The Two Admirals (69 page)

"Richard," he said, gently, "there is one without, who pines to be
admitted. I have refused even his tears, under the impression that you
felt disposed to sleep."

"Never less so. My mind appears to become brighter and clearer, instead
of fading; I think I shall never sleep, in the sense you mean. Whoever
the person is, let him be admitted."

Receiving this permission, Sir Gervaise opened the door, and Geoffrey
Cleveland entered. At the same moment, Galleygo, who came and went at
pleasure, thrust in his own ungainly form. The boy's face betrayed the
nature and the extent of his grief. In his mind, Admiral Bluewater was
associated with all the events of his own professional life; and, though
the period had in truth been so short, in his brief existence, the vista
through which he looked back, seemed quite as long as that which marked
the friendship of the two admirals, themselves. Although he struggled
manfully for self-control, feeling got the better of the lad, and he
threw himself on his knees, at the side of his bed, sobbing as if his
heart would break. Bluewater's eye glistened, and he laid a hand
affectionately on the head of his young relative.

"Gervaise, you will take charge of this boy, when I'm gone," he said;
"receive him in your own ship. I leave him to you, as a very near and
dear professional legacy. Cheer up—cheer up—my brave boy; look upon
all this as a sailor's fortune. Our lives are the—"

The word "king's," which should have succeeded, seemed to choke the
speaker. Casting a glance of meaning at his friend, with a painful smile
on his face, he continued silent.

"Ah! dear sir," answered the midshipman, ingenuously; "I knew that
we
might all be killed, but it never occurred to me that an admiral could
lose his life in battle. I'm sure—I'm sure you are the very first that
has met with this accident!"

"Not by many, my poor Geoffrey. As there are but few admirals, few fall;
but we are as much exposed as others."

"If I had only run that Monsieur des Prez through the body, when we
closed with him," returned the boy, grating his teeth, and looking all
the vengeance for which, at the passing instant, he felt the desire; "it
would have been
something
! I might have done it, too, for he was quite
unguarded!"

"It would have been a very bad
thing
, boy, to have injured a brave
man, uselessly."

"Of what use was it to shoot you, sir? We took their ship, just the same
as if you had not been hurt."

"I rather think, Geoffrey, their ship was virtually taken before I was
wounded," returned Bluewater, smiling. "But I was shot by a French
marine, who did no more than his duty."

"Yes, sir," exclaimed the boy, impatiently; "and
he
escaped without a
scratch.
He
, at least, ought to have been
massacred
."

"Thou art bloody-minded, child; I scarce know thee.
Massacred
is not a
word for either a British nobleman or a British sailor. I saved the life
of that marine; and, when you come to lie, like me, on your death-bed,
Geoffrey, you will learn how sweet a consolation can be derived from the
consciousness of such an act; we all need mercy, and none ought to
expect it, for themselves, who do not yield it to others."

The boy was rebuked, and his feelings took a better, though scarcely a
more natural direction. Bluewater now spoke to him of his
newly-discovered cousin, and had a melancholy satisfaction in creating
an interest in behalf of Mildred, in the breast of the noble-hearted and
ingenuous boy. The latter listened with respectful attention, as had
been his wont, until, deceived by the tranquil and benevolent manner of
Bluewater, he permitted himself to fall into the natural delusion of
believing the wound of the rear-admiral less serious than he had
supposed, and to begin to entertain hopes that the wounded man might yet
survive. Calmed by these feelings, he soon ceased to weep; and,
promising discretion, was permitted by Sir Gervaise to remain in the
room, where he busied himself in the offices of a nurse.

Another long pause succeeded this exciting little scene, during which
Bluewater lay quietly communing with himself and his God. Sir Gervaise
wrote orders, and read reports, though his eye was never off the
countenance of his friend more than a minute or two at a time. At
length, the rear-admiral aroused himself, again, and began to take an
interest once more, in the persons and things around him.

"Galleygo, my old fellow-cruiser," he said, "I leave Sir Gervaise more
particularly in your care. As we advance in life, our friends decrease
in numbers; it is only those that have been well tried that we can rely
on."

"Yes, Admiral Blue, I knows that, and so does Sir Jarvy. Yes, old
shipmates afore young 'uns, any day, and old sailors, too, afore green
hands. Sir Jarvy's Bowlderos are good plate-holders, and the likes of
that; but when it comes to heavy weather, and a hard strain, I thinks
but little on 'em, all put together."

"By the way, Oakes," said Bluewater, with a sudden interest in such a
subject, that he never expected to feel again, "I have heard nothing of
the first day's work, in which, through the little I have gleaned, by
listening to those around me, I understand you took a two-decker,
besides dismasting the French admiral?"

"Pardon me, Dick; you had better try and catch a little sleep; the
subject of those two days' work is really painful to me."

"Well, then, Sir Jarvy, if you has an avarsion to telling the story to
Admiral Blue, I can do it, your honour," put in Galleygo, who gloried in
giving a graphic description of a sea-fight. "I thinks, now, a history
of that day will comfort a flag-hofficer as has been so badly wounded
himself."

Bluewater offering no opposition, Galleygo proceeded with his account of
the evolutions of the ships, as we have already described them,
succeeding surprisingly well in rendering the narrative interesting, and
making himself perfectly intelligible and clear, by his thorough
knowledge, and ready use, of the necessary nautical terms. When he came
to the moment in which the English line separated, part passing to
windward, and part to leeward of the two French ships, he related the
incident in so clear and spirited a manner, that the commander-in-chief
himself dropped his pen, and sat listening with pleasure.

"Who could imagine, Dick," Sir Gervaise observed, "that those fellows in
the tops watch us so closely, and could give so accurate an account of
what passes!"

"Ah! Gervaise, and what is the vigilance of Galleygo to that of the
All-seeing eye! It is a terrible thought, at an hour like this, to
remember that nothing can be forgotten. I have somewhere read that not
an oath is uttered that does not continue to vibrate through all time,
in the wide-spreading currents of sound—not a prayer lisped, that its
record is not also to be found stamped on the laws of nature, by the
indelible seal of the Almighty's will!"

There was little in common between the religious impressions of the two
friends. They were both sailors, and though the word does not
necessarily imply that they were sinners in an unusual degree, neither
does it rigidly imply that they were saints. Each had received the usual
elementary education, and then each had been turned adrift, as it might
be on the ocean of life, to suffer the seed to take root, and the fruit
to ripen as best they might. Few of those "who go down to the great deep
in ships," and who escape the more brutalizing effects of lives so rude,
are altogether without religious impressions. Living so much, as it
were, in the immediate presence of the power of God, the sailor is much
disposed to reverence his omnipotence, even while he transgresses his
laws; but in nearly all those instances in which nature has implanted a
temperament inclining to deep feeling, as was the case with Bluewater,
not even the harsh examples, nor the loose or irresponsible lives of men
thus separated from the customary ties of society, can wholly extinguish
the reverence for God which is created by constantly dwelling in the
presence of his earthly magnificence. This sentiment in Bluewater had
not been altogether without fruits, for he both read and reflected much.
Sometimes, though at isolated and distant intervals, he even prayed; and
that fervently, and with a strong and full sense of his own demerits. As
a consequence of this general disposition, and of the passing
convictions, his mind was better attuned for the crisis before him, than
would have been the case with most of his brethren in arms, who, when
overtaken with the fate so common to the profession, are usually left to
sustain their last moments with the lingering enthusiasm of strife and
victory.

On the other hand, Sir Gervaise was as simple as a child in matters of
this sort. He had a reverence for his Creator, and such general notions
of his goodness and love, as the well-disposed are apt to feel; but all
the dogmas concerning the lost condition of the human race, the
mediation, and the power of faith, floated in his mind as opinions not
to be controverted, and yet as scarcely to be felt. In short, the
commander-in-chief admitted the practical heresy, which overshadows the
faith of millions, while he deemed himself to be a stout advocate of
church and king. Still, Sir Gervaise Oakes, on occasions, was more than
usually disposed to seriousness, and was even inclined to be devout; but
it was without much regard to theories or revelation. At such moments,
while his opinions would not properly admit him within the pale of any
Christian church, in particular, his feelings might have identified him
with all. In a word, we apprehend he was a tolerably fair example of
what vague generalities, when acting on a temperament not indisposed to
moral impressions, render the great majority of men; who flit around the
mysteries of a future state, without alighting either on the
consolations of faith, or discovering any of those logical conclusions
which, half the time unconsciously to themselves, they seem to expect.
When Bluewater made his last remark, therefore, the vice-admiral looked
anxiously at his friend; and religion for the first time since the other
received his hurt, mingled with his reflections. He had devoutly, though
mentally, returned thanks to God for his victory, but it had never
occurred to him that Bluewater might need some preparation for death.

"Would you like to see the Plantagenet's chaplain, again, Dick?" he
said, tenderly; "you are no
Papist
; of
that
I am certain."

"In that you are quite right, Gervaise. I consider all churches—
the
one holy
Catholic
church, if you will, as but a means furnished by
divine benevolence to aid weak men in their pilgrimage; but I also
believe that there is even a shorter way to his forgiveness than through
these common avenues. How far I am right," he added, smiling, "none will
probably know better than myself, a few hours hence."

"Friends
must
meet again, hereafter, Bluewater; it is irrational to
suppose that they who have loved each other so well in this state of
being, are to be for ever separated in the other."

"We will hope so, Oakes," taking the vice-admiral's hand; "we will hope
so. Still, there will be no ships for us—no cruises—no victories—no
triumphs! It is only at moments like this, at which I have arrived, that
we come to view these things in their proper light. Of all the past,
your constant, unwavering friendship, gives me the most pleasure!"

The vice-admiral could resist no longer. He turned aside and wept. This
tribute to nature, in one so manly, was imposing even to the dying man,
and Galleygo regarded it with awe. Familiar as the latter had become
with his master, by use and indulgence, no living being, in his
estimation, was as authoritative or as formidable as the
commander-in-chief; and the effect of the present spectacle, was to
induce him to hide his own face in self-abasement. Bluewater saw it all,
but he neither spoke, nor gave any token of his observation. He merely
prayed, and that right fervently, not only for his friend, but for his
humble and uncouth follower.

A reaction took place in the system of the wounded man, about nine
o'clock that night. At this time he believed himself near his end, and
he sent for Wycherly and his niece, to take his leave of them. Mrs.
Dutton was also present, as was Magrath, who remained on shore, in
attendance. Mildred lay for half an hour, bathing her uncle's pillow
with her tears, until she was removed at the surgeon's suggestion.

"Ye'll see, Sir Gervaise," he whispered—(or "Sir Jairvis," as he always
pronounced the name,)—"ye'll see, Sir Jairvis, that it's a duty of the
faculty to
prolong
life, even when there's no hope of
saving
it; and
if ye'll be regairding the judgment of a professional man, Lady
Wychecombe had better withdraw. It would really be a matter of honest
exultation for us Plantagenets to get the rear-admiral through the
night, seeing that the surgeon of the Cæsar said he could no survive the
setting sun."

At the moment of final separation, Bluewater had little to say to his
niece. Ho kissed and blessed her again and again, and then signed that
she should be taken away. Mrs. Dutton, also, came in for a full share of
his notice, he having desired her to remain after Wycherly and Mildred
had quitted the room.

"To your care and affection, excellent woman," he said, in a voice that
had now sunk nearly to a whisper—"we owe it, that Mildred is not unfit
for her station. Her recovery would have been even more painful than her
loss, had she been restored to her proper family, uneducated, vulgar,
and coarse."

"That could hardly have happened to Mildred, sir, in any circumstances,"
answered the weeping woman. "Nature has done too much for the dear
child, to render her any thing but delicate and lovely, under any
tolerable circumstances of depression."