BOOK ONE
The China Station
ANDREW WAREHAM
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The China Station
Copyright © 2018 by Andrew Wareham
All Rights Reserved
Contents:
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
By the Same Author
Introductio
n
The China Station: After being caught in bed with an admiral’s daughter, naval officer and second son of an earl, Lord Magnus Campbell, is sent off unceremoniously to Hong Kong. The posting is a chance for him to redeem himself, or to get further into trouble… He finds Hong Kong to his liking, as is Miss Blantyre who he met on the outward voyage. However, with China descending into chaos, disaster is never far away.
Best read in series order
Chapter On
e
Editor’s Note: The China Station was written, produced and edited in the UK where some of the spellings, punctuation and word usage vary slightly from U.S. English.
The China Station
“I thought she was just a debutante, sir.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The Second Sea Lord was an old-fashioned gentleman, had no concept of the things that younger members of High Society got up to in these last years of Victoria’s long reign.
“Well, sir, you know, sir – if one can get them on their own – up the back stairs and into a spare room, you know, sir, anything can happen, and very often does!”
“A naval officer is expected to behave as a gentleman, Lieutenant Campbell.”
“Well, sir, one only finds gentlemen at country house parties, in the nature of things, and I was behaving in much the same way as most of the young men there. She seemed like any other of the young ladies as well, sir. I was hardly to know that she was an admiral’s daughter, sir. After all, sir, one hardly exchanges parental occupations first!”
“Does one not?” The Second Sea Lord made it abundantly clear that such worldly knowledge had escaped him. “One might wish, however, not to be seen afterwards, and particularly not by a housemaid who was an incompetent blackmailer.”
“It is hardly my fault, sir, that the maid was so damned stupid as to demand money from her father rather than contact me. One might imagine that nothing of the sort had ever happened before, sir. I would have expected that the butler would have told her how to go about the business, sir.”
Magnus was rather indignant that the housemaid had not known the rules of the games; fortunate servants in a mansion in the country could often buy themselves a little cottage and a few acres as well – through the application of a proper discretion.
The Second Sea Lord was rapidly running out of patience with the young officer. He inspected him closely, never having met Lieutenant Lord Magnus Campbell before. He suspected him to have a wild, romantic look about him – tall, strongly built, black-haired and blue-eyed, and he was indeed the very picture of a Highland gentleman. He was second son to the Earl of Calvine, renowned for his station in life; for being a favourite of Her Majesty the Queen, and for being poor as a church mouse. The Earl was the owner of vast acreages of peat-hag, of open moors and steep mountainsides, of almost no rents. The Second Sea Lord knew that Lieutenant Campbell did not habitually use his title – saying that it was too expensive for a naval officer of his income to carry.
“Probably, Lieutenant Campbell, the housemaid knew there was little point to demanding money of you, sir.”
“I say, sir, that’s rather close to the bone, you know!”
“It was meant to be, Lieutenant Campbell. Normally, one would simply instruct you to marry the girl and repair her lost honour in the simplest fashion. Her father, however, has no wish to, I quote, ‘tie her to an impoverished ne’er-do-well with neither prospects nor obvious nautical ability’.”
“Too late by far for repair, or even salvage, sir – that dear girl’s honour was disposed of long since. Neither unwilling, nor inexperienced, sir, that particular miss!”
“Have you no shame, Lieutenant Campbell, to be talking of a young lady in such a fashion?”
“As much shame as she possessed, sir – truly, sir, that was a young lady who knew what she liked and liked what she knew!”
The Second Sea Lord was rarely appalled, and wondered in passing whether she might not like to be introduced to an older man, with far more of experience to offer. Perhaps he should cultivate the admiral’s acquaintance – after all, one never knew what might happen.
“Be that as it may, Lieutenant Campbell; normally, sir, I would simply instruct you to send in your papers, as lacking those qualities realistically to be demanded of an officer and a gentleman. Regrettably, it has been made abundantly plain to the Admiralty that your father is favoured by Her Majesty, and that he wishes you to remain in a profession where you can at least earn a living, ideally at some considerable distance from the home estates. One presumes he wishes to bear the cost of no more of your adventures there, sir.”
Another low blow.
“There was no more than two, sir, and any young man may make a mistake, or two.”
Magnus was rather upset that His Lordship should be so unreasonable.
“You see, my lord, the Scottish Highlands are bleak places and there is very little for a young man to do. A midshipman on leave has few other occupations, when one considers the matter dispassionately, sir.”
“God help us all! Enough, Lieutenant Campbell – you are an inveterate, unregenerate whoremaster and rakeshame, sir! You are unfit for the company of gentlefolk, sir, and I can assure you that you are to be removed from such. There are battleships posted far from England, but I am unwilling to foist you upon a capital ship, almost inevitably to an admiral’s staff. To my everlasting regret, sir, I am forced to promote you – at an early stage in your disgraceful career – and appoint you to your first command. As such, Commander Campbell, you are given a Nymphe-class sloop, which you will join with immediate effect on the China Station, at Hong Kong initially, but as soon as possible a long way up the least hospitable river or most barren coast that may be discovered in the whole of China. And there, sir, you may confidently expect to remain until you trip over your long grey beard. You will join the P and O liner Oriental, which sails in three days from now. Failure to take that passage will result in immediate court-martial and dismissal from the servic
e. I am aware of your income, I would add, Commander Campbell!”
Magnus thought quickly and realised that he was trapped. At twenty-four years of age he was to be exiled from the civilised world, and there was nothing he could sensibly do about it. He lived a comfortable existence, due solely to the income he received from his late mother’s brother, a retired captain who had left the sea earlier than he had wished when his asthmatic chest had betrayed him; he was wealthy in his own right and made Magnus an income of five hundred pounds a year in addition to his pay, on condition that he remained a naval officer. He had joined the Navy solely on promise of that income; leave the Royal Navy, for any reason other than a disabling wound or illness, and he was a pauper, for his father could not find him as much as a pound a week.
Send in his papers and he must discover a way of making a living; it could be done – there were opportunities for a bright and active young man, but only out in the colonies. Gold prospecting in Africa was bringing in fortunes, also in Canada, he was told, but that removed him from civilisation and would be even less comfortable than a sloop in China.
“Thank you for my promotion, my lord. Be sure that I shall take my berth in Oriental, sir.”
“Good. I have no doubt you will behave disgracefully on the China Station, Commander Campbell, but at least you will be out of sight, sir. Good day to you, sir.”
Magnus gave a half-bow and left, preserving his dignity. He made his way to his hotel and thought about what to do next.
Not much, was his conclusion. He wrote a letter to his father and another to his elder brother, neither of whom were close to him, but who maintained all of the proper courtesies. They had the right to know that he was promoted, but to be sent ‘far foreign’ for an indefinite, probably prolonged, period. They would be well able to read between the lines, knowing the background, and quite possibly being responsible for his posting to the China Station.
He was invited to a dinner that night, and the next, decided he must make the best of the situation by enjoying himself before he took ship and disappeared from the view of civilised humanity. That evening’s dinner was to be a formal meeting of friends of the family, to whom he must be polite; he had hopes for the morrow.
“Promoted, Mrs Beckham, in a sort of back-handed fashion, I fear, ma’am. I am to take a sloop on the China Station and spend the next few years hunting down pirates and enjoying the company of missionaries and opium traders. I understand that the main activity involves ‘showing the flag’, to persuade the mandarins and the Empress of China that they must not hobnob with the Russians and Germans and Americans, but must keep faith with the British Empire.”
The company, Mayfair’s most select, could not imagine why even the Chinese might lower themselves to the extent of keeping company with Americans, while the Russians, admittedly more cultured than the Yankees, were nonetheless still barbarian.
“Germany, however, Lord Magnus, must be a different matter. The dear Kaiser is, after all, a member of our beloved Queen’s own family. Now that the dreadful Bismarck is no more in power, I have no doubt that he will show his natural sympathy towards the leading nation of Europe, and the world.”
There was a mutter of agreement from most at the table, though some of the males, prominent in Government and the Army, shook their heads.
“The great fleet he is building is a challenge and an insult to Britain, ma’am,” Lord Paston suggested. “It can only be directed against the Royal Navy, ma’am – for there is no other substantial naval power. He shows no loyalty or friendship to Her Majesty by creating a battle fleet.”
It was not a popular comment – the Kaiser could not possibly wish to offer a challenge to England – it was not to be thought of.
“But, my lord, it is the year 1896 and there has been no significant war between the Powers of Europe since the half-hearted affair in the Crimea. There can never be a war that will affect us. The new German Empire is being a little silly about colonies, perhaps, but the reality is that if they ever go to war it will be against the Ottomans or Russia, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire will have something to say to that, I do not doubt.”
Lord Paston was amused, laughed jovially at the prospect of the Austro-Hungarians doing anything.
“The Habsburg Empire is moribund, ma’am – incapable of waging a serious war. Fifty years, is my bet, before the Empire collapses into German and Slav states, all independent and squabbling over their boundaries. Russia is equally weak, and may well fall to German arms – that is a different kettle of fish.”
Magnus listened, knowing that Lord Paston was often regarded as one of the intellects of Westminster, a rare breed and not wholly trusted – it was not truly English to be clever. Paston’s conclusions were not to be dismissed, he thought.
“What of the Japanese, my lord? One hears they are in the process of building a very modern navy, and they are said to have centuries-old ambitions to take China, and have recently enjoyed a very successful war there.”
“Little yellow chaps, Lord Magnus? I would not worry myself about them. Russia will take them in hand when the occasion arises.”
The party broke up late and Mrs Beckham, a young widow who kept her own carriage in Town, offered Magnus a lift to his hotel.
“It is raining, as ever in London, it seems, Lord Magnus.”
He accepted with a knowing smile, and then dropped in for a final drink at her house before farewelling London and civilisation for many years. He walked back to his hotel in the dawn, whistling quietly and thinking it was a fine way to say goodbye. Mrs Beckham was a very few years older than him, and had evidently put those years to good use – he was far from innocent, but he had learned one or two tricks during the night.
Breakfast and then he changed to day dress and oversaw the hotel servant packing his bags – just sufficient for three days in Town; he had left his trunks in his rooms in Portsmouth on being summoned to the Admiralty. He took the Docks train from Waterloo and he was in Portsmouth before midday, reporting to the Vice-Admiral who was the Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth and had been his last senior office.
“Made Commander, sir, and posted to the China Station, on the Oriental out of Southampton tomorrow. To take a Nymphe.”
“In effect, one of the larger gunboats, Lord Magnus. Busy with pirates and suppressing the slave trade. Showing the flag and protecting mission stations and traders. Can be very active. Good experience. Show willing and all can be forgotten in three or four years – no more admiral’s daughters, sir!”
Magnus smiled ruefully, said that it had been a mistake, he had not realised her pedigree when accepting her largesse.
“I have taken the liberty, Lord Magnus, of ordering your trunks packed. They are waiting downstairs. I have paid off your landlord, sir. Have you any other bills to clear before leaving the country?”
The Vice-Admiral was also Scottish, and a friend of the Earl’s, hence Magnus’ original posting to his staff.
“Tailor’s bill, sir, not large. Wine-merchant, no more than a tenner. No other accounts at all.”
“I shall see to them – leave a good name behind. Always wise. Was I you, Lord Magnus, I would take the next train to Southampton. Oriental sails on the early high tide, soon after seven in the morning and you will wish to board this afternoon.”
Magnus did as he was told – one did not disobey Vice-Admirals. He returned to the Docks station, a walk of a bare furlong, a pair of sailors trotting behind with his trunks and bags on a trolley. He then bought his First-Class ticket to the Southampton terminus, consigning the baggage to the New Docks station, where he would join it after a little last-minute shopping. The Southern Railway porters would take the trunks and bags aboard for him; he needed merely to follow along at his leisure.
He gave a few minutes to conscious nostalgia on the train along the coast, drinking in the Portsdown Hills with their brick forts defending Portsmouth against French invaders, passing Portchester Castle, an ancient water fort with Ro
man brickwork still visible at the base of its walls, and then the great lunatic asylum outside Fareham at Knowle. He wondered, as he often had, whether it was mere coincidence that one of the country’s biggest looney-bins should be established so close the largest naval base. The train crossed the bridge over the River Hamble, one of the leading yachting centres in the country and where he had sailed occasionally; he did not have the money to own a boat of his own, so had accepted the invitations of richer acquaintances. Then through industrial Southampton, most of the factories producing for the small shipbuilders along the River Test and around the Old Docks. Finally, the train entered the short tunnel before immediately pulling up at the terminus.
A slow walk down to the Bargate, mediaeval and the original land gate to the port, he believed, calling in at the pair of nearby bookshops and buying a map book, so it said, of the Chinese coast and its cities. He also purchased half a dozen of novels for the idle evenings, of which he expected there would be many on a two month passage. There would be books in a little library, he did not doubt, but a few new titles would be welcome, possibly to exchange with other passengers.
The Oriental was a modern, less than five years in service, passenger liner, around five thousand tons and carrying one hundred and seventy First Class passengers. There were some of the other sorts as well, but Magnus did not know, or care, how many. In common with most liners, she carried an amount of cargo, but, again, that was none of his concern.
The purser greeted him and assured him that his baggage had been taken to his cabin.
“Nine weeks, Lord Magnus, calling at Gibraltar, Malta, Port Said, Aden, Bombay, Singapore – not at Colombo on this voyage – then direct to Hong Kong and Shanghai. Your ship will likely be waiting at Hong Kong, sir. If not, then the Navy will make arrangements, no doubt.”
“Coaling where, sir?”
“Singapore, Lord Magnus. First Class passengers will be accommodated ashore, I assure you, sir.”
The China Station (The Earl’s Other Son Series, Book 1) Page 1
