Chapter 1098: Tang Ruowang

But my sense of dignity made it hard for me to decide to take off my clerical robes, so I could only stand there hesitating and wavering.

I wanted to ask someone for help, to inquire about the things I was curious about, but the craftsmen passing ceaselessly around me each went their own way, all so absorbed in their work that it was as if I, a strange-looking foreigner, did not exist. This, in turn, struck me as very odd, because from what I had seen and heard all along my journey through the lands of the Great Ming, craftsmen were deeply discriminated against — not only was their income low, they had no social standing, and at times they were even used entirely as slaves. As a result, they often lacked any drive in their work. This sort of utterly indifferent attitude toward craftsmen had led to only one outcome: this very people, who had once created a brilliantly radiant civilization and its artifacts, now produced goods that were exceedingly crude, to the point that they even had to learn from us Europeans how to manufacture firearms.

Yet here, the spirit and attitude I saw were completely different. These craftsmen all displayed great initiative in their work — focused and diligent.

Why on earth was this? How had Zhao Jin raised the motivation of these craftsmen? Another doubt added itself to my mind. Yet not a single person answered me or even glanced my way.

After a good long while, this state of being utterly ignored was finally broken.

A person in charge here approached me.

Perhaps because the shocks I had received lately had been so many that my nerves were already numbed, when I discovered he was a European, I was no longer particularly surprised.

He was around forty or fifty years old, with hair streaked gray and white, and a plain, weather-beaten face. His manner was very amiable, and his bearing very restrained; the impression he gave me was more that of a soldier than a craftsman.

Fortunately, he knew some German, so we were quickly able to communicate.

From his own mouth, I learned that he had originally been a Spaniard. After serving his king for many years, he had been wounded in the Netherlands and saved by de Rochefort, then followed him as he roamed the world for many years, until finally they came here together to serve Zhao Jin.

I admit I was very surprised at the time — I had never imagined that the overbearing de Rochefort could perform an act of kindness, still less that such an amiable man could have kept company with him.

May God forgive me for the prejudice I formed against him upon our first meeting.

After this kindly old soldier had recounted his own experiences, in return — and perhaps also as a way to vent — I told him of the difficult situation I now faced, and discreetly revealed my hope of obtaining his help.

He listened amiably to my outpouring, then told me he understood my suffering, but advised that it would be best for me to cooperate a little here: first work for Zhao Jin's workshop, and later find a way to seek an opportunity to get out.

"But I am a clergyman! I came to China to preach, not to stay here in obscurity as a craftsman, and I am not very skilled in mechanics either…" I answered, full of anguish.

"Here, you had best set aside the dignity of a clergyman — no one will care about that. You had best think of ways to do well whatever work is assigned to you. Only in this way can you make our employer recognize your value; after all, right now he acknowledges only cannons, not God." That was how he answered me.

His reply left me stunned. And then, I carefully pondered his words.

In a sense, he was right. A man like Zhao Jin was surely an absolute utilitarian; he would not easily believe in our preaching. Only by first letting him obtain concrete results would he come to believe in and accept the glory of the Lord.

Then, at his suggestion, I changed out of my heavy clerical robes and put on a short jacket of the sort the craftsmen here often wore.

The style of this short jacket was very strange; it seemed specially designed for the convenience of work. It had no sleeves, and on the chest and back there were various markings indicating which section of the workshop one belonged to and which process one was responsible for.

The short jacket I received was red, and the craftsmen here generally wore red short jackets — it seemed this signified that I had formally become a craftsman here. Incidentally, the one he wore was a green short jacket, while his chief assistants — those senior craftsmen and apprentices — wore blue short jackets.

After changing into this short jacket, I felt the workshop was not so stiflingly hot anymore, and then, under his guidance, I first made an inspection tour of this large workshop.

This workshop was very large and made cannon barrels. Craftsmen stood or moved about everywhere, and not a single one had the leisure to look at us.

Since I had already resolved to first help Zhao Jin's people cast cannons, I carefully watched these craftsmen at work.

From that rather strange-looking furnace, cast copper was melted into molten copper slurry, and then the inner side of each segment of the clay mold was first brushed with two layers of slurry. Finally, this metallic slurry was poured into the mold. Once the mold was filled, it was left to slowly cool and take shape. The craftsmen then promptly peeled away the mold in sequence, gradually revealing the smooth cannon body. After a final cooling, it became a cannon barrel, which then, after meticulous scouring by craftsmen, was finally hauled away as a finished product by well-trained workers.

All the work was so orderly and methodical that it looked as if the entire factory was operating as a single entity.

"Sir, what do you think?"

With a touch of an old soldier's self-satisfaction, he asked me very amiably.

It was plain to see that he very much wanted my praise for his achievements, so I told him I thought the rhythm of cannon-casting here was very fast, and it was evident the workers were all highly skilled and conscientious — that this was an extremely efficient artillery factory, and at the very least I had never seen such a fine artillery factory in the Ming Empire.

"Not just the Ming Empire!" He shook his head. "I dare say this is now one of the most advanced artillery factories in the world — only somewhat smaller in scale than those of the King of Spain."

For the sake of politeness, I did not refute his words, yet he had already perceived the reservations within me.

Perhaps out of a soldier's pride, he suddenly became very serious.

"Sir, please do not doubt my words. I served in the Spanish army and fought in Italy and the Netherlands. I believe on this subject I have more right to speak than you!"

Then, with a bold, expansive gesture, he waved his hand. Several craftsmen beside him, who clearly looked like apprentices, gathered around, and together they led me out of the factory.

I thought he would punish me for my disrespect, but I soon found I was wrong again. He merely brought me to a large open space we had passed by a moment ago.

Next, he led me to the central area of the open space, then walked up to a patch of withered grass. Strangely, these patches of grass were actually covered with grayish-yellow cloth.

Then, he made a gesture, and an apprentice craftsman stepped forward and pulled all these cloths away.

Only then did I discover that many cannons were actually placed here.

These cannons were of all kinds, with calibers ranging from large to small, and some were visibly products purchased from outside. After careful observation, I even discovered that the several cannons I had previously brought over from Macau were all placed here.

Seeing the precious cannons we had offered as tribute to the Ming Emperor being set here by these people so unsparingly, I suddenly felt a silent pang of heartache.

At the same time, I also understood — so the vast open space I had seen earlier, apart from separating the various workshops, likely also served as a testing ground.

Then, these apprentices pushed several cannons out from among the withered grass.

At that moment, I suddenly noticed something that surprised me even more — the carriages of these cannons were completely different from any I had seen before, whether European or Asian.

"Do you see? What fine things these are!" With an air of showing off and boasting, this old soldier pointed at these cannons and called out to me. "Simply better than what I saw on the battlefields of Europe back then!"

After obtaining his permission, I walked up to these cannons and then carefully examined them.

The first one I looked at was a cannon fixed onto a carriage. The barrel was rather short (though a bit longer than a mortar) and the caliber rather large; it was clearly a field gun capable of firing explosive shells. This cannon was mounted on a two-wheeled gun carriage and could fire projectiles at angles from 12 to 30 degrees. I reached out and stroked the green-bronze body of the cannon and found it very smooth, evidently maintained in excellent condition, as if it could be hauled straight onto a battlefield.

Upon careful observation, I reached a conclusion — whether in craftsmanship or in the level of maintenance, this cannon was at the leading level of Europe. The old soldier had not exaggerated. Compared to it, the gift I had offered to the Ming court was nothing but a defective product.

What interested me even more was the gun mount and carriage this cannon used.

It was a wooden gun carriage, made of fine, dense, and heavy timber. The wooden wheels looked somewhat blackened, and the axle was very high, almost level with the cannon itself. In the middle of the carriage was a movable wooden gun mount; the cannon was secured with iron chains within a fixed bracket in the center of the carriage, and could then move along with the movement of the mount.

Although this gun carriage looked somewhat strange in appearance, practical experience proved it to be an extremely ideal design — its construction was very ingenious, the mount and carriage could move freely relative to each other, and relying on this carriage, even a cumbersome bronze cannon could be maneuvered flexibly on the battlefield by a few artillerymen, arriving promptly wherever it was needed.

This gun carriage was even more precise and advanced than any I had seen in Europe.

As a result, my hand moved from the cannon body to the bracket, and I then carefully scrutinized the gun carriage.

A quiet, solitary weekend — thank you all for your subscriptions, monthly tickets, and tips. Thank you, everyone!