The Two Admirals

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 racehorse.”

“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 Blue-water.

“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.”