The sun shone dully on the slate hillside forming the conical island of Kam-Sing-Moon. Porters moved back and forth, carrying bow-topped chests from the China Flyer at the end of the wharf to the warehouse at the foot of the barren mountain.
When the porters had concluded their task, Lothar Schiller greeted their supervisor at the port entry and accepted the receipt for Fanshaw’s cumshaw of opium.
‘I assume that clears me to leave,’ said Schiller in German, knowing no Chinese to speak to the depot official.
The supervisor bowed his head with its cylindrical blue cap, replying in Chinese as he gestured towards the Huma anchored across the natural harbour. Schiller understood that the man wanted him to move alongside the Bombay Marine frigate.
Watching the official turn on the gangplank and stride back up the wharf to the warehouse, Schiller thought of Fanshaw’s instructions: the China Flyer was to remain here at Kam-Sing-Moon until Fanshaw arrived from Whampoa.
What if he were to abandon Fanshaw and leave China without him?
Schiller doubted if the depot officials could detain him here. Within the last hour, the island guard had come to the end of their watch and, at the moment, only two cumbersome junks lay in the harbour, obviously waiting for the next watch to arrive.
But, then, did the Chinese even care what Schiller did now that they had taken what they wanted from the hold?
The Co-Hung, too, might be detaining Fanshaw in Canton, forbidding him to rejoin his captain and crew. Fanshaw had worried about such an event.
Schiller mounted the quarter-deck, weighing the possibility of striking out from Chinese waters against the alternative of waiting here for Fanshaw and the gold owing to him and the crew.
But had not Fanshaw renegued on his promises before? He had not paid the men on their arrival in Whampoa, nor, before that, when they had reached Macao. And what about when he had bribed the men to fire on the helpless Sulu islanders and then failed to honour his promise?
Fanshaw was planning to sail to London. Schiller had learnt that much from him. He suspected that Fanshaw would next promise to pay them when they reached England.
Schiller would like to go back to England … but how badly?
To bring a ship from the Orient represented a major feat for any seaman. He could find a good job in London with such credentials.
Contemplating the arduous voyage down the South China Sea, across the Indian Ocean, and up the west coast of Africa to Europe, he worried about the condition of the China Flyer. At least a month of repairs was necessary—no, vital. Fanshaw had less respect for the China Flyer than he did for the crew. Schiller doubted if they could sail as far as Africa’s Cape without trouble.
The alternative was Madras.
Should he risk returning to Madras and learning whether the East India Company had put a price on his head for being an accomplice with George Fanshaw?
As Schiller crossed his quarter-deck, his attention focused on the Huma. Seeing activity in the shrouds of the Marine frigate, he wondered if she was preparing to weigh anchor.
* * *
Horne and his men lay in a line along Kam-Sing-Moon’s jagged crest, looking down at the Chinese porters unloading wooden chests from the China Flyer and carrying them to the warehouse at the head of the pier, like ants burdened with breadcrumbs.
Jingee lay next to Horne above the crescent-shaped harbour. He pointed down to the grey-tiled warehouse, whispering, ‘That must be the opium depot, Captain sahib.’
Groot observed from the other side of Horne, ‘Those chests must be Fanshaw’s gift to the Hoppo.’
Jingee added, ‘I wonder if Fanshaw’s come down river yet from Canton.’
Horne’s interest was focused on the Huma, observing that the sails were furled but the anchor not dropped. The Chinese must believe taut cables held the ship more effectively in its anchorage.
Jud spotted activity on deck. ‘The crew’s still aboard, sir.’
Horne had also seen the brown-skinned sailors and was greatly relieved.
‘How many guards do you think are posted with our men?’ asked Kiro on the far side of Groot.
The distance between the summit and harbour was too great for Horne to see men’s features or clothing. He longed for his spyglass.
‘Men, we shall follow separate paths down the slope,’ he said finally, after studying the two ships and the pair of junks anchored beyond.
He pointed to the Huma. ‘Jingee and Kiro, do you see those shore cables?’
They saw the black lines stretching from the larboard side to the rocky shoreline.
Horne swept his finger to the right of the mountainside. ‘You follow the gully down … there. Wait behind that boulder for me to give you a signal. Then start climbing the aft cables.’
He continued to the others. ‘You three keep to the ridge. Run along the right ledge. Come out down there by the … prow. See?’
Babcock, Groot and Jud followed the direction of Horne’s finger, nodding as they understood the route to the southern promontory.
Horne concluded, ‘Mr Gilbert, you stay behind with me.’
Gilbert’s excitement was growing, his confidence swollen by his success in guiding the Marines safely past the twin forts at the entrance to Macao harbour.
‘What do you want me to do this time, Captain Horne?’ he asked, feeling like a Bombay Marine himself.
‘I’ll tell you when the time comes, Mr Gilbert.’
Horne looked back at Kiro and Jingee. ‘Remember, wait for my signal.’
‘Aye, aye, sir,’ answered Kiro.
Horne glanced once more from the junks to the pier, to the warehouse, before ordering, ‘Now … go!’
Kiro led the way, followed by Jingee bent forward in a crouch. A few moments later Babcock, Groot and Jud disappeared in the opposite direction. Horne watched the five men darting from cover to cover, creeping down the mountainside. Then he beckoned to Cheng-So Gilbert to follow him.
He went slowly, periodically cautioning Gilbert not to move too quickly and create a landslide. The sun was high and the wind off the open sea did little to cool the heat reflected from the slate mountainside. As Horne crept cautiously downwards, his eyes darted from the Huma to the porters still moving along the wharf with the opium chests, to the two junks now directly below him in the cove.
Reaching the foot of the incline, he checked to see that the Marines were all in place before he whispered to Gilbert, ‘Now. Get ready to call.’
‘To the guards aboard the Huma.’
‘Chinese guards?’ Cheng-So Gilbert looked alarmed, his new-found confidence disappearing. ‘But, Captain, I don’t know what dialect they speak, what to say …’ Trembling, he mopped the perspiration from his brow.
‘Use a court dialect,’ Horne instructed him. ‘Demand to speak to their commander-in-chief. Be forceful.’
Gilbert glanced nervously round the harbour. ‘Won’t … they hear me?’ He nodded at the porters still trudging between the warehouse and the China Flyer.
‘Not if you don’t scream at the top of your lungs.’
Not waiting for Gilbert to protest further, Horne pushed him from the protection of the rock.
As the Chinaman splashed into the shallow cove, hailing the Huma in Chinese, Horne signalled to Jingee and Kiro to make their move.
Aboard ship, the crew ran to the rail with three guards when they heard Gilbert’s voice. Recognising the chubby Chinese interpreter standing knee-deep in the lapping water, they looked beyond him and saw Horne, and they quickly overpowered the guards.
By then, the Marines had already begun climbing the far cables.