Foreign Mud

by Andrew Wareham

  “Time to get out, shroff!”

  “I have shifted everything to Macao, and have sold out there, Mr Jackson. I am to board a junk this afternoon, appearing to travel towards Lintin and an inspection of the hulks. I sail from Macao tomorrow, with my all. I was informed you were to arrive, sir, and waited only on you.”

  “Wise man. I must make my way into Canton, I suspect.”

  “There will be a sampan at the wharf soon after dark, Mr Jackson. A coolie will come to collect you.”

  “Excellent! Do you know what else is planned, shroff?”

  “No. I have heard rumour that a convoy of junks has been assembled in the estuary, hidden in the small islands and marshes there. I have made no attempt to verify the story. None of my affair!”

  I suspected it was not mine.

  “Do you know why I have been called here, shroff? It seems fairly pointless to bring me this distance for no great purpose… Am I to be given to the Hoppo as a formal sacrifice, a part of my lord’s price for his escape?”

  “I do not think so, Mr Jackson. I spoke to Mr Fong only last week and he seemed to think you had a part to play in the lord’s plans and it was hoped you would survive it. I do believe that you will be rewarded properly if you live. The lord has some liking for you, I am sure, and Mr Fong has a brotherly affection, as you must know. It is worth remembering, of course, that brothers are often killed off in China so that they cannot interfere with an inheritance or other schemes of the family.”

  I smiled at such kind words.

  I sat in the factory and waited for dusk, drinking tea and eating a heavy meal for not knowing when next I would have the opportunity. I loaded my pistols and told Fred to look to his. Then I simply sat and fretted.

  Mr Fong himself came to me after dark, greeting me very kindly.

  “We are to travel to a village in the reedbeds, Mr Jackson. Once there, you will discover what comes next. It will be an amusing adventure for a young man of parts, such as yourself. Your servant must remain in the village – there will be no place for him for the two days. He will be protected properly.”

  I gave Fred the news, explaining that it was by order of the lord. He did not like it. He also knew that neither of us was in position to disobey.

  “If anything goes wrong, Fred, and you get back to Bombay, see Mockford and he will have cash for you and a passage back to Poole.”

  Fred grunted sourly.

  “Don’t ‘ee be bloody daft, Master Giles! If it do go wrong, then they’ll cut my throat for me just to make all tidy like.”

  That seemed very likely. Fong made no attempt to reassure either of us, but he was not of a culture that had much respect for the personal retainer.

  We reached the little village, both of us remembering we had been there before. We slept a few hours and then I was led to another sampan while Fred was escorted to a comfortable hut occupied by two at least of young females. Mr Fong assured me that he would be well looked after.

  The sampan took me into Canton, past the wharves once used by the Company and into the Chinese town where the presence of gwailos was illegal. I was put into a robe and walked quickly to a palanquin and was carried off, being decanted into a closed courtyard a few minutes later.

  I was dusted down, the robe removed and my hair combed for me, making me fit to be seen. Mr Fong led me through to a receiving chamber where I bowed and then knelt to my lord. He smiled at me, the second time I had received that honour.

  Mr Fong spoke.

  “You are to perform a task for my lord, unique in its nature, Mr Jackson. In the whole of Canton today, only you can carry out this particular errand.”

  Why? I was probably the only young gwailo in Canton at that moment, which had to be the significance of the whole business. What could a gwailo do that none other could? I smiled my best and told Mr Fong that I was honoured to be entrusted with any task for my lord and was, as ever, entirely at his service.

  Mr Fong, I am convinced took my words at their face value – he truly believed that I was delighted to obey the lord’s least request. I suspect that he could imagine no greater joy than to serve his master and would have been happy indeed to die for him.

  I wasn’t willing to die for me, let alone for some old Chinese bugger. I thought it wiser not to make that explanation.

  “There is a new Hoppo who has shown himself remarkably underbred, Mr Jackson. So much so, that my lord will no longer work with him and will withdraw from Canton instead. My lord wishes to utterly humiliate the Mongol dog.”

  The Qing were Mongols, descendants of those who had conquered China and still formed a distinct and separate ruling class. It was not done to refer to their Mongol ancestry, was the ultimate in insult, and carried a protracted death penalty. I suspected that the criminal’s entrails were drawn out in the process. I did not enquire as to the accuracy of supposition,

  I took an indrawn breath, showing comprehension of his words.

  Mr Fong continued.

  “The Hoppo has, as is natural, a number of wives and more of concubines in his train, Mr Jackson. It has been arranged for you to enter the closed quarters of his household and be seen in close company with a senior wife. You will flee, naturally, and will hopefully escape. There will be a hue and cry and it will become known that a gwailo had been discovered in congress with the Hoppo’s lady. The shame will be immense! He will almost certainly withdraw from Canton and from all public life; if he does not, it will be because he has killed himself. The word will reach Peking and the Emperor will be embarrassed, having personally appointed the reprobate to almost the highest position in the realm. It is not unlikely that the Emperor himself may be prevailed upon to take poison. He has a son anxious to take the throne. The shame upon the Qing will be unprecedented. For a lady of the Mongols to commit adultery is rare; for one to be known to have done so is almost unheard of, a matter of secret whispers; to have been in congress with a barbarian – that has never before happened. I am awestruck at my lord’s imagination!”

  So was I.

  The more so because I had to turn his fantasy into reality and possibly come away in one piece. If I was successful, then this was my final visit to China. The same if I failed, of course, but for a different reason.

  I bowed and thanked the lord for the opportunity to serve him in such unique fashion. I was ushered out of his smiling presence, only then starting to wonder whether a gwailo who had in effect insulted the whole Chinese nation could be allowed to live.

  Chapter Six

  “Well, Mr Fong?”

  “Well indeed, Mr Jackson. The lord has determined upon a coup such as never has occurred in the whole of our long history. We are privileged, honoured, to play a part in this historical event. A pity that our names shall never be known in conjunction with this endeavour – but lesser beings such as we must be content to have served our masters and seek no other reward.”

  I did not mention that I very much hoped I would receive a substantial reward, in gold, I trusted. I found that as I grew older – and I was barely into adulthood – so money became more important to me. Not enough to turn me into a true merchant, chasing every penny and squeezing the sixpences till they squeaked, but sufficiently so to make a fortune desirable.

  “When am I to perform my bold and perfidious act, Mr Fong?”

  “This very evening, Mr Jackson. Within the hour.”

  That was better than waiting – I am no shrinking violet, no nervous type scared to act, but I had no wish to sit in contemplation of the deed I was to commit.

  I have wondered since about the death penalty, about the cruelty, not of killing the justly condemned criminal, but of making him wait for days on end, months sometimes, in the cell, wondering if every approaching footstep is the one coming to lead him to the gallows. It should be the case that the verdict is given and the rope placed about the neck in that same moment – putting the felon out of his misery, possibly granting him more kindness than he offered his victim.


  I am not the stuff that judges are made of, I fear. Even less could I be an executioner. I have killed my share in fair fight but never in cold blood as a job paying piece rate, so much for each felon turned off the scaffold.

  It must be a strange man who is an executioner.

  And there is my excursion into philosophy for this day.

  Back to Canton.

  Mr Fong produced a silken robe again and a hat with a silver button, a low grade of functionary, possibly a tutor or such. I was to wear my Western garb beneath it, so that I could discard the robe at some point and be more easily recognised as a gwailo.

  “I am not to hide away, Mr Fong?”

  “There could be no concealment, Mr Jackson. Canton will turned upside down.”

  “Oh, good! I do hope that I may not be in Canton when that search commences.”

  “There will be sampans waiting for you at the wharves, Mr Jackson. One at each end and another towards the middle, each flying a blue pennon – the colour of the robe I wear. Board any one and it will set out for a place of safety.”

  That sounded reassuring.

  “How far from the Hoppo’s residence to the wharves, Mr Fong?”

  “No more than one of your miles, Mr Jackson.”

  One thousand seven hundred and sixty yards – fifteen minutes at a fast walk. Half that at a good trot. On open land, that is. Through the crowded streets of the busiest city on Earth? To be a running gwailo on those streets was an automatic death sentence – being seen in flight meant being killed, torn to pieces by the mob; as simple as that.

  “To find your way, Mr Jackson, watch for the tower at the wharf where the customs men habitually dwell. It is a tall building, easily seen.”

  I nodded, too busy thinking to say a word.

  The palanquin came for me and I stepped in. Mr Fong passed me a purse as a farewell. It was more of a reticule than a pocket purse, weighed heavy in my hand. I glanced in saw a mixture of silver catties and gold coins unknown to me. Useful, most likely. A gold coin would attract favourable attention anywhere. A catty of silver was more than the average man would see in a month, would buy a family rice for a season. If I had a chance to offer a bribe, it would likely be accepted.

  “When the palanquin stops, Mr Jackson, you must immediately get out and open the door to your left. It will be unlocked and fronts onto a set of stairs, one floor. Ascend and you will be in the forbidden part of the Hoppo’s dwelling. There you will be able to enter one of the private rooms – it does not matter which. Having gone inside, come out again and be seen by the eunuch who will be waiting and who will shout the alarm as you drop your robe by the door you used to enter. From there on, you are on your own, sir.”

  “Is the eunuch to be trusted?”

  “Wholly. His family – the brothers he left behind when he was sold – are leaving in the lord’s train, their children with them. And their wives.”

  The women were an obvious afterthought.

  “Will he survive?”

  “Unlikely, as he knows. The Hoppo will try to close every mouth that might talk of a gwailo in his women’s quarters. Regrettably, other mouths, well out of his control, will cry up the tale and he will be unable to reach them all.”

  “What of the women?”

  Mr Fong shrugged.

  I could not refuse to go – and I suspect I had imbibed some of the Chinese contempt for their females. Difficult to live in a country and not be affected by its ways. That’s my excuse, anyway.

  “I am carrying pistols, Mr Fong.”

  “Wise indeed, Mr Jackson. Should you be caught, a bullet will be your friend.”

  That was a thought that had not occurred to me. It should have, of course.

  Mr Fong touched my shoulder in farewell, a gesture of remarkable intimacy, of close friendship, possibly even of regret to send me to my probable death. I raised a hand in salute as he pulled the curtains to and ordered the boys off.

  They trotted for fifteen minutes, yelling at pedestrians in their way and turning a dozen corners left and right. I had no idea of the route I had taken. It did not matter. The city was to the north of the river and I had only to head in a generally southerly direction to find the Pearl. I was seaman enough to know my bearings almost by instinct and would not get lost easily.

  The palanquin stopped and a voice whispered in Pidgin that I had arrived. The curtain was twitched back and I stepped out. The door was in front of my nose and unlocked and without its guard. I could not imagine that any entrance to the Hoppo’s palace would not have a soldier on it. The bribes must have been immense and the soldier a long way distant on a fast horse.

  It was very much a tradesman’s entrance, the walls plain and undecorated. Possibly dressmakers or their equivalent would gain access to the females here – I did not know the ins and outs of domestic economy amongst the Chinese aristocracy. I was prepared to bet that it was not a route designed for foreign lovers to follow.

  I made my way carefully upstairs, trying to place my boots silently on the stone treads; it would not do to be caught before doing the job, wasting my endeavour and losing my life for nothing. A corridor opened at the top, lavishly decorated, the walls hung in silk and the floor thickly carpeted, all in lush crimsons and gold. It was at least ten feet wide. I came to an archway, curtained across, and entered, the first as good as any.

  The chamber inside was lamplit, bright and rich again. It was also occupied by a pair of women, maids perhaps, who reacted to my presence with howls of outrage that drew an older woman from somewhere behind them. She instantly tried to hush the pair, probably knowing that her own life was forfeit if a man was discovered to have been in her rooms.

  I ran out and almost bumped into a servant in gold and jade robes. He had to be the eunuch – no other man could have been there. He shouted and gestured to me, raising a fist to himself. I obliged him by punching him hard in the face and then running. I presume he hoped an obvious battery might save his skin, poor fellow.

  I fled downstairs, hoping to find the door still open. It had occurred to me that I might have been betrayed – a gwailo caught and exhibited would be impossible to deny – but the door was still unguarded. I dropped the robe, as ordered, and ran hard, down the street and then left, to the north, away from the wharves. I turned off the road and skipped into an open store where I tossed a gold coin to the shopkeeper as he began to protest my presence. He fell instantly silent and I grabbed hold of his robe and pulled it from him. A second and he realised what I wanted and assisted. His shop sold dried prawns and his robe smelled of his trade, but beggars could not be choosers. I put another coin into his hand and turned right out of the shop, pointing to the left.

  I hoped the old and near naked gentleman would decide that if I was caught nearby, there would be questions asked about my clothing. The possession of two gold coins would condemn him if discovered. I heard him shouting, hoped he was calling his wife to bring something to restore his decency.

  I walked to the nearest street corner and turned south there, hurrying as much as was possible through the crowds. Chinese streets were always full of people, most of them stepping out busily – better in some ways that I did not stand out. I was becoming quite hopeful as I made my way to the wharves until I came to a rush of people heading north, fleeing something.

  Traders came to Canton from the whole empire and from the tributary states of southern Asia as well. It was not uncommon to hear men using Pidgin in the docks area.

  I veered to one side of the road I was traversing and listened.

  Soldiers on horseback, rampaging up and down the waterfront, stopping any man not obviously short and Chinese. A great but disorganised manhunt. More soldiers in the distance, footmen behind banners. The lights began to go out in the shops and shutters came down as the owners heard of trouble and knew that soldiers would take to looting at any excuse or none.

  I slipped from one door to the next, keeping to the shadows. I came to an open
front and eased my way inside. It was a silk shop – every shop in the street the same as always in Canton. All of the traders in any product huddled together, long rows of similar stores selling apparently identical goods at the same price. There must have been a difference between them but I could never see it.

  A little man waved a butcher’s cleaver at me and pointed to the exit.

  I waved a gold pagoda at him and pointed inwards.

  He stopped shouting and I produced a second coin, then a third.

  He took hold of my arm and led me through to the back, behind his bales in the stockroom and then opened a tiny door into a narrow alley.

  “Talkee Pidgin, Master?”

  “Talkim.”

  He slowly explained that the back alley led down to the wharves. Out of sight.

  Some of his silk must come in that way, unlawfully, I presumed. I suspected most of the shops would have these sorts of rat runs.

  I explained I was looking for a sampan bearing a blue pennon. There would be several of them. If he could send a boy to look for the nearest… I rattled the purse and showed the pistol.

  He could have swiped me with his cleaver and robbed me. I might fire the pistol and draw the soldiers to him.

  He decided to play safe, raised two fingers demandingly. I opened the purse and produced two more pieces. Then I fished inside for a pair of catties, told him they were for the boy.

  Five minutes and a pair of ragamuffins ran off, one to search east, the other to the west.

  I spent a long hour knelt out of sight at the back of the shop. It cannot have been shorter for the shopkeeper, terrified that the boys would be taken and would talk, which they inevitably would, given the treatment they would receive if found to be carrying sums of silver. I would die slowly if I was taken, as a gwailo caught in malfeasance; the shopkeeper would be punished for treason, his whole family with him… I had already given him more gold than he could hope to see in five years; I hoped that would suffice to keep him silent.