by Eric Flint
Von Siegroth thought about this. Huguang was mostly south of the Yangtze, whereas all the trouble—bandits and barbarian raiders—were to the north.
“We think that there may be quite a good market for Swedish and German-made cannon in China.” His primary assignment from SEAC was to sell weapons and ammunition to the Chinese, at a profit. It wasn’t clear that the commissioners at Wuhan would be any more interested than those in Hangzhou, or the ministry in Nanjing.
Still, he was what the Americans called a team player. He knew that the up-timers wanted to get a geological survey team up the Yangtze and down to Dayu. If they could travel under the protection of the Nanjing minister of war, that would be quite desirable.
Besides, in the long term, his employers would be quite happy to put their hands on Dayu tungsten. It was used, he knew, to harden steel.
“We would be happy to visit the Huguang commissioners. However, we are concerned that since we are obviously not Chinese, that officials along the way might interfere with our journey.”
“That is possible; the attitude toward Christians is…in constant flux,” the aide conceded. “We can provide you with travel authorizations that will expedite your travel along the Yangtze.”
“Splendid. We would also like to go down the Gan River, into Jiangxi.”
“What is the purpose of that trip?”
Colonel von Siegroth thought it prudent to say nothing about prospecting. “We understand that a great naval battle was fought on Poyang Lake and by the city of Nanchang. Since we are interested in military history, some of us would like to visit Nanchang.” Nanchang was the capital of Jiangxi Province. “Then we will continue south on the Gan River. Our friend Xu Xiake is from Jiangxi and there are various sights he wishes to show us. We might even go across the Meiling Pass and down to Guangzhou and Macao. As you know, it is not easy to sail there at this time of year.”
“I will consult with the minister.”
The minister’s adjutant returned a few days later, saying, “The minister can only authorize your travel within south China, as that is the area administered from Nanjing. He is willing to give you a travel permit covering the provinces of Anhui, Huguang, Jiangxi, Zhejiang, Fujian and Guangdong. If you need to travel further west, you will need to provide specific justification.
“It may interest you to know that the provincial military commission for Jiangxi Province is in Nanchang. However, Jiangxi has been very peaceful, so the minister doesn’t think it is a good prospect for you.”
Beijing
The letter was received by the Office of Transmission in the Imperial City. It read:
Lu Weiqi, your minister of war in Nanjing, reverently memorializes the Son of Heaven. Some time ago I was advised by the governor of Fujian that a new group of barbarians has come from a distant land, even further west than the western ocean barbarians or the red-haired barbarians we have met before. Unlike the western ocean barbarians they have not attempted to spread their religion, and indeed they say that they believe in freedom to worship whatever deity one wishes. And unlike the red-haired barbarians, they have not fomented trouble on the coasts.
The admiral Zheng Zhilong has been keeping close watch on them, and escorted them to Hangzhou. There, according to the reports received from him and from the prefect of Hangzhou and the governor of Zhejiang, they have demonstrated extraordinary knowledge and abilities. The prefect has visited their exhibition hall, where they had myriad wondrous devices, including ones that they say operate by “caged lightning.” In a field outside Hangzhou, they ascended into the sky by a device like a giant sky lantern. Many gentlemen saw this. Finally, when they came to Nanjing, to demonstrate certain weapons to me for possible purchase by your Invincible Army, they came in a flying tiger boat that they had modified to move on account of the heat of flames, without the use of wind or muscle.
They wish to come to Beijing to pay tribute to Your Majesty. I await your instructions. In the meantime, I have given then permission to travel to Wuhan, so they may visit the glorious site of your imperial forebear’s victory at Lake Poyang and show their guns to Your Majesty’s military commission in that city. I think this will be desirable in view of the continued bandit activity. When the flies are biting, the wise man carries a fly swatter.
With impossible awe and trembling fear, I reverently present this memorial and await Your Majesty’s commands.
The “western ocean barbarians” Lu Weiqi referred to were the Portuguese, and the “red-haired” ones were the Dutch. In due course, the emperor wrote upon the original:
Presumptuous! Are these foreigners being properly escorted? Investigate!
It was then transmitted to the Ministry of Rites, which normally handled tribute missions, with a copy to the Imperial Guard.
Nanjing
“You are going to Wuhan?” cried Fang Yizhi. He sat up straighter in his chair in the inn where they’d stopped for lunch. “Why, you will pass very close to my hometown, Tongcheng. You just turn north at Anqing on your way there or back. I will come with you and take you to see my father. For him it will be a pleasant novelty, a break in his routine. And it will be good for your business. While he is retired now, he was a member of the Donglin faction and he has many friends who are still in office. Why, Lu Weiqi himself is a Donglin; some years ago, in the evil days when the eunuch was in power”—this was a reference to Wei Zhongxian, the head of the secret police under the Tianqi Emperor—“he opposed the raising of a temple in the eunuch’s honor in Kaifeng, and was dismissed from office in consequence.”
Zheng Zhilong had warned Eric that Zheng’s influence didn’t extend much outside of Fujian, and to a lesser extent, Zhejiang and Nan-Zhili. If he wanted to get the USE mission invited to Beijing, the more friends it made, the better. And even if Fang Kongzhao wasn’t still interested in western technology, his son Yizhi was by far the most enthusiastic Chinese protégé the USE mission had acquired.
Eric wasn’t sure why that was true, but he suspected it was because Yizhi had become dissatisfied with the traditional Chinese method of advancement by examination. Or, more precisely, by examination which placed such tremendous emphasis on rote learning. He seemed to find the western receptiveness to experimentation and new knowledge to be a refreshing chance.
Eric smiled at Yizhi. “Yes, of course, we’d be happy to visit Tongcheng.”
As soon as they heard of the new plan, Fang Weiyi wanted to come along, too.
“I don’t know, auntie,” said Yizhi. “Father told me to escort you to Nanjing, and didn’t object to your visiting Hangzhou, but he hasn’t said that it’s safe to return.”
“I want to see my brother, and my friends back home, even if I have to come back to the coast after a few weeks. I know that many men of the great families of Tongcheng who fled to Nanjing have now returned to Tongcheng. And how could I be safer than with you and these up-timers? Have you not told us that they have powerful weapons? This is the perfect time for a quick visit home.”
Yizhi caved in. His wife, however, remained in Hangzhou with friends; his first son, Fang Zhongde, had been born in 1632 and his wife didn’t want to expose him to the rigors of travel just for a quick visit home.
Yizhi’s party grew when his brother-in-law Sun Lin and childhood friend Zhou Qi, both of whom lived in Nanjing, heard what he was up to. Both wanted to kill two birds with one stone, visit their hometown and see more of these strange visitors from afar.
The Hubers didn’t have a lot of gear. So, once they loaded it aboard their junk, they decided to do some rockhounding while they waited for the rest of the mission to prepare to set sail for Wuhan. They walked along the bank of the Yangtze River, and Fang Weiyi joined them.
“There!” said Eva. She rolled up her pants leg and waded out into the shallows. She came back holding some pebbles with wavy colored patterns on them.
“Yuhua stones,” said Fang Weiyi. “Rain flowers. The Buddhist monk Yuguang gave a sermon by Guanghua Gate that was
so beautiful that the City God of Nanjing cried, and his tears fell as flowers that turned to stones when they touched the ground.”
“We call them agates,” said Eva.
Yangtze River
Peter Minuit and Aratun the Armenian had come with the others to Nanjing, but decided not to join the trip to Tongcheng and Wuhan. They found that the silk of Nanjing was both cheaper and of higher quality than what they could find upriver, and they believed Nanjing was also a better market for Grantville gadgets. It was a larger city than any upriver—being formerly an imperial capital—with a greater variety of goods than the upriver cities, which were all pretty small.
There were five ships in the USE/SEAC flotilla: a small junk with Fang Yizhi and his party; then a large junk with Maarten Vries, Colonel von Siegroth, his two gunners, and the colonel’s ordnance; then the steam-powered paddle wheeler with Eric Garlow, Jacob Bartsch and Judith Leyster; followed by Liu Rushi’s houseboat, with Mike Song keeping her company; and finally another small junk with Xu Xiake, the Hubers, and Zacharias Wagenaer. All five ships flew the Nanjing minister of war’s pennant, giving them the right-of-way over any vessel save one carrying an imperial messenger.
While the common traffic of the river gave them a wide berth, whether out of respect for the pennant or fear of the steam belched by the steam engine, they were occasionally hailed by highly decorated junks bearing officials or other members of the scholar class. And always, they were followed by seagulls hoping to snatch any food dropped on the deck, or even held insecurely in someone’s hand.
The Hubers’ junk was operated by a family of the boat people: mother, father, grandfather, children of various ages and sizes, and their livestock. They were awakened each morning by the crowing of the resident cock, roosting on top of the mast, and any attempts to take naps were in danger of interruption by the grunting of the pig and the barking of the dog on the poop deck.
One day the river was brown and peaceful, and the Hubers watched the farmers on shore pulling fishnets out of the water, and scooping out a fish or two to eat or sell. Another day, a storm passed, and the river was turned into a muddy cauldron. The Hubers held on to the railings for dear life, or huddled below deck, and prayed that their boat people knew their craft.
Zacharias Wagenaer, their fellow Saxon, was less afflicted by the river’s wilder moments. He was from Dresden, and while the Elbe would not have impressed the boat folk of the Yangtze, it had given him some preparation for a Yangtze sojourn. He amused himself by sketching or painting scenes of the river in the diary he carried everywhere. Liu Rushi and Judith Leyster did much the same, except that when conditions permitted, Judith also took photographs.
Chapter 43
Zongyang
As he finished slurping up his breakfast meal of rice porridge, Eric said, “Well, this is where we split up. The survey team continues upriver to Jiujiang, and then heads south through Nanchang to Dayu, and we visit Tongcheng and then, hopefully with Fang Kongzhao’s letter of recommendation in hand, continue upriver past Jiujiang to Wuhan.”
“The artillery at least should go by water as much of the way to Tongcheng as possible,” said Colonel von Siegroth. “Yizhi, what do you recommend?”
Fang Yizhi looked up from the book he had been reading. “From Zongyang, we can proceed by the interconnected lakes. From Lake Xizi, we can go up the Longmian River to very close to the east gate. However, I am not sure that our junks have a shallow enough draft to go all the way up that river. We might have to move your volley guns and cannon onto rafts and pole them up the river. Either way, once we get to the end of the water we can hitch up your gun carriages to water buffalo or yellow cattle.”
“Rafts? I’d prefer to avoid that,” said von Siegroth. “Can we find out the maximum draft before we leave? If it’s too small, can we get suitable boats here?”
“I’ll ask around,” said Yizhi. “And I can try my luck in Anqing, too.”
Anqing
Fang Yizhi, Sun Lin and Zhou Qi rode off, in high spirits, and paid a call on the prefect of Anqing. Since the visitors already enjoyed the benefit of the ministry pennant, and now had three scions of influential local families speaking on their behalf, the prefect quickly agreed to lend the USE/SEAC party some smaller watercraft that could more readily negotiate Lake Xizi and the Tongxian River.
The three came back to Zongyang on those watercraft. The passengers and cargo were transferred, and they headed up to Tongcheng on the light draft loaners. Since Anqing was closer to Wuhan than Zongyang, their paddle wheeler and junks would be taken down by their crews to Anqing, and would be waiting for them there when they were done.
The survey team of course went to Anqing, too, as Nanchang lay further upstream.
At Anqing, Eric and Mike gave them a final inspection before they parted ways. Jacob Huber and Zacharias Wagenaer wore long, wide-sleeved robes that reached down to their ankles; these were secured by a sash. They wore black caps—these were shorter than the scholar’s hat worn by Xu Xiake—and on their feet they had leather shoes. This “oiled footwear” was something of a Hangzhou specialty. They looked, or so Eric and Mike hoped, like successful but not wealthy merchants.
Eva Huber wore a long wraparound skirt, a wide-sleeved blouse hemmed at waist level, and ivory combs. Strictly speaking, only the combs were feminine; the skirt and blouse could be worn by a man.
“Looks good, good luck!” said Mike.
As they receded into the distance, Eric looked pensive. “I hope that the survey team will be okay. Even in local dress, they certainly can’t pass for Chinese, at least if anyone gets a good look at their eyes. If only they could wear sunglasses.…”
Mike laughed. “Those would stand out even more, I’m afraid.”
Tongcheng
Around sunset, Fang Kongzhao was in his garden, plucking chrysanthemum petals. The poet Tao Qian, after all, had claimed that if one drank wine infused with such petals, life would be prolonged. And Qian had lived for sixty-three years, which was certainly respectable, especially considering that medicine was less advanced in his day, twelve centuries ago.
There was a polite cough behind him, and he turned.
“Master Kongzhao,” said the servant who had disturbed him, “Xudong is here. He says he has an urgent message for you.”
“Xudong? My son’s servant? Send him to me.”
A moment later, Xudong entered the garden, and bowed to Fang Kongzhao. “My apologies for disturbing you, Master, but I have news of your family.”
“My family? What’s going on?”
“Master Yizhi is in Zongyang, with a large party. He sends word ahead so you are not surprised when they arrive here tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t he send me a message that he was coming before he left Hangzhou? That’s where he was, according to his last letter.”
“He did, sir, but perhaps the messenger suffered some misfortune and did not make it here. Or perhaps we moved faster than the messenger, since we had the advantage of traveling under an official pennant.”
“Whose pennant?”
“The Nanjing minister of war.”
“And why would the Nanjing minister of war expedite my son’s voyage home?”
“Oh, it was not for your son’s sake. But he is friends with the ‘star barbarians,’ and they demonstrated powerful weapons of war to the minister. He has sent them to Wuhan, to meet with the military commission there, and your son took advantage to come along and have them meet you, too.”
Fang Kongzhao picked up the collection basket he had set down. “Well, that makes sense. I was director of the Bureau of Operations in the Beijing Ministry of War back in 1624, and I have friends in the Wuhan Commission. I could be a useful ally for these foreign friends of his. And Yizhi knows that I have long been interested in the science of the red-haired barbarians. But who are these ‘star barbarians’?”
“Their ships fly a flag that has many stars on it. Yizhi says that their knowledge of science is as mu
ch greater than that of the ordinary red-haired barbarians, as theirs is that of the Mongol herdsmen. And Lady Weiyi, your sister, says that they have very interesting art.”
Kongzhao’s eyebrows climbed upward. “When did she see their art?”
“Soon after she and Yizhi’s wife moved to Hangzhou. She is even trying to learn how to make their ‘photographs’ herself. You’ll see.”
“What do you mean, I’ll see? Aren’t they still in Hangzhou?”
“Yizhi’s wife is. But your sister came with Yizhi, and your son-in-law Sun Lin, and Yizhi’s new friends. They are in Zongyang—”
“What possessed…?” said Kongzhao grimly. “Never mind. I’ll make preparations for their arrival. How many guests are we talking about?”
“Nine, plus a servant.” The guests Xudong had in mind were Eric Garlow, Mike Song, Maarten Gerritszoon Vries, Jacob Bartsch, Colonel von Siegroth and his two gunners, Judith Leyster and Liu Rushi. The ladies had come at the behest of Fang Weiyi.
Yizhi’s other companions, Sun Lin and Zhou Qi, didn’t count as guests, of course; Sun Lin was a kinsman by marriage and Zhou Qi would be staying with his own family. The servant was Zhang Wei, Judith’s Chinese runner.
Kongzhao’s brow furrowed. “I suppose I should send an armed escort; there are reports of increased bandit activity…”
“There is no need, sir. The party is well armed. In fact, the star barbarians brought weapons with them that can kill a hundred men in the blink of an eye. Or so I’ve heard.”
Kongzhao raised his hand. “Enough! Go to my steward and inform him of the number of guests. And then get some supper yourself. Tomorrow, I am sure, will be a busy day for all of us.”
