Mean Sun (23 page)

“Well, Mr. Graham?”

“Silty soil, sir,” reported Graham, still catching his breath; “soft as mush. That’s why these docks failed. Other problems, too.”

“What?”

“The water twenty-five yards out is shallow,” said Graham, pointing. “Any ship with a deep draft cannot approach. It cannot be dredged. You’d have to push out fifty yards where the water is deeper. Also, a ship can’t careen in mud if she needs repairs. You’ll never get her on her keel again.”

“The Chinese have given us the weakest spot on the river,” Greyson said under his breath, looking about at the land and water. “Is it workable, Mr. Graham?”

“The pilings would have to be sunk deep with cross members to keep them stable,” instructed Mr. Graham, cutting a piling and cross members with his fingers. “It will take time.”

“And investment,” added Greyson. Lord Douglas’s grey eyes contemplated the cinders of his sweet vision. “I fear that old priest and I will become great friends.”

Before we departed, Greyson salvaged a long straight timber from one of the fallen structures, perhaps twenty feet in length. He carried it to a place beside the river that stood nearly at the center of the land. Using a scrap of iron, he dug a hole deep into the soft earth. Greyson had carried with him a crude English flag which he had made and dyed with his own hand. With the help of the others and myself, he set the timber solidly into the hole and hoisted our colors.

“From today on, this ragged garden will be British soil,” Greyson announced. “This is where Mr. Brooks will be buried, in home ground.”

Chapter 19

The Sovereign Returns

Three days had come and gone when finally the
Sovereign
arrived in Canton. Word was sent and we all scrambled down to the docks to see her just making her way into port. The ship was in a frightful state. She was listing precariously to her larboard side, having taken in sea through the damaged areas below her waterline. Both the fore and main spars had been shot away, leaving long needle-like splinters in their places. Her mizzen was still remarkably intact. Raging fires had turned much of the quarterdeck to cinders. Her starboard side was shot asunder. It was a marvel she was still afloat.

The moment she docked, Woodman, the others and I reported to Lieutenant Whitehead, who was standing on the dock at the entrance of the first boarding ramp.

“So you found Canton, Mr. Wren,” said he.

“Aye, sir,” I replied, delighted to lay eyes on him.

“And your cargo?”

“Safely delivered, sir,” interjected Mr. Jacobs.

“I’ll report that to the captain. He’ll be most pleased.”

“How did the crew fare?” inquired Mr. Woodman solemnly.

“We lost thirty-two men, including marines,” said Whitehead. “Forty others were wounded. We lost Lieutenants Brawley and Jameson—” he looked to me. “And Mr. Grimmel, I’m afraid. He took a splinter. We hoped he might survive, but I’m afraid he didn’t. In any event, they were buried at sea. Mr. Wren, Mr. Grimmel bequeathed to you some navigation instruments and such that were his own. You may collect them at any time.”

At the news, old Grimmel’s face came to mind. I only wanted to thank him. From the day I first set foot on the
Sovereign
, he had made me stronger by teaching me that true courage was built from steadfast patience. It is a work, as Uncle Levi might have said, that
is never complete. I wished Levi and my intrepid little sister Ruth could’ve met this man. I imagined proudly escorting him into our little shop, and introducing him to them by saying: Uncle, sister, please meet the man who believed in me. They would all embrace as happy friends.

“She’s a valiant old lady,” remarked Woodman of the
Sovereign,
awaking me from my vision.

“The damage is extensive,” said Whitehead, turning back and eying her. “The captain has decided to scuttle her in the river.”

A second and third boarding ramp was lowered and men began to stream down them on liberty. I was expecting an exuberant crowd, but what trooped down the dock past me were exhausted, hollow-eyed creatures. The shuddering pictures of Amoy were still blazing across their vision. A few nodded greetings to me, and several of the marines embraced Mr. Woodman. I waited and waited for Mr. Hines, but I did not see him anywhere. When I enquired from one of the master mates, I was told he, too, had been killed at Amoy.

I came to comprehend the reason for the hardness about some of the men with whom I had been serving, particularly Mr. Grimmel. Men came and went in one’s life with devastating regularity. When sailors looked into a mate’s face, however friendly and dear, one cold feature was always reserved—that man’s death, which could come at the tip of a splinter or an iron ball. I understood that Mr. Grimmel had been as open with me as the bounds of his nature allowed. It was a measure of his fealty and kindness that I felt measurable grief at his passing.

Grimmel left me an oak box, with his initials carved onto the lid. In it was a lovely quadrant on an octant frame, an ivory and jade inlaid traverse board, of a quality I have never seen again; an old astrolabe, a vintage backstaff, charts, a compass and five leather-bound diaries that he had maintained since his early days as a ship’s master. The only other item was a silhouette portrait of a young lady in a simple tin frame. Her name, written at the bottom, was “Emily Rose.”

Our barracks was now teeming with men from the
Sovereign,
but our liberty was a short one. Captain Hearne gave orders that the ship would be scuttled and that every item of value aboard it would be salvaged. For weeks on end we labored in the heat to break down our guns, piece by piece-by-piece and deck-by-deck, and cart them off in wagons hauled by great, lumbering oxen. Several of the warehouses at the trading post were repaired with lumber taken from the
Sovereign
. At Lord Douglas’s request, several of the thirty-two pounders and a number of the small guns were arranged on their carriages as a battery along the riverfront. The flag from the ship replaced the crude one that hung on the flagpole. The remaining store of cannons was stacked atop one another like logs. Spare sail, trunks, lockers, tools, iron chain, cord, cannon ball and powder were collected and transported as well. All the brass on the ship was stripped and tossed into a heaving pile.

The work was grueling and relentless and by day’s end we could only stagger back to our lodgings to take a meal and sleep.

When we had completed our salvage, the local Chinese merchants sought to salvage whatever we left behind, swarming over the ship like locusts. They pried loose the decorative panels, taking even the rusting nails and broken glass from the gallery.

The day before the scuttling, a number of us went aboard the old ship for a last visit. We reverently wandered her carcass like children in a churchyard. On every deck I saw messages carved into her timbers from sailors on her earliest voyages; prayers for a calm sea, curses for a cruel officer now long dead, the bawdy figures of naked women along with their pleasures. Even within my own small history aboard her I could recall voices and sounds and the animation of life. Now this little trumpeting theatre would settle onto the bottom of the Pearl River in perfect solitude.

Early the next morning, the mast-less
Sovereign
was towed to a deep spot down river and set ablaze. All I could see of it from the dock was the twisting black smoke that rose over the treetops. After an hour it stopped.

Whatever the travails of the crew, Captain Jacob Hearne never appeared in lighter spirit. He had survived Amoy without a
scratch, and an aura of invincibility hung over him. The scuttling of the
Sovereign
only contributed to his expansive humor. Sinking her had discharged his command and he was at liberty to set his own course once again.

On the very day of his arrival I was told he had paid a visit to the lovely palace I had seen on my morning excursion. He had spent the entire day there and returned to the barracks at dusk while the servants were arranging the crew’s evening meal. He stood atop one of the tree roots and surveyed our faces. Seeing me, he strode through the crowd and approached.

“Well done, Mr. Wren!” he declared effusively.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I have come from Wen Xi,” he said in a confidential tone, “and affirm that she is under the Emperor’s protection. Messengers have been dispatched to her father, the duke, and it is expected that he will send troops to escort her back to her home.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy, Captain.”

“As we speak, it is reported that General Jhang Jiing is being driven from Amoy,” he said with delight. “The Emperor is most pleased, which I trust will be conveyed in tangible gratitude.”

“What will become of us, sir?” I inquired.

“The Admiralty will shortly be informed of our status, Mr. Wren,” said he. “The crew will be reassigned to other ships. And you, Mr. Wren, will advance to master’s mate upon my recommendation.”

“I am most grateful, captain,” I replied. “But I was wondering when I might return home.”

“To Bristol?” he asked, somewhat appalled.

“Aye, sir, to Bristol.”

“Wren, your home is with us now,” he said. “Leave boyish expectations behind. You will have a rich future, Mr. Wren. Indeed, I predict you will rise through the ranks and make yourself a great fortune and a glorious name.” He placed his heavy hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Wren, nowhere can a penniless man of ambition discover opportunity equal to that in His Majesty’s navy. I am material proof of that.”

“Aye, sir,” I replied tepidly.

Here our interview ended.

Copper coin cash was used as the local currency in Canton. They were minted in assorted sizes with square holes at their centers. I had no notion of their value, but often saw merchants wearing strings of cash around their necks, and even the poorest beggar appeared to have a copper or two in his pocket.

Apart from the copper cash, gold and silver were employed in trade. Their weight was measured in tael. A tael of silver weighed near fifty of our English grams. Coins of silver were called “sycees” and were minted by the local goldsmiths in weights of fifty, ten, five and one gram. With fine artistry, they shaped them in decorative representations of boats, tortoises, flowers and so forth. As near as I could estimate, one string of a thousand cash coins was equal to one small silver sycee. India silver rupees appeared regularly in the stalls and shops, as did the occasional English coin.

One afternoon a wagon drove up to our barracks escorted by twenty armed soldiers. In the cart were three chests; two large and one smaller one, shoved together like a contented family.

Two burly fellows slipped long poles into the slats on the sides of the chests and one by one carried them into the courtyard and laid them beneath our cypress tree.

When we arrived back that evening after a day of salvaging we found Captain Hearne and his officers standing before the three chests, which had been tossed open for general inspection. The two large chests were brimming over with copper cash coins of every description and variety, while the third, smaller chest contained species of gold and sliver, and some ingots as large as a baby’s hand. Rows and rows of copper coins had been neatly laid out across long wooden benches in straight, tall stacks.