Mockford understood all I was saying – the sons were to be no more than figureheads.
“I see! I understand! I comprehend all, in fact! You must remain in Bombay to assist the gentleman to establish himself. Perfectly correct! You cannot go to Canton for, what? At least another year, would you say?”
“More likely two, sir. Then, if it suits my patron in Canton, I am to make my way to London, I believe, where there is much for me to do. I might, in fact, stray as far as Hampshire to perhaps reacquaint myself with my father’s old estate and the villages nearby.”
That smacked of revenge to Mr Mockford. He wanted to know nothing of my plans. I did not tell him that I had no scheme in mind other than to take a probably cursory glance at the lands I had once roamed and ridden over. Better to leave him with the slightly romantic impression that the dispossessed heir was to return from his travels with gold in one pocket and a pistol in the other.
“We must determine an escort for the gentlemen from London, Mr Jackson.”
“A military man, perhaps, sir? One who wears a splendid uniform and displays a straight back and will convey an impression of British power and glory?”
Mockford sniggered and suggested a stuffed dummy. Like most of the Company’s men, he had little other than contempt for the King’s officers who infested Bombay. The Company’s armies tended to be far more effective than the King’s, in Indian conditions, and their officers were true professionals, mostly.
“We might kill two birds with the one stone, Mr Jackson… You may remember a Company officer by the name of Binks, one who was under your brief command when you brought Port George under our control?”
I grimaced.
“I remember him only too well, sir. A man of habits that are alien to me, and to most Christian men!”
Mockford gravely agreed.
“That is indeed so, Mr Jackson, and he was bidden to leave the Company’s army. But not the Company’s employ, to the dismay of many who knew his story. He has, as you will be aware, a relative of some little power in England.”
“The Earl of Shaftesbury, I believe, sir.”
“Quite so, though there is no need to mention his name in public, or anywhere else. It was not deemed wise to send Binks Home in disgrace and he was given employment as a civilian instead. He has remained in Bombay under a cloud, one might say, not received in our society but paid a salary that enables him to live in comfort and indulge his inclinations as he wishes and often overtly. He is, to some slight extent, a scandal, Mr Jackson. I might suggest to the powers-that-be that Mr Binks might be forgiven his trespasses, as one might say, and be reinstated in the Company’s forces, probably as a major, and sent off to Peking with the delegation.”
“An excellent idea in its way, Mr Mockford, but what if he should return?”
“Then he would have to be put into employment, Mr Jackson. There are posts which require a senior officer who is, shall we say, to be made invisible to the generality of us in Bombay…”
I had heard of such; all knew of them. There were prison stations where the undesirables languished at hard labour in great heat and died quite rapidly. The inmates were generally foreigners who had come to Bombay in search of a quick fortune – pirates and slave traders and assorted alien banditti from the whole of the Orient. There were also a few politically inconvenient sorts who had attempted to resist the Company’s rule. The Company did not generally indulge in mass hangings of its opponents but nonetheless showed them little mercy. Apart from the prisons, there were garrisons on the Persian and Arab shores of the seas north of the Indian Ocean – hot, dry and desolate and far distant from Bombay and its comforts.
“Ideally suited to the man, sir. I would, naturally, send a message to my patron informing him of the nature of the delegation and of its constituent members. He would expect to know in advance of their existence and their mission.”
“And might decide whether he chose to terminate both, Mr Jackson?”
I showed my most innocent face – I could not possibly comment on so provocative a suggestion.
We laughed together.
“Can you tell me anything of these diplomats, Mr Mockford? Will they be government servants or politicos? Insignificant or gentleman of place and birth?”
“Probably public men of no great standing, Mr Jackson. A young peer of the realm, perhaps, to lend apparent importance; a junior Minister of the Crown; probably a lawyer or two; almost certainly a scientific figure – a naturalist or a doctor of medicine who may publish a learned report, which may be the sole value arising from the whole affair. No great loss if all die; a promotion to their careers if they succeed.”
The Company was washing its hands, it would seem. The meeting was finally revealing its purpose – Mockford had never really intended to send me off as escort and knew well that I had contacts in Canton. The Company wanted Mr Pitt’s mission to Peking to come to an early end before it could cause too much offence to the Qing; the simplest method of achieving this was to ensure that they got no further than Canton, suffering expulsion or death there, whichever was more convenient.
“I would imagine that they could not conveniently catch a fever in Bombay or Calcutta, whichever they landed in, Mr Mockford?”
He shook his head, waved a deprecating hand.
“Convenient indeed, Mr Jackson, but damnably difficult to arrange. Always a chance that evidence might float to the surface at a later date. The same might apply to a shipwreck, almost literally so. No, Mr Jackson, they must leave India whole and hale. There is no requirement that they should return, of course.”
Was their ship to meet up with one of the pirate fleets then all problems would be solved… The crew and cargo and all other passengers would also be lost; I was not that ruthless.
I’m still glad I was not. I have never reconciled myself to the casual slaughter of my fellow man. A weakness, some would say. The protection of the Company and the continued supply of tea and silks to England might be argued to be worth the loss of a ship and a hundred or two of seamen – but not by me.
The old ends and means argument – not one I have ever been able to resolve.
I have met men I respected who would argue – and act on their conclusions – that the protection of a whole country was worth the loss of a few innocents. Good luck to them, say I. They can do it, if they must, but I won’t.
They would say that makes me a weakling. They are probably right. What did the Sermon on the Mount say about that?
Sod it! Back to my story.
I farewelled Mr Mockford and sat down to think. A couple of glasses and an hour with a young lady of my acquaintance in the commercial line of affection and my mind was clear. I found Mr Tung and begged a few minutes of his time, made a brief explanation of the foolishness of government.
“They cannot be so unwise, Mr Jackson!”
“They can, Mr Tung. The people from London will be here on the next convoy and will make their way to Canton with the Bombay fleet.”
“They cannot be stopped here in Bombay?”
“Only at risk of all being disclosed to investigators, Mr Tung. Any action would have to be absolutely safe.”
He accepted that to be impossible. Chance could always overset the best laid plans. Assassination in Bombay was out.
“A message to Canton, Mr Jackson?”
“I would consider that wise, Mr Tung. It occurs to me that they might transfer from East Indiaman to a lorcha at Canton, to make their way up the coast to the port for Peking, whichever that might be. Were they to be taken en route, then all might regret such a disaster. Wicked pirates out of Japan or Korea or from the island of Formosa or the Philippines – all are known to exist, regrettably.”
“I will send the most reliable of my young men, Mr Jackson, on the next trader to sail. I cannot guarantee that my lord will choose to take such action, of course.”
I bowed.
“I would not presume to dictate action to my lord, Mr Tung. I
merely make the suggestion as a possibility that might, to my limited knowledge, be appropriate.”
Mr Tung returned my bow and we parted.
Mr Ainslie was busy in the process of bringing his ventures in Bombay to an end. His immediate concern was to farewell his sons, all three of whom were off on the same ship to the States, carrying some proportion of his wealth with them. They were sole passengers on their ship, Ainslie having bought them three cabins each and turned a blind eye to the young females who occupied the spare bunks.
“Five months, you will appreciate, Mr Jackson, to be an uncommon long time for a young man.”
“It is indeed, Mr Ainslie.”
“I have sent twelve dozens of wine apiece as well – a bottle a day each, which should be sufficient but not too much. They can top up at Madeira if need arises. That apart, they can benefit from healthy sea air and no doubt discuss their plans for their arrival. They are carrying a substantial amount of bullion and not a small consignment of silks, always a good seller in the States. They have a few heads of opium as well. They are to be landed at Richmond and will there contact my agent who will conduct them to their plantations. The boys will be set up to enjoy a profitable and idle existence, which is all, unfortunately, that they are good for. By my first wife and she was a handsome female but little else. Not a patch on little Sunny for their intellects.”
That was very true. Sunny was, still is, one of the brighter mortals – more so than me, I do not doubt.
“When are you to sail, Mr Ainslie?”
“With the convoy, Mr Jackson. Your man Tung has made an offer to me that I am obliged to accept. He has promised me gold as a down payment and Company Bills drawn on London over the space of four years, at a respectable rate of interest. The Bills are secured upon his brother’s enterprise in London, of course.”
Company Bills were safe, or so they seemed for many a year. It was, no doubt, a practical transaction. Ainslie would have as well the profits of more than twenty years of trading tucked away in safekeeping. He would be a true nabob.
“Have you decided where in England you are to settle, sir?”
“Down in the south, Mr Jackson. The County of Dorset if possible, as it is one of the poorer parts of England still, land available at far lower prices than in your Hampshire, its next door county, and that is not one of the highest. I will pick up an acreage and build a house and set down roots, Mr Jackson. Not so far from Poole, perhaps, that being a lively sort of town with a chance of business, perhaps.”
I shared some of my memories of Poole with him.
“Not perhaps a place for an ethical businessman, Mr Ainslie. A lot to be said for it, however.”
Ainslie agreed. He thought he might be able to find something to do with his spare time there. A pity that there was nothing doing in that area when he arrived. He ended up not so far from Winchester.
Chapter Five
I waved my farewells to Ainslie and his household – his almost invisible wife and Sunny, her daughter and sole child. The little girl came close to falling off the side of the East Indiaman, waving so furiously and shouting her goodbyes. I could just hear her shrill little girl’s voice yelling at me.
“Come to England, Mr Jackson! I will be waiting!”
I took my hat off and waved it to her, shouted back.
“In a few years, Sunny!”
She was young and would soon forget me, I had no doubt. I hoped so, I told myself, lying like a trooper.
I wondered how she would do aboard ship. Her mother was a quarter Indian, I knew – sufficient for the memsahibs to cut her dead. Sunny’s one eighth part would make the mothers look askance and guide their children away from her company; her father’s money was such that the same ladies might well wish to point their sons in her direction, a most favoured playmate who might grow up to be more. It might be amusing to observe from a distance – the opposing pulls of gold and Indian blood acting on the dear mems. A pity that I would not be there to see it!
The ship upped anchor and I joined the others left behind on the Indian strand, turning away and slowly back into town, to our offices and lonely bungalows and money and mistresses.
There was a dinner that evening – there were always parties in the days after the convoy sailed and the families left behind reconciled themselves to another year of the Shiny, as the soldiers called it. I was a guest of the Mockfords, forewarned that I was to be knowledgeable about Canton. The diplomats had arrived, sent out on a naval ship of the line to make a fast passage on a vessel that was ordered to the station in any case.
I arrived to time, as was incumbent on me: I was not so senior that I could be a few minutes late to announce my importance.
Mockford introduced me to his wife – fat and forty and thoroughly boring. She simpered and tittered at me for a minute or two and then I was passed on to the other guests.
“Lord Askham, who has the honour of leading our Delegation to the Court of the Qing.”
I bowed and he nodded his head, stating our relative importance. He said nothing to a lowly and young mister.
Askham was in his thirties, I estimated, with muddy brown hair and eyes; a long, pointed nose resembling a turnip; no chin compensated for by a prominent Adam’s apple; round, drooping shoulders and an already pronounced belly. He was dressed as a London exquisite in tight pantaloons under a frockcoat with frilled shirt and tall neckcloth; he was sweating despite the best efforts of the punkah wallahs, their fans flapping fifteen to the dozen. I smiled and passed along the line of the great and good.
“The Honourable Augustus Flint, Under-Secretary to the Board of Trade.”
A small man, far shorter than me, dressed identically to Askham and wilting. He at least offered a bow.
“Mr John Blackwood, MP.”
Blackwood gave a politician’s false smile and bowed. He was at least fifty, greying and thin as a rake. His eyes were bloodshot and he smelt of gin. A typical politician, in my experience.
“Dr Southgate, late Physician to the Court of St James.”
Southgate wore a wig, as was mandatory for a physician. Other than that I noticed nothing about him. A royal pox-doctor, I presumed – he would be experienced in his work.
“Mr Porteous, RA.”
We exchanged bows and Porteous begged my permission to sit for him. I had, he said, a striking profile. I realised then he was an artist not a gunner, having assumed he was Royal Artillery.
I was willing to allow him to sketch me – it would pass an idle hour or two.
We sat to table and I realised there were no other guests. I was prize exhibit of the evening.
“The Reverend Wetherspoon is unable to join us, gentlemen, a slight disorder of the system.”
Minor ailments, normally of the bowels, were a commonplace in Bombay. Hardly surprising considering the food we ate there. At one time or another we all took part in the Bombay Handicap – a sprint to the conveniences that not all won.
“Mr Jackson,” Mockford announced, the first curry consumed, “is recently returned from a sojourn of several years in Canton and Macao and is one of our few experts on China. I am sure he will be happy to speak with you about the town and its trade and people.”
I smiled my best, fighting a recalcitrant piece of mutton gristle down, being unwilling to spit it on the floor in such august company.
Lord Askham deigned to speak to me.
“Tell me, ah, Mr Jackson, how is it that a man of your years can be expert on China?”
“Fortune, my lord. I came out from England as a boy and was taken to Canton when still not full grown. I was lucky to be drawn to the attention of a great man there and have been entrusted with commissions by him.”
“Ah! A Country Trader, I presume?”
“I worked for Ainslie while he was here, my lord. My patron is a Chinese gentleman of noble rank. I believe we would equate him with a marquess.”
The concept of an aristocratic Chinaman was too much for my lord to swall
ow.
“Am I to understand that you accept orders from a Chinee?”
“Yes, my lord. The alternative was to flee Canton. We exist in Canton on sufferance, my lord. The wise man accepts that the Chinese have their own ways and that we must conform to them.”
My lord could not tolerate that concept – he was sure we should know better than to bow to mere foreigners. He would show them their proper place when he reached Peking.
“With respect, my lord. Peking is closed to foreigners. The last gwailos certainly known to have been there were Marco Polo and his trading family.”
“That is about to change, young man.”
My lord turned away from me and entered into conversation with Mockford.
Augustus Flint took up the cudgels and asked whether I really thought the Chinese would attempt to keep them out of Peking.
“Their armies are measured in the millions, Mr Flint. My patron, who is not a general, disposes of fifty thousand armed men, many of them trained musketeers. I would suggest that so many men armed only with sticks and stones would be sufficient to bar the road to Peking.”
Mr Flint feared I might be correct.
“What do we do, Mr Jackson?”
“Sail to Canton and beg a trader – a Chinaman, that is - to send a message to the Hoppo. Announce your presence and wait to see what might happen.”
“What might happen, Mr Jackson?”
“Anything, sir. That is one of the joys of the Chinese existence as far as we gwailos are concerned. They cannot be predicted. Their ideas are alien to ours. They do not understand us. We cannot comprehend them. We trade solely because we have goods they want, one in particular. If they decide to ban that good, then we shall be redundant.”
“What of our tea then, Mr Jackson?”
“We shall whistle for it, Mr Flint. The Chinese hold the whip hand, I fear, sir.”
“Unsatisfactory, sir! What does this word ‘gwailo’ mean?”
“Arguable, sir. Most would accept it to translate as ‘barbarian devil’. That may not be correct, of course – it might be as simple as ‘uncouth foreigner’.”
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