Peto saw nothing but his ship, his eyes fixed on her from the moment of stepping into his barge. In part it was because he would take the one opportunity to study her as an enemy might see her, before he had her under weigh, for with a freshening westerly and such a sky it would not be long before she could make sail. Those indeed were his orders, to proceed without delay to join Vice-Admiral Codrington’s squadron in the Ionian, there to compel the Ottoman Porte to give up its repression of the valiant Greeks. He might have taken command sooner, but the incapacity of the prime minister, Lord Liverpool, had for some weeks thrown doubt on the enterprise. A year before, the Duke of Wellington, under Mr Canning’s instructions, had signed a protocol in St Petersburg by which Russia, France and Great Britain would mediate in what to all intents and purposes had become war between the Greeks and the Ottoman Turks. The prospect of a new government had brought the future of the protocol into question; until in the middle of April the King had sent for Mr Canning and asked him to assemble a new administration. This had cheered the more active of the occupants of both the Admiralty and the Horse Guards, for although Mr Canning’s manners were to the liking of few of them, his vigorous policies called for strong naval and land forces, welcome counterweight to the mood of retrenchment which had settled on Whitehall since Waterloo. The only problem seemed to be that hardly a man of repute would agree to serve under him: no fewer than seven members of the Cabinet had resigned, including the duke himself, as well as Mr Peel and Lord Bathurst. However, through the accommodation of the Whigs, Canning had been able to form his government, and instructions followed for the protocol to be ratified by formal treaty – on which news the Admiralty restored its plans for the reinforcement of Sir Edward Codrington’s squadron.
And so Captain Sir Laughton Peto R.N., in undress uniform – closed double-breasted coat with fall-down collar, and double epaulettes denoting his post seniority – with his India sword hanging short on his left side in black-leather scabbard, and furnished with his letter of appointment, was now within a cable’s length of another great milestone of his life. He had wondered long when it would come, or if; at their dinner at the United Service Club he had told Hervey he was certain it would not. ‘There will be no more commissions,’ he had predicted. ‘I shan’t get another ship. They’re being laid up as we speak in every creek between Yarmouth and the Isle of Wight. I shan’t even make the “yellow squadron”. Certainly not now that Clarence is Lord High Admiral.’ For yes, he had been commodore of a flotilla that had overpowered Rangoon (he could not – nor ever would – claim it a great victory, but it had served), and he had subsequently helped the wretched armies of Bengal and Madras struggle up the Irrawaddy, eventually to subdue Ava and its bestial king; but it had seemed to bring him not a very great deal of reward. The prize money had been next to nothing (the Burmans had no ships to speak of, and the land-booty had not amounted to much by the time it came to the navy), and K.C.B. did not change his place on the seniority list. The Admiralty not so many months before had told him they doubted they could give him any further active command, and would he not consider having the hospital at Greenwich?
But having been, in words that his old friend Hervey might have used, ‘in the ditch’, he was up again and seeing the road cocked atop a good horse. The milestones would now come in altogether quicker succession.
What a sight was Rupert! Even with all her sail furled she was the picture of admiralty: yellow-sided – ‘Nelson-style’ – gunports open (he much approved of that, letting fresh air circulate below deck), the crew assembling for his coming aboard (he could hear the bosun’s mates quite plainly). What could make a man more content than such a thing? He breathed to himself the noble words: gentlemen in England, now abed, will think themselves accurs’d they were not here.
There was one thing, of course, that could make a man so content: the love, the companionship at least, of a good woman (the love of the other sort of woman was all too easy to be had, and the contentment very transitory). And now he had that too! For in his pocket was Elizabeth Hervey’s letter.
Why had he not asked for her hand years ago? That was his only regret. He felt a sudden – and most unusual – impulse: he wished Elizabeth Hervey were with him now. Yes, this very place, this very moment, to see his ship as he did, to appreciate her beauty and her possibilities – their possibilities! Oh, happy thought! Happy, happy thought!
‘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.
When Flowerdew came with coffee he found his captain sitting in his favourite leather camp chair. Peto had had it made many years before in Minorca, with pouches fixed on each arm: the left side for his clerk to place papers for attention, and the other for Peto himself to place the papers after his attention. But rather than attending to his clerk’s paper, Peto was staring out of the stern window, and with a look of considerable contentment. Flowerdew could not be surprised at this: if his captain mayn’t have a moment or two’s satisfaction in his new command then what did it profit a man to be in the King’s service? ‘Coffee, sir.’
Peto nodded, and raised his hand in thanks.
Flowerdew had no wish to intrude on the moment; there would be time enough to get back into the old routine. He placed the cup in Peto’s hand, and left the cabin quietly.
Peto reached inside his coat and took out Elizabeth’s letter. He had placed it between the leather binding of an old copy of Steel’s Mastmaking, Sailmaking and Rigging, from which he had removed the pages, and wrapped it in an oilskin. Even thus preserved, the letter bore the signs of much consultation.
Horningsham,
28th March 1827
My dear Captain Peto,
Let me at once say that I accept your offer of marriage with the very greatest delight. I perfectly understand that you were not able to travel to Wiltshire, and I am only content that you did not delay until you were able to do so. For my part, I should have wished at once to accept, but you will understand that I felt a certain obligation to my brother, though I could never have doubted his approval.
I am so very happy too at your news of command, though I shall confess also that my happiness is tempered considerably by the thought that H.M.S. Prince Rupert is taking you so very distant. But that is the way of things, and you may be assured that I shall never be a jealous wife where your ship is concerned!
I am so very proud, too, that your command is to be in the Mediterranean, not only for its healthiness and beauty but because I believe it a very noble thing that we should assist the Greeks in their endeavours to shake off the Ottoman yoke. You will, of course, be now daily in my prayers – I think I may say constantly – and they will be for your safe and speedy return.
My father will make the usual arrangements for the notice of our betrothal, which I must trust shall be to your liking.
I hasten to close this, though I would write so very much more were there the time, for the express boy is come even now, and trust that you shall receive it before you sail.
Your ever affectionate
Elizabeth Hervey.
Peto read it a second time, and then a third. It was the first letter in a female hand that he had ever received. He had no certainty of the tone or convention, but he considered it the warmest expression of esteem. How different it felt – strangely different – taking to sea with a wife awaiting his return (he already imagined her in the Norfolk drawing room): his world was no longer wholly wooden, sea-girt and male.
He folded the letter, replaced it between the bindings, wrapped it in the oilskin and put it back in his pocket. As he did so he thought again of Elizabeth’s sisterly duty – so admirable a thing – and then the object of that duty, and wondered how was his friend in southern waters. Perhaps – his new command notwithstanding – he might even envy him a little, for would not Hervey have more prospects of the smell of black powder than would he himself in the Ionian? The native tribes of the Cape Colony would know no better than to chance against His Majesty’s land forces; but the Turk must know that he could have no fight at sea with a first-class naval power. And certainly not three such powers, now that it was Russia and France bound in by formal treaty. The Ionian mission would indeed be a noble one, but it would in essence be an affair of display – a show of force, a demonstration. It would be his old friend who heard the sound of the guns, not he.
XXI
REPORTS AND RETURNS
Cape Town, 23 November
The onset of summer at the Cape, with fine weather for shooting and drill, was on the one hand most welcome: the Rifles were becoming the handiest of troops. Yet Hervey chafed at the enforced inactivity of his dragoons, whose days were spent breaking remounts. It was true that in drill the Rifles were by no means in advance of them, but as regular cavalry shipped with their own horses, E Troop should have been at duty already for the best part of three months.
When the time came – two months after returning from the frontier – for Hervey to submit his first report as detachment commander to Lord Holderness in Hounslow, he was at least relieved that the end of the Troop’s incapacity was at hand.
E Troop Detachment,
H.M. 6th Light Dragoons,
Cape Colony.
23rd November 1827
To The Rt. Hon. The Earl of Holderness,
Commanding Officer,
H.M. 6th Light Dragoons,
Hounslow.
Sir,
I have the honour to submit this my report for the first three months of the detachment’s duty at the Cape, as required by Standing Orders. Returns and accounts are attached herewith.
Shortly upon disembarking, the troop’s horses were afflicted with a most virulent disease thought to be habitually present in these parts, which no quarantine was able to prevent since its nature is not properly understood. I regret to have to inform Your Lordship that in spite of the best efforts of Veterinary Surgeon Kirwan fifty-three horses succumbed to the fever. Goodish remounts have been obtained locally, however, and these are now fully trained, but the troop has been unable to take part in the active operations foreseen by General Bourke when he requested a reinforcement. These shall begin shortly and take the form of patrols along the eastern frontier of the Cape, which is called Kaffraria, and some punitory expeditions into the territory of the Xhosa, who are the native people of this part of the colony. I must observe, however, that the country is not entirely advantageous to cavalry, where it is frequently impossible to form line and to maintain it, and I have given it as my opinion to General Bourke that the Corps of Mounted Riflemen, which are now formed and ready to take to the field under their own officers, shall likely be a better force to employ in this work. This we may soon observe, and General Bourke has expressed himself entirely content that if the Rifles are steady and capable then he will release the Troop Detachment to return to England, for it is ever a draw on his resources, which accounts are already in deficit.
I regret to have to inform Your Lordship also that five men have died of disease or injury since our arriving. I have, with Your Lordship’s presumed permission, authorized promotion in acting rank, of Corporal Wainwright to serjeant, and others, minor, as detailed in the attachments…
The report continued for three more sheets of foolscap, with a further four of attachments. Hervey hoped it would be deemed adequate. Not knowing his commanding officer, he found it difficult to be sure what matters might be regarded as trifling. Lord Holderness would know none of the detachment by name and perhaps next to nothing about the Cape and its condition. Of future dispositions and manoeuvres Hervey could, in truth, say very little, for these were to be of a
speculative nature – patrolling, and the recovery of cattle. There was, still, no very clear understanding of what the Xhosa intended (if they intended anything at all). Despite what Gaika had promised when his son had been returned to him, his tribesmen had continued almost without let to cross the Keiskama to hunt, and of late had begun crossing the Fish again, so that the frontier settlers were once more reporting cattle losses. Fort Willshire had had to request reinforcements, and twice Colonel Somerset had travelled to Graham’s Town to judge the situation for himself. Hervey found he could bear the absence easily.
General Bourke on the other hand, when he returned from St Helena in the middle of October, Hervey found to be a straightforward man, but much preoccupied with administration and the business of accounts. Hervey was sorry for him. It was clear that the War Office had set him the most stringent economies, and that his future depended on them. Hervey wished never for general rank if it meant being an actuary in a red coat.
Colonel Somerset had no difficulty persuading General Bourke that the Xhosa would soon make war on the colony. Or rather, he had no difficulty persuading him of the possibility – and, as the frontier defences stood, of the unfavourable outcome. So persuaded, it was the general’s duty to alert the lieutenant-governor to the danger, and to set in hand the appropriate measures.
Hervey was not persuaded, however. Or rather, Edward Fairbrother was not, and it was Fairbrother’s opinion for which he had the greater regard. They had indeed become firm friends, and Hervey had arranged for him to exchange on to full pay as supernumerary captain in the Mounted Rifles.
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