China Flyer

by Porter Hill

  ‘I called out that my poor wife and eight children had lost all control of their bowels. I asked the patrol boat if they would take them down river to Macao. I said that only my grandmother knows how to stop the crying woman and sick babies from making such an awful mess.’

  ‘What made you think of that?’

  Gilbert sheepishly dropped his eyes. ‘Because I was about to do that very thing myself, Captain Horne.’

  * * *

  The men were tired and ravenously hungry by the time they reached Macao the next day. They had moored four times since leaving Whampoa, stopping to sleep when the river traffic was at its height, and to share the small bits of fish and curd Cheng-So Gilbert had managed to buy from a passing sampan.

  Activity was at its busiest in Macao during the morning, barges and junks and small reed coracles moving to and fro past the twin forts that guarded the harbour entrance. But there was no sign of the Huma or the China Flyer at anchorage within the harbour. Horne conceded that Fanshaw had not been lying to him, that the Huma had been taken to Kam-Sing-Moon for the chests of opium to be unloaded at the government’s depot.

  Groot said, ‘I bet the China Flyer’s also been taken to that island. She must have had cargo when we saw her in Whampoa. She sat low in the water, schipper.’

  ‘We’ll soon find out.’ Horne looked at the men, asking, ‘Are you willing to try slipping past those two forts out there?’

  ‘We made it this far,’ said Babcock, pulling on his big ear.

  ‘What other choice do we have, Captain Sahib?’

  ‘None, Jingee. That’s our one way to the sea and Kam-Sing-Moon.’

  Cheng-So Gilbert, bolstered by his success in fending off the patrol boat and securing food for the men, bragged, ‘Why would they stop us? We’re only lowly fishermen. Let me get us through!’

  The men exchanged glances. Did pride truly go before a fall?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  KAM-SING-MOON

  The sun shone dully on the slate hillside forming the conical island of Kam-Sing-Moon. Porters moved back and forth, carrying bow-topped chests from the China Flyer at the end of the wharf to the warehouse at the foot of the barren mountain.

  When the porters had concluded their task, Lothar Schiller greeted their supervisor at the port entry and accepted the receipt for Fanshaw’s cumshaw of opium.

  ‘I assume that clears me to leave,’ said Schiller in German, knowing no Chinese to speak to the depot official.

  The supervisor bowed his head with its cylindrical blue cap, replying in Chinese as he gestured towards the Huma anchored across the natural harbour. Schiller understood that the man wanted him to move alongside the Bombay Marine frigate.

  Watching the official turn on the gangplank and stride back up the wharf to the warehouse, Schiller thought of Fanshaw’s instructions: the China Flyer was to remain here at Kam-Sing-Moon until Fanshaw arrived from Whampoa.

  What if he were to abandon Fanshaw and leave China without him?

  Schiller doubted if the depot officials could detain him here. Within the last hour, the island guard had come to the end of their watch and, at the moment, only two cumbersome junks lay in the harbour, obviously waiting for the next watch to arrive.

  But, then, did the Chinese even care what Schiller did now that they had taken what they wanted from the hold?

  The Co-Hung, too, might be detaining Fanshaw in Canton, forbidding him to rejoin his captain and crew. Fanshaw had worried about such an event.

  Schiller mounted the quarter-deck, weighing the possibility of striking out from Chinese waters against the alternative of waiting here for Fanshaw and the gold owing to him and the crew.

  But had not Fanshaw renegued on his promises before? He had not paid the men on their arrival in Whampoa, nor, before that, when they had reached Macao. And what about when he had bribed the men to fire on the helpless Sulu islanders and then failed to honour his promise?

  Fanshaw was planning to sail to London. Schiller had learnt that much from him. He suspected that Fanshaw would next promise to pay them when they reached England.

  Schiller would like to go back to England … but how badly?

  To bring a ship from the Orient represented a major feat for any seaman. He could find a good job in London with such credentials.

  Contemplating the arduous voyage down the South China Sea, across the Indian Ocean, and up the west coast of Africa to Europe, he worried about the condition of the China Flyer. At least a month of repairs was necessary—no, vital. Fanshaw had less respect for the China Flyer than he did for the crew. Schiller doubted if they could sail as far as Africa’s Cape without trouble.

  The alternative was Madras.

  Should he risk returning to Madras and learning whether the East India Company had put a price on his head for being an accomplice with George Fanshaw?

  As Schiller crossed his quarter-deck, his attention focused on the Huma. Seeing activity in the shrouds of the Marine frigate, he wondered if she was preparing to weigh anchor.

  * * *

  Horne and his men lay in a line along Kam-Sing-Moon’s jagged crest, looking down at the Chinese porters unloading wooden chests from the China Flyer and carrying them to the warehouse at the head of the pier, like ants burdened with breadcrumbs.

  Jingee lay next to Horne above the crescent-shaped harbour. He pointed down to the grey-tiled warehouse, whispering, ‘That must be the opium depot, Captain sahib.’

  Groot observed from the other side of Horne, ‘Those chests must be Fanshaw’s gift to the Hoppo.’

  Jingee added, ‘I wonder if Fanshaw’s come down river yet from Canton.’

  Horne’s interest was focused on the Huma, observing that the sails were furled but the anchor not dropped. The Chinese must believe taut cables held the ship more effectively in its anchorage.

  Jud spotted activity on deck. ‘The crew’s still aboard, sir.’

  Horne had also seen the brown-skinned sailors and was greatly relieved.

  ‘How many guards do you think are posted with our men?’ asked Kiro on the far side of Groot.

  The distance between the summit and harbour was too great for Horne to see men’s features or clothing. He longed for his spyglass.

  ‘Men, we shall follow separate paths down the slope,’ he said finally, after studying the two ships and the pair of junks anchored beyond.

  He pointed to the Huma. ‘Jingee and Kiro, do you see those shore cables?’

  They saw the black lines stretching from the larboard side to the rocky shoreline.

  Horne swept his finger to the right of the mountainside. ‘You follow the gully down … there. Wait behind that boulder for me to give you a signal. Then start climbing the aft cables.’

  He continued to the others. ‘You three keep to the ridge. Run along the right ledge. Come out down there by the … prow. See?’

  Babcock, Groot and Jud followed the direction of Horne’s finger, nodding as they understood the route to the southern promontory.

  Horne concluded, ‘Mr Gilbert, you stay behind with me.’

  Gilbert’s excitement was growing, his confidence swollen by his success in guiding the Marines safely past the twin forts at the entrance to Macao harbour.

  ‘What do you want me to do this time, Captain Horne?’ he asked, feeling like a Bombay Marine himself.

  ‘I’ll tell you when the time comes, Mr Gilbert.’

  Horne looked back at Kiro and Jingee. ‘Remember, wait for my signal.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ answered Kiro.

  Horne glanced once more from the junks to the pier, to the warehouse, before ordering, ‘Now … go!’

  Kiro led the way, followed by Jingee bent forward in a crouch. A few moments later Babcock, Groot and Jud disappeared in the opposite direction. Horne watched the five men darting from cover to cover, creeping down the mountainside. Then he beckoned to Cheng-So Gilbert to follow him.

  He went slowly, periodically cautioning Gilbert not to
move too quickly and create a landslide. The sun was high and the wind off the open sea did little to cool the heat reflected from the slate mountainside. As Horne crept cautiously downwards, his eyes darted from the Huma to the porters still moving along the wharf with the opium chests, to the two junks now directly below him in the cove.

  Reaching the foot of the incline, he checked to see that the Marines were all in place before he whispered to Gilbert, ‘Now. Get ready to call.’

  ‘Call?’

  ‘To the guards aboard the Huma.’

  ‘Chinese guards?’ Cheng-So Gilbert looked alarmed, his new-found confidence disappearing. ‘But, Captain, I don’t know what dialect they speak, what to say …’ Trembling, he mopped the perspiration from his brow.

  ‘Use a court dialect,’ Horne instructed him. ‘Demand to speak to their commander-in-chief. Be forceful.’

  Gilbert glanced nervously round the harbour. ‘Won’t … they hear me?’ He nodded at the porters still trudging between the warehouse and the China Flyer.

  ‘Not if you don’t scream at the top of your lungs.’

  Not waiting for Gilbert to protest further, Horne pushed him from the protection of the rock.

  As the Chinaman splashed into the shallow cove, hailing the Huma in Chinese, Horne signalled to Jingee and Kiro to make their move.

  Aboard ship, the crew ran to the rail with three guards when they heard Gilbert’s voice. Recognising the chubby Chinese interpreter standing knee-deep in the lapping water, they looked beyond him and saw Horne, and they quickly overpowered the guards.

  By then, the Marines had already begun climbing the far cables.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  CLEAR FOR ACTION

  The crowd of nut-brown faces gathered round Horne near the forecastle, beaming with pleasure at the sight of their captain. Excitedly, they began patting one another, laughing and exchanging warm hugs, certain they were on their way home.

  Horne waved the crew into silence, explaining in a low but firm voice, ‘We don’t leave China without finishing our job here.’

  Jubilant smiles froze on the crew’s faces.

  ‘We came to China to find the China Flyer. Now that we’ve found her—’ He pointed across the harbour. ‘—we must take her and lead her back to Madras.’

  The men looked apprehensively at one another.

  ‘Are you willing to fight?’ asked Horne.

  Cautious nods.

  ‘Do you want to share in a reward for bringing a Company ship back to Fort St George?’

  Deeper, more earnest nods.

  ‘Then seize the China Flyer and I promise you your pay will be doubled on your return to Madras.’

  Cheers deafened Horne.

  Silencing the crew, he cautioned in a voice barely louder than a whisper, ‘You must work quickly and quietly, and make every movement count.

  ‘And I want you, be ready for a fight. Not only from the ship’s crew, but the Chinese also could join in the battle. There are two junks out there and cannon on shore. But if we set to work immediately and work quickly, we can do it.

  ‘Remember how we broke out from the escort of Sulu pirates, how quickly you worked and followed orders?’

  The men grinned, enthusiasm growing among them.

  Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked, ‘Can you work that quickly and quietly again?’

  The men were beginning to jig with nervous anticipation, nodding their heads in answer to Horne’s question.

  ‘Good. This is what we’ll do and how we’ll do it.’

  Appointing each of his Marines to their usual crewmen, Horne gave them their instructions and sent them to their stations. Then he hurried to his cabin to retrieve his spyglass from his desk. Looking round the familiar quarters, it seemed years and not mere days since he had been abducted from his sleep.

  Hearing the patter of bare feet overhead, he told himself not to waste precious moments and turned to go back to the quarter-deck. Here Jud was already leading the men aloft to the yards; below him Kiro’s gun crews were at their stations; Jingee was forming his gang into water and sand brigades; Groot stood at the wheel.

  Satisfied that every man understood his instructions, Horne signalled to Babcock and the taut shore cables were severed in a series of sharp axe blows.

  The drift of the tide caught the frigate in an instant. Feeling the tug, Horne signalled Jud, and the canvas thundered from the yards. The ship shuddered; the decks groaned; and, suddenly, the foretopsail filled with the wind.

  Horne no longer guarded his voice. ‘Man the braces!’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir.’

  ‘Lay her on larboard tack.’

  ‘Aye, aye, schipper.’

  ‘Set a course—first—towards the mouth of the cove.’

  At the wheel Groot grinned, his face washed, peasant rags gone, his dark cap set back on his sun-bright hair.

  Blocks chattered as the Huma paid off in the wind, sweeping away from her anchorage.

  Eyeglass in hand, Horne studied the activity aboard the two Chinese junks as the Huma sped towards them in the instant grab of the wind. He was pleased with his decision to avoid contact with the junks. Why risk war with the Chinese? His orders were to regain Company property; that and that alone must be his goal.

  Watching the prow sweep from the war junks to the wharf, he wondered who controlled the frigate. The Chinese had finished unloading the opium chests, but where was George Fanshaw? Was he aboard with Lothar Schiller or still in Canton?

  Knowing he had little time to waste on speculation, Horne remembered his plan and, as the ship heeled towards the China Flyer, he cupped both hands to his mouth, calling, ‘Prepare for action.’

  Cheers greeted the command; Horne beamed. He had returned home.

  * * *

  Lothar Schiller’s first thought on seeing activity aboard the Huma was that the Chinese were moving the Marine ship from her anchorage. But observing the canvas spread like a great white flower unfolding in warm sunlight, and spotting the gun ports open in rapid succession to reveal a row of threatening black holes, he wondered if the ship’s crew might have rebelled against their Chinese captors—or gone crazy.

  What was happening across the harbour? Was the Huma preparing to make way for open waters?

  Seeing the sails catch the wind, he gaped in astonishment as the Huma changed course and, making her stays, swept towards the two Chinese junks anchored near the mouth of the harbour. Pure madness! How could they hope to attack the two junks and escape? Did they not realise that a relief watch would soon be arriving from Macao?

  Schiller watched the ship continue in a wide arc, realising with horror that the Huma was heading—Gott in Himmel—not for the junks but for the wharf, towards the China Flyer!

  ‘Raise anchor!’ he shouted to the crew.

  Schiller’s men remained inert on deck, staring transfixed at the ship’s manoeuvres in the mouth of the cove.

  ‘Raise anchor, you damned buggers!’ roared Schiller with uncharacteristic impatience.

  A boom aboard the Huma attracted the men’s attention; a puff of blue smoke from the nearing gun ports hurried them into action.

  ‘Hands aloft,’ ordered Schiller, shouting louder, ‘Prepare for action!’

  As the seamen hurried into the shrouds, chains ground through the hawse-hole and Schiller pulled open his spyglass to concentrate again on the Huma. No further smoke rose from the gun ports. The first explosion must have been a ranging shot. But for whom?

  Dropping the spyglass, he studied the action closer at hand. On the wharf the Chinese porters were scurrying towards the warehouse while troops poured out, surrounding the cannon barricade at the foot of the slate mountain.

  ‘Anchor aweigh, Captain Schiller,’ came a call amid the ship’s confusion.

  Schiller had already felt the drift of the ship. Raising his eyes aloft, he saw the canvas dropping, hardening with wind, but, still, he was not satisfied with the speed of the seamen preparing to
make way.

  ‘Lay her on starboard tack,’ he called to his Javanese sailing master, Looie.

  ‘Aye, aye, Captain,’ came the response from the wiry seaman.

  Beyond the jib-boom, he could see that the Huma had changed tack again, making way towards the rear of the harbour, heading for the warehouse and the cannon barricade.

  What were those crazy devils intending to do? Smash the Chinese depot?

  The Chinese evidently feared the same thing, Schiller decided as he heard the shore cannon boom.

  At the moment when the Chinese shot splashed short of its target, the Huma swung towards the depot’s long pier. Schiller instantly saw that he would have no choice but to head for the sea. The Huma wanted the China Flyer.

  * * *

  In Whampoa, the Co-Hung’s chief mandarin, Abutai, sat in his rosewood armchair to receive George Fanshaw in the late afternoon audience at the Co-Hung’s headquarters.

  Abutai explained in his carefully enunciated Chinese, ‘We have considered your proposal carefully, Mr Fanshaw, and have decided not to expand our trade commitment to include a second company from England. It is the Imperial opinion that enough European merchants have access to China.’

  The rejection stunned Fanshaw. As his mind groped for words, he sputtered, ‘But … but … but a second English company would lower the prices you pay …would destroy the monopoly which the East India Company has with China … will make … will make …’

  Abutai remained steadfast. ‘I have told you the Co-Hung’s decision, Mr Fanshaw.’

  ‘But you were ready to accept my proposal, great Abutai. To welcome a new company in trade.’

  ‘The Co-Hung considers, Mr Fanshaw. But the Imperial throne makes the decision. You have heard their word.’

  ‘You accepted my cumshaw,’ Fanshaw argued. ‘My gift of opium.’

  ‘Do Englishmen expect gifts to be returned when they do not get their wishes, Mr Fanshaw?’

  ‘Of course not. I do not mean that.’