Leon Uris (8 page)

One if by land and two if by sea. A bandit gang from the south ran into Gatling-gun fire, and shortly thereafter, two privateer vessels were blown out of the water from nine-miles’ distance. The coastal raids dwindled. Since all of this had been accomplished covertly, surrounding neighbors trod carefully.

Matilda and Tobias stopped to take a deep breath, and when they did they sniffed the trade winds leading back to America. Homesickness crept in, particularly for the boys, who were approaching young adulthood, a time for setting up their future.

Back in Boston, Marcus Storm, patriarch and founder of the family’s small import empire, with one son in Boston, another in London, and a third in Paris, went with hat in hand to Tobias.

For as long as he could remember, he had felt only a remote affection for Tobias. But his third son’s success had changed the manner in which the family regarded him. He now held the keys to their Oriental ambitions. Nandong’s artisan work was among the most magnificent in China.

Communications by ship from America were long in reaching
China, but when his letters arrived, they were filled with Marcus’s pleas for Tobias to establish a trading company.

Matilda and Marcus proposed that Norman and Jason return and be completely educated into the firm and thoroughly trained in the evaluation of European artwork. At the end of two years they were to be given full partnerships, and one or both would return to operate a Nandong export company.

Round-trip communications took several months, but the ship finally came in with a contract of agreement from Marcus Storm. Wu Ling Chow guaranteed the franchise on the condition that Captain Storm remain in his service till the Asian branch was established . . . and that the emperor receive a reasonable percentage of its profits.

Matilda and Tobias agreed to stay in Nandong till their sons returned, feeling they were creating a rich life for them, culturally even more than financially.

Brenda Storm was another matter. The girl, to all intents and purposes, became more Chinese than the Chinese, thriving on her life. For a blossoming young lady of her ilk, the notion of a future marriage to a ranking nobleman was not out of the question.

The factory was operating smoothly. The academy demanded less and less of his personal supervision, and it was clear that Captain/Colonel Storm was now woven indelibly into the palace fabric, a fact that made him extremely uncomfortable.

“I’m a Marine,” he told Matilda in his less happy moments, “and Marines do not make government policy, Marines carry out their duty, however repugnant it may be.”

Suddenly he desired nothing more than to be relieved of this command, but then a ship arrived with a diplomatic and military pouch.

Without recourse, he was commanded to remain. His work in Nandong had helped create a much-desired and firm relationship.
Hang in there, Tobias, until you can establish unshakable stability,
he was told.

“Stability,” Tobias cried to Matilda, “is an IMPOSSIBILITY!”

But he calmed down and finally formed a justification. “I will stay on duty as long as the Corps wants me on duty here. It is the least I can do for what the Corps has given me.”

“I, too, will remain,” Matilda answered. “It is the least I can do.”

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8
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When Tobias felt that the region had attained the kind of stability he had been requested to establish, he once again asked to be reassigned.

The emperor held in his hand a copy of Colonel Storm’s request.

“But your sons have not yet returned, and it has been three years.”

“We need to speak straight on, Your Majesty.”

“We always have,” the emperor retorted, “in a somewhat circuitous manner.”

“I speak for Madam Storm as well as myself. Although I will hold no interest in the future trading company, it was highly unethical of me to seek profit from my position at the palace—I prefer life as a Marine rather than a merchant. In my eagerness to establish a good life for my sons, I did a corrupt thing. I know Your
Majesty would not hold me hostage until the return of my sons to Nandong, so you are no longer bound by our agreement.”

“And your sons? Will they return?”

“That is up to them. The madam and I feel we have afforded them the opportunity, but it is their decision what to make of their lives.”

“You speak so strangely. This world would become chaos if fathers did not control the destinies of their sons,” Wu said.

“The tradition of obedient sons is not as powerful in America as in China. The value of my mission here has been proven. I am no longer needed.”

“You are needed, Tobias.”

“The artillery and the academy are on firm footing. That is what I came for. I did not come to be a minister of the royal Nandong court. I long for my own way . . .”

“Tobias, I have seen you look down from your balcony, over the wall to the port. Each time a ship leaves Nandong filled with emigrants—or shall we call it by its true name, substitute slave labor, contract indentured labor, coolie labor . . . the pig trade. My people go out of China as pigs, live as pigs, and most die as pigs.”

“I am deep into your history and I understand the conditions under which China has had to evolve. Too much desert, too many magnificent mountains, and never enough bountiful earth. God’s wrath has devoured your people through drought, flood, earthquakes, bandits, monsoons, disease, and drought again. Massive starvation and basic existence have been China’s curse for the centuries. Sometimes, Your Majesty, I can almost bring myself to understand why you have to throw your people out to the world. What I cannot bring myself to understand, ever, is the lack of human compassion.”

“You forgot to mention the recurring cycles of infanticide and the ravages of pestilence, Tobias. Much less the rape of China by foreign nations that drugged our people with opium. And put the coolie trade in suffocating holds. No matter where the coolie lands, he is looked upon as a subhuman monkey.”

“And the profits from the coolie trade?” Tobias dared.

The emperor gave a small laugh. “At least the coolie knows he is worth something. We have become a mockery. Compassion ends at the line where we claw out continued existence. Royalty cannot rule with compassion.”

Wu thought for a moment, then went on. “The coolies are flung out to a world to work the most dangerous mines, building railroads over sun-scorched deserts, doing the filth and pity work for cruel overseers.”

The emperor scratched his signature on the document to approve Tobias’s departure, then held his hand on it for a moment.

“There are unusual beaches in Peru,” Wu Ling Chow said, “and unusual islands off Peru’s coast. For millennia, birds have deposited their guano, building up mountains of bird droppings. Coolies are entombed in these places and pick at the guano and sack it to be shipped to the European fields to fertilize them.” His voice quavered, a very rare occurrence. “Are those droppings not our people? Are we not treated by the world as bird shit from Peru? Few coolies survive on these islands and beaches for more than a year. Those who do survive have established colonies and the colonies have taken root and will prosper and they send for their families.

“We will eternally bear humiliation because of our treatment. In your Bible, Tobias, one of the ancient prophets said, ‘The survival of the human race depends on human dignity.’ Do not speak to me about compassion and democracy until we are granted human dignity. Until then, I shall rule as I shall rule.”

After two terms, Captain Storm petitioned to return to America. He and Matilda and crates of opulent possessions landed in San Francisco, where they entrained for the long and exhausting journey across the country.

When Major Boone received the telegraph message of Captain Storm’s delay, he dispatched his orderly to the commandant with a letter requesting that he and the Gunny be allowed to remain at Prichard’s.

Colonel Ballard, fresh from another put-down at the hands of Secretary Culpeper and Commodore Harkleroad, quickly granted the request.

My Dear Major Boone,

By all means continue your leave. Master Gunnery Sergeant Kunkle is likewise authorized to remain.

You have argued your case splendidly for the formation of an Advanced Military Program. Our recent setback regarding sea duty aboard the new Vermont-class cruisers now makes adaptation of AMP our highest priority.

It seems fitting that this mission fall to the last remaining Wart-Hogs. One could surmise that Master Sergeant O’Hara saved your three asses over a quarter of a century ago for just this purpose.

I pray for your success.

Thomas Ballard
Lieutenant Colonel Commandant, USMC

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9
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The grand, elegant mansion of Inverness crowned Butcher’s Hill. Grand, elegant carriages swept into the grand circle like ornate figures on a music-box carousel and deposited the finest gowns in Maryland at the door.

On this, her first post-debutante event, Amanda stood serenely in a stunning foyer leading directly into the great hall.

Horace Kerr puffed out like a proud blowfish, all toothy in a fixed smile. His wife, Daisy Kerr, carried her middle years grandly.

Amanda was taller and slimmer than the other young ladies, who tended to be plumpish and moonfaced from too much Maryland cooking and a lack of physical activity.

Most debutantes, and those mothers still able to do so, revealed the allowable amount of cleavage and a bosom held in place stiffly by the whalebone in their undergarments.

Not so Amanda Blanton Kerr, whose gown draped like Grecian
gauze. Her breasts, fully but thinly covered, moved delicately with her handshakes and embraces.

God, Horace Kerr thought, she is a knockout!

Good Lord, Daisy thought, what brinkmanship!

The great hall was a wild and bright galaxy of tinkling crystal in the chandeliers above and tinkling crystal at the champagne bar. Amanda nodded to the orchestra leader to start and seemed annoyed for an instant as a thousand yards of brocaded flounce floated up and down to the beat of a waltz.