‘Damn!’ he said as the front door closed behind us. ‘It is a treaty port and they can do nothing. After months in the interior we will not be stopped on our own soil. This is preposterous.’
But we both knew we simply didn’t have enough men on our side here to enforce our will if push came to shove and things turned nasty. We stayed in for the rest of the day.
That evening Mr Morrison called at the house. He had been soaked in the rain but refused the offer of a sheet to dry himself. His thin lips pulled back from his teeth as if they were fitted too tightly, and I thought that in his dark suit and with such odd features, he looked like a strange kind of animal—perhaps a vole fresh out of the water. He bobbed from one foot to the other as if he was about to take off at a sprint.
‘They have made an official complaint,’ he said. ‘They are on to you. It is signed by three mandarins.’
My skin felt icy. Robert’s eyes flashed at this news.
‘And you coming here probably confirms it,’ he replied acidly. ‘Whatever are you thinking?’
‘It’s too late for all that, Fortune. Gilland has a plan.’ Mr Morrison’s tone was flat. ‘But you must leave as soon as we can get you away. Captain McFarlane is ready but the ship is poorly supplied—you will have to make do with what is on board already. We do not have the luxury of properly fortifying her. The Chinese do not like to do things openly, so this is a huge declaration. In the normal run of things, not that this can be called remotely normal,’ he commented to himself, ‘but usually they would find a way to save face, you know. This is uncharacteristically direct. Gilland is concerned. Very concerned. We must get you out now. We will stow all our valuables on the same boat and hope that we, ourselves, last long enough for the reinforcements to arrive.’
I thought of the mandarin in the mountains and his offer of safe passage—the oblique way he had avoided accusing us of anything. Safe passage was probably the last thing the mandarin’s countrymen wanted to offer us here. I was struck by the bravery of those we were leaving behind. Morrison continued.
‘At midnight tonight the tide will be perfect. While Foo Chow Soo sleeps, you must load your cargo and sail on the Island Queen before there is time to do anything about the complaint. We are merely holding it at present, but we cannot do that for long without a riot breaking out. We must act swiftly. At eleven Gilland will send fifteen soldiers to provide safe passage to the dock. They will nab the Chinese lookouts and hold them until you are gone. Our men can help with the loading. We have a contingent at the Consulate now as a precaution—later tonight the rest of us will retreat there and must be armed all round. It is a last stand, I expect.’
‘Mr Morrison!’ I did not know what to say.
Robert thought for a moment. ‘And the major does not want to ship you all away? Come, there must only be fifty.’
Morrison shook his head sadly. ‘Our orders are to hold the port. Our military are quite determined on it.’
I could see the man was frightened, and there was nothing he could do. If I had the measure of him Morrison was an administrator, not a soldier. He was being as brave as he could.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Oh. And, ma’am, he sent you this.’
The man pulled a jar out of his pocket. It was a little pot of West and Wyatt’s Best Marmalade Preserve.
‘He said you might as well have a decent breakfast.’
I took the jar and thanked him sheepishly.
‘We will set to it, Morrison,’ Robert shook his hand. ‘We will be ready at eleven.’
Morrison slipped back into the storm and Robert immediately ordered two of the upstairs bedrooms to be lit with an array of candles and their shutters left unfastened. This show of light would distract our lookouts across the street. A man was to walk between the two rooms from time to time and provide some additional interest for them to monitor. Meanwhile, in the rooms we truly inhabited, we packed the cases by the light of a single, dim oil lamp and fastened our shutters tightly. Wang brought everything downstairs to wait in the hall. I was nervous, but excited too. We had never had an armed escort before—until now we had always been on our own wits.
‘It is no night to be sailing,’ Robert commented. This was true. Outside it was practically typhoon weather.
‘Dai-phoo,’ Sing Hoo said sadly, for he had never got over his voyage sickness and in this weather he knew he was set to suffer. I patted his shoulder to comfort him.
‘Better this than what might happen if we stay,’ I told him. I was not sure how much Sing Hoo or Wang had understood, except this was an unfriendly port and we were leaving.
Come eleven there was a sharp rap at the door and Robert himself went to greet the troops. The officer in charge was the captain who had stopped us in the street the day before. He shook hands with Robert enthusiastically. It struck me that he was terribly young, perhaps only twenty, and I noticed his eyes shone with excitement at the escapade. He was a Home Counties boy, raised, it seemed to me, with exactly this kind of adventure in mind.
‘Captain Peverill,’ he introduced himself. ‘We have the sneaks tied up.’
We had not told the main body of our men what was to happen, for we wanted no show, noise or commotion of any kind for the lookouts to interpret. Everything in the warehouse was packed already so there was no measure in giving them advance notice. Now Wang and Sing Hoo went to rouse the gardeners and, under cover of darkness, on carts drawn not only by mules but by a dolorous Romanov (who considered the task well beneath her) and a furious Murdo, we made our way to the port in the rain, through the two dark, sleeping streets between us and the Island Queen.
McFarlane, a ruddy-faced Scotsman, waited up the gangplank and saluted as we came aboard. The ship was grubby and worn—hardly the Royal Navy vessel we had hoped for, but it would do the job. It was good to have so many men behind us and I was glad to be getting away. We were the lucky ones, no question.
‘I hear you’re from my neck of the woods,’ McFarlane said to Robert. ‘Well, there’s no such thing as bad weather to a Scot, Mr Fortune. It’s all in keeping your pluck and having the right equipment.’
This man would do fine.
‘Ah, Mrs Fortune,’ he bowed towards me.
And neither Robert nor I corrected him; instead we saw the boxes aboard and made sure the plants were secure in the cabins. The Ward’s cases, only half-made as yet, we stowed below decks, for there was no time to bolt them in, and in this weather it was only madness to delay.
But we were not to get away as easily as all that. The loading, haphazard as it was, took close to an hour and in that time we were spotted. Three mandarins arrived on the dock to challenge us. They were armed to the teeth with knives and backed by another twenty servants, all fortified with pitchforks and machetes. The leaders bowed very graciously but their intent was clear enough. Peverill’s men stood to attention with their captain to one side, who was poised and clearly hoping for a confrontation. His eyes shone with anticipation, like those of a little boy playing soldiers, but the sight of the Chinese party made my stomach turn. I had no desire to see brave men die but it felt as if there was nothing for it. They were a rough crew and determined. Still, with the advantage of the soldiers’ guns, I calculated that our side would win if it came to the bit. In truth, I just hoped that we would get away.
‘You leave late,’ one of the mandarins said passively in English, shouting from the dockside up to the deck. ‘Sneaking like vermin.’
McFarlane ignored the insult. He bowed and walked down the gangplank steadily. We were still loading the final boxes.
‘When the wind will take me I will go,’ the captain said nonchalantly and he stood his ground.
‘It is not honourable to leave with unpaid debts,’ the man protested.
‘I owe you nothing, sir.’
‘This crew,’ the mandarin screamed wildly. ‘They owe money in this town. All this crew. They must sett
le their debts. Only wait until the morning and we can sort it out. Our brothers are coming. We have come to confiscate your sail, as is the custom for debtors. You cannot leave tonight.’
Gilland’s judgement had been right. More were on their way, and the army no doubt as well. The accusation of the debt was only a pretext. I clasped Robert’s hand tightly behind my back as the mandarin pushed past McFarlane to carry out his threat and strode up the gangplank towards the sail. The others surged behind him, muttering threats. As soon as the man set foot on the deck, Peverill sprang into action, shouting at his men, who took aim all at once with a precision and discipline that was most effective. The noise of the guns being raised stopped the mandarin in his tracks for a moment, but he glanced towards the sail, his prize, hesitating only a second or two, his knife drawn to cut the ropes and disable the ship. I knew once the violence started each side would fight to the last man. I could hardly breathe.
Robert dropped my hand and I looked to see where I might fling myself, thinking to pull him beside me out of the firing line, when to my astonishment, instead of falling back in the face of the fracas, Robert stepped up between the mandarin and the bank of guns on the dock, and held up his hand while he addressed the Chinaman.
‘You say this crew owe you money. I am most interested in that. What are these debts?’ he asked the man. ‘How much?’
I could not believe Robert was bothering with this. It had been laid as a red herring, surely. The Chinese simply wanted to stop us leaving. Peverill froze, holding his men at action stations while Robert called the man’s bluff.
‘Many sycee dollars,’ the mandarin said, moving very slightly towards the ropes again. The sycee was the currency of the opium traders—a form of silver dollar.
‘How many?’ Robert enquired.
‘Twenty,’ the man spat.
This was a lot of money. More than a ragged crew of Chinamen could easily spend in their few days at port. Even the most degenerate of them.
‘Ah, my friend. Twenty sycee dollars.’ Robert languidly waved Wang towards a chest and had him open it. He pulled out a bag of money and nonchalantly dropped it into the mandarin’s hand.
‘Twenty,’ he said, ‘and no need to take the sail or fire a single shot. We do not want your brave men to die here.’
A grin broke out on Peverill’s face. Robert had called the Chinese’s bluff. The young captain was enjoying this. All eyes were on the mandarin, of course, who hesitated, halted in his tracks. He was not sure what to do. His followers had their knives still drawn and in turn the guns of Peverill’s men remained trained upon them as Robert bowed deeply and moved to walk the mandarin off the ship.
‘Thank you for allowing me to fulfil this debt with honour,’ he said graciously.
The mandarin did not reply. There was a mere, mean incline of his head, his still eyes trained on the sail behind him. If a single shot were fired, that would be it. Open warfare. Robert put out his hand and lowered the man’s knife.
‘It is settled,’ he said. ‘With honour.’
Robert hoped that without an excuse he might win us the few minutes we needed to get away. The man’s jaw twitched a second. If the ship sailed he would no doubt know the wrath of his own country’s soldiers when they arrived in Foo Chow Soo the following day to discover he had accepted twenty dollars rather than halting our expedition. He had to do something. I saw his body tense, all at once, and then he dropped the bag of silver and bolted, screaming, towards the sail, with his knife held high. One clear shot rang out. It was Peverill who had taken aim. The man dropped to the ground on the deck and the soldiers trained their guns on the mob immediately. Everyone froze. Everyone that is, except McFarlane, who bounded back up onto the ship as two of his sailors pulled up the gangplank smartly behind him, and, in less than a minute, the fracas was isolated on the dockside.
The Chinese stared, calculating what to do. The truth was that they would be crazy to take on an overexcited Englishman with fourteen guns at his disposal, despite their greater numbers. McFarlane’s men were already casting off and there were bullets trained upon the little group at close quarters.
‘Put down your weapons,’ I heard Peverill shout and the two remaining mandarins, presumably making a swift calculation of their odds, dropped their knives to the ground, followed shortly by their compatriots. I could hear the metal clink against the stone of the dock.
Peverill nodded up at us. We were already a few feet away and it was so dark we would not be able to see him much longer. I was sad to leave such brave men behind. For my part, I thought the army’s orders were wrong. Foo Chow Soo was hardly a place worth defending and it was certainly not worth dying for. These men were soldiers, though, and orders were orders.
‘Send reinforcements as soon as you can!’ Peverill shouted up. ‘Safe journey, McFarlane!’
I waved. And the last I saw the Chinese were being rounded up as the soldiers disappeared into the darkness.
Sailing away, I was overcome with relief almost immediately, and grief too. There would surely be a confrontation in the little town, if not today, then tomorrow. I hoped they would stave it off with as few casualties as possible.
‘Nice try,’ Captain McFarlane said to Robert, dropping the bag of silver into his hand. ‘We were lucky it was not worse. I will have the men drop that blaggard’s remains overboard when we get out to sea.’
‘A stiff breeze we have behind us, Captain McFarlane,’ Robert said. ‘One close call and now another.’
He had a good point. It was the wildest weather I had seen for two years. Out of the sheltered bay, the waves rose twenty feet in our wake. Robert and I stayed with the captain, soaked, on deck.
‘I hate to leave Gilland in charge of such a mess. It’s a pig’s ear,’ Robert sighed.
I expect our thoughts were all still there.
‘God knows if it will come off without incident in the end,’ the captain shrugged. ‘The Chinese know they cannot retake the port from us, when it comes to it. That would mean another war. And you are gone now. There is no measure in a fight, Mr Fortune,’ he replied. ‘But it’s been stewing for weeks. We must look to our own troubles, I think, and let the consul deal with his. Best to sail up the coast a little, or rather, ride the tide, and then dock if we can. For only a madman would hazard open water in this weather! I do believe it’s getting worse.’
‘Will they follow us, do you think?’
‘They will be shot trying,’ McFarlane swore. ‘Peverill will cover for us. No, we will set ourselves to it. We just have to make it through this storm to one of the bays further up the coast, as far off as we can.’
Below decks, Sing Hoo’s customary moaning had started up only to be drowned out by the howling of the wind. The rest of our men crouched terrified in the stew of vomit and piss that quickly collected below decks, each one convinced that death was to hand.
‘Do you think you might ride the storm better on deck, Mary?’ Robert asked kindly. ‘I know you hate being shut in.’
I admitted that being stowed below with our rancid gardeners was not an appealing thought. As the ship pitched and the crew tried to set our course, McFarlane barked orders from the poop deck, shrouded in his sou’wester. Robert kept his arm around me.
‘Come,’ he said, ‘let’s try it,’ and he secured our waists by rope to the vessel before handing me a sturdy-looking knife.
‘If the ship breaks you must cut yourself free, Mary,’ he said, ‘or be dragged down with her.’
‘All right,’ I replied and stowed the knife in my pocket.
This was a contrast to Robert’s demeanour the last time I braved a storm in his company and for that matter, a contrast to the last time he had tied me to a ship.
On deck the water was everywhere and there was little time to think or worry what was going to happen. Every second was taken up in itself and it was enough to stand, the waves breaking over us and the ship pitching hard. The ragged crew knew their business, and we haltingl
y moved up the coastline as my heart pounded. I never lost my terror after the Regatta but being out in the heart of it, I realised, was a far better way of dealing with a storm.
‘Come on then!’ I shouted at the water. ‘Come on!’
Robert and I clung to each other, falling more than once onto the deck and scrambling to our feet together. Many hours of soaking later, the ship finally found a sheltered bay and McFarlane dropped anchor. It was dawn and the rising sun lit the storm clouds over the open ocean. The storm was failing now in any case. The wind had almost blown itself out.
Robert and I retreated to the cabin, soaked to the skin, and crawled into the hammock, which was the best the Island Queen could afford. We fell fast asleep and when we woke the ship was moving steadily ahead and the sun was high. Robert dropped his feet to the floor and peered out of the porthole.
‘I’m hungry,’ he announced. ‘Let’s hope the ship’s provisions will run to something.’
I leaned over and lifted my sodden coat. From the pocket I withdrew Gilland’s present—the jar of marmalade. The label slid clean off the glass.
‘I will see if there is any bread,’ Robert promised and he disappeared out of the room to rifle the galley.
The fishing was fine that trip. We caught both shark and tuna. There were hardly any provisions on board, bar some ship’s biscuits and a rough corn bread that the cook baked each morning. Nonetheless, we had tea and rice of our own and with the daily catch this proved adequate. McFarlane was a rough fellow. His usual cargo was opium and he looked most bemused at the array of plants that appeared on deck the first morning after the storm. Robert set Sing Hoo and Wang to complete the construction of the Ward’s cases he needed for the long, onward journey—sixteen by his calculation. We could not plant them up as we had no soil, but at least they would be ready. McFarlane’s crew, Chinese to a man, were taut, thin fellows with sharp teeth like street dogs. I noticed that neither Wang nor Sing Hoo even attempted to sell them any of our provisions—a mark no doubt that they were feral men and would take what they wanted at knife-point the second it was offered on the black market, for they knew there could be no appeal against it.
The Secret Mandarin Page 30
