The bullet had to have hit him when he was about to jump, or even perhaps as he was falling. In the tumult of the moment he had not been aware of it — but the pain seemed to have been waiting to waylay him for it assailed him now with a force that made him writhe and thrash his arms.
Lie still!
Neel gritted his teeth as Jodu examined the wound.
The ball’s gone too deep, Jodu said. I won’t be able to get it out, but maybe I can stop the bleeding.
Pulling off the bandhna that was tied around his forehead, Jodu tore it into strips and bound up the wound.
In the meantime the cannon- and gun-fire from the British warships had continued uninterrupted. Jodu and Neel were not far from the fighting, for the current, strong as it was, had brought them only a few hundred yards upriver from the Cambridge. Now, suddenly, there was an explosion that shook the breath out of them: the Cambridge had erupted, throwing up a solid tower of flame. The column climbed to a height of over three hundred feet, ending in a black cloud that was shaped like the head of a mushroom. A few seconds later debris began to rain down and Neel and Jodu had to crouch down, with their arms wrapped protectively around their heads. They did not look up even when the top half of a ship’s mast, thirty feet in length, landed nearby, with a huge thud. It had fallen out of the sky like a javelin, burying itself in the riverbank a few yards away.
A few minutes later there was another powerful explosion, on the river this time. When the smoke cleared they saw that a section of the raft had been destroyed. Within moments dead fish began to float up from below, clogging the river’s surface.
Soon they spotted puffs of smoke heading in their direction. Peering through the rushes they saw that a British steamer had pushed through the shattered raft and was moving rapidly upriver, swivel-guns twitching and turning. Suddenly a fusillade slammed into an already crippled war-junk; then another stream of fire hit something on the shore.
Neel and Jodu flattened themselves on the bank as the steamer swept past, unloosing bursts of fire, apparently at random. In a few minutes a second steamer appeared and went paddling after the first. Then came a couple of corvettes.
After the vessels had passed, Jodu climbed to the top of the bank.
There are some abandoned sampans nearby, he said, after looking around. The owners must have taken fright and run away. Once it gets dark I’ll get one.
Neel nodded: he knew that if they could get to the Ocean Banner Monastery they would be safe, at least for a while.
Shortly before nightfall Jodu slipped away, to return soon after, in a covered sampan. He had changed into some clothes he had found inside the boat: a tunic and loose trowsers, the usual garb of Cantonese boat-people. Of his face, almost nothing was visible: the upper part was hidden by a conical hat and the lower by a bandhna, tied like a scarf around his nose and mouth.
Jodu had found the garments below a deck-plank; after helping Neel into the boat he reached under the plank again and pulled out some more clothes, for Neel. He also came upon a jar of drinking water and some fried pancakes. The pancakes were stale but edible; Jodu devoured two of them before pushing the boat away from the shore.
Their way was lit by fires, kindled by the British gun-boats: blazing war-junks lay slumped over on their beams; the embers of shattered gun-emplacements smouldered on the river’s banks; on a small island trees flamed like torches. Jodu kept to the shadows and was careful to feather the oars so the boat glided along with scarcely a sound.
At Whampoa Roads a British corvette could be seen, in the flickering light of burning houses. The vessel was riding at anchor, her looming silhouette pregnant with menace, her guns swivelling watchfully. Along the edges of the waterway hundreds of boats were slipping through, heading in the direction of Guangzhou. Such was the panic that nobody paid Jodu or the sampan any notice.
As they drew closer to Guangzhou the signs of destruction multiplied. At the approaches to the city two island fortresses were on fire. Abreast of each was a British warship. The vessels had created such fear that people were pouring out of their homes, jamming the roadways.
Approaching the Ocean Banner Monastery they found a steamer anchored off it, abreast of the Thirteen Factories. On both shores people were milling about in large numbers; in the midst of the confusion no one noticed as Neel staggered through the monastery’s gates, leaning heavily on Jodu.
*
For ten days after the Battle of the Tiger’s Mouth the Bengal Volunteers remained in the vicinity of Chuenpee, on their transport vessel. Through that time they were constantly on the alert. Even though all Chinese troops had been withdrawn from the area new threats appeared every day: there were random attacks by bandits and villagers; some British units lost stragglers while patrolling ashore; there were rumours of camp-followers and lascars being kidnapped and killed.
As a result the men of B Company became impatient to return to their camp at Saw Chow. But instead the opposite happened: the troops who had proceeded up the Pearl River earlier were withdrawn and sent back to Hong Kong, and the Bengal Volunteers were ordered to move forward to Whampoa.
When it came to be learnt that the Hind was to sail upriver, there was much swearing and cursing. Only Raju was pleased: he knew that Whampoa was close to Canton and he imagined that if he could but get to the city his father would miraculously appear.
But on arriving at Whampoa Raju saw that nothing much was to be expected of it. It was just a way-station on the river, ringed by small townships and villages: it reminded Raju of the Narrows at Hooghly Point, where ships and boats often anchored on their way to and from Calcutta. The worst part of it was that nothing could be seen of Canton — and nor was there anything of interest nearby except a few pagodas and temples.
The boys’ first excursion ashore ended at one of those temples. It was like no temple that Raju had ever seen, with its hanging coils of incense and its unrecognizable images — yet there was an air of sacredness in it that was very familiar.
At a certain point Raju succeeded in giving the other fifers the slip. Stealing into a darkened shrine-room, he knelt before the figure of a gently smiling goddess and joined his hands in prayer.
‘Ya Devi sarvabhutéshu,’ he prayed, mouthing the first words of a remembered invocation: ‘Devi, my father is somewhere nearby. Help me find him, Devi, help me.’
*
For Zachary, the excitement of the Battle of the Tiger’s Mouth was followed by several weeks of oppressive tedium. His orders were to keep the Ibis at anchor near Humen, which was occupied by a small detachment of British troops. Other than ferrying provisions ashore and watching for thieves and bandits, there was little to occupy him.
With time hanging on his hands Zachary fell prey to anxiety, especially in regard to Captain Mee. The inconclusive end of their last meeting gave him much to worry about: he had no way of knowing whether the captain had reconsidered his threats or not. To wait for him to make his move would be an error, he knew, and he was impatient to bring matters to a head. But there was no chance of doing that while the captain was at Whampoa and he was posted to Humen.
It became especially galling to remain there after news arrived that trade had been resumed at Canton, as a condition of continuing negotiations. After that British and American merchant ships were seen daily, proceeding upriver to acquire teas, silks, porcelain, furniture and all the other goods for which Canton was famed. To be idling while others made money was exasperating; Zachary soon began to regret the onrush of enthusiasm that had led him to offer his services to the expedition.