“It sounds just what I’m looking for,” Trader had replied.
“We’d be wanting someone who could buy into the business.” Benjamin had looked at him keenly.
“I could be interested—depending on the terms.”
“It’s not like being in Calcutta,” Benjamin had cautioned him. “Not much social life. Only men allowed at Canton itself. They have to stay there for weeks during the trading season. Families live out at Macao, which is not a bad place. Healthy. The Portuguese run it, as you know, but there’s an English community. English church. That sort of thing. And a British government representative, by the way. Man named Captain Elliot at present. Quite a good fellow, I daresay.”
“And you retire with a fortune,” Trader added amiably. The fact that he hoped to make his fortune faster was better concealed for the moment.
“With luck.” Benjamin Odstock regarded him thoughtfully while Trader surveyed the tobacco stains on the older gentleman’s white waistcoat. “A man needs enterprise and a steady nerve in this trade. Prices fluctuate. Sometimes there’s a glut.”
“The emperor doesn’t like the trade.”
“Don’t worry about that. The demand’s huge, and growing.” Benjamin Odstock puffed out his florid cheeks. ‘‘Just keep a cool head. I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said comfortably, “if the opium trade went on forever.”
The Odstocks knew their business. John thought he could trust them.
—
It was midnight when they saw the schooner ahead. Three lights. The signal. Trader was still on deck, standing near the captain.
“That’ll be McBride, I should think,” said the captain. “He likes to pick up cargo out here.”
“Why?” The depot was at Lintin, in the gulf.
“McBride prefers the open sea.” A moment later, he gave the order: “Heave to.” As they drew near, the skipper of the schooner held up a lantern so that they could see his bearded face. “That’s him,” the captain remarked.
Then they heard McBride’s voice call across the water. “Nothing’s selling at Lintin. No takers.”
Trader felt his face go pale. Lucky no one could see it in the dark. “Is he lying?” he asked the captain. “To get me to sell to him?”
“McBride’s honest. Besides, he doesn’t buy. He sells on commission.”
My first voyage, John thought, and the cargo in which I’ve sunk my inheritance is unsalable. Was he going to be ruined?
“I’m going to try up the coast,” McBride shouted. “Room for a hundred more cases. Are you interested?”
John remembered Benjamin Odstock’s words. A steady nerve. A cool head. And enterprise. Yet he was almost surprised to hear his own voice shouting back. “If you’ll take me with you, and bring me into Canton when we’re done.”
There was a pause. “All right,” called McBride.
—
There were twenty hands on the schooner—English, Dutch, Irish, a couple of Scandinavians, and four Indian lascars. It took less than half an hour for them to transfer the hundred chests from the clipper into the schooner’s wide hold.
Meanwhile, John discovered that he was not the only passenger. He was pleased to find that Read, his acquaintance from Calcutta, was also on board.
“I was sailing to Macao,” the American told him. “Then McBride hailed us this afternoon. When I heard he was taking a run up the coast I jumped ship and came along for the ride.” He grinned. “Glad to have your company, Trader. It should be interesting. We’ve got a missionary on board, too.” He jerked his finger for’ard to where a figure could be seen sleeping in a hammock. “Dutchman.”
With his cargo now complete, McBride was anxious to depart. The crew scurried, and they were under way again.
“Use my cabin if you want, gentlemen,” the skipper said. “Or if you prefer to be on deck, there are blankets aft. I’d get some sleep if I were you.”
Read chose the deck. So did John. If anything happened, he didn’t want to miss it. They went forward and settled down. Most of the crew were sitting quietly or sleeping there. The missionary in his hammock, a large, heavy fellow, had never broken his sleep. From time to time, the sound of his snores was added to the faint hiss of the breeze in the rigging.
John fell asleep at once and did not wake until the first hint of dawn was in the sky. Read was also awake, gazing up thoughtfully at the fading stars.
“Good morning,” said John quietly. “Been awake long?”
“A while.” He turned to look at John. “You own the cargo you brought aboard?”
“Part of it.” John sat up. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. He brushed it away.
“So you’ve quite a bit riding on this. Did you borrow the money?”
“Some.”
“Brave man.” Read didn’t pursue the matter further.
They got up and went to join the skipper at the wheel.
“All quiet?” Read asked.
“Only pirates to watch for now,” McBride replied. “If we do meet any pirates, sir,” the skipper continued, “I shall give you a pistol and ask you to use it.”
“I’ll shoot.” Read took out a cigar.
“You look like a man,” the skipper ventured, “that knows the seven seas.”
“I get around.”
“What brings you here, if I may ask?”
“Avoiding my wife.” Read lit his cigar and puffed in silence for a minute or two. “First time I’ve smuggled, though.” He grinned. “Never been a criminal before.”
“Only under Chinese law,” McBride said. “And we don’t count that.”
“Right.” Read glanced towards the missionary, whose snores had just grown loud. “Tell me,” he asked, “do you always bring a missionary?”
“Usually. They speak the lingo. Need ’em to translate.”
“And they don’t mind…the business?”
McBride smiled. “You’ll see.”
—
They caught sight of the coast an hour after dawn—a small headland to the west that soon vanished again. Then nothing until midmorning, when more coastline began to appear. It was an hour later when Trader saw the square sails coming towards them. He glanced at Captain McBride.
“Pirates?” he asked.
The captain shook his head and handed the wheel to Read for a moment while he went to shake the missionary awake. “Rise and shine, Van
