She stayed where she was, watching his mouth as if to understand what was happening.
Then she said quietly, ‘You see, Captain? What you have done? I am just a woman after all.’
He made to hold her again but she turned away. ‘No. Do what you must but come back. To me.’
He watched her hands opening and closing as if she had lost control of them.
‘You have my word, Countess.’
As he slid back the door she said quietly, ‘Friedrike. It is my name.’
Blackwood barely remembered his climb to the bridge. He was aware of anxious, sun-reddened faces, of Lieutenant Bannatyre’s relief as he appeared on the catwalk, of all these things and none of them.
Austad lowered his telescope and handed it to him.
‘Burned out.’ He watched Blackwood’s profile. ‘Some parts broken down with gunpowder, I think.’
Blackwood captured the scene of blackened desolation in the powerful lens. Austad was right. It was deliberate, not some frontal attack from outside.
Were they watching him right at this moment? Triumph and hatred, planning their next move against the foreign devils. He thought of her voice her hands in the cabin below. It made it suddenly personal and more dangerous because of it.
‘Full landing party, Ian.’ He moved the glass slightly. Humps in the rough ground by some trees. Graves. Crudely and hastily done. So there must have been an attack, but not so recently. Bannatyre was calling out his orders to the deck below, then he asked, ‘What do you intend, sir?’
Blackwood did not look at him. If that Boxer lookout had been quicker with his great blade he might be lying dead back there. Then Bannatyre would be in command.
He replied, ‘First we’ll take a look. No chances. And be ready to fall back to the boats if we are attacked.’ He lowered his voice and added sharply, ‘I don’t care if you are scared, Ian. We all get like that. But don’t show it in front of the men!’ He saw his words strike home and added more gently, ‘The Germans may have had to leave overland.’ It did not make sense. Where was the bloody gunboat?
Bannatyre said, ‘Then we shall have to go back down-river, the way we came, sir.’
‘It looks that way. At least we tried, eh?’ But this time his words left Bannatyre untouched. He was remembering their slow, painful progress, and what the returning marines had told him about the Boxers and those hideous screams.
Blackwood looked past him as the paddles slowed for the final approach.
On the return passage the enemy would have all the time they needed. They would not be caught out again by a handful of marines.
The anchor clattered into shallow water and minutes later the two sampans were being warped alongside.
Blackwood nodded to Austad. ‘Keep a close watch, Captain. Your old cannon are going to come in useful, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Austad laughed, and the marines who were waiting to enter the boats heard him, and some even grinned as Blackwood strode through them. It couldn’t be all that bad if their captain could joke about it. Fox did not smile. He knew the game of old, and understood all the rules better than most.
Blackwood said, ‘You will be in charge until we return. Put what few men you have where they can be seen. The one who had his arm cut –’
Fox regarded him patiently. ‘Farley, sir.’
‘Have him move about the saloon and make it appear we have more men hidden below.’
‘Yessir.’ Fox shaded his eyes and peered at the shore. ‘I’d issue Cap’n Austad with a uniform if I thought ’e could get into it!’
Blackwood eyed him fondly. ‘The sooner we leave, the better chance we have of pulling out in daylight. Dawn tomorrow, with any luck.’
Fox stood at the rails and saluted as Blackwood jumped down amongst his men.
To himself he added, ‘And we’ll have to fight every bloody inch of the way, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Blackwood stood quite still, one hand resting on his open holster as his landing party fanned out towards the trees and into the shattered mission. Near to it was even worse. It had been done with great care and deliberation to make certain that nothing of any use remained. There were scars on the burned walls, rifle and some musket fire. The first squad to return reported that there was evidence of shellfire, black holes in the ground to show where the gunboat had hit back from the river.
How many? he wondered. A handful of fanatics, or was the Boxer movement larger than anyone at home really understood. A full-scale rebellion would mark an end to any trade or colonial progress throughout the breadth of China.
Sergeant Kirby hurried down the slope while three of his men followed with what appeared to be some Chinese youths.
Lieutenant Bannatyre exclaimed, ‘I’ll see if they’re armed!’
There were just two of them, both terrified as they were pushed towards Blackwood.
Kirby said dubiously, ‘They say they’re student interpreters who were employed ’ere by the Germans, sir. Can’t be sure o’ that neither.’ He looked as if he would have killed them without thinking too much about it.
Bannatyre said, ‘Could be true, sir. They use a lot of student interpreters at our legation in Peking.’
Blackwood asked quietly, ‘What happened here?’
They both stared wild-eyed at him as if they still could not believe what was happening.
Blackwood continued in the same even tone. ‘There was an attack.’
One of them nodded violently. ‘Many Boxers, sir. Fighting for two days.’ He made as if to look at the ruins but seemed to change his mind as if the memory was too vivid and terrible. ‘We all ordered to leave in the ship.’ He glanced at his friend. ‘But we try to find our way across land. No want to go in ship.’
Blackwood could see it in his mind. But he had to know more.
‘The German Count von Heiser, did you see him?’
‘He go in ship too.’
Kirby muttered, ‘Fer Chrissake!’
‘D’you know if there are still any Boxers here?’
The youth looked at the ground. ‘I think they go.’ Once again the quick exchange of glances. ‘They nearly found us. We heard them speak of river. They will try to block it.’
Bannatyre stared back at the sluggish current. ‘My God, we’ll be trapped!’
Blackwood tried to conceal his feelings. It was the only important thing he had discovered. They would know the old Bajamar was coming. How they knew was a mystery. But they obviously intended to cut their only line of escape. Perhaps they had forced something out of Earle before they allowed him to die.
He said, ‘Send a boat for Austad. I want him here, now.’
He could sense the two Chinese youths shaking with fear. So great was the terror instilled by the Boxers they did not even feel safe with the marines.
The count had of course been under the impression that his wife had gone to Shanghai. They had not seen the gunboat so it seemed likely that the Germans had headed north perhaps with the intention of joining their legation in Peking. It was fast becoming a nightmare.
He said, ‘Take these two on board.’ In his heart he knew that the interpreters had been sent overland to carry news of the attack to Shanghai. Once they reached a fishing village the rest would have been easy.
Blackwood could find no other solution. One thing stood out above all else. Count von Heiser did not intend to let his wife’s safety interfere with his duties.
Austad crunched up the beach and stared at the departing Chinese interpreters.
Blackwood said, ‘We must lighten your ship, Captain. When we steer downriver I need you to be able to go as fast as you can.’
Austad removed his pipe and stared. ‘Lighten the ship?’
Blackwood nodded. ‘I believe the Boxers will try to block our progress and launch an attack.’ He saw his words going home.
Austad said, ‘Not a dam, I think. The water would rise, and give my Bajamar more speed.’
‘A boom then?’ Blac
kwood controlled his impatience. The big Norwegian thought like he spoke, very slowly.
‘Boom?’ He pouted. ‘More like.’
Blackwood looked across at the anchored paddle-steamer. She seemed totally at peace against the green backdrop of trees.
He said, ‘How many anchors do you carry?’
Austad shrugged. ‘Just two, Captain.’ He sounded perplexed.
‘Then I want one taken aft.’ He looked for Kirby. ‘Did you hear that? Get a party together and move the spare anchor right aft. Find a hawser of some sort and shackle it on. We may have to use a stream anchor.’ The sergeant hurried away calling names. Orders he understood. He would carry them out to the letter.
‘You can unload all your coal and burn wood instead. It is much lighter and we can use some of it as barricades.’ He glanced at Bannatyre. ‘See to it, Ian. I want the helm and Maxim gun protected.’
Austad struggled for words as if his collar was choking him.
‘But my coal! I paid much money for it at Shanghai!’
‘You’ll get it back, Captain.’ He eyed him impassively. ‘But only if we escape from this bloody river!’
Within an hour the bulk of the marines, stripped and sweating with effort, and almost all of Austad’s crew were hard at work. Spare cable, coal, some iron hatch covers, all were dragged or rolled over the side until the top of the pile showed above the surface like a tiny islet.
Blackwood watched from the shore. The waterline was already rising slightly. Just inches, but it would make all the difference. A dash downstream, dodging the worst of the big sandbars, and straight into the ambush. He rubbed his chin. A boom. It was the most likely. He had heard stories of such things from the Arrow Wars.
It would make even the unmovable Masterman sit up when the old Bajamar came puffing into view. He pictured Mediator, graceful and sleek as he had last seen her. And yet in this kind of situation she was as useless as a bow and arrow. Blackwood walked across to the crude graves. No name, no markers. They had probably been wondering why it had happened when death had cut them down.
He saw his pickets moving restlessly by the line of trees, their rifles and fixed bayonets at the ready. They needed no reminding now of what could happen.
Blackwood thought of the countess, hiding her feelings, few would ever guess what she was really enduring. He hoped that when she realized what had happened she would be equally strong.
He saw Swan watching him thoughtfully.
‘We will ram the boom at full speed.’ He found to his surprise that he could smile even now. The idea of the Bajamar managing even six knots was hard to believe.
Swan grimaced. ‘We might broach-to, sir.’ He waited warily. Blackwood took a few paces this way and that. ‘We shall have to blow it first. The ship can ride on a stream anchor while we steer one of the sampans into the boom, barricade or whatever it turns out to be, and explode a charge against it.’
Swan persisted unhelpfully. ‘The sampan might drift into the bank, sir. Or blow the backside out of our seagoing relic as we try to get past ’er.’ He grinned broadly. ‘You may ’ave to ask for volunteers this time, sir.’
Blackwood was grateful for Swan’s trust or indifference, and not for the first time. He knew exactly how far he could go, but whatever it was it stayed between them, something private.
As soon as it was dark they would return aboard. It was no longer safe to leave isolated pickets on the land. Even now, no matter what the student interpreters had said, there might be hundreds of eyes watching them, gauging their readiness to move.
There was another great splash as some iron ballast was tipped into the river. If they ever got to sea the little Bajamar would toss about like a leaf on a millrace.
Timber from the burned-out mission was being hoisted from the sampans for Austad’s boilers and for use as rough and ready barricades. It could make all the difference when bullets started to fly.
A strange bird squawked in the distance, but Blackwood chilled. It sounded like Earle. He could imagine the letter which the colonel commandant would eventually write to Earle’s parents in Surrey. Died bravely in the Service of his Queen and Country. His own parents had doubtless had one at Hawks Hill for Neil. His mind shied away from it and he recalled instead a great marble bath he had shared with the army paymaster’s young wife at Trincomalee. The thought made him feel even dirtier. Just to sink into a bath again. He touched his tunic beneath which the livid scar was another reminder.
He thought suddenly of the countess. Friedrike. Just to hold her like that, to take her –
Sergeant Kirby interrupted his thoughts. ‘Anchor’s in position aft, sir. Th’ ship’s drawin’ five inches less as far as I can make out.’
‘You’ve done well.’ Blackwood looked away. The sky was changing to deep purple, the shadows from the trees looked like bars across the water.
‘Recall all the working parties, Sergeant. See if Austad’s cook can produce a good meal as soon as it’s dark.’
Kirby understood. ‘Long day termorrer.’
He marched off to gather up his sentries. A hard, embittered man, Blackwood thought.
He went over his plan again. It would be a long day right enough. He thought of men like these, Fox and Corporal O’Neil, Dago Trent, Lieutenant Bannatyre. They counted on him. It was no time for mistakes.
He closed his holster and glanced at his hand. He was surprised to discover he was completely unafraid and that unnerved him.
7
Under Fire
In the small cabin the imprisoned air was already hot and humid although it was not yet dawn.
Blackwood watched the countess as she sat on a small canvas chair and waited for her Chinese maid to finish dressing her hair.
Her eyes watched him in the mirror.
‘We are leaving soon, Captain?’
Blackwood nodded. It seemed different with the maid here. A sort of formality had come between them.
He replied, ‘My men have been fed. They are being mustered at their stations now.’ He wished that he felt fresh and alert, but it had been a long night. The sampan to prepare, to transform into a floating bomb. Perhaps the interpreters were wrong, or the Boxers had changed their minds about a boom. But it was very unlikely they would escape downstream without an attack of some kind.
He thought of her face when he had described the scene ashore; he had expected some sign of disappointment, even anger, when he told her about her husband and the gunboat. All she had said was, ‘He has a mission in life. Nothing ever obstructs that.’
On deck he heard the scrape of wire and a sudden rumble from the engine room. Soon now.
Blackwood also thought of his men’s reactions when he had explained what he intended. They accepted it. The threat of more danger had pushed Earle’s capture into the background for the present. They had piled logs and lengths of timber around the gun in the bows to afford some protection to its crew.
Sergeant Kirby had shown some of his own anxiety when he had snapped, ‘Bloody Maxim! Trust the Navy to give us one o’ them! I’ll take the old Nordenfelt any time when it comes to rapid-bloody-fire!’
Captain Masterman had probably offered the Maxim because he thought it would be easier to mount in the ancient Bajamar.
Other than that there had been little to reveal what his men really felt.
She said, ‘You may tell me, Captain.’ Her eyes in the mirror were quite steady. ‘What chance do we have?’
Blackwood said, ‘I believe we will have to fight our way through.’
She turned on the chair to look at him, her hair gleaming in the lamplight.
It was then that a memory stabbed at Blackwood like a dagger. When he had joined his first ship he had been serving with an old major who had seen a lot of service in China. He had spoken of a hired surveying vessel named Kite which had been wrecked on the Chinese mainland. Her captain had been drowned, but his wife who had been on board with him was taken prisoner and dragged by her long red
hair from village to village to be humiliated brutally before being put in a small bamboo cage and carried on display to Ningpo. To the Chinese rebels at the time she must have symbolized the foreign invader if only because of her hair. Her captors had carried her for many miles in the cage where she could not sit or lie down. Neither she nor the other survivors from the Kite had ever been seen again.
‘You are staring, Captain.’
He looked away. ‘I am sorry.’ He forced a smile but his mouth felt stiff. The Boxers wanted her for an important hostage, but what might they do to her in the meantime?
‘I am apologizing again.’
She stood up and faced him.
‘I can read it in your eyes. Do not dismay, I will not show fear to them.’
He put his hands on her waist. ‘In case anything should go wrong.’ He hesitated and felt her body tense. ‘I just want you to know that I have fallen in love with you.’
Her lips parted as if she would protest and he hurried on, ‘I realize it is impossible. I know that.’ He looked at her for several seconds and added, ‘But nothing can change how I feel.’
A fist pounded the door. ‘Cap’n Blackwood, sir!’ It was Fox. Perhaps he knew too. Maybe they all did. It no longer seemed to matter.
‘I’m coming right away, Sergeant Major!’
He let his arms drop to his sides. ‘I have to go. They are raising the anchor. Time to leave.’
She moved closer, her face uplifted.
Blackwood could feel the maid staring at them, her eyes like saucers.
‘May God guard you, my dear Captain.’ Then she kissed him on the lips. It was more of a sensation than anything and in the next instant she was standing away from him. Unreachable.
Blackwood walked out to the side-deck and made his way forward to where the capstan clanked round in a cloud of rust.
Lieutenant Bannatyre drew himself to attention and said, ‘All in position, sir.’ Like the others he was wearing his field-service cap instead of the white helmet with its gleaming spike on the top. The marines might resent the order, but it made them smaller targets. Blackwood knew from bitter experience that a white helmet made a perfect aiming-mark for any marksman. He glanced aft and saw Austad’s bulky silhouette on the bridge as he watched the anchor coming inboard. Behind him the smoke rolled downwind from the funnel and sparks too, as the boilers adjusted themselves to freshly cut wood.
The First to Land (1984) Page 9
