Foreign Mud

by Andrew Wareham

  “It is because we are not in existence to fight, sir. Despatch runners must avoid any chance of being sunk or taken. We must not fight, in fact, unless we are trapped and have no alternative. Then we must delay inevitable capture long enough to sink the despatches; ideally we are to be sunk or burned rather than taken.”

  “You are to guard your letter bags with your lives in fact, sir?”

  “Just so, sir. I am fortunate to be given a cutter and must accept the duty that accompanies the honour. For guns, we have sufficient to discourage a boarding party and not much else.”

  The youngster – and I can say that, he was not as old as me – waved his hand at his deck.

  “A single sternchase gun, sir. A four pounder! No bowchaser. On the broadside a single twelve pound carronade port and starboard and a handful of two pound swivels, set to the stern railings mostly, just two forward of the mast. Add to that, a crew of fourteen hands and a midshipman means that it is almost impossible to reload the guns in action. This is not a fighting ship, sir. Of course, strictly speaking, it is not a ship at all, being a cutter, but I use the term as a landsman might understand it.”

  I smiled kindly, wondering if I should mention the extent of my travels. It seemed simpler not to – Fred would talk to the hands and the word would spread without any help from me.

  “What of your galley, sir? How are we to feed?”

  It seemed that the naval gentleman had not considered that. He had cast off within minutes of our boarding and we were south of the Isle of Wight before food was mentioned, and that was a little late to buy in provisions. I mentioned the difficulty to Fred and he talked with Valet and Barber. Between them they came up with unusual but edible variants on the naval rations. It is amazing just what an educated cook can do with dried pease, beans, salt beef, pork and twice-baked biscuit together with a little of butter and cheese and vinegar and olive oil. It was not haute cuisine but it was filling and had some sort of flavour. By the second day we had dispossessed the official cook entirely and were cooking for all aboard; they gave us rum in exchange.

  The lieutenant was amazed, asked whether the Chinese were well-trained as chefs. I explained that it was simpler far – their country was poor and the rich and powerful stole the bulk of the food for themselves. The ordinary folk had to make the best they could of the little that remained to them, typically making a meal from a handful of rice and a sniff of pigskin.

  He thought I might be joking, I recall.

  He made his twelve knots on that particular voyage. Whether it became a habit, I do not know, never seeing him again. I cannot remember his name so there is no point to looking in the Navy List. He did not present himself as a second Nelson, I must say, but the first was unlikely – scrawny and ill-looking and with a rustic accent. Amazing that he did so well with such handicaps. Mind you, he was a wise man, Nelson, dying at the very peak of his glory. After Trafalgar nothing awaited other than anti-climax and that he most successfully avoided.

  Enough – he was truly a great man and let no more be said.

  We arrived at Gibraltar and marvelled at the Rock and the impregnable fortress it created. There was supposed to be some sort of siege, but the Spanish were making a cock of it, as was only to be expected. The old monarchies were all the same, incapable of organising themselves in a modern world. Suffice it to say that the cutter entered harbour unscathed and, as far as I could tell, unnoticed. It should have been simple enough for the Spanish to keep an eye out on the horizon and to send out a ship to intercept anything coming by, but they never seemed to achieve that small task all through the wars. If Britain could blockade the whole of Europe, one might have expected that Spain could have closed a single port; the task was clearly beyond them.

  All very strange, in fact. I have sometimes wondered if countries simply come to the end of their days, if they are like men, growing old and tired and finally falling into their long sleep. It would explain Spain, once the greatest, richest of Empires and now the embarrassment of Europe, unable to defend itself and later falling into civil war in the face of invasion. Makes you think, doesn’t it? England is in the vigour of its youth just now – is senescence waiting around the corner? I shan’t see it. You might, whoever you are, reading this.

  We were delivered to the harbour and there we waited a few minutes to be noticed. A redcoat came running and begged our pardon.

  “Are you the men from England?”

  I admitted that we might be.

  “Thought you was, being as how you come from the cutter and there ain’t no others on the wharfside.”

  It seemed a reasonable conclusion. Presumably, someone had selected this man as a suitable errand boy, perhaps brighter than his peers. My opinion of the army, never high, fell a notch or two.

  “Yes, soldier. What are we to do?”

  “Do? Ah, yes, sir. That comes next. You follows me and I takes you to the office, what is inside the Rock, in the tunnels and what you won’t find on your own without me to show you.”

  A country lad, perhaps, naïve but not too stupid and willing to serve. Even so, if he was the best then it was a bad bunch indeed.

  We followed, Fred and myself leading, Valet and Barber carrying the bags behind.

  “Are their porters, soldier? To carry our luggage?”

  This was a difficult question and required a few seconds of thought.

  “There do be such, master, as you might say. Thing is, you can’t be having them for they not being allowed inside where they might see what they should not, like. It’s all what you might call secret, sir. Only them as is allowed to can see inside. You can, acos of the Captain said what you can. Me too, being a trusted servant, which is what he says I am. Your three blokes, what is one bodyguard and two Chinkee servants, what is what he told me, they can come in, too. Is it right that they two are Chinks, master? Only they said they is yellow men, like lemons, with slant eyes and they don’t look that way at all.”

  Popular culture in England had much to answer for.

  “My servants, who are trusted employees, originate from Canton which is a large city in China. Bigger than London, I believe. They are Chinese. I have not noticed them to be especially yellow. There is a slight crease to the corner of their eyes. Both speak English, by the way, and can hear exactly what you are saying. Neither likes being called Chinks.”

  Valet lifted a finger at that point, asking permission to speak. I nodded.

  “Begging your pardon, sir. We neither of us are concerned by the foolishness of uneducated soldiers. In common with most gwailos, they know no better.”

  “I stand corrected, Valet. I try not to be as foolish as the bulk of my compatriots.”

  “You do indeed, sir. Indeed, you are referred to in Canton as ‘Well Mannered Barbarian’.”

  “A distinction to be treasured.”

  It did me good to be reminded that I was viewed as no more than a well-meaning savage or possibly a particularly clever performing dog. It reduced my inclination to see myself as far superior to the mass of semi-literate peasants surrounding me.

  That is not to say that it cured my overweening arrogance. That stays with me still – it does enable me to laugh at it, occasionally.

  We were led a hundred yards or so through warehouses and the normal mess of a busy docks and turned into a large doorway closed by an iron grille. Two sentries stood guard with fixed bayonets. They were placed back a little from public view and were watchful, not idlers on a routine duty. A glance about showed a guardroom just inside with at least four others sat around a table, off duty but alert.

  “Four for the office. On the docket.”

  One of the sentries called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off us.

  “Sarge, soldier servant to the office and four.”

  A sergeant appeared, a sheet of paper in hand.

  “Names, if you please, gentlemen.”

  It was all very polite and it was clear that I was going nowhere if I did not s
atisfy him.

  “Mr Giles Jackson. Personal servant, Fred. Valet and Barber, both in my train.”

  “Pass through, sir. Are you armed?”

  “All of us with pistols and knives variously. Our baggage carries other weaponry.”

  “Very good, sir. Baggage may stay here in the guardhouse, sir. Retain your personal weapons, sir.”

  I looked around and saw that I was not about to escape if I chose to use pistol or knife. I might succeed in an assassination but would not survive it. The only internal access was through one of two iron doors, each with a peephole.

  The sergeant leaned across to a speaking tube and yelled down it.

  “Four for the office.”

  He turned back to me.

  “It will take a couple of minutes, sir. Your escort will take you in then.”

  It was all carefully thought out to protect the inhabitants of the office long enough to destroy all of their papers. A sudden onset might take the docks; the attackers would be delayed for several minutes getting through the guardhouse and blowing open the internal doors. I doubted the men inside would keep their lives; they would lose no information.

  The left hand door rattled as keys were turned in at least three locks and bolts were drawn back. A single figure appeared.

  “Mr Jackson? Please to enter, sir, with your party.”

  Then it was a matter of a hundred yards along a short tunnel and up fifty steps and around a corner to a set of chambers carved out of the substance of the Rock.

  “Hundreds of these, Mr Jackson, great and small. Magazines and storerooms and barracks and gun emplacements looking out over the sea, mostly. Also a number of secure spaces for those of us who like to hide away from public view. After you, sir.”

  The room was a good twenty feet on a side and showed archways off three walls. It contained four desks, each with an occupant. A man of forty or so, overweight and dressed all anyhow in breeches and shirt and untidy cravat, stood to greet me.

  “Mr Jackson? Thank you for coming to our aid. We need an able merchant, a young, adventurous man, one who can be seen to be out to make his fortune and need no other excuse for his presence in Morocco. I am afraid that none of us will foot that bill, so your availability is fortuitous in the extreme. You know that you are to go into Morocco?”

  “So I understand, sir. I am to meet merchants there and possibly be introduced to more senior people.”

  “Exactly so. You are seeking to purchase leather. More importantly, you wish to sell cottons and, when pressed, you will whisper of the availability of great guns. You must make it utterly clear that the guns are not to be advertised to the public at large. The gunfounder is committed to the British government exclusively, at their prices. He will be happy indeed to make a higher profit than the stingy government will afford him; he must be cautious. If caught out, he might, he fears, be used as an example to others of a like mind; he might, in fact, hang.”

  “As a result, sir, he will take gold specie but will be unwilling to trade for leathers or any other local produce.”

  “He will, Mr Jackson. You grasp the point, sir.”

  “What of silver dollars or ingots or gemstones, sir?”

  “Acceptable. Less desirable because they must be exchanged for cash in England, thus to draw attention to him. Gold is money in its own right and creates less difficulty in the spending.”

  “Good enough. Have you samples of the cottons? Where can I access the great guns? Are they real? Can I afford to remain in Morocco awaiting their delivery?”

  “The guns exist. Four of forty-two pound fortress guns and six of thirty-two pound long siege guns and a round score of twenty-fours for either siege or coastal batteries. They are set on land carriages and are not fit for sea service without new carriages, which we will not supply. They are here in Gibraltar and may simply be sent across to Tetuan of a dark night. The Kingdom of the Two Sicilies will be deeply upset at the thought that we might be arming the Moors and the Americans will not be best pleased. The Ottoman Empire believes that Morocco should be subservient and will regard our act in arming the Emperor of Morocco as unfriendly. That being the case, we should be surreptitious in our actions. On top of that, the French have offered batteries of their own guns, though at what price we know not. We suspect that the French are not making a commercial transaction; they require military commitments from Morocco. If you could discover just what the French have on offer, we would be much obliged to you, Mr Jackson.”

  “Are there others in the way of offering guns to Morocco, sir?”

  “Probably. The Americans cannot for not having foundries to produce great guns of their own. They have tried to purchase in Scotland, we know, possibly for their own coastal fortresses. Russia has agents wandering around the whole North African shore, to what end is unclear. They might offer great guns from their new foundries. Austria has a few people in Morocco, doing what, we do not know. There are Swedes as well. What is in their minds is unclear – they may simply be trying to buy back seamen taken as slaves. It is untidy and you should tread carefully, Mr Jackson. We have a safe man in Tetuan and he will be your first point of contact and will point you in the right direction and supply interpreters. He will also provide coin against need. You should not carry too much with you – it would seem suspicious for a merchant to be in possession of thousands in cash.”

  It was much as I had expected and was if anything more professional than I had hoped for.

  “When do we sail, sir? What are the arrangements for getting out?”

  “Use our man in Tetuan for passage out. If he is taken or compromised, make your own way out to sea. Steal a fishing boat and make for Gib or hail a King’s ship – there are often naval ships patrolling out of Gib and close to the African coast. As for leaving – tomorrow after dark so as not to be identified here. You will arrive in Tetuan in daylight, apparently from London, and will show innocent, your presence recorded. Use your own name – you may remain in Morocco long enough to be checked. There will be a contact who will take you to a lodging and offer assistance in meeting merchants. You are a trader late of Bombay and Canton and seeking to establish yourself in England. You have some money behind you and want a lot more. You need not seem the most scrupulous of men.”

  That seemed to suggest that I should simply be my normal self.

  “Morocco is a producer of hemp, is it not, sir?”

  “It is, Mr Jackson.”

  “Then I shall seek a few tons of that desirable substance, sir, as an overt reason for my presence. It is not unlawful but is, I am told, frowned upon in England. Every apothecary carries the weed, but normally on a back shelf rather than in the front window. There is a profit in its importation. I do not know that the poppy grows in Morocco?”

  “It does not, Mr Jackson. Some amount of opium makes its way along the African coast from the Levant. It might be purchased cheaply in Morocco and thus to seem a slightly seedy trader but not an actual criminal, Mr Jackson. An artful ploy, sir!”

  “It may keep my throat uncut, sir.”

  “A noble ambition, Mr Jackson. We have safe rooms for the four of you and you will eat there. You will be escorted by one of my people. Names will be unnecessary – call the gentleman Smith, if you must, though he may have another name for you.”

  “Certainly, sir. I may expect to make some profits from this adventure, sir. I presume they will stay in my pocket.”

  “They will, sir. There will be fees payable to your accounts in England, sir, to keep all on a business footing.”

  There were rooms elsewhere and evidently kitchens, for we ate within reason well. I spent the bulk of the next day peering at cotton made goods and bales of coloured cloth.

  “Robes in white, green, bright blue and scarlet, Mr Jackson. All of fair quality, due to the new jennies which spin an even cotton thread, thus enabling a fabric to be woven to consistent substance. And cheaper by a long way than can be produced by hand. The Moroccans are used to Egypt
ian cotton, available in small amounts and to hand spinning their thread before weaving on small horizontal looms. We do better than that. For great guns, of course, we have the advantage of the mills with their turning lathes to bore out a precise barrel from the cast iron. Our iron is of even quality again, for being poured from greater furnaces using coke firing.”

  I memorised all the unknown gentleman said to me, for it was to be my patter to the Moroccans.

  “What quantities can I offer, sir?”

  “Anything they want, Mr Jackson. Our mills have an endless capacity, or as nearly so as makes no difference.”

  “And time?”

  “Say three months from an order being placed and delivery to Tetuan or Rabat. Autumn storms might cause a delay, naturally enough. The bulk of orders can be met from stock in Lancashire, so it is a matter of a voyage to Liverpool and back. Stipulate four months if you wish to be certain for time. Payment, by the way, to be made on delivery dockside. The returning vessel to take the money with it, unless it is used to make purchases in Morocco, which may often be the case. Discourage barter, sir – all for cash, both ways.”

  “And the price for the great guns?”

  “Negotiable. At a pinch, if you must use them for negotiation, they can be a gift. Where possible, sell them per pound – thus a forty-two pounder might come in at four hundred and twenty while a thirty-two was three hundred and twenty and so on. It sounds logical and rational as a way of pricing, though it is not so in reality. I have used ten pounds sterling for each pound avoirdupois, but that bears no relation to any actual cost. You are free to demand as much or as little as may be feasible. The Moors to supply gunpowder – I suspect they have a source of saltpetre beyond the normal; that is their secret. For ball, suggest that we can sell to them if they cannot provide their own. Mostly they will use stone shot rather than iron, having a superfluity of slaves to wield hammer and chisel; that is their choice.”

  “What of the victualling of the Mediterranean Fleet, sir?”