Opium (20 page)

Each factory had a local agent, known as a
compradore,
the name taken from the Portuguese: in Cantonese, he was known as the
mai pan.
They were middlemen employed by the merchants (known in Cantonese as
tai pans
) to manage all contact with Chinese traders and money dealers. They were essential because foreigners were prohibited direct contact with Chinese businessmen. Needless to say,
compradores
were in a prime position to indulge in corruption and often sold opium themselves. In time, some became incredibly wealthy, companies they founded thriving to this day as multinational corporations based in Hong Kong.

In 1828, the Viceroy of Canton had issued a proclamation denouncing the smoking of opium and ordering the rigorous enforcement of the law. The results were that opium continued to be smoked and smuggled but the trade spread out along the China coast where receiving ships were anchored at places like Namoa. Here, the usual corruption assured trade away from the prying eyes of viceregal spies.

Sending vessels along the coast was risky. The waters were uncharted and, in places, local officials were zealous in their application of the law: but, worse, every vessel ran the chance of piracy. A clipper was worth capturing for any pirate knew it was sure to be laden with opium and silver bullion or coin, the currency of the opium trade. For a clipper captain, it was never easy telling which Chinese craft were innocent and which manned by pirates: frequently, as was the case on the China coast, junks were both, the fishermen ready to turn to piracy if the opportunity arose. In general, of course, a clipper was safe because of her manoeuvrability and speed but if the wind dropped she was in real danger for many junks could be rowed.

Apart from these obvious hazards, opium runners were faced with having to do business without the convenience of a bilingual
compradore.
Some enterprising local Chinese officials learnt pidgin English whilst some traders employed multilingual expatriates to act on their behalf: as any Chinese found teaching his mother tongue to a foreigner was sentenced to death, competent linguists were rare and valuable. Jardine Matheson relied upon a Prussian missionary, Dr Karl Gutzlaff, whom Jardine had taken on a trading trip in 1832 1600 miles up the China coast.

A one-time corset-maker and the widower of an English heiress he had married in Malacca in 1829, Gutzlaff had a home in Macau where his second English wife ran a school for blind children. From here, he travelled widely, dispensing medicines and handing out tracts: his medical prowess was described as ‘of the most moderate character.' During his journeys, he acquired a command of Chinese etiquette and a number of dialects: this was very important not just in communicating but also in knowing when, who and how much to bribe. An account of Gutzlaff's contribution to the opium trade was drawn from Jardine Matheson archives by the Far Eastern scholar, Maurice Collis:

At Chinchow Bay six mandarin junks anchored close by after sunset in such a way as to suggest that the officials on board intended to prevent dealers from coming to buy. Captain McKay, who was in command of the
John Biggar,
asked Gutzlaff to row over and tell them to go away. In a letter to the firm McKay describes what happened: ‘Doctor Gutzlaff, dressed in his best, which on such occasions is his custom, paid them a visit accompanied by two boats made to appear somewhat imposing. He demanded their instant departure and threatened them with destruction if they ever again anchored in our neighbourhood. They went away immediately, saying they had anchored there in the dark by mistake, and we have seen nothing more of them.' It was disclosed afterwards that the officials, though really willing enough, had not dared connive at the smuggling because the
John Biggar
was lying out in the roadstead in full view of the town. A mandarin had always to reckon on the danger of rivals or enemies reporting him if he openly flouted the law. Such a report might not mean punishment, but certainly entailed a heavy bribe to escape it.

Gutzlaff paved the way for a Jardine Matheson-led syndicate to acquire the opium trading rights to Chinchow by buying off the local mandarins with $20,000 per annum tea money.

In exchange for Gutzlaff's assistance, Jardine Matheson donated to his missionary work which included printing prayer books and selling patent medicines, some of which contained opium. It seems Gutzlaff had no conscience about opium: it was part and parcel of spreading the Word of God. Other missionaries were also connected to the traders. Robert Morrison, the first Protestant missionary to China, had became official translator to the East India Company in 1809: his Chinese dictionary was printed by the company.

There were other priests who took a different view. As early as 1838, an English clergyman denounced the fact that millions of Chinese were being brutalised by the drug. They were not alone: the East India Company was still brutalising large numbers of Indians despite attempts to control opium in Bengal. In 1840, a Mr Sym, manager for the Company opium agency at Gorakhpor, wrote: ‘The health and morals of the people suffer from the production of opium. Wherever opium is grown it is eaten, and the more it is grown, the more it is eaten.'

James Matheson responded to critics who argued against opium on moral grounds by stating: ‘We have every respect for persons entertaining strict religious principles, but we fear that very godly people are not suited for the drug trade.' This does not say much for his opinion of Herr Gutzlaff.

As the opium trade was conducted in part to facilitate the tea trade, the East India Company was always searching for ways in which it might grow its own tea and, in the early 1820s, the search discovered wild tea growing in Assam, in north-eastern India. A side-business sprang up, shipping indented labourers on clippers returning to India to work on plantations there. These poor wretches were promised a fixed wage, but rarely collected it. A quarter died in transit, the rest succumbing to diseases to which they had no immunity. A third of the work force died every six months.

It was little wonder that, by the mid-1830s, humane observers were letting it be known what the tea and opium trades were doing to native Chinese. This understandably enraged the Emperor.

It was not the only bone of contention between the mostly British foreigners and the Chinese. The former resented sailors being tried in Chinese courts for unruly conduct ashore. The Chinese authorities resented the opium trade and the arrogance of foreign traders whom they saw lacking in humility and gratitude and who smuggled poisons into the empire. These differences were irreconcilable.

In the India Act of 1833, the East India Company's trading monopoly rights in China were annulled. Within a year the British government realised something had to be done to safeguard opium, without which the economy of India would be in dire straits, though the trade was still not admitted to nor even mentioned.

When the East India Company withdrew from Canton in 1834, it left a vacuum in the expatriate community, for senior company officers had provided leadership and a focus for the foreigners. The merchants required a regulatory authority so the British government appointed three Superintendents of Trade in China to oversee British business, with Lord William Napier, a career sailor, selected as Chief Superintendent.

Napier arrived with ill-defined instructions as to how to deal with opium. From the moment he disembarked in Canton, he set off on the wrong foot by presenting his credentials direct to the viceroy rather than going through the Chinese merchants. The viceroy refused Napier's credentials, telling the Co-Hong merchants to get rid of him. At the affront, trade was halted and the factories besieged. Napier sent a signal to two Royal Naval frigates at anchor not far from Lintin Island to sail for Canton but after an exchange of fire with the Bogue forts, which defended the river mouth, a blockade of fire boats kept them out of the city approaches. Napier, who had fallen seriously ill, was obliged to ask permission to retreat to Macau. After this was granted, he went to the Portuguese enclave, complained about the ringing of the church bells (which the Portuguese considerately silenced) then died.

The other Superintendents of Trade, realising Chinese opposition towards foreign merchants and opium was increasing, sent memoranda to London warning that the Chinese edicts on opium should be heeded if a confrontation was to be avoided. One of the Superintendents, Sir George Robinson, resided on Lintin Island specifically to observe opium smuggling. His blunt reports were uncompromising:

Whenever H.M. Government direct us to prevent British vessels from engaging in the traffic, we can enforce any order to that effect, but a more certain method would be to prohibit the growth of the poppy, and manufacture of opium in British India.

However, Parliament and the British Foreign Secretary, Lord Palmerston, still refusing to acknowledge openly the opium trade, disapproved of Robinson's forthrightness and dismissed him. His successor was to change the course of British history in China. He was Captain Charles Elliot, RN, formerly captain of a hospital ship, Protector of Slaves in British Guiana and Captain Attendant to Lord Napier, being in the cutter
Louisa
at the attack on the Bogue forts, prominently seated in the stern under a sun umbrella, observing the fighting and impervious to the crash of gunfire all around him.

Elliot was, from the beginning, in an impossible situation. The Chinese held him responsible for the opium trade and its results but his instructions from London were to control only lawful trade with China – which opium was not. He was bound to protect and represent the interests of the British merchants but the Chinese interpreted this as safeguarding opium smugglers. Aware of the delicate situation and the position it put him in, Elliot knew matters could only worsen and he attempted to force the British government to act on the opium trade. They did not and, by 1838, Chinese forbearance was all but spent.

The merchants themselves exacerbated the situation. They were growing tired of regulation and wanted to open Chinese eyes to the realities of international trade. A consensus of opinion was that a threat of war might do the trick. Partly to annoy the Chinese and partly to flex their muscles, some traders bypassed Lintin Island and shipped direct to Canton. This flouting of the rules was inflammatory, to say the least. The Viceroy of Canton, Teng Ting-chen, and the Governor of Canton stood to lose a substantial sum in tea money and direct investment: the former owned a fleet of opium-transporting junks, but they had to act to support the regulations for they had too many enemies ready to report any dilatory behaviour to the Emperor.

The action the Viceroy took was short and to the point: he ordered nine leading British opium dealers to leave China. They did not. He made no attempt to force them out but still he had to show his enemies he meant business. In December 1838, a boatload of coolies was arrested as they brought opium ashore from a British ship off Whampoa. The Governor admonished the British, adding he would be benevolent and avoid an investigation. The coolies were the scapegoats, being publicly executed by strangulation.

Another public execution in the American and British Gardens shortly afterwards caused further conflict. As the foreigners were forbidden entry to the city or the rural hinterland, the gardens were the only open space where merchants, their staff and sailors from visiting ships could take the air.

A mandarin entered the gardens accompanied by his retinue and a prisoner in chains. Attendants commenced erecting a wooden cross. William C. Hunter, an American partner in the firm of Russell & Co., who was the only available foreigner fluent in Cantonese, approached the mandarin to protest that the merchants' park was being used as a place of execution. The mandarin replied it was still Chinese soil and the prisoner was an opium dealer. Clearly, the execution was intended as a veiled threat to the foreigners. A large crowd assembled. The execution was well under way when a band of drunk British seamen arrived and, demanding fair play, felled the cross, smashed the mandarin's table and palanquin and tried to free the prisoner. The mandarin and his entourage retreated with the prisoner who was executed elsewhere.

Anti-foreign hostility was aroused by the routing of the mandarin. The mob swelled to 10,000. Factory doors were stormed and windows smashed. Hunter and another American merchant called Nye ran along the roof of the American factory and reached Howqua's office. As the most senior of the cartel merchants, Howqua contacted the chief magistrate and Chinese soldiers restored order. Yet the damage was done. The foreigners had exceeded the mark and tension gradually grew.

On 26 February 1839, to save face after this debacle, another alleged opium dealer was strangled in front of the American factory at a time of day when most foreigners were out taking exercise or sailing on the river. The execution was over in a few minutes, with little fuss, the body whisked away immediately afterwards: but the Chinese point was made.

In the months after the riot, Elliot received no guidance from London. He was left to rely upon his own assessment of the situation and do the best he could with it. He attempted to mediate and smooth things over but it was only a lull before the storm.

Imperial civil servants in Peking were increasingly concerned about opium and the ineffectuality of the edicts. In 1836, opium had been at the centre of heated discussion from which appeared the concept of legalising importation and taxing opium. Others argued that legalisation would spread the habit. The general consensus was that opium smoking had to be curbed because it was undermining the morality and health of the nation: worse, the exchequer was losing huge quantities of silver which were being exported, the currency being based on silver. The drain on the silver reserve was massive. In 1793, it contained 70 million taels of silver (approximately 2.6 million kilograms, one tael equalling about 37.5 grams), but by 1820 this was reduced to about 10 million taels. The Chinese also regarded opium as an agent of foreign aggression, debasing Confucian ethics and encouraging selfish idleness.