by Amitav Ghosh
*
Compton was visiting the Cambridge the day the gun salute was fired at Hong Kong.
The sound was heard clearly at the Tiger’s Mouth, where the Cambridge was still at anchor. Everybody understood that the shots were being fired by the English to celebrate their acquisition of the island; this aroused revulsion and sadness among all aboard but most of all in Compton.
Yet he knew very well that there was nothing to be done about it: Governor-General Qishan was in the impossible position of having to reconcile his instructions from the Emperor – to drive out the invaders at all costs – with the realities of the situation, which was that the British already had effective possession of the island; to wrest it from them was impossible without a change in the balance of firepower. If the Governor-General had not conceded the demands the British might have pushed on to Guangzhou, inflicting even greater losses. The best hope now was that the Emperor, on receiving the governor’s dispatches, would perceive the wisdom of following a policy of limiting the damage.
But the Emperor was unpredictable; there was no knowing how he would respond. And until word came from Beijing, what else was there to do but prepare for another British attack? This indeed was why Compton had come to the Cambridge: he was bearing orders for the vessel to move up to the First Bar of the Pearl River.
The First Bar was a feature that Neel knew well: it was a kind of cataract, only a few li from Whampoa. There were two such bars, or cataracts, on the Pearl River; at these points in the river’s course the water ran shallow and the channel was broken up by shifting shoals and sandbars. The navigable lanes changed from week to week and deep-draughted ships had to hire specialized pilots to guide them past the obstacles.
Neel had grown familiar with the First Bar during his time at Whampoa: the terrain there was flat and green, the river being flanked on both sides by rice-fields, orchards and scattered villages. In normal times the landscape was reminiscent of the Bengal countryside, lush, bucolic and sleepy.
But when the Cambridge arrived at the First Bar now, Neel saw that there had been dramatic changes in its surroundings. In the last month thousands of troops and workers had set up camp on either side of the river. A mud-walled fort had risen on the east bank: extending outwards from it was a gigantic raft, built with massive timbers; it stretched from shore to shore and was so solidly built that it looked like a dam. Hundreds of acres of forest had been cut down for the construction of the raft; the cost had been borne by the merchants of the Co-Hong: they were rumoured to have spent thousands of silver taels on the timber alone.
One section of the raft was moveable, to allow traffic to go through when necessary. The Cambridge crossed over to the other side and dropped anchor just abaft of the raft, across the river from the fort. The Cambridge was to serve as the fort’s counterpart, a floating gun-emplacement: her mission was to protect the raft’s moorings on the western bank of the river.
After experimenting with various angles it was decided that the Cambridge would be tethered with her bows pointing in the direction from which the invaders’ warships were expected to come. The advantage of this was that it narrowed the ship’s profile, presenting a smaller target to the attackers; the disadvantage was that it reduced the number of guns that could be brought to bear on the stretch of river that lay ahead: in the event of an attack only the guns in the Cambridge’s bows would be in play. To remedy this more gun-ports were created in the ship’s nose, on all decks. The forward guns being of critical importance, great care was invested in their manning. A dozen of the ship’s most competent sailors were chosen to be golondauzes and they were given free rein to pick their own men. Jodu was one of the first to be appointed: much to Neel’s joy, Jodu picked him for his gun-crew, giving him the job of sumbadar or rammer-man.
For the next fortnight the gun-crews spent their time devising and practising drills. The officers could provide little guidance, being unaccustomed to Western-style ships, so the crewmen had to draw up their own protocols, from memory. A Macahnese lascar who had served on a Portuguese naval vessel took the lead: it was he who drew up the drill for clearing the deck and summoning the crew to battle-stations.
Through this time Compton continued to visit the Cambridge regularly, bearing news. Talks were still under way, he said, between the British and Chinese; Compton himself often translated for the Governor-General’s emissaries. But as for progress there was little to report: so far as the British were concerned there was nothing to be discussed except the ratification of the convention of Chuenpee. They would not be satisfied unless the Emperor conceded all their demands.
For his part, Compton was convinced that the Daoguang Emperor would not make any concessions. And sure enough he returned to the Cambridge one morning with the news that the Emperor had indeed repudiated the treaty in its entirety. Not only that, he had severely reprimanded Governor-General Qishan for making concessions to the British. His instructions to the authorities in Guangdong remained unchanged: no compromise was possible and the invader had to be repelled at all costs. But this time the Emperor had done more than issue exhortations: he had personally sanctioned funds for the rebuilding and strengthening of all the Pearl River fortifications. In addition thousands of troops from Hunan, Sichuan and Yunnan were to be sent to Guangdong to reinforce the province’s defences.
Over the next few days a great number of fresh troops poured into the area around the First Bar. Beside the Cambridge a fortified encampment arose, manned by a battalion-strength unit of tough, seasoned troops from Hunan.
It was evident from these preparations that the raft had become a key element in the safeguarding of Guangzhou: in effect it was the city’s last line of defence. Past this point the river branched off into many channels; there were so many of them that it was impossible to effectively block them all. This meant that if British warships succeeded in breaking through at the First Bar then Whampoa and Guangzhou would be at their mercy.
One night, looking at the campfires that were burning on both shores of the river, Neel burst into laughter.
Why are you laughing? said Jodu.
It just occurred to me, said Neel, that the responsibility for defending Canton has fallen on a motley crew of ‘black-aliens’.
*
Towards the middle of February Mr Burnham accompanied the expedition’s commanders on one of their periodic expeditions to meet with Qishan. On his return, he told Zachary that the Plenipot was losing hope of having the treaty ratified by the Emperor. At the most recent meeting Qishan had seemed very much cast down, not at all his usual polished self; his manner had been strangely evasive as though he were concealing something. Captain Elliot had garnered the impression that the Emperor had already made his decision: the agreement that he and Qishan had negotiated at Chuenpee had been repudiated.
As for Commodore Bremer, he and several other officers had long believed that Captain Elliot was on a fool’s errand; it was clear to them that the mandarins were just playing for time in order to shore up their defences. Of late many signs of a military build-up had been observed around the Tiger’s Mouth. Information had also been received that the Celestials were taking steps to block the river’s navigable channels with chains, stakes and rafts.
These preparations had caused much outrage among the British leadership: they were seen as a clear sign of Chinese perfidy, offering vindication to those who believed that the victory at Chuenpee should have been consolidated with an attack on Canton. These officers were now urging swift action: if the Chinese were given more time to prepare then it would only make their own job harder in the end. Many were pressing for an immediate attack leading to the seizure of Canton itself.
Yielding to the pressure, Captain Elliot had agreed to issue an ultimatum to Qishan: if the ratified treaty were not received within four days then Guangzhou would face attack.
Few were those, said Mr Burnham, who entertained any hope of a peaceful resolution. Preparations for the renewal of hostil
ities were already under way. Word was out that merchant ships would be needed to serve as support vessels for the British attack force.
At this a thought leapt to Zachary’s mind. ‘Is there any chance, sir,’ he said, ‘that the Ibis might be used by the expedition? She is sitting idle after all and there is nothing I would like more than to support our brave soldiers and sailors.’
Mr Burnham smiled and patted Zachary on the back. ‘Your enthusiasm does you credit, Reid! That thought had occurred to me too. I will try to put a word in the commodore’s ear – I cannot promise anything of course. Everyone is clamouring to lend their ships to the fleet, even the Parsis, so it will not be easy.’
The next few days passed in great anxiety for Zachary. Such was his eagerness to join the expedition that he found it hard to keep his mind on the construction of Mr Burnham’s godown. Only on the day that Captain Elliot’s ultimatum expired was the matter resolved: a beaming Mr Burnham came striding up to the work site, to announce that he had good news: the British attack would be launched in a day or two and the Ibis had been included in the list of six support vessels that were to sail with the fleet. Her job was to carry supplies of munitions and to serve as a holding-ship for the badly wounded.
Zachary was overjoyed: to witness a seaborne attack at first-hand seemed to him as great an adventure as he could ever have wished for.
‘And what about you, sir? Will you be sailing with the fleet too?’
‘So I shall,’ said Mr Burnham proudly. ‘I’ll be on the Wellesley again with Commodore Bremer. He has invited me to join him on his flagship. It is a signal honour.’
‘Indeed it is, sir, but it is no more than your due. But what about the Anahita? Will she remain here at Hong Kong?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘My wife has decided that she would like to remain here. The commodore has advised the merchant fleet to move to Saw Chow but I think he is being overly cautious. I cannot imagine that there will be any danger.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, sir.’
Mr Burnham glanced at his fob before giving Zachary a pat on the back. ‘You’d better be off now, Reid; I’m sure there’s a lot to be done on the Ibis.’
Eager to get to work, Zachary hurried back to the schooner – but no sooner had he stepped on board than he learnt of a minor setback. The Finnish first mate was waiting for him, on the maindeck. His shirt was splattered with blood and he was holding a large poultice to his face.
The door of his cabin had slammed into him, said the mate, knocking him off his feet. He suspected that he had suffered internal injuries as well; in any case, he was in no state to sail.
Zachary had suspected for a while that the mate was looking for an excuse to abandon ship: he paid him off and told him to empty out his cabin.
It was too late to find a man to take the Finn’s place, but Zachary did not allow that to dampen his enthusiasm: he was confident that he and the second mate would be able to manage well enough between them.
*
The night before the embarkation Kesri was summoned to Captain Mee’s tent, for a briefing on the plan of attack. On the captain’s field-desk lay a large chart of the defences of the Pearl River’s lower reaches.
The fortifications that had been reconstructed or newly built were marked in red ink, and the area around the Tiger’s Mouth was a sunburst of colour: the recently demolished fortifications at Chuenpee and Tytock had all been rebuilt, said Captain Mee. Chains had once again been slung across the shipping lanes and at certain points stakes had been sunk into the river-bed, to obstruct entry.
The most heavily reinforced forts were those on the island of North Wantung, which lay right in the middle of the Tiger’s Mouth, halfway between Chuenpee to the east and Tytock to the west. The island was now bristling with batteries: one set of guns faced the main shipping channel to the east; the other overlooked the lane to the west. In addition, a third battery had been built on the island’s peak.
Along with a number of other officers, Captain Mee had surveyed the fortifications of North Wantung from the deck of the Nemesis. The forts were undoubtedly impressive, he said: the island was now encircled by some two hundred cannon: the month before there had been only a few dozen guns on the island; that such a vast project could be so quickly completed was in itself an astonishing thing.
But just to the south of heavily fortified North Wantung lay another, much smaller island: South Wantung. The batteries of North Wantung were within easy shelling distance of its southern neighbour – yet, unaccountably, the Chinese had failed to occupy and fortify this second island. From a military point of view this was an elementary error, said the captain: if taken, South Wantung might well be the lever with which to force open the Tiger’s Mouth. This was the thinking behind the British plan of attack, which would commence with an assault on that island.
Once again the Bengal Volunteers were to be transported on the Nazareth Shah; they would be accompanied by a full complement of followers and baggage. The fighting would probably take several days if not weeks, said the captain, so the men had to be prepared for a long stay.
‘This time there’re no two ways about it, havildar,’ said the captain. ‘We’re going to push on to Canton, come what may.’
*
Next morning excitement spread like a contagion at Hong Kong Bay. Everyone – merchants and lascars, Parsi shipowners and Chinese boat-people – knew that a critical moment was at hand. When it came time for the warships to sail, a procession of British merchant vessels, festooned with pennants and Union Jacks, left the harbour to line the route to the estuary; their decks were crowded with passengers, some cheering, some praying; their masts and yards were aswarm with crewmen who had climbed aloft to watch the fleet go by.
Three seventy-four-gun ships-of-the line, Melville, Blenheim and Wellesley, led the way, and were followed by the forty-four-gun Druid and the twenty-four-gun Jupiter. They sailed out in stately fashion, with each vessel being cheered on by the spectators, who whooped and shouted hurrahs as though they were at a regatta.
The Ibis and the other supply and troopships were the last to weigh. They were escorted out of the bay by the Queen and Madagascar. In their wake followed the merchant vessels that were moving to the safe haven of Saw Chow, the Anahita among them.
The weather was perfect, cool but not cold; the sky was a clear blue and there was a gentle following breeze. This was the first time that Zachary had ventured so deep into the estuary: even though he had seen many fine prospects on the China coast, he was awed by the grandeur of this view – the channel was like a vast valley of lapis lazuli, set between mountains of jade.
The assembly point was a mile or so below South Wantung Island; by the time the support vessels arrived there preparations for the attack were already under way. The force’s warships were anchored in a broadly triangular formation, headed by the Wellesley and two other seventy-four-gun frigates. Behind them were seven smaller warships and a flotilla of cutters and rocket-boats. Supporting the sailships were three heavily armed steamers.
The formation was like an arrowhead, pointed directly at the forts of North Wantung Island. The island was sphinx-like in shape, with its head facing the British fleet. Upon its crown sat a massive battery, the gun-ports of which were already open, with the muzzles pointing at the warships. The surrounding shores were ringed by an almost continuous circle of fortifications; battlements ran up and down the slopes, ranging over the promontories and peaks of the Tiger’s Mouth.
From the quarter-deck of the Ibis Zachary had a fine view of the preparations for the attack. Of the fleet’s complement of steamers, three were busy paddling around the anchored vessels. Only one steamer was stationary, the Nemesis – but that was only because she was to be the spearhead of the coming attack. Half a dozen longboats were clustered around her, discharging men and munitions; a string of cutters was attached to her stern, ready to be towed.
Just as the sun was going down a cloud of dense blac
k smoke spurted from the tall funnel of the Nemesis. As steam built up in her boilers she seemed to quiver and shake, like a racehorse chomping at the bit. Then all of a sudden she darted forward, pulling three cutters behind her, heading towards the islet of South Wantung.
South and North Wantung were separated by a narrow strip of water. South Wantung was of negligible size: had it not been topped by a couple of small hillocks it could have been mistaken for a mudflat. Like a mouse beneath a cat, it seemed to cower in front of its lofty neighbour to the north.
As the Nemesis moved towards South Wantung two Chinese batteries opened up simultaneously, one from the heights of North Wantung, and the other from across the water, at Humen. The first few shots went astray and before the Chinese gunners could find their range the Nemesis had edged close to the shore of the islet. She pulled up to a beach that was protected by a hillock.
While the batteries of North Wantung continued to pound away, ineffectively, a landing party leapt ashore. All of a sudden the dun-coloured hillocks of the islet were aswarm with the blue uniforms of artillerymen.
Zachary’s spyglass was now riveted on the islet: having been trained as a shipwright he had a professional interest in the ways in which things were assembled and taken apart. He was captivated by the scene that now unfolded on South Wantung – two hundred men working together with the synchronized precision of wasps building a nest.
The gun-lascars of the Madras Artillery had brought a stack of gunny sacks with them; these they now proceeded to fill with sand from the shore. As the sacks accumulated they were passed from hand to hand, up to the saddle that separated the island’s two hillocks. Here, sheltered by the slope, stood an officer of the Royal Artillery; under his direction the sandbags were stacked to form a protective breastworks.
In the meantime squads of artillerymen were lowering an arsenal of dismantled weaponry from the Nemesis. A set of massive brass and iron barrels came first, each of them weighing half a ton or more; they were followed by the wheels and limbers of their carriages. The various parts were put together with astonishing speed and before the sun had gone down the makings of a small battery were already visible on the beach.