Tuesday, 16th September

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 below decks 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 below 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 weatherbeaten, 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 "Stink pots of various sizes, commanded by stink potters 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 corner stone 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. Pennypinching 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."