The China Station (The Earl’s Other Son Series, Book 1)

by Wareham, Andrew

  “Possibly, Lord Magnus. Unusual for them, if they did, but not impossible. They try to threaten the Chinks rather than bribe them, if they can, but anything is possible these days.”

  “Mr Cecil said that things were changing in China… he didn’t seem to know what exactly.”

  Captain Hawkins shrugged, shook his head.

  “We’d all like to know that. Trouble is, we’re all just waiting for China to blow, you know. It don’t feel right, there’s a mood among them… They are going to do something silly, very soon, probably pushed to it by the Empress, who plays her own version of the Game. Missionaries, probably – they’ll provide the excuse for the explosion when it comes. They’re pushing again on the Yangtze and to the south, in the country behind Amoy, not so far from Ping Wu’s borders. Bit more money in it this time – one of the Hongs throwing some cash in. Word is that Blantyre wants his peerage and has to have some good works, as well as a hundred thousand tucked into the right pockets in Downing Street. A chain of a dozen mission stations won’t cost more than thirty thousand a year, at the outside, and will see his name mentioned by the London Missionary Society and whispered in all of the pious ears. He’ll be Baron Fatcat of Opium inside three years, and the Chinese will be up in arms inside four, but that won’t worry him in the least. His brother is due to make baronet soon, as a reward for doing the nasty work out here while he remains in the City.”

  “The daughter – Baron Fatcat’s niece – was on Oriental when I came out. Some mention that she was interested in the missions.”

  “Silly if she is. Not pleasant being a woman when a missionary station goes down, Lord Magnus.”

  “So I heard a few weeks back when the Americans were killed.”

  “Exactly. Bad business. Likely to get more of those.”

  Unpleasant, Magnus thought – he did not like to think of Miss Blantyre in the hands of a Chinese mob. Still, she had no business forcing her religion down their throats…

  “Before you go, Lord Magnus. Your Mid, young Hawkes. Is he due his promotion yet?”

  The question was asked in a suspiciously insouciant tone – far too casual. The name suddenly rang a bell – several bells, far too similar to Hawkins.

  “Very close, sir. An able lad. I have proposed to the Admiral that he should be made, in fact.”

  “Orphan, you know. Father died before he was born, out in India, and mother just a few years after. I saw him sent back to England and entered at Dartmouth. Got him his posting out here, in fact.”

  Magnus thought that he could not have announced more plainly that he was the boy’s father. Bastards could not hold the Queen’s Commission, so the business had to be kept officially quiet… but influence existed to be used.

  “Was you to have a word with the Admiral, sir, then the boy could be confirmed as a sub-lieutenant at any time.”

  The letter was placed in Mr Hawkes’ hands that afternoon – he was now a commissioned officer, a member of the wardroom. The envelope was brought by a young midshipman, newly on station and with only a year under his belt since passing out of Dartmouth. He proffered as well his own appointment to Bustard, vice Mr Hawkes.

  “Very good, young man. Let me see, you are who?”

  “Ayres, sir.”

  “But not graces, I trust, young man.”

  Magnus received a blank look.

  “The first lesson you should learn is that the captain’s jokes are always very funny, Mr Ayres. Laugh next time.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “The second lesson you have learned – ‘if in doubt, stand to attention and say aye aye’. Mr Whyte will see to your immediate needs, young man. Is your trunk with you?”

  “Yes, sir. Three trunks, sir. Thought I’d better get some uniforms in Honkers, sir.”

  Mr Ayres evidently had a private income – he would not have bought trunks full of uniforms on a midshipman’s pay.

  “Very wise, Mr Ayres. Find the First now.”

  Magnus turned to Sub-lieutenant Hawkes.

  “Congratulations, Mr Hawkes. Two years and I hope to see you as a full lieutenant. You have a watchkeeping certificate, I know, and I will wish you to take over all of Mr Prosser’s functions as, in effect, Third Lieutenant. Please ask Mr Prosser to come to me now.”

  Magnus had Prosser’s posting order with him, had been waiting for Hawkes’ letter to arrive, the Admiral’s Secretary having informed him that all was in hand for the afternoon.

  “Mr Prosser, you are for Gibraltar, protected cruiser, Captain Keaton. You should report within the hour, she is only two berths down from us, as you will know.”

  Prosser did know, had seen the spit and polish, had heard the bugle calls at all hours of the day. An appointment would normally be of three years duration, but could be longer if the ship was on a long cruise; he faced at least thirty-six months of rigid nit-picking discipline, of obedience at the run.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “My pleasure, Mr Prosser. You need the experience of a big ship. Gibraltar is an Edgar class cruiser – two nine point twos in single turrets, ten of six-inch quick-firers and a dozen six-pounders. Torpedo tubes as well. Complement of more than five hundred and you can expect to be a quarters officer, responsible for a part of the ship and its men. Was I you, Mr Prosser, I would put my name in for a specialisation – Gunnery or Navigation – hard work, passing the courses, but brings quicker promotion.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “My pleasure, Mr Prosser. Inform your servant to pack your trunks quickly, please. Mr Hawkes will wish to make himself comfortable before we sail in the morning.”

  “Thank you, sir. Can I ask what my record of service will show, sir?”

  “Certainly. Excellent for all aspects of seamanship and above average for officerlike qualities. My comment states that you have served only in small ships and need the experience of a battleship or cruiser. I have also stated that I would expect you to progress to early promotion.”

  Prosser smiled, faintly. An officer who was recommended for early promotion would be given the opportunity to shine, and would be expected to excel at every task he undertook. He would have to be the best, all day, every day, unfailingly – in a ship that had dauntingly high standards already.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Prosser could say nothing else – his captain had spoken and must be thanked for such condescension.

  Hanshan was unchanged – which was hardly surprising in a bare month – it had stood on the estuary for the previous thousand and more years, surviving all that had been thrown at it. The machinations of British, Germans, and Chinese, might be expected to have very little effect on so old and stable a town.

  A place was cleared at the wharf and a crowd was organised to cheer as the ship took her berth.

  “Very polite, Mr Whyte? Is there any particular reason why, do you think?”

  “Courtesy, sir. Probably because the warlord thinks there are German spies here and wants them to send the message that the British are much favoured.”

  Magnus thought a few seconds.

  “Ah! That means that they are on notice to make far greater offers next time. And we are being told that we are top dogs at the moment – and must keep dipping our hands into our pockets if we are to stay that way. Why not, Mr Whyte? We have forced our presence upon them, why should we not pay for the privilege of being here?”

  Mr Whyte was offended – his captain simply did not understand.

  “We are offering the Chinese the benefit of all that is best in the world, sir. We are extending the hand of friendship from Her Majesty, and we have introduced them to the love of the Lord, sir. They should pay us for such gifts.”

  “They pay for our opium, Mr Whyte. What more can we desire of them?”

  “They purchase opium because they are morally degenerate, sir. The drug grows in India, so they must buy it there – it is only at their insistence that some British firms supply the substance, sir.”

 
; “All their fault, in fact. So it should be, in our well-run world.”

  Mr Whyte did not understand, suspected that it was because the captain was born to the aristocracy that he felt the need to mock lesser mortals such as himself. Mr Whyte’s father had been an unsuccessful lieutenant, a younger son of the County with a few pounds in private income that had just managed to supplement his half-pay sufficiently to keep his family. Mr Whyte had no income at all, had lived on his pay and would continue to do so; he would not marry, for inability to keep household, unless, amazingly, he ever became an admiral. He prayed for a good war and a lucky posting in the middle of the conflict – but he knew the reality was that he might, just possibly, make commander before he was forty and would then climb no further.

  “Maintain all normal safeguards, Mr Whyte. No matter how loudly they cheer, men at the Maxims and rifles at the brow and no more than one third of the men to the shore at any time.”

  Mr Whyte had already given those orders.

  “Interpreter coming, sir. Young Mr Ping, sir.”

  Magnus had ordered that Mr Ping must be treated as a gentleman, offered all normal courtesy.

  “My lord, Captain Magnus, sir. My father extends his kindest greetings and begs that you might dine with him this evening.”

  “My pleasure, Mr Ping. I shall be honoured.”

  “The chair will come for you at the normal time, sir. My father was deeply gratified, Lord Magnus, at the salute given him by a full battleship. Never has so great a ship been seen in this port, my lord.”

  “Yet Centurion is only a battleship of the second-class, you know, Mr Ping. She is the largest we have out here on the China Station, but there are far greater ships in the Mediterranean and Home Fleets. Hood, for example, is four thousand tons greater and carries four of thirteen and a half inch guns, compared to Centurion’s ten-inch.”

  “I had heard, sir, that the thirteen-inch guns had not been a success, Lord Magnus.”

  “Quite right, Mr Ping – they are a newer development. It was thought that they might outrange the thirteen and a half gun, but they did not perform as hoped. The newest ships will probably make do with twelve-inch, I am told.”

  Magnus wondered just where Mr Ping had heard that the thirteen-inch guns had been unsuccessful; that word had been passed to Germany by her spies, and was wholly incorrect. Captain Hawkins had confirmed that there would be no thirteens, but there were fourteen-inch guns on the drawing-board, and the new twelves were to be of greater range; the thirteens had never been a reality. The probability was that Mr Ping was in converse with German military or naval officers.

  “I trust all went well upriver, Mr Ping.”

  “Those of the invaders who survived – very few indeed – fled across the new border into the French enclave to the south, Lord Magnus. I believe they were met by French naval troops, sir, and were reduced again in number. A highly successful outcome, Lord Magnus, courtesy of your guns. Did your people in Hong Kong manage to translate the documents you were able to take to them?”

  “They did, Mr Ping, and sent their thanks to you. The invaders were funded by German agents, as we had suspected. Of some irritation to Admiral Seymour was that they had brought the ammunition through Canton. That is under investigation, of course. Should the compradors be discovered, those who handled the guns and shells, then I suspect there will be a number of executions.”

  Mr Ping frowned at that statement; the compradors were rich and powerful merchants, acting publicly as agents to the gwailo merchants, but often actually the owners of the Hongs, supplying money and expertise both, the English merchant no more than a front for them. Taking the head of a comprador was not to be thought of; the English sailors must be persuaded of the unwisdom of their ways. He wondered just what sort of inducement must be offered to the naval gentleman.

  Mr Ping begged audience of his father – he was a junior son and was not one of the inner circle that governed in Hanshan. He explained the problem as he saw it.

  Ping Wu immediately understood that action must be taken. It was not easy. The previous captain had been amenable to a few crates of good liquor; others in the past had had peculiar tastes in night entertainment; Lord Magnus seemed deplorably virtuous and conventional, however.

  “With respect, sir. The family of the captain are high in the aristocracy, but very low in income. He is a gentleman of London, and would not accept money. A gift of a gold statue, perhaps, or of gemstones that he or a future wife might wear, would not cause offence. Better gold, sir – the jewellers will purchase gold at weight, but they will greatly discount stones.”

  Ping Wu scowled – gold did not grow on trees, he said. The compradors must, however, be protected. The Imperial Court had connections with many of the leading compradors and relied on generous presents from them; the Empress would have no mercy for any warlord who knew that compradors in his locality were at risk and did not protect them.

  Chapter Seve

  n

  The China Station

  The sedan chair arrived in mid-afternoon and Magnus was escorted to an audience with Ping Wu, wondering the while whether he seemed too much the supplicant. Did the people in the streets see him as the powerful foreign master going to lay down the new law or as a strong but inferior visitor being granted the honour of a meeting with their lord?

  He was not sure that it mattered what the ordinary folk in the streets thought, unless it came to a possible mob uprising against the gwailos. If they regarded him as the source of potentially massive retribution, then they might not wish to join whatever outburst might occur; if they saw him as a lesser being, possibly they would be prepared to take the chance of wiping out the invaders. He did not know. He suspected that the people did not know either, that when the time came almost random events might decide for them what would happen.

  He stood from the chair and nodded to Mr Ping, giving him permission to lead the way inside. It might be observed, could perhaps make a slight difference.

  Ping Wu stood as Magnus entered his presence, a statement that he was not inferior, or not too much so.

  Mr Ping formally announced him on this occasion.

  “Captain Lord Magnus Campbell, of Her Majesty’s Ship Bustard.”

  They bowed to each other.

  “Ping Wu says that you are welcome here, Lord Magnus, both in Hanshan and in his palace.”

  “Please to give him my thanks for his courtesy, and express my pleasure on behalf of the Royal Navy and Great Britain.”

  Magnus was careful not to use the more correct term, ‘The United Kingdom’, at Captain Hawkins’ suggestion. Great Britain had no political significance, could not imply any diplomatic favour or meaning.

  “The Royal Navy has already shown Ping Wu great honour, Lord Magnus, a circumstance of which he is well aware. He believes that no other country’s ships have given a salute to a mere provincial governor in such fashion.”

  Magnus took the cue he had been given, insisted that ‘mere’ was an inappropriate term to use.

  It was all very cosy, he thought – they were certainly jollying him along for a specific purpose. Possibly it was for no reason other than to keep him friendly; it might be gratitude; perhaps they wanted something more in the immediate future.

  “You will wish to inspect the battery that Ping Wu has in construction, Lord Magnus, to use the most modern guns to their best while still allowing them to be mobile for the needs of the army. They are to look out across the estuary, Lord Magnus, though, regrettably, we do not have the ammunition, the ‘rounds’ you would say, that are the best to use against ships.”

  “Armour-penetrating shot? Solid shot with a hardened steel tip - I do not believe that such exists for three-inch guns, Mr Ping. The best load for smaller field guns is high explosive that will cause substantial damage to the superstructure and, obviously, the men inside it. Shrapnel is not particularly useful against modern ships, though it will play hell with the rigging of sailing vessels. I belie
ve that the bulk of the rounds I saw with your battery were shrapnel, meant for use against soldiers in the field. I shall have a word in Hong Kong, sir. It might be possible to lay hands on some high explosive shells, sir, though I do not know whether we would have a supply of rounds directly suitable for Krupp guns.”

  “It might be necessary to attempt to procure such from Germany, Lord Magnus.”

  “It might indeed, Mr Ping.”

  The threat had been made, in suitably oblique terms, and Magnus would pass the message along, which was all that was required of him on this occasion. He was glad that he was not in Ping Wu’s position, trying to extract some advantage from the rivalry between massively powerful nations that might, if they became annoyed, simply crush him in passing.

  “There has been a request, Lord Magnus, for a section of land and a house to be made available to a Mission, based in Berlin. The Protestant Board of Evangelism, I understand it to be called.”

  Magnus looked slightly amused, assembling the expression very carefully.

  “Not my sort of thing, Mr Ping. Difficult to refuse, I must imagine. I do not believe that there is any intention to send a mission from England, sir. I am told that the nearest of ours are to be found near Amoy, and in and about Canton, of course. There must be land near the waterfront here that is suitable for such use.”

  The few unused areas close to the wharves were marshy, full of mosquitoes and squatted on only by the poorest and lowest-class of Hanshan’s denizens.

  Mr Ping quickly translated Magnus’ words. His father permitted himself a brief smile as he replied.

  “There is a precise place, Lord Magnus, that has occurred to my father. There was used to be a leper colony there, many years ago. The land, being unlucky, has remained vacant since.”

  Magnus carefully maintained a rigidly correct face, as he had been assured was appropriate when the Chinese were maltreating Westerners, however much he thought it to be amusing.