Tienkuo The Heavenly Kingdom (Sino-American Tales Book 1) Read online

  Tienkuo

  The Heavenly Kingdom

  Li Bo

  Copyright © 2017 Li Bo a.k.a Steven A. Leibo

  All rights reserved.

  Earlier Version 1994 Silk Screen Press

  ISBN: 1542660572

  ISBN 13: 9781542660570

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017900969

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  A note on translation

  In keeping with recent transliteration practices, this revision of Tienkuo: The Heavenly Kingdom has been converted from the older Wade-Giles system to the newer Hanyu Pinyin system, except in a few places to avoid confusion or to facilitate research by those interested in learning more about the many historic individuals discussed in the novel.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 Hong Kong

  Chapter 2 Aboard Ship

  Chapter 3 A New Friend

  Chapter 4 Guangzhou

  Chapter 5 Reverend Brandt

  Chapter 6 Coolie Merchants

  Chapter 7 Black Jade

  Chapter 8 Capture

  Chapter 9 With the Taipings

  Chapter 10 Nanjing, the Heavenly Capital

  Chapter 11 Roberts and Prince Gan

  Chapter 12 Exploring Nanjing

  Chapter 13 Good and Bad News

  Chapter 14 The Wedding

  Chapter 15 Tensions Grow

  Chapter 16 Departure

  Chapter 17 A Prisoner Again

  Chapter 18 Shanghai

  Chapter 19 A Working Journalist

  Chapter 20 Huzhou

  Chapter 21 Wu’s Compound

  Chapter 22 Childbirth

  Chapter 23 Building a New Life

  Chapter 24 A Proposal Accepted

  Chapter 25 Tianjin, 1870

  Chapter 26 Returning from Beijing

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Hong Kong

  “Jason, come in at once!” He heard the call, but snug in his hiding place behind the church, Jason knew his father, Reverend Brandt, wasn’t likely to find him. The young man sat quietly, hoping to remain hidden as the others went in to services. It would be depressing to go in. Paul Li would be there and perhaps some beggars hoping for a bowl of rice in reward for reciting praises to the Western god. However, no more than that and Jason’s father would scowl as he viewed the sparse turnout. When it became obvious that no more converts were coming, he would begin the service.

  Li Lao T’ai-t’ai might come, but that would hardly please the stern New England minister. Her only interest was to beg her son, Li Yueming, who now called himself Paul, to return to the Li family. There had been a long-running feud between the taciturn Massachusetts minister and Li Lao T’ai-t’ai, the mother of his star convert. Jason wanted to escape such tensions.

  Hearing his father reenter the chapel and the sounds of the first hymn, Jason took off at a run. Hong Kong’s harbor was as exciting as ever. There were always scores of junks to watch, as well as the occasional docking of a steam gunship. Sometimes Jason would sit for hours, watching the coolies carry their loads into the warehouses. Later, between loadings, the coolies would squat and chatter. Jason loved listening to the lyrical sounds of the coolies’ conversations. He was often amused by their comments on the strangeness of the cargo they carried.

  At the wharf, Jason could forget his father’s futile but constant attempts to save souls, as well as his continuous stories of Boston and America. Only China, and especially Hong Kong, mattered to Jason. And now there was excitement in the air. More and more English and French naval frigates were arriving as the year 1857 drew to a close. It was rumored that the Western forces were planning to storm Guangzhou. Jason hardly understood the political issues behind the tension, but he had heard how Governor Ye Mingchen had outraged the foreigners by refusing their demands to enter the walled city of Guangzhou.

  Jason tried to remember what the old-timers had told him about the first Opium War. Even then, they said, the Chinese had been unable to resist the power of the English guns. And now, France had joined Great Britain against the Middle Kingdom, as the Chinese called their land.

  As he sat on the edge of the stone pier, Jason spotted several ships flying French colors. It was clear that something would happen soon. He wondered if his father would go north. Certainly fighting near Guangzhou would require the presence of a minister, if only to offer solace to the wounded. But what if the reverend planned no trip north? Would a battle occur, so nearby, and Jason miss it? That would be too much, reflected the young American.

  He knew that if his father refused to go, he would travel north by himself. The soldiers could hardly turn down the chance for an interpreter, even a sixteen-year-old. Maybe he wouldn’t have to defy his father; maybe the reverend would agree. One could always point out the chance to seek more converts. Guangzhou certainly had more potential than Hong Kong. Even his father often said that only the gentry and their leader, Governor General Ye, really opposed Christianity. The local people themselves, the old man would proclaim regularly, had always been receptive to the Lord. Or at least that was what his father thought.

  Jason himself had never found the words necessary to tell the older man what the Chinese said about the missionaries among themselves. No, that would hurt the reverend too much. Since his mother’s death six months before, that was the last thing Jason wanted to do to wound his father. Half watching the fleet, half lost in his own thoughts, he sat thinking of his mother and staring, at the same time, at the stunningly beautiful waters of Hong Kong Bay, spread out before him. His father often claimed that Boston’s harbor was just as impressive, but he doubted it. Watching the waves lap against the shore and the graceful sails of the junks always captivated him, in a way his father could simply not understand. For the older man, China was an assignment—a godless region to save. For Jason, it was something else, though precisely what, he did not know. Was it home? He sometimes wondered. He didn’t think so. Boston was home, or at least that is what his father told him over and over. Jason reflected, as he looked across the harbor, at how distant he really felt from his father’s world.

  “Little translator.” The call roused him from his thoughts. It was Xu Pakwah, a local merchant. “Your father is looking for you, little one.” Merchant Xu had known Jason since he was a child. It was from his stall that the missionary family had long purchased their vegetables.

  “I am going back soon,” said Jason, looking up at the old man. “Merchant Xu, do you know what is happening at Guangzhou?”

  “What do you mean, little one?” Xu asked, looking closely at the boy.

  “The soldiers, the French and English—will they attack the city?”

  “This one doesn’t know. I am only a poor merchant, with no degree holders in my family. I know that Viceroy Ye won’t be very happy with the arrival of these troops. The foreign soldiers have been hiring coolies to carry their equipment toward the city. But what has that to do with us? Enough of this; go to your father.”

  After giving him a stern look, Xu marched off. Pulling himself to his feet, Jason started toward his father’s church, his head full of thoughts of what might even now be happening in Guangzhou. As he walked, Jason wished he had wandered farther. He’d be home in minutes, he thought unhappily. Somehow the thought of sitting opposite his father at supper depressed him.

  Of late his father had become increasingly bitter. Jason knew it was difficult for his father to stay on in Hong Kong, particularly since Jason’s mother’s death. He understood as well, though, how fearful his father was of starting over again in New England. Reverend Brandt was almost fifty. He made it sound practically impossible. Nevertheless, the reverend awaited every ship from Boston with the hope that his query letters might have been favorably answered.

  The letters had gone off regularly since Jason was thirteen. The boy, though, had long since realized that nothing was likely to ever come of them. Perhaps it was too late for his father to establish a “real” congregation, as the older man called a Massachusetts pulpit. Even his father believed only halfheartedly that they would ever be able to return to America. The older man’s anxiety seemed to have quickened of late. In fact, he talked of almost nothing else.

  “It’s time for you to start college, to learn to be a gentleman. I’ve let you become half Chinese. If I weren’t certain you’d received the Lord’s teachings, I’d be even more concerned.” Jason could almost recite their supper conversations, and he knew his father had begun to ask his mother’s relatives to seek an appropriate college. But all that seemed very far away. Guangzhou was only a few score leagues to the north. And there might be fighting there! Jason could hardly contain his frustrations.

  His father was standing at the door as he came into sight, clearly watching for him.

  “You missed services, Jason Randolph Brandt.” His father looked at him coldly; then, warming a bit, he said, “Son, you know it makes it more difficult for me to convince the Chinese to come if I can’t even keep my own son in church.”

  “I’m sorry, Father. I just forgot,” Jason mumbled, looking down and feeling guilty about lying. He expected his father to challenge his flimsy excuse, but the older man’s thoughts were elsewhere. The reverend put a hand on Jason’s shoulder, his features now crowded with love, concern, and glad tidings. “
The mail arrived, and we’ve good news. Your aunt has found a college for you, Oberlin, in Ohio. They have agreed to have you for next term.”

  Jason froze in his tracks. His throat felt drier than he ever remembered.

  “Uh…that’s very good news, Father,” he said, the words difficult to mouth. He looked up striving to appear grateful. “Where’s Ohio, Father?”

  The reverend peered at him, a bit taken back.

  “It’s in the Midwest, just past Pennsylvania. Not Boston, but it is a God-fearing region, and the college is a respected one. They’ve offered space for you and even work on the campus.”

  “When would I leave?”

  “Why, on the next ship. You’ll want to spend some time with your mother’s relatives in Salem before you go on to college.” He removed his hand from Jason’s shoulder and turned away, closing the subject. “Supper must be ready by now.” Reverend Brandt set off for the family home.

  Jason slowly followed his father, though the older man’s brisk steps left him farther behind with each lengthy stride. His mind was racing. He would miss everything. He did not want to be a college student in some place called Ohio while a war raged in China. He had to find a way to go north, to put off until next year the trip to America. Jason barely noticed the smell of supper as they walked into the Western-style house his father had built near the coast.

  “Father,” he began, starting the conversation anew, “couldn’t I go next year? Is it that important that I go now? They’ll be needing you in Guangzhou when the war comes. And you’ll want me there for translating and passing out literature.”

  The older man did not reply. Jason bowed his head as his father intoned, “Bless this food and all those who partake of it.” Then, turning toward Jason, he said, “No. You won’t wait till next year. You will go now. There is no way of knowing whether you’ll receive as good an offer again. I’ll not have you wasting your life here in Hong Kong.”

  “But you live here, Father.”

  A spasm of anger briefly contorted the reverend’s face. His glance raked Jason with a familiar expression of righteous impatience.

  “That’s different. I’m here to do the Lord’s work. And that’s important work. But you will do something else. I want you to be a lawyer or, if you want, a man of the cloth, but with a proper flock, not these heathens. I won’t need you here, anyway. I’ll not be going up to Guangzhou, and you shouldn’t be so interested in going, either. That’s final.”

  The reverend turned back to his meal. Jason knew him too well to bother continuing the discussion. They ate in silence, and Jason’s mind raced, trying to find a way to change his father’s mind.

  Much later, as they prepared for bed, Jason grew almost desperate. He had tried, unsuccessfully, to broach the subject throughout the evening. He knew from the beginning, however, that his father would not relent. Jason was expected to leave on the next boat, and that could be any time. Money for his passage was already set aside, and he knew he would be on the next boat—if, he chilled at the thought, if he were still in Hong Kong.

  Later, Jason was shocked at how quickly he had made his decision, surprised it had come so easily.

  Waking before dawn, he quietly lit a candle and began the following note to his father:

  Dear Father:

  Please understand. I am certain you are right about my going to Ohio. I do promise you that I will go but not now. I am not ready to leave. I hope that when I see you again, you will understand.

  Faithfully,

  Jason

  This day, December 27, 1858

  He signed it and proceeded to the second part of his plan—the part he was less sure about. Groping in the darkness, he finally located his father’s strongbox. Quietly, using the key he’d set aside earlier, he opened the musty container. There, as it had always lain, was the special pouch that contained the money his parents had long set aside for his education. It was heavy with Mexican dollars, a currency commonly in use on the coast. His father had planned to use the money to ease Jason’s return to America and for tuition. How would the reverend react to his son taking the money? Certainly not well. Nevertheless, he had gone this far; taking the money was absolutely necessary if he was going to carry out his plans. All he could do was to hope that his father would one day understand. It would now be Jason’s own responsibility to earn the money for college. With that thought slightly easing his conscience, he quietly closed the strongbox and crept out the door afraid of discovery. The reverend had not slept well lately and might awaken at any moment. It was time to leave.

  Twenty minutes later, he was at the harbor. From there it would be more difficult. The waterfront was filled with the usual Chinese junks, merchant ships, and even more Western gunships than the previous day. From Jason’s vantage point, he could dimly see the colors of America, Britain, France, and Holland. Among the naval vessels, British and French colors shone brightly. But how could he get them to take him north? He’d spent part of the previous evening trying to come up with an appropriate approach. Now he had only to attempt it. He stood a few yards from one group of sailors standing on a dock arguing with some coolies. Apparently in charge was a young Englishman about twenty, clearly a class above the sailors. The argument seemed quite heated, both from the negotiations and the young officer’s inability to communicate. One of the coolies spoke the sort of pidgin English common on the wharves, but the young officer, obviously new to China, couldn’t understand a word the man said. It seemed the opening Jason was looking for.

  “Excuse me, sir, could I be of service? I speak the language,” Jason began as he pushed himself into the crowd.

  “Speak the language—I’d not grace this heathen gibberish with the term,” the young lieutenant shot back in irritation, and then, thinking again, he said, “Well, tell these heathens we’ll give them two shillings a day, whatever that is in the local species, if they come aboard for a week.” Jason explained the offer to the coolies, several of whom he’d seen working on the wharves since he was a child. As he spoke, he knew the young lieutenant was watching him carefully. Jason hoped he was coming to the desired conclusion.

  “They want to know where they’ll be going and what they’ll be doing.”

  The lieutenant frowned. “Just tell them they’ll work like the coolies they are, damned heathens, hauling our equipment around Guangzhou.” Then, more to Jason than for translation, he said, “There’s no telling what we’ll find up north. They say the Cantonese really hate us, the devils.”

  Trying to convince the coolies to board the ship was not easy. Their leader wanted assurances from Jason that the foreigners only required haulers for the week. Jason understood their hesitation. He, too, had heard about coolies being kidnapped to work overseas. Men, sometimes even young scholars, were simply grabbed off the streets and crammed into the ship hulls until enough coolies were collected to make a run for Peru or Cuba.

  “I understand your concern, but I think they are sincere. These are soldiers looking for temporary workers, not coolie merchants,” Jason said.

  Jason wondered if they would have believed him had they not seen him grow up around the wharves. For a fleeting second, he wished his father could see him negotiating, but then he thought again. The reverend could not possibly appreciate such an accomplishment.

  A few moments more and the transaction was arranged. Fifteen coolies agreed to board the ship. As they marched aboard, the young officer turned to Jason.

  “Who are you, boy, and where’d you learn the lingo?”

  “My family’s in the trade, sir. We arrange tea cargoes for the New England market. I’m just now on my way north to meet my father at the factories off Guangzhou.” Jason hoped the lieutenant would believe him. The man was new to China and could hardly question him further. That would have been a problem, since Jason had never actually been north to see the warehouses used by those merchants involved in the Canton trade.

  “You wouldn’t be interested in sailing with us, would you? We’re leaving for Guangzhou in an hour or so. We could use someone who knows the lingo. I’m sure the captain would consider it a fair trade—translations for your passage and board.”

  “Well, I suppose I could, sir. Would it be a bother?” Jason asked, delighted that his purse would remain sealed, at least for the moment.