Kyril Bonfiglioli - All the Tea in China

“I am sure you are right, Peter,” I said.

“So am I,” he said. Then he laughed but not merrily.

I liked Peter much but did not always understand him in those days. I understand now but, as in the matter of sex, such understanding comes too late in life. By the time that you, too, understand these things it will be too late for you, too. This gives me a wry pleasure similar to that which my poxy friend Peter exhibited to my incomprehension that day.

The Captain strolled grandly about the courtyard, followed by his splendidly-clad entourage, and made some more illicit forward bargains. Being sure that he would recall that we had both been entered, passed and raised through certain Degrees of a Craft which I may have referred to before, I gladly allowed him to make similar bargains for me, to the limit of the sum I had set aside for this. His aspect towards the dusky vendors was implacable but I could tell, although not understanding the tongues, that he was shrewd, shrewd.

There is a strange repast called “Tiffin” in those climes which consists of pleasant cold curried dishes and a great deal of Dry London Gin with interesting sparkling waters added. Peter and I made a hearty meal. Indeed, so soon as we had returned to the ship, we found a compulsion to sing songs. Peter had learned his in a county called Harrow; mine were from Holland but, once translated, there seemed to be little difference in their content. I recall that we made many a protestation of undying friendship before we fell asleep and, for I wished to emulate these fine men from Harrow County, I too washed my face in a thorough, English way and removed all my clothes before donning the smocked, silken nightshirt which some generous soul had placed beneath my pillow.

We remained some days in Calcutta until the formalities of the auctions were over and our Captain had availed himself of all opportunities to twit the arriving skippers on their tardiness. He did this with much dignity and met their rebukes without ever raising his voice above a scream.

I essayed a little whoring but only half-heartedly. The brightest memory I carried away from Calcutta was of a young or youngish person (it is very hard to discern ages in those latitudes) who contrived to ingest, as it were, a pile of silver coins (she spurned copper) in the most improbable direction and then to receive the attentions of a donkey, after which she retrieved the coins from the donkey’s ear. Clearly, this was sleight of hand. I can think of no other explanation.

When I say that my whoring was half-hearted I mean, of course, that I had by then fallen in love with Blanche. It is not every day that one has the delight of instructing a hearty, nubile virgin of nearly thirty into the raptures of adultery. She was an apt and eager pupil. Sometimes I feared that the Captain would catch us in the very act but more often, as she became more adept, I feared for my own health. Peter marvelled at how soundly I slept of nights.

The ship’s people, who have a sort of scuttlebut telegraph, nudged and winked as I strolled the deck.

The day before we were due to drop down the Hooghly to commence the perilous part of our voyage, I was standing idly at the port rail, watching the lumpers fetch in the last of our stores (the chests of the drug were already safe stowed) and keeping half an eye on the comprador and schroff who were checking these incoming things against the bills and quietly snarling at each other. I knew that I could go over the bills at leisure, for these two hated each other and there was no likelihood of collusion; or, if there was, it would be at so rarefied and convoluted a level that my simple Dutch mind would never reach the bottom of it. Indeed, on that warm and languid morning, my simple Dutch mind was reaching more toward the charming bottom of Blanche than concerning itself with any petty cheatings that these two might be arranging in the matter of pigs and poultry and pigtail-twist tobacco.

My eye fell upon a group of sturdy seafaring men on the dock who were eyeing our ship with admiration.

“Sir!” cried one of them, “Sir?”

I realised that he was addressing me.

“Yes?” I cried in a haughty, officer-like way.

“Sir, this is the sweetest ship we have seen upon the seas and we beg permission to come aboard and admire of her, Sir.”

I knew not what to say but Lubbock, who had the watch, saved me the decision.

“Come aboard, my bullies!” he bellowed sweetly, “I can tell at a glance that you are kernoozers of a vessel’s lines. Come aboard and squinch at her from truck to keelson, for you’ll never see a better — even in a Marblehead yard. Jest take your boots off at the head of the gangway for we dearly love our decks and don’t like to work our men too hard a-scrubbing of them. There’ll be a pannikin of something strong in the fo’c’sle for you when you’ve looked your fill.”

They trooped aboard, doffing boots and caps. Their praise was boundless, although expressed in language of a dirtiness new to me. The costly mahogany and brass-work excited their fierce admiration, while the capacious fo’c’sle sent them into raptures. An hour later, three of them left with many a thankful word; the other five were in the cabin, signing not only the Ship’s Articles but also the document which laid down that they realised the sovereign merits of flogging and were happy to submit to British Navy rules, waiving their rights as private mariners.

The First Mate was postively jocund when I next met him on deck.

“From here on out,” he condescended to tell me, “we’d be glad of a double crew. Wait and see, sonny, wait and see. These five shagamores will be first-class topmen as soon as I’ve beaten the bug-juice out of them and now we’ll have three strong watches. They were shanghaied here by Martin Churchill, or maybe Black Jack himself, the finest crimps in New York, and they’ve jumped ship. Cain’t say as I blame them. They reckon this bucket will be a floating paradise after what they bin through. They reckon.” He laughed a soft, unpleasing laugh.

“What is bug-juice?” I asked.

“Rum. Or something like it.”

“And you have coaxed these sturdy shell-backs to sign on because they are capable seamen?” I asked. He gave me a look which was hard to interpret.

“I’ve took them, Mr Van Cleef, for the same reason the Kentucky thief took the hot stove: there was nothing else to be had that season. They’re waterfront scum, two shades worse than bilge-rats and they don’t fool me worth a nickel. They don’t know timber from canvas and they don’t want to learn.”

“But you’ll teach them, I daresay, Mr Lubbock?” I ventured.

“No. I ain’t about to teach them. I’m going to bloody learn them. Before we’re in the Canton River I’ll have them dancing on the cro-jacks like Maggie May in scarlet drawers.”

“Indeed,” I said politely. He turned on his heel. I reflected that such a man ought not to be allowed to live.

THE EIGHT REGULATIONS UNDER WHICH THE EAST INDIA COMPANY MAY TRADE IN CANTON

(Paraphrase and abridgment)

No ships of war are to enter the Pearl River of Canton.

Europeans are permitted to inhabit the Factories of the Canton suburb during the shipping season only; and no wives, children or weapons may be kept there.

No boatman, agent or any other subject of the Celestial One may work for a European without a licence.