The lookouts called a pair of fishing boats an hour later. Mason reported them to Magnus.
“Action stations, sir?”
“No. I don’t want the men staying at their guns all night. They must get some sleep. All guns loaded and ready but call action stations for an hour before dawn. Galley to have something hot for them at that time and then to secure for action. Small arms parties to be ready but concealed before first light. The probability is that we shall see nothing first thing – I would expect them later – but they may have spotted us already. Those fishing boats might be working with the pirates. Best we be on top line for the dawn.”
“Yes, sir. I thought those boats were rather small to be fishing deep sea, sir.”
“So did I, but I don’t know what local habits may be. They might be legitimate. There could be shallow banks out here, rich fishing grounds… Warn the lookouts to watch for shallows, Mr Mason.”
Lieutenant Mornington gave his detailed knowledge as navigator.
“The Islands of the Pescadores are to the north of us, sir. So named for fishing, of course. These are said to be rich waters, sir.”
“So the fishing boats might actually be fishing?”
“It is by no means impossible, sir. I have them under close observation from the topmast, sir. The lookout has one of our pairs of binoculars. I shall hail him, with your permission, sir.”
“Do, Mr Mornington.”
Mornington was not officer of the watch and should not give orders in his presence.
The lookout reported that one of the fishing boats had hoisted a small flag or pennant, and that he rather thought he could see another a few miles inshore which might also be wearing a flag.
“It seems possible, sir, that there is a line of three or four boats, passing sightings from one to another.”
“It is not unlikely, Mr Mornington. Mr Mason!”
The First Lieutenant was below, making a final inspection of the ship prior to action, as was his duty. He was three minutes in reporting to the conning tower.
“All in order, Mr Mason?”
“Very satisfactory, sir.”
“As it should be, and indeed, as I expected it to be. I am very pleased with the state of the ship, Mr Mason – you have done very well. Now, these fishing boats seem not to be wholly above board – they are signalling the shore, we suspect. Such being the case, we are to expect company at first light. Alter the orders so that the men are roused two hours before dawn and eat before going to their stations in good time. Be ready to haul down the sails and appear to be in process of surrender, Mr Mason. Anything to bring the villains closer to us.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Mason could not approve of even the least appearance of flight or cowardice – it was not the way the Navy behaved, he believed. Orders were to be obeyed, however.
A sudden thought struck Magnus.
“The engine-room, Mr Mason – have they any small arms there?”
“Well, no, sir. In the nature of things, stokers would not have.”
“Not good enough, not when dealing with pirates, Mr Mason. They might run below in fear and then find unarmed stokers…”
“So they might, sir. Very true. Not rifles, sir, not in the stokehold, the rounds ricocheting randomly from coal and hull alike… Revolvers, sir, I shall send say four down to them. No need for cutlasses – their shovels are kept razor-sharp by the coal and they know how to use them. The off watch stokers will be on deck with rifles, sir.”
“Excellent, Mr Mason. I can think of no more to do, can you?”
“Splice the mainbrace, sir? An extra tot might be very welcome to the men – keep them warm in the cold before dawn, sir.”
“What, rum with breakfast?”
“Oh, yes, sir. The men will have no objection on the grounds that it is too early in the day, sir.”
“Good God! I shall stick to a cup of tea… Yes, by all means. Let it be so. Inform the Paymaster. What, by the way, will his station be during the action?”
“He is to lead a party of clerks and stewards, sir, stationed on deck immediately below the conning tower. He will have his pair of shotguns to hand, sir, and his men will carry revolvers. I believe he is a keen wildfowler, sir, with ten-bores rather than the normal twelves. His senior clerk will act as loader.”
“Most effective, I do not doubt, Mr Mason.”
All preparations that could be made were in hand, Magnus thought. The best thing for him now would be sleep.
He spent most of the night awake, wondering what might happen, whether he had taken all the precautions he should, if he had forgotten something vital. He rose well before the men were called. He found Mason in the conning tower, wearing old trousers and a singlet, every other man on watch equally informal.
“In disguise, sir. Uniform not quite appropriate, perhaps.”
Magnus retired to his cabin, called for shooting dress.
“No jacket, of course, sir.”
Magnus doubted he had ever ventured out of his bedroom or cabin without a jacket since he had been twelve years old. It was an appalling state of nakedness, he thought.
“Must I really, Carter?”
“Yes, sir. Essential, sir.”
“It’s not at all the thing, you know.”
“Yes, sir. Make the sacrifice, sir.”
Magnus had a suspicion that Carter might be mocking him. He ventured towards the door.
“Rolled up shirtsleeves, sir. Take the cufflinks out.”
“Good God! Is there no end to it, Carter?”
“No, sir. Revolver and cutlass on the belt, sir, and all is right and proper.”
“Damned improper, if you ask me, Carter. Still, needs must, I suppose. I shall look damned foolish if the pirates don’t come, Carter.”
“You’d look bloody stupid if they did come and saw you in uniform, sir.”
The captain’s servant was a privileged being, could just get away with impertinence.
It was cold exposed in the conning tower before dawn. Magnus called for cocoa, as was appropriate to the time of day. It came, strong and clinging, ‘pusser’s kye’ as it was traditionally known, a measure of custard powder added to the mix to thicken it, a drop of rum to give it a kick and warm the exposed unfortunates, enough sugar to make a spoon stand upright, for energy.
“God, that’s awful bloody stuff, Mr Mason.”
“Warm the cockles of your heart, sir.”
“So it may. Perhaps cold cockles might be preferable.”
There was a pattering of bare feet on deck, a boy sailor running fast from the bows.
“Can see summat out in the dark, sir. Bit distant, sir. Just the loom of a ship, sir. Small, sir.”
“Action stations, Mr Mason.”
The whisper was passed and the men ran silently to their guns, readying them to cast off their disguise and fire.
The light increased and the boy ran from the bows again.
“Steamship, sir. Old, sir. Tall funnel. About five ‘undred tons, sir. Derelict, sir. Drifting. Pirated and left, sir.”
“Too old to be worth taking in, Mr Mason? Not likely! They would bring her into harbour to offload and she would hardly be sailing empty.”
“Passenger ship, sir? Take the people they wanted, slit the throats of the rest and abandon a valueless hull?”
“Might be… Order the six inchers to aim on her, those who can. Three pounders to watch their fronts in case she is a decoy. Maxims!”
The two-man crews raised their hands in acknowledgement.
“Watch for small boats. Open fire on any you see closing us without further order.”
Magnus picked up his binoculars, inspected the drifting ship as it became visible.
“Can’t see anything… No movement at all. Close her, Mr Mason, bring us within a couple of cables of her.”
“She’s only small, sir.”
“Could have five hundred pirates hidden below decks.”
Mason thought that
would be a very tight squeeze.
“Lookouts to report.”
All called nothing in sight. Visibility was a good half mile and rapidly improving. Mason sent men aloft to the mastheads, received an instant response.
“On deck. Hidden behind the hull, sir, raising sail now, sir. Small craft, five of ‘em, sir. Fast boats, sir. Unmasking two guns on the ship, sir.”
“All guns, open fire!”
Magnus put the glasses on the ship’s deck, saw men heaving canvas covers, just like those chosen by Racoon, to one side and exposing a pair of light field guns, three inch, he thought, perhaps a little bigger.
The first six inch fired, quickly followed by two more and then by four of the three pounders. They began to hit, which was as it should be at such close range. Men boiled out onto the pirate’s deck, firing rifles as the field guns were destroyed.
“Six inch to fire at the waterline.”
The target was changed, and the gunners missed with their first rounds, still inexperienced and inaccurate. They came on line and opened the old hull to the water. The small arms parties were knocking down the riflemen but taking some casualties from fire coming in.
“Maxims, target the small boats. Three pounders! Small boats.”
Magnus tried to count the shell bursts, to make an estimation of how many missed the fast-moving targets.
“Slower than torpedo boats, Mr Mason – God help us if they should ever appear, because we’re missing nine rounds out of ten!”
The machine guns hit hard on two of the boats, killing the visible crews and causing them to lose control so that they fell into the trough of the low waves and quickly capsized. Three pounders made direct hits on the others as they came to very close range, rapidly destroyed their fragile wooden hulls.
“Ship’s going, sir.”
Magnus turned his attention to the small old freighter, saw her sinking by the stern, slowly going under. Some of the riflemen were still firing.
“Continue the action.”
The six inch guns were finally on target, hitting hard, smashing the small ship. She rolled under, going quickly in the end.
“Cease fire.”
“On deck. Destroyer, sir. Ten thousand yards, sir.”
“Strip all sail, Mr Mason. Full ahead on engines. Raise white ensign.”
“Ensign was raised before we opened fire, sir. Properly, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr Mason. What’s the bill?”
“First reports, sir, give six killed by rifle fire, sir. At least a dozen wounded, sir. Mostly from the small arms parties, sir, being more exposed than the gunners. There seem to be survivors in the water, sir. Lower boats?”
“No. Throw a line to a few. We need to know who and what they are. No more than a handful. No time for boats, with a destroyer coming in fast. Six inch to target the destroyer. Do not fire.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Lookouts! What can you see of the destroyer?”
“British built, sir. Much like Mountjoy. Making the better part of twenty-five knots, sir.”
British yards had sold small warships to a dozen countries.
“Flag, sir. Rising sun, sir.”
“Six inch guns to bear fore and aft.”
A visual statement of peaceful intent, the guns turning away to take their inactive position.
“Signalling, sir. What ship?”
“Make our name, Mr Mason. Add, ‘in action with pirates’.”
The destroyer made a half circle to come parallel with Racoon, still signalling.
“Permission to send boat, sir.”
“Welcome.”
The destroyer lay to a cable distant, lowered a boat. Magnus watched as it was manned.
“Party to the side, Mr Mason. Pipes. One Japanese officer, lieutenant perhaps… and one Royal Naval Commander, Mr Mason. An observer, no doubt. Commander last into the boat.”
The Commander was the senior officer – last in, first out. He would expect, and would receive, the proper courtesies.
“Carter!”
“Coming, sir.”
Two minutes and Magnus was properly uniformed, as was only right. He reached the side in time to welcome the naval officer.
“Hartson, Lord Eskdale. Observing with the Imperial Japanese Navy. Lieutenant Yoshida, First Lieutenant of the destroyer Yokohama.”
Magnus came to the salute again and followed with a half bow.
“Mr Mason, my First Lieutenant. I am afraid you find us in some disorder, Commander Hartson. The pirate sank only ten minutes ago. You may have seen her go.”
“We heard the action and saw the very end of it, Lord Eskdale. A Japanese squadron took their harbour overnight and sent the destroyer to discover the remnants of the pirates, who had, we discovered, gone out to attack a merchant ship sighted yesterday evening. They had armed an old steamer and were to pretend to be derelict, I gather. It would seem that their ruse did not succeed.”
“We were waiting for them, sir. We spotted fishing boats yesterday, passing signals inshore. Racoon was under sail, in order to appear peaceful, all guns covered.”
“Well done, sir.”
Commander Hartson rattled off a fluent sounding translation to the Japanese officer. The lieutenant bowed in response, offering a brief comment.
“Mr Yoshida offers his congratulations, my lord. I see that you have taken very few prisoners.”
“The initial intention was to question some, sir. Our laundry boys were to interpret for us, but it seems there is no need. My orders were to discover and destroy their harbour. It would seem that you have already done so.”
“Just so, Lord Eskdale. Three large lorchas and as many as fifty sampans of various dimensions. All gone, together with their little fort and warehouses. There was a small town and that was razed. Burned to the ground. The Imperial Navy was remarkably thorough.”
“Good. Pirates are the enemy of humankind and must be extirpated, sir.”
“I agree. What of your prisoners?”
“The yardarm, I believe, sir.”
A quick conversation and the request was made for the prisoners to be handed over to the Japanese.
“It is just possible that there may be another pirate at sea. They will be asked to comment on the likelihood of that being the case. The Japanese are most efficient in their questioning, Lord Eskdale.”
“Let it be so, sir. Mr Mason, the prisoners to be handed over, if you please.”
They watched as five bound men were urged to the rail and dropped down to the waiting boat.
“Mr Yoshida wishes to know more of your Racoon, Lord Eskdale.”
“Archer-class torpedo-cruiser, sir, as you will know. An experiment, a failure, I would add. Almost certainly in her final commission, sir. She is too slow for her function and the torpedo carriages are inefficient. She has been rearmed with an extra pair of three pounders but is still of small value on the high seas. Best suited to work the Yangtse for a year or two more before returning to England and service as a tender or guardship in one of the great harbours.”
“The lieutenant notes that Racoon is fully rigged.”
“Ridiculous, sir, that any ship of this day and age should be so. Sail is dead, or should be, sir.”
“I agree. I believe in fact that the Admiralty has recently announced that no naval vessel launched henceforth will be a sailing ship.”
“Half a century out of date, sir. No doubt Their Lordships consider themselves daringly modern.”
“I agree, Lord Eskdale. By the way, sir, is it tactful to enquire the cause of your inheriting the title? I had believed Lord Eskdale to be a young political figure of growing renown.”
“A recent taking-off, Commander Hartson, following one of the less pleasant scandals of late years. His body was pulled from the Thames last month. My father has, I am told, experienced a severe and probably permanent breakdown in his faculties following on the shock.”
“I shall ask no more, sir. My commiserations.”
Magnus reflected that the conversation was but one of many he might expect in the next few months. London news could be slow reaching the more distant parts of the globe and his brother had been a coming man, known by name at least to many.
“I presume Racoon to be surplus to requirements here, Commander Hartson. Unless you think I should pay my respects to the admiral of the Japanese squadron, I shall make course for Hong Kong.”
“Yes, that will be best. The Imperial Japanese Navy will require no assistance in dealing with the remaining dregs of the pirates, Lord Eskdale. It would be a courtesy to withdraw from their sphere of action.”
“Excellent. We are stripped for action, sir, and will be able to offer only limited refreshment to guests…”
“Of course. It would be an imposition to force your people to provide for us. We shall make our farewells, sir.”
They exchanged courtesies, at length, and eventually managed to get the boat away.
Magnus turned back to business with considerable relief.
“What’s the final butcher’s bill, Mr Mason? Have we lost more men?”
“Not yet, sir. Six dead but three at least of the wounded are in bad shape. Mr Eccles, sir, has taken two rounds to the chest, having leaned over the rail to shoot into the nearest of the boats.”
“A pity, but we can criticise no man who exposes himself in the cause of duty. Full speed for Hong Kong, Mr Mason. Inform Mr Buchan that I want everything he has in order to get the wounded to medical care.”
Mason ran below to speak personally to Buchan, having shouted the course to the conning tower.
Magnus noted with approval that the gunners were collecting empty cases to return to the magazine. They were no more than scrap brass but should not, he thought, be wastefully kicked over the side as was standard practice. He much suspected that the bulk of them would become ashtrays and other household ornaments, but that would give many of the hands something useful to do in their spare hours and would reduce gambling and quarrelling on the mess decks.
He went below to the sick berth, to be seen there, concerned for his men as was necessary; as always, he was repelled by the sight of wounded, bloody men and especially by the smell they generated. The milk of human kindness ran thin in his veins, he feared, he just could not tolerate the sight of the wounded; he forced himself as a result to stop by each man and exchange a few words. He felt an even greater fraud than normal as the men showed pleased at his kindness and care.
02 Shanghai Dreams (The Earl’s Other Son #2) Page 14