Foreign Mud

by Andrew Wareham

  Ainslie also understood that problem.

  “There is some degree of fear that we are to be wholly banned from Canton, Mr Jackson. The Company and the traders to be restricted solely to Whampoa and the anchorage.”

  “More likely than not, sir. Nothing to be done about that short of overt warfare. Accept it, is my advice.”

  Mr Ainslie was also of that opinion. He feared, however, that the government in England was so exercised about the problem of bullion leaving the country that they might well send a diplomatic mission with instructions to travel to Peking and there demand audience with the Emperor.

  I stared at him in horror.

  He nodded gravely. It was true. They were considering such foolishness.

  “What are we to do, sir?”

  “Duck?”

  I could not see the funny side of the situation. Mr Ainslie had made his pile and his profits were merely adding to his fortune; I still had mine to make.

  “By ‘duck’, sir, do you mean to stay here and keep your head down or do you intend to get out completely?”

  Ainslie glanced around him, to be sure none could overhear. He looked like nothing so much as a weasel peering out of cover before raiding the chicken house.

  “Getting out, Mr Jackson. I am to leave the trading house to my sons, equally split between the three boys. I shall arrange with them to sell out to the Parsees so that they can retire from trade themselves. You know my opinion of their abilities! They will have little by way of cash otherwise and I do not know that they could convert the stock and our contracts into wealth in the way that you and I have.”

  The three between them had, in my opinion, the total intellect of one very average man. All of the brains in that family had gone to Sunny. I had come to realise over time that that was why I had been given so much responsibility in the hong.

  “They will go off to America, all three of them, Mr Jackson. I bought land there, down in the State of Virginia, nearly ten years ago. There are now three flourishing plantations and they will go there and settle as gentleman planters. They will have money enough to buy a place each in addition. I think they might make a living as slave-driving cotton farmers; they will not do well as country merchants.”

  I saw the plantations not so many years later. I will not record my opinion of them, or of the so-called ‘plantocracy’ who ran them. Suffice it to say that the three dullards fitted in remarkably well. More of that later.

  “What of you, sir?”

  “I am to take ship in a few weeks, Mr Jackson. I have bought passage on an American who will take the whole household, no questions asked. That will include no little bullion and an amount of other valuables, personal wealth that will not be known to the City of London. The sums of money I have sent to my accounts in London over the last years have been earning interest and are known to the bankers, as they must be. To have additional funds cannot be unwise. Government may seek to tax my wealth, but only if they know it!”

  It seemed paranoid to me, but all Scots are tight with their bawbees, or so I am told.

  “Where will you settle, sir?”

  “In the South Country, Mr Jackson. I will not go back to the raw cold I remember in Aberdeen. I shall purchase a small estate, or possibly buy up a farm or two and build my own great house upon the land. I had intended to delay my retirement another few years but your endeavours have enabled me to put a good few thousand in gold into my pocket and I may leave now.”

  That was all very well for Ainslie. It left me in a hole.

  “I believe the lord in Canton had been relying on your expertise to establish his house in Bombay, sir. I do not entirely fancy informing him that he is without that support.”

  “No need to do so, Mr Jackson. My men will remain here and will not be taken on by the Parsees when they purchase the trading house. They will be happy indeed to take places with ye. They know everything that I do. To set up from new will be no problem to them.”

  I was much relieved.

  “What does Sunitra think of going to England, sir?”

  Ainslie laughed.

  “She is delighted at the prospect of going away from Bombay and living in England. Equally, she does not like to think of leaving her acquaintance behind, Mr Jackson. I have told her repeatedly that she is no more than twelve years of age and may make many new friends; she is convinced that she can make no better than you, Mr Jackson.”

  “A few years and I may return to England myself, sir. That is for another day, however. For the while, sir, I might beg a favour of you. I have some little sum of cash to hand the while. Could you take it to England for me and put it to use there, an investment for my future?”

  Mr Ainslie was happy to do so, the more for knowing that much of my money was in gold coin.

  “My correspondents in England all say that gold is in short supply, Mr Jackson, trading well above par. They say that a gold guinea will fetch twenty-four shillings in silver and more in bank notes. Your pagodas will be in demand, that is for sure. Besides that, of course, there are the Bills of Exchange drawn on the Company that the shroff has sent representing the sums paid to you on the opium trade this last year. They total a little in excess of five thousands English and may be presented in London at their face value, without discount. Your other funds amount to as much again, and I am holding those for you already. The Company was generous in its valuation of the tin you took at Port George and that accounts for much of the sum. I shall be holding more than twenty thousand pounds English, which is no small sum for a gentleman of your age, sir!”

  Looking back over half a century I can only admire my acumen in amassing such a sum almost by accident. It laid the foundations of my fortune, which is not small. A pity it will go to my son who will probably waste it faster than I made it!

  Not to worry – I shall be dead and will certainly know nothing of his foolishness. Strange, ain’t it, how a man of parts like myself might produce a village idiot like him. No accounting for it!

  Not to worry!

  I set up Lamqa and Mr Tung in offices in the commercial district and introduced Mr Ainslie’s clerks to them, and then his managers. I took Mr Tung to one side of an evening, sat him down over a meal and talked long with him.

  “You will have heard, Mr Tung, that the merchant Ainslie is to retire from the trade and return to his native land. I understand that his health is less than perfect and that he cannot continue to work the long hours demanded of a successful trader.”

  I was sure that Mr Tung would not understand the concept of retirement. Illness he could comprehend.

  “Mr Ainslie is to sell his hong. He has sons and they will be given comfortable sums to live upon in America, distant and out of the way. They lack the genius of the old man.”

  Mr Tung shook his head and said that was sad but by no means unheard of in Canton. In such a case the unfortunate young men must be disposed of and a loving father cannot wish them to go to the care of the strangler. Sending them to live in comfort in a far country was an act of kindness and generosity.

  “Exactly so, Mr Tung. I knew you would understand.”

  He bowed, I remember, and then commented that I would of course be adopted into the family, presumably by wedding the daughter. Ainslie would thus be able to continue his line with a man of great ability.

  You may not believe me, but that was the first time I ever thought of Sunny as other than my little friend.

  That is another matter, however.

  Mr Tung wondered what was to become of the trading house and its warehouses and ships and workers and contracts.

  “Mr Ainslie thinks he may be able to sell to one of the families of Parsees, of whom there are a number and very rich in Bombay.”

  Mr Tung smiled and suggested that he had as well sell to a gentleman of Canton.

  It was my turn to bow and to promise to introduce him to Ainslie. I would take no part in the bargaining between them; I was far too junior in Mr Tung’s eyes, at least tw
enty years younger than him.

  I was relieved, had come out of the business quite well, a true friend to both parties.

  Just two days later the Company sent a message that it would be pleased if I could find time to talk to them.

  I ran to their bidding, of course. Any man who wished to remain in Bombay found immediate time for the Company.

  I presented myself to the inspection of a Senior Writer previously unknown to me, a Mr Mockford. Unusually, he was English, very precise in the new accent – as was I – and obviously pleased to discover me to be a gentleman. That did not necessarily make him an idiot; it was indicative, however.

  “Where do you hale from, Mr Jackson?”

  I told him Hampshire, just to the south of Winchester originally.

  “My family died out, Mr Mockford, and I was left to the care of strangers. Hence my presence here rather than in my home area. I am told that my father had made unwise investments – a canal, I believe – that resulted in his bankruptcy and his early and unnatural death.”

  “One comprehends, Mr Jackson. As a child, you could not discover the rights or wrongs of the affair.”

  “Exactly, sir.”

  There was no harm in seeming to be the juvenile victim of wicked schemers – I might have been, for all I knew.

  “Tell me, Mr Jackson, if you are free to do so, just what is occurring in Canton at the moment.”

  I shrugged and spread my arms.

  “On the face of matters, as far as a gwailo may know, nothing, Mr Mockford. Under the surface and according to the tales that have come to me, a great deal. In detail, I do not know and will never discover. As you know, the Empire does not publish its affairs for the delectation of foreigners. I know what I am told – and must guess just why I am told it. In broad outline, sir, it seems that the tenure of the present Hoppo will be short.”

  Mr Mockford had not heard that, was all ears.

  “The Hoppo, sir, is an uncle of the Emperor. There are many such, naturally, an emperor typically keeping dozens of concubines at any one time. There are few legitimate children and they tend not to survive the death of their father, the brother who ascends the throne normally removing any others with a claim. Uncles and such by concubine can be very loyal, I am told.”

  That was known to Mr Mockford.

  “The current Hoppo, sir, was sent to strike down the trade in opium. Foreign mud was to be barred from the Empire and those who traded in it were to die, Chinaman and gwailo alike. Needless to say, that did not happen. The trade is worth millions each year and there are far too many addicts who would rise in outrage was supply of their comforter to be stopped. The Hoppo arrived full of good intentions and was rapidly made aware of the nature of reality and pocketed the tons, literally, of silver given him and sat back, making many pronouncements and enforcing none.”

  “That is as we had assumed to be the case, Mr Jackson. We have heard disturbing rumours, however.”

  “So have I, sir. The Emperor and his advisors in Peking – who may or may not exercise real power - demand an end to the trade. The Triads demand its expansion. The Company wants its silver. The country merchants demand the right to unfettered trade. The missionaries want… who knows what they want and how they think, sir? They want something, probably for nothing. The net result is turmoil. The most senior lord of the largest of the Triads, known to me and to an extent my patron in Canton, has decided to remove the Hoppo. The Hoppo will not last many weeks, may already be gone. The problem is, however, that the Hoppo’s successor, whoever he may be, will be appointed by Peking and might come with an army and set out to destroy the Triad. My patron made it clear to me that he might need to vacate Canton at some considerable speed. In such case, sir, he might well appear on our shores, accompanied by multiple tons of gold, silver, silk and jade. He would expect to be welcomed.”

  Mockford frowned and nodded and suggested that the foreign gentleman would not be rebuffed, or not until he had landed his fortune at very least.

  I was aware that at need the Company and the British government could be far more ruthless than any Triad.

  “What of the Company, Mr Jackson?”

  “Macao and Whampoa, sir. Our tenuous presence in Canton will be terminated for a season or two, officially. The Armenians and Parsees and other foreigners will remain, strictly invisibly, and will act for the Company. There will be no real difference. Apologise, kowtow, show desolate – all of the normal games, sir. It will all come right in a short time and profits will not be affected and trade will continue.”

  Mr Mockford showed relieved; if need be, he could show humble to anyone who supplied him with gold.

  “The country merchants, Mr Jackson?”

  “Will convey all of their opium to my people. None other will be permitted to trade overtly. It is likely, almost certain, in fact, that some of the smugglers and their gwailo suppliers, will be taken and killed interestingly. The bulk of the English merchants will discover little difference in trade or living.”

  “Excellent. What, now, of the missionaries, Mr Jackson?”

  “None are permitted outside of Macao. That is the law and it will be enforced most rigorously, sir. The man Wetherspoon was fortunate simply to be expelled. Should he or any other return then I fear for his life.”

  Mr Mockford was a little distressed to hear so.

  “Government in London, sir, believes that China would be a better place was the missionaries to be given freedom of access to the whole empire.”

  “What fools they are, sir, at six months distance and knowing nothing of the country!”

  “Yes, Mr Jackson. That is a given. All governments are made up of fools and they serve a lunatic.” I showed surprised. “Had you not heard? The King, God bless him, has suffered a suspension of the rational facilities, is said to be talking to trees at Windsor, and listening to their replies, as well as chasing ladies of the court with the intention of giving them a royal blessing – but not with holy water!”

  “My word, sir. There’s a come out for you! God bless the King indeed!”

  “Where was I, that’s it, missionaries. What is the prospect of changing Chinese policy?”

  I shook my head gravely.

  “Nil, sir. The sole answer will be to go to war. Destroy the Qing and it is possible that missionaries might be given the freedom to infest the poor country. Even then, the provincial leaders, warlords as they are sometimes called, would take action to remove them where possible.”

  Mr Mockford shook his head gravely. It was a practiced move, leading up to a sudden happy inspiration, carefully rehearsed and probably the key of the whole meeting. I listened suspiciously.

  “War, you say, Mr Jackson? Far too expensive. Government is thinking of sending a diplomatic mission to Peking to avert all conflict, and attain the concessions they demand, and requires an escort of a man who knows China.”

  I shuddered in horror. He obviously meant me.

  “Not bloody likely, Mr Mockford! The best such an escort might hope for would be exile from China for life. Far more likely would be one of the more inventive deaths, quite possibly in company with the delegation. No, sir! Under no possible circumstances will I do so. If constrained by being held under arrest, sir, I shall escape at the first opportunity. I do not wish to die yet. I would take the risk of wandering in poverty, declared a traitor and with no country to return to. At least I would be alive.”

  “That is plain speaking, Mr Jackson.”

  Mockford made it clear that he was not used to such and really could not approve of it. I apologised but refused to retract. I would not go to Peking with his so-called diplomats. I suggested he should send Wetherspoon on the grounds that he was stupid enough to do it.

  “If you want to make China free ground for missionaries, sir, then he is an obvious man to take the lead. And, if he dies, there will be no loss!”

  “Mr Jackson, the Reverend Wetherspoon is a gentleman in particularly good odour with certain minis
ters of His Majesty’s Government! As such, his death must be greatly regretted.”

  “And hotly anticipated!”

  “Sir! I must beg of you…”

  I had gone too far – it was never wise to cause offence to the Company. More than unwise, in fact!

  I grovelled, blaming my unfortunate lapse from the conduct expected of a gentleman on my distress and fear on hearing the government’s proposal.

  Mr Mockford very kindly forgave me – I was still young, said he.

  “Will you escort the delegation as far as Canton, Mr Jackson?”

  “I cannot, Mr Mockford. Indeed, I dare not show my face in Canton until I have completed my current task. I must beg the uttermost confidentiality of you, sir.”

  He made his solemn promise as a gentleman that not a word would pass his lips. I did not check to see whether he had crossed his fingers, knowing that he would inform his superiors of all that passed between us.

  “Mr Mockford, I am sent by a gentleman of Canton of the highest standing. He is leader of fifty thousand warriors and exercises control of the market in foreign mud.”

  That said Triad as plainly as was possible. Clearly, I was referring to the ‘patron’ I had already mentioned.

  Mockford made an ‘O’ with his mouth, said nothing.

  “I am escorting two sons, one of whom has taken ship for the Persian Gulf and will then travel overland to London where he will become a trader and importer. The Silk Road is closed this year, and may remain so for some few years in fact, but he will be placed to make use of the overland trade routes from Persia. The other son is to be located in Bombay and will bring substantial sums in bullion from Canton to fund his trading.”

  Gold and silver were always short; any source of precious metal was to be cherished.

  “I would add, Mr Mockford, that both young gentlemen are accompanied by assistants who will advise them in their trading duties.”