Von Heiser studied Blackwood and raised his glass in salute. In his powerful hand it looked like a thimble.
‘It was pointless to maintain the Hoshun trade mission. The river is too shallow for anything but local craft, and the roads are little better than goat-tracks.’ He glanced at his wife. ‘So if the Boxers intended to put pressure on my government by capturing the Countess as a hostage it was all to no purpose. Naturally I regret that her sister died in such terrible circumstances.’
It sounded like a carefully prepared speech, Blackwood thought, no matter what the count had said earlier.
He asked, ‘What will you do now, sir?’ He felt her watching him. It was all he could manage not to return her gaze.
‘Proceed as arranged.’ Von Heiser sounded mildly surprised at the question. ‘Tomorrow we shall start our journey to Peking. By river to begin with, and then by train. The railway is quite safe, and I am assured by Baron von Ketteler in our Peking legation that more soldiers and marines are arriving to protect them. So you see, Captain Blackwood, there is nothing to fear.’
Blackwood stared at him. He knew from the sudden silence that the others were listening.
‘I cannot agree, sir. The Boxers are united against all foreigners. There have been several confirmed reports of –’
Von Heiser smiled gently. ‘You are a brave man. But you must leave diplomacy to others more experienced.’
The German officer glanced at the bulkhead clock and murmured something across Von Heiser’s shoulder.
The count nodded. ‘I must leave now.’ He turned away to speak with Wilberforce and Blackwood whispered, ‘You must not go with him! It is terribly dangerous.’
She flushed. ‘Would you have me run away? I have possessions in Peking, and there are also those of my dead sister –’ She faltered and he saw her lip tremble. Although her husband had his back towards them he could sense that he was listening.
Blackwood exclaimed bitterly, ‘It is wrong. A new uprising could sweep China from end to end. I may not be a diplomat, but I have seen good men die because of their complacency!’
Wilberforce shot him a warning glance but Blackwood could not stop. His head was aching badly, and he knew that he was saying all the wrong things.
She said insistently, ‘I have to go, Captain.’
Blackwood could feel the gulf opening between them. What a fool he had been. She at least had tried to warn him. Now the moment was past.
They filed from the cabin, and Mediator’s gunnery officer glanced at his watch. ‘Time to eat, thank God.’ To Blackwood he whispered, ‘Steady on, Soldier. It’s not worth it.’
Blackwood swung away, blind to everything but his sense of loss. ‘What the bloody hell d’you know about it!’
The gunnery officer watched him leave and then said to his companion, ‘Well, well. More to him than meets the eye.’
On deck Blackwood stood in the shadows as the pinnace steamed away towards the German cruiser.
Wilberforce strode past and muttered, ‘You can thank your lucky stars that I was here and not the Old Man. He’d have roasted you alive!’ He paused and looked abeam at the fast-moving boat. ‘All the same, I can’t say I blame you.’
Swan appeared as if by magic.
God, the captain was taking it bad. Worse than he had ever seen before. Swan waited, gauging the moment. Then as Blackwood turned towards a companionway he said, ‘I got somethin’ for you, sir.’ He held out a small velvet pouch no bigger than a badge. Blackwood opened it and then held the locket in his hand. It contained a perfect miniature of Friedrike, even the hair was exactly as it had been just now in the cabin.
Swan said nothing. It was not the right time. But Swan knew that the locket must have cost a fortune. It was not the kind of thing you handed out as a souvenir.
Blackwood replaced the locket in its velvet pouch and put it carefully in his pocket.
It was not over after all.
Lieutenant Colonel James Blair ran his eyes over a list of names and duties and remarked, ‘You’ve done a good piece of work with your new company, David.’ He glanced up from his desk and asked, ‘Something wrong, old chap?’
Blackwood tore his eyes from the anchorage and the motionless warships which rested on their reflections like models. In spite of the deckhead fans he could feel the sweltering heat, the sense of apprehension in the ships as they and their companies waited, and waited.
It was a week since the Germans had left for Peking. They had been well supported by troops from several nations and a signal had been received that everyone had arrived safely and unmolested. It had all been too easy.
He replied, ‘I wish we could be doing something, sir, and not just swinging round the anchor day after day.’
Blair said, ‘It was bad luck about young Earle.’ He did not seem to hear what Blackwood had said. As if half of his mind was elsewhere. ‘Your Sergeant Kirby must be a strong character. The surgeon tells me he’ll be able to walk before much longer.’
Blackwood looked away. In a way it was a miracle. The heavy, old-fashioned bullet which had smashed Kirby down had been deflected by the sampan’s gunwale. But for that he would be back there still.
It was maddening the way that the ships were kept in the dark about the true situation ashore. It was said that the various legations, and especially Sir Claude MacDonald, the British minister in Peking, had tried to parley with the Chinese official government without success. But that was all they knew. One ominous note had been the arrival on board Mediator of several crates of the new long Lee-Enfield rifles for the marines, and some Nordenfeldt machine guns mounted on wheeled carriages which could only be used ashore.
It was evident that the Boxers were daily getting bolder. Masterman had received some news of a massacre of some seventy Chinese Christians only sixty miles from Peking itself and several savage attacks on foreign properties along the railway line, the last link with the capital.
As if from miles away Blackwood heard Fox drilling a detachment with their newly issued Lee-Enfields. It was a sign that perhaps at long last they were catching up with the army. It was always said by old Royal Marines that the Corps was five years behind the regular army in almost everything from weapons to uniforms. Maybe the necessity of the moment was about to speed the changes.
There was a polite tap at the door and Lieutenant Gravatt, the acting adjutant, stepped into the cabin and handed a piece of paper to the colonel.
Blair read the message slowly. Then he said, ‘The Boxers have struck at Peking. They’ve burned the Racecourse down and sacked all the buildings around it. Our minister, Sir Claude MacDonald, has requested that a strong force of Marines and Bluejackets be sent immediately as reinforcements for the legations.’ He looked up sharply. ‘When did this signal arrive, Toby?’
‘Yesterday, sir.’
‘And nothing since?’
Gravatt glanced at Blackwood. ‘The telegraph line from Peking has been cut. They’re completely on their own.’
Blackwood bit his lip. It was worse even than he had expected.
Blair smoothed out the signal pad, his voice far away as he said, ‘Admiral Seymour will have to send a relief column right away. It’ll be very difficult especially if the Boxers have torn up the railway.’
A seaman stood in the open doorway. ‘Cap’n Masterman sends ’is compliments, sir. All senior officers to repair on board th’ flagship immediately.’
Blair touched his neat moustache with one knuckle.
‘It’s started, David.’ He groped for his cap. ‘The bloody fools. They should have listened. Now it will be strength to meet strength. If only they’d listened!’
Blackwood wondered momentarily whom he meant by ‘they’. The Chinese or the foreigners in their land? He remembered what they had said about Blair’s Chinese mistress in Hong Kong and guessed the answer.
They left the small office and walked out into the passageway where some barefooted seamen were polishing the brass handrails.
Blackwood reached up unconsciously and touched the blue ribbon on his chest and remembered the way she had spoken of him to Masterman. How she had demanded his escort upriver.
Was there no end of it for her? He recalled her husband’s stern features, the adamant way he had stated his reasons for returning to Peking. Blackwood clenched his fist. Well, he had been wrong about that too, and had put Friedrike directly into the line of fire.
Sergeant Major Fox brought the sweating marines to attention as they walked past to the main gangway. He watched Blackwood’s face and understood. He did not need telling. These new rifles had come along at just the right moment.
Later, when the senior officers of the various ships and detachments were assembled in the flagship’s spacious wardroom, Admiral Sir Edward Seymour came straight to the point.
‘I have received an urgent request from our minister in Peking for us to advance on Peking with reinforcements.’ He was a mildly spoken man with a neat beard who appeared to be completely untroubled by the swift change of events.
The admiral continued, ‘I intend to leave for Tientsin tomorrow at dawn and secure several special trains for a force of Royal Marines and Blue jackets. Certain other nations are sending their own support. Overall it will consist of some two thousand men. We shall be in Peking by the end of the day.’
Blackwood darted a quick glance at Blair but the colonel still had the same distant look. Surely Seymour’s casual reference was a mistake? It was a hundred miles from Tientsin to Peking through country which was known to be patrolled by parties of Boxers who might even have torn up some of the railway track.
Blackwood had also heard that the Chinese Imperial Army was somewhere between Peking and the sea. When the cards were down it was likely that their general would throw in his hand with the Boxers, especially if he wished to retain the Dowager Empress’s favour. She was openly opposed to any further negotiations with the foreigners and although some of her governors were against her alliance she remained firm.
‘That is all, gentlemen.’ The admiral gave a bleak smile. ‘The Royal Marines will be the first to land. As usual.’ That brought a few laughs as he had known it would.
Chairs scraped, aides picked up their maps and notebooks and they flowed out into the waiting sunshine to look for their boats.
Blackwood said, ‘It’s a very tall order, sir.’
Blair shrugged. ‘We shall soon know, old chap. We are to lead.’ He studied Blackwood for the first time since they had boarded the flagship.
‘I seem to recall that when you were in Hong Kong you told me that this appointment meant little more than wiping carriage seats for the ladies of our legation, what? It’s turning out to be somewhat more complicated, I’d have thought!’ He laughed and looked about ten years younger.
Together they joined Captain Masterman by the gangway as the Mediator’s boat hooked on to receive them.
Masterman said almost to himself, ‘Peking tomorrow, Colonel? That will be the day!’
10
No Pity
David Blackwood with Lieutenant Gravatt beside him walked slowly along the side of the railway track. It was a strange sensation, he thought, almost like a school outing. Gone was the apprehension and uncertainty. They had come ashore, ready if ordered to fight, but instead to find something of an anti-climax.
All the way to Tientsin the Royal Marines and Bluejackets had kept good marching distances between each unit, but most of the villages had appeared abandoned, some even derelict, and in the outskirts of the old city itself there had been more Chinese troops in evidence than civilians. Perhaps Von Heiser had been right to scoff at his concern after all.
The railway station to which his special detachment had marched was deserted but for a solitary train. It consisted of a squat, powerful-looking engine, which Private Kempster was quick to point out had been built in his home-town of Leeds.
The engine was to be preceded by a flat car protected by boiler plates, sandbags and heavy timber. This leading car carried a Nordenfeldt machine-gun and Blackwood saw Corporal O’Neil grin down at him as if it was a huge joke. He showed no sign of his ordeal whatsoever. Blackwood recalled his shout, Good old Blackie. He had never considered that he had a nickname, even such a mild one.
Gravatt said, ‘I’ve detailed a section of marines for that truck, sir. It’ll be a bit unhealthy if we get ambushed.’ He dropped his eyes and flushed. ‘I – I’m sorry, sir. I forgot.’
Blackwood shook his head. ‘Not your fault.’ The train’s crude defences were typical of those used in Egypt and South Africa. Like the ones Neil had mentioned in his last letter.
Blackwood lifted his chin and walked further along the train. The driver and fireman were obviously Irish. O’Neil would feel quite at home in the vanguard of their advance.
The coaches behind the engine were for the rest of the detachment, some Bluejackets who would handle the two light field-pieces, and lastly another freight car with rails, ties and tools for making repairs to any damaged sections of the track. The rest of the company waited in the shadow of a sloping roof beside the train, leaning on their rifles, chatting and passing the time with some German sailors from the Flensburg who would be taking another train later on.
Blackwood touched his forehead and knew it was irritation which had roused his concussion again.
In spite of everything that had happened Seymour’s flag-lieutenant had passed a message to Blair about the state and presentation of this company. ‘They are amongst the forces of other foreign governments. The Royal Marines, no matter what might lie ahead, have to be properly turned out in their scarlet kerseys and blue trousers instead of their already crumpled whites.’
Blair had listened to Blackwood’s protests and had agreed that as his detachment was to lead he must retain the choice. White uniforms could be boiled in tea if necessary. They had soon discovered that trick when fighting the Boers. Scarlet made a perfect target.
Seymour had apparently accepted this but had snapped back through his aide that the marines would take their proper uniforms with them anyway, so that when they marched through the gates of Peking there could not be a word of criticism aimed at them or their commander.
It was ridiculous, Blackwood thought. Like Seymour’s insistence that the trip would be over by nightfall. For the same reason he had ordered that only three days’ rations would be carried.
As Fox had hinted darkly, ‘’E must ’ave better information than us, sir.’
It had been almost sad to leave the Mediator. Masterman’s company had made all the extra marines welcome and comfortable in spite of the overcrowding between deck.
As they had been ferried ashore Austad’s little Bajamar had given a final salute on her siren. She was returning to safer waters and her old habits, but Blackwood doubted if things would ever seem quite the same again for the big Norwegian and his crew.
On the way across the blue water Blackwood had watched the crouching forts which protected the entrance to the Peiho River. Through his powerful binoculars, a present from his mother before he had left England, Blackwood had studied the forts with great care. It was hard to tell where the Taku forts ended and the land began. Ageless. But they could hold back an armada if they fell into the wrong hands.
‘Colonel’s coming, sir.’
That was Swan, always close by when you needed him. He had already been aboard the train and had doubtless selected a place in the leading compartment for Blackwood and his capacious bag in which he usually carried some whisky for emergencies.
Blair returned their salutes and regarded the train without much enthusiasm.
‘Some bloody command, eh?’
Blackwood stared. ‘Are you coming with us, sir?’
‘Well of course I am, dammit!’ He glared along the track towards the sea as if he expected to recognize the admiral amongst the milling troops and sailors.
‘I’d not leave it to these –’ he sought for a suitable word, �
��– bloody amateurs!’
Blackwood smiled. ‘I’ve brought the two student interpreters we found at the mission, sir. They might try to run, but they’d be invaluable if we meet with an argument.’
Blair nodded. ‘Good thinking. Tell them –’ He gave a sad smile. ‘No, I shall tell them, that one goes up the front and the other remains in the last carriage with our men. One sign of treachery and I’ll blow their heads off! Not that they’ll believe it of course.’
He was about to turn away when he added, ‘I’ve detailed Second Lieutenant Blackwood to act as my aide, right? I’ll try and keep him out of trouble.’
A runner panted along the track and saluted.
‘Signal, sir. Time to move off!’
Blair looked at the engine, shrouded in steam, as if it too was eager to leave.
‘Better get them mounted, or whatever you do in a bloody train!’ He was desperately worried. You could feel it like a fever.
Blackwood waved to the sergeant major. ‘First Platoon!’
Three days’ rations, Seymour had decided. It did not seem much. Even when they got to Peking they might find supplies very short. But he would see her again. No matter what she thought, or which way her loyalty directed her, she would know he was there, within call. He found himself smiling as he thought of Hawks Hill, of what his father would say about his lovesick behaviour.
A lot of damned nonsense. A woman is just a woman, boy. Leave it at that. No wonder his mother had aged so noticeably.
It would be high-summer now. The smell of fields and hedgerows, good earth and farmyards. Hampshire.
Blackwood saw Swan swing himself easily into the first compartment, his new rifle already an extension of himself. Did he ever think of home, of the Hampshire they both knew so well?
The First to Land (1984) Page 14
