China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

“He says he quite agrees,” Whiteparish reported. “It would be foolish to do anything else. But he asks you to oblige him so that he and his men can save face. His cannon will fire a few shots at us, but they will be blanks. Could we please do the same? Then he will surrender.”

“Sorry,” said Elliot. “No time for such nonsense. Surrender at once.”

With a sigh, the young man did so, though he did quietly say one thing, which Whiteparish wasn’t going to translate until Elliot insisted on hearing it. “He says you have better cannon, but a smaller brain.”

“Probably right,” said Elliot cheerfully. “Spike his guns.”

When the ship anchored a few miles upstream that night, Elliot posted a watch; but nobody disturbed them.

—

They came upon a bigger fort midway through the morning. It stood on a natural platform of raised ground, commanding a bend in the waterway. It was twice the size of the forts they’d seen the day before, with big ramparts of packed mud.

“I’d say they’ve twenty cannon in there,” said Elliot, “and a couple hundred men. Maybe more.” His eyes narrowed. “If I’m not mistaken, we can station ourselves a quarter of a mile downstream, and their cannon won’t be able to hit us.”

He was right. For the next hour the guns of the Nemesis methodically pounded the fort. A gaping breach opened up in the wall. They launched a Congreve rocket into the breach, saw it explode, heard the screams that followed. Then, carefully, they proceeded upstream until they were directly opposite the fort. Three of the Chinese guns fired, but their shots went too high. With quick precision, the gunners on the Nemesis fired back, and the Chinese guns fell silent. They launched another rocket and again heard awful screams.

“Poor devils,” remarked Elliot. He called the lieutenant of marines, a smart, fair-haired fellow of about thirty. “Take the sergeant with you.” He indicated a big mustachioed veteran. “Storm the fort. Offer them quarter, and once they’ve surrendered, spike their guns.” He turned to Whiteparish. “Can you tell him what to say?”

In a few words, Whiteparish told the lieutenant how to call for surrender and offer quarter in Cantonese, and made him repeat it back to him twice.

The Nemesis was so close to the bank now that they didn’t need the longboats. Running out planks, led by the young officer and the big sergeant, the marines raced across them and up the undulating grass slope towards the smoking fort.

The defenders weren’t giving up. From the breach and from the damaged walls came a hail of arrows and several musket shots. Fortunately, the uneven ground gave the marines some cover from which to return fire. The cannon on the Nemesis roared again. But still the Chinese resisted.

“Plucky fellows,” said Elliot, with a nod of approval.

Some of the marines were peeling off to one side now, working their way unseen towards the breach. At the same time, the lieutenant shouted out the message Whiteparish had given him for the Chinese troops. Twice he shouted. They could not have failed to hear. But it had to be admitted, the message had become horribly garbled.

Whiteparish glanced at Elliot, then at Nio. “Will they understand that?”

Nio shook his head.

“Damn,” said Elliot. “I’m afraid this is going to be bloody. But I must have that fort.”

The lieutenant got on top of the grass bank, shouted his incomprehensible message once more, and was rewarded with a musket ball from the wall above that only just missed him.

“Prepare for mortar fire,” Elliot ordered. “Exploding shells. And get another rocket ready.” He glanced at Whiteparish. “Can’t risk my marines. Too many defenders.”

“What’ll you do?”

“Blow the Chinese to bits, I’m afraid.” He turned and called out: “Ready, Master Gunner?” And he was about to give the order to fire when Cecil Whiteparish did a foolish thing.

He never even thought about it. Almost before he knew what he was doing, he’d run across the plank and was racing up the slope. Reaching the lieutenant, he leaped up onto the grass bank and bellowed in his best Cantonese: “Surrender now! Our general promises you will not be harmed. Save yourselves!”

And he might have said more, but a huge force struck him in the back and flattened him upon the ground just as, above him, a musket ball hissed by.

Then a voice spoke in his ear. “Sorry about that, sir. Can’t have you getting shot.” It was the burly sergeant. “Head down, sir.” Another musket ball hissed by.

He allowed himself to be dragged back to relative safety. “Thank you,” he said.

“Sorry I didn’t deliver the message very well,” the lieutenant said cheerfully. “They heard you all right, though, loud and clear. Maybe it’ll work.”

But it didn’t. Perhaps the Chinese defenders were too proud. Perhaps they didn’t trust the barbarian’s word. Whatever their reasons, they continued to shoot, loosing a few arrows and even getting off another cannonball.

Whiteparish saw the marine lieutenant glance back to the ship. Evidently Elliot had sent him a signal. “Please don’t move this time,” the lieutenant said. “There are going to be a lot of explosions inside the fort. Then we’re going to rush them.”

And it happened just as the lieutenant said. And after the great and terrifying noise, the lieutenant and his men left him on the grass, and there were shouts and shots and screaming up ahead. And then it became quieter.

Nobody noticed him as he clambered into the fort. He climbed first over rubble, then over bodies, heaps of them, four or five deep, slippery with blood. Were all the defenders dead already? He did not know. Inside, the scene was terrible. In one corner of the place, a dozen Chinese prisoners were huddled, under guard. They at least would live. But the rest of the space was littered with something far worse than corpses.

The cannonballs and explosives had done their work. So had the hand-to-hand fighting. There were body parts—here a hand, there