Hervey 09 - Man Of War by Allan Mallinson Page B

wine, sir, else the lobster’ll go leatherlike.’
    Peto thanked him, and took note. His cook had been with him these dozen years and more, and he was not inclined to try his devotion too much – especially not on his first night at sea in twelve months.
    They moved to the fine old table in the steerage, Peto at the head, Rebecca on his right. It was not his custom to say grace privately, or at such a gathering as this, and so he tucked his napkin into the open-front of his coat and picked up knife and fork. He was about to comment upon the fine appearance of the lobster, by way of opening, but Rebecca spoke first.
    ‘Mama says that now Lord Goderich is prime minister there will be no war. Mama says that it was only Mr Canning who wished for war. What is your opinion, Captain Peto?’
    Flowerdew poured more hock, giving his captain a glance, eyebrows raised.
    ‘My opinion, Miss Rebecca? In truth I should not be in the least surprised to find that your father has had communication from Constantinople instructing him to withdraw from the Ionian. I believe it is true that Mr Canning was the principal architect of the treaty by which we now intervene in the Greek war, and that by all accounts Goderich is a mild sort of fellow, but the treaty obliges us to act, and it is certain that France – and most certainly the Tsar – will not rest until the Ottoman Porte is humbled in this. I must say that Canning’s dying in all this is deuced inconvenient.’ He looked at Lambe in a manner that invited comment.
    ‘I would say, sir, that the Tsar will not be content until the Turk is well and truly humbled, and he can sail his ships through the Bosporus when he will.’
    ‘You are surely in the right there, Mr Lambe.’
    ‘This treaty, Captain Peto: have you seen it?’
    Peto smiled, a shade indulgently (it was endearing that she should think him elevated enough to be given sight of the Treaty of London), but also wryly, for although in large part the treaty was secret, The Times had published the salient clauses within a week of its signing. ‘I have not read the treaty in its entirety, Miss Rebecca. There was – you may know – a protocol’ (he paused; she nodded her familiarity with the word) ‘made last year between the Tsar and the King, and this provided for us to take steps to persuade the Turks to leave Greek waters – which is why the Mediterranean fleet was despatched to the Peloponnese, and your father made commander-in-chief.’
    Rebecca nodded again, without the slightest sign of girlish pride in a father’s position, rather with an intensity for understanding what she might.
    ‘It was only in July, when the French joined the alliance, that a formal treaty was signed.’ Peto took a sip of his wine, rather feeling the need of it suddenly. ‘And that treaty, I understand, was based largely upon the earlier protocol, but with a secret clause, which was that if the Porte would not accept mediation within one month, the three allies would send consuls to Greece – which, of course, is but a short step from recognizing the country – and that if the Porte, or for that matter the Greeks, refused an armistice,’ (he looked at her again for assurance that she understood, and she again nodded) ‘then the allies would interpose between them in order to prevent hostilities.’
    Flowerdew coughed, and Peto began wolfing his lobster.
    Lambe came to the relief. ‘I think you will see, Miss Rebecca, what a responsibility your father bears. He has a fine fleet, and the Turks know they cannot prevail against the Royal Navy. And when Rupert joins him it will be manifest to them that there is no other way than an armistice, for she is certainly the biggest ship in the Mediterranean.’
    Rebecca’s face lit up. ‘I would so very much like to be there when my father’s ships make the Turks turn away!’
    ‘Ah,’ said Lambe, without perhaps thinking. ‘What if they should not turn away; what if they were to fight from a