Tai-Pan

BOOK V

That afternoon Struan went aboard China Cloud.

He sent Captain Orlov to one of the lorchas and Zergeyev to spacious quarters in Resting Cloud.

He ordered all sails set and the moorings let go and he fled the harbor into the deep.

For three days he drove China Cloud

like an arrow southeast, her yards screeching with the fullness of canvas.

He had gone to sea to cleanse himself. To cleanse away the dross and the words of Sarah and the loss of Robb and of Karen.

And to bless May-may and the joy of her.

He went to the bosom of the ocean as a lover who had been gone for an eternity, and the ocean welcomed him with squall and with storm, yet controlled, never endangering the ship or him who drove the ship. She sent her wealth sparingly, making him strong again, giving him life, giving him dignity, and blessing him as only the sea can bless a man, cleansing him as only the ocean can cleanse a man.

He drove himself as he drove the ship, not sleeping, testing the limit of strength. Watch after watch changed and still he walked the quarterdeck: sunrise to sunrise to sunrise, singing softly to himself and hardly eating. And never talking, except to force more speed, or to order a ripped shroud replaced or another sail set. He drove into the depths of the Pacific, into infinity.

On the fourth day he turned about and drove her for half the day northwest. Then he hove to and went below and shaved and bathed and slept for a day and a night, and the next dawn he ate a full meal. Then he went on deck.

“Morning, sorr,” Cudahy said.

“Set course for Hong Kong.”

“Yes, sorr.”

He stayed on the quarterdeck all day and part of the night and once more he slept. At dawn he shot the sun and marked the chart and again ordered the ship hove to.

Then he dived over the side and swam naked in the sea. The seamen crossed themselves superstitiously. There were sharks circling.

But the sharks kept their distance.

He climbed aboard and ordered the spotless ship cleaned and the decks holystoned—

sand and broom and water—

rigging replaced, sails tended, scuppers and cannon cleansed. All his own clothes and those of his men he cast overboard. He issued new gear to his men and took seaman’s clothes for himself.

A double tot of rum was issued to all hands.

At dawn on the seventh day Hong Kong loomed on the horizon, dead ahead. The Peak was shrouded with mist. There was cirrus aloft and a lusty swell below.

He stood on the bowsprit, the spray billowing beneath him.

“Do your worst, Island!” he shouted into the wake of the east wind. “I’m home!”