“Are you certain?” This was a different, softer voice. It was the emperor, he was sure of it. Shi-Rong hesitated.
“Your slave heard him say that the request was out of the question, that it was against all reason, especially when the barbarians still occupied the island of Chusan.” He was so certain that this was the exact truth that, involuntarily, he gave a tiny nod.
“Not quite the same as a no, is it?” said the emperor. Again Shi-Rong hesitated. He was there to defend Lin, to whom he owed everything. But whatever faults the marquis possessed, he’d treated him well. Shi-Rong actually felt a little sorry for him. It seemed that the emperor sensed what was in his mind. “You should say what is in your mind,” he continued.
“Your slave believes that the marquis’s intention was to keep the barbarians talking. He wished to wear them down, either so they could reach an agreement or so that he could strike them when they did not expect it.” Again he gave a nod.
“That is all very well,” said the emperor, “but isn’t it true that the barbarians continued to insist on their demands?”
“It is true, Majesty.”
“What was the marquis planning to do next?”
“He told your slave that he was inviting them to a banquet.”
There was a silence. Then, presumably at a sign from the emperor, another official addressed him. “There is a rumor that the barbarians have mounted a new attack. Is it true?”
“It is true.”
“It doesn’t seem they wanted to come to the banquet, does it?” The emperor’s voice, still soft, but dry.
“Can you tell us what happened?” asked the official.
“Yes. Your slave was present. The barbarians bombarded the two forts at the mouth of the river, then attacked with troops. The forts fell. After that, a strange ship made of iron went upriver a little way. Our war junks lay up there protected by sandbanks, but the iron ship went across the shallows and destroyed most of the war junks with cannon and other projectiles.”
“Perhaps this ship has some sort of armor on its sides. If it was made of iron, surely it wouldn’t have floated.” The emperor’s voice. “I am surprised Admiral Guan gave in so easily.”
“Your slave asks permission to comment.”
“Do so.”
“The admiral is most valiant, Majesty. I have been under fire with him. This was not the admiral’s fault. He was overwhelmed.”
Nobody said anything for a moment. Then another voice spoke. “May I make a suggestion, Majesty? Admiral Guan’s preparations were extensive. His courage is not in doubt. But it would seem that in his desire to appease the barbarians, the marquis has deliberately weakened our defenses. Clearly, Admiral Guan has not been supported. I submit respectfully that it is time for a person with more martial spirit and moral resolution to support the admiral and to teach these pirates a lesson, once and for all.”
Whoever this man was, Shi-Rong thought, it was clear that he was used to speaking his mind before the emperor. What a fine thing it would be to have such a position. The man had even dared to speak up for Lin—for although he had not mentioned Lin by name, it was clear, when he spoke of the need for a man of moral resolution, that he had Lin in mind.
There was only one problem: He was wrong. Shi-Rong was sure of it.
Neither Admiral Guan nor Lin could have stopped the barbarian gunners, let alone the iron ship. Nobody who had witnessed the attack on the forts could fail to see this. The British had better weapons and greater skill. They’d had no difficulty in destroying the forts at all. They could do the same thing to all the forts up the river all the way to Guangzhou.
The emperor spoke. “First Lin tells me the pirates can do nothing; then they take Chusan. Then the marquis tells me he will control them down in Guangzhou, and they smash his defenses to bits.” His soft voice sounded plaintive. “Does anyone tell the emperor the truth?” Nobody spoke. “Have you told me the truth?”
It took Shi-Rong a moment to realize that the question was directed at him. He began to look up, then checked himself.
“Your slave has truthfully reported everything he saw and heard,” he said, keeping his eyes on the floor.
The emperor sounded sad. “Well, I daresay you have. Is there anything else that I should know?”
Was there anything? Just the fact that neither he nor his advisors in the room had any understanding of the situation. The British warships were not a nuisance that could be swept away. Along the entire coastline of his empire, they were a force superior to his own. But did he dare say it?
He thought of Lin, whom he loved and whom he was here to defend. Could he tell the emperor that Lin’s moral strength was irrelevant? He thought of the old admiral, whom he respected. Could he tell the emperor that the gallant old warrior was of no use to him? Above all, could he really say to the emperor’s face that he and all his counselors were laboring under a delusion?
“Your humble slave submits that Your Majesty has all the information known.” It was true, in its way.
A light touch on his shoulder told him that he should now withdraw.
* * *
—
Mr. Wen came to visit within the hour. Evidently Lin’s friends in the meeting had already talked to him. He seemed very happy. “You made an excellent impression,” he cried. “The case against Lin is looking much weaker now. And the wind is certainly blowing against the marquis.”
“And the admiral?”
“He’ll be told to redeem himself. A small demotion until he does. They liked that you spoke out for him. They thought it courageous. Well done.”
“And what about me?” Shi-Rong asked. “What happens to me? I work for the marquis, to whom I have to return. He isn’t going to be so pleased to see me, is he?” He paused. “Do you think Lin planned this all along—got me a job with the marquis, made me tell him everything the marquis did, and then wrote to you to suggest I be summoned to the emperor to give evidence?”
“If he did, he had every right. He was owed your loyal service.”
“I’m not complaining,” said Shi-Rong, “but what shall I do?”
“First you will stay in my house for at least two weeks, because the journey here has made you ill.”
“Has it?”
“That is what I shall tell everyone. Then you will return to Guangzhou. Very slowly. It will take you at least two months. By the time you get there, I suspect that the marquis will be dismissed. If so, Lin and the rest of us will find you employment.” He smiled. “While you recover in my house, you can study with me for your next exams. My servant Wong will be delighted to look after you again. It will be quite like old times.”
* * *
—
That evening Mr. Wen gave Shi-Rong an herbal drink to make him sleep, and it was well into the next morning before he awoke.
There was a dusting of snow around noon that continued for a couple of hours. While it was snowing and Wong busied himself with the housekeeping, the two men played a game of Chinese chess. The old man was skillful in moving his chariots, Shi-Rong perhaps cleverer with his cannon; and though he lost an elephant early on, he was able to hold out until the snow had stopped before Mr. Wen finally defeated him. Soon afterwards the sky cleared, and they stepped out into the small courtyard.
Mr. Wen’s courtyard had many happy memories for Shi-Rong. How often, in summer, they had sat out there, discussed the great poets, and practiced their calligraphy. Only one thing had changed since he’d gone away. In the north corner there now stood a curious pale stone, taller than a man. It was limestone, of the kind known as karst. Its twisted shape was naturally pierced with openings—some were holes that went clean through; others like curious cave entrances led to who knew what interior worlds within. “They call them scholar stones, you know,” old Mr. Wen said proudly.
“A very fin
e one, too,” Shi-Rong remarked. “It must have cost you a fortune.”
“It was a gift.” Mr. Wen smiled. “A pupil of mine from years ago. He has risen quite high and become very rich. He brought it to me as a present, for starting him on his career. He said a wealthy merchant gave it to him. A bribe, I expect.”
“It was good that he showed gratitude.”
“Yes. He might find a job for you, come to think of it.”
The sun was still shining. The sky was crystalline blue. They put on snow boots and went for a walk, just as far as the Tiananmen Gate. The sun was gleaming on the high tiled roofs; the huge snow-covered space was shining white; the red gates looked so cheerful. Not for nothing was it called the Gate of Heavenly Peace.
“There’ll be a full moon tonight,” said Mr. Wen.
* * *
—
Shi-Rong had already retired to his room before the moon appeared over the courtyard wall. Despite the cold, he opened the door and stood there for some time as it mounted into the clear night sky. In the courtyard the scholar stone gleamed, bone-white in the moonlight, its cavities like sockets in a skull. Whether the stone was friendly or not he couldn’t decide, but the silence at least was peaceful. Finally, made sleepy by the cold, he closed the door and lay down on his bed.
It was nearly midnight when the dream began. He was standing just inside the door of his room. Opening it, he looked into the courtyard. Everything seemed to be just as before. Yet he had a feeling that he had heard a sound, very faint, like an echo, though what it was he could not tell.
Then, looking at the moonlit scholar stone, he saw it was his father.
How pale he was, how thin and drawn his face, as though the flesh was already retreating from the bone. But it was his eyes that were truly terrible. For they stared at him with an anger he had never seen before. “What have you done?”
“Father.” He bowed low, as a son should. And he would have gone forward to receive his blessing, but he was afraid.
“What have you done? Did I not tell you to serve the emperor faithfully?”
“Yes, honored Father. I have done so.”
“You have not. You have lied to him about the barbarians. You did not warn him of the danger. You are like a scout who deliberately leads his general into an ambush. That is treason.”
“I told him as much as I could.”
“You lied to the Son of Heaven.”
“Everybody lies to the emperor,” Shi-Rong cried.
“Even if that were true, it is no excuse.”
“It was not so easy…”
“Of course it was not easy. Virtue is not easy. Honorable conduct is not easy. That is our tradition, the thing for which our education prepares us—to do the thing that is not easy. Have you turned your back upon all the teachings of Confucius?”
“I do not think so.”
“Then you have not understood. When Confucius was asked how to cure the many ills of a corrupt government, what did he say? Perform the sacrifices correctly. What did that mean? That if your conduct is incorrect in small things, it will be incorrect in great things. Honesty and right conduct begin in the home, then in the village, the town, the province, the whole empire. The conduct of the emperor, who makes the great yearly sacrifices to the gods, must also be correct. Otherwise his whole empire will be rotten. Everything must hang together. One weak link breaks the whole chain. This is what Confucius understood. Yet you turn your back on everything I have passed down to you. You have disgraced me. You have disgraced your ancestors.”
Anguished, Shi-Rong fell on his knees and kowtowed to his father. “Forgive me, Father. I will make amends.”
But his father only shook his head. “It is too late,” he said in a sad voice. “Too late.”
* * *
—
“My dear Jiang,” said his old teacher when he saw Shi-Rong’s face in the morning, “you look as if you’d seen a ghost.”
“I slept badly,” said Shi-Rong.
“Go for a walk,” Mr. Wen suggested after Wong had served them breakfast. “It’s cold, but it’s a beautiful day.”
After breakfast, Shi-Rong took his advice. For an hour he wandered the old city’s streets. He came upon a small Confucian temple and went in to meditate awhile. It was nearly noon before he returned.
When he reached Mr. Wen’s house, he was met by Wong, who told him: “Mr. Wen has received a letter, Mr. Jiang. He wants to see you.”
Shi-Rong found his old teacher in the little room where he kept his books. He was looking grave.
“Is there news from the lord Lin?” Shi-Rong asked.
“No.” Wen shook his head. “From your aunt. She had sent a letter to you in Guangzhou, but it must have arrived after you left.”
Now Shi-Rong knew, with an awful certainty, what the news must be. “My father.”
“He has died. Almost a month ago, it seems. Peacefully. With words of great affection for you just before he departed. You have been a good son to him. He was proud of you.”
“No. He is not proud of me. Not anymore.”
“I do not understand.”
“I saw his ghost last night. I thought it was only a dream, but it was not. He is very angry with me. I have shamed him and my ancestors. He told me so.”
“You must not say such things.”
“But it is true, Teacher. It is true. And he was right.” Shi-Rong sank to his knees in shame and put his face in his hands.
For a long moment Mr. Wen was silent. “You will have to go home, you know. It is your duty. You cannot work for the marquis anymore, or for anyone, until the period of mourning is over.”
“I know,” said Shi-Rong.
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” said Mr. Wen. “It’ll keep you out of trouble.”
* * *
◦
Cecil Whiteparish had been standing on the waterfront at Macao on a quiet day in March in the year of Our Lord 1841, looking at the ships in the Roads, when no less a person than Captain Elliot came walking swiftly towards him, and to his surprise hailed him and declared, “My dear Mr. Whiteparish. The very man I was looking for. I need your services as an interpreter again.” Elliot paused. “How would you like to visit Canton?”
“Is it safe now?”
“The river is clear almost up to the factories at Canton, where I hope British trade will soon resume.”
Since the January day when Elliot’s squadron and its iron ship had smashed the Chinese forts at the top of the gulf, the British advance up the Pearl River had continued. The marquis had called for truces, but it was soon obvious that he was only playing for time, and Elliot pressed on regardless. Day after day, mile after mile, the British had destroyed every battery, rampart, and garrison. Chinese casualties had been large, British minimal.
“We missionaries act as your interpreters, Captain Elliot, because we’re loyal Englishmen. But since this whole business is to support the opium trade, as a man of God, I can’t pretend to like it.”
“And you know very well,” Elliot assured him, “that I hate it, too. But remember, the government’s true mission is much larger. We intend to coerce the Chinese to behave like a civilized country—open at least five ports, including Canton, to general trade, with British consuls in each port, perhaps an ambassador at the court. Englishmen will be able to live freely in those places. And there will be Christian churches there, for the Chinese as well. Your desires and mine are the same.”
“That is the end. But the opium trade is the means.”
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
“I must serve the government, I suppose,” Whiteparish said, “but I hope I shan’t be asked to do this again.” He sighed. “I regret the loss of life,” he said sadly.
“So do I,” said Elliot. “I was especially sad when that gallant old admiral Gua
n was killed at one of the forts we stormed. But I’m afraid that’s war.” He paused. “There’s been another casualty, of a kind. The marquis has lost the emperor’s confidence.”
“Demoted?”
“Carted off to Peking in chains, two days ago, under sentence of death. Lin saw him off, apparently. There’s irony for you.”
“Where does that leave negotiations?”
“The marquis ceded Hong Kong to us, evidently without the emperor’s authority. But we’ve occupied it, and we certainly won’t give it back. He also promised six million dollars for the lost opium—also probably without authority. But we’ll force the Chinese to give it to us, you may be sure.”
“The conflict’s not over, then.”
“Not quite.” Elliot nodded. “And that, my dear Mr. Whiteparish, is where Her Majesty’s Government needs you. I’m going on a secret expedition. I have a good pilot. You’ve met the fellow. They call him Nio. He gave us information about the gun batteries—entirely accurate, too. Now I need an interpreter.”
“I see.”
“There may be a little action, but nothing to worry about.” He smiled. “We’ll be on the Nemesis.”
* * *
—
They’d entered the great network of waterways that lay west of the gulf, a world of mudflats as far as the eye could see. The Nemesis, carrying a contingent of marines as well as its crew, and towing a couple of longboats astern, chugged its way northward through the watery landscape. Every so often, the channel forked confusingly, but their pilot never hesitated.
“Nio may be a rogue,” Elliot observed, “but he knows these waterways like the back of his hand.”
“The place seems empty,” Whiteparish remarked.
“According to Nio, it isn’t. As well as a town, there’s a lot of small forts up here. So I thought I’d better reduce them now. Once we’ve got control of the whole river, we don’t want trouble developing in the rear.”
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