Man Of War

Peto noted for the first time a certain heaviness in the admiral’s manner of expression. It could not have been anxiety for the outcome of any exchange of fire (there could be no doubt of the superiority of the Royal Navy’s gunnery, nor indeed that of the French and the Russians, compared with the Turks and Egyptians), and he was therefore inclined to ascribe it to the uncertainty of the undertaking as a whole. From what he had learned before he sailed, Codrington’s instructions were damnably equivocal.

‘By your leave, then, Sir Edward, I will call on my old friend your flag captain and then rejoin my ship.’

They had no conversation in the launch. Peto wrapped his boatcloak round himself against the freshening westerly as hands pulled for the Rupert. He had much to think on. He was already turning over in his mind what more could be done to put Rupert into best trim for Codrington’s ‘fierce exchange of shot’.

His old friend Captain Edward Curzon, from his closeness to the flag, had been able to tell him a good deal of what had occupied the admiral these past months. The instructions which came from London out of the embassy at Constantinople held that the Ottoman Porte would give up its claim to Greece simply because His Britannic Majesty, and the King of France, and the Tsar of All the Russias required it. Yet His Majesty’s ministers would give no unequivocal expression of what should be the course if peaceful persuasion failed. His de facto deputy, de Rigny, Codrington found less than straightforward (could he ever trust the French? – there were even French advisors with the Turkish fleet); and Count Heiden – commanding the Russian squadron – was thoroughly spoiling for a fight, for the Tsar’s own wish was to see the Turkish navy crippled.

Peto shook his head, and turned instead to observe the other midshipman in the launch. Henry Codrington was a fine-looking youth, not yet twenty, but not long for lieutenant, he supposed. What pride must the admiral have in such a son – and such a daughter indeed. He thought again of Elizabeth, and wondered . . .

The launch ran silent indeed through the heavy swell, not a word from hands or officer, conscious that the captain thought deeply on some matter.

In ten more minutes the boatswain’s pipes twittered, and then it was the return scramble to the entry port.

‘Convey Mr Codrington to the flag apartment, Mr Sandys,’ said Peto to the lieutenant who greeted him at the top.

‘Ay-ay, sir.’

‘And have my launch ready to convey him back to the Asia in one hour, if you please.’

‘Ay-ay, sir.’

Peto turned. ‘Mr Codrington, be so good as to tea with me in half of one hour, along with your sister.’

‘Honoured, sir.’

But Peto did not hear, for he was already taking the companion ladder two steps at a time.

‘Mr Lambe!’ he rasped as he came on to the quarterdeck.

The first lieutenant came up from the waist directly, and with satisfaction in his expression.

‘Evidently you have something agreeable to report, Mr Lambe. Wear away, sir!’

‘I have had the upper battery tackle greased again, sir. It gives us five seconds at least.’

Peto nodded approvingly.

‘Very well, Mr Lambe: dry gun drills immediately after breakfast, and then divine worship.’

Lambe looked nonplussed. ‘Church, sir? But tomorrow is Friday.’

‘I am perfectly aware what shall be the day, Mr Lambe, but we have not held divine worship since leaving Gibraltar.’ Their lordships were by no means as insistent on Sunday worship as they had been during the late war, and Peto himself had not much affection for parsons afloat, despite his filial loyalty to the profession, but they were all a mite closer to meeting their Creator, now, and on the sabbath next there might be preparations . . . or obsequies. ‘A man ought to be able to listen to Scripture and say a few prayers once in a while; and wind and weather have so far conspired to prevent him.’

Lambe understood right enough. ‘Ay-ay, sir,’ he said, resolutely.

‘Have the master-at-arms slaughter the beef. The goats he may spare.’

‘Ay-ay, sir.’

‘And join me, if you will, for dinner, with such others as you judge favourable. It will be the last occasion for Miss Codrington to dine with us. Firefly will take her off tomorrow – along with the rest of the women. Though her master doesn’t yet know it,’ he added drily.

Lambe touched his hat before returning to the waist to see the batteries secure. Peto cast an eye aloft. He had left Rupert hove to with just the fore-topsail to the mast, but with a freshening westerly, Lambe had partially struck the fore and brought her a point into the wind. In a couple of hours or so, when the launch was come back from conveying young Codrington to the Asia, he would have the new watch make sail so that he could take station to windward, as the admiral wished. He went to his cabin.

‘Tea, if you please, Flowerdew; in half an hour, for Miss Codrington and her brother.’