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

by Andrew Wareham

  “I must deal with this damned paperwork, Mr Mason. A week in port and a month afterwards filling in the forms! You will take her out, if you please. Nothing flash or showy. ‘Workmanlike’ is to be our byword, sir. Call me on deck as we actually sail, so that I can salute my betters.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Course for Hanshan?”

  “To reach Hanshan a couple of hours after dawn. Make an offing, a clear stretch of sea, and exercise the guns today. Live firing at targets. Looking for accuracy at longer ranges. Once the crews get the hang of shooting straight, then eventually we shall go for quick fire. The probability is that we will never use the guns against a ship at sea, but I would like to think that we could if the occasion arose.”

  Mason agreed that it was an absolute necessity that the guns must be efficient. The captain was very wise to make provision for his guns.

  “I would much like to fire a practice torpedo or two, Mr Mason. Have we such beasts to hand?”

  Mason suppressed his sigh, smiled his best and tried to show enthusiasm.

  “I am sure we have, sir. I distinctly remember seeing a pair during inspections of the forepeak, sir. I believe them to be tucked away behind the live torpedoes, of which we have eight, I recall.”

  “Good. Look them out while we are making the run to Hanshan. I don’t like having torpedo tubes and cradles that we cannot handle, you know, Mr Mason. I don’t see how we could put them to use on the China Station, but we must have the capacity. As much as anything, if the admiral was to bring us together for manoeuvres, the whole fleet, then we could well be called upon to make a torpedo attack. Say he divided us into Red and Blue – Red to be British, Blue unnamed but German or French by assumption – then he might order us into attack on the enemy fleet, together with the destroyers, acting as leader of the flotilla. We are slower than the destroyers and we can’t help that, but if we couldn’t make our attack for not knowing how to, then God help us!”

  Mr Mason had never considered that possibility. It would be the end of his career – even if he kept his commission he would never be promoted. Every officer aboard Racoon would be a marked man, and the petty officers would be mocked whenever they went ashore; ‘your mouldies gone mouldy and stuck in the tubes’. It would be a disaster, never forgotten.

  “I shall take all necessary steps, sir, to ensure that we become efficient with the torpedoes.”

  “Very good, Mr Mason. Make your appearance on deck.”

  “Mr Harborough has the watch, sir. He will have made everything ready.”

  “An increasingly efficient young man?”

  “Not necessarily ‘increasingly’, sir. He knows his job and is content to do it.”

  “No great ambition in him?”

  Mason was unwilling to damn Harborough, sought appropriately encouraging words to describe his capacity.

  “He is, shall we say, sir, content to be an English gentleman, to whom an excess of enthusiasm is not quite the thing.”

  “Idle, in fact, Mr Mason. Stir him up, sir, give him to understand that this is not an ocean liner and we have no place for passengers. If he will not bestir himself then he may look forward to a transfer to a battleship. I want energetic officers, Mr Mason.”

  Mason could not imagine why that might be.

  “Racoon is to distinguish herself, Mr Mason, to become the obvious choice whenever there is a difficult job to do. She is essentially a failure as a ship and an admiral will tend to tuck her away into some backwater, out of harm’s way, unless she is shown to be outstanding. Racoon was an experiment – one of a class of torpedo cruisers, new to the Navy – and it has been discovered that they cannot effectively lead a torpedo attack for being too slow, and unhandy with it. A torpedo cruiser who cannot sensibly fire her torpedoes for being unable to get in range of her victims! This must be her last commission, Mr Mason. She will be brought back to England and tucked away as a harbour guardship at best, quite possibly simply broken up. If we are not to be forgotten men on a useless ship, then we must make something of ourselves.”

  “Yes, sir. What, sir?”

  “I have no idea, Mr Mason! We must seek opportunities, indeed, we must create them, if needs be. For the moment, we are to spend three days in Hanshan, unless the chance arises of making ourselves busy there, when we might stay longer in the area.”

  “I see, sir. We are to visit Tsingtao thereafter, I believe. Will there be the chance to distinguish ourselves there, sir?”

  “If we are lucky, yes. You will bear in mind, of course, that men can often create their own luck.”

  They headed out to sea and commenced gun practice.

  The six inch guns showed highly efficient when simply loading blanks; six rounds a minute from each of them. When it came to live rounds, with the problems of setting a range and taking an aim, the speed fell away. Accuracy was unimpressive as well.

  “An almost calm sea and a target at four thousand yards, Mr Brownrigg. Even with green crews such as you have inherited I would look for three rounds a minute, and for accuracy after the third. One over, one under, the third a hit, sir – surely that is expected practice?”

  “Five out of six layers have never fired live before, sir. The sixth did manage a hit with his fourth round, sir.”

  “And missed with fifth and sixth, Mr Brownrigg!”

  “The target is jolly small, sir. It is quite likely that they would show better against a ship, sir.”

  Possibly a fair point, Magnus accepted.

  “What of bombardment on land, Mr Brownrigg?”

  That, the young gunner hoped, would be a different matter.

  “The ship stationary, sir, at anchor, as a general rule. Range simply calculated, sir, by me or by a senior petty officer at the masthead with a telescope. I would look for far better practice in a shore bombardment, sir.”

  “You may be right. I want the layers and crews trained in the use of their range-finders, Mr Brownrigg. You may fall, and they must be able to fend for themselves. Let us try the three-pounders next. What range are we looking at for them?”

  “They are essentially close-range artillery, sir. The theory is that they are for defence against torpedo boats, probably inside two thousand yards, sir. They are best used in laying down a barrage, sir, rather than specifically aiming. The four guns on the broadside might be given a point of aim, a box of say one hundred yards on a side, a harbour mouth perhaps, and to make that section of sea uninhabitable. On land, sir, that could have a significant effect on a charging battalion or regiment of horse.”

  “What sort of rate of fire, Mr Brownrigg?”

  “A theoretical maximum of thirty rounds a minute, sir. I must say that I have my doubts about the possibility of achieving that rate, sir. A round every two seconds is hardly practical, sir – one would exhaust the men in no time at all, poor chaps would be in a state of jolly collapse, you know, sir.”

  “I agree, Mr Brownrigg. There would very soon be an accident, breechblock closed on loader’s hand, that sort of thing. Two minutes of bombardment and count the number of fingers on each hand!”

  “I agree, sir. We practised on the course, sir, at Whale Island, which is the correct name for the training school, sir, not Mud Island. All officers in the crew and doing our very best and we never exceeded twelve rounds a minute of accurate fire.”

  “Then let us see what Racoon can do, Mr Brownrigg.”

  Two minutes of shattering noise from each broadside and then the post-mortem.

  “Port broadside fired seventy-two rounds, sir. Nine a minute from each gun – except that number one fired only six and the others more like ten, sir. Number one dropped a round on the loader’s toes, sir, which spoiled their rhythm. It broke two of his toes as well.”

  “And the starboard guns, Mr Brownrigg?”

  “They did not do quite so well, sir. Fifty-eight, sir, due to number three experiencing a jam, sir.”

  “A failure in the breech mechanism, Mr Brownrigg?”

  Brownr
igg shook his head; the failure had been human rather than mechanical.

  “The loader did not seat the third round fully, sir, or the breech was swung shut too soon. I have still to ascertain exactly what happened. The loader has suffered severe injury to one hand, sir, and the shell itself was distorted, jammed in place neither in nor out of the breech. It took some minutes to clear the jam, sir. Quite a jolly to-do, in fact, sir.”

  “Not the best of shows, perhaps, Mr Brownrigg. You will wish to discuss your proposals for further training later in the week, I do not doubt, sir.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you wish to continue with the Maxims, sir?”

  “Of course. I wish to see their crews in action. A target at three hundred yards, would you think?”

  “I would prefer two, sir.”

  “As you wish, Mr Brownrigg.”

  The machine guns performed far the best of all, rapidly coming onto their targets and firing a full belt with no jams.

  “Excellent, Mr Brownrigg. Part of our armament is efficient, and a part that may be very important on the River. Go and conduct your investigation into starboard three, Mr Brownrigg. It is Mr Mason’s turn to entertain us with the torpedoes now.”

  Mr Mason was not looking forward to his part in the show; he was fairly comfortable with the drill for using the fixed torpedo tube but was far less happy about the moveable torpedo carriages.

  Tube first; the electrical artificer who was in charge of the torpedoes had some experience with loading and firing using a fixed tube and knew the sequence of commands and the actions each of his crew must take in response to them. He loaded the fifteen inch torpedo with its practice head, closed the rear door and opened the front and disengaged the safety bar and called the ‘fire’. The torpedo jumped from its tube, propelled by compressed air, and its propeller began to spin as it entered the water. A thousand yards later it came to a halt, its air bottle exhausted, and it bobbed on the surface close to the target and the longboat that was to retrieve it.

  The torpedo carriage was less easily operated.

  In theory the torpedo carriage was no more than a tube that could be trained on a hydraulic rack-and-pinion system to point out across the beam as was convenient. In practice, the training gear was unreliable and the crew commonly had to wind the tube round, inch by inch, by hand. The door to the tube had to be opened before it was trained out and the torpedo itself had to be kept still by a rating sat on top and bending over to hug the practice warhead, so that it would not slide out of place as it was rattled from side to side. It took nearly half an hour to launch the second practice torpedo, by which time the target, if there had been one, might have steamed ten miles away.

  “Perhaps we should practice a quick reload of the fixed tube, Mr Mason.”

  “Yes, sir. These are an early mark of torpedo carriage, sir. I expect the later ones might do better.”

  “Possibly so, Mr Mason. Make a formal report on the difficulties of using the torpedo carriages, if you please. We shall submit it to the admiral and hope that he may never order us to use them.”

  “Yes, sir. Course for Hanshan, sir?”

  “If you please. Let us be thankful that we chose we an uninhabited part of the ocean for our exercises, Mr Mason. I would hate to think that we might have been seen performing in such a fashion. What is the word from the sick berth on the gunner whose hand was trapped?”

  “Broken bones, sir, and lacerations, but no amputations, no fingers lost. The foot is not too severe, either, sir.”

  “Two men on the sick list; hardly any rounds fired and almost no hits. I would be unwilling to state that Racoon covered herself in glory this day, Mr Mason.”

  “Mr Brownrigg is working out his drill schedules at the moment, sir. I believe he has it in mind to request another Whale Island trained petty officer, sir.”

  “I shall beg the admiral’s indulgence, Mr Mason. I do not know if he has such bodies spare, however. For the while, Mr Brownrigg must do his best – he is not to sit and wait for his new man.”

  Magnus shelved his worries about gunnery on entering Hanshan – it was holiday time, he felt.

  Mr Ping came aboard to make him officially welcome and to offer his father’s invitation to talk about the state of the world.

  Magnus noted his words – Ping Wu must be regarding himself as a ruler possessed of some interest internationally. It might have been a ploy to disguise his lack of significance in the power game in China, he thought; the less one’s actual power, the louder it behoved one to talk. Whatever, he would come bearing gifts to the warlord and would smile in the kindest and most patronising fashion.

  The sedan chairs appeared and Magnus sat himself gravely to be carried through the streets, the cynosure of all eyes, with his escort walking close behind and watching every man who came near.

  Inside the official residence he noted that there had been some rebuilding, new and richer decoration, the background of wealth and power more strongly stated.

  He exchanged bows and sat across a magnificent and new table, ivory inlaid in finest timbers.

  “You are most welcome again, Lord Eskdale.”

  Magnus smiled to himself – the conduit of information was still flowing from Hong Kong to Hanshan.

  “I am pleased indeed to be able to return, sir. You must have heard that my foolish brother is no more and that I have moved up in the world – in terms of title.”

  “I was informed of the sad event, and of its fortunate outcome for you, and I hope, for me, my lord. I am always glad to discover that a friend has risen in the world. One might hope, perhaps, that you will make a marriage suitable to your station.”

  Mr Ping interpreted, as always without expression. Magnus grinned, inwardly – there was also a flow of news and gossip from Shanghai.

  “I have every hope of doing so, sir. There is, I am within reason sure, expectation of some announcement in Shanghai soon after I next make port there.”

  “My father wishes you joy, sir. He much hopes that you will father many sons.”

  Magnus laughed, said that he hoped he might, but that daughters to share their mother’s beauty must also be desired.

  “My father says that beauty is ephemeral, my lord, but that a son may achieve much that is concrete and will serve the family for many generations.”

  “As so often, I am amazed by your father’s wisdom, Mr Ping.”

  “My father asks whether you are to pay a prolonged visit to Hanshan, my lord.”

  “Two or three days is my intention, unless, perhaps, my Racoon may be of service to you, sir.”

  Mr Ping was pleased to say that there was no great emergency demanding his assistance but they were glad to welcome Racoon on a courtesy visit.

  Magnus ventured to correct the misconception; there was a little of business.

  “In fact, Mr Ping, Admiral Seymour sent me specifically to you because he has discovered that there are some guns surplus to requirement sat in the yard at Hong Kong. They are of the sort that may be mounted on a pivot and placed to cover a harbour or river mouth… Two of them, it transpires.”

  Mr Ping instantly informed his father of the joyous news.

  “The protection of our city against pirates is always a matter of importance, my lord. What particular guns are these, may I ask?”

  “Five inch breech loaders, sir. Not the quick firers but the earlier model. There is ammunition and to spare.”

  Mr Ping gave a quick translation and received a nod from his father.

  “My father would be very pleased to purchase such guns, my lord.”

  Magnus waved a hand, there could be no question of purchase.

  “Older guns that must otherwise go to scrap, sir. Admiral Seymour could also send a gunner from his ships to train your people in their proper use and care, sir. There can be no price between friends, as you must admit.”

  The Imperial Chinese Navy was soon to commence the replacement of some of the ships lost in the recent war with Japan. The
first to arrive, the only ones likely to come into service in the next decade, would be small destroyers. A pair of five inch guns, well-laid, would serve to keep them out of Hanshan, far outranging and outhitting the twelve pounders carried by destroyers.

  The guns would make Hanshan effectively independent, until a large land army could be mustered to her conquest. The chances of the Qing creating and keeping command of an effective army were close to nil.

  “My lord, your admiral’s kindness will be long remembered. Our gratitude is immense.”

  “Like myself, Admiral Seymour is a servant of the Queen-Empress, Mr Ping. Our aim must always be to do that which is best for her. Admiral Seymour believes that it is wise to support your father.”

  They exchanged bows, neither side saying more, both aware that they would remain the best of allies until the time came for them to be enemies. It might be a day, it could be twenty years, but at some point their interests would diverge. For the while, there was gain to both in friendship.

  Food arrived, and various forms of drink and then there was entertainment, dancing girls, all much to Magnus’ approval. He supposed that he must restrain such indulgence when he was married – but that was not yet!

  The crew took their leave, watch and watch, and the officers were invited to a formal dinner for the following evening, and all the while a pair of sentries remained at the brow with loaded rifles and two of the guns were fully manned, just in case the Chinese were untrustworthy. Magnus had no doubt that a company or two of soldiers with at least one of the field guns were alert and ready in the nearest barracks, just in case the English were perfidious.

  “All officers to attend the dinner, Mr Mason, including the Engineer. Mess undress; sidearms will be worn, loaded.”

  “Aye aye, sir. Is it necessarily wise to bring the Engineer along, sir? Mr Buchan is not the most civilised of men.”

  “He knows how to use a knife and fork, Mr Mason. He will benefit from the relaxation. He will ensure that his Chief Engine Room Artificer is on watch in his absence. Warn Mr Brownrigg not to drink too much – I do not want him falling asleep in the early part of the evening.”