Nobody’s Child

by Andrew Wareham

  There was a mound of boxes and bales already aboard the lighter and we simply placed our crates on top and then set ourselves around them for the run out to the waiting ship.

  I was surprised to see that she was a country ship, a teak-made local copy of a European square-rigger, a four hundred tonner at a glance. Larger than most such ships and in good condition. I had expected a Parsee merchant to use a dhow, but he appeared to be as wealthy as any of the British country merchants. I later found out that I underestimated Mr Jamsetjhee.

  Mr Fong approved.

  “Safer in storm and little less quick than a dhow, Mr Jackson. Carries a powerful armament, I understand.”

  I nodded, counting the gunports at her side.

  “A broadside of six guns, Mr Fong. More than most merchantmen will carry.”

  “But your Company ships may often have twenty on a side, Mr Jackson!”

  “They ain’t normal ships, Mr Fong. John Company is rich and can spend out on guns and men. Needs to, when you think of it. A voyage of six months around the shores of Africa has many hazards. Add then the run to Canton through the pirate waters of the Orient – a ship needs power of its own. Most merchants hope to flee, but John Company keeps to big and slower ships that fight their way out and back again if needs be.”

  The lighter hooked on and I ran up the side of the merchantman and saluted the officer I saw there. He was British, late of the Navy, at a guess.

  “Permission to board, sir? My name is Jackson and I am escorting Mr Ainslie’s goods, sir.”

  I did not add that I was quickly checking that the ship was good, that she had not been taken by pirates or brigands from the shore, sitting innocently and loading a cargo to sail away with. It had happened before.

  “All is well, Mr Jackson. The particular cargo is to be placed in the master’s cabin, sir.”

  “With your permission, sir, I shall observe that to be so. Mr Ainslie’s responsibility will then cease.”

  The ship’s mate agreed that to be so.

  I looked about me, approvingly. The ship was clean, almost navy style, and was well together. The ropes and sheets were yellow, still new, not the washed-out grey of tired, aged cordage. The sails, such as I could see of them, were neatly furled and none too dirty. The guns, twelve in total, were in good order; big, too.

  “Is that a broadside of twelve-pounders, sir?”

  “It is, Mr Jackson, and a sternchaser of eighteen, do you see. The Persian Gulf is cram-packed full of slavers and pirate dhows and it is a rare voyage when we do not at least have to run out the guns to show our teeth. A full crew as well, and every man of them used to fighting – all of them sailed in one navy or another. The profits of the Persian run are high, Mr Jackson, and the pay is far in excess of any other I know of. We have room for a junior officer or two on the sea-soldier side, if you might be interested?”

  With my six pistols, I must have looked the part of a fierce adventurer, but I had ambitions to become my own man, a trader in my own right and probably into China. Ten years on the Persian Gulf run would probably have put two or three thousands into my pocket, but I had desires beyond that, I discovered.

  Funny thing, but I had not put the thoughts together in my own mind before that. The offer of a different course made me realise what I actually intended.

  I refused, politely, explaining that I was contracted to escort the Chinese gentleman in the lighter, that I must not betray his trust, or that of his noble employer.

  “Ah! Works for a lord, does he? In Canton?”

  “Just so, sir.”

  “Then you are very right, Mr Jackson. That is not the sort of contract one takes lightly or breaks at all.”

  “I can’t remember being asked to take it, sir.”

  “Forced upon you? That happens, and the wise man smiles and tugs his forelock and says ‘thank’ee kindly’. Or runs a very long way and quickly.”

  I laughed and said no more.

  We watched the boxes aboard and into their resting place for the voyage and both signed a document, a bill of lading, that gave the responsibility to the ship and then I ran back down into the lighter and sat and waited next to Mr Fong while she was emptied. I noticed that Fong was just a little nauseous, ship and lighter rolling in the onshore waves. I will confess to being not entirely sympathetic to him – it was the first sign of weakness I had seen in the man, made him far more human.

  Two hours and we were back at the landing stage, rejoining Jamadar Rao’s people for the march back to the Ainslie compound.

  “What next, Mr Fong?”

  “Your ship, Jenny Dawes, should be loaded for the next run to Canton, Mr Jackson. A swift voyage, I will hope, and we shall see what is planned for you.”

  “Planned?”

  “Why, yes, Mr Jackson. I believe that there are functions that an English gentleman can perform for my Lord. His assistants, as you might call them, will wish to discuss these with you. I would say that the rewards to be gained from my Lord’s service are not small, Mr Jackson.”

  I smiled my best and told him how pleased I was to be the lucky man who had been chosen to take such a place. Mr Fong shared my delight. I am certain that he believed in my candour, that he genuinely could not conceive that any man might not be thankful to be offered such an opportunity.

  “You will have chances to trade, no doubt, Mr Jackson, and will soon find yourself with gold in your pocket.”

  That was not to be sneered at, but I could still clearly call to mind the hanging, flayed body of the pirate king. His offence had been to irritate Mr Fong’s Lord. I suspected that the next few years would demand tact of me, beyond that normally expected of a young man.

  I resolved to grow up fast.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nobody’s Child Series

  Nobody’s Child

  Whampoa was unchanged – different ships, different people, but the same place, the same noise, the same frenetic money-making.

  Among the Europeans, that was; the Chinese who looked on still seemed amazed and withdrawn from the ruck of round-eyed peasants who had descended upon them. That was the superficial impression, at least.

  The truth was that the Chinese we saw were just the few – the customs officials who knew they were redundant and the guardsmen who were expected to be ineffectual. In the background, the business of making one’s fortune was just as furious as among the foreigners in public view.

  I knew more of China on this third visit and watched as well as saw.

  John Company wanted it to be known that British trade was the greatest and most important element of the activity in Canton, and it was probable that the Company handled the better part of a half of all that went on there, loading as many as two score of big ships in the best years. But there were scores more of smaller vessels and of private traders from many countries, including country merchants from India and lesser independent venturers.

  The country merchants were all in a relationship with John Company, essentially obedient to command. The adventurers were free-minded, though always watchful not to offend the Honourable Company more than was prudent, and comprised the bulk of the smugglers.

  The country merchants ran opium as well but were nervous when it came to dealing directly with the Chinese. Mostly they used the semi-official processes that John Company had developed. Mr Ainslie was an exception in that he had made contact with the Red Triad, or perhaps that he had responded to their overtures to him.

  I had never thought it wise to ask Mr Fong which was leader and which follower in the trade. It was more sensible simply to do as I was told, until I had gained a little more of seniority and independence in my own right.

  I watched as we came to an anchorage and Mr Fong called a sampan and went ashore. I was ready when he returned two hours later.

  “Come with me to the cabin, Mr Jackson.”

  I followed obediently.

  “Captain Partridge, you are to unload into barges offshore, in the shel
ter of the Ladrones. A sampan will lead you out in the morning. You will be taken to a sheltered bay and men will come aboard. I will go ashore with the barges, Mr Jackson and his man to accompany me. You will then proceed to Whampoa and tie up at the Chow-Chow wharf where you will be loaded. The Hoppo will give his chop without delay. You may expect to sail within four days. Mr Jackson will not return with you. There will be no special cargo on this occasion.”

  Captain Partridge acknowledged his orders but had the courage to ask what was to become of me.

  “Mr Jackson is to work for my Lord. He will be well rewarded. He will return at my Lord’s convenience.”

  I was told no more. Fong instructed me to bring my pistols and sword and clothing for two days.

  “You will be provided with new, Mr Jackson. Your man as well. It may be thought wise to purchase the services of some of your leading men. Name those you might want, if you please.”

  “Maneater, first and foremost, Mr Fong. The five who follow him directly as well.”

  “So it shall be, Mr Jackson. They may not be required. I do not know as a certainty.”

  “I should speak to them, Mr Fong, give them my promise they will be well-treated and paid.”

  Mr Fong did not see why – they were peasants and should obey their betters’ orders.

  “They are killing men, sir. They cannot be expected to blindly obey.”

  “Why not? Ours do.”

  “Ours will not, Mr Fong. We have different ways.”

  Mr Fong did not say that they were very poor ways – his opinion was obvious.

  We stayed with the ship overnight and watched as we were led out of the anchorage and sailed a couple of hours to a sheltered bay of one of the dozens of islands that littered the estuary. There were sampans waiting, fifty or sixty at a guess and they loaded as quickly as on the previous occasion, the coolies running in seeming terror of their overseers. It was effective, but I did not like it. I remained silent.

  Mr Fong led me down into a sampan mid-way through the unloading and we watched the remainder of the business from there. The last of the laden boats sailed and rowed away, scattering around the islands, it seemed.

  “If any one is lost, Mr Jackson, the others will be safe.”

  “I had not known that they were at risk, Mr Fong.”

  “Small, Mr Jackson, but they might be taken by an unusually foolish pirate or by a customs junk that was unaware of their identity until they came ashore. Trivial enough, the risk, but one is as well to avoid the inconvenience.”

  There had been some mention on Jenny Dawes of smuggling across the English beaches, and the men had talked of Revenue cutters that happened always to be in the wrong place and shore-based officers who saw nothing. The habits of the English and the Chinese were similar in some respects – both loved a bribe.

  The sampan we were on was a clean craft, used only for the occasional passenger who expected a degree of comfort. The crew of three men ran quietly about their business, tending the sail and working a tiny charcoal brazier to produce tea for us. We idled on cushions while we were returned to Whampoa and then down the river another mile until we were put ashore at a small jetty.

  There was a compound, a palisade of bamboos surrounding a house and a working yard. A gate was opened for us and then quickly and firmly closed behind. There were sentries peering through loopholes along the fence, more or less military in style but conveying a slipshod impression. They carried muskets, all anyhow – some across their back, others to the shoulder, most at the trail. They were dressed as coolies, indistinguishable from the mass of peasants other than for being armed.

  “Soldiers, Mr Fong?”

  “So they believe, Mr Jackson. Your sepoys would laugh at them.”

  I said nothing to that – it was obviously correct, but it might have been offensive to agree with him.

  Mr Fong entered the house. It was larger than most I had seen, but not a mansion in my estimation; it did not compare with the great houses I remembered from Hampshire. He bowed deeply at the door. I matched him.

  There was an old man sat in a high-backed wooden armchair, surveying us. Not the one who had presided over the flaying of the pirate king but very similar. Mr Fong dropped to his knees; again, I followed suit.

  There was a brief discussion – not short enough, my knees hurt like hell on the hard, tiled flooring. The old man nodded to me and I bowed in return. Mr Fong stood elegantly, unfolding from the knees. I staggered to my feet and we left the audience chamber.

  “The Old Gentleman approves of your manners, Mr Jackson. He has met only a few of gwailos and they have uniformly been of ill-birth and breeding, despite claiming titles. You are the first to display ordinary courtesy to him. You are to be employed to turn the peasants who guard us into soldiers such as your sepoys. You will remain in this region for the while, out of obvious sight because it is unlawful for round-eyes to be here. Your people are permitted only in Whampoa and Canton proper. Your five men will be brought to you to assist in your labours, it being unreasonable to expect one man to bring five hundred to discipline.”

  “Thank you, Mr Fong. We have not mentioned reward, sir, but I have travelled so far in the hope of making my fortune…”

  “At most one year, Mr Jackson, and you will return to Bombay with a cargo of desirable goods. You will also have gold coinage in your possession, sir. For the year, you will be housed in comfort and will be offered such amusements as you find desirable. It is suggested that you do not show any great willingness to learn Cantonese or other dialects, Mr Jackson. Better that those you speak to should learn English or Pidgin. You will be taught Pidgin.”

  I agreed, able to comprehend that knowledge of the language might give me an advantage in future dealings with China. From my host’s viewpoint, my ignorance was their bliss.

  “There will be a man present who will be happy to lead you through your exercises each day, Mr Jackson. You must keep your strength, for you will go back to sea again in a year or so.”

  I agreed, having come to enjoy the feeling of a powerful body and actually liking stretching and working my muscles. The weeks aboard ship from Bombay had given us both the chance to become strong.

  “What of weapons, Mr Fong? I have only glanced at the muskets your men carry, but they do not seem to be of the best.”

  “There will be a Swedish trader at their factory within the month, Mr Jackson. She should be laden with modern muskets.”

  I knew nothing of Sweden, could make no comment.

  “Is there a range where the men may shoot, Mr Fong? One cannot train musketeers except by using powder and ball rather frequently. Many men are frightened by the noise and the kick of the musket; they must learn not to close their eyes when they squeeze the trigger.”

  “Whip them if they do, Mr Jackson.”

  “Better to train them not to, Mr Fong. The sepoys are never whipped, which is one reason why they are proud soldiers.”

  “They are peasants. They do not need pride.”

  “If they are to be soldiers, they must have pride. They cannot fight if they are no more than subservient dogs. They must wish to fight, and they will only be willing to risk their lives if they see a gain in it – that gain is their pride in being bigger, harder, fiercer men than their enemies.”

  “It is not the Chinese way, Mr Jackson.”

  “Then you have a choice, Mr Fong. Be Chinese or be soldiers. It seems you cannot be both.”

  That was not a popular statement. I have learned a little of tact since and am amazed now that Fong did not cut my throat on the spot. He was a tolerant man, I suppose. I suspect as well that he had persuaded his masters that they needed me and that they wanted European-style soldiers. If he got rid of me, then he lost his chance to produce a battalion that could match the sepoys.

  “I shall do what I can.”

  Mr Fong led me off to my quarters, a brick bungalow of a dozen expansive rooms, with large glazed windows, most unlike the local s
tyle which favoured small, dark rooms. There was little of furnishings, just a few of tables and chairs and a large bed surrounded by mosquito netting. The floors were bare wood or tile. I suspected it would be within reason cool in the hot and humid season. My three bags were set down beside the bed.

  “The kitchens are separate to the rear, Mr Jackson. Your household is run for you by a comprador, or so you might call him. He will also be in charge of the places for your man and the others led by Mr Maneater. The tailor is waiting on your convenience.”

  I spent an hour being measured, the tailor being most thorough. A bootmaker followed, assuring me through Mr Fong that he had made European leather shoes for many years and was used to dealing with our enormous feet. He did not actually enquire how we walked on such monstrous, flapping appendages, but his curiosity was clear.

  Mr Fong excused himself, told me he would be back in the morning to introduce me to the junior officers who would command in my battalion.

  “Well, Fred? What do you think?”

  “Not bloody much, Mr Giles!”

  “Nor me. Go along with it, for the year. If we can turn these coolies into soldiers, we will have earned our money.”

  A pair of maids led Fred away and others guided me to the table where I was fed a meal proper to my status and size, or so I gathered from the Pidgin they used to me.

  It was a simple language to learn, by design, of course. Crude in many ways and incapable of conveying subtleties, it was none the less effective in everyday life. I do not propose to offer its vulgarities for your delectation, though I do not doubt there are those who might find it funny.

  I was offered a choice of drinks after dinner, including India Pale Ale sealed in its bottles. I accepted a little of a rice wine, or so I thought it to be, found it not unpalatable and not too strong. I was not a hard drinker and did not wish to embarrass myself by displaying a spinning head.

  The house maids demonstrated that they were there in the function of harem as well. I accepted their services in the spirit they were offered, displaying all of the enthusiasm of youth, as I recall. There were worse ways of spending an evening.