Flood of Fire (76 page)

*

The tide happened to be coming in when Neel tumbled headlong into the Pearl River: it was to this fact that he owed the preservation of his life – if the current had been flowing in the other direction then he would have been swept towards the raft, to be picked off by British sharpshooters. Instead he was carried in the other direction, towards Whampoa.

Neel had never before been out of his depth in a river; his experience of swimming consisted of paddling around
pukurs
and
jheels
– the placid ponds of the Bengal countryside. He had never encountered anything like the surge of the Pearl River's incoming tide. For the first minutes he could think of nothing but of fighting his way to the surface to gulp in a few breaths.

As he was tumbling through the murky waters he caught a glimpse of a dark trail swirling around his limbs: one end of it seemed to be stuck to his right hip. Thinking that some floating object had attached itself to his body he twisted his head around to take a closer look. He saw then that the trailing ribbon was his own blood, flowing out of a wound. Only then did he become conscious of a sharp, stabbing pain in his flank. Flailing his arms he pushed himself to the surface and shouted for Jodu:
Tui kothay? Tui kothay re Jodu?

Twenty feet away, a head, bobbing in the water, turned to look in his direction. A few minutes later Jodu's arms were around Neel's chest, pulling him towards the shore, into a thicket of reeds and rushes.

Leaning heavily on Jodu, Neel staggered out of the water but only to collapse on the bank. There was a long rent in his banyan, and underneath it, just above his hip, was a gaping wound where a musket-ball had entered his flesh.

The bullet had to have hit him when he was about to jump, or even perhaps as he was falling. In the tumult of the moment he had not been aware of it – but the pain seemed to have been waiting to waylay him for it assailed him now with a force that made him writhe and thrash his arms.

Lie still!

Neel gritted his teeth as Jodu examined the wound.

The ball's gone too deep, Jodu said. I won't be able to get it out, but maybe I can stop the bleeding.

Pulling off the bandhna that was tied around his forehead, Jodu tore it into strips and bound up the wound.

In the meantime the cannon- and gun-fire from the British warships had continued uninterrupted. Jodu and Neel were not far from the fighting, for the current, strong as it was, had brought them only a few hundred yards upriver from the
Cambridge
. Now, suddenly, there was an explosion that shook the breath out of them: the
Cambridge
had erupted, throwing up a solid tower of flame. The column climbed to a height of over three hundred feet, ending in a black cloud that was shaped like the head of a mushroom. A few seconds later debris began to rain down and Neel and Jodu had to crouch down, with their arms wrapped protectively around their heads. They did not look up even when the top half of a ship's mast, thirty feet in length, landed nearby, with a huge thud. It had fallen out of the sky like a javelin, burying itself in the riverbank a few yards away.

A few minutes later there was another powerful explosion, on the river this time. When the smoke cleared they saw that a section of the raft had been destroyed. Within moments dead fish began to float up from below, clogging the river's surface.

Soon they spotted puffs of smoke heading in their direction. Peering through the rushes they saw that a British steamer had pushed through the shattered raft and was moving rapidly upriver, swivel-guns twitching and turning. Suddenly a fusillade slammed into an already crippled war-junk; then another stream of fire hit something on the shore.

Neel and Jodu flattened themselves on the bank as the steamer swept past, unloosing bursts of fire, apparently at random. In a few minutes a second steamer appeared and went paddling after the first. Then came a couple of corvettes.

After the vessels had passed, Jodu climbed to the top of the bank.

There are some abandoned sampans nearby, he said, after looking around. The owners must have taken fright and run away. Once it gets dark I'll get one.

Neel nodded: he knew that if they could get to the Ocean Banner Monastery they would be safe, at least for a while.

Shortly before nightfall Jodu slipped away, to return soon after, in a covered sampan. He had changed into some clothes he had found inside the boat: a tunic and loose trowsers, the usual garb of Cantonese boat-people. Of his face, almost nothing was visible: the upper part was hidden by a conical hat and the lower by a bandhna, tied like a scarf around his nose and mouth.

Jodu had found the garments below a deck-plank; after helping Neel into the boat he reached under the plank again and pulled out some more clothes, for Neel. He also came upon a jar of drinking water and some fried pancakes. The pancakes were stale but edible; Jodu devoured two of them before pushing the boat away from the shore.

Their way was lit by fires, kindled by the British gun-boats: blazing war-junks lay slumped over on their beams; the embers of shattered gun-emplacements smouldered on the river's banks; on a small island trees flamed like torches. Jodu kept to the shadows and was careful to feather the oars so the boat glided along with scarcely a sound.

At Whampoa Roads a British corvette could be seen, in the flickering light of burning houses. The vessel was riding at anchor, her looming silhouette pregnant with menace, her guns swivelling watchfully. Along the edges of the waterway hundreds of boats were slipping through, heading in the direction of Guangzhou. Such was the panic that nobody paid Jodu or the sampan any notice.

As they drew closer to Guangzhou the signs of destruction multiplied. At the approaches to the city two island fortresses were on fire. Abreast of each was a British warship. The vessels had created such fear that people were pouring out of their homes, jamming the roadways.

Approaching the Ocean Banner Monastery they found a steamer
anchored off it, abreast of the Thirteen Factories. On both shores people were milling about in large numbers; in the midst of the confusion no one noticed as Neel staggered through the monastery's gates, leaning heavily on Jodu.

*

For ten days after the Battle of the Tiger's Mouth the Bengal Volunteers remained in the vicinity of Chuenpee, on their transport vessel. Through that time they were constantly on the alert. Even though all Chinese troops had been withdrawn from the area new threats appeared every day: there were random attacks by bandits and villagers; some British units lost stragglers while patrolling ashore; there were rumours of camp-followers and lascars being kidnapped and killed.

As a result the men of B Company became impatient to return to their camp at Saw Chow. But instead the opposite happened: the troops who had proceeded up the Pearl River earlier were withdrawn and sent back to Hong Kong, and the Bengal Volunteers were ordered to move forward to Whampoa.

When it came to be learnt that the
Hind
was to sail upriver, there was much swearing and cursing. Only Raju was pleased: he knew that Whampoa was close to Canton and he imagined that if he could but get to the city his father would miraculously appear.

But on arriving at Whampoa Raju saw that nothing much was to be expected of it. It was just a way-station on the river, ringed by small townships and villages: it reminded Raju of the Narrows at Hooghly Point, where ships and boats often anchored on their way to and from Calcutta. The worst part of it was that nothing could be seen of Canton – and nor was there anything of interest nearby except a few pagodas and temples.

The boys' first excursion ashore ended at one of those temples. It was like no temple that Raju had ever seen, with its hanging coils of incense and its unrecognizable images – yet there was an air of sacredness in it that was very familiar.

At a certain point Raju succeeded in giving the other fifers the slip. Stealing into a darkened shrine-room, he knelt before the figure of a gently smiling goddess and joined his hands in prayer.

‘Ya Devi sarvabhutéshu,'
he prayed, mouthing the first words of
a remembered invocation: ‘Devi, my father is somewhere nearby. Help me find him, Devi, help me.'

*

For Zachary, the excitement of the Battle of the Tiger's Mouth was followed by several weeks of oppressive tedium. His orders were to keep the
Ibis
at anchor near Humen, which was occupied by a small detachment of British troops. Other than ferrying provisions ashore and watching for thieves and bandits, there was little to occupy him.

With time hanging on his hands Zachary fell prey to anxiety, especially in regard to Captain Mee. The inconclusive end of their last meeting gave him much to worry about: he had no way of knowing whether the captain had reconsidered his threats or not. To wait for him to make his move would be an error, he knew, and he was impatient to bring matters to a head. But there was no chance of doing that while the captain was at Whampoa and he was posted to Humen.

It became especially galling to remain there after news arrived that trade had been resumed at Canton, as a condition of continuing negotiations. After that British and American merchant ships were seen daily, proceeding upriver to acquire teas, silks, porcelain, furniture and all the other goods for which Canton was famed. To be idling while others made money was exasperating; Zachary soon began to regret the onrush of enthusiasm that had led him to offer his services to the expedition.

One evening, when Zachary was fretfully pacing the quarterdeck, a boat pulled up beside the
Ibis
. ‘Holloa there, Mr Reid!' shouted a familiar voice. ‘Permission to come aboard?'

‘Yes of course, Mr Chan.'

It turned out that Mr Chan was on his way to Guangzhou, at the invitation of the province's new head-officials. ‘You see, Mr Reid,' he said with a laugh, ‘how the tide turns? The mandarins who drove me from the city are all gone now. The new prefect has decided that he needs my advice. So after an absence of two years, I am at last able to return to my native city without fear of harassment.'

‘You're lucky, Mr Chan,' said Zachary enviously. ‘I wish I were going with you – what I wouldn't give to see Canton!'

‘Have you never been there then?' said Mr Chan.

Zachary shook his head. ‘No – I've been stranded here for over a month and I don't think I can take it much longer.'

‘Well something must be done about that!' said Mr Chan. ‘Mr Burnham is in Canton, isn't he?'

‘So he is.'

‘I shall probably be seeing him,' said Mr Chan, ‘and I'll certainly put in a word for you. I'm sure something can be arranged.'

‘Oh thank you, Mr Chan! I would be ever so obliged.'

‘But you mustn't thank me prematurely,' said Mr Chan. ‘You should know that my assistance hangs upon the outcome of the little errand that brings me here today.'

‘Of course.'

Zachary couldn't for the life of him imagine what service he could possibly offer to a man of such consequence; and Mr Chan's first remark, which was uttered in a casual, almost uninterested tone of voice, served only to deepen his puzzlement: ‘This vessel, the
Ibis
– I gather she has an interesting history?'

Zachary could see shoals in the waters ahead and chose to answer cautiously: ‘Are you referring to what happened on the
Ibis
's late voyage to the Mauritius Islands?'

‘Exactly,' said Mr Chan. ‘Am I right to think there was a half-Chinese convict on board? A man called Ah Fatt?'

‘That is correct.'

With a nod of acknowledgement Mr Chan continued. ‘I had been led to believe that this man had died. But it has recently come to my ears that he may instead have washed up at Hong Kong. I gather he has changed his appearance and is using a different name.'

Since no specific question had been asked Zachary did not think it necessary to respond. But his silence seemed to provoke Mr Chan, who removed his hand from Zachary's shoulder and wheeled around to face him. ‘I should explain,' he said, in a sharper tone of voice, ‘that this man is of great interest to me, Mr Reid.'

‘May I ask why?'

‘Let's just say that I have some unfinished business with him, a trifling matter. It would be a great help to me if you could confirm that he is indeed at Hong Kong.'

Such was the contrast between the blandness of Mr Chan's words and the silky menace of his tone that Zachary knew that the nature of the unfinished business was anything but trifling. Nor could he imagine that anyone would want to trifle either with Mr Chan or with the ex-convict: the man was a killer after all – Zachary had seen that with his own eyes, on the
Ibis
, on that night when he had settled his accounts with Mr Crowle. That he, Zachary, had thereby himself been spared injury – or perhaps even death – was the only consideration that made him hesitate to betray Freddie to Mr Chan.

‘Come now,' said Mr Chan, prodding him gently. ‘We are partners, are we not, Mr Reid? We must be frank with each other – and you may be sure that no one shall know but I.'

All of a sudden now, Zachary recalled the veiled threats and innuendoes that had issued from the convict's lips in Singapore. It was then that he made his decision: the man knew too much; to be rid of him would be no great loss for the world.

Zachary looked into the visitor's eyes: ‘Yes, Mr Chan – I think you're right. I too have reason to believe that he is at Hong Kong.'

Mr Chan continued to stare at him intently. ‘And would you by any chance happen to know what name he is using?'

‘He calls himself Freddie Lee.'

A smile spread slowly across Mr Chan's face.

‘Thank you, Mr Reid, thank you. This makes everything much easier for me. I am glad we understand each other so well! One good turn deserves another – you will hear from Mr Burnham very soon; I will make sure of that.'