A full programme had been arranged.
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’s Royal Marine Band beat the retreat on Huang Steps in spite of an unseasonable cloudburst. The ceremony brought tears of nostalgia to Miss Several-Strickland’s eyes, and was respectfully reviewed in the Dhonese press the next morning as a rain-making rite of supernatural efficiency. The ship’s football team were soundly beaten by a team of Huang’s executioners in a game which lasted nearly five hours, a banquet of fried chicken and rice wine being served at half-time in the Prime Minister’s house which was over two miles from the ground. The boxing team, however, beat Huang’s boxers by eight fights to nil, Huang’s boxers being, in their opinion, unfairly handicapped by being forbidden to use their feet. The ship was open to visitors every afternoon. Everything movable was locked up or lashed down and the denuded decks were crowded with curious Dhonese fingering the sailors’ uniforms and exclaiming at the guns.
On the third day the Commander organized a children’s party in the traditional manner. It was the first children’s party in Dhon Phon Huang’s history, and it passed into the city’s mythology. Hordes of screaming children swooped down the slides on to the quarter-deck, and rode on saddles fixed to the gun barrels. Small boys enthusiastically punched the midriff of an inflated diver’s suit while the Chief G.I., hidden behind the bulkhead with a microphone, made groaning noises. The ship’s company dressed up as pirates and presided over the sideshows, served tea, and separated knots of struggling small boys.
“Just look at ’em, sir,” said the Master at Arms breathlessly to The Bodger from beneath his layer of grease paint and his eye patch. “Kids is just the same all over the world.” Miss Several-Strickland told The Bodger afterwards that
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's party for the poorer children of the city had more effect on Huang’s foreign policy than the whole weight of an army division supported by the U.S. Seventh Fleet.
The climax of
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’s visit was a banquet given by Huang himself. Huang’s performance at
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’s cocktail party and their own experiences ashore had made
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’s ship’s company cautious. The ship appreciated that this would be no banquet for weaklings. The Bodger gave the selection of the wardroom party his personal supervision.
“We’ve got Commander (E) and Commander (L),” he told the Commander. “Myself, Pilot, Guns, Slim, Broad, Scratch, Mr Pebblethwaite, the two Docs and Eric. And Ginger’s selecting a team of plumbers.”
“God,” said the Commander, “that’s certainly the first eleven. If Huang manages to knock out that lot, we’ll give up and join the Toc H.”
“Pity you can’t come, Jimmy. I’ve a feeling this will be your sort of run ashore.”
“No, I’ve got to stay on board if the Old Man’s going ashore. I’m very surprised he’s going, actually. You know what he’s like about the Yellow Peril. He and Commander (L) have given Western civilization ten years at the outside.”
“I didn’t know El-san was a Yellow Peril fan.”
“Rabid,” said the Commander.
The ship’s company were also taking Huang’s banquet seriously. The Master at Arms drew up the list himself. The Chief Petty Officers and E.R.A.s messes were included almost to a man, the Royal Marine barracks provided a strong contingent and the Master at Arms hand-picked the remainder from the ship’s defaulters’ lists. The Captain himself led the party which, when mustered on the jetty, was the most formidable expedition the ship had ever put ashore on a single evening.
The banquet party were profoundly impressed by Huang’s palace.
The palace gates were of bronze wrought into intricate designs of dragons, horses and elephants. The dragons’ eyes were blood red rubies and the elephants’ tusks were of inlaid ivory. The gates were flung open as
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’s party advanced and the Prime Minister stood waiting to welcome his master’s guests.
The Prime Minister led the way along a paved path between fountains and flowering magnolia trees. Lanterns hung in the branches and servants stood with torches to light the way.
“Good heavens,” said Commander (L), “this man’s quite civilized.”
Huang’s dining hall was under the great golden dome the Captain had seen from the ship. It was a vast apartment floored in marble with mosaics set in the walls. Latticed windows opened on to the garden and the music of plucked strings floated out from a small gallery in one wall. Cushions were placed for the guests and the walls were lined with serving girls.
Commander (L) was interested in the mosaics.
“I wonder what they’re doing as far east as this?” he said to Commander (E). He examined the nearest mosaic appreciatively and the girl standing under it was flattered. She smiled and wriggled her hips. But Commander (L) was quite oblivious of her.
“Strange to see them here. They look almost Greek. Or Persian perhaps.” The girl smiled delightedly. “I must have a closer look later on.”
The ship’s company were also intrigued by the mosaics.
“Cor,” said Able Seaman Golightly hoarsely, “look at ’eml Better than --- Pompei!”
The Captain sat on Huang’s right hand with the officers on either side of them. The Bodger sat next to the Prime Minister and the ship’s company ranged themselves in a huge circle round the hall. The meal began.
Huang’s banquets were on an Olympian scale. Each guest had a whole chicken and large bowl of rice wine to himself. The carcass of an animal the size of an ox was brought in steaming and reeking on a spit, and was placed in the middle of the floor. An executioner with bared sword stood ready to carve.
“Oh God, I bet I get the eye,” The Bodger muttered.
The Prime Minister awoke from the trance of apparently fathomless gloom in which he had been sitting and called to the executioner. The executioner nodded and, with a lightning lunge and twist, carved out the nearest eye and brought it, still smoking, on the end of his sword and offered it to The Bodger.
The Bodger looked at the terrible eye glaring at him from the end of the sword and felt his stomach make a complete revolution. But smiling delightedly, The Bodger accepted the ghastly eye and carried it towards his mouth. As he did so, he squeezed the eye like an orange pip. The eye soared over The Bodger’s shoulder and out of the nearest window, while The Bodger put his hand in his mouth and munched ostentatiously, nodding and smiling, as though his evening had just been made complete.
“Bravo Bodger,” breathed the Captain, who had been watching surreptitiously, with his heart in his mouth.
The drinking bowls were filled and Huang caught the Captain’s eye. The Captain at last recognized the vaguely familiar tune the band were playing. The company rose for the Loyal Toast. Huang, obviously feeling that the occasion called for some added comment, spoke to the Interpreter, sitting behind him.
“Lord Huang say ‘Cheers’,” said the Interpreter.
The Captain inclined his head in acknowledgement.
“Tell Lord Huang ‘Cheers’ to him too,” he said gravely.
The message was translated for Huang who was delighted and ordered the bowls to be refilled. Huang drained his own bowl and spoke again.
“Lord Huang say ‘This wine made in his grandfather's time’.”
“Tell Lord Huang it’s very good.”
“Lord Huang say ‘Because of this wine his grandfather have four hundred children’.”
“Tell Lord Huang congratulations.”
Huang beamed and ordered the bowls to be refilled. Mellowed by food and by quarts of rice wine served by shapely serving girls,
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's sailors began to warm up. The roar of conversation was interrupted by feminine squeals and shrieks. A girl broke away from clutching arms and ran giggling out of the hall. The Captain looked anxious but Huang was pleased and ordered that sailor’s bowl to be refilled. The Captain thought it time to talk of diplomacy. He had been fully briefed by the Chief of Staff in Hong Kong.
“The usual sort of line, Dickie,” said the Chief of Staff. “Give him a few words about Anglo-Dhonese solidarity, S.E.A.T.O., and a bit about the U.S. Seventh Fleet. You know the usual sort of guff as well as I do. You might talk about imperialism, balance of power, White Man’s Grave and all that. Wogs love talking about White Man’s Grave. It may not do any good but at least it won’t do any harm. You know the sort of thing. Just give him the idea that we’re all right with him, on his side, so that if he cares to put something up to the United Nations he might, in five years’ time, get a printed circular about when the bar opens and all that. But for heaven’s sake don’t sign anything. We’re still sorting out the mess left by one of your predecessors who went to a party in Macao and exchanged the whole Eighth Destroyer Flotilla for five per cent of the year’s opium takings. The trouble is,” the Chief of Staff had said mournfully, “that it would have been a bloody good bargain for Their Lordships.”
The Captain took a long draught from his bowl and opened diplomatic relations; he was conscious that he was upholding a long tradition. The Royal Navy has influenced the foreign policy of the country for centuries.
“Tell Lord Huang the British are very happy to be here and to be welcomed to Dhon Phon Huang. We hope that this visit will be the first of many and that Dhon Phon Huang will not feel isolated in the middle of unfriendly countries.”
In styling himself “Interpreter” the Dhonese who acted in that capacity for Huang had exaggerated his own talents. He was capable of translating an exchange of simple courtesies and greetings. A high-level diplomatic conference, however, was beyond him. But the Interpreter was frightened of losing face with his master, who was already waiting for enlightenment. The Interpreter did his best.
“Lord Huang is pleased you like Dhonese girls.”
The Captain tried again.
“My government is anxious to reassure you that they have Dhon Phon Huang’s position very close to their hearts. Can I inform them when I return that Lord Huang feels friendly towards the British Government?”
Huang was watching the Captain with curiosity; it seemed strange to him that this Englishman should trouble to raise a subject which Huang took for granted.
“Lord Huang say ‘Not to worry. He himself will choose girl for you’.”
“Perhaps you have had delegations from other countries? I have no power as far as politics go but anything I may say will have an influence on affairs in London.”
Huang frowned while the Captain’s words were translated. Then his brow cleared and he looked at the Captain with respect; his grandfather had once told him about the English qualities of Empire building and founding settlements.
“Lord Huang say he is very sorry not to know strength of British sea captain. He will choose two girls!”
The Captain gave it up. (Later, when the Chief of Staff asked how it went, the Captain thought over his conversation with Huang and said: “Oh, they’re pro-British all right.”)
Huang, too, had tired of diplomacy. He clapped his hands and a team of acrobats wearing baggy trousers, like Cossacks, tumbled out on to the floor.
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s sailors were themselves expert gymnasts. The long hours in the dog watches at sea had made some of them as good as many stage artists. But even they had to admit that Huang’s acrobats were better than any they had seen. They jumped, pirouetted, locked arms and formed human structures containing as many as nine or ten men balancing upon each other’s shoulders.
It was inevitable that at least one sailor would wish to take part.
“Oh, God Almighty, trust Jolly John,” groaned The Bodger when Stoker Crab staggered from his cushion and began to lurch about on the fringe of the acrobats’ activities. The acrobats took the sailor’s interruption in good part. They clustered round him, seized him under the armpits and, swiftly mounting upon each other, hoisted him to the top of a pyramid of ten men. Crab babbled in horror. The pyramid swayed, shook, and dissolved. Crab fell like a plummet into the arms of two acrobats who caught him and swung him, unharmed, on to his feet. Crab tottered to a window and was sick in the garden.
Released from the tension, the sailors finished their bowls in one gulp and The Bodger, looking round the hall, began to realize that Huang’s banquet was going to be a run ashore to tell his grandchildren about. He glanced at the Prime Minister and was astonished to see him weeping; the Prime Minister turned on The Bodger a look of such absolute despair, as though his heart were loaded with a thousand dolours, that it chilled The Bodger’s blood.
“Cheer up, old sport,” said The Bodger. “Have a drink.” The Prime Minister shook his head wordlessly; his eyes were dark, brimming pools of agony.
“Oh well, I’ll have one then,” said The Bodger. This, said The Bodger to himself, is as bad as sitting at a mess dinner next to a teetotal Royal Marine with toothache.
Again, Huang clapped his hands. The acrobats skipped out and their place was taken by a wrinkled old man who wore a simple gown and appeared to be searching for something. He looked inside the folds of his robe, peered up the sleeves and turned up the hem. Then he shrugged his shoulders and threw out his arms. A pigeon appeared in each hand. The pigeons fluttered to the roof of the hall and flew out. While the old man looked at his hands in mild surprise, two more pigeons materialized. Still apparently dumbfounded at the incredible things which were happening to him, the old man produced pigeon after pigeon, as though they grew from his hands. At last the old man snapped his fingers and the supply of pigeons came to an end but when the old man examined his hands again he was horrified to find they now contained two ivory balls. In vain the conjurer worked his hands, snapping them and rubbing them together as though to be rid of the spirit which possessed them; with every movement a fresh ivory ball appeared until each hand held six. Aware that they were watching a conjurer of genius, the sailors roared approval every time a new ball appeared. The old man seemed encouraged and was not so infuriated when his hands began to produce balls of different colours which he rolled along the floor towards his audience. The Bodger stopped one and examined it. It was solid ivory. It seemed impossible that the old man could have concealed so many about his person, to say nothing of the pigeons. When The Bodger looked up again the old man was plainly calling for a volunteer. The Master at Arms himself, rather unlikely a member of the Magic Circle, stepped forward amongst catcalls from the sailors.