Chapter 242: The Dutchmen's Hearts

Lin’gao was a beehive. This was the evaluation of many people here. Everyone who came here for the first time would feel the busy, tense, and active atmosphere as soon as they stepped onto the pier of the port. This feeling became even more profound when they went deeper, especially into the industrial and agricultural areas and residential areas along the banks of the Wenlan River.

The streets were filled with a constant stream of busy people and vehicles all day long. The “Meteor” locomotives pulled open-top wagons, either piled high with goods or crowded with people. Although safety regulations had been issued to prohibit “hanging tickets,” and the number of police and National Army soldiers maintaining order at the stations had been increased, the sides of every train were still hung with overloaded people. As a result, people fell from the trains every day. Fortunately, the speed of the “Meteor” was not much faster than walking, so the casualty rate was kept at a level that the Planning Commission could tolerate.

At noon on this day, the sound of booming cannons came from the direction of Bopu Port—this was the salute for the arrival of a foreign ship. This was a rare event in Lin’gao. Except for the occasional arrival of a Portuguese ship, only Chinese merchant ships came here. It was now summer, and even Chinese merchant ships rarely came here.

Van der Lenteren stood on the poop deck, watching the Australian sampan tying the tow rope with great interest. The 400-ton Magdeburg would be towed into the harbor by this small boat. The Dutch “yachts” were quite clumsy, and at that time there was no steering wheel mechanism, making it very difficult to steer in the fjord harbor. If it weren’t for taking advantage of the tide to enter and leave the port, it would be impossible to accurately enter the anchorage by relying on the captain’s driving skills alone.

Every time the Magdeburg entered or left the port, it had to lower its own dinghy to tow the large ship. However, in the Australian port, this work was done by the Australian boats, and the cost was included in the pilotage fee.

The small boats that the Australians used to tow ships had chimneys that spewed thick black smoke. They had no oarsmen, but their power was great, and they could easily tow a heavily loaded large ship. The Magdeburg had already witnessed their power last time when it transported spices to Hong Kong.

The Dutch generally did not sail to the coastal areas of mainland China in the summer—the wind direction was unfavorable, and there was a risk of encountering typhoons. But this time, the Magdeburg’s adventurous voyage, in addition to trade, also carried an important mission.

This was Van der Lenteren’s second visit to Bopu. According to the urgent instructions of the Australian Colonial and Trade Department, the Magdeburg had brought a large amount of woolen cloth, cotton cloth, and sheepskin—most of the woolen cloth was British-made. Considering the fierce commercial competition between the Dutch and the British, it was not easy to understand buying woolen cloth from a commercial rival—especially since the Netherlands itself was famous for weaving high-quality woolen cloth. But for the Dutch East India Company, the interests of the company and its major shareholders were paramount. Since the price of British woolen cloth was low enough to allow the East India Company to make a sufficient profit, they would not give up this opportunity.

Needless to say, the British were just commercial rivals, and nominally they were still allies of the Netherlands. In the future, the East India Company would not hesitate to sell and transport food and weapons to the enemies of its warring motherland, because profit has no motherland.

Half an hour later, the Magdeburg was berthed at berth No. 5. Van der Lenteren greatly admired the Australian port. Their ports all had jetties available, so there was no need to use small boats to lighter goods and personnel. Goods were lifted off the ship by cranes, and personnel went up and down directly from the gangway, saving a lot of time and manpower. In Lin’gao, Sanya, and Hong Kong, the turnaround rate of ships was calculated in hours and days, not in “weeks” and “months.”

Soon, Van der Lenteren met his old friend, Mr. Leib Trini, the consul of the Dutch East India Company stationed in Lin’gao. The Italian had already completed all the port formalities. Van der Lenteren checked the customs declaration and various required documents for the last time. After confirming that there were no errors, he handed the documents to the customs officer. He didn’t have to worry about the subsequent unloading, inspection, and taxation matters. The Australian customs and port authorities would handle everything properly.

“Mr. Trini, long time no see. You look well.”

Trini had once been resentful about being stationed in Lin’gao as a consul. Although this position was higher than his previous position in Batavia, and his salary had increased by a few guilders, and the company also allowed him to sell several company products in Lin’gao, including some spices that were very popular among the Chinese, such as ambergris, myrrh, and sandalwood, from which he could make a lot of profit.

However, Trini understood very well that this lucrative position was given to him because he was a painter and a cartographer, to be a spy in Lin’gao. And because he was an Italian, a Catholic of extremely suspicious faith, and was keen on science and mysticism, even if he was beheaded by the Australians, the Dutch would not feel sorry for him and could clear their name.

But his time in Lin’gao had made Trini regard his work here as second only to his family and life, something that no one else was allowed to interfere with.

“A day in Lin’gao is better than a year of travel in this world,” Trini wrote in a letter to a friend.

“It’s very hygienic here, and life is colorful. The food supply is also good,” Trini said, “except that there is very little meat.”

A sarcastic smile appeared on Van der Lenteren’s lips. “I thought you would complain about the lack of sufficient olive oil.”

According to the European standard of judging the quality of food by the amount of meat eaten, the Italian diet was still very poor even in the first half of the 20th century. Most ordinary Italians could only be satisfied with simple slices of bread with a few drops of olive oil and a little cheese.

Trini of course understood the ridicule in this wooden shoe’s words—he had experienced this kind of thing too many times. Although the Dutch diet was also known for its simplicity and roughness, at least the Dutch ate much more meat than the Italians.

“Olive oil, the Australians are also very interested in it—perhaps they will consider importing it from Europe in the near future. Of course, the premise is that the company can invent a method for long-term preservation of oil…”

“I heard they are very fond of oil?”

“Yes, they buy a large amount of dried coconuts for this purpose,” Trini said.

The two left the customs house. The empty clock tower on the customs house caught Van der Lenteren’s attention. Since his last visit, this clock tower had always been empty. He was very strange: why did the Australians never install a set of loud bronze bells for this clock tower, leaving it so empty. He had learned from Trini’s letters that the Australians wanted to install an unprecedented timer for these empty clock towers but had not yet been able to do so.

“Mr. Trini, your last album caused a sensation in Batavia, and some people even wanted to collect your album at a high price. I didn’t expect you to be so inspired in your artistic creation after coming here.”

Trini sent a copy of his album back to Batavia every month by ship—as long as there were still ships sailing. The album was not only an artistic creation but also an intelligence report. Nothing could express intelligence more accurately than intuitive images.

“Thank you for your concern. There are many new things and new things here, which are beyond my past thinking and experience. This has greatly stimulated my inspiration,” Trini said with a smile, taking out a wooden cigarette case. “It also includes the enjoyment of the Australians.”

Van der Lenteren took a cigar—he was no stranger to cigars, some Spanish friars often smoked tobacco this way—he personally preferred a pipe, but he did not object to a change of taste.

“Our Australian friends hope that I can help them buy some works of famous Italian painters: da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo…” He rattled off the names of a dozen famous Renaissance painters, some of whom were already famous at the time, and some of whom were less well-known. “And violins by Stradivari and Guarneri.”

It was unimaginable for Trini’s friends and family in Italy to purchase these works of art—they did not have such financial resources. Only the East India Company, which was as rich as a country, had this ability.

“Their standards are really high. Not to mention others, I think da Vinci’s works are very difficult. Most of his paintings are in the hands of the King of France. As for the others, it depends on whether your Italian compatriots are willing to part with them,” Van der Lenteren said. “This time I brought two Guarneri and some instruments you specified, as well as the musicians you mentioned in your letter. I think the Australians may be Chinese, but they prefer Western art.”

“It’s hard to say. I can only understand a little of their artistic taste. They also like some strange line drawings, which are very exaggerated, very stylized, and very narrative…”

After a discussion about the Australians’ art, the two came to the edge of the customs square.

“Sir, this time I would like to invite you to sit on this,” the Italian pointed to a wooden shed opposite the Bopu Customs. Under the shed was a brick and stone platform, raised above the ground.

The platform was already crowded with people, all seeming to be waiting eagerly for something.

“What are they waiting for…”

“Woo… clang, clang, clang…”

“Is this the Australians’ new means of transportation?” Since his butt was already sitting in a moving carriage, Van der Lenteren already knew that they were waiting for a means of transportation.

“Yes, my dear sir, the Australians call this a train. It runs on two iron rails, and its speed is like riding a fast horse. But you see, my dear sir, this train has 5 carriages and can carry more than 200 people…”

Van der Lenteren found it very interesting, but from his past understanding of this Italian, he could tell that Trini wanted to say more than that.