The Two Admirals (42 page)

"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.

"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."