Chapter 30: The Turtle-Dove Foot Gun

The Fujian junk sailed across the calm waters of the Liao Sea. The sailors adjusted the sails from time to time according to the wind. They encountered many other vessels along the way, each ignoring the others. Even though Proprietor Zhao was both a merchant and a pirate, he dared not cause trouble in the inner sea, especially with the official flag of the Dengzhou Maritime Circuit flying.

Once they were a little farther from shore, several sailors on deck pulled away the cover cloth, revealing several cannons before Chen Xin's eyes. There were three cannons on each side of the ship. The two near the stern were large breech-loading Folangji cannons (note: not the thousand-catty Folangji). Beside the cannon bodies lay seven or eight pre-loaded chambers, which were also quite large. Behind the loading port of the mother cannon, an iron wedge was inserted to secure the chamber after loading—a primitive breech block.

What truly made Chen Xin's eyes light up was a cannon near the bow. He walked over to examine it closely. The sailors, who looked like gunners, paid him no mind. The cannon was about seven chi long (220 cm). Chen Xin roughly measured the muzzle with his palm; the inner diameter was about 11 to 12 centimeters. The caliber-to-barrel-length ratio was twenty, which seemed a bit small. However, the cannon body had the typical feature of a Dutch cannon: narrow at the front and thick at the rear. There were four reinforcing iron hoops on the barrel, and a pair of trunnions on either side of the midsection. It was likely a Ming copy of a Dutch cannon. Beneath the barrel was a short, squat gun carriage. There was one cannon on each side, and another beside the bowsprit, making a total of three Dutch cannons and four large Folangji cannons on the ship.

He had seen some pictures of Dutch cannons but could not recall the exact specifications. Seeing several gunners nearby, he decided to try his luck with them. Chen Xin said to a gunner beside him, "Brother, may I touch it?"

The gunner chuckled and said, "Go ahead and touch it, Mr. Chen. Do scholars like you also enjoy these things?"

Chen Xin, needing a favor, naturally offered some flattery: "I, a scholar, most enjoy associating with good men like you, brother. If everyone could fire cannons like you, how could those Tatars have taken my hometown?"

The gunner was a simple, honest man. Hearing such kind words, he didn't know how to respond and just scratched his head, smiling. The literacy rate in the Ming Dynasty was low, and ordinary people still held scholars in high respect. Proprietor Zhao had been quite courteous when introducing Chen Xin earlier, so most people still treated him with a degree of respect.

"Then go ahead and touch it, sir. You can't break it by touching."

Chen Xin reached out and touched it, feeling the metallic texture of the barrel. A strange sensation welled up in his heart. He had never come into contact with such a large weapon before. As he realized he was stroking a cannon, it felt as if he were experiencing a power that could destroy anything.

"Brother, may I ask how heavy this cannon is?"

"I don't know that either. It must be several thousand catties."

"How much gunpowder does it use?"

"One shovel-full!"

"One shovel-full? Then how heavy is the iron ball?"

"Very heavy, several catties."

This brother seemed to be a bit of a dabbler. Chen Xin had to change his approach: "Then how do you aim?"

The simple, honest brother gave a silly grin: "Aim at what? I just shove it right up against him and fire. Let's see him run then."

Chen Xin was utterly speechless. This man was a complete makeshift gunner. Knowing he wouldn't get any useful information, he simply started chatting casually with the gunner. He learned that the gunner was named Wang Zugui, a Shandong native who was originally a fisherman and had followed Proprietor Zhao for a long time. Chen Xin used his special skill, and within moments, he had warmed up to the man.

"Does Accountant Chen have a fondness for firearms?" a sinister voice sounded from the side. It was that detestable Second-in-Command, Han Bin. Chen Xin turned his head and replied, "Indeed I do, though I have never used one."

Han Bin chuckled darkly: "Since Mr. Chen is a scholar, licking blood from a blade is not quite suitable. Why not try a firearm instead? In case we encounter pirates or the like, it would be good for self-defense." He had seen many scholars before; that old Cai was a complete coward. This Chen Xin had made him lose face today, so he wanted to make Chen Xin look foolish. That way, Chen Xin's status on the ship would naturally drop, and then he could slowly squeeze out this broken bookkeeper.

The gunner Wang Zugui chimed in from the side: "Then Mr. Chen could just take a bird gun. That thing is light and handy."...

Han Bin glared fiercely at him. Wang Zugui, simple and clueless, had no idea what he had done wrong. He only heard Han Bin angrily say, "What nonsense are you spouting, you fool? Mr. Chen is so tall and big, of course he must use something large. Besides, the bird guns have all been distributed already."

Wang Zugui scratched his head and said, "Then what other firearm is big? You don't mean for Mr. Chen to use a Dutch cannon, do you?"

Han Bin laughed, turned, and waved his hand. A subordinate behind him, also with a mocking expression, came forward and handed over a large, heavy matchlock. The gun barrel was between five and six chi long. On the barrel near the stock, a serpentine lever held a length of match cord. The muzzle looked wide enough to fit a finger, at least half a cun or more. The barrel wall was also very thick; it looked like it weighed nearly twenty catties.

Chen Xin understood Han Bin's scheme at a glance. He must have thought Chen Xin was a weak scholar who couldn't even truss a chicken, waiting to see him embarrass himself by failing to lift the gun. Most scholars of this era were indeed like that. Civil and military talents like Xiong Tingbi and Lu Xiangsheng were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. The rest were mostly frail, at most carrying a sword for pretentious elegance while deeply despising military men. The ancient ideal of a scholar who could be a general on horseback and a minister when dismounted was no longer mentioned by anyone.

By now, everyone left on deck was watching. Sailing the sea was one of the most dangerous endeavors of this era, and sailors valued strength and courage above all. They all wanted to see how much this new bookkeeper was worth. Lu Lvzi, not knowing how strong Chen Xin was and fearing he would be bullied, stepped forward, saying, "Let me try," and moved to take the gun. One of Han Bin's men suddenly blocked Lu Lvzi, saying fiercely, "Did the Second-in-Command say it was for you?"

Lu Lvzi shot back without flinching, "Did the First-in-Command say it wasn't?" He pressed right up to the man's face. The two stood chest to chest like fighting cocks, their noses almost touching. At that moment, Proprietor Zhao and a few minor leaders had all gone below deck. Only that inscrutable Mr. Song was there, watching from the side with a smile, seemingly not intending to meddle. Everyone else was in the mood to watch a show, and no one stepped forward to intervene. Just as a fight seemed about to break out, Chen Xin's voice reached their ears: "Such a fine firearm is exactly what I should use."

The two would-be brawlers turned their heads to look. Under everyone's gaze, Chen Xin had already taken the heavy matchlock with one hand. Twenty catties was not much weight, but holding it with one hand required considerable wrist strength to keep the barrel steady. The surrounding sailors burst into cheers. Mr. Song also nodded and smiled. Lu Lvzi was overjoyed and astonished; he had never imagined that Chen Xin, who looked so refined, would have such strength in his hands. Wang Zugui was even more effusive in his praise: "Mr. Chen is truly no ordinary gentleman, able to hold this turtle-dove gun with one hand."

Although Chen Xin had never practiced martial arts, as a modern man, his childhood nutrition was incomparable to that of the Ming Dynasty. He had often participated in sports during his school years, and after starting work, he had bought a gym membership costing several thousand yuan a year. His strength was above average among his peers. He might not match these sea bandits in fighting and killing, but in raw strength, he was not necessarily inferior. The Second-in-Command had estimated him based on the standard of Ming Dynasty scholars and had, of course, miscalculated greatly, instead allowing Chen Xin to gain considerable popularity.

Chen Xin smiled as he looked at Han Bin's face, which was dark with rage. Feeling immensely pleased with himself, he held the gun for a while longer, but still found it heavy. Since his goal had been achieved, he switched to holding it with both hands and looked down to examine the gun carefully. When he first saw it, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but judging by its shape and the weight he now felt, it should be the famous European heavy smoothbore musket of this era. He had no idea how it had appeared on an East Asian sea vessel. Wang Zugui had just called it a "turtle-dove gun"—a truly strange name. (Note: For a detailed introduction and pictures of the turtle-dove foot gun, see related works.)

He stroked the gun body, feeling the same way he had when touching the cannon, as if possessing a formidable power. They say men have a love affair with guns in their hearts; Chen Xin understood this as a man's worship of power. For the first time in his life, he owned his own gun, and it was very likely the famous musket of the 16th to 17th centuries. The few things he had seen today already made him feel the trip was worthwhile....

Han Bin watched the expression of enjoyment on Chen Xin's face, feeling slightly puzzled. He didn't understand what that expression meant. It seemed this bookkeeper was truly not so easy to deal with. Thinking this, his face darkened, and he turned to leave.

"Second-in-Command, please wait."

Han Bin turned back and said, "What do you want?"

Chen Xin smiled, cupped his hands in salute, and said, "The Second-in-Command has given me such a fine matchlock. I offer my thanks here."

Han Bin sneered, "Hmph, being able to hold it doesn't mean you can use it."

"Precisely. That's why I just realized the Second-in-Command has forgotten to give me a few things."

"What things?"

"Gunpowder, lead balls, match cord, and a forked rest. Without a forked rest, how can one shoot accurately?"

Han Bin, having failed to achieve his original goal, was unwilling to give Chen Xin anything so readily. "Find the powder and shot yourself. There's no forked rest," he said, resorting to outright denial. Chen Xin chuckled and said, "The Second-in-Command must be so busy that he forgot about the forked rest. Surely a mere stick like that can't be eaten, so the Second-in-Command certainly wouldn't embezzle it."

Han Bin was furious. His right hand jabbed sharply at Chen Xin: "You..."

"I'll take you to find a forked rest." An unfamiliar voice spoke. Chen Xin looked and saw it was the man who had been sitting alone on the bowsprit earlier, leaning against the mast and watching him calmly. Chen Xin had noticed him before, sensing a steady, imposing presence about him, like a deep pool or a towering mountain. Now, looking closely, he saw the man had a handsome, heroic face, and his expression held a righteous air different from the other sea bandits.

Han Bin, having lost face repeatedly, did not wish to stay any longer. He cast a venomous look at the man and said, "Zhu Guobin, I'll remember this." With that, he led his men back down to the lower deck. A soft ripple of laughter came from the dozen or so sailors on deck. Chen Xin shook his head. This Han Bin was petty and shallow; it seemed he was not well-liked on the ship.

Chen Xin said to Zhu Guobin, "Many thanks for your righteous assistance, Brother Zhu."

Zhu Guobin forced a slight smile: "A trivial effort." With that, he jumped directly down the hatchway without using the ladder. A moment later, he reappeared at the hatch. His right hand pressed on the deck, borrowing a little force, and he lightly leaped back onto the deck. Chen Xin clapped and cheered. This Zhu Guobin was indeed a trained martial artist. Zhu Guobin handed over a stick with an iron fork on the end with his left hand and said, "This is the thing."

Chen Xin thanked him and took it. The wooden stick had a pointed metal base and was over four chi tall, just right for the average Ming Dynasty man to rest a gun on while aiming. It was a bit short for Chen Xin, but it would do. Holding the stick and the gun, Chen Xin mimed a few movements based on methods he had seen before. Even without clamping the match cord, operating it was very awkward, often requiring him to hold the gun with one hand. It seemed his arm strength still needed dedicated practice.

Zhu Guobin just watched impassively; it was unclear if he understood. It was Wang Zugui who came over and gave Chen Xin a rough explanation. He certainly didn't break it down into forty-three steps like Maurice of Nassau; he just gave the gist. Another gunner enthusiastically brought over two powder flasks, and under their guidance, Chen Xin began loading.

First, he poured some fine black powder into the priming pan. The pan was on the right side of the barrel, with a horizontally rotating iron cover. A small touch-hole was drilled into the barrel inside the pan. After pouring, Chen Xin rotated the cover shut. Then he held the gun upright. Wang Zugui switched flasks but did not pour directly into the barrel. Instead, he poured the powder into a wooden tube. Chen Xin saw that this time, the powder was not fine dust but granules the size of rice grains. He silently praised this. Granulated gunpowder and its production method were already recorded in Qi Jiguang's *New Treatise on Military Efficiency*, but for these pirates to know about fixed cartridges was quite remarkable—at least more professional than most government troops.

After Wang Zugui filled one tube, he handed it to Chen Xin. Chen Xin poured it all into the barrel, then took the lead ball. He tested it in his hand; it was about fifty-some grams, polished fairly smooth. He loaded it into the barrel as well. It felt slightly tight, a good fit for the bore. Chen Xin pulled the wooden ramrod from under the barrel and pushed it hard from the muzzle. Wang Zugui hurriedly called out, "Mr. Chen, don't push the ramrod too hard."...

"Oh, why not?"

"If it's packed too tight, it won't shoot far, and the ramrod is easy to break. Just pack it slightly firm."

Chen Xin quickly accepted the advice. Although Wang Zugui didn't understand much theory, his practical experience was clearly extensive. If packed too tightly, the propellant would burn incompletely due to lack of oxygen, greatly reducing range. In his excitement, he had indeed forgotten that. He immediately reduced his force, and after feeling the ball seat, he gently pressed a few more times.

Chen Xin placed the gun on the raised forked rest. Everything was ready except the match cord. Wang Zugui and the other gunner brought out flint, steel, and tinder. They struck them on the deck, and once smoke rose, they lit a length of match cord. This match cord was hemp rope soaked in vinegar and dried. After lighting one end, they carefully clamped it onto the serpentine lever.

Watching this process, Chen Xin couldn't help but ask with some doubt, "If it's a battle, and the enemy is almost upon you before you use the flint and steel, what if it doesn't light? Wouldn't you be dead for sure?"

Wang Zugui said nonchalantly, "At sea, we can see them from far off. There's plenty of time. Even if it doesn't light, just take a blade and kill him."

Zhu Guobin suddenly spoke from the side: "In army firearms units, squad leaders and company commanders must carry fire-kindling pots. If the fire goes out during battle, it's a beheading offense." The others paid no attention, but Chen Xin took note. This man seemed to have served in the military before; otherwise, how would he know such a thing? He couldn't help but glance at Zhu Guobin again.

After Wang Zugui secured the match cord, he gently pulled the trigger to test the position. The priming pan cover was not yet open, so there was no risk of accidental discharge. After doing this, Wang Zugui blew on the match cord again. Once the ember glowed brighter, the few men stepped back a few paces. Chen Xin then struck a pose and began aiming. This makeshift musket had a thick barrel wall, so there should be no danger of it bursting, and he wasn't too worried. The sailors on deck, seeing the commotion over here, gathered around to watch again, including that Mr. Song, who stood to the side with his hands tucked in his sleeves, waiting only for Chen Xin to fire.

The view was a vast expanse of empty ocean. Chen Xin didn't know what to aim at. Just then, a few seabirds flew by ahead. Chen Xin hurriedly flipped open the priming pan cover, pressed the stock against his shoulder, aligned the rear sight with the front sight, aimed using the three-point line, and pulled the trigger with his right hand. The serpentine lever dropped, a flash of fire erupted in the priming pan, followed immediately by a thunderous roar. The gun recoiled heavily backward. A thick cloud of white smoke burst violently from the priming pan and the muzzle. Within the white smoke, a long, brilliant orange-red flame flashed dazzlingly...

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