Port of Luanda March 1655
the damp heat of a tropical morning, the sun following its course over the Atlantic, as if caressing with its rays the red-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls of the small town of Luanda.
On the creaking wooden pier in this natural bay, things are bustling like a beehive: Portuguese sailors with full beards, merchants in feathered hats, slaves carrying bundles, and even a few chickens who, obviously, have not received the memo on port discipline.
The ships anchor in the roadstead, proud galleons even with their sails down, waiting to be loaded with their very often human cargo.
You can hear shouting in Portuguese, Kimbundu, and even Spanish, because here, everyone ends up mixing languages, especially when it comes to negotiating the price of a bag of sugar or a barrel of wine.
The governor, with a well-trimmed moustache and embroidered jacket, parades on the quay, watching with a stern eye the 10 frigates whose ceaiones seem "heavily armed"
His hat seems two sizes too big, but he swears it's the latest fashion in Lisbon – it is rumored that he won it at cards against a distracted captain.
Further on, African vendors, draped in colorful fabrics, offer exotic fruits and freshly caught fish, while children run between the barrels, chased by stray dogs looking as tired as sailors returning from Brazil.
It's like a miniature theatre in Lisboa: goods, news, looks, sometimes rants, and often promises that will be forgotten as soon as the wind turns.
Between two transactions, some dreamed of gold, others of returning home, but most of them, on this morning in 1655, were content to hope that the sun would not beat down too hard before noon.
And if you ever lose your way in this joyful mess, don't panic: here, even the compasses hesitate between going with the flow or going for a drink of toddy at the local tavern!
________
After disembarking some of the crew, the captains of the ships set out in search of their next operation: training.
The governor remained adamant, demanding shares of the booty, shares of "Horizon Brazil", using menaces, coertion, as completely ignorant of the fact that this fleet and its crew absolutely do not need his support.
Especially since they were not interested in the local trade, which did not fail to make him even more upset when Joao remarked to him that if he forbade them to trade here, then: the governor might never have the opportunity to get the luxurious tempest capes of the new fashion of Lisboa.
Thus it was Rui who found a military captain, who wants to fight with some Imbangala in order to increase his prestige.
Night spread over the colonial city, and the torches that illuminated the port flickered in the breath of the salt-laden wind. In a narrow alley, João and Rui waited, arms crossed, black coats concealing their attractions and other weapons.
Facing them was the imposing figure of Captain Estêvão Fialho, a Portuguese military officer whose loyalty to the governor was crumbling by the day.
"The garrisons are equipped, trained. While this damn governor is trying to bargain with the local tribes, I have to maintain order without having the right to move with these imbangala who often plunder our trade routes. »
João smiled discreetly.
"And what do you want, captain fialho? A bit of real fighting for your men? »
Estêvão stared at him with a calculating look. He was a soldier. For him, the scorsairs always do something for money, booty, fortune, and these seem a little different: they would like to train their men on land for operations at sea later? For free?
Estêvão: "Your men are novices when it comes to war. Mine want to fight. The Imbangala in the interior, looting the roads. Not an official threat, but enough to justify a military maneuver... and training on the pitch. »
João pretended to think, then shrugged.
João: "We are not the governor's mercenaries. But if you want men to test their muskets and cannons... Let's say that we also need discipline in real conditions. »
A heavy silence settled between them. The agreement was implicit: a military campaign disguised as a "securitization" operation.
Estêvão: "Perfect. I am going to compose a mixed expedition. You are making sure that your men prepare for a week inland. In exchange, I make sure that your presence here is not questioned by those who want to see the corsairs out of Luanda. »
João nodded. It was a dangerous game, but a necessary one.
He held out a hand, and Estêvão squeezed it tightly.
The next day the 1050 men of troops were deployed where Captain Falho had indicated.
The soldiers, boots in the dust and muskets on their shoulders, scramble out of the ramparts, escorted by a few rickety cannons and a handful of African allies. Their mission? To restore order, impress the local chiefs and, incidentally, to remind everyone who is at the helm in the region.
________
The war drums of the Imbangala echoed through the savannah, announcing the impending Noxturn charge, Captain Falho raised his hand, ordering his men to maintain the line of fire.
The captains of the corsairs did the same.
The first wave of attackers rushed into the dust.
"Aim! FIRE! »
An explosion of flames and smoke gushed from the flintlock muskets of the corsairs, and the matchlock muskets of the soldiers of the garrison.
The bullets passed through the Imbangala in full swing, eliciting cries of rage and pain. But they didn't stop.
Falho cursed as he saw the survivors getting dangerously close.
"Secondary weapons! Hold the line! »
Soldiers and corsairs threw down their guns and drew their sabres and daggers.
The Imbangala rushed at them, blades against blades, spears against steel.
A privateer, cornered, struck violently with the butt of his rifle, breaking the teeth of his assailant.
Another fired a final pistol shot, shooting one warrior at point-blank range before plunging his knife into another's throat.
Falho dodged a spear, retaliating with a deadly backhand. He looked up and saw the grenadiers in position.
"Grenades! Fire! »
The explosions tore through the enemy line, creating an opening. Quickly, the corsairs retreated, reloaded their muskets and lined up a final salvo.
The second volley was fatal. The rest of the Imbangala collapsed under the hail of bullets. And when a spectral silence fell on the battlefield, the corsairs lowered their muskets, breathless.
They had won. But that was just the beginning.
With only a few wounded, the futur boarders had wiped their first blood for the vast majority.
But this is only the beginning of the fight against the Imbangala.
The cannons have not yet been able to express their usefulness.
In the early morning, the troops resumed their march for the enemy base.
After a day's walking, finally the base of the imbagala is in front of them.
The troop prepares for an assault the next morning.
_____
At dawn, the column moves, muskets gleaming, European swords sharp, and daggers slipped into their boots.
The Imbangala are already there, lying in ambush, with piercing eyes and carnivorous smiles.
They are not afraid of cannons, but they especially like ambushes and quick looting.
Their armament was varied: lances, shields, and sometimes even a few muskets taken from unfortunate travellers.
The first cannon shot sounds, more to impress than to hit.
The thick smoke makes half of the Portuguese troops cough, while the Imbangala take advantage of the confusion to launch a volley of javelins.
A Portuguese soldier, too busy polishing his helmet, narrowly misses ending up on a skewer, saved in extremis by a comrade who, in a panic, fires a musket shot... in the foot of his neighbor.
Luis, who accompanied them, while the others did training in the maneuvers of "stale and board", found Joao's idea to force them to real combat, more than important, an idea that was not unanimous, but the Capitan's flair, is always on spot.
The Portuguese, vexed by this inglorious beginning, closed ranks. The Imbangala, shouting war cries, rush to the assault.
European swords work wonders against wooden shields, but daggers are mainly used to cut the bonds of the bags of goods that the Imbangala try to carry away.
In the middle of the fray, a Portuguese captain, convinced that he is the incarnation of Saint James, launches into a heroic charge... and stumbles over a bag of salt, ending up head first in the dust.
The Imbangala, amused, hesitate for a moment to finish him off, then decide that it is more fun to let him struggle.
While a group musketeer's rank that is going to fire on them.
After several hours of confused fighting, the Portuguese guns, finally well positioned, thundered again.
This time, the blast disperses the Imbangala, who have no desire to end up in pieces.
The survivors fled, taking what they could.
______
The trade route is temporarily secured.
Captain Falho brought back to Luanda a modest booty, a few prisoners, and above all stories to tell in the taverns.
The prestige of having repelled these "invaders" was much awaited in Luanda, much more than Joao and crew had believed.
The governor, although annoyed by the privateers, promised Falho a medal – "for bravery".
But everyone knows that the Imbangala will return, because in Angola, peace is never more than a break between two lootings.
_____
Exercise at sea: Two frigates on the hunt
The sun was barely rising on the horizon, casting golden reflections on the lazy swell.
Two frigates, all sails out, glided across the Atlantic off Luanda, ready for an exercise that would wake up the crews more surely than a keg of rum.
On board the first frigate, Captain Moreira, who is also a director of "Horizon Brazil", was scanning the sea with a sharp eye.
His ship had been given the mission of harassing an imaginary prey, an Indiaman which, according to orders, was to go straight ahead, invisible but omnipresent in everyone's mind.
"Heading west, all sails out! Let us stick to him like a mussel to his rock! He said, triggering a ballet of sailors in the mast.
The frigate turned, following the trajectory of the phantom target.
The helmsmen adjusted the helm, the boatswains climbed into the shrouds to adjust the sails to perfection.
At regular intervals, Moreira ordered the simulated firing of warning shots:
"Blank fire, cannoneers! Make him understand that we won't let him down a second! »
The cannon shots resounded, frightening a few seagulls and waking the sailors asleep on deck.
The tension was rising, even if the prey was only a ghost on the sea.
A few cables' length behind, the second frigate, commanded by Captain Diogo, was preparing to enter the scene.
"Our turn, gentlemen! Approach gently, like a cat watching for a mouse. We want the wake, not the storm! He whispered to his seconds.
Diogo's frigate lined up in the path of the imaginary Indiaman, taking advantage of the wake opened by Moreira's ship.
The sails were adjusted to catch every breath of wind, the hull quivered with impatience.
The boarding men, still training in the vicinity of Luanda, replaced by a few sailors in need of activity, were waiting for the signal.
"Ready to land!" cried the boatswain, as the sailors huddled together near the railing.
"A little more... Again... Right now! »
In a perfectly synchronized momentum, Diogo's frigate appears in the wake of the fictitious prey, all sails inflated, ready to swoop down on it.
The grappling hooks were thrown (into the void, but with conviction!), the muskets pointed, and the crew rushed to the deck, shouting victory in the morning breeze.
The exercise ended in a loud burst of laughter, some sailors imitating the frantic flight of the invisible prey, others mimicking a heroic boarding against empty barrels.
Captain Moreira, laughing in the other frigate, shouted to Diogo:
"If you ever approach an Indiaman that well, I'll offer you my hat!"
And on the sea, which had become calm again, the two frigates resumed their course, ready to begin again, for nothing beats a good exercise in forging sailors...
An hat will change owner !
_______
In the following weeks, some of the boarding troops returned to the ships to carry out boarding operations, with a frigate that Diogo insisted on buying in order to increase the quality of the boardings training
"real conditions". Following a tip from Luis.
3 frigates set out to scout the convoys of Indianmans returning from east indies of VOC, "spying" as far as the Cape of Good Hope
The rest of the troops made some further operations on the ground around Luanda and also further in the forts of the hinterlands
.______
Brief from the counter in Luanda
Three corsairs, still covered in dust and sweat, had crouched in the shadow of a collapsed section of wall not far from the port of Luanda. The first, a young sailor freshly disembarked from Lisbon, was inspecting a bloody gash on his hand, a reminder of a skirmish the day before.
"You're doing well, chico," sneered the second, a veteran with a graying beard. The first injury is to learn not to play the hero when you don't have sea legs yet... or the wooden leg," he added, patting his own prosthesis.
The third, a stocky fellow with a fresh scar on his cheek, leaned forward, curious:
"And so, do you find it scarier than boarding a ship? I'd rather climb the rope ladder under the shrapnel than run after these Imbangala in the bush. At least on a bridge, you know where to put your feet!"
The young man, a little pale, smiled:
"On a bridge, perhaps, but I've heard that some of our next orders will be to board Dutch ships. Do you think we'll get the new muskets? The ones we saw in training?"
The veteran burst out laughing:
"Muskets, yes, if the commander has not exchanged them for wine or cloth! But you'll see, kid, the real novelty here is the way we fight. This is not Portugal: here, you have to negotiate with African chiefs, watch the Dutch, and be wary of your own boots – the last time, I almost got bitten by a snake in the middle of the night on guard!"
The third privateer, while cleaning his dagger, said in a mocking tone:
"And then, you'll see, boarding at sea is an art. You can't just shout and jump on the opposing bridge. You have to aim at the wake, arrive from behind, surprise the enemy. And above all, not to slip on blood or guts... nor on the fish that a sailor has left lying around!"
They burst out laughing, despite the fatigue and the bandages, and then the veteran continued, his eyes narrowing towards the horizon:
"Come on, guys, we bet that in a month's time, you'll have your own boarding scar to tell, and you'll be making the jokes to the newcomers yourself. But until then, try not to be killed by a goat or a badly secured barrel... It would be bad for the reputation of the privateers!"
________
Brief of sailors on guard of the rubber dream, at anchor.
Under the flickering light of an anchorage fire, the privateer frigate lies at anchor, gently rocking her men in the dampness of the African night. On the forecastle, three corsairs, pipes in their mouths and half-open jackets, kill time by watching the dark coast of Luanda.
"Do you hear this silence?" whispers Pedro, the youngest, casting a worried glance at the shadows. "It seems that even the mosquitoes don't dare to approach the shore tonight... »
"They have more common sense than you, little guy!" sneers Batista, a veteran with a face tanned by sea vents. "That silence reminds me of the night when the Dutch tried to get on board an English brig, just like that, at anchor. They had forgotten to pull up the accommodation ladder... As a result, the whole crew woken up by the screams, and two Dutchmen in the sea, fully dressed at that! »
"It seems that the Imbangala prefer to board on land here," mutters the third, Diego, massaging his bandaged arm, provoking some snickers on the lips of the other two. "But I swear, I don't like these anchorage stories. We are like ducks on a pond, waiting for the gun... »
"Scared, Diego?" jokes Batista. "You survived the boarding of the Santa Rosa, didn't you?"
"On a bridge, at least, you can run or jump into the sea. Here, have you seen the coast? Canoes, fires in the bush... And then, we're not the only ones hanging around. »
Pedro leans on the railing, musing:
"Do you think we're going to end up boarding a Spanish ship this time? Or will it still be the hunt for the Dutch? I've heard that we're going to change anchorages every night, to avoid unpleasant surprises... »
"That's the rule," Batista agrees. "We go up the ladder, we don't leave the fenders lying around, and if you see a sail on the horizon, you tell the bosco. You have to keep the watch on the alert, even if you're sleepy. »
Diego smiled, a little mockingly.
"And you, Batista, are you going to sleep with your axe under your pillow?"
"I never really sleep, kid. And if things get hot, you'll do as I do: you'll climb the mast, just to see the trouble coming before it falls on you. »
They laugh softly, then the conversation drags on, punctuated by the lapping of the water and the creaking of ropes. Everyone thinks of the next night, of the possibility of a boarding, If the sgars really have the idea of capturing a whole convoy of Indians, the capture could be.... enormous repercussions.
______
The Dutch convoy's hunt will soon begin.