On 13 April 1646, Prince Dorgon’s nephew Bolo was appointed as the leader of the Southward Campaign, a military project designed to bring the remainder of China under Manchu control. As with the unsuccessful Yangtze defence, the Ming loyalists hoped that rivers would prove to be natural defences, but the summer was hot, and the river south of Hangzhou was shallow enough for the Manchus to wade through. Instead of being delayed for days or weeks while they placed men and horses on boats, the Manchu made it across in hours, causing yet another garrison of Chinese defenders to flee in panic.1
In his ‘advance camp’ at Yanping, where he had been earnestly trying to organise the counter-offensive for almost a year, the Emperor of Intense Warring staged a publicity stunt to appeal to his men’s loyalty. His agents had intercepted over two hundred letters to the Manchus, all from prominent officials of his government, all secretly offering to defect. Facing a room full of ministers, most of whom he knew had already been prepared to betray him, the Emperor of Intense Warring set the pile of letters on fire, without reading out a single one.
Perhaps some of the Emperor’s ministers and servants were shamed by his willingness to wipe the slate clean. Others, however, had already given up on him, including his paramount minister, Duke Nicholas Iquan, who was already in correspondence with Prince Bolo, the leader of the invading armies.
Bolo had offered Iquan the opportunity to cease fighting. If he would agree to shave the front of his head in the Manchu manner and swear allegiance to his new masters, he would be rewarded with the post of viceroy of Fujian and Canton. To all intents and purposes, Iquan would become the king of south-east China, obligated only to provide occasional tribute to the Manchu conquerors in the north.
Of course, if Iquan agreed to such a decision, he would have to turn his back on the Emperor of Intense Warring, but it is unlikely that Iquan was too bothered about that. In fact, although few dared mention it before, Iquan had opposed the very idea of appointing a new emperor in Fuzhou, and had been outvoted by other Zheng family members. For several months now, Iquan had been operating under the impression that the Ming were well and truly finished. It is likely that many of the honours heaped upon him and other family members had simply been attempts to hang on to their support long after the former pirates would have preferred to have taken to their ships and deserted the loyalist forces.
Iquan greeted Bolo’s offer with delight. He had heard of many other turncoats further to the north, and knew that the Manchus would keep their word. With Fujian under Manchu control, the tide of invasion had now swept over Iquan’s own home. There would be a sustained Ming resistance further to the south, but that, too, was fated to fall. Despite being a thorn in the Manchus’ side for over a year, Iquan now had an offer he could not refuse. Iquan, they promised, would retain his dukedom and gain the official seal of approval to his paramount status in south-east China. To the wily former pirate, it seemed ideal.
At the time, the Historical Novel reports that Coxinga was with a small force of soldiers guarding Xianxia, the Pass of Misty Immortals, that led into Fujian. It was a highly likely target for the brunt of the Manchu advance, and required a substantially better defence than a 22-year-old youth in scholar’s robes and a few hundred men. Coxinga waited expectantly for a message from his father, giving details of reinforcements. Instead, a message eventually arrived that shocked Coxinga to the core. Iquan wrote to his son, the Count of Loyalty:
While in Fuzhou, I have been informed that the troops of General Bolo are waiting for reinforcements, in order to invade Fujian and eliminate the loyalist resistance. Unfortunately, I now believe that there is no hope for the Emperor to restore the Ming to the Dragon Throne. I lack the courage to draw up my armies, as there seems little point in a vain resistance to the Manchus. I prefer to negotiate with Bolo in order to obtain favourable treatment for all members of the Zheng family. Therefore, I invite you to lay down your arms, with the hope that you will benefit from this action.2
Coxinga sent scouts out beyond the pass, who soon returned with reports that the Manchus were advancing with insurmountable forces. It was clear from his father’s letter that Coxinga could expect no further help from Nicholas Iquan. It would be suicide to stand and fight, and Coxinga bitterly ordered the men to retreat from the pass and head for the Fujian coast.
Other members of Iquan’s family shared Coxinga’s shock. As Coxinga headed for the sea, the leaders of the Zheng clan entered into an intense argument, conducted chiefly by letter. Post-riders reached Coxinga as he marched, bearing news of the intense negotiations.
Iquan’s brothers, particularly Feng the Phoenix, preferred to put to sea and organise continued Ming resistance, advising Iquan that ‘Fish should not be taken out of the water.’ Coxinga himself, reared his whole life on tales of Iquan’s faithful service to the Dynasty of Brightness, wept at the news, and is said to have begged his father to reconsider, saying: ‘How is it that my father, who has always taught me the virtue of loyalty, can contemplate such an ignominious surrender? How can my father expect his son to be called a traitor?’3
Iquan was angry at his relatives’ refusal to face facts. ‘When the country is in a state of chaos,’ he said, ‘one cannot act as one would in normal times.’ Iquan had none of Coxinga’s schooling in the ideals of Confucian behaviour, and none of his youthful idealism. He knew it was too late to save the Ming – in fact, the chances are that he had come to realise it not long after the fall of the south capital. With so many Chinese defecting to the Manchu side, Iquan was only following the herd. ‘Besides,’ Iquan added pointedly, ‘what can a boy like you know of politics?’4
Somebody blew up the Zheng family arsenal in Fuzhou. Sources are unclear as to whether it was retreating Zheng ships keeping their supplies out of enemy hands, or agents of Nicholas Iquan attempting to cripple his family’s ability to fight. Either way, the Zheng fleet was putting out to sea. Coxinga was not with them, having decided to head south to regroup with the Emperor of Intense Warring.
Iquan waited for Prince Bolo in Fuzhou, a city now aflame as the fires spread from the destroyed arsenal. The Manchu soldiers found the burning city almost deserted, but for a party of Zheng retainers waiting to meet them. However, Bolo was disappointed to discover that Iquan, the Master of the Seas, was accompanied only by some of the African warriors of the Black Guard. Bolo had assumed that a yes from Iquan would have meant the submission of his entire family, and was annoyed that Iquan had come without them. Iquan alone was a propaganda coup, but still left the fleet in enemy hands. Without the other influential members of the Zheng family – Feng the Phoenix, Zheng Cai, and Coxinga himself – Iquan’s defection was considerably devalued. Even Miss Tagawa had refused to accompany him, remaining at a Zheng family stronghold in Anping.
Iquan and Bolo entertained themselves for a few days with drinking and archery competitions, waiting all the while for more members of the Zheng family to arrive. A few stragglers turned up – Iquan’s aged mother, Iquan’s principal wife and a couple of her children – but none of the major players. As the time passed Bolo began to mistrust his new guest, suspecting that Iquan was merely a very high-class form of distraction, sent to keep him busy while the rest of the Zheng family slipped away. Fuzhou was safely under Manchu occupation, but the rest of Fujian remained unconquered. Since Iquan had not brought the allegiances of his armies and navies with him when he defected, the Zheng family were still enemies of the Manchu. Tiring of the charade, Bolo ordered Iquan to be taken to Beijing ‘for his own protection’. It was not unusual for turncoats to be taken north for an official debriefing and reassignment, but Iquan had clearly been expecting to be simply sent back to Fuzhou with a new haircut and a new master. Instead, Bolo’s decision led to a scuffle in which several members of the Black Guard died defending their lord. Iquan was eventually manhandled into a palanquin and dispatched to the north, a ‘guest’ of the Manchu, but a prisoner in all but name.
As the Emperor of Intense Warring fled before him, Bolo’s army pressed ever southwards through Fujian. Though some members of the Black Guard remained with the loyalist members of the Zheng family, 300 of the African soldiers had defected with their lord, and now fought alongside the Manchus in their own unique unit.5 Bolo’s forces looted and burned all in their path until they finally caught up with the Emperor of Intense Warring near Fujian’s southern border.
One detachment broke away and headed for the Zheng stronghold at Anping, causing Coxinga’s southward advance to suddenly become a race against his enemies. The castle at Anping was the last known location of Coxinga’s mother, and he was determined to reach her before the Manchus.
He arrived to find the castle overwhelmed, with Manchu soldiers on the walls and the defenders fighting to the last. Coxinga’s small force beat back the Manchu soldiers, but it was too late. Miss Tagawa was found dead in the ruins, although the exact nature of her demise remains a matter of some debate.
Though other sources report a simple suicide, the Historical Novel contains a different story of Miss Tagawa’s last moments. Miss Tagawa, Coxinga was told, was a woman from a samurai family, and unlikely to go quietly. She was sighted on the battlements of the castle, fighting alongside the soldiers to repel the Manchu assault. As the attackers gained control of the walls, Miss Tagawa was last seen silhouetted against the flames that surrounded the highest tower, plunging her dagger into her throat and tumbling into the moat below.
Manchu soldiers observing Miss Tagawa’s last moments are said to have remarked that if she were a typical Japanese woman, they would prefer not to fight against the men – it is often said in her home country that Miss Tagawa’s fighting end was the reason why the Manchus, conquerors of all China, Mongolia and Tibet, never dared invade Japan itself.6
Coxinga did not take the news well, covering his eyes with both hands and weeping, his sobs turning into howls as he tore at his clothes. Taking his sword in his hand, he swung at anything and everything in the room, swearing revenge on the barbarians that had killed his mother. Family servants withdrew and left him to his grief, and nothing was seen of the brooding count for several days.
The same period saw the arrival of messengers from the south, reporting that time had caught up with the Emperor of Intense Warring. Close to Fujian’s southern border, a detachment of Chinese turncoats had finally surrounded the forces of the Emperor, the pathetic remnants of what all had hoped would be the vanguard of the counter-offensive. The Empress drowned herself to evade capture, clutching the crippled infant Heir Apparent to her as she did so. The Emperor of Intense Warring was captured alive, but soon executed – the Ming had lost another ruler, and another province.
The mourning Coxinga led the stragglers of the Zheng family towards the coast at Anhai, where the family stronghold remained in friendly hands. It was only a matter of time before the vanguard of the Manchu invasion turned back towards the area to mop up any last resistance. The Zheng family could always retreat to the sea, or even across the straits to Taiwan, but Coxinga had other plans.
His impromptu procession reached a Confucian temple in his father’s home village, where he called his followers to witness a bizarre ritual. As his people watched in confusion, Coxinga brought out the scholar’s robes he had worn for so long, during his Confucian studies in the south capital, and as a courtier of the Emperor of Intense Warring. He threw them onto a fire, and watched as they began to smoulder.
‘In the past,’ he said, ‘I was guided by my relatives, but now I am alone.’ Nobody dared remind him that his father was still alive. By joining the invaders that had killed Coxinga’s mother, Nicholas Iquan was already dead in his son’s eyes.7
‘In every man’s life, there comes a time to make a stand,’ said Coxinga. This was it. He called for servants to bring him armour, saying that he was a scholar no more, but an instrument of Ming vengeance. He also wrote a poem, which remains extant in the Historical Novel:
The year has brought great joy and profound sorrow
Yet if a man works hard for fortune or fame,
Death will not spare him.
As with idle sports, in the end all is vain
Though men’s hearts may be blind
The Way of Heaven rewards the true of heart
If my life must be a game of chess
I am not afraid of the final move
Let the people say what they will
It is not easy to be an honest man
In a distressed and wicked time.8
Curiously, his words could almost be those of his father, with his talk of the need for pragmatism, and speculation on the demands placed on ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. But where Iquan used the situation as an excuse to switch sides once more, Coxinga clung to the dynasty that had first honoured him. And with the deaths of his mother and of the kindly Emperor who had conferred upon him the imperial surname, Coxinga would never swear allegiance to the Manchus. His plan was to use the resources of the Zheng clan for the noblest of purposes: the explusion of the Manchus from China.
His first priorities would require the support of the other clan members, and the continuation of the Zheng clan’s trade – he was going to declare war on the Manchus, and wars cost money. Although Coxinga had genuinely been the favourite of the Emperor of Intense Warring, and remained the son and heir to Nicholas Iquan, there were older and more experienced members of the Zheng clan who might be expected to take over operations, or indeed oppose his patriotic ire. His clan-cousins Zheng Cai and Zheng Lian continued to occupy the offshore islands at Quemoy and Amoy, and Coxinga joined them there. Coxinga was highly disapproving of Zheng Lian, who he regarded as unreliable and untrustworthy, more interested in sex and gambling than the affairs of either the Zheng family or the Ming dynasty.9 However, the Zheng family continued to do what they did best, and ran boatloads of fresh silk up the Ryukyu Islands to Japan in order to raise funds.
Since one of the trading vessels was known as Coxinga’s Ship, it would seem that the Count of Loyalty took an active part in this venture.10 However, Coxinga genuinely intended to put the money to use in the service of the Ming, and also wrote to numerous Japanese feudal lords, asking for military aid. He had even had a banner made that announced his intentions without much chance for misinterpretation. It read: ‘Kill Your Father, Restore Your Country.’
Coxinga was not the only loyalist. Unaware or uncaring of his actions in Fujian, other Ming supporters far to the south attempted to keep the imperial succession going. In distant Canton, the younger brother of the Emperor of Intense Warring was enthroned as Shaowu: the Emperor of Bringing Belligerence.11 The name turned out to be ironically apposite, as one of his first acts was to declare war on fellow loyalists. Only a few days later, and a few miles from the new emperor’s enthronement, a second Ming emperor was proclaimed. The 22-year-old pretender was the last surviving grandson of the Emperor of Ten Thousand Experiences, and took the reign title Yongli: Emperor of Eternal Experiences. It was difficult for Ming supporters to know who had the better claim. True, the Emperor of Eternal Experiences was the closest blood relative to the last Ming ruler to die in Beijing. But if the Emperor of Intense Warring had legitimately been the ruler of the Ming dynasty, however briefly, then surely his younger brother was a fitting successor? Nobody seriously considered Coxinga as an alternative – his symbolic adoption of the Ming imperial surname had lost much of its credence with the death of the Emperor of Intense Warring, and the ignominious defection of Iquan.
Reports from occupied territory suggested that the Manchu armies would be waiting out the winter. Instead of cooperating on the defence of China’s far south, the rival Ming courts used the time to fight each other. The Emperor of Bringing Belligerence possessed a military force that chiefly comprised criminals and river pirates, who had been offered official commissions and pardons in much the same way as a younger Iquan had been brought into imperial service. The Emperor of Eternal Experiences controlled an army that comprised veteran soldiers, although he was outnumbered by his rival’s men.
The two opposing Ming claimants met in two battles on 7 January 1647, and the superior numbers of the Emperor of Bringing Belligerence carried the day. The Emperor of Eternal Experiences retreated to the west to recuperate, but it seemed for a while that his surrender was imminent.
However, as the Emperor of Bringing Belligerence celebrated his ‘victory’ in Canton on 20 January 1647, the city was surprised by the sudden arrival of a detachment of several hundred strange-looking horsemen. For a while, locals assumed they were outlaws from Huashan, a group of powerful bandits who had recently agreed to support the Canton regime. It was only when they were admitted into the city and started attacking bewildered guardsmen that their true nature was understood. The new arrivals were Manchus, who proclaimed to the townsfolk: ‘that they should not stir, for the whole body of the Tartars were at their gates, but that they need fear nothing if they were quiet and peaceable’.12
For weeks, the Southern Ming had squabbled over the succession, confident that the Manchus were not advancing. In fact, the invaders had never once stopped their push southwards, but had captured a series of lookout posts and imperial seals. The loyalists in Canton realised that they had been trusting in faked reports for days, delivered by Manchu sympathisers bearing stolen credentials. As a series of local commanders surrendered or committed suicide, Canton fell to a tiny squadron of Manchu soldiers.
The people fled in panic, while the horsemen rode through in search of opposing forces they could actually engage in combat. But the local guardsmen had no interest in dying in the defence of a city that was already taken, and instead threw away their weapons and went into hiding. A small group of Chinese took up arms and managed to capture four Manchus, whom they immediately took to the Emperor of Bringing Belligerence. The proudly titled ruler was almost alone in his palace, with only a few eunuchs and concubines for company. The Emperor of Bringing Belligerence ordered that the captured invaders should be executed before him. Those four deaths were to be the only Manchu casualties in the taking of Canton.
As sunset approached, the rest of the Manchu army reached the city gates, and were surprised to find them open. They simply walked into the town and chose houses to occupy, in one of the most peaceful victories of the entire campaign.
The Emperor of Bringing Belligerence knew that the end was coming, and made his last decree in imperial style: ‘The Tartars are possessed of my city, and my subjects have abandoned me; what can I now expect but death? But I will die like a King.’13
The Emperor of Bringing Belligerence remained seated on his throne while his favourite wives and concubines commited suicide in front of him. When a group of Manchus and Chinese turncoats eventually entered the palace in search of him, they found him slumped on his throne, dead, surrounded by the corpses of his family.
A few dozen miles to the west, the defeated Emperor of Eternal Experiences heard the news, and at first assumed it was a ruse by his rival to lure him into a final battle. But as reports drifted in of the fall of Canton, he realised that the Manchus had solved the rivalry for him. He was now the sole Ming claimant by default, and his first act as the uncontested Emperor of Eternal Experiences was to run further west ahead of the advancing enemies. Each step he took away from the sea took him further away from any help that the Zheng family might be able to provide.
The Zheng family fought on at the coast, in two distinct groups. On the northern coast of Fujian, Zheng Cai continued to harry at coastal towns that had fallen to the Manchus. A faction led by Coxinga and his uncle Feng the Phoenix stayed further to the south, mainly preying on harbours, but also mounting expeditions inland. Zheng Cai had yet another imperial prince in his entourage, and hoped to use him as a new puppet, as Nicholas Iquan had previously done with the Emperor of Intense Warring. However, Coxinga refused to recognise the new claimant, whose title did not rise above that of regent. Instead, Coxinga professed his loyalty to the receding court of the Emperor of Eternal Experiences, though communication between them was now patchy and hazardous.
For more than a year, Zheng forces made only sporadic attacks on the Manchu invaders. The Emperor of Eternal Experiences continued to head inland, fighting off pursuing Manchu and turncoat forces with varying degrees of success, while the Zheng family raided along the coast in his name. Neither the nomadic Manchu nor their landbound Chinese allies possessed the skills or resources to mount a campaign against the corsair fleet, which often counted on the assistance of land-based Chinese who had recognised the authority of the Manchu in name only. The coastal region had long made its living from the grey legal area of foreign trade, and now Coxinga controlled the means of transporting and communicating by sea. Those who wished to continue to trade by sea still had to recognise the Zheng family, or risk attacks by Zheng warships as they travelled. True Manchu sympathisers were bullied and harrassed by Zheng family agents collecting ‘tribute’ for the Ming Emperor, while those who aided the Zhengs risked incrimination as collaborators with the Ming. For many, the stress was too much to bear – instead they booked passage on Zheng vessels to take them away from China for good, as settlers in south-east Asia, the Philippines or Taiwan.14
Despite constantly annoying the Manchu occupiers of south China, Coxinga was still in a precarious position. His followers required supplies from the land, and lacked the resources to make a counter-offensive of any lasting effect. Zheng forces preyed on shipping and carried out raids inland, but rarely occupied the towns they took. It was easier to conserve their manpower by taking what they needed and leaving the Manchus and collaborators to pick up the pieces.
Coxinga, however, always planned to mount a more lasting attack on occupied towns. His first real success came in 1648 at Tongan, a port close to his stronghold at Amoy. Expecting an assault from Coxinga’s forces, the Manchu garrison had heavily fortified the town against the sea. However, four platoons of Zheng family spies had infiltrated the town several days before any ships neared the town. Disguised as itinerant monks, they gained access to Tongan and bided their time. When the Zheng navy eventually arrived and launched a series of incendiary boats at the ships in the harbour, the spies in the town killed the sentries and opened the gates for a land-borne assault of footsoldiers. Although the Manchus successfully overpowered the spies at some gates,15 the other missions were successful, and the vengeful Zheng attackers massacred every Manchu they could find.16
Coxinga chose the victorious aftermath of the capture of Tongan in which to send an official ambassador inland to the court of the Emperor of Eternal Experiences, establishing once and for all that he regarded the pretender as his rightful ruler. News drifted back that the fleeing monarch was heartened at the news of his general’s successes on the coast, and that Coxinga was henceforth a Marquess. The re-establishment of occasional contact with the Emperor also obligated Coxinga to cease acting as a free agent and follow occasional orders from his sovereign. Some of these, he obeyed, others he conveniently forgot to acknowledge.
In 1649, at least in part due to the months of warring, Fujian suffered from a major famine. The offshore islands occupied in the north by Zheng family forces received food-aid from Japan,17 possibly secured by Coxinga’s half-brother Shichizaemon, who was in charge of the family’s reserve funds. Further to the south, Coxinga headed for the Canton region, hoping to set up new bases in the area, and obtain food to ship up to the offshore islands at Matsu, Quemoy and Amoy, where the bulk of the Zheng fleet was located. As per his instructions from the Emperor of Eternal Experiences, he also hoped to link up with surviving loyalists in the area. If Coxinga could gain control of China’s far south, he might be able to extend his beach-head far enough to create a corridor to the landlocked Emperor of Eternal Experiences. It would afford a means of supplying reinforcements to an extended campaign northwards, or possibly an escape route to allow the beleagured Emperor to make his way back to the coast and the protection of the Zheng family.
As the 1640s became the 1650s, Coxinga developed a reputation for stern discipline. Many of his followers were traders at heart, and gave little thought to the cause of the Ming dynasty. Like the distant Japanese government, who were prepared to sell arms and armour, but not get directly involved in resisting the Manchu conquest, it is likely that many of Coxinga’s men fervently wished for some form of treaty with the Manchus, so that life could return to normality.
One such man was Shi Lang, a prominent commander in Coxinga’s navy.18 Shi Lang was an experienced sea captain, and widely believed to be the most brilliant naval strategist of his day. Shi Lang was roughly the same age as Coxinga, the child of a distinguished Fujian family, who had demonstrated early aptitude for seamanship. He had fought in many of the battles of the loyalist resistance, and had risen to become the commander of the left vanguard of ships in Nicholas Iquan’s battle formations. He was also reputedly a genius at designing naval weaponry and shipboard machinery. Some called him Zheng Hou, or ‘Zheng-in-Waiting’, and his popularity with the crews of the family ships risked creating a new split in the family. Coxinga could not afford a squabble among his fleet like the one that had nearly cost his father’s life two decades earlier, when the fearsome Li Kuiqi had massacred so many of his relatives. Nor, it seems, could he abide Shi Lang, who made it as plain as politely possible that he missed the good old days when Nicholas Iquan was in charge. The two men had a grudging respect for each other, but as the war with the Manchus dragged on, they began to see their purposes differently. Their first major clash was over one of Shi Lang’s men, who fled Shi Lang’s fleet and sought sanctuary with Coxinga after he was accused of an unnamed crime. Shi Lang sent his soldiers to Coxinga’s camp, where they recaptured and summarily executed the accused, without any regard for protocol or acknowledgement of Coxinga’s authority.
Shi Lang was insubordinate, regarding himself as a true pupil of Nicholas Iquan’s military cunning, but also a gentleman of good breeding such as Coxinga only aspired to be. Though he never stated it in as many words, Shi Lang might be seen as the son that Iquan never had. Shi Lang’s opinion of himself was not entirely unjustified, but he was still a human being prone to mistakes, one of which was openly advertising his dissatisfaction with Coxinga’s leadership. His carping grew louder after Coxinga promoted Shi Lang’s lieutenant, Wanli, ahead of him to be commander of the vanguard.
Around 1650, Shi Lang was taking a cargo of silver up the Ryukyu Islands to Japan, to purchase much-needed military supplies for the war effort. En route, his convoy ran into a terrible storm, and the valuable silver cargo was lost. Coxinga was furious, and berated the captain for his mistake. In the middle of their argument, Coxinga pushed too far. Shi Lang took offence, gathered up his long hair in his hand, and cut off his topknot, the traditional symbol of resignation. Presenting his leader with the hair, Shi Lang demanded to be permitted to leave the Zheng family organisation.19
It was exactly what Coxinga did not want. If he allowed a single captain to secede it would risk the complete collapse of the loyalist forces into a number of rival splinter groups little better than the pirate societies from which the force was originally formed. In the short term it would also seriously compromise Coxinga’s ability to impose military discipline on his forces. If anyone disliked his command, they would simply be able to walk away.
Somehow the two men patched things up, but the following year it was Shi Lang who pushed too far. Coxinga had announced that he intended to lead a strike force into China, targeting two occupied castle towns on the coast. Coxinga wanted to take the towns by surprise, plunder them of all the money in their treasuries, and then abandon them. It was a quick way of securing more funds for the military campaign, but Shi Lang voiced his opposition. In his opinion, it made Coxinga ‘little better than a thief’, an accusation that managed to insult Coxinga’s ancestors, family, father, and sense of duty all at once.
When Coxinga blew his top, Shi Lang made himself conveniently absent, causing Coxinga to place Shi Lang’s father under house arrest. The order went out that Shi Lang was to be confined to his ship in the harbour while Coxinga decided on an appropriate course of action. Shi Lang, however, had had enough, and slipped away by night. He sought refuge at the Zheng fort of Anping, which was occupied by Coxinga’s uncle Bao the Panther. Bao had presumably expressed guarded agreement with some of Shi Lang’s comments in the past, but knew better than to openly challenge Coxinga’s authority. He refused to grant Shi Lang sanctuary, and the admiral found himself with little choice. Accompanied by the loyal captains of his personal squadron, Shi Lang sailed into an occupied port and offered his services to the Manchus. A furious Coxinga ordered the execution of Shi Lang’s father, younger brother and nephew. He also ordered a commando raid into Fujian itself,20 with the sole purpose of assassinating Shi Lang before the defector could offer naval advice to the Manchus. However, events further to the south were to keep Coxinga occupied, and allowed Shi Lang to get away with his life, and his naval knowledge intact.
The defection of Shi Lang marks the end of a series of reorganisations and purges among the forces of the Southern Ming as the executions, retirements or defection of many of Nicholas Iquan’s old guard brought a new character to the organisation. Keen to emphasise why these thousands of men were clustered on a series of tiny offshore islands while invaders roamed the mainland, Coxinga reminded them that they were not there as pirates, but as loyalists to a cause: the restoration of the Dynasty of Brightness. He even renamed Amoy, proclaiming that it should henceforth be known as Siming: Think Ming. It was referred to by that name in all subsequent Zheng family documents.
While Coxinga was preoccupied with his campaign in the Canton region, the Manchu attacked Amoy. The assault at the heart of his power was a great shock to Coxinga, and years later he was still able to recite the losses, defenders killed, women raped and the removal of jewels and bullion worth over a million taels.21 Guan the Stork, the senior Zheng family representative at Amoy, ordered the evacuation of the town, and shipped all its inhabitants to a Zheng family stronghold on nearby Quemoy island, leaving the treasures of the town as ripe plunder for the occupying forces. To add insult to injury, Feng the Phoenix appears to have successfully mounted a counterassault that pinned the Manchu attackers down. The surrounded invaders then reminded Feng that his brother Nicholas Iquan was still a ‘guest’ of their ruler in Beijing, and that it would be unfortunate if he were to come to any harm. Faced with such a threat, Feng the Phoenix permitted the attackers to escape unharmed.22
Feng’s act of loyalty to his brother hid other troubles behind the scenes. Feng, like Coxinga, took issues of duty and loyalty seriously, but other family members were more like their big brother, Nicholas Iquan. Feng the Phoenix was not even supposed to be in charge of the defence of Amoy; that reponsibility actually lay with Guan the Stork, who not only singularly failed to keep Amoy safe from the Manchus, but also neglected to send vital reinforcements to help Coxinga’s campaign in Canton.
Forced to pull out of Canton, with considerable loss of life among his men, and great loss of face to his Emperor, an irate Coxinga returned to Amoy determined that a head was going to roll. The head in question was Guan the Stork’s, executed on Coxinga’s orders. Feng the Phoenix went unpunished for protecting his brother Iquan, but was dishonoured nonetheless. The former general and marquess, who had taught the young Coxinga how to use a sword, went into quiet retirement.
The fight for Amoy also led to an unexpected thaw in relations between Coxinga and his wife Cuiying. Though not ‘estranged’ in a modern sense, the couple do not seem to have been on friendly terms in the first decade of their marriage. By the time of the fall of Amoy, Coxinga had acquired eight concubines, many of whom seem to have shared his loyalist zeal. Cuiying played the role of chief wife well, running Coxinga’s household and overseeing the activities of the concubines. Women of a Chinese household might be expected to busy themselves with sewing and weaving – Coxinga’s spouses instead made armour and military uniforms for his men.
Despite their unwillingness to cooperate with Coxinga’s ill-fated campaign in the south, the Zheng family knew better than to court danger directly. When the Manchus attacked Amoy, representatives of the Zheng family were swiftly sent to Coxinga’s mansion, where his wives and children were rounded up for evacuation. Cuiying, however, turned back.
Despite the protests of their bodyguards, Cuiying waved the other wives and retainers on, and dashed back to the mansion. Risking death by fire and capture by the Manchu raiders, she ran to the family shrine and snatched up a carved wooden block propped up in front of the altar. It was the ancestral tablet of Coxinga’s mother, Miss Tagawa, a symbolic representation of her soul, and of the protection she offered her descendants in the afterlife. Though it was of only sentimental value, Coxinga probably regarded it as his most valuable possession.
Cuiying, Coxinga’s surly and unfriendly spouse, had demonstrated more loyalty to the Zheng family than many of his blood relatives. It was not a fact that Coxinga ever forgot, and from that day on, he consulted closely with her on Zheng family matters. Cuiying became her husband’s closest confidante, and played a vital part in several key military and political decisions made by the Zheng family.23
In the south of Fujian, Coxinga sent his forces on another landward campaign, leaving their base on the island of Quemoy and laying siege to the coastal town of Changzhou. Coxinga’s troops stayed outside the city walls for six whole months, while the inhabitants were reduced to cannibalism by the lack of food. Seeming to tire of the wait, Coxinga moved his forces to the nearby town of Haicheng, which swiftly capitulated. Once again, there appear to have been disagreements between Coxinga and some of his other men, and his lieutenant Huang Wu was fined for dereliction of duty. The general was fined 500 suits of armour.24
Huang Wu was lucky compared to some of Coxinga’s other followers. The Count of Loyalty had very strict definitions of honour and duty, and was quite prepared to make dissenters pay the ultimate price. During a campaign near Tongan, the slave of a Manchu general is said to have cut off his master’s head and defected to Coxinga’s camp, expecting a handsome reward. Coxinga thanked him effusively and did indeed confer great wealth upon him, but the former slave did not have long to enjoy his new-found riches. Coxinga ordered him to be beheaded, so that he might attend upon his master in the afterlife.25
Coxinga’s actions, and especially his defeats, were becoming a matter of increasing concern to the Dutch, who feared for their own trading position. For some years, they had been content to stay in Taiwan, using Chinese traders as middlemen in China and Japan, and paying taxes and levies to the Zheng organisation. A letter from Batavia summarised the situation:
We cannot yet free ourselves from great anxiety concerning this Mandarin Coxinga . . . who has been several times defeated by the Tartars. No doubt he will ultimately be forced to leave Amoy, and remove with his followers to safer quarters, probably to the island of Formosa, as its fertility and other good properties are as well known to him as us . . . Coxinga is not much liked by his men, who continually desert him owing to his strict ruling and lack of the necessary means for supporting him. Hence, we hope that, when compelled to flee the country, he will only have a few followers.26
The Manchus back in Beijing, however, did not share the fatalistic predictions of the Dutch. The only organisation with the benefit of reports from the whole country, the Manchu court was clearly rattled by Coxinga’s continued presence in the south. The worry remained that the people of south China, who had so willingly capitulated to the Manchu invaders, might switch sides a second time with equal ease if Coxinga were to enjoy many more victories. Life would be considerably easier for all concerned if Coxinga would simply stop supporting a hopeless cause, and sign a treaty with the Manchus. The governor of Fujian was asked to approach Coxinga, and to broach the subject of entering negotiations for an ‘honourable armistice’.
In essence, the offer was little different from the deal struck between Nicholas Iquan and the Emperor of Lofty Omens some twenty years before. The court would agree to recognise Coxinga as the de facto ruler of the region, confer a new noble title on him, and the armies could stand down. Coxinga, however, remained fiercely loyal to the Ming, and would never forgive the Manchus for the death of his mother. His reply was curt and to the point, all the more shocking for its refusal to adhere to the flowery prose and obsequious compliments of traditional Chinese letter-writing. It simply said: ‘I cannot trust in the words of barbarians. I will not deal with a collaborator.’27
The governor of Fujian was removed from his post, and the Manchus looked for another way of leaning on Coxinga. In 1653, they decided to use their secret weapon: Nicholas Iquan.