The Two Admirals (24 page)

"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.

"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:—