Canton?’
‘Better be prepared for trouble than sorry,’ answered Schiller in his heavily-accented English.
‘Safe, perhaps. But—’ Fanshaw kept his back to Schiller as he studied the nut-brown hands swinging from the masts. ‘—will not orders to furl sails also slow us down in reaching Macao, Mr Schiller?’
‘We go even more slow, Mr Fanshaw, if we lose all our masts in a storm.’ Schiller’s accent become thicker as anger boiled inside him. If the Englishman did not approve of the way the ship was being sailed, why did he not come right out and say so? Why did he hint and talk in circles, always making sly criticisms?
‘We cannot afford to lose time, Mr Schiller,’ reprimanded Fanshaw, ‘merely because you suspect a storm. We spent more time sailing through the Sulus than I had intended. We’ve already been two months at sea.’
‘I do only what I think best for the ship, Herr Fanshaw.’
‘You would also do well to concentrate on getting us to Canton as quickly as possible.’
Schiller brought up a subject he had raised time and time before. ‘The voyage might go faster, sir, if you let me study all the charts. Not just bits and pieces. One chart today. One chart tomorrow. One chart the next day.’
‘I don’t see how that could speed our passage, Mr Schiller.’
‘Sir, you’ve made this passage up the South China Sea many times, but this is my first venture here. If I could study the islands ahead of us, sir, I might organise the men for sailing; faster time, the right currents. You see, ja ?’
‘You have got us this far, Mr Schiller, have you not?’
What the hell! Schiller decided to speak his mind.
‘Why do I feel, Mr Fanshaw, you do not trust me? You don’t even pay me a penny yet. You promised me a fortuneif I sailed this ship for you. But you still don’t give me a penny. I cannot even pay the men a little something.’
‘Pay the men? Good heavens, Mr Schiller! Where are these men going to spend money?’
‘Men work better with a few coppers in their hands, Mr Fanshaw.’
Fanshaw’s voice hardened, his diction becoming more clipped. ‘Your men can go back to the gutters of the Black Town where you found them, Mr Schiller, if they don’t like my arrangements.’
Schiller bristled at the remark, forgetting discretion in his resentment.
‘Last week, Mr Fanshaw, you promised to pay the men if they fired on that village.’
‘You mean when you refused to obey my instructions to order them to fire, Mr Schiller?’
‘But the villagers had given us water and food. You got your cargo there. Why should I order their village to be destroyed?’
‘I intend to give the Sulu opium to the Co-Hung as a gift. But I have no intention of letting the Sulus tell everybody who comes along that I’ve been there.’
‘So you fire on them? Is that how you repay generosity and friendship?’ Schiller shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Who were they going to tell? Who is going to know you’ve been there?’
Slyly, Fanshaw answered, ‘Have you not thought, Mr Schiller, that the East India Company might send somebody after us? Have you not heard of the Bombay Marine?’
‘For that you destroy a village? Murder defenceless people?’
‘Your men were quite ready to act, Mr Schiller, when they found there was money in it for them.’
‘Blood money,’ Schiller said. ‘And you still haven’t paid them for that crime. You even fail to pay your … blood money, Mr Fanshaw.’
‘Mr Schiller, I refuse to discuss this any further with you. You would be wise to forget the past and concentrate on the future.’
‘Yes, Mr Fanshaw. What about the future?’ Schiller folded his muscle-knotted arms across his chest. ‘You and I have still not discussed what happens after we leave China. Where do we sail from Canton? Do we collect cargo there and return to Madras? Have you signed to join a convoy to England? What are your plans?’
‘I’ll explain everything to you in good
‘Better be prepared for trouble than sorry,’ answered Schiller in his heavily-accented English.
‘Safe, perhaps. But—’ Fanshaw kept his back to Schiller as he studied the nut-brown hands swinging from the masts. ‘—will not orders to furl sails also slow us down in reaching Macao, Mr Schiller?’
‘We go even more slow, Mr Fanshaw, if we lose all our masts in a storm.’ Schiller’s accent become thicker as anger boiled inside him. If the Englishman did not approve of the way the ship was being sailed, why did he not come right out and say so? Why did he hint and talk in circles, always making sly criticisms?
‘We cannot afford to lose time, Mr Schiller,’ reprimanded Fanshaw, ‘merely because you suspect a storm. We spent more time sailing through the Sulus than I had intended. We’ve already been two months at sea.’
‘I do only what I think best for the ship, Herr Fanshaw.’
‘You would also do well to concentrate on getting us to Canton as quickly as possible.’
Schiller brought up a subject he had raised time and time before. ‘The voyage might go faster, sir, if you let me study all the charts. Not just bits and pieces. One chart today. One chart tomorrow. One chart the next day.’
‘I don’t see how that could speed our passage, Mr Schiller.’
‘Sir, you’ve made this passage up the South China Sea many times, but this is my first venture here. If I could study the islands ahead of us, sir, I might organise the men for sailing; faster time, the right currents. You see, ja ?’
‘You have got us this far, Mr Schiller, have you not?’
What the hell! Schiller decided to speak his mind.
‘Why do I feel, Mr Fanshaw, you do not trust me? You don’t even pay me a penny yet. You promised me a fortuneif I sailed this ship for you. But you still don’t give me a penny. I cannot even pay the men a little something.’
‘Pay the men? Good heavens, Mr Schiller! Where are these men going to spend money?’
‘Men work better with a few coppers in their hands, Mr Fanshaw.’
Fanshaw’s voice hardened, his diction becoming more clipped. ‘Your men can go back to the gutters of the Black Town where you found them, Mr Schiller, if they don’t like my arrangements.’
Schiller bristled at the remark, forgetting discretion in his resentment.
‘Last week, Mr Fanshaw, you promised to pay the men if they fired on that village.’
‘You mean when you refused to obey my instructions to order them to fire, Mr Schiller?’
‘But the villagers had given us water and food. You got your cargo there. Why should I order their village to be destroyed?’
‘I intend to give the Sulu opium to the Co-Hung as a gift. But I have no intention of letting the Sulus tell everybody who comes along that I’ve been there.’
‘So you fire on them? Is that how you repay generosity and friendship?’ Schiller shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Who were they going to tell? Who is going to know you’ve been there?’
Slyly, Fanshaw answered, ‘Have you not thought, Mr Schiller, that the East India Company might send somebody after us? Have you not heard of the Bombay Marine?’
‘For that you destroy a village? Murder defenceless people?’
‘Your men were quite ready to act, Mr Schiller, when they found there was money in it for them.’
‘Blood money,’ Schiller said. ‘And you still haven’t paid them for that crime. You even fail to pay your … blood money, Mr Fanshaw.’
‘Mr Schiller, I refuse to discuss this any further with you. You would be wise to forget the past and concentrate on the future.’
‘Yes, Mr Fanshaw. What about the future?’ Schiller folded his muscle-knotted arms across his chest. ‘You and I have still not discussed what happens after we leave China. Where do we sail from Canton? Do we collect cargo there and return to Madras? Have you signed to join a convoy to England? What are your plans?’
‘I’ll explain everything to you in good
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