Flood of Fire

by Amitav Ghosh

  On the other side of the room Mr Burnham was still deep in discussion with his fellow merchants. Zachary made his way over, tapped Mr Burnham on the elbow and led him aside.

  ‘I’ve had a word with Captain Mee, sir.’

  ‘And what came of it? Is he amenable?’

  ‘I’m glad to tell you, sir,’ said Zachary proudly, ‘that he is.’

  ‘Good man!’ Mr Burnham beamed as he clapped Zachary on the back. ‘That’s all I needed to know. You can leave him to me now, I’ll handle the rest. It’s enough that you’ve brought him around – can’t have been easy, I imagine.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Zachary. ‘It wasn’t.’

  ‘I won’t ask how you did it,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘But I do think you deserve a commission.’

  In any other circumstances Zachary would have been flattered by Mr Burnham’s words. But the successful resolution of his encounter with Captain Mee had given him a new sense of confidence; in these opulent surroundings nothing seemed beyond his reach.

  ‘I hope you will not mind me saying so, sir,’ he said, ‘but a commission is not what I want.’

  ‘What do you want then?’ said Mr Burnham, taken aback.

  ‘What I’d really like, sir,’ said Zachary, ‘is to be a partner in your firm.’

  Mr Burnham’s face darkened as he took this in. But then his lips curved into a smile. ‘Well, Reid,’ he said, stroking his beard, ‘I’ve always said that when the spirit of enterprise stirs in a young man, there’s no telling where it will take him! Let’s wait for this campaign to come to an end and then we’ll see what can be worked out.’

  Reaching for Mr Burnham’s hand, Zachary gave it a hearty shake. ‘Thank you, sir. Thank you.’

  This second success was enough to make Zachary giddy with triumph. But as he was wandering off in search of a celebratory glass of wine, it struck him that his victory was still incomplete and would remain so until Mrs Burnham knew of it. Only when word of it had been conveyed to her would his triumph be complete; there would be a sweet, subtle pleasure in stripping her of her illusions about her knight-in-armour.

  The thought brought on a sharp pang of desire, making him hungry to see her again. It struck him now that if he played his cards carefully then she too might be persuaded to yield to him again. It was no more than he deserved. After all wasn’t it she herself who had broken the promise she had made to him? Hadn’t she said that when the time came to end their liaison they would meet one last time, for a night of delirious delight, before saying goodbye?

  *

  The distraught wavering of Neel’s handwriting, when he learnt of Raju’s arrival in China, was perhaps a better illustration of his state of mind than the disordered jumble of words that he jotted down in his notebook that night.

  What happened was this: appearing unexpectedly at the Ocean Banner Monastery, Jodu told Neel that he had spent the last several weeks with Serang Ali, who had been summoned to Canton to help with the preparations for a renewed Chinese offensive.

  One of Serang Ali’s tasks was to gather information about British troop and ship movements. A few days earlier rumours had reached Guangzhou that a large British force was to be moved to Whampoa; Serang Ali had been sent to Hong Kong to investigate. While there he had met up with their old comrade from the Ibis, Ah Fatt: he had confirmed that only one company of troops and a single ship now remained at Hong Kong; every other soldier and vessel in the British force had been sent forward to Whampoa and Canton.

  But there was some other news too …

  This was when Neel learnt, to his utter shock, that Raju had travelled to China and was now at Whampoa, on a ship, with a company of sepoys.

  To remove the boy from the ship would be impossible, Jodu told Neel; their best hope of spiriting him away was to wait for the sepoys to come ashore. In Serang Ali’s current crew there were many local men; they would help.

  But when will they come ashore?

  Maybe very soon, said Jodu enigmatically. For all you know something big may happen soon; maybe even tomorrow.

  The date was 19 May 1841.

  *

  All through the last week the hallways of the British Factory in Canton had been abuzz with rumours of an impending Chinese offensive. Duringthis time Zachary had been busy shuttling between the foreign enclave and Whampoa, transferring Mr Burnham’s goods to the Ibis.

  Going back and forth in a longboat, Zachary had been able to observe for himself the renewed military preparations around Guangzhou: a huge encampment of soldiers had appeared at the eastern end of the city; new batteries had been built including a large one near Shamian Island, very close to the foreign enclave; and flotillas of war-junks had gathered inside the creeks that debouched into the Pearl River.

  All of this was in plain view – as was the British force that had recently come to Whampoa from Hong Kong, bringing thousands of additional troops: it was led by the seventy-two-gun Blenheim, which towered over every other craft in the anchorage.

  From all this and more it was amply clear that both sides were again preparing for war. Zachary was not in the least surprised when Mr Burnham announced, one afternoon, that the Chinese were expected to spring a surprise that night: Captain Elliot had issued instructions for the British Factory to be evacuated; the merchants who were resident there were to move to a vessel that was anchored opposite the foreign enclave. The Nemesis would be nearby, standing guard.

  ‘I think you had better stay with us tonight, Reid,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘I’ll have to remove all my goods from the factory and that’ll take a while. And the situation being what it is, it’ll be too risky to go back to Whampoa after nightfall.’

  A couple of hours went by in moving the last of Mr Burnham’s crates and chests to the longboat. It was almost sunset by the time the job was completed.

  A brief ceremony was held in front of the British Factory as the Union Jack was taken down: it was a solemn moment, for the flag had flown atop that mast for almost three months now. Then, along with all the other merchants, Zachary and Mr Burnham were rowed over to a schooner, Aurora, that was anchored off the foreign enclave: this was where they were to dine and spend the night.

  No sooner had they stepped on board than Manchu bannermen were seen moving along the waterfront. It was clear that the attack was now imminent.

  The guests ate a hurried meal and then gathered on the foredeck. It was a dark, moonless night and the riverfront, usually so noisy, was unnaturally quiet. There were no coracles shuttling between the shores and nor were there any pleasure-boats circling around White Swan Lake. British warships and cutters had been stationed at intervals along the riverfront; their lanterns formed a thin necklace of light in the darkness.

  The foreign enclave was dark too, except for the American Factory, where a few merchants had stayed on. Although the British Factory was empty and shuttered its steeple-clock was still working: just as it struck eleven the battery at Shamian Island opened up with a great thunderclap. Seconds later the whole waterfront erupted as bright jets of fire spurted from a string of concealed batteries and gun-emplacements.

  The Nemesis was the first to return fire. One by one the other warships followed, unloosing broadsides at the city’s batteries and gun-emplacements. Then, with a great crackling noise, sheets of flame appeared in the surrounding creeks.

  ‘Fire-raft! Dead astern!’ shouted the Aurora’s lookout.

  Rushing aft, Zachary saw that a blazing boat was heading towards the Aurora. Nor was it the only one – many others quickly appeared, on the river and on White Swan Lake. It was as if a tide of fire were roiling the water.

  But the use of fire-rafts had been anticipated by the British commanders: this was why cutters had been positioned along the river. They moved quickly now to intercept the blazing boats; armed with gaffs and poles, sailors pushed them aside, to burn out at a safe distance.

  Even as this was going on, British gunships were intensifying their bombardment of the city. The Nem
esis too took some hits and her engine was disabled for a while, but her guns continued to fire and the Algerine quickly pulled up alongside to provide support. Between them the two warships unleashed a terrific fusillade at the battery on Shamian Island, and it wasn’t long before its guns fell silent.

  Yet, despite the pounding, the Chinese artillery continued to fire, hour after hour. Every time a gun was knocked out another would appear somewhere else.

  Meanwhile fires were blazing in various parts of the city and crowds were milling about on the roadways. Through all this the foreign enclave had remained unscathed, for the British warships had been instructed to direct their fire away from it. This special treatment did not long escape the notice of the townsfolk: with the foreigners beyond their reach the foreign enclave was now the only target on which they could vent their rage.

  In the small hours of the night a large crowd was seen to be advancing upon the enclave. A detachment of Royal Marines was sent over to rescue the Americans who had stayed behind; they were whisked away just as the crowd poured into the enclave.

  From the safety of the Aurora the merchants watched as the doors of the factories were battered down. Then the crowds rushed inside, to carry away whatever they could find. After the buildings had been emptied they were set alight.

  The factories were all lavishly constructed, with fine wooden panelling and parquet floors. They burned mightily, with upcurling plumes of fire shooting out of their doorways and windows.

  The merchants on the Aurora watched in horror as the factories went up in flames. The spectacle was poignant even for Zachary whose acquaintance with the Thirteen Factories was very brief. Some of the other merchants had frequented those buildings for decades; some had accumulated vast fortunes there. Many began to weep.

  By the time the sun rose the buildings had been reduced to charred skeletons.

  After breakfast the senior merchants on the Aurora were summoned to a meeting on the Nemesis. On returning, Mr Burnham told Zachary that British gunships had destroyed dozens of war-junks and fire-boats during the night; as for guns, so many had been silenced that the number was yet to be computed. On the British side the toll was negligible: some injuries, a couple of dead, and a few lightly damaged ships. The Nemesis had been swiftly repaired and she had seen a great deal of action afterwards. In a single sortie the steamer had destroyed forty-three war-junks and thirty-two fire-rafts.

  But the Chinese offensive was far from exhausted, said Mr Burham: it was thought that they still had many fire-rafts and attack-boats in reserve. The mopping-up operations would continue for a while yet: once completed the British forces would probably launch a punitive attack on the city, to demonstrate, once and for all, that these attempts at resistance were futile and that no more prevarication would be tolerated.

  In the meantime the merchant ships anchored at Whampoa were to remain where they were until such time as a convoy was organized to take them to Hong Kong Bay. Zachary was to stay with the Ibis until the convoy departed; he was to proceed to Hong Kong with the other merchant ships.

  ‘And you, sir?’ said Zachary to Mr Burnham.

  ‘I’ve been asked to stay on in Canton for a while,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘When you get to Hong Kong would you be so good as to tell my wife that I’ll be back in a fortnight or so, after this bit of nonsense has been sorted out?’

  ‘Yes of course, sir,’ said Zachary. ‘I’ll go over to see Mrs Burnham as soon as I get there.’

  *

  At Hong Kong Bay it was so sultry that morning that Paulette woke up wondering whether she was in the grip of a fever. Her sheets and her nightclothes were drenched in sweat – yet inside her, at her core, there was an icy feeling of disquiet.

  But when she mentioned it to Fitcher he said there was no reason to worry: it was just that the weather had taken an odd turn. The temperature had risen sharply and he had a feeling that a big storm was on the way.

  During his time in southern China Fitcher had become familiar with the signs of an approaching typhoon: the sudden heat, the stifling humidity and the stillness of the air were to him as much harbingers of a ‘big blow’ as a falling barometer. So certain was he of this that he went out to the western end of Hong Kong Bay, in a boat, to see whether clouds had appeared on the southern horizon. That was the direction from which typhoons usually came, sweeping up from the south to lash the coast, battering Macau, Hong Kong and Kowloon before travelling northwards to Canton and beyond.

  But there was not a cloud anywhere to be seen that morning; the sky was a flat white mirror, radiating heat.

  The storm would not break for a while yet, Fitcher told Paulette, and it would probably be preceded by a few showers and spells of rain. That was how it usually happened: there was no immediate reason for concern.

  All of this made sense to Paulette yet her mind was not set entirely at rest. Fitcher understood then that she was fretting about something else and he urged her not to go to the nursery that day; there was no need, he said, the caretakers would be able to manage perfectly well on their own.

  But Paulette decided that she would go over to the island after all – despite the heat it would be better to be at work than to fret on board.

  So the Redruth’s gig set off, as it did every day – except that today the water, like the air, was unnaturally still: the boat’s ripples carved grooves upon its glassy surface.

  Paulette was sitting with her back to the bows and as they drew closer to Hong Kong one of the oarsmen told her to turn around. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that dozens of people had gathered to form a ring around something lying on the beach.

  A memory stirred of another day, two years ago, when a body had been washed in by the tide. Her heart lurched and she told the oarsmen to row faster, faster. When the gig pulled up to the shore she leapt out and went running across the beach.

  She had to push past a number of people to get through the ring. At the centre lay a man’s body. The wet clothing was pierced all over with rents and slashes – but there was no mistaking that ragged jacket and the shapeless trowsers.

  A stout, elderly man was squatting beside the body; he had covered the face with a piece of cloth but on seeing Paulette he took it off.

  ‘Mistoh Freddie Lee.’

  It turned out that the old man was Freddie’s landlord in Sheng Wan village. The night before, he said, a couple of men had come to the house asking for Freddie. They had said that they were friends of his and that he was to meet them on the beach.

  Freddie had responded warily when the message was conveyed: ‘Who they ask for, eh?’

  ‘Freddie Lee,’ the landlord had said, and this had settled Freddie’s doubts.

  ‘Only friends call me that, ne?’

  He had put on his hat and set off for the beach.

  That was the last time he was seen alive.

  Twenty

  Around Canton the attacks and counter-attacks, the explosions and bombardments continued for three long days, to the accompaniment of a continuous and rising din – the howling of unseen mobs, the panicked cries of children, the crackling of flames.

  On the British side the fighting and shooting was done entirely by the navy; the infantry battalions that had been brought to Whampoa remained on their respective ships, at Whampoa, through this time.

  The confinement was particularly trying for the Bengal Volunteers since they had been at Whampoa for many weeks already. To make things worse, on the second day of the offensive, there was a sudden change in the weather, which became increasingly torrid and sultry. Without a catspaw of wind to stir the air the stench of the bilges permeated every corner of the ship, making it as hard to remain below deck as it was to venture out into the sun.

  The conditions were particularly hard on Captain Mee, whose mood had taken a turn for the worse ever since the day of the fighting around the Tiger’s Mouth. The change was particularly striking, or so it seemed to Kesri, because at the start of the operation he had seemed sti
ll to be riding on the high spirits in which he had returned from his sojourn at Macau. But from the time of his visit to the Ibis, to drop off the wounded ensign, he had fallen into a black humour: Kesri had thought at first that it was just that he was distressed to see the young ensign’s career ending so sadly and suddenly. But he soon realized that it could not be that alone, that something else had happened to make the captain brood and fret to this degree; not since the days of his abrupt separation from Miss Cathy, at Ranchi, had Kesri seen him in such a dark state of mind. Now, as the troops sat stewing in their transport vessels, at Whampoa, the captain seemed at times to be almost beside himself with frustration: Kesri had never known him to be as morose and irascible as he was during those three long days.

  On the third day the turmoil around the city reached a climax, with the sound of gunfire echoing along the riverfront from sunrise onwards. That afternoon the officers’ daily briefing on the Blenheim went on for an unusually long time. Soon after Captain Mee’s return Kesri received a summons to his cabin. On stepping in Kesri knew at once that they would soon be going into the field: for the first time in days Captain Mee seemed untroubled and at ease. He sounded almost cheerful as he said: ‘It’s on at last, havildar! We’re going to teach the Longtails a lesson they won’t forget.’

  A chart was lying open on a desk: following the captain’s forefinger, Kesri saw that the walled city of Guangzhou was shaped like a dome, with its base resting on the Pearl River, to the south, while its apex lay upon a range of hills and ridges, to the north. Sitting finial-like on its crown was a five-storeyed edifice called the Sea-Calming Tower. Opposite the tower, just beyond the city walls, were some hills topped by a cluster of four small forts. Three of these were circular in shape but the largest, which faced the Sea-Calming Tower, was rectangular.

  These four forts were lightly defended, said Captain Mee: the Chinese commanders had calculated, no doubt, that if the British launched an attack on the city it would come from the south so they had concentrated their forces along the banks of the Pearl River. But General Gough had prepared a surprise for them, a two-pronged assault. A small British detachment would land at the Thirteen Factories, on the Pearl River shorefront, with the aim of seizing and clearing the foreign enclave. But the main force would continue along the Pearl River to White Swan Lake at the western end of the city, before veering northwards, along another river: it would land well above Guangzhou at a village called Tsingpu. Between the landing-point and the four forts lay three or four miles of farmland: this was a rural area, with only a few scattered villages so no resistance was expected. Once the hills had been scaled and the forts seized, the city would be helpless: a single battery of guns positioned on the northern heights would be enough to control all of Guangzhou.