by Amitav Ghosh
In Commissioner Lin’s circle there is great alarm. That is why they have started to take extraordinary measures. They know that their war-junks will not be able to oppose the British on water so they are preparing to fight them on land. But this will be no easy matter; Compton says the forces at the Commissioner’s disposal are not large – only a few thousand.
I was astonished to hear this: I’d have thought that in a country as populous as China, every province would have a huge army at its disposal. But apparently this is not the case; most of the empire’s troops are spread out along the western frontiers which are very far from Guangdong.
I suspect, in any case, that the Commissioner does not repose great faith in his military commanders. That perhaps is why he has decided to arm ordinary people instead: apparently spears, swords and other weapons are being distributed across the province. In addition thousands of boatmen are being recruited to serve as ‘water-braves’; I’m told that a week or two ago they succeeded in setting fire to several British ships that were anchored below Humen.
The Commissioner has a great belief in ordinary folk. He is convinced that it is they who will rise up and repel the British.
It strikes me that great mandarin though he is, Commissioner Lin is also, in a way, a kind of Jacobin.
Compton says a proclamation has been drawn up, offering rewards for enemy ships, officers and soldiers. For a top British officer the reward will be five thousand silver dollars if taken alive; one-third if dead; five hundred dollars less for officers of every lower rank, on a declining scale – the full sum to be paid only if they are taken alive; a third if not. For English and Parsi merchants, one hundred dollars if taken alive; one-fifth if dead. For ‘black aliens’ – sepoys and lascars, in other words – the reward is half that of white soldiers and sailors.
I didn’t know whether to be sad or angry at that.
And what about me? I asked. Should I expect that people will come hunting for me in order to claim the bounty?
Compton said that I had no cause for worry, since I am neither a lascar nor a sepoy – and in any case I am generally thought to be from the Nanyang, not Yindu.
But what about Jodu and the other lascars on the Cambridge? I asked. Would they be safe?
Compton assured me that measures have been taken to ensure their safety. At Zhong Lou-si’s insistence the provincial authorities have provided a special guard to protect them.
The day after the storm, from sunrise onwards, Zachary worked with the Hind’s carpenters, helping to rig up a jury mast. The job took many hours, under a burning hot sun. At mid-day, when Zachary returned to the cubicle to change his dripping shirt, he found Raju waiting.
‘Sir, Havildar Kesri Singh told me to give you a message.’
Zachary raised an eyebrow: ‘You mean the Indian sarjeant?’
‘Yes, sir. He wants to meet with you, in private. He’ll come here tonight at eight thirty, when the bell for the first watch is rung. He asked me not to tell anyone but you, sir. He doesn’t want others to know.’
‘What’s he want with me?’
‘It’s something about the Ibis, sir.’
‘The Ibis?’ A puzzled frown appeared on Zachary’s forehead. ‘What’s the Ibis got to do with him?’
‘I don’t know, sir,’ said Raju. ‘Yesterday I was telling the banjee-boys about you and the Ibis; he must have overheard.’
This mystified Zachary all the more: he’d had no inkling that Raju was aware of his role in the Ibis incident; the subject had never come up between them and nor would he have thought that the boy would have any interest in it.
‘Where’d you hear about the Ibis, kid-mutt?’
‘From you, sir,’ Raju blurted out. ‘In court.’
As soon as the words were spoken Raju knew he had made a terrible mistake; quite possibly he had betrayed his own identity, and perhaps his father’s too. Stricken with guilt, he made a desperate attempt to retrieve the situation.
‘I mean, sir … I heard Baboo Nob Kissin talking about it.’
Zachary’s frown deepened. ‘Why would Baboo talk to you about the Ibis? What the hell’s the Ibis got to do with you?’
Raju was now too distraught to speak: he stared wordlessly at Zachary, lips quivering.
His response puzzled Zachary; he could not understand why the boy was so upset. ‘What’s the matter, kid-mutt?’ he said in a softer voice. ‘There’s no cause to be all cabobbled. I don’t mean you no harm. You understand that, don’t you?’
The kindness of his tone only deepened Raju’s confusion. In their short time together, Zachary had so completely won his trust that he would have been glad to tell him the truth – that his father had been on the Ibis too; that he was on his way to join him now, in Macau. But Baboo Nob Kissin had admonished him not to speak of these things, on any account: there was no telling what Zachary might do if he discovered who Raju was and that his father was still alive; quite possibly he would think it his duty to report the matter to the authorities.
Zachary had only to look at the boy’s red, choking face to know that he was harbouring some kind of secret. In a quiet undertone, he said: ‘What is it, kid-mutt? Is there something you want to tell me?’
Raju shook his head forcefully, pressing his lips together.
The ineptitude of his dissembling made Zachary smile. ‘You know, kid-mutt,’ he said quietly, ‘there’s a lot about you that don’t add up: the way you speak English, your dainty ways. You can say what you like but I just don’t believe you were always a servant.’
Raju made no answer but stared back at him, tongue-tied.
Seating himself on his sea-trunk, Zachary looked into Raju’s eyes. ‘Tell me, kid-mutt,’ he said, ‘did we ever meet before that day when Baboo Nob Kissin brought you to see me? Should I have recognized you when you came to the budgerow with him?’
Mutely shaking his head, Raju mouthed the words: ‘No, sir.’
Zachary knew he would get nothing more out of the boy. With a rueful smile he said: ‘Who are you, kid-mutt? I wish I knew.’
Now suddenly tears began to trickle out of the corners of Raju’s eyes; he swallowed as if to choke back a sob.
The sight jolted Zachary. ‘Hey there, kid-mutt! There’s no call to cry and such. I’m not hollerin at you or anything …’
A twinge of remorse prompted Zachary to place a hand on Raju’s shoulder. The weight of it made Raju stumble towards him, and without quite meaning to, Zachary caught him in his arms and hugged him to his chest.
The gesture demolished Raju’s defences and his tears began to flow as if a dam had collapsed.
Since the day of his father’s arrest, two and a half years before, Raju had not once given free rein to his emotions; not wanting to add to his mother’s burdens, he had held everything in. Now it was as though all the tumult of the last two years was rising to his eyes and pouring out, on to Zachary’s shoulder.
Zachary felt the warm wetness on his skin, and it brought on a moment of panic: never before had he hugged a child to his chest in this way; never had he had to comfort a small, helplessly sobbing creature like this one. It was instinct rather than reflection that told him what to do: a hand rose, as if of itself, and stroked the boy’s head, awkwardly at first and then with increasing assurance.
‘It’s all right, kid-mutt,’ Zachary mumbled. ‘Whatever it is that’s botherin you, you don’t have to worry about it. I’ll be around if you need me. I’ll take care of you.’
The words shocked him, even as he was saying them. Never before had he told anyone that he would take care of them; nor had anyone ever uttered those words to him, except his mother. It was as if he were hugging an old version of himself; someone who was irretrievably lost to him now; a child whose absence he could not help mourning.
*
The ship’s bell had no sooner tolled than Kesri stepped out of his cabin, dressed not in his uniform but in a plain white ungah and dhoti. He reached Zachary’s cubicle just as the ei
ghth peal was fading away. The door opened as soon as he knocked and Kesri found himself face to face with Zachary, who was in his breeches and a striped sailor’s banyan.
The cubicle was lit by a single lamp: in its light Kesri saw that a few chests had been arranged at one end, to make a seat. Facing it, at the other end of the narrow space, was a sea-trunk.
‘Come in, Sarjeant.’
Gesturing to Kesri to take the sea-trunk, Zachary seated himself on the chests.
For a minute or two they studied each other and then Kesri said: ‘Good evening, Reid-sah’b.’
‘Good evening.’
Kesri cleared his throat, trying to think of a suitable preamble; failing to find one, he came abruptly to the point: ‘Reid-sah’b, is it true you were on Ibis?’
‘Yes,’ said Zachary. ‘I was the second mate, on the voyage to Mauritius.’
‘There was one Subedar Bhyro Singh, with you, no?’
‘Yes, there was.’
‘What happened to Subedar Bhyro Singh?’
In a few words Zachary explained that Subedar Bhyro Singh had had a run-in with a coolie and had insisted that the man be flogged. The coolie was a big fellow, very powerfully built. After a dozen lashes he had broken free of his bindings and turned the whip upon his tormentor, breaking his neck with the lash. All of this had happened in a matter of seconds; later it had come to be learnt that the trouble between the two men had begun with an assault on the coolie’s wife, by the subedar.
‘The woman,’ said Kesri quickly, ‘the coolie’s wife – what was her name?’
Zachary had to scratch his head several times before the name came to him. ‘It was something like “Ditty” as I remember.’
Kesri had been holding his breath and it leaked out of him now, in a long, deep sigh. His chin sank into his chest as he absorbed what Zachary had said.
So it was all true then? Deeti had indeed run away with another man: his little sister, who had never travelled even so far as Patna had set off to escape to an island across the black water.
As all of this was sinking in, Kesri slowly raised his head. Zachary saw now that the pupils of the havildar’s eyes were grey and somehow familiar. A strange, uncanny charge shot through him and a moment later, when Kesri said, ‘That woman – she is my sister, Deeti,’ Zachary knew it to be the shock of recognition.
‘Yes of course,’ he said. ‘I see the resemblance.’
‘Where is Deeti now?’ said Kesri hoarsely. ‘Do you know?’
‘I’m sure she’s in Mauritius,’ said Zachary. ‘I heard she was allotted to a Frenchman – a farmer whose land is in the southwest of the country.’
A kind of incredulity took hold of Kesri now and he shook his head, in wonderment. Who would have imagined that this boyish-looking sahib would be able to give him news of Deeti? Who would have thought that they had been separated all this while by a few yards of timber?
‘Was Deeti all right?’ said Kesri gruffly. ‘Her health was good?’
‘Yes,’ said Zachary. ‘As far as I know, she was in good health.’
There was much more that Kesri would have liked to ask but he could hear someone calling for him, down the gangway.
‘I must go now.’
Rising from his seat, Kesri said: ‘Reid-sah’b, we will not speak of this to anyone else, no?’
‘Of course not.’
With his hand on the door Kesri stopped and turned to face Zachary again.
‘Reid-sah’b,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry how Captain Mee talks to you. He is a good man, good officer …’ Unable to find the words he wanted, Kesri began again. ‘Mee-sahib – I have known him twenty years. I was his orderly – he is a good man, but sad, in his heart …’
Zachary made no answer, so Kesri said, simply: ‘I am sorry.’
‘It’s all right, havildar,’ said Zachary. ‘It’s not your fault.’
Kesri raised his hand to his forehead. ‘My salaams, Reid-sah’b. If you ever need anything, please tell me.’
‘Thank you, havildar.’
Just as Kesri was stepping out, Zachary remembered something: ‘Oh wait, havildar. There’s one other thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Your sister. There’s something you should know.’
‘Yes?’
‘When we reached Mauritius she was pregnant. The child must be more than a year old now.’
*
The next day, a plume of smoke was spotted on the northward horizon: the Queen, a steamer, was out searching for distressed vessels. A Congreve rocket was fired from the maindeck of the Hind and soon afterwards the steamer pulled alongside, to the accompaniment of rousing cheers.
Before taking the Hind under tow, the steamer’s captain came over to freshen hawse with Mr Doughty. They spent a good while together, exchanging news over glasses of Bristol-milk and later, when the Hind was under tow, ploughing steady northwards, Mr Doughty gave Zachary an account of what he had learnt while he was coguing the nose with his fellow skipper.
The British fleet had arrived off the China coast five days earlier, and Captain Elliot had rendezvoused with Commodore Bremer near the Ladrone Islands. After extensive deliberations the Plenipotentiary and the commodore had agreed on a strategy that required the expeditionary force to be split into two wings. The first wing, consisting of a small squad of warships and transports, would remain in the south, to enforce a blockade on the Pearl River; in the meantime the other, much larger wing, would proceed northwards, with the objective of seizing a strategically placed island called Chusan, which sat astride the sea routes to some of the most important ports of the Chinese heartland – Hangchow, Ningbo and Shanghai. In order that the powers in Beijing should know exactly why these actions had been undertaken, the expedition’s leaders would attempt to hand over a letter from Lord Palmerston to the Emperor, listing Britain’s demands and grievances.
Once Chusan had been seized, the eastern seaboard of China would be at the mercy of the expeditionary force. With the island as its operating base, the British fleet would roam the length of the coast, threatening important ports, drawing up maps and charts, and making sure that the Manchu overlords of Peking were not left in any doubt of their vulnerability. Chusan was so close to the capital that the mandarins would not be able to conceal the news of its seizure from the Emperor: he would soon realize that he had no choice but to accede to Britain’s demands for the re-opening of trade and the restitution of past losses.
Since the resumption of the opium trade was one of the main objectives of the expedition, the fleet would be accompanied by a number of merchant vessels, many of them opium-carriers. The navy would ensure that British merchants were free to approach the major ports to dispose of their cargoes as they pleased.
For Free-Traders there was much to celebrate in this strategy which was closely modelled on the plans drawn up by William Jardine. They stood to make fortunes by selling opium to markets that had previously been beyond their reach. The accrual of demand in the Chinese heartland was thought to be like that of the Yellow River before a flood: prices were expected to shoot to unheard-of heights.
‘We’re arriving in the nick of time, Reid,’ said Mr Doughty. ‘The fleet will be sailing north in two days and I’m sure Mr Chillingworth will be keen to go along. Mr Burnham’s cargo of opium will have to be transferred from the Hind to the Ibis as soon as we drop anchor.’
*
The next day the Hind’s passengers woke to find themselves in a stretch of water that seemed not quite of this earth. The colour of the sea had turned from deep blue to iridiscent turquoise, and hundreds of craggy islets had appeared, rising out of the depths like dragon’s teeth. Many of these outcrops of rock were ashen in colour, with flinty ridges; most were edged by sheer cliffs to which clung stunted trees of fantastically gnarled shapes. Every now and then, from the lee of one of these islands, an improbable-looking vessel would appear – sometimes a high-sterned fishing boat, sometimes a junk with matted sails, or a galleo
n-like lorcha that seemed to belong to another age.
The strangeness of the surroundings created a kind of stupor on the storm-shocked Hind: only when a cry rang out to announce the sighting of the mainland – kinara agil hai! – was the spell broken. The lookout’s shout set off a race to the maindeck; even some of the wounded, barely able to stand on their own feet, went hobbling forward to catch their first glimpse of the land of Maha-chin.
At first the coast was only a distant smudge on the horizon, but when its contours began to take shape, maps and telescopes were fetched so that the salient features could be identified. Standing by the binnacle Mr Doughty raised a fingertip and turned it in a northeasterly direction. ‘That over there, is the island of Hong Kong!’
On the starboard side of the quarter-deck, Shireen’s knuckles whitened on the gunwale as she leant forward, straining to look ahead.
‘Here.’Jogging Shireen’s elbow, Freddie held out a spyglass: ‘Here, with this you will see better, lah. Hong Kong is that one – tallest and biggest of those islands, over there.’
The distant peaks were wreathed in cloud but the slopes below were treeless, strangely barren. The island seemed to be sparsely inhabited; the only dwellings to be seen were a few clusters of houses on the shore.
A lump rose to Shireen’s throat as she stared at the windswept massif: so this was where Bahram had found his resting-place? This was where his journey had ended – this forbidding eyrie of an island, so far from his native Gujarat? The weather-battered desolation of the place created an aching melancholy in her: she tried and failed to envision Bahram’s grave, lying amidst those slopes.
She turned to Zadig Bey, who was standing beside her. ‘Do you think we’ll be able to visit my husband’s grave today?’
Zadig scratched his chin. ‘I don’t know if it’ll be possible today, Bibiji,’ he said. ‘I must first find my friend Robin Chinnery, to make sure that arrangements have been made for your accommodation in Macau. But we will go to Hong Kong as soon as possible, I promise.’