The camp-followers were still pushing and shoving when the purwans came crashing down, on either side of the mast. On the dawa side the purwan dropped heavily on the deck, killing a gun-lascar and severely injuring another before toppling over the bulwark and vanishing from view. The other half of the beam caused even more damage: fouled by a webbing of ropes it began to thrash about, its ten-yard length lashing the deck like a flail, battering the panicked camp-followers.
Zachary too was knocked down in the mêlée, but he regained his footing quickly and immediately spotted the problem. Crossing the deck with a couple of strides, he used the remnants of the rigging to haul himself atop the stump. It was a habit of his to carry a jack-knife in his pocket: flicking it open, he hacked at the tangled ropes until the runaway beam broke free and was blown clear of the ship.
On descending from the stump, Zachary’s first thought was for Raju. He found him prostrate in the starboard scuppers, with the breath knocked out of him but otherwise unhurt.
‘You all right, kid-mutt?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good lad.’
Around them was a scene of utter confusion, the dead and wounded lying sprawled about on deck, the wind howling, boys screaming, men trampling each other to get to the hatches.
On the quarter-deck Captain Mee and the subalterns were struggling to keep their footing, their uniforms drenched. At the sight of them Zachary’s temper boiled over. Cupping a hand around his mouth he shouted at Captain Mee: ‘Sir! You can’t say you weren’t warned.’
The captain’s eyes narrowed as they flickered briefly in his direction. But then he looked away, pretending he hadn’t heard.
*
The storm blew over in a few hours but the toll that it exacted from the Hind, in the few minutes after the lightning strike, was very steep: dozens wounded and five dead — the fatalities were two gun-lascars, an assistant apothecary, a ‘native dresser’ and an artificer. Their bodies were consigned to the sea at sunset that very day.
The banjee-boys were among the worst hit. Of the fifers, Dicky was one of the few to escape injury; many were badly hurt in the mêlée around the hatches. One boy fell from the companion-ladder and broke his hip; another was so badly trampled that his legs were broken in several places.
Even the company’s pundit was not spared: the runaway purwan hit him square in the ribcage, breaking several bones. There were so many casualties that the Hind’s infirmary could not hold them all; the litters of the injured spilt out into the gangways and cuddies of the quarter-deck.
The sepoys escaped unscathed, having been safely ensconced in their cumra when the storm broke; it was the camp-followers and lascars who bore the brunt of it — and steep though the toll was they all knew that it would have been worse still if not for Zachary’s quickness and presence of mind. Gratitude was lavished on him in such measure that it even spilt over to Raju. To be the cynosure of the banjee-boys’ attention was a new experience for him and it turned his head a little. Bragging on his master’s behalf he launched into a long tale about Zachary’s exploits on the Ibis.
The banjee-boys were suitably impressed. ‘Really, men?’ said Dicky. ‘Bugger was involved in a mutiny?’
‘What you think, men? There was even a court hearing about “the Ibis incident”. It was in the papers and all.’
June 23, 1840
Guangzhou
Today I learnt from Compton that a fleet of British warships has appeared at the mouth of the Pearl River. Their coming has been so long heralded that we’d almost begun to think that they would never arrive. And now that they have, what next?
Actually the ships arrived a few days ago. The reason I didn’t know was that I have been ill for the last ten days. At times I was so unwell I thought I might not recover. It is something to do with the heat, I suspect; the weather has been very oppressive these last few weeks.
It was Mithu who looked after me. Every day she brought me food — scalding hot soups and a rice gruel, not unlike our panta-bhaat. Knowing how much we Bengalis love butter and ghee, she even fetched me some from the Tibetan monastery! This was fortunate in more ways than one: because of her visit, Taranathji found out that I was sick and came to see me, bringing with him a lama who is adept in Tibetan medicine. He read my pulse and said that my condition was quite serious. He prescribed all kinds of foul-smelling tonics and teas — I have no idea what they were, but they worked wonders. Mithu brought them to me, at the prescribed times: I really don’t know what I would have done without her.
A couple of days ago, when I began to recover, Mithu told me that ‘something big’ was happening in the foreign enclave: a ‘mandarin-tent’ had been set up in the Maidan, she said, and hundreds of men were flocking to it.
Today, on the way to Compton’s shop, I stopped by to look: the tent is a large pavilion-like edifice, bedecked with official banners and pennants. Inside, a half-dozen blue-button officials were presiding over what appeared to be a trial of strength — a large iron weight had to be hoisted aloft. The young men who had gathered in the Maidan were led in one by one, to try their luck. Those who succeeded were led to another part of the tent, to have their names entered in a register.
These youths were dressed as if for exercise; some were carrying staves, and some were wearing strips of cloth around their foreheads, painted with Chinese characters. Even though it was a hot day some were exercising as they waited, squaring off against one another, with bare hands or staves, bouncing lightly on their heels as they ducked, parried and feinted.
It was Compton who told me what was going on: Commissioner Lin has sent out an order for local militias to be raised across the province. The notices have brought thousands of young men flocking to recruiting centres like this one. Some belong to clubs and societies that practise the arts of traditional fighting; some are chau fei — young thugs looking to make a little money. They are known as ‘brave-young-men’.
And what was behind all this? I asked. That was when Compton told me about the arrival of the British fleet. Apparently dozens of ships are now anchored around the mouth of the Pearl River, in the stretch of coast between Hong Kong and Macau. They have transported thousands of soldiers, both English and Indian. The troops have been seen landing at some of the islands of the Pearl River estuary — Lintin, Capsingmoon, Hong Kong and so on. This has caused panic in that part of the province, but here in Canton the news is still not widely known — the authorities are none too keen to spread it about.
In Commissioner Lin’s circle there is great alarm. That is why they have started to take extraordinary measures. They know that their war-junks will not be able to oppose the British on water so they are preparing to fight them on land. But this will be no easy matter; Compton says the forces at the Commissioner’s disposal are not large — only a few thousand.
I was astonished to hear this: I’d have thought that in a country as populous as China, every province would have a huge army at its disposal. But apparently this is not the case; most of the empire’s troops are spread out along the western frontiers which are very far from Guangdong.