 | CHAPTER X. The two admirals |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
The wave is bluer than the sky;
And, though the light shines bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow,
That sparkle in the depths below;
The rainbow's tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid.
And sun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.
There 's beauty in the deep.”
Brainard.
As Daly was the recognised jester of the fleet, his extraordinary
attempt to announce his vessel's name was received
as a characteristic joke, and it served to laugh at until
something better offered. Under the actual circumstances
of the two squadrons, however, it was soon temporarily forgotten
in graver things, for few believed the collision that
had already taken place was to satisfy a man of the known
temperament of the commander-in-chief. As the junction
of the rear division was the only thing wanting to bring on
a general engagement, as soon as the weather should moderate
a little, every ship had careful look-outs aloft, sweeping
the east and north-east. The gale broke about noon,
though the wind still continued fresh from the same quarter
as before. The sea began to go down, however, and at
eight bells material changes had occurred in the situations
of both fleets. Some of these it may be necessary to mention.
The ship of the French admiral, le Foudroyant, and le
Scipion, had been received, as it might be, in the arms of
their own fleet, in the manner already mentioned; and from
this moment, the movement of the whole force was, in a
measure, regulated by that of these two crippled vessels.
The former ship, by means of her lower sails, might have
continued to keep her station in the line, so long as the gale
lasted; but the latter unavoidably fell off, compelling her
consorts to keep near, or to abandon her to her fate. M.
de Vervillin preferred the latter course. The consequences
were, that, by the time the sun was in the zenith, his line, a
good deal extended, still, and far from regular, was quite
three leagues to leeward of that of the English. Nor was
this all: at that important turn in the day, Sir Gervaise
Oakes was enabled to make sail on all his ships, setting the
fore and mizzen-top-sails close-reefed; while la Victoire, a
fast vessel, was enabled to keep in company by carrying
whole courses. The French could not imitate this, inasmuch
as one of their crippled vessels had nothing standing
but a foremast. Sir Gervaise had ascertained, before the
distance became too great for such observations, that the
enemy was getting ready to send up new top-masts, and
the other necessary spars on board the admiral, as well as
jury lower-masts in le Scipion; though the sea would not yet
permit any very positive demonstrations to be made towards
such an improvement. He laid his own plans for the approaching
night accordingly; determining not to worry his
people, or notify the enemy of his intentions, by attempting
any similar improvement in the immediate condition of his
prize.
About noon, each ship's number was made in succession,
and the question was put if she had sustained any material
injury in the late conflict. The answers were satisfactory
in general, though one or two of the vessels made such replies
more direct mode of ascertaining the real condition of his
fleet. In order to effect this important object, Sir Gervaise
waited two hours longer, for the double purpose of letting
all the messes get through with their dinners, and to permit
the wind to abate and the sea to fall, as both were now fast
doing. At the expiration of that time, however, he appeared
on the poop, summoning Bunting to his customary duty.
At 2 P. M. it blew a whole top-sail breeze, as it is called;
but the sea being still high, and the ships close-hauled, the
vice-admiral did not see fit to order any more sail. Perhaps
he was also influenced by a desire not to increase his
distance from the enemy, it being a part of his plan to keep
M. de Vervillin in plain sight so long as the day continued,
in order that he might have a tolerable idea of the position
of his fleet, during the hours of darkness. His present intention
was to cause his vessels to pass before him in review,
as a general orders his battalions to march past a station
occupied by himself and staff, with a view to judge by
his own eye of their steadiness and appearance. Vice-Admiral
Oakes was the only officer in the British navy who
ever resorted to this practice; but he did many things of
which other men never dreamed, and, among the rest, he
did not hesitate to attack double his force, when an occasion
offered, as has just been seen. The officers of the fleet
called these characteristic reviews “Sir Jarvy's field-days,”
finding a malicious pleasure in comparing anything out of
the common nautical track, to some usage of the soldiers.
Bunting got his orders, notwithstanding the jokes of the
fleet; and the necessary signals were made and the answers
given. Captain Greenly then received his verbal instructions,
when the commander-in-chief went below, to prepare
himself for the approaching scene. When Sir Gervaise re-appeared
on the poop, he was in full uniform, wearing the
star of the Bath, as was usual with him on all solemn official
occasions. Atwood and Bunting were at his side, while
the Bowlderos, in their rich shore-liveries, formed a group
at hand. Captain Greenly and his first lieutenant joined
the party as soon as their duty with the ship was over. On
the opposite side of the poop, the whole of the marines off
guard were drawn up in triple lines, with their officers at
hauled down all her stay-sails, and lay with her main-top-sail
braced sharp aback, with orders to the quarter-master
to keep her little off the wind; the object being to leave a
little way through the water, in order to prolong the expected
interviews. With these preparations the commander-in-chief
awaited the successive approach of his ships, the
sun, for the first time in twenty-four hours, making his
appearance in a flood of brilliant summer-light, as if purposely
to grace the ceremony.
The first ship that drew near the Plantagenet was the
Carnatic, as a matter of course, she being the next in the
line. This vessel, remarkable, as the commander-in-chief
had observed, for never being out of the way, was not long
in closing, though as she luffed up on the admiral's weather-quarter,
to pass to windward, she let go all her top-sail
bowlines, so as to deaden her way, making a sort of half-board.
This simple evolution, as she righted her helm,
brought her about fifty yards to windward of the Plantagenet,
past which ship she surged slowly but steadily, the
weather now permitting a conversation to be held at that
distance, and by means of trumpets, with little or no effort
of the voice.
Most of the officers of the Carnatic were on her poop, as
she came sweeping up heavily, casting her shadow on the
Plantagenet's decks. Captain Parker himself was standing
near the ridge-ropes, his head uncovered, and the grey hairs
floating in the breeze. The countenance of this simple-minded
veteran was a little anxious, for, had he feared the
enemy a tenth part as much as he stood in awe of his commanding
officer, he would have been totally unfit for his
station. Now he glanced upward at his sails, to see that all
was right; then, as he drew nearer, fathom by fathom as it
might be, he anxiously endeavoured to read the expression
of the vice-admiral's face.
“How do you do, Captain Parker?” commenced Sir Gervaise,
with true trumpet formality, making the customary
salutation.
“How is Sir Gervaise Oakes, to-day? I hope untouched
in the late affair with the enemy?”
“Quite well, I thank you, sir. Has the Carnatic received
any serious injury in the battle?”
“None to mention, Sir Gervaise. A rough scrape of the
foremast; but not enough to alarm us, now the weather has
moderated; a little rigging cut, and a couple of raps in the
hull.”
“Have your people suffered, sir?”
“Two killed and seven wounded, Sir Gervaise. Good
lads, most of 'em; but enough like 'em remain.”
“I understand, then, Captain Parker, that you report the
Carnatic fit for any service?”
“As much so as my poor abilities enable me to make her,
Sir Gervaise Oakes,” answered the other, a little alarmed
at the formality and precision of the question. “Meet her
with the helm—meet her with the helm.”
All this passed while the Carnatic was making her half-board,
and, the helm being righted, she now slowly and
majestically fell off with her broadside to the admiral,
gathering way as her canvass began to draw again. At
this instant, when the yard-arms of the two ships were about
a hundred feet asunder, and just as the Carnatic drew up
fairly abeam, Sir Gervaise Oakes raised his hat, stepped
quickly to the side of the poop, waved his hand for silence,
and spoke with a distinctness that rendered his words audible
to all in both vessels.
“Captain Parker,” he said, “I wish, publicly, to thank
you for your noble conduct this day. I have always said
a surer support could never follow a commander-in-chief
into battle; you have more than proved my opinion to be
true. I wish, publicly, to thank you, sir.”
“Sir Gervaise — I cannot express — God bless you, Sir
Gervaise!”
“I have but one fault to find with you, sir, and that is
easily pardoned.”
“I 'm sure I hope so, sir.”
“You handled your ship so rapidly and so surely, that
we had hardly time to get out of the way of your guns!”
Old Parker could not now have answered had his life depended
on it; but he bowed, and dashed a hand across his
eyes. There was but a moment to say any more.
“If His Majesty's sword be not laid on your shoulder,
Sir Gervaise, waving his hat in adieu.
While this dialogue lasted, so profound was the stillness
in the two ships, that the wash of the water under the bows
of the Carnatic, was the only sound to interfere with Sir
Gervaise's clarion voice; but the instant he ceased to speak,
the crews of both vessels rose as one man, and cheered.
The officers joined heartily, and to complete the compliment,
the commander-in-chief ordered his own marines to
present arms to the passing vessel. Then it was that, every
sail drawing, again the Carnatic took a sudden start, and
shot nearly her length ahead, on the summit of a sea. In
half a minute more, she was ahead of the Plantagenet's
flying-jib-boom-end, steering a little free, so as not to throw
the admiral to leeward.
The Carnatic was scarcely out of the way, before the
Achilles was ready to take her place. This ship, having
more room, had easily luffed to windward of the Plantagenet,
simply letting go her bowlines, as her bows doubled on
the admiral's stern, in order to check her way.
“How do you do to-day, Sir Gervaise?” called out Lord
Morganic, without waiting for the commander-in-chief's
hail—“allow me to congratulate you, sir, on the exploits of
this glorious day!”
“I thank you, my lord, and wish to say I am satisfied
with the behaviour of your ship. You 've all done well,
and I desire to thank you all. Is the Achilles injured?”
“Nothing to speak of, sir. A little rigging gone, and
here and there a stick.”
“Have you lost any men, my lord? I desire particularly
to know the condition of each ship.”
“Some eight or ten poor fellows, I believe, Sir Gervaise;
but we are ready to engage this instant.”
“It is well, my lord; steady your bowlines, and make
room for the Thunderer.”
Morganic gave the order, but as his ship drew ahead he
called out in a pertinacious way,—“I hope, Sir Gervaise,
you don't mean to give that other lame duck up. I 've got
my first lieutenant on board one of 'em, and confess to a
desire to put the second on board another.”
“Ay — ay — Morganic, we knock down the birds, and
before I 've done with ye.”
This little concession, even Sir Gervaise Oakes, a man
not accustomed to trifle in matters of duty, saw fit to make
to the other's rank; and then the Achilles withdrew from
before the flag-ship, as the curtain is drawn from before the
scene.
“I do believe, Greenleaf,” observed Lord Morganic to
his surgeon, one of his indulged favourites; “that Sir Jarvy
is a little jealous of us, because Daly got into the prize before
he could send one of his own boats aboard of her. 'T will
tell well in the gazette, too, will it not?—`The French ship
was taken possession of, and brought off, by the Achilles,
Captain the Earl of Morganic!' I hope the old fellow will
have the decency to give us our due. I rather think it was
our last broadside that brought the colours down?”
A suitable answer was returned, but as the ship is drawing
ahead, we cannot follow her to relate it. The vessel
that approached the third, was the Thunderer, Captain
Foley. This was one of the ships that had received the fire
of the three leading French vessels, after they had brought
the wind abeam, and being the leading vessel of the English
rear, she had suffered more than any other of the British
squadron. The fact was apparent, as she approached, by
the manner in which her rigging was knotted, and the attention
that had been paid to her spars. Even as she closed,
the men were on the yard bending a new main-course, the
old one having been hit on the bolt-rope, and torn nearly
from the spar. There were also several plugs on her lee-side
to mark the spots where the French guns had told.
The usual greetings passed between the vice-admiral and
his captain, and the former put his questions.
“We have not been quite exchanging salutes, Sir Gervaise,”
answered Captain Foley; “but the ship is ready for
service again. Should the wind moderate a little, I think
everything would stand to carry sail hard.”
“I 'm glad to hear it, sir — rejoiced to hear it, sir. I
feared more for you, than for any other vessel. I hope
you 've not suffered materially in your crew?”
“Nine killed, Sir Gervaise; and the surgeon tells me sixteen
wounded.”
“That proves you 've not been in port, Foley! Well, I
dare say, could the truth be known, it would be found that
M. de Vervillin's vessels bear your marks, in revenge.
Adieu—adieu—God bless you.”
The Thunderer glided ahead, making room for the Blenheim,
Captain Sterling. This was one of your serviceable
ships, without any show or style about her; but a vessel
that was always ready to give and take. Her commander
was a regular sea-dog, a little addicted to hard and outlandish
oaths, a great consumer of tobacco and brandy; but
who had the discrimination never to swear in the presence
of the commander-in-chief, although he had been known to
do so in a church; or to drink more than he could well
carry, when he was in presence of an enemy or a gale of
wind. He was too firm a man, and too good a seaman, to
use the bottle as a refuge; it was the companion of his ease
and pleasure, and to confess the truth, he then treated it
with an affectionate benevolence, that rendered it exceedingly
difficult for others not to entertain some of his own partiality
for it. In a word, Captain Sterling was a sailor of the “old
school;” for there was an “old school” in manners, habits,
opinions, philosophy, morals, and reason, a century since,
precisely as there is to-day, and probably will be, a century
hence.
The Blenheim made a good report, not having sustained
any serious injury whatever; nor had she a man hurt. The
captain reported his ship as fit for service as she was the
hour she lifted her anchor.
“So much the better, Sterling—so much the better. You
shall take the edge off the next affair, by way of giving you
another chance. I rely on the Blenheim, and on her captain.”
“I thank you, sir,” returned Sterling, as his ship moved
on; “by the way, Sir Gervaise, would it not be fair-play
to rummage the prize's lockers before she gets into the hands
of the custom-house? Out here on the high seas, there can
be no smuggling in that; there must be good claret aboard
her.”
“There would be `plunder of a prize,' Sterling,” said the
vice-admiral, laughing, for he knew that the question was
put more as a joke than a serious proposition; “and that
close upon your heels.”
The last ship in the English line was the Warspite, Captain
Goodfellow, an officer remarkable in the service at that
day, for a “religious turn,” as it was called. As is usually
the case with men of this stamp, Captain Goodfellow was
quiet, thoughtful, and attentive to his duty. There was less
of the real tar in him, perhaps, than in some of his companions;
but his ship was in good order, always did her
duty, and was remarkably attentive to signals; a circumstance
that rendered her commander a marked favourite
with the vice-admiral. After the usual questions were put
and answered, Sir Gervaise informed Goodfellow that he
intended to change the order of sailing so as to bring him
near the van.
“We will give old Parker a breathing spell, Goodfellow,”
added the commander-in-chief, “and you will be my second
astern. I must go ahead of you all, or you 'll be running
down on the Frenchman without orders; pretending you
can't see the signals, in the smoke.”
The Warspite drove ahead, and the Plantagenet was now
left to receive the prize and the Druid; the Chloe, Driver,
and Active, not being included in the signal. Daly had been
gradually eating the other ships out of the wind, as has been
mentioned already, and when the order was given to pass
within hail, he grumbled not a little at the necessity of losing
so much of his vantage-ground. Nevertheless, it would not
do to joke with the commander-in-chief in a matter of this
sort, and he was fain to haul up his courses, and wait for
the moment when he might close. By the time the Warspite
was out of the way, his ship had drifted down so near
the admiral, that he had nothing to do but to haul aboard
his tacks again, and pass as near as was at all desirable.
When quite near, he hauled up his mainsail, by order of the
vice-admiral.
“Are you much in want of anything, Mr. Daly?” demanded
Sir Gervaise, as soon as the lieutenant appeared
forward to meet his hail. “The sea is going down so fast,
that we might now send you some boats.”
“Many thanks, Sir Gervaise; I want to get rid of a hundred
or two Frenchmen, and to have a hundred Englishmen
here, all told.”
“Captain Blewet is ordered to keep company with you,
sir; and as soon as it is dark, I intend to send you into
Plymouth under the frigate's convoy. Is she a nice ship,
hey! Daley?”
“Why, Sir Gervaise, she 's like a piece of broken crockery,
just now, and one can't tell all her merits. She's not
a bad goer, and weatherly, I think, all will call her. But
she 's thundering French, inside.”
“We 'll make her English in due time, sir. How are the
leaks? do the pumps work freely?
“Deuce the l'ake has she, Sir Gervaise, and the pumps
suck like a nine months' babby. And if they didn't, we 're
scarce the boys to find out the contrary, being but nineteen
working hands.”
“Very well, Daly; you can haul aboard your main-tack,
now; remember, you 're to go into Plymouth, as soon as it
is dark. If you see anything of Admiral Bluewater, tell
him I rely on his support, and only wait for his appearance
to finish Monsieur de Vervillin's job.”
“I 'll do all that, with hearty good will, sir. Pray, Sir
Gervaise,” added Daly, grinning, on the poop of the prize,
whither he had got by this time, having walked aft as his
ship went ahead, “how do you like French signals? For
want of a better, we were driven to the classics!”
“Ay, you 'd be bothered to explain all your own flags, I
fancy. The name of the ship is the Victory, I am told;
why did you put her in armour, and whip a kedge up against
the poor woman?”
“It 's according to the books, Sir Gervaise. Every word
of it out of Cicero, and Cordairy, and Cornelius Nepos, and
them sort of fellows. Oh! I went to school, sir, before I
went to sea, as you say yourself, sometimes, Sir Gervaise;
and literature is the same in Ireland, as it is all over the
world. Victory needs armour, sir, in order to be victorious,
and the anchor is to show that she doesn't belong to
`the cut and run' family. I am as sure that all was right,
as I ever was of my moods and tenses.”
“Very well, Daly,” answered Sir Gervaise, laughing—
“My lords shall know your merits in that way, and it may
down on our sprit-sail-yard; — remember and follow the
Druid.”
Here the gentlemen waved their hands in adieu as usual,
and la Victoire, clipped as she was of her wings, drew
slowly past. The Druid succeeded, and Sir Gervaise simply
gave Blewet his orders to see the prize into port, and to
look after his own fore-mast. This ended the field day;
the frigate luffing up to windward of the line again, leaving
the Plantagenet in its rear. A few minutes later, the latter
ship filled and stood after her consorts.
The vice-admiral having now ascertained, in the most
direct manner, the actual condition of his fleet, had data on
which to form his plans for the future. But for the letter
from Bluewater, he would have been perfectly happy; the
success of the day having infused a spirit into the different
vessels, that, of itself, was a pledge of more important
results. Still he determined to act as if that letter had
never been written, finding it impossible to believe that one
who had so long been true, could really fail him in the hour
of need. “I know his heart better than he knows it himself,”
he caught himself mentally exclaiming, “and before
either of us is a day older, this will I prove to him, to his
confusion and my triumph.” He had several short and
broken conversations with Wycherly in the course of the
afternoon, with a view to ascertain, if possible, the real
frame of mind in which his friend had written, but without
success, the young man frankly admitting that, owing to a
confusion of thought that he modestly attributed to himself,
but which Sir Gervaise well knew ought in justice to be imputed
to Bluewater, he had not been able to bring away with
him any very clear notions of the rear-admiral's intentions.
In the meanwhile, the elements were beginning to exhibit
another of their changeful humours. A gale in summer is
seldom of long duration, and twenty-four hours would seem
to be the period which nature had assigned to this. The
weather had moderated materially by the time the review
had taken place, and five hours later, not only had the sea
subsided to a very reasonable swell, but the wind had hauled
several points; coming out a fresh top-gallant breeze at
north-west. The French fleet wore soon after, standing
had been active in repairing damages, and the admiral was
all a-tanto again, with everything set that the other ships
carried. The plight of le Scipion was not so easily remedied,
though even she had two jury-masts rigged, assistance
having been sent from the other vessels as soon as boats
could safely pass. As the sun hung in the western sky,
wanting about an hour of disappearing from one of the long
summer days of that high latitude, this ship set a mizzen-top-sail
in the place of a main, and a fore-top-gallant-sail in
lieu of a mizzen-top-sail. Thus equipped, she was enabled
to keep company with her consorts, all of which were under
easy canvass, waiting for the night to cover their movements.
Sir Gervaise Oakes had made the signal for his fleet to
tack in succession, from the rear to the van, about an hour
before le Scipion had obtained this additional sail. The
order was executed with great readiness, and, as the ships
had been looking up as high as west-south-west before,
when they got round, and headed north-north-east, their
line of sailing was still quite a league to windward of that
of the enemy. As each vessel filled on the larboard tack,
she shortened sail to allow the ships astern to keep away,
and close to her station. It is scarcely necessary to say,
that this change again brought the Plantagenet to the head
of the line, with the Warspite, however, instead of the Carnatic,
for her second astern; the latter vessel being quite in
the rear.
It was a glorious afternoon, and there was every promise
of as fine a night. Still, as there were but about six hours
of positive darkness at that season of the year, and the
moon would rise at midnight, the vice-admiral knew he had
no time to lose, if he would effect anything under the cover
of obscurity. Reefs were no longer used, though all the
ships were under short canvass, in order to accommodate
their movements to those of the prize. The latter, however,
was now in tow of the Druid, and, as this frigate carried
her top-gallant-sails, aided by her own courses, la Victoire
was enabled not only to keep up with the fleet, then under
whole top-sails, but to maintain her weatherly position. Such
was the state of things just as the sun dipped, the enemy
the Plantagenet showed a signal for the whole fleet to heave
to, with the main-top-sails to the masts. This command
was scarcely executed, when the officers on deck were surprised
to hear a boatswain's mate piping away the crew of the
vice-admiral's barge, or that of the boat which was appropriated
to the particular service of the commander-in-chief.
“Did I hear aright, Sir Gervaise?” inquired Greenly,
with curiosity and interest; “is it your wish to have your
barge manned, sir?”
“You heard perfectly right, Greenly; and, if disposed
for a row this fine evening, I shall ask the favour of your
company. Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, as you are an idler
here, I have a flag-officer's right to press you into my service.
By the way, Greenly, I have made out and signed an order
to this gentleman to report himself to you, as attached to
my family, as the soldiers call it; as soon as Atwood has
copied it, it will be handed to him, when I beg you will consider
him as my first aid.”
To this no one could object, and Wycherly made a bow
of acknowledgment. At that instant the barge was seen
swinging off over the ship's waist, and, at the next, the yard
tackles were heard overhauling themselves. The splash of
the boat in the water followed. The crew was in her, with
oars on end, and poised boat-hooks, in another minute. The
guard presented, the boatswain piped over, the drum rolled,
and Wycherly jumped to the gangway and was out of sight
quick as thought. Greenly and Sir Gervaise followed, when
the boat shoved off.
Although the seas had greatly subsided, and their combs
were no longer dangerous, the Atlantic was far from being
as quiet as a lake in a summer eventide. At the very first
dash of the oars the barge rose on a long, heavy swell that
buoyed her up like a bubble, and as the water glided from
under her again, it seemed as if she was about to sink into
some cavern of the ocean. Few things give more vivid impressions
of helplessness than boats thus tossed by the waters
when not in their raging humours; for one is apt to
expect better treatment than thus to be made the plaything
of the element. All, however, who have ever floated on
even the most quiet ocean, must have experienced more or
by the lustiest crews, appearing half the time like a feather
floating in capricious currents of the air.
The occupants of the barge, however, were too familiar
with their situation to think much of these matters; and, as
soon as Sir Gervaise had assented to Wycherly's offer to
take the tiller, he glanced upward, with a critical eye, in
order to scan the Plantagenet's appearance.
“That fellow, Morganic, has got a better excuse for his
xebec-rig than I had supposed, Greenly,” he said, after a
minute of observation. “Your fore-top-mast is at least
six inches too far forward, and I beg you will have it stayed
aft to-morrow morning, if the weather permit. None of
your Mediterranean craft for me, in the narrow seas.”
“Very well, Sir Gervaise; the spar shall be righted in
the morning watch,” quietly returned the captain.
“Now, there's Goodfellow, half-parson as he is; the
man contrives to keep his sticks more upright than any captain
in the fleet. You never see a spar half an inch out of
its place, on board the Warspite.”
“That is because her captain trims everything by his own
life, sir,” rejoined Greenly, smiling. “Were we half as
good as he is, in other matters, we might be better than we
are in seamanship.”
“I do not think religion hurts a sailor, Greenly—no, not
in the least. That is to say, when he don't wedge his masts
too tight, but leaves play enough for all weathers. There
is no cant in Goodfellow.”
“Not the least of it, sir, and that it is which makes him
so great a favourite. The chaplain of the Warspite is of
some use; but one might as well have a bowsprit rigged out
of a cabin-window, as have our chap.”
“Why, we never bury a man, Greenly, without putting
him into the water as a Christian should be,” returned Sir
Gervaise, with the simplicity of a true believer of the decency
school. “I hate to see a seaman tossed into the ocean like
a bag of old clothes.”
“We get along with that part of the duty pretty well; but
before a man is dead, the parson is of opinion that he belongs
altogether to the doctor.”
“I 'd bet a hundred guineas, Magrath has had some influence
berth, Sir Wycherly, I wish to see how she looks aloft—
he 's a d—d fellow, that Magrath,”—no one swore in Sir
Gervaise's boat but himself, when the vice-admiral's flag was
flying in her bows;—“and he's just the sort of man to put
such a notion into the chaplain's head.”
“Why, there, I believe you 're more than half right, Sir
Gervaise; I overheard a conversation between them one
dark night, when they were propping the mizzen-mast under
the break of the poop, and the surgeon did maintain a theory
very like that you mention, sir.”
“Ah!—he did, did he? It 's just like the Scotch rogue,
who wanted to persuade me that your poor uncle, Sir Wycherly,
ought not to have been blooded, in as clear a case
of apoplexy as ever was met with.”
“Well, I didn't think he could have carried his impudence
as far as that,” observed Greenly, whose medical knowledge
was about on a par with that of Sir Gervaise. “I
didn't think even a doctor would dare to hold such a doctrine!
As for the chaplain, to him he laid down the principle
that religion and medicine never worked well together.
He said religion was an `alterative,' and would neutralize a
salt as quick as fire.”
“He 's a great vagabond, that Magrath, when he gets hold
of a young hand, sir; and I wish with all my heart the
Pretender had him, with two or three pounds of his favourite
medicines with him — I think, between the two, England
might reap some advantage, Greenly.—Now, to my notion,
Wychecombe, the Blenheim would make better weather, if
her masts were shortened at least two feet.”
“Perhaps she might, Sir Gervaise; but would she be as
certain a ship, in coming into action in light winds and at
critical moments?”
“Umph! It 's time for us old fellows to look about us,
Greenly, when the boys begin to reason on a line of battle!
Don't blush, Wychecombe; don't blush. Your remark was
sensible, and shows reflection. No country can ever have
a powerful marine, or, one likely to produce much influence
in her wars, that does not pay rigid attention to the tactics
of fleets. Your frigate actions and sailing of single ships,
are well enough as drill; but the great practice must be in
kept at sea, will do more than a hundred single cruisers, in
establishing and maintaining discipline; and it is only by
using vessels together, that we find out what both ships and
men can do. Now, we owe the success of this day, to our
practice of sailing in close order, and in knowing how to
keep our stations; else would six ships never have been able
to carry away the palm of victory from twelve—palm!—
Ay, that 's the very word, Greenly, I was trying to think
of this morning. Daly's d—d paddy should have had a
palm-branch in its hand, as an emblem of Victory!”
| CHAPTER X. The two admirals | |