University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

One is never fully aware of the extent of the movement
that agitates the bosom of the ocean until fairly subject to
its action himself, when indeed we all feel its power and
reason closely on its dangers. The first pitch of his boat
told Bluewater that the night threatened to be serious. As
the lusty oarsmen bent to their stroke, the barge rose on a
swell, dividing the foam that glanced past it like a marine
Aurora Borealis, and then plunged into the trough as if descending
to the bottom. It required several united and
vigorous efforts to force the little craft from its dangerous

vicinity to the rocks, and to get it in perfect command.
This once done, however, the well-practised crew urged the
barge slowly but steadily ahead.

“A dirty night! — a dirty night!” muttered Bluewater,
unconsciously to himself; “we should have had a wild
berth, had we rode out this blow, at anchor. Oakes will
have a heavy time of it out yonder in the very chops of the
channel, with a westerly swell heaving in against this ebb.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Wycherly; “the vice-admiral will
be looking out for us all, anxiously enough, in the morning.”

Not another syllable did Bluewater utter until his boat
had touched the side of the Cæsar. He reflected deeply on
his situation, and those who know his feelings will easily
understand that his reflections were not altogether free from
pain. Such as they were, he kept them to himself, however,
and in a man-of-war's boat, when a flag-officer chooses to be
silent, it is a matter of course for his inferiors to imitate his
example.

The barge was about a quarter of a mile from the landing,
when the heavy flap of the Cæsar's main-top-sail was
heard, as, close-reefed, it struggled for freedom, while her
crew drew its sheets down to the blocks on the lower yard-arms.
A minute later the Gnat, under the head of her fore-and-aft-mainsail,
was seen standing slowly off from the
land, looking in the darkness like some half-equipped shadow
of herself. The sloop of war, too, was seen bending low to the
force of the wind, with her mere apology of a topsail thrown
aback, in waiting for the flag-ship to cast.

The surface of the waters was a sheet of glancing foam,
while the air was filled with the blended sounds of the wash
of the element, and the roar of the winds. Still there was
nothing chilling or repulsive in the temperature of the air,
which was charged with the freshness of the sea, and was
bracing and animating, bringing with it the flavour that a
seaman loves. After fully fifteen minutes' severe tugging at
the oars, the barge drew near enough to permit the black
mass of the Cæsar to be seen. For some time, Lord Geoffrey,
who had seated himself at the tiller,—yoke-lines were
not used a century since,—steered by the top-light of the
rear-admiral; but now the maze of hamper was seen waving
slowly to and fro in the lurid heavens, and the huge hull

became visible, heaving and setting, as if the ocean groaned
with the labour of lifting such a pile of wood and iron. A
light gleamed from the cabin-windows, and ever and anon,
one glanced athwart an open gun-room port. In all other
respects, the ship presented but one hue of blackness. Nor
was it an easy undertaking, even after the barge was under
the lee of the ship, for those in it, to quit its uneasy support
and get a firm footing on the cleets that lined the vessel's
side like a ladder. This was done, however, and all ascended
to the deck but two of the crew, who remained to
hook-on the yard and stay-tackles. This effected, the shrill
whistle gave the word, and that large boat, built to carry at
need some twenty souls, was raised from the raging water,
as it were by some gigantic effort of the ship herself, and
safely deposited in her bosom.

“We are none too soon, sir,” said Stowel, the moment he
had received the rear-admiral with the customary etiquette
of the hour. “It 's a cap-full of wind already, and it promises
to blow harder before morning. We are catted and
fished, sir, and the forecastle-men are passing the shank-painter,
at this moment.”

“Fill, sir, and stretch off, on an easy bowline,” was the
answer; “when a league in the offing, let me know it. Mr.
Cornet, I have need of you, in my cabin.”

As this was said, Bluewater went below, followed by his
signal-officer. At the same instant the first lieutenant called
out to man the main-braces, and to fill the topsail. As soon
as this command was obeyed, the Cæsar started ahead. Her
movement was slow, but it had a majesty in it, that set at
naught the turbulence of the elements.

Bluewater had paced to and fro in his cabin no less than
six times, with his head drooping, in a thoughtful attitude,
ere his attention was called to any external object.

“Do you wish my presence, Admiral Bluewater?” the
signal-officer at length inquired.

“I ask your pardon, Mr. Cornet; I was really unconscious
that you were in the cabin. Let me see—ay—our
last signal was, `division come within hail of rear-admiral.'
They must get close to us, to be able to do that, to-night,
Cornet! The winds and waves have begun their song in
earnest.”

“And yet, sir, I 'll venture a month's pay that Captain
Drinkwater brings the Dover so near us, as to put the officer
of the deck and the quarter-master at the wheel in a fever.
We once made that signal, in a gale of wind, and he passed
his jib-boom-end over our taffrail.”

“He is certainly a most literal gentleman, that Captain
Drinkwater, but he knows how to take care of his ship.
Look for the number of `follow the rear-admiral's motions.'
'T is 211, I think.”

“No, sir; but 212. Blue, red and white, with the flags.
With the lanterns, 't is one of the simplest signals we have.”

“We will make it, at once. When that is done, show
`the rear-admiral; keep in his wake, in the general order
of sailing.' That I am sure is 204.”

“Yes, sir; you are quite right. Shall I show the second
signal as soon as all the vessels have answered the first,
sir?”

“That is my intention, Cornet. When all have answered,
let me know it.”

Mr. Cornet now left the cabin, and Bluewater took a seat
in an arm-chair, in deep meditation. For quite half an
hour the former was busy on the poop, with his two quarter-masters,
going through the slow and far from easy duty of
making night-signals, as they were then practised at sea. It
was some time before the most distant vessel, the Dover,
gave any evidence of comprehending the first order, and
then the same tardy operation had to be gone through with
for the second. At length the sentinel threw open the cabin-door,
and Cornet reappeared. During the whole of his absence
on deck, Bluewater had not stirred; scarce seemed
to breathe. His thoughts were away from his ships, and
for the first time, in the ten years he had worn a flag, he
had forgotten the order he had given.

“The signals are made and answered, sir,” said Cornet,
as soon as he had advanced to the edge of the table, on
which the rear-admiral's elbow was leaning. “The Dublin
is already in our wake, and the Elizabeth is bearing down
fast on our weather-quarter; she will bring herself into her
station in ten minutes.”

“What news of the York and Dover, Cornet?” asked
Bluewater, rousing himself from a fit of deep abstraction.

“The York's light nears us, quite evidently; though that
of the Dover is still a fixed star, sir,” answered the lieutenant,
chuckling a little at his own humour; “it seems no
larger than it did when we first made it.”

“It is something to have made it at all. I was not aware
it could be seen from deck?”

“Nor can it, sir; but, by going up half-a-dozen ratlins
we get a look at it. Captain Drinkwater bowses up his
lights to the gaff-end, and I can see him always ten minutes
sooner than any other ship in the fleet, under the same circumstances.”

“Drinkwater is a careful officer; do the bearings of his
light alter enough to tell the course he is steering?”

“I think they do, sir, though our standing out athwart
his line of sailing would make the change slow, of course.
Every foot we get to the southward, you know, sir, would
throw his bearings farther west; while every foot he comes
east, would counteract that change and throw his bearings
further south.”

“That 's very clear; but, as he must go three fathoms
to our one, running off with square yards before such a
breeze, I think we should be constantly altering his bearings
to the southward.”

“No doubt of it, in the world, sir; and that is just what
we are doing. I think I can see a difference of half a point,
already; but, when we get his light fairly in view from the
poop, we shall be able to tell with perfect accuracy.”

“All very well, Cornet. Do me the favour to desire
Captain Stowel to step into the cabin; and keep a bright
look-out for the ships of the division. Stay, for a single instant;
what particularly sharp-eyed youngster happens to
belong to the watch on deck?”

“I know none keener in that way than Lord Geoffrey
Cleveland, sir; he can see all the roguery that is going on
in the whole fleet, at any rate, and ought to see other
things.”

“He will do perfectly well; send the young gentleman to
me, sir; but, first inform the officer of the watch that I have
need of him.”

Bluewater was unusually fastidious in exercising his authority
over those who had temporary superiors on the

assigned duty of the ship; and he never sent an order to
any of the watch, without causing it to pass through the
officer of that watch. He waited but a minute before the
boy appeared.

“Have you a good gripe to-night, boy?” asked the rear-admiral,
smiling; “or will it be both hands for yourself and
none for the king? I want you on the fore-top-gallant-yard,
for eight or ten minutes.”

“Well, sir, it 's a plain road there, and one I 've often
travelled,” returned the lad, cheerfully.

“That I well know; you are certainly no skulk when
duty is to be done. Go aloft then, and ascertain if the lights
of any of Sir Gervaise's squadron are to be seen. You will
remember that the Dover bears somewhere about south-west
from us, and that she is still a long way to seaward. I
should think all of Sir Gervaise's ships must be quite as far
to windward as that point would bring them, but much further
off. By looking sharp a point or half a point to windward
of the Dover, you may possibly see the light of the
Warspite, and then we shall get a correct idea of the bearings
of all the rest of the division—”

“Ay-ay-sir,” interrupted the boy; “I think I understand
exactly what you wish to know, Admiral Bluewater.”

“That is a natural gift at sixteen, my lord,” returned the
admiral, smiling; “but it may be improved a little, perhaps,
by the experience of fifty. Now, it is possible Sir Gervaise
may have gone about; as soon as the flood made; in which
case he ought to bear nearly west of us, and you will also
look in that direction. On the other hand, Sir Gervaise
may have stretched so far over towards the French coast
before night shut in, as to feel satisfied Monsieur de Vervillin
is still to the eastward of him; in which case he would
keep off a little, and may, at this moment, be nearly ahead
of us. So that, under all the circumstances, you will sweep
the horizon, from the weather-beam to the lee-bow, ranging
forward. Am I understood, now, my lord?”

“Yes, sir, I think you are,” answered the boy, blushing
at his own impetuosity. “You will excuse my indiscretion,
Admiral Bluewater; but I thought I understood all you
desired, when I spoke so hastily.”

“No doubt you did, Geoffrey, but you perceive you did

not. Nature has made you quick of apprehension, but not
quick enough to foresee all an old man's gossip. Come
nearer, now, and let us shake hands. So go aloft, and hold
on well, for it is a windy night, and I do not desire to lose
you overboard.”

The boy did as told, squeezed Bluewater's hand, and
dashed out of the cabin to conceal his tears. As for the
rear-admiral, he immediately relapsed into his fit of forgetfulness,
waiting for the arrival of Stowel.

A summons to a captain does not as immediately produce
a visit, on board a vessel of war, as a summons to a midshipman.
Captain Stowel was busy in looking at the manner
in which his boats were stowed, when Cornet told him
of the rear-admiral's request; and then he had to give some
orders to the first lieutenant concerning the fresh meat that
had been got off, and one or two other similar little things,
before he was at leisure to comply.

“See me, do you say, Mr. Cornet; in his own cabin, as
soon as it is convenient?” he at length remarked, when all
these several offices had been duly performed.

The signal-officer repeated the request, word for word as
he had heard it, and then he turned to take another look at
the light of the Dover. As for Stowel, he cared no more
for the Dover, windy and dark as the night promised to be,
than the burgher is apt to care for his neighbour's house
when the whole street is threatened with destruction. To
him the Cæsar was the great centre of attraction, and Cornet
paid him off in kind; for, of all the vessels in the fleet, the
Cæsar was precisely the one to which he gave the least
attention; and this for the simple reason that she was the
only ship to which he never gave, or from which he never
received, a signal.

“Well, Mr. Bluff,” said Stowel to the first lieutenant;
“one of us will have to be on deck most of the night, and
I 'll take a slant below, for half an hour first, and see what
the admiral wishes.”

Thus saying, the captain left the deck, in order to ascertain
his superior's pleasure. Captain Stowel was several
years the senior of Bluewater, having actually been a lieutenant
in one of the frigates in which the rear-admiral had
served as a midshipman; a circumstance to which he occasionally

alluded in their present intercourse. The change
in the relative positions was the result of the family influence
of the junior, who had passed his senior in the grade of
master and commander; a rank that then brought many an
honest man up for life, in the English marine. At the age
of five-and-forty, that at which Bluewater first hoisted his
flag, Stowel was posted; and soon after he was invited by
his old shipmate, who had once had him under him as his
first lieutenant in a sloop of war, to take the command of
his flag-ship. From that day down to the present moment,
the two officers had sailed together, whenever they sailed at
all, perfectly good friends; though the captain never appeared
entirely to forget the time when they were in the
aforesaid frigate; one a gun-room officer, and the other only
a “youngster.”

Stowel must now have been about sixty-five; a square,
hard-featured, red-faced seaman, who knew all about his
ship, from her truck to her limber-rope, but who troubled
himself very little about anything else. He had married a
widow when he was posted, but was childless, and had long
since permitted his affections to wander back into their own
channels; from the domestic hearth to his ship. He seldom
spoke of matrimony, but the little he saw fit to say on the
subject was comprehensive and to the point. A perfectly
sober man, he consumed large quantities of both wine and
brandy, as well as of tobacco, and never seemed to be the
worse for either. Loyal he was by political faith, and he
looked upon a revolution, let its object be what it might, as
he would have regarded a mutiny in the Cæsar. He was
exceedingly pertinacious of his rights as “captain of his
own ship,” both ashore and afloat; a disposition that produced
less trouble with the mild and gentlemanly rear-admiral,
than with Mrs. Stowel. If we add that this plain
sailor never looked into a book, his proper scientific works
excepted, we shall have said all of him that his connection
with our tale demands.

“Good-evening, Admiral Bluewater,” said this true tar,
saluting the rear-admiral, as one neighbour would greet
another, on dropping in of an evening, for they occupied
different cabins. “Mr. Cornet told me you would like to

say a word to me, before I turned in; if, indeed, turn in at
all, I do this blessed night.”

“Take a seat, Stowel, and a glass of this sherry, in the
bargain,” Bluewater answered, kindly, showing how well he
understood his man, by the manner in which he shoved both
bottle and glass within reach of his hand. “How goes the
night?—and is this wind likely to stand?”

“I 'm of opinion, sir,—we 'll drink His Majesty, if you 've
no objection, Admiral Bluewater,—I 'm of opinion we shall
stretch the threads of that new main-top-sail, before we 've
done with the breeze, sir. I believe I 've not told you, yet,
that I 've had the new sail bent, since we last spoke together
on the subject. It 's a good fit, sir; and, close-reefed, the
sail stands like the side of a house.”

“I 'm glad to hear it, Stowel; though I think all your
canvass usually appears to be in its place.”

“Why you know, Admiral Bluewater, that I 've been
long enough at it, to understand something about the matter.
It is now more than forty years since we were in the Calypso
together, and ever since that time I 've borne the commission
of an officer. You were then a youngster, and thought
more of your joke, than of bending sails, or of seeing how
they would stand.”

“There wasn't much of me, certainly, forty years ago,
Stowel; but I well remember the knack you had of making
every robin, sheet, bowline, and thread do its duty, then, as
you do to-day. By the way, can you tell me anything of
the Dover, this evening?”

“Not I, sir; she came out with the rest of us I suppose,
and must be somewhere in the fleet; though I dare say the
log will have it all, if she has been anywhere near us,
lately. I am sorry we did not go into one of the watering-ports,
instead of this open roadstead, for we must be at least
twenty-seven hundred gallons short of what we ought to
have, by my calculation; and then we want a new set of
light spars, pretty much all round; and the lower hold
hasn't as many barrels of provision in it, by thirty-odd, as
I could wish to see there.”

“I leave these things to you, entirely, Stowel; you will
report in time to keep the ship efficient.”

“No fear of the Cæsar, sir; for, between Mr. Bluff, the

master, and myself, we know pretty much all about her;
though I dare say there are men in the fleet who can tell you
more about the Dublin, or the Dover, or the York. We
will drink the queen, and all the royal family, if you please,
sir.”

As usual, Bluewater merely bowed, for his companion
required no further acquiescence in his toasts. Just at that
moment, too, it would have needed a general order, at least,
to induce him to drink any of the family of the reigning
house.

“Oakes must be well off, mid-channel, by this time,
Captain Stowel?”

“I should think he might be, sir; though I can't say I
took particular notice of the time he sailed. I dare say it 's
all in the log. The Plantagenet is a fast ship, sir, and
Captain Greenly understands her trim, and what she can
do on all tacks; and, yet, I do think His Majesty has one
ship in this fleet that can find a Frenchman quite as soon,
and deal with him, when found, quite as much to the purpose.”

“Of course you mean the Cæsar;—well, I 'm quite of
your way of thinking, though Sir Gervaise manages never
to be in a slow ship. I suppose you know, Stowel, that
Monsieur de Vervillin is out, and that we may expect to see
or hear something of him, to-morrow.”

“Yes, sir, there is some such conversation in the ship, I
know; but the quantity of galley-news is so great in this
squadron, that I never attend much to what is said. One of
the officers brought off a rumour, I believe, that there was a
sort of a row in Scotland. By the way, sir, there is a supernumerary
lieutenant on board, and as he has joined
entirely without orders, I 'm at a loss how to berth or to provision
him. We can treat the gentleman hospitably to-night;
but in the morning I shall be obliged to get him
regularly on paper.”

“You mean Sir Wycherly Wychecombe; he shall come
into my mess, rather than give you any trouble.”

“I shall not presume to meddle with any gentleman you
may please to invite into your cabin, sir,” answered Stowel,
with a stiff bow, in the way of apology. “That 's what I

always tell Mrs. Stowel, sir;—that my cabin is my own,
and even a wife has no right to shake a broom in it.”

“Which is a great advantage to us seamen; for it gives
us a citadel to retreat to, when the outworks are pressed.
You appear to take but little interest in this civil war,
Stowel!”

“Then it 's true, is it, sir? I didn't know but it might turn
out to be galley-news. Pray what is the rumpus all about,
Admiral Bluewater; for, I never could get that story fidded
properly, so as to set up the rigging, and have the spar well
stayed in its place.”

“It is merely a war to decide who shall be king of England;
nothing else, I do assure you, sir.”

“They 're an uneasy set ashore, sir, if the truth must be
said of them! We 've got one king, already; and on what
principle does any man wish for more? Now, there was
Captain Blakely, from the Elizabeth, on board of me this
afternoon; and we talked the matter over a little, and both
of us concluded that they got these things up much as a
matter of profit among the army contractors, and the dealers
in warlike stores.”

Bluewater listened with intense interest, for here was
proof how completely two of his captains, at least, would be
at his own command, and how little they would be likely,
for a time, at least, to dispute any of his orders. He thought
of Sir Reginald, and of the rapture with which he would
have received this trait of nautical character.

“There are people who set their hearts on the result, notwithstanding,”
carelessly observed the rear-admiral; “and
some who see their fortunes marred or promoted, by the
success or downfall of the parties. They think de Vervillin
is out on some errand connected with this rising in the
north.”

“Well, I don't see what he has got to do with the matter
at all; for, I don't suppose that King Louis is such a fool
as to expect to be king of England as well as king of
France!”

“The dignity would be too much for one pair of shoulders
to bear. As well might one admiral wish to command all
the divisions of his own fleet, though they were fifty leagues
asunder.”

“Or one captain two ships; or what is more to the purpose,
sir, one ship to keep two captains. We 'll drink to
discipline, if you 've no objection, sir. 'T is the soul of
order and quiet, ashore or afloat. For my part, I want no
co-equal—I believe that 's the cant word they use on such
occasions—but I want no co-equal, in the Cæsar, and I am
unwilling to have one in the house at Greenwich; though
Mrs. Stowel thinks differently. Here 's my ship; she 's in
her place in the line; it 's my business to see she is fit for
any service that a first-class two-decker can undertake, and
that duty I endeavour to perform; and I make no doubt it
is all the better performed because there 's no wife or co-equal
aboard here. Where the ship is to go, and what
she is to do, are other matters, which I take from general
orders, special orders, or signals. Let them act up to this
principle in London, and we should hear no more of disturbances,
north or south.”

“Certainly, Stowel, your doctrine would make a quiet
nation, as well as a quiet ship. I hope you do me the justice
to think there is no co-equal in my commands?”

“That there is not, sir—and I have the honour to drink
your health — that there is not. When we were in the
Calypso together, I had the advantage; and I must say that
I never had a youngster under me who ever did his duty
more cheerfully. Since that day we 've shifted places; end
for end, as one might say; and I endeavour to pay you, in
your own coin. There is no man whose orders I obey more
willingly or more to my own advantage; always excepting
thoseof Admiral Oakes, who, being commander-in-chief, overlays
us all with his anchor. We must dowse our peaks to
his signals, though we can maintain, without mutinying,
that the Cæsar is as good a boat, on or off a wind, as the
Plantagenet, the best day Sir Jarvy ever saw.”

“There is no manner of doubt of that. You have all the
notions of a true sailor, I find, Stowel; obey orders before
all other things. I am curious to know how our captains,
generally, stand affected to this claim which the Pretender
has set up to the throne?”

“Can't tell you, on my soul, sir; though I fancy few of
them give themselves any great anxiety in the matter.
When the wind is fair we can run off large, and when it is

foul we must haul upon a bowline, let who will reign. I
was a youngster under Queen Anne, and she was a Stuart,
I believe; and I have served under the German family ever
since; and to be frank with you, Admiral Bluewater, I see
but little difference in the duty, the pay, or the rations. My
maxim is to obey orders, and then I know the blame will
fall on them that give them, if anything goes wrong.”

“We have many Scotchmen in the fleet, Stowel,” observed
the rear-admiral, in a musing manner, like one who
rather thought aloud than spoke. “Several of the captains
are from north of Tweed.”

“Ay, sir, one is pretty certain of meeting gentlemen from
that part of the island, in almost all situations in life. I
never have understood that Scotland had much of a navy in
ancient times, and yet the moment old England has to pay
for it, the lairds are willing enough to send their children to
sea.”

“Nevertheless it must be owned that they make gallant
and useful officers, Stowel.”

“No doubt they do, sir; but gallant and useful men are
not scarce anywhere. You and I are too old and too experienced,
Admiral Bluewater, to put any faith in the notion
that courage belongs to any particular part of the world, or
usefulness either. I never fought a Frenchman yet that I
thought a coward; and, in my judgment, there are brave
men enough in England to command all her ships, and to
fight them too.”

“Let this be so, Stowel, still we must take things as they
come. What do you think of the night?”

“Dirty enough before morning, I should think, sir, though
it is a little out of rule, that it does not rain with this wind,
already. The next time we come-to, Admiral Bluewater, I
intend to anchor with a shorter scope of cable than we have
been doing lately; for, I begin to think there is no use in
wetting so many yarns in the summer months. They tell
me the York brings up always on forty fathoms.”

“That 's a short range, I should think, for a heavy ship.
But here is a visiter.”

The sentinel opened the cabin-door, and Lord Geoffrey,
with his cap fastened to his head by a pocket-handkerchief,

and his face red with exposure to the wind, entered the
cabin.

“Well,” said Bluewater, quietly; “what is the report
from aloft?”

“The Dover is running down athwart our forefoot, and
nearing us fast, sir,” returned the midshipman. “The York
is close on our weather-beam, edging in to her station; but
I can make out nothing ahead of us, though I was on the
yard twenty minutes.”

“Did you look well on the weather-beam, and thence
forward to the lee-bow?”

“I did, sir; if any light is in view, better eyes than mine
must find it.”

Stowel looked from one to the other, as this short conversation
was held; but, as soon as there was a pause, he put
in a word in behalf of the ship.

“You 've been up forward, my lord?” he said.

“Yes, I have, Captain Stowel.”

“And did you think of seeing how the heel of the top-gallant-mast
stood it, in this sea? Bluff tells me 't is too
loose to be fit for very heavy weather.”

“I did not, sir. I was sent aloft to look out for the ships
of the commander-in-chief's division, and didn't think of the
heel of the top-gallant-mast's being too loose, at all.”

“Ay, that 's the way with all the youngsters, now-a-days.
In my time, or even in yours, Admiral Bluewater, we never
put our feet on a ratlin, but hands and eyes were at work,
until we reached the halting place, even though it should be
the truck. That is the manner to know what a ship is made
of!”

“I kept my hands and eyes at work, too, Captain Stowel;
but it was to hold on well, and to look out well.”

“That will never do—that will never do, if you wish to
make yourself a sailor. Begin with your own ship first;
learn all about her, and then, when you get to be an
admiral, as your father's son, my lord, will be certain to
become, it will be time enough to be inquiring about the rest
of the fleet.”

“You forget, Captain Stowel—”

“That will do, Lord Georffrey,” Bluewater soothingly interposed,
for he knew that the captain preached no more

than he literally practised; “if I am satisfied with your
report, no one else has a right to complain. Desire Sir
Wycherly Wychecombe to meet me on deck, where we will
now go, Stowel, and take a look at the weather for ourselves.”

“With all my heart, Admiral Bluewater, though I 'll just
drink the First Lord's health before we quit this excellent
liquor. That youngster has stuff in him, in spite of his
nobility, and by fetching him up, with round turns, occasionally,
I hope to make a man of him, yet.”

“If he do not grow into that character, physically and
morally, within the next few years, sir, he will be the first
person of his family who has ever failed of it.”

As Bluewater said this, he and the captain left his cabin,
and ascended to the quarter-deck. Here Stowel stopped to
hold a consultation with his first lieutenant, while the admiral
went up the poop-ladder, and joined Cornet. The
last had nothing new to communicate, and as he was permitted
to go below, he was desired to send Wycherly up to
the poop, where the young man would be expected by the
rear-admiral.

Some little time elapsed before the Virginian could be
found; no sooner was this effected, however, than he joined
Bluewater. They had a private conversation of fully half
an hour, pacing the poop the whole time, and then Cornet
was summoned back, again, to his usual station. The latter
immediately received an order to acquaint Captain Stowel
the rear-admiral desired that the Cæsar might be hoveto,
and to make a signal for the Druid 36, to come under
the flag-ship's lee, and back her main-top-sail. No sooner
did this order reach the quarter-deck than the watch was
sent to the braces, and the main-yard was rounded in, until
the portion of sail that was still set lay against the mast.
This deadened the way of the huge body, which rose and
fell heavily in the seas, as they washed under her, scarcely
large enough to lift the burthen it imposed upon them. Just
at this instant, the signal was made.

The sudden check to the movement of the Cæsar brought
the Dublin booming up in the darkness, when putting her
helm up, that ship surged slowly past to leeward, resembling
a black mountain moving by in the gloom. She was hailed

and directed to heave-to, also, as soon as far enough ahead.
The Elizabeth followed, clearing the flag-ship by merely
twenty fathoms, and receiving a similar order. The Druid
had been on the admiral's weather-quarter, but she now
came gliding down, with the wind abeam, taking room to
back her top-sail under the Cæsar's lee-bow. By this time
a cutter was in the water, rising six or eight feet up the
black side of the ship, and sinking as low apparently beneath
her bottom, and then Wycherly reported himself as
ready to proceed.

“You will not forget, sir,” said Bluewater, “any part
of my commission; but inform the commander-in-chief of
the whole. It may be important that we understand each
other fully. You will also hand him this letter which I
have hastily written while the boat was getting ready.”

“I think I understand your wishes, sir;—at least, I hope
so;—and I will endeavour to execute them.”

“God bless you, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe,” added
Bluewater, with emotion. “We may never meet again;
we sailors carry uncertain lives; and we may be said to
carry them in our hands.”

Wycherly took his leave of the admiral, and he ran
down the poop-ladder to descend into the boat. Twice he
paused on the quarter-deck, however, in the manner of one
who felt disposed to return and ask some explanation; but
each time he moved on, decided to proceed.

It needed all the agility of our young sailor to get safely
into the boat. This done, the oars fell and the cutter was
driven swiftly away to leeward. In a few minutes, it shot
beneath the lee of the frigate, and discharged its freight.
Wycherly could not have been three minutes on the deck
of the Druid, ere her yards were braced up, and her topsail
filled with a heavy flap. This caused her to draw
slowly ahead. Five minutes later, however, a white cloud
was seen dimly fluttering over her hull, and the reefed main-sail
was distended to the wind. The effect was so instantaneous
that the frigate seemed to glide away from the flag-ship,
and in a quarter of an hour, under her three top-sails
double-reefed, and her courses, she was a mile distant on
her weather-bow. Those who watched her movements
without understanding them, observed that she lowered her

light, and appeared to detach herself from the rest of the
division.

It was some time before the Cæsar's boat was enabled to
pull up against the tide, wind, and sea. When this hard
task was successfully accomplished, the ship filled, passed
the Dublin and Elizabeth, and resumed her place in the line.

Bluewater paced the poop an hour longer, having dismissed
his signal-officer and the quarter-masters to their
hammocks. Even Stowel had turned in, nor did Mr. Bluff
deem it necessary to remain on deck any longer. At the
end of the hour, the rear-admiral bethought him of retiring
too. Before he quitted the poop, however, he stood at the
weather-ladder, holding on to the mizzen-rigging, and gazing
at the scene.

The wind had increased, as had the sea, but it was not
yet a gale. The York had long before hauled up in her
station, a cable's length ahead of the Cæsar, and was standing
on, under the same canvass as the flag-ship, looking
stately and black. The Dover was just shooting into her
berth, under the standing sailing-orders, at the same distance
ahead of the York; visible, but much less distinct and
imposing. The sloop and the cutter were running along, under
the lee of the heavy ships, a quarter of a mile distant, each
vessel keeping her relative position, by close attention to
her canvass. Further than this, nothing was in sight. The
sea had that wild mixture of brightness and gloom, which
belongs to the element when much agitated in a dark night,
while the heavens were murky and threatening.

Within the ship, all was still. Here and there a lantern
threw its wavering light around, but the shadows of the
masts and guns, and other objects, rendered this relief to
the night trifling. The lieutenant of the watch paced the
weather side of the quarter-deck, silent but attentive. Occasionally
he hailed the look-outs, and admonished them to be
vigilant, also, and at each turn he glanced upward to see
how the top-sail stood. Four or five old and thoughtful seamen
walked the waist and forecastle, but most of the watch
were stowed between the guns, or in the best places they
could find, under the lee of the bulwarks, catching cat's
naps. This was an indulgence denied the young gentlemen,
of whom one was on the forecastle, leaning against the

mast, dreaming of home, one in the waist, supporting the
nettings, and one walking the lee-side of the quarter-deck,
his eyes shut, his thoughts confused, and his footing uncertain.
As Bluewater stepped on the quarter-deck-ladder, to
descend to his own cabin, the youngster hit his foot against
an eye-bolt, and fetched away plump up against his superior.
Bluewater caught the lad in his arms, and saved him from
a fall, setting him fairly on his feet before he let him go.

“'T is seven bells, Geoffrey,” said the admiral, in an
under tone. “Hold on for half an hour longer, and then
go dream of your dear mother.”

Before the boy could recover himself to thank his superior,
the latter had disappeared.