Chapter 63: Matters of Import

Huang Hetai was taken care of.

Lin Qian paid out some more silver to compensate the startled sailors at Shen'ao Harbor.

He also had Su Kang go treat the wounded naval officers and men.

And so, their group was formally settled on the island.

The next day.

The Santa Ana's officers' mess.

Lin Qian called together all the island's craftsmen—carpenters, caulkers, blacksmiths, and the like—for a meeting.

There were so many that chairs ran short, and the younger ones had to stand off to the side and listen.

To avoid delaying the residential district's construction progress, Lin Qian deliberately scheduled the meeting for the evening.

Before each man sat a cup of steaming Longjing tea—not like the dyed hot water you'd get free with a meal at some cheap diner in later generations.

In this era, when ordinary folk could only drink tea dregs, Longjing was genuinely fine tea leaves, affordable only to official households.

So even if the craftsmen were weary, for the sake of the tea, they were willing to hear Lin Qian out.

Lin Qian first had the craftsmen each report on the progress of the residential district.

The craftsmen explained that the island had ample manpower and ample timber, and most valuably, the pearl divers and Tanka boat people they usually looked down on worked with great vigor—the houses were going up fast.

At this pace, in another three or four months, all the dwellings would be finished.

Lin Qian shook his head. "Still too slow. Can it go faster?"

The craftsmen exchanged glances, then said, "That would take more labor—more carpenters…"

"Mm." Lin Qian dipped his bamboo pen in ink and noted in his sailing log that on the next voyage he should bring back more carpenters.

None of the craftsmen spoke; they only felt that the scratching of that bamboo pen sounded like the King of Hell checking off names in the register of life and death.

Next, Lin Qian asked exactly how many carpenters were needed and of what skill level.

When he learned that what was most lacking were apprentices to do the grunt work, he couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

After all, the southeast coast was vast, and every carpenter of any repute had already been snatched up by him—finding more of the same skill would be genuinely hard.

The next agenda item.

Lin Qian took out a blueprint and spread it on the table.

The craftsmen felt helpless, moved the candlelight closer, and craned their necks to look.

This was already who-knew-which blueprint they'd seen since coming aboard.

The drawing again showed the familiar fine script and dense rows of data.

The first time they'd seen such blueprints, many craftsmen had been awestruck; now they just felt numb.

The only thing that struck them as new was that this drawing depicted a ship.

The ship had three masts, a fat, bulky hull, and a dozen or so movable ports lined along both sides.

"These are… gunports?" A carpenter saw what it was.

"This looks like the very ship we're standing on, doesn't it?"

"Is the helmsman thinking of building another one?"

Lin Qian smiled. "Look more carefully."

The men had no choice but to fetch more candles, and after studying it a while, they spotted the difference.

Someone pointed at the bow. "Here—the lateen sail was originally a square sail, and it's been changed to several triangular ones."

Mute Huang gestured vaguely at the hull with his tobacco pipe.

Someone realized with a start: "Right—the number of gunports on the hull has changed too."

The Santa Ana originally had only one gun deck, with fourteen gunports per side; now it had been increased to sixteen.

On the upper deck, forecastle, and quarterdeck, six small gun positions had also been added beside the railings on each side.

Thus the ship's total armament went from thirty guns to forty-six—an increase of 53.33%.

He had calculated the hull's structural strength; adding sixteen guns was still a conservative design.

The problem was that no tree ever grew in the shape of a hull plank.

When shipwrights built a vessel, it was like stacking blocks—grabbing whatever piece fit wherever, so long as it all came together in the end, never mind how.

For that reason, in the age of sail, no two ships were ever identical, even when built from the same blueprint.

So theory was one thing, practice another.

Lin Qian could only design where the gunports should go.

As for exactly which planks of the hull could be cut and which couldn't—that was up to the shipwrights and carpenters.

The craftsmen studied the blueprint for a long while, then, with Lin Qian's permission, took it down to the gun deck and compared it against the actual ship.

Most of the crew slept on the gun deck; woken by the commotion, they rose groggily from their hammocks and watched the group with bleary eyes as they studied the planking.

They kept at it until the small hours.

Coming off the gun deck, Mute Huang patted the blueprint and gave a thumbs-up.

Lin Qian understood and asked, "When can work start? How long will it take?"

A carpenter answered, "Earliest tomorrow. The work will take at least ten days. But that means the town construction will slow down again."

Lin Qian thought for a moment. "Set the town aside for now. Get the gunports refitted first."

Counting the days, the Mid-Autumn Festival—the fifteenth of the eighth month—was only a few days away, the date of the first cargo delivery.

Per the agreement between Lin Qian and the Fat Councilman, this delivery would total forty thousand taels in goods, of which ten thousand taels would go toward purchasing firearms.

The firearms purchased would, conveniently, be loaded aboard the Santa Ana on the return voyage.

At present, the Great Ming had a new emperor on the throne, and the court had no leisure for other matters.

This was his golden window of growth—he had to find every possible way to expand his strength.

A sea battle definitely couldn't be won with just one ship.

But building new warships cost money and effort, not to mention an extremely long time—even with ready-made planks on hand, it would take months or even years.

Strengthening the Santa Ana was only a stopgap measure.

Once their strength grew, they would find some reckless sea bandit to make an example of, seize the bandit's fleet for themselves, and send the heads to Garrison Commander Huang to claim credit.

That would kill two birds with one stone.

The sky was just beginning to lighten at the horizon as Lin Qian saw the craftsmen off onto a small boat back to the island.

As each man stepped off the ship, five taels of silver were pressed into his hand.

The craftsmen, who had been brimming with resentment, suddenly broke into beaming smiles.

The Ming dynasty's commodity economy was extremely active—wherever there were people, there was business.

As early as a few days ago, scattered street vendors had appeared on the island, and afterward gambling dens and flower boats had followed.

Silver was useful at any time, even on this godforsaken island where even birds didn't shit.

After seeing the last craftsman off the ship,

Lin Qian walked back to the captain's cabin. Without bothering to take off his clothes or wash his face, he collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep in an instant.

He didn't know how long had passed when he heard noises on the deck and jolted awake with a start.

Lin Qian walked to the washbasin, wiped his face with a damp cloth, and felt refreshed and clear-headed.

Stepping outside, he saw Lei Sanxiang assigning the crew to roll call, dismissing them only after confirming everyone was present.

"Helmsman." Someone called him from behind.

Lin Qian turned around and saw Scholar Zhou and José.

Today was the day the two of them would escort the cargo to Macao and hand it over to the Fat Councilman.

"Be careful on the road," Lin Qian instructed. "Buy more matchlock muskets. Old He knows these things well—just listen to him."

"Understood, Helmsman." Scholar Zhou nodded in agreement.

Lin Qian accompanied the two of them down the rope ladder.

Below the rope ladder, a three-masted Fujian junk was waiting quietly.

This ship was one Lin Qian had bought from a nearby sea merchant, used for delivering goods.

The cargo for this delivery had already been loaded in advance, and there were over a dozen skilled hands aboard to escort it.

Before long, the Fujian junk lowered its sails and slowly set sail.

At the same time, from the direction of White Sand Bay, a fast boat came speeding over and stopped beside the galleon. The newcomer was a soldier under Garrison Commander Huang's command.

He came before Lin Qian, cupped his fists, and said: "The Garrison Commander requests the Headman come over—there is important business to discuss."

Lin Qian frowned slightly: "Did he say what it was about?"

The soldier said: "It seems to be related to the Regional Commander."

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen