Chinese Whispers

by Andrew Wareham

  Magnus said no more – it really was none of his business what happened to China. He was a servant of Queen Victoria and his sole concern must be to advance her aims, to act to her advantage, as expressed by her government. To an extent it must be the case that what was best for the British Empire could not at one and the same time be ideal for China. It was a pity, even so, that the Chinese must suffer. He returned to his own office.

  There were no reports from the south, which was dealt with through Shanghai and Hong Kong. It was a pity, he would have liked to have seen how the problem was viewed there, at a greater distance from the likely scene of action. Particularly, he would wish to discover the opinions of Lord Ping, and those of Mr Sia, who would have a different perspective to offer.

  A letter to Mr Sia, if it could be delivered securely, unread in transit, might be a sensible idea. He wondered if the Green Triad, which he was fairly sure was under the command, influence at least, of Lord Ping, might be known in Peking. He called his senior Chinese interpreter to him.

  “Jian, if I wished to send a message to Lord Ping of Hanshan, one that was of a confidential nature, I might wish to use the services of the Green Triad, or so I believe. Do you know how I might contact their people?”

  Jian, who was normally called John in the Legation, proper English names being preferred there, could not imagine that such a procedure was possible.

  “I believe, my lord, that there are no such things as triads. They do not exist. Sir Claude made that clear to us only last year.”

  Jian had studied English in Hong Kong and Singapore and had hopes of going to London one day. His English was precise as a rule, though he permitted himself to become chee-chee in Sir Claude’s presence, knowing that he did not approve of ‘clever Chinks’.

  “I have spent time in Shanghai and Hanshan and Hong Kong, Jian. I am wed, you will remember, to a daughter of Blantyres. Shall we assume that I have some slight knowledge of Chinese affairs and realities?”

  The interpreter responded with a formal bow, permitted a twitch of a smile.

  “It would be possible to send a letter to Mr Sia in Shanghai, my lord. Best written in English, as being less easy to be read if it should be intercepted. The letter may be placed in the hands of a courier who will travel overland to Shanghai rather than take the quicker but more easily watched route by river and sea. Two weeks, at most, my lord. The response would take at least as long. At best, a month for a reply. The letter must not be written in your hand, my lord.”

  If he was to make contact with Lord Ping, then he must offer trust to Jian, in effect make him a personal ally.

  “Write a letter for me, if you would be so good, Jian. I wish to know the opinion of Lord Ping on the Boxer movement. Particularly, whether it must be an enemy of the Qing or whether it might join the Chinese Imperial army in sweeping the foreigners into the sea. You will wish to address the note to Mr Sia and may express my humble regard for Lord Ping and my continuing gratitude to him for his action in permitting his forces to come to my aid in the business with the Russian mutineers.”

  It was likely, Magnus thought, that Jian was to an extent under the control of the Tsongli Yamen and that his relationship with Lord Ping would be brought to their attention. It was a risk, but probably worth taking… Though it might be avoided, perhaps.

  “I believe that a man of education and talent could be found a place with one of the greater hongs, Jian. You might consider the possibility of leaving the employ of the Legation, perhaps?”

  The Legation paid its Chinese employees very poorly, though more than they might earn as teachers or translators in the city. A place in the offices of Blantyres would be worth ten times as much for a trusted, confidential secretary.

  “Perhaps, my lord, when you left you might take me with you in your train? It would be natural for such to happen, would not be seen as an act of betrayal on my part?”

  “Just so, Jian. The authorities in Peking would have no reason to suppose that you had played them false. They might well be pleased that you seemed to be in a place where you could offer them more of information from a high level. It might easily be possible for you to be sent to an office in London, where Chinese-speaking men are rare indeed and may have an important function to fill.”

  “I could ask for no more, my lord. I have no wife and no ties to Peking.”

  “Then I am certain that we may work together for many years, Jian.”

  Chapter Four

  The Earl’s Other Son Series

  Chinese Whispers

  Sir Robert Hart was an old China hand, among the longest serving of all Europeans, having arrived in the Sixties. He had created and led the Customs Service, the source of the great bulk of the Qing’s revenue. Without him, the dynasty would have fallen long since, a generally accepted fact and one which generated a degree of respect and gratitude on the part of the Qing. Naturally, his eminence also created a great resentment of the foreigner who was indispensable to China.

  Magnus met Sir Robert – was granted an audience – and discovered a man of vast intelligence and encyclopaedic knowledge of China, tiring now that age was upon him. He had been forty years in China, with short breaks on leave in Britain, mainly in his native Ulster, and was alone, his wife and family ensconced in Britain, apparently happy at the distance. Various informants had been only too eager to tell Magnus of the Chinese mistresses and half-caste children but had admitted that he had been celibate for the previous decade, at least.

  “They tell me I should meet him officially, Ellen. He has strong views on women, it would seem. Do not show intelligent when you meet him – it will upset the poor old chap.”

  “Yet you say he does not get on with Sir Claude? One might have expected them to be brothers. If his lady asks me again whether I am sure I am not expecting, I shall probably strangle her. The implication is that I am - for reasons of my own, probably malicious – denying you an heir which you have a right to. Of course, if only I came from the right tier of society, I should know that without being told.”

  They lay in bed together, hands idly wandering, Magnus for once thinking of something other than his lady’s body. He sensed that he must find a sympathetic answer, without simultaneously being in any way condescending. He must not say that he did not care about an heir, for the production of a successor to the title was important, a duty in fact.

  “China is no place to bear a child, my love. So many babies die out here that I will be relieved if you do not fall for a child before we return to England. We are still young and need not worry for another ten years and more if no heir eventuates. And only think, there is a second cousin, related in the male line through my father’s father’s younger brother; he will be rubbing his hands in glee at the prospect that he might step into my shoes. Such pleasure you offer the little chap while you delay.”

  “You sound as if you do not like him, Magnus.”

  My lord laughed and confessed he had never met the man but understood that he was employed as a clerk in an insurance company in Glasgow.

  “No money in the family, of course, love. He must earn a living for himself, but he sounds dully respectable – not my choice of an heir.”

  “Should you not see that he is taken care of, Magnus? If the poor man might succeed you, then surely he should be used as a gentleman.”

  “No. He will not become Earl in my place. That I do not doubt.”

  She could not be so sure but had no wish to argue.

  “What had Sir Robert to say that was of interest, Magnus?”

  “His sources of information make him certain that the Boxers are a danger to us in the north of China here. He does not believe that they will extend their activities as far as Shanghai, definitely not to Canton or Hong Kong. He does fear that Peking may see unrest. He suspects that the Empress Cixi has some contact with the Boxers, at second hand, no doubt. Should they appear successful, she will throw her hand in with them. Not for a few months, he thinks. As a res
ult, my lady, you will receive a message in a few weeks to the effect that your good father is unwell. You will then hurry back to Shanghai to be with him. I shall take you there, of course, and will leave you at our house. Duty will call me back, but you will remain safe in Shanghai.”

  She protested, could not think it necessary; he agreed after an amount of heated discussion that he could not be entirely certain that Sir Robert had it right.

  “We can wait on a reply from Lord Ping, my love. I have no wish to send you away from me. I have less wish for you to fall into the hands of a Chinese mob.”

  She knew that such a fate had occasionally befallen missionary females. Details of their sufferings were never circulated but it had been apparent that death had been a welcome eventual release for them.

  “So be it, Magnus. If Lord Ping deems it wise, I shall return to Shanghai.”

  She accepted that he must then come back to the Legations – that was where his duty lay.

  Sir Claude sent urgent word that he must speak with Magnus of a cold winter morning just a week later.

  “Damned stupid Americans! Would you believe it, my lord?”

  “Probably not, Sir Claude. What have they done now?”

  “Missionaries, unsurprisingly, my lord. A small party chose to venture west and north from one of their outposts. Word has come back by way of a servant on horseback that they are in confinement in some backwoods town and are in some danger of losing their heads. It seems that the Americans have too few of their own people to hand to go to their assistance and they have begged our help. Our own Marines have but a single officer with them, due to the lieutenant falling to the typhus last month.”

  Magnus nodded his understanding.

  “I must take a party of Royal Marines out. I had understood that the Americans had some dozens of their own Marine Corps, under command of their captain, what was his name?”

  “Hall. Newt Hall, my lord. Captain Hall’s stomach is severely disturbed, it would seem. He is unable to stir from his quarters.”

  “That’s the bold fellow with the dashing moustache, is it not, Sir Claude?”

  Sir Claude’s hand crept up to the confection that adorned his upper lip. He agreed cautiously.

  “There has been a whisper or two that his moustache is the most dashing part about him, my lord. Not the most greatly respected of men, perhaps, in the military community. His family has a degree of influence – they are very rich – and have been able to secure this posting for him as an attaché in a peaceful, they hope, part of the globe while his country has been at war.”

  “Enough said, Sir Claude. I am at your service, as goes without saying. What exactly do you wish me to do?”

  “As you said, my lord. Take a half-company of Royal Marines and dig these missionaries out of the hole they have put themselves into. Ponies, I am afraid. The Marines have all ridden before, due to the good common sense of their officer. Not less than three days on horseback, I would imagine. I would wish you to speak to Mr Conger this morning and lead your people out later today.”

  “If it is to be done, then it must be achieved quickly, Sir Claude. Have we people in the area of interest?”

  Sir Claude did not know – he took very little notice of ‘this spying business’, he said.

  “A pity, Sir Claude. It might be useful to have some knowledge of what was actually occurring.”

  “True, my lord, but one could never trust such ‘knowledge’, for having been given to us by Chinamen.”

  Unanswerable, Magnus appreciated. He said no more on the topic but left to speak with the ineffable Mr Conger. He wondered if he had been nicknamed ‘Eel’ at college; he doubted it somehow, he was not the sort of fellow to attract nicknames.

  “I have the greatest of fears for the people, my lord. The Reverend Lakeham is a man much moved by the spirit and one who will preach the Word wherever he may find himself. He has a wife and three children with him. As well, there is Mr Daubney, a younger man who has come out for just a year of service before returning to his home employment. There are a number of Chinese lay preachers as well, how many I do not know.”

  “And you tell me they ventured out into the sticks to preach, Mr Conger? All of them, the children as well?”

  “I believe they were to open another station, my lord. In a more salubrious area, in the hills.”

  “Possibly less good for their health than they had imagined, Mr Conger. Where are they to be found?”

  Mr Conger hummed and hawed and then admitted that they had not actually given him a place name. The sole letter he had received informing him of their intentions had referred only to a location some twenty miles distant from their station, in the hills to the west.

  “It is a very fine place, they told me, my lord. They had decided to name it St John, it being only right that a place of holiness should not be contaminated by any pagan name.”

  “Not the most useful piece of geographical information, Mr Conger. Who had they bought from? The local warlord or provincial governor must have registered their purchase.”

  “Ah… I do not believe they had ‘bought’ land, as such, my lord. There was a few acres of fields that they believed could be used for their purposes. One can hardly expect God’s servants to pay for the land they need for the Lord’s purposes.”

  “I might not expect them to steal the land of poor farmers either, Mr Conger. There are few more poverty-stricken than the ordinary Chinese peasant and it seems outrageous to me that they might propose to expropriate the sole food source of people who live on the edge of starvation every year.”

  Mr Conger was sure that Magnus was overstating the case. The peasants would be serving the aims of the Lord and must rely on Divine Providence for their succour. If they offered their prayers properly, they would be protected.

  “No doubt you are right, Mr Conger. As they must be heathens, the missionaries having only just arrived, they are highly unlikely to direct their prayers to the correct God. Not to worry, sir. I understand you are unable to supply soldiers or Marines to assist my expedition.”

  “We have but thirty Marines, my lord, and Captain Hall has succumbed to the food poisoning again. He has a digestive upset that lays him low at intervals, I am afraid.”

  “How very inconvenient for the poor man, Mr Conger. You would oblige me by providing a map that will lead me to the original mission station. From there, I may be able to locate the new hill station, sir.”

  The map was more in the way of a pencil-drawn sketch, showing the approximate positions of a dozen stations of the Chicago Mission of Fraternal Love. The spellings were resolutely English.

  “I believe that the nearest town of size to Reverend Lakeham’s station is Yanking, my lord. Distant some sixty miles from Peking, one understands, my lord, to the north west.”

  “Two days. Three in fact, as we shall not be leaving before mid-afternoon. A fourth day to reach the hill station and discover the whereabouts of the missionaries. What have you been told, Mr Conger?”

  “A Chinese boy, a convert from the mission station, ran in yesterday evening, my lord. He had received the message that the Reverend was under arrest in a small town near the new station.”

  “He ran in, you say, sir?”

  “Yes. He was some four days on the road, and the message may have been delayed in reaching him.”

  “A week in Chinese hands, one must think.”

  “Yes, my lord. Hence the need to make haste, of course.”

  Magnus made no response; the comment was sufficiently asinine that no polite answer could be offered. He took his leave.

  “I shall pray for you, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Mr Conger. You might at the same time pray over Captain Hall’s belly. A Divine intervention might be welcome there.”

  Mr Conger showed no evidence of suspecting satire. He agreed that Healing would be very welcome to the poor captain.

  “A waste of time, Sir Claude. They have been under arrest for at
least a week. Anything that might happen must already have occurred, I fear. Conger is an idiot – he does not know exactly where his mission stations happen to be located. I propose to ride out to Yanking, taking a senior interpreter with me, there to enquire of the Provincial Governor’s office of anything that is known. I shall request the assistance of the authorities, which will at least tell me whether they are involved in the affair. There is reason to suppose that the missionaries have chosen to steal Chinese land and they may have been placed into custody while the matter is investigated.”

  “And if that is not the case, my lord?”

  “Then they may be in the hands of Boxers or of a local warlord. If Boxers, well, they will probably be dead, or so one might hope. A warlord might be a different matter, possibly. If they have stolen land, then there will be compensation to be paid, Sir Claude.”

  “Not from our budget, my lord!”

  “Agreed. You might wish to broach the question with Mr Eel in person.”

  “Eel – hah! Conger! I say, that’s rather clever, my lord! I shall have to remember that one!”

  Just as long as he did not attribute the name to its source, Magnus did not care too much if he repeated the witticism. He changed to the new field dress – khaki having been introduced since the Boers had shown what a fine target a scarlet coat made for a modern magazine rifle. Then he went in search of his party of Royal Marines, expecting them to be ready at the stables, eventually finding them drawn up outside their barracks room.

  The thin half-company amounted to twenty-four men and a slow sergeant, all formally dressed in scarlet with white solar topees. The bulk of their duties involved standing parade or sentry-go at the Legation; they were trained in riot duty but were essentially used for ceremonial and seemed fit for little else at a glance.

  Magnus exchanged salutes with the sergeant, at least fifty and carrying a belly. He asked if the men were to ride their ponies in scarlet number ones.