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

But the barbarians’ letter says that they have come because I mistreated them. If sacrificing me will cause them to go away, then the emperor must sacrifice me. And I accept that. It is necessary.”

“I cannot believe the emperor would be so unfair.”

“There is one other factor against me. If the emperor receives Elliot’s letter, it will be from the hands of the governor of the Beijing coastal region, to whom Elliot will surely give it next. Do you know that governor?”

“I know he is a Manchu noble.”

“A marquis, to be precise. His ancestors were Mongol—he claims descent from Genghis Khan—and they were given their title a few centuries ago when they joined the Manchu. The marquis was eased through the examinations, like many Manchu nobles. Then he got accelerated promotion. Undereducated and overpromoted, I’m afraid. Some years ago, conducting an investigation, I was obliged to censure him to the emperor—a fact he has not forgotten.”

“So he’ll try to get his revenge.”

“I fear he’ll succeed. He may be incompetent, but he’s cunning.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do, Excellency?”

“Not much,” said Lin. He smiled sadly. “I’ll try to save you, Jiang,” he added, “if I can.”

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A red December sun hung over the evening water when Nio, standing in the stern of the dragon boat, was rowed towards the big British warship anchored in the Roads of Macao. He was wearing a Chinese archer’s hat with a peacock feather stuck in it, which made him easily recognizable to his British merchant friends. Nio the smuggler was a useful fellow. But he wasn’t smuggling today.

Nearly six months had passed since the British naval fleet had set off for Chusan in June. Now the British warships were back again. And that was good for him.

As Nio saw it, the only way he could make money now would be if the British could restore the opium trade. Other watermen might have hired themselves out to work for Shi-Rong one day and a British opium merchant the next. But since he’d walked out on the young mandarin—and especially since the day when Shi-Rong had chased him and nearly caught him—Nio had been under no illusion about his choices. There was only one way for him to go at present—the British way.

And today he was going to do more for the British than he had ever done before. He was about to have a private meeting with Elliot himself.

When they reached the British ship, his boat pulled alongside, a rope ladder was thrown down, and Nio went up alone. He was immediately conducted to a large paneled cabin where several men, mostly in naval uniform, were sitting on one side of a long table. In the center of the men he recognized the tall figure of Elliot. At one end of the table sat a young man in a tight-fitting dark coat and white neckband—a missionary, no doubt, to act as interpreter. For although Nio had picked up some pidgin English by now, the occasion was too important and too formal for that.

They offered him a chair. Elliot smiled, to put him at his ease, then turned to the young missionary: “Mr. Whiteparish, if you please.”

“You are known to us as a reliable person,” Whiteparish began. “We understand that you worked for Commissioner Lin last year, and that you may have information that could interest us.” His Cantonese was far from perfect, but it was clear enough. “If we are satisfied with your answers, you will be paid twenty silver dollars. Do you accept?”

“I do.” When he worked for Shi-Rong, Nio had been paid the same as the men employed in the patrol boats: six dollars a month. Twenty dollars was a lot of money for a single day’s work.

“Firstly, then, we had understood that Commissioner Lin was dismissed by the emperor in October, and that his place would be taken by the marquis, with whom we have been negotiating in the north. The marquis arrived here ten days ago. Yet we hear that Lin is still in Guangzhou. Do you know if this is true?”

“Certainly.” Anyone in Guangzhou could have answered this. “Lin received word he was dismissed in mid-October. He packed up his household and vacated his quarters. But then he was told he should stay, to serve the marquis who was taking his place. So Lin took up quarters in the guildhall of the salt merchants. He’s still there. The marquis has been to see him, but otherwise Lin keeps himself to himself.”

“What do you know about the patrol boats?”

“I worked for Mr. Jiang, the official who organized them.”

“The marquis has told us that, as a sign of good faith, he is disbanding the patrols. Are they being disbanded?”

“They are,” said Nio firmly.

Elliot said something to the missionary, and Whiteparish turned to Nio again. “What do you know about the shore forts and their defenders?”

“I was present when Mr. Jiang and Commissioner Lin inspected them. I saw everything.”

When Whiteparish translated that, the officers at the table all leaned forward keenly. “Tell us about the defenders.”

“They are the best troops the emperor has. Manchu bannermen, highly trained. Half of them are archers. The others are musketeers.”

“Did you see the musketeers drill? What can you tell us?”

“They are well trained.” Nio hesitated. “It seemed rather slow…”

“Describe the drill as exactly as you can.”

That was easy enough. His memory of that day up at the fort was vivid. He could give them pretty much the entire drill. As Whiteparish translated, Nio heard one of the naval officers exclaim, “Good God! Matchlocks. Even the best Manchu bannermen—they’re still using matchlocks!”

They asked him more questions: Did the granite forts have roofs? Could they be approached from the landward side? They asked for other details, all of which he was able to answer well enough. They seemed pleased, even delighted. Then came questions about the guns. How many were there in the battery he saw? Were the guns old or new? Did they work? Had he seen them fire?

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