by Amitav Ghosh
The Mors passengers gathered on deck to watch the flagging off of an impressive squadron of steamers and warships. Not everyone was convinced that the meeting would produce results: there had been so many delays and disappointments in the recent past that it was hard to believe that the end was really in sight. But even to the most sceptical onlooker it was evident, from the fanfare, the music and the prominent presence of Captain Elliot, that something significant was in the offing.
Only after the squad had departed did the seths notice that Hong Kong had changed in the last couple of weeks: they saw that a wave of settlers had washed up on the island’s shores; they noticed also that a cluster of buildings was already under construction at the eastern end of the bay.
That so much had happened without their being aware of it was a matter of no little concern to the seths. As soon as the Mor’s cutter could be lowered, they went hurrying over to see what was afoot on the island. When they returned, several hours later, they were seething. It appeared that the British military authorities had decided to hold on to Hong Kong a while ago, treaty or not; what was more, they had quietly allowed some leading British merchants to grab the choicest plots of land. There was a rocky protrusion at the eastern end of the bay that would serve very well as the foundation for a jetty; the promontory had been named East Point and some of the bigger British opium-trading firms were already constructing godowns and daftars in its vicinity.
None of this could have happened of course without the connivance of the expedition’s commanders; it was clear enough that they had been paid off by the top British merchants. But what else had been settled between them, under the table, with no one’s knowledge? Had all the best plots already been palmed off, in secret?
One of the seths said to Shireen: Bibiji, if your husband had been alive things would not have come to this. We Parsis would not have been kept in the dark, while the Angrezes pocketed the best bits of the island for themselves. As a member of the Select Committee Bahram-bhai would have found out; he would have warned us.
As the seth was speaking the now familiar sounds of muted cannon-fire came rolling in from somewhere over the horizon.
Hai! cried Shireen in alarm. Has the fighting started again?
Dinyar tilted his head, straining to listen. No, he said. It seems that they are firing minute-guns. They must be celebrating the signing of a treaty.
This added a fresh urgency to the seths’ discussions: they began to argue about how best to persuade the British to open up the island to other buyers, either through direct sales or auctions. Some of them pointed out that if it came to the worst they could always refuse to provide opium to their British counterparts in Bombay. This was a trump card of sorts, for in Bombay foreign merchants were completely dependent on Indian suppliers for the procurement of Malwa opium.
But Dinyar and a few others argued that this would be a dangerous course: if pressed, the British government would surely find some pretext for seizing supplies of opium at gunpoint. That was the ace that was hidden up the sleeves of the Jardines, Mathesons and Dents of the world. Despite all their cacklings about Free Trade, the truth was that their commercial advantages had nothing to do with markets or trade or more advanced business practices – it lay in the brute firepower of the British Empire’s guns and gunboats.
The argument was still raging when a steamer was seen to be hurrying towards Hong Kong from the direction of the Pearl River estuary. Training a telescope on it Dinyar announced that the vessel was none other than the Nemesis with Commodore Bremer on board.
Soon it became clear that the steamer was heading for the western end of Hong Kong Bay. This convinced Dinyar that something unusual was under way and he wasted no time in calling for his cutter to be readied: whatever was going on, he had no intention of being left in the dark.
You should come with us, he said to Shireen.
Why me?
You should take a look at the island at least. When you receive your compensation you’ll have plenty of money. Maybe you too should put in a bid for a plot.
What are you talking about, Dinyar? Shireen retorted. Why would I buy land here? What will I do with it?
Why not, Shireen-auntie? Your grandchildren might want it. Maybe some day it will be worth a lot of money: it’s not impossible. When my grandfather bought land in Bombay everyone laughed. But look at what it’s worth now.
Shireen thought it over and decided to go along for the ride, not with a plot of land in mind, but because a sunset breeze was whispering over the bay and the conditions were perfect for a short sailing trip. She fetched a hat and a veil and was lowered into the cutter by the Mor’s swing-lift.
In the meantime a longboat had been launched from the Nemesis: a group of officers could be seen seated inside, heading towards the island. They reached the shore in only a few minutes.
By the time the Mor’s cutter pulled in a ceremony was under way on the edge of the island, not far from Sheng Wan village. A Union Jack had been planted near the water, and Commodore Bremer was standing in front of it, addressing the other officers.
‘In the name of our Gracious Queen, I take possession of this island of Hong Kong on this day, the twenty-fifth of January, eighteen forty-one.’
‘Hear, hear!’
Raising glasses of champagne, the officers drank a toast.
‘In memory of this day,’ intoned the commodore, ‘let the spot on which we now stand be known forever as Possession Point.’
‘Hear, hear!’
Dinyar and the other seths went hurrying ahead to listen, but Shireen hung back diffidently.
In a while she heard a cough, and a familiar voice: ‘Bibiji …?’
‘Oh Zadig Bey! I’m glad to see you.’
‘I’m glad to see you too, Bibiji. Would you like to go for a walk?’
‘A walk, Zadig Bey?’ said Shireen with a laugh. ‘Why, are you looking around for land, like everyone else?’
‘Yes, Bibiji,’ said Zadig gravely, ‘I’ve been thinking that I would look.’ He paused to clear his throat: ‘But not just for myself.’
‘What do you mean, Zadig Bey?’
Zadig scratched his chin. ‘Bibiji, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you and perhaps it’s fitting that I should ask now.’
‘Yes, Zadig Bey?’
A bright flush rose to his face as he turned to her.
‘Bibi …’
Zadig stopped and started again. ‘Shireen … will you marry me?’
Eighteen
Following on a medical examination, Captain Mee was given three weeks’ furlough to recuperate from the wound he had received at the Battle of Chuenpee. He elected to spend that time at Macau and lost no time in setting off. Kesri assumed that he would not return to Saw Chow a minute short of the full term of his leave. But to his surprise Captain Mee was back a couple of days early.
‘Kaptán-sah’b is looking ekdum fit-faat!’ said Kesri, with a smile. ‘Am I?’
Kesri could not remember when he had last seen Captain Mee in such fine fettle.
‘Ji, Kaptán-sah’b, you look very well.’
Captain Mee smiled. ‘It was good to be away, havildar.’
‘But why you come back early then, Kaptán-sah’b?’
‘Orders, havildar – from the Plenipot himself.’
The captain explained that there was to be a ceremonial parade and trooping of colours at Hong Kong the next day. Captain Elliot and Commodore Bremer were to issue a proclamation, and the Bengal Volunteers had been asked to send a squad to the ceremony. They would be taking a field-piece and gun-crew with them, for the gun-salute.
‘The big brass will be present, havildar, so you’ll have to make sure that our lads are on their toes.’
Ji, Kaptán-sah’b.
Next morning their detachment was taken to Hong Kong by a steamer. Disembarking at the eastern end of Hong Kong Bay, they marched up a hill to a stretch of level ground. A tall flagstaff had been planted there with t
he Union Jack fluttering atop. Several other squads had already mustered on the ground and were preparing for the ceremony: Kesri spotted the regimental colours of the Royal Irish, the Cameronians, the 49th and the 37th Madras.
The Volunteers were placed next to the Madras sepoys, to the rear of the British squads. After taking his position at the head of the squad, Kesri took a look around: he saw that a large group of civilians, mainly British, had gathered on the far side of the ground. A still larger crowd, composed of local people, had collected higher up the hillside.
A half-hour passed before Captain Elliot and Commodore Bremer appeared: the Plenipotentiary was in civilian clothes and the commodore was in full dress uniform. Marching solemnly to the flagstaff, they turned to face the ground. Then Captain Elliot began to read from a sheet of paper.
‘The island of Hong Kong having been ceded to the British crown under the seal of the Imperial minister and High Commissioner Keshen, it has become necessary to provide for the government thereof, pending Her Majesty’s further pleasure. By virtue of the authority therefore in me vested, all Her Majesty’s Rights, Royalties, Privileges of all kinds whatever, in and over the said island of Hong Kong, whether to or over lands, harbours, property or personal service are hereby declared, proclaimed and to Her Majesty fully reserved …’
Through years of practice Kesri had perfected the art of letting his gaze stray while standing at attention. His eyes wandered now to the civilian spectators at the far end of the ground. He spotted several familiar faces in the crowd: Shireen and Dinyar, with Zadig towering above them; Mr Burnham, with his wife on one side and Zachary on the other.
‘… given under my hand and seal of office,’ the Plenipotentiary continued, ‘on this twenty-ninth day of January, in the year one thousand eight hundred and forty-one.’
Tucking away the sheet of paper, Captain Elliot looked up at the assembled soldiers and civilians.
‘God save the Queen!’
A chorus of voices returned the cry and then Commodore Bremer stepped forward to read from another sheet of paper.
‘I Bremer, Commander-in-Chief, and Elliot, Plenipotentiary, by this Proclamation make known to the inhabitants of the island of Hong Kong, that the island has now become part of the dominion of the Queen of England by clear public agreement between the high officers of the Celestial and British Courts: and all native persons residing therein must understand that they are now subjects of the Queen of England, to whom and to whose officers they must pay duty and obedience.’
Kesri’s gaze strayed now to the other, less privileged, group of spectators, on the hillside above. Among them too he recognized a face: Freddie’s. Standing beside him was a youth in jacket and breeches; he looked distantly familiar but Kesri could not recall where he had seen him before.
*
It was the eighth shot in the gun salute that drew Paulette’s eye to the the tall, broad-shouldered gun-lascar who was standing behind the Bengal Volunteer’s field-piece. After watching him for a while she took her spyglass out of her pocket.
‘What you looking at, eh?’
‘That man over there. Standing behind that cannon.’
‘Who?’
Paulette handed Freddie the spyglass. ‘Here. You have a look. See if you recognize him.’
‘Who you think it is?’
‘Just look.’
Freddie raised the instrument to his eye and kept it there for a good few minutes. Slowly a smile spread across his face. ‘You think it could be him, eh? Kalua, from the Ibis?’
‘Yes, could be,’ said Paulette. ‘I’m not sure.’
The ceremony had ended now and the parade ground was filling quickly with people. Spectators were pouring down the slope, to gawk at the soldiers and sepoys.
‘Come,’ said Paulette, tapping Freddie on the arm. ‘Let’s go closer.’
Stepping down the hillside, they mingled with the crowd. When they were about fifty yards from the gun-lascar, Paulette came to a halt. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m sure it’s him.’
Just then Maddow too happened to glance in their direction. His eyes rested first on Paulette and then passed over to Freddie and back. Suddenly his sleepy gaze brightened and a smile played over his lips. He cast a glance around him, and seeing Kesri nearby he gave them a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head, as if to warn them not to come any closer.
Struck by a thought, Paulette murmured: ‘I wonder if Kalua knows that Havildar Kesri Singh is Deeti’s brother?’
Across the fifty-yard distance, Maddow seemed to understand what was going through her mind. He answered with another tiny nod.
Paulette smiled. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He knows.’
*
At the other end of the ground Mr Burnham was surveying the surging crowd with an expression of marked distaste. ‘I can’t say I care much for this riff-raff,’ he said to his wife, ‘we’d better be on our way – but I need to have a quick word with the commodore first.’
‘Yes of course, dear,’ said Mrs Burnham. ‘I’ll wait for you here.’
Mr Burnham turned to Zachary: ‘Reid, can I trust you to make sure that my wife’s reticule is not snatched by some opium-crazed la-lee-loon?’
‘Yes certainly, sir.’
Mr Burnham hurried off, leaving an awkward gap between Zachary and his wife. Slowly they edged closer until they were standing almost shoulder to shoulder.
After a few minutes of silence Mrs Burnham said: ‘It has been a while, Mr Reid, since I last saw you. I trust you’ve been well?’
‘Yes I have, thank you.’
This was Zachary’s first encounter with Mrs Burnham since the levée. Apart from two days in Macau, he had spent the intervening weeks at Hong Kong, assisting Mr Burnham with the construction of his new premises on the island.
‘And what about you, Mrs Burnham?’ said Zachary. ‘How have you been?’
‘Not too well I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘That is why I had to remain in Macau while my husband was at Hong Kong. My sawbones told me that the island’s air is unhealthy and I would do well to stay away.’
Her voice was languid, her manner indifferent, in a fashion that Zachary had come to know all too well from watching her at social occasions. In the past, when they had conspired to deceive the world together, he had delighted in observing her cool public demeanour. But now he knew that he too was among those whom the mask was meant to deceive and it was like having salt rubbed on an open wound.
But Zachary was careful to keep his voice level. ‘It must have been pleasant to be in Macau,’ he said. ‘I’m told the town is filled with convalescing military men.’
She was silent for just long enough that he knew he had rattled her. Then, recovering herself she continued: ‘Were there many military men about in Macau? I didn’t see any, but then I hardly left the house.’
‘Really?’
Zachary had been waiting for this moment and he knew exactly what he was going to say. Mimicking the silky tone that she herself often used, he said: ‘As it happens I was in Macau myself for a couple of days and I could swear I saw you going into a milliner’s shop one afternoon, down the street from the St Lazarus Church. As a matter of fact, I even saw you coming out after an hour or two, with Captain Mee. I’m told this milliner sometimes has a room to rent.’
‘Mr Reid!’ Mrs Burnham had gone white. ‘What on earth are you implying?’
A bark of laughter broke from Zachary’s throat. ‘Oh come, Mrs Burnham, there’s no need to pretend with me. You forget that I am perfectly familiar with your play-acting.’
‘What on earth … what do you mean, Mr Reid?’ she said, stumbling over her words.
Zachary saw from the corner of his eye that Mrs Burnham’s face had disappeared behind her parasol. ‘Captain Mee is the one, isn’t he, Mrs Burnham? The lieutenant you told me about?’
This set the parasol twirling in agitation so he softened his tone. ‘There’s no need to hide your face, Mrs Burnham.’
Now at last she answered, in a faltering, breathless rush. ‘Oh please, Mr Reid. All we did was talk – you will not speak of it to anyone, will you?’
Her capitulation softened Zachary a little. Without quite meaning to he voiced the question that had been circling in his head ever since the night of the levée.
‘Why him, Mrs Burnham? What do you see in that clodhopping dingleberry?’
‘I can’t tell you,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know the answer. All I can say is that if it were in my hands I would not have chosen him.’
‘And why is that?’
‘Because we’re different, he and I. He is utterly without calculation, without guile; he is ruled entirely by his sense of duty. It is strange to say so, but I do not think I have ever known anyone so completely selfless.’
A thin smile rose to Zachary’s lips. ‘You are either deluded or naive, Mrs Burnham,’ he retorted. ‘There is nothing selfless about these military men. They are all drowning in debt; they can be bought for fifty dollars apiece. You should ask your husband about it – he has plenty of them in his pocket.’
‘Not Neville,’ she said with calm certainty. ‘He is not that kind of man.’
Zachary noticed now that her eyes had strayed to the other end of the parade ground, where Captain Mee could be seen, leaning against the hilt of his sword as he chatted with some other officers.
‘Is that what you believe?’ said Zachary. ‘That Captain Mee is immune to the inducements that tempt other men?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I am sure of it.’
He permitted himself a smile. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we shall see.’
To grease the captain’s palms would not be easy, Zachary knew, but he was certain that it could be done: it was certainly a challenge worth rising to. And the more he thought about it the more important it seemed that he should succeed in the endeavour – for would it not thwart the design of the world if one man were allowed to flout the law of cupidity, that great engine of progress that matched needs to gains, supply with demand, and thereby distributed the right rewards to those who most deserved them?