“My lettuce has become limp, has it?” Watkiss said in a hiss. “Why am I to be plagued continually by my blasted ice-box? My cheese—my vegetables—every blasted ship I’ve ever commanded! A boat is to go inshore at once, Mr Beauchamp, go with it yourself, and demand ice from the Fleet Paymaster who can damn well carry it personally if he can find no one else for the task. I think you know Mr Halfhyde?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Good. He’s to command Gadfly and will take second of the line. I’ve been studying seniorities in the Navy List. He’s my senior Commanding Officer and thus will be second-in-command of my flotilla, Mr Beauchamp.”
Beauchamp’s face was a picture of hurt pride. “Sir, I am a senior lieutenant, while Mr Halfhyde is—”
“Yes, yes, yes, I know, I’m not blind, Mr Beauchamp, but you are unfitted for command and I won’t have you in that capacity. In any case, the appointment is an Admiralty one.”
“Sir—”
“Go away, Mr Beauchamp, and find ice.”
“But—”
“If you linger, Mr Beauchamp, I shall place you in arrest.”
Sliding the curtain dispiritedly back into place, the leader’s First Lieutenant departed. Watkiss gave a sigh and dabbed sweat from his face. Hong Kong in summer was deplorably hot, quite viciously so, and it smelled too. Too many dagoes with too many children. “I don’t know why I have continually to be plagued, Mr Halfhyde. Plagued with detail…command’s hard enough as it is, and Beauchamp’s not fit to put a woman on her back, let alone take over from me in an emergency. I hear your First Lieutenant in Daring’s joining you.” He lifted a hand and tapped the red leather-bound volume he had been reading on deck earlier; Halfhyde saw without surprise that it was Burke’s Peerage; on a shelf above Watkiss’ desk rested its sister volume, Burke’s Landed Gentry. “Lord Edward Cole…a good family, that goes without saying, of course. Military, not naval, which is a pity, but still. Father’s Field-Marshal the Earl of Frensham, don’t you know.” Had Captain Watkiss been standing, Halfhyde thought, he might well have bent the knee.
“I was aware of that, sir, but must stress that I am not overawed by birth. However, Mr Cole has proved himself to my satisfaction so I can forgive the rest.”
Captain Watkiss seemed to be about to boil. “Mr Cole? God damn it, he’s Lord Edward!”
“Not aboard my ship, sir,” Halfhyde said firmly.
“Your ship or not, Mr Halfhyde, he is to be properly addressed as Lord Edward, and that’s an order.”
“One, sir, that I shall not be obeying. Aboard my ship, he will continue to be Mr Cole for all duty purposes, and if you care to sail for the Yangtze with one of your commanding officers in arrest, then I think both the Commodore and the Admiralty will ask for a medical board to examine your sanity.” Halfhyde got to his feet, bending his lanky frame from the deckhead. “If there is nothing further, I propose to repair aboard my ship to make ready for sea.”
FULL BUNKERS had already been taken by all the gunboats and a signal from the Commodore-in-Charge had indicated that replenishments would be made available from the cruisers of Commodore Marriot-Lee’s China Squadron off Foochow and that these would be lightered off to the flotilla upon arrival. Sharp at four bells in the afternoon watch the executive signal came from the Senior Officer in Cockroach and formal permission to proceed was given by the Queen’s Harbour Master. With the White Ensigns drooping in the windless air, the flotilla weighed anchor and formed into line ahead for the northward passage to Shanghai and the Yangtze Kiang: Cockroach, Gadfly, Bee and Wasp. From his navigating bridge Halfhyde watched Captain Watkiss bouncing on his heels, importantly, his stomach out-thrust against the after guardrail as he stared astern at his junior ships, seeking faults. When the bouncing stopped, up came the telescope and upon its heels the signal of complaint: Bee was too far to starboard, and Gadfly was making too much smoke. The name of the engineer was to be signalled by flag hoist. Captain Watkiss was on form; and Halfhyde ground his teeth at his ill fortune in being once again projected into a special situation with his tiresome Senior Officer. It seemed as though the Admiralty was unable to get the curious partnership out of its mind; success, at any rate of a sort, had attended their previous joint performances in Russian waters, in Spain, and in South America, and now they were neatly labelled though in this current case their proximity had been fortuitous. Halfhyde wondered how Captain Watkiss would bounce to victory this time; his knack of considering himself ever victorious was an enviable one…In the meantime the Chinese were far from being fools, and already the word could be going through to Chungking that the foreign devils—that was how the “dagoes” would be thinking of Captain Watkiss—were sending towards Shanghai what might be a relief force. If ever they got there…Chungking lay 1,325 miles, no less, up river from the East China Sea, and although it was undoubtedly accessible by steamer, and the Yangtze had more than enough actual depth of water to take the shallow-draft gunboats built expressly for river service, no naval vessel had yet, to Halfhyde’s knowledge, made the passage of the rapids in the Ichang gorges.
Chapter 2
THE COMMODORE commanding the China Squadron was lying with his heavy cruisers in the Pagoda anchorage twelve miles below Foochow on the Min Kiang; and as Captain Watkiss brought his flotilla within signal range of the flagship a little more than two days’ steaming out of Hong Kong, a message came from the Commodore ordering him to report aboard whilst his gunboats took bunkers. The leader’s signal to the flotilla, fluttering from Watkiss’ halliards, bringing the gunboats to anchor, was accompanied by a semaphore message to Halfhyde, who, as second-in-command, was to join his Senior Officer aboard the first-class cruiser Undaunted. As soon as Gadfly had got her cable, Halfhyde was pulled across the blue water towards the flagship, passing the coal lighters on the way. The arrival of Captain Watkiss took place within two minutes of his own. Watkiss came importantly up the ladder with his telescope beneath his arm and Mr Beauchamp behind him. Salutes were exchanged as the shrill notes of the boatswain’s calls died away; and then Commodore Marriot-Lee led the way below to his quarters. Gin was poured, and his servant was dismissed. Marriot-Lee got down to business immediately thereafter. Word, he said, had reached him from Chungking that all the foreign consulates except the British had been entered and sacked and that the British Consulate itself was under siege by the mob. The building was defended by the weapons of those who had taken refuge and of the staff, and, although so far no actual attack had come, such was to be expected at any moment.
“Your task will be a hard one, Watkiss.”
Watkiss screwed his monocle into his eye. “No doubt. I am equal to it, however.”
“Of course. But you’ll stand in need of every man you can muster to fight through to the Consulate, and you’ll not be able to leave your ships untended. Therefore I propose to detach my marines to your assistance—fifty men, with a lieutenant and three NCOS, who shall be split up between the ships of your flotilla.”
Watkiss looked flattered; the presence of marines would add much to his importance, curious though they might be aboard river gunboats with their khaki-drill foreign service tunics and pipe-clayed belts. He said, “I am most grateful, sir. Yes, Mr Beauchamp, what is it, pray?”
“Accommodation, sir,” Beauchamp said. “We are pressed for space as it is, and—”
“Thank you, Mr Beauchamp, space will be found.”
“But—”
“I said space will be found and there is no more to be said.” Rudely, Watkiss turned his back upon his First Lieutenant and addressed Marriot-Lee. “It is my understanding, sir, that I come under your orders rather than those of the Commodore-in-Charge at Hong Kong. Am I to have carte blanche whilst detached from your immediate vicinity?”
“Not exactly,” Marriot-Lee said, frowning. He prowled the day-cabin, large shoulders hunched and hands clasped behind his broad back. “Whilst the overriding consideration is and must be the relief of the Consulate and the eva
cuation of Europeans—”
“Europeans, sir? Are they not all British subjects?”
“No, they’re not. There are some French and Americans with them.”
“Americans?” Captain Watkiss seemed taken aback. “What the devil are Americans doing there, sir, may I ask?”
“Advancing their country’s interest, as we do ours. But to return to my point: there are diplomatic considerations also to be taken into account, and I must stress their importance. China is in a state of transition and there are many conflicting interests at work in Peking and throughout the land—it’s a long and involved story and indeed few people in the West understand the Chinese and their aspirations, but for our present purposes it’s possible to summarize very briefly, Watkiss: cables from Whitehall, passed to me by despatch vessels out of Shanghai, indicate the concern of Her Majesty’s government that friendly relations should be maintained with the Empress-Dowager and that a war should not be provoked by hasty action.”
“Hasty action, sir?”
Marriot-Lee spread his hands and sighed. “Whitehall is Whitehall, Watkiss. Any action can be considered hasty in retrospect if matters go awry—I think you understand well enough. Care and circumspection will be needed, and a regard for ‘face’ will be most important. Be assured you will have my full moral support so long as matters have been handled correctly.”
“And your physical support, sir?”
Marriot-Lee nodded. “So far as that is possible. Obviously I can’t take my squadron into the Yangtze, but upon your return to Shanghai you will find me lying off the river mouth to afford full protection—and if necessary I shall put landing-parties ashore for your support. You should be able to reach Chungking in eight days from the time you weigh from here, Captain, and upon the assumption that your negotiations for the relief of the Consulate take two or three days, I shall expect your return to Shanghai in, let us say, eighteen days from now.”
“I SHALL be obliged if you’ll accompany me to Cockroach, Mr Halfhyde.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“I propose holding a conference of all commanding officers,” Watkiss went on as he stepped into his boat behind Halfhyde. The bowman and sternsheetsman bore off the Undaunted’s great steel side with boathooks and the boat was headed towards Cockroach, with Halfhyde’s boat following astern. Watkiss was in a fractious mood, muttering about blasted Americans and why they couldn’t take refuge in their own consulate or legation or whatever.
“According to the Commodore, it’s been sacked,” Halfhyde pointed out.
“Oh, don’t argue, Mr Halfhyde,” Watkiss said with forbearance. He added, “I don’t like Americans.”
“No, sir?”
“No,” Captain Watkiss stated flatly. “Dreadful people, as bad as Australians. Same thing really—colonists. They write to one another as Mister, not Esquire, not that any of them are gentlemen I admit. That’s just one thing.” He paused. “Did you notice the Commodore’s reference to negotiations, Mr Halfhyde?”
“I did, sir.”
“If I’m to negotiate, why send marines? I’m pleased enough to have them, of course, I don’t deny it. But marines don’t negotiate!”
“Negotiations are best conducted from a position of strength, sir.”
“Yes, yes, I take your point,” Watkiss said sagely. He lapsed into silence, and stared balefully back at the Undaunted and Marriot-Lee’s broad pennant—broader, as a commodore, than his own thin one. Halfhyde, who knew Captain Watkiss like the back of his own hand, could follow his thoughts with ease: possibly this forthcoming task, if successfully carried out, would lead to promotion and honours. But as ever there were the snags, both obvious and hidden. The obvious ones—navigation, possible land fighting, and the physical evacuation of the besieged persons—were on the whole less lethal than the hidden ones. Post Captains of Her Majesty’s Fleet bore immense responsibilities and because of this held their heads ever ready for the chopping block, scapegoats to a man, scapegoats for the wretched politicians who never had to make instant decisions for life or death like Post Captains. One mistake and the buggers had you by the short hairs, and this time the Americans, with their history of rebellion against the crown, were seemingly involved, which made it far worse…and, as ever, the orders were vague enough to cover Whitehall whilst at the same time leaving the unfortunate sailorman as exposed as a whore’s charms.
Captain Watkiss’ boat came alongside Cockroach and to the wail of the piping party the Senior Officer stepped across to the quarterdeck of his low-freeboard command, wishing he had the dignity of a ladder to climb. Signals were sent to Bee and Wasp, and the commanding officers reported aboard the leader. The conference, which was really a monologue, was held in the small wardroom, and Captain Watkiss announced his detailed orders for the passage of the Yangtze. Charts and land maps were flourished, and the Admiralty Sailing Directions for the area were studied closely. The Yangtze was not a pleasant prospect and they would be much open to attack should the dagoes prove hostile. Mr Beauchamp at this point manifested a wish to make a point, and Watkiss sighed.
“Yes, what is it now, Mr Beauchamp?”
“If the—the Chinese prove hostile, sir, what about the Commodore’s warning? Do we return fire with fire, sir?”
“I shall issue my orders on that point when it arises, Mr Beauchamp,” Watkiss said, letting his monocle drop to the end of its black silk toggle and ride his stomach. “Now, the question of provisions. The Commodore is sending across fresh meat and vegetables with his marines, and woe betide you, Mr Beauchamp, if my icebox is without ice again. I propose to delay off Shanghai only long enough to take a pilot, but there will be time for any deficiencies to be made good whilst we’re hove to, so long as you smack it about, Mr Beauchamp, and don’t dilly dally. As to the marines, who will be sent across at any time now, I wish them to remain out of sight whilst off Shanghai and all the way through the Yangtze. They must keep strictly to the alleyways—their effect will be the greater when they march through the mob in Chungking, if they are not seen before and reported ahead. Yes, Mr Halfhyde?”
“The alleyways will be close and uncomfortable, sir—”
“Oh, balls and bang me arse, Mr Halfhyde, I don’t give a fish’s tit for discomfort, they’re men, are they not, not mice? They can put up with it, surely.” Captain Watkiss stood up and hitched at his over-long shorts. He looked like a tub in a tablecloth. The conference was over and the commanding officers returned aboard their vessels. As soon as the Royal Marine Light Infantry detachment with the meat and vegetables had arrived from the flagship and had been distributed throughout the flotilla, Captain Watkiss hoisted his sailing signal and they continued north for the Yangtze. Another two and a half days saw them off Woosung, where delay set in: Halfhyde, watching from his navigating bridge, saw an exchange taking place between Captain Watkiss and some men in a sampan, with Captain Watkiss dancing up and down in apparent anger. Soon after this came the signal to anchor and the Senior Officer was seen proceeding inshore in his own boat. After two hours he returned and another signal went to each of the gunboats: YOU ARE TO REPAIR ABOARD IMMEDIATELY.
Captain Watkiss, as his commanding officers mustered, was almost incoherent. He brandished a fist towards the shore, and the tail of a tattooed serpent emerged in matt colours from his cuff.
“The buggers won’t provide a pilot. I met with a flat refusal—damned impertinence! A lot of grinning dagoes…they seemed to be enjoying it. A mealy-mouthed lot, can’t stand ’em. Well, they’re not going to beat the British Empire, damned if they are.” Watkiss puffed his chest out. “I shall pilot the flotilla through myself and balls to them.”
THEY PROCEEDED in line ahead through the estuary of the Yangtze, moving slowly past Woosung. Since the altercation with the Chinese pilotage, certain changes had been made in the command structure of the flotilla; they had been made, in one respect, with reluctance and bad temper: Mr Beauchamp had been despatched, to his immense pleasure, and never
mind his Captain’s earlier expressed opinion as to his capabilities, to take command of Gadfly. The sole reason for this was that Halfhyde could be released to accompany Captain Watkiss upon the bridge of Cockroach. Captain Watkiss, aware of Halfhyde’s previous service in the waters off China, had decided to make close and personal use of his expertise.
“My river expertise is non-existent, sir,” Halfhyde had stated.
“Never mind that.”
“But the open sea is a very different matter—”
“Yes, yes, yes, I’m not a fool, Mr Halfhyde, but you know China—that’s important.”
“Not in river navigation, sir.”
Watkiss stamped his foot. “Kindly don’t damn well argue, Mr Halfhyde, but transfer your gear and your command at once.” Halfhyde had obeyed, able to read between the lines well enough. The transfer made, it turned out to be Halfhyde’s task to take the flotilla through into the narrows of the Yangtze; Captain Watkiss, and never mind his indicated intention to act as pilot, uttered no word at all as the ships nosed in to head upstream for Nanking and beyond. At least, not until they had left the estuary, when a sampan was seen to be crossing their course from the direction of Tsingkiang.
“Take care not to run the damn thing down, Mr Halfhyde. It has the right of way.”
“Be assured I shall come round to starboard if I see fit, sir, but at present I do not.”
“On your head be it, then, Mr Halfhyde.” Watkiss paused, and brought up his telescope. “They’re trying to attract attention, I fancy. There is a passenger, and an arm is waving. Possibly it’s a pilot after all—the buggers may have seen sense! Reduce speed, Mr Halfhyde, if you please, and we shall parley.”
Halfhyde passed the orders down and the way came off Cockroach. They drifted; the sampan came alongside and Watkiss called down: “Are you a pilot? Oh, blast these people who can’t speak English.” He lifted his voice and essayed pidgin: “Makee go-go up river?” A deplorable coolie in the sampan nodded vigorously, and grinned. Watkiss mopped at his face with a large handkerchief. “Good—thank God! Come aboard…get him aboard, Mr Halfhyde, and turn the hoses on that blasted sampan if it doesn’t stand away afterwards.”
Halfhyde on the Yangtze Page 2
