There was a stunned silence.
Matheson spoke. “Do you mean that you will take ownership of the opium, as the British government representative?”
“I do.”
“Will the government reimburse us?”
“That is the idea.”
Matheson frowned. “If you add it all up, there must be over twenty thousand chests of opium to be accounted for.”
“I agree. Forgive me, gentlemen, but I must leave you now.” And Elliot was gone.
“It gets us out of this hole, at least,” said Tully. “We’ll have to wait a devil of a time for our money, assuming we get it, but it’s better than what we’ve got at the moment, which is nothing.” He turned to Trader. “Don’t you agree?
John Trader nodded slowly. Yes, if you had a fortune already, like Tully and Matheson, and you could afford to wait. But if all your money was in the opium chests in question, and you had that much again in debt, it was another story. Since he couldn’t admit that, however, he said nothing, nodded to the other men, and went out. But just as he was leaving, Trader overheard Matheson ask Read what he thought. And the American, after coolly exhaling the smoke from his cigar, replied: “Seems to me, sir, your Captain Elliot is a devious son of a bitch.”
* * *
◦
On a fine April day, two weeks later, a pair of British vessels passed up the gulf towards the Bogue. From the shallows, half a mile distant, Nio watched them as they passed, on their way to the receiving station. He was alone in a small sampan with Sea Dragon.
Nio saw the pirate turn his eyes down the gulf, and following Sea Dragon’s gaze, he could just make out another pair of ships on the horizon. The opium ships had been coming for three days already, bearing their cargoes to Commissioner Lin, who was going to destroy them.
“What a waste,” said Nio wretchedly. “Do you think Lin will really get twenty thousand chests?”
Sea Dragon allowed his eyes to return to the two ships before them. The opium in either one of them would have been enough to keep him and his men employed and handsomely paid for many months.
But he didn’t reply to his young friend. He seemed to have something else on his mind. At last he spoke. “Would you lie to me, Nio?”
“No.”
“When you first came here, Nio, the men didn’t want you in the boat. Did you know that? But I told them: ‘He is young, he will learn quickly.’ ” Sea Dragon paused. “Why did they listen to me?”
“You’re the boss.”
“And…?”
“They trust you.”
“Yes.” Sea Dragon gazed across the water. “They trust me. But they also fear me.” He nodded thoughtfully. “None of them would lie to me, Nio. Not one. Because if they did, I would kill them. Do you know that?”
“I know that.”
“We were making good money when you came. Trade was down, but we found opium to take along the coast. You were well paid.”
“I owe you everything.”
“And now, thanks to this accursed Lin, up and down the coast they’re crying out for opium, and we don’t have any. We haven’t made any money in a month.” The handsome pirate sighed. “Maybe we should all go home. So I say, anyone who wants to can leave. But maybe things will get better. We can share our money to buy food, and we can wait. Everyone tells me how much money they have.” He looked at Nio. “But when you tell me what you have, I ask you, ‘Why don’t you have more?’ And you say to me, ‘I lost money gambling.’ ”
“I did.”
Sea Dragon stared at Nio. “Do you know why trust is important, Nio? Because if we get into a fight, our lives depend on one another. I have to know that every one of my men has got my back, and I’ve got his. If not, he’s a danger. He has to die.”
“I owe you everything,” Nio repeated. In his code, that could mean only one thing: He’d defend Sea Dragon with his life. In his loyalties, the pirate came before all people, except for his father and one other person.
“I saw you hide the money,” the pirate said quietly. “It’s in a hole beside a tree. I counted it this morning.” There was a brief silence. “You lied to me.”
Nio kept very still. Not a muscle in his face moved. His knife was tucked into the red sash around his waist. Sea Dragon was sitting opposite him, but to one side. If the pirate were to lunge at him, he’d be off-balance, just enough to put himself at a disadvantage, and he must know this. Also that Nio would have noticed the fact.
So he’s not planning to kill me at this moment, Nio calculated. But he watched carefully, just in case.
“It’s not my money,” he said after a pause.
“Yes it is, Nio. What you mean is that you weren’t keeping it for yourself. I think you’re going to give it to that woman you asked me to visit. The one who calls you Little Brother. But why, Nio? She lives in a big house.”
“She married into a rich family. But her parents are the poorest peasants in the village. She has nothing of her own.”
“So every night, before you go to sleep, you think about how you’re going to go and surprise her with a present, and tell her to hide it away and keep it safe for herself. This is the good deed you dream of?”
Nio nodded.
“And you lied to me, even though you knew I would kill you if I found out.” Now Sea Dragon turned to look at him thoughtfully. “You are a brave young fellow, Nio. You’re the best I have.” He sighed. “But I can’t let you lie to me. What are we going to do about that?”
“You tell me,” said Nio. He watched the pirate for the slightest hint of movement, but Sea Dragon was still.
“Keep what you have saved for the woman,” Sea Dragon said quietly. “But you will give the same amount to me, out of what you earn in the future. And you will not leave me before you have paid. Also, you will never lie to me again.”
“I will never lie to you again.”
“Pray to the gods that the opium trade returns.”
Nio nodded. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “we should kill Commissioner Lin.”
* * *
◦
If John Trader had supposed that the siege was over, he was in for a rude awakening. Elliot might have promised to surrender the opium, but Lin wasn’t taking him at his word. “I’ll let you go when I have every last opium chest in my possession,” he told the Englishman. “Until then, I’m holding you all hostage.”
“It’s an outrage,” Tully protested to Matheson.
But the largest opium dealer was more philosophic. “In his place, Odstock, would you trust us?” He sighed. “We’ll have to empty the cargo of every ship in the gulf—and beyond. It may take weeks.”
It was the season between the cold dry winds of winter and the wet summer monsoon. The days were hot, the waterfront was dusty, and there was absolutely nowhere to go. Now Trader understood why, every April, the men at the factories were so anxious to leave Canton for the hills and sea breezes on the little island of Macao.
The police and troops, if not quite so numerous, continued their siege. Across Thirteen Factory Street, the local Cantonese would amuse themselves by climbing onto their roofs to watch the Western barbarians trapped below. For many days, no servants came in. Fresh food was hard to get. There was a shortage of water. The drains weren’t getting flushed out. The stink was sometimes terrible. Only gradually, as the opium chests piled up in their thousands at the receiving station that he had set up downriver, did Commissioner Lin somewhat ease the harsh conditions of his Western hostages.
Early in April he allowed them to send some mail downriver. Trader wrote two personal letters. The first was to Charlie Farley. He gave him some account of what had happened, told him that he felt confident they’d receive compensation from the British government—even though he wasn’t really confident at all—and sent friendly greetings to Charlie�
�s aunt.
The second letter was more difficult. He didn’t dare write to Agnes Lomond herself, but he could write to her mother.
He struck the right tone: respectful, friendly, frank. As a hostess, Mrs. Lomond would like to show her friends that she had a firsthand account of the China affair, so he made sure to give her precise information. At the same time, he played up the danger of the siege, praising the coolness of Elliot and the merchants—which by implication included himself. Above all, for the colonel’s ears, he made clear what an insult this attack was to the British Empire—an insult that couldn’t be allowed to stand. He closed his letter with a polite inquiry as to their family’s good health and with his good wishes to them all, including Agnes.
Why did he write it? There seemed little chance now that he could ever ask for Agnes’s hand. So wasn’t the letter a waste of time? He explained it to himself as courtesy. Keep his reputation for impeccable good manners in the British community. But that wasn’t the whole truth. A deep survival instinct told him never to give up. Not completely. Not even when the game seemed to be over.
The day John sent his letters, Lin let the servants return. Around the middle of the month, a number of sailors who’d been trapped by the siege were allowed to leave. But the merchants were to remain.
What was going to happen after they finally were permitted to leave? Was the China trade going to end? Would the British government really compensate him for his loss? Nobody could tell him.
* * *
—
One quiet afternoon Trader entered the library of the English factory. Tully had gone back to take an afternoon siesta. Many of the merchants had done the same, and the library was empty except for one elegant figure, fast asleep in a deep armchair.
No less a person than Superintendent Elliot himself.
Taking care not to disturb him, Trader settled down in an armchair on the other side of the room and opened Dickens’s Pickwick Papers. In a few minutes he was so engrossed in the amusing narrative that he quite forgot he was not alone.
He came to the famous description of the Eatanswill Election. He started to chuckle, then guffaw. Two minutes later he was weeping with laughter.
And was most disconcerted to find Superintendent Elliot by his chair, looking over his shoulder to see what he was reading.
“Ah,” said that gentleman amiably. “Pickwick. Excellent.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Trader. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s all right. Time I woke up anyway.” He sat down opposite Trader in a companionable way. “Glad you’re finding something to laugh about at least. This must be a difficult time. Worse for you than the older men, I should think.”
“The big merchants like Jardine and Matheson can ride out the storm, sir. They’ve got huge resources. I haven’t.”
“I know.” Elliot nodded. “I’m sorry.”
After a moment, Trader said, “I understand that you need to get us out of here, sir, but may I ask—that is, if you feel you can tell me—do you think I will get the compensation?”
“Eventually, yes. But it will be a long wait.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“If it’s any comfort,” Elliot said kindly, “Jardine must be almost in London by now. And a letter from Matheson will be in his hands the same time my report gets to the British government. Jardine will lobby ministers, including Palmerston himself. The opium lobby in Parliament is strong. And because I took over the opium on the government’s behalf, and Lin took it from me, it becomes a government affair. They’ll practically have to do something. Do you see?”
“I think so.” It all made sense. Yet for some reason he couldn’t quite define, it seemed to Trader that there was still a piece missing from the puzzle. He frowned. “May I ask another question?”
“Certainly.”
“It’s just that I overheard Read say something a bit strange after you announced you were surrendering all the opium and that we’d be compensated.”
“What was that?”
“Well, he said—I’m quoting his words, sir, if you’ll forgive me—that you were ‘a devious son of a bitch.’ ”
“The devil he did!” Elliot looked pleased.
“I did ask him about it once. He said I’d work it out, but I’m not sure that I have.”
Elliot paused, considering Trader thoughtfully. “If I share a confidence, Trader, will you give me your word that you will not repeat it. Not to your partner Odstock, not to Read, not to anyone?”
“I promise.”
“What value would you place on twenty thousand chests of opium?”
“At least two million pounds sterling. Probably more.”
“And do you suppose that the British government has that much cash lying around?”
“I don’t know.”
“They haven’t. And if they had, they wouldn’t give it. So where must the money come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“From the Chinese themselves. We’ll have to make them pay.”
“You mean war?”
“War is a strong word. China is huge, its people without number. Land war is out of the question. But the shore defenses are old; the war junks we have seen are clumsy and poorly armed. Any British naval vessel could pound them to pieces. So that is what we should do. In common parlance, we should knock them about a bit.”
“And then?” asked Trader.
“Those who know something of China’s history tell me their normal practice is to buy off foreign trouble if they can. Their empire is ancient and closed. As long as things return to normal, they don’t care. But they hate to lose face. It’s my belief that rather than lose face and have more of their ships sunk and their shore batteries smashed, they will agree to speedy peace terms. Those will naturally include trade concessions and reparations, which can be used to pay for our military costs and the opium our merchants have lost. Mr. Read is perceptive, and correct.” He smiled. “It’s the navy that rules the British Empire.”
So Elliot was engineering a war between his country and China.
Trader was impressed. He was used to the proud military men, the seasoned local administrators, and the cynical merchants of Calcutta, but this was his first real glimpse of the cold, ruthless, diplomatic intelligence that lay behind them all.
But none of this helps me, he thought. My only hope of solvency doesn’t lie even with the British government, but in a future war, against a vast empire, which may not take place, and whose outcome, whatever Elliot thinks, must be uncertain.
“I have a last question,” he said. “You know Commissioner Lin wrote a letter to the queen. It may be written in atrocious English, but his moral case is clear enough. What if Her Majesty agrees and takes the Chinese side?”
Elliot gazed at him and smiled. “My dear Trader,” he asked gently, “what on earth makes you suppose that anyone’s going to show it to her?”
* * *
—
Early in May, the troops and police withdrew from the waterfront. But Matheson, Dent, Odstock, and most of the English merchants were still kept hostage until all the promised opium was surrendered. Only at the start of the fourth week of May did the news come: “Lin’s got his twenty thousand chests.”
But still the commissioner was not quite done. He had one more demand.
“The damn fellow wants us to sign a bond that no cargo we bring to China in the future will contain any opium. Any crew found with opium is to be arrested,” Tully told him.
“It’s logical,” Trader said, “after all the trouble he’s been through to destroy this season’s opium.”
“Damned if I will,” said Tully. “For all I know, he’d use it as grounds to arrest me. Execute me as well, I daresay. He’s demanded that Elliot sign the bond as well, guarantee
ing the whole thing. Elliot refuses even to look at it.”
It came as quite a surprise when, two days later, Matheson casually remarked that he had signed the bond.
“Why the devil did you do that?” Tully demanded.
“To get out of here, Odstock.”
“You intend to keep your word?”
“Certainly not.” Matheson smiled. “As far as I’m concerned, I signed the bond only under duress, so it doesn’t count.”
“Damn fellow,” Tully remarked with grudging admiration.
A few others signed. Elliot did not. Nothing more was said. Perhaps Lin didn’t need to bother. In the emperor’s eyes, which was what mattered, Lin had won already.
And now the British merchants began to leave. One day Trader saw the portrait of the former king being packed up and carried to the waterfront. On another day he watched a single merchant load forty cases of his own wine into a boat and set off downriver, guarding his precious cargo himself. Yet when Tully told him they’d be leaving the following morning, Trader suggested he should join his partner in Macao somewhat later.
“Read and some of the Americans are staying a few more days. I thought I might follow on with them,” he said. And though Tully looked a bit surprised, he didn’t object.
The truth was, John couldn’t quite bring himself to go. He had a place to stay in Macao. Tully had offered him a room in his own lodgings for the time being. That wasn’t a problem.
It was the secret prospect of bankruptcy hanging over him that held John Trader back. How could he face even the modest social life of Macao? What could he say about himself to the merchants’ wives and families that wouldn’t be a lie? The fact was, he felt more like hiding from the world than being seen in it.
If I could, I’d sooner swelter alone here in the factories all summer, he thought.
Failing that, he’d even begun to indulge in another dream. What if he absconded? He could write to his creditors, tell them to claim their loan from the government compensation, when it came; and then with good conscience he could take the cash he had in hand and disappear.
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