The Horizon Brazil fleet sailed into Luanda's harbor beneath a sky streaked with gold and rose. Twenty-five ships, their hulls dark and proud, drew the eyes of every merchant and official along the shore. Drums echoed from the fort as the governor's men hurried to prepare a welcome worthy of such a formidable armada.
On the main deck of the flagship, Captain Luís surveyed the city's whitewashed walls and bustling quays. "A fine port," he remarked to João, his sharp-eyed quartermaster.
"Let's hope their hospitality matches their view."
As the officers disembarked, they were greeted by Governor Dom Álvaro de Sousa, a stately man in brocade and lace, flanked by his retinue. "Welcome to Luanda, gentlemen! Your arrival is the talk of the town. Please, be my guests tonight at the governor's house."
That evening, the officers gathered in a candlelit hall, where platters of roasted meats and fragrant stews awaited them. Rui, the fleet's most curious palate, sampled everything with interest. He paused over a stew with a peculiar, slightly bitter note.
He leaned toward Diogo, the ship's forager. "There's something in this—different. Not pepper, not nutmeg. Almost… coffee?"
Diogo shrugged. "You've a nose for the unusual, Rui. Let's ask."
Rui caught the attention of a servant. "Excuse me, senhor, what is this flavor in the stew?"
The servant smiled. "It's kafê, senhor—red cherries from the forest. The cooks use them to season the broth."
João, ever alert to opportunity, turned to the governor. "Excellency, might we see these cherries? My friend here believes they hold a secret worth exploring."
Governor Dom Álvaro raised an eyebrow, amused. "You sailors have keen senses! Of course, I'll have some brought at once."
A basket of bright red cherries was soon placed on the table.
Rui picked one up, sniffed it, and bit into the flesh. "Sweet, but there's a bitterness beneath. Reminds me of the coffeehouses in Lisbon."
João's eyes lit up. "Coffee? Here? If so, Excellency, you may be sitting on a fortune."
The governor chuckled. "We've always used them as a spice, nothing more. But if you see value, I am eager to learn."
Diogo, already intrigued, asked, "Where do these grow?"
"In the hills beyond the river," the governor replied. "The locals gather them wild."
After supper, the officers and the ship's cook gathered by a small fire. Rui and Diogo split open the cherries, revealing the seeds inside.
"Let's see what becomes of them roasted," Rui suggested.
They spread the seeds on a grill, turning them over the flames. Slowly, a rich aroma rose into the night air.
João inhaled deeply. "That's coffee, or I'm a Dutchman."
Once roasted, the seeds were crushed between stones, and the grounds boiled with water in an iron pot. The resulting brew was poured into tin cups and passed around.
Governor Dom Álvaro took a cautious sip, then smiled in surprise. "Remarkable! Strong, bitter, but… invigorating."
Rui grinned. "It's rougher than the Levantine coffee, but it will wake the dead."
João leaned back, satisfied. "Excellency, you may wish to keep an eye on these hills. The world pays dearly for coffee, and here you have it growing wild."
The governor nodded, his mind already turning to the possibilities. "Perhaps this humble spice will bring Luanda new fame."
As dawn broke, word of the sailors' discovery spread among the governor's household and the local traders.
The fleet took on sacks of the cherries and seeds, and as the ships prepared to sail for Mozambique, the officers knew they had found more than a curiosity—they had uncovered a treasure that might change fortunes on both sides of the sea.
_______
As the Portuguese fleet, a magnificent display of maritime power, finally approached the coast of East Africa in early july 1665, the air shifted.
The familiar smells of salt and tar gave way to something richer, more ancient: a blend of exotic spices, sun-baked coral, and distant woodsmoke.
The sea, once a deep Atlantic blue, now shimmered turquoise beneath the Indian Ocean sun, dotted with lateen-sailed dhows gliding effortlessly across the horizon—each one a living testament to centuries of trade winds and silent, shifting fortunes.
From the quarterdeck of the Nossa Senhora da Guia, João de Carrasca gazed ahead, his weathered hands gripping the rail.
"Mozambique," he rumbled, a note of satisfaction in his voice.
"Our last taste of established Portuguese order before Goa. Let's pray the monsoon holds true for the next step."
Beside him, Diogo da Veiga unrolled his salt-stained maps, tracing the slender outline of Ilha de Moçambique.
"Fort São Sebastião on the northern tip—see how it overlook the entrance to the bay? This island has weathered many storms, both natural and man-made. The Dutch, the Omanis… and now us, seeking safe harbor."
As the fleet dropped anchor, the harbor burst into activity.
Longboats ferried officers and cargo ashore, passing Swahili fishermen in dugout canoes and Arab traders whose eyes flickered with curiosity and calculation.
The 'stone town' (Cidade de Pedra) rose before them, its coral-stone buildings gleaming white against the sky, adorned with carved wooden doors and shaded balconies.
The streets bustled with Portuguese officials in linen and lace, Indian Banian merchants in silks, and African porters balancing baskets on their heads.
At the core of the island stood the imposing Fort São Sebastião, its cannons peering out over the turquoise water, a silent warning to would-be attackers.
The Palace of São Paulo, once a Jesuit college, now housed the governor and his court—its arcades echoing with the footsteps of soldiers, scribes, and visiting dignitaries.
Further south, the stone gave way to the vibrant sprawl of Makuti town.
Here, the houses were thatched with palm leaves, the alleys alive with the chatter of Swahili, Makua, and Portuguese, the air thick with the scent of grilled fish and clove smoke.
Children darted between the legs of traders; women in bright kangas bartered for rice, beads, and cloth.
Drummers beat out complex rhythms as the fleet's arrival became the talk of the market.
João, ever pragmatic, turned to his officers.
"We'll need fresh water, fruit, and salt fish for the crossing.
And look if the Banian traders have words from Goa—news travels faster than ships on this coast."
A captain nodded, eyes already scanning the crowd for familiar faces.
"And let's not forget the shipwrights. These coral reefs are unforgiving—best to check the hulls before we face the open sea again."
As the officers made their way toward the governor's residence, a procession of local dignitaries awaited them, led by the Portuguese governor in his starched ruff and gold chain.
He greeted João with a formal bow.
"Welcome, gentlemen of the Carreira da Índia. Mozambique Island is at your service—may your stay be prosperous, and your passage swift."
" Ha sorry, but we are not from the casa da India, but "Horizon Brazil" Company, you were in post when we came back from ceylon after crushing the dutch's VOC in 1662, weren't you, Governor ?"
The Governor raced his mind to remember before stuttering:
" Dom Joao....I mean Marquis De Carrasca, it's an honor to see you again after all those years"
" Same here Governor ! "
Behind the ceremony, the pulse of the island beat on: slaves unloading cargo, merchants haggling over ivory and gold, priests blessing the departing dhows, and the ever-present wind, carrying with it the promise—and peril—of the monsoon.
For the fleet, Mozambique was more than a waypoint; it was a crossroads of empire, a place where Africa, Asia, and Europe converged in a mosaic of ambition, faith, and survival.
Here, on this narrow strip of coral and stone, the next chapter of their journey would be provisioned, repaired, and—perhaps—reshaped by the secrets and intrigues of the Swahili coast.
The fleet's longboats ferried officers and cargo ashore, the harbor of Mozambique Island buzzed with activity.
The scent of cloves and dried fish mingled with the sharper tang of coral dust and the ever-present smoke from cookfires.
In the stone town's marketplace, merchants from across the Indian Ocean mingled: Swahili traders, Indian Banians, and Portuguese factors, all haggling in a swirl of languages.
João de Carrasca, accompanied by Diogo da Veiga and a pair of armed sailors, made his way to a shaded stall where a Swahili merchant displayed elephant tusks and the curved, pale horns of rhinoceros.
The merchant's eyes widened at the sight of the fleet's insignia and the barrels the sailors rolled behind them.
João gestured to the barrels.
"Rubber from Portugal—new to these waters, but prized in europe and then to the East.
Flexible, waterproof, and rare.
We seek ivory and horns for our onward journey."
The merchant stroked his chin, glancing at the barrels with curiosity.
"Rubber, you say? I have heard of such things in the markets of Cambay and Goa. Show me."
A sailor pried open a barrel, revealing the translucent rolls and blocks within.
The merchant pressed a finger into the rubber, then nodded.
"It is as you say. This will fetch a fine price in India."
João smiled.
"And your ivory? We seek the largest tusks, and the finest rhino horn—no cracks, no blemishes."
The merchant beckoned to his porters, who brought forward two massive tusks and a bundle of horns wrapped in woven matting.
"From the Zambezi and the hinterland. The best Mozambique can offer."
Negotiations began in earnest, with sailors weighing the tusks and João and Rui inspecting the horns for flaws.
After some haggling, a deal was struck: three barrels of rubber for two great tusks and four rhinoceros horns.
As the goods were exchanged, the merchant bowed.
"May your voyage be safe, senhor. Tell the traders of Goa that Mozambique has much more to offer."
João returned the bow, satisfied.
"And tell your hunters that rubber may soon be as valuable as gold."
The officers watched as the ivory and horn were loaded onto carts for the fleet's warehouses, while the merchant's men rolled the barrels away, already discussing their next sale.
The deal was done—one more link in a chain of commerce stretching from the forests of Brazil to the markets of Cathay, all passing through the jewel of the Swahili coast.
________
The Passage to Goa: Ordeal and Triumph
Into the Monsoon: The Fleet Sets Sail
By mid july, the monsoon winds beckoned.
The fleet weighed anchor, sails snapping as they caught the southwest breeze. Spirits were high, but every officer knew the dangers ahead.
Days passed in a rhythm of duty and anticipation. The sea shimmered turquoise, and the air was thick with the promise of rain.
Sailors scrubbed decks, patched sails, and swapped stories beneath the stars. The officers met nightly, plotting their course and reviewing the fleet's condition.
Storms and Separation
The weather turned suddenly.
Black clouds massed on the horizon, and the wind howled with a voice older than empire.
Rain lashed the decks, and waves pounded the hulls.
Captain Luís barked orders above the roar: "Reef the sails! Secure the guns! Pray to your saints, men!"
Visibility shrank to nothing. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the chaos—ships heaving, masts straining, men clinging to ropes and hope.
The convoy scattered, each captain fighting to keep his vessel afloat. For a day and a night, the fleet was lost to itself, each ship alone in the fury.
When the storm broke, the sun rose on a battered, diminished armada.
João, face drawn with worry, counted the missing. "Santa Catarina and Nossa Senhora da Luz—gone."
Diogo, refusing to give up, organized search parties in the calmer seas. Against the odds, the lost ships were found days later, battered but afloat, their crews gaunt and grateful.
The fleet reformed, battered but unbroken.
Sickness and Survival
The storm's aftermath brought new trials.
The holds were damp, food spoiled, and men weakened by exhaustion.
Dysentery crept through the lower decks—a scourge as deadly as any Dutch cannon. Father Miguel, the ship's surgeon and priest, worked without rest, isolating the sick and boiling water for herbal remedies.
"Discipline and cleanliness," he insisted, "or we'll lose half the crew before Goa."
Thanks to swift action and the officers' vigilance, the outbreak was contained.
The men, though weary, rallied—singing old songs as they worked, sharing what little comfort they could.
Daily Life at Sea
Life aboard ship was a study in hardship and camaraderie.
The sailors rose before dawn, mending sails, scrubbing decks, and preparing the day's meager rations.
Officers took turns at the helm, scanning the horizon for signs of land or enemy sails.
At night, the fleet's lanterns bobbed in the darkness—a constellation of hope in the endless sea.
João kept a strict watch, but never missed a chance to encourage his men.
"Every day at sea is a day closer to Goa," he'd say, slapping backs and sharing a rare smile.
Diogo charted their progress, correcting for drift and current, his eyes red from sleepless nights.
There were moments of levity—games of dice, tales of Lisbon and Bahia, and the occasional sighting of dolphins or flying fish.
But always, the specter of the monsoon's end loomed: if they failed to reach Goa before the winds turned, disaster would follow.
Landfall at Goa: Relief and Hivernage
In the last days of September, as the fleet rounded the final headlands, the lookouts cried out:
"Land! Land!" The whitewashed towers of Goa gleamed in the morning sun, rising above the palm groves and riverbanks.
The Mandovi River welcomed them with calm waters, and the city's cannons fired a salute.
The fleet limped into port—sails patched, hulls scarred, but hearts unbroken.
The officers led their men ashore, where the scents of spice and incense mingled with the promise of rest.
The city's markets bustled with life, and the churches rang with bells of thanksgiving.
The "hivernage" began: months of repair, trade, and rest, waiting for the monsoon to shift.
The men scattered—some to the taverns, others to the churches, a few to the arms of Goan courtesans.
João and Diogo met with merchants and officials, planning the next step of their journey, ever mindful of news from the wider world.
News of Disaster: The EIC at Malacca
In the shaded arcades of the Casa da Índia, João learned of the English disaster at Malacca. A Portuguese factor, fresh from the Straits, recounted the tale:
"The English sent a grand fleet against the Dutch, but the rains and fever struck first.
Hundreds died of dysentery before a shot was fired.
Malacca remains Dutch—for now."
João shook his head.
"It is not always powder and shot that decides a campaign. The land itself can be the deadliest foe."
The Waiting Game
As the rains fell and the winds howled outside, the fleet settled into its hivernage.
Repairs were made, cargo traded, and new alliances forged in the bustling core of Portuguese India.
The men healed, the ships were readied, and the officers plotted their next move—knowing that in these waters, fortune favored only the bold and the wise.
_______
Goa, 1665–1666: The Great Rubber Auction
Preparation (October–November)
As the monsoon rains faded and the city's streets dried, Goa awoke to a new trading season. The Governor, ever eager to showcase the city's cosmopolitan wealth, issued invitations to the city's leading Banian, Persian, and Armenian merchants, as well as Portuguese casados and Eurasian trading families. Notices in Konkani, Persian, and Portuguese appeared in the market squares and at the city gates, announcing:
"A marvel from the New World: The first public auction of translucent rubber—capable of repelling water, stretching without tearing, and fashioned into garments, shoes, and more. Demonstrations and sales to be held in December, in the Governor's own merchant courtyard. All reputable traders invited."
Word of mouth spread quickly. Curiosity and speculation grew as samples circulated among influential buyers. Local artisans received miniature strips for testing; some marveled at the waterproofing, others at the ghostly translucence. By late November, the city's merchant class buzzed with anticipation.
The Goods on Offer
The warehouse inventory, meticulously catalogued by João de Carrasca, included:
Warehouse Inventory (October, on the Eve of Auction Promotion)
In the humid twilight of late October, João de Carrasca oversaw the final tally in his Goa warehouse. The cargo, freshly landed from Brazil, was a marvel in itself—100 tons of translucent rubber, sorted and inventoried for the coming auction:
Product Type QuantityApprox. Weight per Item Total Weight (kg)
Rain Capes 8,000 1.7 kg 13,600
Rubber Rolls
2,500
14 kg
35,000
Shoes/Soles (pairs)
18,000
0.5 kg
9,000
Pouches/Satchels
20,000
0.2 kg
4,000
Rubber Balls
12,000
0.3 kg
3,600
Raw Rubber Blocks
3,500
10 kg
35,000
Sample Kits
1,800
0.1 kg
180
Total 100,380
The warehouse was a riot of color and texture: capes hung from beams, rolls stacked like logs, crates of shoes and pouches ready for inspection. The scent of fresh rubber mingled with spices and sea salt.
Promotion and Preparation (October–November)
The Governor's office issued invitations and posted notices in the city's three languages, promising the auction of a lifetime. Trusted brokers delivered sample kits to Goa's most influential Banian, Persian, and Armenian merchants. Word spread through the bazaars and along the docks: a new marvel from Brazil would soon be available—first come, first served.
Private demonstrations were held in merchant houses and the Governor's own courtyard. Artisans marveled at the waterproof capes and the springy balls; traders debated uses for the rolls and blocks. By November's end, anticipation was at a fever pitch.
The Auction (December)
On the appointed morning, the Governor's merchant courtyard was transformed. Long tables displayed the entire range of rubber goods, each item labeled in Portuguese, Konkani, and Persian.
The city's elite and merchant class gathered: Banians in silk, Armenians with ledgers, Portuguese officials in crisp linen, and a scattering of curious foreign agents.
The auctioneer, a respected Portuguese factor, opened the bidding:
"Honored traders! You see before you the first and finest rubber from the New World—waterproof, translucent, and strong. Bid in silver rupees, gold fanams, pagodas, or cruzados. Let us begin!"
The city was restless by dawn, the air thick with the scent of sea and spices. João de Carrasca stood in the shadow of the Governor's palace, watching the crowd gather in the courtyard. Rubber—his rubber—hung in shimmering capes from bamboo poles, stacked in fat rolls like logs, and packed in crates that promised wonders to anyone with coin to spare.
Merchants arrived in waves: Banians in crisp white, their gold rings glinting; Armenians with careful eyes and quiet words; Portuguese officials in starched collars, fanning themselves against the heat.
Even the Governor's wife sent her steward to inspect the strange, ghostly goods.
Word had spread for weeks—whispers in the bazaar, rumors at the docks. Some called it witchcraft, others a miracle.
Few could resist a closer look.
The expedition specialistseller moved among the tables, offering sample kits to the bold and the skeptical alike.
"See how it bends, senhor. Stretch it—yes, more! Now pour the water.
Not a drop through, I swear on my mother's grave."
A Banian merchant, thick-bearded and sharp-eyed, fingered a cape as if it might bite. "How much for this?" he asked, voice low.
"Bidding starts at a hundred cruzados," Mical replied, "but I expect it will go higher. There are many interested parties."
The auctioneer, a wiry man with a voice that carried to the far end of the square, called the crowd to order.
"Gentlemen! The marvel of Brazil! The first lot—one hundred rain capes, translucent as river mist, strong as ox-hide. Who will start?"
A Persian trader raised his hand, silver rings flashing. "One hundred and twenty cruzados each."
"Hundred and thirty!" barked an Armenian, not to be outdone.
The bidding climbed, voices overlapping, tension thick as monsoon clouds. João watched, heart thumping, as the first lot closed at one hundred seventy-five cruzados per cape—more than he'd dared hope. The next lots went for less, but still far above what he'd fetched in Lisbon.
Rubber rolls drew the artisans, who prodded and poked, whispering of boots and waterproof tents. Shoes and soles went in bulk to a ship's chandler, who grinned at the thought of dry feet for his sailors. Pouches and balls, novelties for the wealthy, vanished into the hands of Goan elites and foreign agents alike.
The sun was setting behind the tiled roofs of Old Goa as the last lots were tallied. The Governor's courtyard, once crowded with merchants and curiosity-seekers, was now scattered with empty crates and the lingering scent of fresh rubber.
João de Carrasca leaned against a pillar, his ledger heavy with promises and coin. The day's results had surpassed even his cautious hopes:
Rain capes—the first to be auctioned—had sparked a frenzy among the city's elite. The opening lots sold for as much as 175 cruzados each, with later bulk sales settling around 120 cruzados. Rubber rolls and blocks were snapped up by Armenian and Banian traders, some destined for Gujarat, others for the workshops of Goa's own artisans. The best rolls fetched over 1,300 cruzados apiece, while blocks went for nearly the same. Shoes and soles—a novelty for sailors and dockworkers—sold briskly in bulk, averaging 40 cruzados per pair. Pouches and balls found their way into the hands of wealthy families and foreign agents, with balls fetching up to 20 cruzados each, pouches a little less. Sample kits disappeared early, snapped up by cautious guilds and curious shopkeepers.
By nightfall, more than 90,000 kilograms of rubber had been sold or reserved, the warehouse nearly empty. The rest—just a few crates—was set aside for future barter in Ceylon or for the next voyage east.
João's purse was filled with a jumble of silver rupees, gold fanams, and a handful of Indo-Portuguese coins—the day's take measured not just in coin, but in barter agreements for bales of cotton, indigo, and rare spices. The Governor's steward, satisfied, offered quiet congratulations and a hint of future business.
The city buzzed with talk of the auction for weeks: capes became a symbol of status, artisans experimented with the new material, and foreign letters sped to Surat and Muscat, seeking more of the Brazilian marvel.
As João watched the last buyers depart, he allowed himself a rare smile. The risks of the long voyage, the months of preparation, the gamble of bringing a new wonder to Asia—all had paid off. For now, at least, he was the man who had filled Goa's coffers with rubber and left the city wanting more.
The loot was evaluated at 9 millions of cruzados only for that auction of less than one tenth of the rubber cargo....