Devil's Garden

Chapter 33

Vice Admiral Hedworth Lambton-Meux put down the day’s copy of the London Gazette, pleased to have it so soon after publication. It was now being sent by wire to most of the important stations, and China Station was important, as he was, recently installed here to replace Vice-Admiral Moore. He had taken an interest in the stories out of London earlier that month, concerning the strange midnight glow in the sky. Most unusual.

“Well,” he said, to the sea Captain before him,” we may have something more to do this week than loll about in the heat.” He read the notice from the paper aloud now: “Buckingham Palace, July 21, 1908. His Excellency Count Komura, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary from his Majesty the Emperor of Japan is now to take leave of His Majesty on the termination of his Mission.”

He looked at Captain Lewis Clinton-Baker over his reading glasses. “It appears they are changing shoes again there, which will mean we’ll probably receive a formal visit here as well. It’s a pity we have to pay all this lip service to the Japanese these days, but things have certainly changed, have they not?”

“They have indeed sir, and this is precisely the occasion of my visit this morning.”

“Oh? What is it now, Captain Baker?”

“Shuffling some personnel about here too, Admiral. I’ve had an officer go down with fever and will need to fill out the bridge crew on King Alfred for the planned training exercises.” He handed a thin brown file to the Admiral now, obviously the candidate he had in mind for the new posting.

“How is the ship, Captain?”

“In good trim, sir. Fit as a fiddle.”

King Alfred was the current flagship of the British Pacific Squadron operating out of the China Station at Weihaiwei harbor. Situated on the long western peninsula of Shandong Province, it sat right at the edge of the gateway to the Yellow sea, and only Hong Kong superseded it in strategic importance from the British perspective. From Weihaiwei the Royal Navy could keep a quiet watch on all the sea traffic flowing into the Yellow Sea, mostly bound for Port Arthur and Dailan, which had been the scene of much conflict in recent years as the gateway to Manchuria.

‘The Old Man of Asia,’ China, had been ailing again after his defeat by Japan before the turn of the century, and the meddling of many European powers in Manchuko. Now it was the Japanese, still flush with their great victory over Russia in the Russo-Japanese war of 1904-05. Yet through all that strife and turmoil the British had kept their watch, moving ships and men in and out of Hong Kong and Weihaiwei.

King Alfred was the largest British ship presently in Asian waters, classified as an armored cruiser, the ship was the size of most older battleships in the Japanese fleet. The IJN flagship Mikasa, weighed in at 15,380 tons fully loaded, and was only 432 feet long, while King Alfred was nearly as heavy at 14,150 tons, and actually a hundred feet longer. As a cruiser she did not match the 12 inch guns on the Japanese battleships. Her main armament was sixteen 6 inch guns, with two larger 9.2 inch guns mounted in bigger turrets fore and aft. She was one of four Drake class armored cruisers, and at 23 knots she was faster than any other ship of her size in the region. She also had new fire control fitted and electric hoists for all her 6 inch guns to speed loading and rate of fire.

Admiral Meux looked over the file, again reading aloud as was his habit: “Passed navigation and pilotage. Passed gunnery 8 September ‘05; passed torpedo 13 October ‘05. Well the gentleman certainly seems properly trained.”

He flipped to the reports section, where young aspiring officers would be rated by their commanding officers on a regular basis. “Captain Bradford has him with good professional knowledge, zealous and diligent, and then look here, a year later Captain Browning reports him as painstaking and steady, but stupid. Vice Admiral Douglas wasn’t impressed with the man either-says his manner was bad with the men.”

“I believe that was back in ’03, sir. In recent years you’ll see marked improvement.”

“Watchkeeping Certificate received May ’06… Well he won’t do as a navigator. The man failed the eyesight test last year.”

“I’ll be keeping Mister Graves at navigation, sir.”

“See that you do. I think I do recall this young man now that we’re discussing him. A bit headstrong in his early years. Served on Exmouth when she was the fleet flagship and got the bit between his teeth. I seem to remember an incident when the man was hoisting boats when his commander came up behind him and began issuing orders. The cheeky young lad simply removed his gloves, unbuckled his sword, and handed both to the commander before retiring below decks!”

Captain Baker laughed at that. “Yes, sir, that’s my man. He was just a tad prickly back in ‘05, but we’ve smoothed out the rough edges since then.”

“Painstaking… Steadily improving…Keen and zealous…reliable and strongly recommended for executive appointment. Why, that last bit was your remark, Captain Baker.”

“It was, sir. The young man is rather new to the China Station. He just arrived here last May shortly after the turnover of command. I’ve had my eye on him below decks and think he may rotate up to the bridge crew well enough.”

“That isn’t much time below decks for an officer this new, but if you say you’ve had your eye on the man I will certainly defer to your judgment.” The admiral took notice of the young officer’s name for the first time now, flipping the attached reports down to read it on page one.

“ John….A good Christian name, I suppose.”

“Yes sir. He goes by the nickname Jack with the men, and they seem to have taken a liking to him.”

“Very good, Captain. You may move your Lieutenant to the bridge. Who knows, the experience may do him some good. See how he does when we take the squadron out for maneuvers.”

“I have every confidence in the man Admiral. In fact, I think he may work out quite well. He seems very ambitious and determined.”

“Yes, well every young Lieutenant like this one thinks they’ll end up First Sea Lord or Admiral of the Fleet one day, don’t they?”

“This young Lieutenant may very well surprise you, sir.”

Captain Baker was a bit of a profit, it seemed. For the man they were discussing that morning was Lieutenant John Cronyn “Jack” Tovey, a determined young man indeed, and fated to live up to his every aspiration.

* * *

“Step lively, mates,” said Tovey. “Can’t you see that old Kent out there has already got up steam?” The Lieutenant pointed across the anchorage to the three stack Monmouth Class cruiser lying at anchor. Word had come down to make ready for the scheduled exercises, and Tovey had his blood up for the outing, eager to get away from the sweltering harbor heat and out to sea where at least they could make their own wind if they got up a good head of steam.

“They’ve only got one stack puffing, Lieutenant,” said a midshipman.

“Well, that’s one more than we’ve got fired up at the moment.”

“But we’ve got four stacks, sir. How do you suppose we’ll be up and ready before a smaller ship like Kent?”

“With grit and elbow grease, gentlemen. Now step to it! If we aren’t ready to weigh anchor in another hour they’ll be out in front and waving their backside at us the whole way out of the harbor. Let’s get the lead out, eh?” They had orders to make steam, and by God, that was what they would do, and well before HMS Kent blew smoke from all three stacks. And showed them up yet again.

“Mister Tovey, sir!”

The young officer turned, his eyes narrowing on another seaman who had come up behind him as he urged his mates on.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Message from Captain Baker, sir. You’re to leave off here and head to the bridge straight away.”

“The bridge?”

“What have you gone and done this time, Lieutenant?”

Tovey looked for the man who had called that out, but he was already down through the hatch and gone. The last time the Lieutenant received such a notice it was to receive a good tongue lashing from the Captain over a discussion between officers the previous evening. Perhaps the Captain had something further to say.

“See what I mean?” Tovey put his arms on his hips, head cocked as he called after the men on the ladder down. “The Captain has eyes too, and he can damn well see that stack charring up on Kent as plain as day. Now you men press on and get down to the boiler room to see about it.”

He shook his head, wondering what the Captain really wanted this time, and worried that it might indeed be something to do with his remarks in the officer’s mess the previous evening. A few of the men had been discussing tactics and the general consensus was that a good broadside at range was the best possible play in a sudden one-on-one engagement. Armored cruisers were often used in scouting roles, and would often find themselves in small groups, or even alone when they might happen on an enemy ship.

“What? A broadside with six inch guns?” Tovey put in. King Alfred had eight such guns on each side, but she could rotate both her forward and aft turrets as well to bring the two larger 9.2 inch guns into the mix.

“Well we’d have to be damn close to hit anything,” said Tovey. “Those casement guns can theoretically range out over 15,000 yards with a heavy charge, but good luck hitting anything that far out. No gentlemen, I’m an advocate of speed at the outset. I’d show the enemy my bow and put on a full head of steam to squeeze every knot out of those boilers I possibly could. Harass them with all our forward facing guns as we come in, then swing round and give them the old broadside well inside 10,000 yards. 8,000 yards would even be better-ideal I should think.” It was a strategy he would put to use in the future, though the ranges involved would change as gun size increased. Tovey would one day end up leading more than one good fight at sea.

“Concentration of firepower is always best, at any range,” came a voice behind him. Tovey had his arms folded and did not know who made the remark, but he batted it aside with the sharp intelligence he would become known for at sea. “At any range? On my watch I would use my cannon at the best range suited to them. If that means a little reliance on speed and armor to achieve a better firing solution, so be it.” The complete silence after his remark prompted him to turn his head, and there was Captain Baker, lips pursed with disapproval. He had come into the mess hall in the heat of the discussion and threw out the remark to test his young officers.

Later that evening he summoned Tovey to the bridge and took him aside in the plotting room for a private chat. “See hear, Mister Tovey. Concerning your remarks in the officer’s mess this evening… If you chance to contradict another officer ever again, you had bloody well better turn your head first and look the man in the eye so you will know who you’re speaking to.”

“Yes sir. Of course, sir. I’m terribly sorry. I meant no offense.”

“No offense taken, Tovey. This is simply a matter of decorum.”

“Yes sir.”

“Very good then. That will be all.”

“Sir!” Tovey saluted and went to leave, but the Captain scratched his ear, adding one last word.

“You were correct in one thing,” he said quietly.

“Sir?”

“That bit about reliance on speed and armor. I gave it some thought and find it sound advice, depending on the circumstances of course. But just remember that King Alfred is the flagship of this squadron, young man. In that role she will be at the head of her formation and expected to lead the battle line in. So in nine cases out of ten we will not be talking about single ship broadside, but that of the entire squadron. This is concentration of firepower, Mister Tovey. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course, sir. And thank you, sir.”

Tovey never did forget it, and he came to understand that the essence of combat at sea was to somehow find that perfect balance of firepower, speed, and armor that would win the day. It was a chemistry of steel, sea conditions, wind, and the fall of shot at selected range, and it could make all the difference between victory or defeat in the barest fraction of a second. There also was one more thing, he knew. You have to know your enemy first, and know him well.

He would get his chance to test his theories soon enough, and face a man in combat on the high seas that he was destined to encounter again many years hence, on the cold swells of the North Atlantic, in another life that would never even exist unless he first found a way to survive this one.