by Amitav Ghosh
Paulette lay back against the slope, resting her head on the grass. In a while, when Freddie too had had his fill, he lay beside her, with his head pillowed on his arms, looking up into the dark shade of the tree.
‘Tell me,’ said Paulette presently, ‘how did you learn to smoke?’
‘A woman taught me.’
‘A woman! Who was she?’
‘She was like me, lah – half-Indian, half-Chinese. Very beautiful – maybe too much.’
‘Why?’
‘Sometimes beauty is like curse, ne? For her men would kill, do anything. She needed guards – and I was one. I would bring opium for her to smoke, lah, and one day she ask me smoke with her; show me how, show me secrets. I had smoked before, but I never saw secrets till she show me.’
None of this seemed real to Paulette: it was as if a story had taken shape in the smoke. In that dreamlike state it did not seem too intrusive to ask: ‘And you – did you love her?’
A long time seemed to pass before Freddie answered. Paulette did not know whether the passage of the minutes was real or not: it was as if the hands of the clock in her head had come to a halt and time had changed into something else.
By the time Freddie spoke again she had almost forgotten what she had asked.
‘Don’t know, lah,’ he said. ‘Can’t say if it was love or no. Maybe it was like this smoke, ne, that is inside us now? It was stronger than feelings – like madness, or death.’
‘Why that? Why death?’
‘Because this woman, she belong my boss, she his concubine. He very big man; he “big brother” for many little brother, like me: his name Lenny Chan. Only if mad will a man love woman who belong to big brother. He will always find out, ne?’
‘Is that what happened?’
‘Yes, he find out and he send his men. They kill her – throw her in the river. Try to kill me too, but I get away. My mother hide me, but they find out, so they kill her too – instead of me.’
He laughed. ‘If Lenny Chan know I am here, I would not be alive for long. But he think I am dead, lah – does not know I have been reborn as Freddie Lee. Let us hope he does not find out.’
*
Jodu and Neel had climbed up the Cambridge’s foremast early that morning, as soon as they learnt that a convoy of British ships was approaching the Tiger’s Mouth. From there they had observed the action through a spyglass.
When the Chinese batteries on Chuenpee opened up they had cheered, confident that the British attack would be foiled. But all too soon, as the British began to bombard the fortifications on both sides of the channel, their confidence had turned to dismay. They had watched in disbelief as the walls of both Chuenpee and Tytock were torn open by cannonballs; their disbelief had deepened as they watched landing-parties setting off from the British steamers, in longboats and cutters, to launch frontal assaults on the gun-emplacements. Such was their vantage point that they had been able to observe the landing-parties as they swarmed over the battlements. But not until the end did they spot the sepoys who had circled around the hill to attack the gun-emplacements from the rear. This detachment came into view only after the sepoys had come around the slope.
The slaughter that ensued was largely obscured by dust and smoke but Neel and Jodu still had a vivid sense of what was unfolding, because of the increasing number of bodies in the water. Yet the full horror of it only became clear when shoals of charred and blackened bodies began to drift into the channel.
Not one of the British ships, so far as they could see, had suffered the slightest damage.
The speed with which it happened was as astounding as the one-sidedness of the destruction. The assault started at 9 a.m. by Neel’s watch; by 11 a.m. British flags were flying on both sides of the channel, atop Chuenpee as well as Tytock. The only remaining threat to the British was a squadron of war-junks commanded by Admiral Guan Tiaifei.
The junks had come under withering fire early in the operation. Outmatched, the squadron had retreated to a defensive position, at the edge of the bay that separated Chuenpee from Humen. Between them and the channel lay a sandbar – an impassable obstacle for the larger British vessels but not for those with a shallower draught.
The British fleet ignored the junks while they were occupied in the twin assault on Chuenpee and Tytock. Only when the forts had been stormed did the warships turn their attention to Admiral Guan’s squadron: a number of armed cutters went swarming in for the kill.
But before the cutters could close in they were nosed aside by the gleaming iron hull of the Nemesis. Speeding past the boats the steamer went straight into the shallows until finally her cutwater bit into the sandbar. Then, with a fearsome shrieking sound a volley of projectiles took flight from her foredeck – these, Neel realized, were the weapons that Zhong Lou-si had asked about: Congreve rockets, the prototypes of which had been invented in Bangalore. Arcing through the air, the rockets arrowed into the junks, with devastating effect. One of them hit a gunpowder magazine and a junk exploded with a deafening roar. Then it was as if a tide of fire had engulfed the creek: the entire Chinese squadron seemed to be ablaze.
Now gongs began to ring on the Cambridge, summoning the crew to their battle-stations. The entire outer tier of the Tiger’s Mouth defences was now in British hands so it seemed inevitable that the victorious warships would proceed to attack the next set of fortifications – the batteries of Humen and North Wantung Island, where the Cambridge was stationed.
But then came a surprise. Instead of advancing, the British warships pulled back to Chuenpee, to evacuate the men who had gone ashore a few hours earlier.
Evidently the attack had been postponed till the next day.
*
In the evening, after making sure that the sepoys and their followers were properly settled below deck, Kesri met with Captain Mee, to review the day’s action. The captain had suffered a slight wound: his upper arm had been grazed by a musket-ball and he was wearing a poultice, with his elbow in a sling and his raggy jacket hanging off his shoulder.
‘Sorry about your wound, sir,’ said Kesri.
‘Are you?’ The captain grinned. ‘I’m not. It’ll earn me a few weeks’ leave in Macau.’
The tally of casualties on the British side, said the captain, was thirty-eight wounded, with no fatalities. On the Chinese side the toll was estimated to be about six hundred killed and many more wounded. Thirty-eight heavy guns had been seized and spiked in Chuenpee; twenty-five on Tytock. Along with the guns found on the junks and elsewhere, the total number of cannon destroyed amounted to one hundred and seventy-three.
‘Our men did well today, havildar – Major Pratt was full of praise for them.’
‘Really, sir?’
Kesri knew that Captain Mee had long been hoping to have his name included in dispatches. ‘Any mention of you, sir, by the commander-sah’b?’
The captain shook his head. ‘No, havildar – not a word.’
‘Maybe tomorrow, sir?’ said Kesri. ‘There will be another action, no?’
‘I wouldn’t count on it, havildar,’ said Captain Mee. ‘I’m told the Plenipot is under pressure to call off the offensive. I believe a letter has been dispatched to the Chinese commanders explaining the procedures for surrender. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were sent back to our camps so that the higher-ups can go on with their endless buck-bucking.’
This sent a chilly pang of disappointment through Kesri. Now that a full-scale attack had been launched he had hoped that the campaign would at last be brought to a speedy conclusion.
But sure enough, the next morning, a boat with a white flag was seen heading over from Humen to the Plenipotentiary’s flagship.
Shortly afterwards Kesri learnt that the offensive had been called off and the Bengal Volunteers were to return to Saw Chow.
*
Through the night the Cambridge was swept by news and rumours. As the magnitude of the disaster sank in, emotions rose to an extreme pitch, with the Chinese officers
and crewmen alternating between rage and numb despair.
When word spread of the role that ‘black aliens’ had played in the carnage at Chuenpee the attitude of the Chinese sailors began to change: the camaraderie that had developed between them and the lascars abruptly evaporated and a new coldness took its place. It was as if Neel, Jodu and the others were somehow responsible for the actions of the sepoys.
The fact that nothing was said openly only made matters worse. Neel was relieved when Compton lapsed into an accusatory outburst: Why, Neel, why? Why are your countrymen killing our people when there is no enmity between us?
But Compton, said Neel, why do you associate us with the sepoys? We are not all the same. Jodu and I could not be sepoys even if we wanted. And why would we want to be sepoys? The truth is that they have killed more people in Yindu than anywhere else.
The one piece of good news that night was that Admiral Guan was still alive – he was feared to have died when the war-junks were attacked. But it turned out that he had managed to escape to Humen.
In the small hours an order was received from the admiral’s command post instructing the Cambridge to move to a new position as soon as possible. Accordingly, when the sky began to lighten, the Cambridge moved away from the island of North Wantung, to the far bank of the channel, where there was another gun-emplacement. There they began to prepare for the impending attack.
At dawn, when three British frigates were seen to be moving up the channel the crew of the Cambridge were sent to their posts. But then, inexplicably, the frigates turned back.
It was not till later in the day that they learnt that negotiations had been re-opened; a team of mandarins was again parleying with the British Plenipotentiary.
Soon it became evident that the British had an additional reason for calling off their attack: no sooner had the talks begun than the ship that was carrying Lancelot Dent’s cargo began to move. Crossing the Tiger’s Mouth, the vessel sailed off in the direction of Hong Kong.
Everyone understood then that the merchant Dent was behind the stoppage in the fighting: he was the mohk hau haak sau – the ‘black hand behind the scene’. He had clearly paid huge cumshaws to the British commanders in order to ensure the safety of his cargo.
You see, said Compton bitterly. This is what happens when merchants and traders begin to run wars – hundreds of lives depend on bribes.
That evening Compton made a trip across the channel, to visit Humen. He came back with momentous news: Governor-General Qishan had capitulated; he had consented to many of the invaders’ demands, including the handing over of a sum of six million silver dollars, as compensation for confiscated opium. He had also agreed to give the British the base they had long been clamouring for: the island of Hong Kong – known as ‘Red Incense Burner Hill’ in Chinese official documents.
A formal understanding to this effect was to be drawn up in a couple of weeks.
*
The effects of the battle at Chuenpee were felt almost immediately at Hong Kong. Overnight, like litter from a faraway storm, swarms of boats began to drift into the bay. These were not shop-boats, loaded with provisions, souvenirs and produce, like those that came over from Kowloon every day. They were dilapidated, bedraggled sampans piled high with household goods – utensils, mats, stoves and clothing. Dogs, cats and poultry could be seen perched on their hooped bamboo roofs; on their prows sat broods of little children, many of them with wooden floats tied around their waists, to save them from drowning if they fell overboard.
It was as if a vast floating population were being carried in by the tides. Every night waves of boat-people would be swept in; in the morning Paulette would wake to find yet more sampans at anchor around the Redruth.
Freddie, who was now a daily visitor to the nursery, was perfectly at home amongst the floating population. ‘They are my people, ne?’ he said to Paulette. ‘My mother also was boatwoman – I was brought up with Dan people.’
But why were they coming over in such numbers? What was bringing them to Hong Kong?
‘Too much trouble for them in Guangdong now,’ said Freddie. ‘Land-people troubling them. They cannot stay, ne? Everyone say Hong Kong will soon be given to British. Boat-people think it will be safer here.’
Soon some of the new arrivals began to move ashore, building huts and shacks, settling where they could. The beach where Paulette’s daily climb began did not long remain deserted. A shack appeared at its far edge one day and within a week a hamlet seemed to have sprouted around it. Although the inhabitants seemed peaceable enough, Paulette was glad when Freddie offered to accompany her on her daily climb to the nursery: she accepted without hesitation.
Meanwhile the British were also expanding their presence on Hong Kong. Every day cutters and longboats would ply back and forth between the island and the bay, bringing over soldiers, sailors, shipowners and sightseers from the naval and merchant vessels that were at anchor around the island. Teams of surveyors would roam over the beaches and slopes, taking measurements and putting down stakes and markers.
One day a group of surveyors even turned up at the nursery – a half-dozen officious-looking men armed with tripods and measuring tapes. They left after asking a few questions about the plot and its ownership, apparently satisfied with Paulette’s explanation that it had been leased by her employer, Mr Penrose.
But after they’d gone, Freddie said: ‘Why they were asking so many questions, lah? You think maybe they want take the land?’
The thought was like a blow to the stomach for Paulette. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘They can’t! Surely they can’t?’
‘People are saying so, ne? British will take whatever they want when they get the island.’
Freddie explained that the original islanders, of whom there were only four thousand, had become very concerned about the recent changes. For centuries Red Incense Burner Hill had been considered a place of misery and misfortune – insalubrious, racked by disease and lashed by devastating typhoons. In the past, mainland people had gone to great lengths to avoid Hong Kong; the inhabitants had been objects of pity because they were condemned to eke out an existence on a barren, ill-starred island.
Now suddenly it was as if the island had been transformed into a lodestar. The old-time islanders had begun to fear that their land, their homes, would be expropriated by the British. Some were so alarmed that they were selling their property and moving to the mainland.
‘Maybe I talk to landlord, ne? Maybe he want to sell?’
A few days later Fitcher announced that the nursery’s landlord had come over to the Redruth and offered to sell the site, along with an adjoining stretch of land – two acres in total, for a sum of thirty Spanish dollars. Fitcher had leapt at the offer, handing over an advance of five dollars.
On the day when the formalities were completed Fitcher made one of his rare trips up to the nursery, in a sedan chair. After looking around a bit, he said: ‘Ee’ve done a fine job here, Paulette. Ee deserve to have it.’
‘What do you mean, sir?’
‘Didn’ee ken?’ said Fitcher, with a smile. ‘It’s for ee that I’ve bought it; the land’s to be eer dowry.’
*
Through the month of January the Parsi seths of Macau continued to gather at Dinyar’s villa every Sunday, for prayers followed by a meal in which a tureen of dhansak always took pride of place. But from week to week the mood of the gatherings varied wildly. The first Sunday after the Battle of Chuenpee, the seths were exultant; none of them doubted that the Celestials had learnt their lesson; after such a resounding defeat surely they would cut their losses and agree to meet the British demands? Surely they would understand that they had no option other than that of bringing a yet greater calamity upon themselves?
When attacked by a band of dacoits on a lonely road a man might risk losing a finger or two in order to save his treasure – but what sane man would endanger his arm or his head? The instinct for self-preservation was no less strong in the Chinese th
an in any other people: surely they would accept that the war was already lost? After all, it was clear enough that the Chinese army was bherem bhol ne mã’e pol – all show outside but hollow within. And besides, for a realm as vast as China the loss of a small, barren island like Hong Kong was a trifling matter. Nor was an indemnity of six million Spanish dollars any great matter either – amongst the merchants of Guangzhou there were several who could afford to pay it out of their pockets.
So the talk went that Sunday, at lunch, and by the time the tureen of dhansak was removed everyone was convinced that the war was over, so much so that Dinyar even called for a demijohn of simkin to be opened, in celebration.
But the week after that there was less certainty: it appeared that the mandarins had once again succeeded in luring the Plenny-potty into their game of endless palavering. Then yet another week went by with nothing but more buck-buck, which cast everyone even deeper into the doldrums.
The Sunday after that despair turned to truculence and the seths began to talk about how they might bring some pressure to bear on Captain Elliot, to speed things up a little. On an impulse Dinyar suggested that they all go to Hong Kong in his ship, the Mor, to seek a meeting with the Plenipot. The proposal met with a warm welcome and it was decided that they would leave the next day.
Shireen was, as usual, a largely silent spectator at these deliberations: while the men talked she would orchestrate a steady flow of food and drink for them, from the villa’s kitchen. It was only after the guests had left that she asked Dinyar if she too could go to Hong Kong on the Mor. Ever solicitious, he declared that she was most welcome.
They left at noon the next day reaching Hong Kong after nightfall. It wasn’t till the next morning that they discovered that they had been singularly fortunate in the timing of their visit. An event of great significance was due to take place that day: Captain Elliot was to meet with Qishan near Chuenpee. A convention was to be signed whereby the Chinese would undertake to hand over Hong Kong to the British, along with an indemnity of six million Spanish dollars!