Man Of War

berate them . . .

No, it was not the way. They knew what he wanted – what the service required: a full broadside in a minute and a half. At her best, Nisus managed a minute and fifteen, and it made no difference that her guns weren’t as heavy, for a line-of-battle ship had extra men. No, he would repeat the exercises until they fired as they should. He had enough powder and shot to risk twenty broadsides at practice, and if they couldn’t manage it by the end of that . . .

‘Mr Lambe, have them fire by batteries. I’ll see who is the first to ninety seconds – and who is last!’

‘Ay-ay, sir!’

Lambe gave the order, and Peto’s admonishment. When all the batteries reported ready, he glanced at his captain for the word.

Peto took out his hunter again, and nodded.

‘Fire!’

Half an hour of smoke, flame, thunder and backbreaking work – both broadsides heaving as if they were in a general action: only the absence of the enemy’s shot eased their labour. Peto fancied he could hear the officers’ hoarse encouragement, and the mates’; until after ten minutes he could hear next to nothing unless it were bellowed in his ear. It was always the same: the whole of the crew would be shouting at each other for the rest of the day.

It was long past the dinner hour when the last battery – larboard upper deck – managed to reload and fire within the ninety seconds; and with only two rounds left for each gun. The lieutenants reported to the quarter-deck one by one as their batteries fell silent, and from each it was the same: the worm- and spongemen had gone about their work too gingerly to begin with, the loaders even more so, fearful of premature discharge; and the rest had been plain lubberly with the tackle. But they had warmed to it. They had all most definitely warmed to it.

Peto nodded: he had thought as much. They would get sharper with the tackle by daily practice, though the gun-workers would only get more confident if they used powder, and he could not afford to give them much of that. Once there was the enemy firing at their backs, too, they might be a deal less eager to sponge and ram and load. Perhaps he thought too meanly of them, but he had seen it all before. And there were but a couple of weeks only to get Rupert into the sort of trim that Admiral Codrington had a right to expect.

He turned to his lieutenant. ‘Well, Mr Lambe, let us see how things stand below.’

VII

REFORM

27 April 1828

They took the mail back to London, four days after coming down. Without the urgency of a family summons Hervey could not justify to himself the expense of posting. It had the advantage, too, of limiting conversation, for in truth he felt a mite wearied by the business in Horningsham, the last day especially, when Elizabeth’s defiance drove a wedge between them; and, he feared, between him and Georgiana.

He even felt its thin end edging between him and Fairbrother, for in the afternoon he and his friend had walked to Longleat, and Fairbrother had practised a deal of advocacy on Elizabeth’s behalf. Hervey had tried to explain that however good a man was this Major Heinrici, he could be nothing compared with Peto. Fairbrother suggested that they go and meet him; indeed, he proposed that it was in honour the very least that Hervey could do if he were acting as paterfamilias. But Hervey had scorned the notion, suggesting it might then become an affair of pistols. To this Fairbrother had expressed himself perplexed by the ways of the English, and had fallen silent on the matter, although at dinner that evening he went out of his way to cheer Elizabeth. Not that she appeared much in need of cheering (cool certainty, Fairbrother thought it; shamelessness was Hervey’s opinion).

Hervey was inclined to ascribe his friend’s solicitousness to the natural good manners of a guest, rather than believing he truly took her side. Nevertheless, he had not wished to spend a day in a post chaise in conversation upon the topic (which seemed inevitable if they had been placed in each other’s exclusive company), and so the mail had served him well in terms of both economy and retreat.

What had saddened him most, besides the business itself, was Georgiana’s opinion. Perhaps he ought to have known that she would side instinctively with Elizabeth, who had stood in loco matris for so long; at ten years she could hardly be expected to make any informed judgement of her own in these matters. Except that he had rather hoped she might. Was it really so very difficult to see? If his mother and he saw with perfect clarity, then why not Georgiana? He was angry that Elizabeth had taken her to meet this Heinrici in the first place: it was, to say the least, indelicate – disloyal, indeed. But he wondered, too, if there were not some other consideration – if Georgiana’s attitude were not somehow connected with a reluctance to leave Horningsham for a new home. After all, he had not been able to tell her where that might be: Hounslow, he imagined, if he were to return to his regiment, or the Cape if he were not; perhaps, and worst of all, for even he saw that it might be uncomfortably alien, to Hertfordshire until the question was settled.

No, he must not allow that, Hertfordshire. Not, at least, without his company. It was time to follow the drum, though it had been Henrietta’s determination to do so that had led to her death (but could they in truth have lived any other way?). Besides, had not Kezia Lankester gone to India with her new husband, when most wives did not? Was that not a sure sign of her true and doughty nature? Kezia Hervey would not be content to sit in Hertfordshire, or even Hounslow, while her husband sailed abroad. Of that he was certain.

It was after nine when they got to the United Service Club, and the dining room had closed. There was no water for a hot bath (how Hervey was looking forward to the move to the new club house: he had become quite used to ready hot water in India), and so while bowls were got up for their rooms, the two friends sank into the leather tubs of the smoking room with brandy and soda. The porter brought Hervey his letters. One bore the stamp of the commander-in-chief ’s headquarters. He opened it at once.

The Horse Guards

23rd AprilMy dear Hervey,I send you the briefest word to say that I have just seen the casualty lists for the battle at Navarin and may assure you that Captain Sir Laughton Peto’s name is not contained therein. You will be saddened to know that Captain Bathurst of the Genoa was killed, for I believe you said you met him once, as well as several captains of Marines, which Service seems to have borne the most considerable losses, ten of them on the Genoa alone. I confess I had not perhaps given the affair the greatest attention before, for I saw the official returns only in the New Year, by which time other matters were pressing. I may direct your attention to a full account of the battle, by Codrington’s own hand (whose own son, a midshipman on the flagship, was most grievously wounded), in the London Gazette Extraordinary of November 10, last, which, if not to be found in the United Service Club, you are at liberty to read here when you will.I hope this allays your very evident, and proper, apprehension on account of your friend.Believe me &c,

Howard

Hervey sighed with deep satisfaction: allay his apprehension it most certainly did. He held up the letter as if it were material evidence in the case of Peto vs Heinrici. ‘It is from John Howard. He confirms that Peto was unharmed in the affair at Navarino.’

‘Deo gratias,’ said Fairbrother, and looking as if he meant it (a jilted, wounded hero would have been too much for any of them to deal with).

‘I must write to Elizabeth, express, tomorrow.’

‘That it may bring her to her senses?’ he asked, in a tone that suggested irony.