Shanghai (12 page)

It was only by inducing Maxi to chew on some of the raw opium that I calmed him enough to listen. “We are
just starting, Maxi,” I told him. “This is only the start of the Hordoon brothers. It is only our beginning. This place, this farm and these people, will always be here. If after—but only after—we try our luck and it doesn't work out for you, you can come back here. I'll bankroll you to come back. I promise.”

“But I—”

“Maxi—”

“Brother mine, these people's lives seem to have some meaning. They are not wandering. This is their home. And their home is real. You can touch it and see it. It's in them.”

I'll never forget his words. But I replied, “I know, Maxi. And they love you here too.”

“They do, brother mine,” Maxi said in an anguished whisper. “They really do.” Then he fell into a profound silence—and I could see the tension began to rise in him once again.

Richard thought about Maxi's silence now as he confronted the unChinese silence of Chinkiang. He feared that the silence awaiting the arrival of the British Expeditionary Force in the captured city had nothing to do with love of any sort. At first Richard hoped the populace had escaped out the East Gate, but then he opened a door to an ancient courtyard—and his gorge rose in his throat. He slammed the thing shut and gasped for breath. For a moment he was desperate for a pipe, then he found his voice and called out, “Sir, over here.”

Gough and his lieutenants approached. “You're white as a …”

Richard pushed open the heavy gate and pointed into the ancient courtyard. Gough stepped in and saw a new horror. An entire family had committed suicide.
Grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, children, all on the ground—a few still writhing in pain from the knives buried hilt-deep in their chests. But no noise—not a sound.

And so it was in the rest of the city. Not a soul was left living. Not a single voice to deride or adulate the invaders. Only the silence of self-inflicted death. And as Richard watched the bodies of Chinese men, women, and children being thrown onto a pile, one upon another by the north wall of Chinkiang, he thought of the love and the vibrant life that Maxi had experienced with the peasant farmers near Ghazipur. He saw in his mind's eye Maxi dancing around the fire as Ahmed cried with laughter. He heard Maxi's hoarse cry, “I like it here, you know that!” Then Richard saw the body of a young girl roll from the top of the pile of bodies and halfway down jerk to a stop as the knife in her belly snagged on another body's belt. She dangled there like a discarded doll on a junk pile. Richard stared at her. For the first time he questioned the very reason he had come to China, all those years ago, and he knew that no amount of prayer or dovening or bowing down to Mecca would answer his question.

* * *

THE FALL OF CHINKIANG finally set off alarms in Beijing, and a High Mandarin named Kiying was enlisted to slowly and painstakingly investigate the possibility of preparing to begin to think about starting some sort of negotiations or talks or parleys with the
Fan Kuei,
the Foreign Devils.

Yangchow, the city across the river from Chinkiang, chose to pay half a million dollars in silver to be left
alone. That gave the British full control of the Yangtze end of the First Emperor's Grand Canal. The British set up camp on both sides of the waterway and proceeded to raid local villages for provisions. They also commandeered junks on the river and used them as houseboats for the officers.

“From here we slowly strangle central China,” Pottinger announced over a pheasant dinner on the
Cornwallis.
The officers, except for Gough, nodded their approval. McCullough proposed a toast to Pottinger, who rose to accept the adulation, wiping gravy from his chin, and said, “The Yangtze River is the throat, and as soon as we grab it and squeeze tight, the whole situation of this God-forsaken country will be determined.”

There was a momentary silence as those assembled tried to decode the florid prose of their leader. The lull was broken by a tentative “Hear, hear,” followed by a “Well spoken,” and then many other such inane affirmatives.

From outside the Captain's cabin, Richard listened to the English congratulate themselves and get progressively more drunk.

The next morning a stifling wave of heat arrived—and stayed. A standoff followed. No junks entered or left the Grand Canal. The British didn't move from their advantageous position, but not a word came from Beijing.

And, oh yes, China began to starve.

The British suffered too. Sickness—primarily diarrhea, malaria, and dysentery—took a heavy toll on the sailors. Rats had somehow invaded every level of every ship of the entire armada. It was particularly bad on the lowest deck of the
Belleisle,
the orlop, where the soldiers lived in extremely tight quarters.

Rumblings of discontent came from the men, and the dangerous air of mutiny swept from ship to ship.

Finally Gough persuaded Pottinger that they had to do something to force the Emperor's hand. “Nanking is the key, sir. Once we have it under our control, the Emperor will have to sue for peace. Sir, if we stay here things could degenerate quickly.” Pottinger's eyes opened wide and his nostrils flared, but Gough continued. “This canal can be secured with less than a third of our ships, and the rest could proceed upriver to Nanking and take her.”

Pottinger rose and said, “I'll take your suggestion under advisement,” then left for his cabin.

Four hours later he emerged and gave his orders. “Twenty ships are to stay and keep control of the canal. The rest are to follow me on the
Cornwallis
upriver to Nanking.”

Gough, openly relieved, nodded his head and shouted orders. Shortly afterwards, fifty vessels of the British Expeditionary Force made their way upriver toward the ancient capital, Nanking.

Halfway there the British were told by a formal delegation that a Mandarin they had dealt with before over the “Hong Kong issue,” Ilipu, was on his way.

“So, I see that the Emperor has finally seen the light,” remarked Pottinger, scratching the non-existent stubble on his chin in a fine imitation of thought.

“So it would seem, sir,” Richard said, after he had translated the last of the courier's words.

“Dismiss the heathen,” Pottinger ordered.

Richard did, but in much more conciliatory terms.

As he walked the courier back to his craft he heard Pottinger announce in a loud voice, seemingly to Gough but in reality for the benefit of the sailors within earshot, “The real war on the Yangtze is about to begin.
It isn't going to be fought by your soldiers or our great man-o'-war sailing ships, although, I admit those did their part in this tapestry. The real warriors in this conflict—and the heroes, too—will be the diplomats.”

Gough stared after Pottinger's retreating figure and scowled. Richard could understand how galling it must be for a real soldier like Gough to hear a strutting popinjay like Pottinger claim the title “warrior”—“heroes” be damned. Real soldiers never believe in heroes.

* * *

ON LAND, not three miles from the ship, Ilipu sat with his superior, Kiying. Tea was brought and pickled watermelon seeds. The men sipped their chai and spat out the husks of the seeds.

“The barbarians are pleased that you are here, Ilipu,” Kiying said.

“Evidently, sir.”

“They also believe you to be in charge of the delegation,” Kiying added.

“Only a barbarian would make such a foolish assumption, sir.”

“Let them continue in this belief, Ilipu,” Kiying ordered.

Ilipu nodded and poured more tea for Kiying.

Both Ilipu and Kiying assumed that, like all other barbarians who had set foot in the Celestial Kingdom, the British had come not simply to trade but rather with their sights set on plundering the heart of the Celestial Kingdom, Beijing
.
And both Mandarins knew that the first duty of every Manchu was to preserve the dynasty. It would be a catastrophe if Beijing fell to these round-eyed monsters. But the two Mandarins were troubled.
They did not have real instructions from Beijing, except to make sure that the barbarians removed their ships from the Yangtze, and their powers to negotiate were not clear.

Both also knew that they would be either rewarded or punished based upon how successful they were in getting the
Fan Kuei
's ships out of the waters of the Celestial Kingdom.

On May 11, 1842, the Mandarins made their first approach to the barbarians—through representatives, naturally.

* * *

RICHARD WAS CALLED to the deck of the
Cornwallis
and then quickly ushered into the Captain's cabin. There before Admiral Gough and Governor General Pottinger stood three middle-level Chinese civil servants, who delivered their message.

“So?” Pottinger demanded of Richard.

“He says that we are to cease plundering traffic on the river and prepare ourselves for a round of talks.”

Pottinger spat out, “Tell these little humbugs that that is precisely what we are
not
going to do. We will continue our war on the river until such time as an acceptable treaty is signed.”

Richard relayed the Governor General's message. The three men took it well, or so it seemed. Then Pottinger added, “Tell these three buffoons that they are not to return. That there will be no negotiating—none—with anyone but this Kiying and Ilipu. And that those two scoundrels needn't bother coming unless they have full plenipotentiary powers.” Pottinger inexplicably giggled, then repeated in his over-educated lisp, “Potent
plenipotentiary powers.” An odd smile crept over his face as he added, “There will be no ‘I've got no right-ee to agree-ee to' or ‘I've got to bring-ee this-ee thing-ee back to my Emperor' bull thwap.” He turned to Richard. Richard opened his mouth, but no words came. “Tell them, man.”

Richard knew that Mandarins, even high-level Mandarins such as Kiying and Ilipu, didn't have plenipotentiary powers as they are understood in the West and had no choice but to proceed carefully in any negotiations. He was about to tell Pottinger, when he noted the man's set jaw and decided against offering unsolicited advice. Richard translated Pottinger's message. The Chinese turned ashen and hurriedly left.

Before they were even off the ship Pottinger ordered the flotilla farther upriver and said, “Gough, bombard the south side of the river as we go.”

“But there's nothing there …”

“Precisely.”

“To prove a point, sir?”

“What else?” Pottinger demanded. “Bombard the south side of the river, then let's get up to Nanking. Chop chop, Gough. Chop chop.”

On Friday, August 5, 1842, the steamer
Queen
pulled the
Cornwallis
into position before the walls of Nanking. Later that day a higher-level Mandarin named Chang, under a white flag, boarded the flagship. Despite Pottinger's claim that he would not see any representative of the Beijing government that did not have full plenipotentiary powers, he surprised his officers by agreeing to meet with Chang. Again Richard was called.

Chang handed over a parchment text. Richard had only a rudimentary understanding of Chinese writing, so he offered it back to Chang and asked in Chinese, “Would you be kind enough to read the missive?”

Chang smiled, knowing full well that Richard had made this request because, like all other barbarians, he couldn't read. Some barbarians could learn to speak, but
few could master the writing of the Middle Kingdom. His smile broadened as he read, “Ilipu, Mandarin and personal representative of the Celestial Emperor, requests that you not attack the sacred city of Nanking.”

Richard translated quickly.

Pottinger laughed.

“Why does the chicken-faced barbarian cackle?” Chang demanded. “Does he have no manners, understanding, or sophistication?”

Richard translated every word. After a shocked moment Pottinger responded, “Tell the little monkey that Beijing, too, is not immune from the shot of our cannons.”

Chang looked at Richard to be sure that he had heard the translation correctly, then drew himself to his full height and said, “You foreigners have been unopposed thus far only because of the kindness of the great Emperor, who cannot bear to kill or injure human creatures. But beware, Foreign Devil. If pushed too far the Emperor will call upon his people to rise—every man, woman, and child—every bush will be a soldier ready to kill the hideous barbarians.” He turned to Richard. “Translate to the round-eyed maniac.”

Richard did—word for word.

“Tell the little monkey to watch his foul mouth,” Pottinger said as his face turned a vivid red.

“Enough of the maniacs and monkeys,” Gough said quietly.

“What do you expect?” Chang angrily responded. “You kill people everywhere, plunder goods, and act like pirates; disgraceful, disgraceful and completely unacceptable. How can you say you are anything more than bandits? How? You alien barbarians invade our China, your insignificant country attacks our celestial court—how can you say you are anything but common
thieves?” Chang slammed his fist on the table and spat at Pottinger's feet.

Gough held a hand to restrain the Governor General. “Ilipu's request is at least a beginning,” he whispered.

Two days later, Ilipu sent four officials as his plenipotentiary. Pottinger rejected them outright, and the
Cornwallis,
for the first time, opened its gun ports and prepared to assault the ancient city walls of Nanking.

Quickly another embassy from Ilipu arrived promising a ransom of three million silver dollars and negotiations as soon as Kiying arrived. Pottinger's response was to order Gough to land a full regiment of Madras troops, complete with horses and artillery.