China Edward Rutherfurd (essential reading .txt) 📖

war with China now. They were bleeding them dry with their reparations, but neither side could afford another conflict with the other. Not yet, anyway.

The only revolt of consequence was that of the Taiping rebels in the south—and that was only sporadic.

The character of these Hakka rebels—the God Worshippers, they were calling themselves now—was quite striking. Shocking, even. They said that the Buddhists and Confucians were idolaters. They’d go into the Buddhist temples and smash every statue in them, however beautiful. “Not only have these criminals no respect for religion and tradition,” his teacher declared to Guanji’s class one day, “but they defy the emperor himself. They’ve stopped shaving their heads and wearing the Manchu pigtail. They leave their hair uncut and grow it long without even combing it, so they look like the wild animals they truly are!”

“We’ll fight them,” said Guanji.

The teacher replied approvingly, “I’m afraid you won’t get the chance. We’ve got them trapped in a town northwest of Guangzhou. I daresay they’ll all be dead in a month.”

During that summer, word came that the Taiping had escaped into the hills and that they were heading north. Forty thousand of them. They’d come to a town and massacred the inhabitants. In July, his teacher proudly announced to the class that Manchu forces had skillfully ambushed the rebels by a river. Ten thousand of them were killed or drowned. A month later, however, news came that the Taiping were still operating, and that the peasants were flocking to them.

“They promise to take from the rich and give to the poor,” the class teacher explained. “They tell the peasants that they’ll set up a Christian kingdom where all the people will be free and happy—except for Manchu people, of course, who will all be killed. They’ll start with the emperor, whom they call a Tartar dog, and replace him with Hong—the Hakka fellow who says he’s the brother of Jesus. He’s already calling himself the True Sovereign of China.”

This sounded like an enemy worth fighting. The Five Heroes went to the school authorities and asked permission to join the army. But it was refused, and the next thing Guanji knew, his uncle had been summoned to the school, where he and the principal informed the five that the emperor himself commanded them to remain at school.

Towards the end of that summer, the Taiping reached a fortified town on the great Yangtze River. But the government troops there were ready for them. A month went by, two months, three. The Taiping couldn’t take the place. Towards the end of the year, the garrison at Hangzhou heard: “The rebels have given up.”

News came slowly, for that section of the Yangtze River was nearly a thousand miles away. All Guanji heard were vague reports of Taiping columns foraging along the Yangtze, dragging boats and barges with them, looking for food.

The Chinese New Year came and went.

So Guanji was surprised to learn that the Taiping had managed to take a modest provincial town along the Yangtze. The rebels had got lucky this time, for the town contained a government treasury with a lot of silver in it. But they were still quite out of the way. The nearest major city was Nanjing, and that was six hundred miles downriver. The next report, a month later, was that they had decided to stay where they were.

—

It was a morning in late March when Guanji and his uncle went for a ride by the sea again. They’d returned to Zhapu ten days before, but it was nearly time for them to go back to Hangzhou. There were just a few clouds drifting in from the bay, and the air felt damp. As they had before, they rode in silence to the end of the point and waited for the sun to appear.

“I was so proud of you and your friends for wanting to fight,” his uncle said softly after a while. “The emperor said you brought honor to the Suwan Guwalgiya clan.”

Guanji smiled. “Dear uncle, I wish Ilha could hear you.”

“To laugh at me, you mean. I wish she were here, too.”

—

They rode back quietly together as the sun cast a golden light on the coarse grass. They crossed under the looming walls of the small garrison. Then as they passed the southern gate of Zhapu, a man came running out. “Have you heard the news?” he cried. “A messenger just came from Hangzhou. He’s ridden all night. Nanjing has fallen.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Taiping rebels. They’ve taken it.”

“They’re six hundred miles away from Nanjing.”

“Not anymore. They’ve slaughtered every Manchu in the city. Men, women, children—the lot of them.”

The older man spoke first. “The report may be incorrect.”

“Perhaps Ilha got away,” said Guanji.

◦

Cecil Whiteparish was only ten miles from Nanjing when the Taiping patrol found him. They clearly thought he was a spy, so they’d brought him through the defensive checkpoints, and now he was in sight of the city gates. In a few minutes those gates would be opening. Whether he got out again remained to be seen.

Six months had passed since the huge Taiping horde had taken the place. They’d streamed down the Yangtze, their troops on the banks, their cannon and supplies in ships and barges collected along the way. Better organized than anyone expected, they covered an astounding six hundred miles in thirty days, taking the great city of Nanjing by surprise.

Perhaps it was because the rebels had moved so fast, Cecil thought, that the countryside he’d passed through didn’t look devastated. Close to the city, of course, there were untidy earth and stone ramparts and ground cleared to allow easy cannon fire. But that was all. On his right, a pale porcelain pagoda soared into the sky. It looked as if the Taiping had gutted the inside of the pagoda, but its lovely outer shell was still untouched.

The shaggy-haired Taiping troops were prodding him with spears. He rode slowly forward. They supposed he was obeying them,