The Silver Lotus (21 page)

Captain Hammond and the other men present were deeply impressed by Mr. Campion's courage and strength of character. His diminutive stature, receding hairline, and spectacles suggested a rather
reticent warrior who disdained unseemly confrontations at all costs. But the witnesses were caught wrong-footed and found they were now well beyond appropriate comment. Captain Hammond saw at once that Mr. Campion was obviously not a man to be taken lightly, and despite his diminutive size, with a big navy Colt in one hand and righteous indignation to fire his boilers, he came off as ten feet tall and divinely buttressed with the vision and courage of a latter-day Diogenes.

Captain Hammond had sent word to the ship's passengers to respond with a list and description of their baggage, their cabin numbers, and so forth. And at two o'clock that afternoon, he boarded an ocean steam tug that had been sent down the coast to assist in the salvage operations.

Captain Hammond was to be accompanied by Mr. Atwood, who as acting captain would order the remaining crew ashore and then stay on board with two volunteers, so that the ship could not be claimed derelict by the salvage company; Mr. Campion contributed five iron-backed stevedores to help wrestle the passengers' baggage on deck. From there the goods would be lifted in cargo nets and slung over the side with the ship's stern cranes. At the flood of high tide the tug would creep up to the port-stern portion of the ship, take on the nets, and then back away. The salvage company would also send their men on board to make a full hull inspection, and appraise the situation from an offshore perspective as well. The tug's captain would send out a boat to sound the seafloor to the stern of the ship and determine the best place to sink heavy kedge anchors, which in turn would be cabled to the steam winches on the ship's deck. Then, after due deliberation, and with bids and counterbids flying about like stock tickets, the salvage company and the owners would decide upon the best and safest way to pull the vessel off the rocks, hopefully without tearing out her bottom and sinking the poor freighter on the spot, an unacceptable outcome for everyone, especially the residents and tourists who cherished Point
Lobos for its rugged natural beauty. The last thing anyone wanted to view was a rusting hulk sticking up out of the waves waiting for the sea to do what the salvage men couldn't. None of the locals were willing to wait that long, and there was already wild talk of blasting the derelict to smithereens with dynamite. This, as Captain Hammond pointed out to a local rancher, would only cause even greater damage to the seal rookeries and nesting sites by distributing noxious materials and garbage everywhere.

The steam tug approached the stranded ship around three o'clock, and the jolly boat transferred Captain Hammond and his men to the vessel shortly after. With cabin keys acquired from the purser at Mr. Atwood's orders, Captain Hammond, his stevedores, and various crewmen who had remained on board soon had the entire passenger compartment covered, and all the listed trunks and baggage were accounted for. The men then assembled the collection on the rear deck to await transfer to the tug.

At 3:47, exactly at flood tide, the tug crept up to the port-stern quarter of the ship and took the cargo net full of baggage in exchange for the salvage appraisers and engineers. She then used the cargo nets to bring aboard Captain Hammond, his men, and those remaining crewmen who had not been sent ashore before. This time the only people to remain aboard the ship representing the owners were the acting captain, Mr. Atwood; the chief engineer, Mr. Pennywhite; the purser; and the Filipino cook, who was too frightened of heights to ride the cargo net to safety.

As far as Captain Hammond could appraise the situation, everything went pretty much as planned, and by six-thirty that evening the tug was back in harbor, with the passengers and their baggage reunited at last. The captain made his report to Mr. Campion and then hired a teamster and his wagon to cart Dr. Neruda's trunks and luggage up to the guesthouse. The captain rode with the wagon and was surprised to
find his guests not at home to accept delivery of their goods. He had the wagon unloaded and the Nerudas' baggage placed in the house, and after paying off the teamster the captain walked home through the twilit orchards entertaining modest ambitions of a long hot bath, clean clothes, and a good meal served in peace with his family.

But the captain soon had to admit that the best-laid plans usually come apart in the planning stage, and so he was slightly annoyed, but not altogether surprised, to discover through Li-Lee that his wife was entertaining a few gentlemen in the formal parlor, and Dr. Neruda and his family were also in attendance. Captain Hammond had no wish to present himself to strangers in his present state of dishevelment, so he sent the maid to bring him clean clothes and boots, and then made his way unannounced to the bath. The captain didn't waste any time speculating about what his wife was concocting in the parlor. He knew he would find out about it sooner rather than later, and besides, the things Lady Yee could get up to were usually more colorful than he could imagine anyway, so he sat back in his beautiful copper bath and let the hot water soften the knots in his arms and legs.

12

WHEN THE CAPTAIN joined his wife just before dinner, after her guests had departed, it was instantly obvious to him that whatever he was feeling good about most likely now paled beside what she was experiencing. For the first time in memory, Lady Yee displayed an indelible smile that not even her vaunted inscrutability could modify or hide. Her expression was punctuated now and then by a slight, almost involuntary chuckle, which she politely hid behind her sleeve like a schoolgirl.

The captain pretended not to notice and recited an abbreviated gazette of the day's activities out at the ship, which ended with his delivery of Dr. Neruda's baggage and trunks to an empty house. As almost an afterthought he asked where the Nerudas had gone. It wasn't as though they were socially in demand after so short a time, and there was no sight of them about.

Lady Yee smiled and said that, at her personal request, the Neruda family had been invited to dine with Master Lao Key of the Boa Chen Key Company. This immediately got her husband's attention, and he flashed a rare look of surprise. The Neruda clan had barely been ashore seventy-two hours and they were already enjoying the hospitality of a man who was well-known for his highly secretive and mantled habits. Most everyone who had done business with the Boa Chen Key Company over the years, including Captain Hammond, had never met the man.
Master Lao Key and his company controlled more than fifty successful mercantile and trading interests between Monterey and San Jose, and yet it seemed there were only about six people in all of California who could pick him out of a crowd. And it was said, in jest, that his wife and children were not among their number.

Lady Yee didn't wait for her astonished husband to ask further questions. She knew that he hated having to drag things out of people one detail at a time, and he was not particularly fond of surprises. He came to these tendencies naturally from long practice at sea.

Over a cup of tea, Lady Yee explained that she had for some time been in contact with various tong elders, local Chinese entrepreneurs, and various concerned businessmen who depended upon Chinese labor for their success. She said these interests had shown concern for the same problems, and had committed to making modest financial contributions, but only when the medical facilities and the infirmary were established and functioning. None had shown the least interest in financing a pig in a poke, and with empty buildings and a dearth of adequately equipped medical staff that's just what her schemes appeared to be on the surface. In polite terms they were saying that they didn't believe Lady Yee could manifest such an enterprise, much less contrive to have it function with the professionalism and certainty expected in the medical field. After ringing for the maid and requesting that dinner be served in fifteen minutes, Lady Yee continued. While the captain had been occupied rescuing the passengers' baggage and goods, she had taken the opportunity to interview Dr. Neruda and his son-in-law in some depth. She also had a marvelous conversation with Mrs. Neruda and her daughter later. Based upon an idea of their wants and wishes, and taking into account an unknowable future in Canada, she had offered them a contractual position to open and run the infirmary. There would be no need for them to seek out clients, and those patients who could afford to pay would be encouraged to contribute toward
the upkeep of the infirmary, which would benefit all in turn. For those who could not, then perhaps a gift of goods or services would suffice. Lady Yee had agreed to finance the whole operation for three years, and that included not only salaries but medical supplies, linens, and food for patients. She then grinned and confided to the captain that she already had a scheme in hand to eventually farm out a majority of those costs to the very people who doubted her ability to harness such an extravagant and unusual agenda. Lady Yee's proposed financial responsibilities in the matter didn't concern the captain in the least. His wife was a very wealthy woman in her own right; in fact, the captain believed that if she called upon financial backing from her esteemed father, she could probably buy and sell the late Leland Stanford once or twice. But that aside, Captain Hammond was still concerned that the cultural and racial bias inherent in the conservative nature of the principal parties involved would, as it always had, derail the course of enlightened self-interest. It was the captain's opinion that traditional Chinese attitudes and prejudices would remain the most volatile hindrance to success. Without the full support of the tong masters and village elders, not to mention the more successful business elements within the Chinese community, one could easily end up with a medical staff, a functioning infirmary, and no patients willing to submit themselves to the care of foreigners.

When Li-Lee quietly announced dinner, Lady Yee took her husband's arm, smiled reassuringly, and guided him toward the door. Captain Hammond took his place at the head of the table. He kept silent while the soup course was served. He had almost finished his abalone chowder before he allowed his wife the pleasure of elucidating the details of her apparent success.

Lady Yee began by saying that her father, who was a sage in his own right, had encouraged her to understand that the only truly imposing barriers between cultures were those constructed to service either fear or jealousy, or both. With everyone either grasping for what the
other fellow had, or fearing that person's possession of some coveted technology, and subsequent influence and wealth, there was little room or patience for negotiation and compromise. She went on to say that both fear and jealousy were very personal emotions, and few people would admit to suffering the negative effects of either one. “Such goading emotions are always difficult to pin down,” she said, “but relatively easy to manipulate if one knows what to do, and to whom to do it.” Lady Yee went on to observe that most of the world's greatest warriors, leaders, and criminals have used this same principle for centuries. The Chinese were past masters at stirring up the masses using these methods. But then, she joked, unlike Europe, the Chinese had always enjoyed a substantially greater peasant population to inflame.

Apologizing for the digression, Lady Yee continued by pointing out that the greatest of all personal human fears is bonded at the hip with thoughts of mortality. And within that scope of abysmal trepidation there crouched the even darker menace of a painful or lingering illness that would eventually end in premature death because no serious medical care was forthcoming from any quarter. Barring deeply concerned relatives touting traditional folk remedies and voicing tearful petitions calling upon heaven's mercy for a cure, the end is almost preordained. Lady Yee recalled there was an old saying that she learned from her father's grain steward when she was a child: “The poor must die because it costs money to live. If dying cost money the poor would be immortal.” Lady Yee set down her spoon, tamped her delicately rouged lips with her napkin, sat back in her chair, and stared out through the walls of the house to the black-water shanties and derelict junks along the Pearl River. She disavowed the tears forming in her eyes and went back to her meal.

Lady Yee said she believed that the aforesaid fears and trepidations were common to all mankind, and as far as she could intuit, impoverished was impoverished whether you were a Mongol, a Mexican, a
Malaysian, or a Nantucket Yankee. But above and beyond that consideration, there floated a noxious cloud of self-righteous inflexibility when it came to the well-being and health of the working peasantry. The city fathers of the county certainly wanted none of the responsibility and expense entailed in looking after Chinese immigrant labor, documented or otherwise. It would cost tax dollars, and they were honest in their assessment of the odds against being reelected with such a proposal attached to a plank of their party's agenda.

The captain's wife took strength from her husband's patience and continued with her usual grace. She explained that in addressing each party's fears and concerns, she had discovered that each had three things in common. The first, as always, was the burden of expense and liability. The second thorn, mutual cultural suspicion, attended the first, but with an underlying fear of isolation as well. For instance, the various village elders and tong masters demonstrated their own racial bias when it came to the people dispensing the medical care. For most of these gentlemen, modern medicine had much in common with secretive temple rituals, and like all mystery-mantled wizardry, only the select few were allowed to know the secrets. Everyone, everywhere, she said, was suspicious of secrets, and distrustful of those who used secrets to manipulate others. Sadly, this same misgiving clouded poor people's acceptance of modern medical practices as well. It made little difference that Dr. Neruda was from India, she said. For all it mattered to the village elders, the Neruda family might as well be natives of Antarctica. Lady Yee was not pleased to report that, as expected, the elders' only consistent objection to their practice of medicine was that they weren't Chinese. Lady Yee smiled and said she was inspired to politely remind these antique gentlemen that the Buddha wasn't Chinese either, and yet his teachings still held the power to enlighten and guide the soul.