“Very well, Orace. Have I any clean linen?”
“In course, Sir.”
“Then come to the cabin and dress me suitably for tea-parties.”
Having shifted my linen and shaved, I gave Orace a pile of clothes for him to attend to and warned him that I wished to see them back spotless in precisely two hours: no more and no less.
“Aye aye, Sir,” he replied smartly in the maritime fashion he was now affecting.
Blanche was sitting behind the tea-table primly – or as primly as a young woman can sit who is wearing a light tea-gown of a kind which makes it evident that she is, indeed, young and a woman.
“The servants are all ashore,” she said, still primly, “and I do not make tea well. Perhaps you will be content to share a glass of white Cape wine with me?”
I mumbled assent and we drank the delicious wine. The English, particularly the English women, have a notion in their strange heads that slightly-sweet white wine is not an alcoholic beverage. I already knew that this was an error for I was not, in those days, a naturalised Englishman. I drank frugally.
After a little the conversation drew around to Dutch customs. She reminded me, in an off-hand fashion, that I had been telling her the night before that Dutchmen kissed in a different fashion from Englishmen. I did not, of course, refresh her memory that I had demonstrated this Continental practice, for that would have been uncivil. I walked around the table and lifted her in my arms. Laying her gently on the sofa I began to teach her how Dutchmen kiss desirable women. She had, I think, been considering the matter, for now she seemed quickly to master the art of it, so much so that at times I had difficulty in drawing breath. So engrossed was she that, when her silk gown slid away from her shoulders and my hands took both of her naked breasts and gently squeezed them, she seemed quite unconscious of the action but continued with her lesson. When she began to tremble and hold me fiercely I drew away and said, half-jokingly:
“Blanche, be ready in four and one half minutes.”
To my astonishment she rose instantly and flew into the sleeping-cabin as I drew out my gun-metal watch. The four and one half minutes seemed long, long: I believe I could have recited the whole of the Torah before the minute hand erected itself to the desired mark.
On that very instant I opened the door of the sleeping-cabin and stepped in, closing it behind me.
What met my eyes made me stagger back against the door in astonishment, not unmixed with salacious delight, to speak plainly.
Blanche was spread-eagled face down on the great, gaily-painted Indian bedstead, each ankle and wrist manacled to one of the corner-posts. She wore silk stockings but no drawers: this was plain, for her silk gown was hoisted up to her waist. There was a pillow under her loins which raised her rump in the most engaging fashion and another was under her face. This other pillow, as I realised when I saw the array of whips and canes on the little table beside the bed, was for her to scream into. I gazed, entranced, at her superb bottom and noticed that it was all traced and laced with long stripes and scars and cicatrices, some old, some fresh and pink.
“Please only use the little green one at first, Karli,” she said in a voice muffled by the pillow. I found it: a beautiful little terrier-crop with a silver horse’s-head handle and the lash bound with green velvet. In a spirit of experiment I laid it across her croup a few times in a sheepish fashion. She wriggled, as though impatiently. I have never much enjoyed giving pain (except to my own descendants) but the situation was so novel and picturesque that I laid on even harder, watching with undeniable interest the way her enviable nates blossomed into a deep rose-colour.
My interest – and the strokes of the whip – diminished after a while and she turned her head from the pillow and gazed at me wonderingly.
“Why are you not …?” she said, puzzledly.
“Not what?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, in some confusion, her cheeks as pink now as her bottom, “you should be, well, your clothes should be unfastened and you should be, that is, ah, holding your person. Do you not know how to make love?”
I began to understand.
“Blanche,” I said lovingly, passing a hand gently over her rosy bum, “Blanche, let us have a little lesson. Let me teach you how we make love in Holland?”
We unclasped the absurd manacles and fetters and I turned her the right way up. That is to say, upon her back. We rehearsed, for a while, that way of kissing which was so new to her, then I applied my attentions to her unusually fine teats. This, too, seemed something of a novelty to her but, after a token protest, she submitted to it.
“What are you doing?” she cried a little later, “it is you that must hold that, not I …” But she grew reconciled to this, too. The crux came presently.
“Karli, you must not touch me there, you must not, you must … my God, what are you doing, that is wicked, it is against religion, it is beastly, it is what horses do, I have seen them, it is abominable, stop, stop, it hurts; stop, I beg you!”
“Stop?” I asked, in a kindly, considerate way. She breathed deeply, perhaps three breaths.
“Stop stopping is what I meant, Karli.” She said this in a small voice.
I stopped stopping. Incredibly, but demonstrably, she was – had been until that afternoon – a virgin. After some little time we both had need to stop. I explained certain things to her.
“And am I now deflowered, Karli?”
“I think so.”
“Should we not make sure?”
We made sure; it was even better than the first time. Then we fell asleep. Then she awoke me, seeming concerned that the deflowerment might not have been permanent. This time, although it was perhaps a little uncomfortable for her, I made it very certain indeed. I left her in a deep sleep and went to the galley, for I was hungry, hungry. I have no recollection of what the food was except that it was good and that, for once, I ate greedily.
The Captain returned at dusk in a state of satisfaction equalling mine, although I would not have exchanged my reasons for gratification with his. He had indeed been the first Western buyer in the market – the auctions were due to begin within the week – and he had already set our Calcutta schroff to work at suborning everyone concerned and, in particular, the venal auctioneers. Also, he had contrived to buy for ready gold a few chests of the very primest opium – grown and dried by private horticulturalists of course, for the stuff grown under the aegis of the Honourable East India Company was not subject to unofficial dealings. (Unless your schroff had the ear of a penurious official and a bag of gold to chink into that ear, you understand.)
The Yankee clippers of Russell & Co., and those slower ships of Dent & Co. and Jardine Matheson, were evidently days behind us and, although the auctions would not commence until there was a decent quorum, we had our foot in the doorway first and your honest Oriental respects the first man to bribe him – especially when he has had to give a receipt. The Parsee firm of Bonajee were already there, of course, but at this time they were only dipping the toes of their mighty banking firm into the evil footbath of opium and their ships were few and old and ill-crewed.
As the Captain, having delivered his news with unwonted friendliness and condescension, bade us goodnight, he pulled out his great watch and I heard him say “Blanche, be ready in –” only to be cut off short, to my delight, with her snappish rejoinder that she had a severe headache.
In our little cabin, I rummaged in the tin shirt-box for some delicacies to augment our dinner that night: Peter was enchanted at my change of mood.
“Is it that you feel riches already within your grasp, Karli?” he asked with his mouth full.
I answered him ambiguously for my mouth, too, was as full as my wicked heart.
At dawn the next morning we made a full boat: Captain Knatchbull and Blanche – who, indeed, may have had a headache for there were dark circles under her lovely eyes – Lubbock, Peter, me, the comprador and the Captain’s servants and our new schroff, a bas
e, ill-made looking little man who was clever. The lugubrious Second was left with the anchor-watch.
To speak plainly, Calcutta was a disappointment. There were some fine European buildings and some Indian temples adorned with carvings which were so explicit in their indecency that I might almost have averted my face, had it not occurred to me that Oriental ingenuity might well have a lesson for me, even me. A side-glance at Blanche shewed that she was averting her face so determinedly that she had clearly glimpsed these carvings and was now convinced that it was I, and not her husband, who had the right of it in such matters.
Nevertheless, the city was a disappointment. Where were the scented arbours, the jewelled birds, the shameless, bare-breasted, nard-anointed houris I had dreamed of? This city was a crammed turmoil of white-swathed figures, screaming and chaffering and jostling in a humid air laden with the stench of dead dogs and human excrement. To have walked those streets would have been unthinkable, but we were drawn in a small procession of little chariots like the bathing-machines of the wonderful Margate itself, each pulled by a horse of amazing thinness who could yet break wind again and again in the most striking manner. I recall wondering what such decayed horses could be fed upon in so stricken a city.
We were entertained in a huge, cool hall by some petty merchant princeling of John Company – the tea, we were assured, was cooled by snow brought two hundred miles from the Hills – then sauntered out into a great cloistered enclosure, shaded by awnings, where the very opium itself was laid out in neat batches. The fat, dark cakes of the Patna stuff, the lovely, polished balls of best Benares – oh, I came to know them all, all. And their values, you may be sure.
Peter was in a strange mood of bitter elation. “Look, Karli,” he murmured, “here is England’s greatness and the pride of commerce. Enough poison to corrupt and ruin a great Empire. (No, the Chinese Empire, Karli, do not be obtuse: how could the British Empire ever fall?) The Celestial One has banned opium from all his territories – he has heard of the havoc it has wrought in Formosa – but although he is well-informed, he is ill-served by a system of mandarins whose only concern is to become rich as quickly as may be. They send out a brace of war-junks as a sort of token; they fire off an antique cannon or two, we return fire in an aimless sort of way and, honour appeased, they make best speed for shelter. The Emperor receives reports of bloody battles in which the Western-Oceans devils were routed and we then comfortably make our bargains. It’s a shabby business but everyone becomes rich. Honour is out of date, you see, Karli.”
“I am sure you are right, Peter,” I said.
“So am I,” he said. Then he laughed but not merrily.
I liked Peter much but did not always understand him in those days. I understand now but, as in the matter of sex, such understanding comes too late in life. By the time that you, too, understand these things it will be too late for you, too. This gives me a wry pleasure similar to that which my poxy friend Peter exhibited to my imcomprehension that day.
The Captain strolled grandly about the courtyard, followed by his splendidly-clad entourage, and made some more illicit forward bargains. Being sure that he would recall that we had both been entered, passed and raised through certain Degrees of a Craft which I may have referred to before, I gladly allowed him to make similar bargains for me, to the limit of the sum I had set aside for this. His aspect towards the dusky vendors was implacable but I could tell, although not understanding the tongues, that he was shrewd, shrewd.
There is a strange repast called “Tiffin” in those climes which consists of pleasant cold curried dishes and a great deal of Dry London Gin with interesting sparkling waters added. Peter and I made a hearty meal. Indeed, so soon as we had returned to the ship, we found a compulsion to sing songs. Peter had learned his in a county called Harrow; mine were from Holland but, once translated, there seemed to be little difference in their content. I recall that we made many a protestation of undying friendship before we fell asleep and, for I wished to emulate these fine men from Harrow County, I too washed my face in a thorough, English way and removed all my clothes before donning the smocked, silken nightshirt which some generous soul had placed beneath my pillow.
We remained some days in Calcutta until the formalities of the auctions were over and our Captain had availed himself of all opportunities to twit the arriving skippers on their tardiness. He did this with much dignity and met their rebukes without ever raising his voice above a scream.
I essayed a little whoring but only half-heartedly. The brightest memory I carried away from Calcutta was of a young or youngish person (it is very hard to discern ages in those latitudes) who contrived to ingest, as it were, a pile of silver coins (she spurned copper) in the most improbable direction and then to receive the attentions of a donkey, after which she retrieved the coins from the donkey’s ear. Clearly, this was sleight of hand. I can think of no other explanation.
When I say that my whoring was half-hearted I mean, of course, that I had by then fallen in love with Blanche. It is not every day that one has the delight of instructing a hearty, nubile virgin of nearly thirty into the raptures of adultery. She was an apt and eager pupil. Sometimes I feared that the Captain would catch us in the very act but more often, as she became more adept, I feared for my own health. Peter marvelled at how soundly I slept of nights.
The ship’s people, who have a sort of scuttlebut telegraph, nudged and winked as I strolled the deck.
The day before we were due to drop down the Hooghly to commence the perilous part of our voyage, I was standing idly at the port rail, watching the lumpers fetch in the last of our stores (the chests of the drug were already safe stowed) and keeping half an eye on the comprador and schroff who were checking these incoming things against the bills and quietly snarling at each other. I knew that I could go over the bills at leisure, for these two hated each other and there was no likelihood of collusion; or, if there was, it would be at so rarefied and convoluted a level that my simple Dutch mind would never reach the bottom of it. Indeed, on that warm and languid morning, my simple Dutch mind was reaching more toward the charming bottom of Blanche than concerning itself with any petty cheatings that these two might be arranging in the matter of pigs and poultry and pigtail-twist tobacco.
My eye fell upon a group of sturdy seafaring men on the dock who were eyeing our ship with admiration.
“Sir!” cried one of them, “Sir?”
I realised that he was addressing me.
“Yes?” I cried in a haughty, officer-like way.
“Sir, this is the sweetest ship we have seen upon the seas and we beg permission to come aboard and admire of her, Sir.”
I knew not what to say but Lubbock, who had the watch, saved me the decision.
“Come aboard, my bullies!” he bellowed sweetly, “I can tell at a glance that you are kernoozers of a vessel’s lines. Come aboard and squinch at her from truck to keelson, for you’ll never see a better – even in a Marblehead yard. Jest take your boots off at the head of the gangway for we dearly love our decks and don’t like to work our men too hard a-scrubbing of them. There’ll be a pannikin of something strong in the fo’c’sle for you when you’ve looked your fill.”
They trooped aboard, doffing boots and caps. Their praise was boundless, although expressed in language of a dirtiness new to me. The costly mahogany and brass-work excited their fierce admiration, while the capacious fo’c’sle sent them into raptures. An hour later, three of them left with many a thankful word; the other five were in the cabin, signing not only the Ship’s Articles but also the document which laid down that they realised the sovereign merits of flogging and were happy to submit to British Navy rules, waiving their rights as private mariners.
The First Mate was postively jocund when I next met him on deck.
“From here on out,” he condescended to tell me, “we’d be glad of a double crew. Wait and see, sonny, wait and see. These five shagamores will be first-class topmen as soon as I’ve beaten th
e bug-juice out of them and now we’ll have three strong watches. They were shanghaied here by Martin Churchill, or maybe Black Jack himself, the finest crimps in New York, and they’ve jumped ship. Cain’t say as I blame them. They reckon this bucket will be a floating paradise after what they bin through. They reckon.” He laughed a soft, unpleasing laugh.
“What is bug-juice?” I asked.
“Rum. Or something like it.”
“And you have coaxed these sturdy shell-backs to sign on because they are capable seamen?” I asked. He gave me a look which was hard to interpret.
“I’ve took them, Mr Van Cleef, for the same reason the Kentucky thief took the hot stove: there was nothing else to be had that season. They’re waterfront scum, two shades worse than bilge-rats and they don’t fool me worth a nickel. They don’t know timber from canvas and they don’t want to learn.”
“But you’ll teach them, I daresay, Mr Lubbock?” I ventured.
“No. I ain’t about to teach them. I’m going to bloody learn them. Before we’re in the Canton River I’ll have them dancing on the cro-jacks like Maggie May in scarlet drawers.”
“Indeed,” I said politely. He turned on his heel. I reflected that such a man ought not to be allowed to live.
Part Four
THE EMPIRE OF THE DRAGON
Chapter Twelve
THE EIGHT REGULATIONS UNDER WHICH THE EAST
INDIA COMPANY MAY TRADE IN CANTON
(Paraphrase and abridgment)
No ships of war are to enter the Pearl River of Canton.
Europeans are permitted to inhabit the Factories of the Canton suburb during the shipping season only; and no wives, children or weapons may be kept there.
No boatman, agent or any other subject of the Celestial One may work for a European without a licence.
No European may keep a household larger than the lowest grade of mandarin might employ.
No European may leave the factories in pleasure-boat or palanquin; no visits to the City or other suburbs are permitted. Each ten days a party of not more than ten may be conducted to the pleasure garden on Hanan Island; there they shall not mingle with the populace, become drunk or remain after dark.
All the Tea in China Page 18
