Allan Mallinson: A Close Run Thing

Peto smiled again. ‘Nisus; you may have heard of her. Now, Captain Hervey, the tide will be turning any minute. You may come aft and watch as we get under way so that you will have something favourable to tell the duke of your time with the Service. Have you seen a frigate make sail before?’

Hervey glanced at the epaulettes on the captain’s coat. The left one looked distinctly newer. By which he concluded that, since the 1813 regulations required two epaulettes irrespective of seniority (he did not wish to peer too closely at them to search for the crowns which would have settled the matter), Captain Peto had held the rank prior to Bonaparte’s exile to Elba — when, indeed, Hervey had been but a cornet. Thus, it occurred to him that Captain Peto might have commanded Nisus on their Dover escort a year before, which had made such a show of sail on leaving them. But before he could allude thus Peto spoke again. ‘I should tell you, too, that in my cabin there are sealed orders for you from Paris, to be opened only when we are under way.’

‘Sealed orders — for me? Hervey could scarcely contain his wonder at the change of circumstances: a few hours before and he had been staring oblivion in the face. ‘What do you suppose they say?’

‘My dear Hervey,’ laughed Peto, ‘I have not the beginning of an idea. I am a mere frigate captain; you are aide-de-camp to the Duke of Wellington!’

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