the locals are all worried — they don't dare leave their homes at night now. The village head has organized the able-bodied men to keep watch in shifts…"

According to the Pingpu people in the northeast, several large villages such as Dalangbang and Shabalun have already been taken by the Franks.

"Those bastards — first they went to preach, and when the Pingpu wouldn't allow it, they brought soldiers, slaughtered all the village warriors, looted everything, then tied the village women to racks and burned them..."

Chen Jiao spoke slowly: "How many gunboats do the Franks have? How many men?"

The messenger said: "Only a hundred or so men, two Fujian junks."

Chen Jiao pondered for a moment, then said: "Send a hawk boat to carry word to the helmsman, and send another to sail around the island for reconnaissance."

"Yes!" The messenger went down to relay the order.

"Tie Mao, you will lead the Long Wind and the Cloud Sail to reinforce Zhuqian! Remember, without orders, do not act rashly."

"Yes!" Zhang Tiemao clasped his hands in acknowledgment.

He was the second of the three Zhang brothers, rescued from Liaodong by Bai Qing, a man of valor and loyalty.

Back when the Madou village was besieged, Zhang Tiemao nearly had his head split by a Siraya warrior — even now there is a vicious scar on his left arm.

The three brothers had made their living fishing in Liaodong, and in recent years at Chitan they had commanded fleets often enough to be qualified shipmasters.

Zhang Tiemao was, moreover, Chen Jiao's foremost fierce general.

In the Nan'ao navy, the Long Wind and the Cloud Sail had fallen so far behind that they could only serve as patrol boats — but against Fujian junks, they were still more than enough to crush them. As the two ships sailed from Chitan, the Franks set up watch posts at Zhuqian, clashing now and then with the locals, and relations between the two sides deteriorated rapidly.

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen