The Gauntlet of the East: From Colombo to the Dragon's Price
The Straits of Shadows (March - May 1666)
After the brief, tense respite in Colombo, where the bitter truth of Lisbon's inertia had struck João de Carrasca and his captains like a cold monsoon squall, the Portuguese fleet prepared for the most treacherous step of their journey.
It was March 1666, and the humid air of Ceylon pressed down with the weight of unfulfilled promises and escalating danger.
The grandiose vision of a semi-private Portuguese company, backed by the Crown's full might, had dissolved, leaving João and his audacious venture perilously exposed.
Their thirty-five-ship armada, a marvel of naval engineering and ambition, had effectively been split: ten of their merchant vessels, their year-long contracts fulfilled, had peeled away, laden with their portion of the East's bounty, to begin the long return to Lisbon.
Now, a still formidable but more exposed twenty-five ships remained.
Ten converted East Indiamen, five nimble Boarding Frigates, and ten versatile merchant frigates, all heavy with their precious cargo.
Their goal: to reach Macao, repair their storm-battered hulls, and then, most crucially, trade their unique goods in the fabled markets of Canton.
The Malacca Straits loomed ahead, a serpentine gauntlet fraught with peril. Their old adversaries, the Dutch, held Malacca itself, a formidable bastion, and controlled Batavia to the south.
Both were utterly closed to the Portuguese. To attempt resupply or, worse, to be intercepted near these fortresses would be suicide.
This meant that would be relying of their years of piratery in the zone, for each islands they knew about to resupply water, but engaging with almost no provisions, no significant repairs until Macao, weeks, perhaps months, away.
The fleet became a floating island of dwindling resources.
Water casks, replenished only sparingly from the few uninhabited islets they approach, became precious commodities.
Rations grew meager, biscuits hard as stone, salted meat more grease than flesh.
The constant humidity bred sickness – fevers and dysentery began to thin the ranks, silently, cruelly, mirroring the plague that haunted distant London.
João, a map spread across his cabin table, traced their precarious path.
"We can go freely, even on the VOC's patrol roads, but we cannot mass resupply, that's frustrating"
he murmured to Diogo da Veiga, his finger tracing a faint line near the shore.
Weeks passed in this harrowing dance.
They saw the distant lights of Dutch settlements, felt the predatory presence of unseen patrol ships, but through skill, sheer luck, and the desperate prayer of thousands, they slipped through the hostile waters.
Their ships, however, paid the price. Hulls scraped against unseen reefs in shallow passages, rigging frayed under relentless sun and wind, seams wept with saltwater intrusion.
By the time the fleet limped towards the familiar shores of Macao in may 1666, they were a sight of weary triumph, their crews gaunt, their magnificent vessels desperately in need of sanctuary and a complete overhaul.
Macao's Respite and a New Delusion (May 1666 - ?1667)
Macao, the " Cidade do Santo Nome de Deus de Macau " welcomed them with desperate relief.
Cheers rose from the small Portuguese enclave, clinging precariously to its Chinese foothold, as the battered but intact fleet, a symbol of distant home, edged into the harbor.
The city itself, often caught between the powerful currents of Chinese imperial whim and European ambition, buzzed with excitement and a measure of relief.
News of the French triumph in India and the ongoing Anglo-Dutch War had filtered through, adding to Macao's sense of precarious isolation; the arrival of such a formidable Portuguese fleet, albeit one clearly needing extensive repairs, was a boon.
For months, the dockyards of Macao buzzed with activity, a frenzy of caulking, timber-sawing, sail-mending, and gun-cleaning. Hundreds of Portuguese sailors and Macanese laborers toiled under the tropical sun, their hammers echoing like a constant, vital heartbeat.
João and Rui oversaw every detail, their expressions grimly determined.
"The 'Goa Fortuna' lost a good ten feet of keel near Palawan," Rui reported to João, wiping sweat from his brow.
"And the 'Infanta' took on so much water, its pumps nearly failed in the strait. These are wounds only deep-water berths and fresh timber can mend."
"Then we mend them, Rui," João replied, his gaze fixed on the bustling activity. "We cannot face Canton, not with what we carry, in anything less than our best shape."
While the ships underwent their heavy reparations, João and his captains received what sparse, often contradictory, intelligence about the situation in Canton.
There were whispers of new restrictions, of stricter controls, but the full extent of the "Cohong system" remained obscure, often dismissed as typical Chinese bureaucratic posturing.
"They've always had their rules, Captain," a veteran Macanese trader named Li Hao, his face weathered by years of navigating Chinese officialdom, assured João over steaming cups of rice wine.
"Petty squabbles, officials wanting their cut.
They make noise, yes.
But the silver always finds its way to the silk, and the silk to the silver.
" It is the way Canton has been for centuries." He chuckled, raising his cup. "They call them barbarians, but they love their money, eh?"
João, perhaps too eager to believe what he wanted to hear after the ordeal of the Straits, nodded, a faint smile touching his lips.
Their holds were packed with the spoils of an unparalleled venture: 6,000 tonnes of diverse, high-value trade goods.
This included hundreds of tons of Indian cottons, chests of Golconda jewels and Coromandel pearls, vast quantities of precious ivory and rhinoceros horn from Africa, and the truly unique, utterly secret 300 tonnes of vulcanized rubber, valued at an astronomical 30 grams of silver per kilo – a fortune in itself.
Alongside these were the thousands of tonnes of silver bullion that formed the backbone of their trade.
They had faced the wrath of the Dutch and the dutch their wrath, traversed half the world; they were confident their sheer volume of goods and their formidable fleet would command respect and open any door.
Canton's Unyielding Gates ( early 1667)
When the 25 Portuguese ships, now fully restored and gleaming, their masts towering, their sails crisp, finally sailed into the Outer Anchorage of Canton in early 1667, the sight was, as always, awe-inspiring.
From the shore, the local Chinese populace would have gaped, truly awed by the sheer size and number of the "Red-Haired Barbarian" vessels.
Such a massive display of maritime power was unprecedented in their waters, a floating city of war and wealth.
The Qing officials, however, reacted with a different kind of intensity.
The awe might have been present, but it was buried deep beneath layers of protocol, suspicion, and absolute resolve.
This grand fleet was not a cause for admiration, but a confirmation of their worst fears regarding unchecked foreign power.
This was precisely why the new policies had been enacted.
As the first pinnaces bearing João's delegation approached, the usual swarm of independent Chinese junks, eager to cut a deal, was noticeably absent.
Instead, a cordon of imposing Mandarin junks, flying the banners of the Qing dynasty, blocked the direct path to the inner harbor.
Their presence was not hostile, but undeniably custodial.
On the quay, the official who greeted them, a stern figure with an impassive face and eyes that seemed to take in every detail, held up a scroll with a crimson seal.
He spoke in a flat, uncompromising tone, his translator relaying the words with equal severity.
"Foreign barbarians, your ships shall anchor only at Whampoa. Your men shall not bring arms ashore, nor shall they enter the city of Canton without express permission and escort. All trade, all communication, all grievances, shall pass only through the designated Cohong merchants. These are the new Imperial regulations, for the order and tranquility of all trade. Their word is the Emperor's will."
João felt a chill that had nothing to do with the sea breeze.
This was no simple demand for bribes, no mere renegotiation.
This was an iron wall of bureaucracy, more formidable than any Dutch fleet.
The officials, despite the awe-inspiring fleet before them, showed no discernible fear, no sign of being tempted to "steal" or deviate.
Their composure was absolute. They did not need to steal; they controlled the entire process.
Their power lay in their unyielding adherence to Imperial decree.
The Negotiation of the Impossible: Vulcanized Rubber
The initial shock of the Cohong system had confirmed into a grim reality.
There were no eager merchants vying for attention, no hidden backroom deals.
Only the impassive faces of the Cohong representatives, middlemen with absolute authority, whose every word was law.
The Cohong's demands for the vulcanized rubber were, to João's initial astonishment, not a haggle, but a decree.
"twenty taels of pure silver per kilo equivalent of merchandise" the chief Cohong merchant stated, his voice devoid of emotion,
"for this... awe inspiring material, a treasure of heaven and earth. This is the Emperor's price, and the price of entry into the Flowery Kingdom."
A ripple went through the Portuguese delegation. twenty taels! That was 460 grams of silver of pure silver for every single kilo. For the 300 tonnes they carried it was a figure that defied belief: 6 million taels of silver.
This translated to an astonishing "only" 130 tonnes of pure silver.
A sum so colossal, so utterly unprecendeted in a single transaction in cathay, that even the hardened financiers accompanying the fleet were somehwhat smug, even after the prices they obtained in india, they still struggled to keep their expressions neutral.
"twenty taels?" Diogo da Veiga finally managed, his voice strained. "But... this is a revolutionary material! Its uses are endless, its value to the Empire incalculable! It should fetch more! We risked our lives for this, across half the world!"
The Cohong merchant merely raised an eyebrow.
"The Emperor's grace dictates the price for what is new. We offer a generous sum for its novelty. If you do not accept, you may depart. We have already set the price, even for that treasure of heaven and earth that are not within the Imperial decree."
It was a price that acknowledged the material's revolutionary nature, its utter uniqueness.
It was also a price that demonstrated the Cohong's absolute control, their willingness to pay an astronomical sum for something unprecedented, while simultaneously dictating the terms.
It was a take-it-or-leave-it "haggling" that left no room for maneuvers.
The payment, they insisted, would be in silver-metal, the universal currency of Canton.
Every scale, every balance, every ingot would be meticulously scrutinized by the Imperial weighmasters.
This transaction alone would be the single largest exchange of value in Portuguese history, perhaps in all of European trade with China.
Less than what an auction might have amounted to in an open market, but still a sum to make empires tremble.
The Ivory Bargain: Spices from the Eastern Seas
Next came the ivory.
For the five to six tonnes of gleaming white tusks, the Cohong offered not silver, but something equally valuable for the return voyage to Europe: spices from the Philippines and Japan, and obviously, their own.
These were commodities that the Chinese themselves had imported via their vast junk networks from Manila – pepper, cloves, nutmeg, ginger.
It was a clear demonstration of the Cohong's comprehensive control over regional trade, leveraging their Chinese and Malay networks to provide what the Europeans needed without resorting to direct silver payment.
"For this tusk," a Cohong intermediary stated, tapping a massive elephant tusk with a finger,
"we offer ten sacks of Manila pepper, five of cinnamon, and two of cloves. A fair exchange, from the Emperor's wisdom."
João watched, frustrated but ultimately acquiescent, as his precious ivory, each tusk a testament to African wilderness and Portuguese daring, was weighed against fragrant sacks of pepper and bundles of cinnamon bark.
The negotiation was less about price and more about allocation: this much ivory for that much nutmeg, the Cohong acting as the sole intermediary and arbiter of value.
For the 5 to 6 tonnes of ivory, they secured tens of tonnes of these coveted spices, ensuring their return cargo would be diverse and profitable.
The Careful Calculation: A New Era of Trade
As the exchanges continued, the Portuguese meticulously recorded every item.
The system was rigid, frustratingly impersonal, but undeniably efficient.
The silver they acquired from the colossal rubber sale would then be used to purchase the exquisite Chinese silks, the delicate porcelains, and other highly sought-after Chinese goods – all through the Cohong, of course.
The market for spices, while still robust in Europe, was subtly changing.
Sugar, coffee, and cocoa were beginning their slow, inexorable rise in popularity, but the aromatic treasures of the East still commanded immense value.
Their diverse cargo, and especially the revolutionary rubber, positioned them for unprecedented profits.
For João and his captains, it was a bitter pill to swallow, this complete loss of negotiating freedom.
They had entered Canton as triumphant adventurers, only to find themselves ensnared in a gilded cage of imperial decrees.
The awe their formidable fleet inspired seemed to have only conforted the Chinese resolve to control them absolutely.
This was not the free-wheeling, opportunistic trade they remembered from 1650. This was a new China, a new policy, and a new, unyielding power that dictated the rules of the game with the same serene authority with which they collected their colossal tribute.
Their "luck" lay not in finding an open market, but in carrying a product so utterly unique that even the Celestial Empire paid an unthinkable price to possess it.
Now, with the vulcanized rubber a commodity known to the world, and its fixed prices still highly profitable even for merchants from Europe who would buy them in Lisbon, the Brazilian dream had truly taken root. The world was beginning to understand its value.
The Homeward Bound: From the Dragon's Embrace to the Azure Horizon
The Dragon's Ransoms and the Eastern Winds (Late 1667)
With the colossal transaction of vulcanized rubber concluded, the holds of Horizon brazil's twenty-five ships now groaned with a different kind of wealth.
Gone were the raw materials they had carried to China; in their place lay mountains of gleaming silver ingots, the staggering profit from the Cohong's decreed price for the miraculous rubber.
Alongside, meticulously packed, were the exquisite silks of Canton – shimmering brocades and delicate satins, porcelain vases painted with scenes of imperial gardens, and crates of finely crafted lacquerware.
The ivory had been exchanged for the aromatic spices of the Philippines, adding to their precious cargo.
The sheer volume of wealth was exhilarating, yet it came with a new kind of tension.
They had circumvented the dangers of the Dutch on the outward journey, but the return held its own perils. Every tael of silver, every bolt of silk, was a magnet for corsairs and rival companies.
João, ever the strategist, gathered his captains. "The Cohong has taken its cut, and the Emperor his due," he stated, a wry smile touching his lips. "Notthereturn I execpted,i expected so much more, but well... it will take a gewyears to sell althat in europe, except for the silver, but, Rui, Diogo, Luis, we don't relax until lisbon, I don't want a fucking kraken attack again, we have to stay carefull."
Their meticulously calculated departure from Canton in late October 1667 was not by chance, but by design. This was the precious window of the Northeast Monsoon, the very wind system that had made their arduous journey from Macao difficult.
Now, it would be their benevolent escort.
"We catch the tail of the Northeast Monsoon," João explained, tracing the familiar lines on his chart. "It will blow strong and steady across the South China Sea, pushing us directly towards the Straits."
The sight of the formidable fleet, now laden with the very essence of Chinese luxury, sweeping out of the Canton delta with the following winds, was majestic.
They rode the monsoon's breath, their sails bellied out, making excellent time across the often-treacherous South China Sea.
The constant vigilance remained, for the waters still held dangers, but the wind was their ally.
The Monsoon's Embrace and African Shores (December 1667 - February 1668)
By December 1667, the Portuguese fleet was making landfall.
Not the desperate, limping arrival they had endured in Macao, but a swift, confident approach to Colombo, Ceylon.
The Northeast Monsoon, having carried them across the Bay of Bengal, deposited them efficiently at the familiar harbor, their crews healthier and their ships still sound.
The stop in Colombo was brief, a strategic pause rather than a desperate necessity.
They replenished fresh water, took on what limited provisions the Raja of Kandy could spare, and received the latest, often alarming, news from India and Europe.
The French were asseting their presence, the Anglo-Dutch War raged, and Lisbon remained frustratingly silent about the indian policy.
"Joao " Diogo observed, watching the last casks of water being hauled aboard, "if the winds hold, we could bypass the usual Indian Ocean trade routes. We could try for Africa directly, avoid the worst of the English-Dutch skirmishes to the west of India."
João nodded, his eyes fixed on the horizon. " It's worth to try. With this monsoon, we push south. If we get lucky , we can ride these same winds across the Arabian Sea, past the Horn of Africa, and reach Mozambique before the monsoon inverts."
The decision was made.
Instead of lingering in Indian waters, they leveraged the still-favorable Northeast Monsoon, pushing south-westward across the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean.
It was a calculated risk, relying on the predictable patterns of the winds, but it promised to shave weeks, even months, off their journey and keep them clear of major naval confrontations.
The voyage across the Indian Ocean was, remarkably, one of their smoothest.
The wind was a constant, powerful push behind them, the sun hot but bearable.
They saw no major hostile fleets, only the distant sails of Arab dhows and smaller trading vessels.
By late January 1668, the familiar coastline of East Africa began to emerge.
The sight of Mozambique, a Portuguese stronghold, brought immense relief.
Here, they could properly refit, offload any excess cargo not destined for Europe, and truly prepare for the next, equally challenging step.
The timing was perfect; they had arrived well before the Southwest Monsoon would have made such a journey against the winds nearly impossible.
The Atlantic Passage and Lisbon's Horizon (February - May 1668)
Mozambique offered a crucial respite.
The dockyards, though smaller than Macao's, were efficient.
Hulls were inspected, barnacles scraped, and any remaining minor repairs were swiftly carried out.
Fresh provisions were loaded in abundance, the taste of fresh fruit and meat a welcome change from the ship's biscuits and salted beef.
From Mozambique, their path was clear: south around the formidable Cape of Good Hope, then north along the vast West African coast.
The currents and prevailing winds after rounding the Cape were generally favorable for northbound travel, pushing them up the coast.
The journey was long, but less fraught with the constant strategic tension of the Indian Ocean.
Their next major stop would be Luanda, in Portuguese Angola.
A vital supply point, it was a robust port where they could take on final, extensive provisions, perform any last-minute maintenance, and gather intelligence on the political and naval situation in Europe.
The city, bustling with its own distinct colonial character, offered a final taste of the exotic before the return to European shores,and the newly planted "Kafê", which began to take root in trade interests.
From Luanda, the final, great leap across the Atlantic to Lisbon.
Riding the trade winds, the fleet covered the vast ocean, its sails now carrying not just goods, but the immense, tangible proof of an almost unbelievable success.
They had evaded the Dutch, tamed the monsoons, and cracked the new, unyielding system of Canton.
By May 1668, the lookouts began to scan the horizon for the familiar coast of Portugal.
After an odyssey spanning years, oceans and continents, they would carry with them not just a fortune in silver, silks, and spices, but the legend of a voyage that defied convention, shifted the balance of power, and truly brought the farthest reaches of the East to the very core of the West.