All of this made sense to Paulette yet her mind was not set entirely at rest. Fitcher understood then that she was fretting about something else and he urged her not to go to the nursery that day; there was no need, he said, the caretakers would be able to manage perfectly well on their own.
But Paulette decided that she would go over to the island after all — despite the heat it would be better to be at work than to fret on board.
So the Redruth’s gig set off, as it did every day — except that today the water, like the air, was unnaturally stilclass="underline" the boat’s ripples carved grooves upon its glassy surface.
Paulette was sitting with her back to the bows and as they drew closer to Hong Kong one of the oarsmen told her to turn around. Glancing over her shoulder she saw that dozens of people had gathered to form a ring around something lying on the beach.
A memory stirred of another day, two years ago, when a body had been washed in by the tide. Her heart lurched and she told the oarsmen to row faster, faster. When the gig pulled up to the shore she leapt out and went running across the beach.
She had to push past a number of people to get through the ring. At the centre lay a man’s body. The wet clothing was pierced all over with rents and slashes — but there was no mistaking that ragged jacket and the shapeless trowsers.
A stout, elderly man was squatting beside the body; he had covered the face with a piece of cloth but on seeing Paulette he took it off.
‘Mistoh Freddie Lee.’
It turned out that the old man was Freddie’s landlord in Sheng Wan village. The night before, he said, a couple of men had come to the house asking for Freddie. They had said that they were friends of his and that he was to meet them on the beach.
Freddie had responded warily when the message was conveyed: ‘Who they ask for, eh?’
‘Freddie Lee,’ the landlord had said, and this had settled Freddie’s doubts.
‘Only friends call me that, ne?’
He had put on his hat and set off for the beach.
That was the last time he was seen alive.
Twenty
Around Canton the attacks and counter-attacks, the explosions and bombardments continued for three long days, to the accompaniment of a continuous and rising din — the howling of unseen mobs, the panicked cries of children, the crackling of flames.
On the British side the fighting and shooting was done entirely by the navy; the infantry battalions that had been brought to Whampoa remained on their respective ships, at Whampoa, through this time.
The confinement was particularly trying for the Bengal Volunteers since they had been at Whampoa for many weeks already. To make things worse, on the second day of the offensive, there was a sudden change in the weather, which became increasingly torrid and sultry. Without a catspaw of wind to stir the air the stench of the bilges permeated every corner of the ship, making it as hard to remain below deck as it was to venture out into the sun.
The conditions were particularly hard on Captain Mee, whose mood had taken a turn for the worse ever since the day of the fighting around the Tiger’s Mouth. The change was particularly striking, or so it seemed to Kesri, because at the start of the operation he had seemed still to be riding on the high spirits in which he had returned from his sojourn at Macau. But from the time of his visit to the Ibis, to drop off the wounded ensign, he had fallen into a black humour: Kesri had thought at first that it was just that he was distressed to see the young ensign’s career ending so sadly and suddenly. But he soon realized that it could not be that alone, that something else had happened to make the captain brood and fret to this degree; not since the days of his abrupt separation from Miss Cathy, at Ranchi, had Kesri seen him in such a dark state of mind. Now, as the troops sat stewing in their transport vessels, at Whampoa, the captain seemed at times to be almost beside himself with frustration: Kesri had never known him to be as morose and irascible as he was during those three long days.
On the third day the turmoil around the city reached a climax, with the sound of gunfire echoing along the riverfront from sunrise onwards. That afternoon the officers’ daily briefing on the Blenheim went on for an unusually long time. Soon after Captain Mee’s return Kesri received a summons to his cabin. On stepping in Kesri knew at once that they would soon be going into the field: for the first time in days Captain Mee seemed untroubled and at ease. He sounded almost cheerful as he said: ‘It’s on at last, havildar! We’re going to teach the Longtails a lesson they won’t forget.’
A chart was lying open on a desk: following the captain’s forefinger, Kesri saw that the walled city of Guangzhou was shaped like a dome, with its base resting on the Pearl River, to the south, while its apex lay upon a range of hills and ridges, to the north. Sitting finial-like on its crown was a five-storeyed edifice called the Sea-Calming Tower. Opposite the tower, just beyond the city walls, were some hills topped by a cluster of four small forts. Three of these were circular in shape but the largest, which faced the Sea-Calming Tower, was rectangular.
These four forts were lightly defended, said Captain Mee: the Chinese commanders had calculated, no doubt, that if the British launched an attack on the city it would come from the south so they had concentrated their forces along the banks of the Pearl River. But General Gough had prepared a surprise for them, a two-pronged assault. A small British detachment would land at the Thirteen Factories, on the Pearl River shorefront, with the aim of seizing and clearing the foreign enclave. But the main force would continue along the Pearl River to White Swan Lake at the western end of the city, before veering northwards, along another river: it would land well above Guangzhou at a village called Tsingpu. Between the landing-point and the four forts lay three or four miles of farmland: this was a rural area, with only a few scattered villages so no resistance was expected. Once the hills had been scaled and the forts seized, the city would be helpless: a single battery of guns positioned on the northern heights would be enough to control all of Guangzhou.
Some 2,400 fighting men were to be deployed for the operation, accompanied by the usual contingents of auxiliaries and camp-followers. The force would be divided into four brigades: the Bengal Volunteers, with its 112 sepoys, had been assigned to the 4th Brigade which would also include 273 Cameronians and 215 men of the 37th Madras.
‘Any questions, havildar?’
The only aspect of this plan that worried Kesri was the composition of the 4th Brigade: he knew, from his experience with the Cameronians, that they would be none too pleased at having to join forces with sepoy units — there was bound to be some friction.
Other than this he had no concerns: the meticulous planning, the carefully drawn chart and the precise numbers were all reassuring, presaging as they did a set-piece operation of the kind at which British commanders excelled. With any luck the battle would bring the campaign to an end and they would be able to go home soon afterwards, with some decent prize money in their pockets.
‘Embarkation will be when, sir?’
‘Tomorrow, 1 p.m., havildar.’
The lateness of the hour surprised Kesri; it was unusual for a big operation to start so late in the day. ‘Why that time, sir?’
Captain Mee smiled. ‘Have you forgotten, havildar? It’s the twenty-fourth of May tomorrow — Queen Victoria’s birthday. There’ll be a gun salute at noon.’
Kesri had indeed forgotten about the Queen’s birthday. He was glad to be reminded of it, however, for this was one of those occasions when sepoys were entitled to a special ‘wet batta’ of grog.