China Flyer (15 page)

The crowd of nut-brown faces gathered round Horne near the forecastle, beaming with pleasure at the sight of their captain. Excitedly, they began patting one another, laughing and exchanging warm hugs, certain they were on their way home.

Horne waved the crew into silence, explaining in a low but firm voice, ‘We don’t leave China without finishing our job here.’

Jubilant smiles froze on the crew’s faces.

‘We came to China to find the
China
Flyer.
Now that we’ve found her—’ He pointed across the harbour. ‘—we must take her and lead her back to Madras.’

The men looked apprehensively at one another.

‘Are you willing to fight?’ asked Horne.

Cautious nods.

‘Do you want to share in a reward for bringing a Company ship back to Fort St George?’

Deeper, more earnest nods.

‘Then seize the
China
Flyer
and I promise you your pay will be doubled on your return to Madras.’

Cheers deafened Horne.

Silencing the crew, he cautioned in a voice barely louder than a whisper, ‘You must work quickly and quietly, and make every movement count.

‘And I want you, be ready for a fight. Not only from the ship’s crew, but the Chinese also could join in the battle. There are two junks out there and cannon on shore. But if
we set to work immediately and work quickly, we can do it.

‘Remember how we broke out from the escort of Sulu pirates, how quickly you worked and followed orders?’

The men grinned, enthusiasm growing among them.

Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked, ‘Can you work that quickly and quietly again?’

The men were beginning to jig with nervous anticipation, nodding their heads in answer to Horne’s question.

‘Good. This is what we’ll do and how we’ll do it.’

Appointing each of his Marines to their usual crewmen, Horne gave them their instructions and sent them to their stations. Then he hurried to his cabin to
retrieve his spyglass from his desk. Looking round the familiar quarters, it seemed years and not mere days since he had been abducted from his sleep.

Hearing the patter of bare feet overhead, he told himself not to waste precious moments and turned to go back to the quarter-deck. Here Jud was already leading the men aloft to the yards; below him Kiro’s gun crews were at their stations; Jingee was forming his gang into water and sand brigades; Groot stood at the wheel.

Satisfied that every man understood his instructions, Horne signalled to Babcock and the taut shore cables were severed in a series of sharp axe blows.

The drift of the tide caught the frigate in an instant. Feeling the tug, Horne signalled Jud, and the canvas thundered from the yards. The ship shuddered; the decks groaned; and, suddenly, the foretopsail filled with the wind.

Horne no longer guarded his voice. ‘Man the braces!’

‘Aye, aye, sir.’

‘Lay her on larboard tack.’

‘Aye, aye,
schipper.’

‘Set a course—first—towards the mouth of the cove.’

At the wheel Groot grinned, his face washed, peasant rags gone, his dark cap set back on his sun-bright hair.

Blocks chattered as the
Huma
paid off in the wind, sweeping away from her anchorage.

Eyeglass in hand, Horne studied the activity aboard the two Chinese junks as the
Huma
sped towards them in the instant grab of the wind. He was pleased with his decision to avoid contact with the junks. Why risk war with the Chinese? His orders were to regain Company property; that and that alone must be his goal.

Watching the prow sweep from the war junks to the wharf, he wondered who controlled the frigate. The Chinese had finished unloading the opium chests, but where was George Fanshaw? Was he aboard with Lothar Schiller or still in Canton?

Knowing he had little time to waste on speculation, Horne remembered his plan and, as the ship heeled towards the
China
Flyer,
he cupped both hands to his mouth, calling, ‘Prepare for action.’

Cheers greeted the command; Horne beamed. He had returned home.

Lothar Schiller’s first thought on seeing activity aboard the
Huma
was that the Chinese were moving the Marine ship from her anchorage. But observing the canvas spread like a great white flower unfolding in warm sunlight, and spotting the gun ports open in rapid succession to reveal a row of threatening black holes, he wondered if the ship’s crew might have rebelled against their Chinese captors—or gone crazy.

What was happening across the harbour? Was the
Huma
preparing to make way for open waters?

Seeing the sails catch the wind, he gaped in astonishment as the
Huma
changed course and, making her stays, swept towards the two Chinese junks anchored near the mouth of the harbour. Pure madness! How could they hope to
attack the two junks and escape? Did they not realise that a relief watch would soon be arriving from Macao?

Schiller watched the ship continue in a wide arc, realising with horror that the
Huma
was heading—
Gott
in
Himmel
—not for the junks but for the wharf, towards the
China
Flyer
!

‘Raise anchor!’ he shouted to the crew.

Schiller’s men remained inert on deck, staring transfixed at the ship’s manoeuvres in the mouth of the cove.

‘Raise anchor, you damned buggers!’ roared Schiller with uncharacteristic impatience.

A boom aboard the
Huma
attracted the men’s attention; a puff of blue smoke from the nearing gun ports hurried them into action.

‘Hands aloft,’ ordered Schiller, shouting louder,
‘Prepare
for
action!’

As the seamen hurried into the shrouds, chains ground through the hawse-hole and Schiller pulled open his spyglass to concentrate again on the
Huma.
No further smoke rose from the gun ports. The first explosion must have been a ranging shot. But for whom?

Dropping the spyglass, he studied the action closer at hand. On the wharf the Chinese porters were scurrying towards the warehouse while troops poured out,
surrounding
the cannon barricade at the foot of the slate
mountain
.

‘Anchor aweigh, Captain Schiller,’ came a call amid the ship’s confusion.

Schiller had already felt the drift of the ship. Raising his eyes aloft, he saw the canvas dropping, hardening with wind, but, still, he was not satisfied with the speed of the seamen preparing to make way.

‘Lay her on starboard tack,’ he called to his Javanese sailing master, Looie.

‘Aye, aye, Captain,’ came the response from the wiry seaman.

Beyond the jib-boom, he could see that the
Huma
had
changed tack again, making way towards the rear of the harbour, heading for the warehouse and the cannon barricade.

What were those crazy devils intending to do? Smash the Chinese depot?

The Chinese evidently feared the same thing, Schiller decided as he heard the shore cannon boom.

At the moment when the Chinese shot splashed short of its target, the
Huma
swung towards the depot’s long pier. Schiller instantly saw that he would have no choice but to head for the sea. The
Huma
wanted the
China
Flyer.

In Whampoa, the Co-Hung’s chief mandarin, Abutai, sat in his rosewood armchair to receive George Fanshaw in the late afternoon audience at the Co-Hung’s headquarters.

Abutai explained in his carefully enunciated Chinese, ‘We have considered your proposal carefully, Mr Fanshaw, and have decided not to expand our trade commitment to include a second company from England. It is the Imperial opinion that enough European merchants have access to China.’

The rejection stunned Fanshaw. As his mind groped for words, he sputtered, ‘But … but … but a second English company would lower the prices you pay …would destroy the monopoly which the East India Company has with China … will make … will make …’

Abutai remained steadfast. ‘I have told you the
Co-Hung’s
decision, Mr Fanshaw.’

‘But you were ready to accept my proposal, great Abutai. To welcome a new company in trade.’

‘The Co-Hung considers, Mr Fanshaw. But the Imperial throne makes the decision. You have heard their word.’

‘You accepted my
cumshaw,’
Fanshaw argued. ‘My gift of opium.’

‘Do Englishmen expect gifts to be returned when they do not get their wishes, Mr Fanshaw?’

‘Of course not. I do not mean that.’

‘You must consider your gift as a humble recognition for the honour to sail into Chinese waters.’

‘What about my arrangement with my colleagues in England?’

‘Do you travel half-way around the world, Mr Fanshaw,’ Abutai asked arrogantly, ‘to ask my advice on your private arrangements at home?’

‘No, of course not. But what about the East India Company? I can hardly go back to Madras—’

Fanshaw stopped. He had taken precautions against a disappointment such as this. Remembering his foresight in sending Lothar Schiller down to Kam-Sing-Moon, he saw that he had to get out of this audience and away from Whampoa as quickly as possible.

Summoning all the fawning Chinese etiquette he could muster, he bowed low, saying, ‘You must accept my
cumshaw
of opium as a modest token of esteem to Manchu greatness. I can only hope to return to Canton in the near future with another proposal to present to your esteemed eminence, lofty Abutai.’

The Mandarin was not ready for Fanshaw to leave the chamber. ‘You again mention the matter of opium, Mr Fanshaw. In our last meeting, you also spoke of opium. You explained to me that you know of small merchants who are enjoying an illicit traffic in opium along China’s coast.’

Alerted by the mandarin’s words, Fanshaw stuttered, ‘Sir … great Abutai … do not think I would deal with such men …’

Abutai raised his hand for silence. ‘The Co-Hung is concerned that too many foreigners might know about such an illegal trade.’

‘You have my word, sir, that I shall not tell others.’

‘The Co-Hung needs more than your word, Mr Fanshaw.’

‘More?’ Fanshaw’s head beaded with nervous
perspiration
. ‘What do you mean?’

Guards had appeared from behind gilt screens, flanking Fanshaw, their hands on the hilts of their curved swords.

‘You are to be held in Canton, Mr Fanshaw.’

‘Held?’

‘Your presence here will also assuage our displeasure over the disappearance of the Bombay Marines from Imperial custody.’

‘Adam Horne’s disappearance?’ Fanshaw did not
understand
.

Abutai explained, ‘Captain Horne and his men escaped two nights ago. The anger which the Imperial throne would feel over their disappearance will be softened when they know that another Company man has replaced Adam Horne in prison.’

‘But I have nothing to do with Horne and his Bombay Marines,’ Fanshaw shouted, looking from the Mandarin to the guards. ‘The Company will admit as much!’

‘The Co-Hung indeed intends to inform the East India Company of our decision to hold you, sir.’ He motioned the guards to seize Fanshaw.

‘But I have men and a ship waiting for me. My command.’

‘Your ship will be sent back to Fort St George with word that we are detaining you in Canton for an indefinite period of time.’

‘But I have nothing to do with the East India Company. Nothing.’ Fanshaw was screaming.

Abutai rose from the chair, ignoring Fanshaw’s cries.

Trying to break loose from the guards’ grip, Fanshaw shouted, ‘You’ve been using me. That’s what you’ve been doing. You’ve been using me to learn what I know about illegal trade going on here. You’ve been
using
me!
’

Abutai departed from the chamber, his robes creating the slightest rustle of silk.

The first strike from the
Huma
’s cannon persuaded Schiller that he must not hesitate in returning fire. After a slow start, the
China
Flyer
had weighed anchor and thankfully paid off, her topsails catching the strong breeze off the island. As she gathered way towards the open sea, the bows met the first rollers, spray bursting into feathery silver fans.

On the island the cannon continued firing, but Schiller saw that the
Huma
was well out of the battery’s range. He did not understand, though, why the reed-sailed junks across the harbour had made no attempt to intercept the Marine frigate since she had broken from her shore cables. Did they consider themselves inferior in fire-power or manoeuvrability?

Moving his spyglass from the Chinese junks, Schiller again studied the
Huma,
in relentless pursuit of the
China
Flyer,
bearing down on her stern. Who was in command of the Marine Frigate? He thought he detected one or two European seamen among the Asian crew. Had the Chinese released Adam Horne from prison? But only an escapee would have to sneak aboard his own ship and break from shore cables.

The idea of not knowing who was giving him chase amused Schiller. Whoever they were, he would give them a good run.

If the wind held, he gauged that he would soon be free of Kam-Sing-Moon. Then he could tack and enjoy the advantage to return gun-fire.

The anticipation of battle excited him, and the gathering speed was tonic to the dejection he had felt since the very beginning of this voyage. Nevertheless, deep within him was a nagging anxiety.

The East India Company wanted George Fanshaw for stealing gold from Fort St George and commandeering the
China
Flyer
from the Madras roads. Schiller believed that Fanshaw should indeed be apprehended for these crimes—and more. Apart from being a thief and a liar, he was a murderer.

Should he, Schiller, remain loyal to such a man?

Where was Fanshaw? He had ordered Schiller to
Kam-Sing
-Moon to be ready to escape if the Chinese turned against him. Was he on his way down river at this very moment?

If Fanshaw fell into disfavour with the Chinese, where could he go? The East India Company would arrest him if he returned to Fort St George; without Chinese support, there would be no new trading company welcoming him back to England. There might also be a price on his head there, sponsored by the East India Company.

Feeling the deck rise and fall beneath his boots, Schiller asked himself if he wanted to be on the run for the rest of his days with the likes of a man such as George Fanshaw, in command of a stolen ship. Would it be better to face the British authorities at this juncture, tell his honest version of the story and take the punishment owing to him for partaking in Fanshaw’s unlawful venture?

A cry aloft cut through the sigh of the rigging.

‘Sail ho … sails to the west …’

Schiller raised his spyglass and saw eight spine-sailed junks moving out from Macao—the replacement for the Kam-Sing-Moon watch.

Astern, the
Huma
bore down on him.

Schiller reviewed his choices.

If the
China
Flyer
proceeded west, she would sail directly
into the Chinese who would undoubtedly return him to the protective custody of Macao. He might never again be able to leave China, or at least, would have to remain here longer than he wished.

The second choice would be to lead the
Huma
farther to sea and engage her in battle until one of them was destroyed.

The third choice was tempting, but was it sensible? The best for his future? Too much of a risk? He would be gambling on the kind of man the
Huma
’s captain was—if indeed it was the Bombay Marine in command of the
Huma.
There was no way of gauging his character with nothing but giant rollers crashing between them.

Remembering that he had taken chances all his life, Schiller decided to risk the third choice: he would show his open gun ports to the Marines and see how quick they would be to fire.

‘Are we going to chase Fanshaw all the way back to India?’ Babcock stood at his post near Horne on the
quarterdeck
.

‘We don’t know if it’s Fanshaw.’

‘Who’s in command?’

‘I would guess the German. Lothar Schiller. Fanshaw’s probably still up-river in Whampoa.’

‘What you got in mind?’

‘The question, Babcock, is what Mr Schiller has in mind, if indeed that is whom we are pursuing.’

As the main topsail cracked in a strong gust pushing off the island, Jud hailed above the cry of the rigging.

Horne snapped open his spyglass and studied the western horizon. ‘Manchu war junks.’

He looked back at the
China
Flyer
beyond the harbour mouth.

‘Is the German turning to the Chinese for help?’ asked Babcock.

Horne steadied the glass to his eye. ‘No sign yet that he is.’

‘Are the Chinese going to follow him?’

Horne looked back to the war junks. ‘No. So far they’re keeping formation. They’re awkward in the open sea with European ships, and they know it.’

‘So what do we do, Horne? Get set for a long chase?’ asked Babcock.

Horne did not reply; he was studying the
China
Flyer
changing course.

‘She’s going to try to go about—’ he began and stopped.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Babcock, turning to Horne.

‘She’s opened her gun-ports.’

‘Now’s your chance to blast away,’ goaded Babcock.

Horne hesitated. Why had the German not tried a ranging shot?

‘What are you waiting for?’ asked Babcock. ‘You’ve got it clear and wide.’

Horne studied the distant frigate. The ports were open but no guns were run out. What was Schiller doing?

‘What you waiting for?’ Babcock asked a second time.

Horne could not explain how he felt. The open gun-ports might be a sign, some kind of invitation or test: Schiller might want to see whether the
Huma
would rush an attack or hesitate. If the
Huma
held back, Schiller would know that fair treatment awaited him and his crew if he
surrendered
…

Seeing a flutter aboard the distant ship, Horne raised his spyglass to verify his suspicion. Smiling, he saw that, yes, a white flag of truce was being run up as the
China
Flyer
changed course yet again to sail south from Kam-
Sing-Moon
.