On stepping aboard Neel encountered many other surprises: while the geography of the vessel’s interior remained European the pattern of use was quite different. The ship’s Chinese officers had chosen to occupy the fo’c’sle, which on Western vessels was always assigned to crewmen; it was the lascars who were berthed in the roundhouse, which, on an English ship, would have been the exclusive preserve of the ships’ officers.
The functioning of the Cambridge too was unlike that of a Western ship. There was no ‘captain’ as such, but rather an officer whose position was like that of the lao-dah of a junk — more a co-ordinator than a commander in the Western fashion. This suited the crew very well since most operational matters were left to them: decisions were generally arrived at by consensus which meant that the atmosphere on board was more relaxed than on most ships.
The crewmen were a varied lot — apart from Indian lascars there were contingents of sailors from Java, Sumatra, the Moluccas, the Philippines and of course Guangdong — but they generally got on well together and there was a great deal of camaraderie on board.
But for all that, there was also something a little unreal about the atmosphere of the Cambridge. The vessel was always surrounded by guard-boats and the crewmen were never allowed ashore except with an armed escort: whether this was for their own protection or to prevent them from deserting was not clear. But Jodu was certainly not the only member of the crew who joked about the Cambridge being a floating jail.
For Neel the most discomfiting thing about being on the Cambridge was the lack of news: she could have been at sea for all that her crew knew of what was happening around them.
Fortunately Compton had become, by default, the go-between who conveyed the orders of the Guangzhou authorities to the crew of the Cambridge. He was always a fount of information so his visits were eagerly awaited, and by none more so than Neel.
After a year of working closely with Compton, Neel had become very finely attuned to his friend’s moods. As the weeks went by he noticed a marked change in Compton’s usually bouyant spirits: at every visit he seemed more and more despondent. Other than ferrying messages he had little work to do, he said. The new Governor-General, Qishan, had brought along a translator of his own, a man by the name of Peng Bao. The trouble was that this man was not really a translator but rather a linkister, whose knowledge of English was limited to Yangjinbang or pidgin English: for many years he had worked for a notorious British opium smuggler, Lancelot Dent. This Peng Bao was a hou gau, a low fellow, the kind of man who ‘lies even while praying’. Yet, he had somehow succeeded in gaining the Governor-General’s ear even as Commissioner Lin’s advisors and translators were being shoved aside. The old translation bureau had been more or less disbanded and Zhong Lou-si was no longer consulted on matters of any importance.
At the start of November Compton confided something that came as an even greater surprise to Neeclass="underline" he said he was in the process of moving his family away from Guangzhou. He had decided to send them back to his village, which was on the coast, not far from Chuenpee.
Neel was startled to hear this because he knew that Compton had a great love of Guangzhou, as did his family.
Why? Has something happened?
Compton’s face darkened. Things were changing very fast in Guangzhou, he said. Words like ‘traitor’ and ‘spy’ were being thrown around so freely that everyone who had ever had any contact with foreigners had reason to be afraid; the place was becoming a ‘crocodile pool’. If things got worse there was no telling what might happen: it was for their own safety that he had decided to move his family.
Even on the Cambridge the crewmen were aware that tensions were rising around them. But this did not deter the ship’s Muslim lascars from continuing to make their monthly visits to the Huaisheng mosque in Guangzhou. For reasons of prudence, they no longer took the public ferries that connected Whampoa and Guangzhou but travelled instead on hired boats with armed escorts. Their usual practice was to go up on a Thursday afternoon; they would stay the night at the mosque and return to the Cambridge the next day, after the noon prayers.
Opportunities to escape the confinement of the Cambridge were rare enough that Neel took to accompanying the lascars on their monthly outings. After they had gone off to the Huaisheng mosque, he would go over to the other side of the river, to make his way to the Ocean Banner Monastery where he could always be sure of a warm welcome from Taranathji. Often Compton too would come over to meet him there.
On one such visit, in the depth of winter, the three of them — Neel, Taranathji and Compton — had a long talk. Compton said that he had it on good authority that the new Governor-General, Qishan, did not want to provoke another armed confrontation with the British; if the decision were his own to make then he would have acceded to the British demands. But the Emperor had expressly forbidden him to make any concessions. The orders from Beijing remained unchanged: the ‘rebel aliens’ had to be expelled from China at all costs.
Here Taranathji interjected that the best chance of achieving this end would have been to follow the advice of the Gurkhas: to attack the British in the rear by launching a joint expedition against the East India Company’s territories in Bengal. Had the British been compelled to defend themselves in India they would have had no option but to withdraw from China.
This brought a rueful smile to Compton’s face: he revealed that he had heard from Zhong Lou-si that the present Gurkha king, Rajendra Bikram Shah, had recently renewed his offer of military intervention; he had urged Beijing to support him in an attack on British forces in Bengal.
On hearing this Neel sat upright, his hopes soaring. And what had come of the Gurkha offer? he asked. Was there any chance that the Chinese would join the Gurkhas in an overland attack on British India?
Compton shook his head: No, he said, it was against Beijing’s policy to make alliances with other kingdoms. And in any case the Qing did not entirely trust the Gurkhas.
Something snapped in Neel’s head when he heard this.
Oh you are fools, you Han-ren! he cried out. Despite all your cleverness you are fools! Don’t you see, this is the only stratagem that might have worked? The Gurkhas were right all along!
Compton made a gesture of resignation. What does it matter now, Ah Neel? It’s already too late.
That night Neel lay awake thinking how different things might have been, in Hindustan and China, if the Qing had acted on the advice they’d received from their Nepali tributaries. The Gurkhas might even have succeeded in creating a realm that straddled much of the Gangetic plain; a state strong enough to hold off the European powers.
But for the short-sightedness of a few men in Beijing the map of the world might have been quite different …