Chapter 291: Hale's Cannon

This was a newly cast Dahlgren gun. Ever since Hale had salvaged this type of cannon from the wreck of the 901 ship, the arsenal had begun to imitate it. However, limited by the workers’ abilities and the lack of technical details, Hale was unable to use the center cooling casting method, which was crucial to the performance of the Dahlgren gun. This resulted in a cast Dahlgren gun that was merely a shell of its former self, with its performance greatly compromised. To be on the safe side, no matter how surprised he was that the “Australians” only cast 130mm Dahlgren guns, the caliber of the same type of cannon he organized to cast did not exceed this caliber. He could only resort to a second-best method in cannon production: forging the cannon body with a water-powered hammer, then drilling the bore to create a smoothbore cannon, and finally rifling the bore.

The quality of the workers and the operational efficiency of the workshop machinery had many defects, which posed many difficulties in improving the quality and output of the cannons. In particular, the lack of sufficient fuel and raw materials often left the factory in a semi-shutdown state. The resources that the sleepy Philippine colony could provide were truly insignificant for Hale’s ambitions. He had to rely on long and unreliable import trade to obtain everything. This was also why he was so anxious to develop the gold mines in Baguio and propose that the colonial authorities build a mint. The Philippines lacked exportable goods, and it was difficult to support such a large military buildup solely on royal subsidies from New Spain and local taxes.

However, being able to produce cannons that amazed the Spaniards was already a huge step forward. The cunning Mr. Hale always used the cannon made by the Bopu arsenal for firing demonstrations to leave a deep impression on the dignitaries.

Fernando Marcos was just a sailor and couldn’t even tell if a cannon should be front-loading or rear-loading. However, when he saw the Dahlgren gun, which he had never seen before, being pushed out of the cannon foundry, he still cheered for his benefactor from the bottom of his heart.

In the open space, there was also a log-built human-powered crane. This common machine in the factory area was designed for lifting heavy cannons.

However, the three Tagalog laborers Marcos saw at this moment were not busy lifting cannons. Instead, they were tying several seemingly heavy wooden boxes together, preparing to lift them onto an ox-cart parked on the side. This was, of course, much more labor-saving and faster than lifting the boxes onto the ox-cart one by one. Marcos suddenly realized that something was very wrong. He had been in Hale’s factory for a while and recognized at a glance that those long, slat-like boxes were special packaging for rockets.

He roared loudly. The driver pulled the horse in terror. Lord Marcos shot out from the carriage behind him, jumped down, and ran, roaring and cursing as he went. The native laborers were so frightened they didn’t know what to do. Although they couldn’t understand the string of Filipino-style English that Marcos blurted out in his panic, for a “lord” to be so agitated and angry, something terrible must have happened. As if to prove that Marcos’s fury was not without reason, the rope tying the ammunition boxes happened to break at that moment. The wooden boxes crashed onto the rammed earth ground with a heavy whistle, and splinters of wood wrapped in hard, dry clods of dirt flew in all directions.

Marcos didn’t know how long he lay on the ground before he realized there had been no explosion. He saw the three native laborers still standing there, dazed. Although their bare upper bodies were covered with splinters from the flying wood, and some wounds were still bleeding, they stood motionless, completely terrified.

The packing boxes had been smashed to pieces on the ground, and the tin lining had also burst open, revealing the rockets inside. Due to their simple structure and easy processing, the production of Paul-style rockets far exceeded that of cannons and shells. A large number of finished products were shipped out of the factory every day. Marcos gave them a cursory inspection. He was lucky; only the guide sticks on two of the rockets were broken. The warheads, made of pressed concrete paper, were intact, though some of the tin-plate rocket bodies showed dents from the impact. The thought that these tin plates and paper shells were filled with terrible gunpowder and incendiary agents, and that this accident had almost destroyed the entire factory along with himself, filled Marcos with rage. He picked up his cane and beat the three troublemaking coolies over the head. The three unlucky men fell to the ground, their heads bleeding, wailing and crying. But Marcos had no intention of stopping. His cane flew up and down, each blow delivered with full force, just like the Zheng family’s overseers had beaten him.

This commotion was not small. Marcos suddenly felt a powerful hand grab his right arm, which was holding the cane. His benefactor, Hale, or Paul, was standing behind him, dressed as usual in a priest’s black robe, but without a hat. “Marcos, put these three idiots in confinement first. There will be plenty of time later to teach them how to work according to the rules.”

A few Chinese foremen led a small team of coolies and, as Hale instructed, carried the scattered rockets back to the workshop. Marcos then noticed that there were some Spaniards with Hale. He recognized a few as officers of the East India Fleet, including Captain Suvisarreta. They surrounded a middle-aged officer in magnificent attire with a dignified appearance. The gleaming ribbons and medals on his chest, and the epaulets embroidered with tassels, all indicated that this was a noble general. Marcos, of course, had no access to the upper echelons of colonial society, otherwise he would have recognized this newly arrived celebrity in Manila. Commodore Don Juanco de Bazán, Marquis, had come to Manila via Mexico on royal orders to inspect the novelties that had appeared here. This news had caused a great stir in the upper circles of the colony. The tide had turned overnight. Most colonial officials declared themselves staunch supporters of Governor Salamanca, and with that, the eccentric and reclusive Japanese monk, Paul, once again became a hot commodity.

“As you can see, we just had a small accident here,” Hale explained the incident to the commodore. His gentle tone and calm demeanor earned him a high degree of trust and goodwill from the latter. “This incident also has its advantages. You have seen with your own eyes that the rockets and ammunition made by my method will not explode even if they hit the ground from a height of 10 varas. Once the fuze is installed, they will destroy their target with a devastating explosion and fire, without causing any harm to the shooter, nor will they accidentally explode when flying over your army’s head. Sir, the weapons we manufacture are reliable for His Majesty’s army and terrible for His Majesty’s enemies. In both respects, they are far superior to any existing howitzer. Perhaps someone has told you that these weapons are difficult to manufacture and expensive. That is all nonsense. Please follow me, and the facts will prove everything.” Hale turned and walked towards the workshop gate. “Marcos, lead the way for us.”

Hale’s tour route was obviously carefully arranged in advance. This group of Spanish officers, who insisted on wearing formal attire even in the sweltering heat, were first led to visit the casting and forging workshop, which the devout Catholic native laborers privately called “the fiery hell.” Walls of rammed earth enclosed tall wooden pillars, supporting a semi-open roof to facilitate fire prevention and air circulation. The high roof reflected the deafening thud of the water-powered hammers and the roar of the water-powered bellows, mixed with the sizzling sound of red-hot iron being dipped into water, and hundreds of other almost inhuman strange noises, all converging in this gloomy space. The sunlight penetrating between the walls and the roof was obscured and polluted by the boiling heat and thick smoke. In this dim and fiery scene, it was impossible to distinguish between the Chinese and Tagalog native workers. They were blackened all over and scurried in and out like ants, their movements blurry and erratic, as if they were ghosts.

Marcos was already accustomed to these scenes, but he still watched with awe as the workers lifted the red-hot forgings onto the anvil. The red light illuminated their faces, contorted with pain from the scorching heat. They were silent, carefully moving the copper and iron forgings. The waterwheel drove the cams to raise the arms, and the hammers fell heavily on the forgings, sending sparks flying, like the weapons of giants in mythology, capable of crushing a person to pieces with a single blow.

Marcos was already drenched in sweat. The Spanish gentlemen had long since taken off their hats and wigs. A few wearing ruffs were on the verge of fainting, constantly asking their attendants for wine to quench their thirst. Hale, however, was oblivious. He continued to lead his guests to see the furnaces. The craftsmen, in pairs, lifted the crucibles with tongs, and the molten steel, shining with a dazzling white light, flowed into the sand molds. The Spaniards, sweating profusely and panting, listened as Hale, in his unchangingly calm tone, explained that this crucible steel could be used to make the finest swords and drills.

The brick reverberatory furnace lay under the factory shed, like a giant’s coffin. Captain Iker de Suvisarreta approached the huge water-powered bellows in front of the furnace, hoping to cool off by the constantly opening and closing giant wooden fans. Unexpectedly, the laborers opened the furnace door at that moment, and the white-hot heat instantly pierced through the thick smoke and dust, scaring Iker into retreating. The laborers added fuel to the reverberatory furnace. The flames, like an insatiable glutton, roared out of the furnace, devouring everything, whether it was firewood, charcoal, or baskets of dried peat dug from the swamp, as if licking up oil. Although Hale described the magnificent scene of molten iron being poured to cast cannon blanks to the commodore in Homeric verses, the Spaniards were eager to escape this hell of fire and smoke. They were blocked for a while at the exit by a heavy-duty trolley, watching as a cast cannon blank was hoisted onto the trolley and pushed along the hardwood tracks laid on the ground to the next workshop. Even after being cooled in the sand pit, the huge cast-iron cannon blank still radiated an unbearable heat, emitting a dark and deep red glow like the eyes of a wild beast.