River of Smoke - Amitav Ghosh [177]
Among the educated classes, many have come to be convinced, said Charlie, that the foreign traders are like children, and are unacquainted with reason (which they call Taou-le). That the mandarins had resorted to the extreme and unprecedented step of ordering an execution in the Maidan was a sure sign, he said, that they had abandoned all hope of being able to communicate with the foreign community through other, more reasonable, means.
We were all agreed, of course, that the method employed was a deplorable one – yet none of us doubted that it was indeed the mandarins’ intention to awaken the fanquis to a reckoning of the consequences of their own actions. This was why, on entering ‘Company Hall’, where the meeting was to be held, we were all stricken with dismay: for no sign of remorse – or indeed even the faintest acceptance of culpability – was visible in the mien of the foreign merchants who had gathered within. Their attitude was expressive rather of an increased belligerence; their regrets seemed to be centred solely on their failure to mount a more aggressive defence of the enclave.
Such was the mood that we began to ask ourselves whether Captain Elliott had any chance of succeeding where the mandarins had failed. Would he even recognize the delicts of the fanquis? I was inclined to be hopeful: not being a trader himself it seemed likely to me that the Captain would see the Situation from a different point of view.
Zadig Bey was not sanguine. The most important thing to know about Captain Elliott, he said, is that he is a Pucka Sahib: the colonies are to him what water is to a fish – his element, his breath, his being. He is the son of a former Governor of Madras, the nephew of a Governor General of India and has spent many years serving in the British Navy. Neither his birth nor his training are of such a kind as to dispose him to act against the interests of his peers.
And what manner of man is he? I asked, to which Zadig Bey replied: ‘Everything you need to know about him you will see when he steps in front of you and begins to speak.’
Zadig Bey was not wrong.
When at last Captain Elliott appeared, he was in full uniform, with a sword strapped to his waist. This was well-judged, I think, for his appearance was certainly impressive enough to quiet the commotion and restore order to the hall. But that was more the doing of the Accoutrements than of the man himself – for even I, who have a talent for such things, am at a loss to conjure up the image of the Captain’s face (although I can recall, with perfect clarity, the colours and cut of his clothing).
Captain Elliott is so Pucka, so much the soldierly Sahib, that his visage has become a part of his uniform – it seems to belong not to one man alone but to an entire platoon of men, all clad in blue, with close-cropped hair and trimmed moustaches. When he spoke, his voice too seemed to issue from the weather end of a naval quarter-deck: it was unemphatic and authoritative, the kind of voice that might be expected to exhort reason on everyone. And so it did: the mandarins must be reasonable, he said, and desist from strangling people in the Maidan; but the British Traders had to be reasonable too; they must desist from openly smuggling opium into Canton, in their own boats. The British government had strongly reprobated this practice, which brought disrepute on the Empire; he was determined to put a stop to it and would even offer his co-operation to the Chinese authorities in this regard. &c. &c.
In other words, the Captain’s objections were directed against the business of sending contraband up the Pearl River in British boats. Of the larger matters – the many opium ships that are anchored off the Outer Islands, and indeed, the whole question of sending the drug from India to China – he made no mention. And how indeed could he, considering that the making and selling of opium is sponsored and supported by the very Empire that he represents?