Mean Sun (17 page)

Dawn was breaking in its full gleam. Mr. Rollin located a cushion beside the small bay window at the stern and crept out on hands and knees to clean up the ruby puddle. The dead Chinese was hauled by his shirt away from the entrance and dropped in a bloody heap.

“Mr. Wren, you will keep a sharp eye on the
Sovereign
by the window, and don’t fall asleep,” said the boatswain. “The rest of you stand by the door for others who come along. Remember to use knives.”

I reported to my station at the bay window, where I had a clear picture of our ship at anchor. Already a boat had been lowered to ferry the opium chests to the docks. When I brought my hand up to muffle a cough, the blood on my hands smeared my lips. There was more on my forearm. It was wet and only now turning cold. I wiped my still trembling hand on my trousers and returned my focus to the
Sovereign.

“What do you see, Wren?” Jacobs asked.

“They’ve begun loading the chests,” I replied. “They’re using marines to row the load ashore.”

“Marines?”

“Six in the boat,” said I. “All red uniforms.”

“How many boats?”

“They’re lowering a second now.”

“Marines, too?”

I observed the second boat settle and rock against the
Sovereign
like a timid chick.

“’Appears so, sir. One blue uniform.”

“An officer?”

I studied the profile of the man in the officer’s uniform.

“It’s Mr. Brooks, sir.”

“Two boats, one hundred eighty chests,” calculated the boatswain. “I’d say three hours at most to unload, if they drag their heels.” I peeked over and could see Jacob’s white whiskered face plainly. His beady blue eyes were set deep in thought. “What happens must happen between now and then.”

The work unloading the opium proceeded steadily for over an hour, while several of the officers on board watched. All else appeared as usual in the harbor and along the quay, boats departing and arriving at their accustomed pace. Wagons on shore awaited the chests, quickly loaded them and sped away.

When perhaps a hundred of the chests had been ferried ashore I began to notice a subtle but steady increase in the number of Chinese soldiers collecting on the docks and parapets.

“The army is gathering, Mr. Jacobs,” I reported.

“Aye, we see them,” said he, peering out the door.

“I wonder if the captain is aware,” said Hall.

“How does the ship stand, Mr. Wren?”

It had been executed so cunningly that I only now saw that the
Sovereign
had come about on her anchor, perhaps only a few degrees, but enough so that her port and starboard batteries were presently facing the fortresses dead on.

“Ready,” I replied.

“And wicks smoking,” added Jacobs. “They’ll be firing over our heads and—”

A deafening explosion drowned out the boatswain’s words, followed by a second and third. Edging back to the corner of the window I saw a mighty ball of flames and smoke languidly lifting
into the air above the town. A series of smaller, vibrant explosions ensued. There was a riot of confusion along the harbor. Soldiers and their screaming officers went dashing this way and that toward the disturbance.

“We’ll wait ‘till the
Sovereign
fires,” said the boatswain. “Then we’ll make ready to receive our passengers and sail.”

Hearne carefully waited some minutes until the chaos in town reached its zenith. The ranks of the general’s troops in town thinned, and I could see flames breaking out in a quarter of the town. Finally, the ship’s gun ports lifted and an instant later every cannon and chaser, port and starboard, sang out. The old
Sovereign
’s timbers shuddered at the force of the volley, sending a trembling web of ripples toward shore that reached our own vessel. The ship’s iron balls hit their mark on the fortress walls above us, showering rocks and debris down onto our deck.

“On deck, boys!” shouted Jacobs.

We charged out of the cabin into the smoke and stony hail, taking our positions. I manned a six pound chaser at the ship’s stern that had been loaded with grape, while Jacobs and his mates made for the anchor winch and rigging lines.

A second volley from the
Sovereign
flew overhead. The fortress walls buckled in several places from the concentrated fire, and large boulders came tumbling down the hillside, crashing onto the dock. Further out in the harbor the Seahorse was battering the walls of the western fortress in earnest. Rings of smoke went marching over the water in perfect lines toward the shore like great grey phantoms.

The
Sovereign
got off two more volleys before the first hot reply from the shore fortresses came. Three cannons from the southern fortress sent their lead screaming toward the
Sovereign.
Two of the balls missed. The third, however, struck starboard at her waist. I did not discern where the ball hit, but I could see a cloud of debris rise above the rail and saw the scramble of men on deck.

While the southern fortress reloaded, the eastern now fired. Two cannons sent their hot breaths over our heads. Both balls struck home, one directly above cannon number six, the other
crashing into the stern gallery. My heart shrank as I imagined the chaos of splinters lancing the faces, arms and chests of my friends. In my mind’s eye I saw the sand around them red with blood. I heard the shouts and screams of men and officers working to pike the cannon back into firing position, while the wounded were carried off.

The grand old lady spat back in their faces with another pair of mighty volleys. I made out the stout little figure of Jacob Hearne standing by the rail at the stern of the ship, in full regalia, intrepidly pacing to and fro amidst the maelstrom. I imagined his measured tones as his commands rang out across the deck.

From another angle, I heard musket fire and caught a glimpse of red jackets through the tangled rigging of moored ships.

“Here comes our baggage, boys!” shouted Mr. Jacobs.

Three marines were scrambling along the dock under fire. With them was a woman. One of the marines was wounded in the arm and was weaponless. They drew nearer and peeping out from beneath a cape over her head I caught sight of the face of Wen Xi. The foursome rallied up the planks just as another cloud of debris rained down. Wen Xi and the wounded marine took shelter in the cabin.

“We lost two men,” the sergeant of the marines declared, holding his arms over his head against the rubble.

“You can’t go back for them,” Jacob replied sharply.

“The others are on the way,” said the marine. “The army will be on their heels.”

“Steady on that cannon, Mr. Wren,” ordered Jacobs; then to the marine: “Ready your muskets.”

The match between the
Sovereign
and the two fortresses was raging with a fresh tempo. The ship was buffeted on all sides. I espied a thread of smoke rising from two of her gun ports. The mizzenmast was severed in two and men were working feverishly to sever the ropes and clear the deck below. Again and again she took lead. I was staggered by her brave defiance. She stood her ground like an ancient mastiff, obstinately flashing her jaws at her
assailants. The eastern fortress was in rubble, with only one of her six guns left firing.

I heard a swarm of angry bees about me, followed by the clap of a dozen muskets. Down the dock four more came dashing up the dock toward us, two more marines, Mr. Brooks and, to my astonishment, Lord Douglas. Hot on their heels and closing, a dozen Chinese soldiers raced after them.

The party came to within twenty paces of our ship when Mr. Brooks suddenly dropped to his knees as a second swarm of bees passed. He appeared flummoxed, like a man awakened from sleep. He fell forward, catching himself with one arm and then eased onto his side. One of the marines halted, took hold of him by his waist and lifted him to his feet. The two staggered on.

“Lay down that grape, Mr. Wren!” the boatswain ordered.

I fired. The grape ripped through rigging and sheets and drove into their pursuers. The marines on board fired their muskets in time to allow all four men to clamber aboard.

“Set sail!” cried Mr. Jacobs.

I assisted the marine in getting Mr. Brooks into the cabin and onto a bench.

“Thank you, Mr. Wren,” muttered Brooks. “Return on board now, sir. They’ll be requiring your assistance.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” I said.

The lugsail rose without a hitch, while our chaser gave another bark. We sluggishly took to the currents. The spritsail and bonnet were set and soon, amidst the musket fire from shore, the lugger was dipping and nodding through the harbor. We passed within fifty yards of the
Sovereign
and at her rail I could see Jacob Hearne, hands on his hips, observing our departure.

Mr. Hall, seeing the frightful beating the old bark was taking, gave out a tormented cry to no one in particular.

“They’ve had enough! Surely they’ll weigh anchor!”

Chapter 14

Out of the Fire

Dawn had come too early, ancient and lusty, lifting our decks from shadowy obscurity. Our canvas gleamed like golden crests for all to see. Screaming kites cut overhead, sharp as barbers’ razors; the final, sinister fragments of receding danger. A ball from the fortress came ripping through our mainsail, shattering one of the battens and rending a six-foot swatch across the middle sheet.

Still, we cleared the harbor and I could feel the ocean breeze ruffle through my hair. Sea and sky kept pace with us. No one aboard said a word, but tended to the affairs of the craft in stubborn silence, never taking their eyes from business in the harbor.

We headed toward blue sea, away from land. After an hour or so, the land faded and we were in an azure void. Now and again, Mr. Hall or Mr. Jacob gave a quiet order as if his voice could be heard ashore. A patch was sought below for the sail.

Another hour passed. The lugger rocked like a cradle and my body succumbed to its rhythm. Buoyed by her gentle hands, the black ribbon of fear that had stretched the miles between land and sea now stretched thin until it finally snapped and recoiled away. I fell dead asleep, my cheek against the tiller.

I awoke before I was discovered, blinking away the harsh midmorning light. Nothing about me had changed. Mr. Hall himself appeared asleep against the port rail under the shade of the sail. Mr. Rollins had found material to repair the rent in the main sail and was measuring its size. Mr. Jacob came up from below to report on Mr. Brooks.

“He’s taken two musket balls, one in his leg, the other in his side,” said he. “He’s in a bad way.”

“Can we cut the lead out?” I asked.

“I put my finger in the wound on his back and could feel the ball,” said Jacob. “Deep, too deep. We’ll dress him and wait for shore.”

Two of the marines shipped the body of the dead Chinese, while Lord Douglas stood watching. Wen Xi was somewhere below under the guard of the sergeant of the marines. I roused myself from my haze.

Mr. Jacobs strode over to Mr. Hall and gave him a gentle kick.

“Climb up the main and take the weathervane down,” said he, pointing to a brightly colored object high up.

“Weathervane?” sighed the disgruntled sleeper.

“Aye,” said Jacobs. “It tells which district the ship hails from. We don’t want our friends thinking us enemies.”

Eager as I was to see Wen Xi, this was the first opportunity I had to make an inspection of our vessel. The ship had a blunt bow and her rudder was slung from the windlass so it could be hauled up in shallow water. The linen sails were filthy and patched with assorted materials, perhaps from other cannon balls. The main sails were supported by a huge pine mast, cleverly strengthened the entire length by iron hoops, which also greatly aided Mr. Hall in his climb.

For all her stench and strangeness, and the wound on her wing, the vessel peeled along at a lively pace. She felt light under foot and just a touch of my hand on the tiller moved her like the bridle on a horse. The battens on the main sails bulged and formed pockets of air like the membrane of a huge ear listening to the wind. The battens made the sails quieter than those on our western ships, in that there was not loud snapping or sudden booms.