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

by Andrew Wareham

  “He would probably have given it to a junior officer and sat back in the cabin of his flagship, sir.”

  It was not the right answer, but Admiral Seymour was not entirely surprised. He had no doubt that the somewhat wild young gentleman would do the job, however.

  “Comes from a good family, after all.”

  Chapter Six

  The Earl’s Other Son Series

  Shanghai Dreams

  “Mr Mason, how do we stand for coal?”

  “Probably six thousand miles at best economical speed of ten knots, sir. I could get an exact figure from Mr Buchan?”

  “Do so. We are to patrol around Formosa, showing sail. The engine will be at low revolutions but ready to go to full ahead at any moment, assuming that is possible. Send young Brownrigg to me, if you please, while you confer with Mr Buchan.”

  Brownrigg arrived at the run, nervous still since the failure of his gunnery practice, but far more mature in his general attitude.

  “Sir?”

  The young man achieved a very precise salute.

  “Disguise, Mr Brownrigg. The guns are to be hidden away so as to deceive pirates. All of them to be covered in some way yet available to action inside ten seconds. We may expect, when and if the time comes, to be boarded by a swarm of small boats as well as by a junk or lorcha. Possibly as many as three of the larger sorts and literally dozens of the smaller. We are to be an innocent merchantman until the very last moment, Mr Brownrigg.”

  “Not easy, sir, to disguise six inch gun turrets, or three pounders for that matter, with their long barrels… Must look like deck cargo, somehow. As for the Maxims, sir, I really don’t know, sitting high and exposed as they do.”

  “The Maxims are the easiest task, Mr Brownrigg. The conning tower is a structure not to be found on any merchantman. Once that is spotted they will know what we are and the presence of the guns won’t matter. Shroud them in cotton bedsheets, I would suggest.”

  “Yes, sir. I must think about the guns… Can I come back to you later, sir?”

  “Do, Mr Brownrigg.”

  Not one ‘jolly’ nor yet a ‘spiffing’, Magnus noted, with approval. The schoolboy had finally submerged.

  Mason returned to report twenty-two days steaming in hand, and that leaving a reserve, no doubt.

  “No need to coal ship before we go out on patrol, Mr Mason. Bend on fore and aft sails only; topsail to the main and the largest sails fore and mizzen will carry. Furled. Be ready to pretend to use them. Nominate sail-handling parties.”

  Fore and aft sails needed no topmen and were raised by steam winches. The square sails were greater in area and offered more speed but demanded seamen who would be needed for the guns.

  Mason did not approve but could not argue.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Small arms party to be nominated, Mr Mason. Rifles issued and sixty rounds to each man. Officers to carry loaded sidearms at all times.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  “Muster the men as for divisions at six bells. I will speak to them. They should know what we are doing. Sailing at hightide in the forenoon.”

  The men listened almost light-heartedly as they were told that Racoon was to hunt down as many as a thousand pirates. A little bit more than five to one seemed reasonable odds, or so they implied.

  “We shall seek out the pirate ships first, and then go hunting for their harbour, probably in Formosa but possibly in the Philippines. We shall destroy their base and all who are in it, apart from any prisoners they are holding.”

  That seemed like an excellent idea too.

  “Shoot straight and shoot first and we shall win. We always win. That’s the way we do things.”

  They nodded gravely – the Chinese were lesser beings, apart from their women who were human enough.

  “Be careful when taking prisoners – watch them for knives and be sure their hands are tied. You cannot trust their word of surrender.”

  The men knew that – it was a matter of faith that the Chinese could not be trusted to act honourably. They interpreted Magnus’ words to mean no quarter – a dead man could not stab you in the back, they knew.

  “We are to disguise ourselves as a merchantman, in order to bring the pirates in.”

  That was not deceit – it was merely being very clever and fooling Johnny Foreigner, which was always legitimate.

  Mr Brownrigg decided that tarpaulins, with ropes sewn on so that they could be hauled clear with a single swift heave from the gun crew, would suffice for camouflage for the guns.

  “Look like deck cargo, sir. With a bit of luck. If it’s only for a few minutes, the Chinks won’t have time to work out what’s what, sir. Hopefully.”

  Magnus was dubious but accepted it was the best that could be done.

  “Dirty tarpaulins, well used, Mr Brownrigg. Not new and spotless from the stores. They would show up like a silver sixpence on a sweep’s arse was they to be brand new.”

  Mr Brownrigg thought that was a rather vulgar expression. He tittered.

  ‘Not perhaps as grown up as I had hoped’, Magnus reflected.

  They sailed, the crew all pottering on deck, improving the disguise of the guns, greasing and cleaning the six inch and three pounders and setting the ready use lockers into perfect order. A party sat with the belts to the Maxims, checking each round as clean and exact – no misshapes that might cause a jam. The riflemen cleaned their Lee-Metfords and examined the rounds in their pouches. The grindstone was brought on deck, just as in Napoleonic days, and the issue cutlasses were sharpened.

  “Have we no bayonets, Mr Brownrigg?”

  “We have, sir, but the men don’t like ‘em. Much prefer the cutlass, sir. They say that bayonets are for soldiers who know no better, sir.”

  “Issue the bayonets whatever they say, Mr Brownrigg. They must put their rifles down to use a cutlass, and that don’t make sense. Cutlasses to the gunners and to any man carrying a revolver.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  The First Lieutenant appeared.

  “Officers to wear swords, sir?”

  “Yes. Get them across the grindstone.”

  “Better not, sir. The swords are too good for a rough grindstone, sir, cost far too much! Better use a whetstone, sir. I’ll have a party of older men who know how to sit down with oilstones and rags, sir, bring them up to razor edges. Wilkinsons made mine, sir; fifty pounds my father paid.”

  Magnus wondered whether his own ceremonial blade, also by Wilkinson, had ever been sharpened. He doubted it – the sword had never been displayed in anger.

  “Carter!”

  “Sir?”

  “Pick up a cutlass for me, will you. Get a sharp on it.”

  “Yes, sir. Don’t want to spoil the Number One sword with blood and that, sir. Much too good for sticking into Chinese, sir.”

  “Exactly, Carter.”

  “Revolver is oiled up, sir. I’ll put the holster on the belt when we get close to them pirates, sir. Heavy, sir, makes the belt sag, spoils the set of the trouser, sir. Don’t want that hanging about for too long.”

  Magnus thought of suggesting that tailoring was not of vital importance when facing pirates – but there was little point, he knew. Carter had his own set of priorities, important in his little world, if in no other.

  The night before entering the waters around Formosa Magnus brought all of the officers, including Mr Buchan, to the surprise of some there, together in the wardroom.

  “I must beg your pardon for pre-empting your private accommodation to my use, gentlemen, but there is nowhere else for us all to sit together, other than on deck.”

  They laughed politely.

  “We must do our utmost to destroy these pirates, gentlemen. Remain in our disguise until the last possible moment and then extirpate them, wipe them out utterly and entirely. It occurs to me that it may be necessary to ram some or all of the junks, or lorchas. I shall call for full steam if that be necessary, Mr Buchan.”

&nb
sp; “I cannot deliver at the turn of a wheel, sir. It will require some minutes to reach full speed ahead, sir, depending on the rate at which we are initially travelling. The greater the notice you can give me, the better.”

  Engineers were a nuisance, Magnus thought – horribly practical when what was wanted was a cry of ‘yoicks, tally-ho’.

  “Noted, Mr Buchan. Do all you can. I shall keep you informed of all that is happening on deck, out of your sight. I shall try to give you warning to hang on tight if we are to ram.”

  “The stokers will appreciate that, sir. They would not wish to be thrown forward into the firebox.”

  Magnus winced, imagining all that might entail, the agonising and fatal burns that could easily ensue when faces came into contact with white-hot coals.

  “The fixed torpedo tube, Mr Mason – will it take damage if we ram?”

  “Probably, sir, but trampling a wooden ship under our forefoot should not do us too much damage. We do not have a ram as such, sir, but the bow is reinforced in expectation of collision in close action. I am more concerned for the bowsprit, sir.”

  “Damned throwback to Nelson! We should not have such a thing on a steamship, Mr Mason. If we are to make a show of sail then we cannot break it down in anticipation… Keep an eye on it, that is all I can say. Your damage control party must be ready to act – but they always are, in any case, you have them very well trained.”

  Mason made no comment; damage control was so much a routine part of the first lieutenant’s job that it was no more than a commonplace necessity.

  “I say, sir, what do we do by way of rescue of drowning men cast into the sea?”

  “Ours? We make all possible effort and take all risks to save our own people, Mr Brownrigg. Theirs? After the action is over and the ship has been secured, then we shall do what is necessary from a humanitarian viewpoint.”

  Brownrigg showed blank – he did not understand. He winced as Lieutenant Harborough, who comprehended fully that the pirates were to be left to drown, kicked his shin under the table.

  “Rifles – muster the small-arms party downwind if at all possible. The Lee-Metford still uses black powder, as you know, and that produces smoke that can blind the guns.”

  Mr Brownrigg thought it was rather clever to have considered that – it would not have occurred to him.

  “Saw it on exercises on the Mediterranean station, Mr Brownrigg, five years ago. I was Flags to Vice-Admiral Parker, watching small-arms practice – for no more than two minutes. Black powder smoke came down the wind and we saw nothing after that. Admiral Parker was, as they say, not amused.”

  Parker had a reputation for bad temper; they could imagine the scene.

  “What do we do about the onshore pirates, sir?”

  “Find them, Mr Harborough, then kill them and wipe out their harbours.”

  That seemed rather uncompromising.

  “Should not we beg their surrender, sir?”

  “What do we do with them if they hold their hands up, Mr Harborough?”

  “Take them aboard as prisoners, sir.”

  That seemed really rather obvious to the complacent lieutenant.

  “Hostis humani generis, I believe the legal term to be. ‘Enemies of the human race’, Mr Harborough. What must we do with such, sir?”

  Lieutenant Harborough gulped, the situation suddenly clear.

  “Ah… we must hang them, sir… we have no choice… Pirates taken in the commission of their crime must be put to the yardarm, sir. That is Admiralty Law, sir.”

  “Just so, Mr Harborough. It is, indeed, said to be International Law, to the extent that such may be said to exist, which, we are told, is doubtful. There is no choice in any case. Where we cannot conveniently take pirates to a court, which we cannot, then any that we rescue from drowning, we must hang. We have no discretion in the matter. It’s the hemp neck-tie for such gentlemen; like it or lump it – they must swing!”

  Mr Mason tried to divert attention from Harborough’s blunder.

  “I believe, sir, that we have no power to ask their surrender when we have no intention of sparing their lives. It would be dishonourable of us to promise them clemency then break our word. We must fight until every man jack of them is dead.”

  “Exactly so, Mr Mason. Pirates have no claim on our mercy.”

  It had always been so, they accepted, and tradition was all to the Navy, and to the Law.

  “We shall land men to destroy their harbours, sir?”

  “Probably not on Formosa, Mr Brownrigg. Certainly not in the Philippines; there are a number of native tribes, so I am told, who are in permanent uprising against the Spanish and have no love at all for any other sort of foreigner. Stand off and batter, sir.”

  The assembled officers were inclined to agree with that prescription – landing parties were all very well when dealing with civilised folk but they could be risky affairs when against primitives.

  “What about prize money, sir? There might be a pirate’s hoard in an onshore fortress.”

  “There might indeed, Mr Brownrigg. You have my personal permission to take a boat and hare off after it.”

  Mr Brownrigg thought not on more mature consideration.

  “I shall give the order to secure the messdecks, sir. We do not want loose gear rattling around in case of a ramming.” Mr Mason seemed quite proud of his initiative, thinking for oneself not being encouraged in any officer short of captain’s rank.

  “Housekeeping is the First Lieutenant’s responsibility, Mr Mason, and I shall not pre-empt you.”

  Mason fell silent, considering the exact meaning of his captain’s response. He decided on the course of safety.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  No sailor could go far wrong who said ‘aye aye’ to his captain.

  “Do we know just who these pirates are, sir?”

  Magnus had conducted a brief interview with Captain Hawkins and did know, and rather wished he did not. He was under orders, which he intended to carry out, and was unwilling to explain too much to his officers.

  “Probably Chinese, in fact. You will know that Formosa is under Japanese government since their successful war of 1895. The whole island is claimed by Japan and is rapidly coming under their control, but there is still guerrilla resistance on land and remnants of the Chinese navy seem to have turned pirate. Those are the people we are to extirpate, they having, we understand, taken ships that were British, or under our protection at least whatever their actual nationality.”

  That seemed entirely reasonable to the officers – defeated armies and navies often turned brigand. It was a historical fact. There was no reason to be concerned.

  Magnus agreed with them, though aware that officially the British government disapproved of Japanese expansionism but was very willing to sell warships to Japan and lend naval officers as ‘observers’. He suspected that Racoon had been lent as well, unofficially, to assist in tidying up a part of the south Formosan coast that was proving intractable.

  Captain Hawkins had implied as much but had made it abundantly clear that as far as he and officialdom was concerned, there was a common or garden pirate problem such as the Navy so often dealt with. There were to be no political repercussions - no trials to reach newspapers, no survivors at all to open their mouths. No comments were to be made suggesting that the Chinese Navy could possibly have been involved. When Magnus had asked if the 'pirates' might be sailing warships, he had been assured they would be in junks, lorchas at most, and armed just possibly with the odd brass cannon.

  He did not necessarily believe Captain Hawkins' bland assurances, but discipline demanded that he should pass them to his officers.

  “To recapitulate, gentlemen, we hold our disguise till the very last moment and then open fire with all guns and blast them out of the water, ramming if necessary. There will be boarders coming at us, and they must be dealt with. Sharp swords and cutlasses and revolver work, gentlemen!”

  They applauded, banging on the ta
ble in approbation – they would show any number of Chinks just what the Navy was made of.

  Seeing their mood Magnus signalled to the stewards, waited for each man to have a full glass of his favourite tipple in front of him.

  “To victory, gentlemen! Remember Nelson!”

  “Nelson!”

  They drank up and set to their duty, full of the spirit of the old wooden walls of England. Magnus returned to his own cabin.

  “Bloody hopeless, Carter! Not one of them who actually believes in steam and accurate gunnery and torpedoes and machine guns! Rum and black powder and broadsides at pistol shot – that’s their Navy!”

  “Yes, sir. Shocking, sir. Still, sir, we always win, don’t we, sir.”

  “Yes. I wonder how?”

  “Formosa is some fifty miles distant, sir.”

  “Thank’ee, Lieutenant Mornington. Some ninety minutes to sunset?”

  “Yes, sir. It will actually be dark a little before that, sir. Quite heavy cloud in the west, sir.”

  “Good. Engine room, revolutions for four knots. Mr Mason, spread the canvas as previously discussed.”

  Mason gave his orders, enthusiastically, calling to the helmsman to alter course just sufficiently to seem correct for the wind.

  “We shall have to make two tacks to hold this mean course, sir.”

  “Do so, Mr Mason. We must give the appearance of being under sail alone. Fly the Japanese flag.”

  “What, sir?”

  “The rising bloody sun, Mr Mason! Formosa is under Japanese control, almost, and their ships will be the normal for these waters. We must not look out of place.”

  “But, sir – if the pirates are Chinese navy then they might think we were their enemy, sir. If they attack then, it is not piracy.”

  “Mr Mason, if any bunch of Chinks attack us at sea, then they are bloody pirates, sir!”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My mistake, sir.”

  “I am glad you realise that, Mr Mason.”

  Magnus scowled and retreated into silence; the fact that Mason was right did not make things any better.