Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3

by Brian Ference

  The Bo’sun mirrored his frown. “Your orders, sir? Should we reprovision and give the men a few hours ashore?”

  The Captain’s eyes strayed to the expectant faces of the crew awaiting his response. “No. The Admiral has decided that we cannot delay. We will sail at once to Hong Kong.”

  The Bo’sun saluted but he moved closer and spoke in a lowered voice so as not be overheard by the other men on deck. “That means we will need to order half rations, and we are nearly out of grog.”

  Captain Elgin paused and regarded the man. “Aye, Boatswain. Inform the men they will receive an additional ten shillings in pay. Hopefully, that will keep the grumbling to a minimum.”

  Bo’sun Cain called out in a booming voice for the crew to make ready to sail. “Raise the anchor and unfurl the sails. The Captain will pay ten shillings-a-man if we beat the frogs to China.”

  A cheer rose from the crew in response. The Bo’sun would be slow to point out to the men the need for half-rations. The promise of extra pay and a little competition would keep the men’s minds off their stomachs for a while.

  This earned a nod of approval from the Captain. “Shipmaster, set course at full sail for Victoria Harbour in Hong Kong. Let us show the French Admiral the true speed of Her Majesty’s fleet.”

  CHAPTER 15.

  H

  ONG KONG HARBOR

  The H.M.S. Victory arrived in the English controlled harbor several hours ahead of the fastest of the French ships. With a fair wind and only half of the usual supplies weighing them down, the Captain had managed to coax nearly twelve knots of speed and outpace all others.

  The Victoria Harbor was directly across from the Hong Kong Harbor and the two sides sat in stark contrast. On the southern Victoria side, two intimidating looking English ships guarded the channel as a small number of passengers and cargo ferried about with one occasionally venturing to the northern Hong Kong side.

  The Hong Kong Harbor was about twice the size and was still crammed with countless wooden ships of every size, shape, and color. They jostled for position and moved hundreds of Chinese, English, and French merchants to and from the mainland.

  From his vantage point in the crow’s nest, Dorian marveled at the vast, foreign land that stretched out before him. He had seen maps of the Chinese landmass but was unprepared for the chaotic explosion of humanity, framed by giant mountains struggling skyward in the distance.

  Hong Kong City was the center of commerce and trade in China and the focal point of English and French power. Their presence there had been hard won through several treaties and the occasional bombardment of the mainland. The local government had eventually relented to English control and the city would now serve as a staging point for any military campaigns deeper into China.

  Dorian joined the other seamen in their excitement as they received shore leave until nightfall. The men quickly split off into groups as they set out to experience the exotic smells and tastes of Chinese delicacies and geishas alike. Lord Crawley and Sub-Lieutenant Purcell fell in next to Dorian as they moved away from the docks and into the bustling marketplace.

  “Let me offer you some advice on your first time, Purcell.” Lord Crawley elbowed the man suggestively. “Many inexperienced men have come to ruin after making a bad selection from the Chinese stock.”

  Purcell turned a bright shade of red and began stammering out some story of his many prior conquests. Lord Crawley scoffed. “I don’t buy that hogwash for a minute. Seriously, Purcell, it is far better to pay a higher price for a younger girl than to have your pecker burn for a month when relieving yourself. Midshipman Lynch knows what I mean, don’t you?”

  Dorian laughed and shook his head. “I’m afraid I have not experienced that particular ailment, my lord. Don’t listen to him, Purcell. Let’s find a meal and get drunk first. You can decide on a geisha girl later.”

  Lord Crawley shot them both a look of disbelief. “After a long voyage with only you lads for company, I intend to spend every moment possible in the arms of a beautiful woman.”

  Dorian rolled his eyes. “We only have a few hours before nightfall when we need to report back to the ship.”

  Lord Crawley winked and shoved his hand down his trousers. “You’re right, Midshipman. That might not be enough time—I’d better get started now. The Bo’sun can pull me out of a whore and drag me back to the ship for all I care. I’ll leave you in Purcell’s capable, virgin hands.” The men parted ways with Lord Crawley hurrying off to get his itch scratched. Dorian had experienced his fair share of women in his previous life. He was far more interested in the other delights the city had to offer.

  The two men purchased some mouth-watering steamed dim sum from a bearded Chinese man on the street. The warm, sticky-white balls contained a sweet pork and unusual spice that re-awakened Dorian’s empty stomach. A sudden, familiar sweet smell of opium filled the air and beckoned Dorian over more seductively than any lover. He started towards the opium den—then stopped. It had been a long time since he had smoked the drug. The temptation was still there, but it wasn’t as urgent. In fact, it had been quite some time since he had felt the constant tug of addiction. He supposed he had his new healing ability to thank for that.

  Dorian recalled his vow to start life anew. Turning back, he instead bought two more of the dim sum. Inside these were delicate shrimp and sticky white rice. Purcell laughed as yellow sauce oozed out of the ox-cheek dim sum that he was eating and dribbled down his chin.

  The two men moved on to another cart and ordered a steaming bowl of Lā Miàn noodles and Ang Kuay fish. This dish was so spicy it set their eyes to watering and the men scrambling for a drink. A helpful looking boy who knew a few English words beckoned them to follow him. They were ushered into an unusual looking pub with low tables set on the floor. There were a number of other customers inside, mostly Chinamen bent drowsily over their drinks. The proprietor was an elderly looking man with long, wide sleeves and a drooping white mustache. He wore his hair in a braid down his back, with a round felt cap that covered a bald spot on his head. He greeted them with a bow. “Come, yes. Hello, sit. I am Chen. I serve fine shaojiu, best in all of China. You my guests, please, sit.”

  At his insistence, the two men removed their shoes and crossed their legs awkwardly as they sat on the wooden floor. The helpful young boy turned out to be Chen’s grandson and provided them with a pair of worn cushions.

  Two half-sized, blue ceramic cups painted with white birds and Chinese symbols were set in front of them and filled to the brim with a clear liquid. Dorian threw back the burning drink and Chen quickly poured him another.

  Purcell took a tentative sip before coughing most of it back up. “Ugh, what is this?” he asked with a sputtering grimace.

  Dorian laughed and swallowed his drink in one quick motion. “It takes a little while to get used to.” He slapped Purcell on the back as the man tentatively finished his first drink. Chen’s eyes grew larger as he continued to pour cup after cup.

  By his third cup, Purcell was looking a little green. Dorian was on his seventh but could already feel the warm, fuzzy sense of contentment fading as his body ‘healed’ against the effects of the alcohol. This display had not gone unnoticed. A short but muscular Chinese man with a traditionally long, black mustache rose from the corner and sauntered towards their table. He wore a black horsehair hat and solid brown colored knee-high robe with dark trousers. The owner hastily exchanged some biting words with the man in the Mandarin language, before unceremoniously moving Chen aside and placing his own cup in front of Dorian. Dorian looked at Chen with a question on his face.

  The pub owner frowned. “So sorry. Zhang says foreigners are not welcome here and you insult him by drinking shaojiu like water.”

  Purcell snorted. “Tell Zhang we can drink wherever and whatever we want.”

  Zhang rattled of a few more words in Mandarin.

  Chen bowed deeply. “He challenges you to prove your manhood with drinking contest. The lo
ser pay bill.”

  A smile touched the corners of Dorian’s eyes. “Tell him I accept.”

  Zhang knelt at the table and gestured to the two cups. Dorian matched his posture and the two men locked eyes as Chen poured. A hush fell on the other customers as both men downed their drinks at the same time. It wasn’t long before the other men in the bar were gathered around the table, cheering Zhang on in their own language and placing bets on which man would outdrink the other. Purcell called out his own encouragement as he slowly sipped a mug of water. The friendly contest quickly soured as Dorian continued to match Zhang cup for cup.

  Sweat glistened on Zhang’s pockmarked forehead as he began to feel the full effect of the many drinks. The man’s supporters in the crowd began hurling insults at Dorian as he calmly continued drinking, largely unaffected by the shaojiu. Zhang began to slouch, his left hand gripping the table tightly. After another cup, he began to sway ever so slightly from side to side. His already narrowed eyes now nearly closed in tiny slits. Zhang struggled to remain focused on the two cups on the table.

  The crowd’s disbelief intensified as a second pitcher of shaojiu came forward and the owner traded out the cups for new ones. Dorian began turning his cup upside-down after each round to prove he had consumed every drop of the spicy liquid. The two men traded drink for drink until Purcell was certain neither could take another sip.

  With a clamor of protest from his friends, Zhang collapsed at the table—his cup still half-empty. After downing his own drink, Dorian couldn’t say what possessed him to reach across the table and finish off his opponent’s remaining drink as well.

  The two men directly behind Zhang turned red and flung the wooden table aside. Before he knew what was happening, the man on the left had grabbed Dorian by the neck, while the man on the right launched a flurry of punches to his face and a kick to his stomach that knocked him to the ground.

  His nose bloodied and his stomach burning, Dorian vomited a mixture of blood and shaojiu as the man who had been holding his neck pulled him back up from the dusty floor, pivoted behind him and flung him back on the ground. Momentarily dazed, Dorian saw the other man aim a terrible kick at his throat. But he was unable to connect it as Purcell leaped onto the man’s back.

  Dorian rolled sideways. He surged to his feet, swinging the elbow of his right arm at the face of the last attacker. His elbow connected with a meaty smack, the blow shattering the man’s jaw as he fell to the floor. The other Chinese man had just thrown Purcell from his back and onto a nearby table. He smiled and reached for a small blade hidden in the belt of his robe. Dorian tackled the man. He dropped his knife as they crashed together into the last undamaged table in the room. The wood splintered; the man began screaming as he noticed his knife was now protruding from his own thigh.

  Dorian turned to confront the other customers with a dark look. They slowly backed away as Chen motioned to the door. “Please. You go now. Zhang has lost and will pay. Go now.”

  Dorian looked down at his hands. They trembled with rage. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply until the feeling passed. He helped Purcell groggily to his feet and the two exited the building with Purcell leaning heavily on Dorian.

  Quickly they made their way back through the busy streets to the ship. Purcell spoke in a shaky voice. “Dorian, that was amazing...the way you handled those two men. One of them even had a knife.”

  “Thanks to your quick action, Purcell. Now you have saved my life as well—that makes us even, my friend.”

  Purcell smiled hesitantly. “Yes. I surprised myself a bit by attacking that bloke. I just couldn’t let him hurt you. I owed you that much.”

  Dorian matched the man’s smile. “Best not to mention this to anyone, though.”

  Purcell met his gaze. “It’s my duty to report any brawling of the crew. “I suppose it was all in self-defense. Those wretches got what they deserved. I’ll bend the rules for you this one time, Dorian.”

  “Thank you, Purcell.”

  Safely aboard, the two men bunked down for the night. The next morning, the ship set sail up the narrow channel towards the city of Canton.

  CHAPTER 16.

  T

  HE BATTLE OF CANTON

  The H.M.S. Victory traveled up Zhujiang River accompanied by the other ships of the French and English fleets. The ruined remains of two Chinese river forts on the opposite banks of the river spoke of earlier action. Their advance up the wide river was now clear of any opposition. Dorian thought the impossibly high walls of Canton a trick of the eyes, but they were not. Originally constructed to keep out raiding Mongol hordes, the thick stone slabs comprising the walls were nearly ten meters high. The tops bristled with archers and the short-range Chinese cannons. The wall skirted the bank of the river and edged all the way back to the forest, completely encircling the massive city.

  Previous attempts at diplomacy had failed. Viceroy Ye Mingchen had refused to release the English and French prisoners taken. He had already ordered the execution of two French missionaries and placed a bounty on the head of any English or French invader. As a man who ruled nearly a million people, he felt safe behind his high walls. The Viceroy had received a letter of support from the Chinese Emperor supporting the dissolution of existing trade treaties between the three countries.

  The Captain made some quick notes and called out to the shipmaster as a series of flag and lantern signals came from the Admiral’s ship. “Ten degrees to port. Make ready to turn and prepare to fire. We will hold our position and give them a broadside. Concentrate all fire on the guns atop the walls to the right of the foremost gatehouse.”

  While Dorian looked out from across the tall rail, twelve other ships sailed to their assigned positions and prepared similar maneuvers. The flotilla spread out across the wide river, targeting various sections of the wall. Four ships moved downriver from the city and towards the eastern bank. They readied their guns to provide cover as the remaining ships began landing troops on the ground.

  As the final ship slowly swung into position, a hush fell over the men as they waited for the signal to attack. The weaker Chinese guns fired incessantly despite being well out of range. Their lead cannonballs fell harmlessly short into the water of the river.

  “Fire!” The Captain gave the command and the guns aboard the H.M.S. Victory roared to life. There was a two-second delay between the sound and when the thirty-two pound balls exploded high atop the walls. The harbingers of death announced their arrival with a low whistling sound, spinning in the air before shattering the top of the walls. The impact sent archers, cannons, and giant chunks of stone flying. Smoke and ash rose in the air along with the screams of dying and injured men.

  The ship’s guns reloaded and fired once more. One of the balls collided with a store of gunpowder near the gatehouse. Fire spread quickly among the archers on the wall. Some of the men collapsed, burning alive while others desperately jumped into the river below only to fall to their deaths.

  Five platoons of the Royal Marines landed on shore only to meet an ambush of Chinese soldiers armed with muskets and spears. The Marines fought for every meter, dying as they struggled to gain a foothold on the riverbank. Their support ships could not risk firing their cannonade guns lest they kill their own men. They had no other choice than to move in closer to shore so the sailors could fire a volley from their rifles. Scores of Chinese soldiers fell giving the French time to begin landing their cavalry.

  This was what the Chinese had been waiting for. As a fiery arrow streaked across the sky, a new group of their soldiers appeared farther up the river. They formed two lines and began to raise a giant iron chain submerged at the bottom of the river.

  The Captain strode to the side and extended his looking glass. “The rats have laid a trap. They’ve buried a chain in the middle of the river to cut off our ships.” The thick metal links continued to rise, cresting the surface of the water and effectively separating the fleet. As he scanned along the bank, the Capt
ain spotted hundreds of mounted Chinese cavalry emerging from the high grass. They charged the French Cavalry. The Chinese also unveiled their short-range artillery, concealed behind an outcropping of rocks. English soldiers fell as the shot rained down upon them.

  The Captain leapt into action. “Unfurl the sails and turn back to starboard.” He called up to Dorian in the crow’s nest, “Midshipman, can you see where the artillery is positioned?”

  Dorian focused his eyes on the groupings of rocks scattered around the edges of the forest and the side of the river. Dorian could see as clearly as if he was using a looking glass. The Qing soldiers had covered their clothes and artillery with soot and ash-stained blankets to conceal their presence among the dark rocks. He willed his eyesight to sharpen and they did. He called down to the gunmen below him. “Take aim at fifty-five degrees to starboard, distance...seventy meters.”

  The gunmen swiveled their cannons and aimed at the rocks using Dorian’s specifications. “Fire,” ordered the Captain as he swiveled his gaze back and forth across the side of the river. The ship’s cannons boomed their outrage, firing over the heads of the besieged Marines on land—missing the Chinese artillery.

  “Bollocks.” The Captain swore. “Correct your aim Midshipman. Hurry, Englishmen are dying.”

  A French ship followed the Captain’s lead and attempted a similar shot with their guns. Their aim went long and missed to port.

  Dorian looked back at the outcropping of rocks. He must have misjudged the position of the Chinese artillery. “Three degrees to port. Make your distance seventy-five meters.” The gunners reloaded and tilted the cannons to the new position. The gunners struck their slow matches and the guns fired again. The hope of every Englishman aboard willed the aim to be true.