Hervey 09 - Man Of War (34 page)

‘Quite, Mr Codrington,
the Nile
.’

Rebecca looked to her brother for edification.

‘Go on, Mr Codrington. Explain.’

‘The French fleet lay in line at anchor in Aboukir Bay, the mouth of the Nile, and Lord Nelson took his ships into the bay and sailed between the French and the shore, which the French had supposed was not possible, believing it to be too shallow, because of which they had not their guns run out on that side, nor even the gun-ports open. It was a famous victory.’ He looked at Peto for approval of his summary.

‘Admirable, Mr Codrington.’ He turned to Rebecca again. ‘But unlike Aboukir Bay, at the bay of Navarin – your father, I note, prefers the style to “Navarino” – there will be no imperative to destroy any one of the Sultan’s ships, only to compel them to leave. No admiral confronted by so great a show of force as your father may dispose, with the French and Russian squadrons, could do other than comply at once, for resistance would be as futile as it would be ruinous.’ He did not add, however, that the pride of the Turkish admiral was not to be underestimated. He looked at Flowerdew. ‘The cake?’

Flowerdew advanced with his tray.

Peto saw that his steward had not been able to remove quite all of the mould, which seemed always to defy his best efforts, but Midshipman Codrington was too experienced a seaman to notice, and his sister too polite. Peto himself took a hearty mouthful (he had not eaten since breakfast).

‘Do I have to leave on the
Firefly
tomorrow, Captain Peto?’ asked Rebecca, sounding suddenly rather younger than before. ‘I should so like to see our fleet sail into the bay, and the Turkish ships sailing away.’

Peto had taken rather too hearty a mouthful: the request induced a sudden, and somewhat messy, fit of coughing. ‘Miss Rebecca, greatly though I – we all – have prized your company these past weeks, I have to tell you that nothing would induce me to prolong that pleasure into a place of active operations. The
Firefly
, though I do not know her, will convey you with considerable speed to Malta.’ He spoke decidedly but kindly. ‘Is that not so, Mr Codrington?’ he added, turning to her brother for assurance, as if his was an opinion of equal rank.

Midshipman Codrington cleared his throat in turn. ‘Yes, sir; yes indeed.’ He turned to his sister. ‘The
Firefly
is a ship-sloop. She is a very good sailer, and Mr Hanson is a very able and gentlemanlike master.’

Peto now smiled, and with some wryness. ‘Your quarters, I’m afraid, will be a little more cramped than you have been used to of late. And you shall have to put up with the babbling of the . . . wives, that I am also obliged to put off.’

Rebecca brightened. ‘Oh, I have no concern for my comfort, Captain Peto. And I shall be only too glad to make closer acquaintance with the sailors’ wives.’

Peto now felt himself turning a little red under what he supposed might be the scrutiny of a brother who knew perfectly well the status of the women below deck, and who must therefore have some instinct to shelter a sister from such coarseness. ‘Yes . . . quite . . . Now, when you go aboard
Firefly
, Miss Rebecca, I would have you take letters for me, if you will.’

‘Yes, of course, Captain Peto. For Miss Hervey, I imagine?’

Peto felt his face now thoroughly reddening. The enquiry was entirely innocent, for all that it might have been precocious. He cleared his throat noisily. ‘Letters to the Admiralty . . . And yes, to . . . Miss Hervey.’

XVI
CLEAR FOR ACTION

Late afternoon the following day, 19 October 1827,
off Navarino Bay

Captain Sir Laughton Peto, second-senior post-captain of the British squadron in the Ionian, clambered up the ladder to
Rupert
’s entry port for the second time in twenty-four hours. The pipes trilled, the marine sentry presented arms, and the boatswain barked ‘off hats’ as the master of their wooden world, at once weary and yet animated, came inboard, touching his hat to the quarterdeck and nodding his acknowledgement to the first lieutenant’s salute.

‘Assemble all sea and warrant officers in the admiral’s steerage in one half of one hour, Mr Lambe, if you please.’

Lambe walked with him as Peto made for the companion ladder. ‘Miss Codrington shall have to wait in your cabin, then, sir. There has been no sign of
Firefly
.’

Peto broke his step momentarily. ‘Damnation!’

‘I’ve sent word to the flagship.’

Peto huffed.

‘Perhaps we shall have to put the ladies in the boats, sir, instead of the hen coops.’

It was a gallant attempt at humour in the circumstances. Peto turned, to see his lieutenant’s ironic half smile. ‘I would that I were not made to choose, Mr Lambe.’

‘Ay-ay, sir!’

At a quarter to six, Peto entered the admiral’s apartments. ‘Good evening, sir,’ chorused the assembled officers. He returned the courtesy heartily and with a smile. His signal midshipman unrolled a chart on the dining table and weighted down its corners with pieces of lead.

‘Gentlemen,’ began
Rupert
’s captain, with just the merest expression of drollery, ‘a good many of you – perhaps the majority – saw action in the late, “never-ending” war. Well, I tell you, we are about to undertake a
smokeless
action in what our fellow-countrymen touchingly believe is never-ending peace.’

There was a buzz among the officers – a puzzled applause, as well as lively. How might an action be smokeless? Between two ships, with surprise on one side, perhaps; but between
fleets
?

‘Gentlemen, your disbelief does you credit. The pertinent word, however, is “undertake”. I am myself convinced that an action such as this is bound to precipitate a fight; and I believe that that too is the admiral’s opinion, at heart. I wish you therefore to hear the design for tomorrow’s endeavour with that possibility – nay, let us not mince our words,
probability
– firmly in mind. For only thus shall you perceive the part which
Rupert
plays in it. Otherwise we might appear to be mere spectators at a fleet review.’

Faces spoke of enthusiasm.

He pointed to the chart. ‘Now, see the set of the coast, and the bay of Navarino . . .’

For a full five minutes Peto spoke the language of the sea, so that a midshipman of the most elementary schooling might consider himself able to assume the position of sailing-master – or even pilot. ‘You will thus appreciate, gentlemen, why with such prevailing winds the admiral concludes it would be nigh impossible to maintain a blockade through the coming season.’

Heads nodded. It was long years since the Royal Navy had practised blockade, especially winter blockade – storm-tossed ships, ever watchful. Nor, indeed, would blockade prevent a Turkish
army
from marauding in the Morea itself.

‘The admiral has therefore concluded, in concert with the French and Russian commanders-in-chief, that the combined squadrons shall enter the bay of Navarino tomorrow –
la mèche à la main
, so to speak – and dispose themselves in such a way as to make clear to the Turkish admiral that he must at once comply with the terms of the ceasefire, and sail his ships to whence they came, Constantinople or Alexandria.’

There was general approbation. Peto nodded to his signal midshipman, who then unrolled another chart, on which was drawn large in charcoal the bay and the dispositions of the Ottoman fleet.

‘Gentlemen, you perceive that the admiral’s intelligence is most particular.’

They did indeed, for the dispositions were in the greatest detail: every man-of-war by name.

‘The Ottoman fleet consists in all of three ships of the Line, each of seventy-four guns, some twenty frigates, thirty or so corvettes, half a dozen brigs or sloops and five fireships. They are arranged in what might be called a horseshoe in the space enclosed by the citadel, the small island, and Sphacteria – which on some charts is rendered “Sphagia”.’ He indicated each with his finger. ‘In the front line, at a distance of about two cables apart, they have moored their battle-ships and most powerful frigates. In the second line, covering the intervals of the first line, they have placed the rest of the frigates and the most powerful corvettes, these latter being reinforced by a third line of corvettes. There are fireships placed at the two ends of the arc – two of them on the side of New Navarin, and three under the island of Sphacteria, protected by its battery.’

There was much nodding of heads. The Ottoman fleet did not possess so many ships of the Line as the French at the Nile, but the dispositions here were altogether stronger.

‘You will perceive, however, that the right wing is rather less powerful than the left. This we may suppose is because the Turks imagine that since the right wing faces the entrance of the bay, the main weight of any attack, taking advantage of the wind, will be directed to the left wing.’

They all nodded.

‘Now, gentlemen, Sir Edward Codrington’s design . . .’

Peto spoke for a quarter of an hour. He told them that the French admiral would place his squadron abreast of the Egyptian ships to the south-east. These, he said, were the ones on which the French advisors were still embarked. Codrington’s own squadron would anchor abreast of the Turkish ships to the west, and the Russian squadron next in succession, the Ottoman 74s each being matched by an allied two-decker. The allies were to moor – supposing there was no hostility committed against them – with spring anchors, just as had the Turks. ‘No gun is to be fired from the combined fleet without a signal being made for that purpose,’ he added gravely, taking his finger from the chart at last, as if he had come to the end of his orders. ‘Unless, that is, shot be fired by a Turk . . . in which case the ships so firing are to be destroyed immediately.’

There was a deal more acclamation, until it dawned on each of the officers that Peto had said nothing of
Rupert
’s place in the enterprise. The quizzical looks returned.

‘And so, gentlemen, to our own part. Once the combined fleet has entered the bay, we shall take station at the entrance in such a manner as to suggest that a further squadron of first-rates is disposed ready for action: there’ll be sloops showing their tops on the horizon. The Turkish admiral shall therefore be obliged to put from his mind any thoughts of resistance which his mere numerical superiority might tempt.’

The stratagem met with approval.

Peto stepped back from the table. ‘I trust thereby that the design is entirely clear, gentlemen?’

Heads nodded.

‘Very well. Now, it is possible that these Turks will attempt to quit the bay under cover of darkness, without obligation to leave Greek waters. Lookouts are therefore to be doubled. All hands shall be piped to stations at first light. If there is no signal from the flagship within one hour, I shall have them piped down again, to breakfast. After breakfast we shall clear for action.’

The words ‘clear for action’ struck home, with relish and apprehension in equal measure on the assembled faces.

‘And an extra tot of rum for each man to toast the Immortal Memory!’

‘Ay-ay, sir!’ they chorused, with a will; there was nothing like an increase in grog to signal fighting intent.

‘Carry on, Mr Lambe.’

The lieutenant replaced his hat and touched the point as the captain took his leave accompanied by the signal midshipman.

Back in his cabin, Peto sat in the Madeira chair, and began rubbing his chin. ‘What say you, Mr Pelham?’

‘Sir?’

‘What say you the Turks might do to confound this manoeuvre?’

‘Sir, I . . .’

‘Come, Mr Pelham. You are entitled to your own thoughts on the business, and I would know how you think.’

The midshipman stood rigid.

‘Easy, man!’

‘Well, sir, it seems to me that in a place of such little sea room, a fireship could do horrible destruction. Is there not a danger the Turk might make a pretence of parleying all day, making ready their fireships the while; then they could set loose a deal of confusion when night came?’

Peto nodded. ‘Your thinking does you credit, Mr Pelham. They are precisely my thoughts. The admiral gave no indication of how long he would allow the Turks to quit the bay. He will be aware of the destruction that might follow if the fireships are loosed. But, as you intimate, if the Turks appear to want to parley, it will be devilish hard to call them out.’

‘Sir.’

Peto rose, and turned to look out of the stern lights. ‘My compliments to Mr Lambe, and have him inform me the instant there is sight of the
Firefly
.’

‘Ay-ay, sir.’

‘As soon as she comes alongside I wish you to escort Miss Codrington aboard.’

‘Ay-ay, sir.’

Peto cleared his throat. ‘That is all, Mr Pelham. You may dismiss.’

When he was gone, Peto poured himself a glass of Marsala, and took his copy of Thucydides from the rack. He leafed through it to Book Four, to the events at Pylus – Navarino as now was. The Athenians had been tempted to bring to battle the Lacedaemonians – the Spartans – by landing and erecting defensive works. The historian of the war described the bay in some detail; Peto did not suppose it had changed much in its essentials in the intervening centuries.