“Exactly so, sir!”
There was silence for a long hour and then a change of hands on the little engine.
“Cocoa, sir? Fresh brewed up.”
“Very good.”
They drank the steaming hot brew, saying nothing, watching the dark shoreline crawl closer.
“Approaching shallows, sir. Boats ahead.”
They had seen nothing up till then of the other hundred or so of boats from the fleet, all aiming towards the outline of the forts against the midnight sky.
“Take soundings, Smith.”
Midshipman Warren was in command of the boat and had to give the order. The rating took up a long sounding pole, used instead of a line in shallow water, and gave a low call.
“Two fathom water… No bottom… Two fathom… One fathom and a half… No bottom…. No bottom…. By the deep, two fathom…. No bottom….”
“Crossed the first bars, sir. Should be nothing for another cable, sir.”
“Very good.”
Magnus noted that the boy kept the sounding pole busy even though he believed he was in deeper water. A good mark for him.
“Mouth of the Pei-Ho visible, sir, at two cables.”
The seaman was correct to make the report, even though the black outlines of the forts made it redundant. Midshipman Warren had trained up his little crew to be highly efficient.
They plugged on, the two cables taking nearly five minutes.
“Gunboats in sight, sir. Small boats closer to the mouth of the river. Forts opened fire, sir!”
The last report was wholly unnecessary as guns opened up from all of the forts and solid shot splashed and shells exploded in and around the river, the shores and the visible gunboats.
“Wild firing, Mr Knowles. They’re missing with everything.”
“Gunboats returning fire, sir.”
Explosions showed on the walls of the forts and inside as shells were lobbed high in the air by the muzzle loaders.
“Difficult to argue against obsolete guns, sometimes, Mr Knowles.”
“I had rather argue for modern howitzers, sir.”
“You have a point there, Mr Knowles.”
“Boats landing, sir, both banks.”
“Get in there, Mr Warren. To the north bank.”
They beached the boats and ran ashore on thick hard mud and into a hail of shellfire that was effectively impassable. Magnus spotted naval bluejackets laid out flat in front of him, returning rifle fire to the walls in the hope of keeping the garrison’s heads down.
He waved his men to the right, closer to the shoreline and out of the most intense fire and pushed them forward another few yards. The shell fire seemed to increase but they managed to get off the open mud and into the cover of thin scrub under a low bank.
“Down! Take cover. Rifle fire at aimed targets only.”
Magnus dropped to one knee. Carter drew in a breath behind him – he would have to clean those trousers.
“Mr Knowles, can you see anything to our front?”
“Embrasures, sir, maybe twenty feet up. Small guns firing. I think I can see a path up the side, sort of diagonal, sir. Permission to take a look, sir?”
“Take a rating with you and go, Mr Knowles.”
Knowles tapped the shoulder of the man at his side and pointed forward. They sprinted into the darkness, occasionally illuminated by shell bursts. There was a sudden increase in visibility and Magnus saw that a Russian gunboat had turned on a searchlight. Aiming was suddenly easier, for both sides. More shells burst inside the northern forts but the guns in all four could see the searchlight clearly. The bulk of the Chinese guns concentrated on the Russian, but even so a bare dozen of large and small shells hit her.
“Damned poor practice, Mr Warren.”
“Yes, sir. She’s down by the stern, sir. One of the other boats is moving, sir, out of the firing zone, inland. The American, sir, Monocacy, pulling out. I don’t think she’s opened fire, sir.”
There were numbers of obscene comments about her crew and Americans in general. Magnus did nothing to suppress them, tending to agree with their general trend.
The Russian searchlight failed and the shellfire grew less intense. Mr Knowles came running back and dropped at Magnus’ side.
“Two embrasures, sir, and something like a sally port by the side of one. Small guns inside, a pair of old six pounders, muzzle loaders, the original Chinese guns. Firing about once every ten minutes. No sign of sentries.”
“Right, Mr Knowles. Keep an eye to them. Just after they fire we’ll rush the path up to them. Mr Pattishall!”
Pattishall came scurrying across.
“We are going to climb up to the embrasures to our front and high. You and Mr Parnell to take a charge apiece and throw them inside. Lieutenant Robbins!”
The Marine rose to his feet and marched across.
“You will follow behind Lieutenant Pattishall and take the gun positions after he bombs them. Open the postern gate there and hold. Do not venture inside the fort until the bombardment eases. I shall be at your shoulder.”
It took twenty minutes to pass the word and make ready. The guns fired again.
“Go, Mr Pattishall!”
The two officers ran forward, followed by their party, the Marines close to their shoulders. Magnus could just hear the Marine lieutenant calling the cadence for double time.
“Bloody unbelievable, Mr Knowles.”
“Discipline and tradition, sir. What made the Navy great.”
“Balls, Mr Knowles.”
Magnus could now hear faint sounds of laughter behind him.
The short path was steep but well-worn, its surface easy to traverse in the night.
“Heads down!”
The Gunnery Officer’s shout was followed by a pair of sharp explosions and a few dying screams.
“Marines will advance bayonets!”
“Is that the correct order, Mr Knowles?”
“I think he got excited, sir. It will probably do.”
The postern gate was flung open and the bluejackets crowded through and into the cover of the gun emplacement.
There were fires inside the fort and intermittent explosions as more shells landed. The bulk of the Chinese guns were still being served and the ramparts crawled with riflemen.
“There must be five thousand of them, Mr Knowles.”
“At least, sir. All of them with rifles.”
“Our people to take firing positions and do what we can to provide cover.”
There were protected firing positions for no more than a dozen men and no sandbags to make more. At least a score of Chinese from the gun crews lay dead. Some of them had run and raised the alarm. Riflemen were beginning to fire into the emplacement.
“Put those stiffs across the entrance!”
The emplacement was half of a circle dug into the walls with two bays for the guns themselves. The postern gate had been added later, unofficially by the looks of the digging into the earth walls. There was insufficient room for the one hundred men of the landing party. There was a first yell of pain as a bullet struck home while Magnus tried to decide what to do next.
To go forward, one hundred against five thousand, was not a good idea.
To retreat was intolerable.
“Mr Pattishall, outside, go left, silence the next emplacement and hold it. Mr Parnell, go right and do the same. Mr Coulthorne, your party with Guns. Mr Knuyper and Mr Geddes, go to the right with Mr Parnell. Mr Robbins, Marines to act as snipers, aimed fire at riflemen. Mr Knowles, pass the word for all of ours to return fire as possible.”
They held for three hours until first light when the bombardment increased, all of the gunboats concentrating their fire on the one fort. Soon after that Japanese sailors appeared over the ramparts in a howling charge, bluejackets and Marines at their side.
“Fix bayonets! Obelisks will charge!”
Magnus ran to the front, yelling, Knowles at his shoulder. He saw Pattishall leading h
is party from the left and men emerging from the taken emplacement to the right. He could not see Mr Parnell at their head, had time to think that he would be wise to be dead before he closed with a group of Chinese infantrymen, handling rifles with a degree of determination.
He aimed his revolver and emptied it into the group before dropping it on its lanyard and swinging out with the cutlass. Blood sprayed from a slashed artery and men screamed with pain and howled war cries and the vilest obscenities. There was a section of stokers immediately to Magnus’ side, heavily muscled men wielding cutlasses like reaping hooks, bellowing as they ran forward. Magnus spotted Mulligan to their front, baying like a foxhound, a high-pitched howl, slashing with a cutlass in one hand, a Chinese rifle with a long bayonet used spear fashion in the other.
“Jesus Christ! What did that man just say, Knowles?”
“Not sure, sir. I think he must be a Catholic.”
“He ain’t going to Heaven, I fear.”
The Chinese had suddenly broken. As was typical of hand-to-hand, one second they were fighting like tigers, the next they had decided they had lost and were running, all of them together, none wanting to be last, to be the man with bayonets inches from his back.
“Obelisks, hold! Form up on me!”
Lieutenants and petty officers repeated the commands, with whatever additions seemed right. Three minutes saw the men together in front of Magnus.
“Damned good discipline, Mr Knowles! Not easy to bring them back from fighting pitch like that.”
Magnus glanced about him, trying to see who of his officers he had lost in the hard fighting.
“Form up by boat parties. Senior man of each to take a tally and inform me of our losses.”
Lieutenant Geddes limped out of the ruck to stand at Mr Knowles’ shoulder.
“Injured, Geddes?”
“Cut leg, sir. Calf. Superficial. Man falling with his bayonet in front of him. I’d just stuck a cutlass in his guts.”
“Fair exchange! Well done! Get the wound cleaned – too much blood and mud here to take any risk of infection.”
“Mr Parnell’s down, sir. Dead, must be. He was shot as he leaned into the embrasure with his charge. It was still in his hand when it blew.”
“Bad luck.”
Magnus was pleased that his suspicions of the man had been unfounded. Perhaps the only way of proving oneself not to be shy was to die that way, he reflected. He wondered if Parnell had known of his doubts. Too late to apologise now.
The reports came in, no other officers dead but two with cuts and bruises. Three petty officers gone and two more body shot and unlikely to survive. Eight of the ratings dead and three stokers; twenty men with wounds of varying gravity.
“More than one in four dead or gravely wounded, Mr Knowles. Are you unhurt?”
“Nicked, sir. A good wound, look.”
The very tip of a sword or bayonet had sliced across his temple, just below the hairline. It would leave a two-inch scar, not too broad, just visible as an announcement that he had been in battle.
“Won’t be disfiguring, Mr Knowles. For the while, the side of your face is covered in blood. Don’t wipe it off yet, man, not until it’s been seen.”
As Magnus had discovered for himself on another occasion, being covered in blood was a very positive way of drawing the attention of senior officers.
“Union flag and Rising Sun going up, sir.”
“Attention!”
They saluted the flags, rather noisily, drawing eyes to themselves.
“Runner coming, sir.”
A very small midshipman, white in the face from a long and hard first fight, came to the salute.
“Commander Craddock’s compliments, sir. What ship?”
“Obelisk, Commander Lord Eskdale. We took the embrasures and came in by the side door. Lost an officer and twenty men; ten wounded. Request medical aid.”
The boy ran off, muttering the message to himself so as not to forget any part of it.
Half an hour brought a surgeon-lieutenant and a party with stretchers.
Magnus looked up from their own wounded. He had been playing the captain’s part, talking, lighting cigarettes, offering water, showing his concern, all entirely genuine – he had put these men in harm’s way, to a great extent for the benefit of his own reputation more than from any military need. He was concerned at the price they had paid for him, was humiliated by the pride they bore in their achievement.
“Didn’t take the place, sir, but we was first inside the walls. That’ll show ‘em!”
Now, he had time to look about him at the fort itself and to wince at the mess they had made. There were hundreds of bodies, possibly more than a thousand dead men and a number of horses. The lightly wounded had run; most of those remaining were dead or unable to move. As he watched a party of Russians started to sort through the mess; he saw bayonets flash as they put dying men out of their misery, told himself that there was no medical attention for the Chinese, no way of aiding them. He did not like what he saw. He moved across to the surgeon-lieutenant.
“What’s the procedure, doctor? Our men back to the ship or is there a hospital ship designated.”
“Came in two days ago, sir. One of Jardine’s steamers has been fitted out for us – at their cost. Doctors and nurses and dressings and drugs, all gratis. I’ve got a tug and a pair of lighters moored down at the wharves. All wounded, even walking, to go to the hospital ship, sir. So bloody dirty here that I don’t dare leave anything undressed, sir.”
“Have you got enough bearers?”
“All in hand, sir.”
“Well done. Shout if you need anything. Midshipman Warren!”
The boy came running despite his fatigue.
“You’ve done well overnight, young man. Remain with the wounded until they are taken to the lighters. If the doctor needs anything, bring the message to me.”
Mr Knowles trotted across.
“Report to Commander Craddock, sir. By the flagpoles.”
“Come with me, Mr Knowles.”
Knowles had a bandage around his brow, his face partly washed underneath it.
“Where did you pop up from, Eskdale?”
“Got through an embrasure, sir, in the darkness. Took a pair more on either side and was just expanding along the wall when you and the Japs raced over the top, sir.”
“Thought it was a bit quiet to the side there. Well done, Eskdale. Heavy casualties, I see.”
“Bit off more than we could chew, to be honest, sir. Saw the chance and went inside. Might have been wiser to have waited.”
“If we were wise men, we wouldn’t be bloody sailors, Eskdale! To my mind, we ain’t in the business of counting the odds first. We see the enemy, we go into them! You will be named in my report, Eskdale. The Japanese lost their commanding officer, Captain Hattori, but his senior lieutenant is here.”
The pair exchanged bows and Magnus was congratulated for his valour, was told that there was only one place for the fighting man to be – at the forefront, as he had shown.
The congratulations were brought to an end by the explosion of a six inch gun.
“Bombarding the south forts, Eskdale. Using the Chinks own guns against ‘em. Firing a damned sight straighter, too, or I shall want to know why! Take your men back to Obelisk, Eskdale. The casualties you have taken are too great to remain here – besides, the bulk of the work has been done – we don’t need you at the front any more today. Tientsin within the week. I shall inform Admiral Bruce that you will be needed there, sir!”
Chapter Three
The Earl’s Other Son Series
Peking Nightmares
Magnus sat, swearing, labouring over his report. It was always difficult to write the account of a successful action. It was necessary to be modest – no vainglorious trumpeting of one’s own merits – but it was essential to make it clear just how deserving of reward one really was. One well-known technique was to praise the achievements of the junior off
icers; a few foolish men tried to claim all the glory to themselves, but it worked far better if the report pointed out that the captain had turned his men into heroes, following at his heels.
Lieutenant Parnell first, who died with an explosive charge in his hand, killing his foe as he fell. Always good for the newspapers, that. Pity about his name, they might well leave him out because the Parnell family was blown upon by scandal. Knowles next, cut across the head and fighting on, hand to hand. Paymaster-Lieutenant Geddes, wounded by bayonet in the forefront. Junior Oiler Mulligan from the engine room, leading from the front, dashing into a party of Chinese riflemen with cutlass in one hand, bayonet in the other. Three officers and one bluejacket, well-balanced as far as the press were concerned.
First into the fort, massively outnumbered, working to either side to silence the guns…
The list of casualties at the foot, a quarter of those involved, spoke for itself.
He called Geddes to the office, asked for copies in a legible hand from his Writers.
An hour later, he sent the report to Admiral Bruce, for his attention, with a copy to Commander Craddock as a courtesy. It would make sure that Craddock did not forget to mention Obelisk.
He settled down then with Mr Knowles to discuss the watch bill, to shift men around to make up for the missing bodies and to announce promotions into dead men’s shoes.
“We need to bring in at least twenty hands, might well be more, as some of the wounded will be returned to Hong Kong for shore duty or invalided out to England.”
“One officer as well, sir.”
“Do we want an officer or would a mid be better, Mr Knowles? Warren has shown well and could be made sub very easily.”
He was probably fit for the wardroom, Knowles agreed. Not a brilliant lad, but sufficiently able.
“There have been losses throughout the squadron, Mr Knowles. There is every chance of other promotions. I shall put your name forward, being more than satisfied with your conduct, sir.”
Knowles was left in a quandary – he could hardly accept promotion one week and then resign his commission the next. He made his thanks and retired to think.
04 Peking Nightmares (The Earl’s Other Son Series, #4) Page 4