Renzi knew the man was finished if he was unable to function as expected. It would be construed as common cowardice. ‘We must discuss this,’ he said, taking Peake firmly by the arm and urging him below. They passed through the main-deck with its gun crews animated by grog. One called out, ‘What cheer, the sin-bosun – ye’ll have work enough t’ do afore we sees the sun again!’
When they arrived in the orlop the cockpit table was ready laid with shining instruments; the surgeon lifted a fearful-looking long knife, and began stropping it deliberately. Peake shied away under his direct stare.
‘Mr Pybus, you’d oblige us extremely by allowing us the temporary privacy of your cabin,’ Renzi said.
The surgeon laid down the knife. ‘Dear fellow, I can think of no better lair to wait out this disagreeable time. By all means.’
Renzi sat Peake on the patient’s stool. ‘Mr Peake, you came forward to serve His Majesty, is this not so?’ There was no reply. ‘And now your country needs you – and in particular at this time, you, sir,’ he added forcefully.
Peake stared at him as Renzi pressed on. ‘Our ship’s company – all hands – are putting their lives at peril in the service of their country and their fellow man. They look for meaning and surety, words they can carry with them in their hour of trial. Can you not feel it in your heart—’
‘Mr Renzi. You are no practised hand at dissimulation, so speak direct, sir. You assume a lack of moral fibre in me, a reprehensible shyness in the face of mortal danger. Let me assure you, this is far from being the case.’
‘Then, sir, what prevents you in the performance of your divinities?’
‘I have referred before to my abhorrence of any man seeking to wreak violence upon a fellow creature. I do not propose to explicate further.’
Renzi bit his lip. His immediate duty was to the gun crews under his command, and thence to his ship, and time was pressing. ‘Do I understand that you take exception to the form of words used by the captain?’
‘Of course I do!’
Renzi did not speak for a space. ‘Then if your words to the men, suitably chosen, are thereby made acceptable to you you would feel able to deliver your service?’
Peake looked doubtful, but answered, ‘If they did no violence to my precepts, Mr Renzi.’
‘Then to the specifics.’ Renzi produced paper and a pencil. ‘In fine, to which phrases do you have objection…’
‘Aaaall the hands! Clear lower deck, aaall the hands lay aft!’ In the short time left to them before their ordeal, the men of Tenacious would bare their heads before their Maker to seek a benediction. With the officers standing on the poop-deck, an improvised lectern at the rail, the men assembled on the upper deck below.
‘We shall begin with that well-loved hymn, “Awake My Heart; Arise”,’ Bryant announced.
The fiddler stepped forward, nodded to the fife and both struck up. The men sang heartily, their full-throated roar a testimony to the feelings that the simple communal act was bringing. The hymn complete, the men stood silent and expectant. The chaplain stepped up to the lectern, glancing nervously at the captain. He cleared his throat and took out his notes. ‘Er, at this time, you men…’
‘Louder, if you please, Reverend,’ hissed the captain.
The chaplain looked uncertainly over the mass of faces before him and tried to speak up: ‘That is to say, as we sail towards the enemy, er, our mind is drawn to our forebears who in like manner faced the foe.’
Houghton’s stern frown lessened and he nodded approvingly. Emboldened, Peake snatched another look at the paper and continued: ‘Yea, our antecedents of yore indeed. We think of them then – the staunch faith of Themistocles, indeed the dismay of the Euboeans at traitorous Eurybiades.’ He peered at the paper once more. ‘Are we to be as Achilles, sulking in his tent –’
‘Get on with it!’ muttered Houghton. The men were becoming restless: some threw glances over their shoulders to the dark ships of their adversary.
‘– while loyal Myrmidons do the bidding of others? We must always remember that this was the same Achilles who had prayed for the destruction of the Achaeans, and from it we may understand—’
‘That will do, thank you, Mr Peake,’ Houghton rasped.
The chaplain looked grateful, and raised a tranquil face heavenward. ‘Let us pray.’ A spreading rustle moved over the assembly. ‘We will pray for God’s divine guidance in this matter.’ A barely smothered snort came from the first lieutenant. Undismayed, Peake went on calmly, ‘As we contemplate the dreadful hurts we are going to inflict on these Frenchmen, the despoliation of bodies and minds that are the inevitable consequence of modern war –’