China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

he had one question: “There are British merchantmen out in the gulf, Excellency. You don’t mind them seeing our tactics?”

“I want them to see,” Lin answered. He gazed across the water. “It is always a good idea, Jiang, to frighten your enemy. Sow doubt and panic in his mind. Destroy his morale. That is what I did when we told the barbarians we’d poisoned the wells at Hong Kong. We were letting them know what we could do if we wanted. Today we shall show them how easily we can crush them at sea.” He pointed to the war junks. “Look, they are beginning.”

The battle tactics of the Chinese navy were precise and had been perfected over many generations. If the enemy fleet was large, fire ships might be sent in to sow confusion and despair. But the main attack was always the same.

The war junks were not large, like some of the big, clumsy merchant vessels. Mostly they were about a hundred feet, stem to stern. But they maneuvered well in the coastal waters where they patrolled against the local pirates.

A war junk was a little floating fortress, full of fighting men. It had perhaps a half-dozen cannon on its deck, whose purpose was to damage the enemy’s masts and rigging and slow them down. As it closed in, well-trained archers would send volley after volley of arrows to kill the fighting men on the pirate decks. Then they would board.

Today the cannon fired only wadding and the arrow tips were blunted, but Shi-Rong could see that the archers’ aim was deadly accurate as the arrows rattled upon their opponents’ decks.

“Admiral Guan knows his business,” Lin remarked with satisfaction. “Every ship exactly in line. Perfect coordination.”

Now Shi-Rong could see the marines snare the enemy’s masts with grappling hooks and drag the vessels together. Then—some on boarding planks, others swinging across on ropes—with short swords and knives in hand, they swarmed onto the enemy ships.

“There they go,” Shi-Rong cried. “Grapple and board. They’re like flying squirrels.” He laughed. “Is it true, Excellency, that the admiral’s marines are trained in martial arts?”

“Many of them are,” Lin replied. He nodded with satisfaction. “The barbarians will be cut to pieces.”

They watched for half an hour. At the end of the performance, the stout figure of Admiral Guan himself could be seen on deck as his ship sent up a firework salute to the commissioner. Lin allowed himself a smile of pleasure.

And now came Shi-Rong’s moment. “With your permission, Excellency,” he said as he stepped forward and raised his brass telescope so that it flashed in the sun. As if from nowhere, three dragon boats that had lain concealed in a nearby creek now appeared, one in front, two behind, their crews paddling furiously, but perfectly synchronized. Red flags fluttered in the sterns. When they drew level with the commissioner, the men gave a loud cheer.

“These are your men?” Lin asked. “The ones you took from the jails?”

“Yes, Excellency. We have ten crews now, with more to come. I have them patrolling the coast, as you commanded.”

“And they are effective?”

“Most certainly.”

“This proves two principles I have often enunciated,” Lin declared. “First, never execute a man who can be useful. What is the second?”

“Set a thief to catch a thief, Excellency.”

“Quite so. These villains know every inlet along the coast and every trick the smugglers use. What better men could we find to use as coastguards?”

“Indeed.”

“By the way…”—Lin glanced back towards Nio—“why isn’t that young ruffian with the scar on his face in the boats?”

“It turns out he’s not a local man, Excellency. None of the crews wanted him in their boat. So I use him to run errands for me, which he does quite well.”

The answer seemed to satisfy the great man. “Time to inspect the fort,” he said.

—

As the bearers carried the commissioner, in his curtained litter, along the bank of the river, Nio and Shi-Rong walked behind.

Nio kept his head respectfully bowed. Everyone knew that Shi-Rong had interrogated Sea Dragon, which made him a man to be feared. That first moment when the young mandarin had picked him out in the prison, he’d thought Shi-Rong must have recognized him. As the days went by, however, it had become clear that the busy nobleman had no idea who he was. To Shi-Rong, Nio was just one more of the nameless multitude; and if he had a scar on his face, so had thousands of others. Nio intended to keep it that way.

When Shi-Rong gave him an order, Nio carried it out at once; if asked a question, he answered as briefly as possible. He spoke only when he was spoken to, and that wasn’t too often.

But after the success of his little show, Shi-Rong was in such a good mood that he even deigned to speak to Nio in quite a friendly way. “So, young man,” he asked pleasantly, “what do you do with the money you are paid?”

“Your servant saves it, master.”

“And what do you save it for?”

“For my Big Sister, sir. She needs the money.”

“Oh.” Shi-Rong gave him an approving nod. “Very commendable. Well, we’re going to see some of the finest soldiers in the empire now.”

“Bannermen, Lord?”

“Yes. Manchu warriors. Not that our Han soldiers leave anything to be desired,” he added. “But these are the best Manchu bannermen. Second to none.”

“They say that the Hakka people are also valiant warriors,” Nio offered.

“Really? Nothing like these Manchu bannermen, though.”

Nio did not reply.

And sure enough, as they approached the fort, they saw a guard of about a hundred smartly turned-out Manchu, lined up for Lin to inspect.

There were two groups. The archers, in tightly belted coats with quivers of long arrows at their sides and carrying their mighty composite bows, were still in their dome-shaped rattan summer hats, with a button on top and a feather trailing behind. The musketeers, in soft leather boots and jerkins, were for some reason wearing their cylindrical velvet winter hats, which widened upwards—devilishly smart, Nio