Man Of War

Rebecca came on deck. Peto, standing below the poop on the weather side, braced involuntarily: the crew were at their fighting stations, ready in an instant to clear for action; it was not seemly for a female to be on the quarterdeck. Nor on a gun-deck – as now he saw Rupert’s women, coming up for their allowance of air. He had given no orders to the contrary, however, and Lambe had evidently not seen fit to cancel their privileges. It was the very devil! Where was that sloop?

Peto acknowledged Rebecca’s curtsy – no more now than a pause and a bow, in deference to his asking that she did not bend the knee, yet acquitting herself in what she felt most strongly was her obligation as a female, and a subordinate.

He could not quite bring himself to smile, but his intention was warm enough. He so much admired this . . . girl, with her pleasing self-possession, intelligence, pluck – and her pride in her father. He thought it the greatest pity that father and daughter could not have met, though he perfectly understood the very proper instincts of a commander-in-chief. Indeed, he trusted that his own would have been no less dutiful; except that – he would freely admit it – since his betrothal to Elizabeth, his judgement in certain matters was not as it had once been. Perhaps he gave way to sentiment, but could he have denied himself the pleasure of an encounter with his own daughter, especially before action? He could not but reflect on how his old friend – soon to be his brother-in-law – was so happily obligated to his daughter.

He raised his telescope again and swept the sunny eastern horizon, and to north and south, stern to bow, in another vain search for the sloop that would take Rupert’s women off. He called for his signal midshipman.

Pelham fairly flew down the ladder.

‘Make to Calpe, “For Asia. Where is Firefly?” ’ He said it briskly, trying to conceal his chagrin at having to signal the flagship on a domestic matter when action loomed.

Midshipman Pelham now had the squadron’s additional codebook, with each ship allotted a number, so that the signal was a matter of but half a dozen flags and a couple of minutes’ work in the hoisting. Nevertheless it was a full quarter of an hour before any reply came, and then it was ‘Not understood’.

Peto fumed. ‘In God’s name, man, what did you make to the flag?’

But Pelham did not flinch. ‘ “For Asia. Where is Firefly?”, sir.’

Peto glowered. ‘I grant you may have a perfect memory, Mr Pelham, but what flags did you hoist?’

Lambe was already bounding up the poop deck ladder to prove the reserve codebook for himself. Before Pelham was even half-way to verifying the signal, the lieutenant had Peto’s answer. ‘Signal is accurate, sir.’

Peto cursed again. ‘What in God’s name is Asia’s flag-lieutenant thinking, then?’ Or was it – surely not? – Calpe seeking clarification rather than simply repeating? It was her duty, after all, if she could not see the flags clearly enough. But they flew well in this breeze . . . ‘Repeat, and make: “For Asia, urgent, lady still aboard.” ’

It was possible, of course, that the flag-lieutenant did not know what the Firefly’s special duty was, and therefore had not appreciated the urgency of the enquiry. But unless he believed the signal to be corrupted it was his business to put it to the admiral at once.

It took Pelham rather longer this time, for he had to spell out ‘lady’ and ‘still’. Nevertheless, he managed to get it hoist inside of seven minutes.

The reply, however, was half an hour in the coming, and in the meantime the crew were piped down to breakfast. Peto himself remained on deck the while, determined as he was to have the business concluded before battle was joined – powderless battle as may be.

Flowerdew brought him chocolate in a silver pot, on a tray with two other cups and saucers.

‘Ask Miss Codrington to join me,’ he said gruffly. ‘And Mr Lambe.’

Rebecca came at once. ‘It is a beautiful morning, is it not, Captain Peto?’

Peto cleared his throat. ‘It is indeed, Miss Codrington. I fancy your father will be well pleased with the weather: light airs, just enough to make easy headway without too much sail set – just the thing to enter Navarino Bay.’

‘Shall we be able to see it, Captain Peto? We are not so very far away, are we?’

Peto cleared his throat again, and consciously. ‘We are some dozen and more miles out. Yon brig, the Calpe, stands between us and the fleet, to relay your father’s signals. We do not close until we have his order.’

Rebecca nodded. ‘And there is still no sign of the ship that will take us off?’ She said it quite matter-of-fact.

‘There is not,’ replied Peto, gravely. ‘I am waiting on a signal telling me where is the Firefly, and what’s to do.’ Only then did he think about the activity that would follow breakfast. ‘Your belongings, Miss Rebecca, and your maid’s – they are ready to be taken off?’

‘They are. Mr Pelham has been most kind. And Mr Flowerdew.’