Chapter 299: The Result of the Duel
“Rest assured, they have already changed their attitude,” Hale said. “Also, I know you have many connections in Japan. If you could send me more Catholics from Japan to the Philippines to build an Eden on earth, I would be eternally grateful.”
“The population from Fujian is not a problem. Japanese Catholics will probably be difficult. The Shogunate basically forbids anyone from leaving the country…”
“You see, if everything had to go through the government, people like us would have no reason to exist, would we?”
Zheng Zhifeng burst out laughing. He hadn’t laughed like this for a long time after the battle of Weitou Bay. He said, “You are truly a remarkable person!”
Next, Hale demonstrated the firing of Congreve rockets. Zheng Zhifeng was well aware of the power of rockets. When the Australians’ warships attacked Kinmen Island, he had personally witnessed how the rockets launched from the ships turned the entire anchorage into a sea of fire. Now, discovering that the man before him could also provide similar rockets, he was overjoyed.
“You see, if your wooden boxes were all equipped with rocket launchers, a single volley could deliver a fatal blow to the enemy, especially in an attack on an enemy port. It would easily turn it into a sea of fire.”
“I just want to know, how many rockets can you sell me the next time I come?”
“That’s not a problem, not a problem at all. Now let’s talk about the price…”
Watching Zheng Zhifeng’s ship depart, Hale’s men on the island packed up their belongings and began to load them onto the ship, preparing to return to the estate on the outskirts of Manila. The chests unloaded from Zheng Zhifeng’s ship contained not only silver, Spanish pesos, and Chinese silver ingots, but also some exquisite handicrafts and silks that he had specifically requested—all for pleasing the local dignitaries.
Marcos came over to report that everything had been loaded onto his personal ship.
“Marcos, do you think this Chinese man truly understands the real power behind the cannons?”
“I don’t think he does…”
“Yes, if he understood, he should have bent the knee and surrendered to the Australians long ago, instead of putting up this futile struggle.” Hale put on his hood.
Behind the cannons was the industrial power of a nation. Let alone a few dozen cannons, even giving the Zheng family several times more cannons would not change their decisive inferiority to the Australians. Those Chinese who called themselves Australians already had steamships, rifled guns, and rifled cannons with clear signs of self-manufacture. This was the strength of a country with a rudimentary industrial base. It was no longer something an agricultural nation of this era could contend with.
“He is very brave, just like us. Otherwise, we should also surrender immediately.”
“Precisely, my dear Marcos,” Hale said. “We should hurry back to the estate. I think the Baroness will have a new invitation tonight.”
In Manila, as long as it wasn’t raining, the weather approaching noon would force people to retreat indoors, whiling away the terrible hours in gauze tents and on beds. Even the heart of the colony, the Governor’s Palace, shaded by a patch of green trees, seemed no exception. The windows on the first floor were covered by wooden shutters, and the huge blinds on the second floor were also tightly closed. All around was silent, and even the colonial army sentries under the portico were leaning against the doorposts, half-dozing with their pikes in hand.
In reality, this place, the heart and brain of the Philippine colony, could never be so idle. This mansion, located next to a conspicuous square lush with flowers and trees in the core area of the inner city, was a large and seemingly conventional two-story stone building. In the Philippine colony, where bamboo houses and thatched huts were everywhere, stone buildings were a symbol of Spanish ruling power. Like most high-class buildings in the Philippines, the ground floor served as storage and servants’ quarters, while the second floor was for the master’s living. There was also a mezzanine between the two floors, where Governor-General Juan de Salamanca chose to work and deal with government officials.
The blinds were tightly closed to block the fierce sunlight, making the already poorly lit hall even dimmer. A small glass oil lamp flickered on the long table, illuminating the Governor and several of Manila’s top figures sitting before it.
“Mr. Osvaldo, my confusion is how you and your clerks could write such an absurd report,” Governor Salamanca said, pointing to a stack of Australian paper scattered on the table. “Don’t you understand what Mr. Paul’s saltpeter collection ponds are? You just need to dig a few ponds and pour in manure, garbage, and wood ash. Yet you want me to believe that this small task costs 2,000 pesos, with an additional 500 pesos needed annually. The saltpeter collection ponds at the arsenal are already producing saltpeter, without a single extra copper coin of expense.”
“You know, the Manila City Hall has been facing a shortage of public funds for many years. Out of necessity, I can only hire those dull-witted natives, who of course don’t understand advanced mathematics,” the mayor said, taking a sip of Australian water and putting down the glass bottle. “You can ask Mr. Andrade to recalculate.”
“The arsenal, of course. The smelter has more leftover wood ash than they can use. If only it could produce wealth as it produces wood ash, that would be wonderful.”
“No, your statement is absurd. I don’t need to remind you of your position. As the municipal administrator of the colony, you, like me, have the responsibility to defend His Majesty the King’s colony. The importance of new artillery and ammunition to us is self-evident. Because we have never had enough troops in the Philippines. If the damn Netherlanders decide to make a move on the Philippines, they could easily recruit a hundred thousand Chinese and Japanese. And now, I’m afraid we have to add the Australians to that list.”
“Even from a financial point of view, the saltpeter collection ponds can reduce our annual expenditure on Indian saltpeter. Surely you understand the significance of this?”
“Poor Esteban would go mad if he heard your decree,” Manila’s chief of police joked in response to the Governor. This younger son of a Milanese country squire liked to tell crude jokes from time to time to hide his sinister and greedy face. “Good thing he can’t hear anything now.”
The conversation thus shifted direction. Esteban Sanabria had made far more enemies than friends in the Philippines, so his thrilling duel with the Count was always a popular topic of conversation. Even more dramatically, five days after the duel, the Commodore’s fleet arrived in Manila. A special personage arrived on the same ship: a special prosecutor sent by the High Court of Madrid, ordered to investigate a series of fraud crimes committed by Esteban Sanabria in Seville, New Spain, and the Far East colonies.
Of course, the suspect he was to investigate was now forever silent. The timing could not have been more perfect. As for the huge fortune the deceased once prided himself on, it clearly brought him no benefit, and it was even uncertain if anyone could inherit it. From New Spain to Manila, carrion vultures were everywhere, ready to pounce on this corpse for a feast.
Even in the chatter and arguments of the municipal officials, the former richest merchant and swindler of the colony had died in various spectacular ways. In the mayor’s mouth, Sanabria had half his head sliced off. The royal standard-bearer gestured how the Count had run Sanabria through from chest to back with a single thrust. The most exaggerated version came from the Parian district chief, Juan Aguilar, who insisted that the poor Esteban Sanabria, along with his sword, had been split in two by the Count.
“Now our ears can have some peace,” said a city councilor. “No one will be chattering in your ear all day long, as if slandering others’ reputations was his only pleasure in life.”
“Who would dare to slander Count Vilanova now? Someone has already traced his lineage back to the Lando family of Lombardy. Perhaps in the future, the branches of his family tree will continue to grow, past the year one, all the way back to ancient Rome.”
“That’s impossible. When have you ever heard that fellow speak a single word of Latin?” the chief of police retorted. “He speaks with a thick Tuscan accent and can at best recite a few bad poems by Dante or Petrarch. If that’s all the noble education the man has received, then his tutor must have been an unlearned charlatan. His countly airs are all a facade to deceive ignorant and simple-minded women. We really should investigate his background thoroughly.”
There were two knocks on the door. The door opened to reveal the slender, elongated figure of the Governor’s secretary, Eugenio Garcia Zapatero, his face pale as if from some fright. “Count Vilanova has arrived. He is waiting in the small drawing-room and has decided to present a gift to Your Excellency first as a sign of respect.”
A Governor’s Palace servant walked in carrying the Count’s gift. The Governor’s secretary instinctively shrank back, as if what lay in the servant’s hands was a poisonous snake wrapped in satin. Everyone quickly recognized it. Nestled in the silk was a sheathed, ornately decorated saber, which the Count often wore to various occasions.
“Good heavens, isn’t that the cruel weapon that killed Esteban?” Mayor Osvaldo exclaimed. But no one paid him any mind. Everyone cast aside their aristocratic reserve and decorum, craning their necks to see the saber made famous by the duel.
In fact, it was a genuine “Lingao-made” product, a high-end export item. It was a slightly modified version of the standard Fubo Army officer’s command sword, which was modeled after the Meiji 32-style officer’s sword. The gold and silver inlay on the hilt and the cloisonné decoration on the scabbard were indeed eye-catching. However, when the sword was drawn from the scabbard, the royal standard-bearer exclaimed in admiration. He collected many Eastern weapons and considered himself an expert, and the steel of this sword was of excellent quality. The patterns on the blade looked even finer than the best Japanese katanas and Arabian scimitars. The Spanish, of course, did not know that this was the effect of acid etching and mechanical polishing.