When Pirates Ruled Asia_ 1000 Vicious Years of Chinese and J
The lofty pagoda towered above Guangzhou harbour. As China's only open port, this was where
the world came when they wanted to trade within the great Qing Empire. And from the pagoda's
highest and most exclusive floors, the view was magnificent. Closer by, however, the waters
themselves were hardly visible, beneath the anchored ships and bustling wharves, scuttling
boats and swaying jetties. The sights, smells and tastes of a thousand different cultures
being bought and sold, traded and bartered, smuggled and stolen. It was the centre of
the world. And she was at the very heart of it.
Madame Zhang, Asia's greatest pirate, settled herself comfortably at an expansive table.
The breeze of the rarefied upper levels of the pagoda whistling in her ears, exquisitely
painted fingernails tapped slowly on the arm of the polished wooden chair. On the other
side of the negotiating table sat the Qing Empire's provincial viceroy, Portuguese naval
officers and merchant officials of the English East India Company. At stake was Madame Zhang's
vast pirate empire enforced by a strict set of laws, her colossal fortune gathered through
merciless raiding and legitimate business, and a possible enforced retirement from the
world of maritime violence. But her adversaries had far more to lose.
The Qing risked the continued destabilisation of their whole Chinese empire, pirates having
years before destroyed the last remnants of their southern navy. The Portuguese feared
the viability of their incredibly lucrative Macau colony, the last bastion of long-dwindled
imperial glory. And finally, the British stood to lose the opium trade which powered
their domination of India. The loss of the American colonies was still raw, the Asian
empire must be preserved at all costs. They threshed out a deal. Madame humbly agreed
to retire from piracy, stand down her 70,000 strong crew, cease seizing foreign vessels
and grant the Qing navy use of her fleet. She was offered an imperial pardon, full custody
of her ill-gotten gains, 120 ships and a high military rank for her husband. She had
wrapped representatives of three of the world's most powerful empires round her perfectly
manicured little finger. Not bad for a woman who had started out in a floating brothel.
The coastal areas of East Asia are peppered with tiny islands, secret coves and steep,
mountainous looking points, ideal for hiding, raiding, evading and fortifying. It shouldn't
come as a surprise that seaborne robbery, smuggling, kidnap, murder, extortion, rape,
slaving, sedition, treason, rebellion and revolution, piracy in all its forms, has always
thrived here. In fact, the coastal peoples of the East may justifiably claim to have
been masters of piracy's art. This is the millennia long story of those cutthroat villains,
philanthropic heroes, protectors of the oppressed, loyal to the death brotherhoods and merciless
scoundrels. Of small raids off the coast of Korea growing exponentially in scale to vast
pirate empires, acting as both king makers and scourges of the people living on the shore.
This is the incredible story of the Pirates of the East.
Not related to Zelda, unfortunately. Sorry.
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On land, Gan Ning and his gang travelled by riding on horses, or in chariots in certain
formation. On water, they sailed on light vessels linked together. They also wore elaborate
and flamboyant garments to attract attention. The earliest Chinese records of piracy stretch
back to the 4th century BC. And over the coming centuries, seaborne traffic and coastal communities
in the vast ocean, which stretches between current-day Vietnam, China, Indonesia, the
Philippines, Korea and Japan, were always at danger of attack or extortion. Even the
Romans of Augustus' time warned of Asian piracy on their most distant sea charts. During
the 9th century, Korean pirates haunted the coasts of their neighbours, and every nook
and cranny of Asian shoreline had gangs of rough fisherfolk ready to try their hand at
seaborne banditry. But our story really starts in 1019, at the same time as Danes were raiding
England on the other side of the globe. Jiuquans, ancestors of the Manchu, and, like the Danes,
the dwellers of inhospitable icy lands, took to their sturdy vessels and headed south to
raid Japan. They rampaged through the remote islands of Tsushima and Iki, wiping out the
men, seizing women and children as captives. Drunk on their success, they then attacked
the much larger island of Kyushu, carrying off a thousand more prisoners. An army was
swiftly mobilised to drive them off, but the raiders swanned away with their plunder. A
grim omen for the future, but it wouldn't be long before these initial raids paled in
comparison to the carnage going in the opposite direction.
Prior to 1223, there had been peace on the southern maritime border of Korea, but as
the provinces were stripped of troops to counter Mongol raids in the north and plague, typhoons
and extreme drought struck the outlying western Japanese islands, the starving people of those
islands resorted to attacking their weakened neighbours to feed their families. The attacks
increased steadily, as did the speed of the Korean military response, but the marauders'
depredations only worsened. A formal communication was sent to the Japanese government.
The people of the island of Tsushima of your country have of old come presenting tribute
in native products. Annually, harmonious relations were cultivated. It came to pass that in the
sixth month of the year of the senior fire dog, taking advantage of the night while the
residents slept, they entered a hole in the town wall and plundered indiscriminately,
and disturbed innocent peasants without end. A number of ships are coming and going in
a disorderly fashion and committing mischief. What is the reason for this?
Japanese governmental authorities had been unaware of their wayward western subjects'
piratical activities and were no less incensed than the Koreans, swiftly executing ninety
Japanese perpetrators, this swift and brutal act of justice having the desired effect,
restoring calm to the seas. Fifth month, Junior Wood Ox Day, a document
arriving from Japan apologising for the crime of the bandit ships raiding our borders. Harmonious
relations and mutual trade were requested. But a word which would change Asian history
had been etched. The Koreans termed these pirates Weigu, or Wako in Japanese, the term
by which pirates in East Asia, whether Japanese or not, would generally be known for the next
four hundred years. So, in 1260, as Louis IX of France was considering
an eighth crusade, the priest Nichiren knelt on the hard earthen floor of his hut and gazed
through the open door down the green, pine-coloured valley.
More and more in recent times there have been extraordinary occurrences in the heaven and
on the earth, famine and epidemics everywhere spread across the land. More and more are
pressed by famine, beggars meet the eye everywhere, and the dead fill the eye. Corpses lie about
and in rows like a bridge. He paused, sighed, and set down the bamboo
brush. The rain's music intensified. This year a novice nun had even been found
eating human flesh. Was it any wonder then that piracy had flourished? The people had
nowhere else left to turn, nothing left to sell, nothing left to reap.
Nichiren was right. Piracy had again reared its head, both in Japan and in renewed raids
on Korea. These depredations continued for a few years, until a much bigger threat than
mere famine and disease occupied southern Korea. Mongols.
Kublai, Khan of the Mongols, Emperor of China, stroked his beard as he considered a problem
which so enraged him that he had been unable to sleep. The Khan had spent most of his life
on horseback, even on elephants and camels, but he had never ridden in a ship. The whole
idea of water, and far more so the sea, frightened Mongols. A desert of water was far, far more
frightening to a Mongol than any hospitable expanse of grass or sand. But five times the
impudent Japanese had refused his envoys. The rulers of an insignificant island realm
had unceremoniously rejected his generous offer to grant them vassal status. He came
to his decision. Now was the time to act. He beckoned a eunuch officer.
Call in the sea men.
After nearly thirty years of trying, the Mongols had finally imposed vassal status on the Korean
peninsula in 1259. Conversely, the next year had seen a reversal of Mongol fortunes on
the other side of Eurasia. Defeat in Palestine by Mamluk Egypt marked the maximum westward
reach of the empire. But there was still room to expand eastwards. Japan now lay just beyond
the horizon. Over the next decade, increasing numbers of Mongol troops were seen in the
southern reaches of Korea. Japanese pirates wisely refrained from raiding.
Meanwhile, Kublai had continued his invasion of China, and in 1273, seeing which way the
tide was turning, the Yansi pirates, Zhu Qing and Zhang Xian, had offered their 500
ships to his cause. These, now respectable pirates, had become stalwarts of the Mongol
navy, planning and commanding Mongol invasions and raids to Champa and Java. They also provided
their services in the two expeditions against Japan, in 1274 and 1281. And indeed, the Japanese
defenders who had the most experience with naval warfare were the very people who had
been raiding the Korean coast for the previous half century. Pirate fought pirate at sea.
Regular troops engaged on land.
Japanese warcraft, being small in size, were no match for these ships. Those which came
up to attack were all beaten off. The whole country was therefore trembling with fear.
In the markets there was no rice for sale. The Japanese ruler went in person to visit
the Hachiman shrine to make supplication. He also had a royal rescript read at the shrine
of the Sun Goddess, imploring that his country be saved in exchange for his own life.
The gods listened. Winds blew and waves raged. A divine wind, Kamikaze or Shinpu, delivered
the Mongols and their Korean levies to a watery grave. The shogunate's prayers had been answered.
Japan remained independent and although no one knew it, the Black Death, which would
wipe out hundreds of millions of people and spread as a result of the secure trade and
communication routes that the Mongol Empire guaranteed, would never reach Japan.
But the Mongol invasions led to a far greater long-term military deployment in the western
areas where pirates had traditionally ruled the roost. Aware that Japan had only narrowly
escaped incorporation into the Mongol Empire, the shogunate, strengthened by its military
success, was determined to keep as low a profile as possible. Piracy, for a time, died away
in the Sea of Japan.
Hu Weiyang had been one of the most powerful men in China until four days ago. Great Minister
of the Left, the Ming Emperor's Chancellor. Now, surrounded by armoured soldiers, their
guandao weapons grounded and gleaming in the soft morning sunlight, he and his entire family
knelt in Nanjing's execution grounds, awaiting death. Hu had been instrumental in bringing
about the rise of the new Ming Dynasty, by providing ships for the decisive 1363 Battle
of Lake Poyang, which secured the end of Mongol rule and ushered in a new dawn. The Great
Ming. Da-Min. Hu had served his lord and then emperor, Hongwu, faithfully and, as far as
he was concerned, justly, ushering in a better governed, more secure and more just nation,
rid of the stinking Mongol nomads. But Hu had become too powerful, perhaps occasionally
taking the law into his own hands, and Emperor Hongwu's increasing paranoia had turned him
against his chief minister. Hu could feel that his days were numbered and had decided
to strike first. He ordered a servant to Japan to engage a gang of samurai pirates to assassinate
the emperor. They were known to spare no one, kill swiftly, without remorse. The 400 pirates
disguised themselves as a tribute mission. With weapons concealed inside huge candles,
the samurai had made landfall and were proceeding towards completion of their mission, when
at the last minute, Emperor Hongwu had smelled a rat. And now, Hu was only grateful to be
spared death by a thousand cuts.
He knelt with his hands tied behind his back and his whole family was decapitated before
his eyes. Finally, the executioner came for him. As he died, he wondered what had become
of the pirates.
Hu's gamble on mercenary samurai had all come about due to another breakdown of central
government in Japan, which, around 1350, had allowed the Wako to quietly return to their
piratical ways. These raids, focused primarily on Korea, culminated in outright pirate invasions
involving up to 3,000 men. They plundered far inland, seizing everything of value and
carrying off the population as slaves. It was inevitable that China, amidst collapsing
Mongol rule, would also suffer. The newly enthroned Hongwu Emperor dispatched a letter
to Japan in 1369.
Japanese pirates repeatedly plunder areas along the coast, separating men forever from
their wives and children and destroying property and lives. If there are those who nonetheless
continue to engage in piracy, I will be compelled to order naval officers to set sail for Japan.
The threat was not carried out. The issue of Hu Weiyong and his cabal proved far more
pressing. Over the next decade, 30,000 of Hu's associates were ruthlessly hunted down.
Fortunately, by the time the Emperor Hongwu had satisfied his bloodlust, Japan was once
again unified under a strong government, and a new and dynamic Korean dynasty, the Joseon,
who would rule until the 20th century, had smitten the worst of the pirates. The new
Ashikaga shogunate acted swiftly to repair diplomatic ties with China and Korea. Legitimate
trade delivered far greater riches for less risk. Time and time again over the next century,
visiting Ming Chinese ambassadors would return not only with Japanese merchandise, but also
with a sorry-looking retinue of Chinese bandits, awaiting death by boiling. Peace reigned in
the Sea of Japan.
And then, in 1517, a whole new gang of rogues hove into view off the Chinese coast.
It was a fine June day when a strange-looking ship arrived in the southern Chinese port
of Guangzhou. The crew were of many unusual races, some with very dark skin and curly
hair, others boasting turbans and extravagant beards. These types of men had been noted
in chronicles of previous ages. Their leaders, however, were unfamiliar. They had skins of
a violent pink, big noses, deep eyes with thin, weak-looking hair, and declared themselves
representatives of a land that the Chinese had barely heard of before. Portugal. This
kind of thing happened occasionally, and the unusual new people almost always came from
remote southern islands, so the Chinese, as usual, called these men Southern Barbarians.
The newcomers were polite at first, and eventually, after receiving permission from Beijing, were
allowed to conduct an embassy. While the diplomats were away, however, the barbarians showed
their true colours.
Foreigners from the west, called Falang-ki, who said they had tribute, abruptly entered
the bogey and, by their tremendously loud guns, shook the place far and near. This was
reported at court, and an order returned to drive them away immediately and stop the
trade. They fortified an island, raided local villages for children to eat, engaged in street
brawls, intimidated other foreign shipping, and, worst of all, carried out the death penalty
without adhering to the due process stipulated by the law of the land. It was clear that
they were, in reality, pirates. The barbarian pirates were ordered to leave. When the captain
refused, they were forcibly expelled. For the next few decades, wherever the Portuguese
landed or attempted trade, they were fought off and, if caught, executed.
Yasuke stood on deck, the fresh spring breeze playing on his smooth face. In front of him,
an island-spattered sea twisted gently between the deep green mountainous shores on either
side. Waves glimmered as the rising sun caught each crest. The giant African warrior was
bodyguard to a Jesuit missionary, traversing Japan's Seto Inland Sea en route to the capital,
Kyoto. Wherever explorers went, the word of God had been sure to follow. The only safe
way to get there was by ship, and by the late 1500s the only ships that plied the waters
were pirate ships. As a military man, Yasuke cast his sharp eyes around, taking in every
detail of their host's attire. The pirates went about their business in rough-looking
faded tunics tied at the waist with hempen rope. Some boasted hodgepodge items of light
armour. They all had swords thrust through their belts. The ships themselves were equipped
with surprising arsenals – small cannon, muskets, grenades, spears, grappling hooks
and chains, polearm sickles and bows. They were far better equipped than he had expected.
There were also strange-looking wooden rocket launchers. Yasuke had not seen these before
and supposed that they must be an innovation acquired on raids in China and Korea. Despite
his size, strength and prowess with myriad weaponry, Yasuke prayed that these business-like
killers would not turn on their Jesuit passengers.
The Japanese Seto Inland Sea had always been the haunt of pirates, but Yasuke was present
during their heyday. A far cry from the calm of the Ashikaga shogunate, everything had
changed. In 1467 the Japanese archipelago had once more descended into strife and the
shogunate had collapsed in a brutal civil war, leading to a period of almost 150 years
of constant conflict. The Warring States period had begun. The chaos and desperation in the
wake of conflict on the mainland had led to clans like the Murakami controlling the
waves and the huge seaborne traffic which passed upon them. They were the kings of the
maritime realm, just as other lords commanded fiefs on land. The pirates ruled from fortified
islands, guaranteeing safe passage past their lairs for a hefty fee. These same men and
women would also hire their own services to land-based lords, and famously even constructed
the world's first iron-clad ships. In civil war-driven Japan, the pirates were another
force vying to hold onto and expand spheres of influence at the expense of the land-based
lords, warrior monks, bandits or ninja. Their power and reputation for ruthlessness was
known throughout Asia.
Peaceful trade with China by states such as Japan or Korea had been traditionally carried
out with a license, called a kanhe, a tally. Only the bearer of the kanhe, the representative
of a recognised tributary government, was permitted to trade. This system had been functioning
since 1404. Kendo Sotetsu was enraged. He and his men, carrying valid Japanese trade
tallies, had landed first. A rival clan, the Hosokawa, had also sent a mission, but they
had arrived late to the port of Ningbo and carried outdated tallies. His mission should
have been unquestionably allowed to engage in trade. The usurpers sent packing. But the
Chinese trade official had taken Hosokawa bribes and declined Kendo's rightful claim.
The samurai jumped up. He would not stand for this. There was a sharp whoosh, and blood
spattered across his kimono.
Kendo's envoys slew the rival clansmen, burned their ship and chased their leader over a
thousand kilometres inland. Unable to apprehend their quarry, they raped and pillaged their
way back to Ningbo, laid waste to the Chinese garrison, stole a squadron of ships and sailed
off into the blue. Now it was the Chinese authority's turn to be enraged. Kendo Sotetsu's
extradition was demanded. It was not forthcoming.
The tally system had only worked smoothly as long as there was an uncontested central
authority in the barbarian realm in question, and Japan had no such authority. Legitimate
trade had continued sporadically, but by 1523, the spiralling chaos had all come to a head
with Kendo Sotetsu's exploits, which led to legitimate trade all but dying out, and in
1548, it was forbidden entirely.
With trade outlawed, piracy became the only way to fulfil the needs of the Japanese market.
This lucrative business fell to a band of multicultural corsairs, mostly comprising
Chinese renegades and Japanese mariners, but also including the new Southern Barbarians
– Portuguese, Africans and other Asians. They earned the reputation of being fearless
in battle, often fighting to the death against forces ten times their size rather than conceding.
The government established a great line of coastal fortresses, beacons and other defences,
but to little effect. Many coastal peoples took the path of least resistance, giving
the pirates safe haven.
Treacherous people from the interior gang up with foreigners like the Japanese, Falangi
and those from Pahang and Siam. The evil people of the interior trade with them and supply
them necessities.
In the forty years after Kendo Sotetsu's rampage, 601 pirate raids were recorded, more than at
any other time in history. And so, in 1581, Yasuke found himself aboard one of their vessels.
He turned away from musing on the sea to see one of the Japanese crew gaping at him, taking
in his enormous height, bulging muscles and ink-black skin. He was used to ogling eyes
by now – no one in Japan had ever seen a man like him – and they couldn't help but
stare. Yasuke flashed the man a wide grin, at the same time letting his right hand drop
to where an ornate Arab Jambiya dagger nestled. He would not do any harm to show he meant
business.
But the Japanese were not alone in their efforts to carve up the seas. The red-faced barbarians
had plans of their own.
It was a warm morning, lazily peaceful in the pirate settlement above the banks of the
Kigayan River, on the island of Luzon, in the modern-day Philippines. The calm did not
last long. A lookout's drum sounded a deep, sonorous boom. A young girl, Ko, ran down
the low hill from the palisade to see the prow of a huge ship bearing down upon the
riverside pirate kingdom. Hundreds of armed men appeared from nowhere, leaping and bounding
down to their boats to counter the attack before the enemy could land and threaten their
families. The great galleys' swivel guns spat lead at the pirates tumbling down the
riverbanks. In the surprise of the moment, few pirates had more than their swords or
spears to hand. Even fewer were dressed for battle. The majority wore only the loincloths
they had woken in.
The enemy approached. Ko had never seen such strange men. Their upper body was clad in
shiny steel. They wore straight swords at their sides and held long-bladed spears. But
the strangest thing was their faces. Above ridiculously bushy beards of red, orange,
black and yellow, stuck noses like beaks. Deep-set, ugly round eyes under bushy eyebrows
took everything in. They looked fearsome, wild, almost inhuman. They were the Southern
Barbarians.
Captain Juan Pablo de Carrión, Admiral of the South Seas and the Sea of China in the
Navy of the most illustrious Philip by the grace of God, King of the Spains and the Indies,
had planned the surprise attack well. He had only narrowly defeated the main pirate fleet
at sea as it returned from raiding China. Now the Spanish flotilla bore down on the
pirate's nest to exterminate the vermin.
The Spanish had established their first colony in the Philippines in 1565 and then in 1571
fortified a settlement called Manila and set about seizing that lucrative trade with China
and Japan. These actions did not endear the Spanish to the locally established Waco. The
Philippine islands had been the perfect base to escape the long arm of the Chinese Navy
and stability had allowed the pirates to establish silver mines and prosperous colonies, some
even approaching mainland China for civilized sophistication.
The Spanish, however, increasingly strident and dominating in their behaviour, were a
severe threat and would need to be dealt with and in 1574 a pirate called Lim Hong gathered
around 4,000 Chinese and Japanese pirates on 60 ships and pounced on Manila. Spain had
only just held on and, badly shaken, whenever a new pirate colony was discovered they sent
their increasingly powerful local forces to pacify the area and one such incident had
been in Cagayan, on the island of Luzon, in 1582.
Coe stood rooted to the spot as officers from both sides barked orders in several languages.
The pirates had declined the Spaniards' offer of free passage and demanded gold in compensation.
This in turn was refused. The Spanish, frantically dug in on shore, prepared their guns, oiled
their pikes to prevent them from being grasped and prepared to defend their new position.
600 pirates returned to the fort, armed themselves properly this time and charged. The bodies
of Coe's kinsmen piled high until there were few left.
Coe knew what her future held. She had seen it often enough with prisoners brought back
from pirate raids.
Following these horrors, most pirates reverted to honest trades, exchanging the goods they
plundered or smuggled in China for gold and silver mined by American slaves in Mexico
and Peru. The Chinese contraband made its way via Spanish vessels to the households
of the rich and powerful of Europe and the Americas. The slave-extracted gold and silver
oiled the Chinese economy. The Spanish managed to secure Manila until 1898 and, increasingly
confident, actually started hiring Japanese and Chinese mariners to man their ships. This
policy continued happily until 1593.
Gomez Perez, Governor and General of Manila, having all his forces ready in the province
of Pincados, remained at Manila with the Admiral Gali and having taken in 250 Indians of Chinese
China, good rowers, without chaining them, smoothing them with fair speech and allowing
them weapons, as pikes and swords of Japan, which they called katana. These good fellows,
when arrived near the Isle Caza, spying the Spaniards asleep, fell upon them and cut their
throats. The Governor awoke with the noise and the captain of these Indians, perceiving
it, entreated him to come out of his cabin, which he had no sooner done than they slew
him and so made away for Borneo, as is thought.
A lesson in why not to trust pirates, even handsomely rewarded ones. The Spanish never
did retrieve the Gali.
But red-faced, steel-encased strangers were far from the only threat to Wako, for in tune
with the wax and wane of Japanese central government, the tide turned once again for
Japan-based pirates of all ethnicities when the warlord Toyotomi Hideyoshi subdued Japan's
western domains and reunified the country under central rule in the 1580s. His government
was probably stronger than any before him and backed by half a million samurai. Hideyoshi
issued an edict stating that should any lord be found to harbour pirates, then his fief
would be forfeit. He also provided employment for former bandits, co-opting them to his
navy to invade Korea between 1592 and 1598. This disastrous campaign saw many of the former
pirates meet their ends at the hands of the fearful Korean turtle ships. Hideyoshi then
enacted a system of licenses called shuinsho, or Vermilion Seal Permits. Any seafarer of
any nationality who wished to trade in Japan had to apply for one, and if caught without,
was automatically assumed to be a pirate and dealt with.
Legitimate merchants once again took over where pirates had left off, another swell
of East Asian piracy subdued. But for the states of South East Asia and seafarers passing
through those waters, it was sometimes hard to tell.
John Davies did not like this heat. He had always been more comfortable in the icebound
wastes of North America, where he had spent much of his explorer's life trying to find
a way to China and Japan through the North West Passage. It had eluded him, so now he
was on a voyage going the southern route, not through Magellan's Strait, but around
the tip of Africa and into the Indian Ocean. The famous explorer was piloting his ship
Tiger under Captain Michelborne to China and Japan, aiming to be the first English ship
in those parts. And lo and behold, a few days ago on Christmas Eve 1605, just north
of Java and east of the Malay Peninsula, they had met a ship full of Japanese merchants,
in danger of capsizing. The English, seeing an opportunity to ingratiate themselves with
the first real Japanese people they had ever met, offered to help. Tiger took the vessel
in hand, and the two ships found refuge in the lee of a small island. The Japanese were
invited to join the English Christmas meal, and they responded likewise, by hosting the
English sailors aboard their vessel. It had been fascinating to dine with these swaggering
Asian seamen, laughing and joking together, despite the language differences, some jokes
easily transcended cultural barriers. He liked these ruffians, and looked forward to seeing
their country that he had been trying to reach for two decades or more.
One of the English sailors, who had had too much to drink, however, had started poking
around the rice bales. They certainly contained something more valuable than rice. These
men were clearly not only rice merchants. Others joined him, and eventually the Japanese
men ended up imprisoned on the English ship where they had been feasting. Davis liked
to think of himself as an honourable man, and despite the fact that these ruffians were
clearly up to no good, he liked them. Against his captain's orders, he allowed them to
keep their weapons.
Davis gazed out on the stunning sunset. The light was failing fast. There came a loud
crash from behind him. The door to the pirate's prison was bulging, about to rupture. Before
he could run, a warrior rushed out, grabbed him around the neck, and pulled Davis inside
the cabin. A huge sword to his neck. In the cabin, another pirate impaled him on a spear,
and charged out, using the first ever Englishman to die at Japanese hands as a human shield.
Davis passed out, and passed away. An ignoble end to a great life.
Japanese katana clashed against English broadsword as darkness fell over the floating battlefield.
All the Englishmen who had been on the Japanese ship were killed or thrown overboard, but
the Japanese sailors failed to take control of Tiger, and retreated back to the cabin,
where it had all begun. They held out for four hours. Captain Michelborne had had enough.
The ship's cannons were brought up on deck, and aimed point blank. The last holdouts were
literally blown away.
So was the whole rear of the ship. Tiger's crew, having survived the battle but in unknown
waters and too shaken to continue without Davis' expertise, seized two Chinese ships
to make good their losses, and set a course for home. The English so-called merchant explorers
were, in reality, no better than the pirates they had fought. When it suited them, they
simply raised their mask of legitimacy, and took whatever they fancied from those who
were weaker. It was a fine portent for the centuries to come.
The English had come seeking spices, at that time worth far more than their weight in gold.
They could go for tens of thousands of percent profit in the London market. But they had
nothing to pay for them with. England produced little besides wool and weaponry. The people
of the tropics had no need for wool, and were already amply supplied with weaponry. But
Japan was a cold country, and their warriors were said to be the fiercest in the world,
or so they said, surely the perfect market for wool and weapons. And Japan had silver,
mountains of it. Sadly for the English, this dream would never become a reality. Japan
preferred silk, and was entering 250 years of unsullied peace. But centuries later, England
would find the perfect substitute for both silver, wool and weapons. An irresistible
asset. Opium. And 200 years later, that would turn world history on its head.
What is the cult of Deus? What are the scriptures on which the cult's adherents rely, and the
terminology which they use? Who is the main deity they worship? Because the followers
of the Buddhas do not inquire into these matters, they are not able to vanquish this
cult's adherents and chase them from the lands. And therefore, the cursed doctrine has grown
day by day. Around the turn of the 17th century, several
events occurred to cause a large diaspora of Japanese to emigrate around Eastern Asia.
The 1603 Battle of Sekigahara secured the rule of the Tokugawa family in Japan until
1868. But the defeated samurai fled, some overseas, to places where the long arm of
the new shogunate could not reach. The new government acted to secure its control over
the country, rooting out its enemies. The ever-growing strength of the Catholics, potentially
loyal to Rome and not Edo, presented a potential threat, and they were encouraged to recant
their beliefs. Many Christians refused to apostatize and were exiled. Others found it
expedient to search out more tolerant enclaves where they could practice their outlawed faith.
Manila, Macau, Siam, Hoi An, Phnom Penh, and dozens of other Japanese merchant settlements
scattered throughout the maritime world of the South China Seas welcomed them. Over the
years, these new communities, some numbering thousands, became integral to their host nations,
trading extensively with Japan and also, due to their faith, acting as useful middlemen
for European merchants. But, as so often in this era, there was a fine line, sometimes
so fine that it was indistinguishable between legitimate merchants and pirates.
Many of the Japanese diaspora had spent their youth on the battlefields of Civil War Japan.
Violence was second nature. When it suited them, they could speedily transform from merchant
to pirate and vice versa. Local powers saw this and often employed their new subjects.
Japanese mercenary pirates ended up fighting and dying in a whole host of battles and brawls
all over Asia. In Korea, a samurai corps bravely fought off Manchu incursions on the northern
border for decades. In 1603, the Spanish, despite previous awkward episodes, used Japanese
pirates to massacre the rebellious Chinese population of Manila, many of them also pirates.
In 1623, the Dutch employed a shipload of Japanese pirates when attempting to capture
Macau from the Portuguese. The defenders emancipated their African slaves to join the fight and
the combined Dutch-Japanese force was driven back into the sea. And sometimes, hiring Japanese
soldiers of fortune backfired badly. In 1611, a force of 280 Japanese men took the Siamese
King prisoner until they were paid off. King Song Tham seems to have been impressed rather
than repulsed and he promptly employed other Japanese mercenaries to form his palace guard.
And key among these Japanese adventurers to win honour and high position in Siam was a
man called Yamada Nagamasa. Poison, poison, poison. It had to be poison. Yamada had felt
himself weakening for months and now on the eve of his wedding, he felt his life slipping
away. As the music and feasting sounded outside his tent, his bride, a beautiful Thai princess,
held him in her arms and he looked into her deep brown shiny young eyes. The old Japanese
pirate started to talk. He told his queen of how he had traversed the seas from Japan as
a common sailor, then pirate, risen to captain, headman and eventually decorated general in
the Thai King's army. His 600 samurai mercenaries, former pirates all, ruled the Siamese roost,
swaggered around Thai battlefields, sweeping all before them. None could resist. This had
won him a kingdom, subject to none but the Thai King himself. It had been his downfall.
He was too powerful. Somehow he had been poisoned, perhaps in his food, perhaps by that medicine
the king had recently gifted. But finally, the Japanese king of Ligur, the most successful
Japanese pirate in history, Yamada Nagamasa, lay back, fell silent, died. His final breath
played slowly on the young queen's silky black hair.
Yamada is believed to have reached Siam around 1610 and engaged in piracy in a minor way
before setting himself up legitimately in the Thai capital. Finally, Yamada had become
kingmaker. As King Song Tham was dying, the former pirate was tasked with ensuring the
enthronement of his young son. Nagamasa had become one of the most powerful men in the
country and was caught in the violence and strife of the succession. He had failed. The
young boy had perished. Yamada and his men had survived and he was appointed king of
the tributary kingdom of Ligur on the Malay peninsula. An incredible rise.
Records differ as to how Yamada was poisoned, but some say the fatal dose was administered
by the princess, his new queen. Yamada Nagamasa, pirate, merchant, general, law enforcer, diplomat,
kingmaker and king, died in 1630. He was only 40 years old.
With peace reigning supreme in the Japanese
islands, the shoguns were increasingly annoyed by reports from overseas that Japanese subjects
were exporting their violent tendencies. It had to stop. Ever increasing restrictions
were placed on leaving the Japanese islands until in 1635, no one was allowed to leave
upon pain of death. It was final and effective. The seaways between Japan and the rest of
Asia, once so full of brigands, was now empty. But nature abhors a vacuum.
The year was 1647. Tagao Amatsu was a pirate queen. Her husband, Zhang Jialong, controlled
vast swathes of the South China seas with a corsair fleet of thousands. His realm was
a state unto its own and had been, at least until recently, effectively an almost independent
entity within the great Ming empire. A true pirate kingdom. The colourful gold and red
Zhang pendants atop the towers and pagodas of the clan stronghold of Anhai fluttered
vigorously in the sea breeze as Tagao looked landwards to where black clouds of smoke from
the burning city collected over a Manchu army approaching swiftly on horseback, golden dragon
banners billowing proudly aloft. A few heavily armoured soldiers still guarded the walls,
yet her husband had abandoned them all, thrown in his lot with the enemy, and the still loyal
armies of Tagao's son were engaged on distant battlefields. Now the barbarian horsemen,
thousands of miles from their northern snowbound step home, approached this southern bastion.
There was no help coming. The battle would be brutal and swift. The defending pirates
were heavily outnumbered. Rather than endure the humiliation of being ravaged by unwashed
nomadic warriors, Tagao, dressed all in white silk, walked calmly to the edge of the great
fortifications, climbed daintily to the crest, took the Japanese Kaiken blade she had brought
with her from the land of her birth, and plunged it into her throat. Her body fell from the
battlements, the wide sleeves of her kimono ballooning in the wind. The pure white of
her death-robe swiftly turned to red on the hard cobbles as the shocked Manchus looked
on. They are said to have remarked, if the women of Japan are of such a sort, what must
the men be like?
It had all started in Lord Matsura's infamous pirate haven, Hirado, in western Japan. Snug
in the cozy refuge, hundreds of Japanese coastal craft, a host of Chinese junks, and more than
a dozen European ships were anchored. Lord Matsura's tiny backwater had become a hub
of world trade, frequented by Chinese, English, Dutch, Africans, Indians, Javans, and many
more. From here, the Japanese vessels would load the foreign goods and transport them
to the vast markets of Osaka, Kyoto, Edo, and a hundred lordly domains in between. Millions
awaited the goods that Matsura controlled. The Chinese in harbour, such as Li Dan, were
outright pirates, based here because the Ming authorities were seeking their heads. The
Dutch and English claimed to be representatives of respectable barbarian nations, but they
fought each other in drunken rages, like pirates, and even occasionally captured each other's
ships as prizes. The Portuguese had been worse, local blood had been spilled multiple times
before finally being banished in 1561. Pirates should keep their violent ways to unfriendly
ports, not safe havens.
Tagawa had been a young girl when a dashing young Chinese adventurer called Zheng Jialong
made the busy little harbour his home. They had a child together in 1624 and were married.
Jialong was a polyglot and entered the service of the Dutch who were building a colony in
Taiwan. As they had few men of their own, the Dutch allowed any pirate ship that gave
them 50% of the spoils to fly their flag and enjoy its protection. So Jialong transformed
from interpreter to pirate.
By 1627 he had amassed a fleet of 400 Chinese ships, armed with superior European cannon
and a private army of tens of thousands. A man with flair, he restricted his attacks
to the rich and styled himself a protector of the poor. He took anyone into his service
and was particularly noted for having a personal African bodyguard of 300 men. Beijing's navy
was reduced to splinters and the authorities were at their wits end. There was one last
option. Co-opt Jialong. Offer him great wealth and power within the empire.
Zheng Jialong switched sides in 1628. He was now a Ming government man.
It was now Jialong's job to hunt down his former comrades and destroy their Dutch puppeteers.
He built up a new hybrid fleet of 30 large warships, the first of its kind, combining
the best of both European and Chinese technology. But before they were complete, the Dutch attacked
and annihilated the nearly completed armada. In secret, Jialong gathered a new fleet of
junks and in October 1633 issued a challenge. The Dutch of course had succeeded once and
full of contempt, they sailed against him with 9 European ships and 50 allied pirate
vessels. And as they lay at anchor, 150 small Zheng ships approached at speed. The Dutch
primed their cannon. They knew they could blow Chinese junks from the water with ease.
It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. But these were not ordinary ships. Each vessel
was packed to the brim with explosives. Great destruction was wrought and Dutch power was
broken for good. Now the Europeans were in their place, it was Jialong's ocean. His ships
controlled traffic between China, Japan, the Philippines and Vietnam. A huge maritime empire,
vaster than any other. Around this time, Jialong sent for his Japanese
son. The boy, later to be known as Zheng Changgong or Cochinga by the Dutch, was brought up as
a Ming nobleman. It is thought that he was the first Japanese candidate in 800 years
to be successful in the Chinese imperial examinations and was on course to be one of the highest
ranking officials in the land. Times were good for the Zheng clan. Their wealth grew
so large, some said they were the richest family in China. Then came 1644.
Manchu tribesmen from north of the Great Wall, menacing the border for decades, finally took
Beijing. The emperor hanged himself, the Manchus proclaimed a new Qing dynasty and the Ming
forces retreated southwards. The Zheng took a fiercely loyalist line to their employers
and as city after city fell, they prepared to defend their home provinces. Cochinga was
forced to leave his scholar's life and take up arms. His mother, Tagawa Matsu, with whom
he had an extremely close bond, made the journey from Japan to take up residence in the family
citadel of Anhai.
Again Zhelong defected. The Qing offered him lordship over the southern provinces and he
accepted, but Cochinga fought on and the Qing withdrew their offer. Manchu troops came for
Zhelong and only his African bodyguard remained with him, massacred in a heroic last stand.
Zhelong was taken to Beijing as a hostage and beheaded like a common criminal.
After his father's betrayal and his mother's suicide, Cochinga continued the fight against
the Manchu for 15 years. The wheel of fortune had turned, the pirate father had become a
lord, the noble son was now declared a pirate. Cochinga knew he had to establish a safe base
from which to plan a long-term Ming reconquest and in 1661 decided upon the island his father
had done so much to cultivate, Taiwan, where the Dutch retained their prosperous colony.
This island was the dominion of my father and should descend to none other than myself.
Foreigners must go. The Dutch had never had to face a force like Cochinga's pirate army
before. The siege lasted nearly a year, brutal fighting, devastating bombardment, near starvation
and torture. Finally, a white flag fluttered above the broken fortress and the survivors
were allowed to leave. The Dutch era on Taiwan was at an end and Cochinga declared a new
realm, the Kingdom of Tungning. The Qing could not compete with the Jiang navy so they chose
to cut off all supplies, enforcing a great clearance of the whole coastal region. Millions
of people were forced to destroy their property and move inland. Anyone caught beyond the
boundary was executed. Thousands perished, millions starved.
The ban outlived Cochinga. The great pirate, imperial loyalist, scholar, freedom fighter
and tyrant died of malaria in 1662 at the age of 37. He had been about to invade the
Philippines to extend his anti-Qing base. Had the tiny mosquito not bitten him, he would
have almost certainly succeeded. Such small things are what history hinges on.
His son, Zheng Jing, succeeded him and died in 1681. His grandson, Zheng Keshuan, surrendered
to the Qing in 1683. The Qing ruled a unified China until 1911. The house of Zheng was a
finished as an independent entity, subsumed within the empire, but the memory and fear
of the Sea People remained. And less than 100 years later, the power of piracy was to
have one last hurrah.
Opium has a harm. Opium is a poison, undermining our good customs and morality. Its use is
prohibited by law. Increasingly over the next century, Europeans, people who the Qing regarded
as little better than pirates, had been arriving in China's ports requesting trade. Limited
access to the southern port of Guangzhou was tolerated and European trade steadily increased,
out of sight and out of mind of the North China-based government. Europeans had little
that the Qing Empire needed and were forced to pay for Chinese products in silver, something
which was often in short supply and very expensive to source. It was then the English East India
Company hit on the idea of smuggling the highly addictive, deadly, not to mention illegal
drug opium from India to China, selling it for Chinese silver and then using that silver
to buy the Chinese luxury produce such as tea, silk and porcelain, which sold so well
at home. Thus, the poppy seed of the Qing's eventual downfall arrived in ever-increasing
quantities in Guangzhou and the population fell ever deeper into the clutches of opium
addiction. The British, who ruthlessly suppressed piracy in their own territory, had transformed
themselves into the world's most prolific drug smugglers. And yet, just prior to this,
this illicit trade had almost come toppling down, and all thanks to one woman, Zheng Shi,
the most infamous and successful female pirate in history.
In the late 18th century, Vietnam was convulsed by revolution and civil war. The Taeson rebels
in the north and the Nguyen lords of the south both saw it as expedient to hire Chinese pirates
from Guangdong to further their cause. With time, the nascent Taeson state became yet
another East Asian piratical realm. The rebellion was finally quelled by the Nguyen in 1802,
and the last of the pirates fled back to China, leading a new dynasty which would rule until
1945. But these battle-hardened pirate refugees did not simply disband. A captain called Zheng
Yi rallied the refugee pirates around his flag and swiftly gathered a huge fleet. This
Zheng had, only the year before, fallen in love with a young girl from a floating Guangdong
brothel. The girl's true birth name is lost to history, but thanks to their partnership,
she became known as Zheng Shi. Madame Zheng.
Pirate wives do not normally grace the pages of history books. Indeed, most pirates did
not have wives, but Madame Zheng was no normal wife. From the beginning, she shared the business
of managing the maritime bandits, and the gang thrived under the pair's joint command.
By 1804, their fleet comprised 400 ships, and later, at its height, tripled that number,
employing 70,000 men under arms. Their business was both protection in the time-honoured pirate
manner, but also plunder, human trafficking, and after rendering the Qing government's
navy useless, the purveyors of a huge salt monopoly. The innocuous-sounding condiment
was in fact a hugely valuable commodity, without which China could not function, so control
of salt brought unimaginable economic power. The pirates had been able to impose a food
tax on the whole of southern China. Zheng Yi had abducted a young fisher boy called
Zhang Bao in 1798. The pirate couple formally adopted him as their son and heir. When the
father and husband, Yi, died in 1807, with the support of senior captains, Lady Zheng
took over, and quickly married her adoptive son to cement the command.
For years past, the documents from Canton have noticed the alarming state of the coasts
of China in possession of the pirates. Not a few strangling banditi hiding themselves
in creeks and unfrequented harbours of the islands, but a formidable, organised body,
commanded by daring officers and certainly in complete possession of the whole coast.
The Marine Department at Canton, employed for the destruction of these banditi, in the
beginning shared the plunder, till the pirates, feeling their own superiority, put an end
to this useless association and beat them from the field.
Under Lady Zheng's leadership, strict laws were enforced. Any independent action without
her command meant death. Any stealing from the communal pot or friendly villagers meant
a similar fate, as did mistreating or raping female captives, before this, the absolute
norm.
Her rule was absolute. The government was in despair. Their force was disabled by the
pirates' superior Vietnam-built vessels, and what was left was immobilised with fear.
The pirates' judicious use of bribes ensured that they were always one step ahead of the
law, even when on land. For years they controlled all shipping, even foreign, as the European
merchants, the East India Company Prime among them, found it easier to pay the pirate tax,
rather than have their opium seized.
But in 1809, Lady Zheng went too far. A Thai diplomatic mission from Siam was kidnapped
and held to ransom. American merchantmen were forced to seek protection in Macau, and
a Portuguese ship, which had refused to pay the pirate tax, was seized. The crew paid
with their heads. The government of Macau, a Portuguese outpost since the 16th century,
had had enough. They mobilised for war.
The first battle in September 1809 had been an unfortunate wake-up call for the pirates.
Only three Portuguese vessels had easily held off 200 of Madame Zheng's ships. The
pirates had never actually fought Western ships before. They had never needed to, their
vast numbers had deterred retaliation. The Portuguese weaponry, which included cutting-edge
exploding shells, had taken Zheng's men by surprise. At the coming of night, they scuttled
away.
The Qing government noted the Portuguese victory, and saw a way to rid themselves of Zheng Xi
and her minions. They proposed an alliance, but Zheng heard of the plan and sent her
ships to prevent the two fleets combining forces. It had worked, but the losses had
been brutal.
Madame Zheng lay back in her grand bed. She was dying, and she knew it. Around her were
gathered innumerous and adoring family. They had heard the stories a hundred times before,
but they would endure one final time for the dying dame.
Zheng told of her last battle in 1810, how the pirates had mobilised 300 ships, 1500
guns and 20,000 men to smite their Portuguese foe, how in the end their grandmother's
glorious flagship, a floating temple pagoda which dwarfed even the Portuguese warships,
had been blown to the land of the gods. Her pirates had fled for the last time. Then came
her cackle.
But we won. In 1810, atop a pagoda as close to the heavens as a living woman can get,
I dealt with three governments, and they gave me all I wanted. And my men kept their lives
and their riches. Their families welcomed them home with open arms.
Madame Zheng, prostitute, pirate, great dame of the South China Seas, lived out the final
decades of her life, raising her family and fleecing the locals in a Macau gambling house.
She breathed her last in 1844. There never had been, and never would be again, a pirate
like her.
Piracy has shaped all the coastal peoples of the Far East, Japan, China, the Koreas,
Vietnam and the Philippines, raised up great rulers, dashed whole dynasties. The pirates
were men and women marginalised from mainstream society and economic opportunities. They were
criminals, cutthroats and even regarded as something less than fully human by those who
clung to the land. They would have described themselves in polar opposite terms of course.
Freedom fighters, revolutionaries, pioneers.
Time and time again in East Asia, pirates became powerful enough to hold great nations
to ransom, and eventually, in lieu of victory, governments often embraced the sea brigands
and their skills to defend the very states they had brought to their knees. And throughout
it all, the common people both suffered as victims and thrived as perpetrators.
Piracy did not entirely cease with Madame Chung's surrender. Minor bandits of one sort
or another prowled Asia's waterways well into the 20th century, and the gumboat diplomacy
engaged in by the great powers of the 19th and early 20th centuries looks suspiciously
like piracy when we look back at it in the modern age.
The pirates never again had the power to determine international destinies, and we
are unlikely to ever again see a Kochinga or a Madame Chung. The seas where pirates
once ruled are now patrolled and controlled by six of the world's ten most powerful navies.
The USA, Russia, China, Japan, South Korea and Taiwan.
The story of the Pirates of the East is now truly at an end.
