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By r/ie .same author
The Flashman Papers
FLASHMAN
ROYAL FLASH
FLASH FOR FREEDOM!
FLASHMAN AT THE CHARGE
FLASHMAN IN THE GREAT GAME
FLASHMAN'S LADY
FLASHMAN AND THE REDSKINS
*
MR AMERICAN
THE PYRATES
Short stories
THE GENERAL DANCED AT DAWN
McAUSLAN IN THE ROUGH
*
THE STEEL BONNETS:
The Story of the AngloScottish
Border Reivers
From The Flashman Papers, 1860
Edited and Arranged
by
George MacDonald Fraser
COLLINS HARVILL
8 Grafton Street, London Wl
1985
By the same author
The Flashman Papers
FLASHMAN
ROYAL FLASH
FLASH FOR FREEDOM!
FLASHMAN AT THE CHARGE
FLASHMAN IN THE GREAT GAME
FLASHMAN'S LADY
FLASHMAN AND THE REDSKINS
*
MR AMERICAN
THE PYRATES
Short stories
THE GENERAL DANCED AT DAWN
McAUSLAN IN THE ROUGH
THE STEEL BONNETS:
The Story of the AngloScottish
Border Reivers
From The Flashman Papers, 1860
Edited and Arranged
by
George MacDonald Fraser
COLLINS HARVILL
8 Grafton Street, London Wl
1985
n^}
^ /oofc7L.
^W
William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd
London Glasgow Sydney Auckland
Toronto Johannesburg
BRITISH LIBRARY CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION DATA
Fraser, George MacDonald
Flashman and the dragon.
I. Title
823'.914[F] PR6056.R287
ISBN 0002712458
First published 1985
 George MacDonald Fraser 1985
Photoset in Linotron Times by
Rowland Phototypesetting Ltd
Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
Made and printed in Great Britain by
William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd, Glasgow
For Ka't-lin
a memento of the Pearl River
and Tuah Bee
Explanatory Note
It is now twenty years since the Flashman Papers, the
memoirs of the notorious Rugby School bully who became
a Victorian hero, were found in a Leicestershire saleroom.
Of the dozen or so packets of manuscript, seven have so far
been published in book form; they have covered four military
campaigns (the First Afghan War, Crimea, Indian Mutiny,
and Sioux War of 1879), and five episodes of less formal
and generally reluctant active service - pirate-hunting with
Brooke of Sarawak; as military adviser to Queen Ranavalona
of Madagascar; as conspirator with Bismarck in the
Schleswig-Holstein affair; in the African slave trade and
Underground Railroad; and on the American frontier during
the Gold Rush. This eighth volume sees him returning to
military service in the Taiping Rebellion and Pekin Expedition
of 1860.
Not the least interesting feature of Flashman's recoHections,
to students of history, is the light they cast on the early
years of many famous Victorians, who are seen through the
unsparing eyes of one who, while a self-confessed coward,
libertine, and scoundrel, was nevertheless a scrupulous reporter.
Thus, we have seen him fleeing the murderous wrath
of the young politician Bismarck, viewing Congressman Lincoln
with wary respect, teaching the infant Crazy Horse how
to wink, admiring Lola Montez the aspiring novelty dancer,
and toadying to the young Queen Victoria herself. In China
he encounters two of the great mercenary captains, a future
empress, the founding fathers of the modern British Army
and Navy, and those strange, forgotten peasants who
changed the face of a great empire. It may be that he provides
some new historical insights, while again demonstrating the
lengths to which perfidy, impudence, immorality, and poltroonery
may be stretched in the enforced pursuit of fame,
riches, and above all, survival.
In accordance with the wishes of Mr Paget Morrison,
owner of the Flashman manuscripts, I have confined my
editing to correcting the old soldier's spelling, checking the
accuracy of the narrative (which is exact where matters of
verifiable historical fact are concerned) and inserting the
usual foot-notes, appendices, and glossary.
G.M.F.
Old Professor Fl^shy's first law of economics
is that the time to beware of a -pretty woman is not when
you're flush of cash (well, you Icnow what she's after, and
what's a bankroll more or less?) -, but when you're short of
the scratch, and she offers to set you right. Because that ain't
natural, and God knows what she " s up to. I learned this when
I was fourteen, and one Lady Oeraldine, a high-spirited
Hebe ten years my senior, lured me out in a punt with the
promise of a crown if I minded tier clothes while she went
bathing. In all innocence, I accepted - and I haven't seen
that five bob yet, because the ra-ndy baggage had to shell
out all her loose change to buy the silence of the grinning
water-bailiff who caught us unawares in the reeds, where she
was teaching me natural history after her swim. I had the
presence of mind even at that tend er age to clap my breeches
over my face and so avoid recognition as I fled, but you take
the point - I had been misled, in my youthful simplicity, by
a designing female who played on my natural cupidity.
Ever since, when they've dangle; d rich rewards before me,
I've taken fright. If the case of M:rs Phoebe Carpentef was
an exception - well, she was a clergyman's wife, and you don't expect double-dealing from i wide-eyed simperer who sings come-to-Jesus in the choir. I c^on't know why I both^^ with her. . . yes, I do, though; shaped like an Indian na^".
dancer under her muslin, blue-eyed, golden-haired, and wlt that pouting lower lip that's as gocxi as a beckoning finger
chaps like me - she reminded me rather of my darling ''
whom I hadn't seen in more than tl'ree years and was ge j^j-s
uncommon hungry for. So, readixig the invitation in if in
Carpenter's demure smile, and having ten days to lo;d to
Hong Kong before my ship sailed for Home1, I decidf can
have a cast at her; it was a dead-and-alive hole in '60, I 9
tell you, and how else should a weary soldier pass his time?
So I attended morning and evening service, hollering hosannas
and nodding stern approval while her drone of a
husband sermonised about temptation and the snares that
Satan spreads (about which he didn't know the first dam'
thing), and gallantly helping her to gather up the hymnbooks
afterwards. I dined with them, traded a text or two with the
Reverend, joined them in evening prayers, squired her along
the Queen's Road - she was all for it, of course, but what was
middling rum was that he was, too; it ain't every middle-aged
vicar who cares to see his young bride escorted by a dashing
Lancer with Balaclava whiskers. I put it down to natural
toad-eating on his part, for I was the lion of the hour in those
days, with my new knighthood and V.C., and all my Mutiny
heroics to add to the fame I had undeservedly won in Crimea
and Afghanistan. If you've read my earlier memoirs you'll
know all about it - and how by shirking, running, diving into
cover, and shielding my quaking carcase behind better men,
I had emerged after four campaigns with tremendous credit,
a tidy sum in loot, and a chestful of tinware. I was a colonel
of six years' seniority at 37, big, bluff, handsome Flash Harry,
quite a favourite with Queen and Consort, well spoken of
by Palmerston and my chiefs, married to the beauteous and
wealthy daughter of a peer (and a dead peer, at that) - and
only I knew (though I'd a feeling that wily old Colin Campbell
suspected) that my fame was all a fraud and a sham.
There had been a time when I was sure it couldn't last,
and they were bound to find me out for the poltroon and
scoundrel I was - but I'd been devilish lucky, and, d'ye know,
there's nothing sticks like a good name, provided you know
how to carry your credit with a modest grin and a glad eye.
Once let 'em call you a hero, and they'll never leave off
worshipping - which is absolute nuts when the worshipper
cuts a figure like the adoring Mrs Carpenter's. After three
days of my society I reckoned she was ready to melt; all that
was needed was a stroll in the garden after dark, a few
well chosen quotations from the Song of Solomon, and she'd
play like one of those abandoned Old Testament queens her
husband was forever reviling from the pulpit.
As a final rehearsal I took her out to picnic at the Poke
10
Fullam bungalow, which was the favoured resort in Ho(ig
Kong at that time; we found a secluded spot, spread a rug- disposed of the cold prawns and a bottle of Hock, and settled
down to exchange my murmured gallantries for her sighs a)1^ coy glances - I didn't intend to board her that afternoon you understand; too public, and she wasn't even part-drunk. As it happened, I'd have been wasting my time, for the
innocent Mrs Carpenter had been working to a fixed end ji^t
as purposefully as I. And such an end; when I think back on it, words fail me.
She led up to it by talking of her husband's ambition to build a church and hall over at Kowloong; even in those d^y8 it was the fashionable place, so he would be quite top dog
among the local gospel-wallopers. The difficulty, says she sighing, was money - although even that would not h^s been insurmountable had it not been for the impending w^.
"When Sir Hope Grant begins his campaign, you see, it is
certain that there will be a cessation of all China trade, evsn
with Canton," says she. "And when that happens - why,
there will be an end to all Josiah's hopes. And rnine." A^ she choked back what sounded like a little sob.
I'd been paying no heed, content to stroke her hafld,
brotherly-like, while she prattled, but hearing her gulp I
perked up. Get 'em weeping, and you're halfway to climb^g
all over them. I feigned concern, and squeezed her ha^d,
begging herto explain what Grant's campaign could hav^ to do with dear Josiah's church-building. I knew, as all the
world did, that Grant was due in Hong Kong shortly with a
fleet and army whose purpose would be to go upcountry
and force our latest treaty down the Chinese Emperor's
throat, but it wasn't liable to be much of a war: show the fl^ to the Chinks, kick a few yellow backsides, and home a^31" with hardly a shot fired - the kind of campaign that wculd
have suited me, if I'd been looking for one, which I wasn't. I could thank God I'd be homeward bound before G^ant
arrived, for he knew me from India and would certa^y
dragoon me into service if I were silly enough to be on h^d.
You don't pass up the chance of employing the gallant Flashy.
And he don't pass up the chance of making himself scar^0-
"But even a little war will put an end to traffic with the
11
Chinese merchants," she lamented. "Oh, it is so hard, when
Josiah and his friends have invested so wisely! To be robbed
of the deserved profit that would have fulfilled his dream! It
is too bad!" And she looked at me with trembling mouth
and great blue eyes - Gad, she was like Elspeth, even to the
imbecile parting of those crimson lips, and the quivering
of her top hamper. Feeling slightly fogged, I asked, what
investment had dear Josiah made?
"Why, opium, of course! He was so clever, laying out
Papa's legacy in two thousand chests of the very choicest
Patna," says this fair flower of the vicarage. "And it would
have fetched ever so much money at Canton - more than
enough to build our dear little church! But if war comes,
and he cannot sell his cargo . . .' She sniffed and looked
woebegone.
"D'you mean to tell me," says I, astonished, "that Josiah
is smuggling poppy?" I know the Church is game for anything,
as a rule, and Hong Kong only existed for the opium
trade; most everyone was in it. But it don't go with dog-collars
and Sunday schools, exactly.
"Gracious, no! Dear Sir Harry, how could you suppose
such a thing? Why, it is not smuggling at all nowadays!" She
was all lovely earnestness as she explained - and so help
me, these were her very words: "Josiah says that the fifth
supplementary clause of the new treaty removes all restrictions
on the trade in opium, cash, pulse, grain, saltpetre . . .
oh, I forget all the things, but one of them is spelter, whatever
that may be; it sounds very horrid. It is true," she admitted
gravely, "that the treaty is not yet ratified, but Sir Hope
Grant will see to that, and Josiah says there can be no
illegality in profiting by anticipation." So there.
Josiah'll end up in Lambeth Palace or Dartmoor, at this
rate, thinks I. Imagine - a clergyman peddling the black
smoke. Purely out of curiosity, I asked didn't he have moral
qualms? She twitched her tits in impatience.
"Oh, Josiah says that is Nonconformist missionary talk,
and that it is well-known the natives of China use opium as
a sedative, rather than as a narcotic, and that it does not
one-tenth of the harm that strong waters cause among our
poorer classes at home. Gin, and such things." Then she
12
sighed again, and they quivered in dejection. "But it is all
by the way now. If he cannot sell the cargo . . . and he could
have built our church and to spare, too!"
With enough over to start a couple of brothels, no doubt,
the way Josiah did business. "Hold on," says I. "Why can't
he sell it - where is it, by the way?"
"At Macao. Josiah is gone over today to see it put aboard
the fast crabs and scrambling dragons." Not two years out
of the schoolroom, sink me, and she was talking like a
taipan.*
"Well, there you are - he can send it up Pearl River to the
Canton factories tomorrow, and sell it to the Hongs."
"Oh, if it were so simple! But you see, Sir Harry, with
all the war talk there is word that the Chinese merchants
have been forbidden to buy from our people . . . and . . .
and Josiah and his friends have no influence to persuade
them."
"Then get Dent or Jardine to run it in - they'll persuade
anybody - and get a better price than Josiah could, I dare
say."
"And take all our profit in commission! They are the
greediest persons, you know," says this tender child. "Besides,
the price is settled. Josiah vows to take no less than
eight pounds a chest."
"Jesus - I mean, dear me!" says I. "Two thousand chests
- why, that's near a ton, isn't it? Sixteen thousand quid!" I
was no expert, but you couldn't be in Hong Kong five minutes
without knowing the going figures. "Phew! Well, my dear,
he'd better get it to Canton somehow before the war starts
- stay, though: can't he put it in bond until things are more
settled?"
"It is prepared chandoo, not raw cake," says the Opium
Queen pathetically. "Unless it goes directly, it must spoil.
Oh, is it not wretchedly unlucky? Those who could run it
will do so only on extortionate terms; those who would, for
a fair consideration, are not people who could deal with the
Chinese officials and merchants. Josiah has a skipper, a Mr
Ward, but he cannot speak Chinese, even!"
* Fast crabs and scrambling dragons were opium-running craft.
13
And it was then, with another superb sigh, that she turned
those great misty eyes on me in undoubted appeal, and said
in a little voice: "It would be so easy ... for the right person,
you see." She looked away, downcast. "Josiah says he would
pay him ten per cent."
Lady Geraldine had been rather more subtle . . . but
she hadn't been offering sixteen hundred quid. Handsome
pocket money, if you like - and easier to earn than falling
off a log, for whatever the Pekin government said, the Hong
merchants would cut Confucius's throat to buy a ton of
chandoo, whoever offered it. And she was right - all that
was needed was someone with bold front and bearing who
could brush aside inconvenient officials on the run upriver,
stick out his jaw at any Chink jack-in-the-office who
threatened confiscation, and see that Josiah's ignorant skipper
found his way safe to Jackass Point. Nothing in that.
Mind you, she had a hard bark, asking a British Army
colonel to nursemaid her shipload of puggle - yet why not?
Here was I, friendly disposed, officer and gentleman, knew
the ropes, spoke the lingo (well, I could understand a Mandarin,
and make myself enough understood in turn; with the
coolies I had to use pigeon and my boots), and just the chap
to stare down any yellow office-wallahs. A week till my ship
sailed, ample time . . . sixteen hundred . . . Mrs Carpenter
swooning with gratitude . . . h'm . . .
You must remember that these thoughts ran through my
mind with those innocent-wanton eyes fixed on mine, and
that excellent bosom heaving between us. And if you think
she was a froward piece, or that I should have smelled a
battalion of rats . . . well, it was a plausible tale, and not
even a scent of risk. With our garrison at Canton, the Pearl
was as safe as the Avon, and there was no stigma - well, not
to signify. It was "trade", not "opium", that would have
raised an eyebrow at Horse Guards. And sixteen hundred
... for a jolly sail on the river?
"We ... I... should be so grateful," she murmured, and
gave me a quick slantendicular.
"You little goose!" says I indulgently, "if you want me to
do it ... why not say so?" I gave her my sad Flashy smile.
"Don't you know I'd do anything for you?" And with a light
14
laugh I kissed her masterfully, munching away, and I dare
say we might have done the business there and then if a
gaggle of brats with a governess hadn't have in view, causing
us to break clean and remark on the splendid view, such a
perfect day for picnicking.
We settled the details in the tonga back to town, myself
making light of it and pinching her palm, she all flushed
confusion and breathless gratitude. How could she and dear
Josiah ever thank me? Well, Josiah could stump up the rhino
on my return, and she would certainly do the rest, if I could
judge by the light in her eye and the way she shivered when
I squeezed her knee. They're all alike, you know.
Aye. I should have remembered Lady Geraldine.
* * *
I don't know who ran the first chest of opium into China,
but he was a great man in his way. It was as though some
imaginary trader had put into the Forth with a cargo of
Glenlivet to discover that the Scots had never heard of
whisky. There was a natural appetite, as you may say. And
while the Chinks had been puffing themselves half-witted
long before the first foreign trader put his nose into the Pearl
River, there's no doubt that our own John Company had
developed their taste for the drug, back in the earlies, and
before long they couldn't get enough of it.
This didn't suit the ruling Manchoos, for while they were
as partial to a pipe as the next heathen, they saw that it was
ruining the commonalty, and who would hew the wood and
draw the water then? These Manchoos, you see, were fierce
warriors who had swept in from the north centuries earlier,
and dealt with China much as our English forebears did with
Ireland (not that we ever forced the Paddies to wear pigtails
as a badge of serfdom). They established a Manchoo ruling
class, took all the plum posts, ran the country with a sloth,
inefficiency, and waste that would have shocked a Bengali
babu, treated the conquered Chinese like dirt - and sat
back in complacent luxury, growing their finger-nails long,
cultivating the more rarefied arts, galloping their concubines,
developing a taste for putrefied food, preaching pure philo-
15
sophy and practising abominable cruelties, exalting the trivial
and neglecting the essential, having another romp at the
concubines, and generally priding themselves on being lords
of creation. Which, since they hardly admitted the existence
of the world outside China, is what they were.
So you can see they resented white interlopers who bade
fair to undermine their Empire with poppy drug, and did
their damnedest to stop the trade, but couldn't. To their
chagrin they discovered that their God-given superiority,
their highly-refined taste in eggshell pottery, and their limitless
lines of ancestors, availed nothing against any Dundee pirate
with a pistol on his hip and a six-pounder in his bows
who was determined to run his opium in. Which made the
Manchoo Mandarins wild with outraged pride, and more
high-handed towards foreigners than ever, with the result
that war broke out in 1840. Being Chinese and useless, they
lost, and had to cede Hong Kong to us and open up Treaty
Ports to European trade. And the poppy-running went on
as before, only more so.
You'd have thought that would teach 'em manners, but
not a bit of it. Instead of realising that foreign trade had
come to stay, they convinced themselves that we were only
there on sufferance, and they could treat our traders and
emissaries as dirt, evil-smelling foreign savages that we were.
They knew China was the centre and master of the world,
and that everyone else was barbarian filth, lurking on their
outskirts plotting mischief, and needing to be brought to heel
like untrained curs. What, admit us as equals? Trade freely
with us? Receive our ambassadors at Pekin? (The Chinese
for "ambassador" is "tribute-bearer", which gives you some
notion of their conceit.) It was unthinkable.
You have to understand this Chinese pride - they truly
believe they have dominion over us, and that our rulers are
mere slaves to their Emperor. Haven't I heard a red-button
Mandarin, a greasy old profligate so damned cultivated that
his concubines had to feed him and even carry him to the
commode to do his business, because he'd never learned how
- haven't I heard him lisping about "the barbarian vassal
Victoria"? As for the American President - a mere coolie.
(And you won't teach John Chinaman different by blowing
16
his cities apart with artillery, or trampling his country underfoot.
Well, if a footpad knocks you down, or a cannibal eats
you, it don't follow that he's your superior, does it? Fiercer
and stronger, perhaps, but infinitely lower in the scale of
creation. That's how the Chinese think of us - and damn the
facts that stare 'em in the face.)
So, even after we'd licked them, and gained a trade foothold
in the Treaty Ports, they continued as arrogant as ever,
and finally over-stepped the mark in '56, boarding the British
ship Arrow (though whether she was entitled to fly the Union
Flag was debatable) and arresting her Chink crew because
one of 'em was believed to be a pirate (which some said he
wasn't, but one of his relatives might be). The usual Chinese
confusion, you see, and before you could say "Snooks!" we
had bombarded Canton, and the local Mandarin was offering
thirty dollars for British heads.
I believe it might have blown over if the clown Cobden,
abetted by Gladstone and D'lsraeli (there's an unholy
alliance, if you like), hadn't worked himself into a sweat in
Parliament, saying it was all our fault, and it was a scandal
the way our opium-traffickers abused the Chinese, who were
the most saintly folk on record, while British bounce and
arrogance were a byword, and we were just picking a quarrel,
more shame to us. This had Palmerston spitting his false
teeth all over the shop; he damned Cobden and the Chinks
for rascals both, said our honour had been flouted, and
anyway we had only bombarded Canton with the "utmost
forbearance" (good old Pam!), and was Cobden aware that
the Manchoos had beheaded 70,000 folk at Canton in the
past year, and were guilty of vices that were a disgrace to
human nature, hey?
Fine Parliamentary stuff, you see, and when Pam lost the
vote and had to go to the country, he won a thumping
majority (which was what the old scoundrel had been playing
for all along) and the Chinese war was on with a vengeance.
It was a scrappy business, but after we took Canton the
Chinks had to climb down and agree to a new treaty, admitting
us to inland trade, with Ambassadors at Pekin. But
being still as arrogant as ever, they dragged their heels about
signing, and when we sent a fleet up the Peiho to persuade
17
'em, damned if they didn't have a sudden burst of martial
valour, and handed us a splendid licking at the Taku Forts.
So now, in the spring of '60, with an uneasy truce between
Britain and China, Hope Grant was coming with an army of
British and Frogs, to convoy our ambassador to Pekin, and
make the Emperor sign.2
You must bear with my historical lecture, for I have to
show you how things stood if you are to understand my tale.
For all the official coolness between Pekin and ourselves,
commerce was still going on between our traders and Canton
(which we continued to hold) but the Carpenters were right
to wonder how long it might continue, with our invasion
imminent. Which brings me back to the point where I agreed
to escort their cargo of poppy up the Pearl, with the prospect
of a jolly river cruise, sixteen hundred sovs, and a fine frolic
with dear Phoebe when I got back to Hong Kong.
Mind you, as I leaned on the rail of the lead lorcha bearing
up beyond Lintin Island two days after our picnic, with the
rising sun rolling the fog-banks up the great estuary, I could
honestly say it wasn't either the cash or the lady that had
made me turn opium-runner. No, it was the fun of the thing,
the lure of sport-without-danger, the seeking for fresh sights
and amusements, like this magnificent Pearl River, with that
wondrous silver mist that I suppose gave it its name, and its
fairy islets beyond the Tiger's Gate, and the dawn breeze
rippling the shining water and filling the sails of the stubby
junks and lorchas and crazy fisher-craft - and the pug-nosed,
grinning Hong Kong boat girl rolling her poonts on the
thwart of a sampan and shouting: "Hi-ya, cap'n! Hi-ya! You
wanchee jiggee no wanchee jiggee? You payee two hunner'
cash, drinkee samshu? Jolleejollee!"
"Who you. Dragon Empress?" says I. "Come aboard, one
hunner' cash, maybe all-same samshu." They're the jolliest
wenches, the Hong Kong boaters, plump little sluts who
swim like fish and couple like stoats. She squealed with
laughter and plunged in, reached the lorcha in a few fast
strokes, and was hauled inboard, all wet and shiny and
giggling in her little loin-cloth. Anything less like an angel
of Providence you never saw, but that's what she was; if I'd
guessed, I'd ha' treated her with more respect than I did,
18
slapping her rump and sending her aft for later. For the
moment I was content to muse at the rail, enjoying the warm
sunshine and the distant green prospect of Lintin, where
the coolies could be seen languidly pursuing the only two
occupations known to the Chinese peasant: to wit, standing
stock-still up to the knees in paddy-water holding a bullock
on a rope, or shifting mud very slowly from one point to
another. Deny them these employments, and they would
simply lie down and die, which a good many of them seemed
to do anyway. I'm told that Napoleon once said that China
was a sleeping giant, and when she awoke the world would
be sorry. He didn't say who was going to get the bastards
out of bed.
I put this to Ward, the skipper commanding the two lorchas
which made up our little convoy. He was a brisk, wiry,
bright-eyed little Yankee about ten years my junior, and
though he hadn't been in China more than a month or two,
you couldn't have wished for a smarter hand at the helm of
a lorcha, or a sharper tongue when it came to keeping the
Chinese boatmen up to the mark; he was a young terrier,
and had learned his trade on American merchantmen, with
a mate's ticket, damn-your-eyes, which was fair going at his
age. For all that, he had an odd, soft streak; when one. of
the Chinks was knocked overside by a swinging boom, and
we lost way fishing him out, I looked to see Ward lay into
him with a rope's end for his clumsiness, or hang him from
the rail to dry. But he just laughed and cuffed the Chink's
head, with a stream of pigeon, and says to me:
"I fell overboard on my first voyage - and what d'ye think
I was doing? Chasing a butterfly, so help me, I was! Say, I was
a lot greener than that Chink, though! C'mon, ye blushing
Chinese cherubs, tailee on makee pull! Pullee, I say! Tell ye
what, colonel, it takes an awful lot o' these beggars to do
one man's work!"
That was when I observed that the Chinese were the idlest
rascals in creation, and he frowned and chuckled all together.
"I reckon," says he. "But they could be a fine people, for
all that. Give 'em some one to lead 'em, to drive 'em, to
show 'em how. They got the prime country in creation here
- when they find out how to use it. Say, and they're smart 19
you know they were civilised while we were still running
around with paint on? Why, they had paper an' gunpowder
centuries before we did!"
"Which they use to make kites and fireworks," says I. It
was plain he was an old China hand in the making - and after
a few weeks' acquaintance, too. "As for their civilisation,
it's getting rottener and more corrupt and decadent by the
minute. Look at their ramshackle government "
"Look at the Taipings, if you like!" cries he. "That's the
new China, mark my words! They'll stand this whole country
on its head, 'fore they're through, see if they don't!" He
took a big breath, smoothing his long black hair with both
hands in an odd nervous gesture; his eyes were shining with
excitement. "The new China! Boy, I'm going to get me a
section of that, though! Know what, colonel? - after this
trip, I might just take myself a long slant up the Yangtse and
join up with 'em. Tai'ping tieng-kwow, eh? The Kingdom of
Heavenly Peace - but can't they fight some? I guess so - and
you may be sure they're on the look-out for mercenaries why,
a go-ahead white man could go right to the top among
'em, maybe make Prince even, with a button on his hat!"
He laughed and slapped his fist, full of ginger.
"You're crazy," says I, "but since they are too, you'll fit
right in, I dare say."
"Fred T. Ward fits in anywhere, mister!" cries he, and then
he was away along the deck again, chivvying the boatmen to
trim the great mainsail, yelling his bastard pigeon and laughing
as he tailed on to the rope.
Not only China-struck, but a well-fledged lunatic, I could
see. Of course he wasn't alone in having a bee in his bonnet
about the Taipings; even the European Powers were keeping
an anxious eye on them, wondering how far they might go.
In case you haven't heard of them, I must tell you that they
were another of those incredible phenomena that made
China the topsy-turvey mess it was, like some fantastic land
from Gulliver, where everything was upside down and out of
kilter. Talk about moonbeams from cucumbers; the Taipings
were even dafter than that.
They began back in the '40s, when a Cantonese clerk v failed his examinations and fell into a trance, from which he
20
emerged proclaiming that he was Christ's younger brother a
ploy which, I'm thankful to say, I never tried on old
Arnold after making a hash of my Greek construes at Rugby.
Anyway, this clerk decided he had a God-given mission to
overthrow the Manchoos and establish "the Tai'ping" - the
Kingdom of Eternal Peace or Heavenly Harmony or what
you will. He went about preaching a sort of bastard Christianity
which he'd picked up from missionary tracts, and in any
normal country he'd either have been knocked on the head
or given a University Chair. But this being China, his crusade
had caught on, against all sense and reason, and within a few
years he'd built up an enormous army, devastated several
provinces, thrashed various Imperial generals, captured
dozens of cities including the old capital, Nanking, and come
within an ace of Pekin itself. Getting madder by the minute,
mark you, but among the millions of peasants who'd rallied
to him and swallowed his religious moonshine, there were
some likely lads who plotted the campaigns, fought the
battles, and imposed his amazing notions of worship and
discipline on a sizeable slice of the population.
This was the famous Taiping Rebellion*, the bloodiest war
ever fought on earth, and it was still going great guns in '60.
Countless millions had already died in it, but neither the
Imperials nor the rebels looked like winning just yet; the
Imps were besieging Nanking, but not making much of it,
while various Taiping armies were rampaging elsewhere,
spreading the gospel and piling up the corpses, as not infrequently
happens.
There was some sympathy for the Taipings among those
Europeans (missionaries mostly) who mistakenly thought
they were real Christians, and a few enthusiasts, as well as
rascals and booty-hunters, had enlisted with them. Meanwhile
our government, and the other foreign states who had
some trade interest in China (and hoped to have a lot more) were watching uneasily, afraid to intervene, but devilish
concerned about the outcome.
So there you are: a Manchoo government with an idiot
Emperor who thought the world was square, fighting a
See Appendix I.
21
lethargic war against rebels led by a lunatic, and preparing
to resist a Franco-British invasion which wasn't to be a war,
exactly, but rather a great armed procession to escort our
Ambassador to Pekin and persuade the Chinks to keep their
treaty obligations - which included legalising the opium
traffic at that moment personified by H. Flashman and his
band of yellow brothers3. And in case you think I was
incautious, heading up-river at such a time, take a squint at
the map, and be aware that all the bloodshed and beastliness
was a long way from Canton; you'd not have caught me near
the place otherwise.
We were into the Bocca Tigris, where the estuary narrows
to a broad river among islands, before I started to earn my
corn. Out from Chuenpee Fort comes an Imperial patrol
boat with some minor official riff-raff aboard, hollering to us
to heave to; Ward cocked an eye at me, but I shook my
head, and we swept past them without so much as "good
day"; they clamoured in our wake for a while, beating gongs
and waving wildly, but gave up when they saw we'd no
intention of stopping. Ward, who'd been anxiously scanning
the big forts on the high bluffs overlooking the channel,
shook his head with relief and grinned at me.
"Is it always so easy?" cries he, and I told him, not quite,
we'd meet more determined inquiry farther on, but I would
talk our way past. Sure enough, in late afternoon, when we
were clearing Tiger Island, up popped a splendid galley, all
gold and scarlet, with dragon banners and long ribbons
fluttering from her upper works, her twenty oars going like
clockwork as she steered to intercept us. She had three or
four jingals* in her bows, and fifty men on her deck if there
was one; under a little canopy on her poop there was a
Mandarin in full fig of button-hat and silk robe, seated in
state - and flying a kite, with a little lad to help him with the
string. Even the most elderly and dignified Chinese delight
in kites, you know, and no city park is complete without a
score of sober old buffers pottering about like contented
Buddhas with their airy toys fluttering and swooping overhead.
This was a fine bird-kite, a great silver stork so lifelike
* Heavy muskets mounted on tripods and worked by two men.
22
you expected it to spread its wings as it hovered hundreds of
feet above us.
To complete this idyllic scene, the galley carried on its
bows a huge wooden cage, crammed with about twenty
wretched coolies so close-packed they could hardly stir criminals
being carried to their place of punishment, probably.
Their wailing carried across the water as the galley
feathered her oars and an officer bawled across, demanding
our business.
"Ruth and Naomi, lorchas from Hong Kong, carrying
opium to the factories," shouts I in my best Mandarin, and
he said he must come aboard and examine us. I told Ward
to keep way on the lorchas, and on no account to heave to.
"If those thieving bastards once get on our deck, they'll have
the stoppings out of our teeth," I told him. "But if we keep
going, there's nothing they can do about it."
"Suppose they fire on us?" says he, eyeing the jingals.
"And start another war?" I nodded at the Union Jack at
our stern, and hollered across the water:
"Our licence is in order, your excellency, and we are in
great haste, and must proceed to Canton without delay. So
you can bugger off, see?"
This provoked a great screaming of instructions to heave
to immediately, but no one moved to the jingals, so I jumped
on the rail and pointed to our flag.
"This is a British vessel, and I am a close friend of Pahsia-li,
who'll have your yellow hide if you get gay with us,
d'ye hear?" In fact, I'd never met Harry Parkes, who was
our man at Canton - and pretty well lord and master of the
place - but I guessed the mention of his name might cause
'em to think. "Sheer off, damn you, or we'll have half the
oars out of you!" She was gliding in to head us off, not thirty
feet away, and in a moment her oars would be crumpled
against our hull; it was a question of who gave way. Suddenly
she veered on to a parallel course, with the officer shrieking
to us to heave to; I made a rude gesture, and he ran to the
Mandarin for instructions.
I was half-expecting what came next. There was a barked
order, and a dozen of the galley's crew ran forward and
' seized on the wooden cage in which the criminals were
23
packed like so many herring. On the order they heaved,
sliding the cage until it was poised on the lip of the bow
platform; her oars took the water again, keeping her level
with us - and then they just looked across at us, and the
officer repeated his demand to us to heave to. I turned away
and told Ward to keep her going. He was gaping, white-faced;
the poor devils in the cage were squealing like things demented
and struggling helplessly. '
"My God!" cries he. "Are they going to drown them?"
"Undoubtedly," says I. "Unless we heave to and allow
ourselves to be boarded and plundered on some trumped-up
excuse. In which case they'll certainly drown 'em later, just
the same. But they're hoping we don't know that - and that
being soft-hearted foreign devils we'll spill our wind and
come to. It's a special kind of Chinese blackmail, you see.
So just hold your course and pay 'em no heed."
He gulped, once, but he was a cool hand; he turned his
back as I had done, and yelled to the helmsman to hold her
steady. There was dead silence on our deck; only the creaking
of the timbers and the swish of water along our side. Another
yell to heave to from the galley . . . silence ... a shrieked
order ... an awful, heart-rending chorus of wails and
screams, and an almighty splash. 1
"Fine people, with a prime country, as you were saying,"
says I, and strolled over to the rail again. The galley was still
abreast, but in her wake there was a great bubbling and
boiling to mark where the cage was sinking to the bottom of
the Pearl. Ward came up beside me; his teeth were gritted
and there was great beads of sweat on his brow.
"Old China or New China," says I, "it's all the same,
young Fred."
"The goddam swine!" cries he. "The cold-blooded yellow
bastard - look at him there, with his goddam kite! He hasn't
even moved a muscle!" His face was working with rage.
"Goddam him! Goddam him to hell!"
"Amen," says I, and watched the galley slowly falling
astern before turning back towards the shore, the silver
stork-kite hanging in the air far above her. Suddenly a
brightly-coloured object went whirling up the string, and
then another - gaily-painted paper butterflies which were
24
brought to a sudden halt by a twitch on the kite-string, so
that they fluttered in the breeze, glinting and turning, just
below the stork.
"Would you have heaved to when they made to drown
those poor beggars, Fred?" I asked.
He hesitated. "I guess, "says he, and looked at me. "That's
why you're aboard, huh?"
I nodded. "You see, they daren't offer us violence - not
after the Arrow affair. And they've no real right to stop an
opium boat - but they'll use every trick they know to bluff
you, and once they're aboard, and you don't speak Chinese,
and they outnumber you ten to one - well, they can sort of
confiscate your cargo - oh, and release it later, no doubt,
with apologies . . . and lo and behold, your chests of first-rate
chandoo have been replaced, hey presto! by a ton of opium
dross. See?"
"Bastards!" was all he said. "Him an' his goddam kite!"
"Speaking of which - see those butterflies? Somewhere up
near the Second Bar an active little Chink with a spy-glass is
taking note of 'em - which means that round about the Six
Flats we'll meet another deputation, with a much more
important Mandarin on board. It may be politic to present
him with a couple of chests, rather than risk any embarrassment."

"How's that?" His voice was sharp. "Give him some of
Sour opium?"
"What's sixteen quid out of sixteen thousand?" I wondered.

He was silent for a moment. "I guess," says he, and then:
"Six Flats is up beyond the First Bar, isn't it?"
I said it was, and that we ought to be there tomorrow
noon, and after a little more talk he said he'd better take
post on the second lorcha for the night, as we had agreed,
so that both vessels were under proper control.
"Remember- keep close up, and don't stop for anything,"
says I, and he swore he wouldn't. He didn't bother with a
small boat, but just dropped over the side and trod water
until the second lorcha came by, and he scrambled aboard.
A good boy that, thinks I; green, but steady. By Gad, I
didn't know the half of him, did I?
25
The boatmen were cooking their evening meal forward,
but I'd brought cold fowl and beef, and after a capital meal
and a bottle of Moselle while the sun went down I was in
splendid trim for my Hong Kong girl, who was sitting by the
stern-rail, singing high-pitched and combing her long hair.
We went down to the tiny cabin, and were buckled to in no
time; a fine, fat little romp she was, too, taking a great
pleasure in her work and giggling and squealing as we
thrashed about, but no great practitioner of the gentle art.
But you don't expect Montez or Lily Langtry for sixpence,
which was what I was paying her; she was a crude, healthy
animal, and when I'd played myself out with her she retired
with a flask of the promised samshu and I settled down to
my well-earned repose.
She was back at first light, though, crawling in beside me
and grunting as she rubbed her boobies across my face, which
is better than an alarm clock any day. I laid hold, and was
preparing to set about her when I realised that she was
trembling violently, and the pretty pug face was working
with a strange, ugly tic.
"What the devil's the matter?" says I, still half-asleep, and
she twitched and sniffed at me.
"Wantee piecee pipe!" says she, whimpering. "Mass'
gimme! Piecee pipe!"
"Oh, lord!" says I. "Get one from the boatmen, can't
you?" She wanted her opium, and I could see she'd be no
fun until she'd had it. But the boatmen hadn't any, or
wouldn't give it, apparently, and she began to blubber and
twitch worse than ever, sobbing "Piecee pipe!" and pulling
the pipe from her loin-cloth and shoving it at me. I slapped
her across the cabin, and she lay there crying and shivering;
I'd have let her lie, but her first awakening of me had put
me in the mood for a gallop, and it occurred to me that with
a few puffs of black smoke inside her she might be stimulated
to a more interesting performance than she'd given the
previous night. It was only a step under the companion to
where half a ton of the best chandoo was to be had; Josiah
would never grudge a skewerful in such a good cause, I was
sure.
So I growled at her to get her lamp going and bring
26
her pin, and she came panting as I pushed through the
chick-screen to the long main hold which ran the full length
of the lorcha under its flush deck. There were the chests, and
while she twitched and whined at my elbow I rummaged for
a handspike and stuck it under the nearest lid. She had her
little lamp lit, and was holding out the skewer in a trembling
paw - as I said before, she was a most unlikely-looking
guardian angel.
I levered the lid up with a splintering of cheap timber, and
pulled back the corner of the oilskin cover beneath. And
then, as I recall, I said "Holy God!" and came all over
thoughtful as I contemplated the contents of the chest. For
if I hadn't had Mrs Phoebe Carpenter's word for it that those
contents were high-grade prepared Patna opium, I'd have
sworn that they were Sharps carbines. All neatly packed in
grease, too.
"s
27
There was a time, in my callow youth, when
the discovery that I was running not opium but guns would
have had me bolting frantically for the nearest patch of
timber, protesting that it was nothing to do with me, constable,
and the chap in charge would be along in a moment.
For opium, into China, was a commonplace if not entirely
respectable commodity, whereas firearms, into anywhere,
are usually highly contraband, and smuggling 'em is as often
as not a capital offence. But if twenty years of highly active
service had taught me anything, it was that there is a time to
flee in blind panic, and a time to stand fast and think. Given
the leisure, I daresay I'd have replaced that chest lid, slapped
the slut who was staring wildly at me, and taken a turn on
deck to reflect, thus:
Had Mrs Carpenter spun me a web of yarn, and were she
and dear Josiah aware that their cargo consisted of the
very latest repeating weapons? Undoubtedly; Josiah had
supervised the loading of the chests, and what he knew his
wife knew, too. Very good, to whom should a God-fearing
British clergyman and his wife be smuggling guns in China?
Not to any British recipient, and certainly not to the Manchoo
Imperials - which left the Taiping rebels. Utterly incredible
- until one reflected that there were Taiping enthusiasts
among our people, and none warmer than those clergy who
believed that the "long-haired devils" were devout Christians
fighting the good fight against the Imperial heathen. Were
Carpenter and his wife sufficiently demented for that? Presumably;
if you're religious you can believe anything. Well,
then, if they wanted to supply Sharps carbines to the Taipings,
why not ship 'em up the Yangtse to Nanking, where
the Taipings were in force, instead of to Canton, where there
wasn't a Taiping within a hundred miles? Simple: Nanking
28
was under siege, the Yangtse was a damned dangerous river,
and they'd have had to run the stuff through Shanghai, where
there'd have been a far greater risk of detection.
But, dammit, how could they hope to smuggle guns into
Canton, where our garrison and gunboats were thick as fleas,
and the chests would have to be opened at the factories?
That was plainly impossible - so they didn't intend the lorchas
ever to reach Canton. No, if their skipper turned eastward
into the web of tributaries and creeks short of the First Bar,
to some predetermined rendezvous ... a Taiping mule-train
waiting on a deserted river-bank . . . off-load and away upcountry
. . . why, it could be done as safe as sleep. And
poor old Flashy, whom they'd needed to keep meddling and
acquisitive Chinese officials at bay during the run past the
forts, and who had performed that service to admiration why,
he'd be no trouble. Could he, Her Majesty's loyal
servant, go running to Parkes at Canton to confess that he'd
been instrumental in providing the Taipings with enough
small arms to keep 'em going until doomsday? Not half.
And that little snake Ward must be up to the neck in it!
Hadn't he announced himself a Taiping-worshipper only
yesterday? Wait, though - he'd also admitted that he would
have have to for the Imperial galley, which would have been
fatal to him ... By gum, had that been acting for my benefit?
Yes, because later when I'd remarked that we might have to
part with a chest or two as "squeeze" to the Mandarins, he'd
been taken suddenly aback, until he'd reflected that the
lorchas would never get that close to Canton. The lying,
dissimulating, Yankee snake . . .
That, I say, is how I would have reasoned, given the leisure
- and I'd have been dead right, too. As it was, no leisure
was afforded me; some of it went through my mind in a flash
- the bit about Ward, for instance - but I hadn't had time to
slam the chest cover down when I felt the lorcha swing
violently off course, her mainsail cracked like a cannon,
there was a yelling and scampering of bare feet overhead,
and I had flung the wench aside, dived into the cabin,
grabbed my Adams from beneath my pillow, and was up the
companion like a jackrabbit.
I emerged just in time to duck beneath the main-sail boom
29
as it came swinging ponderously overhead with a couple of
boatmen clinging on, yelling bloody murder as they tried to
secure it. The others were at the rail, pigtails flapping and
chattering like monkeys, staring forward. By God, the second
lorcha was now ahead, and there was Ward at her helm; we
were close in by the east bank - it must be the east, for there
was the sun gleaming dully through the morning mist, the
first rays turning the waters to gold around us. But we were
running south'. My lorcha was just completing her turn; I
spun round in bewilderment. Two of the boatmen had the
tiller jammed over as far as it would go - and a furlong
behind us, its oars going like the Cambridge crew as it raced
down towards us, was a dandy little launch rowed by fellows
in white shirts and straw hats, with a little chap in the
sternsheets egging them on. And half a mile beyond that,
emerging from a creek on the east bank, was an undoubted
Navy sloop. She was flying the Union Jack.
There are times, as I said, to run, and times to think - and
by God I couldn't do either! I know now that Ward, a
stranger to the Pearl, and with only a clown of a boatman as
pilot, had missed his turning in the dark, and run slap into
one of our Canton patrollers, but in that moment I was aware
only that the blue-jackets were upon us, and poor old Flash
was sitting on top of the damnedest load of contraband you
ever saw. I acted on blind instinct, thank heaven; the launch
was closing in, and there was only one thing for it.
"Ward, you toad!" I bellowed. "Take that!" And springing
on to the rail to get a clear shot at him, I let blaze with the
Adams. He sprang away from the tiller of the other lorcha,
and I loosed off another shot which struck splinters from his
rail; his boat yawed crazily, and in the crisis he behaved with
admirable presence of mind: he was over her rail like a
porpoise, taking the water clean and striking out like billyho
for the bank, not a hundred yards off. I jumped down,
roaring, and was about to send another ball after him when
one of my helmsmen whipped out his kampilan and came at
me, screaming like a banshee. I shot him point-blank, and
the force of it flung him back against the rail, clutching his
guts and pouring blood. Before his fellows could move I had
my back to the rail, flourishing the Adams, and bawling to
30
them to stand off or I'd blow 'em to blazes. For an instant
they hesitated, hands on hilts, the ugly yellow faces contorted
with rage and fear; I banged a shot over their heads, and the
whole half-dozen scampered across beside their wounded
mate. Behind me I heard a young voice, shrill with excitement,
yelling "In oars! Follow me!", the launch was bumping
against our side, and here was a young snotty, waving a
cutlass as big as himself, and half a dozen tars at his heels,
jumping on to our deck.
"Come along, you fellows!" cries I heartily. "You're just
in time! Careful, now . . . these are desperate villains!" And
I gave a final nourish of the Adams at the boatmen, who
were crouched, half naked and looking as piratical as sin,
beside their leaking comrade, before turning to greet the
gaping midshipman.
"Flashman, colonel, army intelligence," says I briskly, and
held out my hand. He took it in bewilderment, goggling at
me and at the boatmen. "Just have your lads watch out for
those rascals, will you? They're gun-runners, you know."
"My stars!" says he, and then gave a little start. "Flashman,
did you say - sir?" He was a sturdy, snub-nosed young halfpint
with a bulldog chin, and he was staring at me with
disbelief. "Not ... I mean - Colonel Flashman?"
Well, I don't suppose there was a soul in England - not in
the Services, leastways - who hadn't heard of the gallant
Flashy, and no doubt he was recognising me from the illustrations
he'd seen in the press. I grinned at him.
"That's right, youngster. Here, you'd best put some of
your fellows aboard that other lorcha - why, blast it, the
brute's getting clear away!" And I pointed over the rail to
the near shore, where the figure of Ward was floundering
ashore in the shallows. Even as we watched he disappeared
into the tall reeds, and I sighed with inward relief. That was
the star witness safely out of the way. I damned him and
turned away, laughing ruefully, and the snotty came out of
his trance like a good 'un.
"Jenkins, Smith - cover those fellows! Bland - take the
launch to that other lorcha and make her safe!" The other
lorcha, I was pleased to see, was floundering about with her
i crew at sixes and sevens. As his tars jumped to it, the snotty
31
turned back to me. "I don't understand, sir. Gunrunners,
did you say?"
"As ever was, my son. What's your name?"
"Fisher, sir," says he. "Jack Fisher, midshipman."
"Come along, Jackie," says I, clapping him on the shoulder
like the cheery soul I was - no side, you see. "And I'll show
you the wickedness of the world."
I took him below, and he gaped at the sight of the Hong
Kong girl, who was crouched shivering and bare-titted. But
he gaped even wider when I showed him the contents of the
"opium" chests.
"My stars!" says he again. "What does it mean?"
"Guns for the Taiping rebels, my boy," says I grimly.
"You arrived just in time, you see. Another half-hour and
I'd have had to tackle these scoundrels single-handed. Your
captain got my message, I suppose?"
"I dunno, sir," says he, owl-eyed. "We saw your lorchas,
turning tail, and I was sent to investigate. We'd no
notion . . .'
So Ward's guilty conscience had been his undoing - if he'd
held his course the Navy would never have looked at him, and
if they had, why, he was just carrying opium, and had the
famous Flashy to vouch for him. For he wasn't to know I'd
sniffed out his real cargo. Gad, though, if that slut hadn't
begged for a pipe ofchandoo, I'd have been in a pretty fix, with
Ward panicking, the Navy's suspicions aroused, and myself
flat-footed when they came aboard and started rummaging.
Thanks to her, I'd had those few minutes to plot my course.
"Mr Fisher," says I, "I think it's time I had a word with
your skipper, what? Perhaps you'd be good enough to take
me aboard?"
You see, of course, what I was about. It was the ploy I'd
used on the slave-ship Balliol College in '48, when the Yankee
Navy caught us off Cape San Antonio, and to save my skin
I'd welcomed our captors with open arms and let on that I'd
only been with the slavers to spy on them*. Then, I'd had
Admiralty papers to prove my false identity, but here I had
something infinitely better - my fame and reputation. For
* See Flash for Freedom!
32
who, boarding a gun-runner and finding valiant old Flashy
holding the miscreants at bay single-handed, would suspect
that he was one of the gang? Heroes who have led the Light
Brigade and braved the heathen hordes at Cawnpore and
Kabul, are above suspicion; Master Fisher might well be
fogged as to what I was doing there, exactly, but it never
crossed his innocent young mind that I was anything but
what I'd announced myself - an army officer apprehending
villainous foreign smugglers. And since I was from intelligence,
no doubt there was some splendid mystery behind it,
and explanations would follow. Quite.
Nor did the prospect of explaining trouble me - much.
After all, I was Flashy, and it was well-known officially that
I'd been up to my ears in secret affairs in India and Central
Asia, and here, they would think, was more of the same.
Once I'd determined what tale to tell, it was simply a matter
of carrying it off with modest assurance (trust me for that)
and a pinch of mystery to make 'em feel confidential and
cosy, and they'd swallow whatever I told 'em, nem. con.
There wouldn't be a soul to give me the lie, and some of it
would be true, anyway. (I'm proud to say it never occurred
to me to tell the real truth, with Mrs Carpenter, etc. They'd
never have swallowed that - which is ironic. Anyway, it
would have made me look an imbecile.)
So when I was aboard the sloop, and its young commander
had listened to little Fisher's report and my own terse embellishments,
and whistled softly at the sight of the lorchas'
cargo, I was perfectly prepared for the inevitable question,
asked with respectful bewilderment:
"But. . . how came you to be aboard of them, sir?"
I looked him in the eye with just a touch of tightlipped
smile. "I think, commander," says I, "that I'd best report
direct to Mr Parkes at Canton. Least said, what? You received
no message from him about . . .?" and I nodded at
the lorchas. "Just so. Perhaps he was right. Well, I'll be
obliged if you'll carry me to him as soon as may be. In the
meantime," I permitted myself a wry grin, "take good care
of these Chinese villains, won't you? I've been after 'em too
long to want to lose 'em now. Oh, and by the way - that boy
Fisher shapes well."4
33
He couldn't get me to Canton fast enough; we were in the
Whampoa Channel by noon, and two hours later dropped
anchor off Jackass Point, opposite the old factories. Then
there was a delay while the lorchas and their crews were
taken in charge, and the commander went to make his report
to his chief, and to Parkes - I didn't mind, since it gave me
time to polish the tale I was going to tell - and it wasn't until
the following morning that I was escorted through the English
Garden to the office and residence of Harry Parkes, Esq.,
H.M. Commissioner at Canton and (bar Bruce at Shanghai)
our chief man in China. From all I'd heard, he was formidable:
he knew the country better than any foreigner living,
they said, for though he wasn't thirty he'd been out since
childhood, served through the Opium Wars, been on cutting-out
expeditions as a schoolboy, done all manner of secret
work and diplomatic ruffianing since, and carried things with
a high hand against the Chinese - whose language he spoke
rather better than the Emperor.
He greeted (I won't say welcomed) me with brisk formality,
stiff and upright behind his official desk, not a hair
out of place on the sleek dark head. Energy was in every line
of him, from the sharp prominent nose to the firm capable
hands setting his papers just so; he was all business at once,
in a clear, hard voice - and suddenly, convincing him didn't
seem quite so easy.
"This is a singular business, Sir Harry! What's behind it?"
"Not much," says I, hoping I was right. Clever and easy,
I don't mind - I'm that way myself - but clever and brusque
unsettles me. I handed him the "requested and required"
note Palmerston had given me when I went to India - the
usual secret passport, but pretty faded now. "You had no
message from me?"
"I did not know you were in China, until yesterday." He
glanced up sharply from the passport. "This is more than
three years old."
"When I left England. What I've been doing since will
have to stay under the rose, I'm afraid "
He gave a little barking laugh. "Not altogether, I fancy,"
says he, with what he probably imagined was a smile. "Your
knighthood and Victoria Cross are hardly state secrets."
34
"I meant since then - this past year. It has nothing to do
with this affair, anyway - that's a tale that's soon told." I
breathed an inward prayer, meeting the steady grey eyes in
that lean lawyer face. "I'm due home on the Princess
Charlotte, sailing on the eleventh "
"In three days? Grant is due on the thirteenth. I beg your
pardon, pray continue."
"Aye, well, two nights ago I was over in Macao, looking
up an old chum from Borneo, when I was with Brooke." No
harm in dropping in that glorious acquaintance, I thought.
"I needn't mention his name, it's of no importance, but he's
a downy bird, Chinese, with an eye in every bush - an old
I White Lily Society man, you know the sort ..."
"His name might be valuable," says Parkes, and his hand / went ever so casually to a vase of flowers on his desk; he
lifted it with three fingers round the stem, and set it down
again. Clever bastard.
"Exactly," says I, and ran my thumb over three fingertips5,
just to show him. "Well, we talked shop, and by way of
gossip he let fall that a shipment of arms was going upriver
to the Taipings - Shih-ta-kai's people, he thought. Which
was nothing to me - until he mentioned that they were British
bought-and-paid-for, though he didn't know who. Not
strictly my indaba, you may say, but it struck me that if it
got about that British arms were going to the LongHaired
Devils, it might cause us some embarrassment with Pekin,
you know?"
I looked for a nod, but he just sat there with his fingers laced
on the blotter before him. I'd a feeling that if you'd fired a gun
in his ear he wouldn't have taken his eyes from mine.
"So I thought I should have a look. Nothing official to be
done on Portuguese territory, of course, but my friend knew
where the lorchas were preparing to weigh - and there they
were, sure enough, ostensibly loaded with opium, if you
please. On the spur of the moment I approached the skipper-"

"That would be Ward."
It was like a kick in the throat. I couldn't help staring, and
had to improvise swiftly to explain my obvious astonishment.
-- "Ward, you say? He told me his name was Foster." The
-- 35
sweat was cold on my spine. "You knew . . . about him, and
the shipment?"
"Only his name. My agents in Hong Kong and Macao
send notice of all opium shipments, vessels, owners, and
skippers." He lifted a list from his desk. "Lorchas Ruth and Naomi, owned by Yang Fang and Co., Shanghai, commander
F. T. Ward. No suggestion, of course, that he carried anything
but opium." He laid it down, and waited.
"Well, on impulse, I asked him for a lift to Canton." By
gum, he'd shaken me for a second, but if that was the extent
of his knowledge I was still safe - but was it? This was a foxy
one - and on instinct I did the riskiest thing a liar can do: I
decided to change my story. I'd been about to tell him I'd
stowed away, full of duty and holy zeal, and come thundering
out at the critical moment, to prevent the rascals escaping
when our sloop have in sight. Suddenly I knew it wouldn't
do - not with this cold clam. I've been lying all my life, and
I know: when in doubt, get as close to the truth as you can,
and hang on like grim death.
"I asked him for a lift to Canton - and if you ask what was
in my mind, I can't tell you. I knew it was my duty to stop
those guns - and placed as I was, without authority in a
foreign port, that meant staying with 'em, somehow, and
taking whatever chance offered."
"You might," he interrupted, "have informed the Portuguese."

"I might, but I didn't - and I doubt if you would, either."
I gave him just a touch of the Colonel, there. "Anyway, he
refused me, mighty curt. I offered passage money, but he
wouldn't budge - which settled it for me, for any honest
trader would have agreed. I was going off, wondering what
to do next, when he suddenly called me back, and asked did
I know the river, and did I speak Chinese? I said I did, he
chewed it over, and then offered to take me if I'd act as
interpreter on the voyage. I had only a moment aside to tell
my Chinese friend to get word to you, or Hong Kong, of
what was forward. But you've had no word from him?"
"None, Sir Harry," and not a flicker of expression - I
could have brained the man. There's nothing more discouraging
than lying to a poker face, when what you need is gasps
36
and whistles and cries of "I'll be damned!" and "What
happened then?" to whet your prevarications.
"Aye, well, I can't say I'm surprised. He'll talk to a pal,
but he's leery of official circles, blast him. Well, we sailed,
and what I needed, of course, was a squint at the cargo. But
they never left me alone for a moment. Foster -" I changed
the name just in time "- and the Chinks were always on
hand, so I must bide my time. I stayed awake the first night,
but no chance offered; the second night, I'm afraid, I just
caulked out." A shrug, and rueful Flashy smile, followed by
an eager glint in the eye. "But then I had a splendid stroke
of luck. Just before dawn, a native girl of the crew - a cook
or some such thing, I suppose - woke me, begging for a pipe
of opium! Would you believe it? There was no one about and
here was a heaven-sent chance to open a chest, with a
ready explanation if I were detected. So I did - and there
were the Sharps!"
God, it sounded lame - especially the true parts, which I
thought was damned hard. I waited; if the man were human,
he must say something. He did.
"You must have formed some plan by this time - what did
you hope to do, alone, against so many?" He sounded
impatient - and downright curious.
"For the life of me, Mr Parkes, I wasn't sure." I grinned
him straight in the eye, bluff, honest Harry. "Tackle the
crew with my revolver? Try to scuttle her? I don't know, sir.
By the grace of God the sloop have in sight just then . . .
and I did tackle 'em! And the rest you know."
He sat for a moment, and I braced myself for the incredulous
questions, the outright disbelief - and then he gave his
sudden bark of a laugh, and struck the bell at his elbow.
"Some coffee, Sir Harry? I'm sure you deserve it. That,
sir," says he, shaking his head, "is the most damned unlikely
tale I ever heard - and what I'd say to it if I didn't know it
for true, I cannot imagine! Well, it is unlikely, you'll own?"
He chuckled again, and it seemed to me an indignant frown
was in order, so I gave one, but it was wasted since he
was talking to the bearer with the coffee-tray. Relief and
bewilderment filled me; he'd swallowed it ... he knew it
was true . . .? What the deuce . . .?
37
"Speaking in my official capacity, I have to say that your
actions were entirely irregular," says he, handing me a cup,
"and might have had serious results - for yourself. You
risked your life, you know - and your honour." He looked
hard at me. "A senior officer, found aboard an armssmuggler,
without authority? Even with your distinguished
name . . . well..." He stirred his own cup, and then smiled
- and, d'ye know, I realised he was just twenty-nine, and not
the fifty-odd he'd sounded. "Between ourselves, it was a
damned cool bit of work, and I'm obliged to you. But for
you, they might have given us the slip; they'd certainly have
made some sort of fight of it. My congratulations, sir. I beg
your pardon - more sugar?"
Well, this was Sunday in Brighton all of a sudden, wasn't
it, though? I'd hoped for acceptance, with or without the
doubtful glances that have followed me round the world for
eighty erratic years - but hardly for this. It didn't make sense,
even - for it was a damned unlikely tale, as he'd said.
"Saving my poor veracity," says I, "you say you know it's true?" Flashy ain't just bluff and manly, you see - he's
sharp, too, and I was playing my character. "May I know
how?"
"I'd not deny myself the pleasure of enlightening you,"
says he briskly. "We have known for some time that arms
shipments, provided by a syndicate of British and American
sympathisers, have been going up the Pearl to the Taipings
- Shih-ta-kai, as your Chinese friend said. Who these sympathisers
are, we don't know -" that was good news, too,
"since the work was entirely overseen by a most skilful
Chinese, a former pirate, who brought the arms to Macao,
shipped them up the Pearl in lorchas, and passed them to
the Taipings . . . where? To be brief, we smoked the pirate
out a week ago, and he met with an accident." He set down
his cup. "That forced the syndicate's hand - they needed a
new man, and they chose Ward, heaven knows why, since
he knew nothing of the Pearl, or of China. But he's a good
seaman, they say, and from what we know, devoted to the
Taiping cause. The idiot. And at the last moment, when he
must have been wondering how the deuce he was going to
find his way up-river, without a word of Chinese in his head,
38
and rendezvous with the Taipings, you dropped into his lap.
We may guess," says he, "what your fate must have been if
he had reached his destination. But I'm sure you weighed
that."
I gave an offhand shrug, and when we'd picked the shattered
remnants of my cup from the floor, he pinged his bell
again. "Fortunately, we now had Mr Ward and his convoy
under observation at Macao, and our sloops were waiting
for him beyond the Second Bar. Come in!" cries he, and the
door opened to admit the prettiest little Chinese girl, in a
flowered robe and high block shoes; a Manchoo, by her
coiled hair and unbound feet. She smiled and bobbed to
Parkes, and glanced sidelong in my direction.
"An-yat-heh!" snaps Parkes, and she turned and bobbed
at me. I could only nod back, mystified - and then my heart
lurched. She was washed and dressed and painted up like a
Mandarin's daughter, but there was no mistaking. She was
the Hong Kong boat girl.
"Thank you, An-yat-heh!" says Parkes, and she bobbed
again, shot me another slantendicular look, and pittipittied
out.
"An-yat-heh," says Parkes drily, "is a most capable and,
I fear, most immoral young woman. She is also the best spy
on the Pearl River. For the past week she has been keeping
close watch on Frederick Townsend Ward. She saw his
lorchas sail from Macao, and followed in a sampan manned
by other of our agents. She would have contrived to get
aboard the lorchas," he went on impassively, "even if you
had not been there, for it was her task to see where the cargo
was landed, in the event that Ward had eluded our patrols.
She was surprised to learn, from eavesdropping on the crew,
that you were apparently unaware of the true nature of the
cargo - for of course the smugglers were not to know that
you already had their secret, and spoke of you as a dupe, to
be disposed of when you had served your purpose. She was
pleased, she tells me, to discover that you were not one of
the smugglers; in some ways she is a naive, affectionate girl,
and seems to have formed an attachment to you."
Whether this was accompanied by a leer, a frown, or
nothing at all, I can't say - knowing Parkes, probably the
39
last. I was in too much mental turmoil to notice - by God,
the luck! For it fitted - my tale to Parkes corroborated exactly
what she must have told him of the voyage. But if I'd given
him the stowaway yarn ... it didn't bear thinking about. I
put it by, and listened to the brisk, impersonal voice.
"She is, as I said, a resourceful young woman. When the
sloop was sighted, she determined to draw your attention to
the cargo, in the hope that when you saw how you had been
deceived, you might cause some disturbance, and hinder
their escape - as indeed you did. Having no English but
pigeon, and doubting her ability to make you understand
Cantonese, she hit on the novel plan of persuading you to
open a chest by pleading with you for opium."
I sat quiet for a moment - and if you want to know what
I was thinking, it wasn't what an almighty narrow shave I'd
had, or of prayers of thanksgiving, or anything of that sort.
No, I was asking myself when, if ever, I'd been so confoundedly
fooled by two different women in the space of four days.
Mrs Phoebe Carpenter and An-yat-heh, bless 'em. White or
yellow, they were a hazardous breed in China, that was plain.
Parkes, with the satisfied air of a rooster who has done
crowing, was regarding me expectantly.
"Well, she's a brave girl," says I. "Smart, too. And you,
sir, are to be congratulated on the efficiency of your secret
service."
"Oh, we get about," says he.
"I'm sorry that rascal Foster - Ward, did you say? - got
clear away." I scowled, Flashy-like. "I've a score to settle
with that one."
"Not in China, Sir Harry, if you please." He was all
commissioner again. "He served you a scurvy trick, no doubt,
but the less that is heard of this business the better. I shall
require your word on that," and he gave me his stiff-collar
look. "It has all been quite unofficial, you see. No British
law has been broken. The gun-running offence took place
within the Imperial Chinese Government's jurisdiction; we
had no legal right to detain or hinder Ward and his fellows.
But," he gave another of his sour smiles, "we do have the
gunboats. And since Her Majesty's Government is strictly
neutral as between the Imperials and the Taipings, it is
40
certainly not in our interest that British citizens should be
arming the rebels. A thought which prompted your own
action, you remember. No." He squared off his pencils in
columns of threes. "We must consider the incident happily
- and in your case fortunately - concluded."
That, of course, was the main thing. I was clear, by the
grace of God and dear little An-yat-heh. There would be no
inconvenient inquiries which might have led back to the
conniving Mrs Carpenter - who, it occurred to me, might
well be blackmailed to bed before I sailed for home. As for
Ward, I'd not have gone near the dangerous brute; I gave
Parkes my word with feigned reluctance.
"He may not be such a rascal, you know." Parkes frowned,
as though it irritated him to admit it. "He has courage, and
his devotion to the rebel cause, if misguided, may well be
sincere. There are times when I would be glad to be rid of
the Manchoos myself. But that is not our concern." He
sniffed. "For the moment."
Not my concern at any time, old lad, thinks I. Now that I
was apparently out from under, I was in a fret to get away
from this omniscient satrap while the going was good. So I
shuffled, and began to thank him, bluff and manly, and hope
that I hadn't been too great a nuisance, eh, to him and'his
gang of busybodies - when he stopped me with a knowing
look, and pulled a Portent of Doom (a blue diplomatic
packet, to you) from his desk.
"There is another matter, Sir Harry - one which I fancy
you will consider an amend for your recent adventure."
Eyeing that packet, I suddenly doubted it. "You recall that
I said I was unaware of your presence in China, until yesterday?
Listen, if you please." He took a sheet from the packet.
"Yes, here we are ... 'it is thought that Colonel Flashman
may be en route through China. In that event, you are to
require him to proceed forthwith to Shanghai, and there
place himself at the disposal of H.M. Minister and Superintendent
of Trade.' "
I'd known that packet was damned bad news as soon as I
saw it. What the hell did they want me for - and on the eve
of my sailing for Home, too? Whatever it was, by God, they
weren't coming between me and my well-earned idleness!
41
I'd send in my papers first, I'd ... Parkes was speaking, with
that sharp, smug smile on his infernal face.
"I was at a loss to know how to comply, when the sloop
brought you here so unexpectedly opportune. Indeed, we
should thank Mr Ward - for had you remained in Hong Kong
it is odds that you would have sailed for England before I
had time to inquire for you there. Our Chinese despatches
can be infernally slow ..."
In other words, if that bitch Carpenter hadn't hocussed
me up the Pearl with her lies, I'd have been safe and away.
And now the Army had me again. Well, we'd see about that
- but for the moment I must choke back my fury until I knew
what was what.
"How extraordinary!" says I. "Well, what a fortunate
chance! What can it mean?"
"Why, they want you for the Pekin business to be sure!"
cries the bloody know-all. "The despatch is confidential, of
course, but I think I may be forgiven if I tell you that Lord
Elgin - whose Embassy to China will be made public shortly
- has asked that you be attached to the intelligence staff.
I think, too," and he was positively jocular, rot his boots,
"that we may see the hand of Lord Palmerston here. My
dear Sir Harry, allow me to congratulate you."
42
At the beginning of this memoir I gave you
my first Law of Economics; if I have one for Adversity it is
that once your essentials are properly trapped in the mangle
there's nothing for it but to holler with a good grace and wait
until they roll you out again. Not that hollering does any
good, but it relieves the feelings, and mine were in sore need
of release after my interview with Parkes. I vented them in
a two-day spree in Canton, taking out my evil temper on
tarts and underlings, and sleeping off the effects on the
mail-boat down to Hong Kong.
For there was nothing to be done, you see. After three
years of truly dreadful service, in which I'd been half-killed,
starved, hunted, stretched on a rack, almost eaten by crocodiles,
assaulted with shot and sabre, part-strangled by Thugs,
and damned near blown from a cannon (oh, and won glorious
laurels, for what they were worth), I'd been on the very point
of escaping to all that made life worth living - Elspeth, with
her superb charms and splendid fortune; ease, comfort,
admiration, and debauchery - and through my own folly I'd
thrown it away. It was too bad; I ain't a religious man, but
if I had been I swear I'd have turned atheist. But there it
was, so I must take stock and consider.
There was no question of sending in my papers and going
home, although it had passed through my mind. My future
content rested too much on the enjoyment of my heroic
reputation, which would have been dimmed, just a trifle, if
I'd been seen to be shirking my duty. A lesser man could
have done it, and naught said, but not Sir Harry Flashman,
V.C., K.B.; people would have talked, the Queen would
have been astonished, Palmerston would have damned my
eyes - and done me dirt, too. And when all was said, it
wasn't liable to be much of a campaign; two or three months,
43
perhaps, in which I'd be well clear of any danger that was
going, boozing on the staff, frowning at maps, looking tired
and interesting, and moving paper about with my hair becomingly
ruffled - oh, I knew my intelligence work, never
fear.
So I rolled down to Hong Kong, savouring the revenge I
would take on La Belle Phoebe - and what d'you think? She
and the gun-running Josiah had cleared out to Singapore,
ostensibly to join some missionary society at short notice. A
likely tale; give 'em three months and they'd be running the
Tongs. But their sudden departure was hardly noticed in a
new sensation - Sir Hope Grant had arrived with the advance
guard of the fleet and army which was to go upcountry,
defend Old England's rights and honour, and teach the
Chinks to sing "Rule, Britannia". From Pittan's Wharf you
could see the little white lines of tents where the camp was
being laid out on Kowloong, so I decided to tool over and
let them see how dam' lucky they were going to be in their
intelligence department.
There were advance parties from all the regiments; the
first thing I saw was Sikh riders in the red puggarees of Fane's
Horse and the blue of Probyn's, tent-pegging on the beach,
with white troopers cheering 'em on - and to my astonishment
they were Dragoon Guards. God help you if it rains, my
lads, thinks I, for with twenty-one stone in each saddle you'll
be up to your bellies in the paddy-mud in no time. It was
first-rate mixed cavalry for all that; I watched a bearded,
grey-coated sowar, eyes glaring, whip out a peg and wheel
away to yells and cheering, and was glad I wasn't a Manchoo
Tartar.
It was the infantry coats I wanted to see, though, for (and
I'm a horse-soldier as says it) I know what matters. When
the guns haven't come up, and your cavalry's checked by
close country or tutti-putti, and you're waiting in the hot,
dusty hush for the faint rumble of impi or harka over the
skyline and know they're twenty to your one - well, that's
when you realise that it all hangs on that double line of yokels
and town scruff with their fifty rounds a man and an Enfield
bayonet. Kitchener himself may have placed 'em just so,
with D'lsraeli's sanction, The Times' blessing, and the Queen
44
waving 'em good-bye - but now it's their grip on the stock,
and their eye at the backsight, and if they break, you're done.
Haven't I stood shivering behind 'em often enough, wishing
I could steal a horse from somewhere? Aye, and if I'm still
here it's because they seldom broke in my time.
So it was with some satisfaction that I noted facings and
markers - the old 60th Royal Americans, the Buffs, a fatigue
party of the 44th - I felt a cold shudder at the memory of
the bloody snow by Gandamack, the starved handful of
survivors, and Soutar with the Colours of this same 44th
wrapped round his waist as the Ghazis closed in for the kill.
Well, we'd have a few Ghazis on our side this time; there
were whiskered Pathans chattering round a camp-kettle, so
I took a chapatti and a handful of chilis, gave the time of day
to a naik with the Sobraon medal, and passed on, drawn by
the distant pig-squeal of pipes which always makes my dear
wife burst into tears - ah, we've our own home-grown savages
in tow, have we, thinks I. But they weren't Highlanders, just
the Royals.
Theirs wasn't the only music on Kowloong, neither. I
loafed up to the big tent with the flag, whence came the most
hideous, droning, booming din; there was a staff-walloper
climbing aboard his Waler, a couple of Maharatta sentries
on the fly, and a slim young fellow with a fair moustache
sitting on a camp-stool, sketching. I came up on his blind
side, just for devilment, and he started round angrily.
"How often have I told you never to -" he was beginning,
and then his good eye opened wide in amazement. "Flashman!
My dear fellow! Wherever did you spring from?"
"Here and there, Joe," says I. "The Mad Musician is
within?"
"What? Here, I say! You can't go in just now, you know
- he's composing!"
"Decomposing, by the sound of it," says I, and stuck my
head in at the fly. Sure enough, there was the lean, gaunt
figure, in its shirt-sleeves, sawing away like a thing demented
at a great bull fiddle, glaring at a sheet of music which he
was marking between scrapes, and tugging at his bristling
grey whiskers, to stimulate the muse, no doubt. I flipped a
coin into a glass on the table.
45
"Move on to the next street, my good man, will you?"
says I. "You're disturbing the peace."
Being a sensitive artist - and a major-general - he should
have gone up three feet and come down spluttering. But this
one had no nerves to begin with, and more mastery of himself
than a Yogi. He didn't so much as twitch - for a second I
wondered if he hadn't heard me - and then he played another
chord, jotted it on his manuscript, and spoke without turning
his head.
"Flashman." Another chord, and he put his fiddle by and
turned to fix me with those wild, pale eyes that I hadn't seen
since Allahabad, when Campbell pinned the Cross on me.
"Very good, Wolseley," says he to Joe, who was fidgetting
behind me. He took my hand in his bony grip, nodded me
to a stool - and then he stood and looked at me for two solid
minutes without saying a word.
Now, I tell you that in detail to show you what kind of a
man was Major-General Sir James Hope Grant. You don't
hear much of him nowadays; Wolseley, the boy who was
sketching at the door, has ten times the name and fame6 but
in my time Grant was a man apart. He wasn't much of
a general; it was notorious he'd never read a line outside the
Bible; he was so inarticulate he could barely utter any order
but "Charge!"; his notions of discipline were to flog anything
that moved; the only genius he possessed was for his bull
fiddle; he could barely read a map, and the only spark of
originality he'd ever shown was to get himself six months in
close tack for calling his colonel a drunkard. But none of this
mattered in the least because, you see, Hope Grant was the
best fighting man in the world.
I'm no hero-worshipper, as you may have gathered, and
my view of the military virtues is that the best thing you can
do with 'em is to hang them on the wall in Bedlam - but I
know cold fact when I see it. With sword, lance, or any kind
of side-arm he was the most expert, deadly practitioner that
ever breathed; as a leader of irregular cavalry he left Stuart,
Hodson, Custer, and the rest at the gate; in the Mutiny he
had simply fought the whole damned time with a continuous
fury that was the talk of an army containing the likes of Sam
Browne, John Nicholson, and (dare I say it?) my vaunted but
46
unworthy self. Worshipped by the rank and file, naturally; he
was a kindly soul, for all they called him the "ProvostMarshal",
and even charming if you don't mind ten-minute
silences. But as a hand-to-hand blood-spiller it was Eclipse
first and the rest nowhere.7
He thought I was another of the same, never having seen
me in action but believing what he was told, and we'd got
on pretty well, considering my natural levity and insolence.
He couldn't make this out at all, and I'd been told on good
authority that he thought I was insane - the pot calling the
kettle "Grimy arse", if you ask me. But it meant that he
treated me as a wild, half-witted child, and grinned at my
jokes in a wary sort of way.
So now he asked me how I did, pushed coffee and biscuits
at me (no booze for maniacs, you see), and without any
preamble gave me his views on the forthcoming campaign.
This was what I'd come for: twenty words from Grant (and
you were lucky if you got that many) were worth twenty
thousand from another. I knew the rough of it - twelve
thousand of ourselves and five thousand French to escort
Elgin and the Frog envoy, Gros, to Pekin, in the teeth of
frenzied Chinese diplomatic (and possibly military) opposition.
Grant was fairly garrulous, for him.
"Shared command. Montauban and I. Day about.
Lamentable." Pause. "Supply difficult. Forage all imported.
No horses to be had. Brought our own from India. Not the
French. Have to buy 'em. Japan ponies. Vicious beasts.
Die like flies." Another pause. "French disturb me. No
experience. Great campaigns, Peninsula, Crimea. Deplorable.
No small wars. Delays. Cross purposes. Better by
ourselves. Hope Montauban speaks English."
That would make one of you, thinks I. Would the Chinese
fight, I asked, and a long silence fell.
"Possibly." Pause. "Once."
Believe it or not, I could see he was in capital spirits, in
his careful way - no nonsense about beating these fellows
out of sight or being in Pekin next week, which you'd have
got from some of our firebrand commanders. His doubts about
the French, and supply transport - were small ones. He would get Elgin and Gros to Pekin, without a shot fired
47
if he could contrive it - but God help the Manchoos if they
showed fight. Bar Campbell, there wasn't a general I'd have
chosen in his place. I asked him, what was the worst of
it.
"Delay," says he. "Chinese talk. Can't have it. Drive on.
Don't give 'em time to scheme. Treacherous fellows."
I asked him the best of it, too, and he grinned.
"Elgin. Couldn't be better. Clever, good sense. Goodbye,
Flashman. God bless you."
Perhaps he said more than that, but d'ye know, I doubt it
-1 can see him yet, bolt upright on his camp-stool, the lean,
muscular arms folded across his long body, the grizzled
whiskers like a furze-bush, chewing each word slowly before
he let it out, the light eyes straying ever and anon to his
beloved bull fiddle. As Wolseley strolled with me down to
the jetty, we heard it again, like a ruptured frog calling to
its mate.
"The Paddy-field Concerto, with Armstrong gun accompaniment,"
says he, grinning. "Perhaps he'll have it
finished by the time we get to Pekin."
I had learned all they could tell me, and since Hong Kong
is a splendid place to get out of, I caught the packet up to
Shanghai to present myself to Bruce, as directed. It was like
going into another world - not that Shanghai was much
less of a hell-hole than Hong Kong, but it was China, you understand. Down in the colony it was England peopled by
yellow faces, and British law, and the opium trade, and all
thoughts turning to the campaign. Shanghai was the great
Treaty Port, where the Foreign Devil Trade Missions were
- British, French, German, American, Scowegian, Russian,
and all, but it was still the Emperor's city, where we were
tolerated and detested (except for what could be got out of
us), and once you poked your nose out of the consulate gate
you realised you were living on the dragon's lip, with his
fiery eyes staring down on you, and even the fog that hung
over the great sprawling native city was like smoke from his
spiky nostrils.
The Model Settlement was much finer than Hong Kong,
with the splendid houses of the taipans, and the Bund with
its carriages and strollers, and consulate buildings that might
48
have come from Delhi or Singapore, with gardens highwalled
to keep out the view - and then you ventured into
the native town, stinking and filthy and gorged with humanity
(with Chinese, anyhow), with its choked alleys and dungheaps,
and baskets of human heads hung at street-corners
to remind you that this was a barbarous, perilous land of
abominable cruelty, where if they haven't got manacles or
cords to secure a suspected petty thief, why, they'll nail his
hands together, you see, until they get him to the hoosegow,
where they'll keep him safe by hanging him up by his wrists
behind his back. And that is if he's merely suspected - once
he's convicted (which don't mean for a moment that he's
guilty), then his head goes into the basket - if he's lucky. If
the magistrate feels liverish, they may flog him to death, or
put the wire jacket on him, or fry him on a bed of red-hot
chains, or dismember him, or let him crawl about the streets
with a huge wooden collar on his neck, until he starves, or tattoo him to death.
This may surprise you, if you've heard about the fiendish
ingenuity of Chinese punishment. The fact is that it's fiendish,
but not at all ingenious; just beastly, like the penal code of
my dear old friends in Madagascar. And for all their vaunted
civilisation, they could teach Queen Ranavalona some tricks
of judicial procedure which she never heard of. In Madagascar,
one way of determining guilt is to poison you, and
see if you spew - I can taste that vile tanguin yet. In China,
I witnessed the trial of a fellow who'd caught his wife performing
with the lodger, and done for them both with an axe.
They tried him for murder by throwing the victims' heads
into a tub of water and stirring it; the two heads ended up
floating face to face, which proved the adulterers' affection,
so the prisoner was acquitted and given a reward for being
a virtuous husband. That was, as I recall, the only Chinese
trial I attended where the magistrate and witnesses had not
been bribed.
So much for the lighter side of Chinese life, which I'm far
from exaggerating - indeed, it was commonplace; after a
while you hardly noticed the dead beggars in the gutters and
cesspits, or the caged criminals left to starve and rot, or even
the endless flow of headless corpses into the chow-chow
49
water of the Yangtse estuary off Paoshan - a perpetual
reminder that only a short way up-river, no farther than
Liverpool is from London, the Imperials and Taipings were
tearing each other (and most of the local populace) to pieces
in the great struggle for Nanking. Imp gunboats were blockading
the Yangtse within fifty miles, and Shanghai was full
of rumours that soon the dreaded Chang-Maos, the LongHaired
Taiping Devils, would be marching on the Treaty
Port itself. They'd sacked it once, years ago, and now the
Chinese merchants were in terror, sending away their goods
and families, and our consular people were wondering what
the deuce to do, for trade would soon be in a desperate fix
- and trade profit was all we were in China for. They could
only wait, and wonder what was happening beyond the misty
wooded flats and waterways of the Yangtse valley, in that
huge, rich, squalid, war-torn empire, sinking in a welter
of rebellion, banditry, corruption and wholesale slaughter,
while the Manchoo Emperor and his governing nobles
luxuriated in blissful oblivion in the Summer Palace far away
at Pekin.
"The chief hope must be that our army can reach Pekin
in time to bring the Emperor to his senses," Bruce told me
when I reported at his office in the consulate. "Once the
treaty's ratified, trade revived, and our position secure, the
country can be made stable soon enough. The rebellion will
be ended, one way or t'other. But if, before then, the rebels
were to take Shanghai - well, it might be the last straw that
brought down the Manchoo Empire. Our position would be
. . . delicate. And it would hardly be worth going to Pekin,
through a country in chaos, to treat with a government that
no longer existed."
He was a cool, knowledgable hand, was Bruce, for all the
smooth cheeks and fluffy hair that made him look like a
half-witted cherub; he might have been discussing Sayers's
chances against Heenan rather than the possible slaughter of
himself and every white soul on the peninsula. He was
brother to Elgin, who was coming out as ambassador, but
unlike most younger sons he didn't feel bound to stand on
his dignity.8 He was easy and pleasant, and when I asked him
if there was a serious possibility that the Taipings might
50
attack Shanghai, he shrugged and said there was no way of
telling.
"They've always wanted a major port," says he. "It would
strengthen their cause immensely to have access to the outside
world. But they don't want to attack Shanghai if they
can help it, for fear of offending us and the other Powers so
Loyal Prince Lee, the ablest of the rebel generals, writes
me a letter urging us to admit his armies peacefully to
Shanghai and then join him in toppling the Manchoos. He
argues that the Taipings are Christians, like ourselves, and
that the British people are famous for their sympathy to
popular risings against tyrannical rulers - where he got that
singular notion I can't think. Maybe he's been reading Byron.
What about that, Slater - think he reads Byron?"
"Not in the original, certainly," says the secretary.
"No, well - he also extols the enlightened nature ofTaiping
democracy, and assures us of the close friendship of the
Taiping government when (and if) it comes to power." Bruce
sighed. "It's a dam' good letter. I daren't even acknowledge
it."
For the life of me I couldn't see why not. A Taiping China
couldn't help but be better than the rotten Manchoo Empire,
whose friendship was doubtful, to say the least. And if'we
backed them, they'd whip the Manchoos in no time - which
would mean the Pekin expedition was unnecessary, and
Hope Grant and Flashy and the lads could all go home. But
Bruce shook his head.
"You don't lightly overthrow an Empire that's lasted since
the Flood, to let in an untried and damned unpromising
rabble of peasants. God knows the Manchoos are awkward,
treacherous brutes, but at least they're the devil we know,
Oh, I know the Bishop of Victoria sees the finger of divine
providence in the Taiping Rebellion, and our missionaries
call them co-religionists - which I strongly suspect they're
not. Even if they were, I've known some damned odd Christians,
eh. Slater?"
"South America, what?" says Slater, looking glum.
"Besides, could such people govern? They're led by a
visionary, and their chief men are pawnbrokers, clerks, and
blacksmiths! Talk about Jack Cade and Wat Tyier! Lee's the
51
best of 'em, and Hung Jen-kan's civilised, by all accounts
- but the rest are bloody-minded savages who rule their
conquered provinces by terror and enslavement. Which is no
way to win a war, I'd say. They'd be entirely unpredictable,
with their lunatic king liable to have a divine revelation
telling him to pitch out all foreign devils, or declare war on
Japan!"
"But suppose," I ventured, "the Taipings win, in the
end?"
"You mean," says Bruce, looking more cherubic than
ever, "suppose they look likely to win. Well, H.M.G. would
no doubt wish to review the position. But while it's all to
play for, we remain entirely neutral, respecting the Celestial
Emperor as the established government of China."
I saw that, but wondered if, in view of the possible Taiping
threat to Shanghai, it mightn't be politic to jolly along this
General Lee with fair words - lie to him, like.
"No. The Powers agree that all such overtures as Lee's
letter must be ignored. If I acknowledged it, and word
reached Pekin, heaven knows what might happen to our
forthcoming negotiations with the Imperial Government.
They might assume we were treating with the rebels, and
Grant might even have a real war on his hands. We may
have to talk to the Taipings sometime - unofficially," says
he, thoughtfully, "but it will be at a time and place of our
choosing, not theirs."
All of which was of passing interest to me; what mattered
was that Elgin wasn't due out until June, and as his personal
intelligence aide I could kick my heels pleasantly until then,
sampling the delights of Shanghai diplomatic society and the
more robust amusements to be found in the better class
native sing-songs and haunts of ill-repute. Which I did - and
all the time China was stropping its dragon claws and eyeing
me hungrily.
Pleasuring apart, the time hung heavy enough for me to
do some light work with the politicals of the consulate, for
we maintained an extensive intelligence-gathering bandobast, and it behoved me to know about it. It consisted mostly
of strange little coolies coming to the back door at night with
bits of bazaar gossip, or itinerant bagmen with news from
52
up-river, the occasional missionary's helper who'd been
through the lines at Nanking, and endless numbers of young
Chinese, who might have been students or clerks or pimps all
reporting briefly or at length to swell the files of the
intelligence department. It was the most trivial, v.'earisome
rubbish for the most part - there wasn't, alas, an An-yatheh
among the spies to cheer things up - and devilish dull for the
collators, who passed it on for sifting and summary by the
two Chinese supervisors whose names, I swear to God, were
Mr Fat and Mr Lin. By the time they'd pieced and deduced
and remembered - well, it's surprising what can emerge from
even the most mundane scraps of information.
For example, it was the strangest thing that enabled us to
foresee the end of the great siege of Nanking in April '60.
The Imperialists had huge entrenchments circling the city,
and the river blockaded on both sides, but couldn't breach
the rebel defences. The Taipings, hemmed within the city,
had various forces loose in the countryside, but nothing
apparently strong enough to raise the siege. It was such a
stalemate that a great fair had actually been established
between the Imp lines and the city walls, where both sides
used to meet and fraternise, and the Imps sold all manner of
goods to the Taipings! They brought food, opium, women,
even arms and powder, which the Taipings bought with the
silver they'd found in Nanking when they captured it back
in '53.
A ludicrous state of affairs, even for China; it took my
fancy, and when one of our spies sent down particulars of
the market trading, I happened to glance through it - and
noted an item which seemed a trifle odd. I ain't given to
browsing over such things, you may be sure, and I wish to
heaven I'd never seen this one, for what I noticed proved to
be a vital clue, and set Bruce thinking earlier than he need
have done, with the most ghastly consequences to myself.
"Here's a rum thing, Mr Fat," says I. "Why should the
Taipings be buying bolts of black silk? Dammit, they spent
500 taels* on it this week - more than they spent on cartridge.
Are they expecting funerals?"
About 160 at that time.
53
"Most singular," says he. "Mr Lin, have the goodness to
examine the return for last week."
So they did - and the Taipings had bought even more
black silk then. They clucked over it, and burrowed into
their records, and came to an astonishing conclusion.
Whenever the Taipings undertook any desperate military
action, they invariably raised black silk flags in every company,
which their soldiers were bound to follow on pain of
death - they even had executioners posted in the ranks to
behead any shirkers, which must have done wonders for their
recruiting, I'd have thought. And when we learned presently
that the black silk had been sent out of the city to two of the
Taiping armies in the field - the Golden Lions of the famous
Loyal Prince Lee, and the Celestial Singers under Chen
Yu-cheng - it was fairly obvious that Lee and Chen were
about to fall on the Imp besiegers. Which, in due course,
they did, and our knowing about it in advance enabled the
Hon. F. W. A. Bruce to plan and scheme most infernally,
as I said. (If you wonder that the Imps didn't realise the
significance of the black silk they were selling the Taipings why,
that's the Imperial Chinese Army for you. Even if they
had, they'd likely just have yawned, or deserted.)
I was fool enough to be mildly pleased at spotting the item
- Fat and Lin regarded me with awe for days - but I wasn't
much interested, having discovered far more important matter
in the secret files, which enabled me to bring off a splendid
coup,thus:
It appeared that Countess H----, wife of a senior attache
at the Russian mission, paid weekly visits to a Chinese
hairdresser, and, under the pretext of being beautified, regularly
entertained four(!) stalwart Manchoo Bannermen in a
room above the shop, later driving home with a new coiffure
and a smug expression.
[Official conclusion by Fat and Lin: the subject is vulnerable,
and may be coerced if access should be required to her
husband's papers. Action: none.]
[Unofficial conclusion by Flashy: the subject is a slim,
vicious-looking piece who smokes brown cigarettes and
drinks like a fish at diplomatic bunfights, but has hitherto
been invulnerable by reason of her chilly disdain. Action:
54
advise subject by anonymous note that if she doesn't change
her hairdresser, her husband will learn something to her
disadvantage. Supply her with address of alternative establishment,
and arrange to drop in during her appointments.]
So you see, you can't overestimate the importance of
good intelligence work. Fascinating woman; d'you know, she
smoked those damned brown cigarettes all the time, even
when . . . And kept a tumbler of vodka on the bedside table.
But I digress. Bruce was preparing his bombshell, and it was
on my return from an exhausting afternoon at the hairdresser's
that he informed me, out of the blue, that he was
sending me to Nanking.
There was a time when the notion of intruding on the
mutual slaughter of millions of Chinese would have had me
squawking like an agitated hen, but I knew better now. I
nodded judiciously, while my face went crimson (which it
does out of sheer funk, often mistaken for rage and resolution)
and my liver turned its accustomed white. Aloud I
wondered, frowning, if I were the best man to send ... a
clever Chinese might do it better . . . one didn't know how
long it would take . . . have to be on hand when Elgin arrived
. . . might our policy not be compromised if a senior British
officer were seen near rebel headquarters . . . strict neutrality
... of course, Bruce knew best . . .
"It can't be helped," says he briskly. "It would be folly
not to employ your special talents in this emergency. The
battle is fully joined before Nanking, and there's no doubt
the Taipings will crush the Imps utterly in the Yangtse valley,
which will alter the whole balance in China; at a stroke the
rebels become masters of everything between Kwangsi and
the Yellow Sea." He swept his hand across the southern half
of China on his wall map.
"I said some weeks ago that a time might come when we
must talk to the Taipings," says he, and for once the cherub face was set and heavy. "Well, it is now. After this battle,
Lee's hands will be free, and it's my belief that he will march
on Shanghai. If he does, then we and France and America
and Russia can ignore the Taipings no longer; we'll be bound
I to choose once and for all between them and the Manchoos."
He rubbed a hand across his jaw. "And that's a perilous
55
choice. We've avoided it for ten years, and I'm damned if I
want to see it made now, in haste."
I said nothing; I was too busy recalling, with my innards
dissolving, that at the last great battle for Nanking, when the
Taipings took it in '53, the carnage had been frightful beyond
contemplation. Every Manchoo in the garrison had been
massacred, 20,000 dead in a single day, all the women burned
alive - and it would be infinitely worse now, with both
Taipings and Imp fugitives joining in an orgy of slaughter
and pillage, raping, burning, and butchering everything in
sight. Just the place to send poor Flashy, with his little white
flag, crying: "Please, sir - may I have a word . . .?"
"We can only maintain a de facto neutrality by keeping
'em at a distance," Bruce was saying. "If they advance on
Shanghai, we're bound either to fight - and God help us or
come to terms with them, which the Manchoos would
regard as a flagrant betrayal - and God help our Pekin
expedition. So it is our task to see that the Taipings don't
come to Shanghai."
"How the deuce d'you do that?" I demanded. "If they
beat the Imps at Nanking, and have blood in their eye, they
won't stand still!"
"You don't know the Taipings, Sir Harry," says he. "None
of us does - except to know that with them anything is
possible. I think they'll come to Shanghai - but this crazy king
of theirs is capable of declaring a Seven Year Tranquillity, or
some such stuff! Or launching his armies west to Yunnan. It
is possible they may do nothing at all. That's why you must
go to Nanking."
"What can I hope to accomplish?" I protested, and he
took a turn round the room, fingered a few papers, sat
down, and stared at the floor. Devising some novel means of
plunging me into the soup, no doubt.
"I don't know. Sir Harry," says he at last. "You must
persuade 'em not to march on Shanghai - at least for a few
months - but how you're to do it ..." He lifted his head
and looked me in the eye. "The devil of it is, I can't send
you with any authority. I've not replied to Lee's letter, but
I'm having a verbal hint discreetly conveyed to him that he
may expect a ... an English visitor. No one official, of
56
course; simply a gentleman from the London Missionary
Society who wishes to visit the Heavenly Kingdom and
present his compliments. Lee will understand . . . just as he
will understand what is meant when the gentleman expresses
the opinion - merely the opinion, mind you - that while a
Taiping attack on Shanghai would destroy any hope of British
co-operation, restraint now would certainly not incline us to
a less favourable view of their overtures in the future."
"I can see myself putting that in fluent Mandarin!" says I, and he had the grace to shrug helplessly.
"It is the most I can authorise you to convey. This is the
most damned ticklish business. We have to let them see
where we stand - but without provoking 'em into action,
or offending 'em mortally (dammit, they may be the next
government of China!), or, above all, being seen to treat
with them in any official way whatsoever. That's why your
presence is a gift from God - you've done this kind of
business in India, with considerable success, as I recall."
Well, that was so much rot; my diplomatic excursions had
invariably ended in battle and beastliness on the grand scale,
with my perspiring self barely a length ahead of the field. He
1 got vp and glowered at the map, chewing his lip.
* "You see how difficult it is for me to give you guidance,"
says he. "We do not even know what kind of folk they truly are. The Heavenly King himself has hardly been seen for
years - he keeps himself secluded in a great palace, surrounded
by a thousand female attendants, thinking wonderful
thoughts'" I was willing to bet he didn't spend all his time
(; thinking. "If he could be persuaded to inaction ... to hold 1 Lee in check . . ."He shrugged. "But who is to say if he is
even rational, or if you will be allowed near him? If not, you
must do what you can with Loyal Prince Lee."
A splendid choice, you'll agree, between a recluse who
thought he was Christ's brother, and a war-lord who'd done
more murder than Genghiz Khan.
"The only other who may be open to reason is the Prime
Minister, Hung Jen-kan. He's the wisest - or at least the
sanest - of the Taiping Wangs. Mission educated and speaks
English. The rest are ignorant, superstitious zealots, drunk g^^B011 blood and power, and entirely under the sway of the
bb^ 57
Heavenly King." He shook his head. "You must use such
tactful persuasions as seem best; you will know, better than
I could tell you, how to speak when you are face to face with
them."
In a high-pitched shriek, probably. Of all the hopeless,
dangerous fool's errands . . . supposing I even got there.
"How do I reach Nanking? Aren't the Imps blockading
the river?"
"A passage has been booked on Dent's steamer Yangtse.
She got through to Nanking last week - the Imps give our
vessels passage, and the river will be clear as far as Kiangyin
still. If she's stopped there you must go on as seems best;
one of our people, a missionary called Prosser, will be looking
out for you - you'll have papers from the London Missionary
Society, in the name of Mr Fleming, but the Taipings will
know precisely who and what you really are, although neither
they nor you will acknowledge it."
So it was settled; I was for the high jump again, and not a
damned thing to be done about it. He went over it all a
second time, impressing on me the delicacy of the task, how
H.M.G. must be in no way compromised, that every week
of delay would be a godsend - but the main thing was to
convince this crew of homicidal madmen that, whoever they
killed next, it shouldn't be done at Shanghai.
"Well, sir," says I, all noble and put-upon, "I'll be honest;
I'll try, but I don't think there's a hope of success."
"Another man might say that out of reluctance to go, for
his safety's sake," says he solemnly. "I know that with you,
the thought of danger has not crossed your mind." He was
right there; it had stayed rooted. "God bless you. Sir Harry."
And with the angels choiring above us, we shook hands, and
I marched out, and bolted for the lavatory.
* * *
I had my Adams in my armpit, a Colt in my valise, a hundred
rounds, a knife in my boot, and a bulky notebook containing
every known fact about the Taipings, courtesy of Messrs
Fat and Lin, when I boarded the Yangtse on the following
evening. It was a good two-day run to Nanking, in ideal
58
conditions; at present, it might take a week. I was too sick
and scared and furious to pay muchtieed to my surroundings,
' and as I remember the Yangtse was like any other river
steamboat - half a dozen cabins aft for the Quality, of whom
I was one, a couple of saloons below for those who couldn't
afford a bunk, and forward a great open steerage for the
coolies and the like. Her skipper was one Witherspoon, of
Greenock, a lean pessimist with a cast in his eye and a voice
like coals being delivered. I've no doubt I spent the time
before we cast off brooding fearfully, but I don't recall,
because as I leaned on the rail looking down on the quay
and the oily water, I saw about the only thing that could
have provided any distraction just then.
The steerage gangway was swarming with coolies, and
poorer Chinese, and a few white riff-raff-Shanghai was well
stocked with poor whites and shabby-genteel half-castes and
scourings from half the countries on earth, even in those
days. There was lascars, of course, and Dagoes of various
descriptions, Filippinos, Greeks, Malay Arabs, and every
variety of slant-eye. Some of 'em were half-naked; others
carried valises and bundles; the half-dozen Sikh riflemen who
acted as boat-guards shepherded 'em aboard none too gently
under the great flickering slush-lamps which cast weird
shadows on the dockside and the steerage deck.
I was watching with half my mind when I noticed a figure
stepping from quay to gangway - and even in that motley
assembly it was a figure to take the eye - not only for the
outlandish cut of attire, but for style and carriage and . . .
animal quality's the only phrase.
I like tall women, of course. Susie Willinck comes to mind,
and Cleonie of the willowy height, and the superb Mrs Lade
by name and nature, and Cassy, and that German wench in
the Haymarket, and even such Gorgons as Narreeman and
Queen Ranavalona. Mind you, there's much to be said for
the little 'uns, too - such as the Silk One, Ko Dali's daughter,
and the little blonde Valla, and Mrs Mandeville the Mad
Dwarf, and Whampoa's playmates, and Takes-AwayClouds-Woman,
and that voluptuous half-pint, Yehonala
(but we'll come to her presently). On the whole, though, I
ain't sure I don't prefer the happy medium - like Elspeth,
59
and Lola, and Irma, and Josette, and Fetnab, and . . .
Elspeth.
It is no disrespect to any of these ladies, all of whom I
loved dearly, to say that when it came to taking the eye, the
female coming up the steerage gangplank was the equal of
any and all. For one thing, she was six feet six if she was an
inch, with the erect carriage of a guardsman, and light on
her feet as a leopard. She was Chinese, beyond a doubt,
perhaps with a touch of something from the Islands; when
she laughed, as she did now, to the squat fellow behind her,
it was with a deep, clear ring, and a flash of teeth in a lean,
lovely face; not Chinese style, at all. She had a handkerchief
bound tight round her head, and for the rest her clothing
consisted of a blouse, cotton breeches ending at the knee,
and heavy sandals. But round her neck she had a deep tight
collar that seemed to be made of steel links, and her arms,
bare to the shoulder, were heavy with bangles. As to the
lines of her figure, Rubens would have bitten his brush in
two.
With the plank crowded ahead of her, she had to wait,
holding the side-rail in one hand and lolling back at full
stretch, carelessly, laughing and talking to her companion.
She chanced to look up, and met my eye; she said something
to the man, and looked at me again, laughing still, and then
she was up the plank like a huge cat and out of sight.
I'm not the most impressionable of men, but I found I was
gripping the rail with both hands, and clenching my jaw in
stern resolve. By gum, I couldn't let that go unattended to.
Built like a Dahomey Amazon, but far taller and incomparably
more graceful. And possibly the strongest female I'd
ever seen, which would be an interesting experience. No
common woman, either; how best to coax her up to the
cabin? Probably not money, nor a high hand. Well, the first
thing was to get a closer look at her.
I waited till we had cast off, and the screw was churning
the water, with the lights on Tsungming Island glittering in
the dark distance far ahead. Then I asked the steward where
the ladder was to the steerage; he pointed down the companion,
and said I would find the mate by the saloon door,
he'd show me. Sure enough, a fellow in a pilot cap came out
60
of the saloon and started up the ladder as I started down.
He glanced up, smiling, starting to bid me good evening, and
then his jaw dropped, and my hand shot under my jacket to
the butt of the Adams.
It was Mr Frederick Townsend Ward. ^
61
For perhaps five seconds we just stared at
each other, and then he laughed, in the pleasantest tone
imaginable.
"Well, damn me!" says he. "It's the Colonel! How are
you, sir?"
"Keep your hands in front of you - sir," says I. "Now
come up, slowly." I stepped back to the cabin deck, and he
followed, still grinning, glancing at my hidden hand.
"Say, what's the matter? Look, if that's a piece under your
coat - this is a law-abiding boat, you know "
"You mean she isn't running guns to the Taipings?"
He laughed heartily at this, and shook his head. "I gave
that up! Say, and you took a shot at me - two shots!
What did you do that for? You weren't going to come to
any harm, you know. I'd ha' taken you back to Macao
when we'd delivered the goods!" He sounded almost
aggrieved.
"Oh, forgive me! No one told me that, you see. It must
have slipped everyone's mind, along with the trivial fact that
you were carrying guns, not opium."
"Listen, Carpenter said the less you knew the better," says
he earnestly. "Those were his orders. The damned dummy,"
he added irritably. "If he'd ha' given me a real Chink pilot,
we'd never ha' seen that Limey patrol-boat. Hey, how did
you come out of that, though?"
"Perhaps I didn't." I said it on the spur of the moment,
and his eyes widened.
"You don't mean they broke you?" He whistled. "Gee,
I'm sorry about that! I sure am, though." Absolutely, he
sounded shocked. "Over a passel o' guns. Well, I'll be!" He
shook his head, and smiled, a mite sheepish. "Say, colonel
. . . why don't you let that hog-leg alone, and come on in
62
my berth for a drink? See here, I'm sorry as hell - but t'wasn't
my fault. 'Sides, it's over and done with now." He looked at
me, half-grinning, half-contrite. "And you're ahead o' me
by two shots. No hard feelings. Okay?" And he held out his
hand.
Now, I know a rogue when I see one - and I was forming
a strange suspicion that Mr Ward wasn't a rogue at all. Oh,
I've known charming rascals, bland as be-damned, and the
eyes give them away every time. This fellow's were bright
and dark and innocent as a babe's - which you might say was
all against him. And yet ... he sounded downright pleased
to see me. I couldn't credit he was that good an actor; and
why should he trouble to be? There was nothing I could do
to him, now; certainly not here.
"I ought to blow your blasted head off!" says I.
"You dam' near did!" cries he cheerily, and when I continued
to ignore his hand: "Okay, you've got a right to be
sore, I guess. But why don't we go lower a couple, anyway?
I'm off watch."
Indeed, why not? I can only say he was a hard man to
refuse, and the truth is I was curious about him. He was a
rare bird, I felt sure, so I followed him out of the warm night
into the stuffy little cabin, where he seated me on the bunk
and poured out two stiff tots. "Say, this is fine!" says he,
sitting on the locker. "How've you been?" And without
letting me reply he rattled off into a recital of his own escape
through the paddy, and how he'd smuggled himself back to
Macao, and thence up the coast to Shanghai, where he'd
nourished his papers at Dent's, and got himself a mate's
berth. I watched him like a hawk, but he was easy as old
leather, prattling away. Crazy, undoubtedly, but if he was
crook, it didn't show.
"It's not a bad berth," says he, "but I won't stick. Fellow
called Gough, one of your people, commands a gunboat
flotilla for the Imps. He's offered me second place on the Confucius; reckon I'll take it."
"What happened to the notion of being a Taiping prince?"
I asked, and he grinned and pulled a face.
"No, sir, thank you. I've had a look at 'em, these past few
weeks. They're not for Fred T." He shook his head so
63
firmly that, thinking of my own mission, I pressed him for
information.
"Well, all this stuff about being Christians - they don't
have the first notion! They have a lot o' mumbo-jumbo about
Jesus, that they've picked up an' got wrong, but . . . Listen
- to give you an idea, when they get a new recruit they give
him three weeks to learn the Lord's Prayer, and if he can't
- whist!" He chopped his hand against his neck. "No fooling!
Now, what kind of Christianity is that, will you tell me? And
they treat the people something shameful. Take all their
goods - 'cos no one can have property in the Taiping, it's all
in common, 'lessn you're one of the top Wangs. And they
put 'em to work in companies, like it was the army, and if
they're too old or sick to work - whist again! And everybody
has to work for the Taiping, see, and obey all their foolish
rules about religion, an' learn the proclamations of the
Heavenly King by heart - and, boy, they're the wildest stuff,
I tell you! The Thousand Correct Things, an' the Book of
Celestial Decrees, and nobody understands 'em a little bit!"
I said the missionaries were all for them, and he shook his
head again. "Maybe they used to be, but now they've had a
good look. You go up-river, into a Taiping province, you see
the ruin, the gutted villages, the bodies laying about in
thousands - and it ain't as if all their rules and discipline
made things better - why, they make it worse! Nobody has
land, so nobody can plant 'cept the Taiping tells him, an' the
local governors, why, they have to wait for orders from
further up, an' the fellow further up ... well, there's nothing
in it for him, and he probably used to be a shoemaker,
anyway, so what does he know about crops? He knows the
rules, though, and learns a new chapter of the Bible each
day, and thinks Moses was a Manchoo Mandarin who thought
better of it!"
I recalled that the Heavenly King himself had been an
educated man, and while he was crazy there must be some
Taipings who knew how things should be run; he scoffed me
out of court.
"That kind of person - you mean merchants and clerks
and fellows with some schooling - they have no time for the
Heavenly Kingdom; they're mostly dead, anyway, or made
64
themselves scarce. Why should they truck with a crowd that just robs 'em and says they're no better'n the peasants?
'Sides, they can see the Taipings are only good at killing and
stealing and laying waste."
"You seem to have learned a lot in a short time," I said,
and he replied that one trip up to Nanking, and a look at the
country around, had been enough for him. "They're so mean
and cruel," he kept saying. "Sure, the Imps are worse - their
army's rotten, and they just use the war as an excuse for
plundering and killing wherever they go - but at least they've
got something behind them, I mean, a real government, even
if it doesn't work too well ... a ... a ... sort of like the
Constitution. I mean . . . China." He grinned ruefully, and
poured me another drink. "I don't make it too clear, I guess.
But the Taipings just have this crazy dream - and they're no
good at making things work. Well, the Imps aren't much
better, maybe, but at least they can read and write."
I asked if he had seen anything of the leading Taipings at
Nanking, and he said, no, but he had heard plenty. "They
do all right, from what I hear - that's what really got my
goat. There's all this fine talk about love and brotherhood
and equality - but the Wangs live in palaces and have a high
old time, while the people are tret no better'n niggers. You
know," says he, all boyish earnestness, "at the beginning,
they made the women and men stay apart - there was a
special part of Nanking for the girls, and if they and the boys
. . .you know. . . why, they just killed'em. Even now,'lessn
you're married - well, if you . . . you know . . . they just whist!
The poor people are allowed one wife, but the
Wangs ..." He blew out his cheeks. "They have all the girls
they want, and aren't there some doings in those palaces?
So I heard." I found this quite cheering, and pressed him for
further details, but he didn't have any. "It's one law for the
rich and another for the poor, I guess," says he philosophically.
"Mind, they've done some good things, like not letting
girls bind their feet, and don't they come down hard on
crooks and shysters, though! Stealing, opium-smoking,
girls selling themselves, anything illegal at all - or even just
talking out of turn - and off comes the head. I've seen
that."
65
I wondered how long the people would endure a rule quite
as despotic as the Manchoos', and even less efficient, and he
laughed.
"Wait till you see those Taiping soldiers! One thing they're good at is discipline - putting it on the people, and taking it
themselves. That's why they can whip the Imps, easy; they're
real good, and so are their generals. I'll tell you something,
an' the sooner all our people realise it, the better- this here's
going to be a Taiping China, for keeps, unless we - I mean
you British and us Americans, and the French maybe, do
something about it." He'd become very earnest, rapping his
finger on the locker; a serious lad, when he wasn't being
crazy. But all his talk about the Wangs and their women had
reminded me of what I'd been about in the first place, so
presently I left him and strolled down to the steerage. Besides,
my chat with him had almost been in the way of duty,
and I was due for a spell of vicious recreation.
It was full night now, and we were thumping upstream
with the Tsungming lights to starboard and the last warmth
dying from the night wind. The great steerage deck, poorly
lit, was littered with sleepers, and I was about to turn back,
cursing, and wait until daylight, when I heard voices forrard.
I picked my way over the bodies and rounded the deckhouse
in the bows, and my heart gave a lustful little skip - there
was the slim, towering figure at the bow-rail, talking with a
couple of Chinese rivermen; they turned to glower at me,
and then the girl laughed and said something, and the Chinks
melted into the dark, leaving the two of us alone under the
bow-lamp. She lounged with her elbows on the rail - Jove,
what a height she was, topping me by a good four inches. I
stepped up to her, lustfully appraising the play of the superb
muscles on the bare bangled arms, the lazy grace of the
splendid body, and the sensuous hawk face above the strange
chain collar. Aye, she was ready to play; it was in every line
of her.
"Hiya, tall girl," says I, and she shot me an insolent,
knowing look, like a vain tart.
"Gimme smoke, yao," says she, extending a palm. "Yao"
is "foreigner", and not at all polite from a Chinese to a white
man.
66
"The black smoke, or one of these?" I offered my cheroot
case, and the slant eyes flickered.
"Afan-qui who speaks Chinese? A cheroot, then." Certainly
not a common woman; she spoke Pekin, albeit roughly.
I lit her a cheroot, and she held my hand with the match in
slender fingers whose grip made me tingle; not a whore's
touch, though, just simple strength. She inhaled deeply and
so did I, gloating.
"Come to my cabin," says I, slightly hoarse, "and I'll give
you a drink."
She showed her teeth, gripping the cheroot. "There's only
one thing you want to give me," says she - and named it,
anatomically.
"And right you are," says I, quite delighted. This was
something new in Chinese women - coarse, insolent, and to
the point - so to show my own delicacy and good breeding
I gripped her port tit; under the thin blouse it felt like a
large, hard pineapple. She gave a little grunt, and a long,
slow, wicked smile at me, drawing on her cheroot.
"How much cash?" says she, narrow-eyed.
"My dear child," says I, gallantly relinquishing her poont,
"you don't have to pay me! Oh, I see . . . why, I wouldn't
insult you by offering money!" Wouldn't I, though '- I
was boiling fit to offer her the Bank, but I guessed it
wouldn't answer with this one, in spite of her question.
She had a damned leery look in her eye, sensual and
calculating, but with a glint of amusement, unless I was mistaken.

"No cash, hey? But you expect me to ----?" Her vocabulary
was deplorable, but at least it left no room for misunderstanding.

"That's the ticket," says I heartily, "so instead of further
flirtation I suggest that we "
Suddenly she chuckled, and then laughed outright, with
her head back and everything quivering to distraction. I was
preparing to spring when she came up off the rail, bangles
tinkling, and stood looking down at me, the ogre's missus
contemplating a randy Jack-the-Giant-Killer. It's a rum feelmg,
I can tell you, being surveyed by a beauty half a head
taller than you are. Stimulating, though.
67
"Suppose," says she, in that soft deep voice, "that I took payment? I might rob a richfan-qui."
"You might try, Miranda. Now then "
"Yes, I might. And if you, big clever fan-qui, caught
me ..." She put her hands on her hips, with that lazy
smile. '. . . you might beat a poor girl - would you beat me, fan-quiT'
"With pleasure," says I, slavering at the prospect. She
nodded, glanced either way, gave me her insolent grin again,
drew deep on the cheroot - and pulled the front of her blouse
down to her waist.
For a moment I stood rooted, hornily agog before all that
magnificent meat, and then, as any gentleman would have
done, I seized one in either hand, nearly crying. Which
was absolutely as the designing bitch had calculated - she
suddenly gripped my elbows, I instinctively jerked them
down to my sides, and without stooping, or shoulder movement,
or the least exertion at all, she lifted me clean off the
deck! I was too dumbfounded to do anything but dangle
while she held me (thirteen-stone-odd, bigod!) with only the
strength of her forearms under my rigid elbows, grinned up
into my face, and spoke quietly past the cheroot:
"Would you really beat a poor girl, fan-quiT'
Then before I could reply, or hack her shins, or do anything
sensible, she straightened her arms upwards, holding me
helpless three feet up in the air, before abruptly letting
go. I came down cursing and stumbling, clutching at the
deckhouse for support. By the time I'd recovered my balance,
she was modestly replacing her blouse, taking a last pull at
the cheroot, and flicking it over the rail. She put a hand on
her hip, grinning derisively, while I seethed with rage and
shame - and awe at the realisation of that appalling strength.
"All right, then, damn you!" I snarled. "Twenty dollars?
Fifty if you'll stay the night!"
God, how she laughed, the strutting, arrogant slut - and
she'd lifted me like a kitten! I don't know when I've felt so
mortified - or so determined to have my way with a woman.
Well, it wasn't going to be rape, that was sure - nor money,
apparently.
"Fifty dollars?" She laughed. "No, fan-qui - nor fifty
68
thousand, from a weakling. But a strong man, now . . ." She
waited, with that taunting, confident smile, daring me, as I
fell to raging at her and then to whining, saying it had been
a trick, she'd taken an unfair advantage, damn her . . . and
then I gave a great gasp, like Billy Bones in apoplexy, rolled
my eyes, clutched my heart, and reeled fainting against the
deckhouse . . . well, she'd not have been human if she hadn't
stepped up for a closer look, would she?
I bar hitting women, except for fun, especially when they're
strong enough to uproot the town hall clock, but I was
choking with vengeful fury - toss me about like thistledown,
would she, the infernal slut? I let out a whimpering groan,
and as she advanced, alarmed, I let drive my right into her
midriff with all my force; she doubled up like a rag doll, her
knees buckling, and I was on her back in an instant, twisting
the chain collar like a garotte, flattening her by sheer weight.
She clawed back at me over her shoulder, and I shot my left
hand under her arm and on to the nape of her neck in a
half-nelson. I was blind with rage and fit to murder, and if
she'd been less abominably powerful I might have done it.
But as she heaved and strained beneath me it was all I could
do to hang on, doing my damnedest to choke her with the
steel links biting into her throat. We thrashed and rolled
about the deck, her long legs flailing; thumping against the
bulkhead, then against the rail, my aching fingers twisting
the collar ever tighter, her splendid shoulders heaving to
break my grip - God, she was strong, and I knew in a few
seconds she must break the lock.
I gave one last despairing heave on the collar, and suddenly
felt her slacken beneath me; her head gave a little beneath
my left hand, and I roared with triumph. Suddenly her
free hand was slapping the deck, in the age-old wrestler's
submission; I clung to the chain like grim death.
"Had enough, damn you?" I wheezed. "Give over, you
bloody monster?" Slap-slap, on the deck, I let the collar
slacken an inch - and suddenly she reared up, breaking the
headlock and tearing the collar free. I rolled away, preparing
to fly for my life, when I realised she was scrambling back,
holding her throat, her other hand up to ward her face. Was
she beat? Was this the moment to set about her with my
69
belt? - and then I realised that she was poised on one knee,
ready for battle . . . and she was absolutely grinning at me,
bright-eyed . . . and we were no longer alone.
The unholy row had attracted half Kiangsu Province, by
the look of it, certainly every coolie on the steerage deck,
and a ragged mob was staring from either side of the deck
house, with her Chinese rivermen to the fore, looking mighty
truculent. As they pressed forward I put my back to the rail,
reaching for the Adams - which I'd forgotten until that
moment. The sight of it stopped them dead, the rivermen's
hands came away from their knife-hilts - and the girl stood
up, her shoulders shuddering and heaving, and grunted something
in river dialect. Then she looked at me, gasping and
rubbing her throat, and so help me, she was grinning again,
positively amiable.
Tuckered as I was, I wondered bemusedly if that murderous
struggle had been the usual courting ritual of this female
Goliath; lust revived as I observed her fine dishevelment,
with one udder peeping provocatively out of her blouse; I
put up the Adams, scowled back at the mob, and then jerked
my head at her. She grinned broader than ever, taking in
great breaths and rubbing her throat, but then she shook her
head.
"Good-night . . . fan-qui," says she, pretty hoarse, and
then she turned and disappeared into the staring rabble
behind her. Truth to tell, I didn't much mind; I was bruised
and exhausted, and another bout would have carried me off;
if that was what she was like merely fighting for her life. God
knew how she'd behave in amorous ecstasy. I straightened
my coat and pushed through the crowd, marvelling at the
minds (and bodies) of women - treat 'em civilised, and they
swing you round their heads; strangle 'em, and suddenly
they're all for you. Because there was no doubt about it,
now; she fancied me. It's all a matter of the proper approach.
* * *
I knew better than to seek her out next day, as we steamed
up the sluggish Yangtse; the consummation of our wooing
would be all the better for keeping. I saw her once, as I
70
paced the upper walk after tiffin; she was standing in the
steerage, gazing up, and raised a hand and gave her lazy
smile at sight of me. I smiled back, surveying her carefully
like a farmer at the stock-ring, then nodded as one satisfied
for the moment, and turned away to resume my stroll. Aye,
let her wait. I had other matters to occupy me, during the
day at least; I chewed the fat with Ward, boned up on my
Taiping notebook, wondered when the devil Bruce's agent
would turn up, and was first in quest of news at every village
landing-place.
The crisis was plainly at hand up-river. Off Tungchow, a
down-river boat informed us that the great battle about
Nanking had become a rout, with the Taipings everywhere
victorious; Chen's Celestial Singers were driving through
to relieve the capital, while General Lee was driving the
Imps like sheep and breaking their blockade on the river.
"And ye ken what that'll mean," declares Skipper Witherspoon
ominously. "Every scoondrel in an Imp uniform'll be
castin' awa' his coat and turnin' bandit. It'll be worse than
Flodden. Goad help the country! We'll no' see Nanking this
trip, I'm thinkin'; we'll dae well if we get the boat's neb
twenty miles past Kiangyin."
This was serious, for it meant that the last fifty miles of
my journey would be through lawless country scourged by
Imp deserters and Taiping fanatics. Well, they could count
me out; if there was no sign of Bruce's man, I'd turn back
with Yangtse when Witherspoon decided he'd reached the
safety limit; I couldn't be blamed, if the country was impassable.
But I knew Bruce wouldn't care for that, and I was still
studying to find a good excuse when we pulled in at Kiangyin
late in the afternoon. It was the usual miserable hole of
mud buildings and rickety bamboo wharves, with the usual
peasants gaping apathetically, and stinking to wake the dead
- the peasants and Kiangyin both. Beyond the town, stale
paddy stretched away to the misty distance, with a few woods
here and there, and the inevitable agriculturists and bullocks
standing ankle-deep. A depressing spectacle, in no way redeemed
by the appearance of the Rev. Matthew Prosser,
B.A., God rest him.
He came aboard like a vessel of wrath, stamping up the
71
gangway and roaring, a small, round, red-faced cleric with
corks hanging from his hat like an Australian swagman, a
green veil streaming behind, an enormous dust-coat, and a
fly-whisk which he used as a flail on hindering Orientals.
Behind him tottered an urchin with his valise, and Prosser
was furiously demanding the cabin steward when his eye lit
on me, and he started as though he'd been stung. He kept
darting furtive glances at me while he hectored the steward,
and was no sooner inside his cabin than the door opened
again, and his crimson face appeared, crying: "Hist!"
I went over, and he dragged me in and slammed the door.
"Not a word!" cries he, and stood, listening intently with
his corks bobbing. Then, in a thunderous whisper: "I'm
Prosser. How-de-do. We shall be bearing each other company,
I believe. Say nothing, sir. Remember Ehud: 'I have
a secret errand unto thee, oh King; who said, keep silence'."
And he gave an enormous wink, which in that furious red
face was positively alarming. "Be seated, sir! There!" He
pointed firmly to the bunk, and began rummaging like a / terrier in his valise.
As it happened, I remembered Ehud, the Biblical lefthander
who was adept at sticking knives in folk, which was
a portent if you like. As to Prosser, he seemed such an
unlikely agent that I asked him if he knew Bruce in Shanghai,
and he rounded on me with bared teeth. "Not another word!
Discretion, sir! We must bind our faces in secret. Now
where," he snarled, rummaging again, "did I put it? Aha, I
have it! The cup was found in Benjamin's sack!" And he
lugged out a rum bottle which must have held half a gallon.
He beamed, peered at the level (which was marked in pencil),
set it on the table, and caught my eye.
"Well, Balshazzar drank wine, did he not?" cries he. "But
only after sundown, sir. And then but a small measure,
against the evening chill. Yes. Now, sir, attend to me if you
please. I believe you speak Mandarin? Good." He seemed
vastly relieved. "Then when we have reached our destination,
I shall make you known to a certain personage, and
leave you to your business." He nodded heavily, glanced at
the bottle, and muttered something about the Lord being
good to them that wait.
72
"But you'll be staying with me in ... where we're going?"
says I. He might not be much, but he'd be better than
nothing.
He shook his head angrily. "No such thing, sir! I am
known, you see, and they watch me, and send forth spies
that they may take hold of my words. You will do better
without me - indeed, the less we are seen together, the better,
even now. And once I have made you known, discreetly, to
one who, like Timothy, is faithful in the Lord . . . faithful, I say ... then my task is done. Besides, I have my own
work!" And he glared at the bottle again, while I concluded
that the faithful one must be the Loyal Prince, General Lee
Hsiu-chen of the Taipings. Why the devil couldn't he say so,
instead of acting like Guy Fawkes?
This was disconcerting. I'd supposed I would be dry-nursed
to Nanking by some capable thug who not only knew the
Taipings backwards, but could give me all manner of useful
tips, and do most of the work, with luck. Instead, here was
this bottle-nosed parson, who didn't want to be seen near
me, couldn't wait to get shot of me, and daren't even say the
simplest thing in plain language.
I said I must have some information, and he said, quite
short, that he hadn't any. I pointed out that the boat might
not go as far as Nanking, in which case he'd have to be seen
in my company, probably trudging through bandit-infested
country. He didn't take this kindly, but growled that if the
hosts ofMidian were prowling, the Lord must see us through,
and cheered me up no end by producing an ancient muzzleloader
revolver from his valise and jamming rounds into it,
twitching towards his bottle the while.
I gave up, and left him with a nasty reminder that sundown
wasn't for another half-hour. As soon as the door closed I
heard the cork pop. Be not among wine-bibbers, thinks I,
and recalling that that verse ended with reference to riotous
eaters of flesh, went in search of dinner.
Well, it was all sufficiently hellish. How, I asked myself
for the thousandth time in my life, had I got into this? A
couple of months earlier I'd been homeward bound, and now
I was heading on a secret mission that made my flesh crawl,
into the bloodiest civil war ever known, on a rickety steam73
gangway and roaring, a small, round, red-faced cleric with
corks hanging from his hat like an Australian swagman, a
green veil streaming behind, an enormous dust-coat, and a
fly-whisk which he used as a flail on hindering Orientals.
Behind him tottered an urchin with his valise, and Prosser
was furiously demanding the cabin steward when his eye lit
on me, and he started as though he'd been stung. He kept
darting furtive glances at me while he hectored the steward,
and was no sooner inside his cabin than the door opened
again, and his crimson face appeared, crying: "Hist!"
I went over, and he dragged me in and slammed the door.
"Not a word!" cries he, and stood, listening intently with
his corks bobbing. Then, in a thunderous whisper: "I'm
Prosser. How-de-do. We shall be bearing each other company,
I believe. Say nothing, sir. Remember Ehud: 'I have
a secret errand unto thee, oh King; who said, keep silence'."
And he gave an enormous wink, which in that furious red
face was positively alarming. "Be seated, sir! There!" He
pointed firmly to the bunk, and began rummaging like a
terrier in his valise.
As it happened, I remembered Ehud, the Biblical lefthander
who was adept at sticking knives in folk, which was
a portent if you like. As to Prosser, he seemed such an
unlikely agent that I asked him if he knew Bruce in Shanghai,
and he rounded on me with bared teeth. "Not another word!
Discretion, sir! We must bind our faces in secret. Now
where," he snarled, rummaging again, "did I put it? Aha, I
have it! The cup was found in Benjamin's sack!" And he
lugged out a rum bottle which must have held half a gallon.
He beamed, peered at the level (which was marked in pencil),
set it on the table, and caught my eye.
"Well, Balshazzar drank wine, did he not?" cries he. "But
only after sundown, sir. And then but a small measure,
against the evening chill. Yes. Now, sir, attend to me if you
please. I believe you speak Mandarin? Good." He seemed
vastly relieved. "Then when we have reached our destination,
I shall make you known to a certain personage, and
leave you to your business." He nodded heavily, glanced at
the bottle, and muttered something about the Lord being
good to them that wait.
72
"But you'll be staying with me in ... where we're going?"
says I. He might not be much, but he'd be better than
nothing.
He shook his head angrily. "No such thing, sir! I am
known, you see, and they watch me, and send forth spies
that they may take hold of my words. You will do better
without me - indeed, the less we are seen together, the better,
even now. And once I have made you known, discreetly, to
one who, like Timothy, is faithful in the Lord . . . faithful, I say . . . then my task is done. Besides, I have my own
work!" And he glared at the bottle again, while I concluded
that the faithful one must be the Loyal Prince, General Lee
Hsiu-chen of the Taipings. Why the devil couldn't he say so,
instead of acting like Guy Fawkes?
This was disconcerting. I'd supposed I would be dry-nursed
to Nanking by some capable thug who not only knew the
Taipings backwards, but could give me all manner of useful
tips, and do most of the work, with luck. Instead, here was
this bottle-nosed parson, who didn't want to be seen near
me, couldn't wait to get shot of me, and daren't even say the simplest thing in plain language.
I said I must have some information, and he said, quite
short, that he hadn't any. I pointed out that the boat might
not go as far as Nanking, in which case he'd have to be seen
in my company, probably trudging through bandit-infested
country. He didn't take this kindly, but growled that if the
hosts of Midian were prowling, the Lord must see us through,
and cheered me up no end by producing an ancient muzzleloader
revolver from his valise and jamming rounds into it,
twitching towards his bottle the while.
I gave up, and left him with a nasty reminder that sundown
wasn't for another half-hour. As soon as the door closed I
heard the cork pop. Be not among wine-bibbers, thinks I,
and recalling that that verse ended with reference to riotous
eaters of flesh, went in search of dinner.
Well, it was all sufficiently hellish. How, I asked myself
for the thousandth time in my life, had I got into this? A
couple of months earlier I'd been homeward bound, and now
I was heading on a secret mission that made my flesh crawl,
into the bloodiest civil war ever known, on a rickety steam73
faces everywhere - and the two Sikhs with their Minies
calmly picked their men and tumbled 'em with well-placed
shots.
"Reload! Reload!" I bawled, to let 'em know they were
covered, for they'd been about to drop their empty pieces
and draw their swords, which would have been suicide. One
Sikh heard me, and as I opened fire with the Adams he and
his mate were whipping in fresh charges. I knocked over two
with five shots, and with four down they wavered at the rail.
I was feverishly pushing in fresh loads when I heard another
revolver, and there was Witherspoon beside the Sikhs, booming
away across the smoke-filled deck.
I heard feet behind me, and there was Ward, pistol in
hand. "Get forrard!" I yelled. "They'll come at the bow,
too!" He didn't hesitate, but turned and went like a hare -
you'll go far if you live through this, thinks I, and in that
moment I heard the screams and yells and clash of steel from
the steerage forrard, and knew that they were into us with a
vengeance. I turned to the rail again - and here was more
bad news, for Witherspoon's gun was empty, one of the Sikhs
was down, and the other was laying about him with his
rifle-butt. A dozen pirates were on the deck, and even as I
let fly again I saw Witherspoon cut down by a gross yellow
genie with a kampilan. I blazed away into the brown, and
now the vicious horde had spotted me, yelling and pointing
upwards. A shot whistled overhead and a spear clattered on
the bulkhead behind me - and I thought, time to go, Flashy
my son.
For it was all up. God knew what was happening at the
bow, but the brutes were well established here, and in two
minutes they'd be butchering the coolies and cutting down
the remaining crew. My plan was already formed: time to
reload, down to the saloon deck or even lower, and at the
first sight of the enemy, over the side and swim for it.
And after that the Lord would provide, God willing. Which
reminded me of Prosser, but he was a certain goner, drunk
and damned.
I came down the ladder at a race, reloading frantically,
and reached the saloon deck. All hell was breaking loose on
the steerage forrard; I heard the crash of the Minies - Ward
76
must have the remaining Sikhs at work. Then down to the
main deck -1 knew there was no way through from the stern;
the pirates there would have to climb up to the saloon deck
and come down as I had done. I slipped through the door to
the open steerage, and it was like Dante's Inferno.
A battle royal was raging round the deckhouse forrard,
but nothing to be seen for smoke. Nearer me, coolies were
going over the rail like lemmings, apart from a sizeable group
over to starboard who were wailing fearfully and evidently
trying to burrow through the deck. For twenty feet in front
of me the port side of the deck was almost clear as a result
of the coolie migration - by God, here were two of 'em
coming back over the rail! And then I saw the glittering
kampilans and the evil, screaming faces, and I shot the first
of them as he touched the deck. The second, a burly thug
in embroidered weskit and pantaloons, with an enormous
top-knot on his bald skull, sprang down, waving an axe, and
I was about to supply him with ballast when a fleeing coolie
cannoned blindly into me, I went sprawling - and my Adams
clattered away into the scuppers.
No one, not even Elspeth, ever believes this, but my first
words were: "Why the hell don't you look where you're
going?", followed by a scream of terror as the bald bastard
lunged for me, axe aloft. There wasn't time to scramble'or
strike; I was down and helpless, he took just a split second
to pick his target - and someone shouted, high and shrill:
"Hiya, Shangi! Nay!" His head whipped round in astonishment,
and so did mine. Fifteen feet away, just clear of the
smoke obliterating the forward deck, stood the tall girl,
looking like Medusa. Her kerchief and blouse were gone;
there was blood on her breeches and on the chain collar, and
in one hand she carried a bloody kampilan.
The old China Sea trick, in fact - half your pirates come
aboard as passengers, and turn on the crew when the attack
begins. She and those ugly rivermen ... It was a fleeting
thought, and of small interest just then, as Shangi of the axe
held his hand in the act of disembowelling me, and responded with a huge beam:
"Hiya, SzuZhan!"
and having observed the courtesies, swung up his axe to
. , 77
cleave me. I heard her scream something, he shot her an
angry look and a curse, took final aim at me, and swung. I
shut my eyes, shrieking, there was the sound you hear in a
butcher's shop when the cleaver hits the joint, and I thought,
how deuced odd, that was his axe in me - and I felt no pain
at all. I looked again, and he was standing side-on, chin on
breast, evidently meditating; then I saw the kampilan hilt
protruding from his midriff, and eighteen inches of bloody
blade standing out behind him, and he crashed forward on
the deck, his axe dropping from his hand.
It had taken five seconds since the coolie barged into me
- and now I was scrambling over the deck, grabbing the
Adams, aware that she was still poised in the act of throwing
- and as I came round, two more pirates were mounting the
rail, seeing their fallen pal, and going for her with blood in
their eye. I shot one in the back; she caught the second by
his sword-arm, and I heard the bone snap. Something hit me
a terrific clout on the head, and I was on my knees again,
with the deck and the night and the hideous din of battle
spinning round me; I tried to crawl, but couldn't; the Adams
was like lead in my fist, and I knew I was losing consciousness.
A boot smashed into me, steel rang beside my head, voices
were screaming and cursing, and suddenly I was whirled up,
helpless; I was suspended, floating, and then I was flying,
turning over and over for what seemed an age before plunging
into warm, silent water, into which I sank down and down
forever.
* * *
Nowadays, in the split second of uncertainty between sleeping
and waking, I sometimes wonder: which is it going to be
this time? Am I in the Jalallabad hospital or the Apache
wickiup, the royal palace of Strackenz or the bottle dungeon
under Gwalior, the down bed at Bent's Fort or the mealie
bags at Rorke's Drift? Is this the morning I go before the
San Serafino firing-squad, or have I only to roll over to be
on top of Lola Montez? On the whole, it's quite a relief to
discover it's Berkeley Square.
I mention this, because in all the unconscionable spots I've
78
opened my eyes, I've known within seconds where I was and
what was what. The Yangtse Valley, for some reason, was
an exception; I lay for a good half hour without the least
notion, despite the fact that I could overhear people talking
about me, in a strange language which, nevertheless, I understood
perfectly. That's the oddest thing; they were talking in
a Chinese river dialect (quite unlike Mandarin) which I
haven't learned yet - but in my awakening, it was as clear as
English. Ain't that odd?
One fellow was saying they should cut my throat; another
says, no, no, this is an important fan-qui, I should be held
for ransom. A third thought it was a damned shame that I'd
been the cause of their falling out with the Triads, because
those Provident Brave Butterflies were likely lads whom it
was foolish to offend. A fourth said they could hold their
wind, since she would do what she pleased - guess what? At
which they all haw-hawed and fell suddenly silent, and
a moment later a hand was raising my head, and strong
spirit was being trickled between my lips, and I opened my
eyes to see the lean handsome face over the steel chain
collar.
Then it came rushing back - the boat, the pirates, that
hellish melee in the steerage. I struggled up, with my head
splitting, staring around - a camp-fire among bushes beside
a sluggish stream, half a dozen Chinese thugs squatting in a
half-circle, regarding me stonily . . . two of them I recognised
as rivermen who'd been talking to the tall girl that first night.
And herself, kneeling beside me with a flask in her hand,
eyeing me gravely; she'd lost her kerchief, and her hair was
coiled up most becomingly on top of her head, which must
have made her about seven feet tall. For the rest, she wore
a peasant shirt now, and the ragged knee-breeches, complete
with bloodstain.
I demanded information, fairly hoarse, and she gave it.
The Yangtse had been ambushed by members of the Provident
Brave Butterfly Triad - once a perfectly respectable
criminal fraternity which, in these troubled times, had abandoned
its urban haunts and gone rogue in the countryside.
She and her associates knew the Butterflies quite well; had,
indeed, been on friendly terms 79
"Until you had to put your knife through Shangi's guts!"
cries one of the lads. "What the hell for? Why?"
He and his friends had spoken their river dialect before;
his question now was phrased in a dreadful mixture of bastard
Pekinese and pigeon, which I could just make out. Why he
used it, I couldn't think, unless out of courtesy to me which
it probably was, in fact. They have the oddest
notions of etiquette, and can show great consideration
for strangers, even unwelcome prisoners, which I seemed
to be.
Anyway, when he wondered why she'd corrected poor old
Shangi's exercises for him, she simply said: "Because it
pleased me," glanced at me, and then looked away with her
lazy smile.
"It'll please you, then, when the Butterflies make feud,
and kill us all," says he, or words to that effect. "You'll
see. What's more, he -" flicking his finger at me "- shot
Ta-lung-ki. We'll get the blame for that, too."
"It saved my life," says she, and looked at him. "Are you
complaining, you little ----?"
He hurriedly said, no, of course not, and Shangi and
Ta-lung-ki were admittedly a pair of prominent bastards . . .
still, it was a pity to provoke the Triads ... he merely
mentioned it.
"Who are you?" I interrupted, and she looked slightly
surprised.
"Bandits," says she, as one might have said "Conservatives,
of course", and added with a lift of the splendid head:
"I am SzuZhan."
Plainly I was right to look impressed, although I'd never
heard the name. I nodded solemnly and said: "I see. You
work with the Triads?"
It appeared they didn't; she and the boys were real bandits,
not townee roughs. Sure enough, they'd been preparing to
take the Yangtse farther up, but the Triads had got in first,
and Szu-Zhan and her gang had been pursuing a neutral
policy until (here she looked at me steadily) it had become
necessary to intervene. After that, to avoid further embarrassment,
they had left, and she'd been considerate enough
to throw me over the side first.
80
"What happened to the others - the passengers and crew?"
"They will be in Kiangyin by now," says she. "From the
bank we saw them beat off the Triads; then they refloated
the boat and went down-river."
Ward, you son-of-a-bitch! I thought to myself. He'd absolutely
fought his way clear - and thanks to the zeal of my
protectress I was stuck in the wilderness. Not that I could
complain - but for her I'd have been digesting Shangi's axe
by now. Which was highly flattering, although I'd known, of
course, after our tussle behind the deckhouse, that she had
worked up a ravenous appetite for me. It didn't surprise me,
for -1 say this without conceit, since it ain't my doing - while
civilised women have been more than ordinarily partial to
me, my most ardent admirers have been the savage females
of the species. Take the captain of Gezo's Amazons, for
example, who'd ogled me so outrageously during the deathhouse
feast; or Sonsee-array the Apache (my fourth wife,
in a manner of speaking); or Queen Ranavalona, who'd once
confessed shyly that when I died she intended to have part
of me pickled in a bottle, and worshipped; or Lady Caroline
Lamb - the Dahomey slave, not the other one, who was
before my time. Yes, I've done well among the barbarian
ladies. Elspeth, of course, is Scottish.
And here now was Szu-Zhan of the glorious height and
colossal thews - when I thought of the strength that could
drive a kampilan through a stout human body from fifteen
feet, I fe:it a trifle apprehensive. But at least I was safe with
her, and would be most lovingly cared for, until . . .? Aye,
the sooner we took order, the better.
"Szu-Zhan," says I gravely, "I am in your debt. I owe you
my life. I'm your friend, now and hereafter." I held out my
hand, and after a moment she grasped it, giving me her
pleased, insolent smile. It was like putting your hand in a
mangle. "My name is Harry, I am English, and stand high
in the British Army and Government."
"Halli'," says she, in that deep liquid voice - and d'ye
know, it never sounded better.
"And I'm indebted to your friends also," says I, and held
out my hand again. The six proud walkers looked at each
other, and frowned, and scratched, and scowled - and then
81
one by one came forward, and each took my hand, and
muttered "Hang" and "Tan-nang" and "Mao" and "Yei" as
the case might be. Then they all sat down again and giggled
at each other.
"I need to go back to Shanghai, quickly," I went on. "The
British Trade Superintendent will pay many taels for my safe
return. In silver. I can promise "
"Not to Shanghai," says she. "Not even to Kiangyin. This
is Triad country, so we go west, until we are strong again thirty,
forty swords. Then let the Butterflies feud!" And she
sneered at Mao, the argumentative one.
"Then let me go," says I. "I pledge two hundred taels, to
be paid to you wherever you wish. I'll make my own way
back."
She studied me, leaning back on her elbow - and if you
don't think that shirt, bloody breeches, and great clog sandals
can look elegant, you're mistaken. The long hungry face was
smiling a little, as a cat might smile if it could. "No. You
were going to Nanking. We can take you there ... or
farther." And for the first time since I'd met her, she dropped
her eyes.
"Hey!" cries Yei, who I learned was the gang idiot, and
had just reached a conclusion the others had known long
ago. "She wants him to ----!" Obviously they'd all gone to
the same elocution class. "That's why she wants to keep him
with us! To ----!"
Her response might have been to blush and say, "Really,
Yei!" - and perhaps, by Chinese bandit standards, it was.
For she was on her feet like a panther, reached him in two
great strides, plucked him up wriggling by the neck, and laid
into him with a bamboo. He yelled and struggled while she
lambasted him mercilessly at arm's length until the stick
broke, when she swung him aloft in both hands, dashed him
down, and trampled on him.
He came to after about ten minutes, by which time I had
lost any inclination to argue with the lady. "Nanking let it
be," says I. "As it happens, I have business with the Loyal
Prince Lee." That ought to impress even bandits. "You know
the Taipings?"
"The Coolie Kings?" She shrugged. "We have marched
82
with them against the Imps, now and then. What is your
business with the Chung Wang?"
"Talk," says I. "But first I shall ask him for two hundred
taels in silver."
We spent the night where we were, since the crack I'd
taken on the head had left me feeling fairly seedy. Next
morning I had nothing worse than a bad headache, and we
set off north-west through the wooded flats and flood-lands
that lie between the great river and the Tai Hu lake to the
south. Nanking was about fifty miles ahead, but in the state
of the country I reckoned it would take us a good four days,
and wary travelling at that.
For we were marching into a battle-field - or rather, a
killing-ground that stretched a hundred miles, where the
remnants of the Imperial armies were fleeing before the
Taipings, with both sides savaging the country as they went.
I've seen slaughter and ruin in my time - Gettysburg, and
Rio villages where the Mimbreno had passed through, the
Ganges valley in the Mutiny time, and the pirate-pillaged
coast of Sarawak - but those were single battle-grounds, or
a few devastated villages at most. This was a whole country
turned into a charnel-house: village after burned village,
smoke on every horizon, corpses, many of them hideously
mutilated, on every wrecked street and in every paddy and
copse - I remember one small town, burning like a beacon,
and a pile of bodies of every age and sex outside its shattered
gate - that pile was eight feet high and as long as a cricket
pitch; they had been herded together, doused with oil, and
burned.
"Imps," says Szu-Zhan, and I daresay she was right, for
they were worse than the rebels. We saw scattered bands of
them every hour, and had to lie up as they passed: mobs of
Bannermen, in their half-armour and quilted jacks, Tiger
soldiers like grotesque harlequins in their close-fitting suits
of diagonal black and yellow, Tartar cavalry in fur-edged
conical hats and gaudy coats, dragging wailing women behind
their ponies. In one place we saw them driving a crowd of
peasants - there must have been a couple of hundred - into
an open field, and then they just charged among them,
(and butchered them with their swords and lances. And
83
one by one came forward, and each took my hand, and
muttered "Hang" and "Tan-nang" and "Mao" and "Yei" as
the case might be. Then they all sat down again and giggled
at each other.
"I need to go back to Shanghai, quickly," I went on. "The
British Trade Superintendent will pay many taels for my safe
return. In silver. I can promise "
"Not to Shanghai," says she. "Not even to Kiangyin. This
is Triad country, so we go west, until we are strong again thirty,
forty swords. Then let the Butterflies feud!" And she
sneered at Mao, the argumentative one.
"Then let me go," says I. "I pledge two hundred taels, to
be paid to you wherever you wish. I'll make my own way
back."
She studied me, leaning back on her elbow - and if you
don't think that shirt, bloody breeches, and great clog sandals
can look elegant, you're mistaken. The long hungry face was
smiling a little, as a cat might smile if it could. "No. You
were going to Nanking. We can take you there ... or
farther." And for the first time since I'd met her, she dropped
her eyes.
"Hey!" cries Yei, who I learned was the gang idiot, and
had just reached a conclusion the others had known long
ago. "She wants him to ----!" Obviously they'd all gone to
the same elocution class. "That's why she wants to keep him
with us! To ----!"
Her response might have been to blush and say, "Really,
Yei!" - and perhaps, by Chinese bandit standards, it was.
For she was on her feet like a panther, reached him in two
great strides, plucked him up wriggling by the neck, and laid
into him with a bamboo. He yelled and struggled while she
lambasted him mercilessly at arm's length until the stick
broke, when she swung him aloft in both hands, dashed him
down, and trampled on him.
He came to after about ten minutes, by which time I had
lost any inclination to argue with the lady. "Nanking let it
be," says I. "As it happens, I have business with the Loyal
Prince Lee." That ought to impress even bandits. "You know
the Taipings?"
"The Coolie Kings?" She shrugged. "We have marched
82
with them against the Imps, now and then. What is your
business with the Chung Wang?"
"Talk," says I. "But first I shall ask him for two hundred
taels in silver."
We spent the night where we were, since the crack I'd
taken on the head had left me feeling fairly seedy. Next
morning I had nothing worse than a bad headache, and we
set off north-west through the wooded flats and flood-lands
that lie between the great river and the Tai Hu lake to the
south. Nanking was about fifty miles ahead, but in the state
of the country I reckoned it would take us a good four days,
and wary travelling at that.
For we were marching into a battle-field - or rather, a
killing-ground that stretched a hundred miles, where the
remnants of the Imperial armies were fleeing before the
Taipings, with both sides savaging the country as they went.
I've seen slaughter and ruin in my time - Gettysburg, and
Rio villages where the Mimbreno had passed through, the
Ganges valley in the Mutiny time, and the pirate-pillaged
coast of Sarawak - but those were single battle-grounds, or
a few devastated villages at most. This was a whole country
turned into a charnel-house: village after burned village,
smoke on every horizon, corpses, many of them hideously
mutilated, on every wrecked street and in every paddy and
copse - I remember one small town, burning like a beacon,
and a pile of bodies of every age and sex outside its shattered
gate - that pile was eight feet high and as long as a cricket
pitch; they had been herded together, doused with oil, and
burned.
"Imps," says Szu-Zhan, and I daresay she was right, for
they were worse than the rebels. We saw scattered bands of
them every hour, and had to lie up as they passed: mobs of
Bannermen, in their half-armour and quilted jacks, Tiger
soldiers like grotesque harlequins in their close-fitting suits
of diagonal black and yellow, Tartar cavalry in fur-edged
conical hats and gaudy coats, dragging wailing women behind
their ponies. In one place we saw them driving a crowd of
peasants - there must have been a couple of hundred - into
an open field, and then they just charged among them,
and butchered them with their swords and lances. And
83
everywhere the dead, and the death-smell mingling with the
acrid smoke of burning homes.
I don't describe this to harrow you, but to give some notion
of what China was like in that summer of '60. And this was
one small corner, you understand, after one battle, in a vast
empire where rebellion had flamed for ten long years. No
one can ever count the dead, or tally the destruction, or
imagine the enormity of its blood-stained horror. This was
the Taiping - the Kingdom of Heavenly Peace.
After the first day, though, I barely noticed it, any more
than you notice fallen leaves in autumn. For one thing, my
companions were indifferent to it - they'd lived in it for
years. And I had my own skin to think about, which means
after a little time that you feel a curious elation; you are
alive, and walking free, in the Valley of the Shadow; your
luck's holding. And it's easy to turn your thoughts to higher
things, like journey's end, and your continued survival, and
the next meal, and the slim towering figure ahead, with those
muscular buttocks and long legs straining the tight breeches.
The devil of it was, while we were sleeping out there was
no privacy, with those six villains never more than a few
yards away, and dossing down beside us at night. She was
watching me, though, with that knowing smile getting less
lazy, and her mouth tightening with growing impatience as
the hours and miles passed. I was getting a mite feverish
myself; perhaps it was the barbarous conditions, and the
frustration of being so near, but I wanted that strapping body
as I wanted salvation; once, when we lay up in a wood while
a long convoy of Imp stragglers went by, we found ourselves
lying flank to flank in long grass, with the others behind the
bushes, and I began to play with her until she turned on me,
her mouth shaking and searching for mine. We pawed and
grappled, grunting like beasts, and I dare say would have
done the trick if the clown Yei hadn't come and trodden on
us.
By the second afternoon we had struck a patch of country
which the war seemed to have passed by; peasants were hard
at it standing in the fields, and not far ahead there was a
fortified hill-summit, betokening a safe village; we had picked
up some baggage and side-arms on our journey, and even a
84
cart to push them in, at which the bandits took complaining
turns, and Szu-Zhan said we should stay that night at an inn,
because camping out you never knew when you might be
molested by prowlers. It's a great thing, property-owning.
We were such an evil-looking gang-especially with myself,
a big-nosed, fair-skinned barbarian, which is the height of
ugliness to the Chinese - that I doubted if they'd let us
through the gate, but there was a little temple just outside
the wall, with a vulture-like priest ringing a hand-bell and
demanding alms, and once Szu-Zhan had given him a handful
of cash he croaked to the gate-keeper to admit us. It was
a decent village, for China; the piled filth was below
window-level, and the Inn of Mutual Prosperity had its own
tea-shop and eating-house - quite the Savoy or Brown's,
if you like, a shilling a night, bring your own grub and
bedding.
Indeed, I've fared worse at English posting-houses in my
schooldays than I have in some rural Chink hotels. This one
was walled all round, with a big archway into its central
court, and we hadn't stopped the cart before a fat little host
was out with the inevitable tea-pot and cups. SzuZhan
demanded two rooms - one on the side-wall for the six lads,
and another de luxe apartment at the top of the yard, away
from the street - those are the better, larger rooms, and cost
three hundred cash, or eighteenpence. They're big and airy
- since the door don't fit and the paper in the windows lets
in fine draughts, but they're dry and warm, with a big kong, or brick platform bed, taking up half the room. Under the
bed there's a flue, for dry grass or dung fuel, so you sleep
most comfortably on top of a stove, with the smoke going
up a vent in the wall - or rather, not going up, since the
chimney's blocked, and you go to bed in dense fog. Privacy
is ensured by closing the door and getting mine host to jam
your cart up against it.9
There wasn't a "best" room available, until SzuZhan
shrugged back the cloak she'd picked up, and rested her
hand on her cleaver-hilt, at which mine host blenched and
wondered if the Paddy-field Suite wasn't vacant after all; he
signified this by grovelling at our feet, beating his head on
the ground in the kow-tow ("knocking head", they call it),
85
pleading with us to wait just a moment, and then scrambling
up, grabbing a servant, and getting him to deputise as kowtow-er
while the host scurried off to eject a party who had
just booked in. He fairly harried them out, screaming and
they went, too, dumb and docile - while the servant
continued to bash his brains out before us, and then we were
ushered in, another tea-pot was presented with fawning
servility, and we were assured that dinner could be served in
the apartment, or in the common-room, where a wide variety of the choicest dishes was available.
It was the usual vile assortment of slimy roots and gristle
which the Chinese call food, but I had a whole chicken,
roasted, to myself - and it was during the meal that I realised
my companions were not "Chinese", but Manchoos. The
common Chinks eat out of a communal rice-bowl, but even
the lowliest Manchoo will have his separate rice-dish, as
Szu-Zhan and her companions did. (Better-class Manchoos,
by the way, seldom eat rice at all.)
Other interesting native customs were to be observed after
the meal, when the six, gorged to the point of mischief,
announced that they were off to the brothel next door. I've
never seen prostitution so blatant as in China, and this
although it's a hanging offence; all through our meal, shabby
tarts with white-painted faces had been becking and giggling
in the doorway, calling out and displaying the mutilated feet
by which the Chinese set such store, and the lads had been
eating faster and faster in anticipation. Now, with the samshu
and tea going round, Szu-Zhan, who'd been leaning back
against the wall, sipping and eyeing me restively, threw a
bag of cash on the table and reminded them that we would
be off at dawn. Put money in front of a Chinese, even if he's
starving, and he'll gamble for it; they turned out the purse,
yelping, and fell to choi-mooy, the finger game, in which you
whip your hand from behind your back, holding up one or
more fingers, and the others have to guess how many, double
quick.
In two minutes they were briefly at blows, with the tarts
hanging over the table, egging them on; then they settled
down and the fingers shot out to a chorus of shouts, followed
by groans or laughter, while Szu-Zhan and I sat apart,
86
nibbling a fiery-tasting ginger root which she'd spoke for,
and killing the taste with tea and samshu.
I watched her, strong teeth tearing at the ginger root, and
saw she was breathing hard, and there was a trickle of sweat
down the long jaw; she's on a short fuse now, thinks I, so I
took her hand firmly and led her out and quickly across to
the room. I had her shirt and breeches away before the door
closed, and was just seizing those wonders, yammering with
lust, when she spun me round in an iron grip, face to the
wall, and disrobed me in turn, with a great rending of linen
and thunder of buttons. She held me there with one hand
while with the other she drew a long, sharp finger-nail slowly
down my back and up again, faster and faster, as she hissed
at my ear, biting my neck, and finally slipped her hand round
my hips, teasing. I tore free, fit to burst, but she turned,
squirming her rump into me, seizing my wrists and forcing
my fingers up into her chain collar, panting: "Now, Halli',
now - fight! Fight!" and twisting her head and shoulders
frenziedly to tighten my grip.
Well, strangulation as an accompaniment to la galop was,
I confess, new to me, but anything to oblige the weaker sex
(my God!). Besides, the way she was thrashing about it was
odds that if I didn't incapacitate her somehow, she'd break
my leg. So I hauled away like fury, and the more she choked
the wilder she struggled, plunging about the room like a
bronco with Flashy clinging on behind for his life, rolling on
the floor - it was three falls to a finish, no error, and if I
hadn't secured a full nelson and got mounted in the same
moment, she'd have done me a mischief. After that it was
more tranquil, and we didn't hit the wall above twice; I
settled into my stride, which calmed her to a mere frenzy of
passion, and by the time we reached the ecstatic finish she
was as shuddering clay in my hands. As I lay there, most
wonderfully played out, with her gasping exhausted beneath
me, I remember thinking: Gad, suppose she and Ranavalona
had been joint rulers of Madagascar.
The trouble was that, being so infernally strong, she recovered
quickly from athletic exercise, and within the hour
we were at it again. But now I insisted that I conduct the
orchestra, and by giving of my artistic best, convinced her
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that grinding is even better fun when you don't try to kill
each other. At least she seemed to agree afterwards, when
we lay in each other's arms and she kissed me lingeringly,
calling me fan-qui Halli' and recalling our contortions in
terms that made me blush. So I drifted into a blissful sleep,
and about four o'clock she was there again, offering and
demanding violence, and this time our exertions were such
that we crashed through the top of the bed into the fireplace,
and completed the capital act among the warm embers and
billowing clouds of ash. Well, I reflected, that's the first time
you've done it in a Chinese oven. Semper aliquid novi.
* * *
A little touch of Flashy in the night goes a long way with
some women; then again, there are those who can't wait to
play another fixture, and so ad infinitum. I suppose I should
be grateful that Szu-Zhan the bandit was one of the latter,
since this ensured my safety and also gave me some of the
finest rough riding I remember; on the other hand, the way
she spun out that journey to Nanking, over another three
days and tempestuous nights, it looked long odds that I'd
have to be carried the last few miles.
She gave me concern on another, more spiritual score,
too. As you know, I've no false modesty about my ability to
arouse base passion in the lewder sort of female (and some
not so lewd, neither, until I taught 'em how), but I've never
deluded myself that I'm the kind who inspires deep lasting
affection - except in Elspeth, thank God, but she's an
emotional half-wit. Must be; she's stuck by me for sixty
years. However, there were one or two, like Duchess Irma
and Susie, who truly loved me, and I was beginning to suspect
that Szu-Zhan was one of those.
For one thing, she couldn't get enough of my company
and conversation on the march, plaguing me to tell her about
myself, and England, and my time in the Army, and places
I'd visited, and my likes and dislikes 	. . . and whether I had
a wife at home. I hesitated at that, fearful that the truth
might displease her, but decided it was best to let her know
I was spoke for already. She didn't seem to mind, but
88
confessed that she had five husbands herself, somewhere or
other - a happy, battered gang they must have been.
She would listen, intent, to all I said, those slant eyes
fixed on my face, and the arch, satisfied smile breaking out
whenever I paid her any marked attention. Then on the last
lap into Nanking she fell thoughtful, and I knew the poor
dear was brooding on journey's end.
On the previous afternoon we had come into Taiping
country proper, and I saw for the first time those red jackets
and blue trousers, and the long hair coiled in plaits round the
head that marked the famous Chang Maos, the Longhaired
Devils, the Coolie Kings. What I'd heard was true: they were finer-featured than the ordinary Chinks, smarter, more
disciplined even in their movements - aye, more austere is
the word. Their guard-posts were well-manned, on the march
they kept ranks, they were alert, and full of business, holding
up their heads . . . and I began to wonder if perhaps Napoleon
was right. The greatest rebellion ever known; the most
terrible religious force since Islam.
Szu-Zhan proved to be well-known to them, by repute, and now I learned how many professional brigands had
joined with the Taipings, out of no ideals, but just for
the loot and conversation, only to fall away because they
wouldn't take the rigid discipline - quite trivial military
crimes were punished by death or savage flogging, and apart
from that there was all the rubbish of learning texts and the
Heavenly King's "thoughts" and keeping strictly the Sabbath
(Saturday, to them, like the Hebrews). So Szu-Zhan took
part with them only when she felt like it, which wasn't
often.10
They treated her with immense respect - mind you, he'd
have been a damned odd man who didn't. I've known a fair
number of females who were leaders of men, and every time
someone has thought fit to remark on the fact of their sex.
Not with Szu-Zhan; her leadership was a matter of course,
and not only because she was gigantic in stature and strength.
She had a quality; put 'em on an outpost together and even
Wellington wouldn't have pressed his seniority.
But my own humble presence in the party helped to speed
us on our way, too, for they were eager to welcome any
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outside Christians who might take word home of what splendid
chaps they were; they knew, you see, that what their
movement needed was the approval of the great Powers:
Britain, France and America for preference, but Paraguay
would do at a pinch. So we rode the last day, all eight of us,
in our cart hauled by forty straining peasants in harness, with
Taiping guards flogging 'em on; when one collapsed they
kicked him into the ditch and whistled up another.
I'll not forget that ride in a hurry, for it took us not into
Nanking, but into the heart of the vast army of Golden Lions,
commanded by General Lee Hsiu-chen, the Loyal Prince,
and the man I had come to see. I had mixed feelings about
meeting him; great men are chancy, and best viewed from a
distance as the parade goes by.
And didn't this one have a parade of his own, just! Mile
after mile of outposts and lines and bivouacs, swarming with
orderly mobs of red coats and white straw coolie hats; parks
of artillery, laagers of store-wagons and equipment carts;
great encampments for the separate corps - the Youths, the
Earths, the Waters, the Women, who are respectively the
light infantry and scout battalions, the sappers and builders,
the river navy, and the female regiments, who alone were
a hundred thousand strong. I looked on those anthills of
disciplined humanity, covering the ground into the hazy
distance, and thought: Palmerston, you should see this. God
knows about their quality, although they look well, but for
weight of numbers they'll be bad to beat. Take on the
Russians, or the Frogs, or the Yankees, if you like, but don't
tangle with this, because you'll never come to the end of
them."
Well, I was wrong, as you know. A dreamy young Scot
and a crazy American between them brought the Great
Kingdom of Heavenly Peace down in bloody wreck in the
end. But I wouldn't have bet on it that day below Nanking.
And this wasn't the half of them; the rest were still out
yonder, murdering Imps.
When we were clearly coming to the centre of the camp,
I decided it was time to announce myself as an English
gentleman seeking General Lee. That cleared our way to a
cluster of head-quarter tents, where I made myself known to
90
an officer outside the biggest marquee of all, with stalwart
bowmen in fur caps and steel breastplates standing guard, a
golden lion standard at its canopy, and yellow ribbons fluttering
from its eaves. He told me to wait, and I turned to
Szu-Zhan, asking her to act as my sponsor. She shook her
head.
"No. Go in alone. He will not wish to see me."
"He will when I tell him that it's thanks to you I'm here,"
says I. "Come on, tall girl! I need you to speak up for me."
She shook her head again. "Better you speak to him alone.
Don't worry, he will understand what you say." She glanced
round at the six wise men, who were studying their orderly
surroundings with contempt, and spitting over the edge of
the cart. "You'll get no credit from this company, fan-qui."
Something in her voice made me look closer - she'd been
calling me "Halli"', not "fan-qui" for days now. Her eyes
seemed bigger, and suddenly I realised, before she turned
her head away sharply, it was because there were tears in
them.
"For God's sake!" says I, stepping up. "Here, come down
this minute! Come down, I say!"
She slipped over the edge of the cart and leaned against it
with that artless elegance that could make me come all over
of a heat, and looked sullenly down at me. "What the devil's
the matter?" says I. "Why won't you come in?"
"It is not fitting," says she stubbornly, and brushed a hand
over her eyes, the bangles tinkling.
"Not fitting? What stuff! Why . . . Here!" A thought
struck me. "It's not . . . anything you've done, is it? You're
not. . . wanted ... for being a bandit, I mean?"
She stared, and then laughed her great deep laugh, with
her head back, the steel collar shaking above her bosom.
Gad, but she was fine to see - so tall and strong and beautiful.
"No, Halli', I am not . . . wanted." She shrugged impatiently.
"But I would rather stay here. I'll wait."
Well, the darlings have their own reasons, so when the
officer returned I went in alone, and was conducted through
a long canvas passage ending in a heavy cloth of gold curtain.
He drew it back . . . and I stepped from the world into the
Kingdom of Heavenly Peace.
91
It was downright eery. One moment the noise and bustle
of the camp, and now the dead silence of a spacious tent that
was walled and roofed and even carpeted in yellow silk;
filtered light illuminated it in a golden haze; the furniture
was gilt, and the young clerk writing at a gold table was
all clad in yellow satin. He put down his brush and rose,
addressing me in good Pekinese:
"Mr Fleming?" He called it Fremming. "The gentleman
from the Missionaries of London?" I said I was, and that I
wished to see General Lee Hsiu-chen (whom I was imagining
as Timoor the Tartar, all bulk and belly in a fur cloak and
huge moustachios).
He indicated a chair and slipped out, returning a moment
later in a brilliant scarlet silk jacket - the effect of that glaring
splash of colour in the soft golden radiance absolutely made
me blink. I rose, waiting to be ushered.
"Please to sit," says he. "This is not ceremonial dress."
He sat down behind the table, folded his hands, and looked
at me - and as I stared at the lean, youthful face with its tight
lips and stretched skin, and met the gaze of the intent dark
eyes, I realised with shock that this slim youngster (I could
give him several years, easy) must be the famous Loyal
Prince himself. I tried to conceal my astonishment, while he
regarded me impassively.
"We are honoured," says he. His voice was soft and
high-pitched. "You were expected some days ago. Perhaps
you have had a troublesome journey?"
Still taken aback, I told him about the river ambush,
and how Szu-Zhan and her friends had brought me across
country.
"You were fortunate," says he coolly. "The tall woman
and her brigands have been useful auxiliaries in the past, but
they are pagans and we prefer not to rely on such people."
Not encouraging, but I told him, slightly embarrassed, that
I'd promised her two hundred taels, which I didn't have, and
he continued to regard me without expression.
"My treasurer will supply you," says he, and at this point
in our happy chat a servant entered with tea and tiny cups.
Lee poured in ceremonious silence, and the trickle of the tea
sounded like a thundering torrent. For no good reason, I
92
was sweating; there was something not canny about this
yellow silken cave with the scarlet-coated young deaths-head
asking if I would care for distilled water on the side. Then
we sat sipping in the stillness for about a week, and my belly
gurgling like the town drains. At last he set down his cup
and asked quietly:
"Will the Powers welcome our army at Shanghai?"
I damned near swallowed my cup. If he handled his army
as briskly as his diplomacy, it was a wonder there was an
Imp soldier left in China by now. He waited until I had done
hawking and coughing, and fixed me with those cold dark
eyes.
"It is essential that they should." He spoke in the flat,
dispassionate tone of a lecturer. "The war in China is foregone. The dragon will die, and we shall have killed it. The
will of the people, inspired by God's holy truth, must prevail,
and in the place of the old, corrupt China, a new nation will
be born - the Taiping. To achieve this, we do not need
European help, but European compliance. The Powers in
effect control the Treaty Ports; the use of one of them,
Shanghai, will enable us to end the war so much the
sooner."
Well, that was what Bruce had said, and what we, in our
neutrality, were reluctant to grant, because it would put a
fire-cracker under Pekin's backside and Grant would have
to fight all the way to the capital against an Imperial Government
who'd feel (rightly) that we'd betrayed 'em to the
Taipings.
"We are aware," he went on, "that Britain has a treaty
with the Emperor and recognises his government, while not
acknowledging even our existence. Perhaps she should recall
the saying of an English poet, that treason cannot prosper
because with prosperity it ceases to be treason. The Taiping
is prospering, Mr Fleming. Is that not a sound reason why
your country should look favourably on our request to come
to Shanghai in peace and friendship?"
So much for Oriental diplomacy-long fingernails and long
negotiations, my eye! There was his case, stated with veiled
menaces, before I'd got a word in, let alone Bruce's "tactful
persuasions". One thing was clear: this wasn't the time,
93
^
exactly, to tell him we didn't want his long-haired gang
anywhere near Shanghai.
"But there is more, much more, than mere practical
interest to bind our countries." He leaned forward slightly,
and I realised that behind the impassive mask he was quivering
like a greyhound. The dark eyes were suddenly alight.
"We are Christian - as you are. We believe in progress,
work, improvement - as you do. We believe in the sacred
right of human liberty - as you do. In none of these things none his voice rose suddenly "do the Manchoos believe!
They respect no human values! Why, for example, do they
shuffle and lie and evade, rather than permit your Ambassador
to go to Pekin to sign the treaty to which they are
pledged? Do you know?"
I supposed, vaguely, that they hoped we'd modify a few
clauses here and there, if they put off long enough . . .
"No." His voice was level again. "That is not why. They
would sign today - at Canton, or Shanghai, even Hong Kong.
But not at Pekin. Why? Because if the ceremony is there, in
the Hall of Ceremonies in the Imperial City, with your Lord
Elgin and the Emperor, the Son of Heaven, face to face ..."
he paused, for emphasis "... then all China, All Under the
Skies, will see that the Big Barbarian does not go down on
his knees before the Celestial Throne, does not beat his head
on the ground before the Solitary Prince. That is why they
delay; that is why General Grant must go up with an army
- because Lord Elgin will not kow-tow. And that they cannot
endure, because it would show the world that the Emperor
is no more than any other ruler, like your Queen, or the
American President. And that they will not admit, or even
believe!"
"Touchy, eh?" says I. "Well, I dare say "
"Is a government to be taken seriously, that would risk
war - conquest, even - rather than forego the kow-tow to
that debauched imbecile? Come to a Taiping prince, and he
will take your Ambassador's hand like a man. That is the
difference between a power blinded by ignorance, pride, and
brutality, stumbling to its ruin, and a power enlightened,
democratic and benign. Allow me to pour you some more
tea."
94
Now you'll have noticed that for all his cold, straight talk,
he hadn't said they were coming to Shanghai willy-nilly; he'd
urged powerful reasons why we ought to invite them, with a
strong hint of the consequences if we didn't. Well, we'd have
to wait and see, but it was plain I was going to have the
deuce of a job fobbing him off for as long as Bruce wanted.
This was the kind of steel-edged young fire-eater who'd want
a straight answer, p.d.q., and wouldn't wear any diplomatic
nods and winks. By gad, he wasted no time; how long
had I been with him - ten minutes? Long enough to
feel the force that had brought him in ten years from
apprentice charcoal-burner and private soldier to the third
place in the Taiping hierarchy behind Hung Jen-kan and
the Tien Wang himself. It was there, in the cold soft voice
and hard unwinking eyes; he was a fanatic, of course,
and a formidable one. I didn't care for him one damned
bit.
However, I had a part to play, even if we both knew it
was a sham. So I thanked him for his illuminating remarks
about his great movement, which I looked forward eagerly
to studying while I was in Nanking. "I am only a traveller,
as you know, but anxious to learn - and to pass on what I
learn to my countrymen who are ... ah, deeply interested
in your splendid cause."
"What you will learn, and pass on," says he, "will include
the elementary scientific fact that revolutions do not stand
still. Tomorrow I shall conduct you personally to Nanking,
where I hope you will do me the honour of being my personal
guest for as long as it pleases you to stay."
So that was that, and he must have slipped a quick word
to his treasurer, for in the outer tent - and how free and airy
it seemed after that golden bath - a little chap was waiting
with a bag of silver and a scroll, which I was invited to sign
with a paint-brush. When in Rome ... I painted him a small Gat sitting on a wall, he beamed, and I strode out to the t^rt . . . which wasn't there.
I stopped dead, looking right and left, but there was no sign 01 it; nothing but the limitless lines of tents, with redcoats
swarming everywhere. I turned in astonishment to the officer
who had admitted me.
95
"The woman who was here, with the cart - the very tall
woman . . . and six men "
"They went away," says he, "after you had gone in to the
Chung Wang. The woman left that for you."
He jerked his thumb at one of the little flagstaff s planted
before the marquee; something was hanging on it, something
shining. I went over and was reaching for it in bewilderment,
when I made out what it was. Her steel-chain collar.
Wondering, I took it down, weighing it in my hands. Why
the devil had she gone off - leaving this?
I stared at the officer. "She left this ... for me? Did she
say why?"
He shook his head, bored. "She told me to give it to the bigfan-qui. Nothing more."
"But she said she was going to wait!"
"Oh, aye." He stopped in the act of lounging off. "She
told me to say . . . that she would always be waiting." He
shrugged. "Whatever that may mean."
96
There's a test which I apply to all my old
flames, when I think back sentimentally to moments of
parting, and it's this: if she'd been mine to sell, how long
would I have kept her? In the case of Szu-Zhan, the answer
is: another night or two at most. Aside from the fact that she
was wearing me to a shadow, I needed no encumbrances in
Taipingdom; by all accounts they were a strait-laced lot who
mightn't take kindly to a bandit mistress, and I couldn't
afford to lose face. Perhaps she sensed that, and had the
good sense to make herself scarce.
Yet as I stood by the dusty camp road with the flags and
ribbons fluttering in the evening wind, and the sun going
down misty beyond the lines, I confess I felt a moment's
pang at the thought that I'd straddled her for the last time.
And I still keep the chain collar in my drawer upstairs, with
the Silk One's scarf, Lakshmibai's stirrup, Lola's letter,
Irma's little glove, and that mysterious red silk garter with
"Semper Fidelis" embroidered on it that I'm damned if I can
place. Anyway, it shows I still think kindly on SzuZhan.
But even she pales in memory when I look back to that
time, for now I was entering on one of the strangest episodes
of my life, which I wouldn't believe myself if I were to read
it in someone else's recollections, but which you may take
my word for, because I was there, in the Eternal Kingdom
of Heavenly Peace, and you know I ain't about to start
stretching at this time of day. I can say I've walked in
Nephelococcygia,* as old Arnold would have called it, and
when I tell you that it beat even Madagascar for craziness,
well . . . you shall judge for yourselves.
There was little sign of it during the two days I was in
* Cuckoo-City -in-the-Clouds (Aristophanes).
97
Lee's camp, and as I compared the tales I'd heard with what
I was now seeing for myself, I wondered if perhaps the
Taipings hadn't been grossly misrepresented by Imp and
foreign propagandists. That they were savage and bloodthirsty,
I knew from the journey up - but what Oriental army
is not? They were no mere barbarian horde, though, but a
splendidly-disciplined force far more formidable than we
had imagined. As for their lunacy, I'd spoken with one of
their great men, and found him sane and intelligent enough,
if a bit of a zealot. Very well, their Heavenly King might be
a barmy recluse with odd notions of Christianity, but it all
seemed a far cry from the days when the early Wangs, or
princes, had been as crazy as he was, and went about calling
themselves Kings of the East, West, North, and South,
and murdering each other right and left. The titles of their
successors were undoubtedly odd - Shield King, and Assistant
King, and Heroic King, and Cock-eyed King (that is
true, by the way), but if their Loyal Prince, General Lee,
was anything to go by, they were business-like enough. So I
reasoned, and the shock was all the more unexpected when
it came.
We went into Nanking on the second afternoon. Lee,
borne in a chair of state by Taiping stalwarts, was magnificent
in yellow robes and satin boots, wearing a gold crown in the
shape of a tiger with ruby eyes and pearl teeth, and carrying
a jade sceptre; this, he explained, was ceremonial dress for
a council of all the Wangs, who would deliberate on what
should be done now that the Imps had been driven from the
Yangtse Valley. Like marching on Shanghai, no doubt.
We made a brave procession, with a company of redcoat
spearmen marching ahead, singing "Who would true valour
see" in Chinese, and damnably off-key, and in the rear a
squadron of mounted bowmen in backs-and-breasts, mighty
smart - I'd noted that the Taipings had comparatively few
hand-guns, but artillery by the park. I rode a Tartar pony
beside Lee's chair, so that he could point out such objects of
interest as the distant Ming Tombs, one of the wonders of
ancient China, and the huge siege-works from which the Imps
had been expelled two weeks earlier, massive entrenchments
bigger than anything I saw later in the Civil War or in France
98
in '70, and filled now with thousands upon thousands of
decaying corpses raked together from the battlefields which
extended for miles around. The stench was appalling, even
with armies of coolies burying for dear life, with quicklime
by the cart-load. Lee said it was nothing to '53, when the
river was so solid with corpses that boat traffic had had to be
suspended.
Nanking lies on the Yangtse bank, girdled by hills, and
long before we reached it we could see those famous beetling
walls, sixty feet high and forty thick, which enclose the city
in a great triangle twenty miles about. It's one of the finest
cities in China today, but when we'd passed through the long
tunnel at the south gate I was shocked to find myself gazing
on a scene of ruin and desolation. The suburb had been razed
flat, and was swarming with crowds of miserable-looking
serfs labouring at nothing, so far as I could see, under the
direction of Taiping troops; starving beggars everywhere,
ragged children played among the pot-holed streets and piles
of rubble; all was foul, muddy, stinking squalor.
Any doubts I might have had about the social nature of
the Taiping revolution were dispelled in the next hour. The
Great Kingdom of Heavenly Peace obviously consisted of
two classes: the State (the Wangs, the officials, and the army)
and the populace, who were the State's slaves. Everyone,
you see, must work, according to his capacity, but he ain't
paid. How does he feed and clothe himself, you ask? He has
no money, since it and all his valuables and property have
been confiscated by the State, but there are no shops anyway,
since all is rationed and distributed by the State. He is thus
free of all care and responsibility, and can give his mind to
work and absorbing the precepts, decrees, and heavenly
thoughts of the Tien Wang, or Heavenly King. And if the
rations are shorter and the work harder and the laws more
savage than under the evil Imps - well, there's a good time
coming, and he can take comfort in the knowledge that what
is happening to him is "correct". The foul old system has
given way to Heavenly Peace, and while the baskets of heads
are even more numerous than in Shanghai, and there's
no lack of malefactors crawling about in wooden collars
placarded with their offences (disobeying "celestial com99
mands", mostly), well, there's a certain tranquillity about
that, too. At least every man-jack had his wooden token
with the Heavenly Seal on it, to prove his existence and to
use as a passport in and out of the city - what happened to
anyone who lost his token I don't care to think.
But if the folk were ground down in misery, the military
were riding high, and no mistake. I recall one splendid figure
in crimson coat and hood, marking a subordinate Wang,
mounted on a mule and attended by three skinny urchins
carrying his sword, his flag (each Taiping officer has a personal
flag), and his umbrella; all three, I was informed,
aspired to being "ta-jens" (excellencies) some day, like their
master, with power of life and death over all despised civilians
- such as another urchin sitting naked in the gutter offering stones for sale. I was so bemused by this that I bought one
(and still have it) amidst the laughter of Lee's retinue; only
later did it occur to me that it must be a State stone, which
the little bugger had no right to be selling, presumably. He
probably owns half Nanking by now. It's pleasant to think
that I may have founded his commercial career.
Lee didn't seem to notice the filth and poverty of the state
he'd been extolling to me two days earlier, but he drew my
attention to the incessant drum and gong signals booming
across that muddy desolation, and to the fluttering coloured
flags on the walls relaying messages to the central watchtower
ahead; all was efficiency and discipline where the
military were concerned, with battalions of red-coats chanting
at their drill, and there were thousands of off-duty Taipings
sauntering among the coolie crowds; I reckon every
fourth man was a soldier - which explains why the slave
population voiced no audible discontent.
All this was plainly the "progress, work, and improvement",
to say nothing of the "sacred right of human liberty",
which Lee had described to me. Now I beheld proof of his
"benign enlightened democratic" government, as the ruins
gave way to the splendid new palaces'and offices being
built in the city centre for the Wangs and their favoured
subordinates. We passed through broad, well-kept streets,
flanked by magnificent yellow walls, with lofty minarets and
towers beyond, tiled in red and green and lavishly decorated;
100
extensive gardens were being laid out by coolies hard at it
with mattocks and spades, scaffolding clung to the new
buildings like spiders' webs, and great loads of brick and
paint and timber and tile were everywhere to be seen. The
place was humming like a beehive; well, thinks I, if this is
the revolution, I'm all for it.
To remind everyone of what a bloody good idea it all was,
every other street corner had an official orator reading out
His Heavenly Majesty's poems and meditations to rapt
crowds of soldiers and officials and a few hang-dog peasants,
all no doubt reflecting what fine transcendental stuff the
monarch was turning out these days.12
"The Grand Palace of Glory and Light," says Lee, as our
cavalcade turned a corner, "the earthly residence of the Tien
Wang," and I had to admit that it laid over everything
we had seen before. There was a forty-foot yellow wall
emblazoned with ferocious dragons and hung with yellow
silk scrolls of His Majesty's ghastly poems in vermilion ink;
a vast gilded gateway guarded by cannon and splendidlycaparisoned
sentries with matchlocks; and through the gate
you caught a glimpse of the palace itself, a half-completed
monstrosity of minarets and peaked roofs, tiled in every
conceivable hue, with dragon designs and silken banners and
revolting Chinese statuary; it must have covered acres, and
was slightly more grandiose than the Taj Mahal, if in more
questionable taste. There was even an enormous granite boat
to commemorate the Heavenly King's arrival in the city in
'53 - the real boat was rotting in a shed round the back.
We dismounted before a low wall dividing the length of the
street - the quality use the palace side, and the rabble t'other,
and if the latter stray the guards beat 'em to pulp in the name
of democracy. Lee led the way through the gate and then
through a series of courts and gardens of dwarf shrubs, discoursing
as he went - and it was now that I got the unexpected
shock I mentioned earlier. For after some commonplace remarks
about the building, he suddenly says:
"In describing this as His Majesty's earthly residence, I do
not imply any earthly term to his existence. He is, as you
know, immortal, but a time will come when he decides to
take up permanent abode in Paradise. As it is, he makes
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frequent visits there, in his Dragon Chariot, for discussions
with God. Of late his wife has accompanied him on these
excursions to Heaven, and conversed with the Heavenly
Father and the Elder Brother Jesus."
I wondered if I'd misheard, or if he was speaking symbolically
or even with irony. But he wasn't. He went on, conversationally:

"It is a gratifying djmonstration of the ordained equality
of the sexes in the Heavenly Kingdom that the Heavenly
King's consort enters so fully on his affairs. It was she, you
know, who received the divine command that henceforth the
Tien Wang should devote himself to meditation - apart from
such duties as annotating the Book of Revelation - so that
he may be fully prepared to take his place with the Junior
Lord, his son, in Paradise, and sit with God and the Elder
Brother."
"I see", seemed the best response with which to cover my
sheer amazement and alarm. Until now, this apparently
normal young man had spoken sanely and rationally, and
here, suddenly, without a gleam in his eye or foam on his
lips, he was talking the most outrageous balderdash. I knew
that from all accounts the Heavenly King was as mad as a
senile Sapper, but this was one of his foremost generals!
Could he conceivably believe this bilge about dragon chariots
and tete-a-tetes with the Almighty, with Mrs Heavenly King
going along, presumably to help with the service of tea and
ginger biscuits?
Hesitantly, and in the hope of receiving an answer that
would restore my faith in Lee's sanity, I inquired how old
his Heavenly Majesty might be, and when he could be
expected to go aloft permanently, so to speak. I was a fool
to ask.
"In earthly terms," says Lee placidly, "he is forty-seven,
but in fact he was born out of the belly of God's first wife
before Heaven and Earth existed. How else could he have
observed all the events of the Old Testament, and Jesus
Christ's descent to earth, before deciding to manifest himself
in 1813? As to when he will sit with the Heavenly Family
permanently, and shine on all lands and oceans, we cannot
tell. The Heavenly South Gate will open one day; in the
102
meantime, we must all fight valiantly for eternal glory."
"There's no doubt of that," says I. Was he having me on?
Or did he simply repeat this moonshine because it wasn't
safe to do otherwise? It's hard enough to read a Chinaman's
thoughts, but I had a horrible feeling he meant every word
of it. Dear God, were they all non compos mentis?"
He left me with these uncomfortable thoughts, in a small
outer palace, with an escorting officer, while he went in to
the Wang council, and no doubt to hear an account of what
they'd had for luncheon in Heaven yesterday. Nor did my
surroundings do anything to quiet my fears; we were in a
fairly filthy audience chamber, decorated with the crudest
kind of drawings, gilded lanterns, and tatty flags and bunting,
presided over by a grinning young imbecile who was plainly
far gone with opium - which I, remembering that it was a
capital offence, thought odd until I learned that he was the
acting Prime Minister, "the Son of the Prince of Praise". He
wore a filthy silk robe and a big embroidered dragon hat with
a little bird on top, and was surrounded by officials; there
was also a half-company of troops posted round the hall filthy,
slovenly brutes quite unlike the smart Taipings of
Lee's camp.
My guiding officer presented me to this beauty, who
giggled vacantly, invited me in a slurred, stuttering voice to
pass into the dining-room next door, apologised for having
no strong drink to offer me, and at the same time reached
under his table and handed me out a bottle of London gin.
I declined courteously, and passed the time studying a great
wall map of the world - or rather, of "The Entire Territory
of the Heavenly Kingdom to Endure for a Myriad Myriad
Years". It showed China as a perfect square, with Nanking
in the middle, but no sign of Pekin; Japan was a speck,
Britain and France small blobs in the top corner, and a smear
to one side proved to be the State of the Flowery Flag, or
U.S.A. to you. The rest of the world had apparently been
suppressed by heavenly decree. (We are the Red-haired
State, by the way, and according to a scroll beside the map
which my guide translated, we are the most powerful country
apart from China, on account of our correct methods,
shrewdness, dishonesty, and refusal to be subjugated.)
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There was a great inner arch from the chamber, and
through it, across an open court, could be glimpsed the
gateway to the Inner Palace, with "Sacred Heavenly Door"
inscribed above, and two enormous painted dragons, one
eating the sun and the other pursuing a shrimp. I was pondering
the mystical meaning of this when a most unholy din
broke out from the Inner Palace - guns firing, drums rolling,
cymbals clashing - and across the courtyard passed a procession
of women bearing steaming golden dishes (bad pork
and cabbage, by the odour) in at the Sacred Heavenly Door.
This, says my escort, was the signal that the Heavenly King
was going to dinner, drawn by women in his Dragon Chariot;
the guns and drums would continue until he had finished. I
asked if we could go in for a peep, and he looked shocked.
"Only the thousand women attending His Heavenly
Majesty are permitted in the Inner Palace," says he. "The
presence of men - except for the Wangs and certain great
ones - would disturb his constant labour of writing decrees,
revising the Scriptures, and conceiving new precepts. If we
are privileged, we may presently hear the result of his morning's
meditation."
Sure enough, he'd barely finished speaking when trumpets
blared from the Inner Palace gateway, and across the court
came the most stunning Chinese girl, all in green silk and
carrying a golden tray with a yellow silk scroll.
"The Bearer of Heavenly Decrees!" cries my chap eagerly,
and he and every soul in our audience chamber dropped
to his knees yelling "Ten thousand Years! Ten thousand
Years!", the only exceptions being the ignorant foreigner
Flashy, who stood admiring the approaching beauty, and the
deputy Prime Minister, who fell flat on his face and was sick.
The Bearer of Heavenly Decrees sashayed in like the
Queen of Sheba, unrolled her scroll, glanced round superciliously
(with a brief frown at the leering barbarian), and in a
high sing-song voice read out the Heavenly King's last
thought before luncheon: it was a decree announcing that
since his birthday fell next week (renewed yells of "Ten
thousand Years!") all the Senior Wangs might take another
ten wives in addition to the eleven they had already, while
Lesser Wangs would have their ration increased from six to
104
nine. The public (who had one wife if they were lucky) were
not mentioned.
Thunderous applause greeted this announcement (though
what they had to cheer about wasn't clear to me), and the
Bearer of Heavenly Decrees handed her scroll to a grovelling
minion, smiled graciously, shot me another reproving look,
and made her stately way back to the palace, twitching her
shimmering rump as she went. Observing this, and reflecting
on the new decree, which all present were hailing with
enthusiasm, I made a mental salute to the Taiping Rebellion
- like all revolutionary movements (and for that matter all
governments) it was plainly designed to ensure the rulers
an abundance of fleshpot, while convincing the ruled that
austerity was good for the soul. But barring the Papists, I
couldn't think of a regime that had the business so nicely in
hand as this one.14
Needless to say, I kept the thought to myself, although I
couldn't resist trying to draw Lee gently when he came to
bear me off to dinner at his own palace, apologising that it
wasn't completed yet, in spite of the efforts of a thousand
coolies who were slaving like beavers on it. I remarked that
it was a fine system where the workers were content to live
like pigs while providing their rulers with luxury - and not
getting a penny piece for it. He just shrugged, and says:
"You English believe in paying for work. We know better are
we not a great empire?" It wasn't even cynical, just
a plain philosophy, like his apparently sincere religious
lunacy, and left me wondering harder than ever about
him.
His was a modest enough spread, a mere gold and white
bijou residence set in two or three acres of magnificent
garden, with fantastically-dressed boys and girls swarming
round us like gilded butterflies and ushering us to a charming
little pavilion surrounded by a miniature rock and tree
garden. Here a tiny child in yellow silk was waiting on the
steps, and I was taken right aback when he bowed, held out
a hand to me, and says in perfect English: "Good afternoon,
sir."
I recovered enough to say: "Well, hollo yourself, young shaver, and see how you like it," and at that there was
105
a burst of laughter from the pavilion, and out comes a
jolly-looking Chinese, all portliness in a rather faded blue
dragon robe. He patted the lad on the head and gave me an
inclination that was half-nod, half-bow.
"My dear sir," says he, "you remind me that my own
English is too correct, and that if my son is to master the
language he must go to school to you." He chuckled and
lifted the boy up in a muscular arm. "Eh, young shaver?"
This was astonishing, but now Lee came up and presented
me, reciting the titles of the stout party, who stood listening
with a quizzy grin: "... Founder of the Dynasty, Loyal
Chief of Staff, Upholder of Heaven, Adjudicator of the
Court of Discipline "
"- and former secretary of the Artisans Christmas Club at
Hong Kong!" cries the stout chap merrily.
"- His Excellency Hung Jen-kan, First Minister of the
Heavenly Kingdom," concluded Lee, and I realised that this
cheery, plump-faced man, bouncing the child on his shoulder,
was the power behind the throne, the reputed brain of the
Taiping, second only to the Tien Wang himself. They were
setting out the best crockery for Flashy, weren't they just?
As Lee ushered us into the pavilion, I was trying to remember
what I'd heard of Jen-kan - that he'd spent his life mostly
in Protestant Missions (which accounted for his excellent
English), that he was the Heavenly King's cousin, but had
taken no part in the revolution until a year ago, when he'd
turned up suddenly at Nanking. Since then he'd risen like a
rocket to Supreme Marshal (Generalissimo, they call it); I
wondered how Lee and the other Wangs felt about being so
suddenly outstripped.
Four little tables, one apiece, had been set out for dinner
in the pavilion. The small boy addressed me, airing his
English, ceremoniously helped me to my place, and Jenkan,
grinning with proud delight, winked at me - a thing I'd never
seen a Chinese do before.
"Forgive my son," says he, "but to speak English to an
Englishman is for him a dream come true. I encourage him,
for without English how can he hope to reap the benefit of
Western education, which is the best in the world? Every
child in China must learn English," he added gravely, "if
106
only so that they may understand the jokes in Punch." And
he roared with laughter, shaking in his chair.
It was extraordinary, from a Chinese - but as I soon
learned, Jen-kan was an extraordinary man. He knew the
world, and had his feet on the ground; the bright brown
eyes, which vanished in the fat, good-natured face when he
laughed, were deep and shrewd, and he thought more like a
Westerner than any Oriental I ever knew. Here's one that
matters, I thought, listening as he gassed non-stop, mostly
in Chinese for Lee's benefit, but now and then forgetting
himself into English, with splutters of mirth. Lee sat impassive,
being the perfect host, inviting me to dishes, deprecating
the food - which was superb, I may say. It came in nine little
petal-shaped dishes to each table, the petals fitting together
to form a perfect rose as the meal progressed. No chopsticks,
either, but Sheffield knives and silver forks and spoons;
several of the dishes were Western, in politeness to me, I
fancy. There was wine in gold cups held in enamelled silver
cases - sherry, if you please, from bottles with wrapped paper
plugs instead of corks. I had thought liquor was forbidden in
the Taiping; Jen-kan pealed with mirth.
"So it is! But I told the Tien Wang, if I cannot drink, I
cannot eat. So he gave me a special dispensation. Unlike this
law-breaker." And he nodded at Lee, who surveyed him in
silence and poured more sherry.
When the meal was done, and the servants had brought
hot Chinese wine and cheroots, Jen-kan nodded to his son,
who rose, bowed to me, and piped: "Sir, I take my leave,
charmed by your conversation and by the courtesy with which
you have tolerated my clumsy attempts at your glorious
language."
"My son," says I, "you speak it a dam - a great deal better
than most English boys twice your age." At which he shot
his father a delighted glance before composing himself and
marching out. Jen-kan proudly watched him go, sighed contentedly,
bit a cheroot, glanced at Lee, and then at me.
Business, thinks I, and braced myself. Sure enough, Lee
asked if I had given thought to what he'd said at our first
meeting: what was the likely British reaction to a Taiping
march on Shanghai?
107
I was starting to say that as a humble traveller from the
London Missionary Society I could only speculate, when
Jen-kan broke in.
"We can dispense with that... Sir Harry." He chuckled at
my expression of dismay. "If Mr Bruce wishes his intelligence
chief to pass incognito, he should choose one whose likeness
has not appeared so frequently in the picture papers. I acquit
him of trying to impose on us, but he should remember that
the Illustrated London News may not be unknown in Pekin.
Now, may I say how delighted I am to make your acquaintance?
I have been an admirer for years - ever since you
dismissed Felix, Pilch and Mynn ... in '42, was it not?" He
beamed jovially on this reminder of how Englified he was,
and since there was no use beating about, I shrugged
modestly, and he put his elbows on the table, Western
fashion.
"Good. Now we can talk plainly. The Loyal Prince has
already given you reasons why you should welcome us at
Shanghai. This may have led you to suppose that our arrival
depends on Britain's attitude. It does not. We shall come
when we are ready, in August, with or without British
approval." He drew on his cheroot, regarding me benevolently.
"Obviously we hope for it, and I am confident that
when Mr Bruce realises that our occupation is inevitable, he
will decide to welcome it. He will be in no doubt of our
invincibility once you have reported to him; you have seen
our army, and you will observe it in action when the Loyal
Prince goes presently to expel the Imps from Soochow."
That was uncomfortable news, but I didn't let on.
"Mr Bruce will see that our final victory over the Manchoos
is only a matter of time, and that opposition from Britain at
Shanghai would be not only futile but impolitic. You will
also inform him that, as an earnest of good will to Her
Majesty's Government, our first act in Shanghai will be to
place an order worth one million dollars for twenty armed
steamships, which will greatly hasten the destruction of the
Imperial forces."
He studied a moment, like a man who wonders if he's left
out anything, and gave me his fattest smile. "Well, Sir
Harry?"
108
So there it was, the big stick and a carrot, and my mission
dead and buried. For plainly no persuasion of mine was
going to keep the Taipings away from Shanghai; all Bruce's
diplomatic step-dancing would be wasted on these fellows;
they said, and they would do. Unless it was bluff, in which
case counter-bluff might be in order ... I ran cold sweat at
the thought, knowing that what I said next might alter the
history of China - God, what Napoleon would have given to
be in my shoes, and how I wished he was.
"I'm obliged to your excellency," says I. "But do you
think it wise to take Britain's reaction for granted?"
"I don't!" cries he cheerfully. "Whether you welcome or
oppose us, we shall have Shanghai." Mildly he added: "The
Loyal Prince's army will number not fewer than fifty thousand
men."
"Fifty thousand men who've never met British or French
regulars," says I, equally mildly. Not diplomatic, I agree,
but I ain't partial to having the law laid down to me by fat
chaps with yellow faces. This one just smiled and shook his
head.
"Come, Sir Harry. A mere token garrison. Mr Bruce could
not resist us even if he wished - which I am persuaded he
does not." . (
Well, that was God's truth, but I had to play it out-for
what it was worth. I gave him my true-blue stare. "Possibly,
sir. But if you're wrong, there exists a possibility that you'll
find yourselves at war with Great Britain." Bruce would have
swooned to hear me.
"Why?" This was Lee, sharp and intense, his lean face
strained. "Why? What can it profit England to fight against
fellow Christians? How can ?"
"Loyal Prince." Jen-kan raised a plump finger. "Our guest
knows his people better than you do. So, with respect, do I.
And they are the last I should try to ... persuade, in normal
circumstances. But the circumstances are not normal, Sir
Harry," he came back to me. "Shanghai is not a British city;
it is the Emperor's, and you are," he smiled apologetically,
"only his tenants, in an upstairs room. Your lives and property
will be safe from us - indeed, your traders will enjoy
a freedom unknown under the Manchoos." He grinned a fat
109
man's satisfied grin. "You will welcome us. Britain does not
want another war in China - certainly not with a regime
that offers million-dollar contracts. When did the Manchoos
promise as much? They don't even like your opium!"
I waited until his laughter had subsided. "Well, sir, if that's
the message I'm to take to Mr Bruce "
"Yes, but not yet." He wagged a finger. "In August. In
view of what you have said, it may be better if Mr Bruce has
short notice of our intention. We don't wish him to have too
much time to think, and possibly commit some indiscretion."
He beamed shamelessly. "I am quite frank, you see. No, in
August you will go back to Shanghai - with a Taiping army
two days behind you. That will surely inspire Mr Bruce to a
wise decision. And we shall be in good time before Lord
Elgin reaches Pekin to conclude a treaty committing him to
the losing side. All things considered, he may well decide
not to go to Pekin at all."
He sat there, a Chinese Pickwick, smacking his lips over
his hot wine, while I weighed the essential point.
"You mean I'm a prisoner here?"
"A guest - until August. Two months, perhaps? It will be
a most pleasant holiday; I am selfish enough to look forward
to it. Mr Bruce may wonder what has become of you, but he
will hardly inquire after a mere traveller from the London
Missionary Society." Oh, he was a right twinkling bastard,
this one. "And you may take satisfaction that you are performing
the duty he laid on you - of keeping the Taipings
away from Shanghai for the present." That gave me a horrid
start, but he went on amiably. "He will be able to pursue his
policy of strict neutrality - until August. Until then, we shall
be doing what he wants; he will be doing what we want. It
is very satisfactory."
* * *
He was right, of course. If Bruce knew the Taipings were
dead set on Shanghai, he'd have time to reinforce, perhaps
even send for Grant. Lull him with inaction, and when the
blow fell in August he'd have no choice but to submit to
Taiping occupation - although whether we'd accept that quite
110
as tamely as Jen-kan supposed, I was by no means sure. One
thing was plain: there wasn't a ghost of a chance of my
escaping to warn Bruce ahead of the fair - not that I had the
least inclination, you understand, I knew when I was well
off, and would be well content to wallow for a few weeks in
the luxuries of the revolution.
Of these there was no shortage at the pavilion to which
Lee conducted me after Jen-kan had gone, jovial to the last.
It was another bijou palace surrounded by dwarf gardens,
and belonged to Lee's brother - a genial nonentity who was
learning to write, I remember, labouring away at scrolls with
a tutor. The apartments I was given were in exquisite taste;
I recall the pink jade writing set and inkwell, the sprig of
coral mounted on a silver block with gold pencils thrust
through the branches, the tiny crystal paperweights on the
gleaming walnut desk. The fact that I remember such things
is proof that I was feeling pretty easy at the prospect of my
captivity; I should have known better.
Lee hadn't said a word beyond courtesies after our meeting
with Jen-kan, but I sensed an unease in him, and wondered
why. It was fairly plain that he disliked the Prime Minister
jealously, and I'd no doubt that behind the scenes some very
pretty clawing went on among the Wangs, in which I might
conceivably be a useful pawn. There was no plumbing that,
and since Taiping interest seemed to require my health and
happiness, I didn't care much. But I could see Lee was
anxious, and when he took leave of me that night he finally
came out with it.
"In our discussion with his excellency, I sensed - correct
me if I am mistaken - that you are not wholly convinced of
our ultimate success." We were alone on the verandah, in
the warm evening shadows, and as he turned those cold eyes
on me I felt a prickle of disquiet. "I do not ask for a political
judgment, you understand, but for a military opinion. You
have seen the Imps; you have seen us. Do you believe we
shall win?"
There was only one politic answer, and since it was what
I believed, pretty much, I spoke straight out.
"Barring accidents, you're bound to. I'd not wager on the
Imps, that's certain."
Ill
He considered this. "But you do not say that victory is
assured, beyond all doubt?"
"It never is. But any soldier can see when the odds are in
his favour."
"I can see more." The yellow-robed figure seemed to
grow more erect, and his voice was hard. "I know we shall
win."
"Well, then, it doesn't matter what I think."
"But it does," says he, mighty sharp. "It matters what you
tellMrBruce."
So that was the pinch. "I'll tell Mr Bruce what I've just told
you," I assured him. "I believe he'll have every confidence in
your success." I nearly added "provided you leave Shanghai
alone, and don't provoke the foreign devils", but decided
not to.
"Confidence," says he slowly, "is not faith. I could wish
you had . . . absolute faith."
He was a fanatic, of course. "You can put more trust in
my confidence," says I lightly. "Faith ain't a matter of
counting guns and divisions."
He gave me another keen look, but left it there, and I'd
forgotten all about it by the time I turned in. I was pleased
to see that Taiping luxury didn't stop short of the bedroom
door; they'd given me a cool, spacious chamber with screens
onto the garden, and a great soft bed with red silk mattress
and pillows - all that was lacking was the Bearer of Heavenly
Decrees. I wondered dreamily as I dropped off if Lee's
brother, being a lesser Wang, would care to rent out one of |
the new wives he'd just been awarded ... or all three, and
I could give him confidential reports on endurance, ingenuity,
and carnal appetite. Flashy, riding examiner . . . Gold
Medal, Nanking Exhibition, 1860 ... a pretty thought, on
which I slid into a delightful dream in which the Bearer of
Heavenly Decrees appeared as identical triplets who came
gliding into the room in green silk dresses and steel-chain
collars, bearing scrolls on golden trays, ranging themselves
beside my bed and smiling alluringly down at me. I was just
debating whether to tackle 'em one at a time, or all three
together, when I realised that I couldn't see their faces any
longer, for they were all three wearing black hoods, which 
112 1
seemed deuced odd . . . and the green dresses were gone,
too, under black cloaks . . .
I came awake an instant too late to scream. The black
figures seemed to swoop down on me, steel fingers were on
my mouth and wrists, a heavy cloth was whipped over my
head, and I was dragged helpless from the bed by invisible
hands.
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There's no blind terror to compare with it being
hustled along, lurching and stumbling, by invisible
attackers. You're lost, blind, and half-suffocated, you can
feel the cruelty in the clutching hands, horrible pain and
dissolution await you, and the only thing worse is the moment
when the blanket comes off - which mine did before my
assailants had taken twenty strides.
There was a yell and a clash of steel, a buffeting shock as
my captors staggered, and I was crashing to earth, dragging
the blanket away, to find myself rolling in a flowerbed, with
one of my kidnappers clawing at me in the dark. I shrieked
as I caught the flash of steel in the half-light, and then the
knife-point was beneath my chin, and I was shuddering still,
whispering entreaties for my life.
It ain't the best position to view a fatal melee that is going
on a few yards away, with dark figures slashing and swearing
in the shadows. I heard one horrid gurgle as a blade went
home, caught the glittering arc of a curved sword swinging
and the grating ring of the parry, but for the most part they
fought in silence. Then the blanket was over my head again,
and I was being rushed along, barking my shins and trying
to yell for help, until they pulled up, a voice hissed: "Walk!"
in Chinese, and I felt the prick of the point again, in my
spine this time. I walked.
How far we went, I can't guess, but it must have been a
good quarter of a mile before I felt paved stones under my
feet, and presently was aware of bright light outside the
blanket, and the sound of hushed voices. I was hustled up a
few steps, and then there was carpet under my bare soles.
We stopped, the knife was removed, and the gripping hands
were withdrawn. I didn't stir, but stood shrouded and quaking
for a good five minutes, when I was pushed forward
114
again, over tiles and then on to another carpet. The blanket
was whipped away, and I stood blinking in bright light.
Facing me, breathing with an agitation to equal my own,
although my bosom could never have heaved like hers, stood
the Bearer of Heavenly Decrees.
Just for a moment I wondered if I was dreaming, but she
was fully-clad, so it seemed unlikely. Deuced fetching, for
all that, in a blue silk gown such as the Manchoo ladies wear,
in which there are three or four skirts of varying lengths,
with huge hanging sleeves, and her hair done up in high
buns. She was one of your round-faced Chinese beauties,
and none the worse for that, but my attention was distracted
by the black-cowled figured at my elbow throwing back his
hood, and I found myself gaping at General Lee Hsiuchen.
"I apologise. It was necessary," says he, and I wasted no
time in babbled questions. He'd tell me what he wanted me
to know. He was breathing hard, and I saw a trickle of blood
on the back of his hand. He nodded to the girl, and she
walked away to a curtained arch at the end of the short,
carpeted passage in which we stood. She waited there, head
averted, and Lee spoke rapidly, getting his breath back.
"You are to be granted audience of the Heavenly King. It
is a highly unusual honour. Few foreigners have seen him for
many years. He understands that you are from the London
Missionary Society. Say nothing of how you came here.
Listen to him." He smiled, an odd, dreamy smile that sent
chills up my back. "Yes. Listen to him. Do not be surprised
if he talks all night. He does not tire as mortals do."
He gestured me towards the archway, and as I approached,
the Bearer of Heavenly Decrees turned and held out a red
silk robe -1 was in the sarong I wear in bed - slipping it over
my shoulders. Then she pulled back the curtains, beckoning
me to follow. ias<
The heavy smell of incense struck my nostrils as I saw we
were in a small, low chamber hung round with dragon silks.
At the far end was a deep divan caught in a pool of light
from two tall candlebranches, and on it reclined a short,
stocky figure in white silk embroidered in gold. He was
nodding sleepily in that joss-laden air, while a female voice
recited high and clear:
115
"The Heavenly Father, the Elder Brother, the Heavenly
King, and the Junior Lord shall be Lords forever. The
Heavenly Kingdom is established everywhere, and the effulgence
of the Heavenly Family is spread upon all the Earth
for all eternity."
The voice stopped, and the Bearer of Heavenly Decrees
rustled forward, dropped to her knees half-way to the divan,
kow-towed several times, and addressed the chap on the
couch. I caught the words "... London Missionary Society
..." and then she was hurrying back to me, motioning
me forward, indicating that I too should kow-tow. Well, the
hell with him, Heavenly King or not. I walked forward, and
got a close look at him as I began to make a half-bow - a
tubby little Chink, with long dark hair framing a round,
amiable face, a short sandy beard, and great dark eyes that
shone in his pasty face like a hypnotist's, but with none of
the force of your professional mesmeriser. They were placid,
dreamy eyes, friendly and kind . . . and what the devil was
I doing, kow-towing? I jumped up, vexed, and the big eyes
smiled sleepily, holding mine. So that was his secret; you
couldn't help looking at him. With an effort I tore my glance
away - and realised that we were not alone. And I can pay
no higher tribute to the Tien Wang's magnetic personality
than to say that only now did I notice those others
present.
One was kneeling on the couch, holding a scroll from
which she had been reading. She wore a towering gilt headdress,
like a pagoda, and a little fringe of gold threads round
her hips. That was all her attire, and out of deference
to royalty I modestly lowered my eyes, and found myself
contemplating another naked female reclining at my feet one
more step and I'd have trod on her buttocks. I halfstarted
back, afraid to look in case there were more bare
houris perched on the candelabra. But there were just the
two, twins by the look of them, still as superbly-shaped
statues, lovely faces intent on the man on the couch, and
apparently unaware of my existence. Reluctantly, I looked
back at him, and he smiled vacantly.
"Welcome, in the peace of God," says he, and indicated
a silken stool by the couch. It was a deep, liquid voice, with
116
a curious husky quality. I sat, uncomfortably aware that the
reclining poppet was only inches from my foot, and that if I
looked straight ahead my horizon was voluptuously filled by
the charms of the kneeling nymph. It's hell in the Taiping,
you know. Not that I bar contemplating the undraped female
form, but there's a time and a place, and heaven knew what
I'd interrupted. I wondered if these were two of his reputed
eighty-eight wives, or if he, too, had been voted a few spares,
next week being his birthday and all. Good heavens - was it
possible one of them was for me? I didn't like to ask, and I
didn't get the chance, for he fixed me with those luminous,
empty eyes and his melancholy smile, and began to speak to
me. My heart was hammering, what with the knowledge that
this was the Tien Wang, the Chinese Messiah, one of the
most powerful men on earth, and that what passed between
us might be vital . . . Bruce's instructions . . . my mission
. . . That, and the nearness of those mouthwatering
little flesh-traps - d'you wonder I was sweating? It was like
a wild dream: the sweet, husky voice, pausing every now and
then as though to compel an answer, the blindly shining eyes,
the heavy reek of incense, the silk edges of the stool hot
under my hands, the satin gleam of burns, bellies and boobies
in the candle-shine, the soft lunatic babble which I'd not
believe if I didn't remember every word:
Tien Wang: . . . The London Missionary Society. Ah, yes
. . . but I do not remember you . . . only Dr Sylvester, my
dear old friend . . . Long pause)
Flashy: Ah, yes . . . your majesty. Sylvester. To be sure.
T.W.: Dr Sylvester . . . how long? How long? (Goes into
trance)
F. (helping matters along): Couple of months, perhaps?
T.W. reviving vaguely): You have spoken with Dr Sylvester
recently? Then you are greatly blessed. Beatific smile)
For you have made the Journey. I felicitate you.
F.: Sorry?
T.W.: The Journey to the Celestial Above. I, too, have
spoken with Dr Sylvester in Heaven, since his earthly death
m 1841. Soon the portals will open for us all, and we shall
rest in the Divine Halls of Eternal Peace. Have you visited
Heaven often?
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F.: Not to say often. Nothing like your majesty . . . weekends,
that sort of thing. Just to see Sylvester, really ... oh,
God . . .
T.W.: How well I recall his discourse. . . illuminating . . .
constructive . . . wise ...
F.: Absolutely. Couldn't get enough of it. (Long pause,
during which F. 's attention wanders)
T.W.: His humanity was equalled only by his scholarship.
Was there a fruit of learning that he had not plucked?
Divinity . . . philosophy . . . theology. . . metaphysics . . .
F. (musing): Tits. (in confusion) No, I mean metaphysics!
Geometry, anything ... he knew it all!
T.W. (benignly): Soon we shall join him, when we have
made the final Journey, but only after long and laborious
struggle. When you first visited Heaven, were you given new
bowels?
F.: Eh? Oh ... no, no, I wasn't I wasn't considered
worthy, you see . . . your majesty. Not then. Not for new
bowels.
T.W.: Take heart. I too was rebuked when I first entered
the Golden Doors. Jesus, my Elder Brother, was angry
because I had not learned my Bible lessons well. He was
correct. We must all learn our Bible. (Long pause)
F. (desperate): Moab is my washpot, over Edom will I cast
out my shoe. Er . . . Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, thing . . .
T.W.: I remember how kind Jesus's wife was . . . and
when my heart and entrails had been removed, I was given
new ones, of shining red.
F.: Red,eh?
T.W.: And God gave me a sword to exterminate demons
. . . and a seal of authority. The demons transformed themselves
eighteen times, as they have power to do.
F.: Yes, yes . . . eighteen. Shocking.
T.W.: But I drove them down to Hell, and the Heavenly
Mother gave me fruits and sweets. As I ate them, marvelling
at their savour, God traced the Devil's misdeeds to errors in
Confucius, and rebuked him. But Confucius defended himself
vehemently.
. F. (indignant): He did, did he?
T.W.: Then Jesus and the Angels joined in against Confu-
118
cius, who tried to sneak away to join the Devil, Yen-lo,
but he was caught and brought back and beaten. (Smiling
blankly) But at last God allowed him to sit in Heaven, in
recognition of past merits.
F. (doubtful): Well . . .
T.W.: , Yen-lo is the Serpent-Devil of the Garden of
Eden . . .
F.: Is he? Ah!
T.W.: . . . and when Eve heeded his words, she was driven
forth, and her children were drowned in the Great Rain. But
Yen-lo seeks ever to steal men's souls, ensnaring their senses
with beautiful temptations . . . there were beautiful handmaidens
in Heaven ...
This seemed to give him an idea, for the husky voice,
which had been droning away as at a lesson learned, trailed
off, and he turned to stare at the splendid naked nymph
kneeling beside him. It was the first sign of intelligence I'd
seen in him, for he was plainly madder than Bedlam; his
mouth twitched, and he came up from his reclining position
to gape, and then to reach out and fondle her neck and
shoulder and arm. She stayed stock-still; he leaned closer,
gaping, and I had to strain to hear.
". . .we must strive to discern false beauty from true," he
muttered, "and manfully resist Yen-lo, seeking solace only
in that which is pure. So we should study the Book of One
Hundred Correct Things. Let us hear now how we may resist
temptation."
I'd have thought it was the last thing he needed to hear
just then, but it was evidently a cue, for the kneeling beauty
came to life with a sudden shudder that caused his Heavenly
Majesty to grunt alarmingly and gape wider than ever. She
lifted her scroll and began to read in a shrill, breathless little
voice:
"Temptation must be eradicated from the world, and from
the human mind. By sight, by scent, by touch may temptation
be aroused. Temptation is caused by the original sin of lust,
in the beginning of the world."
Well, no one was going to argue with that, least of all
Flashy, grinding his teeth, or the Tien Wang, staring and
hanging on every word, so to speak. Then he lay back with
119
a gentle groan, as she leaned forward over him, reading
rapturously.
"Temptation results from indecision. As a homeless person
wanders, seeking relief, so the unstable mind is always subject
to temptation, which beguiles the senses of the unwary,
or," her voice sank to a whisper, "those who lack the power
of decision."
She sighed convulsively, no doubt at the pathos of the
thing, and with difficulty I restrained a sharp cry. The Tien
Wang, on the other hand, emitted a low, percolating sound,
staring up at them like one who lacked the power of decision
but would get round to it presently.
"A mind lured by temptation will deteriorate from day to
day," whispers the reading girl soulfully, and shook her
pagoda, which tinkled. "Conscience will perish. Ah, beware
when conscience perishes, for then . . . then lust will
grow."
There was much in what she said, as the veins standing
out on my bulging forehead testified. She'd been practically
suffocating him, but now she straightened up, rolling her
scroll, and his majesty gave a little whimper, and reached up
a pawing hand. At the same moment the female at my feet
stirred, gliding up to rest her arms on the divan, blast her,
her hand straying on to his knee. He gaped vacantly at her,
going red in the face and breathing with difficulty, looked
back at the reading girl, who was opening another scroll, and
began to growl - whether it was possible for his mind to
deteriorate any further was doubtful, but plainly conscience
was about to perish.
"As lust grows, and conscience dies, the Devil will seize
his opportunity," croons the reading hussy, and I contemplated
her twin's alabaster bottom, poised within easy reach,
and wondered if I dared play the Devil myself. In the nick
of time I recalled that this panting idiot on the couch was the
monster who had slaughtered millions and took heads off for
adultery; God knew what he did to molesters of the Heavenly
Harem. I bit my knuckles instead, watching helpless as the
reader reached her peroration; the brute was dazedly pawing
at her with one hand while the other clutched at her twin,
who seemed to be trying to climb into his lap. Suddenly the
120
reading girl flung aside her scroll and lunged down at him,
babbling:
"Suppress temptation! Throw out evil! Cleanse the heart!
So the felicity of Paradise will be won! Everyone shall
conquer temptation, and having thus strengthened himself,
will be able to attack the small demons! Universal peace will
follow!"
And I've no doubt it did, to judge by the gasps and sobs
and rhythmic pagoda tinklings which pursued me as I fled
a-tiptoe for the archway. Well, it would have been damned
bad form to stay, and I swear to God I couldn't have - not
without committing the fearful lese-majeste of plunging into
the melee crying "Me, too!" Not that they'd have noticed,
probably. The women were ecstatics, and as for that lecherous
lunatic with his crimson bowels and visits to heaven well,
aside from being the starkest maniac I'd ever struck,
he was also a damned poor host. And he had inspired the
Taiping rebellion? It passed belief - but he did, and if
you doubt one word of his conversation with me, or his
concubine's recitation, you'll find every last syllable of them
in scholarly works written about him by learned men - all
except about Dr Sylvester, for whom I believe I'm the sole
authority. And that, you'll allow, was the sanest part of it:15
No - he was a raving, dangerous, dreadful madman, and
iHlaone of the most diabolical powers ever loosed on a suffering ^world. Hung Hsiu Chu'an, the Coolie King. As to his depravity
- in my eyes his one redeeming quality - I've told my tale, and you may put it in the balance between those who
claim he was a celibate saint, and t'others who say he was
topsides with Tiberius. I'll add only that no one disputes that
he lived surrounded by a thousand women, eighty-eight of
'em "wives". And devil a thought for his guests.
I emerged in the corridor panting like the town bull, to find
the Bearer of Heavenly Decrees wide-eyed and palpitating
anxiously; by George, she'll never know how close she came
to being dragged off and ravished. But here was Lee, pale
and eager.
"You saw him? He spoke with you? What did he say?"
He gripped my arm in his excitement, and I had sense enough
to take time to reply.
121
"General Lee," says I, gulping. "I've never seen or heard
the like in my life."
He let out a hissing breath, and then smiled slowly. "I
knew it. I knew it. He is like God, is he not?"
"He's certainly like nothing on earth," says I, and caught
a drift of tantalising perfume from the Bearer of Heavenly
Decrees, who had edged up, all eyes and ears. I gritted my
teeth and tried not to notice her. "D'ye mind sending her
away?" says I hoarsely. "After such an experience I find her
presence . . . distracting." He snapped a word and she
sped off, undulating in a way which brought sweat to my
temples.
"I can see you are much moved," says Lee gently. "It was
inevitable, but I am uplifted beyond all expression." He
fairly glowed with holy zeal. "For now that you have seen
him, you too have . . . faith."
It didn't sink in for a moment. "D'you mean to say," I
croaked, ". . . that was why you had me brought. . . just to
see . . . him?" I gaped at the man. "In God's name! Did you
have to kidnap me? I'd have gone willingly if you'd "
"There was no time to explain. It was necessary to be
secret and sudden - as you saw. I had learned that there
were those who would have kept you from his presence if
they could. Fortunately, they failed."
"But . , . who were they? Why? See here, I might have
had my throat cut by those swine, whoever "
"It does not matter, now. For you have seen him, in his
divinity. And now you, too, believe." He studied my face.
"For you do believe, do you not?"
"By God, I do!" cries I fervently. What I believed, I wasn't
about to tell him, which was that his Heavenly King and the
whole kitboodle of them were cracked beyond repair. I'd
have a fine report to give Bruce, if ever I got out of their
demented clutches. I shook my head like a man awestruck.
"General Lee," says I solemnly, "I am in your debt. You
have opened my eyes to the full."
"No. He has done that," says he, looking like Joan of Arc.
"Now you can tell your people what manner of being leads
the Taiping. They will share your faith." He nodded, content.
"And I can go to Soochow, and later to Shanghai, with a
122
quiet mind. Whatever my enemies may wish, they cannot
undo what has been done for you tonight."
"Amen," says I, and on that he said that henceforth I
could stay at his brother's place in perfect safety, for now I'd
seen the Heavenly King no one would molest me. I assured
him again that it had been the biggest thing in my life, and
because I'm cursed with curiosity, I asked him: "General you
have been privileged to see the Heavenly King countless
times. Tell me, does he usually receive visitors . . . alone?
Or does he have ... er ... attendants with him?"
He frowned, and then slowly shook his head. "Whenever
I have stood in his divine presence," says he, "I have never
been aware of any but him."
Which suggested either that I had caught his majesty off
duty, so to speak, or that his faithful followers were so
besotted with worship that they didn't notice, or didn't care,
when naked trollops climbed all over him. Some damned
odd cabinet meetings they must have had. One thing was
sure, they didn't call Lee the Loyal Prince for nothing.
* * *
Now I've told you plain, at some length, of my first day and
night in Nanking, because there's no better way of showing
you what the Taiping was like, and in the two long months
I was with them everything I saw merely went to confirm
that first impression. I saw much of their city, of their crazy
laws and crazier religion, of the might and ruthlessness of
the military (when I was with Lee at the capture and sack of
Soochow), of the blossoming incompetence of their topheavy
administration, of the abyss between the despotic,
luxuriating rulers and the miserable slave populace in this
glorious revolution dedicated to equality - it's all in my Dawns and Departures of a Soldier's Life (one of the volumes
D'lsraeli's bailiffs never got their hands on), and ain't to the
point here. Enough to say that I recognised the Taiping as a
power that bade fair to engulf China - and was already mad
and rotten at the heart.
Don't mistake me; I don't preach. You know my morals
and ideals, and you won't find the Archbishop shopping for
123
'em in a hurry. But I know right from wrong, as perhaps only
a scoundrel can, and I'll say that there was great virtue in
the notion of Taiping - if it hadn't somehow been jarred
sideways, and become a perversion, so that the farther it
went, the farther it ran off the true. One thing I knew I would
tell Bruce: the Manchoos might be a corrupt, unsavoury,
awkward crew, but we mustn't touch this ship of fools with
a bargepole - not even if the alternative was to go to war
with them. And that was a daunting thought, for the one
thing right about the Taiping was its army.
I saw that for myself when Lee took me to Soochow, the
last big Imp foothold in the Yangtse valley, about thirty miles
south of Nanking and one hundred and fifty from Shanghai.
It was a strong place, with heavy fortifications on White
Dragon Hill, and as soon as I saw them I put Lee down
privately as a bungler who must have been lucky until now,
for he'd brought hardly a gun with him. Twenty thousand
good infantry, marching like guardsmen and chanting their
war-songs, transport and commissariat as fine as you could
wish for, the whole advance perfectly conducted - but when
I looked at those crenellated walls, with the Imp gunners
blazing away long before our vanguard came in range, and
the paper tigers and devil banners being waved from ramparts
crowded with men . . . well, it's your infantry you'll be
wasting, thinks I. How long a siege did he anticipate, I asked
him, and he smiled quietly and says:
"My banner will be on White Dragon Hill within three
hours."
And it was. He told me later he had close on three hundred
infiltrators inside the walls, disguised as Imp soldiers; they'd
been at work with friendly citizens, and at the given time
two of the gates were blown open from within, and the
Taiping infantry just rolled in like a wave. I've never seen
the like: those long ranks of red coats simply thundered
forward, changing formation as they went, into two hammerheads
that engulfed the gates, up went the black death
banners, and heedless of the storm of shot that met them
those howling devils surged into the city and carried all
before them. The battle lasted perhaps an hour, and then
the Imps wisely changed sides, and they and the Taipings
124
sacked the place, slaughtering and looting wholesale. I wasn't
inside the walls until next day, by which time it was a
smoking, bloodstained ruin; if there was a living citizen left
he wasn't walking about, I can tell you.
"Nothing can withstand the might of the Tien Wang," says
Lee, and I thought, God help Shanghai. I realised then
that my soldiering had been of the genteel, polite variety -
well-mannered actions like Cawnpore and Balaclava and the
Kabul retreat in which at least the occasional prisoner was
taken. In China, the idea of war is to kill everything that stirs
and burn everything that don't. Just that.
I was a week at Soochow with Lee, and then he sent me
back to Nanking, to ponder and count the weeks till my
release. I won't bore you with their passage; I was well
housed and cared for at Lee's palace, feeding of the best,
but nothing to do except loaf and fret and improve my
Chinese, and devil a wench to bless myself with, thanks to
their godless laws. Which, when I considered what was going
on in the Grand Palace of Glory and Light, was enough to
make me bay at the stars.
The only diversion I had while I ate the beansprouts of
idleness and brooded lewdly on the Bearer of Heavenly
Decrees and the Tien Wang's Heavenly Twins (I was never
inside his palace again, by the way) was when Hung Jenkan
would have me over to his house for a prose. The more I
saw of him, the better I liked him; he was stout and jolly and
full of fun, and was plainly the only dog in the pack with two
sane brains to rub together - damned good brains they were,
too, as I discovered, and for all his jokes and guffaws he was
a dangerous and ambitious man. He had great charm, and
when you sat with him in his big cluttered yamen (for he kept
nothing like the sybaritic state of the other Wangs; rude
comfort was his sort) it was like gossiping with a chum in the
gunroom: the place was littered with port bottles, full and
empty, along with three Colt revolvers on the side-table,
boxes of patent matches, a broken telescope, a well-thumbed
Bible next to the Woolwich Manual of Fortification, a
shelf packed with jars of Coward's mixed pickles, bundles of
silver ingots tied with red waxed string and thrown carelessly
on the bed, an old barometer, piles of French crockery, jade
125
ornaments, tea-cups, a print of the Holy Well in Flintshire
propped up against The Young Cricketer's Companion, and
papers, books, and rubbish spread in dusty confusion.
And in the middle of it all, that laughing fat rascal in his
untidy yellow robe, swilling port by the pint and eating steak
with a knife and fork, pushing the bottle at me, lighting our
cheroots, chortling at his own jokes, and crying thanks after
his servants - who were the ugliest old crones imaginable,
for Jen-kan of all the Wangs kept no harem, or affected any
grand style. Aye, it was easy to forget that in little more than
a year he'd climbed within a step of supreme power in this
crazy revolution, and held in his podgy fingers all the reins
of state.16
The other Wangs were a surly crew of peasants beside him
- Hung Jen-ta, the Heavenly King's elder brother, who gave
himself ridiculous airs and sported silk robes of rainbow
colours; Ying Wang, the Heroic King, who bit his nails and
stuttered; and the formidable Chen Yu-cheng, who had
abetted Lee in the great defeat of the Imps a few weeks
before; he was from the same stable as the Loyal Prince, but
even younger and more handsome, dressed like a plain
soldier, never saying a word beyond a grunt, and staring
through you with black snake eyes. They said he was the
most ferocious of all the Taiping leaders, and I believed it.
One other I met at Jen-kan's house, a weedy, pathetic
little lad of about eleven, tricked out in a gold crown and
sceptre and a robe fairly crusted with jewels; everyone
fawned on him and knocked head something extravagant,
for he was the Tien Kuei, the Junior Lord, son of the
Heavenly King - which made him Jesus's nephew, I suppose.
Possibly they all talked sense in the Council, with Hung
Jen-kan, though I doubt it; in public their conversation
seemed to consist of childish discussion of the Heavenly
King's latest decree, or poem, or pronouncement, with misquoted
references to the Scriptures every other sentence. It
was like listening to a gang of labourers who'd got religious
mania; it wasn't real; if I hadn't had Jen-kan to talk to, I
believe I'd have lost all hold on common sense.
At least he could give me occasional news of the world
outside, which he did very fairly and humorously (although
126
if I'd known the thoughts that were passing behind that genial
chubby mask I'd have got precious little sleep of nights). It
was a waiting time, that early summer of '60, not only for
me, but for all China. Elgin had arrived at last, and sailed
north with Grant and the Frogs to the Peiho mouth, whence
they would march 15,000 strong to Pekin in August, Jenkan
reckoned, though it was doubtful if they would get there
before September. By then Lee would have launched his
sudden stroke at Shanghai, forcing Bruce to choose one side
or t'other at last; meanwhile Jen-kan was bombarding him
with letters to which Bruce didn't reply. So there was a lull
through June and July, with Grant and Elgin girding their
loins to the north, and Bruce and the Taipings listening for
each other at either end of the Yangtse valley. Only one
minor portent disturbed the peace, and when Jen-kan told
me about it, I couldn't believe my ears. But it was plain,
sober, unlikely truth, as follows:
With Shanghai in uncertainty, the China merchants there
had got the notion to raise a mercenary force to help defend
the city if the Taipings attacked. According to Jen-kan, it
was a bit of a joke - a mob of waterfront rowdies, sailors,
deserters, and beachcombers, everyone but the town drunk
- oh, no, he was there, too, in force. There were Britons,
Yankees, Frogs, wogs, wops, Greeks, every sort of dago and
who d'you think was at the head of this band of angels?
None other than Mr Frederick Townsend Ward.
It just shows what can happen when your back's turned.
How he'd graduated from steamboat mate to this new command,
I couldn't imagine, but when they took the field in
June it was the biggest farce since Grimaldi retired. For
young Fred, not content with guarding Shanghai, led his
amazing rabble upriver one fine night to attack a Taiping
outpost at Sungkiang. They found the place, for a wonder,
but most of 'em were howling drunk by the time they got
there, and the Taipings shot the boots off them and they all
tumbled back to Shanghai, Ward damning and blinding every
step of the way.
But he didn't give up, not he. Inside the month he was
back with another crew, sober this time, and most of 'em
Filippino bandits, with a few American and British officers.
127
He'd drilled some sense and order into them, God knows
how . . . and they took Sungkiang, bigod, after a fearful
cut-and-thrust in which they lost sixty dead and a hundred
wounded - and friend Frederick got a hundred and thirty thousand bucks commission from the China merchants.
Jen-kan was disposed to laugh the whole thing off, but I
wasn't so sure. It was beyond belief . . . and then again, it
wasn't; I'd only to remember that bright eye and reckless
grin, and thank God I was well clear of the dangerous
young son-of-a-bitch. And take note, he'd done a small but
significant thing: he'd knocked the first dent in the invincible
Taiping armour, and started something that was to change
the face of China. Little mad Fred. But at the time I knew
only what Jen-kan told me, heaving with merriment at the
thought of how affronted Lee would be to have this Yankee
pup nipping his ankle. "Will he be more wary now, when he
marches on Shanghai?" he wondered.
I was doing some wondering on my own account, as July
wore out, for Lee was due to march in late August, with me
two days ahead of him, and I was counting the time with a
will. And then, just after the turn of the month, Jenkan
showed what lay behind his genial mask, and frightened the
life out of me.
We were boozing in his yamen after luncheon, and he was
telling me of Ward's latest exploit - a slap at another Taiping
outpost, Chingpu, with three hundred men. Unluckily for
him the rebels had ten thousand under two good leaders,
Chow the Taiping, and Savage, a Royal Navy deserter; they'd
torn Ward's attack to bits, killing about a hundred, and
the bold Fred had been carried home with five wounds.
"But they say he will come back to Chingpu!" cries Jenkan.
"Poor fellow! Loyal Prince Lee himself has gone down
from Soochow to take command; he will crack this Ward
under his thumb-nail, and then . . ." he beamed, filling my
glass, ". . . he will sweep on to Shanghai."
I sat up at this. "When do I go? Two weeks?"
He studied me for a long moment, with his fat crafty grin,
and pulled his old robe round his big shoulders. "Let us talk
outside ... in English," says he, collaring the bottle, and
we strolled out into the warm sunshine, Jen-kan blinking
128
contentedly at his miniature garden - you know the kind of
thing, from Chinese exhibitions: dwarf trees and flowers set
among tiny streams and lakes and waterfalls, with doll'shouse
pagodas and bridges all to scale, like Lilliput.
"Why do we love things in little?" muses Jen-kan, admiring
the line of tiny palms that fringed the garden. "Do they make
us feel like giants ... or gods, perhaps?" He sipped his wine.
"Speaking of gods, I have often meant to ask you . . . what
did you think of the Heavenly King?"
Now, neither of us had ever mentioned my visit to the
Palace, though I was certain he knew about it. And while he
was no fanatic, like Lee, I supposed he must be devoted to
the Heavenly Loose-screw, so I hesitated how to answer. He
settled his broad bottom on a rock under a tree. "I ask,
because I am curious to know what you will tell Mr Bruce."
"What d'you think I'll tell him?" says I, wary-like, and he
grinned, and then chuckled, and finally laughed so hard he
had to set down his glass. He blinked at me, his shoulders
shaking.
"Why, that he is a debauched, useless imbecile!" cries he.
"What else can you say, except that he is a poor deranged
mystic, a hopeless lunatic who makes an obscene parody of
Christianity? That is the truth, and that is what you will tell
Mr Bruce!"
He took a deep swig, while I stood mum and a mite
apprehensive; what he'd said was a capital offence in these
parts, and for all I knew, listening might be, too. He shook
his head, grinning.
"Oh, but you should have seen him once! In the old days.
To know him then, my dear Sir Harry ... I intend no
blasphemy, but it was to understand the force that must have
lived in Christ, or Buddha, or Mahomet. And now, poor
soul ... a mad shell, and nothing left within except that
strange power that can still inspire devotion in folk like the
Loyal Prince Lee." He chuckled. "Even in people like me,
sometimes. Enough to make me wish you had not seen him
that night. I would have prevented it, but I learned of Lee's
intention too late - those were my men who intervened in
the garden . . . unsuccessfully. Four of them died." He gave
an amused snort that made my skin crawl. "And, do you
129
know - next day Lee and I greeted each other as usual, and
said - nothing! We Taiping politicians are very discreet. Let
me fill your glass."
I wasn't liking this one bit. He'd never been this forthcoming
before, and when great men wax confidential I find
myself taking furtive looks over my shoulder. I just had to i think of Palmerston. '
"I saw Lee's purpose, of course," says the potbellied
rascal. "He hoped you would fall under our divine ruler's
spell, become a fanatical advocate of Anglo-Taiping alliance, ]
and convince Mr Bruce likewise." He shook his bullet head.
"Poor Lee, he is such an optimist. With respect, my dear Sir |
Harry, soldiers should not meddle in affairs of state." I was |
with him there. "For now I was in a difficulty. Until that ^ night I had accepted, though without enthusiasm, Lee's plan ) of marching on Shanghai and forcing Britain's hand. But
once you had seen the Tien Wang . . . well, I asked myself
what must follow when you reported his deplorable condition
to Mr Bruce. Alas," he consoled himself with another hefty J
gulp, "it was all too plain. Whatever force we took to
Shanghai, we could never persuade Britain to recognise a
regime led by such a creature! Mr Bruce would only have to
picture the reaction of Prince Albert and the Church of
England. They would fight us, rather. No . . . whatever hope
we had of an alliance must perish the moment you set foot
in Bruce's office."
If there's one thing that can make me puke with terror,
it's having an Oriental despot tell me I'm inconvenient. "You
think I'd be giving Bruce news?" I blurted. 'Dammit, the
whole world knows your Heavenly King's a raving idiot!"
"No, I think not," says he mildly. "Some may suspect it,
but most charitably regard the rumours as Imp propaganda
and missionary gossip. They would not know the full deplorable
truth . . . until you told them." He looked wistfully
at the bottle, now empty. "And then, we agree, Mr Bruce
would reject us - and Lee would take Shanghai by storm,
with all the horrors of sack and slaughter inevitable in such
a victory, and we would be at war with Britain. A war we
could not hope to win." He sighed heavily. "It seemed to
me that our only hope must be that your report never reached
130
Mr Bruce, in which case, happily ignorant of the Tien Wang's
condition, he might well allow Lee to occupy Shanghai
peacefully. Ah ... you are not drinking, Sir Harry?"
My reply to this was an apoplectic croak, and he
brightened.
"In that case, may I take your glass? Being fat, I am
slothful, and it seems a long way to the house for another
bottle. I thank you." He drained my glass and wiped his lips
contentedly. "I do like port, I confess."
"But . . . but . . . look here!" I interrupted, babbling.
"Don't you see, it won't matter a bit if they know the
Heavenly King's cracked! Because I can tell 'em that you're not, and that you're guiding the revolution ... sir ... not
that mad doxy-galloper! I swear that when Bruce knows
you're in charge - why, he'll be far more inclined to accept
the Taiping, knowing you have it in hand . . . make a treaty,
even "
"Why, you are jolly kind!" beams the bloated Buddha.
"But, alas, it would not be true. Lee is already as powerful
as I, and when he succeeds at Shanghai, whether by persuasion
or storm, it will be a triumph which cannot fail to
enhance him and eclipse me utterly. It was while I was
considering your own position that this fact burst on me
with blinding force - I could see no issue at Shanghai that
would not increase Lee's power and undermine my own.
And that was terrible to contemplate ... no, it is no use,
we must have the other bottle!"
And he was off to the house like an obese whippet, kilting
up his robe, his fat calves wobbling, while I sat alarmed and
bewildered. He came back flourishing a bottle, laughing
merrily as he resumed his seat and splashed port into our
glasses.
"Your good health, Sir Harry!" chortles he, damn his
impudence. "Yes . . . terrible to contemplate. But you
mustn't think I'm jealous; if Lee were a realist, I would make
way for him, for he is a splendid soldier who might win the
war and establish the Heavenly Kingdom. I hoped so, once."
He shook his head again. "But of late I have seen how blind
is his fanaticism, how implicitly he will obey every insane
decree from that lunatic he worships. Between them they
131
would make the Taiping a headless centipede, poisonous,
clawing without direction - and there would never be an end
to this abominable war of extermination. Oh, that's what it
is!" He laughed heartily, chilling my blood. "Do you know
why we and the Imps never take prisoners? Because if we
did, we could not hold our armies together - if they knew
they could be taken prisoner, they would not fight. Consider
that hideous fact. Sir Harry, and have some more port." He
reached for the bottle, and I realised he was watching me
intently, his fat creased face grinning most oddly.
"Between them, Lee and the Tien Wang will destroy the
Taiping," says he slowly, "unless I can prevent them. And
that I can only do if I retain my power - and diminish that
of Loyal Prince Lee. A grievous necessity," sighs the fat
hypocrite, beaming happily. "Now, Sir Harry, I wonder if
you can foresee - as a strictly neutral observer - how that
might be brought about?"
Well, I'd seen where the blubbery villain was headed for
some minutes past, and what between flooding relief and
fury at the way he'd scared the innards out of me first, I
didn't mince words.
"You mean if Lee falls flat on his arse at Shanghai!"
He looked puzzled - doubtless the expression was seldom
heard in the Hong Kong mission where he'd worked. "If Lee
were to fail at Shanghai," I explained. "If he tried to take
the place and couldn't." .,
He sucked in port noisily. "But is that possible? Obviously,
you have a vested interest in saying that it is, but my dear
Sir Harry -" he leaned forward, glittering piggily, "I have
been entirely frank with you - dangerously frank - and I
trust you to be equally candid with me. You know Mr Bruce's
mind; you know the position at Shanghai. Could Lee be
made to fail?"
Of course he knew the answer; he'd been studying it for
weeks. "Well, in the first place," says I, "he'll not scare
Bruce into letting him walk in. He'll have to fight - and as I
told you at our first meeting, it won't be against a mob of
useless Imps who'll fall down if a Taiping farts at them." I
waited until his bellow of mirth had subsided. "He'll be
meeting British and French regulars for the first time - not
132
many of 'em, but they can be reinforced, given time. We
have Sikhs at Chusan, two regiments at Canton "
"Three," says he. "I have information."
I'll bet he had. "With the fleet lying off Peiho - oh, and
this gang of Fred Ward's for what it's worth "
"Lee will have fifty thousand men, remember! Could
Shanghai resist such a force?"
The temptation to say we could lick him from China to
Cheltenham was irresistible, so I resisted it. He knew the
case better than I did, so there was nothing for it but honesty.
"I don't know. But it could have a damned good try. If
Bruce had warning, now, by a messenger he trusted . . ."I
hung on that for a moment, and he nodded ". . . he'd have
two weeks to garrison before Lee arrived. In which case you
can wish Lee luck, because by God he'll need it!"
If you've ever seen a fat Chinaman holding four aces,
you'll know how he was staring at me as he envisaged the
delightful prospect of Lee disgraced, himself supreme the
deliberate sacrifice of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of
Taiping lives, and the certain loss of Shanghai to the Taiping
cause forever, were mere trifles so long as Jen-kan won his
political battle over Lee.17 Suddenly he gave a little crowing
laugh, and filled my glass.
"You confirm my conclusions exactly!" cries he. "Lee
will certainly be defeated before Shanghai. Of course, in
contriving this I am compromising myself most dangerously,
but I know Mr Bruce will be discreet; he and H.M. Government
have much to gain from an enlightened control in the
Taiping movement. The steamships order, for example, need
not be affected by our brief mutual hostilities at Shanghai,
which will soon be forgotten. Britain can resume her policy
of neutrality, and left to ourselves we shall defeat the Manchoos."
He raised his glass to me. "Your own immediate
profit should be considerable - you will be the hero who
brought the momentous warning that saved Shanghai. I drink
to your further advancement, my friend." He smacked his
liver lips and leaned back, blinking up at the sunlight filtering
through the fronds overhead. "I foresee happy times."
He had it all pat, the fat, grinning, ruthless scoundrel but,
d'you know, I can't say he was a whit worse than any
133
other statesman of my acquaintance, a^nd a sight jollier than
most. I asked when I would go.
"Tonight," says he, "it is all an-a/nged, with complete
secrecy. I shall easily conceal your absence until the appropriate
time, two weeks hence, when I will send word to Lee who
should be at Chingpu by now -- that his advance to
Shanghai can begin." He giggled and to'ok another mammoth
swig of port. "Your escort will take y<ou as far as Chingpu,
by the way, where by all accounts youT friend Mr Ward will
be in the vicinity. But you will keep well clear of Chingpu
itself. Lee would not be pleased to see you." He turned to
grin at me. "We know what you will tell Mr Bruce of the
Heavenly King (regrettable, but there it is), and of the Loyal
Prince Lee ... I wonder what you will say of Hung Jenkan?"
"That he drinks port at the wrong time of day."
He choked on his glass. "You intend to ruin my reputation,
in fact. Ah, well, I am sure Mr Bruce will receive an honest
account from you. The fact that it will be totally misleading
is by the way." He heaved another of his mountainous sighs.
"You imagine I act out of unscrupulous self-interest; true,
all revolutionaries do. They agitate and harangue and justify
every villainy in the name of high ideals; they lie, to delude
the people, whom they hold in contempt. They seek nothing
but their personal ends - my only defence is that my ends
are modest ones. I seek power to see the revolution accomplished;
after that, I have no wish to rule. I want the
biggest library in China, and to visit my cousins in San
Francisco, and to read the Lesson, just once, in an English
country church." He began to shake with laughter again.
"Tell Mr Bruce that. He won't believe a word of it. Oh, and
you will not forget to mention the steamships? An order
worth a million, remember - whatever happens with Lee."
He looked like a contented pig. "as Superintendent of
Trade, Mr Bruce will not overlook the importance of the
almighty dollar."18
134
I hadn't arrived at Nanking in any great style,
but it was Pullman travel compared to the way I went,
under hatches on a stinking Yangtse fish-barge, with two of
Jen-kan's thugs for company. I daren't show face until we
were well away from the city, -white fan-quis being as common
in those parts as niggers in Norway; not that I'd have been
hindered, but Jen-kan might have had awkward explanations
to make if it got about that Flashy was heading east ahead
of time. So we spent a day and night in the poisonous dark
and came ashore somewhere on the Kiangyin bend, where
two more thugs were waiting with ponies. Farther down, the
river was infested by gangs of Imp deserters and bandits (no
doubt the Provident Brave Butterflies were spreading their
wings, among others), and while the land to the south was
swarming with Taiping battalions, Jen-kan had reckoned
we'd make better and safer time on horseback, taking a long
sweep to come in by Chingpu, where Frederick T. Ward's
foreign legion was preparing to have another slap at the
Taiping garrison.
I don't remember much about that ride, except that I was
damned stiff after months out of the saddle, but I know we
raised Chingpu on a misty dawn, looking down from a crest
to the town, perhaps a mile away. It was wooded country,
with paddy here and there, and many waterways - you could
see the little mat sails beetling along among the dykes, ever
so pretty in the pearly morning light; it would have been
quite an idyllic scene if there hadn't been the deuce of a
battle going on round Chingpu's high mud walls.
We'd heard the guns before we came in view, and they
were banging away splendidly, wreathing the walls and gatetowers
in thick grey smoke, while dead to our front great
disorderly lines of men were advancing to the assault. To my
135
astonishment I saw they were Imps, straggling along any old
how, but in the van there was a fairly compact company in
green caps, and I knew these must be Ward's people. Without
a glass I couldn't make them out clearly, but they were
holding together well under the fire from the walls, and
presently they were charging the main gate, while the Imp
supports milled about and let off crackers and waved banners
in fine useless style.
Farther back, behind the attackers, were more Imp battalions
by a river-bank, with a gunboat blazing away at
nothing in particular, and about a mile away on my right was
a low hill on which a couple of banners were flying, with a
number of mounted men wheeling about and occasionally
dashing out to the attacking force. Gallopers; the hill must
be the attackers' head-quarters, so it behoved me to make
for it. I was just pointing it out to my escort when there was
a tremendous pandemonium from the plain before the town,
the boom of guns and crackle of musket-fire redoubled, the
crimson Taiping banners were waving wildly along the walls,
and suddenly in the smoke-clouds before the gate there was
a great glare of orange light followed by the thunderous roar
of an explosion.
That was Ward's lads mining the main gate, and as the
smoke cleared, sure enough, one of the supporting towers
was in ruins, and green caps were surging into a breach as
wide as a church. At this the Imps, seeing their side winning,
set up a huge halloo and went swarming in to join the fun;
in a moment the whole space before the breach was choked
with men, while the supporting lines, throwing disorder to
the winds, crowded in behind, blazing away indiscriminately
- and that should have been the end of Chingpu. What the
attackers had forgotten, or didn't know, was that they were
assaulting a stronghold commanded by Loyal Prince Lee.
They were about to find out, and it was a sight to see.
All along the front wall it was like an enormous football
scrimmage; there must have been hundreds trying to get to
the breach, and more arriving every second. On the side wall
nearest to me there wasn't a single attacker, and now a
banner waved on the battlements, a side-gate opened, and
out came a column of Taiping red-coats, trotting orderly four
136
abreast. They streamed out, hundreds strong, rounding the
front angle, and went into the attacking mob like a scarlet
thunderbolt. At the same moment, from the other side of
the town, a second Taiping column completed the pincer
movement, the black silk flags went up, and within five
minutes there wasn't a living attacker within quarter of a
mile of Chingpu, and the whole Imp rout was streaming back
towards the river, utterly broken. I never saw a neater sally
in my life; as the Taipings broke off the pursuit and began
to strip the dead, I reflected that it was as well Jenkan
wasn't seeing this, or he might have entertained doubts about
Shanghai's ability to hold Lee at bay.
But you don't dally on the touch-line when the game's
over; I wheeled my pony and made for the headquarters
hill, keeping well to flank of the fleeing Imps, with my escort
thundering along behind. The gallopers and standard-bearers
were streaming away over the brow, so I circled the hill and
found myself in a little wood beyond which lay a broad
sunken road, with what looked like a party of sightseers
coming down it. There was a disconsolate chap in a green
cap carrying a banner which he was plainly itching to throw
away, a few stragglers and mules, two minions carrying a
picnic basket, and finally, flanked by a galloper with his arm
in a bloody sling, and a noisy cove in a Norfolk jacket and
gaiters, came a sedan chair, borne by perspiring coolies and
containing Frederick T. Ward.
I almost didn't recognise him at first, for he was swathed
in bandages like an Egyptian mummy, with his leg in a splint
and a big plaster on his jaw, but it didn't stop him talking,
and I'd have recognised that staccato Yankee voice anywhere.
The Norfolk jacket had just finished roaring, in a fine
Dixie accent, that he didn't know wheah Ned Forrestuh wuz,
an' he didn't dam' well cayuh, neethuh, an' if Forrestuh had
jest waited till the flanks wuz covered they wouldn't ha' bin
cotched like a nigguh with his pants down in the melon-patch,
it was downright hoomiliatin'.
"Now, you find him damned quick!" snaps Ward. "If he
got out - and I hope to God he did - you tell him to get back
to Sungkiang with every man he's got! No, the hell with the
gunboat, let the Imps worry about it! For all the good it
137
was we'd ha' been better with a canoe! Now, get going -
Sungkiang, remember! Spitz, find the doctor - I want our casualty count - not the Imps! Goddam it, if only I could
walk!"
"An' whayuh the hell do Ah git goin' to?" bawled the
Norfolk jacket, raising arms to heaven. " 'Lessn Forrestuh's
daid, he'll be back at the rivuh by naow, an' ... holy
baldhead, who the hell is thatT'
I had reined up by the road, and he was gaping at me, so
I gave a cheery wave and sang out: "Just a tourist, old fellow.
Hollo, Fred - been in the wars, I see!"
None too tactful, you may say, but no reason for the
Norfolk jacket to leap three feet and yell: "Cover him, Spitz!
He's a changmaoV
"Don't be a damned fool, I'm nothing of the sort!" says
I. "Do I look like one?"
"They do!" he roars, pointing, and I realised that Jenkan's
four thugs were lurking modestly behind me, on the fringe
of the wood, and there was no denying, they had Taiping
haircuts.
"Hold your fire!" I shouted, for Spitz, the wounded galloper,
was unlimbering an enormous pistol. "Ward, I'm
Flashman! We're friends! They're not Taipings . . . well,
they are, but they ain't hostile! Call him off, Fred, will
you?"
He was looking at me as though I were a ghost, but he
signed Spitz to put up his piece. "What'n tarnation are you
doing here?"
"Going to Shanghai," says I. "So will you, if you've any
sense."
"He's an Englishman!" cries the Norfolk jacket. "Like
Trent an' Mowbray! Ah kin tell by his voice!"
"I know what he is!" says Ward impatiently, and to me:
"I thought you were at the bottom of the Yangtse! Where
the dooce have you been?"
"That's a long story. First, if you don't mind . . ." And I
turned and waved away my escort, who wheeled and vanished
into the wood on the instant, like sensible lads. Spitz raised
a great outcry, and the Norfolk jacket waved his arms.
"Savage is English, too, an' he's with the Taipings!" he
138
bellowed. "Seed the son-of-a-bitch on the wall this mawnin',
bold as brass "
"I told you to go find Forrester!" barks Ward, and winced.
"Damn this leg! Spitz, will you get that casualty count!"
D'you know, they went like lambs; he was still young Fred
Ward, but he'd grown some authority, all right.
"Well, I swan!" He shook his head at me. "You back in
British service, or what? I thought you said they busted you
over that Pearl River business?"
"No-o, you said that, and I didn't contradict you. I'm still
staff colonel."
"Is that a fact?" He was grinning, although the pale young
face was pinched with pain. "And those four - were they on
the staff, too? Oh, who cares! Come on, Dobbin!" He waved
to the coolies, who heaved up the sedan again. "They don't
gallop, exactly, and I'd as soon the Long-Hairs didn't catch
up with me!"
I told him about Lee's forthcoming advance as we went,
not mentioning Jen-kan, and he never took those bright
black eyes off me, although he winced and gasped as he was
bounced along. When I'd done, he whistled and swore.
"Well, there goes Sungkiang, I guess. In which case, the
hell with it, I'm going to France, and have a rest." He
squinted at me. "It's pukka - that Lee's coming?"
"Yes, and the less you say about it, the better. We don't
want him to know he's expected, do we? But, look here - if
you can't hold Sungkiang, hadn't you better pull back to
Shanghai?"
"I've got a contract to hold the dam' place!" says he. "If
I don't, Yang Fang'11 want his money back - and he's my
father-in-law! Anyway, your man Bruce doesn't want me
anywhere near Shanghai - I'm a confounded mercenary
nuisance, old boy, dontcherknow?" He laughed bitterly.
"The damned dummy! Why, if he'd supported me with arms
and men, we'd ha' had a half dozen Taiping places by now,
and Lee'd never get within twenty miles o' the coast! But all
I get is Imps, and they don't fight - you saw that mess just
now? And I had to lay there and watch! Say, I sure hope
Ned Forrester got out, though!"
I said, if Bruce wasn't helpful, why didn't he try his own
139
American consulate, and he hooted and said they were even
more timid than the British or French. "They're all glad
enough to hide behind us, though, preserving their darned
neutrality - and counting their dividends! Ain't they, though?
Oh, I reckon not!" He lay back, gasping and stirring to try
to ease his wounds. "God, but I'm tired!"
We were out on the paddy by now, threading along the
causeways, and on either side the plain was dotted with
groups of fugitives, streaming away from Chingpu - Imps,
mostly, but a few in green caps, white men and little darkskinned
chaps who I guessed were Filippinos. They hailed
Ward whenever we came within earshot, and he shouted
back, although his voice was weak, calling: "All right, boys!
Good for you! See you in Sungkiang! Pay-day's coming, you
bet! Hurrah!" And they hurrah-ed back, waving their caps,
and trudged on through the paddy.
There was no sign of pursuit, and now we called a halt to
eat and rest Ward's bearers. The picnic basket proved to
contain enough for a banquet, with hams, cold roasts and
fowls, fruit, chocolate, and even iced champagne, but Ward
contented himself with a loaf of bread which he ate in
handfuls, soaking each bite in rum. The rest went in no time,
for a party of green-cap stragglers came up, and Ward waved
them to pitch in; they were Filippinos under a most illassorted
pair, a huge broken-nosed American with his shirt
open over his hairy barrel chest, who looked and talked like
a hobo, and a slim little Royal Navy chap with a wing-collar
and a handkerchief in his sleeve; Ward called them Tom and
Jerry. And now came Spitz, trotting his near-foundered
horse, with the news that Ned Forrester was slightly
wounded, but that casualties had been heavy.
"There voss a huntret killed, and ass many wounded,"
says he, pulling a cold fowl to pieces in his great hands and
stuffing it down. Tom swore and Jerry tut-tutted, but Ward
just laid down his loaf, closed his eyes, and recited the Lord's
Prayer aloud, while we all left off eating and stood about
with bowed heads, holding drumsticks and glasses.
"Ay-men," says Ward at last, "so we've got a hundred fit
to fight. All right, Jerry - you and Tom make for Shanghai,
tell Vincente Macanana I need two, three hundred recruits,
140
j^np deserters. American and British,
and I don t mean } ^ ^ Filippinos he can raise; kit 'em
Russki, French, and bucks apiece to sign on - no more or
out at the camp, ten ^ ^ere. Force march to Sungkiang
they'll take it an' quit j ^^ ,^ ^^ ^ ^^ ^
- and see here, Tor later, comprenny?" ^ ^^ j^ry, shaking his head. "The
"Dunno, old boy, ^yg ^o take some odd customers."
well's pretty dry; ma^,, g^^g ^m. "Burns. Dagoes."
"Ticket-o -leave m. ^^ ^ ^gy ^g gy jp^g ^ ^gy ^^
"I don't give a ho^^g ^ ^ey'H have to do when Lee
stand up and shoot!  ^.d was looking more chipper
lays siege to Sungki^g^ g,^ ^^gg ^^^ struggled up in his
now; he laughed at t' ^g ^ack with his good hand. "No
sedan to clap Tom ^ parapet, old fellow! Just bang and
room for drills on 11^ chang-maos like ninepins! Who
reload and knock <'f making a hundred a week, eh? That's
knows an easier way leaded Army!"
the life in the Green- ^old the place, I ask?" grumbles Spitz,
Z;11 ^ee ^""f ^ him' g"11111"^ and Ward rounded o< , g^y ^g p^, Tumble over their black
"Why, how you ta(^ ^^ ^ ^5^ as ... as we did that first
bannermen and they gkiang. 'Member, Jerry? I know you
time we attacked Su( ^e blind drunk an' snoring in the
don't, Tom, 'cos yo^es, you were, too! Oh, you needn't
bottom of a sampan. jg^y, ^o ran the boat aground?"
smirk so virtuous, eit^ jy .^^ ^ ^ame back, didn't we?
He laughed again, e^lear out o' the place, didn't we? And
Threw the Long-Hai^ ^ ^, ^ ^ile I can lay in a sedan
we re not giving it upj.
chair an' give orders! ^ot full of holes and chortling like
Just listening to W g^ooke on that rusty little steamer
a schoolboy, I could ^ ^he table bright-eyed and urging
on Skrang river, sla^^ ^y outnumbered a hundred to
us to sing, because W^^es, and weren't we going to give
one by head-huntingcorning? They were a matched pair of
em what for in the i^rooke, the kind who don't think a
madmen. Ward and ^ ^'s half lost to start with, pumping
cause worth fighting U,<^ ^o their followers by sheer force
their own crazy optii^ ^s smiling and Tom grinning, and
of will - for now JeF' & to &'
141
even Spitz, the surly Switzer, was looking less sour, while
the Filippinos were laughing and chattering as Ward joked
and harangued their officers.
I can't stand 'em, myself, these happy heroes; they'll do
for us all if we don't watch out. Brooke damned near did for me, and F. T. Ward was just the man to have finished the
job, as appeared presently when the others had gone off,
and I said I must be pushing on to Shanghai myself. He lay
quiet a moment, and cleared his throat.
"You wouldn't feel like taking some furlough, would you
. . . colonel? I mean ... oh, fellows like Tom and Jerry are
just grand, you know, but . . . well, it'll take more'n pluck
to hold Sungkiang, after today, and I could sure use a good
man."
"Come, Fred," says I, "you know quite well I'm a Queen's
officer, not a wild goose." Being tactful, you see; I'd sooner
have gone on a polar expedition with Cetewayo.
"Oh, sure!" cries he airily. "I know that! I didn't mean
anything permanent, just. . ."He gave me his cocky urchin
grin, so young in that worn, pain-creased face. "Well, you
took time off to run opium, didn't you? An' this job pays
five hundred bucks a week, and commission on every town
we take "
"Like Chingpu, you mean? My, how you tempt a fellow
. . ."
"Listen, I'll take Chingpu, don't you fret!" cries he.
"Chingpu an' twenty more like it, you'll see! Once I get
rested up, an' get a good bunch of fellows together, an' lick
'em into shape -"
"Frederick," says I, because for some reason I'd conceived
an affection for the young idiot, "listen to me, will you? I've
been twenty years in this game, and I know what I'm saying.
Now, within the limits of raving lunacy, you're a good sort,
and I don't want to see you come to harm. So my advice to
you is ... retire. The money ain't worth it; nothing's worth
it. You're lying there like a bloody colander, and if you
don't see sense, why, you'll finish up under the paddy, sure
as fate ..."
"I'll finish up in Pekin!" cries he, and his black eyes were
shining fit to sicken you. "Don't you see, this is just a
142
beginning! I'm learning my trade here - sure, I'm making
mistakes, and sure, I don't know one little bit about soldiering
compared to you! But I will. Yes, sir. I've got the most
important thing behind me - a bankroll from the China
merchants, and the longer I stay in the field, the better I'll
get, and I'm going to build me the Green-headed Army into
something that'll sweep the Taipings out of China! And then
I'll have won the Emperor's war for him. And then . . ."he
laughed and sat back against his cushions, "... then, mister,
you're going to dine out on how you ran poppy an' fought
pirates with Frederick Townsend Ward!"
I watched his sedan jogging away across the plain in the
wake of his tatterdemalion regiment, and thought, well,
there's another damned fool gone to collect the wages of
ambition. I was right - and wrong. He found his bed in the
paddy, as I'd foretold, and hardly anyone remembers even
his name nowadays, but you may say that without him
Chinese Gordon might never have had a look-in. You can
read about 'em both in the books, and shudder (I'll tell you
my own tale of Gordon another time, if I'm spared); for the
moment I'll say only that while Gordon finished the Taiping
business, it was young happy-go-lucky Fred who broke the
ground for him, and turned that drunken mob of green caps
into one of the great free companies: the Ever-Victorious
Army. Aye, Ward and Gordon: a good pair to stay away
from.19
143
even Spitz, the surly Switzer, was looking less sour, while
the Filippinos were laughing and chattering as Ward joked
and harangued their officers.
I can't stand 'em, myself, these happy heroes; they'll do
for us all if we don't watch out. Brooke damned near did for me, and F. T. Ward was just the man to have finished the
job, as appeared presently when the others had gone off,
and I said I must be pushing on to Shanghai myself. He lay
quiet a moment, and cleared his throat.
"You wouldn't feel like taking some furlough, would you
. . . colonel? I mean . . .oh, fellows like Tom and Jerry are
just grand, you know, but ... well, it'll take more'n pluck
to hold Sungkiang, after today, and I could sure use a good
man."
"Come, Fred," says I. "you know quite well I'm a Queen's
officer, not a wild goose." Being tactful, you see; I'd sooner
have gone on a polar expedition with Cetewayo.
"Oh, sure!" cries he airily. "I know that! I didn't mean
anything permanent, just . . ."He gave me his cocky urchin
grin, so young in that worn, pain-creased face. "Well, you
took time off to run opium, didn't you? An' this job pays
five hundred bucks a week, and commission on every town
we take "
"Like Chingpu, you mean? My, how you tempt a fellow
. . ."
"Listen, I'll take Chingpu, don't you fret!" cries he.
"Chingpu an' twenty more like it, you'll see! Once I get
rested up, an' get a good bunch of fellows together, an' lick
'em into shape -"
"Frederick," says I, because for some reason I'd conceived
an affection for the young idiot, "listen to me, will you? I've
been twenty years in this game, and I know what I'm saying.
Now, within the limits of raving lunacy, you're a good sort,
and I don't want to see you come to harm. So my advice to
you is ... retire. The money ain't worth it; nothing's worth
it. You're lying there like a bloody colander, and if you
don't see sense, why, you'll finish up under the paddy, sure
as fate ..."
"I'll finish up in Pekin!" cries he, and his black eyes were
shining fit to sicken you. "Don't you see, this is just a
142
beginning! I'm learning my trade here - sure, I'm making
mistakes, and sure, I don't know one little bit about soldiering
compared to you! But I will. Yes, sir. I've got the most
important thing behind me - a bankroll from the China
merchants, and the longer I stay in the field, the better I'll
get, and I'm going to build me the Green-headed Army into
something that'll sweep the Taipings out of China! And then
I'll have won the Emperor's war for him. And then . . ."he
laughed and sat back against his cushions, "... then, mister,
you're going to dine out on how you ran poppy an' fought
pirates with Frederick Townsend Ward!"
I watched his sedan jogging away across the plain in the
wake of his tatterdemalion regiment, and thought, well,
there's another damned fool gone to collect the wages of
ambition. I was right - and wrong. He found his bed in the
paddy, as I'd foretold, and hardly anyone remembers even
his name nowadays, but you may say that without him
Chinese Gordon might never have had a look-in. You can
read about 'em both in the books, and shudder (I'll tell you
my own tale of Gordon another time, if I'm spared); for the
moment I'll say only that while Gordon finished the Taiping
business, it was young happy-go-lucky Fred who broke the
ground for him, and turned that drunken mob of green caps
into one of the great free companies: the Ever-Victorious
Army. Aye, Ward and Gordon: a good pair to stay away
from.19
143
I reached Shanghai at midnight, and the
smell of fear was in the air already. Word had run ahead of
Ward's debacle at Chingpu, and that it had been caused by
none other than the terrible Loyal Prince Lee himself, who
could now be expected to sweep on and overwhelm the city.
Even the street lanterns seemed to be burning dimmer in
apprehension, and I never saw fewer civilians or more troops
abroad in the consular district; usually gates were wide, with
lights and music from the houses within, and carriages and
palkis moving in the streets; tonight the gates were closed,
with strong piquets on guard, and occasional files of marines
hurrying along, their tramp echoing in the silence.
Bruce had gone to bed, but they rousted him out, and for
once his imperturbability deserted him; he stared at me like
a stricken seraph, hair all awry where he'd hauled off his
nightcap, but once he'd decided I wasn't dead after all he
wasted no time, but called for lights to his study, thrust me
into a chair, ordered up brandy and sandwiches and told me
to talk as I ate.
"You've got two weeks," I told him, and launched into it
- the date of Lee's advance, his probable strength, Jenkan's
conspiracy to ensure his failure - at which he exclaimed in
disbelief and even Slater, his secretary, stopped taking notes
to gape at me - and then such secondary matters as their
detention of yours truly, and those impressions I'd formed
which seemed important in the present crisis. I talked for an
hour, almost without pause, and he hardly said a word till
I'd done, when:
"Thank God I sent you to Nanking!" says he. "We've
been growing surer by the week that he was coming, but no
hint of the date - you're positive we have two weeks?"
"Ten days, if you like, certainly no less. It's my guess
144
he'll put paid to Ward at Sungkiang before he marches on
Shanghai."
"It would be a public service if he did!" exclaimed Bruce.
"That Yankee upstart is a greater embarrassment than the
French priests!"20
"He might buy you a few days if he's strong enough," I
reminded him. "I'd turn a blind eye to his recruiting, anyway,
if I were you."
He sniffed, but said he'd make a note of it, and then told
me with some satisfaction how he'd been urging the consuls
and the Imps for weeks past to put the city in a state of
defence; now that they had definite word, and a date, his
hand would be strengthened tremendously, and by the time
they had improved the fortifications and called in more
troops, Lee could whistle for Shanghai, however many Taipings
he had at his back. For which, he said handsomely,
they were deeply indebted to me, and Lord Palmerston
should know of it.
Well, I always say, credit and cash, you can never have
too much of either, but the best news he gave me was that
he was sending me north without delay to join Elgin, who
had just made his landing at the mouth of the Peiho with
Grant's army, and was preparing to advance on Pekin.
"There is nothing you can do here, now, my dear Sir
Harry, to compare with what you have already done,"
says he, all smiles, "and it is of the first importance
that Lord Elgin himself should have your account of the
Taipings without delay. There will be endless chin-chinning
with the Emperor's people, you may be sure, before he
reaches Pekin, and your intelligence will be of incalculable
value."
I heard him with relief, for I'd been fearful that he'd want
to keep me by him to advise about Lee's army, and if
there was one place I'd no desire to linger just then, it was
Shanghai. You see, Bruce, like Jen-kan, might be certain
that Lee was going to get a bloody nose, but I wasn't; I'd
seen his long-haired bastards making mincemeat of Soochow,
and I'd no wish to be among the gallant defenders when their
black flags went up before our walls. So I looked knowing
and serious, and admitted that I'd be glad to get back to
145
proper campaigning again, and he and Slater exchanged
glances of admiration at this soldierly zeal.
They couldn't wait to be rid of me, though; I'd been
looking forward to a few days loafing and being lionised, and
several restorative romps with my Russian man-eater at the
hairdresser's - I hadn't had a woman since my last bout with
Szu-Zhan (God, what an age ago that seemed) and I didn't
want to forget how it was done. But no; Bruce said I must
take the fast steam-sloop for the Peiho that very morning,
because Elgin would be in a sweat to have me on hand, and
mustn't be kept waiting. (It's astonishing, how even the best
men start falling over themselves in a fret when it's a question
of contenting their elder brother.)
So now you find Flashy beating nor'-west by south or
whatever the proper nautical jargon may be, thundering
amain o'er the trackless waste o' waters - which I did by
dossing for fourteen hours straight off, and if there was a
typhoon it was all one to me. For the first time in months since
I boarded the steamer Yangtse, in fact - I was free of
all care, content to be tired, with nothing ahead but a safe,
leisurely campaign in good company, while behind lay the
nightmare, ugly and confused; not near as bad as some I've
known, but disturbing enough. Perhaps it was those unreal
weeks in Taipingdom that made the memories distasteful;
stark danger and horror you can either fight or run from, but
madness spreads a blight there's no escaping; it still made
me feel vaguely unclean to think of Lee's sharp, crazy eyes, or
the blank hypnotic gaze of the arch-lunatic on that incredible
night, with the joss-stench like a drug, and those wonderful
satin bodies writhing nakedly ... by Jove, there's a lot to be said for starting a new religion. Or the Bearer of Heavenly
Decrees, maddeningly out of reach . . . and far better, the
lean face smiling wickedly above the chain collar, and the
long bare-breasted shapeliness lounging at the rail. And then
the crash of shots, the screaming faces and whirling blades
surging out of the mist . . . masked figures and steel claws
dragging me through the dark . . . red-coated legions stamping
up the dust like Jaggernauts . . . black silk flags and
burned corpses heaped ... a fat, smiling yellow face telling
me I knew too much to live ... a crippled figure swathed in
146
bandages urging on his fools to die for a handful of dollars
. . . that same boy's face distorted with horror as a cageful
of poor wretches was plunged to death in a mere spiteful
gesture. Surely China must have exhausted its horrors by
now?
So I thought, in my drowsy waking, like the optimistic
idiot I was. You'd think I'd have known better, after twenty
years of counting chickens which turned out to be ravening
vultures. For China had done no more than spar gently with
me as yet, and the first gruesome round of the real battle
was only three days away.
That was the time it took from the Yangtse to the mouth
of the Peiho, the great waterway to Pekin, and you must
take a squint at the map if you're to follow what happened
to me next. The mouth of the Peiho was guarded by the
famous Taku Forts, from which we had been bloodily repulsed
the previous year, when the Yankees, watching on
the touchline, had thrown their neutrality overboard in the
crisis and weighed in to help pull Cousin John Bull out of
the soup.21 The Forts were still there, dragon's teeth on
either bank, and since Elgin couldn't tell whether the
Manchoos would let us pass peacefully or blow us to bits,
he and Grant had wisely landed eight miles farther up the
coast, at the Pehtang, from whence they and the Frogs
could march inland and take the Forts from the landward
side, if the Chinks showed any disposition to dispute our
passage.
From the Peiho mouth to the Pehtang the sea was covered
with our squadrons; to the south, guarded by fighting ships,
were the river transports waiting to enter the Peiho when the
Forts had been silenced; for the moment they lay safe out of
range. Farther north was the main fleet, a great forest of
masts and rigging and smoking funnels - troop transports
with their tow vessels, supply ships, fighting sail, steamships,
and gunboats, and even junks and merchantmen and sampans, with the small boats scuttling between 'em like waterbeetles,
rowed by coolies or red-faced tars in white canvas
and straw hats. It takes a powerful lot of shipping, more than
two hundred bottoms, to land 15,000 men, horse, foot, guns,
and commissariat, which was what Grant and Montauban
147
had done almost two weeks earlier, and by all accounts it
was still bedlam at the Pehtang landing-place.
"Won't have you ashore until tomorrow, colonel, at this
rate," says my sloop commander, and being impatient by
now to be off his pitching little washtub, I took a look at the
long flat coast-line a bare mile away, and made a damned
fool suggestion.
We were about half-way between Peiho and Pehtang, in
the middle of the fleet, but over on the coast itself there
seemed to be one or two flat-bottoms putting in, landing
horses on the beach. "Could your launch set me down
yonder?" says I, and he scratched his head and said he
supposed so, with the result that half an hour later we were
pitching through the surf to an improvised landing-stage
where a mob of half-naked coolies were manhandling a
pontoon from which syces were leading horses ashore - big
ugly Walers, they were, rearing and neighing like bedamned
as they shied at the salt foam. There was a pink-faced youth
in a red turban and grey tunic cussing the handlers richly as
I splashed ashore.
"Get your fingers in his nose, can't you?" squeaks he.
"Oh, my stars! He ain't a sheep, you know!"
I hailed him, and his name was Carnac, I remember,
subaltern in Fane's horse, an enterprising lad who, like
me, had decided to come in by a side door. The Walers
were remounts for his regiment, which he reckoned was
somewhere on the causeway between Pehtang and Sinho
- a glance at the map will show you how we were
placed.
"Fane don't care to be kept waiting," says he, "and we'll
need these dam' screws tomorrow, I imagine. So I'm going
to take 'em over there while the tide's still out -" he gestured
north over the mud-flats which stretched away for miles into
the misty distance. "Our people ought to be in Sinho by now.
That's over there." And he pointed dead ahead. "About five
miles, but there may be Tartars in between, so I'm taking
no chances."
"Stout fella," says I. "Got a buckshee Waler for a poor
staff colonel, have you? I'm looking for Lord Elgin."
"Dunno where he is - Pehtang, prob'ly," says the lad.
148
"But Sir Hope Grant's sure to be on the causeway, where
we're going."
"He'll do," says I, and when the last of his Walers was
ashore, and the syces had mounted, we trotted off across the
flat. It was muddy tidal sand as far as you could see, with
little pools drying in the morning sun, but the mist was
burning away, and presently we heard the thump of guns
ahead, and Carnac set off at a canter for higher ground to
our right. I followed him, scrambling up onto the harder
footing of a little plateau dotted with mounds which looked
for all the world like big tents - burial places, not unlike
Russian koorgans. We pushed forward to the farther edge
of the plateau, and there we were, in a ringside seat.
Running across our front, about a mile ahead, was the
causeway, a high banked road, and along it, advancing
steadily to the wail of pipes and rattle of drums, were columns
of red-coated infantry, our 1st Division; behind them came
the khaki coats of native infantry, and then the blue overcoats
and kepis of the Frogs; there must have been two thousand
men rolling down to the Manchoo entrenchments where the
causeway ended on our left front, with the Armstrong guns
crashing away behind them and "Blue Bonnets over the
Border" keening in front. Behind the Manchoo entrenchment
were masses of Chinese infantry, Bannermen and Tiger
soldiers, and on their left a great horde of Tartar cavalry;
through Carnac's glass I could make out the red coats and fur
hats of the riders, crouched like jockeys on their sheepskins.
Even as we watched, the Tartar cavalry began to move,
wheeling away from the causeway and charging en masse
away from our advancing columns and out on to their far
flank. Carnac stood in his stirrups, his voice cracking with
excitement:
"That's the 2nd Division over yonder! Can't see 'em for
the haze! By Jove, the Chinks are charging 'em! Would you
believe it?"
It was too far to see clearly, but the Tartars were certainly
vanishing into the haze, from which came barking salvo after
salvo of field pieces, and while our columns on the causeway
held back, there was evidently hell breaking loose to their
right front. Sure enough, after a moment back came the
149
Tartars, flying in disorder and scattering across the plain,
and out of the haze behind them came a thundering line of
grey tunics and red puggarees, lances lowered, and behind I
saw the red coats of the heavies, the Dragoon Guards. Carnac
went wild.
"Look at 'em go! Those are my chaps! Tally-ho, Fane's!
Give 'em what for! By crumbs, there's an omen - first action
an' we're chasing 'em like hares!"
He was right. The Chinks were all to pieces, with the
Indian lancers and Dragoon sabres in among them, and now
the columns on the causeway were deploying from the road,
quickening their pace as they swept on to the Chink entrenchment.
There was the plumed smoke of a volley as they
charged, a ragged burst of firing from the Chinks, and then
they were into the earthworks, and the Manchoo gunners
and infantry were flying in rout, with the Armstrong shells
bursting among them. Behind their lines the ground was
black with fugitives, streaming back to a village which I
supposed was Sinho. Carnac was hallooing like a madman,
and even I found myself exclaiming: "Dam' good, Grant!
Dam' fine!" for I never saw a smarter right and left in my
life, and that was the Battle of Sinho receipted and filed, and
the road to the Taku Forts open.
Carnac was in a fever to reach his regiment, and made off
for the causeway with his syces at the gallop, but I was in no
hurry. Sinho was a good three miles away, with swamp and
salt-pans and canals in between, and if I knew anything about
battle-fields the ground would be littered with bad-tempered
enemy wounded just ready to take out their spite on
passers-by. I'd give 'em time to crawl away or die; meanwhile
I watched the 2nd Division moving in from the plain, and
the 1st cheering 'em into the Chinese positions, with great
hurrahing and waving of hats. That was where Grant would
be, and rather than trot the mile to the causeway which was
crowded with our traffic, I presently rode down to the flat
and made a bee-line for Sinho across country. I doubted if
any sensible Manchoos would be disporting themselves in
the vicinity by now; I forgot that every army has its share of
idiots.
Down on the salt-flats I no longer had much view; it was
150
nothing but great crusted white beds and little canals, with
occasional brackish hollows; ugly country, and after a few
minutes there wasn't a soul to be seen anywhere, just the
glittering lips of the salt-pans either side, cutting off sight
and sound, and only the dry scuff of the Waler's hooves to
break the stillness. Suddenly I remembered the Jornada, the
Dead Man's Journey under the silent New Mexican moon,
and shivered, and I was just about to wheel right and make
for the direction of the causeway when I became aware of
sounds of true British altercation ahead. I trotted round a
salt-bank and beheld an interesting tableau.
Well, there was a Scotsman, an Irishman, and a Chinaman,
and they were shouting drunken abuse at each other over a
grog-cart which was foundered with a broken wheel. The
Paddy, a burly red-head with a sergeant's chevrons, was
trying to wrest a bottle from the Scot, a black-avised scoundrel
in a red coat who was beating him off and singing an
obscene song about a ball at Kirriemuir which was new to
me; the Chink was egging 'em on and shrieking with laughter.
Various other coolies stood passively in the background.
"Ye nigger-faced Scotch sot!" roars the Murphy. "Will ye
come to order, now? I'm warnin' ye, Moyes - I'm warnin'
ye! It'll be the triangle and a bloody back for ye if ye don't
surrinder that bottle, what's left of it, ye guzzlin' pig, ye!
Give over!"
The Scot left off singing long enough to knock him down,
and lurched against the cart. "See you, Nolan," cries he.
"See your grandmither? She wiz a hoor! Nor she couldnae
read nor write! So she had your mither, by a Jesuit! Aye, an'
your mither had you, by a b'ilerman! Christ, Nolan, Ah'm
ashamed o' ye! Ye want a drink?"
The Irishman came up roaring, and flew at him, and since >
brawling rankers ain't my touch I was about to ride on, when
there was a pounding of hooves behind me, a chorus of yells,
and over the lip came a section of Tartar cavalry, bent on
villainy. After which much happened in a very short
space.
I was off the Waler and shooting under its neck with my
Colt in quick time, and down goes the lead Tartar. His mates
hauled up, unslinging their bows, and I barely had time to *
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leap aside before my Waler was down and thrashing, feathered
with shafts. I turned, ran, and fell, rolling over and
blowing shots at the red coats which seemed to be swarming
everywhere; out of the tail of my eye I saw the Irishman
grabbing a Tartar's leg and heaving him from the saddle; the
Scotchman, whom I'd have thought too screwed for anything,
was on top of the grog cart, crashing his bottle on the head
of another Tartar and then diving on to him, stabbing with
the shards. I took an almighty crack on the head, which
didn't stun me, but caused me to lose the use of my limbs
entirely; then I was being hauled up between two red coats,
with evil yellow faces yelling at me from under conical fur
hats, and the stink was fit to knock you down - the fact is,
they never wash; even the Chinese complain. The scene was
swimming round me; I remember seeing the Irishman being
frog-marched and bound, and the Scot lying on the ground,
apparently dead, and that's all.
Now, I say I don't believe I lost consciousness, but I must
have done, for piecing events together later, there's a day
missing. So they tell me, anyway, but it don't matter. I know
what I remember - and can never forget.
There was terrible pain in my wrists and ankles: when the
Chinese tie a man up, they do it as tight as possible, so that
his hands are quickly useless, and in time will mortify. There
was darkness, too, and an agonising jolting: plainly I was
carried on one of their ponies. But my first clear recollection
is of a foul' cell, a foot deep in mud, and no feeling in my
hands or feet, which were still bound. I couldn't speak for
raging thirst that had dried my tongue and lips bone hard;
all I could do was lie in pain, with my senses dulled almost
to idiocy -1 could hear, though, and I remember that coarse
Scotch voice yelling obscenities, and the Irish voice hoarse
and begging him to lay off, and the wailing of coolies somewhere
near me in the dark.
And then there was blinding light in the cell, and Tartar
swine yelling and dragging us to a low doorway, kicking
and beating us as we went. I remember recalling that the
Manchoos treated all prisoners alike - as vermin - so being
an officer meant nothing, not that I could have proclaimed
myself, with my tongue like a board. I half-fell out into the
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light, and was hauled to my feet, and after a moment my
vision cleared, and the first thing I saw was a face.
No doubt I'm biased, but it was the most cruel, evil human
visage I ever set eyes on, and I've seen some beauties. This
one was as flat and yellow as a guinea, grinning in sheer
pleasure at our pain, turning to laugh bestially to someone
nearby; it had a drooping moustache and a little chin-beard,
and was crowned with a polished steel helmet. The figure
that went with the face was all in steel and leather armour,
even to mailed gauntlets, with a splendid robe of red silk
round the shoulders. He was seated on a gilded chair of state,
with a great sword across his knees, and beside him stood a
nondescript Chink official and a burly Tartar, bare to the
waist, with an axe on his shoulder.
We were in a courtyard with high walls, lined by fur-capped
Tartars; to my right were half-a-dozen cringing coolies, and
to my left, barely recognisable for the mud that plastered
them, stood the Paddy and the Scot from the grog-cart; the
Irishman had his eyes closed, muttering Hail-Mary; the Scot
was staring ahead. His tunic was half-torn off, but I noted
dully that it bore the ochre facing of the Buffs, and that he
had old cat-scars on his shoulder. My eyes went back to the
huge Tartar with the axe, and with a thrill of sheer horror I
knew that we were going to die.
Suddenly the brute in the chair spoke, or rather shrieked
in Chinese, flinging out a pointing hand of which two fingers
were sheathed in nail-cases.
"Filth! Lice! White offal! You dare to show your dog-faces
in the Celestial Kingdom, and defile the sacred soil! You
dare to defy the Complete Abundance! But the day of your
humiliation is coming! Like curs, you have fed your pride
for twenty years! Now, like curs, you will hang your heads,
lay back your ears, wag your tails, and beg for mercy!" There
was foam at his thin lips, and he jerked and glared like a
maniac. "Kneel! Kneel down, vermin! Kow-tow! Kowtow!"
There were squeals and whimpers on my right; the coolies
were down and knocking head for dear life. The two Britons
on my left, not understanding a word, didn't move, and as
the mailed tyrant screamed with rage the little official hurried
forward, snarling in a fearful parody of English:
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"Down! Down to legs! Down to Prince Sang! Makes kill!
See! Makes kill!"
He was gesticulating at the big Tartar, who stumped forward
grinning, flourishing that awful axe above his head with
both hands. There was no doubt what was demanded - and
the alternative. It was enough for me: I was down and butting
my way to the Antipodes before the little bastard had done
speaking. I still thought we were doomed, but if a timely
grovel would help, he could have it from me and welcome;
you don't catch Flashy standing proud and unflinching at the
gates of doom. There was one who did, though.
"Down! Down to Prince Sang! Not - makes kill! Not
kow-tow, makes kill! Kow-tow! Kow-tow!" The official was
screaming again, and with my head on the earth I stole a
sideways glance. This is what I saw.
The Paddy was a brave man - he absolutely hesitated. His
face was crimson, and he glared and gulped horribly, and
then he fell to his knees and put his face in the dust like the
rest of us. Beyond him the Sawney was standing, frowning
at the Prince as though he couldn't credit what he'd heard;
his mouth was hanging slack, and I wondered was he still
drunk. But he wasn't.
"Ye what!" says he, in that rasping gutter voice, and as
the Prince glared and the little official jabbered, I heard the
Irishman, hoarse and urgent:
"Fer God's sake, Moyes, get down! Ye bloody idiot, he'll
kill ye, else! Get down, man!"
Moyes turned his head, and his eyes were wide in disbelief.
By God, so were my ears. For clear as a bell, says he:
"Taste a ----in' Chink? Away, you!"
And he stood straight as he could, stared at Prince Sang,
and stuck out his dirty, unshaven chin.
For a full ten seconds there wasn't a sound, and then Sang
screamed like an animal, and leaped from his chair. The
Tartar, square in front of Moyes, brought the glittering
axe-blade round slowly, within inches of the Scot's face, and
then whirled it up, poised to strike. The official repeated the
order to kow-tow - and Moyes lifted his chin just a trifle,
looked straight at Sang, and spat gently out of the corner of
his mouth.
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Sang quivered as though he'd been struck, and for a
moment I thought he'd spring at the bound man. But all he
did was glare and hiss an order to the Tartar, who raised the
axe still higher, his huge shoulders bunched to strike. The
Irishman's voice sounded in a pleading croak:
"Jaysus, man - will ye do as he bids ye, for the love o'
Mary? Ye'll be kilt, ye fool! He'll murther ye!"
"That'll mak' him a man afore his mither," says Moyes
quietly, and for flat, careless contempt I never heard its
equal. He stood like a rock - and suddenly the axe flashed
down, with a hideous thud, his body was sent hurtling back,
and I was face down in the dirt, gasping bile and sobbing
with horror.
That was how it happened - the stories that he laughed in
defiance, or made a speech about not bowing his head to any
heathen, or recited a prayer, or even the tale that he died
drunk - they're false. I'd say he was taken flat aback at the
mere notion of kow-towing, and when it sank in, he wasn't
having it, not if it cost him his life. You may ask, was he a
hero or just a fool, and I'll not answer - for I know this
much, that each man has his price, and his was higher than
yours or mine. That's all. I know one other thing - whenever
I hear someone say "Proud as Lucifer", I think, no, proud
as Private Moyes.22
But I'd no time for philosophy just then; I was numb with
shock and a blinding pain in my wounded head as they
dragged us back to our cell, still in mortal fear of our lives;
someone, I believe it was a coolie, loosed my bonds and
poured water over my face and down my throat, and I
remember the excruciating pain as the blood flowed back to
my hands and feet. Gradually it eased, and I must have slept
in that bed of stinking mud, for suddenly I was awake, and
it was freezing cold, and though my skull was still aching
dully, I was clear-headed - and I was alone in the cell and
the door was open.
By the cold, and the dim light, it could only be dawn, and
there was a cannonading shaking the ground, from not far
away. It stopped of a sudden, with much Chinese yelling,
and then came the crash of exploding Armstrongs, followed
by a distant rattle of musketry, growing closer, and culminat-
155
ing in a babble of voices cheering. More shots, and steps
pounding outside, and a voice bellowing excitedly: "En
avant! En avant! Chat huant! Chat huant!", and as I
scrambled up, soaked in mud, I was thinking: "Frogs, and
Bretons, at that!"23 and I stumbled from the cell into the
arms of a big cove in a blue overcoat and kepi, who gave
back roaring in disgust from this muddy spectre pawing at
him.
This was how it was. I'd been taken prisoner by the Tartars
on the afternoon of August 12, and carried by them to the
village ofTang-ku, the last Chink outpost before Taku Forts.
I'd been groggy with the clout on my head until next day,
when we'd been dragged out to the yard where Moyes was
murdered. I must have lain in the cell through the next night,
and when our people attacked Tang-ku at dawn on the 14th,
and the Chinese fired a few salvoes and abandoned the place,
leaving us unheeded - why, there I was. Where the Irishman
and the coolies had gone, I'd no notion, but I gave it some
thought while a Frog rifleman helped me back to a field
dressing-station - and decided to be French for the moment.
I mort-de-ma-vied and sacred-blued like anything while an
orderly flung water over me to disperse my filth and then
clapped a cold compress on my battered scalp. I gave him a
torrent of garlic gratitude and withdrew from the bedlam of
the station, muttering like an Apache, and considering, now
that the peril was past, how to preserve my precious credit.
You see, I'd grovelled, and been seen to grovel, to that
infernal Chink warlord - but only by a Paddy sergeant who
didn't know me from Adam; besides, I'd been in khaki mufti
and so plastered with dung as to be unrecognisable. I doubted
if the Mick had even seen me at the grog-cart, it had all
happened so quickly - so now, if I minded my step for a
while, and covered my tracks, there was no earthly reason
why the inconvenient Fenian (wherever he was) or anyone
else, should ever identify the spruce and heroic Flashy,
who would shortly appear at head-quarters, with the craven
scarecrow who'd been first to knock head before the
heathen's feet. Ve-ry good; all we needed was a razor and
somebody's clean shirt and trousers . . .
It's a crying shame, as I keep telling Royal Commissions,
156
that among all the military manuals there ain't a line about
foraging and decorating, those essential arts whereby the
soldier keeps body and soul together in adversity. Offered
to write 'em one, but they wouldn't have it, more fool them,
for I've lifted everything from chickens to Crown Jewels, and
could have set generations of young fellows right, if they'd
let me. It was child's play to kit myself out after Tang-ku;
the two miles back to Sinho was a carnival of support troops
and baggage following the advance, setting up tents and
quarters, and a great confusion through which I ambled,
airing my French when I had to, and being taken, no doubt,
for a rather unkempt commissariat-wallah, or a correspondent,
or a Nonconformist missionary. Within ten minutes I'd
replaced my soiled garments with a fine tussore coat, coolie
pants, solar helmet, and umbrella, with a handsome morocco
toilet case in my back pocket - and if you think that outlandish,
let me tell you that armies were a deal more informally
attired in my day. Campbell at Lucknow looked like a bus
conductor, and old Raglan in the Crimea appeared to have
robbed a jumble sale.
So when I'd shaved in a quiet corner, got rid of my
bandages, and covered my cracked sconce with the topi', I
was in pretty good fig, though feeling like a stretcher case. I
hopped aboard an empty Frog ammunition cart going back
to Sinho, spied Grant's marker by a covered wagon, and
strolled up to report, swinging my gamp. Two staff infants
were within, Addiscombe all over 'em.
"Hollo, my sons!" cries I cheerily, with my head splitting.
"I'm Flashman. Not a bit of it, sit down, sit down! Don't
tell me you haven't learned the great headquarters rule
yet!"
They looked at each other, blushing and respectful in the
presence of the celebrated beau sabreur. "No, sir," says one,
nervously. 'What's that?"
"Hark'ee, my boy. If bread is the staff of life, what is the
life of the staff?"
"Dunno, sir," says he, grinning.
"One long loaf," says I, winking. "So take your ease, and
tell me where's Sir Hope Grant?"
They said he was with the 60th, and when I inquired for
157
Elgin, they looked astonished and told me he was back at
Pehtang.
"You mean I've trekked all across those confounded mudflats
for nothing? Now, that's too bad! Ah, well, Pehtang it
must be. My compliments to Sir Hope, and tell Wolseley
that if I hear he's been fleecing you young chaps at piquet,
I'll call him out. So long, my sons!"
Alibi nicely established, you see, with two gratified young
gallopers reporting that Flashy had just tooled in from the
coast (which was true, give or take a couple of days). I could
now depart for Pehtang in the certainty that no one would
ever imagine I'd been near Tang-ku, and the scene of my
shame. It's just a question of taking thought and pains, and
well worth it.
I was feeling decidedly flimsy by now, and wondering if
I'd last as far as Pehtang, but by good luck the first man I
ran into outside Grant's wagon was Nuxban Khan, who'd
been second to my blood-brother, Ilderim Khan, in the
irregular horse at Jhansi. He hailed me with a great whoop
and roarings in Pushtu, a huge Afghan thug in a sashed coat
and enormous top-boots, grinning all over his dreadful face
as he demanded how I did, and recalling those happy days
when the Thugs all but had me outside the Rani's pavilion
until he and Ilderim and the rest of the Khyber Cooperative
Society arrived to carve them up so artistically. He was a
great man now, rissaldar in Fane's Horse, and when he heard
where I was bound nothing would do but I must travel in
style in the regimental gig.
"Shall Bloody Lance walk, or ride like a common sowar?
No, by God! Thou'lt ride like a rajah, old friend - ah, the
Colonel husoor's pardon! - for the honour of Ilderim's band!
Aye, Ilderim! He ate his last salt at Cawnpore, peace be with
him!" Suddenly there were tears running down his evil face.
"Bismillah! Where are such friends as Ilderim today? Or
such foes? Have ye seen these Tartars, Bloody Lance? Mice!
Aye, but we'll go mouse-hunting anon, thou and I!" Then
he was shouting. "Hey, Probyn Sahib! Probyn Sahib! See
who is here!"
And now he was making me known to Probyn, whom I'd
never met - tall, handsome, soft-spoken Probyn, whom some
158
called the best irregular cavalryman since Skinner (though
I'd have rated Grant above both). He was only a subaltern
in his regular regiment, yet here he was, with an independent
command of his own, and a V.C. to boot. He in turn
presented a few of his officers, Afghans to a man, and as
ugly a crowd as ever crossed the border, and it made me
feel downright odd, when he indicated me as "Flashman
bahadur", to see how they straightened and beamed and
clicked their heels.
D'you know, it was like coming home? Suddenly, among
those wicked friendly faces, with Nuxban exclaiming and
Probyn smiling and eyeing me respectfully, the terror of the
past two days melted away, and even my head didn't ache
so fierce. I realised what it was - for the first time, in China,
I wasn't alone: I had the best army on earth with me, the
bravest of the brave, terrible men who hailed me as a comrade,
and an admired comrade, at that - unless your belly's
as yellow as mine, you can't imagine what it means. I felt
downright proud, and safe at last.
Probyn rode along with me when I rolled off in Nuxban's
gig, and for the first time I had a proper look at the great
British and French army camped outside Sinho. On either
side of the causeway road stretched the long lines of tents,
white and khaki and green, with the guidons fluttering and
the troops at exercise or loafing: here was a company of
Frogs with their overcoats and great packs counter-marching
on the right of the road to "Marche Lorraine", in competition
with a Punjabi battalion, very trim in beards and tight puggarees,
drilling to "John Peel" on the left; there was a Spahi
squadron practising wheels at the gallop, the long cloaks
flying, and a line of Probyn's riders, Sikhs and Afghans in
shirt-sleeves, taking turns to ride full tilt past an officer who
was tossing oranges in the air - they were taking 'em with
their sabres on the fly, roars of applause greeting each successful cut.
"Fane's boys will be doing it with grapes tomorrow, I
expect," says Probyn.
I said it was a pity the Chinese Emperor couldn't see 'em,
and be brought to his senses - the neat artillery parks and
rocket batteries, the endless lines of supply carts and ord-
159
nance wagons, manned by the milling Coolie Corps, whiskered
Madrassis wrestling in their loin-cloths, brawny Gunners
playing cricket on a mat wicket, bearded Sikhs grinding
their lance-points on the emery wheel, green-jacketed 60th
riflemen close-order-drilling like clockwork, a squadron of
Dragoon Guards trotting by, each pith helmet and sloped
sabre at an identical angle, Royals in their shirtsleeves
mingling with the Tirailleurs to swap baccy and gossip (it's
damned sinister, if you ask me, how the Jocks and Frogs
always drift together), and something that would have made
his Celestial Majesty's eyes start from his princely head two
sowars of Fane's in full fig being carried carefully to their
horses by their mates for guard-mounting, so that no speck
of dust should blemish the perfection of tunic and long boots,
or the polish of lance, sword, pistols, and carbine. Probyn
eyed them jaundiced-like, stroking his fair moustache.
"If they take the stick24 again, Fane'11 be insufferable,"
says he. "What, you'd like the Manchoo Emperor to see all
this? Don't fret, old fellah - he will."
He left me at the causeway, and I drove on alone to
Pehtang, a moth-eaten village on the river boasting one
decent house, where Elgin and his staff were quartered. I
tiffined first with Temple of the military train, who deafened
me with complaints about the condition of our transport poor
forage for the beasts, useless coolies, officers overworked
("for a miserly nine and sixpence a day buckshee,
let me tell you!"), the native ponies were hopeless, the notion
of issuing a three-day cooked ration in this climate was
lunacy, and it was a rotten, piddling war, anyway, which no
one at home would mind a bit. It sounded like every military
train I'd seen.
"Frogs just a damned nuisance, of course - no proper
provision, an' three days late," says he with satisfaction.
"How the blazes Bonaparte ever got 'em on parade beats
me. We should go without 'em."
Everyone says that about the French, and it's gospel true
- until it's Rosalie's breakfast time*, and then Froggy'll be
first into the breach ahead of us, just out of spite.
* Time for action. Rosalie was the long French sword-bayonet.
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Elgin was in the backyard of his house, stamping about in
his shirt-sleeves, snapping dictation at Loch, his secretary,
while my Canton inquisitor, Parkes, sat by. I heard Elgin's
sharp, busy voice before I saw him; as I halted in the gateway
he turned, glaring like a belligerent Pickwick, and hailed me
in mid-sentence with a bark and a wave.
"... and I have the honour to refer your excellency
to the Superintendent's letter of whenever-it-was . . . Ha,
Flashman! At last! . . . and to repeat the assertion . . . wait,
Loch, make that warning . . . aye, the warning conveyed in
my notes of so-and-so and so-and-so . . . that unless we have
your assurance . . . solemn assurance . . . that our ultimatum
will be complied with directly ..."
Still dictating, he rummaged in a letter-case and shoved a
packet at me; to my astonishment it was addressed in my
wife's simpleton scrawl, and I'd have pocketed it, but Elgin
waved me peremptorily to read it, so I did, while he went
on dictating full spate.
"Oh, my Darlingest Dear One, how I long to see you!" it
began, and plunged straight into an account of how Mrs
Potter was positive that the laundry were pinching our Best
Linen sheets and sending back rubbish, so she had approved
Mrs Potter's purchase of one of Williamson's new patent
washing-machines and did I think it a Great Extravagance^
"I am sure it must prove Useful, and a Great Saving. Shirts
require no hand-rubbing! Qualified Engineers are prompt to
carry out repairs, tho' such are seldom necessary Mrs Potter
says." She (Elspeth, not Mrs Potter) loved me Excessively
and had noticed in the press an Item which she was sure I
must find droll - a Bishop's daughter had married the Rev.
Edward Cheese! Such a comical name! She had been to
Hanover Square to hear Mr Ryder read "MacBeth" - most
moving altho' Shakespeare's notions of Scottish speech were
outlandish and silly, and she and Jane Speedicut had been
twice to "The Pilgrim of Love" at the Haymarket, and Jane
had wept in a most Affected way "just to attract Attention,
which she needn't have bothered in that unfortunate lilac
gown, so out of style!!" She missed me, and please, I must
not mind about the washing-machine for if she hadn't Mrs
P. might have Given Notice! Little Havvy hoped his Papa
161
would kill a Chinaman, and enclosed a picture of Jesus which
he had drawn at school. "Oh, come to us soon, soon, dear
Hero, to the fond arms of your Loving, Adoring Elspeth.
x x x x x!!!"
I ain't given to sentimental tears, but it was a close thing,
standing in that hot, dusty yard with the smell of China in
my nostrils, holding that letter which I could picture her
writing, sighing and frowning and nibbling her pen, rumpling
her golden curls for inspiration, burrowing in her dictionary
to see how many s's in "necessary", smiling fondly as she
kissed young Havvy's execrable drawing - eleven years old
the little brute was, and apparently thought Christ had a
green face and feathers in his hair. If she'd written pages of
Undying Devotion and slop, as she had in our young days,
I'd have yawned at it - but all the nonsense about washingmachines
and "MacBeth" and Jane's dress and the man
Cheese was so ... so like Elspeth, if you know what I mean,
and I felt such a longing for her, just to sit by her, and have
her hand in mind, and look into those beautiful wide blue
eyes, and tear off her corset, and -
"Flashman!" Elgin was grasping my hand, demanding my
news. "Ha! I'm glad to see you! You were despaired of at
Shanghai!" The sharp eyes twinkled for an instant. "So you'll
write directly to reassure that bonny little wife whose letter
I brought, hey? She's in blooming health. Well, sit down, sit
down! Tell me of Nanking."
So I did, and he listened with his bare forearms set on the
table, John Bull to the life; he'd be fifty then, the Big
Barbarian, as the Chinese called him, bald as an egg save for
a few little white wisps, with his bulldog lip and sudden barks
of anger or laughter. A peppery old buffer, and a deal kinder
than he looked - how many ambassadors would call on a
colonel's wife to carry a letter to her man? - and the shrewdest
diplomatic of his day, hard as a hammer and subtle as a Spaniard. Best of all, he had common sense.
He'd made a name in the West Indies and Canada, negotiated
the China treaty which we were now going to enforce,
and had saved India, no question, by diverting troops from
China at the outbreak of the Mutiny, without waiting orders
from home. As to his diplomatic style - when the Yankees
162
still had their eye on Canada, and looked like trying annexation,
Elgin went through Washington's drawing-rooms like
a devouring flame, wining and dining every Southern Democrat
he could find, dazzling 'em with his blue blood, telling
'em racy stories, carrying on like Cheeryble - and hinting,
ever so delicate, that if Canada joined the Great Republic,
it would give the Northern Yankees a fine majority in Congress,
with all those long-nosed Scotch Calvinists (to say
nothing of French Papists) becoming American voters overnight.
That set the fire-bells ringing from Charleston to
the Gulf, and with the South suddenly dead set against
annexation - why Canada never did join the U.S.A., did
she? Wily birds, these earls - this one's father had pinched
all the best marbles in Greece, so you could see they were a
family to be watched.25
"An unsavoury crew of fanatics," was his comment when
I'd told him of the Taipings. "Well, thanks to you, we should
be able to keep them from Shanghai, and once the treaty's
signed, their bolt's shot. The Imperial Chinese Government
can set about 'em in earnest - with our tacit support, but not
our participation. Eh, Parkes?"
"Yes . . . the trouble is, my lord," says Parkes, "that those
two terms have a deplorable habit of becoming synonymous."

"Synonymous be damned!" snaps Elgin. "H.M.G. will not
be drawn into war against the Taipings. We'd find ourselves
with a new empire in China before we knew it." He heaved
up from the table and poured coffee from a spirit kettle.
"And I have no intention, Parkes, of presiding over any
extension of the area in which we exhibit the hollowness of
our Christianity and our civilisation. Coffee, Flashman? Yes,
you can light one of your damned cheroots if you want to but
blow the smoke the other way. Poisoning mankind!"
There you have three of Elgin's fads all together - he
hated tobacco, was soft on Asiatics, and didn't care for
empire-building. I recall him on this very campaign saying
he'd do anything "to prevent England calling down God's
curse on herself for brutalities committed on yet another
feeble Oriental race." Yet he did more to fix and maintain
the course of British empire than any man of his day, and is
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remembered for the supreme atrocity. Ironic, ain't it?
The letter he'd been dictating had been yet another demand
to the local Manchoo governor for free passage to
Pekin, which the Chinks had previously agreed to - and were
now hindering for all they were worth, as at Sinho and
Tang-ku.
"Perhaps when we've stormed the forts they may realise
the folly of resistance," says Loch. He was a tall, grave young
file with a great beard, who looked a muff until you learned
he'd been a Navy middy at 13, aide to Gough at 17, adjutant
of Skinner's Horse at 23, and come through Sutlej and
Crimea. Parkes laughed.
"Why should they? The Emperor's not there; he won't
suffer. Nor his ministers. Prince Sang and the like, who feed
him vain lies about sweeping us into the sea. The Emperor
believes them, the decree goes forth, the local commanders
put up a futile fight, and send wild accounts to Pekin of how
they've licked us. So the fool's encouraged in his folly, and
all his concubines clap their little hands and tell him he's lord
of creation."
"He's bound to learn the truth eventually, though."
"In the Imperial Palace? My dear Loch, it's another world!
Suppose they do learn they've lost Sinho, for example - it
won't have happened before their eyes, at Pekin, so ... it
simply didn't happen, you see? That's Chinese Imperial
logic."
"Who's Prince Sang?" I asked, remembering the swine
who'd had Moyes butchered - and to whom I'd kowtowed.
"A brute and a firebrand," grunts Elgin. "Prince Sangkol-in-sen
- our fellows call him Sam Collinson. Mongol
general commanding the Emperor's forces; he's in the Taku
Forts this minute, which is why we'll certainly have to fight
for them." 'Nuff said; I'd met Prince Sang.
I asked when we'd advance on the forts, and he glowered
and said, in a week, twiddling his scanty wing of hair, a sure
sign of irritation.
"We're too damned cumbersome by half!" says he. "I told
Palmerston five thousand men would do; but no, Parliament
thinks we're still fighting the damned Bengal sepoys, so
we must have three times that number." He champed and
164
snorted, tugging away. "A confounded waste of men, material,
and time! Wait till the Commons get the bill, though!
And to be sure, the fools of public will ask what it was for -
they'll expect victories, a dozen V.C.s, and enough blood
and massacre to make their flesh creep. Well, they'll not get
'em if I can help it! This is not a war, but an embassy. And
this is not an expeditionary force, it's an escort!"
He'd gone quite pink, and by the way Parkes was pulling
his nose and Loch studying the distance, I could guess it was
a well-played air. After a moment he left off trying to pull
his hair loose.
"Our assault on Taku will take a week to prepare because
the field command changes daily, to keep the French happy
- Grant handed over to Montauban during out attack on
Sinho, if you please! Oh, 'twas safe enough, and Montauban's
a sensible man - but it's not a system that makes for expedition.
We'd have been better with a small, mobile force
- and no French.26 Ah, well!" He gave his hair a final wrench
and suddenly grinned. "We shall have to see. Eh, Loch? As
our old nurses would have said, 'a sair fecht'. For your
benefit, Parkes, that means a long, weary struggle."
How long, I asked Parkes when he showed me to my billet,
and he pursed his lips officially.
"To Pekin? Oh, a month, perhaps ... six weeks?"
"God save us - you ain't serious?"
"I try to be. Elgin's perfectly correct - we're too many,
and Sir Hope, with his many fine qualities is ... methodical.
What with the French, and the Manchoos lying and procrastinating
at every step . . . well, as his lordship's interpreter, I
expect to be chin-chinning to Chinamen quite excessively."
He paused in my doorway and gave a resigned sigh. "Ah,
well ... at least it should be a quiet little war. We dine at
six, by the way; a coat is sufficient."
165
^n on the 21st,
The great Taku Forts went d^^nchoos, who
as advertised, to the astonishment of the 1- 01 Ae Frogs,
thought them impregnable, and the chagrin attack. They
who had violently opposed Grant's plan ^^ river; Grant
wanted to assail the forts on both sides of t ^C J06^ done.
said no, settle the Great North Fort and ^ ^as an affront
Montauban squawked and hooted, saying i1 tiead: "North
to military science, but Grant just shook hl^'' and carried
fort goes, rest'll submit. You'll see. Bonjoi't be unwieldy,
on, humming bull-fiddle tunes. His force mi^ }j}y^two miles
as Elgin said, but it was damned expert: h^ ^}vimming the
of road to the approaches, had volunteer^ ^ed ^e place
river by night to mine the defences, haini1^ftd sent in the
with siege guns and a naval bombardment, .n6 walls - and
infantry with pontoons and ladders to carry ^f6 ^ey got in
sure enough, the infuriated Crapauds made y
first. ^lg up' when
Your correspondent bore no part beyond ^ffer cheer and
the Chinese guns had been safely silenced, to ^ult. A week
comfort to Major Temple before the final ^^, but now he
ago he'd been damning his coolies for usel^, were to carry
was in a desperate fret for their welfare - th^'ji, jingal-fire,
in the scaling ladders in the teeth of can^i^os were hurspears,
stinkpots and whatever else the MaH^ ^gtermined to
ling from the walls, and Temple, the ass, wa^j^r his brolly,
go in with them. I found him croaking u^i^i"1 wasn't a
waiting for the word, but for once his cor(1'
military one. ^ you seen the
"These bloody magistrates!" cries he. "H^ ^Y' an' he an'
China MaiH Heenan's been held to bail at P'^ """^"se!
Sayers are to be charged with assault! Dal^ ,-oars, waving
Why can't they leave sport alone?27 Ahah!" ^
166
to the Frog colonel. "Ready, are we? Sortons, is that it?
Come on, you chaps! China forever!" And he was away,
bounding over the ditches, with his yellow mob at his heels
and the Frog infantry in full cry, bursting with la gloire. They
had warm work crossing the moats and canals, but they and
our own 44th and 67th carried the walls with the bayonet and
as Grant had said, out came the white silk flags on the
other forts. Four hundred Manchoos were killed out of five
hundred; we lost about 30, and ten times as many wounded.
The coolies behaved famously, Temple said.
Parkes and Loch and I were in the party sent across the
river to arrange terms with Hang-Fu, the local mandarin, a
leery ancient with the opium shakes who received us in a
garden, sitting on a chair of state with a mighty block of ice
underneath to keep him cool, and his minions carrying his
spectacles and chopsticks and silver watch in embroidered
cases. He served us champagne, but when Parkes demanded
a signed surrender the old fox said he daren't, not being
military, and Prince Sang had already left upriver.
Parkes then came all over diplomatic, promising to blow
the forts to kingdom come, at which Hang-Fu said, well, the
Emperor would be graciously pleased to give us temporary
occupation of them (which we already had) and we could
take our gunboats up to Tientsin. Parkes almost had to take
him by the throat to get it in writing, and then we ploughed
back to the boat in the dark, past the huge gloomy fortbuildings,
with slow-fuse mines which the Chinks had
thoughtfully left behind exploding here and there. (Another
trick was to bury cocked gun-locks with bags of powder, for
the unwary to tread on; subtle, eh? - and yet some of their
fort guns were wooden dummies.) I was never so glad to get
back to a boat in my life.
So now the way was clear, and with the gunboats leading
the way up the twisty moonlit river, it began: the famous
march on Pekin, the last great stronghold on earth that had
never seen a white soldier, the Forbidden City of the oldest
of civilisations, the capital of the world, to the Chinese,
having dominion over all mankind. And now the foreign
devils were coming, the whining pipes echoing out across the
sodden plain, the jaunty little poilus with their kepis tilted,
167
stepping it out, the jingling troopers of Fane's and Probyn's
with the sun a-twinkle on their lance-heads, the Buffs swinging
by to the odd little march that Handel wrote for them
(so Grant told me)28, the artillery limbers churning up the
mud, the Hampshire yokels and Lothian ploughboys, the
Sikhs and Mahrattas and Punjabis, McCleverty bare to the
waist in the prow of his gunboat, Wolseley halting his pony
to sketch a group of coolies, Napier riding silent, shading his
eyes ahead, Elgin sitting under the awning of Coromandel fanning himself with his hat and reading The Origin of
Species, Montauban careering up and down the columns with
great dash, chattering to his staff, Grant standing by the
roadside, tugging his grizzled whiskers and touching his cap
to the troops who cheered him as they marched by. Fifteen
thousand horse, foot and guns rolling up the Peiho, not to
fight or to hold or to conquer, but just so that the Big
Barbarian could stand before the Son of Heaven and watch
him put his mark on paper. "And when he does," says Elgin,
"the ends of the earth will have met at last, and there will
be no more savage kings for our people to subdue. We've
come a long way from our northern forests; I wonder if we
were wise."
The Chinese evidently thought not, for having given us
fawning assurance of free passage and no resistance, they
hampered us every yard to Tientsin. Transport and beasts
had vanished from the country, the local officials used every
excuse to delay us, and to make things worse the weather
was at extremes of broiling heat and choking dust or deluges
of rain and axle-deep mud29. Fortunately the Manchoos
hadn't had the wit to break bridges or block channels, and
the peasantry, with a fine disregard for Imperial policy, were
perfectly ready to repair our road and sell us beef and mutton,
fruit, vegetables and ice at twenty times their proper price.
Snug on Coromandel, I could endure our leisurely progress,
but Parkes was plumb in the path of all the Manchoos'
growing insolence and deceit, and I could see his official
smile getting tighter by the hour.
"At this rate we may reach Pekin by Christmas. The more
we submit to their lies and hindrance, the less they respect
us." He was at the rail, glaring coldly at the glittering salt168
heaps that lined the banks below Tientsin. "In '58, after we
shelled Canton, the river banks were black with Chinese kowtowing.
You will observe, Sir Harry, that they do not
kow-tow today. Much as I admire our chief, I cannot share
his recently-expressed satisfaction that in these enlightened
times we no longer require every Chinaman to take off his
hat to us."
But even Elgin's patience was beginning to wear thin.
Somehow he preserved a placid politeness through every
meeting with Manchoo officials who barely concealed their
satisfaction in wasting time and frustrating our progress, but
afterwards he'd be in a fever to get on, snapping at us,
tugging his fringe, urging Grant and Montauban with an
energy that stopped just short of rudeness; Montauban would
bridle and Grant would nod, and then we staff-men would
get pepper again. He was bedevilled, trying to keep the
Chinks sweet and the advance moving, fearful of provoking downright hostility, but knowing that every hour lost was
time for the war party in Pekin to get their nerve back after
Taku; we knew Sang-kol-in-sen was back in the capital,
urging resistance, and Elgin in his impatience was being
tempted by a new Manchoo ploy - speedy passage to Pekin
in return for a promise of active British help against the
Taipings, which he daren't concede or bluntly refuse.30
It took us ten crawling days to cover sixty miles to Tientsin,
a stink-hole of salt-heaps and pi-dogs - and smiling Manchoo
mandarins sent by Pekin to "negotiate" our further progress.
They talked for a full week, while Parkes risked apoplexy and
Elgin nodded gravely, with his lip stuck out. Finally,
after interminable discussion, they agreed that we might
advance to Tang-chao, eleven miles from Pekin - provided
we didn't take artillery or too many gunboats to alarm the
people - and from there Elgin and Baron Gros might go into
Pekin with a thousand cavalry for escort, and sign the damned
treaty. It seemed too good to be true - although Grant
looked grim at the smallness of the escort - but Elgin accepted,
hiding his satisfaction. And then the mandarins,
smiling more politely than ever, said of course they couldn't
confirm these arrangements, but doubtless Pekin would do
so if we were patient a little longer . . .
169
If Bismarck or D'lsraeli or Metternich had had to sit
through those interminable hours, listening to those bland,
lying old dotards, and then received that slap in the face, I
swear they'd have started to scream and smash the furniture.
Elgin didn't even blink. He listened to Parkes's near-choked
translation of that astounding insolence, thanked the mandarins
for their courtesy, stood up, bowed - and told Parkes,
almost offhand, to pass 'em the word that they now owed
Britain four million quid for delays and damage to our
expedition. Oh, aye, and the treaty would now contain a
clause opening Tientsin to European trade.
Back on Coromandel he was grimly satisfied. "Their bad
faith affords the perfect excuse for proceeding to Pekin
forthwith. Sir Hope, the army will no longer halt when
discussions take place; if they want to talk we'll do it on the
march. And if they don't like it, and want a fight, they can
have it."
Suddenly everyone was grinning; even Parkes was delighted,
although he confided to me later that Elgin should
have taken a high hand sooner. Elgin himself looked ten
years younger, now that he'd cast the die, but I thought
exuberance had got the better of him when he strode into
the saloon later, threw The Origin of Species on the table,
and announced:
"It's very original, no doubt, but not for a hot evening.
What I need is some trollop."
I couldn't believe my ears, and him a church-goer, too.
"Well, my lord, I dunno," says I. "Tientsin ain't much of a
place, but I'll see what I can drum up -"
"Michel's been reading Dr Thorne since Taku," cries he.
"He must have finished it by now, surely! Ask him, Flashman,
will you?" So I did, and had my ignorance enlightened.31

It was bundle and go now. We left 2nd Division at Tientsin,
shed all surplus gear, and cracked away at twice our previous
pace, while the Manchoos plagued Elgin with appeals to stop
the advance - they would appoint new commissioners, they
had further proposals, there must be a pause for discussion
- and Elgin replied agreeably that he'd talk to 'em at Tangchao,
as agreed. The Manchoos were frantic, and now we
170
saw something new - great numbers of refugees, ordinary
folk, streaming towards us from Pekin, in evident fear of
what would happen when we arrived. They flooded past us,
men, women, and children, with their possessions piled on
rickety carts - I remember one enormous Mongol wheeling
four women in a barrow. But no sign of armed opposition,
and when our local guides and drivers decamped one night,
spirits were so high that no one minded, and Admiral Hope
and Bowlby, the Times correspondent, took over as muleskinners,
whooping and hawing like Deadwood Dick. We
swung on up-river, the gunboats keeping pace and the Frog
band thumping "Madelon", for now Pekin was barely thirty
miles ahead, and we were going to see the elephant at last,
seven thousand cavalry and infantry ready for anything, not
that it mattered for the Manchoo protests had subsided to
whines of resignation, and we were coming home on a tight
rein, hurrah, boys, hurrah!
And the dragon . . . waited.
* * *
It happened the day after we held divine service in a big
temple, and afterwards there was much fun while we looked
over a book of pictures which Beato, who'd been photographing
the march, presented to Elgin. Word came that new
Manchoo commissioners, including the famous Prince I,
were waiting just up ahead, at Tang-chao, and they hoped
the army would camp on the near side of the town while we
negotiated the details of Elgin's entry to Pekin.
"Go and see him," says Elgin to Parkes, so on the Monday,
in the cool of a beautiful dawn, about thirty of us set out to
ride ahead. There was Parkes, Loch, De Normann from
Bruce's office, Bowlby of The Times, and myself, with
six Dragoon Guards and twenty of Fane's sowars under
young Anderson, as escort. Walker, the Q.M.G., and
Thompson of the commissariat rode along to inspect the
camp site.
We trotted up the dusty road, myself in the lead as senior
officer, with Parkes (who rode like an ill-tied sack of logs,
171
by the way). To our right was the river, half a mile off,
and on our left empty plain and millet fields to the horizon.
Beyond a little village we were met by a mandarin with a
small troop of Tartar cavalry, who said he would show us
our camp-site; it proved to be to the right of the road,
where the river took a great loop, near a village called
Five-li Point. Walker and I thought it would do, although
he'd have preferred to be closer to the river, for water;
the mandarin assured us that water would be brought to
us, and as we rode on he chatted amiably to Parkes and
me, telling us he'd been in command of the garrison we'd
defeated at Sinho.
"As you can see." He touched the button on his hat; it
was white, not red. "I was also degraded by losing my
peacock feather," he added, grinning like a corpse, and
Parkes and I made sounds of commiseration. "Oh, it is
no matter!" cries he. "Lost honours can be regained. As
Confucius says: Be patient, and at last the mulberry leaf will
become a silk robe."
I remember the proverb, because it was just then that I
chanced to look round. The six Dragoons had been riding
immediately behind Parkes and me since we set out, in
double file, but I'd paid 'em no special heed, and it was only
as I glanced idly back that I saw one of them was watching
me - staring at me, dammit, with the oddest fixed grin. He
was a typical burly Heavy with a face as red as his coat under
the pith helmet, and I was just about to ask what the devil
he meant by it when his grin broadened - and in that moment
I knew him, and knew that he knew me. It was the Irishman
who'd been beside me when Moyes was killed.
I must have gaped like an idiot . . . and then I was facing
front again, chilled with horror. This was the man who'd
seen me grovelling to Sam Collinson, my abject companion
in shame - and here he was, riding at my shoulder like bloody
Nemesis, no doubt on the point of denouncing me to the
world as a poltroon - it's a great thing to have a conscience
as guilty as mine, I can tell you; it always makes you fear far
more than the worst. My God! And yet - it couldn't be! the
Irishman had been a sergeant of the 44th; this was a trooper
of Dragoon Guards. I must be mistaken; he hadn't been
172
staring at me at all - he must have been grinning at some
joke of his mate's, when I'd caught his eye, and my terrified
imagination was doing the rest "Where
the hell d'you think you're goin', Nolan?" It was
the Dragoon corporal, just behind. "Keep in file!"
Nolan! That had been the name Moyes had spoken - oh,
God, it was him, right enough.
I daren't look round; I'd give myself away for certain. I
must just ride on, chatting to Parkes as though nothing had
happened, and God knows what I said, or how much farther
we rode, for I was aware of nothing except that my cowardly
sins had found me out at last. You may think I was in a great
stew over nothing - what had the great Flashy to fear from
the memory of a mere lout of a trooper, after all? A hell of
a deal, says I, as you'll see.
But if I was in a state of nervous funk for the rest of
the day, I remember the business we did well enough. At
Tang-chao, we met the great Prince I, the Emperor's cousin,
a tall, skinny crow of a Manchoo in gorgeous green robes,
with all his nails cased; he looked at us as if we were dirt,
and when Parkes said we hoped the arrangements agreed for
Elgin's entry to Pekin were still satisfactory to their side, he
hissed like an angry cat.
"Nothing can be discussed until the barbarian leader has
withdrawn his presumptuous request for an audience with the
Son of Heaven, and begged our pardon! He does not come
to Pekin!"
Parkes, to my surprise, just smiled at him as though he
were a child and said they must really talk about something
important. Elgin was going to Pekin, and the Emperor would
receive him. Now, then ...
At this Prince I went wild, spitting curses, calling Parkes
a foreign cur and reptile and I don't know what, and Parkes
just smiled away and said Elgin would be there, and that was
that. And in this way the time passed until (it's a fact) six
o'clock, when Prince I had cursed himself hoarse. Then
Parkes got up, repeated for the four hundredth time that
Elgin was going to Pekin - and suddenly Prince I said, very
well, with a thousand cavalry, as agreed. Then in double
time he and Parkes settled the wording of a proclamation
173
informing the public that peace and harmony were the order
of the day, and we retired to the quarters that had been
prepared for us, and had dinner.
"Who said the Chinese were negotiators!" scoffs Parkes.
"The man's a fool and a fraud."
"He caved in very suddenly," says Loch. "D'you trust
him?"
"No, but I don't need to. Their goose is cooked, Loch,
and they know it, and because they can't abide it, they squeal
like children in a tantrum. And if he goes back on his word
tomorrow, it doesn't matter - because the Big Barbarian is
going to Pekin, anyway."
It was arranged that in the morning, while De Normann
and Bowlby (who wanted some copy for his rag) would stay
in Tang-chao with Anderson and the sowars, the rest of us
would return to the army, Parkes and Loch to report to
Elgin, Walker and I to guide them to the camp site. The
others turned in early, except for Parkes, who had invited
one of the lesser mandarins over for a chat, so I retired to
the verandah to rehearse my anxieties for the umpteenth
time, able to sweat and curse in private at last.
Nolan knew me. What would he say - what could he say?
Suppose he told the shameful truth, would anyone believe
him? Never. But why should he say anything - dammit,
he'd grovelled, too ... I went all through my horrid fears
again and again, pacing in the dark little garden away from
the house, chewing my cheroot fiercely. What would he
say-
"A foine evenin', colonel," was what, in fact, he said, and
I spun round with an oath. There he was, by the low wall at
the garden foot - standing respectfully to attention, rot him,
the trooper out for an evening stroll, greeting his superior
with all decorum. I choked back a raging question, and
forced myself to say nonchalantly:
"Why, I didn't see you there, my man. Yes, a fine evening."

I hoped to God it was too shadowy for him to see me
trembling. I lit another cheroot, and he moved forward a
step.
"Beg pardon, sorr . . . don't ye remember me?"
174
I had myself in hand now. "What? You're one of the
dragoons, aren't you?"
"Yes, sorr. I mean afore that, sorr." He had one of those
soft, whiny, nut-at-ahl Irish brogues which I find especially
detestable. "Whin I wuz in the 44th - afore dey posted me
to the Heavies. Shure, an' it's just a month since - I think
ye mind foine."
"Sorry, my boy," says I pleasantly, my heart hammering.
"I don't know much of the 44th, and I certainly don't know
you." I gave him a nod. "Goodnight."
I was turning away when his voice stopped me, suddenly
soft and hard together. "Oh, but ye do, sorr. An' I know
you. An' we both know where it wuz. At Tang-ku, when
Moyes got kilt."
What should an innocent man say to that? I'll tell you: he
turns sharp, frowning, bewildered. "When who was killed?
What the devil are you talking about? Are you drunk, man?"
"No, sorr, I'm not drunk! Nor I wuzn't drunk then! You
wuz in the yard at Tang-ku whin they made us bow down to
yon Chink bastard "
"Silence! You're drunker than David's sow! You're raving!
Now, look here, my lad - you cut along to your billet and
I'll say no more "
"Oh, but ye will! Ye will dat!" He was shaking with
excitement. "But first ye'll listen! For I know, ye see, an' I
can say plenty more "
"How dare you!" I forced myself to bark. "You insolent
rascal! I don't know what you're talking about, or what your
game is, but another word from you and I'll get you a bloody
back for your damned insolence, d'ye hear?" I towered,
outraged, glaring like a colonel. "I'm a patient man, Nolan,
but . . ."
It was out before I knew it, and he saw the blunder as
soon as I did. The eyes bulged with triumph in his crimson
face.
"Whut's dat? Nolan, d'ye say? An' if ye don't know me,
how the hell d'ye know me name, den?"
In fact, I'd heard his corporal use it that day, but in my
panic I remembered only Moyes at the grog-cart. I was
speechless, and he rattled on excitedly:
175
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t abide
>es bac
; the B4
:ig, while
for his ra;
sowars, l
and Loch
_ :o the cai
_ Parkes, whc
 fora chat, s(
'-ties for th<
"ie at last.
?- what c
wuld an;
) anythinj
' "irough my
lk little gardei
" 'tely. Wh<
a>. in fact,
e^, by the
' 'o attenti
 greeting
'^ing qu
'my ^an. Yes,
^01 hini
lle movec
of it. I slapped Parkes's screw, an
dragoons at our heels, back throiij
Tang-chao road.
Before we'd gone a mile I was b
the troops we'd seen coming do}v,
camp-site, I don't know, but the
we met Chinese they didn't attempt
Tang-chao under the hour, and whfep^A61!, we were in find Prince I, I set the dragoons seaKy^^lii1."^ off to the others. It was only then that I real(^U% ^nderson and
was Nolan. Hollo, thinks I, we mayit^WS^y Lagoons
yet. . {^i{,ntage in this
Tang-chao ain't a big place, and I foBr> ,^ ' near the bazaar. Bowlby Sahib was bu^SyoSik" troopers
grinning, and sure enough he was festoo^Y'l ^ silk, ^y5 "^y,
his money on the table while the ve^^h^1'1165 un' with determine the price, with Anderson aac) "ilft lok hls stlcks to fing and half a dozen sowars chortling to, ^ Normann chaf-
"I can't gamble with Times money r'B^l^^e stall.
pink in the face. "Delane will go thr^jg^ was laughing,
himself, I tell you! I say, Anderson, tell K^ * "^ ^counts
and I'll cough it up, hang it!" " onameapnce
I tapped Andersen's arm. "Eveiyo^^ ^ quietly, in two's and three's. No fuss. }i/%. the square,
minutes." ' ending in ten
Good boy, Anderson; he nodded, '^il1'^ Normann, passed word to his jemadar- a^J tl9 J01^ to ^e
to drift off, slow and easy. I left him to ^Vnn! ga"
went to find another horse from ourtw. r^ Bowlby and
thirteen stone, and if there was one thin^ ( vounts; I ride
fresh beast. ^ ctnted u was a
Anderson had his troop ready in the sq jf^ - loafing so as not to attract notice, I wa^ ^ "Ythe ^Ple
there was nothing to do but wait for IN^W to see - and Normann and Bowlby what had happen^ ^. ;r and ten ^ hot now, in the dusty square; the beasts st^ip^ vvas, roasting
and the sowars yawned and spat, while ^'V1"^1"^11'
hands in pockets, whistling; my nerves ^r^rson strolled,
can tell you, when there was a clatter o^, y0^ stretching I
should it be but Loch, with two sowers c/ry^' and ^o ' ^g white flags
181
on their lance-points, and young Brabazon, a staff-walloper.
Yes, Loch had seen Grant, and after reporting had felt
bound to return for Parkes and me; he said it almost
apologetically, blinking and stroking his beard, while I marvelled
at human folly. The Imps were in greater force than
ever at the camp-site, and in Loch's opinion, presenting a most threatening appearance, but while Montauban had
been all for a frontal attack, Grant was sitting tight, to give
us time to get clear. That cheered me up, for if he didn't
advance the Imps would have nothing to shoot at, and all
might blow over; but it was still gruelling work waiting for
Parkes; I beguiled the time trying to think of fatal errands
on which I might despatch Trooper Nolan, who was sitting
aside, puffing his pipe, his bright little eyes sliding every so
often in my direction.
Suddenly here was Parkes, riding alone, pausing to scribble
furiously in his note-book, and in a fine taking. "I am out of
all patience with I!" snaps he. "He is a lying scoundrel! Sam
Collinson has been at work, stirring up resistance, and what
d'you think I had the effrontery to say? That it is all our fault
for insisting on Lord Elgin's entering Pekin!"
"You said that?" says Loch, puzzled.
"What? Of course not! I said it!" cries Parkes, and as God's
my witness, they began to discuss the personal pronoun. One
thing rapidly became clear: the Chinks had repudiated the
agreement made only yesterday, and were now vowing that
unless Elgin withdrew his demand, they were ready to fight.
"There can be no peace!" Prince I had shouted at Parkes.
"It must be war!"
I gave the word to Anderson, and we were off at the
canter, stretching to a gallop as we left the town. With luck,
we might pass through before the explosion came, but barely
a mile out on the road Parkes's horse fell, and although he
remounted, I could see that his beast, and De Normann's,
would never stay the course. I slowed to a trot, wondering
what the devil to do; if it came to the pinch, they could
damned well take their chance, but for the moment we must
hold together and hope. By God, it was a long ride, with my
ears straining for the first crack of gunfire ahead; if only
Grant held off a little longer . . .
182
We passed through Chang-kia-wan again, in a solid phalanx
with the Sikh sowars around us, thrusting by main force
through streets choked with jingal-men and Tiger soldiers
who sneered and spat but kept their distance from those
razor-sharp lance-heads. Then we were out and trotting down
the long slope towards the distant camp-site; the plain either
side was black with Imps, foot and horse; the huge coloured
banners were streaming in the breeze, paper standards were
flapping and filling, their horns were blaring and cymbals
clashing, every group we passed turned to scream execrations
at us; suddenly before us was a troop of Manchoo artillery,
absolutely slewing round their great dragon-headed brass
pieces to threaten us. I looked back - De Normann and
Bowlby had fallen behind on their foundering hacks, and
Parkes seized my elbow. "Sir Harry! Sir Harry, we must
decide what is best to be done!"
They're smart in the diplomatic, you know, and in a
moment the others had caught fire from his inspiration. Loch
said that in such moments decisions should be arrived at
quickly, De Normann urged the necessity of calm, and Brabazon
cried out that since Parkes was the chief negotiator, he
must say how we should proceed.
"Shut your bloody trap!" I roared. "Anderson - wheel
right!" If there was a way through - for anyone lucky enough
to have a fresh horse, anyway - it was beyond the big nullah,
where we might skirt round to the army. We swung off the
road, and in that moment there was a thunderous roar of
cannon from far ahead, and I knew the masked batteries
were in action; a breathless pause, and then as Armstrong
shells began to burst among the Imps, pandemonium broke
loose. I yelled to Anderson to hold them together as we
surged forward through the milling infantry, and here was
Bowlby clattering up, brandishing his pistol.
"Now we'll see how these yellow fellows can fight!" cries
he. I roared to him to holster his piece, heard Parkes yelling
in front of me, and saw that he and Loch had reined up by
a little silk pavilion where a mandarin was sitting a Tartar
pony, with officers at his back; it was our acquaintance of
yesterday, who had lost his spurs at Sinho. As I rode up
to them, Parkes was shouting something about safe-conduct,
183
on their lance-points, and young Brabazon, a staff-walloper.
Yes, Loch had seen Grant, and after reporting had felt
bound to return for Parkes and me; he said it almost
apologetically, blinking and stroking his beard, while I marvelled
at human folly. The Imps were in greater force than
ever at the camp-site, and in Loch's opinion, presenting a most threatening appearance, but while Montauban had
been all for a frontal attack, Grant was sitting tight, to give
us time to get clear. That cheered me up, for if he didn't
advance the Imps would have nothing to shoot at, and all
might blow over; but it was still gruelling work waiting for
Parkes; I beguiled the time trying to think of fatal errands
on which I might despatch Trooper Nolan, who was sitting
aside, puffing his pipe, his bright little eyes sliding every so
often in my direction.
Suddenly here was Parkes, riding alone, pausing to scribble
furiously in his note-book, and in a fine taking. "I am out of
all patience with I!" snaps he. "He is a lying scoundrel! Sam
Collinson has been at work, stirring up resistance, and what
d'you think I had the effrontery to say? That it is all our fault
for insisting on Lord Elgin's entering Pekin!"
"You said that?" says Loch, puzzled.
"What? Of course not! I said it!" cries Parkes, and as God's
my witness, they began to discuss the personal pronoun. One
thing rapidly became clear: the Chinks had repudiated the
agreement made only yesterday, and were now vowing that
unless Elgin withdrew his demand, they were ready to fight.
"There can be no peace!" Prince I had shouted at Parkes.
"It must be war!"
I gave the word to Anderson, and we were off at the
canter, stretching to a gallop as we left the town. With luck,
we might pass through before the explosion came, but barely
a mile out on the road Parkes's horse fell, and although he
remounted, I could see that his beast, and De Normann's,
would never stay the course. I slowed to a trot, wondering
what the devil to do; if it came to the pinch, they could
damned well take their chance, but for the moment we must
hold together and hope. By God, it was a long ride, with my
ears straining for the first crack of gunfire ahead; if only
Grant held off a little longer . . .
182
We passed through Chang-kia-wan again, in a solid phalanx
with the Sikh sowars around us, thrusting by main force
through streets choked with jingal-men and Tiger soldiers
who sneered and spat but kept their distance from those
razor-sharp lance-heads. Then we were out and trotting down
the long slope towards the distant camp-site; the plain either
side was black with Imps, foot and horse; the huge coloured
banners were streaming in the breeze, paper standards were
flapping and filling, their horns were blaring and cymbals
clashing, every group we passed turned to scream execrations
at us; suddenly before us was a troop of Manchoo artillery,
absolutely slewing round their great dragon-headed brass
pieces to threaten us. I looked back - De Normann and
Bowlby had fallen behind on their foundering hacks, and
Parkes seized my elbow. "Sir Harry! Sir Harry, we must
decide what is best to be done!"
They're smart in the diplomatic, you know, and in a
moment the others had caught fire from his inspiration. Loch
said that in such moments decisions should be arrived at
quickly, De Normann urged the necessity of calm, and Brabazon
cried out that since Parkes was the chief negotiator, he
must say how we should proceed.
"Shut your bloody trap!" I roared. "Anderson - wheel
right!" If there was a way through - for anyone lucky enough
to have a fresh horse, anyway - it was beyond the big nullah,
where we might skirt round to the army. We swung off the
road, and in that moment there was a thunderous roar of
cannon from far ahead, and I knew the masked batteries
were in action; a breathless pause, and then as Armstrong
shells began to burst among the Imps, pandemonium broke
loose. I yelled to Anderson to hold them together as we
surged forward through the milling infantry, and here was
Bowlby clattering up, brandishing his pistol.
"Now we'll see how these yellow fellows can fight!" cries
he. I roared to him to holster his piece, heard Parkes yelling
in front of me, and saw that he and Loch had reined up by
a little silk pavilion where a mandarin was sitting a Tartar
pony, with officers at his back; it was our acquaintance of
yesterday, who had lost his spurs at Sinho. As I rode up
to them, Parkes was shouting something about safe-conduct,
183
but now there was a crowd of angry Imps in the way; they'd
spotted us as enemy, clever lads, and were crowding in,
waving fists and spears; suddenly there seemed to be contorted
yellow faces all round us, screaming hate. Above the
din I heard the mandarin cry out something about a prince;
then Parkes was calling across the crowd to me. "Wait for
us, Sir Harry! Prince ..." And then he and Loch and one
of the sowars were galloping off with the mandarin.
"Come back!" I roared. "Parkes, you idiot!", for it was
plain that our one hope was the mandarin, and we should all
stay with him. Roaring to Anderson to hold on, I drove
through the press in pursuit; by the time I'd cleared that
howling mob my quarry was wheeling into a gully a furlong
ahead, and I cursed and thundered after them. I plunged
into the gully, and there they were, not twenty paces off,
reined up before a group of magnificently-armoured Manchoo
horsemen, banners planted in the turf beside them,
and Parkes was pointing to the white rag on the sowar's lance-point. I pulled up, and the leader of the Manchoos
was standing in his stirrups, screaming with laughter, which
seemed damned odd till I saw who it was: Prince Sang-kol-insen.
In fine voice he was.
"You ask safe-conduct! Foreign filth! Crawling savages!
You who would shame the Son of Heaven, and who come
now treacherously to attack us! Barbarian lice! Offal! And
now you come whining "
The rest was lost in howls of hatred as his followers closed
in; I saw Parkes struggling with a mounted rider, and thought
"McNaghten!"32 Loch was knocked flying from the saddle,
and the Sikh was thrashing with his lance as they bore him
down. I didn't linger; I was round and out of that gully like
a guilty squirrel - and slap in front of me was a boiling crowd
of Imp braves, with Anderson's party struggling desperately
in the middle. A musket barked, and I saw a Sikh reel in the saddle; then the sabres were out, Sikhs and dragoons laying
about them, with Anderson yelling to close up; a ragged
volley of musketry, a Sikh going down, the answering crash
of revolver fire, Bowlby blazing away wild-eyed until he was
dragged from the saddle, Nolan bleeding from a sword-cut
on the brow as he drove through the press - I heard him
184
shriek as he pitched forward over his horse's head into the
crush. It didn't matter now; I stared appalled at that hideous
melee, and turned to flee.
But they were streaming out of the gully, too, Tiger soldiers
with drawn swords, and at their head the white-button mandarin
and half a dozen mounted monsters in black bamboo
armour and helmets, brandishing pennoned spears and
screaming blue murder. I put my beast to the bank; he
scrambled up, reared, and fell back, and I rolled clear just
in time. There was a side-gully and I raced up it, howling as
I went, and came down headlong over a pile of stones; I
scrambled afoot, mouthing vainly for help, there wasn't a
friendly soul in sight, Loch and Parkes might be dead by
now, hacked to pieces - well, by God, thinks I, if it must be,
I'll make a better end than that. I swung to face them,
whipping out my sabre and dropping a hand to my pistol-butt
as that devil's horde bore down on me.
Even for old Flashy, you see, there comes the moment
when you realise that, after a lifetime of running, you can't
run any longer, and there's only one thing for it. I gritted my
teeth and ran at them, spun the weapons in my hands, and
bawled in my best Chinese:
"Quarter! I surrender! I'm a British staff colonel and you
touch me at your peril! My sword, your excellency!"33
185
For a well-decorated hero I've done a deal
of surrendering in my time - which is doubtless why I remain
a well-decorated hero. Piper's Fort, Balaclava, Cawnpore,
Appomattox - I suppose I can't count Little Big Horn,
because the uncivilised rascals wouldn't accept it, try as I
might - and various minor capitulations. And if there's one
thing I've learned, which young military men should bear in
mind, it's that the foeman is generally as glad to accept your
surrender as you are to give it. Mind you, he may turn
spiteful later, when he's got you snug and helpless (I often
do), but that's a risk you must run, you know. Most of my
captors have been decent enough.
The Chinese were not. You'd have thought, the trouble I
saved 'em, they might have shown me some consideration,
but they didn't. For two days I was confined in a stinking
wooden cage no bigger than a trunk, unable to stand or lie,
but only to crouch painfully while I was exhibited in the
temple square at Tang-chao to a jeering mob who spat and
poked and shovelled ordure through the bars. I was given
no food or drink beyond a filthy rag soaked in water, without
which I'd have died - but I was in paradise compared with
Parkes and Loch, who had survived only to be dragged to
the Board of Punishments in Pekin.
The worst of it was not knowing. What would they do to
me? Where were the others? What had happened at Five-li
Point? The Manchoo thugs who guarded my cage, and egged
on the mob to torment me, gloated about the terrible slaughter
they'd inflicted on our army - which I knew was lies, for
they couldn't have licked Grant, and why wasn't Tang-chao
choked with prisoners like myself? But I didn't know that in
fact Grant had thrashed their ambush out of sight, with our
cavalry driving twenty thousand Tartar horsemen pell-
186
mell, and even riding round the walls of Tang-chao before
withdrawing to Grant's new position at Changkia-wan.
Nor could I guess that Elgin was furiously demanding our
release - or that the Manchoos were refusing even to
talk.
It beats belief, but those lordly idiots at the Imperial Court
still wouldn't accept the evidence of their senses. No, their
army hadn't been driven like sheep; no, it was impossible
that the insolent barbarians could approach Pekin; no, it
wasn't happening at all. So they were telling each other, with
Sang-kol-in-sen and Prince I spitting venom into the ear of
their imbecilic Emperor, convincing the poor dupe that the
sound of our guns twenty miles away was merely our last
despairing gasp, and that presently we should be laid in the
dust at his feet. They were ready to try to prove it, too, as
you shall see.
I knew only from my guards that Pekin had proclaimed
that we prisoners would be executed the moment our army
advanced; I hadn't heard, thank God, that Elgin's reply was
a flat defiance: he was coming to Pekin, and if a hair of our
heads was hurt, God help the Emperor. Looking back now
in safety, I can say he was right; if he'd weakened, these
Manchoo idiots would have thought they'd won, and murdered
us in sheer gloating exuberance, for that's their style.
But as long as he was coming on, with blood in his eye, they
held their hands out of secret fear. And he was coming, the
Big Barbarian, at the double and tugging his hair; even while
I crouched in that hellish cage, and while they were dying by
inches in the Board of Punishments, Grant was throwing
aside his map and thrusting his sgian dhu into his boot, and
Montauban was haranguing his poilus as they stuffed their
cartridge-pouches. It was different, then; touch a Briton, and
the lion roared once - and sprang.
They came like a whirlwind on the third day of our captivity,
with a thundrous prelude of artillery that had me
craning vainly at the thick wooden bars; the townsfolk scattered
in panic to get out of the way as Chinese troops came
pouring through the square, horse, foot and guns streaming
through to the Pekin road. I was croaking with hope, expecting
any moment to see the beards and puggarees and lance187
heads galloping into view, when I was dragged from my cage
and hauled before an armoured horseman. My cramped
limbs wouldn't answer at first, but when they lashed my
wrists by a long rein to his crupper, and the swine set off up
the street - well, it's astonishing how you can hobble when
you have to. I knew if I fell I'd be dragged and flayed to
pieces, so I ran stumbling with my arms being half-torn from
their sockets. Fortunately the road was so crowded with
troops that he couldn't go above a trot; we must have
been about a mile beyond the town, and more artillery was
booming close at hand, when we came in view of an enormous
bridge built of great marble blocks; it must have been thirty
yards wide by three hundred long, spanning the muddy
yellow Peiho. This was the bridge of Pah-li-chao, and here I
saw an amazing sight.
On the approaches to the bridge, and for miles to my left,
was drawn up the Chinese Imperial Army. I've heard there
were thirty thousand; I'd say double that number, but no
matter. They stood in perfect parade order, regiment on
regiment stretching away as far as I could see: Tartar cavalry
in their coloured coats and conical fur hats, lances at rest;
rank after rank of massive Bannermen in clumsy armour and
barred helms; Tiger soldiers like yellow Harlequins, chanting
their war-song; robed jingal-men, two to a piece, their fuses
smouldering; half-naked Mongol infantry like stone Buddhas
with drawn swords; armoured horsemen with long spears
and antique firearms, their wide plated coat-skirts giving
them the appearance of gigantic beetles; pig-tailed musketeers
in pyjama dresses of black silk and yellow pillbox
hats; batteries of their ridiculous artillery, long-barrelled
ancient cannon with muzzles carved in fantastic dragon
mouths, the stone shot piled beside them, crashing out ragged
salvoes that shook the ground - and over all fluttered banners
of every hue and design, shimmering in the sunrise, great
paper tigers and hideously-featured effigies to frighten the
enemy. Above the explosion of the guns rose the hellish din
of gongs and cymbals and fifes and rattles and fireworks China
hurling defiance at the barbarians. The noise swelled
to a deafening crescendo as the guns fell silent; then it too
died to a conclusion, and through the ranks of the tremendous
188
host swept a roar of human sound, pealing out into a final
great shout - and then silence.
Silence ... a dead, eery quiet over the flat fields before
the army, stretching off into the eastern haze. Nothing to be
heard but the soft flap of a silk banner, the clink of a
stirrup-iron, the gentle swirl of a tiny dust-devil on the marble
flags of the bridge, until out of the hazy distance came the
far-off voice of a bugle, followed by the faintest of whispers
down the wind, a piper playing "Highland Laddie", and the
great Imperial army bristled down its length like an angry cat
and the horns and cymbals blared again in deafening reply.
My horseman gave an angry shout and spurred up the
bridge so suddenly that I was thrown off my feet and dragged
across the flags until I managed to stumble up after him. He
cast me loose before a knot of mounted officers on the
summit; their leader was an ugly, pock-marked mandarin in
black plate armour and a pagoda helmet, who flourished a
fighting-iron at me.
"Throw this pig in with the rest of the herd!" he bawls,
and I saw that behind him, on the parapet, was another of
their infernal cages; an iron one this time, as long as ,an
omnibus, containing half a dozen ragged wretches. I was
seized and thrust up on to the parapet and through the low
iron door; a cry of astonishment met me, and then Brabazon
was gripping my hand - a ragged, hollow-eyed Brabazon
with his arm in a tattered sling; he was as filthy as I. /
"Colonel Flashman! You're alive! Oh, thank God! Thank
God you're safe, sir!"
"You call this safe, do you?" says I. He stared, and
cackled.
"Eh? Oh, my word - not too safe, perhaps! No ... oh,
but it's famous to see you, sir! You see, we feared we were
the only . . ."He gestured at his companions - a couple of
Sikhs, trying to sit up to attention, a dragoon half-slumped
down against the bars, a frail little stick of a man with long
silver hair, in a priest's robe. "But Mr Parkes, sir? Mr Loch?
What of them?"
I said I believed they were dead. He groaned, and then
cried: "Well, at least you're alive, sir!", and the dragoon
chuckled, raising his head.
189
"Shure, an' why wouldn't he be? Ye don't kill Flash Harry
that easy - do ye, colonel?" says Trooper Nolan.
He had a bloody bandage round his brow, and there was
dried blood on his cheek, but he was wearing the same slack,
calculating grin as he stared at me across the cage. Brabazon
gobbled indignantly.
"It's not for you to say so, my man! How dare you address
an officer in that familiar style?" He grimaced admiringly at
me. "Mind you, it's true what he says, sir! They can't keep
you down, can they? I'm sure he meant no harm, sir!"
"None taken, my boy," says I, and sank down in the straw
opposite Nolan. I'd forgotten all about the blackmailing
brute - and now my fears came rushing back at the sight of
that knowing peasant grin. You may think I should have had
more immediate cares, but the very sight of these five other
prisoners had sent my spirits soaring. Plainly they were
regarding us as hostages, and would keep us alive to the
bitter end - and when we were free again, there would still
be Nolan. I could see he was already contemplating that
happy prospect, for when a renewed cannonade by the Chink
guns took Brabazon to the bars for a look-see, he leaned
forward towards me and says quietly:
"Shure, an' mebbe we'll be havin' our little talk after all,
colonel."
"Any talking we do can wait until we're out of this," says
I, equally quiet. "Until then, hold your tongue."
His grin faded to an ugly look. "We'll see about dat," he
whispered. "Whether I hold it or not . . . depends, does it
not, sorr?"
He sat back against the bars, glowering truculently, and
just then there was a sudden uproar on the bridge, and
Brabazon was shouting to me to come and look. Smoke was
swirling over the bridge from the nearest battery, but when
it cleared I saw that the mandarin and his staff were at the
parapet just beneath us, pointing and yelling excitedly, and
there, far out on the plain, where visibility ended in a bright
haze flecked gold by the morning sun, little figures were
moving - hundreds of them, advancing out of the mist
towards the Imperial army. They couldn't be more than a
mile away, French infantry in open order, rifles at the trail;
190
their trumpets were sounding through the thunder of the
Chinese guns, and as the stone shot kicked up fountains of
dust among them they held on steadily, moving directly
towards us, the Tricolour standards waving before them.
"Oh, vive la France!" mutters Brabazon. "Strange little
buggers. See 'em strut, though! Stick it, you Frogs!"
The Chinese horns and gongs were going full blast now,
and there was more hullaballoo and racing about on the
bridge as lines of British and Indian infantry came into view
on the French left flank; in between there was a little line
of dust, thrown up by hooves, and above it the twinkling
lance-points and the thin slivers of the sabres: Fane's Horse
and the Dragoon Guards, knee to knee. Down beyond the
parapet the Chinese gunners were labouring like billy-bedamned;
their shot was churning the ground all along the
allied line, but still it came on, unhurried and unbroken,
and the Chinks were yelling exultantly in their ranks, their
banners waving in triumph, for out on the plain could be
seen how small was our army, advancing on that mighty mass
of Imperials, who outflanked it half a mile on either side.
Brabazon was muttering excitedly, speaking my own
thought:
"Oh, run away, you silly Chinamen! You ain't got a hope!"
There was a great stir to the Imperial right, and we saw
the Tartar horse were advancing, a great mass swinging out
to turn the British flank; the Armstrong shells were bursting
above them, little flashes of flame and smoke, but they held
together well, weathering it as their stride lengthened to a
canter, and Brabazon was beating his fist on the bars.
"My God, do they think Grant's asleep? He's been up for
hours, you foolish fellows - look! Look there!"
For suddenly a trumpet was shrilling from the allied line,
and like a gate swinging on its hinge our cavalry came
drumming out of the centre, sweeping round in a deadly arc,
the lances going down and the sabres twinkling as they were
advanced; like a great fist they tore into the Tartar flank,
scattering them, riding them down; as the enemy cavalry
wavered and gave back, with Fane's and the Dragoons tearing
into their heart, there was another blast of trumpets,
and Probyn's riders came charging in to complete the rout.
191
Brabazon was bellowing like a madman, and the two Sikhs
were dancing at the bars: "Yah sowar? Sat-sree-akaV Shabash!"
Suddenly
one of the Sikhs yelled and fell back, blood
welling from a gash in his thigh. Nolan caught him, swearing
in amazement, and then we saw the Bannerman oh the bridge
beneath us, screaming curses and brandishing a bloody spear.
The mandarin's staff were shaking their fists at the cage, until
the crash of an Armstrong shell on the bridge end sent them
headlong for cover; another burst on the far parapet, splinters
whining everywhere; the Armstrongs had ranged on the
Chinese guns' positions, and through the thunder of the
Imperial salvoes we could hear the thumping strains of
the "Marseillaise"; there were the dear little Crapauds storming
into the Chinese forward positions, with the Armstrong
bursts creeping ahead of them; behind the Chink front line
it was like an antheap kicked over, and then another shell
burst plumb on the summit of the bridge and we were dashed
to the floor of the cage.
When I raised my head Brabazon was back at the bars,
staring down in disgust at a bloody palpitating mass on the
flags which had been a Bannerman, or possibly two. The
ugly mandarin was standing beside it, staring at a bloody
gash on his hand, and Brabazon, the eternal oaf, had to sing
out:
"Take that, you villain! That'll teach you to attack a
prisoner!"
The mandarin looked up. He couldn't understand the
words, but he didn't need to. I never saw such livid hate in
a human face, and I thought we were goners there and then.
Then he strode to the cage, gibbering with fury.
"Fan-qui scum! You see this?" He flourished his bloody
hand. "For every wound I take, one of you dies! I'll send his
head back to your gunners, you spawn of the White Whore!"
He turned to scream orders to his men, and I thought, oh
Jesus, here goes one of us, but it was evidently a promise for
the future, for all their response was to line the parapet and
blaze away with their jingals at the Frogs, who were still
engaged in the forward entrenchments three hundred yards
away.
192
"What did he say?" Brabazon was demanding. "Sir - what
was he shouting at us?"
None of them understood Chinese, of course. The unwounded
Sikh and the little priest were bandaging the
wounded man's leg; Nolan was a yard off, slightly behind
me; Brabazon at my side, questioning. And in that moment
I had what I still maintain was one of the most brilliant
inspirations of my life - and I've had one or two.
Hoaxing Bismarck into a prize-fight, convincing Jefferson
Davis that I'd come to fix the lightning-rod, hitting Rudi
Starnberg with a bottle of Cherry Heering, hurling Valentina
out of the sledge into a snow-drift - all are fragrant leaves
to press in the book of memory. But I'm inclined to think
Pah-li-chao was my finest hour.
"What did he say, sir?" cried Brabazon again. I shook my
head, shrugging, and spoke just loud enough for Nolan to
overhear.
"Well, someone's in luck. He's going to send one of us
under a white flag to the Frogs. Try to make terms, I suppose.
Well, he can see it's all up."
"Good heavens!" cries Brabazon. "Then we're saved!"
"I doubt that," says I. "Oh, the chap who goes will be all
right. But the Frogs won't parley - I wouldn't, if I commanded
'em. What, trust these yellow scoundrels? When the
game's all but won? No, the French ain't such fools. They'll
refuse . . . and we know what our captors will do then ..."
I looked him in the eye. "Don't we?"
Now, if we'd been a directors' meeting, no doubt there'd
have been questions, and eleventeen holes shot in my
specious statement - but prisoners in a cage surrounded by
blood-thirsty Chinks don't reason straight (well, / do, but
most don't). Anyway, I was the bloody colonel, so he
swallowed it whole.
"My God!" says he, and went grey. "But if the French
commander knows that five lives are "
"He'll do his duty, my boy. As you or I would."
His head came up. "Yes, sir ... of course. Who shall go,
sir? It ought to be ... you."
I gave him my wryest Flashy grin and clapped him on the
shoulder. "Thanks, my son. But it won't do. No ... I think
193
we'll leave it to chance, what? Let the Chinks pick the lucky
one."
He nodded - and behind me I could almost hear Nolan's
ears waving as he took it all in. Brabazon stepped resolutely
away from the cage door. I stayed at the bars, studying the
mandarin's health.
There had been a brief lull in the Armstrong barrage, but
now they began again; the Frogs were trying to carry the
second line of works, and making heavy weather of it. The
jingal-men were firing volleys from the bridge, the ugly
mandarin rushing about in the smoke, exhorting 'em to aim
low for the honour of old Pekin High School, no doubt. He
even jumped on the parapet, waving his sword; you won't
last long, you silly sod, thinks I - sure enough, came a
blinding flash that rocked the cage, and when the smoke had
cleared, there were half a dozen Manchoos splattered on the
marble, and the mandarin leaning on the parapet, clutching
his leg and bawling for the ambulance.
My one fear was that he'd have Brabazon marked down
as his victim, but he hadn't. He was a man of his word,
though; he screamed an order, there was a rush of armoured
feet, the cage door was flung open, a Manchoo officer poked
his head in, shrieking - and Trooper Nolan, glaring desperately
about him, had made good and sure he was closest to
the door. The Manchoo officer shouted again, gesturing;
Nolan, wearing what I can best describe as a grin of gloating
guilt, took a step towards him; Brabazon was standing back,
ramrod-straight, while I did my damnedest not to catch the
chairman's eye.
"Take him!" yells the officer, and two of his minions
plunged in and flung Nolan from the cage. The door slammed
shut, I sighed and loafed across to it, looking down through
the bars at him as he stood gripped by two Bannermen.
"Be sure and tell 'em about Tang-ku Fort," says I softly,
and he goggled in bewilderment. Then, as they ran him to
the parapet, he must have realised what was happening, for
he began to struggle and yell, and I staggered back from the
door, crying to Brabazon in stricken accents:
"My God! What are they doing? Why, that lying hound
of a mandarin - ah, no, it cannot be!"
194
They had forced Nolan to his knees before the wounded
mandarin, who left off bellowing long enough to spit in
his face; then they hauled him up on to the parapet, and
while two gripped his arms and bent him double, a third
seized his hair and dragged his head forward. The officer
drew his sword, shook back his sleeve, and braced himself.

"Mother o' mercy! Oh, Christ, don't I"
The scream ended abruptly - cut off, as you might say,
and I sank my face into my hands with a hollow groan,
reflecting that who steals my purse may get away with it,
but he who filches from me my good name will surely find
his tits in the wringer.
"The filthy butchers!" roars Brabazon. "Oh, the poor
fellow! But why, in heaven's name, when they'd said "
"Because that's the kind of swine John Chinaman is!" I
growled. "They lie for the pleasure of it, Brabazon!"
He gritted his teeth and drew a shuddering breath. "And
my last words to him were a rebuke! Did you . . . did you
know him well, sir?"
"Well enough," I said. "A rough diamond, but. . . Here,
how are the Frogs getting along?"
In fact, they were making capital progress, bayonetting
away with elan in the second entrenchment, and while the
Chinese positions to the right were hidden by smoke, from
the sounds of things the British attack was going well. The
Imps seemed to be giving back all along the line; hundreds
of them were streaming over the bridge, with officers trying
to rally them, riding about and howling, but there was only
one way the battle could go - the question was, would they
slaughter us before we could be rescued? Torn between
terror and hope, I reckoned it was odds on our preservation,
unless that reckless fool of a mandarin stopped another
splinter - in which case we'd better chivvy up the priest, he
being well stricken in years and presumably in a state of
grace. I looked anxiously for the mandarin, and saw he was
being held up by two of his pals while directing operations;
but the Armstrongs seemed to have given over for the
moment, and clattering up the bridge came a cavalcade of
gorgeously-armoured nobles, accompanied by standard195
bearers; my heart rose in my throat as I saw that their leader
was Sang-kolinsen.
He was reining up, addressing the mandarin, and now the
whole gang turned towards the cage, the mandarin pointing
and yelling orders. My knees gave under me - hell, were they
going to serve us as they'd served Nolan? The Bannermen
swarmed in and three of us were hauled out - they left the
Sikhs, and in a moment I understood why. For they flung us
down on the flags before Sang's horse, and that ghoulish face
was turned on us, pale eyes glaring under the wizard's helmet,
as he demanded to know if any of us spoke Chinese.
Now, he wasn't asking that for the purpose of execution,
so I hauled myself upright and said I did. He considered me,
frowning malevolently, and then snarled:
"Your name, reptile?"
"Flashman, colonel on the staff of Lord Elgin. I demand
the immediate release of myself and my four companions,
as well as-"
"Silence, foulness!" he screamed, on such a note that his
pony reared, and he hammered its head with his mailed glove
to quiet it. "Snake! Pig!" He leaned down from the saddle,
mouthing like a madman, and struck me across the face.
"Open your mouth again and it will be sewn up! Bring him!"
He wheeled his mount and clattered away, and I was seized,
my wrists bound, and I was flung bodily on to a cart. As it
rolled away I had one glimpse of Brabazon looking after me,
and the little priest, head bowed, telling his beads. I never
saw them again. No one did.34
* * *
This may seem an odd time to mention it, but my entry to
Pekin recalls a conversation which I had a couple of years
ago with the eminent wiseacre and playwright, George B.
Shaw (as I call him, to his intense annoyance, though it don't
rile him as much as "Bloomsbury Bernie"). I was advising
him on pistol-play for a frightful pantomime he was writing
about a lynching in a Kansas cow-town35; discussing hangings
set him off on the subject of pain in general, and he advanced
the fatuous opinion that mental anguish was worse than
196
physical. When I could get a word in, I asked him if spiritual
torment had ever made him vomit; he allowed it hadn't, so
I told him what my Apache wife had done to Ilario the
scalp-hunter, and had the satisfaction of watching our leading
dramatist bolting for the lavatory with his handkerchief to
his mouth. (Of course, I didn't get the better of him; as he
said later, it was the thought that had made him spew, not
pain itself. The hell with him.)
I reflect on this only because the most prolonged pain I
ever endured - and I've been shot, stabbed, hung by the
heels, flogged, half-drowned, and even stretched on the rack
- was on the road into Pekin. All they did was tie my hands
and feet - and pour water on my bonds; then they hauled
my wrists up behind me and tied 'em to a spar above the
cart, and set off at a slow trot. The blazing sun and the
bouncing cart did the rest; I'll not describe it, because I can't,
save to say that the fiery agony in wrists and ankles spreads
through every nerve of your body until you're a living mass
of pain, which will eventually drive you mad. Luckily, Pekin
is only eleven miles from Tang-chao.
I don't remember much except the pain - long rows of
suburbs, yellow faces jeering and spitting into the cart,,a
towering redoubt of purple stone topped by crenellated
turrets (the Anting Gate), foul narrow streets, a blue-covered
icarriage with the driver sitting on the shaft - he called to his
passengers to look, and I was aware of two cold, lovely
female faces regarding me without expression as I half-hung,
whimpering, in my bonds. They weren't shocked, or pitying,
or amused, or even curious; merely indifferent, and in my
agony I felt such a blazing rage of hatred that I was almost
exalted by it - and now I can say, arrant coward that I am,
that at least I understand how martyrs bear their tortures:
they may have faith, and hope, and all the rest of it, but
greater than these is blind, unquenchable red anger. It sustained
me, I know - the will to endure and survive and make
those ice-faced bitches howl for mercy.
It must have cleared my mind, for I remember distinctly
coloured pagoda roofs bigger than I'd ever seen, and a
teahouse with dragons' heads above its eaves, and the great
scarlet Gate of Valour into the Imperial City - for Pekin, you
197
must know, is many cities within each other, and innermost of
all is the Forbidden City, the Paradise, the Great Within,
girded by gleaming yellow walls and entered by the Gate of
Supreme Harmony.
There are palaces for seven hundred princes within the
Imperial City, but they pale before the Great Within. It is
simply not of this world. Like the Summer Palace, outside
Pekin, it's entirely cut off from reality, a dreamland, if you
like, where the Emperor and his creatures live out a great
play in their stately halls and gorgeous gardens, and all that
matters is formality and finger-nails and fornication. Nothing
is seen or heard of the rest of mankind, except what his
ministers think fit. There he dwells, remote as a god, sublime
not in omniscience but in ignorance, lost to the world. He
might as well be in the Athenaeum.
I saw most of it, later - the Palace of Earthly Repose, for
the Emperor's consort; the Temple of Imperial Ancestors,
for sacrifices; the Gate of Extensive Peace, a hundred and
ten feet high, for kow-towing; the Hall of Intense Mental
Exercise, for studying Confucius; the Temple of the Civic
Deity - don't know what that's for, paying rates, I dare say
- and the library, the portrait hall, and even the office of the
local rag, the Imperial Gazette, which circulates every day to
all the nobles and officials in China. That's the unreality of
the country - they nail thieves' hands together, and have a
daily paper.
For the moment all I saw was the great gilt copper tower
in which incense is kept perpetually burning, filling the city
with its sweet, musky odour; and beyond it the holy ofholies,
the Palace of Heavenly Tranquillity (which it ain't). I was
dragged in through a round doorway, and flung into a great
room utterly bare of furniture, where I lay for several hours
on a cold marble floor, too sick and sore and parched even
to move, or to do anything except groan. I must have slept,
for suddenly I was aware of tramping feet, and a door
crashing open, and the glare of torches, and the revolting
face of Sang-kol-in-sen glaring down at me.
He was still in full martial fig, brazen breastplate, mailed
gloves, spurred greaves, and all, but with a fur-lined robe of
green silk over his shoulders. He was bare-headed, so I had
198
the benefit of his bald Mongol skull as well as the obscene
little beard on the brutal moon-features. He fetched me a
shattering kick and shouted:
"Get on your knees, louse!"
I tried to obey, but my limbs were so painful that I pitched
over, and received several more kicks before I managed to
kneel, croaking for a drink of water. "Silence!" he bawled,
and cuffed me left and right, cracking the skin with his brass
fingers. I crouched, sobbing, and he laughed at me spitefully.
"A soldier, you!" He kicked me again. He didn't seem to
remember me from Tang-ku Fort, not that that was any
comfort.
There were two Manchoo Bannermen flanking the door,
and now came two others, bearing an open sedan in which
sat Prince I, the skull-faced monster who had raved and
shrieked at Parkes at Tang-chao. He looked even more of a
spectre in the glare of torchlight, sitting lean and motionless
in his shimmering yellow robe, hands on knees - the silver
cases on his nails came half-way down his shins. Only his
eyes moved, gleaming balefully on me. To complete the
comedy trio there was a burly, thick-lipped Manchoo in
dragon robes, his fingers heavy with rings, a ruby button in
his hat. This, I was to learn, was Sushun, the Assistant
Grand Secretary of the Imperial Government, a vulture for
corruption and the Emperor's tutor in vice and debauchery,
on which, to judge by his pupil's condition, he must have
been the greatest authority since Caligula. To me, for the
moment, he was only another very nasty-looking Manchoo.
"Is this the creature?" growls Sang, and Prince I nodded
imperceptibly, and piped in his thin voice: "He was with
Pa-hsia-li when that lying dog deceived us at Tang-chao."
"Then he may go the way of Pa-hsia-li," snarls Sang. "It
is enough for the moment that he is what the barbarian scum
call an officer. An officer!" He stooped to scream in my face:
"Who is your commander, pig-dung?"
"General Sir Hope -" I was beginning, and he knocked
me flying with his boot.
"You lie! You have no generals! Who commands your
ships?"
"Admiral Ho "
199
must know, is many cities within each other, and innermost of
all is the Forbidden City, the Paradise, the Great Within,
girded by gleaming yellow walls and entered by the Gate of
Supreme Harmony.
There are palaces for seven hundred princes within the
Imperial City, but they pale before the Great Within. It is
simply not of this world. Like the Summer Palace, outside
Pekin, it's entirely cut off from reality, a dreamland, if you
like, where the Emperor and his creatures live out a great
play in their stately halls and gorgeous gardens, and all that
matters is formality and finger-nails and fornication. Nothing
is seen or heard of the rest of mankind, except what his
ministers think fit. There he dwells, remote as a god, sublime
not in omniscience but in ignorance, lost to the world. He
might as well be in the Athenaeum.
I saw most of it, later - the Palace of Earthly Repose, for
the Emperor's consort; the Temple of Imperial Ancestors,
for sacrifices; the Gate of Extensive Peace, a hundred and
ten feet high, for kow-towing; the Hall of Intense Mental
Exercise, for studying Confucius; the Temple of the Civic
Deity - don't know what that's for, paying rates, I dare say
- and the library, the portrait hall, and even the office of the
local rag, the Imperial Gazette, which circulates every day to
all the nobles and officials in China. That's the unreality of
the country - they nail thieves' hands together, and have a
daily paper.
For the moment all I saw was the great gilt copper tower
in which incense is kept perpetually burning, filling the city
with its sweet, musky odour; and beyond it the holy ofholies,
the Palace of Heavenly Tranquillity (which it ain't). I was
dragged in through a round doorway, and flung into a great
room utterly bare of furniture, where I lay for several hours
on a cold marble floor, too sick and sore and parched even
to move, or to do anything except groan. I must have slept,
for suddenly I was aware of tramping feet, and a door
crashing open, and the glare of torches, and the revolting
face of Sang-kol-in-sen glaring down at me.
He was still in full martial fig, brazen breastplate, mailed
gloves, spurred greaves, and all, but with a fur-lined robe of
green silk over his shoulders. He was bare-headed, so I had
198
the benefit of his bald Mongol skull as well as the obscene
little beard on the brutal moon-features. He fetched me a
shattering kick and shouted:
"Get on your knees, louse!"
I tried to obey, but my limbs were so painful that I pitched
over, and received several more kicks before I managed to
kneel, croaking for a drink of water. "Silence!" he bawled,
and cuffed me left and right, cracking the skin with his brass
fingers. I crouched, sobbing, and he laughed at me spitefully.
"A soldier, you!" He kicked me again. He didn't seem to
remember me from Tang-ku Fort, not that that was any
comfort.
There were two Manchoo Bannermen flanking the door,
and now came two others, bearing an open sedan in which
sat Prince I, the skull-faced monster who had raved and
shrieked at Parkes at Tang-chao. He looked even more of a
spectre in the glare of torchlight, sitting lean and motionless
in his shimmering yellow robe, hands on knees - the silver
cases on his nails came half-way down his shins. Only his
eyes moved, gleaming balefully on me. To complete the
comedy trio there was a burly, thick-lipped Manchoo in
dragon robes, his fingers heavy with rings, a ruby button in
his hat. This, I was to learn, was Sushun, the Assistant
Grand Secretary of the Imperial Government, a vulture for
corruption and the Emperor's tutor in vice and debauchery,
on which, to judge by his pupil's condition, he must have
been the greatest authority since Caligula. To me, for the
moment, he was only another very nasty-looking Manchoo.
"Is this the creature?" growls Sang, and Prince I nodded
imperceptibly, and piped in his thin voice: "He was with
Pa-hsia-li when that lying dog deceived us at Tang-chao."
"Then he may go the way of Pa-hsia-li," snarls Sang. "It
is enough for the moment that he is what the barbarian scum
call an officer. An officer!" He stooped to scream in my face:
"Who is your commander, pig-dung?"
"General Sir Hope -" I was beginning, and he knocked
me flying with his boot.
"You lie! You have no generals! Who commands your
ships?"
"Admiral Ho "
199
He screamed and stamped on my arm, agonisingly.
"Another lie! You have no admirals! You are barbarian
swine - you have no nobles, no officers, no generals or
colonels or admirals! You have animals who grunt louder
than the rest, you offal! That is all!" He was bent over me,
raving, spraying me with his spittle, glaring like a maniac.
Then he straightened up, snarling, and snapped an order to
the Bannermen.
I was huddled, babbling to be let alone, terrified as much
by the brute's frenzied ranting as by what he might do to me.
And what happened now reduced me to the final depth of
fear.
The Bannermen were carrying in a stool, on which was
seated a naked Chinese, a white, shuddering figure who
seemed to have no arms - until I realised that they were
clamped tight against his body by a horrible coat of meshed
wire, bound so tight that his flesh protruded through the
spaces in obscene lumps about the size of finger-tips. It
covered him from neck to knee, and I've seen nothing more
disgusting than that trembling, rippled skin in its hideous
wire casing.
They plumped the stool down in front of me, the poor
wretch slobbering with terror.
"The wire jacket," says Sang, grinning. "Even a benighted
worm of a fan-qui must have heard of it." Without taking
his eyes from me he beckoned, and one of the Bannermen
came forward, carrying an open razor. He laid the shining
blade on the victim's shoulder, and the fellow jerked and
squealed at the touch of the steel. Sang watched me, and
then nodded, the Bannerman flicked his wrist, the trembling
mouth before me gaped in a dreadful scream, and one of the
flesh-lumps had vanished, replaced by a tiny disc of blood
which coursed down the naked arm.
Sang bellowed with laughter, absolutely slapping his sides,
and the burly Sushun came forward, chuckling, to peer at
the wound. I turned my head aside, gagging, and received a
stinging slap across the face.
"Watch, coward!" roars Sang, and slapped me again.
"Now," says he, "a wearer of the wire jacket has been known
to receive as many as ten thousand cuts . . . and still live.
200
Indeed, he may live for months, if the executioner is patient,
and eventually he will have no skin at all." He laughed again,
enjoying my terror. "But if a quicker despatch is desired
. ." He nodded again, and the Bannerman's razor streaked
down the full length of the victim's arm.
I didn't faint. I could wish I had, for I'd have been spared
the tortured screaming, and the diabolical laughter, if not
the bloody pool which remained on the marble after they'd
carried that babbling wretch out of the room. I wonder I
didn't go crazy; I fairly grovelled to these fiends, begging
them to let me be, not to cut me, anything so they spared
me that unthinkable cruelty. Oh, I've faced some horrors in
my time - Narreeman and her knife, Mimbreno squaws
out for an evening's amusement, Malagassy inquisitors, and
Ignatieff with his knout, but nothing more ghastly than the
gloating enjoyment of those two devils, Sang and Sushun.
Prince I sat in the background, immobile, his face expressionless.

"You have seen, dog-dirt," snarls Sang. "Now hear. You
will wear the wire jacket, I swear, and when your foul carcase
has been flayed, an inch at a time, it will be thrown to the
maggots - and still you will be living. Unless you obey to the
uttermost the orders we give you. Do you hear me, kite?"
I'd do anything, I whined, anything he asked, and he
seemed satisfied and kicked me again for luck. He thrust his
face into mine, dropping his voice to a mere rasp:
"You are to be honoured beyond your bestial imagining.
You are going into the Divine Presence, and you will go like
the crawling animal you are, on your knees, and you will
speak. This is what you will say." He gestured to Sushun,
and the burly brute swaggered forward, towering over me,
and shouted:
"I am a Banner chief in the Red-haired Army, a trusted
creature of the Big Barbarian. See, I lay at your Divine Feet
the unworthy sword which, misbegotten foreign slave that I
am, I dared to raise in revolt against the authority of the
Complete Abundance. I was misled by evil counsellors, my
master the Big Barbarian and the arch-liar Pa-hsia-li, who
tempted me from my allegiance to the glorious KwaKuin,
the Tien-tze, the Son of Heaven. I marched in their army,
201
which prevailed by lies and treachery against the trusting
and unwary generals of the Divine Emperor. At Sinho, for
example, we succeeded only by despicable fraud, for our
leaders bade us perform the kow-tow before the Imperial
soldiers,36 and when they approached in good faith we fired
on them treacherously and so overcame them for the moment.
Thus we continued, in stealth and trickery, lying
shamelessly to the Imperial ambassadors when they besought
us gently to repent our rebellion and return to our duty to
you, the Son of Heaven who rules All Under the Skies.
Pa-hsia-li lied, the Big Barbarian lied, we all lied, but now
we see our error; we tremble under the just wrath of your
servant, Prince Sang, who has chastised us; dismay and fear
spread through our ranks, our soldiers run crying away, our
evil leaders cannot control them. The Big Barbarian bites
his nails and weeps in his tent; all our soldiers and sailors
weep. We beg your Divine Forgiveness, kneeling, and
acknowledge your supremacy, oh Son of Heaven. Be merciful,
accept our homage, for we were misled by evil people."
Well, I've talked greater rubbish in my time; he could have
it signed and witnessed if he wanted. But even in my abject
terror, kneeling almost in the blood of the wire jacket victim,
with those madmen screaming at me, I couldn't help wondering
what mortal use they thought it would be. Within a week
their precious Son of Heaven was going to be brought face
to face with the Big Barbarian, who'd make him eat crow
and like it; the despised Red-headed soldiers would march
the sacred streets of the Forbidden City, and get drunk, and
piss against his temple walls, and accost his women, and kick
his mandarins' backsides if they didn't stir themselves. And
since nothing in Heaven or earth could prevent that - and
Sang and Sushun and Prince I knew it - what was the point
of stuffing the Emperor's ears with nonsense at the eleventh
hour, when he'd learn the dreadful truth at the twelfth?
I still didn't understand, you see, the blind arrogant stupidity
of the Manchoo mind - that even if Elgin stood in the
Emperor's presence, his ministers would still pretend he
wasn't there at all; that they'd be whispering him just to wait,
this foreign pig would be brought to book presently, and his
army thrashed; that none of it was happening, because it
couldn't happen, Q.E.D. And in the meantime, here was a
high-ranking British Officer to tell him the same tale, what
more proof could His Majesty want?
They had me rehearsing it now, and you may be sure I
howled it with a will, even throwing in corroborative detail of
my own about how my family (including little golden-headed
Amelia, of blessed memory) were held hostage by Elgin's
villains, to coerce me into rebellion against my better judgment.
D'you know, they were delighted - I ain't sure they
didn't believe it. Sang bellowed and kicked me with enthusiasm,
and Prince I said coldly they had chosen well. Sushun
spat on me to show his approval. Then:
"Strip the swine!" cried Sang, and the Bannermen cut my
cords, tore off my clothes, gave me a rag of loin-cloth such
as coolies wear, and replaced my bonds with ponderous steel
fetters whose links must have been two inches thick. I now
looked abject enough to satisfy them, but they kept my
lancer tunic, belt, boots and spurs, to show their lord and
master, and produced a ridiculous Oriental sword which
would be laid at his Divine Feet during my speech to the
throne. Then they left me for about an hour, half-dead with
pain and fear and icy cold, mumbling over the farrago of
drivel that I knew I would be repeating for my very life. But
after that ...
Suddenly it was on-stage with a vengeance, with the Bannermen
hauling me out and along passages and up stairways,
beating me with their spear-shafts while I laboured with the
dead-weight of my chains. We passed through chambers
where Chinese officials stared curiously, and uniformed Bannermen
guarded the round crimson doorways; I remember a
carpeted gallery crammed with porcelain statues of grotesque
figures with enormous teeth and staring eyes; then they were
driving me out across a polished marble floor like a frozen
lake, reflecting a great hall as long and high as a church, with
a bass gong booming hollowly in its emptiness. Huge vases,
three times the height of a man, stood on either side of that
cavernous apartment, which was lit by great lanterns with
candles of perfumed wax; three-quarters of its length was
only dimly-lighted, but at the far end, above three tiers of
broad marble steps, was a dais on which was seated a golden
203
figure, shining in the flames of the great candlebranches
flanking his throne, a massive ebony contraption inlaid all
over with mother-of-pearl. Robed figures, about a dozen of
them, stood on the steps, to either side; there was Sang, and
Prince I, and Sushun, but I had little chance to take 'em in,
for my Bannermen flung me headlong, and I had to crawl
the whole damned way, dragging those beastly irons, and
staring at the reflection of the naked, bearded wretch in the
glassy floor beneath me. Hollo, Flashy, old son, I thought,
bellows to mend again, my boy, but you keep going and
speak civil to the gentleman and you'll get a sugar-plum at
tea.
The gong had stopped, and the only sounds in that jossladen
silence were clanks and laboured breathing; I reached
the steps, and under the Bannermen's proddings dragged
my way upwards, kow-towing all the way; thirty-three of
them were there, and then I stopped, sprawled stark,
with a pair of yellow velvet boots just ahead, and the hem
of a robe that seemed to be made of solid gold inlaid with
emeralds.
"He doesn't look like a soldier," said a drowsy voice.
"Where is his armour? Why is he not wearing it?"
"Your slave, kneeling, begs Your Imperial Majesty to look
on these rags of garments which the Red-headed savages
wear." This was Sang, and it was the first time I'd heard him
speak at anything but the top of his voice. "They have no
armour."
"No armour?" says the other. "They must be very brave."
That's foxed you, you bastard, thinks I, but after a minute
Sushun explained that we were so bloody backward we
hadn't thought of armour yet, and Sang cried aye, that was
it.
"No armour," says the drowsy voice, "yet they have great
guns. That is not consistent. You - how is it that you have
guns, but no armour?"
"Address the Son of Heaven, pig!" yells Sang, and the
Bannermen bashed me with their spear-shafts. I scrambled
to my knees, looked up - and blinked. For if the fellow on
the throne wasn't Basset, my orderly from the llth Hussars,
he was dooced like him, except that he was Chinese, you
204 (
understand. It was just one of those odd resemblances - the
same puffy, pasty, weak young face and little mouth, with a
pathetic scrap of hair on the upper lip; but where Basset's
eyes had been weasel-sharp, this fellow's were watery and
dull. He looked as though he'd spent the last ten years in a
brothel - which wasn't far wrong.37 All this I took in at a
glance, and then hastened to answer his question.
"Our guns, majesty," says I, "were stolen from your
imperial army." At least that ought to please Sang, but with
a face like his you couldn't be sure.
"And your ships?" says the drowsy voice. "Your iron
ships. How do you make such things?"
By George, this wasn't going according to Sushun's scenario
at all. Here was I, all ready with a prepared statement,
and this inquisitive oaf of an Emperor asking questions which
I daren't answer truthfully, or Sang would have my innards
all over the yard.
"I know of no iron ships, majesty," says I earnestly. "I
think they are a lie. I have never seen them."
"I have seen pictures," says he sulkily, and thought for a
moment, an unhappy frown on his soft yellow face. "You
must have come to the Middle Kingdom in a ship - was it
not of iron?" He looked ready to cry.
"It was a very old wooden ship, majesty," says I. "Full of
rats and leaked like a sieve. I didn't want to come," I
cried on a sudden inspiration, "but I was seduced from my
allegiance to your Divine Person by evil people like Pa-hsia-li
and the Big Barbarian, you see, and they made me a Banner
chief in the Red-headed Army and a trusted creature of the
Big Barbarian himself, and ..."
It was the only way I could get into Sushun's speech and
forestall further embarrassment; I poured it out, keeping my
eyes lowered and knocking head obsequiously at intervals,
and putting a heart-rending pathos into my final appeal for
his Divine Forgiveness. If he'd then said, what about all
these railways and telegraphs and the Crystal Palace, hey,
I'd have been stumped, but he didn't. Silence reigned, and
when I stole a glance up at the Imperial Throne, damned if
he hadn't gone to sleep! Bored stiff, no doubt, but highly
disconcerting when you've been pleading for your life, and
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Sang and Sushun glaring like Baptists at a Mass. None of
'em seemed to know what to do; the Son of Heaven smacked
his lips, broke wind gently, and began to snore. There were
whispered consultations, and finally one of them went off
and returned with a stout little pug in a plain robe, who
approached the throne, knocked head, and began to tickle
the royal ankle.
The Emperor grunted, woke, stared around, and asked
sleepily which tortoiseshell was turned over tonight.
"The Fragrant Almond Leopardess, oh Kwa-Kuin Ruling
the World," squeaks the stout party, and the Emperor pulled
a face.
"No!" says he petulantly. "She is large and clumsy and
without culture. She sings like a crow." He sniggered, and
Sang and the others, who'd been mirroring his disapproval,
chuckled heartily. "Let it be the Orchid," says the Emperor,
sighing happily, and everyone beamed; I may even have
nodded approbation myself, for he looked at me again, and
frowned.
"I saw a picture of an iron ship with three great chimneys,"
says he sadly, and then he got up unsteadily, and everyone
dropped to their knees, crying: "There cannot be two suns
in the heaven!" and knocked head vigorously. I watched him
shuffle off, attended by the stout fellow; he walked like an
old, sick man, for all he couldn't have been thirty. The
Solitary Prince, Son of Heaven, the most absolute monarch
on earth, yearning for a trip on a steamship.
The fact remained that he hadn't told 'em to give Flashy
a pound from the till and a ticket to Tooting; I doubted if
Sang would either, for while I'd done my damnedest to carry
out his orders, I knew I hadn't made much of a hit, and if
he was displeased. . . my fears were realised as I was abruptly
jerked to my feet, and that hateful voice was snarling at the
Bannermen:
"Put him below! Tomorrow he can join the other barbarian
curs in the Board of Punishments."
My blood froze at the words, and as they seized my fetters
I was foolish enough to protest. "But you swore to let me
off! I said what you wanted, didn't I? You said you'd spare
me, you lying beast!"
206
He was on me like a tiger, striking viciously at my face
while I cowered and yammered. "I said I would spare you
the wire jacket!" he shouted, and fetched me a final clip that
knocked me down. "So, I will spare you . . . the wire jacket!
You may yet come to beg for it as a blessed release! Away
with him!"
They hauled me off, and since I was in such fear that I
woke the echoes with my roaring, they gagged me brutally
before rushing me down a spiral stairway. It wasn't the way
we'd come, and I was expecting stone cells and dripping
walls, but evidently they didn't have such amenities in the
Emperor's private apartments, for the room they thrust me
into seemed to be a furniture store, dry and musty, but clean
enough, with chairs and tables piled against the walls. The
swine made me as comfortable as possible, though, throwing
me back down on a narrow wooden bench and shackling my
wrists so tightly beneath it that I couldn't budge an inch and
must lie there supine with my legs trailing on the floor either
side. Then they left me, a prey to the most horrid imaginings,
and unable even to whine and curse by reason of my
gag.
The Board of Punishments ... I'd heard of it, and horrid
rumours of what happened there - if I'd known what Parkes
and Loch and the others were already suffering, I'd have
gone off my head. Mercifully, I didn't know, and strove to
drive the awful fears out of my mind, telling myself that the
army was only a few miles away, that even mad monsters
like Sang must realise the vengeance that Elgin would take
if we were ill-treated, and hold his hand . . . and then I
remembered Moyes and Nolan, and the vicious, mindless
spite with which they'd been murdered, and I knew that my
only hope was that rescue would get here in time. They were
so close! Grant and the Frogs and Probyn and Nuxban Khan
and Wolseley and Temple, those splendid Sikhs and Afghans
and Royals; I could weep to think of them in their safe,
strong, familiar world, loafing under the canvas, sitting about
on Payne & Co's boxes, reading the Daily Press, chewing
the rag about . . . what had it been, that evening a century
ago, before we rode to Tang-chao . . .oh, aye, the military
steeplechase at Northampton, won by a Dragoon over twenty
;" 207
fences and three ploughs, and spectators riding alongside
had spoiled sport . . . "Goin' to ride next year, Flash?"
"Garn, he's top-heavy!" "They say the Navy are enterin' in
'61 - sailors on horseback, haw-haw!" That's how they'd be
gassing and boozing and idling away precious time, the
selfish bastards, while I was bound shivering and naked and
near-demented with fear of what lay ahead . . .
I must have dozed, for I came awake freezing cold, racked
by pain where the sharp edges of the bench were cutting into
the back of my shoulders and thighs. It was still night, for
the window was dark, but through the lattice door light
was streaming, light that moved - someone was quietly
descending the stairway to my prison. There was a murmur
of Chinese voices just outside: one a falsetto squeak that I
seemed to have heard before, and the other . . . even to my
battered senses it was one of the loveliest human sounds I'd
ever listened to, soft and tinkling as a silver bell, the kind of
voice a happy angel might have had - a slightly excited, tipsy
angel.
"Is this the room, Little An?" it was whispering. "You're
sure? Well, take me in, then! Hurry, I want to see!"
"But, Orchid Lady, it is madness!" whimpers Squeaker.
"If we were seen! Please, let us go back - I'm frightened!"
"Stop trembling or you'll drop me! Oh, come on, fat,
foolish, frightened Little An - be a man!"
"How can I? I'm a eunuch! And it's cruel and mean and
unworthy to taunt me - aiee! Oh! You pinched me! Oh,
vicious, when you know I bruise at the least nip "
"Yes, so think how you'll bruise when the Mongols take
their flails to you, little jelly ..."
"You wouldn't!"
"I would. I will, unless you take me in and let me see now."

"Oh, this is wilful! It's wicked! And dangerous! Please,
dear Imperial Concubine Yi, why can't we just go upstairs
and "
"Because I've never seen a barbarian. And I'm going to,
dear Little An." The lovely voice chuckled, and began to
sing softly: "Oh, I'm going to see a barbarian, I'm going to
see a barbarian ..."
208
/
"Oh, please, please, Orchid Lady, quietly! Oh, very
well " The door opened, and light flooded into the room.
209
Dazzled, all I could make out at first was a
short, stout figure carrying someone - a child, by the look of
it. Then the lantern was placed on a cupboard, so that it
shone down on me, and as they advanced into the room I
saw that the bearer was the portly cove who'd scratched the
Emperor's foot in the Hall of Audience; his burden was
wrapped in a scarlet silk cloak with a hood keeping the face
in shadow.
"Well!" hisses the eunuch. "There it is - I hope you're
satisfied! Risking our lives just to gape at that monster - to
say nothing of the scandal if it were known that the Empress
of the Western Palace was sneaking about "
"Oh, shut up, pudding," says she in that silvery chuckle.
"And put me down."
"No! We're going - we must, before "
"Put me down! And close the door."
He gave a hysterical whimper and obeyed, and she circled
the bench none too steadily, giggling and clutching the cloak
tightly under her chin. She craned toward to look at me, and
the light fell on the most beautiful face I've ever seen in my
life.
I've said that of three women, and still do - Elspeth,
Lola Montez . . . and Yehonala Tzu-hsi, the Orchid, the
incomparable Yi Concubine. And it's true of each in her own
way: fair Elspeth, dark Lola . . . and Yehonala was the
Orient, in all its pearly delicacy of flower-like skin, lustrous
black eyes, slender little nose, cherry mouth with the full
lower lip, tiny even teeth, all in a perfect oval face; add that
her hair was blue-black, coiled in the Manchoo style - and
you ain't much wiser, for there are no words to describe that
pure loveliness. Who could have guessed that it masked a
nature compounded of all the seven deadly sins except envy
210
and sloth? But even when you knew it, it didn't matter one
damned bit, with that breath-taking beauty. She said it
herself: "I can make people hate me - or love me with blind
worship. I have that power."
All I knew then, as she surveyed me, swaying and tittering
excitedly, was that I'd never seen the like, and I can pay the
little heart-stopper no higher tribute than to say that my first
wish was that I had my uniform and a shave - being flat on
your back, gagged and bound in a filthy loin-cloth, cramps
the style no end. My second thought was that whoever had
painted her mouth purple and her eyelids silver, with devil's
streaks slanting up the brows, had done her no service - and
then I noticed that the black pupils were shrunk to pinpoints,
and the perfect lips were loosely open. She was rollicking
drunk on opium. Her first words confirmed it, I'd say.
"Ughh! He's . . . disgusting. Not human! Look at the hair
on his chest - like an ape!" She shivered deliciously. "Are
they all like this?"
"What did you expect?" pipes An fearfully. "I told you,
but you wouldn't listen! Yes, they're all like that - some are
even worse. Revolting. Now, please, come away "
"They can't be uglier than this! See his dreadful great nose
- like a vulture's beak! And his ears! And his hair!" She
gurgled hysterically, and the lovely face came closer, wrinkling
delicately. "He smells, too - ugh!"
"They all smell! Like sour pork! Oh, Orchid Lady, why
do you wait, staring at the beastly thing! He's a barbarian!
Very well, you've seen him! And unless we make haste "
"Be quiet! I want to look at him . . . he's grotesque! Those
huge shoulders . - . and his skin!" She put out a slim white
hand, whose silver nails were two-inch talons, and brushed
my chest with her finger-tips. "It's like ox-hide - feel!" She
squeaked with delight.
"I'll do no such thing! And neither will you - stop it, I say!
Eegh! To touch that foulness - how can you bear it? Oh,
Orchid, mistress, I beg you, come before anyone finds
us!"
"But his arms and legs, An - they're enormous! Like an
elephant. He must," says she, all tipsy solemnity, "be terribly
strong . . . strong as a bull, wouldn't you think?"
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"Yes, as a bull - and quite as interesting! Imperial Concubine
Yi, this is not fitting! Please, I implore you - let us go
quickly!"
"In a moment, stupid! I'm still looking at him ..." She
took an unsteady pace back, head on one side. "He's an
absolute monster ..." She giggled again, her knuckles to
her lips. "I wonder ..."
"What! What do you wonder? Eh? Aha! I know what you
wonder! Oh, vile! Shameless! Come away this instant! No,
no-"
"I just want to look, fool! You wouldn't care if it was a
horse, or ... or a monkey, would you? Well, he's just a
barbarian ..." And before he could stop her she had swayed
forward, laughing, and yanked at my loin-cloth; there was a
rending sound, Little An screamed, averted his eyes, tried
to drag her away, succeeded in pulling the cloak from her
shoulders - and while her ladyship, oblivious, blinked in
drunken contemplation, I returned the scrutiny with interest;
in fact, I near swallowed my gag.
I should explain that she had looked in while returning
from duty in the Emperor's bed, and consequently was still
in uniform. Or rather, out of it - and his majesty's tastes
were curious. She was dressed in enormous wings of peacock
feathers, attached from shoulder to wrist, and high-soled
Manchoo slippers from which silver cross-garters wound up
to above her knees. The effect was striking; she was one of
your slim, perfectly-shaped, high-breasted figures, with skin
like alabaster - as I said, I never saw the like. She would
have made a stone idol squeal.
"Put it back! Stop it! Don't look!" Little An was in a
frenzy, dropping to his knees beside her, pawing distraught.
"For pity's sake, Orchid Lady! Please, come away quickly,
before . . . oh. Gods! What are you doing?"
It was a question which, had I not been gagged, I might
well have echoed - rhetorically, since there was no doubt
what she was doing, the wicked, insolent little flirt. She had
detached a plume from her peacock wing and was tickling
lasciviously, humming what I took to be an old Chinese
lullaby and going into delighted peals at the visible result of
her handiwork.
212
"Oh, buffalo!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands, while
Little An stared in horror and absolutely beat his forehead
with his fists, and the hapless victim struggled helplessly,
distracted and outraged - for I have my dignity, dammit, and
I bar being unbreeched and assailed by opium-sodden houris,
however bewitching, without even a by-your-leave.
"Oh, horrible! Impossible!" Little An fairly gibbered.
"Oh, lady - dear Orchid, please come away! See, I lie at
your feet, I beg, I beseech ~ stop, stop! If someone should
find us "
"That would be unlucky - for them." She stopped tickling,
and laid hold. "Oh-h! Little An," says she breathlessly, "go
outside . . . and guard the door."
He gave a frenzied neigh. "What will you do?" he
squealed, which was as foolish a question as ever I heard,
considering my condition and her behaviour. "No! I forbid
it! You cannot! It is sacrilege, blasphemy - awful! It is
improper "
"Do you want to be alive tomorrow, Little An?" The voice
was as musically soft as ever, but there was a note in it to
bristle your hair. "Go out, keep watch . . . and wait till I
call. Now."
He gave a last despairing wail and fled, and she teased
fondly for a moment, breathing hard, and then leaned over
to look into my face, possibly to make sure I wasn't going to
sleep. Dear God, but she was lovely; the purple mouth was
wide, panting violet-scented breaths, the black eyes were
glittering as she laughed and called softly:
"Oh, An - he is so ugly! I can't bear to look at him!"
"Then don't!" His piping came faintly through the door.
"Don't look! Don't do anything! Don't touch it - him!
Remember who you are, you bad, lascivious wretch - you're
the Imperial Concubine Yi, beloved of the Complete Abundance,
mother of his only child. Moon to the Heavenly Sun!
Here - are you listening?"
"What did you say about complete abundance?" chuckled
the drunken hussy, and dropped her silk cloak over my face,
to cut off her view, no doubt, damn her impudence. Her
hands gripped my chest as she swung nimbly astride, her
knees either side of my hips; for a moment she was upright,
213
playing and fondling while I lay fit to burst, and then with a
long shuddering sigh she sank slowly down, impaling herself,
gliding up and down with maddening deliberation, and what
could I do but close my eyes and think of England?
An said afterwards that it was incredible, and but for the gag
I'd have cried "Hear, hear!", supposing I'd had breath to do
it. But while I wouldn't have missed it for the world, it was
deuced unnerving - being ravished is all very well, especially
by the most accomplished wanton in China, if not all Asia,
but when you're utterly helpless, and she has finally worked
her wicked will and lain sated and moaning drunkenly on
your manly chest, only to draw away suddenly with a cry of
"Ugh, how he stinks!", and then plucks away the cloak for
another look and shudder at you . . . well, you're bound to
wonder about the future, if you follow me.
Little An had it all settled, rot him. When she called, he
waddled in, sulking furiously, and said that if she'd quite finished behaving like a rutting sow he would carry her to
bed, and then slit the barbarian's tongue so that the disgusting
brute couldn't blab when they took him to the Board of
Punishments. I listened in cold horror, but she reclined
gracefully in a chair and says yawning:
"Blood-thirsty little pig, you'll leave his tongue alone and
the rest of him ..." She stretched luxuriously. "Oh,
An! Do you know what it's like when your whole body melts
in such ecstasy that you feel you'll die of bliss? No, of course
you don't. But I do ... now. I thought Jung was wonderful,
but. . .oh, Jung was just a boy! This was like . . . who was
that ancient god who used to rape everyone? It doesn't
matter." She waved a languid wing in my direction. "Carry
me upstairs . . . and have him taken to the Wangshawewen.
Put him in "
"Are you mad? Has lechery disordered your wits? What
the devil is he to do in the Wangshawewen?"
"Die a happy barbarian," purrs madam. "Eventually.
Unless I tire of him first . . . which is unimaginable." She
sighed happily. "Of course, all that horrid hair must be
214
shaved from his body, and he must be bathed in musk for
that awful odour, and dressed decently "
"You are mad! Take that . . . that thing to your own
pavilion!" He gargled and waved his arms. "And when the
Emperor hears of it, or Prince Kung - or your enemies, Sang
and Sushun and the Tsai Yuan "
"Oh, don't be silly! Who would be so brave - or foolish as
to tell on the Concubine Yi? Even you aren't so stupid
. . . are you, Little An?" Just for a second the silvery voice
hardened on that chilly note, and then she had risen, staggered,
giggled, and broken into a little-girl sing-song: "I'm
hungry, An! Yes, I am, An! And I want some pickles, An,
and roast pork, and cherries, and lots of crackling, and
sugared lotus seeds, and a cup of honeysuckle tea . . . and
then sleep, sleep, sleep ..." She leaned against him, murmuring.

"But . . . but ... oh, it's the infernal black smoke! It
makes you mad, and irresponsible . . . and . . . and naughty!
You don't know what you're saying or doing! Please, dear
Orchid Lady, little Empress, listen to reason! You've enjoyed
the beastly fellow - ugh! - isn't it enough? You say no one
would tell - but how if the Emperor came to your pavilion
and found that. . . that creature "
"The Emperor," says she drowsily, "will never get out .of
his bed again. Why should he, when I'm always in it? But if
he did, and caught me with twenty barbarians . . . d'you
know what? He'd forgive me." She brushed a wing playfully
across his face. "If you were a man, Little An, you'd know
why. My barbarian knows why!" She pushed away from him,
laughing, and skipped unsteadily to my bench, beating her
wings. "Oh, yes, he knows why! Don't you, my ugly, hairy
barbarian - so ugly, except for the happy part. . . See? Oh,
An, I'm so happy!"
"Stop it! Stop it at once, I say!" He pulled her away; he
was nearly in tears. "I won't have it, d'you hear! It's not
decent - you, a great Manchoo lady - how can you think of
that animal "
"Oh, leave me alone - look, you've torn my wing!" The
lovely mouth pouted as she smoothed her feathers. "You'll
make me angry in a minute, Little An - I should have you
215
beaten for that - yes, I will, you blubbery little ape "
"Have me beaten, then!" he squealed, in sudden passion.
"Beat me for a torn wing - and what of your torn honour?
You, Yehonala, daughter of a knight of the Banner Corps,
mother ofTungchi, the seed of Heaven, to forget your loyalty
to the Emperor! You indulge your wicked lust with this
peasant savage - you, whose life's duty is the solace and
comfort of the Solitary Prince! Shame on you! I'll have no
part in it, and you can beat or kill me if you like!" He finished
on a fine fearful flourish. "It's not good enough!"
I've taken part in some damned odd scenes in my time,
but I imagine a visitor to that room just then would have
agreed that the present spectacle was unique. There we were among the furniture and dust-sheets: on my left, in brown
robe and pill-box hat, twenty diminutive stone of blubber
shrilling like a steam whistle; on my right, topping him by a
head in her pearl-fringed block shoes, that incredible ivory
beauty, her nudity only enhanced by the ridiculous trailing
peacock wings and silver garters; they faced each other across
the supine form of the pride of the 17th Lancers, trussed,
gagged, and stark as a picked bone, but following the debate
with rapt attention. My admiration, if not my sympathy, was
all with Little An, as I looked at that lovely, silver-painted
mask of a face beneath the coiled raven hair: suddenly it was
wiped clean of drugged laughter, and the cold implacability
that looked out of it was frightening. I even left off staring
at those excellent jutting tits, which goes to show. I'd not
have faced her for a fortune, but when she spoke it was in
the same soft, bell-like tone.
"Eunuch An-te-hai," says she, and negligently indicated
her feet - and the poor little tub came waddling and sank
down like a burst bladder. She touched his cheek gently
with a silver talon, and he turned up his trembling pug
face.
"Poor Little An, you know I always get my way, don't
you?" It was like a caress. "And you always obey, because
I am your little orchid whom you have loved since I came
here long ago, a frightened little girl to whom you were kind.
Remember the watermelon seeds and walnuts, and how you
consoled me when my heart was breaking for the boy I loved,
216
and how you shielded me from the anger of the Dowager
when I broke her best gold cup and you took the blame, and
how you whispered comfort when first you wrapped me in
the scarlet cloak and took me to the Emperor's bed, trembling
and in tears? 'Be brave, little empress - you will be a
real empress some day'. Have you forgotten, Little An? I
never shall."
He was leaking like the Drinking Fountain Movement by
now, and no wonder. I was starting to feel horny for her
again myself.
"Now, because I love you, too, and need you. Little An,
I shall be honest with you - as I always am." The silvery
voice was sober as a judge's now. "I want this barbarian, for
what you call my wicked lust . . . no, no, it's true. And why
not, if it pleases me? You talk of honour, loyalty to the
Emperor - what loyalty do I owe to that debauched pervert?
You know I'm not a woman to him, but a pretty painted toy
trained to pander to his filthy vices - what honour is there in
that? You know, and pity me - and used to arrange those
secret trysts with Jung, the man I loved. Where was my
honour then?"
"Jung Lu was a noble, a Manchoo, a Banner Chief who
would have married you if he could," he whimpered, pawing
her feet. "Oh, please, Orchid, I seek only your good - this
thing is a barbarian brute "
"But if I want him. Little An, mayn't I have him . . .
please? He is just a little pleasure ... a watermelon seed.
And he may have another use; you should know of it ...
and of other things, which it will soon be time to tell you."
She paused, head lifting. "Yes . . . why not now? This is a
good secret place, away from big ears. Go - see that all is
safe."
He hopped up, all alarm, popped his head out, and came
back nodding nervously. She sat down, motioning him to
kneel close, and stroked his fat cheek playfully. "Don't be
frightened, small jelly. Just listen." She began to talk, quite
unaware that the big ears of the barbarian melonseed were
understanding every word.
"Soon, Little An, two great things will happen: the barbarians
will take Pekin, and the Emperor will die. No, listen,
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you fat fool, and keep your babbling to yourself. First, the
Emperor. Only I and one discreet physician know it, but in
a few weeks he will be dead, partly of his infirmities, but
mostly of over-indulgence in the charms of the Yi Concubine.
Well, it's a pleasant death, and I give him every assistance.
I believe," says this Manchoo Messalina, with a reflective
chuckle, "that I could have carried him off tonight, by
combining the Exquisite Torment of the Seven Velvet Mirrors
with the Prolonged Ecstasy of the Reluctant Shrimp,
which as you know involves partial immersion in ice-cold
water. But it will be soon, anyway - and who will rule China
then, Little An?" She played with her feathers, smiling at
his evident terror. "Will it be that amiable weakling. Prince
Kung, the Emperor's brother? Or his cousin, the hungry
skeleton Prince I? Or that murderous madman, Prince Sang?
Or Tungchi, the Emperor's only son - my son? Any one of
these, or as many others, might become Emperor, Little An
- but who will rule China?"
Well, he could guess, all right, and I could have a suspicion
myself; I knew nothing of their palace politics, or the immense
power of Imperial concubines, but I know women. This
one had the spirit, no error, and probably the brains and
determination - above all, she had that matchless beauty
which could get her whatever she wanted.
"What. . . too frightened even to guess, Little An? Never
mind; leave the dying Son of Heaven, and consider the
barbarians. Sang, the idiot, still hopes to defeat them which
is why he and his fellow-jackals have been urging the
Emperor to go north to Jehol, on an ostensible hunting trip
for his health!" She laughed without mirth. "In fact, Sang
knows such a departure would be seen as a cowardly flight,
and the Emperor would be disgraced - and Sang, having
beaten the barbarians in his absence, would step into his
shoes as the darling of army and people. Poor Sang! If only
he knew it, the throne will soon be vacant, and his intrigues
all for nothing. In any event, he will not beat the barbarians;
they will be here within two weeks."
"But that is impossible!" Little An started up in horror.
"And that you should say so! You, Orchid Lady, who have
urged the Emperor to fight to the end - who made him send
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the silk cord to defeated generals - who made him set the
price on barbarian heads!"
"To be sure - a thousand taels for the Big Barbarian's
head, isn't it?" She sounded amused. "A hundred for every
white head, fifty for their black soldiers? Five hundred for
Banner Chiefs like that repulsive thing there!" She waved a
wing at me, the awful bitch. "Really, I must make him wear
a mask in bed. But of course I urge resistance - you think I
like these barbarian swine? Yehonala is the resolute champion
of China, and the people know it, and will remember
the Banner Knight's daughter - especially when the Emperor
is dead. Until he is, I make him fight - who do you think has
kept him from fleeing to Jehol, stupid? It is quite wonderful
how even such a flabby wreck as the Son of Heaven can be
roused to martial ardour ... in bed."
"But if the barbarians triumph, all is lost "
"No, little fool, all is gained! The barbarians will come and
go, with their piece of paper. China remains. With a
new Emperor - but of course, he must be an Emperor
acceptable to the barbarians; they will see to that before they
go. And they will countenance no bitter enemies like Sang
or Prince I or Sushun "
"But, forgive me, Orchid Lady - you are their bitterest
foe of all!"
"But they don't know that, do they? They think Sang and
the ministers control the Emperor - they can't conceive the
power that rests in the little lotus hand." She raised one slim
silver-taloned pinkie, and laughed. "What, a mere girl, who
looks like me? Can you hear the Big Barbarian crying
'Enemy!' when I smile and bid my ladies serve him rose-petal
tea and honey cakes in the Birthday Garden? Why, I'm just
the dead Emperor's whore - and the mother of his heir. No,
to ensure a clear field for my Imperial candidate - whoever
he may be - it is necessary only to ensure the complete
discredit in barbarian eyes of such rivals as Sang and his
reptiles. As the known leaders of resistance, they are illregarded
already, but I shall contrive their utter disgrace perhaps
even get them hanged, who knows?"
D'you know who she reminded me of? Otto Bismarck.
Not to look at, you understand, but in the smooth, sure way
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she summed it up and lined it out, and had you agog for her
to drop the next piece into place - and a bare half-hour since
she'd been rogering her soul out, whooping drunk on lust
and poppy. And, like dear Otto, she was holding my interest
despite my other pressing concerns; come on, come on, I
was thinking, let's hear how you're going to get Sang to
Tyburn, because I want to be there to swing on the bastard's
ankles. Little An, too, was clamouring for information, albeit
apprehensively. So she told him - and I wished she hadn't.
"It is simple. Before he dies, the Emperor will issue a final
vermilion decree, ordering the execution of all barbarian
captives now in the Board of Punishments. For this, the
Emperor's advisers, Sang and the rest, will be held responsible,
and when the bodies are handed back, and it is seen
that they have died by the usual procedures - binding,
flogging, bursting, maggots - the barbarians will be in a rage
for retribution. Sang will have to make apologies and excuses
- that it was the work of brutal underlings, most unfortunate,
much to be regretted, and so forth. The barbarians, growling,
will accept the apology - and a cash compensation - as they
have done in the past. They will bear no love for Sang and
his friends, but they will let the matter end there. Unless,"
she laughed, and it would have frozen your marrow, "there
is, among the bodies, one that has died by the wire jacket,
or something equally elaborate. For that cannot be excused
as the casual brutality of some underling; it will be seen as a
calculated, insulting atrocity. Barbarians are very sensitive
about such things; they will certainly take vengeance - and
I wonder if Sang will escape with his life?"
My soul shrank as I listened; only a Chinese female could
plot with such cruel, diabolic cunning. Our prisoners were
doomed, then, one of them by the most ghastly torture - just
so that this wicked, lovely harpy could bring down her rivals
and capture Imperial power. And there was nothing to be
done -1 didn't even know how many of our fellows had been
taken, or who. And it would be done without warning, or
hope of rescue . . . that little toad An was at the knots and
splices of it already, once he'd babbled out his admiration.
"Oh, Orchid Lady, forgive your kneeling slave!" cries he,
and he was weeping buckets, so help me. "Your eyes are on
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the stars, and mine on the dirt! When shall it be done? And
which of them shall it be? For it will be to arrange - the
victim must be brought from the Board secretly, lest Sang's
people should hear. Afterwards, when the bodies are sent to
the barbarian camp, it will be easy to increase their number
by that one."
"In a week, perhaps. When the barbarians prepare their
final attack on the city. And who will wear the jacket?"
She shrugged. "One of their leading people - Pa-hsia-li,
perhaps." So they'd got Parkes; I could hear that lazy drawl, see the superior smile, and . . . the wire jacket. "It does not
matter. You will see it done. Now," she stood up, stretching,
"you will take me up. Oh, but I'm tired, Little An! And
hungry! Why did you let me talk so long, you stupid little
man!" And she pretended to box his ears, laughing, while
he squeaked and feigned anguish.
That was what made my flesh crawl - the sudden capricious
change from hellish scheming to playful mischief, from the
cold, unspeakably cruel calculation that meant dreadful
death for men she'd never seen, to happy high spirits demanding
crackling with cherries, and a tea-leaf pillow because
her eyes were tired. It's a rare thing, that gift of human
translation, although I'd seen it before - always in people
who held immense power. I mentioned Bismarck just now;
he had it. So did Lakshmibai of Jhansi - and in a way, James
Brooke of Borneo, although with him it had to be a conscious
act of will. For the others, it was a necessary part of their
nature, to be able to turn, in perfect oblivion, from determining
the destiny of a nation, or a matter of life and death,
to choosing a new hat or listening to music - and then back
again, with the mind wiped clean.
Here, in an hour or so, this bonny girl of twenty-five had
been subjected to heaven-knew-what debauches with a dying
monarch, drugged herself with opium, run the risk of death
for the mere whim of seeing some new thing (a barbarian),
ravished a helpless captive for the sheer sport of it, rehearsed
her plans for securing supreme political power, again at the
risk of death, and was now yawning contentedly at the
thought of a snack and a good sleep. God knew what her
diary held for tomorrow; my point is, it wasn't quite the
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home life of our own dear Queen, and it takes a nature
beyond our understanding to manage it.
Now, as she yawned and hummed and resumed her cloak
and hood, she spared a thought for me again, tickling mischievously
and skipping away laughing as Little An scuttled
in to fend her off. I was to be taken secretly, she reminded
him, to the Wang-shaw-ewen, which sounded like some sort
of garden (I wondered what Sang would think when his
soldiers reported that the wandering boy had vanished into
thin air). The little eunuch made a doubtful lip.
"A pity we must be at the trouble of removing a captive
from the Board of Punishments," grumbles he, "when we
have one to hand." At which she cuffed him soundly, and
serve him right.
"Fat savage, would you harm my barbarian? You'll treat
him with care and respect, d'you hear, or I'll have you fed
to the tiny devil fish, one greasy inch at a time!" She considered
me with her secret smile. "Besides, I told you I may
have another use for him. Just suppose . . . when the other
prisoners have been killed, the barbarians discover that one
has been saved, and kindly treated, by the Yi Concubine.
Won't they be pleased with her - and with her party at
court." She patted his head lightly. "Well, it is a possibility."
'' B etter he should wear the wire j acket!'' pipes he viciously.
"He deserves it - after tonight he isn't fit to live! How could
you?" He shuddered in revulsion. "Ugh! Disgusting!"
"Why, I believe you're jealous, Little An," she mocked
him, as he lifted her in his arms. "Oh, stop sulking! Just
because you're weaponless, selfish little hound, am I to have
no fun? Oh, no, I'm sorry - that was a mean thing to say!
Forgive me, Little An . . ." As he bore her from the room
she was apologising to the beastly little bladder, and her last
words drifted to my ears, filling me with a new and dreadful
fear. "Look, if he does not please me, or I tire of him quickly,
perhaps ..."
The beautiful voice faded up the stairs, and I was left a
prey, as they say, to conflicting emotions.
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It's a strange thing, but I remember distinctly I wasn't tired
when they whisked me out of that lumber room just as dawn
was breaking. Twenty-four hours earlier I'd been waking in
my cage at Tang-chao. Since then I'd witnessed the battle
of Pah-li-chao, arranged the demise of Trooper Nolan, been
ill-used and terrified by Sang's thugs, crawled to the Emperor
of China, and conferred, so to speak, with his principal
concubine. A busy day, you'll allow, but while I'd a right to
be played out, body and soul, I wasn't, because I didn't dare
to be; I must keep my wits about me. For one stark thought
was hammering in my brain above all others when the shadowy
figures flitted into my room, to unchain and carry me
swiftly out, wrapped in a carpet like Cleopatra as ever was
- whatever happened now, I must not, for my very life's
sake, utter so much as a syllable in Chinese.
It was the grace of God that Little An hadn't been
present when I babbled before the Emperor; true, he'd
later suggested slitting my tongue, but that presumably
had just been native caution - he plainly didn't even
suspect that I understood the lingo, or he'd never have
permitted Yehonala to pour out her girlish dreams in
my hearing. To both of them, I was a mere lump of
uncomprehending barbarian beef, and if ever they realised
that I'd taken in every word . . . quite. Thank heaven I'd
been gagged throughout our meeting, or I might well
have spoken at some point . . . "You permit yourself
strange liberties, madam," for example.
Well, they didn't know, and provided I kept my trap shut,
they never would. Only the Emperor and his nobles were
aware of my linguistic skill, and I wasn't liable to be meeting
them again. In the meantime, I faced the prospect of becoming
siaWion-en-titre to that gorgeous little tyrant, which was
capital. . . and the possibility, if she tired of me, or it suited
her murderous plan, that I'd be the one given the wire jacket
when they started butchering prisoners. That wouldn't be for
a week; I had that much law in which to escape and take
word to Grant that he'd better look sharp if he was to rescue
them. Then again . . . escaping would be damned risky; my
safest course might well be to lie snug, bulling Yehonala's
pretty little rump off, and pray that she'd exempt me from
223
the slaughter, which she seemed inclined to do. Which meant
letting the other prisoners go hang; aye, well, it's a cruel
world. It was all very difficult, and I must just wait and see
what seemed best - best for Flashy, you understand, and
good luck to everyone else.
These were my thoughts as I was borne off, and one thing
quickly became plain: in the event that escape did eventually
seem advisable (and sorry, Parkes, but on the whole I'd
rather not) at least it wouldn't have to be from the Forbidden
City, which would have been next to impossible. For after
my swathed carcase had been carried some way, it was slung
aboard a cart, and driven for about two miles through city
streets, to judge from the noises. Then the rumble of other
traffic and the din of the waking city ceased, our speed picked
up, there were several cock-crows, and I guessed we were in
open country. After about half an hour the cart slowed to a
walk, my carpet was stripped away, I was hauled into a sitting
position, and looked about me.
My escort were four men dressed like Little An, which
meant they were eunuchs - nominally, at least, for while
three were squeaking butterballs, the fourth was lean and
whiskered and spoke in a bass croak. There's one who's all
present and correct, thinks I, and he probably was. These
eunuchs, you see, are an extraordinary gang; in most eastern
countries, they're prisoners or slaves who've been emasculated
and given charge of the royal womenfolk. But not in
China, where they're absolutely volunteers, I swear it. It's a
most prestigious career, you see, offering huge opportunities
of power and profit, and there are young chaps positively
clamouring to be de-tinkled so that they can qualify for the
job. Not a line of work that would appeal to me, but then
I'm not Chinese. However, royal concubines being what they
are (and you may have gathered that Yehonala, for one, was
not averse to male society) it was sometimes arranged that
a candidate escaped the scissors and took up his duties in full
working order. I suspect that my chap in the cart was one
such, and a capital time he must have had of it, since
concubines outnumbered the Emperor by about three hundred
to one, and his majesty was so besotted with Yehonala
that the others had to look elsewhere for diversion. But
224
fully-armed or not, the eunuchs were the most influential
clique at court, as spies, agents, and policy-makers; saving the
Emperor, the most powerful man in China was undoubtedly
Little An, the Chief Eunuch - and he was right under
Yehonala's dainty little thumb.
But I'll digress no longer, for now I have to tell you of one
of the most wonderful things I've ever seen, a marvel to
compare with any on earth - and no one will ever see it
again. There are many beautiful things in the world, mostly
works of Nature - a Colorado sunset, dawn over the South
China Sea, Elspeth, primroses, cold moonlight on the Sahara,
an English woodland after rain. Man cannot make
anything to equal these, but just once, in this critic's opinion,
he came so close that I'd hate to live on the difference. And
it was done by shaping Nature, delicately and with infinite
patience, as probably only Chinese artists and craftsmen
could have done it. This was what I was privileged to see
that September morning.
As I remember, we were leaving a little village, on a
narrow road between high stone walls, which took us over
a stone bridge and a causeway through a lake to a great
carved entrance gate. Beyond that was a courtyard, and
a massive building, blazing with gold in the rising sun; we
drove past it and a scattering of lesser pavilions, and then
it burst on the view in all its perfect, silent splendour, and
I gasped aloud in wonder, while the eunuchs squeaked
and laughed and nudged each other to see the barbarian stricken dumb as he gazed for the first time on the Summer
Palace.
As you may have heard, it was not a palace at all, but a
garden eight miles long - but it wasn't a garden, either. It
was fairyland, and how d'you describe that? I can only tell
you that in that vast parkland, stretching away to distant,
hazy hills, there was every beauty of nature and human
architecture, blended together in a harmony of shape and
colour so perfect that it stopped the breath in your throat,
and you could only sit and wonder. I can talk of groves of
trees, of velvet lawns, of labyrinths of lakes with pavilioned
islands, of temples and summer houses and palaces, of gleaming
roofs of imperial yellow porcelain seen through leaves of
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darkest green, of slow streams meandering through woods,
of waterfalls cascading silently down mossy rocks, of fields
of flowers, of pebbled paths winding past marble basins
where fountains played like silver needles in the sunlight,
of deer cropping daintily beneath spreading branches, of
willow-pattern bridges, of dark grottoes where pale gold
statues shone faintly in the shadows, of lotus pools where
swans slept - I can write these things down, and say that
they were spread out like a great magic carpet in glorious
panorama as far as the eye could see, and what does it
convey? Very little; it may even sound vulgar and overdone.
But you see, I can't describe how one delicate shade of colour
blends into another, and both into a third which is not a
colour at all, but a radiance; I can't show you how the curve
of a temple roof harmonises with the branches that frame it,
or with the landscape about it; I can't make you see the grace
of a slender path winding serpentine among the islands of a
lake that is itself a soft mirror bordered by ever-changing
reflections; I can't say why the ripple of water beneath the
prow of a slow-gliding pleasure barge seems to have been
designed to complement the shape of barge and lake and
lily-pad, and to have been rippling since Time began. I can
only say that all these things blended into one great unified
perfection that was beyond belief, and damned expensive,
too.
It had taken centuries to make, and if all the great artists
of the Classical Age and the Renaissance had seen it, they'd
have agreed that the fellows who designed it (for design, of
course, was its secret and its glory) knew their business.
Being a Philistine, I will add only: never talk to me about
Art or Beauty or Good Taste or Style, because I've seen the
bloody elephant.
I say it was a vast garden, but in fact it was many. The main
one was the Ewen-ming-ewen, the Enclosed and Beautiful
Garden, a great walled park with palaces which were museums
of all Chinese art and civilisation, accumulated
through the ages; then there was the Ching-ming-ewen, the
Golden and Brilliant Garden, with its hills crowned by a
six-storey jade tower and a magnificently ruined lamasery,
and the Fragrant Hills, the Jade Fountain Park, the Imperial
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Hunting Park, the Garden of Clear Rippling Water, and the
one to which I was taken, the Wang-shaw-ewen, or Birthday
Garden, which was reckoned the most perfect of all, with its
views of the whole shooting-match, and beyond that distant
Pekin, and the surrounding hills.38
This miracle was all for the personal delight of the Emperor
and his court; no other visitors ever saw it, which was perhaps
as well, since I should think it was by far the richest treasure
house there has ever been in the world. To give you a notion,
Yehonala's favourite pavilion was a modest cabin covering
about an acre, roofed with gold leaf and apparently constructed
of marble, jade, and ivory throughout; its scores of
rooms were stuffed with priceless fabrics, carpets, and furs,
statuary of every precious metal and porcelain, clocks,
jewellery, paintings - I remember going along a verandah,
looking out at the glorious scenery, and suddenly realising
that I was no longer out of doors, but was staring at a wall
so cunningly decorated that it appeared to be a continuation
of the world outside; I had walked a good ten paces before
I discovered that I was no longer seeing reality, but artifice,
and when I went back and stood at gaze, I could hardly tell
where one ended and t'other began. It was almost sickening
to think of the genius and labour that had gone to the making
of such a vain thing - yet it was lovely, and as to the movable
loot . . . well, an entire wing was devoted to thousands of
magnificent silk dresses, scarves, and shawls; you absolutely
waded through them; another wing was given over to
jewelled ornaments so brilliant and numerous that the eye
could not bear to look at them for long; one vast room was
filled with the most intricate mechanical toys crusted with
gems, jade jack-in-the-boxes, walking dolls, blasted diamond
frogs and beetles hopping and scuttling all over the shop,
and you'd no sooner escaped them than you were in a room
walled in solid silver and carpeted in ermine and sable, with
gold racks covered in - ladies' shoes.39
That was Yehonala's house - and there were hundreds
like it, palaces, temples, museums, art galleries, libraries,
summer houses, and pavilions, all crammed with treasures
so opulent that . . . why, if those Russian Easter eggs that
are so admired had found their way into the Summer Palace,
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I swear they'd have boiled 'em. God knows what it was all
worth - or what it was all for. Greed? Vanity? An attempt
to create a luxurious paradise on earth, so that the earth
could be forgotten? If the last, then it succeeded, for you
forgot the world in an instant. It should have seemed just a
great, overstuffed bazaar - but it didn't, probably because
of this last detail which I shall tell you, and then I'm done
with description: every one of the millions of precious things
in the Summer Palace, from the forty-foot jade vases in the
Hall of Audience, so fragile that you could read print through
them, to the tiny gold thimble on a corner shelf in the
room of Yehonala's chief seamstress, was labelled with its
description, origin, and the exact position which it must
occupy in the room. Think of that the next time you drop a
book on the table.
Possibly because of recent events, and my new surroundings,
my memories of the first two days in that house are all
at random. I saw no one but the eunuchs, whose first task
was to groom the barbarian and make him fit for human
consumption; Little An was early on the scene, scowling
sullenly and instructing the lads to see me shaved, scrubbed,
and suitably attired - I had to be careful not to understand
the shrill directions screamed at me, and to appear to cotton
on slowly. I insisted on bathing and shaving myself, and
recall sitting in a splendid marble bathing pool, using a
jewelled razor on my chest, arms, and legs, and damning (in
English) the eyes of the bollockless brigade as they twittered
round the brink pouring in the salts and oils to make me
smell Chinese. I had a splendid shouting-match with An on
the subject of my moustache and whiskers, which he indicated
must come off, and which I by Saxon oath and gesture
showed I was ready to defend to the last. Finally I removed
them - the first time I'd been clean-shaven since I rode as a
bronco Apache in Mangus Colorado's spring war party back
in '50 - but dug in my heels about my top-hair; I'd been bald,
when I was Crown Prince of Strackenz, and looked hellish.
(Gad, I've suffered in my time.)
Another memory is of sleeping in silk sheets on a bed so
soft I had to climb out and camp on the floor. I suppose I
ate, and loafed, but it's fairly hazy until the second night,
228
when they took me in a closed sedan chair to the Imperial
apartments in the Ewenmingewen.
This was a piece of pure effrontery on Yehonala's part,
and showed not only her supreme confidence in her power,
but the extent of that power, and the fear she inspired among
the minions of the Imperial court. The Emperor was down
in the Forbidden City still, with all his retinue of nobles and
attendants, while the Concubine Yi lorded it in the Summer
Palace alone - but instead of conducting her illicit amours
secretly in her own pavilion, damn if she didn't appropriate
his majesty's private apartments, serenely sure that not one
of the eunuchs or guards or palace servants would dare to
betray her. Little An's spy system was so perfect that I doubt
if an informer could have got near the Emperor or any of
her enemies, but probably her best security was that almost
the whole court worshipped the ground she trod on. "I have
that power," remember.
I had no inkling of this when they decanted me at the third
of the great halls that madethe Emperor's residence, and
led me through a circular side-door to a small dressing-room
hung with quilted dragon robes in every conceivable colour
- it was just like her, you know, to fig me out in her old
man's best gear, although I had no suspicion of what was
afoot until Little An began puffing musk at me from a giant
squirt, and his assistant applied lacquer to my hair to make
it lie down. When they tied a flimsy gauze mask over my
face, I thought aha!, and then they bundled me into a corridor
and along to a great gilt door where a table stood bearing
scores of tortoiseshell plaques, each with a different design
worked in precious stones: These were the concubines' tablets,
with which his majesty indicated his choice for the night;
it was then Little An's task to rout out the appropriate houri,
wrap her in the silk cloak, carry her to the gilt door, and
shoot her in, no doubt with a cry of "Shop!"
He didn't attempt to carry me, just waved me in and closed
the door after me. And through the thin mask I saw enough
to confirm my growing suspicions.
Directly Shead of me there was a sort of sloping ramp
which led up to an alcove entirely filled by a bed large enough
to accommodate the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry
229
and a couple of signallers; it was sheeted in purple silk with
gold lame pillows in case anyone wanted to sleep. To the left
of the ramp were low ebony tables covered with the kind of
bric-a-bric that Susie Willinck had insisted on taking to
California, only more expensive: silver opium pipes and
skewers, delicate golden chains and fetters, cords of silk and
velvet and plaited leather, a tiny cat-o'-nine-tails with minute
gems glinting in its lashes, and a scattering of exquisitelytinted
pictures which they wouldn't have shown at the Royal
Academy in a hurry. Hang it, this ain't the billiard room,
thinks I, and glanced to my right - and forgot everything
else.
Yehonala was sitting on a low stool, dabbing her lower lip
with a little brush before a dressing-table mirror. She was
wearing a robe of some gauzy, shimmering material that
changed colour with every movement - a wasted effect, since
it was entirely transparent. But it wasn't only the sudden
vision of that flawless ivory body that set me gulping and
gloating as I surveyed the slender foot and ankle, the slim
tapering legs, the smooth curve of belly and rump, the tiny
waist, and the splendid conical breasts standing clear of the
robe - well, you can see it wasn't... it was that perfect face
in the mirror, so arrestingly lovely that you couldn't believe
it was flesh and blood, and not a picture of some impossible
ideal. She glanced at my reflection in the mirror, cool upand-down.
"You
look much better in a mask," says she idly, as she
might have addressed her pet Pekingese, pouting her lip to
examine it in the glass. "Go to the bed, then, and wait." I
didn't move, and remembering that I was an uncomprehending
barbarian she pointed with a silver finger-nail, flicking
her hand impatiently. "To the bed - there! Go on!"
If there's one thing that can make me randier than a badger
it's an imperious little dolly-mop giving me orders with her
tits out of her dress. "Don't you believe it, my lass!" growls
I in English, and she stopped, brush poised, eyes wide in
astonishment - I reckon it was a shock to her to hear the
noise the animal made. She gasped as I pulled off my mask,
and for an instant there was fear in the dark eyes, so I smiled
politely, made her my best bow, and came up behind her
230
stool. Her face set in anger, but before she could speak I had
applied the fond caress that I use to coax Elspeth when she's
sulking - one hand beneath the chin to pull her head back
while you chew her mouth open, the other kneading her
bouncers with passionate ardour. They can't stir, you see,
and after a moment they don't want to. Sure enough, she
stiffened and tried to struggle, writhing on the stool with
smothered noises . . . and then she began to tremble, her
mouth opened under mine, and as I worked away feverishly
at her poonts her hands reached up to clasp behind my head.
I disengaged instantly, dropped to one knee by her stool,
smiled tenderly into the beautiful bewildered face, squeezed
her belly fondly, stole a quick kiss on each tit, and swept her
up in my arms as I rose.
"Wait. . . put me down ... no, let me go ... wait . . ."
But having no Chinese I strode masterfully up the ramp,
whistling "Lilliburlero" to soothe her, dropped her head and
shoulders on the edge of the bed while holding the rest of
her clear with a hand under either buttock, leaned forward
in the approved firing position, and piled in, roaring like a
Gorgon. I believe she was quite taken aback, for she gave
one uncertain wail, gesturing feebly with those dear little
white hands, but I'd arranged her artfully in a helpless
position, hanging suspended while wicked Harry bulled away
mercilessly with his feet on the ground, and what was the
poor child to do? I was fairly certain, from the look of the
Emperor's bedside tackle, and what I'd heard her tell Little
An about Reluctant Shrimps or Galloping Lobsters or whatever
it was, that she had never been romped in normal, true
British style in her life, but you could see her taking to it,
and by the time my knees began to creak - for I spun the
business out to the ecstatic uttermost for her benefit - she
was in a condition of swoon, as I once heard a French naval
officer put it. I was quite breathless myself, and blissfully
content, but I knew that wouldn't be the end of it.
She fulfilled, you see, four of the five conditions necessary
for what may be called the Australian Ideal - she was an
immensely rich, stunningly beautiful, highly-skilled professional
amorist with the sexual appetite of a pagan priestess;
she did not own a public house. And having spent ten years
231
entertaining a depraved idiot of unspeakable tastes, she w^
now determined to make the most of Flashy while he laste^'
which was until about noon next day, so far as I could judg^'
and if Little An had offered to carry me away I'd have het"
out my arms, whimpering weakly. Mind you, it was part^Y
my own fault for being such a susceptible romantic. For 1L
wasn't only her beauty, or passion, or matchless skill in tt^
noble art that were nearly the death of me; it was her puf6
irresistible charm. When I was ruined beyond redemptio^'
face down and fagged out, thinking, aye well, it's been n^1
a bad life, and who'd ha' thought it would end on tt^
Emperor of China's mattress, in the Chamber of Divif6
Repose (ha!) on the morning of September 25, I860? . . _j
then that perfumed musical whisper would be in my ear, an"
I'd turn feebly to meet that angelic face with its little smit^
that pierced me through, and such a wave of sentiment^"
affection would come over me, and a great longing to loc^
her in my heart forever, and . . . well, somehow, before
knew it, it was boots and saddles again.
232
In a Gazette article entitled "The Fate of the
Peiping Captives in the Late War", you may read how Col.
Sir H. Flashman "endured a captivity little better than
slavery at the hands of his tormentors", who treated him "in
the most degrading and insulting manner", and subjected
him "to such usage as can seldom have been met with by a
British officer in the hands of a savage foreign Power". It's
gospel true, and omits only that if the Army had known the
circumstances they'd have been lining up to change places
with me.
I was fourteen memorable days (and nights) in the Summer
Palace of Pekin, held thrall by the notorious Yi Concubine,
and since they followed the pattern of the first, you may
think I was on velvet, which I was . . . and silk, satin, gauze,
fur, grass, marble (which is perishing cold), yello}v j ade (even
colder). Oriental carpet, leather upholstery, a Black Watch
tartan rug (wherever that came from), and the deck of a
pleasure barge on the Jade Fountain Lake, which was her
most extraordinary choice of all, I think. We'd been cruising
about, watching a battle between little model gunboats blazing
away at each other with tiny brass cannon, when my lady
becomes bored, and consequently amorous, and decided
she didn't care to wait till we reached shore - so she made
every other soul on board (half a dozen female attendants,
two eunuchs, and the entire crew) jump overboard and flounder ashore in ten feet of water, so that I could
rattle her undisturbed. Two of the girls were almost
drowned.
From this you might suppose that my sojourn was a continuous
orgy; not at all. Most of the time I was confined to
Yehonala's pavilion, with a couple of the burliest eunuchs
on guard, for she was by no means preoccupied with me in
233
those critical times when she was juggling to catch a crown;
sometimes I didn't see her for two days on end - early in my
captivity, for instance, she went with the Emperor to Jehol,
forty miles away, where she tucked him up to die out of
harm's way before returning to Pekin for the showdown with
Sang and the barbarians. She was plotting and politicking
for dear life then, and I was her Wednesday afternoon
football match and brandy-and-cigar in the evening, so to
speak - and her week-end picnic. A humiliating position
which I was mortal glad of after what I'd been through, and
I just prayed she wouldn't lose interest in her new toy before
Elgin closed his grip on Pekin. For, incredibly, our army was
holding off at the last, fearful that a hostile advance might
spell the end of us hostages, yet fearing, too, that delay might
be equally fatal.
You may wonder how I knew of this; it arose from Yehonala's
remarkable attitude towards me. I said before that she
spoke to me as though I were a pet poodle - and that was
precisely how she treated me. Not wholly surprising, perhaps;
with all the arrogance and ignorance of the well-born Manchoo,
she thought of foreigners (and I was the first she'd ever
seen, remember) as rather less than human, and exercised
no more reticence before me than you do before Poll or your
tabby. And since, quite apart from coupling, it was her whim
to keep me on hand in her leisure hours, when she walked
or sat in the gardens, or boated, or played games with her
ladies, I learned a deal by sitting quiet with my ears open. I
suspect she paraded me chiefly to tease Little An, who was
her constant attendant and couldn't abide the sight of me;
they'd talk shop by the lily-pond while Fido sunned himself
on the grass, the target of apples playfully tossed by her
ladies, and took it all in - how Parkes and Loch had been
segregated from the other prisoners, and would make ideal
candidates for the wire jacket when the time came; yes, the
Emperor's signature was already on the vermilion death
warrant, which would be forwarded from Jehol to Pekin
whenever she wished; the word from the barbarian camp was
that they'd rather negotiate than fight, so she had time in
hand if she wished; Prince Kung, the Emperor's brother,
could be relied on when the final struggle came for imperial
234
power . . . this was the kind of thing they discussed, never
dreaming it was understood.
One vital titbit of information explained why Yehonala,
instead of staying with the Emperor at Jehol, had returned
to the Summer Palace. I gathered that her four-year-old son,
Tungchi, to whom she was devoted, was in Pekin, under the
care of the Empress Consort Sakota - being heir to the
throne, he was far too important to be entrusted to his own
mother, who when all was said was only a concubine. This
was something that Yehonala, for all her great hidden power,
could do nothing about; she could only keep as close to the
child as possible, ready to defy protocol by stepping in if he
was in any danger, or if the likes of Sang or Prince I tried to
get their hands on him. It might come to bloody palace
revolution yet, and possession of the infant would be vital quite
apart from her being his doting mama. In the meantime,
she could only wait and trust to Sakota, who was her cousin
and bosom pal, they having been apprentice concubines
together before Sakota was made Empress. (If it seems odd
that Yehonala, the Emperor's favourite, hadn't managed to
grab the consortship, the answer was that his mother, the
canny old Dowager, had spotted her for a driving woman,
and had decided that Sakota, an unambitious and indolent
nonentity, would make a more manageable Empress. The
two cousins had no jealousy, by the way; Sakota didn't mind
being Number Two in bed, and Yehonala preferred the
harlot's power to the Imperial title.)
It wasn't canny, hearing all these state secrets and knowing
that the speakers regarded me as no more sensate than the
chairs they sat on; I wondered if any spy had ever been so
fortunately placed before. The irony was that it was of no
practical use; with the eunuchs forever on the prowl, and
guards within call, I might as well have been in a dungeon.
But at least my own position seemed secure enough, so long
as I betrayed no understanding; the really dangerous times
were when Yehonala and I were in bed together, and her
attention close upon me; her confounded playful poodle-talk
unnerved me, for as you'll guess if you've ever listened to a
woman scratching a kitten's belly, it consisted mostly of damfool
questions which it took presence of mind not to answer.
235
"So ugly ... so ugly," she would whisper, lying on my
chest and brushing her unbound hair across my face. "So ugly
as to be almost magnificent. . . aren't you? So misshapen and
ungraceful, great lumpy muscles . . . you're very strong,
aren't you? Strong and stupid, with teeth like a horse. Open
... let me see them. Open, I say . . . Gods, do you have to
be shown everything? Ugh, I don't want to look at them!
Horrible ... I wonder what your barbarian women are like?
Are they repulsive, too? You'll find them so, after this, won't
you . . . after the incomparable Yi Concubine? I must look
like a goddess to you ... do I look like a goddess? Is it
possible you might prefer female barbarians, I wonder? I
mean, great apes like each other . . . but you may never see
your barbarian women-apes again . . . not if I keep you. I
might, when my son rules, and I'm all-powerful. Would you
like that? I could send you now to Jehol, before your friends
come . . . or I could give you back to them. No, I don't want
to lose you yet . . . and how unhappy you'd be, without me
. . . wouldn't you? You must think you're in heaven, poor
barbarian. If only you could speak . . . why can't you speak
. . . properly, I mean? Suppose you could, what would you
say to me? Would you make love to me with words, like the
poets? Do you know what poetry is, even? Could you write a
poem in praise of my beauty ... in butterfly words fluttering
crooked up and down the page of my heart? Jung Lu wrote
me a poem once, comparing me to a new moon, which was
not very original. . . What would you compare me to, d'you
think? Oh, you're hopeless! You couldn't love with words
. . . you know only one way, don't you? . . . like a great,
greedy beast . . . like this ... no, greedy beast, not like
that! Be still . . . like this . . . slowly, you see? . . . this is
the Fourteenth Gossamer Caress, did you know? There
are more than twenty of them, and the last, the Supreme
Delirium, can be experienced only once, for during it the
lover dies, they say ... let us be content with the Fourteenth
... for the moment . . . then we'll try the Fifteenth, shall
we . . .?"
It's desperate work, listening to that kind of drivel with a
straight face, never showing a glimmer of comprehension, in
constant fear lest a blink of surprise, to say nothing of an
236
ecstatic shriek in the wrong language, means certain and
hideous death. For I had no illusions about this sweet young
thing - if she so much as suspected I understood, the wire
jacket would be the least of it; the more I knew of her, the
more I became aware of what I said some time ago, that she
was a compound of five of the Deadly Sins - greed, gluttony,
lust, pride, and anger, with ruthlessness, cruelty, and
treachery thrown in; it was fatally easy to forget it, gazing
on that lovely face, and embracing that wonderful body,
or listening to her chaffing Little An, or joking like a mischievous
schoolgirl with her ladies - for she had a great
sense of fun, and true playfulness, and yet in spite of all
that, there's only one word to describe her: she was a
monster.
For one thing, she really enjoyed cruelty, and as an authority
in the bullying line myself, I don't speak lightly.
Ranavalona of Madagascar has always headed my list of
atrocious females, but she was raving mad, and did her
abominations almost offhand, without emotion. Yehonala
was anything but mad, and if her cruelties seem trivial beside
those of my Malagassy Moonbeam, she still inflicted them
with the relish of a true sadist. She had a servant following
her about with a case of canes and switches, and when anyone
displeased her, down came the breeches and lay on with' a
will, farrier-sergeant. When two of her eunuchs caught some
crows and released them with firecrackers tied to their legs
so that the birds were blown to bits in mid-air, Yehonala had
the culprits' backsides cut to bloody pulp with bamboo whips,
watching the infliction of the full hundred strokes with smiling
enjoyment. You may say they deserved a drubbing, but you
didn't see it.
Even crueller, I thought, was her treatment of a maid
called Willow, who offended in some trivial way. Yehonala
ordered another maid to start slapping Willow's face, and
when she didn't do it hard enough, made Willow slap her
back. In the end she had the two little chits thrashing each
other in tears, while she laughed and clapped her hands.
Add that it was she who constantly urged the slaughter of
prisoners, and sent the suicide cords to unfortunate commanders,
and I'd say the cruelty case is proved; for ruthless237
ness and treachery I'd refer you only to her first conversation
in my presence.
As to the Deadly Sins - I saw her in a towering rage only
once, with the bird-blowing eunuchs, but I'm told that her
anger was legendary, and could be berserk in its fury. She
wasn't a glutton in the ordinary sense, but her pleasure in
food was voluptuous, especially in dainties like sugared seeds
of various kinds, and every kind of confectionery, which
seemed to have no effect on her figure. She enjoyed opium,
but thought no one else should have it; she also took snuff,
from a hollowed-out pearl with a ruby stopper, and was the
prettiest sneezer you ever did see, giving tiny little "cheef!"
noises and wrinkling her nose. She was uncommon greedy
for precious things, which was astonishing since she had
everything a woman could conceivably want; yet she gloated
over her jewellery and clothing in a way that was positively
indecent, and I doubt (from her conversation) if enough
money could have been minted to satisfy her. Hand in hand
with her delight in clothing, her transparent robes, her pearl
capes, her enormous sleeves, her thousand pairs of shoes,
the jewels which she would fondle as though they were alive,
went her vanity, which was all-consuming - and she had
every reason for it. As to her lust . . . don't ask me, how
would I know?
Perhaps, on consideration, I'm wrong to call her a monster
- unless it's monstrous to indulge an unbridled appetite
without regard for anyone or anything. Yes, I think that's
right; / do, and I'm a monster. With Yehonala, everything
was extreme; whatever she did was done with every fibre of
her, and enjoyed with sensual intensity - whether it was
nibbling a sugared walnut, or half-killing a partner in bed,
or flaunting a new dress, or having an offender flogged nearly
to death, or watching the sun go down over the Fragrant
Hills, or ruling an empire . . . she would squeeze the last
drop of savour out of it, and lick her fingers afterwards. If
you could have seen her even walking, with that quick,
gliding stride, or pinning one of her five hundred jade butterfly
brooches to her dress, or playing "The Eight Fairies
Travel Across the Sea" game with her ladies, or spraying
glycerine on her face to fix her cosmetics - always the same
238
concentration, the same implacable zeal to do it exactly right,
the same ambition for perfection. No wonder she became
mistress of all China - or that the Emperor died of her
mattress gymnastics. Ten years? It's a marvel he lasted ten
days.
I append these details because, since she became one of
the great women of history,* an eye-witness account may be
of some interest; perhaps it'll help some clever biographer
to plumb the mystery of her character. I can't; I knew her
as a lover, you see, and Dick Burton assures me I'm a
hopeless nympholeptic, which sounds good fun. She ravished
my senses, right enough, and scared me to death - which,
by the way, is true of the only three women (apart from
Elspeth) whom I've truly loved: Lola, Lakshmibai, and
Yehonala. An empress, a queen, and the greatest courtesan
of her time; I dare say I'm just a snob.
However, my little character-sketch will have explained
my growing anxiety in case she discovered that she was
nourishing a Chinese-speaking British viper in her gorgeous
bosom. For every day increased that risk . . . and still Elgin
didn't move. The British and French army seemed to have
put down roots at Tang-chao, a mere ten miles from Pekin;
I couldn't fathom Grant's intentions, with winter coming on,
his lines of communication gaping for a hundred miles behind
him to the coast, his force still outnumbered at least four to
one - if I'd had command of the remaining Tartar cavalry
I'd have had him and his army and his bull fiddle bottled on
the Peiho yet. The reason, according to Little An, was
that the Big Barbarian was scared the prisoners would be
murdered if he moved; knowing Elgin, I was sure there must
be more to it; in fact, he and Grant were just "makking
siccar", as my wife would say, counting on the very error
which I heard Little An making to Yehonala.
"We shall have warning if they move," says he. "The big
guns will sound, the order for the deaths of the barbarian
prisoners can be dispatched, and we shall have ample time
to retire to Jehol, leaving Sang and Prince I and Sushun and
the rest of the reptiles to meet the wrath of the Big Barbarian.
* See Appendix II.
239
Hang-ki has charge of Pa-hsia-li and the other; they can be
removed quietly and executed by the jacket whenever you
wish. Unless," he glanced moodily at me, "you will be wise
and put that thing away." Meeting his eye, I smiled amiably
and nodded. "What in the name of Yen-lo are you going to
do with him, Orchid Lady?"
"Take him to Jehol," says she. "Why not?"
"Gods! To Jehol - and play the harlot with him while . . .
while the Son of Heaven is dying in the next room?"
"Well, I can hardly play the harlot with the Emperor, in his
condition, can I? And you know me, Little An -1 have to be
playing the harlot with someone, or so you keep telling me."
"Will you jest, at such a time?" he shrilled. "Oh, little
empress, if you have no shame, at least have sense! Prince
Kung and the Empress Dowager are lodged only a mile away
- in the Ewen-ming-ewen! Suppose word reached them of
this beast's presence? Suppose Sang gets to hear of it? At
the moment when you have the prize all but in your grasp oh,
why do I waste time, talking to a lovely idol with an ivory
head? How will you hide him in Jehol, or on the road? It's
a full day's journey!"
"He can travel with the eunuchs. It may be that I'll keep
him as one, eventually. Perhaps make him chief - in place
of you. At least he won't deafen me with impertinence. By
the way, we'll travel to Jehol by night. Have the horse-litters
and cavalry escort standing by from tomorrow; the barbarians
may come soon now."
By gad, I hadn't liked the sound of that. Of course she
was just joking - teasing Little An. Wasn't she? One thing
was sure, she wasn't getting me to Jehol - when those guns
sounded, I'd make a run for it, somehow. If I could give my
watchdogs the slip, after dark - even if I didn't get out of the
Summer Palace, there were acres of woodland to lie up in
... I might even get clear away, and be in time to reach
Grant and have him send a flying column slap into the city to
rescue Parkes and the others . . . Probyn or Fane would be in
and out before the Chinks knew they'd been. Aye, but I mustn't
run the slightest risk of capture myself - the thought of being
dragged back, helpless, to face her fury (they can't stand being
jilted, these autocratic bitches) and Little An's malice . . .
240
"What's the matter with the filthy brute? He looks as
though he'd seen a spirit!" It was Little An's harsh squeal,
and I realised with a thrill of fear that he was staring at me.
How I didn't start round in guilty panic, God knows; I forced
myself to sit still - we were in the long ivory saloon of her
pavilion, An standing beside her chair while she ate her
supper of peaches sliced in honey and wine; myself on a stool
about ten feet away. A few of her ladies were playing Go at
the other end, laughing and chattering softly. Out of the
corner of my eye I could see Yehonala had turned to look
at me, laying down her spoon. I took a deep breath, pressed
my hands to my stomach, and belched gently. She laughed,
"Fried bread dragons. Or love-pangs for his Orchid - eh,
Little An?" She returned to her peaches.
"Perhaps." To my consternation he walked towards me
slowly, and I gave him my idiot smile as he paused before
me, a thoughtful frown on his pudgy face. "Do you know,
Orchid Lady," says he, watching me, "I have sometimes
wondered if this . . . this stallion of yours ... is as senseless
as he seems. Once or twice . . . just now, for instance . . .
I've wondered if he doesn't understand every word we say."
It was like a douche of cold water, but I daren't drop my
eyes. I could only blink, without interest, and hope the
thunder of my heart wasn't audible.
"What?" Her spoon tinkled into the dish. "Oh, what old
wool! Barbarians don't speak our language, stupid!"
"Pa-hsia-li does. Like a school-master." His little eyes
were bright with suspicion. "So will others. Perhaps this
one."
"And never a word out of him in days? Or any sign of
sense? Nonsense! What makes you think so - apart from
malice?"
He continued to stare at me. "A look ... an expression.
A sense." He shrugged. "I may be wrong . . . but if I'm not,
the tale of your pleasuring him will be the least he can tell."
His eyes narrowed, and I knew what was coming - and began
a cavernous yawn to cover the reaction which I knew he was
going to startle out of me. Sure enough:
"Look at his thumb!" he squeaked.
Now, I defy anyone in my position not to twitch his thumb,
241
Hang-ki has charge of Pa-hsia-li and the other; they can be
removed quietly and executed by the jacket whenever you
wish. Unless," he glanced moodily at me, "you will be wise
and put that thing away." Meeting his eye, I smiled amiably
and nodded. "What in the name of Yen-lo are you going to
do with him, Orchid Lady?"
"Take him to Jehol," says she. "Why not?"
"Gods! To Jehol - and play the harlot with him while . . .
while the Son of Heaven is dying in the next room?"
"Well, I can hardly play the harlot with the Emperor, in his
condition, can I? And you know me, Little An -1 have to be
playing the harlot with someone, or so you keep telling me."
"Will you jest, at such a time?" he shrilled. "Oh, little
empress, if you have no shame, at least have sense! Prince
Kung and the Empress Dowager are lodged only a mile away
- in the Ewen-ming-ewen! Suppose word reached them of
this beast's presence? Suppose Sang gets to hear of it? At
the moment when you have the prize all but in your grasp oh,
why do I waste time, talking to a lovely idol with an ivory
head? How will you hide him in Jehol, or on the road? It's
a full day's journey!"
"He can travel with the eunuchs. It may be that I'll keep
him as one, eventually. Perhaps make him chief - in place
of you. At least he won't deafen me with impertinence. By
the way, we'll travel to Jehol by night. Have the horse-litters
and cavalry escort standing by from tomorrow; the barbarians
may come soon now."
By gad, I hadn't liked the sound of that. Of course she
was just joking - teasing Little An. Wasn't she? One thing
was sure, she wasn't getting me to Jehol - when those guns
sounded, I'd make a run for it, somehow. If I could give my
watchdogs the slip, after dark - even if I didn't get out of the
Summer Palace, there were acres of woodland to lie up in
... I might even get clear away, and be in time to reach
Grant and have him send a flying column slap into the city to
rescue Parkes and the others . . . Probyn or Fane would be in
and out before the Chinks knew they'd been. Aye, but I mustn't
run the slightest risk of capture myself - the thought of being
dragged back, helpless, to face her fury (they can't stand being
jilted, these autocratic bitches) and Little An's malice . . .
240
"What's the matter with the filthy brute? He looks as
though he'd seen a spirit!" It was Little An's harsh squeal,
and I realised with a thrill of fear that he was staring at me.
How I didn't start round in guilty panic. God knows; I forced
myself to sit still - we were in the long ivory saloon of her
pavilion, An standing beside her chair while she ate her
supper of peaches sliced in honey and wine; myself on a stool
about ten feet away. A few of her ladies were playing Go at
the other end, laughing and chattering softly. Out of the
corner of my eye I could see Yehonala had turned to look
at me, laying down her spoon. I took a deep breath, pressed
my hands to my stomach, and belched gently. She laughed.
"Fried bread dragons. Or love-pangs for his Orchid - eh,
Little An?" She returned to her peaches.
"Perhaps." To my consternation he walked towards me
slowly, and I gave him my idiot smile as he paused before
me, a thoughtful frown on his pudgy face. "Do you know,
Orchid Lady," says he, watching me, "I have sometimes
wondered if this . . . this stallion of yours ... is as senseless
as he seems. Once or twice . . . just now, for instance . . .
I've wondered if he doesn't understand every word we say."
It was like a douche of cold water, but I daren't drop my
eyes. I could only blink, without interest, and hope the
thunder of my heart wasn't audible.
"What?" Her spoon tinkled into the dish. "Oh, what old
wool! Barbarians don't speak our language, stupid!"
"Pa-hsia-li does. Like a school-master." His little eyes
were bright with suspicion. "So will others. Perhaps this
one."
"And never a word out of him in days? Or any sign of
sense? Nonsense! What makes you think so - apart from
malice?"
He continued to stare at me. "A look ... an expression.
A sense." He shrugged. "I may be wrong . . . but if I'm not,
the tale of your pleasuring him will be the least he can tell."
His eyes narrowed, and I knew what was coming - and began
a cavernous yawn to cover the reaction which I knew he was
going to startle out of me. Sure enough:
"Look at his thumb!" he squeaked.
Now, I defy anyone in my position not to twitch his thumb,
241
or whatever extremity is mentioned - unless he has set his
muscles and begun to yawn, which is a fine suppressor of the
guilty start. Button, old Pam's Treasury gun-slinger, taught
me that one. I saw the disappointment on Little An's face,
and looked at him serenely.
"If you are right," says Yehonala, "then he understands
us now."
I glanced at her, reasonably enough, since she'd spoken and
felt sick. She was frowning uncertainly, upright in her
chair; she beckoned abruptly, so I got up and went over,
meeting her stare with polite interest. After a moment:
"Do you understand me?' says she sharply, and I smiled
hopefully as her eyes stayed steady on mine. Then she
pointed at her feet, so I knelt upright in front of her, my face
just below the level of her own, about two feet away. She
continued to watch me intently, that lovely oval mask expressionless,
and then said quietly:
"I don't know, An . . . but we must be sure. It's a pity.
Take the sabre from the wall yonder . . . quietly. When I
say 'Begin' . . . strike."
If it was a bluff, it was bound to work. Even Hope Grant
or Rudi Starnberg wouldn't have been able to repress a
nicker when she spoke the fatal word, and my nerves weren't
in the same parish as theirs. I didn't hear Little An move
behind me, but I knew he'd be there, quietly poising that
razor-sharp blade, waiting. I could only kneel patiently,
praying the sweat wasn't starting from my brow, meeting her
cold gaze with smiling inquiry as I would have done if I'd
been innocent, letting my smile fade uncertainly as she didn't
respond. I strove not to gulp, to look easy, knowing it was
no go - unless I could think of something I was bound to flinch
at the word. In desperation, I lowered my eyes, searching for
inspiration . . . finally letting my glance stray to her bust;
she was wearing one of those tight silk Manchoo dresses that
button at the throat and are open to the breast-bone, leaving
a gap through which appetising curves of Eve's puddings are
to be seen; I stared with rapt interest, moving my head
slightly for a better view, moistened my lips, and blew gently
at the opening. She flinched, and I glanced up with an
insolent suggestive twitch of the brow to let her see how my
242
thoughts were running; there was a shadow of doubt in the
dark eyes, so I returned to my leering contemplation of her
bouncers with a contented sigh, leaning a little closer and
blowing again, a longer sustained breeze this time . . .
"Begin," says she softly, and I continued to blow soft and
steady, without a tremor, for I knew it was a bluff, and that
Little An, far from holding a sabre over my head, was still
ten feet away, watching. If you want to play double-dares
with Flashy, don't do it when there's a polished walnut
cabinet reflecting the room behind him.
"Idiot!" snaps Yehonala, and snatching up her spoon she
flung it at An's head. "He doesn't understand a word! You're
a snivelling old woman . . . and a spiteful little worm! Now
get out, and leave us alone."
By George, I was glad to see the brute go; he'd had my
innards in a rare turmoil for a few minutes, and I knew that
now his suspicions were aroused he'd watch me like a lynx.
Even in the small hours, when Yehonala had played us both
out, I was still too nervous to go to sleep for fear I babbled
in Chinese - and next day, to my consternation, I was
confined to my room, with the door locked and a Mongol
trooper of the Imperial Guards cavalry on sentry, which had
never happened before. I glimpsed him when they brought
my dinner - a hulking, shaven-headed rascal in a mail coat
and yellow sleeves. I demanded in English to be let out, and
they slammed the door on me without a word. I ate little
dinner, I can tell you, pacing up and down my room with its
high, impossibly tiny windows, asking myself if An had been
poisoning her mind with suspicions, but as the day wore on
my anxieties changed colour - something strange was doing
in the Summer Palace. There was distant bustle in Yehonala's
pavilion, voices raised and feet hurrying; outside in the
garden, towards evening, there were unmistakable noises of
horses going past, and a peremptory voice in Chinese: "I
know the litters are there, but the third one's empty - no
cushions or rugs! Why not?" An apologetic mumble, and
then: "Well, get them! And stay with the grooms. If anyone
wanders off, he'll walk to Jehol in a cangue!"
So she was going! Was Grant moving at last, then? But
there hadn't been a single cannon-shot, ours or the Chinese;
243
he couldn't be advancing on Pekin without some hysterical
Tartar touching off a field piece, surely? Tang-chao was less
than a dozen miles away - the sound of firing would carry
easily . . . but the afternoon light was fading; it wasn't
possible he was coming today, Yehonala's people must have
had a false alarm - and then, far-off, there was the brazen
whisper of a Manchoo trumpet, and a drum of approaching
hoof-beats, a single rider pounding across the sward, voices
calling anxiously at the front of the house, and a hoarse cry
of alarm:
"The barbarians! Fly for your lives! They are in the city the
streets run with blood! Everyone is dead, the Temple of
Heaven is overthrown, the shops are closed!"
I swear it's what he said - and even the last part wasn't
true. Not a single allied soldier was in Pekin, nor even a gun
threatening its walls, the Manchoo army was watching in
vain . . . but the barbarians were coming, all right. Grant
had slipped his hounds without so much as a shout, our
cavalry was sweeping in from the north (the last place they
might have been expected), with the Frog infantry in support - everyone got lost in the dark and went blundering about
famously, but that only added to the Chinese confusion. I
knew nothing of that as I listened to the uproar in the pavilion
. . . and now footsteps were padding to my door, it was
thrown open, and a eunuch came in, threw me a cloak, and
jerked his thumb. I slipped it over the loose tunic and trousers
that were my only clothes, and followed him out, my Mongol
guard looming behind me as we made our way to the ivory
saloon.
The pavilion was in the throes of a flitting. The halls and
passage-ways were cluttered with luggage, servants were
staggering out under boxes and bundles, eunuchs fussed
everywhere, maids were fluttering in silken confusion, and a
stalwart young Manchoo Guards officer was barking orders
and cuffing heads in an effort to bring them to order (I
recognised the peremptory voice from the garden; although
I didn't know it yet, this was Jung Lu, Yehonala's old flame
and now Imperial Guards commander). Only in the ivory
saloon was there comparative peace, with Yehonala looking
uncommon fetching in a magnificent snow-leopard robe with
244
a gigantic collar, sitting at ease while Little An fussed about
her, and half a dozen of her ladies waited in a respectful
semi-circle at the far end, all dressed for the road. She
indicated that I should stand by her table, and the Mongol
fell in beside me, breathing garlic.
"Why don't they come?" Little An was squeaking; his face
was bright with sweat. "If their soldiers are north of the
city, we may be cut off here! How could we escape their
devil-cavalry, who speed like flying dragons? Should we
not send another messenger, Orchid? What can be keeping
them?"
Yehonala stifled a yawn. "The Empress Dowager will have
mislaid her eyebrow tweezers. Stop fussing. Little An - the
barbarians are intent on Pekin; they won't come here. Even
if they did, Jung Lu has men on the road to bring word."
Little An glanced round as though he expected to see Elgin
climbing in the window, and stooped to whisper. "And if
Sang should come? Have you thought of that? We know who
he's after, don't we? Suppose he were to come with riders what
case are we in to resist him, with only a handful of
Guards?"
"Sang has enough to do with the barbarians, fool! Besides,
he wouldn't dare lay hands on the Empress ... or on him."
But I saw the silver nails were drumming gently on the arm
of her chair.
"You think there's anything that madman would not
dare?" An shrilled. "I tell you, Orchid Lady - the barbarians
can have Pekin for him, so long as he can get his claws on "
"That will do. Eunuch An-te-hai." The lovely voice had
a dangerous edge. "You're alarming my ladies, which is bad
for their digestions. Another word, and you'll stand on that
table and repeat a hundred times: 'I beg the ladies' pardon
for my unmannerly cowardice, and humbly entreat the Empress
of the Western Palace to sentence me to a hundred
lashes on my fat little bottom'. And she'll do it, too."
That sent her ladies into great giggles, and Little An fell
sullenly silent. The noises of exodus were dying away in the
pavilion; a door slammed, and then there was silence. I
strained my ears - if our fellows were north of the city they
couldn't be more than five miles away. Yehonala was right;
245
they wouldn't bother with the Summer Palace until Pekin
was secure, but if I could make a break, perhaps when we
set off ... it would be dark . . .
Brisk footsteps sounded, and the young Guards Commander
strode in, halting smartly and bowing his pagoda
helmet to his waist. "The Prince Kung and the Lady Dowager
have decided to remain, Concubine Yi, but the others will
be here in a few minutes."
"What can have happened to those tweezers?" says
Yehonala. "And probably the sleeping pantaloons, too. Ah,
well. Are the litters ready, Colonel Jung?"
"Three horse palanquins in the court, Orchid, with the
carriage for your ladies." He was breathing hard. "I've sent
the servants' carts ahead, so that they won't delay us, and
had all the gates locked. It will be necessary to reach the
court by the garden passage -" he pointed to the narrow arch
at the far end of the room, where the ladies stood "- and
from the court the Avenue of Dawn Enchantment is walled
as far as the Jehol road, where I have a troop waiting." He
paused for breath, and Little An cried:
"Why these precautions? Are the barbarians so close?"
Jung ignored him, speaking direct to Yehonala. He was a
good-looking lad, in a dense, resolute sort of way; Guards
officers much the same the world over, I suppose.
"Not the barbarians, Orchid ... no. My rider at the
Anting Gate has not reported. But it would be best to leave
quickly, as soon as the Empress arrives. There may be ...
some danger in delay."
Little An absolutely farted in agitation and was beginning
to squeal, but Yehonala cut in. "Be quiet! What is it, Jung?"
"Perhaps nothing." He hesitated. "I stationed my sergeant
on the Pekin road, half-way. His horse came in just now without
a rider." There was silence for a moment, then:
"Sang!" shrills Little An. "I knew it! What did I say?
Lady, there is no time to lose! We must go at once! We
must-"
"Without my son?" She was on her feet. "Jung - go and
meet them. Bring them yourself - bring them, Jung, you
understand?"
He saluted and strode out, and Yehonala turned to the
246
palpitating An and said quietly: "Every shadow is not Prince
Sang, Little An. Even sergeants fall off their horses sometimes.
No, be silent. Whatever has happened, your bleatings
will do nothing to help." She adjusted her fur collar. "It's
cold. Lady Willow, have them put the screen across the
window."
As her woman pattered to obey, she paced the floor slowly,
humming to herself. Outside the sound of Jung's hoof-beats
had faded, and we waited in the stillness, the air heavy with
suspense. She may have found it cold, but I was sweating whatever
the possible danger, I reckoned Jung was a good
judge, and he'd been a sight more worried than he let on.
Little An was visibly bursting with silent terrors, in which
Sang presumably had the lead role. Well, that was one I
could do without. . . if he bowled in, I could see a pretty little
scene ensuing when he recognised one of his star prisoners.
Suppose I broke for it now . . . a bolt for the door, downstairs
and into the garden . . . ? My skin roughened at the thought
. . . the Mongol was at my elbow, stinking to high heaven,
never taking his eyes off me -
"Ho-hum, cheer up, Little An," says Yehonala, pausing
in her walk, and prodding him playfully in the stomach.
"You need some exercise, my lad. I know - where's my cup
and ball?"
It was lying on the table beside me, a priceless little toy of
solid gold stem with a jade cup, and a gold chain attaching
to the ball, which was a black pearl. She was expert in its
use, but Little An was a hopeless duffer, and it was a standing "' joke with her to make him sweat away at it, fumbling and
squealing, while her ladies went into fits.
I picked it up and handed it to her.
Very well, I was off-guard, preoccupied with the thought
of bolting for safety, and my action was purely automatic so
much so, that she had actually taken it, with a little smile
at me, and it was only the horrified realisation dawning on
my own face that made her stare. Without that, my blunder
might have passed unnoticed, or I might have bluffed it out
. . . but now her eyes were blazing, Little An was shrieking
- and I lunged headlong for the door, slipped on a rug on
the polished floor, and came down with a crash that shook
r
247
the building. The Mongol was on me before I could roll
away, snarling like a bear, his great hands reaching for my
throat; I thumped him once, and then like a clever lad he
had his knife-point under my chin, climbing off me nimbly
and bringing me up like a hooked fish, his free hand locked
in my collar. He shot a glance at Yehonala, and asked for
instructions.
"Kill him! Kill him!" squealed Little An. "He's a spy - a
barbarian spy!" A brilliant thought struck him. "Gods! He
was Sang's prisoner! He's a spy of Sang's! He "
"Put him yonder," says Yehonala, and the Mongol thrust
me down in her chair, taking his stand behind it with his
knife prodding the angle of my neck and shoulder - it beats
handcuffs any day.
"Why?" yelps Little An. "Kill him now! Aiee, Orchid,
why do you hesitate? He has heard all - he knows! He must
die at once, before the Empress comes! Please, Orchid! Kill
him - quickly!"
She came to stand in front of me, moving without haste,
and save for the black ice of her eyes there wasn't a trace of
expression on the beautiful oval face framed in the fur collar
- even in that hellish moment I couldn't help thinking what
an absolute peach she was. She flicked the golden toy in
her hand, and the black pearl fell into the cup with a sharp
click.
"You speak and understand Chinese?" It was a cold whisper,
and since there was no point in denial, I nodded.
Ignoring An, who was gibbering for my blood, she clicked
the ball into its socket again, and said the last thing I'd have
expected.
"You must have nerves like steel chains. Last night . . .
you knew what I had told Little An, but you didn't flinch by
a hair's breadth."
"I'm a soldier, Empress of the Western Palace." I was
trying not to croak with terror, for I knew that if there was
any hope at all, it rested on a cool, offhand bearing - try it
next time a Mongol's honing his knife on your jugular. "My
name's Colonel - Banner Chief - Flashman, and I'm chief
of intelligence to Lord Elgin, whom you call the Big Barbarian
"
248
"He's a spy!" shrieks An. "He admits it! Kill him! Give
the order. Orchid Lady!"
"Why did you never speak before?" Her voice could never
sound harsh, but it was fit to freeze your ears. "Why did you
lie and deceive, by silence? Are you a spy?"
"Of course he is! He said so! He "
"No, I was a prisoner of Prince Sang's, taken by treachery.
When you found me, I was gagged and unable to speak. By
the time I was released, I had heard so much that to have
admitted my knowledge would have meant certain death."
I frowned, gave my lip a gentle chew, and then looked her
in the eye, speaking soft like a man striving valiantly to
conceal his emotion - you know, a kind of ruptured Galahad.
"I had no wish to die . . . not when I had found a new reason
for living."
For a second she didn't take the drift - and then, d'you
know, she absolutely blushed, and for the only time in our
acquaintance she couldn't meet my eye.
"He lies!" screamed Little An, God bless him. "Orchid,
he has the tongue of a snake! The lying barbarian dog! Will
you let him insult you, this beast? Kill him! Think what he
knows! Think what he's doneV Keep it up, Little An, thinks
I, and you'll talk me out of this yet. She met my eye again,
cold as a clam.
"You think you will live now?" She nicked her cup and
ball again - and missed.
"Why should you kill me . . . when I can serve you better
alive? What I've overheard is in no way dangerous to you
. . . or to your son; on the contrary."I knew I mustn't babble
in panic, but maintain a calm, measured delivery, head up,
jaw firm, eyes steady, bowels dissolving. "Tomorrow the
British army will be in Pekin, seeking a treaty - not with
Prince Sang, or Prince I, or Sushun, but as you said yourself,
'with an Emperor acceptable to the barbarians'. Since it's
likely that the present Emperor will die, I can think of no
more acceptable successor than your own son . . . guided by
those who love him and seek the good of China. So I'll tell
Lord Elgin - and he'll believe me. He will also see it for
himself. And believe me, Empress - if you want a friend,
you'll find none better than the Big Barbarian. Except one."
249
the building. The Mongol was on me before I could roll
away, snarling like a bear, his great hands reaching for my
throat; I thumped him once, and then like a clever lad he
had his knife-point under my chin, climbing off me nimbly
and bringing me up like a hooked fish, his free hand locked
in my collar. He shot a glance at Yehonala, and asked for
instructions.
"Kill him! Kill him!" squealed Little An. "He's a spy - a
barbarian spy!" A brilliant thought struck him. "Gods! He
was Sang's prisoner! He's a spy of Sang's! He "
"Put him yonder," says Yehonala, and the Mongol thrust
me down in her chair, taking his stand behind it with his
knife prodding the angle of my neck and shoulder - it beats
handcuffs any day.
"Why?" yelps Little An. "Kill him now! Aiee, Orchid,
why do you hesitate? He has heard all - he knows! He must
die at once, before the Empress comes! Please, Orchid! Kill
him - quickly!"
She came to stand in front of me, moving without haste,
and save for the black ice of her eyes there wasn't a trace of
expression on the beautiful oval face framed in the fur collar
- even in that hellish moment I couldn't help thinking what
an absolute peach she was. She flicked the golden toy in
her hand, and the black pearl fell into the cup with a sharp
click.
"You speak and understand Chinese?" It was a cold whisper,
and since there was no point in denial, I nodded.
Ignoring An, who was gibbering for my blood, she clicked
the ball into its socket again, and said the last thing I'd have
expected.
"You must have nerves like steel chains. Last night . . .
you knew what I had told Little An, but you didn't flinch by
a hair's breadth."
"I'm a soldier, Empress of the Western Palace." I was
trying not to croak with terror, for I knew that if there was
any hope at all, it rested on a cool, offhand bearing - try it
next time a Mongol's honing his knife on your jugular. "My
name's Colonel - Banner Chief - Flashman, and I'm chief
of intelligence to Lord Elgin, whom you call the Big Barbarian
"
248
"He's a spy!" shrieks An. "He admits it! Kill him! Give
the order, Orchid Lady!"
"Why did you never speak before?" Her voice could never
sound harsh, but it was fit to freeze your ears. "Why did you
lie and deceive, by silence? Are you a spy?"
"Of course he is! He said so! He "
"No, I was a prisoner of Prince Sang's, taken by treachery.
When you found me, I was gagged and unable to speak. By
the time I was released, I had heard so much that to have
admitted my knowledge would have meant certain death."
I frowned, gave my lip a gentle chew, and then looked her
in the eye, speaking soft like a man striving valiantly to
conceal his emotion - you know, a kind of ruptured Galahad.
"I had no wish to die . . . not when I had found a new reason
for living."
For a second she didn't take the drift - and then, d'you
know, she absolutely blushed, and for the only time in our
acquaintance she couldn't meet my eye.
"He lies!" screamed Little An, God bless him. "Orchid,
he has the tongue of a snake! The lying barbarian dog! Will
you let him insult you, this beast? Kill him! Think what he
knows! Think what he's done}" Keep it up, Little An, thinks
I, and you'll talk me out of this yet. She met my eye again,
cold as a clam.
"You think you will live now?" She flicked her cup and
ball again - and missed.
"Why should you kill me . . . when I can serve you better
alive? What I've overheard is in no way dangerous to you
. . . or to your son; on the contrary." I knew I mustn't babble
in panic, but maintain a calm, measured delivery, head up,
jaw firm, eyes steady, bowels dissolving. "Tomorrow the
British army will be in Pekin, seeking a treaty - not with
Prince Sang, or Prince I, or Sushun, but as you said yourself,
'with an Emperor acceptable to the barbarians'. Since it's
likely that the present Emperor will die, I can think of no
more acceptable successor than your own son . . . guided by
those who love him and seek the good of China. So I'll tell
Lord Elgin - and he'll believe me. He will also see it for
himself. And believe me, Empress - if you want a friend,
you'll find none better than the Big Barbarian. Except one."
249
By jove, it was manly stuff - and true, for that matter.
How she was taking it, I couldn't tell, for her face was as
mask-like as ever. Little An wasn't buying; he'd picked his
line, a singularly unattractive one, and was sticking to it.
The Mongol I wasn't sure about, but he wasn't a voting
shareholder. I sat bursting with concealed funk; should I
say more . . .? Yehonala flicked her cup again, and this time
the ball snapped home with such finality that like a fool I
came out with the first thing that entered my head.
"Of course, you'd want to stop the death warrants for
Pa-hsia-li and the others. Lord Elgin would never forgive
..." I stopped dead, appalled at the thought that I
was voicing a threat - and an even more frightful thought
occurred: suppose Parkes was dead already? Oh, Jesus what
had I said? Yehonala's reply left me in no doubt.
"He would never forgive Prince Sang, you mean."
"Yes, yes!" cries An eagerly. "That is the way! Don't
listen to this liar, Orchid! Kill him and have done! He's a
spy, who'll take every word to the Big Barbarian, lying and
poisoning him against us! What do they care for China? They
hate us, mutinous slaves!" He turned on her, hissing. "And
he would defame you . . . oh, he won't tell them just what
he's heard! He'll invent foul slanders, abominations, mocking
your honour "
The temptation to bellow him down with indignant denials
was strong, but I knew it wouldn't do with this icy beauty's
eye on me, and her mouth tightening as she listened. I waited
until he ran out of venom, and sighed.
"There speaks the jealous eunuch," says I, and gave her
just a hint of my wistful Flashy smile. "What can he know,
Orchid Lady?"
Those were my bolts shot, diplomatic and romantic, and
if they didn't hold ... I could try shooting feet first out of
the chair and diving for the door, but I rather fancied the
expert at my back would be ready for that. I waited, while
she clicked her infernal toy again, and then she turned
abruptly away, signing Little An to follow her out of earshot.
At the end of the room her ladies stood agog, twittering at
this sensation. While she and An conferred, my watchdog
and I fell into conversation.
250
"Lift the point a little, soldier, will you?"
"Shut up, pig."
Whether our friendship would have ripened, or what conclusion
Yehonala and An would have reached, I can only
guess, for it was at that moment that we were interrupted.
One second all was still, and then there was a confused
tumult from the garden, a babble of voices with a man
shouting and women crying out closer at hand; distant yells
and the sound of approaching hoof-beats; feet running in the
house itself, and then the door was flung open and a tiny boy
rushed into the room. He was the complete little mandarin,
button hat and dragon robe and all, and at the sight of
Yehonala he screamed with delight and raced towards her,
arms out - only to stop abruptly and make a very slow, deep
bow which was never completed, for she had swept him up,
kissing him, crying out, and hugging him to her cheek. Then
there were women in the room, three of them - a tall, bonny
Manchoo girl with scared eyes, in a sable hat and cloak, and
two other ladies, one of them squealing in alarm. From the
fact that everyone in the room except Yehonala and my
Mongol (trust him) dropped to their knees and knocked
head, I knew this could only be the Empress Sakota, and the
little boy, who was demanding shrilly to be let down so that
he could show Yehonala his new watch with the little bell
(the damnedest things stick in your memory) must be the
heir to the throne, Tungchi.
They were all crying out at once, but before any sense
could be made of it there was a yell and a clang of steel from
the front of the house, a stentorian voice roaring to knock
the bastard down but not to kill him, and noises to suggest
that this was being done, not without difficulty. Then the
Empress Sakota went into hysterics, covering her ears and
shrilling wildly, her ladies stood appalled and helpless until
Yehonala slapped her soundly, pushing her towards her own
ladies who bore her in a screaming scrimmage to the end of
the room. One of Sakota's females swooned, the other was
sobbing that the Prince General was here . . . and booted
feet were striding up the passage, the half-open door was
thrown back to the wall, and General Sang-kol-in-sen stood
on the threshold.
251
It had happened more quickly than it takes to tell. I doubt
if a minute had elapsed since the Mongol told me to shut up
- and now for a second the room was still as death, except
for the subdued sobbing of the Empress, and the little prince's
shrill voice:
"See - when I push it, it rings! It rings!" He pulled at
Yehonala's sleeve. "See, mama - it rings!"
She had set him down, but now she picked him up again
and handed him to Little An, who had turned a pale green,
but took the boy and was turning away at Yehonala's quiet word when Sang roared "Wait!" and advanced a couple of
paces into the room. He was in full fig of tin belly and mailed
legs, with a fur cloak hanging from his shoulders, his dragon
helmet under one arm and his shaven skull gleaming like a
moon. Two wiry Tartar troopers were at his back, and I
think it was the sight of them that made my Mongol withdraw
his knife and step clear of my chair, his hand resting on his
sabre-hilt. I sat still; I'm nobody's fool.
Yehonala stood perfectly still in the centre of the room,
facing Sang who had halted about ten feet away. His basilisk
stare moved from Little An to her, and he gave her a curt
nod.
"All harmony, Yi Concubine. I have "
"All harmony, Lord Sang," says she quietly, "but you
forget her Imperial Highness is in the room."
He grunted, and ducked his head towards the distant
women. "Her Imperial Highness's pardon. My business is
with his Highness the Son of the Son of Heaven. His sacred
presence is required in Pekin. The Prince I commands it."
"His Highness is going to Jehol," says she. "The Emperor
commands it."
Her tone rather than the words made his face crimson,
and I saw the cords of his bull neck stiffen in anger, but
instead of howling, as usual, he gave a contemptuous
snort.
"You have a vermilion decree, swaying the wide world?
No? Then we waste time. I'll take his Highness. I have an
escort."
"Chief Eunuch," says she, "take his Highness down to the
court ... at once." She stood as stately calm as ever, but I
252
caught the shake in her voice, and so did Sang, for he laughed
again.
"Stand still, bladder! Don't be a fool, Yi Concubine. Your
Imperial Guards hero is down there with a broken head, and
this fellow'll take my orders!" He jerked a thumb at my
Mongol, glanced in our direction, and noticed me for the
first time. For a moment he frowned, and then his eyes
dilated and his mouth gaped, which didn't improve his appearance
one bit. "That!" he bawled. "By death, what is it
doing here?"
"He is a Banner Chief of the barbarian army!" she retorted.
"A staff officer of the Big Barbarian himself "
"I know what he is! I asked how he came here!" His glare
fell on Little An, half-hidden behind Yehonala and clinging
to the small prince as though he were a lifebelt. "You capon!
Is this some of your work? No, you scum, you never
do anything but at her bidding!" He thrust out his jaw at
Yehonala. "Well? What is an enemy prisoner doing in the
Yi Concubine's pavilion?"
"I am not answerable to you!" Her voice trembled with
anger. "Now get out of my house! And knock your head as
you go, you low-born Mongol!"
He actually fell back a pace, and then he seemed to swell,
towering above her with both mailed hands raised, mouthing
like a maniac. My guard took a pace forward, but Sang
mastered himself, glaring from one to other of us, and his
dirty mind must have come to the right conclusion, for
suddenly he gave a snarling grin. "Ah! I begin to see! Well
. . . it's no matter. We'll put the foreign filth where he
belongs - in the Board of Punishments! And you," he shouted
at Yehonala, "can answer to the Supreme Tribunal . . . and
bring your own silk cord with you, traitress!" He gestured
to his men. "Take his Imperial Highness - and thatfan-qui rubbish!"
One of the Tartars stepped towards Yehonaia, none too
brisk, and she turned and snatched the boy from Little An,
pulling him close to her side. She was quivering like a deer,
but her eyes were blazing.
"Dare! Dare to touch him, you stable scum, and you'll die
for it! For treason and sacrilege! The Emperor will "
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"On the word of a faithless whore?" jeers Sang, and thrust
the Tartar brutally forward. "Fetch him, fool!"
The Tartar took another step, Little An screamed and
blundered bravely forward, arms windmilling, to bar his way,
and Yehonala swung the prince up in her arms, turned to
run in sudden panic, realised it was hopeless, and turned
again, helpless. The Tartar flung Little An aside, the ladies
behind wailed in terror, and Yehonala flung out a hand to
ward off the Tartar, crying out.
"Help me! Stop them! Help me!" And, by God, she was
calling to me.
Well, you know what follows when a beautiful young
woman, threatened by brutal enemies, turns to me in a frenzy
of entreaty, hand outstretched and eyes imploring; if she's
lucky I may roar for the bobbies as I slide over the sill. But
this was different, for while they'd been trading insults I'd
been calculating like sin, and I knew how it must be, even
before she hollered for help - if Sang prevailed, I was dead
meat; if I turned up trumps, Yehonala would see me right;
if Sang thought he could rule out the Mongol, he was wrong,
for the brute was not only an Imperial Guardsman worth
two Tartars any day, he had a mishandled chief to avenge,
and the sight of Yehonala threatened had been causing
him to bristle like a chivalrous gorilla. It was his size that
determined me, and the fact that there wasn't a sill to slide
over, anyway. It was now or never: I leaped from my chair,
crimson with fear, and roared:
"Sang-kol-in-sen! That lady and her child are under the
protection of Her Majesty's Government! Molest them at
your peril! I speak for Lord Elgin and the British Army, so
... so back off, d'you see?" And for good measure I added:
"You dirty dog, you!"
It stopped 'em dead in sheer amazement, Dick Dauntless
facing the stricken heathen, and I wished Elspeth could have
seen me just then - or perhaps, considering what Yehonala
looked like, better not. There was a breathless pause, and
then Sang went literally mad with rage, howling and lugging
out his sword. I yelped and sprang away, turning for the
sabre which I knew was on the wall, since Yehonala had
indicated it to An last night - and the damned thing wasn't
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there! Sang's blade whirled in a glittering arc, and I hurled
myself aside, bellowing, as it shattered a table in my rear.
There was the sabre, three yards along-1 leaped and snatched
it from the wall, whirling to meet another furious cut, roaring
to the Mongol to get on parade, and breaking ground as
Sang came after me, frothing like a pi-dog. On clear floor I
fell on guard, parrying two cuts to take his measure, and my
heart leaped as I realised I'd been right in one vital hope he
couldn't use a sabre to save himself. He was a blind,
furious lasher, so I exposed my flank, took the cut on the
forte, waited his lurching recovery, and ran him through the
left arm. (I ain't Guillaume Danet, you understand, but
Sang's swordplay would have broken the troop-sergeant's
heart.)
I needn't have fretted about the Mongol. One Tartar was
down, with his guts on the rug, and the other was in desperate
retreat, with my lad coming in foot and hand. I had a brief
glimpse of the room - wailing women stampeding for the
archway passage leading to the court; Little An carrying the
prince and herding them like a fat collie; Yehonala standing
half-way, watching us, clutching her fur to her neck - and
then Sang was on me again, spraying gore and hewing like a
woodman; oh, he was game. Right, you swine, thinks'I,
this'll read well in the Morning Post, and I went in to kill
him. I'd have done it, too, but the cowardly bastard got
behind a table, roaring for help; Yehonala suddenly cried
out, and I stole a glance behind - there were fur caps and
swords in the doorway, with the Mongol charging them.
More of Sang's riders, three at the least, but the Mongol was
holding them in the narrow entrance; useful chap he was.
"Die hard, Attila!" I roared to encourage him, took a last
cut at Sang, and turned to race along the room. Yehonala
was at the archway, glancing back anxiously while Little An,
who seemed to have got shot of the prince to one of the
women, pleaded with her to make haste. I seconded that as
I ran, for I wanted no one hindering my line of retreat: "Get
out, woman! Run for it! We'll stand 'em off!" By which I
meant that the Mongol would, but just as I came level with
him, moving smoothly, the mob in the doorway forced him
back, and I must turn to cover his flank.
255
He'd done for the original two, but had taken a couple of
cuts in the process, one an ugly gash on the face that was
running like a tap. There were four new swords against us,
and as the Mongol reeled I could only ply the Maltese
Cross for my very life (that's the Afghan's last resort, an
up-down-across pattern that no opponent can get by until
you fall down exhausted, which happens after about ten
seconds, in my condition). Then he recovered, and we retreated
shoulder to shoulder for the arch, while Sang came steaming up, with shouts and great action, damning 'em for
sluggards but keeping his distance.
That Mongol was a complete hand. I've never seen a faster
big man, and with his tremendous reach he could have given
my old chum de Gautet a few minutes' trouble. He fought
left-handed, with a short sword in his right, and didn't mind
at all taking a cut in a good cause; he stopped one with his
bare shoulder, grunted, and chopped like lightning - and
there was a head trundling away across the polished floor
while the Mongol bayed triumphantly, and the three other
Tartars checked aghast and reviewed the position, with Sang
going demented.
We were under the arch and into the passage, and since
there was room for only one I considerately went first, while
Genghiz turned and dared the foemen to come on, clashing
his hilts against his mailed chest and howling with laughter.
He seemed in such spirits that I left him to it, flying along
the passage and round the corner, and not so much as a
mouse-hole to hide in, so I must career down the stairs and
into the starlit dark of the walled court.
Two horse-palkis were clattering out and away along an
avenue of high impenetrable hedges; one remained, and
Yehonala was drawing aside its curtain, preparing to climb
in but looking back anxiously - for me, I like to think, for
she gave a little cry as I appeared. Little An was trying to
climb aboard the lead horse and making sad work of it,
squealing oaths and slipping under its neck; I heaved him up
bodily - it was like handling a mattress full of blancmange and
slapped the beast with the flat of my sabre. It started
forward, and as the paiki came by Yehonala had the curtain
raised; she said nothing, but stretched out her hand; I caught
256
it for a second, and she smiled; then the paiki was past, and
I got a foot on the shaft and swung aboard the rear horse and
we were away, the paiki swaying like a hammock between the
two beasts. As we lumbered down the avenue, I looked back;
the court was empty under the stars, which suggested that
my Mongol was still at profitable labour - and if you cry out
on me for a deserter, so I am, and you can spare your
sympathy for his opponents.
The avenue ran straight for half a mile, and we picked up
a good pace. With the panic of action over I was suddenly
reeling tired, and trembling at the thought of the risks I'd
run; the temptation to sink forward on the horse's mane,
sobbing with relief, mastered me for a moment, and then I
thought, sit up, you fool, you're still in the wood. The avenue
was curving now, and the hedge had thinned to a border of
bushes; two furlongs ahead there were lanterns burning, and
the helmets of horsemen - Jung Lu's troop waiting on the
Jehol road. Time to go, so I swung my leg over, gripped my
sabre, and hopped down. The paiki faded into the night,
there were faint shouts from the gate, and the lanterns were
moving up the avenue to meet it.40
Why did I slip my cable when I'd just won the gratitude
of a powerful and beautiful woman who was half-crazy about
me to start with? Well, I'll tell you: gratitude's a funny thing;
do a favour, and often as not you've made an enemy, or at
best a grudging friend. Folk hate to feel obliged. And in
Yehonala's case, how long would it have been before she
remembered how much dangerous knowledge I had of her
and her ambitions, and the debt had dwindled into insignificance,
with Little An putting in his twopenn'orth of hate?
Perhaps I misjudge her; perhaps she could feel gratitude
with the same intensity she gave to her vice, but I doubt it.
Gratitude feeds best on love, and the only love she had for
me was an insatiable appetite for jolly roger. I, on the other
hand, was perfectly ready for a change from Chink-meat and
yet, even now I can feel a stopping of the heart when I
see in memory that lovely pale oval mask suspended in the
blackness of the paiki, smiling at me, and the slim fingers
brushing for a moment across mine. Oh, she had a magic,
and it's with me still; when I saw her again, forty years later,
257
I was gulping like a boy. That was during the Boxer nonsense,
when she was "Old Buddha", still with China helpless in
those tiny silver talons. She'd hardly changed - a little
plumper in the face, more heavily-painted, but the eye was
as bright as a girl's, and the voice - when I heard those soft,
singing tones the years fell away, and I was in the Summer
Palace, on a sunlit lawn, watching that perfect profile against
the dark leaves, listening to the bells across the lake . . . She
didn't recognise the big, silver-whiskered grog-faced ruffian
among the diplomatic riff-raff, and I didn't make myself
known. We spoke for only a moment; I remember she talked
of Western dancing as two people holding hands and jumping
all over the room, and then she gave a little sigh and said:
"We should have thought it a very . . . tame amusement, in
my young day . . ."I wonder if she did recognise me?
Anyway, wild horses wouldn't have got me to Jehol; my
one thought was the army and safety, so I put the Pole Star
just abaft my left shoulder and set off on my last quiet stroll
through the Summer Palace; I was close by the boundary,
well clear of Sang and his scoundrels - supposing the Mongol
hadn't slaughtered them all, with luck - and knew that an
hour's easy march should bring me in reach of the Pekin
road; there I'd take stock and cast about for our fellows.
Mind you, looking back, I was uncommon reckless, for
heaven knew what Imps might be loose about the night; but
it seemed so quiet and serene under the starlight, with the
breeze soft in the branches and long cypress shadows reaching
across the lawns, the distant glimmer of a lake, the twinkle
of light from a pavilion half-hidden in the groves ... I
remember thinking as I walked, you'll never find such peace
again; you'll forget the blood and terror in which you came
to it and came away, and remember only the starlit garden
. . . her place . . . and call it heaven. As I moved silently up
the last slope, I looked back, and there it lay, fairyland on
earth, the last Elysium, stretching away in the dawn dark,
seen through the misty vision of her face.
It struck me that there might be some good portable loot
in the Ewen-ming-ewen, and never a better chance, with the
Empress's suite cleared out in haste, and everyone else either
fled or occupied with events around Pekin; it wasn't much
258
out of my way, so I slipped swiftly through the trees until I
saw the great gold Hall of Audience ahead, and scouted
through the bushes for a look-see. And d'you know what the
plundering Froggy bastards had got there first! I heard
their racket ahead and couldn't make out who it might be,
for our folk couldn't be so close, surely . . . then I tripped
over a dead eunuch, and saw there were about a dozen of
'em, still figures sprawled on the sward towards the great
gate; one poor fat sod was clutching a huge ornamental
snickersnee of carved ivory, and another had a little lady's
bow and golden arrows. And they'd tried to defend their
treasure house against European infantry . . .41
The hall entrance was lit by flickering lanterns, and people
were hurrying in and out; there were marching feet down by
the gate, and then I heard: "Halte! Sac a terre!" and I
whooped for joy and ran across the lawn shouting.
There was a young lieutenant posting pickets around the
building, and when I'd made myself known he was in a rare
frenzy, and I must see his captain, for I was the first prisoner
they'd seen, death of his life, and where were the others,
1'Abbe and M. Gommelle, and see, mon capitaine, un
colonel Anglais, quel phenomene, avec un glaive et les
pantalons Chines. I answered his questions as best I could,
and learned that they were the advance guard of a French
regiment sent to secure the northern approach to the city and
what was this place? Le Palais Estival, Ie residence
imperial, ma foi! Ici, Corporal Fromage, and listen to this!
Pardon? Oh, yes, there were British cavalry about somewhere,
but in the dark, who knew? Now, if I would excuse
him . . .
I sat on a rocket-box, dog tired, eating bread and issue
wine, watching an endless stream of chattering, yelling Frog
infantry swarming out of the Hall of Audience, weighed
down with bolts of silk, bundles of shimmering dragon robes,
jade vases, clocks, jewelled watches, pictures, everything
they could lay hands on. Some were wearing women's dresses
and hats; I remember one roaring bearded sergeant, with a
magnificent cloth of gold gown kilted up above his red
breeches, dancing a can-can as his mates yelled and clapped;
another was skimming plumed picture hats up in the air like
259
a juggler's plates; my little lieutenant had a cashmere shawl
embroidered with tiny gems about his shoulders, and the
major was casting a connoisseur's eye over a fine gilt-framed
painting and exclaiming that it was a Petitot, as ever was.
There were enormous piles of loot growing in the courtyard
- silks here, clocks there, paintings over yonder, vases farther
on ... very orderly in their plundering were our Gallic
allies, but what would you? When grandpapa has followed
Napoleon, you know how such things should be done, so the
French army loot by numbers, with a shrewd eye to quality,
while the indiscriminate British will lift (or smash) anything
that comes in their way, just for the fun of it.
It was sunrise, and the Frogs were exclaiming over the
sight of the Hall of Audience gleaming in the first rays,
shading their eyes and running off for a better look, when I
managed to collar a mule and set off at a nice amble down
the Pekin road. The French were camped everywhere, but
only a mile along I struck a troop of Dragoons boiling their
dixies by the roadside. No, we weren't in Pekin yet, and
Grant intended to force a capitulation by wheeling up his
guns to the Anting Gate and putting his finger on the trigger,
so to speak; so the campaign was over. I commandeered a
horse, and a few minutes later was trotting in to the grounds
of a fine temple where advance head-quarters had been set
up, and the first thing I saw was Elgin still in his nightshirt,
the rising sun gilding his pate, munching a bun and waving
a bottle of beer at a big map on an easel, with Hope Grant
and the staff ringed round him.
There was a tremendous yell when I have in view, and a
tumult of questions as I slid from the saddle, and fellows
slapping me on the back and shouting: "The prisoners are
safe!" and hurrahing, and Elgin came bustling to shake my
hand, crying:
"Flashman, my dear chap! We'd given you up for dead!
Thank God you're safe! My dear fellow, wherever have you
been? This is capital! My boy, are you hurt? Have those
villains ill-used you?"
I couldn't answer, because all of a sudden I felt very weak
and wanted to blub. I think it was the kind words - the first
I'd heard in ever so long, although it was barely three weeks
260
- and the English voices and everyone looking so cheery and
glad to see me, and the anxious glower on Elgin's bulldog
face at the thought that I'd been mistreated, and just the
knowledge that I was home. Then someone whistled, exclaiming,
and they were all staring at the sabre which I'd
hung from my saddle, dried blood all over the blade - Sang's
blood, and that struck me as ever so funny, for some reason,
and I'd have laughed if I'd had the energy. But I just stood
mum and choking while they cried out and shouted questions
and rejoiced, until Hope Grant shouldered them all aside,
pretty rough, even Elgin, and pushed me down on to a stool,
and put a cup of tea in my hand, and stood with his hand
round my shoulders, not saying a word. Then I blubbed.
261
Survival apart, the great thing in intelligence
work is knowing how to report. Well, you saw that at the
start of this memoir, when I danced truth's gossamer tightrope
before Parkes at Canton. The principal aim, remember,
is to win the greatest possible credit to yourself, which calls
not only for the exclusion of anything that might damage
you, but also for the judicious understatement of those things
which tell in your favour, if any; brush 'em aside, never boast,
let appearances speak for themselves. This was revealed to
me at the age of nineteen, when I woke in Jalallabad hospital
to find myself a hero - provided I lay still and made the right
responses. Then, you must convince your chiefs that what
you're telling 'em is important, which ain't difficult, since
they want to believe you, having chiefs of their own to satisfy;
make as much mystery of your methods as you can; hint
what a thoroughgoing ruffian you can be in a good cause,
but never forget that innocence shines brighter than any
virtue ("Flashman? Extraordinary fellow - kicks 'em in the
crotch with the heart of a child"); remember that silence
frequently passes for shrewdness, and that while suppressio
veri is a damned good servant, suggestio faisi is a perilous
master. Selah.
I stuck to these principles in making my verbal report
to Elgin that afternoon - and for once they were almost
completely wasted. This was because the first words I'd
uttered, after gulping Grant's tea, were to tell him that there
was a vermilion death sentence on Parkes and the other
prisoners; this caused such a sensation that, once I'd told all
I knew about it (which wasn't much; I didn't know even
where they were confined) I was forgotten in the uproar of
activity, with diplomatic threats being sent into Pekin, and
Probyn ordered to stand by with a flying squadron. And
262
when I sat down with Elgin later, and gave him my word-ofmouth,
it was plain that the fate of our people was the only
thing on his mind, reasonably enough; my account of the
secret intrigues of the Imperial court (which I thought a
pretty fair coup) interested him hardly at all.
It cramped my style, which, as I've indicated, tends to be
bluff and laconic, making little of such hardships as binding,
caging, and starvation. "Oh, they knocked me about a bit,
you know," is my line, but he wasn't having it. He wanted
every detail of my treatment, and damn the politics; so he
got it, including a fictitious account of how they'd hammered
me senseless before dragging me, gasping defiance, to audience
with the Emperor, so that I didn't remember much
about it (that seemed the best way out of that embarrassing
episode). I needn't have fretted; Elgin was still grinding his
teeth over Sang's threatening me with death by the thousand
cuts, and clenching his fist at the butchery of Nolan.
My account of captivity in the Summer Palace, which I'd
planned as my piece de resistance, fell flat as your hat. I gave
him the plain, unvarnished truth, too - omitting only the
trifling detail that the Emperor's favourite concubine had
been grinding me breathless every night. I believe in discretion
and delicacy, you see - for one thing, you never know
who'll run tattling to Elspeth. Anyway, I'd have thought my
story sufficiently sensational as it was.
He received it almost impatiently, prime political stuff and
all. I now realise that, even if he hadn't had the prisoners
obsessing him, he still wouldn't have been much interested
in all the tattle I'd eavesdropped between Yehonala and
Little An - he was there to ratify a treaty and show the
Chinese that we meant business; the last thing he wanted
was entanglement in Manchoo politics, with himself acting
as king-maker, or anything of that sort. He brightened briefly
at my description of the set-to with Sang and his braves
(which I kept modestly brief, knowing that my bloodstained
sabre had already spoken more eloquently than I could), but
when I'd done his first question was:
"Excepting Prince Sang's murderous attack, was no violence
offered to you at the Summer Palace? None at all? No
rigorous confinement or ill-usage?"
263
"Hardly, my lord," says I, and just for devilment I added:
"The Yi Concubine's ladies did throw apples at me, on one
occasion."
"Good God!" cries he. "Apples?" He stared at me. "In
play, you mean?"
"I believe it was in a spirit of mischief, my lord. They were
quite small apples."
"Small apples? I'll be damned," he muttered, and thought
hard for a moment, frowning at the scenery and then at me.
"Did you obtain any inkling of the . . . purpose for which
you were . . . kept at the house of this . . . Yi Concubine,
did you say?"
"I gathered she had never seen a barbarian before," says
I gravely. "She seemed to regard me as a curiosity."
"Damned impertinence!" says he, but I noticed his pate
had gone slightly pink. "What sort of a woman is she? In her
person, I mean."
I reflected judiciously. "Ravishing is the word that best
describes her, my lord. Quite ravishing ... in the oriental
style."
"Oh! I see." He digested this. "And her character? Strong?
Retiring? Amiable, perhaps? I take it she's an educated
woman?"
"Not amiable, precisely." I shook my head. "Strongwilled,
certainly. Exacting, purposeful. . . immensely energetic.
I should say she was extremely well-educated, my
lord."
At this point he noticed that his young secretary, who'd
been recording my report, was agog with hopeful interest,
so he concluded rather abruptly by saying I'd done extremely
well, congratulated me on my safe return, told the secretary
to make a fair copy for me to sign, and dismissed me, shooting
me a last perplexed look; that business about being pelted with
apples by harem beauties had unsettled him, I could see. He
wasn't alone, either; outside I found the young pen-pusher
blinking at me enviously, obviously wishing that he, too, could
be regarded as a curiosity by ravishing orientals.
"I say!" says he. "The Summer Palace must be a jolly
place!"
"Damned jolly," says I. "Did you get it all down?"
264
"I say! Oh, yes, every word! It was frightfully interesting,
you know - not at all like most reports." He peered at his
notes through steamy spectacles. "Ah, yes ... what's a
concubine?"
"Harlequin's lady-love in the pantomime . . . no, don't
put that down, you young juggins! A concubine is a Chinese
nobleman's personal whore."
"I say! How d'you spell it?"
I told him - and what he told others in his turn I don't
care to think, but just to show you how rumours run and
reputations are made, Desborough of the Artillery swore to
me later that he'd heard one of his gunners telling his chum
that there was no daht abaht it, Flash 'Arry 'ad got isself
took prisoner a-purpose, see, 'cos 'e was beloved by this
yeller hint, the Empress o' China, an' 'im an' Sam Collinson,
wot was jealous, 'ad fought a bloody duel over 'er, an' Flash
'Arry touched the barstid in five places, strite up, an' then
cut 'is bleedin' 'ead orf, see?
Strange how close fiction can come to truth, ain't it? The
oddest thing of all was that the part of the yarn which did
gain some acceptance, among quite sensible people, too, was
that I'd deliberately allowed myself to be captured, as a
clever way of getting into the enemy's head-quarters. Folk'11
believe anything, especially if they've invented it themselves.
Anyway, you can see why I don't count my report
to Elgin entirely wasted.
Later that day he and Grant and our senior commanders
went to the Ewen-ming-ewen, officially to view the splendours,
but in fact to make sure that the Frogs didn't pick it
clean before our army got its share. I was on hand, and
absolutely heard Montauban protesting volubly that no looting
whatever had taken place - this with his rascals still
streaming out of the Hall of Audience with everything but
the floor-tiles, and the piles of spoil filling the great courtyard.
Some of our early-comers, I noticed, were already among the
plunderers; a party of Sikh cavalry were offering magnificent
bolts of coloured silk to the later arrivals at two dollars a
time, and the Frogs, who'd had the best of it, were doing a
fine trade in jade tablets, watches, jewelled masks, furs,
ornamental weapons, enamels, toys, and robes, and finding
265
no lack of takers. The yard was like a tremendous gaudy
market, for loot from the other buildings near at hand was
being brought in as well, and fellows were bargaining away
what they couldn't carry.
Elgin watched in bleak disgust, with Montauban hopping
at his elbow crying, ah, but this is merely to make the
inventory, is it not, so that all can be divided fairly among
the allies; milor' might rest assured that every item would be
accounted for, so that all should benefit.
"What a splendid place it has been," says Elgin sadly,
standing in the entrance to the great golden hall. "And now,
desolation." The floor was covered with broken shards of
glass and jade and porcelain, broken cabinetwork and torn
hangings, and gangs of Frogs and Chink villagers and our
own early birds were swarming everywhere after the last
pickings, the vast hollow chamber echoing to their yells of
triumph and disappointment, the smashing of furniture and
pottery that was too big to carry, the oaths and laughter and
quarrelling. "No credit to our vaunted civilisation, gentlemen,"
says Elgin, and everyone looked sober, except Montauban,
who sulked.
"Can't stop it," says Hope Grant, casting a bright professional
eye and tugging his whisker. "Soldier's privilege.
Time immemorial." He glanced at me. "Remember Lucknow?"
"It
is the waste that offends!" cries Elgin. "I daresay this
place contained a million yesterday; how much would it fetch
now? Fifty thousand? Bah! Plunder is one thing, but sheer
wanton destruction . . ."He shook his head angrily.
Wolseley, consulting a notebook, said that of course this
was only a fraction of the Summer Palace, which was of vast
extent, no doubt packed with stuff . . . Flashman probably
knew it best of anybody, at which they all fell silent and
looked to me; you never in your life saw so many beady eyes.
Just for a second I had a vision of that pretty pavilion by the
lake, and Yehonala's white hand placing a delicate ivory
fairy-piece on the game board just so, the silver nails reflected
in the polished jade, her ladies' silken sleeves rustling - and
felt a sudden anger and revulsion - but what was the odds,
when they'd find it anyway? And why not, after all? We'd
266
won. The irony was that if the Manchoos had kept their word
on the treaty to begin with, or even compromised a fortnight
ago, we'd never have been near the place.
I said there were hundreds of buildings, palaces and
temples and so forth, spread over many miles of parkland;
that the Ewen, where we stood, was probably the biggest,
since it contained the Imperial apartments, but that the rest
was pretty fine, too.
"Good spot o' boodle, though, what?" says someone; I
said I supposed there'd be enough to go round.
At this there was great debate about the need for prize
agents who would select prime pieces for each army, the rest
going for individual spoil. Grant said he would have all the
British share sold and paid out to the troops as prize money
on the spot, rather than wait for government adjudication
which (although he didn't say so) would have meant cut
shares at the end of the day. Some ass said that was unauthorised;
Grant said he didn't give a dam, he was doing it anyway.
"Who took Pekin?" says he. "Commons committee? No
such thing. Our fellows. Very good. Wrath o' the gods? I'll
stand bail." He did it, too.
Wolseley, who was a dab artist, was in a fidget to be
exercising his pencil, so after the seniors had departed I
strolled with him among the buildings, and we watched the
looters gutting the place - as Elgin had observed, and I knew
from India, they destroyed fifty times what they took away.
"See how they enjoy destruction!" says Joe, sketching for
dear life while I smoked and studied. "It's a marvellous
thing, the effect of plunder on soldiers. I suppose they feel
real power for once in their wretched lives - not the power
to kill, they know all about that, it's just brute force against
a body - but the greater power to destroy a creation of the
mind, something they know they could never make. Look at
that! Just look at 'em, will you?"
He was pointing up at a gallery where a mob of Whitechapel
scruff had found huge boxes of the most delicate
yellow eggshell porcelain, priceless pieces varying in size from vases four feet high to the tiniest tea-cups, each wrapped
carefully in fine tissue. They were throwing 'em down from
the balcony in a golden shower, to smash on the floor in
267
explosions of a million glittering fragments so light that they
drifted like a snow-mist through the hall. Those below ran
laughing among them, scattering them and making them
swirl like golden smoke, yelling to the chaps above to throw
down more, which they did until the whole place seemed to
be filled with it.
"Can't draw that," grumbles Joe. "Hang it all, Turner
himself couldn't catch that colour! Odd, ain't it - that's quite
lovely, too."
We watched another gang, British, French, and Sikhs,
man-handling an enormous vase, twenty feet if it was an
inch, all inlaid with dazzling mosaic work, to the top of a flight
of steps, poising it with a "One-two-three-and-AWAY!" and
hurrahing like mad as it smashed with an explosion like
artillery, scattering gleaming shards everywhere. And at the
same time there were quiet coves going about methodically
examining a jade bowl here and an enamel tablet there,
consulting and appraising and dropping 'em in their knapsacks
- you know that porcelain statuette on the mantel, or
the pretty screen with dragons on it that Aunt Sophie's so
proud of? That's what they were picking up, while alongside
'em Patsy Hooligan was kicking a door in because he couldn't
be bothered to try the handle, and Pierre Maquereau was
grimacing at himself in a Sevres mirror and taking the butt
to his own reflection, and Yussef Beg was carving up an oil
painting with his bayonet, and Joe Tomkins was painting
a moustache on an ivory Venus, haw-hawing while Jock
MacHaggis used it as an Aunt Sally, and the little Chinaman
from down the road - oh, don't forget him - was squealing
with glee as he ripped up cloth-of-gold cushions and capered
among the feathers.
And through it all went the quiet strollers, like Joe and
me, and the tall fair fellow in the Sapper coat whom we
found in a room that had once contained hundreds of jewelled
timepieces and mechanical toys, and was now ankle-deep in
glittering rubble. He had found an item undamaged, and was
grinning delightedly over it.
"I really must have this!" cries he. "She will be delighted
with it, don't you think? Such exquisite craftsmanship!" He
sighed fondly. "What pleasure to look at a gift for a dear
268
one at home, and think of the joy with which it will be
received."
It was one of the little chiming watches, enamelled and
inlaid with diamonds; he held it up for Joe and me to look
at, exclaiming at the clear tone of the bell.
"See, mama - it rings!" thinks I to myself - dear God, had
that been only yesterday? She would be safe in Jehol now,
with her dying Emperor and the little son through whom she
hoped to rule China. What would she think, when she came
back to her beloved Summer Palace?
We complimented the fair chap on his good taste. I'd never
seen him before, but I knew him well later on. He was
Chinese Gordon.
The three of us took a turn in the gardens, and watched a
group of enthusiasts digging up shrubs and flowers and sticking
them in jade vases niched from the rooms. "I can see
these taking splendidly in Suffolk!" cries one. "I say, Jim, if
only we can keep 'em alive, what a capital rockery we shall have!" Give him the transport, he'd have had the blasted
trees up.
Suddenly I stopped short at the sight of a round doorway
in the third palace; it was the one, scarred now with shotholes.
We went in, and the ante-room that had been hung
with the Son of Heaven's quilted dragon robes was bare as
a cupboard, and not a trace of the musk with which Little
An had sprayed me; no wonder, since the soldiery had been
pissing on the floor. But here was the little corridor to the
Chamber of Divine Repose; the great golden door hung half
off its hinges, its precious mouldings stripped away and the
handle hacked off. The tortoiseshell plaques of the concubines
were scattered about, some of them broken; Gordon turned
one over. "What can these be - tokens in some sort of game,
d'you suppose?" I said I was fairly sure he was right.
My heart was beating faster as I followed the others into
the room; I didn't really want to see it, but I looked about
anyway. The filthy pictures and implements of perversion
had gone (trust the French), the mattress of the great bed
had been dragged from the alcove and hacked to shreds, its
purple silks torn, the gold pillows ripped open. But it was
the shattered hole in the dressing-table mirror that made me
269
wince; that was where her lovely reflection had looked out
at me, while she painted carefully at her lower lip; that
broken stool had supported the wonderful body, with one
perfect leg thrust out to the side, the silver toes brushing the
carpet. Yet even amid that wreckage, while the others gaped
and speculated foolishly about whose room it had been, there
was a fierce secret joy about remembering. How the others
would have stared if they'd known; Gordon would probably
have burst into tears.
I didn't know which was her tortoiseshell plaque, but I took
one anyway, slipping it into my pocket with the jewellery
and gold I'd picked up on our walk - though none of it
compared with the black jade chessmen I collared in the
Birthday Garden a couple of days later; no one else would
even look at 'em, which showed judgment, since the experts
will tell you that black jade doesn't exist. I don't mind; all I
know is that while Lucknow paid for Gandamack Lodge,
those chessmen bought me the place on Berkeley Square.
But I still have the tortoiseshell plaque; Elspeth stands her
bedside teapot on it.42
* * *
"The prisoners are safe!" someone had hollered when I first
rode into Elgin's headquarters, supposing that my appearance
heralded the return of the others. They weren't, and it
didn't although hopes ran high when Loch and Parkes turned
up a day later; they'd been released fifteen minutes before
their vermilion death warrant arrived at the Board of Punishments.
Whether Yehonala or the mandarin who had special
charge of them, Hang-ki, had held it back, or whether they
were just plain lucky, we never discovered. They'd had a
bad time: Parkes had escaped with binding and hammering,
but Loch had been dungeoned and shackled and put to the
iron collar, and from what he'd seen he suspected that some
of the others had been tortured to death. Whether Elgin had
any earlier suspicion of this I can't say; I think he may have,
from the way he questioned me about my treatment. In any
event, his one thought now was to get them out.
Grant had already positioned his guns against the Anting
270
Gate, and the word went to Prince Kung, the Emperor's
brother and regent, that unless Pekin surrendered and the
prisoners were released, the bombardment would begin. And still the Chinese put off the inevitable, with futile messages
and maddening delays, while Elgin aged ten years under the
mortal fear that if he did start shooting, the prisoners would
be goners for certain ... so he must wait, and hope, and
question Parkes and Loch and me again and again about our
treatment, and what we thought might be happening to the
others.
I'd escaped on the Sunday; Parkes and Loch arrived on
the Monday; it was Friday before eight Sikhs and three
Frenchmen were set free, and when Elgin had talked to them
he came out grey-faced and told Grant that he was to open fire
the following noon. At the eleventh hour Kung surrendered and
the following night the first bodies came out.
They came on carts after dark, four of them, two British,
two Sikh, and had to be examined by torchlight; when the
lids came off the coffins there were cries of horror and
disbelief, and one or two of the younger fellows turned away,
physically sick; after that no one said a word, except to
whisper: "Christ. . . that's Anderson!" or "That's Mahomed
Bux - my daffadarF' or "That's De Normann ... is it.?"
Elgin stopped at each coffin in turn, with a face like stone;
then he said harshly to replace the lids, and stood turning
his hat in his hands, staring before him, and I saw him biting
his lips and the tears shining in the torchlight. Then he walked
quickly away, without a word.
The other bodies came two days later; they had been used
in the same fashion, fourteen of them, and if Elgin had given
the word, our army would have slaughtered every man in
Pekin.
Now, I've never aimed to horrify you for horrifying's sake,
or revelled in gory detail with the excuse that I'm just being
a faithful historian. But I'm bound to tell you what the
Chinese had done, if you are to understand the sequel - and
judge it, if you've a mind to.
The bodies were in quicklime, but it was still easy to see
what had happened. I told you the Chinese tie their captives
as tightly as possible, so that eventually the hands and feet
271
wince; that was where her lovely reflection had looked out
at me, while she painted carefully at her lower lip; that
broken stool had supported the wonderful body, with one
perfect leg thrust out to the side, the silver toes brushing the
carpet. Yet even amid that wreckage, while the others gaped
and speculated foolishly about whose room it had been, there
was a fierce secret joy about remembering. How the others
would have stared if they'd known; Gordon would probably
have burst into tears.
I didn't know which was her tortoiseshell plaque, but I took
one anyway, slipping it into my pocket with the jewellery
and gold I'd picked up on our walk - though none of it
compared with the black jade chessmen I collared in the
Birthday Garden a couple of days later; no one else would
even look at 'em, which showed judgment, since the experts
will tell you that black jade doesn't exist. I don't mind; all I
know is that while Lucknow paid for Gandamack Lodge,
those chessmen bought me the place on Berkeley Square.
But I still have the tortoiseshell plaque; Elspeth stands her
bedside teapot on it.42
* * *
"The prisoners are safe!" someone had hollered when I first
rode into Elgin's headquarters, supposing that my appearance
heralded the return of the others. They weren't, and it
didn't although hopes ran high when Loch and Parkes turned
up a day later; they'd been released fifteen minutes before
their vermilion death warrant arrived at the Board of Punishments.
Whether Yehonala or the mandarin who had special
charge of them, Hang-ki, had held it back, or whether they
were just plain lucky, we never discovered. They'd had a
bad time: Parkes had escaped with binding and hammering,
but Loch had been dungeoned and shackled and put to the
iron collar, and from what he'd seen he suspected that some
of the others had been tortured to death. Whether Elgin had
any earlier suspicion of this I can't say; I think he may have,
from the way he questioned me about my treatment. In any
event, his one thought now was to get them out.
Grant had already positioned his guns against the Anting
270
Gate, and the word went to Prince Kung, the Emperor's
brother and regent, that unless Pekin surrendered and the
prisoners were released, the bombardment would begin. And still the Chinese put off the inevitable, with futile messages
and maddening delays, while Elgin aged ten years under the
mortal fear that if he did start shooting, the prisoners would
be goners for certain ... so he must wait, and hope, and
question Parkes and Loch and me again and again about our
treatment, and what we thought might be happening to the
others.
I'd escaped on the Sunday; Parkes and Loch arrived on
the Monday; it was Friday before eight Sikhs and three
Frenchmen were set free, and when Elgin had talked to them
he came out grey-faced and told Grant that he was to open fire
the following noon. At the eleventh hour Kung surrendered and
the following night the first bodies came out.
They came on carts after dark, four of them, two British,
two Sikh, and had to be examined by torchlight; when the
lids came off the coffins there were cries of horror and
disbelief, and one or two of the younger fellows turned away,
physically sick; after that no one said a word, except to
whisper: "Christ. . . that's Anderson!" or "That's Mahomed
Bux - my daffadarF' or "That's De Normann ... is U?"
Elgin stopped at each coffin in turn, with a face like stone;
then he said harshly to replace the lids, and stood turning
his hat in his hands, staring before him, and I saw him biting
his lips and the tears shining in the torchlight. Then he walked
quickly away, without a word.
The other bodies came two days later; they had been used
in the same fashion, fourteen of them, and if Elgin had given
the word, our army would have slaughtered every man in
Pekin.
Now, I've never aimed to horrify you for horrifying's sake,
or revelled in gory detail with the excuse that I'm just being
a faithful historian. But I'm bound to tell you what the
Chinese had done, if you are to understand the sequel - and
judge it, if you've a mind to.
The bodies were in quicklime, but it was still easy to see
what had happened. I told you the Chinese tie their captives
as tightly as possible, so that eventually the hands and feet
271
burst and mortify; some of our people had been bound for
weeks, a few au crapaudine (hands and feet in the small of
the back), some hung up, some with heavy chains; many had
had their bonds soaked to make them tighter, others had
been flogged. I'll add only that if, in a Chinese prison, you
get the least cut or scratch . . . good-night; there's a special
kind of maggot, by the million, and they eat you alive,
agonisingly, sometimes for weeks. So you see, as I said
earlier, there's nothing ingenious about Chinese torture;
there don't need to be. They just rot you slowly to death,
and the lucky ones are Brabazon and the little French padre,
who were beheaded at Pah-li-chao, like Nolan.
"It is the uselessness of it that defeats me. If they had
wanted to wring information from us, at least torture would
be understandable. But this had no purpose. It was the
wanton cruelty of men who enjoyed inflicting pain for its
own sake, knowing that if retribution followed, it would not
fall on them personally. I mean the Emperor, and Sang, and
Prince I, and the like. For the Emperor certainly knew; De
Normann's torture began in the royal apartments. Indeed
they knew."
This was Harry Parkes, lean and pale but as stubbornly
urbane as ever, although his drawl shook a bit when he told
me how Loch, when he was sure he was going to die, had
sung "Rule, Britannia" to let the others hear; and of Trooper
Phipps, who'd kept everyone's spirits up with jokes when he
was dying in agony; and Anderson, telling his sowars not to
cry out, for the honour of the regiment; and old Daffadar
Mahomed Bux, with no hands left, damning his torturers for
giving him pork to eat. Even so, Parkes and Loch had more
Christian forgiveness towards their captors than I care for;
given my way, I'd have collared Sang and Prince I and the
whole foul gang, and turned 'em over to the wives and
daughters of our Afghan troopers, if I'd had to drag 'em the
whole way to Peshawar to do it.43
What riled everyone was that the Chinks had been careful
to surrender on terms before we'd seen the bodies, so there
was no hope of the mandarins being punished as they deserved.
How to make 'em pay - that was the question that
ran through the army camped before Pekin, and Elgin sent
272
word to Kung that there'd be no talk of treaty-signing, or
indeed any talk at all, until he'd decided how to avenge our
people. Diplomatic claptrap, thinks I; we'll let the swine get
away with it, as usual. I didn't know the Big Barbarian.
He took a day to think about it, brooding alone under the
trees in the temple garden, wearing a face that kept us all at
a distance, except Grant. He and Elgin talked for about an
hour - at least Elgin did, while Grant listened and nodded
and presently retired to his tent to put his bull fiddle through
its paces something cruel. "That's his way of beating his
wife," says Wolseley. "Summat's in the wind that he don't
like - who's going to inquire, eh?" No one else volunteered,
so during a pause in the cacophony I loafed in and found
him staring at the manuscript on his music stand, with his
pencil behind his ear. I asked what was up.
"Finished," says he. "Not right. Can't help it."
"What's finished and not right?"
"Quartet. Piano, violins, and 'cello." He grunted impatiently.
"Journeyman work. Just to have to perform it.
See what's amiss then."
"Oh, absolutely," says I. "It'll come right, I daresay, if
you keep whistling it to yourself. But, general sahib . : .
what's Elgin going to do?"
He turned those bright eyes and tufted brows on me, for
about three minutes, and picked up his bull fiddle. "Man's
in torment," says he. "Difficult." He began to saw away
again, so I gave up and went back to the mess to report
failure.
We weren't kept long in suspense. The last bodies came in
next day, and after he'd seen them Elgin called an immediate
meeting of all the leading men from both armies, with Baron
Gros, the French envoy, sharing the table-top with him, and
Parkes, Loch, and myself sitting by. He was wearing his
frock-coat, which was a portent, since he was used to roll
about in flannels and open neck, with a cricket belt and a
handkerchief round his head. But he seemed easy enough,
pouring a lemonade for Gros, asking if Montauban's cold
were any better, making his opening statement in a quiet,
measured way - just from his style, I was positive he'd
memorised it carefully beforehand.
273
"It is necessary," says he without preamble, "to mark in
a manner that cannot soon be forgotten, the punishment we
are bound to award for the treachery and brutality which
have characterised the Chinese Emperor's policy, and which
have resulted in the cruel murder of so many officers and
men. Of the Emperor's personal implication, and that of his
leading mandarins, there can be no doubt. So, while the
punishment must be apparent to the whole Chinese Empire,
I am most anxious that it should fall, and be seen to fall,
only on the Emperor and his chief nobles, who were fully
aware of, and responsible for, these atrocious crimes."
He paused, looking round the table, and I wondered for
a moment if he was going to propose hanging the pack of
'em, Emperor and all; the same thought may have been
exercising Gros (a genial snail-eater who'd endeared himself
to our troops by calling out: " 'Allo, camarades, cheer-o!"
whenever they saluted him). He was wearing a worried
frown, but Elgin's next words should have put his mind at
rest.
"It is manifestly impossible to proceed directly against the
persons of the culprits, even if we wished to, since they are
beyond our reach. Considering the temper of the army which,
I confess, expresses my own feeling - that is perhaps
as well. It remains to punish them by other means. Them
and them alone."
He glanced at Gros, who came in nineteen to the dozen
to say that milor' was bowling a perfect length, it leaped to
the eye, the offenders must be made to account for their
conduct unpardonable, and no nonsense. It remained only
to determine a suitable method of expressing the just indignation
of the Powers, and to "Precisely,
monsieur Ie baron," says Elgin. "And I have
so determined. After careful deliberation, I can see only one
way to mark to the Chinese Empire, and to the whole world,
our abhorrence of these wanton and cruel acts of treachery
and bloodshed. I am therefore requesting the Commanderin-Chief-"
he nodded towards Grant - "to take the requisite
steps for the complete destruction of the Summer Palace."
My first thought was that I hadn't heard right; my second,
what a perfectly nonsensical idea: someone murders twenty
274
people, so you plough up his garden. Others seemed to
share my thoughts: Gros and Montauban were staring blank
bewilderment, Parkes was looking thoughtfully at the sky,
Hope Grant was pursing his lips, which in him was the
equivalent of leaping up and beating his forehead; Loch's
mouth was open. Gros was just drawing breath when Elgin
went on:
"Before you respond, gentlemen, permit me to observe
that this is no hasty decision. It is based on what seem to me to
be compelling reasons." The bulldog face was expressionless,
but he tapped a finger to emphasise each point. "Bear in
mind that we have no quarrel with the people of China, who
are in no way to blame; they do not suffer by this penalty.
The Emperor and nobles suffer by the loss of their most
precious possession; they suffer also in their pride because
their punishment, and their sole guilt, are made plain for the
world to see, and the Chinese people are made aware of
their Emperor's shame. Nothing could show more clearly
that he is not omnipotent, as he pretends; nothing could
demonstrate so clearly our detestation of his perfidy and
cruelty."
He sat with his hands flat on the table, waiting for the
storm of protest which he guessed was coming from Gros,
and perhaps as much from pique at not being consulted
beforehand, as from genuine disapproval, the normally
amiable little Frenchman weighed in like a good 'un.
"Milor'! I am astonished! It grieves me extremely to have to
disagree with your lordship before these gentlemen assembled,
but I cannot accept this . . . this extraordinary proposal! It
... it... appears to me to have no relevance, this! It is ...
unthinkable." He took a deep breath. "I must beg your
lordship to reconsider!"
"I have, monsieur Ie baron," says Elgin quietly. "With
great care, I assure you."
"But . . . forgive me, milor', you appear to contradict
yourself! You say we must punish the Emperor - with which
I and all agree - but not the people of China! Yet you propose
the destruction, the desecration ofa. . .a national shrine of
China, the repository of its ancient civilisation, its art, its
culture, its genius, its learning!" He was in full Gallic spate
275
by now, all waving hands and eyebrows, bouncing in his
chair. "What is this but an insult, of the most gross, to the
very soul of China?"
"If it were that, I should not have proposed it," says Elgin.
"The Summer Palace is not a shrine of any kind, unless to
Imperial luxury and vanity. It is the Emperor's private
pleasure park, and not one of the millions of ordinary Chinese
has ever been inside it, or cares a straw for it and its treasures.
If they think of it at all, it must be as a monument to human
greed, built on extortion and suffering. China has bled to
make that place, and China will not weep for its loss, believe
me, monsieur Ie baron."
The fact that he said this as though he'd been reading the
minutes of the last meeting, did nothing to cool Gros's
indignation. He gasped for breath, and found it.
"And the treasures, then? Are they nothing? The irreplaceable
works of art, the sublime craftsmanship, the priceless
carvings and paintings and jewellery? Are they to be
vandalised, to signal our abhorrence of the crime of a few
guilty noblemen? Are we to punish their barbarism by an act
infinitely more barbaric? By destroying a thing of infinite
beauty, of incalculable value? It is ... it is out of all proportion,
milor'!"
"Out of proportion?" For the first time there was a touch
of colour on Elgin's cheek, but his voice was even quieter
than before. "That is a matter of opinion. A few moments
ago you and I, monsieur Ie baron, looked on something
which had been infinitely more beautiful, and of incalculably
greater value than anything ever created by a Chinese architect:
the body of a soldier of the Queen. His name was Ayub
Khan. You saw what Chinese civilisation had done to him -"
"Milor', that is not just!" Gros was on his feet, white-faced.
"You know very well I am as enraged as yourself at the
atrocities committed upon our people! But I ask you, what
can it profit your good soldier, or any other of those martyred,
to take revenge in this fashion, by destroying . . . something
with which they, and their deaths, had nothing to do?"
"Please, sir, take your seat again," says Elgin rising, "and
with it my assurance that I intended no reflection on your
humanity or your concern for our dead comrades." Didn't
276
you, though, thinks I. He waited until Gros had sat down
again. "There is no way to profit, or adequately to avenge
them. My purpose is to punish their murderers in a way that
will best bring down their pride and publish their infamy.
That is why I shall burn the Summer Palace, unless your
excellency can suggest a suitable alternative."
Poor Gros stared at him helplessly, and waved his hands.
"If it seems good to destroy some building - why, then, let
it be the Board of Punishments, where the crimes were
committed! What could be more fitting?"
"I've heard that suggestion," says Elgin dryly. "It emanated,
I believe, from the Russian Mission at Pekin - to burn
the Board and erect a suitable memorial on the site to
Chinese perfidy. I can think of nothing better calculated to
inflame hatred of our two countries among ordinary Chinese.
I hesitate, of course, to conclude that that is why the Russians
suggested it. You would say, monsieur Ie baron?"
"Only . . . only ..." Gros shrugged in real distress. "Ah,
milor', you think only of the effect on the Emperor and the
others! But consider another effect - on the honour of our
countries and ourselves! Think how such an act will be
regarded in the world! It is not the Emperor of China who
will be disgraced by what all civilised peoples must see as a
... as a barbarism, grossier, incivilise! Are we to bear the
brand of Attila and Alaric, merely to punish the Emperor's
vanity?" And possibly encouraged by the approving cries of
his own folk, and the doubtful looks of some of ours, the
silly ass put his great Frog foot right in it. "Ah, surely, milor',
you of all men must be aware of what ... of what public
opinion ..." Realising his gaffe, he broke off, shaking his
head. "Ah, Dieu! The destruction of precious works of art
is not well regarded!" he finished snappishly.
Even the other Frogs were trying to look elsewhere;
Parkes, beside me, sighed and murmured something about
"Gros by name and nature, what?" Well, everyone knew
how Elgin's guvnor had stripped half Greece of statuary;
even then Elgin Marbles was a slogan of outrage among
Hellenic enthusiasts. The only person present who didn't
seem to mind was Elgin himself. For the first time in days,
he absolutely grinned.
J" . 277
"I had no notion," says he affably, "from the conduct of
your troops at the Ewen-ming-ewen, that such a sentiment
prevailed in France -"
"Milor'!" Montauban was wattling furiously, but Elgin
didn't mind him.
"If stigma there be," he went on, talking straight to Gros,
"I shall be content to bear it alone, if I must. It will be a
small thing compared to the wound dealt to the pride and
false glory of the creature who calls himself Emperor of
China."
"And if it wounds him, as you hope," cries Gros. "If
you so disgrace him in the eyes of his subjects, have you
considered it may mean the downfall of the Manchoo dynasty?"
He was on his feet again, all frosty dignity. Elgin rose
with him, all John Bull.
"If I thought that, monsieur Ie baron," says he, "I should
be in the Summer Palace this minute, with a torch and a
bundle of straw. Alas, I fear it will have no such consequence."

Gros bowed stiffly. "Milor' Elgin, I must officially inform
you that my government cannot associate itself with a policy
which we must consider ill-advised, disproportionate, and I
have to say it, deeply as I deplore the necessity . . .
uncivilised." He looked Elgin in the eye. "Monsieur, it is
cruel."
"Yes, sir," says Elgin quietly. "It's meant to be."
When the French had stalked off, Elgin sat down and
passed a hand across his forehead; suddenly he looked very
tired. "Aye, weel," says he heavily, "a stoot he'rt taste a stae
brae - eh, Loch? Now, Grant, which troops shall do the
work?"
They settled on Michel's division, the destruction to begin
two days hence. Loch was instructed to write the letter of
information to Prince Kung, and the proclamation for general
distribution; I was interested that neither referred to the
deaths of our people, but only to the Emperor's treachery
and bad faith - that, officially, was why the Summer Palace
was to be destroyed, to show "that no individual, however
exalted, could escape the responsibility and punishment
which must always follow acts of falsehood and deceit."
278
"Here endeth the lesson," says Parkes to me. "He means
to rub it into the Emperor, rather."
"The Emperor don't know a dam' thing about it," says I.
"The fellow's an idiot - probably a dead idiot, by now."
"You don't really care for this, do you?" says he, eyeing
me.
"Me?" I shook my head. "Tain't my house and flowerbeds."
He
laughed. "I don't like it, much, myself. My suggestion
was for a thumping fine, and the surrender to our justice of
the actual murderers - the jailers and tormentors who did
the work, and in particular one gross brute who took the
keenest satisfaction in pulling my hair out by the roots. H.E.
pointed out, correctly, that a fine would inevitably fall on
the populace, and that the jailers were merely doing what
they were bidden by fiends like Sang. Also, that they probably
wouldn't be handed over - they'd send us a batch of
condemned convicts, and who would know the difference?"
He looked to where Elgin was sitting, hands in pockets,
talking to Grant. "In fact, he's dead right. This will accomplish
what he wants to do."
"Teach the Emperor a lesson, you mean?" says I, not
greatly interested.
"Oh, no. He's teaching China. The word will go to the
ends of the Empire - how the barbarians came, and smashed
the chalice, and went away. And for the first time all China
will realise that they're not the world's core, that their
Emperor is not God, and that the dream they've lived in for
thousands of years, is just... a dream. Gros was right - it'll
bring down the Manchoos, no error; not today, perhaps not
for years, but at last. The mystery that binds China will go
up in smoke with the Summer Palace, you see. And just by
the way - China will break no more treaties; not in our
time."
I thought about Yehonala, and wondered if he was right.
As it turned out, he was, almost; China was quiet for forty
years, until she roused the Boxers against us. And now the
Manchoos are gone, and who'll deny that it was the fire that
Elgin kindled that made China's millions think thoughts
they'd never thought before?
279
He called^ me over presently, and asked - not ordered,
mark you, but asked, which wasn't his usual style - if I'd
mind going with Michel as guide, so that no buildings were
missed. "You know the Summer Palace better, I daresay,
than any European living," says he. "Had that occurred to
you?" It hadn't, as it happened. "But the duty's not distasteful
to you, Flashman?" I said I didn't mind.
Grant had gone off, and we were alone by the table in the
temple garden. He gave me a keen look, and then fell to
examining the peeled skin on the back of his hand, smiling
a little.
"I seem to sense some disapproval in my staff," says he,
"but since I dislike embarrassment almost as much as I
dislike contradiction, I have borne it in silence. A chief of
intelligence, however, has an obligation to be forthright. Do
you agree with Gros?"
Once on a day I'd have cried no, my lord, you're entirely
right, my lord, burn the bugger hull and sticks, my lord, like
a good little toady. But it's better fun to tell the truth, when
it can't hurt, and is bound to cause devilment. So I said:
"No, my lord. I'm sure your decision is correct." I waited
until he was looking at me to see that I meant it, and then
added: "But in your position, I'd not burn the Summer
Palace."
He stared at me, frowning. "I don't understand, Flashman.
You think it right. . . but you wouldn't do it? What can you
mean?"
"I mean I wouldn't dare, my lord." I do love to stir 'em
up; oh, I'll fry in hell for it. "You see, Gros is right in one
thing: it'll get a dam' bad press. And I'd not care to have Punch labelling me Harry the Hun."
His jaw jerked at that, and for a moment I thought he was
going to explode. Then he gave a jarring laugh. "By God,"
says he, "you're an uncomfortable man! Well, you're honest,
at least. Which is more than can be said for the French, who
have already looted the place, but take care to escape the
odium for its destruction. Ha! And while crying 'Philistine!'
they and the other Powers will be happy enough to enjoy
the trade benefits and safe commerce which our salutary
action will have ensured." He folded his arms, leaning back,
280
and gave me a bleak look. "Harry the Hun, indeed. They'll
have no need to coin a nickname for me; the Chinese have
done it for them, have they not?"
The Big Barbarian, he was thinking; he knew what to
expect, but it had rattled him to have me state it so bluntly
- which is why I'd done it, of course. Yet he wasn't altogether
displeased; I wondered if he wasn't glad, in a way, to be
bearing the blame alone. He was odd fish, was Elgin. He
was no vandal, certainly; indeed, bar Wolseley, he was
probably the most sincere lover of the arts in the army - not
that I'm an authority, you understand; give me Rubens and
you can keep the rest. So how could he bring himself to
destroy so much that was rare and beautiful and valuable?
I'll tell you. He was avenging our dead with cold-blooded
fury, striking at their murderers (the Emperor, Sang, Prince
I, and - although he didn't know it - Yehonala, who probably
shaped Imperial policy more than all the rest) in the way he
knew would hurt them most. For he was right there; he knew
the Chinese mind; he was hitting 'em where they lived - and
putting the fear of God into China, too.
But I suspect he had another reason, which he may not
have admitted to himself: I believe that the Summer Palace
offended Elgin; that the thought of so much luxury and
extravagance for the pleasure of a privileged, selfish few,
while the coolie millions paid for it and lived in squalor, was
too much for his Scotch stomach. Odd notions for a belted
earl, you think? Well, perhaps I'm wrong.44
Tragedy usually has a fair element of farce about it, and
this was seen next day when the mass funeral of our dead
took place at the Russian Cemetery, outside Pekin. As Elgin
observed, the French had a wonderful time, making speeches
in bad taste and following their usual practice of firing the
final volleys into the grave and not over it. Chinese observers
were heard to remark that this was to make sure the corpses
were dead. There were Protestant, Roman, and Greek
pr'ists officiating together, which looked odd enough, but
the sight I wouldn't have missed was Hope Grant taking
part in Papist rituals, sprinkling holy water at Montauban's
request, and plainly enjoying it as much as John Knox in a
music hall.
281
We began to burn the Summer Palace the day after.
Michel's division marched up to the Ewen-ming-ewen gate,
where they were split into parties, furnished with crowbars,
sledges, axes, and combustibles, and despatched under their
officers to chosen spots in the four great gardens - the
Enclosed and Beautiful, the Golden and Brilliant, the Birthday,
and the Fragrant Hills. I rode round to the Birthday
Garden entrance, because I had no great desire to view the
whole splendid panorama again from the Ewen slope before
the fires were lighted. It was a glorious day; there wasn't a
soul to be seen, and the park seemed to glow in the sunlight,
the great beds of flowers and avenues of shrubs had never
been so brilliant, or the lawns so green; a little breeze was
ruffling the waters of the lake and stirring the leaves in the
woods; her pavilion gleamed white among its trees, the birds
were singing and the deer posing in the sunshine, and there
was such a perfume on the warm air as you might breathe in
paradise. From a long way off I caught the first drift of
wood-smoke.
Then there were distant voices, and the soft tramp of feet,
and someone calling the step, sounding closer, and the stamp
as they halted, and the clatter of crowbars and hammers
being grounded. And a voice sings out: "Which 'un fust,
sir?" and "Over there, sarn't!" and "Right you are, lads!
This way!" and the first smash of timber.
I'm a bad man. I've done most wickedness, and I'd do it
again, for the pleasure it gave me. I've hurt, and done spite,
and amused myself most viciously, often at the expense of
others, and I don't feel regret enough to keep me awake of
nights. I guess, if drink and the devil were in me, I could
ruin a Summer Palace in my own way, rampaging and whooping
and hollering and breaking windows and heaving vases
downstairs for the joy of hearing 'em smash, and stuffing my
pockets with whatever I could lay hands on, like the fellows
Wolseley and I watched at the Ewen. I'd certainly have to
be drunk - but, yes, I know my nature; I'd do it, and revel
in the doing, until I got fed up, or my eye lit on a woman.
But I couldn't do it as it was done that day - methodically,
carefully, almost by numbers, with a gang to each house ^1
ticked on the list, and smash goes the door under the axes,
282
and in tramp the carriers to remove the best pieces, and the
hammermen to smash the rest with sledges, and the sappers
to knock out a few beams and windows for draught, and set
the oily rags and straw just so, and "Give us one o' your
fusees, corporal . . . right . . . fall in outside!" And then on
to the next house, while behind the flames lick up, blistering
the enamels, cracking the porcelain, charring the polished
wood, blackening the bright paint, smouldering the silks and
rugs, crackling under the eaves. Next to the wreck of a
human body, nothing looks so foul as a pretty house in its
setting, when the smoke eddies from the roof, and the glare
shines in the windows, and the air shakes with the heat.
That was how it was done, by word of command, one place
after another, tramp-tramp-tramp, smash-smash-smash,
burn-burn-burn, by men who didn't talk much, or swear, or
laugh - that was the uncanny thing. British soldiers can make
a jest of anything, including their own deaths; but no one
joked in the Summer Palace. They went about it sourtempered,
grudging; I'd say they were heartsick, or just plain
dull and morose. I remember one North Country voice saying
it seemed a reet shame to spoil that many pretty things, but
the only other note of protest came in a great set-to when
some woods caught fire, and a red-faced fellow comes roaring:

"What the hell are you about, sir? Your orders are to burn
buildings! That's good timber - fine trees, damnation take
you! Are you a madman, or what?" And the reply: "No, sir,
I'm not! But in case it's escaped your notice, bloody trees
are made of bloody wood, you know, which commonly burns
when exposed to bloody fire, and d'you expect me to race
about catching all the bloody sparks?"
Now the curious thing about this was that one of the
speakers was Major-General Sir John Michel, and the other
a private soldier, gentleman-ranker, and they cussed each
other blind, with no thought of discipline - and no reprisals,
either. It was a strange day, that.
Later I remember the rending sound of roofs caving in,
and the great rush of flames, the red glare of fire on bare
chests and sweat-grimed faces, the harsh crackling and the
foul stench as choking smoke drifted across the lawns, blot283
ting out the lakes and flowers, the weary shouts and hoarse
commands as the gangs moved on to the next little white
jewel among the trees.
I've said I couldn't have done it- which is to say I wouldn't,
for choice, but could if I had to, just as I've packed Dahomey
slaves when needful. The Summer Palace was just about as
sickly as that, but I watched, for curiosity, and because there
was nothing else to do - Michel's men seemed to find the
houses without my assistance. And it was curiosity that took
me up the Ewen slope, towards evening, to look back on the
great pall of smoke, many miles in extent, covering the
country to the distant hills, with ugly patches of flame behind
it, and here and there a break where you could see a blazing
building, or a smouldering ruin, or a patch of burning forest,
or virgin parkland, or a pool of dull grey water that had been
a shining lake, or even a white palace, untouched amid the
green. It looked pretty much like hell.
I'm not saying Elgin was wrong; it achieved what he
wanted, without his having to break down a door or smash
a window or set a match. That's the great thing about policy,
and why the world is such an infernal place: the man who
makes the policy don't have to carry it out, and the man who
carries it out ain't responsible for the policy. Which is how
our folk were tortured to death and the Summer Palace was
burned. Mind you, if that wasn't the case, precious little
would ever get done.
But didn't a tear mist my eye, or a lump rise in my throat;
didn't I turn away at last with a manly sob? Well, no. Yes,
as the chap remarked, it was a shame so many pretty things
were spoiled - but I'm no great admirer of objets d'art,
myself; they just bring out the worst in connoisseurs and
female students. But even you, Flashman, surely to God,
must have been moved at the destruction of so much beauty,
in a spot where you had spent so many idyllic hours? Well,
again, no. You see, I don't live there; I'm here, in Berkeley
Square, and when I want to visit the Summer Palace, I can
close my eyes, and there it is, and so is she.
284
W^-"^
^cA".
It burned for almost a week, with a vast
pillar of smoke a mile high in the windless air, like some
great brooding genie from a bottle, spreading his pall across
the countryside; Pekin was a city in twilight, its people
awestricken to silence. To them it was incredible, yet there
it was, and they saw it, and believed at last. If we hadn't
burned it, but had merely occupied Pekin for a season and
gone away again, I don't doubt that in no time the Manchoo
propagandists would have convinced the population that
we'd never been there at all. But with the Summer Palace in
flames they couldn't doubt the truth - the barbarians had
won, the Son of Heaven had been humbled to the dust, and
there was the funeral pyre to prove it.
As some callous scoundrel remarked - and it may have
been me, by the sound of it - at least The Times couldn't
complain that Elgin hadn't avenged their correspondent
properly; poor young Bowlby having been one of the Emperor's
victims, you see. That smoke spread, metaphorically,
all over the world, and some called Elgin a Visigoth, and
others said he'd done the right thing, but one of the warmest
debates was over exactly what he had done. Most folk still
believe that one great palace building was burned; in fact,
there were more than two hundred destroyed, to my knowledge,
with most of their contents and great areas of woodland
and garden. Some, like Loch, have softened it as best
they can by claiming that many buildings and much treasure
escaped, that some palaces were only half-burned(!), that
few manuscripts were lost, and that the damage was less than
it looked. The plain truth is that the great Summer Palace,
eight miles by ten, was a charred ruin, and if Lloyds had
been faced with the bill they'd have shut up shop and fled
the country.
285
The lesson was driven home with the usual Horse Guards
pomp when the convention was signed a few days later, Kung
having had to agree to everything we demanded, including
100,000 for the families of our dead. Elgin, looking like
Pickwick strayed into an Aladdin pantomime, was toted
through the streets of Pekin in an enormous palanquin by
liveried Chinese, with our troops lining the route for
three miles to the Hall of Ceremonies, the band playing the
National Anthem, an escort of infantry and cavalry hundreds
strong, and the senior men mounted in full fig, wearing that
curious ceremonial expression of solemn intensity, as though
they were trying not to fart. I can't be doing with Hyde Park
soldiering; it looks so dam' ridiculous, when anyone can see
with half an eye that it costs more time and trouble and
expense than fighting a war, and the jacks-in-office and
hangers-on who take part plainly think it's a whole heap
more important. I'd abolish the Tin Bellies and Trooping the
Colour, if I had my way. But that's by the by; the public
love it, and there's no question it awed the Chinese; they
gazed at Elgin in stricken silence, and knocked head as he
went by.
The treaty was signed with tremendous ceremony, before
a great concourse of mandarins in dragon robes, and ourselves
in dress uniforms, Elgin looking damned disinheriting
and poor little Prince Kung plainly scared out of his wits by
Beato's camera, which he seemed to think was some kind of
gun. (The picture never came out, either.) It was infernally
dull and went on for hours, both sides loathing each other
with icy politeness, and the only possibility of fun was when
Parkes, that imperturbable diplomat, spotted the chap who'd
pulled his hair, standing among the Chinese dignitaries, and
I believe would have gone for him then and there, if Loch, the
spoilsport, hadn't restrained him.45 (Parkes got his revenge,
though; he had Prince I turned out of his splendid palace,
and bagged it for the new British Embassy.)
And then, quite suddenly, it was all over. Elgin had his
piece of paper, with red seals and yellow ribbon; China and
Britain were sworn to eternal friendship; our traders were
free to deluge the market with pulse, grain, sulphur, saltpetre,
cash, opium (ha-ha!), brimstone, and even spelter;
286
there were a few hundred new graves along the Peiho (Moyes
at Tang-ku and Nolan at Pah-li-chao among them); the Summer
Palace was a smoking ruin; in Jehol a dainty silver fingernail
was poised to pin the Chinese Empire; and I was going
down-river on Coromandel, with Elgin's kindly note of appreciation
in my pocket, a black jade chess set in my valise,
and a few memories in mind.
So often it's like that, when the most vivid chapters end;
the storm of war and action hurtles you along in blood and
thunder, seeking vainly for a hold to cling to, and then the
wind drops, and in a moment you're at peace and dog-tired,
with your back to a gun-wheel at Gwalior, or closing your
eyes in a corner seat of the Deadwood Stage, or drinking tea
contentedly with an old Kirghiz bandit in a serai on the
Golden Road, or sitting alone with the President of the
United States at the end of a great war, listening to him
softly whistling "Dixie".
So it was now - for that's my China story done, save for
one curious little postscript - and I could loaf at the rail,
looking forward to a tranquil voyage home to Elspeth and a
gentleman's life, far away from mist and mud and rice-paddy
and dry-dung smells and Tiger soldiers and silk banners and
nightmare Bannermen and belching ornamental cannon and
crazy Taipings and even crazier Yankees and firecrackers
and yellow faces ... no, I wouldn't even miss the gigantic
bandit women and jolly Hong Kong boaters and beauteous
dragon queens . . . not too much, anyway.
Possibly those three were in my mind, though, a few weeks
later, as I sat in Dutranquoy's bar in Singapore, where
the mail had dropped me, idly wondering how I'd kill the
fortnight before the P. & 0. Cape ship sailed for Home for
I was shot if I was going by that infernal Suez route. At
any rate, something awoke a memory of the voluptuous
Madam Sabba, with whom I'd wrestled so enjoyably on my
last visit there, until she'd spoiled sport by whistling up the
hatchet-men - heavens, that had been more than fifteen
years ago. Still, I doubted if Singapore had gone Baptist in
the meantime, so I took a paiki across the river and up
through Chinatown to the pleasant residential area which I
remembered, where the big houses stood back in their
287
gardens, with paper lanterns glimmering on the dark drives
and burly Sikh porters bowing at the front door. Very genteel
resorts they were; no trollops on view or anything of that
sort; you had a capital dinner and caught the waiter's eye,
and he drummed up the flashtail discreetly.
I demanded to be taken to the best place, and it looked
Al, with a big dimly-lit club dining-room where silent bearers
waited on the tables, and two smart hostesses went the
rounds to see that all was in order. One of them was a stately
ivory who might have been Sabba's daughter; I considered
her carefully as I ate my duck curry with a bottle of bubbly,
but then I noticed the other one, at the far end of the room,
and changed my mind. She was white and fair and excellently
set up, and I felt an almighty urge to try some civilised goods
for a change; I heard her soft laughter as she paused by a
table where half-a-dozen planters were eating; then she
passed on to a solitary diner, a blond-bearded young stalwart
in good linen with a clipper-captain look to him, and I
wondered if he was on the same lay as myself, for she stood
in talk for quite five minutes, while I consumed a jealous
souffle. But then she turned away and swayed to my corner,
smiling graciously and asking if everything was to my satisfaction.

"It will be directly," says I, rising gallantly, "if you'll
condescend to join me in a bottle of fizz." I was setting a
chair when I heard her gasp; she was staring as though I were
Mariey's ghost. Hold on, thinks I, my new whiskers are
grown enough to be presentable, surely - and then I almost
dropped the chair, for it was Phoebe Carpenter, pillar of the
Church and wholesaler of firearms to the Taiping rebels.
"Colonel Flashman!" cries she. "Oh, dear!"
"Mrs Carpenter!" cries I. "Good God!"
She swayed, eyes closed, and sat down abruptly, gulping
and staring at me wide-eyed as I resumed my seat. "Oh,
what a start you gave me!"
"That's what I said, up the Pearl River," says I. "Well,
well, I never! Here, take a glass . . . and do tell me how the
Reverend Josiah is keeping. Missionary society doing well,
is it?"
"Oh, dear!" she whispers, trembling violently, which im288
proved an already delightful appearance. I hadn't known her
because the Phoebe I remembered had borne her beauty in
matronly modesty, innocent of rouge and fairly swathed in
muslin; this was a most artistic translation, red-lipped and
polished, with her gold ringlets piled behind her head and
her udders threatening to leap with agitation from a low-cut
gown of black satin which I doubted had come from the last
sale of work. She drank, her teeth chattering.
"What must you think?" says she, speaking low, and
taking a quick slant to see that no one was listening.
"Well," says I cheerily, "I think you're wanted in Hong
Kong, for gun-running, which should get you about five years
if anyone were inconsiderate enough to mention it to the
Singapore traps. I also think that would be a crying shame "
"You wouldn't betray me?" she whimpers faintly.
"You betrayed me, dear Phoebe," says I gently, and laid
my hand on hers. "But of course I wouldn't "
"You might!" says she, starting to weep.
"Nonsense, child! Why ever on earth should I?"
"For ... for ... re-revenge!" She stared piteously, like
a blue-eyed fawn, her bosom heaving. "I ... we ... deceived
you most shamefully! Oh, dear, what am I to do?"
"Have some bubbly," says I soothingly, "and rest assured
I have no thoughts of revenge. Compensation, perhaps . .'."
"Comp-compensation?" She blinked miserably. "But I have no substance ... I couldn't afford ..."
"My dear Mrs Carpenter," says I, squeezing her hand,
"you have absolutely capital substance, and you know perfectly
well I don't mean money. Now . . . I'm sure Josiah
has told you all about Susannah and the Elders. Well, I'm
not feeling exactly elderly, but. . . oh, Susannah!" I beamed
at her, and she blinked again, dabbed her nose and looked
at me thoughtfully, still heaving a bit but settling down and
accepting another ration of fizz.
"I'm by no means sure that they would send me to prison!"
says she, unexpectedly, pouting. "After all, it was a very
good cause!"
"It was a dam' bad cause," says I, "and if you think they
won't shove you in clink, just ask dear Josiah."
"I can't! He has abandoned me!"
289
"You don't mean it!" I was astonished. "He must be mad.
You mean he just up and left you? Here?"
"Can you suppose I would accept employment in a restaurant
if I were still a clergyman's wife? Well, I am still his
wife," she admitted, taking another sip, "but he has deserted
me and gone to Sumatra."
"Has he, though? Missionary work or piracy? Well, that's
bad luck to be sure. But you'll soon get another chap, you
know, with your looks," I reassured her. "Well, take tonight,
for example. Why, before I even recognised you, I was most
entirely fetched "
"Oh, say you will not inform on me!" She leaned forward,
all entreaty. "You see, I have a most fortunate situation
here, and am in hope to save sufficient to go back to ... to
England ... to Middle Wallop and my dear parents ... at
the rectory ..."
"I knew it must be a rectory. Middle Wallop, eh?"
"When I think of it," says she, biting her lip, "compared
to . . ." She gestured at the room pathetically.
"... compared to beating copra in the women's compound
with all those smelly Chinese sluts? Absolutely. Well, now,
Phoebe, tempus is fugiting - when does your shop shut, and
where shall we . . . ah . . .?"
"We close in an hour. I live in the house," says she, looking
at the table, and shot me a reproachful pout - my, she was
a little stunner. "You do very wrong to compel me. If you
were a gentleman ..."
"I'd shop you like a worthy citizen. If you were a lady,
you wouldn't hocus fellows into running guns. So we're well
suited - and I ain't compelling you one bit; you're all for it."
I gave her a wink and a squeeze. "Now, then, where can I
spend the next hour? Got a billiard table, have you? Capital.
Just pass me the word when you've got the dishes washed oh,
and see we have a couple of bottles, iced, upstairs, will
you? Come on, goose - we'll have the jolliest time, you
know!"
She gave her head a little toss, going pink, and glanced at
me slantendicular. "And you promise faithfully not to tell
. . . anything? Oh, if only I could be sure!"
"Well, you can't. Oh, come . . . why should I peach on a
290
little darling like you, eh?" As we stood up, close together,
I squeezed the satin unseen, and her mouth opened on a
little gasp. "See? Two hours from now, you won't care."
I ambled down to the empty billiard room, in prime fettle,
calling "Kya-hai!" and ordering up another bottle of bubbly.
I tickled the pills until it arrived, and then wandered, glass
in hand, to the verandah to look out into the tropic dark; it
had started to rain with great force, as it does in Singapore,
straight down in stair-rods, battering the leaves and gurgling
in the monsoon ditch, bringing that heavy, earthy smell that
is the East. I stood reflecting in great content: homeward
bound, champagne, good Burma cheroot, and lissom little
Phoebe under starter's orders. What more could a happy
warrior ask? After the second glass I tried a few combination
shots, but my eye wasn't in any longer, and after a while I
left off, yawning and wishing impatiently that Phoebe would
hurry the matey s along, beginning to feel sleepy as well as
monstrous randy.
The door opened abruptly and a chap stuck his head in,
rain glistening on his hat and cape. He gave me a cheery
nod.
"Evenin', sport. Seen Joss about, have you?"
"Joss?"
"The guv'nor. You know, Carpenter. Or maybe you don't
know. Ne'er mind, I daresay he's upstairs." He was withdrawing.

"Hold on! D'you mean . . . the Rev. Josiah Carpenter?"
"The one and only," says he, grinning. "Our esteemed
proprietor."
I gaped at him. "Proprietor? You mean he owns this place?
He's not ... in Sumatra?"
"Well, he wasn't this afternoon. I say, are you all right?"
"But Mrs Carpenter distinctly . . . told me ..."
"Oh, she's about, is she? Good, I'll see her. Chin-chin."
The door slammed, leaving me standing bewildered - and
angry. What was the little bitch playing at? She'd said . . .
hold on ... she had said ... I turned sharply at a step on
the verandah, lurching heavily against the table and catching
hold to steady myself.
The big blond-bearded chap who'd been in the restaurant
291
was standing in the open screen; he was wearing a pilot-cap
now, and there seemed to be another fellow in a sou'wester,
just behind him in the shadows . . . why was I so dizzy all of
a sudden?
"Hollo," says the blond chap, and his glance went to
the bottle and glass on the side-table. He grinned at me.
"Enjoying your drink?"
[With words apparently failing their
author for once, the eighth packet
of the Flashman Papers ends here.]
^
292
APPENDIX I:
The Taiping Rebellion
The Taiping Rebellion was the worst civil war in history, and
the second bloodiest war of any kind, being exceeded in
casualties only by the Second World War, with its estimated
60 million dead. How many died during the fourteen years
of the Taiping Rising can only be guessed; the lowest estimate
is 20 million, but 30 million is considered more probable
(three times the total for the First World War). When it is
remembered that the Taiping struggle was fought largely
with small arms and only primitive artillery, some idea may
be gained of the scale of the land fighting, with its attendant
horrors of massacre and starvation. Again, the word "battle"
nowadays is frequently applied to struggles lasting over
months (Ypres, Stalingrad, etc). Using the more traditional
sense of the term, which covers only days, it can be said that
the bloodiest battle ever fought on earth was the Third Battle
of Nanking in 1864, when in three days the dead exceeded
a hundred thousand.
So far as his account goes, up to the summer of 1860,
Flashman gives an accurate, if necessarily condensed version
of the Taiping movement and its astonishing leader, the
Cantonese clerk Hung Hsiu-chuan, who fell into a trance
after failing his civil service examinations, saw visions of
Heaven, and became inspired to overthrow the Manchus,
cast the idols out of China, and establish the Taiping Tienkwo,
the Heavenly Dynasty of Perfect Peace, based on his
own notions of Christianity. He is said to have been much
influenced by a missionary tract, "Good Words to Admonish
the Age".
That Hung was a leader of extraordinary magnetism is
not to be doubted, and he was materially assisted by the
corruption and decadence of Manchu government; China
was ripe for revolution. At first his small movement concentrated
on attacking idolatry, but with the persecution of the
293
sect for heresy, magic, and conspiracy, his crusade developed
into guerrilla warfare, and the first rising in Kwangsi in 1850
spread into other provinces. With able generals, such as
Loyal Prince Lee, the Taiping armies fought with increasing
success; their organisation and discipline far outmatched the
Imperials, and after the capture of Nanking in 1853 they
threatened Pekin and controlled more than a third of China,
establishing capitals in provinces which they had devastated.
Flashman saw them when they were at their peak and might
still have accomplished their revolution, but the seeds of
defeat were already apparent. For all their zeal and military
discipline, the Taipings were poor social organisers and administrators;
their rule was oppressive and haphazard, and
they failed to attract either foreign support (although their
apparent Christianity gained them some European sympathy
at first) or the Chinese middle and upper classes. They also
suffered from internal feuds and the degeneration of the
once inspirational Hung, who after 1853 went into almost
complete seclusion with his women and mystical meditations.
Strategically, the Taipings made the mistake of never securing
a major port through which they might have made contact
with the outside world, and failing to concentrate their thrust
at Pekin, the seat of Imperial power.
After the events of 1860, their decline was rapid. Tseng
Kuo-fan organised the Imperial reconquest, aided by the
Ever-Victorious Army under Ward and Gordon, and after
Hung's suicide by poison in June 1864, Nanking fell, and the
greatest rebellion ever seen in the world was over; six hundred
towns had been destroyed, whole provinces devastated,
billions of pounds worth of property lost, and countless
millions were dead, including all the rebel leaders. Loyal
Prince Lee and Hung Jen-kan were both executed in 1864.
Other notable Wangs were:
The East King (Tung Wang), Yang Hsiu-ching, a charcoal
burner who became a shrewd and ruthless general; also
known as God's Holy Ghost. He was murdered in 1856
by
The North King (Pei Wang), Wei Chiang-hui, pawnbroker,
who in turn was executed with twenty thousand followers by
the Heavenly King in 1856.
294
The West King (Si Wang), and the South King (Nan Wang)
were both killed in action in 1852.
Apart from these early Wangs ("The Princes of the Four
Quarters") the principal leaders included the young and formidable
General Chen Yu-cheng, who with Lee raised the siege
of Nanking, and died in 1862; the redoubtable Shih Ta-kai,
also known as the Assistant King (I Wang), executed in 1863;
Hung Jen-ta (Fu Wang), elder brother of the Heavenly King,
executed 1864; the Ying Wang (Heroic King), executed 1862;
and most pathetic of all, Tien Kuei, the Junior Lord (Hung
Fu), son of the Heavenly King, executed by the Imperialists
in 1864; he was fifteen.
Among eye-witnesses of the Taipings, none is more interesting
than Augustus Lindley, an intensely partisan young
Englishman who defended them as moderates, contended
that the Heavenly King had been elected, not merely selfdeclared,
denied that his claim of relationship to Christ was
meant to be taken literally, and defined as "anti-Taiping" all
Britons of the Elgin school, the opium interests, missionaries,
Roman Catholics, and merchants generally. He paints an
attractive picture of Loyal Prince Lee, whom he met (and
shared his indignation at being repulsed from Shanghai), and
is a mine of detail about Taipingdom. He is at variance,
however, with other contemporary writers, the most extreme
of whom describe the Taipings as enslavers, destroyers of
trade, living on loot, etc.* At this distance they look, as
Flashman says, like a worthy movement gone wrong; in
fairness, it has to be said that they included some sincere
reformers, even among local commanders, and in some areas
at least brought lower taxation and tried to encourage trade
and agriculture.
As to the havoc they wrought, the one point on which
most authorities seem to agree is that the Imperialist forces
were worse. Jen Yu-wen described the carnage when the
Taipings took Nanking (with 30,000 Bannermen wiped out
and thousands of women burned, drowned, and cut down)
*H. B. Morse, an eminently fair authority, is blunt: "The Taiping
Government is not known to have organised any form of civil administration,
even in Nanking. Levying of taxes was simplicity itself: it took
everything in sight." [International Relations).
295
as the first and last Taiping massacre; considering the scale
of bloodshed in the war, it is difficult to accept this.
There is a considerable modern literature on the subject,
and Chinese scholars have devoted close study to the writings
and philosophy of the movement. (See Lindley, Ti-ping
Tien-kwoh, 1866; Lewis B. Browning, A Visit to the Taipings
in 1854 (in Eastern Experiences, 1871); Franz Michael, The
Taiping Rebellion, vol. i, 1966; Jen Yu-wen, The Taiping
Revolutionary Movement, 1973; J. C. Cheng, Chinese
Sources for the Taiping Rebellion, 1963; H. W. Gordon,
Events in the Life of Charles George Gordon, 1886; Walter
Scott (publisher), Life of General Gordon, 1885; Morse;
Wilson, Blakiston; Forrest; Scarth; Cahill.)
296
APPENDIX II:
The Orchid
Yehonala, later Empress Tzu-hsi (1834-1908), known variously
as the Orchid, Imperial Yi Concubine, Empress of the
Western Palace, and latterly. Old Buddha, was the effective
ruler of China for half a century. The daughter of a Manchu
captain of the 8th Banner Corps, she was seventeen when
she and her cousin, Sakota, were chosen with 26 other
Manchu beauties as concubines for the young Emperor Hsien
Feng, and although Sakota became Empress Consort, Yehonala
quickly established herself as the Imperial favourite.
When she bore the Emperor's only son in 1856 her hold over
the ailing, weakly monarch, and on political power, became
greatly strengthened, with fateful results for China. For
the young concubine, although well educated by Manchu
standards, was ignorant of the world outside; she was also
an extreme reactionary, inflexibly autocratic, and highly
aggressive in diplomacy. She appears to have been a prime
mover in China's resistance policy during the Arrow War
and Elgin expedition, forbidding trade, putting prices on
British heads, sending suicide orders to unlucky commanders,
inspiring the death warrants, and urging opposition
to the barbarians at all costs. ("My anger is about to strike
and exterminate them without mercy," Daniel Vare quotes
her. "I command all my subjects to hunt them down like
wild beasts.") At the same time, with the Emperor's health
failing, she was entering on a political struggle to ensure her
son's succession and her own survival.
Flashman's account of her scheming in September 1860 is
uncorroborated, but there is no doubt that she was already
deep in palace plotting, and in the year that followed her
courage, ruthlessness, and genius for intrigue were tested
by events which resemble sensational fiction rather than
sober fact. For the Emperor did not die quickly, as expected;
he lingered for a year at Jehol, and in that time Yehonala
297
suffered an almost fatal setback. Reports of her affair with
Jung Lu, who was said to be her lover, reached the Emperor,
and she was forbidden the royal presence; worse still, when
a council of regency was appointed by the Emperor's decree
on the day before his death in August 1861, its leaders were
her bitterest enemies. Prince I, Sushun, and Prince Cheng;*
Yehonala herself was excluded.
That should have been the end of her, but her enemies
had overlooked one small but vital point. The edict of
regency, signed by the Emperor, had not been sealed with
the dynastic seal - Yehonala had purloined it. And at a time
when it was essential for the reins of power to be seized in
Pekin, Prince I and the other regents were bound by court
protocol to remain with the royal corpse at Jehol, and then
accompany it, in slow ceremonial procession, to the capital.
Not so Yehonala and the Empress Sakota, whose duty it was
to go ahead to Pekin and meet the coffin on its arrival.
Prince I and Sushun, well aware of Yehonala's popularity
with the troops, and fearing what might happen if she reached
Pekin first, arranged to have her and Sakota ambushed and
murdered on the journey. But the faithful Jung Lu learned
of the plot and set off from Jehol by night, overtook the
royal ladies on the road, escaped the ambush, and brought
them safely to the capital, where Yehonala lost no time in
raising support; Sakota, as usual, was content to stay in the
background. Thus when Prince I and the regents finally
arrived with the cortege they were welcomed by an urbane
Yi Concubine who thanked them graciously, dismissed them
from the regency, and had them arrested in the name of the
new Emperor (whose decrees proved to be properly sealed).
The regents, charged with responsibility for the recent
war and (a fine effrontery on her part) with treacherously
capturing Loch and Parkes, were sentenced to be tortured
to death, but this was commuted to suicide by the silk cord
for Princes I and Cheng, and beheading for Sushun. Jung Lu
was rewarded with the viceroyalty of a province and control
of the army; Yehonala and Sakota assumed the titles of
*But not Sang-kol-in-sen, who had been stripped of his title and
command after the fall of Pekin in October, 1860.
298
Empress of the Western and Eastern Palace respectively,*
and from that moment the former concubine never relaxed
her grip on imperial power. When her son, the new Emperor,
died in 1873, she engineered the succession for her infant
nephew, but when he reached manhood and showed reformist
tendencies she had him interned and wielded supreme
authority until her death.
Yehonala Tzu-hsi was the world's last great absolute
queen, and may be compared to Catherine the Great and
the first Elizabeth. For the ills her country suffered through
her resistance policy and refusal to accept change, she may
fairly be blamed; against that, she kept the world at bay
from China until the end of the century, when economic
decline, war with Japan, and the Boxer Rising (which she
exploited against the foreign powers) completed the undermining
of imperial rule. Soon after her death China was a
republic; whether it would have profited from earlier revolution,
earlier reform, and earlier acceptance of the outside
world, no one can say.
In its details, Flashman's portrait of Yehonala is a faithful
one; her beauty and charm were legendary, as were her
less admirable qualities, and his account of her lifestyle is
confirmed elsewhere, even to such trivia as her favourite
food, clothes, jewellery, and board-games. How just he is in
his sweeping assessment of her character is a matter for
conjecture; as her biographer Sergeant observes, contemporary
writers, depending on their viewpoint, show her almost
as two different women, "one a monster of iniquity, the
other a lovable genius". There is ample evidence that she
was vain, greedy, cruel, and autocratic, but less that she was
as callous, ruthless, and promiscuous as Flashman suggests.
Opinions differ sharply about her private morals; she was
for years concubine to a depraved monarch, and rumours of
her immorality were persistent (but she did not lack malicious
enemies); apart from Jung Lu, her lovers were said to include
a later Chief Eunuch, Li Lien Ying ("Cobbler's Wax"), her
confirmed favourite, who may not have been a eunuch at all
* Flashman is plainly mistaken in assigning this title to Yehonala in
1860.
299
- the American artist, Katherine Carl, described him as tall,
thin, and "Savonarola-like", with elegant manners and a
pleasant voice. There is virtually no personal evidence for
her early life; most of the memoirs refer to her later years,
when the picture is of a sprightly, domineering old lady of
unshakeable will, immense vanity, high intelligence, and
winning charm when she chose to exert it; obviously a once
great beauty, and retaining to the end her silvery voice and
flashing smile. (See Philip W. Sergeant, The Great Empress
Dowager of China, 1910; Daniel Vare, The Last of the
Empresses, 1936; E. Backhouse and J. 0. P. Bland, China
Under the Empress Dowager, 1910, and Annals of the Court
of Pekin; Princess Der Ling (Te Ling), afterwards Mrs T.
C. White, lady-in-waiting to the Dowager Empress, Two
Years in the Forbidden City, 1924, and Old Buddha;
Charlotte Haldane, The Last Great Empress of China, 1965;
J. and M. Porteous, "An Explanatory Account of the
Chinese Ladies", pamphlet, Dublin, 1888. For the political
intrigues of 1861, see Morse, International Relations.)
300
APPENDIX III:
The Doctor of Letters of the Hanlin Academy
One of the most touching, and illuminating, documents of
the China War is a diary covering the last few weeks before
Elgin's army reached Pekin. It was kept by a Doctor of
Letters and member of the Hanlin Academy, living in the
capital, and is an invaluable record of the crisis as seen by
an educated, middle-class Chinese. He calls it "a record of
grief incurable"; the time of national catastrophe was also,
for him, one of personal tragedy because, while the barbarians
were closing on Pekin, the doctor's aged mother was
dying, and the diary is a moving record of his personal
anxieties set against the background of great events. The
diary has another value: it shows the power which the Yi
Concubine Yehonala exerted on the dying Emperor and his
court, and the extent to which she was responsible for the
bitter resistance to the Allies' demands.
"In the moon of the Ken Shen Year (August)", writes the
doctor, "rumours began to circulate that the barbarians
had already reached Taku (Forts)." There was "alarm and
uneasiness" in Pekin, but no flight as yet. "His Majesty was
seriously ill, and it was known that he wished to leave for
the north, but the Imperial Concubine Yi. . . dissuaded him
and assured him that the barbarians would never enter the city." After news of the defeat at Taku, however, people
began to leave, and as the news became progressively worse,
the exodus became one of thousands.
The doctor now turns to his own immediate troubles:
his mother's medicine, the preparation of her coffin, its
appearance, and its cost - which, he reflects, would have
been much greater if he had not had the foresight to buy the
wood years earlier and keep it in store. "This comforted me
not a little."
His next entry is divided between national affairs and the
progress being made on the coffin. There are "rumours that
301
Pekin would be bombarded on the 27th [sic], so that everyone
was escaping who could. On the 27th we put on the
second coating of lacquer. On that day our troops captured
the barbarian leader Pa-hsia-li (Parkes) with eight others,
and they were imprisoned in the Board of Punishments." He
notes that the Emperor was preparing to leave, but the
Imperial Concubine Yi persuaded some of the high officials
to memorialise him to remain. All officials were now sending
their families and valuables out of the city.
His mother's death was clearly approaching, so the ceremonial
robes were prepared. His mother thought the coverlet
was too heavy, so one of silk was substituted, but she thought
that too luxurious. "Her parents-in-law," she pointed out,
"had not had grave-wrappings of such valuable stuff." Meanwhile,
in "the battle at Chi Hua Gate" (which presumably
means Pah-li-chao), "the Mongol cavalry broke, and many
were trampled to death in the general rout."
And now "the Princes and Ministers besought the Concubine
Yi to induce His Majesty to leave . . . His Majesty was
only too anxious to start at once . . . (but she) persuaded
the two Grand Secretaries to memorialise against his doing
so, and ... a decree was issued stating that in no circumstances
would the Emperor leave the capital."
Another battle was reported the next day (September 22;
this was either a false rumour, or more probably the Allies
mopping up after Pah-li-chao), and the Emperor, "attended by
his concubines, the Princes, Ministers and Dukes [sic], and
all the officers of the household, left the city in desperate
rout and disorder unspeakable". In fact, the doctor notes,
the barbarians were still some way off, and the court was at
the Summer Palace, so there was nothing to fear.
"Up to the last the Yi Concubine begged him to remain
... as his presence could not fail to awe the barbarians, and
thus to exert a protecting influence for the good of the city
and people. How, she said, could the barbarians be expected
to spare the city if the Sacred Chariot had fled, leaving
unprotected the tutelary shrines and the altars of the gods?"
Shortly after this, the doctor's mother died, "abandoning
her most undutiful son . . . her death lies at my door, because
of my ignorance of medicine." He was worried about having
302
her buried, in case the barbarians should desecrate her grave,
but finally had her buried in a temple. A few days later he
notes briefly "vast columns of smoke seen rising to the
northwest".
"When the Yi Concubine heard of the . . . surrender,
she implored the Emperor to reopen hostilities." But His
Majesty was dangerously ill, "so our revenge must be postponed
for the time being".
He was not a Doctor of Letters for nothing, for in short
space he conjures up a most moving and vivid picture: of life
and death going on in a small house in Pekin while the
captains and the kings make history; of his concern for
the indomitable old lady reproving his extravagance while
the Imperial Army crumbles; of his touching self-reproach
at her death and his admiration for the fiery Yi Concubine
vainly urging resistance for the honour of China; of his fears
for his mother's grave while the Summer Palace is burning.
And perhaps the strongest impression he leaves is that if the
men of Pekin had matched the spirit of the women, Lord
Elgin would have bought his treaty dear. (For the Doctor's
diary, see Backhouse and Bland.)
303
Glossary

bahadur
bandobast
cangue
chandoo
chin-chin
chow-chow water
daffadar
fan-qui
Ghazi
harka
Hong
impi
indaba
jemadar
kampilan
Kyahai!
lorcha
naik
rissaldar
samshu
Sat-sreeakal
Sawney
sgian dhu
shabash
singsong
304
title of honour (Hindustani)
organisation (Hind.)
wooden punishment collar
high quality prepared opium
good-bye; conversation (Chinese)
dangerous crosscurrents
cavalry commander of ten (Indian
Army)
foreigner
fanatic
force of Bedouin cavalry
association of Chinese merchants
Zulu regiment
business, affair (lit., council. Swahili)
under-officer
slender-bladed cleaver (Malay)
summons to waiter or bearer (lit. "What
is!" Hind.)
Chinese-rigged river ship
corporal (Indian Army)
cavalry troop commander
rice spirit
Sikh greeting, sometimes used as a
slogan
Scotsman
black knife of Scottish Highlanders
bravo! (Hind.)
Chinese music-hall

snotty
sowar
syce
taipan
tanguin
tuttiputti
Wang yamen
midshipman (Royal Navy)
trooper (Indian Army)
groom (Hind.)
head of a business (lit. great man, boss)
Malagassy poison
broken (tutti-putti zamin, broken
ground. Hind.)
king, prince
official residence, office.
305
NOTES
1. Flashman is usually vague about dates, but from internal evidence
(see p. 35) it is clear that the ten days were March 1-11, 1860. It is
not known why he was on transit through Hong Kong at this time;
approximately eighteen months earlier, in the autumn of 1858, he was
definitely in India, preparing to return to England at the end of his
service in the Indian Mutiny, which earned him a V.C. and knighthood
(see Flashman in the Great Game), but the present narrative makes
it plain that this return did not take place, and that during 1859 he
was engaged in further foreign service. What this was a later packet
of the Papers may explain, but there is some reason to suppose that
it was connected with China, since up to the end of 1858 he had never
visited that country, yet at the beginning of the present memoir he
writes of it with apparent familiarity, and displays some fluency in
Chinese, a language not mentioned in his earlier reminiscences. There
is a possible alternative for 1859, far-fetched though it may seem: one
reference in his earlier writings suggests an acquaintance with John
Brown, the American abolitionist, whose celebrated raid on Harper's
' Ferry took place in October, 1859, and since Flashman had been at
one time an agent (albeit an unwilling one) of the Underground
Railroad, it is not impossible that the missing eighteen months were
partly spent in the United States - although in what capacity it would
be rash to speculate, p.9
2. A reasonable summary of Anglo-Chinese relations up to 1860, including
the Arrow War of 1856. For details of the PalmerstonCobden
debate (February 26,1857), see Division IV ofJ. Ewing Ritchie's Life
and Times of Viscount Palmerston. p. 18
3. Flashman, of course, had no scruples about the opium trade, but the
mere fact that he mentioned morality to Mrs Carpenter is some
reflection of the opposition that was growing against the opium
interests, China had leg.-lised the traffic for the first time under the
1858 Treaty of Tientsin; the opium lobby brazenly claimed that this
was voluntary; Sir Thomas Wade, a leading China expert, said the
concession had been "extorted", and Lord Elgin postponed the relevant
clause rather than force China's hand. In fact, the Chinese
recognised that there was nothing they could do about it; "the present
generation of smokers must and will have opium," their commissioner
told Elgin, a fact recognised by such experienced observers as the
missionary Alexander Williamson, who called for abolition by Britain,
but admitted that it would make little difference to the Chinese, who
would get their drug anyway (Williamson knew the figures, and that
it was not uncommon for a labourer to smoke 80 cash worth of opium
306
a day out of his wage of 120 cash (21/2p.)). This argument was fastened
on by the opium lobby, whose line is echoed by Mrs Carpenter; what
is surprising is that even old China hands like John Scarth could assert
that the drug was smoked as a sedative rather than as a narcotic.
An excellent summary of the subject is J. Spencer Hill's Maitland
Prize-winning essay of 1882, The Indo-Chinese Opium Trade (1884);
Hill came to the subject strongly prejudiced against the anti-opium
lobby, but his investigations changed his mind. (See also John Scarth, Twelve Years in China (1860); Alexander Williamson, Travels in North
China (1870); H. B. Morse, The Trade and Administration of the
Chinese Empire, 1908.) p.22
Unless there were two Jack Fishers, midshipmen on the China Station
in 1860, Flashman's young acquaintance can only have been John
Arbuthnot ("Jackie") Fisher, later admiral of the fleet, Baron Fisher
of Kilverstone, godfather of the Dreadnought battleship, and the
foremost name in the Royal Navy since Nelson. Just as Wolseley (see
Note 6) may be called the architect of the modern British Army, so
Fisher with his "big-gun" turbine ships gave the Royal Navy command
of the seas in the first half of the present century. He entered the navy
when he was thirteen, and served during the Crimea before going to
the China Station in 1859, where he took part in the capture of Canton
and the attack on Taku Forts. He was in Chinese waters in the spring
of 1860, and still a midshipman although acting-lieutenant, a rank not
confirmed until the end of the year. Since Flashman certainly knew
Fisher in later life, it is surprising that he does not identify him at their
first meeting; on the other hand, his brief description sounds very like
the young "Bulldog Jackie". p.33
Chinese secret societies, tongs and triads (the Heaven and Earth
Association, the Dagger Men, and others) had various recognition
signals; three fingers round a cup was that of the White Lilies. (See
Scarth.) p. 35'
Garnet Joseph Wolseley (1833-1913), "the model of a modern majorgeneral",
was one of Britain's most important soldiers. He won no
distinction as a commander in a great war, but his record in the socalled
"little wars" - indeed, the variety and success of his service
generally - is probably unique in the history of arms. An AngloIrishman,
he followed his own maxim that if a young officer wants to
do well he should try to get himself killed; Wolseley tried really hard,
first in the Burma War, when he was badly wounded leading the attack
on an enemy stockade; in the Crimea, where he was twice wounded,
losing an eye; in the Indian Mutiny, where he served in the relief and
siege of Lucknow, being five times mentioned in despatches; in the
China War of 1860; in Canada, where in his first independent command
he put down the Red River Rebellion without a casualty; in Africa,
where he won a lightning campaign against King Koffee of Ashanti,
and captured Cetewayo, the Zulu leader; in Egypt, where he beat
Arabi Pasha at Tel-el-Kebir and took Cairo; in the Sudan, where he
reached Khartoum just too late to rescue Gordon, his old friend of
the Crimea and China. He was made a viscount, and later field
marshal.
307
But Wolseley's real importance was as a military reformer and
creator of the modern British Army; having seen and suffered under
a traditional regime which, while largely successful, had hardly
changed in centuries, and being a confirmed champion of the private
soldier, he foresaw the need for change in a rapidly changing military
world. He had seen the first "modem war" in the struggle between
the American States (where he met Lee and Stonewall Jackson), and
his reforms and reorganisations, bitterly opposed at the time, prepared
the British Army for a new era of warfare; his influence, largely
forgotten, is on the Army still. He was (as Gilbert and Grossmith
recognised when they caricatured him in "The Pirates of Penzance")
a man of many talents; a trained draughtsman and surveyor, he
sketched and painted well, and wrote several books, including most
notably The Soldier's Pocket Book, a life of Marlborough, a novel,
and his reminiscences of the China campaign.
Flashman shows him briefly as a young staff-officer, before the full
flowering of the quick temper and impatient efficiency which were to
make the expression "All Sir Garnet" synonymous with the modern
"Right on!" Wolseley always wanted the best; typically, he chose for
one campaign a man who had beaten him in competition. Disraeli
passed an illuminating judgment on him: "Wolseley is an egotist and
a braggart. So was Nelson," (See his Narrative of the War with China
in 1860 (1862), and Story of a Soldier's Life (1903); Sir John Fortescue, History of the British Army, vol XIII, (1930); Dictionary of National
Biography, p.46
7. Since Flashman probably knew more eminent fighting men - including
the great names of the Crimea, Mutiny, U.S. Civil War, and Afghan
and American frontiers, to say nothing of his various native foemen
- than any other observer of his day, his opinion of James Hope Grant
(1808-75) has to be taken seriously. The record seems to bear him
out; Grant's active service in India and China is chiefly remarkable
for the amount of time he spent in hand-to-hand combat, to which he
brought an iron constitution and an apparently total disregard for his
own safety. "To die is nothing," he once explained, "it's only going
from one room to another." It was in outpost work and the leadership
of flying cavalry columns that his talent lay, although his one major
command (China, 1860) was conducted with efficiency, despite his
being to some extent at the mercy of his diplomats (Fortescue is
scathing on this). Flashman's character sketch and physical description
are sound; he makes the important point that the terrible fighter and
stern disciplinarian was an unusually gentle and kindly man, whose
consuming interest was music - Grant was a gifted 'cellist and composer,
and indeed owed an early advancement to the fact that his
commanding general was a keen violinist who wanted a 'cello player
as brigade-major. Despite his sketchy education, Grant was something
of a military innovator; he is credited with introducing regular
manoeuvres and the war game, and it is interesting that Wolseley,
the most intellectual of soldiers, should say: "If I have attained any
measure of military prosperity, my gratitude is due to one man, and
that man is Sir Hope Grant." (See Sir Hope Grant and Major Knollys,
308
Incidents in the China War; Fortescue; D.N.B.) p.47
8. The Hon. F. W. A. Bruce was at 46 a diplomat of considerable
experience, having served in South America, Egypt, Hong Kong (as
colonial secretary), Newfoundland (as governor), and in China, first
as secretary to his brother, and from 1858 as superintendent of trade
and envoy extraordinary to the Chinese Empire, p. 50
9. The Inn of Mutual Prosperity was fairly typical, to judge from the
experience of that sturdy missionary, the Rev. Alexander Williamson,
who stayed in similar establishments while ranging North China on
behalf of the National Bible Society of Scotland. He and John Scarth
(their works are cited in Note 3) are lively and informative sources
for China at this time, and their observations of the social scene,
customs, manners, recreations, costume, food, crime, punishment,
etc., accord closely with Flashman's. Mr Williamson has a keen eye
for detail and a fine sweeping style; thus the Chinese are "ignorant,
conceited and supercilious" and regard Europeans as a fierce, mentally
deficient, semi-tamed breed "to be placated like dogs, or as wilful
children." He is scathing on Chinese morals: "Secret dens of hideous
licentiousness exist in every city", and on the great roads "all disguise
is thrown off." Scarth takes a particular delight in minutiae, and is
good with the telling phrase: professional mourners he describes as
"howling for hire". They and many foreign writers confirm Flashman's
strong impression of the Chinese conviction of superiority over all
other races, whom they regarded as having tributary status, p.85
10. Professional bandits, pirates, and members of the triad secret societies
occasionally joined the Taipings, as did other rebels against the
Manchu regime, only to fall away because of the revolutionaries' strict
social and religious discipline, and because regular crime paid better.
Some of the bandits continued as auxiliaries, among them at least two
female brigand leaders, one of whom was called SzuZhan.
It was an offshoot of the triads, the Small Sword Society, which
took Shanghai in 1853, a conquest which Flashman mistakenly
attributes to the Taipings (see p.50). In fact, the Small Swords claimed
association with the rebels, but the Taipings repudiated them "because
of their immoral habits and vicious propensities", and so missed
the opportunity of gaining a major port. (See H. B. Morse, The
International Relations of the Chinese Empire, vol i, 1910.) p.89
11. Flashman's account of the formidable Taiping army is in accord with
other contemporary descriptions, so far as armaments, uniforms,
organisation, battle tactics, black flags, etc., are concerned. (See
especially Augustus Lindley, and the other sources listed in Appendix
I). But one eminent military man disagreed with him about the rebels'
discipline: Wolseley, who visited Nanking a year later, thought the
Taipings "an undrilled, undisciplined rabble" whose strength lay in
the fact that the Imperial army was even worse. Even so, Wolseley
had a deep admiration for the Chinese, whom he saw as "the coming
rulers of the world." His vision of Armageddon was China versus the
United States - "fast becoming the greatest power of the world.
Thank heaven, they speak English." (Wolseley, The Story of a
Soldier's Life, 1903). p.90
309
12. One revolution is probably very much like another, and readers
of Flashman's narrative will no doubt detect resemblances between
Taipingdom and Communist China a few decades ago. The Taipings
were, of course, a socialist movement (at the risk of attracting thunderous
denunciation, it may be said that certain aspects of Soviet life
today awake more echoes of Tsarist Russia than a modern Russian
might care to admit). This is not the place to labour the point; sufficient
to say that the pronouncements of the Heavenly King seem to have
been received with the same kind of reverence later accorded to the
thoughts of Chairman Mao. (Dr Sun-yat-sen, the father of the Chinese
Republic, may be seen as an interesting link betvyeen the Kingdom of
Heavenly Peace and modern China; he was the nephew (one historian
says the son) of a Taiping rebel, and in his early days described himself
as "the new Hung Hsiu-chuan" who would expel the Manchus.)
p. 101
13. Flashman's description of Loyal Prince Lee (Li-^siu-ch'eng), Chung
Wang and Taiping commander-in-chief, requires some qualification.
Whatever Flashman may have thought (and he seems to have been in
some doubt). Lee was certainly not mad. A former charcoal burner
who had joined the Taipings as a private soldier, the Chung Wang
was the best of the rebel generals, and many authorities believe that
had he had sole control of the movement, tre revolution would
have succeeded. An intelligent, enlightened, and (at least by Taiping
standards) humane soldier. Lee had a sincere belief in the Taiping
mission, and in the bond of Christianity which he supposed should
exist between the Taipings and the foreign pow-ers; in the latter he
was to be bitterly disappointed. He was said t^ be egotistical and
jealous (particularly of Hung Jen-kan, the Taiping Prime Minister),
but the impression left by Lindley is of a courteous, capable, and
thoroughly rational man. He also seems to have heen a good administrator,
unlike most of his fellow-generals. Flashman's physical description
is close to Lindley's. (See Lindley and Appendix I.) p. 103
14. Flashman's description of Nanking and what he sa}v there is so detailed
that it really requires foot-noting throughout. To save space, it should
be said that everything which he saw and hear<d in the city can be
verified from other sources, principally Thomas W. Blakiston's Five
Months on the Yangtze, 1862, which contains, among much other
information, R. J. Forrest's account of a progress through the city
almost identical to Flashman's. Forres.t corroborates virtually everything,
from the street scenes, the ante'rooms of the Heavenly King's
palace, and social conditions, to the furnishings and life-style in the
homes of the Taiping leaders. Flashman's personal adventures are, of
course, another matter, but for the rest, from the Taiping soldier with
his attendant urchins to the bottles of CowardL's mixed pickles in
Jen-kan's living-room, the author can be accented as an accurate
reporter. (See also Wolseley, Story of a Soldier's l^ife, and other works
cited in these notes.) p. 105
15. The character and personality of Hung Hsiu-chuar^ inspirer and leader
of the Taiping Rebellion, remain a mystery whi^h Chinese scholars
are still working hard to solve, chiefly by examination of the writings
310
attributed to him. Obviously he was one of these rare, unfathomable
folk with the gift of communicating religious zeal and inspiring devotion
in a way which is hardly understood even by those who know
them intimately. Hung's case is complicated by the fact that he was,
by any normal standards, quite mad, and his condition seems to have
deteriorated with time. Although almost a recluse at Nanking, he was
seen by visitors on occasion; he is described as being about five feet
five inches tall, well-built and inclining to stoutness, with a handsome,
rather round face, sandy beard, black hair, and piercing dark eyes.
He was said to be physically very strong, with a forceful personality.
At the time of his meeting with Flashman he was 47 years old.
The details of that meeting, while obviously uncorroborated, are
by no means inconsistent with other evidence. Hung's time seems to
have been devoted entirely to mystical speculation, writing pronouncements
and decrees, and his numerous harem. The vision he described
to Flashman is the one which he proclaimed after waking from his
original trance; the recitation of his concubine tallies closely with an
exhortation which is to be found in Taiping literature. (See Appendix
I.) p-121
16. Hung Jen-kan (1822-64), Kan Wang (Shield King), Prime Minister
and Generalissimo of the Taipings, is the most interesting and enigmatic
of the revolutionary leaders. A cousin of the Heavenly King's,
he studied with him at a Baptist mission in Canton (where he, too,
failed his civil service exams), and became one of his first disciples,
but was thought too young to join the revolution at its outset. In 1854,
after working at a Protestant mission in Hong Kong, he tried to reach
Nanking, but failed, and spent another four years in the colony with
the London Missionary Society. In 1859 he succeeded in reaching
Nanking, and within a year had become second only to his cousin-in
the revolutionary hierarchy. Favouritism aside, this meteoric rise can
be attributed only to Jen-kan's native talent, and the advantage which
worldly education had given him over the largely uneducated Taiping
Wangs. With the deterioration of the Heavenly King, Jen-kan, with
Lee, became the real head of the movement, and one can only
speculate why they did not combine more effectively. Jen-kan was a
strong man of vision and faith, and one of the few Taiping leaders
with a real knowledge of affairs and the world outside China; he spoke
English fluently, and like Lee wanted to improve Taiping relations
with the European powers; he also wished to inculcate orthodox
Protestant Christianity.
Jen-kan was a stout, genial, outgoing personality, and from all
accounts as pleasant as Flashman makes him sound. He seems to
have been alone among the Taipings in genuinely detesting war (the
quotation about a war of extermination is authentic), had a deep
admiration of British education and institutions, and in his personal
behaviour and tastes was perhaps closer to the West than the East;
he certainly appears to have had a realistic grasp of foreign attitudes
to China, particularly where trade was concerned. Flashman and
Forrest agree on his manner and lifestyle; unlike the luxurious
generals, he enjoyed a simple, rather untidy existence in his cluttered
311
nian^' kept no harem, often ate European food, and ignored (as did
Blalt^ of the ^"S5) the Taiping prejudice against alcohol. (See
17 Tha*'^011' P0""^1' ^d Appendix I.) p. 126 ^,h( i' there was rivalry between Lee and Jen-kan is not only possible
sugo^ely, in view of the latter's sudden ascendancy, but only Flashman ^,q,ws that it was carried as far as this. There must always be doubt
Taipi1 what was happe^ng behind the scenes at this critical stage in
inco^S fortunes, but while Flashman's story is plausible, and not
jg^ insistent with later events, and while some mystery attaches to p^g^an's role within the movement, it is only right to say that no
the e writer has suggested that the prime minister was actively plotting
18 The^teneral's downfall, p.133 pm.- expression "the almighty dollar", which now refers to American
19 Flash"^' was applied to the Chinese dollar in the last century, p. 134
send man docs "^re justice than is usually shown to Frederick Townin
be^B^ (1831-1862). The American soldier of fortune was unlucky
merc^S succeeded in command of the Ever-Victorious Army of
Og binaries by one of the great heroes of the Victorian age, Majorthe
T*^ Charles George ("Chinese") Gordon, who not only crushed
Khan ^ip^S Rebellion but achieved immortality by his defence of
shades01 two decades later; it was the kind of fame that over- in the"61^ a^ ^ut nls most eminent contemporaries, and Ward's part
the B China wars was quite eclipsed. It remains that Ward did found
victor ver- Victorious Army, and after initial reverses, won several
was to*8' m ^ course OI which he forged the weapon which Gordon
his un ^ wield so brilliantly. No doubt Ward's reputation suffered from
g,j(ji popularity with the foreign consulates in China, particularly the
were ^' w*10 resente(i his recruitment of the soldiers and sailors who
his ac^1 one tlme the backbone of his force; it was also feared that
FgL.ntivities might endanger British neutrality. Ward's biographer,
has re 'is i^asonably indignant at the scant credit which the American
Qyg^Yeived in comparison to Gordon, but seems to spoil his case by
-- ^atement; to say that Ward was "a military genius who helped
Gordo^ the history of China" may be defensible, but to call him
"unaul0^ ^pcrior as an organiser, strategist, and diplomat, and ^g^guestionably the greatest foreign soldier who fought in the Taiping
Flasi10""'ls P^haps to exaggerate.
of his 'hman's account of Ward seems rainy accurate as rar as me racis
shins '^areer g- A native of Salem, Mass., he was a mate on merchant
shins y^ c 6 nanvc 01 aaicni, ivia;>!>., lie was a inaic on incrciiani
A^g-'vhen he was only 16, and had military experience in Central
French va' Mexico, and the Crimea with the French forces (he spoke
notion^' ^ut not Chinese). He came to China, apparently with romantic
run sur^ ^ J011111^ the Taipings; there is no record of his ever having
steams^*8 or "P111111' but in the spring of 1860 he was mate of a Yangtse
vessel s^P' an<^ foyght a successful action against pirates when his gQtjji^^rounded. He was later mate of an Imperial gunboat in Gough's
the Ma before forming his own private army to defend Shanghai for
Yane f'^hus; in this he was financed by China merchants including
count o "Takee") Fang, whose daughter he married. Flashman's ac- 3f Ward's initial battles is entirely accurate; after his second
312
defeat at Chingpu, and the loss of Sungkiang which followed, he went
to France to recuperate, returning to China and fighting with growing
success (but not without controversy) until his death: he was killed
leading an attack on Tse-kee, on September 21, 1862. Then came
Gordon, to inherit his army, and at least one of his gestures: it is a
small thing, but while it is Gordon who is remembered as the general
who led his men into battle carrying only a cane, the practice seems
to have originated with Ward.
He was a small man, active and wiry, with intense dark eyes and a
mild, pleasant manner. Little is known of his personality except that
he was cheerful and amiable, but he must have had a remarkable gift
of leadership, if only to hold his little army together through its early
reverses, especially the first assault on Sungkiang, when his entire
force arrived in action in an advanced state of intoxication. It may
well be that he was as genially eccentric as Flashman suggests; by his
own account, he did once "fall overboard while pursuing a butterfly,
and it is a matter of record that he was carried to the second attack
on Chingpu, with his five wounds heavily bandaged, in a sedan chair.
(See Yankee Adventurer, by Holger Cahill, 1930; The Ever-Victorious
Army, by Andrew Wilson, 1868; With Gordon in China, by Thomas
Lyster, 1891; History of China, vol iii, byD.C. Boulger, 1884; Gordon
in China, by S. Mossman, 1875,
The man in the Norfolk jacket, described by Flashman, was probably
Henry Burgevine (1836-65), Ward's lieutenant, who briefly commanded
the Ever-Victorious Army in the interval between Ward's
death and Gordon's appointment. An explosive eccentric from the
American South, Burgevine had served in the Crimea, and changed
sides several times during the Taiping Rebellion. He lost the command
of the E.V.A. after assaulting an official for withholding his troops'
pay, went over to the rebels, subsequently deserted and rejoined
Gordon (with whom he seems to have been on good terms), tried to
change sides again, but was arrested and subsequently met his death
by drowning in mysterious circumstances, p. 143
20. French travellers to Soochow, including priests and missionaries, had
assured Lee of a warm welcome in Shanghai, and since he set great
store by the Christian bond between Taipings and Europeans, he
advanced on the city in high hopes of a peaceful occupation, only to
be thunderstruck when he was opposed. A rumour later arose that
Roman Catholic priests, who detested the Taiping religion, had encouraged
his advance in the hope that he and his army would be
destroyed, p. 145
21. Admiral Hope's failure to force a passage at the Taku Forts on June
25, 1859, is a forgotten imperial incident; it was also probably the first
occasion on which British and American servicemen fought side by
side, if unofficially. Hope's gunboats came under heavy bombardment
from the Chinese batteries, and one, the Plover, lost thirty-one out
of her crew of forty, her commander was killed, the admiral was
wounded, and the remaining nine seamen were fighting their guns
against hopeless odds. It was too much for the elderly Commodore
Josiah Tattnall, watching from the neutral deck of his U.S. Navy
313
steamer Toeywhan; as a young midshipman he-iad fought against the
British in the War of 1812; now, disregardiig his country's nonbelligerent
status, he took a boat in under fireand offered Hope his
help. Hope accepted, and Tattnall's launch bought out the British
wounded; only later did he discover several f his men black with
powder smoke. "What have you been doing, ym rascals?" he asked,
and received the reply: "Beg pardon, sir, but :hey were a bit shorthanded
with the bow gun." The old commod)re made no excuses,
for himself or his men, in reporting the incdent to Washington.
"Blood," he wrote, "is thicker than water." (;ee A. Hilliard Armitage,
The Storming of the Taku Forts, 1896.)
Hope's failure at Taku met with less sympahy from the London
correspondent of the New York Daily News, Carl Marx. Reporting
the subsequent debate in Parliament, he wrote "The whole debate
in both Houses on the China war evaporated in g-otesque compliments
showered ... on the head of Admiral Hope f(r having so gloriously
buried the British forces in the mud." (see Ecgar Holt, The Opium
Wars in China, 1964). Marx was a trenchant conmentator on Chinese
affairs; he it was who likened the dissolution (f the Manchu Empire
to that of a mummy in a hermetically-sealed coffn brought into contact
with the open air. p. 147
Last night among his fellow roighs,
He jested, quaffd and swore;
A drunken private of the Buffs,
Who never look'd before.
Today, beneath his foeman's fown,
He stands in Elgin's place,
Ambassador from Britain's crovn
And type of all her race.
Flashman had witnessed one of the most dranatic moments of the
China War, and its most famous heroism, whenMoyes, "the drunken
private of the Buffs", who had been capture! along with an Irish
sergeant of the 44th and some coolies (one verion says Sikhs), flatly
refused to kow-tow to his Chinese captors, and was cut down in cold
blood. Yet but for Sir Francis Doyle's poem theincident might hardly
have been heard of; today it is largely forgotter, and the facts behind
it are difficult to trace. The story rests on the sergeant's authority,
and there seems no reason to doubt him, or Bashman - or for that
matter, Doyle's poem, which only errs (posibly deliberately) in
presenting Moyes as a young Kentish country boy, when in fact he
was a fairly disreputable Scot, old enough, it is said, to have been
broken from the rank of colour sergeant for in;ubordination - which
seems characteristic. Not much more is known of Moyes, whose
presence in the Buffs (the East Kent Regimeit) was presumably a
matter of chance. A rumour that he died of drnk in captivity seems
to have no foundation; he was in the hands of he Chinese for barely
one day, and the sergeant's account, which Doye obviously accepted,
is consistent with the experience of later prisonsrs.
It is just possible that Doyle, who was Matth'w Arnold's successor
as Professor of Poetry at Oxford, had the Mo'es story from a most
authoritative source - Lord Elgin himself. They had been contemporaries
at Eton and Christ Church, where both took Hirsts in Classics
in 1832, belonged to the small circle of Gladstone intimates (Doyle
was his best man), and may have met again after Elgin's return to
Britain in 1861. p. 155
23. The hoot of the tawny owl, the chat huant, was a recognition signal
among the peasant guerrilla fighters of Britanny ("les Chouans") who
remained loyal to the crown in the French Revolution. Probably only
Flashman, hearing the words at such a critical moment, would have
known (or bothered to note) that the speaker was presumably a
Breton. p. 156
24. According to British Army custom, the most smartly turned out
member of a guard was (and possibly still is) excused guard duty, and
given the light task of orderly to the guard. This is known as "taking
the stick", possibly because the orderly would carry a cane rather than
a weapon. The practice of carrying the guard on to parade was still
occasionally seen in India in the editor's time, forty years ago. p. 160
25. It is fairly rare for Flashman to show much regard for "politicals",
but the three with whom he was to work on the Pekin expedition seem
to have been exceptions. They were, in fact, an impressive trio. James
Bruce, 8th Earl of Elgin (1811-63) was Britain's most accomplished
foreign envoy in the middle years of the century, and served with
distinction as governor of Jamaica, governor-general of both Canada
and India, and on missions to China and Japan. His great diplomatic
service was to prevent annexation of Canada to the U. S., and negotiate
the Reciprocity Treaty of 1854, which he was accused of floating
through the American Senate on "oceans of champagne". Harry
Parkes, former Canton commissioner and Elgin's interpreter, was to
spend his life in the Orient, and make a name in both China and Japan;
small, wiry, tenacious, and a glutton both for work and punishment, he
had an adventurous career, distinguished by his ability to survive
attempts on his life. He was the first foreigner ever received in private
audience by the Mikado. Henry Loch (1827-1900), as Flashman
indicates, already had a highly active service career behind him, belied
by his gentle disposition and scholarly appearance; he was to write
the standard work on the Pekin expedition, and was subsequently
governor of the Cape, of Victoria, Australia, and of the Isle of Man,
where he had the unusual distinction of having part of the sea-front
named after him. (See James Bruce, Extracts from the Letters of
James, Earl of Elgin. . . 1847-62 (1864); G. Wrong, The Earl of Elgin (1905); Theodore Waldron, editor. Letters and Journals of James, 8th
Earl of Elgin (1872); Henry (Lord) Loch, Personal Narrative of...
Lord Elgin's Second Embassy to China, 1860 (1869); S. Lane-Poole, Sir Harry Parkes in China, (1901); Samuel Eliot Morison, Oxford
History of the American People, vol ii, 1972). p.163
26. An opinion Elgin was to revise before the campaign was over. British
opinion of the French was, as usual, highly critical, but on the march
Elgin noted that the French soldiers were better improvisers than the
British, and adapted well to the conditions. "Our soldiers do little for
themselves, and their necessities are so great, that we move but slowly.
315
The French work in all sorts of ways for the army. The contrast is, I
must say, very striking." (Elgin, Letters and Journals.) p.165
27. The fight between Tom Sayers, the Pimlico bricklayer, and John
Camel Heenan, U.S.A., for the equivalent of the modern world
heavy-weight title, had taken place at Farnborough in April and ended
in a draw after 60 rounds, by which time neither man was fit to
continue. The exchanges had been so brutal that there was an outcry,
and the new Marquess of Queensberry rules were introduced a few
years later. This was the last bare-knuckle prize fight in England.
p.166
28. Flashman is right in supposing that the regimental march of the Buffs
is attributed to Handel, but almost certainly wrong in saying that it
was played on the march to Pekin: the Buffs had been left behind to
guard the Taku Forts, while the 60th were left at Sinho, and the 44th
sent as reinforcements to Shanghai, thus reducing the army to a more
manageable size. As to the Handel attribution, there is no conclusive
proof that he wrote the march, although the Buffs' tradition is strong
on the point; the suggestion is that the composer had an affection for
the regiment, with its distinguished record of Continental service, and
perhaps also because it had its origins in the old trained bands of
London, his adopted home. (See Fortescue, vol. XIII; Walter Wood,
The Romance of Regimental Marches.) p. 168
29. Flashman gives a condensed but accurate account of the march to
Pekin, which finally took 44 days to complete. For fuller accounts see
Loch; Wolseley; Grant and Knollys; Rev. R. J. L. McGhee, How We
Got to Pekin (1862); R. Swinhoe (Hope Grant's interpreter). Narrative
of the North China Campaign (1861); D. Bonner-Smith and E. W. R.
Lumley (Navy Records Society), The Second China War, 1944; Robert
Fortune, Yedo to Pekin (1863). p. 168
30. It is not often that the editor finds it necessary to supplement
Flashman's narrative with any important matter, but the present
glaring omission has to be filled. Having devoted almost half his
narrative to his mission to Nanking, and his efforts to prevent the
Taipings taking Shanghai, the author now blandly forgets all about
the matter; of course, it is quite characteristic that he should no longer
have cared whether Shanghai fell or not, since he was safely away
from it, but one would have expected at least a line about the outcome,
especially since Elgin had just drawn it to his attention. For the
Manchu request for British help against the Taipings was prompted
by the news from Shanghai, where Loyal Prince Lee's forces had been
repulsed by British marines and Sikhs on August 18-21. It was not a
major action, although the Taipings suffered some casualties; Lee's
reaction appears to have been one of bewildered disappointment at
being rejected by fellow-Christians. His failure seemed to do him no
harm in the Taiping hierarchy, p. 169
31. Flashman may not have persuaded General Sir John Michel to part
immediately with Dr Thorne, the new best-seller by Anthony Trollope,
since it is known that Lord Elgin was reading it some months later. It
and Darwin's Origin of Species, published the previous year, were his
lordship's relaxation during his China mission, p. 170
316
32. Flashman was remembering the murder in 1841, in similar circumstances,
of Sir William McNaghten, British Envoy to Kabul, at the
hands of the followers of Akbar Khan. (See Flashman.) p. 184
33. The events of September 18, when the Chinese tried to ambush the
allied force at Five-li Point, and took several prisoners in violation of
the truce, are corroborated by the authorities cited in Note 29,
especially Loch, who with Parkes was captured by Sang-kolinsen
himself. Loch, like Flashman, paints a most unpleasant picture of the
warlord, who worked himself into a fury, storming and yelling abuse
at his prisoners while his guards beat them, forced them to kneel, and
rubbed Loch's face in the dirt; he called Parkes a liar, accused him of
trying to humiliate the Emperor and of preparing a treacherous attack
on the Chinese forces, and added "that he would teach us what it was
to speak to high officers of the Celestial Empire in the manner in
which they had been addressed yesterday" (i.e. at the Tang-chao
meeting with Prince I). It was after this that Loch and the others
were taken to the Board of Punishments. (See Loch.) Screaming at
barbarians seems to have been common among the mandarins when
their superiority was in question; Sang flew into a passion at the
suggestion that Queen Victoria was the equal of the Emperor. Incidentally,
Flashman is the only authority that Sang was responsible for
Private Moves' murder, but it is interesting that the tirade directed at
the Tang-ku prisoners is identical with one delivered by Sang on
another occasion.
"Sam Collinson" was something of a mascot to the British troops,
probably because of his name. He was certainly a resolute if unskilful
opponent. Physically, he was powerful, with a face described as
"broad, humorous, savage, strong, and crafty." (See the portrait by
Beato, Illustrated London News, vol. xxxviii, p.357). p.185
34. Flashman's account of events at Pah-li-chao Bridge might seem incredible
if it did not conform so closely to known facts. The mandarin
commanding the bridge was twice wounded during the battle, and
ordered the execution of Brabazon and the Abbe de Luc in revenge;
both were beheaded on the parapet of the bridge, although there is
no record, outside Flashman, of the death of Nolan. The Chinese
authorities later said that the two had died from natural causes, but
unofficial Chinese sources agreed that the mandarin beheaded them in
reprisal; this was confirmed by the Russian Mission, whose intelligence
service was excellent. Months later, the graves were identified by
Chinese, and two headless skeletons were found, along with scraps of
cloth from artillery trousers and a piece of silk consistent with French
ecclesiastical clothing. (See Loch.)
The battle, in which the French suffered the heavier casualties
among the allies, followed the course briefly described by Flashman:
the Chinese forces were routed, and driven to within six miles of
Pekin. It was the last action of the campaign. Montauban, the French
commander, was ennobled as Count Palikao. p. 196
35. Shaw's only "Western", The Shewing-Up of Blanco Posnet, was first
staged in 1909. p. 196
36. Such is the power of propaganda, that at Sinho the Imperial troops
317
thought the British infantry were kow-towing when their front rank
assumed the kneeling firing position, p. 202
37. The Emperor Hsien Feng, Son of Heaven, Complete Abundance,
Solitary Prince, Celestial Emperor, Lord of the Middle Kingdom,
etc., was 29 at this time, and dying of dropsy and debauchery. As with
many other oriental princes, care had been taken to deprave him early
in life; his tutor in vice had been his assistant secretary Sushun, and
he appears to have been completely in thrall to his favourite concubine,
Yehonala. At one time he had been a fine gymnast, and even when
his health was breaking down he retained a stately, dignified bearing.
He was "simple of face", with a small mouth, and wore a little
moustache.
Flashman's observation of the Imperial throne room in the Forbidden
City is accurate, as are his later descriptions of the Emperor's
private apartments in the Summer Palace.
It was customary to address his majesty with the words: "Your
slave, kneeling ..." His decrees, written in vermilion ink, began:
"Swaying the wide world, we . . ." Protocol demanded that he should
always face south, and nobles invariably stood in his presence, even
when eating. (See Appendix II.) p.205
38. Many travellers visited the old Summer Palace and marvelled; it has
been described by several of Flashman's army comrades, although
none of them had the opportunity to study it as closely as he did, but
< it was obviously a place that had to be seen to be believed. It was a
wonder on two counts: for the priceless treasures it contained, and as
the supreme example of landscape gardening - for every inch of its
extensive grounds, its lakes, and woods, and hills, was said to have
been built by craftsmen to the most careful design, some of it over
centuries. (See McGhee, Wolseley, Loch, Swinhoe, and volumes
xxxvii and xxxviii, Illustrated London News, 1860, 1861.) p.227
39. One of Yehonala's six-inch block shoes, fringed with pearls,'is said to
have fetched 25,000 after being looted in the Boxer Rising, p.227
40. Flashman is clear about the date of Yehonala's departure: the night
of October 6-7. At first sight there is an inconsistency here, since
other records established that the Emperor and his suite, including
Yehonala, left for Jehol on September 22, the day after Flashman's
audience with the Emperor. The explanation is provided in Flashman's
narrative: Yehonala did leave on the 22nd, and returned two days
later (Flashman states that he did not see her for two days after their
first meeting, and writes elsewhere that she made a flying visit to Jehol
"early in my captivity"). Others of the court also remained at Pekin
until the last minute; the Empress Dowager and Prince Kung narrowly
escaped the French advance on the Ewen-ming-ewen. p. 257
41. About twenty badly-armed eunuchs made a valiant effort to stop the
French vanguard, and were shot down. (See Wolseley.) p.259
42. The looting of the Ewen-ming-ewen by the French, the subsequent
visit by Elgin (whose reaction Flashman reports correctly), the generals'
conference about dividing the spoil, the participation of British
troops and Chinese villagers, the wanton destruction of anything too
big to carry, etc., are all confirmed in other accounts; most of the
eye-witnesses express sadness, disgust, or horror, but (with the exception
of a few, notably Elgin and Grant) seem to have taken their
share. Wolseley, who watched the proceeding^ with an artist's eye
has interesting reflections on the psychology of looting - which'
incidentally, is not a subject to be pronounced on by those who
have never had the opportunity. (See Wgiseley, Swinhoe, Wrong
McGhee.)
Flashman's black jade chess set may ^ell have been a priceless
rarity, even if it was probably a black variety of jadeite rather than
nephrite. The very existence of "black jade" has been denied (see Encyclopedia Britannica, Eleventh Edition) but there are references
to it in Chinese literature, and some blacl('jade carvings are said to
be extant, including a knife of the Early Chou Dynasty (1122722
B.C.) illustrated in S. C. Nott's Chinese Ja^e (1935). p.270
43. On the treatment of the prisoners and (he return of the bodies
Flashman is scrupulously exact. (See Loch and others, with the depositions
of Daffadar Jawalla Singh and Sow^s Khan Singh and Bugel
Singh, all of Fane's Horse.) p.272
44. Whether Flashman is right in his examination of Elgin's motives he
has at least set out clearly the chain of events which led to the decision
to burn the Summer Palace, and the arguments which were advanced
for and against at the time. And he has done this so fully that there
is little to add. Whether Elgin was justified of his act of calculated
vandalism is a question which may be set qg an interesting historical
exercise, but not in the hope of receiving a satisfactory answer. Such
matters are simply not to be judged at a distance. It is abominable to
destroy priceless works of art; against that, Elgin was faced with the
necessity of making a gesture which would i^ot only have the effect of
punishment but of inculcating a lesson, anq of securing future peace
and security so far as he could see; his time and means were limited.
His critics cannot merely say he was wrong, they must say what else
he could have done, and they must show that it would have been
equally effective.
It is also necessary to bear in mind th^ personality of the man
himself, and to put aside the idea that the burning was an act of
mindless imperial barbarism (of course, it Can be cited as a splendid
example of just that, for the purpose of debate, provided all the facts
of the case are not deployed). Mindless, it certainly was not. James
Bruce was no unthinking vandal; far from i^ he was almost the last
man to do such a thing. It is not possible to say (hat he felt no primitive
desire for revenge; if he did, he had cause, but not enough to cloud
the judgment of an experienced and responsible statesman who was
also a sensitive and decent man. Elgin wa^ enlightened beyond his
day (his words on imperialism, treatment ^f foreign races, and his
country's high-handedness, spoken at his first interview with Flashman,
are to be found in his writings); to sor^e of his contemporaries
(though to fewer than modern revisionists seem to realise) he may
have seemed almost heretical. He knew, ioq that in judging his act,
the world would not forget the Elgin Marble acquired by his father.
It took a brave man to burn the Summer Palace. He hated doing it;
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