Halfhyde on the Yangtze

by Philip McCutchan

  Captain Watkiss shook a fist towards the pinprick ripple of fire. “Damn dagoes! It’s not gentlemanly…taking advantage of us at such a time!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the tail of the line. “You there, Count von Furstenberg! Get your blasted soldiers into action at once, if you please! Mr Halfhyde!”

  “Sir?”

  “Open fire, can’t you, why do I have to think of everything myself?”

  On the heels of his words, rapid fire was opened from both sides. One by one the storm lanterns set in the bows of the sampans went out, the invisible enemy taking them as their first points of aim. There were shouts and cries and splashes, and then from the blank darkness Chinese craft surged in, cutting the British line like Nelson at Trafalgar putting his ships in amongst the French and Spanish; and hand-to-hand combat began.

  Chapter 11

  A SWORD whistled past Watkiss’ right ear and he flung himself so far to the left that he very nearly went overboard and indeed would have done so had he not collided with Mr Bodmin, who was knocked flat to the bottom-boards. Watkiss himself was badly winded and curled himself into a gasping ball. As he gasped and groaned, rifles opened from the rest of the sampan fleet; the fire from the Uhlans and the armed traders was well sustained and had the effect of fighting off the attack and then keeping it largely at a distance. In his own sampan Halfhyde made a quick count of casualties so far as he was able in the darkness, which in fact was tending to lighten just a little now: there were some sword and bullet wounds and one of the vice-consuls lay dead.

  Halfhyde shouted to his Captain: “I believe we’re not far from the wharf, sir. I suggest we strike out across the river and hope to meet the flotilla.”

  There was an indistinct sound from Captain Watkiss, one that could have been an affirmative or a negative, and Halfhyde chose to regard it as the former. He shouted down the line in a carrying voice, ordering the sampans to alter course ninety degrees to their port hand and steer through the chasms of the buildings whose upper storeys stood clear of the flood, and which were visible as darker shapes looming through the night. Each sampan was to take the street nearest to it and then all would rendezvous on the riverside. A voice came back excitedly from Lord Edward Cole.

  “We’re coming under attack from the rear of the line, sir!” A moment later Halfhyde heard a renewal of the rifle fire.

  “Fight them off, Mr Cole,” he called, “and beat retreat as ordered.”

  “A rearguard action, sir?”

  “Don’t waste words, Mr Cole.” Halfhyde lost no time now; he gave his orders to his rowers to get way upon the sampan and headed his craft through the gap between two high buildings close upon his port side. Swiftly the sampan was pulled through; close behind now was Captain Watkiss, shaking a fist astern. A faint loom of light was positively starting to come into the sky now: dawn was approaching, though full daylight in such weather conditions would not be for some hours yet. Then, as Halfhyde’s sampan reached the river end of the canyon-like floodway, he saw lights ahead, a half-dozen cables’-lengths away by his estimate—lights of red and green and white which must be the flotilla, under way for safety’s sake but remaining on station. He was about to call back the good news to Captain Watkiss, when all of a sudden something erupted; there was a great boom and belch of flame from the flotilla, and an eerie whistle went overhead accompanied by a gale of wind. Halfhyde had the feeling that Beauchamp had avoided taking his head off by a mere matter of inches.

  There was a bellow from Captain Watkiss. “That blasted idiot Beauchamp…he’ll blow us all to kingdom come, Mr Halfhyde!” His voice had scarcely died away when a further explosion occurred somewhere above, and a sizeable chunk of masonry toppled into the water and descended upon the after gunwale of Watkiss’ sampan.

  BEAUCHAMP HAD been in a quandary upon hearing the earlier sound of the rifles from the shore. He had peered through the dreadful rain, using his telescope, but had seen nothing except the pinpricks of flashes that seemed to be widely scattered along an extended line.

  “What do you think, Mr Pumphrey?”

  “It’s an attack, sir!”

  “Yes, indeed it is, but by whom and upon whom? Do you suppose Captain Watkiss is the objective?”

  “I don’t know, sir. He could be. Perhaps we should open fire, sir.”

  “Bombard the town? Yes, I believe that was in Captain Watkiss’ mind in certain circumstances.” Beauchamp shook his head and felt a surge in his stomach: the worry was dreadful and was making him queasy. “We can’t open fire, Mr Pumphrey—except upon the bottom of the river, such is our angle.”

  “No, sir, we can’t, but Bee and Wasp should be able to.”

  Beauchamp nodded. “Yes, very true. But all the same, I fear Captain Watkiss might be hit if he’s in the vicinity.” He wrung his hands. “If only I knew the facts, Mr Pumphrey, the state of things ashore!”

  “Yes, sir.” The sub-lieutenant gave a discreet cough. “May I make a suggestion, sir?”

  “Yes, yes, do.” Beauchamp sounded much relieved.

  “Suppose we—or rather Bee and Wasp—were to open in the direction of where we saw the fire from the rifles, sir, but elevate the guns so as to make certain they fire over the Captain’s head if he’s there?”

  “Yes, a good idea, I think! Thank you, Mr Pumphrey, we shall do as you say.”

  “It should scare the Chinese off, sir.”

  “Certainly it should, yes. Be so good as to pass the orders by megaphone to Bee and Wasp, Mr Pumphrey, will you?”

  “I SHALL have his guts for garters, Mr Halfhyde, you may be sure.” The filth-plastered face of Captain Watkiss appeared at the gunwale of Halfhyde’s sampan, patchy white in the lightening darkness. Halfhyde reached down and with assistance dragged his Captain aboard and after him Bodmin and Bodmin’s common-law wife. Farther along the gunwales, the rest of the upset passengers clambered aboard. All were accounted for, but the sampan itself had sunk to the street below. Watkiss continued. “Feller’s the most consummate ass I’ve ever had the blasted misfortune to sail with, and that’s fact, I said it. Too much damn money, that’s the trouble, no incentive left! Father’s a blasted tradesman, very wealthy. I shall have him court martialled the moment I reach Hong Kong.”

  Halfhyde said, “I believe his gunfire will have a good effect, sir, and that he should be commended.”

  “Oh, nonsense, commended my backside, he nearly blew me up, and he’s sunk my sampan, hasn’t he?”

  “Purely by chance, sir. I’d have done the same myself—opened fire, I mean.”

  “Then you’re a blasted idiot as well, Mr Halfhyde, and an argumentative one into the bargain.”

  “Sir, I merely—”

  “Hold your tongue, if you please, Mr Halfhyde.” Watkiss peered around, looking this way and that as more three-pounder shells zoomed overhead—safely this time. “Oh, God, why doesn’t he stop? Where’s von Furstenberg, do you know?”

  “Four sampans astern, sir, and now no doubt heading to his port flank as ordered—”

  “Well, I hope for your sake he is,” Watkiss said belligerently, “because according to someone or other—Hackenticker, right at the start, I think it was—I’m supposed to arrest him and bring him in. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  “I do now, sir. I don’t anticipate much difficulty—he’ll scarcely wish to linger in Chungking now, I fancy.” Halfhyde paused. “Do you notice anything, sir?”

  “No. What?”

  “An absence of fire from the Chinese pursuit, sir.”

  “Oh.” Watkiss lifted his head as though listening. “Yes. Curious!”

  “Not curious, sir: Mr Beauchamp.”

  “Beauchamp?” Watkiss repeated in astonishment.

  Halfhyde said, “His gunfire has had its due effect, sir. I think we can now head direct for the flotilla after we’ve rendezvoused.”

  “Oh. Yes, well.” Watkiss breathed down his nose. “I suppose by the law of averages Beauchamp has to mak
e the right decision sometimes.” He sat huffily silent in the sampan’s stern as Halfhyde passed the orders to continue riverwards; and once beyond the building line there was just enough faint light for Watkiss to see the other craft converging upon them, whilst well out in the river steaming lights and three blurs indicated, presumably, the three gunboats—although one of them was showing a curious silhouette, most ungunboatlike…Watkiss turned his attention from his flotilla for the moment and searched again for Count von Furstenberg as Beauchamp continued to rain shells upon Chungking; from astern came plops and waterspouts, or explosions and crashes as buildings were hit above the waterline. Then Watkiss noticed one of his sampans turning round in a circle and beating it back into the maze of flooded alleys. That must be von Furstenberg, who had probably spotted the flotilla. Watkiss rose from his seat.

  “That Hun bugger’s making off! Get him, Mr Halfhyde! Get him, I say!”

  “I think he’s being pursued already, sir, by a craft nearer than us.”

  “By God, he’d better be! Who’s pursuing?”

  “I believe it’s Admiral Hackenticker, sir.”

  “Is it, by God!” Watkiss jabbed a finger into Halfhyde’s ribs. “I’m not having the Americans taking the initiative and the credit, Mr Halfhyde, you will give chase immediately and overtake, d’you hear?”

  Halfhyde shrugged but obeyed. Under his orders the sampan turned and headed fast towards the fleeing German, the oars moving like the legs of an urgent centipede. Von Furstenberg vanished after a few moments, but Hackenticker was still behind him. Back into the alleys…Watkiss’ boat swept into the mouth just as Hackenticker put himself alongside the German. There was some exchange of fire and shouts were heard, then a heavy body was seen to leap from one sampan to the other, then more bodies. Hand-to-hand combat raged, and a body was seen to fall overboard from the German’s craft as Watkiss hastened up importantly. Admiral Hackenticker, breathing hard, reached down into the water and tugged at the collar of a tunic. Count von Furstenberg rose into view, his face furious as he was brought aboard like a landed fish. Hackenticker grinned across at Watkiss, which was damned cheek.

  “Beat you to it, Captain!”

  “Illegally so, my dear sir. Von Furstenberg’s my prisoner, not yours.”

  “You’re wrong, Captain. I was given certain information by the reverend gentleman—”

  “You mean the missionary. Missionaries are never gentlemen, Admiral Hackenticker, and—”

  “Well, gentleman or not, and it’s not important, he works for the US State Department, not your Foreign Office. That makes von Furstenberg mine, I think.”

  Watkiss, furious, turned his back. “We shall return aboard my flotilla, Mr Halfhyde, and Admiral Hackenticker and the Hun are to be escorted aboard. I am taking them both into arrest, as is my privilege when representing Her Majesty Queen Victoria on foreign soil.” He added, “The tradespeople with rifles and revolvers are to cover the Uhlans and ensure that there’s no interference.”

  Watkiss sat stiffly, glowering, head held back, a hand tapping on the gunwale as he resumed the lead and headed out for the river. Americans were quite impossible, always somehow contriving to put one in the wrong: Watkiss himself had strong doubts as to his right to arrest an officer of the United States Navy, but was damned if he was going to climb down. As the sampans came closer to the three blurs ahead, and the night lifted still more towards the dawn, Watkiss, peering through the rain, saw a sight that almost paralysed him. His own ship, the Cockroach itself, was apparently standing upon its head and diving down towards the muddy bottom of the Yangtze. Hackenticker saw it too, and gave a rude laugh and slapped his thigh, both abominable sounds sweeping forward towards Captain Watkiss, accompanied by a stupid remark about duck’s arses.

  “WORDS FAIL me, Mr Beauchamp.” Captain Watkiss, who had clambered aboard his command with great difficulty and now had more difficulty in maintaining his equilibrium upon a deck that was not far from the vertical, spat his words out, words not, in fact, failing him entirely. “God give me strength to endure you as far as Hong Kong!”

  “Sir, I believed it better to open fire rather—”

  “Great God above us all, Mr Beauchamp, I am not referring to your blasted gunfire, although I shall certainly do so presently—I am referring to this!” He swept a hand round from lofty bridge to sunken fo’c’sle.

  “Ah, yes, sir, this,” Beauchamp said carefully.

  “Kindly explain, if you can.”

  “Yes, sir.” White-faced and shaking, Beauchamp did so. “The anchor became obstructed, sir.”

  “By what?”

  “Well, sir…an obstruction.”

  Watkiss seemed to vibrate. “Yes, Mr Beauchamp, an obstruction. What bloody obstruction? You don’t damn well know, do you?” He thrust his stomach forward threateningly. “Do you?”

  “Er…no, sir.”

  “Then allow me to make a guess, Mr Beauchamp.” Watkiss whirled an arm about his head, slipped a little on the sloping deck, and swore. “When you paid out your blasted cable to an unreasonable extent, you dropped astern on the flood—did you not?”

  “I—I expect so, sir—”

  “You expect so! And you wrapped a bight of your blasted cable round the blasted wreckage of the Gadfly which you yourself had sunk earlier! We are now being held fast, Mr Beauchamp, by the result of your blasted stupid seamanship in losing Her Majesty a ship of war! God help you, for I shall not!”

  “Sir, I—”

  “You have made me look foolish, Mr blasted Beauchamp, in front of a damn Hun and an American, to say nothing of all those wretched tradespeople I’ve rescued! What will they all think of Her Majesty’s Navy I’d like to know! Hey? Do you know what you are, Mr Beauchamp? Do you?”

  “No, sir—”

  “Then I’ll tell you. You are a blasted lunatic, Mr Beauchamp, a total disaster afloat…” Captain Watkiss seethed to a stop and brandished a fist at his First Lieutenant, seeming to be about to choke. “What are you, Mr Beauchamp?”

  “Sir, I—I…” Beauchamp’s voice tailed away and he wrung his hands. A hunted look came into his face; he had suffered similarly in the past and knew only too well what was expected of him now. He had to go through with it or he would be threatened with court martial…in a strained voice he said, “I’m a blasted lunatic, sir, and a total disaster afloat. I’m very sorry indeed, sir.”

  CAPTAIN WATKISS was faced with two alternatives: either he delayed his departure from Chungking for God knew how long until the floodwaters receded and thus automatically lowered his stern, when he might be able to send men down in short spasms to try to free the links of his cable from the sunken Gadfly, or he could continue with the painfully laborious business of sawing through the cable with tools that had proved woefully inadequate and for the supply of which some damn civilian popinjay in Hong Kong dockyard would be sent home in disgrace. At first, there had been a third possibility but this had been rejected when Captain Watkiss went down most dangerously to the tip-tilted cable locker to examine personally the Senhouse slip: it was as solidly set in place, and as immovable, as a seventy-year-old maidenhead. Ascending to the upper deck, Watkiss told Halfhyde to set all available hands to the saw.

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Halfhyde paused, lifting an eyebrow. “Would not Mr Beauchamp—”

  “Beauchamp? Beauchamp’s back in arrest. Did I not make that quite plain?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, I’m making it plain now. You will take over again as my First Lieutenant, Mr Halfhyde—oh, and one more thing: Bodmin.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “He’s to be berthed, if a berth can be found at all, away from the woman, Song Tso-P’eng I understand her name is. They’re not married, Mr Halfhyde.” Unusually, his voice had dropped to a whisper. “I shall not allow hanky-panky aboard my ship, and if they have contact, I shall see to it that his boatswain’s pension is withdrawn. The charge will be immoral conduct—you’d better warn him, he’s not
a bad old fellow, and must have been a damn sight better seaman than that fool Beauchamp. That’s all, Mr Halfhyde.”

  “One moment, sir, if you please—”

  “Oh, what is it now, Mr Halfhyde? I’m exceedingly busy.”

  “Quite, sir, and I apologize. But how is the woman to be berthed where she’ll not be molested by the ship’s company?”

  Watkiss clicked his tongue. “Do use your initiative, Mr Halfhyde, and refrain from bothering me about every little detail. I have much on my mind…if any of the ship’s company molest Song whatever it is, then they’ll have me to deal with, and I’ll not be merciful.”

  “Indeed not, sir. But—”

  Captain Watkiss, now reunited with his telescope, waved it threateningly. “Oh, I don’t know! Rig a canvas shelter on the upper deck where she can be under the supervision of the Officer of the Watch.” He turned about and bounced away, then suddenly stopped and came back again. “The question of bunkers, Mr Halfhyde. Damn steam propulsion…if only I had sails! Tell the engineer I wish words with him at once.”

  MANY MORE hours went into the slow and tedious business of sawing through the cable beneath the teeming rain. Captain Watkiss grew more and more frustrated as the swollen river swelled even more and the filthy waters of the Yangtze rose higher up his fo’c’sle, bringing stench and debris, and no doubt disease, closer to his person. Among other things, he was plagued by the two Americans, who kept urging speed; at any moment the Russians, Hackenticker said, might enter the Yangtze from Port Arthur and seal the British flotilla into the river.

  “Oh, nonsense, I shall not be sealed in by anybody, Admiral Hackenticker, who do you think I am?”

  “But if the Russians enter, you’ll not be able to help being sealed in, Captain.”

  “I shall fight my way out,” Watkiss responded with truculence. “In any case, don’t forget there’s a squadron of first-class cruisers lying off Foochow under Commodore Marriot-Lee. He’ll use his initiative and move in at once, sooner than he originally intended, you may be sure.”