Man Of War

Peto shook his head. ‘I cannot put the women in the cutter, Mr Lambe. I wouldn’t trust the Greeks, even if I trusted the Turks. There’d be little to choose between a Greek pirate and a mussulman faced with such a catch.’

The appearance of Rebecca Codrington at the companion ladder cut short the discussion.

Lambe touched his hat to her, and Peto a moment later. ‘Good evening, Miss Codrington,’ they said as one.

Rebecca was smiling, with not the faintest trace of anxiety. ‘The Firefly must have very important business, Captain Peto. Mr Pelham has told me my father’s intentions for tomorrow. I imagine not a ship can be spared, no matter how small.’ She sounded delighted.

Peto nodded awkwardly. He had two objections to her otherwise charming company. First, he had no desire to be deflected from any course of action, should battle be joined, by considerations for the safety of the commander-in-chief ’s daughter. Secondly, a ship of the Line in action was so infernal a place as to be unfit for any but the strongest of stomachs (which in truth were not to be found in every man, let alone a female). ‘There will be something in the morning, Miss Rebecca, have no fear.’

‘Oh, I have no fear, Captain Peto. You need not trouble on my account.’

He had made that mistake before, of using an everyday phrase that might be interpreted literally, and which then was – to disarming effect. He cleared his throat. ‘Just so, just so.’ He turned to the lieutenant, making a great effort to keep a commanding countenance. ‘Well, Mr Lambe, I believe I shall repair to my log. We dine in one half of one hour.’ He turned back to Rebecca, almost reluctantly. ‘You will join us, I hope, Miss Codrington?’

‘Oh, Captain Peto, I should be most honoured.’ Her delight was evident. ‘You are to toast the memory of Lord Nelson: I do not suppose there is another of my sex who has observed it on the eve of battle!’

Peto groaned inwardly.

It was the finest of new mornings, even by the standards of the heavenly Ionian. Peto had come on deck shortly after the middle watch stood down, searching for signal lights or some other sign in the moonless early hours before the sun served its first notice of intent – the faintest marbling of the otherwise black wall of the eastern sky. He could see the stern lantern of Calpe, sloop, a league and a half east-south-east, standing ready to relay the flagship’s signals. He wondered if he might yet transfer the women to her, for there could be no imperative need of her in Navarino Bay . . . But, Peto’s seniority notwithstanding, Calpe’s master would never heed him in this. Not without the flagship’s express authority.

Hands had come on deck cheerily, despite being turned from their hammocks early, bantering and capering as if pay were to be had, and shore leave, the prospect of action (for most of them, the first time) a powerful animator to fellowship. They stood lively at their stations, guns or shrouds. Here and there a man mock-flinched at a belay pin which a boatswain’s mate pretend-threatened, exchanging the crack with the officers, mouthing ribald encouragement to the marines.

Peto marked it all with satisfaction. It took months as a rule to drill a crew well enough for the fight, and yet in less than one, Rupert’s was handy enough. Perhaps if they had met a Frenchman in the glory days, before Trafalgar, or even before Lissa, they would have been hard-pressed to overmatch her in broadsiding, but these were not the glory days – thank God – and the Turk was no Frenchman when it came to admiralty. This was the future: willing volunteers who did their duty . . . willingly.

The sun, full clear of the horizon now, was already warm on his face, even on a day when in Norfolk (in the house he would soon truly be able to call home) there would be a fire burning in the grate. Happiest of thoughts! – Miss Elizabeth Hervey before that fire, Lady Peto. For Elizabeth he would be glad to give up all flag ambition, to live peacefully and companionably on half pay in that incomparable county. There too, in due course, he might steal away before first light, as he had as a boy, to behold the sea, what the day brought of wind and wave and sail, never the same sea picture, daily the new in the familiar guise of the old. But those breaks of day (dare he imagine it?) would not be, as before, in his own company alone – nor even in that of Elizabeth – but in the company of one who shared their name, who would grow to maturity in the love of a good mother and the encouragement of a proud father, so that he too in due season might know the wonderful prospect of life that came with a midshipman’s collar-patch. And, in his turn, that glorious thing which was a post command.