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

by Wareham, Andrew

  Carter nodded – he would pass the correct message.

  The destroyers received their orders, to their annoyance – they were the ‘greyhounds of the seas’, according to their own propaganda, and should not, they thought, be in the business of acting as tugboats.

  Shark came alongside, bows to stern, and passed wires across, effectively adding her flotation to the hull and preventing Bustard from rolling under a stern tow. She would use her engines and rudder as well, rather than leaving Bustard as a dead weight on the end of the tow line from the slightly larger Mountjoy.

  Magnus stood on deck, watching silently as Mr Forbes took charge of the operation.

  “Who is that on Mountjoy’s bridge, Mr Forbes?”

  Forbes shook his head, he did not know the young captain.

  “Beg pardon, sir,” Orford called. “It’s Mr Roberts, sir. Captain Roberts, lieutenant-in-command, sir.”

  “I thought it was – I knew he had been given a small ship. Well earned, too.”

  It was Mountjoy’s first major task under Robert’s command, and was a demanding piece of seamanship. It would be easy to snap the cable in the process of taking the tow, and would require careful watching to protect the thin wire all the way to Hong Kong.

  Magnus watched, critically as the process went through its stages.

  A light grass rope was floated across from Mountjoy and hauled in by Bustard; there was a heavier hemp cable attached and that was pulled in by hand, the bows too much damaged for the anchor gear to be used. The wire came next, was attached to the base of the mizzenmast, Mr Orford giving the orders and doing much of the fixing personally.

  Shark turned her engines slowly, moving the pair at a knot or less so that the weight came on the tow more easily. Mountjoy signalled that she would make three knots initially and crawled forward, the cable rising from the water in an easy curve. Over the next two hours she increased speed incrementally, working up to a cautious five knots, the most that Magnus thought – at the advice of Forbes and Orford – to be sensible.

  Centurion hovered four cables off, watching anxiously like a great broody hen protecting her chicks. The battleship could do little that was useful; the presence of the Admiral was not appreciated by the three captains who knew that if they were successful they would have performed as expected, while a broken tow or worse would blight their careers forever.

  They reached Hong Kong without mishap, the weather being kind. Bustard was delivered to the dockyard, to the disapprobation of the manager.

  “Eight guns, I gave ye, sir – and six come back! All that work, sir! Gone to waste, sir – hardly what I expected, I must say, sir.”

  Magnus apologised and very meekly said that he had not done it deliberately.

  “As Oscar Wilde, said, sir, ‘it smacks of carelessness’.”

  “Do what?”

  “’To lose one gun is a misfortune, sir. To lose two smacks of carelessness’? No, sir? Not a theatregoer perhaps. ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’, sir, Oscar Wilde’s last offering, probably literally, sir.”

  “Ah, yes. I missed the first night, cruising with the Channel Fleet.”

  “Yes, sir. We had a copy sent out to us, sir. The Hong Kong Amateur Dramatic Society, sir; a number of our productions have been very well regarded, sir.”

  “You must send me a note when your next production is due, sir. I would not wish to miss it. Is it to be The Importance?”

  The yard manager shook his head, gravely; he rather feared that the play had become ineligible, considering the fate of the playwright, who now languished as a guest of Her Majesty.

  “To business, sir. Bustard must be surveyed, of course, but my first opinion is that she is not capable of sensible repair. It must cost more, I suspect, to rebuild her than to purchase new. A little less than sixty thousand, I believe, she cost in ’90, and I much suspect we would spend more than half of that now to return her to new. Add to that, sir, she is a composite hull, wood, iron plate and copper, not steel, and as such definitely outdated. I rather fear, sir, that you have lost your command.”

  Magnus did his best to appear grief-stricken – but he had no overwhelming sense of loss, she was not a modern ship and really had no business being in the fleet.

  “The days of sail are gone, sir, though many of our senior officers seem to regret the fact. I must discover my own fate next, I must imagine. I shall await your report from the yard, sir.”

  The most pressing piece of business was the burial of the sixteen men lost from the crew, a necessarily formal process demanding the presence of the whole complement of and those of all other ships in port. The Admiral would take pride of place, in the nature of things, and no doubt the Governor and other luminaries would display themselves.

  Perhaps fortunately, the Admiral decreed the fullest ceremony, to be organised from his office; the burden of work was taken from Magnus and he had to do no more than display himself in proper dress, marching at the head of the Bustards.

  It rained. It always rained at funerals, in Magnus’ experience. The formal feathers in the officers’ and functionaries’ cocked hats drooped, to the dismay of the valets and servants who must attempt to salvage them after the event.

  The rifles crashed out their three volleys and the lone bugler brought tears to eyes with the Last Post, and the Governor promised to set a memorial over the mass grave and veiled speeches afterwards condemned the ‘cowardly, hidden foe’ who had taken the lives of brave young men in performance of their duty.

  It was all very satisfactory and the leading men of the island knew that Germany was to blame, and that was also pleasing – none would have liked to have thought that the Chinese could have been responsible.

  “We know that the Chinks ain’t capable of running a modern war, Lord Magnus. Just a question of who pulls the strings – and that is best done by Queen Victoria rather than the Kaiser.”

  Magnus agreed with his admiral, once again.

  “Then all we can do is wait upon the dockyard, sir. I fear that my Bustard will not take the sea again.”

  “The report should be to hand inside two or three days, Lord Magnus. I have work for you, whatever it may say. You will not be returned to London as surplus to the establishment.”

  “I must say that is a relief, sir. I have enjoyed the experience of working for a living instead of idling on an admiral’s staff. Important in wartime, I do not doubt, sir, but there is little for a lieutenant to do in days of peace.”

  Admiral Seymour’s flag lieutenant snorted his indignation – he thought he was very busy in his role – he stood at the admiral’s side for five or even six hours of every day.

  “It is possible for a young man to learn much of value on the staff, Lord Magnus. But I do agree that to command one’s ship on a busy station is a rare pleasure. You have done sufficiently well that you may expect to repeat the experience. Take a couple of days off – the hotel is comfortable, I believe – and come back refreshed and ready to work again on Thursday in the morning.”

  Admiral Seymour did not set a time, expecting Magnus to be present when he entered his office, which he did at the same time every morning and which any wideawake officer should know.

  “Captain Hawkins wants a word with you, Lord Magnus, before you stand down.”

  Magnus made his way instantly to the Intelligence Office – an admiral’s passing comment was very much an order to be immediately obeyed.

  “Come in, Lord Magnus. Those German coins of yours, the marks you found at your fortress. They ain’t real. Forgeries. But the queer thing is, their gold content is exactly right. The dies they were stamped from are a little bit off, and they were hand done – not quite the precision of a machine stamping. Only thing I can think is that the Chinese themselves made them – possibly to pay off a debt in money that a German firm would accept. The other possibility is that the local German office had bullion to hand and knocked them out for their own people.”

  Magnus did not q
uite comprehend why they might have done so.

  “Go back to Germany with bars of gold bullion in your baggage and there might just be questions asked. Return with marks – well, you found that you could save from your pay, China being a cheap sort of place to live – all above board, shows in fact that you are a clean-living sort of fellow, not given to throwing coins to the dancing-girls and that sort of thing.”

  “I see! In fact, they have laid their hands on illicit gains, and this is a good way of hiding them.”

  “Exactly. The question arises of what we do with them… What I have in mind, and Admiral Seymour agrees, is to take them to the Honkers and Shankers, to their manager, on the quiet, and explain that we came across them – forgeries - in the belongings of some gentlemen from Berlin. He will be most upset and will trot off to an acquaintance in one of the Swiss banks – there are three represented in Hong Kong at the moment – and explain all there.”

  Magnus was puzzled, again. He often was when in the company of the Intelligence people, he found. Captain Hawkins took pity on him.

  “The Swiss Banks are very important in Berlin, more so than in the City of London, and they will bend any number of German ears on the topic of forgery and devaluing the currency. The scandal will reach the ears of Government, and the Army, and there will be much ruffling of feathers and the Wilhelmstrasse will have temper tantrums at their China Desk, who in turn will demote and post away every German in the Peking office. For the next six months the Germans in China will be in total disarray!”

  “That sounds quite excellent, sir.”

  “It does, but the thing is, Lord Magnus, the coins are, strictly speaking, prize. The old laws still hold, you know, sir.”

  “Do they really? Am I to make a fortune like Midshipman Easy and his ilk? Not quite the thing, nowadays, surely, sir!”

  “Well said, Lord Magnus, and as I expected of you. We do not live in the days of the Prince Regent, I believe. I shall put those coins to proper use, sir. By the way, I spoke to Mr Hawkes just yesterday – he is very impressed by, and envious of your bloody cutlass – you are quite the hero to that young man.”

  “I hope that will not lead him to do something silly. He will get the opportunity to make a name for himself – all of the old hands seem to agree that something is stirring in China.”

  “So it is, Lord Magnus – and I am damned if I can make my mind up just what. I get the feeling, sir, that the conditions are right for an explosion – and that anything may trigger it. The most unlikely set of events may create chaos. The Empress Cixi is becoming old, and less flexible in her ideas – she may unwittingly offend the Chinese people sufficiently to bring about revolution. Failing that – bad weather will do the job. Flooding or drought may bring starvation on a major scale, more than the normal million or two who die every year, that is, and the people may simply be moved by despair. The one thing I will guarantee, Lord Magnus, is that we shall be taken by surprise.”

  “And then, Captain Hawkins?”

  “We shall make a complete balls of it, Lord Magnus, so that everything becomes far worse, and then we shall turn it around and come out winners, after much unnecessary bloodshed. That is the history of the Empire, after all. They call it ‘muddling through’, officially. I call it ‘cocking up’, but I do not write the history books. Not to worry, Lord Magnus. Enjoy yourself for a day or two. You will be busy again before too long.”

  Magnus obeyed orders and retired to the hotel where he ate well and relaxed in the privacy of his suite. The Chinese girls did tend to giggle rather more than he liked, but maybe that was because he did not know precisely what they were laughing at. However, he laughed in his turn, enjoying all that he was offered. Perhaps it was as well that he did not understand their language and did not know just what the joke was – his sense of self-worth might not have survived the blow.

  Admiral Seymour welcomed him to his office.

  “You look as if you have had a good couple of days, young man. All your needs catered for, no doubt!”

  “Hong Kong offers much to the young gentleman, sir. Though I much fear I may be growing old before my time.”

  “Nothing to say to that, Lord Magnus! Now then, the dockyard wishes to break up Bustard. Three parts of the ship may be said to be in good condition, and the salvage will be useful to them, and save a deal of money and time on buying new. Your Damage Control officer – the First, I presume – is commended for doing a very effective job with his shores.”

  “Mr Forbes, sir. A very good officer.”

  “You have turned all of your young men into good officers, Lord Magnus, and in quick time. One of the hallmarks of the good captain is that he is surrounded by good officers who he has created in his own image.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Just keep up the good work, Lord Magnus. I am sending you to Shanghai, Lord Magnus. We need more boats on the Yangtse, and we don’t have the proper vessels for the purpose. They are designing river gunboats now, and they will be sent out within a few years. For the while, we have to cobble together a flotilla of small ships suitable for river work, mostly because they can no longer go to sea. An awkward third-class cruiser, a destroyer and a couple of Albacore gunboats dating back to the eighties, and a venerable steam sloop, all under a Commander – you. Your function will be to organise patrols and discover what needs be done, and then, of course, do it. I shall want you to spend at least half of your time in Shanghai itself, being seen and talking to people – that way you may get an idea of what is going on. Make a job of it for a couple of years and you will end up with a clean sheet – all of your past misdeeds wiped off, and the chance of working your way up to post-captain. Your work these past few months has shown you have the capacity to make good, sir. You will, by the way, be pleased to know that you have been awarded the DSO, Their Lordships agreeing with me that your actions with the pirates and then at the fortress were in the best traditions of the service. The Governor will make the award at his dinner tomorrow night. You will board the destroyer Mountjoy early next week, and proceed first to Hanshan, then to Shanghai, where you will take command of Racoon.”

  “I believe I owe you thanks, sir.”

  “Not really, Lord Magnus. Your successes reflect well on me. You will discover over the years that a senior officer relies on his juniors to behave well. Take your man, Carter, with you on your posting, he will be pleased to continue in your service, I hear.”

  “Hanshan next week, Carter.”

  “Yes, sir. Unfinished business to tidy up there, sir.”

  “So there is.”

  Chapter Twelv

  e

  The China Station

  “Thank you, Mr Roberts. To Hanshan as a first stop, then to Shanghai and the river flotilla. No change on the original orders.”

  The orders had been given as much as twenty-four hours earlier; for them to remain unamended for so long was quite remarkable.

  “Yes, sir. My cabin is yours for the voyage, of course.”

  Magnus did his best to look surprised and gratified; had he not been given the captain’s cabin he would have been outraged. Mountjoy was a small ship – as was every destroyer – and there was no space for passengers; there was in fact hardly any space for the sixty-three men who comprised the normal crew. The wardroom just accommodated two lieutenants and a midshipman, permitted to join his betters for lack of an alternative; now it had to take in the captain as well, and feed the commanding officer of the makeshift flotilla. It had the advantage that Magnus either remained silent or discussed his command with all of them – the wardroom directly, the men working within earshot by default.

  “One third-class cruiser – we can forget about the ‘torpedo’ designation, Racoon is too slow to use them. Packs a healthy punch, however, with six of six-inch guns and eight of three pounders and a pair of machine guns. I have to say though, Mr Roberts, that having seen machine guns in action, I like the damage they can do at close range and would wish
for more. Gardners originally, replaced by Maxims, I believe. Racoon is half as big again as Bustard was, but has a draught of no more than thirteen and a half feet – makes her useful on the river.”

  “Made her a cow at sea, sir – an acquaintance of mine sailed on another of her class, said she rolled her guts out in anything more than a stiff breeze.”

  “Hence, her relegation to the Yangtse. Makes sense, Mr Roberts. Mountjoy, of course, is fast and may be very useful simply because of that. The two Albacore gunboats – well, they carry four guns, two five and two four inchers, even if they carry them very slowly. One sloop, described as ancient, probably five-inch breech-loaders, and we know them. Use Mountjoy and the sloop to patrol, bring the other three to bear where needed, probably, Mr Roberts. Racoon can supply a landing party from her crew of one hundred and seventy.”

  It seemed sensible. Roberts wanted to know, and asked as delicately and tactfully as he could manage, why the command had been given to a mere Commander RN.

  “Would have thought it was a post-captain’s command, sir. A cruiser, even a little third-class that ain’t much use at sea, and four other vessels – bit heavy for a Commander.”

  Magnus agreed and had spoken with Captain Hawkins, seeking an answer to that very question. He passed on the Intelligence Department’s wisdom.

  “Lack of bodies on station, Mr Roberts. Take three months at least to bring a post-captain out from Home. To promote a commander on station must lead to a chain of changes of command – because a new post-captain, the most junior in the Navy, by definition, can hardly be given a cruiser and a squadron. The effect would be to upset the whole Station for months, until every captain was bedded-in to his new command. So, the River Squadron is not a squadron, as such, merely a working group put together for a special purpose.”

  “But… that is what a squadron is, sir. That is what the word means.”

  “Tut! You are letting facts get in the way of a jolly good wheeze, Mr Roberts! I am not the Commodore of a Squadron, I am merely the commander of a squadron – a very different thing, especially when written on paper.”