understand this, Howqua and Mowqua will sort out the matter soon enough. They will dole out a few cumshaws and grease a few palms and that will be the end of it. Their heads will remain on their shoulders and we shall still be in possession of our goods. If we show signs of softness we will all lose: this above all is a moment when we must cleave to our principles.’
‘Principles?’ retorted Mr King in astonishment. ‘I fail to see what principle can underlie the smuggling of opium.’
‘Well then, you have chosen to blind yourself, sir!’ Mr Burnham’s fist landed loudly on the table. ‘Is freedom not a principle as well as a right? Is there no principle at stake when free men claim the liberty to conduct their affairs without fear of tyrants and despots?’
‘By that token, sir,’ said Mr King, ‘any murderer could claim that he is but exercising his natural rights. If the charter of your liberties entails death and despair for untold multitudes, then it is nothing but a licence for slaughter.’
Mr King and Mr Burnham were both on their feet now, staring at each other across the table.
Mr Wetmore thumped the table again. ‘Please, gentlemen! May I remind you that this is a matter of the utmost urgency? We do not have the leisure to conduct debates on abstract principles. The time at our disposal is so short that to speed matters along, Mr King and I have taken the liberty of drafting a reply to the Commissioner’s edict, on behalf of all of us.’
‘Have you indeed?’ said Dent with a quizzical smile. ‘Well, you have certainly been busy, Wetmore! And what does your letter say?’
‘In essence, Mr Dent, it seeks to assure the High Commissioner that we are willing to accede to his terms, but with certain reservations.’
‘Does it now?’ said Dent, smiling thinly. ‘So are we to understand, Mr Wetmore, that you and your little friend Charlie have taken it upon yourselves to write a letter on our behalf but without consulting us? A letter that pledges to end a trade that has existed since before any of us were born? A trade that has conferred enormous wealth upon yourself and your friends, not least Mr Jardine?’
The reference to Jardine seemed to rattle Mr Wetmore, and his voice grew a little shaky. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘our letter explains, of course, that there was, in the past, some ambiguity in regard to the Chinese government’s position on the opium trade. At one time it was widely believed that the government might even legalize the trade. But whatever doubts may have existed in the past have certainly been removed by the Commissioner’s deeds and words. There is no reason now to hesitate in providing the pledge that he demands.’
‘Oh really?’ said Dent with silky smoothness. ‘And what of the ships that are already anchored around Hong Kong and the other outer harbours? Are we to meekly empty their holds and send the contents to the Commissioner?’
‘Not at all,’ said Wetmore. ‘Our letter explains that while the ships might belong to us, their cargoes do not. They are in effect the property of our investors, in Bombay, Calcutta and London. To surrender the cargoes is impossible: what we will do instead is send the ships back to India.’
For Bahram, this was the prospect most to be feared. ‘Send our cargoes back to India?’ he cried in alarm. ‘But you know, no Mr Wetmore, the price of opium has fallen to the floor in Bombay? And production has increased like anything. Where will our cargoes go? Who will buy? To send them to India will bring ruin.’
Bahram looked around the table and it seemed to him that many eyes had narrowed at the sound of the last word: if there was one thing he knew about the English language it was that nothing was more harmful to a merchant’s credit than the word ‘ruin’. He hastened to undo the damage. ‘I don’t mean any of us here, of course. We are all amply supplied with capital and will manage to get by. But what about small investors? We have to think of them, no? Many have put in whole life-savings. What of them?’
‘Exactly!’ cried Slade. ‘It seems to me from the sentimental tenor of what I have heard here that the vision of the Hongists’ blood spilt on the ground has blinded some of us from contemplating the consequences of surrendering our cargoes. Mr King and Mr Wetmore are so considerate of the sufferings of the Chinese that they are willing to drag down all those engaged in the opium traffic. But what of the ruination and destitution of those who have invested their savings in our shipments? What of their fall in station and society, leading perhaps to debtor’s prison, to workhouse alms and probably death by starvation?’
‘But surely, Mr Slade,’ interjected Mr King, ‘you are not suggesting that your investors are people of meagre means, who are in danger of being packed off to debtor’s prison? Why would a man who is on the brink of poverty sink his last few pennies into a speculation in a commodity such as opium? In my experience, no one invests in such ventures unless they have capital to spare – they are no more likely to be forced into the workhouse than you or I. This is indeed the cruellest aspect of this trade – that a few rich men, in order to grow richer, are willing to sacrifice millions of lives.’
Slade threw up his hands. ‘It is exactly as I suspected: Mr King’s heart bleeds for his Celestial friends, but he is utterly indifferent to the sufferings of his fellow merchants and their investors. And for what this readiness to plunge his fellow merchants into certain and immense loss of property? Why forsooth! Because Howqua has said at a private meeting at the Consoo Hall that his head would be taken off if we did not do his bidding. But Howqua, as we well know, is a consummate businessman, and he will say whatever is necessary to protect his own profits.’
Mr Wetmore broke in wearily: ‘I assure you, Mr Slade, Howqua believes with all his heart that his will be the first head to roll. It wrung my heart to see him at the Consoo House – I have never seen a more piteous picture.’
‘Oh please, Wetmore!’ snapped Mr Slade. ‘Spare us these Bulgarian vapours! You must remember that you are the President of this Chamber, and not some old biddy presiding over a congress of dowagers.’
‘Your language, Mr Slade, is unbecoming of a member of the Committee,’ said Mr Wetmore stiffly. ‘But I will let it pass because of the urgency of the matter at hand. But of this you should have no doubt – that Howqua, Mowqua and several other Hongists were indeed utterly struck down with fear when we saw them at the Consoo House.’
‘Howqua?’ Dent interrupted with a shrill, somewhat forced laugh. ‘But I saw Howqua this very morning, on Old China Street: that was what delayed me in coming to this meeting. He said that he and his colleagues of the Co-Hong had received certain threats from the Yum-chae, but these were just threats and no more than that. Howqua is an uncommonly shrewd man and I suspect he greatly exaggerated his fears for the benefit of Mr King and Mr Wetmore, knowing them to be, shall we say, somewhat softer in nature than most men. He would not of course attempt anything like that with me, or indeed most of us. When I ran into him a short while ago he appeared to be in perfectly good spirits – this Committee has my word on that.’
A silence fell on the table as everyone tried to absorb the import of this. Then Mr King, whose face had turned red, declared: ‘That is a bald-faced lie, Mr Dent!’
Now an audible hiss issued from Mr Slade’s lips. ‘If I were you, Miss King,’ he said, ‘I would watch what I say. There are certain words, you know, that entail a form of shorthand called pistolography.’
‘Be that as it may, sir,’ said Mr King, ‘I shall not, for fear of it, silence myself. I too have but recently seen Howqua, and I assure you that his apprehensions were not factitious but real; I saw with my own eyes that he was crushed down to the ground by his terrors. I give you my word that the Hong merchants are in instant fear of their lives and properties. It is not my part to defend despotic measures; I wish only to remind you that once a chain of events is set in motion, it is not in our power to make reparation or atonement. I beg you to remember that the property lost under the present dispensation can easily and in a short time be put together again – but blood once shed is like water spilt upon the ground and can never again be gathered up. The present circumstances are directly destructive to the lives of our fellow creatures; we may occasionally have called the Hongists hard names but they are still our friends and neighbours. What reasonable man could conceive of putting the pocket of an investor in competition with the neck of a neighbour?’
Mr King had invested his words with great passion but their effect upon the Committee was to a considerable extent blunted by Dent, who through the duration of his speech had been looking around the table as if to count heads and assess his support. When Mr King had finished, he said, matter-of-factly: ‘Well, it is clear that we have a profound disagreement. Mr King is of the opinion that Howqua and his ilk are in mortal fear of their lives; I, on the other hand, am equally convinced that this is just another instance of Celestial chicanery. It is my opinion that our friends of the Co-Hong are working upon the feelings of those of us who are not, by nature and inclination, imbued with the usual degree of masculine fortitude.’
