by Amitav Ghosh
The fusillades from the Chinese batteries had been intensifying steadily all this while. The islet took many hits, but because of the intervening hillock none caused any harm to the artillerymen.
When night fell the Tiger’s Mouth became a vast panorama of light and fire. On the surrounding headlands the cooking-fires of the Chinese troops flickered dimly in the darkness. And all the while the guns on North Wantung continued to shoot so that the heights of the island looked like the mouth of a smouldering volcano, constantly ejecting tongues of flame.
On the protected side of the islet too, lights glimmered through the night as the British and Indian artillerymen went about the business of erecting the battery. When daylight broke it was seen that they had succeeded in finishing the job – a small artillery park, sheltered by a thick wall of sandbags, had arisen in the saddle between the island’s two hillocks. It consisted of three howitzers, two eight-inch field-pieces and a brass twenty-four-pounder. Behind the gun-carriages was a platform for the launching of Congreve rockets.
At about eight in the morning, with clear skies above and the whole estuary bathed in bright sunlight, the newly erected British battery opened up. The first rounds fell short, with the shells slamming into the cliff of North Wantung, gouging out clumps of rock and earth. But slowly the impacts crept up the rock-face until they began to crash into the walls of the battery, knocking out embrasures and castellations. Soon the field-pieces switched to canister and grapeshot, sending a hailstorm of musket-balls into the Chinese gun-emplacements. Then a flight of Congreve rockets, armed with explosives, took to the air. A series of blasts followed as they arced over the battlements. A powder magazine blew up and the explosion pushed a massive sixty-eight-pounder through its gun-port: it teetered on the edge for a moment and then toppled over and went spinning down the cliffs, with a great clanging of metal on rock. A plume of water shot up as it bounced off a boulder and plunged into the channel.
By this time the British fleet had separated into three squadrons in preparation for the coming attack. For a while the ships were held back by the retreating tide; nor was there a breath of wind to fill their sails. The pounding of North Wantung continued while they waited for a breeze; in the windless air smoke and debris rose from the island’s heights in roiling clouds, as if from a belching volcano.
It was past ten when a breeze stirred the air. Hoisting sail, the largest of the three squadrons set off for Humen, to the east; it was led by two seventy-four-gun line-of-battle frigates, Melville and Blenheim. The second squadron headed westwards, towards the restored fort of Tytock on the other shore: it consisted of only two vessels, the Wellesley and the twenty-four-gun Modeste. The third squadron converged on the battered and smoking island of North Wantung. Accompanying each group of attack vessels was a complement of rocket-boats.
Till this time no British warship had fired a single shot. Now, as the squadrons drew abreast of the gun-emplacements, they dropped anchor with springs on their cables, so that they could stay beam-on to their respective targets. Then, almost simultaneously they unloosed their broadsides at all three sets of defences – Humen, Tytock and North Wantung. The thunder of their cannon was accompanied by the shriek of Congreve rockets.
The firing was of such concentrated ferocity that it was as if a deluge of metal and flame had swept around the channel, setting fire to the water itself. As broadside followed upon broadside a dark thundercloud blossomed around the Tiger’s Mouth: the fumes were so dense that the warships had to stop firing to let the air clear.
When the smoke lifted it was seen that much of the Chinese artillery had been knocked out. The fort of Tytock had fallen silent while the guns at Humen and North Wantung were firing only sporadically. At all three points the battlements and defences had been badly battered and breached.
Now, as preparations for the ground assault got under way, the warships redeployed: the Wellesley and Modeste had already succeeded in reducing the fort of Tytock to a smoking ruin. Turning away, they crossed over to join in the attack on North Wantung.
It was only now that Zachary could bring himself to lower his telescope: he had watched the entire operation with breathless excitement, focusing now on the channel’s right bank, now on the left, and sometimes on the island in the middle.
Never had he seen such a spectacle, such a marvel of planning and such a miracle of precision. It seemed to him a triumph of modern civilization; a perfect example of the ways in which discipline and reason could conquer continents of darkness, just as Mrs Burnham had said: it was proof of the omnipotence of the class of men of which he too was now a part. He thought of the unlikely mentors who had helped him through the door – Serang Ali, Baboo Nob Kissin Pander and Mrs Burnham – and was filled with gratitude that destiny had afforded him a place in this magnificent machine.
*
Kesri and the Bengal sepoys had been assigned to the landingparty that was to attack the island of North Wantung. This force included troops from the Royal Irish, the Cameronians and the 37th Madras: each detachment was allotted a cutter of its own. Two were taken in tow by the steamer Madagascar and the others by the Nemesis.
As the cutters were pulling up to North Wantung, they were met by volleys of arrows and matchlock-fire. Even before the landing-parties reached the shore, the defendants came rushing out of the battered remnants of the fortifications, brandishing swords, pikes and spears.
Kesri knew then that what had happened at Chuenpee would repeat itself here: having endured a devastating bombardment, knowing themselves to be hopelessly outgunned, the defendants had decided that their only hope lay in hand-to-hand combat. This had given them a desperate courage, prompting them to abandon the shelter of the battlements. But once on exposed ground they were fatally vulnerable: before they could close with their attackers they were mowed down by musket-fire and grapeshot. As at Chuenpee a great number of defendents were set afire by their powder-scattered clothing; many had to fling themselves into the water, to douse the flames, only to be picked off as they thrashed about.
By the time the landing-parties stepped on shore the ground was already carpeted with dead and dying defendants. Some of the British officers began to call out: ‘Surrender! Surrender!’; some had even learnt the Chinese word – Too-kiang! But their cries went unheeded; many of the defenders fought on, flinging themselves on their attackers’ bayonets.
The landing-parties had brought escalade ladders with them but only a few were used. The battlements had been so badly battered that at some points it was possible to climb through the breaches.
On entering the fortifications, the landing-parties split up as the remaining defendants retreated towards the island’s heights. Kesri found himself running through corridors that were empty except for dead and wounded Chinese soldiers. In many of the gun-emplacements the bodies of the gunners lay draped over the barrels, pierced all over by grapeshot. Kesri was amazed to see that instead of seeking shelter they had stayed at their posts until the end.
Near the island’s summit Kesri came upon a large group of disarmed defenders, squatting in a courtyard, under the guns of a detachment of British troops. His friend Sarjeant Maggs was in charge.
‘These gents had the good sense to surrender,’ said the sarjeant. ‘But take a dekko at that lot over there.’
He pointed to an embrasure that faced the channel. Looking down, Kesri saw that the rocks below were littered with corpses: evidently rather than surrender dozens of Chinese soldiers had chosen to throw themselves down from the heights.
Once again Kesri was reminded of earlier campaigns, in the Arakan and against the tribes of the hills. There too the defenders had fought in this way, killing themselves to thwart their attackers. For sepoys and other professional soldiers there was nothing more hateful than this – it seemed to imply that they were hired murderers.
Why? Why fight like this? Why not just accept defeat and live? He wished he could explain to them that he, for his part, would much rather
have let them survive than see them die: he was just doing his job, that was all.
Averting his eyes, Kesri looked ahead, at the fort of Humen which lay directly across the water. British flags were flying on it now, wreathed in plumes of black smoke. Suddenly there was a flash and an ear-splitting noise; as the sound faded an enormous chunk of the fort’s battlements slid slowly into the channel. Kesri realized that British sappers were now systematically demolishing the fort and its walls.
So much death; so much destruction: what was it all for?
*
More than anything else it was the swiftness of the operation that dazzled Zachary: within four hours all the fortifications of the Tiger’s Mouth were in British hands. No sooner was Humen captured than the chain that had been slung across the river was torn from its moorings and allowed to sink to the bottom.
Then began a spectacle that was, in its way, just as awe-inspiring as the co-ordinated assault: the destruction of captured guns and the demolition of the forts.
This too proceeded simultaneously at three locations – the channel’s two banks and the island in the middle. One after another, enormous guns were pushed out of their emplacements and sent tumbling into the water. Some were blown to bits from within: sandbags were stuffed into their barrels with massive charges of powder packed inside. They exploded like ripe fruit.
But these explosions were nothing compared to the earth-shaking blasts with which the forts were taken down. Each detonation sent a tornado of smoke and rubble spiralling upwards; the debris seemed to vanish into the clouds before it came crashing down. Soon the slopes around the Tiger’s Mouth turned grey under a hailstorm of dust.
Zachary was so mesmerized by the spectacle that he barely heard Baboo Nob Kissin’s voice at his elbow: ‘Sir, message has been received requesting for delivery of munitions to Bengal Volunteers.’
‘You take care of it, Baboo,’ said Zachary curtly. ‘I’m too busy.’
No sooner had the Baboo departed than Zachary received a message asking him to prepare the Ibis to receive some wounded men: he was told to expect a total of three officers and some twenty soldiers; they would arrive in separate groups, each accompanied by doctors, surgeons and medical attendants.
The schooner’s tween-deck had already been partitioned so that sepoys and troopers could be accommodated in different spaces. But no special provision had yet been made for officers. Zachary guessed that they would not take kindly to being sent below deck.
The first mate’s cabin was empty, but it was too small for three men. Zachary decided to move there himself, yielding the captain’s stateroom to the wounded officers. The stateroom was by far the best appointed and most spacious cumra on the schooner; Zachary knew the officers would appreciate the gesture.
The empty cabin was only a few steps from the stateroom, across the cuddy where the mates usually dined. It took Zachary very little time to move his things over. By the time the first boatload of wounded arrived, the Ibis was scrubbed and ready.
The soldiers’ injuries were slight for the most part and many were able to walk to their respective berths – very few needed litters. While the first lot were settling in, another contingent arrived, of some half-dozen men from the Madras Engineers: it turned out that they had been injured by flying debris while demolishing the forts. There was an officer among them, a Yorkshireman. He told Zachary that the engineer companies had used captured stocks of Chinese powder to blow up the forts: the walls were so solidly built that it had taken ten thousand pounds of powder to bring them down.
The intent of the demolitions was not only to flatten the defences: it was hoped also that the fearsome explosions would have a salutary effect on the Chinese, inducing shock and terror and making them mindful of the futility of continued resistance.
‘A few big bangs,’ observed the officer sagely, ‘can save a great many lives.’
*
When the Bengal Volunteers mustered on the deck of their transport vessel it became clear that the B Company had been very lucky, once again. Apart from a few scratches and cuts the sepoys had no injuries to report. The only casualty was an officer, a young ensign who had fallen while scaling the walls of North Wantung. He had suffered a spinal injury and was in great pain. It was Captain Mee who had brought him back to the transport ship, and he stayed with him while he was waiting to be moved to the holding-ship.
After roll-call Kesri went down to see the captain and found him still in his blood-spattered uniform. ‘Sir, will the ensign-sah’b be evacuated?’
‘Yes,’ said Captain Mee. ‘I’ll take him over to the holding-ship myself; he’ll be sent to Saw Chow or Hong Kong tomorrow.’
Kesri went back to the maindeck and joined the men who were gawping at the eruptions around the Tiger’s Mouth. They watched mesmerized until their trance was broken by a sudden outcry: some lascars were shouting for help as they attempted to pull up an exceptionally heavy weight on the swing-lift.
Kesri and several other sepoys flung themselves on the winch and tugged on the ropes with such a will that the swing came shooting up and was catapulted to the apex of the derrick with its load still cradled in it – and it was now discovered that the load was neither a crate nor a sack but an unusually portly visitor.
For a long moment the mechanism froze, holding the visitor aloft on the teetering swing. The sepoys and lascars stared open-mouthed at the apparition that had suddenly appeared before them – it was as if some supernatural being had risen out of the sea to levitate above the ship.
The skies too seemed to conspire in casting a heavenly light on the suspended figure – for just at that moment an opening appeared in a bank of clouds, allowing a beam of sunlight to shine down upon the swing. Yet, despite the brightness of the light, it was impossible to tell whether the visitor was male or female, man or woman, so strange was the appearance of the apparition: the body, imposing in its girth, was clothed from neck to toe in a voluminous saffron robe; this was topped by an enormous head, undergirded by heavy jowls and set off by a billowing halo of hair. Complementing this extraordinary ensemble of features were two huge eyes, now so filled with alarm that they appeared to be on the brink of shooting out of their sockets, like projectiles.
Suddenly the suspended figure unloosed a thunderous invocation, in a man’s voice: Hé Radhé, hé Shyam!
The cry resonated deeply with the sepoys and they roared back: Hé Radhé, hé Shyam!
The sound seemed to unhitch something within the machinery of the winch and the ropes began to turn again, gently lowering the visitor to the deck.
All this unfolded in a scant minute or two but the effect was electrifying. Kesri realized now that he had seen the visitor somewhere before but he could not remember where. Before he knew it, the words Aap hai kaun? had burst from his lips. Who are you?
My name, came the answer, is Babu Nobo Krishna Panda.
The moment Kesri heard the word panda everything was clear: the robes of auspicious colouring; the sacred invocation – all of this made sense, for a panda was, after all, a kind of pundit. In the past, when visiting temples, pandas had often roused Kesri’s ire with their incessant demands for money – but now the word ‘panda’ sounded like an answer to a prayer: it was as if the sea and sky had conspired to produce a figure who could answer the questions that were buzzing in his head.
Without another word, Kesri led Baboo Nob Kissin to the deck-rails and gestured at the immense columns of smoke that were rising above the surrounding forts.
Punditji, he said, what is all this for? What is the meaning of it? Do you know?
Baboo Nob Kissin nodded. Yes of course I know, he said, as though it were the simplest, most self-evident thing in the world.
Tell me then, punditji, said Kesri humbly. I too want to know.
Zaroor beta, said Baboo Nob Kissin cheerfully. I will certainly tell you: what you are seeing is the start of the pralaya – the beginning of the world’s end.
Arré ye kya baat h
ai? cried Kesri in disbelief. What is this you are saying?
A beaming smile now lit up Baboo Nob Kissin’s face: But why are you so shocked, my son? Do you not know that we are in Kaliyuga, the epoch of apocalypse? You should rejoice that you are here today, fighting for the Angrez. It is the destiny of the English to bring about the world’s end.
Baboo Nob Kissin raised a hand to point to the burning forts.
Dekho – see, these fires that you see today, you know what they are? They are just kindling. They have been lit in order to awaken the demons of greed that are hidden in all human beings. That is why the English have come to China and to Hindustan: these two lands are so populous that if their greed is aroused they will consume the whole world. Today it has begun.
Kesri’s head was spinning now. I am a simple man, punditji, he said. I don’t understand. Why should I be present at the beginning of the end? Why should you be here either?
Isn’t it clear? said Baboo Nob Kissin in a tone of some surprise. We are here to help the English fulfil their destiny. We may be little people but we are fortunate in that we know why we are here and they do not. We must do everything possible to help them. It is our duty, don’t you see?
Kesri shook his head. No, punditji, I don’t see.
Baboo Nob Kissin put a hand on his head, as if in blessing.
Don’t you understand, my son? The sooner the end comes the better. You and I are fortunate in having been chosen to serve this destiny: the beings of the future will be grateful to us. For only when this world ends will a better one be born.
*
On the Cambridge, which was moored less than twenty miles to the north of the Tiger’s Mouth, a hush fell on the decks when several immense plumes of smoke and dust were spotted in the distance, rising slowly towards the clouds.
