by Linda Jaivin
‘Your James has caused no end of excitement. Dispatching poor David Fraser, whom I fear will ever be known as “the valet”, to set up the wireless land station for the Haimun at Wei Hai Wei, he ordered him to raise a one-hundred-and-eighty-foot mast. It needed to be that tall to receive signals from the boat if it got as far as Port Arthur. James didn’t realise that the peasants had already chopped down every tree on every hill for miles around Wei Hai Wei for fuel. Fraser had to cobble together something out of the half-rotting masts of abandoned junks. When he set about raising it, it broke in two and nearly dragged half a regiment of bluejackets with it into the sea.’
‘Half a regiment?’ Morrison sounded dubious.
‘I exaggerate.’ Molyneux shrugged. ‘As one normally does in pursuit of a good story.’ He prodded his friend.
‘I never!’ Morrison pulled away from the offending finger. ‘All my mistakes, and I admit they’re manifold, are honest ones.’
‘Anyway, whilst all this is unfolding, the indefatigable James is sending one telegram after the other to Fraser—“Expedite Forestry”, “Expedite Forestry”.
‘Ah. The De Forest wireless system. Forestry. Of course.’
‘After the same message arrived day after day after day, several times a day, the pun ceased to amuse them.’
‘I can imagine. James summoned me to Wei Hai Wei with a similarly persistent, if pun-less, deluge.’
‘On a more serious note,’ Molyneux said, ‘you should probably know that he has put some rather prominent noses out of joint.’
‘That’s quite an image,’ Morrison replied. ‘How big are these noses, exactly?’
‘Big. You see, strictly speaking, only the government, the British administration of Wei Hai Wei, may sanction the building of a new wireless station. He failed to square with the commissioner first.’
‘Lockhart?’ Morrison knew the commissioner well. ‘Maybe I can have a word.’
‘That would be useful. But I’m not sure what you can do about the Admiralty. Fraser talked Colonel Bruce into volunteering the help of the Royal Engineers, entangling the military in The Times’s project as well. Hence the involvement of bluejackets. Wholly illegal, as you might imagine. All things considered, it’s a miracle that he managed to get the mast up and working at all, and without anyone getting arrested or court-martialled, at that.’
‘It appears that I’ll have my work cut out simply trying to keep people from trying to sink the Haimun with James on board—and I mean those ostensibly on our side. It must be said that, just over a week ago in the midst of all this ballyhoo, James did manage to send his first wireless news message from the Haimun, the first ever transmitted from a war zone.’
Molyneux opened his mouth and shut it again. His lips twitched.
Morrison fixed his friend with a wry look. ‘I know what you want to say: the only fact James reported in said dispatch was that he was at sea aboard the Haimun en route to Korea. Oh, and that the “military developments” that he had previously foreshadowed ought to be taking place “very soon”.’ After that night at the Tientsin Club, when Morrison had been surprised by the news of James’s breakthrough, he’d found and read the dispatch in question. ‘The second telegram, which he sent the day after, was more satisfying.’
‘About the landing of Japan’s main expeditionary force on the Korean coast.’
‘Yes, with good detail. The building of pontoon jetties and so on. He was properly discreet, too, declining to give numbers or designations of the troops, saying it would be “unfair” to the Japanese to do so.’
‘I understand there’s been a third telegram. It was sent two days ago. He provides much information on Admiral Kamimura’s bombardment of Vladivostok earlier this month. He does seem to have won the trust of his Japanese sources.’
‘Yes. Even if the Japanese navy is still prevaricating about how close they will let him get to any real action. I look forward to hearing more when I join him in Wei Hai Wei. Speaking of which, I spotted a junk carrying European refugees earlier. I’d like to speak with them before leaving Chefoo.’
‘Let’s go then,’ answered Molyneux. ‘When you’re done, I shall have the customs launch deliver you to the steamer.’
The men set off. An hour or so later they boarded the customs launch at the jetty.
‘So,’ Molyneux said, ‘I believe that you are keeping the best story of all to yourself
.’ ‘What do you mean?’
‘One hears that you’re seeing the famous Miss Perkins.’
‘Famous?’
‘Most certainly. She is widely discussed. The wife of a customs official—no, don’t worry, not that one—arrived back from Tientsin a week or so ago full of information, though I admit it was so excessively sartorial in nature that I ceased to pay attention at the third mention of taffeta. My Boy told me about her in more interesting detail. His cousin Ah Long works for the Ragsdales. That’s how I learned you knew the lass.’
‘How small China is. Nearly four hundred million people and every single one of them knows my business.’
‘And, to be fair, you know theirs.’
‘It’s my job. But touché. So, what exactly have you heard?’
‘She seems to have charmed everyone except the missionaries, whose disapproval commends her more highly to everyone else. Even the women appear to be entranced, with the exception of those whose husbands have embraced the cult of Miss Perkins too heartily.’
Morrison affected insouciance. ‘In which case they may be embracing more than the cult, one would think.’
‘Indeed. She is quite the courtesan, from all reports.’
‘Quite,’ Morrison replied, as tightly wound as his watch.
‘Do I detect a note of sourness?’
‘Not at all. I’m enjoying myself and haven’t felt so young or vigorous in a long while. She does me good, even when she does me bad.’
Molyneux grinned. ‘That’s apparent. You’re looking in ruddy good health.’
‘On the other hand, one does struggle. Like most explorers, I have an instinctive dislike of the beaten track.’
‘And her track is well beaten.’
Morrison shot Molyneux a malefic look.
‘That was crude, I admit. But I am curious, G.E. Is it possible to make an honest woman of her?’
Morrison was about to answer with a wisecrack when a realisation struck him. ‘That’s the thing about her and why separation from her causes me to feel downspirited. She is the most honest woman I have ever met. She has no pretence, no hypocrisy. And that is rare and lovable in a woman.’
‘It is rare and lovable in a man as well,’ Molyneux noted.
Morrison paused. ‘I feel that if I can only hold on to that appreciation, I might find happiness with her. But I confess it is damned hard at times.’
‘What does she want from you? Did she say?’
‘For me not to go with any fast women whilst we’re apart.’
Molyneux guffawed.
‘I’m serious.’
Molyneux wagged his finger at Morrison. ‘There is only one way to deal with a woman like that, G.E.’
‘And that is?’
‘You must marry her. Whoa!’ The wake from a passing warship caused the launch to roll. Molyneux caught Morrison before he tumbled straight over the gunwales.
In Which Morrison Finds Lionel James in the
Queen’s House and Resists Duty in the
Name of Temptation
Marry her?
The packet made the coastal run in good time and it wasn’t long before Wei Hai Wei, much smaller than Chefoo, slid into view. Morrison looked towards the low brown denuded hills with their sparse covering of scrub oak and rough grass, imagining Fraser’s dismay at being ordered to erect a sturdy mast. Without the right raw materials, any enterprise descended into folly.
The man has a sense of humour.
The boat juddered to anchor at Port Edward, the compact settlement that was home to Wei
Hai Wei’s small European community. Atop a flagpole, one of the British Empire’s more eccentric flags snapped in the breeze. A Union Jack in the upper left corner. Centre right a circular badge with a delicate Chinese watercolour of Mandarin ducks, the classic symbol of love and fidelity. They represented the marriage of sound colonial administration and local custom, which was intended to transform the sleepy fishing village into a veritable Hong Kong of northern China. It would be more than just a British naval base and rest station: it would be a model of colonial administration. And so the British established school and clinics. They planted trees. They vaccinated children against bubonic plague and puerperal fever, mandated the covering of night-soil buckets and organised villagers into rat-catching associations. Yet for all the energy of the administration and hopefulness of the symbolism, Morrison knew neither the British nor the Chinese expected the union to last. The 1898 convention under which the Ch’ing Court leased Wei Hai Wei to Britain granted the tiny territory to the British only for so long as the Russians held Port Arthur. Thus both sides viewed the arrangement as a makeweight by which a more stable balance of imperialist powers might be achieved. If Japan won this war, the union would dissolve. It was hard to put much stock in love and fidelity when the groom knew the bride was liable to wander off with someone else at any moment.
Morrison told himself to stop reading meaning into every deuced thing.
He and Kuan caught the first launch for hilly Liu Kung Island, the natural breakwater at the mouth of Wei Hai Wei’s harbour, which the British navy had made its base and recreational ground. It was not a big place, only two miles long and one and a quarter square miles in area. The north of the island rose steeply from the sea in forbidding cliffs. Chinese fishermen lived on the island’s pointy east and blunter west ends in stone houses thatched with seagrass; the British erected their barracks, churches and public buildings in the sheltered south and centre. Kuan pointed out a Japanese man o’ war steaming past, en route to Port Arthur.
They disembarked at the crowded quay on the island’s south side. Directly across the way was a grand old building that had formerly housed a Chinese temple. At the top of a low flight of stone steps stood massive vermilion doors. Painted with the fierce figure of the Chinese God of War, they had been swung open in welcome. A sign at the side of the door announced the premises as ‘Queen’s House’; it served as the Royal Naval Canteen. Making plans to meet Kuan later, Morrison strode up the stone steps, stepped smartly over the wooden threshold and looked around. In a courtyard where Buddhist idols once ‘ate joss’ and spirit food offered up by worshippers, British officers and civilians consumed light meals and ‘temperance drinks’ such as beer served up by the management. Seated at a table on which the latest edition of the daily Wei Hai Wei Lyre lay open and unread, Lionel James puffed furiously on his pipe, looking no less red-faced or wild-eyed than the God of War himself.
Morrison had barely sat down when James let loose a barrage: ‘the hide of…’, ‘gross insult…’, ‘outrage…’, ‘provocation…’ Morrison had to wind him back like a clock.
Admiral Alexieff, the Tsar’s viceroy for the Far East, James said, had decreed that should the Russian navy discover that any correspondents travelling on neutral vessels were utilising wireless technology to communicate war news to the Japanese, the Russians would arrest them as spies and seize their vessels and equipment. ‘I am, of course, the only correspondent who fits the description!’ James fumed. ‘And all this just as I’ve finally begun to make a mark with my telegrams. The New York Times is now publishing them after The Times. Somebody has to stare down Alexieff!’
‘Agreed,’ Morrison said. ‘But if you are not actually communicating war news to the Japanese, the Russians would have no grounds to complain. I say write a telegram for The Times in which you make clear that you use a cipher that neither Japanese nor Russian instruments are capable of recording. Put it on the record. You are doing nothing that compromises the neutrality of your position or the ship’s. If the Russians dare to act then, it will be seen as a hostile act.’
James grunted assent. His brow remained furrowed under his slouch cap. He relit his pipe and drew on it for a while in silence, his features growing hazy behind the cloud of smoke. ‘That is certainly the position of the editors of both The Times and the New York Times,’ he confirmed in a gruff voice. ‘The New York Times is making much of the fact that our wireless operators are young Americans. There is talk that if the Russians are going to threaten American lives, the State Department will have to get involved. The New York Times has gone so far as to say that Russian seizure of the Haimun would be tantamount to a declaration of war against both the United States and Great Britain.’
‘And the American government?’
‘The American State Department is considerably more cautious in its own pronouncements.’
‘What about the Foreign Office?’
‘More cautious still. The legal adviser of Foreign Secretary Lord Lansdowne is appalled that we may have compromised Britain’s neutrality in Russian eyes. He has not been shy about letting our editors know it. And thanks to Admiral Noel’s opposition to the project, the Admiralty Lords have weighed in as well.’ James paused to gauge Morrison’s reaction.
‘You’re right,’ Morrison said. ‘It’s a perfect night for a stroll.’
Having delivered that non sequitur, Morrison rose and strode towards the exit. James, snatching his tobacco and matches from the table, scurried after with a perplexed expression.
It was a mild and moon-silvered night. ‘Our conversation was attracting attention,’ Morrison explained once they were on the waterfront. ‘In their eagerness to eavesdrop, several correspondents were listing dangerously from their chairs. Now that we are no longer placing them in harm’s way, we are free to talk. What exactly is the opinion of the Admiralty Lords?’
‘It is that issues of neutrality aside, allowing journalists with wireless apparatus to steam willy-nilly about the theatre of war in press boats could set a dangerous precedent. They don’t want anyone trying that when it’s Britain at war.’
‘They have a point,’ Morrison conceded.
‘To make things worse, the commander of Britain’s China Fleet, Sir Cyprian Bridge, was furious to learn that Fraser had enlisted the help of the Royal Navy to raise the wireless mast. Fulminated that it was “a piece of great impertinence”. He learned about it from a guest at his table on board the HMS Alacrity.’
‘Insult to injury,’ observed Morrison, imagining the scene. ‘At least you’ve got a fine ship there with the Haimun. I’m rather fond of it for its role in transporting the British troops who came to put down the Boxers four years ago.’
‘The Haimun is a good vessel,’ James agreed. ‘She can do sixteen knots if pushed. Jolly good crew, too. Captain Passmore is a mulatto who claims a wealthy uncle in Melbourne and a place in the bed of the actress Lillie Langtry. You’d enjoy Passmore. Biggest gossip on the China coast. Our quartermaster’s a hardy Malayan, the wireless operator, Brown, is a good bloke, and Tonami, my Japanese translator, a capital sort. He’s spent time in Europe. Knows Paris as well as he does Tokio. G.E…’ James turned and gripped Morrison’s arm. ‘We sail for Nagasaki at dawn. Come with us. You’ll get a taste of the Haimun in action. You’ll see for yourself just what’s at stake. We’re going to change the future of correspondence, G.E.! We just need to be left alone to do it! Well? Will you come?’
Morrison’s mouth tightened. I should go. Of course I should. ‘Can’t do. Business in Shanghai. Urgent business. Very urgent.’ He wondered if he was as transparent as he felt. What an ass I am.
‘You can’t delay?’ James asked.
‘No.’ Morrison shook his head. ‘Sadly not.’
In Which Morrison T’ravels to the Charing Cross
of the Pacific, Lectures Kuan on the Benefits of
Western Imperialism and Receives a Surprise at
Journey’s ‘End
Two days it
took to steam the nearly five hundred nautical miles down the China coast from Wei Hai Wei to the mouth of the Yangtze Delta, two days in which Morrison had plenty of time to wonder, fret, imagine, burn and hope, though he couldn’t have said what exactly he was hoping for. Early on the morning of the twenty-sixth of March, lying in his bunk between sleep and wakefulness, Morrison felt the shift of the engines. The steamer had left the East China Sea and entered the delta. The world outside his porthole was thick and grey, opaque air, turbid water.
He ought to have gone with James to Japan. There was no question but that the Russians were looking for trouble. James would not willingly give it to them. Yet Morrison was not convinced that James, irascible, stubborn and obsessive as he was, could avoid provoking it.
Dressing warmly against the dank air, he took himself above deck. Though the fog was still impenetrable, the earthy, estuarial breath of paddy fields and vegetable gardens told him land was close.
A lightship arrived to guide the steamer through the treacherous shallows into the channel. The ships chugged in concert past low marshy banks to the mouth of the Whampoa River. Farms pitched into view, then mills and factories and graving docks, and waking industry proclaimed itself with a cacophony of clanging, scraping and whistling.
As the steamer arrived in sight of Shanghai itself, the channel grew crowded with a circus of sampans and steam liners, skiffs, paddle arks, junks, gunboats, launches and the tramps of a dozen nations and two dozen companies, all, it seemed, sounding their sirens, whistles and bells at once.
Yet for all the purposeful energy of the ‘Charing Cross of the Pacific’, there was a fecund, promiscuous, feminine sensuality here with which arid north China, for all its intellectual and political vitality, could not compete. Morrison felt both unnerved and stirred by Shanghai’s sultry breath, its sly dialect, its savage t’ai-chi of cosmopolitan and parochial. Peking and Tientsin were male, purposeful, important, yang. Shanghai, with its steamy, moist exhalations, was yin. A woman, and a loose one at that. Anyone could have her. It didn’t matter if you were an honest man or a pirate, a foreigner or a native-born, if you came from Canton or Paris, London or Szechuan, she offered herself up as easily as the vendors and hawkers on the Bund proffered tea eggs, steamed bread or their own—they swore—virginal sisters. If you were smart, you’d take her with one hand on your purse and your eyes wide open. It was an unsettling place in which to be meeting Miss Mae Ruth Perkins.
