Tai-Pan

by James Clavell

  “I believe it exists,” Struan said.

  “Come now, Dirk,” Longstaff said. “It was impossible to build such a fortification two thousand years ago.”

  “The legend, Culum, is that every third man in China was conscripted to work on the wall. It was built in ten years. They say a million men died and are buried in the wall. Their spirits guard it, too.”

  Culum grinned. “If it’s so huge, Father, the Manchus could never have breached it. It can’t possibly exist.”

  “The legend is that the Manchus broke through the wall by deceit. The Chinese general in charge of the wall sold out his own people.”

  “That’s more than likely,” Longstaff said disgustedly. “No sense of honor, these Orientals, what? The general thought he could usurp the throne by using the enemy. But the Manchus used them, then destroyed him. In any event, that’s the story.”

  Culum said, “Quite a story, sir.”

  Struan’s eyes hardened. “You’d better get used to many strange stories. And a new thought, Culum—the Chinese have had civilization for five thousand years. Books, printing presses, art, poets, government, silk, tea, gunpowder and a thousand other things. For thousands of years. We’ve been civilized for five hundred years. If you can call it that.”

  There was a knock on the door. Horatio hurried in. “You wanted me, Your Excellency?”

  “Yes. I want you to translate this immediately into Chinese, and send it off by special courier. And send a copy to Mr. Skinner for publication.”

  “Yes, sir.” Horatio took the paper and turned to Struan. “I was so sorry to hear the terrible news, Mr. Struan.”

  “Thank you. This is my son Culum. Horatio Sinclair.”

  They shook hands, liking each other instantly.

  Horatio read the letter. “It will take me a little time to put it in the right court phrases, sir.”

  “His Excellency wants it sent exactly like that,” Struan said. “Exactly.”

  Horatio’s mouth dropped open. He nodded feebly. “Yes, I’ll, er, do it at once. But Ti-sen will never accept it, Mr. Struan. Never, Your Excellency. He would lose too much face.”

  Longstaff bristled. “Face? I’ll show that devious heathen some face, by God. Give the admiral my compliments and ask him to send the letter by a capital ship of the line to Whampoa, with orders to proceed immediately to Canton if it’s not accepted forthwith!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Won’t accept it, indeed!” Longstaff said after Horatio had gone.

  “Damned insolence. They’re all heathen barbarians. All of them. Chinese. Manchus. They’ve no justice, and their contempt for human life is unbelievable. They sell their daughters, sisters, brothers. Unbelievable.”

  Culum suddenly thought of his mother and brothers, and how they died. The watery vomit and stools, and the stench and cramps and agony and sunken eyes and spasms. And the convulsions and more stench and then gasping death. And after death the sudden muscle spasms and his mother, dead an hour but suddenly twisting on the bed, dead eyes open, dead mouth open.

  The old fear began to sicken him, and he groped for something to think about, anything to make him forget his terror. “About the land sale, sir. First the land should be surveyed. Who’s to do this, sir?”

  “We’ll get someone, don’t worry.”

  “Perhaps Glessing,” Struan said. “He’s had charting experience.”

  “Good idea. I’ll talk to the admiral. Excellent.”

  “You might consider naming the beach where the flag was raised ‘Glessing’s Point.’”

  Longstaff was astonished. “I’ll never understand you. Why go out of your way to perpetuate the name of a man who hates you?”

  Because good enemies are valuable, Struan thought. And I’ve a use for Glessing. He’ll die to protect Glessing’s Point, and that means Hong Kong.

  “It would please the navy,” Struan said. “Just an idea.”

  “It’s a good idea. I’m glad you suggested it.”

  “Well, I think we’ll get back aboard our ship,” Struan said. He was tired. And there was still much to do.

  Isaac Perry was on the quarterdeck of Thunder Cloud, watching the marines search under tarpaulins and in the longboats and sail locker. He hated marines and naval officers; once he had been pressed into the navy. “There’re no deserters aboard,” he said again.

  “Of course,” the young officer said.

  “Please order your men not to make such a mess. It’ll take a whole watch to clean up after them.”

  “Your ship’ll make a nice prize, Captain Perry. The ship and the cargo,” the officer sneered.

  Perry glared at McKay who was by the gangplank, under armed guard. You’re a dead man, McKay, Perry thought, if you’ve helped Ramsey aboard.

  “Longboat on the aft gangway,” the third mate called out. “Owner’s coming aboard.”

  Perry hurried to meet Struan.

  “They think we’ve a deserter aboard, sir.”

  “I know,” Struan said as he came on deck. “Why is my bosun under guard?” he asked the arrogant young officer, a dangerous rasp to his voice.

  “Just a precaution. He’s a relation of Ramsey and—”

  “A pox on precautions! He’s innocent until proven guilty, by God,” Struan roared. “You’re here to search, not to harass and arrest my men.”

  “I knowed nothin’, sorr,” McKay burst out. “Ramsey’s not aboard by my doin’. He ain’t. He ain’t.”

  “God help you if he is,” Struan said. “You’re confined to the ship until I order otherwise. Get below!”

  “Yes, sorr,” McKay said, and fled.

  “God’s blood, Isaac!” Struan raged on. “You’re supposed to be captain of this ship. What law says the navy can arrest a man without a warrant as a precaution?”

  “None, sir.” Perry quailed and knew better than to argue. “Get the hell off my ship. You’re beached!”

  Perry blanched. “But, sir—”

  “Be off my ship by sundown.” Struan moved toward the gangway that led to the bowels of the ship. “Come on, Culum.”

  Culum caught up with Struan in the passageway to the main cabin.

  “That’s not fair,” he said. “It’s not fair. Captain Perry’s the best captain you have. You’ve said so.”

  “He was, lad,” Struan said. “But he did na watch the interest of his men. And he’s afraid. What of, I dinna ken. But frightened men are dangerous and we’ve nae use for such.”

  “McKay wasn’t harmed.”

  “The first law of a captain of mine is to protect his ship. The second, his men. Then they’ll protect him. You can captain a ship alone, but you can’t run her alone.”

  “Perry did nothing wrong.”

  “He allowed the navy to put McKay under guard against the law, by God,” Struan said sharply. “A captain’s got to know more than just how to sail a ship, by God! Isaac should have stood up to that young puppy. He was afraid, and he failed one of his men when it was important. Next time he might fail his ship. I’ll na risk that.”

  “But he’s been with you for years. Doesn’t that count?”

  “Yes. It says we were lucky for years. Now I dinna trust him. So now he goes, and that’s the end to it!” Struan opened the door of the cabin.

  Robb was seated at the desk, staring out of the stern windows. Boxes and chests and children’s clothes and playthings were strewn on the floor. Sarah, Robb’s wife, was half curled in one of the sea chairs, dozing. She was a small woman, heavy with child, and in sleep her face was lined and tired. When Robb noticed Struan and Culum, he tried unsuccessfully to force a smile.

  “Hello, Dirk. Culum.”

  “Hello, Robb.” Struan thought, He’s aged ten years in two days.

  Sarah awoke with a start. “Hello, Dirk.” She got up heavily and came over to the door. “Hello, Culum.”

  “How are you, Aunt Sarah?”

  “Tired, dear. Very tired. And I hate being on a ship. Would you
like some tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Robb watched Struan anxiously. “What can I say?”

  “Nothing, Robbie. They’re dead and we’re alive and that’s the end to it.”

  “Is it, Dirk?” Sarah’s blue eyes were hard. She smoothed her auburn hair and straightened her long, green, bustled dress. “Is it?”

  “Aye. Would you excuse us, Sarah? I’ve got to talk to Robb.”

  “Yes, of course.” She looked at her husband and despised the weakness of him. “We’re leaving, Dirk. We’re leaving the Orient for good. I’ve decided. I’ve given Struan and Company seven years of my life and one baby. Now it’s time to go.”

  “I think you’re wise, Sarah. The Orient is nae place for a family these days. In a year, when Hong Kong’s built, well, then it’ll be very good.”

  “For some, perhaps, but not for us. Not for my Roddy or Karen or Naomi or Jamie. Not for me. We’ll never live in Hong Kong.” She was gone.

  “Did you buy opium, Robb?”

  “I bought some. Spent all our cash and borrowed about a hundred thousand—I don’t know exactly. Prices didn’t come down much. Then, well, I lost interest.”

  So we’re deeper in the hole, Struan thought.

  “Why our family? It’s terrible, terrible,” Robb said, his voice tormented. “Why all our family?”

  “Joss.”

  “Curse joss.” Robb stared at the cabin door. “Brock wants to see you as soon as possible.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Struan sat and eased his boot off for a moment, and thought about Brock. Then he said, “I’ve made Culum a partner.”

  “Good,” Robb said. But his voice was flat. He was still staring at the door.

  “Father,” Culum broke in, “I want to talk to you about that.”

  “Later, laddie. Robb, there’s something else. We’ve bad trouble on our hands.”

  “There’s something I must say at once.” Robb tore his eyes off the door. “Dirk, I’m leaving the Orient with Sarah and the children. By the next boat.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll never be a tai-pan and I don’t want to be.”

  “You’re leaving because Culum’s a partner?”

  “You know me better than that. You might have discussed it with me, yes, but that’s unimportant. I want to leave.”

  “Why?”

  “The deaths at home made me think. Sarah’s right. Life is too brief to sweat and die out here. I want some peace. And there’s more than enough money. You can buy me out. I want to go on the next boat.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m tired. Tired!”

  “You’re just weak, Robb. Sarah’s been on to you again, eh?”

  “Yes, I’m weak, and yes, she’s been on to me again, but I’ve decided. Too many deaths. Too many.”

  “I canna buy you out. We’re bankrupt.” Struan handed him the bankers’ letter.

  Robb read the letter. His face aged even more. “God curse them to hell!”

  “Aye. But we’re still bankrupt.” Struan pulled on his boot and stood up. “Sorry, Culum, the partnership is worthless. There was a run on our bank.” The air in the cabin seemed to thicken.

  “We’ve a hundred thousand in Scotland,” Robb said. “Let me have half of that and you take the rest.”

  “Thanks. Robbie. Spoken like a man.”

  Robb slammed the desk with his fist. “It’s not my fault the bank closed its doors!”

  “Aye. So dinna ask for half our money when we’ll need every penny!”

  “You will, not me. You’ll find the answer, you always have.”

  “Fifty thousand pounds won’t last Sarah five years.”

  “That’s my worry! The money’s not on the books, so it’s fairly ours. I’ll take half. My share of the business’s worth twenty times that!”

  “We’re bankrupt! Can you na get that through your head? Bankrupt!”

  The cabin door opened and a little golden-haired girl came into the room. A straw doll was in her hands. She wore a frown. “Hello, Daddy. Hello, Uncle Dirk.” She stared up at Struan. “Are I ugly?”

  With an effort Struan pulled his eyes off Robb. “What, Karen lassie?”

  “Are I ugly?”

  “No. No. Of course not, Karen.” Struan lifted her up. “Who’s been saying such terrible things to you, lassie?”

  “We was playing school on Resting Cloud. It were Lillibet.”

  “Lillibet Brock?”

  “Oh, no. She’s my best friend. It were Lillibet Somebodyelse.”

  “Well, you’re na ugly. You tell Lillibet Somebodyelse that it’s na nice to say such things. You’re very pretty.”

  “Oh, good!” Karen smiled hugely. “My daddy always says I’m pretty, but I wanted to ask you ’cause you know. You know everything.” She gave him a big hug. “Thank you, Uncle Dirk. Put me down now.” She danced to the door. “I’m glad I aren’t ugly.”

  Robb slumped in his chair. At length he said. “God damn the bankers. I’m sorry. It’s my fault—and I’m sorry I said … sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too, lad.”

  Robb tried in vain to think. “What can we do?”

  “I dinna ken. Will you na do this, Robb? Give me a couple of months. We’ll send Sarah and the children off by the first ship. The sooner the better, then they’ll miss the typhoon season.”

  “Maybe I can arrange a loan somehow. We’ve got to pay the sight drafts. We’ll lose the ships—everything.” Robb forced his mind away from Sarah. “But how in the little time we have?” His fingers twisted nervously. “The mail packet came in yesterday. Nothing of importance for us. No news from home. Perhaps others know about the run on our bank. We bought a little stock in Brock’s bank to keep an eye on it. Perhaps he knows about the run on ours. Is that why he wants to see you?”

  “Perhaps. In any case, he’ll be on our necks right smartly, if he finds out. If he did na start it himsel’. He’ll buy up our paper and ruin us.”

  “Why?” Culum asked.

  “Because I’ll ruin him if I get half a chance.”

  Culum wanted to ask why, and to tell them that he, too, was going home on the next ship. But his father looked so gaunt and Robb was so morose. Tomorrow he would tell him.

  “I’ve got to get a few hours’ sleep,” Struan said. “I’m going ashore. You and Sarah go back to Resting Cloud, eh? Perry’s ordered off by sundown. I beached him.”

  “Who’s going to take his place?”

  “I dinna ken,” Struan said as he went out. “Send word to Brock I’ll see him ashore at sundown.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Struan had slept little. The food on the table was untouched. He stared through the tent door at the ships riding at anchor. The sun was dying and a blurred moon was low on the horizon. Huge masses of cumulus dominated the sky. The wind brought the promise of storm.

  Ti-sen, his mind kept repeating to him. Ti-sen. He’s the only one to save you. Aye, but that’s treachery to all you believe in, all you’ve worked for.

  McKay came in with a lighted lantern and set it on the table. The tent was spacious and comfortable; there were carpets on the stony soil. “Brock’s longboat’s coming ashore, sorr.”

  “Take the men and move out of hearing, McKay.”

  “Yes, sorr.”

  “Has word come they’ve found Ramsey yet?”

  “No, sorr.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, sorr.”

  Struan nodded absently. “Tomorrow put all our spies to work to find out where he is.”

  “Beggin’ yor pardon, sorr, I already spread the word, sorr.” McKay tried to cover his anxiety. “If he’s aboard it’s someone’s devilment.” Then he added, “I feel bad about Cap’n Perry, sorr.”

  Struan’s eyes were suddenly hard. “I’ll give you fifteen days to prove I was right about Isaac. Fifteen days, or you’re beached with him.”

  “Yes
, sorr.” McKay felt a barb soar from his testicles into his guts and cursed himself for opening his mouth. Will you never learn, you stupid fool?

  Brock’s footsteps were heavy on the beach. He stood at the tent doorway. “Permission to come aboard, Dirk?”

  “Aye, Tyler.”

  McKay went out. Brock sat at the table, and Struan poured him a large brandy.

  “It were bad to lose yor family. I knowed how it feel. I lost two wives in childbirth, the kids too. Bad.”

  “Aye.”

  “Not much of a berth,” Brock said, taking in the tent. “Hungry?” Struan indicated the food.

  “Thank you kindly.” Brock took a chicken, ripped it in two and tore off half the white meat. He wore a big emerald, set in gold, on his little finger. “Seems that the joss of The Noble House be runned out.”

  “‘Joss’ is a big word.”

  Brock laughed. “Come now, Dirk. A company be havin’ to have bullion to support its credit. Even Noble House.”

  “Aye.”

  “I spend a lot of time, Dirk, and a lot of brass, checking on thee.” Brock picked the other half of the breast off the chicken and devoured it. “You’ve a good cook. Tell him I’ll give him a job.”

  “He likes the one he has.”

  “No brass, no job, my fine muckel. No bank, no credit—no ships, no nothin’!” Brock split another chicken. “Be thee keepin’ the champagne? This be special occasion, I’ll be bound.”

  Struan opened the bottle neatly and filled clean glasses for Brock and himself.

  “Chilled just right, lad. Just right.” Brock smacked his lips. “Twenty-five thousand be no much for a million, be it?”

  Struan said nothing. His face was impassive.

  “Sixpence on the pound, they sayed. I got a letter in the mail packet yesterday. I lost ten thousand nicker. Bad. Very bad of the bank to gamble with their customers’ money.” Brock chuckled. “I ‘happened’ to run into that bugger Skinner. He thort it were bad too. He be writing a article—headlines, I’ll be bound. An’ quite right.”