Chapter 1421 - The Esmeralda
The Count of Fananovoua had already removed his hat and inclined his body slightly as greeting.
"Esteemed gentlemen, your presence here is truly my greatest honor."
The Count had shed his cavalry attire from the ball game and was wearing an elegant hunting suit. Standing behind him was a sailor—perhaps the captain—whose build was as tall and rugged as a Northerner's. His deep tan was clearly the result of long exposure to tropical sun and sea wind. He wore a wig and a long-tailed coat with gold double-breasted buttons. A tricorn hat decorated with an anchor and oak leaves was tucked under his arm. His feet were planted apart, his body as straight as a mast. The way he looked at others made the Spaniards feel as if they were young sailors who had committed some offense, trembling as they awaited punishment from the ship's captain.
"Your Lordship the Count, is this really your ship?"
Perhaps disoriented from rocking about in the sampan, one port official asked stupidly. Don Basilio glared at him fiercely. But the Count was unconcerned and simply pointed up at the masthead, where the flying banner was embroidered with Lando's family crest—the same one that adorned the famous red-flag carriage known throughout Manila and its environs.
The wind was growing stronger. Spray laced with dazzling sunlight leapt high, shattering into bright foam on the beach and rocks. The Esmeralda had dropped a single anchor. All her sails were furled, yet she still pitched and rolled with the waves.
Vince walked across the rolling deck as easily as if he were strolling along the gallery outside the yacht's stern. The patrol ship captain grew ever more curious about the Count. He had assumed the Count was merely a knight, yet he walked aboard ship like an old seaman. By comparison, the port officials had already fallen behind and had to hold onto the gunwale just to maintain their balance. What sort of person was this European nobleman who had come from so far away?
There was not much to see aboard the yacht. Compared to her beautiful hull lines, the deck from bow to stern presented an astonishing simplicity and neatness. It seemed her sole mission was to sail fast and nimbly evade enemy ship attacks—as if this were not a yacht at all, but an armed fast boat ready for combat at any moment.
After viewing the cannons on deck, the patrol ship captain was even more convinced of his assessment.
"Does your ship have only two cannons?" the patrol ship captain asked.
When the Count, at his request, ordered the gun covers removed, the gleaming black cannons made his eyelids twitch. In all the Far East, he knew that only the Portuguese technician Bocarro in Macao could cast heavy iron guns. Of course, the Chinese also cast iron cannons, but those could hardly be called cannons at all. The captain had once boarded a junk to look at Chinese iron guns—they were all small, shabby iron tubes with no standardization or machining whatsoever, seemingly made by casually shaping a clay mold and pouring in molten iron. Tied haphazardly to the gunwale with ropes, they could not possibly be compared to the finely cast cannons before him now.
"Without swivel guns and light falconets, how do you deal with Ladrones pirates? Their fireships and small boats will swarm up like a tide."
The Count turned and said something. The bewigged yacht captain shouted several orders in an incomprehensible language. In the blink of an eye, four sailors rushed to the gun positions, cast off the lashings, and worked several screw-wheels beneath the gun carriages. Wherever the Count's riding crop pointed, the muzzle turned—elevating, depressing—as if these were not heavy cannons but merely single-handed wheel-lock pistols.
The demonstration was performed twice, proving that the short gun on the foredeck and the cannon at the stern were both genuine "swivel guns"—only they fired not 2-pound iron balls or grapeshot, but devastating 24-pound and 68-pound giant balls.
"Whether Ladrones or Malay pirates, I have prepared the finest gifts for them here." The Count pointed his silver-tipped crop at the ammunition rack beside the 68-pound carronade, where fearsome grapeshot was neatly stacked.
"Your Lordship, your warship is so superb that even in all of Europe—Seville and Genoa, which produce the finest fast ships—one could hardly build her equal."
Even though the gunnery demonstration had deliberately avoided aiming at the patrol ship, the Spaniards were nonetheless deeply shaken. Anyone with even a smattering of naval warfare knowledge could see that with fast ships mounting such cannons as the Esmeralda, just two or three could circle around and attack a galleon from its vulnerable stern. And Vince's guests had not yet witnessed the terror of 68-pound explosive and incendiary shells.
"You are quite right. The Esmeralda is my ship, and I am a soldier. My ship, like my sword, is a weapon in service of God. I am glad to hear you call her a warship." The Count said proudly. "My warship must be able to beat to windward swiftly and chase down Malay pirate vessels. She must have a sufficiently shallow draft to penetrate the shoal-infested lairs of brigands and rescue Christians held captive as slaves. No local ship met my requirements, so I commissioned the Esmeralda at the Hong Kong dockyard. There is also a factory there that manufactures mining machinery for me. I designed gun mounts that can rotate flexibly and had them made there. As for the cannons, they were ordered from Señor Bocarro's foundry in Macao. All these expenses came from my personal income."
"Hong Kong—you mean that little island in the seas off Canton that is now in the hands of those Australians?"
"Precisely. The Australians have built excellent shipyards and foundries on the island. They are very skilled at manufacturing machinery, and their cannons are especially fine—unfortunately, they refuse to sell them no matter how much you offer."
"You certainly seem to have very close relations with the Australians!" the customs officer said maliciously.
"Of course," Lando said proudly, stroking his mustache. "A nobleman of my standing, a faithful servant of God, is welcomed wherever I go—especially since the Australians are a bunch of money-worshippers!"
He patted the velvet money pouch at his waist, which gave a clear jingling sound. Laughter immediately broke out on deck.
Lando continued: "The Jesuit fathers in Macao proposed launching a fundraiser to build this ship, so that it could patrol the waters off Macao and hunt pirates. I rather hope the gentlemen of Manila could raise this sum—if it can be raised, that is. With just two or three more Esmeraldas to form a small squadron under my command, the fierce, cunning Moro paddleboats would be utterly destroyed, and the heathen bandits harassing Cebu and the Visayas would have no choice but to surrender. Then the glory of God and the honor of His Majesty would shine upon the entire Eastern archipelago, from Malacca all the way to the Moluccas."
Don Basilio looked at the Count with an expression half astonished, half skeptical. The patrol ship captain, however, gripped his sword excitedly.
"Ah, the Mercury is likewise a well-equipped fine ship, yet Señor SantafrĂa's head could never conceive such noble and great ideas as yours."
"The ship this esteemed gentleman speaks of," the Count said to Don Basilio, "must be the floating palace of your close friend Don SantafrĂa, no?"
He turned back to continue listening to the patrol ship captain, leaving the customs officer with an embarrassed expression and a view of the back of his head.
"...In the Royal Colonial Fleet of the East Indies, there is no three-masted ship faster or more magnificent. Señor SantafrĂa spent a great sum to hire Goa's finest shipwright, Diego LuĂs, to personally supervise its construction. Its rigging and sails are also of the finest quality. With a good wind, she can make two to two and a half leagues an hour..."
"But a slightly stronger side wind would capsize her." The bewigged yacht captain suddenly interjected. His Spanish had a rather strange accent, but it was comprehensible enough. "Carving ornate decorations on the gunwales, erecting enormous statues of Apollo, Minerva, Neptune, and the like—that only adds useless weight, reduces speed, and makes the voyage less stable."
"Ho, Mario, my good captain," the Count said. "Have you actually seen Don SantafrĂa's ocean express? In the name of the merciful Virgin, you haven't offended his ship, have you?"
"Your Lordship, as soon as we entered the bay and passed by Mariveles and The Nuns, that three-master came after us." Captain Mario kept touching the wig on his head, as if afraid the wind would blow it off. "I'm sure it was the ship you mentioned—covered in gilded statues from bow to stern, like those rich Chinese women who show off their wealth, hair full of glittering ornaments, yet can barely walk straight. Her captain probably took us for pirates. He set every sail and chased us desperately."
"And what did you do?"
"I ordered us to circle around the three-master so that blind-eyed captain could get a better look at your flag. She still tried to catch up with us—even set her studding sails. In the end, of course, she was left behind. How can a water buffalo outrun a thoroughbred?"
"Well, look at you—you've quite frightened our distinguished guests. My dear Mario, if Don SantafrĂa hears you describe his treasure ship this way, he'll probably use Jupiter's thunderbolts to blast us both to smithereens."
The Count strolled all the way to the open hatch at the rear of the deck before stopping. He unhooked a heavy silk pouch from his waist and patted it, producing the clear, pleasant clinking of gold coins.
"Mr. Customs Officer, I give you my word of honor—this 180-ton small ship carries no cargo intended for sale in Manila. But I am still prepared to comply with His Excellency the Governor's decrees and pay the anchorage tax of twelve silver pesos per ton. You and your colleagues may inspect every cabin, every corner, to verify whether there is any falsehood in my words."
Don Basilio was extremely embarrassed. He had almost crushed his hat in his hands. He could only bow low, incoherently praising the Count for his virtue of forgiveness, repeatedly expressing apologies, and declaring again and again: the Count's private yacht Esmeralda, anchored in Manila, required no inspection, much less payment of any merchant ship taxes and fees.