“Tomkins could have gone to a private doctor here in Hong Kong, sir. No need for him to have taken it to the ship’s surgeon.”
Captain Hawkins shook his head, despairing at the naivety of naval officers.
“He thought he had a skin infection, some sort of impetigo in an embarrassing place - dhobi itch or somesuch.”
Skin rashes were commonplace in the tropics, and sailors knew to take them immediately to the surgeon before they could develop into unpleasant ulcers. It was a disciplinary offence not to report a rash, for the protection of the men.
“Silly bugger! Did he not know the difference?”
“Evidently not. Anyway – Tomkins is history now, as far as we are concerned. What’s the background to this American missionary business, Eskdale? You did a fine job there, getting the family out and organising the man’s suicide. I hear the other man involved has gone missing since?”
Hawkins listened and became even more complimentary.
“What a nasty little chap that one must have been. The missionary gone loony – well, there’s nothing unusual in that, happens time after time. But the other man doing nothing about it, joining in the fun, if anything. And all because he wanted to get a leg over the young daughter, you say! Horrible little sod! Did you arrange for him to disappear, Eskdale? I would have.”
“He had offended a triad leader. This Tsu Run, sir, do you know the name? If you do, is he one of the very top men or is he just a provincial boss?”
“Not quite a national figure, Eskdale. But his name is known to those who are. A very big man and still young, for a triad leader that is. He will make the top, so they say. You tell me this Daubney actually personally threatened him, and he was willing still to talk?”
“He did not want another war, sir. I never met him, of course, being far too junior a personage myself, but all I heard said that he wanted a way out, provided that the man Daubney was eventually to be given to him. The arrangement was that he would be picked up in Peking. I made sure that he had to stay in the city for a week or two after the family had left, to keep him from joining them aboard ship and being a nuisance there.”
“Well done! I presume Tsu Run will have taken him back to display him in public on his home ground.”
“That was my assumption, sir. I was merely glad that he did not decide that I should join him.”
“Always a risk. What do you know about the Boxers?”
The meeting proceeded on familiar lines – they could guess much and infer more, but true knowledge was lacking.
“The German Minister is stirring the pot in Peking, sir. Using the disquiet that the Boxers have created, I suspect.”
“Empingham passed that on, Eskdale. Useful to know. The man is a bloody nuisance. Don’t need that sort of thing just now.”
“He mentioned the gun-running as well, I presume, sir?”
“He did.”
Captain Hawkins scowled and admitted that he did not know what was to be done about that. He had informed Admiral Seymour of the problem and had then had to dissuade him from declaring a formal blockade of the Chinese coast.
“Told him, so I did, that while he would stop the gun runners, he would also interfere to an intolerable extent with lawful trade. The War of 1812 with America started in part because of the British blockade and we certainly don’t want a repeat of that damned stupidity. I think Jellicoe has sorted him out on that. If so, there is a good chance that your Obelisk will be set to work on the business.”
The prospect of beating up and down the North China coast looking for speeding smugglers did not attract.
“Needle in a haystack nowhere in it, sir.”
“Not so, Eskdale. Not if I can pick up the word on land. Good chance that our people can discover what and where and get the message to you in Wei-Hai-Wei. With luck.”
“Could be embarrassing, sir, bringing in an American loaded with guns. Could make for an awkward trial. Who has jurisdiction? Could we prove that he was intending to offload in China? If so, should not the Qing have the trying of him?”
“I fully agree, Eskdale. Bearing in mind your experience and success in dealing with similar events, I am sure you can avert the need for a trial.”
No survivors to create diplomatic awkwardness.
A massacre would be the simplest route, but one that the crew might not accept and not behaviour that Magnus himself found tolerable. There must be an alternative, while still bringing the trade to a halt…
“Where are the Americans to be found now, sir? Their fleet, that is?”
“Manila Bay, the bulk of them.”
Captain Hawkins did not ask why. He had just given an order that demanded at minimum an unconventional response – he did not wish to know just how Magnus proposed to obey it. If there was – Heaven forfend – an inquiry, he should know as little as possible and Magnus should have said nothing at all. It was always better to avoid lying to any official or judicial body – misrepresentation was much to be preferred.
“What do those Yanks call themselves now, sir? The White Ships or somesuch?”
“Just that. A large, modern, fast fleet – certainly far outgunning us in the Pacific. They have several of modern battleships present in Eastern waters – though they call them Western, I should imagine. Not that they can do anything in the Philippines, of course. I think they have some idea of overawing the Japanese, though they might intend to threaten Russia. We were quite worried for a time that they had intentions towards Australia, you know, but that fear has died away. Strange country, America, new on the world scene and discovering that they have power but unsure what to do with it. Could be nasty, when they finally find out.”
“Not in my time, I trust, sir.”
“Nor in mine. About Obelisk, now – I haven’t said this, being none of my business – this office has nothing to do with ships and the way they operate – your gunroom sublieutenant is well on the way to causing a problem. Not the normal sort of thing – he ain’t buggering the midshipmen – but he’s Irish and very much a Home Ruler and inclined to shout his mouth off when ashore. Got into some bad company when he was in Sydney earlier in the commission. Was seen with Sinn Fein people – spotted by Special Branch. Name’s Parnell, some sort of distant cousin, same family as the politician and upset by the way the fellow was treated, so it would seem. You remember the Parnell business? Kitty O’Shea and all that?”
“Vaguely, sir. Bit before my time and I ain’t much into politics.”
“No matter. I doubt it will come to anything in China, but if you take Obelisk to Australia or America with their big Irish populations, you’ll need to watch him. No plans for Obelisk to go far distant at the moment – but with the South African business still going on, any ship can end up anywhere. I don’t think there are any Irish troublemakers in Hong Kong at the moment, but it’s not impossible that you might find Special Branch aboard with a warrant one day.”
“A nuisance if so, sir. It can be dealt with, however. Promote him if possible – put him into a bigger job and keep him busy… Assistant Gunnery Officer, perhaps. Gunnery Officers are always on the run, never stop if they’re any good. Then I could get him sent off to a course at Whale Island, get rid of him usefully. Jellicoe will support sending a good man to his gunnery school, useful to have him here.”
“Your decision, my lord. Promote him and offer him a good career – might well turn his mind away from politics.”
“Even if it don’t, it will keep him too busy to shout his mouth off, and keep him away from the mids, make sure he don’t infect them with his ideas. No place for politics in the Navy!”
Chapter Eight
The Earl’s Other Son Series
Chinese Whispers
“Carter, a message to Obelisk that the lord and master will make his appearance at one bell of the forenoon watch.”
The cruiser would be expecting her new captain at any time but would appreciate knowing exactly when. The First Lieutenant would or
ganise the reception and ensure that everything and everybody was ready and on top line, unless he was incompetent, which would become instantly obvious.
“Better than going back to Peking, sir. Didn’t like that place. All on edge so they were, the people there. Just waiting for it to happen, and not knowing what ‘it’ was, to make it worse.”
“Well put, Carter. Something is going to happen, and I had far rather my lady was not there when it does.”
“Nor me, neither, sir. Getting too old to run, these days.”
“That’s the feeling I get, too, Carter. What’s the buzz about Obelisk?”
Carter would have had a drink with some of the captain’s stewards from the ships in harbour – the captains’ servants always clustered together in their off time, a closed little clique of the privileged.
“Not much, sir. Captain Tomkins was pretty good as captains went. Happy ship. Fairly good ship as well, but they normally are when they gets on with their officers. Gunnery ship, sir – Captain Tomkins wanted fast gunnery before bright paintwork.”
That was an important point – gun smoke dulled the paintwork on a ship, no matter how much the crew washed and brushed after a practice. Many cruisers and battleships never fired their guns as a result, their captains regarding smart and shiny paint as more important than being able to fight their ship. Magnus had several times been told that guns were not what the Navy was about – if it came to a war then they could board and take the enemy in the old way. Far more important to show a smart ship in peacetime, and, in any case, there had been no big war for nearly a century and that meant there never would be again.
To these captains, perhaps a majority of those at sea, fighting was for small ships in the colonies and was none of the business of capital ships. Their job was to show the flag and remind Johnny Foreigner that the Navy ruled the oceans of the world, the whole world.
“Good. Haven’t seen our orders yet, but the word is, unofficially, that we might have to pick up a nasty little gentleman running rifles into China. Don’t want his sort making even more trouble on shore.”
Carter would pass the word on Obelisk, spreading the rumour so that all aboard would have an idea what was happening within the first couple of days. It was better to spread the word unofficially – the men always believed rumours, much preferring the griff to an announcement by the captain.
It stood to reason in the opinion of most matelots that the captain would only tell them what he wanted them to know. The real truth, the inconvenient bits that he kept secret, came to them by the lower deck grapevine, which was fed to an extent by the captain’s and officers’ stewards and mostly by the lurid imaginations of the loudest men.
“Chinese bloke is he, sir? This gun runner?”
That was a difficulty, Magnus realised. He did not want the word to spread in Hong Kong that they were hunting Americans – that sort of rumour would reach every important ear inside the day if it once started. He did not want to lie to Carter.
“Don’t think so, not from what I’ve been told. Trouble is, the people who’ve given me the information ain’t entirely trustworthy. They say it’s slavers, taken to smuggling guns for offering a greater profit just now. You know what slavers are – the scum of every nation on Earth.”
“Dirty dogs, all of ‘em, sir!”
“Just that, Carter. So, we don’t know who exactly we’re after. Should get the word sometime when we sail north. We’ll call at Wei-Hai-Wei to get the latest word. Probably drop into Hanshan on our way.”
Carter’s eyes brightened – he had enjoyed his times ashore in Hanshan.
“Wouldn’t mind a couple of nights there again, sir, getting me end away with them Chinese girls. Different for you now, of course, sir, being respectably married now.”
Magnus agreed, knowing that he must behave himself – the men would disapprove strongly of misconduct on his part as a newly married man with a bride who had quickly got in the family way, as was right and proper on her part. A child in the first year of marriage was as it should be, the most of them thought.
Obelisk was at her best, on display for the new owner, painted, polished and shining brightly. Every gun barrel was precisely aligned, fore and aft; the engine room ventilator cowls were all precisely parallel; the men were all freshly shaven, their tropical headgear horizontal, not rakishly cocked; the officers seemed sober in pristine whites.
Magnus looked quickly over his ship, standing on the dock and making a show of a casual inspection, expecting to see nothing out of place. He saw that she had two bridges, fore and aft, the fore having an armoured conning tower as well. Presumably the aft bridge was for use under sail, if ever they should indulge in that foolishness. Two masts with a schooner rig – there would be no great speed there.
Two funnels, tall and fixed. Most ships that actually expected to sail had collapsible funnels. The guns were set in the most common pattern, two towards the stern, two at the fore, able to fire astern or ahead and to either beam. The remaining four were set along the sides, giving a broadside of four guns on either side. The three pounders were set to the broadside, as were the machine guns.
‘Turret guns would have been better, but she’s not new.’
He could not see the torpedo tubes from his location but assumed them to fire from the bows. The carriages could be turned to either beam.
He marched stiff-backed to the brow and onto Obelisk’s deck, lifting his cocked hat to return salutes as the pipes wailed.
Everything was as it should be – not as much space for ceremony as the open decks of the old wooden walls had offered, but sufficient to make a performance.
“Brotherton, First Lieutenant, sir. Welcome aboard.”
There was a faint trace of gin on Brotherton’s breath at half past eight in the morning. If the wardroom had had guests the previous evening, they might not have closed the bar before one in the morning… Entirely legitimate. If he needed a gin with breakfast, then he would very soon be sailing in another ship, and not as senior lieutenant.
The introductions proceeded as normal – Navigating Officer and second, Mr Knowles, Guns, Divisional and Marine Officers, Surgeon, two sublieutenants, four midshipmen, Commissioned Engineer. No Chaplain – not unusual for a small cruiser to be short of that appointment. He took a quick glance at Parnell as he was introduced – a black Irishman, dark-haired, lean and of no more than medium height, bright and alert-seeming. He would need to be dealt with quickly to avoid any risk of political trouble. Tomkins should have seen to that already, if there was a problem – perhaps he had not because there was no need for action.
“I shall speak to all of you individually over the next days, gentlemen. I expect orders tomorrow and to sail on Thursday. We remain on the China Station, or so I expect today.”
That raised a few smiles, all of them knowing that orders could change overnight, that they might be heading for South Africa in the morning.
“Ship is in very good condition, Mr Brotherton. To my cabin in thirty minutes, if you please.”
Allowing Brotherton half an hour gave him the opportunity to down another gin, if he was that way inclined. If he arrived with a stronger smell of spirits on his breath, then he would be posted within the day. A new captain had some leeway in terms of getting rid of an officer he could not tolerate, provided he could offer a reason.
Obelisk provided two big cabins for her captain together with separate washing facilities. Not as great as a battleship would offer, but comfortable, better than he had had in Racoon. He had a large mahogany desk in his working cabin, and a pair of armchairs and a dining table.
Carter had a pantry sufficient to knock up breakfast and a dinner on a working day. When the captain entertained, he would use the galley, and the services of the cooks.
Magnus suspected he had ten times the cabin space allocated to Brotherton. There were advantages to being a captain.
The First Lieutenant appeared precisely on the thirtieth minute from Magnus g
iving the order. He smiled and took the offered seat. The faint odour of gin now had an overlay of issue rum.
“Have you been drinking, Mr Brotherton?”
The man was taken by surprise – he had not anticipated such a question.
“Why, sir, no, sir, not drinking, as such, sir. A bit of a headache this morning, sir and a pick-me-up, as it were…”
“I will not tolerate the abuse of alcohol on my ship, Mr Brotherton. We shall discuss this later, after I have spoken to the Admiral. For the while, what can you tell me of the other officers, starting with the most junior? Four midshipmen, I see.”
Two of the midshipmen were two years out of the training college at Dartmouth and could be considered for their first promotion. Both were capable young men and had good reports. The two youngsters had been appointed as Obelisk had left England, had less than six months at sea but were shaping up well. All was as one might expect. It was uncommon for a midshipman to display problems as they were generally hammered out of them at Dartmouth; if they survived training then they were normally competent aboard ship.
“Good. The sublieutenants?”
“Parnell and Knuyper, sir. Parnell the junior. Knuyper is third son of the Duke of Northumberland and has a private income – not small. He could be a lounger about Town but wants to be a sailor. Captain Tomkins had recommended him to be promoted into a destroyer, sir, or a sloop – a small ship where he could soon be given real responsibility. Parnell has the gunroom, direct responsibility for the midshipmen, as is normal for his seniority. No problems there – no bullying, which can occur. Talks a bit about Ireland, sometimes, but nothing too much.”
The other officers were given equally good reports – it was a good wardroom, men who had settled in well together on the long run out from Portsmouth.
“Excellent, Mr Brotherton. As much leave as is possible today and tomorrow for men and officers alike, if you please. We may be active for the next few weeks. I must go ashore in a few minutes.”
Chinese Whispers Page 15
