 | CHAPTER XI. The two admirals |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
Has viewed at times, I ween, a full fair sight;
When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be,
The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight;
Mast, spires and strand, retiring to the sight,
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow,
The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight,
The dullest sailer waring bravely now,
So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow.”
Byron.
As Sir Gervaise Oakes' active mind was liable to such
sudden mutations of thought as that described in the close
of the last chapter, Greenly neither smiled, nor dwelt on the
subject at all; he simply pointed out to his superior the fact,
that they were now abreast of the Thunderer, and desired
to know whether it was his pleasure to proceed any further.
“To the Carnatic, Greenly, if Sir Wycherly will have
the goodness to shape his course thither. I have a word to
say to my friend Parker, before we sleep to-night. Give us
room, however, to look at Morganic's fancies, for I never
pass his ship without learning something new. Lord Morganic's
hey! Greenly?”
“The Achilles is certainly a model vessel in some respects,
Sir Gervaise, though I flatter myself the Plantagenets
have no great occasion to imitate her, in order to gain
a character.”
“You imitate Morganic in order to know how to keep a
ship in order!—Poh! let Morganic come to school to you.
Yet the fellow is not bashful in battle neither; keeps his station
well, and makes himself both heard and felt. Ah!
there he is, flourishing his hat on the poop, and wondering
what the deuce Sir Jarvy's after, now! Sheer in, Wychecombe,
and let us hear what he has to say.”
“Good evening, Sir Gervaise,” called out the earl, as
usual taking the initiative in the discourse; “I was in hopes
when I saw your flag in the boat, that you were going to do
me the favour to open a bottle of claret, and to taste some
fruit, I have still standing on the table.”
“I thank you, my lord, but business before pleasure. We
have not been idle to-day, though to-morrow shall be still
more busy. How does the Achilles steer, now her foremast
is in its place?”
“Yaws like a fellow with his grog aboard, Sir Gervaise,
on my honour! We shall never do anything with her, until
you consent to let us stay her spars, in our own fashion.
Do you intend to send me Daly back, or am I to play first
lieutenant myself, admiral?”
“Daly 's shipped for the cruise, and you must do as well
as you can without him. If you find yourself without a
second astern, in the course of the night, do not fancy she
has gone to the bottom. Keep good look-outs, and pay attention
to signals.”
As Sir Gervaise waved his hand, the young noble did not
venture to reply, much less to ask a question, though there
was not a little speculation on the poop of the Achilles, concerning
the meaning of his words. The boat moved on,
and five minutes later Sir Gervaise was on the quarter-deck
of the Carnatic.
Parker received the commander-in-chief, hat in hand, with
a solicitude and anxiety that were constitutional, perhaps,
and which no consciousness of deserving could entirely appease.
to defer to rank from boyhood, and the architect of
his own “little fortune,” he had ever attached more importance
to the commendation of his superior, than was usual
with those who had other props to lean on than their own
services. As soon as the honours of the quarter-deck had
been duly paid—for these Sir Gervaise never neglected himself,
nor allowed others to neglect—the vice-admiral intimated
to Captain Parker a desire to see him in his cabin,
requesting Greenly and Wycherly to accompany them
below.
“Upon my word, Parker,” commenced Sir Gervaise, looking
around him at the air of singular domestic comfort that
the after-cabin of the ship presented, “you have a knack of
taking a house to sea with you, that no other captain of the
fleet possesses! No finery, no Morganics, but a plain,
wholesome, domestic look, that might make a man believe
he was in his father's house. I would give a thousand
pounds if my vagabonds could give the cabin of the Plantagenet
such a Bowldero-look, now!”
“Less than a hundred, sir, have done the little you see
here. Mrs. Parker makes it a point to look to those matters,
herself, and in that lies the whole secret, perhaps. A good
wife is a great blessing, Sir Gervaise, though you have
never been able to persuade yourself into the notion, I believe.”
“I hardly think, Parker, the wife can do it all. Now
there's Stowel, Bluewater's captain, he is married as well
as yourself—nay, by George, I 've heard the old fellow say
he had as much wife as any man in his majesty's service—
but his cabin looks like a cobbler's barn, and his state-room
like a soldier's bunk! When we were lieutenants together
in the Eurydice, Parker, your state-room had just the same
air of comfort about it that this cabin has at this instant.
No—no—it 's in the grain, man, or it never would show
itself, in all times and places.”
“You forget, Sir Gervaise, that when I had the honour
to be your messmate in the Eurydice, I was a married man.”
“I beg your pardon, my old friend; so you were, indeed!
Why, that was a confounded long time ago, hey! Parker!”
“It was, truly, sir; but I was poor, and could not afford
of economy, Admiral Oakes.”
“And love—” answered Sir Gervaise, laughing. “I 'll
warrant you, Greenly, that he persuaded Mrs. Parker into
that notion, whether true or not. I 'll warrant you, he
didn't tell her he married for so sneaking a thing as economy!
I should like to see your state-room now, Parker.”
“Nothing easier, Sir Gervaise,” answered the captain,
rising and opening the door. “Here it is, sir, though little
worthy of the attention of the owner of Bowldero.”
“A notable place, truly!—and with a housewife-look
about it that must certainly remind you of Mrs. Parker—
unless, indeed, that picture at the foot of your cot puts other
notions into your head! What young hussy have you got
there, my old Eurydice?—Hey!—Parker?”
“That is a picture of my faithful wife, Sir Gervaise; a
proper companion, I hope, of my cruise?”
“Hey! What, that young thing your wife, Parker!
How the d—l came she to have you?”
“Ah, Sir Gervaise, she is a young thing no longer, but
is well turned towards sixty. The picture was taken when
she was bride, and is all the dearer to me, now that I know
the original has shared my fortunes so long. I never look
at it, without remembering, with gratitude, how much she
thinks of me in our cruises, and how often she prays for our
success. You are not forgotten, either, sir, in her prayers.”
“I!” exclaimed the vice-admiral, quite touched at the
earnest simplicity of the other. “D'ye hear that, Greenly?
I 'll engage, now, this lady is a good woman—a really excellent
creature—just such another as my poor sainted
mother was, and a blessing to all around her! Give me
your hand, Parker; and when you write next to your wife,
tell her from me, God bless her; and say all you think a
man ought to say on such an occasion. And now to business.
Let us seat ourselves in this snug domestic-looking
cabin of yours, and talk our matters over.”
The two captains and Wycherly followed the vice-admiral
into the after-cabin, where the latter seated himself on a
small sofa, while the others took chairs, in respectful attitudes
near him, no familiarity or jocularity on the part of a
naval superior, ever lessening the distance between him and
would do well to remember, when graduating rank in
a service. As soon as all were placed, Sir Gervaise opened
his mind.
“I have a delicate piece of duty, Captain Parker,” he
commenced, “which I wish intrusted to yourself. You
must know that we handled the ship which escaped us this
morning by running down into her own line, pretty roughly,
in every respect; besides cutting two of her masts out of her.
This ship, as you may have seen, has got up jury-masts,
already; but they are spars that can only be intended to
carry her into port. Monsieur de Vervillin is not the man I
take him to be, if he intends to leave the quarrel between
us where it is. Still he cannot keep that crippled ship in
his fleet, any more than we can keep our prize, and I make
no doubt he will send her off to Cherbourg as soon as it is
dark; most probably accompanied by one of his corvettes;
or perhaps by a frigate.”
“Yes, Sir Gervaise,” returned Parker, thoughtfully, as
soon as his superior ceased to speak; “what you predict, is
quite likely to happen.”
“It must happen, Parker, the wind blowing directly for
his haven. Now, you may easily imagine what I want of
the Carnatic.”
“I suppose I understand you, sir;—and yet, if I might
presume to express a wish—”
“Speak out, old boy—you 're talking to a friend. I
have chosen you to serve you, both as one I like, and as the
oldest captain in the fleet. Whoever catches that ship will
hear more of it.”
“Very true, sir; but are we not likely to have more
work, here? and would it be altogether prudent to send so
fine a ship as the Carnatic away, when the enemy will count
ten to six, even if she remain?”
“All this has been thought of; and I suppose your own
feeling has been anticipated. You think it will be more
honourable to your vessel, to keep her place in the line, than
to take a ship already half beaten.”
“That 's it, indeed, Sir Gervaise. I do confess some
such thoughts were crossing my mind.”
“Then see how easy it is to rowse them out of it. I cannot
reinforcement. When the rear joins, we shall be just ten to
ten, without you, and with you, should be eleven to ten.
Now, I confess, I don't wish the least odds, and shall send
away somebody; especially when I feel certain a noble two-decked
ship will be the reward. If a frigate accompany the
crippled fellow, you 'll have your hands full, and a very fair
fight; and should you get either, it will be a handsome
thing. What say you now, Parker?”
“I begin to think better of the plan, Sir Gervaise, and
am grateful for the selection. I wish, however, I knew your
own precise wishes—I 've always found it safe to follow
them, sir.”
“Here they are, then. Get four or five sets of the sharpest
eyes you have, and send them aloft to keep a steady look
on your chap, while there is light enough to be certain of
him. In a little while, they 'll be able to recognise him in
the dark; and by keeping your night-glasses well levelled,
he can scarcely slip off, without your missing him. The
moment he is gone, ware short round, and make the best of
your way for Cape la Hogue, or Alderney; you will go
three feet to his two, and, my life on it, by daylight you 'll
have him to windward of you, and then you 'll be certain of
him. Wait for no signals from me, but be off, as soon as
it is dark. When your work is done, make the best of
your way to the nearest English port, and clap a Scotchman
on your shoulder to keep the king's sword from chafing
it. They thought me fit for knighthood at three-and-twenty,
and the deuce is in it, Parker, if you are not worthy of it,
at three-and-sixty!”
“Ah! Sir Gervaise, everything you undertook succeeded!
You never yet failed in any expedition.”
“That has come from attempting much. My plans have
often failed; but as something good has generally followed
from them, I have the credit of designing to do, exactly what
I 've done.”
Then followed a long, detailed discourse, on the subject
before them, in which Greenly joined; the latter making
several useful suggestions to the veteran commander of the
Carnatic. After passing quite an hour in the cabin of
Parker, Sir Gervaise took his leave and re-entered his barge.
a hundred yards, and the piles of ships, as the boat
glided past them, resembled black hillocks, with clouds floating
among their tree-like and waving spars. No captain
presumed to hail the commander-in-chief, as he rowed down
the line, again, with the exception of the peer of the realm.
He indeed had always something to say; and, as he had
been conjecturing what could induce the vice-admiral to pay
so long a visit to the Carnatic, he could not refrain from
uttering as much aloud, when he heard the measured stroke
of the oars from the returning barge.
“We shall all be jealous of this compliment to Captain
Parker, Sir Gervaise,” he called out, “unless your favours
are occasionally extended to some of us less worthy ones.”
“Ay—ay—Morganic, you 'll be remembered in proper
time. In the meanwhile, keep your people's eyes open, so
as not to lose sight of the French. We shall have something
to say to them in the morning.”
“Spare us a night-action, if possible, Sir Gervaise! I do
detest fighting when sleepy; and I like to see my enemy,
too. As much as you please in the day-time; but a quiet
night, I do beseech you, sir.”
“I 'll warrant you, now, if the opera, or Ranelagh, or a
drum, or a masquerade, were inviting you, Morganic, you 'd
think but little of your pillow!” answered Sir Gervaise,
drily; “whatever you do yourself, my lord, don't let the
Achilles get asleep on duty; I may have need of her to-morrow.
Give way, Wychecombe, give way, and let us
get home again.”
In fifteen minutes from that instant, Sir Gervaise was
once more on the poop of the Plantagenet, and the barge in
its place on deck. Greenly was attending to the duties of
his ship, and Bunting stood in readiness to circulate such
orders as it might suit the commander-in-chief to give.
It was now nine o'clock, and it was not easy to distinguish
objects on the ocean, even as large as a ship, at the
distance of half a league. By the aid of the glasses, however,
a vigilant look-out was kept on the French vessels,
which, by this time, were quite two leagues distant, drawing
more ahead. It was necessary to fill away, in order to
close with them, and a night-signal was made to that effect.
it might be, by a common impulse, and had there been one
there of sufficiently acute senses, he might have heard all
six of the main-top-sails flapping at the same instant. As
a matter of course the vessels started ahead, and, the order
being to follow the vice-admiral in a close line ahead, when
the Plantagenet edged off, so as to bring the wind abeam,
each vessel did the same, in succession, or as soon as in the
commander-in-chief's wake, as if guided by instinct. About
ten minutes later, the Carnatic, to the surprise of those who
witnessed the manœuvre in the Achilles, wore short round,
and set studding-sails on her starboard side, steering large.
The darkest portion of the horizon being that which lay to
the eastward, or, in the direction of the continent, in twenty
minutes the pyramid of her shadowy outline was swallowed
in the gloom. All this time, la Victoire, with the Druid leading
and towing, kept upon a bowline; and an hour later,
when Sir Gervaise found himself abeam of the French line
again, and half a league to windward of it, no traces were
to be seen of the three ships last mentioned.
“So far, all goes well, gentlemen,” observed the vice-admiral
to the group around him on the poop; “and we will
now try to count the enemy, to make certain he, too, has no
stragglers out to pick up waifs. Greenly, try that glass;
it is set for the night, and your eyes are the best we have.
Be particular in looking for the fellow under jury-masts.”
“I make out but ten ships in the line, Sir Gervaise,” answered
the captain, after a long examination; “of course
the crippled ship must have gone to leeward. Of her, certainly,
I can find no traces.”
“You will oblige me, Sir Wycherly, by seeing what you
can make out, in the same way.”
After a still longer examination than that of the captain,
Wycherly made the same report, adding that he thought he
also missed the frigate that had been nearest le Foudroyant,
repeating her signals throughout the day. This circumstance
gratified Sir Gervaise, as he was pleased to find his
prognostics came true, and he was not sorry to be rid of one
of the enemy's light cruisers; a species of vessel that often
proved embarrassing, after a decided affair, even to the conqueror.
“I think, Sir Gervaise,” Wycherly modestly added, “that
the French have boarded their tacks, and are pressing up
to windward to near us. Did it not appear so to you, Captain
Greenly?”
“Not at all. If they carry courses, the sails have been
set within the last five minutes—ha! Sir Gervaise, that is
an indication of a busy night!”
As he spoke, Greenly pointed to the place where the
French admiral was known to be, where at that instant appeared
a double row of lights; proving that the batteries
had their lanterns lit, and showing a disposition to engage.
In less than a minute the whole French line was to be traced
along the sea, by the double rows of illumination, the light
resembling that which is seen through the window of a
room that has a bright fire, rather than one in which lamps
or candles are actually visible. As this was just the species
of engagement in which the English had much to risk, and
little to gain, Sir Gervaise immediately gave orders to brace
forward the yards, to board fore-and-main tacks, and to set
top-gallant-sails. As a matter of course, the ships astern
made sail in the same manner, and hauled up on taut bowlines,
following the admiral.
“This is not our play,” coolly remarked Sir Gervaise;
“a crippled ship would drop directly into their arms, and as
for any success at long-shot, in a two-to-one fight, it is not
to be looked for. No—no—Monsieur de Vervillin, show us
your teeth if you will, and a pretty sight it is, but you do
not draw a shot from me. I hope the order to show no
lights is duly attended to.”
“I do not think there is a light visible from any ship in the
fleet, Sir Gervaise,” answered Bunting, “though we are so
near there can be no great difficulty in telling where we
are.”
“All but the Carnatic and the prize, Bunting. The more
fuss they make with us, the less will they think of them.”
It is probable the French admiral had been deceived by
the near approach of his enemy, for whose prowess he had
a profound respect. He had made his preparations in expectation
of an attack, but he did not open his fire, although
heavy shot would certainly have told with effect. Indisposed
to the uncertainty of a night-action, he declined bringing
later; at that time the English ships, by carrying sail harder
than was usual in so stiff a breeze, found themselves out
of gun-shot, on the weather-bow of their enemies. Then,
and not till then, did Sir Gervaise reduce his canvass, having,
by means of his glasses, first ascertained that the French
had again hauled up their courses, and were moving along
at a very easy rate of sailing.
It was now near midnight, and Sir Gervaise prepared to
go below. Previously to quitting the deck, however, he
gave very explicit orders to Greenly, who transmitted them
to the first lieutenant, that officer or the captain intending
to be on the look-out through the night; the movements of
the whole squadron being so dependent on those of the flag-ship.
The vice-admiral then retired, and went coolly to bed.
He was not a man to lose his rest, because an enemy was
just out of gun-shot. Accustomed to be manœuvring in
front of hostile fleets, the situation had lost its novelty, and
he had so much confidence in the practice of his captains,
that he well knew nothing could occur so long as his orders
were obeyed; to doubt the latter would have been heresy
in his eyes. In professional nonchalance, no man exceeded
our vice-admiral. Blow high, or blow low, it never disturbed
the economy of his cabin-life, beyond what unavoidably
was connected with the comfort of the ship; nor did
any prospect of battle cause a meal to vary a minute in
time, or a particle in form, until the bulk-heads were actually
knocked down, and the batteries were cleared for action.
Although excitable in trifles, and sometimes a little
irritable, Sir Gervaise, in the way of his profession, was a
great man on great occasions. His temperament was sanguine,
and his spirit both decided and bold; and, in common
with all such men who see the truth at all, when he
did see it, he saw it so clearly, as to throw all the doubts
that beset minds of a less masculine order into the shade.
On the present occasion, he was sure nothing could well
occur to disturb his rest; and he took it with the composure
of one on terra-firma, and in the security of peace. Unlike
those who are unaccustomed to scenes of excitement, he
quietly undressed himself, and his head was no sooner on
its pillow, than he fell into a profound sleep.
It would have been a curious subject of observation to an
inexperienced person, to note the manner in which the two
fleets manœuvred throughout that night. After several
hours of ineffectual efforts to bring their enemies fairly within
reach of their guns, after the moon had risen, the French
gave the matter up for a time, shortening sail while most of
their superior officers caught a little rest.
The sun was just rising, as Galleygo laid his hand on
the shoulder of the vice-admiral, agreeably to orders given
the previous night. The touch sufficed; Sir Gervaise being
wide awake in an instant. “Well,” he said, rising to a sitting
attitude, and putting the question which first occurs to a
seaman, “how 's the weather?”
“A good top-gallant breeze, Sir Jarvy, and just what 's
this ship's play. If you'd only let her out, and on them
Johnny Crapauds, she 'd be down among 'em, in half an
hour, like a hawk upon a chicken. I ought to report to
your honour, that the last chicken will be dished for breakfast
unless we gives an order to the gun-room steward to
turn us over some of his birds, as pay for what the pigs eat;
which were real capons.”
“Why, you pirate, you would not have me commit a
robbery, on the high seas, would ye?”
“What robbery would it be to order the gun-room to sell
us some poultry. Lord! Sir Jarvy, I'm as far from wishing
to take a thing without an order, as the gunner's yeoman;
but, let Mr. Atwood put it in black and white.”
“Tush!” interrupted the master. “How did the French
bear from us, when you were last on deck?”
“Why, there they is, Sir Jarvy,” answered Galleygo,
drawing the curtain from before the state-room window, and
allowing the vice-admiral to see the rear of the French line
for himself, by turning half round; “and just where we
wants 'em. Their leading ship a little abaft our lee-beam,
distant one league. That 's what I calls satisfactory, now.”
“Ay, that is a good position, Master Galleygo. Was the
prize in sight, or were you too chicken-headed to look.”
“I chicken-headed! Well, Sir Jarvy, of all characters
and descriptions of me, that your honour has seen fit to put
abroad, this is the most unjustest; chickens being a food I
never thinks on, off soundings. Pig-headed you might in
which is the only real stand-by in a ship; but I never
dreams of a chicken, except for your happetite. When they
was eight on 'em—”
“Was the prize in sight?” demanded Sir Gervaise, a little
sharply.
“No, Sir Jarvy; she had disappeared, and the Druid
with her. But this isn't all, sir; for they does say, some'at
has befallen the Carnatic, she having gone out of our line,
like a binnacle-lamp at eight bells.”
“Ay, she is not visible, either.”
“Not so much as a hen-coop, Sir Jarvy! We all wonders
what has become of Captain Parker; no sign of him
or of his ship is to be found on the briny ocean. The
young gentlemen of the watch laugh, and say she must have
gone up in a water-spout, but they laughs so much at misfortins,
generally, that I never minds 'em.”
“Have you had a good look-out at the ocean, this morning,
Master Galleygo,” asked Sir Gervaise, drawing his
head out of a basin of water, for, by this time, he was half-dressed,
and making his preparations for the razor. “You
used to have an eye for a chase, when we were in a frigate,
and ought to be able to tell me if Bluewater is in sight.”
“Admiral Blue!—Well, Sir Jarvy, it is remarkable, but
I had just rubbed his division out of my log, and forgotten
all about it. There was a handful of craft, or so, off here
to the nor 'ard, at daylight, but I never thought it was Admiral
Blue, it being more nat'ral to suppose him in his place,
as usual, in the rear of our own line. Let me see, Sir Jarvy,
how many ships has we absent under Admiral Blue?”
“Why, the five two-deckers of his own division, to be
sure, besides the Ranger and the Gnat. Seven sail in all.”
“Yes, that 's just it! Well, your honour, there was five
sail to be seen, out here to the nor'ard, as I told you, and,
sure enough, it may have been Admiral Blue, with all his
craft.”
By this time, Sir Gervaise had his face covered with
lather, but he forgot the circumstance in a moment. As
the wind was at the north-west, and the Plantagenet was on
the larboard tack, looking in the direction of the Bill of
Portland, though much too far to the southward to allow the
commanded a good view of the whole horizon to windward.
Crossing over from the starboard state-room, which he occupied
ex-officio, he opened the window in question, and
took a look for himself. There, sure enough, was visible a
squadron of five ships, in close order, edging leisurely down
on the two lines, under their top-sails, and just near enough
to allow it to be ascertained that their courses were not set.
This sight produced a sudden change in all the vice-admiral's
movements. The business of the toilet was resumed
in haste, and the beard was mowed with a slashing hand,
that might have been hazardous in the motion of a ship, but
for the long experience of a sailor. This important part of
the operation was scarcely through, when Locker announced
the presence of Captain Greenly in the main cabin.
“What now, Greenly? — What now?” called out the
vice-admiral, puffing as he withdrew his head, again, from
the basin—“What now, Greenly? Any news from Bluewater?”
“I am happy to tell you, Sir Gervaise, he has been in sight
more than an hour, and is closing with us, though shyly
and slowly. I would not let you be called, as all was right,
and I knew sleep was necessary to a clear head.”
“You have done quite right, Greenly; God willing, I intend
this to be a busy day! The French must see our rear
division?”
“Beyond a doubt, sir, but they show no signs of making
off. M. de Vervillin will fight, I feel certain; though the
experience of yesterday may render him a little shy as to
the mode.”
“And his crippled ship?—Old Parker's friend—I take it
she is not visible.”
“You were quite right in your conjecture, Sir Gervaise;
the crippled ship is off, as is one of the frigates, no doubt to
see her in. Blewet, too, has gone well to windward of the
French, though he can fetch into no anchorage short of
Portsmouth, if this breeze stand.”
“Any haven will do. Our little success will animate the
king's party, and give it more eclat, perhaps, than it really
merits. Let there be no delay with the breakfast this morning,
Greenly; it will be a busy day.”
“Ay—ay—sir—” answered the captain in the sailor's
usual manner; “that has been seen to already, as I have
expected as much. Admiral Bluewater keeps his ships in
most beautiful order, sir! I do not think the Cæsar, which
leads, is two cable's-length from the Dublin, the sternmost
vessel. He is driving four-in-hand, with a tight rein, too,
depend on it, sir.”
At this instant, Sir Gervaise came out of his state-room,
his coat in his hand, and with a countenance that was
thoughtful. He finished dressing with an abstracted air,
and would not have known the last garment was on, had
not Galleygo given a violent pull on its skirts, in order to
smooth the cloth about the shoulders.
“It is odd, that Bluewater should come down nearly before
the wind, in a line ahead, and not in a line abreast!”
Sir Gervaise rejoined, as his steward did this office for him.
“Let Admiral Blue alone, for doing what's right,” put in
Galleygo, in his usual confident and self-possessed manner.
“By keeping his ships astern of hisself, he can tell where
to find 'em, and we understands from experience, if Admiral
Blue knows where to find a ship, he knows how to use
her.”
Instead of rebuking this interference, which went a little
further than common, Greenly was surprised to see the vice-admiral
look his steward intently in the face, as if the man
had expressed some shrewd and comprehensive truth. Then
turning to his captain, Sir Gervaise intimated an intention
of going on deck to survey the state of things with his own
eyes.
| CHAPTER XI. The two admirals | |