It did not seem to be Admiral Seymour’s understanding of good luck.
“Enough of such mere speculation, Eskdale. Captain Hawkins is waiting on you.”
Captain Jellicoe, silent at the Admiral’s shoulder caught Magnus’ eye, twitched his lips in a faint grin.
Magnus saluted and left, worried that he might have been guilty of the sin of enthusiasm. Junior officers should not preach to their seniors, ever.
Captain Hawkins was surrounded by masses of paper, files literally by the hundred.
“Every missionary in the north of China has written to me with the information that the Boxers are reputed to be active, except in his own area of influence, which is peaceful and prosperous and content in the eyes of the Lord. The Catholics know that the Protestants have inflamed the Chinese to the point of madness by inflicting their heresies upon them. The London Missionary Society is certain that the Americans have created all of the trouble by their foolish espousal of democracy and equality and by their promotion of Chinese converts to positions of authority. The C of E Bishop of North China believes the problem to be that the missionaries coming out from England these days are of the wrong class; too few of gentlemen and far too many of shopkeepers’ sons among them. This angers the Chinese because they naturally bow to gentlefolk but have no respect for the lower orders.”
Magnus shook his head wonderingly.
“The solution is obvious, sir. Call for the Brigade of Guards to be posted here. The sight of the Gentleman’s Sons would instantly reduce the Chinese to open-mouthed awe and silence.”
“Thank you, my lord. That is the first thinking suggestion I have received this week. It is bloody stupid, of course, but that is no drawback as far as the missionaries are concerned.”
“Will any of them survive this year, sir?”
The serious enquiry reduced Captain Hawkins to instant sobriety.
“Only those who can run fast, Eskdale, or who are close to a river and a fortuitous gunboat. The missionaries are in the middle, you see. The ordinary peasants have a perfectly good religion already, one that has worked for many centuries. They see converts using their religion to obtain the influence of the foreigners to grab land and water rights and avoid taxes, and they hate them, those who don’t join them. The mandarins and merchants and warlords see the missionaries as outsiders who are inciting the peasants to deny their authority, and to withhold money which is their due. The men with power will do all they can to protect the Western merchants from the hongs, because they trade with them and make good money in the process. The missionaries often interfere with legitimate trade, for disapproving of the goods traded in or the prices charged.”
“Every hand turned against them; they are persecuted, and from all I hear of missionaries, that will merely serve to encourage them. Too many of them are looking for a cross of their own to dangle from, sir.”
“That may be unfair to many, Eskdale. The pity of it is that there are some of whom it is perfectly true, and they will take many others with them. The greatest worry is that too many of them are family men, with wives and children potentially exposed to the mob…”
“I saw something of that recently, sir.”
“You did, of course. Those damned stupid Americans. The woman and children are safe, by the way. On their way from San Francisco to their home town in the middle of nowhere on the Great Plains.”
Magnus was within reason glad to hear they had survived their adventures. They were victims rather than evil-doers.
“What of that damned fellow, what was his name, Daubney, that’s it?”
Captain Hawkins shook his head.
“He was returned to the scene of his crimes, I fear, and was subjected to public trial, which was over quickly, and equally public execution, which was a far more drawn-out process. No need for details – but they left him his tongue until the very end, so that he could scream.”
“I could feel guilty there, sir, but I would never have got the family out otherwise, and I would have lost the Marines as well.”
“And yourself, Eskdale. That would have led to war, almost for certain. You were right to avoid that, even if only for a few months.”
“It should have been an American job, you know, sir. Their Captain Newt Hall should have done it.”
“Your report said he was taken ill, Eskdale.”
“He felt unwell, sir. He is one of those who will be taken ill quite frequently – the smell of gunpowder upsets his delicate stomach. The Great Mustachio was aware and might well have mentioned his inadequacies himself.”
Captain Hawkins shook his head.
“Probably only in the confidentials sent to the Foreign Office. Nothing to me.”
The Foreign Office did not talk to the Admiralty and their Intelligence Service – which did not exist officially – did not speak to Navy or Army, and only rarely to politicians.
“It might be quite useful, one day, if we all knew the same things about what was going on, sir.”
“Perish the thought, Eskdale. Much more important to pursue departmental feuds than to pander to the public interest and the needs of good government. I do not know who leads the Boxers, or where those leaders are to be found, or who is financing them. Someone in Whitehall will know, that is almost for sure. When it comes to the inquest, the apportionment of blame for the fiasco, they will be surprised that we were ignorant – ‘all we had to do was ask’.”
“Will it be a fiasco, sir?”
“Missionaries will die. Money will be spent. Soldiers and sailors will do battle. We will win the campaign but there will be some defeats, some casualties. As far as the newspapers are concerned, it will be a failure. The politicians believe what the press tells them – uniquely perhaps among the people of our country – and so it will be a fiasco. If, by the way, you see a reporter, Eskdale, strike an instant heroic pose. The papers need heroes, especially when everything else is a cock-up. Mind you, the odds are you won’t see any of the so-called reporters from the Press – if there is a campaign you will be at the front where the bullets are flying. The reporters will be in the Imperial Hotel where the gins are; amazing the despatches they can create from a comfortable bar!”
Magnus had heard the same said by men who had seen the fighting in South Africa – the soldiers saw one war, the reporters alcoholically imagined another.
“Jolly good for patriotism, sir! By Jingo! Those newspapers fight a devilish good war!”
“So they do. Keep well clear of them, Eskdale. You never know whether you will be a hero or a villain in their next cable home. Safer to be neither.”
“May not be my choice, sir. If Blantyre starts pulling strings in the background, anything can happen.”
“Good point! Worries me a bit, that does, Eskdale. How invisible can you be with your wife and her father in the near background?”
“Not at all, sir. Not in China. Lord Ping as well will be watching me, or over me.”
“’Lord’ Ping, Eskdale?”
“A reality of existence, sir. He has rank in China and I am beholden to him.”
“What’s the detail there, Eskdale? What has he in mind?”
“For sure, sir? Who knows? I don’t, not of a certainty. What I much suspect is that he wants out. He has done well as a provincial warlord, and that makes him a target, for everybody. We don’t like him, because he might just manage to unify some or all of China behind him and throw us out. The Qing don’t like him, because he ain’t one of them and he is ruling his lordship well, to the benefit of his people. The missionaries don’t like him, because he won’t let them get a foothold in his towns. The hongs don’t like him, because he won’t let them starve his people and screw every last penny from them. All he wants, now, is to survive, and that means getting out from the country where he has been a success in honest terms. China is no place for an honest man, sir. He’s establishing a merchant house in London, I think, and will settle there, if he manages to get out. Some of his family are
going very soon. Blantyres will aid as they can, sir.”
Captain Hawkins was silent for a while, staring at Magnus. Then he shook his head.
“That goes into none of my files, Eskdale. You did not say it. I did not hear it. I shall recommend that you be posted away from China at an early date. Attaché at one of the better embassies, I shall suggest. Not till after this Boxer business is dealt with, of course, but as soon as can be. Best thing I can do for you.”
Magnus was relieved that he had come off so lightly; his words could have led to a posting to the guardship at the Falkland Islands, far from civilisation and comfort and a long way from his wife. Naval officers who showed contempt for official policy were not generally treated well.
“Our loyalty is to the Empire, Eskdale. Not to China. The Empire cannot be wrong, not while we serve it. If that means we are complicit in the destruction of a civilisation, so be it. We cannot serve two masters, even if one of those masters is decency and humanity. That is not to say that morally speaking, you are wrong, but naval officers do not subscribe to morality. We obey orders.”
“I know, sir. I have done so and will continue to do so. But I don’t have to like it”
“But you do have to keep your mouth shut! Intelligence is not for you, Eskdale. Perhaps not diplomacy either. A bigger ship in a nasty part of the world might make better sense. We shall see. For the moment, go to Shanghai and keep your beautiful wife company. Keep your ear to the ground and if you hear anything relating to the leadership of the Boxers, tell me.”
“I shall be pleased to go home, sir. Thank you. As for the ‘leadership’ of the Boxers – there is none, sir. I much suspect that most of them are ordinary people driven to desperation and jumping onto the first bandwagon that passes. If the drought ends, sir, then the Boxers will disappear as the peasants go back to their land to get a crop in. No drought in the south of China, sir, and no Boxers.”
Captain Hawkins sat back in his chair, head cocked, staring at Magnus.
“You might be right. Probably are, Eskdale. But you won’t be believed. The Boxers are an enemy who can be understood. Ordinary people tired of starvation and betrayed by their leaders are far too frightening a concept for the politicians to want to admit to. Better to believe in a wicked conspiracy than to accept that the man in the street has ceased to be an obedient sheep, following the orders of his betters. Reds under the bed are more acceptable an idea than John Doe and Tommy Atkins deciding to shoot the politicians and their paymasters, and the lawyers, of course.”
“Naturally, sir, everybody wants to shoot the lawyers.”
“My job is to rout out the conspirators, Eskdale. Do be a good chap and find me some.”
Magnus had a sudden memory of the information from young Mr Ping.
“You did receive the message that the German Minister in Peking was in contact with a faction of the Imperial Army, sir? The aim being to topple the Qing and replace the government with a pro-German military government that would turn China in to a German colony, a Prussian Raj?”
“Von Ketteler? The Freiherr himself? Was that a serious piece of information?”
“Very much so, sir. The source who gave it to me had every reason to be certain of its veracity. He was grateful to me and Blantyres for some assistance offered and gave me a name that he was certain would be of value to us, specifically to the Empire.”
“I sent it to London, you know, Eskdale, and they came back with a negative. They were sure we were wrong. I did not argue.”
“I’m sure my informant was right, sir.”
“Sod it! You know what that means, Eskdale?”
Magnus had not the slightest idea what its significance might be.
“London will have sent a telegram to Berlin, to its people there, asking if von Ketteler is known. They will have returned a negative. Either Berlin don’t know what’s going on, or the agent there has been turned, is playing us false.”
“Which is more likely, sir?”
“Both. The Germans are more efficient than us in the field of counter-intelligence, because they take it seriously. Most of our people in London are jolly good chaps and complete amateurs amusing themselves. Those out in the field are generally of far lower class, working for money and with nothing other than contempt for the playboys; they get turned frequently. A lot of them are turned back at a later date, and possibly suborned a second time after that. Many of them don’t know who they’re working for by the time they’re fifty. Then they steal all the cash they can lay their hands on and run off to America. I’m tempted to do the same.”
“Time I returned to Obelisk, sir.”
“Do that, Eskdale. You are certain you are sure about von Ketteler?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I shall arrange an accident for him. Take a month or two but we don’t need his sort stirring up trouble for the Empire. A Chinese Raj, by God! We can do without that!”
Magnus had a vague suspicion that von Ketteler was breaking the rules. The Europeans and America and Japan had an unspoken agreement to carve up China between them. They argued among themselves about the precise size of their slices of the pie, but none actually attempted to throw the others out. Africa had been successfully divided in that fashion, with only a few squabbles, and China was to go the same way. The example of India had frightened the other colonising powers and was not to be repeated in China for fear that its wealth might render the successful conqueror too strong in Europe. Britain had taken the whole of India for itself and had created the greatest ever empire on its back; there was no room for a repetition of that error.
“What sort of accident, sir?”
“A very small one, Eskdale, about nine millimetres in size, I expect.”
Magnus suspected that was a witty answer, in intelligence circles.
“Yes, sir. I should go, sir.”
“So you should, Eskdale. My regards to your lady.”
“Coaling berth at first light, Mr Knowles. Guns, how do we stand for your stores?”
“Three pounder shells and machine-gun rounds to arrive in the forenoon, sir. Small arms ammunition this afternoon, sir.”
“Good. Paymaster – how do we stand on other stores?”
“All up, sir. We can sail immediately, sir.”
“Good. Course for Shanghai, Mr Coulthorne. High tide in the afternoon. What’s the position regarding shore leave, Mr Knowles?”
“None granted, sir. The men to expect forty-eight hours for each watch in Shanghai, sir. Due to be paid in two days, sir.”
“So they are. No sense in going ashore in Hong Kong with empty pockets. Asking for trouble, that. Fill the bunkers tomorrow, Mr Knowles, right to the absolute limits. Keep them that way for the next few months – we do not wish ever to run them down. Assume that we may go to war status at any time, with almost no warning. We may have to contribute to an Expeditionary Force at any time – be particularly on the ready after the first week of May, say, and for the whole of June. If it hasn’t happened by mid-July, it probably won’t, according to the latest information.”
“Yes, sir. What are we to do in Shanghai, sir?”
“Show our faces on the river. Frighten the Chinks into being good. Terrify the Germans with the same aim. Watch the Russians. Play waltzes for the Austrians and eat spaghetti with the Italians. Have a Bible-reading with the Yanks, probably. Rescue stranded missionaries and protect the money of the hongs. Everything as normal, in fact.”
Knowles was not the quickest thinking of men, suspected that his captain had experienced a torrid time with the Admiral, He could not imagine what else could have put him into so sardonic a mood.
“About the gunrunner, sir? Was the Admiral displeased that you sent her to Manila?”
“What? Oh, no, he thought it was as well to have her off our backs, in fact. He soon worked out that the result was likely to be Germany falling out with America over the affair, and us coming out of it smelling of violets. He was much in favour of our h
andling of the business, after Jellicoe had helped him pick up the finer ramifications.”
Knowles thought that Magnus might be suggesting that the Admiral was not the cleverest of men, and that was far too risky a concept for any lieutenant to admit to.
“Very good, sir.”
Chapter Twelve
The Earl’s Other Son Series
Chinese Whispers
It was strange to think of Shanghai as home, Magnus mused as the city showed on Obelisk’s starboard bow. Ugly, sprawling, neither Chinese nor yet western, nor any satisfactory hybrid of the two, lacking elegance, but possessing a style that was wholly unique – unlike any other urban area on Earth. Dirty and smelly, by all means – the river showed its proximity to many millions of people, almost all of them deprived of sewerage – blackened by coal smoke and rendered garish by electricity – it was worse than London, that dirty city of smog and horse dung. All of that said, Shanghai was alive - except for the thousands of starving and diseased to whom its streets offered slow death – and bustling, vibrant, noisy, exciting…
“Provided you have money, that is.”
“Sir?”
“Musing, Mr Knowles. Bring her into the bund, on the Senior Naval Officer’s signal. What’s that on his mast?”
“RPC, sir, all captains. Sixteen hundred hours.”
“Request the pleasure of the company of all captains – free gins, Mr Knowles. I wonder why.”
“Our number going up, sir… berth at pontoon number four, sir.”
“Excellent. Convenient to Captain ffoulke’s office – not a hundred yards distant. Establish harbour routine; indent for stores; coaling report to my desk; maintenance requests for the morning; leave roster can assume two weeks before we sail. All men to have at least seven days ashore, not more than forty-eight hours at a time. That includes defaulters, exceptionally, Mr Knowles. We may have a busy time coming up and all of the men must have some relaxation. Warn all hands – and officers – to keep an eye out for unrest. If there should be an outbreak of any sort, they must get back to the ship at soonest.”
Chinese Whispers Page 23
