Flood of Fire

by Amitav Ghosh

  ‘Oh no!’ Mrs Burnham’s hands flew to her cheeks. ‘Mr Reid, I cannot believe that you would be so ruthless, so cruel.’

  ‘Oh but it is you who deserves all the credit, Mrs Burnham,’ he shot back. ‘It was you who taught me cruelty – and as you know I am a quick learner.’

  She put a hand on the gunwale, to steady herself, and looked at him with imploring eyes. ‘Please, Mr Reid,’ she said, ‘you must release him from this dreadful bargain.’

  ‘I am sorry, Mrs Burnham,’ said Zachary. ‘I am afraid the matter is not in my hands any more. It is your husband who is dealing with Captain Mee now. My part was only to reel him in.’

  Mrs Burnham bit back a sob. ‘Poor, poor Neville,’ she said. ‘He prizes his honour above all things. For him there could be no worse fate.’

  ‘Oh but there could, Mrs Burnham,’ said Zachary. ‘I think his fate – and yours too – would be far worse if your husband were to twig on to the history of your little dalliance.’ He paused to scratch his cheek. ‘And all it would take, you know, is a brief chat with the captain’s havildar – that is how I myself found out. I’m sure it would not be difficult to arrange for your husband to meet him too.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t!’

  ‘Well, Mrs Burnham, that depends,’ said Zachary, studying his fingernails. ‘It depends on you really.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I expect,’ said Zachary softly, ‘that you have forgotten a promise you once made to me – that when it came time for us to part, we would have one last night together. I think the time has come for you to redeem your pledge.’

  ‘But Mr Reid’ – she whispered the syllables slowly, as though his name belonged to someone she did not know – ‘how can you possibly ask that of me now? After everything you have said? It is unthinkable, unimaginable. I cannot do it.’

  ‘Oh but you can, Mrs Burnham! And you shall. If Captain Mee can make a small sacrifice on the altar of love, why shouldn’t you?’

  Mrs Burnham was now clutching the gunwale with both hands, as if to prevent herself from falling over. ‘Oh Mr Reid,’ she whispered. ‘What has become of you? What have you become?’

  He was not slow to retort. ‘I have become what you wanted, Mrs Burnham,’ he said. ‘You wanted me to be a man of the times, did you not? And that is what I am now; I am a man who wants more and more and more; a man who does not know the meaning of “enough”. Anyone who tries to thwart my desires is the enemy of my liberty and must expect to be treated as such.’

  Mrs Burnham began to sob, quietly. ‘Mr Reid – Zachary – you cannot do this. What you’re asking of me is utterly inhuman. Only a monster or demon could contemplate such a thing. I cannot believe that you are those things.’

  ‘It is yourself you have to thank, Mrs Burnham,’ said Zachary. ‘It was all your own doing, wasn’t it? It was you who decided that I needed to be re-made in a more enlightened mould. It might have been better for both of us if you had left me to languish where you found me. But you chose instead to rescue me from that dark, unnameable continent – and now it is too late.’

  Zachary broke off to look up at the darkening sky; it was still cloudless but the wind had strengthened a little.

  ‘There is a storm coming, as you probably know. I will arrange our rendezvous once it blows over. And you need not worry, Mrs Burnham; everything will be done with the utmost discretion. But until then I’d advise you to be careful – it looks as though we’re in for quite a blow. I’m glad you’re going ashore. A ship is no place for landlubbers during a storm: you’ll be safer in the godown.’

  ‘You need not concern yourself with my safety, Mr Reid,’ she said, turning her back on him. ‘As I’m sure you know, I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.’

  *

  That night, word was received that six million silver dollars had finally been handed over by the Chinese authorities; the money had been transferred to the Blenheim for safekeeping.

  In the four fortresses there was great relief: for the first time in many days, Kesri fell into a deep sleep.

  But all too soon someone was shouting into his ears: Havildar-sah’b, utho! Wake up!

  It was a little after daybreak and an orderly had brought an urgent message: Kesri was wanted by Captain Mee, up in the turret of the fortress.

  Kesri dressed quickly, putting on a freshly washed vest before pulling on his red koortee. But once again the weather was hot and steamy: sweat poured off him as he climbed up the turret’s stairs and by the time he reached Captain Mee the vest was plastered clammily against his skin.

  Captain Mee was sweating too. ‘It’s going to be another teakettle day,’ he said, mopping his face – but to Kesri it seemed that there was something different about the heat of that morning. The air was so still and heavy that even the birds and insects had fallen silent. And along the southern horizon there was a broad smudge of blue-black cloud. Kesri looked at it with foreboding: ‘I think today the storm will come, sir.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes, sir – looks like a real tufaan.’

  ‘Well, it couldn’t have picked a worse time.’

  The captain pointed to the rice-fields at the foot of the hill. ‘Look over there.’

  Looking down, Kesri saw that the rice-fields were once again swarming with people, but these were not the refuge-seekers of the last few days: they were armed men, and instead of fleeing northwards they were heading towards the four fortresses.

  How had so many men materialized in the fields overnight? ‘You think they are soldiers, sir?’

  ‘No, havildar – they could be irregulars, but they’re certainly not soldiers.’

  Kesri took a closer look with the captain’s spyglass: he had the impression that the crowd was composed largely of youths like those who had been gathering in the villages over the last few days – except that their numbers had suddenly swelled a hundredfold or more.

  Soon afterwards Captain Mee was summoned to a meeting at headquarters. On his return Kesri learnt that the general and his aides had taken notice of the crowds as well; they had concluded that something would have to be done to disperse them. As a first step Mr Thorn, the translator, had been sent to the mandarins, to demand that measures be taken to break up the gatherings.

  But nothing had come of it: the mandarins had protested that they had nothing to do with the uprising and were themselves thoroughly alarmed; the crowds had gathered of their own accord, they had insisted, and for all they knew they might well turn against them too.

  ‘It’s a rabble,’ said Captain Mee to Kesri, ‘and since the mandarins can’t send them home then we shall probably have to do it for them.’

  *

  At daybreak the sky over Hong Kong was a dark, churning mass of cloud and there was only a faint glimmering of light to the east. Soon sheets of rain and seawater were blasting head-on into the Ibis, sweeping her decks, from fore to aft. At the same time, colossal waves were coming at her from the rear, swamping her stern.

  The night before, Zachary had taken every possible precaution, dropping the sheet anchor, taking in the sails and yards, checking and double-checking the anchor cables, battening down the hatches. He had taken care also to make sure that there was a safe distance between the Ibis and every other vessel in the vicinity; the nearest of them was the Anahita two fathoms away – and as far as Zachary could tell she too was holding steady against the gale.

  Over the next couple of hours there was no flagging in the fury of the wind. But a pale sheen of light slowly spread itself across the sky, so that it was possible, when the Ibis was carried aloft by a wave, to catch glimpses of what the storm had already wrought on the island. Zachary saw that dozens of junks and sampans had been driven aground and battered to pieces; most of the newly erected shacks and shanties had been blown away too and many buildings had also been damaged. But the godowns at East Point, Zachary was glad to see, were unharmed; so long as Mrs Burnham remained within those stur
dy stone walls she would be safe.

  Around mid-morning, when the light in the sky was still just a fractured grey glow, the Ibis’s bows suddenly reared up and began to thrash about in a way that left little doubt that the cable of the bow anchor had snapped.

  Zachary had anticipated that something like this might happen and had already made a plan. He took a dozen crewmen off the pumps and got them to roll the heaviest of the Ibis’s cannon forward. On reaching the bows they attached a cable to the gun and heaved it over the side. The effect was immediate: the Ibis’s head stopped its wild swinging.

  As he was turning to go back inside, Zachary’s eyes happened to veer towards the Anahita. He saw now, to his shock, that the windows in her stern – which had been closed at last glance – had flown open. Even as he watched, a huge wave rose up behind the ship and went surging through the windows, swamping the Owner’s Suite.

  Zachary knew that unless those windows were quickly secured, the Anahita would founder. In all likelihood the crew were not even aware of what had happened; they were probably down in the belly of the ship, working the pumps.

  How to warn them?

  Signals and lights would take too long; all Zachary could think of was to fire a shot into the air. Racing down to the captain’s cabin, he snatched a musket from the arms’ cabinet and took it up to the wheelhouse. But as he was trying to prime the gun, he realized that it was a flintlock; the powder was damp and the flint wouldn’t spark. He could not get it to fire.

  The Anahita’s stern had already begun to go under; the windows of the Owner’s Cabin had disappeared beneath the waves and the jib-boom was standing at a sharp angle to the water. In his heart Zachary knew that the Anahita was beyond all help already but to watch and do nothing was impossible. He ran down again to fetch a pistol and came back to find that it was too late: only the forward half of the Anahita was still visible; her elegant bows were pointing straight upwards, at the raging sky.

  For a few minutes the Anahita seemed to hang in the water, her head upthrust, as if to take a last look at the heavens. Through the curtain of rain Zachary saw a longboat pulling away from her, heading towards the nearby jetty: he began to pray that the oarsmen would row faster, faster, so that they would not be sucked down by the sinking ship.

  Then with gathering speed, the Anahita began to spin as the water dragged her under. A whirlpool took shape around the stricken ship, and as she was vanishing into it, the spinning whorls seemed to race towards the longboat. But then a wave took hold of the boat and carried it away, pushing it towards East Point.

  ‘Thank God!’

  The second mate was standing beside Zachary, fingering the crucifix that hung around his neck and muttering to himself. ‘At least the crew’s safe.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Zachary. ‘And thank God all the live-lumber had been sent ashore well in advance.’

  *

  At Guangzhou, eighty miles away, the skies were still clear and people were continuing to pour out into the rice-fields. Soon crowds were gathering in so many places that it looked as though the British troops encamped in the four fortresses were at risk of encirclement.

  Inside the fortresses preparations now began in earnest. At rollcall Kesri found that B Company was almost a fifth below strength because of fevers and dysentery. The followers too were much diminished in number and every available man had to be pressed into service, including the cooks and bhandaries. At the last minute Captain Mee ordered an equipment check, to make sure that every sepoy was carrying a rain-cape.

  When the bugle sounded the four brigades paraded near the rectangular fortress. The First, Third and Fourth Brigades were ordered to move downhill, to a staging-point in the rice-fields. The Second Brigade, which consisted of marines and armed sailors, was to stay behind to guard the four fortresses.

  The descent took a long time because of the narrow hillside pathways; it was not till noon that all three brigades were assembled at the staging-point. Directly ahead of them, at a distance of about a mile, was a crowd of some four or five thousand men. They were armed with pikes, spears, scythes, cudgels, sabres and even an occasional matchlock. Some were carrying long staves with hooks at the end.

  There was an extended wait while the officers studied the crowds. It was the hottest hour of the day and the intensity of the sun seemed to increase as storm-clouds crept in from the south. For the troops there was not a spot of shade; the metal frames of their shakoes and topees grew so hot that it was as if they were carrying ovens on their heads. Gaps began to open up in the ranks as men collapsed and were carried away by doolie-bearers.

  Meanwhile General Gough and his entourage had decided to go a little way ahead, to a shaded knoll. On the way two officers were seen to reel and lurch. One was the general himself, but he recovered and was able to walk the rest of the way without assistance. But the second officer had to be held up by others; on reaching the knoll he collapsed, falling forward on his face.

  It turned out that this was the Quartermaster General; within a few minutes he was dead, of apoplexy, brought on by the heat.

  This led to further delays and a good while passed before General Gough finally issued his orders. The brigades were to move in different directions with the aim of engaging and dispersing the mobs. The 4th Brigade was to tackle the crowd that had gathered directly in front of the staging-point. The Cameronians were to advance on it from the left and the Madras and Bengal sepoys from the right.

  The fields ahead were flooded. Stepping into the mud, the sepoys waded forward at a slow, deliberate pace, with their muskets at the ready, the barrels resting on their hips.

  The crowd began to fall back as the sepoys advanced, but even as it withdrew its numbers kept growing. On coming to a raised embankment the crowd’s retreat suddenly stopped; outlined against a lowering sky, thousands of silhouettes turned to face the sepoys.

  It was late in the afternoon now and the Cameronians had disappeared from view, behind a cluster of houses on the left. The three hundred sepoys were on their own now, facing an assembly of six or seven thousand men.

  The long trudge through the mud had all but exhausted the sepoys so a rest was ordered. The respite lasted just long enough for the followers to catch up and for water to be distributed to the sepoys. Then suddenly the crowd began to move towards them in a mass, brandishing weapons and shooting matchlocks.

  Meanwhile a contingent of artillerymen had taken up positions to the rear of the sepoys. A flight of Congreve rockets now sailed over the soldiers’ heads; crashing into the crowd, the projectiles went ploughing through its ranks, leaving behind furrows of fallen bodies. But still the crowd kept on coming, undeterred.

  Now it was the sepoys who began to retreat, but being weighed down by heavy loads, they could not move as fast as their adversaries. When the gap between them and the crowd had dwindled to a stone’s throw, the sepoys were ordered to stop and take up firing positions.

  The sepoys’ first volley decimated the front rank of the crowd, bringing it to a halt. The sky had darkened now and a fierce wind had arisen. A sheet of lightning darted through the clouds and then, to the accompaniment of peals of thunder, the rain came pelting down, not in drops but in long jets. It was as if the countryside were being bombarded with liquid projectiles. The sepoys were soaked before they could put on their rain-cloaks.

  To fire flintlock muskets was impossible now: swords and bayonets were the sepoys’ only serviceable weapons – and both were shorter in reach than the pikes and spears of their adversaries. The storm was now the sepoys’ sole ally, its fury the crowd’s only check.

  Through the roar of the wind Kesri heard Captain Mee’s voice, shouting in his ear: the CO had ordered him to make contact with the Cameronians; he was setting off in search of them with a platoon of sepoys; Kesri was to accompany him.

  ‘We’ll need to take a runner with us, havildar.’

  Ji, Kaptán-sah’b.

  Shielding his face against the driving rain, Kesri w
ent to take a look at the few followers who had managed to keep up with the company. His eyes went at once to Maddow and he beckoned to him: Chal – stay close to me.

  *

  At Hong Kong the rain kept falling, in torrents, even after the storm had passed over the bay, sweeping northwards, in the direction of Canton. But the fury of the gale quickly abated and the mountainous waves subsided into heavy swells. As soon as it was safe, Zachary called for the Ibis’s longboat to be lowered. Climbing in, he ordered the crew to row over to the jetty that led to the new Burnham godown.

  The building was unharmed but there was so much wreckage all around that it took a while to approach it: Zachary had to hammer on the door for several minutes before he was let in.

  The godown’s cavernous interior was lit by a few dimly flickering lamps: some of the Anahita’s crewmen were kneeling in rows, saying namaaz; some were sitting huddled in the corners, shivering as they hugged their knees.

  ‘Master Zikri!’

  Turning to his right Zachary saw that Baboo Nob Kissin was hurrying towards him.

  There was now only one thought in Zachary’s mind. ‘Where’s Mrs Burnham?’ he said. ‘Is she in that room you’d prepared for her?’

  Baboo Nob Kissin took a few more steps and then his enormous head shook slowly from side to side. ‘Master Zikri – I am sorry.’

  ‘What do you mean you’re sorry?’ Zachary snapped. ‘Where is she? Just answer the question.’

  Again Baboo Nob Kissin shook his head: ‘I am sorry …’

  Zachary laid his hands on the gomusta’s shoulders and shook him hard. ‘Baboo, this is no time for your flumadiddles: just tell me where she is.’

  ‘Yes, Master Zikri – that is what I am trying …’

  Mrs Burnham had changed her mind at the last minute, said Baboo Nob Kissin. She had decided that instead of going ashore, to take shelter in the godown, she would ride out the storm on the Anahita: she had complete confidence in the crew, she had declared, and she wasn’t going to allow a bit of a blow to throw her into a funk. Baboo Nob Kissin had tried to persuade her to leave but she had silenced him in her usual imperious way. It was impossible to argue with the Burra Memsah’b beyond a point; at her orders Baboo Nob Kissin and a few others had left the ship as planned, to take refuge in the godown.