The Two Admirals (70 page)

"She is better as she is, and God be thanked that he raised up such a
protector for her childhood. You have been all in all to her in her
infancy, and she will strive to repay it to your age."

Of this Mrs. Dutton felt too confident to need assurances; and receiving
the dying man's blessing, she knelt at his bed-side, prayed fervently
for a few minutes, and withdrew. After this, nothing out of the ordinary
track occurred until past midnight, and Magrath, more than once,
whispered his joyful anticipations that the rear-admiral would survive
until morning. An hour before day, however, the wounded man revived, in
a way that the surgeon distrusted. He knew that no physical change of
this sort could well happen that did not arise from the momentary
ascendency of mind over matter, as the spirit is on the point of finally
abandoning its earthly tenement; a circumstance of no unusual occurrence
in patients of strong and active intellectual properties, whose
faculties often brighten for an instant, in their last moments, as the
lamp flashes and glares as it is about to become extinct. Going to the
bed, he examined his patient attentively, and was satisfied that the
final moment was near.

"You're a man and a soldier, Sir Jairvis," he said, in a low voice, "and
it'll no be doing good to attempt misleading your judgment in a case of
this sort. Our respectable friend, the rear-admiral, is
articulo
mortis
, as one might almost say; he cannot possibly survive half an
hour."

Sir Gervaise started. He looked around him a little wistfully; for, at
that moment, he would have given much to be alone with his dying friend.
But he hesitated to make a request, which, it struck him, might seem
improper. From this embarrassment, however, he was relieved by
Bluewater, himself, who had the same desire, without the same scruples
about confessing it.
He
drew the surgeon to his side, and whispered a
wish to be left alone with the commander-in-chief.

"Well, there will be no trespass on the rules of practice in indulging
the poor man in his desire," muttered Magrath, as he looked about him to
gather the last of his professional instruments, like the workman who is
about to quit one place of toil to repair to another; "and I'll just be
indulging him."

So saying, he pushed Galleygo and Geoffrey from the room before him,
left it himself, and closed the door.

Finding himself alone, Sir Gervaise knelt at the side of the bed and
prayed, holding the hand of his friend in both his own. The example of
Mrs. Dutton, and the yearnings of his own heart, exacted this sacrifice;
when it was over he felt a great relief from sensations that nearly
choked him.

"Do you forgive me, Gervaise?" whispered Bluewater.

"Name it not—name it not, my best friend. We all have our moments of
weakness, and our need of pardon. May God forget all
my
sins, as
freely as I forget your errors!"

"God bless you, Oakes, and keep you the same simple-minded, true-hearted
man, you have ever been."

Sir Gervaise buried his face in the bed-clothes, and groaned.

"Kiss me, Oakes," murmured the rear-admiral.

In order to do this, the commander-in-chief rose from his knees and bent
over the body of his friend. As he raised himself from the cheek he had
saluted, a benignant smile gleamed on the face of the dying man, and he
ceased to breathe. Near half a minute followed, however, before the last
and most significant breath that is ever drawn from man, was given. The
remainder of that night Sir Gervaise Oakes passed in the chamber alone,
pacing the floor, recalling the many scenes of pleasure, danger, pain,
and triumph, through which he and the dead had passed in company. With
the return of light, he summoned the attendants, and retired to his
tent.

"And they came for the buried king that lay
At rest in that ancient fane;
For he must be armed on the battle day,
With them to deliver Spain!—
Then the march went sounding on,
And the Moors by noontide sun,
Were dust on Tolosa's plain."

MRS. HEMANS.

It remains only to give a rapid sketch of the fortunes of our principal
characters, and of the few incidents that are more immediately connected
with what has gone before. The death of Bluewater was announced to the
fleet, at sunrise, by hauling down his flag from the mizzen of the
Cæsar. The vice-admiral's flag came down with it, and re-appeared at the
next minute at the fore of the Plantagenet. But the little white emblem
of rank never went aloft again in honour of the deceased. At noon, it
was spread over his coffin, on the main-deck of the ship, agreeably to
his own request; and more than once that day, did some rough old tar use
it, to wipe the tear from his eyes.

In the afternoon of the day after the death of one of our heroes, the
wind came round to the westward, and all the vessels lifted their
anchors, and proceeded to Plymouth. The crippled ships, by this time,
were in a state to carry more or less sail, and a stranger who had seen
the melancholy-looking line, as it rounded the Start, would have fancied
it a beaten fleet on its return to port. The only signs of exultation
that appeared, were the jacks that were flying over the white flags of
the prizes; and even when all had anchored, the same air of sadness
reigned among these victorious mariners. The body was landed, with the
usual forms; but the procession of warriors of the deep that followed
it, was distinguished by a gravity that exceeded the ordinary aspects of
mere form. Many of the captains, and Greenly in particular, had viewed
the manoeuvring of Bluewater with surprise, and the latter not
altogether without displeasure; but his subsequent conduct completely
erased these impressions, leaving no other recollection connected with
his conduct that morning than the brilliant courage, and admirable
handling of his vessels, by which the fortunes of a nearly desperate day
were retrieved. Those who did reflect any longer on the subject,
attributed the singularity of the course pursued by the rear-admiral, to
some private orders communicated in the telegraphic signal, as already
mentioned.

It is unnecessary for us to dwell on the particular movements of the
fleet, after it reached Plymouth. The ships were repaired, the prizes
received into the service, and, in due time, all took the sea again,
ready and anxious to encounter their country's enemies. They ran the
careers usual to English heavy cruisers in that age; and as ships form
characters in this work, perhaps it may not be amiss to take a general
glance at their several fortunes, together with those of their
respective commanders. Sir Gervaise fairly wore out the Plantagenet,
which vessel was broken up three years later, though not until she had
carried a blue flag at her main, more than two years. Greenly lived to
be a rear-admiral of the red, and died of yellow-fever in the Island of
Barbadoes. The Cæsar, with Stowel still in command of her, foundered at
sea in a winter's cruise in the Baltic, every soul perishing. This
calamity occurred the winter succeeding the summer of our legend, and
the only relieving circumstance connected with the disaster, was the
fact that her commander got rid of Mrs. Stowel altogether, from that day
forward. The Thunderer had her share in many a subsequent battle, and
Foley, her captain, died rear-admiral of England, and a vice-admiral of
the red, thirty years later. The Carnatic was commanded by Parker, until
the latter got a right to hoist a blue flag at the mizzen; which was
done for just one day, to comply with form, when both ship and admiral
were laid aside, as too old for further use. It should be added,
however, that Parker was knighted by the king on board his own ship; a
circumstance that cast a halo of sunshine over the close of the life of
one, who had commenced his career so humbly, as to render this happy
close more than equal to his expectations. In direct opposition to this,
it may be said here, that Sir Gervaise refused, for the third time, to
be made Viscount Bowldero, with a feeling just the reverse of that of
Parker's; for, secure of his social position, and careless of politics,
he viewed the elevation with an indifference that was a natural
consequence enough of his own birth, fortune, and high character. On
this occasion,—it was after another victory,—George II. personally
alluded to the subject, remarking that the success we have recorded had
never met with its reward; when the old seaman let out the true secret
of his pertinaciously declining an honour, about which he might
otherwise have been supposed to be as indifferent to the acceptance, as
to the refusal. "Sir," he answered to the remark of the king, "I am duly
sensible of your majesty's favour; but, I can never consent to receive a
patent of nobility that, in my eyes, will always seem to be sealed with
the blood of my closest and best friend." This reply was remembered, and
the subject was never adverted to again.

The fate of the Blenheim was one of those impressive blanks that dot the
pages of nautical history. She sailed for the Mediterranean alone, and
after she had discharged her pilot, was never heard of again. This did
not occur, however, until Captain Sterling had been killed on her decks,
in one of Sir Gervaise's subsequent actions. The Achilles was suffered
to drift in, too near to some heavy French batteries, before the treaty
of Aix-la-Chapelle was signed; and, after every stick had been again cut
out of her, she was compelled to lower her flag. His earldom and his
courage, saved Lord Morganic from censure; but, being permitted to go up
to Paris, previously to his exchange, he contracted a matrimonial
engagement with a celebrated
danseuse
, a craft that gave him so much
future employment, that he virtually abandoned his profession.
Nevertheless, his name was on the list of vice-admirals of the blue,
when he departed this life. The Warspite and Captain Goodfellow both
died natural deaths; one as a receiving-ship, and the other as a
rear-admiral of the white. The Dover, Captain Drinkwater, was lost in
attempting to weather Scilly in a gale, when her commander, and quite
half her crew, were drowned. The York did many a hard day's duty, before
her time arrived; but, in the end, she was so much injured in a general
action as to be abandoned and set fire to, at sea. Her commander was
lost overboard, in the very first cruise she took, after that related in
this work. The Elizabeth rotted as a guard-ship, in the Medway; and
Captain Blakely retired from the service with one arm, a yellow admiral.
The Dublin laid her bones in the cove of Cork, having been condemned
after a severe winter passed on the north coast. Captain O'Neil was
killed in a duel with a French officer, after the peace; the latter
having stated that his ship had run away from two frigates commanded by
the
Chevalier
. The Chloe was taken by an enemy's fleet, in the next
war; but Captain Denham worked his way up to a white flag at the main,
and a peerage. The Druid was wrecked that very summer, chasing inshore,
near Bordeaux; and Blewet, in a professional point of view, never
regained the ground he lost, on this occasion. As for the sloops and
cutters, they went the way of all small cruisers, while their nameless
commanders shared the usual fates of mariners.

Wycherly remained at Wychecombe until the interment of his uncle took
place; at which, aided by Sir Reginald's influence and knowledge, and,
in spite of Tom's intrigues, he appeared as chief mourner. The affair of
the succession was also so managed as to give him very little trouble.
Tom, discovering that his own illegitimacy was known, and seeing the
hopelessness of a contest against such an antagonist as Sir Reginald,
who knew quite as much of the facts as he did of the law of the case,
was fain to retire from the field. From that moment, no one heard any
thing more of the legacies. In the end he received the £20,000 in the
five per cents, and the few chattels Sir Wycherly had a right to give
away; but his enjoyment of them was short, as he contracted a severe
cold that very autumn, and died of a malignant fever, in a few weeks.
Leaving no will, his property escheated; but it was all restored to his
two uterine brothers, by the liberality of the ministry, and out of
respect to the long services of the baron, which two brothers, it will
he remembered, alone had any of the blood of Wychecombe in their veins
to boast of. This was disposing of the savings of both the baronet and
the judge, with a very suitable regard to moral justice.

Wycherly also appeared, though it was in company with Sir Gervaise
Oakes, as one of the principal mourners at the funeral obsequies of
Admiral Bluewater. These were of a public character, and took place in
Westminster Abbey. The carriages of that portion of the royal personages
who were not restrained by the laws of court-etiquette, appeared in the
procession; and several members of that very family that the deceased
regarded as intruders, were present incog. at his last rites. This,
however, was but one of the many illusions that the great masquerade of
life is constantly offering to the public gaze.

There was little difficulty in establishing the claims of Mildred, to be
considered the daughter of Colonel Bluewater and Agnes Hedworth. Lord
Bluewater was soon satisfied; and, as he was quite indifferent to the
possession of his kinsman's money, an acquisition he neither wished nor
expected, the most perfect good-will existed between the parties. There
was more difficulty with the Duchess of Glamorgan, who had acquired too
many of the notions of very high rank, to look with complacency on a
niece that had been educated as the daughter of a sailing-master in the
navy. She raised many objections, while she admitted that she had been
the confidant of her sister's attachment to John Bluewater. Her second
son, Geoffrey, did more to remove her scruples than all the rest united;
and when Sir Gervaise Oakes, in person, condescended to make a journey
to the Park, to persuade her to examine the proofs, she could not well
decline. As soon as one of her really candid mind entered into the
inquiry, the evidence was found to be irresistible, and she at once
yielded to the feelings of nature. Wycherly had been indefatigable in
establishing his wife's claims—more so, indeed, than in establishing
his own; and, at the suggestion of the vice-admiral—or, admiral of the
white, as he had become by a recent general promotion—he consented to
accompany the latter in this visit, waiting at the nearest town,
however, for a summons to the Park, as soon as it could be ascertained
that his presence would be agreeable to its mistress.