The Two Admirals (65 page)

"
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.

"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.