The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection

by George MacDonald Fraser

  I almost didn’t recognise him at first, for he was swathed in bandages like an Egyptian mummy, with his leg in a splint and a big plaster on his jaw, but it didn’t stop him talking, and I’d have recognised that staccato Yankee voice anywhere. The Norfolk jacket had just finished roaring, in a fine Dixie accent, that he didn’t know wheah Ned Forrestuh wuz, an’ he didn’t dam’ well cayuh, neethuh, an’ if Forrestuh had jest waited till the flanks wuz covered they wouldn’t ha’ bin cotched like a nigguh with his pants down in the melon-patch, it was downright hoomiliatin’.

  “Now, you find him damned quick!” snaps Ward. “If he got out – and I hope to God he did – you tell him to get back to Sungkiang with every man he’s got! No, the hell with the gunboat, let the Imps worry about it! For all the good it was we’d ha’ been better with a canoe! Now, get going – Sungkiang, remember! Spitz, find the doctor – I want our casualty count – not the Imps! Goddam it, if only I could walk!”

  “An’ whayuh the hell do Ah git goin’ to?” bawled the Norfolk jacket, raising arms to heaven. “’Lessn Forrestuh’s daid, he’ll be back at the rivuh by naow, an’ … holy baldhead, who the hell is that?”

  I had reined up by the road, and he was gaping at me, so I gave a cheery wave and sang out: “Just a tourist, old fellow. Hollo, Fred – been in the wars, I see!”

  None too tactful, you may say, but no reason for the Norfolk jacket to leap three feet and yell: “Cover him, Spitz! He’s a chang-mao!”

  “Don’t be a damned fool, I’m nothing of the sort!” says I. “Do I look like one?”

  “They do!” he roars, pointing, and I realised that Jen-kan’s four thugs were lurking modestly behind me, on the fringe of the wood, and there was no denying, they had Taiping haircuts.

  “Hold your fire!” I shouted, for Spitz, the wounded galloper, was unlimbering an enormous pistol. “Ward, I’m Flashman! We’re friends! They’re not Taipings … well, they are, but they ain’t hostile! Call him off, Fred, will you?”

  He was looking at me as though I were a ghost, but he signed Spitz to put up his piece. “What’n tarnation are you doing here?”

  “Going to Shanghai,” says I. “So will you, if you’ve any sense.”

  “He’s an Englishman!” cries the Norfolk jacket. “Like Trent an’ Mowbray! Ah kin tell by his voice!”

  “I know what he is!” says Ward impatiently, and to me: “I thought you were at the bottom of the Yangtse! Where the dooce have you been?”

  “That’s a long story. First, if you don’t mind …” And I turned and waved away my escort, who wheeled and vanished into the wood on the instant, like sensible lads. Spitz raised a great outcry, and the Norfolk jacket waved his arms.

  “Savage is English, too, an’ he’s with the Taipings!” he bellowed. “Seed the son-of-a-bitch on the wall this mawnin’, bold as brass –”

  “I told you to go find Forrester!” barks Ward, and winced. “Damn this leg! Spitz, will you get that casualty count!” D’you know, they went like lambs; he was still young Fred Ward, but he’d grown some authority, all right.

  “Well, I swan!” He shook his head at me. “You back in British service, or what? I thought you said they busted you over that Pearl River business?”

  “No-o, you said that, and I didn’t contradict you. I’m still staff colonel.”

  “Is that a fact?” He was grinning, although the pale young face was pinched with pain. “And those four – were they on the staff, too? Oh, who cares! Come on, Dobbin!” He waved to the coolies, who heaved up the sedan again. “They don’t gallop, exactly, and I’d as soon the Long-Hairs didn’t catch up with me!”

  I told him about Lee’s forthcoming advance as we went, not mentioning Jen-kan, and he never took those bright black eyes off me, although he winced and gasped as he was bounced along. When I’d done, he whistled and swore.

  “Well, there goes Sungkiang, I guess. In which case, the hell with it, I’m going to France, and have a rest.” He squinted at me. “It’s pukka – that Lee’s coming?”

  “Yes, and the less you say about it, the better. We don’t want him to know he’s expected, do we? But, look here – if you can’t hold Sungkiang, hadn’t you better pull back to Shanghai?”

  “I’ve got a contract to hold the dam’ place!” says he. “If I don’t, Yang Fang’ll want his money back – and he’s my father-in-law! Anyway, your man Bruce doesn’t want me anywhere near Shanghai – I’m a confounded mercenary nuisance, old boy, dontcherknow?” He laughed bitterly. “The damned dummy! Why, if he’d supported me with arms and men, we’d ha’ had a half dozen Taiping places by now, and Lee’d never get within twenty miles o’ the coast! But all I get is Imps, and they don’t fight – you saw that mess just now? And I had to lay there and watch! Say, I sure hope Ned Forrester got out, though!”

  I said, if Bruce wasn’t helpful, why didn’t he try his own American consulate, and he hooted and said they were even more timid than the British or French. “They’re all glad enough to hide behind us, though, preserving their darned neutrality – and counting their dividends! Ain’t they, though? Oh, I reckon not!” He lay back, gasping and stirring to try to ease his wounds. “God, but I’m tired!”

  We were out on the paddy by now, threading along the causeways, and on either side the plain was dotted with groups of fugitives, streaming away from Chingpu – Imps, mostly, but a few in green caps, white men and little dark-skinned chaps who I guessed were Filippinos. They hailed Ward whenever we came within earshot, and he shouted back, although his voice was weak, calling: “All right, boys! Good for you! See you in Sungkiang! Pay-day’s coming, you bet! Hurrah!” And they hurrah-ed back, waving their caps, and trudged on through the paddy.

  There was no sign of pursuit, and now we called a halt to eat and rest Ward’s bearers. The picnic basket proved to contain enough for a banquet, with hams, cold roasts and fowls, fruit, chocolate, and even iced champagne, but Ward contented himself with a loaf of bread which he ate in handfuls, soaking each bite in rum. The rest went in no time, for a party of green-cap stragglers came up, and Ward waved them to pitch in; they were Filippinos under a most ill-assorted pair, a huge broken-nosed American with his shirt open over his hairy barrel chest, who looked and talked like a hobo, and a slim little Royal Navy chap with a wing-collar and a handkerchief in his sleeve; Ward called them Tom and Jerry. And now came Spitz, trotting his near-foundered horse, with the news that Ned Forrester was slightly wounded, but that casualties had been heavy.

  “There voss a huntret killed, and ass many wounded,” says he, pulling a cold fowl to pieces in his great hands and stuffing it down. Tom swore and Jerry tut-tutted, but Ward just laid down his loaf, closed his eyes, and recited the Lord’s Prayer aloud, while we all left off eating and stood about with bowed heads, holding drumsticks and glasses.

  “Ay-men,” says Ward at last, “so we’ve got a hundred fit to fight. All right, Jerry – you and Tom make for Shanghai, tell Vincente Macanana I need two, three hundred recruits, and I don’t mean Imp deserters. American and British, Russki, French, and all the Filippinos he can raise; kit ’em out at the camp, ten bucks apiece to sign on – no more or they’ll take it an’ quit right there. Force march to Sungkiang – and see here, Tom, I want ’em there in three days, no later, comprenny?”

  “Dunno, old boy,” drawls Jerry, shaking his head. “The well’s pretty dry; may have to take some odd customers.”

  “Ticket-o’-leave men,” growls Tom. “Bums. Dagoes.”

  “I don’t give a hoot how odd they are so long as they can stand up and shoot! That’s all they’ll have to do when Lee lays siege to Sungkiang.” Ward was looking more chipper now; he laughed at their glum faces and struggled up in his sedan to clap Tom on the back with his good hand. “No room for drills on the parapet, old fellow! Just bang and reload and knock down chang-maos like ninepins! Who knows an easier way of making a hundred a week, eh? That’s the life in the Green-headed Army!”

  “Will t’ree hunn
ert hold the place, I ask?” grumbles Spitz, and Ward rounded on him, grinning.

  “Why, how you talk! Easy as pie! Tumble over their black bannermen and they’ll run as fast as … as we did that first time we attacked Sungkiang. ’Member, Jerry? I know you don’t, Tom, ’cos you were blind drunk an’ snoring in the bottom of a sampan. Yes, you were, too! Oh, you needn’t smirk so virtuous, either, Jerry! Who ran the boat aground?” He laughed again, eagerly. “But we came back, didn’t we? Threw the Long-Hairs clear out o’ the place, didn’t we? And we’re not giving it up, no, sir! Not while I can lay in a sedan chair an’ give orders!”

  Just listening to him, shot full of holes and chortling like a schoolboy, I could see Brooke on that rusty little steamer on Skrang river, slapping the table bright-eyed and urging us to sing, because we were only outnumbered a hundred to one by head-hunting pirates, and weren’t we going to give ’em what for in the morning? They were a matched pair of madmen, Ward and Brooke, the kind who don’t think a cause worth fighting unless it’s half lost to start with, pumping their own crazy optimism into their followers by sheer force of will – for now Jerry was smiling and Tom grinning, and even Spitz, the surly Switzer, was looking less sour, while the Filippinos were laughing and chattering as Ward joked and harangued their officers.

  I can’t stand ’em, myself, these happy heroes; they’ll do for us all if we don’t watch out. Brooke damned near did for me, and F. T. Ward was just the man to have finished the job, as appeared presently when the others had gone off, and I said I must be pushing on to Shanghai myself. He lay quiet a moment, and cleared his throat.

  “You wouldn’t feel like taking some furlough, would you … colonel? I mean … oh, fellows like Tom and Jerry are just grand, you know, but … well, it’ll take more’n pluck to hold Sungkiang, after today, and I could sure use a good man.”

  “Come, Fred,” says I, “you know quite well I’m a Queen’s officer, not a wild goose.” Being tactful, you see; I’d sooner have gone on a polar expedition with Cetewayo.

  “Oh, sure!” cries he airily. “I know that! I didn’t mean anything permanent, just …” He gave me his cocky urchin grin, so young in that worn, pain-creased face. “Well, you took time off to run opium, didn’t you? An’ this job pays five hundred bucks a week, and commission on every town we take –”

  “Like Chingpu, you mean? My, how you tempt a fellow …”

  “Listen, I’ll take Chingpu, don’t you fret!” cries he. “Chingpu an’ twenty more like it, you’ll see! Once I get rested up, an’ get a good bunch of fellows together, an’ lick ’em into shape –”

  “Frederick,” says I, because for some reason I’d conceived an affection for the young idiot, “listen to me, will you? I’ve been twenty years in this game, and I know what I’m saying. Now, within the limits of raving lunacy, you’re a good sort, and I don’t want to see you come to harm. So my advice to you is … retire. The money ain’t worth it; nothing’s worth it. You’re lying there like a bloody colander, and if you don’t see sense, why, you’ll finish up under the paddy, sure as fate …”

  “I’ll finish up in Pekin!” cries he, and his black eyes were shining fit to sicken you. “Don’t you see, this is just a beginning! I’m learning my trade here – sure, I’m making mistakes, and sure, I don’t know one little bit about soldiering compared to you! But I will. Yes, sir. I’ve got the most important thing behind me – a bankroll from the China merchants, and the longer I stay in the field, the better I’ll get, and I’m going to build me the Green-headed Army into something that’ll sweep the Taipings out of China! And then I’ll have won the Emperor’s war for him. And then …” he laughed and sat back against his cushions, “… then, mister, you’re going to dine out on how you ran poppy an’ fought pirates with Frederick Townsend Ward!”

  I watched his sedan jogging away across the plain in the wake of his tatterdemalion regiment, and thought, well, there’s another damned fool gone to collect the wages of ambition. I was right – and wrong. He found his bed in the paddy, as I’d foretold, and hardly anyone remembers even his name nowadays, but you may say that without him Chinese Gordon might never have had a look-in. You can read about ’em both in the books, and shudder (I’ll tell you my own tale of Gordon another time, if I’m spared); for the moment I’ll say only that while Gordon finished the Taiping business, it was young happy-go-lucky Fred who broke the ground for him, and turned that drunken mob of green caps into one of the great free companies: the Ever-Victorious Army. Aye, Ward and Gordon: a good pair to stay away from.19

  Chapter 9

  I reached Shanghai at midnight, and the smell of fear was in the air already. Word had run ahead of Ward’s debacle at Chingpu, and that it had been caused by none other than the terrible Loyal Prince Lee himself, who could now be expected to sweep on and overwhelm the city. Even the street lanterns seemed to be burning dimmer in apprehension, and I never saw fewer civilians or more troops abroad in the consular district; usually gates were wide, with lights and music from the houses within, and carriages and palkis moving in the streets; tonight the gates were closed, with strong piquets on guard, and occasional files of marines hurrying along, their tramp echoing in the silence.

  Bruce had gone to bed, but they rousted him out, and for once his imperturbability deserted him; he stared at me like a stricken seraph, hair all awry where he’d hauled off his nightcap, but once he’d decided I wasn’t dead after all he wasted no time, but called for lights to his study, thrust me into a chair, ordered up brandy and sandwiches and told me to talk as I ate.

  “You’ve got two weeks,” I told him, and launched into it – the date of Lee’s advance, his probable strength, Jen-kan’s conspiracy to ensure his failure – at which he exclaimed in disbelief and even Slater, his secretary, stopped taking notes to gape at me – and then such secondary matters as their detention of yours truly, and those impressions I’d formed which seemed important in the present crisis. I talked for an hour, almost without pause, and he hardly said a word till I’d done, when:

  “Thank God I sent you to Nanking!” says he. “We’ve been growing surer by the week that he was coming, but no hint of the date – you’re positive we have two weeks?”

  “Ten days, if you like, certainly no less. It’s my guess he’ll put paid to Ward at Sungkiang before he marches on Shanghai.”

  “It would be a public service if he did!” exclaimed Bruce. “That Yankee upstart is a greater embarrassment than the French priests!”20

  “He might buy you a few days if he’s strong enough,” I reminded him. “I’d turn a blind eye to his recruiting, anyway, if I were you.”

  He sniffed, but said he’d make a note of it, and then told me with some satisfaction how he’d been urging the consuls and the Imps for weeks past to put the city in a state of defence; now that they had definite word, and a date, his hand would be strengthened tremendously, and by the time they had improved the fortifications and called in more troops, Lee could whistle for Shanghai, however many Taipings he had at his back. For which, he said handsomely, they were deeply indebted to me, and Lord Palmerston should know of it.

  Well, I always say, credit and cash, you can never have too much of either, but the best news he gave me was that he was sending me north without delay to join Elgin, who had just made his landing at the mouth of the Peiho with Grant’s army, and was preparing to advance on Pekin. “There is nothing you can do here, now, my dear Sir Harry, to compare with what you have already done,” says he, all smiles, “and it is of the first importance that Lord Elgin himself should have your account of the Taipings without delay. There will be endless chin-chinning with the Emperor’s people, you may be sure, before he reaches Pekin, and your intelligence will be of incalculable value.”

  I heard him with relief, for I’d been fearful that he’d want to keep me by him to advise about Lee’s army, and if there was one place I’d no desire to linger just then, it was Shanghai. You see, Bruce, like Jen-kan, might be certain
that Lee was going to get a bloody nose, but I wasn’t; I’d seen his long-haired bastards making mincemeat of Soochow, and I’d no wish to be among the gallant defenders when their black flags went up before our walls. So I looked knowing and serious, and admitted that I’d be glad to get back to proper campaigning again, and he and Slater exchanged glances of admiration at this soldierly zeal.

  They couldn’t wait to be rid of me, though; I’d been looking forward to a few days loafing and being lionised, and several restorative romps with my Russian man-eater at the hairdresser’s – I hadn’t had a woman since my last bout with Szu-Zhan (God, what an age ago that seemed) and I didn’t want to forget how it was done. But no; Bruce said I must take the fast steam-sloop for the Peiho that very morning, because Elgin would be in a sweat to have me on hand, and mustn’t be kept waiting. (It’s astonishing, how even the best men start falling over themselves in a fret when it’s a question of contenting their elder brother.)

  So now you find Flashy beating nor’-west by south or whatever the proper nautical jargon may be, thundering amain o’er the trackless waste o’ waters – which I did by dossing for fourteen hours straight off, and if there was a typhoon it was all one to me. For the first time in months – since I boarded the steamer Yangtse, in fact – I was free of all care, content to be tired, with nothing ahead but a safe, leisurely campaign in good company, while behind lay the nightmare, ugly and confused; not near as bad as some I’ve known, but disturbing enough. Perhaps it was those unreal weeks in Taipingdom that made the memories distasteful; stark danger and horror you can either fight or run from, but madness spreads a blight there’s no escaping; it still made me feel vaguely unclean to think of Lee’s sharp, crazy eyes, or the blank hypnotic gaze of the arch-lunatic on that incredible night, with the joss-stench like a drug, and those wonderful satin bodies writhing nakedly … by Jove, there’s a lot to be said for starting a new religion. Or the Bearer of Heavenly Decrees, maddeningly out of reach … and far better, the lean face smiling wickedly above the chain collar, and the long bare-breasted shapeliness lounging at the rail. And then the crash of shots, the screaming faces and whirling blades surging out of the mist … masked figures and steel claws dragging me through the dark … red-coated legions stamping up the dust like Jaggernauts … black silk flags and burned corpses heaped … a fat, smiling yellow face telling me I knew too much to live … a crippled figure swathed in bandages urging on his fools to die for a handful of dollars … that same boy’s face distorted with horror as a cageful of poor wretches was plunged to death in a mere spiteful gesture. Surely China must have exhausted its horrors by now?