China Edward Rutherfurd (essential reading .txt) 📖

to have lost his desire to do anything much after that. He smoked more opium. His raw-boned body became thin and wasted. He hardly had energy to attend to any business at all. And if he did manage to bestir himself to collect some of the remaining rents, for instance, his tenants treated him almost as if he were a vagrant seeking charity, instead of their landlord. Mother did manage to transact some of the family business, but even her fierce spirit was becoming tired.

One day Mei-Ling went to the secret place where the silver Nio had given her was buried. She took a little of it and gave it to Mother. “It’s for the house,” she said. “Not for opium.” A few months later she had to go to the secret place again. A few visits more and all the silver was gone.

A sense of torpor and neglect descended upon the Lung family house after that. People didn’t come there anymore.

It was two and a half years after Willow’s death when the Americans arrived.

—

The three men had set out from Canton a week ago. Now they sat drinking together after their meal at the small town’s only inn. Read was smoking a cigar. He looked just as big, hard, and burly as he had almost twenty years ago. Some grey hairs, some deeper lines. Few other changes. His son, Franklin, was a dark-haired, handsome young fellow of eighteen or so. The third was Cecil Whiteparish.

—

When Read had turned up in Hong Kong and asked if there was a merchant called Trader there, it was natural enough that he should have been directed to the mission house, where he found Cecil Whiteparish.

“Mr. Trader is a kinsman of mine,” Cecil explained. “But I’m afraid he lives with his family in Scotland now—I can give you his address if you want to write to him.” He’d smiled. “I’m rather busy at this moment, but if you’d care to come to my house this evening, my wife will feed us, and I can give you all the news about my cousin John.”

It had been a very pleasant evening. Read had been delighted to hear about Trader’s good fortune and his burgeoning family. The Whiteparishes had given him some account of the activities of the mission and its converts. And then Minnie had asked: “What has brought you to Hong Kong just now, Mr. Read?”

“Railways, ma’am,” Read answered easily. “Or to be precise, railway workers. I mean to find them in the villages down the coast from Canton and take them to America.”

“Will they wish to go so far?” she asked.

“They already have.” And seeing her look surprised: “During the California Gold Rush, back in ’48 and the years following, quite a few adventuresome fellows from the Cantonese coastland heard about it from Western sailors and thought they’d try their luck. I shipped a few of them across the Pacific myself. Sailors. Smugglers, I daresay. All kinds of good fellows.”

“What do you think impelled them?” asked Whiteparish.

“I’d probably have done the same in their place,” Read answered. “You remember how it was here, after the Opium War. The government was broke. The men along the coast heard about the Gum Shan, the American mountain of gold. They went to the Klondike like everyone else, and most came out empty-handed. Plenty of them are still in California—running small restaurants, laundries, that sort of thing. But now we’re looking for something different. That’s why we’re going inland.”

“Men to build railroads.”

“Yes. Local railroads, in California first. But soon there’ll be a railroad stretching right across America, from California to New England. It’s got to come. They’ll need a lot of labor.”

“Don’t the Irish supply that?” Cecil asked.

“They do. But my guess is the railroad men want to give the Irish a little competition. Keep them in line, you know.”

“Why Chinese?”

“They aren’t as strong as the Irish, but they’re very steady. They drink tea instead of alcohol. They give no trouble. I’m not looking for gold diggers,” Read said. “I want honest farming men who’ve fallen on hard times. Men who’ll work hard and send money back to their families. I believe we’ll find them in the villages.”

“When do you set off?” asked Cecil.

“Any day. I just need to find a couple of porters, a local guide, and an interpreter. I speak a bit of Cantonese, but not enough.” A thought struck him. “I wonder if you’ve got any converts who might act as interpreter with the locals. Any suggestions?”

Cecil considered. “Let me think. Come by the mission tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll let you know if I’ve got anyone.”

—

Young Franklin looked at his father and the missionary. Then he glanced across to where the two local men who acted as porters and guides were sitting apart with the owner of the inn, talking quietly in the local dialect.

It was exciting to be on an adventure with his father in this hinterland. He wondered what the next day would bring.

It had been such a surprise when Whiteparish had volunteered himself as their interpreter. His first thought had been that the missionary might not be up to the physical challenges of the business. But although his hair was thinning, Whiteparish seemed quite a tough, wiry sort of man, so Franklin assumed he’d be all right.

His father had raised another sort of question. “How does your lady wife feel about your traveling with us?”

“She says that a man needs an adventure now and then.” Cecil had smiled. “Glad to get me out of the house for a bit, I expect.”

“And the mission?”

“Ah. That’s just the point. Besides Hong Kong, we now have a small subsidiary mission outside Canton. The Chinese don’t much like it, though they turn a blind eye. I was due to visit that mission soon in any case. But I’ve been thinking for a while that I should also venture out into the backcountry, talk to the local people, that sort of thing. Not easy