by Robert Wang
Lord Palmerston weighed his options after discussing Jardine’s plan with various military and political leaders and decided that an expedition of such magnitude might be more than what Parliament had in mind, considering the narrow margin by which the act had passed. He preferred to force the Chinese into a diplomatic solution using the threat of invasion as leverage and, if necessary, engage the Chinese with military skirmishes instead of an all-out war.
Higgins, unable to sleep, paced back and forth on the decks of the Wellesley. His thoughts were jumbled: excitement about seeing Su-Mei soon, dread at the thought of carrying out orders that would take Chinese lives, shame over his involvement in the opium trade that had led to this war, and fear that once he arrived in Chinese waters, it would not be easy to slip away to find Su-Mei and whisk her home now that he was an officer in Her Majesty’s navy and she was an enemy civilian.
Chapter Twenty-One
Chusan, 1840
Rear Admiral Elliot, having read the dispatches from Lord Palmerston and consulted with his senior officers, decided the best plan was to attack a small island near the northern part of the mainland so that word would quickly reach Peking and get the emperor’s attention without causing heavy casualties. Jardine had suggested Chusan, six miles off the coast just south of Shanghai, and Elliot agreed with this choice. The island was sparsely populated and not well defended. The attacking force would have no problem navigating the area—many opium ships, including the Scaleby Castle, regularly anchored off Chusan to sell opium to the northern provinces. Higgins was the natural choice to navigate. The Wellesley led a small group of battleships with a group of longboats in tow carrying the elite grenadiers of the Royal Irish and the Royal Marines, who would lead the ground attack once the sea defenses were broken. The rest of the battle group would stay in the south.
On the morning of July 5, 1840, the Wellesley opened fire on Chusan, signaling the beginning of hostilities between England and China over the opium trade. The Chinese war junks were quickly destroyed. The land invasion force followed, and by midafternoon of the same day, the Union Jack was hoisted on Chusan’s highest peak for all to see, marking Britain’s first possession of Chinese territory. Higgins watched in horror as the junks broke apart under the barrage from his ship’s seventy-four cannons. He had never seen military action, and the reality of the moment made him sick to his stomach. I must get to Su-Mei, he thought desperately, before all hell breaks loose.
Chief Superintendent Charles Elliot was on board the Wellesley at the invitation of his elder cousin, Sir George. The supreme commander-in-chief had asked him to act in an advisory capacity, so he accompanied the battle group north to Chusan. When Higgins learned he was aboard, he got an idea. He approached Captain Elliot while he was on deck surveying the island with his telescope before boarding the landing boat to Chusan to officially declare it British territory.
“Captain Elliot, sir, may I have a word?”
“Ah, Lieutenant Higgins! Good to see you again, lad!” said Elliot. “Happy to see you’ve thrown in with the Royal Navy—that was a fine bit of navigating you did getting us here.”
“Thank you, sir.” Higgins paused for a moment. “Sir, do you remember Miss Lee, who witnessed the execution of her parents and family at the factories?”
“Of course I do. Terrible business.”
“And do you recall that you permitted us to travel to Fu-Moon to look for her brother and possibly bring back some reconnaissance? Which I sent back to your offices on my way home on the Scaleby Castle?”
Elliot’s aide was looking over to signal that the landing boat was ready. “I do, Lieutenant. Your intelligence was helpful and confirmed what we already suspected about the Chinese defenses. Is that all?”
“Well, no, sir. Miss Lee and her brother are still at Fu-Moon. They are still fugitives and will be executed if they’re discovered—”
“Lieutenant Higgins,” Elliot interrupted, “you are now an officer of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. I know your feelings regarding the young lady, and I sympathize with her current predicament, but we are at war. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am wanted on shore.”
“Sir, with respect, I mention Miss Lee because we are at war.”
Elliot gazed at him curiously. “I don’t take your meaning, Lieutenant.”
“Sir, Miss Lee may be a Chinese civilian, but her own people killed her family and want her dead. She is at Fu-Moon, where the main Chinese defensive forces are gathered, and her brother is currently serving under General Kwan at the fort.” Elliot said nothing, so Higgins continued bravely on. “Sir, Miss Lee can continue to be a valuable source of intelligence.”
“Indeed, Lieutenant Higgins. You want permission to go ashore when we return to the south to bring Miss Lee and her brother here so we can collect any information they might have that would affect our future activities in the south. Do I understand you correctly?”
“Yes, sir, you do, sir.” Higgins felt a glimmer of hope.
“There’s some merit to your plan, but also a fair amount of risk. I shall discuss it with the rear admiral at our briefing.”
“Yes, sir, Captain Elliot, thank you!”
“Do you know, Lieutenant, another young lady came to the factory looking for you and Miss Lee after you left for Fu-Moon. A nun, I dare say, a woman of mixed race.”
“Yes, sir, Sister Maria from the church in Macau. She is Miss Lee’s dear friend and companion.”
“I sent her on to Fu-Moon to look for Miss Lee. I’m pleased to hear you confirm her story, not that one would expect a woman of the cloth to lie.” He chuckled. “Dismissed, Lieutenant.”
Deng Zhi was out of breath. He had run six miles from the last foot station at the outskirts of Peking with the latest report from scouts along the coast. He was a sixteen-year-old farm laborer who was now earning twice what his father made in a month to run messages in and out of the capital, and he did his part faithfully to help keep the foreign devils out of the Celestial Kingdom. The scroll he held had been handed off by another messenger who, in turn, had taken it from someone else and run from the previous foot station. Emperor Dao Kwong had set up these stations for messengers on foot, and some with fresh horses for messengers coming in from farther provinces, to keep him apprised of the movements of the foreign devils and their big ships of war. Deng imagined the entire Celestial Empire like a web with drops of dew strung along the strands and the emperor sitting like a fat spider in the center, hungry for news. That is disrespectful, he chastised himself, although he rather admired spiders. They possessed the virtues of patience and diligence.
He halted, panting, at the first guardhouse outside the imperial residence. “Messenger!” he called. A guard stepped out of his hut and examined the red-faced boy. “I must give this to Lord Tian only,” he said, holding up his scroll. The guard grunted and thumped the butt of his spear on the ground to indicate that he might pass.
He walked as fast as he could along the path to the residence, which became straighter and softer the closer he came, its borders lined with flowering shrubs, bamboo, and stone benches. When he neared the servants’ entrance, a thin man in palace dress met him on the path. He thrust out a hand from his long sleeve without a word. Deng bowed and gave him the scroll.
Lord Tian unrolled it and pursed his lips as he read. Deng would have liked to find the kitchen and ask for a cup of water and maybe a bun or two, but he stayed rooted to the ground until the guan gave him leave to go.
“Unacceptable,” announced Lord Tian, glaring at the boy as if he were personally responsible for the message.
“My lord?” said Deng.
“This says the foreign devils have nearly thirty ships and have just destroyed the fleet at Chusan. Chusan is a useless rock, but this force is greater than what we anticipated. The emperor cannot know—it will disrupt his serenity.” Lord Tian also feared that the news might disrupt his own plans for a long and wealthy life, but he kept that to himself.
He tu
cked the scroll into his sleeve and began to fabricate a report that would be more palatable for His Celestial Majesty. He would have to rewrite the message, even though the emperor never asked to actually see them, and present a report that aligned more precisely with the picture the other advisors were painting of a bumbling lot of greedy barbarians who could scarcely pilot their own giant warships, let alone triumph over the elite warriors of the Celestial Empire’s navy.
He had already forgotten about the messenger when the boy spoke.
“My lord?”
“What are you still doing here, befouling the Celestial Emperor’s grounds with your dirty feet? Get out!”
Happy to oblige, Deng gave a hasty bow and turned down the path to the imperial kitchen.
The supply ships were far behind schedule. The summer heat on Chusan brought mosquitoes, and the soldiers were forced to drink the local water, which made them sick. Many of the troops contracted dysentery, and the rest were hungry. Soldiers resorted to looting and brutality, which only made the residents hate them more. Violence erupted on both sides. Communications between the rear admiral in the north and the rest of the battle group in the south were slow, and as more personnel became unable to perform their duties, questions arose regarding military leadership.
The rear admiral himself was unwell, and he looked to his cousin Charles to plan their next moves. Charles Elliot had more experience in China than any other officer, and he was familiar with Lord Palmerston’s vision of how to deal with the situation. Almost immediately after Chusan fell, the admiral requested a Chinese courier to deliver a letter from Lord Palmerston to the emperor. The letter suggested that the emperor dispatch a representative to negotiate in neutral territory, somewhere near the Peiho River where it connected Peking to Tianjin. The emperor would be eager to avoid further hostilities after he saw a sample of British military power, Lord Palmerston believed, and he would agree to opening new ports and resuming shipments of opium.
The letter was not delivered to the emperor but to the governor-general of nearby Chihli Province, Magistrate Chi San, who replied that he would refer the matter to Peking himself. As a gesture of good faith, Magistrate Chi San sent meat, poultry, and fresh vegetables to the troops at Chusan. We could strike the foreign devils now, while they’re weak and sick, he thought, but that would bring the southern force inland, too close to Peking, and the emperor can’t know that our troops won’t be able to stop them. A strategy of appeasement, he decided, was best.
Magistrate Chi San invited ranking officers of the admiral’s team to a parley near Peking, an unexpected move. He ordered a sumptuous banquet for the British officers, with the finest foods and spirits available. Rear Admiral Elliot was too ill to attend and sent Charles Elliot in his place.
“Your Excellency,” said Elliot after the last course was taken away, “we sincerely regret the loss of life and damage to Chinese property, but you must recognize that you left Her Majesty no choice but to protect our honor after you destroyed our merchandise and threatened to harm our subjects.”
“Dear Lord Elliot,” Chi San responded through his interpreter, “Special Emissary Lin believed he was acting on direct orders from the emperor when he took those actions. I apologize on his behalf, and I assure you that our emperor’s intent was never to harm any of your subjects or declare war on your noble kingdom, so let us discuss how we can settle our dispute.” He paused for a moment so the translator could catch up. “Our emperor commands that we stop the import of opium, as so many of our subjects are addicted to the drug. Opium is not legal in our kingdom, but your merchants continue to smuggle large quantities of it into our ports. Please be reminded that your merchants signed an agreement with our special emissary that they would not sell opium to our country again.”
“Sir, our merchants signed that pledge under duress, fearful for their lives,” replied Elliot. “Furthermore, it was an agreement between private citizens and your special emissary and thus is not a matter of state. You claim that opium imports are illegal, and yet your customs officers have allowed thousands of tons of it into your country. We will remind our merchants to obey the laws of every nation with which they trade, but it is up to your country to enforce your own laws.” Elliot was feeling a deep personal satisfaction that had nothing to do with the rich meal he’d just consumed. The British had the upper hand, and both parties knew it.
“Lord Elliot, we will endeavor to do better in our law enforcement. However, our Celestial Emperor requests that your noble queen command your merchants to stop shipping opium to our shores.” Chi San looked down at the table while he spoke to hide his shame. The British knew as well as he did that the opium trade had only been able to flourish because of Chinese corruption. “Now that we have reached an understanding, let us declare a truce and cease hostilities. Our Celestial Kingdom has enjoyed trade with your noble kingdom for many years now, and there is no reason to resort to military conflict now.” He offered a polite smile. “When can we expect your ships and troops to withdraw from our kingdom?”
“Sir,” Charles Elliot’s tone was arch, “we do not intend to withdraw until our terms are met. To wit, that you reimburse us for the cost of the merchandise you destroyed and our expedition and open four new ports to trade with England without impediments. We are prepared to enter into negotiations that will conclude with a trade treaty sanctioned by your emperor. When that is signed, you may expect our withdrawal.”
Chi San was not authorized to agree to terms that involved payments and new trade arrangements. He needed to buy some time. “Lord Elliot, the Celestial Emperor will consider your terms and our counsel on this matter. In the meantime, may I humbly suggest that you move your ships and troops back to Canton while we resolve our differences? Your soldiers face harsh conditions on Chusan; you could give them a chance to recover while we continue our negotiations in a more pleasant environment.” Now I can tell His Celestial Majesty that I have diverted the foreign devils from the capital, he thought, relieved.
Charles Elliot had no intention of withdrawing from Chusan, although he saw it as merely a bargaining chip that he could trade for a better territory, namely Hong Kong, which had much more favorable conditions. Best of all, it had a natural deep-water harbor in which British ships could drop anchor. The Wellesley and her retinue would return to Canton, leaving just enough ground troops on Chusan to maintain its occupation.
The emperor’s Special Emissary Lin Tse-Hsu was hailed in Canton as a strong, resolute, and fearless fighter for justice. He firmly believed that his actions would finally rid his beloved country of the drug that had been killing so many and causing incalculable damage to families. He also believed that his beloved emperor would support him and listen to his advice, even if it meant a military confrontation with the British.
The Celestial Empire may not have the modern weaponry the foreign devils bring, but it will be almost impossible for them to fight a sustained war effort if their provisions and men must travel thousands of miles by sea, he thought. He was confident that men fighting on and for their homeland would have the advantage over soldiers fighting for abstract principles and other men’s profits in a strange and distant kingdom, even with outdated armaments and ships. But the most obvious reason that the Celestial Empire would win, Special Emissary Lin concluded, was the amount of Chinese merchandise the British bought every year and would continue to demand. The British economy would be crippled by war, which meant China was in a strong position to negotiate a trade treaty that did not include opium if Magistrate Chi San and the emperor could only hold their ground.
Meanwhile, opium ships sailed out of Bombay by the dozens while the winds were favorable. Now that the Royal Navy had shown its teeth, everyone assumed the trade was back on. The drug flowed into Canton and the remote provinces as though nothing had happened. Traders felt secure in the presence of the Royal Navy in Canton, and many smugglers bypassed the Customs Office entirely, paying whatever it took for a local junk to bring t
he drug ashore.
Chi San considered himself a patriot, but he feared a war with England and truly believed he could negotiate a peaceable resolution and still stop the opium trade. More than war, however, he feared his beloved emperor’s wrath, so he was careful to shield him from the truth. He made his report, taking full credit for luring the British fighting force away from Chusan and back to Canton. The report was critical of the special emissary’s siege tactics against the British and stopped just short of blaming him for the war. For the conflict to be resolved, Chi San knew, there had to be a scapegoat.
Chi San held Special Emissary Lin in the highest esteem, knowing that he was loyal and incorruptible. But to avoid war, he needed to discredit him. In his report Chi San stated that opium was already back in circulation and that the special emissary had failed in his efforts. The emperor believed the special emissary had accomplished his goal when he destroyed twenty thousand cases of opium and forced the British to sign a paper swearing that they would not bring opium into China again. Instead, all reports pointed to the contrary: opium flowing freely, with more on the way, and a powerful navy at anchor just off the coast.
China’s economy was declining, Emperor Dao Kwong knew, as a result of the opium and foreign influence with which he and his court were ill equipped to cope. Tax revenues for the Chinese empire flowed mainly from the southern provinces, which the British expeditionary force could easily cut off by controlling the waterways. The emperor was a fearful, sheltered man who couldn’t think on his feet and relied heavily on his advisors. At the time the British declared war, he didn’t even know where England was.
The emperor was an easy mark for Chi San’s game, and so he concluded that Lin Tse-Hsu had failed and dispatched an edict discharging his position as his special emissary and replacing him with Chi San. When news of Lin’s discharge became known, hundreds of Cantonese citizens came out to pay their respects, blocking his sedan chair and raining down praises for his courage and determination to stop the opium crisis. He was given a hero’s parade—unlike most guans, who slunk away in disgrace when they were discharged.