The China Station (The Earl’s Other Son Series, Book 1) Read online

  Coaling was inevitably dirty – coal dust could not be kept out of the air and spread over a whole ship, even using the most modern bunkering facilities. A night in a hotel made excellent sense, particularly while P and O paid for it.

  “Does Oriental still hold the record for the mail, sir?”

  “It does, Lord Magnus, twenty-seven days from London to Hong Kong, but that was hardly a commercial service, calling only at Singapore as it did. There will be cargo on this voyage, of course, and that will delay us a day or two in each port of call. Do you prefer coffee or tea with your morning call, Lord Magnus?”

  Coffee was solemnly recorded, together with the information that there was no requirement for cream and sugar.

  “As a naval officer with a command, sir, and the rank of Commander, you will dine at the First Officer’s table. Captain RN and higher ranks sit at the Captain’s table, of course.”

  Magnus wondered what might happen if there was an excessive number of higher-ranking officers on board. A pair of generals and their staffs; an admiral and his, and one might require a very large table for the captain. No doubt there was a precedent to follow – one that would preserve the dignity of all.

  “Any of the Fisher Fleet aboard, Purser?”

  The Purser smiled and shook his head.

  “I am sure that I cannot say, Lord Magnus. It does happen to be the case that there are a few of unwed young ladies going out to visit relatives in Bombay and Singapore, my lord – but I am sure that there can be no ulterior motive!”

  Young misses in their early twenties who had yet to snaffle a husband – and who came from an adequate background – were quite often sent out to the Far East to visit uncles who might be able to display them to unmarried officers, or bankers or planters, who might be tempted out of bachelorhood. The antics of young ladies fishing for a husband were the cause of much amusement among observers of colonial life; it was as well for an officer possessed of a title but lacking a wife to keep a weather eye out for such damsels and their manoeuvres.

  “On the First Officer’s table, Purser?”

  “None, my lord.”

  “Excellent! I am sure I can rely on my own native caution at other times of the day.”

  Magnus made no attempt to tip the Purser – he was a respectable gentleman who probably earned more than a naval Commander. Most pursers retired in their forties as wealthy men, having been in a position to discover much of significance in the commercial world and invest their savings very profitably in new gold mines and such enterprises – they did not need the odd sovereign passed their way from passengers.

  The Oriental was slightly smaller than an armoured cruiser and Magnus was interested to discover how she would handle. She was single-funnelled with only one screw, so would not have the capacity to turn and manoeuvre at the speed of a warship, but there would be similarities, he was sure. He had never served in a small ship before – being one of the privileged he had been posted only to flagships and the larger naval ports. Sailing in a battleship provided a different life to commanding a gunboat, he did not doubt, and he was unsure of exactly what would be demanded of him. He would find out in two months, and could start to worry then. For the while, he was a First Class passenger, to be wined and dined and carried about the world in luxury, and all paid for by the Admiralty.

  Routine postings generally involved travel in a troopship, not uncomfortable but far from luxurious for the officers. Soldiers and the naval lower-deck hands found the troopers actively unpleasant, but officers were cared for, and fed far better. Naval officers travelled by civilian liner only when they were on special postings, normally to replace a captain fallen ill, dead in service, or, rarely, removed by a court; junior officers could be replaced by a promotion on station, but captains very often were sent from England.

  It occurred to Magnus to wonder just who he was replacing, and why. By the time he reached Hong Kong his sloop would have been three, probably four months without a captain, which might have caused disciplinary havoc – she might have become intolerably slack. With luck, she would have been put into the dockyard in Hong Kong for a major refit, avoiding the problems associated with the absence of a guiding hand. That led to the question of why a new captain was needed.

  At its best, there was a vacancy because of promotion, the previous Commander made post-captain and given a small cruiser or a flotilla of torpedo boat destroyers. Almost equally desirable, the gunboat might have met up with pirates or slavers and taken casualties in the ensuing fight – the captain would have left his command for the best of reasons, a hero’s death or disablement; sickness would count equally as an honourable cause for the end of a command. The remaining possibilities were all more or less discreditable – ranging from drunkenness, through insanity to incompetence as a ship handler and, finally, to have discovered cowardice. A ship left without a captain for dishonourable cause would be expected to have a dispirited wardroom and a demoralised crew, and it would be the new captain’s job to almost instantly restore her esprit and efficiency, with no excuses to be offered or imagined.

  Magnus knew that he would hear nothing until he reached Singapore, and quite possibly very little there. If there was a squadron in port, and if he could visit the wardroom of a large ship, then the naval grapevine might well be able to tell him all he needed to know, and possibly an amount he did not wish to hear. But that demanded that he should be welcome aboard – and he might not be, for that same grapevine would have passed the word already that he was somewhat blown upon, that he had ‘put up a black’, had committed some offence against the unwritten code and was sent into exile. Cautious officers might prefer not to be seen in conversation with him for a year or two, until he had become a stale scandal. He would tread carefully, he resolved, showing a very meek demeanour, a man who had perhaps fallen into error and had seen the unwisdom of his ways. Unfortunately, he had picked up some slight reputation as a rakehell in his early years – and that would follow him, probably throughout his whole service.

  Not to worry! He found his cabin, discovered his steward there, busily hanging up his uniforms and evening dress, which must not be creased from the trunk, and making himself useful. He handed a sovereign across, with the implication that there would be significantly more at the end of a comfortable voyage, and was assured of the very best of service.

  Dinner was the normal seven courses one might reasonably expect, and rather unexciting. A few ships carried French chefs, but most catered to the prejudices of their passengers and relied on men trained in English kitchens – boring but predictable – one knew exactly what was to be found on one’s plate and did not have to brave the monstrosities of garlic and foreign cheeses. There would be brown soup, beef and boiled potatoes, except when mutton was offered – a reliable cuisine.

  The wines were good, or so Magnus was informed. He had never cultivated a palate as a boy at home, for lack of the opportunity, and Dartmouth Naval College had offered water or cocoa, with the occasional beer in a local pub. Consequently, he knew only that one drank white with fish and nothing else at all about the vine. His acquaintance with port was the same – one drank a glass after dinner, because it was obligatory. He was only a little more familiar with after-dinner brandy – he much preferred beer, though he would never admit to that demeaning fact.

  He habitually remained sober by default – he did not like alcohol sufficiently to become a drunkard. This meant that he stood out to an extent in Society, where he had observed that very few, male or female, habitually retired to bed entirely sober. It carried as well the absence of a portly habit of body, or of bloodshot eyes. It was easy to seem handsome and athletic in the company of the elite of Town; from all he had heard, the generality of colonial types were even more of a drinking habit, and he must stand out among them.

  Conversation at dinner was predictable and tedious. He was the sole officer at the table – the Merchant Navy First Mate qualifying as such only by default – and the other
ten, five couples, were all prominent in Finance or the Foreign Office. Lesser forms of businessmen – traders and such – were consigned to lower tables, for fear that they might contaminate the gentlefolk by their presence.

  “Tell me, Lord Magnus, do you truly believe that the Prussian Fleet will ever match the Royal Navy?”

  Magnus knew that he must answer in the negative, for Britannia ruled the waves. A thoughtful and reasoned response was not demanded, might even be seen as unpatriotic.

  “Why, no, ma’am. Britain has a seafaring history of nearly a thousand years – one does not create a Navy merely by launching a few ships, you know.”

  “Well said, my lord.”

  The inevitable sycophant offered that response whenever Magnus opened his mouth; he was much tempted to ask him to pass the salt, just to discover what he might say then.

  “Is it possible, Lord Magnus, that the Royal Navy is currently perhaps over-reliant on that tradition? While ships changed very little, it was possible, perhaps, to pass down valuable habits. But the ironclad of today hardly resembles the wooden wall of yesteryear.”

  “The tradition of Lord Nelson can hardly be queried, one might have thought, ma’am.”

  “Perhaps one could tell that to Admiral Tryon, Lord Magnus?”

  Magnus thought that to be jolly unfair. Admiral Tryon had died just three years previously in the Mediterranean when his flagship, Victoria, had been rammed by Camperdown, another of his battleships attempting to carry out a manoeuvre he had just ordered. There was still controversy revolving around the duty of a captain to obey an obviously inept order that sent his ship into unnecessary hazard. The official response of the Admiralty had been to the effect that no man could be blamed for executing his admiral’s orders; unofficially, the navy was split and argument still raged. Deeper under the surface, thinking officers were asking why a modern battleship had failed to survive a low-speed collision in calm waters; either the ships’ designs were faulty, or the officers and men had responded inadequately. Magnus, aware from being on the staff at Portsmouth of both questions, was not willing to make public pronouncement on either.

  “Admiral Tryon is dead, ma’am. One should not impute blame to a man who cannot answer the charges against him, I believe.”

  It was an acceptable way out, but it avoided the matter of the efficiency of the Navy, and of the design of its ships particularly.

  Magnus had served aboard three battleships since passing out of Dartmouth – each of a different class and with radical differences in armament, armour and handling ability. He had watched as admirals had wrestled with the problem of commanding the evolutions of a fleet in which every ship had its own speed and turning circle, and whose guns seemed all to have different range and fire control. The old panacea of forming a line and exchanging broadsides was no longer even possible, it seemed, yet there was no alternative offered in the official tactics of the Navy. The desire of every admiral was to refight Trafalgar, none seeming to understand that steam and breech-loading rifled guns had made that unlikely of attainment.

  Conversation turned to China, and its future. There was a general agreement that the Qing Empire was even closer to dissolution than the Ottomans of Europe. The sole point of debate seemed to be which nation would be able to grab most of the spoils.

  “The real problem is that the damned Russkis have a land border with China, you know. They have the advantage there – they can bring troops by the tens of thousands across on their railways.”

  The speaker, Mr Cecil, was a very senior official in the Foreign Office, one of the Salisbury clan and with powerful political connections. He was going out to Shanghai, to discuss matters of control of the city with his foreign counterparts from Russia, America, France, Germany and, regrettably, Japan. When they had come to a conclusion, they were to inform the Chinese government of all, or most, of their intentions.

  “Damned Japs are a nuisance, too, with their ambitions in Korea. That puts them into close contact with Russia. Thing is, as you know, the Japs are buying a modern navy from us, and sending officers across to learn how we do things. They call themselves, or some of them do, the ‘England of the Pacific’. Better they should be allies, but that puts the Russkis and Yankees against us, because they both will have nothing to do with the little yellow men. Very difficult. It will end up with a war between Russia and Japan, sooner or later. Russkis will win, of course, being so much bigger and European as well.”

  Magnus was surprised to hear that statement offered as a certainty.

  “Saw a Russian battleship a couple of years ago, sir. Supposed to be new and one of their best. Slovenly, it was, sir. Showed poor seamanship as well. Didn’t see her at gunnery practice, unfortunately, but a German officer who had watched them in the Baltic said they were hopeless. Slow and inaccurate and half their shells failing to explode. If any of the Japs learn gunnery, sir, and how to sail the ships we sell to them, then the Russians will have a hard time of it at sea.”

  “Your opinion, or that of your seniors, Lord Magnus?”

  “Shared by more than one of those who commanded me, sir.”

  It would have been very wrong of Magnus to have named names – but he was a gentleman and his word was to be accepted without query.

  “And Japan is an island – well, quite a lot of islands, in fact – and must be defeated at sea as well as on land. Interesting!”

  “Additionally, sir, you will remember that the Navy has lent the services of a number of officers, their function to advise and assist the Japanese in their adaptation to the new ways of the sea. Some of our best officers have been posted to Japan, sir. I suspect that the Russian Navy will find itself with an insuperable task when it faces the ‘little yellow men’.”

  Mr Cecil possessed a brain, and a willingness to think and listen to unpopular points of view. He knew as well that Imperial Russia was, despite its pretensions to Western civilisation, more Asian than European in its ways. He sought Magnus’ company next afternoon, joining him in a leisurely two miles of circuits of the promenade deck.

  “Interesting, what you had to say about the Japs last night, Lord Magnus. You seem to believe that they would beat Russia if they came to blows.”

  “My information is second-hand, sir – I have yet to see them at close quarters, but the word I have been given is that the Japanese are a militaristic people. Their men are bred to be soldiers, I am told, and they do not fear death in honourable combat. Their definition of honour is not ours perhaps – and I do not know its nature – but to die well, I am told, is preferable by far to living poorly. Russia, on the other hand, sir, is said to be dissolute and demoralised – to have lost the true understanding of self-sacrificing duty.”

  “Elegantly expressed, Lord Magnus. When applied to the naval sphere, it would seem that the Japanese would be true inheritors of Lord Nelson’s mantle, while Russia has lost its way.”

  “That is what I am told, sir.”

  “May I give you my card, Lord Magnus? It would be of great interest to me, was you to write a letter every few weeks, detailing all you see, and the impressions you perceive, of the Japanese and Russians in China.”

  Magnus took the card and promised to write – one did not refuse the Foreign Office when it roped one into the ‘Great Game’. Naval officers who were listened to by the mandarins of Whitehall – and very few were – could expect some degree of promotion, irrespective of other merits, or in Magnus’ case, demerits. Problems arose however, if Whitehall mentioned one’s name to the politicians, who lacked the discretion of Civil Servants and could create embarrassment at the Admiralty – and the wise junior officer never caused an admiral to blush.

  Magnus was of the opinion that he had no career to jeopardise – he need not fear the risks of becoming involved in the Great Game. It was probable that in the ordinary run of things, he would remain as a commander in an obscure colonial posting for another twenty years, unless a respectable war offered a chance, and would be pu
shed into retirement in his forties, to languish on half-pay and his uncle’s allowance. Perhaps in an obscure cottage in the depths of rural England, or Scotland, or outside Portsmouth with a hundred others of his sort, forgotten and slowly decaying away. The risk of being seen by the Admiralty as ‘unreliable’ was well-worth taking if the potential reward was of early promotion to post-captain. They would be good letters, the communications to Whitehall, detailing all that an intelligent man might see, and debunking the myths propagated by the foolish – the Civil Servants liked to know what the reality was, even if they then chose not to act on it.

  Most of the passengers remained in their cabins as the Oriental made her way across Biscay to Finisterre and Spanish waters; the equinoctial gales were as fierce as tradition demanded and the liner pitched and rolled her way through them. Magnus, as a naval sailor, was obliged to attend his meals and to show himself unconcerned.

  A few hardy souls joined him in the dining saloon, though each remained strictly in his or her correct place – it would not have been the done thing to have huddled together, all higgledy-piggledy, irrespective of their proper order. Magnus noticed a rather handsome young lady at the fifth table, unwed but certainly past her first Season, who he vaguely thought had been accompanied by an older female, mother probably. Going out to join a father in the colonies, perhaps, or one of the Fisher Fleet more likely. She looked as if she might be intelligent, which was good reason for her having failed to pick up a husband – Society had no place for intellectually able ladies. Attractively blonde, taller than average, showing a well-rounded shape as well; he debated whether he might not accidentally bump into her after dinner – she might be amusing – but decided that he was wiser to hold to his first resolve of avoiding contact with possible predators. Also, less clearly expressed in his mind, was the concern that she or her family might know him by repute and wish to discourage any pretensions he might entertain. Penniless peers – younger sons particularly – were not generally favoured by those families with merchant money, which she most likely was. That said, the lure of a buying into a title was something they would carefully consider.