Company Of Spears

‘Boat your oars!’ came the reedy voice of the young midshipman as the barge neared the lowered gangway on Rupert‘s leeside, calling Peto back to the lonely state of captain of a first-rate.

Peto glanced at him, studied him for the first time – a mere boy still, not sixteen perhaps, but confident in his words of command and boat handling. He had blond curls and fine features – so different from the Norfolk lad of fourteen that he himself had been as midshipman in the early years of the ‘never-ending war’. He had never possessed such looks as would delight both fellow officers and females alike nor earn the seaman’s habitual esteem of the patrician. Big-boned he was: ‘hardy-handsome’ his mother had called him, which was not handsome at all in her reckoning (or so he had supposed). But Elizabeth Hervey had not rejected him. No; not at all. Indeed he thought that Miss Hervey had once actually made eyes at him – in Rome, many years ago. Oh, how he wished he had recognized that look (if look it had been – preposterous notion!).

He snapped to. Belay the thought! For he could hear the bosun’s call.

The piping aboard, the shaking hands with officers and warrant officers – he had done the same before, several times; but never on a first-rate. To be sure, he had hardly set foot on a three-decker since he was a young lieutenant. He would not address the crew, as he had when taking command of Nisus, for whereas his frigate’s complement had been but two hundred (and he could know every man by name and character), Rupert‘s was in excess of eight – far too many to assemble decently for the sort of thing he would wish to say. Command of a first-rate was perforce a rather more distant business. Strictly speaking, command even of Nisus was properly exercised through his executive officer, the first lieutenant, and to some degree by the master, but in a ship of two hundred souls the captain’s face was daily – at times hourly – known to all. His own quarters were on the upper deck: he had to climb the ladder to the quarterdeck, and in doing so he might routinely see half the crew. On Rupert he would merely step from his cabin: descending to any of the gundecks was therefore an ‘occasion’. His world was changing even if he were not. He could no longer be the frigate-thruster. But his nature was by no means aloof, and he must find some happy middle channel between his own inclination and the customs of the service. He did not expect it to take long, or even to try him; but meanwhile – as any prudent captain – he would take up the command firmly yet judiciously. In an hour or so His Majesty’s governor of Gibraltar would pay a call on him, and then, if the westerly continued to freshen, Rupert would make sail for Syracuse to take on the pure water of the Artemis springs, just as Nelson had before the Nile. And from there he would set course for Codrington’s squadron in the Ionian. For the time being, however, he would withdraw to his quarters, hear the reports, read the signals, sign the returns.

Flowerdew, his steward of a dozen years and more, was waiting. The sentry presented arms – sharper, thought Peto, than even the well-drilled Marines on Nisus. The red coat, the black lacquered hat, the white breeches and pipeclay – Peto suddenly felt himself a little shabby by comparison in his sea coat. But that, he reminded himself, was how it should be: a Marines sentry was by his very turnout a powerful aid to discipline, whereas a captain’s attire must be weather-seasoned. He might put on his best coat for the governor (his dunnage Flowerdew had brought aboard earlier in the day); there again he might not.

He took his first, portentous steps aft of the sentry, followed by his executive officer and Flowerdew. At once he saw how much bigger were his quarters – bigger, appreciably, than any he had occupied before. He saw the little oil landscapes on the bulkheads which he had had on Nisus, and the furniture, over and above what their lordships provided, which he had bought from the previous captain (who, transferring to half pay, had been only too happy to strike a bargain and thus save himself the expense of shipping home). He could be confident, too, that his cherished silver, china and glass would be safely stowed.

‘Coffee, sir?’

‘Thank you, yes, Flowerdew.’

‘With your leave, sir,’ said the first lieutenant.

Peto took off his hat and placed it on the dining table (Cuban mahogany reflecting the sun through the stern gallery like a mirror). ‘By all means, Mr Lambe. A half-hour’s recollection, and then, if you please, you may give me the ship’s states.’

‘Ay, ay, sir.’ The executive officer replaced his hat, touched the point and withdrew.