Fondations Laid, The End of an Era
As 1657 drew to a close, the threads of fate tightened around Dom João and seven other Directors of Horizon Brazil.
In Lisbon, engagements were being celebrated, not out of love, but out of strategic necessity.
Their partners were chosen for them by the Crown, as were their promised brides, sealing vital alliances to legitimize their newfound nobility.
Three more of their peers still waited in Brazil, also promised to calculated marriages.
For João, the weight of this constraint was suffocating.
He felt like a fly caught in a spider's web, each thread of the Court and tradition binding him tighter.
He was a block of wood being carved into a chair, his own desires and ambitions bent to the demands of a Court that he increasingly felt operated solely on the "work for" logic – perhaps too much, perhaps already too much. For him, it was unacceptable, but for now, irresolvable, and...
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Seeking an outlet for this personal oppression, João's mind turned to the contemplation of movement and mechanics.
His first visit led him to a wool and linen textile workshop.
A zealous guard initially tried to deny him access, but the presence of his noble attire and the discreet jingle of a few coins were enough to transform the obstacle into a guide – a prime example of "work for," João mused.
Inside, João was fascinated.
Weavers busied themselves on large canvases, some undoubtedly destined for the sails of galleons and ships that traversed the oceans.
This was common practice; shipyards and owners regularly commissioned immense expanses of linen or hemp, and specialized workshops produced these massive cloths.
Plunged into intense meditation, João observed every gesture, every tension, every interaction of the threads.
The rhythm, the dance of the heddles lifting and lowering the warp threads – everything was absorbed by his mind, an intimate understanding of the mechanics of weaving rooting itself within him.
He then left the workshop and headed to those of the carpenters and furniture makers.
There, too, his titles and noble bearing opened doors.
He observed with the same acuity the transformation of raw wood into cabinets, complex framework structures that instantly reminded him of shipbuilding, a domain where Horizon Brazil already excelled.
The principles of assembly, forces, levers, the possible movements of wood within a structure—everything became a source of inspiration.
A second meditation took hold of him.
The image of the spiderweb, the feeling of being a block of wood – everything blended with the precise gestures of the artisans, the interweaving of threads, and the solidity of the frameworks.
The solution to his matrimonial dilemma did not appear, but another vision suddenly burst forth, luminous: a new mechanism for the loom. It wasn't a grandiloquent name that came to mind, but a simple and evocative image: the "gliding shuttle loom." This "mouse" would be a guided shuttle, launched from one end of the warp to the other without direct manual effort, replacing the slowness and the need for two operators on large looms.
Determined to build this machine (or at least have it built), João immediately hired a master weaver, attracted by a generous signing bonus, and swiftly brought him to the carpenter and cabinetmaker artisans, the very ones he had just observed.
For five days and five nights, time ceased to exist for João and his handpicked team. João barely slept, fueling the team with coffee, whose bitter taste he savored as a stimulant to his own concentration. The artisans, captivated by the success bonuses, and some by the promise inherent in this innovation, worked with unprecedented fervor. João, the "enraged noble" who had disappeared from his peers' sight, sketched, modified, and explained with disarming clarity.
They transformed part of an existing loom or built a new one.
The success of the innovation lay in the lateral guides and a propulsion mechanism. João envisioned a system where the shuttle would glide along a track, like a mouse running in a straight line before a cat, propelled by a sharp motion, but without the need to be "launched" by hand (a cat's paw or an artist's claw) by the weaver.
João's genius lay in the integration of rubber.
Instead of rudimentary springs or complex rope systems, hardened, elastic rubber bands were integrated.
They served to return the shuttle, absorb the shock of its arrival, and perhaps even propel it with constant, controlled force.
The heddle system was redesigned to be activated by a single person, who, with a simple foot movement or a handle, could raise one half of the warp threads and lower the other, creating the perfect opening for the "mouse" to pass.
After these five days of superhuman effort, the prototype was a resounding success.
The "gliding shuttle loom" did not necessarily look like a futuristic machine, but its innovations were clear.
It was a robust wooden loom, but with a functional elegance. The polished wooden guides along the shuttle's "run" were perfectly smooth.
The shuttle itself was more aerodynamic, designed for fast gliding.
The most striking innovations were the dark rubber bands, discreetly integrated: they acted as shock absorbers and propellants for the shuttle, giving it unparalleled speed and regularity.
The heddle lifting mechanism was simplified, allowing a single person to operate it with minimal effort.
This prototype, though not yet mass production, was a marvel of engineering for 1657. It allowed doubling, even tripling, the weaving speed of a single operator compared to the handlooms of the time, and producing wider, higher-quality fabrics with surprising regularity.
For the artisans who participated, it was an object of admiration, tangible proof of this young noble's genius. The future of textile production was being woven before their eyes.
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After these five days and five nights of intense effort that gave birth to the "gliding shuttle loom," Dom João, exhausted but euphoric, turned to the master weaver, his eyes gleaming with a new vision.
"Mestre," João began, his voice hoarse with fatigue but imbued with new determination, "if this prototype is the measure of what we can do, how many of these machines would we need to equal the production of your entire workshop? And how many staff to operate them? What building area should we plan for such an enterprise?"
Without waiting for an immediate answer, for he saw the fatigue on everyone's faces, he added: "I wish you all a well-deserved rest. I will return tomorrow with the bonuses I promised you, or I will send someone if I cannot come myself."
Shortly after, in that same month of November 1657, João called his crew to gather.
The air was electric, the urgency palpable. The marriage and its constraints were momentarily relegated to the background in the face of this industrial breakthrough.
"Heh, guys, I'm going to pirate the Dutch textile market," João began, his voice still filled with the accumulated fatigue from this frenzy of weaving, unweaving, assembling, disassembling. "With artisans, weavers, and carpenters, we witnessed the birth of something that will revolutionize textiles. The 'gliding shuttle loom' has surpassed our, at least my, wildest expectations. A single machine, operated by a single person, can produce the equivalent of two or three traditional looms. Our fabrics will be of better quality, wider, and, most importantly, cheaper, and so: Dutch fabric? Ha!"
He let the paper on which he had made his small calculations pass from hand to hand, as he fell asleep at the table.
The goal: To achieve textile production capable of satisfying the needs of their colonies and fiefs, and to saturate the Portuguese market with pre-made clothing in three sizes, sold 20 to 30% cheaper than the competition.
The Means (First Estimate):
To equal the production of a large traditional workshop, which might have 10 to 20 handlooms, we would only need 5 to 10 of those new looms. Each loom requiring only one operator, we would be talking about 5 to 10 weavers per team, for a massively increased initial production. The necessary building area would also be significantly reduced compared to a traditional workshop for the same production capacity, or, more ambitiously, would allow for much greater production in an equivalent space.
T
he Urgency: Immediately launch the production of these machines and set up a large-scale pilot workshop to exploit this advantage.
The Call for Investment: "Diogo, your financial expertise will be crucial here. We must invest massively and quickly, preferably with Dutch money, to pirate them twofold, and make this prototype the tool of our 'Noble' and honest piracy! — Yes, we used to say, 'but dear Dutchmen, we are honest merchants...'
"Diogo?"
"Hmm?"
"What are you doing there?"
"Well, I'm adopting the demeanor the governess taught us: 'hmm!'"
"Ahahahahahaahahahahahaha!!!!!"
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Later, João decided to put his "work for" and "work with" logic into perspective. Still annoyed by his fiancée, whom he barely knew for the moment, he came to write a pamphlet against the VOC.
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"The world is like a stormy sea, my friends. And in its whirlpools, the truth of nations is revealed. Look at Holland, that country of merchants. They adorn themselves with the trappings of modernity, reforms, efficiency. But beneath the velvet of their pretensions, there is only deceit, a masquerade that reeks of betrayal of the very spirit of work.
They speak to us of their Company, the VOC. This octopus that stifles peoples and commerce, they will tell you it is the work of the Dutch people, that everyone has their share, their Guilder of profit. The simple-minded will look at the stock market, blinded! For their entire system is made of secrecy, of lies mixed with truths. This VOC, this idol of trade, cares nothing for its shareholders, for the common people who stake their meager savings. It decides alone, by the sole will of the greatest, the richest.
The VOC's supposed autonomy? A disguise, a cynical grimace to hide their true interests. Who are the masters of this beast? The great Dutch nobles, the greedy bourgeois of the Hanse. These are they! The main investors, the puppet masters. They use the means of the entire Nation – its ships, its cannons, the blood of its sailors – to declare distant wars, to plunder islands and trading posts. And all of this, under the veil of a supposedly 'independent company.'
When this VOC, through its rapacity and cruelty, provokes a storm, when it loses a galleon, when it is cornered, the Dutch State, the very one that claimed to have nothing to do with it, rises up. It defends it through diplomatic means, through custom-tailored treaties, most of the time, through aristocratic maneuvers in the cabinets of Europe. And if, by the grace of divine chance, this VOC wins, then the Dutch State does not fail to congratulate its masters and shower them with futile rewards, with vain glories, like the narcissists of the Greek myth, who reflect only their own pride.
Their so-called church reforms, so vaunted by the Calvinists of the North, are nothing more than a disguise. A lie! Look at the English. Whether one likes their separation from the Catholic Church or not, at least they don't hide! Their Church wished to be separate, and they proclaimed it loudly, never masking it, neither from men nor from God. There is no veil over their schism. It is not our path, but it is a path, without the hypocrisy of stock market veils.
But the VOC, through the Dutch 'elites' (?)? The mark of their reform is the same as that of their Company: it is the mark of betrayal against the Faith! For a few more guilders! For a few tons of spices! They are ready to deny not only men, but God! They would hide from God and even from men. And there, dear friends, lies the true Drama!
We refuse this masquerade. We reject the lie of 'Work For'. We are not instruments. We do not bow our backs for invisible masters or illusory profits. We seek not causes, but goals. Common goals, individual goals. Prosperity, the comfort of all, the opening of a wider and richer market for the fruits of our labor.
We work with each other. Not for, but with. There is only one way we are sure of: Trust, unwavering faith in our companions, and absolute Respect for our commitments. This is the price of freedom, the price of true creation. This is the casus belli that every Christian can hear: not against an entire nation without preparation, but against this Company, the VOC, which by its duplicity and boundless avarice, threatens not only our commerce and our colonial possessions, but the very soul of work and faith. It is for the defense of our possessions, of our overseas brethren, of our model, that we must act!"
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Thus began an escalating domino effect that João and crew had not quite anticipated, preparing merely to launch the pamphlet and slightly weaken the VOC politically.
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The Domino Effect: When the VOC's Pillars Trembled
The whispers began subtly in the gilded halls of Lisbon, carried by the very winds that had once filled VOC sails. João's pamphlet, a scalding indictment disguised as a treatise, was a poison seeping into the veins of European power. His rage, born from personal anguish and a conviction of the "Work With" system, had found its mark.
The Portugal Pin
The first domino was Portugal. João and crew's capture of 10 VOC ships wasn't just a trade war; it was a physical manifestation of his written word. The pamphlet's arguments — the VOC's betrayal of faith and honest labor — resonated deeply with Portuguese merchants, weary of Dutch dominance, and with a Crown eager to reclaim prestige and advantages over the dutch VOC.
Ministers, initially wary of a direct confrontation, now had a moral and actionable justification.
The initial silence from Lisbon on VOC's abuses turned into thinly veiled accusations, bolstered by João's eloquent (and rage-fueled) prose.
The Spanish Shove
The next domino to fall was Spain. Madrid, ever the hungry wolf circling the Dutch flock, pounced. They didn't endorse João directly – a Portuguese firebrand was hardly a suitable ally for the Very Catholic Monarch – but they saw the immense utility of his message. Spanish agents, fueled by centuries of Catholic dogma against Protestant "heresy" and a fierce rivalry for colonial wealth, ensured the pamphlet's rapid, clandestine spread through their vast empire.
Churches whispered of Dutch avarice, merchants in Seville muttered about VOC's perfidy, and in the Consejo de Indias, plans were quietly drafted to exploit any ensuing weakness in Dutch trade lanes. The pamphlet gave Spain a moral high ground to exert greater pressure on Dutch colonial ambitions, all while officially maintaining a pious distance.
The French Flick
France, under its calculating monarchs, played a longer game.
While not directly allied with Portugal against the Dutch, Paris recognized the strategic value of a weakened rival.
The pamphlet's detailed exposé of VOC's internal machinations – how the "Company" was merely a front for greedy nobles – offered valuable intelligence and a future pretext.
French diplomats, masters of subtle intrigue, would use these revelations in their ongoing (and often acrimonious) negotiations with the Dutch. Without open declaration, French corsairs might find their "incidental" encounters with VOC ships becoming more frequent, their actions tacitly encouraged by a government that valued opportunism over ideological purity.
The pamphlet wasn't a call to arms for them, but a very useful club to hold over the Dutch heads.
The Papal Push
Perhaps the most potent, yet subtle, force was the Papacy.
Rome, ever vigilant against the spread of Protestant influence and guardian of Catholic morality, found João's pamphlet to be a divine gift.
While the Pope wouldn't issue a direct bull against the VOC, that would be too brazenly political, the message was clear in the hallowed halls.
Cardinals and nuncios were informed that the actions of this Dutch "Octopus" were an affront to Christian principles and fair trade.
Missionaries in the global Portuguese and Spanish empires, already at odds with Protestant traders, received spiritual backing to denounce the VOC's cruelties and deceptions.
The fight against the VOC wasn't just about spices and ships; it became a holy crusade-like endeavor for many faithful, lending powerful moral weight to João's cause and making participation in the "Work With" model almost a religious duty.
In one year: the pamphlet, sponsored by many, many people, became like a "William Munny" shot, directed toward the VOC.
The Dominoes Fall
The combined effect was devastating. What started as a single man's rage, formalized in a pamphlet, became a common tool of discredit.
Small investors in Amsterdam, their patriotic fervor eroded by João's accusations of being mere pawns for the elite, began to question their stakes.
Whispers turned to doubts, doubts to demands for transparency, and ultimately, to a slow but steady erosion of confidence in the VOC's stock.
In the distant trading posts and plantations of Asia, João's message, carried by intrepid agents and emboldened locals, ignited dormant resentments.
The VOC's reputation for invincibility was shattered by the news of 10 captured ships, and the pamphlet provided a collective narrative of Dutch perfidy, fueling rebellions and intensified resistance from Ceylon to the Moluccas.
The Dutch Republic, finding its great trading arm under attack from all sides – morally by the Papacy, commercially by France and England, and militarily by Portugal and Spain – faced increasing diplomatic isolation.
Treaties became harder to negotiate, alliances strained, and the global seas, once their unchallenged domain, became far more dangerous.
Within the following 6-month to 2 years, the VOC, once a monolithic symbol of Dutch power, found its foundations cracking under the relentless pressure of a collective narrative.
João's call to arms, originally a desperate cry of rage and depression, resonated across oceans, convincing soldiers and producers alike that the truest diamonds weren't found in the earth, but forged in the righteous battle against the "Work For" and for the sacred principle of "Work With".
The path to reconquer Sri Lanka, once a no-go journey to the east, felt like a divine imperative.
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The air thrummed with anticipation, not for the glint of mythical stones, but for the glint of water.
After relentless months that stretched into two years, the great dam stood complete, a colossal curve of earth, rock, and will against the untamed river. Every stone laid, every spade of earth turned, had been a testament to the "Work With" philosophy, a stark contrast to the distant, destructive "Work For" of the VOC. João's pamphlet and the papal approval resonated very much with the Poles and the Italians.
This wasn't the fleeting dream of a buried fortune. This was a diamond forged in stone, harder and more real than any gem pulled from the ground. Its polished surface wasn't cut by a jeweler, but by the relentless discipline of shared labor. Its facets were the hard work of the countless faces of those who had built it, men and women from diverse backgrounds, their sweat and grit the true measure of its worth.
When the final sluice gates swung open, unleashing the controlled might of the river into newly dug irrigation channels, a collective cheer erupted. The water, now obedient, flowed not just to thirsty fields, but through the core of the fiefs of João and crew.
Their "Cut stones" hadn't just eliminated enemies; they had cleared the path for this very creation. The "True diamond" they had found wasn't a glittering stone, but the abundance it promised: thriving crops, reliable water, and the real, tangible comfort of a self-sustaining life.
The dam wasn't just any engineering feat; it was the physical embodiment of the Portuguese's might made manifest.
It stood silently 10 meters high, 70 meters wide, retaining 2 million cubic meters of water supply in that encased valley of an affluent of the Odelouca river, capable of irrigating 4000 hectares of those lands.
A powerful retort to the hollowness of the VOC's promises. A powerful demonstration of prestige for the eleven fief owners, among the nobility in Portugal, and for portugal across europe, all while the pamphlet had already aroused the nobility against the Dutch's VOC.
It was a monument to the understanding that creation, not endless seeking, defined worth, and that the greatest riches were those forged by collective purpose.
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Speaking of diamonds, in September 1658, a diamond mine was confirmed by the Crown emissaries and some other explorers in Brazil. A collective decision from João and crew led to the creation of a new company, involving the "Bandeirantes" who found the deposits, to be integrated into the new structure.
A new company was founded and registered: The "Brazilian Diamonds Company", which was held at 30% by "Horizon Brazil", 30% by the Bandeirantes, and 40% by other investors.
The long road and many other hard installations had to be made, and Luis and the other two found it more interesting to promote the "collective work to achieve a common goal", there: "more money = more comfort for those who participate" as a set goal.
The Crown insisted on its 20% share and the monopoly of trade in Lisbon, which did not deter any of the investors, among whom were João's future in-laws for 10%.
For the crew, it was a double win: they would not have to entirely support the financing of their supply line for the rubber trees that were there in great number, and it would alleviate the political and social pressure from those "valuable minerals and metals."
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After another round, Diogo and crew returned, not so much aroused by the pamphlet as by taking the loot and ships of the VOC and the Spanish, especially with the captured ships added to the fleet, which now counted 20 ships. Their "riddle net assault tactics" worked wonders in naval warfare.
They took over 5 East Indiamen from the VOC that year, adding up to a staggering 400,000 Cruzados. Less than the fabulous resale prices of the artwork from the previous two ships, but still, quite the loot. And all official, recognized, valued!
It's so good to have somewhere, and people you can "work with"!
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By October 1658, the loom workshop already had 12 operational machines.
Although the quality of the fabric was still modest, progress was undeniable, and the fabric always found buyers in those troubled times. The enterprise advanced and grew, and following the same model as "Brazilian Diamonds," the artisan carpenters and weavers were included as owners in the company, not for their personal investments, but for their expertise, totaling 30% ownership, while Horizon Brazil retained 70%.
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To summarize 1658, the company now owned sesmarias (land grants) in Brazil, a de facto monopoly on vulcanized rubber, an operational fleet of 30 ships permanently (including about 20 specialized for combat, 15 under repair or construction, and 10 merchantships ), and salaried employees totaling around 5000 people, plus colonists in transit available.
João and crew now owned viable fiefs in the Algarve, after the construction and activation of the dam guaranteeing irrigation to lands considered very fertile by specialists, as long as they were irrigated.
This work did not fail to impress the circle of Lisbon nobles, to attract the admiration of the fiefs' inhabitants for their new lords, and to generate some legendary tales among the minstrels.
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11 Marriages, One Burial (Wink!)
And the tragedy of November 1658 struck while all "the eleven" were present. All the marriages were to take place before "la Noel" in January.
João IV died in his sleep, tranquilly, in that November 1658, a stark contrast to the tumult it was about to unleash.
Obviously, all the marriages that should have taken place one after the other during that month were postponed to a later date.
The news struck the Court like thunder in a clear sky, all the more violent because it was unexpected.
As Lisbon prepared to host a series of lavish weddings before Christmas, King João IV, now called "the Restorer," had passed away peacefully in his sleep.
Behind the scenes of the Court, the time was not just for lamentation. The survival of Portugal, barely out of Spanish rule, took precedence over everything.
The rituals of succession had to be conducted with relentless speed and orthodoxy to leave no diplomatic breach for the enemy.
In the hours following the announcement, the Council of State met urgently, under the guidance of the late king's most loyal ministers.
The procedure was dictated by centuries of tradition and the imperative need to maintain legitimacy. Without a moment's hesitation, Prince Afonso, aged fifteen, was solemnly proclaimed King of Portugal under the name of Afonso VI. The cry of "Viva o Rei!" resonated, mixed with tears of mourning, to seal the continuity of the Crown and the independence of Portugal.
However, the new monarch's youth, and the uncertainties surrounding his health and character, made a regency inevitable. Unsurprisingly, the role fell to the most capable and respected woman in the kingdom: the Dowager Queen, Luisa de Guzmán. A strong-willed woman, a fierce partisan of independence, she was invested with full powers as Regent.
Her first task was to reassure European capitals: Spain, watching for the slightest weakness, England, and France, allies to be managed.
Luisa de Guzmán's regency promised continuity in determination, but also potentially a new era of prudence.
As the successes of Diogo and crew and the privateers began to shake the omnipotence of the VOC, the disappearance of João IV left the movement orphaned of its initial royal patron.
The "Work With" model, so audacious and innovative, would now have to convince a regent already assailed by more direct threats from Spain and by the need to consolidate the Crown to achieve independence.
The time of certainties was over; the future of Portugal now floated in the limbo of royal uncertainty, especially given that Afonso VI did not have a reputation other than that of an incompetent.
(In this alternative world, João IV died in November 1658, due to an illness avoided by the imagined use of a rubber cape during a certain rainy day, while historically he died in 1656, before the installation of a regency council led by Queen Luisa for Afonso VI.)