The morning light was breaking over the pine-covered hills as Horne moved down the Pearl River with his men and Cheng-So Gilbert. Two hours had passed since they had abandoned the courtesans, bound and gagged, under a willow tree and stripped their sampan of its decorative lanterns and cushions. They had continued down river, travelling in two groups to avoid attracting unnecessary attention to themselves on their way to Macao.
Horne went with Jud, Groot and Cheng-So Gilbert in the sampan. Babcock, Kiro and Jingee kept to the reeds on the opposite bank, paddling the fisherman’s boat. Both groups wore oddments of clothing they had stolen from washing lines in fishing villages along the way.
A ragged piece of homespun hung from Horne’s head to his shoulders as he poled the sampan through the eddying shallows, eyes alert as Groot and Gilbert sat watchful near the prow.
River traffic had been sparse throughout the dark morning hours. Every owl’s hoot and crane’s flutter had tried the men’s nerves, but the only travellers they had seen were two sampans moving in the opposite direction. The peasants showed little interest in Horne’s men; they likewise pretended to be undisturbed by them. The journey continued southwards, slow and monotonous, the two groups periodically emerging from the reeds, waving a brown rag to signal they were maintaining their progress.
After sunrise, when Groot was due to take over the pole, Horne heard a noise behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw a mast above the distant rushes.
Whistling, he waved Groot to his knees.
Groot spotted the tall mast rounding the bend, but Cheng-So Gilbert had not yet seen it.
When he eventually caught sight of the approaching vessel, he gasped, ‘The Imperial flag.’
Horne had already identified the official Manchu dragon; he beckoned Gilbert to him, ordering, ‘Take the pole instead of Groot.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Gilbert.
Horne waved for Groot, answering, ‘Inside.’
The vessel was rapidly gaining distance on the far side of the river. Horne observed their progress through the leather curtain, guessing, ‘They could be looking for us.’
‘Do you think Babcock’s seen it?’ asked Groot beside him.
Horne was concerned about the same thing. It was time for the other men to signal from the reeds and, if they had not spotted the patrol boat, they would emerge directly in front of it.
‘Gilbert, call to them,’ ordered Horne through the curtain.
‘To Mr Babcock?’
‘To the patrol.’
‘Call what?’
‘Anything. But shout loud enough to alert the others that somebody’s nearby. Quick.’
‘What if they come and search us?’ asked Gilbert.
‘We have to risk that,’ Horne said. ‘Remember you’re a fisherman. Don’t sound too educated.’
Horne, Groot and Jud lay motionless inside the curved cabin, careful not to rock the sampan as Cheng-So Gilbert poled his way out through the reeds.
‘He’s going to give us away,’ whispered Groot.
‘Let’s just hope he doesn’t capsize the boat.’
‘Or get caught in the river’s main current,’ added Jud.
Outside the cabin, Gilbert had begun calling to the patrol, his voice quavering with nerves.
‘Louder,’ Horne urged through the curtain.
Groot whispered, ‘What do you think he’s saying.’
They fell silent as a reply came back across the river. They exchanged glances, listening, expecting the patrol to cross the swift-moving current …
But nothing.
‘You can come out now,’ whispered Gilbert.
Horne peered through the leather curtain. The patrol was moving down river. Across the wide body of water, a brown cloth waved from the reeds—all was clear.
‘What did you say to get rid of them so quickly, Mr Gilbert?’ Horne asked, crawling from the cabin.
‘I called out that my poor wife and eight children had lost all control of their bowels. I asked the patrol boat if they would take them down river to Macao. I said that only my grandmother knows how to stop the crying woman and sick babies from making such an awful mess.’
‘What made you think of that?’
Gilbert sheepishly dropped his eyes. ‘Because I was about to do that very thing myself, Captain Horne.’
* * *
The men were tired and ravenously hungry by the time they reached Macao the next day. They had moored four times since leaving Whampoa, stopping to sleep when the river traffic was at its height, and to share the small bits of fish and curd Cheng-So Gilbert had managed to buy from a passing sampan.
Activity was at its busiest in Macao during the morning, barges and junks and small reed coracles moving to and fro past the twin forts that guarded the harbour entrance. But there was no sign of the Huma or the China Flyer at anchorage within the harbour. Horne conceded that Fanshaw had not been lying to him, that the Huma had been taken to Kam-Sing-Moon for the chests of opium to be unloaded at the government’s depot.
Groot said, ‘I bet the China Flyer’s also been taken to that island. She must have had cargo when we saw her in Whampoa. She sat low in the water, schipper.’
‘We’ll soon find out.’ Horne looked at the men, asking, ‘Are you willing to try slipping past those two forts out there?’
‘We made it this far,’ said Babcock, pulling on his big ear.
‘What other choice do we have, Captain Sahib?’
‘None, Jingee. That’s our one way to the sea and Kam-Sing-Moon.’
Cheng-So Gilbert, bolstered by his success in fending off the patrol boat and securing food for the men, bragged, ‘Why would they stop us? We’re only lowly fishermen. Let me get us through!’
The men exchanged glances. Did pride truly go before a fall?