There was a tap at the door, and Fallow, his cap under his arm, stepped across the coaming.
He waited mutely until Rolfe had completed his toilet, his red face blank and preoccupied with inner thoughts.
“Major Ling’s on the jetty, sir. Says ’e’s come to drive you to the General’s.”
Rolfe buttoned up his fresh tunic, pondering over the announcement. “Very good, Number One. I didn’t expect him, but I’m glad I shall be escorted, as it were.” He stared questioningly at the other man. He’s brooding about last night, he thought. “Everything all right in the ship?”
“C.P.O. Herridge has got the stern anchor laid out as you requested, sir. ’E wants to know when to start layin’ it out in the ’arbour?”
Rolfe walked to the wide side-windows. The harbour gleamed and danced in the early morning sun, and only a few small craft could be seen moving on the rich, green water. “Tonight—I want the anchor carried out to the centre of the harbour. Use the pulling boat, I don’t want any noise to upset the local people. The cable will lay straight from the ship, along the sandy bottom, to the anchor, so that we can pull the ship straight out to the middle of the harbour, without using the engines. Without noise or fuss, and at a second’s notice.”
“Yes, sir, I’ve explained to Herridge, an’ ’e’s got a party detailed all round the clock, just for that duty.” The pendulous lip jutted anxiously. “What might you be expectin’ to ’appen, sir, if I might ask?”
“Don’t know yet.” He slipped his pipe and pouch into his pocket, and reached for his cap. “But if there’s trouble, a mob round the ship, or something like that, we’ll be safer out away from the wall!”
As he stepped on to the battery deck, he breathed in deeply, making the most of the salt air, and knowing that in an hour, the full force of the sun would be taking its toll of his senses again.
A dull-painted jeep stood on the jetty, and he could make out Ling’s long shape curled comfortably in a bucket seat, the smoke from his black cheroot floating lazily over his head. He transferred his attention to the gunboat’s decks, noting briefly that his orders had been carried out.
An armed sentry paced above the ship, on the jetty, and another on deck, abreast the gangway. Just inside the Quartermaster’s Lobby entrance, he saw the gleam of a stand of oiled rifles, each with a bandolier of ammunition and a bayonet hanging from its snout. There seemed little prospect of trouble at the moment, but a ship tied against the wharf was always at a disadvantage.
Lieutenant Vincent was pacing the quarterdeck in a leisurely manner, and Rolfe studied his uniform carefully. He nodded, satisfied. The bulge beneath the immaculate tunic denoted the heavy Webley pistol. “Morning, Vincent!” he called, and Vincent saluted punctiliously, the puzzled look on his face again. Wondering if I’m sober, he thought bitterly.
“Alright, Number One,” he said softly, “I’m off now. Manage, can you?” he added kindly, knowing Fallow’s fear of responsibility.
“Send a message after you, if we receive fresh orders,” Fallow droned out his instructions, like a child repeating a lesson. “Stow baggage of our passengers, when it arrives, and let no unauthorised person aboard!” He licked his lips, and dropped his gaze from Rolfe’s face.
“That’s right!” Rolfe tightened his jaw, and put an edge to his voice. “And if anything happens to me, don’t forget that you will not only assume command, but you will also continue with, and complete, this evacuation!” He hated himself for his ruthless approach, but he knew that it was the only way.
Fallow raised his eyes, hurt and worried. “Aye, aye, sir!” he mumbled thickly.
Rolfe eyed him grimly for a few seconds, and then smiled. “Don’t worry, we’ll get by!” And with a salute, he stepped up the gangway, as the pipe trilled its salute to the Captain.
“Good morning, Captain!” Major Ling unwound his long legs, and smiled lazily. His clear eyes were a true indication of this man’s character however, and Rolfe saw their cool intelligence and watchful alertness, also a bleak hint of ruthlessness.
The jeep lurched forward over the rough stonework of the jetty, and Rolfe adjusted his sun-glasses as a barrier against the harsh reflection of the sea. “The General is expecting me then?” Rolfe’s voice was casual.
“He is, Captain.” Ling chuckled quietly, and his strong hands spun the wheel easily to avoid a small donkey cart. “The General is disturbed I fear, by strong rumours,” he darted a side glance at his passenger. “Rumours concerning an imminent withdrawal of British support. No doubt you have all the necessary answers for such whisperings?”
“I shall be pleased to inform the General of the facts.” Rolfe spoke calmly, but his mind seethed with possible complications. Somebody must have talked too openly, or listened too carefully.
The jeep growled deeply, as it began to climb the steep and narrow road which zig-zagged up the side of the towering red cliffs like a thin yellow pencil-line. To their right, the cliffs dropped away at a sickening angle, and already the harbour was far below. The fort would be a very difficult place to storm, he thought. Up and up they climbed, even the jeep’s sturdy engine protesting noisily, and then the road levelled out, and they were facing the entrance to the General’s home. The high rugged wall, pitted with weapon-slits and observation holes, stretched along the whole of the summit, and the actual entrance was across a narrow causeway cut in the weatherworn rock. Two massive gates were open to receive them, and numerous slovenly soldiers eyed them watchfully from the ramparts.
Once through the gates it was strangely cool, and Rolfe stared up with interest at the ancient buildings within the guarded walls. Of the same rough red stone, they were roofed in high green tiles, after the style of Tibet, and against the clear blue sky, he saw the intricate and fascinating carvings which adorned the curved eaves and beams which supported the roofs. Above all, the green banner fluttered limply in a sea breeze.
Past more guards, and through another courtyard into an inner set of buildings, he followed Ling’s uneven stride, their feet ringing loudly on the smooth flags. At last, after a climb up a winding stone stairway, the treads of which were worn to fantastically curved shapes, they arrived at a high oak door, the wood black with age, and the wrought iron hinges gleaming dully from the light of a narrow window. Rolfe glanced through this window, as Ling rapped on the door, and caught his breath. Below, spread like a panorama, was the town, the harbour, and half the island. It was a fantastic view, stupendous in its beauty and simplicity. Like a minute toy, the Wagtail lay shimmering in the sunlight, the Union Jack painted on her spread awning a tiny splash of colour against the pale grey.
Ling touched his arm, his face expressionless. “Come”, he said, and Rolfe stepped through the door, his footsteps now muffled by the thick profusion of animal skin rugs which covered every inch of the vast, airy room. The high stone walls were hung with rich embroidered banners and tapestries, which Rolfe guessed must be as old as they were priceless, while around the room were dark lacquered chests and gleaming tables, their rich surfaces alive with carved dragons and ornate birds. The whole room was littered with exquisite figures of carved jade, and shining bronze, and mixed incongruously amongst them, were two large portraits, one of Chiang Kai-shek and the other of Sun Yat-sen.
The far end of the room opened on to a wide stone terrace, decorated with potted palms, and the sea air mingled agreeably with the heavy, sweet smell of incense which smouldered from several giant bronze bowls.
Ling ushered him on to the terrace, a platform clinging to the side of the central tower like an eagle’s nest, and giving a view even more breathtaking than his earlier one. He riveted his attention on the two men who sat comfortably on a pile of cushions by a huge chess board, their backs to the sea, and their faces frowning in unison at the ranks of carved chessmen. Each piece was over six inches high, and fashioned from jade and ivory, so that each figure was an individual masterpiece.
The General was a tiny man, and beautifully
formed, like one of his chessmen. His small, round head was devoid of any hair, and although his skin was smooth and unwrinkled, it carried a kind of transparency, which gave the impression of great age. His small, dark eyes were hooded, and deep set, and his small, soft mouth was pursed like an unopened flower. His tiny, delicate hands, criss-crossed with veins, hung limply in his lap, and he was completely motionless. Rolfe watched him narrowly, sensing the aura of power and complete dominance which seemed to generate from this tiny carving of a man. Even the soft green uniform, bare of rank or decoration, added to his appearance of unreality, and made the second man, a fat, crafty-faced officer, in the uniform of a colonel, appear clumsy and vulgar.
“Lieutenant Commander Rolfe, of the British gunboat, General!” Ling drew his limp body together in a semblance of attention.
The hooded eyes flickered from the board, and Rolfe felt the cold and penetrating scrutiny from their black depths, but could read no message in the General’s expression.
“Sit, Captain!” Soft and vibrant, with a strange, sing-song quality, the General’s voice was nevertheless commanding, and without the weakness of age.
“You are welcome here, and I hope your mission is successful!”
Rolfe settled himself on the cushions, wishing that the brightness of the sky didn’t prevent him from seeing the General’s face more clearly. Ling busied himself in the background, and eventually laid a brass tray of fine crystal glasses at their feet. They sipped the wine without speaking. The General with apparent indifference and the Colonel with noisy satisfaction. Rolfe noted the savage scars on the man’s fat cheek. The relic of some past fight, no doubt.
“I hope to be able to sail very shortly, General. My work is nearly finished here,” Rolfe began carefully. “I understand you have heard something about my mission already?” He watched for some sign of surprise or anger, but the General folded his hands slowly in his lap.
“You should be more careful with your secrets, Captain!” His tone was a mere purr. “Your admirable Mr. Laker has already been to see me about your proposed withdrawal, or should I say, retreat?”
So it was Laker, thought Rolfe furiously, and a tremor of anger ran through him. “It was a matter for my Government to decide, General! I have my orders, and as I see it, there is no alternative!”
The General’s small face crinkled slightly and a few small yellow teeth glinted in a brief smile. “Do not excite yourself, my dear Captain. It is of no importance to me!” He shrugged eloquently, “I had hoped that your government might intervene on our behalf, but it does not matter. We are quite capable of dealing with any attack from the scum across the water!”
The Colonel puffed out his cheeks, and belched loudly. “No one can take Santu from us!” he spat thickly. “We repelled the Japanese, Captain, and the efforts of many others before that.” He spread his hands widely. “But, the dogs go and the pigs come! We will vanquish these animals, too!”
Rolfe sipped his glass, thinking rapidly. The General intended to fight, that was obvious, and he might be right about his powers of resistance, although the outcome could surely only be a question of time and numbers.
“I am sorry you had the story second-hand from Mr. Laker. I would have liked to explain it myself,” he said evenly. “I hope that you will see my point of view?”
The General laughed, a tinkling sound. “What did you expect me to say? That I would stop you leaving? That I would sink your little ship?” He suddenly stood up, his frail body straight and proud. “Come to the wall here, Captain, I have something to show you!”
Rolfe crossed to his side, and the General pointed down to the ramparts below them. Rolfe started, for there, lined at regular intervals along the wall, were half a dozen long naval guns, their carriages mounted firmly in deep concrete beds and their muzzles pointing out across the sea.
The General was watching him closely. “There are others at the rear, and some more field pieces in the hills! So you see, we are not, how shall I put it, the lame donkeys?”
“Where did you get those guns? They look quite modern!”
“An American submarine very thoughtfully torpedoed a Japanese destroyer very close to the coast, during your last war. The rest was up to us! Well, Captain, what do you think now?”
They returned to the cushions. “I think you’ll make quite a mess of any landing craft, General,” answered Rolfe slowly. “And of course, from here you can command the whole island with those guns.”
“Quite so! And at night, no ship would dare to try for a landing. You yourself know that the shoals and reefs would make that a particularly hazardous business!”
“I wonder why the Communists are intent on taking the island? Why not just ignore you?”
The General smiled secretly at the Colonel. “We are a nuisance here. We intercept the shipping from the Yangtse, and we are a possible springboard for a Nationalist attack on the mainland. You do not know the Communists, my dear Captain! They are like all clumsy regimes. Too many heads looking in too many directions! Colonel Kyung here will tell you how stupid they are!”
The Colonel laughed coarsely, “They are fools! We will drive them back like the dirt they are!” He lapsed into silence again, his scar gleaming whitely on his dark skin.
“What about the people here?” Rolfe approached the matter with caution. “How would they feel about a Communist attack?”
“Ah, you are thinking that they might not wish to fight? That they might wish to see me with my ancestors?” He shook with laughter. “Do not look so alarmed, Captain, I know exactly what you are thinking! They are poor creatures mostly, and unlike your happy Chinese in Hong Kong. But they have enough, and I have three thousand soldiers to back up my desires! And as you know, my Major Ling keeps a careful eye on the back-door, so to speak!”
“You speak excellent English, General.” Rolfe changed the subject rapidly to give him time to think.
“Have you been to Ascot? And to Henley? Or perhaps raced at Cowes?”
Rolfe shook his head, smiling regretfully. “No, I never could get around to it.”
“I have, Captain!” The little man stared past Rolfe into the far distance. “I visited your country many times, in the days of the old régime, and when the Kuomintang was all-powerful, before the scum rotted the feet of my country! Then I was great and powerful, and now, as you see, I am a mere speck of annoyance on the map of your international relations!”
Rolfe grinned uneasily. “Please, General, we must have a little charity!”
The General’s eyes changed again, and were hard and black. “Charity is like war, Captain! It is not for amateurs! It must be total, to be effective!” He folded his hands suddenly, like a fan, and lowered his head towards the waiting chessmen. “Go, Captain! I wish you well!”
Rolfe stood up, surprised at the abrupt ending to the interview. “Goodbye, General. I hope we meet again!”
“I think not. To me, a man who will not fight is more dangerous than one who fights against me!”
As the doors closed behind him, he heard the General’s fluted laughter, and he was almost tempted to burst back into the room, regardless of the consequences, and release some of his pent-up anger. He hardly noticed his descent from the great central tower, or Major Ling’s secret smile, as he swung along beside him. When they were again settled in the jeep, Ling casually lighted another of his black cheroots, and puffed the smoke contentedly into the humid air.
“Well, Captain? How do you feel now?”
Rolfe regarded him coldly. “I’m pretty fed up with the way nobody here seems to speak in anything but riddles and stupid threats!”
Ling chuckled softly. “The General is not an easy man to impress! He has been a ruler too long!”
The jeep grated forward, and some soldiers put their backs to the high gates, letting in the brilliant glare of the outside world. As they swung open, Rolfe was reminded of the dock gates in Hong Kong, as they had opened for the little Wagtail, starting the sh
ip and himself on this infuriating mission.
As they passed under the curved archway the sun smote them with cruel force, and he felt the tunic growing moist against his skin.
“Where to now, Captain? To your ship, perhaps?”
Rolfe stared out across the glittering sea, an empty plain of glass. Yet over there, beyond the lip of the hazy horizon, lay the great mass of Mother China, waiting, watching, and somehow full of menace. A shiver ran through him, and involuntarily he shuddered.
“I think I’d like to go and see Mr. Laker,” he said suddenly. “That’s if you don’t mind the trip?”
Ling smiled secretly through his smoke. “A pleasure. I have nothing to do at the moment. Nothing to do but wait,” he added slowly.
He was driving more slowly this time, steering the worn tyres round the craggy edges of the road with careful ease. Rolfe caught glimpses of his ship and a pang of something like affection touched him each time he saw the quaint hull nestled against the jetty, the spindly funnel adding to her appearance of defencelessness.
“The harbour, is it always as empty as this?” he asked.
“No, it is quite rare. The main fishing fleet is away at the moment,” explained Ling, his dark eyes on the shimmering track. “They will be back any time now with the fish. A veritable harvest no doubt!” There was something not quite genuine in his tone, and Rolfe began to feel irritated again.
“I suppose it helps the General’s belief that the island can be self-supporting, no matter what happens?”
“It helps,” nodded the Major indifferently. “We are very cut off here, and apart from the occasional visit of a freighter, or a British warship, we hear little of the outside world. It acts both ways, of course.”
“How d’you mean?”
“People hear little of us, too. We have no radio transmitters, so what we do, we keep to ourselves!”
Rolfe pulled the peak of his cap still farther over his eyes, and breathed heavily in the still, sluggish air. He cursed angrily as the jeep slewed round and stopped with a jerk, its wheels but a foot from the edge of the cliff.
Send a Gunboat (1960) Page 11
