dear: your poor Robin charging into a boardroom to do battle with a paltan of banyans?
And speaking of drama, my sweet Puggli-billi, you are certainly well enough acquainted with me to know that I would save the best for the last – and so I have but I must get to it now for Baburao is leaving for the Islands this afternoon and he has promised to make sure that this letter gets to you tomorrow!
You will understand, I am sure, that my memory of what passed between me and Mr Chan is obscured just a little by the fumes of that shared pipe. But I do recall that he told me, as I was leaving, that he is eager to see your plants and has put together a collection that will also be of interest to you. Unfortunately there is very little time, for Mr Chan fears that he may soon have to travel again – and besides, the situation here is so uncertain that no one knows how long the river will remain open. In sum the exchange must be done at once if it is to happen at all.
Since neither you nor Mr Penrose are able to travel to Canton at this time, I fear you have no choice but to trust me to conduct this exchange on your behalf. I suggest you send a set of five or six plants to me with Baburao, and I will undertake to obtain for you the best bargain I can get. I should warn you, however, that I do not know whether I will be able to procure your golden camellias – I did ask Mr Chan whether he had succeeded in obtaining a specimen, but as I recall, he was very evasive about this matter.
In any event, Your Puggliness, you must make haste!
*
Bahram was among the last to enter the boardroom. Mr Wetmore was already in his seat, at the head of the table: his grooming, Bahram noticed, was as fastidious as ever, but his face was lined and weary, and at one end of his mouth an odd little tic had appeared, tugging his lips into spasmodic grimaces.
Bahram went to his usual place and was surprised to see that the chair beside his was still empty. He leant over to Mr Slade and whispered: ‘Where is Dent?’
Mr Slade shrugged. ‘Probably detained by some urgent business – it’s not like him to be late.’
With everyone else present, Mr Wetmore waited for only a minute or two before asking for the doors to be closed. ‘Gentlemen,’ he began, ‘I am sorry Mr Dent is not here yet, but I fear we cannot wait any longer: our time is short and I am sure you are all eager to know the outcome of our recent visit to the Consoo House. I beg your indulgence if I have tried your patience in this regard, but as you will see, certain documents needed to be translated before we could meet. These I will presently circulate, but let me begin by providing you with a brief account of what transpired. On entering the Consoo House we were met by several of our friends from the Co-Hong, among them Mowqua, Punhyqua, Mingqua, Puankhequa and others. They were, I might add, in a state of extraordinary perturbation – something akin to terror. I think Mr King will bear me out on this.’
Charles King was seated at the other end of the table; turning to look at him Bahram saw that his face too was drawn with fatigue. His voice, however, was firm and clear: ‘I have had the misfortune before of looking into the eyes of men who have been seized by mortal fear. I cannot convey to you, gentlemen, how painful it was to see that very look in the eyes of these old friends of ours – friends at whose tables we have supped, friends who have made us rich and to whom we owe the comforts we enjoy.’
These words were still hanging in the air when the door opened to admit Dent.
‘Gentlemen, my apologies – please excuse my tardiness.’
‘You have come in good time, Mr Dent,’ said Mr Wetmore. ‘I am sure you will be interested in the document I am about to read out.’ He picked up a sheet of paper and looked around the table. ‘This is the edict the Imperial Commissioner has served upon the Co-Hong guild: it is this document that has struck terror into their hearts. I think it behoves us, gentlemen, to give our attention to the Commissioner’s own words.’
Mr Wetmore looked around the table: ‘With your permission, gentlemen?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Let’s hear what he has to say.’
‘ “While opium is pervading and filling with its poisonous influence the whole empire, the Hong merchants still continue to indiscriminately give sureties for foreign traders declaring that their ships have brought none of it. Are they not indeed dreaming, and snoring in their dreams? What is this but to ‘shut the ear while the jingling bell is stolen?’ The original Co-Hong merchants were men of property and family and would never have descended to this stage of degradation; yet all now are equally involved in the stench of it. Truly I burn with shame for you, the present incumbents of the Co-Hong: with you there seems to be no other consideration than that of growing rich.
‘ “The utter annihilation of the opium trade is now my first object and I have given commands to the foreigners to deliver up to the government all the opium which they have on board their warehousing vessels. I have called on them also to sign a bond, in Chinese and in foreign languages, declaring that henceforth they will never venture to bring opium into China again; and if any should again be brought, their property shall be confiscated by the government. These commands are now given to you Co-Hong merchants, that you may convey them to the foreign factories and plainly make them known. It is imperative that the forceful character of the commands be made clearly to appear. It is imperative for you Co-Hong merchants to act with energy and loftiness of purpose to unite in enjoining these commands upon the foreign merchants. Three days are prescribed within which you must obtain the required bonds and merchandise. If it is found that this matter cannot be resolved by you immediately, then it will be inferred that you are acting in concert with foreign criminals, and I, the High Commissioner, will forthwith solicit the royal death warrant and select for execution one or two of you. Do not claim you did not receive timely notice.’
A murmur of disbelief went around the table now. Bahram, who thought he had misheard, said: ‘Did you say “execution”, Mr Wetmore?’
‘Yes I did, Mr Moddie.’
‘Are you are telling us,’ said Mr Lindsay, ‘that the Commissioner may send two Hongists to the gallows if we do not surrender our goods and furnish this bond?’
‘No, sir,’ said Mr Wetmore. ‘I mean they will be beheaded, not hung. And our friends Howqua and Mowqua are persuaded that they will be the first to die.’
A collective gasp was heard around the table. Then Mr Burnham said: ‘There can be no doubt of it: this Commissioner Lin is a monster. None but a madman or monster could have such scant regard for human life as to consider executing two men for such a crime.’
‘Indeed, Mr Burnham?’ It was Mr King, speaking from the other end of the table. ‘You are evidently greatly solicitous of human life, which is undoubtedly a most commendable thing. But may I ask why your concern does not extend to the lives you put in jeopardy with your consignments of opium? Are you not aware that with every shipment you are condemning hundreds, maybe thousands of people to death? Do you see nothing monstrous in your own actions?’
‘No, sir,’ answered Mr Burnham coolly. ‘Because it is not my hand that passes sentence upon those who choose the indulgence of opium. It is the work of another, invisible, omnipotent: it is the hand of freedom, of the market, of the spirit of liberty itself, which is none other than the breath of God.’
At this Mr King’s voice rose in scorn: ‘Oh shame on you, who call yourself a Christian! Do you not see that it is the grossest idolatry to speak of the market as though it were the rival of God?’
‘Please, please, gentlemen!’ Mr Wetmore thumped the table in an effort to restore order. ‘This is not the time for a theological debate. May I remind you that we are here to consider the High Commissioner’s ultimatum, and that there are lives at stake?’
‘But that is exactly the problem, Wetmore,’ said Mr Burnham. ‘If Commissioner Lin is what I believe him to be, a monster or madman, there is nothing to be gained from dealing with him, is there?’
Before Mr Wetmore could speak, Mr Slade broke in: ‘Here I must beg to differ with you, Burnham. In my view, the High Commissioner is neither a monster nor a madman, but merely a mandarin of exceptional craftiness. His intention is to intimidate us with threats and braggadocio, so that he may boast of his exploits to the Emperor and earn himself a brighter button for his hat. For myself, I do not credit any of it – neither the menaces of the Commissioner nor the professions of terror on the part of our friends of the Co-Hong. It is obvious to me that the Co-Hong is thoroughly in league with the High Commissioner – they are clearly enacting this little pantomime together. The Hongists have assumed these masks of terror in the hope of getting us to part with our goods at no cost to themselves: that is all it is – a charade like those we are treated to every time we cross the Square. It is the usual Celestial humbug and we cannot be taken in.’
‘But what do you propose we do, Mr Slade?’ said Bahram. ‘What are your suggestions?’
‘What I propose,’ said Slade, ‘is that we stand fast and show that we are not to be budged. Once they
