“No, thank you, sir.” Culum tried not to show the shock he felt.
“Well, I’m sure there’s some place we can use you. Everyone’ll have to pitch in. I can’t take care of everything. Think about what you’d like to do and let me know. We’ll need people we can trust.”
“Why not put him on your staff as a deputy?” Struan said. “We’ll lend him to you for six months.”
“Excellent.” Longstaff smiled at Culum. “Good. You’re deputy colonial secretary. Let’s see. Make arrangements for the land sale. That’s your first job.”
“But I don’t know anything about land sales, sir. I don’t know anything about—”
“You know as much as anyone, and your father can guide you. You’ll be, er, deputy colonial secretary. Excellent. Now I can forget that problem. You find out what should be done and how, and let me know what’s necessary to make it official. Have an auction. That’s the fair way, I imagine.” Longstaff refilled his glass. “Oh, by the way, Dirk, I ordered the evacuation of Chushan Island.”
Struan felt his stomach turn over. “Why did you do that, Will?”
“I received a special letter from His Excellency Ti-sen two days ago asking that this be done as an act of good faith.”
“You could have waited.”
“He wanted an immediate answer, and there was, well—no way to reach you.”
“Immediate, Chinese style, means anything up to a century.” Oh Willie, you poor fool, he thought, how many times do I have to explain?
Longstaff felt Struan’s eyes grinding into him. “He was sending off a copy of the treaty to the emperor, and wanted to include the fact that we’d ordered the evacuation. We were going to hand it back anyway, what? That was the plan. Damme, what difference does it make, now or later?”
“Timing is very important to the Chinese. Has the order gone yet?”
“Yes. It went yesterday. Ti-sen was kind enough to offer us the use of the imperial horse relay. I sent the order by that.”
Damn your eyes, Struan thought. You impossible fool. “Very bad to use their service for our orders. We’ve lost face and they’ve gained a point. Nae use in sending a ship now.” His voice was cold and hard. “By the time it got to Chushan the evacuation’d be completed. Well, it’s done, and that’s that. But it was unwise. The Chinese will only interpret it as weakness.”
“I thought the act of good faith a splendid idea, splendid,” Longstaff went on, trying to overcome his nervousness. “After all, we’ve everything we want. Their indemnity is light—only six million dollars, and that more than covers the cost of the opium they destroyed. Canton is open to trade again. And we have Hong Kong. At long last.” His eyes were sparkling now. “Everything according to plan. Chushan Island’s unimportant. You said to take it only as an expedient. But Hong Kong’s ours. And Ti-sen said he’d appoint a mandarin for Hong Kong within the month and they’ll—”
“He’ll what?” Struan was aghast.
“He’ll appoint a mandarin for Hong Kong. What’s the matter?”
Hang on to your temper, Struan warned himself with a mighty effort. You’ve been patient all this time. This weak-brained incompetent’s the most necessary tool you have. “Will, if you allow him to do that, you’re giving him power over Hong Kong.”
“Not at all, my dear fellow, what? Hong Kong’s British. The heathen’ll be under our flag and under our Government. Someone’s got to be in charge of the devils, what? There’s got to be someone to pay the customs dues to. Where better than Hong Kong? They’ll have their own customshouse and buildings and—”
“They’ll what?” the word slammed off the oak bulkheads. “God’s blood, you haven’t agreed to this, I hope?”
“Well, I don’t see anything wrong in it, Dirk, eh? ’Pon me word, it doesn’t change anything, does it? It saves us a lot of trouble. We don’t have to be in Canton. We can do everything from here.”
To stop himself from crushing Longstaff like a bedbug, Struan walked over to the bureau and poured himself a brandy. Hold on. Dinna wreck him now. The timing’s wrong. You’ve got to use him. “Have you agreed with Ti-sen that he can appoint a mandarin for Hong Kong?”
“Well, my dear fellow, I didn’t exactly agree. It’s not part of the treaty. I just said I agreed it seemed a good idea.”
“Did you do this in writing?”
“Yes. Yesterday.” Longstaff was bewildered by Struan’s intensity. “But isn’t that what we’ve been trying to do for so long? To deal direct with the mandarins and not through the Chinese hong merchants?”
“Aye. But not on our island, by God!” Struan kept his voice level, but he was thinking. You godrotting apology for a leader, you stupid aristocratic indecisive wrong-decisioned dungheap. “If we allow that, we sink Hong Kong. We lose everything.”
Longstaff tugged at the lobe of his ear, wilting under Struan’s eyes.
“Why, Father?” Culum asked.
To Longstaff’s relief, the eyes turned to Culum and he thought, Yes, why? Why do we lose everything, eh? I thought it a simply marvelous arrangement.
“Because they’re Chinese.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know, laddie.” To put away the grief of the loss of his family that suddenly welled up inside him and to take his mind off his frantic worry over the loss of their wealth, he decided to explain—as much for Longstaff as for Culum. “First thing to understand: For fifty centuries the Chinese have called China the Middle Kingdom—the land that the gods have placed between heaven above and the earth beneath. By definition a Chinese is a uniquely superior being. They all believe that anyone else—anyone—is a barbarian and of no account. And that they alone have the God-given right, as the only really civilized nation, to rule the earth. As far as they’re concerned, Queen Victoria is a barbarian vassal who should pay tribute. China has nae fleet, nae army, and we can do what we like with her—but they believe they are the most civilized, the most powerful, the richest—in this I think they’re potentially right—nation on earth. Do you know about the Eight Regulations?”
Culum shook his head.
“Well, these were the terms under which the Emperor of China agreed to trade with ‘barbarians’ a hundred and fifty years ago. The Regulations confined all ‘barbarian’ trade to the single port of Canton. All tea and silk had to be paid for in silver, nae credit whatsoever allowed, and smuggling was forbidden. ‘Barbarians’ were allowed to build warehouses and factories on a plot of land half a mile by two hundred yards at Canton; ‘barbarians’ were totally confined to this walled-in area—the Canton Settlement—and could stay only for the winter shipping season—September until March—when they must leave and go to Macao. Nae ‘barbarian’ families were allowed in the Settlement under any circumstances and all women forbidden. Nae arms whatsoever in the Settlement. Learning Chinese, boating for pleasure, sedan chairs, and mixing with Chinese were forbidden; ‘barbarian’ warships were forbidden the Pearl River estuary. All ‘barbarian’ merchant ships were to anchor at Whampoa, thirteen miles downstream, where cargoes were to be transshipped and export customs tax paid in silver.
All ‘barbarian’ business was to be conducted solely through a monopoly, a guild, of ten Chinese merchants which we call the Co-hong. The Co-hong were also the sole suppliers of food, the sole licensor of a set number of servants and boatmen and compradores. And finally, the one regulation that nailed us to the Cross—and the one the treaty cancels—specified that the Co-hong were the only recipients of all ‘barbarian’ petitions, requests and complaints, which would then, and solely by them, be forwarded to the mandarins.
“The whole point of the Regulations was to keep us at arm’s length, to harass us, yet to squeeze every penny out of us. Remember another thing about the Chinese: They love money. But the ‘squeeze’ benefited only the ruling Manchu class, not all Chinese. The Manchus think our ideas—Christianity, Parliament, voting, and above all, equality before the law and a jury system—are revolutionary
and dangerous and evil. But they want our bullion.
“Under the Regulations we were defenseless, our trade was controlled and could be squeezed at will. Even so, we made money.” He smiled. “We made a lot of money, and so did they. Most of the Regulations fell apart because of the greed of the officials. The important ones—nae warships, nae official contact other than through the Co-hong merchants, nae wives in Canton, nae staying beyond March or before September—remained in effect.
“And, typically Chinese, the poor Co-hong merchants were made responsible for us. Any ‘complication’ and the wrath of the emperor fell on them. Which is again so completely Chinese. The Co-hong were squeezed and are being squeezed until they go bankrupt, most of them. We own six hundred thousand guineas of their worthless paper. Brock has about as much. In Chinese fashion, the Co-hong have to buy their positions from the emperor and they’re expected to continually send huge ‘presents’ to their superiors—fifty thousand taels of silver is the customary ‘gift’ on the emperor’s birthday from each of them.
“Above the Co-hong is the emperor’s personal squeeze chief. We call him the Hoppo. He’s responsible for squeezing the mandarins at Canton, the Co-hong, and anyone he can. The Hoppo also buys his position—he’s the biggest trader of opium, by the way, and makes a fortune out of it.
“So if you allow one mandarin on Hong Kong, you allow the whole system. The mandarin will be a Hoppo. Every Chinese will be subject to him. Every Chinese trader who comes to trade will be ‘sold’ licenses and squeezed, and in turn they’ll squeeze us. The Hoppo will destroy those who will help us and help those who hate us. And they’ll never give up until they drive us out.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re Chinese.” Struan stretched to ease his shoulders, feeling the tiredness creeping over him, then walked over to the sideboard and poured another brandy. I wish I could be Chinese for an hour or so, he thought wearily. Then I’d be able to finesse a million taels from somewhere with nae trouble. If that’s the answer, he told himself, then try to think like a Chinese. You’re the Tai-Pan of the ‘barbarians,’ the mandarin, with unlimited power. What’s the point of power if you dinna use it to twist joss to help yoursel’? How can you use your power? Who has a million taels? Whom can you pressure to get it? Who owes you favors?
“What should we do, Dirk? I mean, I quite agree,” Longstaff said.
“You’d better send Ti-sen an immediate dispatch. Tell him … no, order him—”
Struan stopped abruptly as his brain cleared. His fatigue vanished. You’re a stupid, blathering, half-witted gilly! Ti-sen! Ti-sen’s your key. One mandarin. That’s all you have to arrange. Two simple steps: First, cancel Longstaff’s agreement as it must be canceled anyway; second, in a week or two make a secret offer to Ti-sen that in return for a million in bullion you’ll make Longstaff reverse his stand and allow one mandarin into Hong Kong. Ti-sen will leap at the offer because he immediately gets back everything the war has forced him to concede; he’ll squeeze the Co-hong for the million, and they’ll be delighted to pay because they’ll immediately add it onto the cost of the tea they’re dying to sell us and we’re dying to buy. Poor little Willie’s nae problem and none of the other traders will object to one mandarin. We will na call the man “mandarin,” we’ll invent a new name to throw the cleverest off the scent. “Trade commissioner.” The traders will na object to the Chinese “trade commissioner” because he’ll assist trade and simplify the paying of customs. Now, who to make the secret offer? Obviously old Jin-qua. He’s the richest and the most cunning of the Co-hong and your major supplier, and you’ve known him twenty years. He’s the one, wi’out a doubt.
One mandarin will guarantee the future of The Noble House. Aye. But he will wreck Hong Kong. And destroy the plan. Do you gamble that you make the deal, knowing you’ll have to outsmart them later? That’s a terrible risk—you know one mandarin means the whole system. You canna leave that devil legacy for Robb or for Culum or for their children. But wi’out the bullion there’s nae Noble House and nae future.
“You were saying, Dirk?”
“Order Ti-sen in the queen’s name to forget a mandarin on Hong Kong.”
“My thought entirely.” Longstaff happily sat down at the desk and picked up the quill. “What should I say?”
And what should I do, poor Willie, about the second step? Struan asked himself. Does the end justify the means? “Write this: ‘To Ti-sen at Canton. A Special Proclamation: Only Her Britannic Majesty, Queen Victoria, has the authority to appoint officials in the British Island of Hong Kong. There will be no Chinese officials here and no customshouses whatsoever.’” He hesitated then continued deliberately, sensing that the timing was right, “‘And all Chinese residing in Her Majesty’s colony of Hong Kong will henceforth be British subjects and subject only to the laws of England.’”
“But that exceeds my authority!”
“It’s custom for plenipotentiaries to exceed their authority. That’s why they’re so carefully selected, Will. That’s why we’ve an Empire. Raffles, Hastings, Clive, Raleigh, Wellington. You have the plenipotentiary authority of Her Majesty’s Government to arrange a treaty with China. What do they know or care about China at home? But you’re an innovator, a maker of history, Will. You’re ready to accept one tiny, barren, almost uninhabited island when it’s a world custom to grab whole continents, when you could take all China if you wanted. You’re so much smarter.”
Longstaff wavered and sucked the top of the quill. “Yes, but I’ve already agreed that Chinese on Hong Kong would be subject to Chinese law, all forms of torture excepted.” A bead of sweat gathered on his chin. “It was a clause in the treaty and I issued a special proclamation.”
“You’ve changed your mind, Will. Just as Ti-sen changed his. There was no clause to appoint a mandarin.”
“But it was understood.”
“Not in your mind. Or mine. He’s trying to dupe you. As he did over Chushan.”
“Quite,” Longstaff agreed, happy to be convinced. “You’re right, Dirk. Absolutely. If we allow any control—you’re right. They’ll go back to their old devilment, what? Yes. And it’s time the Chinese saw what justice really is. Law and order. Yes. You’re right.”
“End the letter like the emperor would: ‘Fear this and tremblingly obey,’ and sign it with your full title,” Struan said and opened the cabin door.
“Master-at-arms!”
“Yes, sirr?”
“His Excellency wants his secretary, Mr. Sinclair, on the double.”
“Yes, sirr.”
Longstaff finished writing. He reread the letter. “Isn’t this a little blunt, Dirk? I mean, none of his titles and finishing up like the emperor’s edict?”
“That’s the whole point. You’ll want to publish it in the newspaper.”
“But it’s a private document.”
“It’s a historic document, Will. One you can be proud of. And one to make the admiral pleased with you. By the way, why was he angry?”
“Oh, the usual.” Longstaff mimicked the admiral. “‘Goddamme, sir, we were sent out here to fight the heathen, and after two landings with no resistance to speak of, you’ve made a contemptible treaty which gets us far less than the demands the Foreign Secretary has ordered you to demand. Where are the open ports you were ordered to demand?’ You’re sure, Dirk, asking less is the correct procedure? I know you’ve said so before, but, well, the merchants seem to think it was a bad error. No open ports, I mean.”
“Hong Kong’s more important, Will.”
“So long as you’re sure. The admiral’s also very irritated with some desertions and, too, with the delay in enforcing the order against smuggling. And, well, there’s been a huge outcry by all the traders.”
“Headed by Brock?”
“Yes. Ill-mannered scum.”
Struan’s heart sank. “You told the merchants that you were canceling the order?”
“Well, Dirk, I didn’t exactly tell
them. But I intimated that it would be canceled.”
“And you intimated to the admiral that you were canceling the order?”
“Well, I suggested that it was not advisable to proceed. He was most irritated and said that he was making his view known to the Admiralty.” Longstaff sighed and yawned. “’Pon me word, he has no conception of the problems. None. I’d be most grateful, Dirk, if you’d explain ‘trade’ to him, what? I tried, but I couldn’t get sense into his head.”
And I canna get any into yours, Willie, Struan thought. If Robb’s bought the opium, we’re deeper in the mess. If he has na bought, we’re still finished. Unless a trade—one cursed mandarin for one cursed million.
“I don’t know what I’d do without your father’s advice, Culum.” Longstaff took snuff from a jeweled snuff box. Damme, he thought, I’m a diplomat, not a warmonger. Governor of Hong Kong is just the ticket. Once governor of Hong Kong, then something worthwhile. Bengal, perhaps. Jamaica … now, there’s a good place. Canada? No, too damned cold. Bengal or another of the Indian states. “It’s very complicated in Asia, Culum. Have to deal with so many different views and interests—the Crown’s, the traders’, the missionaries’, the Royal Navy’s, the Army’s and the Chinese—all in conflict. And, damme, the Chinese are splintered into conflicting groups. The merchants, the mandarins and the Manchu overlords.” He filled both nostrils with snuff, sniffed deeply and sneezed. “I suppose you know the rulers of China aren’t Chinese?”
“No, sir.”
“Half the damned trouble, so we’re told. They’re Manchus. From Manchuria. Wild barbarians from north of the Great Wall. They’ve ruled China for two hundred years, so we’re told. They must think we’re fools. We’re told there’s a huge wall—like Hadrian’s Wall—a fortification all across the north of China to protect it from the wild tribes. It’s supposed to be over three and a half thousand miles long, forty feet high and thirty feet thick, and wide enough at the top for eight horsemen to ride abreast. There are supposed to be watchtowers every three hundred yards. It’s made of brick and granite, and it was built two thousand years ago.” He snorted. “Ridiculous!”