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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to attack a Taiping outpost at Sungkiang. They found the place, for a wonder, but most of ’em were howling drunk by the time they got there, and the Taipings shot the boots off them and they all tumbled back to Shanghai, Ward damning and blinding every step of the way.
But he didn’t give up, not he. Inside the month he was back with another crew, sober this time, and most of ’em Filippino bandits, with a few American and British officers. He’d drilled some sense and order into them, God knows how … and they took Sungkiang, bigod, after a fearful cut-and-thrust in which they lost sixty dead and a hundred wounded – and friend Frederick got a hundred and thirty thousand bucks commission from the China merchants.
Jen-kan was disposed to laugh the whole thing off, but I wasn’t so sure. It was beyond belief … and then again, it wasn’t; I’d only to remember that bright eye and reckless grin, and thank God I was well clear of the dangerous young son-of-a-bitch. And take note, he’d done a small but significant thing: he’d knocked the first dent in the invincible Taiping armour, and started something that was to change the face of China. Little mad Fred. But at the time I knew only what Jen-kan told me, heaving with merriment at the thought of how affronted Lee would be to have this Yankee pup nipping his ankle. “Will he be more wary now, when he marches on Shanghai?” he wondered.
I was doing some wondering on my own account, as July wore out, for Lee was due to march in late August, with me two days ahead of him, and I was counting the time with a will. And then, just after the turn of the month, Jen-kan showed what lay behind his genial mask, and frightened the life out of me.
We were boozing in his yamen after luncheon, and he was telling me of Ward’s latest exploit – a slap at another Taiping outpost, Chingpu, with three hundred men. Unluckily for him the rebels had ten thousand under two good leaders, Chow the Taiping, and Savage, a Royal Navy deserter; they’d torn Ward’s attack to bits, killing about a hundred, and the bold Fred had been carried home with five wounds.
“But they say he will come back to Chingpu!” cries Jen-kan. “Poor fellow! Loyal Prince Lee himself has gone down from Soochow to take command; he will crack this Ward under his thumbnail, and then …” he beamed, filling my glass, “…Šhe will sweep on to Shangahi.”
I sat up at this. “When do I go? Two weeks?”
He studied me for a long moment, with his fat crafty grin, and pulled his old robe round his big shoulders. “Let us talk outside … in English,” says he, collaring the bottle, and we strolled out into the warm sunshine, Jen-kan blinking contentedly at his miniature garden – you know the kind of thing, from Chinese exhibitions: dwarf trees and flowers set among tiny streams and lakes and waterfalls, with doll’s-house pagodas and bridges all to scale, like Lilliput.
“Why do we love things in little?” muses Jen-kan, admiring the line of tiny palms that fringed the garden. “Do they make us feel like giants … or gods, perhaps?” He sipped his wine. “Speaking of gods, I have often meant to ask you … what did you think of the Heavenly King?”
Now, neither of us had ever mentioned my visit to the Palace, though I was certain he knew about it. And while he was no fanatic, like Lee, I supposed he must be devoted to the Heavenly Loose-screw, so I hesitated how to answer. He settled his broad bottom on a rock under a tree. “I ask, because I am curious to know what you will tell Mr Bruce.”
“What d’you think I’ll tell him?” says I, wary-like, and he grinned, and then chuckled, and finally laughed so hard he had to set down his glass. He blinked at me, his shoulders shaking.
“Why, that he is a debauched, useless imbecile!” cries he. “What else can you say, except that he is a poor deranged mystic, a hopeless lunatic who makes an obscene parody of Christianity? That is the truth, and that is what you will tell Mr Bruce!”
He took a deep swig, while I stood mum and a mite apprehensive; what he’d said was a capital offence in these parts, and for all I knew, listening might be, too. He shook his head, grinning.
“Oh, but you should have seen him once! In the old days. To know him then, my dear Sir Harry … I intend no blasphemy, but it was to understand the force that must have lived in Christ, or Buddha, or Mahomet. And now, poor soul … a mad shell, and nothing left within except that strange power that can still inspire devotion in folk like the Loyal Prince Lee.” He chuckled. “Even in people like me, sometimes. Enough to make me wish you had not seen him that night. I would have prevented it, but I learned of Lee’s intention too late – those were my men who intervened in the garden … unsuccessfully. Four of them died.” He gave an amused snort that made my skin crawl. “And, do you know – next day Lee and I greeted each other as usual, and said – nothing! We Taiping politicians are very discreet. Let me fill your glass.”
I wasn’t liking this one bit. He’d never been this forthcoming before, and when great men wax confidential I find myself taking furtive looks over my shoulder. I just had to think of Palmerston.
“I saw Lee’s purpose, of course,” says the pot-bellied rascal. “He hoped you would fall under our divine ruler’s spell, become a fanatical advocate of Anglo-Taiping alliance, and convince Mr Bruce likewise.” He shook his bullet head. “Poor Lee, he is such an optimist. With respect, my dear Sir Harry, soldiers should not meddle in affairs of state.” I was with him there. “For now I was in a difficulty. Until that night I had accepted, though without enthusiasm, Lee’s plan of marching on Shanghai and forcing Britain’s hand. But once you had seen the Tien Wang … well, I asked myself what must follow when you reported his deplorable condition to Mr Bruce. Alas,” he consoled himself with another hefty gulp, “it was all too plain. Whatever force we took to Shanghai, we could never persuade Britain to recognise a regime led by such a creature! Mr Bruce would only have to picture the reaction of Prince Albert and the Church of England. They would fight us, rather. No … whatever hope we had of an alliance must perish the moment you set foot in Bruce’s office.”
If there’s one thing that can make me puke with terror, it’s having an Oriental despot tell me I’m inconvenient. “You think I’d be giving Bruce news?” I blurted. ‘Dammit, the whole world knows your Heavenly King’s a raving idiot!”
“No, I think not,” says he mildly. “Some may suspect it, but most charitably regard the rumours as Imp propaganda and missionary gossip. They would not know the full deplorable truth … until you told them.” He looked wistfully at the bottle, now empty. “And then, we agree, Mr Bruce would reject us – and Lee would take Shanghai by storm, with all the horrors of sack and slaughter inevitable in such a victory, and we would be at war with Britain. A war we could not hope to win.” He sighed heavily. “It seemed to me that our only hope must be that your report never reached Mr Bruce, in which case, happily ignorant of the Tien Wang’s condition, he might well allow Lee to occupy Shanghai peacefully. Ah … you are not drinking, Sir Harry?”
My reply to this was an apoplectic croak, and he brightened.
“In that case, may I take your glass? Being fat, I am slothful, and it seems a long way to the house for another bottle. I thank you.” He drained my glass and wiped his lips contentedly. “I do like port, I confess.”
“But … but … look here!” I interrupted, babbling. “Don’t you see, it won’t matter a bit if they know the Heavenly King’s cracked! Because I can tell ’em that you’re not, and that you’re guiding the revolution … sir … not that mad doxy-galloper! I swear that when Bruce knows you’re in charge – why, he’ll be far more inclined to accept the Taiping, knowing you have it in hand … make a treaty, even –”
“Why, you are jolly kind!” beams the bloated Buddha. “But, alas, it would not be true. Lee is already as powerful as I, and when he succeeds at Shanghai, whether by persuasion or storm, it will be a triumph which cannot fail to enhance him and eclipse me utterly. It was while I was considering your own position that this fact burst on me with blinding force – I could see no issue at Shanghai that would not increase Lee’s power and undermine my own. And that was terrible to contemplate … no, it is no use, we must have the other bottle!”
And