Gai-Jin (19 page)

He turned and beckoned one of his bodyguards, his excitement rising. “Bring that spy here, the fisherman, what’s his name? Ah, yes, Misamoto, bring him to my quarters secretly at once—he’s confined in the Eastern Guard House.”

TUESDAY, 16TH SEPTEMBER
:

Precisely at dawn the cannon of the flagship bellowed the eleven-gun salute as Sir William’s cutter came alongside the gangway. From the shore came a faint cheer, every sober man there to watch the departure of the fleet for Yedo. The wind was strengthening, sea fair, light overcast. He was formally piped aboard, Phillip Tyrer in attendance—the rest of his staff already aboard accompanying warships. The two men wore frock coats and top hats. Tyrer’s arm was in a sling.

They saw Admiral Ketterer waiting for them on the main deck, John Marlowe beside him, both in dress uniform—cocked hats, gold braided and buttoned blue cutaways, with white shirts, waistcoats, breeches and stockings, buckled shoes and gleaming swords—and, immediately, Phillip Tyrer thought, Damn, how handsome and elegant yet masculine John Marlowe always is, just like Pallidar in his uniform. Damned if I have any dress clothes, or any clothes for that matter to rival them, and poor as a church mouse compared to them and not even a Deputy Secretary yet. Damn! There’s nothing like a uniform to flatter a man and give him standing with a girl….

He almost stumbled into Sir William, who had stopped on the top step as the Admiral and Marlowe saluted politely, ignoring him. Blast, he thought, concentrate, you’re equally on duty, equally at the beck and call of the Mighty! Be careful, become part of the scenery too. Wee Willie Winkie’s been like a cat with a hornet in his bum since you reported yesterday.

“’Morning, Sir William, welcome aboard.”

“Thank you. Good morning to you, Admiral Ketterer.” Sir William doffed his hat, followed by Tyrer, their frock coats tugged by the breeze. “Set sail, if you please. The other Ministers are on the French flagship.”

“Good.” The Admiral motioned to Marlowe. At once Marlowe saluted, went to the Captain who was on the open bridge, just forward of the single funnel and main mast, and saluted again. “Admiral’s compliments, sir. Make way for Yedo.”

The commands went rapidly down the line, the sailors gave three cheers, in moments the anchors were being chanted aboard and in the cramped boiler room three decks below, teams of stokers, stripped to the waist, shoveled more coal into the furnaces to another rhythmic chant, coughing and wheezing in air permanently fouled with coal dust. The other side of the bulkhead in the engine room, the chief Engineer engaged “half ahead,” and the huge reciprocating engines began to turn the propeller shaft.

She was H.M.S.
Euryalus
, built at Chatham eight years ago, a three-masted, one-funnel, screw-assisted wooden cruiser frigate of 3,200 tons burthen, with 35 guns, a normal complement of 350 officers, seamen and marines—while belowdecks were 90 stokers and engine room staff. Today all sails were sparred and decks cleared for action.

“A pleasant day, Admiral,” Sir William was saying. They were on the quarterdeck; Phillip Tyrer and Marlowe, who had greeted each other silently, hovering close by.

“For the moment,” the Admiral agreed testily, always uncomfortable near civilians, particularly someone like Sir William who was his senior in rank. “My quarters are available to you, if you wish.”

“Thank you.” Sea gulls were dipping and cawing around their wake. Sir William studied them for a moment, trying to throw off his depression. “Thank you, but I’d rather be on deck. You haven’t met Mr. Tyrer, I believe? He’s our new apprentice interpreter.”

For the first time the Admiral acknowledged Tyrer. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Tyrer, we can certainly use Japanese speakers here. How’s your wound?”

“Not too bad, sir, thank you,” Tyrer said, trying to retreat once more into anonymity.

“Good. Rotten business.” The Admiral’s pale blue eyes ranged the sea and his ship, his face florid and weather-beaten, with heavy jowls and a
choleric roll of flesh on the back of his neck over his starched collar. For a moment he watched the smoke critically, noting its color and smell, then grunted and brushed some specks of coal dust off his impeccable waistcoat.

“Something’s amiss?”

“No, Sir William. The coals we get here don’t compare with Shanghai best, or good Welsh or Yorkshire coals. Too much clinker in it. It’s cheap enough when we can get it but that’s not often. You should insist on an increased supply, it’s a major problem for us here, Major.”

Sir William nodded wearily. “I have but they don’t appear to have any locally.”

“Filthy stuff, wherever it comes from. We can’t use sail today, not with this wind against us. Engine assists are perfect for this sort of exercise and close inshore maneuvers, or docking. With the best man-of-war afloat, under sails, even a tea clipper—we’d take five times as long to get to Yedo and not have enough sea room for safety. More’s the pity.”

Sir William was out of humor after another sleepless night and reacted instantly to the Admiral’s discourtesy and stupidity telling him something that was obvious. “Really?” he said thinly. “Never mind, soon we’ll have a completely stinkpot navy, no sail at all and that will be that.”

Tyrer hid a smile as the Admiral flushed, for this was a sore point with naval officers and widely discussed in the London newspapers, who blithely dubbed future fleets as “Stinkpots of various sizes, commanded by stinkpotters of various sizes, who will be dressed accordingly.”

“That won’t happen in the foreseeable future and never for long-haul cruising, blockades or battle fleets.” The Admiral almost spat the words out. “There’s no way we can carry all the coal we need between ports and still have fighting ships. We must have sails to conserve fuel. Civilians have little understanding of naval matters…. ” This reminded him of the present Liberal government’s attack on the current Navy estimates and his blood pressure went up another notch. “Meanwhile to secure our sea lanes and keep the Empire inviolate, as a cornerstone of government policy the Royal Navy must maintain the equation of twice as many ships—wooden or ironclads, steam and sail—as the next two other navies combined, with the biggest and best engines and most modern cannon, shells, and explosives in the world.”

“An admirable idea, but now out of date, not practical, and I’m afraid too rich for the Chancellor of the Exchequer and government to stomach.”

“It better not be, by God.” The roll of neck flesh went pink. “Mr. Penny-pinching Gladstone better learn right smartly where his priorities lie. I’ve said it before: the sooner the Liberals are out and the Tories back in power the better! Not because of them, thank God the Royal Navy still has enough ships and firepower to sink any French, Russian or American fleets in their
home waters if need be. But say those three combine against us in the coming conflict?” Irritably the Admiral turned and bellowed though Marlowe was close by, “Mr. Marlowe! Signal the
Pearl!
She’s out of station, by God!”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Marlowe left at once.

Sir William glanced astern, seeing nothing amiss with the following ships, then again concentrated on the Admiral. “Foreign Secretary Russell’s too clever to be drawn into it. Prussia will war on France, Russia will stay out, the Americans are too involved with their civil war, Spanish Cuba and Philippines, and sniffing around the Hawaiian islands. By the way, I’ve proposed we annex one or two of those islands before the Americans do, they’d make perfect coaling stations…. ”

Marlowe was sourly heading for the signalman, his eyes on H.M.S.
Pearl
, his ship, a Jason-class three-masted, single-funneled, 21-gun, screw frigate of 2,100 tons burthen, temporarily in the command of his Number One, Lieutenant Lloyd, wishing he was aboard her and no longer the Admiral’s lackey. He gave the signalman the message, watched him use the signal flags and read the reply before the young man reported, “He says sorry, sorr.”

“How long have you been a signalman?”

“Three months, sir.”

“You’d best look up your codes, right smartly. The message said: ‘Captain Lloyd of H.M.S.
Pearl
apologizes.’ Make another mistake and your balls are in the wringer.”

“Yessir, sorry, sir,” the crestfallen youth said.

Marlowe went back to the Admiral. To his relief the potential row between the two men seemed to have simmered down and now they were discussing alternative plans of action at Yedo and the long-term implications of the Tokaidō attack. While he waited for a lull in the conversation, he cautiously cocked an eyebrow at Tyrer—who smiled back—wanting to be dismissed so he could ask him about Kanagawa and Angelique. He had had to leave the same day Sir William had arrived, three days ago, and had no first-hand information on what had occurred since then.

“Yes, Mr. Marlowe?” The Admiral listened to the message and at once rasped: “Send another signal: report aboard my flagship at sunset.” He saw Marlowe wince. “And well you might, Mr. Marlowe. Such an apology is insufficient excuse for slackness in my fleet. Is it?”

“No, sir.”

“Consider who should take over your ship in his place—not you!” Admiral Ketterer turned back to Sir William. “You were saying? You don’t th—” A gust crackled the rigging. Both officers looked aloft, then at the sky and all around, tasting the wind. No sign of danger yet, though both knew that the weather this month was unpredictable and in these waters storms
came suddenly. “You were saying? You don’t think the authorities, this Bakufu, will do what we require?”

“No, not without some form of force. At midnight I got another apology from them and a request for a month’s delay so they could ‘consult higher ups’ and more such nonsense—my God, they can prevaricate. I sent the bloody messenger back with a flea in his ear and a curt, rather rude message to give us satisfaction or else.”

“Quite right.”

“When we anchor off Yedo, can we fire as many salutes as possible, create an entrance?”

“We’ll make it 21 guns, a royal salute. I suppose this mission could be constructed as a formal visit to their Royalty.” Without turning, the Admiral rasped: “Mr. Marlowe, give the order for the whole fleet and ask the French Admiral if he would do likewise.”

“Yessir.” Again Marlowe saluted and rushed off.

“The plan for Yedo is still as we agreed?”

Sir William nodded. “Yes. I and my party will go ashore to the Legation—a hundred soldiers as an honor guard should be enough. The Highlanders, their uniforms and bagpipes, will be the most impressive. The rest of the plan remains the same.”

“Good.” Uneasily the Admiral stared ahead. “We’ll be able to see Yedo when we get around that headland.” His face hardened. “It’s one thing to rattle a few sabres and fire off a few blank cannonades but I don’t agree to bombard and burn that city—without a legal state of war.”

Sir William said carefully, “Let’s hope I don’t have to ask Lord Palmerston to declare one, or for me to legalize one forced on us. A full report’s on the way to him. Meanwhile his reply is four months away so we have to do the best we can, as usual. These murders must stop, the Bakufu must be brought to heel, one way or another. Now is the perfect time.”

“Admiralty instructions are to be prudent.”

“By the same post I sent an urgent message to the Governor of Hong Kong also advising him what I planned to do and asking what reinforcements in ships and men could be available if necessary, and about Mr. Struan’s condition.”

“Oh? When was that, Sir William?”

“Yesterday. Struan’s had a clipper available, and Mr. McFay agreed the matter merited the most immediate haste.”

Ketterer said caustically, “This whole incident seems to be a Struan cause célèbre. The fellow who was killed hardly gets a mention—it’s nothing but Struan, Struan, Struan.”

“The Governor’s a personal friend of the family, and the family is, er, very well connected, very important to Her Majesty’s trading interests in Asia and China. Very.”

“They’ve always sounded like a bunch of pirates to me, gunrunning, opium running, anything for a profit.”

“Both are legal enterprises, my dear Admiral. Struans are highly respectable, Admiral, with very important connections in Parliament.”

The Admiral was unimpressed. “A lot of ne’er-do-wells there too, by God, if you don’t mind my saying. Bloody idiots most of the time, trying to cut Navy funds and our fleets—stupid when England depends on sea power.”

“I agree we need the best Navy with the most competent officers to carry out Imperial policy,” Sir William said. Marlowe, near the Admiral, heard the thinly veiled barb. A quick glance at the back of his superior’s neck confirmed the barb had registered. He braced for the inevitable.

“Imperial policy? Seems to me,” the Admiral said sharply, “the Navy spends most of its time pulling civilian and trader fingers out of their smelly holes when their greed or double-dealing takes them into messes they should never have been in in the first place. As for those bastards there,” his stubby finger pointed at Yokohama on the port side, “they’re the worst bunch of scallywags I’ve ever seen.”

“Some are, most not, Admiral.” Sir William’s chin came out. “Without traders and trade there’d be no money, no Empire and no Navy.”

The red neck became purple. “Without the Navy there would be no trade and England would not have become the greatest nation in the world, the richest, with the greatest Empire the world has ever seen, by God.”

Balls, Sir William wanted to shout, but he knew that if he did, here on the quarterdeck of the flagship, the Admiral would have apoplexy, and Marlowe and every sailor within hearing distance would faint. The thought amused him and removed most of the venom that sleepless nights worrying over the Tokaidō affair had caused, and permitted him to be diplomatic. “The Navy is the senior service, Admiral. And many share your opinion. I trust we’ll be on time?”

“Yes, yes, we will.” The Admiral eased his shoulders, somewhat mollified, his head aching from the bottle of port he had consumed after dinner, on top of the claret. The ship was making about seven knots, into wind, which pleased him. He checked the lie of the fleet. Now H.M.S.
Pearl
was very carefully astern, with two 10-gun paddle sloops to port. The French flagship, a three-masted, 20-gun ironclad paddle frigate, was carelessly to starboard. “Her helmsman should be put in irons! She could do with a new coat of paint, new rigging, fumigating to get rid of the garlic, and a bloody good holy-stoning and their crew keelhauled. Don’t you agree, Mr. Marlowe?”