Chapter 373: The Fall of the City

In the approach trench about fifty paces east of Batavia city, twenty mortars were dispersed among it, using the cover of breastworks and trenches to lob explosive shells in high arcs into the city.

After years of research and refinement, Great Xia's siege mortars were all uniformly cast from bronze using the lost-wax method. To facilitate passage through trenches, the shells weighed about thirty pounds. Compared to European heavy mortars, which often exceeded sixty pounds, Great Xia's mortars had a slightly smaller bore, but they could fire explosive shells, making their power far greater than European heavy mortars. Moreover, Great Xia's mortars used a firing mechanism where the chamber flame ignited the fuse, which was also far safer than European mortars.

While the mortars bombarded, twenty-four-pounder cannons at various positions also hammered the city walls, while three-pounders suppressed the ramparts. For a moment, the number of cannons firing simultaneously across the outer city reached as many as two hundred, the cacophony of gunfire thundering without cease, and the sand and gravel on the ground trembled unceasingly.

By this time, Batavia's southern city was already a field of rubble and a sea of fire.

Explosive shells plummeted at extreme speed, low howls in the air weaving together into a sheet, like a vast swarm of bees skimming low, drawing near from afar before abruptly converging. When the shells burst open, they let out a deep, muffled rumble—each sound accompanied by the shattering of collapsing buildings, the crackling snap of wooden beams breaking, and the screams of the crowd.

One explosive shell struck the city's grain warehouse. Before the fuse had finished burning, the shell punched straight through the wooden planks and buried itself inside the warehouse.

A moment later, a tremendous explosion erupted. A dark orange-red fireball suddenly swelled from the middle of the warehouse, blasting the entire roof into the air. Splintered wood was hurled outward by the shockwave, aflame and trailing plumes of smoke and dust, scattering like a black rain over a dozen meters.

"My God!" Van Dyke stared, his eyes frozen wide with terror.

Meanwhile, the civilians in the western city came out to look, faces streaming with tears, while others knelt on the ground in repentance and prayer.

"Sir, we must go now..." the guard behind Van Dyke urged.

As Van Dyke hurried along, he kept turning his head to look.

He saw that in the eastern part of the city, near the city wall, explosions were erupting in succession, thick black smoke rising—that was Batavia's arsenal, clearly a primary target for Great Xia's strikes.

The bulk of the gunpowder had already been transferred to the bastion, but the arsenal still held large quantities of halberds, breastplates, muskets, uniforms, and other goods—now evidently reduced to ashes.

After a while longer, the black smoke grew denser and denser, until suddenly a shocking thunderclap erupted from the arsenal. Van Dyke felt as though someone had punched him in the chest; the ground shuddered violently, and even the canal water rippled in layer after layer.

Van Dyke turned to look back and saw a pitch-black mushroom cloud rising into the sky. Moments later, burning wooden chunks, dented breastplates, and halberds with snapped shafts rained down from the sky like a downpour.

Some of the metal landed on the streets, scraping out sparks.

Van Dyke and his guards had no choice but to take shelter under the eaves as they hurried toward the Governor-General's residence.

Entering the courtyard of the Governor-General's residence, Van Dyke saw chaos and panic everywhere. Three large bonfires had been set up in the yard, and soldiers were carrying loads of documents on their shoulders and in their arms, throwing them into the flames to be burned.

Because too many documents had been piled on at once, the fires were nearly smothered out in large part. Soldiers nearby grabbed fire-poking sticks and pried apart the mountain-high stacks of papers, a thick wave of smoke hitting them and leaving their faces covered in soot.

Just then, Van der Meer strode out of the Governor-General's residence with a furrowed brow. Catching sight of Van Dyke, he gave him a once-over and said, "Mr. Van Dyke, the outer city can no longer be held, I fear. Fall back to the bastion with us."

Hearing this, Van Dyke said urgently, "What—but Your Excellency the Governor-General, my family are all in the outer city!"

"I will send men to fetch your family. Now please come with us. You saw the Huo Jian people's leaflets—once they enter the city, they will not spare you or your family. Those barbarians belong in hell!"

Having said this, Van der Meer continued walking forward. Two soldiers behind Van Dyke watched him, and with no choice, he could only follow Van der Meer's steps. "But—but the bastion has no fresh water either." Van Dyke said anxiously.

"Ha, rest assured. Directly beneath the bastion there are deep cisterns—vaulted and sealed, lined with lime, with staged filtration—and with rainwater besides, enough to sustain a thousand men for six months! Once the Christmas Fleet arrives, every last one of those damned Huo Jian people will be hanged!"

As Van der Meer gnashed his teeth, a deep, low rumble came from the southern section of the city wall. The tremor quickly traveled along the ground from afar, reaching each person's ears with perfect clarity.

Everyone turned to look toward the south of the city. In the distance, they could see a vast cloud of dust and smoke rising into the air. Judging from the sound and the dust, the southern city wall must have collapsed. Van der Meer withdrew his gaze and said, "We have no time left. Move quickly!"

Van der Meer walked a few steps, but Van Dyke remained rooted in place. The guard behind him said, "Mr. Van Dyke, you heard the Governor-General's order." Van der Meer stopped, turned around with a frown, and said, "What's the matter?"

Van Dyke rubbed his hands together incessantly, avoiding the Governor-General's gaze as he said, "Forgive me, Your Excellency the Governor-General, but I... I must go back to be with my family... Little Jasmine, she's only eight years old, and my wife... they need me..."

"Are you questioning my orders?"

Van Dyke grew even more flustered: "No, no. Most noble Governor-General, it's just that at a time like this, I should be at my family's side. I—I—" Van der Meer stepped forward, his expression ferocious, speaking at breakneck speed: "Let me be frank, Mr. Van Dyke. Your hydraulic expertise is far too outstanding. The entire sluice system of Batavia rests in your hands, obeying you as docilely as a quill in a clerk's hand...

I've looked into your record. You're a man of Delft. Your father was a glassblower, and you yourself once served as a glassmaker's apprentice before switching careers to become a public engineer. Your skills are rather too numerous!"

"Th—thank you for the compliment, Your Excellency the Governor-General." Van Dyke did not grasp the meaning behind the Governor-General's words, but he still thanked him politely. Van der Meer was taken aback for a moment, then simply said outright: "A man like you, kept within the Company, is a fine asset. But should you fall into the hands of our opponents, you become a sword thrust into the Company's heart.

I cannot risk leaving you here to help the Great Xia people attack the bastion, and I certainly cannot permit you to help the Huo Jian people maintain Batavia's canals and water supply—these are all Company property! No one but the Company may lay a finger on them!"

Van Dyke was stunned for a moment, then said dully, "But—but if no one maintains the water supply, tens of thousands of people in Batavia will sicken and die of thirst... Of course, I'm not saying it has to be me. I have many excellent colleagues, but this matter still needs someone to—"

Van der Meer sneered: "Doesn't what you just said prove my judgment correct? Stay here, and you will betray the Company!" Van Dyke suddenly understood, covered his mouth, and shook his head desperately.

The Governor-General gave the order in an icy tone: "Take him away!"

Van Dyke struggled: "But—but—"

Just then, gunfire and cannon fire had already erupted from the southern city. A guard came sprinting in with a report: "Your Excellency, Great Xia soldiers have already broken into the Tiger Canal district!" "Tiger Canal" was a golden canal in Amsterdam; after Batavia was founded, a district was named after it. The district's buildings featured coral walls plastered with white lime, roofs of red clay tiles, two-story louvered shutters, and detached little courtyards with coconut trees—decorated with extraordinary grandeur.

Its residents were all senior figures of the Dutch East India Company, along with wealthy merchants and military officers. It was the most prosperous district in all of Batavia, and even the widow of the late Governor-General Lucaszoon lived there.

This district was extremely close to the Governor-General's residence.

Van der Meer was utterly astonished and said, "How is that possible? How did they break through so quickly? What about Roys? What is he doing as Garrison Commander?" "The Huo Jian people care nothing for infantry casualties. The moment the bombardment stopped, waves of infantry immediately flooded into the city. His Excellency the Commander simply had no time to retake the southern positions.

Moreover, these Huo Jian people are superbly equipped—their firearms have a fast rate of fire and high accuracy, nearly comparable to Dutch flintlock muskets!"

"Excuses, all excuses!" Van der Meer roared. "Go deliver my orders to Roys—he must hold out for another three hours, no matter what!" After the guard ran off, Van der Meer asked his adjutant: "How many documents remain undestroyed?"

"About thirty stacks remain. I'll urge them to hurry!"

Paper may seem quick to burn, but it doesn't burn fast—it must be done slowly. Dump it all into the fire at once, and it will only smother the flames.

By now, gunfire and cannon fire raged continuously south of the Governor-General's residence. Van der Meer could even hear the screams of soldiers struck by gunfire. He knew full well that this was a dire emergency.

But these documents—some were statistics on spice trees in the Spice Islands, some were charts of the cinnamon shipping routes in the Ceylon Islands, and others were correspondence between Governor-General Coen and the Board of Directors and the Council of the Indies during the slaughter of the Banda Islands.

The letters freely discussed whether it was better to kill all the natives of the Banda Islands or to keep some alive.

They also carefully studied exactly how many to keep—enough that they could offer no resistance, yet not so few that production would suffer.

They even discussed how to control the native population numbers, keeping them perpetually within the golden population range most optimal for production.

If these documents fell into Great Xia's hands, they would either damage the Company's interests or harm the Company's reputation—they had to be completely destroyed. But time was likely insufficient. Van der Meer gave the order: "Stop burning the rest. Dump them all into the canal!"

"Yes!" The soldiers obeyed, clutching documents and scattering them wildly into the river. Soon, like falling snow, the entire canal was spread white. The canal had been stagnant for so long that a layer of biological film covered the water's surface. The documents landed on the film and simply would not sink. Seeing that the Great Xia army was about to arrive, the Dutch could no longer be bothered. Van der Meer took the lead, sprinting toward the bastion in retreat.

On the way, they heard a splash—as if something heavy had fallen into the water.

The pristine white surface of the document-covered canal was smashed open into a pitch-black hole, countless splashes of water spraying onto the banks as the Dutch guards nearby scrambled to dodge.

"What fell in?" Van der Meer asked.

One guard said: "It's Mr. Van Dyke, sir. He's fallen into the water."

"Damn it! Shoot him! Kill him!" Van der Meer said.

The guards exchanged glances, hesitating.

"That's an order! I want you to eliminate the Company's bad assets!" Van der Meer, frantic with rage, snatched a flintlock musket from a guard and pulled the trigger at the spot where Van Dyke had fallen.

After one gunshot, Van der Meer seized another musket and fired at the river.

He watched for a moment—there was nothing on the river surface but dead fish and bubbles, the stench of rot mixed with sulfur so pungent it made one's eyes roll back. Vandermian waited by the riverbank for a while, and gradually, documents drifted over, covering the river's surface.

Only then did Vandermian say indignantly, "Let's go!"

Meanwhile, in a dark drainage ditch ten meters away, Fanti dragged his obese body out with difficulty, dry-heaving from his own stench with every squeeze through.

After catching his breath for a moment, he rose and walked resolutely toward home, muttering, "Little Jasmine, don't be afraid, Daddy's coming right away..." Along the way, panicked crowds fled everywhere, and many took the opportunity to break into homes and loot shops—a complete picture of the apocalypse. In Batavia's eastern district, more and more of Daxia's new army flooded into the Tiger River wealthy quarter; on every street and alley were figures in crow-blue uniforms, flintlock musket fire falling like hail, wave after wave, with no sign of stopping.

Inside the detached villas, the delicate glass windows and precious Oriental porcelain were all smashed into piles of fragments.

The snow-white building facades were pockmarked with dense bullet craters.

Many wealthy merchants' family members were screaming and fleeing with large bundles and small bags, the scene in complete chaos.

Lucas Song's widow was among them; in her panic she stepped on her own hem, screamed, and fell to the ground.

"Madam, get up quickly!" The maidservant hurriedly turned back and went to help her up.

Madame Lucas Song forced herself up, only to find her left foot in excruciating pain, completely unable to bear weight—she had likely sprained it. She could only take small steps toward the bastion with the maidservant's support.

"Crack—pop..."

Around them came the sound of a volley of gunfire; the streets were shrouded in dust and gunsmoke, making it impossible to tell where the bullets were coming from.

One lead ball struck the coconut tree beside the two women dead-on. The bullet shattered, and a splinter of wood flew off, striking the maidservant hard in the face, startling a scream from her.

Her scream was heard by someone—footsteps came from the alley ahead.

The maidservant was overjoyed and called for help: "We're here, come help—"

Halfway through her words, she suddenly stopped. What charged out of the alley was a ronin wielding a blade.

He wore a chonmage topknot, a loose kimono full of holes and filthy beyond measure, held a katana in hand, and his eyes were filled with vicious cruelty.

His gaze swept over the maidservant, instantly frightening her into dead silence.

"Lowborn, get out of the way!" Madame Lucas Song shouted with a stern face.

The ronin couldn't understand Dutch; his gaze kept shifting between the two women's faces and their luggage.

Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the ronin raised his blade and thrust—driving it straight into Madame Lucas Song's abdomen.

Madame Lucas Song instantly doubled over, her face full of bewilderment and shock. All the strength in her body was drained away by the katana, and even the pain from her sprained foot vanished.

The ronin was utterly ruthless—he immediately twisted the hilt, tearing the wound open with brutal force, then withdrew the blade in one swift motion.

Madame Lucas Song collapsed to her knees, both hands clutching the wound as blood sprayed through her fingers. She was in agony beyond words, yet couldn't cry out; her face twisted in a ghastly grimace.

"Madam... Madam..." The maidservant's half-covered face was splattered with blood, and she was frozen in shock.

Then the ronin stepped forward again, raised his blade overhead, and brought it down in a horizontal slash that caught the maidservant square on the neck.

Her carotid artery and trachea were severed clean through; the blade lodged in her cervical vertebrae. Blood erupted in a torrent, spraying two or three meters like a bloody fountain, staining the exterior wall of a nearby Dutch villa bright red.

The ronin worked the katana loose, pulling the blade free from where it was stuck in the spine.

The blood fountain sprayed for five or six seconds, then gradually dwindled. The light in the maidservant's eyes faded rapidly; her legs gave way and she crumpled to the ground, dying with eyes wide open, her corpse twitching uncontrollably.

The ronin snatched up Madame Lucas Song's luggage and began rifling through it for valuables. Among the many dresses, he found a draft from the Bank of Amsterdam for thirty thousand Dutch guilders. Treating it as worthless paper, he tossed it aside.

He searched a while longer and found a set of pearl jewelry—a necklace, earrings, and a brooch—plus some loose gold and silver coins and a gemstone ring. "Yoshi!" The ronin beamed with delight and pocketed his spoils.

Madame Lucas Song still had a breath of life left, kneeling and gasping in utter agony.

The ronin stepped forward, kicked her over without mercy, then searched her body thoroughly. Sure enough, he found another ring, a carnelian cameo, and a gold locket containing a miniature oil painting of her late husband.

"Haha!" The ronin tore up Lucas Song's miniature portrait and stuffed the valuables into his clothes—but there was too much loot, and his tattered kimono could no longer hold it all.

The ronin simply tore a large strip of silk from Madame Lucas Song's skirt, wrapped the valuables in it to make a bundle, and slung it over his back. Satisfied, he rose to flee—but turning back, he saw Madame Lucas Song's white undergarments exposed, with bare skin showing on her thighs.

The ronin went back and used his katana to slash and rip apart the clothes covering her chest and lower body. After finishing, he admired the sight for a moment before leaving contentedly.

By now Madame Lucas Song was at her last breath. Tears spilled from her eyes; one hand struggled to grab at the fabric to cover her shame, but she had no strength left. She died in fear and humiliation.

In Batavia's wealthy quarter, there were many such ronin seizing the opportunity to loot. They only sought wealth—whether robbing Chinese or Dutch, robbery was robbery. Moreover, the Tiger River district was mostly womenfolk with plenty of property, and the Dutch army was busy fighting Daxia—it was the perfect time to strike.

These gentlemen and ladies, who normally held themselves so high, suffered heavy casualties in a single day, losing both lives and property.

Meanwhile, on the south side of the Tiger River district, the surviving Dutch soldiers were retreating in defeat step by step. The Dutch army was already small, and most of its men had been transferred to the bastion. The Daxia forces entering the city now numbered in the thousands, while Royce had fewer than three hundred men under his command—a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

"Bang bang bang..." A dense volley of gunfire sounded in the distance.

Around the hiding spot of a Dutch squad, stones flew and dust billowed.

"Commander! Huo Jianren is charging up—let's retreat!" the adjutant shouted.

"No! The Governor-General ordered us to hold for three hours! We haven't even made it halfway!" Royce said. Sweat covered his forehead, now mixed with dust, giving his face a gray cast that looked rather comical.

"Bang bang bang..." Another volley of gunfire rang out.

A Dutch musketeer took a bullet to the groin. What had been between his legs instantly turned to shredded flesh and scattered, leaving only a gaping hole.

The musketeer froze for a moment, then clamped his legs together, curled up, and let out a horrific wail. Sweat, tears, and snot mingled on his face as he rolled on the ground.

Seeing this gruesome sight, the surrounding Dutch soldiers all instinctively tensed their lower bodies.

"Commander!"

Royce said, still shaken: "Fine, we fall back."

The adjutant immediately relayed the order. The surviving Dutch soldiers retreated while firing, falling back toward the bastion. But after prolonged bitter fighting, their morale had plummeted, and along the retreat route they saw large numbers of Dutch corpses killed by ronin. Their morale collapsed rapidly, turning the retreat into a full-scale rout.

Only Royce's squad fought on with stubborn resolve, always holding the rear. As a result, they became a salient jutting out from the battle line—and by the time they realized it, crow-blue figures were closing in from both east and west.

They could no longer retreat to the bastion.

In desperation, Royce looked around and spotted the church's towering bell tower.

The Batavia church was a brick-and-stone structure built of coral stone and red brick, with walls nearly half a meter thick. To its west stood the city hall, the two sharing an attached chapel. The building occupied a vast footprint with deep foundations and solid construction—hard to collapse, hard to burn, and featuring a central courtyard that could collect rainwater.

It was the perfect shelter.

So Royce shouted: "Fall back to the church!"

The adjutant relayed the order at full volume, and the soldiers surged toward the church.

The Dutch Calvinists did not favor ostentation; the church's decoration was plain and simple, which was why it had not been looted. The interior remained relatively clean.

After entering the church, there was no time to rest. Royce had his men drag over document cabinets and heavy stone slabs to brace the main door horizontally, and used long stone benches to jam the door frame crosswise.

Inside the gate, long wooden benches were stacked on the open ground to form makeshift barricades, meant for a last-ditch defense once the enemy broke through the doors.

The wooden ladders on the outer walls were taken down, and all the tall narrow windows on the first floor were boarded up with thick planks, leaving only narrow firing slits. Wooden crates were piled beneath the windows for soldiers to stand on and shoot out from.

Royce had also posted men on the second floor and the rooftop to keep watch. Only after all this was done did he feel at ease. He sent people to tend to the wounded soldiers who had come with them, while constantly boosting morale.

"His Excellency the Governor-General won't abandon us! If we can hold out for a few days, we'll break out!"

"Those filthy, cunning Huojian people just exploited a gap. Once the Company's fleet returns, we'll kill them all—and that Lin Qian, we'll capture him and hang him too!"

Just then, the adjutant who had been observing from the rooftop came down and said gloomily, "Your Excellency, the Great Xia army surrounds us on all sides. We are encircled." Royce said confidently, "Cheer up! Those Huojian people can't do anything to us!"

The surrounding soldiers showed no reaction, unconvinced.

A wounded soldier said in a low voice, "Commander, the outer city has already fallen. Can we really hold out? Perhaps... perhaps we should surrender. At least we'd survive." "You want to surrender to the Huojian people?" Royce growled. "You want to surrender to those lowly, cunning, cowardly, greedy, lying inferior people?"

Seeing his anger, none of the soldiers dared to speak.

Everyone sat facing each other in the empty chapel as time trickled by. Occasionally a Great Xia soldier approached, and the Dutch soldiers fired shots to drive them off.

By the time evening approached, the gunfire across all of Batavia had gradually died down.

The soldiers all knew that the Dutch were vastly outnumbered by the Great Xia army. They figured the fighting in the outer city was basically over by now, and their turn would come soon. A few soldiers huddled together and muttered complaints: "How long do you think we can hold out? Five days... or three..." Another veteran said scornfully, "Stop dreaming. Once the Great Xia heavy cannons are brought up, we're all finished."

"That fool Royce, with his head full of hatred, will get us all killed!"

The men fell silent for a moment, then their gazes gradually grew resolute.

"Keep an eye on which room Royce sleeps in tonight."

Late at night, outside the Batavia church, Wang Ruzhong stepped over rubble and debris as he entered.

Li Yu saw him, greeted him, and asked, "Where's Master Ge?"

"He's building a dam on the Ciliwung River. This church is the only building left in the outer city—no need for Master Ge to come out for this."

Li Yu smiled confidently. "No need. The siege cannons have arrived. Once dawn breaks, we'll build the Dutch a stone coffin."

Meanwhile, on the second floor of the city hall, outside the temporary bedroom of Garrison Commander Royce, three Dutch soldiers crept forward stealthily, daggers in hand. Just then, a voice suddenly called out from the darkness: "Who's there?"

A swift sword extended at once. By the moonlight streaming through the window, the three men could see that the one holding the sword was none other than Royce's adjutant.

At the same time, the adjutant also saw the daggers in the three men's hands and their faces.

The four of them stared at each other, frozen on the spot. For a long while, no one spoke.

Just as the atmosphere was growing increasingly awkward, the adjutant, as if suddenly struck blind, sheathed his sword and went downstairs alone.

PingFang

Pen