Supply lines, The Colombo siege, They're Here

Early September 1660, Coastal waters around Goa and Cochin, Malabar Coast, Portuguese India. 

The scent of distant spices mingled with the salty tang of the sea as João's fleet, a formidable silhouette against the rising sun, completed its final leg to the Malabar Coast. 

News of their arrival had undoubtedly preceded them, a ripple of unease spreading through the local Dutch strongholds. 

João's first priority was clear: secure the supply lines. 

"Diogo," João declared from the quarterdeck of the Rubber Dream, his gaze fixed on the horizon, "let's remind the Dutch why these waters once flew Our pirat team. We wiil find their patrol squadrons, their supply convoys. We need to clear the path to Cochin and Goa, and we need more ships." 

The pursuit was swift. The advanced frigates, with their shallow drafts and surprising speed, fanned out like hunting hounds. 

It wasn't long before smoke signals, then a scout frigate's flag hoists, confirmed a sighting: a small VOC squadron, likely guarding a merchant convoy, operating a loose blockade of Cochin. 

"Prepare for action! Signal 'Aggressive Boarding' to the frigates! East Indiamen, prepare broadsides for suppression!" Diogo's commands cut through the morning air, his voice a battle-hardened rasp. 

The 10 specialized 500-tonne frigates, nimble and deadly, were the vanguard. 

They broke formation, each choosing a target. Their lower profile and reinforced hulls, partially armored with the innovative rubber cuirasse, allowed them to shrug off the initial, less accurate volleys from the Dutch. 

The 7 massive East Indiamen, slower but bristling with heavy cannon, took positions to unleash thunderous broadsides, sweeping the decks of Dutch warships and crippling their rigging, clearing the way for the boarders. 

A scene of controlled chaos erupted. Grappling hooks, and Roman corvus new types arced through the air, biting into Dutch gunwales. 

Portuguese marines, distinguishable by their practical, dark livery and the glint of their Cerceau bayonets already affixed to their muskets, swarmed across the gaps. 

The air filled with the crack of muskets, the shouts of men, and the metallic clang of steel on steel. João's specialized hand grenades exploded with terrifying concussive force, shattering Dutch morale in confined spaces below decks and scattering defenders on exposed sections. 

One by one, the Dutch ships fell. 

Some were overwhelmed, their crews cut down or forced to surrender. Others, seeing the ruthless efficiency of the assault, struck their colours after brief, desperate resistance. 

Two smaller VOC sloops attempted to flee, but the Rubber Dream and its escort frigates relentlessly ran them down, their heavy guns barking until the Dutch surrendered or sank. 

By late afternoon, the waters off Cochin were littered with the wreckage of battle and the hulks of captured vessels. 

João's fleet, though having sustained some damage and casualties, was victorious. 

They had captured five VOC ships: two smaller warships, corvettes, and three heavily laden merchant East Indiamen. 

Prisoners were secured, the wounded attended, and prize crews sent aboard the captured vessels. 

The immediate threat to Cochin was eliminated. 

João's supply lines were open. But now came the challenge: to man these newly acquired ships and prepare them for the next, even greater challenge. 

________ 

The Call to Arms – A Speech for Recruitment 

Late September 1660, at the main square of Goa, and later Cochin, before assembled crowds of potential recruits. 

Days after the successful naval actions, the news spread like wildfire through Goa and Cochin. 

João de Carrasca, the audacious Lord of the Rubber, adn th reknown Dom Diogo, had arrived with some others of the ancient pirate crew. 

Their fleet ? A testament to their strength, and he had humbled the Dutch. The local Portuguese authorities, initially wary, were now cautiously welcoming, seeing in João a potential saviour for their struggling strongholds. 

On a makeshift platform erected in Goa's main square, adorned with the Cross of Christ and the banner of the House of Carrasca, a stylized Tree with silver waves and a carrack navigating on the waves, João personnaly addressed the vast crowd. 

Portuguese soldiers, discharged veterans, landless peasants, mestizos, and a significant number of Indian men from various backgrounds stood shoulder to shoulder, curiosity warring with hope in their eyes. 

João, not a man for flowery rhetoric but for directness and conviction, stepped forward. His voice, resonant and clear, carried across the square. 

"Men of Portugal! Men of these lands!" he began, his gaze sweeping across the faces before him. "You know the Dutch' VOC. You know their agressiveness, their greed. They choke your trade, they steal your livelihood, they insult your very existence. The Crown, alas, is far, embroiled in other struggles." 

He paused, letting the murmurs of agreement subside. "I, Dom João de Carrasca, Lord of the Rubber, have come from Brazil, a new world, to forge a new path here. My fleet, forged with the wealth of that new world, has already tasted Dutch blood in these very waters! We have taken their ships, and we will take their empire!" 

He then leaned forward, his voice lowering slightly, drawing the crowd in. 

 "You have heard tales, perhaps, of the ways of the world. Of ancient laws of birth, of who is 'high' and who is 'low.' In many lands, your destiny is cast before you can even walk. Some speak of a system where a man's worth is fixed from birth, by his family, his trade, or even by who his father's father was." 

João straightened, his voice gaining power. 

"But I tell you this: in my ranks, on my ships, in this enterprise for freedom and wealth, there is but one measure of a man! Not the station of his birth, not the color of his skin, not the ancient rites of his village. No! The measure of a man here is his courage in battle, his loyalty to his comrades, and the strength of his arm!" 

He raised a hand, pointing towards the captured Dutch ships visible in the harbor. 

"Look at those ships! Captured by men like you! And they need crews! In my service, we do not care if your hands have tilled the soil, or if your family has known hardship for generations. We care if you can stand courageous, audacious if you can learn to fight, if you can hold a musket, and if you have the breath of freedom in your spirits!" 

"We have no 'untouchables' on my ships!" he declared, his voice ringing with conviction, directly addressing a sensitive point for the Indian listeners. 

"We have no man whose spirit is beneath another's, save by his own cowardice. The warrior, the one who defends, the one who dares – he holds the most honor in my fleet! This is not the old world, shackled by old ways. This is a chance for a new life, a rich life, a glorious life! Fight with me, and together we will break the chains of the Dutch and build a new empire of freedom and wealth for all who dare to grasp it!" 

A roar erupted from the crowd, a mix of Portuguese and local languages, of desperate hope and newfound ambition. 

The promise of wealth, the chance for glory, and above all, the radical notion of worth based on merit rather than birth, struck a powerful chord. Recruiters immediately began to sign up eager volunteers. 

_______ 

Manning and Integration of the New Crews 

Early october 1660, captured Dutch ships, and the bustling docks of Goa and Cochin. 

The influx of new recruits was immense, a testament to João's speech and the desperation for opportunity. 

The docks of Goa and Cochin became hives of frantic activity. 

João let Diogo led with Ruiand Luis and their trusted captains, now faced the monumental task of transforming this motley collection of men into effective fighters, or more ccuretly soldiers, particularly for the newly acquired Dutch ships. 

The captured vessels, though seaworthy, bore the scars of battle. 

Repairs were prioritized. Rigging was patched, splintered decks mended, and cannon secured. As the carpenters and caulkers worked, the process of crewing began. 

João's strategy was not simply to fill the ships with new men. 

For each captured vessel, he assigned a core of his own veterans – a trusted captain, a few experienced gunners, and a contingent of disciplined marines from his original fleet. 

These loyalists would become the natural instructors of the peculiar arrangements of the fleet, ensuring adherence to strict discipline and tactical novelties of the fleet, particularly the aggressive boarding tactics. 

The remaining positions were filled by the new recruits: 

Portuguese Volunteers, of which many were experienced sailors or soldiers, quickly adapting to the new command structure and the promise of rich spoils. 

Indian Auxiliaries, these men, often skilled in various trades and familiar with the local waters, brought vital manpower. 

They were quickly taught basic naval duties, musketry, and the essentials of boarding drills. 

While not initially given Cerceau bayonets (which were reserved for the elite shock troops), they were equipped with standard muskets, swords, and pikes. 

The promise of no "untouchable" status was reinforced by treating all recruits with a basic, pragmatic respect. 

Captured Dutch Sailors, a small number of captured VOC's mercenary sailors, deemed less rebellious or more easily swayed by offers of good pay and the promise of not being thrown into a Portuguese dungeon, were also integrated, often under close supervision. 

Rapid Training and Discipline 

The timing of all the expedition was very important. 

There were no leisurely training voyages. Drills were constant and brutal: 

Boarding Practice: Mock decks were set up on shore for relentless drills on grappling, swarming, and close-quarters combat. The importance of the rapid-fire muskets and the devastating hand grenades was emphasized for the boarding parties. 

Gun Crews: New gunners were quickly paired with veterans, learning to load, aim, and fire the cannons under strict supervision. 

Signaling and Maneuvers: Basic flag signals and fleet maneuvers were drilled repeatedly, ensuring that the new ships could operate as part of João's coherent battle formation. 

Diogo da Veiga, in particular, was omnipresent. His sharp commands and unwavering expectation of perfection transformed raw recruits into hardened sailors and fighters in a matter of weeks. 

He personally oversaw the distribution of supplies, ensuring that the promise of good food and fair treatment was upheld, fostering loyalty through actions added to words. 

By the end of October, João's fleet, now numbering 32 warships (27 original plus 5 captured), was not just larger, but had absorbed new vitality. 

The new recruits, though green, were eager. The captured ships, re-christened with Portuguese names, now flew João's banner alongside the other armoiries of those present. 

The Cochin offensive had not only secured vital supply lines but had also augmented João's naval might, ready for the next, inevitable clash: the siege of Colombo, and the baiting of the mighty VOC fleet from Batavia. 

________ 

Late October 1660, Just Before the Scheduled Arrival of the Fleet Combined with the Kandy Assault. Port and Warehouses of Colombo, Ceylon.

The October sky over Colombo was heavy and low, promising the end of a late monsoon. The Dutch city, usually bustling with the comings and goings of merchants, was plunged into a deceptive quiet that night. Batavian sentinels patrolled the ramparts, their dark silhouettes cut out by the lanterns, their minds dulled by routine and the confidence inspired by the powerful VOC. They were unaware that, just a few cables from the walls, the shadow of death was creeping.

At the heart of the gloom, a small team, five audacious souls handpicked by Dom João, infiltrated. Led by a certain Diogo Fernandes, a former Macao bounty hunter turned Horizon Brazil agent, their mission was simple: transform Colombo's granaries and food warehouses into infernal pyres. They had landed a week earlier on an isolated beach, guided by a Kandyan scout. Their journey through the jungle had been a constant challenge: suffocating heat, biting insects, and the permanent risk of stumbling upon a Dutch patrol. But João's money and the promise of glory had converted them.

Their intelligence was precise. The main VOC food depots were located near the port, massive structures of wood and stone, but with vulnerable thatched roofs and poorly guarded service access. They also knew that the garrison, though experienced, was exhausted by constant skirmishes with Kandy forces harassing the city's outer outposts.

Diogo and his team, dressed in dark clothing, slipped along the muddy banks of the lagoon, avoiding the lights of anchored ships. A small hole in the service palisade, noted by the Kandyan scout, offered them unexpected access. They crept through the narrow alleys, their steps muffled by mud and the shadows of the houses.

The first obstacle was a patrol of two Dutch soldiers, muskets on their shoulders, who had just turned the corner of a warehouse. Diogo, with a quick gesture, indicated a recess. One of his men, a silent giant, lunged, and the two soldiers were silenced in seconds, their throats slit before a scream could escape. Their bodies were slipped into a rainwater barrel. No time for remorse.

They reached the first objective: the large rice granary. The air was heavy with the scent of cereals. The doors were locked, but Diogo and another, a former sailor accustomed to break-ins, forced the latch with discreet tools. Inside, mountains of sacks, rice bags piled to the ceiling, the city's pantry. Quickly, they arranged their "enhanced flammable materials": bags of pitch mixed with sulfur, tar-soaked rags, and, crucially, small vials of primitive "Greek fire," a viscous concoction that would ignite on contact with air after a delay. Slow-burning fuses were placed in the piles of sacks, leading to puddles of flammable oil.

The second obstacle arose as they left the first warehouse to head towards the spice depots, further down the quay. The sound of a falling barrel echoed. A sentry perched on a pile of goods in an adjacent courtyard had seen them. "Halt! Wie da?!" (Stop! Who goes there?!)

Diogo didn't hesitate. He drew his pistol. The dry crack tore through the silence of the port night. The sentry collapsed, but the alarm was raised. Shouts and whistles resonated in the distance.

"Quick! To the next one!" Diogo ordered.

They rushed towards the spice warehouses. Their movements became feverish, precision mingling with urgency. Sacks of cinnamon, cloves, pepper… treasures for Europe, but fuel for the fire here. They spread the liquids, placed the fuses, their hands trembling but quick.

The escape was the biggest challenge. Alarms spread. Lanterns lit up in barracks windows. Diogo had planned an escape route through the sewers that led outside the walls, a risky but secret path. But the entrance was guarded.

"We need a diversion!" Diogo whispered.

His fourth man, the youngest, lifted a powder keg they had carried and threw it against the wall of a small guardhouse near the sewer entrance. A flame burst from his lighter. BOOM! The explosion was modest but sufficient to destroy the guardhouse and deafen the two guards. Debris flew, and confusion was complete.

Taking advantage of the detonation, Diogo and his men plunged into the fetid darkness of the sewers. Nauseating water rose to their knees, but they pressed on, their lungs burning. Shouts of pursuit echoed above them, but the breach was open.

They emerged from the gaping maw of a drainage pipe, a few hundred meters outside Colombo's walls, safe from immediate view. Exhausted, covered in mud, but alive. Behind them, the city of Colombo began to glow with a sinister light. Orange flames licked at the warehouse roofs, black plumes of smoke slowly rose towards the grey sky. Soon, the granaries, the spice depots, and a large part of the VOC's reserves would be an uncontrollable inferno.

Diogo and his men watched the fires spread, the dancing glows on their tired faces. It was done. The first blow had been struck. In two days, João's fleet, the "Rubber Dream," would appear on the horizon. Famine, precursor to surrender, was already setting in within Colombo's guts. The Battle for Ceylon had just begun.

________ 

The Rooster Speaking 

Far across the vast oceans, in the quiet courtyards of Portugal, the rooster still crowed at dawn. Not the mighty, ancient lion, symbol of kings and empires in distant lands, but the humble Galo. A creature of earth and farm, fiercely proud, vigilant, announcing the new day with an unwavering cry. 

For some, it was merely a bird; for others, it represented a stubborn spirit, a readiness to meet the day's challenges, a certain tenacious pride unique to the homeland João had left behind. 

It spoke not of ancient glory, but of persistent life, of defiance against the fading night, a silent, enduring pulse of the nation like signlling the waged war in the East. 

________ 

The Iron Embrace of Colombo 

Mid October 1660, port city of Colombo, Ceylon 

The acrid stench of burnt rice and charred spices hung heavy over Colombo. 

Days had passed since the night of the fires, yet the smoke still curled lazily from the gutted warehouses, a constant, choking reminder of the catastrophe. Inside the walls, a grim reality was setting in. 

What little food remained was hoarded, prices soared, and murmurs of discontent rippled through the civilian population. 

Governor Adriaan van der Meyden, his face etched with worry, paced his office, dispatch riders sent days ago still without reply. 

He knew reinforcements would come from Batavia, but the damage was done. 

Then, just as the last tendrils of dawn mist lifted from the Indian Ocean, the nightmare took a new, terrifying form. 

On the horizon, a forest of masts appeared, rapidly resolving into the unmistakable, disciplined formation of a large fleet. 

Not the familiar sails of Dutch Indiamen, but the proud, unfurled ensigns of Portugal, dominated by the Silverly banner of João de Carrasca's House. 

"Blockade!" the cry went up from the ramparts, quickly followed by the booming of alarm cannons. 

João's 32 warships acted decisively. The frigates fanned out, creating an impenetrable arc around the harbor mouth, their cannons trained on the city. 

The massive East Indiamen, repositioned from their earlier skirmishes, anchored in key positions, their heavy guns capable of raining devastation upon the port defenses and inner city. 

No ship, not even a fishing skiff, would enter or leave Colombo by sea. 

Simultaneously, from the landward side, the jungle itself seemed to stir. 

The rhythmic thud of drums, low and guttural, began to echo through the morning air. 

 Then, through the gaps in the foliage, lines of Kandyan warriors emerged. 

Thousands upon thousands, their movements fluid and silent, their spears and muskets glinting. 

They deployed rapidly, establishing a tight cordon around the city's land perimeter, connecting seamlessly with the naval blockade at the beaches north and south of the city. 

While the Portuguese would not command them directly, the Kandyans knew their role: to choke the land, prevent foraging, and crush any desperate sally. 

Inside Colombo, the realization was stark. 

The city was an island, cut off from all relief. Admiral Isaac Sweers, commander of the remaining VOC ships in Colombo, knew his small squadron was no match for João's overwhelming force. 

He could only watch as the "Rubber Dream," João's flagship, positioned with an almost arrogant display of power. 

The siege had begun. 

Not with a thunderous assault, but with a silent, iron embrace. 

Each passing day without food, without fresh water, without the hope of relief, would tighten the noose. 

The fires had sown desperation; the blockade would reap starvation. João's gaze from his flagship was grimly resolute. This was a patient war, a war of wills, and the clock had already begun to run for the defenders of Colombo. 

The Shadow on the Horizon – Batavia's Answer 

Late November 1660, Indian Ocean, approximately 200 miles west of Ceylon 

Six weeks had passed since the siege of Colombo began, six weeks of unyielding pressure. 

Inside the Dutch city, conditions were deteriorating rapidly. Sickness, hunger, and despair were rampant. 

Messages smuggled out by desperate Kandyan scouts confirmed the city's grim state: food was almost gone, morale was shattered, and the garrison, though still holding, was on the verge of mutiny. João knew the bait was being taken. 

On the quarterdeck of the Rubber Dream, the air was thick with anticipation, a tension almost as palpable as the salt spray. 

Lookouts were doubled, their eyes scanning the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean relentlessly. 

Every sailor knew what was coming. This was the moment João had engineered, the reason they had sailed there, across the world. 

Then, on a clear, scorching afternoon, a cry rang out from the mainmast: "Sail ho! Many sails! Bearing west-northwest!" 

João, flanked by Diogo da Veiga and his senior captains, immediately brought his spyglass to his eye. 

The distant specks grew, slowly, steadily, resolving into distinct shapes against the shimmering blue. It was not one or two ships, nor a small squadron. 

This was a forest of masts, a formidable armada. 

"Their flags!" a lookout roared, his voice hoarse with excitement. "Oranje! Blue! White! The Lion of the Netherlands! It's Batavia, milord! The whole bloody Company!" 

A ripple of nervous energy, quickly turning into a surge of grim determination, ran through João's fleet. 

This was no mere relief convoy; this was the main fleet of the Dutch East India Company, likely commanded by one of their most experienced Admirals, dispatched from Batavia to crush the audacious Portuguese threat. 

Ship after ship, a massive collection of heavily armed East Indiamen, frigates, and fluyts, appeared on the horizon, their sails billowing, their cannon ports visible even at this distance. It was a sight designed to intimidate, to overwhelm. 

João lowered his spyglass, his expression unreadable. "Admiral," he said to Diogo, his voice calm, "they've taken the bait. And they've come with a full belly. Give the order. Prepare the fleet for battle. Raise the signal for 'Line Ahead Formation.' This is what we came for." 

Diogo grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. 

"Aye, sir. The lion has finally come to play." 

The flagship immediately began to hoist the complex series of flags that would ripple through the entire fleet. Cannons were stripped of their covers, powder magazines opened, and battle stations manned. 

The long wait was over. 

The stage was set. The naval power of the "Rubber Dream" and its expanded fleet, built on defiance and daring, was about to meet the might of the Dutch East India Company in the most decisive battle the Indian Ocean had seen in decades.