Title: The Two Admirals
Author: Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Two Admirals" ***


book was produced from scanned images of public domain


                          THE TWO ADMIRALS.

                   A Tale BY James Fenimore Cooper

                            THE AUTHOR OF

     "THE PILOT," "RED ROVER," "WATER-WITCH," "HOMEWARD BOUND," ETC.



COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME
REVISED AND CORRECTED
WITH A NEW INTRODUCTION, NOTES, &c,
By the Author.

NEW YORK:
GEORGE P. PUTNAM & Co., 10 PARK PLACE.
1852.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
STRINGER & TOWNSEND,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.

STEREOTYPED BY
BILLIN & BROTHERS,
10 NORTH WILLIAM STREET, N.Y.
R. CRAIGHEAD, PRINTER



    Come, all ye kindred chieftains of the deep,
      In mighty phalanx round your brother bend;
    Hush every murmur that invades his sleep,
      And guard the laurel that o'ershades your friend.

    _Lines on Trippe._



PREFACE.


It is a strong proof of the diffusive tendency of every thing in this
country, that America never yet collected a fleet. Nothing is wanting to
this display of power but the will. But a fleet requires only one
commander, and a feeling is fast spreading in the country that we ought
to be all commanders; unless the spirit of unconstitutional innovation,
and usurpation, that is now so prevalent, at Washington, be controlled,
we may expect to hear of proposals to send a committee of Congress to
sea, in command of a squadron. We sincerely hope that their first
experiment may be made on the coast of Africa.

It has been said of Napoleon that he never could be made to understand
why his fleets did not obey his orders with the same accuracy, as to
time and place, as his _corps d'armée_. He made no allowances for the
winds and currents, and least of all, did he comprehend that all
important circumstance, that the efficiency of a fleet is necessarily
confined to the rate of sailing of the dullest of its ships. More may be
expected from a squadron of ten sail, all of which shall be average
vessels, in this respect, than from the same number of vessels, of which
one half are fast and the remainder dull. One brigade can march as fast
as another, but it is not so with vessels. The efficiency of a marine,
therefore, depends rather on its working qualities, than on its number
of ships.

Perhaps the best fleet that ever sailed under the English flag, was that
with which Nelson fought the battle of the Nile. It consisted of twelve
or thirteen small seventy-fours, each of approved qualities, and
commanded by an officer of known merit. In all respects it was efficient
and reliable. With such men as Hallowell, Hood, Trowbridge, Foley, Ball,
and others, and with such ships, the great spirit of Nelson was
satisfied. He knew that whatever seamen could do, his comparatively
little force could achieve. When his enemy was discovered at anchor,
though night was approaching and his vessels were a good deal scattered,
he at once determined to put the qualities we have mentioned to the
highest proof, and to attack. This was done without any other order of
battle than that which directed each commander to get as close alongside
of an enemy as possible, the best proof of the high confidence he had in
his ships and in their commanders.

It is now known that all the early accounts of the man[oe]uvring at the
Nile, and of Nelson's reasoning on the subject of anchoring inside and
of doubling on his enemies, is pure fiction. The "Life" by Southey, in
all that relates to this feature of the day, is pure fiction, as,
indeed, are other portions of the work of scarcely less importance. This
fact came to the writer, through the late Commodore (Charles Valentine)
Morris, from Sir Alexander Ball, in the early part of the century. In
that day it would not have done to proclaim it, so tenacious is public
opinion of its errors; but since that time, naval officers of rank have
written on the subject, and stripped the Nile, Trafalgar, &c, of their
poetry, to give the world plain, nautical, and probable accounts of both
those great achievements. The truth, as relates to both battles, was
just as little like the previously published accounts, as well could be.

Nelson knew the great superiority of the English seamen, their facility
in repairing damages, and most of all the high advantage possessed by
the fleets of his country, in the exercise of the assumed right to
impress, a practice that put not only the best seamen of his own
country, but those of the whole world, more or less, at his mercy. His
great merit, at the Nile, was in the just appreciation of these
advantages, and in the extraordinary decision which led him to go into
action just at nightfall, rather than give his enemy time to prepare to
meet the shock.

It is now known that the French were taken, in a great measure, by
surprise. A large portion of their crews were on shore, and did not get
off to their ships at all, and there was scarce a vessel that did not
clear the decks, by tumbling the mess-chests, bags, &c, into the inside
batteries, rendering them, in a measure, useless, when the English
doubled on their line.

It was this doubling on the French line, by anchoring inside, and
putting two ships upon one, that gave Nelson so high a reputation as a
tactician. The merit of this man[oe]uvre belongs exclusively to one of
his captains. As the fleet went in, without any order, keeping as much
to windward as the shoals would permit, Nelson ordered the Vanguard
hove-to, to take a pilot out of a fisherman. This enabled Foley, Hood,
and one or two more to pass that fast ship. It was at this critical
moment that the thought occurred to Foley (we think this was the
officer) to pass the head of the French line, keep dead away, and anchor
inside. Others followed, completely placing their enemies between two
fires. Sir Samuel Hood anchored his ship (the Zealous) on the inner bow
of the most weatherly French ship, where he poured his fire into,
virtually; an unresisting enemy. Notwithstanding the great skill
manifested by the English in their mode of attack, this was the only
two-decked ship in the English fleet that was able to make sail on the
following morning.

Had Nelson led in upon an American fleet, as he did upon the French at
the Nile, he would have seen reason to repent the boldness of the
experiment. Something like it _was_ attempted on Lake Champlain, though
on a greatly diminished scale, and the English were virtually defeated
before they anchored.

The reader who feels an interest in such subjects, will probably detect
the secret process of the mind, by which some of the foregoing facts
have insinuated themselves into this fiction.



THE TWO ADMIRALS



CHAPTER I.

                    "Then, if he were my brother's.
    My brother might not claim him; nor your father,
    Being none of his, refuse him: This concludes--
    My mother's son did get your father's heir;
    Your father's heir must have your father's land."

         KING JOHN.


The events we are about to relate, occurred near the middle of the last
century, previously even to that struggle, which it is the fashion of
America to call "the old French War." The opening scene of our tale,
however, must be sought in the other hemisphere, and on the coast of the
mother country. In the middle of the eighteenth century, the American
colonies were models of loyalty; the very war, to which there has just
been allusion, causing the great expenditure that induced the ministry
to have recourse to the system of taxation, which terminated in the
revolution. The family quarrel had not yet commenced. Intensely occupied
with the conflict, which terminated not more gloriously for the British
arms, than advantageously for the British American possessions, the
inhabitants of the provinces were perhaps never better disposed to the
metropolitan state, than at the very period of which we are about to
write. All their early predilections seemed to be gaining strength,
instead of becoming weaker; and, as in nature, the calm is known to
succeed the tempest, the blind attachment of the colony to the parent
country, was but a precursor of the alienation and violent disunion that
were so soon to follow.

Although the superiority of the English seamen was well established, in
the conflicts that took place between the years 1740, and that of 1763,
the naval warfare of the period by no means possessed the very decided
character with which it became stamped, a quarter of a century later. In
our own times, the British marine appears to have improved in quality,
as its enemies, deteriorated. In the year 1812, however, "Greek met
Greek," when, of a verity, came "the tug of war." The great change that
came over the other navies of Europe, was merely a consequence of the
revolutions, which drove experienced men into exile, and which, by
rendering armies all-important even to the existence of the different
states, threw nautical enterprises into the shade, and gave an
engrossing direction to courage and talent, in another quarter. While
France was struggling, first for independence, and next for the mastery
of the continent, a marine was a secondary object; for Vienna, Berlin,
and Moscow, were as easily entered without, as with its aid. To these,
and other similar causes, must be referred the explanation of the
seeming invincibility of the English arms at sea, during the late great
conflicts of Europe; an invincibility that was more apparent than real,
however, as many well-established defeats were, even then, intermingled
with her thousand victories.

From the time when her numbers could furnish succour of this nature,
down to the day of separation, America had her full share in the
exploits of the English marine. The gentry of the colonies willingly
placed their sons in the royal navy, and many a bit of square bunting
has been flying at the royal mast-heads of King's ships, in the
nineteenth century, as the distinguishing symbols of flag-officers, who
had to look for their birth-places among ourselves. In the course of a
chequered life, in which we have been brought in collision with as great
a diversity of rank, professions, and characters, as often falls to the
lot of any one individual, we have been thrown into contact with no less
than eight English admirals, of American birth; while, it has never yet
been our good fortune to meet with a countryman, who has had this rank
bestowed on him by his own government. On one occasion, an Englishman,
who had filled the highest civil office connected with the marine of his
nation, observed to us, that the only man he then knew, in the British
navy, in whom he should feel an entire confidence in entrusting an
important command, was one of these translated admirals; and the thought
unavoidably passed through our mind, that this favourite commander had
done well in adhering to the conventional, instead of clinging to his
natural allegiance, inasmuch as he might have toiled for half a century,
in the service of his native land, and been rewarded with a rank that
would merely put him on a level with a colonel in the army! How much
longer this short-sighted policy, and grievous injustice, are to
continue, no man can say; but it is safe to believe, that it is to last
until some legislator of influence learns the simple truth, that the
fancied reluctance of popular constituencies to do right, oftener exists
in the apprehensions of their representatives, than in reality.--But to
our tale.

England enjoys a wide-spread reputation for her fogs; but little do they
know how much a fog may add to natural scenery, who never witnessed its
magical effects, as it has caused a beautiful landscape to coquette with
the eye, in playful and capricious changes. Our opening scene is in one
of these much derided fogs; though, let it always be remembered, it was
a fog of June, and not of November. On a high head-land of the coast of
Devonshire, stood a little station-house, which had been erected with a
view to communicate by signals, with the shipping, that sometimes lay at
anchor in an adjacent roadstead. A little inland, was a village, or
hamlet, that it suits our purposes to call Wychecombe; and at no great
distance from the hamlet itself, surrounded by a small park, stood a
house of the age of Henry VII., which was the abode of Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe, a baronet of the creation of King James I., and the
possessor of an improveable estate of some three or four thousand a
year, which had been transmitted to him, through a line of ancestors,
that ascended as far back as the times of the Plantagenets. Neither
Wychecombe, nor the head-land, nor the anchorage, was a place of note;
for much larger and more favoured hamlets, villages, and towns, lay
scattered about that fine portion of England; much better roadsteads and
bays could generally be used by the coming or the parting vessel; and
far more important signal-stations were to be met with, all along that
coast. Nevertheless, the roadstead was entered when calms or adverse
winds rendered it expedient; the hamlet had its conveniences, and, like
most English hamlets, its beauties; and the hall and park were not
without their claims to state and rural magnificence. A century since,
whatever the table of precedency or Blackstone may say, an English
baronet, particularly one of the date of 1611, was a much greater
personage than he is to-day; and an estate of £4000 a year, more
especially if not rack-rented, was of an extent, and necessarily of a
local consequence, equal to one of near, or quite three times the same
amount, in our own day. Sir Wycherly, however, enjoyed an advantage that
was of still greater importance, and which was more common in 1745, than
at the present moment. He had no rival within fifteen miles of him, and
the nearest potentate was a nobleman of a rank and fortune that put all
competition out of the question; one who dwelt in courts, the favourite
of kings; leaving the baronet, as it might be, in undisturbed enjoyment
of all the local homage. Sir Wycherly had once been a member of
Parliament, and only once. In his youth, he had been a fox-hunter; and a
small property in Yorkshire had long been in the family, as a sort of
foothold on such enjoyments; but having broken a leg, in one of his
leaps, he had taken refuge against _ennui_, by sitting a single session
in the House of Commons, as the member of a borough that lay adjacent to
his hunting-box. This session sufficed for his whole life; the good
baronet having taken the matter so literally, as to make it a point to
be present at all the sittings; a sort of tax on his time, which, as it
came wholly unaccompanied by profit, was very likely soon to tire out
the patience of an old fox-hunter. After resigning his seat, he retired
altogether to Wychecombe, where he passed the last fifty years,
extolling England, and most especially that part of it in which his own
estates lay; in abusing the French, with occasional inuendoes against
Spain and Holland; and in eating and drinking. He had never travelled;
for, though Englishmen of his station often did visit the continent, a
century ago, they oftener did not. It was the courtly and the noble, who
then chiefly took this means of improving their minds and manners; a
class, to which a baronet by no means necessarily belonged. To conclude,
Sir Wycherly was now eighty-four; hale, hearty, and a bachelor. He had
been born the oldest of five brothers; the cadets taking refuse, as
usual, in the inns of court, the church, the army, and the navy; and
precisely in the order named. The lawyer had actually risen to be a
judge, by the style and appellation of Baron Wychecombe; had three
illegitimate children by his housekeeper, and died, leaving to the
eldest thereof, all his professional earnings, after buying commissions
for the two younger in the army. The divine broke his neck, while yet a
curate, in a fox-hunt; dying unmarried, and so far as is generally
known, childless. This was Sir Wycherly's favourite brother; who, he was
accustomed to say, "lost his life, in setting an example of field-sports
to his parishioners." The soldier was fairly killed in battle, before he
was twenty; and the name of the sailor suddenly disappeared from the
list of His Majesty's lieutenants, about half a century before the time
when our tale opens, by shipwreck. Between the sailor and the head of
the family, however, there had been no great sympathy; in consequence,
as it was rumoured, of a certain beauty's preference for the latter,
though this preference produced no _suites_, inasmuch as the lady died a
maid. Mr. Gregory Wychecombe, the lieutenant in question, was what is
termed a "wild boy;" and it was the general impression, when his parents
sent him to sea, that the ocean would now meet with its match. The hopes
of the family centred in the judge, after the death of the curate, and
it was a great cause of regret, to those who took an interest in its
perpetuity and renown, that this dignitary did not marry; since the
premature death of all the other sons had left the hall, park, and
goodly farms, without any known legal heir. In a word, this branch of
the family of Wychecombe would be extinct, when Sir Wycherly died, and
the entail become useless. Not a female inheritor, even, or a male
inheritor through females, could be traced; and it had become imperative
on Sir Wycherly to make a will, lest the property should go off, the
Lord knew where; or, what was worse, it should escheat. It is true, Tom
Wychecombe, the judge's eldest son, often gave dark hints about a
secret, and a timely marriage between his parents, a fact that would
have superseded the necessity for all devises, as the property was
strictly tied up, so far as the lineal descendants of a certain _old_
Sir Wycherly were concerned; but the present Sir Wycherly had seen his
brother, in his last illness, on which occasion, the following
conversation had taken place.

"And now, brother Thomas," said the baronet, in a friendly and consoling
manner; "having, as one may say, prepared your soul for heaven, by these
prayers and admissions of your sins, a word may be prudently said,
concerning the affairs of this world. You know I am childless--that is
to say,--"

"I understand you, Wycherly," interrupted the dying man, "you're a
_bachelor_."

"That's it, Thomas; and bachelors _ought_ not to have children. Had our
poor brother James escaped that mishap, he might have been sitting at
your bed-side at this moment, and _he_ could have told us all about it.
St. James I used to call him; and well did he deserve the name!"

"St. James the Least, then, it must have been, Wycherly."

"It's a dreadful thing to have no heir, Thomas! Did you ever know a case
in your practice, in which another estate was left so completely without
an heir, as this of ours?"

"It does not often happen, brother; heirs are usually more abundant than
estates."

"So I thought. Will the king get the title as well as the estate,
brother, if it should escheat, as you call it?"

"Being the fountain of honour, he will be rather indifferent about the
baronetcy."

"I should care less if it went to the next sovereign, who is English
born. Wychecombe has always belonged to Englishmen."

"That it has; and ever will, I trust. You have only to select an heir,
when I am gone, and by making a will, with proper devises, the property
will not escheat. Be careful to use the full terms of perpetuity."

"Every thing was so comfortable, brother, while you were in health,"
said Sir Wycherly, fidgeting; "you were my natural heir--"

"Heir of entail," interrupted the judge.

"Well, well, _heir_, at all events; and _that_ was a prodigious comfort
to a man like myself, who has a sort of religious scruples about making
a will. I have heard it whispered that you were actually married to
Martha; in which case, Tom might drop into our shoes, so readily,
without any more signing and sealing."

"A _filius nullius_," returned the other, too conscientious to lend
himself to a deception of that nature.

"Why, brother, Tom often seems to me to favour such an idea, himself."

"No wonder, Wycherly, for the idea would greatly favour him. Tom and his
brothers are all _filii nullorum_, God forgive me for that same wrong."

"I wonder neither Charles nor Gregory thought of marrying before they
lost their lives for their king and country," put in Sir Wycherly, in an
upbraiding tone, as if he thought his penniless brethren had done him an
injury in neglecting to supply him with an heir, though he had been so
forgetful himself of the same great duty. "I did think of bringing in a
bill for providing heirs for unmarried persons, without the trouble and
responsibility of making wills."

"That would have been a great improvement on the law of descents--I hope
you wouldn't have overlooked the ancestors."

"Not I--everybody would have got his rights. They tell me poor Charles
never spoke after he was shot; but I dare say, did we know the truth, he
regretted sincerely that he never married."

"There, for once, Wycherly, I think you are likely to be wrong. A _femme
sole_ without food, is rather a helpless sort of a person."

"Well, well, I wish he had married. What would it have been to me, had
he left a dozen widows?"

"It might have raised some awkward questions as to dowry; and if each
left a son, the title and estates would have been worse off than they
are at present, without widows or legitimate children."

"Any thing would be better than having no heir. I believe I'm the first
baronet of Wychecombe who has been obliged to make a will!"

"Quite likely," returned the brother, drily; "I remember to have got
nothing from the last one, in that way. Charles and Gregory fared no
better. Never mind, Wycherly, you behaved like a father to us all."

"I don't mind signing cheques, in the least; but wills have an
irreligious appearance, in my eyes. There are a good many Wychecombes,
in England; I wonder some of them are not of our family! They tell me a
hundredth cousin is just as good an heir, as a first-born son."

"Failing nearer of kin. But we have no hundredth cousins of the _whole
blood_."

"There are the Wychecombes of Surrey, brother Thomas--?"

"Descended from a bastard of the second baronet, and out of the line of
descent, altogether."

"But the Wychecombes of Hertfordshire, I have always heard were of our
family, and legitimate."

"True, as regards matrimony--rather too much of it, by the way. They
branched off in 1487, long before the creation, and have nothing to do
with the entail; the first of their line coming from old Sir Michael
Wychecombe, Kt. and Sheriff of Devonshire, by his second wife Margery;
while we are derived from the same male ancestor, through Wycherly, the
only son by Joan, the first wife. Wycherly, and Michael, the son of
Michael and Margery, were of the half-blood, as respects each other, and
could not be heirs of blood. What was true of the ancestors is true of
the descendants."

"But we came of the same ancestor, and the estate is far older than
1487."

"Quite true, brother; nevertheless, the half-blood can't take; so says
the perfection of human reason."

"I never could understand these niceties of the law," said Sir Wycherly,
sighing; "but I suppose they are all right. There are so many
Wychecombes scattered about England, that I should think some one among
them all might be my heir!"

"Every man of them bears a bar in his arms, or is of the half-blood."

"You are quite sure, brother, that Tom is a _filius nullus_?" for the
baronet had forgotten most of the little Latin he ever knew, and
translated this legal phrase into "no son."

"_Filius nullius_, Sir Wycherly, the son of nobody; your reading would
literally make Tom nobody; whereas, he is only the son of nobody."

"But, brother, he is your son, and as like you, as two hounds of the
same litter."

"I am _nullus_, in the eye of the law, as regards poor Tom; who, until
he marries, and has children of his own, is altogether without legal
kindred. Nor do I know that legitimacy would make Tom any better; for he
is presuming and confident enough for the heir apparent to the throne,
as it is."

"Well, there's this young sailor, who has been so much at the station
lately, since he was left ashore for the cure of his wounds. 'Tis a most
gallant lad; and the First Lord has sent him a commission, as a reward
for his good conduct, in cutting out the Frenchman. I look upon him as a
credit to the name; and I make no question, he is, some way or other, of
our family."

"Does he claim to be so?" asked the judge, a little quickly, for he
distrusted men in general, and thought, from all he had heard, that some
attempt might have been made to practise on his brother's simplicity. "I
thought you told me that he came from the American colonies?"

"So he does; he's a native of Virginia, as was his father before him."

"A convict, perhaps; or a servant, quite likely, who has found the name
of his former master, more to his liking than his own. Such things are
common, they tell me, beyond seas."

"Yes, if he were anything but an American, I might wish he were my
heir," returned Sir Wycherly, in a melancholy tone; "but it would be
worse than to let the lands escheat, as you call it, to place an
American in possession of Wychecombe. The manors have always had English
owners, down to the present moment, thank God!"

"Should they have any other, it will be your own fault, Wycherly. When I
am dead, and that will happen ere many weeks, the human being will not
be living, who can take that property, after your demise, in any other
manner than by escheat, or by devise. There will then be neither heir of
entail, nor heir at law; and you may make whom you please, master of
Wychecombe, provided he be not an alien."

"Not an American, I suppose, brother; an American is an alien, of
course."

"Humph!--why, not in law, whatever he may be according to our English
notions. Harkee, brother Wycherly; I've never asked you, or wished you
to leave the estate to Tom, or his younger brothers; for one, and all,
are _filii nullorum_--as I term 'em, though my brother Record will have
it, it ought to be _filii nullius_, as well as _filius nullius_. Let
that be as it may; no bastard should lord it at Wychecombe; and rather
than the king; should get the lands, to bestow on some favourite, I
would give it to the half-blood."

"Can that be done without making a will, brother Thomas?"

"It cannot, Sir Wycherly; nor with a will, so long as an heir of entail
can be found."

"Is there no way of making Tom a _filius somebody_, so that _he_ can
succeed?"

"Not under our laws. By the civil law, such a thing might have been
done, and by the Scotch law; but not under the perfection of reason."

"I wish you knew this young Virginian! The lad bears both of my names,
Wycherly Wychecombe."

"He is not a _filius Wycherly_--is he, baronet?"

"Fie upon thee, brother Thomas! Do you think I have less candour than
thyself, that I would not acknowledge my own flesh and blood. I never
saw the youngster, until within the last six months, when he was landed
from the roadstead, and brought to Wychecombe, to be cured of his
wounds; nor ever heard of him before. When they told me his name was
Wycherly Wychecombe, I could do no less than call and see him. The poor
fellow lay at death's door for a fortnight; and it was while we had
little or no hope of saving him, that I got the few family anecdotes
from him. Now, that would be good evidence in law, I believe, Thomas."

"For certain things, had the lad really died. Surviving, he must be
heard on his _voire dire_, and under oath. But what was his tale?"

"A very short one. He told me his father was a Wycherly Wychecombe, and
that his grandfather had been a Virginia planter. This was all he seemed
to know of his ancestry."

"And probably all there was of them. My Tom is not the _filius nullius_
that has been among us, and this grandfather, if he has not actually
stolen the name, has got it by these doubtful means. As for the
Wycherly, it should pass for nothing. Learning that there is a line of
baronets of this name, every pretender to the family would be apt to
call a son Wycherly."

"The line will shortly be ended, brother," returned Sir Wycherly,
sighing. "I wish you might be mistaken; and, after all, Tom shouldn't
prove to be that _filius_ you call him."

Mr. Baron Wychecombe, as much from _esprit de corps_ as from moral
principle, was a man of strict integrity, in all things that related to
_meum_ and _tuum_. He was particularly rigid in his notions concerning
the transmission of real estate, and the rights of primogeniture. The
world had taken little interest in the private history of a lawyer, and
his sons having been born before his elevation to the bench, he passed
with the public for a widower, with a family of promising boys. Not one
in a hundred of his acquaintances even, suspected the fact; and nothing
would have been easier for him, than to have imposed on his brother, by
inducing him to make a will under some legal mystification or other, and
to have caused Tom Wychecombe to succeed to the property in question, by
an indisputable title. There would have been no great difficulty even,
in his son's assuming and maintaining his right to the baronetcy,
inasmuch as there would be no competitor, and the crown officers were
not particularly rigid in inquiring into the claims of those who assumed
a title that brought with it no political privileges. Still, he was far
from indulging in any such project. To him it appeared that the
Wychecombe estate ought to go with the principles that usually governed
such matters; and, although he submitted to the dictum of the common
law, as regarded the provision which excluded the half-blood from
inheriting, with the deference of an English common-law lawyer, he saw
and felt, that, failing the direct line, Wychecombe ought to revert to
the descendants of Sir Michael by his second son, for the plain reason
that they were just as much derived from the person who had acquired the
estate, as his brother Wycherly and himself. Had there been descendants
of females, even, to interfere, no such opinion would have existed; but,
as between an escheat, or a devise in favour of a _filius nillius_, or
of the descendant of a _filius nullius_, the half-blood possessed every
possible advantage. In his legal eyes, legitimacy was everything,
although he had not hesitated to be the means of bringing into the world
seven illegitimate children, that being the precise number Martha had
the credit of having borne him, though three only survived. After
reflecting a moment, therefore, he turned to the baronet, and addressed
him more seriously than he had yet done, in the present dialogue; first
taking a draught of cordial to give him strength for the occasion.

"Listen to me, brother Wycherly," said the judge, with a gravity that at
once caught the attention of the other. "You know something of the
family history, and I need do no more than allude to it. Our ancestors
were the knightly possessors of Wychecombe, centuries before King James
established the rank of baronet. When our great-grandfather, Sir
Wycherly, accepted the patent of 1611, he scarcely did himself honour;
for, by aspiring higher, he might have got a peerage. However, a baronet
he became, and for the first time since Wychecombe was Wychecombe, the
estate was entailed, to do credit to the new rank. Now, the first Sir
Wycherly had three sons, and no daughter. Each of these sons succeeded;
the two eldest as bachelors, and the youngest was our grandfather. Sir
Thomas, the fourth baronet, left an only child, Wycherly, our father.
Sir Wycherly, our father, had five sons, Wycherly his successor,
yourself, and the sixth baronet; myself; James; Charles; and Gregory.
James broke his neck at your side. The two last lost their lives in the
king's service, unmarried; and neither you, nor I, have entered into the
holy state of matrimony. I cannot survive a month, and the hopes of
perpetuating the direct line of the family, rests with yourself. This
accounts for all the descendants of Sir Wycherly, the first baronet; and
it also settles the question of heirs of entail, of whom there are none
after myself. To go back beyond the time of King James I.: Twice did the
elder lines of the Wychecombes fail, between the reign of King Richard
II. and King Henry VII., when Sir Michael succeeded. Now, in each of
these cases, the law disposed of the succession; the youngest branches
of the family, in both instances, getting the estate. It follows that
agreeably to legal decisions had at the time, when the facts must have
been known, that the Wychecombes were reduced to these younger lines.
Sir Michael had two wives. From the first _we_ are derived--from the
last, the Wychecombes of Hertfordshire--since known as baronets of that
county, by the style and title of Sir Reginald Wychecombe of
Wychecombe-Regis, Herts."

"The present Sir Reginald can have no claim, being of the half-blood,"
put in Sir Wycherly, with a brevity of manner that denoted feeling. "The
half-blood is as bad as a _nullius_, as you call Tom."

"Not quite. A person of the half-blood may be as legitimate as the
king's majesty; whereas, a nullius is of _no_ blood. Now, suppose for a
moment, Sir Wycherly, that you had been a son by a first wife, and I had
been a son by a second--would there have been no relationship between
us?"

"What a question, Tom, to put to your own brother!"

"But I should not be your _own_ brother, my good sir; only your _half_
brother; of the _half_, and not of the _whole_ blood."

"What of that--what of that?--your father would have been my father--we
would have had the same name--the same family history--the same family
_feelings_--poh! poh!--we should have been both Wychecombes, exactly as
we are to-day."

"Quite true, and yet I could not have been your heir, nor you mine. The
estate would escheat to the king, Hanoverian or Scotchman, before it
came to me. Indeed, to _me_ it could never come."

"Thomas, you are trifling with my ignorance, and making matters worse
than they really are. Certainly, as long as you lived, you would be _my_
heir!"

"Very true, as to the £20,000 in the funds, but not as to the baronetcy
and Wychecombe. So far as the two last are concerned, I am heir of
blood, and of entail, of the body of Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, the first
baronet, and the maker of the entail."

"Had there been no entail, and had I died a child, who would have
succeeded our father, supposing there had been two mothers?"

"I, as the next surviving son."

"There!--I knew it must be so!" exclaimed Sir Wycherly, in triumph; "and
all this time you have been joking with me!"

"Not so fast, brother of mine--not so fast. I should be of the _whole_
blood, as respected our father, and all the Wychecombes that have gone
before him; but of the _half_-blood, as respected _you_. From our father
I might have taken, as his heir-at-law: but from _you_, never, having
been of the _half_-blood."

"I would have made a will, in that case, Thomas, and left you every
farthing," said Sir Wycherly, with feeling.

"That is just what I wish you to do with Sir Reginald Wychecombe. You
must take him; a _filius nullius_, in the person of my son Tom; a
stranger; or let the property escheat; for, we are so peculiarly placed
as not to have a known relative, by either the male or female lines; the
maternal ancestors being just as barren of heirs as the paternal. Our
good mother was the natural daughter of the third Earl of Prolific; our
grandmother was the last of her race, so far as human ken can discover;
our great-grandmother is said to have had semi-royal blood in her veins,
without the aid of the church, and beyond that it would be hopeless to
attempt tracing consanguinity on that side of the house. No, Wycherly;
it is Sir Reginald who has the best right to the land; Tom, or one of
his brothers, an utter stranger, or His Majesty, follow. Remember that
estates of £4000 a year, don't often escheat, now-a-days."

"If you'll draw up a will, brother, I'll leave it all to Tom," cried the
baronet, with sudden energy. "Nothing need be said about the _nullius_;
and when I'm gone, he'll step quietly into my place."

Nature triumphed a moment in the bosom of the father; but habit, and the
stern sense of right, soon overcame the feeling. Perhaps certain doubts,
and a knowledge of his son's real character, contributed their share
towards the reply.

"It ought not to be, Sir Wycherly," returned the judge, musing, "Tom has
no right to Wychecombe, and Sir Reginald has the best moral right
possible, though the law cuts him off. Had Sir Michael made the entail,
instead of our great-grandfather, he would have come in, as a matter of
course."

"I never liked Sir Reginald Wychecombe," said the baronet, stubbornly.

"What of that?--He will not trouble you while living, and when dead it
will be all the same. Come--come--I will draw the will myself, leaving
blanks for the name; and when it is once done, you will sign it,
cheerfully. It is the last legal act I shall ever perform, and it will
be a suitable one, death being constantly before me."

This ended the dialogue. The will was drawn according to promise; Sir
Wycherly took it to his room to read, carefully inserted the name of Tom
Wychecombe in all the blank spaces, brought it back, duly executed the
instrument in his brother's presence, and then gave the paper to his
nephew to preserve, with a strong injunction on him to keep the secret,
until the instrument should have force by his own death. Mr. Baron
Wychecombe died in six weeks, and the baronet returned to his residence,
a sincere mourner for the loss of an only brother. A more unfortunate
selection of an heir could not have been made, as Tom Wychecombe was, in
reality, the son of a barrister in the Temple; the fancied likeness to
the reputed father existing only in the imagination of his credulous
uncle.



CHAPTER II.

                            ----"How fearful
    And dizzy 'tis, to cast one's eyes so low!
    The crows, and choughs, that wing the midway air,
    Show scarce so gross as beetles! Half-way down
    Hangs one that gathers samphire! dreadful trade!"

         KING LEAR.


This digression on the family of Wychecombe has led us far from the
signal-station, the head-land, and the fog, with which the tale opened.
The little dwelling connected with the station stood at a short distance
from the staff, sheltered, by the formation of the ground, from the
bleak winds of the channel, and fairly embowered in shrubs and flowers.
It was a humble cottage, that had been ornamented with more taste than
was usual in England at that day. Its whitened walls, thatched roof,
picketed garden, and trellised porch, bespoke care, and a mental
improvement in the inmates, that were scarcely to be expected in persons
so humbly employed as the keeper of the signal-staff, and his family.
All near the house, too, was in the same excellent condition; for while
the head-land itself lay in common, this portion of it was enclosed in
two or three pretty little fields, that were grazed by a single horse,
and a couple of cows. There were no hedges, however, the thorn not
growing willingly in a situation so exposed; but the fields were divided
by fences, neatly enough made of wood, that declared its own origin,
having in fact been part of the timbers and planks of a wreck. As the
whole was whitewashed, it had a rustic, and in a climate where the sun
is seldom oppressive, by no means a disagreeable appearance.

The scene with which we desire to commence the tale, opens about seven
o'clock on a July morning. On a bench at the foot of the signal-staff,
was seated one of a frame that was naturally large and robust, but which
was sensibly beginning to give way, either by age or disease. A glance
at the red, bloated face, would suffice to tell a medical man, that the
habits had more to do with the growing failure of the system, than any
natural derangement of the physical organs. The face, too, was
singularly manly, and had once been handsome, even; nay, it was not
altogether without claims to be so considered still; though intemperance
was making sad inroads on its comeliness. This person was about fifty
years old, and his air, as well as his attire, denoted a mariner; not a
common seaman, nor yet altogether an officer; but one of those of a
middle station, who in navies used to form a class by themselves; being
of a rank that entitled them to the honours of the quarter-deck, though
out of the regular line of promotion. In a word, he wore the
unpretending uniform of a master. A century ago, the dress of the
English naval officer was exceedingly simple, though more appropriate to
the profession perhaps, than the more showy attire that has since been
introduced. Epaulettes were not used by any, and the anchor button, with
the tint that is called navy blue, and which is meant to represent the
deep hue of the ocean, with white facings, composed the principal
peculiarities of the dress. The person introduced to the reader, whose
name was Dutton, and who was simply the officer in charge of the
signal-station, had a certain neatness about his well-worn uniform, his
linen, and all of his attire, which showed that some person more
interested in such matters than one of his habits was likely to be, had
the care of his wardrobe. In this respect, indeed, his appearance was
unexceptionable; and there was an air about the whole man which showed
that nature, if not education, had intended him for something far better
than the being he actually was.

Dutton was waiting, at that early hour, to ascertain, as the veil of
mist was raised from the face of the sea, whether a sail might be in
sight, that required of him the execution of any of his simple
functions. That some one was near by, on the head-land, too, was quite
evident, by the occasional interchange of speech; though no person but
himself was visible. The direction of the sounds would seem to indicate
that a man was actually over the brow of the cliff, perhaps a hundred
feet removed from the seat occupied by the master.

"Recollect the sailor's maxim, Mr. Wychecombe," called out Dutton, in a
warning voice; "one hand for the king, and the other for self! Those
cliffs are ticklish places; and really it does seem a little unnatural
that a sea-faring person like yourself, should have so great a passion
for flowers, as to risk his neck in order to make a posy!"

"Never fear for me, Mr. Dutton," answered a full, manly voice, that one
could have sworn issued from the chest of youth; "never fear for me; we
sailors are used to hanging in the air."

"Ay, with good three-stranded ropes to hold on by, young gentleman. Now
His Majesty's government has just made you an officer, there is a sort
of obligation to take care of your life, in order that it may be used,
and, at need, given away, in his service."

"Quite true--quite true, Mr. Dutton--so true, I wonder you think it
necessary to remind me of it. I am very grateful to His Majesty's
government, and--"

While speaking, the voice seemed to descend, getting at each instant
less and less distinct, until, in the end, it became quite inaudible.
Dutton looked uneasy, for at that instant a noise was heard, and then it
was quite clear some heavy object was falling down the face of the
cliff. Now it was that the mariner felt the want of good nerves, and
experienced the sense of humiliation which accompanied the consciousness
of having destroyed them by his excesses. He trembled in every limb,
and, for the moment, was actually unable to rise. A light step at his
side, however, drew a glance in that direction, and his eye fell on the
form of a lovely girl of nineteen, his own daughter, Mildred.

"I heard you calling to some one, father," said the latter, looking
wistfully, but distrustfully at her parent, as if wondering at his
yielding to his infirmity so early in the day; "can I be of service to
you?"

"Poor Wychecombe!" exclaimed Dutton. "He went over the cliff in search
of a nosegay to offer to yourself, and--and--I fear--greatly fear--"

"What, father?" demanded Mildred, in a voice of horror, the rich color
disappearing from a face which it left of the hue of death.
"No--no--no--he _cannot_ have fallen."

Dutton bent his head down, drew a long breath, and then seemed to gain
more command of his nerves. He was about to rise, when the sound of a
horse's feet was heard, and then Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, mounted on a
quiet pony, rode slowly up to the signal-staff. It was a common thing
for the baronet to appear on the cliffs early in the morning, but it was
not usual for him to come unattended. The instant her eyes fell on the
fine form of the venerable old man, Mildred, who seemed to know him
well, and to use the familiarity of one confident of being a favourite,
exclaimed--

"Oh! Sir Wycherly, how fortunate--where is Richard?"

"Good morrow, my pretty Milly," answered the baronet, cheerfully;
"fortunate or not, here I am, and not a bit flattered that your first
question should be after the groom, instead of his master. I have sent
Dick on a message to the vicar's. Now my poor brother, the judge, is
dead and gone, I find Mr. Rotherham more and more necessary to me."

"Oh! dear Sir Wycherly--Mr. Wychecombe--Lieutenant Wychecombe, I
mean--the young officer from Virginia--he who was so desperately
wounded--in whose recovery we all took so deep an interest--"

"Well--what of him, child?--you surely do not mean to put him on a level
with Mr. Rotherham, in the way of religious consolation--and, as for
anything else, there is no consanguinity between the Wychecombes of
Virginia and my family. He may be a _filius nullius_ of the Wychecombes
of Wychecombe-Regis, Herts, but has no connection with those of
Wychecombe-Hall, Devonshire."

"There--there--the cliff!--the cliff!" added Mildred, unable, for the
moment, to be more explicit.

As the girl pointed towards the precipice, and looked the very image of
horror, the good-hearted old baronet began to get some glimpses of the
truth; and, by means of a few words with Dutton, soon knew quite as much
as his two companions. Descending from his pony with surprising activity
for one of his years, Sir Wycherly was soon on his feet, and a sort of
confused consultation between the three succeeded. Neither liked to
approach the cliff, which was nearly perpendicular at the extremity of
the head-land, and was always a trial to the nerves of those who shrunk
from standing on the verge of precipices. They stood like persons
paralyzed, until Dutton, ashamed of his weakness, and recalling the
thousand lessons in coolness and courage he had received in his own
manly profession, made a movement towards advancing to the edge of the
cliff, in order to ascertain the real state of the case. The blood
returned to the cheeks of Mildred, too, and she again found a portion of
her natural spirit raising her courage.

"Stop, father," she said, hastily; "you are infirm, and are in a tremour
at this moment. My head is steadier--let me go to the verge of the hill,
and learn what has happened."

This was uttered with a forced calmness that deceived her auditors, both
of whom, the one from age, and the other from shattered nerves, were
certainly in no condition to assume the same office. It required the
all-seeing eye, which alone can scan the heart, to read all the agonized
suspense with which that young and beautiful creature approached the
spot, where she might command a view of the whole of the side of the
fearful declivity, from its giddy summit to the base, where it was
washed by the sea. The latter, indeed, could not literally be seen from
above, the waves having so far undermined the cliff, as to leave a
projection that concealed the point where the rocks and the water came
absolutely in contact; the upper portion of the weather-worn rocks
falling a little inwards, so as to leave a ragged surface that was
sufficiently broken to contain patches of earth, and verdure, sprinkled
with the flowers peculiar to such an exposure. The fog, also,
intercepted the sight, giving to the descent the appearance of a
fathomless abyss. Had the life of the most indifferent person been in
jeopardy, under the circumstances named, Mildred would have been filled
with deep awe; but a gush of tender sensations, which had hitherto been
pent up in the sacred privacy of her virgin affections, struggled with
natural horror, as she trod lightly on the very verge of the declivity,
and cast a timid but eager glance beneath. Then she recoiled a step,
raised her hands in alarm, and hid her face, as if to shut out some
frightful spectacle.

By this time, Dutton's practical knowledge and recollection had
returned. As is common with seamen, whose minds contain vivid pictures
of the intricate tracery of their vessel's rigging in the darkest
nights, his thoughts had flashed athwart all the probable circumstances,
and presented a just image of the facts.

"The boy could not be seen had he absolutely fallen, and were there no
fog; for the cliff tumbles home, Sir Wycherly," he said, eagerly,
unconsciously using a familiar nautical phrase to express his meaning.
"He must be clinging to the side of the precipice, and that, too, above
the swell of the rocks."

Stimulated by a common feeling, the two men now advanced hastily to the
brow of the hill, and there, indeed, as with Mildred herself, a single
look sufficed to tell them the whole truth. Young Wychecombe, in leaning
forward to pluck a flower, had pressed so hard upon the bit of rock on
which a foot rested, as to cause it to break, thereby losing his
balance. A presence of mind that amounted almost to inspiration, and a
high resolution, alone saved him from being dashed to pieces. Perceiving
the rock to give way, he threw himself forward, and alighted on a narrow
shelf, a few feet beneath the place where he had just stood, and at
least ten feet removed from it, laterally. The shelf on which he
alighted was ragged, and but two or three feet wide. It would have
afforded only a check to his fall, had there not fortunately been some
shrubs among the rocks above it. By these shrubs the young man caught,
actually swinging off in the air, under the impetus of his leap.
Happily, the shrubs were too well rooted to give way; and, swinging
himself round, with the address of a sailor, the youthful lieutenant was
immediately on his feet, in comparative safety. The silence that
succeeded was the consequence of the shock he felt, in finding him so
suddenly thrown into this perilous situation. The summit of the cliff
was now about six fathoms above his head, and the shelf on which he
stood, impended over a portion of the cliff that was absolutely
perpendicular, and which might be said to be out of the line of those
projections along which he had so lately been idly gathering flowers. It
was physically impossible for any human being to extricate himself from
such a situation, without assistance. This Wychecombe understood at a
glance, and he had passed the few minutes that intervened between his
fall and the appearance of the party above him, in devising the means
necessary to his liberation. As it was, few men, unaccustomed to the
giddy elevations of the mast, could have mustered a sufficient command
of nerve to maintain a position on the ledge where he stood. Even he
could not have continued there, without steadying his form by the aid of
the bushes.

As soon as the baronet and Dutton got a glimpse of the perilous position
of young Wychecombe, each recoiled in horror from the sight, as if
fearful of being precipitated on top of him. Both, then, actually lay
down on the grass, and approached the edge of the cliff again, in that
humble attitude, even trembling as they lay at length, with their chins
projecting over the rocks, staring downwards at the victim. The young
man could see nothing of all this; for, as he stood with his back
against the cliff, he had not room to turn, with safety, or even to look
upwards. Mildred, however, seemed to lose all sense of self and of
danger, in view of the extremity in which the youth beneath was placed.
She stood on the very verge of the precipice, and looked down with
steadiness and impunity that would have been utterly impossible for her
to attain under less exciting circumstances; even allowing the young man
to catch a glimpse of her rich locks, as they hung about her beautiful
face.

"For God's sake, Mildred," called out the youth, "keep further from the
cliff--I see you, and we can now hear each other without so much risk."

"What can we do to rescue you, Wychecombe?" eagerly asked the girl.
"Tell me, I entreat you; for Sir Wycherly and my father are both
unnerved!"

"Blessed creature! and _you_ are mindful of my danger! But, be not
uneasy, Mildred; do as I tell you, and all will yet be well. I hope you
hear and understand what I say, dearest girl?"

"Perfectly," returned Mildred, nearly choked by the effort to be calm.
"I hear every syllable--speak on."

"Go you then to the signal-halyards--let one end fly loose, and pull
upon the other, until the whole line has come down--when that is done,
return here, and I will tell you more--but, for heaven's sake, keep
farther from the cliff."

The thought that the rope, small and frail as it seemed, might be of
use, flashed on the brain of the girl; and in a moment she was at the
staff. Time and again, when liquor incapacitated her father to perform
his duty, had Mildred bent-on, and hoisted the signals for him; and
thus, happily, she was expert in the use of the halyards. In a minute
she had unrove them, and the long line lay in a little pile at her feet.

"'Tis done, Wycherly," she said, again looking over the cliff; "shall I
throw you down one end of the rope?--but, alas! I have not strength to
raise you; and Sir Wycherly and father seem unable to assist me!"

"Do not hurry yourself, Mildred, and all will be well. Go, and put one
end of the line around the signal-staff, then put the two ends together,
tie them in a knot, and drop them down over my head. Be careful not to
come too near the cliff, for--"

The last injunction was useless, Mildred having flown to execute her
commission. Her quick mind readily comprehended what was expected of
her, and her nimble fingers soon performed their task. Tying a knot in
the ends of the line, she did as desired, and the small rope was soon
dangling within reach of Wychecombe's arm. It is not easy to make a
landsman understand the confidence which a sailor feels in a rope. Place
but a frail and rotten piece of twisted hemp in his hand, and he will
risk his person in situations from which he would otherwise recoil in
dread. Accustomed to hang suspended in the air, with ropes only for his
foothold, or with ropes to grasp with his hand, his eye gets an
intuitive knowledge of what will sustain him, and he unhesitatingly
trusts his person to a few seemingly slight strands, that, to one
unpractised, appear wholly unworthy of his confidence. Signal-halyards
are ropes smaller than the little finger of a man of any size; but they
are usually made with care, and every rope-yarn tells. Wychecombe, too,
was aware that these particular halyards were new, for he had assisted
in reeving them himself, only the week before. It was owing to this
circumstance that they were long enough to reach him; a large allowance
for wear and tear having been made in cutting them from the coil. As it
was, the ends dropped some twenty feet below the ledge on which he
stood.

"All safe, now, Mildred!" cried the young man, in a voice of exultation
the moment his hand caught the two ends of the line, which he
immediately passed around his body, beneath the arms, as a precaution
against accidents. "All safe, now, dearest girl; have no further concern
about me."

Mildred drew back, for worlds could not have tempted her to witness the
desperate effort that she knew must follow. By this time, Sir Wycherly,
who had been an interested witness of all that passed, found his voice,
and assumed the office of director.

"Stop, my young namesake," he eagerly cried, when he found that the
sailor was about to make an effort to drag his own body up the cliff;
"stop; that will never do; let Dutton and me do that much for you, at
least. We have seen all that has passed, and are now able to do
something."

"No--no, Sir Wycherly--on no account touch the halyards. By hauling them
over the top of the rocks you will probably cut them, or part them, and
then I'm lost, without hope!"

"Oh! Sir Wycherly," said Mildred, earnestly, clasping her hands
together, as if to enforce the request with prayer; "do not--do not
touch the line."

"We had better let the lad manage the matter in his own way," put in
Dutton; "he is active, resolute, and a seaman, and will do better for
himself than I fear we can do for him. He has got a turn round his body,
and is tolerably safe against any slip, or mishap."

As the words were uttered, the whole three drew back a short distance
and watched the result, in intense anxiety. Dutton, however, so far
recollected himself, as to take an end of the old halyards, which were
kept in a chest at the foot of the staff, and to make, an attempt to
stopper together the two parts of the little rope on which the youth
depended, for should one of the parts of it break, without this
precaution, there was nothing to prevent the halyards from running round
the staff, and destroying the hold. The size of the halyards rendered
this expedient very difficult of attainment, but enough was done to give
the arrangement a little more of the air of security. All this time
young Wychecombe was making his own preparations on the ledge, and quite
out of view; but the tension on the halyards soon announced that his
weight was now pendent from them. Mildred's heart seemed ready to leap
from her mouth, as she noted each jerk on the lines; and her father
watched every new pull, as if he expected the next moment would produce
the final catastrophe. It required a prodigious effort in the young man
to raise his own weight for such a distance, by lines so small. Had the
rope been of any size, the achievement would have been trifling for one
of the frame and habits of the sailor, more especially as he could
slightly avail himself of his feet, by pressing them against the rocks;
but, as it was, he felt as if he were dragging the mountain up after
him. At length, his head appeared a few inches above the rocks, but with
his feet pressed against the cliff, and his body inclining outward, at
an angle of forty-five degrees.

"Help him--help him, father!" exclaimed Mildred, covering her face with
her hands, to exclude the sight of Wychecombe's desperate struggles. "If
he fall now, he will be destroyed. Oh! save him, save him, Sir
Wycherly!"

But neither of those to whom she appealed, could be of any use. The
nervous trembling again came over the father; and as for the baronet,
age and inexperience rendered him helpless.

"Have you no rope, Mr. Dutton, to throw over my shoulders," cried
Wychecombe, suspending his exertions in pure exhaustion, still keeping
all he had gained, with his head projecting outward, over the abyss
beneath, and his face turned towards heaven. "Throw a rope over my
shoulders, and drag my body in to the cliff."

Dutton showed an eager desire to comply, but his nerves had not yet been
excited by the usual potations, and his hands shook in a way to render
it questionable whether he could perform even this simple service. But
for his daughter, indeed, he would hardly have set about it
intelligently. Mildred, accustomed to using the signal-halyards,
procured the old line, and handed it to her father, who discovered some
of his professional knowledge in his manner of using it. Doubling the
halyards twice, he threw the bight over Wychecombe's shoulders, and
aided by Mildred, endeavoured to draw the body of the young man upwards
and towards the cliff. But their united strength was unequal to the
task, and wearied with holding on, and, indeed, unable to support his
own weight any longer by so small a rope, Wychecombe felt compelled to
suffer his feet to drop beneath him, and slid down again upon the ledge.
Here, even his vigorous frame shook with its prodigious exertions; and
he was compelled to seat himself on the shelf, and rest with his back
against the cliff, to recover his self-command and strength. Mildred
uttered a faint shriek as he disappeared, but was too much
horror-stricken to approach the verge of the precipice to ascertain his
fate.

"Be composed, Milly," said her father, "he is safe, as you may see by
the halyards; and to say the truth, the stuff holds on well. So long as
the line proves true, the boy can't fall; he has taken a double turn
with the end of it round his body. Make your mind easy, girl, for I feel
better now, and see my way clear. Don't be uneasy, Sir Wycherly; we'll
have the lad safe on _terra firma_ again, in ten minutes. I scarce know
what has come over me, this morning; but I've not had the command of my
limbs as in common. It cannot be fright, for I've seen too many men in
danger to be disabled by _that_; and I think, Milly, it must be the
rheumatism, of which I've so often spoken, and which I've inherited from
my poor mother, dear old soul. Do you know, Sir Wycherly, that
rheumatism can be inherited like gout?"

"I dare say it may--I dare say it may, Dutton--but never mind the
disease, now; get my young namesake back here on the grass, and I will
hear all about it. I would give the world that I had not sent Dick to
Mr. Rotherham's this morning. Can't we contrive to make the pony pull
the boy up?"

"The traces are hardly strong enough for such work, Sir Wycherly. Have a
little patience, and I will manage the whole thing, 'ship-shape, and
Brister fashion,' as we say at sea. Halloo there, Master
Wychecombe--answer my hail, and I will soon get you into deep water."

"I'm safe on the ledge," returned the voice of Wychecombe, from below;
"I wish you would look to the signal-halyards, and see they do not chafe
against the rocks, Mr. Dutton."

"All right, sir; all right. Slack up, if you please, and let me have all
the line you can, without casting off from your body. Keep fast the end
for fear of accidents."

In an instant the halyards slackened, and Dutton, who by this time had
gained his self-command, though still weak and unnerved by the habits of
the last fifteen years, forced the bight along the edge of the cliff,
until he had brought it over a projection of the rocks, where it
fastened itself. This arrangement caused the line to lead down to the
part of the cliffs from which the young man had fallen, and where it was
by no means difficult for a steady head and active limbs to move about
and pluck flowers. It consequently remained for Wychecombe merely to
regain a footing on that part of the hill-side, to ascend to the summit
without difficulty. It is true he was now below the point from which he
had fallen, but by swinging himself off laterally, or even by springing,
aided by the line, it was not a difficult achievement to reach it, and
he no sooner understood the nature of the change that had been made,
than he set about attempting it. The confident manner of Dutton
encouraged both the baronet and Mildred, and they drew to the cliff,
again; standing near the verge, though on the part where the rocks might
be descended, with less apprehension of consequences.

As soon as Wychecombe had made all his preparations, he stood on the end
of the ledge, tightened the line, looked carefully for a foothold on the
other side of the chasm, and made his leap. As a matter of course, the
body of the young man swung readily across the space, until the line
became perpendicular, and then he found a surface so broken, as to
render his ascent by no means difficult, aided as he was by the
halyards. Scrambling upwards, he soon rejected the aid of the line, and
sprang upon the head-land. At the same instant, Mildred fell senseless
on the grass.



CHAPTER III.

    "I want a hero:--an uncommon want,
       When every year and month send forth a new one;
    'Till, after cloying the gazelles with cant,
       The age discovers he is not the true one;--"

         BYRON.


In consequence of the unsteadiness of the father's nerves, the duty of
raising Mildred in his arms, and of carrying her to the cottage,
devolved on the young man. This he did with a readiness and concern
which proved how deep an interest he took in her situation, and with a
power of arm which showed that his strength was increased rather than
lessened by the condition into which she had fallen. So rapid was his
movement, that no one saw the kiss he impressed on the palid cheek of
the sweet girl, or the tender pressure with which he grasped the
lifeless form. By the time he reached the door, the motion and air had
begun to revive her, and Wychecombe committed her to the care of her
alarmed mother, with a few hurried words of explanation. He did not
leave the house, however, for a quarter of an hour, except to call out
to Dutton that Mildred was reviving, and that he need be under no
uneasiness on her account. Why he remained so long, we leave the reader
to imagine, for the girl had been immediately taken to her own little
chamber, and he saw her no more for several hours.

When our young sailor came out upon the head-land again, he found the
party near the flag-staff increased to four. Dick, the groom, had
returned from his errand, and Tom Wychecombe, the intended heir of the
baronet, was also there, in mourning for his reputed father, the judge.
This young man had become a frequent visiter to the station, of late,
affecting to imbibe his uncle's taste for sea air, and a view of the
ocean. There had been several meetings between himself and his namesake,
and each interview was becoming less amicable than the preceding, for a
reason that was sufficiently known to the parties. When they met on the
present occasion, therefore, the bows they exchanged were haughty and
distant, and the glances cast at each other might have been termed
hostile, were it not that a sinister irony was blended with that of Tom
Wychecombe. Still, the feelings that were uppermost did not prevent the
latter from speaking in an apparently friendly manner.

"They tell me, Mr. Wychecombe," observed the judge's heir, (for this Tom
Wychecombe might legally claim to be;) "they tell me, Mr. Wychecombe,
that you have been taking a lesson in your trade this morning, by
swinging over the cliffs at the end of a rope? Now, that is an exploit,
more to the taste of an American than to that of an Englishman, I should
think. But, I dare say one is compelled to do many things in the
colonies, that we never dream of at home."

This was said with seeming indifference, though with great art. Sir
Wycherly's principal weakness was an overweening and an ignorant
admiration of his own country, and all it contained. He was also
strongly addicted to that feeling of contempt for the dependencies of
the empire, which seems to be inseparable from the political connection
between the people of the metropolitan country and their colonies. There
must be entire equality, for perfect respect, in any situation in life;
and, as a rule, men always appropriate to their own shares, any admitted
superiority that may happen to exist on the part of the communities to
which they belong. It is on this principle, that the tenant of a
cock-loft in Paris or London, is so apt to feel a high claim to
superiority over the occupant of a comfortable abode in a village. As
between England and her North American colonies in particular, this
feeling was stronger than is the case usually, on account of the early
democratical tendencies of the latter; not, that these tendencies had
already become the subject of political jealousies, but that they left
social impressions, which were singularly adapted to bringing the
colonists into contempt among a people predominant for their own
factitious habits, and who are so strongly inclined to view everything,
even to principles, through the medium of arbitrary, conventional
customs. It must be confessed that the Americans, in the middle of the
eighteenth century, were an exceedingly provincial, and in many
particulars a narrow-minded people, as well in their opinions as in
their habits; nor is the reproach altogether removed at the present day;
but the country from which they are derived had not then made the vast
strides in civilization, for which it has latterly become so
distinguished. The indifference, too, with which all Europe regarded the
whole American continent, and to which England, herself, though she
possessed so large a stake on this side of the Atlantic, formed no
material exception, constantly led that quarter of the world into
profound mistakes in all its reasoning that was connected with this
quarter of the world, and aided in producing the state of feeling to
which we have alluded. Sir Wycherly felt and reasoned on the subject of
America much as the great bulk of his countrymen felt and reasoned in
1745; the exceptions existing only among the enlightened, and those
whose particular duties rendered more correct knowledge necessary, and
not always among them. It is said that the English minister conceived
the idea of taxing America, from the circumstance of seeing a wealthy
Virginian lose a large sum at play, a sort of _argumentum ad hominem_
that brought with it a very dangerous conclusion to apply to the sort of
people with whom he had to deal. Let this be as it might, there is no
more question, that at the period of our tale, the profoundest ignorance
concerning America existed generally in the mother country, than there
is that the profoundest respect existed in America for nearly every
thing English. Truth compels us to add, that in despite of all that has
passed, the cis-atlantic portion of the weakness has longest endured the
assaults of time and of an increased intercourse.

Young Wycherly, as is ever the case, was keenly alive to any
insinuations that might be supposed to reflect on the portion of the
empire of which he was a native. He considered himself an Englishman, it
is true; was thoroughly loyal; and was every way disposed to sustain the
honour and interests of the seat of authority; but when questions were
raised between Europe and America, he was an American; as, in America
itself, he regarded himself as purely a Virginian, in contradistinction
to all the other colonies. He understood the intended sarcasm of Tom
Wychecombe, but smothered his resentment, out of respect to the baronet,
and perhaps a little influenced by the feelings in which he had been so
lately indulging.

"Those gentlemen who are disposed to fancy such things of the colonies,
would do well to visit that part of the world," he answered, calmly,
"before they express their opinions too loudly, lest they should say
something that future observation might make them wish to recall."

"True, my young friend--quite true," put in the baronet, with the
kindest possible intentions. "True as gospel. We never know any thing of
matters about which we know nothing; that we old men must admit, Master
Dutton; and I should think Tom must see its force. It would be
unreasonable to expect to find every thing as comfortable in America as
we have it here, in England; nor do I suppose the Americans, in general,
would be as likely to get over a cliff as an Englishman. However, there
are exceptions to all general rules, as my poor brother James used to
say, when he saw occasion to find fault with the sermon of a prelate. I
believe you did not know my poor brother, Dutton; he must have been
killed about the time you were born--St. James, I used to call him,
although my brother Thomas, the judge that was Tom's father, there--said
he was St. James the Less."

"I believe the Rev. Mr. Wychecombe was dead before I was of an age to
remember his virtues, Sir Wycherly," said Dutton, respectfully; "though
I have often heard my own father speak of all your honoured family."

"Yes, your father, Dutton, was the attorney of the next town, and we all
knew him well. You have done quite right to come back among us to spend
the close of your own days. A man is never as well off as when he is
thriving in his native soil; more especially when that soil is old
England, and Devonshire. You are not one of us, young gentleman, though
your name happens to be Wychecombe; but, then we are none of us
accountable for our own births, or birth-places."

This truism, which is in the mouths of thousands while it is in the
hearts of scarcely any, was well meant by Sir Wycherly, however plainly
expressed. It merely drew from the youth the simple answer that--"he was
born in the colonies, and had colonists for his parents;" a fact that
the others had heard already, some ten or a dozen times.

"It is a little singular, Mr. Wychecombe, that you should bear both of
my names, and yet be no relative," continued the baronet. "Now, Wycherly
came into our family from old Sir Hildebrand Wycherly, who was slain at
Bosworth Field, and whose only daughter, my ancestor, and Tom's
ancestor, there, married. Since that day, Wycherly has been a favourite
name among us. I do not think that the Wychecombes of Herts, ever
thought of calling a son Wycherly, although, as my poor brother the
judge used to say, _they_ were related, but of the half-blood, only. I
suppose your father taught you what is meant by being of the half-blood,
Thomas?"

Tom Wychecombe's face became the colour of scarlet, and he cast an
uneasy glance at all present; expecting in particular, to meet with a
look of exultation in the eyes of the lieutenant. He was greatly
relieved, however, at finding that neither of the three meant or
understood more than was simply expressed. As for his uncle, he had not
the smallest intention of making any allusion to the peculiarity of his
nephew's birth; and the other two, in common with the world, supposed
the reputed heir to be legitimate. Gathering courage from the looks of
those around him, Tom answered with a steadiness that prevented his
agitation from being detected:

"Certainly, my dear sir; my excellent parent forgot nothing that he
thought might be useful to me, in maintaining my rights, and the honour
of the family, hereafter. I very well understand that the Wychecombes of
Hertfordshire have no claims on us; nor, indeed, any Wychecombe who is
not descended from my respectable grandfather, the late Sir Wycherly."

"He must have been an _early_, instead of a _late_ Sir Wycherly, rather,
Mr. Thomas," put in Dutton, laughing at his own conceit; "for I can
remember no other than the honourable baronet before us, in the last
fifty years."

"Quite true, Dutton--very true," rejoined the person last alluded to.
"As true as that 'time and tide wait for no man.' We understand the
meaning of such things on the coast here. It was half a century, last
October, since I succeeded my respected parent; but, it will not be
another half century before some one will succeed me!"

Sir Wycherly was a hale, hearty man for his years, but he had no unmanly
dread of his end. Still he felt it could not be very distant, having
already numbered fourscore and four years. Nevertheless, there were
certain phrases of usage, that Dutton did not see fit to forget on such
an occasion, and he answered accordingly, turning to look at and admire
the still ruddy countenance of the baronet, by way of giving emphasis to
his words.

"You will yet see half of us into our graves, Sir Wycherly," he said,
"and still remain an active man. Though I dare say another half century
will bring most of us up. Even Mr. Thomas, here, and your young namesake
can hardly hope to run out more line than that. Well, as for myself, I
only desire to live through this war, that I may again see His Majesty's
arms triumphant; though they do tell me that we are in for a good thirty
years' struggle. Wars _have_ lasted as long as _that_, Sir Wycherly, and
I don't see why this may not, as well as another."

"Very true, Dutton; it is not only possible, but probable; and I trust
both you and I may live to see our flower-hunter here, a post-captain,
at least--though it would be wishing almost too much to expect to see
him an admiral. There has been _one_ admiral of the name, and I confess
I should like to see another!"

"Has not Mr. Thomas a brother in the service?" demanded the master; "I
had thought that my lord, the judge, had given us one of his young
gentlemen."

"He thought of it; but the army got both of the boys, as it turned out.
Gregory was to be the midshipman; my poor brother intending him for a
sailor from the first, and so giving him the name that was once borne by
the unfortunate relative we lost by shipwreck. I wished him to call one
of the lads James, after St. James; but, somehow, I never could persuade
Thomas to see all the excellence of that pious young man."

Dutton was a little embarrassed, for St. James had left any thing but a
godly savour behind him; and he was about to fabricate a tolerably bold
assertion to the contrary, rather than incur the risk of offending the
lord of the manor, when, luckily, a change in the state of the fog
afforded him a favourable opportunity of bringing about an apposite
change in the subject. During the whole of the morning the sea had been
invisible from the head-land, a dense body of vapour resting on it, far
as eye could reach; veiling the whole expanse with a single white cloud.
The lighter portions of the vapour had at first floated around the
head-land, which could not have been seen at any material distance; but
all had been gradually settling down into a single mass, that now rose
within twenty feet of the summit of the cliffs. The hour was still quite
early, but the sun was gaining force, and it speedily drank up all the
lighter particles of the mist, leaving a clear, bright atmosphere above
the feathery bank, through which objects might be seen for miles. There
was what seamen call a "fanning breeze," or just wind enough to cause
the light sails of a ship to swell and collapse, under the double
influence of the air and the motion of the hull, imitating in a slight
degree the vibrations of that familiar appliance of the female toilet.
Dutton's eye had caught a glance of the loftiest sail of a vessel, above
the fog, going through this very movement; and it afforded him the
release he desired, by enabling him to draw the attention of his
companions to the same object.

"See, Sir Wycherly--see, Mr. Wychecombe," he cried, eagerly, pointing in
the direction of the sail; "yonder is some of the king's canvass coming
into our roadstead, or I am no judge of the set of a man-of-war's royal.
It is a large bit of cloth, too, Mr. Lieutenant, for a sail so lofty!"

"It is a two-decker's royal, Master Dutton," returned the young sailor;
"and now you see the fore and main, separately, as the ship keeps away."

"Well," put in Sir Wycherly, in a resigned manner; "here have I lived
fourscore years on this coast, and, for the life of me, I have never
been able to tell a fore-royal from a back-royal; or a mizzen head-stay
from a head mizzen-stay. They are the most puzzling things imaginable;
and now I cannot discover how you know that yonder sail, which I see
plain enough, is a royal, any more than that it is a jib!"

Dutton and the lieutenant smiled, but Sir Wycherly's simplicity had a
cast of truth and nature about it, that deterred most people from
wishing to ridicule him. Then, the rank, fortune, and local interest of
the baronet, counted for a good deal on all such occasions.

"Here is another fellow, farther east," cried Dutton, still pointing
with a finger; "and every inch as big as his consort! Ah! it does my
eyes good to see our roadstead come into notice, in this manner, after
all I have said and done in its behalf--But, who have we here--a brother
chip, by his appearance; I dare say some idler who has been sent ashore
with despatches."

"There is another fellow further east, and every inch as big as his
consort," said Wychecombe, as we shall call our lieutenant, in order to
distinguish him from Tom of the same name, repeating the very words of
Dutton, with an application and readiness that almost amounted to wit,
pointing, in his turn, at two strangers who were ascending to the
station by a path that led from the beach. "Certainly both these
gentlemen are in His Majesty's service, and they have probably just
landed from the ships in the offing."

The truth of this conjecture was apparent to Dutton at a glance. As the
strangers joined each other, the one last seen proceeded in advance; and
there was something in his years, the confident manner in which he
approached, and his general appearance, that induced both the sailors to
believe he might be the commander of one of the ships that had just come
in view.

"Good-morrow, gentlemen," commenced this person, as soon as near enough
to salute the party at the foot of the flag-staff; "good-morrow to ye
all. I'm glad to meet you, for it's but a Jacob's ladder, this path of
yours, through the ravine in the cliffs. Hey! why Atwood," looking
around him at the sea of vapour, in surprise, "what the devil has become
of the fleet?"

"It is lost in the fog, sir; we are above it, here; when more on a level
with the ships, we could see, or fancy we saw, more of them than we do
now."

"Here are the upper sails of two heavy ships, sir," observed Wychecombe,
pointing in the direction of the vessels already seen; "ay, and yonder
are two more--nothing but the royals are visible."

"Two more!--I left eleven two-deckers, three frigates, a sloop, and a
cutter in sight, when I got into the boat. You might have covered 'em
all with a pocket-handkerchief, hey! Atwood!"

"They were certainly in close order, sir, but I'll not take it on myself
to say quite as near together as that."

"Ay, you're a dissenter by trade, and never will believe in a miracle.
Sharp work, gentlemen, to get up such a hill as this, after fifty."

"It is, indeed, sir," answered Sir Wycherly, kindly. "Will you do us the
favour to take a seat among us, and rest yourself after so violent an
exertion? The cliff is hard enough to ascend, even when one keeps the
path; though here is a young gentleman who had a fancy just now to go
down it, without a path; and that, too, merely that a pretty girl might
have a nosegay on her breakfast-table."

The stranger looked intently at Sir Wycherly for a moment, then glanced
his eye at the groom and the pony, after which he took a survey of Tom
Wychecombe, the lieutenant, and the master. He was a man accustomed to
look about him, and he understood, by that rapid glance, the characters
of all he surveyed, with perhaps the exception of that of Tom
Wychecombe; and even of that he formed a tolerably shrewd conjecture.
Sir Wycherly he immediately set down as the squire of the adjacent
estate; Dutton's situation he hit exactly, conceiving him to be a
worn-out master, who was employed to keep the signal-station; while he
understood Wychecombe, by his undress, and air, to be a sea-lieutenant
in the king's service. Tom Wychecombe he thought it quite likely might
be the son, and heir of the lord of the manor, both being in mourning;
though he decided in his own mind that there was not the smallest family
likeness between them. Bowing with the courtesy of a man who knew how to
acknowledge a civility, he took the proffered seat at Sir Wycherly's
side without farther ceremony.

"We must carry the young fellow to sea with us, sir," rejoined the
stranger, "and that will cure him of looking for flowers in such
ticklish places. His Majesty has need of us all, in this war; and I
trust, young gentleman, you have not been long ashore, among the girls."

"Only long enough to make a cure of a pretty smart hurt, received in
cutting out a lugger from the opposite coast," answered Wychecombe, with
sufficient modesty, and yet with sufficient spirit.

"Lugger!--ha! what Atwood? You surely do not mean, young gentleman, la
Voltigeuse?"

"That was the name of the craft, sir--we found her in the roads of
Groix."

"And then I've the pleasure of seeing Mr. Wychecombe, the young officer
who led in that gallant attack?"

This was said with a most flattering warmth of manner, the stranger even
rising and removing his hat, as he uttered the words with a heartiness
that showed how much his feelings were in unison with what he said.

"I am Mr. Wychecombe, sir," answered the other, blushing to the temples,
and returning the salute; "though I had not the honour of leading; one
of the lieutenants of our ship being in another boat."

"Yes--I know all that--but he was beaten off, while you boarded and did
the work. What have my lords commissioners done in the matter?"

"All that is necessary, so far as I am concerned, sir, I do assure you;
having sent me a commission the very next week. I only wish they had
been equally generous to Mr. Walton, who received a severe wound also,
and behaved as well as man could behave."

"That would not be so wise, Mr. Wychecombe, since it would be rewarding
a failure," returned the stranger, coldly. "Success is all in all, in
war. Ah! there the fellows begin to show themselves, Atwood."

This remark drew all eyes, again, towards the sea, where a sight now
presented itself that was really worthy of a passing notice. The vapour
appeared to have become packed into a mass of some eighty or a hundred
feet in height, leaving a perfectly clear atmosphere above it. In the
clear air, were visible the upper spars and canvass of the entire fleet
mentioned by the stranger; sixteen sail in all. There were the eleven
two-deckers, and the three frigates, rising in pyramids of canvass,
still fanning in towards the anchorage, which in that roadstead was
within pistol-shot of the shore; while the royals and upper part of the
topgallant sails of the sloop seemed to stand on the surface of the fog,
like a monument. After a moment's pause, Wychecombe discovered even the
head of the cutter's royal-mast, with the pennant lazily fluttering
ahead of it, partly concealed in vapour. The fog seemed to settle,
instead of rising, though it evidently rolled along the face of the
waters, putting the whole scene in motion. It was not long ere the tops
of the ships of the line became visible, and then living beings were for
the first time seen in the moving masses.

"I suppose we offer just such a sight to the top-men of the ships, as
they offer to us," observed the stranger. "They _must_ see this
head-land and flag-staff, Mr. Wychecombe; and there can be no danger of
their standing in too far!"

"I should think not, sir; certainly the men aloft can see the cliffs
above the fog, as we see the vessels' spars. Ha! Mr. Dutton, there is a
rear-admiral's flag flying on board the ship farthest to the eastward."

"So I see, sir; and by looking at the third vessel on the western side
of the line, you will find a bit of square bunting at the fore, which
will tell you there is a vice-admiral beneath it."

"Quite true!" exclaimed Wychecombe, who was ever enthusiastic on matters
relating to his profession; "a vice-admiral of the red, too; which is
the next step to being a full admiral. This must be the fleet of Sir
Digby Downes!"

"No, young gentleman," returned the stranger, who perceived by the
glance of the other's eye, that a question was indirectly put to
himself; "it is the southern squadron; and the vice-admiral's flag you
see, belongs to Sir Gervaise Oakes. Admiral Bluewater is on board the
ship that carries a flag at the mizzen."

"Those two officers always go together, Sir Wycherly," added the young
man. "Whenever we hear the name of Sir Gervaise, that of Bluewater is
certain to accompany it. Such a union in service is delightful to
witness."

"Well may they go in company, Mr. Wychecombe," returned the stranger,
betraying a little emotion. "Oakes and Bluewater were reefers together,
under old Breasthook, in the Mermaid; and when the first was made a
lieutenant into the Squid, the last followed as a mate. Oakes was first
of the Briton, in her action with the Spanish frigates, and Bluewater
third. For that affair Oakes got a sloop, and his friend went with him
as his first. The next year they had the luck to capture a heavier ship
than their own, when, for the first time in their service, the two young
men were separated; Oakes getting a frigate, and Bluewater getting the
Squid. Still they cruised in company, until the senior was sent in
command of a flying squadron, with a broad pennant, when the junior, who
by this time was post, received his old messmate on board his own
frigate. In that manner they served together, down to the hour when the
first hoisted his flag. From that time, the two old seamen have never
been parted; Bluewater acting as the admiral's captain, until he got the
square bunting himself. The vice-admiral has never led the van of a
fleet, that the rear-admiral did not lead the rear-division; and, now
that Sir Gervaise is a commander-in-chief, you see his friend, Dick
Bluewater, is cruising in his company."

While the stranger was giving this account of the Two Admirals, in a
half-serious, half-jocular manner, the eyes of his companions were on
him. He was a middle-sized, red-faced man, with an aquiline nose, a
light-blue animated eye, and a mouth, which denoted more of the habits
and care of refinement than either his dress or his ordinary careless
mien. A great deal is said about the aristocracy of the ears, and the
hands, and the feet; but of all the features, or other appliances of the
human frame, the mouth and the nose have the greatest influence in
producing an impression of gentility. This was peculiarly the case with
the stranger, whose beak, like that of an ancient galley, gave the
promise of a stately movement, and whose beautiful teeth and winning
smile, often relieved the expression of a countenance that was not
unfrequently stern. As he ceased speaking, Dutton rose, in a studied
manner, raised his hat entirely from his head, bowed his body nearly to
a right angle, and said,

"Unless my memory is treacherous, I believe I have the honor to see
Rear-Admiral Bluewater, himself; I was a mate in the Medway, when he
commanded the Chloe; and, unless five-and-twenty years have made more
changes than I think probable, he is now on this hill."

"Your memory is a bad one, Mr. Dutton, and your hill has on it a much
worse man, in all respects, than Admiral Bluewater. They say that man
and wife, from living together, and thinking alike, having the same
affections, loving the same objects, or sometimes hating them, get in
time to look alike; hey! Atwood? It may be that I am growing like
Bluewater, on the same principle; but this is the first time I ever
heard the thing suggested. I am Sir Gervaise Oakes, at your service,
sir."

The bow of Dutton was now much lower than before, while young Wychecombe
uncovered himself, and Sir Wycherly arose and paid his compliments
cordially, introducing himself, and offering the admiral and all his
officers the hospitality of the Hall.

"Ay, this is straight-forward and hearty, and in the good old English
manner!" exclaimed the admiral, when he had returned the salutes, and
cordially thanked the baronet. "One might land in Scotland, now,
anywhere between the Tweed and John a'Groat's house, and not be asked so
much as to eat an oaten cake; hey! Atwood?--always excepting the
mountain dew."

"You will have your fling at my poor countrymen, Sir Gervaise, and so
there is no more to be said on the subject," returned the secretary, for
such was the rank of the admiral's companion. "I might feel hurt at
times, did I not know that you get as many Scotsmen about you, in your
own ship, as you can; and that a fleet is all the better in your
judgment, for having every other captain from the land o' cakes."

"Did you ever hear the like of that, Sir Wycherly? Because I stick to a
man I like, he accuses me of having a predilection for his whole
country. Here's Atwood, now; he was my clerk, when in a sloop; and he
has followed me to the Plantagenet, and because I do not throw him
overboard, he wishes to make it appear half Scotland is in her hold."

"Well, there are the surgeon, the purser, one of the mates, one of the
marine officers, and the fourth lieutenant, to keep me company, Sir
Gervaise," answered the secretary, smiling like one accustomed to his
superior's jokes, and who cared very little about them. "When you send
us all back to Scotland, I'm thinking there will be many a good vacancy
to fill."

"The Scotch make themselves very useful, Sir Gervaise," put in Sir
Wycherly, by way of smoothing the matter over; "and now we have a
Brunswick prince on the throne, we Englishmen have less jealousy of them
than formerly. I am sure I should be happy to see all the gentlemen
mentioned by Mr. Atwood, at Wychecombe Hall."

"There, you're all well berthed while the fleet lies in these roads. Sir
Wycherly, in the name of Scotland, I thank you. But what an extr'ornary
(for so admirals pronounced the word a hundred years ago) scene this is,
hey! Atwood? Many a time have I seen the hulls of ships when their spars
were hid in the fog; but I do not remember ever to have seen before,
sixteen sets of masts and sails moving about on vapour, without a single
hull to uphold them. The tops of all the two-decked ships are as plainly
to be seen, as if the air were without a particle of vapour, while all
below the cat-harpings is hid in a cloud as thick as the smoke of
battle. I do not half like Bluewater's standing in so far; perhaps, Mr.
Dutton, they cannot see the cliffs, for I assure you we did not, until
quite close under them. We went altogether by the lead, the masters
feeling their way like so many blind beggars!"

"We always keep that nine-pounder loaded, Sir Gervaise," returned the
master, "in order to warn vessels when they are getting near enough in;
and if Mr. Wychecombe, who is younger than I, will run to the house and
light this match, I will prime, and we may give 'em warning where they
are, in less than a minute."

The admiral gave a ready assent to this proposition, and the respective
parties immediately set about putting it in execution. Wychecombe
hastened to the house to light the match, glad of an opportunity to
inquire after Mildred; while Dutton produced a priming-horn from a sort
of arm-chest that stood near the gun, and put the latter in a condition
to be discharged. The young man was absent but a minute, and when all
was ready, he turned towards the admiral, in order to get the signal to
proceed.

"Let 'em have it, Mr. Wychecombe," cried Sir Gervaise, smiling; "it will
wake Bluewater up; perhaps he may favour us with a broadside, by way of
retort."

The match was applied, and the report of the gun succeeded. Then
followed a pause of more than a minute; when the fog lifted around the
Cæsar, the ship that wore a rear-admiral's flag, a flash like lightning
was seen glancing in the mist, and then came the bellowing of a piece of
heavy ordnance. Almost at the same instant, three little flags appeared
at the mast-head of the Cæsar, for previously to quitting his own ship,
Sir Gervaise had sent a message to his friend, requesting him to take
care of the fleet. This was the signal to anchor. The effect of all
this, as seen from the height, was exceedingly striking. As yet not a
single hull had become visible, the fog remaining packed upon the water,
in a way to conceal even the lower yards of the two-deckers. All above
was bright, distinct, and so near, as almost to render it possible to
distinguish persons. There every thing was vivid, while a sort of
supernatural mystery veiled all beneath. Each ship had an officer aloft
to look out for signals, and no sooner had the Cæsar opened her three
little flags, which had long been suspended in black balls, in readiness
for this service, than the answers were seen floating at the mast-head
of each of the vessels. Then commenced a spectacle still more curious
than that which those on the cliff had so long been regarding with
interest. Ropes began to move, and the sails were drawn up in festoons,
apparently without the agency of hands. Cut off from a seeming
communication with the ocean, or the hulls, the spars of the different
ships appeared to be instinct with life; each machine playing its own
part independently of the others, but all having the same object in
view. In a very few minutes the canvass was hauled up, and the whole
fleet was swinging to the anchors. Presently head after head was thrown
out of the fog, the upper yards were alive with men, and the sails were
handed. Next came the squaring of the yards, though this was imperfectly
done, and a good deal by guess-work. The men came down, and there lay a
noble fleet at anchor, with nothing visible to those on the cliffs, but
their top-hamper and upper spars.

Sir Gervaise Oakes had been so much struck and amused with a sight that
to him happened to be entirely novel, that he did not speak during the
whole process of anchoring. Indeed, many a man might pass his life at
sea, and never witness such a scene; but those who have, know that it is
one of the most beautiful and striking spectacles connected with the
wonders of the great deep.

By this time the sun had got so high, as to begin to stir the fog, and
streams of vapour were shooting up from the beach, like smoke rising
from coal-pits. The wind increased, too, and rolled the vapour before
it, and in less than ten minutes, the veil was removed; ship after ship
coming out in plain view, until the entire fleet was seen riding in the
roadstead, in its naked and distinct proportions.

"Now, Bluewater is a happy fellow," exclaimed Sir Gervaise. "He sees his
great enemy, the land, and knows how to deal with it."

"I thought the French were the great and natural enemies of every
British sailor," observed Sir Wycherly, simply, but quite to the point.

"Hum--there's truth in that, too. But the land is an enemy to be feared,
while the Frenchman is not--hey! Atwood?"

It was, indeed, a goodly sight to view the fine fleet that now lay
anchored beneath the cliffs of Wychecombe. Sir Gervaise Oakes was, in
that period, considered a successful naval commander, and was a
favourite, both at the admiralty and with the nation. His popularity
extended to the most distant colonies of England, in nearly all of which
he had served with zeal and credit. But we are not writing of an age of
nautical wonders, like that which succeeded at the close of the century.
The French and Dutch, and even the Spaniards, were then all formidable
as naval powers; for revolutions and changes had not destroyed their
maritime corps, nor had the consequent naval ascendency of England
annihilated their navigation; the two great causes of the subsequent
apparent invincibility of the latter power. Battles at sea, in that day,
were warmly contested, and were frequently fruitless; more especially
when fleets were brought in opposition. The single combats were usually
more decisive, though the absolute success of the British flag, was far
from being as much a matter of course as it subsequently became. In a
word, the science of naval warfare had not made those great strides,
which marked the career of England in the end, nor had it retrograded
among her enemies, to the point which appears to have rendered their
defeat nearly certain. Still Sir Gervaise was a successful officer;
having captured several single ships, in bloody encounters, and having
actually led fleets with credit, in four or five of the great battles of
the times; besides being second and third in command, on various similar
occasions. His own ship was certain to be engaged, let what would happen
to the others. Equally as captains and as flag-officers, the nation had
become familiar with the names of Oakes and Bluewater, as men ever to be
found sustaining each other in the thickest of the fight. It may be well
to add here, that both these favourite seamen were men of family, or at
least what was considered men of family among the mere gentry of
England; Sir Gervaise being a baronet by inheritance, while his friend
actually belonged to one of those naval lines which furnishes admirals
for generations; his father having worn a white flag at the main; and
his grandfather having been actually ennobled for his services, dying
vice-admiral of England. These fortuitous circumstances perhaps rendered
both so much the greater favourites at court.



CHAPTER IV.

        ----"All with you; except three
    On duty, and our leader Israel,
    Who is expected momently."

         MARINO FALIERO.


As his fleet was safely anchored, and that too, in beautiful order, in
spite of the fog, Sir Gervaise Oakes showed a disposition to pursue what
are termed ulterior views.

"This has been a fine sight--certainly a very fine sight; such as an old
seaman loves; but there must be an end to it," he said. "You will excuse
me, Sir Wycherly, but the movements of a fleet always have interest in
my eyes, and it is seldom that I get such a bird's-eye view of those of
my own; no wonder it has made me a somewhat unreflecting intruder."

"Make no apologies, Sir Gervaise, I beg of you; for none are needed, on
any account. Though this head-land does belong to the Wychecombe
property, it is fairly leased to the crown, and none have a better right
to occupy it than His Majesty's servants. The Hall is a little more
private, it is true, but even that has no door that will close upon our
gallant naval defenders. It is but a short walk, and nothing will make
me happier than to show you the way to my poor dwelling, and to see you
as much at home under its roof, as you could be in the cabin of the
Plantagenet."

"If any thing could make me as much at home in a house as in a ship, it
would be so hearty a welcome; and I intend to accept your hospitality in
the very spirit in which it is offered. Atwood and I have landed to send
off some important despatches to the First Lord, and we will thank you
for putting us in the way of doing it, in the safest and most
expeditious manner. Curiosity and surprise have already occasioned the
loss of half an hour; while a soldier, or a sailor, should never lose
half a minute."

"Is a courier who knows the country well, needed, Sir Gervaise?" the
lieutenant demanded, modestly, though with an interest that showed he
was influenced only by zeal for the service.

The admiral looked at him, intently, for a moment, and seemed pleased
with the hint implied in the question.

"Can you ride?" asked Sir Gervaise, smiling. "I could have brought
half-a-dozen youngsters ashore with me; but, besides the doubts about
getting a horse--a chaise I take it is out of the question here--I was
afraid the lads might disgrace themselves on horseback."

"This must be said in pleasantry, Sir Gervaise," returned Wychecombe;
"he would be a strange Virginian at least, who does not know how to
ride!"

"And a strange Englishman, too, Bluewater would say; and yet I never see
the fellow straddle a horse that I do not wish it were a
studding-sail-boom run out to leeward! We sailors _fancy_ we ride, Mr.
Wychecombe, but it is some such fancy as a marine has for the
fore-topmast-cross-trees. Can a horse be had, to go as far as the
nearest post-office that sends off a daily mail?"

"That can it, Sir Gervaise," put in Sir Wycherly. "Here is Dick mounted
on as good a hunter as is to be found in England; and I'll answer for my
young namesake's willingness to put the animal's mettle to the proof.
Our little mail has just left Wychecombe for the next twenty-four hours,
but by pushing the beast, there will be time to reach the high road in
season for the great London mail, which passes the nearest market-town
at noon. It is but a gallop of ten miles and back, and that I'll answer
for Mr. Wychecombe's ability to do, and to join us at dinner by four."

Young Wychecombe expressing his readiness to perform all this, and even
more at need, the arrangement was soon made. Dick was dismounted, the
lieutenant got his despatches and his instructions, took his leave, and
had galloped out of sight, in the next five minutes. The admiral then
declared himself at liberty for the day, accepting the invitation of Sir
Wycherly to breakfast and dine at the Hall, in the same spirit of
frankness as that in which it had been given. Sir Wycherly was so
spirited as to refuse the aid of his pony, but insisted on walking
through the village and park to his dwelling, though the distance was
more than a mile. Just as they were quitting the signal-station, the old
man took the admiral aside, and in an earnest, but respectful manner,
disburthened his mind to the following effect.

"Sir Gervaise," he said, "I am no sailor, as you know, and least of all
do I bear His Majesty's commission in the navy, though I am in the
county commission as a justice of the peace; so, if I make any little
mistake you will have the goodness to overlook it, for I know that the
etiquette of the quarter-deck is a very serious matter, and is not to be
trifled with;--but here is Dutton, as good a fellow in his way as
lives--his father was a sort of a gentleman too, having been the
attorney of the neighbourhood, and the old man was accustomed to dine
with me forty years ago--"

"I believe I understand you, Sir Wycherly," interrupted the admiral;
"and I thank you for the attention you wish to pay my prejudices; but,
you are master of Wychecombe, and I should feel myself a troublesome
intruder, indeed, did you not ask whom you please to dine at your own
table."

"That's not quite it, Sir Gervaise, though you have not gone far wide of
the mark. Dutton is only a master, you know; and it seems that a master
on board ship is a very different thing from a master on shore; so
Dutton, himself, has often told me."

"Ay, Dutton is right enough as regards a king's ship, though the two
offices are pretty much the same, when other craft are alluded to. But,
my dear Sir Wycherly, an admiral is not disgraced by keeping company
with a boatswain, if the latter is an honest man. It is true we have our
customs, and what we call our quarter-deck and forward officers; which
is court end and city, on board ship; but a master belongs to the first,
and the master of the Plantagenet, Sandy McYarn, dines with me once a
month, as regularly as he enters a new word at the top of his log-book.
I beg, therefore, you will extend your hospitality to whom you
please--or--" the admiral hesitated, as he cast a good-natured glance at
the master, who stood still uncovered, waiting for his superior to move
away; "or, perhaps, Sir Wycherly, you would permit _me_ to ask a friend
to make one of our party."

"That's just it, Sir Gervaise," returned the kind-hearted baronet; "and
Dutton will be one of the happiest fellows in Devonshire. I wish we
could have Mrs. Dutton and Milly, and then the table would look what my
poor brother James--St. James I used to call him--what the Rev. James
Wychecombe was accustomed to term, mathematical. He said a table should
have all its sides and angles duly filled. James was a most agreeable
companion, Sir Gervaise, and, in divinity, he would not have turned his
back on one of the apostles, I do verily believe!"

The admiral bowed, and turning to the master, he invited him to be of
the party at the Hall, in the manner which one long accustomed to render
his civilities agreeable by a sort of professional off-handed way, well
knew how to assume.

"Sir Wycherly has insisted that I shall consider his table as set in my
own cabin," he continued; "and I know of no better manner of proving my
gratitude, than by taking him at his word, and filling it with guests
that will be agreeable to us both. I believe there is a Mrs. Dutton, and
a Miss--a--a--a--"

"Milly," put in the baronet, eagerly; "Miss Mildred Dutton--the daughter
of our good friend Dutton, here, and a young lady who would do credit to
the gayest drawing-room in London."

"You perceive, sir, that our kind host anticipates the wishes of an old
bachelor, as it might be by instinct, and desires the company of the
ladies, also. Miss Mildred will, at least, have two young men to do
homage to her beauty, and _three_ old ones to sigh in the distance--hey!
Atwood?"

"Mildred, as Sir Wycherly knows, sir, has been a little disturbed this
morning," returned Dutton, putting on his best manner for the occasion;
"but, I feel no doubt, will be too grateful for this honour, not to
exert herself to make a suitable return. As for my wife, gentlemen--"

"And what is to prevent Mrs. Dutton from being one of the party,"
interrupted Sir Wycherly, as he observed the husband to hesitate; "she
sometimes favours me with her company."

"I rather think she will to-day, Sir Wycherly, if Mildred is well enough
to go; the good woman seldom lets her daughter stray far from her
apron-strings. She keeps her, as I tell her, within the sweep of her own
hawse, Sir Gervaise."

"So much the wiser she, Master Dutton," returned the admiral, pointedly.
"The best pilot for a young woman is a good mother; and now you have a
fleet in your roadstead, I need not tell a seaman of your experience
that you are on pilot-ground;--hey! Atwood?"

Here the parties separated, Dutton remaining uncovered until his
superior had turned the corner of his little cottage, and was fairly out
of sight. Then the master entered his dwelling to prepare his wife and
daughter for the honours they had in perspective. Before he executed
this duty, however, the unfortunate man opened what he called a
locker--what a housewife would term a cupboard--and fortified his nerves
with a strong draught of pure Nantes; a liquor that no hostilities,
custom-house duties, or national antipathies, has ever been able to
bring into general disrepute in the British Islands. In the mean time
the party of the two baronets pursued its way towards the Hall.

The village, or hamlet of Wychecombe, lay about half-way between the
station and the residence of the lord of the manor. It was an
exceedingly rural and retired collection of mean houses, possessing
neither physician, apothecary, nor attorney, to give it importance. A
small inn, two or three shops of the humblest kind, and some twenty
cottages of labourers and mechanics, composed the place, which, at that
early day, had not even a chapel, or a conventicle; dissent not having
made much progress then in England. The parish church, one of the old
edifices of the time of the Henrys, stood quite alone, in a field, more
than a mile from the place; and the vicarage, a respectable abode, was
just on the edge of the park, fully half a mile more distant. In short,
Wychecombe was one of those places which was so far on the decline, that
few or no traces of any little importance it may have once possessed,
were any longer to be discovered; and it had sunk entirely into a hamlet
that owed its allowed claims to be marked on the maps, and to be noted
in the gazetteers, altogether to its antiquity, and the name it had
given to one of the oldest knightly families in England.

No wonder then, that the arrival of a fleet under the head, produced a
great excitement in the little village. The anchorage was excellent, so
far as the bottom was concerned, but it could scarcely be called a
roadstead in any other point of view, since there was shelter against no
wind but that which blew directly off shore, which happened to be a wind
that did not prevail in that part of the island. Occasionally, a small
cruiser would come-to, in the offing, and a few frigates had lain at
single anchors in the roads, for a tide or so, in waiting for a change
of weather; but this was the first fleet that had been known to moor
under the cliffs within the memory of man. The fog had prevented the
honest villagers from ascertaining the unexpected honour that had been
done them, until the reports of the two guns reached their ears, when
the important intelligence spread with due rapidity over the entire
adjacent country. Although Wychecombe did not lie in actual view of the
sea, by the time the party of Sir Wycherly entered the hamlet, its
little street was already crowded with visiters from the fleet; every
vessel having sent at least one boat ashore, and many of them some three
or four. Captain's and gun-room stewards, midshipmen's foragers,
loblolly boys, and other similar harpies, were out in scores; for this
was a part of the world in which bum-boats were unknown; and if the
mountain would not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must fain go to the
mountain. Half an hour had sufficed to exhaust all the unsophisticated
simplicity of the hamlet; and milk, eggs, fresh butter, soft-tommy,
vegetables, and such fruits as were ripe, had already risen quite one
hundred per cent. in the market.

Sir Gervaise had called his force the southern squadron, from the
circumstance of its having been cruising in the Bay of Biscay, for the
last six months. This was a wild winter-station, the danger from the
elements greatly surpassing any that could well be anticipated from the
enemy. The duty notwithstanding had been well and closely performed;
several West India, and one valuable East India convoy having been
effectually protected, as well as a few straggling frigates of the enemy
picked up; but the service had been excessively laborious to all engaged
in it, and replete with privations. Most of those who now landed, had
not trod terra firma for half a year, and it was not wonderful that all
the officers whose duties did not confine them to the vessels, gladly
seized the occasion to feast their senses with the verdure and odours of
their native island. Quite a hundred guests of this character were also
pouring into the street of Wychecombe, or spreading themselves among the
surrounding farm-houses; flirting with the awkward and blushing girls,
and keeping an eye at the same time to the main chance of the
mess-table.

"Our boys have already found out your village, Sir Wycherly, in spite of
the fog," the vice-admiral remarked, good-humouredly, as he cast his
eyes around at the movement of the street; "and the locusts of Egypt
will not come nearer to breeding a famine. One would think there was a
great dinner _in petto_, in every cabin of the fleet, by the number of
the captain's stewards that are ashore, hey! Atwood? I have seen nine of
the harpies, myself, and the other seven can't be far off."

"Here is Galleygo, Sir Gervaise," returned the secretary, smiling;
"though _he_ can scarcely be called a captain's steward, having the
honour to serve a vice-admiral and a commander-in-chief."

"Ay, but _we_ feed the whole fleet at times, and have some excuse for
being a little exacting--harkee, Galleygo--get a horse-cart, and push
off at once, four or five miles further into the country; you might as
well expect to find real pearls in fishes' eyes, as hope to pick up any
thing nice among so many gun-room and cock-pit boys. I dine ashore
to-day, but Captain Greenly is fond of mutton-chops, you'll remember."

This was said kindly, and in the manner of a man accustomed to treat his
domestics with the familiarity of humble friends. Galleygo was as
unpromising a looking butler as any gentleman ashore would be at all
likely to tolerate; but he had been with his present master, and in his
present capacity, ever since the latter had commanded a sloop of war.
All his youth had been passed as a top-man, and he was really a prime
seaman; but accident having temporarily placed him in his present
station, Captain Oakes was so much pleased with his attention to his
duty, and particularly with his order, that he ever afterwards retained
him in his cabin, notwithstanding the strong desire the honest fellow
himself had felt to remain aloft. Time and familiarity, at length
reconciled the steward to his station, though he did not formally accept
it, until a clear agreement had been made that he was not to be
considered an idler on any occasion that called for the services of the
best men. In this manner David, for such was his Christian name, had
become a sort of nondescript on board of a man-of-war; being foremost in
all the cuttings out, a captain of a gun, and was frequently seen on a
yard in moments of difficulty, just to keep his hand in, as he expressed
it, while he descended to the duties of the cabin in peaceable times and
good weather. Near thirty years had he thus been half-steward,
half-seaman when afloat, while on land he was rather a counsellor and
minister of the closet, than a servant; for out of a ship he was utterly
useless, though he never left his master for a week at a time, ashore or
afloat. The name of Galleygo was a _sobriquet_ conferred by his brother
top-men, but had been so generally used, that for the last twenty years
most of his shipmates believed it to be his patronymic. When this
compound of cabin and forecastle received the order just related, he
touched the lock of hair on his forehead, a ceremony he always used
before he spoke to Sir Gervaise, the hat being removed at some three or
four yards' distance, and made his customary answer of--

"Ay-ay-sir--your honour has been a young gentleman yourself, and knows
what a young gentleman's stomach gets to be, a'ter a six months' fast in
the Bay of Biscay; and a young gentleman's _boy's_ stomach, too. I
always thinks there's but a small chance for us, sir, when I sees six or
eight of them light cruisers in my neighbourhood. They're som'mat like
the sloops and cutters of a fleet, which picks up all the prizes."

"Quite true, Master Galleygo; but if the light cruisers get the prizes,
you should recollect that the admiral always has his share of the
prize-money."

"Yes, sir, I knows we has our share, but that's accordin' to law, and
because the commanders of the light craft can't help it. Let 'em once
get the law on their side, and not a ha'pence would bless our pockets!
No, sir, what we gets, we gets by the law; and as there is no law to
fetch up young gentlemen or their boys, that pays as they goes, we never
gets any thing they or their boys puts hands on."

"I dare say you are right, David, as you always are. It wouldn't be a
bad thing to have an Act of Parliament to give an admiral his twentieth
in the reefers' foragings. The old fellows would sometimes get back some
of their own poultry and fruit in that way, hey! Atwood?"

The secretary smiled his assent, and then Sir Gervaise apologized to his
host, repeated the order to the steward, and the party proceeded.

"This fellow of mine, Sir Wycherly, is no respecter of persons, beyond
the etiquette of a man-of-war," the admiral continued, by way of further
excuse. "I believe His Majesty himself would be favoured with an essay
on some part of the economy of the cabin, were Galleygo to get an
opportunity of speaking his mind to him. Nor is the fool without his
expectations of some day enjoying this privilege; for the last lime I
went to court, I found honest David rigged, from stem to stern, in a
full suit of claret and steel, under the idea that he was 'to sail in
company with me,' as he called it, 'with or without signal!'"

"There was nothing surprising in that, Sir Gervaise," observed the
secretary. "Galleygo has sailed in company with you so long, and to so
many strange lands; has been through so many dangers at your side, and
has got so completely to consider himself as part of the family, that it
was the most natural thing in the world he should expect to go to court
with you."

"True enough. The fellow would face the devil, at my side, and I don't
see why he should hesitate to face the king. I sometimes call him Lady
Oakes, Sir Wycherly, for he appears to think he has a right of dower, or
to some other lawyer-like claim on my estate; and as for the fleet, he
always speaks of _that_, as if we commanded it in common. I wonder how
Bluewater tolerates the blackguard; for he never scruples to allude to
him as under _our_ orders! If any thing should befal me, Dick and David
would have a civil war for the succession, hey! Atwood?"

"I think military subordination would bring Galleygo to his senses, Sir
Gervaise, should such an unfortunate accident occur--which Heaven avert
for many years to come! There is Admiral Bluewater coming up the street,
at this very moment, sir."

At this sudden announcement, the whole party turned to look in the
direction intimated by the secretary. It was by this time at one end of
the short street, and all saw a man just entering the other, who, in his
walk, air, attire, and manner, formed a striking contrast to the active,
merry, bustling, youthful young sailors who thronged the hamlet. In
person, Admiral Bluewater was exceedingly tall and exceedingly thin.
Like most seamen who have that physical formation, he stooped; a
circumstance that gave his years a greater apparent command over his
frame, than they possessed in reality. While this bend in his figure
deprived it, in a great measure, of the sturdy martial air that his
superior presented to the observer, it lent to his carriage a quiet and
dignity that it might otherwise have wanted. Certainly, were this
officer attired like an ordinary civilian, no one would have taken him
for one of England's bravest and most efficient sea-captains; he would
have passed rather as some thoughtful, well-educated, and refined
gentleman, of retired habits, diffident of himself, and a stranger to
ambition. He wore an undress rear-admiral's uniform, as a matter of
course; but he wore it carelessly, as if from a sense of duty only; or
conscious that no arrangement could give him a military air. Still all
about his person was faultlessly neat, and perfectly respectable. In a
word, no one but a man accustomed to the sea, were it not for his
uniform, would suspect the rear-admiral of being a sailor; and even the
seaman himself might be often puzzled to detect any other signs of the
profession about him, than were to be found in a face, which, fair,
gentlemanly, handsome, and even courtly as it was, in expression and
outline, wore the tint that exposure invariably stamps on the mariner's
countenance. Here, however, his unseaman-like character ceased. Admiral
Oakes had often declared that "Dick Bluewater knew more about a ship
than any man in England;" and as for a fleet, his mode of man[oe]uvring
one had got to be standard in the service.

As soon as Sir Gervaise recognised his friend, he expressed a wish to
wait for him, which was courteously converted by Sir Wycherly into a
proposition to return and meet him. So abstracted was Admiral Bluewater,
however, that he did not see the party that was approaching him, until
he was fairly accosted by Sir Gervaise, who led the advance by a few
yards.

"Good-day to you, Bluewater," commenced the latter, in his familiar,
off-hand way; "I'm glad you have torn yourself away from your ship;
though I must say the manner in which you came-to, in that fog, was more
like instinct, than any thing human! I determined to tell you as much,
the moment we met; for I don't think there is a ship, half her length
out of mathematical order, notwithstanding the tide runs, here, like a
race-horse."

"That is owing to your captains, Sir Gervaise," returned the other,
observing the respect of manner, that the inferior never loses with his
superior, on service, and in a navy; let their relative rank and
intimacy be what they may on all other occasions; "good captains make
handy ships. Our gentlemen have now been together so long, that they
understand each other's movements; and every vessel in the fleet has her
character as well as her commander!"

"Very true, Admiral Bluewater, and yet there is not another officer in
His Majesty's service, that could have brought a fleet to anchor, in so
much order, and in such a fog; and I ask your leave, sir, most
particularly to thank you for the lesson you have given, not only to the
captains, but to the commander-in-chief. I presume I may admire that
which I cannot exactly imitate."

The rear-admiral merely smiled and touched his hat in acknowledgment of
the compliment, but he made no direct answer in words. By this time Sir
Wycherly and the others had approached, and the customary introductions
took place. Sir Wycherly now pressed his new acquaintance to join his
guests, with so much heartiness, that there was no such thing as
refusing.

"Since you and Sir Gervaise both insist on it so earnestly, Sir
Wycherly," returned the rear-admiral, "I must consent; but as it is
contrary to our practice, when on foreign service--and I call this
roadstead a foreign station, as to any thing we know about it--as it is
contrary to our practice for both flag-officers to sleep out of the
fleet, I shall claim the privilege to be allowed to go off to my ship
before midnight. I think the weather looks settled, Sir Gervaise, and we
may trust that many hours, without apprehension."

"Pooh--pooh--Bluewater, you are always fancying the ships in a gale, and
clawing off a lee-shore. Put your heart at rest, and let us go and take
a comfortable dinner with Sir Wycherly, who has a London paper, I dare
to say, that may let us into some of the secrets of state. Are there any
tidings from our people in Flanders?"

"Things remain pretty much as they have been," returned Sir Wycherly,
"since that last terrible affair, in which the Duke got the better of
the French at--I never can remember an outlandish name; but it sounds
something like a Christian baptism. If my poor brother, St. James, were
living, now, he could tell us all about it."

"Christian baptism! That's an odd allusion for a field of battle. The
armies can't have got to Jerusalem; hey! Atwood?"

"I rather think, Sir Gervaise," the secretary coolly remarked, "that Sir
Wycherly Wychecombe refers to the battle that took place last spring--it
was fought at Font-something; and a font certainly has something to do
with Christian baptism."

"That's it--that's it," cried Sir Wycherly, with some eagerness;
"Fontenoï was the name of the place, where the Duke would have carried
all before him, and brought Marshal Saxe, and all his frog-eaters
prisoners to England, had our Dutch and German allies behaved better
than they did. So it is with poor old England, gentlemen; whatever _she_
gains, her allies always _lose_ for her--the Germans, or the colonists,
are constantly getting us into trouble!"

Both Sir Gervaise and his friend were practical men, and well knew that
they never fought the Dutch or the French, without meeting with
something that was pretty nearly their match. They had no faith in
general national superiority. The courts-martial that so often succeeded
general actions, had taught them that there were all degrees of spirit,
as well as all degrees of a want of spirit; and they knew too much, to
be the dupes of flourishes of the pen, or of vapid declamation at
dinner-speeches, and in the House of Commons. Men, well led and
commanded, they had ascertained by experience, were worth twice as much
as the same men when ill led and ill commanded; and they were not to be
told that the moral tone of an army or a fleet, from which all its
success was derived, depended more on the conventional feeling that had
been got up through moral agencies, than on birth-place, origin, or
colour. Each glanced his eye significantly at the other, and a sarcastic
smile passed over the face of Sir Gervaise, though his friend maintained
his customary appearance of gravity.

"I believe le Grand Monarque and Marshal Saxe give a different account
of that matter, Sir Wycherly," drily observed the former; "and it may be
well to remember that there are two sides to every story. Whatever may
be said of Dettingen, I fancy history will set down Fontenoï as any
thing but a feather in His Royal Highness' cap."

"You surely do not consider it possible for the French arms to overthrow
a British army, Sir Gervaise Oakes!" exclaimed the simple-minded
provincial--for such was Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, though he had sat in
parliament, had four thousand a year, and was one of the oldest families
in England--"It sounds like treason to admit the possibility of such a
thing."

"God bless us, my dear sir, I am as far from supposing any such thing,
as the Duke of Cumberland himself; who, by the way, has as much English
blood in his veins, as the Baltic may have of the water of the
Mediterranean--hey! Atwood? By the way, Sir Wycherly, I must ask a
little tenderness of you in behalf of my friend the secretary, here, who
has a national weakness in favour of the Pretender, and all of the clan
Stuart."

"I hope not--I sincerely hope not, Sir Gervaise!" exclaimed Sir
Wycherly, with a warmth that was not entirely free from alarm; his own
loyalty to the new house being altogether without reproach. "Mr. Atwood
has the air of a gentleman of too good principles not to see on which
side real religious and political liberty lie. I am sure you are pleased
to be jocular, Sir Gervaise; the very circumstance that he is in your
company is a pledge of his loyalty."

"Well, well, Sir Wycherly, I would not give you a false idea of my
friend Atwood, if possible; and so I may as well confess, that, while
his Scotch blood inclines him to toryism, his English reason makes him a
whig. If Charles Stuart never gets the throne until Stephen Atwood helps
him to a seat on it, he may take leave of ambition for ever."

"I thought as much, Sir Gervaise--I thought _your_ secretary could never
lean to the doctrine of 'passive obedience and non-resistance.' That's a
principle which would hardly suit sailors, Admiral Bluewater."

Admiral Bluewater's line, full, blue eye, lighted with an expression
approaching irony; but he made no other answer than a slight inclination
of the head. In point of fact, _he_ was a Jacobite: though no one was
acquainted with the circumstance but his immediate commanding officer.
As a seaman, he was called on only to serve his country; and, as often
happens to military men, he was willing to do this under any superior
whom circumstances might place over his head, let his private sentiments
be what they might. During the civil war of 1715, he was too young in
years, and too low in rank to render his opinions of much importance;
and, kept on foreign stations, his services could only affect the
general interests of the nation, without producing any influence on the
contest at home. Since that period, nothing had occurred to require one,
whose duty kept him on the ocean, to come to a very positive decision
between the two masters that claimed his allegiance. Sir Gervaise had
always been able to persuade him that he was sustaining the honour and
interests of his country, and that ought to be sufficient to a patriot,
let who would rule. Notwithstanding this wide difference in political
feeling between the two admirals--Sir Gervaise being as decided a whig,
as his friend was a tory--their personal harmony had been without a
shade. As to confidence, the superior knew the inferior so well, that he
believed the surest way to prevent his taking sides openly with the
Jacobites, or of doing them secret service, was to put it in his power
to commit a great breach of trust. So long as faith were put in his
integrity, Sir Gervaise felt certain his friend Bluewater might be
relied on; and he also knew that, should the moment ever come when the
other really intended to abandon the service of the house of Hanover, he
would frankly throw up his employments, and join the hostile standard,
without profiting, in any manner, by the trusts he had previously
enjoyed. It is also necessary that the reader should understand that
Admiral Bluewater had never communicated his political opinions to any
person but his friend; the Pretender and his counsellors being as
ignorant of them, as George II. and his ministers. The only practical
effect, therefore, that they had ever produced was to induce him to
decline separate commands, several of which had been offered to him;
one, quite equal to that enjoyed by Sir Gervaise Oakes, himself.

"No," the latter answered to Sir Wycherly's remark; though the grave,
thoughtful expression of his face, showed how little his feelings chimed
in, at the moment, with the ironical language of his tongue. "No--Sir
Wycherly, a man-of-war's man, in particular, has not the slightest idea
of 'passive obedience and non-resistance,'--that is a doctrine which is
intelligible only to papists and tories. Bluewater is in a brown study;
thinking no doubt of the manner in which he intends to lead down on
Monsieur de Gravelin, should we ever have the luck to meet that
gentleman again; so we will, if it's agreeable to all parties, change
the subject."

"With all my heart, Sir Gervaise," answered the baronet, cordially;
"and, after all, there is little use in discussing the affair of the
Pretender any longer, for he appears to be quite out of men's minds,
since that last failure of King Louis XV."

"Yes, Norris rather crushed the young viper in its shell, and we may
consider the thing at an end."

"So my late brother, Baron Wychecombe, always treated it, Sir Gervaise.
He once assured me that the twelve judges were clearly against the
claim, and that the Stuarts had nothing to expect from _them_."

"Did he tell you, sir, on what ground these learned gentlemen had come
to this decision?" quietly asked Admiral Bluewater.

"He did, indeed; for he knew my strong desire to make out a good case
against the tories so well, that he laid all the law before me. I am a
bad hand, however, to repeat even what I hear; though my poor brother,
the late Rev. James Wychecombe--St. James as I used to call him--could
go over a discourse half an hour long, and not miss a word. Thomas and
James appear to have run away with the memories of the rest of the
family. Nevertheless, I recollect it all depended on an act of
Parliament, which is supreme; and the house of Hanover reigning by an
act of Parliament, no court could set aside the claim."

"Very clearly explained, sir," continued Bluewater; "and you will permit
me to say that there was no necessity for an apology on account of the
memory. Your brother, however, might not have exactly explained what an
act of Parliament is. King, Lords, and Commons, are all necessary to an
act of Parliament."

"Certainly--we all know that, my dear admiral; we poor fellows ashore
here, as well as you mariners at sea. The Hanoverian succession had all
three to authorize it."

"Had it a king?"

"A king! Out of dispute--or what we bachelors ought to consider as much
better, it had a _queen_. Queen Anne approved of the act, and that made
it an act of Parliament. I assure you, I learned a good deal of law in
the Baron's visits to Wychecombe; and in the pleasant hours we used to
chat together in his chambers!"

"And who signed the act of Parliament that made Anne a queen? or did she
ascend the throne by regular succession? Both Mary and Anne were
sovereigns by acts of Parliament, and we must look back until we get the
approval of a prince who took the crown by legal descent."

"Come--come, Bluewater," put in Sir Gervaise, gravely; "we may persuade
Sir Wycherly, in this manner, that he has a couple of furious Jacobites
in company. The Stuarts were dethroned by a revolution, which is a law
of nature, and enacted by God, and which of course overshadows all other
laws when it gets into the ascendant, as it clearly has done in this
case. I take it, Sir Wycherly, these are your park-gates, and that
yonder is the Hall."

This remark changed the discourse, and the whole party proceeded towards
the house, discussing the beauty of its position, its history, and its
advantages, until they reached its door.



CHAPTER V.

    "Monarch and ministers, are awful names:
    Whoever wear them, challenge our devoir."

         YOUNG.


Our plan does not require an elaborate description of the residence of
Sir Wycherly. The house had been neither priory, abbey, nor castle; but
it was erected as a dwelling for himself and his posterity, by a Sir
Michael Wychecombe, two or three centuries before, and had been kept in
good serviceable condition ever since. It had the usual long, narrow
windows, a suitable hall, wainscoted rooms, battlemented walls, and
turreted angles. It was neither large, nor small; handsome, nor ugly;
grand, nor mean; but it was quaint, respectable in appearance, and
comfortable as an abode.

The admirals were put each in possession of bed-chambers and
dressing-rooms, as soon as they arrived; and Atwood was _berthed_ not
far from his commanding-officer, in readiness for service, if required.
Sir Wycherly was naturally hospitable; but his retired situation had
given him a zest for company, that greatly increased the inborn
disposition. Sir Gervaise, it was understood, was to pass the night with
him, and he entertained strong hopes of including his friend in the same
arrangement. Beds were ordered, too, for Dutton, his wife, and daughter;
and his namesake, the lieutenant, was expected also to sleep under his
roof, that night.

The day passed in the customary manner; the party having breakfasted,
and then separated to attend to their several occupations, agreeably to
the usages of all country houses, in all parts of the world, and, we
believe, in all time. Sir Gervaise, who had sent a messenger off to the
Plantagenet for certain papers, spent the morning in writing; Admiral
Bluewater walked in the park, by himself; Atwood was occupied with his
superior; Sir Wycherly rode among his labourers; and Tom Wychecombe took
a rod, and pretended to go forth to fish, though he actually held his
way back to the head-land, lingering in and around the cottage until it
was time to return home. At the proper hour, Sir Wycherly sent his
chariot for the ladies; and a few minutes before the appointed moment,
the party began to assemble in the drawing-room.

When Sir Wycherly appeared, he found the Duttons already in possession,
with Tom doing the honours of the house. Of the sailing-master and his
daughter, it is unnecessary to say more than that the former was in his
best uniform--an exceedingly plain one, as was then the case with the
whole naval wardrobe--and that the last had recovered from her illness,
as was evident by the bloom that the sensitive blushes constantly cast
athwart her lovely face. Her attire was exactly what it ought to have
been; neat, simple, and becoming. In honour of the host, she wore her
best; but this was what became her station, though a little jewelry that
rather surpassed what might have been expected in a girl of her rank of
life, threw around her person an air of modest elegance. Mrs. Dutton was
a plain, matronly woman--the daughter of a land-steward of a nobleman in
the same county--with an air of great mental suffering, from griefs she
had never yet exposed to the heartless sympathy of the world.

The baronet was so much in the habit of seeing his humble neighbours,
that an intimacy had grown up between them. Sir Wycherly, who was
anything but an acute observer, felt an interest in the
melancholy-looking, and almost heart-broken mother, without knowing why;
or certainly without suspecting the real character of her habitual
sadness; while Mildred's youth and beauty had not failed of producing
the customary effect of making a friend of the old bachelor. He shook
hands all round, therefore, with great cordiality; expressing his joy at
meeting Mrs. Dutton, and congratulating the daughter on her complete
recovery.

"I see Tom has been attentive to his duty," he added, "while I've been
detained by a silly fellow about a complaint against a poacher. My
namesake, young Wycherly, has not got back yet, though it is quite two
hours past his time; and Mr. Atwood tells me the admiral is a little
uneasy about his despatches. I tell him Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe, though
I have not the honour of ranking him among my relatives, and he is only
a Virginian by birth, is a young man to be relied on; and that the
despatches are safe, let what may detain the courier."

"And why should not a Virginian be every way as trustworthy and prompt
as an Englishman, Sir Wycherly?" asked Mrs. Dutton. "He _is_ an
Englishman, merely separated from us by the water."

This was said mildly, or in the manner of one accustomed to speak under
a rebuked feeling; but it was said earnestly, and perhaps a little
reproachfully, while the speaker's eye glanced with natural interest
towards the beautiful face of her daughter.

"Why not, sure enough, my dear Mrs. Dutton!" echoed the baronet. "They
_are_ Englishmen, like ourselves, only born out of the realm, as it
might be, and no doubt a little different on that account. They are
fellow-subjects, Mrs. Dutton, and that is a great deal. Then they are
miracles of loyalty, there being scarcely a Jacobite, as they tell me,
in all the colonies."

"Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe is a very respectable young gentleman," said
Dutton; "and I hear he is a prime seaman for his years. He has not the
honour of being related to this distinguished family, like Mr. Thomas,
here, it is true; but he is likely to make a name for himself. Should he
get a ship, and do as handsome things in her, as he has done already,
His Majesty would probably knight him; and then we should have _two_ Sir
Wycherly Wychecombes!"

"I hope not--I hope not!" exclaimed the baronet; "I think there must be
a law against _that_. As it is, I shall be obliged to put Bart. after my
name, as my worthy grandfather used to do, in order to prevent
confusion; but England can't bear two Sir Wycherlys, any more than the
world can bear two suns. Is not that your opinion, Miss Mildred?"

The baronet had laughed at his own allusion, showing he spoke half
jocularly; but, as his question was put in too direct a manner to escape
general attention, the confused girl was obliged to answer.

"I dare say Mr. Wychecombe will never reach a rank high enough to cause
any such difficulty," she said; and it was said in all sincerity; for,
unconsciously perhaps, she secretly hoped that no difference so wide
might ever be created between the youth and herself. "If he should, I
suppose his rights would be as good as another's, and he must keep his
name."

"In such a case, which is improbable enough, as Miss Mildred has so well
observed," put in Tom Wychecombe, "we should have to submit to the
_knighthood_, for that comes from the king, who might knight a
chimney-sweep, if he see fit; but a question might be raised as to the
_name_. It is bad enough as it is; but if it really got to be _two_ Sir
Wycherlys, I think my dear uncle would be wrong to submit to such an
invasion of what one might call his individuality, without making some
inquiry as to the right of the gentleman to one or both his names. The
result might show that the king had made a Sir Something Nobody."

The sneer and spite with which this was uttered, were too marked to
escape notice; and both Dutton and his wife felt it would be unpleasant
to mingle farther in the discourse. Still the last, submissive, rebuked,
and heart-broken as she was, felt a glow on her own pale cheek, as she
saw the colour mount in the face of Mildred, and she detected the strong
impulses that urged the generous girl herself to answer.

"We have now known Mr. Wychecombe several months," observed Mildred,
fastening her full, blue eye calmly on Tom's sinister-looking face; "and
we have never known any thing to cause us to think he would bear a
name--or names--that he does not at least think he has a right to."

This was said gently, but so distinctly, that every word entered fairly
into Tom Wychecombe's soul; who threw a quick, suspicious glance at the
lovely speaker, as if to ascertain how far she intended any allusion to
himself. Meeting with no other expression than that of generous
interest, he recovered his self-command, and made his reply with
sufficient coolness.

"Upon my word, Mrs. Dutton," he cried, laughing; "we young men will all
of us have to get over the cliff, and hang dangling at the end of a
rope, in order to awaken an interest in Miss Mildred, to defend us when
our backs are turned. So eloquent--and most especially, so lovely, so
charming an advocate, is almost certain of success; and my uncle and
myself must admit the absent gentleman's right to our name; though,
heaven be praised, he has not yet got either the title or the estate."

"I hope I have said nothing, Sir Wycherly, to displease _you_," returned
Mildred, with emphasis; though her face was a thousand times handsomer
than ever, with the blushes that suffused it. "Nothing would pain me
more, than to suppose I had done so improper a thing. I merely meant
that we cannot believe Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe would willingly take a
name he had no right to."

"My little dear," said the baronet, taking the hand of the distressed
girl, and kissing her cheek, as he had often done before, with fatherly
tenderness; "it is not an easy matter for _you_ to offend _me_; and I'm
sure the young fellow is quite welcome to both my names, if you wish him
to have 'em."

"And I merely meant, Miss Mildred," resumed Tom, who feared he might
have gone too far; "that the young gentleman--quite without any fault of
his own--is probably ignorant how he came by two names that have so long
pertained to the head of an ancient and honourable family. There is many
a young man born, who is worthy of being an earl, but whom the law
considers--" here Tom paused to choose terms suitable for his auditor,
when the baronet added,

"A _filius nullius_--that's the phrase, Tom--I had it from your own
father's mouth."

Tom Wychecombe started, and looked furtively around him, as if to
ascertain who suspected the truth. Then he continued, anxious to regain
the ground he feared he had lost in Mildred's favour.

"_Filius nullius_ means, Miss Mildred, exactly what I wish to express; a
family without any legal origin. They tell me, however, that in the
colonies, nothing is more common than for people to take the names of
the great families at home, and after a while they fancy themselves
related."

"I never heard Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe say a word to lead us to suppose
that he was, in any manner, connected with this family, sir," returned
Mildred, calmly, but quite distinctly.

"Did you ever hear him say he was _not_, Miss Mildred?"

"I cannot say I ever did, Mr. Wychecombe. It is a subject that has
seldom been introduced in my hearing."

"But it has often been introduced in his! I declare, Sir Wycherly, it
has struck me as singular, that while you and I have so very frequently
stated in the presence of this gentleman, that our families are in no
way connected, he has never, in any manner, not even by a nod or a look
of approbation, assented to what he must certainly know to be the case.
But I suppose, like a true colonist, he was unwilling to give up his
hold on the old stock."

Here the entrance of Sir Gervaise Oakes changed the discourse. The
vice-admiral joined the party in good spirits, as is apt to be the case
with men who have been much occupied with affairs of moment, and who
meet relaxation with a consciousness of having done their duty.

"If one could take with him to sea, the comforts of such a house as
this, Sir Wycherly, and such handsome faces as your own, young lady,"
cried Sir Gervaise, cheerfully, after he had made his salutations;
"there would be an end of our exclusiveness, for every _petit maître_ of
Paris and London would turn sailor, as a matter of course. Six months in
the Bay of Biscay gives an old fellow, like myself, a keen relish for
these enjoyments, as hunger makes any meat palatable; though I am far,
very far, indeed, from putting this house or this company, on a level
with an indifferent feast, even for an epicure."

"Such as it is, Sir Gervaise, the first is quite at your service, in all
things," rejoined the host; "and the last will do all in its power to
make itself agreeable."

"Ah--here comes Bluewater to echo all I have said and feel. I am telling
Sir Wycherly and the ladies, of the satisfaction we grampuses experience
when we get berthed under such a roof as this, with woman's sweet face
to throw a gleam of happiness around her."

Admiral Bluewater had already saluted the mother, but when his eye fell
on the face and person of Mildred, it was riveted, for an instant, with
an earnestness and intentness of surprise and admiration that all noted,
though no one saw fit to comment on it.

"Sir Gervaise is so established an admirer of the sex," said the
rear-admiral, recovering himself, after a pause; "that I am never
astonished at any of his raptures. Salt water has the usual effect on
him, however; for I have now known him longer than he might wish to be
reminded of, and yet the only mistress who can keep him true, is his
ship."

"And to that I believe I may be said to be constant. I don't know how it
is with you, Sir Wycherly, but every thing I am accustomed to I like.
Now, here I have sailed with both these gentlemen, until I should as
soon think of going to sea without a binnacle, as to go to sea without
'em both--hey! Atwood? Then, as to the ship, my flag has been flying in
the Plantagenet these ten years, and I can't bear to give the old craft
up, though Bluewater, here, would have turned her over to an inferior
after three years' service. I tell all the young men they don't stay
long enough in any one vessel to find out her good qualities. I never
was in a slow ship yet."

"For the simple reason that you never get into a fast one, that you do
not wear her fairly out, before you give her up. The Plantagenet, Sir
Wycherly, is the fastest two-decker in His Majesty's service, and the
vice-admiral knows it too well to let any of us get foot in her, while
her timbers will hang together."

"Let it be so, if you will; it only shows, Sir Wycherly, that I do not
choose my friends for their bad qualities. But, allow me to ask, young
lady, if you happen to know a certain Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe--a
namesake, but no relative, I understand, of our respectable host--and
one who holds a commission in His Majesty's service?"

"Certainly, Sir Gervaise," answered Mildred, dropping her eyes to the
floor, and trembling, though she scarce knew why; "Mr. Wychecombe has
been about here, now, for some months, and we all know something of
him."

"Then, perhaps you can tell me whether he is generally a loiterer on
duty. I do not inquire whether he is a laggard in his duty to you, but
whether, mounted on a good hunter, he could get over twenty miles, in
eight or ten hours, for instance?"

"I think Sir Wycherly would tell you that he could, sir."

"He may be a Wychecombe, Sir Wycherly, but he is no Plantagenet, in the
way of sailing. Surely the young gentleman ought to have returned some
hours since!"

"It's quite surprising to me that he is not back before this," returned
the kind-hearted baronet. "He is active, and understands himself, and
there is not a better horseman in the county--is there, Miss Mildred?"

Mildred did not think it necessary to reply to this direct appeal; but
spite of the manner in which she had been endeavouring to school her
feelings, since the accident on the cliff, she could not prevent the
deadly paleness that dread of some accident had produced, or the rush of
colour to her cheeks that followed from the unexpected question of Sir
Wycherly. Turning to conceal her confusion, she met the eye of Tom
Wychecombe riveted on her face, with an expression so sinister, that it
caused her to tremble. Fortunately, at this moment, Sir Gervaise turned
away, and drawing near his friend, on the other side of the large
apartment, he said in an under tone--

"Luckily, Atwood has brought ashore a duplicate of my despatches,
Bluewater, and if this dilatory gentleman does not return by the time we
have dined, I will send off a second courier. The intelligence is too
important to be trifled with; and after having brought the fleet north,
to be in readiness to serve the state in this emergency, it would be
rare folly to leave the ministry in ignorance of the reasons why I have
done it."

"Nevertheless, they would be almost as well-informed, as I am myself,"
returned the rear-admiral, with a little point, but quite without any
bitterness of manner. "The only advantage I have over them is that I
_do_ know where the fleet is, which is more than the First Lord can
boast of."

"True--I had forgot, my friend--but you must feel that there _is_ a
subject on which I had better not consult you. I have received some
important intelligence, that my duty, as a commander-in-chief, renders
it necessary I should--keep to myself."

Sir Gervaise laughed as he concluded, though he seemed vexed and
embarrassed. Admiral Bluewater betrayed neither chagrin, nor
disappointment; but strong, nearly ungovernable curiosity, a feeling
from which he was singularly exempt in general, glowed in his eyes, and
lighted his whole countenance. Still, habitual submission to his
superior, and the self-command of discipline, enabled him to wait for
any thing more that his friend might communicate. At this moment, the
door opened, and Wycherly entered the room, in the state in which he had
just dismounted. It was necessary to throw but a single glance at his
hurried manner, and general appearance, to know that he had something of
importance to communicate, and Sir Gervaise made a sign for him not to
speak.

"This is public service, Sir Wycherly," said the vice-admiral, "and I
hope you will excuse us for a few minutes. I beg this good company will
be seated at table, as soon as dinner is served, and that you will treat
us as old friends--as I should treat you, if we were on board the
Plantagenet. Admiral Bluewater, will you be of our conference?"

Nothing more was said until the two admirals and the young lieutenant
were in the dressing-room of Sir Gervaise Oakes. Then the latter turned,
and addressed Wycherly, with the manner of a superior.

"I should have met you with a reproof, for this delay, young gentleman,"
he commenced, "did I not suspect, from your appearance, that something
of moment has occurred to produce it. Had the mail passed the
market-town, before you reached it, sir?"

"It had not, Admiral Oakes; and I have the satisfaction of knowing that
your despatches are now several hours on their way to London. I reached
the office just in season to see them mailed."

"Humph! On board the Plantagenet, it is the custom for an officer to
report any important duty done, as soon as it is in a condition to be
thus laid before the superior!"

"I presume that is the usage in all His Majesty's ships, Sir Gervaise
Oakes: but I have been taught that a proper discretion, when it does not
interfere with positive orders, and sometimes when it does, is a surer
sign of a useful officer, than even the most slavish attention to
rules."

"That is a just distinction, young gentleman, though safer in the hands
of a captain, perhaps, than in those of a lieutenant," returned the
vice-admiral, glancing at his friend, though he secretly admired the
youth's spirit. "Discretion is a comparative term; meaning different
things with different persons. May I presume to ask what Mr. Wycherly
Wychecombe calls discretion, in the present instance?"

"You have every right, sir, to know, and I only wanted your permission
to tell my whole story. While waiting to see the London mail start with
your despatches, and to rest my horse, a post-chaise arrived that was
carrying a gentleman, who is suspected of being a Jacobite, to his
country-seat, some thirty miles further west. This gentleman held a
secret conference with another person of the same way of thinking as
himself; and there was so much running and sending of messages, that I
could not avoid suspecting something was in the wind. Going to the
stable to look after Sir Wycherly's hunter, for I knew how much he
values the animal, I found one of the stranger's servants in discourse
with the ostler. The latter told me, when the chaise had gone, that
great tidings had reached Exeter, before the travellers quitted the
town. These tidings he described as news that 'Charley was no longer
over the water.' It was useless, Sir Gervaise, to question one so
stupid; and, at the inn, though all observed the manner of the traveller
and his visiter, no one could tell me any thing positive. Under the
circumstances, therefore, I threw myself into the return chaise, and
went as far as Fowey, where I met the important intelligence that Prince
Charles has actually landed, and is at this moment up, in Scotland!"

"The Pretender is then really once more among us!" exclaimed Sir
Gervaise, like one who had half suspected the truth.

"Not the Pretender, Sir Gervaise, as I understand the news; but his
young son, Prince Charles Edward, one much more likely to give the
kingdom trouble. The fact is certain, I believe; and as it struck me
that it might be important to the commander of so fine a fleet as this
which lies under Wychecombe Head, to know it, I lost no time in getting
back with the intelligence."

"You have done well, young gentleman, and have proved that discretion
_is_ quite as useful and respectable in a lieutenant, as it can possibly
prove to be in a full admiral of the white. Go, now, and make yourself
fit to take a seat by the side of one of the sweetest girls in England,
where I shall expect to see you, in fifteen minutes. Well, Bluewater,"
he continued, as soon as the door closed on Wycherly; "this _is_ news,
of a certainty!"

"It is, indeed; and I take it to be the news, or connected with the
news, that you have sent to the First Lord, in the late despatches. It
has not taken you altogether by surprise, if the truth were said?"

"It has not, I confess. You know what excellent intelligence we have
had, the past season, from the Bordeaux agent; he sent me off such
proofs of this intended expedition, that I thought it advisable to bring
the fleet north on the strength of it, that the ships might be used as
the exigency should require."

"Thank God, it is a long way to Scotland, and it is not probable we can
reach the coast of that country until all is over! I wish we had
inquired of this young man with what sort of, and how large a naval
force the prince was accompanied with. Shall I send for him, that we may
put the question?"

"It is better that you remain passive, Admiral Bluewater. I now promise
you that you shall learn all I hear; and that, under the circumstances,
I think ought to content you."

The two admirals now separated, though neither returned to the company
for some little time. The intelligence they had just learned was too
important to be lightly received, and each of these veteran seamen paced
his room, for near a quarter of an hour, reflecting on what might be the
probable consequences to the country and to himself. Sir Gervaise Oakes
expected some event of this nature, and was less taken by surprise than
his friend; still he viewed the crisis as exceedingly serious, and as
one likely to destroy the prosperity of the nation, as well as the peace
of families. There was then in England, as there is to-day, and as there
probably will be throughout all time, two parties; one of which clung to
the past with its hereditary and exclusive privileges, while the other
looked more towards change for anticipated advantages, and created
honours. Religion, in that age, was made the stalking-horse of
politicians; as is liberty on one side, and order on the other, in our
own times; and men just as blindly, as vehemently, and as regardlessly
of principle, submitted to party in the middle of the eighteenth
century, as we know they do in the middle of the nineteenth. The mode of
acting was a little changed, and the watchwords and rallying points were
not exactly the same, it is true; but, in all that relates to ignorant
confidence, ferocious denunciation, and selfishness but half concealed
under the cloak of patriotism, the England of the original whigs and
tories, was the England of conservatism and reform, and the America of
1776, the America of 1841.

Still thousands always act, in political struggles, with the fairest
intentions, though they act in bitter opposition to each other. When
prejudice becomes the stimulant of ignorance, no other result may be
hoped for; and the experience of the world, in the management of human
affairs, has left the upright and intelligent, but one conclusion as the
reward of all the pains and penalties with which political revolutions
have been effected--the conviction that no institutions can be invented,
which a short working does not show will be perverted from their
original intention, by the ingenuity of those entrusted with power. In a
word, the physical constitution of man does not more infallibly tend to
decrepitude and imbecility, imperiously requiring a new being, and a new
existence, to fulfil the objects of his creation, than the moral
constitutions which are the fruits of his wisdom, contain the seeds of
abuses and decay, that human selfishness will be as certain to
cultivate, as human indulgence is to aid the course of nature, in
hastening the approaches of death. Thus, while on the one hand, there
exists the constant incentive of abuses and hopes to induce us to wish
for modifications of the social structure, on the other there stands the
experience of ages to demonstrate their insufficiency to produce the
happiness we aim at. If the world advances in civilization and humanity,
it is because knowledge will produce its fruits in every soil, and under
every condition of cultivation and improvement.

Both Sir Gervaise Oakes and Admiral Bluewater believed themselves to be
purely governed by principles, in submitting to the bias that each felt
towards the conflicting claims of the houses of Brunswick and Stuart.
Perhaps no two men in England were in fact less influenced by motives
that they ought to feel ashamed to own; and yet, as has been seen, while
they thought so much alike on most other things, on this they were
diametrically opposed to each other. During the many years of arduous
and delicate duties that they had served together, jealousy, distrust,
and discontent had been equally strangers to their bosoms; for each had
ever felt the assurance that his own honour, happiness, and interests
were as much ruling motives with his friend, as they could well be with
himself Their lives had been constant scenes of mutual but unpretending
kindnesses; and this under circumstances that naturally awakened all the
most generous and manly sentiments of their natures. When young men,
their laughing messmates had nick-named them Pylades and Orestes; and
later in life, on account of their cruising so much in company, they
were generally known in the navy as the "twin captains." On several
occasions had they fought enemies' frigates, and captured them; on these
occasions, as a matter of course, the senior of the two became most
known to the nation; but Sir Gervaise had made the most generous efforts
to give his junior a full share of the credit, while Captain Bluewater
never spoke of the affairs without mentioning them as victories of the
commodore. In a word, on all occasions, and under all circumstances, it
appeared to be the aim of these generous-minded and gallant seamen, to
serve each other; nor was this attempted with any effort, or striving
for effect; all that was said, or done, coming naturally and
spontaneously from the heart. But, for the first time in their lives,
events had now occurred which threatened a jarring of the feelings
between them, if they did not lead to acts which must inevitably place
them in open and declared hostility to each other. No wonder, then, that
both looked at the future with gloomy forebodings, and a distrust,
which, if it did not render them unhappy, at least produced uneasiness.



CHAPTER VI.

    "The circle form'd, we sit in silent state,
    Like figures drawn upon a dial-plate;
    Yes ma'am, and no ma'am, uttered softly show,
    Every five minutes how the minutes go."

         COWPER.


It is scarcely necessary to tell the reader that England, as regarded
material civilization, was a very different country a hundred years
since, from what it is to-day. We are writing of an age of heavy wagons,
coaches and six, post-chaises and four; and not of an era of
MacAdam-roads, or of cars flying along by steam. A man may now post down
to a country-house, some sixty or eighty miles, to dinner; and this,
too, by the aid of only a pair of horses; but, in 1745 such an
engagement would have required at least a start on the previous day;
and, in many parts of the island, it would have been safer to have taken
two days' grace. Scotland was then farther from Devonshire, in effect,
than Geneva is now; and news travelled slowly, and with the usual
exaggerations and uncertainties of delay. It was no wonder, then, that a
Jacobite who was posting off to his country-house--the focus of an
English landlord's influence and authority--filled with intelligence
that had reached him through the activity of zealous political
partisans, preceded the more regular tidings of the mail, by several
hours. The little that had escaped this individual, or his servants
rather, for the gentleman was tolerably discreet himself, confiding in
only one or two particular friends at each relay, had not got out to the
world, either very fully, or very clearly. Wycherly had used
intelligence in making his inquiries, and he had observed an officer's
prudence in keeping his news for the ears of his superior alone. When
Sir Gervaise joined the party in the drawing-room, therefore, he saw
that Sir Wycherly knew nothing of what had occurred at the north; and he
intended the glance which he directed at the lieutenant to convey a
hearty approval of his discretion. This forbearance did more to raise
the young officer in the opinion of the practised and thoughtful
admiral, than the gallantry with which the youth had so recently
purchased his commission; for while many were brave, few had the
self-command, and prudence, under circumstances like the present, that
alone can make a man safe in the management of important public
interests. The approbation that Sir Gervaise felt, and which he desired
to manifest, for Wycherly's prudence, was altogether a principle,
however; since there existed no sufficient reason for keeping the secret
from as confirmed a whig as his host. On the contrary, the sooner those
opinions, which both of them would be apt to term sound, were
promulgated in the neighbourhood, the better it might prove for the good
cause. The vice-admiral, therefore, determined to communicate himself,
as soon as the party was seated at table, the very secret which he so
much commended the youth for keeping. Admiral Bluewater joining the
company, at this instant, Sir Wycherly led Mrs. Dutton to the table. No
alteration had taken place among the guests, except that Sir Gervaise
wore the red riband; a change in his dress that his friend considered to
be openly hoisting the standard of the house of Hanover.

"One would not think, Sir Wycherly," commenced the vice-admiral,
glancing his eyes around him, as soon as all were sealed; "that this
good company has taken its place at your hospitable table, in the midst
of a threatened civil war, if not of an actual revolution."

Every hand was arrested, and every eye turned towards the speaker; even
Admiral Bluewater earnestly regarding his friend, anxious to know what
would come next.

"I believe my household is in due subjection," answered Sir Wycherly,
gazing to the right and left, as if he expected to see his butler
heading a revolt; "and I fancy the only change we shall see to-day, will
be the removal of the courses, and the appearance of their successors."

"Ay, so says the hearty, comfortable Devonshire baronet, while seated at
his own board, favoured by abundance and warm friends. But it would seem
the snake was only scotched; not killed."

"Sir Gervaise Oaken has grown figurative; with his _snakes_ and
_scotch_ings," observed the rear-admiral, a little drily.

"It is _Scotch_-ing, as you say with so much emphasis, Bluewater. I
suppose, Sir Wycherly--I suppose, Mr. Dutton, and you, my pretty young
lady--I presume all of you have heard of such a person as the
Pretender;--some of you may possibly have _seen_ him."

Sir Wycherly now dropt his knife and fork, and sat gazing at the speaker
in amazement. To him the Christian religion, the liberties of the
subject--more especially of the baronet and lord of the manor, who had
four thousand a year--and the Protestant succession, all seemed to be in
sudden danger.

"I always told my brother, the judge--Mr. Baron Wychecombe, who is dead
and gone--that what between the French, that rogue the Pope, and the
spurious offspring of King James II., we should yet see troublesome
times in England! And now, sir, my predictions are verified!"

"Not as to England, yet, my good sir. Of Scotland I have not quite so
good news to tell you; as your namesake, here, brings us the tidings
that the son of the Pretender has landed in that kingdom, and is
rallying the clans. He has come unattended by any Frenchmen, it would
seem, and has thrown himself altogether on the misguided nobles and
followers of his house."

"'Tis, at least, a chivalrous and princely act!" exclaimed Admiral
Bluewater.

"Yes--inasmuch as it is a heedless and mad one. England is not to be
conquered by a rabble of half-dressed Scotchmen."

"True; but England may be conquered by England, notwithstanding."

Sir Gervaise now chose to remain silent, for never before had Bluewater
come so near betraying his political bias, in the presence of third
persons. This pause enabled Sir Wycherly to find his voice.

"Let me see, Tom," said the baronet, "fifteen and ten are twenty-five,
and ten are thirty, and ten are forty-five--it is just thirty years
since the Jacobites were up before! It would seem that half a human life
is not sufficient to fill the cravings of a Scotchman's maw, for English
gold."

"Twice thirty years would hardly quell the promptings of a noble spirit,
when his notions of justice showed him the way to the English throne,"
observed Bluewater, coolly. "For my part, I like the spirit of this
young prince, for he who nobly dares, nobly deserves. What say you, my
beautiful neighbour?"

"If you mean to address me, sir, by that compliment," answered Mildred,
modestly, but with the emphasis that the gentlest of her sex are apt to
use when they feel strongly; "I must be suffered to say that I hope
every Englishman will dare as nobly, and deserve as well in defence of
his liberties."

"Come--come, Bluewater," interrupted Sir Gervaise, with a gravity that
almost amounted to reproof; "I cannot permit such innuendoes before one
so young and unpractised. The young lady might really suppose that His
Majesty's fleet was entrusted to men unworthy to enjoy his confidence,
by the cool way in which you carry on the joke. I propose, now, Sir
Wycherly, that we eat our dinner in peace, and say no more about this
mad expedition, until the cloth is drawn, at least. It's a long road to
Scotland, and there is little danger that this adventurer will find his
way into Devonshire before the nuts are placed before us."

"It would be nuts to us, if he did, Sir Gervaise," put in Tom Wycherly,
laughing heartily at his own wit. "My uncle would enjoy nothing more
than to see the spurious sovereign on his own estate, here, and in the
hands of his own tenants. I think, sir, that Wychecombe and one or two
of the adjoining manors, would dispose of him."

"That might depend on circumstances," the admiral answered, a little
drily. "These Scots have such a thing as a claymore, and are desperate
fellows, they tell me, at a charge. The very fact of arming a soldier
with a short sword, shows a most bloody-minded disposition."

"You forget, Sir Gervaise, that we have our Cornish hug, here in the
west of England; and I will put our fellows against any Scotch regiment
that ever charged an enemy."

Tom laughed again at his own allusion to a proverbial mode of grappling,
familiar to the adjoining county.

"This is all very well, Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, so long as Devonshire is
in the west of England, and Scotland lies north of the Tweed. Sir
Wycherly might as well leave the matter in the hands of the Duke and his
regulars, if it were only in the way of letting every man follow his own
trade."

"It strikes me as so singularly insolent in a base-born boy like this,
pretending to the English crown, that I can barely speak of him with
patience! We all know that his father was a changeling, and the son of a
changeling can have no more right than the father himself. I do not
remember what the law terms such pretenders; but I dare say it is
something sufficiently odious."

"_Filius nullius_, Thomas," said Sir Wycherly, with a little eagerness
to show his learning. "That's the very phrase. I have it from the first
authority; my late brother, Baron Wychecombe, giving it to me with his
own mouth, on an occasion that called for an understanding of such
matters. The judge was a most accurate lawyer, particularly in all that
related to names; and I'll engage, if he were living at this moment, he
would tell you the legal appellation of a changeling ought to be _filius
nullius_."

In spite of his native impudence, and an innate determination to make
his way in the world, without much regard to truth, Tom Wychecombe felt
his cheek burn so much, at this innocent allusion of his reputed uncle,
that he was actually obliged to turn away his face, in order to conceal
his confusion. Had any moral delinquency of his own been implicated in
the remark, he might have found means to steel himself against its
consequences; but, as is only too often the case, he was far more
ashamed of a misfortune over which he had no possible control, than he
would have been of a crime for which he was strictly responsible in
morals. Sir Gervaise smiled at Sir Wycherly's knowledge of law terms,
not to say of Latin; and turning good-humouredly to his friend the
rear-admiral, anxious to re-establish friendly relations with him, he
said with well-concealed irony--

"Sir Wycherly must be right, Bluewater. A changeling is _nobody_--that
is to say, he is not the _body_ he pretends to be, which is
substantially being nobody--and the son of nobody, is clearly a _filius
nullius_. And now having settled what may be called the law of the case,
I demand a truce, until we get our nuts--for as to Mr. Thomas
Wychecombe's having _his_ nut to crack, at least to-day, I take it there
are too many loyal subjects in the north."

When men know each other as well as was the case with our two admirals,
there are a thousand secret means of annoyance, as well as of
establishing amity. Admiral Bluewater was well aware that Sir Gervaise
was greatly superior to the vulgar whig notion of the day, which
believed in the fabricated tale of the Pretender's spurious birth; and
the secret and ironical allusion he had made to his impression on that
subject, acted as oil to his own chafed spirit, disposing him to
moderation. This had been the intention of the other; and the smiles
they exchanged, sufficiently proved that their usual mental intercourse
was temporarily restored at least.

Deference to his guests made Sir Wycherly consent to change the subject,
though he was a little mystified with the obvious reluctance of the two
admirals to speak of an enterprise that ought to be uppermost, according
to his notion of the matter, in every Englishman's mind. Tom had
received a rebuke that kept him silent during the rest of the dinner;
while the others were content to eat and drink, as if nothing had
happened.

It is seldom that a party takes its seat at table without some secret
man[oe]uvring, as to the neighbourhood, when the claims of rank and
character do not interfere with personal wishes. Sir Wycherly had placed
Sir Gervaise on his right and Mrs. Dutton on his left. But Admiral
Bluewater had escaped from his control, and taken his seat next to
Mildred, who had been placed by Tom Wychecombe close to himself, at the
foot of the table. Wycherly occupied the seat opposite, and this
compelled Dutton, and Mr. Rotherham, the vicar, to fill the other two
chairs. The good baronet had made a wry face, at seeing a rear-admiral
so unworthily bestowed; but Sir Gervaise assuring him that his friend
was never so happy as when in the service of beauty, he was fain to
submit to the arrangement.

That Admiral Bluewater was struck with Mildred's beauty, and pleased
with her natural and feminine manner, one altogether superior to what
might have been expected from her station in life, was very apparent to
all at table; though it was quite impossible to mistake his parental and
frank air for any other admiration than that which was suitable to the
difference in years, and in unison with their respective conditions and
experience. Mrs. Dutton, so far from taking the alarm at the
rear-admiral's attentions, felt gratification in observing them; and
perhaps she experienced a secret pride in the consciousness of their
being so well merited. It has been said, already, that she was, herself,
the daughter of a land-steward of a nobleman, in an adjoining county;
but it may be well to add, here, that she had been so great a favourite
with the daughters of her father's employer, as to have been admitted,
in a measure, to their society; and to have enjoyed some of the
advantages of their education. Lady Wilmeter, the mother of the young
ladies, to whom she was admitted as a sort of humble companion, had
formed the opinion it might be an advantage to the girl to educate her
for a governess; little conceiving, in her own situation, that she was
preparing a course of life for Martha Ray, for such was Mrs. Dutton's
maiden name, that was perhaps the least enviable of all the careers that
a virtuous and intelligent female can run. This was, as education and
governesses were appreciated a century ago; the world, with all its
faults and sophisms, having unquestionably made a vast stride towards
real civilization, and moral truths, in a thousand important interests,
since that time. Nevertheless, the education was received, together with
a good many tastes, and sentiments, and opinions, which it may well be
questioned, whether they contributed most to the happiness or
unhappiness of the pupil, in her future life. Frank Dutton, then a
handsome, though far from polished young sea-lieutenant, interfered with
the arrangement, by making Martha Ray his wife, when she was
two-and-twenty. This match was suitable, in all respects, with the
important exception of the educations and characters of the parties.
Still, as a woman may well be more refined, and in some things, even
more intelligent than her husband; and as sailors, in the commencement
of the eighteenth century, formed a class of society much more distinct
than they do to-day, there would have been nothing absolutely
incompatible with the future well-being of the young couple, had each
pursued his, or her own career, in a manner suitable to their respective
duties. Young Dutton took away his bride, with the two thousand pounds
she had received from her father, and for a long time he was seen no
more in his native county. After an absence of some twenty years,
however, he returned, broken in constitution, and degraded in rank. Mrs.
Dutton brought with her one child, the beautiful girl introduced to the
reader, and to whom she was studiously imparting all she had herself
acquired in the adventitious manner mentioned. Such were the means, by
which Mildred, like her mother, had been educated above her condition in
life; and it had been remarked that, though Mrs. Dutton had probably no
cause to felicitate herself on the possession of manners and sentiments
that met with so little sympathy, or appreciation, in her actual
situation, she assiduously cultivated the same manners and opinions in
her daughter; frequently manifesting a sort of sickly fastidiousness on
the subject of Mildred's deportment and tastes. It is probable the girl
owed her improvement in both, however, more to the circumstance of her
being left so much alone with her mother, than to any positive lessons
she received; the influence of example, for years, producing its usual
effects.

No one in Wychecombe positively knew the history of Dutton's
professional degradation. He had never risen higher than to be a
lieutenant; and from this station he had fallen by the sentence of a
court-martial. His restoration to the service, in the humbler and almost
hopeless rank of a master, was believed to have been brought about by
Mrs. Dutton's influence with the present Lord Wilmeter, who was the
brother of her youthful companions. That the husband had wasted his
means, was as certain as that his habits, on the score of temperance at
least, were bad, and that his wife, if not positively broken-hearted,
was an unhappy woman; one to be pitied, and admired. Sir Wycherly was
little addicted to analysis, but he could not fail to discover the
superiority of the wife and daughter, over the husband and father; and
it is due to his young namesake to add, that his obvious admiration of
Mildred was quite as much owing to her mind, deportment, character, and
tastes, as to her exceeding personal charms.

This little digression may perhaps, in the reader's eyes, excuse the
interest Admiral Bluewater took in our heroine. With the indulgence of
years and station, and the tact of a man of the world, he succeeded in
drawing Mildred out, without alarming her timidity; and he was surprised
at discovering the delicacy of her sentiments, and the accuracy of her
knowledge. He was too conversant with society, and had too much good
taste, to make any deliberate parade of opinions; but in the quiet
manner that is so easy to those who are accustomed to deal with truths
and tastes as familiar things, he succeeded in inducing her to answer
his own remarks, to sympathize with his feelings, to laugh when he
laughed, and to assume a look of disapproval, when he felt that
disapprobation was just. To all this Wycherly was a delighted witness,
and in some respects he participated in the conversation; for there was
evidently no wish on the part of the rear-admiral to monopolize his
beautiful companion to himself. Perhaps the position of the young man,
directly opposite to her, aided in inducing Mildred to bestow so many
grateful looks and sweet smiles, on the older officer; for she could not
glance across the table, without meeting the admiring gaze of Wycherly,
fastened on her own blushing face.

It is certain, if our heroine did not, during this repast, make a
conquest of Admiral Bluewater, in the ordinary meaning of the term, that
she made him a friend. Sir Gervaise, even, was struck with the singular
and devoted manner in which his old messmate gave all his attention to
the beautiful girl at his side; and, once or twice, he caught himself
conjecturing whether it were possible, that one as practised, as
sensible, and as much accustomed to the beauties of the court, as
Bluewater, had actually been caught, by the pretty face of a country
girl, when so well turned of fifty, himself! Then discarding the notion
as preposterous, he gave his attention to the discourse of Sir Wycherly;
a dissertation on rabbits, and rabbit-warrens. In this manner the dinner
passed away.

Mrs. Dutton asked her host's permission to retire, with her daughter, at
the earliest moment permitted by propriety. In quitting the room she
cast an anxious glance at the face of her husband, which was already
becoming flushed with his frequent applications of port; and spite of an
effort to look smiling and cheerful, her lips quivered, and by the time
she and Mildred reached the drawing-room, tears were fast falling down
her cheeks. No explanation was asked, or needed, by the daughter, who
threw herself into her mother's arms, and for several minutes they wept
together, in silence. Never had Mrs. Dutton spoken, even to Mildred, of
the besetting and degrading vice of her husband; but it had been
impossible to conceal its painful consequences from the world; much less
from one who lived in the bosom of her family. On that failing which the
wife treated so tenderly, the daughter of course could not touch; but
the silent communion of tears had got to be so sweet to both, that,
within the last year, it was of very frequent occurrence.

"Really, Mildred," said the mother, at length, after having succeeded in
suppressing her emotion, and in drying her eyes, while she smiled fondly
in the face of the lovely and affectionate girl; "this Admiral Bluewater
is getting to be so particular, I hardly know how to treat the matter."

"Oh! mother, he is a delightful old gentleman! and he is so gentle,
while he is so frank, that he wins your confidence almost before you
know it. I wonder if he could have been serious in what he said about
the noble daring and noble deserving of Prince Edward!"

"That must pass for trifling, of course; the ministry would scarcely
employ any but a true whig, in command of a fleet. I saw several of his
family, when a girl, and have always heard them spoken of with esteem
and respect. Lord Bluewater, this gentleman's cousin, was very intimate
with the present Lord Wilmeter, and was often at the castle. I remember
to have heard that he had a disappointment in love, when quite a young
man, and that he has ever since been considered a confirmed bachelor. So
you will take heed, my love."

"The warning was unnecessary, dear mother," returned Mildred, laughing;
"I could dote on the admiral as a father, but must be excused from
considering him young enough for a nearer tie."

"And yet he has the much admired profession, Mildred," said the mother,
smiling fondly, and yet a little archly. "I have often heard you speak
of your passion for the sea."

"That was formerly, mother, when I spoke as a sailor's daughter, and as
girls are apt to speak, without much reflection. I do not know that I
think better of a seaman's profession, now, than I do of any other. I
fear there is often much misery in store for soldiers' and sailors'
wives."

Mrs. Dutton's lip quivered again; but hearing a foot at the door, she
made an effort to be composed, just as Admiral Bluewater entered.

"I have run away from the bottle, Mrs. Dutton, to join you and your fair
daughter, as I would run from an enemy of twice my force," he said,
giving each lady a hand, in a manner so friendly, as to render the act
more than gracious; for it was kind. "Oakes is bowsing out his jib with
his brother baronet, as we sailors say, and I have hauled out of the
line, without a signal."

"I hope Sir Gervaise Oakes does not consider it necessary to drink more
wine than is good for the mind and body," observed Mrs. Dutton, with a
haste that she immediately regretted.

"Not he. Gervaise Oakes is as discreet a man, in all that relates to the
table, as an anchorite; and yet he has a faculty of _seeming_ to drink,
that makes him a boon companion for a four-bottle man. How the deuce he
does it, is more than I can tell you; but he does it so well, that he
does not more thoroughly get the better of the king's enemies, on the
high seas, than he floors his friends under the table. Sir Wycherly has
begun his libations in honour of the house of Hanover, and they will be
likely to make a long sitting."

Mrs. Dutton sighed, and walked away to a window, to conceal the paleness
of her cheeks. Admiral Bluewater, though perfectly abstemious himself,
regarded license with the bottle after dinner, like most men of that
age, as a very venial weakness, and he quietly took a seat by the side
of Mildred, and began to converse.

"I hope, young lady, as a sailor's child, you feel an hereditary
indulgence for a seaman's gossip," he said. "We, who are so much shut up
in our ships, have a poverty of ideas on most subjects; and as to always
talking of the winds and waves, that would fatigue even a poet."

"As a sailor's daughter, I honour my father's calling, sir; and as an
English girl, I venerate the brave defenders of the island. Nor do I
know that seamen have less to say, than other men."

"I am glad to hear you confess this, for--shall I be frank with you, and
take a liberty that would better become a friend of a dozen years, than
an acquaintance of a day;--and, yet, I know not why it is so, my dear
child, but I feel as if I had long known you, though I am certain we
never met before."

"Perhaps, sir, it is an omen that we are long to know each other, in
future," said Mildred, with the winning confidence of unsuspecting and
innocent girlhood. "I hope you will use no reserve."

"Well, then, at the risk of making a sad blunder, I will just say, that
'my nephew Tom' is any thing but a prepossessing youth; and that I hope
all eyes regard him exactly as he appears to a sailor of fifty-five."

"I cannot answer for more than those of a girl of nineteen, Admiral
Bluewater," said Mildred, laughing; "but, for her, I think I may say
that she does not look on him as either an Adonis, or a Crichton."

"Upon my soul! I am right glad to hear this, for the fellow has
accidental advantages enough to render him formidable. He is the heir to
the baronetcy, and this estate, I believe?"

"I presume he is. Sir Wycherly has no other nephew--or at least this is
the eldest of three brothers, I am told--and, being childless himself,
it _must_ be so. My father tells me Sir Wycherly speaks of Mr. Thomas
Wychecombe as his future heir."

"Your father!--Ay, fathers look on these matters with eyes very
different from their daughters!"

"There is one thing about seamen that renders them at least safe
acquaintances," said Mildred, smiling; "I mean their frankness."

"That is a failing of mine, as I have heard. But you will pardon an
indiscretion that arises in the interest I feel in yourself. The eldest
of three brothers--is the lieutenant, then, a younger son?"

"_He_ does not belong to the family at all, I believe," Mildred
answered, colouring slightly, in spite of a resolute determination to
appear unconcerned. "Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe is no relative of our host,
I hear; though he bears both of his names. He is from the colonies; born
in Virginia."

"_He_ is a noble, and a noble-looking fellow! Were I the baronet, I
would break the entail, rather than the acres should go to that
sinister-looking nephew, and bestow them on the namesake. From Virginia,
and not even a relative, at all?"

"That is what Mr. Thomas Wychecombe says; and even Sir Wycherly confirms
it. I have never heard Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe speak on the subject,
himself."

"A weakness of poor human nature! The lad finds an honourable, ancient,
and affluent family here, and has not the courage to declare his want of
affinity to it; happening to bear the same name."

Mildred hesitated about replying; but a generous feeling got the better
of her diffidence. "I have never seen any thing in the conduct of Mr.
Wycherly Wychecombe to induce me to think that he feels any such
weakness," she said, earnestly. "He seems rather to take pride in, than
to feel ashamed of, his being a colonial; and you know, we, in England,
hardly look on the people of the colonies as our equals."

"And have you, young lady, any of that overweening prejudice in favour
of your own island?"

"I hope not; but I think most persons have. Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe
admits that Virginia is inferior to England, in a thousand things; and
yet he seems to take pride in his birth-place."

"Every sentiment of this nature is to be traced to self. We know that
the fact is irretrievable, and struggle to be proud of what we cannot
help. The Turk will tell you he has the honour to be a native of
Stamboul; the Parisian will boast of his Faubourg; and the cockney
exults in Wapping. Personal conceit lies at the bottom of all; for we
fancy that places to which _we_ belong, are not places to be ashamed
of."

"And yet I do not think Mr. Wycherly at all remarkable for conceit. On
the contrary, he is rather diffident and unassuming."

This was said simply, but so sincerely, as to induce the listener to
fasten his penetrating blue eye on the speaker, who now first took the
alarm, and felt that she might have said too much. At this moment the
two young men entered, and a servant appeared to request that Admiral
Bluewater would do Sir Gervaise Oakes the favour to join him, in the
dressing-room of the latter.

Tom Wychecombe reported the condition of the dinner-table to be such, as
to render it desirable for all but three and four-bottle men to retire.
Hanoverian toasts and sentiments were in the ascendant, and there was
every appearance that those who remained intended to make a night of it.
This was sad intelligence for Mrs. Dutton, who had come forward eagerly
to hear the report, but who now returned to the window, apparently
irresolute as to the course she ought to take. As both the young men
remained near Mildred, she had sufficient opportunity to come to her
decision, without interruption, or hindrance.



CHAPTER VII.

              ----"Somewhat we will do.
    And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me
    The earldom of Hereford, and all the moveables
    Whereof the king my brother was possessed."

         RICHARD III.


Rear-Admiral Bluewater found Sir Gervaise Oakes pacing a large
dressing-room, quarter-deck fashion, with as much zeal, as if just
released from a long sitting, on official duty, in his own cabin. As the
two officers were perfectly familiar with each other's personal habits,
neither deviated from his particular mode of indulging his ease; but the
last comer quietly took his seat in a large chair, disposing of his
person in a way to show he intended to consult his comfort, let what
would happen.

"Bluewater," commenced Sir Gervaise, "this is a very foolish affair of
the Pretender's son, and can only lead to his destruction. I look upon
it as altogether unfortunate."

"That, as it may terminate. No man can tell what a day, or an hour, may
bring forth. I am sure, such a rising was one of the last things _I_
have been anticipating, down yonder, in the Bay of Biscay."

"I wish, with all my heart, we had never left it," muttered Sir
Gervaise, so low that his companion did not hear him. Then he added, in
a louder tone, "_Our_ duty, however, is very simple. We have only to
obey orders; and it seems that the young man has no naval force to
sustain him. We shall probably be sent to watch Brest, or l'Orient, or
some other port. Monsieur must be kept in, let what will happen."

"I rather think it would be better to let him out, our chances on the
high seas being at least as good as his own. I am no friend to
blockades, which strike me as an un-English mode of carrying on a war."

"You are right enough, Dick, in the main," returned Sir Gervaise,
laughing.

"Ay, and _on_ the main, Oakes. I sincerely hope the First Lord will not
send a man like you, who are every way so capable of giving an account
of your enemy with plenty of sea-room, on duly so scurvy as a blockade."

"A man like _me_! Why a man like _me_ in particular? I trust I am to
have the pleasure of Admiral Bluewater's company, advice and
assistance?"

"An inferior never can know, Sir Gervaise, where it may suit the
pleasure of his superiors to order him."

"That distinction of superior and inferior, Bluewater, will one day lead
you into a confounded scrape, I fear. If you consider Charles Stuart
your sovereign, it is not probable that orders issued by a servant of
King George will be much respected. I hope you will do nothing hastily,
or without consulting your oldest and truest friend!"

"You know my sentiments, and there is little use in dwelling on them,
now. So long as the quarrel was between my own country and a foreign
land, I have been content to serve; but when my lawful prince, or his
son and heir, comes in this gallant and chivalrous manner, throwing
himself, as it might be, into the very arms of his subjects, confiding
all to their loyalty and spirit; it makes such an appeal to every nobler
feeling, that the heart finds it difficult to repulse. I could have
joined Norris, with right good will, in dispersing and destroying the
armament that Louis XV. was sending against us, in this very cause; but
here every thing is English, and Englishmen have the quarrel entirely to
themselves. I do not see how, as a loyal subject of my hereditary
prince, I can well refrain from joining his standard."

"And would _you_, Dick Bluewater, who, to my certain knowledge, were
sent on board ship at twelve years of age, and who, for more than forty
years, have been a man-of-war's-man, body and soul; would you now strip
your old hulk of the sea-blue that has so long covered and become it,
rig yourself out like a soldier, with a feather in your hat,--ay,
d----e, and a camp-kettle on your arm, and follow a drummer, like one of
your kinsmen, Lord Bluewater's fellows of the guards?--for of sailors,
your lawful prince, as you call him, hasn't enough to stopper his
conscience, or to whip the tail of his coat, to keep it from being torn
to tatters by the heather of Scotland. If you _do_ follow the
adventurer, it must be in some such character, since I question if he
can muster a seaman, to tell him the bearings of London from Perth."

"When I join him, he will be better off."

"And what could even _you_ do alone, among a parcel of Scotchmen,
running about their hills under bare poles? Your signals will not
man[oe]uvre regiments, and as for man[oe]uvring in any other manner, you
know nothing. No--no; stay where you are, and help an old friend with
knowledge that is useful to him.--I should be afraid to do a dashing
thing, unless I felt the certainty of having you in my van, to strike
the first blow; or in my rear, to bring me off, handsomely.

"You would be afraid of nothing, Gervaise Oakes, whether I stood at your
elbow, or were off in Scotland. Fear is not your failing, though
temerity may be."

"Then I want your presence to keep me within the bounds of reason," said
Sir Gervaise, stopping short in his walk, and looking his friend
smilingly in the face. "In some mode, or other, I always need your aid."

"I understand the meaning of your words, Sir Gervaise, and appreciate
the feeling that dictates them. You must have a perfect conviction that
I will do nothing hastily, and that I will betray no trust. When I turn
my back on King George, it will be loyalty, in one sense, whatever he
may think of it in another; and when I join Prince Charles Edward, it
will be with a conscience that he need not be ashamed to probe. What
names he bears! They are the designations of ancient English sovereigns,
and ought of themselves, to awaken the sensibilities of Englishmen."

"Ay, Charles in particular," returned the vice-admiral, with something
like a sneer. "There's the second Charles, for instance--St. Charles, as
our good host, Sir Wycherly, might call him--he is a pattern prince for
Englishmen to admire. Then his father was of the school of the
Star-Chamber martyrs!"

"Both were lineal descendants of the Conqueror, and of the Saxon
princes; and both united the double titles to the throne, in their
sacred persons. I have always considered Charles II. as the victim of
the rebellious conduct of his subjects, rather than vicious. He was
driven abroad into a most corrupt state of society, and was perverted by
our wickedness. As to the father, he was the real St. Charles, and a
martyred saint he was; dying for true religion, as well as for his legal
rights. Then the Edwards--glorious fellows!--remember that they were all
but one Plantagenets; a name, of itself, to rouse an Englishman's fire!"

"And yet the only difference between the right of these very
Plantagenets to the throne, and that of the reigning prince, is, that
one produced a revolution by the strong hand, and the other was produced
by a revolution that came from the nation. I do not know that your
Plantagenets ever did any thing for a navy; the only real source of
England's power and glory. D----e, Dick, if I think so much of your
Plantagenets, after all!"

"And yet the name of Oakes is to be met with among their bravest
knights, and most faithful followers."

"The Oakes, like the pines, have been timbers in every ship that has
floated," returned the vice-admiral, half-unconscious himself, of the
pun he was making.

For more than a minute Sir Gervaise continued his walk, his head a
little inclined forward, like a man who pondered deeply on some matter
of interest. Then, suddenly stopping, he turned towards his friend, whom
he regarded for near another minute, ere he resumed the discourse.

"I wish I could fairly get you to exercise your excellent reason on this
matter, Dick," he said, after the pause; "then I should be certain of
having secured you on the side of liberty."

Admiral Bluewater merely shook his head, but he continued silent, as if
he deemed discussion altogether supererogatory. During this pause, a
gentle tap at the door announced a visiter; and, at the request to
enter, Atwood made his appearance. He held in his hand a large package,
which bore on the envelope the usual stamp that indicated it was sent on
public service.

"I beg pardon, Sir Gervaise," commenced the secretary, who always
proceeded at once to business, when business was to be done; "but His
Majesty's service will not admit of delay. This packet has just come to
hand, by the arrival of an express, which left the admiralty only
yesterday noon."

"And how the devil did he know where to find me!" exclaimed the
vice-admiral, holding out a hand to receive the communication.

"It is all owing to this young lieutenant's forethought in following up
the Jacobite intelligence to a market-town. The courier was bound to
Falmouth, as fast as post-horses could carry him, when he heard,
luckily, that the fleet lay at anchor, under Wychecombe Head; and, quite
as luckily, he is an officer who had the intelligence to know that you
would sooner get the despatches, if he turned aside, and came hither by
land, than if he went on to Falmouth, got aboard the sloop that was to
sail with him, for the Bay of Biscay, and came round here by water."

Sir Gervaise smiled at this sally, which was one in keeping with all
Atwood's feelings; for the secretary had matured a system of expresses,
which, to his great mortification, his patron laughed at, and the
admiralty entirely overlooked. No time was lost, however, in the way of
business; the secretary having placed the candles on a table, where Sir
Gervaise took a chair, and had already broken a seal. The process of
reading, nevertheless, was suddenly interrupted by the vice-admiral's
looking up, and exclaiming--

"Why, you are not about to leave us, Bluewater?"

"You may have private business with Mr. Atwood, Sir Gervaise, and
perhaps I had better retire."

Now, it so happened that while Sir Gervaise Oakes had never, by look or
syllable, as he confidently believed, betrayed the secret of his
friend's Jacobite propensities, Atwood was perfectly aware of their
existence. Nor had the latter obtained his knowledge by any unworthy
means. He had been neither an eavesdropper, nor an inquirer into private
communications, as so often happens around the persons of men in high
trusts; all his knowledge having been obtained through native sagacity
and unavoidable opportunities. On the present occasion, the secretary,
with the tact of a man of experience, felt that his presence might be
dispensed with; and he cut short the discussion between the two
admirals, by a very timely remark of his own.

"I have left the letters uncopied, Sir Gervaise," he said, "and will go
and finish them. A message by Locker"--this was Sir Gervaise's
body-servant--"will bring me back at a moment's notice, should you need
me again to-night."

"That Atwood has a surprising instinct, for a Scotchman!" exclaimed the
vice-admiral, as soon as the door was closed on the secretary. "He not
only knows when he _is_ wanted, but when he is _not_ wanted. The last is
an extraordinary attainment, for one of his nation."

"And one that an Englishman may do well to emulate," returned Bluewater.
"It is possible my company may be dispensed with, also, just at this
important moment."

"You are not so much afraid of the Hanoverians, Dick, as to run away
from their hand-writing, are ye? Ha--what's this?--As I live, a packet
for yourself, and directed to 'Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Bluewater, K.B.'
By the Lord, my old boy, they've given you the red riband at last! This
is an honour well earned, and which may be fitly worn."

"'Tis rather unexpected, I must own. The letter, however, cannot be
addressed to me, as I am not a Knight of the Bath."

"This is rank nonsense. Open the packet, at once, or I will do it for
you. Are there two Dick Bluewaters in the world, or another rear-admiral
of the same name?"

"I would rather not receive a letter that does not strictly bear my
address," returned the other, coldly.

"As I'll be sworn this does. But hand it to me, since you are so
scrupulous, and I will do that small service for you."

As this was said, Sir Gervaise tore aside the seals; and, as he
proceeded rather summarily, a red riband was soon uncased and fell upon
the carpet. The other usual insignia of the Bath made their appearance,
and a letter was found among them, to explain the meaning of all. Every
thing was in due form, and went to acquaint Rear-Admiral Bluewater, that
His Majesty had been graciously pleased to confer on him one of the
vacant red ribands of the day, as a reward for his eminent services on
different occasions. There was even a short communication from the
premier, expressing the great satisfaction of the ministry in thus being
able to second the royal pleasure with hearty good will.

"Well, what do you think of that, Richard Bluewater?" asked Sir
Gervaise, triumphantly. "Did I not always tell you, that sooner or
later, it _must_ come?"

"It has come too late, then," coldly returned the other, laying the
riband, jewels, and letters, quietly on the table. "This is an honour, I
can receive, _now_, only from my rightful prince. None other can legally
create a knight of the Bath."

"And pray, Mr. Richard Bluewater, who made you a captain, a commander, a
rear-admiral? Do you believe me an impostor, because I wear this riband
on authority no better than that of the house of Hanover? Am I, or am I
not, in your judgment, a vice-admiral of the red?"

"I make a great distinction, Oakes, between rank in the navy, and a mere
personal dignity. In the one case, you serve your country, and give
quite as much as you receive; whereas, in the other, it is a grace to
confer consideration on the person honoured, without such an equivalent
as can find an apology for accepting a rank illegally conferred."

"The devil take your distinctions, which would unsettle every thing, and
render the service a Babel. If I am a vice-admiral of the red, I am a
knight of the Bath; and, if you are a rear-admiral of the white, you are
also a knight of that honourable order. All comes from the same source
of authority, and the same fountain of honour."

"I do not view it thus. Our commissions are from the admiralty, which
represents the country; but dignities come from the prince who happens
to reign, let _his_ title be what it may."

"Do you happen to think Richard III. a usurper, or a lawful prince?"

"A usurper, out of all question; and a murderer to boot. His name should
be struck from the list of English kings. I never hear it, without
execrating him, and his deeds."

"Pooh--pooh, Dick, this is talking more like a poet than a seaman. If
only one-half the sovereigns who deserve to be execrated had their names
erased, the list of even our English kings would be rather short; and
some countries would be without historical kings at all. However much
Richard III. may deserve cashiering in this summary manner, his peers
and laws are just as good as any other prince's peers and laws. Witness
the Duke of Norfolk, for instance."

"Ay, that cannot be helped by me; but it _is_ in my power to prevent
Richard Bluewater's being made a knight or the Bath, by George II.; and
the power shall be used."

"It would seem not, as he is already created; and I dare to say,
gazetted."

"The oaths are not yet taken, and it is, at least, an Englishman's
birth-right, to decline an honour; if, indeed, this can be esteemed an
honour, at all."

"Upon my word, Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Bluewater, you are disposed to
be complimentary, to-night! The unworthy knight present, and all the
rest of the order, are infinitely indebted to you!"

"Your case and mine, Oakes, are essentially different," returned the
other, with some emotion in his voice and manner. "Your riband was
fairly won, fighting the battles of England, and can be worn with credit
to yourself and to your country; but these baubles are sent to me, at a
moment when a rising was foreseen, and as a sop to keep me in
good-humour, as well as to propitiate the whole Bluewater interest."

"That is pure conjecture, and I dare say will prove to be altogether a
mistake. Here are the despatches to speak for themselves; and, as it is
scarcely possible that the ministry should have known of this rash
movement of the Pretender's son, more than a few days, my life on it,
the dates will show that your riband was bestowed before the enterprise
was even suspected."

As Sir Gervaise commenced, with his constitutional ardour, to turn over
the letters, as soon as his mind was directed to this particular object,
Admiral Bluewater resumed his seat, awaiting the result, with not a
little curiosity; though, at the same time, with a smile of incredulity.
The examination disappointed Sir Gervaise Oakes. The dates proved that
the ministers were better informed than he had supposed; for it appeared
they had been apprised about the time he was himself of the intended
movement. His orders were to bring the fleet north, and in substance to
do the very thing his own sagacity had dictated. So far every thing was
well; and he could not entertain a doubt about receiving the hearty
approbation of his superiors, for the course he had taken. But here his
gratification ended; for, on looking at the dates of the different
communications, it was evident that the red riband was bestowed after
the intelligence of the Pretender's movement had reached London. A
private letter, from a friend at the Board of Admiralty, too, spoke of
his own probable promotion to the rank of admiral of the blue; and
mentioned several other similar preferments, in a way to show that the
government was fortifying itself, in the present crisis, as much as
possible, by favours. This was a politic mode of procedure, with
ordinary men, it is true; but with officers of the elevation of mind,
and of the independence of character of our two admirals, it was most
likely to produce disgust.

"D--n 'em, Dick," cried Sir Gervaise, as he threw down the last letter
of the package, with no little sign of feeling; "you might take St.
Paul, or even Wychecombe's dead brother, St. James the Less, and put him
at court, and he would come out a thorough blackguard, in a week!"

"That is not the common opinion concerning a court education," quietly
replied the friend; "most people fancying that the place gives
refinement of manners, if not of sentiment."

"Poh--poh--you and I have no need of a dictionary to understand each
other. I call a man who never trusts to a generous motive--who thinks it
always necessary to bribe or cajole--who has no idea of any thing's
being done without its direct _quid pro quo_, a scurvy blackguard,
though he has the airs and graces of Phil. Stanhope, or Chesterfield, as
he is now. What do you think those chaps at the Board, talk of doing, by
way of clinching my loyalty, at this blessed juncture?"

"No doubt to get you raised to the peerage. I see nothing so much out of
the way in the thing. You are of one of the oldest families of England,
and the sixth baronet by inheritance, and have a noble landed estate,
which is none the worse for prize-money. Sir Gervaise Oakes of Bowldero,
would make a very suitable Lord Bowldero."

"If it were only that, I shouldn't mind it; for nothing is easier than
to refuse a peerage. I've done _that_ twice already, and can do it a
third time, at need. But one can't very well refuse promotion in his
regular profession; and, here, just as a true gentleman would depend on
the principles of an officer, the hackneyed consciences of your
courtiers have suggested the expediency of making Gervaise Oakes an
admiral of the blue, by way of sop!--me, who was made vice-admiral of
the red, only six months since, and who take an honest pride in boasting
that every commission, from the lowest to the highest, has been fairly
earned in battle!"

"They think it a more delicate service, perhaps, for a gentleman to be
true to the reigning house, when so loud an appeal is made to his
natural loyalty; and therefore class the self-conquest with a victory at
sea!"

"They are so many court-lubbers, and I should like to have an
opportunity of speaking my mind to them. I'll not take the new
commission; for every one must see, Dick, that it is a sop."

"Ay, that's just my notion, too, about the red riband; and I'll not take
_that_. You have had the riband these ten years, have declined the
peerage twice, and their only chance is the promotion. Take it you
ought, and must, however, as it will be the means of pushing on some
four or five poor devils, who have been wedged up to honours, in this
manner, ever since they were captains. I am glad they do not talk of
promoting _me_, for I should hardly know how to refuse such a grace.
There is great virtue in parchment, with all us military men."

"Still it must be parchment fairly won. I think you are wrong,
notwithstanding, Bluewater, in talking of refusing the riband, which is
so justly your due, for a dozen different acts. There is not a man in
the service, who has been less rewarded for what he has done, than
yourself."

"I am sorry to hear you give this as your opinion; for just at this
moment, I would rather think that I have no cause of complaint, in this
way, against the reigning family, or its ministers. I'm sure I was
posted when quite a young man, and since that time, no one has been
lifted over my head."

The vice-admiral looked intently at his friend; for never before had he
detected a feeling which betrayed, as he fancied, so settled a
determination in him to quit the service of the powers that were.
Acquainted from boyhood with all the workings of the other's mind, he
perceived that the rear-admiral had been endeavouring to persuade
himself that no selfish or unworthy motive could be assigned to an act
which he felt to proceed from disinterested chivalry, just as he himself
broke out with his expression of an opinion that no officer had been
less liberally rewarded for his professional services than his friend.
While there is no greater mystery to a selfish manager, than a man of
disinterested temperament, they who feel and submit to generous
impulses, understand each other with an instinctive facility. When any
particular individual is prone to believe that there is a predominance
of good over evil in the world he inhabits, it is a sign of
inexperience, or of imbecility; but when one acts and reasons as if
_all_ honour and virtue are extinct, he furnishes the best possible
argument against his own tendencies and character. It has often been
remarked that stronger friendships are made between those who have
different personal peculiarities, than between those whose sameness of
feeling and impulses would be less likely to keep interest alive; but,
in all cases of intimacies, there must be great identity of principles,
and even of tastes in matters at all connected with motives, in order to
ensure respect, among those whose standard of opinion is higher than
common, or sympathy among those with whom it is lower. Such was the
fact, as respected Admirals Oakes and Bluewater. No two men could be
less alike in temperament, or character, physically, and in some senses,
morally considered; but, when it came to principles, or all those tastes
or feelings that are allied to principles, there was a strong native, as
well as acquired affinity. This union of sentiment was increased by
common habits, and professional careers so long and so closely united,
as to be almost identical. Nothing was easier, consequently, than for
Sir Gervaise Oakes to comprehend the workings of Admiral Bluewater's
mind, as the latter endeavoured to believe he had been fairly treated by
the existing government. Of course, the reasoning which passed through
the thoughts of Sir Gervaise, on this occasion, required much less time
than we have taken to explain its nature; and, after regarding his
friend intently, as already related, for a few seconds, he answered as
follows; a good deal influenced, unwittingly to himself, with the wish
to check the other's Jacobite propensities.

"I am sorry not to be able to agree with you, Dick," he said, with some
warmth. "So far from thinking you _well_ treated, by any ministry, these
twenty years, I think you have been very _ill_ treated. Your rank you
have, beyond a question; for of that no brave officer can well be
deprived in a regulated service; but, have you had the _commands_ to
which you are entitled?--I was a commander-in-chief when only a
rear-admiral of the blue; and then how long did I wear a broad pennant,
before I got a flag at all!"

"You forget how much I have been with you. When two serve together, one
must command, and the other must obey. So far from complaining of these
Hanoverian Boards, and First Lords, it seems to me that they have always
kept in view the hollowness of their claims to the throne, and have felt
a desire to purchase honest men by their favours."

"You are the strangest fellow, Dick Bluewater, it has ever been my lot
to fall in with! D----e me, if I believe you know always, when you _are_
ill treated. There are a dozen men in service, who have had separate
commands, and who are not half as well entitled to them, as you are
yourself."

"Come, come, Oakes, this is getting to be puerile, for two old fellows,
turned of fifty. You very well know that I was offered just as good a
fleet, as this of your own, with a choice of the whole list of
flag-officers below me, to pick a junior from; and, so, we'll say no
more about it. As respects their red riband, however, it may go
a-begging for me."

Sir Gervaise was about to answer in his former vein, when a tap at the
door announced the presence of another visiter. This time the door
opened on the person of Galleygo, who had been included in Sir
Wycherly's hospitable plan of entertaining every soul who immediately
belonged to the suite of Sir Gervaise.

"What the d----l has brought _you_ here!" exclaimed the vice-admiral, a
little warmly; for he did not relish an interruption just at this
moment. "Recollect you're not on board the Plantagenet, but in the
dwelling of a gentleman, where there are both butler and housekeeper,
and who have no occasion for your advice, or authority, to keep things
in order."

"Well, there, Sir Gervaise I doesn't agree with you the least bit; for I
thinks as a ship's steward--I mean a _cabin_ steward, and a good 'un of
the quality--might do a great deal of improvement in this very house.
The cook and I has had a partic'lar dialogue on them matters, already;
and I mentioned to her the names of seven different dishes, every one of
which she quite as good as admitted to me, was just the same as so much
gospel to _her_."

"I shall have to quarantine this fellow, in the long run, Bluewater! I
do believe if I were to take him to Lambeth Palace, or even to St.
James's, he'd thrust his oar into the archbishop's benedictions, or the
queen's caudle-cup!"

"Well, Sir Gervaise, where would be the great harm, if I did? A man as
knows the use of an oar, may be trusted with one, even in a church, or
an abbey. When your honour comes to hear what the dishes was, as Sir
Wycherly's cook had never heard on, you'll think it as great a cur'osity
as I do myself. If I had just leave to name 'em over, I think as both
you gentlemen would look at it as remarkable."

"What are they, Galleygo?" inquired Bluewater, putting one of his long
legs over an arm of the adjoining chair, in order to indulge himself in
a yarn with his friend's steward, with greater freedom; for he greatly
delighted in Galleygo's peculiarities; seeing just enough of the fellow
to find amusement, without annoyance in them. "I'll answer for Sir
Gervaise, who is always a little diffident about boasting of the
superiority of a ship, over a house."

"Yes, your honour, that he is--that is just one of Sir Jarvy's weak
p'ints, as a body might say. Now, I never goes ashore, without trimming
sharp up, and luffing athwart every person's hawse, I fall in with;
which is as much as to tell 'em, I belongs to a flag-ship, and a racer,
and a craft as hasn't her equal on salt-water; no disparagement to the
bit of bunting at the mizzen-topgallant-mast-head of the Cæsar, or to
the ship that carries it. I hopes, as we are so well acquainted, Admiral
Bluewater, no offence will be taken."

"Where none is meant, none ought to be taken, my friend. Now let us hear
your bill-of-fare."

"Well, sir, the very first dish I mentioned to Mrs. Larder, Sir
Wycherly's cook, was lobscous; and, would you believe it, gentlemen, the
poor woman had never heard of it! I began with a light hand, as it might
be, just not to overwhelm her with knowledge, at a blow, as Sir Jarvy
captivated the French frigate with the upper tier of guns, that he might
take her alive, like."

"And the lady knew nothing of a lobscous--neither of its essence, nor
nature?"

"There's no essences as is ever put in a lobscous, besides potaties,
Admiral Bluewater; thof we make 'em in the old Planter"--_nautice_ for
Plantagenet--"in so liquorish a fashion, you might well think they even
had Jamaiky, in 'em. No, potaties is the essence of lobscous; and a very
good thing is a potatie, Sir Jarvy, when a ship's company has been on
salted oakum for a few months."

"Well, what was the next dish the good woman broke down under?" asked
the rear-admiral, fearful the master might order the servant to quit the
room; while he, himself, was anxious to get rid of any further political
discussion.

"Well, sir, she knowed no more of a chowder, than if the sea wern't in
the neighbourhood, and there wern't such a thing as a fish in all
England. When I talked to her of a chowder, she gave in, like a Spaniard
at the fourth or fifth broadside."

"Such ignorance is disgraceful, and betokens a decline in civilization!
But, you hoisted out more knowledge for her benefit, Galleygo--small
doses of learning are poor things."

"Yes, your honour; just like weak grog--burning the priming, without
starting the shot. To be sure, I did, Admiral Blue. I just named to her
burgoo, and then I mentioned duff (_anglice_ dough) to her, but she
denied that there was any such things in the cookery-book. Do you know,
Sir Jarvy, as these here shore craft get their dinners, as our master
gets the sun; all out of a book as it might be. Awful tidings, too,
gentlemen, about the Pretender's son; and I s'pose we shall have to take
the fleet up into Scotland, as I fancy them 'ere sogers will not make
much of a hand in settling law?"

"And have you honoured us with a visit, just to give us an essay on
dishes, and to tell us what you intend to do with the fleet?" demanded
Sir Gervaise, a little more sternly than he was accustomed to speak to
the steward.

"Lord bless you, Sir Jarvy, I didn't dream of one or t'other! As for
telling you, or Admiral Blue, (so the seamen used to call the second in
rank,) here, any thing about lobscous, or chowder, why, it would be
carrying coals to New Market. I've fed ye both with all such articles,
when ye was nothing but young gentlemen; and when you was no longer
young gentlemen, too, but a couple of sprightly luffs, of nineteen. And
as for moving the fleet, I know, well enough, that will never happen,
without our talking it over in the old Planter's cabin; which is a much
more nat'ral place for such a discourse, than any house in England!"

"May I take the liberty of inquiring, then, what _did_ bring you here?"

"That you may, with all my heart, Sir Jarvy, for I likes to answer your
questions. My errand is not to your honour this time, though you are my
master. It's no great matter, after all, being just to hand this bit of
a letter over to Admiral Blue."

"And where did this letter come from, and how did it happen to fall into
your hands?" demanded Bluewater, looking at the superscription, the
writing of which he appeared to recognise.

"It hails from Lun'nun, I hear; and they tell me it's to be a great
secret that you've got it, at all. The history of the matter is just
this. An officer got in to-night, with orders for us, carrying sail as
hard as his shay would bear. It seems he fell in with Master Atwood, as
he made his land-fall, and being acquainted with that gentleman, he just
whipped out his orders, and sent 'em off to the right man. Then he laid
his course for the landing, wishing to get aboard of the Dublin, to
which he is ordered; but falling in with our barge, as I landed, he
wanted to know the where-away of Admiral Blue, here; believing him to be
afloat. Some 'un telling him as I was a friend and servant of both
admirals, as it might be, he turned himself over to me for advice. So I
promised to deliver the letter, as I had a thousand afore, and knowed
the way of doing such things; and he gives me the letter, under special
orders, like; that is to say, it was to be handed to the rear-admiral as
it might be under the lee of the mizzen-stay-sail, or in a private
fashion. Well, gentlemen, you both knows I understand that, too, and so
I undertook the job."

"And I have got to be so insignificant a person that I pass for no one,
in your discriminating mind, Master Galleygo!" exclaimed the
vice-admiral, sharply. "I have suspected as much, these five-and-twenty
years."

"Lord bless you, Sir Jarvy, how flag-officers will make mistakes
sometimes! They're mortal, I says to the people of the galley, and have
their appetites false, just like the young gentlemen, when they get
athwart-hawse of a body, I says. Now, I count Admiral Blue and yourself
pretty much as one man, seeing that you keep few, or no secrets from
each other. I know'd ye both as young gentlemen, and then you loved one
another like twins; and then I know'd ye as luffs, when ye'd walk the
deck the whole watch, spinning yarns; and then I know'd ye as Pillardees
and Arrestee, though one pillow might have answered for both; and as for
Arrest, I never know'd either of ye to got into that scrape. As for
telling a secret to one, I've always looked upon it as pretty much
telling it to t'other."

The two admirals exchanged glances, and the look of kindness that each
met in the eyes of his friend removed every shadow that had been cast
athwart their feelings, by the previous discourse.

"That will do, Galleygo," returned Sir Gervaise, mildly. "You're a good
fellow in the main, though a villanously rough one--"

"A little of old Boreus, Sir Jarvy," interrupted the steward, with a
grim smile: "but it blows harder at sea than it does ashore. These chaps
on land, ar'n't battened down, and caulked for such weather, as we sons
of Neptun' is obligated to face."

"Quite true, and so good-night. Admiral Bluewater and myself wish to
confer together, for half an hour; all that it is proper for you to
know, shall be communicated another time."

"Good-night, and God bless your honour. Good-night, Admiral Blue: we
three is the men as can keep any secret as ever floated, let it draw as
much water as it pleases."

Sir Gervaise Oakes stopped in his walk, and gazed at his friend with
manifest interest, as he perceived that Admiral Bluewater was running
over his letter for the third time. Being now without a witness, he did
not hesitate to express his apprehensions.

"'Tis as I feared, Dick!" he cried. "That letter is from some prominent
partisan of Edward Stuart?"

The rear-admiral turned his eyes on the face of his friend, with an
expression that was difficult to read; and then he ran over the contents
of the epistle, for the fourth time.

"A set of precious rascals they are, Gervaise!" at length the
rear-admiral exclaimed. "If the whole court was culled, I question if
enough honesty could be found to leaven one puritan scoundrel. Tell me
if you know this hand, Oakes? I question if you ever saw it before."

The superscription of the letter was held out to Sir Gervaise, who,
after a close examination, declared himself unacquainted with the
writing.

"I thought as much," resumed Bluewater, carefully tearing the signature
from the bottom of the page, and burning it in a candle; "let this
disgraceful part of the secret die, at least. The fellow who wrote this,
has put 'confidential' at the top of his miserable scrawl: and a most
confident scoundrel he is, for his pains. However, no man has a right to
thrust himself, in this rude manner, between me and my oldest friend;
and least of all will I consent to keep this piece of treachery from
your knowledge. I do more than the rascal merits in concealing his name;
nevertheless, I shall not deny myself the pleasure of sending him such
an answer as he deserves. Read that, Oakes, and then say if keelhauling
would be too good for the writer."

Sir Gervaise took the letter in silence, though not without great
surprise, and began to peruse it. As he proceeded, the colour mounted to
his temples, and once he dropped his hand, to cast a look of wonder and
indignation towards his companion. That the reader may see how much
occasion there was for both these feelings, we shall give the
communication entire. It was couched in the following words:

     "DEAR ADMIRAL BLUEWATER:

     "Our ancient friendship, and I am proud to add, affinity of blood,
     unite in inducing me to write a line, at this interesting moment.
     Of the result of this rash experiment of the Pretender's son, no
     prudent man can entertain a doubt. Still, the boy may give us some
     trouble, before he is disposed of altogether. We look to all our
     friends, therefore, for their most efficient exertions, and most
     prudent co-operation. On _you_, every reliance is placed; and I
     wish I could say as much for _every flag-officer afloat_. Some
     distrust--unmerited, I sincerely hope--exists in a very high
     quarter, touching the loyalty of a certain commander-in-chief, who
     is so completely under your observation, that it is felt enough is
     done in hinting the fact to one of your political tendencies. The
     king said, this morning, 'Vell, dere isht Bluevater; of _him_ we
     are shure asht of ter sun.' You stand excellently well _there_, to
     my great delight; and I need only say, be watchful and prompt.

     "Yours, with the most sincere faith and attachment, my dear
     Bluewater, &c., &c.

     "REAR-ADMIRAL BLUEWATER.

     "P. S.--I have just heard that they have sent you the red riband.
     The king himself, was in this."

When Sir Gervaise had perused this precious epistle to himself, he read
it slowly, and in a steady, clear voice, aloud. When he had ended, he
dropped the paper, and stood gazing at his friend.

"One would think the fellow some exquisite satirist," said Bluewater,
laughing. "_I_ am to be vigilant, and see that _you_ do not mutiny, and
run away with the fleet to the Highlands, one of these foggy mornings!
Carry it up into Scotland, as Galleygo has it! Now, what is your opinion
of that letter?"

"That all courtiers are knaves, and all princes ungrateful. I should
think my loyalty to the good _cause_, if not to the _man_, the last in
England to be suspected."

"Nor is it suspected, in the smallest degree. My life on it, neither the
reigning monarch, nor his confidential servants, are such arrant dunces,
as to be guilty of so much weakness. No, this masterly move is intended
to secure _me_, by creating a confidence that they think no
generous-minded man would betray. It is a hook, delicately baited to
catch a gudgeon, and not an order to watch a whale."

"Can the scoundrels be so mean--nay, dare they be so bold! They must
have known you would show me the letter."

"Not they--they have reasoned on my course, as they would on their own.
Nothing catches a weak man sooner than a pretended confidence of this
nature; and I dare say this blackguard rates me just high enough to
fancy I may be duped in this flimsy manner. Put your mind at rest; King
George knows he may confide in _you_, while I think it probable _I_ am
distrusted."

"I hope, Dick, you do not suspect _my_ discretion! My own secret would
not be half so sacred to me."

"I know that, full well. Of _you_, I entertain no distrust, either in
heart or head; of myself, I am not quite so certain. When we _feel_, we
do not always _reason_; and there is as much feeling, as any thing else,
in this matter."

"Not a line is there, in all my despatches, that go to betray the
slightest distrust of me, or any one else. You are spoken of, but it is
in a manner to gratify you, rather than to alarm. Take, and read them
all; I intended to show them to you, as soon as we had got through with
that cursed discussion"

As Sir Gervaise concluded, he threw the whole package of letters on the
table, before his friend.

"It will be time enough, when you summon me regularly to a council of
war," returned Bluewater, laying the letters gently aside. "Perhaps we
had better sleep on this affair; in the morning we shall meet with
cooler heads, and just as warm hearts."

"Good-night, Dick," said Sir Gervaise, holding out both hands for the
other to shake as he passed him, in quitting the room.

"Good-night, Gervaise; let this miserable devil go overboard, and think
no more of him. I have half a mind to ask you for a leave, to-morrow,
just to run up to London, and cut off his ears."

Sir Gervaise laughed and nodded his head, and the two friends parted,
with feelings as kind as ever had distinguished their remarkable career.



CHAPTER VIII.

    "Look to't, think on't, I do not use to jest.
    Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise;
    An' you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
    An' you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets."

         ROMEO AND JULIET.


Wychecombe Hall, had most of the peculiarities of a bachelor's dwelling,
in its internal government; nor was it, in any manner, behind, or, it
might be better to say, before, the age, in its modes and customs
connected with jollifications. When its master relaxed a little, the
servants quite uniformly imitated his example. Sir Wycherly kept a
plentiful table, and the servants' hall fared nearly as well as the
dining-room; the single article of wine excepted. In lieu of the latter,
however, was an unlimited allowance of double-brewed ale; and the
difference in the potations was far more in the name, than in the
quality of the beverages. The master drank port; for, in the middle of
the last century, few Englishmen had better wine--and port, too, that
was by no means of a very remarkable delicacy, but which, like those who
used it, was rough, honest, and strong; while the servant had his malt
liquor of the very highest stamp and flavour. Between indifferent wine
and excellent ale, the distance is not interminable; and Sir Wycherly's
household, was well aware of the fact, having frequently instituted
intelligent practical comparisons, by means of which, all but the butler
and Mrs. Larder had come to the conclusion to stand by the home-brewed.

On the present occasion, not a soul in the house was ignorant of the
reason why the baronet was making a night of it. Every man, woman, and
child, in or about the Hall, was a devoted partisan of the house of
Hanover; and as soon as it was understood that this feeling was to be
manifested by drinking "success to King George, and God bless him," on
the one side; and "confusion to the Pretender, and his mad son," on the
other; all under the roof entered into the duty, with a zeal that might
have seated a usurper on a throne, if potations could do it.

When Admiral Bluewater, therefore, left the chamber of his friend, the
signs of mirth and of a regular debauch were so very obvious, that a
little curiosity to watch the result, and a disinclination to go off to
his ship so soon, united to induce him to descend into the rooms below,
with a view to get a more accurate knowledge of the condition of the
household. In crossing the great hall, to enter the drawing-room, he
encountered Galleygo, when the following discourse took place.

"I should think the master-at-arms has not done his duty, and dowsed the
glim below, Master Steward," said the rear-admiral, in his quiet way, as
they met; "the laughing, and singing, and hiccupping, are all upon a
very liberal scale for a respectable country-house."

Galleygo touched the lock of hair on his forehead, with one hand, and
gave his trowsers a slue with the other, before he answered; which he
soon did, however, though with a voice a little thicker than was usual
with him, on account of his having added a draught or two to those he
had taken previously to visiting Sir Gervaise's dressing-room; and which
said additional draught or two, had produced some such effect on his
system, as the fresh drop produces on the cup that is already full.

"That's just it, Admiral Blue," returned the steward, in passing
good-humour, though still sober enough to maintain the decencies, after
his own fashion; "that's just it, your honour. They've passed the word
below to let the lights stand for further orders, and have turned the
hands up for a frolic. Such ale as they has, stowed in the lower hold of
this house, like leaguers in the ground-tier, it does a body's heart
good to conter'plate. All hands is bowsing out their jibs on it, sir,
and the old Hall will soon be carrying as much sail as she can stagger
under. It's nothing but loose-away and sheet-home."

"Ay, ay, Galleygo, this may be well enough for the people of the
household, if Sir Wycherly allows it; but it ill becomes the servants of
guests to fall into this disorder. If I find Tom has done any thing
amiss, he will hear more of it; and as your own master is not here to
admonish _you_, I'll just take the liberty of doing it for him, since I
know it would mortify him exceedingly to learn that his steward had done
any thing to disgrace himself."

"Lord bless your dear soul, Admiral Blue, take just as many liberties as
you think fit, and I'll never pocket one on 'em. I know'd you, when you
was only a young gentleman, and now you're a rear. You're close on our
heels; and by the time we are a full admiral, you'll be something like a
vice. I looks upon you as bone of our bone, and flesh of our
flesh,--Pillardees and Arrestees--and I no more minds a setting-down
from your honour, than I does from Sir Jarvy, hisself."

"I believe that is true enough, Galleygo; but take my advice, and knock
off with the ale for to-night. Can you tell me how the land lies, with
the rest of the company?"

"You couldn't have asked a better person, your honour, as I've just been
passing through all the rooms, from a sort of habit I has, sir; for,
d'ye see, I thought I was in the old Planter, and that it was my duty to
overlook every thing, as usual. The last pull at the ale, put that
notion in my head; but it's gone now, and I see how matters is. Yes,
sir, the mainmast of a church isn't stiffer and more correct-like, than
my judgment is, at this blessed moment. Sir Wycherly guv' me a glass of
his black-strap, as I ran through the dining-room, and told me to drink
'Confusion to the Pretender,' which I did, with hearty good-will; but
his liquor will no more lay alongside of the ale they've down on the
orlop, than a Frenchman will compare with an Englishman. What's your
opinion, Admiral Blue, consarning this cruise of the Pretender's son, up
in the Highlands of Scotland?"

Bluewater gave a quick, distrustful glance at the steward, for he knew
that the fellow was half his time in the outer cabin and pantries of the
Plantagenet, and he could not tell how much of his many private
dialogues with Sir Gervaise, might have been overheard. Meeting with
nothing but the unmeaning expression of one half-seas-over, his
uneasiness instantly subsided.

"I think it a gallant enterprise, Galleygo," he answered; too manly even
to feign what he did not believe; "but I fear as a _cruise_, it will not
bring much prize-money. You have forgotten you were about to tell me how
the land lies. Sir Wycherly, Mr. Dutton, Mr. Rotherham, are still at the
table, I fancy--are these all? What have become of the two young
gentlemen?"

"There's none ashore, sir," said Galleygo, promptly, accustomed to give
that appellation only to midshipmen.

"I mean the two Mr. Wychecombes; one of whom, I had forgot, is actually
an officer."

"Yes, sir, and a most partic'lar fine officer he is, as every body says.
Well, sir, _he's_ with the ladies; while his namesake has gone back to
the table, and has put luff upon luff, to fetch up leeway."

"And the ladies--what have they done with themselves, in this scene of
noisy revelry?"

"They'se in yonder state-room, your honour. As soon as they found how
the ship was heading, like all women-craft, they both makes for the best
harbour they could run into. Yes, they'se yonder."

As Galleygo pointed to the door of the room he meant, Bluewater
proceeded towards it, parting with the steward after a few more words of
customary, but very useless caution. The tap of the admiral was answered
by Wycherly in person, who opened the door, and made way for his
superior to enter, with a respectful obeisance. There was but a single
candle in the little parlour, in which the two females had taken refuge
from the increasing noise of the debauch; and this was due to a pious
expedient of Mildred's, in extinguishing the others, with a view to
conceal the traces of tears that were still visible on her own and her
mother's cheeks. The rear-admiral was, at first, struck with this
comparative obscurity; but it soon appeared to him appropriate to the
feelings of the party assembled in the room. Mrs. Dutton received him
with the ease she had acquired in her early life, and the meeting passed
as a matter of course, with persons temporarily residing under the same
roof.

"Our friends appear to be enjoying themselves," said Bluewater, when a
shout from the dining-room forced itself on the ears of all present.
"The loyalty of Sir Wycherly seems to be of proof."

"Oh! Admiral Bluewater," exclaimed the distressed wife, feeling,
momentarily, getting the better of discretion; "_do_ you--_can_ you
call such a desecration of God's image enjoyment?"

"Not justly, perhaps, Mrs. Dutton; and yet it is what millions mistake
for it. This mode of celebrating any great event, and even of
illustrating what we think our principles, is, I fear, a vice not only
of our age, but of our country."

"And yet, neither you, nor Sir Gervaise Oakes, I see, find it necessary
to give such a proof of your attachment to the house of Hanover, or of
your readiness to serve it with your time and persons."

"You will remember, my good, lady, that both Oakes and myself are
flag-officers in command, and it would never do for us to fall into a
debauch in sight of our own ships. I am glad to see, however, that Mr.
Wychecombe, here, prefers such society as I find him in, to the
pleasures of the table."

Wycherly bowed, and Mildred cast an expressive, not to say grateful,
glance towards the speaker; but her mother pursued the discourse, in
which she found a little relief to her suppressed emotion.

"God be thanked for that!" she exclaimed, half-unconscious of the
interpretation that might be put on her words; "All that we have seen of
Mr. Wychecombe would lead us to believe that this is not an unusual, or
an accidental forbearance."

"So much the more fortunate for him. I congratulate you, young sir, on
this triumph of principle, or of temperament, or of both. We belong to a
profession, in which the bottle is an enemy more to be feared, than any
that the king can give us. A sailor can call in no ally as efficient in
subduing this mortal foe, as an intelligent and cultivated mind. The man
who really _thinks_ much, seldom _drinks_ much; but there are
hours--nay, weeks and months of idleness in a ship, in which the
temptation to resort to unnatural excitement in quest of pleasure, is
too strong for minds, that are not well fortified, to resist. This is
particularly the case with commanders, who find themselves isolated by
their rank, and oppressed with responsibility, in the privacy of their
own cabins, and get to make a companion of the bottle, by way of seeking
relief from uncomfortable thoughts, and of creating a society of their
own. I deem the critical period of a sailor's life, to be the first few
years of solitary command."

"How true!--how true!" murmured Mrs. Dutton. "Oh! that cutter--that
cruel cutter!"

The truth flashed upon the recollection of Bluewater, at this unguarded,
and instantly regretted exclamation. Many years before, when only a
captain himself, he had been a member of a court-martial which cashiered
a lieutenant of the name of Dutton, for grievous misconduct, while in
command of a cutter; the fruits of the bottle. From the first, he
thought the name familiar to him; but so many similar things had
happened in the course of forty years' service, that this particular
incident had been partially lost in the obscurity of time. It was now
completely recalled, however; and that, too, with all its attendant
circumstances. The recollection served to give the rear-admiral renewed
interest in the unhappy wife, and lovely daughter, of the miserable
delinquent. He had been applied to, at the time, for his interest in
effecting the restoration of the guilty officer, or even to procure for
him, the hopeless station he now actually occupied; but he had sternly
refused to be a party in placing any man in authority, who was the
victim of a propensity that not only disgraced himself, but which, in
the peculiar position of a sailor, equally jeoparded the honour of the
country, and risked the lives of all around him. He was aware that the
last application had been successful, by means of a court influence it
was very unusual to exert in cases so insignificant; and, then, he had,
for years, lost sight of the criminal and his fortunes. This unexpected
revival of his old impressions, caused him to feel like an ancient
friend of the wife and daughter; for well could he recall a scene he had
with both, in which the struggle between his humanity and his principles
had been so violent as actually to reduce him to tears. Mildred had
forgotten the name of this particular officer, having been merely a
child; but well did Mrs. Dutton remember it, and with fear and trembling
had she come that day, to meet him at the Hall. The first look satisfied
her that she was forgotten, and she had struggled herself, to bury in
oblivion, a scene which was one of the most painful of her life. The
unguarded expression, mentioned, entirely changed the state of affairs.

"Mrs. Dutton," said Bluewater, kindly taking a hand of the distressed
wife; "I believe we are old friends; if, after what has passed, you will
allow me so to consider myself."

"Ah! Admiral Bluewater, my memory needed no admonisher to tell me
_that_. Your sympathy and kindness are as grateful to me, now, as they
were in that dreadful moment, when we met before."

"And I had the pleasure of seeing this young lady, more than once, on
that unpleasant occasion. This accounts for a fancy that has fairly
haunted me throughout the day; for, from the instant my eye fell on Miss
Mildred, it struck me that the face, and most of all, its expression,
was familiar to me. Certainly it is not a countenance, once seen, easily
to be forgotten."

"Mildred was then but a child, sir, and your recollection must have been
a fancy, indeed, as children of her age seldom make any lasting
impression on the mind, particularly in the way of features."

"It is not the features that I recognize, but the expression; and that,
I need not tell the young lady's mother, is an expression not so very
easily forgotten. I dare say Mr. Wychecombe is ready enough to vouch for
the truth of what I say."

"Hark!" exclaimed Mrs. Dutton, who was sensitively alive to any
indication of the progress of the debauch. "There is great confusion in
the dining-room!--I hope the gentlemen are of one mind as respects this
rising in Scotland!"

"If there is a Jacobite among them, he will have a warm time of it; with
Sir Wycherly, his nephew, and the vicar--all three of whom are raging
lions, in the way of loyalty. There does, indeed, seem something out of
the way, for those sounds, I should think, are the feet of servants,
running to and fro. If the servants'-hall is in the condition I suspect,
it will as much need the aid of the parlour, as the parlour can
possibly--"

A tap at the door caused Bluewater to cease speaking; and as Wycherly
threw open the entrance, Galleygo appeared on the threshold, by this
time reduced to the necessity of holding on by the casings.

"Well, sir," said the rear-admiral, sternly, for he was no longer
disposed to trifle with any of the crapulous set; "well, sir, what
impertinence has brought you here?"

"No impertinence at all, your honour; we carries none of _that_, in the
old Planter. There being no young gentlemen, hereabouts, to report
proceedings, I thought I'd just step in and do the duty with my own
tongue. We has so many reports in our cabin, that there isn't an officer
in the fleet that can make 'em better, as myself, sir."

"There are a hundred who would spend fewer words on any thing. What is
your business?"

"Why, sir, just to report one flag struck, and a commander-in-chief on
his beam-ends."

"Good God! Nothing has happened to Sir Gervaise--speak, fellow, or I'll
have you sent out of this Babel, and off to the ship, though it were
midnight."

"It be pretty much that, Admiral Blue; or past six bells; as any one may
see by the ship's clock on the great companion ladder; six bells, going
well on to seven--"

"Your business, sir! what has happened to Sir Gervaise?" repeated
Bluewater, shaking his long fore-finger menacingly, at the steward.

"We are as well, Admiral Blue, as the hour we came over the Planter's
side. Sir Jarvy will carry sail with the best on 'em, I'll answer for
it, whether the ship floats in old Port Oporto, or in a brewer's vat.
Let Sir Jarvy alone for them tricks--he wasn't a young gentleman, for
nothing."

"Have a moment's patience, sir," put in Wycherly, "and I will go myself,
and ascertain the truth."

"I shall make but another inquiry," continued Admiral Bluewater, as
Wycherly left the room.

"Why, d'ye see, your honour, old Sir Wycherly, who is
commander-in-chief, along shore here, has capsized in consequence of
carrying sail too hard, in company with younger craft; and they're now
warping him into dock to be overhauled."

"Is this all!--that was a result to be expected, in such a debauch. You
need not have put on so ominous a face, for this, Galleygo."

"No, sir, so I thought, myself; and I only tried to look as melancholy
as a young gentleman who is sent below to report a topgallant-mast over
the side, or a studding-sail-boom gone in the iron. D'ye remember the
time, Admiral Blue, when you thought to luff up on the old Planter's
weather-quarter, and get between her and the French ninety on three
decks, and how your stu'n-sails went, one a'ter another, just like so
many musherrooms breaking in peeling?"

Galleygo, who was apt to draw his images from his two trades, might have
talked on an hour, without interruption; for, while he was uttering the
above sentence, Wycherly returned, and reported that their host was
seriously, even dangerously ill. While doing the honours of his table,
he had been seized with a fit, which the vicar, a noted three-bottle
man, feared was apoplexy. Mr. Rotherham had bled the patient, who was
already a little better, and an express had been sent for a medical man.
As a matter of course, the _convives_ had left the table, and alarm was
frightening the servants into sobriety. At Mrs. Dutton's earnest
request, Wycherly immediately left the room again, forcing Galleygo out
before him, with a view to get more accurate information concerning the
baronet's real situation; both the mother and daughter feeling a real
affection for Sir Wycherly; the kind old man having won their hearts by
his habitual benevolence, and a constant concern for their welfare.

"_Sic transit gloria mundi_," muttered Admiral Bluewater, as he threw
his tall person, in his own careless manner, on a chair, in a dark
corner of the room. "This baronet has fallen from his throne, in a
moment of seeming prosperity and revelry; why may not another do the
same?"

Mrs. Dutton heard the voice, without distinguishing the words, and she
felt distressed at the idea that one whom she so much respected and
loved, might be judged of harshly, by a man of the rear-admiral's
character.

"Sir Wycherly is one of the kindest-hearted men, breathing," she said, a
little hurriedly; "and there is not a better landlord in England. Then
he is by no means addicted to indulgence at table, more than is
customary with gentlemen of his station. His loyalty has, no doubt,
carried him this evening farther than was prudent, or than we could have
wished."

"I have every disposition to think favourably of our poor host, my dear
Mrs. Dutton; and we seamen are not accustomed to judge a _bon vivant_
too harshly."

"Ah! Admiral Bluewater, _you_, who have so wide-spread a reputation for
sobriety and correct deportment! Well do I remember how I trembled, when
I heard your name mentioned as one of the leading members of that
dreadful court!"

"You let your recollections dwell too much on these unpleasant subjects,
Mrs. Dutton, and I should like to see you setting an example of greater
cheerfulness to your sweet daughter. I could not befriend you, _then_,
for my oath and my duty were both against it; but, _now_, there exists
no possible reason, why I should not; while there does exist almost
every possible disposition, why I should. This sweet child interests me
in a way I can hardly describe."

Mrs. Dutton was silent and thoughtful. The years of Admiral Bluewater
did not absolutely forbid his regarding Mildred's extreme beauty, with
the eyes of ordinary admiration; but his language, and most of all, his
character, ought to repel the intrusive suspicion. Still Mildred was
surpassingly lovely, and men were surpassingly weak in matters of love.
Many a hero had passed a youth of self-command and discretion, to
consummate some act of exceeding folly, of this very nature, in the
decline of life; and bitter experience had taught her to be distrustful.
Nevertheless, she could not, at once, bring herself to think ill of one,
whose character she had so long respected; and, with all the
rear-admiral's directness of manner, there was so much real and feeling
delicacy, blended with the breeding of a gentleman-like sailor, that it
was not easy to suppose he had any other motives than those he saw fit
to avow. Mildred had made many a friend, by a sweetness of countenance,
that was even more winning, than her general beauty of face and form was
attractive; and why should not this respectable old seaman be of the
number.

This train of thought was interrupted by the sudden and unwelcome
appearance of Dutton. He had just returned from the bed-side of Sir
Wycherly, and now came to seek his wife and daughter, to bid them
prepare to enter the chariot, which was in waiting to convey them home.
The miserable man was not intoxicated, in the sense which deprives a man
of the use of speech and limbs; but he had drunk quite enough to awaken
the demon within him, and to lay bare the secrets of his true character.
If any thing, his nerves were better strung than common; but the wine
had stirred up all the energies of a being, whose resolutions seldom
took the direction of correct feeling, or of right doing. The darkness
of the room, and a slight confusion which nevertheless existed in his
brain, prevented him from noticing the person of his superior, seated,
as the latter was, in the dark corner; and he believed himself once more
alone with those who were so completely dependent on his mercy, and who
had so long been the subjects of his brutality and tyranny.

"I hope Sir Wycherly is better, Dutton," the wife commenced, fearful
that her husband might expose himself and her, before he was aware of
the presence in which he stood. "Admiral Bluewater is as anxious, as we
are ourselves, to know his real state."

"Ay, you women are all pity and feeling for baronets and rear-admirals,"
answered Dutton, throwing himself rudely into a chair, with his back
towards the stranger, in an attitude completely to exclude the latter
from his view; "while a husband, or father, might die a hundred deaths,
and not draw a look of pity from your beautiful eyes, or a kind word
from your devilish tongues."

"Neither Mildred nor I, merit this from _you_, Dutton!"

"No, you're both perfection; like mother, like child. Haven't I been,
fifty times, at death's door, with this very complaint of Sir
Wycherly's, and did either of you ever send for an apothecary, even?"

"You have been occasionally indisposed, Dutton, but never apoplectic;
and we have always thought a little sleep would restore you; as, indeed,
it always has."

"What business had you to _think_? Surgeons think, and medical men, and
it was your duty to send for the nearest professional man, to look after
one you're bound both to honour and obey. You are your own mistress,
Martha, I do suppose, in a certain degree; and what can't be cured must
be endured; but Mildred is my child; and I'll have her respect and love,
if I break both your hearts in order to get at them."

"A pious daughter always respects her parent, Dutton," said the wife,
trembling from head to foot; "but love must come willingly, or, it will
not come at all."

"We'll see as to that, Mrs. Martha Dutton; we'll see as to that. Come
hither, Mildred; I have a word to say to you, which may as well be said
at once."

Mildred, trembling like her mother, drew near; but with a feeling of
filial piety, that no harshness could entirely smother, she felt anxious
to prevent the father from further exposing himself, in the presence of
Admiral Bluewater. With this view, then, and with this view only, she
summoned firmness enough to speak.

"Father," she said, "had we not better defer our family matters, until
we are alone?"

Under ordinary circumstances, Bluewater would not have waited for so
palpable a hint, for he would have retired on the first appearance of
any thing so disagreeable as a misunderstanding between man and wife.
But, an ungovernable interest in the lovely girl, who stood trembling at
her father's knee, caused him to forget his habitual delicacy of
feeling, and to overlook what might perhaps be termed almost a law of
society. Instead of moving, therefore, as Mildred had both hoped and
expected, he remained motionless in his seat. Dutton's mind was too
obtuse to comprehend his daughter's allusions, in the absence, of ocular
evidence of a stranger's presence, and his wrath was too much excited to
permit him to think much of any thing but his own causes of indignation.

"Stand more in front of me, Mildred," he answered, angrily. "More before
my face, as becomes one who don't know her duty to her parent, and needs
be taught it."

"Oh! Dutton," exclaimed the afflicted wife; "do not--do not--accuse
Mildred of being undutiful! You know not what you say--know not her
obliga--you cannot know her _heart_, or you would not use these cruel
imputations!"

"Silence, Mrs. Martha Dutton--my business is not with _you_, at present,
but with this young lady, to whom, I hope, I may presume to speak a
little plainly, as she is my own child. Silence, then, Mrs. Martha
Dutton. If my memory is not treacherous, you once stood up before God's
altar with me, and there vow'd to love, honour, and _obey_. Yes, that
was the word; _obey_, Mrs. Martha Dutton."

"And what did _you_ promise, at the same time, Frank?" exclaimed the
wife, from whose bruised spirit this implied accusation was torn in an
agony of mental suffering.

"Nothing but what I have honestly and manfully performed. I promised to
provide for you; to give you food and raiment; to let you hear my name,
and stand before the world in the honourable character of honest Frank
Dutton's wife."

"Honourable!" murmured the wife, loud enough to be heard by both the
Admiral and Mildred, and yet in a tone so smothered, as to elude the
obtuse sense of hearing, that long excess had left her husband. When
this expressive word had broken out of her very heart, however, she
succeeded in suppressing her voice, and sinking into a chair, concealed
her face in her hands, in silence.

"Mildred, come hither," resumed the brutalized parent. "_You_ are my
daughter, and whatever others have promised at the altar, and forgotten,
a law of nature teaches you to obey me. You have two admirers, either of
whom you ought to be glad to secure, though there is a great preference
between them--"

"Father!" exclaimed Mildred, every feeling of her sensitive nature
revolting at this coarse allusion to a connection, and to sentiments,
that she was accustomed to view as among the most sacred and private of
her moral being. "Surely, you cannot mean what you say!"

"Like mother, like child! Let but disobedience and disrespect get
possession of a wife, and they are certain to run through a whole
family, even though there were a dozen children! Harkee, Miss Mildred,
it is _you_ who don't happen to know what you say, while I understand
myself as well as most parents. Your mother would never acquaint you
with what I feel it a duty to put plainly before your judgment; and,
therefore, I expect you to listen as becomes a dutiful and affectionate
child. You can secure either of these young Wychecombes, and either of
them would be a good match for a poor, disgraced, sailing-master's
daughter."

"Father, I shall sink through the floor, if you say another word, in
this cruel manner!"

"No, dear; you'll neither sink nor swim, unless it be by making a bad,
or a good choice. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe is Sir Wycherly's heir, and must
be the next baronet, and possessor of this estate. Of course he is much
the best thing, and you ought to give him a preference."

"Dutton, _can_ you, as a father and a Christian, give such heartless
counsel to your own child!" exclaimed Mrs. Dutton, inexpressibly shocked
at the want of principle, as well as at the want of feeling, discovered
in her husband's advice.

"Mrs. Martha Dutton, I can; and believe the counsel to be any thing but
heartless, too. Do you wish your daughter to be the wife of a miserable
signal-station keeper, when she may become Lady Wychecombe, with a
little prudent management, and the mistress of this capital old house,
and noble estate?"

"Father--father," interrupted Mildred, soothingly, though ready to sink
with shame at the idea of Admiral Bluewater's being an auditor of such a
conversation; "you forget yourself, and overlook my wishes. There is
little probability of Mr. Thomas Wychecombe's ever thinking of me as a
wife--or, indeed of anyone else's entertaining such thoughts."

"That will turn out, as you manage matters, Milly. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe
does not think of you as a _wife_, quite likely, just at this moment;
but the largest whales are taken by means of very small lines, when the
last are properly handled. This young lieutenant would have you
to-morrow; though a more silly thing than for you two to marry, could
not well be hit upon. He is only a lieutenant; and though his name is so
good a one, it does not appear that he has any particular right to it."

"And yet, Dutton, you were only a lieutenant when _you_ married, and
your name was _nothing_ in the way of interest, or preferment," observed
the mother, anxious to interpose some new feeling between her daughter,
and the cruel inference left by the former part of her husband's speech.
"We _then_ thought all lay bright before us!"

"And so all would lie to this hour, Mrs. Dutton, but for that one silly
act of mine. A man with the charges of a family on him, little pay, and
no fortune, is driven to a thousand follies to hide his misery. You do
not strengthen your case by reminding me of _that_ imprudence. But,
Mildred, I do not tell you to cut adrift this young Virginian, for he
may he of use in more ways than one. In the first place, you can play
him off against Mr. Thomas Wychecombe; and, in the second place, a
lieutenant is likely, one day, to be a captain; and the wife of a
captain in His Majesty's navy, is no disreputable birth. I advise you,
girl, to use this youngster as a bait to catch the heir with; and,
failing a good bite, to take up with the lad himself."

This was said dogmatically, but with a coarseness of manner that fully
corresponded with the looseness of the principles, and the utter want of
delicacy of feeling that alone could prompt such advice. Mrs. Dutton
fairly groaned, as she listened to her husband, for never before had he
so completely thrown aside the thin mask of decency that he ordinarily
wore; but Mildred, unable to control the burst of wild emotion that came
over her, broke away from the place she occupied at her father's knee,
and, as if blindly seeking protection in any asylum that she fancied
safe, found herself sobbing, as if her heart would break, in Admiral
Bluewater's arms.

Dutton followed the ungovernable, impulsive movement, with his eye, and
for the first time he became aware in whose presence he had been
exposing his native baseness. Wine had not so far the mastery of him, as
to blind him to all the consequences, though it did stimulate him to a
point that enabled him to face the momentary mortification of his
situation.

"I beg a thousand pardons, sir," he said, rising, and bowing low to his
superior; "I was totally ignorant that I had the honour to be in the
company of Admiral Bluewater--Admiral Blue, I find Jack calls you, sir;
ha-ha-ha--a familiarity which is a true sign of love and respect. I
never knew a captain, or a flag-officer, that got a regular, expressive
ship's name, that he wasn't the delight of the whole service. Yes, sir;
I find the people call Sir Gervaise, Little Jarvy, and yourself, Admiral
Blue--ha-ha-ha--an infallible sign of merit in the superior, and of love
in the men."

"I ought to apologize, Mr. Dutton, for making one, so unexpectedly to
myself, in a family council," returned the rear-admiral. "As for the
men, they are no great philosophers, though tolerable judges of when
they are well commanded, and well treated.--But, the hour is late, and
it was my intention to sleep in my own ship, to-night. The coach of Sir
Wycherly has been ordered to carry me to the landing, and I hope to have
your permission to see these ladies home in it."

The answer of Dutton was given with perfect self-possession, and in a
manner to show that he knew how to exercise the courtesies of life, or
to receive them, when in the humour.

"It is an honour, sir, they will not think of declining, if my wishes
are consulted," he said. "Come, Milly, foolish girl, dry your tears,
and smile on Admiral Bluewater, for his condescension. Young women, sir,
hardly know how to take a joke; and our ship's humours are sometimes a
little strong for them. I tell my dear wife, sometimes--'Wife,' I say,
'His Majesty can't have stout-hearted and stout-handed seamen, and the
women poets and die-away swains, and all in the same individual,' says
I. Mrs. Dutton understands me, sir; and so does little Milly; who is an
excellent girl in the main; though a little addicted to using the
eye-pumps, as we have it aboard ship, sir."

"And, now, Mr. Dutton, it being understood that I am to see the ladies
home, will you do me the favour to inquire after the condition of Sir
Wycherly. One would not wish to quit his hospitable roof, in uncertainty
as to his actual situation."

Dutton was duly sensible of an awkwardness in the presence of his
superior, and he gladly profited by this commission to quit the room;
walking more steadily than if he had not been drinking.

All this time, Mildred hung on Admiral Bluewater's shoulder, weeping,
and unwilling to quit a place that seemed to her, in her fearful
agitation, a sort of sanctuary.

"Mrs. Dutton," said Bluewater, first kissing the cheek of his lovely
burthen, in a manner so parental, that the most sensitive delicacy could
not have taken the alarm; "you will succeed better than myself, in
quieting the feelings of this little trembler. I need hardly say that if
I have accidentally overheard more than I ought, it is as much a secret
with me, as it would be with your own brother. The characters of all
cannot be affected by the mistaken and excited calculations of one; and
this occasion has served to make me better acquainted with you, and your
admirable daughter, than I might otherwise have been, by means of years
of ordinary intercourse."

"Oh! Admiral Bluewater, do not judge him _too_ harshly! He has been too
long at that fatal table, which I fear has destroyed poor dear Sir
Wycherly, and knew not what he said. Never before have I seen him in
such a fearful humour, or in the least disposed to trifle with, or to
wound the feelings of this sweet child!"

"Her extreme agitation is a proof of this, my good madam, and shows all
you can wish to say. View me as your sincere friend, and place every
reliance on my discretion."

The wounded mother listened with gratitude, and Mildred withdrew from
her extraordinary situation, wondering by what species of infatuation
she could have been led to adopt it.



CHAPTER IX.

                    ----"Ah, Montague,
    If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
    And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile!
    Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
    Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
    That glues my lips, and will not let me speak.
    Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead."

         KING HENRY VI.


Sir Wycherly had actually been seized with a fit of apoplexy. It was the
first serious disease he had experienced in a long life of health and
prosperity; and the sight of their condescending, good-humored, and
indulgent master, in a plight so miserable, had a surprising effect on
the heated brains of all the household. Mr. Rotherham, a good
three-bottle man, on emergency, had learned to bleed, and fortunately
the vein he struck, as his patient still lay on the floor, where he had
fallen, sent out a stream that had the effect not only to restore the
baronet to life, but, in a great measure, to consciousness. Sir Wycherly
was not a _hard_ drinker, like Dutton; but he was a _fair_ drinker, like
Mr. Rotherham, and most of the beneficed clergy of that day. Want of
exercise, as he grew older, had as much influence in producing his
attack as excess of wine; and there were already, strong hopes of his
surviving it, aided as he was, by a good constitution. The apothecary
had reached the Hall, within five minutes after the attack, having
luckily been prescribing to the gardener; and the physician and surgeon
of the family were both expected in the course of the morning.

Sir Gervaise Oakes had been acquainted with the state of his host, by
his own valet, as soon as it was known in the servants'-hall, and being
a man of action, he did not hesitate to proceed at once to the chamber
of the sick, to offer his own aid, in the absence of that which might be
better. At the door of the chamber, he met Atwood, who had been summoned
from his pen, and they entered together, the vice-admiral feeling for a
lancet in his pocket, for he, too, had acquired the art of the
blood-letter. They now learned the actual state of things.

"Where is Bluewater?" demanded Sir Gervaise, after regarding his host a
moment with commiseration and concern. "I hope he has not yet left the
house."

"He is still here, Sir Gervaise, but I should think on the point of
quitting us. I heard him say, that, notwithstanding all Sir Wycherly's
kind plans to detain him, he intended to sleep in his own ship."

"That I've never doubted, though I've affected to believe otherwise. Go
to him, Atwood, and say I beg he will pull within hail of the
Plantagenet, as he goes off, and desire Mr. Magrath to come ashore, as
soon as possible. There shall be a conveyance at the landing to bring
him here; and he may order his own surgeon to come also, if it be
agreeable to himself."

With these instructions the secretary left the room; while Sir Gervaise
turned to Tom Wychecombe, and said a few of the words customary on such
melancholy occasions.

"I think there is hope, sir," he added, "yes, sir, I think there is
hope; though your honoured relative is no longer young--still, this
early bleeding has been a great thing; and if we can gain a little time
for poor Sir Wycherly, our efforts will not be thrown away. Sudden death
is awful, sir, and few of us are prepared for it, either in mind, or
affairs. We sailors have to hold our lives in our hands, it is true, but
then it is for king and country; and we hope for mercy on all who fall
in the discharge of their duties. For my part, I am never unprovided
with a will, and that disposes of all the interests of this world, while
I humbly trust in the Great Mediator, for the hereafter. I hope Sir
Wycherly is equally provident as to his worldly affairs?"

"No doubt my dear uncle could wish to leave certain trifling memorials
behind him to a few of his intimates," returned Tom, with a dejected
countenance; "but he has not been without a will, I believe, for some
time; and I presume you will agree with me in thinking he is not in a
condition to make one, now, were he unprovided in that way?"

"Perhaps not exactly at this moment, though a rally might afford an
opportunity. The estate is entailed, I think Mr. Dutton told me, at
dinner."

"It is, Sir Gervaise, and I am the unworthy individual who is to profit
by it, according to the common notions of men, though Heaven knows I
shall consider it any thing but a gain; still, I am the unworthy
individual who is to be benefited by my uncle's death."

"Your father was the baronet's next brother?" observed Sir Gervaise,
casually, a shade of distrust passing athwart his mind, though coming
from what source, or directed to what point, he was himself totally
unable to say. "Mr. Baron Wychecombe, I believe, was your parent?"

"He was, Sir Gervaise, and a most tender and indulgent father, I ever
found him. He left me his earnings, some seven hundred a year, and I am
sure the death of Sir Wycherly is as far from my necessities, as it is
from my wishes."

"Of course you will succeed to the baronetcy, as well as to the estate?"
mechanically asked Sir Gervaise, led on by the supererogatory
expressions of Tom, himself, rather than by a vulgar curiosity, to ask
questions that, under other circumstances, he might have thought
improper.

"Of course, sir. My father was the only surviving brother of Sir
Wycherly; the only one who ever married; and I am _his_ eldest child.
Since this melancholy event has occurred, it is quite fortunate that I
lately obtained this certificate of the marriage of my parents--is it
not, sir?"

Here Tom drew from his pocket a soiled piece of paper, which professed
to be a certificate of the marriage of Thomas Wychecombe, barrister,
with Martha Dodd, spinster, &c. &c. The document was duly signed by the
rector of a parish church in Westminster, and bore a date sufficiently
old to establish the legitimacy of the person who held it. This
extraordinary precaution produced the very natural effect of increasing
the distrust of the vice-admiral, and, in a slight degree, of giving it
a direction.

"You go well armed, sir," observed Sir Gervaise, drily. "Is it your
intention, when you succeed, to carry the patent of the baronetcy, and
the title-deeds, in your pocket?"

"Ah! I perceive my having this document strikes you as odd, Sir
Gervaise, but it can be easily explained. There was a wide difference in
rank between my parents, and some ill-disposed persons have presumed so
far to reflect on the character of my mother, as to assert she was not
married at all."

"In which case, sir, you would do well to cut off half-a-dozen of their
ears."

"The law is not to be appeased in that way, Sir Gervaise. My dear parent
used to inculcate on me the necessity of doing every thing according to
law; and I endeavour to remember his precepts. He avowed his marriage on
his death-bed, made all due atonement to my respected and injured
mother, and informed me in whose hands I should find this very
certificate; I only obtained it this morning, which fact will account
for its being in my pocket, at this melancholy and unexpected crisis, in
my beloved uncle's constitution."

The latter part of Tom's declaration was true enough; for, after having
made all the necessary inquiries, and obtained the hand-writing of a
clergyman who was long since dead, he had actually forged the
certificate that day, on a piece of soiled paper, that bore the
water-mark of 1720. His language, however, contributed to alienate the
confidence of his listener; Sir Gervaise being a man who was so much
accustomed to directness and fair-dealing, himself, as to feel disgust
at any thing that had the semblance of cant or hypocrisy. Nevertheless,
he had his own motives for pursuing the subject; the presence of neither
at the bed-side of the sufferer, being just then necessary.

"And this Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe," he said; "he who has so much
distinguished himself of late; your uncle's namesake;--is it true that
he is not allied to your family?"

"Not in the least, Sir Gervaise," answered Tom, with one of his sinister
smiles. "He is only a Virginian, you know, sir, and cannot well belong
to us. I have heard my uncle say, often, that the young gentleman must
be descended from an old servant of his father's, who was transported
for stealing silver out of a shop on Ludgate Hill, and who was arrested
for passing himself off, as one of the Wychecombe family. They tell me,
Sir Gervaise, that the colonies are pretty much made of persons
descended from that sort of ancestors?"

"I cannot say that I have found it so; though, when I commanded a
frigate, I served several years on the North American station. The
larger portion of the Americans, like much the larger portion of the
English, are humble labourers, established in a remote colony, where
civilization is not far advanced, wants are many, and means few; but, in
the way of character, I am not certain that they are not quite on a
level with those they left behind them; and, as to the gentry of the
colonies, I have seen many men of the best blood of the mother country
among them;--younger sons, and their descendants, as a matter of course,
but of an honourable and respected ancestry."

"Well, sir, this surprises me; and it is not the general opinion, I am
persuaded! Certainly, it is not the fact as respects the
gentleman--stranger, I might call him, for stranger he is at
Wychecombe--who has not the least right to pretend to belong to us."

"Did you ever know him to lay claim to that honour, sir?"

"Not directly, Sir Gervaise; though I am told he has made many hints to
that effect, since he landed here to be cured of his wound. It would
have been better had he presented his rights to the landlord, than to
present them to the tenants, I think you will allow, as a man of honour,
yourself, Sir Gervaise?"

"I can approve of nothing clandestine in matters that require open and
fair dealing, Mr. Thomas Wychecombe. But I ought to apologize for thus
dwelling on your family affairs, which concern me only as I feel an
interest in the wishes and happiness of my new acquaintance, my
excellent host."

"Sir Wycherly has property in the funds that is not entailed--quite
£1000 a year, beyond the estates--and I know he has left a will,"
continued Tom; who, with the short-sightedness of a rogue, flattered
himself with having made a favourable impression on his companion, and
who was desirous of making him useful to himself, in an emergency that
he felt satisfied must terminate in the speedy death of his uncle. "Yes,
a good £1000 a year, in the fives; money saved from his rents, in a long
life. This will probably has some provision in favour of my younger
brothers; and perhaps of this namesake of his,"--Tom was well aware that
it devised every shilling, real and personal, to himself;--"for a kinder
heart does not exist on earth. In fact, this will my uncle put in my
possession, as heir at law, feeling it due to my pretensions, I suppose;
but I have never presumed to look into it."

Here was another instance of excessive finesse, in which Tom awakened
suspicion by his very efforts to allay it. It seemed highly improbable
to Sir Gervaise, that a man like the nephew could long possess his
uncle's will, and feel no desire to ascertain its contents. The language
of the young man was an indirect admission, that he might have examined
the will if he would; and the admiral felt disposed to suspect that what
he might thus readily have done, he actually had done. The dialogue,
however, terminated here; Dutton, just at that moment, entering the room
on the errand on which he had been sent by Admiral Bluewater, and Tom
joining his old acquaintance, as soon as the latter made his appearance.
Sir Gervaise Oakes was too much concerned for the condition of his host,
and had too many cares of his own, to think deeply or long on what had
just passed between himself and Tom Wychecombe. Had they separated that
night, what had been said, and the unfavourable impressions it had made,
would have been soon forgotten; but circumstances subsequently conspired
to recall the whole to his mind, of which the consequences will be
related in the course of our narrative.

Dutton appeared to be a little shocked as he gazed upon the pallid
features of Sir Wycherly, and he was not sorry when Tom led him aside,
and began to speak confidentially of the future, and of the probable
speedy death of his uncle. Had there been one present, gifted with the
power of reading the thoughts and motives of men, a deep disgust of
human frailties must have come over him, as these two impure spirits
betrayed to him their cupidity and cunning. Outwardly, they were friends
mourning over a mutual probable loss; while inwardly, Dutton was
endeavouring to obtain such a hold of his companion's confidence, as
might pave the way to his own future preferment to the high and
unhoped-for station of a rich baronet's father-in-law; while Tom thought
only of so far mystifying the master, as to make use of him, on an
emergency, as a witness to establish his own claims. The manner in which
he endeavoured to effect his object, however, must be left to the
imagination of the reader, as we have matters of greater moment to
record at this particular juncture.

From the time Sir Wycherly was laid on his bed, Mr. Rotherham had been
seated at the sick man's side, watching the course of his attack, and
ready to interpret any of the patient's feebly and indistinctly
expressed wishes. We say indistinctly, because the baronet's speech was
slightly affected with that species of paralysis which reduces the
faculty to the state that is vulgarly called thick-tongued. Although a
three-bottle man, Mr. Rotherham was far from being without his devout
feelings, on occasions, discharging all the clerical functions with as
much unction as the habits of the country, and the opinions of the day,
ordinarily exacted of divines. He had even volunteered to read the
prayers for the sick, as soon as he perceived that the patient's
recollection had returned; but this kind offer had been declined by Sir
Wycherly, under the clearer views of fitness, that the near approach of
death is apt to give, and which views left a certain consciousness that
the party assembled was not in the best possible condition for that
sacred office. Sir Wycherly revived so much, at last, as to look about
him with increasing consciousness; and, at length, his eyes passed
slowly over the room, scanning each person singly, and with marked
deliberation.

"I know you all--now," said the kind-hearted baronet, though always
speaking thick, and with a little difficulty; "am sorry to give--much
trouble. I have--little time to spare."

"I hope not, Sir Wycherly," put in the vicar, in a consolatory manner;
"you have had a sharp attack, but then there is a good constitution to
withstand it."

"My time--short--feel it here," rejoined the patient, passing his hand
over his forehead.

"Note that, Dutton," whispered Tom Wycherly. "My poor uncle intimates
himself that his mind is a little shaken. Under such circumstances, it
would be cruel to let him injure himself with business."

"It cannot be done _legally_, Mr. Thomas--I should think Admiral Oakes
would interfere to prevent it."

"Rotherham," continued the patient, "I will--settle with--world; then,
give--thoughts--to God. Have we--guests--the house?--Men of
family--character?"

"Certainly, Sir Wycherly; Admiral Oakes is in the room, even; and
Admiral Bluewater, is, I believe, still in the house. You invited both
to pass the night with you."

"I remember it--now; my mind--still--confused,"--here Tom Wychecombe
again nudged the master--"Sir Gervaise Oakes--an Admiral--ancient
baronet--man of high honour. Admiral Bluewater, too--relative--Lord
Bluewater; gentleman--universal esteem. You, too, Rotherham; wish my
poor brother James--St. James--used to call him--had been
living;--you--good neighbour--Rotherham."

"Can I do any thing to prove it, my dear Sir Wycherly? Nothing would
make me happier than to know, and to comply with, all your wishes, at a
moment so important!"

"Let all quit--room--but yourself--head feels worse--I cannot delay--"

"'Tis cruel to distress my beloved uncle with business, or conversation,
in his present state," interposed Tom Wychecombe, with emphasis, and, in
a slight degree, with authority.

All not only felt the truth of this, but all felt that the speaker, by
his consanguinity, had a clear right to interfere, in the manner he had.
Still Sir Gervaise Oakes had great reluctance in yielding to this
remonstrance; for, to the distrust he had imbibed of Tom Wychecombe, was
added an impression that his host wished to reveal something of
interest, in connection with his new favourite, the lieutenant. He felt
compelled, notwithstanding, to defer to the acknowledged nephew's better
claims, and he refrained from interfering. Fortunately, Sir Wycherly was
yet in a state to enforce his own wishes.

"Let all quit--room," he repeated, in a voice that was startling by its
unexpected firmness, and equally unexpected distinctness. "All but Sir
Gervaise Oakes--Admiral Bluewater--Mr. Rotherham, Gentlemen--favour to
remain--rest depart."

Accustomed to obey their master's orders, more especially when given in
a tone so decided, the domestics quitted the room, accompanied by
Dutton; but Tom Wychecombe saw fit to remain, as if his presence were to
be a matter of course.

"Do me--favour--withdraw,--Mr. Wychecombe," resumed the baronet, after
fixing his gaze on his nephew for some time, as if expecting him to
retire without this request.

"My beloved uncle, it is I--Thomas, your own brother's son--your next of
kin--waiting anxiously by your respected bed-side. Do not--do
not--confound me with strangers. Such a forgetfulness would break my
heart!"

"Forgive me, nephew--but I wish--alone with these
gentle----head--getting--confused--"

"You see how it is, Sir Gervaise Oakes--you see how it is, Mr.
Rotherham. Ah! there goes the coach that is to take Admiral Bluewater to
his boat. My uncle wished for three witnesses to something, and I can
remain as one of the three."

"Is it your pleasure, Sir Wycherly, to wish to see us alone?" asked Sir
Gervaise, in a manner that showed authority would be exercised to
enforce his request, should the uncle still desire the absence of his
nephew.

A sign from the sick man indicated the affirmative, and that in a manner
too decided to admit of mistake.

"You perceive, Mr. Wychecombe, what are your uncle's wishes," observed
Sir Gervaise, very much in the way that a well-bred superior intimates
to an inferior the compliance he expects; "I trust his desire will not
be disregarded, at a moment like this."

"I am Sir Wycherly Wychecombe's next of kin," said Tom, in a slightly
bullying tone; "and no one has the same right as a relative, and, I may
say, his heir, to be at his bed-side."

"That depends on the pleasure of Sir Wycherly Wychecombe himself, sir.
_He_ is master here; and, having done me the honour to invite me under
his roof as a guest, and, now, having requested to see me alone, with
others he has expressly named--one of whom you are not--I shall conceive
it my duty to see his wishes obeyed."

This was said in the firm, quiet way, that the habit of command had
imparted to Sir Gervaise's manner; and Tom began to see it might be
dangerous to resist. It was important, too, that one of the
vice-admiral's character and station should have naught to say against
him, in the event of any future controversy; and, making a few
professions of respect, and of his desire to please his uncle, Tom
quitted the room.

A gleam of satisfaction shot over the sick man's countenance, as his
nephew disappeared; and then his eye turned slowly towards the faces of
those who remained.

"Bluewater," he said, the thickness of his speech, and the general
difficulty of utterance, seeming to increase; "the rear-admiral--I want
all--respectable--witnesses in the house."

"My friend has left us, I understand," returned Sir Gervaise, "insisting
on his habit of never sleeping out of his ship; but Atwood must soon be
back; I hope _he_ will answer!"

A sign of assent was given; and, then, there was the pause of a minute,
or two, ere the secretary made his appearance. As soon, however, as he
had returned, the three collected around the baronet's bed, not without
some of the weakness which men are supposed to have inherited from their
common mother Eve, in connection with the motive for this singular
proceeding of the baronet.

"Sir Gervaise--Rotherham--Mr. Atwood," slowly repeated the patient, his
eye passing from the face of one to that of another, as he uttered the
name of each; "three witnesses--that will do--Thomas said--must have
_three_--three _good_ names."

"What can we do to serve you, Sir Wycherly?" inquired the admiral, with
real interest. "You have only to name your requests, to have them
faithfully attended to."

"Old Sir Michael Wychecombe, Kt.--two wives--Margery and Joan. Two
wives--two sons--half-blood--Thomas, James, Charles, and Gregory,
_whole_--Sir Reginald Wychecombe, _half_. Understand--hope--gentlemen?"

"This is not being very clear, certainly," whispered Sir Gervaise; "but,
perhaps by getting hold of the other end of the rope, we may under-run
it, as we sailors say, and come at the meaning--we will let the poor man
proceed, therefore. Quite plain, my dear sir, and what have you next to
tell us. You left off without saying only _half_ about Sir Reginald."

"Half-blood; only _half_--Tom and the rest, whole. Sir Reginald, no
_nullius_--young Tom, a _nullius_."

"A _nullius_, Mr. Rotherham! You understand Latin, sir; what can a
_nullius_, mean? No such rope in the ship, hey! Atwood?"

"_Nullius_, or _nullius_, as it ought sometimes to be pronounced, is the
genitive case, singular, of the pronoun _nullus; nullus, nulla, nullum_;
which means, 'no man,' 'no woman,' 'no thing.' _Nullius_ means, 'of no
man,' 'of no woman,' 'of no thing.'"

The vicar gave this explanation, much in the way a pedagogue would have
explained the matter to a class.

"Ay-ay--any school-boy could have told that, which is the first form
learning. But what the devil can 'Nom. _nullus, nulla, nullum_; Gen.
_nullius, nullius, nullius_,' have to do with Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, the
nephew and heir of the present baronet?"

"That is more than I can inform you, Sir Gervaise," answered the vicar,
stiffly; "but, for the Latin, I will take upon myself to answer, that it
is good."

Sir Gervaise was too-well bred to laugh, but he found it difficult to
suppress a smile.

"Well, Sir Wycherly," resumed the vice-admiral, "this is quite
plain--Sir Reginald is only _half_, while your nephew Tom, and the rest,
are _whole_--Margery and Joan, and all that. Any thing more to tell us,
my dear sir?"

"Tom _not_ whole--_nullus_, I wish to say. Sir Reginald _half_--no
_nullus_."

"This is like being at sea a week, without getting a sight of the sun! I
am all adrift, now, gentlemen."

"Sir Wycherly does not attend to his cases," put in Atwood, drily. "At
one time, he is in the _genitive_, and then he gets back to the
_nominative_; which is leaving us in the _vocative_"

"Come--come--Atwood, none of your gun-room wit, on an occasion so solemn
as this. My dear Sir Wycherly, have you any thing more to tell us? I
believe we perfectly understand you, now. Tom is not _whole_--you wish
to say _nullus_, and not to say _nullius_. Sir Reginald is only _half_,
but he is no _nullus_."

"Yes, sir--that is it," returned the old man, smiling. "_Half_, but no
_nullus_. Change my mind--seen too much of the other, lately--Tom, my
nephew--want to make _him_ my heir."

"This is getting clearer, out of all question. You wish to make your
nephew, Tom, your heir. But the law does that already, does it not my
dear sir? Mr. Baron Wychecombe was the next brother of the baronet; was
he not, Mr. Rotherham?"

"So I have always understood, sir; and Mr. Thomas Wychecombe must be the
heir at law."

"No--no--_nullus_--_nullus_," repeated Sir Wycherly, with so much
eagerness as to make his voice nearly indistinct; "Sir Reginald--Sir
Reginald--Sir Reginald."

"And pray, Mr. Rotherham, who may this Sir Reginald be? Some old baronet
of the family, I presume."

"Not at all, sir; it is Sir Reginald Wychecombe of Wychecombe-Regis,
Herts; a baronet of Queen Anne's time, and a descendant from a cadet of
this family, I am told."

"This is getting on soundings--I had taken it into my head this Sir
Reginald was some old fellow of the reign of one of the Plantagenets.
Well, Sir Wycherly, do you wish us to send an express into
Hertfordshire, in quest of Sir Reginald Wychecombe, who is quite likely
your executor? Do not give yourself the pain to speak; a sign will
answer."

Sir Wycherly seemed struck with the suggestion, which, the reader will
readily understand, was far from being his real meaning; and then he
smiled, and nodded his head in approbation.

Sir Gervaise, with the prompitude of a man of business, turned to the
table where the vicar had written notes to the medical men, and dictated
a short letter to his secretary. This letter he signed, and in five
minutes Atwood left the room, to order it to be immediately forwarded by
express. When this was done, the admiral rubbed his hands, in
satisfaction, like a man who felt he had got himself cleverly out of a
knotty difficulty.

"I don't see, after all, Mr. Rotherham," he observed to the vicar, as
they stood together, in a corner of the room, waiting the return of the
secretary; "what he lugged in that school-boy Latin for--_nullus, nulla,
nullum_! Can you possibly explain _that_?"

"Not unless it was Sir Wycherly's desire to say, that Sir Reginald,
being descended from a younger son, was nobody--as yet, had no
woman--and I believe he is not married--and was poor, or had 'no
_thing_.'"

"And is Sir Wycherly such a desperate scholar, that he would express
himself in this hieroglyphical manner, on what I fear will prove to be
his death-bed?"

"Why, Sir Gervaise, Sir Wycherly was educated like all other young
gentlemen, but has forgotten most of his classics, in the course of a
long life of ease and affluence. Is it not probable, now, that his
recollection has returned to him suddenly, in consequence of this
affection of the head? I think I have read of some curious instances of
these reviving memories, on a death-bed, or after a fit of sickness."

"Ay, that you may have done!" exclaimed Sir Gervaise, smiling; "and
poor, good Sir Wycherly, must have begun afresh, at the very place where
he left off. But here is Atwood, again."

After a short consultation, the three chosen witnesses returned to the
bed-side, the admiral being spokesman.

"The express will be off in ten minutes. Sir Wycherly," he said; "and
you may hope to see your relative, in the course of the next two or
three days."

"Too late--too late," murmured the patient, who had an inward
consciousness of his true situation; "too late--turn the will round--Sir
Reginald, Tom;--Tom, Sir Reginald. Turn the will round."

"Turn the will round!--this is very explicit, gentlemen, to those who
can understand it. Sir Reginald, Tom;--Tom, Sir Reginald. At all events,
it is clear that his mind is dwelling on the disposition of his
property, since he speaks of wills. Atwood, make a note of these words,
that there need be no mistake. I wonder he has said nothing of our brave
young lieutenant, his namesake. There can be no harm, Mr. Rotherham, in
just mentioning that fine fellow to him, in a moment like this?"

"I see none, sir. It is _our_ duty to remind the sick of _their_
duties."

"Do you not wish to see your young namesake, Lieutenant _Wycherly_
Wychecombe, Sir Wycherly?" asked the admiral; sufficiently emphasizing
the Christian name. "He must be in the house, and I dare say would be
happy to obey your wishes."

"I hope he is well, sir--fine young gentleman--honour to the name, sir."

"Quite true, Sir Wycherly; and an honour to the _nation_, too."

"Didn't know Virginia was a _nation_--so much the better--fine young
_Virginian_, sir."

"Of your _family_, no doubt, Sir Wycherly, as well as of your name,"
added the admiral, who secretly suspected the young sailor of being a
son of the baronet, notwithstanding all he had heard to the contrary.
"An exceedingly fine young man, and an honour to any house in England!"

"I suppose they _have_ houses in Virginia--bad climate; houses
necessary. No relative, sir;--probably a _nullus_. Many
Wychecombes, _nulluses_. Tom, a _nullus_--this young gentleman, a
_nullus_--Wychecombes of Surrey, all _nulluses_--Sir Reginald no
_nullus_; but a _half_--Thomas, James, Charles, and Gregory, all
_whole_. My brother, Baron Wychecombe, told me--before died."

"_Whole what_, Sir Wycherly?" asked the admiral, a little vexed at the
obscurity of the other's language.

"Blood--_whole blood_, sir. Capital law, Sir Gervaise; had it from the
baron--first hand."

Now, one of the peculiarities of England is, that, in the division of
labour, few know any thing material about the law, except the
professional men. Even their knowledge is divided and sub-divided, in a
way that makes a very fair division of profit. Thus the conveyancer is
not a barrister; the barrister is not an attorney; and the chancery
practitioner would be an unsafe adviser for one of the purely law
courts. That particular provision of the common law, which Baron
Wychecombe had mentioned to his brother, as the rule of the
_half-blood_, has been set aside, or modified, by statute, within the
last ten years; but few English laymen would be at all likely to know of
such a law of descent even when it existed; for while it did violence to
every natural sentiment of right, it lay hidden in the secrets of the
profession. Were a case stated to a thousand intelligent Englishmen, who
had not read law, in which it was laid down that brothers, by different
mothers, though equally sons of the founder of the estate, could not
take from each other, unless by devise or entail, the probability is
that quite nine in ten would deny the existence of any rule so absurd;
and this, too, under the influence of feelings that were creditable to
their sense of natural justice. Nevertheless, such was one of the
important provisions of the "perfection of reason," until the recent
reforms in English law; and it has struck us as surprising, that an
ingenious writer of fiction, who has recently charmed his readers with a
tale, the interest of which turns principally on the vicissitudes of
practice, did not bethink him of this peculiar feature of his country's
laws; inasmuch as it would have supplied mystery sufficient for a dozen
ordinary romances, and improbabilities enough for a hundred. That Sir
Gervaise and his companions should be ignorant of the "law of the
half-blood," is, consequently, very much a matter of course; and no one
ought to be surprised that the worthy baronet's repeated allusions to
the "whole," and the "half," were absolutely enigmas, which neither had
the knowledge necessary to explain.

"What _can_ the poor fellow mean?" demanded the admiral, more concerned
than he remembered ever before to have been, on any similar occasion.
"One could wish to serve him as much as possible, but all this about
'_nullus_,' and 'whole blood,' and 'half,' is so much gibberish to
me--can you make any thing of it,--hey! Atwood?"

"Upon my word, Sir Gervaise, it seems a matter for a judge, rather than
for man-of-war's men, like ourselves."

"It certainly can have no connection with this rising of the Jacobites?
_That_ is an affair likely to trouble a loyal subject, in his last
moments, Mr. Rotherham!"

"Sir Wycherly's habits and age forbid the idea that he knows more of
_that_, sir, than is known to us all. His request, however, to 'turn the
will round,' I conceive to be altogether explicit. Several capital
treatises have appeared lately on the 'human will,' and I regret to say,
my honoured friend and patron has not always been quite as orthodox on
that point, as I could wish. I, therefore, consider his words as
evidence of a hearty repentance."

Sir Gervaise looked about him, as was his habit when any droll idea
crossed his mind; but again suppressing the inclination to smile, he
answered with suitable gravity--

"I understand you, sir; you think all these inexplicable terms are
connected with Sir Wycherly's religious feelings. You may certainly be
right, for it exceeds my knowledge to connect them with any thing else.
I wish, notwithstanding, he had not disowned this noble young lieutenant
of ours! Is it quite certain the young man is a Virginian?"

"So I have always understood it, sir. He has never been known in this
part of England, until he was landed from a frigate in the roads, to be
cured of a serious wound. I think none of Sir Wycherly's allusions have
the least reference to _him_."

Sir Gervaise Oakes now joined his hands behind his back, and walked
several times, quarter-deck fashion, to and fro, in the room. At each
turn, his eyes glanced towards the bed, and he ever found the gaze of
the sick man anxiously fastened on himself. This satisfied him that
religion had nothing to do with his host's manifest desire to make
himself understood; and his own trouble was greatly increased. It seemed
to him, as if the dying man was making incessant appeals to his aid,
without its being in his power to afford it. It was not possible for a
generous man, like Sir Gervaise, to submit to such a feeling without an
effort; and he soon went to the side of the bed, again, determined to
bring the affair to some intelligible issue.

"Do you think, Sir Wycherly, you could write a few lines, if we put pen,
ink, and paper before you?" he asked, as a sort of desperate remedy.

"Impossible--can hardly see; have got no strength--stop--will try--if
you please."

Sir Gervaise was delighted with this, and he immediately directed his
companions to lend their assistance. Atwood and the vicar bolstered the
old man up, and the admiral put the writing materials before him,
substituting a large quarto bible for a desk. Sir Wycherly, after
several abortive attempts, finally got the pen in his hand, and with
great difficulty traced six or seven nearly illegible words, running the
line diagonally across the paper. By this time his powers failed him
altogether, and he sunk back, dropping the pen, and closing his eyes in
a partial insensibility. At this critical instant, the surgeon entered,
and at once put an end to the interview, by taking charge of the
patient, and directing all but one or two necessary attendants, to quit
the room.

The three chosen witnesses of what had just past, repaired together to a
parlour; Atwood, by a sort of mechanical habit, taking with him the
paper on which the baronet had scrawled the words just mentioned. This,
by a sort of mechanical use, also, he put into the hands of Sir
Gervaise, as soon as they entered the room; much as he would have laid
before his superior, an order to sign, or a copy of a letter to the
secretary of the Navy Board.

"This is as bad as the '_nullus_!'" exclaimed Sir Gervaise, after
endeavouring to decipher the scrawl in vain. "What is this first word,
Mr. Rotherham--'Irish,' is it not,--hey! Atwood?"

"I believe it is no move than 'I-n,' stretched over much more paper than
is necessary."

"You are right enough, vicar; and the next word is 'the,' though it
looks like a _chevaux de frise_--what follows? It looks like
'man-of-war.' Atwood?"

"I beg your pardon, Sir Gervaise; this first letter is what I should
call an elongated n--the next is certainly an a--the third looks like
the waves of a river--ah! it is an m--and the last is an
e--n-a-m-e--that makes 'name,' gentlemen."

"Yes," eagerly added the vicar, "and the two next words are, 'of God.'"

"Then it is religion, after all, that was on the poor man's mind!"
exclaimed Sir Gervaise, in a slight degree disappointed, if the truth
must be told. "What's this A-m-e-n--'Amen'--why it's a sort of prayer."

"This is the form in which it is usual to commence wills, I believe, Sir
Gervaise," observed the secretary, who had written many a one, on board
ship, in his day. "'In the name of God, Amen.'"

"By George, you're right, Atwood; and the poor man was trying, all the
while, to let us know how he wished to dispose of his property! What
could he mean by the _nullus_--it is not possible that the old gentleman
has nothing to leave?"

"I'll answer for it, Sir Gervaise, _that_ is not the true explanation,"
the vicar replied. "Sir Wycherly's affairs are in the best order; and,
besides the estate, he has a large sum in the funds."

"Well, gentlemen, we can do no more to-night. A medical man is already
in the house, and Bluewater will send ashore one or two others from the
fleet. In the morning, if Sir Wycherly is in a state to converse, this
matter shall be attended to."

The party now separated; a bed being provided for the vicar, and the
admiral and his secretary retiring to their respective rooms.



CHAPTER X.

    "Bid physicians talk our veins to temper,
    And with an argument new-set a pulse;
    Then think, my lord, of reasoning into love."

         YOUNG.


While the scene just related, took place in the chamber of the sick man,
Admiral Bluewater, Mrs. Dutton, and Mildred left the house, in the old
family-coach. The rear-admiral had pertinaciously determined to adhere
to his practice of sleeping in his ship; and the manner in which he had
offered seats to his two fair companions--for Mrs. Dutton still deserved
to be thus termed--has already been seen. The motive was simply to
remove them from any further brutal exhibitions of Dutton's cupidity,
while he continued in his present humour; and, thus influenced, it is
not probable that the gallant old sailor would be likely to dwell, more
than was absolutely necessary, on the unpleasant scene of which he had
been a witness. In fact, no allusion was made to it, during the quarter
of an hour the party was driving from the Hall to the station-house.
They all spoke, with regret,--Mildred with affectionate tenderness,
even,--of poor Sir Wycherly; and several anecdotes, indicative of his
goodness of heart, were eagerly related to Bluewater, by the two
females, as the carriage moved heavily along. In the time mentioned, the
vehicle drew up before the door of the cottage, and all three alighted.

If the morning of that day had been veiled in mist, the sun had set in
as cloudless a sky, as is often arched above the island of Great
Britain. The night was, what in that region, is termed a clear
moonlight. It was certainly not the mimic day that is so often enjoyed
in purer atmospheres, but the panorama of the head-land was clothed in a
soft, magical sort of semi-distinctness, that rendered objects
sufficiently obvious, and exceedingly beautiful. The rounded, shorn
swells of the land, hove upward to the eye, verdant and smooth; while
the fine oaks of the park formed a shadowy background to the picture,
inland. Seaward, the ocean was glittering, like a reversed plane of the
firmament, far as eye could reach. If our own hemisphere, or rather this
latitude, may boast of purer skies than are enjoyed by the mother
country, the latter has a vast superiority in the tint of the water.
While the whole American coast is bounded by a dull-looking sheet of
sea-green, the deep blue of the wide ocean appears to be carried close
home to the shores of Europe. This glorious tint, from which the term of
"ultramarine" has been derived, is most remarkable in the Mediterranean,
that sea of delights; but it is met with, all along the rock-bound
coasts of the Peninsula of Spain and Portugal, extending through the
British Channel, until it is in a measure, lost on the shoals of the
North Sea; to be revived, however, in the profound depths of the ocean
that laves the wild romantic coast of Norway.

"'Tis a glorious night!" exclaimed Bluewater, as he handed Mildred, the
last, from the carriage; "and one can hardly wish to enter a cot, let it
swing ever so lazily."

"Sleep is out of the question," returned Mildred, sorrowfully. "These
are nights in which even the weary are reluctant to lose their
consciousness; but who can sleep while there is this uncertainty about
dear Sir Wycherly."

"I rejoice to hear you say this, Mildred,"--for so the admiral had
unconsciously, and unrepelled, begun to call his sweet companion--"I
rejoice to hear you say this, for I am an inveterate star-gazer and
moon-ite; and I shall hope to persuade you and Mrs. Dutton to waste yet
another hour, with me, in walking on this height. Ah! yonder is Sam
Yoke, my coxswain, waiting to report the barge; I can send Sir
Gervaise's message to the surgeons, by deputy, and there will be no
occasion for my hastening from this lovely spot, and pleasant company."

The orders were soon given to the coxswain. A dozen boats, it would
seem, were in waiting for officers ashore, notwithstanding the lateness
of the hour; and directions were sent for two of them to pull off, and
obtain the medical men. The coach was sent round to receive the latter,
and then all was tranquil, again, on the height. Mrs. Dutton entered the
house, to attend to some of her domestic concerns, while the
rear-admiral took the arm of Mildred, and they walked, together, to the
verge of the cliffs.

A fairer moonlight picture seldom offered itself to a seaman's eye, than
that which now lay before the sight of Admiral Bluewater and Mildred.
Beneath them rode the fleet; sixteen sail of different rigs, eleven of
which, however, were two-decked ships of the largest size then known in
naval warfare; and all of which were in that perfect order, that an
active and intelligent commander knows how to procure, even from the
dilatory and indifferent. If Admiral Bluewater was conspicuous in
man[oe]uvring a fleet, and in rendering every vessel of a line that
extended a league, efficient, and that too, in her right place, Sir
Gervaise Oakes had the reputation of being one of the best seamen, in
the ordinary sense of the word, in England. No vessel under his command,
ever had a lubberly look; and no ship that had any sailing in her,
failed to have it brought out of her. The vice-admiral was familiar with
that all-important fact--one that members equally of Congress and of
Parliament are so apt to forgot, or rather not to know at all--that the
efficiency of a whole fleet, as a fleet, is necessarily brought down to
the level of its worst ships. Of little avail is it, that four or five
vessels of a squadron sail fast, and work well, if the eight or ten that
remain, behave badly, and are dull. A separation of the vessels is the
inevitable consequence, when the properties of all are thoroughly tried;
and the division of a force, is the first step towards its defeat; as
its proper concentration, is a leading condition of victory. As the
poorer vessels cannot imitate the better, the good are compelled to
regulate their movements by the bad; which is at once essentially
bringing down the best ships of a fleet to the level of its worst; the
proposition with which we commenced.

Sir Gervaise Oakes was so great a favourite, that all he asked was
usually conceded to him. One of his conditions was, that his vessels
should sail equally well; "If you give me fast ships," he said, "I can
overtake the enemy; if dull, the enemy can overtake me; and I leave you
to say which course will be most likely to bring on an action. At any
rate, give me _consorts_; not one flyer, and one drag; but vessels that
can keep within hail of each other, without anchoring." The admiralty
professed every desire to oblige the gallant commander; and, as he was
resolved never to quit the Plantagenet until she was worn out, it was
indispensably necessary to find as many fast vessels as possible, to
keep her company. The result was literally a fleet of "horses," as
Galleygo used to call it; and it was generally said in the service, that
"Oakes had a squadron of flyers, if not a flying-squadron."

Vessels like these just mentioned, are usually symmetrical and graceful
to the eye, as well as fast. This fact was apparent to Mildred,
accustomed as she was to the sight of ships and she ventured to express
as much, after she and her companion had stood quite a minute on the
cliff, gazing at the grand spectacle beneath them.

"Your vessels look even handsomer than common, Admiral Bluewater," she
said, "though a ship, to me, is always an attractive sight."

"This is because they _are_ handsomer than common, my pretty critic.
Vice-Admiral Oakes is an officer who will no more tolerate an ugly ship
in his fleet, than a peer of the realm will marry any woman but one who
is handsome; unless indeed she happen to be surpassingly rich."

"I have heard that men are accustomed to lose their hearts under such an
influence," said Mildred, laughing; "but I did not know before, that
they were ever frank enough to avow it!"

"The knowledge has been imparted by a prudent mother, I suppose,"
returned the rear-admiral, in a musing manner; "I wish I stood
sufficiently in the parental relation to you, my young friend, to
venture to give a little advice, also. Never, before, did I feel so
strong a wish to warn a human being of a great danger that I fear is
impending over her, could I presume to take the liberty."

"It is not a liberty, but a duty, to warn any one of a danger that is
known to ourselves, and not to the person who incurs the risk. At least
so it appears to the eyes of a very young girl."

"Yes, if the danger was of falling from these cliffs, or of setting fire
to a house, or of any other visible calamity. The case is different,
when young ladies, and setting fire to the heart, are concerned."

"Certainly, I can perceive the distinction," answered Mildred, after a
short pause; "and can understand that the same person who would not
scruple to give the alarm against any physical danger, would hesitate
even at hinting at one of a moral character. Nevertheless, if Admiral
Bluewater think a simple girl, like me, of sufficient importance to take
the trouble to interest himself in her welfare, I should hope he would
not shrink from pointing out this danger. It is a terrible word to sleep
on; and I confess, besides a little uneasiness, to a good deal of
curiosity to know more."

"This is said, Mildred, because you are unaccustomed to the shocks which
the tongue of rude man may give your sensitive feelings."

"Unaccustomed!" said Mildred, trembling so that the weakness was
apparent to her companion. "Unaccustomed! Alas! Admiral Bluewater, can
this be so, after what you have seen and heard!"

"Pardon me, dear child: nothing was farther from my thoughts, than to
wish to revive those unpleasant recollections. If I thought I should be
forgiven, I might venture, yet, to reveal my secret; for never
before--though I cannot tell the reason of so sudden and so
extraordinary an interest in one who is almost a stranger--"

"No--no--not a stranger, dear sir. After all that has passed to-day;
after you have been admitted, though it were by accident, to one most
sacred secret;--after all that was said in the carriage, and the
terrible scenes my beloved mother went through in your presence so many
years since, you can never be a stranger to _us_, whatever may be your
own desire to fancy yourself one."

"Girl, you do not fascinate--you do not charm me, but you _bind_ me to
you in a way I did not think it in the power of any human being to
subjugate my feelings!"

This was said with so much energy, that Mildred dropped the arm she
held, and actually recoiled a step, if not in alarm, at least in
surprise. But, on looking up into the face of her companion, and
perceiving large tears actually glistening on his cheek, and seeing the
hair that exposure and mental cares had whitened more than time, all her
confidence returned, and she resumed the place she had abandoned, of her
own accord, and as naturally as a daughter would have clung to the side
of a father.

"I am sure, sir, my gratitude for this interest ought to be quite equal
to the honour it does me," Mildred said, earnestly. "And, now, Admiral
Bluewater, do not hesitate to speak to me with the frankness that a
parent might use. I will listen with the respect and deference of a
daughter."

"Then do listen to what I have to say, and make no answer, if you find
yourself wounded at the freedom I am taking. It would seem that there is
but one subject on which a man, old fellow or young fellow, can speak to
a lovely young girl, when he gets her alone, under the light of a fine
moon;--and that is love. Nay, start not again, my dear, for, if I am
about to speak on so awkward a subject, it is not in my own behalf I
hardly know whether you will think it in behalf of any one; as what I
have to say, is not an appeal to your affections, but a warning against
bestowing them."

"A warning, Admiral Bluewater! Do you really think that can be
necessary?"

"Nay, my child, that is best known to yourself. Of one thing I am
certain; the young man I have in my eye, affects to admire you, whether
he does or not; and when young women are led to believe they are loved,
it is a strong appeal to all their generous feelings to answer the
passion, if not with equal warmth, at least with something very like
it."

"Affects to admire, sir!--And why should any one be at the pains of
_affecting_ feelings towards me, that they do not actually entertain? I
have neither rank, nor money, to bribe any one to be guilty of an
hypocrisy so mean, and which, in my ease, would be so motiveless."

"Yes, if it _were_ motiveless to win the most beautiful creature in
England! But, no matter. We will not stop to analyze motives, when
_facts_ are what we aim at. I should think there must be some passion in
this youth's suit, and that will only make it so much the more dangerous
to its object. At all events, I feel a deep conviction that he is
altogether unworthy of you. This is a bold expression of opinion on an
acquaintance of a day; but there are such reasons for it, that a man of
my time of life, if unprejudiced, can scarcely be deceived."

"All this is very singular, sir, and I had almost used your own word of
'alarming,'" replied Mildred, slightly agitated by curiosity, but more
amused. "I shall be as frank as yourself, and say that you judge the
gentleman harshly. Mr. Rotherham may not have all the qualities that a
clergyman ought to possess, but he is far from being a bad man. Good or
bad, however, it is not probable that he will carry his transient
partiality any farther than he has gone already."

"Mr. Rotherham!--I have neither thought nor spoken of the pious vicar at
all!"

Mildred was now sadly confused. Mr. Rotherham had made his proposals for
her, only the day before, and he had been mildly, but firmly refused.
The recent occurrence was naturally uppermost in her mind; and the
conjecture that her rejected suitor, under the influence of wine, might
have communicated the state of his wishes, or what he fancied to be the
state of his wishes, to her companion, was so very easy, that she had
fallen into the error, almost without reflection.

"I beg pardon, sir--I really imagined," the confused girl answered;
"but, it was a natural mistake for me to suppose you meant Mr.
Rotherham, as he is the only person who has ever spoken to my mother on
the subject of any thing like a preference for me."

"I should have less fear of those who spoke to your mother, Mildred,
than of those who spoke only to _you_. As I hate ambiguity, however, I
will say, at once, that my allusion was to Mr. Wychecombe."

"Mr. Wychecombe, Admiral Bluewater!"--and the veteran felt the arm that
leaned on him tremble violently, a sad confirmation of even more than he
apprehended, or he would not have been so abrupt. "Surely--surely--the
warning you mean, cannot, _ought_ not to apply to a gentleman of Mr.
Wychecombe's standing and character!"

"Such is the world, Miss Dutton, and we old seamen, in particular, get
to know it, whether willingly or not. My sudden interest in you, the
recollection of former, but painful scenes, and the events of the day,
have made me watchful, and, you will add, bold--but I am resolved to
speak, even at the risk of disobliging you for ever--and, in speaking, I
must say that I never met with a young man who has made so unfavourable
an impression on me, as this same Mr. Wychecombe."

Mildred, unconsciously to herself, withdrew her arm, and she felt
astonished at her own levity, in so suddenly becoming sufficiently
intimate with a stranger to permit him thus to disparage a confirmed
friend.

"I am sorry, sir, that you entertain so indifferent an opinion of one
who is, I believe, a general favourite, in this part of the country,"
she answered, with a coldness that rendered her manner marked.

"I perceive I shall share the fate of all unwelcome counsellors, but can
only blame my own presumption. Mildred, we live in momentous times, and
God knows what is to happen to myself, in the next few months; but, so
strong is the inexplicable interest that I feel in your welfare, that I
shall venture still to offend. I like not this Mr. Wychecombe, who is so
devout an admirer of yours--real or affected--and, as to the liking of
dependants for the heir of a considerable estate, it is so much a matter
of course, that I count it nothing."

"The heir of a considerable estate!" repeated Mildred, in a voice to
which the natural sweetness returned, quietly resuming the arm, she had
so unceremoniously dropped--"Surely, dear sir, you are not speaking of
Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, Sir Wycherly's nephew."

"Of whom else should I speak?--Has he not been your shadow the whole
day?--so marked in his attentions, as scarce to deem it necessary to
conceal his suit?"

"Has it really struck you thus, sir?--I confess I did not so consider
it. We are so much at home at the Hall, that we rather expect all of
that family to be kind to us. But, whether you are right in your
conjecture, or not, Mr. Thomas Wychecombe can never be ought to me--and
as proof, Admiral Bluewater, that I take your warning, as it is meant,
in kindness and sincerity, I will add, that he is not a very particular
favourite."

"I rejoice to hear it! Now there is his namesake, our young lieutenant,
as gallant and as noble a fellow as ever lived--would to Heaven be was
not so wrapt up in his profession, as to be insensible to any beauties,
but those of a ship. Were you my own daughter, Mildred, I could give you
to that lad, with as much freedom as I would give him my estate, were he
my son."

Mildred smiled--and it was archly, though not without a shade of sorrow,
too--but she had sufficient self-command, to keep her feelings to
herself, and too much maiden reserve not to shrink from betraying her
weakness to one who, after all, was little more than a stranger.

"I dare say, sir," she answered, with an equivocation which was perhaps
venial, "that your knowledge of the world has judged both these
gentlemen, rightly. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, notwithstanding all you heard
from my poor father, is not likely to think seriously of me; and I will
answer for my own feelings as regards _him_. I am, in no manner, a
proper person to become Lady Wychecombe; and, I trust, I should have the
prudence to decline the honour were it even offered to me. Believe me,
sir, my father would have held a different language to-night, had it not
been for Sir Wycherly's wine, and the many loyal toasts that were drunk.
He _must_ be conscious, in his reflecting moments, that a child of his
is unsuited to so high a station. Our prospects in life were once better
than they are now, Admiral Bluewater; but they have never been such as
to raise these high expectations in us."

"An officer's daughter may always claim to be a gentlewoman, my dear;
and, as such, you might become the wife of a duke, did he love you.
Since I find my warning unnecessary, however, we will change the
discourse. Did not something extraordinary occur at this cliff, this
morning, and in connection with this very Mr. Thomas Wychecombe? Sir
Gervaise was my informant; but he did not relate the matter very
clearly."

Mildred explained the mistake, and then gave a vivid description of the
danger in which the young lieutenant had been placed, as well as of the
manner in which he had extricated himself. She particularly dwelt on the
extraordinary presence of mind and resolution, by means of which he had
saved his life, when the stone first gave way beneath his foot.

"All this is well, and what I should have expected from so active and
energetic a youth," returned the rear-admiral, a little gravely; "but, I
confess I would rather it had not happened. Your inconsiderate and
reckless young men, who risk their necks idly, in places of this sort,
seldom have much in them, after all. Had there been a motive, it would
have altered the case."

"Oh! but there _was_ a motive, sir; he was far from doing so silly a
thing for nothing!"

"And what was the motive, pray?--I can see no sufficient reason why a
man of sense should trust his person over a cliff as menacing as this.
One may approach it, by moonlight; but in the day, I confess to you I
should not fancy standing as near it, as we do at this moment."

Mildred was much embarrassed for an answer. Her own heart told her
Wycherly's motive, but that it would never do to avow to her companion,
great as was the happiness she felt in avowing it to herself. Gladly
would she have changed the discourse; but, as this could not be done,
she yielded to her native integrity of character, and told the truth, as
far as she told any thing.

"The flowers that grow on the sunny side of these rocks, Admiral
Bluewater, are singularly fragrant and beautiful," she said; "and
hearing my mother and myself speaking of them, and how much the former
delighted in them, though they were so seldom to be had, he just
ventured over the cliff--not here, where it is so _very_ perpendicular,
but yonder, where one _may_ cling to it, very well, with a little
care--and it was in venturing a little--just a _very_ little too far, he
told me, himself, sir, to-day, after dinner,--that the stone broke, and
the accident occurred, I do not think Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe in the
least fool-hardy, and not at all disposed to seek a silly admiration, by
a silly exploit."

"He has a most lovely and a most eloquent advocate," returned the
admiral, smiling, though the expression of his countenance was
melancholy, even to sadness; "and he is acquitted. I think few men of
his years would hesitate about risking their necks for flowers so
fragrant and beautiful, and so much coveted by _your_ mother, Mildred."

"And he a sailor, sir, who thinks so little of standing on giddy places,
and laughs at fears of this nature?"

"Quite true; though there are few cliffs on board ship. Ropes are our
sources of courage."

"So I should think, by what passed to-day," returned Mildred, laughing.
"Mr. Wycherly called out for a rope, and we just threw him one, to help
him out of his difficulty. The moment he got his rope, though it was
only yonder small signal-halyards, he felt himself as secure as if he
stood up here, on the height, with acres of level ground around him. I
do not think he was frightened, at any time; but when he got hold of
that little rope, he was fairly valiant!"

Mildred endeavoured to laugh at her own history, by way of veiling her
interest in the event; but her companion was too old, and too
discerning, to be easily deceived. He continued silent, as he led her
away from the cliff; and when he entered the cottage, Mildred saw, by
the nearer light of the candles, that his countenance was still sad.

Admiral Bluewater remained half an hour longer in the cottage, when he
tore himself away, from a society which, for him, possessed a charm that
he could not account for, nor yet scarcely estimate. It was past one,
when he bid Mrs. Dutton and her daughter adieu; promising, however, to
see them again, before the fleet sailed. Late as it was, the mother and
Mildred felt no disposition to retire, after the exciting scenes they
had gone through; but, feeling a calm on their spirits, succeeding the
rude interruption produced by Dutton's brutality, they walked out on the
cliff, to enjoy the cool air, and the bland scenery of the head-land, at
that witching hour.

"I should feel alarm at this particularity of attention, from most men,
my child," observed the prudent mother, as they left the house: "but the
years, and especially the character of Admiral Bluewater, are pledges
that he meditates nothing foolish, nor wrong."

"His _years_ would be sufficient, mother," cried Mildred, laughing--for
her laugh came easily, since the opinion she had just before heard of
Wycherly's merit--"leaving the character out of the question."

"For you, perhaps, Mildred, but not for himself. Men rarely seem to
think themselves too old to win the young of our sex; and what they want
in attraction, they generally endeavour to supply by flattery and
artifice. But, I acquit our new friend of all that."

"Had he been my own father, dearest mother, his language, and the
interest he took in me, could not have been more paternal. I have found
it truly delightful to listen to such counsel, from one of his sex; for,
in general, they do not treat me in so sincere and fatherly a manner."

Mrs. Dutton's lip quivered, her eye-lids trembled too, and a couple of
tears fell on her cheeks.

"It _is_ new to you, Mildred, to listen to the language of disinterested
affection and wisdom from one of his years and sex. I do not censure
your listening with pleasure, but merely tell you to remember the proper
reserve of your years and character. Hist! there are the sounds of his
barge's oars."

Mildred listened, and the measured but sudden jerk of oars in the
rullocks, ascended on the still night-air, as distinctly as they might
have been heard in the boat. At the next instant, an eight-oared barge
moved swiftly out from under the cliff, and glided steadily on towards a
ship, that had one lantern suspended from the end of her gaff, another
in her mizzen-top, and the small night-flag of a rear-admiral,
fluttering at her mizzen-royal-mast-head. The cutter lay nearest to the
landing, and, as the barge approached her, the ladies heard the loud
hail of "boat-ahoy!" The answer was also audible; though given in the
mild gentleman-like voice of Bluewater, himself. It was simply,
"rear-admiral's flag." A death-like stillness succeeded this
annunciation of the rank of the officer in the passing boat, interrupted
only by the measured jerk of the oars. Once or twice, indeed, the keen
hearing of Mildred made her fancy she heard the common dip of the eight
oars, and the wash of the water, as they rose from the element, to gain
a renewed purchase. As each vessel was approached, however, the hail and
the answer were renewed, the quiet of midnight, in every instance,
succeeding. At length the barge was seen shooting along on the quarter
of the Cæsar, the rear-admiral's own ship, and the last hail was given.
This time, there was a slight stir in the vessel; and, soon after the
sound of the oars ceased, the lanterns descended from the stations they
had held, since nightfall. Two or three other lanterns were still
displayed at the gaffs of other vessels, the signs that their captains
were not on board; though whether they were ashore, or visiting in the
fleet, were facts best known to themselves. The Plantagenet, however,
had no light; it being known that Sir Gervaise did not intend to come
off that night.

When all this was over, Mrs. Dutton and Mildred sought their pillows,
after an exciting day, and, to them, one far more momentous than they
were then aware of.



CHAPTER XI.

    "When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat;
    Yet fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit;
    Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay;
    To-morrow's falser than the former day."

         DRYDEN.


Although Admiral Bluewater devoted the minimum of time to sleep, he was
not what the French term _matinal_. There is a period in the morning, on
board of a ship of war,--that of washing decks,--which can best be
compared to the discomfort of the American purification, yelep'd "a
house-cleaning." This occurs daily, about the rising of the sun; and no
officer, whose rank raises him above mingling with the duty, ever
thinks, except on extraordinary occasions that may require his presence
for other purposes, of intruding on its sacred mysteries. It is a rabid
hour in a ship, and the wisest course, for all idlers, and all
watch-officers, who are not on duty, is to keep themselves under
hatches, if their convenience will possibly allow it. He who wears a
flag, however, is usually reposing in his cot, at this critical moment;
or, if risen at all, he is going through similar daily ablutions of his
own person.

Admiral Bluewater was in the act of opening his eyes, when the splash of
the first bucket of water was heard on the deck of the Cæsar, and he lay
in the species of enjoyment which is so peculiar to naval men, after
they have risen to the station of commander; a sort of semi-trance, in
which the mind summons all the ancient images, connected with squalls;
reefing top-sails in the rain; standing on the quarter of a yard,
shouting "haul out to leeward;" peering over the weather hammock-cloths
to eye the weather, with the sleet pricking the face like needles;--and,
washing decks! These dreamy images of the past, however, are summoned
merely to increase the sense of present enjoyment. They are so many
well-contrived foils, to give greater brilliancy to the diamonds of a
comfortable cot, and the entire consciousness of being no longer exposed
to an untimely summons on deck.

Our rear-admiral, nevertheless, was not a vulgar dreamer, on such
occasions. He thought little of personal comforts at any time, unless
indeed when personal discomforts obtruded themselves on his attention;
he knew little, or nothing, of the table, whereas his friend was a
knowing cook, and in his days of probation had been a distinguished
caterer; but he was addicted to a sort of dreaming of his own, even when
the sun stood in the zenith, and he was walking the poop, in the midst
of a circle of his officers. Still, he could not refrain from glancing
back at the past, that morning, as plash after plash was heard,
and recalling the time when _magna pars quorum_ FUIT. At this
delectable instant, the ruddy face of a "young gentleman" appeared in
his state-room door, and, first ascertaining that the eyes of his
superior were actually open, the youngster said--

"A note from Sir Gervaise, Admiral Bluewater."

"Very well, sir,"--taking the note.--"How's the wind, Lord Geoffrey?"

"An Irishman's hurricane, sir; right up and down. Our first says, sir,
he never knew finer channel weather."

"Our first is a great astrologer. Is the fleet riding flood yet?"

"No, sir; it's slack-water; or, rather, the ebb is just beginning to
make."

"Go on deck, my lord, and see if the Dover has hove in any upon her
larboard bower, so as to bring her more on our quarter."

"Ay-ay-sir," and this cadet of one of the most illustrious houses of
England, skipped up the ladder to ascertain this fact.

In the mean while, Bluewater stretched out an arm, drew a curtain from
before his little window, fumbled for some time among his clothes before
he got his spectacles, and then opened the note. This early epistle was
couched in the following words--

     "DEAR BLUE:--

     "I write this in a bed big enough to ware a ninety in. I've been
     athwart ships half the night, without knowing it. Galleygo has just
     been in to report 'our fleet' all well, and the ships riding flood.
     It seems there is a good look-out from the top of the house, where
     part of the roads are visible. Magrath, and the rest of them, have
     been at poor Sir Wycherly all night. I learn, but he remains down
     by the head, yet. I am afraid the good old man will never be in
     trim again. I shall remain here, until something is decided; and as
     we cannot expect our orders until next day after to-morrow, at the
     soonest, one might as well be here, as on board. Come ashore and
     breakfast with us; when we can consult about the propriety of
     remaining, or of abandoning the wreck. Adieu,

     "OAKES.
     "REAR-ADMIRAL BLUEWATER.

     "P.S.--There was a little occurrence last night, connected with Sir
     Thomas Wycherly's will, that makes me particularly anxious to see
     you, as early as possible, this morning.

     "O."

Sir Gervaise, like a woman, had written his mind in his postscript. The
scene of the previous night had forcibly presented itself to his
recollection on awakening, and calling for his writing-desk, he had sent
off this note, at the dawn of day, with the wish of having as many
important witnesses as he could well obtain, at the interview he
intended to demand, at the earliest practicable hour.

"What the deuce can Oakes have to do with Sir Wycherly Wychecombe's
will?" thought the rear-admiral. "By the way, that puts me in mind of my
own; and of my own recent determination. What are my poor £30,000 to a
man with the fortune of Lord Bluewater. Having neither a wife nor child,
brother nor sister of my own, I'll do what I please with my money. Oakes
_won't_ have it; besides, he's got enough of his own, and to spare. An
estate of £7000 a year, besides heaps of prize-money funded. I dare say,
he has a good £12,000 a year, and nothing but a nephew to inherit it
all. I'm determined to do as I please with my money. I made every
shilling of it, and I'll give it to whom I please."

The whole time, Admiral Bluewater lay with his eyes shut, and with a
tongue as motionless as if it couldn't stir. With all his _laissez
aller_ manner, however, he had the promptitude of a sailor, when his
mind was made up to do a thing, though he always performed it in his own
peculiar mode. To rise, dress, and prepare to quit his state-room,
occupied him but a short time; and he was seated before his own
writing-desk, in the after-cabin, within twenty minutes after the
thoughts just recorded, had passed through his mind. His first act was
to take a folded paper from a private drawer, and glance his eye
carelessly over it. This was the will in favour of Lord Bluewater: It
was expressed in very concise terms, filling only the first side of a
page. This will he copied, _verbatim et literatim_, leaving blanks for
the name of the legatee, and appointing Sir Gervaise Oakes his executor,
as in the will already executed. When finished in this manner, he set
about filling up the blanks. For a passing instant, he felt tempted to
insert the name of the Pretender; but, smiling at his own folly, he
wrote that of "Mildred Dutton, daughter of Francis Dutton, a master in
His Majesty's Navy," in all the places that it was requisite so to do.
Then he affixed the seal, and, folding all the upper part of the sheet
over, so as to conceal the contents, he rang a little silver bell, which
always stood at his elbow. The outer cabin-door was opened by the
sentry, who thrust his head in at the opening.

"I want one of the young gentlemen, sentry," said the rear-admiral.

The door closed, and, in another minute, the smiling face of Lord
Geoffrey was at the entrance of the after-cabin.

"Who's on deck, my lord," demanded Bluewater, "beside the watch?"

"No one, sir. All the idlers keep as close as foxes, when the decks are
getting it; and as for any of our snorers showing their faces before six
bells, it's quite out of the question, sir."

"Some one must surely be stirring in the gun-room, by this time! Go and
ask the chaplain and the captain of marines to do me the favour to step
into the cabin--or the first lieutenant; or the master; or any of the
idlers."

The midshipman was gone two or three minutes, when he returned with the
purser and the chaplain.

"The first lieutenant is in the forehold, sir; all the marines have got
their dead-lights still in, and the master is working-up his log, the
gun-room steward says. I hope these will do, sir; they are the greatest
idlers in the ship, I believe."

Lord Geoffrey Cleveland was the second son of the third duke in the
English empire, and he knew it, as well as any one on board. Admiral
Bluewater had no slavish respect for rank; nevertheless, like all men
educated under an aristocratic system, he was influenced by the feeling
to a degree of which he himself was far from being conscious. This young
scion of nobility was not in the least favoured in matters of duty, for
this his own high spirit would have resented; but he dined in the cabin
twice as often as any other midshipman on board, and had obtained for
himself a sort of license for the tongue, that emboldened him to utter
what passed for smart things in the cock-pit and gun-room, and which,
out of all doubt, were pert things everywhere. Neither the chaplain nor
the purser took offence at his liberties on the present occasion; and,
as for the rear-admiral, he had not attended to what had been uttered.
As soon, however, as he found others in his cabin, he motioned to them
to approach his desk, and pointed to the paper, folded down, as
mentioned.

"Every prudent man," he said, "and, especially every prudent sailor and
soldier, in a time of war, ought to be provided with a will. This is
mine, just drawn up, by myself; and that instrument is an old one, which
I now destroy in your presence. I acknowledge this to be my hand and
seal," writing his name, and touching the seal with a finger as he
spoke; "affixed to this my last will and testament. Will you have the
kindness to act as witnesses?"

When the chaplain and purser had affixed their names, there still
remained a space for a third signature. This, by a sign from his
superior, the laughing midshipman filled with his own signature.

"I hope you've recollected, sir," cried the boy, with glee, as he took
his seat to obey; "that the Bluewaters and Clevelands are related. I
shall be grievously disappointed, when this will is proved, if my name
be not found somewhere in it!"

"So shall I, too, my lord," drily returned Bluewater; "for, I fully
expect it will appear as a witness; a character that is at once fatal to
all claims as a legatee."

"Well, sir, I suppose flag-officers can do pretty much as they please
with their money, since they do pretty much as they please with the
ships, and all in them. I must lean so much the harder on my two old
aunts, as I appear to have laid myself directly athwart-hawse of
fortune, in this affair!"

"Gentlemen," said the rear-admiral, with easy courtesy, "I regret it is
not in my power to have your company at dinner, to-day, as I am summoned
ashore by Sir Gervaise, and it is uncertain when I can get off, again;
but to-morrow I shall hope to enjoy that pleasure."

The officers bowed, expressed their acknowledgments, accepted the
invitation, bowed once or twice more each, and left the cabin, with the
exception of the midshipman.

"Well, sir," exclaimed Bluewater, a little surprised at finding he was
not alone, after a minute of profound reverie; "to what request am I
indebted still for the pleasure of your presence?"

"Why, sir, it's just forty miles to my father's house in Cornwall, and I
know the whole family is there; so I just fancied, that by bending on
two extra horses, a chaise might make the Park gates in about five
hours; and by getting under way on the return passage, to-morrow about
this time, the old Cæsar would never miss a crazy reefer, more or less."

"Very ingeniously put, young gentleman, and quite plausible. When I was
of your age, I was four years without once seeing either father or
mother."

"Yes, sir, but that was such a long time ago! Boys can't stand it, half
as well now, as they did then, as all old people say."

The rear-admiral's lips moved slightly, as if a smile struggled about
his mouth; then his face suddenly lost the expression, in one
approaching to sadness.

"You know, Geoffrey, I am not commander-in-chief. Sir Gervaise alone can
give a furlough."

"Very true, sir; but whatever you ask of Sir Gervaise, he always does;
more especially as concerns us of your flag-ship."

"Perhaps that is true. But, my boy, we live in serious times, and we may
sail at an hour's notice. Are you ignorant that Prince Charles Edward
has landed in Scotland, and that the Jacobites are up and doing? If the
French back him, we may have our hands full here, in the channel."

"Then my dear mother must go without a kiss, for the next twelvemonth!"
cried the gallant boy, dashing a hand furtively across his eyes, in
spite of his resolution. "The throne of old England must be upheld, even
though not a mother nor a sister in the island, see a midshipman in
years!"

"Nobly said, Lord Geoffrey, and it shall be known at head-quarters.
_Your_ family is whig; and you do well, at your time of life, to stick
to the family politics."

"A small run on the shore, sir, would be a great pleasure, after six
months at sea?"

"You must ask Captain Stowel's leave for that. You know I never
interfere with the duty of the ship."

"Yes, sir, but there are so many of us, and all have a hankering after
_terra firma_. Might I just say, that I have your permission, to ask
Captain Stowel, to let me have a run on the cliffs?"

"You may do _that_, my lord, if you wish it; but Stowel knows that he
can do as he pleases."

"He would be a queer captain of a man-of-war, if he didn't sir! Thank
you, Admiral Bluewater; I will write to my mother, and I know she'll be
satisfied with the reason I shall give her, for not coming to see her.
Good-morning, sir."

"Good-morning,"--then, when the boy's hand was on the lock of the
cabin-door--"my lord?"

"Did you wish to say any thing more, sir?"

"When you write, remember me kindly to the Duchess. We were intimate,
when young people; and, I might say, loved each other."

The midshipman promised to do as desired; then the rear-admiral was left
alone. He walked the cabin, for half an hour, musing on what he had done
in relation to his property, and on what he ought to do, in relation to
the Pretender; when he suddenly summoned his coxswain, gave a few
directions, and sent an order on deck to have his barge manned. The
customary reports went their usual rounds, and reached the cabin in
about three minutes more; Lord Geoffrey bringing them down, again.

"The barge is manned, sir," said the lad, standing near the cabin-door,
rigged out in the neat, go-ashore-clothes of a midshipman.

"Have you seen Captain Stowel, my lord?" demanded the rear-admiral.

"I have, sir; and he has given me permission to drift along shore, until
sunset; to be off with the evening gun of the vice-admiral."

"Then do me the favour to take a seat in my barge, if you are quite
ready."

This offer was accepted, and, in a few minutes, all the ceremonies of
the deck had been observed, and the rear-admiral was seated in his
barge. It was now so late, that etiquette had fair play, and no point
was omitted on the occasion. The captain was on deck, in person, as well
as gun-room officers enough to represent their body; the guard was
paraded, under its officers; the drums rolled; the boatswain piped six
side boys over, and Lord Geoffrey skipped down first into the boat,
remaining respectfully standing, until his superior was seated. All
these punctilios observed, the boat was shoved off from the vessel's
side, the eight oars dropped, as one, and the party moved towards the
shore. Every cutter, barge, yawl, or launch that was met, and which did
not contain an officer of rank itself, tossed its oars, as this barge,
with the rear-admiral's flag fluttering in its bow, passed, while the
others lay on theirs, the gentlemen saluting with their hats. In this
manner the barge passed the fleet, and approached the shore. At the
landing, a little natural quay formed by a low flat rock, there was a
general movement, as the rear-admiral's flag was seen to draw near; and
even the boats of captains were shoved aside, to give the naval _pas_.
As soon, however, as the foot of Bluewater touched the rock, the little
flag was struck; and, a minute later, a cutter, with only a lieutenant
in her, coming in, that officer ordered the barge to make way for _him_,
with an air of high and undisputed authority.

Perhaps there was not a man in the British marine, to whom the etiquette
of the service gave less concern, than to Bluewater. In this respect, he
was the very reverse of his friend; for Sir Gervaise was a punctilious
observer, and a rigid enforcer of all the prescribed ceremonials. This
was by no means the only professional point on which these two
distinguished officers differed. It has already been mentioned, that the
rear-admiral was the best tactician in England, while the vice-admiral
was merely respectable in that branch of his duty. On the other hand,
Sir Gervaise was deemed the best practical seaman afloat, so far as a
single ship was concerned, while Bluewater had no particular reputation
in that way. Then, as to discipline, the same distinction existed. The
commander-in-chief was a little of a _martinet_, exacting compliance
with the most minute regulations; while his friend, even when a captain,
had thrown the police duty of his ship very much on what is called the
executive officer: or the first lieutenant; leaving to that important
functionary, the duty of devising, as well as of executing the system by
which order and cleanliness were maintained in the vessel. Nevertheless,
Bluewater had his merit even in this peculiar feature of the profession.
He had made the best captain of the fleet to his friend, that had ever
been met with. This office, which, in some measure, corresponds to that
of an adjutant-general on shore, was suited to his generalizing and
philosophical turn of mind; and he had brought all its duties within the
circle and control of clear and simple principles, which rendered them
pleasant and easy. Then, too, whenever he commanded in chief, as
frequently happened, for a week or two at a time, Sir Gervaise being
absent, it was remarked that the common service of the fleet went on
like clock-work; his mind seeming to embrace generals, when it refused
to descend to details. In consequence of these personal peculiarities,
the captains often observed, that Bluewater ought to have been the
senior, and Oakes the junior; and then, their joint commands would have
produced perfection; but these criticisms must be set down, in a great
measure, to the natural propensity to find fault, and an inherent desire
in men, even when things are perfectly well in themselves, to prove
their own superiority, by pointing out modes and means by which they
might be made much better. Had the service been on land, this opinion
might possibly have had more practical truth in it; but, the impetuosity
and daring of Sir Gervaise, were not bad substitutes for tactics, in the
straight-forward combats of ships. To resume the narrative.

When Bluewater landed, he returned the profound and general salute of
all on or near the rock, by a sweeping, but courteous bow, which was
nevertheless given in a vacant, slovenly manner; and immediately began
to ascend the ravine. He had actually reached the grassy acclivity
above, before he was at all aware of any person's being near him.
Turning, he perceived that the midshipman was at his heels, respect
alone preventing one of the latter's active limbs and years from
skipping past his superior on the ascent. The admiral recollected how
little there was to amuse one of the boy's habits in a place like
Wychecombe, and he good-naturedly determined to take him along with
himself.

"You are little likely to find any diversion here, Lord Geoffrey," he
said; "if you will accept of the society of a dull old fellow, like
myself, you shall see all I see, be it more or less."

"I've shipped for the cruise, sir, and am ready and happy, too, to
follow your motions, with or without signals," returned the laughing
youngster. "I suppose Wychecombe is about as good as Portsmouth, or
Plymouth; and I'm sure these green fields are handsomer than the streets
of any dirty town I ever entered."

"Ay, green fields are, indeed, pleasant to the eyes of us sailors, who
see nothing but water, for months at a time. Turn to the right, if you
please, my lord; I wish to call at yonder signal-station, on my way to
the Hall."

The boy, as is not usual with lads of his age, inclined in "the way he
was told to go," and in a few minutes both stood on the head-land. As it
would not have done for the master to be absent from his staff, during
the day, with a fleet in the roads, Dutton was already at his post,
cleanly dressed as usual, but trembling again with the effect of the
last night's debauch on his nerves. He arose, with great deference of
manner, to receive the rear-admiral, and not without many misgivings of
conscience; for, while memory furnished a tolerable outline of what had
occurred in the interview between himself and his wife and daughter,
wine had lost its influence, and no longer helped to sustain his
self-command. He was much relieved, however, by the discreet manner in
which he was met by Bluewater.

"How is Sir Wycherly?" inquired the admiral saluting the master, as if
nothing had happened; "a note from Sir Gervaise, written about
day-break, tells me he was not, then, essentially better."

"I wish it were in my power to give you any good news, sir. He must be
conscious, notwithstanding; for Dick, his groom, has just ridden over
with a note from Mr. Rotherham, to say that the excellent old baronet
particularly desires to see my wife and daughter; and that the coach
will be here, to take them over in a few minutes. If you are bound to
the Hall, this morning, sir, I'm certain the ladies would be delighted
to give you a seat."

"Then I will profit by their kindness," returned Bluewater, seating
himself on the bench at the foot of the staff; "more especially, if you
think they will excuse my adding Lord Geoffrey Cleveland, one of
Stowel's midshipmen, to the party. He has entered, to follow my motions,
with or without signals."

Dutton uncovered again, and bowed profoundly, at this announcement of
the lad's name and rank; the boy himself, taking the salute in an
off-hand and indifferent way, like one already wearied with vulgar
adulation, while he gazed about him, with some curiosity, at the
head-land and flag-staff.

"This a good look-out, sir," observed the midshipman; "and one that is
somewhat loftier than our cross-trees. A pair of sharp eyes might see
every thing that passes within twenty miles; and, as a proof of it, I
shall be the first to sing out, 'sail, ho!'"

"Where-away, my young lord?" said Dutton, fidgeting, as if he had
neglected his duty, in the presence of a superior; "I'm sure, your
lordship can see nothing but the fleet at anchor, and a few boats
passing between the different ships and the landing!"

"Where-away, sure enough, youngster?" added the admiral. "I see some
gulls glancing along the surface of the water, a mile or two outside the
ships, but nothing like a sail."

The boy caught up Dutton's glass, which lay on the seat, and, in a
minute, he had it levelled at the expanse of water. It was some little
time, and not without much sighting along the barrel of the instrument,
that he got it to suit himself.

"Well, Master Sharp-eyes," said Bluewater, drily, "is it a Frenchman, or
a Spaniard?"

"Hold on, a moment, sir, until I can get this awkward glass to bear on
it.--Ay--now I have her--she's but a speck, at the best--royals and head
of top-gallant-sails--no, sir, by George, it's our own cutter, the
Active, with her square-sail set, and the heads of her lower sails just
rising. I know her by the way she carries her gaff."

"The Active!--that betokens news," observed Bluewater, thoughtfully--for
the march of events, at that moment, must necessarily brink on a crisis
in his own career. "Sir Gervaise sent her to look into Cherbourg."

"Yes, sir; we all know that--and, there she comes to tell us, I hope,
that Monsieur de Vervillin, has, at last, made up his mind to come out
and face us, like a man. Will you look at the sail, sir?"

Bluewater took the glass, and sweeping the horizon, he soon caught a
view of his object. A short survey sufficed, for one so experienced, and
he handed the glass back to the boy.

"You have quick eyes, sir," he said, as he did so; "that is a cutter,
certainly, standing in for the roads, and I believe you may be right in
taking her for the Active."

"'Tis a long way to know so small a craft!" observed Dutton, who also
took his look at the stranger.

"Very true, sir," answered the boy; "but one ought to tell a friend as
far as he can see him. The Active carries a longer and a lower gaff,
than any other cutter in the navy, which is the way we all tell her from
the Gnat, the cutter we have with us."

"I am glad to find your lordship is so close an observer," returned the
complaisant Dutton; "a certain sign, my lord, that your lordship will
make a good sailor, in time."

"Geoffrey is a good sailor, already," observed the admiral, who knew
that the youngster was never better pleased, than when he dropped the
distance of using his title, and spoke to, or of him, as of a
connection; which, in truth, he was. "He has now been with me four
years; having joined when he was only twelve. Two more years will make
an officer of him."

"Yes, sir," said Dutton, bowing first to one, and then to the other.
"Yes, sir; his lordship may well look forward to that, with _his_
particular merit, _your_ esteemed favour, and his _own_ great name. Ah!
sir, they've caught a sight of the stranger in the fleet, and bunting is
at work, already."

In anchoring his ships, Admiral Bluewater had kept them as close
together, as the fog rendered safe; for one of the great difficulties of
a naval commander is to retain his vessels in compact order, in thick or
heavy weather. Orders had been given, however, for a sloop and a frigate
to weigh, and stretch out into the offing a league or two, as soon as
the fog left them, the preceding day, in order to sweep as wide a reach
of the horizon as was convenient. In order to maintain their ground in a
light wind, and with a strong tide running, these two cruisers had
anchored; one, at the distance of a league from the fleet, and the
other, a mile or two farther outside, though more to the eastward. The
sloop lay nearest to the stranger, and signals were flying at her
main-royal-mast-head, which the frigate was repeating, and transmitting
to the flag-ship of the commander-in-chief. Bluewater was so familiar
with all the ordinary signals, that it was seldom he had recourse to his
book for the explanations; and, in the present instance, he saw at once
that it was the Active's number that was shown. Other signals, however,
followed, which it surpassed the rear-admiral's knowledge to read,
without assistance; from all which he was satisfied that the stranger
brought intelligence of importance, and which could only be understood
by referring to the private signal-book.

While these facts were in the course of occurrence, the coach arrived to
convey Mrs. Dutton and Mildred to the Hall. Bluewater now presented
himself to the ladies, and was received as kindly as they had separated
from him a few hours before; nor were the latter displeased at hearing
he was to be their companion back to the dwelling of Sir Wycherly.

"I fear this summons bodes evil tidings," said Mrs. Dutton; "he would
hardly think of desiring to see us, unless something quite serious were
on his mind; and the messenger said he was no better."

"We shall learn all, my dear lady, when we reach the Hall," returned
Bluewater; "and the sooner we reach it, the sooner our doubts will be
removed. Before we enter the carriage, let me make you acquainted with
my young friend, Lord Geoffrey Cleveland, whom I have presumed to invite
to be of the party."

The handsome young midshipman was well received, though Mrs. Dutton had
been too much accustomed, in early life, to see people of condition, to
betray the same deference as her husband for the boy's rank. The ladies
occupied, as usual, the hind seat of the coach, leaving that in front to
their male companions. The arrangement accidentally brought Mildred and
the midshipman opposite each other; a circumstance that soon attracted
the attention of the admiral, in a way that was a little odd; if not
remarkable. There is a charm in youth, that no other period of life
possesses; infancy, with its helpless beauty, scarcely seizing upon the
imagination and senses with an equal force. Both the young persons in
question, possessed this advantage in a high degree; and had there been
no other peculiarity, the sight might readily have proved pleasing to
one of Bluewater's benevolence and truth of feeling. The boy was turned
of sixteen; an age in England when youth does not yet put on the
appearance of manhood; and he retained all the evidences of a gay,
generous boyhood, rendered a little _piquant_, by the dash of archness,
roguery, and fun, that a man-of-war is tolerably certain to impart to a
lad of spirit. Nevertheless, his countenance retained an expression of
ingenuousness and of sensitive feeling, that was singularly striking in
one of his sex, and which, in spite of her beauty of feature, hair, and
complexion, formed the strongest attraction in the loveliness of
Mildred; that expression, which had so much struck and charmed
Bluewater--haunted him, we might add--since the previous day, by
appearing so familiar, even while so extraordinary, and for which he had
been unable to recollect a counterpart. As she now sat, face to face
with Lord Geoffrey, to his great surprise, the rear-admiral found much
of the same character of this very expression in the handsome boy, as in
the lovely girl. It is true, the look of ingenuousness and of sensitive
feeling, was far less marked in young Cleveland, than in Mildred, and
there was little general resemblance of feature or countenance between
the two; still, the first was to be found in both, and so distinctly, as
to be easily traced, when placed in so close contact. Geoffrey Cleveland
had the reputation of being like his mother; and, furnished with this
clue, the fact suddenly flashed on Bluewater's mind, that the being whom
Mildred so nearly and strikingly resembled, was a deceased sister of the
Duchess, and a beloved cousin of his own. Miss Hedworth, the young lady
in question, had long been dead; but, all who had known her, retained
the most pleasing impressions equally of her charms of person and of
mind. Between her and Bluewater there had existed a tender friendship,
in which, however, no shade of passion had mingled; a circumstance that
was in part owing to the difference in their years, Captain Bluewater
having been nearly twice his young relative's age; and in part,
probably, to the invincible manner in which the latter seemed wedded to
his profession, and his ship. Agnes Hedworth, notwithstanding, had been
very dear to our sailor, from a variety of causes,--far more so, than
her sister, the Duchess, though _she_ was a favourite--and the
rear-admiral, when his mind glanced rapidly through the chain of
association, that traced the accidental resemblance of Mildred to this
esteemed object, had a sincere delight in finding he had thus been
unconsciously attracted by one whose every look and smile now forcibly
reminded him of the countenance of a being whom, in her day, he had
thought so near perfection. This delight, however, was blended with
sadness, on various accounts; and the short excursion proved to be so
melancholy, that no one was sorry when it terminated.



CHAPTER XII.

    "Nath. Truly, Master Holofernes, the epithets are sweetly varied,
    like a scholar at the least. But, sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of
    the first head.

    _Hol._ Sir Nathaniel, _haud credo_.

    _Bull. 'Twas not a _haud credo_, 'twas a pricket."

         LOVER'S LABOUR LOST.


Every appearance of the jolly negligence which had been so
characteristic of life at Wychecombe-Hall, had vanished, when the old
coach drew up in the court, to permit the party it had brought from the
station to alight. As no one was expected but Mrs. Dutton and her
daughter, not even a footman appeared to open the door of the carriage;
the vulgar-minded usually revenging their own homage to the powerful, by
manifesting as many slights as possible to the weak. Galleygo let the
new-comers out, and, consequently, he was the first person of whom
inquiries were made, as to the state of things in the house.

"Well," said Admiral Bluewater, looking earnestly at the steward; "how
is Sir Wycherly, and what is the news?"

"Sir Wycherly is still on the doctor's list, your honour; and I expects
his case is set down as a hard 'un. We's as well as can be expected, and
altogether in good heart. Sir Jarvy turned out with the sun, thof he
didn't turn in 'till the middle-watch was half gone--or _two_ bells, as
they calls 'em aboard this house--_four_ bells, as we should say in the
old Planter--and chickens, I hears, has riz, a shillin' a head, since
our first boat landed."

"It's a melancholy business, Mrs. Dutton; I fear there can be little
hope."

"Yes, it's all _that_, Admiral Blue," continued Galleygo, following the
party into the house, no one but himself hearing a word he uttered; "and
'twill be worse, afore it's any better. They tells me potaties has taken
a start, too; and, as all the b'ys of all the young gentlemen in the
fleet is out, like so many wild locusts of Hegypt, I expects nothing
better than as our mess will fare as bad as sogers on a retreat."

In the hall, Tom Wychecombe, and his namesake, the lieutenant, met the
party. From the formal despondency of the first, every thing they
apprehended was confirmed. The last, however, was more cheerful, and not
altogether without hope; as he did not hesitate openly to avow.

"For myself, I confess I think Sir Wycherly much better," he said;
"although the opinion is not sanctioned by that of the medical men. His
desiring to see these ladies is favourable; and then cheering news for
him has been brought back, already, by the messenger sent, only eight
hours since, for his kinsman, Sir Reginald Wychecombe. He has sensibly
revived since that report was brought in."

"Ah! my dear namesake," rejoined Tom, shaking his head, mournfully; "you
cannot know my beloved uncle's constitution and feelings as well as I!
Rely on it, the medical men are right; and your hopes deceive you. The
sending for Mrs. Dutton and Miss Mildred, both of whom my honoured uncle
respects and esteems, looks more like leave-taking than any thing else;
and, as to Sir Reginald Wychecombe,--though a relative, beyond a
question,--I think there has been some mistake in sending for him; since
he is barely an acquaintance of the elder branch of the family, and he
is of the half-blood."

"_Half_ what, Mr. Thomas Wychecombe?" demanded the vice-admiral so
suddenly, behind the speaker, as to cause all to start; Sir Gervaise
having hastened to meet the ladies and his friend, as soon as he knew of
their arrival. "I ask pardon, sir, for my abrupt inquiry; but, as _I_
was the means of sending for Sir Reginald Wychecombe, I feel an interest
in knowing his exact relationship to my host?"

Tom started, and even paled, at this sudden question; then the colour
rushed into his temples; he became calmer, and replied:

"_Half-blood_, Sir Gervaise," he said, steadily. "This is an affinity
that puts a person altogether out of the line of succession; and, of
course, removes any necessity, or wish, to see Sir Reginald."

"Half-_blood_--hey! Atwood?" muttered the vice-admiral, turning away
towards his secretary, who had followed him down stairs. "This may be
the solution, after all! Do you happen to know what half-_blood_ means?
It cannot signify that Sir Reginald comes from one of those, who have no
father--all their ancestry consisting only of a mother?"

"I should think not, Sir Gervaise; in that case, Sir Reiginald would
scarcely be considered of so honourable a lineage, as he appears to be.
I have not the smallest idea, sir, what half-_blood_ means; and,
perhaps, it may not be amiss to inquire of the medical gentlemen.
Magrath is up stairs; possibly he can tell us."

"I rather think it has something to do with the law. If this
out-of-the-way place, now, could furnish even a lubberly attorney, we
might learn all about it. Harkee, Atwood; you must stand by to make Sir
Wycherly's will, if he says any thing more about it--have you got the
heading all written out, as I desired."

"It is quite ready, Sir Gervaise--beginning, as usual, 'In the name of
God, Amen.' I have even ventured so far as to describe the testator's
style and residence, &c. &c.--'I, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, Bart., of
Wychecombe Hall, Devon, do make and declare this to be my last will and
testament, &c. &c.' Nothing is wanting but the devises, as the lawyers
call them. I can manage a will, well enough, Sir Gervaise, I believe.
One of mine has been in the courts, now, these five years, and they tell
me it sticks there, as well as if it had been drawn in the Middle
Temple."

"Ay, I know your skill. Still, there can be no harm in just asking
Magrath; though I think it must be law, after all! Run up and ask him,
Atwood, and bring me the answer in the drawing-room, where I see
Bluewater has gone with his convoy; and--harkee--tell the surgeons to
let us know the instant the patient says any thing about his temporal
affairs. The twenty thousand in the funds are his, to do what he pleases
with; let the land be tied up, as it may."

While this "aside," was going on in the hall, Bluewater and the rest of
the party had entered a small parlour, that was in constant use, still
conversing of the state of Sir Wycherly. As all of them, but the two
young men, were ignorant of the nature of the message to Sir Reginald
Wychecombe, and of the intelligence in connection with that gentleman,
which had just been received, Mrs. Dutton ventured to ask an
explanation, which was given by Wycherly, with a readiness that proved
_he_ felt no apprehensions on the subject.

"Sir Wycherly desired to see his distant relative, Sir Reginald," said
the lieutenant; "and the messenger who was sent to request his
attendance, fortunately learned from a post-boy, that the Hertfordshire
baronet, in common with many other gentlemen, is travelling in the west,
just at this moment; and that he slept last night, at a house only
twenty miles distant. The express reached him several hours since, and
an answer has been received, informing us that we may expect to see him,
in an hour or two."

Thus much was related by Wycherly; but, we may add that Sir Reginald
Wychecombe was a Catholic, as it was then usual to term the Romanists,
and in secret, a Jacobite; and, in common with many of that religious
persuasion, he was down in the west, to see if a rising could not be
organized in that part of the kingdom, as a diversion to any attempt to
repel the young Pretender in the north. As the utmost caution was used
by the conspirators, this fact was not even suspected by any who were
not in the secret of the whole proceeding. Understanding that his
relation was an inefficient old man, Sir Reginald, himself an active and
sagacious intriguer, had approached thus near to the old paternal
residence of his family, in order to ascertain if his own name and
descent might not aid him in obtaining levies among the ancient tenantry
of the estate. That day he had actually intended to appear at
Wychecombe, disguised, and under an assumed name. He proposed venturing
on this step, because circumstances put it in his power, to give what he
thought would be received as a sufficient excuse, should his conduct
excite comment.

Sir Reginald Wychecombe was a singular, but by no means an unnatural
compound of management and integrity. His position as a Papist had
disposed him to intrigue, while his position as one proscribed by
religious hostility, had disposed him to be a Papist. Thousands are made
men of activity, and even of importance, by persecution and
proscription, who would pass through life quietly and unnoticed, if the
meddling hand of human forethought did not force them into situations
that awaken their hostility, and quicken their powers. This gentleman
was a firm believer in all the traditions of his church, though his
learning extended little beyond his missal; and he put the most implicit
reliance on the absurd, because improbable, fiction of the Nag's Head
consecration, without having even deemed it necessary to look into a
particle of that testimony by which alone such a controversy could be
decided. In a word, he was an instance of what religious intolerance has
ever done, and will probably for ever continue to do, with so wayward a
being as man.

Apart from this weakness, Sir Reginald Wychecombe had both a shrewd and
an inquiring mind. His religion he left very much to the priests; but of
his temporal affairs he assumed a careful and prudent supervision. He
was much richer than the head of the family; but, while he had no
meannesses connected with money, he had no objection to be the possessor
of the old family estates. Of his own relation to the head of this
family, he was perfectly aware, and the circumstance of the half-blood,
with all its legal consequences, was no secret to him. Sir Reginald
Wychecombe was not a man to be so situated, without having recourse to
all proper means, in order, as it has become the fashion of the day to
express it, "to define his position." By means of a shrewd attorney, if
not of his own religious, at least of his own political opinions, he had
ascertained the fact, and this from the mouth of Martha herself, that
Baron Wychecombe had never married; and that, consequently, Tom and his
brothers were no more heirs at law to the Wychecombe estate, than he was
in his own person. He fully understood, too, that there _was_ no heir at
law; and that the lands must escheat, unless the present owner made a
will; and to this last act, his precise information told him that Sir
Wycherly had an unconquerable reluctance. Under such circumstances, it
is not at all surprising, that when the Hertfordshire baronet was thus
unexpectedly summoned to the bed-side of his distant kinsman, he
inferred that his own claims were at length to be tardily acknowledged,
and that he was about to be put in possession of the estates of his
legitimate ancestors. It is still less wonderful, that, believing this,
he promptly promised to lose no time in obeying the summons, determining
momentarily to forget his political, in order to look a little after his
personal interests.

The reader will understand, of course, that all these details were
unknown to the inmates of the Hall, beyond the fact of the expected
arrival of Sir Reginald Wychecombe, and that of the circumstance of the
half-blood; which, in its true bearing, was known alone to Tom. Their
thoughts were directed towards the situation of their host, and little
was said, or done, that had not his immediate condition for the object.
It being understood, however, that the surgeons kept the sick chamber
closed against all visiters, a silent and melancholy breakfast was taken
by the whole party, in waiting for the moment when they might be
admitted. When this cheerless meal was ended, Sir Gervaise desired
Bluewater to follow him to his room, whither he led the way in person.

"It is possible, certainly, that Vervillin is out," commenced the
vice-admiral, when they were alone; "but we shall know more about it,
when the cutter gets in, and reports. You saw nothing but her number, I
think you told me?"

"She was at work with private signals, when I left the head-land; of
course I was unable to read them without the book."

"That Vervillin is a good fellow," returned Sir Gervaise, rubbing his
hands; a way he had when much pleased; "and has stuff in him. He has
thirteen two-decked ships, Dick, and that will be one apiece for our
captains, and a spare one for each of our flags. I believe there is no
three-decker in that squadron?"

"There you've made a small mistake, Sir Gervaise, as the Comte de
Vervillin had his flag in the largest three-decker of France; _le
Bourbon_ 120. The rest of his ships are like our own, though much fuller
manned."

"Never mind, Blue--never mind:--we'll put two on the Bourbon, and try to
make our frigates of use. Besides, you have a knack at keeping the fleet
so compact, that it is nearly a single battery."

"May I venture to ask, then, if it's your intention to go out, should
the news by the Active prove to be what you anticipate?"

Sir Gervaise cast a quick, distrustful glance at the other, anxious to
read the motive for the question, at the same time that he did not wish
to betray his own feelings; then he appeared to meditate on the answer.

"It is not quite agreeable to lie here, chafing our cables, with a
French squadron roving the channel," he said; "but I rather think it's
my duty to wait for orders from the Admiralty, under present
circumstances."

"Do you expect my lords will send you through the Straits of Dover, to
blockade the Frith?"

"If they do, Bluewater, I shall hope for your company. I trust, a
night's rest has given you different views of what ought to be a
seaman's duty, when his country is at open war with her ancient and most
powerful enemies."

"It is the prerogative of the _crown_ to declare war, Oakes. No one but
a _lawful_ sovereign can make a _lawful_ war."

"Ay, here come your cursed distinctions about _de jure_ and _de facto_,
again. By the way, Dick, you are something of a scholar--can you tell me
what is understood by calling a man a _nullus_?"

Admiral Bluewater, who had taken his usual lolling attitude in the most
comfortable chair he could find, while his more mercurial friend kept
pacing the room, now raised his head in surprise, following the quick
motions of the other, with his eyes, as if he doubted whether he had
rightly heard the question.

"It's plain English, is it not?--or plain _Latin_, if you will--what is
meant by calling a man a _nullus_?" repeated Sir Gervaise, observing the
other's manner.

"The Latin is _plain_ enough, certainly," returned Bluewater, smiling;
"you surely do not mean _nullus, nulla, nullum_?"

"Exactly that--you've hit it to a gender.--_Nullus_, nulla, nullum_.
No _man_, no _woman_, no _thing_. Masculine, feminine, neuter."

"I never heard the saying. If ever used, it must be some silly play on
sounds, and mean a numskull--or, perhaps, a fling at a fellow's
position, by saying he is a 'nobody.' Who the deuce has been calling
another a _nullus_, in the presence of the commander-in-chief of the
southern squadron?"

"Sir Wycherly Wychecombe--our unfortunate host, here: the poor man who
is on his death-bed, on this very floor."

Again Bluewater raised his head, and once more his eye sought the face
of his friend. Sir Gervaise had now stopped short, with his hands
crossed behind his back, looking intently at the other, in expectation
of the answer.

"I thought it might be some difficulty from the fleet--some silly fellow
complaining of another still more silly for using such a word. Sir
Wycherly!--the poor man's mind must have failed him."

"I rather think not; if it has, there is 'method in his madness,' for he
persevered most surprisingly, in the use of the term. His nephew, Tom
Wychecombe, the presumptive heir, he insists on it, is a _nullus_; while
this Sir Reginald, who is expected to arrive every instant, he says is
only _half_--or half-_blood_, as it has since been explained to us."

"I am afraid this nephew will prove to be any thing but _nullus_, when
he succeeds to the estate and title," answered Bluewater, gravely. "A
more sinister-looking scoundrel, I never laid eyes on."

"That is just my way of thinking; and not in the least like the family."

"This matter of likenesses is not easily explained, Oakes. We see
parents and children without any visible resemblance to each other; and
then we find startling likenesses between utter strangers."

"_Bachelor's children_ may be in that predicament, certainly; but I
should think few others. I never yet studied a child, that I did not
find some resemblance to both parents; covert and only transitory,
perhaps; but a likeness so distinct as to establish the relationship.
What an accursed chance it is, that our noble young lieutenant should
have no claim on this old baronet; while this d----d _nullus_ is both
heir at law, and heir of entail! I never took half as much interest in
any other man's estate, as I take in the succession to this of our poor
host!"

"There you are mistaken, Oakes; you took more in _mine_; for, when I
made a will in your own favour, and gave it to you to read, you tore it
in two, and threw it overboard, with your own hand."

"Ay, that was an act of lawful authority. As your superior, I
countermanded that will! I hope you've made another, and given your
money, as I told you, to your cousin, the Viscount."

"I did, but _that_ will has shared the fate of the first. It appearing
to me, that we are touching on serious times, and Bluewater being rich
already, I destroyed the devise in his favour, and made a new one, this
very morning. As you are my executor, as usual, it may be well to let
you know it."

"Dick, you have not been mad enough to cut off the head of your own
family--your own flesh and blood, as it might be--to leave the few
thousands you own, to this mad adventurer in Scotland!"

Bluewater smiled at this evidence of the familiarity of his friend with
his own way of thinking and feeling; and, for a single instant, he
regretted that he had not put his first intention in force, in order
that the conformity of views might have been still more perfect; but,
putting a hand in his pocket he drew out the document itself, and
leaning forward, gave it carelessly to Sir Gervaise.

"There is the will; and by looking it over, you will know what I've
done," he said. "I wish you would keep it; for, if 'misery makes us
acquainted with strange bed-fellows,' revolutions reduce us, often, to
strange plights, and the paper will be safer with you than with me. Of
course, you will keep my secret, until the proper time to reveal it
shall arrive."

The vice-admiral, who knew that he had no direct interest in his
friend's disposition of his property, took the will, with a good deal of
curiosity to ascertain its provisions. So short a testament was soon
read; and his eye rested intently on the paper until it had taken in the
last word. Then his hand dropped, and he regarded Bluewater with a
surprise he neither affected, nor wished to conceal. He did not doubt
his friend's sanity, but he greatly questioned his discretion.

"This is a very simple, but a very ingenious arrangement, to disturb the
order of society," he said; "and to convert a very modest and
unpretending, though lovely girl, into a forward and airs-taking old
woman! What is this Mildred Dutton to you, that you should bequeath to
her £30,000?"

"She is one of the meekest, most ingenuous, purest, and loveliest, of
her meek, ingenuous, pure, and lovely sex, crushed to the earth by the
curse of a brutal, drunken father; and, I am resolute to see that this
world, for once, afford some compensation for its own miseries."

"Never doubt that, Richard Bluewater; never doubt _that_. So certain is
vice, or crime, to bring its own punishment in this life, that one may
well question if any other hell is needed. And, depend on it, your meek,
modest ingenuousness, in its turn, will not go unrewarded."

"Quite true, so far as the spirit is concerned; but, I mean to provide a
little for the comfort of the body. You remember Agnes Hedworth, I take
it for granted?"

"Remember her!--out of all question. Had the war left me leisure for
making love, she was the only woman I ever knew, who could have brought
me to her feet--I mean as a dog, Dick."

"Do you see any resemblance between her and this Mildred Dutton? It is
in the expression rather than in the features--but, it is the expression
which alone denotes the character."

"By George, you're right, Bluewater; and this relieves me from some
embarrassment I've felt about that very expression of which you speak.
She _is_ like poor Agnes, who became a saint earlier than any of us
could have wished. Living or dead, Agnes Hedworth must be an angel! You
were fonder of her, than of any other woman, I believe. At one time, I
thought you might propose for her hand."

"It was not that sort of affection, and you could not have known her
private history, or you would not have fancied this. I was so situated
in the way of relatives, that Agnes, though only the child of a
cousin-german, was the nearest youthful female relative I had on earth;
and I regarded her more as a sister, than as a creature who could ever
become my wife. She was sixteen years my junior; and by the time she had
become old enough to marry, I was accustomed to think of her only as one
destined for another station. The same feeling existed as to her sister,
the Duchess, though in a greatly lessened degree."

"Poor, sweet Agnes!--and it is on account of this accidental
resemblance, that you have determined to make the daughter of a drunken
sailing-master your heiress?"

"Not altogether so; the will was drawn before I was conscious that the
likeness existed. Still, it has probably, unknown to myself, greatly
disposed me to view her with favour. But, Gervaise, Agnes herself was
not fairer in person, or more lovely in mind, than this very Mildred
Dutton."

"Well, you have not been accustomed to regard _her_ as a sister; and
_she_ has become marriageable, without there having been any opportunity
for your regarding her as so peculiarly sacred, Dick!" returned Sir
Gervaise, half suppressing a smile as he threw a quiet glance at his
friend.

"You know this to be idle, Oakes. Some one must inherit my money; my
brother is long since dead; even poor, poor Agnes is gone; her sister
don't need it; Bluewater is an over-rich bachelor, already; _you_ won't
take it, and what better can I do with it? If you could have seen the
cruel manner in which the spirits of both mother and daughter were
crushed to the earth last night, by that beast of a husband and father,
you would have felt a desire to relieve their misery, even though it had
cost you Bowldero, and half your money in the funds."

"Umph! Bowldero has been in my family five centuries, and is likely to
remain there, Master Bluewater, five more; unless, indeed, your dashing
Pretender should succeed, and take it away by confiscation."

"There, again, was another inducement. Should I leave my cash to a rich
person, and should chance put me on the wrong side in this struggle, the
king, _de facto_, would get it all; whereas, even a German would not
have the heart to rob a poor creature like Mildred of her support."

"The _Scotch_ are notorious for bowels, in such matters! Well, have it
your own way, Dick. It's of no great moment what you do with your
prize-money; though I had supposed it would fall into the hands of this
boy, Geoffrey Cleveland, who is no discredit to your blood."

"He will have a hundred thousand pounds, at five-and-twenty, that were
left him by old Lady Greenfield, his great-aunt, and that is more than
he will know what to do with. But, enough of this. Have you received
further tidings from the north, during the night?"

"Not a syllable. This is a retired part of the country, and half
Scotland might be capsized in one of its loughs, and we not know of it,
for a week, down here in Devonshire. Should I get no intelligence or
orders, in the next thirty-six hours, I think of posting up to London,
leaving you in command of the fleet."

"That may not be wise. You would scarcely confide so important a trust,
in such a crisis, to a man of my political feelings--I will not say
_opinions_; since you attribute all to sentiment."

"I would confide my life and honour to you, Richard Bluewater, with the
utmost confidence in the security of both, so long as it depended on
your own acts or inclinations. We must first see, however, what news the
Active brings us; for, if de Vervillin is really out, I shall assume
that the duty of an English sailor is to beat a Frenchman, before all
other considerations."

"If he _can_," drily observed the other, raising his right leg so high
as to place the foot on the top of an old-fashioned chair; an effort
that nearly brought his back in a horizontal line.

"I am far from regarding it as a matter of course, Admiral Bluewater;
but, it _has_ been done sufficiently often, to render it an event of no
very violent _possibility_. Ah, here is Magrath to tell us the condition
of his patient."

The surgeon of the Plantagenet entering the room, at that moment, the
conversation was instantly changed.

"Well, Magrath," said Sir Gervaise, stopping suddenly in his
quarter-deck pace; "what news of the poor man?"

"He is reviving, Admiral Oakes," returned the phlegmatic surgeon; "but
it is like the gleaming of sunshine that streams through clouds, as the
great luminary sets behind the hills--"

"Oh! hang your poetry, doctor; let us have nothing but plain
matter-of-fact, this morning."

"Well, then, Sir Gervaise, as commander-in-chief, you'll be obeyed, I
think. Sir Wycherly Wychecombe is suffering under an attack of
apoplexy--or [Greek: apoplêxis], as the Greeks had it. The diagnosis of
the disease is not easily mistaken, though it has its affinities as well
as other maladies. The applications for gout, or _arthritis_--sometimes
produce apoplexy; though one disease is seated in the head, while the
other usually takes refuge in the feet. Ye'll understand this the more
readily, gentlemen, when ye reflect that as a thief is chased from one
hiding-place, he commonly endeavours to get into another. I much misgive
the prudence of the phlebotomy ye practised among ye, on the first
summons to the patient."

"What the d---l does the man mean by phlebotomy?" exclaimed Sir
Gervaise, who had an aversion to medicine, and knew scarcely any of the
commonest terms of practice, though expert in bleeding.

"I'm thinking it's what you and Admiral Bluewater so freely administer
to His Majesty's enemies, whenever ye fall in with 'em at
sea;--he-he-he--" answered Magrath, chuckling at his own humour; which,
as the quantity was small, was all the better in quality.

"Surely he does not mean powder and shot! We give the French shot; Sir
Wycherly has not been shot?"

"Varra true, Sir Gervaise, but ye've let him blood, amang ye: a measure
that has been somewhat precipitately practised, I've my misgivings!"

"Now, any old woman can tell us better than that, doctor. Blood-letting
is the every-day remedy for attacks of this sort."

"I do not dispute the dogmas of elderly persons of the other sex, Sir
Gervaise, or your _every-day remedia_. If 'every-day' doctors would save
life and alleviate pain, diplomas would be unnecessary; and we might,
all of us, practise on the principle of the 'de'el tak' the hindmaist,'
as ye did yoursel', Sir Gervaise, when ye cut and slash'd amang the
Dons, in boarding El Lirio. I was there, ye'll both remember, gentlemen;
and was obleeged to sew up the gashes ye made with your own irreverent
and ungodly hands."

This speech referred to one of the most desperate, hand-to-hand
struggles, in which the two flag-officers had ever been engaged; and, as
it afforded them the means of exhibiting their personal gallantry, when
quite young men, both usually looked back upon the exploit with great
self-complacency; Sir Gervaise, in particular, his friend having often
declared since, that they ought to have been laid on the shelf for life,
as a punishment for risking their men in so mad an enterprise, though it
did prove to be brilliantly successful.

"That was an affair in which one might engage at twenty-two, Magrath,"
observed Bluewater; "but which he ought to hesitate about thinking of
even, after thirty."

"I'd do it again, this blessed day, if you would give us a chance!"
exclaimed Sir Gervaise, striking the back of one hand into the palm of
the other, with a sudden energy, that showed how much he was excited by
the mere recollection of the scene.

"That w'ud ye!--that w'ud ye!" said Magrath, growing more and more
Scotch, as he warmed in the discourse; "ye'd board a mackerel-hoy,
rather than not have an engagement. Ye'r a varra capital vice-admiral of
the red, Sir Gervaise, but I'm judging ye'd mak' a varra indeeferent
loblolly-boy."

"Bluewater, I shall be compelled to change ships with you, in order to
get rid of the old stand-by's of the Plantagenets! They stick to me like
leeches; and have got to be so familiar, that they criticise all my
orders, and don't more than half obey them, in the bargain."

"No one will criticise your nautical commands, Sir Gervaise; though, in
the way of the healing airt,--science, it should be called--ye're no
mair to be trusted, than one of the young gentlemen. I'm told ye drew
ye'r lancet on this poor gentleman, as ye'd draw ye'r sword on an
enemy!"

"I did, indeed, sir; though Mr. Rotherham had rendered the application
of the instrument unnecessary. Apoplexy is a rushing of the blood to the
head; and by diminishing the quantity in the veins of the arms or
temples, you lessen the pressure on the brain."

"Just layman's practice, sir--just layman's practice. Will ye tell me
now if the patient's face was red or white? Every thing depends on
_that_; which is the true diagnosis of the malady."

"Red, I think; was it not, Bluewater? Red, like old port, of which I
fancy the poor man had more than his share."

"Weel, in that case, you were not so varra wrong; but, they tell me his
countenance was pallid and death-like; in which case ye came near to
committing murder. There is one principle that controls the diagnosis of
all cases of apoplexy among ye'r true country gentlemen--and that is,
that the system is reduced and enfeebled, by habitual devotion to the
decanter. In such attacks ye canna' do warse, than to let blood. But,
I'll no be hard upon you, Sir Gervaise; and so we'll drop the
subject--though, truth to say, I do not admire your poaching on my
manor. Sir Wycherly is materially better, and expresses, as well as a
man who has not the use of his tongue, _can_ express a thing, his
besetting desire to make his last will and testament. In ordinary cases
of _apoplexia_, it is good practice to oppose this craving; though, as
it is my firm opinion that nothing can save the patient's life, I do not
set myself against the measure, in this particular case. Thar' was a
curious discussion at Edinbro', in my youth, gentlemen, on the question
whether the considerations connected with the disposition of the
property, or the considerations connected with the patient's health,
ought to preponderate in the physician's mind, when it might be
reasonably doubted whether the act of making a will, would or would not
essentially affect the nervous system, and otherwise derange the
functions of the body. A very pretty argument, in excellent Edinbro'
Latin, was made on each side of the question. I think, on the whole, the
physicos had the best o' it; for they could show a plausible present
evil, as opposed to a possible remote good."

"Has Sir Wycherly mentioned my name this morning?" asked the
vice-admiral, with interest.

"He has, indeed, Sir Gervaise; and that in a way so manifestly connected
with his will, that I'm opining ye'll no be forgotten in the legacies.
The name of Bluewater was in his mouth, also."

"In which case no time should be lost; for, never before have I felt
half the interest in the disposition of a stranger's estate. Hark! Are
not those wheels rattling in the court-yard?"

"Ye'r senses are most pairfect, Sir Gervaise, and that I've always said
was one reason why ye'r so great an admiral," returned Magrath. "Mind,
only _one_, Sir Gervaise; for many qualities united, are necessary to
make a truly great man. I see a middle-aged gentleman alighting, and
servants around him, who wear the same liveries as those of this house.
Some relative, no doubt, come to look after the legacies, also."

"This must be Sir Reginald Wychecombe; it may not be amiss if we go
forward to receive him, Bluewater."

At this suggestion, the rear-admiral drew in his legs, which had not
changed their position on account of the presence of the surgeon, arose,
and followed Sir Gervaise, as the latter left the room.



CHAPTER XIII.

    "_Videsne quis venit?_"
    "_Video, et gaudeo._"

         NATHANIEL ET HOLOFERNES.


Tom Wychecombe had experienced an uneasiness that it is unnecessary to
explain, ever since he learned that his reputed uncle had sent a
messenger to bring the "half-blood" to the Hall. From the moment he got
a clue to the fact, he took sufficient pains to ascertain what was in
the wind; and when Sir Reginald Wychecombe entered the house, the first
person he met was this spurious supporter of the honours of his name.

"Sir Reginald Wychecombe, I presume, from the arms and the liveries,"
said Tom, endeavouring to assume the manner of a host. "It is grateful
to find that, though we are separated by quite two centuries, all the
usages and the bearings of the family are equally preserved and
respected, by both its branches."

"I am Sir Reginald Wychecombe, sir, and endeavour not to forget the
honourable ancestry from which I am derived. May I ask what kinsman I
have the pleasure now to meet?"

"Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, sir, at your command; the _eldest_ son of Sir
Wycherly's next brother, the late Mr. Baron Wychecombe. I trust, Sir
Reginald, you have not considered us as so far removed in blood, as to
have entirely overlooked our births, marriages, and deaths."

"I have _not_, sir," returned the baronet, drily, and with an emphasis
that disturbed his listener, though the cold jesuitical smile that
accompanied the words, had the effect to calm his vivid apprehensions.
"_All_ that relates to the house of Wychecombe has interest in my eyes;
and I have endeavoured, successfully I trust, to ascertain _all_ that
relates to its births, _marriages_, and deaths. I greatly regret that
the second time I enter this venerable dwelling, should be on an
occasion as melancholy as this, on which I am now summoned. How is your
respectable--how is Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, I wish to say?"

There was sufficient in this answer, taken in connection with the
deliberate, guarded, and yet expressive manner of the speaker to make
Tom extremely uncomfortable, though there was also sufficient to leave
him in doubts as to his namesake's true meaning. The words emphasized by
the latter, were touched lightly, though distinctly; and the cold,
artificial smile with which they were uttered, completely baffled the
sagacity of a rogue, as common-place as the heir-expectant. Then the
sudden change in the construction of the last sentence, and the
substitution of the name of the person mentioned, for the degree of
affinity in which he was supposed to stand to Tom, might be merely a
rigid observance of the best tone of society, or it might be equivocal.
All these little distinctions gleamed across the mind of Tom Wychecombe;
but that was not the moment to pursue the investigation. Courtesy
required that he should make an immediate answer, which he succeeded in
doing steadily enough as to general appearances, though his sagacious
and practised questioner perceived that his words had not failed of
producing the impression he intended; for he had looked to their
establishing a species of authority over the young man.

"My honoured and beloved uncle has revived a little, they tell me," said
Tom; "but I fear these appearances are delusive. After eighty-four,
death has a fearful hold upon us, sir! The worst of it is, that my poor,
dear uncle's mind is sensibly affected; and it is quite impossible to
get at any of his little wishes, in the way of memorials and messages--"

"How then, sir, came Sir Wycherly to honour _me_ with a request to visit
him?" demanded the other, with an extremely awkward pertinency.

"I suppose, sir, he has succeeded in muttering your name, and that a
natural construction has been put on its use, at such a moment. His will
has been made some time, I understand; though I am ignorant of even the
name of the executor, as it is closed in an envelope, and sealed with
Sir Wycherly's arms. It cannot be, then, on account of a _will_, that he
has wished to see you. I rather think, as the next of the family, _out
of the direct line of succession_, he may have ventured to name you as
the executor of the will in existence, and has thought it proper to
notify you of the same."

"Yes, sir," returned Sir Reginald, in his usual cold, wary manner;
"though it would have been more in conformity with usage, had the
notification taken the form of a request to serve, previously to making
the testament. My letter was signed 'Gervaise Oakes,' and, as they tell
me a fleet is in the neighbourhood, I have supposed that the celebrated
admiral of that name, has done me the honour to write it."

"You are not mistaken, sir; Sir Gervaise Oakes is in the house--ah--here
he comes to receive you, accompanied by Rear-Admiral Bluewater, whom the
sailors call his mainmast."

The foregoing conversation had taken place in a little parlour that led
off from the great hall, whither Tom had conducted his guest, and in
which the two admirals now made their appearance. Introductions were
scarcely necessary, the uniform and star--for in that age officers
usually appeared in their robes--the uniform and star of Sir Gervaise at
once proclaiming his rank and name; while, between Sir Reginald and
Bluewater there existed a slight personal acquaintance, which had grown
out of their covert, but deep, Jacobite sympathies.

"Sir Gervaise Oakes," and "Sir Reginald Wychecombe," passed between the
gentlemen, with a hearty shake of the hand from the admiral, which was
met by a cold touch of the fingers on the part of the other, that might
very well have passed for the great model of the sophisticated
manipulation of the modern salute, but which, in fact, was the result of
temperament rather than of fashion. As soon as this ceremony was gone
through, and a few brief expressions of courtesy were exchanged, the new
comer turned to Bluewater, with an air of greater freedom, and
continued--

"And you, too, Sir Richard Bluewater! I rejoice to meet an acquaintance
in this melancholy scene."

"I am happy to see you, Sir Reginald; though you have conferred on me a
title to which I have no proper claim."

"No!--the papers tell us that you have received one of the lately vacant
red ribands?"

"I believe some such honour has been in contemplation--"

"Contemplation!--I do assure you, sir, your name is fairly and
distinctly gazetted--as, by sending to my carriage, it will be in my
power to show you. I am, then, the first to call you Sir Richard."

"Excuse me, Sir Reginald--there is some little misapprehension in this
matter; I prefer to remain plain Rear-Admiral Bluewater. In due season,
all will be explained."

The parties exchanged looks, which, in times like those in which they
lived, were sufficiently intelligible to both; and the conversation was
instantly changed. Before Sir Reginald relinquished the hand he held,
however, he gave it a cordial squeeze, an intimation that was returned
by a warm pressure from Bluewater. The party then began to converse of
Sir Wycherly, his actual condition, and his probable motive in desiring
to see his distant kinsman. This motive, Sir Gervaise, regardless of the
presence of Tom Wychecombe, declared to be a wish to make a will; and,
as he believed, the intention of naming Sir Reginald his executor, if
not in some still more interesting capacity.

"I understand Sir Wycherly has a considerable sum entirely at his own
disposal," continued the vice-admiral; "and I confess I like to see a
man remember his friends and servants, generously, in his last moments.
The estate is entailed, I hear; and I suppose Mr. Thomas Wychecombe
here, will be none the worse for that precaution in his ancestor; let
the old gentleman do as he pleases with his savings."

Sir Gervaise was so much accustomed to command, that he did not feel the
singularity of his own interference in the affairs of a family of what
might be called strangers, though the circumstance struck Sir Reginald,
as a little odd. Nevertheless, the last had sufficient penetration to
understand the vice-admiral's character at a glance, and the peculiarity
made no lasting impression. When the allusion was made to Tom's
succession, as a matter of course, however, he cast a cold, but
withering look, at the reputed heir, which almost chilled the marrow in
the bones of the jealous rogue.

"Might I say a word to you, in your own room, Sir Gervaise?" asked Sir
Reginald, in an aside. "These matters ought not to be indecently
hurried; and I wish to understand the ground better, before I advance."

This question was overheard by Bluewater; who, begging the gentlemen to
remain where they were, withdrew himself, taking Tom Wychecombe with
him. As soon as they were alone, Sir Reginald drew from his companion,
by questions warily but ingeniously put, a history of all that had
occurred within the last twenty-four hours; a knowledge of the really
helpless state of Sir Wycherly, and of the manner in which he himself
had been summoned, included. When satisfied, he expressed a desire to
see the sick man.

"By the way, Sir Reginald," said the vice-admiral, with his hand on the
lock of the door, arresting his own movement to put the question; "I
see, by your manner of expressing yourself, that the law has not been
entirely overlooked in your education. Do you happen to know what
'half-blood' means? it is either a medical or a legal term, and I
understand few but nautical."

"You could not apply to any man in England, Sir Gervaise, better
qualified to tell you," answered the Hertfordshire baronet, smiling
expressively. "I am a barrister of the Middle Temple, having been
educated as a younger son, and having since succeeded an elder brother,
at the age of twenty-seven; I stand in the unfortunate relation of the
'half-blood' myself, to this very estate, on which we are now
conversing."

Sir Reginald then proceeded to explain the law to the other, as we have
already pointed it out to the reader; performing the duty succinctly,
but quite clearly.

"Bless me!--bless me! Sir Reginald," exclaimed the direct-minded and
_just_-minded sailor--"here must be some mistake! A fortieth cousin, or
the king, take this estate before yourself, though you are directly
descended from all the old Wychecombes of the times of the
Plantagenets!"

"Such is the common law, Sir Gervaise. Were I Sir Wycherly's
half-brother, or a son by a second wife of our common father, I could
not take from _him_, although that common father had earned the estate
by his own hands, or services."

"This is damnable, sir--damnable--and you'll pardon me, but I can hardly
believe we have such a monstrous principle in the good, honest,
well-meaning laws, of good, honest, well-meaning old England!"

Sir Reginald was one of the few lawyers of his time, who did not
recognize the virtue of this particular provision of the common law; a
circumstance that probably arose from his having so _small_ an interest
now in the mysteries of the profession, and so _large_ an interest in
the family estate of Wychecombe, destroyed by its _dictum_. He was,
consequently, less surprised, and not at all hurt, at the evident manner
in which the sailor repudiated his statement, as doing violence equally
to reason, justice, and probability.

"Good, honest, well-meaning old England tolerates many grievous things,
notwithstanding, Sir Gervaise," he answered; "among others, it tolerates
the law of the half-blood. Much depends on the manner in which men view
these things; that which seems gold to one, resembling silver in the
eyes of another. Now, I dare say,"--this was said as a feeler, and with
a smile that might pass for ironical or confiding, as the listener
pleased to take it--"Now, I dare say, the clans would tell us that
England tolerates an usurper, while her lawful prince was in banishment;
though _you_ and _I_ might not feel disposed to allow it."

Sir Gervaise started, and cast a quick, suspicious glance at the
speaker; but there the latter stood, with as open and guileless an
expression on his handsome features, as was ever seen in the countenance
of confiding sixteen.

"Your supposititious case is no parallel," returned the vice-admiral,
losing every shade of suspicion, at this appearance of careless
frankness; "since men often follow their feelings in their allegiance,
while the law is supposed to be governed by reason and justice. But, now
we are on the subject, will you tell me. Sir Reginald, if you also know
what a _nullus_ is?"

"I have no farther knowledge of the subject, Sir Gervaise," returned the
other, smiling, this time, quite naturally; "than is to be found in the
Latin dictionaries and grammars."

"Ay--you mean _nullus, nulla, nullum_. Even we sailors know _that_;
as we all go to school before we go to sea. But, Sir Wycherly, in
efforts to make himself understood, called you a 'half-blood.'"

"And quite correctly--I admit such to be the fact; and that I have no
more _legal_ claim, whatever on this estate, than you have yourself. My
_moral_ right, however, may be somewhat better."

"It is much to your credit, that you so frankly admit it, Sir Reginald;
for, hang me, if I think even the judges would dream of raising such an
objection to your succeeding, unless reminded of it."

"Therein you do them injustice, Sir Gervaise; as it is their duty to
administer the laws, let them be what they may."

"Perhaps you are right, sir. But the reason for my asking what a
_nullus_ is, was the circumstance that Sir Wycherly, in the course of
his efforts to speak, repeatedly called his nephew and heir, Mr. Thomas
Wychecombe, by that epithet."

"Did he, indeed?--Was the epithet, as you well term it, _filius
nullius_?"

"I rather think it was _nullus_--though I do believe the word _filius_
was muttered, once or twice, also."

"Yes, sir, this has been the case; and I am not sorry Sir Wycherly is
aware of the fact, as I hear that the young man affects to consider
himself in a different point of view. A _filius nullius_ is the legal
term for a bastard--the 'son of nobody,' as you will at once understand.
I am fully aware that such is the unfortunate predicament of Mr. Thomas
Wychecombe, whose father, I possess complete evidence to show, was never
married to his mother."

"And yet, Sir Reginald, the impudent rascal carries in his pocket even,
a certificate, signed by some parish priest in London, to prove the
contrary."

The civil baronet seemed surprised at this assertion of his military
brother; but Sir Gervaise explaining what had passed between himself and
the young man, he could no longer entertain any doubt of the fact.

"Since you have seen the document," resumed Sir Reginald, "it must,
indeed, be so; and this misguided boy is prepared to take any desperate
step in order to obtain the title and the estate. All that he has said
about a will must be fabulous, as no man in his senses would risk his
neck to obtain so hollow a distinction as a baronetcy--we are equally
members of the class, and may speak frankly, Sir Gervaise--and the will
would secure the estate, if there were one. I cannot think, therefore,
that there is a will at all."

"If this will were not altogether to the fellow's liking, would not the
marriage, beside the hollow honour of which you have spoken, put the
whole of the landed property in his possession, under the entail?"

"It would, indeed; and I thank you for the suggestion. If, however, Sir
Wycherly is desirous, _now_, of making a _new_ will, and has strength
and mind sufficient to execute his purpose, the _old_ one need give us
no concern. This is a most delicate affair for one in my situation to
engage in, sir; and I greatly rejoice that I find such honourable and
distinguished witnesses, in the house, to clear my reputation, should
any thing occur to require such exculpation. On the one side, Sir
Gervaise, there is the danger of an ancient estate's falling into the
hands of the crown, and this, too, while one of no _stain_ of blood,
derived from the same honourable ancestors as the last possessor, is in
existence; or, on the other, of its becoming the prey of one of base
blood, and of but very doubtful character. The circumstance that Sir
Wycherly desired my presence, is a great deal; and I trust to you, and
to those with you, to vindicate the fairness of my course. If it's your
pleasure, sir, we will now go to the sick chamber."

"With all my heart. I think, however, Sir Reginald," said the
vice-admiral, as he approached the door; "that even in the event of an
escheat, you would find these Brunswick princes sufficiently liberal to
restore the property. I could not answer for those wandering Scotchmen;
who have so many breechless nobles to enrich; but, I think, with the
Hanoverians, you would be safe."

"The last have certainly one recommendation the most," returned the
other, smiling courteously, but in a way so equivocal that even Sir
Gervaise was momentarily struck by it; "they have fed so well, now, at
the crib, that they may not have the same voracity, as those who have
been long fasting. It would be, however, more pleasant to take these
lands from a Wychecombe--a Wychecombe to a Wychecombe--than to receive
them anew from even the Plantagenet who made the first grant."

This terminated the private dialogue, as the colloquists entered the
hall, just as the last speaker concluded. Wycherly was conversing,
earnestly, with Mrs. Dutton and Mildred, at the far end of the hall,
when the baronets appeared; but, catching the eye of the admiral, he
said a few words hastily to his companions, and joined the two
gentlemen, who were now on their way to the sick man's chamber.

"Here is a namesake, if not a relative, Sir Reginald," observed Sir
Gervaise, introducing the lieutenant; "and one, I rejoice to say, of
whom all of even your honourable name have reason to be proud."

Sir Reginald's bow was courteous and bland, as the admiral proceeded to
complete the introduction; but Wycherly felt that the keen, searching
look he bestowed on himself, was disagreeable.

"I am not at all aware, that I have the smallest claim to the honour of
being Sir Reginald Wychecombe's relative," he said, with cold reserve.
"Indeed, until last evening, I was ignorant of the existence of the
Hertfordshire branch of this family; and you will remember, Sir
Gervaise, that I am a Virginian."

"A Virginian!" exclaimed his namesake, taken so much by surprise as to
lose a little of his self-command, "I did not know, indeed, that any who
bear the name had found their way to the colonies."

"And if they had, sir, they would have met with a set of fellows every
way fit to be their associates, Sir Reginald. We English are a little
clannish--I hate the word, too; it has such a narrow Scotch sound--but
we _are_ clannish, although generally provided with garments to our
nether limbs; and we sometimes look down upon even a son, whom the love
of adventure has led into that part of the world. In my view an
Englishman is an Englishman, let him come from what part of the empire
he may. That is what I call genuine liberality, Sir Reginald."

"Quite true, Sir Gervaise; and a Scotchman is a Scotchman, even though
he come from the north of Tweed."

This was quietly said, but the vice-admiral felt the merited rebuke it
contained, and he had the good-nature and the good sense to laugh at it,
and to admit his own prejudices. This little encounter brought the party
to Sir Wycherly's door, where all three remained until it was
ascertained that they might enter.

The next quarter of an hour brought about a great change in the
situation of all the principal inmates of Wychecombe Hall. The interdict
was taken off the rooms of Sir Wycherly, and in them had collected all
the gentlemen, Mrs. Dutton and her daughter, with three or four of the
upper servants of the establishment. Even Galleygo contrived to thrust
his ungainly person in, among the rest, though he had the discretion to
keep in the background among his fellows. In a word, both dressing-room
and bed-room had their occupants, though the last was principally filled
by the medical men, and those whose rank gave them claims to be near the
person of the sick.

It was now past a question known that poor Sir Wycherly was on his
death-bed. His mind had sensibly improved, nor was his speech any worse;
but his physical system generally had received a shock that rendered
recovery hopeless. It was the opinion of the physicians that he might
possibly survive several days; or, that he might be carried off, in a
moment, by a return of the paralytic affection.

The baronet, himself, appeared to be perfectly conscious of his
situation; as was apparent by the anxiety he expressed to get his
friends together, and more especially the concern he felt to make a due
disposition of his worldly affairs. The medical men had long resisted
both wishes, until, convinced that the question was reduced to one of a
few hours more or less of life, and that denial was likely to produce
worse effects than compliance, they finally and unanimously consented.

"It's no a great concession to mortal infirmity to let a dying man have
his way," whispered Magrath to the two admirals, as the latter entered
the room. "Sir Wycherly is a hopeless case, and we'll just consent to
let him make a few codicils, seeing that he so fairvently desires it;
and then there may be fewer hopeless deevils left behind him, when he's
gathered to his forefathers."

"Here we are, my dear Sir Wycherly," said the vice-admiral, who never
lost an occasion to effect his purpose, by any unnecessary delay; "here
we all are anxious to comply with your wishes. Your kinsman, Sir
Reginald Wychecombe, is also present, and desirous of doing your
pleasure."

It was a painful sight to see a man on his death-bed, so anxious to
discharge the forms of the world, as the master of the Hall now appeared
to be. There had been an unnecessary alienation between the heads of the
two branches of the family; not arising from any quarrel, or positive
cause of disagreement, but from a silent conviction in both parties,
that each was unsuited to the other. They had met a few times, and
always parted without regret. The case was now different; the separation
was, in one sense at least, to be eternal; and all minor considerations,
all caprices of habits or despotism of tastes, faded before the solemn
impressions of the moment. Still, Sir Wycherly could not forget that he
was master of Wychecombe, and that his namesake was esteemed a man of
refinement; and, in his simple way of thinking he would fain have
arisen, in order to do him honour. A little gentle violence, even, was
necessary to keep the patient quiet.

"Much honoured, sir--greatly pleased," muttered Sir Wycherly, the
words coming from him with difficulty. "Same ancestors--same
name--Plantagenets--old house, sir--head go, new one come--none better,
than--"

"Do not distress yourself to speak, unnecessarily, my dear sir,"
interrupted Sir Reginald, with more tenderness for the patient than
consideration for his own interest, as the next words promised to relate
to the succession. "Sir Gervaise Oakes tells me, he understands your
wishes, generally, and that he is now prepared to gratify them. First
relieve your mind, in matters of business; and, then, I shall be most
happy to exchange with you the feelings of kindred."

"Yes, Sir Wycherly," put in Sir Gervaise, on this hint; "I believe I
have now found the clue to all you wish to say. The few words written by
you, last night, were the commencement of a will, which it is your
strong desire to make. Do not speak, but raise your right hand, if I am
not mistaken."

The sick man actually stretched his right arm above the bed-clothes, and
his dull eyes lighted with an expression of pleasure, that proved how
strongly his feelings were enlisted in the result.

"You see, gentlemen!" said Sir Gervaise, with emphasis. "No one can
mistake the meaning of this! Come nearer, doctor--Mr. Rotherham--all who
have no probable interest in the affair--I wish it to be seen that Sir
Wycherly Wychecombe is desirous of making his will."

The vice-admiral now went through the ceremony of repeating his request,
and got the same significant answer.

"So I understood it, Sir Wycherly, and I believe now I also understand
all about the 'half,' and the 'whole,' and the '_nullus_.' You meant to
tell us that your kinsman, Sir Reginald Wychecombe, was of the
'half-blood' as respects yourself, and that Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, your
nephew, is what is termed in law--however painful this may be,
gentlemen, at such solemn moments the truth must be plainly spoken--that
Mr. Thomas Wychecombe is what the law terms a '_filius nullius_.' If we
have understood you in this, also, have the goodness to give this
company the same sign of assent."

The last words were scarcely spoken, before Sir Wycherly again raised
his arm, and nodded his head.

"Here there can be no mistake, and no one rejoices in it more than I do
myself; for, the unintelligible words gave me a great deal of vexation.
Well, my dear sir, understanding your wishes, my secretary, Mr. Atwood,
has drawn the commencement of a will, in the usual form, using your own
pious and proper language of--'In the name of God, Amen,' as the
commencement; and he stands ready to write down your bequests, as you
may see fit to name them. We will take them, first, on a separate piece
of paper; then read them to you, for your approbation; and afterwards,
transcribe them into the will. I believe, Sir Reginald, that mode would
withstand the subtleties of all the gentlemen of all the Inns of Court?"

"It is a very proper and prudent mode for executing a will, sir, under
the peculiar circumstances," returned he of Hertfordshire. "But, Sir
Gervaise, my situation, here, is a little delicate, as may be that of
Mr. Thomas Wychecombe--others of the name and family, if any such there
be. Would it not be well to inquire if our presence is actually desired
by the intended testator?"

"Is it your wish, Sir Wycherly, that your kinsmen and namesakes remain
in the room, or shall they retire until the will is executed? I will
call over the names of the company, and when you wish any one, in
particular, to stay in the room, you will nod your head."

"All--all stay," muttered Sir Wycherly; "Sir
Reginald--Tom--Wycherly--all--"

"This seems explicit enough, gentlemen," resumed the vice-admiral. "You
are _all_ requested to stay; and, if I might venture an opinion, our
poor friend has named those on whom he intends his bequests to fall--and
pretty much, too, in the order in which they will come."

"That will appear more unanswerably when Sir Wycherly has expressed his
intentions in words," observed Sir Reginald, very desirous that there
should not be the smallest appearance of dictation or persuasion offered
to his kinsman, at a moment so grave. "Let me entreat that no leading
questions be put."

"Sir Gervaise understands leading in battle, much better than in a
cross-examination, Sir Reginald," Bluewater observed, in a tone so low,
that none heard him but the person to whom the words were addressed. "I
think we shall sooner get at Sir Wycherly's wishes, by allowing him to
take his own course."

The other bowed, and appeared disposed to acquiesce. In the mean time
preparations were making for the construction of the will. Atwood seated
himself at a table near the bed, and commenced nibbing his pens; the
medical men administered a cordial; Sir Gervaise caused all the
witnesses to range themselves around the room, in a way that each might
fairly see, and be seen; taking care, however, so to dispose of
Wycherly, as to leave no doubt of his handsome person's coming into the
sick man's view. The lieutenant's modesty might have rebelled at this
arrangement, had he not found himself immediately at the side of
Mildred.



CHAPTER XIV.

    "Yet, all is o'er!--fear, doubt, suspense, are fled,
    Let brighter thoughts be with the virtuous dead!
    The final ordeal of the soul is past,
    And the pale brow is sealed to Heaven at last."

         MRS. HEMANS.


It will be easily supposed that Tom Wychecombe witnessed the proceedings
related in the preceding chapter with dismay. The circumstance that he
actually possessed a _bona fide_ will of his uncle, which left him heir
of all the latter owned, real or personal, had made him audacious, and
first induced him to take the bold stand of asserting his legitimacy,
and of claiming all its consequences. He had fully determined to assume
the title on the demise of Sir Wycherly; plausibly enough supposing
that, as there was no heir to the baronetcy, the lands once in his quiet
possession, no one would take sufficient interest in the matter to
dispute his right to the rank. Here, however, was a blow that menaced
death to all his hopes. His illegitimacy seemed to be known to others,
and there was every prospect of a new will's supplanting the old one, in
its more important provisions, at least. He was at a loss to imagine
what had made this sudden change in his uncle's intentions; for he did
not sufficiently understand himself, to perceive that the few months of
close communion which had succeeded the death of his reputed father, had
sufficed to enlighten Sir Wycherly on the subject of his own true
character, and to awaken a disgust that had remained passive, until
suddenly aroused by the necessity of acting; and, least of all, could he
understand how surprisingly the moral vision of men is purified and
enlarged, as respects both the past and the future, by the near approach
of death. Although symptoms of strong dissatisfaction escaped him, he
quieted his feelings as much as possible, cautiously waiting for any
occurrence that might be used in setting aside the contemplated
instrument, hereafter; or, what would be still better, to defeat its
execution, now.

As soon as the necessary preparations were made, Atwood, his pen nibbed,
ink at hand, and paper spread, was ready to proceed: and a breathless
stillness existing in the chamber, Sir Gervaise resumed the subject on
which they were convened.

"Atwood will read to you what he has already written, Sir Wycherly," he
said; "should the phraseology be agreeable to you, you will have the
goodness to make a sign to that effect. Well, if all is ready, you can
now commence--hey! Atwood?"

"'In the name of God, Amen,'" commenced the methodical secretary; "'I,
Wycherly Wychecombe, Bart., of Wychecombe-Hall, in the county of Devon,
being of sound mind, but of a feeble state of health, and having the
view of death before my eyes, revoking all other wills, codicils, or
testamentary devises, whatsoever, do make and declare this instrument to
be my last will and testament: that is to say, Imprimis, I do hereby
constitute and appoint ---- ---- of ----, the executor of this my said
will, with all the powers and authority that the law gives, or may
hereafter give to said executor. Secondly, I give and bequeath to ----.'
This is all that is yet written, Sir Gervaise, blanks being left for the
name or names of the executor or executors, as well for the 's' at the
end of 'executor,' should the testator see fit to name more than one."

"There, Sir Reginald," said the vice-admiral, not altogether without
exultation; "this is the way we prepare these things on board a
man-of-war! A flag-officer's secretary needs have himself qualified to
do any thing, short of a knowledge of administering to the cure of
souls!"

"And the cure of bodies, ye'll be permitting me to add, Sir Gervaise,"
observed Magrath, taking an enormous pinch of a strong yellow snuff.

"Our secretary would make but a lubberly fist at turning off a delicate
turtle-soup out of pig's-head; such as we puts on our table at sea, so
often," muttered Galleygo in the ear of Mrs. Larder.

"I see nothing to object to, Sir Gervaise, if the language is agreeable
to Sir Wycherly," answered the barrister by profession, though not by
practice. "It would be advisable to get his approbation of even the
language."

"That we intend to do, of course, sir. Sir Wycherly, do you find the
terms of this will to your liking?"

Sir Wycherly smiled, and very clearly gave the sign of assent.

"I thought as much--for, Atwood has made the wills of two admirals, and
of three captains, to my knowledge; and my Lord Chief Justice said that
one of the last would have done credit to the best conveyancer in
England, and that it was a pity the testator had nothing to bequeath.
Now, Sir Wycherly, will you have one executor, or more? If _one_, hold
up a single finger; and a finger for each additional executor you wish
us to insert in these blanks. One, Atwood--you perceive, gentlemen, that
Sir Wycherly raises but _one_ finger; and so you can give a flourish at
the end of the 'r,' as the word will be in the singular;--hey! Atwood?"

The secretary did as directed, and then reported himself ready to
proceed.

"It will be necessary for you now to _name_ your executor, Sir
Wycherly--make as little effort as possible, as we shall understand the
name, alone."

Sir Wycherly succeeded in uttering the name of "Sir Reginald
Wychecombe," quite audibly.

"This is plain enough," resumed the vice-admiral; "how does the sentence
read now, Atwood?"

"'_Imprimis:_--I do hereby constitute and appoint Sir Reginald
Wychecombe of Wychecombe-Regis, in the county of Herts, Baronet, the
executor of this my said will, &c.'"

"If that clause is to your liking, Sir Wycherly, have the goodness to
give the sign agreed on."

The sick man smiled, nodded his head, raised his hand, and looked
anxiously at his kinsman.

"I consent to serve, Sir Wycherly, if such is your desire," observed the
nominee, who detected the meaning of his kinsman's look.

"And now, sir," continued the vice-admiral; "it is necessary to ask you
a few questions, in order that Atwood may know what next to write. Is it
your desire to bequeath any real estate?" Sir Wycherly assented. "Do you
wish to bequeath _all_ your real estate?" The same sign of assent was
given. "Do you wish to bequeath _all_ to one person?" The sign of assent
was given to this also. "This makes plain sailing, and a short
run,--hey! Atwood?"

The secretary wrote as fast as possible, and in two or three minutes he
read aloud, as follows--

"'Secondly, I make and declare the following bequests or devises--that
is to say, I give and bequeath to ---- ---- of ------, all the real
estate of which I may die seised, together with all the houses,
tenements, hereditaments, and appurtenances thereunto belonging, and all
my rights to the same, whether in law or equity, to be possessed and
enjoyed by the said ---- ---- of ------ in fee, by ---- heirs,
executors, administrators, or assigns, for ever.' There are blanks for
the name and description, as well as for the sex of the devisee," added
the secretary.

"All very proper and legal, I believe, Sir Reginald?--I am glad you
think so, sir. Now, Sir Wycherly, we wait for the name of the lucky
person you mean thus to favour."

"Sir Reginald Wychecombe," the sick man uttered, painfully;
"half-blood--no _nullus_. Sir Michael's heir--_my_ heir."

"This is plain English!" cried Sir Gervaise, in the way of a man who is
not displeased; "put in the name of 'Sir Reginald Wychecombe of
Wychecombe-Regis, Herts,' Atwood--ay--that justs fills the blank
handsomely--you want '_his_ heirs, executors, &c.' in the other blank."

"I beg your pardon, Sir Gervaise; it should read 'by _himself, his_
heirs, &c.'"

"Very true--very true, Atwood. Now read it slowly, and Sir Wycherly will
assent, if he approve."

This was done, and Sir Wycherly not only approved, but it was apparent
to all present, the abashed and confounded Tom himself not excepted,
that he approved, with a feeling akin to delight.

"That gives a black eye to all the land,--hey! Atwood?" said Sir
Gervaise; who, by this time, had entered into the business in hand, with
all the interest of a regular notary--or, rather, with that of one, on
whose shoulders rested the responsibility of success or failure. "We
come next to the personals. Do you wish to bequeath your furniture,
wines, horses, carriages, and other things of that sort, to any
particular person, Sir Wycherly?"

"All--Sir Reginald--Wychecombe--half-blood--old Sir Michael's heir,"
answered the testator.

"Good--clap that down, Atwood, for it is doing the thing, as I like to
see family affairs settled. As soon as you are ready, let us hear how it
sounds in writing."

"I furthermore bequeath to the said Sir Reginald Wychecombe of
Wychecombe-Regis, as aforesaid, baronet, all my personal property,
whatsoever,'" read Atwood, as soon as ready; "'including furniture,
wines, pictures, books, horses and carriages, and all other goods and
chattels, of which I may die possessed, excepting thereout and
therefrom, nevertheless, such sums in money, stocks, bonds, notes, or
other securities for debts, or such articles as I may in this instrument
especially devise to any other person.' We can now go to especial
legacies, Sir Gervaise, and then another clause may make Sir Reginald
residuary legatee, if such be Sir Wycherly's pleasure."

"If you approve of that clause, my dear sir, make the usual sign of
assent."

Sir Wycherly both raised his hand and nodded his head, evidently quite
satisfied.

"Now, my good sir, we come to the pounds--no--guineas? You like that
better--well, I confess that it sounds better on the ear, and is more in
conformity with the habits of gentlemen. Will you now bequeath guineas?
Good--first name the legatee--is that right, Sir Reginald?"

"Quite right, Sir Gervaise; and Sir Wycherly will understand that he now
names the first person to whom he wishes to bequeath any thing else."

"Milly," muttered the sick man.

"What? Mills!--the mills go with the lands, Sir Reginald?"

"He means Miss Mildred Dutton," eagerly interposed Wycherly, though with
sufficient modesty.

"Yes--right--right," added the testator. "Little Milly--Milly
Dutton--good little Milly."

Sir Gervaise hesitated, and looked round at Bluewater, as much as to say
"this is bringing coals to Newcastle;" but Atwood took the idea, and
wrote the bequest, in the usual form.

"'I give and bequeath to Mildred Dutton,'" he read aloud, "'daughter of
Francis Dutton of the Royal Navy, the sum of ----' what sum shall I fill
the blank with, Sir Wycherly?"

"Three--three--yes, three."

"Hundreds or thousands, my good sir?" asked Sir Gervaise, a little
surprised at the amount of the bequest.

"Guineas--three--thousand--guineas--five per cents."

"That's as plain as logarithms. Give the young lady three thousand
guineas in the fives, Atwood."

"'I give and bequeath to Mildred Dutton, daughter of Francis Dutton of
the Royal Navy, the sum of three thousand guineas in the five per cent.
stocks of this kingdom.' Will that do, Sir Wycherly?"

The old man looked at Mildred and smiled benevolently; for, at that
moment, he felt he was placing the pure and lovely girl above the
ordinary contingencies of her situation, by rendering her independent.

"Whose name shall we next insert, Sir Wycherly?" resumed the
vice-admiral. "There must be many more of these guineas left."

"Gregory--and--James--children of my brother Thomas--Baron
Wychecombe--five thousand guineas each," added the testator, making a
great effort to express his meaning as clearly as possible.

He was understood; and, after a short consultation with the
vice-admiral, Atwood wrote out the devise at length.

"'I give and bequeath to my nephews, Gregory and James Wychecombe, the
reputed sons of my late brother, Thomas Wychecombe, one of the Barons of
His Majesty's Exchequer, the sum of five thousand guineas, each, in the
five per cent. funded debt of this kingdom.'"

"Do you approve of the devise, Sir Wycherly? if so, make the usual sign
of assent?"

Sir Wycherly complied, as in all the previous cases of his approval.

"Whose name shall we next insert, in readiness for a legacy, Sir
Wycherly?" asked the admiral.

Here was a long pause, the baronet evidently turning over in his mind,
what he had done, and what yet remained to do.

"Spread yourselves, my friends, in such a way as to permit the testator
to see you all," continued the vice-admiral, motioning with his hand to
widen the circle around the bed, which had been contracted a little by
curiosity and interest; "stand more this way, _Lieutenant Wycherly
Wychecombe_, that the ladies may see and be seen; and you, too, Mr.
Thomas Wychecombe, come further in front, where your uncle will observe
you."

This speech pretty exactly reflected the workings of the speaker's mind.
The idea that Wycherly was a natural child of the baronet's,
notwithstanding the Virginian story, was uppermost in his thoughts; and,
taking the supposed fact in connection with the young man's merit, he
earnestly desired to obtain a legacy for him. As for Tom, he cared
little whether his name appeared in the will or not. Justice was now
substantially done, and the judge's property being sufficient for his
wants, the present situation of the lately reputed heir excited but
little sympathy. Nevertheless, Sir Gervaise thought it would be
generous, under the circumstances, to remind the testator that such a
being as Tom Wychecombe existed.

"Here is your nephew, Mr. Thomas, Sir Wycherly," he said; "is it your
wish to let his name appear in your will?"

The sick man smiled coldly; but he moved his head, as much as to imply
assent.

"'I give and bequeath to Thomas Wychecombe, the eldest reputed son of my
late brother, Thomas, one of the Barons of His Majesty's Exchequer,'"
read Atwood, when the clause was duly written; "'the sum of ----, in the
five per cent. stocks of this kingdom.'"

"What sum will you have inserted, Sir Wycherly?" asked the vice-admiral.

"Fifty--fifty--_pounds_" said the testator, in a voice clearer and
fuller than he had before used that day.

The necessary words were immediately inserted; the clause, as completed,
was read again, and the approval was confirmed by a distinctly
pronounced "yes." Tom started, but, as all the others maintained their
self-command, the business of the moment did not the less proceed.

"Do you wish any more names introduced into your will, Sir Wycherly?"
asked the vice-admiral. "You have bequeathed but--a-a-a--how much--hey!
Atwood?--ay, ten and three are thirteen, and fifty _pounds_, make
£13,180; and I hear you have £20,000 funded, besides loose cash, beyond
a doubt."

"Ann Larder--Samuel Cork--Richard Bitts--David Brush--Phoebe Keys," said
Sir Wycherly, slowly, giving time after each pause, for Atwood to write;
naming his cook, butler, groom, valet or body-servant, and housekeeper,
in the order they have been laid before the reader.

"How much to each, Sir Wycherly?--I see Atwood has made short work, and
put them all in the same clause--that will never do, unless the legacies
are the same."

"Good--good--right," muttered the testator;
"£200--each--£1000--all--money--money."

This settled the point, and the clause was regularly written, read, and
approved.

"This raises the money bequests to £14,180, Sir Wycherly--some 6 or
£7000 more must remain to be disposed of. Stand a little further this
way, if you please, Mr. _Wycherly_ Wychecombe, and allow the ladies more
room. Whose name shall we insert next, sir?"

Sir Wycherly, thus directed by the eager desire of the admiral to serve
the gallant lieutenant, fastened his eyes on the young man, regarding
him quite a minute in silent attention.

"Virginian--same name--American--colonies--good lad--_brave_
lad--£1000," muttered the sick man between his teeth; and, yet so
breathless was the quiet of the chamber, at that moment, every syllable
was heard by all present. "Yes--£1000--Wycherly Wychecombe--royal
navy--"

Atwood's pen was running rapidly over the paper, and had just reached
the name of the contemplated legatee, when his hand was arrested by the
voice of the young man himself.

"Stop, Mr. Atwood--do not insert any clause in my favour!" cried
Wycherly, his face the colour of crimson, and his chest heaving with the
emotions he felt it so difficult to repress. "I decline the legacy--it
will be useless to write it, as I will not receive a shilling."

"Young sir," said Sir Gervaise, with a little of the severity of a
superior, when he rebukes an interior, in his manner; "you speak
hastily. It is not the office of an auditor or of a spectator, to repel
the kindness of a man about to pass from the face of the earth, into the
more immediate presence of his God!"

"I have every sentiment of respect for Sir Wycherly Wychecombe,
sir;--every friendly wish for his speedy recovery, and a long evening to
his life; but, I will accept of the money of no man who holds my country
in such obvious distaste, as, it is apparent, the testator holds mine."

"You are an Englishman, I believe, _Lieutenant_ Wychecombe; and a
servant of King George II.?"

"I am _not_ an Englishman, Sir Gervaise Oakes--but an American; a
Virginian, entitled to all the rights and privileges of a British
subject. I am no more an Englishman, than Dr. Magrath may lay claim to
the same character."

"This is putting the case strongly,--hey! Atwood?" answered the
vice-admiral, smiling in spite of the occasion. "I am far from saying
that you are an Englishman, in all senses, sir; but you are one in the
sense that gives you national character and national rights. You are a
_subject_ of _England_."

"No, Sir Gervaise; your pardon. I am the subject of George II., but in
no manner a subject of _England_. I am, in one sense, perhaps, a subject
of the British empire; but I am not the less a Virginian, and an
American. Not a shilling of any man's money will I ever touch, who
expresses his contempt for either."

"You forget yourself, young man, and overlook the future. The hundred or
two of prize-money, bought at the expense of your blood, in the late
affair at Groix, will not last for ever."

"It is gone, already, sir, every shilling of it having been sent to the
widow of the boatswain who was killed at my side. I am no beggar, Sir
Gervaise Oakes, though only an American. I am the owner of a plantation,
which affords me a respectable independence, already; and I do not serve
from necessity, but from choice. Perhaps, if Sir Wycherly knew this, he
would consent to omit my name. I honour and respect him; would gladly
relieve his distress, either of body or mind; but I cannot consent to
accept his money when offered on terms I consider humiliating."

This was said modestly, but with a warmth and sincerity which left no
doubt that the speaker was in earnest. Sir Gervaise too much respected
the feelings of the young man to urge the matter any further, and he
turned towards the bed, in expectation of what the sick man might next
say. Sir Wycherly heard and understood all that passed, and it did not
fail to produce an impression, even in the state to which he was
reduced. Kind-hearted, and indisposed to injure even a fly, all the
natural feelings of the old man resumed their ascendency, and he would
gladly have given every shilling of his funded property to be able
freely to express his compunction at having ever uttered a syllable that
could offend sensibilities so noble and generous. But this exceeded his
powers, and he was fain to do the best he could, in the painful
situation in which he was placed.

"Noble fellow!" he stuttered out; "honour to name--come here--Sir
Gervaise--bring here--"

"I believe it is the wish of Sir Wycherly, that you would draw near the
bed, Mr. Wychecombe of _Virginia_," said the vice-admiral, pithily,
though he extended a hand to, and smiled kindly on, the youth as the
latter passed him in compliance.

The sick man now succeeded, with a good deal of difficulty, in drawing a
valuable signet-ring from a finger.--This ring bore the Wychecombe arms,
engraved on it. It was without the bloody hand, however; for it was far
older than the order of baronets, having, as Wycherly well knew, been
given by one of the Plantagenet Dukes to an ancestor of the family,
during the French wars of Henry VI., and that, too, in commemoration of
some signal act of gallantry in the field.

"Wear this--noble fellow--honour to name," said Sir Wycherly. "_Must_ be
descended--all Wychecombes descended--him--"

"I thank you, Sir Wycherly, for this present, which I prize as it ought
to be prized," said Wycherly, every trace of any other feeling than that
of gratitude having vanished from his countenance. "I may have no claims
to your honours or money; but this ring I need not be ashamed to wear,
since it was bestowed on one who was as much _my_ ancestor, as he was
the ancestor of any Wychecombe in England."

"Legitimate?" cried Tom, a fierce feeling of resentment upsetting his
caution and cunning.

"Yes, sir, _legitimate_," answered Wycherly, turning to his
interrogator, with the calmness of one conscious of his own truth, and
with a glance of the eye that caused Tom to shrink back again into the
circle. "I need no _bar_, to enable me to use this seal, which, you may
perceive, Sir Gervaise Oakes, is a _fac simile_ of the one I ordinarily
wear, and which was transmitted to me from my direct ancestors."

The vice-admiral compared the seal on Wycherly's watch-chain with that
on the ring, and, the bearings being principally griffins, he was
enabled to see that one was the exact counterpart of the other. Sir
Reginald advanced a step, and when the admiral had satisfied himself, he
also took the two seals and compared them. As all the known branches of
the Wychecombes of Wychecombe, bore the same arms, viz., griffins for
Wychecombe, with three battering-rams quartered, for Wycherly,--he saw,
at once, that the young man habitually carried about his person, this
proof of a common origin. Sir Reginald knew very well that arms were
often assumed, as well as names, and the greater the obscurity of the
individual who took these liberties, the greater was his impunity; but
the seal was a very ancient one, and innovations on personal rights were
far less frequent a century since, than they are to-day. Then the
character and appearance of Wycherly put fraud out of the question, so
far as the young lieutenant himself was concerned. Although the elder
branch of the family, legitimately speaking, was reduced to the helpless
old man who was now stretched upon his death-bed, his own had been
extensive; and it well might be that some cadet of the Wychecombes of
Wychecombe-Regis, had strayed into the colonies and left descendants.
Secretly resolving to look more closely into these facts, he gravely
returned the seals, and intimated to Sir Gervaise that the more
important business before them had better proceed. On this hint, Atwood
resumed the pen, and the vice-admiral his duties.

"There want yet some 6 or £7000 to make up £20,000, Sir Wycherly, which
I understand is the sum you have in the funds. Whose name or names will
you have next inserted?"

"Rotherham--vicar--poor St. James--gone; yes--Mr.--Rotherham--vicar."

The clause was written, the sum of £1000 was inserted, and the whole was
read and approved.

"This still leaves us some £5000 more to deal with, my dear sir?"

A long pause succeeded, during which time Sir Wycherly was deliberating
what to do with the rest of his ready money. At length his wandering eye
rested on the pale features of Mrs. Dutton; and, while he had a sort of
liking, that proceeded from habit, for her husband, he remembered that
she had many causes for sorrow. With a feeling that was creditable to
his own heart, he uttered her name, and the sum of £2000. The clause was
written, accordingly, read and approved.

"We have still £3000 certainly, if not £4000," added Sir Gervaise.

"Milly--dear little--Milly--pretty Milly," stammered out the baronet,
affectionately.

"This must go into a codicil, Sir Gervaise," interrupted Atwood; "there
being already one legacy in the young lady's favour. Shall it be one,
two, three, or four thousand pounds, Sir Wycherly, in favour of Miss
Mildred, to whom you have already bequeathed £3000."

The sick man muttered the words "three thousand," after a short pause,
adding "codicil."

His wishes were complied with, and the whole was read and approved.
After this, Sir Gervaise inquired if the testator wished to make any
more devises. Sir Wycherly, who had in effect bequeathed, within a few
hundred pounds, all he had to bestow, bethought himself, for a few
moments, of the state of his affairs, and then he signified his
satisfaction with what had been done.

"As it is possible, Sir Wycherly, that you may have overlooked
something," said Sir Gervaise, "and it is better that nothing should
escheat to the crown, I will suggest the expediency of your making some
one residuary legatee."

The poor old man smiled an assent, and then he succeeded in muttering
the name of "Sir Reginald Wychecombe."

This clause, like all the others, was written, read, and approved. The
will was now completed, and preparations were made to read it carefully
over to the intended testator. In order that this might be done with
sufficient care for future objections, the two admirals and Atwood, who
were selected for the witnesses, each read the testament himself, in
order to say that nothing was laid before the testator but that which
was fairly contained in the instrument, and that nothing was omitted.
When all was ready, the will was audibly and slowly read to Sir
Wycherly, by the secretary, from the beginning to the end. The old man
listened with great attention; smiled when Mildred's name was mentioned;
and clearly expressed, by signs and words, his entire satisfaction when
all was ended. It remained only to place a pen in his hand, and to give
him such assistance as would enable him to affix his name twice; once to
the body of the instrument; and, when this was duly witnessed, then
again to the codicil. By this time, Tom Wychecombe thought that the
moment for interposing had arrived. He had been on thorns during the
whole proceeding, forming desperate resolutions to sustain the bold
fraud of his legitimacy, and thus take all the lands and heirlooms of
the estate, under the entail; still he well knew that a subordinate but
important question might arise, as between the validity of the two
wills, in connection with Sir Wycherly's competency to make the last. It
was material, therefore, in his view of the case, to enter a protest.

"Gentlemen," he said, advancing to the foot of the bed; "I call on you
all to observe the nature of this whole transaction. My poor, beloved,
but misled uncle, no longer ago than last night, was struck with a fit
of apoplexy, or something so very near it as to disqualify him to judge
in these matters; and here he is urged to make a will--"

"By whom, sir?" demanded Sir Gervaise, with a severity of tone that
induced the speaker to fall back a step.

"Why, sir, in my judgment, by all in the room. If not with their
tongues, at least with their eyes."

"And why should all in the room do this? Am I a legatee?--is Admiral
Bluewater to be a gainer by this will?--_can_ witnesses to a will be
legatees?"

"I do not wish to dispute the matter with you, Sir Gervaise Oakes; but I
solemnly protest against this irregular and most extraordinary manner of
making a will. Let all who hear me, remember this, and be ready to
testify to it when called on in a court of justice."

Here Sir Wycherly struggled to rise in the bed, in evident excitement,
gesticulating strongly to express his disgust, and his wish for his
nephew to withdraw. But the physicians endeavoured to pacify him, while
Atwood, with the paper spread on a port-folio, and a pen in readiness,
coolly proceeded to obtain the necessary signatures. Sir Wycherly's hand
trembled so much when it received the pen, that, for the moment, writing
was out of the question, and it became necessary to administer a
restorative in order to strengthen his nerves.

"Away--out of sight," muttered the excited baronet, leaving no doubt on
all present, that the uppermost feeling of the moment was the strong
desire to rid himself of the presence of the offensive object. "Sir
Reginald--little Milly--poor servants--brothers--all the rest, stay."

"Just be calming the mind, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe," put in Magrath,
"and ye'll be solacing the body by the same effort. When the mind is in
a state of exaltation, the nervous system is apt to feel the influence
of sympathy. By bringing the two in harmonious co-operation, the
testamentary devises will have none the less of validity, either in
reality or in appearances."

Sir Wycherly understood the surgeon, and he struggled for self-command.
He raised the pen, and succeeded in getting its point on the proper
place. Then his dim eye lighted, and shot a reproachful glance at Tom;
he smiled in a ghastly manner, looked towards the paper, passed a hand
across his brow, closed his eyes, and fell back on the pillow, utterly
unconscious of all that belonged to life, its interests, its duties, or
its feelings. In ten minutes, he ceased to breathe.

Thus died Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, after a long life, in which general
qualities of a very negative nature, had been somewhat relieved, by
kindness of feeling, a passive if not an active benevolence, and such a
discharge of his responsible duties as is apt to flow from an absence of
any qualities that are positively bad; as well as of many of material
account, that are affirmatively good.



CHAPTER XV.

    "Come ye, who still the cumbrous load of life
      Push hard up hill; but at the farthest steep
    You trust to gain, and put on end to strife,
      Down thunders back the stone with mighty sweep,
      And hurls your labours to the valley deep;--"

         THOMSON.


The sudden, and, in some measure, unlooked-for event, related in the
close of the last chapter, produced a great change in the condition of
things at Wychecombe Hall. The first step was to make sure that the
baronet was actually dead; a fact that Sir Gervaise Oakes, in
particular, was very unwilling to believe, in the actual state of his
feelings. Men often fainted, and apoplexy required _three_ blows to
kill; the sick man might still revive, and at least be able to execute
his so clearly expressed intentions.

"Ye'll never have act of any sort, testamentary or matrimonial, legal or
illegal, in this life, from the late Sir Wycherly Wychecombe of
Wychecombe Hall, Devonshire," coolly observed Magrath, as he collected
the different medicines and instruments he had himself brought forth for
the occasion. "He's far beyond the jurisdiction of My Lord High
Chancellor of the college of Physicians and Surgeons; and therefore,
ye'll be acting prudently to consider him as deceased; or, in the light
in which the human body is placed by the cessation of all the animal
functions."

This decided the matter, and the necessary orders were given; all but
the proper attendants quitting the chamber of death. It would be far
from true to say that no one lamented Sir Wycherly Wychecombe. Both Mrs.
Dutton and Mildred grieved for his sudden end, and wept sincerely for
his loss; though totally without a thought of its consequences to
themselves. The daughter did not even once think how near she had been
to the possession of £6000, and how unfortunately the cup of comparative
affluence had been dashed from her lips; though truth compels us to avow
that the mother did once recall this circumstance, with a feeling akin
to regret. A similar recollection had its influence on the
manifestations of sorrow that flowed from others. The domestics, in
particular, were too much astounded to indulge in any very abstracted
grief, and Sir Gervaise and Atwood were both extremely vexed. In short,
the feelings, usual to such occasions were but little indulged in,
though there was a strict observance of decorum.

Sir Reginald Wychecombe noted these circumstances attentively, and he
took his measures accordingly. Seizing a favourable moment to consult
with the two admirals, his decision was soon made; and, within an hour
after his kinsman's death, all the guests and most of the upper servants
were assembled in the room, which it was the usage of the house to call
the library; though the books were few, and seldom read. Previously,
there had been a consultation between Sir Reginald and the two admirals,
to which Atwood had been admitted, _ex officio_. As every thing,
therefore, had been arranged in advance, there was no time lost
unnecessarily, when the company was collected; the Hertfordshire baronet
coming to the point at once, and that in the clearest manner.

"Gentlemen, and you, good people, domestics of the late Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe," he commenced; "you are all acquainted with the unfortunate
state of this household. By the recent death of its master, it is left
without a head; and the deceased departing this life a bachelor, there
is no child to assume his place, as the natural and legal successor. In
one sense, I might be deemed the next of kin; though, by a _dictum_ of
the common law I have no claim to the succession. Nevertheless, you all
know it was the intention of our late friend to constitute me his
executor, and I conceive it proper that search should now be made for a
will, which, by being duly executed, must dispose of all in this house,
and let us know who is entitled to command at this solemn and important
moment. It strikes me, Sir Gervaise Oakes, that the circumstances are so
peculiar as to call for prompt proceedings."

"I fully agree with you, Sir Reginald," returned the vice-admiral; "but
before we proceed any further, I would suggest the propriety of having
as many of those present as possible, who have an interest in the
result. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, the reputed nephew of the deceased, I do
not see among us."

On examination, this was found to be true, and the man of Tom
Wychecombe, who had been ordered by his master to be present as a spy,
was immediately sent to the latter, with a request that he would attend.
After a delay of two or three minutes, the fellow returned with the
answer.

"Sir Thomas Wychecombe's compliments, gentlemen," he said, "and he
desires to know the object of your request. He is in his room, indulging
in natural grief for his recent loss; and he prefers to be left alone
with his sorrows, just at this moment, if it be agreeable to you."

This was taking high ground in the commencement; and, as the man had his
cue, and delivered his message with great distinctness and steadiness,
the effect on the dependants of the household was very evident. Sir
Reginald's face flushed, while Sir Gervaise bit his lip; Bluewater
played with the hilt of his sword, very indifferent to all that was
passing; while Atwood and the surgeons shrugged their shoulders and
smiled. The first of these persons well knew that Tom had no shadow of a
claim to the title he had been in so much haste to assume, however, and
he hoped that the feebleness of his rights in all particulars, was
represented by the mixed feebleness and impudence connected with this
message. Determined not to be bullied from his present purpose,
therefore, he turned to the servant and sent him back with a second
message, that did not fail of its object. The man was directed to inform
his master, that Sir Reginald Wychecombe was in possession of facts
that, in his opinion, justified the course he was taking, and if "Mr.
Thomas Wychecombe" did not choose to appear, in order to look after his
own interests, he should proceed without him. This brought Tom into the
room, his face pale with uncertainty, rather than with grief, and his
mind agitated with such apprehensions as are apt to beset even the most
wicked, when they take their first important step in evil. He bowed,
however, to the company with an air that he intended to represent the
manner of a well-bred man acknowledging his duties to respected guests.

"If I appear remiss in any of the duties of a host, gentlemen," he said,
"you will overlook it, I trust, in consideration of my present feelings.
Sir Wycherly was my father's elder brother, and was very dear, as he was
very _near_ to me. By this melancholy death, Sir Reginald, I am suddenly
and unexpectedly elevated to be the head of our ancient and honourable
family; but I know my own personal unworthiness to occupy that
distinguished place, and feel how much better it would be filled by
yourself. Although the law has placed a wide and impassable barrier
between all of your branch of the family and ourselves, I shall ever be
ready to acknowledge the affinity, and to confess that it does us quite
as much honour as it bestows."

Sir Reginald, by a great effort, commanded himself so far as to return
the bow, and apparently to receive the condescending admissions of the
speech, with a proper degree of respect.

"Sir, I thank you," he answered, with formal courtesy; "no affinity that
can be properly and legally established, will ever be disavowed by me.
Under present circumstances, however, summoned as I have been to the
side of his death-bed, by the late Sir Wycherly, himself, and named by
him, as one might say, with his dying breath, as his executor, I feel it
a duty to inquire into the rights of all parties, and, if possible, to
ascertain who is the successor, and consequently who has the best claim
to command here."

"You surely do not attach any validity, Sir Reginald, to the pretended
will that was so singularly drawn up in my dear uncle's presence, an
hour before he died! Had that most extraordinary instrument been duly
signed and sealed, I cannot think that the Doctor's Commons would
sustain it; but _unsigned_ and _unsealed_, it is no better than so much
waste paper."

"As respects the real estate, sir, though so great a loser by the delay
of five minutes, I am willing to admit that you are right. With regard
to the personals, a question in equity--one of clearly-expressed
intention--might possibly arise; though even of that I am by no means
certain."

"No, sir; no--" cried Tom, a glow of triumph colouring his cheek, in
spite of every effort to appear calm; "no English court would ever
disturb the natural succession to the personals! I am the last man to
wish to disturb some of these legacies--particularly that to Mr.
Rotherham, and those to the poor, faithful domestics,"--Tom saw the
prudence of conciliating allies, at such a critical moment, and his
declaration had an instant and strong effect, as was evident by the
countenances of many of the listeners;--"and I may say, that to Miss
Mildred Dutton; all of which will be duly paid, precisely as if my
beloved uncle had been in his right mind, and had actually made the
bequests; for this mixture of reason and justice, with wild and
extraordinary conceits, is by no means uncommon among men of great age,
and in their last moments. However, Sir Reginald, I beg you will
proceed, and act as in your judgment the extraordinary circumstances of
what may be called a very peculiar case, require."

"I conceive it to be our duty, sir, to search for a will. If Sir
Wycherly has actually died intestate, it will be time enough to inquire
into the question of the succession at common law. I have here the keys
of his private secretary; and Mr. Furlong, the land-steward, who has
just arrived, and whom you see in the room, tells me Sir Wycherly was
accustomed to keep all his valuable papers in this piece of furniture. I
shall now proceed to open it."

"Do so, Sir Reginald; no one can have a stronger desire than myself to
ascertain my beloved uncle's pleasure. Those to whom he _seemed_ to wish
to give, even, shall not be losers for the want of his name."

Tom was greatly raised in the opinions of half in the room, by this
artful declaration, which was effectually securing just so many friends,
in the event of any occurrence that might render such support necessary.
In the mean time, Sir Reginald, assisted by the steward, opened the
secretary, and found the deposite of papers. The leases were all in
order; the title-deeds were properly arranged; the books and accounts
appeared to be exactly kept: ordinary bills and receipts were filed with
method; two or three bags of guineas proved that ready cash was not
wanting; and, in short, every thing showed that the deceased had left
his affairs in perfect order, and in a very intelligible condition.
Paper after paper, however, was opened, and nothing like a will, rough
draft or copied, was to be found. Disappointment was strongly painted on
the faces of all the gentlemen present; for, they had ignorantly imbibed
the opinion, that the production of a will would, in some unknown
manner, defeat the hopes of the _soi-disant_ Sir Thomas Wychecombe. Nor
was Tom, himself, altogether without concern; for, since the recent
change in his uncle's feelings towards himself, he had a secret
apprehension that some paper might be found, to defeat all his hopes.
Triumph, however, gradually assumed the place of fear, in the expression
of his countenance; and when Mr. Furlong, a perfectly honest man,
declared that, from the late baronet's habits, as well as from the
result of this search, he did not believe that any such instrument
existed, his feelings overflowed in language.

"Not so fast, Master Furlong--not so fast," he cried; "here is something
that possibly even your legal acumen may be willing to term a will. You
perceive, gentlemen, I have it in my possession on good authority, as it
is addressed to me by name, and that, too, in Sir Wycherly's own
hand-writing; the envelope is sealed with his private seal. You will
pronounce this to be my dear uncle's hand. Furlong,"--showing the
superscription of the letter--"and this to be his seal?"

"Both are genuine, gentlemen," returned the steward, with a sigh. "Thus
far, Mr. Thomas is in the right."

"_Mr._ Thomas, sirrah!--and why not _Sir_ Thomas? Are baronets addressed
as other men, in England? But, no matter! There is a time for all
things. Sir Gervaise Oakes, as you are perfectly indifferent in this
affair, I ask of you the favour to break the seal, and to inquire into
the contents of the paper?"

The vice-admiral was not slow in complying; for, by this time, he began
to feel an intense interest in the result. The reader will readily
understand that Tom had handed to Sir Gervaise the will drawn up by his
father, and which, after inserting his reputed nephew's name, Sir
Wycherly had duly executed, and delivered to the person most interested.
The envelope, address, and outer seal, Tom had obtained the very day the
will was signed, after assuring himself of the contents of the latter,
by six or eight careful perusals. The vice-admiral read the instrument
from beginning to end, before he put it into the hands of Sir Reginald
to examine. The latter fully expected to meet with a clumsy forgery; but
the instant his eyes fell on the phraseology, he perceived that the will
had been drawn by one expert in the law. A second look satisfied him
that the hand was that of Mr. Baron Wychecombe. It has already been
said, that in this instrument, Sir Wycherly bequeathed all he had on
earth, to "his nephew, Thomas Wychecombe, son, &c., &c.," making his
heir, also, his executor.

"This will appears to me to have been drawn up by a very skilful lawyer;
the late Baron Wychecombe," observed the baronet.

"It was, Sir Reginald," answered Tom, endeavouring to appear
unconcerned. "He did it to oblige my respected uncle, leaving blanks for
the name of the devisee, not liking to make a will so very decidedly in
favour of his own son. The writing in the blanks is by Sir Wycherly
himself, leaving no doubts of _his_ intentions."

"I do not see but you may claim to be the heir of Wychecombe, sir, as
well as of the personals; though your claims to the baronetcy shall
certainly be contested and defeated."

"And why defeated?" demanded Wycherly, stepping forward for the first
time, and speaking with a curiosity he found it difficult to control.
"Is not Mr. Thomas--_Sir_ Thomas, I ought rather to say,--the eldest son
of the late Sir Wycherly's next brother; and, as a matter of course,
heir to the title, as well as to the estate?"

"Not he, as I can answer from a careful examination of proofs. Mr. Baron
Wychecombe was never married, and thus _could have_ no heir at law."

"Is this possible!--How have we all been deceived then, in America!"

"Why do you say this, young gentleman? Can _you_ have any legal claims
here?"

"I am Wycherly, the _only_ son of Wycherly, who was the eldest son of
Gregory, the younger brother of the late baronet; and if what you say be
true, the next in succession to the baronetcy, at least."

"This is--" Tom's words stuck in his throat; for the quiet, stern eye of
the young sailor met his look and warned him to be prudent.--"This is a
_mistake_," he resumed. "My uncle Gregory was lost at sea, and died a
bachelor. He can have left no lawful issue."

"I must say, young gentleman," added Sir Reginald, gravely, "that such
has always been the history of his fate. I have had too near an interest
in this family, to neglect its annals."

"I know, sir, that such has been the opinion here for more than half a
century; but it was founded in error. The facts are simply these. My
grandfather, a warm-hearted but impetuous young man, struck an older
lieutenant, when ashore and on duty, in one of the West India Islands.
The penalty was death; but, neither the party injured nor the commander
of the vessel, wished to push matters to extremity, and the offender was
advised to absent himself from the ship, at the moment of sailing. The
injured party was induced to take this course, as in a previous quarrel,
my grandfather had received his fire, without returning it; frankly
admitting his fault. The ship did sail without Mr. Gregory Wychecombe,
and was lost, every soul on board perishing. My grandfather passed into
Virginia, where he remained a twelvemonth, suppressing his story, lest
its narration might lead to military punishment. Love next sealed his
future fate. He married a woman of fortune, and though his history was
well known in his own retired circle, it never spread beyond it. No one
supposed him near the succession, and there was no motive for stating
the fact, on account of his interests. Once he wrote to Sir Wycherly,
but he suppressed the letter, as likely to give more pain than pleasure.
That letter I now have, and in his own hand-writing. I have also his
commission, and all the other proofs of identity that such a person
would be apt to possess. They are as complete as any court in
Christendom would be likely to require, for he never felt a necessity
for changing his name. He has been dead but two years, and previously to
dying he saw that every document necessary to establish my claim, should
a moment for enforcing it ever arrive, was put in such a legal form as
to admit of no cavilling. He outlived my own father, but none of us
thought there was any motive for presenting ourselves, as all believed
that the sons of Baron Wychecombe were legitimate. I can only say, sir,
that I have complete legal evidence that I am heir at law of Gregory,
the younger brother of the late Sir Wycherly Wychecombe. Whether the
fact will give me any rights here, you best can say."

"It will make you heir of entail to this estate, master of this house,
and of most of what it contains, and the present baronet. You have only
to prove what you say, to defeat every provision of this will, with the
exception of that which refers to the personal estate."

"Bravo!" cried Sir Gervaise, fairly rubbing his hands with delight.
"Bravo, Dick; if we were aboard the Plantagenet, by the Lord, I'd turn
the hands up, and have three cheers. So then, my brave young seaman, you
turn out to be Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, after all!"

"Yes, that's the way we always does, on board ship," observed Galleygo,
to the group of domestics; "whenever any thing of a hallooing character
turns up. Sometimes we makes a signal to Admiral Blue and the rest on
'em, to 'stand by to cheer,' and all of us sets to, to cheer as if our
stomachs was lull of hurrahs, and we wanted to get rid on 'em. If Sir
Jarvy would just pass the word now, you'd have a taste of that 'ere
custom, that would do your ears good for a twelvemonth. It's a cheering
matter when the one of the trade falls heir to an estate."

"And would this be a proper mode of settling a question of a right of
property, Sir Gervaise Oakes?" asked Tom, with more of right and reason
than he commonly had of his side; "and that, too, with my uncle lying
dead beneath this roof?"

"I acknowledge the justice of the reproof, young sir, and will say no
more in the matter--at least, nothing as indiscreet as my last speech.
Sir Reginald, you have the affair in hand, and I recommend it to your
serious attention."

"Fear nothing, Sir Gervaise," answered he of Hertfordshire. "Justice
shall be done in the premises, if justice rule in England. Your story,
young gentleman, is probable, and naturally told, and I see a family
likeness between you and the Wychecombes, generally; a likeness that is
certainly not to be traced in the person of the other claimant. Did the
point depend on the legitimacy of Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, it might be
easily determined, as I have his own mother's declaration to the fact of
his illegitimacy, as well as of one other material circumstance that may
possibly unsettle even the late Baron Wychecombe's will. But this
testamentary devise of Sir Wycherly appears to be perfect, and nothing
but the entail can defeat it. You speak of your proofs; where are they?
It is all-important to know which party is entitled to possession."

"Here they are, sir," answered Wycherly, removing a belt from his body,
and producing his papers; "not in the originals, certainly; for most of
_them_ are matters of official record, in Virginia; but in, what the
lawyers call 'exemplified copies,' and which I am told are in a fit
state to be read as evidence in any court in England, that can take
cognizance of the matter."

Sir Reginald took the papers, and began to read them, one by one, and
with deep attention. The evidence of the identity of the grandfather was
full, and of the clearest nature. He had been recognised as an old
schoolfellow, by one of the governors of the colony, and it was at this
gentleman's suggestion that he had taken so much pains to perpetuate the
evidence of his identity. Both the marriages, one with Jane Beverly, and
the other with Rebecca Randolph, were fully substantiated, as were the
two births. The personal identity of the young man, and this too as the
only son of Wycherly, the _eldest_ son of Gregory, was well certified
to, and in a way that could leave no doubt as to the person meant. In a
word, the proofs were such as a careful and experienced lawyer would
have prepared, in a case that admitted of no doubt, and which was liable
to be contested in a court of law. Sir Reginald was quite half an hour
in looking over the papers; and during this time, every eye in the room
was on him, watching the expression of his countenance with the utmost
solicitude. At length, he finished his task, when he again turned to
Wycherly.

"These papers have been prepared with great method, and an acute
knowledge of what might be required," he said. "Why have they been so
long suppressed, and why did you permit Sir Wycherly to die in ignorance
of your near affinity to him, and of your claims?"

"Of my claims I was ignorant myself, believing not only Mr. Thomas
Wychecombe, but his two brothers, to stand before me. This was the
opinion of my grandfather, even when he caused these proofs to be
perpetuated. They were given to me, that I might claim affinity to the
family on my arrival in England; and it was the injunction of my
grandfather that they should be worn on my person, until the moment
arrived when I could use them."

"This explains your not preferring the claim--why not prefer the
relationship?"

"What for, sir? I found America and Americans looked down on, in
England--colonists spoken of as a race of inferior beings--of diminished
stature, feebler intellects, and a waning spirit, as compared to those
from whom they had so recently sprung; and I was too proud to confess an
affinity where I saw it was not desired. When wounded, and expecting to
die, I was landed here, at my own request, with an intention to state
the facts; but, falling under the care of ministering angels,"--here
Wycherly glanced his eye at Mildred and her mother--"I less felt the
want of relatives. Sir Wycherly I honoured; but he too manifestly
regarded us Americans as inferiors, to leave any wish to tell him I was
his great-nephew."

"I fear we are not altogether free from this reproach, Sir Gervaise,"
observed Sir Reginald, thoughtfully. "We do appear to think there is
something in the air of this part of the island, that renders us better
than common. Nay, if a claim comes from _over water_, let it be what it
may, it strikes us as a foreign and inadmissible claim. The fate from
which even princes are not exempt, humbler men must certainly submit
to!"

"I can understand the feeling, and I think it honourable to the young
man. Admiral Bluewater, you and I have had occasion often to rebuke this
very spirit in our young officers; and you will agree with me when I say
that this gentleman has acted naturally, in acting as he has."

"I must corroborate what you say, Sir Gervaise," answered Bluewater;
"and, as one who has seen much of the colonies, and who is getting to be
an old man, I venture to predict that this very feeling, sooner or
later, will draw down upon England its own consequences, in the shape of
condign punishment."

"I don't go as far as that, Dick--I don't go as far as that. But it is
unwise and unsound, and we, who know both hemispheres, ought to set our
faces against it. We have already some gallant fellows from that quarter
of the world among us, and I hope to live to see more."

This, let it be remembered, was said before the Hallowells, and Coffins,
and Brentons of our own times, were enrolled in a service that has since
become foreign to that of the land of their birth; but it was prophetic
of their appearance, and of that of many other high names from the
colonies, in the lists of the British marine. Wycherly smiled proudly,
but he made no answer. All this time, Sir Reginald had been musing on
what had passed.

"It would seem, gentlemen," the latter now observed, "that, contrary to
our belief, there is an heir to the baronetcy, as well as to the estate
of Wychecombe; and all our regrets that the late incumbent did not live
to execute the will we had drawn at his request, have become useless.
Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, I congratulate you, on thus succeeding to the
honours and estates of your family; and, as a member of the last, I may
be permitted to congratulate all of the name in being so worthily
represented. For one of that family I cheerfully recognise you as its
head and chief."

Wycherly bowed his acknowledgments, receiving also the compliments of
most of the others present. Tom Wychecombe, however, formed an
exception, and instead of manifesting any disposition to submit to this
summary disposal of his claims, he was brooding over the means of
maintaining them. Detecting by the countenances of the upper servants
that they were effectually bribed by his promise to pay the late
baronet's legacies, he felt tolerably confident of support from that
quarter. He well knew that possession was nine points of the law, and
his thoughts naturally turned towards the means necessary to securing
this great advantage. As yet, the two claimants were on a par, in this
respect; for while the executed will might seem to give him a superior
claim, no authority that was derived from an insufficient source would
be deemed available in law; and Sir Wycherly had clearly no right to
devise Wychecombe, so long as there existed an heir of entail. Both
parties, too, were merely guests in the house; so that neither had any
possession that would require a legal process to eject him. Tom had been
entered at the Temple, and had some knowledge of the law of the land;
more especially as related to real estate; and he was aware that there
existed some quaint ceremony of taking possession, as it existed under
the feudal system; but he was ignorant of the precise forms, and had
some reasonable doubts how far they would benefit him, under the
peculiar circumstances of this case. On the whole, therefore, he was
disposed to try the effect of intimidation, by means of the advantages
he clearly possessed, and of such little reason as the facts connected
with his claim, allowed him to offer.

"Sir Reginald Wychecombe," he said gravely, and with as much
indifference as he could assume; "you have betrayed a facility of belief
in this American history, that has surprised me in one with so high a
reputation for prudence and caution. This sudden revival of the dead may
answer for the credulous lovers of marvels, but it would hardly do for a
jury of twelve sober-minded and sworn men. Admitting the whole of this
gentleman's statement to be true, however, you will not deny the late
Sir Wycherly's right to make a will, if he only devised his old shoes;
and, having this right, that of naming his executor necessarily
accompanied it. Now, sir, I am clearly that executor, and as such I
demand leave to exercise my functions in this house, as its temporary
master at least."

"Not so fast--not so fast, young sir. Wills must be proved and executors
qualified, before either has any validity. Then, again, Sir Wycherly
could only give authority over that which was his own. The instant he
ceased to breathe, his brother Gregory's grandson became the life-tenant
of this estate, the house included; and I advise him to assert that
right, trusting to the validity of his claim, for his justification in
law, should it become necessary. In these matters he who is right is
safe; while he who is wrong must take the consequences of his own acts.
Mr. Furlong, your steward-ship ceased with the life of your principal;
if you have any keys or papers to deliver, I advise your placing them in
the hands of this gentleman, whom, beyond all cavil, I take to be the
rightful Sir Wycherly Wychecombe."

Furlong was a cautious, clear-headed, honest man, and with every desire
to see Tom defeated, he was tenacious of doing his duty. He led Sir
Reginald aside, therefore, and examined him, at some length, touching
the nature of the proofs that had been offered; until, quite satisfied
that there could be no mistake, he declared his willingness to comply
with the request.

"Certainly, I hold the keys of the late Sir Wycherly's papers,--those
that have just been seen in the search for the will," he said, "and have
every wish to place them in the hands of their proper owner. Here they
are, Sir Wycherly; though I would advise you to remove the bags of gold
that are in the secretary, to some other place; as _those_ your uncle
had a right to bequeath to whom he saw fit. Every thing else in the
secretary goes with the estate; as do the plate, furniture, and other
heir-looms of the Hall."

"I thank you, Mr. Furlong, and I will first use these keys to follow
your advice," answered the new baronet; "then I will return them to you
with a request that you will still retain the charge of all your former
duties."

This was no sooner said than done; Wycherly placing the bags of gold on
the floor, until some other place of security could be provided.

"All that I legally can, Sir Wycherly, will I cheerfully do, in order to
aid you in the assertion of your right; though I do not see how I can
transfer more than I hold. _Qui facit per alium, facit per se_, is good
law, Sir Reginald; but the principal must have power to act, before the
deputy can exercise authority. It appears to me that this is a case, in
which each party stands on his own rights, at his own peril. The
possession of the farms is safe enough, for the time being, with the
tenants; but as to the Hall and Park, there would seem to be no one in
the legal occupancy. This makes a case in which title is immediately
available."

"Such is the law, Mr. Furlong, and I advise Sir Wycherly to take
possession of the key of the outer door at once, as master of the
tenement."

No sooner was this opinion given, than Wycherly left the room, followed
by all present to the hall. Here he proceeded alone to the vestibule,
locked the great door of the building, and put the key in his pocket.
This act was steadily performed, and in a way to counteract, in a great
degree, the effect on the domestics, of Tom's promises concerning the
legacies. At the same moment, Furlong whispered something in the ear of
Sir Reginald.

"Now you are quietly in possession, Sir Wycherly," said the latter,
smiling; "there is no necessity of keeping us all prisoners in order to
maintain your claims. David, the usual porter, Mr. Furlong tells me, is
a faithful servant, and if he will accept of the key as _your_ agent it
may be returned to him with perfect legal safety."

As David cheerfully assented to this proposition, the key was put into
his hands again, and the new Sir Wycherly was generally thought to be in
possession. Nor did Tom dare to raise the contemplated question of his
own legitimacy before Sir Reginald, who, he had discovered, possessed a
clue to the facts; and he consequently suppressed, for the moment at
least, the certificate of marriage he had so recently forged. Bowing
round to the whole company, therefore, with a sort of sarcastic
compliance, he stalked off to his own room with the air of an injured
man. This left our young hero in possession of the field; but, as the
condition of the house was not one suitable to an unreasonable display
of triumph, the party soon separated; some to consult concerning the
future, some to discourse of the past, and all to wonder, more or less,
at the present.



CHAPTER XVI.

    "Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
    I fear not wove nor wind;
    Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
    Am sorrowful of mind."

         CHILDE HAROLD.


"Well, Sir Jarvy," said Galleygo, following on the heels of the two
admirals, as the latter entered the dressing-room of the officer
addressed; "it has turned out just as I thought; and the County of
Fairvillain has come out of his hole, like a porpoise coming up to
breathe, the moment our backs is turned! As soon as we gives the order
to square-away for England, and I see the old Planter's cabin windows
turned upon Franco, I foreseed them consequences. Well, gentlemen,
here's been a heap of prize-money made in this house without much
fighting. We shall have to give the young lieutenant a leave, for a few
months, in order that he may take his swing ashore, here, among his
brother squires!"

"Pray, sir, what may be your pleasure?" demanded Sir Gervaise; "and what
the devil has brought you at my heels?"

"Why, big ships always tows small craft, your honour," returned
Galleygo, simpering. "Howsever, I never comes without an errand, as
every body knows. You see, Sir Jarvy,--you see, Admiral Blue, that our
signal-officer is ashore, with a report for us; and meeting me in the
hall, he made it to me first like, that I might bring it up to you
a'terwards. His news is that the French county is gone to sea, as I has
just told you, gentlemen."

"Can it be possible that Bunting has brought any such tidings here!
Harkee, Galleygo; desire Mr. Bunting to walk up; and then see that you
behave yourself as is decent in a house of mourning."

"Ay-ay-sir. No fears of I, gentlemen. I can put on as grievous a look as
the best on 'em, and if they wishes to see sorrow becomingly, and
ship-shape, let them study my conduct and countenance. We has all seen
dead men afore now, gentlemen, as we all knows. When we fou't Mounsheer
Graveland, (Gravelin,) we had forty-seven slain, besides the hurt that
lived to tell their own pain; and when we had the--"

"Go to the devil, Master Galleygo, and desire Mr. Bunting to walk up
stairs," cried Sir Gervaise, impatiently.

"Ay-ay-sir. Which will your honour have done first?"

"Let me see the signal-officer, _first_," answered the vice-admiral,
laughing; "then be certain of executing the other order."

"Well," muttered Galleygo, as he descended the stairs; "if I was to do
as he says, now, what would we do with the fleet? Ships wants orders to
fight; and flags wants food to give orders; and food wants stewards to
be put upon the table; and stewards wants no devils to help 'em do their
duty. No--no--Sir Jarvy; I'll not pay that visit, till we all goes in
company, as is suitable for them that has sailed so long together."

"This will be great news, Dick, if de Vervillin has really come out!"
cried Sir Gervaise, rubbing his hands with delight. "Hang me, if I wait
for orders from London; but we'll sail with the first wind and tide. Let
them settle the quarrel at home, as they best can; it is _our_ business
to catch the Frenchman. How many ships do you really suppose the count
to have?"

"Twelve of two decks, besides one three-decker, and beating us in
frigates. Two or three, however, are short vessels, and cannot be quite
as heavy as our own. I see no reason why we should not engage him."

"I rejoice to hear you say so! How much more honourable is it to seek
the enemy, than to be intriguing about a court! I hope you intend to let
me announce that red riband in general orders to-morrow, Dick?"

"Never, with my consent, Sir Gervaise, so long as the house of Hanover
confers the boon. But what an extraordinary scene we have just had
below! This young lieutenant is a noble fellow, and I hope, with all my
heart, he will be enabled to make good his claim."

"Of that Sir Reginald assures me there can be no manner of doubt. His
papers are in perfect order, and his story simple and probable. Do you
not remember hearing, when we were midshipmen in the West Indies, of a
lieutenant of the Sappho's striking a senior officer, ashore; and of his
having been probably saved from the sentence of death, by the loss of
the ship?"

"As well as if it were yesterday, now you name the vessel. And this you
suppose to have been the late Sir Wycherly's brother. Did he belong to
the Sappho?"

"So they tell me, below; and it leaves no doubt on my mind, of the truth
of the whole story."

"It is a proof, too, how easy it is for one to return to England, and
maintain his rights, after an absence of more than half a century. He in
Scotland has a claim quite as strong as that of this youth!"

"Dick Bluewater, you seem determined to pull a house down about your own
ears! What have you or I to do with these Scotch adventurers, when a
gallant enemy invites us to come out and meet him! But, mum--here is
Bunting."

At this instant the signal-lieutenant of the Plantagenet was shown into
the room, by Galleygo, in person.

"Well, Bunting; what tidings from the fleet?" demanded Sir Gervaise. "Do
the ships still ride to the flood?"

"It is slack-water, Sir Gervaise, and the vessels are looking all ways
at once. Most of us are clearing hawse, for there are more round turns
in our cables, than I remember ever to have seen in so short a time."

"That comes of there being no wind, and the uselessness of the stay-sails
and spankers. What has brought you ashore? Galleygo tells us something
of a cutter's coming in, with information that the French are out; but
_his_ news is usually _galley_-news."

"Not always, Sir Gervaise," returned the lieutenant, casting a side-look
at the steward, who often comforted him with ship's delicacies in the
admiral's cabin; "this time, he is right, at least. The Active is coming
in slowly, and has been signalling us all the morning. We make her out
to say that Monsieur Vervillin is at sea with his whole force."

"Yes," muttered Galleygo to the rear-admiral, in a sort of aside; "the
County of Fairvillain has come out of his hole, just as I told Sir
Jarvy. Fair-weather-villains they all is, and no bones broken."

"Silence--and you think, Bunting, you read the signals clearly?"

"No doubt of it, Sir Gervaise. Captain Greenly is of the same opinion,
and has sent me ashore with the news. He desired me to tell you that the
ebb would make in half an hour, and that we can then fetch past the
rocks to the westward, light as the wind is."

"Ay, that is Greenly, I can swear!--He'll not sit down until we are all
aweigh, and standing out. Does the cutter tell us which way the count
was looking?"

"To the westward, sir; on an easy bowline, and under short canvass."

"The gentleman is in no hurry, it would seem. Has he a convoy?"

"Not a sail, sir. Nineteen sail, all cruisers, and only twelve of the
line. He has one two-decker, and two frigates more than we can muster;
just a Frenchman's odds, sir."

"The count has certainly with him, the seven new ships that were built
last season," quietly observed Bluewater, leaning back in his
easy-chair, until his body inclined at an angle of forty-five degrees,
and stretching a leg on an empty stand, in his usual self-indulgent
manner. "They are a little heavier than their old vessels, and will give
us harder work."

"The tougher the job, the more creditable the workmanship. The tide is
turning, you say, Bunting?"

"It is, Sir Gervaise; and we shall all tend ebb, in twenty minutes. The
frigates outside are riding down channel already. The Chloe seems to
think that we shall be moving soon, as she has crossed top-gallant and
royal-yards. Even Captain Greenly was thinking of stretching along the
messenger."

"Ah! you're a set of uneasy fellows, all round!--You tire of your native
land in twenty-four hours, I find. Well, Mr. Bunting; you can go off,
and say that all is very well. This house is in a sad state of
confusion, as, I presume, you know. Mention this to Captain Greenly."

"Ay-ay-sir; is it your pleasure I should tell him any thing else, Sir
Gervaise Oakes?"

"Why--yes--Bunting," answered the vice-admiral, smiling; "you may as
well give him a hint to get all his fresh grub off, as fast as he
can--and--yes; to let no more men quit the ship on liberty."

"Any thing more, Sir Gervaise?" added the pertinacious officer.

"On the whole, you may as well run up a signal to be ready to unmoor.
The ships can very well ride at single anchors, when the tide has once
fairly made. What say you, Bluewater?"

"A signal to unmoor, at once, would expedite matters. You know very
well, you intend to go to sea, and why not do the thing off-hand?"

"I dare say, now, Bunting, you too would like to give the
commander-in-chief a nudge of some sort or other."

"If I could presume so far, Sir Gervaise. I can only say, sir, that the
sooner we are off, the sooner we shall flog the French."

"And Master Galleygo, what are your sentiments, on this occasion? It is
a full council, and all ought to speak, freely."

"You knows, Sir Jarvy, that I never speaks in these matters, unless
spoken to. Admiral Blue and your honour are quite enough to take care of
the fleet in most circumstances, though there is some knowledge in the
tops, as well as in the cabin. My ideas is, gentlemen, that, by casting
to starboard on this ebb tide, we shall all have our heads off-shore,
and we shall fetch into the offing as easily as a country wench turns in
a jig. What we shall do with the fleet, when we gets out, will be shown
in our ultra movements."

By "ultra," David meant "ulterior," a word he had caught up from hearing
despatches read, which he understood no better than those who wrote them
at the admiralty.

"Thanks to you all, my friends!" cried Sir Gervaise, who was so
delighted at the prospect of a general engagement, that he felt a boyish
pleasure in this fooling; "and now to business, seriously. Mr. Bunting,
I would have the signal for sailing shown. Let each ship fire a
recall-gun for her boats. Half an hour later, show the bunting to
unmoor; and send my boat ashore as soon as you begin to heave on the
capstan. So, good-morning, my fine fellow, and show your activity."

"Mr. Bunting, as you pass the Cæsar, do me the favour to ask for my
boat, also," said Bluewater, lazily, but half-raising his body to look
after the retiring lieutenant. "If we are to move, I suppose I shall
have to go with the rest of them. Of course we shall repeat all your
signals."

Sir Gervaise waited until Bunting was out of the room, when he turned to
the steward, and said with some dryness of manner--

"Mr. Galleygo, you have my permission to go on board, bag and baggage."

"Yes, Sir Jarvy, I understands. We are about to get the ships under way,
and good men ought to be in their places. Good-by, Admiral Blue. We
shall meet before the face of the French, and then I expects every man
on us will set an example to himself of courage and devotion."

"That fellow grows worse and worse, each day, and I shall have to send
him forward, in order to check his impertinence," said Sir Gervaise,
half-vexed and half-laughing. "I wonder you stand his saucy familiarity
as well as you appear to do--with his Admiral Blues!"

"I shall take offence as soon as I find Sir Jarvy really out of humour
with him. The man is brave, honest, and attached; and these are virtues
that would atone for a hundred faults."

"Let the fellow go to the devil!--Do you not think I had better go out,
without waiting for despatches from town?"

"It is hard to say. Your orders may send us all down into Scotland, to
face Charles Stuart. Perhaps, too, they may make you a duke, and me a
baron, in order to secure our fidelity!"

"The blackguards!--well, say no more of that, just now. If M. de
Vervillin is steering to the westward, he can hardly be aiming at
Edinburgh, and the movements in the north."

"That is by no means so certain. Your really politic fellows usually
look one way and row another."

"It is my opinion, that his object is to effect a diversion, and my wish
is to give it to him, to his heart's content. So long as this force is
kept near the chops of the channel, it can do no harm in the north, and,
in-so-much, must leave the road to Germany open."

"For one, I think it a pity--not to say a disgrace--that England cannot
settle her own quarrels without calling in the aid of either Frenchman
or Dutchman."

"We must take the world as it is, Dick, and act like two
straight-forward seamen, without stopping to talk politics. I take it
for granted, notwithstanding your Stuart fervour, that you are willing
enough to help me thresh Monsieur de Vervillin."

"Beyond a question. Nothing but the conviction that he was directly
employed in serving my natural and legitimate prince, could induce me to
show him any favour. Still, Oakes, it is possible he may have succours
for the Scotch on board, and be bound to the north by the way of the
Irish channel!"

"Ay, pretty succours, truly, for an Englishman to stomach!
_Mousquetaires_, and _régiments de Croy_, or _de Dillon_, or some d----d
French name or other; and, perhaps, beautiful muskets from the _Bois de
Vincennes_; or some other infernal nest of Gallic inventions to put down
the just ascendency of old England! No--no--Dick Bluewater, your
excellent, loyal, true-hearted English mother, never bore you to be a
dupe of Bourbon perfidy and trick. I dare say she sickened at the very
name of Louis!"

"I'll not answer for that, Sir Jarvy," returned the rear-admiral, with a
vacant smile; "for she passed some time at the court of _le Grand
Monarque_. But all this is idle; we know each other's opinions, and, by
this time, ought to know each other's characters. Have you digested any
plan for your future operations; and what part am I to play in it?"

Sir Gervaise paced the room, with hands folded behind his back, in an
air of deep contemplation, for quite five minutes, before he answered.
All this time, Bluewater remained watching his countenance and
movements, in anticipation of what was to come. At length, the
vice-admiral appeared to have made up his mind, and he delivered himself
of his decision, as follows.

"I have reflected on them, Dick," he said, "even while my thoughts have
seemed to be occupied with the concerns of others. If de Vervillin is
out, he must still be to the eastward of us; for, running as the tides
do on the French coast, he can hardly have made much westing with this
light south-west wind. We are yet uncertain of his destination, and it
is all-important that we get immediate sight of him, and keep him in
view, until he can be brought to action. Now, my plan is this. I will
send out the ships in succession, with orders to keep on an easy
bowline, until each reaches the chops of the channel, when she is to go
about and stand in towards the English coast. Each succeeding vessel,
however, will weigh as soon as her leader is hull down, and keep within
signal distance, in order to send intelligence through the whole line.
Nothing will be easier than to keep in sight of each other, in such fine
weather; and by these means we shall spread a wide clew,--quite a
hundred miles,--and command the whole of the channel. As soon as
Monsieur de Vervillin is made, the fleet can close, when we will be
governed by circumstances Should we see nothing of the French, by the
time we make their coast, we may be certain they have gone up channel;
and then, a signal from the van can reverse the order of sailing, and we
will chase to the eastward, closing to a line abreast as fast as
possible."

"All this is very well, certainly; and by means of the frigates and
smaller cruisers we can easily sweep a hundred and fifty miles of
ocean;--nevertheless, the fleet will be much scattered."

"You do not think there will be any danger of the French's engaging the
van, before the rear can close to aid it?" asked Sir Gervaise, with
interest, for he had the profoundest respect for his friend's
professional opinions. "I intended to lead out in the Plantagenet,
myself, and to have five or six of the fastest ships next to me, with a
view that we might keep off, until you could bring up the rear. If they
chase, you know we can retire."

"Beyond a doubt, if Sir Gervaise Oakes can make up his mind to _retire_,
before any Frenchman who was ever born," returned Bluewater, laughing.
"All this sounds well; but, in the event of a meeting, I should expect
to find you, with the whole van dismasted, fighting your hulks like
bull-dogs, and keeping the Count at bay, leaving the glory of covering
your retreat to me."

"No--no--Dick: I'll give you my honour I'll do nothing so boyish and
silly. I'm a different man at fifty-five, from what I was at
twenty-five. You may be certain that I will run, until I think myself
strong enough to fight."

"Will you allow me to make a suggestion, Admiral Oakes; and this with
all the frankness that ought to characterize our ancient friendship?"

Sir Gervaise stopped short in his walk, looked Bluewater steadily in the
face, and nodded his head.

"I understand by the expression of your countenance," continued the
other, "that I am expected to speak. I had no more to say, than to make
the simple suggestion that your plan would be most likely to be
executed, were I to lead the van, and were _you_ to bring up the rear."

"The devil you do!--This comes as near mutiny--or _scandalum
magnatum_--as one can wish! And why do you suppose that the plan of the
commander-in-chief will be least in danger of failing, if Admiral
Bluewater lead on this occasion, instead of Admiral Oakes?"

"Merely because I think Admiral Oakes, when an enemy is pressing him, is
more apt to take counsel of his heart than of his head; while Admiral
Bluewater is _not_. You do not know yourself, Sir Jarvy, if you think it
so easy a matter to run away."

"I've spoiled you, Dick, by praising your foolish man[oe]uvring so much
before your face, and that's the whole truth of the matter. No--my mind
is made up; and, I believe you know me well enough to feel sure, when
that is the case, even a council of war could not move it. _I_ lead out,
in the _first_ two-decked ship that lifts her anchor, and _you_ follow
in the _last_. You understand my plan, and will see it executed, as you
see every thing executed, in face of the enemy."

Admiral Bluewater smiled, and not altogether without irony in his
manner; though he managed, at the same time, to get the leg that had
been lowest for the last five minutes, raised by an ingenuity peculiar
to himself, several inches above its fellow.

"Nature never made you for a conspirator, Oakes," he said, as soon as
this change was effected to his mind; "for you carry a top-light in your
breast that even the blind can see!"

"What crotchet is uppermost in your mind, now, Dick? Ar'n't the orders
plain enough to suit you?"

"I confess it;--as well as the motive for giving them just in this
form."

"Let's have it, at once. I prefer a full broadside to your minute-guns.
What is my motive?"

"Simply that you, Sir Jarvy, say to a certain Sir Gervaise Oakes, Bart.,
Vice-Admiral of the Red, and Member for Bowldero, in your own mind,
'now, if I can just leave that fellow, Dick Bluewater, behind me, with
four or five ships, he'll never desert _me_, when in front of the enemy,
whatever he might do with _King George_; and so I'll make sure of him by
placing the question in such a light that it shall be one of friendship,
rather than one of loyalty.'"

Sir Gervaise coloured to the temples, for the other had penetrated into
his most secret thoughts; and, yet, spite of his momentary vexation, he
faced his accuser, and both laughed in the heartfelt manner that the
circumstance would be likely to excite.

"Harkee, Dick," said the vice-admiral, as soon as he could command
sufficient gravity to speak; "they made a mistake when they sent you to
sea; you ought to have been apprenticed to a conjuror. I care not what
you think about it; my orders are given, and they must be obeyed. Have
you a clear perception of the plan?"

"One quite as clear, I tell you, as I have of the motive."

"Enough of this, Bluewater; we have serious duties before us."

Sir Gervaise now entered more at length into his scheme; explaining to
his friend all his wishes and hopes, and letting him know, with official
minuteness, what was expected at his hands. The rear-admiral listened
with his accustomed respect, whenever any thing grave was in discussion
between them; and, had any one entered while they were thus engaged, he
would have seen in the manner of one, nothing but the dignified
frankness of a friendly superior, and in the other the deference which
the naval inferior usually pays to rank. As he concluded Sir Gervaise
rang his bell, and desired the presence of Sir Wycherly Wychecombe.

"I could have wished to remain and see this battle for the succession
fairly fought," he said; "but a battle of a different sort calls us in
another quarter. Show him in," he added, as his man intimated that the
young baronet was in waiting.

"What between the duties of our professional stations, and those of the
guest to the host," said the vice-admiral, rising and bowing to the
young man; "it is not easy to settle the question of etiquette between
us, Sir Wycherly; and I have, from habit, thought more of the admiral
and the lieutenant, than of the lord of the manor and his obliged
guests. If I have erred, you will excuse me."

"My new situation is so very novel, that I still remain all sailor, Sir
Gervaise," answered the other, smiling; "as such I hope _you_ will ever
consider me. Can I be of any service, here?"

"One of our cutters has just come in with news that will take the fleet
to sea, again, this morning; or, as soon as the tide begins to run a
strong ebb. The French are out, and we must go and look for them. It was
my intention and my hope, to be able to take you to sea with me in the
Plantagenet. The date of your commission would not put you very high
among her lieutenants; but, Bunting deserves a first lieutenancy, and I
meant to give it to him this afternoon, in which case there would be a
vacancy in the situation of my own signal-officer, a duty you could well
perform. As it is, you ought not to quit this house, and I must take my
leave of you with regret it is so."

"Admiral Oakes, what is there that ought to keep one of my station
ashore, on the eve of a general battle? I sincerely hope and trust you
will alter the last determination, and return to the first."

"You forget your own important interests--remember that possession is
nine points of the law."

"We had heard the news below, and Sir Reginald, Mr. Furlong, and myself,
were discussing the matter when I received your summons. These gentlemen
tell me, that possession can be held by deputy, as well as in person. I
am satisfied we can dispose of this objection."

"Your grandfather's brother, and the late head of your family, lies dead
in this house; it is proper his successor should be present at his
funeral obsequies."

"We thought of that, also. Sir Reginald has kindly offered to appear in
my place; and, then, there is the chance that the meeting with Monsieur
de Vervillin will take place within the next eight-and-forty hours;
whereas my uncle cannot be interred certainly for a week or ten days."

"I see you have well calculated all the chances, young sir," said Sir
Gervaise, smiling. "Bluewater, how does this matter strike you?"

"Leave it in my hands, and I will see to it. You will sail near or quite
twenty-four hours before me, and there will be time for more reflection.
Sir Wycherly can remain with me in the Cæsar, in the action; or he can
be thrown aboard the Plantagenet, when we meet."

After a little reflection, Sir Gervaise, who liked to give every one a
fair chance, consented to the arrangement, and it was decided that
Wycherly should come out in the Cæsar, if nothing occurred to render the
step improper.

This arrangement completed, the vice-admiral declared he was ready to
quit the Hall. Galleygo and the other servants had already made the
dispositions necessary for embarking, and it only remained to take leave
of the inmates of the dwelling. The parting between the baronets was
friendly; for the common interest they felt in the success of Wycherly,
had, in a degree, rendered them intimates, and much disposed Sir
Reginald to overlook the sailor's well-known Whiggery. Dutton and the
ladies took their departure at the same time, and what passed between
them and Sir Gervaise on this occasion, took place on the road to the
head-land, whither all parties proceeded on foot.

A person so important as Sir Gervaise Oakes did not leave the roof that
had sheltered him, to embark on board his own ship, without a due escort
to the shore. Bluewater accompanied him, in order to discuss any little
point of duty that might occur to the mind of either, at the last
moment; and Wycherly was of the group, partly from professional feeling,
and more from a desire to be near Mildred. Then there were Atwood, and
the surgeons, Mr. Rotherham, and two or three of the cabin attendants.
Lord Geoffrey, too, strolled along with the rest, though it was
understood that his own ship would not sail that day.

Just as the party issued from the gate of the park into the street of
the hamlet, a heavy gun was fired from the fleet. It was soon succeeded
by others, and whiffs and cornets were seen flying from the mast-heads
that rose above the openings in the cliffs, the signals of recall for
all boats. This set every one in motion, and, never within the memory of
man, had Wychecombe presented such a scene of confusion and activity.
Half-intoxicated seamen were driven down to the boats, by youngsters
with the cloth diamond in their collars, like swine, who were reluctant
to go, and yet afraid to stay. Quarters of beeves were trundled along in
carts or barrows, and were soon seen swinging at different main-stays;
while the gathering of eggs, butter, poultry, mutton, lamb, and veal,
menaced the surrounding country with a scarcity. Through this throng of
the living and the dead, our party held its way, jostled by the eager
countrymen, and respectfully avoided by all who belonged to the fleet,
until it reached the point where the roads to the cliffs and the landing
separated, when the vice-admiral turned to the only midshipman present,
and courteously lifting his hat, as if reluctant to impose such a duty
on a "young gentleman" on liberty, he said--

"Do me the favour, Lord Geoffrey, to step down to the landing and
ascertain if my barge is there. The officer of the boat will find me at
the signal-station."

The boy cheerfully complied; and this son of an English duke, who, by
the death of an elder brother, became in time a duke himself, went on a
service that among gentlemen of the land would be deemed nearly menial,
with as much alacrity as if he felt honoured by the request. It was by a
training like this, that England came, in time, to possess a marine that
has achieved so many memorable deeds; since it taught those who were
destined to command, the high and useful lesson how to obey.

While the midshipman was gone to look for the boat, the two admirals
walked the cliff, side by side, discussing their future movements; and
when all was ready, Sir Gervaise descended to the shore, using the very
path by which he had ascended the previous day; and, pushing through the
throng that crowded the landing, almost too much engaged to heed even
his approach, he entered his barge. In another minute, the measured
strokes of the oars urged him swiftly towards the Plantagenet.



CHAPTER XVII.

    "'Twas not without some reason, for the wind
      Increased at night, until it blew a gale;
    And though 'twas not much to a naval mind,
      Some landsmen would have look'd a little pale,
    For sailors are, in fact, a different kind;
      At sunset they began to take in sail,
    For the sky show'd it would come on to blow,
      And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so."

         BYRON.


As it was just past the turn of the day, Bluewater determined to linger
on the cliffs for several hours, or until it was time to think of his
dinner. Abstracted as his thoughts were habitually, his mind found
occupation and pleasure in witnessing the evolutions that succeeded
among the ships; some of which evolutions it may be well now briefly to
relate.

Sir Gervaise Oakes' foot had not been on the deck of the Plantagenet
five minutes, before a signal for all commanders was flying at that
vessel's mast-head. In ten minutes more every captain of the fleet, with
the exception of those belonging to the vessels in the offing, were in
the flag-ship's cabin, listening to the intentions and instructions of
the vice-admiral.

"My plan of sailing, gentlemen, is easily comprehended," continued the
commander-in-chief, after he had explained his general intentions to
chase and engage; "and everyone of you will implicitly follow it. We
have the tide strong at ebb, and a good six-knot breeze is coming up at
south-west. I shall weigh, with my yards square, and keep them so, until
the ship has drawn out of the fleet, and then I shall luff up on a taut
bowline and on the starboard tack, bringing the ebb well under my
lee-bow. This will hawse the ship over towards Morlaix, and bringing us
quite as far to windward as is desirable. While the ebb lasts, and this
breeze stands, we shall have plain sailing; the difficulty will come on
the flood, or with a shift of wind. The ships that come out last must be
careful to keep their seconds, ahead and astern, in plain sight, and
regulate their movements, as much as they can, by the leading vessels.
The object is to spread as wide a clew as possible, while we hold the
ships within signal-distance of each other. Towards sunset I shall
shorten sail, and the line will close up within a league from vessel to
vessel, and I have told Bluewater to use his discretion about coming out
with the last ships, though I have requested him to hold on as long as
he shall deem it prudent, in the hope of receiving another express from
the Admiralty. When the flood makes, I do not intend to go about, but
shall continue on the starboard tack, and I wish you all to do the same.
This will bring the leading vessels considerably to windward of those
astern, and may possibly throw the fleet into a bow and quarter line.
Being in the van, it will fall to my duty to look to this, and to watch
for the consequences. But I ask of you to keep an eye on the weather,
and to hold your ships within plain signal-distance of each other. If it
come on thick, or to blow very hard, we must close, from van to rear,
and try our luck, in a search in compact order. Let the man who first
sees the enemy make himself heard at once, and send the news, with the
bearings of the French, both ahead and astern, as fast as possible. In
that case you will all close on the point from which the intelligence
comes; and, mark me, no cruising to get to windward, in your own
fashions, as if you sailed with roving commissions. You know I'll not
stand _that_. And now, gentlemen, it is probable that we shall all never
meet again. God bless you! Come and shake hands with me, one by one, and
then to your boats, for the first lieutenant has just sent Greenly word
that we are up and down. Let him trip, Greenly, and be off as soon as we
can."

The leave-taking, a scene in which joyousness and sadness were strangely
mingled, succeeded, and then the captains disappeared. From that moment
every mind was bent on sailing.

Although Bluewater did not witness the scene in the Plantagenet's cabin,
he pictured it, in his mind's eye, and remained on the cliffs to watch
the succeeding movements. As Wycherly had disappeared in the house, and
Dutton clung to his flag-staff, the rear-admiral had no one but Lord
Geoffrey for a companion. The latter, perceiving that his relation did
not seem disposed to converse, had the tact to be silent himself; a task
that was less difficult than common, on account of the interest he felt
in the spectacle.

The boats of the different captains were still shoving off from the
starboard side of the Plantagenet, whither etiquette had brought them
together, in a little crowd, when her three top-sails fell, and their
sheets steadily drew the clews towards the ends of the lower yards. Even
while this was in process, the yards began to ascend, and rose with that
steady but graduated movement which marks the operation in a man-of-war.
All three were fairly mast-headed in two minutes. As the wind struck the
canvass obliquely, the sails filled as they opened their folds, and, by
the time their surfaces were flattened by distension, the Plantagenet
steadily moved from her late berth, advancing slowly against a strong
tide, out of the group of ships, among which she had been anchored. This
was a beautiful evolution, resembling that of a sea-fowl, which lazily
rises on its element, spreads its wings, emerges from the water, and
glides away to some distant and unseen point.

The movement of the flag-ship was stately, measured, and grand. For five
minutes she held her way nearly due east, with the wind on her starboard
quarter, meeting the tide in a direct line; until, having drawn
sufficiently ahead of the fleet, she let fall her courses, sheeted home
top-gallant-sails and royals, set her spanker, jibs, and stay-sails, and
braced up sharp on a wind, with her head at south-southeast. This
brought the tide well under her lee fore-chains, and set her rapidly off
the land, and to windward. As she trimmed her sails, and steadied her
bowlines, she fired a gun, made the numbers of the vessels in the offing
to weigh, and to pass within hail. All this did Bluewater note, with the
attention of an _amateur_, as well as with the critical analysis of a
_connoisseur_.

"Very handsomely done, Master Geoffrey--very handsomely done, it must be
allowed! never did a bird quit a flock with less fuss, or more
beautifully, than the Plantagenet has drawn out of the fleet. It must be
admitted that Greenly knows how to handle his ship."

"I fancy Captain Stowel would have done quite as well with the Cæsar,
sir," answered the boy, with a proper esprit-de-_ship_. "Don't you
remember, Admiral Bluewater, the time when we got under way off
l'Orient, with the wind blowing a gale directly on shore? Even Sir
Gervaise said, afterwards, that we lost less ground than any ship in the
fleet, and yet the Plantagenet is the most weatherly two-decker in the
navy; as every body says."

"Every body!--She is certainly a weatherly vessel, but not more so than
several others. Whom did you ever hear give that character to this
particular ship?"

"Why, sir, her reefers are always bragging as much as _that_; and a
great deal _more_, too."

"Her reefers!--Young gentlemen are particularly struck with the charms
of their first loves, both ashore and afloat, my boy. Did you ever hear
an _old seaman_ say that much for the Plantagenet?"

"I think I have, sir," returned Lord Geoffrey, blushing. "Galleygo, Sir
Gervaise's steward, is commonly repeating some such stuff or other. They
are furious braggarts, the Plantagenet's, all round, sir."

"That comes honestly," answered Bluewater, smiling, "her namesakes and
predecessors of old, having some such characteristic, too. Look at that
ship's yards, boy, and learn how to trim a vessel's sails on a wind. The
pencil of a painter could not draw lines more accurate!"

"Captain Stowel tells us, sir, that the yards ought not to be braced in
exactly alike; but that we ought to check the weather-braces, a little,
as we go aloft, so that the top-sail yard should point a little less
forward than the lower yard, and the topgallant than the top-sail."

"You are quite right in taking Stowel's opinion in all such matters,
Geoffrey: but has not Captain Greenly done the same thing in the
Plantagenet? When I speak of symmetry, I mean the symmetry of a seaman."

The boy was silenced, though exceedingly reluctant to admit that any
ship could equal his own. In the mean time, there was every appearance
of a change in the weather. Just about the time the Plantagenet braced
up, the wind freshened, and in ten minutes it blew a stiff breeze. Some
time before the admiral spoke the vessels outside, he was compelled to
take in all his light canvass; and when he filled, again, after giving
his orders to the frigate and sloop, the topgallant sheets were let fly,
a single reef was taken in the top-sails, and the lighter sails were set
over them. This change in the weather, more especially as the night
threatened to be clouded, if not absolutely dark, would necessarily
bring about a corresponding change in the plan of sailing, reducing the
intervals between the departures of the vessels, quite one-half. To such
vicissitudes are all maritime operations liable, and it is fortunate
when there is sufficient capacity in the leaders to remedy them.

In less than an hour, the Plantagenet's hull began to sink, to those on
a level with it, when the Carnatic tripped her anchor, opened her
canvass, shot out of the fleet, hauled by the wind, and followed in the
admiral's wake. So accurate was the course she steered, that, half an
hour after she had braced up, a hawse-bucket, which had been dropped
from the Plantagenet in hauling water, was picked up. We may add, here,
though it will be a little anticipating events, that the Thunderer
followed the Carnatic; the Blenheim the Thunderer; the Achilles the
Blenheim; the Warspite the Achilles; the Dover the Warspite; the York
the Dover; the Elizabeth the York; the Dublin the Elizabeth; and the
Cæsar the Dublin. But hours passed before all these ships were in
motion, and hours in which we shall have some occurrences to relate that
took place on shore. Still it will aid the reader in better
understanding the future incidents of our tale, if we describe, at once,
some of the circumstances under which all these ships got in motion.

By the time the Plantagenet's top-sails were beginning to dip from the
cliffs, the Carnatic, the Thunderer, the Blenheim, the Achilles, and the
Warspite were all stretching out in line, with intervals of quite two
leagues between them, under as much canvass as they could now bear. The
admiral had shortened sail the most, and was evidently allowing the
Carnatic to close, most probably on account of the threatening look of
the sky, to windward; while he was suffering the frigate and sloop, the
Chloe and Driver, to pass ahead of him, the one on his weather, and the
other on his lee bow. When the Dover weighed, the admiral's upper sail
was not visible from her tops, though the Warspite's hull had not yet
disappeared from her deck. She left the fleet, or the portions of it
that still remained at anchor, with her fore-course set, and hauled by
the wind, under double-reefed top-sails, a single reef in her main-sail,
and with her main-topgallant sail set over its proper sail. With this
reduced canvass, she started away on the track of her consorts, the
brine foaming under her bows, and with a heel that denoted the heavy
pressure that bore on her sails. By this time, the York was aweigh, the
tide had turned, and it became necessary to fill on the other tack in
order to clear the land to the eastward. This altered the formation, but
we will now revert to the events as they transpired on the shore, with a
view to relate them more in their regular order.

It is scarcely necessary to say that Bluewater must have remained on, or
about the cliffs several hours, in order to witness the departure of so
many of the vessels. Instead of returning to the Hall at the dinner
hour, agreeably to promise, he profited by the appearance of Wycherly,
who left the cottage with a flushed, agitated manner, just as he was
thinking of the necessity of sending a message to Sir Reginald, and
begged the young man to be the bearer of his excuses. He thought that
the change in the weather rendered it necessary for him to remain in
sight of the sea. Dutton overheard this message, and, after a private
conference with his wife, he ventured to invite his superior to appease
his appetite under his own humble roof. To this Bluewater cheerfully
assented; and when the summons came to the table, to his great joy he
found that his only companion was to be Mildred, who, like himself, for
some reason known only to her own bosom, had let the ordinary dining
hour pass without appearing at table, but whom her mother had now
directed to take some sustenance.

"The late events at the Hall have agitated the poor child, sir," said
Mrs. Dutton, in the way of apology, "and she has not tasted food since
morning. I have told her you would excuse the intrusion, and receive her
carving and attentions as an excuse for her company."

Bluewater looked at the pallid countenance of the girl, and never before
had he found the resemblance to Agnes Hedworth so strong, as that
moment. The last year or two of his own sweet friend's life had been far
from happy, and the languid look and tearful eyes of Mildred revived the
recollection of the dead with painful distinctness.

"Good God!" he murmured to himself; "that two such beings should exist
only to suffer! my good Mrs. Dutton, make no excuses; but believe me
when I say that you could not have found in England another that would
have proved as welcome as my present little messmate."

Mildred struggled for a smile; and she did succeed in looking extremely
grateful. Beyond this, however, it exceeded her powers to go. Mrs.
Dutton was gratified, and soon left the two to partake of their neat,
but simple meal, by themselves; household duties requiring her presence
elsewhere.

"Let me persuade you to take a glass of this really excellent port, my
child," said Bluewater. "If you had cruised as long as I have done, on
the coast of Portugal, you would know how to value a liquor as pure as
this. I don't know of an admiral that has as good!"

"It is probably _our_ last, sir," answered Mildred, shaking a tear from
each of her long dark lashes, by an involuntarily trembling motion, as
she spoke. "It was a present from dear, old, Sir Wycherly, who never
left my mother wholly unsupplied with such plain delicacies, as he
fancied poverty placed beyond our reach. The wine we can easily forget;
not so easily the donor."

Bluewater felt as if he could draw a cheque for one-half the fortune he
had devised to his companion; and, yet, by a caprice of feeling that is
not uncommon to persons of the liveliest susceptibility, he answered in
a way to smother his own emotion.

"There will not soon be another _old_ Sir Wycherly to make his
neighbours comfortable; but there is a _young_ one, who is not likely to
forget his uncle's good example. I hope you all here, rejoice at the
sudden rise in fortune, that has so unexpectedly been placed within the
reach of our favourite lieutenant?"

A look of anguish passed over Mildred's face, and her companion noted
it; though surprise and pity--not to say resentment--prevented his
betraying his discovery.

"We _endeavour_ to be glad, sir," answered Mildred, smiling in so
suffering a manner, as to awaken all her companion's sympathies; "but it
is not easy for us to rejoice at any thing which is gained by the loss
of our former valued friend."

"I am aware that a young follow, like the present Sir Wycherly, can be
no substitute for an old fellow like the last Sir Wycherly, my dear; but
as one is a sailor, and the other was only a landsman, my professional
prejudices may not consider the disparity as great as it may possibly
appear to be to your less partial judgment."

Bluewater thought the glance he received was imploring, and he instantly
regretted that he had taken such means to divert his companion's
sadness. Some consciousness of this regret probably passed through
Mildred's mind, for she rallied her spirits, and made a partially
successful effort to be a more agreeable companion.

"My father thinks, sir," she said, "that our late pleasant weather is
about to desert us, and that it is likely to blow heavily before
six-and-thirty hours are over."

"I am afraid Mr. Dutton will prove to be too accurate an almanac. The
weather has a breeding look, and I expect a dirty night. Good or bad, we
seamen must face it, and that, too, in the narrow seas, where gales of
wind are no gales of Araby."

"Ah, sir, it is a terrible life to lead! By living on this cliff, I have
learned to pity sailors."

"Perhaps, my child, you pity us when we are the most happy. Nine seamen
in ten prefer a respectable gale to a flat calm. There are moments when
the ocean is terrific; but, on the whole, it is capricious, rather than
malignant. The night that is before us promises to be just such a one as
Sir Gervaise Oakes delights in. He is never happier than when he hears a
gale howling through the cordage of his ship."

"I have heard him spoken of as a very daring and self-relying commander.
But _you_ cannot entertain such feelings, Admiral Bluewater; for to me
you seem better fitted for a fireside, well filled with friends and
relatives, than for the conflicts and hardships of the sea."

Mildred had no difficulty now in forcing a smile, for the sweet one she
bestowed on the veteran almost tempted him to rise and fold her in his
arms, as a parent would wrap a beloved daughter to his heart.
Discretion, however, prevented a betrayal of feelings that might have
been misinterpreted, and he answered in his original vein.

"I fear I am a wolf in sheep's clothing," he said; "while Oakes admits
the happiness he feels in seeing his ship ploughing through a raging
sea, in a dark night, he maintains that my rapture is sought in a
hurricane. I do not plead guilty to the accusation, but I will allow
there is a sort of fierce delight in participating, as it might be, in a
wild strife of the elements. To me, my very nature seems changed at such
moments, and I forget all that is mild and gentle. That comes of having
lived so much estranged from your sex, my dear; desolate bachelor, as I
am."

"Do you think sailors ought to marry?" asked Mildred, with a steadiness
that surprised herself; for, while she put the question, consciousness
brought the blood to her temples.

"I should be sorry to condemn a whole profession, and that one I so well
love, to the hopeless misery of single life. There are miseries peculiar
to the wedded lives of both soldiers and sailors; but are there not
miseries peculiar to those who never separate? I have heard seamen
say--men, too, who loved their wives and families--that they believed
the extreme pleasure of meetings after long separations, the delights of
hope, and the zest of excited feelings, have rendered their years of
active service more replete with agreeable sensations, than the stagnant
periods of peace. Never having been married myself, I can only speak on
report."

"Ah! this may be so with _men_; but--surely--surely--_women_ never can
feel thus!"

"I suppose, a sailor's daughter yourself, you know Jack's account of his
wife's domestic creed! 'A good fire, a clean hearth, the children abed,
and the husband at sea,' is supposed to be the climax of felicity."

"This may do for the sailor's jokes, Admiral Bluewater," answered
Mildred, smiling; "but it will hardly ease a breaking heart. I fear from
all I have heard this afternoon, and from the sudden sailing of the
ships, that a great battle is at hand?"

"And why should you, a British officer's daughter, dread that? Have you
so little faith in us, as to suppose a battle will necessarily bring
defeat! I have seen much of my own profession, Miss Dutton, and trust I
am in some small degree above the rhodomontade of the braggarts; but it
is _not_ usual for us to meet the enemy, and to give those on shore
reason to be ashamed of the English flag. It has never yet been my luck
to meet a Frenchman who did not manifest a manly desire to do his
country credit; and I have always felt that we must fight hard for him
before we could get him; nor has the result ever disappointed me. Still,
fortune, or skill, or _right_, is commonly of our side, and has given us
the advantage in the end."

"And to which, sir, do you ascribe a success at sea, so very uniform?"

"As a Protestant, I ought to say to our _religion_; but, this my own
knowledge of Protestant _vices_ rejects. Then to say _fortune_ would be
an exceeding self-abasement--one, that between us, is not needed; and I
believe I must impute it to skill. As plain seamen, I do believe we are
more expert than most of our neighbours; though I am far from being
positive we have any great advantage over them in tactics. If any, the
Dutch are our equals."

"Notwithstanding, you are quite certain of success. It must be a great
encouragement to enter into the fight with a strong confidence in
victory! I suppose--that is, it seems to me--it is a matter of course,
sir,--that our new Sir Wycherly will not be able to join in the battle,
this time?"

Mildred spoke timidly, and she endeavoured to seem unconcerned; but
Bluewater read her whole heart, and pitied the pain which she had
inflicted on herself, in asking the question. It struck him, too, that a
girl of his companion's delicacy and sensibility would not thus advert
to the young man's movements at all, if the latter had done aught justly
to awaken censure; and this conviction greatly relieved his mind as to
the effect of sudden elevation on the handsome lieutenant. As it was
necessary to answer, however, lest Mildred might detect his
consciousness of her feelings, not a moment was lost before making a
reply.

"It is not an easy matter to prevent a young, dashing sailor, like this
Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, from doing his part in a general engagement,
and that, too, of the character of the one to which we are looking
forward," he said. "Oakes has left the matter in my hands; I suppose I
shall have to grant the young man's request."

"He has then requested to be received in your ship?" asked Mildred, her
hand shaking as she used the spoon it held.

"That of course. No one who wears the uniform could or would do less. It
seems a ticklish moment for him to quit Wychecombe, too; where I fancy
he will have a battle of his own to fight ere long; but professional
feeling will overshadow all others, in young men. Among us seamen, it is
said to be even stronger than love."

Mildred made no answer; but her pale cheek and quivering lips, evidences
of feeling that her artlessness did not enable her to conceal, caused
Bluewater again to regret the remark. With a view to restore the poor
girl to her self-command, he changed the subject of conversation, which
did not again advert to Wycherly. The remainder of the meal was
consequently eaten in peace, the admiral manifesting to the last,
however, the sudden and generous interest he had taken in the character
and welfare of his companion. When they rose from table, Mildred joined
her mother, and Bluewater walked out upon the cliffs again.

It was now evening, and the waste of water that lay stretched before the
eye, though the softness of summer was shed upon it, had the wild and
dreary aspect that the winds and waves lend to a view, as the light of
day is about to abandon the ocean to the gloom of night. All this had no
effect on Bluewater, however, who knew that two-decked ships, strongly
manned, with their heavy canvass reduced, would make light work of
worrying through hours of darkness that menaced no more than these.
Still the wind had freshened, and when he stood on the verge of the
cliff sustained by the breeze, which pressed him back from the
precipice, rendering his head more steady, and his footing sure, the
Elizabeth was casting, under close-reefed top-sails, and two reefs in her
courses, with a heavy stay-sail or two, to ease her helm. He saw that the
ponderous machine would stagger under even this short canvass, and that
her captain had made his dispositions for a windy night. The lights that
the Dover and the York carried in their tops were just beginning to be
visible in the gathering gloom, the last about a league and a half down
channel, the ship standing in that direction to get to windward, and the
former, more to the southward, the vessel having already tacked to
follow the admiral. A chain of lights connected the whole of the long
line, and placed the means of communication in the power of the
captains. At this moment, the Plantagenet was full fifty miles at sea,
ploughing through a heavy south-west swell, which the wind was driving
into the chops of the channel, from the direction of the Bay of Biscay,
and the broad Atlantic.

Bluewater buttoned his coat, and he felt his frame invigorated by a gale
that came over his person, loaded by the peculiar flavour of the sea.
But two of the heavy ships remained at their anchors, the Dublin and the
Cæsar; and his experienced eye could see that Stowel had every thing on
board the latter ready to trip and be off, as soon as he, himself,
should give the order. At this moment the midshipman, who had been
absent for hours, returned, and stood again at his side.

"Our turn will soon come, sir," said the gallant boy, "and, for one, I
shall not be sorry to be in motion. Those chaps on board the Plantagenet
will swagger like so many Dons, if they should happen to get a broadside
at Monsieur de Vervillin, while we are lying here, under the shore, like
a gentleman's yacht hauled into a bay, that the ladies might eat without
disturbing their stomachs."

"Little fear of that, Geoffrey. The Active is too light of foot,
especially in the weather we have had, to suffer heavy ships to be so
close on her heels. She must have had some fifteen or twenty miles the
start, and the French have been compelled to double Cape la Hogue and
Alderney, before they could even look this way. If coming down channel
at all, they are fully fifty miles to the eastward; and should our van
stretch far enough by morning to head them off, it will bring us
handsomely to windward. Sir Gervaise never set a better trap, than he
has done this very day. The Elizabeth has her hands full, boy, and the
wind seems to be getting scant for her. If it knock her off much more,
it will bring the flood on her weather-bow, and compel her to tack. This
will throw the rear of our line into confusion!"

"What should we do, sir, in such a case? It would never answer to leave
poor Sir Jarvy out there, by himself!"

"We would try not to do _that_!" returned Bluewater, smiling at the
affectionate solicitude of the lad, a solicitude that caused him
slightly to forget his habitual respect for the commander-in-chief, and
to adopt the _sobriquet_ of the fleet. "In such a case, it would become
my duty to collect as many ships as I could, and to make the best of our
way towards the place where we might hope to fall in with the others, in
the morning. There is little danger of losing each other, for any length
of time, in these narrow waters, and I have few apprehensions of the
French being far enough west, to fall in with our leading vessels before
morning. If they _should_, indeed, Geoffrey--"

"Ay, sir, if they _should_, I know well enough what would come to pass!"

"What, boy?--On the supposition that Monsieur de Vervillin _did_ meet
with Sir Gervaise by day-break, what, in your experienced eyes, seem
most likely to be the consequences?"

"Why, sir, Sir Jarvy, would go at 'em, like a dolphin at a flying-fish;
and if he _should_ really happen to catch one or two of 'em, there'll be
no sailing in company with the Plantagenet's, for us Cæsar's!--When we
had the last 'bout with Monsieur de Gravelin, they were as saucy as
peacocks, because we didn't close until their fore-yard and
mizzen-top-gallant-mast were gone, although the shift of wind brought us
dead to leeward, and, after all, we had eleven men the most hurt in the
fight. You don't know them Plantagenet's, sir; for they never _dare_ say
any thing before _you_!"

"Not to the discredit of my young Cæsars, I'll answer for it. Yet,
you'll remember Sir Gervaise gave us full credit, in his despatches."

"Yes, sir, all very true. Sir Gervaise knows better; and then _he_
understands what the Cæsar _is_; and what she _can_ do, and _has_ done.
But it's a very different matter with his youngsters, who fancy because
they carry a red flag at the fore, they are so many Blakes and Howards,
themselves. There's Jack Oldcastle, now; he's always talking of our
reefers as if there was no sea-blood in our veins, and that just because
his own father happened to be a captain--a _commodore_, he says, because
he happened once to have three frigates under his orders."

"Well, that would make a commodore, for the time being. But, surely he
does not claim privilege for the Oldcastle blood, over that of the
Clevelands!"

"No, sir, it isn't that sort of thing, at all," returned the fine boy,
blushing a little, in spite of his contempt for any such womanly
weakness; "you know we never talk of that nonsense in our squadron. With
us it's all service, and that sort of thing. Jack Oldcastle says the
Clevelands are all civilians, as he calls 'em; or _soldiers_, which
isn't much better, as you know, sir. Now, I tell him that there is an
old picture of one of 'em, with an anchor-button, and that was long
before Queen Anne's time--Queen Elizabeth's, perhaps,--and then you
know, sir, I fetch him up with a yarn about the Hedworths; for I am just
as much Hedworth as Cleveland."

"And what does the impudent dog say to that, Geoffrey?"

"Why, sir, he says the name should be spelt Head_work_, and that they
were all _lawyers_. But I gave him as good as he sent for that saucy
speech, I'm certain!"

"And what did you give him, in return for such a compliment? Did you
tell him the Oldcastles were just so much stone, and wood, and old iron;
and that, too, in a tumbledown condition?"

"No, sir, not I," answered the boy, laughing; "I didn't think of any
answer half so clever; and so I just gave him a dig in the nose, and
that, laid on with right good will."

"And how did he receive that argument? Was it conclusive;--or did the
debate continue?"

"Oh, of course, sir, we fought it out. 'Twas on board the Dover, and the
first lieutenant saw fair play. Jack carried too many guns for me, sir,
for he's more than a year older; but I hulled him so often that he owned
it was harder work than being mast-headed. After that the Dover's chaps
took my part, and they said the Hedworths had no Head_work_ at all, but
they were regular sailors; admirals, and captains, and youngsters, you
know, sir, like all the rest of us. I told 'em my grandfather Hedworth
was an admiral, and a good one, too."

"In that you made a small mistake. Your mother's father was only a
_general_; but _his_ father was a full admiral of the red,--for he lived
before that grade was abolished--and as good an officer as ever trod a
plank. He was my mother's brother, and both Sir Gervaise and myself
served long under his orders. He was a sailor of whom you well might
boast."

"I don't think any of the Plantagenets will chase in that quarter again,
sir; for we've had an overhauling among our chaps, and we find we can
muster four admirals, two commodores, and thirteen captains in our two
messes; that is, counting all sorts of relatives, you know, sir."

"Well, my dear boy, I hope you may live to reckon all that and more too,
in your own persons, at some future day. Yonder is Sir Reginald
Wychecombe, coming this way, to my surprise; perhaps he wishes to see me
alone. Go down to the landing and ascertain if my barge is ashore, and
let me know it, as soon as is convenient. Remember, Geoffrey, you will
go off with me; and hunt up Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, who will lose his
passage, unless ready the instant he is wanted."

The boy touched his cap, and went bounding down the hill to execute the
order.



CHAPTER XVIII.

    "So glozed the Tempter, and his poison tuned;
    Into the heart of Eve his words made way,
    Though at the voice much marvelling."

         MILTON.


It was, probably, a species of presentiment, that induced Bluewater to
send away the midshipman, when he saw the adherent of the dethroned
house approaching. Enough had passed between the parties to satisfy each
of the secret bias of the other; and, by that sort of free-masonry which
generally accompanies strong feelings of partisanship, the admiral felt
persuaded that the approaching interview was about to relate to the
political troubles of the day.

The season and the hour, and the spot, too, were all poetically
favourable to an interview between conspirators. It was now nearly dark;
the head-land was deserted, Dutton having retired, first to his bottle,
and then to his bed; the wind blew heavily athwart the bleak eminence,
or was heard scuffling in the caverns of the cliffs, while the
portentous clouds that drove through the air, now veiled entirely, and
now partially and dimly revealed the light of the moon, in a way to
render the scene both exciting and wild. No wonder, then, that
Bluewater, his visiter drawing near, felt a stronger disposition than
had ever yet come over him to listen to the tale of the tempter, as,
under all the circumstances, it would scarcely exceed the bounds of
justice to call Sir Reginald.

"In seeking you at such a spot, and in the midst of this wild
landscape," said the latter, "I might have been assured I should be
certain of finding one who really loved the sea and your noble
profession. The Hall is a melancholy house, just at this moment; and
when I inquired for you, no one could say whither you had strolled. In
following what I thought a seaman's instinct, it appears that I did
well.--Do my eyes fail me, or are there no more than three vessels at
anchor yonder?"

"Your eyes are still good, Sir Reginald; Admiral Oakes sailed several
hours since, and he has been followed by all the fleet, with the
exception of the two line-of-battle ships, and the frigate you see;
leaving me to be the last to quit the anchorage."

"Is it a secret of state, or are you permitted to say whither so strong
a force has so suddenly sailed?" demanded the baronet, glancing his dark
eye so expressively towards the other as to give him, in the growing
obscurity, the appearance of an inquisitor. "I had been told the fleet
would wait for orders from London?"

"Such was the first intention of the commander-in-chief; but
intelligence of the sailing of the Comte de Vervillin has induced Sir
Gervaise to change his mind. An English admiral seldom errs when he
seeks and beats an active and dangerous enemy."

"Is this always true, Admiral Bluewater?" returned Sir Reginald,
dropping in at the side of the other, and joining in his walk, as he
paced, to and fro, a short path that Dutton called his own quarter-deck;
"or is it merely an unmeaning generality that sometimes causes men to
become the dupes of their own imaginations. Are those _always_ our
enemies who may seem to be so? or, are we so infallible that every
feeling or prejudice may be safely set down as an impulse to which we
ought to submit, without questioning its authority?"

"Do you esteem it a prejudice to view France as the natural enemy of
England, Sir Reginald?"

"By heaven, I do, sir! I can conceive that England may be much more her
own enemy than France has ever proved to be. Then, conceding that ages
of warfare have contributed to awaken some such feeling as this you hint
at, is there not a question of right and wrong that lies behind all?
Reflect how often England has invaded the French soil, and what serious
injuries she has committed on the territory of the latter, while France
has so little wronged us, in the same way; how, even her throne has been
occupied by our princes, and her provinces possessed by our armies."

"I think you hardly allow for all the equity of the different cases.
Parts of what is now France, were the just inheritance of those who have
sat on the English throne, and the quarrels were no more than the usual
difficulties of neighbourhood. When our claims were just in themselves,
you surely could not have wished to see them abandoned."

"Far from it; but when claims were disputed, is it not natural for the
loser to view them as a hardship? I believe we should have had a much
better neighbourhood, as you call it, with France, had not the modern
difficulties connected with religious changes, occurred."

"I presume you know. Sir Reginald, that I, and all my family are
Protestants."

"I do, Admiral Bluewater; and I rejoice to find that a difference of
opinion on this great interest, does not necessarily produce one on all
others. From several little allusions that have passed between us
to-day, I am encouraged to believe that we think alike on certain
temporal matters, however wide the chasm between us on spiritual
things."

"I confess I have fallen into the same conclusion; and I should be sorry
to be undeceived if wrong."

"What occasion, then, for farther ambiguity? Surely two honourable men
may safely trust each other with their common sentiments, when the times
call for decision and frankness! I am a Jacobite, Admiral Bluewater; if
I risk life or fortune by making the avowal, I place both, without
reserve at your mercy."

"They could not be in safer hands, sir; and I know no better mode of
giving you every possible assurance that the confidence will not be
abused, than by telling you in return, that I would cheerfully lay down
my life could the sacrifice restore the deposed family to the throne."

"This is noble, and manly, and frank, as I had hoped from a sailor!"
exclaimed Sir Reginald, more delighted than he well knew how to express
at the moment. "This simple assurance from your lips, carries more
weight than all the oaths and pledges of vulgar conspiracy. We
understand each other, and I should be truly sorry to inspire less
confidence than I feel."

"What better proof can I give you of the reliance placed on your faith,
than the declaration you have heard, Sir Reginald? My head would answer
for your treachery in a week; but I have never felt it more securely on
my shoulders than at this moment."

The baronet grasped the other's hand, and each gave and received a
pressure that was full of meaning. Then both walked on, thoughtful and
relieved, for quite a minute, in profound silence.

"This sudden appearance of the prince in Scotland has taken us all a
little by surprise," Sir Reginald resumed, after the pause; "though a
few of us knew that his intentions led him this way. Perhaps he has done
well to come unattended by a foreign force, and to throw himself, as it
might be singly, into the arms of his subjects; trusting every thing to
their generosity, loyalty, and courage. Some blame him; but I do not. He
will awaken interest, now, in every generous heart in the nation,"--this
was artfully adapted to the character of the listener;--"whereas some
might feel disposed to be lukewarm under a less manly appeal to their
affections and loyalty. In Scotland, we learn from all directions that
His Royal Highness is doing wonders, while the friends of his house are
full of activity in England, though compelled, for a time, to be
watchful and prudent."

"I rejoice, from the bottom of my heart, to hear this!" said Bluewater,
drawing a long breath, like one whose mind was unexpectedly relieved
from a heavy load. "From the bottom of my heart, do I rejoice! I had my
apprehensions that the sudden appearance of the prince might find his
well-wishers unprepared and timid."

"As far from that as possible, my dear sir; though much still depends on
the promptitude and resolution of the master spirits of the party. We
are strong enough to control the nation, if we can bring those forward
who have the strength to lead and control ourselves. All we now want are
some hundred or two of prominent men to step out of their diffidence,
and show us the way to honourable achievement and certain success."

"Can such men be wanting, at a moment like this?"

"I think we are secure of most of the high nobility, though their great
risks render them all a little wary in the outset. It is among the
professional men--the gallant soldiers, and the bold, ardent seamen of
the fleet, that we must look for the first demonstrations of loyalty and
true patriotism. To be honest with you, sir, I tire of being ruled by a
German."

"Do you know of any intention to rally a force in this part of England,
Sir Reginald? If so, say but the word--point out the spot where the
standard is to be raised, and I will rally under it, the instant
circumstances will permit!"

"This is just what I expected, Mr. Bluewater," answered the baronet,
more gratified than he thought it prudent to express; "though it is not
exactly the _form_ in which you can best serve us at this precise
moment. Cut off from the north, as we are in this part of the island, by
all the resources of the actual government, it would be the height of
imprudence in us to show our hands, until all the cards are ready to be
played. Active and confidential agents are at work in the army; London
has its proper share of business men, while others are in the counties,
doing their best to put things in a shape for the consummation we so
anxiously look for. I have been with several of our friends in this
vicinity, to bring matters into a combined state; and it was my
intention to visit this very estate, to see what my own name might do
with the tenantry, had not the late Sir Wycherly summoned me as he did,
to attend his death-bed. Have you any clue to the feelings of this new
and young head of my family, the sea-lieutenant and present baronet?"

"Not a very plain one, sir, though I doubt if they be favourable to the
House of Stuart."

"I feared as much; this very evening I have had an anonymous
communication that I think must come from his competitor, pretty plainly
intimating that, by asserting _his_ rights, as they are called, the
whole Wychecombe tenantry and interest could be united, in the present
struggle, on whichever side I might desire to see them."

"This is a bold and decided stroke, truly! May I inquire as to your
answer, Sir Reginald?"

"I shall give none. Under all circumstances I will ever refuse to place
a bastard in the seat of a legitimate descendant of my family. We
contend for legal and natural rights, my dear admiral, and the means
employed should not be unworthy of the end. Besides, I know the
scoundrel to be unworthy of trust, and shall not have the weakness to
put myself in his power. I could wish the other boy to be of another
mind; but, by getting him off to sea, whither he tells me he is bound,
we shall at least send him out of harm's way."

In all this Sir Reginald was perfectly sincere; for, while he did not
always hesitate about the employment of means, in matters of politics,
he was rigidly honest in every thing that related to private properly; a
species of moral contradiction that is sometimes found among men who aim
at the management of human affairs; since those often yield to a
besetting weakness who are nearly irreproachable in other matters.
Bluewater was glad to hear this declaration; his own simplicity of
character inducing him to fancy it was an indication to the general
probity of his companion.

"Yes," observed the latter, "in all eases, we must maintain the laws of
the land, in an affair of private right. This young man is not capable,
perhaps, of forming a just estimate of his political duties, in a crisis
like this, and it may be well, truly, to get him off to sea, lest by
taking the losing side, he endangers his estate before he is fairly
possessed of it. And having now disposed of Sir Wycherly, what can I do
most to aid the righteous and glorious cause?"

"This is coming to the point manfully, Sir Richard--I beg pardon for
thus styling you, but I happen to know that your name has been before
the prince, for some time, as one of those who are to receive the riband
from a sovereign really _authorized_ to bestow it; if I have spoken a
little prematurely, I again entreat your pardon;--but, this is at once
coming manfully to the point! Serve us you can, of course, and that most
effectually, and in an all-important manner. I now greatly regret that
my father had not put me in the army, in my youth, that I might serve my
prince as I could wish, in this perilous trial. But we have many friends
accustomed to arms, and among them your own honourable name will appear
conspicuous as to the past, and encouraging as to the future."

"I have carried arms from boyhood, it is true, Sir Reginald, but it is
in a service that will scarcely much avail us in this warfare. Prince
Edward has no ships, nor do I know he will need any."

"True, my dear sir, but King George has! As for the necessity, permit me
to say you are mistaken; it will soon be all-important to keep open the
communication with the continent. No doubt, Monsieur de Vervillin is
out, with some such object, already."

Bluewater started, and he recoiled from the firm grasp which the other
took of his arm, in the earnestness of discourse, with some such
instinctive aversion as a man recoils from the touch of the reptile. The
thought of a treachery like that implied in the remark of his companion
had never occurred to him, and his honest mind turned with a strong
disrelish, from even the implied proposition of the other. Still, he was
not quite certain how far Sir Reginald wished to urge him, and he felt
it just to ascertain his real views before he answered them. Plausible
as this appeared, it was a dangerous delay for one so simple-minded,
when brought in contact with a person so practised as the baronet; Sir
Reginald having the tact to perceive that his new friend's feelings had
already taken the alarm, and at once determined to be more wary.

"What am I to understand by this, Sir Reginald Wychecombe?" demanded the
rear-admiral. "In what manner can I possibly be connected with the naval
resources of the House of Hanover, when it is my intention to throw off
its service? King George's fleets will hardly aid the Stuarts; and they
will, at least, obey the orders of their own officers."

"Not the least doubt in the world of this, Admiral Bluewater! What a
glorious privilege it was for Monk to have it in his power to put his
liege sovereign in his rightful seat, and thus to save the empire, by a
_coup de main_, from the pains and grievances of a civil contest! Of all
the glorious names in English history, I esteem that of George Monk as
the one most to be envied! It is a great thing to be a prince--one born
to be set apart as God's substitute on earth, in all that relates to
human justice and human power;--yet it is greater, in my eyes, to be the
subject to _restore_ the order of these almost divine successions, when
once deranged by lawless and presuming men."

"This is true enough, sir; though I would rather have joined Charles on
the beach at Dover, armed only with an untainted sword, than followed by
an army at my heels!"

"What, when that army followed _cheerfully_, and was equally eager with
yourself to serve their sovereign!"

"That, indeed, might somewhat qualify the feeling. But soldiers and
sailors are usually influenced by the opinions of those who have been
placed over them by the higher authorities."

"No doubt they are; and that is as it should be. We are encouraged to
believe that some ten or fifteen captains are already well-disposed
towards us, and will cheerfully take their respective ships to the
points our wants require, the moment they feel assured of being properly
led, when collected. By a little timely concert, we can command the
North Sea, and keep open important communications with the continent. It
is known the ministry intend to employ as many German troops as they can
assemble, and a naval force will be all-important in keeping these
mustachoed foreigners at a distance The quarrel is purely English, sir,
and ought to be decided by Englishmen only."

"In that, indeed, I fully concur, Sir Reginald," answered Bluewater,
breathing more freely. "I would cruise a whole winter in the North Sea
to keep the Dutchmen at home, and let Englishmen decide who is to be
England's king. To me, foreign interference, in such a matter, is the
next evil to positive disloyalty to my rightful prince."

"These are exactly my sentiments, dear sir, and I hope to see you act on
them. By the way, how happens it you are left alone, and in what manner
do you admirals divide your authority when serving in company?"

"I do not know I comprehend your question, Sir Reginald. I am left here
to sail the last with the Cæsar; Sir Gervaise leading out in the
Plantagenet, with a view to draw a line across the channel that shall
effectually prevent de Vervillin from getting to the westward."

"To the _westward_!" repeated the other, smiling ironically, though the
darkness prevented the admiral from seeing the expression of his
features. "Does Admiral Oakes then think that the French ships are
steering in _that_ direction?"

"Such is our information; have you any reason to suppose that the enemy
intend differently?"

The baronet paused, and he appeared to ruminate. Enough had already
passed to satisfy him he had not an ordinary mind in that of his
companion to deal with, and he was slightly at a loss how to answer. To
bring the other within his lures, he was fully resolved; and the spirits
that aid the designing just at that moment suggested the plan which, of
all others, was most likely to be successful. Bluewater had betrayed his
aversion to the interference of foreign troops in the quarrel, and on
this subject he intended to strike a chord which he rightly fancied
would thrill on the rear-admiral's feelings.

"We have our information, certainly," answered Sir Reginald, like one
who was reluctant to tell all he knew; "though good faith requires it
should not actually be exposed. Nevertheless, any one can reason on the
probabilities. The Duke of Cumberland will collect his German
auxiliaries, and they must get into England the best way that they can.
Would an intelligent enemy with a well-appointed fleet suffer this
junction, if he could prevent it? We know he would not; and when we
remember the precise time of the sailing of the Comte, his probable
ignorance of the presence of this squadron of yours, in the channel, and
all the other circumstances of the case, who can suppose otherwise than
to believe his aim is to intercept the German regiments."

"This does seem plausible; and yet the Active's signals told us that the
French were steering west; and that, too, with a light westerly wind."

"Do not fleets, like armies, frequently make false demonstrations? Might
not Monsieur de Vervillin, so long as his vessels were in sight from the
shore, have turned toward the west, with an intention, as soon as
covered by the darkness, to incline to the east, again, and sail up
channel, under English ensigns, perhaps? Is it not possible for him to
pass the Straits of Dover, even, as an English squadron--your own, for
instance--and thus deceive the Hanoverian cruisers until ready to seize
or destroy any transports that may be sent?"

"Hardly, Sir Reginald," said Bluewater, smiling. "A French ship can no
more be mistaken for an English ship, than a Frenchman can pass for a
Briton. We sailors are not as easily deceived as that would show. It is
true, however, that a fleet might well stand in one direction, until far
enough off the land or covered by night, when it might change its course
suddenly, in an opposite direction; and it _is possible_ the Comte de
Vervillin has adopted some such stratagem. If he actually knew of the
intention to throw German troops into the island, it is even quite
_probable_. In that case, for one, I could actually wish him success!"

"Well, my dear sir, and what is to prevent it?" asked Sir Reginald, with
a triumph that was not feigned. "Nothing, you will say, unless he fall
in with Sir Gervaise Oakes. But you have not answered my inquiry, as to
the manner in which flag-officers divide their commands, at sea?"

"As soldiers divide their commands ashore. The superior orders, and the
inferior obeys."

"Ay, this is true; but it does not meet my question. Here are eleven
large ships, and two admirals; now what portion of these ships are under
your particular orders, and what portion under those of Sir Gervaise
Oakes?"

"The vice-admiral has assigned to himself a division of six of the
ships, and left me the other five. Each of us has his frigates and
smaller vessels. But an order that the commander-in-chief may choose to
give any captain must be obeyed by him, as the inferior submits, as a
rule, to the last order."

"And _you_," resumed Sir Reginald, with quickness; "how are _you_
situated, as respects these captains?"

"Should I give a direct order to any captain in the fleet, it would
certainly be his duty to obey it; though circumstances might occur which
would render it obligatory on him to let me know that he had different
instructions from our common superior. But, why these questions, Sir
Reginald?"

"Your patience, my dear admiral;--and what ships have you specifically
under your care?"

"The Cæsar, my own; the Dublin, the Elizabeth, the York, and the Dover.
To these must be added the Druid frigate, the sloop of war, and the
Gnat. My division numbers eight in all."

"What a magnificent force to possess at a moment as critical as
this!--But where are all these vessels? I see but four and a cutter, and
only two of these seem to be large."

"The light you perceive there, along the land to the westward, is on
board the Elizabeth; and that broad off here, in the channel, is on
board the York. The Dover's lantern has disappeared further to the
southward. Ah! there the Dublin casts, and is off after the others!"

"And you intend to follow, Admiral Bluewater?"

"Within an hour, or I shall lose the division. As it is, I have been
deliberating on the propriety of calling back the sternmost ships, and
collecting them in close squadron; for this increase and hauling of the
wind render it probable they will lose the vice-admiral, and that
day-light will find the line scattered and in confusion. One mind must
control the movements of ships, as well as of battalions, Sir Reginald,
if they are to act in concert."

"With what view would you collect the vessels you have mentioned, and in
the manner you have named, if you do not deem my inquiry indiscreet?"
demanded the baronet, with quickness.

"Simply that they might be kept together, and brought in subjection to
my own particular signals. This is the duty that more especially falls
to my share, as head of the division."

"Have you the means to effect this, here, on this hill, and by yourself,
sir?"

"It would be a great oversight to neglect so important a provision. My
signal-officer is lying under yonder cover, wrapped in his cloak, and
two quarter-masters are in readiness to make the very signal in
question; for its necessity has been foreseen, and really would seem to
be approaching. If done at all, it must be done quickly, too. The light
of the York grows dim in the distance. It _shall_ be done, sir; prudence
requires it, and you shall see the manner in which we hold our distant
ships in command."

Bluewater could not have announced more agreeable intelligence to his
companion. Sir Reginald was afraid to propose the open treason he
meditated; but he fancied, if the rear-admiral could fairly withdraw his
own division from the fleet, it would at once weaken the vice-admiral so
much, as to render an engagement with the French impossible, and might
lead to such a separation of the commands as to render the final
defection of the division inshore easier of accomplishment. It is true,
Bluewater, himself, was actuated by motives directly contrary to these
wishes; but, as the parties travelled the same road to a certain point,
the intriguing baronet had his expectations of being able to persuade
his new friend to continue on in his own route.

Promptitude is a military virtue, and, among seamen, it is a maxim to do
every thing that is required to be done, with activity and vigour. These
laws were not neglected on the present occasion. No sooner had the
rear-admiral determined on his course, than he summoned his agents to
put it in execution. Lord Geoffrey had returned to the heights and was
within call, and he carried the orders to the lieutenant and the
quarter-masters. The lanterns only required lighting, and then they were
run aloft on Dutton's staff, as regularly as the same duty could have
been performed on the poop of the Cæsar. Three rockets were thrown up,
immediately after, and the gun kept on the cliffs for that purpose was
fired, to draw attention to the signal. It might have been a minute ere
the heavy ordnance of the Cæsar repeated the summons, and the same
signal was shown at her mast-head. The Dublin was still so near that no
time was lost, but according to orders, she too repeated the signal; for
in the line that night, it was understood that an order of this nature
was to be sent from ship to ship.

"Now for the Elizabeth!" cried Bluewater; "she cannot fail to have heard
our guns, and to see our signals."

"The York is ahead of her, sir!" exclaimed the boy; "see; she has the
signal up already!"

All this passed in a very few minutes, the last ships having sailed in
the expectation of receiving some such recall. The York preceded the
ship next to her in the line, in consequence of having gone about, and
being actually nearer to the rear-admiral than her second astern. It was
but a minute, before the gun and the lanterns of the Elizabeth, however,
announced her knowledge of the order, also.

The two ships last named were no longer visible from the cliffs, though
their positions were known by their lights; but no sign whatever
indicated the part of the ocean on which the Dover was struggling along
through the billows. After a pause of several minutes, Bluewater spoke.

"I fear we shall collect no more," he said; "one of my ships must take
her chance to find the commander-in-chief, alone. Ha!--that means
something!"

At this instant a faint, distant flash was seen, for a single moment, in
the gloom, and then all heads were bent forward to listen, in breathless
attention. A little time had elapsed, when the dull, smothered report of
a gun proclaimed that even the Dover had caught the rapidly transmitted
order.

"What means that, sir?" eagerly demanded Sir Reginald, who had attended
to every thing with intense expectation.

"It means, sir, that all of the division are still under my command. No
other ship would note the order. _Their_ directions, unless specifically
pointed out by their numbers, must come from the vice-admiral. Is my
barge ashore, Lord Geoffrey Cleveland?"

"It is, sir, as well as the cutter for Mr. Cornet and the
quarter-masters."

"It is well. Gentlemen, we will go on board; the Cæsar must weigh and
join the other vessels in the offing. I will follow you to the landing,
but you will shove off, at once, and desire Captain Stowel to weigh and
cast to-port. We will fill on the starboard tack, and haul directly off
the land."

The whole party immediately left the station, hurrying down to the
boats, leaving Bluewater and Sir Reginald to follow more leisurely. It
was a critical moment for the baronet, who had so nearly effected his
purpose, that his disappointment would have been double did he fail of
his object altogether. He determined, therefore, not to quit the admiral
while there was the slightest hope of success. The two consequently
descended together to the shore, walking, for the first minute or two,
in profound silence.

"A great game is in your hands, Admiral Bluewater," resumed the baronet;
"rightly played, it may secure the triumph of the good cause. I think I
may say I _know_ de Vervillin's object, and that his success will reseat
the Stuarts on the thrones of their ancestors! One who loves them should
ponder well before he does aught to mar so glorious a result."

This speech was as bold as it was artful. In point of fact, Sir Reginald
Wychecombe knew no more of the Comte de Vervillin's intended movements
than his companion; but he did not hesitate to assert what he now did,
in order to obtain a great political advantage, in a moment of so much
importance. To commit Bluewater and his captains openly on the side of
the Stuarts would be a great achievement in itself; to frustrate the
plans of Sir Gervaise might safely be accounted another; and, then,
there were all the chances that the Frenchman was not at sea for
nothing, and that his operations might indeed succour the movements of
the prince. The baronet, upright as he was in other matters, had no
scruples of conscience on this occasion; having long since brought
himself over to the belief that it was justifiable to attain ends as
great as those he had in view, by the sacrifice of any of the minor
moral considerations.

The effect on Bluewater was not trifling. The devil had placed the bait
before his eyes in a most tempting form; for he felt that he had only to
hold his division in reserve to render an engagement morally improbable.
Abandon his friend to a superior force he could and would not; but, it
is our painful duty to avow that his mind had glimpses of the
possibility of doing the adventurer in Scotland a great good, without
doing the vice-admiral and the van of the fleet any very essential harm.
Let us be understood, however. The rear-admiral did not even contemplate
treason, or serious defection of any sort; but through one of those
avenues of frailty by which men are environed, he had a glance at
results that the master-spirit of evil momentarily placed before his
mental vision as both great and glorious.

"I wish we were really certain of de Vervillin's object," he said; the
only concession he made to this novel feeling, in words. "It might,
indeed, throw a great light on the course we ought to take ourselves. I
do detest this German alliance, and would abandon the service ere I
would convoy or transport a ragamuffin of them all to England."

Here Sir Reginald proved how truly expert he was in the arts of
management. A train of thought and feeling had been lighted in the mind
of his companion, which he felt might lead to all he wished, while he
was apprehensive that further persuasion would awaken opposition, and
renew old sentiments. He wisely determined, therefore, to leave things
as they were, trusting to the strong and declared bias of the admiral in
favour of the revolution, to work out its own consequences, with a
visible and all-important advantage so prominently placed before his
eyes.

"I know nothing of ships," he answered, modestly; "but I do _know_ that
the Comte has our succour in view. It would ill become me to advise one
of your experience how to lead a force like this, which is subject to
your orders; but a friend of the good cause, who is now in the west, and
who was lately in the presence itself, tells me that the prince
manifested extreme satisfaction when he learned how much it might be in
your power to serve him."

"Do you then think my name has reached the royal ear, and that the
prince has any knowledge of my real feelings?"

"Nothing but your extreme modesty could cause you to doubt the first,
sir; as to the last, ask yourself how came I to approach you to-night,
with my heart in my hand, as it might be, making you master of my life
as well as of my secret. Love and hatred are emotions that soon betray
themselves."

It is matter of historical truth that men of the highest principles and
strongest minds have yielded to the flattery of rank. Bluewater's
political feelings had rendered him indifferent to the blandishments of
the court at London, while his imagination, that chivalrous deference to
antiquity and poetical right, which lay at the root of his Jacobitism,
and his brooding sympathies, disposed him but too well to become the
dupe of language like this. Had he been more a man of facts, one less
under the influence of his own imagination; had it been his good fortune
to live even in contact with those he now so devoutly worshipped, in a
political sense at least, their influence over a mind as just and
clear-sighted as his own, would soon have ceased; but, passing his time
at sea, they had the most powerful auxiliary possible, in the high
faculty he possessed of fancying things as he wished them to be. No
wonder, then, that he heard this false assertion of Sir Reginald with a
glow of pleasure; with even a thrill at the heart to which he had long
been a stranger. For a time, his better feelings were smothered in this
new and treacherous sensation.

The gentlemen, by this time, were at the landing, and it became
necessary to separate. The barge of the rear-admiral was with difficulty
kept from leaping on the rock, by means of oars and boat-hooks, and each
instant rendered the embarkation more and more difficult. The moments
were precious on more accounts than one, and the leave-taking was short.
Sir Reginald said but little, though he intended the pressure of the
hand he gave his companion to express every thing.

"God be with you," he added; "and as you prove true, may you prove
successful! Remember, 'a lawful prince, and the claims of birth-right.'
God be with you!"

"Adieu, Sir Reginald; when we next meet, the future will probably be
more apparent to us all.--But who comes hither, rushing like a madman
towards the boat?"

A form came leaping through the darkness; nor was it known, until it
stood within two feet of Bluewater, it was that of Wycherly. He had
heard the guns and seen the signals. Guessing at the reasons, he dashed
from the park, which he was pacing to cool his agitation, and which now
owned him for a master, and ran the whole distance to the shore, in
order not to be left. His arrival was most opportune; for, in another
minute, the barge left the rock.



CHAPTER XIX.

    "O'er the glad waters of the dark-blue sea.
    Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free.
    Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
    Survey our empire and behold our home."

         THE CORSAIR.


One is never fully aware of the extent of the movement that agitates the
bosom of the ocean until fairly subject to its action himself, when
indeed we all feel its power and reason closely on its dangers. The
first pitch of his boat told Bluewater that the night threatened to be
serious. As the lusty oarsmen bent to their stroke, the barge rose on a
swell, dividing the foam that glanced past it like a marine Aurora
Borealis, and then plunged into the trough as if descending to the
bottom. It required several united and vigorous efforts to force the
little craft from its dangerous vicinity to the rocks, and to get it in
perfect command. This once done, however, the well-practised crew urged
the barge slowly but steadily ahead.

"A dirty night!--a dirty night!" muttered Bluewater, unconsciously to
himself; "we should have had a wild berth, had we rode out this blow, at
anchor. Oakes will have a heavy time of it out yonder in the very chops
of the channel, with a westerly swell heaving in against this ebb."

"Yes, sir," answered Wycherly; "the vice-admiral will be looking out for
us all, anxiously enough, in the morning."

Not another syllable did Bluewater utter until his boat had touched the
side of the Cæsar. He reflected deeply on his situation, and those who
know his feelings will easily understand that his reflections were not
altogether free from pain. Such as they were, he kept them to himself,
however, and in a man-of-war's boat, when a flag-officer chooses to be
silent, it is a matter of course for his inferiors to imitate his
example.

The barge was about a quarter of a mile from the landing, when the heavy
flap of the Cæsar's main-top-sail was heard, as, close-reefed, it
struggled for freedom, while her crew drew its sheets down to the blocks
on the lower yard-arms. A minute later, the Gnat, under the head of her
fore-and-aft-main-sail, was seen standing slowly off from the land,
looking in the darkness like some half-equipped shadow of herself. The
sloop of war, too, was seen bending low to the force of the wind, with
her mere apology of a top-sail thrown aback, in waiting for the flag-ship
to cast.

The surface of the waters was a sheet of glancing foam, while the air
was filled with the blended sounds of the wash of the element, and the
roar of the winds. Still there was nothing chilling or repulsive in the
temperature of the air, which was charged with the freshness of the sea,
and was bracing and animating, bringing with it the flavour that a
seaman loves. After fully fifteen minutes' severe tugging at the oars,
the barge drew near enough to permit the black mass of the Cæsar to be
seen. For some time, Lord Geoffrey, who had seated himself at the
tiller,--yoke-lines were not used a century since,--steered by the
top-light of the rear-admiral; but now the maze of hamper was seen
waving slowly to and fro in the lurid heavens, and the huge hull became
visible, heaving and setting, as if the ocean groaned with the labour of
lifting such a pile of wood and iron. A light gleamed from the
cabin-windows, and ever and anon, one glanced athwart an open gun-room
port. In all other respects, the ship presented but one hue of
blackness. Nor was it an easy undertaking, even after the barge was
under the lee of the ship, for those in it, to quit its uneasy support
and get a firm footing on the cleets that lined the vessel's side like a
ladder. This was done, however, and all ascended to the deck but two of
the crew, who remained to hook-on the yard and stay-tackles. This
effected, the shrill whistle gave the word, and that large boat, built
to carry at need some twenty souls, was raised from the raging water, as
it were by some gigantic effort of the ship herself, and safely
deposited in her bosom.

"We are none too soon, sir," said Stowel, the moment he had received the
rear-admiral with the customary etiquette of the hour. "It's a cap-full
of wind already, and it promises to blow harder before morning. We are
catted and fished, sir, and the forecastle-men are passing the
shank-painter at this moment."

"Fill, sir, and stretch off, on an easy bowline," was the answer; "when
a league in the offing, let me know it. Mr. Cornet, I have need of you,
in my cabin."

As this was said, Bluewater went below, followed by his signal-officer.
At the same instant the first lieutenant called out to man the
main-braces, and to fill the top-sail. As soon as this command was
obeyed, the Cæsar started ahead. Her movement was slow, but it had a
majesty in it, that set at naught the turbulence of the elements.

Bluewater had paced to and fro in his cabin no less than six times, with
his head drooping, in a thoughtful attitude, ere his attention was
called to any external object.

"Do you wish my presence, Admiral Bluewater?" the signal-officer at
length inquired.

"I ask your pardon, Mr. Cornet; I was really unconscious that you were
in the cabin. Let me see--ay--our last signal was, 'division come within
hail of rear-admiral.' They must get close to us, to be able to do
_that_ to-night, Cornet! The winds and waves have begun their song in
earnest."

"And yet, sir, I'll venture a month's pay that Captain Drinkwater brings
the Dover so near us, as to put the officer of the watch and the
quarter-master at the wheel in a fever. We once made that signal, in a
gale of wind, and he passed his jib-boom-end over our taffrail."

"He is certainly a most literal gentleman, that Captain Drinkwater, but
he knows how to take care of his ship. Look for the number of 'follow
the rear-admiral's motions.' 'Tis 211, I think."

"No, sir; but 212. Blue, red, and white, with the flags. With the
lanterns, 'tis one of the simplest signals we have."

"We will make it, at once. When that is done, show 'the rear-admiral;
keep in his wake, in the general order of sailing.' That I am sure is
204."

"Yes, sir; you are quite right. Shall I show the second signal as soon
as all the vessels have answered the first, sir?"

"That is my intention, Cornet. When all have answered, let me know it."

Mr. Cornet now left the cabin, and Bluewater took a seat in an
arm-chair, in deep meditation. For quite half an hour the former was
busy on the poop, with his two quarter-masters, going through the slow
and far from easy duty of making night-signals, as they were then
practised at sea. It was some time before the most distant vessel, the
Dover, gave any evidence of comprehending the first order, and then the
same tardy operation had to be gone through with for the second. At
length the sentinel threw open the cabin-door, and Cornet re-appeared.
During the whole of his absence on deck, Bluewater had not stirred;
scarce seemed to breathe. His thoughts were away from his ships, and for
the first time, in the ten years he had worn a flag, he had forgotten
the order he had given.

"The signals are made and answered, sir," said Cornet, as soon as he had
advanced to the edge of the table, on which the rear-admiral's elbow was
leaning. "The Dublin is already in our wake, and the Elizabeth is
bearing down fast on our weather-quarter; she will bring herself into
her station in ten minutes."

"What news of the York and Dover, Cornet?" asked Bluewater, rousing
himself from a fit of deep abstraction.

"The York's light nears us, quite evidently; though that of the Dover is
still a fixed star, sir," answered the lieutenant, chuckling a little at
his own humour; "it seems no larger than it did when we first made it."

"It is something to have made it at all. I was not aware it could be
seen from deck?"

"Nor can it, sir; but, by going up half-a-dozen ratlins we get a look at
it. Captain Drinkwater bowses up his lights to the gaff-end, and I can
see him always ten minutes sooner than any other ship in the fleet,
under the same circumstances."

"Drinkwater is a careful officer; do the bearings of his light alter
enough to tell the course he is steering?"

"I think they do, sir, though our standing out athwart his line of
sailing would make the change slow, of course. Every foot we get to the
southward, you know, sir, would throw his bearings farther west; while
every foot he comes east, would counteract that change and throw his
bearings further south."

"That's very clear; but, as he must go three fathoms to our one, running
off with square yards before such a breeze, I think we should be
constantly altering his bearings to the southward."

"No doubt of it, in the world, sir; and that is just what we _are_
doing. I think I can see a difference of half a point, already; but,
when we get his light fairly in view from the poop, we shall be able to
tell with perfect accuracy."

"All very well, Cornet. Do me the favour to desire Captain Stowel to
step into the cabin and keep a bright look-out for the ships of the
division. Stay, for a single instant; what particularly sharp-eyed
youngster happens to belong to the watch on deck?"

"I know none keener in that way than Lord Geoffrey Cleveland, sir; he
can see all the roguery that is going on in the whole fleet, at any
rate, and ought to see other things."

"He will do perfectly well; send the young gentleman to me, sir; but,
first inform the officer of the watch that I have need of him."

Bluewater was unusually fastidious in exercising his authority over
those who had temporary superiors on the assigned duty of the ship; and
he never sent an order to any of the watch, without causing it to pass
through the officer of that watch. He waited but a minute before the boy
appeared.

"Have you a good gripe to-night, boy?" asked the rear-admiral, smiling;
"or will it be both hands for yourself and none for the king? I want you
on the fore-top-gallant-yard, for eight or ten minutes."

"Well, sir, it's a plain road there, and one I've often travelled,"
returned the lad, cheerfully.

"That I well know; you are certainly no skulk when duty is to be done.
Go aloft then, and ascertain if the lights of any of Sir Gervaise's
squadron are to be seen. You will remember that the Dover bears
somewhere about south-west from us, and that she is still a long way to
seaward. I should think all of Sir Gervaise's ships must be quite as far
to windward as that point would bring them, but much further off. By
looking sharp a point or half a point to windward of the Dover, you may
possibly see the light of the Warspite, and then we shall get a correct
idea of the bearings of all the rest of the division--"

"Ay-ay-sir," interrupted the boy; "I think I understand exactly what you
wish to know, Admiral Bluewater."

"That is a natural gift at sixteen, my lord," returned the admiral,
smiling; "but it may be improved a little, perhaps, by the experience of
fifty. Now, it is possible Sir Gervaise may have gone about, as soon as
the flood made; in which case he ought to bear nearly west of us, and
you will also look in that direction. On the other hand, Sir Gervaise
may have stretched so far over towards the French coast before night
shut in, as to feel satisfied Monsieur de Vervillin is still to the
eastward of him; in which case he would keep off a little, and may, at
this moment, be nearly ahead of us. So that, under all the
circumstances, you will sweep the horizon, from the weather-beam to the
lee-bow, ranging forward. Am I understood, now, my lord?"

"Yes, sir, I think you are," answered the boy, blushing at his own
impetuosity. "You will excuse my indiscretion, Admiral Bluewater; but I
_thought_ I understood all you desired, when I spoke so hastily."

"No doubt you did, Geoffrey, but you perceive you did not. Nature has
made you quick of apprehension, but not quick enough to _foresee_ all an
old man's gossip. Come nearer, now, and let us shake hands. So go aloft,
and hold on well, for it is a windy night, and I do not desire to lose
you overboard."

The boy did as told, squeezed Bluewater's hand, and dashed out of the
cabin to conceal his tears. As for the rear-admiral, he immediately
relapsed into his fit of forgetfulness, waiting for the arrival of
Stowel.

A summons to a captain does not as immediately produce a visit, on board
a vessel of war, as a summons to a midshipman. Captain Stowel was busy
in looking at the manner in which his boats were stowed, when Cornet
told him of the rear-admiral's request; and then he had to give some
orders to the first lieutenant concerning the fresh meat that had been
got off, and one or two other similar little things, before he was at
leisure to comply.

"See me, do you say, Mr. Cornet; in his own cabin, as soon as it is
convenient?" he at length remarked, when all these several offices had
been duly performed.

The signal-officer repeated the request, word for word as he had heard
it, when he turned to take another look at the light of the Dover. As
for Stowel, he cared no more for the Dover, windy and dark as the night
promised to be, than the burgher is apt to care for his neighbour's
house when the whole street is threatened with destruction. To him the
Cæsar was the great centre of attraction, and Cornet paid him off in
kind; for, of all the vessels in the fleet, the Cæsar was precisely the
one to which he gave the least attention; and this for the simple reason
that she was the only ship to which he never gave, or from which he
never received, a signal.

"Well, Mr. Bluff," said Stowel to the first lieutenant; "one of us will
have to be on deck most of the night, and I'll take a slant below, for
half an hour first, and see what the admiral wishes."

Thus saying, the captain left the deck, in order to ascertain his
superior's pleasure. Captain Stowel was several years the senior of
Bluewater, having actually been a lieutenant in one of the frigates in
which the rear-admiral had served as a midshipman; a circumstance to
which he occasionally alluded in their present intercourse. The change
in the relative positions was the result of the family influence of the
junior, who had passed his senior in the grade of master and commander;
a rank that then brought many an honest man up for life, in the English
marine. At the age of five-and-forty, that at which Bluewater first
hoisted his flag, Stowell was posted; and soon after he was invited by
his old shipmate, who had once had him under him as his first lieutenant
in a sloop of war, to take the command of his flag-ship. From that day
down to the present moment, the two officers had sailed together,
whenever they sailed at all, perfectly good friends; though the captain
never appeared entirely to forget the time when they were in the
aforesaid frigate; one a gun-room officer, and the other only a
"youngster."

Stowel must now have been about sixty-five; a square, hard-featured,
red-faced seaman, who knew all about his ship, from her truck to her
limber-rope, but who troubled himself very little about any thing else.
He had married a widow when he was posted, but was childless, and had
long since permitted his affections to wander back into their former
channels; from the domestic hearth to his ship. He seldom spoke of
matrimony, but the little he saw fit to say on the subject was
comprehensive and to the point. A perfectly sober man, he consumed large
quantities of both wine and brandy, as well as of tobacco, and never
seemed to be the worse for either. Loyal he was by political faith, and
he looked upon a revolution, let its object be what it might, as he
would have regarded a mutiny in the Cæsar. He was exceedingly
pertinacious of his rights as "captain of his own ship," both ashore and
afloat; a disposition that produced less trouble with the mild and
gentlemanly rear-admiral, than with Mrs. Stowel. If we add that this
plain sailor never looked into a book, his proper scientific works
excepted, we shall have said all of him that his connection with our
tale demands.

"Good-evening, Admiral Bluewater," said this true tar, saluting the
rear-admiral, as one neighbour would greet another, on dropping in of an
evening, for they occupied different cabins. "Mr. Cornet told me you
would like to say a word to me, before I turned in; if, indeed, turn in
at all, I do this blessed night."

"Take a seat, Stowel, and a glass of this sherry, in the bargain,"
Bluewater answered, kindly, showing how well he understood his man, by
the manner in which he shoved both bottle and glass within reach of his
hand. "How goes the night?--and is this wind likely to stand?"

"I'm of opinion, sir--we'll drink His Majesty, if you've no objection,
Admiral Bluewater,--I'm of opinion, we shall stretch the threads of that
new main-top-sail, before we've done with the breeze, sir. I believe
I've not told you, yet, that I've had the new sail bent, since we last
spoke together on the subject. It's a good fit, sir; and, close-reefed,
the sails stands like the side of a house."

"I'm glad to hear it, Stowel; though I think all your canvass usually
appears to be in its place."

"Why you know, Admiral Bluewater, that I've been long enough at it, to
understand something about the matter. It is now more than forty years
since we were in the Calypso together, and ever since that time I've
borne the commission of an officer. You were then a youngster, and
thought more of your joke, than of bending sails, or of seeing how they
would stand."

"There wasn't much of me, certainly, forty years ago, Stowel; but I well
remember the knack you had of making every robin, sheet, bowline, and
thread do its duty, then, as you do to-day. By the way, can you tell me
any thing of the Dover, this evening?"

"Not I, sir; she came out with the rest of us I suppose, and must be
somewhere in the fleet; though I dare say the log will have it all, if
she has been anywhere near us, lately. I am sorry we did not go into one
of the watering-ports, instead of this open roadstead, for we must be at
least twenty-seven hundred gallons short of what we ought to have, by my
calculation; and then we want a new set of light spars, pretty much all
round; and the lower hold hasn't as many barrels of provisions in it, by
thirty-odd, as I could wish to see there."

"I leave these things to you, entirely, Stowel; you will report in time
to keep the ship efficient."

"No fear of the Cæsar, sir; for, between Mr. Bluff, the master, and
myself, we know pretty much all about _her_, though I dare say there are
men in the fleet who can tell you more about the Dublin, or the Dover,
or the York. We will drink the queen, and all the royal family, if you
please, sir."

As usual, Bluewater merely bowed, for his companion required no further
acquiescence in his toasts. Just at that moment, too, it would have
needed a general order, at least, to induce him to drink any of the
family of the reigning house.

"Oakes must be well off, mid-channel, by this time, Captain Stowel?"

"I should think he might be, sir; though I can't say I took particular
notice of the time he sailed. I dare say it's all in the log. The
Plantagenet is a fast ship, sir, and Captain Greenly understands her
trim, and what she can do on all tacks; and, yet, I do think His Majesty
has one ship in this fleet that can find a Frenchman quite as soon, and
deal with him, when found, quite as much to the purpose."

"Of course you mean the Cæsar;--well, I'm quite of your way of thinking,
though Sir Gervaise manages never to be in a slow ship. I suppose you
know, Stowel, that Monsieur de Vervillin is out, and that we may expect
to see or hear something of him, to-morrow."

"Yes, sir, there is some such conversation in the ship, I know; but the
quantity of galley-news is so great in this squadron, that I never
attend much to what is said. One of the officers brought off a rumour, I
believe, that there was a sort of a row in Scotland. By the way, sir,
there is a supernumerary lieutenant on board, and as he has joined
entirely without orders, I'm at a loss how to berth or to provision him.
We can treat the gentleman hospitably to-night; but in the morning I
shall be obliged to get him regularly on paper."

"You mean Sir Wycherly Wychecombe; he shall come into my mess, rather
than give you any trouble."

"I shall not presume to meddle with any gentleman you may please to
invite into your cabin, sir," answered Stowel, with a stiff bow, in the
way of apology. "That's what I always tell Mrs. Stowel, sir;--that my
_cabin_ is my _own_, and even a wife has no right to shake a broom in
it."

"Which is a great advantage to us seamen; for it gives us a citadel to
retreat to, when the outworks are pressed. You appear to take but little
interest in this civil war, Stowel!"

"Then it's true, is it, sir? I didn't know but it might turn out to be
galley-news. Pray what is the rumpus all about, Admiral Bluewater? for,
I never could get that story fidded properly, so as to set up the
rigging, and have the spar well stayed in its place."

"It is merely a war to decide who shall be king of England; nothing
else, I do assure you, sir."

"They're an uneasy set ashore, sir, if the truth must be said of them!
We've got one king, already; and on what principle does any man wish for
more? Now, there was Captain Blakely, from the Elizabeth, on board of me
this afternoon; and we talked the matter over a little, and both of us
concluded that they got these things up much as a matter of profit among
the army contractors, and the dealers in warlike stores."

Bluewater listened with intense interest, for here was proof how
completely two of his captains, at least, would be at his own command,
and how little they would be likely, for a time, at least, to dispute
any of his orders. He thought of Sir Reginald, and of the rapture with
which _he_ would have received this trait of nautical character.

"There are people who set their hearts on the result, notwithstanding,"
carelessly observed the rear-admiral; "and some who see their fortunes
marred or promoted, by the success or downfall of the parties. They
think de Vervillin is out on some errand connected with this rising in
the north."

"Well, I don't see what _he_ has got to do with the matter at all; for,
I don't suppose that King Louis is such a fool as to expect to be king
of England as well as king of France!"

"The dignity would be too much for one pair of shoulders to bear. As
well might one admiral wish to command all the divisions of his own
fleet, though they were fifty leagues asunder."

"Or one captain two ships; or what is more to the purpose, sir, one ship
to keep two captains. We'll drink to discipline, if you've no objection,
sir. 'Tis the soul of order and quiet, ashore or afloat. For my part, I
want no _co-equal_--I believe that's the cant word they use on such
occasions--but I want no co-equal, in the Cæsar, and I am unwilling to
have one in the house at Greenwich; though Mrs. Stowel thinks
differently. Here's my ship; she's in her place in the line; it's my
business to see she is fit for any service that a first-class two-decker
can undertake, and that duty I endeavour to perform; and I make no doubt
it is all the better performed because there's no wife or co-equal
aboard here. _Where_ the ship is to _go_, and _what_ she is to _do_, are
other matters, which I take from general orders, special orders, or
signals. Let them act up to this principle in London, and we should hear
no more of disturbances, north or south."

"Certainly, Stowel, your doctrine would make a quiet nation, as well as
a quiet ship. I hope you do me the justice to think there is no co-equal
in my commands!"

"That there is not, sir--and I have the honour to drink your
health--that there is not. When we were in the Calypso together, I had
the advantage; and I must say that I never had a youngster under me who
ever did his duty more cheerfully. Since that day we've shifted places;
end for end, as one might say; and I endeavour to pay you, in your own
coin. There is no man whose orders I obey more willingly or more to my
own advantage; always excepting those of Admiral Oakes, who, being
commander-in-chief, overlays us all with his anchor. We must dowse our
peaks to his signals, though we _can_ maintain, without mutinying, that
the Cæsar is as good a boat on or off a wind, as the Plantagenet, the
best day Sir Jarvy ever saw."

"There is no manner of doubt of that. You have all the notions of a true
sailor, I find, Stowel; obey orders before all other things. I am
curious to know how our captains, generally, stand affected to this
claim which the Pretender has set up to the throne."

"Can't tell you, on my soul, sir; though I fancy few of them give
themselves any great anxiety in the matter. When the wind is fair we can
run off large, and when it is foul we must haul upon a bowline, let who
will reign. I was a youngster under Queen Anne, and she was a Stuart, I
believe; and I have served under the German family ever since; and to be
frank with you, Admiral Bluewater, I see but little difference in the
duty, the pay, or the rations. My maxim is to obey orders, and then I
know the blame will fall on them that give them, if any thing goes
wrong."

"We have many Scotchmen in the fleet, Stowel," observed the
rear-admiral, in a musing manner, like one who rather thought aloud than
spoke. "Several of the captains are from the north of Tweed."

"Ay, sir, one is pretty certain of meeting gentlemen from that part of
the island, in almost all situations in life. I never have understood
that Scotland had much of a navy in ancient times, and yet the moment
old England has to pay for it, the lairds are willing enough to send
their children to sea."

"Nevertheless it must be owned that they make gallant and useful
officers, Stowel."

"No doubt they do, sir; but gallant and useful men are not scarce
anywhere. You and I are too old and too experienced, Admiral Bluewater,
to put any faith in the notion that courage belongs to any particular
part of the world, or usefulness either. I never fought a Frenchman yet
that I thought a coward; and, in my judgment, there are brave men enough
in England, to command all her ships, and to fight them too."

"Let this be so, Stowel, still we must take things as they come. What do
you think of the night?"

"Dirty enough before morning, I should think, sir, though it is a little
out of rule, that it does not rain with this wind, already. The next
time we come-to, Admiral Bluewater, I intend to anchor with a shorter
scope of cable than we have been doing lately; for, I begin to think
there is no use in wetting so many yarns in the summer months. They tell
me the York brings up always on forty fathoms."

"That's a short range, I should think, for a heavy ship. But here is a
visiter."

The sentinel opened the cabin-door, and Lord Geoffrey, with his cap
fastened to his head by a pocket-handkerchief, and his face red with
exposure to the wind, entered the cabin.

"Well," said Bluewater, quietly; "what is the report from aloft?"

"The Dover is running down athwart our forefoot, and nearing us fast,
sir," returned the midshipman. "The York is close on our weather-beam,
edging in to her station; but I can make out nothing ahead of us, though
I was on the yard twenty minutes."

"Did you look well on the weather-beam, and thence forward to the
lee-bow?"

"I did, sir; if any light is in view, better eyes than mine must find
it."

Stowel looked from one to the other, as this short conversation was
held; but, as soon as there was a pause, he put in a word in behalf of
the ship.

"You've been up forward, my lord?" he said.

"Yes, I have, Captain Stowel."

"And did you think of seeing how the heel of the top-gallant-mast stood
it, in this sea? Bluff tells me 'tis too loose to be fit for very heavy
weather."

"I did not, sir. I was sent aloft to look out for the ships of the
commander-in-chief's division, and didn't think of the heel of the
top-gallant-mast's being too loose, at all."

"Ay, that's the way with all the youngsters, now-a-days. In my time, or
even in _yours_, Admiral Bluewater, we never put our feet on a ratlin,
but hands and eyes were at work, until we reached the halting place,
even though it should be the truck. That is the manner to know what a
ship is made of!"

"I kept my hands and eyes at work, too, Captain Stowel; but it was to
hold on well, and to look out well."

"That will never do--that will never do, if you wish to make yourself a
sailor. Begin with your own ship first; learn all about _her_, then,
when you get to be an admiral, as your father's son, my lord, will be
certain to become, it will be time enough to be inquiring about the rest
of the fleet."

"You forget, Captain Stowel--"

"That will do, Lord Geoffrey," Bluewater soothingly interposed, for he
knew that the Captain preached no more than he literally practised; "if
_I_ am satisfied with your report, no one else has a right to complain.
Desire Sir Wycherly Wychecombe to meet me on deck, where we will now go,
Stowel, and take a look at the weather for ourselves."

"With all my heart, Admiral Bluewater, though I'll just drink the First
Lord's health before we quit this excellent liquor. That youngster has
stuff in him, in spite of his nobility, and by fetching him up, with
round turns, occasionally, I hope to make a man of him, yet."

"If he do not grow into that character, physically and morally, within
the next few years, sir, he will be the first person of his family who
has ever failed of it."

As Bluewater said this, he and the captain left his cabin, and ascended
to the quarter-deck. Here Stowel stopped to hold a consultation with his
first lieutenant, while the admiral went up the poop-ladder, and joined
Cornet. The last had nothing new to communicate, and as he was permitted
to go below, he was desired to send Wycherly up to the poop, where the
young man would be expected by the rear-admiral.

Some little time elapsed before the Virginian could be found; no sooner
was this effected, however, than he joined Bluewater. They had a private
conversation of fully half an hour, pacing the poop the whole time, and
then Cornet was summoned back, again, to his usual station. The latter
immediately received an order to acquaint Captain Stowel the
rear-admiral desired that the Cæsar might be hove-to, and to make a
signal for the Druid 36, to come under the flag-ship's lee, and back her
main-top-sail. No sooner did this order reach the quarter-deck than the
watch was sent to the braces, and the main-yard was rounded in, until
the portion of sail that was still set lay against the mast. This
deadened the way of the huge body, which rose and fell heavily in the
seas, as they washed under her, scarcely large enough to lift the
burthen it imposed upon them. Just at this instant, the signal was made.

The sudden check to the movement of the Cæsar brought the Dublin booming
up in the darkness, when putting her helm up, that ship surged slowly
past to leeward, resembling a black mountain moving by in the gloom. She
was hailed and directed to heave-to, also, as soon as far enough ahead.
The Elizabeth followed, clearing the flag-ship by merely twenty fathoms,
and receiving a similar order. The Druid had been on the admiral's
weather-quarter, but she now came gliding down, with the wind abeam,
taking room to back her top-sail under the Cæsar's lee-bow. By this time
a cutter was in the water, rising six or eight feet up the black side of
the ship, and sinking as low apparently beneath her bottom. Next,
Wycherly reported himself ready to proceed.

"You will not forget, sir," said Bluewater, "any part of my commission;
but inform the commander-in-chief of the _whole_. It may be important
that we understand each other fully. You will also hand him this letter
which I have hastily written while the boat was getting ready."

"I think I understand your wishes, sir;--at least, I _hope_ so;--and I
will endeavour to execute them."

"God bless you, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe," added Bluewater, with emotion.
"We may never meet again; we sailors carry uncertain lives; and we may
be said to carry them in our hands."

Wycherly took his leave of the admiral, and he ran down the poop-ladder
to descend into the boat. Twice he paused on the quarter-deck, however,
in the manner of one who felt disposed to return and ask some
explanation; but each time he moved on, decided to proceed.

It needed all the agility of our young sailor to get safely into the
boat. This done, the oars fell and the cutter was driven swiftly away to
leeward. In a few minutes, it shot beneath the lee of the frigate, and
discharged its freight. Wycherly could not have been three minutes on
the deck of the Druid, ere her yards were braced up, and her top-sail
filled with a heavy flap. This caused her to draw slowly ahead. Five
minutes later, however, a white cloud was seen dimly fluttering over her
hull, and the reefed main-sail was distended to the wind. The effect was
so instantaneous that the frigate seemed to glide away from the
flag-ship, and in a quarter of an hour, under her three top-sails
double-reefed, and her courses, she was a mile distant on her
weather-bow. Those who watched her movements without understanding them,
observed that she lowered her light, and appeared to detach herself from
the rest of the division.

It was some time before the Cæsar's boat was enabled to pull up against
the tide, wind, and sea. When this hard task was successfully
accomplished, the ship filled, passed the Dublin and Elizabeth, and
resumed her place in the line.

Bluewater paced the poop an hour longer, having dismissed his
signal-officer and the quarter-masters to their hammocks. Even Stowel
had turned in, nor did Mr. Bluff deem it necessary to remain on deck any
longer. At the end of the hour, the rear-admiral bethought him of
retiring too. Before he quitted the poop, however, he stood at the
weather-ladder, holding on to the mizzen-rigging, and gazing at the
scene.

The wind had increased, as had the sea, but it was not yet a gale. The
York had long before hauled up in her station, a cable's length ahead of
the Cæsar, and was standing on, under the same canvass as the flag-ship,
looking stately and black. The Dover was just shooting into her berth,
under the standing sailing-orders, at the same distance ahead of the
York; visible, but much less distinct and imposing. The sloop and the
cutter were running along, under the lee of the heavy snips, a quarter
of a mile distant, each vessel keeping her relative position, by close
attention to her canvass. Further than this, nothing was in sight. The
sea had that wild mixture of brightness and gloom, which belongs to the
element when much agitated in a dark night, while the heavens were murky
and threatening.

Within the ship, all was still. Here and there a lantern threw its
wavering light around, but the shadows of the masts and guns, and other
objects, rendered this relief to the night trifling. The lieutenant of
the watch paced the weather side of the quarter-deck, silent but
attentive. Occasionally he hailed the look-outs, and admonished them to
be vigilant, also, and at each turn he glanced upward to see how the
top-sail stood. Four or five old and thoughtful seamen walked the waist
and forecastle, but most of the watch were stowed between the guns, or
in the best places they could find, under the lee of the bulwarks,
catching cat's naps. This was an indulgence denied the young gentlemen,
of whom one was on the forecastle, leaning against the mast, dreaming of
home, one in the waist, supporting the nettings, and one walking the
lee-side of the quarter-deck, his eyes shut, his thoughts confused, and
his footing uncertain. As Bluewater stepped on the quarter-deck-ladder,
to descend to his own cabin, the youngster hit his foot against an
eye-bolt, and fetched way plump up against his superior. Bluewater
caught the lad in his arms, and saved him from a fall, setting him
fairly on his feet before he let him go.

"'Tis seven bells, Geoffrey," said the admiral, in an under tone. "Hold
on for half an hour longer, and then go dream of your dear mother."

Before the boy could recover himself to thank his superior, the latter
had disappeared.



CHAPTER XX.

    "Yet notwithstanding, being incensed, he's flint;
    As humorous as winter, and as sudden
    As flaws congealed in the spring of day.
    His temper, therefore, must be well observed."

         SHAKESPEARE.


The reader will remember that the wind had not become fresh when Sir
Gervaise Oakes got into his barge, with the intention of carrying his
fleet to sea. A retrospective glance at the state of the weather, will
become necessary to the reader, therefore, in carrying his mind back to
that precise period whither it has now become our duty to transport him
in imagination.

The vice-admiral governed a fleet on principles very different from
those of Bluewater. While the last left so much to the commanders of the
different vessels, his friend looked into every thing himself. The
details of the service he knew were indispensable to success on a larger
scale, and his active mind descended into all these minutiæ, to a degree
sometimes, that annoyed his captains. On the whole, however, he was
sufficiently observant of that formidable barrier to excessive
familiarity, and that great promoter of heart-burnings in a squadron,
naval etiquette, to prevent any thing like serious misunderstandings,
and the best feelings prevailed between him and the several magnates
under his orders. Perhaps the circumstance that he was a _fighting_
admiral contributed to this internal tranquillity; for, it has been
often remarked, that armies and fleets will both tolerate more in
leaders that give them plenty to do with the enemy, than in commanders
who leave them inactive and less exposed. The constant encounters with
the foe would seem to let out all the superfluous quarrelsome
tendencies. Nelson, to a certain extent, was an example of this
influence in the English marine, Suffren[1] in that of France, and
Preble, to a much greater degree than in either of the other cases, in
our own. At all events, while most of his captains sensibly felt
themselves less of commanders, while Sir Gervaise was on board or around
their ships, than when he was in the cabin of the Plantagenet, the peace
was rarely broken between them, and he was generally beloved as well as
obeyed. Bluewater was a more invariable favourite, perhaps, though
scarcely as much respected; and certainly not half as much feared.

[Footnote 1: Suffren, though one of the best sea-captains France ever
possessed, was a man of extreme severity and great roughness of manner.
Still he must have been a man of family, as his title of _Bailli_ de
Suffren, was derived from his being a Knight of Malta. It is a singular
circumstance connected with the death of this distinguished officer,
which occurred not long before the French revolution, that he
disappeared in an extraordinary manner, and is buried no one knows
where. It is supposed that he was killed by one of his own officers, in
a rencontre in the streets of Paris, at night, and that the influence of
the friends of the victor was sufficiently great to suppress inquiry.
The cause of the quarrel is attributed to harsh treatment on service.]

On the present occasion, the vice-admiral did not pull through the
fleet, without discovering the peculiar propensity to which we have
alluded. In passing one of the ships, he made a sign to his coxswain to
cause the boat's crew to lay on their oars, when he hailed the vessel,
and the following dialogue occurred.

"Carnatic, ahoy!" cried the admiral.

"Sir," exclaimed the officer of the deck, jumping on a quarter-deck gun,
and raising his hat.

"Is Captain Parker on board, sir?"

"He is, Sir Gervaise; will you see him, sir?"

A nod of the head sufficed to bring the said Captain Parker on deck, and
to the gangway, where he could converse with his superior, without
inconvenience to either.

"How do you do, _Captain_ Parker?"--a certain sign Sir Gervaise meant to
rap the other over the knuckles, else would it have been _Parker_."--How
do you do, _Captain_ Parker? I am sorry to see you have got your ship
too much down by the head, sir. She'll steer off the wind, like a colt
when he first feels the bridle; now with his head on one side, and now
on the other. You know I like a compact line, and straight wakes, sir."

"I am well aware of that, Sir Gervaise," returned Parker, a gray-headed,
meek old man, who had fought his way up from the forecastle to his
present honourable station, and, who, though brave as a lion before the
enemy, had a particular dread of all his commanders; "but we have been
obliged to use more water aft than we could wish, on account of the
tiers. We shall coil away the cables anew, and come at some of the
leaguers forward, and bring all right again, in a week, I hope, sir."

"A week?--the d----l, sir; that will never do, when I expect to see de
Vervillin _to-morrow_. Fill all your empty casks aft with salt-water,
immediately; and if that wont do, shift some of your shot forward. I
know that craft of yours, well; she is as tender as a fellow with corns,
and the shoe musn't pinch anywhere."

"Very well, Sir Gervaise; the ship shall be brought in trim, as soon as
possible."

"Ay, ay, sir, that is what I expect from every vessel, at _all_ times;
and more especially when we are ready to meet an enemy. And, I say,
_Parker_,"--making a sign to his boat's crew to stop rowing again--"I
say, _Parker_, I know you love brawn;--I'll send you some that Galleygo
tells me he has picked up, along-shore here, as soon as I get aboard.
The fellow has been robbing all the hen-roosts in Devonshire, by his own
account of the matter."

Sir Gervaise waved his hand, _Parker_ smiled and bowed his thanks, and
the two parted with feelings of perfect kindness, notwithstanding the
little skirmish with which the interview had commenced.

"Mr. Williamson," said Captain Parker to his first lieutenant, on
quitting the gangway, "you hear what the commander-in-chief says; and he
must be obeyed. I _don't_ think the Carnatic would have sheered out of
the line, even if she is a little by the head; but have the empty casks
filled, and bring her down six inches more by the stern."

"That's a good fellow, that old Parker," said Sir Gervaise to his
purser, whom he was carrying off good-naturedly to the ship, lest he
might lose his passage; "and I wonder how he let his ship get her nose
under water, in that fashion. I like to have him for a second astern;
for I feel sure he'd follow if I stood into Cherbourg, bows on! Yes; a
good fellow is Parker; and, Locker,"--to his own man, who was also in
the boat;--"mind you send him _two_ of the best pieces of that
brawn--hey!--hey!--hey!--what the d----l has Lord Morganic"--a descendant
from royalty by the left hand,--"been doing now! That ship is kept like
a tailor's jay figure, just to stuff jackets and gim-cracks on
her--Achilles, there!"

A quarter-master ran to the edge of the poop, and then turning, he spoke
to his captain, who was walking the deck, and informed him that the
commander-in-chief hailed the ship. The Earl of Morganic, a young man of
four-and-twenty, who had succeeded to the title a few years before by
the death of an elder brother,--the usual process by which an _old_ peer
is brought into the British navy, the work being too discouraging for
those who have fortune before their eyes from the start,--now advanced
to the quarter of the ship, bowed with respectful ease, and spoke with a
self-possession that not one of the old commanders of the fleet would
have dared to use. In general, this nobleman's intercourse with his
superiors in naval rank, betrayed the consciousness of his own
superiority in civil rank; but Sir Gervaise being of an old family, and
quite as rich as he was himself, the vice-admiral commanded more of his
homage than was customary. His ship was full of "nobs," as they term it
in the British navy, or the sons and relatives of nobles; and it was by
no means an uncommon thing for her messes to have their jokes at the
expense of even flag-officers, who were believed to be a little ignorant
of the peculiar sensibilities that are rightly enough imagined to
characterize social station.

"Good-morning, Sir Gervaise," called out this noble captain; "I'm glad
to see you looking so well, after our long cruise in the Bay; I intended
to have the honour to inquire after your health in person, this morning,
but they told me you slept out of your ship. We shall have to hold a
court on you, sir, if you fall much into that habit!"

All within hearing smiled, even to the rough old tars, who were
astraddle of the yards; and even Sir Gervaise's lip curled a little,
though he was not exactly in a joking humour.

"Come, come, Morganic, do you let my habits alone, and look out for your
own fore-top-mast. Why, in the name of seamanship, is that spar stayed
forward in such a fashion, looking like a xebec's foremast?"

"Do you dislike it, Sir Gervaise?--Now to our fancies aboard here, it
gives the Achilles a knowing look, and we hope to set a fashion. By
carrying the head-sails well forward, we help the ship round in a sea,
you know, sir."

"Indeed, I know no such thing, my lord. What you gain after being taken
aback, you lose in coming to the wind. If I had a pair of scales
suitable to such a purpose, I would have all that hamper you have stayed
away yonder over your bows, on the end of such a long lever, weighed, in
order that you might learn what a beautiful contrivance you've invented,
among you, to make a ship pitch in a head sea. Why, d----e, if I think
you'd lie-to, at all, with so much stuff aloft to knock you off to
leeward. Come up, every thing, forward; come up every thing, my lord,
and bring the mast as near perpendicular as possible. It's a hard
matter, I find, to make one of your new-fashioned captains keep things
in their places."

"Well, now, Sir Gervaise, I think the Achilles makes as good an
appearance as most of the other ships; and as to travelling or working,
I do not know that she is either dull or clumsy!"

"She's pretty well, Morganic, considering how many Bond-street ideas you
have got among you; but she'll never do in a head sea, with that
fore-top-mast threatening your knight-heads. So get the mast
up-and-down, again, as soon as convenient, and come and dine with me,
without further invitation, the first fine day we have at sea. I'm going
to send Parker some brawn; but, I'll feed _you_ on some of Galleygo's
turtle-soup, made out of pig's heads."

"Thank'ee, Sir Gervaise; we'll endeavour to straighten the slick, since
you _will_ have it so; though, I confess I get tired of seeing every
thing to-day, just as we had it yesterday."

"Yes--yes--that's the way with most of these St. James cruisers,"
continued the vice-admiral, as he rowed away. "They want a fashionable
tailor to rig a man-of-war, as they are rigged themselves. There's my
old friend and neighbour, Lord Scupperton--he's taken a fancy to
yachting, lately, and when his new brig was put into the water, Lady
Scupperton made him send for an upholsterer from town to fit out the
cabin; and when the blackguard had surveyed the unfortunate craft, as if
it were a country box, what does he do but give an opinion, that 'this
here edifice, my lord, in my judgment, should be furnished in cottage
style,'--the vagabond!"

This story, which was not particularly original, for Sir Gervaise
himself had told it at least a dozen times before, put the admiral in a
good humour, and he found no more fault with his captains, until he
reached the Plantagenet.

"Daly," said the Earl of Morganic to his first lieutenant, an
experienced old Irishman of fifty, who still sung a good song and told a
good story, and what was a little extraordinary for either of these
accomplishments, knew how to take good care of a ship;--"Daly, I suppose
we must humour the old gentleman, or he'll be quarantining me, and that
I shouldn't particularly like on the eve of a general action; so we'll
ease off forward, and set up the strings aft, again. Hang me if I think
he could find it out if we didn't, so long as we kept dead in his wake!"

"That wouldn't be a very safe desait for Sir Jarvy, my lord, for he's a
wonderful eye for a rope! Were it Admiral Blue, now, I'd engage to
cruise in his company for a week, with my mizzen-mast stowed in the
hold, and there should be no bother about the novelty, at all; quite
likely he'd be hailing us, and ask 'what brig's that?' But none of these
tricks will answer with t'other, who misses the whipping off the end of
a gasket, as soon as any first luff of us all. And so I'll just go about
the business in earnest; get the carpenter up with his plumb-bob, and
set every thing as straight up-and-down as the back of a grenadier."

Lord Morganic laughed, as was usual with him when his lieutenant saw fit
to be humorous; and then his caprice in changing the staying of his
masts, as well as the order which countermanded it, was forgotten.

The arrival of Sir Gervaise on board his own ship was always an event in
the fleet, even though his absence had lasted no longer than twenty-four
hours. The effect was like that which is produced on a team of
high-mettled cattle, when they feel that the reins are in the hands of
an experienced and spirited coachman.

"Good-morning, Greenly, good-morning to you all, gentlemen," said the
vice-admiral, bowing to the quarter-deck in gross, in return for the
'present-arms,' and rattling of drums, and lowering of hats that greeted
his arrival; "a fine day, and it is likely we shall have a fresh breeze.
Captain Greenly, your sprit-sail-yard wants squaring by the lifts; and,
Bunting, make the Thunderer's signal to get her fore-yard in its place,
as soon as possible. She's had it down long enough to make a new one,
instead of merely fishing it. Are your boats all aboard, Greenly?"

"All but your own barge, Sir Gervaise, and that is hooked on."

"In with it, sir; then trip, and we'll be off. Monsieur de Vervillin has
got some mischief in his head, gentlemen, and we must go and take it out
of him."

These orders were promptly obeyed; but, as the manner in which the
Plantagenet passed out of the fleet, and led the other ships to sea, has
been already related, it is unnecessary to repeat it. There was the
usual bustle, the customary orderly confusion, the winding of calls, the
creaking of blocks, and the swinging of yards, ere the vessels were in
motion. As the breeze freshened, sail was reduced, as already related,
until, by the time the leading ship was ten leagues at sea, all were
under short canvass, and the appearance of a windy, if not a dirty
night, had set in. Of course, all means of communication between the
Plantagenet and the vessels still at anchor, had ceased, except by
sending signals down the line; but, to those Sir Gervaise had no
recourse, since he was satisfied Bluewater understood his plans, and he
then entertained no manner of doubt of his friend's willingness to aid
them.

Little heed was taken of any thing astern, by those on board the
Plantagenet. Every one saw, it is true, that ship followed ship in due
succession, as long as the movements of those inshore could be perceived
at all; but the great interest centred on the horizon to the southward
and eastward. In that quarter of the channel the French were expected to
appear, for the cause of this sudden departure was a secret from no one
in the fleet. A dozen of the best look-outs in the ship were kept aloft
the whole afternoon, and Captain Greenly, himself, sat in the
forward-cross-trees, with a glass, for more than an hour, just as the
sun was setting, in order to sweep the horizon. Two or three sail were
made, it is true, but they all proved to be English coasters; Guernsey
or Jerseymen, standing for ports in the west of England, most probably
laden with prohibited articles from the country of the enemy. Whatever
may be the dislike of an Englishman for a Frenchman, he has no dislike
to the labour of his hands; and there probably has not been a period
since civilization has introduced the art of smuggling among its other
arts, when French brandies, and laces, and silks, were not exchanged
against English tobacco and guineas, and that in a contraband way, let
it be in peace or let it be in war. One of the characteristics of Sir
Gervaise Oakes was to despise all petty means of annoyance; usually he
disdained even to turn aside to chase a smuggler. Fishermen he never
molested at all; and, on the whole, he carried on a marine warfare, a
century since, in a way that some of his successors might have imitated
to advantage in our own times. Like that high-spirited Irishman,
Caldwell,[2] who conducted a blockade in the Chesapeake, at the
commencement of the revolution, with so much liberality, that his
enemies actually sent him an invitation to a public dinner, Sir Gervaise
knew how to distinguish between the combatant and the non-combatant, and
heartily disdained all the money-making parts of his profession, though
large sums had fallen into his hands, in this way, as pure God-sends. No
notice was taken, therefore, of any thing that had not a warlike look;
the noble old ship standing steadily on towards the French coast, as the
mastiff passes the cur, on his way to encounter another animal, of a
mould and courage more worthy of his powers.

[Footnote 2: The writer believes this noble-minded sailor to have been
the late Admiral Sir Benjamin Caldwell. It is scarcely necessary to say
that the invitation could not be accepted, though quite seriously
given.]

"Make nothing of 'em, hey! Greenly," said Sir Gervaise, as the captain
came down from his perch, in consequence of the gathering obscurity of
evening, followed by half-a-dozen lieutenants and midshipmen, who had
been aloft as volunteers. "Well, we know they cannot yet be to the
westward of us, and by standing on shall be certain of heading them off,
before this time six months. How beautifully all the ships behave,
following each other as accurately as if Bluewater himself were aboard
each vessel to conn her!"

"Yes, sir, they do keep the line uncommonly well, considering that the
tides run in streaks in the channel. I _do_ think if we were to drop a
hammock overboard, that the Carnatic would pick it up, although she must
be quite four leagues astern of us."

"Let old Parker alone for that! I'll warrant you, _he_ is never out of
the way. Were it Lord Morganic, now, in the Achilles, I should expect
him to be away off here on our weather-quarter, just to show us how his
ship can eat us out of the wind when he _tries_: or away down yonder,
under our lee, that we might understand how she falls off, when he
_don't_ try."

"My lord is a gallant officer, and no bad seaman, for his years,
notwithstanding, Sir Gervaise," observed Greenly, who generally took the
part of the absent, whenever his superior felt disposed to berate them.

"I deny neither, Greenly, most particularly the first. I know very well,
were I to signal Morganic, to run into Brest, he'd do it; but whether he
would go in, ring-tail-boom, or jib-boom first, I couldn't tell till I
saw it. Now you are a youngish man yourself. Greenly--"

"Every day of eight-and-thirty, Sir Gervaise, and a few months to spare;
and I care not if the ladies know it."

"Poh!--They like us old fellows, half the time, as well as they do the
boys. But you are of an age not to feel time in your bones, and can see
the folly of some of our old-fashioned notions, perhaps; though you are
not quite as likely to understand the fooleries that have come in, in
your own day. Nothing is more absurd than to be experimenting on the
settled principles of ships. They are machines, Greenly, and have their
laws, just the same as the planets in the heavens. The idea comes from a
fish,--head, run, and helm; and all we have to do is to study the fishes
in order to get the sort of craft we want. If there is occasion for
bulk, take the whale, and you get a round bottom, full fore-body, and a
clean run. When you want speed, models are plenty--take the dolphin, for
instance,--and there you find an entrance like a wedge, a lean
fore-body, and a run as clean as this ship's decks. But some of our
young captains would spoil a dolphin's sailing, if they could breathe
under water, so as to get at the poor devils. Look at their fancies! The
First Lord shall give one of his cousins a frigate, now, that is moulded
after nature itself, as one might say; with a bottom that would put a
trout to shame. Well, one of the first things the lad does, when he gets
on board her, is to lengthen his gaff, perhaps, put a cloth or two in
his mizzen, and call it a spanker, settle away the peak till it sticks
out over his taffrail like a sign-post, and then away he goes upon a
wind, with his helm hard-up, bragging what a weatherly craft he has, and
how hard it is to make her even _look_ to leeward."

"I have known such sailors, I must confess, Sir Gervaise; but time cures
them of that folly."

"That is to be hoped; for what would a man think of a fish to which
nature had fitted a tail athwart-ships, and which was obliged to carry a
fin, like a lee-board, under its lee-jaw, to prevent falling off dead
before the wind!"

Here Sir Gervaise laughed heartily at the picture of the awkward
creature to which his own imagination had given birth; Greenly joining
in the merriment, partly from the oddity of the conceit, and partly from
the docility with which commander-in-chief's jokes are usually received.
The feeling of momentary indignation which had aroused Sir Gervaise to
such an expression of his disgust at modern inventions, was appeased by
this little success; and, inviting his captain to sup with him,--a
substitute for a dinner,--he led the way below in high good-humour,
Galleygo having just announced that the table was ready.

The _convives_ on this occasion were merely the admiral himself,
Greenly, and Atwood. The fare was substantial, rather than scientific;
but the service was rich; Sir Gervaise uniformly eating off of plate. In
addition to Galleygo, no less than five domestics attended to the wants
of the party. As a ship of the Plantagenet's size was reasonably steady
at all times, a gale of wind excepted, when the lamps and candles were
lighted, and the group was arranged, aided by the admixture of rich
furniture with frowning artillery and the other appliances of war, the
great cabin of the Plantagenet was not without a certain air of rude
magnificence. Sir Gervaise kept no less than three servants in livery,
as a part of his personal establishment, tolerating Galleygo, and one or
two more of the same stamp, as a homage due to Neptune.

The situation not being novel to either of the party, and the day's work
having been severe, the first twenty minutes were pretty studiously
devoted to the duty of "restoration," as it is termed by the great
masters of the science of the table. By the end of that time, however,
the glass began to circulate, though moderately, and with it tongues to
loosen.

"Your health, Captain Greenly--Atwood, I remember you," said the
vice-admiral, nodding his head familiarly to his two guests, on the eve
of tossing off a glass of sherry. "These Spanish wines go directly to
the heart, and I only wonder why a people who can make them, don't make
better sailors."

"In the days of Columbus, the Spaniards had something to boast of in
that way, too, Sir Gervaise," Atwood remarked.

"Ay, but that was a long time ago, and they have got bravely over it. I
account for the deficiencies of both the French and Spanish marines
something in this way, Greenly. Columbus, and the discovery of America,
brought ships and sailors into fashion. But a ship without an officer
fit to command her, is like a body without a soul. Fashion, however,
brought your young nobles into their services, and men were given
vessels because their fathers were dukes and counts, and not because
they knew any thing about them."

"Is our own service entirely free from this sort of favouritism?"
quietly demanded the captain.

"Far from it, Greenly; else would not Morganic have been made a captain
at twenty, and old Parker, for instance, one only at fifty. But,
somehow, our classes slide into each other, in a way that neutralizes,
in a great degree, the effect of birth. Is it not so, Atwood?"

"_Some_ of our classes, Sir Gervaise, manage to _slide_ into all the
best places, if the truth must be said."

"Well, that is pretty bold for a Scotchman!" rejoined the vice-admiral,
good-humouredly. "Ever since the accession of the house of Stuart, we've
built a bridge across the Tweed that lets people pass in only one
direction. I make no doubt this Pretender's son will bring down half
Scotland at his heels, to fill all the berths they may fancy suitable to
their merits. It's an easy way of paying bounty--promises."

"This affair in the north, they tell me, seems a little serious," said
Greenly. "I believe this is Mr. Atwood's opinion?"

"You'll find it serious enough, if Sir Gervaise's notion about the
bounty be true," answered the immovable secretary. "Scotia is a small
country, but it's well filled with 'braw sperits,' if there's an opening
for them to prove it."

"Well, well, this war between England and Scotland is out of place,
while we have the French and Spaniards on our hands. Most extraordinary
scenes have we had ashore, yonder, Greenly, with an old Devonshire
baronet, who slipped and is off for the other world, while we were in
his house."

"Magrath has told me something of it, sir; and, he tells me the
_fill-us-null-us_--hang me if I can make out his gibberish, five minutes
after it was told to me."

"_Filius nullius_, you mean; nobody's baby--the son of nobody--have you
forgotten your Latin, man?"

"Faith, Sir Gervaise, I never had any to forget. My father was a captain
of a man-of-war before me, and he kept me afloat from the time I was
five, down to the day of his death; Latin was no part of my spoon-meat."

"Ay--ay--my good fellow, I knew your father, and was in the third ship
from him, in the action in which he fell," returned the vice-admiral,
kindly. "Bluewater was just ahead of him, and we all loved him, as we
did an elder brother. You were not promoted, then."

"No, sir, I was only a midshipman, and didn't happen to be in his own
ship that day," answered Greenly, sensibly touched with this tribute to
his parent's merit; "but I was old enough to remember how nobly you all
behaved on the occasion. Well,"--slily brushing his eye with his
hand,--"Latin may do a schoolmaster good, but it is of little use on
board ship. I never had but one scholar among all my cronies and
intimates."

"And who was he, Greenly? You shouldn't despise knowledge, because you
don't understand it. I dare say your intimate was none the worse for a
little Latin--enough to go through _nullus, nulla, nullum_, for
instance. Who was this intimate, Greenly?"

"John Bluewater--handsome Jack, as he was called; the younger brother of
the admiral. They sent him to sea, to keep him out of harm's way in some
love affair; and you may remember that while he was with the admiral, or
_Captain_ Bluewater, as he was then, I was one of the lieutenants.
Although poor Jack was a soldier and in the guards, and he was four or
five years my senior, he took a fancy to me, and we became intimate.
_He_ understood Latin, better than he did his own interests."

"In what did he fail?--Bluewater was never very communicative to me
about that brother."

"There was a private marriage, and cross guardians, and the usual
difficulties. In the midst of it all, poor John fell in battle, as you
know, and his widow followed him to the grave, within a month or two.
'Twas a sad story all round, and I try to think of it as little as
possible."

"A private marriage!" repeated Sir Gervaise, slowly. "Are you quite sure
of _that_? I don't think Bluewater is aware of that circumstance; at
least, I never heard him allude to it. Could there have been any issue?"

"No one can know it better than myself, as I helped to get the lady off,
and was present at the ceremony. That much I _know_. Of issue, I should
think there was none; though the colonel lived a year after the
marriage. How far the admiral is familiar with all these circumstances I
cannot say, as one would not like to introduce the particulars of a
private marriage of a deceased brother, to his commanding officer."

"I am glad there was no issue, Greenly--particular circumstances make me
glad of that. But we will change the discourse, as these family
disasters make one melancholy; and a melancholy dinner is like
ingratitude to Him who bestows it."

The conversation now grew general, and in due season, in common with the
feast, it ended. After sitting the usual time, the guests retired. Sir
Gervaise then went on deck, and paced the poop for an hour, looking
anxiously ahead, in quest of the French signal; and, failing of
discovering them, he was fain to seek his berth out of sheer fatigue.
Before he did this, however, the necessary orders were given; and that
to call him, should any thing out of the common track occur, was
repeated no less than four times.



CHAPTER XXI.

    "Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean--roll
      Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain;
    Man marks the earth with ruin--his control
      Stops with the shore;--upon the watery plain
    The wrecks are all thy deed."

         CHILDE HAROLD.


It was broad day-light, when Sir Gervaise Oakes next appeared on deck.
As the scene then offered to his view, as well as the impression it made
on his mind, will sufficiently explain to the reader the state of
affairs, some six hours later than the time last included in our
account, we refer him to those for his own impressions. The wind now
blew a real gale, though the season of the year rendered it less
unpleasant to the feelings than is usual with wintry tempests. The air
was even bland, and still charged with the moisture of the ocean; though
it came sweeping athwart sheets of foam, with a fury, at moments, which
threatened to carry the entire summits of waves miles from their beds,
in spray. Even the aquatic birds seemed to be terrified, in the instants
of the greatest power of the winds, actually wheeling suddenly on their
wings, and plunging into the element beneath to seek protection from the
maddened efforts of that to which they more properly belonged.

Still, Sir Gervaise saw that his ships bore up nobly against the fierce
strife. Each vessel showed the same canvass; viz.--a reefed fore-sail; a
small triangular piece of strong, heavy cloth, fitted between the end of
the bowsprit and the head of the fore-top-mast; a similar sail over the
quarter-deck, between the mizzen and main masts, and a close-reefed
main-top-sail Several times that morning, Captain Greenly had thought he
should be compelled to substitute a lower surface to the wind than that
of the sail last mentioned. As it was an important auxiliary, however,
in steadying the ship, and in keeping her under the command of her helm,
on each occasion the order had been delayed, until he now began to
question whether the canvass could be reduced, without too great a risk
to the men whom it would be necessary to send aloft. He had decided to
let it stand or blow away, as fortune might decide. Similar reasoning
left nearly all the other vessels under precisely the same canvass.

The ships of the vice-admiral's division had closed in the night,
agreeably to an order given before quitting the anchorage, which
directed them to come within the usual sailing distance, in the event of
the weather's menacing a separation. This command had been obeyed by the
ships astern carrying sail hard, long after the leading vessels had been
eased by reducing their canvass. The order of sailing was the
Plantagenet in the van, and the Carnatic, Achilles, Thunderer, Blenheim,
and Warspite following, in the order named; some changes having been
made in the night, in order to bring the ships of the division into
their fighting-stations, in a line ahead, the vice-admiral leading. The
superiority of the Plantagenet was a little apparent, notwithstanding;
the Carnatic alone, and that only by means of the most careful watching,
being able to keep literally in the commander-in-chief's wake; all the
other vessels gradually but almost imperceptibly setting to leeward of
it. These several circumstances struck Sir Gervaise, the moment his foot
touched the poop, where he found Greenly keeping an anxious look-out on
the state of the weather and the condition of his own ship; leaning at
the same time, against the spanker-boom to steady himself in the gusts
of the gale. The vice-admiral braced his own well-knit and compact
frame, by spreading his legs; then he turned his handsome but
weather-beaten face towards the line, scanning each ship in succession,
as she lay over to the wind, and came wallowing on, shoving aside vast
mounds of water with her bows, her masts describing short arcs in the
air, and her hull rolling to windward, and lurching, as if boring her
way through the ocean. Galleygo, who never regarded himself as a steward
in a gale of wind, was the only other person on the poop, whither he
went at pleasure by a sort of imprescriptibly right.

"Well done, old Planter!" cried Sir Gervaise, heartily, as soon as his
eye had taken in the leading peculiarities of the view. "You see,
Greenly, she has every body but old Parker to leeward, and she would
have him there, too, but he would carry every stick he has, out of the
Carnatic, rather than not keep his berth. Look at Master Morganic; he
has his main course close-reefed on the Achilles, to luff into his
station, and I'll warrant you will get a good six months' wear out of
that ship in this one gale; loosening her knees, and jerking her spars
like so many whip-handles; and all for love of the new fashion of
rigging an English two-decker like an Algerian xebec! Well, let him tug
his way up to windward, Bond-street fashion, if he likes the fun. What
has become of the Chloe, Greenly?"

"Here she is, sir, quite a league on our lee-bow, looking out, according
to orders."

"Ay, that is her work, and she'll do it effectually.--But I don't see
the Driver!"

"She's dead ahead sir," answered Greenly, smiling; "_her_ orders being
rather more difficult of execution. Her station would be off yonder to
windward, half a league ahead of us; but it's no easy matter to get into
that position, Sir Gervaise, when the Plantagenet is really in earnest."

Sir Gervaise laughed, and rubbed his hands, then he turned to look for
the Active, the only other vessel of his division. This little cutter
was dancing over the seas, half the time under water, notwithstanding,
under the head of her main-sail, broad off, on the admiral's
weather-beam; finding no difficulty in maintaining her station there, in
the absence of all top-hamper, and favoured by the lowness of her hull.
After this he glanced upward at the sails and spars of the Plantagenet,
which he studied closely.

"No signs of _de Vervillin_, hey! Greenly?" the admiral asked, when his
survey of the whole fleet had ended. "I was in hopes we might see
something of _him_, when the light returned this morning."

"Perhaps it is quite as well as it is, Sir Gervaise," returned the
captain. "We could do little besides look at each other, in this gale,
and Admiral Bluewater ought to join before I should like even to do
_that_."

"Think you so, Master Greenly!--There you are mistaken, then; for I'd
lie by him, were I alone in this ship, that I might know where he was to
be found as soon as the weather would permit us to have something to say
to him."

These words were scarcely uttered, when the look-out in the forward
cross-trees, shouted at the top of his voice, "sail-ho!" At the next
instant the Chloe fired a gun, the report of which was just heard amid
the roaring of the gale, though the smoke was distinctly seen floating
above the mists of the ocean; she also set a signal at her naked
mizzen-top-gallant-mast-head.

"Run below, young gentleman," said the vice-admiral, advancing to the
break of the poop and speaking to a midshipman on the quarter-deck; "and
desire Mr. Bunting to make his appearance. The Chloe signals us--tell
him not to look for his knee-buckles."

A century since, the last injunction, though still so much in use on
ship-board, was far more literal than it is to-day, nearly all classes
of men possessing the articles in question, though not invariably
wearing them when at sea. The midshipman dove below, however, as soon as
the words were out of his superior's mouth; and, in a very few minutes,
Bunting appeared, having actually stopped on the main-deck ladder to
assume his coat, lest he might too unceremoniously invade the sacred
precincts of the quarter-deck, in his shirt-sleeves.

"There it is, Bunting," said Sir Gervaise, handing the lieutenant the
glass; "two hundred and twenty-seven--'a large sail ahead,' if I
remember right."

"No, Sir Gervaise, '_sails_ ahead;' the number of them to follow. Hoist
the answering flag, quarter-master."

"So much the better! So much the better, Bunting! The number to follow?
Well, _we'll_ follow the number, let it be greater or smaller. Come,
sirrah, bear a hand up with your answering flag."

The usual signal that the message was understood was now run up between
the masts, and instantly hauled down again, the flags seen in the Chloe
descending at the same moment.

"Now for the number of the sails, ahead," said Sir Gervaise, as he,
Greenly, and Bunting, each levelled a glass at the frigate, on board
which the next signal was momentarily expected. "Eleven, by George!"

"No, Sir Gervaise," exclaimed Greenly, "I know better than _that_. Red
above, and blue beneath, with the distinguishing pennant _beneath_, make
_fourteen_, in our books, now!"

"Well, sir, if they are _forty_, we'll go nearer and see of what sort of
stuff they are made. Show your answering flag, Bunting, that we may know
what else the Chloe has to tell us."

This was done, the frigate hauling down her signals in haste, and
showing a new set as soon as possible.

"What now, Bunting?--what now, Greenly?" demanded Sir Gervaise, a sea
having struck the side of the ship and thrown so much spray into his
face as to reduce him to the necessity of using his pocket-handkerchief,
at the very moment he was anxious to be looking through his glass. "What
do you make of _that_, gentlemen?"

"I make out the number to be 382," answered Greenly; "but what it means,
I know not."

"'Strange sails, _enemies_,'" read Bunting from the book. "Show the
answer, quarter-master."

"We hardly wanted a signal for _that_, Greenly, since there can be no
friendly force, here away; and fourteen sail, on this coast, always
means mischief. What says the Chloe next?"

"'Strange sails on the larboard tack, heading as follows.'"

"By George, crossing our course!--We shall soon see them from deck. Do
the ships astern notice the signals?"

"Every one of them, Sir Gervaise," answered the captain; "the Thunderer
has just lowered her answering flag, and the Active is repeating. I have
never seen quarter-masters so nimble!"

"So much the better--so much the better--down he comes; stand by for
another."

After the necessary pause, the signal to denote the point of the compass
was shown from the Chloe.

"Heading how, Bunting?" the vice-admiral eagerly inquired. "Heading how,
sir?"

"North-west-and-by-north," or as Bunting pronounced it
"nor-west-and-by-loathe, I believe, sir,--no, I am mistaken, Sir
Gervaise; it is nor-nor-west."

"Jammed up like ourselves, hard on a wind! This gale comes directly from
the broad Atlantic, and one party is crossing over to the north and the
other to the south shore. We _must_ meet, unless one of us run
away--hey! Greenly?"

"True enough, Sir Gervaise; though fourteen sail is rather an awkward
odds for seven."

"You forget the Driver and Active, sir; we've _nine_; nine hearty,
substantial British cruisers."

"To wit: six ships of the line, one frigate, a _sloop_, and a _cutter_,"
laying heavy emphasis on the two last vessels.

"What does the Chloe say now, Bunting? That we're enough for the French,
although they _are_ two to one?"

"Not exactly that, I believe, Sir Gervaise. 'Five more sail ahead.' They
increase fast, sir."

"Ay, at that rate, they may indeed grow too strong for us," answered Sir
Gervaise, with more coolness of manner; "nineteen to nine are rather
heavy odds. I wish we had Bluewater here!"

"That is what I was about to suggest, Sir Gervaise," observed the
captain. "If we had the other division, as some of the Frenchmen are
probably frigates and corvettes, we might do better. Admiral Bluewater
cannot be far from us; somewhere down here, towards north-east--or
nor-nor-east. By warring round, I think we should make his division in
the course of a couple of hours."

"What, and leave to Monsieur de Vervillin the advantage of swearing he
frightened us away! No--no--Greenly; we will first _pass_ him fairly and
manfully, and that, too, within reach of shot; and then it will be time
enough to go round and look after our friends."

"Will not that be putting the French exactly between our two divisions,
Sir Gervaise, and give him the advantage of dividing our force. If he
stand far, on a nor-nor-west course, I think he will infallibly get
between us and Admiral Bluewater."

"And what will he gain by that, Greenly?--What, according to your
notions of matters and things, will be the great advantage of having an
English fleet on each side of him?"

"Not much, certainly, Sir Gervaise," answered Greenly, laughing; "if
these fleets were at all equal to his own. But as they will be much
inferior to him, the Comte may manage to close with one division, while
the other is so far off as to be unable to assist; and one hour of a hot
fire may dispose of the victory."

"All this is apparent enough, Greenly; yet I could hardly brook letting
the enemy go scathe less. So long as it blows as it does now, there will
not be much fighting, and there can be no harm in taking a near look at
M. de Vervillin. In half an hour, or an hour at most, we must get a
sight of him from off deck, even with this slow headway of the two
fleets. Let them heave the log, and ascertain how fast we go, sir."

"Should we engage the French in such weather, Sir Gervaise," answered
Greenly, after giving the order just mentioned; "it would be giving them
the very advantage they like. They usually fire at the spars, and one
shot would do more mischief, with such a strain on the masts, than
half-a-dozen in a moderate blow."

"That will do, Greenly--that will do," said the vice-admiral,
impatiently; "if I didn't so well know you, and hadn't seen you so often
engaged, I should think you were afraid of these nineteen sail. You have
lectured long enough to render me prudent, and we'll say no more."

Here Sir Gervaise turned on his heel, and began to pace the poop, for he
was slightly vexed, though not angered. Such little dialogues often
occurred between him and his captain, the latter knowing that his
commander's greatest professional failing was excess of daring, while he
felt that his own reputation was too well established to be afraid to
inculcate prudence. Next to the honour of the flag, and his own perhaps,
Greenly felt the greatest interest in that of Sir Gervaise Oakes, under
whom he had served as midshipman, lieutenant, and captain; and this his
superior knew, a circumstance that would have excused far greater
liberties. After moving swiftly to and fro several times, the
vice-admiral began to cool, and he forgot this passing ebullition of
quick feelings. Greenly, on the other hand, satisfied that the just mind
of the commander-in-chief would not fail to appreciate facts that had
been so plainly presented to it, was content to change the subject. They
conversed together, in a most friendly manner, Sir Gervaise being even
unusually frank and communicative, in order to prove he was not
displeased, the matter in discussion being the state of the ship and the
situation of the crew.

"You are always ready for battle, Greenly," the vice-admiral said,
smilingly, in conclusion; "when there is a necessity; and always just as
ready to point out the inexpediency of engaging, where you fancy nothing
is to be gained by it. You would not have me run away from a shadow,
however; or a signal; and that is much the same thing: so we will stand
on, until we make the Frenchmen fairly from off-deck, when it will be
time enough to determine what shall come next."

"Sail-ho!" shouted one of the look-outs from aloft, a cry that
immediately drew all eyes towards the mizzen-top-mast-cross-trees,
whence the sound proceeded.

The wind blew too fresh to render conversation, even by means of a
trumpet, easy, and the man was ordered down to give an account of what
he had seen. Of course he first touched the poop-deck, where he was met
by the admiral and captain, the officer of the watch, to whom he
properly belonged, giving him up to the examination of his two
superiors, without a grimace.

"Where-away is the sail you've seen, sir?" demanded Sir Gervaise a
little sharply, for he suspected it was no more than one of the ships
ahead, already signaled. "Down yonder to the southward and
eastward--hey! sirrah?"

"No, Sir Jarvy," answered the top-man, hitching his trowsers with one
hand, and smoothing the hair on his forehead with the other; "but out
here, to the forward and westward, on our weather-quarter. It's none o'
them French chaps as is with the County of Fairvillian,"--for so all the
common men of the fleet believed their gallant enemy to be rightly
named,--"but is a square-rigged craft by herself, jammed up on a wind,
pretty much like all on us."

"That alters the matter, Greenly! How do you know she is square-rigged,
my man?"

"Why, Sir Jarvy, your honour, she's under her fore and main-taw-sails,
close-reefed, with a bit of the main-sail set, as well as I can make it
out, sir."

"The devil she is! It must be some fellow in a great hurry, to carry
that canvass in this blow! Can it be possible, Greenly, that the leading
vessel of Bluewater is heaving in sight?"

"I rather think not, Sir Gervaise; it would be too far to windward for
any of his two-deckers. It may turn out to be a look-out ship of the
French, got round on the other tack to keep her station, and carrying
sail hard, because she dislikes our appearance."

"In that case she must claw well to windward to escape us! What's your
name, my lad--Tom Davis, if I'm not mistaken?"

"No, Sir Jarvy, it's Jack Brown; which is much the same, your honour.
We's no ways partic'lar about names."

"Well, Jack, does it blow hard aloft? So as to give you any trouble in
holding on?"

"Nothing to speak on, Sir Jarvy. A'ter cruising a winter and spring in
the Bay of Biscay, I looks on this as no more nor a puff. Half a hand
will keep a fellow in his berth, aloft."

"Galleygo--take Jack Brown below to my cabin, and give him a fresh nip
in his jigger--he'll hold on all the better for it."

This was Sir Gervaise's mode of atoning for the error in doing the man
injustice, by supposing he was mistaken about the new sail, and Jack
Brown went aloft devoted to the commander-in-chief. It costs the great
and powerful so little to become popular, that one is sometimes
surprised to find that any are otherwise; but, when we remember that it
is also their duty to be just, astonishment ceases; justice being
precisely the quality to which a large portion of the human race are
most averse.

Half an hour passed, and no further reports were received from aloft. In
a few minutes, however, the Warspite signalled the admiral, to report
the stranger on her weather-quarter, and, not long after, the Active did
the same. Still neither told his character; and the course being
substantially the same, the unknown ship approached but slowly,
notwithstanding the unusual quantity of sail she had set. At the end of
the period mentioned, the vessels in the south-eastern board began to be
visible from the deck. The ocean was so white with foam, that it was not
easy to distinguish a ship, under short canvass, at any great distance;
but, by the aid of glasses, both Sir Gervaise and Greenly satisfied
themselves that the number of the enemy at the southward amounted to
just twenty; one more having hove in sight, and been signalled by the
Chloe, since her first report. Several of these vessels, however, were
small; and, the vice-admiral, after a long and anxious survey, lowered
his glass and turned to his captain in order to compare opinions.

"Well, Greenly," he asked, "what do you make of them, now?--According to
my reckoning, there are thirteen of the line, two frigates, four
corvettes, and a lugger; or twenty sail in all."

"There can be no doubt of the twenty sail, Sir Gervaise, though the
vessels astern are still too distant to speak of their size. I rather
think it will turn out _fourteen_ of the line and only three frigates."

"That is rather too much for us, certainly, without Bluewater. His five
ships, now, and this westerly position, would make a cheering prospect
for us. We might stick by Mr. de Vervillin until it moderated, and then
pay our respects to him. What do you say to _that_, Greenly?"

"That it is of no great moment, Sir Gervaise, so long as the other
division is _not_ with us. But yonder are signals flying on board the
Active, the Warspite, and the Blenheim."

"Ay, they've something to tell us of the chap astern and to windward.
Come, Bunting, give us the news."

"'Stranger in the north-west shows the Druid's number;'" the
signal-officer read mechanically from the book.

"The deuce he does! Then Bluewater cannot be far off. Let Dick alone for
keeping in his proper place; he has an instinct for a line of battle,
and I never knew him fail to be in the very spot I could wish to have
him, looking as much at home, as if his ships had all been built there!
The Druid's number! The Cæsar and the rest of them are in a line ahead,
further north, heading up well to windward even of our own wake. This
puts the Comte fairly under our lee."

But Greenly was far from being of a temperament as sanguine as that of
the vice-admiral's. He did not like the circumstance of the Druid's
being alone visible, and she, too, under what in so heavy a gale, might
be deemed a press of canvass. There was no apparent reason for the
division's carrying sail so hard, while the frigate would he obliged to
do it, did she wish to overtake vessels like the Plantagenet and her
consorts. He suggested, therefore, the probability that the ship was
alone, and that her object might be to speak them.

"There is something in what you say, Greenly," answered Sir Gervaise,
after a minute's reflection; "and we must look into it. If Denham
doesn't give us any thing new from the Count to change our plans, it may
be well to learn what the Druid is after."

Denham was the commander of the Chloe, which ship, a neat
six-and-thirty, was pitching into the heavy seas that now came rolling
in heavily from the broad Atlantic, the water streaming from her
hawse-holes, as she rose from each plunge, like the spouts of a whale.
This vessel, it has been stated, was fully a league ahead and to leeward
of the Plantagenet, and consequently so much nearer to the French, who
were approaching from that precise quarter of the ocean, in a long
single line, like that of the English; a little relieved, however, by
the look-out vessels, all of which, in their case, were sailing along on
the weather-beam of their friends. The distance was still so great, as
to render glasses necessary in getting any very accurate notions of the
force and the point of sailing of Monsieur de Vervillin's fleet, the
ships astern being yet so remote as to require long practice to speak
with any certainty of their characters. In nothing, notwithstanding, was
the superior practical seamanship of the English more apparent, than in
the manner in which these respective lines were formed. That of Sir
Gervaise Oakes was compact, each ship being as near as might be a
cable's length distant from her seconds, ahead and astern. This was a
point on which the vice-admiral prided himself; and by compelling his
captains rigidly to respect their line of sailing, and by keeping the
same ships and officers, as much as possible, under his orders, each
captain of the fleet had got to know his own vessel's rate of speed, and
all the other qualities that were necessary to maintain her precise
position. All the ships being weatherly, though some, in a slight
degree, were more so than others, it was easy to keep the line in
weather like the present, the wind not blowing sufficiently hard to
render a few cloths more or less of canvass of any very great moment. If
there was a vessel sensibly out of her place, in the entire line, it was
the Achilles; Lord Morganic not having had time to get all his forward
spars as far aft as they should have been; a circumstance that had
knocked him off a little more than had happened to the other vessels.
Nevertheless, had an air-line been drawn at this moment, from the
mizzen-top of the Plantagenet to that of the Warspite, it would have
been found to pass through the spars of quite half the intermediate
vessels, and no one of them all would have been a pistol-shot out of the
way. As there were six intervals between the vessels, and each interval
as near as could be guessed at was a cable's length, the extent of the
whole line a little exceeded three-quarters of a mile.

On the other hand, the French, though they preserved a very respectable
degree of order, were much less compact, and by no means as methodical
in their manner of sailing. Some of their ships were a quarter of a mile
to leeward of the line, and the intervals were irregular and
ill-observed. These circumstances arose from several causes, neither of
which proceeded from any fault in the commander-in-chief, who was both
an experienced seaman and a skilful tactician. But his captains were new
to each other, and some of them were recently appointed to their ships;
it being just as much a matter of course that a seaman should ascertain
the qualities of his vessel, by familiarity, as that a man should learn
the character of his wife, in the intimacy of wedlock.

At the precise moment of which we are now writing, the Chloe might have
been about a league from the leading vessel of the enemy, and her
position to leeward of her own fleet threatened to bring her, half an
hour later, within range of the Frenchmen's guns. This fact was apparent
to all in the squadron; still the frigate stood on, having been placed
in that station, and the whole being under the immediate supervision of
the commander-in-chief.

"Denham will have a warm berth of it, sir, should he stand on much
longer," said Greenly, when ten minutes more had passed, during which
the ships had gradually drawn nearer.

"I was hoping he might get between the most weatherly French frigate and
her line," answered Sir Gervaise; "when I think, by edging rapidly away,
we could take her alive, with the Plantagenet."

"In which case we might as well clear for action; such a man[oe]uvre
being certain to bring on a general engagement."

"No--no--I'm not quite mad enough for that, Master Telemachus; but, we
can wait a little longer for the chances. How many flags can you make
out among the enemy, Bunting?"

"I see but two, Sir Gervaise; one at the fore, and the other at the
mizzen, like our own. I can make out, now, only twelve ships of the
line, too; neither of which is a three-decker."

"So much for rumour; as flagrant a liar as ever wagged a tongue! Twelve
ships on two decks, and eight frigates, sloops and luggers. There can be
no great mistake in this."

"I think not, Sir Gervaise; their commander-in-chief is in the fourth
ship from the head of the line. His flag is just discernible, by means
of our best glass. Ay, there goes a signal, this instant, at the end of
his gaff!"

"If one could only read French now, Greenly," said the vice-admiral,
smiling; "we might get into some of Mr. de Vervillin's secrets. Perhaps
it's an order to go to quarters or to clear; look out sharp, Bunting,
for any signs of such a movement. What do you make of it?"

"It's to the frigates, Sir Gervaise; all of which answer, while the
other vessels do not."

"We want no French to read that signal, sir," put in Greenly; "the
frigates themselves telling us what it means. Monsieur de Vervillin has
no idea of letting the Plantagenet take any thing he has, _alive_."

This was true enough. Just as the captain spoke, the object of the order
was made sufficiently apparent, by all the light vessels to windward of
the French fleet, bearing up together, until they brought the wind abaft
their beams, when away they glided to leeward, like floating objects
that have suddenly struck a swift current. Before this change in their
course, these frigates and corvettes had been struggling along, the seas
meeting them on their weather-bows, at the rate of about two knots or
rather less; whereas, their speed was now quadrupled, and in a few
minutes, the whole of them had sailed through the different intervals in
their main line, and had formed as before, nearly half a league to
leeward of it. Here, in the event of an action, their principal duties
would have been to succour crippled ships that might be forced out of
their allotted stations during the combat. All this Sir Gervaise viewed
with disgust. He had hoped that his enemy might have presumed on the
state of the elements, and suffered his light vessels to maintain their
original positions.

"It would be a great triumph to us, Greenly," he said, "if Denham could
pass without shifting his berth. There would be something manly and
seamanlike in an inferior fleet's passing a superior, in such a style."

"Yes, sir, though it _might_ cost us a fine frigate. The count can have
no difficulty in fighting his weather main-deck guns, and a discharge
from two or three of his leading vessels might cut away some spar that
Denham would miss sadly, just at such a moment."

Sir Gervaise placed his hands behind his back, paced the deck a minute,
and then said decidedly--

"Bunting, make the Chloe's signal to ware--tacking in this sea, and
under that short canvass, is out of the question."

Bunting had anticipated this order, and had even ventured clandestinely
to direct the quarter-masters to bend on the necessary flags; and Sir
Gervaise had scarcely got the words out of his mouth, before the signal
was abroad. The Chloe was equally on the alert; for she too each moment
expected the command, and ere her answering flag was seen, her helm was
up, the mizen-stay-sail down, and her head falling off rapidly towards
the enemy. This movement seemed to be expected all round--and it
certainly had been delayed to the very last moment--for the leading
French ship fell off three or four points, and as the frigate was
exactly end-on to her, let fly the contents of all the guns on her
forecastle, as well as of those on her main-deck, as far aft as they
could be brought to bear. One of the top-sail-sheets of the frigate was
shot away by this rapid and unexpected fire, and some little damage was
done to the standing rigging; but luckily, none of immediate moment.
Captain Denham was active, and the instant he found his top-sail
flapping, he ordered it clewed up, and the main-sail loosed. The latter
was set, close-reefed, as the ship came to the wind on the larboard
tack, and by the time every thing was braced up and hauled aft, on that
tack, the main-top-sail was ready to be sheeted home, anew. During the
few minutes that these evolutions required, Sir Gervaise kept his eye
riveted on the vessel; and when he saw her fairly round, and trimmed by
the wind, again, with the main-sail dragging her ahead, to own the truth,
he felt mentally relieved.

"Not a minute too soon, Sir Gervaise," observed the cautious Greenly,
smiling. "I should not be surprised if Denham hears more from that
fellow at the head of the French line. His weather chase-guns are
exactly in a range with the frigate, and the two upper ones might be
worked, well enough."

"I think not, Greenly. The forecastle gun, possibly; scarcely any thing
below it."

Sir Gervaise proved to be partly right and partly wrong. The Frenchman
_did_ attempt a fire with his main-deck gun; but, at the first plunge of
the ship, a sea slapped up against her weather-bow, and sent a column of
water through the port, that drove half its crew into the lee-scuppers.
In the midst of this waterspout, the gun exploded, the loggerhead having
been applied an instant before, giving a sort of chaotic wildness to the
scene in-board. This satisfied the party below; though that on the
forecastle fared better. The last fired their gun several times, and
always without success. This failure proceeded from a cause that is
seldom sufficiently estimated by nautical gunners; the shot having
swerved from the line of sight, by the force of the wind against which
it flew, two or three hundred feet, by the time it had gone the mile
that lay between the vessels. Sir Gervaise anxiously watched the effect
of the fire, and perceiving that all the shot fell to leeward of the
Chloe, he was no longer uneasy about that vessel, and he began to turn
his attention to other and more important concerns.

As we are now approaching a moment when it is necessary that the reader
should receive some tolerably distinct impression of the relative
positions of the two entire fleets, we shall close the present chapter,
here; reserving the duty of explanation for the commencement of a new
one.



CHAPTER XXII.

            ----"All were glad,
    And laughed, and shouted, as she darted on,
    And plunged amid the foam, and tossed it high,
    Over the deck, as when a strong, curbed steed
    Flings the froth from him in his eager race."

         PERCIVAL


The long twilight of a high latitude had now ended, and the sun, though
concealed behind clouds, had risen. The additional light contributed to
lessen the gloomy look of the ocean, though the fury of the winds and
waves still lent to it a dark and menacing aspect. To windward there
were no signs of an abatement of the gale, while the heavens continued
to abstain from letting down their floods, on the raging waters beneath.
By this lime, the fleet was materially to the southward of Cape la
Hogue, though far to the westward, where the channel received the winds
and waves from the whole rake of the Atlantic, and the seas were setting
in, in the long, regular swells of the ocean, a little disturbed by the
influence of the tides. Ships as heavy as the two-deckers moved along
with groaning efforts, their bulk-heads and timbers "complaining," to
use the language of the sea, as the huge masses, loaded with their iron
artillery, rose and sunk on the coming and receding billows. But their
movements were stately and full of majesty; whereas, the cutter, sloop,
and even the frigates, seemed to be tossed like foam, very much at the
mercy of the elements. The Chloe was passing the admiral, on the
opposite tack, quite a mile to leeward, and yet, as she mounted to the
summit of a wave, her cut-water was often visible nearly to the keel.
These are the trials of a vessel's strength; for, were a ship always
water-borne equally on all her lines, there would not be the necessity
which now exists to make her the well-knit mass of wood and iron she is.

The progress of the two fleets was very much the same, both squadrons
struggling along through the billows, at the rate of about a marine
league in the hour. As no lofty sail was carried, and the vessels were
first made in the haze of a clouded morning, the ships had not become
visible to each other until nearer than common; and, by the time at
which we have now arrived in our tale, the leading vessels were
separated by a space that did not exceed two miles, estimating the
distance only on their respective lines of sailing; though there would
be about the same space between them, when abreast, the English being so
much to windward of their enemies. Any one in the least familiar with
nautical man[oe]uvres will understand that these circumstances would
bring the van of the French and the rear of their foes much nearer
together in passing, both fleets being close-hauled.

Sir Gervaise Oakes, as a matter of course, watched the progress of the
two lines with close and intelligent attention. Mons. de Vervillin did
the same from the poop of le Foudroyant, a noble eighty-gun ship in
which his flag of _vice-admiral_ was flying, as it might be, in
defiance. By the side of the former stood Greenly, Bunting, and Bury,
the Plantagenet's first lieutenant; by the side of the latter his
capitaine de vaisseau, a man as little like the caricatures of such
officers, as a hostile feeling has laid before the readers of English
literature, as Washington was like the man held up to odium in the
London journals, at the commencement of the great American war. M. de
Vervillin himself was a man of respectable birth, of a scientific
education, and of great familiarity with ships, so far as a knowledge of
their general powers and principles was concerned; but here his
professional excellence ceased, all that infinity of detail which
composes the distinctive merit of the practical seaman being, in a great
degree, unknown to him, rendering it necessary for him to _think_ in
moments of emergency; periods when the really prime mariner seems more
to act by a sort of _instinct_ than by any very intelligible process of
ratiocination. With his fleet drawn out before him, however, and with no
unusual demands on his resources, this gallant officer was an
exceedingly formidable foe to contend with in squadron.

Sir Gervaise Oakes lost all his constitutional and feverish impatience
while the fleets drew nigher and nigher. As is not unusual with brave
men, who are naturally excitable, as the crisis approached he grew
calmer, and obtained a more perfect command over himself; seeing all
things in their true colours, and feeling more and more equal to control
them. He continued to walk the poop, but it was with a slower step; and,
though his hands were still closed behind his back, the fingers were
passive, while his countenance became grave and his eye thoughtful.
Greenly knew that his interference would now be hazardous; for
whenever the vice-admiral assumed that air, he literally became
commander-in-chief; and any attempt to control or influence him, unless
sustained by the communication of new facts, could only draw down
resentment on his own head. Bunting, too, was aware that the "admiral
was aboard," as the officers, among themselves, used to describe this
state of their superior's mind, and was prepared to discharge his own
duty in the most silent and rapid manner in his power. All the others
present felt more or less of this same influence of an established
character.

"_Mr._ Bunting," said Sir Gervaise, when the distance between the
Plantagenet and _le Téméraire_ the leading French vessel, might have
been about a league, allowing for the difference in the respective lines
of sailing--"_Mr._ Bunting, bend on the signal for the ships to go to
quarters. We may as well be ready for any turn of the dice."

No one dared to comment on this order: it was obeyed in readiness and
silence.

"Signal ready, Sir Gervaise," said Bunting, the instant the last flag
was in its place.

"Run it up at once, sir, and have a bright look-out for the answers.
Captain Greenly, go to quarters, and see all clear on the main-deck, to
use the batteries if wanted. The people can stand fast below, as I think
it might be dangerous to open the ports."

Captain Greenly passed off the poop to the quarter-deck, and in a minute
the drum and fife struck up the air which is known all over the
civilized world as the call to arms. In most services this summons is
made by the drum alone, which emits sounds to which the fancy has
attached peculiar words; those of the soldiers of France being "_prend
ton sac_--_prend ton sac_--_prend ton sac_," no bad representatives of
the meaning; but in English and American ships, this appeal is usually
made in company with the notes of the "ear-piercing fife," which gives
it a melody that might otherwise be wanting.

"Signal answered throughout the fleet, Sir Gervaise," said Bunting.

No answer was given to this report beyond a quiet inclination of the
head. After a moment's pause, however, the vice-admiral turned to his
signal officer and said--

"I should think, Bunting, no captain can need an order to tell him _not_
to open his lee-lower-deck ports in such a sea as this?"

"I rather fancy not, Sir Gervaise," answered Bunting, looking drolly at
the boiling element that gushed up each minute from beneath the bottom
of the ship, in a way to appear as high as the hammock-cloths. "The
people at the _main_-deck guns would have rather a wet time of it."

"Bend on the signal, sir, for the ships astern to keep in the
vice-admiral's wake. Young gentleman," to the midshipman who always
acted as his aid in battle, "tell Captain Greenly I desire to see him as
soon as he has received all the reports."

Down to the moment when the first tap of the drum was heard, the
Plantagenet had presented a scene of singular quiet and unconcern,
considering the circumstances in which she was placed. A landsman would
scarcely credit that men could be so near their enemies, and display so
much indifference to their vicinity; but this was the result of long
habit, and a certain marine instinct that tells the sailor when any
thing serious is in the wind, and when not. The difference in the force
of the two fleets, the heavy gale, and the weatherly position of the
English, all conspired to assure the crew that nothing decisive could
yet occur. Here and there an officer or an old seaman might be seen
glancing through a port, to ascertain the force and position of the
French; but, on the whole, their fleet excited little more attention
than if lying at anchor in Cherbourg. The breakfast hour was
approaching, and that important event monopolized the principal interest
of the moment. The officers' boys, in particular, began to make their
appearance around the galley, provided, as usual, with their pots and
dishes, and, now and then, one cast a careless glance through the
nearest opening to see how the strangers looked; but as to warfare there
was much more the appearance of it between the protectors of the rights
of the different messes, than between the two great belligerent navies
themselves.

Nor was the state of things materially different in the gun-room, or
cock-pit, or on the orlops. Most of the people of a two-decked ship are
berthed on the lower gun deck, and the order to "clear ship" is more
necessary to a vessel of that construction, before going to quarters
seriously, than to smaller craft; though it is usual in all. So long as
the bags, mess-chests, and other similar appliances were left in their
ordinary positions, Jack saw little reason to derange himself; and as
reports were brought below, from time to time, respecting the approach
of the enemy, and more especially of his being well to leeward, few of
those whose duty did not call them on deck troubled themselves about the
matter at all. This habit of considering his fortune as attached to that
of his ship, and of regarding himself as a point on her mass, as we all
look on ourselves as particles of the orb we accompany in its
revolutions, is sufficiently general among mariners; but it was
particularly so as respects the sailors of a fleet, who were kept so
much at sea, and who had been so often, with all sorts of results, in
the presence of the enemy. The scene that was passing in the gun-room at
the precise moment at which our tale has arrived, was so characteristic,
in particular, as to merit a brief description.

All the idlers by this time were out of their berths and cotts; the
signs of those who "slept in the country," as it is termed, or who were
obliged, for want of state-rooms, to sling in the common apartment,
having disappeared. Magrath was reading a treatise on medicine, in good
Leyden Latin, by a lamp. The purser was endeavouring to decipher his
steward's hieroglyphics, favoured by the same light, and the captain of
marines was examining the lock of an aged musket. The third and fourth
lieutenants were helping each other to untangle one of their
Bay-of-Biscay reckonings, which had set both plane and spherical
trigonometry at defiance, by a lamp of their own; and the chaplain was
hurrying the steward and the boys along with the breakfast--his usual
occupation at that "witching time" in the morning.

While things were in this state, the first lieutenant, Mr. Bury,
appeared in the gun-room. His arrival caused one or two of the mess to
glance upward at him, though no one spoke but the junior lieutenant,
who, being an honourable, was at his ease with every one on board, short
of the captain.

"What's the news from deck, Bury?" asked this officer, a youth of
twenty, his senior being a man ten years older. "Is Mr. de Vervillin
thinking of running away yet?"

"Not he, sir; there's too much of the game-cock about him for _that_."

"I'll warrant you he can _crow_! But what _is_ the news, Bury?"

"The news is that the old Planter is as wet as a wash-tub, forward, and
I must have a dry jacket--do you hear, there, Tom? Soundings," turning
to the master, who just then came in from forward, "have you taken a
look out of doors this morning?"

"You know I seldom forget that, Mr. Bury. A pretty pickle the ship would
soon be in, if _I_ forgot to look about me!"

"He swallowed the deep-sea, down in the bay," cried the honourable,
laughing, "and goes every morning at day-light to look for it out at the
bridle-ports."

"Well, then, Soundings, what do you think of the third ship in the
French line?" continued Bury, disregarding the levity of the youth: "did
you ever see such top-masts, as she carries, before?"

"I scarce ever saw a Frenchman without them, Mr. Bury. You'd have just
such sticks in this fleet, if Sir Jarvy would stand them."

"Ay, but Sir Jarvy _won't_ stand them. The captain who sent such a stick
up in his ship, would have to throw it overboard before night. I never
saw such a pole in the air in my life!"

"What's the matter with the mast, Mr. Bury?" put in Magrath, who kept up
what he called constant scientific skirmishes with the _elder_
sea-officers; the _junior_ being too inexperienced in his view to be
worthy of a contest. "I'll engage the spar is moulded and fashioned
agreeably to the most approved pheelosphical principles; for in _that_
the French certainly excel us."

"Who ever heard of _moulding_ a spar?" interrupted Soundings, laughing
loudly, "we _mould_ a ship's frame, Doctor, but we _lengthen_ and
_shorten_, and _scrape_ and _fid_ her masts."

"I'm answered as usual, gentlemen, and voted down, I suppose by
acclamation, as they call it in other learned bodies. I would advise no
creature that has a reason to go to sea; an instinct being all that is
needed to make a Lord High Admiral of twenty tails."

"I should like Sir Jarvy to hear _that_, my man of books," cried the
fourth, who had satisfied himself that a book was not his own forte--"I
fancy your instinct, doctor, will prevent you from whispering this in
the vice-admiral's ear!"

Although Magrath had a profound respect for the commander-in-chief, he
was averse to giving in, in a gun-room discussion. His answer,
therefore, partook of the feeling of the moment.

"Sir Gervaise," (he pronounced this word Jairvis,) "Sir Gervaise Oakes,
_honourable_ sir," he said, with a sneer, "may be a good seaman, but
he's no linguist. Now, there he was, ashore among the dead and dying,
just as ignorant of the meaning of _filius nullius_, which is boy's
Latin, as if he had never seen a horn-book! Nevertheless, gentlemen, it
is science, and not even the classics, that makes the man; as for a
creature's getting the sciences by instinct, I shall contend it is
against the possibilities, whereas the attainment of what you call
seamanship, is among even the lesser probabilities."

"This is the most marine-ish talk I ever heard from your mouth, doctor,"
interrupted Soundings. "How the devil can a man tell how to ware ship by
instinct, as you call it, if one may ask the question?"

"Simply, Soundings, because the process of ratiocination is dispensed
with. Do you have to _think_ in waring ship, now?--I'll put it to your
own honour, for the answer."

"Think!--I should be a poor creature for a master, indeed, if much
thinking were wanting in so simple a matter as tacking or veering.
No--no--your real sea-dog has no occasion for much _thinking_, when he
has his work before him."

"That'll just be it, gentlemen!--that'll be just what I'm telling ye,"
cried the doctor, exulting in the success of his artifice. "Not only
will Mr. Soundings not _think_, when he has his ordinary duties to
perform, but he holds the process itself in merited contempt, ye'll
obsairve; and so my theory is established, by evidence of a pairty
concerned; which is more than a postulate logically requires."

Here Magrath dropped his book, and laughed with that sort of hissing
sound that seems peculiar to the genus of which he formed a part. He was
still indulging in his triumph, when the first tap of the drum was
heard. All listened; every ear pricking like that of a deer that hears
the hound, when there followed--"r-r-r-ap tap--r-r-r-ap tap--r-r-r-ap
tapa-tap-tap--rap-a-tap--a-rap-a-tap a-rap-a-tap--a-tap-tap."

"Instinct or reason, Sir Jarvy is going to quarters!" exclaimed the
honourable. "I'd no notion we were near enough to the Monsieurs, for
_that_!"

"Now," said Magrath, with a grinning sneer, as he rose to descend to the
cock-pit, "there'll may be arise an occasion for a little learning, when
I'll promise ye all the science that can be mustered in my unworthy
knowledge. Soundings, I may have to heave the lead in the depths of your
physical formation, in which case I'll just endeevour to avoid the
breakers of ignorance."

"Go to the devil, or to the cock-pit, whichever you please, sir,"
answered the master; "I've served in six general actions, already, and
have never been obliged to one of your kidney for so much as a bit of
court-plaster or lint. With me, oakum answers for one, and canvass for
the other."

While this was saying, all hands were in motion. The sea and marine
officers looking for their side-arms, the surgeon carefully collecting
his books, and the chaplain seizing a dish of cold beef, that was
hurriedly set upon a table, carrying it down with him to his quarters,
by way of taking it out of harm's way. In a minute, the gun-room was
cleared of all who usually dwelt there, and their places were supplied
by the seamen who manned the three or four thirty-two's that were
mounted in the apartment, together with their opposites. As the
sea-officers, in particular, appeared among the men, their faces assumed
an air of authority, and their voices were heard calling out the order
to "tumble up," as they hastened themselves to their several stations.

All this time, Sir Gervaise Oakes paced the poop. Bunting and the
quarter-master were in readiness to hoist the new signal, and Greenly
merely waited for the reports, to join the commander-in-chief. In about
five minutes after the drum had given its first tap, these were
completed, and the captain ascended to the poop.

"By standing on, on our present course, Captain Greenly," observed Sir
Gervaise, anxious to justify to himself the evolution he contemplated,
"the rear of our line and the van of the French will be brought within
fair range of shot from each other, and, by an accident, we might lose a
ship; since any vessel that was crippled, would necessarily sag directly
down upon the enemy. Now, I propose to keep away in the Plantagenet, and
just brush past the leading French ships, at about the distance the
Warspite will _have_ to pass, and so alter the face of matters a little.
What do you think would be the consequence of such a man[oe]uvre?"

"That the van of our line and the van of the French will be brought as
near together, as you have just said must happen to the rear, Sir
Gervaise, in any case."

"It does not require a mathematician to tell that much, sir. You will
keep away, as soon as Bunting shows the signal, and bring the wind
abeam. Never mind the braces; let _them_ stand fast; as soon as we have
passed the French admiral, I shall luff, again. This will cause us to
lose a little of our weatherly position, but about that I am very
indifferent. Give the order, sir--Bunting, run up the signal."

These commands were silently obeyed, and presently the Plantagenet was
running directly in the troughs of the seas, with quite double her
former velocity. The other ships answered promptly, each keeping away as
her second ahead came down to the proper line of sailing, and all
complying to the letter with an order that was very easy of execution.
The effect, besides giving every prospect of a distant engagement, was
to straighten the line to nearly mathematical precision.

"Is it your wish, Sir Gervaise, that we should endeavour to open our lee
lower ports?" asked Greenly. "Unless we attempt something of the sort,
we shall have nothing heavier than the eighteens to depend on, should
Monsieur de Vervillin see fit to begin."

"And will _he_ be any better off?--It would be next to madness to think
of fighting the lower-deck guns, in such weather, and we will keep all
fast. Should the French commence the sport, we shall have the advantage
of being to windward; and the loss of a few weather shrouds might bring
down the best mast in their fleet."

Greenly made no answer, though he perfectly understood that the loss of
a mast would almost certainly ensure the loss of the ship, did one of
his own heavier spars go. But this was Sir Gervaise's greatest weakness
as a commander, and he knew it would be useless to attempt persuading
him to suffer a single ship under his order to pass the enemy nearer
than he went himself in the Plantagenet. This was what he called
covering his ships; though it amounted to no more than putting all of
them in the jeopardy that happened to be unavoidable, as regarded one or
two.

The Comte de Vervillin seemed at a loss to understand this sudden and
extraordinary movement in the van of his enemy. His signals followed,
and his crews went to their guns; but it was not an easy matter for
ships that persevered in hugging the wind to make any material
alterations in their relative positions, in such a gale. The rate of
sailing of the English, however, now menaced a speedy collision, if
collision were intended, and it was time to be stirring, in order to be
ready for it.

On the other hand, all was quiet, and, seemingly, death-like, in the
English ships. Their people were at their quarters, already, and this is
a moment of profound stillness in a vessel of war. The lower ports being
down, the portions of the crews stationed on those decks were buried, as
it might be, in obscurity, while even those above were still partly
concealed by the half-ports. There was virtually nothing for the
sail-trimmers to do, and every thing was apparently left to the
evolutions of the vast machines themselves, in which they floated. Sir
Gervaise, Greenly, and the usual attendants still remained on the poop,
their eyes scarcely turning for an instant from the fleet of the enemy.

By this time the Plantagenct and _le Téméraire_ were little more than a
mile apart, each minute lessening this distance. The latter ship was
struggling along, her bows plunging into the seas to the hawse-holes,
while the former had a swift, easy motion through the troughs, and along
the summits of the waves, her flattened sails aiding in steadying her in
the heavy lurches that unavoidably accompanied such a movement. Still, a
sea would occasionally break against her weather side, sending its crest
upward in a brilliant _jet-d'eau_, and leaving tons of water on the
decks. Sir Gervaise's manner had now lost every glimmering of
excitement. When he spoke, it was in a gentle, pleasant tone, such as a
gentleman might use in the society of women. The truth was, all his
energy had concentrated in the determination to do a daring deed; and,
as is not unusual with the most resolute men, the nearer he approached
to the consummation of his purpose, the more he seemed to reject all the
spurious aids of manner.

"The French do not open their lower ports, Greenly," observed the
vice-admiral, dropping the glass after one of his long looks at the
enemy, "although they have the advantage of being to leeward. I take
that to be a sign they intend nothing very serious."

"We shall know better five minutes hence, Sir Gervaise. This ship slides
along like a London coach."

"His line is lubberly, after all, Greenly! Look at those two ships
astern--they are near half a mile to windward of the rest of the fleet,
and at least half a mile astern. Hey! Greenly?"

The captain turned towards the rear of the French, and examined the
positions of the two ships mentioned with sufficient deliberation; but
Sir Gervaise dropped his head in a musing manner, and began to pace the
poop again. Once or twice he stopped to look at the rear of the French
line, then distant from him quite a league, and as often did he resume
his walk.

"Bunting," said the vice-admiral, mildly, "come this way, a moment. Our
last signal was to keep in the commander-in-chief's wake, and to follow
his motions?"

"It was, Sir Gervaise. The old order to follow motions, 'with or without
signals,' as one might say."

"Bend on the signals to close up in line, as near as safe, and to carry
sail by the flag-ship."

"Ay, ay, Sir Gervaise--we'll have 'em both up in five minutes, sir."

The commander-in-chief now even seemed pleased. His physical excitement
returned a little, and a smile struggled round his lip. His eye glanced
at Greenly, to see if he were suspected, and then all his calmness of
exterior returned. In the mean time the signals were made and answered.
The latter circumstance was reported to Sir Gervaise, who cast his eyes
down the line astern, and saw that the different ships were already
bracing in, and easing off their sheets, in order to diminish the spaces
between the different vessels. As soon as it was apparent that the
Carnatic was drawing ahead, Captain Greenly was told to lay his main and
fore-yards nearly square, to light up all his stay-sail sheets, and to
keep away sufficiently to make every thing draw. Although these orders
occasioned surprise, they were implicitly obeyed.

The moment of meeting had now come. In consequence of having kept away
so much, the Plantagenet could not be quite three-fourths of a mile on
the weather-bow of _le Téméraire_, coming up rapidly, and threatening a
semi-transverse fire. In order to prevent this, the French ship edged
off a little, giving herself an easier and more rapid movement through
the water, and bringing her own broadside more fairly to the shock. This
evolution was followed by the two next ships, a little prematurely,
perhaps; but the admiral in _le Foudroyant_, disdaining to edge off from
her enemy, kept her luff. The ships astern were governed by the course
of their superior. This change produced a little disorder in the van of
the French, menacing still greater, unless one party or the other
receded from the course taken. But time pressed, and the two fleets were
closing so fast as to induce other thoughts.

"There's lubberly work for you, Greenly!" said Sir Gervaise, smiling. "A
commander-in-chief heading up with the bowlines dragged, and his second
and third ahead--not to say fourth--running off with the wind abeam!
Now, if we can knock the Comte off a couple of points, in passing, all
his fellows astern will follow, and the Warspite and Blenheim and
Thunderer will slip by like girls in a country-dance! Send Bury down to
the main-deck, with orders to be ready with those eighteens."

Greenly obeyed, of course, and he began to think better of audacity in
naval warfare, than he had done before, that day. This was the usual
course of things with these two officers; one arguing and deciding
according to the dictates of a cool judgment, and the other following
his impulses quite as much as any thing else, until facts supervened to
prove that human things are as much controlled by adventitious agencies,
the results of remote and unseen causes, as by any well-digested plans
laid at the moment. In their cooler hours, when they came to reason on
the past, the vice-admiral generally consummated his triumphs, by
reminding his captain that if he had not been in the way of luck, he
never could have profited by it; no bad creed for a naval officer, who
is otherwise prudent and vigilant.

The quarter-masters of the fleet were just striking six bells, or
proclaiming that it was seven o'clock in the morning watch, as the
Plantagenet and _le Téméraire_ came abeam of each other. Both ships
lurched heavily in the troughs of the seas, and both rolled to windward
in stately majesty, and yet both slid through the brine with a momentum
that resembled the imperceptible motion of a planet. The water rolled
back from their black sides and shining hammock-cloths, and all the
other dark panoply that distinguishes a ship-of-war glistened with the
spray; but no sign of hostility proceeded from either. The French
admiral made no signal to engage, and Sir Gervaise had reasons of his
own for wishing to pass the enemy's van, if possible, unnoticed. Minute
passed after minute, in breathless silence, on board the Plantagenet and
the Carnatic, the latter vessel being now but half a cable's-length
astern of the admiral. Every eye that had any outlet for such a purpose,
was riveted on the main-deck ports of _le Téméraire_ in expectation of
seeing the fire issue from her guns. Each instant, however, lessened the
chances, as regarded that particular vessel, which was soon out of the
line of fire from the Plantagenet, when the same scene was to follow
with the same result, in connection with _le Conquereur_, the second
ship of the French line. Sir Gervaise smiled as he passed the three
first ships, seemingly unnoticed; but as he drew nearer to the admiral,
he felt confident this impunity must cease.

"What they _mean_ by it all, Greenly," he observed to his companion, "is
more than I can say; but we will go nearer, and try to find out. Keep
her away a little more, sir; keep her away half a point." Greenly was
not disposed to remonstrate now, for his prudent temperament was
yielding to the excitement of the moment just reversing the traits of
Sir Gervaise's character; the one losing his extreme discretion in
feeling, as the other gained by the pressure of circumstances. The helm
was eased a little, and the ship sheered nearer to _le Foudroyant_.

As is usual in all services, the French commander-in-chief was in one of
the best vessels of his fleet. Not only was the Foudroyant a heavy ship,
carrying French forty-twos below, a circumstance that made her rate as
an eighty, but, like the Plantagenet, she was one of the fastest and
most weatherly vessels of her class known. By "hugging the wind," this
noble vessel had got, by this time, materially to windward of her second
and third ahead, and had increased her distance essentially from her
supports astern. In a word, she was far from being in a position to be
sustained as she ought to be, unless she edged off herself, a movement
that no one on board her seemed to contemplate.

"He's a noble fellow, Greenly, that Comte de Vervillin!" murmured Sir
Gervaise, in a tone of admiration, "and so have I always found him, and
so have I always _reported_ him, too! The fools about the Gazettes, and
the knaves about the offices, may splutter as they will; Mr. de
Vervillin would give them plenty of occupation were they _here_. I
question if he mean to keep off in the least, but insists on holding
every inch he can gain!"

The next moment, however, satisfied Sir Gervaise that he was mistaken in
his last conjecture, the bows of the Foudroyant gradually falling off,
until the line of her larboard guns bore, when she made a general
discharge of the whole of them, with the exception of those on the lower
deck. The Plantagenets waited until the ship rose on a sea, and then
they returned the compliment in the same manner. The Carnatic's side
showed a sheet of flame immediately after; and the Achilles, Lord
Morganic, luffing briskly to the wind, so as to bring her guns to bear,
followed up the game, like flashes of lightning. All three of these
ships had directed their fire at le Foudroyant, and the smoke had not
yet driven from among her spars, when Sir Gervaise perceived that all
three of her top-masts were hanging to leeward. At this sight, Greenly
fairly sprang from the deck, and gave three cheers The men below caught
up the cry, even to those who were, in a manner, buried on the lower
deck, and presently, spite of the gale, the Carnatic's were heard
following their example astern. At this instant the whole French and
English lines opened their fire, from van to rear, as far as their guns
would bear, or the shot tell.

"Now, sir, now is our time to close with de Vervillin!" exclaimed
Greenly, the instant he perceived the manner in which his ship was
crippled. "In our close order we might hope to make a thorough wreck of
him."

"Not so, Greenly," returned Sir Gervaise calmly. "You see he edges away
already, and will be down among his other ships in five minutes; we
should have a general action with twice our force. What is done, is
_well_ done, and we will let it stand. It is _something_ to have
dismasted the enemy's commander-in-chief; do you look to it that the
enemy don't do the same with ours. I heard shot rattling aloft, and
every thing now bears a hard strain."

Greenly went to look after his duty, while Sir Gervaise continued to
pace the poop. The whole of le Foudroyant's fire had been directed at
the Plantagenet, but so rough was the ocean that not a shot touched the
hull. A little injury had been done aloft, but nothing that the ready
skill of the seamen was not able to repair even in that rough weather.
The fact is, most of the shot had touched the waves, and had flown off
from their varying surfaces at every angle that offered. One of the
secrets that Sir Gervaise had taught his captains was to avoid hitting
the surface of the sea, if possible, unless that surface was reasonably
smooth, and the object intended to be injured was near at hand. Then the
French admiral received the _first_ fire--always the most
destructive--of three fresh vessels; and his injuries were in
proportion.

The scene was now animated, and not without a wild magnificence. The
gale continued as heavy as ever, and with the raging of the ocean and
the howling of the winds, mingled the roar of artillery, and the smoky
canopy of battle. Still the destruction on neither side bore any
proportion to the grandeur of the accompaniments; the distance and the
unsteadiness of the ships preventing much accuracy of aim. In that day,
a large two-decked ship never carried heavier metal than an eighteen
above her lower batteries; and this gun, efficient as it is on most
occasions, does not bring with it the fearful destruction that attends a
more modern broadside. There was a good deal of noise, notwithstanding,
and some blood shed in passing; but, on the whole, when the Warspite,
the last of the English ships, ceased her fire, on account of the
distance of the enemy abreast of her, it would have been difficult to
tell that any vessel but le Foudroyant, had been doing more than
saluting. At this instant Greenly re-appeared on the poop, his own ship
having ceased to fire for several minutes.

"Well, Greenly, the main-deck guns are at least scaled," said Sir
Gervaise, smiling; "and _that_ is not to be done over again for some
time. You keep every thing ready in the batteries, I trust?"

"We are all ready, Sir Gervaise, but there is nothing to be done. It
would be useless to waste our ammunition at ships quite two miles under
our lee."

"Very true--very true, sir. But _all_ the Frenchmen are not quite so far
to leeward, Greenly, as you may see by looking ahead. Yonder two, at
least, are not absolutely out of harm's way!"

Greenly turned, gazed an instant in the direction in which the
commander-in-chief pointed, and then the truth of what Sir Gervaise had
really in view in keeping away, flashed on his mind, as it might be, at
a glance. Without saying a word, he immediately quitted the poop, and
descending even to the lower deck, passed through the whole of his
batteries, giving his orders, and examining their condition.



CHAPTER XXIII.

    "By Heaven! it is a splendid sight to see,
      (For one who hath no friend, nor brother there,)
    Their rival scarfs of mixed embroidery--
      Their various arms that glitter in the air!"

         CHILDE HAROLD.


The little conflict between the English ships and the head of the French
line, the evolutions that had grown out of it, the crippling of le
Foudroyant, and the continuance of the gale, contributed to produce
material changes in the relative positions of the two fleets. All the
English vessels kept their stations with beautiful accuracy, still
running to the southward in a close line ahead, having the wind a trifle
abaft the beam, with their yards braced in. Under the circumstances, it
needed but some seven or eight minutes for these ships to glide a mile
through the troubled ocean, and this was about the period the most
exposed of them all had been under the random and slow fire that the
state of the weather permitted. The trifling damages sustained were
already repaired, or in a way soon to be so. On the other hand,
considerable disorder prevailed among the French. Their line had never
been perfect, extending quite a league; a few of the leading vessels, or
those near the commander-in-chief, sustaining each other as well as
could be desired, while long intervals existed between the ships astern.
Among the latter, too, as has been stated, some were much farther to
windward than the others; an irregularity that proceeded from a desire
of the Comte to luff up as near as possible to the enemy--a desire,
which, practised on, necessarily threw the least weatherly vessels to
leeward. Thus the two ships in the extreme rear, as has been hinted at
already, being jammed up unusually hard upon the wind, had weathered
materially on their consorts, while their way through the water had been
proportionably less. It was these combined circumstances which brought
them so far astern and to windward.

At the time Sir Gervaise pointed out their positions to Greenly, the two
vessels just mentioned were quite half a mile to the westward of their
nearest consort, and more than that distance to the southward. When it
is remembered that the wind was nearly due west, and that all the French
vessels, these two excepted, were steering north, the relative positions
of the latter will be understood. Le Foudroyant, too, had kept away,
after the loss of her top-masts, until fairly in the wake of the ships
ahead of her, in her own line, and, as the vessels had been running off
with the wind abeam, for several minutes, this man[oe]uvre threw the
French still farther to leeward. To make the matter worse, just as the
Warspite drew out of the range of shot from the French, M. de Vervillin
showed a signal at the end of his gaff, for his whole fleet to ware in
succession; an order, which, while it certainly had a gallant semblance,
as it was bringing his vessels round on the same tack as his enemy, and
looked like a defiance, was singularly adapted to restoring to the
latter all the advantage of the wind they had lost by keeping away. As
it was necessary to take room to execute this evolution, in order to
clear the ships that were now crowded in the van, when le Téméraire came
to the wind again on the starboard tack, she was fully half a mile to
leeward of the admiral, who had just put his helm up. As a matter of
course, in order to form anew, with the heads of the ships to the
southward, each vessel had to get into her leader's wake, which would be
virtually throwing the whole French line, again, two miles to leeward of
the English. Nevertheless, the stragglers in the rear of the French
continued to hug the wind, with a pertinacity that denoted a resolution
to have a brush with their enemies in passing. The vessels were le
Scipion and la Victoire, each of seventy-four guns. The first of these
ships was commanded by a young man of very little professional
experience, but of high court influence; while the second had a captain
who, like old Parker, had worked his way up to his present station,
through great difficulties, and by dint of hard knocks, and harder work.
Unfortunately the first ranked, and the humble _capitaine de frégate_,
placed by accident in command of a ship of the line, did not dare to
desert a _capitaine de vaisseau_, who had a _duc_ for an elder brother,
and called himself _comte_. There was perhaps a redeeming gallantry in
the spirit which determined the Comte de Chélincourt to incur the risk
of passing so near six vessels with only two, that might throw a veil
over the indiscretion; more especially as his own fleet was near enough
to support him in the event of any disaster, and it was certainly
possible that the loss of a material spar on board either of his foes,
might induce the capture of the vessel. At all events, thus reasoned M.
de Chélincourt; who continued boldly on, with his larboard tacks aboard,
always hugging the wind, even after the Téméraire was round; and M.
Comptant chose to follow him in la Victoire. The Plantagenet, by this
time, being not a mile distant from the Scipio, coming on with steady
velocity, these intentions and circumstances created every human
probability that she would soon be passing her weather beam, within a
quarter of a mile, and, consequently, that a cannonade, far more serious
than what had yet occurred, must follow. The few intervening minutes
gave Sir Gervaise time to throw a glance around him, and to come to his
final decision.

The English fleet was never in better line than at that precise moment.
The ships were as close to each other as comported with safety, and
every thing stood and drew as in the trade winds. The leading French
vessels were waring and increasing their distance to leeward, and it
would require an hour for them to get up near enough to be at all
dangerous in such weather, while all the rest were following, regardless
of the two that continued their luff. The Chloe had already got round,
and, hugging the wind, was actually coming up to windward of her own
line, though under a press of canvass that nearly buried her. The Active
and Driver were in their stations, as usual; one on the weather beam,
and the other on the weather bow; while the Druid had got so near as to
show her hull, closing fast, with square yards.

"That is either a very bold, or a very obstinate fellow; he, who
commands the two ships ahead of us," observed Greenly, as he stood at
the vice-admiral's side, and just as the latter terminated his survey.
"What object can he possibly have in braving three times his force in a
gale like this?"

"If it were an Englishman, Greenly, we should call him a hero! By taking
a mast out of one of us, he might cause the loss of the ship, or compel
us to engage double _our_ force. Do not blame him, but help me, rather,
to disappoint him. Now, listen, and see all done immediately."

Sir Gervaise then explained to the captain what his intentions really
were, first ordering, himself, (a very unusual course for one of his
habits,) the first lieutenant, to keep the ship off as much as
practicable, without seeming to wish to do so; but, as the orders will
be explained incidentally, in the course of the narrative, it is not
necessary to give them here. Greenly then went below, leaving Sir
Gervaise, Bunting, and their auxiliaries, in possession of the poop. A
private signal had been bent on some little time, and it was now
hoisted. In about five minutes it was read, understood, and answered by
all the ships of the fleet. Sir Gervaise rubbed his hands like a man who
was delighted, and he beckoned to Bury, who had the trumpet on the
quarter-deck, to join him on the poop.

"Did Captain Greenly let you into our plot, Bury," asked the
vice-admiral, in high good-humour, as soon as obeyed, "I saw he spoke to
you in going below?"

"He only told me, Sir Gervaise, to edge down upon the Frenchmen as close
as I could, and this we are doing, I think, as fast as mounsheer"--Bury
was an Anglo-Gallican--"will at all like."

"Ah! there old Parker sheers bravely to leeward! Trust to him to be in
the right place. The Carnatic went fifty fathoms out of the line at that
one twist. The Thunderer and Warspite too! Never was a signal more
beautifully obeyed. If the Frenchmen don't take the alarm, now, every
thing will be to our minds."

By this time, Bury began to understand the man[oe]uvre. Each alternate
ship of the English was sheering fast to leeward, forming a weather and
a lee line, with increased intervals between the vessels, while all of
them were edging rapidly away, so as greatly to near the enemy. It was
apparent now, indeed, that the Plantagenet herself must pass within a
hundred fathoms of the Scipio, and that in less than two minutes. The
delay in issuing the orders for this evolution was in favour of its
success, inasmuch as it did not give the enemy time for deliberation.
The Comte de Chélincourt, in fact, did not detect it; or, at least, did
not foresee the consequences; though both were quite apparent to the
more experienced _capitaine de frégate_ astern. It was too late, or the
latter would have signalled his superior to put him on his guard; but,
as things were, there remained no alternative, apparently, but to run
the gauntlet, and trust all to the chances of battle.

In a moment like that we are describing, events occur much more rapidly
than they can be related. The Plantagenet was now within pistol-shot of
le Scipion, and on her weather bow. At that precise instant, when the
bow-guns, on both sides, began to play, the Carnatic, then nearly in a
line with the enemy, made a rank sheer to leeward, and drove on, opening
in the very act with her weather-bow guns. The Thunderer and Warspite
imitated this man[oe]uvre, leaving the Frenchman the cheerless prospect
of being attacked on both sides. It is not to be concealed that M. de
Chélincourt was considerably disturbed by this sudden change in his
situation. That which, an instant before, had the prospect of being a
chivalrous, but extremely hazardous, passage in front of a formidable
enemy, now began to assume the appearance of something very like
destruction. It was too late, however, to remedy the evil, and the young
Comte, as brave a man as existed, determined to face it manfully. He had
scarcely time to utter a few cheering sentiments, in a dramatic manner,
to those on the quarter-deck, when the English flag-ship came sweeping
past in a cloud of smoke, and a blaze of fire. His own broadside was
nobly returned, or as much of it as the weather permitted, but the smoke
of both discharges was still driving between his masts, when the dark
hamper of the Carnatic glided into the drifting canopy, which was made
to whirl back on the devoted Frenchman in another torrent of flame.
Three times was this fearful assault renewed on the Scipio, at intervals
of about a minute, the iron hurricane first coming from to windward, and
then seeming to be driven back from to leeward, as by its own rebound,
leaving no breathing time to meet it. The effect was completely to
silence her own fire; for what between the power of the raging elements,
and the destruction of the shot, a species of wild and blood-fraught
confusion took the place of system and order. Her decks were covered
with killed and wounded, among the latter of whom was the Comte de
Chélincourt, while orders were given and countermanded in a way to
render them useless, if not incoherent. From the time when the
Plantagenet fired her first gun, to that when the Warspite fired her
last, was just five minutes by the watch. It seemed an hour to the
French, and but a moment to their enemies. One hundred and eighty-two
men and boys were included in the casualties of those teeming moments on
board the Scipio alone; and when that ship issued slowly from the scene
of havoc, more by the velocity of her assailants in passing than by her
own, the foremast was all that stood, the remainder of her spars
dragging under her lee. To cut the last adrift, and to run off nearly
before the wind, in order to save the spars forward, and to get within
the cover of her own fleet, was all that could now be done. It may as
well be said here, that these two objects were effected.

The Plantagenet had received damage from the fire of her opponent. Some
ten or fifteen men were killed and wounded; her main-top-sail was split
by a shot, from clew to earing; one of the quarter-masters was carried
from the poop, literally dragged overboard by the sinews that connected
head and body; and several of the spars, with a good deal of rigging,
required to be looked to, on account of injuries. But no one thought of
these things, except as they were connected with present and pressing
duties. Sir Gervaise got a sight of la Victoire, some hundred and twenty
fathoms ahead, just as the roar of the Carnatic's guns was rushing upon
his ears. The French commander saw and understood the extreme jeopardy
of his consort, and he had already put his helm hard up.

"Starboard--starboard hard, Bury!" shouted Sir Gervaise from the poop.
"Damn him, run him aboard, if he dare hold on long enough to meet us."

The lieutenant signed with his hand that the order was understood, and
the helm being put up, the ship went whirling off to leeward on the
summit of a hill of foam. A cheer was heard struggling in the tempest,
and glancing over his left shoulder, Sir Gervaise perceived the Carnatic
shooting out of the smoke, and imitating his own movement, by making
another and still ranker sheer to leeward. At the same moment she set
her main-sail close-reefed, as if determined to outstrip her antagonist,
and maintain her station. None but a prime seaman could have done such a
thing so steadily and so well, in the midst of the wild haste and
confusion of such a scene. Sir Gervaise, now not a hundred yards from
the Carnatic, waved high his hat in exultation and praise; and old
Parker, alone on his own poop, bared his grey hairs in acknowledgment of
the compliment. All this time the two ships drove madly ahead, while the
crash and roar of the battle was heard astern.

The remaining French ship was well and nimbly handled. As she came round
she unavoidably sheered towards her enemies, and Sir Gervaise found it
necessary to countermand his last order, and to come swiftly up to the
wind, both to avoid her raking broadside, and to prevent running into
his own consort. But the Carnatic, having a little more room, first kept
off, and then came to the wind again, as soon as the Frenchman had
fired, in a way to compel him to haul up on the other tack, or to fall
fairly aboard. Almost at the same instant, the Plantagenet closed on his
weather quarter and raked. Parker had got abeam, and pressing nearer, he
compelled la Victoire to haul her bowlines, bringing her completely
between two fires. Spar went after spar, and being left with nothing
standing but the lower masts, the Plantagenet and Carnatic could not
prevent themselves from passing their victim, though each shortened
sail; the first being already without a top-sail. Their places, however,
were immediately supplied by the Achilles and the Thunderer, both ships
having hauled down their stay-sails to lessen their way. As the Blenheim
and Warspite were quite near astern, and an eighteen-pound shot had
closed the earthly career of the poor _capitaine de frégate_, his
successor in command deemed it prudent to lower his ensign; after a
resistance that in its duration was unequal to the promise of its
commencement. Still the ship had suffered materially, and had fifty of
her crew among the casualties. His submission terminated the combat.

Sir Gervaise Oakes had now leisure and opportunity to look about him.
Most of the French ships had got round; but, besides being quite as far
astern, when they should get up abeam, supposing himself to remain where
he was, they would be at very long gun-shot dead to leeward. To remain
where he was, however, formed no part of his plan, for he was fully
resolved to maintain all his advantages. The great difficulty was to
take possession of his prize, the sea running so high as to render it
questionable if a boat would live. Lord Morganic, however, was just of
an age and a temperament to bring that question to a speedy issue. Being
on the weather-beam of la Victoire, as her flag came down, he ordered
his own first lieutenant into the larger cutter, and putting
half-a-dozen marines, with the proper crew, into the boat, it was soon
seen dangling in the air over the cauldron of the ocean; the oars
on-end. To lower, let go, and unhook, were the acts of an instant; the
oars fell, and the boat was swept away to leeward. A commander's
commission depended on his success, and Daly made desperate efforts to
obtain it. The prize offered a lee, and the French, with a national
benevolence, courtesy, and magnanimity, that would scarcely have been
imitated had matters been reversed, threw ropes to their conquerors, to
help to rescue them from a very awkward dilemma. The men did succeed in
getting into the prize; but the boat, in the end, was stove and lost.

The appearance of the red flag of England, the symbol of his own
professional rank, and worn by most under his own orders, over the white
ensign of France, was the sign to Sir Gervaise that the prize-officer
was in possession. He immediately made the signal for the fleet to
follow the motions of the commander-in-chief. By this time, his own
main-sail, close-reefed, had taken the place of the torn top-sail, and
the Plantagenet led off to the southward again, as if nothing unusual
had occurred. Daly had a quarter of an hour of extreme exertion on board
the prize, before he could get her fairly in motion as he desired; but,
by dint of using the axe freely, he cut the wreck adrift, and soon had
la Victoire liberated from that incumbrance. The fore-sail and fore and
mizzen stay-sails were on the ship, and the main-sail, close-reefed also,
was about to be set, to drag her-from the _mêlée_ of her foes, when her
ensign came down. By getting the tack of the latter aboard, and the
sheet aft, he would have all the canvass set the gale would allow, and
to this all-essential point he directed his wits. To ride down the
main-tack of a two-decked ship, in a gale of wind, or what fell little
short of a real gale, was not to be undertaken with twenty men, the
extent of Daly's command; and he had recourse to the assistance of his
enemies. A good natured, facetious Irishman, himself, with a smattering
of French, he soon got forty or fifty of the prisoners in a sufficient
humour to lend their aid, and the sail was set, though not without great
risk of its splitting. From this moment, la Victoire was better off, as
respected the gale and keeping a weatherly position, than any of the
English ships; inasmuch as she could carry all the canvass the wind
permitted, while she was relieved from the drift inseparable from hamper
aloft. The effect, indeed, was visible in the first hour, to Daly's
great delight and exultation. At the end of that period, he found
himself quite a cable's-length to windward of the line. But in relating
this last particular, events have been a little anticipated.

Greenly, who had gone below to attend to the batteries, which were not
worked without great difficulty in so heavy a sea, and to be in
readiness to open the lower ports should occasion offer, re-appeared on
deck just as the commander-in-chief showed the signal for the ships to
follow his own motions. The line was soon formed, as mentioned, and ere
long it became apparent that the prize could easily keep in her station.
As most of the day was still before him, Sir Gervaise had little doubt
of being able to secure the latter, ere night should come to render it
indispensable.

The vice-admiral and his captain shook hands cordially on the poop, and
the former pointed out to the latter, with honest exultation, the result
of his own bold man[oe]uvres.

"We've clipped the wings of two of them," added Sir Gervaise, "and have
fairly bagged a third, my good friend; and, God willing, when Bluewater
joins, there will not be much difficulty with the remainder. I cannot
see that any of our vessels have suffered much, and I set them all down
as sound. There's been time for a signal of inability, that curse to an
admiral's evolutions, but no one seems disposed to make it. If we really
escape that nuisance, it will be the first instance in my life!"

"Half-a-dozen yards may be crippled, and no one the worse for it, in
this heavy weather. Were we under a press of canvass, it would be a
different matter; but, now, so long as the main sticks stand, we shall
probably do well enough. I can find no injury in my own ship that may
not be remedied at sea."

"And she has had the worst of it. 'Twas a decided thing, Greenly, to
engage such an odds in a gale; but we owe our success, most probably, to
the audacity of the attack. Had the enemy believed it possible, it is
probable he would have frustrated it. Well, Master Galleygo, I'm glad to
see you unhurt! What is your pleasure?"

"Why, Sir Jarvy, I've two opportunities, as a body might say, on the
poop, just now. One is to shake hands, as we always does a'ter a brush,
you knows, sir, and to look a'ter each other's health; and the other is
to report a misfortin that will bear hard on this day's dinner. You see,
Sir Jarvy, I had the dead poultry slung in a net, over the live stock,
to be out of harm's way; well, sir, a shot cut the lanyard, and let all
the chickens down by the run, in among the gun-room grunters; and as
they never half feeds them hanimals, there isn't as much left of the
birds as would make a meal for a sick young gentleman. To my notion, no
one ought to _have_ live stock but the commanders-in-chief."

"To the devil with you and the stock! Give me a shake of the hand, and
back into your top--how came you, sir, to quit your quarters without
leave?"

"I didn't, Sir Jarvy. Seeing how things was a going on, among the pigs,
for our top hoverlooks the awful scene, I axed the young gentleman to
let me come down to condole with your honour; and as they always lets me
do as I axes, in such matters, why down I come. We has had one rattler
in at our top, howsever, that came nigh lo clear us all out on it!"

"Is any spar injured?" asked Sir Gervaise, quickly. "This must be looked
to--hey! Greenly?"

"Not to signify, your honour; not to signify. One of them French
eighteens aboard the prize just cocked its nose up, as the ship lurched,
and let fly a round 'un and a grist of grape, right into our faces. I
see'd it coming and sung out 'scaldings;' and 'twas well I did. We all
ducked in time, and the round 'un cleared every thing, but a handful of
the marbles are planted in the head of the mast, making the spar look
like a plum-pudding, or a fellow with the small-pox."

"Enough of this. You are excused from returning to the top;--and,
Greenly, beat the retreat. Bunting, show the signal for the retreat from
quarters. Let the ships pipe to breakfast, if they will."

This order affords a fair picture of the strange admixture of feelings
and employments that characterize the ordinary life of a ship. At one
moment, its inmates find themselves engaged in scenes of wild
magnificence and fierce confusion, while at the next they revert to the
most familiar duties of humanity. The crews of the whole fleet now
retired from the guns, and immediately after they were seated around
their kids, indulging ravenously in the food for which the exercise of
the morning had given keen appetites. Still there was something of the
sternness of battle in the merriment of this meal, and the few jokes
that passed were seasoned with a bitterness that is not usual among the
light-hearted followers of the sea. Here and there, a messmate was
missed, and the vacancy produced some quaint and even pathetic allusion
to his habits, or to the manner in which he met his death; seamen
usually treating the ravages of this great enemy of the race, after the
blow has been struck, with as much solemnity and even tenderness, as
they regard his approaches with levity. It is when spared themselves,
that they most regard the destruction of battle. A man's standing in a
ship, too, carries great weight with it, at such times; the loss of the
quarter-master, in particular, being much regretted in the Plantagenet.
This man messed with a portion of the petty officers, a set of men
altogether more thoughtful and grave than the body of the crew; and who
met, when they assembled around their mess-chest that morning, with a
sobriety and even sternness of mien, that showed how much in the
management of the vessel had depended on their individual exertions.
Several minutes elapsed in the particular mess of the dead man, before a
word was spoken; all eating with appetites that were of proof, but no
one breaking the silence. At length an old quarter-gunner, named Tom
Sponge, who generally led the discourse, said in a sort of
half-inquiring, half-regretting, way--

"I suppose there's no great use in asking why Jack Glass's spoon is idle
this morning. They says, them forecastle chaps, that they see'd his body
streaming out over the starboard quarter, as if it had been the fly of
one of his own ensigns. How was it, Ned? you was thereaway, and ought to
know all about it."

"To be sure I does," said Ned, who was Bunting's remaining assistant. "I
was there, as you says, and see'd as much of it as a man can see of what
passes between a poor fellow and a shot, when they comes together, and
that not in a very loving manner. It happened just as we come upon the
weather beam of that first chap--him as we winged so handsomely among
us. Well, Sir Jarvy had clapped a stopper on the signals, seeing as we
had got fairly into the smoke, and Jack and I was looking about us for
the muskets, not knowing but a chance might turn up to chuck a little
lead into some of the parly-woos; and so says Jack, says he, 'Ned, you's
got my musket;--(as I _had_, sure enough)--and says he, 'Ned, you's got
my musket; but no matter arter all, as they're much of a muchness.' So
when he'd said this, he lets fly; but whether he hit any body, is more
than I can say. If he _did_, 'twas likely a Frenchman, as he shot
that-a-way. 'Now,' says Jack, says he, 'Ned, as this is your musket, you
can load it, and hand over mine, and I'll sheet home another of the
b----s.' Well, at that moment the Frenchman lifted for'ard, on a heavy
swell, and let drive at us, with all his forecastle guns, fired as it
might be with one priming--"

"That was bad gunnery," growled Tom Sponge, "it racks a ship woundily."

"Yes, they'se no judgment in ships, in general. Well, them French
twelves are spiteful guns; and a _little_ afore they fired, it seemed to
me I heard something give Jack a rap on the check, that sounded as if a
fellow's ear was boxed with a clap of thunder. I looked up, and there
was Jack streaming out like the fly of the ensign, head foremost, with
the body towing after it by strings in the neck."

"I thought when a fellow's head was shot off," put in another
quarter-master named Ben Barrel, "that the body was left in the ship
while only the truck went!"

"That comes of not seeing them things, Ben," rejoined the eye-witness.
"A fellow's head is staid in its berth just like a ship's mast. There's
for'ard and back-stays, and shrouds, all's one as aboard here; the only
difference is that the lanyards are a little looser, so as to give a man
more play for his head, than it might be safe to give to a mast. When a
fellow makes a bow, why he only comes up a little aft, and bowses on the
fore-stay, and now and then you falls in with a chap that is stayed
altogether too far for'ard, or who's got a list perhaps from having the
shrouds set up too taut to port or to starboard."

"That sounds reasonable," put in the quarter-gunner, gravely; "I've seen
such droggers myself."

"If you'd been on the poop an hour or too ago, you'd ha' seen more on
it! Now, there's all our marines, their back-stays have had a fresh pull
since they were launched, and, as for their captain, I'll warrant you,
_he_ had a luff upon luff!"

"I've heard the carpenter overhauling them matters," remarked Sam Wad,
another quarter-gunner, "and he chalked it all out by the square and
compass. It seems reasonable, too."

"If you'd seen Jack's head dragging his body overboard, just like the
Frenchman dragging his wreck under his lee, you'd ha' _thought_ it
reasonable. What's a fellow's shoulders for, but to give a spread to his
shrouds, which lead down the neck and are set up under the arms
somewhere. They says a great deal about the heart, and I reckons it's
likely every thing is key'd there."

"Harkee, Ned," observed a quarter-master, who knew little more than the
mess generally, "if what you say is true, why don't these shrouds lead
straight from the head to the shoulders, instead of being all tucked up
under a skin in the neck? Answer me that, now."

"Who the devil ever saw a ship's shrouds that wasn't cat-harpened in!"
exclaimed Ned, with some heat. "A pretty hand a wife would make of it,
in pulling her arms around a fellow's neck if the rigging spread in the
way you mean! Them things is all settled according to reason when a
chap's keel's laid."

This last argument seemed to dispose of the matter, the discourse
gradually turning on, and confining itself to the merits of the
deceased.

Sir Gervaise had directed Galleygo to prepare his breakfast as soon as
the people were piped to their own; but he was still detained on deck in
consequence of a movement in one of his vessels, to which it has now
become necessary more particularly to recur.

The appearance of the Druid to the northward, early in the morning, will
doubtless be remembered by the reader. When near enough to have it made
out, this frigate had shown her number; after which she rested satisfied
with carrying sail much harder than any vessel in sight. When the fleets
engaged, she made an effort to set the fore-top-sail, close-reefed, but
several of the critics in the other ships, who occasionally noticed her
movements, fancied that some accident must have befallen her, as the
canvass was soon taken in, and she appeared disposed to remain content
with the sail carried when first seen. As this ship was materially to
windward of the line, and she was running the whole time a little free,
her velocity was much greater than that of the other vessels, and by
this time she had got so near that Sir Gervaise observed she was fairly
abeam of the Plantagenet, and a little to leeward of the Active. Of
course her hull, even to the bottom, as she rose on a sea, was plainly
visible, and such of her people as were in the tops and rigging could be
easily distinguished by the naked eye.

"The Druid must have some communication for us from the other division
of the fleet," observed the vice-admiral to his signal-officer, as they
stood watching the movements of the frigate; "it is a little
extraordinary Blewet does not signal! Look at the book, and find me a
question to put that will ask his errand?"

Bunting was in the act of turning over the leaves of his little
vocabulary of questions and answers, when three or four dark balls, that
Sir Gervaise, by the aid of the glass, saw suspended between the
frigate's masts, opened into flags, effectually proving that Blewet was
not absolutely asleep.

"Four hundred and sixteen, ordinary communication," observed the
vice-admiral, with his eye still at the glass. "Look up that, Bunting,
and let us know what it means."

"The commander-in-chief--wish to speak him!" read Bunting, in the
customary formal manner in which he announced the purport of a signal.

"Very well--answer; then make the Druid's number to come within hail!
The fellow has got cloth enough spread to travel two feet to our one;
let him edge away and come under our lee. Speaking will be rather close
work to-day."

"I doubt if a ship _can_ come near enough to make herself heard,"
returned the other, "though the second lieutenant of that ship never
uses a trumpet in the heaviest weather, they tell me, sir. Our gents say
his father was a town-crier, and that he has inherited the family
estate."

"Ay, our gents are a set of saucy fellows, as is usually the case when
there isn't work enough aboard."

"You should make a little allowance, Sir Gervaise, for being in the ship
of a successful commander-in-chief. That makes us all carry
weather-helms among the other messes."

"Up with your signal, sir; up with your signal. I shall be obliged to
order Greenly to put you upon watch-and-watch for a month, in order to
bring you down to the old level of manners."

"Signal answered, already, Sir Gervaise. By the way, sir, I'll thank you
to request Captain Greenly to give me another quarter-master. It's
nimble work for us when there is any thing serious to do."

"You shall have him, Bunting," returned the vice-admiral, a shade
passing over his face for the moment. "I had missed poor Jack Glass, and
from seeing a spot of blood on the poop, guessed his fate. I fancied,
indeed, I heard a shot strike something behind me."

"It struck the poor fellow's head, sir, and made a noise as if a butcher
were felling an ox."

"Well--well--let us try to forget it, until something can be done for
his son, who is one of the side boys. Ah! there's Blewet keeping away in
earnest. How the deuce he is to speak us, however, is more than I can
tell."

Sir Gervaise now sent a message to his captain to say that he desired
his presence. Greenly soon appeared, and was made acquainted with the
intention of the Druid, as well as with the purport of the last signals.
By this time, the rent main-top-sail was mended, and the captain
suggested it should be set again, close-reefed, as before, and that the
main-sail should be taken in. This would lessen the Plantagenet's way,
which ship was sensibly drawing ahead of her consorts. Sir Gervaise
assenting, the change was made, and the effects were soon apparent, not
only in the movement of the ship, but in her greater ease and steadiness
of motion.

It was not long before the Druid was within a hundred fathoms of the
flag-ship, on her weather-quarter, shoving the brine before her in a way
to denote a fearful momentum. It was evidently the intention of Captain
Blewet to cross the Plantagenet's stern, and to luff up under her lee
quarter; the safest point at which he could approach, in so heavy a
swell, provided it were done with discretion. Captain Blewet had a
reputation for handling his frigate like a boat, and the occasion was
one which would be likely to awaken all his desire to sustain the
character he had already earned. Still no one could imagine how he was
to come near enough to make a communication of any length. The
stentorian lungs of the second lieutenant, however, might effect it;
and, as the news of the expected hail passed through the ship, many who
had remained below, in apathy, while the enemy was close under their
lee, came on deck, curious to witness what was about to pass.

"Hey! Atwood?" exclaimed Sir Gervaise, for the little excitement had
brought the secretary up from the commander-in-chief's cabin;--"what is
Blewet at! The fellow cannot mean to set a studding-sail!"

"He is running out a boom, nevertheless, Sir Gervaise, or my thirty
years' experience of nautical things have been thrown away."

"He is truly rigging out his weather fore-topmast-studding-sail-boom,
sir!" added Greenly, in a tone of wonder.

"It _is_ out," rejoined the vice-admiral, as one would give emphasis to
the report of a calamity. "Hey!--what? Isn't that a man they're running
up to the end of it, Bunting? Level your glass, and let us know at
once."

"A glass is not necessary to make out that much, Sir Gervaise. It is a
man, beyond a doubt, and there he hangs at the boom-end, as if sentenced
by a general court-martial."

Sir Gervaise now suppressed every expression of surprise, and his
reserve was imitated, quite as a matter of course, by the twenty
officers, who, by this time, had assembled on the poop. The Druid,
keeping away, approached rapidly, and had soon crossed the flag-ship's
wake. Here she came by the wind, and favoured by the momentum with which
she had come down, and the addition of the main-sail, drew heavily but
steadily up on her lee-quarter. Both vessels being close-hauled, it was
not difficult steering; and by watching the helms closely, it would have
been possible, perhaps, notwithstanding the heavy sea, to have brought
the two hulls within ten yards of each other, and no harm should come of
it. This was nearer, however, than it was necessary to approach; the
studding-sail-boom, with the man suspended on the end of it, projecting
twice that distance, beyond the vessel's bows. Still it was nice work;
and while yet some thirty or forty feet from the perpendicular, the man
on the boom-end made a sign for attention, swung a coil of line he hold,
and when he saw hands raised to catch it, he made a cast. A lieutenant
caught the rope, and instantly hauled in the slack. As the object was
now understood, a dozen others laid hold of the line, and, at a common
signal, when those on board the Plantagenet hauled in strongly, the
people of the Druid lowered away. By this simple, but united movement,
the man descended obliquely, leaping out of the bowline in which he had
sat, and casting the whip adrift. Shaking himself to gain his footing,
he raised his cap and bowed to Sir Gervaise, who now saw Wycherly
Wychecombe on his poop.



CHAPTER XXIV.

    "Yet weep not thou--the struggle is not o'er,
    O victors of Philippi! many a field
    Hath yielded palms to us:--one effort more,
    By one stern conflict must our fate be sealed."

         MRS. HEMANS.


As soon as the people of the Plantagenet, who had so far trespassed on
discipline, when they perceived a man hanging at the end of the
studding-sail-boom, as to appear in the rigging, on the booms, and on
the guns, to watch the result, saw the stranger safely landed on the
poop, they lifted their hats and caps, and, as one voice, greeted him
with three cheers. The officers smiled at this outbreak of feeling, and
the violation of usage was forgotten; the rigid discipline of a
man-of-war even, giving way occasionally to the sudden impulses of
natural feeling.

As the Druid approached the flag-ship, Captain Blewet had appeared in
her weather mizzen-rigging, conning his vessel in person; and the order
to luff, or keep off, had been given by his own voice, or by a gesture
of his own hand. As soon as he saw Wycherly's feet on the poop of the
Plantagenet, and his active form freed from the double-bowline, in which
it had been seated, the captain made a wide sweep of the arm, to denote
his desire to edge away; the helm of the frigate was borne up hard, and,
as the two-decker surged ahead on the bosom of a sea, the Druid's bows
were knocked off to leeward, leaving a space of about a hundred feet, or
more, between the two ships, as it might be, in an instant. The same
causes continuing to operate, the Plantagenet drove still farther ahead,
while the frigate soon came to the wind again, a cable's-length to
leeward, and abreast of the space between the admiral and his second,
astern. Here, Captain Blewet seemed disposed to wait for further orders.

Sir Gervaise Oakes was not accustomed to betray any surprise he might
feel at little events that occurred on duty. He returned the bow of
Wycherly, coolly, and then, without question or play of feature, turned
his eyes on the further movements of the Druid. Satisfied that all was
right with the frigate, he directed the messenger to follow him, and
went below himself, leaving Wycherly to obey as fast as the many
inquiries he had to answer as he descended the ladders would allow.
Atwood, an interested observer of what had passed, noted that Captain
Greenly, of all present, was the only person who seemed indifferent to
the nature of the communication the stranger might bring, though perhaps
the only one entitled by rank to put an interrogatory.

"You have come aboard of us in a novel and extraordinary mode, Sir
Wycherly Wychecombe!" observed the vice-admiral, a little severely, as
soon as he found himself in his own cabin, alone with the lieutenant.

"It was the plan of Captain Blewet, sir, and was really the only one
that seemed likely to succeed, for a boat could scarcely live. I trust
the success of the experiment, and the nature of the communications I
may bring, will be thought sufficient excuses for the want of ceremony."

"It is the first time, since the days of the Conqueror, I fancy, that an
English vice-admiral's ship has been boarded so cavalierly; but, as you
say, the circumstances may justify the innovation. What is your errand,
sir?"

"This letter, I presume, Sir Gervaise, will explain itself. I have
little to say in addition, except to report that the Druid has sprung
her foremast in carrying sail to close with you, and that we have not
lost a moment since Admiral Bluewater ordered us to part company with
himself."

"You sailed on board the Cæsar, then?" asked Sir Gervaise, a great deal
mollified by the zeal for service in a youth, situated ashore, as he
knew Wycherly to be. "You left her, with this letter?"

"I did, Sir Gervaise, at Admiral Bluewater's command."

"Did you go aboard the Druid boom-fashion, or was that peculiar style
reserved for the commander-in-chief?"

"I left the Cæsar in a boat, Sir Gervaise; and though we were much
nearer in with the coast, where the wind has not the rake it has here,
and the strength of the gale had not then come, we were nearly swamped."

"If a true Virginian, you would not have drowned, Wychecombe," answered
the vice-admiral, in better humour. "You Americans swim like cork.
Excuse me, while I read what Admiral Bluewater has to say."

Sir Gervaise had received Wycherly in the great cabin, standing at the
table which was lashed in its centre. He would have been puzzled
himself, perhaps, to have given the real reason why he motioned to the
young man to take a chair, while he went into what he called his
"drawing-room;" or the beautiful little apartment between the two
state-rooms, aft, which was fitted with an elegance that might have been
admired in a more permanent dwelling, and whither he always withdrew
when disposed to reflection. It was probably connected, however, with a
latent apprehension of the rear-admiral's political bias, for, when by
himself, he paused fully a minute before he opened the letter.
Condemning this hesitation as unmanly, he broke the seal, however, and
read the contents of a letter, which was couched in the following terms:

     "My dear Oakes:--Since we parted, my mind has undergone some
     violent misgivings as to the course duty requires of me, in this
     great crisis. One hand--one heart--one voice even, may decide the
     fate of England! In such circumstances, all should listen to the
     voice of conscience, and endeavour to foresee the consequences of
     their own acts. Confidential agents are in the west of England, and
     one of them I have seen. By his communications I find more depends
     on myself than I could have imagined, and more on the movements of
     M. de Vervillin. Do not be too sanguine--take time for your own
     decisions, and grant _me_ time; for I feel like a wretch whose fate
     must soon be sealed. On no account engage, because you think this
     division near enough to sustain you, but at least keep off until
     you hear from me more positively, or we can meet. I find it equally
     hard to strike a blow against my rightful prince, or to desert my
     friend. For God's sake act prudently, and depend on seeing me in
     the course of the next twenty-four hours. I shall keep well to the
     eastward, in the hope of falling in with you, as I feel satisfied
     de Vervillin has nothing to do very far west. I may send some
     verbal message by the bearer, for my thoughts come sluggishly, and
     with great reluctance.

     "Ever _yours_,
     "RICHARD BLUEWATER."

Sir Gervaise Oakes read this letter twice with great deliberation; then
he crushed it in his hand, as one would strangle a deadly serpent. Not
satisfied with this manifestation of distaste, he tore the letter into
pieces so small as to render it impossible to imagine its contents,
opened a cabin-window, and threw the fragments into the ocean. When he
fancied that every sign of his friend's weakness had thus been
destroyed, he began to pace the cabin in his usual manner. Wycherly
heard his step, and wondered at the delay; but his duty compelled him to
pass an uncomfortable half-hour in silence, ere the door opened, and Sir
Gervaise appeared. The latter had suppressed the signs of distress,
though the lieutenant could perceive he was unusually anxious.

"Did the rear-admiral send any message, Sir Wycherly?" inquired Sir
Gervaise; "in his letter he would seem to refer me to some verbal
explanations from yourself."

"I am ashamed to say, sir, none that I can render very intelligible.
Admiral Bluewater, certainly, did make a few communications that I was
to repeat, but when we had parted, by some extraordinary dullness of my
own I fear, I find it is out of my power to give them any very great
distinctness or connection."

"Perhaps the fault is less your own, sir, than his. Bluewater is
addicted to fits of absence of mind, and then he has no reason to
complain that others do not understand him, for he does not always
understand himself."

Sir Gervaise said this with a little glee, delighted at finding his
friend had not committed himself to his messenger. The latter, however,
was less disposed to excuse himself by such a process, inasmuch as he
felt certain that the rear-admiral's feelings were in the matter he
communicated, let the manner have been what it might.

"I do not think we can attribute any thing to Admiral Bluewater's
absence of mind, on this occasion, sir," answered Wycherly, with
generous frankness. "His feelings appeared to be strongly enlisted in
what he said. It might have been owing to the strength of these feelings
that he was a little obscure, but it could not have been owing to
indifference."

"I shall best understand the matter, then, by hearing what he did say,
sir."

Wycherly paused, and endeavoured to recall what had passed, in a way to
make it intelligible.

"I was frequently told to caution you not to engage the French, sir,
until the other division had closed, and was ready to assist. But,
really, whether this was owing to some secret information that the
rear-admiral had obtained, or to a natural desire to have a share in the
battle, is more than I can say."

"Each may have had its influence. Was any allusion made to secret
intelligence, that you name it?"

"I never felt more cause to be ashamed of my own dullness, than at this
present moment, Sir Gervaise Oakes," exclaimed Wycherly, who almost
writhed under the awkwardness of his situation; for he really began to
suspect that his own personal grounds of unhappiness had induced him to
forget some material part of his message;--"recent events ashore, had
perhaps disqualified me for this duty."

"It is natural it should be so, my young friend; and as I am acquainted
with them all, you can rest satisfied with my indulgence."

"All! no--Sir Gervaise, you know not half--but, I forget myself, sir,
and beg your pardon."

"I have no wish to pry into your secrets, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, and
we will drop the subject. You may say, however, if the rear-admiral was
in good spirits--as an English seaman is apt to be, with the prospect of
a great battle before him."

"I thought not, Sir Gervaise. Admiral Bluewater to me seemed sad, if I
may presume to mention it--almost to tears, I thought, sir, one or
twice."

"Poor Dick!" mentally ejaculated the vice-admiral; "he never could have
made up his mind to desert _me_ without great anguish of soul. Was there
any thing said," speaking aloud, "about the fleet of M. de Vervillin?"

"Certainly a good deal, sir; and yet am I ashamed to say, I scarce know
what! Admiral Bluewater appeared to think the Comte de Vervillin had no
intention to strike a blow at any of our colonies, and with this he
seemed to connect the idea that there would be less necessity for our
engaging him. At all events, I cannot be mistaken in his wish that you
would keep off, sir, until he could close."

"Ay, and you see how instinctively I have answered to his wishes!" said
Sir Gervaise, smiling a little bitterly. "Nevertheless, had the rear of
the fleet been up this morning, Sir Wycherly, it might have been a
glorious day for England!"

"It _has_ been a glorious day, as it is, sir. We, in the Druid, saw it
all; and there was not one among us that did not exult in the name of
Englishman!"

"What, even to the Virginian, Wychecombe!" rejoined Sir Gervaise,
greatly gratified with the natural commendation conveyed in the manner
and words of the other, and looking in a smiling, friendly manner, at
the young man. "I was afraid the hits you got in Devonshire might have
induced you to separate your nationality from that of old England."

"Even to the Virginian, Sir Gervaise. You have been in the colonies,
sir, and must know we do not merit all that we sometimes receive, on
this side of the Atlantic. The king has no subjects more loyal than
those of America."

"I am fully aware of it, my noble lad, and have told the king as much,
with my own mouth. But think no more of this. If your old uncle did give
you an occasional specimen of true John Bullism, he has left you an
honourable title and a valuable estate. I shall see that Greenly finds a
berth for you, and you will consent to mess with me, I hope. I trust
some time to see you at Bowldero. At present we will go on deck; and if
any thing that Admiral Bluewater has said _should_ recur to your mind
more distinctly, you will not forget to let me know it."

Wycherly now bowed and left the cabin, while Sir Gervaise sat down and
wrote a note to Greenly to request that he would look a little after the
comfort of the young man. The latter then went on deck, in person.
Although he endeavoured to shake off the painful doubts that beset him,
and to appear as cheerful as became an officer who had just performed a
brilliant exploit, the vice-admiral found it difficult to conceal the
shock he had received from Bluewater's communication. Certain as he felt
of striking a decisive blow at the enemy, could he be reinforced with
the five ships of the rear division, he would cheerfully forego the
triumph of such additional success, to be certain his friend did not
intend to carry his disaffection to overt acts. He found it hard to
believe that a man like Bluewater could really contemplate carrying off
with him the ships he commanded; yet he knew the authority his friend
wielded over his captains, and the possibility of such a step would
painfully obtrude itself on his mind, at moments. "When a man can
persuade himself into all the nonsense connected with the _jus
divinum_," thought Sir Gervaise, "it is doing no great violence to
common sense to persuade himself into all its usually admitted
consequences." Then, again, would interpose his recollections of
Bluewater's integrity and simplicity of character, to reassure him, and
give him more cheering hopes for the result. Finding himself thus
vacillating between hope and dread, the commander-in-chief determined to
drive the matter temporarily from his mind, by bestowing his attention
on the part of the fleet he had with him. Just as this wise resolution
was formed, both Greenly and Wycherly appeared on the poop.

"I am glad to see you with a hungry look, Greenly," cried Sir Gervaise,
cheerfully; "here has Galleygo just been to report his breakfast, and,
as I know your cabin has not been put in order since the people left the
guns, I hope for the pleasure of your company. Sir Wycherly, my gallant
young Virginian, here, will take the third chair, I trust, and then our
party will be complete."

The two gentlemen assenting, the vice-admiral was about to lead the way
below, when suddenly arresting his footsteps, on the poop-ladder, he
said--

"Did you not tell me, Wychecombe, that the Druid had sprung her
foremast?"

"Badly, I believe, Sir Gervaise, in the hounds. Captain Blewet carried
on his ship fearfully, all night."

"Ay, he's a fearful fellow with spars, that Tom Blewet. I never felt
certain of finding all the sticks in their places, on turning out of a
morning, when he was with you as a lieutenant, Greenly. How many
jib-booms and top-gallant yards did he cost us, in that cruise off the
Cape of Good Hope? By George, it must have been a dozen, at least!"

"Not quite as bad as that, Sir Gervaise, though he did expend two
jib-booms and three top-gallant yards, for me. Captain Blewet has a fast
ship, and he wishes people to know it."

"And he has sprung his foremast and he shall see _I_ know it! Harkee,
Bunting, make the Druid's number to lie by the prize; and when that's
answered, tell him to take charge of the Frenchman, and to wait for
further orders. I'll send him to Plymouth to get a new foremast, and to
see the stranger in. By the way, does any body know the name of the
Frenchman--hey! Greenly?"

"I cannot tell you, Sir Gervaise, though some of our gentlemen think it
is the ship that was the admiral's second ahead, in our brush off Cape
Finisterre. I am not of the same opinion, however; for that vessel had a
billet-head, and this has a woman figure-head, that looks a little like
a Minerva. The French have a _la Minerve_, I think."

"Not now, Greenly, if this be she, for she is _ours_." Here Sir Gervaise
laughed heartily at his own humour, and all near him joined in, as a
matter of course. "But la Minerve has been a frigate time out of mind.
The Goddess of Wisdom has never been fool enough to get into a line of
battle when she has had it in her power to prevent it."

"_We_ thought the figure-head of the prize a Venus, as we passed her in
the Druid," Wycherly modestly observed.

"There is a way of knowing, and it shall be tried. When you've done with
the Druid, Bunting, make the prize's signal to repeat her name by
telegraph. You know how to make a prize's number, I suppose, when she
has none."

"I confess I do not, Sir Gervaise," answered Bunting, who had shown by
his manner that he was at a loss. "Having no number in our books, one
would be at a stand how to get at her, sir."

"How would _you_ do it, young man?" asked Sir Gervaise, who all this
time was hanging on to the man-rope of the poop-ladder. "Let us see how
well you've been taught, sir."

"I believe it may be done in different modes, Sir Gervaise," Wycherly
answered, without any appearance of triumph at his superior readiness,
"but the simplest I know is to hoist the French flag under the English,
by way of saying for whom the signal is intended."

"Do it, Bunting," continued Sir Gervaise, nodding his head as he
descended the ladder, "and I warrant you, Daly will answer. What sort of
work he will make with the Frenchman's flags, is another matter. I
doubt, too, if he had the wit to carry one of our books with him, in
which case he will be at a loss to read our signal. Try him, however,
Bunting; an Irishman always has _something_ to say, though it be a
bull."

This order given, Sir Gervaise descended to his cabin. In half an hour
the party was seated at table, as quietly as if nothing unusual had
occurred that day.

"The worst of these little brushes which lead to nothing, is that they
leave as strong a smell of gunpowder in your cabin, Greenly, as if a
whole fleet had been destroyed," observed the vice-admiral
good-humouredly, as he began to help his guests. "I hope the odour we
have here will not disturb your appetites, gentlemen."

"You do this day's success injustice, Sir Gervaise, in calling it only a
brush," answered the captain, who, to say the truth, had fallen to as
heartily upon the delicacies of Galleygo, as if he had not eaten in
twenty-four hours. "At any rate, it has brushed the spars out of two of
king Louis's ships, and one of them into our hands; ay, and in a certain
sense into our pockets."

"Quite true, Greenly--quite true; but what would it have been if--"

The sudden manner in which the commander-in-chief ceased speaking,
induced his companions to think that he had met with some accident in
eating or drinking; both looked earnestly at him, as if to offer
assistance. He _was_ pale in the face, but he smiled, and otherwise
appeared at his ease.

"It is over, gentlemen," said Sir Gervaise, gently--"we'll think no more
of it."

"I sincerely hope you've not been hit, sir?" said Greenly. "I've known
men hit, who did not discover that they were hurt until some sudden
weakness has betrayed it."

"I believe the French have let me off this time, my good friend--yes, I
think Magrath will be plugging no shot-holes in my hull for this affair.
Sir Wycherly, those eggs are from your own estate, Galleygo having laid
the manor under contribution for all sorts of good things. Try them,
Greenly, as coming from our friend's property."

"Sir Wycherly is a lucky fellow in _having_ an estate," said the
captain. "Few officers of his rank can boast of such an advantage;
though, now and then, an old one is better off."

"That is true enough--hey! Greenly? The army fetches up most of the
fortunes; for your rich fellows like good county quarters and county
balls. I was a younger brother when they sent _me_ to sea, but I became
a baronet, and a pretty warm one too, while yet a reefer. Poor Josselin
died when I was only sixteen, and at seventeen they made me an officer."

"Ay, and we like you all the better, Sir Gervaise, for not giving us up
when the money came. Now Lord Morganic was a captain when _he_
succeeded, and we think much less of that."

"Morganic remains in service, to teach us how to stay top-masts and
paint figure-heads;" observed Sir Gervaise, a little drily. "And yet the
fellow handled his ship well to-day; making much better weather of it
than I feared he would be able to do."

"I hear we are likely to get another duke in the navy, sir; it's not
often we catch one of that high rank."

Sir Gervaise cared much less for things of this sort than Bluewater, but
he naturally cast a glance at the speaker, as this was said, as much as
to ask whom he meant.

"They tell me, sir, that Lord Montresor, the elder brother of the boy in
the Cæsar, is in a bad way, and Lord Geoffrey stands next to the
succession. I think there is too much stuff in _him_ to quit us now he
is almost fit to get his commission."

"True, Bluewater has that boy of high hopes and promise with him, too;"
answered Sir Gervaise in a musing manner, unconscious of what he said.
"God send he may not forget _that_, among other things!"

"I don't think rank makes any difference with Admiral Bluewater, or
Captain Stowel. The nobles are worked up in their ship, as well as the
humblest reefer of them all. Here is Bunting, sir, to tell us
something."'

Sir Gervaise started from a fit of abstraction, and, turning, he saw his
signal-officer ready to report.

"The Druid has answered properly, Sir Gervaise, and has already hauled
up so close that I think she will luff through the line, though it may
be astern of the Carnatic."

"And the prize, Bunting? Have you signalled the prize, as I told you to
do?"

"Yes, sir; and she has answered so properly that I make no question the
prize-officer took a book with him. The telegraphic signal was answered
like the other."

"Well, what does he say? Have you found out the name of the Frenchman?"

"That's the difficulty, sir; _we_ are understood, but Mr. Daly has shown
something aboard the prize that the quarter-master swears is a paddy."

"A paddy!--What, he hasn't had himself run up at a yard-arm, or
stun'sail-boom end, has he--hey! Wychecombe? Daly's an Irishman, and has
only to show _himself_ to show a paddy."

"But this is a sort of an image of some kind or other, Sir Gervaise, and
yet it isn't Mr. Daly. I rather think he hasn't the flags necessary for
our words, and has rigged out a sort of a woman, to let us know his
ship's name; for she _has_ a woman figure-head, you know, sir."

"The devil he has! Well, that will form an era in signals. Galleygo,
look out at the cabin window and let me know if you can see the prize
from them--well, sir, what's the news?"

"I sees her, Sir Jarvy," answered the steward, "and I sees her where no
French ship as sails in company with British vessels has a right to be.
If she's a fathom, your honour, she's fifty to windward of our line!
Quite out of her place, as a body might say, and onreasonable."

"That's owing to our having felled the forests of her masts, Mr.
Galleygo; every spar that is left helping to put her where she is. That
prize must be a weatherly ship, though, hey! Greenly? She and her
consort were well to windward of their own line, or we could never have
got 'em as we did. These Frenchmen _do_ turn off a weatherly vessel now
and then, that we must all admit."

"Yes, Sir Jarvy," put in Galleygo, who never let the conversation flag
when he was invited to take a part in it; "yes, Sir Jarvy, and when
they've turned 'em off the stocks they turns 'em over to us, commonly,
to sail 'em. Building a craft is one piece of knowledge, and sailing her
_well_ is another."

"Enough of your philosophy, sirrah; look and ascertain if there is any
thing unusual to be seen hanging in the rigging of the prize. Unless you
show more readiness, I'll send one of the Bowlderos to help you."

These Bowlderos were the servants that Sir Gervaise brought with him
from his house, having been born on his estate, and educated as
domestics in his own, or his father's family; and though long accustomed
to a man-of-war, as their ambition never rose above their ordinary
service, the steward held them exceedingly cheap. A severer punishment
could not be offered him, than to threaten to direct one of these common
menials to do any duty that, in the least, pertained to the profession.
The present menace had the desired effect, Galleygo losing no time in
critically examining the prize's rigging.

"I calls nothing extr'ornary in a Frenchman's rigging, Sir Jarvy,"
answered the steward, as soon as he felt sure of his fact; "their
dock-men have idees of their own, as to such things. Now there is
sum'mat hanging at the lee fore-yard-arm of that chap, that looks as if
it might be a top-gallant-stun'sail made up to be sent aloft and set,
but which stopped when it got as high as it is, on finding out that
there's no hamper over-head to spread it to."

"That's it, sir," put in Bunting. "Mr. Daly has run his woman up to the
fore-yard-arm, like a pirate."

"Woman!" repeated Galleygo--"do you call that 'ere thing-um-mee a woman,
Mr. Buntin'? I calls it a bundle of flags, made up to set, if there was
any thing to set 'em to."

"It's nothing but an Irish woman, Master Galleygo, as you'll see for
yourself, if you'll level this glass at it."

"I'll do that office myself," cried Sir Gervaise. "Have you any
curiosity, gentlemen, to read Mr. Daly's signal? Galleygo, open that
weather window, and clear away the books and writing-desk, that we may
have a look."

The orders were immediately obeyed, and the vice-admiral was soon seated
examining the odd figure that was certainly hanging at the lee
fore-yard-arm of the prize; a perfect nondescript as regarded all
nautical experience.

"Hang me, if I can make any thing of it. Greenly," said Sir Gervaise,
after a long look. "Do _you_ take this seat, and try your hand at an
observation. It resembles a sort of a woman, sure enough."

"Yes, sir," observed Bunting, with the earnestness of a man who felt his
reputation involved in the issue, "I was certain that Mr. Daly has run
up the figure to let us know the name of the prize, and that for want of
a telegraph-book to signal the letters; and so I made sure of what I was
about, before I took the liberty to come below and report."

"And pray what do you make of it, Bunting? The figure-head might tell us
better, but that seems to be imperfect."

"The figure-head has lost all its bust, and one arm, by a shot," said
Greenly, turning the glass to the object named; "and I can tell Mr. Daly
that a part of the gammoning of his bowsprit is gone, too! That ship
requires looking to, Sir Gervaise; she'll have no foremast to-morrow
morning, if this wind stand! Another shot has raked the lower side of
her fore-top, and carried away half the frame. Yes, and there's been a
fellow at work, too--"

"Never mind the shot--never mind the shot, Greenly," interrupted the
vice-admiral. "A poor devil like him, couldn't have six of us at him, at
once, and expect to go 'shot free.' Tell us something of the woman."

"Well, Sir Gervaise, no doubt Daly has hoisted her as a symbol. Ay, no
doubt the ship is the Minerva, after all, for there's something on the
head like a helmet."

"It never can be the Minerva," said the vice-admiral, positively, "for
_she_, I feel certain, is a frigate. Hand me the little book with a red
cover, Bunting; that near your hand; it has a list of the enemy's navy.
Here it is, '_la Minerve_, 32, _le capitaine de frégate, Mondon_. Built
in 1733, old and dull.' That settles the Minerva, for this list is the
last sent us by the admiralty."

"Then it must be the Pallas," rejoined Greenly, "for she wears a helmet,
too, and I am certain there is not only a cap to resemble a helmet, but
a Guernsey frock on the body to represent armour. Both Minerva and
Pallas, if I remember right, wore armour."

"This is coming nearer to the point,--hey! Greenly!" the vice-admiral
innocently chimed in; "let us look and see if the Pallas is a two-decker
or not. By George, there's no such name on the list. That's odd, now,
that the French should have one of these goddesses and not the other!"

"They never has any thing right, Sir Jarvy," Galleygo thrust in, by way
of commentary on the vice-admiral's and the captain's classical lore;
"and it's surprising to me that they should have any goddess at all,
seeing that they has so little respect for religion, in general."

Wycherly fidgeted, but respect for his superiors kept him silent. As for
Bunting, 'twas all the same to him, his father having been a purser in
the navy, and he himself educated altogether on board ship, and this,
too, a century since.

"It might not be amiss, Sir Gervaise," observed the captain, "to work
this rule backwards, and just look over the list until we find a
two-decked ship that _ought_ to have a woman figure-head, which will
greatly simplify the matter. I've known difficult problems solved in
that mode."

The idea struck Sir Gervaise as a good one, and he set about the
execution of the project in good earnest. Just as he came to _l'Hécate_,
64, an exclamation from Greenly caught his attention, and he inquired
its cause.

"Look for yourself, Sir Gervaise; unless my eyes are good for nothing,
Daly is running a kedge up alongside of his woman."

"What, a kedge?--Ay, that is intended for an anchor, and it means Hope.
Every body knows that Hope carries an anchor,--hey! Wychecombe? Upon my
word, Daly shows ingenuity. Look for the Hope, in that list,
Bunting,--you will find the English names printed first, in the end of
the book."

"'The Hope, or _l' Esperance_,'" read the signal-officer; "'36, _lee
capitang dee frigate dee Courtraii_.'"

"A single-decked ship after all! This affair is as bad as the d----d
_nullus_, ashore, there. I'll not be beaten in learning, however, by any
Frenchman who ever floated. Go below, Locker, and desire Doctor Magrath
to step up here, if he is not occupied with the wounded. He knows more
Latin than any man in the ship."

"Yes, Sir Jarvy, but this is French, you knows, your honour, and is'nt
as Latin, at all. I expects she'll turn out to have some name as no
modest person wishes to use, and we shall have to halter it."

"Ay, he's catted his anchor, sure enough; if the figure be not Hope, it
must be Faith, or Charity."

"No fear of them, Sir Jarvy; the French has no faith, nor no charity,
no, nor no bowels, as any poor fellow knows as has ever been wrecked on
their coast, as once happened to me, when a b'y. I looks upon 'em as no
better than so many heatheners, and perhaps that's the name of the ship.
I've seed heatheners, a hundred times, Sir Jarvy, in that sort of
toggery."

"What, man, did you ever see a heathen with an anchor?--one that will
weigh three hundred, if it will weigh a pound?"

"Perhaps not, your honour, with a downright hanchor, but with sum'mat
like a killog. But, that's no hanchor, a'ter all, but only a kedge,
catted hanchor-fashion, sir."

"Here comes Magrath, to help us out of the difficulty; and we'll
propound the matter to him."

The vice-admiral now explained the whole affair to the surgeon, frankly
admitting that the classics of the cabin were at fault, and throwing
himself on the gun-room for assistance. Magrath was not a little amused,
as he listened, for this was one of his triumphs, and he chuckled not a
little at the dilemma of his superiors.

"Well, Sir Jairvis," he answered, "ye might do warse than call a council
o' war on the matter; but if it's the name ye'll be wanting, I can help
ye to that, without the aids of symbols, and signs, and hyeroglyphics of
any sort. As we crossed the vessel's wake, a couple of hours since, I
read it on her stern, in letters of gold. It's _la Victoire_, or the
Victory; a most unfortunate cognomen for an unlucky ship. She's a French
victory, however, ye'll remember, gentlemen!"

"That must be a mistake, Magrath; for Daly has shown an anchor, yonder;
and Victory carries no anchor."

"It's hard to say, veece-admiral, one man's victory being another man's
defeat. As for Mr. Daly's image, it's just an _Irish_ goddess; and
allowances must be made for the country."

Sir Gervaise laughed, invited the gentlemen to help demolish the
breakfast, and sent orders on deck to hoist the answering flag. At a
later day, Daly, when called on for an explanation, asserted that the
armour and helmet belonged to Victory, as a matter of course; though he
admitted that he had at first forgotten the anchor; "but, when I _did_
run it up, they read it aboard the ould Planter, as if it had been just
so much primmer."



CHAPTER XXV.

    "There's beauty in the deep:--
    The wave is bluer than the sky;
    And, though the light shines bright on high,
    More softly do the sea-gems glow,
    That sparkle in the depths below;
    The rainbow's tints are only made
    When on the waters they are laid.
    And sun and moon most sweetly shine
    Upon the ocean's level brine.
    There's beauty in the deep."

         BRAINARD.


As Daly was the recognised jester of the fleet, his extraordinary
attempt to announce his vessel's name was received as a characteristic
joke, and it served to laugh at until something better offered. Under
the actual circumstances of the two squadrons, however, it was soon
temporarily forgotten in graver things, for few believed the collision
that had already taken place was to satisfy a man of the known
temperament of the commander-in-chief. As the junction of the rear
division was the only thing wanting to bring on a general engagement, as
soon as the weather should moderate a little, every ship had careful
look-outs aloft, sweeping the horizon constantly with glasses, more
particularly towards the east and north-east. The gale broke about noon,
though the wind still continued fresh from the same quarter as before.
The sea began to go down, however, and at eight bells material changes
had occurred in the situations of both fleets. Some of these it may be
necessary to mention.

The ship of the French admiral, _le Foudroyant_, and _le Scipion_, had
been received, as it might be, in the arms of their own fleet in the
manner already mentioned; and from this moment, the movement of the
whole force was, in a measure, regulated by that of these two crippled
vessels. The former ship, by means of her lower sails, might have
continued to keep her station in the line, so long as the gale lasted;
but the latter unavoidably fell off, compelling her consorts to keep
near, or to abandon her to her fate. M. de Vervillin preferred the
latter course. The consequences were, that, by the time the sun was in
the zenith, his line, a good deal extended, still, and far from regular,
was quite three leagues to leeward of that of the English. Nor was this
all: at that important turn in the day, Sir Gervaise Oakes was enabled
to make sail on all his ships, setting the fore and mizzen-top-sails
close-reefed; while _la Victoire_, a fast vessel, was enabled to keep in
company by carrying whole courses. The French could not imitate this,
inasmuch as one of their crippled vessels had nothing standing but a
foremast. Sir Gervaise had ascertained, before the distance became too
great for such observations, that the enemy was getting ready to send up
new top-masts, and the other necessary spars on board the admiral, as
well as jury lower-masts in _le Scipion_; though the sea would not yet
permit any very positive demonstrations to be made towards such an
improvement. He laid his own plans for the approaching night
accordingly; determining not to worry his people, or notify the enemy of
his intentions, by attempting any similar improvement in the immediate
condition of his prize.

About noon, each ship's number was made in succession, and the question
was put if she had sustained any material injury in the late conflict.
The answers were satisfactory in general, though one or two of the
vessels made such replies as induced the commander-in-chief to resort to
a still more direct mode of ascertaining the real condition of his
fleet. In order to effect this important object, Sir Gervaise waited two
hours longer, for the double purpose of letting all the messes get
through with their dinners, and to permit the wind to abate and the sea
to fall, as both were now fast doing. At the expiration of that time,
however, he appeared on the poop, summoning Bunting to his customary
duty.

At 2 P.M. it blew a whole top-sail breeze, as it is called; but
the sea being still high, and the ships close-hauled, the vice-admiral
did not see fit to order any more sail. Perhaps he was also influenced
by a desire not to increase his distance from the enemy, it being a part
of his plan to keep M. de Vervillin in plain sight so long as the day
continued, in order that he might have a tolerable idea of the position
of his fleet, during the hours of darkness. His present intention was to
cause his vessels to pass before him in review, as a general orders his
battalions to march past a station occupied by himself and staff, with a
view to judge by his own eye of their steadiness and appearance.
Vice-Admiral Oakes was the only officer in the British navy who ever
resorted to this practice; but he did many things of which other men
never dreamed, and, among the rest, he did not hesitate to attack double
his force, when an occasion offered, as has just been seen. The officers
of the fleet called these characteristic reviews "Sir Jarvy's
field-days," finding a malicious pleasure in comparing any thing out of
the common nautical track, to some usage of the soldiers.

Bunting got his orders, notwithstanding the jokes of the fleet; and the
necessary signals were made and the answers given. Captain Greenly then
received his verbal instructions, when the commander-in-chief went
below, to prepare himself for the approaching scene. When Sir Gervaise
re-appeared on the poop, he was in full uniform, wearing the star of the
Bath, as was usual with him on all solemn official occasions. Atwood and
Bunting were at his side, while the Bowlderos, in their rich
shore-liveries, formed a group at hand. Captain Greenly and his first
lieutenant joined the party as soon as their duty with the ship was
over. On the opposite side of the poop, the whole of the marines off
guard were drawn up in triple lines, with their officers at their head.
The ship herself had hauled up her main-sail, hauled down all her
stay-sails, and lay with her main-top-sail braced sharp aback, with
orders to the quarter-master to keep her little off the wind; the object
being to leave a little way through the water, in order to prolong the
expected interviews. With these preparations the commander-in-chief
awaited the successive approach of his ships, the sun, for the first
time in twenty-four hours, making his appearance in a flood of brilliant
summer-light, as if purposely to grace the ceremony.

The first ship that drew near the Plantagenet was the Carnatic, as a
matter of course, she being the next in the line. This vessel,
remarkable, as the commander-in-chief had observed, for never being out
of the way, was not long in closing, though as she luffed up on the
admiral's weather-quarter, to pass to windward, she let go all her
top-sail bowlines, so as to deaden her way, making a sort of half-board.
This simple evolution, as she righted her helm, brought her about fifty
yards to windward of the Plantagenet, past which ship she surged slowly
but steadily, the weather now permitting a conversation to be held at
that distance, and by means of trumpets, with little or no effort of the
voice.

Most of the officers of the Carnatic were on her poop, as she came
sweeping up heavily, casting her shadow on the Plantagenet's decks.
Captain Parker himself was standing near the ridge-ropes, his head
uncovered, and the grey hairs floating in the breeze. The countenance of
this simple-minded veteran was a little anxious, for, had he feared the
enemy a tenth part as much as he stood in awe of his commanding officer,
he would have been totally unfit for his station. Now he glanced upward
at his sails, to see that all was right; then, as he drew nearer, fathom
by fathom as it might be, he anxiously endeavoured to read the
expression of the vice-admiral's face.

"How do you do, Captain Parker?" commenced Sir Gervaise, with true
trumpet formality, making the customary salutation.

"How is Sir Gervaise Oakes to-day? I hope untouched in the late affair
with the enemy?"

"Quite well, I thank you, sir. Has the Carnatic received any serious
injury in the battle?"

"None to mention, Sir Gervaise. A rough scrape of the foremast; but not
enough to alarm us, now the weather has moderated; a little rigging cut,
and a couple of raps in the hull."

"Have your people suffered, sir?"

"Two killed and seven wounded, Sir Gervaise. Good lads, most of 'em; but
enough like 'em remain."

"I understand, then, Captain Parker, that you report the Carnatic fit
for any service?"

"As much so as my poor abilities enable me to make her, Sir Gervaise
Oakes," answered the other, a little alarmed at the formality and
precision of the question. "Meet her with the helm--meet her with the
helm."

All this passed while the Carnatic was making her half-board, and, the
helm being righted, she now slowly and majestically fell off with her
broadside to the admiral, gathering way as her canvass began to draw
again. At this instant, when the yard-arms of the two ships were about a
hundred feet asunder, and just as the Carnatic drew up fairly abeam, Sir
Gervaise Oakes raised his hat, stepped quickly to the side of the poop,
waved his hand for silence, and spoke with a distinctness that rendered
his words audible to all in both vessels.

"Captain Parker," he said, "I wish, publicly, to thank you for your
noble conduct this day. I have always said a surer support could never
follow a commander-in-chief into battle; you have more than proved my
opinion to be true. I wish, publicly, to thank you, sir."

"Sir Gervaise--I cannot express--God bless you, Sir Gervaise!"

"I have but one fault to find with you, sir, and that is easily
pardoned."

"I'm sure I hope so, sir."

"You handled your ship so rapidly and so surely, that _we_ had hardly
time to get out of the way of your guns!"

Old Parker could not now have answered had his life depended on it; but
he bowed, and dashed a hand across his eyes. There was but a moment to
say any more.

"If His Majesty's sword be not laid on _your_ shoulder for this day's
work, sir, it shall be no fault of mine," added Sir Gervaise, waving his
hat in adieu.

While this dialogue lasted, so profound was the stillness in the two
ships, that the wash of the water under the bows of the Carnatic, was
the only sound to interfere with Sir Gervaise's clarion voice; but the
instant he ceased to speak, the crews of both vessels rose as one man,
and cheered. The officers joined heartily, and to complete the
compliment, the commander-in-chief ordered his own marines to present
arms to the passing vessel. Then it was that, every sail drawing, again
the Carnatic took a sudden start, and shot nearly her length ahead, on
the summit of a sea. In half a minute more, she was ahead of the
Plantagenet's flying-jib-boom-end, steering a little free, so as not to
throw the admiral to leeward.

The Carnatic was scarcely out of the way, before the Achilles was ready
to take her place. This ship, having more room, had easily luffed to
windward of the Plantagenet, simply letting go her bowlines, as her bows
doubled on the admiral's stern, in order to check her way.

"How do you do to-day, Sir Gervaise?" called out Lord Morganic, without
waiting for the commander-in-chief's hail--"allow me to congratulate
you, sir, on the exploits of this glorious day!"

"I thank you, my lord, and wish to say I am satisfied with the behaviour
of your ship. You've _all_ done well, and I desire to thank you _all_.
Is the Achilles injured?"

"Nothing to speak of, sir. A little rigging gone, and here and there a
stick."

"Have you lost any men, my lord? I desire particularly to know the
condition of each ship."

"Some eight or ten poor fellows, I believe, Sir Gervaise; but we are
ready to engage this instant."

"It is well, my lord; steady your bowlines, and make room for the
Thunderer."

Morganic gave the order, but as his ship drew ahead he called out in a
pertinacious way,--"I hope, Sir Gervaise, you don't mean to give that
other lame duck up. I've got my first lieutenant on board one of 'em,
and confess to a desire to put the second on board another."

"Ay--ay--Morganic, _we_ knock down the birds, and _you_ bag 'em. I'll
give you more sport in the same way, before I've done with ye."

This little concession, even Sir Gervaise Oakes, a man not accustomed to
trifle in matters of duty, saw fit to make to the other's rank; and the
Achilles withdrew from before the flag-ship, as the curtain is drawn
from before the scene.

"I do believe, Greenleaf," observed Lord Morganic to his surgeon, one of
his indulged favourites; "that Sir Jarvy is a little jealous of us,
because Daly got into the prize before he could send one of his own
boats aboard of her. 'Twill tell well in the gazette, too, will it
not?--'The French ship was taken possession of, and brought off, by the
Achilles, Captain the Earl of Morganic!' I hope the old fellow will have
the decency to give us our due. I rather think it _was_ our last
broadside that brought the colours down?"

A suitable answer was returned, but as the ship is drawing ahead, we
cannot follow her to relate it. The vessel that approached the third,
was the Thunderer, Captain Foley. This was one of the ships that had
received the fire of the three leading French vessels, after they had
brought the wind abeam, and being the leading vessel of the English
rear, she had suffered more than any other of the British squadron. The
fact was apparent, as she approached, by the manner in which her rigging
was knotted, and the attention that had been paid to her spars. Even as
she closed, the men were on the yard bending a new main-course, the old
one having been hit on the bolt-rope, and torn nearly from the spar.
There were also several plugs on her lee-side to mark the spots where
the French guns had told.

The usual greetings passed between the vice-admiral and his captain, and
the former put his questions.

"We have not been quite exchanging salutes, Sir Gervaise," answered
Captain Foley; "but the ship is ready for service again. Should the wind
moderate a little, I think everything would stand to carry sail _hard_."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir--_rejoiced_ to hear it, sir. I feared more for
you, than for any other vessel. I hope you've not suffered materially in
your crew?"

"Nine killed. Sir Gervaise; and the surgeon tells me sixteen wounded."

"That proves you've not been in port, Foley! Well, I dare say, could the
truth be known, it would be found that M. de Vervillin's vessels bear
your marks, in revenge. Adieu--adieu--God bless you."

The Thunderer glided ahead, making room for the Blenheim, Captain
Sterling. This was one of your serviceable ships, without any show or
style about her; but a vessel that was always ready to give and take.
Her commander was a regular sea-dog, a little addicted to hard and
outlandish oaths, a great consumer of tobacco and brandy; but who had
the discrimination never to swear in the presence of the
commander-in-chief, although he had been known to do so in a church; or
to drink more than he could well carry, when he was in presence of an
enemy or a gale of wind. He was too firm a man, and too good a seaman,
to use the bottle as a refuge; it was the companion of his ease and
pleasure, and to confess the truth, he then treated it with an
affectionate benevolence, that rendered it exceedingly difficult for
others not to entertain some of his own partiality for it. In a word,
Captain Sterling was a sailor of the "old school;" for there was an "old
school" in manners, habits, opinions, philosophy, morals, and reason, a
century since, precisely as there _is_ to-day, and probably _will_ be, a
century hence.

The Blenheim made a good report, not having sustained any serious injury
whatever; nor had she a man hurt. The captain reported his ship as fit
for service as she was the hour she lifted her anchor.

"So much the better, Sterling--so much the better. You shall take the
edge off the next affair, by way of giving you another chance. I rely on
the Blenheim, and on her captain."

"I thank you, sir," returned Sterling, as his ship moved on; "by the
way, Sir Gervaise, would it not be fair-play to rummage the prize's
lockers before she gets into the hands of the custom-house? Out here on
the high seas, there can be no smuggling in _that_: there must be good
claret aboard her."

"There would be 'plunder of a prize,' Sterling," said the vice-admiral,
laughing, for he knew that the question was put more as a joke than a
serious proposition; "and that is death, without benefit of clergy. Move
on; here is Goodfellow close upon your heels."

The last ship in the English line was the Warspite, Captain Goodfellow,
an officer remarkable in the service at that day, for a "religious
turn," as it was called. As is usually the case with men of this stamp,
Captain Goodfellow was quiet, thoughtful, and attentive to his duty.
There was less of the real tar in him, perhaps, than in some of his
companions; but his ship was in good order, always did her duty, and was
remarkably attentive to signals; a circumstance that rendered her
commander a marked favourite with the vice-admiral. After the usual
questions were put and answered, Sir Gervaise informed Goodfellow that
he intended to change the order of sailing so as to bring him near the
van.

"We will give old Parker a breathing spell, Goodfellow," added the
commander-in-chief, "and you will be my second astern. I must go ahead
of you all, or you'll be running down on the Frenchman without orders;
pretending you can't see the signals, in the smoke."

The Warspite drove ahead, and the Plantagenet was now left to receive
the prize and the Druid; the Chloe, Driver, and Active, not being
included in the signal. Daly had been gradually eating the other ships
out of the wind, as has been mentioned already, and when the order was
given to pass within hail, he grumbled not a little at the necessity of
losing so much of his vantage-ground. Nevertheless, it would not do to
joke with the commander-in-chief in a matter of this sort, and he was
fain to haul up his courses, and wait for the moment when he might
close. By the time the Warspite was out of the way, his ship had drifted
down so near the admiral, that he had nothing to do but to haul aboard
his tacks again, and pass as near as was at all desirable. When quite
near, he hauled up his main-sail, by order of the vice-admiral.

"Are you much in want of any thing, Mr. Daly?" demanded Sir Gervaise, as
soon as the lieutenant appeared forward to meet his hail. "The sea is
going down so fast, that we might now send you some boats."

"Many thanks, Sir Gervaise; I want to get rid of a hundred or two
Frenchmen, and to have a hundred Englishmen in their places. We are but
twenty-one of the king's subjects here, all told."

"Captain Blewet is ordered to keep company with you, sir; and as soon as
it is dark, I intend to send you into Plymouth under the frigate's
convoy. Is she a nice ship, hey! Daly?"

"Why, Sir Gervaise, she's like a piece of broken crockery, just now, and
one can't tell all her merits. She's not a bad goer, and weatherly, I
think, all will call her. But she's thundering French, inside."

"We'll make her English in due time, sir. How are the leaks? do the
pumps work freely?"

"Deuce the l'ake has she, Sir Gervaise, and the pumps suck like a nine
months' babby. And if they didn't we're scarce the boys to find out the
contrary, being but nineteen working hands."

"Very well, Daly; you can haul aboard your main-tack, now; remember,
you're to go into Plymouth, as soon as it is dark. If you see any thing
of Admiral Bluewater, tell him I rely on his support, and only wait for
his appearance to finish Monsieur de Vervillin's job."

"I'll do all that, with hearty good will, sir. Pray, Sir Gervaise,"
added Daly, grinning, on the poop of the prize, whither he had got by
this time, having walked aft as his ship went ahead, "how do you like
French signals? For want of a better, we were driven to the classics!"

"Ay, you'd be bothered to explain all your own flags, I fancy. The name
of the ship is the Victory, I am told; why did you put her in armour,
and whip a kedge up against the poor woman?"

"It's according to the books, Sir Gervaise. Every word of it out of
Cicero, and Cordairy, and Cornelius Nepos, and those sort of fellows.
Oh! I went to school, sir, before I went to sea, as you say yourself,
sometimes, Sir Gervaise; and literature is the same in Ireland, as it is
all over the world. Victory needs armour, sir, in order to be
victorious, and the anchor is to show that she doesn't belong to 'the
cut and run' family. I am as sure that all was right, as I ever was of
my moods and tenses."

"Very well, Daly," answered Sir Gervaise, laughing--"My lords shall know
your merits in that way, and it may get you named a professor--keep your
luff, or you'll be down on our sprit-sail-yard;--remember and follow the
Druid."

Here the gentlemen waved their hands in adieu as usual, and la Victoire,
clipped as she was of her wings, drew slowly past. The Druid succeeded,
and Sir Gervaise simply gave Blewet his orders to see the prize into
port, and to look after his own foremast. This ended the field day; the
frigate luffing up to windward of the line again, leaving the
Plantagenet in its rear. A few minutes later, the latter ship filled and
stood after her consorts.

The vice-admiral having now ascertained, in the most direct manner, the
actual condition of his fleet, had _data_ on which to form his plans for
the future. But for the letter from Bluewater, he would have been
perfectly happy; the success of the day having infused a spirit into the
different vessels, that, of itself, was a pledge of more important
results. Still he determined to act as if that letter had never been
written, finding it impossible to believe that one who had so long been
true, could really fail him in the hour of need. "I know his heart
better than he knows it himself," he caught himself mentally exclaiming,
"and before either of us is a day older, this will I prove to him, to
his confusion and my triumph." He had several short and broken
conversations with Wycherly in the course of the afternoon, with a view
to ascertain, if possible, the real frame of mind in which his friend
had written, but without success, the young man frankly admitting that,
owing to a confusion of thought that he modestly attributed to himself,
but which Sir Gervaise well knew ought in justice to be imputed to
Bluewater, he had not been able to bring away with him any very clear
notions of the rear-admiral's intentions.

In the mean while, the elements were beginning to exhibit another of
their changeful humours. A gale in summer is seldom of long duration,
and twenty-four hours would seem to be the period which nature had
assigned to this. The weather had moderated materially by the time the
review had taken place, and five hours later, not only had the sea
subsided to a very reasonable swell, but the wind had hauled several
points; coming out a fresh top-gallant breeze at north-west. The French
fleet wore soon after, standing about north-east-by-north, on an easy
bowline. They had been active in repairing damages, and the admiral was
all a-tanto again, with every thing set that the other ships carried.
The plight of le Scipion was not so easily remedied, though even she had
two jury-masts rigged, assistance having been sent from the other
vessels as soon as boats could safely pass. As the sun hung in the
western sky, wanting about an hour of disappearing from one of the long
summer days of that high latitude, this ship set a mizzen-top-sail in
the place of a main, and a fore-top-gallant-sail in lieu of a
mizzen-top-sail. Thus equipped, she was enabled to keep company with her
consorts, all of which were under easy canvass, waiting for the night to
cover their movements.

Sir Gervaise Oakes had made the signal for his fleet to tack in
succession, from the rear to the van, about an hour before le Scipion
obtained this additional sail. The order was executed with great
readiness, and, as the ships had been looking up as high as
west-south-west before, when they got round, and headed
north-north-east, their line of sailing was still quite a league to
windward of that of the enemy. As each vessel filled on the larboard
tack, she shortened sail to allow the ships astern to keep away, and
close to her station. It is scarcely necessary to say, that this change
again brought the Plantagenet to the head of the line, with the
Warspite, however, instead of the Carnatic, for her second astern; the
latter vessel being quite in the rear.

It was a glorious afternoon, and there was every promise of as fine a
night. Still, as there were but about six hours of positive darkness at
that season of the year, and the moon would rise at midnight, the
vice-admiral knew he had no time to lose, if he would effect any thing
under the cover of obscurity. Reefs were no longer used, though all the
ships were under short canvass, in order to accommodate their movements
to those of the prize. The latter, however, was now in tow of the Druid,
and, as this frigate carried her top-gallant-sails, aided by her own
courses, la Victoire was enabled not only to keep up with the fleet,
then under whole top-sails, but to maintain her weatherly position. Such
was the state of things just as the sun dipped, the enemy being on the
lee bow, distant one and a half leagues, when the Plantagenet showed a
signal for the whole fleet to heave to, with the main-top-sails to the
masts. This command was scarcely executed, when the officers on deck
were surprised to hear a boatswain's mate piping away the crew of the
vice-admiral's barge, or that of the boat which was appropriated to the
particular service of the commander-in-chief.

"Did I hear aright, Sir Gervaise?" inquired Greenly, with curiosity and
interest; "is it your wish to have your barge manned, sir?"

"You heard perfectly right, Greenly; and, if disposed for a row this
fine evening, I shall ask the favour of your company. Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe, as you are an idler here, I have a flag-officer's right to
press yon into my service. By the way, Greenly, I have made out and
signed an order to this gentleman to report himself to you, as attached
to my family, as the soldiers call it; as soon as Atwood has copied it,
it will be handed to him, when I beg you will consider him as my first
aid."

To this no one could object, and Wycherly made a bow of acknowledgment.
At that instant the barge was seen swinging off over the ship's waist,
and, at the next, the yard tackles were heard overhauling themselves.
The splash of the boat in the water followed. The crew was in her, with
oars on end, and poised boat-hooks, in another minute. The guard
presented, the boatswain piped over, the drum rolled, and Wycherly
jumped to the gangway and was out of sight quick as thought. Greenly and
Sir Gervaise followed, when the boat shoved off.

Although the seas had greatly subsided, and their combs were no longer
dangerous, the Atlantic was far from being as quiet as a lake in a
summer eventide. At the very first dash of the oars the barge rose on a
long, heavy swell that buoyed her up like a bubble, and as the water
glided from under her again, it seemed as if she was about to sink into
some cavern of the ocean. Few things give more vivid impressions of
helplessness than boats thus tossed by the waters when not in their
raging humours; for one is apt to expect better treatment than thus to
be made the plaything of the element. All, however, who have ever
floated on even the most quiet ocean, must have experienced more or less
of this helpless dependence, the stoutest boat, impelled by the lustiest
crews, appearing half the time like a feather floating in capricious
currents of the air.

The occupants of the barge, however, were too familiar with their
situation to think much of these matters; and, as soon as Sir Gervaise
assented to Wycherly's offer to take the tiller, he glanced upward, with
a critical eye, in order to scan the Plantagenet's appearance.

"That fellow, Morganic, has got a better excuse for his xebec-rig than I
had supposed, Greenly," he said, after a minute of observation. "Your
fore-top-mast is at least six inches too far forward, and I beg you will
have it stayed aft to-morrow morning, if the weather permit. None of
your Mediterranean craft for me, in the narrow seas."

"Very well, Sir Gervaise; the spar shall be righted in the morning
watch," quietly returned the captain.

"Now, there's Goodfellow, half-parson as he is; the man contrives to
keep his sticks more upright than any captain in the fleet. You never
see a spar half an inch out of its place, on board the Warspite."

"That is because her captain trims every thing by his own life, sir,"
rejoined Greenly, smiling. "Were we half as good as he is, in other
matters, we might be better than we are in seamanship."

"I do not think religion hurts a sailor, Greenly--no, not in the least.
That is to say, when he don't wedge his masts too tight, but leaves play
enough for all weathers. There is no cant in Goodfellow."

"Not the least of it, sir, and that it is which makes him so great a
favourite. The chaplain of the Warspite is of some use; but one might as
well have a bowsprit rigged out of a cabin-window, as have our chap."

"Why, we never bury a man, Greenly, without putting him into the water
as a Christian should be," returned Sir Gervaise, with the simplicity of
a true believer of the decency school. "I hate to see a seaman tossed in
the ocean like a bag of old clothes."

"We get along with that part of the duty pretty well; but _before_ a man
is dead, the parson is of opinion that he belongs altogether to the
doctor."

"I'd bet a hundred guineas, Magrath has had some influence over him, in
this matter--give the Blenheim a wider berth, Sir Wycherly, I wish to
see how she looks aloft--he's a d----d fellow, that Magrath,"--no one
swore in Sir Gervaise's boat but himself, when the vice-admiral's flag
was flying in her bows;--"and he's just the sort of man to put such a
notion into the chaplain's head."

"Why, there, I believe you're more than half right, Sir Gervaise; I
overheard a conversation between them one dark night, when they were
propping the mizzen-mast under the break of the poop, and the surgeon
_did_ maintain a theory very like that you mention, sir."

"Ah!--he did, did he? It's just like the Scotch rogue, who wanted to
persuade me that your poor uncle, Sir Wycherly, ought not to have been
blooded, in as clear a case of apoplexy as ever was met with."

"Well, I didn't think he could have carried his impudence as far as
that," observed Greenly, whose medical knowledge was about on a par with
that of Sir Gervaise. "I didn't think even a doctor would dare to hold
such a doctrine! As for the chaplain, to him he laid down the principle
that religion and medicine never worked well together. He said religion
was an 'alterative,' and would neutralize a salt as quick as fire."

"He's a great vagabond, that Magrath, when he gets hold of a young hand,
sir; and I wish with all my heart the Pretender had him, with two or
three pounds of his favourite medicines with him--I think, between the
two, England might reap some advantage, Greenly.--Now, to my notion,
Wychecombe, the Blenheim would make better weather, if her masts were
shortened at least two feet."

"Perhaps she might, Sir Gervaise; but would she be as certain a ship, in
coming into action in light winds and at critical moments?"

"Umph! It's time for us old fellows to look about us, Greenly, when the
boys begin to reason on a line of battle! Don't blush, Wychecombe; don't
blush. Your remark was sensible, and shows reflection. No country can
ever have a powerful marine, or, one likely to produce much influence in
her wars, that does not pay rigid attention to the tactics of fleets.
Your frigate actions and sailing of single ships, are well enough as
drill; but the great practice must be in squadron. Ten heavy ships, in
good _fleet_ discipline, and kept at sea, will do more than a hundred
single cruisers, in establishing and maintaining discipline; and it is
only by using vessels _together_, that we find out what both ships and
men can do. Now, we owe the success of this day, to our practice of
sailing in close order, and in knowing how to keep our stations; else
would six ships never have been able to carry away the palm of victory
from twelve--palm!--Ay, that's the very word. Greenly, I was trying to
think of this morning. Daly's paddy should have had a palm-branch in its
hand, as an emblem of victory."



CHAPTER XXVI.

      "He that has sailed upon the dark-blue sea,
         Has viewed at times, I ween, a full fair sight;
       When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be,
         The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight;
         Mast, spires and strand, retiring to the sight,
       The glorious main expanding o'er the bow,
         The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight,
       The dullest sailer waring bravely now,
     So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow."

         BYRON.


As Sir Gervaise Oakes' active mind was liable to such sudden mutations
of thought as that described in the close of the last chapter, Greenly
neither smiled, nor dwelt on the subject at all; he simply pointed out
to his superior the fact, that they were now abreast of the Thunderer,
and desired to know whether it was his pleasure to proceed any further.

"To the Carnatic, Greenly, if Sir Wycherly will have the goodness to
shape his course thither. I have a word to say to my friend Parker,
before we sleep to-night. Give us room, however, to look at Morganic's
fancies, for I never pass his ship without learning something new. Lord
Morganic's vessel is a good school for us old fellows to attend--hey!
Greenly?"

"The Achilles is certainly a model vessel in some respects, Sir
Gervaise, though I flatter myself the Plantagenets have no great
occasion to imitate her, in order to gain a character."

"_You_ imitate Morganic in order to know how to keep a ship in
order!--Poh! let Morganic come to school to _you_. Yet the fellow is not
bashful in battle neither; keeps his station well, and makes himself
both heard and felt. Ah! there he is, flourishing his hat on the poop,
and wondering what the deuce Sir Jarvy's after, now! Sheer in,
Wychecombe, and let us hear what he has to say."

"Good evening, Sir Gervaise," called out the earl, as usual taking the
_initiative_ in the discourse; "I was in hopes when I saw your flag in
the boat, that you were going to do me the favour to open a bottle of
claret, and to taste some fruit, I have still standing on the table."

"I thank you, my lord, but business before pleasure. We have not been
idle to-day, though to-morrow shall be still more busy. How does the
Achilles steer; now her foremast is in its place?"

"Yaws like a fellow with his grog aboard, Sir Gervaise, on my honour! We
shall never do any thing with her, until you consent to let us stay her
spars, in our own fashion. Do you intend to send me Daly back, or am I
to play first lieutenant myself, admiral?"

"Daly's shipped for the cruise, and you must do as well as you can
without him. If you find yourself without a second astern, in the course
of the night, do not fancy she has gone to the bottom. Keep good
look-outs, and pay attention to signals."

As Sir Gervaise waved his hand, the young noble did not venture to
reply, much less to ask a question, though there was not a little
speculation on the poop of the Achilles, concerning the meaning of his
words. The boat moved on, and five minutes later Sir Gervaise was on the
quarter-deck of the Carnatic.

Parker received the commander-in-chief, hat in hand, with a solicitude
and anxiety that were constitutional, perhaps, and which no
consciousness of deserving could entirely appease. Habit, however, had
its share in it, since, accustomed to defer to rank from boyhood, and
the architect of his own "little fortune," he had ever attached more
importance to the commendation of his superior, than was usual with
those who had other props to lean on than their own services. As soon as
the honours of the quarter-deck had been duly paid--for these Sir
Gervaise never neglected himself, nor allowed others to neglect--the
vice-admiral intimated to Captain Parker a desire to see him in his
cabin, requesting Greenly and Wycherly to accompany them below.

"Upon my word, Parker," commenced Sir Gervaise, looking around him at
the air of singular domestic comfort that the after-cabin of the ship
presented, "you have the knack of taking a house to sea with you, that
no other captain of the fleet possesses! No finery, no Morganics, but a
plain, wholesome, domestic look, that might make a man believe he was in
his father's house. I would give a thousand pounds if my vagabonds could
give the cabin of the Plantagenet such a Bowldero look, now!"

"Less than a hundred, sir, have done the little you see here. Mrs.
Parker makes it a point to look to those matters, herself, and in that
lies the whole secret, perhaps. A good wife is a great blessing, Sir
Gervaise, though you have never been able to persuade yourself into the
notion, I believe."

"I hardly think, Parker, the wife can do it all. Now there's Stowel,
Bluewater's captain, he is married as well as yourself--nay, by George,
I've heard the old fellow say he had as much wife as any man in his
majesty's service--but _his_ cabin looks like a cobbler's barn, and his
state-room like a soldier's bunk! When we were lieutenants together in
the Eurydice, Parker, your state-room had just the same air of comfort
about it that this cabin has at this instant. No--no--it's in the grain,
man, or it would never show itself, in all times and places."

"You forget, Sir Gervaise, that when I had the honour to be your
messmate in the Eurydice, I was a married man."

"I beg your pardon, my old friend; so you were, indeed! Why, that was a
confounded long time ago, hey! Parker?"

"It was, truly, sir; but I was poor, and could not afford the
extravagances of a single life. _I_ married for the sake of economy,
Admiral Oakes."

"And love--" answered Sir Gervaise, laughing. "I'll warrant you,
Greenly, that he persuaded Mrs. Parker into that notion, whether true or
not. I'll warrant you, he didn't tell _her_ he married for so sneaking a
thing as economy! I should like to see your state-room now, Parker."

"Nothing easier, Sir Gervaise," answered the captain, rising and opening
the door. "Here it is, air, though little worthy the attention of the
owner of Bowldero."

"A notable place, truly!--and with a housewife-look about it that must
certainly remind you of Mrs. Parker--unless, indeed, that picture at the
foot of your cot puts other notions into your head! What young hussy
have you got there, my old Eurydice?--Hey! Parker?"

"That is a picture of my faithful wife, Sir Gervaise; a proper
companion, I hope, of my cruise?"

"Hey! What, that young thing your wife, Parker! How the d--l came she to
have you?"

"Ah, Sir Gervaise, she is a young thing no longer, but is well turned
towards sixty. The picture was taken when she was a bride, and is all
the dearer to me, now that I know the original has shared my fortunes so
long. I never look at it, without remembering, with gratitude, how much
she thinks of me in our cruises, and how often she prays for our
success. _You_ are not forgotten, either, sir, in her prayers."

"I!" exclaimed the vice-admiral, quite touched at the earnest simplicity
of the other. "D'ye hear that, Greenly? I'll engage, now, this lady is a
good woman--a really excellent creature--just such another as my poor
sainted mother was, and a blessing to all around her! Give me your hand,
Parker; and when you write next to your wife, tell her from me, God
bless her; and say all you think a man ought to say on such an occasion.
And now to business. Let us seat ourselves in this snug domestic-looking
cabin of yours, and talk our matters over."

The two captains and Wycherly followed the vice-admiral into the
after-cabin, where the latter seated himself on a small sofa, while the
others took chairs, in respectful attitudes near him, no familiarity or
jocularity on the part of a naval superior ever lessening the distance
between him and those who _hold subordinate commissions_--a fact that
legislators would do well to remember, when graduating rank in a
service. As soon as all were placed, Sir Gervaise opened his mind.

"I have a delicate piece of duty, Captain Parker," he commenced, "which
I wish entrusted to yourself. You must know that we handled the ship
which escaped us this morning by running down into her own line, pretty
roughly, in every respect; besides cutting two of her masts out of her.
This ship, as you may have seen, has got up jury-masts, already; but
they are spars that can only be intended to carry her into port.
Monsieur de Vervillin is not the man I take him to be, if he intends to
leave the quarrel between us where it is. Still he cannot keep that
crippled ship in his fleet, any more than we can keep our prize, and I
make no doubt he will send her off to Cherbourg as soon as it is dark;
most probably accompanied by one of his corvettes; or perhaps by a
frigate."

"Yes, Sir Gervaise," returned Parker, thoughtfully, as soon as his
superior ceased to speak; "what you predict, is quite likely to happen."

"It _must_ happen, Parker, the wind blowing directly for his haven. Now,
you may easily imagine what I want of the Carnatic."

"I suppose I understand you, sir;--and yet, if I might presume to
express a wish--"

"Speak out, old boy--you're talking to a friend. I have chosen you to
serve you, both as one I like, and as the oldest captain in the fleet.
Whoever catches that ship will hear more of it."

"Very true, sir; but are we not likely to have more work, here? and
would it be altogether prudent to send so fine a ship as the Carnatic
away, when the enemy will count ten to six, even if she remain?"

"All this has been thought of; and I suppose your own feeling has been
anticipated. You think it will be more honourable to your vessel, to
keep her place in the line, than to take a ship already half beaten."

"That's it, indeed, Sir Gervaise. I do confess some such thoughts were
crossing my mind."

"Then see how easy it is to rose them out of it. I cannot fight the
French, in this moderate weather, without a reinforcement. When the rear
joins, we shall be just ten to ten, without you, and with you, should be
eleven to ten. Now, I confess, I don't wish the least odds, and shall
send away somebody; especially when I feel certain a noble two-decked
ship will be the reward. If a frigate accompany the crippled fellow,
you'll have your hands full, and a very fair fight; and should you get
either, it will be a handsome thing. What say you _now_, Parker?"

"I begin to think better of the plan, Sir Gervaise, and am grateful for
the selection. I wish, however, I knew your own precise wishes--I've
always found it safe to follow them, sir."

"Here they are, then. Get four or five sets of the sharpest eyes you
have, and send them aloft to keep a steady look on your chap, while
there is light enough to be certain of him. In a little while, they'll
be able to recognise him in the dark; and by keeping your night-glasses
well levelled, he can scarcely slip off, without your missing him. The
moment he is gone, ware short round, and make the best of your way for
Cape la Hogue, or Alderney; you will go three feet to his two, and, my
life on it, by day-light you'll have him to windward of you, and then
you'll be certain of him. Wait for no signals from me, but be off, as
soon as it is dark. When your work is done, make the best of your way to
the nearest English port, and clap a Scotchman on your shoulder to keep
the king's sword from chafing it. They thought me fit for knighthood at
three-and-twenty, and the deuce is in it, Parker, if you are not worthy
of it at three-and-sixty!"

"Ah! Sir Gervaise, every thing you undertook succeeded! You never yet
failed in any expedition."

"That has come from attempting much. My _plans_ have often failed; but
as something good has generally followed from them, I have the credit of
designing to do, exactly what I've done."

Then followed a long, detailed discourse, on the subject before them, in
which Greenly joined; the latter making several useful suggestions to
the veteran commander of the Carnatic. After passing quite an hour in
the cabin of Parker, Sir Gervaise took his leave and re-entered his
barge. It was now so dark that small objects could not be distinguished
a hundred yards, and the piles of ships, as the boat glided past them,
resembled black hillocks, with clouds floating among their tree-like and
waving spars. No captain presumed to hail the commander-in-chief, as he
rowed down the line, again, with the exception of the peer of the realm.
He indeed had always something to say; and, as he had been conjecturing
what could induce the vice-admiral to pay so long a visit to the
Carnatic, he could not refrain from uttering as much aloud, when he
heard the measured stroke of the oars from the returning barge.

"We shall all be jealous of this compliment to Captain Parker, Sir
Gervaise," he called out, "unless your favours are occasionally extended
to some of us less worthy ones."

"Ay--ay--Morganic, you'll be remembered in proper time. In the mean
while, keep your people's eyes open, so as not to lose sight of the
French. We shall have something to say to them in the morning."

"Spare us a night-action, if possible, Sir Gervaise! I do detest
fighting when sleepy; and I like to see my enemy, too. As much as you
please in the day-time; but a quiet night, I do beseech you, sir."

"I'll warrant you, now, if the opera, or Ranelagh, or a drum, or a
masquerade, were inviting you, Morganic, you'd think but little of your
pillow!" answered Sir Gervaise, drily; "whatever you do yourself, my
lord, don't let the Achilles get asleep on duty; I may have need of her
to-morrow. Give way, Wychecombe, give way, and let us get home again."

In fifteen minutes from that instant, Sir Gervaise was once more on the
poop of the Plantagenet, and the barge in its place on deck. Greenly was
attending to the duties of his ship, and Bunting stood in readiness to
circulate such orders as it might suit the commander-in-chief to give.

It was now nine o'clock, and it was not easy to distinguish objects on
the ocean, even as large as a ship, at the distance of half a league. By
the aid of the glasses, however, a vigilant look-out was kept on the
French vessels, which, by this time, were quite two leagues distant,
drawing more ahead. It was necessary to fill away, in order to close
with them, and a night-signal was made to that effect. The whole British
line braced forward their main-yards, as it might be, by a common
impulse, and had there been one there of sufficiently acute senses, he
might have heard all six of the main-top-sails flapping at the same
instant. As a matter of course the vessels started ahead, and, the order
being to follow the vice-admiral in a close line ahead, when the
Plantagenet edged off, so as to bring the wind abeam, each vessel did
the same, in succession, or as soon as in the commander-in-chief's wake,
as if guided by instinct. About ten minutes later, the Carnatic, to the
surprise of those who witnessed the man[oe]uvre in the Achilles, wore
short round, and set studding-sails on her starboard side, steering
large. The darkest portion of the horizon being that which lay to the
eastward, or, in the direction of the continent, in twenty minutes the
pyramid of her shadowy outline was swallowed in the gloom. All this
time, la Victoire, with the Druid leading and towing, kept upon a
bowline; and an hour later, when Sir Gervaise found himself abeam of the
French line again, and half a league to windward of it, no traces were
to be seen of the three ships last mentioned.

"So far, all goes well, gentlemen," observed the vice-admiral to the
group around him on the poop; "and we will now try to count the enemy,
to make certain _he_, too, has no stragglers out to pick up waifs.
Greenly, try that glass; it is set for the night, and your eyes are the
best we have. Be particular in looking for the fellow under jury-masts."

"I make out but ten ships in the line, Sir Gervaise," answered the
captain, after a long examination; "of course the crippled ship must
have gone to leeward. Of _her_, certainly, I can find no traces."

"You will oblige me, Sir Wycherly, by seeing what _you_ can make out, in
the same way."

After a still longer examination than that of the captain, Wycherly made
the same report, adding that he thought he also missed the frigate that
had been nearest le Foudroyant, repeating her signals throughout the
day. This circumstance gratified Sir Gervaise, as he was pleased to find
his prognostics came true, and he was not sorry to be rid of one of the
enemy's light cruisers; a species of vessel that often proved
embarrassing, after a decided affair, even to the conqueror.

"I think, Sir Gervaise," Wycherly modestly added, "that the French have
boarded their tacks, and are pressing up to windward to near us. Did it
not appear so to you, Captain Greenly?"

"Not at all. If they carry courses, the sails have been set within the
last five minutes--ha! Sir Gervaise, that is an indication of a busy
night!"

As he spoke. Greenly pointed to the place where the French admiral was
known to be, where at that instant appeared a double row of lights;
proving that the batteries had their lanterns lit, and showing a
disposition to engage. In less than a minute the whole French line was
to be traced along the sea, by the double rows of illumination, the
light resembling that which is seen through the window of a room that
has a bright fire, rather than one in which lamps or candles are
actually visible. As this was just the species of engagement in which
the English had much to risk, and little to gain, Sir Gervaise
immediately gave orders to brace forward the yards, to board
fore-and-main tacks, and to set top-gallant-sails. As a matter of
course, the ships astern made sail in the same manner, and hauled up on
taut bowlines, following the admiral.

"This is not our play," coolly remarked Sir Gervaise; "a crippled ship
would drop directly into their arms and as for any success at long-shot,
in a two-to-one fight, it is not to be looked for. No--no--Monsieur de
Vervillin, show us your teeth if you will, and a pretty sight it is, but
you do not draw a shot from me. I hope the order to show no lights is
duly attended to."

"I do not think there is a light visible from any ship in the fleet, Sir
Gervaise," answered Bunting, "though we are so near, there can be no
great difficulty in telling where we are."

"All but the Carnatic and the prize, Bunting. The more fuss they make
with us, the less will they think of them."

It is probable the French admiral had been deceived by the near approach
of his enemy, for whose prowess he had a profound respect. He had made
his preparations in expectation of an attack, but he did not open his
fire, although heavy shot would certainly have told with effect.
Indisposed to the uncertainty of a night-action, he declined bringing it
on, and the lights disappeared from his ports an hour later; at that
time the English ships, by carrying sail harder than was usual in so
stiff a breeze, found themselves out of gun-shot, on the weather-bow of
their enemies. Then, and not till then, did Sir Gervaise reduce his
canvass, having, by means of his glasses, first ascertained that the
French had again hauled up their courses, and were moving along at a
very easy rate of sailing.

It was now near midnight, and Sir Gervaise prepared to go below.
Previously to quitting the deck, however, he gave very explicit orders
to Greenly, who transmitted them to the first lieutenant, that officer
or the captain intending to be on the look-out through the night; the
movements of the whole squadron being so dependent on those of the flag
ship. The vice-admiral then retired, and went coolly to bed. He was not
a man to lose his rest, because an enemy was just out of gun-shot.
Accustomed to be man[oe]uvring in front of hostile fleets, the situation
had lost its novelty, and he had so much confidence in the practice of
his captains, that he well knew nothing could occur so long as his
orders were obeyed; to doubt the latter would have been heresy in his
eyes. In professional nonchalance, no man exceeded our vice-admiral.
Blow high, or blow low, it never disturbed the economy of his
cabin-life, beyond what unavoidably was connected with the comfort of
his ship; nor did any prospect of battle cause a meal to vary a minute
in time or a particle in form, until the bulk-heads were actually
knocked down, and the batteries were cleared for action. Although
excitable in trifles, and sometimes a little irritable, Sir Gervaise, in
the way of his profession, was a great man on great occasions. His
temperament was sanguine, and his spirit both decided and bold; and, in
common with all such men who see the truth at all, when he did see it,
he saw it so clearly, as to throw all the doubts that beset minds of a
less masculine order into the shade. On the present occasion, he was
sure nothing could well occur to disturb his rest; and he took it with
the composure of one on _terra-firma_, and in the security of peace.
Unlike those who are unaccustomed to scenes of excitement, he quietly
undressed himself, and his head was no sooner on its pillow, than he
fell into a profound sleep.

It would have been a curious subject of observation to an inexperienced
person, to note the manner in which the two fleets man[oe]uvred
throughout that night. After several hours of ineffectual efforts to
bring their enemies fairly within reach of their guns, after the moon
had risen, the French gave the matter up for a time, shortening sail
while most of their superior officers caught a little rest.

The sun was just rising, as Galleygo laid his hand on the shoulder of
the vice-admiral, agreeably to orders given the previous night. The
touch sufficed: Sir Gervaise being wide awake in an instant. "Well," he
said, rising to a sitting attitude, and putting the question which first
occurs to a seaman, "how's the weather?"

"A good top-gallant breeze, Sir Jarvy, and just what's this ship's play.
If you'd only let her out, and on them Johnny Crapauds, she'd be down
among 'em, in half an hour, like a hawk upon a chicken. I ought to
report to your honour, that the last chicken will be dished for
breakfast unless we gives an order to the gun-room steward to turn us
over some of his birds, as pay for what the pigs eat; which were real
capons."

"Why, you pirate, you would not have me commit a robbery, on the high
seas, would ye?"

"What robbery would it be to order the gun-room to _sell_ us some
poultry. Lord! Sir Jarvy, I'm as far from wishing to take a thing
without an order, as the gunner's yeoman; but, let Mr. Atwood put it in
black and white."

"Tush!" interrupted the master. "How did the French bear from us, when
you were last on deck?"

"Why, there they is, Sir Jarvy," answered Galleygo, drawing the curtain
from before the state-room window, and allowing the vice-admiral to see
the rear of the French line for himself, by turning half round; "and
just where we wants 'em. Their leading ship a little abaft our lee-beam,
distant one league. That's what I calls satisfactory, now."

"Ay, that _is_ a good position, Master Galleygo. Was the prize in sight,
or were you too chicken-headed to look."

"I chicken-headed! Well, Sir Jarvy, of all characters and descriptions
of _me_, that your honour has seen fit to put abroad, this is the most
unjustest; chickens being a food I never thinks on, off soundings.
Pig-headed you might in reason call me, Sir Jarvy; for I _do_ looks
arter the pigs, which is the only real stand-by in a ship; but I never
dreams of a chicken, except for _your_ happetite. When they was eight on
'em--"

"Was the prize in sight?" demanded Sir Gervaise, a little sharply.

"No, Sir Jarvy; she had disappeared, and the Druid with her. But this
isn't all, sir; for they does say, some'at has befallen the Carnatic,
she having gone out of our line, like a binnacle-lamp at eight bells."

"Ay, _she_ is not visible, either."

"Not so much as a hen-coop, Sir Jarvy! We all wonders what has become of
Captain Parker; no sign of him or of his ship is to be found on the
briny ocean. The young gentlemen of the watch laugh, and say she must
have gone up in a waterspout, but they laughs so much at misfortins,
generally, that I never minds 'em."

"Have you had a good look-out at the ocean, this morning, Master
Galleygo," asked Sir Gervaise, drawing his head out of a basin of water,
for, by this time, he was half-dressed, and making his preparations for
the razor. "You used to have an eye for a chase, when we were in a
frigate, and ought to be able to tell me if Bluewater is in sight."

"Admiral Blue!--Well, Sir Jarvy, it _is_ remarkable, but I had just
rubbed his division out of my log, and forgotten all about it. There
_was_ a handful of craft, or so, off here to the nor'ard, at day-light,
but I never thought it was Admiral Blue, it being more nat'ral to
suppose him in his place, as usual, in the rear of our own line. Let me
see, Sir Jarvy, how many ships has we absent under Admiral Blue?"

"Why, the five two-deckers of his own division, to be sure, besides the
Ranger and the Gnat. Seven sail in all."

"Yes, that's just it! Well, your honour, there _was_ five sail to be
seen, out here to the nor'ard, as I told you, and, sure enough, it may
have been Admiral Blue, with all his craft."

By this time, Sir Gervaise had his face covered with lather, but he
forgot the circumstance in a moment. As the wind was at the north-west,
and the Plantagenet was on the larboard tack, looking in the direction
of the Bill of Portland, though much too far to the southward to allow
the land to be seen, his own larboard quarter-gallery window commanded a
good view of the whole horizon to windward. Crossing over from the
starboard state-room, which he occupied _ex-officio_, he opened the
window in question, and took a look for himself. There, sure enough, was
visible a squadron of five ships, in close order, edging leisurely down
on the two lines, under their top-sails, and just near enough to allow
it to be ascertained that their courses were not set. This sight
produced a sudden change in all the vice-admiral's movements. The
business of the toilet was resumed in haste, and the beard was mowed
with a slashing hand, that might have been hazardous in the motion of a
ship, but for the long experience of a sailor. This important part of
the operation was scarcely through, when Locker announced the presence
of Captain Greenly in the main cabin.

"What now, Greenly?--What now?" called out the vice-admiral, puffing as
he withdrew his head, again, from the basin--"What now, Greenly? Any
news from Bluewater?"

"I am happy to tell you, Sir Gervaise, he has been in sight more than an
hour, and is closing with us, though shyly and slowly. I would not let
you be called, as all was right, and I knew sleep was necessary to a
clear head."

"You have done quite right, Greenly; God willing, I intend this to be a
busy day! The French must see our rear division?"

"Beyond a doubt, sir, but they show no signs of making off. M. de
Vervillin will fight, I feel certain; though the experience of yesterday
may render him a little shy as to the mode."

"And his crippled ship?--Old Parker's friend--I take it _she_ is not
visible."

"You were quite right in your conjecture, Sir Gervaise; the crippled
ship is off, as is one of the frigates, no doubt to see her in. Blewet,
too, has gone well to windward of the French, though he can fetch into
no anchorage short of Portsmouth, if this breeze stand."

"Any haven will do. Our little success will animate the king's party,
and give it more _éclat_, perhaps, than it really merits. Let there be
no delay with the breakfast this morning, Greenly; it will be a busy
day."

"Ay--ay, sir," answered the captain in the sailor's usual manner;
"_that_ has been seen to already, as I have expected as much. Admiral
Bluewater keeps his ships in most beautiful order, sir! I do not think
the Cæsar, which leads, is two cable's-length from the Dublin, the
sternmost vessel. He is driving four-in-hand, with a tight rein, too,
depend on it, sir."

At this instant, Sir Gervaise came out of his state-room, his coat in
his hand, and with a countenance that was thoughtful. He finished
dressing with an abstracted air, and would not have known the last
garment was on, had not Galleygo given a violent pull on its skirts, in
order to smooth the cloth about the shoulders.

"It is odd, that Bluewater should come down nearly before the wind, in a
line ahead, and not in a line abreast!" Sir Gervaise rejoined, as his
steward did this office for him.

"Let Admiral Blue alone, for doing what's right," put in Galleygo, in
his usual confident and sell-possessed manner. "By keeping his ships
astern of hisself, he can tell where to find 'em, and we understands
from experience, if Admiral Blue knows where to find a ship, he knows
how to use her."

Instead of rebuking this interference, which went a little further than
common, Greenly was surprised to see the vice-admiral look his steward
intently in the face, as if the man had expressed some shrewd and
comprehensive truth. Then turning to his captain, Sir Gervaise intimated
an intention of going on deck to survey the state of things with his own
eyes.



CHAPTER XXVII.

    "_Thou_ shouldst have died, O high-soul'd chief!
      In those bright days of glory fled,
    When triumph so prevailed o'er grief,
      We scarce would mourn the dead."

         MRS. HEMANS.


The eventful day opened with most of the glories of a summer's morning.
The wind alone prevented it from being one of the finest sun-risings of
July. That continued fresh, at north-west, and, consequently, cool for
the season. The seas of the south-west gale had entirely subsided, and
were already succeeded by the regular but comparatively trilling swell
of the new breeze. For large ships, it might be called smooth water;
though the Driver and Active showed by their pitching and unsteadiness,
and even the two-deckers, by their waving masts, that the unquiet ocean
was yet in motion. The wind seemed likely to stand, and was what seamen
would be apt to call a good six-knot breeze.

To leeward, still distant about a league, lay the French vessels, drawn
up in beautiful array, and in an order so close, and a line so regular,
as to induce the belief that M. de Vervillin had made his dispositions
to receive the expected attack, in his present position. All his
main-top-sails lay flat aback; the top-gallant-sails were flying loose,
but with buntlings and clew-lines hauled up; the jibs were fluttering to
leeward of their booms, and the courses were hanging in festoons beneath
their yards. This was gallant fighting-canvass, and it excited the
admiration of even his enemies. To increase this feeling, just as Sir
Gervaise's foot reached the poop, the whole French line displayed their
ensigns, and _le Foudroyant_ fired a gun to windward.

"Hey! Greenly?" exclaimed the English commander-in-chief; "this is a
manly defiance, and coming from M. de Vervillin, it means something! He
wishes to take the day for it; though, as I think half that time will
answer, we will wash up the cups before we go at it. Make the signals,
Bunting, for the ships to heave-to, and then to get their breakfasts, as
fast as possible. Steady breeze--steady breeze, Greenly, and all we
want!"

Five minutes later, while Sir Gervaise was running his eye over the
signal-book, the Plantagenet's calls were piping the people to their
morning meal, at least an hour earlier than common; the people repaired
to their messes, with a sort of stern joy; every man in the ship
understanding the reason of a summons so unusual. The calls of the
vessels astern were heard soon after, and one of the officers who was
watching the enemy with a glass, reported that he thought the French
were breakfasting, also. Orders being given to the officers to employ
the next half hour in the same manner, nearly everybody was soon engaged
in eating; few thinking that the meal might probably be their last. Sir
Gervaise felt a concern, which he succeeded in concealing, however, at
the circumstance that the ships to windward made no more sail; though he
refrained from signalling the rear-admiral to that effect, from
tenderness to his friend, and a vague apprehension of what might be the
consequences. While the crews were eating, he stood gazing,
thoughtfully, at the noble spectacle the enemy offered, to leeward,
occasionally turning wistful glances at the division that was constantly
drawing nearer to windward. At length Greenly, himself, reported that
the Plantagenet had "turned the hands-to," again. At this intelligence,
Sir Gervaise started, as from a reverie, smiled, and spoke. We will here
remark, that now, as on the previous day, all the natural excitability
of manner had disappeared from the commander-in-chief, and he was quiet,
and exceedingly gentle in his deportment. This, all who knew him,
understood to denote a serious determination to engage.

"I have desired Galleygo to set my little table, half an hour hence, in
the after-cabin, Greenly, and you will share the meal with me. Sir
Wycherly will be of our party, and I hope it will not be the last time
we may meet at the same board. It is necessary every thing should be in
fighting-order to-day!"

"So I understand it, Sir Gervaise. We are ready to begin, as soon as the
order shall be received."

"Wait one moment until Bunting comes up from his breakfast. Ah! here he
is, and we are quite ready for him, having bent-on the signal in his
absence. Show the order, Bunting; for the day advances."

The little flags were fluttering at the main-top-gallant-mast-head of
the Plantagenet in less than one minute, and in another it was repeated
by the Chloe, Driver, and Active, all of which were lying-to, a quarter
of a mile to windward, charged in particular with this, among other
duties. So well was this signal known, that not a book in the fleet was
consulted, but all the ships answered, the instant the flags could be
seen and understood. Then the shrill whistles were heard along the line,
calling "All hands" to "clear ship for action, ahoy!"

No sooner was this order given in the Plantagenet, than the ship became
a scene of active but orderly exertion. The top-men were on the yards,
stoppering, swinging the yards in chains, and lashing, in order to
prevent shot from doing more injury than was unavoidable; bulwarks were
knocked down; mess-chest, bags, and all other domestic appliances,
disappeared _below_,[3] and the decks were cleared of every thing which
could be removed, and which would not be necessary in an engagement.
Fully a quarter of an hour was thus occupied, for there was no haste,
and as it was no moment of mere parade, it was necessary that the work
should be effectually done. The officers forbade haste, and nothing
important was reported as effected, that some one in authority did not
examine with his own eyes, to see that no proper care had been
neglected. Then Mr. Bury, the first lieutenant, went on the main-yard,
in person, to look at the manner in which it had been slung, while he
sent the boatswain up forward, on the same errand. These were unusual
precautions, but the word had passed through the ship "that Sir Jarvy
was in earnest;" and whenever it was known that "Sir Jarvy" was in such
a humour, every one understood that the day's work was to be hard, if
not long.

[Footnote 3: In the action of the Nile, many of the French ships, under
the impression that the enemy _must_ engage on the _outside_, put their
lumber, bags, &c., into the ports, and between the guns, in the
larboard, or _inshore_ batteries; and when the British anchored
_inshore_ of them, these batteries could not be used.]

"Our breakfast is ready, Sir Jarvy," reported Galleygo, "and as the
decks is all clear, the b'ys can make a clean run of it from the
coppers. I only wants to know when to serve it, your honour."

"Serve it now, my good fellow. Tell the Bowlderos to be nimble, and
expect us below. Come, Greenly--come, Wychecombe--we are the last to
eat--let us not be the last at our stations."

"Ship's clear, sir," reported Bury to his captain, as the three reached
the quarter-deck, on their way to the cabin.

"Very well, Bury; when the fleet is signalled to go to quarters, we will
obey with the rest."

As this was said, Greenly looked at the vice-admiral to catch his
wishes. But Sir Gervaise had no intention of fatiguing his people
unnecessarily. He had left his private orders with Bunting, and he
passed down without an answer or a glance. The arrangements in the
after-cabin were as snug and as comfortable as if the breakfast-table
had been set in a private house, and the trio took their seats and
commenced operations with hearty good will. The vice-admiral ordered the
doors thrown open, and as the port-lids were up, from the place where he
sat he could command glimpses, both to leeward and to windward, that
included a view of the enemy, as well as one of his own expected
reinforcements. The Bowlderos were in full livery, and more active and
attentive than usual even. Their station in battle--for no man on board
a vessel of war is an "_idler_" in a combat--was on the poop, as
musketeers, near the person of their master, whose colours they wore,
under the ensign of their prince, like vassals of an ancient baron.
Notwithstanding the crisis of the morning, however, these men performed
their customary functions with the precision and method of English
menials, omitting no luxury or usage of the table. On a sofa behind the
table, was spread the full dress-coat of a vice-admiral, then a neat but
plain uniform, without either lace or epaulettes, but decorated with a
rich star in brilliants, the emblem of the order of the Bath. This coat
Sir Gervaise always wore in battle, unless the weather rendered a
"storm-uniform," as he used to term a plainer attire, necessary.

The breakfast passed off pleasantly, the gentlemen eating as if no
momentous events were near. Just at its close, however, Sir Gervaise
leaned forward, and looking through one of the weather-ports of the
main-cabin, an expression of pleasure illuminated his countenance, as he
said--

"Ah! there go Bluewater's signals, at last!--a certain proof that he is
about to put himself in communication with us."

"I have been a good deal surprised, sir," observed Greenly, a little
drily, though with great respect of manner, "that you have not ordered
the rear-admiral to make more sail. He is jogging along like a heavy
wagon, and yet I hardly think he can mistake these five ships for
Frenchmen!"

"He is never in a hurry, and no doubt wishes to let _his_ crews
breakfast, before he closes. I'll warrant ye, now, gentlemen, that his
ships are at this moment all as clear as a church five minutes after the
blessing has been pronounced."

"It will not be one of our Virginian churches, then, Sir Gervaise,"
observed Wycherly, smiling; "_they_ serve for an exchange, to give and
receive news in, after the service is over."

"Ay, that's the old rule--first pray, and then gossip. Well, Bunting,
what does the rear-admiral say?"

"Upon my word, Sir Gervaise, I can make nothing of the signal, though it
is easy enough to make out the flags," answered the puzzled
signal-officer. "Will you have the goodness to look at the book
yourself, sir. The number is one hundred and forty."

"One hundred and forty! Why, that must have something to do with
anchoring!--ay, here it is. 'Anchor, I cannot, having lost my cables.'
Who the devil asked him to anchor?"

"That's just it, sir. The signal-officer on board the Cæsar must have
made some mistake in his flags; for, though the distance is
considerable, our glasses are good enough to read them."

"Perhaps Admiral Bluewater has set the private, personal, telegraph at
work, sir," quietly observed Greenly.

The commander-in-chief actually changed colour at this suggestion. His
face, at first, flushed to crimson; then it became pale, like the
countenance of one who suffered under acute bodily pain. Wycherly
observed this, and respectfully inquired if Sir Gervaise were ill.

"I thank you, young sir," answered the vice-admiral, smiling painfully;
"it is over. I believe I shall have to go into dock, and let Magrath
look at some of my old hurts, which _are_ sometimes troublesome. Mr.
Bunting, do me the favour to go on deck, and ascertain, by a careful
examination, if a short red pennant be not set some ten or twelve feet
above the uppermost flag. Now, Greenly, we will take the other cup of
tea, for there is plenty of leisure."

Two or three brooding minutes followed. Then Bunting returned to say the
pennant _was_ there, a fact he had quite overlooked in his former
observations, confounding the narrow flag in question with the regular
pennant of the king. This short red pennant denoted that the
communication was verbal, according to a method invented by Bluewater
himself, and by means of which, using the ordinary numbers, he was
enabled to communicate with his friend, without any of the captains, or,
indeed, without Sir Gervaise's own signal-officer's knowing what was
said. In a word, without having recourse to any new flags, but, by
simply giving new numbers to the old ones, and referring to a prepared
dictionary, it was possible to hold a conversation in sentences, that
should be a secret to all but themselves. Sir Gervaise took down the
number of the signal that was flying, and directed Bunting to show the
answering flag, with a similar pennant over it, and to continue this
operation so long as the rear-admiral might make his signals. The
numbers were to be sent below as fast as received. As soon as Bunting
disappeared, the vice-admiral unlocked a secretary, the key of which was
never out of his own possession, took from it a small dictionary, and
laid it by his plate. All this time the breakfast proceeded, signals of
this nature frequently occurring between the two admirals. In the course
of the next ten minutes, a quarter-master brought below a succession of
numbers written on small pieces of paper; after which Bunting appeared
himself to say that the Cæsar had stopped signalling.

Sir Gervaise now looked out each word by its proper number, and wrote it
down with his pencil as he proceeded, until the whole read--"God
sake--make no signal. Engage not." No sooner was the communication
understood, than the paper was torn into minute fragments, the book
replaced, and the vice-admiral, turning with a calm determined
countenance to Greenly, ordered him to beat to quarters as soon as
Bunting could show a signal to the fleet to the same effect. On this
hint, all but the vice-admiral went on deck, and the Bowlderos instantly
set about removing the table and all the other appliances. Finding
himself annoyed by the movements of the servants, Sir Gervaise walked
out into the great cabin, which, regardless of its present condition, he
began to pace as was his wont when lost in thought. The bulk-heads being
down, and the furniture removed, this was in truth walking in sight of
the crew. All who happened to be on the main-deck could see what passed,
though no one presumed to enter a spot that was tabooed to vulgar feet,
even when thus exposed. The aspect and manner of "Sir Jarvy," however,
were not overlooked, and the men prognosticated a serious time.

Such was the state of things, when the drums beat to quarters,
throughout the whole line. At the first tap, the great cabin sunk to the
level of an ordinary battery; the seamen of two guns, with the proper
officers, entering within the sacred limits, and coolly setting about
clearing their pieces, and making the other preparations necessary for
an action. All this time Sir Gervaise continued pacing what would have
been the centre of his own cabin had the bulk-heads stood, the
grim-looking sailors avoiding him with great dexterity, and invariably
touching their hats as they were compelled to glide near his person,
though every thing went on as if he were not present. Sir Gervaise might
have remained lost in thought much longer than he did, had not the
report of a gun recalled him to a consciousness of the scene that was
enacting around him.

"What's that?" suddenly demanded the vice-admiral--"Is Blue water
signalling again?"

"No, Sir Gervaise," answered the fourth lieutenant, looking out of a lee
port; "it is the French admiral giving us another weather-gun; as much
as to ask why we don't go down. This is the second compliment of the
same sort that he has paid us already to-day!"

These words were not all spoken before the vice-admiral was on the
quarter-deck; in half a minute more, he was on the poop. Here he found
Greenly, Wychecombe, and Bunting, all looking with interest at the
beautiful line of the enemy.

"Monsieur de Vervillin is impatient to wipe off the disgrace of
yesterday," observed the first, "as is apparent by the invitations he
gives us to come down. I presume Admiral Bluewater will wake up at this
last hint."

"By Heaven, he has hauled his wind, and is standing to the northward and
eastward!" exclaimed Sir Gervaise, surprise overcoming all his
discretion. "Although an extraordinary movement, at such a time, it is
wonderful in what beautiful order Bluewater keeps his ships!"

All that was said was true enough. The rear-admiral's division having
suddenly hauled up, in a close line ahead, each ship followed her leader
as mechanically as if they moved by a common impulse. As no one in the
least doubted the rear-admiral's loyalty, and his courage was of proof,
it was the general opinion that this unusual man[oe]uvre had some
connection with the unintelligible signals, and the young officers
laughingly inquired among themselves what "Sir Jarvy was likely to do
next?"

It would seem, however, that Monsieur de Vervillin suspected a
repetition of some of the scenes of the preceding day; for, no sooner
did he perceive that the English rear was hugging the wind, than five of
his leading ships filled, and drew ahead, as if to meet that division,
man[oe]uvring to double on the head of his line; while the remaining
five, with the Foudroyant, still lay with their top-sails to the mast,
waiting for their enemy to come down. Sir Gervaise could not stand this
long. He determined, if possible, to bring Bluewater to terms, and he
ordered the Plantagenet to fill. Followed by his own division, he wore
immediately, and went off under easy sail, quartering, towards Monsieur
de Vervillin's rear, to avoid being raked.

The quarter of an hour that succeeded was one of intense interest, and
of material changes; though not a shot was fired. As soon as the Comte
de Vervillin perceived that the English were disposed to come nearer, he
signalled his own division to bear up, and to run off dead before the
wind, under their top-sails, commencing astern; which reversed his order
of sailing, and brought le Foudroyant in the rear, or nearest to the
enemy. This was no sooner done, than he settled all his top-sails on the
caps. There could be no mistaking this man[oe]uvre. It was a direct
invitation to Sir Gervaise to come down, fairly alongside; the bearing
up at once removing all risk of being raked in so doing. The English
commander-in-chief was not a man to neglect such a palpable challenge;
but, making a few signals to direct the mode of attack he contemplated,
he set fore-sail and main-top-gallant-sail, and brought the wind directly
over his own taffrail. The vessels astern followed like clock-work, and
no one now doubted that the mode of attack was settled for that day.

As the French, with Monsieur de Vervillin, were still half a mile to the
southward and eastward of the approaching division, of their enemy, the
Comte collected all his frigates and corvettes on his starboard hand,
leaving a clear approach to Sir Gervaise on his larboard beam. This hint
was understood, too, and the Plantagenet steered a course that would
bring her up on that side of le Foudroyant, and at the distance of about
one hundred yards from the muzzles of her guns. This threatened to be
close work, and unusual work in fleets, at that day; but it was the game
our commander-in-chief was fond of playing, and it was one, also, that
promised soonest to bring matters to a result.

These preliminaries arranged, there was yet leisure for the respective
commanders to look about them. The French were still fully a mile ahead
of their enemies, and as both fleets were going in the same direction,
the approach of the English was so slow as to leave some twenty minutes
of that solemn breathing time, which reigns in a disciplined ship,
previous to the commencement of the combat. The feelings of the two
commanders-in-chief, at this pregnant instant, were singularly in
contradiction to each other. The Comte de Vervillin saw that the rear
division of his force, under the Comte-Amiral le Vicomte des Prez, was
in the very position he desired it to be, having obtained the advantage
of the wind by the English division's coming down, and by keeping its
own luff. Between the two French officers there was a perfect
understanding as to the course each was to take, and both now felt
sanguine hopes of being able to obliterate the disgrace of the previous
day, and that, too, by means very similar to those by which it had been
incurred. On the other hand, Sir Gervaise was beset with doubts as to
the course Bluewater might pursue. He could not, however, come to the
conclusion that he would abandon him to the joint efforts of the two
hostile divisions; and so long as the French rear-admiral was occupied
by the English force to windward, it left to himself a clear field and
no favour in the action with Monsieur de Vervillin. He knew Bluewater's
generous nature too well not to feel certain his own compliance with the
request not to signal his inferior would touch his heart, and give him a
double chance with all his better feelings. Nevertheless, Sir Gervaise
Oakes did not lead into this action without many and painful misgivings.
He had lived too long in the world not to know that political prejudice
was the most demoralising of all our weaknesses, veiling our private
vices under the plausible concealment of the public weal, and rendering
even the well-disposed insensible to the wrongs they commit to
individuals, by means of the deceptive flattery of serving the
community. As doubt was more painful than the certainty of his worst
forebodings, however, and it was not in his nature to refuse a combat so
fairly offered, he was resolved to close with the Comte at every hazard,
trusting the issue to God, and his own efforts.

The Plantagenet presented an eloquent picture of order and preparation,
as she drew near the French line, on this memorable occasion. Her people
were all at quarters, and, as Greenly walked through her batteries, he
found every gun on the starboard side loose, levelled, and ready to be
fired; while the opposite merely required a turn or two of the tackles
to be cast loose, the priming to be applied, and the loggerhead to
follow, in order to be discharged, also. A death-like stillness reigned
from the poop to the cock-pit, the older seamen occasionally glancing
through their ports in order to ascertain the relative positions of the
two fleets, that they might be ready for the collision. As the English
got within musket-shot, the French ran their top-sails to the mast-heads,
and their ships gathered fresher way through the water. Still the former
moved with the greatest velocity, carrying the most sail, and impelled
by the greater momentum. When near enough, however, Sir Gervaise gave
the order to reduce the canvass of his own ship.

"That will do, Greenly," he said, in a mild, quiet tone. "Let run the
top-gallant-halyards, and haul up the fore-sail. The way you have, will
bring you fairly alongside."

The captain gave the necessary orders, and the master shortened sail
accordingly. Still the Plantagenet shot ahead, and, in three or four
minutes more, her bows doubled so far on le Foudroyant's quarter, as to
permit a gun to bear. This was the signal for both sides, each ship
opening as it might be in the same breath. The flash, the roar, and the
eddying smoke followed in quick succession, and in a period of time that
seemed nearly instantaneous. The crash of shot, and the shrieks of
wounded mingled with the infernal din, for nature extorts painful
concessions of human weaknesses, at such moments, even from the bravest
and firmest. Bunting was in the act of reporting to Sir Gervaise that no
signal could yet be seen from the Cæsar, in the midst of this uproar,
when a small round-shot, discharged from the Frenchman's poop, passed
through his body, literally driving the heart before it, leaving him
dead at his commander's feet.

"I shall depend on you, Sir Wycherly, for the discharge of poor
Bunting's duty, the remainder of the cruise," observed Sir Gervaise,
with a smile in which courtesy and regret struggled singularly for the
mastery. "Quarter-masters, lay Mr. Bunting's body a little out of the
way, and cover it with those signals. They are a suitable pall for so
brave a man!"

Just as this occurred, the Warspite came clear of the Plantagenet, on
her outside, according to orders, and she opened with her forward guns,
taking the second ship in the French line for her target. In two minutes
more these vessels also were furiously engaged in the hot strife. In
this manner, ship after ship passed on the outside of the Plantagenet,
and sheered into her berth ahead of her who had just been her own
leader, until the Achilles, Lord Morganic, the last of the five, lay
fairly side by side with le Conquereur, the vessel now at the head of
the French line. That the reader may understand the incidents more
readily, we will give the opposing lines in the precise form in which
they lay, viz.

    Plantagenet    le Foudroyant

    Warspite       le Téméraire

    Blenheim       le Dugay Trouin

    Thunderer      l'Ajax

    Achilles       le Conquereur.

The constantly recurring discharges of four hundred pieces of heavy
ordnance, within a space so small, had the effect to repel the regular
currents of air, and, almost immediately, to lessen a breeze of six or
seven knots, to one that would not propel a ship more than two or three.
This was the first observable phenomenon connected with the action, but,
as it had been expected, Sir Gervaise had used the precaution to lay his
ships as near as possible in the positions in which he intended them to
fight the battle. The next great physical consequence, one equally
expected and natural, but which wrought a great change in the aspect of
the battle, was the cloud of smoke in which the ten ships were suddenly
enveloped. At the first broadsides between the two admirals, volumes of
light, fleecy vapour rolled over the sea, meeting midway, and rising
thence in curling wreaths, left nothing but the masts and sails of the
adversary visible in the hostile ship. This, of itself, would have soon
hidden the combatants in the bosom of a nearly impenetrable cloud; but
as the vessels drove onward they entered deeper beneath the sulphurous
canopy, until it spread on each side of them, shutting out the view of
ocean, skies, and horizon. The burning of the priming below contributed
to increase the smoke, until, not only was respiration often difficult,
but those who fought only a few yards apart frequently could not
recognise each other's faces. In the midst of this scene of obscurity,
and a din that might well have alarmed the caverns of the ocean, the
earnest and well-drilled seamen toiled at their ponderous guns, and
remedied with ready hands the injuries received in the rigging, each man
as intent on his own particular duty as if he wrought in the occupations
of an ordinary gale.

"Sir Wycherly," observed the vice-admiral, when the cannonading had
continued some twenty minutes, "there is little for a flag-officer to do
in such a cloud of smoke. I would give much to know the exact positions
of the divisions of our two rear-admirals."

"There is but one mode of ascertaining that, Sir Gervaise--if it be your
pleasure, I will attempt it. By going on the main-top-gallant-yard, one
might get a clear view, perhaps."

Sir Gervaise smiled his approbation, and presently he saw the young man
ascending the main-rigging, though half concealed in smoke. Just at this
instant, Greenly ascended to the poop, from making a tour of observation
below. Without waiting for a question, the captain made his report.

"We are doing pretty well, now, Sir Gervaise, though the first broadside
of the Comte treated us roughly. I think his fire slackens, and Bury
says, he is certain that his fore-top-mast is already gone. At all
events, our lads are in good spirits, and as yet all the sticks keep
their places."

"I'm glad of this, Greenly; particularly of the latter, just at this
moment. I see you are looking at those signals--they cover the body of
poor Bunting."

"And this train of blood to the ladder, sir--I hope our young baronet is
not hurt?"

"No, it is one of the Bowlderos, who has lost a leg. I shall have to see
that he wants for nothing hereafter."

There was a pause; then both the gentlemen smiled, as they heard the
crashing work made by a shot just beneath them, which, by the sounds and
the direction, they knew had passed through Greenly's crockery. Still
neither spoke. After a few more minutes of silent observation, Sir
Gervaise remarked that he thought the flashes of the French guns more
distant than they had been at first, though, at that instant, not a
trace of their enemy was to be discovered, except in the roar of the
guns, and in these very flashes, and their effect on the Plantagenet.

"If so, sir, the Comte begins to find his berth too hot for him; here is
the wind still directly over _our_ taffrail, such as it is."

"No--no--we steer as we began--I keep my eye on that compass below, and
am certain we hold a straight course. Go forward, Greenly, and see that
a sharp look-out is kept ahead. It is time some of our own ships should
be crippled; we must be careful not to run into them. Should such a
thing happen sheer hard to starboard, and pass _inside_."

"Ay--ay--Sir Gervaise; your wishes shall be attended to."

As this was said, Greenly disappeared, and, at the next instant,
Wycherly stood in his place.

"Well, sir--I am glad to see you back safe. If Greenly were here now,
_he_ would inquire about his _masts_, but _I_ wish to know the position
of the _ships_."

"I am the bearer of bad news, sir. Nothing at all could be seen from the
top; but in the cross-trees, I got a good look through the smoke, and am
sorry to say the French rear-admiral is coming down fast on our
larboard-quarter, with all his force. We shall have him abeam in five
minutes."

"And Bluewater?" demanded Sir Gervaise, quick as lightning.

"I could see nothing of Admiral Bluewater's ships; but knowing the
importance of this intelligence, I came down immediately, and by the
back-stay."

"You have done well, sir. Send a midshipman forward for Captain Greenly;
then pass below yourself, and let the lieutenants in the batteries hear
the news. They must divide their people, and by all means give a prompt
and well-directed _first_ broadside."

Wycherly waited for no more. He ran below with the activity of his
years. The message found Greenly between the knight-heads, but he
hurried aft to the poop to ascertain its object. It took Sir Gervaise
but a moment to explain it all to the captain.

"In the name of Heaven, what can the other division be about," exclaimed
Greenly, "that it lets the French rear-admiral come upon us, in a moment
like this!"

"Of that, sir, it is unnecessary to speak _now_," answered the
commander-in-chief, solemnly. "Our present business is to get ready for
this new enemy. Go into the batteries again, and, as you prize victory,
be careful not to throw away the first discharge, in the smoke."

As time pressed, Greenly swallowed his discontent, and departed. The
five minutes that succeeded were bitter minutes to Sir Gervaise Oakes.
Beside himself there were but five men on the poop; viz., the
quarter-master who tended the signals, and three of the Bowlderos. All
of these were using muskets as usual, though the vice-admiral never
permitted marines to be stationed at a point which he wished to be as
clear of smoke, and as much removed from bustle as possible. He began to
pace this comparatively vacant little deck with a quick step, casting
wistful glances towards the larboard-quarter; but though the smoke
occasionally cleared a little in that direction, the firing having much
slackened from exhaustion in the men, as well as from injuries given and
received, he was unable to detect any signs of a ship. Such was the
state of things when Wycherly returned and reported that his orders
were delivered, and part of the people were already in the
larboard-batteries.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

      "And oh, the little warlike world within!
        The well-reeved guns, the netted canopy,
      The hoarse command, the busy humming din.
        When at a word, the tops are manned on high:
        Hark to the boatswain's call, the cheering cry!
      While through the seaman's hand the tackle glides,
        Or school-boy midshipman, that, standing by,
      Strains his shrill pipe, as good or ill betides,
    And well the docile crew that skilful urchin guides."

         BYRON.


"Are you quite sure, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, that there is not some
mistake about the approach of the rear division of the French?" inquired
the vice-admiral, endeavouring to catch some glimpse of the water,
through the smoke on the larboard hand. "May not some crippled ship of
our own have sheered from the line, and been left by us, unknowingly, on
that side?"

"No, Sir Gervaise, there is _no_ mistake; there _can_ be none, unless I
may have been deceived a little in the distance. I saw nothing but the
sails and spars, not of a single vessel, but of _three_ ships; and one
of them wore the flag of a French rear-admiral at the mizzen. As a proof
that I was not mistaken, sir, there it is this minute!"

The smoke on the off side of the Plantagenet, as a matter of course, was
much less dense than that on the side engaged, and the wind beginning to
blow in eddies, as ever happens in a heavy cannonade, there were moments
in which it cast aside the "shroud of battle." At that instant an
opening occurred through which a single mast, and a single sail were
visible, in the precise spot where Wycherly had stated the enemy might
be looked for. It was a mizzen-top-sail, beyond a question, and above it
was fluttering the little square flag of the rear-admiral. Sir Gervaise
decided on the character of the vessel, and on his own course, in an
instant. Stepping to the edge of the poop, with his natural voice,
without the aid of a trumpet of any sort, he called out in tones that
rose above the roar of the contest, the ominous but familiar nautical
words of "stand by!" Perhaps a call from powerful lungs (and the
vice-admiral's voice, when he chose to use it, was like the blast of a
clarion) is clearer and more impressive, when unaided by instruments,
than when it comes disguised and unnatural through a tube. At any rate,
these words were heard even on the lower deck, by those who stood near
the hatches. Taking them up, they were repeated by a dozen voices, with
such expressions as "Look out, lads; Sir Jarvy's awake!" "Sight your
guns!" "Wait till she's square!" and other similar admonitions that it
is usual for the sea-officer to give, as he is about to commence the
strife. At this critical moment, Sir Gervaise again looked up, and
caught another glimpse of the little flag, as it passed into a vast
wreath of smoke; he saw that the ship was fairly abeam, and, as if
doubling all his powers, he shouted the word "fire!" Greenly was
standing on the lower-deck ladder, with his head just even with the
coamings of the hatch, as this order reached him, and he repeated it in
a voice scarcely less startling. The cloud on the larboard side was
driven in all directions, like dust scattered by wind. The ship seemed
on fire, and the missiles of forty-one guns flew on their deadly errand,
as it might be at a single flash. The old Plantagenet trembled to her
keel, and even bowed a little at the recoils, but, like one suddenly
relieved from a burthen, righted and went on her way none the less
active. That timely broadside saved the English commander-in-chiefs ship
from an early defeat. It took the crew of le Pluton, her new adversary,
by surprise; for they had not been able to distinguish the precise
position of their enemy; and, besides doing vast injury to both hull and
people, drew her fire at an unpropitious moment. So uncertain and hasty,
indeed, was the discharge the French ship gave in return, that no small
portion of the contents of her guns passed ahead of the Plantagenet, and
went into the larboard quarter of le Téméraire, the French admiral's
second ahead.

"That was a timely salute," said Sir Gervaise, smiling as soon as the
fire of his new enemy had been received without material injury. "The
first blow is always half the battle. We may now work on with some hopes
of success. Ah! here comes Greenly again, God be praised! unhurt."

The meeting of these two experienced seamen was cordial, but not without
great seriousness. Both felt that the situation of not only the ship,
but of the whole fleet, was extremely critical, the odds being much too
great, and the position of the enemy too favourable, not to render the
result, to say the very least, exceedingly doubtful. Some advantage had
certainly been obtained, thus far; but there was little hope of
preserving it long. The circumstances called for very decided and
particularly bold measures.

"My mind is made up, Greenly," observed the vice-admiral. "We must go
aboard of one of these ships, and make it a hand-to-hand affair. We will
take the French commander-in-chief; he is evidently a good deal cut up
by the manner in which his fire slackens, and if we can carry him, or
even force him out of the line, it will give us a better chance with the
rest. As for Bluewater, God only knows what has become of him! He is not
here at any rate, and we must help ourselves."

"You have only to order, Sir Gervaise, to be obeyed. I will lead the
boarders, myself."

"It must be a general thing, Greenly; I rather think we shall all of us
have to go aboard of le Foudroyant. Go, give the necessary orders, and
when every thing is ready, round in a little on the larboard braces,
clap your helm a-port, and give the ship a rank sheer to starboard. This
will bring matters to a crisis at once. By letting the fore-sail fall,
and setting the spanker, you might shove the ship ahead a little
faster."

Greenly instantly left the poop on this new and important duty. He sent
his orders into the batteries, bidding the people remain at their guns,
however, to the last moment; and particularly instructing the captain of
marines, as to the manner in which he was to cover, and then follow the
boarding-party. This done, he gave orders to brace forward the yards, as
directed by Sir Gervaise.

The reader will not overlook the material circumstance that all we have
related occurred amid the din of battle. Guns were exploding at each
instant, the cloud of smoke was both thickening and extending, fire was
flashing in the semi-obscurity of its volumes, shot were rending the
wood and cutting the rigging, and the piercing shrieks of agony, only so
much the more appalling by being extorted from the stern and resolute,
blended their thrilling accompaniments. Men seemed to be converted into
demons, and yet there was a lofty and stubborn resolution to conquer
mingled with all, that ennobled the strife and rendered it heroic. The
broadsides that were delivered in succession down the line, as ship
after ship of the rear division reached her station, however, proclaimed
that Monsieur des Prez had imitated Sir Gervaise's mode of closing, the
only one by means of which the leading vessel could escape destruction,
and that the English were completely doubled on. At this moment, the
sail-trimmers of the Plantagenet handled their braces. The first pull
was the last. No sooner were the ropes started, than the fore-top-mast
went over the bows, dragging after it the main with all its hamper, the
mizzen snapping like a pipe-stem, at the cap. By this cruel accident,
the result of many injuries to shrouds, back-stays, and spars, the
situation of the Plantagenet became worse than ever; for, not only was
the wreck to be partially cleared, at least, to fight many of the
larboard guns, but the command of the ship was, in a great measure,
lost, in the centre of one of the most infernal _mêlées_ that ever
accompanied a combat at sea.

At no time does the trained seaman ever appear so great, as when he
meets sudden misfortunes with the steadiness and quiet which it is a
material part of the _morale_ of discipline to inculcate. Greenly was
full of ardour for the assault, and was thinking of the best mode of
running foul of his adversary, when this calamity occurred; but the
masts were hardly down, when he changed all his thoughts to a new
current, and called out to the sail-trimmers to "lay over, and clear the
wreck."

Sir Gervaise, too, met with a sudden and violent check to the current of
his feelings. He had collected his Bowlderos, and was giving his
instructions as to the manner in which they were to follow, and keep
near his person, in the expected hand-to-hand encounter, when the heavy
rushing of the air, and the swoop of the mass from above, announced what
had occurred. Turning to the men, he calmly ordered them to aid in
getting rid of the incumbrances, and was in the very act of directing
Wycherly to join in the same duty, when the latter exclaimed--

"See, Sir Gervaise, here comes another of the Frenchmen close upon our
quarter. By heavens, _they_ must mean to board!"

The vice-admiral instinctively grasped his sword-hilt tighter, and
turned in the direction mentioned by his companion. There, indeed, came
a fresh ship, shoving the cloud aside, and, by the clearer atmosphere
that seemed to accompany her, apparently bringing down a current of air
stronger than common. When first seen, the jib-boom and bowsprit were
both enveloped in smoke, but his bellying fore-top-sail, and the canvass
hanging in festoons, loomed grandly in the vapour, the black yards
seeming to embrace the wreaths, merely to cast them aside. The
proximity, too, was fearful, her yard-arms promising to clear those of
the Plantagenet only by a few feet, as her dark bows brushed along the
admiral's side.

"This will be fearful work, indeed!" exclaimed Sir Gervaise. "A fresh
broadside from a ship so near, will sweep all from the spars. Go,
Wychecombe, tell Greenly to call in--Hold--'Tis an English ship! No
Frenchman's bowsprit stands like that! Almighty God be praised! 'Tis the
Cæsar--there is the old Roman's figure-head just shoving out of the
smoke!"

This was said with a yell, rather than a cry, of delight, and in a voice
so loud that the words were heard below, and flew through the ship like
the hissing of an ascending rocket. To confirm the glorious tidings, the
flash and roar of guns on the off-side of the stranger announced the
welcome tidings that le Pluton had an enemy of her own to contend with,
thus enabling the Plantagenet's people to throw all their strength on
the starboard guns, and pursue their other necessary work without
further molestation from the French rear-admiral. The gratitude of Sir
Gervaise, as the rescuing ship thrust herself in between him and his
most formidable assailant was too deep for language. He placed his hat
mechanically before his face, and thanked God, with a fervour of spirit
that never before had attended his thanksgivings. This brief act of
devotion over, he found the bows of the Cæsar, which ship was advancing
very slowly, in order not to pass too far ahead, just abreast of the
spot where he stood, and so near that objects were pretty plainly
visible. Between her knight-heads stood Bluewater, conning the ship, by
means of a line of officers, his hat in his hand, waving in
encouragement to his own people, while Geoffrey Cleveland held the
trumpet at his elbow. At that moment three noble cheers were given by
the crews of the two friendly vessels, and mingled with the increasing
roar of the Cæsar's artillery. Then the smoke rose in a cloud over the
forecastle of the latter ship, and persons could no longer be
distinguished.

Nevertheless, like all that thus approached, the relieving ship passed
slowly ahead, until nearly her whole length protected the undefended
side of her consort, delivering her fire with fearful rapidity. The
Plantagenets seemed to imbibe new life from this arrival, and their
starboard guns spoke out again, as if manned by giants. It was five
minutes, perhaps, after this seasonable arrival, before the guns of the
other ships of the English rear announced their presence on the outside
of Monsieur des Prez's force; thus bringing the whole of the two fleets
into four lines, all steering dead before the wind, and, as it were,
interwoven with each other. By that time, the poops of the Plantagenet
and Cæsar became visible from one to the other, the smoke now driving
principally off from the vessels. There again were our two admirals each
anxiously watching to get a glimpse of his friend. The instant the place
was clear, Sir Gervaise applied the trumpet to his mouth, and called
out--

"God bless you--Dick! may God for ever bless you--_your_ ship can do
it--clap your helm hard a-starboard, and sheer into M. des Prez; you'll
have him in five minutes."

Bluewater smiled, waved his hand, gave an order, and laid aside his
trumpet. Two minutes later, the Cæsar sheered into the smoke on her
larboard beam, and the crash of the meeting vessels was heard. By this
time, the wreck of the Plantagenet was cut adrift, and she, too, made a
rank sheer, though in a direction opposite to that of the Cæsar's. As
she went through the smoke, her guns ceased, and when she emerged into
the pure air, it was found that le Foudroyant had set courses and
top-gallant-sails, and was drawing so fast ahead, as to render pursuit,
under the little sail that could be set, unprofitable. Signals were out
of the question, but this movement of the two admirals converted the
whole battle scene into one of inexplicable confusion. Ship after ship
changed her position, and ceased her fire from uncertainty what that
position was, until a general silence succeeded the roar of the
cannonade. It was indispensable to pause and let the smoke blow away.

It did not require many minutes to raise the curtain on the two fleets.
As soon as the firing stopped, the wind increased, and the smoke was
driven off to leeward in a vast straggling cloud, that seemed to scatter
and disperse in the air spontaneously. Then a sight of the havoc and
destruction that had been done in this short conflict was first
obtained.

The two squadrons were intermingled, and it required some little time
for Sir Gervaise to get a clear idea of the state of his own ships.
Generally, it might be said that the vessels were scattering, the French
sheering towards their own coast, while the English were principally
coming by the wind on the larboard tack, or heading in towards England.
The Cæsar and le Pluton were still foul of each other, though a
rear-admiral's flag was flying at the mizzen of the first, while that
which had so lately fluttered at the royal-mast-head of the other, had
disappeared. The Achilles, Lord Morganic, was still among the French,
more to leeward than any other English ship, without a single spar
standing. Her ensigns were flying, notwithstanding, and the Thunderer
and Dublin, both in tolerable order, were edging away rapidly to cover
their crippled consort; though the nearest French vessels seemed more
bent on getting out of the _mêlée_, and into their own line again, than
on securing any advantage already obtained. Le Téméraire was in the same
predicament as the Achilles as to spars, though much more injured in her
hull, besides having thrice as many casualties. Her flag was down; the
ship having fairly struck to the Warspite, whose boats were already
alongside of her. Le Foudroyant, with quite one-third of her crew killed
and wounded, was running off to leeward, with signals flying for her
consorts to rally round her; but, within less than ten minutes after she
became visible, her main and mizzen-masts both went. The Blenheim had
lost all her top-masts, like the Plantagenet, and neither the Elizabeth
nor the York had a mizzen-mast standing, although engaged but a very
short time. Several lower yards were shot away, or so much injured as to
compel the ships to shorten sail; this accident having occurred in both
fleets. As for the damage done to the standing and running rigging, and
to the sails, it is only necessary to say that shrouds, back and
head-stays, braces, bowlines and lifts, were dangling in all directions,
while the canvass that was open exhibited all sorts of rents, from that
which had been torn like cloth in the shopman's hands, to the little
eyelet holes of the canister and grape. It appeared, by the subsequent
reports of the two parties, that, in this short but severe conflict, the
slain and wounded of the English amounted to seven hundred and
sixty-three, including officers; and that of the French, to one thousand
four hundred and twelve. The disparity in this respect would probably
have been greater against the latter, had it not been for the manner in
which M. des Prez succeeded in doubling on his enemies.

Little need be said in explanation of the parts of this battle that have
not been distinctly related. M. des Prez had man[oe]uvered in the manner
he did, at the commencement of the affair, in the hope of drawing Sir
Gervaise down upon the division of the Comte de Vervillin; and no sooner
did he see, the first fairly enveloped in smoke, than he wore short
round and joined in the affair, as has been mentioned. At this sight,
Bluewater's loyalty to the Stuarts could resist no longer. Throwing out
a general signal to engage, he squared away, set every thing that would
draw on the Cæsar, and arrived in time to save his friend. The other
ships followed, engaging on the outside, for want of room to imitate
their leader.

Two more of the French ships, at least, in addition to _le Téméraire_
and _le Pluton_, might have been added to the list of prizes, had the
actual condition of their fleet been known. But, at such moments, a
combatant sees and feels his own injuries, while he has to conjecture
many of those of his adversaries; and the English were too much occupied
in making the provisions necessary to save their remaining spars, to
risk much in order to swell an advantage that was already so
considerable. Some distant firing passed between the Thunderer and
Dublin, and l'Ajax, le Dugay Trouin, and l'Hector, before the two former
succeeded in getting Lord Morganic out of his difficulties; but it led
to no material result; merely inflicting new injuries on certain spars
that were sufficiently damaged before, and killing and wounding some
fifteen or twenty men quite uselessly. As soon as the vice-admiral saw
what was likely to be the effects of this episode, he called off Captain
O'Neil of the Dublin, by signal, he being an officer of a "hot temper,"
as the soldier said of himself at Waterloo. The compliance with this
order may be said to have terminated the battle.

The reader will remember that the wind, at the commencement of the
engagement, was at north-west. It was nearly "killed," as seamen express
it, by the cannonade; then it revived a little, as the concussions of
the guns gradually diminished. But the combined effect of the advance of
the day, and the rushing of new currents of air to fill the vacuums
produced by the burning of so much powder, was a sudden shift of wind; a
breeze coming out strong, and as it might be, in an instant, from the
eastward. This unexpected alteration in the direction and power of the
wind, cost the Thunderer her foremast, and did other damage to different
ships; but, by dint of great activity and careful handling, all the
English vessels got their heads round to the northward, while the French
filled the other way, and went off free, steering nearly south-east,
making the best of their way for Brest. The latter suffered still more
than their enemies, by the change just mentioned; and when they reached
port, as did all but one the following day, no less than three were
towed in without a spar standing, bowsprits excepted.

The exception was _le Caton_, which ship M. de Vervillin set fire to and
blew up, on account of her damages, in the course of the afternoon. Thus
of twelve noble two-decked ships with which this officer sailed from
Cherbourg only two days before, he reached Brest with but seven.

Nor were the English entirely without their embarrassments. Although the
Warspite had compelled le Téméraire to strike, she was kept afloat
herself with a good deal of difficulty, and that, too, not without
considerable assistance from the other vessels. The leaks, however, were
eventually stopped, and then the ship was given up to the care of her
own crew. Other vessels suffered of course, but no English ship was in
as much jeopardy as this.

The first hour after the action ceased, was one of great exertion and
anxiety to our admiral. He called the Chloe alongside by signal, and,
attended by Wycherly and his own quarter-masters, Galleygo, who went
without orders, and the Bowlderos who were unhurt, he shifted his flag
to that frigate. Then he immediately commenced passing from vessel to
vessel, in order to ascertain the actual condition of his command. The
Achilles detained him some time, and he was near her, or to leeward,
when the wind shifted; which was bringing him to windward in the present
stale of things. Of this advantage he availed himself, by urging the
different ships off as fast as possible; and long before the sun was in
the meridian, all the English vessels were making the best of their way
towards the land, with the intention of fetching into Plymouth if
possible; if not, into the nearest and best anchorage to leeward. The
progress of the fleet was relatively slow, as a matter of course, though
it got along at the rate of some five knots, by making a free wind of
it.

The master of the Chloe had just taken the sun, in order to ascertain
his latitude, when the vice-admiral commanded Denham to set
top-gallant-sails, and go within hail of the Cæsar. That ship had got
clear of _le Pluton_ half an hour after the action ceased, and she was
now leading the fleet, with her three top-sails on the caps. Aloft she
had suffered comparatively little; but Sir Gervaise knew that there must
have been a serious loss of men in carrying, hand to hand, a vessel like
that of M. des Prez. He was anxious to see his friend, and to hear the
manner in which his success had been obtained, and, we might add, to
remonstrate with Bluewater on a course that had led the latter to the
verge of a most dangerous abyss.

The Chloe was half an hour running through the fleet, which was a good
deal extended, and was sailing without any regard to a line. Sir
Gervaise had many questions to ask, too, of the different commanders in
passing. At last the frigate overtook le Téméraire, which vessel was
following the Cæsar under easy canvass. As the Chloe came up abeam, Sir
Gervaise appeared in the gangway of the frigate, and, hat in hand, he
asked with an accent that was intelligible, though it might not have
absolutely stood the test of criticism,--

_"Le Vice-Admiral Oakes demande comment se porte-il, le contre-amiral,
le Vicomte des Prez?"_

A little elderly man, dressed with extreme care, with a powdered head,
but of a firm step and perfectly collected expression of countenance,
appeared on the verge of le Téméraire's poop, trumpet in hand, to reply.

"_Le Vicomte des Prez remercie bien Monsieur le Chevalier Oake, et
désire vivement de savoir comment se porte Monsieur le Vice-Amiral?_"

Mutual waves of the trumpets served as replies to the questions, and
then, after taking a moment to muster his French, Sir Gervaise
continued--

_"J'espère voir Monsieur le Contre-Amiral à dîner, à cinq heures,
précis."_

The vicomte smiled at this characteristic manifestation of good-will and
courtesy; and after pausing an instant to choose an expression to soften
his refusal, and to express his own sense of the motive of the
invitation, he called out--

_"Veuillez bien recevoir nos excuses pour aujourd'hui, Mons. le
Chevalier. Nous n'avons pas encore digéré le repas si noble reçu à vos
mains comme déjeuner."_

The Chloe passing ahead, bows terminated the interview. Sir Gervaise's
French was at fault, for what between the rapid, neat, pronunciation of
the Frenchman, the trumpet, and the turn of the expression, he did not
comprehend the meaning of the _contre-amiral_.

"What does he say, Wychecombe?" he asked eagerly of the young man. "Will
he come, or not?"

"Upon my word, Sir Gervaise, French is a sealed language to me. Never
having been a prisoner, no opportunity has offered for acquiring the
language. As I understood, you intended to ask him to dinner; I rather
think, from his countenance, he meant to say he was not in spirits for
the entertainment."

"Pooh! we would have put him in spirits, and Bluewater could have talked
to him in his own tongue, by the fathom. We will close with the Cæsar to
leeward, Denham; never mind rank on an occasion like this. It's time to
let the top-gallant-halyards run; you'll have to settle your top-sails
too, or we shall shoot past her. Bluewater may take it as a salute to
his gallantry in carrying so fine a ship in so handsome a manner."

Several minutes now passed in silence, during which the frigate was less
and less rapidly closing with the larger vessel, drawing ahead towards
the last, as it might be, foot by foot. Sir Gervaise got upon one of the
quarter-deck guns, and steadying himself against the hammock-cloths, he
was in readiness to exchange the greetings he was accustomed to give and
to receive from his friend, in the same heartfelt manner as if nothing
had occurred to disturb the harmony of their feelings. The single glance
of the eye, the waving of the hat, and the noble manner in which
Bluewater interposed between him and his most dangerous enemy, was still
present to his mind, and disposed him even more than common to the
kindest feelings of his nature. Stowel was already on the poop of the
Cæsar, and, as the Chloe came slowly on, he raised his hat in deference
to the commander-in-chief. It was a point of delicacy with Sir Gervaise
never to interfere with any subordinate flag-officer's vessel any more
than duty rigidly required; consequently his communications with the
captain of the Cæsar had usually been of a general nature, verbal orders
and criticisms being studiously avoided. This circumstance rendered the
commander-in-chief even a greater favourite than common with Stowel, who
had all his own way in his own ship, in consequence of the
rear-admiral's indifference to such matters.

"How do you do, Stowel?" called out Sir Gervaise, cordially. "I am
delighted to see you on your legs, and hope the old Roman is not much
the worse for this day's treatment"

"I thank you, Sir Gervaise, we are both afloat yet, though we have
passed through warm times. The ship is damaged, sir, as you may suppose;
and, although it stands so bravely, and looks so upright, that foremast
of ours is as good as a condemned spar. One thirty-two through the heart
of it, about ten feet from the deck, an eighteen in the hounds, and a
double-header sticking in one of the hoops! A spar cannot be counted for
much that has as many holes in it as those, sir!"

"Deal tenderly with it, my old friend, and spare the canvass; those
chaps at Plymouth will set all to rights, again, in a week. Hoops can be
had for asking, and as for holes in the heart, many a poor fellow has
had them, and lived through it all. You are a case in point; Mrs. Stowel
not having spared you in that way, I'll answer for it."

"Mrs. Stowel commands ashore, Sir Gervaise, and I command afloat; and in
that way, we keep a quiet ship and a quiet house, I thank you, sir; and
I endeavour to think of her at sea, as little as possible."

"Ay, that's the way with you doting husbands;--always ashamed of your
own lively sensibilities. But what has become of Bluewater?--Does he
know that we are alongside?"

Stowel looked round, cast his eyes up at the sails, and played with the
hilt of his sword. The rapid eye of the commander-in-chief detected this
embarrassment, and quick as thought he demanded what had happened.

"Why, Sir Gervaise, you know how it is with some admirals, who like to
be in every thing. I told our respected and beloved friend, that he had
nothing to do with boarding; that if either of us was to go, _I_ was the
proper man; but that we ought both to stick by the ship. He answered
something about lost honour and duty, and you know, sir, what legs he
has, when he wishes to use them! One might as well think of stopping a
deserter by a halloo; away he went, with the first party, sword in hand,
a sight I never saw before, and never wish to see again! Thus you see
how it was, sir."

The commander-in-chief compressed his lips, until his features, and
indeed his whole form was a picture of desperate resolution, though his
face was as pale as death, and the muscles of his mouth twitched, in
spite of all his physical self-command.

"I understand you, sir," he said, in a voice that seemed to issue from
his chest; "you wish to say that Admiral Bluewater is killed."

"No, thank God! Sir Gervaise, not _quite_ as bad as that, though sadly
hurt; yes, indeed, very sadly hurt!"

Sir Gervaise Oakes groaned, and for a few minutes he leaned his head on
the hammock-cloths, veiling his face from the sight of men. Then he
raised his person erect, and said steadily--

"Run your top-sails to the mast-head, Captain Stowel, and round your
ship to. I will come on board of you."

An order was given to Denham to take room, when the Chloe came to the
wind on one tack and the Cæsar on the other. This was contrary to rule,
as it increased the distance between the ships; but the vice-admiral was
impatient to be in his barge. In ten minutes he was mounting the Cæsar's
side, and in two more he was in Bluewater's main-cabin. Geoffrey
Cleveland was seated by the table, with his face buried in his arms.
Touching his shoulder, the boy raised his head, and showed a face
covered with tears.

"How is he, boy?" demanded Sir Gervaise, hoarsely. "Do the surgeons give
any hopes?"

The midshipman shook his head, and then, as if the question renewed his
grief, he again buried his face in his arms. At this moment, the surgeon
of the ship came from the rear-admiral's state-room, and following the
commander-in-chief into the after-cabin, they had a long conference
together.

Minute after minute passed, and the Cæsar and Chloe still lay with their
main-top-sails aback. At the end of half an hour, Denham wore round and
laid the head of his frigate in the proper direction. Ship after ship
came up, and went on to the northward, fast as her crippled state would
allow, yet no sign of movement was seen in the Cæsar. Two sail had
appeared in the south-eastern board, and they, too, approached and
passed without bringing the vice-admiral even on deck. These ships
proved to be the Carnatic and her prize, le Scipion, which latter ship
had been intercepted and easily captured by the former. The steering of
M. de Vervillin to the south-west had left a clear passage to the two
ships, which were coming down with a free wind at a handsome rate of
sailing. This news was sent into the Cæsar's cabin, but it brought no
person and no answer out of it. At length, when every thing had gone
ahead, the barge returned to the Chloe. It merely took a note, however,
which was no sooner read by Wycherly, than he summoned the Bowlderos and
Galleygo, had all the vice-admiral's luggage passed into the boat,
struck his flag, and took his leave of Denham. As soon as the boat was
clear of the frigate, the latter made all sail after the fleet, to
resume her ordinary duties of a look-out and a repeating-ship.

As soon as Wycherly reached the Cæsar, that ship hoisted in the
vice-admiral's barge. A report was made to Sir Gervaise of what had been
done, and then an order came on deck that occasioned all in the fleet to
stare with surprise. The red flag of Sir Gervaise Oakes was run up at
the foreroyal-mast-head of the Cæsar, while the white flag of the
rear-admiral was still flying at her mizzen. Such a thing had never
before been known to happen, if it has ever happened since; and to the
time when she was subsequently lost, the Cæsar was known as the double
flag-ship.



CHAPTER XXIX.

    "He spoke; when behold the fair Geraldine's form
      On the canvass enchantingly glowed;
    His touches, they flew like the leaves in a storm;
    And the pure pearly white, and the carnation warm,
      Contending in harmony flowed."

         ALSTON.


We shall now ask permission of the reader to advance the time just
eight-and-forty hours; a liberty with the unities which, he will do us
the justice to say, we have not often taken. We must also transfer the
scene to that already described at Wychecombe, including the Head, the
station, the roads, and the inland and seaward views. Summer weather had
returned, too, the pennants of the ships at anchor scarce streaming from
their masts far enough to form curved lines. Most of the English fleet
was among these vessels, though the squadron had undergone some changes.
The Druid had got into Portsmouth with _la Victoire_; the Driver and
Active had made the best of their way to the nearest ports; with
despatches for the admiralty; and the Achilles, in tow of the Dublin,
with the Chloe to take care of both, had gone to leeward, with square
yards, in the hope of making Falmouth. The rest of the force was
present, the crippled ships having been towed into the roads that
morning. The picture among the shipping was one of extreme activity and
liveliness. Jury-masts were going up in the Warspite; lower and
top-sail-yards were down to be fished, or new ones were rigging to be
sent aloft in their places; the Plantagenet was all a-tanto, again, in
readiness for another action, with rigging secured and masts fished,
while none but an instructed eye could have detected, at a short
distance, that the Cæsar, Carnatic, Dover, York, Elizabeth, and one or
two more, had been in action at all. The landing was crowded with boats
as before, and gun-room servants and midshipmen's boys were foraging as
usual; some with honest intent to find delicacies for the wounded, but
more with the roguish design of contributing to the comforts of the
unhurt, by making appeals to the sympathies of the women of the
neighbourhood, in behalf of the hurt.

The principal transformation that had been brought about by this state
of things, however, was apparent at the station. This spot had the
appearance of a place to which the headquarters of an army had been
transferred, in the vicissitudes of the field; warlike sailors, if not
soldiers, flocking to it, as the centre of interest and intelligence.
Still there was a singularity observable in the manner in which these
heroes of the deck paid their court; the cottage being seemingly
tabooed, or at most, approached by very few, while the grass at the foot
of the flag-staff was already beginning to show proofs of the pressure
of many feet. This particular spot, indeed, was the centre of
attraction; there, officers of all ranks and ages were constantly
arriving, and thence they were as often departing; all bearing
countenances sobered by anxiety and apprehension. Notwithstanding the
constant mutations, there had been no instant since the rising of the
sun, when some ten or twelve, at least, including captains, lieutenants,
masters and idlers, had not been collected around the bench at the foot
of the signal-staff, and frequently the number reached even to twenty.

A little retired from the crowd, and near the verge of the cliff, a
large tent had been pitched. A marine paced in its front, as a sentinel.
Another stood near the gate of the little door-yard of the cottage, and
all persons who approached either, with the exception of a few of the
privileged, were referred to the sergeant who commanded the guard. The
arms of the latter were stacked on the grass, at hand, and the men off
post were loitering near. These were the usual military signs of the
presence of officers of rank, and may, in sooth, be taken as clues to
the actual state of things, on and around the Head.

Admiral Bluewater lay in the cottage, while Sir Gervaise Oakes occupied
the tent. The former had been transferred to the place where he was
about to breathe his last, at his own urgent request, while his friend
had refused to be separated from him, so long as life remained. The two
flags were still flying at the mast-heads of the Cæsar, a sort of
melancholy memorial of the tie that had so long bound their gallant
owners in the strong sympathies of an enduring personal and professional
friendship.

Persons of the education of Mrs. Dutton and her daughter, had not dwelt
so long on that beautiful head-land, without leaving on the spot some
lasting impressions of their tastes. Of the cottage, we have already
spoken. The little garden, too, then bright with flowers, had a grace
and refinement about it that we would hardly have expected to meet in
such a place; and even the paths that led athwart the verdant common
which spread over so much of the upland, had been directed with an eye
to the picturesque and agreeable. One of these paths, too, led to a
rustic summer-house--a sort of small, rude pavilion, constructed, like
the fences, of fragments of wrecks, and placed on a shelf of the cliff,
at a dizzy elevation, but in perfect security. So far from there being
any danger in entering this summer-house, indeed, Wycherly, during his
six months' residence near the Head, had made a path that descended
still lower to a point that was utterly concealed from all eyes above,
and had actually planted a seat on another shelf with so much security,
that both Mildred and her mother often visited it in company. During the
young man's recent absence, the poor girl, indeed, had passed much of
her time there, weeping and suffering in solitude. To this seat, Dutton
never ventured; the descent, though well protected with ropes, requiring
greater steadiness of foot and head than intemperance had left him. Once
or twice, Wycherly had induced Mildred to pass an hour with him alone in
this romantic place, and some of his sweetest recollections of this
just-minded and intelligent girl, were connected with the frank
communications that had there occurred between them. On this bench he
was seated at the time of the opening of the present chapter. The
movement on the Head, and about the cottage, was so great, as to deprive
him of every chance of seeing Mildred alone, and he had hoped that, led
by some secret sympathy, she, too, might seek this perfectly retired
seat, to obtain a moment of unobserved solitude, if not from some still
dearer motive. He had not waited long, ere he heard a heavy foot over
his head, and a man entered the summer-house. He was yet debating
whether to abandon all hopes of seeing Mildred, when his acute ear
caught her light and well-known footstep, as she reached the
summer-house, also.

"Father, I have come as you desired," said the poor girl, in those
tremulous tones which Wycherly too well understood, not to imagine the
condition of Dutton. "Admiral Bluewater dozes, and mother has permitted
me to steal away."

"Ay, Admiral Bluewater is a great man, though but little better than a
dead one!" answered Dutton, as harshly in manner as the language was
coarse. "You and your mother are all attention to _him_; did _I_ lie in
his place, which of you would be found hanging over my bed, with pale
cheeks and tearful eyes?"

"_Both_ of us, father! _Do_ not--_do_ not think so ill of your wife and
daughter, as to suppose it possible that either of them could forget her
duty."

"Yes, _duty_ might do something, perhaps; what has duty to do with this
useless rear-admiral? I _hate_ the scoundrel--he was one of the court
that cashiered me; and one, too, that I am told, was the most obstinate
in refusing to help me into this pitiful berth of a master."

Mildred was silent. She could not vindicate her friend without
criminating her father. As for Wycherly, he would have given a year's
income to be at sea; yet he shrunk from wounding the poor daughter's
feelings by letting her know he overheard the dialogue. This indecision
made him the unwilling auditor of a conversation that he ought not to
have heard--an occurrence which, had there been time for reflection, he
would have taken means to prevent.

"Sit you down here, Mildred," resumed Dutton, sternly, "and listen to
what I have to say. It is time that there should no longer be any
trifling between us. You have the fortunes of your mother and myself in
your hands; and, as one of the parties so deeply concerned, I am
determined _mine_ shall be settled at once."

"I do not understand you, father," said Mildred, with a tremour in her
voice that almost induced the young man to show himself, though, we owe
it to truth to say, that a lively curiosity _now_ mingled with his other
sensations. "How can I have the keeping of dear mother's fortunes and
yours?"

"_Dear_ mother, truly!--_Dear_ enough has she proved to me; but I intend
the daughter shall pay for it. Hark you, Mildred; I'll have no more of
this trifling--but I ask you in a father's name, if any man has offered
you his hand? Speak plainly, and conceal nothing--I _will_ be answered."

"I wish to conceal nothing, father, that ought to be told; but when a
young woman declines the honour that another does her in this way,
_ought_ she to reveal the secret, even to her father?"

"She _ought_; and, in your case, she _shall_. No more hesitation; name
_one_ of the offers you have had."

Mildred, after a brief pause, in a low, tremulous voice, pronounced the
name of "Mr. Rotherham."

"I suspected as much," growled Dutton; "there was a time when even _he_
might have answered, but we can do better than that now. Still he may be
kept as a reserve; the thousand pounds Mr. Thomas says shall be paid,
and that and the living will make a comfortable port after a stormy
life. Well, who next, Mildred? Has Mr. Thomas Wychecombe ever come to
the point?"

"He has asked me to become his wife, within the last twenty-four hours;
if that is what you mean."

"No affectations, Milly; I can't bear them. You know well enough what I
mean. What was your answer?"

"I do not love him in the least, father, and, of course, I told him I
could not marry him."

"That don't follow _of course_, by any means, girl! The marrying is done
by the priest, and the love is a very different thing. I hope you
consider Mrs. Dutton as my wife?"

"What a question!" murmured Mildred.

"Well, and do you suppose she _loves_ me; _can_ love me, now I am a
disgraced, impoverished man?"

"Father!"

"Come--come--enough of this. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe may not be
legitimate--I rather think he is not, by the proofs Sir Reginald has
produced within the last day or two; and I understand his own mother is
dissatisfied with him, and _that_ will knock his claim flat aback.
Notwithstanding, Mildred, Tom Wychecombe has a good six hundred a year
already, and Sir Reginald himself admits that he must take all the
personal property the late baronet could leave."

"You forget, father," said Mildred, conscious of the inefficacy of any
other appeal, "that Mr. Thomas has promised to pay the legacies that Sir
Wycherly _intended_ to leave."

"Don't place any expectations on that, Mildred. I dare say he would
settle ten of the twenty thousand on you to-morrow, if you would consent
to have him. But, now, as to this new baronet, for it seems he is to
have both title and estate--has _he_ ever offered?"

There was a long pause, during which Wycherly thought he heard the hard
but suppressed breathing of Mildred. To remain quiet any longer, he felt
was as impossible as, indeed, his conscience told him was dishonourable,
and he sprang along the path to ascend to the summer-house. At the first
sound of his footstep, a faint cry escaped Mildred; but when Wycherly
entered the pavilion, he found her face buried in her hands, and Dutton
tottering forward, equally in surprise and alarm. As the circumstances
would not admit of evasion, the young man threw aside all reserve, and
spoke plainly.

"I have been an unwilling listener to a _part_ of your discourse with
Mildred, Mr. Dutton," he said, "and can answer your last question for
myself. I _have_ offered my hand to your daughter, sir; an offer that I
now renew, and the acceptance of which would make me the happiest man in
England. If your influence could aid me--for she has refused my hand."

"Refused!" exclaimed Dutton, in a surprise that overcame the calculated
amenity of manner he had assumed the instant Wycherly appeared--"Refused
Sir Wycherly Wychecombe! but it was before your rights had been as well
established as they are now. Mildred, answer to this--how _could_
you--nay, how _dare_ you refuse such an offer as this?"

Human nature could not well endure more. Mildred suffered her hands to
fall helplessly into her lap, and exposed a face that was lovely as that
of an angel's, though pale nearly to the hue of death. Feeling extorted
the answer she made, though the words had hardly escaped her, ere she
repented having uttered them, and had again buried her face in her
hands--

"Father"--she said--"_could_ I--_dare_ I to encourage Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe to unite himself to a family like ours!"

Conscience smote Dutton with a force that nearly sobered him, and what
explanation might have followed it is hard to say; Wycherly, in an
under-tone, however, requested to be left alone with the daughter.
Dutton had sense enough to understand he was _de trop_, and shame enough
to wish to escape. In half a minute, he had hobbled up to the summit of
the cliff and disappeared.

"Mildred!--_Dearest_ Mildred"--said Wycherly, tenderly, gently
endeavouring to draw her attention to himself, "we are alone now;
surely--surely--you will not refuse to _look_ at _me_!"

"Is he gone?" asked Mildred, dropping her hands, and looking wildly
around. "Thank God! It is over, for this time, at least! Now, let us go
to the house; Admiral Bluewater may miss me."

"No, Mildred, not yet. You surely can spare me--me, who have suffered so
much of late on your account--nay, by your _means_--you can, in mercy,
spare me a few short minutes. Was _this_ the reason--the _only_ reason,
dearest girl, why you so pertinaciously refused my hand?"

"Was it not sufficient, Wycherly?" answered Mildred, afraid the
chartered air might hear her secret. "Remember _who_ you are, and _what_
I am! Could I suffer you to become the husband of one to whom such
cruel, cruel propositions had been made by her own father!"

"I shall not affect to conceal my horror of such principles, Mildred,
but your virtues shine all the brighter by having flourished in their
company. Answer me but one question frankly, and every other difficulty
can be gotten over. Do you love me well enough to be my wife, were you
an orphan?"

Mildred's countenance was full of anguish, but this question changed its
expression entirely. The moment was extraordinary as were the feelings
it engendered, and, almost unconsciously to herself, she raised the hand
that held her own to her lips, in a sort of reverence. In the next
instant she was encircled in the young man's arms, and pressed with
fervour to his heart.

"Let us go"--said Mildred, extricating herself from an embrace that was
too involuntarily bestowed, and too heartfelt to alarm her delicacy. "I
feel certain Admiral Bluewater will miss me!"

"No, Mildred, we cannot part thus. Give me, at least, the poor
consolation of knowing, that if _this_ difficulty did not exist--that if
you were an orphan for instance--you would be mine."

"Oh! Wycherly, how gladly--how gladly!--But, say no more--nay--"

This time the embrace was longer, more fervent even than before, and
Wycherly was too much of a sailor to let the sweet girl escape from his
arms without imprinting on her lips a kiss. He had no sooner
relinquished his hold of the slight person of Mildred, ere it vanished.
With this characteristic leave-taking, we change the scene to the tent
of Sir Gervaise Oakes.

"You have seen Admiral Bluewater?" demanded the commander-in-chief, as
soon as the form of Magrath darkened the entrance, and speaking with the
sudden earnestness of a man determined to know the worst. "If so, tell
me at once what hopes there are for him."

"Of all the human passions, Sir Jairvis," answered Magrath, looking
aside, to avoid the keen glance of the other, "hope is generally
considered, by all rational men, as the most treacherous and delusive; I
may add, of all denominations or divisions of hope, that which decides
on life is the most unsairtain. We all hope to live, I'm thinking, to a
good old age, and yet how many of us live just long enough to be
disappointed!"

Sir Gervaise did not move until the surgeon ceased speaking; then he
began to pace the tent in mournful silence. He understood Magrath's
manner so well, that the last faint hope he had felt from seeking his
opinion was gone; he now knew that his friend must die. It required all
his fortitude to stand up against this blow; for, single, childless, and
accustomed to each other almost from infancy, these two veteran sailors
had got to regard themselves as merely isolated parts of the same being.
Magrath was affected more than he chose to express, and he blew his nose
several times in a way that an observer would have found suspicious.

"Will you confer on me the favour, Dr. Magrath," said Sir Gervaise, in a
gentle, subdued manner, "to ask Captain Greenly to come hither, as you
pass the flag-staff?"

"Most willingly, Sir Jairvis; and I know he'll be any thing but backward
in complying."

It was not long ere the captain of the Plantagenet made his appearance.
Like all around him, the recent victory appeared to bring no exultation.

"I suppose Magrath told _you_ all," said the vice-admiral, squeezing the
other's hand.

"He gives no hopes, Sir Gervaise, I sincerely regret to say."

"I knew as much! I knew as much! And yet he is easy, Greenly!--nay, even
seems happy. I _did_ feel a little hope that this absence from suffering
might be a favourable omen."

"I am glad to hear that much, sir; for I have been thinking that it is
my duty to speak to the rear-admiral on the subject of his brother's
marriage. From his own silence on the subject, it is possible--nay, from
_all_ circumstances, it is _probable_ he never knew of it, and there may
be reasons why he ought to be informed of the affair. As you say he is
so easy, would there be an impropriety in mentioning it to him?"

Greenly could not possibly have made a suggestion that was a greater
favour to Sir Gervaise. The necessity of doing, his habits of decision,
and having an object in view, contributed to relieve his mind by
diverting his thoughts to some active duty; and he seized his hat,
beckoned Greenly to follow, and moved across the hill with a rapid pace,
taking the path to the cottage. It was necessary to pass the flag-staff.
As this was done, every countenance met the vice-admiral's glance, with
a look of sincere sympathy. The bows that were exchanged, had more in
them than the naked courtesies of such salutations; they were eloquent
of feeling on both sides.

Bluewater was awake, and retaining the hand of Mildred affectionately in
his own, when his friend entered. Relinquishing his hold, however, he
grasped the hand of the vice-admiral, and looked earnestly at him, as if
he pitied the sorrow that he knew the survivor must feel.

"My dear Bluewater," commenced Sir Gervaise, who acted under a nervous
excitement, as well as from constitutional decision, "here is Greenly
with something to tell you that we both think you ought to know, at a
moment like this."

The rear-admiral regarded his friend intently, as if inviting him to
proceed.

"Why, it's about your brother Jack. I fancy you cannot have known that
he was ever married, or I think I should have heard you speak of it."

"Married!" repeated Bluewater, with great interest, and speaking with
very little difficulty. "I think that must be an error. Inconsiderate
and warm-hearted he was, but there was only one woman he _could_, nay,
_would_ have married. She is long since dead, but not as _his_ wife; for
that her uncle, a man of great wealth, but of unbending will, would
never have suffered. _He_ survived her, though my poor brother did not."

This was said in a mild voice, for the wounded man spoke equally without
effort, and without pain.

"You hear, Greenly?" observed Sir Gervaise. "And yet it is not probable
that you should be mistaken."

"Certainly, I am not, gentlemen. I saw Colonel Bluewater married, as did
another officer who is at this moment in this very fleet. Captain
Blakely is the person I mean, and I know that the priest who performed
the ceremony is still living, a beneficed clergyman."

"This is wonderful to me! He fervently loved Agnes Hedworth, but his
poverty was an obstacle to the union; and both died so young, that there
was little opportunity of conciliating the uncle."

"That, sir, is your mistake. Agnes Hedworth was the bride."

A noise in the room interrupted the dialogue, and the three gentlemen
saw Wycherly and Mildred stooping to pick up the fragments of a bowl
that Mrs. Dutton had let fall. The latter, apparently in alarm, at the
little accident, had sunk back into a seat, pale and trembling.

"My dear Mrs. Dutton, take a glass of water," said Sir Gervaise, kindly
approaching her; "your nerves have been sorely tried of late; else would
not such a trifle affect you."

"It is not _that_!" exclaimed the matron, huskily. "It is not _that_!
Oh! the fearful moment has come at last; and, from my inmost spirit I
thank thee, my Lord and my God, that it has come free from shame and
disgrace!"

The closing words were uttered on bended knees, and with uplifted hands.

"Mother!--dearest, dearest mother," cried Mildred, falling on her
mother's neck. "What mean you? What new misery has happened to-day?"

"_Mother!_ Yes, sweet one, thou art, thou ever _shalt_ be my child! This
is the pang I have most dreaded; but what is an unknown tie of blood, to
use, and affection, and to a mother's care? If I did not bear thee,
Mildred, no natural mother could have loved thee more, or would have
died for thee, as willingly!"

"Distress has disturbed her, gentlemen," said Mildred, gently
extricating herself from her mother's arms, and helping her to rise. "A
few moments of rest will restore her."

"No, darling; it must come now--it _ought_ to come now--after what I
have just heard, it would be unpardonable not to tell it, _now_. Did I
understand you to say, sir, that you were present at the marriage of
Agnes Hedworth, and that, too, with the brother of Admiral Bluewater?"

"Of that fact, there can be no question, madam. I and others will
testify to it. The marriage took place in London, in the summer of 1725,
while Blakely and myself were up from Portsmouth, on leave. Colonel
Bluewater asked us both to be present, under a pledge of secresy."

"And in the summer of 1726, Agnes Hedworth died in my house and my arms,
an hour after giving birth to this dear, this precious child--Mildred
Dutton, as she has ever since been called--Mildred Bluewater, as it
would seem her name should be."

It is unnecessary to dwell on the surprise with which all present, or
the delight with which Bluewater and Wycherly heard this extraordinary
announcement. A cry escaped Mildred, who threw herself on Mrs. Dutton's
neck, entwining it with her arms, convulsively, as if refusing to permit
the tie that had so long bound them together, to be thus rudely torn
asunder. But half an hour of weeping, and of the tenderest consolations,
calmed the poor girl a little, and she was able to listen to the
explanations. These were exceedingly simple, and so clear, as, in
connection with the other evidence, to put the facts out of all doubt.

Miss Hedworth had become known to Mrs. Dutton, while the latter was an
inmate of the house of her patron. A year or two after the marriage of
the lieutenant, and while he was on a distant station, Agnes Hedworth
threw herself on the protection of his wife, asking a refuge for a woman
in the most critical circumstances. Like all who knew Agnes Hedworth,
Mrs. Dutton both respected and loved her; but the distance created
between them, by birth and station, was such as to prevent any
confidence. The former, for the few days passed with her humble friend,
had acted with the quiet dignity of a woman conscious of no wrong; and
no questions could be asked that implied doubts. A succession of
fainting fits prevented all communications in the hour of death, and
Mrs. Dutton found herself left with a child on her hands, and the dead
body of her friend. Miss Hedworth had come to her dwelling unattended
and under a false name. These circumstances induced Mrs. Dutton to
apprehend the worst, and she proceeded to make her arrangements with
great tenderness for the reputation of the deceased. The body was
removed to London, and letters were sent to the uncle to inform him
where it was to be found, with a reference should he choose to inquire
into the circumstances of his niece's death. Mrs. Dutton ascertained
that the body was interred in the usual manner, but no inquiry was ever
made, concerning the particulars. The young duchess, Miss Hedworth's
sister, was then travelling in Italy, whence she did not return for more
than a year; and we may add, though Mrs. Dutton was unable to make the
explanation, that her inquiries after the fate of a beloved sister, were
met by a simple statement that she had died suddenly, on a visit to a
watering-place, whither she had gone with a female friend for her
health. Whether Mr. Hedworth himself had any suspicions of his niece's
condition, is uncertain; but the probabilities were against it, for she
had offended him by refusing a match equal in all respects to that made
by her elder sister, with the single exception that the latter had
married a man she loved, whereas he exacted of Agnes a very different
sacrifice. Owing to the alienation produced by this affair, there was
little communication between the uncle and niece; the latter passing her
time in retirement, and professedly with friends that the former neither
knew nor cared to know. In short, such was the mode of life of the
respective parties, that nothing was easier than for the unhappy young
widow to conceal her state from her uncle. The motive was the fortune of
the expected child; this uncle having it in his power to alienate from
it, by will, if he saw fit, certain family property, that might
otherwise descend to the issue of the two sisters, as his co-heiresses.
What might have happened in the end, or what poor Agnes meditated doing,
can never be known; death closing the secret with his irremovable seal.

Mrs. Dutton was the mother of a girl but three months old, at the time
this little stranger was left on her hands. A few weeks later her own
child died; and having waited several months in vain for tidings from
the Hedworth family, she had the surviving infant christened by the same
name as that borne by her own daughter, and soon came to love it, as
much, perhaps, as if she had borne it. Three years passed in this
manner, when the time drew near for the return of her husband from the
East Indies. To be ready to meet him, she changed her abode to a naval
port, and, in so doing, changed her domestics. This left her
accidentally, but fortunately, as she afterwards thought, completely
mistress of the secret of Mildreth's birth; the one or two others to
whom it was known being in stations to render it improbable they should
ever communicate any thing on the subject, unless it were asked of them.
Her original intention, however, was to communicate the facts, without
reserve, to her husband. But he came back an altered man; brutal in
manners, cold in his affections, and the victim of drunkenness. By this
time, the wife was too much attached to the child to think of exposing
it to the wayward caprices of such a being; and Mildred was educated,
and grew in stature and beauty as the real offspring of her reputed
parents.

All this Mrs. Dutton related clearly and briefly, refraining, of course,
from making any allusion to the conduct of her husband, and referring
all her own benevolence to her attachment to the child. Bluewater had
strength enough to receive Mildred in his arms, and he kissed her pale
cheek, again and again, blessing her in the most fervent and solemn
manner.

"My feelings were not treacherous or unfaithful," he said; "I loved
thee, sweetest, from the first. Sir Gervaise Oakes has my will, made in
thy favour, before we sailed on this last cruise, and every shilling I
leave will be thine. Mr. Atwood, procure that will, and add a codicil
explaining this recent discovery, and confirming the legacy; let not the
last be touched, for it is spontaneous and comes from the heart."

"And, now," answered Mrs. Dutton, "enough has passed for once. The
sick-bed should be more quiet. Give me my child, again:--I cannot yet
consent to part with her for ever."

"Mother! mother!" exclaimed Mildred, throwing herself on Mrs. Dutton's
bosom--"I am yours, and yours only."

"Not so, I fear. Mildred, if all I suspect be true, and this is as
proper a moment as another to place that matter also before your
honoured uncle. Come forward, Sir Wycherly--I have understood you to
say, this minute, in my ear, that you hold the pledge of this wilful
girl to become your wife, should she ever be an orphan. An orphan she
is, and has been since the first hour of her birth."

"No--no--no," murmured Mildred, burying her face still deeper in her
mother's bosom, "not while _you_ live, _can_ I be an orphan. Not
now--another time--this is unseasonable--cruel--nay, it is not what I
said."'

"Take her away, dearest Mrs. Dutton," said Bluewater, tears of joy
forcing themselves from his eyes. "Take her away, lest too much
happiness come upon me at once. My thoughts should be calmer at such a
moment."

Wycherly removed Mildred from her mother's arms, and gently led her from
the room. When in Mrs. Dutton's apartment, he whispered something in the
ear of the agitated girl that caused her to turn on him a look of
happiness, though it came dimmed with tears; then _he_ had his turn of
holding her, for another precious instant, to his heart.

"My dear Mrs. Dutton--nay, my dear _mother_," he said, "Mildred and
myself have both need of parents. I am an orphan like herself, and we
can never consent to part with you. Look forward, I entreat you, to
making one of our family in all things, for never can either Mildred or
myself cease to consider you as any thing but a parent entitled to more
than common reverence and affection."

Wycherly had hardly uttered this proper speech, when he received what he
fancied a ten-fold reward. Mildred, in a burst of natural feeling,
without affectation or reserve, but yielding to her heart only, threw
her arms around his neck, murmured the word "thanks" several times, and
wept freely on his bosom. When Mrs. Dutton received the sobbing girl
from him, Wycherly kissed the mother's cheek, and he left the room.

Admiral Bluewater would not consent to seek his repose until he had a
private conference with his friend and Wycherly. The latter was
frankness and liberality itself, but the former would not wait for
settlements. These he trusted to the young man's honour. His own time
was short, and he should die perfectly happy could he leave his niece in
the care of one like our Virginian. He wished the marriage to take place
in his presence. On this, he even insisted, and, of course, Wycherly
make no objections, but went to state the case to Mrs. Dutton and
Mildred.

"It is singular, Dick," said Sir Gervaise, wiping his eyes, as he looked
from a window that commanded a view of the sea, "that I have left both
our flags flying in the Cæsar! I declare, the oddness of the
circumstance never struck me till this minute."

"Let them float thus a little longer, Gervaise. They have faced many a
gale and many a battle together, and may endure each other's company a
few hours longer."



CHAPTER XXX.

    "Compound or weakness and of strength,
      Mighty, yet ignorant of thy power!
    Loftier than earth, or air, or sea,
      Yet meaner than the lowliest flower!

         MARGARET DAVIDSON.


Not a syllable of explanation, reproach, or self-accusation had passed
between the commander-in-chief and the rear-admiral, since the latter
received his wound. Each party appeared to blot out the events of the
last few days, leaving the long vista of their past services and
friendship, undisfigured by a single unsightly or unpleasant object. Sir
Gervaise, while he retained an active superintendence of his fleet, and
issued the necessary orders right and left, hovered around the bed of
Bluewater with the assiduity and almost with the tenderness of a woman;
still not the slightest allusion was made to the recent battles, or to
any thing that had occurred in the short cruise. The speech recorded at
the close of the last chapter, was the first words he had uttered which
might, in any manner, carry the mind of either back to events that both
might wish forgotten. The rear-admiral felt this forbearance deeply, and
now that the subject was thus accidentally broached between them, he had
a desire to say something in continuation. Still he waited until the
baronet had left the window and taken a seat by his bed.

"Gervaise," Bluewater then commenced, speaking low from weakness, but
speaking distinctly from feeling, "I cannot die without asking your
forgiveness. There were several hours when I actually meditated
treason--I will not say to my _king_; on that point my opinions are
unchanged--but to _you_."

"Why speak of this, Dick? You did not know yourself when you believed it
possible to desert me in the face of the enemy. How much better I judged
of your character, is seen in the fact that I did not hesitate to engage
double my force, well knowing that you could not fail to come to my
rescue."

Bluewater looked intently at his friend, and a smile of serious
satisfaction passed over his pallid countenance as he listened to Sir
Gervaise's words, which were uttered with his usual warmth and sincerity
of manner.

"I believe you know me better than I know myself," he answered, after a
thoughtful pause; "yes, better than I know myself. What a glorious close
to our professional career would it have been, Oakes, had I followed you
into battle, as was our old practice, and fallen in your wake, imitating
your own high example!"

"It is better as it is, Dick--if any thing that has so sad a termination
can be well--yes, it is better as it is; you have fallen at my _side_,
as it were. We will think or talk no more of this."

"We have been friends, and close friends too, for a long period,
Gervaise," returned Bluewater, stretching his arm from the bed, with the
long, thin fingers of the hand extended to meet the other's grasp; "yet,
I cannot recall an act of yours which I can justly lay to heart, as
unkind, or untrue."

"God forgive me, if you can--I hope not, Dick; most sincerely do I hope
not. It would give me great pain to believe it."

"_You_ have no cause for self-reproach. In no one act or thought can you
justly accuse yourself with injuring _me_. I should die much happier
could I say the same of myself, Oakes!"

"Thought!--Dick?--Thought! You never meditated aught against _me_ in
your whole life. The love you bear _me_, is the true reason why you lie
there, at this blessed moment."

"It is grateful to find that I have been understood. I am deeply
indebted to you, Oakes, for declining to signal me and my division down,
when I foolishly requested that untimely forbearance. I was then
suffering an anguish of mind, to which any pain of the body I may now
endure, is an elysium; your self-denial gave time--"

"For the _heart_ to prompt you to that which your feelings yearned to do
from the first, Bluewater," interrupted Sir Gervaise. "And, now, as your
commanding officer, I enjoin silence on this subject, _for ever_."

"I will endeavour to obey. It will not be long, Oakes, that I shall
remain under your orders," added the rear-admiral, with a painful smile.
"There should be no charge of mutiny against me in the _last_ act of my
life. You ought to forgive the one sin of omission, when you remember
how much and how completely my will has been subject to yours, during
the last five-and-thirty years,--how little my mind has matured a
professional thought that yours has not originated!"

"Speak no more of 'forgive,' I charge you, Dick. That you have shown a
girl-like docility in obeying all my orders, too, is a truth I will aver
before God and man; but when it comes to _mind_, I am far from asserting
that mine has had the mastery. I do believe, could the truth he
ascertained, it would be found that I am, at this blessed moment,
enjoying a professional reputation, which is more than half due to you."

"It matters little, now, Gervaise--it matters little, now. We were two
light-hearted and gay lads, Oakes, when we first met as boys, fresh from
school, and merry as health and spirits could make us."

"We were, indeed, Dick!--yes, we were; thoughtless as if this sad moment
were never to arrive!"

"There were George Anson, and Peter Warren, little Charley Saunders,
Jack Byng, and a set of us, that did, indeed, live as if we were never
to die! We carried our lives, as it might be, in our hands, Oakes!"

"There is much of that, Dick, in boyhood and youth. But, he is happiest,
after all, who can meet this moment as you do--calmly, and yet without
any dependence on his own merits."

"I had an excellent mother, Oakes! Little do we think, in youth, how
much we owe to the unextinguishable tenderness, and far-seeing lessons
of our mothers! Ours both died while we were young, yet I do think we
were their debtors for far more than we could ever repay."

Sir Gervaise simply assented, but making no immediate answer, otherwise,
a long pause succeeded, during which the vice-admiral fancied that his
friend was beginning to doze. He was mistaken.

"You will be made Viscount Bowldero, for these last affairs, Gervaise,"
the wounded man unexpectedly observed, showing how much his thoughts
were still engrossed with the interests of his friend. "Nor do I see why
you should again refuse a peerage. Those who remain in this world, may
well yield to its usages and opinions, while they do not interfere with
higher obligations."

"I!"--exclaimed Sir Gervaise, gloomily. "The thought of so commemorating
what has happened, would be worse than defeat to me! No--I ask no change
of name to remind me constantly of my loss!"

Bluewater looked grateful, rather than pleased; but he made no answer.
Now, he fell into a light slumber, from which he did not awake until the
time he had himself set for the marriage of Wycherly and Mildred. With
one uncle dead and still unburied, and another about to quit the world
for ever, a rite that is usually deemed as joyous as it is solemn, might
seem unseasonable; but the dying man had made it a request that he might
have the consolation of knowing ere he expired, that he left his niece
under the legal protection of one as competent, as he was desirous of
protecting her. The reader must imagine the arguments that were used for
the occasion, but they were such as disposed all, in the end, to admit
the propriety of yielding their ordinary prejudices to the exigencies of
the moment. It may be well to add, also, to prevent useless cavilling,
that the laws of England were not as rigid on the subject of the
celebration of marriages in 1745, as they subsequently became; and that
it was lawful then to perform the ceremony in a private house without a
license, and without the publishing of banns, even; restrictions that
were imposed a few years later. The penalty for dispensing with the
publication of banns, was a fine of £100, imposed on the clergyman; and
this fine Bluewater chose to pay, rather than leave the only great
object of life that now remained before him unaccomplished. This penalty
in no degree impaired the validity of the contract, though Mrs. Dutton,
as a woman, felt averse to parting with her beloved, without a rigid
observance of all the customary forms. The point had finally been
disposed of, by recourse to arguments addressed to the reason of this
respectable woman, and by urging the necessity of the case. Her consent,
however, was not given without a proviso, that a license should be
subsequently procured, and a second marriage be had at a more fitting
moment, should the ecclesiastical authorities consent to the same; a
most improbable thing in itself.

Mr. Rotherham availed himself of the statute inflicting the penalty, as
an excuse for not officiating. His real motive, however, was understood,
and the chaplain of the Plantagenet, a divine of character and piety,
was substituted in his place. Bluewater had requested that as many of
the captains of the fleet should be present as could be collected, and
it was the assembling of these warriors of the deep, together with the
arrival of the clergyman, that first gave notice of the approach of the
appointed hour.

It is not our intention to dwell on the details of a ceremony that had
so much that was painful in its solemnities. Neither Wycherly nor
Mildred made any change in their attire, and the lovely bride wept from
the time the service began, to the moment when she left the arms of her
uncle, to be received in those of her husband, and was supported from
the room. All seemed sad, indeed, but Bluewater; to him the scene was
exciting, but it brought great relief to his mind.

"I am now ready to die, gentlemen," he said, as the door closed on the
new-married couple. "My last worldly care is disposed of, and it were
better for me to turn all my thoughts to another state of being. My
niece, Lady Wychecombe, will inherit the little I have to leave; nor do
I know that it is of much importance to substantiate her birth, as her
uncle clearly bestowed what would have been her mother's property, on
her aunt, the duchess. If my dying declaration can be of any use,
however, you hear it, and can testify to it. Now, come and take leave of
me, one by one, that I may bless you all, and thank you for much
undeserved, and, I fear, unrequited love."

The scene that followed was solemn and sad. One by one, the captains
drew near the bed, and to each the dying man had something kind and
affectionate to say. Even the most cold-hearted looked grave, and
O'Neil, a man remarkable for a _gaité de c[oe]ur_ that rendered the
excitement of battle some of the pleasantest moments of his life,
literally shed tears on the hand he kissed.

"Ah! my old friend," said the rear-admiral, as Parker, of the Carnatic,
drew near in his customary meek and subdued manner, "you perceive it is
not years alone that bring us to our graves! They tell me you have
behaved as usual in these late affairs; I trust that, after a long life
of patient and arduous services, you are about to receive a proper
reward."

"I will acknowledge, Admiral Bluewater," returned Parker, earnestly,
"that it would be peculiarly grateful to receive some mark of the
approbation of my sovereign; principally on account of my dear wife and
children. We are not, like yourself, descended from a noble family; but
must carve our rights to distinction, and they who have never known
honours of this nature, prize them highly."

"Ay, my good Parker," interrupted the rear-admiral, "and they who have
ever known them, know their emptiness; most especially as they approach
that verge of existence whence the eye looks in a near and fearful
glance, over the vast and unknown range of eternity."

"No doubt, sir; nor am I so vain as to suppose that hairs which have got
to be grey as mine, can last for ever. But, what I was about to say is,
that precious as honours are to the humble, I would cheerfully yield
every hope of the sort I have, to see you on the poop of the Cæsar
again, with Mr. Cornet at your elbow, leading the fleet, or following
the motions of the vice-admiral."

"Thank you, my good Parker; that can never be; nor can I say, now, that
I wish it might. When we have cast off from the world, there is less
pleasure in looking back, than in looking ahead. God bless you, Parker,
and keep you, as you ever have been, an honest man."

Stowel was the last to approach the bed, nor did he do it until all had
left the room but Sir Gervaise and himself.

The indomitable good-nature, and the professional nonchalance of
Bluewater, by leaving every subordinate undisturbed in the enjoyment of
his own personal caprices, had rendered the rear-admiral a greater
favourite, in one sense at least, than the commander-in-chief. Stowel,
by his near connection with Bluewater, had profited more by these
peculiarities than any other officer under him, and the effect on his
feelings had been in a very just proportion to the benefits. He could
not refrain, it is true, from remembering the day when he himself had
been a lieutenant in the ship in which the rear-admiral had been a
midshipman, but he no longer recollected the circumstance with the
bitterness that it sometimes drew after it. On the contrary, it was now
brought to his mind merely as the most distant of the many land-marks in
their long and joint services.

"Well, Stowel," observed Bluewater, smiling sadly, "even the old Cæsar
must be left behind. It is seldom a flag-captain has not some
heart-burnings on account of his superior, and most sincerely do I beg
you to forget and forgive any I may have occasioned yourself."

"Heaven help me, sir!--I was far, just then, from thinking of any such
thing! I was fancying how little I should have thought it probable, when
we were together in the Calypso, that I should ever be thus standing at
_your_ bed-side. Really, Admiral Bluewater, I would rejoice to share
with you the remnant of life that is left me."

"I do believe you would, Stowel; but that can never be. I have just
performed my last act in this world, in giving my niece to Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe."

"Yes, sir;--yes, sir--marriage is no doubt honourable, as I often tell
Mrs. Stowel, and therefore not to be despised; and yet it _is_ singular,
that a gentleman who has lived a bachelor himself, should fancy to see a
marriage ceremony performed, and that, too, at the cost of £100, if any
person choose to complain, just at the close of his own cruise! However,
men are no more alike in such matters, than women in their domestic
qualities; and I sincerely hope this young Sir Wycherly may find as much
comfort, in the old house I understand he has a little inland here, as
you and I have had together, sir, in the old Cæsar. I suppose there'll
be no co-equals in Wychecombe Hall."

"I trust not, Stowel. But you must now receive my last orders, as to the
Cæsar--"

"The commander-in-chief has his own flag flying aboard of us, sir!"
interrupted the methodical captain, in a sort of admonitory way.

"Never mind that, Stowel;--I'll answer for his acquiescence. My body
must be received on board, and carried round in the ship to Plymouth.
Place it on the main-deck, where the people can see the coffin; I would
pass my last hours above ground, in their midst."

"It shall be done, sir--yes, sir, to the letter, Sir Gervaise not
countermanding. And I'll write this evening to Mrs. Stowel to say she
needn't come down, as usual, as soon as she hears the ship is in, but
that she must wait until your flag is fairly struck."

"I should be sorry, Stowel, to cause a moment's delay in the meeting of
husband and wife!"

"Don't name it, Admiral Bluewater;--Mrs. Stowel will understand that
it's duty; and when we married, I fully explained to her that duty, with
a sailor, came before matrimony."

A little pause succeeded, then Bluewater took a final and affectionate
leave of his captain. Some twenty minutes elapsed in a profound silence,
during which Sir Gervaise did not stir, fancying that his friend again
dozed. But it was ordered that Bluewater was never to sleep again, until
he took the final rest of the dead. It was the mind, which had always
blazed above the duller lethargy of his body, that buoyed him thus up,
giving an unnatural impulse to his physical powers; an impulse, however,
that was but momentary, and which, by means of the reaction,
contributed, in the end, to his more speedy dissolution. Perceiving, at
length, that his friend did not sleep, Sir Gervaise drew near his bed.

"Richard," he said, gently, "there is one without, who pines to be
admitted. I have refused even his tears, under the impression that you
felt disposed to sleep."

"Never less so. My mind appears to become brighter and clearer, instead
of fading; I think I shall never sleep, in the sense you mean. Whoever
the person is, let him be admitted."

Receiving this permission, Sir Gervaise opened the door, and Geoffrey
Cleveland entered. At the same moment, Galleygo, who came and went at
pleasure, thrust in his own ungainly form. The boy's face betrayed the
nature and the extent of his grief. In his mind, Admiral Bluewater was
associated with all the events of his own professional life; and, though
the period had in truth been so short, in his brief existence, the vista
through which he looked back, seemed quite as long as that which marked
the friendship of the two admirals, themselves. Although he struggled
manfully for self-control, feeling got the better of the lad, and he
threw himself on his knees, at the side of his bed, sobbing as if his
heart would break. Bluewater's eye glistened, and he laid a hand
affectionately on the head of his young relative.

"Gervaise, you will take charge of this boy, when I'm gone," he said;
"receive him in your own ship. I leave him to you, as a very near and
dear professional legacy. Cheer up--cheer up--my brave boy; look upon
all this as a sailor's fortune. Our lives are the--"

The word "king's," which should have succeeded, seemed to choke the
speaker. Casting a glance of meaning at his friend, with a painful smile
on his face, he continued silent.

"Ah! dear sir," answered the midshipman, ingenuously; "I knew that _we_
might all be killed, but it never occurred to me that an admiral could
lose his life in battle. I'm sure--I'm sure you are the very first that
has met with this accident!"

"Not by many, my poor Geoffrey. As there are but few admirals, few fall;
but we are as much exposed as others."

"If I had only run that Monsieur des Prez through the body, when we
closed with him," returned the boy, grating his teeth, and looking all
the vengeance for which, at the passing instant, he felt the desire; "it
would have been _something_! I might have done it, too, for he was quite
unguarded!"

"It would have been a very bad _thing_, boy, to have injured a brave
man, uselessly."

"Of what use was it to shoot you, sir? We took their ship, just the same
as if you had not been hurt."

"I rather think, Geoffrey, their ship was virtually taken before I was
wounded," returned Bluewater, smiling. "But I was shot by a French
marine, who did no more than his duty."

"Yes, sir," exclaimed the boy, impatiently; "and _he_ escaped without a
scratch. _He_, at least, ought to have been _massacred_."

"Thou art bloody-minded, child; I scarce know thee. _Massacred_ is not a
word for either a British nobleman or a British sailor. I saved the life
of that marine; and, when you come to lie, like me, on your death-bed,
Geoffrey, you will learn how sweet a consolation can be derived from the
consciousness of such an act; we all need mercy, and none ought to
expect it, for themselves, who do not yield it to others."

The boy was rebuked, and his feelings took a better, though scarcely a
more natural direction. Bluewater now spoke to him of his
newly-discovered cousin, and had a melancholy satisfaction in creating
an interest in behalf of Mildred, in the breast of the noble-hearted and
ingenuous boy. The latter listened with respectful attention, as had
been his wont, until, deceived by the tranquil and benevolent manner of
Bluewater, he permitted himself to fall into the natural delusion of
believing the wound of the rear-admiral less serious than he had
supposed, and to begin to entertain hopes that the wounded man might yet
survive. Calmed by these feelings, he soon ceased to weep; and,
promising discretion, was permitted by Sir Gervaise to remain in the
room, where he busied himself in the offices of a nurse.

Another long pause succeeded this exciting little scene, during which
Bluewater lay quietly communing with himself and his God. Sir Gervaise
wrote orders, and read reports, though his eye was never off the
countenance of his friend more than a minute or two at a time. At
length, the rear-admiral aroused himself, again, and began to take an
interest once more, in the persons and things around him.

"Galleygo, my old fellow-cruiser," he said, "I leave Sir Gervaise more
particularly in your care. As we advance in life, our friends decrease
in numbers; it is only those that have been well tried that we can rely
on."

"Yes, Admiral Blue, I knows that, and so does Sir Jarvy. Yes, old
shipmates afore young 'uns, any day, and old sailors, too, afore green
hands. Sir Jarvy's Bowlderos are good plate-holders, and the likes of
that; but when it comes to heavy weather, and a hard strain, I thinks
but little on 'em, all put together."

"By the way, Oakes," said Bluewater, with a sudden interest in such a
subject, that he never expected to feel again, "I have heard nothing of
the first day's work, in which, through the little I have gleaned, by
listening to those around me, I understand you took a two-decker,
besides dismasting the French admiral?"

"Pardon me, Dick; you had better try and catch a little sleep; the
subject of those two days' work is really painful to me."

"Well, then, Sir Jarvy, if you has an avarsion to telling the story to
Admiral Blue, I can do it, your honour," put in Galleygo, who gloried in
giving a graphic description of a sea-fight. "I thinks, now, a history
of that day will comfort a flag-hofficer as has been so badly wounded
himself."

Bluewater offering no opposition, Galleygo proceeded with his account of
the evolutions of the ships, as we have already described them,
succeeding surprisingly well in rendering the narrative interesting, and
making himself perfectly intelligible and clear, by his thorough
knowledge, and ready use, of the necessary nautical terms. When he came
to the moment in which the English line separated, part passing to
windward, and part to leeward of the two French ships, he related the
incident in so clear and spirited a manner, that the commander-in-chief
himself dropped his pen, and sat listening with pleasure.

"Who could imagine, Dick," Sir Gervaise observed, "that those fellows in
the tops watch us so closely, and could give so accurate an account of
what passes!"

"Ah! Gervaise, and what is the vigilance of Galleygo to that of the
All-seeing eye! It is a terrible thought, at an hour like this, to
remember that nothing can be forgotten. I have somewhere read that not
an oath is uttered that does not continue to vibrate through all time,
in the wide-spreading currents of sound--not a prayer lisped, that its
record is not also to be found stamped on the laws of nature, by the
indelible seal of the Almighty's will!"

There was little in common between the religious impressions of the two
friends. They were both sailors, and though the word does not
necessarily imply that they were sinners in an unusual degree, neither
does it rigidly imply that they were saints. Each had received the usual
elementary education, and then each had been turned adrift, as it might
be on the ocean of life, to suffer the seed to take root, and the fruit
to ripen as best they might. Few of those "who go down to the great deep
in ships," and who escape the more brutalizing effects of lives so rude,
are altogether without religious impressions. Living so much, as it
were, in the immediate presence of the power of God, the sailor is much
disposed to reverence his omnipotence, even while he transgresses his
laws; but in nearly all those instances in which nature has implanted a
temperament inclining to deep feeling, as was the case with Bluewater,
not even the harsh examples, nor the loose or irresponsible lives of men
thus separated from the customary ties of society, can wholly extinguish
the reverence for God which is created by constantly dwelling in the
presence of his earthly magnificence. This sentiment in Bluewater had
not been altogether without fruits, for he both read and reflected much.
Sometimes, though at isolated and distant intervals, he even prayed; and
that fervently, and with a strong and full sense of his own demerits. As
a consequence of this general disposition, and of the passing
convictions, his mind was better attuned for the crisis before him, than
would have been the case with most of his brethren in arms, who, when
overtaken with the fate so common to the profession, are usually left to
sustain their last moments with the lingering enthusiasm of strife and
victory.

On the other hand, Sir Gervaise was as simple as a child in matters of
this sort. He had a reverence for his Creator, and such general notions
of his goodness and love, as the well-disposed are apt to feel; but all
the dogmas concerning the lost condition of the human race, the
mediation, and the power of faith, floated in his mind as opinions not
to be controverted, and yet as scarcely to be felt. In short, the
commander-in-chief admitted the practical heresy, which overshadows the
faith of millions, while he deemed himself to be a stout advocate of
church and king. Still, Sir Gervaise Oakes, on occasions, was more than
usually disposed to seriousness, and was even inclined to be devout; but
it was without much regard to theories or revelation. At such moments,
while his opinions would not properly admit him within the pale of any
Christian church, in particular, his feelings might have identified him
with all. In a word, we apprehend he was a tolerably fair example of
what vague generalities, when acting on a temperament not indisposed to
moral impressions, render the great majority of men; who flit around the
mysteries of a future state, without alighting either on the
consolations of faith, or discovering any of those logical conclusions
which, half the time unconsciously to themselves, they seem to expect.
When Bluewater made his last remark, therefore, the vice-admiral looked
anxiously at his friend; and religion for the first time since the other
received his hurt, mingled with his reflections. He had devoutly, though
mentally, returned thanks to God for his victory, but it had never
occurred to him that Bluewater might need some preparation for death.

"Would you like to see the Plantagenet's chaplain, again, Dick?" he
said, tenderly; "you are no _Papist_; of _that_ I am certain."

"In that you are quite right, Gervaise. I consider all churches--_the_
one holy _Catholic_ church, if you will, as but a means furnished by
divine benevolence to aid weak men in their pilgrimage; but I also
believe that there is even a shorter way to his forgiveness than through
these common avenues. How far I am right," he added, smiling, "none will
probably know better than myself, a few hours hence."

"Friends _must_ meet again, hereafter, Bluewater; it is irrational to
suppose that they who have loved each other so well in this state of
being, are to be for ever separated in the other."

"We will hope so, Oakes," taking the vice-admiral's hand; "we will hope
so. Still, there will be no ships for us--no cruises--no victories--no
triumphs! It is only at moments like this, at which I have arrived, that
we come to view these things in their proper light. Of all the past,
your constant, unwavering friendship, gives me the most pleasure!"

The vice-admiral could resist no longer. He turned aside and wept. This
tribute to nature, in one so manly, was imposing even to the dying man,
and Galleygo regarded it with awe. Familiar as the latter had become
with his master, by use and indulgence, no living being, in his
estimation, was as authoritative or as formidable as the
commander-in-chief; and the effect of the present spectacle, was to
induce him to hide his own face in self-abasement. Bluewater saw it all,
but he neither spoke, nor gave any token of his observation. He merely
prayed, and that right fervently, not only for his friend, but for his
humble and uncouth follower.

A reaction took place in the system of the wounded man, about nine
o'clock that night. At this time he believed himself near his end, and
he sent for Wycherly and his niece, to take his leave of them. Mrs.
Dutton was also present, as was Magrath, who remained on shore, in
attendance. Mildred lay for half an hour, bathing her uncle's pillow
with her tears, until she was removed at the surgeon's suggestion.

"Ye'll see, Sir Gervaise," he whispered--(or "Sir Jairvis," as he always
pronounced the name,)--"ye'll see, Sir Jairvis, that it's a duty of the
faculty to _prolong_ life, even when there's no hope of _saving_ it; and
if ye'll be regairding the judgment of a professional man, Lady
Wychecombe had better withdraw. It would really be a matter of honest
exultation for us Plantagenets to get the rear-admiral through the
night, seeing that the surgeon of the Cæsar said he could no survive the
setting sun."

At the moment of final separation, Bluewater had little to say to his
niece. Ho kissed and blessed her again and again, and then signed that
she should be taken away. Mrs. Dutton, also, came in for a full share of
his notice, he having desired her to remain after Wycherly and Mildred
had quitted the room.

"To your care and affection, excellent woman," he said, in a voice that
had now sunk nearly to a whisper--"we owe it, that Mildred is not unfit
for her station. Her recovery would have been even more painful than her
loss, had she been restored to her proper family, uneducated, vulgar,
and coarse."

"That could hardly have happened to Mildred, sir, in any circumstances,"
answered the weeping woman. "Nature has done too much for the dear
child, to render her any thing but delicate and lovely, under any
tolerable circumstances of depression."

"She is better as she is, and God be thanked that he raised up such a
protector for her childhood. You have been all in all to her in her
infancy, and she will strive to repay it to your age."

Of this Mrs. Dutton felt too confident to need assurances; and receiving
the dying man's blessing, she knelt at his bed-side, prayed fervently
for a few minutes, and withdrew. After this, nothing out of the ordinary
track occurred until past midnight, and Magrath, more than once,
whispered his joyful anticipations that the rear-admiral would survive
until morning. An hour before day, however, the wounded man revived, in
a way that the surgeon distrusted. He knew that no physical change of
this sort could well happen that did not arise from the momentary
ascendency of mind over matter, as the spirit is on the point of finally
abandoning its earthly tenement; a circumstance of no unusual occurrence
in patients of strong and active intellectual properties, whose
faculties often brighten for an instant, in their last moments, as the
lamp flashes and glares as it is about to become extinct. Going to the
bed, he examined his patient attentively, and was satisfied that the
final moment was near.

"You're a man and a soldier, Sir Jairvis," he said, in a low voice, "and
it'll no be doing good to attempt misleading your judgment in a case of
this sort. Our respectable friend, the rear-admiral, is _articulo
mortis_, as one might almost say; he cannot possibly survive half an
hour."

Sir Gervaise started. He looked around him a little wistfully; for, at
that moment, he would have given much to be alone with his dying friend.
But he hesitated to make a request, which, it struck him, might seem
improper. From this embarrassment, however, he was relieved by
Bluewater, himself, who had the same desire, without the same scruples
about confessing it. _He_ drew the surgeon to his side, and whispered a
wish to be left alone with the commander-in-chief.

"Well, there will be no trespass on the rules of practice in indulging
the poor man in his desire," muttered Magrath, as he looked about him to
gather the last of his professional instruments, like the workman who is
about to quit one place of toil to repair to another; "and I'll just be
indulging him."

So saying, he pushed Galleygo and Geoffrey from the room before him,
left it himself, and closed the door.

Finding himself alone, Sir Gervaise knelt at the side of the bed and
prayed, holding the hand of his friend in both his own. The example of
Mrs. Dutton, and the yearnings of his own heart, exacted this sacrifice;
when it was over he felt a great relief from sensations that nearly
choked him.

"Do you forgive me, Gervaise?" whispered Bluewater.

"Name it not--name it not, my best friend. We all have our moments of
weakness, and our need of pardon. May God forget all _my_ sins, as
freely as I forget your errors!"

"God bless you, Oakes, and keep you the same simple-minded, true-hearted
man, you have ever been."

Sir Gervaise buried his face in the bed-clothes, and groaned.

"Kiss me, Oakes," murmured the rear-admiral.

In order to do this, the commander-in-chief rose from his knees and bent
over the body of his friend. As he raised himself from the cheek he had
saluted, a benignant smile gleamed on the face of the dying man, and he
ceased to breathe. Near half a minute followed, however, before the last
and most significant breath that is ever drawn from man, was given. The
remainder of that night Sir Gervaise Oakes passed in the chamber alone,
pacing the floor, recalling the many scenes of pleasure, danger, pain,
and triumph, through which he and the dead had passed in company. With
the return of light, he summoned the attendants, and retired to his
tent.



CHAPTER XXXI.

    "And they came for the buried king that lay
      At rest in that ancient fane;
    For he must be armed on the battle day,
      With them to deliver Spain!--
    Then the march went sounding on,
    And the Moors by noontide sun,
      Were dust on Tolosa's plain."

         MRS. HEMANS.


It remains only to give a rapid sketch of the fortunes of our principal
characters, and of the few incidents that are more immediately connected
with what has gone before. The death of Bluewater was announced to the
fleet, at sunrise, by hauling down his flag from the mizzen of the
Cæsar. The vice-admiral's flag came down with it, and re-appeared at the
next minute at the fore of the Plantagenet. But the little white emblem
of rank never went aloft again in honour of the deceased. At noon, it
was spread over his coffin, on the main-deck of the ship, agreeably to
his own request; and more than once that day, did some rough old tar use
it, to wipe the tear from his eyes.

In the afternoon of the day after the death of one of our heroes, the
wind came round to the westward, and all the vessels lifted their
anchors, and proceeded to Plymouth. The crippled ships, by this time,
were in a state to carry more or less sail, and a stranger who had seen
the melancholy-looking line, as it rounded the Start, would have fancied
it a beaten fleet on its return to port. The only signs of exultation
that appeared, were the jacks that were flying over the white flags of
the prizes; and even when all had anchored, the same air of sadness
reigned among these victorious mariners. The body was landed, with the
usual forms; but the procession of warriors of the deep that followed
it, was distinguished by a gravity that exceeded the ordinary aspects of
mere form. Many of the captains, and Greenly in particular, had viewed
the man[oe]uvring of Bluewater with surprise, and the latter not
altogether without displeasure; but his subsequent conduct completely
erased these impressions, leaving no other recollection connected with
his conduct that morning than the brilliant courage, and admirable
handling of his vessels, by which the fortunes of a nearly desperate day
were retrieved. Those who did reflect any longer on the subject,
attributed the singularity of the course pursued by the rear-admiral, to
some private orders communicated in the telegraphic signal, as already
mentioned.

It is unnecessary for us to dwell on the particular movements of the
fleet, after it reached Plymouth. The ships were repaired, the prizes
received into the service, and, in due time, all took the sea again,
ready and anxious to encounter their country's enemies. They ran the
careers usual to English heavy cruisers in that age; and as ships form
characters in this work, perhaps it may not be amiss to take a general
glance at their several fortunes, together with those of their
respective commanders. Sir Gervaise fairly wore out the Plantagenet,
which vessel was broken up three years later, though not until she had
carried a blue flag at her main, more than two years. Greenly lived to
be a rear-admiral of the red, and died of yellow-fever in the Island of
Barbadoes. The Cæsar, with Stowel still in command of her, foundered at
sea in a winter's cruise in the Baltic, every soul perishing. This
calamity occurred the winter succeeding the summer of our legend, and
the only relieving circumstance connected with the disaster, was the
fact that her commander got rid of Mrs. Stowel altogether, from that day
forward. The Thunderer had her share in many a subsequent battle, and
Foley, her captain, died rear-admiral of England, and a vice-admiral of
the red, thirty years later. The Carnatic was commanded by Parker, until
the latter got a right to hoist a blue flag at the mizzen; which was
done for just one day, to comply with form, when both ship and admiral
were laid aside, as too old for further use. It should be added,
however, that Parker was knighted by the king on board his own ship; a
circumstance that cast a halo of sunshine over the close of the life of
one, who had commenced his career so humbly, as to render this happy
close more than equal to his expectations. In direct opposition to this,
it may be said here, that Sir Gervaise refused, for the third time, to
be made Viscount Bowldero, with a feeling just the reverse of that of
Parker's; for, secure of his social position, and careless of politics,
he viewed the elevation with an indifference that was a natural
consequence enough of his own birth, fortune, and high character. On
this occasion,--it was after another victory,--George II. personally
alluded to the subject, remarking that the success we have recorded had
never met with its reward; when the old seaman let out the true secret
of his pertinaciously declining an honour, about which he might
otherwise have been supposed to be as indifferent to the acceptance, as
to the refusal. "Sir," he answered to the remark of the king, "I am duly
sensible of your majesty's favour; but, I can never consent to receive a
patent of nobility that, in my eyes, will always seem to be sealed with
the blood of my closest and best friend." This reply was remembered, and
the subject was never adverted to again.

The fate of the Blenheim was one of those impressive blanks that dot the
pages of nautical history. She sailed for the Mediterranean alone, and
after she had discharged her pilot, was never heard of again. This did
not occur, however, until Captain Sterling had been killed on her decks,
in one of Sir Gervaise's subsequent actions. The Achilles was suffered
to drift in, too near to some heavy French batteries, before the treaty
of Aix-la-Chapelle was signed; and, after every stick had been again cut
out of her, she was compelled to lower her flag. His earldom and his
courage, saved Lord Morganic from censure; but, being permitted to go up
to Paris, previously to his exchange, he contracted a matrimonial
engagement with a celebrated _danseuse_, a craft that gave him so much
future employment, that he virtually abandoned his profession.
Nevertheless, his name was on the list of vice-admirals of the blue,
when he departed this life. The Warspite and Captain Goodfellow both
died natural deaths; one as a receiving-ship, and the other as a
rear-admiral of the white. The Dover, Captain Drinkwater, was lost in
attempting to weather Scilly in a gale, when her commander, and quite
half her crew, were drowned. The York did many a hard day's duty, before
her time arrived; but, in the end, she was so much injured in a general
action as to be abandoned and set fire to, at sea. Her commander was
lost overboard, in the very first cruise she took, after that related in
this work. The Elizabeth rotted as a guard-ship, in the Medway; and
Captain Blakely retired from the service with one arm, a yellow admiral.
The Dublin laid her bones in the cove of Cork, having been condemned
after a severe winter passed on the north coast. Captain O'Neil was
killed in a duel with a French officer, after the peace; the latter
having stated that his ship had run away from two frigates commanded by
the _Chevalier_. The Chloe was taken by an enemy's fleet, in the next
war; but Captain Denham worked his way up to a white flag at the main,
and a peerage. The Druid was wrecked that very summer, chasing inshore,
near Bordeaux; and Blewet, in a professional point of view, never
regained the ground he lost, on this occasion. As for the sloops and
cutters, they went the way of all small cruisers, while their nameless
commanders shared the usual fates of mariners.

Wycherly remained at Wychecombe until the interment of his uncle took
place; at which, aided by Sir Reginald's influence and knowledge, and,
in spite of Tom's intrigues, he appeared as chief mourner. The affair of
the succession was also so managed as to give him very little trouble.
Tom, discovering that his own illegitimacy was known, and seeing the
hopelessness of a contest against such an antagonist as Sir Reginald,
who knew quite as much of the facts as he did of the law of the case,
was fain to retire from the field. From that moment, no one heard any
thing more of the legacies. In the end he received the £20,000 in the
five per cents, and the few chattels Sir Wycherly had a right to give
away; but his enjoyment of them was short, as he contracted a severe
cold that very autumn, and died of a malignant fever, in a few weeks.
Leaving no will, his property escheated; but it was all restored to his
two uterine brothers, by the liberality of the ministry, and out of
respect to the long services of the baron, which two brothers, it will
he remembered, alone had any of the blood of Wychecombe in their veins
to boast of. This was disposing of the savings of both the baronet and
the judge, with a very suitable regard to moral justice.

Wycherly also appeared, though it was in company with Sir Gervaise
Oakes, as one of the principal mourners at the funeral obsequies of
Admiral Bluewater. These were of a public character, and took place in
Westminster Abbey. The carriages of that portion of the royal personages
who were not restrained by the laws of court-etiquette, appeared in the
procession; and several members of that very family that the deceased
regarded as intruders, were present incog. at his last rites. This,
however, was but one of the many illusions that the great masquerade of
life is constantly offering to the public gaze.

There was little difficulty in establishing the claims of Mildred, to be
considered the daughter of Colonel Bluewater and Agnes Hedworth. Lord
Bluewater was soon satisfied; and, as he was quite indifferent to the
possession of his kinsman's money, an acquisition he neither wished nor
expected, the most perfect good-will existed between the parties. There
was more difficulty with the Duchess of Glamorgan, who had acquired too
many of the notions of very high rank, to look with complacency on a
niece that had been educated as the daughter of a sailing-master in the
navy. She raised many objections, while she admitted that she had been
the confidant of her sister's attachment to John Bluewater. Her second
son, Geoffrey, did more to remove her scruples than all the rest united;
and when Sir Gervaise Oakes, in person, condescended to make a journey
to the Park, to persuade her to examine the proofs, she could not well
decline. As soon as one of her really candid mind entered into the
inquiry, the evidence was found to be irresistible, and she at once
yielded to the feelings of nature. Wycherly had been indefatigable in
establishing his wife's claims--more so, indeed, than in establishing
his own; and, at the suggestion of the vice-admiral--or, admiral of the
white, as he had become by a recent general promotion--he consented to
accompany the latter in this visit, waiting at the nearest town,
however, for a summons to the Park, as soon as it could be ascertained
that his presence would be agreeable to its mistress.

"If my niece prove but half as acceptable in appearance, as my _nephew_,
Sir Gervaise," observed the duchess, when the young Virginian was
introduced to her, and laying stress on the word we have
italicised--"nothing can be wanting to the agreeables of this new
connection. I am impatient, now, to see my niece; Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe has prepared me to expect a young woman of more than common
merit."

"My life on it, duchess, he has not raised your expectations too high.
The poor girl is still dwelling in her cottage, the companion of her
reputed mother; but it is time, Wychecombe, that you had claimed your
bride."

"I expect to find her and Mrs. Dutton at the Hall, on my return, Sir
Gervaise; it having been thus arranged between us. The sad ceremonies
through which we have lately been, were unsuited to the introduction of
the new mistress to her abode, and the last had been deferred to a more
fitting occasion."

"Let the first visit that Lady Wychecombe pays, be to this place," said
the duchess. "I do not command it, Sir Wycherly, as one who has some
slight claims to her duty; but I solicit it, as one who wishes to
possess every hold upon her love. Her mother was an _only_ sister; and
an _only_ sister's child must be very near to one."

It would have been impossible for the Duchess of Glamorgan to have said
as much as this before she saw the young Virginian; but, now he had
turned out a person so very different from what she expected, she had
lively hopes in behalf of her niece.

Wycherly returned to Wychecombe, after this short visit to Mildred's
aunt, and found his lovely bride in quiet possession, accompanied by her
mother. Dutton still remained at the station, for he had the sagacity to
see that he might not be welcome, and modesty enough to act with a
cautious reserve. But Wycherly respected his excellent wife too
profoundly not to have a due regard to her feelings, in all things; and
the master was invited to join the party. Brutality and meanness united,
like those which belonged to the character of Dutton, are not easily
abashed, and he accepted the invitation, in the hope that, after all, he
was to reap as many advantages by the marriage of Mildred with the
affluent baronet, as if she had actually been his daughter.

After passing a few weeks in sober happiness at home, Wycherly felt it
due to all parties, to carry his wife to the Park, in order that she
might make the acquaintance of the near relatives who dwelt there. Mrs.
Dutton, by invitation, was of the party; but Dutton was left behind,
having no necessary connection with the scenes and the feelings that
were likely to occur. It would be painting the duchess too much _en
beau_, were we to say that she met Mildred without certain misgivings
and fears. But the first glimpse of her lovely niece completely put
natural feelings in the ascendency. The resemblance to her sister was so
strong as to cause a piercing cry to escape her, and, bursting into
tears, she folded the trembling young woman to her heart, with a fervour
and sincerity that set at naught all conventional manners. This was the
commencement of a close intimacy; which lasted but a short time,
however, the duchess dying two years later.

Wycherly continued in the service until the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle,
when he finally quitted the sea. His strong native attachments led him
back to Virginia, where all his own nearest relatives belonged, and
where his whole heart might be said to be, when he saw Mildred and his
children at his side. With him, early associations and habits had more
strength, than traditions and memorials of the past. He erected a
spacious dwelling on the estate inherited from his father, where he
passed most of his time; consigning Wychecombe to the care of a careful
steward. With the additions and improvements that he was now enabled to
make, his Virginian estate produced even a larger income than his
English, and his interests really pointed to the choice he had made. But
no pecuniary considerations lay at the bottom of his selection. He
really preferred the graceful and courteous ease of the intercourse
which characterized the manners of James' river. In that age, they were
equally removed from the coarse and boisterous jollity of the English
country-squire, and the heartless conventionalities of high life. In
addition to this, his sensitive feelings rightly enough detected that he
was regarded in the mother-country as a sort of intruder. He was spoken
of, alluded to in the journals, and viewed even by his tenants as the
_American_ landlord; and he never felt truly at home in the country for
which he had fought and bled. In England, his rank as a baronet was not
sufficient to look down these little peculiarities; whereas, in
Virginia, it gave him a certain _éclat_, that was grateful to one of the
main weaknesses of human nature. "At home," as the mother-country was
then affectionately termed, he had no hope of becoming a privy
councillor; while, in his native colony, his rank and fortune, almost as
a matter of course, placed him in the council of the governor. In a
word, while Wycherly found most of those worldly considerations which
influence men in the choice of their places of residence, in favour of
the region in which he happened to be born, his election was made more
from feeling and taste than from any thing else. His mind had taken an
early bias in favour of the usages and opinions of the people among whom
he had received his first impressions, and this bias he retained to the
hour of his death.

Like a true woman, Mildred found her happiness with her husband and
children. Of the latter she had but three; a boy and two girls. The care
of the last was early committed to Mrs. Dutton. This excellent woman had
remained at Wychecombe with her husband, until death put an end to his
vices, though the close of his career was exempt from those scenes of
brutal dictation and interference that had rendered the earlier part of
her life so miserable. Apprehension of what might be the consequences to
himself, acted as a check, and he had sagacity enough to see that the
physical comforts he now possessed were all owing to the influence of
his wife. He lived but four years, however. On his death, his widow
immediately took her departure for America.

It would be substituting pure images of the fancy for a picture of sober
realities, were we to say that Lady Wychecombe and her adopted mother
never regretted the land of _their_ birth. This negation of feeling,
habits, and prejudices, is not to be expected even in an Esquimaux. They
both had occasional strictures to make on the _climate_, (and this to
Wycherly's great surprise, for _he_ conscientiously believed that of
England to be just the worst in the world,) on the fruits, the servants,
the roads, and the difficulty of procuring various little comforts. But,
as this was said good-naturedly and in pleasantry, rather than in the
way of complaint, it led to no unpleasant scenes or feelings. As all
three made occasional voyages to England, where his estates, and more
particularly settlements with his factor, compelled the baronet to go
once in about a lustrum, the fruits and the climate were finally given
up by the ladies. After many years, even the slip-shod, careless, but
hearty attendance of the negroes, came to be preferred to the dogged
mannerism of the English domestics, perfect as were the latter in their
parts; and the whole subject got to be one of amusement, instead of one
of complaint. There is no greater mistake than to suppose that the
traveller who passes _once_ through a country, with his home-bred, and
quite likely _provincial_ notions thick upon him, is competent to
describe, with due discrimination, even the usages of which he is
actually a witness. This truth all the family came, in time, to
discover; and while it rendered them more strictly critical in their
remarks, it also rendered them more tolerant. As it was, few happier
families were to be found in the British empire, than that of Sir
Wycherly Wychecombe; its head retaining his manly and protecting
affection for all dependent on him, while his wife, beautiful as a
matron, as she had been lovely as a girl, clung to him with the tenacity
of the vine to its own oak.

Of the result of the rising in the north, it is unnecessary to say much.
The history of the _Chevalier's_ successes in the first year, and of his
final overthrow at Culloden, is well known. Sir Reginald Wychecombe,
like hundreds of others, played his cards so skilfully that he avoided
committing himself; and, although he lived and eventually died a
suspected man, he escaped forfeitures and attainder. With Sir Wycherly,
as the head of his house, he maintained a friendly correspondence to the
last, even taking charge of the paternal estate in its owner's absence;
manifesting to the hour of his death, a scrupulous probity in matters of
money, mingled with an inherent love of management and intrigue, in
things that related to politics and the succession. Sir Reginald lived
long enough to see the hopes of the Jacobites completely extinguished,
and the throne filled by a native Englishman.

Many long years after the events which rendered the week of its opening
incidents so memorable among its actors, must now be imagined. Time had
advanced with its usual unfaltering tread, and the greater part of a
generation had been gathered to their fathers. George III. had been on
the throne not less than three lustrums, and most of the important
actors of the period of '45, were dead;--many of them, in a degree,
forgotten. But each age has its own events and its own changes. Those
colonies, which in 1745 were so loyal, so devoted to the house of
Hanover, in the belief that political and religious liberty depended on
the issue, had revolted against the supremacy of the parliament of the
empire. America was already in arms against the mother country, and the
very day before the occurrence of the little scene we are about to
relate, the intelligence of the battle of Bunker Hill had reached
London. Although the gazette and national pride had, in a degree,
lessened the characteristics of this most remarkable of all similar
combats, by exaggerating the numbers of the colonists engaged, and
lessening the loss of the royal troops, the impression produced by the
news is said to have been greater than any known to that age. It had
been the prevalent opinion of England--an opinion that was then general
in Europe, and which descended even to our own times--that the animals
of the new continent, man included, had less courage and physical force,
than those of the old; and astonishment, mingled with the forebodings of
the intelligent, when it was found that a body of ill-armed countrymen
had dared to meet, in a singularly bloody combat, twice their number of
regular troops, and that, too, under the guns of the king's shipping and
batteries. Rumours, for the moment, were rife in London, and the
political world was filled with gloomy anticipations of the future.

On the morning of the day alluded to, Westminster Abbey, as usual, was
open to the inspection of the curious and interested. Several parties
were scattered among its aisles and chapels, some reading the
inscriptions on the simple tablets of the dead which illustrate a
nation, in illustrating themselves; others listening to the names of
princes who derived their consequence from their thrones and alliances;
and still other sets, who were wandering among the more elaborate
memorials that have been raised equally to illustrate insignificance,
and to mark the final resting-places of more modern heroes and
statesmen. The beauty of the weather had brought out more visiters than
common, and not less than half-a-dozen equipages were in waiting, in and
about Palace Yard. Among others, one had a ducal coronet. This carriage
did not fail to attract the attention that is more than usually bestowed
on rank, in England. All were empty, however, and more than one party of
pedestrians entered the venerable edifice, rejoicing that the view of a
duke or a duchess, was to be thrown in, among the other sights,
gratuitously. All who passed on foot, however, were not influenced by
this vulgar feeling; for, one group went by, that did not even cast a
glance at the collection of carriages; the seniors of the party being
too much accustomed to such things to lend them a thought, and the
juniors too full of anticipations of what they were about to see, to
think of other matters. This party consisted of a handsome man of
fifty-odd, a lady some three or four years his junior well preserved and
still exceedingly attractive; a young man of twenty-six, and two lovely
girls, that looked like twins; though one was really twenty-one, and the
other but nineteen. These were Sir Wycherly and Lady Wychecombe,
Wycherly their only son, then just returned from a five years'
peregrination on the continent of Europe, and Mildred and Agnes, their
daughters. The rest of the family had arrived in England about a
fortnight before, to greet the heir on his return from the _grand tour_,
as it was then termed. The meeting had been one of love, though Lady
Wychecombe had to reprove a few innocent foreign affectations, as she
fancied them to be, in her son; and the baronet, himself, laughed at the
scraps of French, Italian, and German, that quite naturally mingled in
the young man's discourse. All this, however, cast no cloud over the
party, for it had ever been a family of entire confidence and unbroken
love.

"This is a most solemn place to me," observed Sir Wycherly, as they
entered at the Poets' corner, "and one in which a common man unavoidably
feels his own insignificance. But, we will first make our pilgrimage,
and look at these remarkable inscriptions as we come out. The tomb we
seek is in a chapel on the other side of the church, near to the great
doors. When I last saw it, it was quite alone."

On hearing this, the whole party moved on; though the two lovely young
Virginians cast wistful and curious eyes behind them, at the wonders by
which they were surrounded.

"Is not this an extraordinary edifice, Wycherly?" half whispered Agnes,
the youngest of the sisters, as she clung to one arm of her brother,
Mildred occupying the other. "Can the whole world furnish such another?"

"So much for hominy and James' river!" answered the young man,
laughing--"now could you but see the pile at Rouen, or that at Rheims,
or that at Antwerp, or even that at York, in this good kingdom, old
Westminster would have to fall back upon its little tablets and big
names. But Sir Wycherly stops; he must see what he calls his land-fall."

Sir Wycherly had indeed stopped. It was in consequence of having reached
the head of the _ch[oe]ur_, whence he could see the interior of the
recess, or chapel, towards which he had been moving. It still contained
but a single monument, and that was adorned with an anchor and other
nautical emblems. Even at that distance, the words "RICHARD
BLUEWATER, REAR-ADMIRAL OF THE WHITE," might be read. But the
baronet had come to a sudden halt, in consequence of seeing a party of
three enter the chapel, in which he wished to be alone with his own
family. The party consisted of an old man, who walked with tottering
steps, and this so much the more from the circumstance that he leaned on
a domestic nearly as old as himself, though of a somewhat sturdier
frame, and of a tall imposing-looking person of middle age, who followed
the two with patient steps. Several attendants of the cathedral watched
this party from a distance with an air of curiosity and respect; but
they had been requested not to accompany it to the chapel.

"They must be some old brother-officers of my poor uncle's, visiting his
tomb!" whispered Lady Wychecombe. "The very venerable gentleman has
naval emblems about his attire."

"_Do_ you--_can_ you forget him, love? 'Tis Sir Gervaise Oakes, the
pride of England! yet how changed! It is now five-and-twenty years since
we last met; still I knew him at a glance. The servant is old Galleygo,
his steward; but the gentleman with him is a stranger. Let us advance;
_we_ cannot be intruders in such a place."

Sir Gervaise paid no attention to the entrance of the Wychecombes. It
was evident, by the vacant look of his countenance, that time and hard
service had impaired his faculties, though his body remained entire; an
unusual thing for one who had been so often engaged. Still there were
glimmerings of lively recollections, and even of strong sensibilities
about his eyes, as sudden fancies crossed his mind. Once a year, the
anniversary of his friend's interment, he visited that chapel; and he
had now been brought here as much from habit, as by his own desire. A
chair was provided for him, and he sat facing the tomb, with the large
letters before his eyes. He regarded neither, though he bowed
courteously to the salute of the strangers. His companion at first
seemed a little surprised, if not offended at the intrusion; but when
Wycherly mentioned that they were relatives of the deceased, he also
bowed complacently, and made way for the ladies.

"This it is as what you wants to see, Sir Jarvy," observed Galleygo,
jogging his master's shoulder by way of jogging his memory. "Them 'ere
cables and hanchors, and that 'ere mizzen-mast, with a rear-admiral's
flag a-flying, is rigged in this old church, in honour of our friend
Admiral Blue, as was; but as is now dead and gone this many a long
year."

"Admiral of the Blue," repeated Sir Gervaise coldly. "You're mistaken,
Galleygo, I'm an admiral of the white, and admiral of the fleet in the
bargain. I know my own rank, sir."

"I knows that as well as you does yourself, Sir Jarvy," answered
Galleygo, whose grammar had rather become confirmed than improved, by
time, "or as well as the First Lord himself. But Admiral Blue was once
your best friend, and I doesn't at all admire at your forgetting
him--one of these long nights you'll be forgetting _me_."

"I beg your pardon, Galleygo; I rather think not. I remember _you_, when
a very young man."

"Well, and so you mought remember Admiral Blue, if you'd just try. I
know'd ye both when young luffs, myself."

"This is a painful scene," observed the stranger to Sir Wycherly, with a
melancholy smile. "This gentleman is now at the tomb of his dearest
friend; and yet, as you see, he appears to have lost all recollection
that such a person ever existed. For what do we live, if a few brief
years are to render our memories such vacant spots!"

"Has he been long in this way?" asked Lady Wychecombe, with interest.

The stranger started at the sound of her voice. He looked intently into
the face of the still fair speaker, before he answered; then he bowed,
and replied--

"He has been failing these five years, though his last visit here was
much less painful than this. But are our own memories perfect?--Surely,
I have seen that face before!--These young ladies, too--"

"Geoffrey--_dear_ cousin Geoffrey!" exclaimed Lady Wychecombe, holding
out both her hands. "It is--it must be the Duke of Glamorgan, Wycherly!"

No further explanations were needed. All the parties recognised each
other in an instant. They had not met for many--many years, and each had
passed the period of life when the greatest change occurs in the
physical appearance; but, now that the ice was broken, a flood of
recollections poured in. The duke, or Geoffrey Cleveland, as we prefer
to call him, kissed his cousin and her daughters with frank affection,
for no change of condition had altered his simple sea-habits, and he
shook hands with the gentlemen, with a cordiality like that of old
times. All this, however, was unheeded by Sir Gervaise, who sat looking
at the monument, in a dull apathy.

"Galleygo," he said; but Galleygo had placed himself before Sir
Wycherly, and thrust out a hand that looked like a bunch of knuckles.

"I knows ye!" exclaimed the steward, with a grin. "I know'd ye in the
offing yonder, but I couldn't make out your number. Lord, sir, if this
doesn't brighten Sir Jarvy up, again, and put him in mind of old times,
I shall begin to think we have run out cable to the better end."

"I will speak to him, duke, if you think it advisable?" said Sir
Wycherly, in an inquiring manner.

"Galleygo," put in Sir Gervaise, "what lubber fitted that cable?--he has
turned in the clench the wrong way."

"Ay--ay, sir, they _is_ great lubbers, them stone-cutters, Sir Jarvy;
and they knows about as much of ships, as ships knows of them. But here
is _young_ Sir Wycherly Wychecombe come to see you--the _old_ 'un's
nevy."

"Sir Wycherly, you are a very welcome guest. Bowldero is a poor place
for a gentleman of your merit; but such as it is, it is entirely at your
service. What did you say the gentleman's name was, Galleygo?"

"Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, the _young_ 'un--the _old_ 'un slipped the
night as we moored in his house."

"I hope, Sir Gervaise, I have not entirely passed from your
recollection; it would grieve me sadly to think so. And my poor uncle,
too; he who died of apoplexy in your presence!"

"_Nullus, nulla, nullum._ That's good Latin, hey! Duke? _Nullius,
nullius, nullius._ My memory _is_ excellent, gentlemen; nominative,
_penna_; genitive, _pennæ_, and so on."

"Now, Sir Jarvy, since you're veering out your Latin, _I_ should likes
to know if you can tell a 'clove-hitch' from a 'carrick-bend?'"

"That is an extraordinary question, Galleygo, to put to an old seaman!"

"Well, if you remembers _that_, why can't you just as reasonably
remember your old friend, Admiral Blue?"

"Admiral of the blue! I do recollect _many_ admirals of the blue. They
ought to make me an admiral of the blue, duke; I've been a rear-admiral
long enough."

"You've _been_ an admiral of the blue _once_; and that's enough for any
man," interrupted Galleygo, again in his positive manner; "and it isn't
five minutes since you know'd your own rank as well as the Secretary to
the Admiralty himself. He veers and hauls, in this fashion, on an idee,
gentlemen, until he doesn't know one end of it from t'other."

"This is not uncommon with men of great age," observed the duke. "They
sometimes remember the things of their youth, while the whole of later
life is a blank. I have remarked this with our venerable friend, in
whose mind I think it will not be difficult, however, to revive the
recollection of Admiral Bluewater, and even of yourself, Sir Wycherly.
Let _me_ make the effort, Galleygo."

"Yes, Lord Geoffrey," for so the steward always called the quondam
reefer, "you does handle him more like a quick-working boat, than any on
us; and so I'll take an hopportunity of just overhauling our old
lieutenant's young 'uns, and of seeing what sort of craft he has set
afloat for the next generation."

"Sir Gervaise," said the Duke, leaning over the chair, "here is Sir
Wycherly Wychecombe, who once served a short time with us as a
lieutenant; it was when you were in the Plantagenet. You remember the
Plantagenet, I trust, my dear sir?"

"The Plantagenets? Certainly, duke; I read all about them when a boy.
Edwards, and Henrys, and _Richards_--" at the last name he stopped; the
muscles of his face twitched; memory had touched a sensitive chord. But
it was too faintly, to produce more than a pause.

"There, now," growled Galleygo, in Agnes' face, he being just then
employed in surveying her through a pair of silver spectacles that were
a present from his master, "you see, he has forgotten the old Planter;
and the next thing, he'll forget to eat his dinner. It's _wicked_, Sir
Jarvy, to forget _such_ a ship."

"I trust, at least, you have not forgotten Richard Bluewater?" continued
the Duke, "he who fell in our last action with the Comte de Vervillin?"

A gleam of intelligence shot into the rigid and wrinkled face; the eye
lighted, and a painful smile struggled around the lips.

"What, _Dick_!" he exclaimed, in a voice stronger than that in which he
had previously spoken. "_Dick!_ hey! duke? _good, excellent Dick?_ We
were midshipmen together, my lord duke; and I loved him like a brother!"

"I _knew_ you did! and I dare say now you can recollect the melancholy
occasion of his death?"

"Is Dick _dead_?" asked the admiral, with a vacant gaze.

"Lord--Lord, Sir Jarvy, you knows he is, and that 'ere marvel
constructure is his monerment--now you _must_ remember the old Planter,
and the County of Fairvillian, and the threshing we guv'd him?"

"Pardon me, Galleygo; there is no occasion for warmth. When I was a
midshipman, warmth of expression was disapproved of by all the elder
officers."

"You cause me to lose ground," said the Duke, looking at the steward by
way of bidding him be silent: "is it not extraordinary, Sir Wycherly,
how his mind reverts to his youth, overlooking the scenes of latter
life! Yes, _Dick is_ dead, Sir Gervaise. He fell in that battle in which
you were doubled on by the French--when you had le Foudroyant on one
side of you, and le Pluton on the other--"

"_I remember it!_" interrupted Sir Gervaise, in a clear strong voice,
his eye flashing with something like the fire of youth--"I remember it!
Le Foudroyant was on our starboard beam; le Pluton a little on our
larboard bow--Bunting had gone aloft to look out for Bluewater--no--poor
Bunting was killed--"

"Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, who afterwards married Mildred Bluewater,
Dick's niece," put in the baronet, himself, almost as eager as the
admiral had now become; "Sir Wycherly Wychecombe _had_ been aloft, but
was returned to report the Pluton coming down!"

"So he did!--God bless him! A clever youth, and he _did_ marry Dick's
niece. God bless them _both_. Well, sir, you're a stranger, but the
story will interest you. There we lay, almost smothered in the smoke,
with one two-decker at work on our starboard beam, and another hammering
away on the larboard bow, with our top-masts over the side, and the guns
firing through the wreck."

"Ay, now you're getting it like a book!" exclaimed Galleygo exultingly,
flourishing his stick, and strutting about the little chapel; "that's
just the way things was, as I knows from seeing 'em!"

"I'm quite certain I'm right, Galleygo?"

"Right! your honour's righter than any log-book in the fleet. Give it to
'em, Sir Jarvy, larboard and starboard!"

"That we did--that we did"--continued the old man earnestly, becoming
even grand in aspect, as he rose, always gentleman-like and graceful,
but filled with native fire, "that did we! de Vervillin was on our
right, and des Prez on our left--the smoke was choking us
all--Bunting--no; young Wychecombe was at my side; he said a fresh
Frenchman was shoving in between us and le Pluton, sir--God forbid! I
_thought_; for we had enough of them, us it was. There she comes! See,
here is her flying-jib-boom-end--and there--hey! Wychecombe?--_That's_
the _old Roman_, shoving through the smoke!--Cæsar himself! and there
stands Dick and young Geoffrey Cleveland--_he_ was of your family,
duke--there stands Dick Bluewater, between the knight-heads, waving his
hat--_HURRAH!_--He's true, at last!--He's true, at last--_HURRAH!
HURRAH!_"

The clarion tones rose like a trumpet's blast, and the cheering of the
old sailor rang in the arches of the Abbey Church, causing all within
hearing to start, as if a voice spoke from the tombs. Sir Gervaise,
himself, seemed surprised; he looked up at the vaulted roof, with a gaze
half-bewildered, half-delighted.

"Is this Bowldero, or Glamorgan House, my Lord Duke," he asked, in a
whisper.

"It is neither, Admiral Oakes, but Westminster Abbey; and this is the
tomb of your friend, rear-admiral Richard Bluewater."

"Galleygo, help me to kneel," the old man added in the manner of a
corrected school-boy. "The stoutest of us all, should kneel to God, in
his own temple. I beg pardon, gentlemen; I wish to pray."

The Duke of Glamorgan and Sir Wycherly Wychecombe helped the admiral to
his knees, and Galleygo, as was his practice, knelt beside his master,
who bowed his head on his man's shoulders. This touching spectacle
brought all the others into the same humble attitude. Wycherly, Mildred,
and their children, with the noble, kneeling and praying in company. One
by one, the latter arose; still Galleygo and his master continued on the
pavement. At length Geoffrey Cleveland stepped forward, and raised the
old man, placing him, with Wycherly's assistance, in the chair. Here he
sat, with a calm smile on his aged features, his open eyes riveted
seemingly on the name of his friend, perfectly dead. There had been a
reaction, which suddenly stopped the current of life, at the heart.

Thus expired Sir Gervaise Oakes, full of years and of honours; one of
the bravest and most successful of England's sea-captains. He had lived
his time, and supplied an instance of the insufficiency of worldly
success to complete the destiny of man; having, in a degree, survived
his faculties, and the consciousness of all he had done, and all he
merited. As a small offset to this failing of nature, he had regained a
glimmering view of one of the most striking scenes, and of much the most
enduring sentiment, of a long life, which God, in mercy, permitted to be
terminated in the act of humble submission to his own greatness and
glory.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Two Admirals" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.