Man Of War

As they left the cabin, the marine drummer was already beating to quarters, and the first of the carpenter’s mates had begun knocking the dowels from the bulkheads of the steerage. Peto had seen the work so many times, yet still the business of clearing for action thrilled every nerve-ending in his body. Banging, shouting, cursing, crashing . . . the order midst chaos, reason midst bedlam: it spoke of the umpteen-hundred men working to a single noble purpose, of his reliance on them, and of theirs on him. And he delighted in it.

He looked down into the waist to see men hauling with a will on the gun tackle, and boys bringing up powder as if coals to a fire. His breast swelled with pride, and his mind cleared itself of every triviality in the knowledge that he was responsible for everything – everything – in the wooden world about him. What comfort there was in that knowledge: his responsibility – his alone.

‘No sign of Hind, sir,’ said the officer of the watch.

Peto cast his eyes to the tops. ‘There is no need to inform me of a negative, Mr Wilsey.’ He said it kindly enough, but there was no use his beating about the bush with a lieutenant wanting promotion.

Nevertheless, Wilsey’s ‘Ay-ay, sir’ was a half-swallowed affair.

By now the topgallants were set, and Rupert was picking up speed. In this breeze she ought to run a good nine knots, he reckoned, and he was content enough with that. Had the signal been ‘immediate: close up’ he would have told the master to set the royals too, but he saw no cause to have the ship pitch overmuch as the crew were running out the guns.

Yet while Lieutenant Wilsey’s negative observation had been both unwelcome and unnecessary, Hind’s whereabouts was beginning to exercise him. And he would have to heave to for the cutter or her long boat to come alongside:more work for the topmen, not without hazard, and less speed for Rupert.

It was time for him to see how things were below . . . He turned to his signal midshipman. ‘Make to Calpe: “Hasten Hind”.’

‘Ay-ay, sir.’

‘Mr Lambe, bear a point more to larboard: bring her up on the flagship to nor’west.’ When the time came he intended running down into the mouth of Navarino Bay unseen from within, masked as he would be by the island of Sphacteria.

‘Ay-ay, sir.’

He glanced at Rebecca. She stood with her hand shielding her eyes, eager for sight of her father’s ship, her cloak billowing. He thought of Elizabeth: how he wished she were here at this moment . . .

No! What in heaven’s name was he thinking of? He clenched a fist. ‘Mr Durcan! Your company below, if you please!’

‘Ay-ay, sir,’ sang the third lieutenant, happy to be given the honour.

An hour passed, Rupert running hushed, only the sound of wind and waves, the comfortably creaking timber and softly groaning rigging, and the occasional bark from a petty officer, the sotto voce crack among the crew, the measured reporting of the quartermaster, and the stilted conversation of the officers. From orlop to forecastle, Peto, with the third lieutenant, the boatswain and several mates, made his rounds, congratulating, warning, encouraging; but never reproving (that, he knew, he could leave to the boatswain in his wake), for now was the time that men must give their hearts to him. On Nisus some of the older hands would have tried a larking word or two, and he would have bantered, with an amusing put-down of a retort. But Rupert’s captain and crew had been together not nearly long enough. Such a state could only come, in a ship of the Line especially, after a long cruise, a year and more. Or after a sharp (and successful) action. Then the crew would have earned a little licence.

He spoke briefly to the women, shepherded now into the surgeon’s realm, where already the loblolly boys had enlisted their willing help making tourniquets and pledgets. He spoke softly to them, yet with authority, for he wanted both to reassure them while at the same time dissuading any from adverse comment. He apologized for confining them so, explaining the necessity of having the decks clear of everything that might impair the fighting of the ship – even, as he was quick to explain, though they were some hours from such an event. He assured them that the admiral was sending a ship to take them off (he almost coughed at the deception in describing the Hind thus), and rather to his surprise there was no voice in protest at his course. Indeed, as he touched his hat to them and turned, one of them called out ‘Good luck to ’ee, Captain.’ It made him swallow unaccountably hard.

Back on the quarterdeck, Peto found Lambe berating a midshipman for what he evidently considered was a lubberly getting away of the pinnace, but having dismissed him with a heartening ‘only get your shot away sharper!’, Lambe reported that Rupert was cleared for action.