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

by Wareham, Andrew

  “Good land should not be wasted merely because of an accident of history, Mr Ping.”

  Mr Ping bowed his acknowledgement – words that were not spoken, could not be recorded and quoted in an uncertain future.

  “The offer shall be made, Lord Magnus. My father is sure that the Mission will be properly grateful.”

  “As it should be, Mr Ping. Is all well inland of your province, sir? There has been some mention of unquiet in some of the more rural areas of China.”

  Mr Ping gave a very English shrug as he translated.

  “There is always some unrest, Lord Magnus. In a land so very large, there will be places that experience drought, famine, plague or flood while most of the Empire remains prosperous and stable. Such civil disturbances rarely spread to affect more fortunate parts. It is probable that the war with France will have created refugees, people fleeing to other areas that are too poor to feed them and will not welcome their presence. Inevitably, that may force them across our borders… General Li has troops there to turn away the unwelcome.”

  “Are not all such refugees unwelcome, Mr Ping?”

  “Not all, Lord Magnus. A man who has skills – a carpenter, a black or white smith, a potter, perhaps – these can be found workshops in a town or large village, to the benefit of all. Young females may often be found some sort of occupation as well. Some of those who flee will bring money; merchants might be accompanied by carts loaded with their stock; a few peasants might lead buffaloes and pigs or flocks of ducks and geese – these people, who are of a thrifty and thoughtful nature – will provide value to the villages where they settle. The bulk, however, offer nothing other than hungry bellies and open mouths – and there is nothing for them, except that some few of the bigger and stronger may become soldiers, if more are needed.”

  Magnus could offer no argument – in a land where people were many and good land was almost all taken up, the refugee could not be popular.

  “Enough of such gloomy matters, Lord Magnus. While in London I discovered that many of British people – see, I do not say English to a man surnamed Campbell – much appreciate the old and artistic. My father came across this small piece and would be much delighted was you to accept it as a trivial token of his regard for you.”

  The token was a piece of deeply rich imperial jade, carved as a female figure and nearly a foot tall. Magnus had seen smaller statues in Mayfair, looted in the Opium Wars of the mid-century, and valued in thousands; he did not know what this was worth, but could not imagine it to be little.

  He made his thanks, saying that the beauty was such that it must grace the family mansion, an heirloom for the generations. He had every intention of selling it on his return to London, but he felt he must show awestruck. He made a laughing reference to being a Scot – not an Englishman, as they had noticed – and renowned for being careful with his money, but this was too good to be sold, he said, while trying to look most earnest.

  The piece was taken from him, carefully wrapped and placed into a little, fragrant chest made of cedar wood, suitable protection for the long journey it faced.

  Entertainment followed its predictable course, to Magnus’ pleasure – he did feel that Victorian London, with its insistence on all matters sexual taking place behind closed doors and shuttered windows, could learn a lot from China. Even the Navy tended to be prim in public – though all knew what jack tars were like when ashore.

  Mr Ping visited the ship the next afternoon, making a courtesy call before they sailed, talking about very little, but avidly watching a crew exercising on a Maxim.

  “Such machines as are built in Britain and Germany and America, Lord Magnus! One could wish for a factory to produce such here in China.”

  Magnus had more than once wondered why that had not happened – why the Chinese, educated people and living in a potentially rich land, had not turned to industry.

  Mr Ping shook his head.

  “We have a deep river here, Lord Magnus, ideal for ship-building, one might surmise. Yet, Lord Magnus, think of all that is required. Skilled people are no problem – for I could send to London or New York and hire men possessing all the skills we need, and willing to teach as they work. But everything else is almost insuperable. To build a ship we need steel, in many forms. So we must build steel plants, first, which requires blast furnaces for iron as a preliminary. That in turn demands iron and coal mines, and railways to link them all together, and then supplies of scrap and of limestone. By now we have tens of thousands of men and women at work, and they must be fed, for they cannot grow rice as well – so we must produce for them. Now, Lord Magnus, we need wooden planks as well for decking and cabins and such, and glass for portholes, and big guns from another set of factories, and then all of the chemicals needed to make charges and shells. I forgot copper, did I not? For we shall need electricity.”

  Magnus had never considered the complexity that lay behind a shipyard.

  “Twenty years before you could lay a keel, Mr Ping.”

  “At least, Lord Magnus. For the next decades, we must beg or buy from the older nations, that is, my lord, if we wish to possess such machines.”

  Magnus saw that Mr Ping was tired of begging, had humbled himself too many times in recent years; he quite liked the young man, wondered if he might be able to offer an easier way forward.

  “There are some Maxims recently arrived in Hong Kong, set on wheels, to accompany an army. We have no armies here, Mr Ping, and much hope never to need such. I shall speak to Admiral Seymour. I am certain that gifts could be made to trusted friends, sir; it is normal for allies to assist each other. We do not have soldiers, while you have the services of the redoubtable General Li and his men.”

  “Our friendship is undoubted, Lord Magnus.”

  Magnus had never dreamed that it might not be, so he said.

  “One is so pleased to share such a mutual understanding, Lord Magnus, particularly with a British gentleman who is a collector of Chinoiserie.”

  Magnus bowed – he would have no objection at all to collecting more imperial jade.

  It occurred to Magnus as Bustard left port that he was becoming a bribe-taker. He had, in fact, been thoroughly and quickly corrupted. A very little thought told him that he had acted only in Britannia’s best interests – Ping Wu had remained in the British camp because of his endeavours, and, if he had profited from his dealings with the gentleman, who had lost? The sole loser was Imperial Germany, and that was very much as it should be. Jacky Fisher had no doubt, or so it was said, that Prussia was Britain’s enemy – and Magnus was now a follower of the up and coming admiral, touch of the tarbrush be damned.

  They followed the coast north towards Amoy, Mr Whyte pointing out everything that Magnus must know about it.

  “There are small rivers which were havens of pirates twenty years ago, sir. The great fleets are no longer to be found, but one still comes across junks with too many men aboard to be innocent. They work the coasts of Cochin-China now, and raid the shores of Formosa for slaves who they sell to the Arab traders who come from the Red Sea ports. Some of the pirates make their way down to the Dutch East Indies, which are less well patrolled than these seas. Still a huge slave trade there, of course, sir, mostly going to the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf – no end to the demand for slaves there, sir. Now that there are more of our cruisers on the East African coast, they look further east for their bodies.”

  “What do we do, Mr Whyte?”

  “Almost nothing, sir. Look about you, sir.”

  Magnus did as he was bid, sweeping the coast and looking out to sea from the bandstand the carpenter had constructed for him on the old quarterdeck.

  “Must be fifty junks and sampans, and three steamers as well.”

  “Exactly, sir. As busy a stretch of ocean as you will find. Those two steamers going north will be opium carriers, without a doubt. Both carrying Hong flags, and untouchable. The one coming south is smaller than most. Carrying rice, probably, in sacks. Wha
t else, one may guess, but it will be well hidden. As for the junks… well, sir, you can bet that one will be unlawful. Which one? Can we stop all fifty?”

  “Point taken, Mr Whyte. We can, simply by showing ourselves, prevent the formation of the great pirate fleets of yesteryear. There is nothing we can do more than that.”

  They reached the island port of Amoy, one of the original treaty ports but now falling into decline, the tea trade having collapsed.

  “Indian tea, sir, is of much the same grade as that exported from Amoy. Obviously, it is cheaper, for carrying lower cartage costs to London. Also, and importantly, payments to the Indian Empire are made in sterling while China still demands silver. As a result, many of the local people have emigrated and are to be found everywhere on Earth – particularly in California and Australia, one is told. Singapore is full of them as well.”

  Magnus tried to remember all he was told; he found it useful to make a daily diary entry recording all that he must know, and noting items of interest to Mr Cecil.

  “Not so many of our traders here now, I must imagine, Mr Whyte.”

  “A few more than two hundred, I believe, sir, but a great mass of missionaries. Two public hospitals run by the missions, sir, as well as the normal schools and orphanages. The usual problems, of course: the Protestant won’t acknowledge the Catholics as Christians even, and the Methodists have no love for the Baptists, and neither gives tuppence for the Church of England. All very important stuff, as you must know, sir.”

  “How does that affect the Navy?”

  “The Navy is C of E, sir, being part of the official world, so we must support their missions first. More or less, that is. But the hospitals ain’t C of E, so if any of the crew are to be taken ashore sick or injured, we have a problem.”

  “Give an official order to the Sick Berth Attendant that no man is to fall ill or suffer an accident in Amoy, Mr Whyte! That will teach them!”

  “It will do the crew few favours, sir, if there should be an accident.”

  “True. Ignore that order. Which hospital is the better?”

  “Two peas in a pod, sir – nothing to choose between them. Both are vastly better and far cheaper than anything that went before.”

  The harbour at Amoy was protected by the island itself, was one of the great natural basins of the world. Being on the side of the island facing the mainland, it was protected to a great extent from typhoons and could have sheltered the whole of the Royal Navy had the need arisen. Unfortunately, the harbour was in the wrong place, on a coast that was no longer so economically important.

  “Passenger ships going out, the bulk of the trade, sir. Ancient coffin ships jam-packed full of passengers paying pennies for the privilege. If they sink, no loss to the owners – they are worthless rust-buckets, and insured as ocean-going steamers. Nine out of ten will reach Singapore, sir, and almost as high a proportion will make San Francisco – and for those who don’t? Who cares? This is China.”

  Magnus had heard those words too often to be comfortable. China was different, as went without saying – it was not London, still less Mayfair; that had to be admitted. But, he suspected, the people were still human beings – although many in Mayfair wondered whether that could be said of the lower classes of England. Perhaps he was thinking too much, and junior officers who thought tended to remain very junior for the whole of their careers – the Navy demanded many things of its officers, but philosophy was not one of them.

  “You may well be right, Mr Whyte. It is not our business to tell the Chinese how to run their country.”

  “Exactly, sir.”

  “What is our normal procedure in Amoy, Mr Whyte?”

  “We normally come to anchor, sir, rather than tie up. No shore leave, sir, for the lower deck. An insalubrious station, Amoy, sir. Too many of them will return with the most unpleasant diseases, and there is always a chance that they will become involved in knife fights, sir. The officers may go ashore, though it is not recommended for any except the captain, sir. You will be expected to make your number with the gentleman who in effect acts as consul here, sir. Normal procedure then is to plead orders that demand your presence elsewhere, sir, rather than remain ashore overnight. I am told that officers from other ships have, on occasion, made the acquaintance of some of the missionaries, sir. That was never our habit on Bustard.”

  “Wise, Mr Whyte! We may, however, be forced to vary that habit. I am told, from higher, shall we say, sources, that the Blantyre Hong is to show an interest in mission stations.”

  Magnus was interested to see what the reaction would be. He did not know whether he was expected to take action on the information given him; Mr Whyte had the better part of four years on the China Station and would be familiar with the procedure.

  “Oh! Looking virtuous, I presume, sir, for the benefit of Downing Street. There is a barony in the wind, no doubt. We shall be expected to pay a call upon the nearest and largest of their stations outside the town, provided it is on the coast or an accessible river. Showing the flag and warning the locals to behave themselves. They will tell you on shore, sir, if such a visit can be made.”

  The consul was identified by a Union Flag flying over a rather grubby office and set of warehouses. Magnus took his captain’s barge to the wharf immediately to its front, was set down on a set of slimy steps, made his precarious way to the top and walked ungreeted to the doors. He left his escort outside while he peered into three empty offices before discovering a grossly fat and rather grimy Englishman sat at a large and remarkably uncluttered desk. There was no evidence of paperwork, no signs that any business was being conducted. The most obvious fixture was a large and half-empty gin bottle.

  “Captain Lord Magnus Campbell, HMS Bustard.”

  “Ah! I wondered who you were.” The consul opened a drawer and pulled out a little wooden nameplate, placed it on his desk before painfully rising to his feet.

  “Patterson, sir. As you see, I am Her Majesty’s Consul in this God-forsaken hole. Do take a seat, sir.”

  There was no other chair in the room.

  “Oh well, you won’t be here very long – people don’t stay, you know. What can I do for you? Nothing much happening here these days, you know. A little of tea, still. Some rice. Mainly passenger traffic – emigration boats. Make me money sending rifle cartridges inland, you know, old chap. Some of the warlords back in the sticks buy against silver. Trying to lay me hands on a couple of thousand Lee-Metfords, you know. Good price for them.”

  Magnus was unimpressed by the consul, but presumed he was acting in accordance with official policy.

  “The Lee-Metford is to be replaced by a Lee-Enfield – a great improvement, my gunner tells me. I would expect there to be a surplus stock inside the next six months, sir. The people at Hong Kong will probably be able to get rid of a few thousands, and of cartridges for them.”

  “Good of you to tell me, old boy! Know a couple of chaps there – I’ll send a note to them, see what can be arranged. Get in before the mob try to buy them, you know, old chap. Damned decent of you to give me the word.”

  Magnus was left unmoved by the consul’s gratitude.

  “I hear that Blantyre is putting money into mission stations, Mr Patterson.”

  “So he is, you know. Either he’s got his eye on a title or his doctor has given him six months to live and he’s buying insurance for his trip to the Pearly Gates. Must have opened a score of stations along the coast and a few miles inland over the last several months.”

  Magnus risked a smile, amused by the cynicism – risky for a Victorian official to make such a comment in public.

  “I have been tipped the wink to show the flag, if there is a place in easy reach, Mr Patterson.”

  “Nothing to hand for a ship of your draught, Captain. What did you say your name was?”

  “Lord Magnus Campbell.”

  “Ah! Calvine’s son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Heard your name mentioned just a f
ew weeks ago… somewhere. Can’t remember who. Bustard draws more than twelve feet, don’t she?”

  “Close to thirteen now, sir. Changed her five inchers for quick-firers and added a six-inch howitzer just this month.”

  “Means you’d want three fathoms of water for safety – always a chance of a bit of mud or a drought dropping the water level. None of the local rivers run to that depth. The only station up coast of here is in a rocky bay – small stuff only! Only thing I can suggest is that Blantyre put some money into the hospitals here, so you might want to pay them a visit. But I don’t know that they’d welcome a party of armed jacks standing outside their doors, and I’m damned if I’d go into the town unarmed or on me own, Captain.”

  Magnus wondered just why the town was so dangerous.

  “Getting poorer, Captain. While the gwailos brought jobs and money, they were not so unwelcome – but now, we take money out but we don’t put much in. Might as well try cutting a throat and seeing what’s in the wallet – even a couple of sovereigns can keep a family alive for three months.”

  “Reason to get out, I might have thought, Mr Patterson.”

  “Not while I can still make a living, Captain. And if I can lay me hands on a good few Lee-Metfords, I might make enough to go home. Well, not back to England, I suppose, but down to Australia. Got a family, you see, Captain. Wife – well, almost, being a Chinese girl – and a son and two daughters; can’t take them to England, can’t leave them behind. Nothing for them in Hong Kong; less here. Get down to Australia, or New Zealand, maybe, and buy up a farm… might be a chance for them, maybe…”

  Magnus offered no comment – there was nothing to say. Patterson obviously was aware of the realities for half-caste children.

  “You might want to poke your nose into the Club, Captain. Think there might be one or two of Blantyre’s people staying there for the while. No hotel here. Got to use the guest rooms at the Club if you’re here. Saw a couple of new faces yesterday, think someone said they was Blantyre’s.”

  Magnus enquired of the whereabouts of the Club, found it to be on the outskirts of town, a good two miles distant – too far to walk, even had it been safe to do so.