Man Of War

‘Oh, tea is it,’ muttered his steward, fancying that life on a line-of-battle ship was becoming a drawing room affair.

‘Mr Codrington is midshipman on the Asia.’

‘Oh, is ’e indeed. A right fam’ly going it is.’

‘But the admiral will keep his flag in Asia for the time being.’

Flowerdew said nothing, though he was pleased, since an admiral’s retinue was bound to be vexing. He began taking out a silver service from one of the lockers under the stern lights.

‘And the simnel cake – I think we will have that too.’

‘Oh, cake is it. Quite the tea party.’

Peto was unabashed. He would delight unashamedly in the company of sibling affection. He would observe in it, indeed, something of his own future.

* * *

Peto heard the knock. He looked at his watch: the timing was exact enough to serve for dead reckoning. He nodded approvingly as Flowerdew opened the steerage door to admit Midshipman Henry and Miss Rebecca Codrington. The brother, hat under his left arm, bowed; Rebecca curtsied. Peto returned their salutes and bid them sit, feeling suddenly awkward, which displeased him, for he was a post-captain and plenty old enough to be Miss Codrington’s father.

Flowerdew came to his aid: did Miss Codrington take milk with her tea (the answer he surely knew, for he had served it to her on several occasions)?

She smiled – which Flowerdew had the greatest difficulty in not reflecting – and said that she would.

‘My brother tells me that his ship is not so large as this, Captain Peto.’

Rebecca’s brother coloured, rather. He himself would never have initiated conversation with a post-captain, and especially not with any comparison of ships, no matter how favourable to the hearer.

Peto saw. ‘But the Asia is perfectly matched for any fight, Miss Rebecca. You may have no fears on that account.’

‘Oh, I had no fears, Captain Peto. It is just that I had thought my father would come aboard your ship, as you suggested he would.’

‘He will know his flag captain well by now. Curzon’s an excellent fellow. I have known him long.’

‘My brother says it is because my father intends entering the place where the Turkish fleet is anchored and compelling them to leave, and he does not wish the Rupert to enter.’

‘Is that so, indeed?’ Peto turned to Henry Codrington with the sort of enquiring look that would have made the stoutest midshipman wish he were at the maintop in a howling gale.

‘I . . . That is what I have heard, sir.’

Peto had heard it too. He had deduced as much when the admiral told him he wished for Rupert to stand well to the west until the time was right. But he would not let Mr Codrington off the hook so easily. ‘Indeed, sir? And what else might you have heard?’

Rebecca did not quite see the game. She looked at her brother enthusiastically. ‘Tell Captain Peto about Lord Nelson, Henry!’

Peto turned again to the young Codrington with an air of bemusement, perfectly studied. ‘Lord Nelson, Mr Codrington?’

Midshipman Codrington turned a deeper red. He swallowed hard. ‘Sir, I have heard that my fa—the admiral intends entering the bay at Navarin on the eve of Lord Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar.’

‘Indeed?’ Peto suppressed the urge to speculate aloud what effect such a celebratory manoeuvre would have on Admiral de Rigny and his French squadron. ‘It is only a pity that August is past.’

‘Sir?’

‘The first of August, Mr Codrington – a bay, the enemy at anchor . . .’

‘Oh, indeed, sir: Aboukir, the Nile.’

‘Quite, Mr Codrington, the Nile.’

Rebecca looked to her brother for edification.

‘Go on, Mr Codrington. Explain.’

‘The French fleet lay in line at anchor in Aboukir Bay, the mouth of the Nile, and Lord Nelson took his ships into the bay and sailed between the French and the shore, which the French had supposed was not possible, believing it to be too shallow, because of which they had not their guns run out on that side, nor even the gun-ports open. It was a famous victory.’ He looked at Peto for approval of his summary.

‘Admirable, Mr Codrington.’ He turned to Rebecca again. ‘But unlike Aboukir Bay, at the bay of Navarin – your father, I note, prefers the style to “Navarino” – there will be no imperative to destroy any one of the Sultan’s ships, only to compel them to leave. No admiral confronted by so great a show of force as your father may dispose, with the French and Russian squadrons, could do other than comply at once, for resistance would be as futile as it would be ruinous.’ He did not add, however, that the pride of the Turkish admiral was not to be underestimated. He looked at Flowerdew. ‘The cake?’

Flowerdew advanced with his tray.

Peto saw that his steward had not been able to remove quite all of the mould, which seemed always to defy his best efforts, but Midshipman Codrington was too experienced a seaman to notice, and his sister too polite. Peto himself took a hearty mouthful (he had not eaten since breakfast).