China Jewel

by Thomas Hollyday

Hall, dressed in a blue officer’s jacket and cap, thanked the assembled officials and gave praise for his crew. He hoisted the cup above him and said, “This is for all the windjammers. Let them always sail.”

  Hall held the gold cup for photographers. It was a heavily sculptured three-foot-high piece with images of ships and Chinese temples. On the face of the cup was inscribed the following:

  Clipper Brig Peregrine, winner of the Great China Sail Race,

  Sponsor: Johnson Company, New York, New York, United States

  “Peregrine will come back. She’s not finished yet.” Challenged by Captain Richard Tolchester, June 14, 1835, Canton (Guangzhou) China.

  Jolly’s face came on the River Sunday screen. It was evening there. Jolly said, “Old Reedy claims he’ll never be ashamed of the Peregrine again. He’s giving his ancestor’s old carvings to the River Sunday Historical Society.”

  “No,” said Cutter, to the River Sunday voice recorder and camera. “Give them to the courthouse. That’s where the real history of a southern town should go. The pride of the people stands there with the other statues in that courtyard.” He heard applause sent back by the River Sunday counterpart recorder camera.

  Jolly said, “You understand. I think you got a soft spot for us River Sunday people, Cutter.”

  Cutter didn’t say anything. Jolly went on. “Some Chinese came in here to talk to me. That emerald came from South America and was brought to China from a voyage two thousand years ago. They want my shipyard to build a replica of the explorer’s Chinese junk which crossed the Pacific.”

  “You going to build her?”

  “Why not? This voyage apparently happened back long before Christ. They’ll have to do some research on the type of ships that could have made the voyage. We have the wooden boat knowhow and it would put a lot of people to work. They want Big Smithy to do the crafting of the masts. Then the ship will sail that exploration route again on television and the internet. Should be a fantastic story.”

  “Thanks for telling us about the letter,” said Cutter holding up the fax he had received earlier from Jolly. In the car that belonged to the assassin was an old letter. It was a record of the research done by the killer’s father, the former owner of Williams Company before his death. The police had verified that Katy’s attacker, the Williams son, had not been as successful as he was rumored to be in the electronics business. He was bankrupt and needed money.

  He read it again as he stood at the booth. Bill looked over his shoulder. The letter began:

  I had long been interested in the purchase of the Peregrine. Unfortunately it showed up in the company’s records in 1832 with no information about the years since it had been built. From what I already knew in her registration, she was built in 1830 in River Sunday, Maryland, the same port where the letter of marque privateers were built during the War of 1812.

  I determined to find out about her purchase and what had happened to her in the two years since she was built and before Williams owned her.

  There were several supplier ledgers from that period. I began by going through the entries looking for any mention of China as destination and of course of the Peregrine as carrier. I was lucky. In the second journal there were several later entries for the Peregrine all concerning her taking on cargo from a Maryland firm engaged in the manufacture of cotton goods. This firm later became the very successful Maryland Garment Company, which is still in business today.

  When I was in Baltimore several weeks later after finding the ledger, I made an appointment with the president of the Maryland Garment Company, a Mr. Hodgkins. He was very gracious and agreed to meet me on short notice late in the afternoon. I went by the firm, a rather dismal brick factory, which had obviously been there for many years. It appeared from the condition of its building and offices to be fairly close to bankruptcy. At any rate the president welcomed me in and we commiserated on the sad state of business in our specific markets as businessmen often do when they meet.

  Finally he leaned forward from his mahogany desk, adjusted his glasses and said, “I guess you’ve come to look over the place, a large firm like yours.”

  I said, “No you have me wrong, Mr. Hodgins. I wanted to know about the old company, the history.”

  He sat back, his face showing disappointment that I had not come to perhaps save him from ruin. He immediately wanted to know what history I was speaking of, as if there was something perhaps in the accounts that he did not want to share.

  “Back in the early days of the Maryland Garment company my firm purchased cotton cloth for export to China. I wanted to look over those old records for some research I’m doing on my own company.”

  “If that doesn’t beat all,” Hodgin said, standing up and walking around his desk. He practically gave me a hug as he shook my hand again and again. “I have been so wrapped up in the affairs of the company here the last year or so I forgot that we even had a history before all the current downturn.”

  Then he went to the door and called out to his secretary, “Mary, come in here when you can. We’ve got a guest to assist.”

  When Mary, a fairly stout lady with a look in her eyes that showed she was used to catastrophe, entered a few minutes later, he introduced me and asked her to help them find the old records.

  “Pre Civil War, I guess?” he looked at me with a question, and I nodded.

  “Yes, well before, say in the Eighteen Thirties.”

  “There’s old letters too,” she said. “No one’s been in there, I hope. There’s only been mice and insects too, it being so wet in this climate.”

  “I’ll look at whatever you can find for me.”

  We walked through the factory, past rows of dark grease-covered machines, now silent, their electric motors patched with tape, showing repairs for decades of hard work.

  “Chinese imports put us out of business,” Hodgins said. “I didn’t know whether you were the bank looking for money or a buyer with money in his pockets.”

  We reached a small room at the end of the assembly floor. I saw a white painted door cut into the plaster wall. Beside the door a calendar from twenty years ago was still on the month of July. It pictured a man fishing with his boy and hung slightly crooked from a nail in the wall. The secretary reached down and with a ring of keys, found one that fit and opened the door. Inside she switched on a light and in front of us were dozens of cardboard storage boxes.

  “They go back a long time, these old files. I don’t have any idea where to look first, do you, Mary?” asked Hodgkins.

  “I was in here a few months ago,” she said, kneeling to look at labels on the boxes. “I know I found some World War Two records. We made a lot of uniforms then, for the Chinese army.” She smiled with pride.

  She stood up and pointed to a stack of four boxes in the corner. “Lift them out for me and I’ll take a look.”

  We pulled them out. There were older than the others, with wood sides and with brown paper and writing on the end. The label was neat, written in faded ink and in longhand. I noted one date as 1873 as I lifted the last one out to the small amount of open floor. She was kneeling beside the others now, reaching in and pulling out files.

  “The first file we have is dated 1873. I’m afraid that’s too late for you, isn’t it?”

  I said, “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s the best we can do. So much of this old stuff was thrown out.”

  “May I look at the file for 1873?” I asked.

  “Sure, it’s all letters as I remember. No records of company shipments.”

  “Bring it down to the office. It’s too dusty up here,” said the president, holding the door. I followed him, Mary closing the door behind me.

  In the office, Mary went to get us coffee and the president proceeded with his own work. They had me sit to the side of the room and read.

  As I leafed through the letters I found that these were the correspondence of one of the officers of Maryland Garment, his final retirement letters so to s
peak. They concerned many events much earlier than the date of the file.

  Finally, the fourth letter was what I was looking for.

  It was addressed to the officer and it was from the president of Williams Company, my great-grandfather. Apparently the addressee was also his brother living in Baltimore. Here is the letter.

  Stapled to the back of the notes was the letter on old stained paper in an early typewriter format.

  “Dear brother, you had written me about a very fast clipper ship that used to take your textile goods to China. You mentioned being part of a syndicate to build a Baltimore racing yacht to challenge the Brits and wanted some design secrets.

  “We indeed have the portrait of its captain, a Tolchester, and a model of the brig in our hallway. The clipper ship was rigged as a brig. It was also built in a shipyard near your factory in Maryland as you suggested.

  “I reviewed our company documentation on her purchase. From what I could determine, she was originally laid down at River Sunday on the Eastern Shore of Maryland as a speculation for the Cuban trade. The ship, originally named the Osprey, was sailed and delivered to a firm in Cuba for their inspection. As the story goes, that brig proved so fast that the buyers thought they could sell it in New York for the Pacific tea trade. I guess they had heard that fast ships were in great demand in China waters. So the Cubans loaded it with fruit and sailed up to New York harbor.

  “This brig astounded our company managers when she sailed in with such a short run from Cuba. I believe it did several days faster than the normal run time. She was purchased, renamed Peregrine, and sent to your company for a cargo of your new cottons for Canton, which in those days were in great demand.

  “You ask if she was ever in the opium or slave trade. You say the British race promoters are alert of this in terms of the recent Civil War here in America and will disqualify her design. I do not know. She would have been a fast enough ship for such work. I believe however from what I have known of our management that they were far too religious to have been after those profits. Many of their efforts are documented in the anti-slavery movement in New York. I can’t see how they could have countenanced slave trading or opium smuggling in any of their ships. I suspect her freight was of the regular kinds. She made her profits in fast trips to South America from Canton carrying back the best early teas of the Chinese harvests.

  “The only other story about this brig that has come down in the company and I do not know of its authenticity is that it may have had something to do with a robbery. It concerned a fantastic emerald and the burning of our agent's home in Canton. I don’t know any more about that except to say that the old painting we received of the Captain of the brig does seem to have some fire damage. I’ll let you wonder about that legend which no one can prove as the ship and the man are long lost.

  “I hope this answers your questions. If you have other questions about the old Baltimore clipper designs let me know. I’ll be delighted to be a part of your race committee if you’ll have me. I always thought these boats were a pretty thing to see and now with the steamships coming on, I feel they will not be with us much longer. My regards to your family.”

  Bill whispered in Cutter’s ear, interrupting his thoughts. “Note the part about the jewelry is underlined. The kid must have done that. Anyway, I’ve had Jolly make sure the media knows all the background of the Peregrine. That will put to bed all those malicious rumors about her origins.”

  “I’m glad for the people in River Sunday to have that history cleared up,” said Cutter. “It was just another stain on that town’s history that could be removed.”

  Bill went on, “Professor Tung advised me that Dela is in prison in China. A middle manager who worked for the manufacturer of the electronic communications systems for the brigs squealed on the whole setup.”

  Cutter asked, “What could they have gotten out of it? Were they working with Strand?”

  Bill smiled, “For once he didn’t have his hands dirty, Jimmy. Angel Slidell did all this himself.”

  “He didn’t have the smarts.”

  “That’s where your Dela helped him out. What they intended to do was buy up short sale contracts on my company stock, then mess up the company so the stock would go down and they could cash in.”

  “You had told me before that someone was trying for your stock.”

  “Yes, that was it. They could have gotten away with it too. The consumers are so easy to switch away from our products if they see that we are weak in the marketplace. This whole race had to be a win or we had to lose.”

  “Well, now you got it all. You going to like making cars?”

  “I’m following your lead, Jimmy. I’m getting out too.”

  He smiled as Professor Tung approached.

  She said, “I received word that the emerald has been placed in the hands of the Chinese consulate in New York City.”

  Cutter said, “I’m sure that is where it belongs. Are any of the Fusang family still alive?”

  She shook her head. “We think the stone should go to the national museum.”

  Cutter nodded.

  “Meanwhile,” she said, “I wanted to show you something.” She reached into her pocket and produced a small box which she opened.

  Cutter and Bill looked. The aviation emblem was unmistakable. It was from the uniform of one of the early American flying groups that had protected China during the Second World War.

  Bill said, “Flying Tigers. Where did you get that?”

  “It descended in my family from the war days. This was given to my grandmother for harboring a flier in her house while the Japanese patrols searched her village. As a matter of fact I am on the board of a new museum our country has built to honor those men. I wanted to show you this so that you would know that we have similar feelings about the future.”

  “We’re in this together you mean.”

  “Yes. I want you to give this to that local Flying Tiger military association in your town of River Sunday.”

  “They will be honored,” said Cutter.

  Jamie and Madeline had been standing with the rest of the Peregrine crew as the gold cup was awarded. Captain Hall still held the cup and showed it to the others as he stood with them.

  “You do a better job than me,” Cutter said to his son.

  “No, I want to do as good a job,” Jamie said. “Not better. No competition, especially with my old man. You and me, we had too much of that in the past.”

  Cutter said, “I get it too. I’m not risking any more lives to make money.”

  Madeline spoke in her French-accented English, “Jim, you are still a gambler. You’re going to be my father-in-law. I got a right to know what you are going to gamble on next.”

  He took her hands in his and looked at her, “Like your father, who was my friend, I’m gambling on you and Jamie.”

  She smiled, “Jamie told me you only took on the big gambles, kept your luck for what really counted. We’re pretty safe. Not a major risk.”

  “Well, I guess you could say the rest of my life is the real next gamble and you guys are part of it.”

  Jamie asked, “Will you come to our wedding at Mother’s house in Buenos Aires? We’re stopping there on the cruise home with the Peregrine.”

  “So there’s going to be a wedding in Buenos Aires after all?” Katy asked.

  “You wanted to see Jamie get married.”

  “Yes. I did. Madeline will be a beautiful bride,” she said, holding Madeline’s arm.

  Cutter said, “I saw a flower shop and nursery for sale in River Sunday.”

  “Yes I did too. Maybe you should buy it.” She looked into his eyes. “Jamie told me a long time ago about your nickname.”

  “Flower?”

  “Yes, and your mother.”

  “What would you think of being with a man who grows flowers for a living? Not a very good match for a famous historian.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. Is that a proposal?”

&nb
sp; He nodded. “I’d like to settle in River Sunday with you. That town has been good to me.”

  “You’ve been good to it. Jamie and Madeline would like it too.”

  “You think he’ll visit?”

  “He wants to spend time with you. He’s always talking to me about his childhood and your friend, the old African chief, who taught him to sail. He wants to relive those good memories with you.”

  Cutter looked at her with questions in his eyes, “I’d plant crocus bulbs and grow a lot of peony bushes.” He grinned, “So will you do it?”

  “Yes,” she said. “One condition. I want to see the Temple of the Six Banyan Trees.”

  “That’s the Chinese temple drawn on the old caddie box in New York.”

  “Yes.”

  Cutter looked at his son. “We’ll all go.”

  “Funny,” she said. “I was just thinking about an old legend.”

  “What?” he asked. They began walking and he held her close.

  “In the old days it was considered unlucky by the crew if they sailed on a ship which had it name changed.”

  “So Captain Tolchester was unlucky?”

  “I’m just not sure,” she said, as she moved against him.

  They walked out of the exhibit, passing by the throngs of Chinese business men and women. Cutter smiled about their new life to come in River Sunday. His mind pictured the square sails of the Peregrine coming over the Chesapeake pine trees as the clipper brig returned home. He could hear the crew singing.

  My Tommy’s gone on the Eastern Shore,

  My Tommy’s gone and I’ll go too;

  Hurrah, you high low,

  For without Tommy I can’t do.

  My Tommy’s gone a high low.

  My Tommy’s gone to Baltimore,

  My Tommy’s gone and I’ll go too;

  Hurrah, you high low,

  For without Tommy I can’t do.

  My Tommy’s gone a high low.

  Acknowledgements

  The book, China Jewel, as books do, began many years ago in Maryland with my learning of the old clipper ship races of the Nineteenth Century. I read from A.B.C. Whipple, The Clipper Ships: “Every clipper carried with her on every voyage the hopes and often the wagers of builder and merchant, captain and crew, and countless fans among the public that she would outpace all her rivals.” Then, I enjoyed the description in Dana, Chapter 25 of Two Years Before the Mast: “This affair led a dispute as the sailing of our ship and the Ayacucho. Bets were made between the captains, and the crews took it up in their own way; but as she was bound to leeward and we to windward, and merchant captains cannot deviate, a trial never took place; and perhaps it was well for us that it did not, for the Ayacucho had been eight years in the Pacific, in every part of it-Valparaiso, Sandwich Islands, Canton, California, and all-and was called the fastest merchantman that traded in the Pacific, unless it was the brig John Gilpin, and perhaps the ship Ann McKim of Baltimore.” I found in Wikipedia 2010 that a formal race was held in 1866 called the Great Tea Race. The following account was in the London Daily Telegraph of 12 September: “…leaving China at the same time, (the two clipper ships) sailed almost neck and neck the whole way and finally arrived in the London docks within two minutes of each other.”