Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

One day a group of surveyors even turned up at the nursery — a half-dozen officious-looking men armed with tripods and measuring tapes. They left after asking a few questions about the plot and its ownership, apparently satisfied with Paulette’s explanation that it had been leased by her employer, Mr Penrose.

But after they’d gone, Freddie said: ‘Why they were asking so many questions, lah? You think maybe they want take the land?’

The thought was like a blow to the stomach for Paulette. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘They can’t! Surely they can’t?’

‘People are saying so, ne? British will take whatever they want when they get the island.’

Freddie explained that the original islanders, of whom there were only four thousand, had become very concerned about the recent changes. For centuries Red Incense Burner Hill had been considered a place of misery and misfortune — insalubrious, racked by disease and lashed by devastating typhoons. In the past, mainland people had gone to great lengths to avoid Hong Kong; the inhabitants had been objects of pity because they were condemned to eke out an existence on a barren, ill-starred island.

Now suddenly it was as if the island had been transformed into a lodestar. The old-time islanders had begun to fear that their land, their homes, would be expropriated by the British. Some were so alarmed that they were selling their property and moving to the mainland.

‘Maybe I talk to landlord, ne? Maybe he want to sell?’

A few days later Fitcher announced that the nursery’s landlord had come over to the Redruth and offered to sell the site, along with an adjoining stretch of land — two acres in total, for a sum of thirty Spanish dollars. Fitcher had leapt at the offer, handing over an advance of five dollars.

On the day when the formalities were completed Fitcher made one of his rare trips up to the nursery, in a sedan chair. After looking around a bit, he said: ‘Ee’ve done a fine job here, Paulette. Ee deserve to have it.’

‘What do you mean, sir?’

‘Didn’ee ken?’ said Fitcher, with a smile. ‘It’s for ee that I’ve bought it; the land’s to be eer dowry.’

*

Through the month of January the Parsi seths of Macau continued to gather at Dinyar’s villa every Sunday, for prayers followed by a meal in which a tureen of dhansak always took pride of place. But from week to week the mood of the gatherings varied wildly. The first Sunday after the Battle of Chuenpee, the seths were exultant; none of them doubted that the Celestials had learnt their lesson; after such a resounding defeat surely they would cut their losses and agree to meet the British demands? Surely they would understand that they had no option other than that of bringing a yet greater calamity upon themselves?

When attacked by a band of dacoits on a lonely road a man might risk losing a finger or two in order to save his treasure — but what sane man would endanger his arm or his head? The instinct for self-preservation was no less strong in the Chinese than in any other people: surely they would accept that the war was already lost? After all, it was clear enough that the Chinese army was bherem bhol ne mã’e pol — all show outside but hollow within. And besides, for a realm as vast as China the loss of a small, barren island like Hong Kong was a trifling matter. Nor was an indemnity of six million Spanish dollars any great matter either — amongst the merchants of Guangzhou there were several who could afford to pay it out of their pockets.

So the talk went that Sunday, at lunch, and by the time the tureen of dhansak was removed everyone was convinced that the war was over, so much so that Dinyar even called for a demijohn of simkin to be opened, in celebration.

But the week after that there was less certainty: it appeared that the mandarins had once again succeeded in luring the Plenny-potty into their game of endless palavering. Then yet another week went by with nothing but more buck-buck, which cast everyone even deeper into the doldrums.

The Sunday after that despair turned to truculence and the seths began to talk about how they might bring some pressure to bear on Captain Elliot, to speed things up a little. On an impulse Dinyar suggested that they all go to Hong Kong in his ship, the Mor , to seek a meeting with the Plenipot. The proposal met with a warm welcome and it was decided that they would leave the next day.

Shireen was, as usual, a largely silent spectator at these deliberations: while the men talked she would orchestrate a steady flow of food and drink for them, from the villa’s kitchen. It was only after the guests had left that she asked Dinyar if she too could go to Hong Kong on the Mor . Ever solicitious, he declared that she was most welcome.

They left at noon the next day reaching Hong Kong after nightfall. It wasn’t till the next morning that they discovered that they had been singularly fortunate in the timing of their visit. An event of great significance was due to take place that day: Captain Elliot was to meet with Qishan near Chuenpee. A convention was to be signed whereby the Chinese would undertake to hand over Hong Kong to the British, along with an indemnity of six million Spanish dollars!

The Mors passengers gathered on deck to watch the flagging off of an impressive squadron of steamers and warships. Not everyone was convinced that the meeting would produce results: there had been so many delays and disappointments in the recent past that it was hard to believe that the end was really in sight. But even to the most sceptical onlooker it was evident, from the fanfare, the music and the prominent presence of Captain Elliot, that something significant was in the offing.

Only after the squad had departed did the seths notice that Hong Kong had changed in the last couple of weeks: they saw that a wave of settlers had washed up on the island’s shores; they noticed also that a cluster of buildings was already under construction at the eastern end of the bay.

That so much had happened without their being aware of it was a matter of no little concern to the seths. As soon as the Mor ’s cutter could be lowered, they went hurrying over to see what was afoot on the island. When they returned, several hours later, they were seething. It appeared that the British military authorities had decided to hold on to Hong Kong a while ago, treaty or not; what was more, they had quietly allowed some leading British merchants to grab the choicest plots of land. There was a rocky protrusion at the eastern end of the bay that would serve very well as the foundation for a jetty; the promontory had been named East Point and some of the bigger British opium-trading firms were already constructing godowns and daftars in its vicinity.

None of this could have happened of course without the connivance of the expedition’s commanders; it was clear enough that they had been paid off by the top British merchants. But what else had been settled between them, under the table, with no one’s knowledge? Had all the best plots already been palmed off, in secret?

One of the seths said to Shireen: Bibiji, if your husband had been alive things would not have come to this. We Parsis would not have been kept in the dark, while the Angrezes pocketed the best bits of the island for themselves. As a member of the Select Committee Bahram-bhai would have found out; he would have warned us.

As the seth was speaking the now familiar sounds of muted cannon-fire came rolling in from somewhere over the horizon.

Hai! cried Shireen in alarm. Has the fighting started again?

Dinyar tilted his head, straining to listen. No, he said. It seems that they are firing minute-guns. They must be celebrating the signing of a treaty.