‘It’s a rabble,’ said Captain Mee to Kesri, ‘and since the mandarins can’t send them home then we shall probably have to do it for them.’
*
At daybreak the sky over Hong Kong was a dark, churning mass of cloud and there was only a faint glimmering of light to the east. Soon sheets of rain and seawater were blasting head-on into the Ibis, sweeping her decks, from fore to aft. At the same time, colossal waves were coming at her from the rear, swamping her stern.
The night before, Zachary had taken every possible precaution, dropping the sheet anchor, taking in the sails and yards, checking and double-checking the anchor cables, battening down the hatches. He had taken care also to make sure that there was a safe distance between the Ibis and every other vessel in the vicinity; the nearest of them was the Anahita two fathoms away — and as far as Zachary could tell she too was holding steady against the gale.
Over the next couple of hours there was no flagging in the fury of the wind. But a pale sheen of light slowly spread itself across the sky, so that it was possible, when the Ibis was carried aloft by a wave, to catch glimpses of what the storm had already wrought on the island. Zachary saw that dozens of junks and sampans had been driven aground and battered to pieces; most of the newly erected shacks and shanties had been blown away too and many buildings had also been damaged. But the godowns at East Point, Zachary was glad to see, were unharmed; so long as Mrs Burnham remained within those sturdy stone walls she would be safe.
Around mid-morning, when the light in the sky was still just a fractured grey glow, the Ibis’s bows suddenly reared up and began to thrash about in a way that left little doubt that the cable of the bow anchor had snapped.
Zachary had anticipated that something like this might happen and had already made a plan. He took a dozen crewmen off the pumps and got them to roll the heaviest of the Ibis’s cannon forward. On reaching the bows they attached a cable to the gun and heaved it over the side. The effect was immediate: the Ibis’s head stopped its wild swinging.
As he was turning to go back inside, Zachary’s eyes happened to veer towards the Anahita. He saw now, to his shock, that the windows in her stern — which had been closed at last glance — had flown open. Even as he watched, a huge wave rose up behind the ship and went surging through the windows, swamping the Owner’s Suite.
Zachary knew that unless those windows were quickly secured, the Anahita would founder. In all likelihood the crew were not even aware of what had happened; they were probably down in the belly of the ship, working the pumps.
How to warn them?
Signals and lights would take too long; all Zachary could think of was to fire a shot into the air. Racing down to the captain’s cabin, he snatched a musket from the arms’ cabinet and took it up to the wheelhouse. But as he was trying to prime the gun, he realized that it was a flintlock; the powder was damp and the flint wouldn’t spark. He could not get it to fire.
The Anahita’s stern had already begun to go under; the windows of the Owner’s Cabin had disappeared beneath the waves and the jib-boom was standing at a sharp angle to the water. In his heart Zachary knew that the Anahita was beyond all help already but to watch and do nothing was impossible. He ran down again to fetch a pistol and came back to find that it was too late: only the forward half of the Anahita was still visible; her elegant bows were pointing straight upwards, at the raging sky.
For a few minutes the Anahita seemed to hang in the water, her head upthrust, as if to take a last look at the heavens. Through the curtain of rain Zachary saw a longboat pulling away from her, heading towards the nearby jetty: he began to pray that the oarsmen would row faster, faster, so that they would not be sucked down by the sinking ship.
Then with gathering speed, the Anahita began to spin as the water dragged her under. A whirlpool took shape around the stricken ship, and as she was vanishing into it, the spinning whorls seemed to race towards the longboat. But then a wave took hold of the boat and carried it away, pushing it towards East Point.
‘Thank God!’
The second mate was standing beside Zachary, fingering the crucifix that hung around his neck and muttering to himself. ‘At least the crew’s safe.’
‘Yes,’ said Zachary. ‘And thank God all the live-lumber had been sent ashore well in advance.’
*
At Guangzhou, eighty miles away, the skies were still clear and people were continuing to pour out into the rice-fields. Soon crowds were gathering in so many places that it looked as though the British troops encamped in the four fortresses were at risk of encirclement.
Inside the fortresses preparations now began in earnest. At rollcall Kesri found that B Company was almost a fifth below strength because of fevers and dysentery. The followers too were much diminished in number and every available man had to be pressed into service, including the cooks and bhandaries. At the last minute Captain Mee ordered an equipment check, to make sure that every sepoy was carrying a rain-cape.
When the bugle sounded the four brigades paraded near the rectangular fortress. The First, Third and Fourth Brigades were ordered to move downhill, to a staging-point in the rice-fields. The Second Brigade, which consisted of marines and armed sailors, was to stay behind to guard the four fortresses.
The descent took a long time because of the narrow hillside pathways; it was not till noon that all three brigades were assembled at the staging-point. Directly ahead of them, at a distance of about a mile, was a crowd of some four or five thousand men. They were armed with pikes, spears, scythes, cudgels, sabres and even an occasional matchlock. Some were carrying long staves with hooks at the end.
There was an extended wait while the officers studied the crowds. It was the hottest hour of the day and the intensity of the sun seemed to increase as storm-clouds crept in from the south. For the troops there was not a spot of shade; the metal frames of their shakoes and topees grew so hot that it was as if they were carrying ovens on their heads. Gaps began to open up in the ranks as men collapsed and were carried away by doolie-bearers.
Meanwhile General Gough and his entourage had decided to go a little way ahead, to a shaded knoll. On the way two officers were seen to reel and lurch. One was the general himself, but he recovered and was able to walk the rest of the way without assistance. But the second officer had to be held up by others; on reaching the knoll he collapsed, falling forward on his face.
It turned out that this was the Quartermaster General; within a few minutes he was dead, of apoplexy, brought on by the heat.
This led to further delays and a good while passed before General Gough finally issued his orders. The brigades were to move in different directions with the aim of engaging and dispersing the mobs. The 4th Brigade was to tackle the crowd that had gathered directly in front of the staging-point. The Cameronians were to advance on it from the left and the Madras and Bengal sepoys from the right.
The fields ahead were flooded. Stepping into the mud, the sepoys waded forward at a slow, deliberate pace, with their muskets at the ready, the barrels resting on their hips.
The crowd began to fall back as the sepoys advanced, but even as it withdrew its numbers kept growing. On coming to a raised embankment the crowd’s retreat suddenly stopped; outlined against a lowering sky, thousands of silhouettes turned to face the sepoys.