The Devil in Paradise--Captain Putnam in Hawaii

by James L. Haley

  Bliven sipped at his tea, and found it flavorful and robust without being bitter. “This is wonderful! Is this what you export?”

  “No, the best tea never leaves the country. I am glad to serve it to you, you will never have better.”

  “I can believe it. Tell me, Mr. Dunn, do you have the acquaintance of an American trader, Jakob Saeger, of the schooner Fair Trader?”

  “I have met him in the past. I have been here since 1818, and he was in the market several years before that, as I understand.”

  “I believe he may be in Canton now; that is where he said he was bound when he left Lahaina with a cargo. Our pilot said his brother brought him in a couple of days ago.”

  “Very possible. He would not stop here; he would go a little further upriver to sell to the craftsmen who buy the raw sandalwood.”

  “Is not all the commerce confined to this square?”

  “Oh, he does not come ashore; they go out to him. Is your business with him urgent? If so, I can send a runner upriver and see if he is there.”

  “No, no, I thank you. He was once attacked by pirates of a kind I lately had to engage near Singapore. I just want to learn the details of his incident. Perhaps I shall send a boat out tomorrow and see if we can locate him. This was truly wonderful tea, by the way.”

  “Yes, well, we can’t have you visit China and not experience fine tea.”

  Bliven stood, then reached to a table and picked up a slender jade goddess six inches tall. “My wife was raised to higher culture than I,” he said. “If she saw this apartment, she would swear she had died and gone to heaven.”

  “Well! You will be in port for some days, I trust. If you think the art is enchanting, you must try the food. Will you come back and have dinner with me tomorrow evening? You can bring your officers. It will give me great pleasure.”

  “That is most heartily accepted. Thank you for your great kindness.”

  * * *

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT BLIVEN was sleeping so deeply, he did not hear Ross knocking on the door of the berth but felt him shaking him by the shoulder. He heard distantly, “Excuse me, Captain. I am sorry to wake you. Lookout reports that the city is on fire.”

  The shadows fell strangely in the compartment, lit by the dull glow of the battle lantern that Ross carried. “What? There is a fire in the city?”

  “No, sir, the city is on fire.”

  “What! Oh, God!”

  “Here are fresh clothes, sir.”

  In his mind’s eye Bliven recalled his student days when he was consumed by history, of reading of the great fires—of the Alexandria Library burned by Caesar’s fire ships, of Rome burning while Nero sang, of plague-ravaged London alight in 1666—when he would close his eyes and imagine the awful sights. He raced up the ladder to the spar deck, and there it was: tall yellow flames licking the sky against a duller orange glow, buildings silhouetted against them, the panic of helpless people screaming in the streets as they sought safety by the water, ready to jump in if they had to. He could tell from the smoke before it disappeared up into the inky night that the wind was from the east and coming toward the Thirteen Factory Square.

  He sought out Lennox Jackson, who had the watch. “Did you see how it started?”

  “No, sir. I first noticed it when I went forward on my rounds. It seemed farther away than now; it must be spreading very fast.”

  The square before the Thirteen Factories was filled with a swarm of people, horses, carts, wagons, rickshas—every mode of conveyance to rescue what of their inventory they could. It was impossible not to imagine the babble of languages audible there.

  “Look there, sir.” Jackson pointed. “Boats approaching off the port beam. Looks to be a string of them, sir, tied together.”

  Bliven’s first instinct was to beat to quarters—an American ship in a foreign port, with the city in flames—but weighed this against being judged an ass for overreacting if the true story became known to be no threat. The dilemma was dispelled when a recently familiar voice issued from the first boat. “Ahoy, Rappahannock! Ahoy, can you hear me?”

  Bliven strode quickly to the port rail. “Is that Mr. Dunn?”

  “It is, sir, and thank God you are here! May I come aboard?”

  “Certainly. Can you manage the ladder?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  It was almost time for change to the morning watch, and the commotion brought the bosun’s mate and two seamen to the port boarding gate to help if they were needed.

  Nathan Dunn was breathing hard by the time he gained the deck. “There is a fire,” he gasped, “a terrible fire.”

  “Yes. Oh, Mr. Dunn, your things! Your wonderful things!”

  “Ting Qua and his employees helped get my collection into the boats. He . . . he let his own business be consumed in the fire so that they could save it.”

  Ting Qua followed Dunn through the boarding gate. “Mr. Ting, are you all right?” He was the first Chinese that Bliven had ever addressed, and he was surprised by his gracile build and finely etched features. Plainly he was in shock at the night’s events. “Yes, I think so.”

  The noise had awakened Evans Yeakel, who came topside to see if he was needed.

  “Mr. Yeakel, would you awaken the cook and ask him to make some tea to warm these gentlemen?”

  “I’ll tend to it myself, Captain. It is only two hours until he must get up, and once awake he won’t be able to go back to sleep.” Yeakel clattered back down the ladder.

  Bliven helped Ting to the hatch cover and sat him down. “Mr. Ting, we will have tea for you and your men shortly.”

  “That is most kind, Captain.” It was alarming how frail he looked.

  “Apparently, it is you who have been most kind. Is it true that your business is gone?”

  “Yes, but my merchandise is easily replaced. Mr. Dunn’s collection is a matter of personal interest to our emperor. The history and culture of my people is in these five boats. That had to take precedence.”

  Nathan Dunn had joined them. “Which does not diminish his heroism in the least. I don’t know what to do. There is furniture and jade and porcelain, and I have not a yard of packing material to protect any of it. Captain Putnam, may I appeal to you to bring this material aboard your ship until I can figure out what must be done?”

  “Of course, of course.” Suddenly it occurred to him, not just an adequate solution, but one in which he would take some pleasure. “Gentlemen, excuse me, I think I can help.” He raced back down to his cabin and met his steward. “Mr. Ross, please awaken Mr. Erb and tell him that I require his slops most urgently: shirts, trousers, stockings, everything that is made out of cloth that can be used as a wrapping. I think the whole ship is awake by now; find a couple of men, bring it up on deck by the armloads. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, Captain, right away.”

  “Listen, now. You come back here after you awaken Mr. Erb. We have taken on board the American merchant Mr. Dunn and his factor, Mr. Ting Qua. They have saved from the fire a large collection of Chinese art and furniture. As it is wrapped, I put you in charge of storing it in the guest berths here. Stow things as tightly and efficiently as you can, but take care, for some of it is very ancient and fragile.”

  “You may leave it with me, Captain.”

  “Tell Mr. Erb that he may have his slops back as soon as we have worked out a more permanent arrangement.”

  Bliven rejoined Ting and Dunn at the spar deck’s waist, to see that the fire had broken through the last line of buildings on the square, and the flames now illuminated the harbor without obstruction as it crawled along the line of factories. “Mr. Dunn, I fear we do not have any proper wrappings, either, but I am having shirts and stockings brought up that will meet the emergency. I will store your artifacts in the guest berths in my cabin.”

  “I don’
t know what to say, Captain Putnam. I am so grateful.”

  “Not at all.” Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurred to him that he was being called upon to save the essence of a great civilization from being destroyed, and that it was he who should be grateful, but that was a thought better expressed later. “Do you feel able to superintend my men wrapping your objects and getting them stored?”

  “Oh, Captain, just knowing that they will be safe gives me such energy as you cannot imagine. Yes, we will be fine.”

  Yeakel appeared bearing a wooden tray laden with steaming tin cups. “Swallow some tea first, gentlemen. Here you are.”

  As shirts and trousers began to pile up on the deck, Bliven smiled at the presence among them of linen napkins and tablecloths from the wardroom and the captain’s table. Erb might have been having a little revenge, but it was well done.

  “Captain, look!”

  “Mr. Jackson, what is it?” called Bliven.

  “Ship standing out of the harbor, Captain! I believe it is the one you have been seeking, sir!”

  “What, at this hour?” Bliven ran around the hatch to the starboard rail, in time to be certain that the Fair Trader was putting to sea.

  Dunn joined him, drawing long at his cup of tea. “Mr. Putnam, you sense there is a story there in his leaving, and I believe I can satisfy your curiosity as soon as we have completed the present task.”

  Miller and Rippel came up the ladder together, sleepy, and took cups of tea from the tray. Miller surveyed all—the fire, Mr. Dunn on the deck, a string of boats tied up, Chinese in long lines handing up treasures of art and stacking them on the deck. “Jesus,” he said. “Can we be useful, Captain?”

  “Bless you for coming up! Mr. Dunn will direct you.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant. You see this great pile of stockings here? And you see these small figurines there and all about, and these chests? If you gentlemen will wrap them in the stockings and pack them in the chests, and then stuff some more stockings around them so they do not shake about, that will get them out of danger and you can carry them down to the captain’s cabin.”

  Down below, Alan Ross directed the incoming tide of riches as best he could. Cabinets and tables of teak and ebony he placed tops down onto the blankets in the berths so they should not be scratched; the chairs he set upright with chests on their cushions and larger curios protected within their legs. It took three hours, the end of which saw Bliven, Dunn, and the lieutenants in the sea cabin, less Rippel, who had gone on watch, having swapped tea for brandy.

  Dunn was shifting uncomfortably. “Captain Putnam, I fear that after such desperate work, the human anatomy asserts itself. Tea in, tea out. Have you . . . ?”

  Bliven indicated the door. “My privy is at your disposal.” When Dunn returned, he sat at the table, disheveled, sooty, forlorn.

  “Mr. Ross?”

  “Captain?”

  “Can you bring a basin of hot water and a towel for Mr. Dunn? He can wash up in my berth. And pull out one of my fresh shirts for him to change into.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  “Mr. Dunn, have you a place to stay?”

  Only at that moment did Dunn allow himself the shock and exhaustion. “No, I—” He shook his head vacantly. “I don’t know.”

  “Let us hang you a hammock,” said Miller. “You need sleep before you think more.”

  “Oh, no.” Dunn managed a smile. “I don’t know how to sleep in a hammock. I should spin around and fall out like a ham.”

  “No,” said Bliven. “Take him forward. Ask Dr. Berend to bed him down in the sick bay. It’s a quiet corner; it has the softest beds and the cleanest sheets. We can talk when you wake up.”

  “You are a saint,” sighed Dunn.

  “On that other point you raised, if you can. What did you wish to tell me, about Captain Saeger and the Fair Trader?”

  “Ah. Your pilot had it correctly. He came into port yesterday morning from the Sandwich Islands, as he told everyone, with a prime load of sandalwood, sixty-five piculs of it. He got top dollar for it, too, I can tell you.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Dunn,” said Miller. “That is a unit of measure with which I am unfamiliar.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. Indeed, it is a measure unique to the Asiatic sphere. It varies from place to place, but is generally defined as how much an average man can carry on a shoulder pole. For commercial purposes it has been standardized at one and one-third hundredweight.”

  “So . . . ,” figured Miller, “sixty-five times a hundred, plus a third—call it twenty-two hundred—would be about eighty-seven hundred pounds, so a little over four and a quarter tons.”

  “More or less,” Dunn agreed. “Well, the buyers hadn’t even seen a cargo of Hawaiian sandalwood in five or six months, so they had taken to buying it from India, which is a decidedly inferior tree. Well, sir, within a few hours they were coming back out to his ship, screaming and cussing and fit to be tied. It seems that the bundles were sandalwood only on the outside; the interiors of the bundles were some useless wood of the same color. The merchants were in a state, threatened to have the law on him. They lightened him of every dollar they had paid him.”

  “Oh, Lord! Do you think he meant to swindle them?”

  “I do not, sir. They said that his shock and nonplus seemed completely genuine. I do not believe he knew what had been sold him.”

  “Were you a witness to this?”

  “No, this is what I was told just tonight, after the fire began. The commotion about the warehouses was tantamount to a riot. Saeger insisted upon coming ashore and inspecting the wood himself. He took a scraping of every log and smelled it, vowing the most terrible vengeance on those who had done this to him. By the time they had separated the dross from the genuine commodity, it did not amount to more than ten piculs of sandalwood. This they were willing to pay him for, and did so.”

  “My God,” whispered Bliven. “Well, if they did pay him for what good sandalwood he delivered, did that not satisfy them and end the trouble?”

  Dunn shook his head. “It should have, but later in the day, representatives of the major trading companies went to see the governor, and he revoked Saeger’s license to sell in Canton. Effectively, he has been banned.”

  “But why? If he was himself the victim of a swindle, and restitution was made, I do not understand why he should be outlawed from the city.”

  “Because, Captain, the major trading concerns, such as Marshall and Wildes, are his competitors. It was an opportunity for them to land a lethal blow and drive him from the business, and believe me, they wield considerable influence in a city that is China’s only contact with Western commerce.”

  “My God.” Bliven shook his head. “I cannot imagine anything more calculated to enrage him.”

  “What they paid him for the ten piculs was barely enough to provision his ship. And so tonight there was the fire. I doubt that anyone can prove how it started, but I note that it began among the craftsmen’s shops and spread to the foreign quarter. I will learn after I rest how extensive the damage was. But I did hear one further thing that I should relay to you. Saeger was heard to say that when he returned to the Sandwich Islands, he would have his vengeance upon the savages who cheated him.”

  “Oh, no.” Bliven shook his head. “Gentlemen, we must get back there. We must get back there with all speed. Mr. Miller, will you show Mr. Dunn to the sick bay?”

  “Certainly, Captain. Mr. Dunn, it is down one deck and forward.”

  “Thank you. I can assure you, I am past being shy about wanting a place to lie down.”

  “Go get some sleep, then.”

  Dunn paused. “It is ironical, when you come to think on Captain Saeger. Here was this deeply mean and dishonest man who was finally undone and ruined by being cheated by someone else. Ha! And people think God has no sense of humor. Well, good nig
ht, gentlemen. I thank you once more for your kindness.”

  Miller returned and he and Bliven sat alone in silence for some moments. “That makes him look guilty as hell, does it not?” asked Miller. “Absconding in the middle of the night . . .”

  “Yes.” Bliven nodded. “He could have been slinking away in the dead of night from sheer humiliation, but if Dunn heard correctly, Saeger is damned by the words from his own mouth. I have a mighty fear that he is going to do something dreadful when he gets back among the Hawaiians. In the morning we must dispose of Mr. Dunn with all kindness and get under way.”

  13

  Queen to Her People

  All slept until daylight, when Ross brought coffee into the sea cabin, where Bliven was already awake. “Are the others up?”

  “Yes, sir, they are having breakfast in the wardroom.”

  “Set me a place, if you please. I will be down directly.”

  All the officers pushed back their chairs and stood as soon as they heard his steps on the ladder. Ross held a chair back for him at a plate of eggs, pork, toast, and jam.

  “We are sorry to have begun without you, Captain,” said Miller. “We did not know you would join us until we had already started.”

  Bliven tucked his napkin into his cravat. “Well, in that case, gentlemen, you should have refreshed your plates. You could have had larger breakfasts. How are you this morning, Mr. Dunn?”

  “Rested, Captain, thank you, for all you gentlemen have done.”

  “Not at all. Where is Mr. Ting?”

  “We put him ashore at his own request. He was anxious to begin putting our affairs back together.”

  “I took him over myself, sir,” said Miller. “While there, I took the liberty of engaging a pilot to take us back down. Mr. Sosa had not departed yet, so I hired him, since we already have confidence in him. I know you want to get under way at the earliest possible moment. He tells me that the tide will turn about noon, and we can depart then. Also, I made an inventory of the stores.” He handed Bliven a folded paper. “We should have just enough food and water to get back to the Sandwich Islands without topping off again. I hope I have not taken too much upon myself without orders.”