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

by Wareham, Andrew

  The First Lieutenant ran forward to take over damage control, reaching the bows as the foremast toppled and the ship slewed off course.

  “Open fire on the walls with everything that bears.”

  A boy came running.

  “Bows are open to the sea, sir. Mr Forbes requests, engine to reverse, sir, while he shores up the bulkheads, sir.”

  Magnus gave the order for slow astern. The Nordenfelts and Maxims raked the exact top of the walls, hosing fire along them and around the shields of the big guns.

  Another runner came to his side.

  “Beg pardon, sir, SBA, sir, reports thirteen dead and fifteen in his hands, sir. Requests assistance, sir.”

  “Go to my cabin. Carter to round up all of the officers’ stewards and take them to the Sick Berth.”

  The level of noise diminished.

  “Fortress guns have ceased fire, sir. Probably can’t get their runners up with shells and charges, sir.”

  Magnus knew he must conserve his ammunition – the quick-firers ate so rapidly into the magazines.

  “Main battery to cease fire. Machine guns to fire on observed movement. Howitzer to continue bombardment. Mr Ayres to me. Mr Caton, our exact position, if you please.”

  Magnus ran to his working cabin, took up pen and paper.

  ‘Bustard at sea, position’, he left a blank, ‘fired on by eight-inch fortress guns. Severe damage to bows. Thirteen dead, many casualties. Returning fire. Fortress guns silenced. Request assistance.’

  He signed the despatch, took it back to the bandstand.

  “Position, Mr Caton?”

  He filled in the blank, turned to Ayres.

  “Take my launch, full crew, sail her hard for Hong Kong.”

  Mr Ayres ran, followed by the boat’s crew. The two pole masts were stepped and the lugsails raised inside three minutes and the boat took her first tack to sea.

  “Assuming she makes good eight knots, Mr Caton, and Admiral Seymour sends a cruiser, then I calculate we might see aid by eight bells of tomorrow’s forenoon watch.”

  Caton bent over the chart, rulers to hand.

  “Assuming the wind holds, sir, I think he might do a little better than eight knots. Less if the sea gets up, of course. A cruiser should reach sixteen knots, sir… There is a good chance of seeing her two hours earlier, sir.”

  The howitzer fired again and there was a loud explosion from the fortress, clouds of grey smoke billowing.

  “Ready-use store, I would imagine, sir. Too small for the main magazine. Hold course, sir? Four thousand yards offshore, sir.”

  Bustard was making her slow stern board, the range opening steadily.

  “Mr McGurk, what is the howitzer’s effective maximum?”

  “Seven thousand yards, sir, and a substantial error. Better at six thousand, sir.”

  “And the fortress guns?”

  “Old eight-inch, sir… Might be ten thousand yards.”

  Magnus glanced at his watch. Ten hours more of daylight – a long while to withstand the fire of the heavy guns. They might be able to open fire again at any moment. Bustard was unable to manoeuvre, certainly could not maintain a zigzag.

  “Withdraw to eleven thousand yards to make repairs, Mr Caton.”

  The boy from the Sick Berth returned.

  “Two more dead, sir. Three unlikely to survive, sir, without a hospital.”

  “Tell the SBA that we expect the aid of a cruiser, which will carry a doctor, tomorrow. We cannot reach Hong Kong more quickly.”

  Magnus made his way to the bows to make his own inspection.

  “What is your opinion, Mr Forbes?”

  “Substantial damage below the waterline, sir. A stern tow is the best prospect, sir. Could manage six knots or thereabouts in tow. Problem of a composite hull, sir – not as strong as steel. I am inclined to doubt that the dockyard will think her worth the cost of a repair, sir. Very difficult to make a satisfactory rebuild, sir, when the keel has taken damage. Mr Orford agrees, sir.”

  “Shore up the bulkheads as you can, Mr Forbes. Use any timber available. She was not designed to take fire from such heavy guns. I am inclined to wonder just how they got here…”

  Casual slave-traders were hardly likely to carry eight-inch guns in their back pockets on the off chance that they might come in handy… A provincial warlord, with good friends, might place guns in a frontier fortress, or in a conquered fortification. It seemed not impossible that Ping Wu had been less than candid.

  Magnus sat down to think the whole business through, aware that he might have been wiser to do so before he had blundered into a losing fight.

  His first conclusion was that he had allowed greed to overcome such common sense as he possessed – he had been slack, not for the first time in his career. He must discover some way out of the disaster he had created.

  He had suffered severe damage, had probably lost his ship – that was unpalatable, but also undeniable. The Navy could not afford to be seen to be defeated, so the cruiser that came to his aid would undoubtedly take over the bombardment, using its nine and six inchers, probably able to silence the guns before landing Marines and seamen to finish the job. He would be towed back to Hong Kong, tail between his legs… That must not be – Bustard must take a leading role in the victory, somehow. He sat and thought while he wrote his formal report on the action thus far, calling for the log to establish precise times for each event of the morning.

  He dropped his pen and swore – he had not visited the Sick Berth, and that he must do, it was a captain’s most absolute duty – even a captain with a very short time left in his command must meet that obligation.

  He grabbed his cap and called for a boy to act as runner and made his way below decks.

  The Sick Berth had two bunks, was far too small, and the SBA had taken over the wardroom, as was standard practice when the necessity arose. Together with his four stewards, he was bandaging and dishing out morphine and cups of tea – the full extent of his medical knowledge.

  “Another one gone, sir. Sixteen dead now, sir. Twelve left here, sir. Four more with cuts and bruises returned to duty, sir.”

  Magnus made the rounds of all twelve, speaking to each man, trying not to show horror at the worst injuries, offering meaningless words of comfort to those who were awake. The SBA stood at his side, giving a running commentary.

  “Two got it through the guts, sir. Shell splinters, ripping them up. I’ve filled them with morphine. They ain’t going to wake up today, and I’ll put them back to sleep when they do, sir. Nothing I can do for ‘em, sir. Not much that a hospital could do, either. One of them got burned across the face, sir, when a ready-use blew. Not much face left, sir. Not a chance of him seeing again, even if he lives, which ain’t likely. Petty Officer Evans ‘as ‘ad the lower part of a leg blown off. Ought to make it, but ‘e’s finished for us, sir. Most of the rest are just broken bones and deep lacerations and that – they ought to come round in a month or two and be fit for service again. The hospital in Hong Kong ain’t too bad, sir.”

  It was the first time Magnus had been in action. He had read the reports – so many dead, more wounded – but he had never seen the reality or smelled open guts. The experience would never leave him, he was sure; he was quite certain that the wounded men would never forget, either.

  He felt much older as he returned to the quarterdeck and conferred with Forbes.

  “One in five of the men dead or wounded and unfit for service, Mr Forbes. Lost the two forward quick-firers. You will wish to shift men about so that the watches are balanced. Keep Bustard stern on to the sea. How are the bows standing up to the motion?”

  “Boatswain is watching the bulkheads, sir, and is shoring up those immediately aft, in case of need. Weather shows no sign of worsening, sir, barometer steady, so we have no fear of an increasing sea. We have recovered the foremast, and have in fact used the yards for the shores to the bulkheads. Mr McGurk is shifting the contents of the forward magazine to the
stern, sir, to bring the bows up.”

  “Very good. Anything from the lookouts? Activity onshore?”

  “Nothing, sir. The Chinese forces are just visible, sir, inland, holding a ring around the fort. They are shelling the village next to the fort, sir, just a few rounds every so often, but sufficient to prevent any of the sampans from sailing, I would think.”

  “Pity we cannot communicate with them… Mr Ping to me.”

  The interpreter ran across from his place at the stern rail.

  “Could you make flag signals to General Li, Mr Ping? To inform him that another larger ship will arrive, probably tomorrow, to take over the bombardment?”

  “Regrettably, no, sir. We have no such signals. At best, Lord Magnus, one of the boats might take me to a village along the coast and a runner might then be despatched with a message. We have no horsemen along these shores, but a coolie could run very quickly.”

  “Do that, if you would be so good, Mr Ping. Mr Hawkes, an armed party to the boat and land Mr Ping to his requirement, properly escorted. May I offer you pen and paper, Mr Ping?”

  “I have my own brush and ink, thank you, Lord Magnus. I shall compose my message to General Li as we ride in the boat.”

  Mr Ping was back aboard before dusk, assuring Magnus that General Li would remain in position.

  “Beg pardon, sir. Burials? Should we bury the men at sea?”

  “Is there a Naval Cemetery in Hong Kong, Mr Forbes?”

  “Military, yes, sir, with a naval section.”

  “I would prefer the men to be interred there, if possible, with a memorial rather than simply being dropped into the sea. We will be back in Hong Kong inside three days, and the weather is not too hot.”

  “I think the crew would prefer that too, sir. Too much of gone and forgotten about burial at sea, sir. A funeral on land shows more of respect.”

  “On deck. Smoke, sir, to the south. Big ship, sir.”

  Magnus acknowledged the call, waited to see what would eventuate.

  “Capital ship, sir… Centurion, sir. Admiral’s flag flying, sir. Two torpedo boat destroyers in company, sir. Making sixteen knots, sir.”

  “Ready a boat, Mr Forbes. I expect to be ordered aboard.”

  Magnus put his reports into an oilskin bag to protect them, readied himself to run to his boat.

  “Centurion signalling, sir. Captain to report, sir.”

  “Acknowledge and request services of a doctor.”

  Centurion positioned herself a bare cable from Bustard and dropped a steam picket boat; Magnus spotted a Surgeon Commander aboard as he crossed her on his way to Centurion.

  “Ambushed, sir, in effect. A report of slavers taking coolies for the rubber plantations of Indo-China. Four eight-inch breech loaders up on the walls, sir. Managed to silence them, but probably only temporarily, sir. Chinese forces belonging to Hanshan holding distant siege, sir, preventing them from escaping. Taken a single hit, sir, to the bows, onto ready-use ammunition, sir. Shored the bulkheads, sir, but I do not believe that Bustard can live if towed from the bows. Stern-tow, sir. Dockyard job, sir, and first opinion of my boatswain is that she may not be salvageable, sir.”

  “Lost your foremast, I see, Lord Magnus. How many?”

  “Sixteen lost the number of their mess, sir. Twelve more in need of hospital care, four at least incapable of further service if they survive. Massive casualties, sir.”

  “I see. What is to be done?”

  Magnus knew the question was a test. The fort must be destroyed.

  “A brief bombardment, sir, from a position to smash the gates to the fortress. Then a landing party, sir, to take the fort and suppress all resistance and destroy the guns. Bustard can contribute forty men to the landing party, sir, and I request the command.”

  Admiral Seymour stared at Magnus, debating why – revenge, or a calculated attempt to save his career? Either way, he was almost obliged to accede to the request – Magnus had the right to put the record straight.

  “Bombardment this afternoon, landing party at dawn?”

  “No, sir, with respect. The need for a landing is obvious and that would give them the night to rebuild fortifications. An hour or less of bombardment as soon as possible, sir, and land under the last shells. Two picket boats from Centurion and boats under tow from the destroyers as far as possible, sir. Are there guns on your picket boats, sir?”

  “Both have Maxims, rifle-calibre.”

  “Excellent cover, sir. Picket boats first into the wharf and firing over my people as we take the gate, sir. Remainder of the first party to follow and split either side, up onto the walls, or so I would suggest, sir.”

  “Decision will be yours, having the command. I will instruct Captain Haddisham to commence the bombardment now. Ten-inch guns should do some good.”

  “There is a need to be careful of the ‘overs’, sir. The forces just visible in the distance, holding a loose siege, are friendly, sir, from Hanshan. They were to tidy up after our howitzer had broken the defenders of the fortress.”

  “Did they betray you, Lord Magnus?”

  “I doubt it, sir. They might have permitted me to discover just what force was present, sir, but I would be surprised if they had deliberately exposed Bustard to big guns. It would not be to their advantage that I can see. Of course, anything is possible in China, as I am coming to discover.”

  “Everything is possible in China, Lord Magnus. You will be a target, sir, being an officer, so I would recommend you to carry two revolvers as well as your sword.”

  “You are no doubt correct, sir. My sword is more ornamental than practical, sir. I shall use a cutlass.”

  “Get your man to put a good sharp on it, Lord Magnus, especially at the point. Stab with it rather than slash.”

  “Yes, sir. Did you bring Midshipman Ayres back with you, sir?”

  “Yes, and the launch’s crew.”

  “Good. I am sufficiently short of bodies that they will be useful, sir. A good mark for Ayres, sir. He must have sailed his boat well.”

  “Noted. He can be Mentioned for that – do his career some good.”

  “He and his family will certainly be pleased by that, sir.”

  Chapter Eleve

  n

  The China Station

  “Boots, Carter. Revolver belt, two pistols holstered. I want a cutlass, not my official sword. Well sharpened, if you please.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Landing party, sir?”

  “As soon as Centurion has completed a preliminary bombardment.”

  “Very good, sir. I shall be at your shoulder, sir. Needs a man of your own there, sir.”

  It was impossible to argue, except by telling him that he was too old and causing bitter offence.

  “Good. I shall be glad to have a reliable man at my back. Mr Forbes to the cabin, please.”

  “Mr Forbes, I have a landing party to take the fort following bombardment by Centurion. I want forty men, or thereabouts, and two sea officers and Mr McGurk. Can Sub-lieutenant Hawkes be left aboard in command, bearing in mind Bustard’s condition?”

  Forbes as second-in-command was Damage Control officer.

  “No, sir. It is possible, though unlikely, that a bulkhead could fail – a rogue wave, or previously unseen damage, could lead to a major inflow of water. No sub-lieutenant can fairly be left to face that. It has to be me or Mr Caton, sir. I shall find him now and toss a coin.”

  “Winner comes with me. Hawkes as well. Midshipman Ayres to stay aboard – he has had his chance to distinguish himself – did very well, I think. Cutlass, not officer’s sword. Revolvers. I shall have the leading party at the gate and will scale the walls and take the guns. You or Caton will commence clearance of the bailey inside. Hawkes to take a small party onto the reverse walls and clear them – there may be some ancient cannon there. Whatever the event, you will be free to react as makes more sense – these orders are not to bind you to foolishness!”

  Forbes nodded and left, wondering how
he could fiddle the toss of a coin so that he should go and Caton be left behind; he had never been in action – there had been no opportunity so far in his career – and he wanted the experience, and the fun. Caton would want the same, of course…

  “Mr Orford, toss a coin for me. Heads, I win. Tails, Mr Caton.”

  Done publicly and by the boatswain, there could be no question of a cheat; the party on the quarterdeck watched intently as Orford flipped and caught the coin and slapped it down on the back of his hand.

  “Tails it is, sir. Mr Caton.”

  Forbes immediately put the best, most gracious face upon it.

  “Better that the premier should be aboard a damaged ship when the captain is away, gentlemen. My turn next time. Cutlass and revolver, Mr Caton. Have you your own service revolver, sir?”

  Mr Caton had; he had purchased his own hand gun when he had made lieutenant, following the example of a military brother – army officers being obliged to purchase their own personal weapons.

  “Smith and Wesson, sir, American forty-four; takes the same ammunition as the service four five five, sir.”

  “Never understood the difference, meself – why some are one and others different, when they are effectively the same.”

  “Centimetres, sir, so I was told, years ago. Mr McGurk will know, no doubt…”

  McGurk confirmed that it was the pernicious influence of the French and their perverse system of measurement.

  “You are with the party as well, Mr McGurk. We require forty men. I want the best riflemen to go with the captain and Mr Caton. Bayonets, of course.”

  McGurk, who had feared he had been overlooked, smiled and ran, leaving Caton to pick up the other details.

  “We are short of a boat, sir. Mr Ayres having very carelessly left his in Hong Kong.”

  The midshipman, listening enviously, almost protested, picked up the concealed smiles and subsided.

  “The leading party will go ashore on a picket boat from Centurion. The other is to tow behind a destroyer as far inshore as possible. Arrangements are being made aboard Centurion.”

  The boats rowed across and waited while the officers of the landing party, including a Marine major and captain from Centurion, gathered on Shark, the destroyer that had been nominated, a new twenty-seven knotter, source of a scandal for never achieving more than twenty-six. They listened gravely to Magnus’ orders.