 | CHAPTER II. The two admirals |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
Increas'd at night, until it blew a gale;
And though 't was not much to a naval mind,
Some landsmen would have look'd a little pale,
For sailors are, in fact, a different kind:
At sunset they began to take in sail,
For the sky show'd it would come on to blow,
And carry away, perhaps, a mast or so.”
Byron.
As it was just past the turn of the day, Bluewater determined
to linger on the cliffs for several hours, or until it was
time to think of his dinner. Abstracted as his thoughts
were habitually, his mind found occupation and pleasure in
witnessing the evolutions that succeeded among the ships;
some of which evolutions it may be well now briefly to relate.
Sir Gervaise Oakes' foot had not been on the deck of the
Plantagenet five minutes, before a signal for all commanders
was flying at that vessel's mast-head. In ten minutes more
every captain of the fleet, with the exception of those belonging
to the vessels in the offing, were in the flag-ship's cabin,
listening to the intentions and instructions of the vice-admiral.
“My plan of sailing, gentlemen, is easily comprehended,”
continued the commander-in-chief, after he had explained
his general intentions to chase and engage; “and every
one of you will implicitly follow it. We have the tide strong
at ebb, and a good six-knot breeze is coming up at south-west.
I shall weigh, with my yards square, and keep them
so, until the ship has drawn out of the fleet, and then I shall
luff up on a taut bowline and on the starboard tack, bringing
the ebb well under my lee-bow. This will hawse the ship
over towards Morlaix, and bring us quite as far to windward
stands, we shall have plain sailing; the difficulty will come
on the flood, or with a shift of wind. The ships that come
out last must be careful to keep their seconds, ahead and
astern, in plain sight, and regulate their movements, as much
as they can, by the leading vessels. The object is to spread
as wide a clew as possible, while we hold the ships within
signal-distance of each other. Towards sunset I shall
shorten sail, and the line will close up within a league from
vessel to vessel, and I have told Bluewater to use his discretion
about coming out with the last ships, though I have
requested him to hold on as long as he shall deem it prudent,
in the hope of receiving another express from the Admiralty.
When the flood makes, I do not intend to go
about, but shall continue on the starboard tack, and I wish
you all to do the same. This will bring the leading vessels
considerably to windward of those astern, and may possibly
throw the fleet into a bow and quarter line. Being in the
van, it will fall to my duty to look to this, and to watch for
the consequences. But I ask of you to keep an eye on the
weather, and to hold your ships within plain signal-distance
of each other. If it come on thick, or to blow very hard, we
must close, from van to rear, and try our luck, in a search
in compact order. Let the man who first sees the enemy
make himself heard at once, and send the news, with the
bearings of the French, both ahead and astern, as fast as
possible. In that case you will all close on the point from
which the intelligence comes; and, mark me, no cruising
to get to windward, in your own fashions, as if you sailed
with roving commissions. You know I 'll not stand that.
And now, gentlemen, it is probable that we shall all never
meet again. God bless you! Come and shake hands with
me, one by one, and then to your boats, for the first lieutenant
has just sent Greenly word that we are up and down.
Let him trip, Greenly, and be off as soon as we can.”
The leave-taking, a scene in which joyousness and sadness
were strangely mingled, succeeded, and then the captains
disappeared. From that moment every mind was bent
on sailing.
Although Bluewater did not witness the scene in the Plantagenet's
on the cliffs to watch the succeeding movements.
As Wycherly had disappeared in the house, and Dutton
clung to his flag-staff, the rear-admiral had no one but Lord
Geoffrey for a companion. The latter, perceiving that his
relation did not seem disposed to converse, had the tact to
be silent himself; a task that was less difficult than common,
on account of the interest he felt in the spectacle.
The boats of the different captains were still shoving off
from the starboard side of the Plantagenet, whither etiquette
had brought them together, in a little crowd, when her
three topsails fell, and their sheets steadily drew the clews
towards the ends of the lower yards. Even while this
was in process, the yards began to ascend, and rose with
that steady but graduated movement which marks the operation
in a man-of-war. All three were fairly mast-headed
in two minutes. As the wind struck the canvass obliquely,
the sails filled as they opened their folds, and, by the time
their surfaces were flattened by distension, the Plantagenet
steadily moved from her late berth, advancing slowly
against a strong tide, out of the group of ships, among
which she had been anchored. This was a beautiful evolution,
resembling that of a sea-fowl, which lazily rises on
its element, spreads its wings, emerges from the water, and
glides away to some distant and unseen point.
The movement of the flag-ship was stately, measured,
and grand. For five minutes she held her way nearly due
east, with the wind on her starboard quarter, meeting the
tide in a direct line; until, having drawn sufficiently ahead
of the fleet, she let fall her courses, sheeted home topgallant-sails
and royals, set her spanker, jibs and staysails, and
braced up sharp on a wind, with her head at south-south-east.
This brought the tide well under her lee fore-chains,
and set her rapidly off the land, and to windward. As she
trimmed her sails, and steadied her bowliness, she fired a
gun, made the numbers of the vessels in the offing to weigh,
and to pass within hail. All this did Bluewater note, with
the attention of an amateur, as well as with the critical
analysis of a connoisseur.
“Very handsomely done, Master Geoffrey—very handsomely
flock with less fuss, or more beautifully, than the Plantagenet
has drawn out of the fleet. It must be admitted that
Greenly knows how to handle his ship.”
“I fancy Captain Stowel would have done quite as well
with the Cæsar, sir,” answered the boy, with a proper
esprit-de-ship. “Don't you remember, Admiral Bluewater,
the time when we got under way off l'Orient, with the wind
blowing a gale directly on shore? Even Sir Gervaise said,
afterwards, that we lost less ground than any ship in the
fleet, and yet the Plantagenet is the most weatherly two-decker
in the navy; as everybody says.”
“Everybody!—She is certainly a weatherly vessel, but
not more so than several others. Whom did you ever hear
give that character to this particular ship?”
“Why, sir, her reefers are always bragging as much as
that; and a great deal more, too.”
“Her reefers!—Young gentlemen are particularly struck
with the charms of their first loves, both ashore and afloat,
my boy. Did you ever hear an old seaman say that much
for the Plantagenet?”
“I think I have, sir,” returned Lord Geoffrey, blushing.
“Galleygo, Sir Gervaise's steward, is commonly repeating
some such stuff, or other. They are furious braggarts, the
Plantagenet's, all round, sir.”
“That comes honestly,” answered Bluewater, smiling,
“her namesakes and predecessors of old, having some
such characteristic, too. Look at that ship's yards, boy,
and learn how to trim a vessel's sails on a wind. The pencil
of a painter could not draw lines more accurate!”
“Captain Stowel tells us, sir, that the yards ought not to
be braced in exactly alike; but that we ought to check the
weather-braces, a little, as we go aloft, so that the topsail
yard should point a little less forward than the lower yard,
and the topgallant than the topsail.”
“You are quite right in taking Stowel's opinion in all
such matters, Geoffrey: but has not Captain Greenly done
the same thing in the Plantagenet? When I speak of symmetry,
I mean the symmetry of a seaman.”
The boy was silenced, though exceedingly reluctant to
admit that any ship could equal his own. In the meantime,
Just about the time the Plantagenet braced up, the wind
freshened, and in ten minutes it blew a stiff breeze. Some
time before the admiral spoke the vessels outside, he was
compelled to take in all his light canvass; and when he
filled, again, after giving his orders to the frigate and sloop,
the topgallant sheets were let fly, a single reef was taken
in the topsails, and the lighter sails were set over them.
This change in the weather, more especially as the night
threatened to be clouded, if not absolutely dark, would necessarily
bring about a corresponding change in the plan
of sailing, reducing the intervals between the departures of
the vessels, quite one-half. To such vicissitudes are all
maritime operations liable, and it is fortunate when there is
sufficient capacity in the leaders to remedy them.
In less than an hour, the Plantagenet's hull began to
sink, to those on a level with it, when the Carnatic tripped
her anchor, opened her canvass, shot out of the fleet, hauled
by the wind, and followed in the admiral's wake. So accurate
was the course she steered, that, half an hour after she
had braced up, a hawse-bucket, which had been dropped
from the Plantagenet in hauling water, was picked up.
We may add, here, though it will be a little anticipating
events, that the Thunderer followed the Carnatic; the Blenheim
the Thunderer; the Achilles the Blenheim; the Warspite
the Achilles; the Dover the Warspite; the York the
Dover; the Elizabeth the York; the Dublin the Elizabeth;
and the Cæsar the Dublin. But hours passed before all
these ships were in motion, and hours in which we shall
have some occurrences to relate that took place on shore.
Still it will aid the reader in better understanding the future
incidents of our tale, if we describe, at once, some of
the circumstances under which all these ships got in motion.
By the time the Plantagenet's topsails were beginning to
dip from the cliffs, the Carnatic, the Thunderer, the Blenheim,
the Achilles, and the Warspite were all stretching out
in line, with intervals of quite two leagues between them,
under as much canvass as they could now bear. The admiral
had shortened sail the most, and was evidently allowing
the Carnatic to close, most probably on account of the
suffering the frigate and sloop, the Chloe and Driver, to pass
ahead of him, the one on his weather, and the other on his
lee bow. When the Dover weighed, the admiral's upper
sail was not visible from her tops, though the Warspite's
hull had not yet disappeared from her deck. She left the
fleet, or the portions of it that still remained at anchor, with
her fore-course set, and hauled by the wind, under double-reefed
topsails, a single reef in her mainsail, and with her
main-topgallant sail set over its proper sail. With this reduced
canvass, she started away on the track of her consorts,
the brine foaming under her bows, and with a heel
that denoted the heavy pressure that bore on her sails. By
this time, the York was aweigh, the tide had turned, and it
became necessary to fill on the other tack in order to clear
the land to the eastward. This altered the formation, but
we will now revert to the events as they transpired on the
shore, with a view to relate them more in their regular
order.
It is scarcely necessary to say that Bluewater must have
remained on, or about the cliffs several hours, in order to
witness the departure of so many of the vessels. Instead
of returning to the Hall at the dinner hour, agreeably to
promise, he profited by the appearance of Wycherly, who
left the cottage with a flushed, agitated manner, just as he
was thinking of the necessity of sending a message to Sir
Reginald, and begged the young man to be the bearer of
his excuses. He thought that the change in the weather
rendered it necessary for him to remain in sight of the sea.
Dutton overheard this message, and, after a private conference
with his wife, he ventured to invite his superior to
appease his appetite under his own humble roof. To this
Bluewater cheerfully assented; and when the summons
came to the table, to his great joy he found that his only
companion was to be Mildred, who, like himself, for some
reason known only to her own bosom, had let the ordinary
dining hour pass without appearing at table, but whom her
mother had now directed to take some sustenance.
“The late events at the Hall have agitated the poor child,
sir,” said Mrs. Dutton, in the way of apology, “and she
has not tasted food since morning. I have told her you
as an excuse for her company.”
Bluewater looked at the pallid countenance of the girl,
and never before had he found the resemblance to Agnes
Hedworth so strong, as that moment. The last year or
two of his own sweet friend's life had been far from happy,
and the languid look and tearful eyes of Mildred revived the
recollection of the dead, with painful distinctness.
“Good God!” he murmured to himself; “That two
such beings should exist only to suffer! my good Mrs. Dutton,
make no excuses; but believe me when I say that you
could not have found in England another that would have
proved as welcome as my present little messmate.”
Mildred struggled for a smile; and she did succeed in
looking extremely grateful. Beyond this, however, it exceeded
her powers to go. Mrs. Dutton was gratified, and
soon left the two to partake of their neat, but simple meal,
by themselves; household duties requiring her presence
elsewhere.
“Let me persuade you to take a glass of this really excellent
port, my child,” said Bluewater. “If you had
cruised as long as I have done, on the coast of Portugal,
you would know how to value a liquor as pure as this. I
don't know of an admiral that has as good!”
“It is probably our last, sir,” answered Mildred, shaking
a tear from each of her long dark lashes, by an involuntarily
trembling motion, as she spoke. “It was a present
from dear, old, Sir Wycherly, who never left my mother
wholly unsupplied with such plain delicacies, as he fancied
poverty placed beyond our reach. The wine we can easily
forget; not so easily the donor.”
Bluewater felt as if he could draw a cheque for one-half
the fortune he had devised to his companion; and, yet, by
a caprice of feeling that is not uncommon to persons of the
liveliest susceptibility, he answered in a way to smother his
own emotion.
“There will not soon be another old Sir Wycherly to
make his neighbours comfortable; but there is a young one,
who is not likely to forget his uncle's good example. I
hope you all, here, rejoice at the sudden rise in fortune, that
favourite lieutenant?”
A look of anguish passed over Mildred's face, and her
companion noted it; though surprise and pity—not to say
resentment—prevented his betraying his discovery.
“We endeavour to be glad, sir,” answered Mildred, smiling
in so suffering a manner, as to awaken all her companion's
sympathies; “but it is not easy for us to rejoice
at any thing which is gained by the loss of our former,
valued friend.”'
“I am aware that a young fellow, like the present Sir
Wycherly, can be no substitute for an old fellow like the last
Sir Wycherly, my dear; but as one is a sailor, and the
other was only a landsman, my professional prejudices may
not consider the disparity as great as it may possibly appear
to be to your less partial judgment.”
Bluewater thought the glance he received was imploring,
and he instantly regretted that he had taken such means to
divert his companion's sadness. Some consciousness of
this regret probably passed through Mildred's mind, for she
rallied her spirits, and made a partially successful effort to
be a more agreeable companion.
“My father thinks, sir,” she said, “that our late pleasant
weather is about to desert us, and that it is likely to blow
heavily before six-and-thirty hours are over.”
“I am afraid Mr. Dutton will prove to be too accurate an
almanac. The weather has a breeding look, and I expect
a dirty night. Good or bad, we seamen must face it, and
that, too, in the narrow seas, where gales of wind are no
gales of Araby.”
“Ah, sir, it is a terrible life to lead! By living on this
cliff, I have learned to pity sailors.”
“Perhaps, my child, you pity us when we are the most
happy. Nine seamen in ten prefer a respectable gale to a
flat calm. There are moments when the ocean is terrific;
but, on the whole, it is capricious, rather than malignant.
The night that is before us promises to be just such a one
as Sir Gervaise Oakes delights in. He is never happier
than when he hears a gale howling through the cordage of
his ship.”
“I have heard him spoken of as a very daring and self-relying
Admiral Bluewater; for to me you seem better fitted for a
fireside, well filled with friends and relatives, than for the
conflicts and hardships of the sea.”
Mildred had no difficulty now in forcing a smile, for the
sweet one she bestowed on the veteran almost tempted him
to rise and fold her in his arms, as a parent would wrap a
beloved daughter to his heart. Discretion, however, prevented
a betrayal of feelings that might have been misinterpreted,
and he answered in his original vein.
“I fear I am a wolf in sheep's clothing,” he said; “while
Oakes admits the happiness he feels in seeing his ship
ploughing through a raging sea, in a dark night, he maintains
that my rapture is sought in a hurricane. I do not
plead guilty to the accusation, but I will allow there is a
sort of fierce delight in participating, as it might be, in a
wild strife of the elements. To me, my very nature seems
changed at such moments, and I forget all that is mild and
gentle. That comes of having lived so much estranged from
your sex, my dear; desolate bachelor, as I am.”
“Do you think sailors ought to marry?” asked Mildred,
with a steadiness that surprised herself; for, while she put
the question, consciousness brought the blood to her temples.
“I should be sorry to condemn a whole profession, and
that one I so well love, to the hopeless misery of single life.
There are miseries peculiar to the wedded lives of both soldiers
and sailors; but are there not miseries peculiar to those
who never separate? I have heard seamen say—men, too,
who loved their wives and families—that they believed the
extreme pleasure of meetings after long separations, the delights
of hope, and the zest of excited feelings, have rendered
their years of active service more replete with agreeable
sensations, than the stagnant periods of peace. Never having
been married myself, I can only speak on report.”
“Ah! this may be so with men; but—surely—surely—
women never can feel thus!”
“I suppose, a sailor's daughter yourself, you know Jack's
account of his wife's domestic creed! `A good fire, a clean
hearth, the children abed, and the husband at sea,' is supposed
to be the climax of felicity.”
“This may do for the sailor's jokes, Admiral Bluewater,”
breaking heart. I fear, from all I have heard this afternoon,
and from the sudden sailing of the ships, that a great battle
is at hand?”
“And why should you, a British officer's daughter, dread
that? Have you so little faith in us, as to suppose a battle
will necessarily bring defeat! I have seen much of my
own profession, Miss Dutton, and trust I am in some small
degree above the rhodomontade of the braggarts; but it is
not usual for us to meet the enemy, and to give those on
shore reason to be ashamed of the English flag. It has
never yet been my luck to meet a Frenchman who did not
manifest a manly desire to do his country credit; and I have
always felt that we must fight hard for him before we could
get him; nor has the result ever disappointed me. Still,
fortune, or skill, or right, is commonly of our side, and has
given us the advantage in the end.”
“And to which, sir, do you ascribe a success at sea, so
very uniform?”
“As a Protestant, I ought to say to our religion; but,
this my own knowledge of Protestant vices rejects. Then
to say fortune would be an exceeding self-abasement—one,
that between us, is not needed; and I believe I must impute
it to skill. As plain seamen, I do believe we are more
expert than most of our neighbours; though I am far from
being positive we have any great advantage over them in
tactics. If any, the Dutch are our equals.”
“Notwithstanding, you are quite certain of success. It
must be a great encouragement to enter into the fight with
a strong confidence in victory! I suppose—that is, it seems
to me—it is a matter of course, sir,—that our new Sir Wycherly
will not be able to join in the battle, this time?”
Mildred spoke timidly, and she endeavoured to seem unconcerned;
but Bluewater read her whole heart, and pitied
the pain which she had inflicted on herself, in asking the
question. It struck him, too, that a girl of his companion's
delicacy and sensibility would not thus advert to the young
man's movements at all, if the latter had done aught justly
to awaken censure; and this conviction greatly relieved his
mind as to the effect of sudden elevation on the handsome
Mildred might detect his consciousness of her feelings, not
a moment was lost before making a reply.
“It is not an easy matter to prevent a young, dashing
sailor, like this Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, from doing his
part in a general engagement, and that, too, of the character
of the one to which we are looking forward,” he said.
“Oakes has left the matter in my hands; I suppose I shall
have to grant the young man's request.”
“He has then requested to be received in your ship?”
asked Mildred, her hand shaking as she used the spoon it
held.
“That of course. No one who wears the uniform could
or would do less. It seems a ticklish moment for him to
quit Wychecombe, too; where I fancy he will have a battle of
his own to fight ere long; but professional feeling will over-shadow
all others, in young men. Among us seamen, it is
said to be even stronger than love.”
Mildred made no answer; but her pale cheek and quivering
lips, evidences of feeling that her artlessness did not
enable her to conceal, caused Bluewater again to regret the
remark. With a view to restore the poor girl to her self-command,
he changed the subject of conversation, which did
not again advert to Wycherly. The remainder of the meal
was consequently eaten in peace, the admiral manifesting to
the last, however, the sudden and generous interest he had
taken in the character and welfare of his companion. When
they rose from table, Mildred joined her mother, and Bluewater
walked out upon the cliffs again.
It was now evening, and the waste of water that lay
stretched before the eye, though the softness of summer was
shed upon it, had the wild and dreary aspect that the winds
and waves lend to a view, as the light of day is about to
abandon the ocean to the gloom of night. All this had no
effect on Bluewater, however, who knew that two-decked
ships, strongly manned, with their heavy canvass reduced,
would make light work of worrying through hours of darkness
that menaced no more than these. Still the wind had
freshened, and when he stood on the verge of the cliff, sustained
by the breeze, which pressed him back from the precipice,
rendering his head more steady, and his footing sure,
two reefs in her courses, with a heavy staysail or two, to
ease her helm. He saw that the ponderous machine would
stagger under even this short canvass, and that her captain
had made his dispositions for a windy night. The lights
that the Dover and the York carried in their tops were just
beginning to be visible in the gathering gloom, the last
about a league and a half down channel, the ship standing
in that direction to get to windward, and the former, more
to the southward, the vessel having already tacked to follow
the admiral. A chain of lights connected the whole of the
long line, and placed the means of communication in the
power of the captains. At this moment, the Plantagenet
was fully fifty miles at sea, ploughing through a heavy
south-west swell, which the wind was driving into the chops
of the channel, from the direction of the Bay of Biscay,
and the broad Atlantic.
Bluewater buttoned his coat, and he felt his frame invigorated
by a gale that came over his person, loaded with the
peculiar flavour of the sea. But two of the heavy ships
remained at their anchors, the Dublin and the Cæsar; and
his experienced eye could see that Stowel had every thing
on board the latter ready to trip and be off, as soon as he,
himself, should give the order. At this moment the midshipman,
who had been absent for hours, returned, and
stood again at his side.
“Our turn will soon come, sir,” said the gallant boy,
“and, for one, I shall not be sorry to be in motion. Them
chaps on board the Plantagenet will swagger like so many
Dons, if they should happen to get a broadside at Monsieur
de Vervillin, while we are lying here, under the shore, like
a gentleman's yacht hauled into a bay, that the ladies might
eat without disturbing their stomachs.”
“Little fear of that, Geoffrey. The Active is too light
of foot, especially in the weather we have had, to suffer
heavy ships to be so close on her heels. She must have had
some fifteen or twenty miles the start, and the French have
been compelled to double Cape la Hogue and Alderney, before
they could even look this way. If coming down channel
at all, they are fully fifty miles to the eastward; and,
should our van stretch far enough by morning to head them
never set a better trap, than he has done this very day.
The Elizabeth has her hands full, boy, and the wind seems
to be getting scant for her. If it knock her off much more,
it will bring the flood on her weather-bow, and compel her
to tack. This will throw the rear of our line into confusion!”
“What should we do, sir, in such a case? It would never
answer to leave poor Sir Jarvy out there, by himself!”
“We would try not to do that!” returned Bluewater,
smiling at the affectionate solicitude of the lad, a solicitude
that caused him slightly to forget his habitual respect for
the commander-in-chief, and to adopt the sobriquet of the
fleet. “In such a case, it would become my duty to collect
as many ships as I could, and to make the best of our way
towards the place where we might hope to fall in with the
others, in the morning. There is little danger of losing
each other, for any length of time, in these narrow waters,
and I have few apprehensions of the French being far
enough west, to fall in with our leading vessels before
morning. If they should, indeed, Geoffrey—”
“Ay, sir, if they should, I know well enough what
would come to pass!”
“What, boy? — On the supposition that Monsieur de
Vervillin did meet with Sir Gervaise by day-break, what,
in your experienced eyes, seem most likely to be the consequences?”
“Why, sir, Sir Jarvey would go at 'em, like a dolphin
at a flying-fish; and if he should really happen to catch
one or two of 'em, there'd be no sailing in company with the
Plantagenet's, for us Cæsar's!—When we had the last 'bout
with Monsieur de Gravelin, they were as saucy as peacocks,
because we didn't close until their fore-yard and mizzen-topgallant-mast
were gone, although the shift of wind
brought us dead to leeward, and, after all, we had eleven
men the most hurt in the fight. You don't know them
Plantagenet's, sir; for they never dare say any thing before
you!”
“Nor to the discredit of my young Cæsars, I 'll answer
for it. Yet, you 'll remember Sir Gervaise gave us full
credit, in his despatches.”
“Yes sir, all very true. Sir Gervaise knows better;
and then he understands what the Cæsar is; and what she
can do, and has done. But it 's a very different matter with
his youngsters, who fancy because they carry a red flag at
the fore, they are so many Blakes and Howards, themselves.
There 's Jack Oldcastle, now; he 's always talking of our
reefers as if there was no sea-blood in our veins, and that
just because his own father happened to be a captain—a
commodore, he says, because he happened once to have
three frigates under his orders.”
“Well, that would make a commodore, for the time being.
But, surely he does not claim privilege for the Oldcastle
blood, over that of the Clevelands!”
“No, sir, it isn't that sort of thing, at all,” returned the
fine boy, blushing a little, in spite of his contempt for any
such womanly weakness; “you know we never talk of that
nonsense in our squadron. With us it 's all service, and
that sort of thing. Jack Oldcastle says the Clevelands are
all civilians, as he calls 'em; or soldiers, which isn't much
better, as you know, sir. Now, I tell him that there is an
old picture of one of 'em, with an anchor-button, and that
was long before Queen Anne's time—Queen Elizabeth's,
perhaps,—and then you know, sir, I fetch him up with a
yarn about the Hedworths; for I am just as much Hedworth
as Cleveland.”
“And what does the impudent dog say to that, Geoffrey?”
“Why, sir, he says the name should be spelt Headwork,
and that they were all lawyers. But I gave him as good as
he sent for that saucy speech, I 'm certain!”
“And what did you give him, in return for such a compliment?
Did you tell him the Oldcastles were just so much
stone, and wood, and old iron; and that, too, in a tumble-down
condition?”
“No, sir, not I,” answered the boy, laughing; “I didn't
think of any answer half so clever; and so I just gave him
a dig in the nose, and that, laid on with right go will.”
“And how did he receive that argument? Was it conclusive;—or
did the debate continue?”
“Oh, of course, sir, we fought it out. 'T was on board
the Dover, and the first lieutenant saw fair play. Jack
carried too many guns for me, sir, for he 's more than a
harder work than being mast-headed. After that the Dover's
chaps took my part, and they said the Hedworths had no
Headwork at all, but they were regular sailors; admirals,
and captains, and youngsters, you know, sir, like all the
rest of us. I told 'em my grandfather Hedworth was an
admiral, and a good one, too.”
“In that you made a small mistake. Your mother's
father was only a general; but his father was a full admiral
of the red,—for he lived before that grade was abolished—
and as good an officer as ever trod a plank. He was my
mother's brother, and both Sir Gervaise and myself served
long under his orders. He was a sailor of whom you well
might boast.”
“I don't think any of the Plantagenets will chase in that
quarter again, sir; for we 've had an overhauling among
our chaps, and we find we can muster four admirals, two
commodores, and thirteen captains in our two messes; that
is, counting all sorts of relatives, you know, sir.”
“Well, my dear boy, I hope you may live to reckon all
that and more too, in your own persons, at some future day.
Yonder is Sir Reginald Wychecombe, coming this way, to
my surprise, and perhaps he wishes to see me alone. Go
down to the landing and ascertain if my barge is ashore,
and let me know it, as soon as is convenient. Remember,
Geoffrey, you will go off with me; and hunt up Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe, who will lose his passage, unless ready
the instant he is wanted.”
The boy touched his cap, and went bounding down the
hill to execute the order.
| CHAPTER II. The two admirals | |