“Oh. Have you seen what she’s had made?”
“Oh no, sir. She left for Macao the day after the land sale. I got a letter from her yesterday. She sends her best to you.” Horatio knew that the gift of the gown gave Mary a very good chance to win the prize. Except for Shevaun. If only Shevaun would get sick! Nothing serious, just enough to eliminate her on the day. Then Mary would win the thousand guineas. With that they could do marvelous things! Go home for the season. Live in splendor. Oh God, let her win the prize! I’m glad she’s away from Hong Kong while I’m here, he told himself. Then she’s out of Glessing’s reach. Damned man. I wonder if he’ll really ask for her hand. What cheek! He and Culum … ah, Culum … poor Culum.
Horatio was a step behind Struan as they climbed the stairs so he did not have to hide his disquiet. Poor, brave Culum. He remembered how strange Culum had been the day after the land sale. He and Mary had sought Culum out and had found him aboard Resting Cloud. Culum had asked them to stay to dinner, and every time they tried to bring the conversation around to the Tai-Pan, hoping to make peace between them, Culum had changed the subject. Then finally Culum had said, “Let’s forget my father, shall we? I have.”
“You mustn’t, Culum,” Mary had said. “He’s a wonderful man.”
“We’re enemies now, Mary, like it or not. I don’t think he’ll change, and until he does, I won’t.”
Poor, brave Culum, Horatio thought. I know what it’s like to hate a father.
“Tai-Pan,” he said as they reached the landing, “Mary and I were terribly sorry about what happened over the knoll. But even sorrier about what’s happened between you and Culum. Culum’s, well, become quite a friend, and—”
“Thank you for the thought, Horatio, but I’d be glad if you’d na mention it again.”
Horatio and Struan crossed the landing in silence and went into Longstaff’s anteroom. It was large and rich. A huge candelabrum dominated the ornate ceiling and the gleaming conference table underneath it. Longstaff sat at the head of the table, the admiral and General Lord Rutledge-Cornhill flanking him.
“Day, gentlemen.”
“Good of you to join us, Dirk,” Longstaff said. “Take a seat, my dear fellow. I thought your advice would be valuable.”
“What’s amiss, Your Excellency?”
“Well, er, I asked Mr. Brock to join us too. It can wait till he comes, then I don’t have to repeat myself, what? Sherry?”
“Thank you.”
The door opened and Brock strode in. His caution increased when he saw Struan and the resplendent officers. “You be wanting me, Yor Excellency?”
“Yes. Please take a seat.”
Brock nodded at Struan. “Day, Dirk. Day, gents,” he added, knowing it would infuriate the general. He was grimly amused by the cold nods he received in return.
“I asked you two to join us,” Longstaff began, “well, apart from the fact that you’re the leaders of the traders, what?—well, your counsel would be valuable. It seems that a group of anarchists has settled on Hong Kong.”
“What?” the general erupted.
“’S truth!” Brock said, equally surprised.
“Contemptible anarchists, can you imagine that? Seems that even the heathen are infected by those devils. Yes, if we don’t watch out, Hong Kong will become a hotbed. Blasted nuisance, what?”
“What sort of anarchists?” Struan asked. Anarchists meant trouble. Trouble interfered with trade.
“This, er, what was the word, Horatio? ‘Tang’? ‘Tung’?”
“‘Tong,’ sir.”
“Well, this tong’s already operating under our very noses. Dreadful.”
“Operating in what way?” Struan asked impatiently.
“Perhaps you’d better start from the beginning, sir,” the admiral said.
“Good idea. At the meeting today the Viceroy Ching-so was most upset. He said the Chinese authorities had just learned that these anarchists, a secret society, have set up their headquarters in that festering eyesore, Tai Ping Shan. The anarchists have many, many names and they’re—well, you’d better tell them, Horatio.”
“Ching-so said that this was a group of revolutionary fanatics who are committed to overthrow the emperor,” Horatio began. “He gave His Excellency half a hundred names that the society went under—Red Party, Red Brotherhood, Heaven and Earth Society, and so on—it’s almost impossible to translate some of the names into English. Some call it just the ‘Hung Mun’ or ‘Hung Tong’—‘tong’ meaning a ‘secret brotherhood.’” He collected his thoughts. “In any event, these men are anarchists of the worst order. Thieves, pirates, revolutionaries. For centuries the authorities have tried to stamp them out, without success. There are supposed to be a million members in South China. They’re organized in lodges and their initiation ceremonies are barbaric. They foster rebellion under any pretext and feed on the fear of their brothers. They demand ‘protection money.’ Every prostitute, merchant, peasant, landowner, coolie—everyone is subject to paying them squeeze. If no squeeze is forthcoming, then death or mutilation follows quickly. Every member pays dues—rather like a trade union. Wherever there’s discontent, the tong whips the discontented into rebellion. They’re fanatics. They rape, torture and spread like a plague.”
“Have you ever heard of Chinese secret societies?” Struan asked. “Before Ching-so mentioned it?”
“No, sir.”
“Anarchists be devils, right enough,” Brock said worriedly. “That be the sort of devilment the Chinee’d go for.”
Longstaff pushed a small, red triangular banner across the table. There were two Chinese characters on it. “The viceroy said that the triangle is always their symbol. The characters on this flag mean ‘Hong Kong.’ In any event we’ve trouble on our hands, that’s certain. Ching-so wants to send bannermen and mandarins into Tai Ping Shan and go through it with a sword.”
“You did na agree?” Struan said.
“Good God, no. We’re having no interference on our island, by Jove. I told him we’d have no truck with anarchists under our flag and we’d deal with them promptly, in our own way. Now, what should we do?”
“Throw every man jack Oriental off Hong Kong and be done with it,” the admiral said.
“That’s impossible, sir.” Struan said. “And na to our advantage.”
“Yus,” Brock said. “We’ve to have laborers and coolies and servants. We needs ’em right enough.”
“There’s a simple answer,” the general said, taking a pinch of snuff. He was a red-faced, gray-haired bull of a man with a well-used face. “Issue an order that anyone belonging to this—what did you call it, tong?—will be hanged.” He sneezed. “I’ll see the order’s carried out.”
“You canna hang a Chinese, M’Lord, just for wanting to throw out a foreign dynasty. That’s against English law,” Struan said.
“Foreign dynasty or not,” the admiral said, “fostering insurrection against the emperor of a ‘friendly power’—and he’ll be friendly soon enough, by God, if we’re allowed to fulfill the function we were ordered here by the Government for—is against international law. And English law. Look at those scalawag Chartists, by God.”
“We dinna hang them for being Chartists. Only when they’re caught rebelling or breaking the law, and that’s right!” Struan glowered at the admiral. “English law says man has a right to free speech. And free political association.”
“But not associations that promote rebellion!” the general said. “You approve of rebelling against legal authority?”
“That’s so ridiculous I’ll na give it the courtesy of an answer!”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Longstaff said. “Of course we can’t hang anyone who is a—whatever it is. But equally we can’t have Hong Kong festering with anarchists, what? Or poxy trade-unionist ideas.”
“It could be a ploy of Ching-so’s to throw us off guard.” Struan looked across at Brock. “Have you ever heard of the tongs?”
“No. But I be
thinking that if the Triangs squeeze all, then they be squeezing trade an’ soon they be squeezing us’n.”
The general petulantly flicked some nonexistent dust off his immaculate scarlet uniform tunic. “This obviously comes under the province of the military, Your Excellency. Why not issue a proclamation outlawing them? And we’ll do the rest. Namely, apply the rules we’ve learned in India. Offer a reward for information. Natives are always ready to sell out rival factions at the toss of a guinea. We make an example of the first dozen and then you have no more trouble.”
“You canna apply Indian rules here,” Struan said.
“You’ve no experience in administration, my dear sir, so you can hardly express an opinion. Natives are natives and that’s the end to it.” The general glanced at Longstaff. “This is a simple matter for the military, sir. As Hong Kong will soon be stabilized as a military cantonment, it will be in our sphere. Issue a proclamation outlawing them and we’ll see justice done.”
The admiral snorted. “I’ve said a thousand times that Hong Kong should come under the jurisdiction of the senior service. If we don’t command the sea-lanes, Hong Kong’s dead. Therefore the navy’s position is paramount. This would come under our jurisdiction.”
“Armies settle wars, Admiral—as I’ve mentioned repeatedly. Land battles finish wars. Certainly the navy slaughtered Bonaparte’s fleets and starved France. But we still had to finish the conflict once and for all. As we did at Waterloo.”
“Without Trafalgar there’d have been no Waterloo.”
“A moot point, my dear Admiral. But take Asia. Soon we’ll have the French and Dutch and Spanish and Russians on our necks encroaching our rightful leadership of this area. Yes, you can dominate the sea-lanes, and thank God you do, but unless Hong Kong is militarily impregnable, then England has no base either to protect her fleets or to jump off from against the enemy.”
“The prime function of Hong Kong, M’Lord, is a trade emporium for Asia,” Struan said.
“Oh, I understand the importance of trade, my good man,” the general said testily. “This is an argument about strategy and hardly concerns you.”
“Weren’t for trade,” Brock said, his face reddening, “there’d be no reason for armies and fleets.”
“Poppycock, my good man. I’ll have you know—”
“Strategy or no,” Struan said loudly, “Hong Kong is a colony and comes under the Foreign Secretary, and this will be decided by the Crown. His Excellency has acted wisely in this matter and I’m sure he feels that both the Royal Navy and the queen’s armies have a vital place in Hong Kong’s future. As a Royal Naval dockyard and military base and trade emporium”—he kicked Brock surreptitiously under the table—“and as a free port its future is assured.”
Brock covered a wince and added quickly, “Oh yus indeed! A free port’ll mean huge brass for the Crown, that it will. An’ revenue for the best dockyards and barracks in the world. His Excellency’s got all thy interests at heart, gents. The army be very important and the Royal Navy. An open port’ll work to all thy advantage. Most of all the queen’s, God bless her.”
“Quite right, Mr. Brock,” Longstaff said. “Of course we need both the navy and the army. Trade’s the lifeblood of England and free trade the coming thing. It’s to all our interests to have Hong Kong prosperous.”
“His Excellency wants to open up Asia to all civilized nations without favor,” Struan said, choosing the words carefully. “How better than from a free port? Guarded by the elite forces of the Crown.”
“I disapprove of letting foreigners grow fat off our backs,” the admiral said curtly, and Struan smiled to himself as the bait was taken. “We fight the wars and win them and have to fight more because the peace is always fouled in civilian conference. The pox on foreigners, I say.”
“A noteworthy sentiment, Admiral,” Longstaff said as curtly, “but not a very practical one. And as to ‘civilian conference,’ it’s more than a little fortunate that diplomats take the long-term point of view. War, after all, is only the long arm of diplomacy. When all else fails.”
“And ‘diplomacy’ has failed here,” the general said, “so the sooner we land in force in China and implant English law and order throughout the land, the better.”
“Diplomacy has not failed, my dear General. Negotiations proceed cautiously and well. Oh, by the way, there are three hundred millions of Chinese in China.”
“One English bayonet, sir, is worth a thousand native spears. Goddamme, we control India with a handful of men and we can do the same here—and look what a benefit our rule in India has brought those savages, eh? Show the flag in strength, that’s what should be done. At once.”
“China is one nation, M’Lord,” Struan said. “Not dozens like you have in India. The same rules canna apply.”
“Without safe sea-lanes the army couldn’t hold India for a week,” the admiral said.
“Ridiculous! Why, we could—”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Longstaff said wearily, “we’re discussing the anarchists. What’s your counsel, Admiral?”
“Throw every Oriental off the island. If you want workers, then select a thousand, or two thousand—however many you need on the island—and exclude all others.”
“M’Lord?”
“I’ve already given my opinion, sir.”
“Oh yes. Mr. Brock?”
“I thinks with thee, Excellency, that Hong Kong be a free port and we needs the Chinee an’ should deal with Triangs ourselves. I thinks with the general: Hang any of these Triangs wot be caught inciting rebellion. An’ with the admiral: that we doan want any anti-emperor secret treason on the island. Outlaw ’em, yus. An’ I thinks with thee, Dirk, that it baint lawful to hang ’em if they be acting peaceable. But any wot bats an eyeball and be caught as a Triang—lash ’em, brand ’em and toss ’em out forever.”
“Dirk?” Longstaff asked.
“I agree with Mr. Brock. But no lashing and no branding. Those belong in the Dark Ages.”
“From what I’ve seen of these heathens,” the general said distastefully, “they’re still in the Dark Ages. Of course they have to be punished if they belong to an outlawed group. The lash is an ordinary punishment. Set it at fifty lashes. And branding on the cheek is correct English legal punishment for certain felonies. Brand them too. But better hang the first dozen we catch and they’ll evaporate like dervishes.”
“Mark them permanently,” Struan flared, “and you never give them a chance to become good citizens again.”
“Good citizens don’t band into secret anarchistic societies, my good sir,” the general said. “But then, only a gentleman would appreciate the value of that advice.”
Struan felt the blood soar to his face. “The next time you make a remark like that, M’Lord, I’ll send some seconds to call on you and you’ll find a bullet between your eyes.”
There was an aghast silence. White with shock, Longstaff rapped the table. “I forbid either of you to proceed with this line of talk. It is forbidden.” He took out his lace kerchief and wiped away the sudden sweat on his forehead. His mouth tasted dry and sour.
“I quite agree, Your Excellency,” the general said. “And I suggest further that this problem is solely one for the authorities to decide: you, in conjunction with the admiral and myself, should decide this sort of matter. It’s not in the—in the domain of tradespeople.”
“Thee’s so full of wind, M’Lord General,” Brock said, “that if thee farted here in Canton, it’d blow the gate off’n Tower of London!”
“Mr. Brock!” Longstaff began. “You will not—”
The general slammed to his feet. “I’ll thank you, my good sir, to keep that sort of remark to yourself.”
“I baint yor good sir. I be a China trader, by God, and the sooner thee knows it the better. The time be gone forever when the like of me’s to suck thy arse ’cause of a poxy title which like as not were gifted first to a king’s whore, a king’s bastard, or buyed by knife i
n a king’s back.”
“By God, I demand satisfaction. My seconds will call on you today!”
“They will do no such thing, M’Lord,” Longstaff said, crashing the flat of his hand onto the table. “If there is any trouble between either of you I’ll send you both home under guard and impeach you before the Privy Council. I’m Her Majesty’s plenipotentiary in Asia and I am the law. Goddamme, it’s most unseemly. You will each apologize to the other! I order you to. Immediately.”
The admiral hid his grim amusement. Horatio looked from face to face with disbelief. Brock was aware that Longstaff had the power to hurt him and he wanted no duel with the general. And, too, he was furious for allowing himself to be drawn into open hostility. “I apologize, M’lord. For calling thee a bagful of fart.”
“And I apologize because I’m ordered to do so.”
“I think we’ll close this meeting for the present,” Longstaff said, greatly relieved. “Yes. Thank you for your advice, gentlemen. We’ll postpone a decision. Give us all time to think, what?”
The general put on his bearskin helmet, saluted, and made for the door, spurs and sword clinking.
“Oh, General, by the way,” Struan said casually, “I hear that the navy’s challenged the army to a prizefight.”
The general stopped in his tracks, his hand on the doorknob, and bristled as he remembered the remarks the admiral purportedly had been making about his soldiers. “Yes. I’m afraid it won’t be much of a match though.”
“Why, General?” the admiral said irately, remembering the remarks that the general purportedly had been making about his jolly jack-tars.
“Because I’d say our man’ll win, M’Lord. Without too much of an effort.”
“Why na have the match the day of the ball?” Struan suggested. “We would deem it an honor and we’d be glad to put up a purse. Say fifty guineas.”
“That’s very generous, Struan, but I don’t think the army’ll be ready by then.”
“The day of the ball, by God,” the general said, purple. “A hundred guineas on our man!”
“Done,” said the admiral and Brock simultaneously.
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