Chapter 28: Grapeshot

Zheng Zhipeng, surrounded by his personal guards, galloped to the docks. The men from the quartermaster’s office had already brought over boxes upon boxes of silver.

Due to the urgency, there was no time to weigh the silver. Instead, they had brought Spanish silver dollars. The boxes were opened, revealing a dazzling, blinding hoard of silver.

“By the General’s order, each man is rewarded with twenty taels of silver! Those who perform meritorious service will be rewarded with another fifty!” Zheng Zhipeng announced loudly. A commotion immediately broke out among the sailors. Money moves the hearts of men. They had been gathered to fight, and signs of unrest were already showing. But now, with the quartermaster delivering shining silver and the promise of such a large reward, they were all stirred with excitement.

“Distribute the reward!”

His subordinates immediately began to hand out handfuls of silver coins to the sailors. Twenty shining silver dollars felt heavy in their hands. The sailors beamed with joy; they had never received such a generous reward before.

Greed makes a man brave. The sagging morale, buoyed by the silver, soared once again. They all began to shout, “If my head falls, it’ll just leave a scar the size of a bowl!” It seemed the Australian cannon fire that had terrified them just moments ago was no longer such a big deal.

There were still about sixty fire ships left at Gulangyu and those that had escaped. Under the current circumstances, there was a good chance of success. Zheng Zhipeng immediately ordered the entire squadron to set out, hoisting full sails and charging straight for Huli Mountain.

After setting sail, the fleet immediately formed a wide front and charged towards the beach below Huli Mountain. The sailors, their eyes red with the stimulation of silver, shouted wildly and rowed with all their might to make the boats go faster.

The movement of the fire ship squadron was immediately spotted by the lookouts on the Lichun. Ming Qiu ordered the decks cleared and temporarily halted the unloading of cargo.

“All main guns, load grapeshot!”

The ammunition hoists rumbled as 130mm grapeshot rounds were brought up from the magazines. Grapeshot was structurally similar to shrapnel but had much larger projectiles. It was generally used only by the navy to deal with light vessels and to destroy the deck facilities of enemy warships.

Propelled by both sails and oars, the fire ships charged forward at an average speed of 7 knots, quickly closing to within one cable’s length (about 185 meters) of the anchorage.

“Commence firing.”

The two 130mm main guns of the Lichun roared again, long tongues of flame launching the shells from their barrels. The shells spun as they flew over a thousand meters, exploding in the air above the dense formation of fire ships. The powder charge scattered dozens of pellets, each the size of a ping-pong ball, spraying them down onto the fleet.

The grapeshot pellets instantly tore through human bodies, the firewood on the decks, and finally, the ship’s planks. Seawater immediately flooded the hulls.

In the first salvo, three fire ships began to take on water and sink. Many more were hit and lost control—some had their masts shattered, others had their sailors killed.

The out-of-control fire ships drifted sideways, throwing the entire formation into disarray. The ships in front blocked the ones behind. The helmsmen had to desperately work their rudders. The crowded fleet collided with each other, and sailors cursed at one another, using bamboo poles to push the other boats away.

“All ships, open fire!”

Following the Lichun’s shots, the main guns of the other four warships roared simultaneously. Grapeshot rounds continuously flew over the fire ship squadron, exploding in black puffs of smoke and showering the fleet with pellets. The hot projectiles struck the dry firewood and sails, igniting them.

The sailors, whose courage had just been bought with silver, now cried out for their mothers and fathers under this aerial hail of iron. They watched as their comrades’ heads were blown off by the pellets, their arms and legs torn away, or their bodies literally ripped in half. They were terrified, and the resolve to trade their lives for silver vanished. They cursed that there was nowhere to hide on the boats—every pellet pierced right through the hull.

After the main guns had fired three salvos, the Hotchkiss revolving cannons and the “typewriters” (Gatling guns) on the ships opened fire. At a range of over a thousand meters, they were at their most effective. A hail of 13mm and 30mm lead bullets rained down on the fire ships. The water churned with splashes. The ships in the lead were riddled like beehives and sank straight down into the sea.

Although Zheng Zhipeng’s ship was at the rear, he could clearly see the horrific scene of the grapeshot exploding in the air. Seeing the Kunzei once again employing some unimaginable “black magic,” he felt as if his heart was being pierced by a thousand arrows. A battle was a battle; you had to engage the enemy to determine a winner. What kind of battle was this? He saw the fire ships in front bunched up together, some already on fire, others half-sunk. This fire attack, which had cost tens of thousands of Spanish silver dollars, was already a failure. He was filled with a mixture of anxiety and hatred. Ignoring whether the sailors could hear him, he stood up and shouted:

“Don’t be afraid, everyone! Charge! One hundred taels for anyone who rams a ship!”

Before he could finish, another round of grapeshot flew through the air and exploded. A single pellet, whistling as it descended, pierced right through Zheng Zhipeng’s chest, leaving a hole the size of a bowl. It tore through the deck behind him with a thud. Zheng Zhipeng staggered a step, as if he couldn’t believe there was such a large hole in his body. His eyes widened, and he collapsed onto the deck.

Zheng Zhipeng’s death caused little stir. Even if he hadn’t been killed, the fire attack had already failed. Under the combined assault of grapeshot and rapid-fire cannons, not a single fire ship managed to get within 1,000 meters of the transfer anchorage. The ships hit by grapeshot and set ablaze burned on the water, drifting slowly, and were consumed by the flames and sank before they could reach the anchorage. The few that got close were towed aside by small boats and left to burn out.

The sea was filled with smoke and fire. Many fire ships were burning, but not one had threatened the Kunzei warships, let alone rammed one. The Kunzei’s small boats continued to ferry men to the beach.

The Zheng family commanders gathered on the city tower watched the sea, their faces filled with despair. Some had already taken a few steps back. If not for the presence of Zheng Zhilong’s personal guards on the tower, they probably would have fled long ago.

Zheng Zhilong forced himself to remain calm. “The fire attack has failed, so be it. The Kunzei’s ships are sturdy and their cannons powerful. We brothers are no match for them at sea. Wait for them to land, and then we will fight them with all our might! Everyone, rally your troops and prepare for battle!”

The commanders all acknowledged the order and dispersed. Zheng Zhilong, with his trusted generals and personal guards, descended from the tower. He saw the chaos at the city gate, where soldiers were collecting their silver rewards. Seeing that his own soldiers, though their ranks were a bit disorderly, were all fully armored and well-equipped, far superior to the government troops, he felt a small measure of comfort. Although the land army was not the core of the Zheng family’s power, he had invested a great deal in it over the years, providing them with the best equipment and pay. They had won several victories for him—they had even fought the Pai Yao tribes in Guangdong. Now, his only hope was that they could hold their own against the Kunzei in a land battle.

It seemed the Kunzei landing force was not large, at most five hundred men. This reassured him somewhat. He immediately instructed his personal guards:

“Summon Matos and Tōtarō.”

Matos and Tōtarō were the leaders of his black and Japanese guard units. Zheng Zhilong’s black guards were recruited from the Portuguese, most of them escaped slaves. According to records, in Macau at the time, “there were 850 Portuguese households… they had an average of 6 armed slaves each. The largest and best group among them were the Cafres, as well as other ethnic groups… The Portuguese and these men (Japanese) had excellent muskets, spears, and other weapons. Few Portuguese did not have 6 or 12 muskets or flintlocks.”

The Cafres were black slaves from East Africa. Most were militarily trained, accustomed to using Portuguese matchlocks, brave in battle, and loyal, so they were highly trusted by Zheng Zhilong. He maintained a force of three hundred of them year-round.

As for the Japanese guards, his relationship with the various domains of Hirado and his past as a Catholic were enough for him to recruit several hundred Japanese soldiers of Christian background.

Although Matos and Tōtarō were not part of the core leadership of the Zheng clan, they were Zheng Zhilong’s “private army,” an elite force that answered only to him. Most importantly, he didn’t have to worry about them betraying him.

Matos and Tōtarō appeared before him. They were both dressed in Portuguese-style clothing. Except for the two swords at Tōtarō’s waist, they looked like European soldiers.

Both guard units were armed and trained in the European style, with a special emphasis on matchlock firing. In terms of both accuracy and rate of fire, they were top-notch. Zheng Zhilong’s belief that he still had a fighting chance was largely due to having these two units under his command.

“The Kunzei are about to attack here,” Zheng Zhilong said. “You two, assemble your troops and await my orders by my side.”

“Are we not going out to meet them in battle, General?” Matos had been in China for several years, including his time with the Portuguese, and could already speak Chinese very well.

“Of course, we will meet them. But you are my sharpest blades, and I will use you at the critical moment. Are the cannons and gunners ready?”

“They are ready. I have already assigned the best gunners to operate the cannons on the city walls—all of them are veteran Portuguese soldiers. But the gunners are not well-trained on those two large cannons. I’m afraid there might be an accident…” Matos said.

“That Kirishitan taught you how to use them. Just use them. The Kunzei’s cannons are very powerful. Our existing cannons are no match for them. We have to take the risk.”

“Yes, General,” Matos said, no longer objecting.

Zheng Zhilong had silver brought and ordered it to be distributed to the soldiers of the guard units, twenty silver coins per man. Matos and Tōtarō each received one hundred silver coins. He also gave a heavy reward to the Portuguese gunners: one hundred silver coins each.

After making these arrangements, he assigned two thousand men to defend Zhongzuosuo from within, relying on the cannons on the city walls. The rest of the main force and the guard units were to march out of the city and form up for battle in a relatively deep position to the northwest of the city.