The Two Admirals (4 page)

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.