Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 4: Flashman and the Dragon, Flashman on the March, Flashman and the Tiger. George Fraser MacDonald
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Chapter 4
For perhaps five seconds we just stared at each other, and then he laughed, in the pleasantest tone imaginable.
“Well, damn me!” says he. “It’s the Colonel! How are you, sir?”
“Keep your hands in front of you – sir,” says I. “Now come up, slowly.” I stepped back to the cabin deck, and he followed, still grinning, glancing at my hidden hand.
“Say, what’s the matter? Look, if that’s a piece under your coat – this is a law-abiding boat, you know –”
“You mean she isn’t running guns to the Taipings?”
He laughed heartily at this, and shook his head. “I gave that up! Say, and you took a shot at me – two shots! What did you do that for? You weren’t going to come to any harm, you know. I’d ha’ taken you back to Macao when we’d delivered the goods!” He sounded almost aggrieved.
“Oh, forgive me! No one told me that, you see. It must have slipped everyone’s mind, along with the trivial fact that you were carrying guns, not opium.”
“Listen, Carpenter said the less you knew the better,” says he earnestly. “Those were his orders. The damned dummy,” he added irritably. “If he’d ha’ given me a real Chink pilot, we’d never ha’ seen that Limey patrol-boat. Hey, how did you come out of that, though?”
“Perhaps I didn’t.” I said it on the spur of the moment, and his eyes widened.
“You don’t mean they broke you?” He whistled. “Gee, I’m sorry about that! I sure am, though.” Absolutely, he sounded shocked. “Over a passel o’ guns. Well, I’ll be!” He shook his head, and smiled, a mite sheepish. “Say, colonel … why don’t you let that hog-leg alone, and come on in my berth for a drink? See here, I’m sorry as hell – but t’wasn’t my fault. ’Sides, it’s over and done with now.” He looked at me, half-grinning, half-contrite. “And you’re ahead o’ me by two shots. No hard feelings. Okay?” And he held out his hand.
Now, I know a rogue when I see one – and I was forming a strange suspicion that Mr Ward wasn’t a rogue at all. Oh, I’ve known charming rascals, bland as be-damned, and the eyes give them away every time. This fellow’s were bright and dark and innocent as a babe’s – which you might say was all against him. And yet … he sounded downright pleased to see me. I couldn’t credit he was that good an actor; and why should he trouble to be? There was nothing I could do to him, now; certainly not here.
“I ought to blow your blasted head off!” says I.
“You dam’ near did!” cries he cheerily, and when I continued to ignore his hand: “Okay, you’ve got a right to be sore, I guess. But why don’t we go lower a couple, anyway? I’m off watch.”
Indeed, why not? I can only say he was a hard man to refuse, and the truth is I was curious about him. He was a rare bird, I felt sure, so I followed him out of the warm night into the stuffy little cabin, where he seated me on the bunk and poured out two stiff tots. “Say, this is fine!” says he, sitting on the locker. “How’ve you been?” And without letting me reply he rattled off into a recital of his own escape through the paddy, and how he’d smuggled himself back to Macao, and thence up the coast to Shanghai, where he’d flourished his papers at Dent’s, and got himself a mate’s berth. I watched him like a hawk, but he was easy as old leather, prattling away. Crazy, undoubtedly, but if he was crook, it didn’t show.
“It’s not a bad berth,” says he, “but I won’t stick. Fellow called Gough, one of your people, commands a gunboat flotilla for the Imps. He’s offered me second place on the Confucius; reckon I’ll take it.”
“What happened to the notion of being a Taiping prince?” I asked, and he grinned and pulled a face.
“No, sir, thank you. I’ve had a look at ’em, these past few weeks. They’re not for Fred T.” He shook his head so firmly that, thinking of my own mission, I pressed him for information.
“Well, all this stuff about being Christians – they don’t have the first notion! They have a lot o’ mumbo-jumbo about Jesus, that they’ve picked up an’ got wrong, but … Listen – to give you an idea, when they get a new recruit they give him three weeks to learn the Lord’s Prayer, and if he can’t – whist!” He chopped his hand against his neck. “No fooling! Now, what kind of Christianity is that, will you tell me? And they treat the people something shameful. Take all their goods – ’cos no one can have property in the Taiping, it’s all in common, ’lessn you’re one of the top Wangs. And they put ’em to work in companies, like it was the army, and if they’re too old or sick to work – whist again! And everybody has to work for the Taiping, see, and obey all their foolish rules about religion, an’ learn the proclamations of the Heavenly King by heart – and, boy, they’re the wildest stuff, I tell you! The Thousand Correct Things, an’ the Book of Celestial Decrees, and nobody understands ’em a little bit!”
I said the missionaries were all for them, and he shook his head again. “Maybe they used to be, but now they’ve had a good look. You go up-river, into a Taiping province, you see the ruin, the gutted villages, the bodies laying about in thousands – and it ain’t as if all their rules and discipline made things better – why, they make it worse! Nobody has land, so nobody can plant ’cept the Taiping tells him, an’ the local governors, why, they have to wait for orders from further up, an’ the fellow further up … well, there’s nothing in it for him, and he probably used to be a shoemaker, anyway, so what does he know about crops? He knows the rules, though, and learns a new chapter of the Bible each day, and thinks Moses was a Manchoo Mandarin who thought better of it!”
I recalled that the Heavenly King himself had been an educated man, and while he was crazy there must be some Taipings who knew how things should be run; he scoffed me out of court.
“That kind of person – you mean merchants and clerks and fellows with some schooling – they have no time for the Heavenly Kingdom; they’re mostly dead, anyway, or made themselves scarce. Why should they truck with a crowd that just robs ’em and says they’re no better’n the peasants? ’Sides, they can see the Taipings are only good at killing and stealing and laying waste.”
“You seem to have learned a lot in a short time,” I said, and he replied that one trip up to Nanking, and a look at the country around, had been enough for him. “They’re so mean and cruel,” he kept saying. “Sure, the Imps are worse – their army’s rotten, and they just use the war as an excuse for plundering and killing wherever they go – but at least they’ve got something behind them, I mean, a real government, even if it doesn’t work too well … a … a … sort of like the Constitution. I mean … China.” He grinned ruefully, and poured me another drink. “I don’t make it too clear, I guess. But the Taipings just have this crazy dream – and they’re no good at making things work. Well, the Imps aren’t much better, maybe, but at least they can read and write.”
I asked if he had seen anything of the leading Taipings at Nanking, and he said, no, but he had heard plenty. “They do all right, from what I hear – that’s what really got my goat. There’s all this fine talk about love and brotherhood and equality – but the Wangs live in palaces and have a high old time, while the people are tret no better’n niggers. You know,” says he, all boyish earnestness, “at the beginning, they made the women and men stay apart – there was a special part of Nanking for the girls, and if they and the boys … you know … why, they just killed ’em. Even now, ’lessn you’re married – well, if you … you know … they just – whist! The poor people are allowed one wife, but the Wangs …” He blew out his cheeks. “They have all the girls they want, and aren’t there some doings in those palaces? So I heard.” I found this quite cheering, and pressed him for further details, but he didn’t have any. “It’s one law for the rich and another for the poor, I guess,” says he philosophically. “Mind, they’ve done some good things, like not