Flood of Fire

by Amitav Ghosh

  ‘Bahram-bhai loved those windows,’ said Zadig. ‘I remember so well how he would lie in his bed, gazing into the distance.’

  These words, evocative as they were, conjured up for Shireen so vivid an image of her husband that it was as if he had himself appeared within the darkening shadows, to watch the sunset. At home in Bombay too she had often seen him in that attitude, gazing at the sea with a pensive, slightly melancholy air. She had sometimes wondered what was on his mind and it struck her now that he must have been thinking of Canton: of his mistress and his son, Freddie, who, at this very moment, was looking out of the window in a manner that was strangely reminiscent of his father.

  Or was it just that the cabin was so saturated with Bahram’s memory that it seemed to conjure up his very presence?

  A shiver went through Shireen. ‘Please, Cathy,’ she said. ‘I think I need some fresh air.’

  ‘Why yes, of course,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘It’s rather musty in here, isn’t it? Let’s go back on deck.’

  She slipped her arm through Shireen’s and they stepped back into the gangway. As they were heading towards the deck they were waylaid by Baboo Nob Kissin. Captain Mee and sepoys had arrived, he said. The Burra Sahib had asked Mrs Burnham to come to the maindeck, to receive them.

  ‘Thank you, Baboo.’

  Mrs Burnham’s voice sounded languid, almost indifferent – but Shireen, whose arm was still entwined in hers, felt a tremor passing through her body, followed by a distinct quickening in her breath.

  ‘Cathy? Is something the matter?’

  ‘Why no,’ said Mrs Burnham in a slightly breathless voice. ‘I’m perfectly theek.’

  But even as she said this, she was tightening her grip on Shireen’s arm, leaning on her, as if for support. ‘You know Captain Mee already, don’t you, Shireen? Won’t you come with me to receive him?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Shireen.

  They went out on deck to find a line of fifers and drummers filing up the side-ladder. After stepping on board, the boys crossed smartly over to the far end, where the sepoys had already assembled, between the bows.

  Captain Mee was the last of the officers to come up the ladder: he cut a splendid figure, in his full dress uniform, with a sword at his side and a scarlet cape slung over his shoulder. As he was stepping on deck Mrs Burnham again tightened her grip on Shireen’s arm, which she had been leaning on all this while. Her agitation seemed to mount as her husband welcomed the captain on board. They stood talking for a minute and then Mr Burnham was led away by another guest – so it fell to Shireen to introduce the captain to Mrs Burnham. And as she was doing it Shireen noticed that Mrs Burnham had turned pale; then her eyes went to Captain Mee and she saw that he too had changed colour, his face growing a bright red. When he took hold of Mrs Burnham’s hand the cockade of his shako, which he was holding under his arm, began to tremble like a leaf. For a minute they both stood tongue-tied, staring at each other; then Captain Mee began to tug at his collar as though he were about to choke.

  It was all very puzzling to Shireen and she looked away, wondering whether she was imagining things. But then she noticed that Havildar Kesri Singh was also observing the encounter between Captain Mee and Mrs Burnham with keen interest. When his gaze met Shireen’s he seemed to take it as a signal to intervene and came hurrying over to the captain’s side: ‘Sir – something has come up …’

  As Kesri was leading the captain away, Shireen said to Mrs Burnham: ‘Is something the matter, Cathy?’

  ‘No – not at all!’ said Mrs Burnham – but her eyes, Shireen noticed, were still following Captain Mee and Kesri Singh.

  ‘I saw you talking to the havildar that day,’ said Shireen, ‘at the Villa Nova. Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs Burnham faintly. ‘Kesri Singh was in my father’s regiment, I knew him many years ago.’

  ‘Really?’ Struck by a chance thought, Shireen said: ‘But surely then you must know Captain Mee too? He once mentioned that he and the havildar had been in the same regiment for close to twenty years.’

  Mrs Burnham’s response startled Shireen; her lips began to tremble and she shut her eyes for a moment. ‘Yes you are right, Shireen dear,’ she whispered. ‘As a matter of fact I do know Mr Mee. Some day I will tell you how we met …’

  And just then Baboo Nob Kissin appeared again to make another announcement: ‘Miss Paulette Lambert’s boat has arrived.’

  Shireen stood back to watch as Mrs Burnham went to greet the new arrival.

  Paulette was dressed in an old-fashioned black carriage dress, with a high collar, and her head was covered with something that looked like a widow’s bonnet. Her clothes sat awkwardly on her and her face too was not pretty in a conventional sense. Yet it struck Shireen that there was something about her that was arresting to the eye, a kind of luminosity.

  From the other side of the maindeck Zachary was watching electrified: when Mrs Burnham and Paulette threw their arms around each other a strange oscillating jealousy took hold of him, ricocheting from Paulette to Mrs Burnham and back again. It was as if the two women represented the poles of his desires, one of them forthright, spontaneous and simple in her tastes; the other engimatic, sophisticated, wedded to luxury. The image of them together sparked an epiphany: he realized that different though they were, he would always be in thrall to both – but it didn’t matter, for he knew also that they were both forever lost to him.

  *

  Paulette too had caught sight of Zachary, from the corner of her eye, and was instantly thrown into a ferment: the wounds inflicted by his letter were still so raw that she could not bear the thought of speaking to him. Had she known that he would be at the levée she would not have come – but now it was too late.

  Spinning around on her heel she headed almost blindly in the other direction, towards a companion-ladder. On reaching the top, she found herself on the quarter-deck where a sizeable company had already gathered: it consisted mainly of uniformed officers, most of them young. Stewards were circulating within the throng, bearing trays laden with beverages and refreshments. Although the sun had yet to sink below the horizon, brightly coloured Chinese lanterns were already alight, hanging in rows from the ship’s beams and rigging.

  Almost at once Mr Doughty appeared at her side. ‘Oh shahbash, Miss Lambert!’ he cried out. ‘I didn’t know you’d be here – I am ekdum khush to see you! I’d heard that you were in these parts and have been looking out for you!’

  Paulette too was glad to see a known face: ‘I am most content to re-encounter you here, Mr Doughty!’

  Mr Doughty, in the meantime, had begun to reminisce about Calcutta and the dinners that he and Paulette had attended at the Burnhams’. ‘Oh they were fine old tumashers, weren’t they, those Burnham burra-khanas? Do you remember the ortolans, Miss Lambert? And the chitchkies of pollock-saug? Just to think of the Burnham table is enough to bring on a shoke for more.’

  ‘You have reason, Mr Doughty …’

  At this point Paulette became aware that a figure had entered the edge of her field of vision: even without looking she knew it to be Zachary. A tremor went through her, as the shadow moved from the periphery of her vision towards its centre, yet somehow, by an effort of will, she succeeded in keeping her eyes focused on Mr Doughty’s face, grimly noting the details – the pores on his fleshy cheeks and the twitching hairs of his mutton-chop whiskers. Then, hearing an ominous clearing of the throat, she realized that Zachary was now attempting to enter the conversation. In an effort to pre-empt him, she began to talk at great speed, hoping to shake him off by prolonging her conversation with Mr Doughty: ‘And do you remember Mrs Burnham’s way of dressing a quail, all wrapped up in bacon? Like a cock in a capote, she liked to say.’

  ‘Oh yes, who could forget those? The very thought sets my jib a-twitch.’

  ‘And what of all the marvellous stews that were served at her table, Mr Doughty? I own that I have never had a better dumbpoke than in that house.’<
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  Mr Doughty, who was still unaware that Zachary was looming behind him, responded enthusiastically. ‘And what of the relishes and condiments, Miss Lambert? Do you remember those? Would you not agree that if ever there was a chutney to be chartered it is Mrs Burnham’s?’

  At this stage Paulette realized, with some relief, that her stratagem had met with unexpected success: Zachary had withdrawn a little and was hanging his head, as if in shame. His discomfiture, inexplicable though it was, heartened her and she would not have been averse to drawing it out still further – but this proved impossible for the talk of food had whetted Mr Doughty’s appetite. Spotting a steward with a laden tray, he sped away with an abrupt ‘Excuse me!’ leaving Paulette in exactly the situation that she had most wanted to avoid: alone with Zachary.

  As Zachary cleared his throat, Paulette cast a panic-stricken glance around her. But there was no rescue at hand: all she could do was to look away, hoping that it would dissuade him from addressing her.

  But the result was not as she had hoped: her averted face, far from discouraging Zachary, had the effect of transporting him back to the days when quarrels were his only means of coaxing her out of the shadows and into his arms. It was as though he had reverted to an earlier avatar of himself, when his ambitions had been simpler and Paulette had been the principal object of his desire. The carefully worded apology that he had composed, at Mrs Burnham’s behest, slipped his mind: all he could think of to say was: ‘Miss Lambert, there is something I need to tell you.’

  Zachary’s all too evident discomfort gave Paulette the courage to answer with a sharp retort: ‘Mr Reid, your needs are nothing to me. I do not wish to know about them.’

  Zachary ran a finger around his neck, to loosen his collar. ‘Please Miss Lambert—’

  And at this critical juncture, when she was all but cornered, Paulette’s rescue was sounded by a gong.

  ‘Ladies! Gentlemen!’

  The voice was Mr Burnham’s and it gave Paulette the perfect reason to turn her back on Zachary.

  *

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Mr Burnham began, ‘a few words before we say a prayer for the success of the mission for which this expeditionary force has been assembled.’

  Mr Burnham’s stance was like that of a preacher at a pulpit, with one hand on the binnacle, and the other on the lapel of his jacket.

  ‘As you may know,’ said Mr Burnham in his booming voice, ‘a fortnight ago Captain Elliot issued an ultimatum to Qishan, the new Governor-General of this province; he warned him that Canton would face an attack if our demands were not met. That ultimatum has long since expired and there is little likelihood that we will ever receive an answer. It is common knowledge now that the Emperor’s edict to his mandarins is to “annihilate the barbarians”.’

  Here Mr Burnham paused to survey his audience, which was listening in hushed silence. His voice swelled as he continued: ‘Well, the Manchu tyrant shall have his opportunity soon enough. I have it on good authority that hostilities will resume very soon, possibly within the week. The outcome – which is not in the slightest doubt – will be of truly historic importance.’

  Now Mr Burnham turned to Captain Mee, who was standing beside him. Raising a hand, he placed it on the captain’s epaulette.

  ‘On shoulders such as these will fall the task of freeing a quarter of mankind from tyranny; of bestowing on the people of China the gift of liberty that the British Empire has already conferred on all those parts of the globe that it has conquered and subjugated.’

  Mr Burnham paused to gesture at all the young officers who were assembled on the quarter-deck.

  ‘It is you, gentlemen, who will give to the Chinese the gifts that Britain has granted to the countless millions who glory in the rule of our gracious monarch, secure in the knowledge that there is no greater freedom, no greater cause for pride, than to be subjects of the British Empire. This is the divine mission that the Almighty Himself has entrusted to our race and our nation. I do not doubt for a moment, gentlemen, that you shall once again prove yourselves to be worthy of it.

  ‘Let no one say that our government has voluntarily sought this conflict. To the contrary we have been exemplars of patience; we have suffered insults, indignities and oppression with unmoving fortitude; we have sent mission after mission to parlay with the godless tyrant who calls himself the Son of Heaven – but all our efforts at diplomacy have come to nothing. Our ambassadors – representatives of the most powerful nation on earth – have been insulted or turned away; epithets like “barbarian eye” have been hurled at them; they have been told that they must prostrate themselves before the despot who claims to enjoy a divine mandate. All our efforts at conciliation and compromise have been unavailing; the Manchu oppressor has rebuffed them all. It is he, who, through his vainglorious ignorance, has brought upon himself the dreadful reckoning that shortly awaits him and his cohorts. It is he who bears the ultimate responsibility for the intolerable affronts that Commissioner Lin has inflicted on us, culminating as they did in an act of the grossest thievery – the seizure of our cargoes. But let it not be said for a moment that our present crusade is motivated by a desire for monetary restitution. This was a predestined conflict, as inevitable as the struggle between Cain and Abel. On one side stands a race that is mired in depravity, tyranny, self-conceit and evil; ranged on the other side are the truest, most virile representatives of freedom, civilization and progress that history has ever known.’

  Here a burst of applause interrupted Mr Burnham; he raised a hand to acknowledge it before resuming.

  ‘Let us not forget that at the heart of this conflict lie two precious and inviolable values, freedom and dignity. This war will be fought not only to liberate the Sons of Han from Manchu tyranny, but also to protect our own dignity, which has suffered greater outrages in this land than in any other.’

  This was answered by a spontaneous chorus of ‘Shame! Shame!’

  Mr Burnham let the shouts die down before continuing: ‘Is it conceivable that we should forever swallow the insults that are hurled at white men in this land? Shall we always permit ourselves to be vilified as “barbarians”, “foreign devils”, “red-haired demons” and the like?’

  The gathering responded with a roar: ‘No! Never!’

  ‘Is it conceivable,’ said Mr Burnham, ‘that we, who stand under the proudest, most warlike flag on earth, should not seek satisfaction for repeated and heinous affronts to the representatives of our most gracious Sovereign?’

  Again he paused and again the gathering answered with a roar: ‘No!’

  ‘So be it,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘Let the Celestials taste the retribution they have invited upon themselves and let us hope that it will make them turn towards the path of redemption – for does not the Good Book say, “If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not?” Indeed I envy the Chinese their good fortune in that the rod of their chastening will be wielded by hands like these.’

  Reaching for Captain Mee’s wrist, Mr Burnham held up his arm, drawing cheers from the audience.

  Now, with the last rays of the setting sun shining directly on him, Mr Burnham’s face reddened, as if in exaltation: ‘I have not the least doubt, gentlemen, that God will bless and aid you in your endeavour, for it is His work that you will be doing. When the task is finished China will be changed beyond recognition: this will be your legacy to history. Future generations will read with wonder of the miracle that you have wrought. Truly will it be said that never in the history of the world was so great a transformation brought about by so small a company of men!’

  As cheers erupted around him, Mr Burnham raised a hand: ‘And now, gentlemen, let us say a prayer.’

  *

  Paulette was murmuring the words of the prayer, with her head lowered, when she caught another glimpse of Zachary and realized that he was still hovering nearby. She would make her escape as soon as the prayer was over, she decided – b
ut before she could slip away she was distracted by another announcement: ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, a salute to our flag, by our fine Bengal sepoys.’

  Even as Kesri was calling out the first command, Zachary was whispering in Paulette’s ear: ‘There is something I need to say to you …’

  Escape being impossible now, Paulette headed aft, to the far end of the deck, where there was no danger of their being overheard. At every step she felt that she was being pushed literally to her limit; when she reached the bulwark she turned on Zachary, eyes blazing: ‘No, Mr Reid!’ she hissed. ‘There is nothing that you need to say to me. Was your letter not enough? I know you now for what you are – a liar and betrayer. You are a person whose words are without worth or value. There is nothing you can say that would be of the least interest to me.’

  These words, and the vehemence with which they were spoken, stung Zachary so deeply that his carefully composed apology wilted on his tongue. He could not think why he had indulged Mrs Burnham’s hopes of a reconciliation: why should he be saddled with the task of making amends for a misunderstanding on her part? He had done more than enough for Paulette in the past and had never had anything but grief for his pains: his chief impulse now was to make Paulette eat her words, even the least of them – and at just that moment a shouted command drew his eyes to Kesri, who was standing at attention, at the far end of the maindeck, with his sword ceremonially upraised.

  Suddenly Zachary knew exactly what he had to say.

  ‘Did you mean it, Miss Lambert,’ he said, ‘when you said that I have nothing of interest to say to you?’

  ‘Yes I did.’

  ‘Very well then – I shall undertake to prove you wrong.’

  Zachary turned to point to Kesri who was now shouting a command at the squad of sepoys.

  ‘You see the havildar over there?’ said Zachary. ‘That tall sepoy? Well, I think it will be of great interest to you, Miss Paulette, to know who he is.’

  ‘Why? Who is he?’