In the Dragon's Wake: Book One

By Paul E. Selinger

In the final years of the 19th century violence and turmoil led to the collapse of Chinas Qing Dynasty. Valeda Duval, a beautiful and independent French colonialist, and Kyung-su. Lee, a Korean minister stationed in Peking, fall in love after he saves her life during the bloody Boxer Rebellion. Breaking racial and societal taboos on both sides they remain together and have a son.
Throughout Asia, European and Japanese imperialism reaches its height. Japan occupies Korea, brutally snuffing out its independence while advancing into Manchuria as its first step in conquering all of China. Minister Lee, suddenly a man without a country, must go into exile. In the Dragons Wake is the story of how he transforms himself from a traditional aristocrat, a Confucian-trained royalist and servant of his king, into a radical leader of the anti-Japanese resistance and secret arms buyer for the liberation movement. All the while Lee raises his mixed-race son to be a patriot and future leader of the resistance. But conflict threatens his family: Valeda doesnt want her son to be a fighter.
Around them the dynasty collapses. Sun Yat-sen tries to replace it with a republic, but the northern warlords want a new empire. Anarchy cripples China as the boy grows to manhood in the midst of this chaos and bloodshed. His story is told in book two.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 29, 2006
• ISBN: 9781469107677

Book preview

In The Dragon’s Wake

Book One

Paul E. Selinger

Copyright © 2006 by Paul E. Selinger.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental except real, historical persons who the fictional characters knew or knew of, and events they witnessed or participated in, all of which are described as accurately as possible according to the author’s research of the historical record.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

This book is dedicated to the memory of my father,

who inspired me to write it in more ways than I ever realized

at the time, and continues to do so to this day.

Preface

In the nineteenth century it was said in Europe and America that China was like a giant dragon asleep in the eastern sea, and it would be best not to disturb it. If it were awakened, a terrible and unforeseeable result would surely follow. Its sheer size and the power of its movement in wakening would stir up a tumultuous wake that would disrupt and thereby change the entire world.

But the temptation of garnering the riches of the Orient was too great for the Europeans to resist. The stronger European nations, England, France, Germany, Russia, even the United States and later Japan, at the height of their imperialist ambitions, eyed China and decided its enormous wealth offered too great a prize to ignore. They set out to acquire and exploit large pieces of it. If that meant dismembering it, well so be it, they were doing just that in Africa. If it meant introducing opium into the country and turning its citizens into addicts, that was all right too. England was already doing that in India. Generations of bloody struggle followed after they disturbed that sleeping dragon and stirred up its wake.

The Dragon’s Wake trilogy tells the story about what happened to a family in China and Korea during that period, the height of foreign imperialism, from about 1890 through the early 1960s, when many of these violent changes took place. The perspective from which the action is observed and described in these three books is that of a politically active family living first in Peking, then later Harbin and Shanghai, as they all struggled to survive, and in some cases influence, the changes. Three generations of the Lees found themselves involved it some of the events and close hand witnesses to others. How their lives were changed by the wake of that rousing dragon is the subject of this trilogy.

Each of the three books is a memoir of a Lee family member, and each covers one generation. In the first, In the Dragon’s Wake, the family patriarch, Korean Minister Lee Kyong-su, who served his king at the imperial court in Peking, describes how he witnessed the fall of the Qing dynasty, and the rise of foreign rule in China. Meanwhile, Japan has taken over his own country, Korea, and brutally turned it into a virtual slave colony. Lee, a follower of The Tao, with no longer a king or country to serve, is forced to evolve from a traditional Confucian-trained royalist, the world he was born into, to become a revolutionary and freedom fighter, who helps found the Korean anti-Japanese resistance movement. In the course of events he falls in love with a French colonial woman whom he had rescued during the Boxer Rebellion, and she with him. Living in exile in Peking, they have a son, whom Lee raises to become a leader of the liberation movement.

Book two, Shadow of the Rising Sun, is the story of that son, Michael Y.T. Lee. It begins when at seventeen he goes to the University of Peking before joining the liberation movement. There he falls under the influence of some of the country’s great intellectual leaders of the time. He has his first love affair with a young activist, whom he never forgets, and prepares himself to fight for the freedom of his country. The warlord period intervenes, creating anarchy throughout the land. Meanwhile China’s opium cartel has taken over control of Shanghai, all central China, and even control of the national government. Lenin, on the other side supporting the government, surprisingly provides money to Sun Yat-sen to build a military academy to train an officer corps, under communist influence, to take the country back from the warlords and gangsters and unite it. Y.T. manages to be sent there by the exile government. He becomes an officer in the new nationalist army and fights against the warlords. He is wounded and then disillusioned when he learns the government has sold out to the opium cartel. Events go from bad to worse as Japan’s invasion of China expands, taking over huge chunks of it, including Shanghai where Y.T. now lives, in pursuit of its goal of empire, even to attacking America at Pearl Harbor.

Book three, TRIGRAMS, Is the story of the third generation of the Lees. It is told in the voice of Ai-li the second daughter of Michael Y.T. The communists have won China’s civil war after Japan’s defeat, and the Lee family, having become wealthy, has had to flee the new regime. They go to Korea, a land they have never seen. Within months the Korean War starts, and they become homeless, penniless refugees. Trigrams tells the story of how the family struggles to survive yet another war and occupation, this time against North Korea, and tries to reconstruct their lives.

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Chapter 1

Bodies floated past as I scanned the river… three… no, four, rolling, tumbling in the swift current. Who knew how many were in the swirling waters? More, certainly more, drowned in that yellow brown turbulence. Peasants, of course; it was always the peasants who die, swept to their wretched fate, all the way to the sea.

I stood on a low hill above the river, futilely watching, mesmerized by the seething torrent. Debris of all kinds washed by: whole trees, hut walls with parts of their roofs still attached. Occasionally came a cart or wagon, or a dead cow or pig. There went a half-drowned rooster clinging fiercely to a log.

Relentlessly, day and night without pause, the rain had come, sweeping across the broad countryside. It seemed like weeks. It was an ill omen, to be sure. Bad things were happening, I brooded, acknowledging nature’s unbridled power. There I stood, leading my first caravan from the Hermit Kingdom of Korea to the magnificent Celestial Court in Peking as assistant minister for trade, trapped, helpless. I could not continue until the waters subsided. Nor could I go back. In front of me, the river churned over its banks, still rising. Half a day’s journey behind, the eastern fork, which I had barely managed to cross, would now surely be impassable too.

Oh, I had been here before, but this time I was leading the tribute caravan; carriages and wagons filled with a third part of the year’s rice payment, a tribute to the Celestial Dragon Throne. Now, facing this obstacle, I could fail to make delivery on time. I would be lucky if I did not lose it all to the river gods or let it get wet to rot as it sat in my wagons. It was securely packed in straw bags, and covered as well as possible, but still, my entire career was at stake because of an untimely flood.

I held a sturdy, lacquered paper umbrella low, close to my head as I lingered, watching the flood and seeing my reputation washed downriver before my eyes. When I looked up at the umbrella, it, too, seemed ready to give way before the ceaseless rain. At any moment I too would be drenched to the skin. Nothing to be done. I could only return to the inn and wait. With a sigh, I turned away from the disaster and climbed into my carriage, pulled the rain cover over myself, and ordered my driver to take me back to the inn.

I am Lee Kyong-su, a yangban, a noble, from Kimpo county, just west of Seoul, the source of the premier rice in all Korea, Kimpo rice. There is never enough to last through spring, and it did not please me that I had the responsibility to oversee shipments of this precious staff of life to the decadent Manchu Qings who ruled China. The finest rice, from my own home district, and I, I had to give it to Manchus, our historic enemy from across our northern border. They were not even Hans, true Chinese—old friends of my country—who now received Korea’s ritual tribute, our acknowledgement to the historic Chinese state of their hegemony over my small kingdom.

It was the beginning of the summer monsoon, but it had come early and was unusually severe. Inauspicious, that’s what it was, a truly inauspicious beginning to my career. At home, the new rice crop was just growing in the paddies. The people had to wait, eating barley or millet until the early crops came in. It was the time of The Spring Hunger. Yet I had to give away some of the best of the last rice in this outdated, humiliating ritual to the Manchus. How I hated my assignment. And now I might fail at it besides.

I consider myself an alert and clever man, philosophical by nature, a follower of the Tao, the way. I was forty years old that year, but I looked younger. I am curious but practical, and forthright, as is the nature of my people. We are survivors. Our land is a narrow mountainous peninsula between giant China on one side, historically strong, but now weakened by imperial decline and foreign incursions, and on the other side the islands of Japan, a nation of pirates and raiders, like other small crowded island nations.

The latter, Japan, was our second ancient enemy, a people just one generation removed from six hundred years of feudalism and civil war—that is, a people to whom warfare, raiding, and pillaging were a way of life. Only now they were opening to the modern world. Their enlightened, ambitious emperor, Musuhito, understood that the technological attractions of Western industrial power meant geopolitical power.

Caught between these two neighbors, one now in decline and the other in ascendancy, we Koreans had learned to tread lightly, mind our own business, and settle in as comfortably as possible under Chinese hegemony. Above all, we long ago learned to try to be left alone. In the past, this mostly worked very well. That, I trust, explains well enough who we are, and why I was there.

When I returned to the inn, I noticed a new carriage had arrived during my inspection of the river. Another traveler besides me and my entourage was trapped by the flood.

Good afternoon to you, young sir, a voice said from behind a table hidden in shadow beyond the window as I entered. How does the river look? I think we’ll not cross it today, nor any day soon.

For a moment, I thought I was looking at a demon dressed as an old man in the long gown of a mandarin; so strange was the sight of him. His Chinese was pure Peking dialect, properly toned, and without accent. But no. It was a white devil, definitely a white devil. I had never seen one up close before.

Good afternoon to you too, old gentleman. Yes, there will be no crossing today, nor even tomorrow, I replied from habit, sheer good manners. I could not have been more shocked by the sight of him.

The man rose slowly and stepped away from the table. He reached out his hand to shake mine in the European manner and said, Let me introduce myself. I am Henry Edward Snively, at your service. And to whom do I have the honor to address?

I responded with a traditional bow, of course, but did not take his extended hand. Again, pure habit carried me through the encounter. I felt dizzy. A white devil was talking to me in perfect Chinese like some demon apparition came out of the storm and flood. I could not imagine how this could be happening: trapped at a remote way station on the road to Peking in the middle of a too-early monsoon flood with a white barbarian dressed and speaking like a mandarin.

As there was no polite way not to, and with nowhere else to go, I accepted the white devil’s invitation to sit with him and have a cup of tea and some cakes. I composed myself and began to take stock of my fellow traveler.

He was a very tall and lanky Englishman, old, at least seventy years old, with a long full and flowing gray moustache that hung to his jawline, but which he twisted into points, outward, away from his face, like hairy horns growing from his nostrils. His eyes were pale blue, almost white, and watery. They were overhung with great bushy eyebrows that duplicated his moustache, but pointed up instead of down. He had a huge narrow-beaked nose, and a wide mouth, probably with thick lips, though the upper one was hidden by the moustache; very hollow cheeks with pronounced cheekbones; and a bald forehead. His body appeared quite angular, all bony protrusions: elbows, knees, with great hands and gnarled fingers, like talons, and huge knuckles with long hairs on them. And feet, he had huge feet.

You have been in China a long time; I judge by the precision of your speech. Are you a missionary? I asked nonchalantly, but with a guarded suspicion that this white devil could mean more trouble.

Oh my, no, replied the man. I am a teacher. I used to be a pirate, he answered with a smile.

A teacher and a pirate. That is not in one man a combination of professions one meets every day. A teacher is a man of high esteem and honor, praised and worthy in our society. A pirate is an outlaw, hanged or quartered when he is caught. How can it be that you are both? I was becoming curious, though skeptical, about the odd fellow.

It is true what I say. I am teacher to Prince Tuan, half brother to Prince Kung, of whom I am sure you have heard. School is out, so to speak, for the duration of the monsoon season, and so I am traveling for my pleasure. When it ends, I return to the palace and resume my instruction in studies of the West.

Of course, I know Prince Kung; he is a man of very high rank in the court. I often see him when I am at the capital. What is it you teach to his brother, young Prince Tuan? What wild things this devil says, I thought; he must be lying, and crazy, too.

Geography and mathematics, English, and the history of Europe. When he is older, I shall teach him military science and gunnery. There is some interest in the fields at court, as you know.

You are very forthright. And if what you say is true, you are a man of great knowledge. How do you happen to be here in this place? Your country must be at a loss without you. I wanted to trap the man as a charlatan, so brashly I encouraged him to talk.

As I said, I was a pirate before I became a teacher. To be precise, I was also a student after being a pirate, and before becoming a teacher, Snively continued matter-of-factly.

Ah yes, a pirate. And were you a smuggler, too? Most pirates are smugglers, I believe. That is how you came to China then, as a pirate?

You have guessed it, my young sir; that is just how.

Perhaps you could tell me about it. We will have a lot of time here. Even if it stops raining today, we will be here for some days. I would like very much to hear about your pirate life. Is that how you come to know about gunnery, too?

You have guessed correctly again. But do not doubt me, young sir; I am an old man, and I have done many things. As I am now a teacher, I will be happy to share what I know with you. That is my calling. It will also be my pleasure. Snively smiled at me then.

Sir, I do not doubt you. But you must realize it is not every day one meets and shares a table with a… ah… . I didn’t want to use the term that automatically popped into my head.

Foreign devil. Never mind, I know the term. Snively completed my remark with a short, dismissive wave of his hand. "I am an Englishman. Call me Snively, my name, or just teacher, for that is what I will be for you. You are Korean; I can tell by your garment, though you speak Chinese as well as I. And you are an official, civil, I can see by your badge, but I do not know Korean badges of rank. You are smart, but young. You will rise in station. Perhaps I can teach you something so you may help your country avoid some of the agonies that have befallen this sad land. You look nonplussed. Don’t worry, as you say, we have time, and I like to talk. And now I have a captive listener.

Trust my words and you will learn important things. Snively smiled again, but only his mouth, I could tell by the movement of his moustache. His watery blue eyes did not smile.

Old sir, I am pleased to be your listener, I replied, trying not to sound sarcastic. The old man acted as though he didn’t hear me.

Yes, I was a pirate. I sailed with Jardine and with Elliot. Do you know who they were? He didn’t wait for an answer. I was in the Opium War. I saw it all with my own young eyes. I helped to make it all happen… as a youth… and now in my old age, I try to make amends and do some good for all the evil I helped bring to this land.

His eyes took on a blankness. He stared out the open window into the grey mist of the rainy distance as though trying to see his youth in the time of which he spoke. Snively’s voice dropped in pitch, and I wondered if I was listening to the ravings of a madman. I sat, closely watching him, as he warmed to his subject.

I was born in Calcutta; that’s in India, he said. My father was an official with the British East India Company. As a lad, I sailed to the English factories in Canton with a young captain, a Scot named William Jardine. A bold man, an opium smuggler he was. First he sailed for the company, but then England ended the company’s monopoly, in ‘32, I think that was. After that, Jardine sailed for himself, and I with him, at first as a cabin boy. I was all of sixteen years. It was a great adventure then. But I get ahead of myself. I’ll tell you how it started, and why this land will be ruled by us, like India, us ‘foreign devils’ as you call us, and why no more accurate term could be used to describe who we are.

I was now certain it was the tale of a madman, not a devil. But there was nowhere else to go. If I insulted him, he might become violent, though at the moment he seemed harmless enough, harmless, but surely unhinged.

It was the Portuguese who found the sea route to India. Vasco da Gama did it first. A great hero he was, to all men of the sea. We lads all wanted to be like him. They and the Spanish and Dutch who followed soon had it nearly to themselves. The trade, I mean. In those days, they ruled the seas. The Portuguese had outposts at Goa and Timor and Macao. The Spaniards took the Philippines, and the Dutch all the Spice Islands from the Straits of Malacca to Australia. The Dutch East Indies, it’s called to this day. The day of the English had not yet come. But it would. Napoleon came along. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? Yes, I see you have.

Snively looked deeply at me for a moment then went on, "Well, it was soon him and us. The others fell behind, as nations do, but we still had to deal with the French. And we did too: Nelson and Wellington. Then we controlled the seas, not the Dutch, not the Portuguese. We, England. We may have lost the American colonies, but we took India and gained more there than anywhere. From there, with the French now fighting amongst themselves, and the others wallowing in our wake, our sea power dominated the oceans of the world. It was natural for us to look to China. We had goods to trade and markets to open. It was our turn to build an empire. It was all so logical, you understand, so… natural.

Now tea… we couldn’t get enough tea to slake our thirst, or spices, or silk. There was this great demand for your tea and the spices of the Orient. Even the company could not fill it. We had to come to China, for more tea. He paused a long time and just gazed out the window into the rain as if in a trance, without moving so much as a finger. Then suddenly he started again with a burst.

Damned Chinese would only sell their tea for silver. Just silver. They said… their emperor… that there was nothing of ours they wanted. After all, they were the center of the world, a celestial dynasty endowed by heaven. K’ang Hsi said that, the great Qing emperor. But he was wrong. And he was greedy. He really did want our silver. So he established ‘The Eight Regulations.’ Before that, the Celestial Kingdom didn’t trade at all, only accepted tribute… which, of course, went directly to the throne. In those days, before I was born, there were not even customs duties going to the general government coffers. Did you know that?

He didn’t wait for an answer but quickly continued, It all went to the emperor as his personal perquisite, like the tribute, like what you bring. What do you have out there, rice? Paper? I’ve heard the Koreans make the best paper. Horses too, you send horses to the emperor, don’t you? You raise fine horses, they say. Again, he didn’t wait for an answer; he just picked up from his monologue.

Anyway, our tea trade flourished greatly. Why, when I was a lad, there came to be a silver shortage in India, and in England, just because of tea. So much silver was going to China for tea. Imagine, the richest country in the world running out of silver. My father told me. So they had to find something to substitute for it. And find it they did. Do you know what it was? No, you don’t, do you?

I am afraid I don’t know. What did they find? I asked, finally getting a word in but innocently falling into Snively’s little trap. Vainly, I tried to picture this gaunt, bewhiskered old man as a youth.

"Opium! Yapien is what! Yapien, the most evil creation made by man on the face of the earth. The East India Company made it… had a monopoly on it. Grew it themselves. Sold it openly. Every year, they held their own public auction in Calcutta. I’ve seen it. My own father held those auctions. Well, not he alone, but it came under his office. The English didn’t use it though, just the wogs. Made them tractable. Well, someone got the idea to trade opium for the tea. Worked like a lucky charm. A positive miracle. Tea imports soared, and the company made more money on the opium than anything else. Later, half the company’s income came from opium. A double triumph for the company, it was. Everyone was getting rich. Then the monopoly ended, as I said, and men like Jardine struck out on their own.

There was no ministry of trade or commerce then in China. Still isn’t. But then you know that, being in the trade business as you are, Snively observed, finally giving me a chance to respond.

Tribute, I am afraid, as you say, not genuine trade. Though after we deliver it, they usually give it back. It’s all just a series of courtly gestures actually. Then we sell it and other goods we bring, so it’s like trade. I acknowledged ingenuously. Without realizing it, I was falling into the orbit of Snively’s tale.

"Right. Well, as you are beginning to learn, rules are made to be broken, even tribute rules. The seventh of the Eight Regulations said, ‘No Smuggling.’ But pretty soon, the taste for opium in China became so great the tables turned, and China was paying out too much silver for it. And we were getting all the tea we could ship at no cost in silver. So the government stopped it. And what do you think happened? Right… smuggling.

They closed all the ports but Canton and enforced the regulations… about how it must be done. The same eight stupid things. Why, one of them even prohibited rowing a boat for pleasure on the river outside the factories we set up. Anyway by the ‘40s, when I was smuggling, we used to make the Chinese take our opium for their tea.

When I was smuggling? So you were a smuggler too, besides being a pirate? Truth or lie, I thought I had him.

Actually, it was nearly the same thing, pirating and smuggling, you know. Sometimes we had to fight our way in or out or take a competitor’s ship as a prize. I’ll get to that, he said with a wave of the hand. "We had to do it, you understand. The British Empire is built on trade: the export of British-manufactured goods, and the import of raw materials and luxuries.

But the Chinese refused to open their ports to our goods. And they only let us buy our tea and silk at Canton, according to their damned regulations. For 150 years, the British sent emissaries to Peking to try to soften the regulations and persuade the Imperial Court to recognize the reality of modern international trade and diplomacy. And mercantilism, that was becoming a way of life in all of Europe, especially in England, all over the world, really, except here. Snively shook his head in disgust at the memory of China’s pigheadedness.

But the Chinese court was afraid foreign ideas would spread along with foreign goods, you see—and they were right, of course. And they feared that even our goods would harm the population, distract them from the strict Confucianism that controlled their lives. It’s what maintained the integrity of the empire: Confucianism. You understand? If it went, they knew they would be finished too. This same fear of foreign encroachment, it’s happening in your country too, am I right?

Yes, you are right. It’s very disruptive in Korea, too. The struggle between Eastern and Western ideas, even today, I agreed. Armies have been raised and battles fought over introducing Western ideas. A few years ago, we had a full-blown rebellion. ‘The Tonghak Rebellion,’ the Eastern Learning Rebellion it was called, to maintain traditional ideas and throw out Westerners and Japanese. French Catholic missionaries had come. They developed a following. Then there was a reaction against them. Hundreds of people were killed. A dozen of the missionaries, too. They were beheaded in public on the bank of the Han River. China sent troops to help put the rebellion down.

Correct. Well now… I am talking fifty, one hundred, years ago when this started. So, as I was saying, Britain kept sending emissaries. But they all failed. I can tell you about what I witnessed with my own eyes. I was there. And then you will understand what I am talking about. Snively seemed eager to continue, which he did.

Chapter 2

"It was in 1833. Lord William Napier… he was a Scot, a peer, and he had been a midshipman on the HMS Defence with Nelson at Trafalger, where we, the English, beat Napoleon. I was a midshipman, too, in my turn. I mean when he came to China. Sailed Napier up to Canton from Macao, I did. I was just eighteen, and serving on the Sylph, Jardine’s flagship. A fine, fast ship, she was, a barque, displaced 251 tons… carvel built with two decks. Yes, sir, a right flagship. Ahh… Snively sighed with pure nostalgia. Well, to go on, Napier, he had the title of chief superintendent of trade. He was supposed to establish a relationship between the independent British-trade interests and the Chinese government.

Well, you can see trouble coming right there, can’t you? Such a thing could not be; it just couldn’t exist to the Chinese. The Dragon Throne did not recognize even the notion of trade. ‘Trade’ requires a measure of equality in a relationship. But to the Celestial Emperor, the only relationship between him and any other country was as suzerain: master to servant, right? China believed it stood at the center of the world, and all the other countries were like satellites, in orbit about it. Only tribute was accepted, right? That’s what acknowledged China’s central position, not trade, which would have betrayed the very idea of the paramount position of China.

I understand that relationship very well, old sir, I confirmed. "Mine is a small country, and without the tribute relationship with China, we would constantly be fighting off invaders. Or China would have invaded us themselves, and we would now be Chinese instead of Koreans, as that is still the way of the world. We have had at least the protection of China when we need it, as I told you, and so we have been able to maintain our own identity. That is not such a bad thing.

Now, perhaps, I admitted to him, after they have given in so much to you, Westerners, and their sovereignty is threatened, the system loses its value. Historically, though, the system worked for them, and for us too. And aside from the official tribute relationship, there was also common trade between us. We owe much to the relationship.

"You are right, young sir, as far as you go. But England is not a small weak country. She is the mightiest nation in the world. And she got that way through trade, and export, and military supremacy. But that, as always, led to an excess of pride. And pride breeds mistakes. When Lord Palmerston—he was the foreign secretary—sent Napier, he could not have made a worse choice. Poor Napier had retired from the navy and was raising sheep in Scotland. He even wrote a book about how to raise sheep. That was his supreme accomplishment: sheep, not diplomacy.

"But never mind. So off he went, this sheepman, off to slaughter… to regulate trade with China. A hundred years ago, a much wiser man, Lord Macartney, had come on a similar mission… and failed. The emperor then, when Macartney came, was Ch’ien Lung; you know who he is, don’t you? I am sure… a great man, we’d call him the Lorenzo de Medici of the Qing Dynasty… He sent a letter to our king George III after Macartney’s mission went home empty-handed. He explained it to the king. He said, ‘We possess all things. I set no value on objects strange and ingenious and have no use for your country’s manufactures.’

And that sentiment still held when Napier came fifty years later. But we, British, could not believe such a thing. And you can understand this. No other country in the world thought that. Everyone else wanted whatever England manufactured. It was the stuff that made our empire great. Snively had turned and looked into the distance out the window as he recited Ch’ien Lung’s words in the ornate, precise language of the court. He spoke as though he had read the letter and memorized it verbatim.

I had him now, I thought. The old man is crazed, just an old liar. Let him explain this. Excuse me good, sir, I said to him, I don’t doubt you, but a humble question: how do you know what words were in a letter sent by an emperor to your king?

Why, I read it, of course. Not the copy that went to King George, but a copy kept in the archives in the capitol. I told you I was a teacher of Prince Kung’s brother. I have from time to time performed services for Prince Kung and others at court and was once asked to read such correspondence as was sent to Western countries. I have even made a suggestion or two to the writing of such missives in recent years, the old man replied easily, as though he could not imagine anyone doubting his every word.

So Napier arrived in Canton unannounced, he continued, "and demanded an audience. He didn’t wait in Macao as he should have until he was invited. Oh no. He sailed on up where his very presence was forbidden. He represented himself as an official of the crown. But in fact, he was only a trade representative. Barbarian Eye the Chinese called him, a voice from a barbarian country across the sea. Ah, I see you know the term. Yes, well, you’ve probably heard of Napier, too, but you only know his name in Chinese. Laboriously Vile, they called him. Yes, I can see by your smile you’ve heard of him. For generations, he’ll be known to Chinese; such a fool was he. He didn’t even have the red permit to land, nor did he bring a petition for the authorities there.

"He brought a letter with him, but it had the character for the word ‘letter’ on it, not ‘petition,’ so they refused to receive it. Such a simple thing. The Co-Hong merchants who were licensed to trade with us begged him to change the character to ‘petition.’ But he refused. He insisted a letter representing the king of England was not a petition. He said it demeaned him. I never knew if he really meant himself or the king. Anyway, such a simple thing, no Englishman could tell the difference between the characters anyway. But he didn’t understand. Such a little thing… one character. But to the Chinese it meant meng tzu, face. You know what I am talking about, hmm? Of course, you know. Such presumption was an insult. So with exquisite, good manners, it was simply ignored. They acted as though he didn’t exist.

Of course, said I, we who come to China always call our correspondence to the Dragon Throne, or to its representatives, ‘petitions.’ It’s just the form; it means nothing. Any novice traveler knows that. The fool’s errand of Laboriously Vile is well-known to all who come to the Celestial Court. It is a story told in school as a comedy.

"As you say. Well, I saw it all happen with my own eyes, I did. Jardine had Napier’s ear, and Jardine wanted war. He and his partner, James Matheson was his name, were the best-organized and the most-successful opium smugglers on the China Seas. Matheson had been the first to discover the real profits of trading opium independently up and down the coast away from Canton. Matheson was also a Scot, but he was consul for the Danish, so he could fly their flag. Whenever he got in trouble smuggling under one flag, he would just switch. He and Jardine made quite a team.

"They had their own fleets of opium clippers