by John Harris
Willie heard the news with a frown, not because of any compassion for Zychov, who had undoubtedly been responsible for the deaths of many men – women and children, too, he thought, remembering Shantu – but because it reminded him that the Communists were also looking for revenge. At the moment, they were still avoiding open hostility, despite their extra taxes, their spot checks, their curfew. They were still being rigidly correct, but there had been isolated incidents and he knew he couldn’t ever be sure. The Chinese had a lot of hurts and humiliations to remember.
Edward brought more news of his brother. He was in prison now in Chinkiang and would remain there as a hostage until the British apologised for the Amethyst, not only for infringing Chinese territory, but also for the sinking of the Kiang Ling Liberation and half a dozen other crimes which, dressed up though they were in the florid language of political hatred, still meant the same thing.
‘They’re holding him until compensation is paid and guilt admitted.’ Edward flushed. ‘It won’t be given, of course.’
Willie frowned. ‘I didn’t expect it would,’ he said. He drew a deep breath. ‘I think there’s something I’ve got to do.’
Edward looked quickly at him, knowing his father was far from being a man who would accept what was happening without a struggle. ‘What do you intend, Father?’
‘I need help. And I don’t know anyone else I can turn to but you. Can you arrange to be free?’
‘Of course.’
‘Right. Well, first, I want to make sure that when the Lady Roberts clears the river there’ll be a British destroyer or something on hand to see her safely to Hong Kong.’
‘I can arrange that.’
‘We might even need a tow. We’re short of coal.’
‘The Navy’s towed most things.’
‘You’ll be coming with us, I suppose. At least, that far. The other thing I want is someone to collect George Kee before the curfew starts and have him on board the Lady Roberts. He’ll be ready. I don’t know when it will be exactly, but it’ll happen. It’s got to.’
‘I’m here to help, Father. What are you going to do?’
Willie sighed. ‘I’m going to do something I’ve never done before. I’m going to beg. What’s more, I’m going to beg to a Chinese. I’ve treated them well, I think, and never regarded them as inferiors, unlike some I’ve known. But I’ve also never begged for favours. This time I’ve got to.’
Frenchtown hadn’t changed. With its flat façades of apartment blocks, its spacious parks and wide avenues, it offered a more elegant existence than the neighbouring Chinese areas, which clung to the foreign cities like cancerous growths. From outside, the block of luxury flats looked a little shabbier than it had but Willie had no doubt that inside it was still comfortable enough.
The soldier on guard at the door refused to let him pass. But he was young and uneducated and Willie’s glib tongue persuaded him eventually to call his sergeant. The sergeant was even more adamant, but when Willie told him whom he wanted to see, he agreed to call an officer. The hostility seemed to increase with rank, but in the end Willie was shown to a lift and escorted up in it by the sergeant.
He was met as the lift stopped by an officer, who indicated that he should follow him. As the door opened, Willie saw Shanghai-made pseudo-French furniture and a large balcony with rattan chairs, with, beyond, a magnificent view of the waterfront. No one offered him a drink and he had to wait a long time without being offered a seat. He guessed it was deliberate.
Eventually the door opened and the man he had come to see appeared. Chou En-Lai had changed. He had thickened and the beard he had worn when Willie had last seen him had disappeared. Despite the frigidly simple single-breasted high-collared tunic he wore, however, he still managed to look like a cultivated man. He approached Willie, whose heart sank as he saw no smile on the severe, black-browed countenance, no sign of recognition.
He motioned Willie to a corner and Willie began to talk quietly, stressing Britain’s wish to be neutral in the affairs of China.
‘Is this,’ Chou asked when he had finished, ‘why your ship fired on an unarmed Chinese merchantman?’
‘I understand it wasn’t the British ship which fired on the Kian Ling Liberation but the guns on shore.’
‘Chinese guns would never fire on a Chinese ship.’
‘Perhaps they were trying to hit the Amethyst.’
‘It is not a good thing for Sino-British relations. I hope you haven’t been sent to plead the British case.’
‘No.’ Willie took a deep breath. ‘I’ve come to ask your help.’
Chou frowned. ‘I don’t think many British would admit to that.’
‘I’m not “many” British,’ Willie said. ‘Perhaps you remember me?’
‘I have not forgotten that I escaped from the Nationalists in 1927 in one of your ships. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve come to plead for my son. You knew him well in 1927.’
Chou frowned again. ‘I remember 1927 very well. It was a year of great treachery. I was in great danger that night. Where is your son now?’
‘He’s at Chinkiang.’
The heavy eyebrows lifted. ‘What is he doing there?’
‘He was involved in the negotiations for the freeing of the Amethyst.’
Chou stared coldly at Willie. ‘What a pity your navy wasn’t more patient and didn’t allow them to finish.’
‘Navies, like armies, are sometimes laws unto themselves.’
Chou nodded. ‘It is very difficult. Chinkiang is not under my jurisdiction and I have nothing to do with the army. My work is entirely different. There would have to be many conditions and everything would have to be on a basis of equality. The days when China kow-towed to foreigners are over. China has too much to remember.’
‘I’ve never expected any Chinese to kow-tow to me.’ As Chou continued to hesitate, Willie burst out, ‘Do you wish me to go on my knees? I’m not too proud to do that for you.’
For the first time a hint of compassion appeared on the stern face. ‘I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr Sarth,’ Chou said. ‘I am not a Russian, and my father, who was a mandarin, taught me the elements of good manners. When we met all those years ago, I knew at once I was safe. I will arrange for your son to be released. Good day.’
Five
There was one more thing to do. Despite the fact that Chou had agreed to arrange Thomas’ freedom, it would not be beyond the Communists to refuse to allow him to move beyond Shanghai. It had happened before.
The Lady Roberts once more had to be their salvation and Willie headed along the bund of the old French Concession to the Upper Section Wharves, where he found a sampan handled by a one-eyed old crone and a boy of twelve and had himself taken out to midstream and put aboard the Panamanian freighter Kubu, of much the same tonnage and silhouette as the Lady Roberts, which was lying at her berth alongside not far away. He had done business with the captain of the Kubu before and an exchange of money settled the plan that had been forming in Willie’s mind.
Hurrying back ashore, he found a taxi and headed along the bund of the French Concession to where the Lady Roberts was moored close to the old walled city. Yeh was half expecting him and listened to his proposals gravely. Willie watched him anxiously. He had known him a long time now and Yeh had never shown any friendliness towards him. On the other hand he had never failed to give him total loyalty. But was he this time asking too much of him?
‘If we pull this off, John,’ he pointed out, ‘it means you’re finished here.’
Yeh shrugged. ‘A sailor’s home’s his ship,’ he said.
‘You’ll never be able to come back.’
‘There are plenty of other ports, and my family’s safe in Hong Kong.’
‘So you’ll do, it?’
As always, Yeh’s expression seemed to be frozen to his face. All he did was nod.
The following day Willie made a request at the harbourmaster’s office for permissio
n for the Lady Roberts to move to the coaling wharf to take on coal. The official who received him smiled.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Why not? But galley coal only, no bunker coal, because your ship will not be given permission to leave.’
‘I have a permit.’
The slant eyes widened. ‘Let me see it.’
Willie hesitated, knowing the permit had come from Chiang and, because of the delays, was out of date, anyway. He decided to brazen it out. The Chinese stared at the permit and passed it back. For a moment Willie thought he’d not noticed the date or the signature, but then he smiled.
‘It’s a Chiang permit,’ he pointed out. ‘And it has expired.’
‘It has?’ Willie feigned innocence and stared at the paper. ‘So it has. Oh, well, it won’t matter, will it, because the Nationalists no longer count, do they?’
‘No, they don’t.’ The Chinese gave him a beaming smile. ‘But, as it happens, for once it does matter. For once we are entirely in agreement with the Nationalists. We also do not wish you – or anyone else either – to leave. But for an entirely different reason. They don’t want you to arrive or leave because they don’t want us to profit by receiving goods brought in by foreign firms, or by goods taken out in foreign ships. We don’t want them to profit by a propaganda victory, which, of course, we should be presenting to them if we allowed you to leave and you were then stopped by the Nationalist-bandit warships. So–’ again the wide smile ‘–I’m afraid, Mr Sarth, that you’re here until we say you can go. I’m afraid it will be a long wait.’
The way of thinking seemed convoluted almost to the point of Willie being unable to understand it, but it was political and backboned with propaganda, and he could see what they were getting at. He made one last effort.
‘We’re carrying mails,’ he pointed out.
The big smile came again. ‘I think a few people are going to have to wait for their letters.’
At about the time Willie was arguing about his move, a request was received at the same office for the Kubu to leave her anchorage temporarily because her anchor cables had fouled. As the Lady Roberts departed through the mist to the coaling wharf, the watching clerk in the harbourmaster’s office made a note of the fact. As she returned, with her galley bunkers full to overflowing and more coal stacked on her deck, the Kubu left her anchorage and was lying in midstream as she approached. As the light began to fade, the two ships lay close alongside each other for a while, then there was a mournful boom of a ship’s siren and one of them headed through the damp grey veils to the berth on the Upper Section Wharf, while the other took up her position in midstream. Watching from the window of their office, the harbourmaster’s clerks were pleased to note everything returning to normal before it grew too dark to see.
As the daylight vanished, Willie was waiting at the northern station. He was on edge because the Communist refusal of a permit to leave had been unexpected and meant that he would be taking a dangerous chance. In addition, the train was late and it was beginning to approach curfew time when all motor vehicles had to be off the streets, and his plans didn’t allow for delay. Thomas’ family were aboard the Lady Roberts, with Da Braga and his wife and George Kee’s family. The Nationalist permit for the ship to leave was now days out of date and, with the Kuomintang government beyond reach, he knew he would never get it renewed, so that the chances of being stopped had doubled. It was now or never, he knew, and he had spent the day quietly moving round the city. George Kee had been warned to ready. All they needed now was Tom Sarth.
When he was beginning to give up hope the train appeared, an hour late. There was just over an hour to go to curfew time as Thomas appeared through the milling crowds of passengers, tired, dirty and unshaven.
‘Hello, Father,’ he said. ‘I get the impression that you pulled a few strings.’
‘Here and there, son. Are you ready?’
‘I ought to collect a few things.’
‘There’s no time to collect anything. Fanny and the boys are aboard the Lady Roberts, together with everything they considered necessary. Edward’s waiting with the car. We have to collect George Kee and we haven’t a minute to lose.’
Kee was ready. As soon as he saw the car arrive, he appeared at the door. He carried no bag of any sort.
‘Everything I need is in my pockets,’ he said.
As the car drove quickly along the bund through the increasing darkness, Thomas stared through the window. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Upper Section Wharves.’
‘If that’s where you’ve got the Lady Roberts, Father, you can forget her. You’ll never get her away. I heard at Chinkiang that she’s being watched. They don’t trust you.’
‘Don’t let it worry you, son. We’re working an old sleight-of-hand trick.’
The car roared along the dark dirty waterfront to a point that lay in the shadow of the high warehouses. At the bottom of a set of stone steps a sampan waited in the mist and they were aboard and in the dark midstream within seconds. The Lady Roberts loomed up, a black shadow in the dark.
Fan-Su was waiting on deck, her eyes full of tears and, as Thomas put his arm round her, he put his hand out to Willie.
‘Thank you, Father,’ he said.
‘You know the saying,’ Willie pointed out. ‘Family first. First, second and all the way.’
Yeh had not been idle. The Lady Roberts had never been a ship with a lot of white paint, but what there was had been blackened and grease had been smeared over the brasswork. Not a sound had to break the quietness of the night and he had decided they would have to abandon the anchor, because the rattling of the chain cable through the hawse hole would alert the harbour officials at once. He had arranged to knock the pin out of one of the shackles that joined the lengths of chain, to allow the parted cable to drop into the water. To silence it he had had the inboard length of what they were to lose bound with canvas and greased.
‘There is a proverb,’ he said gravely as Willie joined him on the bridge. ‘“Keep your plans as impenetrable as the night.”’
He had been on the bridge for some time to accustom his eyes to the dark, look-outs had been posted, and everybody was in position, the forecastle party ready to slip the cable, every man working quickly and in silence.
The evening was hot and still, a sheet of mist over the river, the moon making the water sparkle with silver lights. Yeh had decided not to use the engine room telegraph, which would be heard for miles in the stillness, and passed his orders to the engine room by messenger. ‘Slow ahead.’
As the ship began to move ahead, he spoke to the helmsman – ‘Midships.’ The bosun on the forecastle raised his arm as the ship’s bow came directly over the anchor.
‘Up and down,’ he said.
‘Slip.’
With the cable vertical, there was hardly a splash as it dropped away.
‘Hard a starboard. Half ahead.’
In a matter of a minute, the Lady Roberts was moving downriver. With the tide making, she was already facing in the right direction and as she moved ahead slowly and steadily not a light showing, they saw a blurred shape through the grey veil nearby that they recognised as the Kubu, which had quietly slipped her moorings in the Lady Roberts’ berth and returned, as arranged, to take up her position in midstream again.
‘This ought to puzzle them a bit tomorrow,’ Willie observed.
As the Lady Roberts faced into the stream, they felt the subtle vibration as the engines increased revolutions to Yeh’s quiet orders. Willie was watching the shore, his eyes narrow, but nothing happened. There were no cars screaming to a halt, no shouts, no shots.
‘I think we’ve made it,’ he said.
They progressed slowly down river. The Whangpoo was empty of moving craft as they edged slowly between anchored vessels towards the Yangtze. Most of the ships were silent, with no sign of their crews, only their deck and anchor lights visible. A ghostly junk slid past astern of them, its bat’s-wing sail black
against the sky. The moon was just beginning to lift over the horizon and they could see the low hills inland. There was only one more trick to play but they had thought it out carefully.
Edward was talking quietly to Yeh, his eyes on the entrance to the river, watching for Chiang’s navy.
‘I radioed from the Consulate for a destroyer to meet us,’ he said. ‘They’ll be waiting outside.’
A Nationalist gunboat was near the southern shore of the river where the deep channel lay and Yeh stared at it for a long time.
‘We’ll have to go by the north side,’ he said. ‘You had better warn everybody that the deck cabins don’t keep out bullets and that if we’re attacked they must go below and screw down the deadlights over the portholes.’
By the time first light appeared and the harbour officials were trying to work out how the Lady Roberts had managed to get away, the ship was heading past Woosung, pushing through water that was as calm as a mill pond. Behind them the main channel glistened, calm and deserted. The northern waters contained several shoals and sandbanks, as Willie well knew, and there was one dangerous sandbar over which the waves sometimes broke at low tide.
Yeh looked worried and Willie saw Edward glance at the chart. ‘We’re a bit behind schedule,’ he said. ‘The tide’s turned. It’s beginning to run out.’
A seaman was sent to the bows to cast the lead and, as he took up his position, there was a sudden soft jar and the ship slowed.
‘We’re over the sandbar,’ Yeh said.
As he moved to the wing bridge to stare at the water alongside, Edward spoke. ‘I also think we’ve been spotted,’ he said calmly.
Swinging round, Willie saw that the Nationalist gunboat had left her station and was racing towards them.
‘Give her all she’s got,’ he ordered.
‘She’s got it all,’ Yeh rapped back. ‘It was never much.’
