Chapter 22: Huang Dahuhu

Wu Mingjin was taken aback, his heart filled with a profound sense of respect. He knew that Huang Dahuhu, out of a deep-seated sense of civic duty, often led his clansmen and local militia into battle against bandits. He had already lost several nephews in these skirmishes, but to lose a son…

“Please accept my condolences, old sir,” Wu Mingjin said, his voice soft. “After the bandits retreat, I will report this to my superiors and request a posthumous honor for your son.” Huang Dahuhu held no official rank, but his son was a xiucai, and the magistrate, seeking to elevate the old man, addressed him with the honorific “old sir.”

“My son died for the peace of this region,” Huang Shoutong said, his voice rough with grief. “My family has received the grace of the state for generations. It is our duty to repay the court and protect our homeland. We do not covet any posthumous honors.” He was unwilling to dwell on his son’s death. Though he had three sons, and this one had been born of a concubine and held no rank, the pain of his loss was a raw, open wound.

“I have come to warn you, magistrate,” he said, his tone shifting, becoming urgent. “These sea pirates are unlike any we have faced before. Lingao is on the verge of a great disaster!”

“What do you mean, old sir?” Wu Mingjin asked, alarmed. He knew the old man was not one for empty boasts.

Huang Shoutong recounted the ambush near Bairen Tan. Though he had not been there himself, the descriptions from his returning men had chilled him to the bone. A volley of arrows had brought down only one of the pirates. While it was true that the local militia’s bows were not of the best quality, the pirates had worn no armor. Two of them, struck by seven or eight arrows each, had not only continued to fight but had charged forward, killing several of his men, including his son.

He closed his eyes, the image of his son’s mutilated body burned into his memory. Half his face had been shattered, one eye gone. The men said the pirate had been hit by several arrows and surrounded, yet he had killed his son, a skilled martial artist since childhood, in a single blow. Such a man would be a fierce warrior even in the official army.

But it was not the individual bravery of the pirates that worried him most. It was something else his men had brought back.

“The pirates’ firearms are incredibly powerful. One of them used a small handgun to kill several men without even loading powder and shot. Please, magistrate, take a look.” He produced a cloth-wrapped bundle from his robes. Wu Mingjin unwrapped it to reveal a small, dark blue piece of iron. It was exquisitely made, resembling the handguns of the red-haired foreigners, but simpler, with no matchlock.

“This is a handgun?”

“Indeed,” Huang Shoutong said, seeing the magistrate’s confusion. “My men found it on the battlefield. The pirate must have dropped it in the melee.”

“Are your men’s accounts reliable?” Wu Mingjin was skeptical. Though a scholar, he, like many of his contemporaries, was fascinated by military affairs and firearms. He had seen drawings of many different types of firearms, but this resembled none of them, save for the muzzle and trigger.

[Note: In the late Ming Dynasty, there was a surge of interest in firearms and gunpowder among intellectuals, though most were armchair strategists. Song Yingxing criticized this trend in his “Tiangong Kaiwu.”]

“They are credible. This gun requires no powder. You simply pull the trigger.” Huang Shoutong stroked his beard. “I fired it once myself. The power is considerable. It can penetrate a thick wooden target from five zhang away. But it would not fire again. I believe it holds multiple pre-loaded charges, firing one each time the trigger is pulled.”

“Then it is a formidable weapon,” Wu Mingjin said, his brow furrowed with worry. If the pirates had many such weapons, how could the local militia’s bows and arrows possibly stand against them? It seemed defending the city with cannons was their only option.

“I have come to the county for two reasons: to give this warning, and to request equipment.”

As the head of the six-village joint defense, he commanded several hundred able-bodied men, but they were poorly armed. Except for the leaders and his personal retainers, who had swords and spears, the common militiamen had only wooden clubs. Ironware was scarce in Lingao, and weapons even more so. The swords and spears of his own retainers were heirlooms. And while they had many bows, the humid climate of Hainan was not kind to them.

Wu Mingjin could not refuse. He allocated twenty waist swords, ten shields, forty tiger-head tridents, and five iron spears from the armory. He also gave him a supply of gunpowder and iron shot. Huang Family Village had its own iron cannons and swivel guns, but gunpowder was a government-controlled substance and difficult to obtain.

Just as Huang Shoutong was about to take his leave, the gatekeeper reported that the scouts sent out that morning had returned. Since the pirates’ landing, the county had dispatched scouts daily to gather intelligence. They were all locals, familiar with the terrain and the hidden paths.

The city gate remained closed; a large basket was lowered to haul the men up the wall. The scouts had returned unharmed each day, but today they were in a state of panic. Their wild-eyed appearance set the men on the wall to whispering.

“What? They’re building a road?” Magistrate Wu asked, incredulous.

“Yes, my lord,” the scout said, kneeling, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

“They’re building from Bopu to Bairen Tan. There are markers along the way. They’re piling up earth to make a road. They’ve already built five or six li.”

“Five or six li? Are you sure?” Huang Shoutong demanded, stepping forward.

“I am sure,” the scout said, his voice trembling.

Huang Shoutong was stunned. “Magistrate,” he said, turning to Wu Mingjin, “my men fought there yesterday, and there was no road.”

Wu Mingjin nodded, his voice grim. “Is this true? Did you see it with your own eyes? No exaggeration? If you lie, I will not be lenient.”

The scout kowtowed repeatedly. “I would not dare to deceive you, my lord. They have built five or six li of road.” He went on to describe the pirates’ “evil arts”: carts that moved without wheels, and giant iron arms with huge shovels that could move small hills of earth with ease.

Evil arts again. Magistrate Wu was not a superstitious man, but the pirates’ capabilities were growing more and more incomprehensible, more and more worrying. He had considered repairing the bridges and roads in the county himself, but had been stymied by a lack of funds and the refusal of local landlords to give up their land. Even if everything had gone smoothly, he could not have built five or six li of road in two days, let alone a road of piled earth. What kind of men were these pirates?

But the question was not how, but why. Why would they build a road? They were bandits. Their purpose was to plunder, not to build public works. And what was there to rob at Bairen Tan? A few stonemasons, who had likely already fled.

He quickly summoned the county officials, Liu Dalin, and the centurion who had come to reinforce them. After hearing the reports from the scout and Huang Dahuhu, a heavy silence fell over the hall. They had initially dismissed the pirate landing as a minor threat. At worst, they would plunder a few villages and market towns. The county seat had not been captured since the Song Dynasty, neither by Li rebels nor by sea pirates. Some had even been glad the pirates had landed after the Mid-Autumn Festival; if it had been before the autumn harvest, the losses would have been much greater. But in the past few days, the news had grown steadily worse: the pirates had established a large camp at Bopu and were unloading goods day and night; the renowned Huang Family Village militia had been defeated; and now, they were building a road. No one knew what these men with their strange, cut hair wanted.

Wu Mingjin turned to Liu Dalin, his trusted advisor. “What do you make of this, old sir?”

The jinshi Liu rested his forehead in his hand. After a long moment, he said, “Magistrate, we are in grave danger.”

A ripple of fear went through the room. “Please, explain,” Wu Mingjin urged.

“I fear the pirates intend to attack the city.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Bandits raid and plunder. They have no need for roads. The only explanation is that they have siege equipment, equipment so heavy it cannot be transported without one.”

Siege equipment that required a road… how large, how heavy would that be? The hall was silent. Wu Mingjin’s voice trembled. “Could it be… Hongyi cannons?”

“It is difficult to imagine what else it could be.”

Hainan was close to Guangdong and Macau, and the ships of the red-haired foreigners were a common sight. The court’s purchase of cannons from them was well-known in official circles. Wu Mingjin knew the cannons were incredibly heavy, but their power was legendary. They were the key to the defense of Liaodong. The successful defense of Guangning the previous year had been attributed to them. They were a true weapon of war.

If such a weapon were brought to bear on their small city… Wu Mingjin dared not imagine the result.

“What are we to do? This is just a small city,” Wu Ya cried out. Everyone in the room understood his unspoken question: what in this remote, insignificant county was worth such an effort? What sin had Lingao committed to attract such a terrible weapon?

They did not know that they were about to face something far more monstrous than the Hongyi cannon. As the storytellers of Lingao would later say, “Tragedy!”

All eyes turned to Centurion Sun, who stood stiffly in his mandarin duck robe. He had thought this a cushy assignment. He had received a reward of ten taels of silver upon his arrival, and had skimmed half of the reward given to his soldiers. The food and drink were good, a welcome change from the dreary life of the garrison. He had dismissed the threat of a pirate attack as impossible.

Now, he felt the weight of their expectant gazes. He was a hereditary centurion, but in reality, he was little more than a small landlord. His thirty soldiers were more familiar with hoes than with swords. Their only real weapon was a single Franc-gun. What countermeasures could he possibly devise? And if the pirates truly had Hongyi cannons, he would be the first to flee. He knew it was best to say nothing, so he simply stood there, trying to look calm.

Wu Mingjin cursed the centurion’s incompetence under his breath, though he had never expected much from the garrison soldiers. He would have to ask General Tang to send troops.

“Our only strategy now is to harass them,” Liu Dalin said. “The pirates cannot always be gathered together while they build the road. We should send out more local braves, promise them great rewards. Harass them with bows and arrows, set fires when the opportunity arises. Keep them on edge, day and night, so they cannot rest. This will surely hinder their progress.”