Amitav Ghosh - Flood of Fire

‘You had no right to reassign my cabin, sir,’ Zachary protested. ‘Only the captain of this vessel has that authority.’

‘You are mistaken, sir,’ said Captain Mee. ‘This vessel is currently a military transport. Army personnel have priority in all matters.’

‘Sir, this cabin was allotted to me by the shipowner himself,’ said Zachary, trying to sound reasonable. ‘I am his representative and the supercargo of this vessel.’

‘Oh is that what you are?’ The captain lowered his eyes to the chests of opium, all of which bore the markings of the Ghazipur opium factory. He drew his foot back and kicked one of the chests: ‘Why, sir, I could have sworn that you were a common opium-pedlar.’

The captain’s curled lip, and the glint of contempt in his eye, made Zachary’s face burn. Controlling his voice with some difficulty, he said: ‘I am carrying a cargo, sir, that is legal by the laws of this land. I have every right to take it where I wish.’

‘And I, sir,’ retorted the captain, ‘have every right to tell you that I do not care for drug-pedlars.’

‘Then your quarrel, sir,’ said Zachary sharply, ‘is not with me but with the Honourable East India Company, whose uniform you wear — for as you can see, the seal of the Company’s factory is clearly stamped upon these chests.’

At this the captain’s scowl deepened and his hands moved towards the hilt of his sword. ‘Don’t you get gingery with me, sir,’ he growled. ‘You are insulting my uniform and I will not stand for it.’

‘What I said, sir, is no more than the truth,’ said Zachary.

‘Well here is another truth for you then,’ said Captain Mee. ‘You would do well to get yourself and your cargo out of my sight right now. And let me assure you, sir, that if it should come to my ears that you’ve been peddling your merchandise to my sepoys, I shall personally see to it that your cargo is thrown overboard. You may consider that fair warning.’

A rush of blood flooded into Zachary’s head now and he forgot about the captain’s sword. Bunching his fists he took a step in his direction — ‘Why you …’ — but only to find that someone had taken hold of his elbow and was pulling him back.

‘Reid! Haul your wind!’

It was Mr Doughty who had appeared at his side: ‘Let’s not make a goll-maul here, Reid. These military fellows will have their way, one way or another. We’ll make other arrangements, don’t worry. There’s a nice little cumra down in the steerage deck that will be ekdum theek for you. Come on now, let’s be off to freshen hawse.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Zachary allowed himself to be led away, but under protest: ‘This is all wrong, Mr Doughty. I was assured that I’d have that cabin …!’

Glancing back, Zachary saw that the three officers were observing his retreat with expressions of amused contempt. Their voices followed him as he was led away:

‘… lucky little cockquean, to get off without copping a porridge-popper …’

‘… another minute and he’d have been jawed in the fiszog …’ ‘… if anyone ever needed a fist in the frontispiece it’s that little sprig of myrtle …’

Zachary could do nothing but grind his teeth.

*

Once the Hind was on the open sea, cruising towards Singapore, Shireen became increasingly preoccupied with the prospect of meeting her husband’s unacknowledged son.

‘Tell me about Freddie, Zadig Bey. You must know him as well as anyone. What was he like as a child?’

Zadig’s hand rose to stroke his chin. As a boy, he said, Freddie had been good-natured, trusting, a little bewildered; left to himself he would probably have been content to be apprenticed to a boatman or fisherman, as was the custom with the children of Canton’s boat-people. But Bahram would not hear of this. He had nurtured many ambitions for his son: he had wanted him to grow up so that he would be able to hold his own among gentlemen of all sorts — European, Chinese and Hindustani. He had wanted him to be able to quote poetry and he had also wanted him to excel in gentlemanly sports like fencing, boxing and riding. He had hired tutors to teach him English, Classical Chinese, and many other things — no easy matter that, since there were strict rules in China about who could learn what and from whom. But with the help of his compradore Bahram was able to ensure that the boy got an education, although Freddie himself had shown little inclination for it.

Bahram had certainly meant well, said Zadig, but he hadn’t made life any easier for the boy. Freddie’s peers knew of course that his father was an ‘Achha’ — which was what Hindustanis were called in Canton — and they knew also that he was a rich merchant, of the ‘White Hat’ variety (which was what they called Parsis). This made it hard enough for Freddie to fit in, and the fact that he received lessons from tutors, and was often given expensive presents, made it harder still. At times he had felt very lonely and had even spoken of escaping to India. He had dreamt of meeting his half-sisters and stepmother, and had longed to live in Bombay, with his rich step-family; having grown up on a kitchen-boat in Canton’s floating city, the idea of a mansion, with servants and coachmen, was no doubt impossibly attractive.

But on this matter Bahram had been inflexible: indulgent though he was of Freddie he made it clear that he would not, on any account, take him to India. Bahram had been convinced that if the boy’s existence were made public a terrible scandal would ensue; that he would be destroyed, as a father, a husband and a businessman.

So Freddie had had no option but to fit in as best he could in Canton, which meant that he had drifted into the company of others like himself — the half-Chinese children of sailors, merchants and other foreigners. At a certain age Freddie had moved out of his mother’s kitchen-boat and gone off to live somewhere else: he would visit Chi-mei occasionally but when she asked what sort of work he was doing he would give evasive answers. This had led her to believe that Freddie had fallen in with one of the many criminal gangs and brotherhoods of the Canton waterfront.

At their last meeting Chi-mei had confided to Zadig that she feared for the life of her son.

Shortly afterwards Freddie had disappeared. On a subsequent visit to Canton, Zadig had learnt that Chi-mei had been murdered at about the time of Freddie’s disappearance, in the course of what appeared to be a burglary. Bahram was back in Bombay then, and Zadig had written to let him know that Chi-mei had died and Freddie was untraceable.

After that, for a long time, there was no news at all of Freddie. Both Bahram and Zadig had begun to fear that he was dead — but then he had re-surfaced again, in Singapore.

Bahram was on his way to Canton then, for what would prove to be his last visit. It so happened that Zadig was in Singapore too, en route to the same destination. They had met up and Bahram had offered Zadig a berth on his ship.

Zadig was on the Anahita one day when Vico went ashore to buy clothes at a weekly market on the outskirts of Singapore — and there, unexpectedly, Vico had run into Freddie. He was with a friend, a Bengali — this was none other than Anil Kumar Munshi, the man who would later become Bahram’s secretary.

Bahram had been overjoyed to be reunited with his son. He had invited Freddie to move to the Anahita , with his friend, and they had spent several happy days together on the ship. Freddie had seemed a changed man, mellower and more forgiving of his father. But about himself he was still reticent: when asked where he had been these last few years all he would say was that he had been travelling around the East Indies.