The Silver Lotus

by Thomas Steinbeck

  Though work on the renovations of the new infirmary was almost complete, Lady Yee was halted in her efforts because she had no doctor to make the appropriate recommendations for equipping the examining rooms or the split ward, and she dared not inquire locally for fear of giving away her plans prematurely. And disappointing news was soon to follow in a letter she received from her father in Canton.

  In short, Master Yee informed his daughter that fulfilling her request would be next to impossible for numerous reasons, but the most critical of these was the will of the state. Though the Chinese authorities appeared quite content to feed thousands upon thousands of indigent peasants into an international labor market whence few ever returned, allowing the scholastically elite and privileged elements—specifically well-educated engineers, surgeons, doctors, and foreign-trained military officers—to emigrate at whim was out of the question. Besides, as her father pointed out in his letter, it was next to impossible to convince a Western-trained Chinese doctor, who could command high sums for his services at home, to emigrate to California to care for poor fishermen and laborers at less than a tenth of what he could earn at home. If there were some mission-trained doctors who were spiritually disposed to such selfless ambitions, and there were a steadfast few, there were still plenty of impoverished peasants in China to look after, and one needn’t travel far to find dispiriting want and disease at hand.

  Master Yee closed by regretting he was unable to be of any assistance for the present. If, on the other hand, a slim miracle should occur, and a qualified person could be found who was amenable to the idea of bundling up his life and voyaging to California for the foreseeable future, he would send notice at once. Yet he warned her against holding out much hope.

  This turn of events, though disappointing, hardly put a ripple in Lady Yee’s ambitions. If she couldn’t get what she wanted, she would settle for what she needed, which Captain Hammond observed was pretty much the same thing either way. He, in turn, had used his connections with the Three Corporations to try to help find Chinese fluent enough in English to be able to teach it to children, but so far that line of inquiry had come up empty as well. A good deal of money had been spent to feather nests for occupation, but so far the lure had failed to attract the appropriate birds, and the captain began to worry that their efforts would come to nothing in the long run. He feared the company would end up owning the best-dressed empty warehouse in Monterey County.

  Lady Yee refused to be daunted by her current circumstances. She told her husband that she was confident her efforts would be rewarded, and predicted that one way or another she would get her precious physician and teachers before the new century was a year old. Captain Hammond had his reasons to doubt this, of course, but he’d learned over the years never to underestimate his wife’s occasional fits of groundless optimism. She had an uncanny practice of sensing things others couldn’t, so he let the matter drift by without comment.

  All thought of their own problems melted away in the following days as an unseasonable series of torrential storms came charging in off the Pacific and caused a great deal of local damage. Giant waves, some forty-five feet high, came rolling into the bay like a herd of stampeding elephants trampling everything within reach. And reliable denizens of Big Sur swore they witnessed breakers eighty feet high crashing into, and carving off chunks of, the sandstone cliffs. They said the spray from the waves, like a winter fog, hung in the air with such density and duration that it made breathing difficult and even painful for a quarter mile inland.

  The Chinese fishing villages, because of their proximity to the storm-driven tides and crashing surf, suffered most, but the whole county could point to fresh scars caused by some tentacle of the storm’s ferocity. Luckily there were but few fatalities, though a great deal of damage had been caused to everything afloat. Many fishing boats had been broken and sunk, or deposited like beached whales high onshore. Piles of torn and tangled nets were mixed with glass floats, broken spars, sweeps, buckets, and all manner of maritime debris. Whole trees, roots and all, which had been torn from some local cliff in tenacious resistance to wind and erosion, occasionally punctuated the homogenous waste and destruction. The violent expressions of the storm’s tumultuous passing littered every beach on Monterey Bay as well as shores far to the north and south.

  As fate would weave circumstances, Captain Hammond was in the company of the harbormaster, Mr. Campion, at the height of the storm. The captain had gone to call on the harbormaster at his office to see if he could be of any assistance in helping vessels still in distress. When he arrived he discovered seven other boat captains eager to do the same thing.

  It had been odd, considering how protective of his person Lady Yee had become since the birth of Macy, but the captain’s wife had been the one to suggest that he volunteer his services. There were people’s lives and livelihoods to think of, and she said he would be glad of it later. So there he was, with the gale pounding at the office windows, standing with seven rain-soaked seamen and waiting for Mr. Campion to come out of his office and suggest a course of action. However, from the height of the seas, and the gusting force of the winds, all present secretly doubted that anything afloat in such conditions could be reached for rescue to begin with. There was no ship in port large enough to do battle with the elements as they stood at the moment, and the weight of the surf and gale-driven waves precluded launching shore-based rescue boats should a floundering vessel require assistance. The situation smacked of forlorn hope and frustration, and several men voiced the opinion that perhaps they were wasting time on improbabilities, and they decided to return home to their families.

  Captain Hammond and two other men remained behind warming themselves near the iron stove. Over time the captain had become well acquainted with Mr. Campion, and they shared similar interests in harbor and wharf improvements. In that vein, though he agreed that his presence was most likely of little use, he stayed behind as a gesture of friendship and support more than anything else. Suddenly a man dressed in dripping oilskins entered the office with the gale at his back. He carried a message to Mr. Campion’s office, and then quickly returned and departed back out into the storm without a word to anyone else. The clerk delivered the note and a moment later the harbormaster came out of his office with a distressed expression and the posture of a man who has gone without sleep for too long. Mr. Campion looked somewhat surprised and pleased to see his friend Captain Hammond standing among the men in the outer office.

  The two men greeted each other with expressions of friendly concern. Mr. Campion proffered a note page and said that until now matters had looked pretty bad, but now Mr. Campion’s worst fears had come home to roost. A small cargo ship flying the Canadian flag had been driven up on the rocks off Point Lobos, and though there was no question of her sinking, the vessel was taking a dangerous pounding abeam from the high waves. Using a signal lamp, the captain of the stricken vessel had signaled the surfboat men ashore that he had six passengers and two injured crewmen who needed attention. He requested assistance getting them off the ship as quickly as possible, and by any means available.

  Mr. Campion regretted that he was unable to take charge of the rescue efforts himself, as he dared not leave his post with weather conditions calling all his attention to worsening harbor damage. Then it suddenly occurred to him to ask Captain Hammond if he could see his way clear to go down to Point Lobos as his representative and assist the coast surfboat men to effect a rescue if at all possible. If a surfboat should prove too dangerous, then a run-line would have to be shot out to the ship and a rescue harness rigged to haul the injured crew and passengers to shore. However, as both Captain Hammond and Mr. Campion were well aware, this method of rescue could be very dangerous in the presence of iron-bound waves three fathoms high, sail-slashing winds gusting to fifty knots, and blinding rains. For people unused to a conveyance as precarious as a bosun’s chair or a lubber’s harness, the experience of departing a stranded vessel during a storm was a
s daunting an undertaking as any landsman would care to endure. When presented with the opportunity, most sensible people would disdain the pleasure except for the certainty of drowning if they stayed on board. In some cases, highly distraught or aged passengers being rescued in this manner had to be involuntarily tied into the harness to get them to shore without hurting themselves. Captain Hammond recalled hearing about one fastidious lady who jumped into the raging sea rather than suffer the indignity of being slung ashore like a bag of mail. She also lived to tell the tale, and probably went on to remind other young ladies of the advantages of propriety in all things to include life-threatening maritime rescues.

  Perhaps it might be attributed to their natural stubborn tenacity, but the mule team that hauled the wagon of supplies, the captain, and three other men down to Point Lobos seemed almost invincible in the face of the driving wind and rain. Not even the thick mud and downed tree branches could impede their progress. While the lightning and thunder appeared not to faze them in the least, no self-respecting horse would have made the journey without bolting right out of the traces.

  As they came abreast of the beach just north of Point Lobos, Captain Hammond noticed a definite slackening in the weather. The eye of the storm was coming onshore from the southwest. Just then the men in the wagon heard two cannon shots fired from the point, and they knew that the surfboat men had noticed the lull as well and had taken the opportunity to shoot messenger lines out to the ship without delay. These light messenger lines would, in turn, be fished to heavier cordage capable of supporting the weight of the people to be hauled ashore. One end of the line would be rigged to the highest accessible point aboard ship, and ashore the other end would be secured to pass over crossed poles fifteen feet high that were erected for the purpose. A block and tackle rigged to suspend the rescue harness acted as the trolley and was hauled back and forth by strong men at both ends. If the surfboat men worked quickly, the rescuers might succeed in getting the people off the stricken ship before the eye of the storm passed inland and the other side of the storm slammed into the coast with all the winds and rain assailing everything from the opposite direction, which, of course, doubled the chances of further damaging everything in its ravaging course toward the northeast.

  Despite the trying inclemency of wind and waves, the surfboat men had made considerable progress by the time Captain Hammond and the wagon arrived. Some of the injured had been hoisted ashore and were presently taking shelter under a large canvas storm tent that had been erected by the rescuers. It afforded only minimal protection from the elements, as it was little more than a very large lean-to anchored to the rocks by stout ropes, and the canvas flapped about, giving off reports that sounded like distant pistol shots.

  Captain Hammond reported to the captain of the surfboat crews and offered his assistance. He said he’d been instructed by Mr. Campion to deliver blankets, fresh water, and rations for the use of the survivors, and to help those who wished to find shelter in Monterey to make their way to town as safely as possible, storm and medical considerations taken into account, of course.

  Though it took hard work, most all the passengers made it to safety ashore with their dignity only marginally tarnished, though soaked to skins that were mercifully intact. Then the eye’s interlude passed and the opposite wall of the storm struck like a rampaging phalanx of locomotives, and the work of hauling people off the ship became too risky. The people left on board were not yet in any immediate danger. The ship had been driven up onto the rocks to a point that precluded fear of sinking, but the constant battering of the waves against the ship’s port and stern might also preclude her from ever getting off the rocks except in pieces. Only time and providence could resolve such questions, but in the meanwhile the captain of the stricken ship had signaled that all those remaining on board were safe, sheltered, and warm for the time being.

  While looking to the comforts of the distressed and bewildered passengers, Captain Hammond noticed at once that the huddled survivors comprised both wealthy-looking Malaysian traders from Singapore and Indians of high cast and stature from Lahore or possibly Pondicherry. The presumptive difference that always stood out for Captain Hammond was that wealthy Singaporean traders never traveled with members of their own families, just servants, while Indian travelers of means would cart along their whole clan if they could afford to. It was quite economical in some perspective. Poorer relatives took the place of servants, and their gratitude and loyalty were worth far more than gold could purchase.

  It was four such passengers, crouched in the sand at the back of the canvas shelter, who drew the captain’s attention in particular. There were two men and two women. The men wore remnants of Western clothes, while the women, despite the obvious inconvenience, were attired in traditional Indian fashion. One couple appeared middle-aged, and the other pair looked to be on the verge of adulthood. They huddled close to each other for warmth and reassurance, and the captain realized they were in fact a single family. Captain Hammond smiled and greeted them with a traditional Hindu blessing, which indeed surprised the family. Then he gave them all thick, dry blankets, cork-stopped bottles of fresh water, and bars of sweet fruit pemmican until hot rations could be obtained. Knowing Indian culture well, the captain assured the shivering family that the ration bars contained no beef or pork. He also assured them that all would be well, that they were now quite out of danger, and that shelter and food would be provided for them as soon as it was safe to transport them to Monterey.

  The eldest of the family, a trim, bearded gentleman of impressive stature and appearance, spoke a very educated but clipped English, and while including all the traditional Indian embellishments, profusely thanked his benefactors on behalf of his whole family. The captain smiled and said that gratitude was always a welcome treasure, and then moved on to help the other passengers. The injured crewmen had already been seen to and made comfortable by the surfboat men, a traditional courtesy between professionals that allowed injured seamen precedence over healthy passengers.

  As the captain moved about helping the other distressed and disoriented foreigners, they too were in turn surprised that this imposing and courteous barbarian could speak a few polite and consoling phrases in their own languages, and they naturally gravitated toward him as a sympathetic and intelligent figure they could trust.

  The few local farmers who had heard the bells, ship’s sirens, and cannon shots braved the weather, harnessed their strongest teams to their sturdiest spring wagons, and made their storm-hammered way to Point Lobos. They would help as best they could, but in the backs of their minds there was always the thought of possible profit from salvage washed from the holds of rock-spiked ships. For centuries, coastal populations had benefitted from the occasional serendipitous treasures disgorged from the bowels of broken ships. Tradition said it was their just due for risking life and limb to help rescue and shelter survivors, but the practice would always be burdened by the darker connotations that recalled the predatory habits of ship-breakers and false-light pirates.

  One of these local men came in tow behind the surfboat master, who, in turn, approached Captain Hammond and addressed him by name. It appeared there was a slight confusion about who was supposed to carry the survivors back to Monterey, but once this was addressed to everyone’s satisfaction, the captain went back to looking to the injured sailors’ comforts and preparing them for rough transport. It was then, as he kneeled next to one such man, that he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. When he looked up, he saw the Indian gentleman whose family he had assisted when they first came ashore. He appeared rather surprised and expectant simultaneously and began with a sincere apology for interrupting such important work, but he had heard the other officer address him as Captain Hammond, and he wished to know if he was the same Captain Hammond who had once commanded the trading schooner The Silver Lotus. The captain rose to his feet with a curious expression and answered in the affirmative. The Indian gentleman smiled broadly. He said that he
didn’t believe the captain would remember him after all this time, but they had, in fact, been introduced in Pondicherry. He was then known as Surgeon Major Atman Neruda of the Indian Army. He quickly recounted how, at the insistence of the captain’s very persuasive wife, he had been dragooned (he used the term humorously) into treating three members of the captain’s crew after they’d been pointlessly assaulted by an inebriated pack of junior officers in British uniform. Dr. Neruda recalled that they had been introduced when Captain Hammond had called at the military infirmary to collect his men and pay their bills of care.

  Captain Hammond thought for a moment. He did indeed remember the affair, and the kind Indian officer who had taken such pains to see that his men were treated with care and courtesy. There was a short pause while Dr. Neruda waited for the obvious to occur to Captain Hammond. When it didn’t, he went on to remind the captain that when they first met, he did so in his capacity as a trained surgeon, an army doctor of long standing. If the captain needed a doctor to look after the injured hands until they reached hospital, he was prepared to offer his services. He said that his son-in-law was also a qualified doctor, and his wife and daughter were both university-trained pharmacists. Dr. Neruda said they were all in debt for their rescue, and thus more than happy to be of any help deemed necessary. With a sad expression he said that he had made the same offer to the captain of the stricken vessel, but that officer had been drinking and was in a foul mood, as might be expected. He had spurned the doctor’s offer by implying that his men would not take kindly to being treated by a black man.

  Captain Hammond shook his head with pity and said if the captain of the ship had been any kind of proper seaman, his ship wouldn’t be hanging on the rocks at that moment. But once the die was cast for good or ill, all offers of assistance, from any quarter whatsoever, should have been graciously accepted. He apologized for the thoughtless and dangerous conduct of a fellow captain and promised to have a word with the gentleman, if the imposter lived long enough to make it to shore.