"General Houston informed me that you fought in the Opium War. What is that all about?"
"The history of it goes back a good many years. The East India Company established a permanent post at Canton in the 1600s. The company's ships carried Chinese tea, silks, and porcelain to India. All other Chinese ports besides Canton were closed to foreigners, and at Canton we were forced to deal with hong merchants, an arrogant lot, and worked under an appalling lot of restrictions. The East India Company still managed to make a go of it until seven years ago, when they lost their monopoly.
"About that time, British and American ships began to carry Indian opium into China. The Chinese didn't like that, and the new merchants grew restive under the old trade restrictions which the East India Company had endured. Finally the Chinese ordered all the opium in Canton seized. The Canton mandarin exceeded his orders—not only did he confiscate the opium, he destroyed several million pounds' worth. He went so far as to launch fireships in an attempt to destroy British vessels." Stewart shrugged. "Well, Doctor, that sort of thing simply cannot be tolerated, and we've been trying to teach those yellow heathens a lesson ever since. Oh, we'll get the job done, have no fear. It's just that China is a bloody big country, with an awful lot of people in it."
"The war isn't over yet?"
"No, but it soon will be, and we shall have what we want—the cession of Hong Kong, resumption of trade, and an indemnity of six million pounds."
"You sound very sure of that."
"We have never failed at a task once we've set our mind to it."
"You're forgetting Yorktown, aren't you?"
"Not at all. In the case of your revolution, our heart simply wasn't in it. George III sent Hessian mercenaries and his worst generals. What does that tell you? Had he sent capable commanders and good British regiments it would have been a different story. We might still have American colonies."
Ashbel Smith had been exceedingly curious about Major Stewart and his mission ever since Sam Houston had broached the subject at Cedar Point, and now the doctor thought he saw an opening.
"There are some who say the British would like to make a colony of Texas."
Stewart laughed softly. "You're a canny one, aren't you?"
Smith tried to look ingenuous. "What ever do you mean, Major?"
"You're wondering why I'm here. If I were on a secret mission for the Crown, I would scarcely be in a position to divulge that information to you, now, would I? But I can tell you this. An independent Texas would suit us just fine."
"What about a Texas that is a state in the Union?"
"That will never happen. The Congress of the United States will never add another slave state to the Union. Why, even the leaders of the two political parties, Clay and Van Buren, have publicly voiced their opposition to annexation and the expansion of slavery."
"Were he here, Sam Houston would most strongly disagree with your prediction."
"I have long been an admirer of the general and his exploits. He and I are kindred spirits. We are both guided by an insatiable thirst for adventure."
"That may have been the case with the Old Chief ten years ago," said Ashbel Smith, "but now his only concern is Texas. He would sacrifice himself for Texas—in fact, has done so."
"I look forward to meeting him. Have you any idea when he might return?"
"A week, possibly two." Smith could see that he would get no further with Stewart on the subject of slavery and politics. "Until then, I am at your disposal. Whatever you wish to do, wherever you wish to go—I will do my utmost to bring your plans to fruition."
Stewart said that for the next day or two at least he would like to sample the pleasures which Galveston Island had to offer. He retired early, read some of Bulwer-Lytton's most recent novel, and was awakened at half past seven the next morning by the ringing of breakfast bells from the various hotels and boardinghouses across town. The Tremont's patrons congregated on the veranda. Ashbel Smith was waiting for him, and they joined the other boarders for what Stewart declared was an excellent dejeuner a la fourchette. Afterward, they rented a pair of horses and embarked on a vigorous ten-mile ride along the island's white beaches. There were gulls, snipes, and curlews in abundance. That afternoon, Stewart won a small wager from Smith over a game of billiards—money the doctor could ill afford to lose. They whiled away the late afternoon on the Tremont's veranda, watching Galveston's inhabitants pass to and fro in the street. Smith sipped an iced mint julep—the day was quite warm and the long ride had tired him—while Stewart consumed a Madeira and bitters. Dinner consisted of tender venison steaks and roasted wild duck and sweet potatoes dripping with syrup.
Throughout the day Stewart spoke freely of his experiences in Her Majesty's Army, and Smith learned some fascinating bits and pieces of information. He discovered that in Scottish regiments pipers always marched around the mess table after dinner playing their instruments; on St. Andrew's Day, it was tradition for the mess sergeant to pass around a quaich filled with Scotch whiskey which every officer drained and then turned the cup over to kiss the bottom, in this way demonstrating that the cup was empty; that aristocratic young men with wealth and a taste for high society and sport preferred the Guards regiments which were usually stationed in London or Windsor, guarding perhaps St. James's Palace or the Bank of England, and seldom having to fight in the nasty little wars that were breaking out in remote parts of the empire, while officers like Stewart, who were ambitious but poor, sought to obtain commissions in regiments posted overseas where glory could be won; that almost every regiment had its own mascot, usually a dog, like the Maltese terrier of the Royal Scots who liked to chase enemy cannonballs; that Scottish and Welsh regiments seldom got along well together, since Welshman considered Scots dirty "keelies" who shit too much and charged like hell in both directions—a keely being a Scotsman who regarded a bloody bareknuckled brawl the best way to spend a sociable evening on the town.
For many young males among the urban poor in Britain, the army was the only escape. Stewart told the story of a recruit rejected for having "hammer toes." The man returned a few days later to try to enlist a second time. He'd had his deformed toes amputated. "I'd ruther be a sodjer wantin' two taes than to remain a civvy," he explained. Such a man could not be turned away. The "Jocks," said Stewart, were heroic scum. They were poorly paid and poorly fed—the meat served in army messes was so notorious it was called "Harriet Lane" after a woman who had been hacked to pieces by her murderer. The common soldier was profane, rowdy, ignorant, and loved drink and prostitutes. But he was also loyal, courageous, and capable of extraordinary feats of endurance.