Chapter 366: Three Hounds on the Sea

Northwest of the Candle Dragon, four fourth-rate Daxia warships including the Jingming were surrounded by four large Dutch galleons, their hulls riddled with holes, gradually losing the upper hand.

After over a dozen exchanges of fire, Jingming's captain Huang Beigui had sized up the enemy's strength—ordinary large Dutch galleons were slightly weaker in firepower than Daxia fourth-rate ships, but their gunners were highly trained, with a rate of fire on par with Daxia warships.

The flagship Hercules was even stronger—not only were its gunners skilled and its maneuverability nimble, but its cannons were also of heavier caliber.

The Jingming had been firing rapidly for some time; the gun barrels had overheated and the gunners were exhausted, forcing them to slow their rate of fire.

The Hercules kept up its rapid firing without pause, and for a moment the situation grew even more unfavorable for the Jingming and her four ships.

"Boom! Boom! Boom..."

Another barrage struck, and the Jingming's hull let out a series of dull thuds as the whole ship listed violently to starboard, many deckhands dragged toward the starboard rail by the sheer force, nearly tumbling into the sea.

On the gun deck, shrill screams mingled with the gun captain's roars: "Load! Load quickly! Get the wounded down to the hold—hurry!" The hold was already piled with wounded, seawater and blood mixed together, sloshing over the tops of feet; to prevent slipping, they had to spread thick layers of sea sand, and walking on it felt like treading on a wet beach, blood soaking through shoes and seeping up between the toes.

"Surgeon, his leg is broken!" A crewman ran down, shouting loudly.

The ship's surgeon was mid-operation, staunching blood; he glanced over and roared: "Tie off the thigh with hemp rope first—tie it with all your might!" Shortly after, another cannonade struck, the hull groaning under the strain as seawater gushed through the hatches into the hold.

The surgeon wiped the seawater splashed across his face and roared: "Anyone who can still move, get up top and lay sandbags!"

Several lightly wounded men went up a deck, hauling sandbags to ring the hatches, and the seawater temporarily stopped pouring in.

The carpenter could be heard furiously swinging his hammer in the darkness, plugging leaks.

In the darkness, someone shouted: "Three hits at the waterline!"

"Three hits at the waterline!" Another voice repeated loudly, then footsteps hurried down toward the lower gun deck.

On the open deck, a crewman poked his head out and shouted toward the quarterdeck: "Three hits at the waterline!"

The helmsman relayed the ship's damage report upon hearing it.

Huang Beigui only said in a low voice: "Tell the lower compartments—no more damage reports needed!"

Another round of cannon fire struck, the hull ringing with thunderous booms as a chunk of teak planking spun three or four zhang into the air.

On the quarterdeck, the men gripped the railings to keep from falling.

The pump winch on the open deck paused for a moment, then resumed turning under the boatswain's shouts, great streams of seawater gushing from the scuppers on both sides of the hull.

"Captain, the enemy's firepower is too strong—we can't hold out much longer. Let's fall back a bit."

Huang Beigui gritted his teeth: "Not one step back! Send word to the gun captain—stop worrying about barrel temperature, and hit them hard!" Aboard the Hercules, Lucaszoon stood with his back straight; aside from a slightly grim expression, not a trace of emotion showed.

He had intended to use the Hercules's overwhelming firepower to sink the four Daxia fourth-rate ships first, then quickly support elsewhere.

He hadn't expected the Daxia fourth-rate ships to be so tough—the Jingming had taken nearly eighty hits and was still returning fire without pause.

What puzzled Lucaszoon even more was the extreme rate of fire of the Daxia warships. The men aboard the Hercules were top-tier Dutch naval sailors, warriors honed through countless sea battles on the brutal battlefields of Europe.

What right did the Huo Jianren's sailors have to match the Dutch rate of fire?

After fighting this long, not a single one of the four fourth-rate ships had been sunk—instead, they had battered the Dutchmen's remaining four galleons until they were covered in scars. At this rate, even if they sank these four fourth-rate ships, the Dutch would still lose the entire battle.

Lucaszoon surveyed the battlefield—the small yachts had been completely routed, and the medium and large yachts were locked in desperate struggle.

Yet every single Daxia naval warship managed to maintain a high rate of fire. Where in the hell did Huo Jianren get so many skilled gunners? "Southeast, five cables, enemy flagship closing!" the lookout suddenly shouted.

A "cable" was a common European maritime distance unit—five cables made half a nautical mile, roughly equivalent to nine hundred twenty-six meters.

On the quarterdeck, all the officers raised their telescopes toward the southeast and indeed saw the Candle Dragon charging in with the Tianyuan in tow, sails spread wide, its dark-red shield-and-halberd flag like a leaping flame.

"Your Excellency the Governor-General, we... we should retreat." The first mate lowered his telescope, not daring to look at Lucaszoon's face.

To the first mate's surprise, Lucaszoon's tone was calm: "Set the fleet's course due south, return to port."

The helmsman froze in disbelief for a few seconds, then loudly ordered the signalman to send the signal.

Soon, a small black flag rose on the Hercules's mizzenmast, and the Dutch fleet, seeing the signal, began retreating toward port one after another.

Aboard the Jingming, the helmsman saw this, rubbed his eyes vigorously, then cried out in delight: "The enemy is retreating!"

Huang Beigui was greatly surprised; he pulled out his telescope and swept the sea, spotting the Candle Dragon to the southeast. His heart settled, and he shouted: "After them!" The helmsman bellowed: "Hard to port, course due south, wind on the port side!"

The Hercules was very fast, while the Jingming, having been through a heavy battle with badly damaged rigging, had severely reduced speed and poor helm response; by the time she finished turning around, the Dutch had already run over a thousand paces ahead.

On the western line of the battlefield, the Dutch large yachts Neptune, Leiden, and others also quickly withdrew south with the fleet—some ships whose bows already faced south simply raised sail and left.

Some ships faced north and had to swing around in a wide arc, unable to escape at all—they could only flee in whatever direction their bows pointed. Others, heavily damaged and trapped within the Daxia encirclement, saw their allies turning to flee and could only lower sails and raise the white flag to surrender.

Soon the Hercules and the other four large galleons broke free of the battle and made for port.

The Candle Dragon and Tianyuan formed a line, pursuing from their northeast flank.

The Lingcang and Hengcang pursued from the northwest; the cruisers were faster and soon sailed to the Dutchmen's starboard quarter, firing chain shot from a distance of nearly two hundred paces.

The Dutch galleons, after a hard half-day of battle, already had damaged rigging; the chain shot tore through it further, dropping their speed a bit more, and the distance to the Candle Dragon kept shrinking.

On the walls of the Batavia bastion, a guard lowered his telescope and shouted: "Look! Our fleet is coming back!"

The anxious councilors all raised their telescopes to peer into the distance—tall masts did indeed rise above the horizon, but a small black flag fluttering from the mizzenmast was glaringly conspicuous.

"Retreating? We lost?" A councilor lowered his telescope, his expression dazed.

Councilor Van der Meer rebuked him: "Nonsense! The Company's fleet is far superior to Huo Jianren's—we cannot lose!"

It was nearing dusk; the edges of the clouds were dyed rose-pink by the setting sun, and the sea shimmered with golden-orange and tangerine ripples.

Amid the hazy light, the Hercules, the Lingcang, the Candle Dragon, and other ships emerged from the horizon.

Before long, more Dutch stragglers appeared.

"We lost..." a councilor said in despair.

"Lucaszoon—that sinner—he deserves to be hanged!"

On the sea, the Candle Dragon had caught up with the large galleon Middelburg; a rolling broadside from her starboard guns sent shells skipping across the water into her hull. The Candle Dragon was now one hundred thirty paces off the Middelburg's port quarter, where the terrifying kinetic energy of the twenty-four-pounders could be fully unleashed.

Aboard the Middelburg, a series of booming thuds came from the deck below as the ship rolled violently; a rigger fell straight into the water off the starboard side. A crewman crawled up from the hold, shouting in terror: "Three hits at the waterline, two hull penetrations!"

Two penetrations meant the shots had punched through all four layers of planking on both the port and starboard sides—something even an eighteen-pounder could not achieve at this range. The Middelburg's first mate muttered: "Twenty-four-pounders... those damned Huo Jianren sailors actually mounted twenty-four-pounders! God above!" At the same time, the helmsman turned the wheel and felt the resistance suddenly go light; he spun it left and right, but the ship showed no response, sailing straight ahead. Panicking, he shouted: "Steering's gone!"

The captain, hearing this, slammed his fist against the railing: "Damn it! They hit the rudder!"

Batavia's main channel was not straight—without a rudder, there was no way to sail back to Batavia, and an emergency tiller wouldn't work either. The captain pondered a moment, then said: "Lower the sails, scuttle the ship!"

"Aye!" the first mate answered loudly, then sent soldiers into the captain's cabin to burn all the charts, letters, and documents.

In Europe, destroying one's own ship was considered a soldier's duty, and every warship had strict protocols for burning itself. The Dutch East India Company took this even more seriously — in their view, the leakage of navigation and shipbuilding technology was a graver consequence than the capture of a warship.

A moment later, a tremendous crash sounded from beneath the hull. The Middelburg's speed dropped sharply, and her crew lowered boats and abandoned ship.

The Candle Dragon did not pause but sailed past her, continuing to bombard the Dordrecht.

Lin Qian repeated his tactic, ordering the gunners to concentrate their fire on the ship's stern.

These thousand-ton galleons could withstand over a hundred cannonballs without sinking, but their rudders were weakly protected.

During a retreat, once the rudder was shot away, no matter how large the warship, it instantly became fish on the chopping block — without friendly rescue, there were only two paths: surrender or abandon ship.

But whether the rudder could be broken was entirely a matter of luck.

After five rolling volleys, the Dordrecht's stern had been battered into a shambles.

The six panoramic glass windows on the stern gallery were all shattered, and together with the reliefs and corridors of the aft castle, and the wooden plaque bearing the gilded ship name "Dordrecht," everything had been reduced to splinters of wood that fell into the sea.

Water and blood dripped down the deck with a pattering sound, a truly miserable sight.

By this time, the Hercules was very close to the main channel, when the lookout on the mainmast suddenly shouted: "There's a boom chain! Due south, two nautical miles!" On the quarterdeck, all the officers looked toward the main channel, and the first mate said: "Damn it!"

The waters of Batavia were too shallow — apart from the main channel, nowhere else could large ships pass.

Lucas Son hesitated briefly, then said: "Turn around!"

With pursuers behind them, it was impossible to lower boats and leisurely cut through the boom chain. If there were only one chain, they could still rely on the flagship's massive tonnage to smash through it.

But there were three chains — even the Hercules could not break through. If the ship were stopped and her hull blocked the channel, she would seal off the escape route for every warship behind her. Better to turn around and fight to the death.

In Greek mythology, Hercules was a hero who repeatedly found himself in desperate straits, and repeatedly defeated mighty foes with wisdom and courage!

Among his many trials, slaying the Nemean Lion was the most perilous — that lion's hide was so tough that no blade or spear could pierce it. In the battle, Hercules' arrows bounced off the lion's pelt, his olive-wood club snapped, and he strangled the great beast to death with his bare arms.

That moment, then, was exactly like this one.

Now both main fleets were in the north. Before the main channel, Lucas Son still had three large galleons under his command, while Great Xia had only two large ships and three fifth-rate vessels. In a hard fight, who would prevail was still unknown.

On the Hercules' quarterdeck, all the officers understood the Governor-General's intent, and their fighting blood was roused. The first mate roared toward the deck: "Hard to port, heading due north — let's go sink the enemy ships!"

On the bastion walls, the councilors saw the Hercules turn around and exchange fire almost bow-to-bow with the Candle Dragon. After a brief shock, they understood the Dutch fleet's predicament and hurriedly called for guards to go cut the boom chains.

All of Batavia's warships had sailed out with the Governor-General; only civilian merchant ships and small lighters remained.

At this moment of life and death for the fleet, the councilors had no time to curse Lucas Son, nor did they care about the guards' casualties — they ordered their men to immediately commandeer these vessels. Beneath the dusk, the distant Salak volcano suddenly rumbled, and a thick yellow column of smoke erupted from its peak — a sign that the volcano was about to erupt. Java had an abundance of volcanoes, and eruptions were nothing unusual to Batavia's residents; everyone kept their eyes fixed on the sea.

Half an hour later, more than twenty vessels of various sizes sailed toward the boom chain.

"Whoosh-crack!" A flare shot into the sky, and six Sea Wolf ships, supported by nearly twenty Eagle ships, moved forward to intercept.

Beneath a sky red as blood, the dozens-of-li-wide expanse of Batavia was filled with ships exchanging cannon fire. The stench of sulfur was so strong it could be smelled clearly even within the city, overpowering even the stink of the canals.

The councilors discovered in despair that these twenty-odd merchant ships could not break through the Sea Wolf blockade at all.

The muskets in the guards' hands fired at the Sea Wolf ships without so much as splintering a single plank.

A single close-range shot from a Folangji cannon could fill a merchant ship's deck with a mist of blood, and the Folangji's rate of fire was even faster than a musket's. These Dutch merchant ships had no power to resist the Sea Wolf ships at all.

As the sky gradually darkened, more and more merchant ships turned and fled back into the harbor.

Just as the councilors were sinking into despair, someone pointed at the distant sea and said: "Look at that ship!"

Van der Meer followed the direction of his finger and saw a cutter racing across the sea at great speed, slipping around the Sea Wolf blockade and charging straight for the boom chain.

Someone asked: "How is there a cutter in the harbor?"

A moment later, someone realized: "It's Bosman!"

Adriaen Bosman had originally been commander of Batavia's patrol fleet, but was demoted to captain for poor command. The ship he commanded was the seven-gun cutter Water Drop. The Governor-General had originally sent Bosman to the Banda Islands to fetch reinforcements, and to break through Great Xia's naval blockade, the Water Drop had removed all her cannons, drawing very little water and moving extremely fast.

And before the decisive battle, because the Water Drop was unarmed, she had not sailed out with the main fleet.

This had originally been Lucas Son's humiliation of Bosman — who would have thought this thoughtless act would become the lifeline that saved the entire fleet in its hour of crisis. As long as the Water Drop reached the boom chain and used gunpowder to sink those nine pontoon ships, the chain would lose its anchors and sink into the water, and the Dutch fleet would be saved.

The sky was growing darker and darker. The Water Drop was like a shadow on the sea, and soon she reached the edge of the boom chain. A moment later, a flash of fire. "Excellent!"

"Eight left!"

The councilors waved their fists and cheered, but the cheering stopped abruptly — the Sea Wolf ship that had been blown up was still sitting steadily on the water. "How is this possible? Was there not enough gunpowder?" a councilor asked in panic.

"Bosman was a fleet commander — how could he not have brought enough gunpowder?"

As they argued, another flash of fire appeared on the sea, the sound of the explosion swallowed by the roar of cannon fire across the entire bay.

And still that Sea Wolf ship serving as a pontoon floated steadfastly on the water.

"What in the world is going on? How is this possible?"

"It's the watertight bulkheads..." the Chinese Kapitan Su Minggang murmured.

"What? What watertight bulkheads? Speak clearly!" Royce rushed forward, grabbed Su Minggang by the collar, and roared, "You damned, cunning Fujianese dog!"

"Let go!" Van der Meer shouted at Royce.

Only then did Royce release his grip reluctantly, his eyes fixed tightly on Su Minggang.

Although Su Minggang was looked down upon by the Dutch, he had to rely on them, and in his heart he did not want the Dutch to be defeated. He immediately offered his counsel: "That's a Haicang ship. The watertight bulkheads divide the compartments so water only floods one at a time. To sink her, you'll need to chisel through — and you'll have to chisel through every single compartment." "My God!" The councilors were dumbfounded.

They never imagined that the junk ships they despised could have such an ingenious design...

On the distant sea, the Water Drop, straining with all her might, finally managed to sink one pontoon ship. Eight remained.

Besides the watertight bulkheads, these pontoon ships were also packed with sand, earth, and boulders, which themselves absorbed part of the explosive force of the gunpowder.

Compared with sailing the ships away, blowing them up did not save much time at all.

While they were blowing up the ships, Dutch sailors were also trying to cut through the boom chain. But the chain was made of Luzon abaca fiber — on shore it took a great axe, five or six heavy blows, to cut through. In the water, with no leverage, cutting it was impossible. The Dutchmen's shears snapped blade after blade, four or five pairs in a row, and the chain was only scratched.

Bosman had originally come to play the hero — he never expected to be the clown once again.

"Sir, the junks are closing in!" the Water Drop's first mate said frantically.

Bosman glanced to the south. The merchant ships hastily commandeered by the councilors had all fled back to the harbor's edge, and the three Sea Wolf ships, now free, were sailing toward the Water Drop, less than two hundred paces away.

For a moment, Bosman felt hot blood rush to his head, and he roared: "Damned Fujianese dogs! Let's fight them to the death!"

The first mate stopped him, saying: "No cannons! The Water Drop has no weapons aboard!"

Bosman could only swallow his anger and say: "Withdraw to the east shore!"

"Rumble—"

A low, muffled boom came from the south. The sailors instinctively looked toward the volcano, where the sulfur column above the crater had grown noticeably thicker, and a fine dust of ash settled onto the deck.

Just as the sailors turned to look at the volcano, a dark silhouette trailing a white wake raced in from the southwest.

"Enemy ship, southwest, half a nautical mile!" the lookout called out first.

By now the sun had fully sunk below the horizon, leaving only a band of fiery red in the western sky, above which it graded through orange, yellow, pale blue, and deep blue, finally transitioning into the pitch black of the heavens.

Out on the water, the light had grown very dim, and only the vague outline of the approaching vessel could be made out—it… seemed to have three bows…

The Water Drop's first mate said in terror, "God above! What is that?"

Bosman shouted at the top of his lungs, "Whatever it is, get moving! Full speed—shake it off!"

He didn't need to say it. The Water Drop's crew had already hoisted every sail and fled toward the eastern shore. The hunter boat, stripped of its cannons and cargo, was nimble indeed, and soon left the three Sea Wolf ships behind.

But those three-hulled things clung stubbornly to their tail, drawing even closer.

Looking back now, Bosman could see more clearly their three hulls running side by side, the vessel moving as if it were flying across the sea.

"That's… Cerberus!" a sailor stammered. The rest of the men on deck all pulled out crucifixes and prayed fervently to God. Cerberus was the three-headed hound that guarded the underworld in Greek mythology, and one of Heracles' twelve labors had been to subdue it. Now that they saw the creature of myth before their very eyes, every Dutch sailor trembled in fear.

"Don't be afraid! Pick up your muskets and prepare to meet the enemy!" Bosman roared.

The next second, fire spat from the mouths of the three-headed hound—two blasts of grapeshot from Folangji cannons came flying. Bosman was struck in the chest, and flesh mixed with shot and ribs splattered across the Water Drop's deck.

"Ahh!" The crew screamed in fright, drawing their pistols and firing toward the three-headed hound.

But in the darkness it was hard to aim, and compared to cannons, the muskets' power was far too weak—there was no visible effect at all. Instead, another flash of fire soon bloomed out of the dark.

Out on the sea, the Falcon boat followed off the Water Drop's starboard quarter, its two Folangji cannons firing at will. Under the dense hail of shot, the Water Drop's deck gradually fell silent—no more answering fire.

As the Water Drop was caught and slaughtered, the last glimmer of light faded from the horizon, and sea and land were swallowed entirely by darkness.

The councilors were silent for a long while before someone finally spoke: "What… was that just now?"

"Too fast. Was that even a ship?"

"Su, that… what kind of ship of yours was that?"

Captain Su Minggang's eyes were wide with bewilderment as well. The speed of that ship just now was abnormal—it surpassed everything he knew about vessels.

Just as everyone was stunned and confused, a tremendous boom suddenly rang out from far in the distance.

Out on the sea beyond the main channel, a single dazzling point of fire flickered.

In the midst of the melee, the Dordrecht had been hit at the temporary gunpowder storage on her lower deck. The explosion of the powder blew a great hole in her hull. While fleeing south, the Dordrecht had already taken heavy damage to her starboard side, with many dead and wounded among the deck crew. After fighting fiercely for so long, casualties had mounted further, and for a time there weren't enough hands to fight the fire. The flames burned through the lower deck, and a fragment of wood studded with sparks was falling into the magazine in the hold.

The next instant, the entire magazine detonated in sympathy. The middle of the ship lurched upward half a meter, then slammed back down onto the sea, sending a ring of towering waves surging outward in every direction.

At the same time, the oak hull tore and bulged outward like paper. A black column of water mixed with planks and shredded bodies shot skyward, rising far higher than her mainmast and blotting out a good portion of the sky.

The ship broke clean in two. Bow and stern tilted up as sailors, cannons, and other supplies tumbled into the sea along with the decks.

The tremor of the explosion could be felt on the water for ten nautical miles around.

Another large galleon, the Enkhuizen, had been too close. The shockwave struck her hull directly, shattering every pane of glass in the stern gallery windows. The great wave pushed her into a heavy list to starboard.

Burning splinters of wood flew like bullets, punching through her sails, and soon the mainsail was riddled with holes ringed by smoldering embers.

An eighteen-pounder cannon fell vertically from the sky and crashed straight onto the Enkhuizen's open deck.

A great section of decking curled up like paper and blasted a dozen meters into the air. The eighteen-pounder smashed through the upper gun deck, caved in the lower gun deck, and only then came to a full stop—leaving much of the ship's midsection artillery damaged and unable to fire.

After a long and bitter fight, the Enkhuizen had suffered enormous casualties, and morale had long since sunk to its lowest. Having witnessed their companion ship explode with their own eyes, the crew had no stomach for further battle. The captain, left with no choice, ordered the ship to withdraw from the fight.

Out on the sea now, only the Heracles remained, holding on alone.

Yahei

Fenyuan

Pen