Halfhyde on the Yangtze

by Philip McCutchan

  Bodmin spoke again and lifted an arm. “There be parson, zur.”

  “What?”

  “There be parson, zur. If it be possible, zur, I’d like a word with parson so as—”

  “Oh, bugger the parson, Mr Bodmin, I’ve just seen Mr Halfhyde.” Standing up dangerously in the boat, Watkiss raised his voice and called loudly, “Mr Halfhyde, your Captain is here!”

  TWO ARMS had come swiftly around Watkiss and he had been plumped back upon his thwart and a dagger thrust against the back of his neck: all this Halfhyde saw from the Consulate window. Beside him the missionary said, “I fear they have not long upon this earth, poor fellows, unless we concede defeat.”

  “We’re not done for yet, Mr Erskine.” An idea of a sort struck Halfhyde. “Could you not intercede?”

  Erskine looked surprised. “With heathens, my dear sir?”

  “Presumably some have been converted by your efforts.”

  “Not, I fear, in Chungking itself. Besides, it’s been my experience that when mob passions become aroused, then primaeval man takes over—”

  “And Christ is forgotten?”

  Erskine nodded. “In the case of the recently converted, yes. They revert to earlier instincts and persuasions.”

  “Yet as a man of God you may carry weight even in the eyes of those who worship Buddha…may you not?”

  “No,” the clergyman answered crossly. “I think you fail to understand. God is poles apart from Buddha. God brings hope for the spirit, the creed of Buddhism is one of hopelessness since Nirvana is virtually unattainable except through utter perfection. God, you see, is forgiveness—Buddha is not.”

  “Yet I’ve heard it said that life is important to those who follow Buddha, Mr Erskine. Even the life of an insect is precious—to kill the humblest creature is accounted murder. Is there not some way through to their hearts?”

  Erskine said no, there was not. Thoughts of Buddha had not noticeably prevented any killing in China’s past and there was no reason why they should do so now. Erskine turned from the window and approached his black bag, which was beside the easy chair he had vacated; an association of ideas reminded Halfhyde that Buddha had also proscribed inebriation, but that had not prevented the fermentation of rice by the godless Chinese…Buddha was perhaps out.

  Watching again from the window and awaiting the Chinese move, Halfhyde saw the approach of another boat, a boat whose crew pushed arrogantly through the packed sampans and took no notice of the wails of protest from their occupants as the sampans rocked and banged together. It was an extraordinary sight and a Germanic one: the rowers wore the uniforms of the Empress-Dowager, all very official, but the passengers were heavily-armed men of the Uhlan Lancers and in their midst sat Count Hermann von Furstenberg, large, smug, and military, for all the world as though he were issuing from the royal palace of his Kaiser in distant Berlin to progress in state down the Under den Linden to the triumphal arch of the Brandenburg Gate. There was even a fanfare of trumpets as von Furstenberg barged alongside the boatload of gaol prisoners. Disregarding these, the German bellowed towards the Consulate in English.

  “I wish words with the British Consul.”

  Called by Halfhyde as the boat came into view, Carstairs was already at the window. He called back, “Carstairs here. What do you want, Count von Furstenberg?”

  “Speech.” The German lifted an arm and pointed towards a Chinese in a sampan floating about behind the prisoners’ craft. “The man you see is Lim Puk-Fo—he leads the mob. It must be obvious to you that the British and Americans will be executed if you do not surrender, is this not so?”

  “Yes,” Carstairs called back. “How do you know this?”

  “I have sources, Herr Carstairs. Now I am going to enter your Consulate, please.” He gave an order to his Chinese rowers and was propelled closer to the main entrance; along with the kitchen quarters, the steps were now under water. Above, Carstairs turned to Halfhyde.

  “He’d better come in, I think, though God knows what he’s up to!”

  “He may be on our side, sir.”

  “Perhaps, but if so, why?”

  Halfhyde shrugged. Carstairs went down to the ground floor, where floodwater sogged greasily, to meet von Furstenberg. Halfhyde remained at the window, watching. He saw the German leave the boat, saw the movement of the Chinese craft towards the entrance to the Consulate…there was an air of unease, of suspicion, amongst them. Lim Puk-Fo conferred with his henchmen. The British and American prisoners were watching closely and all of them, even Watkiss, were silent. The mob was mainly silent too, though there was a background murmur of discontent, as though the delaying of the execution was unwelcome. Over all, the rain teemed down still, the cascade visible in the light from the many lanterns. Water poured down the motionless bare body of the executioner, standing immediately behind Captain Watkiss with his hands still resting on his sword-hilt.

  Carstairs came back with von Furstenberg and an escort of two Uhlans. He introduced Halfhyde and his vice-consul; von Furstenberg clicked his heels and bowed his head. “Lieutenant Halfhyde of the British Navy—I have heard of you. I am well acquainted with Vice-Admiral von Merkatz, who is no friend of yours!”

  “Indeed, sir.” Halfhyde had twice outwitted Paulus von Merkatz, once in West African waters and again in South America, and could well understand the lack of friendship. “Perhaps his unfortunate experiences may serve to underline the fact that Britain, not Germany, tends to rule the waves!” He swept a hand towards the window. “Waves of a kind now lap our doors, Count von Furstenberg, and—”

  “Yet you are helpless, Lieutenant Halfhyde, in the face of the mob.”

  “That will—”

  “Pray be silent, Lieutenant Halfhyde.” The German turned his back and addressed the Consul. “Herr Carstairs, I come with an offer of help, and I come because my instructions have been ignored by the Chinese under the man Lim Puk-Fo. I did not intend that prisoners should be taken. All naval persons were to be allowed to board the British gunboats and sail away in peace and safety. And I intended no interference with your Consulate.” He looked smug. “My Kaiser is a humane man, and he does not wish war.”

  “No one wishes that, Count von Furstenberg.”

  The German smiled. “Except Lim Puk-Fo. There is much danger from his direction. This danger I shall deal with. You see, I am the good friend of the British Empire!”

  “One moment, if you please.” Hearing the voice, Halfhyde turned. The Reverend Marchwood Erskine, drunk though speaking without slur and walking with extreme care, approached Count von Furstenberg and tapped him on the chest. “You are a scoundrel, sir—”

  “Thank you, Mr Erskine, kindly return to your black bag and keep silent.” Halfhyde took the clergyman’s arm in a tight grip and dragged him away protesting: this was scarcely the moment to look gift horses, however intrigue-ridden, too closely in the mouth; that could come later. Halfhyde dumped Erskine back in the easy chair and told him in a hard whisper that if he emerged again he would be reported to the Foreign Office and the American State Department. Then he went back towards Carstairs and von Furstenberg. The German said that he wished to incur no blame from Kaiser Wilhelm for disturbing the amicable state of British and German relations. He repeated that his orders to the Chinese had been misinterpreted and he was here now to wipe the slate clean, and his suggestions to this end were practical enough.

  “To wipe it clean I shall protect your Captain Watkiss, and Rear Admiral Hackenticker of the so-great United States Navy also,” he announced.

  “How?” Carstairs asked.

  “I shall speak to Lim Puk-Fo through an interpreter among my Chinese crew. I shall tell Lim Puk-Fo that the dragon-headed boat is to be allowed to move alongside the Consulate, and the British and Americans allowed to enter freely. If this is not done, then my Uhlans will open fire and kill first Lim Puk-Fo. Then many others.”

  “And you, afterwards?”

  “I have the support of the Empr
ess-Dowager, and I shall remain in the Consulate with your permission until loyal soldiers reach Chungking from Peking.”

  Carstairs said, “I have no communication left, Count. My cable links have been cut.”

  The German waved a hand. “It is of no consequence. Already soldiers are on their way, and it is a question of time only. You accept my assistance, Herr Carstairs?”

  “Very gratefully,” Carstairs answered, with a glance at Halfhyde, who nodded his agreement. “But perhaps you’d indicate what you wish in return?”

  Von Furstenberg spread his hands. “But nothing, nothing! Only the wiping of the slate, Herr Carstairs, that is all, believe me. Germany is the good, good friend of Britain and Queen Victoria, my Kaiser’s most beloved and revered grandmother!”

  Halfhyde raised an eyebrow. “A family matter, Count von Furstenberg?”

  “Yes, yes! A family matter, yes!” Von Furstenberg rubbed his hands together and smiled a lot. “That is good, a family matter, it so much sums up my feelings and reasons!” He was, Halfhyde thought, as wily and dishonest as any Borgia of old, but his offer of present help seemed genuine enough.

  “ADMIRAL HACKENTICKER, kindly, if you please, allow me room to move.”

  “Sorry, Captain.” Hackenticker shifted a little.

  “I wish my shoulder-straps to be seen! I have not been acknowledged by Halfhyde, and it’s important my rank is seen from the Consulate, you understand.” Captain Watkiss shifted his right shoulder so that a lantern struck brilliant gold from his four Post Captain’s stripes. “That German.”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t trust him. Now he’s gone inside the Consulate he’ll be telling all manner of blasted lies, won’t he, to justify putting us in that wretched prison?”

  “I don’t see what he’d expect to gain from that. It’s your Consulate, Captain, when all’s said and done—”

  “Yes, yes, yes—don’t let us waste time in argument. None of these buggers appears to speak English, so I feel free to say this, Admiral: I propose to make a dash for it shortly.”

  “Don’t you mean a plunge, Captain?”

  “Yes, exactly, a plunge, you have it! A fast swim for the Consulate. You’ll be with me?”

  Hackenticker nodded. “Certainly. I was about to suggest the same thing.”

  “Really. Mr Bloementhal?”

  Bloementhal nodded, but without enthusiasm, evidently fearing death en route.

  “Mr Bodmin, you are a little elderly, but depend upon it, I shall not leave you behind. Mr Bloementhal is the youngest of us all and will assist you, and that is an order, Mr Bloementhal.”

  “Look, I don’t happen to be a strong swimmer, and anyway I—”

  “Please don’t argue, Mr Bloementhal, I detest argument, and if you are about to say you come under Admiral Hackenticker’s orders, then I say you don’t, since you boarded my ship off Woosung, thus placing yourself under the orders of the Royal Navy. Now then: when I’m ready I shall give the word, and the moment I do so all hands will plunge in and swim. I admit the danger, but we are men not mice. Speed’s the thing—speed and the element of surprise. And good luck to you all.”

  Captain Watkiss sat back, shifting his shoulder again into the best advantage of the light as the lantern was moved a little. His head was back and his jaw out-thrust, but he gave an involuntary shiver as his eye caught the light gleaming on the execution sword. He could imagine the horror as that blade was lifted, and flashed through the air with the speed of light in powerful, muscle-rippled arms to detach his head from his body. He had read somewhere that executed heads had been known to live on for a brief while in some cases—that was historical fact, he believed, some story of the French Revolution when the accursed proletariat, after guillotining one of their victims had smacked the cheeks of the severed head, which then registered anger and humiliation. In case of accidents, Captain Watkiss composed his mind not to register fear in death, that would never do. He was British, a naval officer, and the blasted dagoes must see no flinching. It would also be a good example to the Americans. If his face registered anything, it must be devotion to duty and loyalty to the Queen.

  “Now,” said Captain Watkiss loudly, and at once tipped himself face first over the side into the smelly flood. Behind him leaped Bodmin, who sank like a stone.

  “SIR, SIR!”

  Cole shouted from the window, and Halfhyde went towards him. “What is it, Mr Cole?”

  “The Captain’s gone, sir!”

  “Executed?”

  “I don’t know, sir! I saw him one moment, and the next he was gone.”

  Halfhyde swore and stared down. Then he saw the kerfuffle in the water, the movement of a man swimming in ungainly fashion. At the same time, he saw Chinese hands seizing Hackenticker and Bloementhal, who had failed to jump from the boat in time, and the official executioner bringing up his sword. Calling for von Furstenberg’s Uhlans to open fire immediately, he ran down the stairs for the main entrance and plunged into the floodwater. As he swam fast towards the dragon prow, the German rifles opened above his head, volley after volley smashing into the Chinese. Pandemonium broke out. There were yells and cries, and the sampans tried to press back and away from the rifle-fire, and many were upset. As Halfhyde reached the floundering Watkiss and seized him by the neck-band of his white tunic, a muddy figure rose from the depths and staggered about with his face above the water-level: Mr Bodmin, on tip-toe. The water was not especially deep but was negotiated the faster by swimming. Halfhyde, drawing his Captain back towards the Consulate entrance, saw that the executioner was lying face down across the gunwale of the dragon-prowed boat and Rear Admiral Hackenticker was laying about himself energetically with the execution sword, the Chinese keeping well outside range of the flashing blade. Halfhyde called to him to jump in and swim while he had the chance, but the American took no notice: he seemed to be enjoying himself and to hell with diplomacy. Meanwhile there was a considerable jam of sampans all trying to escape the German fire, and soon the Chinese were seen in many cases to be abandoning ship and swimming for it, a mode of escape which had the twin advantages of more speed and a low profile against the German rifle-sights.

  Reaching the Consulate steps, Halfhyde dragged Captain Watkiss clear of the filthy water and handed him over to Cole. Then he turned his attention back to the busy figure of Rear Admiral Hackenticker, who in fact seemed to be tiring now. He called out again.

  “Admiral Hackenticker, I believe you’ve made your point now!”

  Hackenticker flailed on but suffered a misfortune: his aching arms had caused the sword to droop a little, and on the next flail the tip took the dragon’s head and jarred its wielder so severely that the weapon was wrenched from his grip. It went over the side.

  “Heck!”

  “I suggest you leave it, sir!” Halfhyde called.

  “I guess you’re right, Lieutenant. I’ll jump and join you.” The Rear Admiral poised himself on the gunwale but was held back by another shout from Halfhyde.

  “If you’ll stay where you are, sir, I’ll join you rather than you join me—”

  “Why? What’s the idea, Lieutenant?”

  “We need a fleet, and you and I can ensure that we have one.” Without waiting for an answer, Halfhyde plunged back into the flood and swam strongly towards Hackenticker. Still the German fire was being maintained and the Chinese were being kept nicely at arms’ length; their return fire was wild, although directed mainly at the Consulate windows. Even so, when Halfhyde reached the boat where Hackenticker stood four square like Custer’s Last Stand and heaved himself over the gunwale, shots sang uncomfortably close to his head.

  “Well?” Hackenticker asked.

  “Let us get under way, sir, and round up as many of the empty sampans as we can—”

  “To take us to your flotilla, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes—”

  “Good idea!” Hackenticker seized one of the oars that lay slack in the crutches, and sank dow
n upon a thwart. Halfhyde followed suit. As the oars took the water and both men bent their backs to it, the dragon-prowed vessel moved towards the log-jam of sampans, but somewhat sluggishly. More speed was necessary. “Bodies, sir,” Halfhyde said to Hackenticker, and gestured at the Chinese lying dead on the bottom-boards. The oars were shipped, and the bodies were lifted and dumped over the side. When all but one had been disposed of Halfhyde was surprised to find Bloementhal, covered with blood. The blood turned out to be Chinese; Bloementhal appeared totally unhurt, though angry. He said, “Whoever opened fire will have a lot to answer for. I suppose you two gentlemen realize that?”

  Hackenticker said belligerently, “You and your God-damn diplomacy!”

  “Diplomacy’s vital, Admiral, very vital.”

  “We should have talked our way out from under that executioner’s sword?”

  Bloementhal said, “We should have tried at least. Killing doesn’t help.”

  “Rowing does,” Hackenticker said unkindly. He lifted a third oar and jabbed the blade into Bloementhal’s stomach. “Just you pull your weight on that, Mr Bloementhal, and row like the Secretary of State’s waiting—” He broke off as a tremendous roar was heard and a sudden demoniac explosion came from behind the Consulate to spread a red light like that of some hellish inferno over the whole area, making everything stand starkly out for a brief moment until the light departed to leave a great blackness: even the storm lanterns on the boat had been blown clear away in a tremendous rush of air that almost sent the rowers themselves toppling. At the same time, there was an eerie whistle overhead and as they heard this the upper storey of the Consulate seemed to take fire. Roofing materials and chunks of masonry splashed into the water all around.

  Halfhyde caught Hackenticker’s eye.

  “They’re throwing in the big battalions, I fancy, sir. The artillery!” He plunged his oar into the water. “We may not have long now.”

  Chapter 10