02 Shanghai Dreams (The Earl’s Other Son #2)

by Andrew Wareham

  The Japanese had taken Port Arthur from China and then been forced out by a combination of Russian, French and American pressure, with Britain playing a part as peace keeper, but showing reluctant.

  “No. None of our business. Strictly not. Last thing we wish to do is make the Japanese think we have ambitions there. Up to the Japs and Russians to work that one out.”

  “So be it, sir.”

  Magnus made his way back to Racoon and ordered leave for the starboard watch.

  “Sailing for Hanshan morning after next, Mr Mason. Expect to spend three days in port. Has Mr Brownrigg showed up yet?”

  “He came aboard an hour ago, sir. He has been talking with Mr Plumb, a handing over conference, sir.”

  “Good. The boy is very young, to my mind, possibly immature, in fact, but he knows his guns. Mr Plumb to me as soon as he is free.”

  “Centurion, Mr Plumb. Admiral Seymour wanted you back. More pay in the rating, I believe, as well.”

  It was a far preferable posting in Plumb’s mind – he liked battleships.

  “Thank you, sir. By way of a promotion, sir, serving in a battleship. Better, if you will excuse me, than buggering about upriver, sir.”

  “Each to his own, Mr Plumb. I hope never to serve on a battleship again. Racoon is big enough for me. Have you completed your handover to Mr Brownrigg?”

  “Done, sir. I could be gone immediately, sir.”

  Mr Plumb had no money of his own. If he remained another day then he would be forced to contribute heavily to a welcome and farewell party in the wardroom. It was a kindness to send him off quickly.

  “Go, Mr Plumb, with my thanks for the work you have done on Racoon. Being on the same posting I have no doubt we shall meet frequently. I will add that your personal file contains nothing but the best from your time here. I have no doubt that you will rise in the service, sir.”

  Mr Plumb made his thanks, a little surprised but realising that Magnus was glad to see the back of him and would not have given a bad report that might have made the admiral unwilling to take him back.

  “The boy, sir, has some ideas about the guns that you might like… Not my cup of tea, sir. He kept talking about Percy Scott, sir, and we all know he’s nothing but a troublemaker. You’ll need to keep an eye on him, sir, no question of that!”

  Magnus had met Scott in passing, knew him to be highly intelligent and dismissive of fools, of whom there was a substantial number in the Navy. Scott was a gunnery man and had made a number of inventions that contributed to accuracy and rapid aiming; he was disliked by all of those who wanted to fight another Trafalgar.

  “A word to the wise, Mr Plumb, Captain Jellicoe is a personal friend of Captain Scott, and a devoted follower of Jacky Fisher. The good word from Jellicoe will see you climbing the ladder; a bad report will do you no favours. Long range firing with the big guns is what he will want to see.”

  Plumb shook his head despondently and left the ship; Magnus noted that the First Lieutenant shook his hand at the brow but no other officer was present to farewell him. A pity, for it created ill-feeling which might be a nuisance on future occasions when they had to work together.

  The starboard watch mustered and presented themselves for inspection prior to being released to shore leave. Magnus was pleased with their appearance – they did the ship credit, all having made the extra effort to look smart rather than merely tidy.

  “Good feeling aboard ship, Mr Mason. The men are proud of the ship.”

  “They look far more the thing than they were used to sir. Mostly because they think you will show them some action, sir. They believe that you are a favourite with the admiral and will be put in harm’s way, which will offer them some fun as well as give them the chance of promotion or even prize-money.”

  “Prize-money, in this day and age?”

  “Yes, sir. Take a pirate junk and its crew and there is a payment of head money, and any loot taken from them will be valued and distributed in the old way. Destroy an enemy warship and there will be payments made. Not much, perhaps, and certainly no fortunes such as the old frigate captains picked up, but still a few pounds in their pockets, which will never come amiss.”

  “They are not entirely wrong, I hope, Mr Mason. We are to enter Hanshan, just a courtesy call for three days, but then we are off to Tsingtao where we are to keep our eyes open as to everything going on there. I want to know every ship in the harbour there, in detail. The men will not go ashore but officers may be invited to meet their governor or whoever. In that case, try to identify who and what you see.”

  “After that, sir?”

  “Hong Kong and then wherever the admiral thinks is good. We shall end up at Shanghai, as guardship in all probabilities. I have warned Brownrigg that we must expect to send landing parties to rescue our nationals at almost no notice. The twelve pounder will be required; there may be a tug and barge to transport gun and party. Racoon must be able to swing the gun over the side, with a sufficiency of shrapnel and HE rounds, in a very few minutes. Much drill, I think.”

  “How big a party, sir?”

  “Not fewer than forty men – it may be the case that we have to run the gun overland, the men pulling on ropes.”

  “A rifle each, sir?”

  “Not for the gun crew. Say thirty-two riflemen, including a dozen of Marines, if we have them. It seems very likely that the Jollies will continue to be held ashore in Shanghai to bolster, in effect be, the garrison there. They have a sort of overblown militia of their own – better with gold braid than gunpowder, I suspect – and not much else other than the Police.”

  “Two officers, sir?”

  “And a senior PO.”

  Mason made a quick note to himself of the figures.

  Dinner with the admiral was difficult. It was Magnus’ first appearance in society since the scandal had become public and he was more than a little apprehensive. Had he been in Mayfair, or in the Admiral’s House at Portsmouth, then he would have known what to expect – no outright comments or enquiries but the odd, witty allusion from those who disliked him. In Hong Kong, with the far more mixed gathering that came to the table here, he was unsure what might be said. Some of the men, particularly, were rendered brash by the possession of millions, might well venture too far in their conversation.

  Drinks before dinner were taken up almost entirely by introductions and discussion of what the French were doing in Indo-China, where there had been an upsurge in the fighting.

  Admiral Seymour was fairly certain that some unnamed foreign power was sending guns south to the resistance against the French invaders.

  “Naming no names, gentlemen, but it would not surprise me to discover Mauser rifles in the hands of the troops fighting the French.”

  It was sufficiently unsubtle to be funny, they thought.

  “But not Lee-Enfields, sir?”

  “Not since that particular ploy was so well dealt with by Captain Lord Eskdale, Mr Cornwell.”

  Magnus braced himself for the response to his changed name.

  “Ah! Got the proof that he’s gone, have you, my lord? Well, ‘of the dead let nothing but good be said’, that’s what you toffs, say, and I’m not sure you’re wrong. Every man to his own, say I, even if that own can be a bit bloody queer on occasion. The poor chap is gone and you’re none the worse for it, my lord. Are you staying out here, my lord?”

  “I am a serving officer, Mr Cornwell. I go where my orders take me.”

  “And so it should be, my lord. All the more important for you to show punctilious in these circumstances. There’s some would be doubting… I would add that as far as I’m concerned, that medal on your chest tells me all I need to know about you and your family, my lord!”

  There was a mutter of agreement, even from those whose religion gave them no great tolerance for moral faults in others.

  Magnus made a half-bow of acknowledgement while Captain Jellicoe turned the conversation to a cricket match that had been played on the previo
us day.

  They sat to table and enjoyed the admiral’s offerings, the whole meal determinedly English but the wines cool and good. The admiral had access to the cold room onshore where the fresh meats were kept; one corner was kept clear for his white wines before his dinners.

  Magnus was sat next to a merchant’s wife, a lady in her fifties and whose name he had forgotten.

  “A very good wine, my lord, do you not think?”

  “A German, I believe, ma’am – one of the few good things to come from that benighted country.”

  “So one must believe, my lord. Do you really think that the Kaiser will turn against Britain? He does so love his grandmama, one understands.”

  “I believe he does, ma’am, but Her Majesty can only have a very few years left, you know. What happens after that will be a different matter, one suspects.”

  “But there cannot be a war, not in Europe. There has been no such thing for a century, or nearly so. Are we not progressed beyond such things?”

  “One might hope and devoutly wish so, ma’am.”

  Conversation broadened to include the latest play performed by the Dramatic Society; Magnus discovered that they had progressed so far as Oscar Wilde after all. The last he had heard had been the intention to drop the playwright from their repertoire, for being too outré for their public.

  “’The Importance of Being Earnest’, was staged my lord. Very well done, I thought, and certainly most amusing. I cannot see that Mr Oscar Wilde, the poor man, was so very vulgar, you know, my lord.”

  Magnus debated whether to tell her that ‘earnest’ was argot for homosexual in their own community; poor soul, she was happier in her ignorance, he did not doubt. He smiled and agreed that the poor gentleman had been very hardly used.

  The women rose from the table and the men punished the port. The senior manager for Butterfield and Swire, soon to join their Board, rumour insisted, asked Admiral Seymour whether he believed that the Japanese would take on Russia in the foreseeable future.

  “Inevitably, sir. It cannot be avoided, I fear. Bullying the Japanese out of Port Arthur was not wise in the longer term.”

  “But, who will win?”

  “Why, sir, we shall! We will sell to the Japanese and rebuild their navy if they lose; if they win, then we shall trade more with them. Lord Eskdale believes that the Russians are incapable of winning, do you not, my lord?”

  Magnus wondered why the admiral was bringing him forward in such a fashion, sure in his own mind that it was deliberate.

  “Why, yes, sir, I do. I saw a Russian battleship not so many years ago, sir. Hopelessly inefficient! Dirty and unable to hold a straight course, her quartermasters allowing her to wander time and again. A friend observed the Baltic Fleet at gunnery practice at much the same time. Slow firing and inaccurate for line and range, and very little chance of improvement, two or three ships firing at once at the same target and none able to correct their fire for not knowing which shell was whose. He told me that he visited one ship, saw her to have a massive crew of landsmen – most untrained and unable to perform their duty for not knowing it. They were peasants, conscripts, and hated the sea. The officers, he said, were not seamen – most of them owed their appointments to birth alone. The admiral had been a soldier, was promoted into the Navy after pleasing the Tsar for some reason that had nothing to do with his duties.”

  The men shook their heads in amaze.

  Jardine Mathieson’s man spoke up to say that he had been aboard a Japanese cruiser only six months before, had seen the very opposite there.

  “Rigid discipline, sir, but the men showing proud to be there. All had volunteered and they dressed smartly and ran to their places. Their officers knew the sea, one could see it in their every movement. I did not see them work their guns, but there could be little doubt of their accuracy – they would do everything as well as they could.”

  “A nation growing in power, gentlemen. The Americans woke a tiger when they forced the Japanese to open their borders to the Western world.”

  Magnus agreed with his admiral – from all he had heard, Japan was a growing power.

  They joined the ladies and took tea with them and discussed the colony and its important doings, especially the racecourse.

  “Did I not see you in company with Miss Blantyre, Lord Eskdale?”

  The speaker, an unknown female with a sweet and certainly malicious smile, preened herself as eyes turned to her.

  “Yes, ma’am, we were part of Admiral Seymour’s party. A most enjoyable day, ma’am, the better for me because of the company I was in.”

  “Ah! One might surmise that you will be found in the same company in future, my lord.”

  “One may make many surmises, ma’am. I am to be very careful, in my current position, about the company I am seen to keep, but I will be happy indeed if the circumstances repeat themselves.”

  He smiled as she puzzled her way through his words. Others in the room possessed of quicker perceptions nodded to him – nothing to be said, but a good catch made, it seemed.

  Admiral Seymour was happy as they farewelled his guests, Magnus called to his side and stood next to Jellicoe as naval etiquette demanded.

  “Got rid of those buggers for another three months, gentlemen! Have a brandy before we turn in?”

  The admiral’s suggestion was a command – they were happy to join him in a glass.

  “Made my point, I think, Eskdale. You will be welcome in the drawing rooms of Hong Kong, which is necessary, or so Hawkins says. It seems that he wants you to meet this Hildesheim fellow if he comes through here again. Makes it easier for the Germans to make contact with you, which is a good thing, Hawkins says.”

  Magnus could not imagine why that was so.

  “Nothing like a man who has been touched by scandal and is short of the readies, so Hawkins says. Hildesheim has a full wallet and will be waving it in your direction, provided he gets the chance to meet you in passing, without drawing attention to his actions. Useful for us to know what information he wants to get from you. We know you ain’t a traitor, and that you won’t be strapped for cash, but Hildesheim and his cronies won’t know that yet.”

  “Rather unpleasant, sir. Did Captain Hawkins say how much he expected Hildesheim to offer, by the way?”

  “Good question! I wonder how much he values you at? Ha Ha!”

  Chapter Five

  The Earl’s Other Son Series

  Shanghai Dreams

  “Ready for sailing, Mr Mason?”

  Magnus was sat in his cabin, finishing his breakfast coffee and hoping that his head might clear. The admiral’s last brandy had turned into half a dozen and he had returned to Racoon feeling more than a little muddled. He did not ever enjoy a hangover but found brandy to give him the worst of headaches of a morning.

  “Known for his after dinner brandy, is Admiral Seymour, sir. At least, sir, it is not Navy Rum, neat, which my first captain when I was a new-made lieutenant insisted on after dining his wardroom. Once a month, sir, he held a formal dinner, and then it was ‘Nelson’s Blood’ for an hour at least afterwards. Awful stuff, sir – take a glass of water next morning and feel half-drunk again, having stirred the alcohol up!”

  Magnus was slightly sympathetic – he had once had an evening on Navy Rum, also as a very young lieutenant, and had never touched it since.

  “How the men drink the stuff every day is beyond me, Mr Mason. The Admiralty is considering reducing the issue again, I am told. I don’t know why they don’t simply do away with it. The Americans have dry ships and seem to be none the worse for it.”

  “Tradition, sir. The old problem – ‘if it was good enough for Nelson…’.”

  “True enough, Mr Mason. I can just imagine Their Lordships, white-bearded and bald-headed, drooling around the great table, and none of them able to think any further than what Nelson might have done. They will destroy the Navy, you know. The only hope we have is that Jacky Fisher will become First Lord and turn
the service upside-down.”

  Lieutenant Mason was inclined to support Charlie B, on the grounds that he might be old-fashioned but at least he did not suffer from a touch of the tar brush. Fisher had been born to a colonial family, living in the Raj, and there were many who looked askance at his features. Added to that, he was highly intelligent, and that was suspicious in its own right – not at all English! He turned the subject, wise lieutenants not being in the habit of disagreeing with their captains.

  “Sailing at the top of the tide, sir. All men returned from shore leave last night, sir. Half of them wholly drunk and one carrying a knife wound but still able to walk.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Stoker Black, sir. One of the hard men, sir. Second knife cut since I have been aboard, sir. He often comes back bruised and battered but still on his feet. The word from the other men is that he leaves his opponents flat on the ground, and rarely just one at a time.”

  “Good. Keeps the ship’s name up. All the Jacks will tread gently when the Racoons are ashore. Does he need to be sent to the hospital?”

  “Not him, sir. I never saw him, naturally, but I do not doubt that he will have reported to the Sick Bay and will have stood uncomplaining – probably with a grin on his face - while the Orderly cleaned the wound and sewed him up.”

  Magnus shook his head. He had seen the ship’s hard men before – every ship had them – and had been amazed at their apparent insensibility to pain, and their willingness to repeat the dose the next time they went ashore.

  “Have the Shore Police attempted to come aboard?”

  “Not this time, sir.”

  “Good. Pass the word to the sentry that they are not to be permitted entry to the ship. If talk to them we must, then on the wharf only. We know nothing, Mr Mason, unless he took his wound in commission of crime.”

  Magnus knew that Carter would be listening and would pass the word that the Old Man was looking after Stoker Black. The bulk of the men would approve. The ship always protected its own.