The manoeuvre was duly completed. A portmanteau was hoisted aboard and the sampan passenger was brought to the Captain’s presence. Watkiss waved ahead pompously. “Makee go-go. Makee go-go plenty safe or I’ll have your guts for garters, damned if I won’t. And take that grin off your face.”
The grin stayed, even widened. The head-dress, a Chinese-style straw hat like a shallow tent, was removed and at once the face looked quite different. The man said, “Sorry, Captain, but it’s case of mistaken identity, I guess. I’m no pilot so I can’t help, but I’d like passage up to Chungking—”
“Are you an American and not a Chinese, my dear sir?”
“Sure thing. From the—”
“Mr Halfhyde, have this person removed back to his sampan.” Captain Watkiss turned his back with dignity and moved to the opposite wing of his bridge, but the nasal voice followed to torment him.
“From the United States Legation in Peking, Captain, though not directly. I have full authority to board your craft in anticipation of a lift up river, and this authority I have in writing from the United States Legation, countersigned by Rear Admiral Hackenticker of the United States Navy—”
Captain Watkiss turned with a face like thunder. “Whose edict does not run aboard Her Majesty’s ships of war, Mr whoever you are—”
“Bloementhal, Captain. I’m a trade attaché at—”
“I’ll not have grocers aboard my ship.”
“I’m no grocer any more’n I’m a pilot, I guess. And my authority’s signed by one of your British diplomats as well. Take a look.” Mr Bloementhal reached beneath his Chinese coolie dress and delved around in a webbing belt attached to his stomach. He brought out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Captain Watkiss. The document bore the embossed heading of the United States, an eagle with spread wings Watkiss fancied it to be, together with the official rubber stamps of both the American and the British Legations and various signatures, one of which was that of one Cecil de Champneys Harcourt-Fotheringay to which was added KCB. It appeared well authenticated, and its gist was that Mr Clay Bloementhal was required to make contact with one of the persons currently taking refuge in the British Consulate at Chungking, no reason for this being stated.
“I suppose,” Captain Watkiss said ungraciously, “I have no option but to give you passage.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Where is Rear Admiral Hackenticker?”
“In Peking,” Bloementhal said.
“Thank God. Mr Halfhyde, watch your course, I have no wish to ground in the entrance to the Yangtze.” Captain Watkiss bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, bad temperedly. “What a nuisance Americans always are,” he said, and turned away again. Cockroach moved on along the river, with the wider waters of the estuary dropping behind, taking the unfamiliar passage at slow speed. Behind came Gadfly, with Mr Beauchamp glorying in command, however temporary his unexpected elevation might prove. If he could handle it successfully he might yet achieve a permanent ship of his own. And he wished Halfhyde all the luck in the world in his close proximity to Captain Watkiss, whom might the gods destroy.
CAPTAIN WATKISS had been down to his cabin and had returned looking portentous as the day began emerging into night. “He’s in Burke’s Landed Gentry,” he announced to Halfhyde.
“Mr Bloementhal, sir?”
“Of course not!” Watkiss snapped. “Sir Cecil Harcourt-Fotheringay.”
“Ah.”
“Whoever heard,” Watkiss muttered disparagingly, “of an American in Burke’s? The point is this, Mr Halfhyde: I don’t trust Bloementhal, even though Sir Cecil appears genuine. I’ve never heard of Rear Admiral what’s-his-name and Bloementhal doesn’t look like a diplomat.”
“Not even a trade attaché, sir?”
Watkiss lifted his chin and scratched, in the fading light, beneath it. “Well, of course, there’s that, I agree. Trade’s trade. No doubt the less well-connected men are seconded to deal with that sort of thing.”
Halfhyde bent to the binnacle and took a cross-bearing of looming leading marks. He straightened after passing a helm order to the quartermaster. “May I ask why you don’t trust him, sir?”
“Not American enough,” Watkiss answered promptly. “Not particularly nasal for one thing. A little, but not enough.”
“They aren’t all nasal.”
“Yes, they are.”
“I’m afraid I must disagree, sir.”
“Kindly don’t be impertinent, Mr Halfhyde, I detest impertinence and argument, simply detest it. Americans are nasal. And twang, twang too, or an abominable drawl, depending upon which part of America they come from. Bloementhal’s neither. Further, he drinks coffee not carffee, and I don’t like it.”
“Yale or Harvard, sir, tend to reduce the extremes.”
Watkiss shifted irritably. “Oh, balls, Mr Halfhyde, once a Yank always a Yank, and I should know, I served once upon the America and West Indies station and encountered a number of Americans. They were unmistakable.”
“Do you imagine he’s a Chinese in disguise, sir?”
“No. I’d not go so far as that. But he’s to be watched, Mr Halfhyde, watched like a hawk when we reach Chungking. He may be a renegade Englishman in the pay of the American Legation, do you not see—and may attempt to make capital out of the unfortunate British position in Chungking.”
Halfhyde raised his eyebrows. “In what way, sir?”
“I have no idea, how could I have? Time will tell.”
“The Americans are perfectly friendly, sir, and well disposed towards us.”
“Oh, nonsense, Mr Halfhyde, you are not very well versed in the ways of diplomacy, I fear.” The Captain raised his nostrils and sniffed. “What an appalling smell, quite poisonous. What is it?”
“Rotting vegetation and excreta, I imagine, sir. We’re well within the confines of the biggest public convenience in China, otherwise known as the Yangtze Kiang, and the Chinese—”
“What filthy people. Thank God we’re British, Mr Halfhyde, and that He saw fit to make us so. I—” Watkiss broke off sharply: all hell seemed to have erupted ahead of them as the river narrowed still further. From both banks came explosions, noisy and fiery in the darkness, and the acrid smell of gunpowder drifted down on the light wind from the west. “Bandits, Mr Halfhyde, dago bandits firing upon us!”
“I think not—”
“Sound for action, Mr Halfhyde, at once.”
“Sir—”
“Kindly obey my order, blast you, or I shall place you in arrest.”
Halfhyde raised his voice and shouted back angrily, “I shall not sound for action, sir, since it is not necessary. The Chinese are merely chasing away devils by the use of fire-crackers.”
“Oh. Why?”
“Possibly there’s a religious festival in progress.”
“How damn silly,” Watkiss said. He thrust his stomach against the forward guardrail of the bridge and glared out at the childish nonsense. Such primitive people. Immediately astern, the acting Captain of Gadfly was in a quandary: the sounds from the shore were clearly warlike, and the Senior Officer had expressly warned his commanding officers of bandit activity likely to manifest itself. Beauchamp fingered his chin uncertainly. Captain Watkiss did not appear to have gone to action stations, but he, Beauchamp, was in command of his own ship and was duty bound to take prudent action as seemed fitting; and he sought his First Lieutenant’s advice.
“Firing, Lord Edward. I think we should be prepared.”
“Jolly good idea, sir.”
“You agree, then?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Pipe action stations, if you please, Lord Edward.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Within seconds the boatswain’s mates were shrilling throughout the gunboat and the men of the Royal Marine Light Infantry were trundling out from the close confines of the alleyways, glad enough of some fresh night air and never mind the stench. The three-pounder quick-firing guns were trained this way and
that; and then Cockroach’s reaction was heard in a stentorian bellow from Captain Watkiss. A searchlight outlined the wilting figure of Gadfly’s captain on his bridge. Mr Beauchamp was a blasted idiot, any fool could tell that the Chinese were scaring devils and the moment the flotilla reached Chungking Mr Beauchamp would be placed in arrest for exposing his marines to the enemy.
Chapter 3
NANKING—NOISY and smelly, its waterway crammed with all manner of craft—was passed; not without difficulty as vessels bearing whole families complete with livestock barged across Captain Watkiss’ course. Throughout the flotilla, on the Senior Officer’s signalled order, the hoses were manned to keep dirt and disease away.
Days later, Hankow came up and was left astern to fester like Nanking. On into the Central China plain…cottages were seen, thatched, filthy and semi-derelict yet sheltering inordinately large families. Grandfathers, sitting cross-legged and phlegmatic on the bare earth, surrounded by swarms of children, stared from wizened yellow faces as the strange vessels passed by.
“Nothing else to do, Mr Halfhyde, but fornicate.”
“Some people are born lucky, sir.”
Watkiss sniffed. He paced his small bridge, two bouncing steps one way, two the other. Time passed. One more day and there loomed ahead, past Ichang, the first of the three narrow gorges through which the flotilla must pass: the Hsiling Gorge, deep between gigantic bluffs with enormous mountains reaching to the skies. Along the terraced banks, caves could be seen, inhabited according to Captain Watkiss by God knew what desperate bandits.
“Have a care now, Mr Halfhyde, the waters are narrow and the river fast. As the level of the bed alters and we take the rapids, you will find a need for more speed from the engine if we are not to make sternway. There is a man relieving himself at the water’s edge. How filthy.” Captain Watkiss turned, hearing a step on the ladder: Mr Clay Bloementhal, in a sharkskin suit of gleaming white. For the last day or so the American diplomat had been busy with bottles of whisky, but he now appeared recovered. He rubbed his hands briskly and gave a wide and friendly smile as the Cockroach came below the high sides to enter a world of gloom and rushing water, a world enclosed by rock tinged with blue and purple and green as though rising above a loch in distant Scotland.
“Good morning, Captain.”
“Good morning, Mr Bloementhal, you have not been invited to step upon my bridge—”
“My apologies, Captain.”
“Go away, if you please.”
“Captain, I have to say—”
“No, you have not, Mr Bloementhal, and I repeat my request which will become an order if you do not obey it immediately, d’you hear? My ship is entering a gorge and will remain in it for how far, Mr Halfhyde?”
“Eighteen miles, sir.”
“For eighteen miles, Mr Bloementhal, eighteen miles of immense danger, and after that there will be more gorges. When my flotilla is safe, and not before, I shall send for you.” Captain Watkiss turned his back and placed his monocle in his eye. Behind him the American blew out his cheeks and lifted two fingers in an insulting gesture before descending the ladder to the upper deck. The British were painful, their navy officers especially, they had a fixed idea they were God. Worse, really, than British diplomats who were smoothly polite even though they had perpetually lifted noses and disdainful airs. This Watkiss, he was in for one hell of a shock when he reached Chungking, if ever he did…Mr Bloementhal lurched and struck his backside heavily against a guardrail as something odd happened to the Cockroach, which had somehow come broadside on to the rushing Yangtze waters and appeared to be moving back sideways towards the East China Sea beyond Woosung with her bows pointed at a family group outside a cave. On the bridge Captain Watkiss was frantically gesticulating with his telescope, and Mr Bloementhal heard his shouts.
“Mr Halfhyde, you are in dereliction of your duty, how dare you! Bring her back on course, man!” There was a brief pause. “Jesus Christ, Mr Halfhyde, I am about to be struck amidships by that fool Beauchamp!”
ABOARD GADFLY Lord Edward Cole, not waiting for his captain, had acted with commendable swiftness. He had put his engine astern and his helm to starboard; with the engine gathering sternway, the ship’s head came round to starboard with the helm and Gadfly scraped past Captain Watkiss’ stern, removing a coat of paint but little else. When Gadfly had passed in safety, Halfhyde brought Cockroach round against the stream and once again headed westerly, bows first, for Chungking.
Watkiss mopped at his face. “Thank God for our deliverance, Mr Halfhyde. You must use more care in future.”
“I was avoiding shoaling water, sir, and boulders.”
“I dislike excuses, dislike them intensely, Mr Halfhyde, as you should know by now.” Watkiss prodded his telescope into Halfhyde’s stomach. “I suppose you realize what’s happened, don’t you?”
“All’s well that ends well, sir.”
“Oh, balls and bang me arse, Mr Halfhyde, have you no eyes in your head? Look!” Captain Watkiss pointed ahead with his telescope, which shook with his anger. “Gadfly’s ahead of me, and there’s no sea room to overtake, what with your blasted shoals! That fool Beauchamp’s in the position of leader!”
The moment it was safe to do so, Captain Watkiss ordered Cockroach back into her rightful position at the head of the line, sweeping past Gadfly without so much as a glance in her direction. Leaving the Hsiling Gorge, the flotilla entered the Wu Gorge. The water was deep and clear but the great rock sides shut out the sunlight. Far above the little gunboa fishermen’s huts were perched precariously on the precipices, and hawks flew overhead. Emerging from the Wu Gorge, the vessels, as another night’s darkness came down, moved into the last of the gorges, the Chutang, where pagodas and temples on the crags stood out sharp against the night sky; and it was here that the long anticipated attack came when ripples of rifle fire were seen along the cliff tops and bullets smacked into woodwork and ricochetted off metal bulkheads and stanchions. Prudently, Watkiss refrained from manning his guns, which in any case could not possibly have elevated enough to be of any use; and throughout the ships the sailors were piped to remain in cover and to return the rifle fire only when a target could be identified. Some of the Chinese bullets found their marks: aboard Cockroach two of the ship’s company were wounded, luckily in their fleshy parts; and from Wasp a petty officer, hit fatally in the head, went overboard, his body drifting away downstream. Aboard Bee the quartermaster had suffered a wound in his hand, and the ship’s head had paid off to starboard. Like the leader earlier, the gunboat had been taken by the fast flow of the river and swung broadside on to be laid against the rock wall of the gorge. Wasp had been ordered to send a line across and pull her clear, and the armed Chinese above had taken full advantage of the resulting situation. Before the two vessels were safely under way again, their upperworks had been peppered and the woodwork and canvas dodgers looked like colanders; and six more of their companies had been taken below wounded to be tended as best possible by unskilled men. After the passage of the Chutang more attacks came, and the gunboats’ searchlights picked out the uniforms of the Empress-Dowager’s army. Watkiss passed the signal for maximum speed, and the flotilla began to draw away, but not before a Chinese had thrown himself into the water ahead, and then, with a curved knife clenched between his teeth, had used sinewy arms to haul himself aboard amidships whence he had made a dash for the ladder to the navigating bridge. Behind him came a petty officer armed with a cutlass, which he swung as the Chinese got a foot upon the rungs. The blade, wielded forcefully, sliced straight through the neck and lifted the severed head upwards to roll bloodily across the bridge planking and stop at Watkiss’ feet, where it glared up at the foreign devil as though still possessed of life. Watkiss stared at it, for once speechless. Halfhyde bent, picked the thing up by the hair, and dropped it overboard. He called down to the cutlass bearer.
“Hoses, Petty Officer Boyne. At once. Chinese blood can carry Chinese disease for all I know.�
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The ships steamed on, clear now of attack, at any rate for the time being. With the gorges behind them, Captain Watkiss prepared to leave the bridge. “You also, Mr Halfhyde. Sleep is important, and the sub-lieutenant can take over, but I am to be called at once should anything untoward seem likely to occur.”
“Mr Bloementhal, sir—”
“Where?” Watkiss swung this way and that, as though unwelcome Americans might manifest like wraiths from any point of the compass.
“Not present in fact, sir, but if you remember, he wished words with you.”
“I shall send for him when I want him, thank you, Mr Halfhyde.” Watkiss turned his back and descended the ladder, making for his cabin. Reaching it he found that Bloementhal, as though by some alchemy summoned as a result of Halfhyde’s reference to him, was using the bulkhead outside as a resting post: Americans had no backbone.
Bloementhal smiled. “Busy now, Captain?”
“Not busy, but tired. I intend to turn in for a spell.”
“I thought ship captains were always on duty.”
Watkiss glared. “You thought right, Mr Bloementhal. They are. Nevertheless, they are also human, and need sleep.”
“Duty first, Captain. I won’t keep you long.”
Watkiss fumed, giving a low hiss from between his teeth; Americans were such pushful people and if he didn’t give the fellow audience now, he would most probably be waiting when he woke up, and the knowledge of his presence outside his cabin would prevent sleep. Besides, Captain Watkiss still had his suspicions: the fellow had said duty, not dooty. Let him talk and he might give something away.
“Oh, very well then,” Watkiss said irritably. “Come into my cabin.” He stepped through, followed by the American. Below decks the heat was stifling, and the electric fan switched on by Watkiss’ servant made little difference. Watkiss lowered himself into his wickerwork chair and motioned his unwelcome visitor to be seated also. Bloementhal hitched at his trousers and sat. Like Halfhyde he was tall, and took up a good deal of room. Watkiss placed his monocle in his eye and said, “Well, what is it?”
Halfhyde on the Yangtze Page 3
