Beiyang Dream

Chapter 84 Setting aside disputes and jointly colonizing

Chang Desheng was stunned by what he saw in the grand dining room of the Sumatra ship.

Is this a gunboat?

With a displacement of less than a thousand tons, its two main guns were muzzle-loading rifled cannons. They were the kind of old-fashioned vessels where you had to shove the shell in through the muzzle and then use a wooden stick to push it in. The armor was nonexistent—just wooden shells, practically nonexistent. Its speed was as slow as an ox pulling a broken-down cart; it took who knows how long it dawdled along the road from Batavia to Pontianak.

Yet this outdated setup was decorated like a luxury hotel in Amsterdam. The walls were paneled with mahogany, the tables had silver candles, and three sets of cutlery were laid out on a snow-white tablecloth. Several Javanese waiters in white uniforms were waiting with trays. In the corner, there was even a small band playing some tune that sounded like gibberish.

Chang Desheng did the math in his head. This renovation alone would cost at least several hundred taels of silver, and with the specialists skimming off a bit more, it could easily reach tens of thousands. The band's monthly wages would be at least several tens of taels of silver. It's all hard-earned money squeezed from the Chinese...no doubt about it!

They spend all their money on enjoying themselves, instead of upgrading their military. How can they be called an imperialist power?

The Dutch have such meager resources these days, it's pathetic. Right now, the Qing Dynasty's Dingyuan and Zhenyuan alone could crush the entire Dutch East Indies fleet. Why have the Dutch been able to occupy the East Indies for two or three hundred years without anyone taking it? Why is that relatively fertile and sparsely populated territory in Northeast China so coveted by Japan and Russia?

Is it just because the Dutch have fair skin?

What kind of world is this!

While he was advocating against racism, the Dutch East India Company's commissioner, Van der Sant, with a stern white face, stood up and fired at Zhang Bishi.

Chang Desheng's German is now quite fluent, and his Dutch is almost a dialect of German; he can understand most of it by guessing. The gist of the letter from Commissioner Sant was that the Qing Dynasty was accusing the Chinese in Pontianak of supporting a rebellion and killing the legitimate Sultan appointed by the Kingdom of the Netherlands. He demanded that the Qing Dynasty compensate for the losses, disarm the Chinese in Pontianak, and restore full Dutch sovereignty over Pontianak; otherwise, the Kingdom of the Netherlands would take decisive action and bear the consequences.

Just as Zhang Bishi was about to stand up in response, Chang Desheng jumped to his feet.

He stood up so quickly that his chair slid backward, scraping loudly on the wooden floor. The band stopped playing, the waiters stopped serving, and everyone in the room stared at him—what did this Chinese man with the long braid at the back of his head mean? Did he dare to confront the Dutch commissioner?

Chang Desheng straightened his sleeves and strode out.

"Mr. Commissioner!" German Consul in Singapore, von Ertel, called out to him in German, "Where are you going?"

Chang Desheng turned around, his face serious. "Consul, the Dutch commissioner has just declared war on the Qing Dynasty. I'm going back to the Guangjia to inform Captain Wu to prepare for war. You should leave too, this Sumatra..." He glanced at the chandelier on the ceiling, "...doesn't look very durable." Van der Sant understood German. His pale face turned even paler, his mouth agape, and he didn't even realize his napkin had fallen onto the table.

That was a threat! It was diplomatic rhetoric! You yellow-skinned monkey should be begging for mercy, why are you about to start a war? Are they bluffing or are they serious? No… they’re not bluffing!! These yellow-skinned monkeys just killed thousands, maybe tens of thousands, in Pontianak, they’re ruthless! Just thinking about the ruthless hands of the Beiyang Army made his head buzz.

The Sumatra is just a yacht disguised as a gunboat. Its two muzzle-loading guns are fine for firing at the Turks, but how could it possibly go toe-to-toe with a proper cruiser like the Guangjia, which is 2,000 tons? One shot from it and the wooden hull would be flooded.

He had just married his third wife and bought a villa in the suburbs of Batavia, and now he was about to die on this wrecked ship.

He quickly looked at von Ertl. Surely this German would say something for him? Weren't the Netherlands and Germany friendly neighbors? Wasn't Queen Wilhelmina Wilhelm II's dear little cousin?

He then saw that von Ertel had already stood up with his briefcase, ignoring the unfinished glass of Rhine white wine on the table, and started walking out.

"Consul!" Van der Sant cried out urgently, his Dutch voice trembling with emotion, "Where are you going?"

"You're going to war," von Ertl said without turning his head. "I have to get back to the Leipzig, then weigh anchor and get out of there to avoid being hit by stray bullets... I don't want to become the second Sultan Rahman!"

Van der Sant nearly choked. "No way, shouldn't your German Empire support the Netherlands? The Sumatra couldn't beat the Qing Dynasty cruisers, but your Leipzig could! If you run away, I'm doomed! I don't want to become a Rahman Sultan!" But von Ertl didn't even look at him. The German consul, carrying his bag, walked up to Chang Desheng, his expression suddenly changing, and he smiled and extended his hand: "Commissioner, I almost forgot... Madame Bülow asked me to give you my regards."

Chang Desheng extended his hand and shook hands with him, his serious expression instantly changing to a smirk: "Oh? Mrs. Bilo is going to Tianjin, right? Is she passing through Singapore?"

"Right in Singapore," von Eitel said. "You might run into her when you head north after the war."

"That's wonderful," Chang Desheng smiled even more broadly. "I saw Madame Bülow at the Berlin Ball last time, and her figure was truly..." The two stood at the entrance of the grand dining room, chatting in German about women's figures.

Van der Sant stood frozen at the table, all color draining from his face. They knew each other? And not just casually... This Madame Bülow, who sounded like the wife of some German diplomat from Tianjin, how did she become so familiar with this Qing Dynasty commissioner?

What exactly was his relationship with the Germans? No, what was the relationship between the Qing Dynasty's Beiyang clique and the Germans?

After finishing his conversation with Chang Desheng about women, von Ertel suddenly changed the subject, speaking in a volume just loud enough for the Dutchman behind him to hear: "Commissioner, if a real war breaks out, the Leipzig will remain neutral. However, please tell Captain Wu that the Pontianak River is too narrow, making artillery combat difficult. It would be better to move the Guangjia to a wider section of the river mouth to take advantage of its main gun range."

"Thank you for your guidance, Consul." Chang Desheng nodded solemnly.

Van der Sant finally couldn't hold on any longer.

"Wait! Wait!" He waved both hands, his Dutch-accented German tumbling out, "Mr. Chang! Mr. Zhang! That's not what I meant! I don't want war! We can talk, we can talk!"

Chang Desheng and von Ertel exchanged a glance.

Actually, the two of them never intended to leave. Otherwise, who would have been talking about someone else's wife's figure for so long at the entrance of the dining room?

Chang Desheng turned around, looked at Van der Sant, and his face regained its serious expression: "Commissioner, if you want to talk, please tell me first, what is the status of you Dutch people in Borneo? And what is the status of us Chinese people in Borneo? Only after you have a clear understanding can we talk."

Van der Sant was taken aback by this seemingly nonsensical remark: "Commissioner, what exactly are you trying to say?"

Chang Desheng strode back, but instead of sitting down, he stood beside the dining table, looking down at the Dutch commissioner: "I want to say that you are civilized people who have traveled thousands of miles from Western Europe to Southeast Asia to help the people of the East Indies. We, on the other hand, are civilized people who have traveled thousands of miles from China to Borneo to help the people of Borneo build their homes."

He paused, then said earnestly, "We are all civilized people striving to help the local indigenous people shed their Mongolian past and move towards progress. We share a common, lofty ideal. Although there are disagreements on certain issues, shouldn't these disagreements be set aside, and shouldn't we work together to help the people of the East Indies and Borneo progress into civilized people?"

Van der Sant's mouth slowly opened.

He had worked in Batavia for over a decade on colonial affairs, hearing all sorts of diplomatic rhetoric—threats, inducements, bargaining—but he had never seen a Qing Dynasty official redefine colonialism with the rhetoric of "We are all civilized people, here to help so-and-so become civilized." What the hell was going on? What was that guy surnamed Chang learning at the German war academy? Was it how to conduct colonization and aggression?

Von Ertel had returned by then, placing his briefcase on the table and smiling as he replied, "Yes, yes, we're all friends, civilized people, and here to help. Let's talk things out. Any disagreements can be put aside for now. Let's develop together and make money together. Mr. Commissioner, do you think we can discuss this based on this principle?"

Van der Sant looked around. Chang Desheng looked calm, and von Ertel was all smiles. The two of them were clearly in cahoots, singing in unison.

But he had no other choice now. The Drepzig was clearly not going to help him, the Sumatra was no match for the Guangjia, and now the Chinese seemed to have turned their backs on him... His life was hanging by a thread on this "yacht disguised as a gunboat".

If he agrees to have a proper talk, then let's all be civilized people.

If he doesn't want to talk, then he can't be treated like a human being; he can only be treated like a corpse!

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth, "then, can we have a proper talk now?"

Chang Desheng shook his head.

Van der Sant's face turned pale. What did that mean? Were they trying to kill him?

"We can't talk on our own," Chang Desheng said. "West Borneo isn't in the hands of either of us; it's currently in the hands of the Provisional Council of Pontianak Autonomous State. If we want to talk, we have to talk with Mr. Luo Zhenxing, the leader of the Provisional Council."

Van der Sant's expression changed again: "No! I will never negotiate with the rebels!"

"Commissioner," Chang Desheng lowered his voice, speaking earnestly, "the rebels are not the provisional committee. The rebels are Sultan Rahman, who is colluding with Aceh rebels and attempting to break away from Dutch rule. Mr. Luo Zhenxing is the legitimate leader of Pontianak. He controls Pontianak City, enjoys the unanimous support of the Chinese and other ethnic groups in Pontianak, and is willing to recognize Dutch suzerainty and continue paying taxes to Batavia. If you insist on not negotiating with Mr. Luo Zhenxing, do you intend to negotiate with the West Borneo rebels who support the Aceh rebels?"

Van der Sant remained silent.

"If we're going to talk, it has to be a four-way meeting! The Qing Dynasty, the Netherlands, Germany, and the Pontianak authorities." Chang Desheng finished speaking, then added, "I guarantee that the Dutch East Indies authorities will only gain more from West Borneo, not less. If you want to fight, then the war in West Borneo will definitely be more intense than the Aceh war. Commissioner, you've been fighting in Aceh for almost twenty years and it's still not over. Are you planning to open a new battlefield in Borneo?" Van der Sant's Adam's apple bobbed. He looked at von Ertel, who leaned closer and whispered, "There's an ancient Roman proverb: 'The victor is not judged'... Now, Mr. Roth is undoubtedly the victor. His army killed thousands in less than a day... thousands of armed warriors, including a thousand royal guards trained by your Dutch military advisors! If your Dutch East Indies army were to kill them, I doubt they could achieve this efficiency, would they?"

Of course not... If they had, would the Aceh War have lasted for twenty years?

However, Van der Sant was, after all, a stubborn and arrogant Dutchman, regardless of his abilities!

He turned his head and stared intently at Chang Desheng: "This... is this the intention of your Qing Dynasty's Minister Li?"

In his mind, Li Zhongtang probably wouldn't be that bold, would he?

Chang Desheng pointed to the Guangjia outside the cabin: "Commissioner, are you blind? Look for yourself."

Through the porthole of the Sumatra, the gun covers of the two 150mm Krupp main guns of the Guangjia had been removed at some point, and several soldiers were cleaning the gun barrels.

Are they about to open fire?

Van der Sant stared at the two cannons for a long time before finally lowering his eyelids.

"Alright. Tomorrow, I will invite Mr. Luo Zhenxing onto the ship tomorrow."

The lights were still on in the large dining room of the Sumatra ship late that night.

The band and waiters had left, and the silver candles on the table were still burning, casting a weak glow. Van der Sant slumped in his chair, the top two buttons of his collar undone, his face etched with exhaustion.

Two men stood before him: Advisor Kemp and Commissioner Paul. These two had been waiting in the next cabin since the afternoon, and were only called in to "report the situation" after the Qing Chinese disembarked.

"Lord Sant," Kemp said, bowing slightly, his tone certain, "Sultan Rahman did indeed collude with the Aceh rebels. We found correspondence with the Sultan of Aceh in his palace, as well as a shipment of weapons destined for Aceh. The evidence is irrefutable!"

"His ideal was to expel all outsiders and establish an independent Borneo Sultanate," Paul added from the side, "including the Dutchman van der Sant, whose eyelids twitched."

"Those Chinese are just as despicable," Camp continued, "but in West Borneo now, only they can maintain the status quo. The Sultan's tribal armies have scattered, most of the Malay leaders have fled upstream, and only the Chinese control Pontianak and all the plantations, mines, and docks. They are willing to continue paying taxes, willing to acknowledge Dutch suzerainty, and even willing to provide military funds for the Aceh war. My lord, Batavia's greatest need right now is not war, but tax revenue. If even the taxes from Pontianak cannot be collected, this year's finances..."

He didn't finish speaking, but Van der Sant already understood.

He remained silent for a long time, then picked up the now-cold cup of coffee on the table and gulped it down in one go.

"There will be a four-way meeting tomorrow," he said, slamming his glass down on the table. "Both of you will be in attendance."