Man Of War

Peto returned the smile, indulgently. ‘Nor would any of us wish your leaving, Miss Codrington, but as you will understand, it will be no place for a female heart, erelong.’

Rebecca smiled once more. Had not a female once denied she had the heart of a woman, but of a prince of England – and declared it so on the fighting deck of an English ship? But Captain Peto was so admirable a man that she could not fence with him thus – not at least in the hearing of his own officers. ‘You are very good, sir.’

Hind was turning in to starboard. Midshipman Pelham, whom Peto had detailed to see Rebecca safely down, stepped forward smartly and saluted.

But that had been earlier; there was nothing pressing on the captain’s attention now. ‘I shall accompany Miss Codrington myself, Mr Pelham.’

‘Ay-ay, sir.’ The voice betrayed only as much disappointment as the midshipman dared – which was but a very little.

Hind ran in alongside with exemplary ease. It was, after all, a fleet cutter’s purpose to dart from ship to ship thus. She had been built to overhaul smugglers, and rigged to outmanoeuvre the handiest of them. Her master, a stocky man, a lieutenant perhaps not yet thirty, but with a wide, honest face – a man who might look useful in a boarding party – leapt for the gangway and came up briskly to the entry port. Seeing Rupert’s captain waiting for him at the top, rather than the midshipman he had expected, he saluted him, rather than the quarterdeck, just in time (for Peto’s humour was sorely tried by the business). He quickly regained his poise, however, smiling with such manifest cheer that Peto was at once deflected from any rebuke over the tardiness of his arrival. Indeed, having watched him handle the cutter, Peto was at once assured that he could perfectly entrust the admiral’s daughter – and the ship’s women – to such an active and engaging man as he.

‘Robb, sir. The admiral’s compliments, and would you be so good as to read these supplementary orders.’ The lieutenant held out an oilskin package.

As Peto took it, there was a single cannon shot from the Asia. He stepped out onto the gangway for a better look. The flagship firing thus meant but one thing: she drew attention to an imperative flag signal. He cursed, thinking that his lookouts had not seen it.

Lieutenant Robb at once had his telescope to his eye. Peto’s was on the quarterdeck, which made him crosser still – not that he could have been expected to read the commander-in-chief’s signals without a codebook.

Robb could, however (as commander of Asia’s tender he had a thorough acquaintance with the codes; cutting about the fleet, he lived by them, indeed). ‘ “Prepare to enter”!’

The next second, Robb was saluting again and taking his leave.

Peto’s mouth fell open. ‘Avast there, Mr Robb!’ he spluttered. ‘Where do you go? Take the women down, sir! I’ll read my orders first, damn it! They may require an answer!’ (though what answer was needed when the admiral signalled ‘prepare to enter’ he would have been hard put to suggest).

Robb looked puzzled. ‘Sir, with respect, I cannot now take off anyone with the flag signalling action. I am the flagship’s tender. My place in action is alongside her.’

‘Mr Robb, your orders were – were they not? – to take off the admiral’s daughter!’

‘Sir, with the very greatest respect, my orders were to give such assistance as I might, but the admiral’s signal is general to the fleet. As tender I must return at once.’

Peto’s face turned as red as the marine sentry’s jacket next to him, as if he would explode with all the violence of a carronade.

But he did not explode – just as if the gunner had stopped the flint with his hand. For he knew he would do the same as Robb were he master of the flagship’s tender. Hind was Codrington’s Mercury after all. The admiral would have need of this young officer and his cutter almost as much as he would have need of his flag lieutenant.

From the corner of his eye he could see the line of women, Rebecca and her maid at the head, for all the world like passengers on a packet come into Dover harbour. He sighed, but to himself (he would reveal nothing more of his dismay). ‘Very well, Mr Robb, but you will wait until I read through my orders!’

‘Ay-ay, sir!’ Robb was astute enough to know that a minute or so would make little difference to him, but in the circumstances a very great deal to a post-captain’s pride.

Peto opened his orders and read them rapidly. ‘No reply necessary,’ he growled, refolding them. ‘Good luck to you, Mr Robb. You may dismiss.’

Robb looked relieved. ‘Ay-ay, sir. And good luck to your ship too.’ He saluted again, adding cheerfully, ‘We shall next meet in the bay, I imagine, sir.’

Peto nodded, then watched him scuttle down the gangway, recollecting his own youthful, even carefree commands, before resolutely turning inboard.