 | CHAPTER I. The two admirals |  |
1. CHAPTER I.
I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
Am sorrowful of mind.”
Childe Harold.
“Well, Sir Jarvy,” said Galleygo, following on the
heels of the two admirals, as the latter entered the dressing-room
of the officer addressed; “it has turned out just as I
thought; and the County of Fair-villian has come out of his
hole, like a porpoise coming up to breathe, the moment our
backs is turned! As soon as we gives the order to squareaway
for England, and I sees the old Planter's cabin windows
turned upon France, I foreseed them consequences.
Well, gentlemen, here's been a heap of prize-money made
in this house, without much fighting. We shall have to give
the young lieutenant a leave, for a few months, in order that
he may take his swing ashore, here, among his brother
squires!”
“Pray, sir, what may be your pleasure?” demanded Sir
Gervaise; “and what the devil has brought you at my
heels?”
“Why, big ships always tows small craft, your honour,”
returned Galleygo, simpering. “Howsever, I never comes
without an errand, as every body knows. You see, Sir
Jarvy, — you see, Admiral Blue, that our signal-officer is
ashore, with a report for us; and meeting me in the hall, he
made it to me first like, that I might bring it up to you a'terwards.
His news is that the French county is gone to sea,
as I has just told you, gentlemen.”
“Can it be possible that Bunting has brought any such
tidings here! Harkee, Galleygo; desire Mr. Bunting to
walk up; and then see that you behave yourself as is decent
in a house of mourning.”
“Ay-ay-sir. No fears of I, gentlemen. I can put on as
grievous a look as the best on 'em, and if they wishes to see
sorrow becomingly, and ship-shape, let them study my conduct
and countenance. We has all seen dead men afore
now, gentlemen, as we all knows. When we fou't Mounsheer
Graveland, (Gravelin) we had forty-seven slain, besides
the hurt that lived to tell their own pain; and when we
had the—”
“Go to the devil, Master Galleygo, and desire Mr. Bunting
to walk up stairs,” cried Sir Gervaise, impatiently.
“Ay-ay-sir. Which will your honour have done first?”
“Let me see the signal-officer, first,” answered the vice-admiral,
laughing; “then be certain of executing the other
order.”
“Well,” muttered Galleygo, as he descended the stairs;
“if I was to do as he says, now, what would we do with
the fleet? Ships wants orders to fight; and flags wants
food to give orders; and food wants stewards to be put upon
the table; and stewards wants no devils to help 'em do
their duty. No—no—Sir Jarvy; I 'll not pay that visit, till
we all goes in company, as is suitable for them that has
sailed so long together.”
“This will be great news, Dick, if de Vervillin has really
come out!” cried Sir Gervaise, rubbing his hands with delight.
“Hang me, if I wait for orders from London; but
we 'll sail with the first wind and tide. Let them settle the
quarrel at home, as they best can; it is our business to catch
the Frenchman. How many ships do you really suppose
the count to have?”
“Twelve of two decks, besides one three-decker, and
beating us in frigates. Two or three, however, are short
vessels, and cannot be quite as heavy as our own. I see no
reason why we should not engage him.”
“I rejoice to hear you say so! How much more honourable
is it to seek the enemy, than to be intriguing about a
court! I hope you intend to let me announce that red riband
in general orders to-morrow, Dick?”
“Never, with my consent, Sir Gervaise, so long as the
house of Hanover confers the boon. But what an extraordinary
scene we have just had below! This young lieutenant
is a noble fellow, and I hope, with all my heart, he will be
enabled to make good his claim.”
“Of that Sir Reginald assures me there can be no manner
of doubt. His papers are in perfect order, and his story
simple and probable. Do you not remember hearing,
when we were midshipmen in the West Indies, of a lieutenant
of the Sappho's striking a senior officer, ashore; and
of his having been probably saved from the sentence of
death, by the loss of the ship?”
“As well as if it were yesterday, now you name the
vessel. And this you suppose to have been the late Sir
Wycherly's brother? Did he belong to the Sappho?”
“So they tell me, below; and it leaves no doubt on my
mind, of the truth of the whole story.”
“It is a proof, too, how easy it is for one to return to
England, and maintain his rights, after an absence of more
than half a century. He in Scotland has a claim quite as
strong as that of this youth!”
“Dick Bluewater, you seem determined to pull a house
down about your own ears! What have you or I to do with
these Scotch adventurers, when a gallant enemy invites us
to come out and meet him! But, mum—here is Bunting.”
At this instant the signal-lieutenant of the Plantagenet was
shown into the room, by Galleygo, in person.
“Well, Bunting; what tidings from the fleet?” demanded
Sir Gervaise. “Do the ships still ride to the flood?”
“It is slack-water, Sir Gervaise, and the vessels are
looking all ways at once. Most of us are clearing hawse,
for there are more round turns in our cables, than I remember
ever to have seen in so short a time.”
“That comes of there being no wind, and the uselessness
of the staysails and spankers. What has brought you ashore?
Galleygo tells us something of a cutter's coming in, with
information that the French are out; but his news is usually
galley-news.”
“Not always, Sir Gervaise,” returned the lieutenant, castting
a side-look at the steward, who often comforted him
with ship's delicacies in the admiral's cabin; “this time, he
is right, at least. The Active is coming in slowly, and has
been signalling us all the morning. We make her out to
say that Monsieur Vervillin is at sea with his whole force.”
“Yes,” muttered Galleygo to the rear-admiral, in a sort
of aside; “the County of Fairvillian has come out of his
all is, and no bones broken.”
“Silence—and you think, Bunting, you read the signals
clearly?”
“No doubt of it, Sir Gervaise. Captain Greenly is of
the same opinion, and has sent me ashore with the news.
He desired me to tell you that the ebb would make in half
an hour, and that we can then fetch past the rocks to the
westward, light as the wind is.”
“Ay, that is Greenly, I can swear!—He 'll not sit down
until we are all aweigh, and standing out. Does the cutter
tell us which way the count was looking?”
“To the westward, sir; on an easy bowline, and under
short canvass.”
“The gentleman is in no hurry, it would seem. Has he
a convoy?”
“Not a sail, sir. Nineteen sail, all cruisers, and only
twelve of the line. He has one two-decker, and two frigates
more than we can muster; just a Frenchman's odds, sir.”
“The count has certainly with him, the seven new ships
that were built last season,” quietly observed Bluewater,
leaning back in his easy-chair, until his body inclined at an
angle of forty-five degrees, and stretching a leg on an
empty stand, in his usual self-indulgent manner. “They
are a little heavier than their old vessels, and will give us
harder work.”
“The tougher the job, the more creditable the workmanship.
The tide is turning you say, Bunting?”
“It is, Sir Gervaise; and we shall all tend ebb, in twenty
minutes. The frigates outside are riding down channel
already. The Chloe seems to think that we shall be moving
soon, as she has crossed top-gallant and royal-yards. Even
Captain Greenly was thinking of stretching along the messenger.”
“Ah! you 're a set of uneasy fellows, all round!—You
tire of your native land in twenty-four hours, I find. Well,
Mr. Bunting; you can go off, and say that all is very well.
This house is in a sad state of confusion, as, I presume you
know. Mention this to Captain Greenly.”
“Ay-ay-sir; is it your pleasure I should tell him anything
else, Sir Gervaise Oakes?”
“Why — yes — Bunting,” answered the vice-admiral,
smiling; “you may as well give him a hint to get all his
fresh grub off, as fast as he can—and—yes; to let no more
men quit the ship on liberty.”
“Anything more, Sir Gervaise?” added the pertinacious
officer.
“On the whole, you may as well run up a signal to be
ready to unmoor. The ships can very well ride at single
anchors, when the tide has once fairly made. What say
you, Bluewater?”
“A signal to unmoor, at once, would expedite matters.
You know very well, you intend to go to sea, and why not
do the thing off-hand?”
“I dare say, now, Bunting, you too would like to give the
commander-in-chief a nudge of some sort or other.”
“If I could presume so far, Sir Gervaise. I can only
say, sir, that the sooner we are off, the sooner we shall flog
the French.”
“And Master Galleygo, what are your sentiments, on
this occasion? It is a full council, and all ought to speak,
freely.”
“You knows, Sir Jarvy, that I never speaks in these
matters, unless spoken to. Admiral Blue and your honour
are quite enough to take care of the fleet in most circumstances,
though there is some knowledge in the tops, as well
as in the cabin. My ideas is, gentlemen, that, by casting
to starboard on this ebb tide, we shall all have our heads
off-shore, and we shall fetch into the offing as easily as a
country wench turns in a jig. What we shall do with the
fleet, when we gets out, will be shown in our ultra movements.”
By “ultra,” David meant “ulterior,” a word he had
caught up from hearing despatches read, which he understood
no better than those who wrote them at the admiralty.
“Thanks to you all, my friends!” cried Sir Gervaise,
who was so delighted at the prospect of a general engagement,
that he felt a boyish pleasure in this fooling; “and
now to business, seriously. Mr. Bunting, I would have the
signal for sailing shown. Let each ship fire a recall-gun
for her boats. Half an hour later, show the bunting to unmoor;
and send my boat ashore as soon as you begin to
and show your activity.”
“Mr. Bunting, as you pass the Cæsar, do me the favour
to ask for my boat, also,” said Bluewater, lazily, but half-raising
his body to look after the retiring lieutenant. “If
we are to move, I suppose I shall have to go with the rest
of them. Of course we shall repeat all your signals.”
Sir Gervaise waited until Bunting was out of the room,
when he turned to the steward, and said with some dryness
of manner—
“Mr. Galleygo, you have my permission to go on board,
bag and baggage.”
“Yes, Sir Jarvy, I understands. We are about to get the
ships under way, and good men ought to be in their places.
Good-by, Admiral Blue. We shall meet before the face of
the French, and then I expects every man on us will set an
example to himself of courage and devotion.”
“That fellow grows worse and worse, each day, and I
shall have to send him forward, in order to check his impertinence,”
said Sir Gervaise, half-vexed and half-laughing.
“I wonder you stand his saucy familiarity as well as you
appear to do—with his Admiral Blues!”
“I shall take offence as soon as I find Sir Jarvy really
out of humour with him. The man is brave, honest, and
attached; and these are virtues that would atone for a
hundred faults.”
“Let the fellow go to the devil!—Do you not think I had
better go out, without waiting for despatches from town?”
“It is hard to say. Your orders may send us all down
into Scotland, to face Charles Stuart. Perhaps, too, they
may make you a duke, and me a baron, in order to secure
our fidelity!”
“The blackguards!—well, say no more of that, just now.
If M. de Vervillin is steering to the westward, he can hardly
be aiming at Edinburgh, and the movements in the north.”
“That is by no means so certain. Your really politic fellows
usually look one way and steer another.”
“It is my opinion, that his object is to effect a diversion,
and my wish is to give it to him, to his heart's content. So
long as this force is kept near the chops of the channel, it
can do no harm in the north, and, in-so-much, must leave
the road to Germany open.”
“For one, I think it a pity—not to say a disgrace—that
England cannot settle her own quarrels without calling in
the aid of either Frenchman or Dutchman.”
“We must take the world as it is, Dick, and act like two
straight-forward seamen, without stopping to talk politics.
I take it for granted, notwithstanding your Stuart fervour,
that you are willing enough to help me thresh Monsieur de
Vervillin?”
“Beyond a question. Nothing but the conviction that he
was directly employed in serving my natural and legitimate
prince, could induce me to show him any favour. Still,
Oakes, it is possible he may have succours for the Scotch
on board, and be bound to the north by the way of the Irish
channel!”
“Ay, pretty succours, truly, for an Englishman to stomach!
Mousquetaires, and régiments de Croy, or de Dillon,
or some d—d French name or other; and, perhaps, beautiful
muskets from the Bois de Vincennes; or some other
infernal nest of Gallic inventions to put down the just ascendency
of old England! No—no—Dick Bluewater, your
excellent, loyal, true-hearted English mother, never bore
you, to be a dupe of Bourbon perfidy and trick. I dare say
she sickened at the very name of Louis!”
“I 'll not answer for that, Sir Jarvy,” returned the rear-admiral,
with a vacant smile; “for she passed some time
at the court of le Grand Monarque. But all this is idle;
we know each other's opinions, and, by this time, ought to
know each other's characters. Have you digested any plan
for your future operations; and what part am I to play in
it?”
Sir Gervaise paced the room, with hands folded behind
his back, in an air of deep contemplation, for quite five
minutes, before he answered. All this time, Bluewater remained
watching his countenance and movements, in anticipation
of what was to come. At length, the vice-admiral
appeared to have made up his mind, and he delivered himself
of his decision, as follows.
“I have reflected on them, Dick,” he said, “even while
my thoughts have seemed to be occupied with the concerns
of others. If de Vervillin is out, he must still be to the eastward
of us; for, running as the tides do on the French coast,
south-west wind. We are yet uncertain of his destination,
and it is all-important that we get immediate sight of him,
and keep him in view, until he can be brought to action.
Now, my plan is this. I will send out the ships in succession,
with orders to keep on an easy bowline, until each
reaches the chops of the channel, when she is to go about
and stand in towards the English coast. Each succeeding
vessel, however, will weigh as soon as her leader is hull
down, and keep within signal distance, in order to send intelligence
through the whole line. Nothing will be easier
than to keep in sight of each other, in such fine weather;
and by these means we shall spread a wide clew,—quite a
hundred miles,—and command the whole of the channel.
As soon as Monsieur de Vervillin is made, the fleet can
close, and then we will be governed by circumstances.
Should we see nothing of the French, by the time we make
their coast, we may be certain they have gone up channel;
and then, a signal from the van can reverse the order of
sailing, and we will chase to the eastward, closing to a line
abreast as fast as possible.
“All this is very well, certainly; and by means of the
frigates and smaller cruisers we can easily sweep a hundred
and fifty miles of ocean;—nevertheless, the fleet will be
much scattered.”
“You do not think there will be any danger of the
French's engaging the van, before the rear can close to aid
it?” asked Sir Gervaise, with interest, for he had the profoundest
respect for his friend's professional opinions. “I
intended to lead out in the Plantagenet, myself, and to have
five or six of the fastest ships next to me, with a view that
we might keep off, until you could bring up the rear. If
they chase, you know we can retire.”
“Beyond a doubt, if Sir Gervaise Oakes can make up his
mind to retire, before any Frenchman who was ever born,”
returned Bluewater, laughing. “All this sounds well; but,
in the event of a meeting, I should expect to find you, with
the whole van dismasted, fighting your hulks like bull-dogs,
and keeping the Count at bay, leaving the glory of covering
your retreat to me.”
“No—no—Dick: I 'll give you my honour I 'll do nothing
from what I was at twenty-five. You may be certain that
I will run, until I think myself strong enough to fight.”
“Will you allow me to make a suggestion, Admiral
Oakes; and this with all the frankness that ought to characterize
our ancient friendship?”
Sir Gervaise stopped short in his walk, looked Bluewater
steadily in the face, and nodded his head.
“I understand by the expression of your countenance,”
continued the other, “that I am expected to speak. I had
no more to say, than to make the simple suggestion that
your plan would be most likely to be executed, were I to
lead the van, and were you to bring up the rear.”
“The devil you do!—This comes as near mutiny—or
scandalum magnatum—as one can wish! And why do you
suppose that the plan of the commander-in-chief will be least
in danger of failing, if Admiral Bluewater lead on this occasion,
instead of Admiral Oakes?”
“Merely because I think Admiral Oakes, when an enemy
is pressing him, is more apt to take counsel of his heart
than of his head; while Admiral Bluewater is not. You do
not know yourself, Sir Jarvy, if you think it so easy a
matter to run away.”
“I 've spoiled you, Dick, by praising your foolish manœuvring
so much before your face, and that 's the whole
truth of the matter. No—my mind is made up; and, I believe
you know me well enough to feel sure, when that is
the case, even a council of war could not move it. I lead
out, in the first two-decked ship that lifts her anchor, and
you follow in the last. You understand my plan, and will
see it executed, as you see everything executed, in face of
the enemy.”
Admiral Bluewater smiled, and not altogether without
irony in his manner; though he managed, at the same time,
to get the leg that had been lowest for the last five minutes,
raised by an ingenuity peculiar to himself, several inches
above its fellow.
“Nature never made you for a conspirator, Oakes,” he
said, as soon as this change was effected to his mind; “for
you carry a top-light in your breast that even the blind can
see!”
“What crotchet is uppermost in your mind, now, Dick?
Ar'n't the orders plain enough to suit you?”
“I confess it;—as well as the motive for giving them just
in this form.”
“Let 's have it, at once. I prefer a full broadside to your
minute-guns. What is my motive?”
“Simply that you, Sir Jarvy, say to a certain Sir Gervaise
Oakes, Bart., Vice-Admiral of the Red, and Member
for Bowldero, in your own mind, `now, if I can just leave
that fellow, Dick Bluewater, behind me, with four or five
ships, he 'll never desert me, when in front of the enemy,
whatever he might do with King George; and so I 'll make
sure of him by placing the question in such a light that it
shall be one of friendship, rather than one of loyalty.”'
Sir Gervaise coloured to the temples, for the other had
penetrated into his most secret thoughts; and, yet, spite of his
momentary vexation, he faced his accuser, and both laughed
in the heart-felt manner that the circumstance would be
likely to excite.
“Hearkee, Dick,” said the vice-admiral, as soon as he
could command sufficient gravity to speak; “they made a
mistake when they sent you to sea; you ought to have
been apprenticed to a conjuror. I care not what you think
about it; my orders are given, and they must be obeyed.
Have you a clear perception of the plan?”
“One quite as clear, I tell you, as I have of the motive.”
“Enough of this, Bluewater; we have serious duties before
us.”
Sir Gervaise now entered more at length into his scheme;
explaining to his friend all his wishes and hopes, and letting
him know, with official minuteness, what was expected at
his hands. The rear-admiral listened with his accustomed
respect, whenever anything grave was in discussion between
them; and, had any one entered while they were thus
engaged, he would have seen in the manner of one, nothing
but the dignified frankness of a friendly superior, and in the
other the deference which the naval inferior usually pays to
rank. As he concluded Sir Gervaise rang his bell, and
desired the presence of Sir Wycherly Wychecombe.
“I could have wished to remain and see this battle for
the succession fairly fought,” he said; “but a battle of a different
added, as his man intimated that the young baronet was in
waiting.
“What between the duties of our professional stations,
and those of the guest to the host,” said the vice-admiral,
rising and bowing to the young man; “it is not easy to
settle the question of etiquette between us, Sir Wycherly;
and I have, from habit, thought more of the admiral and the
lieutenant, than of the lord of the manor and his obliged
guests. If I have erred, you will excuse me.”
“My new situation is so very novel, that I still remain all
sailor, Sir Gervaise,” answered the other, smiling; “as
such I hope you will ever consider me. Can I be of any
service, here?”
“One of our cutters has just come in with news that will
take the fleet to sea, again, this morning; or, as soon as
the tide begins to run a strong ebb. The French are out,
and we must go and look for them. It was my intention
and my hope, to be able to take you to sea with me in the
Plantagenet. The date of your commission would not put
you very high among her lieutenants; but, Bunting deserves
a first lieutenantcy, and I meant to give it to him this afternoon,
in which case there would be a vacancy in the situation
of my own signal-officer, a duty you could well perform.
As it is, you ought not to quit this house, and I must take
my leave of you with regret it is so.”
“Admiral Oakes, what is there that ought to keep one of
my station ashore, on the eve of a general battle? I sincerely
hope and trust you will alter the last determination,
and return to the first.”
“You forget your own important interests—remember
that possession is nine points of the law.”
“We had heard the news below, and Sir Reginald, Mr.
Furlong, and myself, were discussing the matter when I
received your summons. These gentlemen tell me, that
possession can be held by deputy, as well as in person. I
am satisfied we can dispose of this objection.”
“Your grandfather's brother, and the late head of your
family, lies dead in this house; it is proper his successor
should be present at his funeral obsequies.”
“We thought of that, also. Sir Reginald has kindly
that the meeting with Monsieur de Vervillin will take place
within the next eight-and-forty hours; whereas my uncle
cannot be interred certainly for a week or ten days.”
“I see you have well calculated all the chances, young
sir,” said Sir Gervaise, smiling. “Bluewater, how does
this matter strike you?”
“Leave it in my hands, and I will see to it. You will
sail near or quite twenty-four hours before me, and there
will be time for more reflection. Sir Wycherly can remain
with me in the Cæsar, in the action; or he can be thrown
aboard the Plantagenet, when we meet.”
After a little reflection, Sir Gervaise, who liked to give
every one a fair chance, consented to the arrangement, and
it was decided that Wycherly should come out in the Cæsar,
if nothing occurred to render the step improper.
This arrangement completed, the vice-admiral declared
he was ready to quit the Hall. Galleygo and the other
servants had already made the dispositions necessary for
embarking, and it only remained to take leave of the inmates
of the dwelling. The parting between the baronets
was friendly; for the common interest they felt in the success
of Wycherly, had, in a degree, rendered them intimates,
and much disposed Sir Reginald to overlook the sailor's
well-known Whiggery. Dutton and the ladies took their
departure at the same time, and what passed between them
and Sir Gervaise on this occasion, took place on the road
to the head-land, whither all parties proceeded on foot.
A person so important as Sir Gervaise Oakes did not
leave the roof that had sheltered him, to embark on board
his own ship, without a due escort to the shore. Bluewater
accompanied him, in order to discuss any little point of
duty that might occur to the mind of either, at the last moment;
and Wycherly was of the group, partly from professional
feeling, and more from a desire to be near Mildred.
Then there were Atwood, and the surgeons, Mr. Rotherham,
and two or three of the cabin attendants. Lord
Geoffrey, too, strolled along with the rest, though it was
understood that his own ship would not sail that day.
Just as the party issued from the gate of the park into
the street of the hamlet, a heavy gun was fired from the
cornets were seen flying from the mast-heads that rose above
the openings in the cliffs, the signal of recall for all boats.
This set every one in motion, and, never within the memory
of man, had Wychecombe presented such a scene of confusion
and activity. Half-intoxicated seamen were driven
down to the boats, by youngsters with the cloth diamond in
their collars, like swine, who were reluctant to go, and yet
afraid to stay. Quarters of beeves were trundled along in
carts or barrows, and were soon seen swinging at different
main-stays; while the gathering of eggs, butter, poultry,
mutton, lamb, and veal, menaced the surrounding country
with a scarcity. Through this throng of the living and the
dead, our party held its way, jostled by the eager countrymen,
and respectfully avoided by all who belonged to the
fleet, until it reached the point where the roads to the cliffs
and the landing separated, when the vice-admiral turned to
the only midshipman present, and courteously lifting his hat,
as if reluctant to impose such a duty on a “young gentleman”
on liberty, he said—
“Do me the favour, Lord Geoffrey, to step down to the
landing and ascertain if my barge is there. The officer of
the boat will find me at the signal-station.”
The boy cheerfully complied; and this son of an English
duke, who, by the death of an elder brother, became in time
a duke himself, went on a service that among gentlemen of
the land would be deemed nearly menial, with as much
alacrity as if he felt honoured by the request. It was by a
training like this, that England came, in time, to possess a
marine that has achieved so many memorable deeds; since
it taught those who were destined to command, the high and
useful lesson how to obey.
While the midshipman was gone to look for the boat, the
two admirals walked the cliff, side by side, discussing their
future movements; and when all was ready, Sir Gervaise
descended to the shore, using the very path by which he
had ascended the previous day; and, pushing through the
throng that crowded the landing, almost too much engaged
to heed even his approach, he entered his barge. In another
minute, the measured strokes of the oars urged him swiftly
towards the Plantagenet.
| CHAPTER I. The two admirals | |