University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Rear-Admiral Bluewater found Sir Gervaise Oakes
pacing a large dressing-room, quarter-deck fashion, with as
much zeal, as if just released from a long sitting, on official
duty, in his own cabin. As the two officers were perfectly

familiar with each other's personal habits, neither deviated
from his particular mode of indulging his ease; but the last
comer quietly took his seat in a large chair, disposing of his
person in a way to show he intended to consult his comfort,
let what would happen.

“Bluewater,” commenced Sir Gervaise, “this is a very
foolish affair of the Pretender's son, and can only lead to his
destruction. I look upon it as altogether unfortunate.”

“That, as it may terminate. No man can tell what a
day, or an hour, may bring forth. I am sure, such a rising
was one of the last things I have been anticipating, down
yonder, in the Bay of Biscay.”

“I wish, with all my heart, we had never left it,” muttered
Sir Gervaise, so low that his companion did not hear
him. Then he added, in a louder tone, “Our duty, however,
is very simple. We have only to obey orders; and it
seems that the young man has no naval force to sustain
him. We shall probably be sent to watch Brest, or l'Orient,
or some other port. Monsieur must be kept in, let what
will happen.”

“I rather think it would be better to let him out, our
chances on the high seas being at least as good as his own.
I am no friend to blockades, which strike me as an un-English
mode of carrying on a war.”

“You are right enough, Dick, in the main,” returned Sir
Gervaise, laughing.

“Ay, and on the main, Oakes. I sincerely hope the
First Lord will not send a man like you, who are every way
so capable of giving an account of your enemy with plenty
of sea-room, on duty so scurvy as a blockade.”

“A man like me! Why a man like me, in particular?
I trust I am to have the pleasure of Admiral Bluewater's
company, advice, and assistance?”

“An inferior never can know, Sir Gervaise, where it may
suit the pleasure of his superiors to order him.”

“That distinction of superior and inferior, Bluewater, will
one day lead you into a confounded scrape, I fear. If you
consider Charles Stuart your sovereign, it is not probable
that orders issued by a servant of King George will be much
respected. I hope you will do nothing hastily, or without
consulting your oldest and truest friend!”

“You know my sentiments, and there is little use in
dwelling on them, now. So long as the quarrel was between
my own country and a foreign land, I have been content to
serve; but when my lawful prince, or his son and heir,
comes in this gallant and chivalrous manner, throwing himself,
as it might be, into the very arms of his subjects, confiding
all to their loyalty and spirit; it makes such an appeal
to every nobler feeling, that the heart finds it difficult to repulse.
I could have joined Norris, with right good will, in
dispersing and destroying the armament that Louis XV. was
sending against us, in this very cause; but here every thing
is English, and Englishmen have the quarrel entirely to
themselves. I do not see how, as a loyal subject of my
hereditary prince, I can well refrain from joining his standard.”

“And would you, Dick Bluewater, who, to my certain
knowledge, were sent on board ship at twelve years of age,
and who, for more than forty years, have been a man-of-war's-man,
body and soul; would you now strip your old
hulk of the sea-blue that has so long covered and become it,
rig yourself out like a soldier, with a feather in your hat,—
ay, d—e, and a camp-kettle on your arm, and follow a
drummer, like one of your kinsmen, Lord Bluewater's fellows
of the guards?—for of sailors, your lawful prince, as
you call him, hasn't enough to stopper his conscience, or to
whip the tail of his coat, to keep it from being torn to tatters
by the heather of Scotland. If you do follow the adventurer,
it must be in some such character, since I question
if he can muster a seaman, to tell him the bearings of London
from Perth.”

“When I join him, he will be better off.”

“And what could even you do alone, among a parcel of
Scotchmen, running about their hills under bare poles? Your
signals will not manœuvre regiments, and as for manœuvring
in any other manner, you know nothing. No—no; stay
where you are, and help an old friend with knowledge that
is useful to him.—I should be afraid to do a dashing thing,
unless I felt the certainty of having you in my van, to strike
the first blow; or in my rear, to bring me off, handsomely.”

“You would be afraid of nothing, Gervaise Oakes,

whether I stood at your elbow, or were off in Scotland.
Fear is not your failing, though temerity may be.”

“Then I want your presence to keep me within the bounds
of reason,” said Sir Gervaise, stopping short in his walk,
and looking his friend smilingly in the face. “In some
mode, or other, I always need your aid.”

“I understand the meaning of your words, Sir Gervaise,
and appreciate the feeling that dictates them. You must
have a perfect conviction that I will do nothing hastily, and
that I will betray no trust. When I turn my back on King
George, it will be loyally, in one sense, whatever he may
think of it in another; and when I join Prince Charles Edward,
it will be with a conscience that he need not be
ashamed to probe. What names he bears! They are the
designations of ancient English sovereigns, and ought of
themselves, to awaken the sensibilities of Englishmen.”

“Ay, Charles in particular,” returned the vice-admiral,
with something like a sneer. “There's the second Charles,
for instance—St. Charles, as our good host, Sir Wycherly,
might call him — he is a pattern prince for Englishmen to
admire. Then his father was of the school of the Star-Chamber
martyrs!”

“Both were lineal descendants of the Conqueror, and of
the Saxon princes; and both united the double titles to the
throne, in their sacred persons. I have always considered
Charles II. as the victim of the rebellious conduct of his
subjects, rather than vicious. He was driven abroad into a
most corrupt state of society, and was perverted by our
wickedness. As to the father, he was the real St. Charles,
and a martyred saint he was; dying for true religion, as
well as for his legal rights. Then the Edwards—glorious
fellows! — remember that they were all but one Plantagenets;
a name, of itself, to rouse an Englishman's fire!”

“And yet the only difference between the right of these
very Plantagenets to the throne, and that of the reigning
prince, is, that one produced a revolution by the strong hand,
and the other was produced by a revolution that came from
the nation. I do not know that your Plantagenets ever did
any thing for a navy; the only real source of England's
power and glory. D—e, Dick, if I think so much of
your Plantagenets, after all!”

“And yet the name of Oakes is to be met with among
their bravest knights, and most faithful followers.”

“The Oakes, like the pines, have been timbers in every
ship that has floated,” returned the vice-admiral, half-unconscious
himself, of the pun he was making.

For more than a minute Sir Gervaise continued his walk,
his head a little inclined forward, like a man who pondered
deeply on some matter of interest. Then, suddenly stopping,
he turned towards his friend, whom he regarded for
near another minute, ere he resumed the discourse.

“I wish I could fairly get you to exercise your excellent
reason on this matter, Dick,” he said, after the pause; “then
I should be certain of having secured you on the side of
liberty.”

Admiral Bluewater merely shook his head, but he continued
silent, as if he deemed discussion altogether supererogatory.
During this pause, a gentle tap at the door announced
a visiter; and, at the request to enter, Atwood made his appearance.
He held in his hand a large package, which
bore on the envelope the usual stamp that indicated it was
sent on public service.

“I beg pardon, Sir Gervaise,” commenced the secretary,
who always proceeded at once to business, when business
was to be done; “but His Majesty's service will not admit
of delay. This packet has just come to hand, by the arrival
of an express, which left the admiralty only yesterday noon.”

“And how the devil did he know where to find me!” exclaimed
the vice-admiral, holding out a hand to receive the
communication.

“It is all owing to this young lieutenant's forethought in
following up the Jacobite intelligence to a market-town.
The courier was bound to Falmouth, as fast as post-horses
could carry him, when he heard, luckily, that the fleet lay
at anchor, under Wychecombe Head; and, quite as luckily,
he is an officer who had the intelligence to know that you
would sooner get the despatches, if he turned aside, and
came hither by land, than if he went on to Falmouth, got
aboard the sloop that was to sail with him, for the Bay of
Biscay, and came round here by water.”

Sir Gervaise smiled at this sally, which was one in keeping
with all Atwood's feelings; for the secretary had matured

a system of expresses, which, to his great mortification,
his patron laughed at, and the admiralty entirely overlooked.
No time was lost, however, in the way of business; the
secretary having placed the candles on a table, where Sir
Gervaise took a chair, and had already broken a seal. The
process of reading, nevertheless, was suddenly interrupted
by the vice-admiral's looking up, and exclaiming—

“Why, you are not about to leave us, Bluewater?”

“You may have private business with Mr. Atwood, Sir
Gervaise, and perhaps I had better retire.”

Now, it so happened, that while Sir Gervaise Oakes had
never, by look or syllable, as he confidently believed, betrayed
the secret of his friend's Jacobite propensities,
Atwood was perfectly aware of their existence. Nor had
the latter obtained his knowledge by any unworthy means.
He had been neither an eavesdropper, nor an inquirer into
private communications, as so often happens around the persons
of men in high trusts; all his knowledge having been
obtained through native sagacity and unavoidable opportunities.
On the present occasion, the secretary, with the tact
of a man of experience, felt that his presence might be dispensed
with; and he cut short the discussion between the
two admirals, by a very timely remark of his own.

“I have left the letters uncopied, Sir Gervaise,” he said,
“and will go and finish them. A message by Locker”—
this was Sir Gervaise's body-servant—“will bring me back
at a moment's notice, should you need me again to-night.”

“That Atwood has a surprising instinct, for a Scotchman!”
exclaimed the vice-admiral, as soon as the door was
closed on the secretary. “He not only knows when he is
wanted, but when he is not wanted. The last is an extraordinary
attainment, for one of his nation.”

“And one that an Englishman may do well to emulate,”
returned Bluewater. “It is possible my company may be
dispensed with, also, just at this important moment.”

“You are not so much afraid of the Hanoverians, Dick,
as to run away from their hand-writing, are ye! Ha —
what's this?—As I live, a packet for yourself, and directed
to `Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Bluewater, K. B.' By the
Lord, my old boy, they 've given you the red riband at

last! This is an honour well earned, and which may be
fitly worn.”

“'Tis rather unexpected, I must own. The letter, however,
cannot be addressed to me, as I am not a knight of
the Bath.”

“This is rank nonsense. Open the packet, at once, or I
will do it for you. Are there two Dick Bluewaters in the
world, or another rear-admiral of the same name?”

“I would rather not receive a letter that does not strictly
bear my address,” returned the other, coldly.

“As I 'll be sworn this does. But hand it to me, since
you are so scrupulous, and I will do that small service for
you.”

As this was said, Sir Gervaise tore aside the seals; and,
as he proceeded rather summarily, a red riband was soon
uncased and fell upon the carpet. The other usual insignia
of the Bath made their appearance, and a letter was found
among them, to explain the meaning of all. Every thing
was in due form, and went to acquaint Rear-Admiral Bluewater,
that His Majesty had been graciously pleased to confer
on him one of the vacant red ribands of the day, as a
reward for his eminent services on different occasions.
There was even a short communication from the premier,
expressing the great satisfaction of the ministry in thus being
able to second the royal pleasure, with hearty good will.

“Well, what do you think of that, Richard Bluewater?”
asked Sir Gervaise, triumphantly. “Did I not always tell
you, that sooner or later, it must come.”

“It has come too late, then,” coldly returned the other,
laying the riband, jewels, and letters quietly on the table.
“This is an honour, I can receive, now, only from my
rightful prince. None other can legally create a knight of
the Bath.”

“And pray, Mr. Richard Bluewater, who made you a
captain, a commander, a rear-admiral? Do you believe me
an impostor, because I wear this riband on authority no
better than that of the house of Hanover? Am I, or am I
not, in your judgment, a vice-admiral of the red?”

“I make a great distinction, Oakes, between rank in the
navy, and a mere personal dignity. In the one case, you
serve your country, and give quite as much as you receive;

whereas, in the other, it is a grace to confer consideration
on the person honoured, without such an equivalent as can
find an apology for accepting a rank illegally conferred.”

“The devil take your distinctions, which would unsettle
every thing, and render the service a Babel. If I am a
vice-admiral of the red, I am a knight of the Bath; and, if
you are a rear-admiral of the white, you are also a knight
of that honourable order. All comes from the same source
of authority, and the same fountain of honour.”

“I do not view it thus. Our commissions are from the
admiralty, which represents the country; but dignities come
from the prince who happens to reign, let his title be what
it may.”

“Do you happen to think Richard III. a usurper, or a
lawful prince?”

“A usurper, out of all question; and a murderer to boot.
His name should be struck from the list of English kings.
I never hear it, without execrating him, and his deeds.”

“Pooh—pooh, Dick, this is talking more like a poet, than
a seaman. If only one-half the sovereigns who deserve to
be execrated had their names erased, the list of even our
English kings would be rather short; and some countries
would be without historical kings at all. However much
Richard III. may deserve cashiering in this summary manner,
his peers and laws are just as good as any other
prince's peers and laws. Witness the Duke of Norfolk, for
instance.”

“Ay, that cannot be helped by me; but it is in my power
to prevent Richard Bluewater's being made a knight of the
Bath, by George II.; and the power shall be used.”

“It would seem not, as he is already created; and I dare
to say, gazetted.”

“The oaths are not yet taken, and it is, at least, an Englishman's
birth-right, to decline an honour; if, indeed, this
can be esteemed an honour, at all.”

“Upon my word, Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Bluewater,
you are disposed to be complimentary, to-night! The unworthy
knight present, and all the rest of the order, are
infinitely indebted to you!”

“Your case and mine, Oakes, are essentially different,”
returned the other, with some emotion in his voice and manner.

“Your riband was fairly won, fighting the battles
of England, and can be worn with credit to yourself and to
your country; but these baubles are sent to me, at a moment
when a rising was foreseen, and as a sop to keep me
in good-humour, as well as to propitiate the whole Bluewater
interest.”

“That is pure conjecture, and I dare say will prove to be
altogether a mistake. Here are the despatches to speak for
themselves; and, as it is scarcely possible that the ministry
should have known of this rash movement of the Pretender's
son, more than a few days, my life on it, the dates will show
that your riband was bestowed before the enterprise was
even suspected.”

As Sir Gervaise commenced, with his constitutional ardour,
to turn over the letters, as soon as his mind was directed to
this particular object, Admiral Bluewater resumed his seat,
awaiting the result, with not a little curiosity; though, at
the same time, with a smile of incredulity. The examination
disappointed Sir Gervaise Oakes. The dates proved
that the ministers were better informed than he had supposed;
for it appeared they had been apprised about the
time he was himself of the intended movement. His orders
were to bring the fleet north, and in substance to do the very
thing his own sagacity had dictated. So far every thing
was well; and he could not entertain a doubt about receiving
the hearty approbation of his superiors, for the course
he had taken. But here his gratification ended; for, on
looking at the dates of the different communications, it was
evident that the red riband was bestowed after the intelligence
of the Pretender's movement had reached London. A
private letter, from a friend at the Board of Admiralty, too,
spoke of his own probable promotion to the rank of admiral
of the blue; and mentioned several other similar preferments,
in a way to show that the government was fortifying
itself, in the present crisis, as much as possible, by
favours. This was a politic mode of procedure, with ordinary
men, it is true; but with officers of the elevation of
mind, and of the independence of character of our two admirals,
it was most likely to produce disgust.

“D—n 'em, Dick,” cried Sir Gervaise, as he threw
down the last letter of the package, with no little sign of

feeling; “you might take St. Paul, or even Wychecombe's
dead brother, St. James the less, and put him at court, and
he would come out a thorough blackguard, in a week!”

“That is not the common opinion concerning a court
education,” quietly replied the friend; “most people fancying
that the place gives refinement of manners, if not of
sentiment.”

“Poh—poh—you and I have no need of a dictionary to
understand each other. I call a man who never trusts to a
generous motive—who thinks it always necessary to bribe
or cajole—who has no idea of anything's being done without
its direct quid pro quo, a scurvy blackguard, though he
has the airs and graces of Phil. Stanhope, or Chesterfield,
as he is now. What do you think them chaps at the Board,
talk of doing, by way of clinching my loyalty, at this blessed
juncture?”

“No doubt to get you raised to the peerage. I see nothing
so much out of the way in the thing. You are of one
of the oldest families of England, are the sixth baronet by
inheritance, and have a noble landed estate, which is none
the worse for prize-money. Sir Gervaise Oakes of Bowldero,
would make a very suitable Lord Bowldero.”

“If it were only that, I shouldn't mind it; for nothing is
easier than to refuse a peerage. I've done that twice already,
and can do it a third time, at need. But one can't
very well refuse promotion in his regular profession; and,
here, just as a true gentleman would depend on the principles
of an officer, the hackneyed consciences of your courtiers
have suggested the expediency of making Gervaise
Oakes an admiral of the blue, by way of sop! — me, who
was made vice-admiral of the red, only six months since,
and who take an honest pride in boasting that every commission,
from the lowest to the highest, has been fairly
earned in battle!”

“They think it a more delicate service, perhaps, for a
gentleman to be true to the reigning house, when so loud an
appeal is made to his natural loyalty; and therefore class
the self-conquest with a victory at sea!”

“They are so many court-lubbers, and I should like to
have an opportunity of speaking my mind to them. I 'll

not take the new commission; for every one must see, Dick,
that it is a sop.”

“Ay, that 's just my notion, too, about the red riband;
and I 'll not take that. You have had the riband these ten
years, have declined the peerage twice, and their only
chance is the promotion. Take it you ought, and must,
however, as it will be the means of pushing on some four or
five poor devils, who have been wedged up to honours, in
this manner, ever since they were captains. I am glad they
do not talk of promoting me, for I should hardly know how
to refuse such a grace. There is great virtue in parchment,
with all us military men.”

“Still it must be parchment fairly won. I think you are
wrong, notwithstanding, Bluewater, in talking of refusing
the riband, which is so justly your due, for a dozen different
acts. There is not a man in the service, who has
been less rewarded for what he has done, than yourself.”

“I am sorry to hear you give this as your opinion; for
just at this moment, I would rather think that I have no
cause of complaint, in this way, against the reigning family,
or its ministers. I 'm sure I was posted when quite a young
man, and since that time, no one has been lifted over my
head.”

The vice-admiral looked intently at his friend; for never
before had he detected a feeling which betrayed, as he fancied,
so settled a determination in him to quit the service of
the powers that were. Acquainted from boyhood with all
the workings of the other's mind, he perceived that the rear-admiral
had been endeavouring to persuade himself that no
selfish or unworthy motive could be assigned to an act
which he felt to proceed from disinterested chivalry, just as
he himself broke out with his expression of an opinion that
no officer had been less liberally rewarded for his professional
services than his friend. While there is no greater
mystery to a selfish manager, than a man of disinterested
temperament, they who feel and submit to generous impulses,
understand each other with an instinctive facility.
When any particular individual is prone to believe that
there is a predominance of good over evil in the world he
inhabits, it is a sign of inexperience or of imbecility; but
when one acts and reasons as if all honour and virtue are

extinct, he furnishes the best possible argument against his
own tendencies and character. It has often been remarked
that stronger friendships are made between those who have
different personal peculiarities, than between those whose
sameness of feeling and impulses would be less likely to
keep interest alive; but, in all cases of intimacies, there
must be great identity of principles, and even of tastes in
matters at all connected with motives, in order to ensure
respect, among those whose standard of opinion is higher
than common, or sympathy among those with whom it is
lower. Such was the fact, as respected Admirals Oakes
and Bluewater. No two men could be less alike in temperament,
or character, physically, and in some senses, morally
considered; but, when it came to principles, or all those
tastes or feelings that are allied to principles, there was a
strong native, as well as acquired affinity. This union of
sentiment was increased by common habits, and professional
careers so long and so closely united, as to be almost identical.
Nothing was easier, consequently, than for Sir Gervaise
Oakes to comprehend the workings of Admiral Bluewater's
mind, as the latter endeavoured to believe he had
been fairly treated by the existing government. Of course,
the reasoning which passed through the thoughts of Sir
Gervaise, on this occasion, required much less time than we
have taken to explain its nature; and, after regarding his
friend intently, as already related, for a few seconds, he
answered as follows; a good deal influenced, unwittingly to
himself, with the wish to check the other's Jacobite propensities.

“I am sorry not to be able to agree with you, Dick,” he
said, with some warmth. “So far from thinking you well
treated, by any ministry, these twenty years, I think you
have been very ill treated. Your rank you have, beyond
a question; for of that no brave officer can well be deprived
in a regulated service; but, have you had the commands to
which you are entitled?—I was a commander-in-chief when
only a rear-admiral of the blue; and then how long did I
wear a broad pennant, before I got a flag, at all!”

“You forget how much I have been with you. When
two serve together, one must command, and the other must
obey. So far from complaining of these Hanoverian Boards,

and First Lords, it seems to me that they have always kept
in view the hollowness of their claims to the throne, and
have felt a desire to purchase honest men by their favours.”

“You are the strangest fellow, Dick Bluewater, it has
ever been my lot to fall in with! D—e me, if I believe
you know always, when you are ill treated. There are a
dozen men in service, who have had separate commands,
and who are not half as well entitled to them, as you are
yourself.”

“Come, come, Oakes, this is getting to be puerile, for two
old fellows, turned of fifty. You very well know that I
was offered just as good a fleet, as this of your own, with a
choice of the whole list of flag-officers below me, to pick a
junior from; and, so, we'll say no more about it. As respects
their red riband, however, it may go a-begging for
me.”

Sir Gervaise was about to answer in his former vein,
when a tap at the door announced the presence of another
visiter. This time the door opened on the person of Galleygo,
who had been included in Sir Wycherly's hospitable
plan of entertaining every soul who immediately belonged
to the suite of Sir Gervaise.

“What the d—l has brought you here!” exclaimed the
vice-admiral, a little warmly; for he did not relish an interruption
just at this moment. “Recollect you 're not on
board the Plantagent, but in the dwelling of a gentleman,
where there are both butler and housekeeper, and who have
no occasion for your advice, or authority, to keep things in
order.”

“Well, there, Sir Gervaise I doesn't agree with you the
least bit; for I thinks as a ship's steward—I mean a cabin
steward, and a good 'un of the quality — might do a great
deal of improvement in this very house. The cook and I
has had a partic'lar dialogue on them matters, already;
and I mentioned to her the names of seven different dishes,
every one of which she quite as good as admitted to me,
was just the same as so much gospel to her.”

“I shall have to quarantine this fellow, in the long run,
Bluewater! I do believe if I were to take him to Lambeth
Palace, or even to St. James's, he 'd thrust his oar into the
archbishop's benedictions, or the queen's caudle-cup!”

“Well, Sir Gervaise, where would be the great harm, if
I did? A man as knows the use of an oar, may be trusted
with one, even in a church, or an abbey. When your
honour comes to hear what the dishes was, as Sir Wycherly's
cook had never heard on, you 'll think it as great a
cur'osity as I do myself. If I had just leave to name 'em
over, I think as both you gentlemen would look at it as
remarkable.”

“What are they, Galleygo?” inquired Bluewater, putting
one of his long legs over an arm of the adjoining chair,
in order to indulge himself in a yarn with his friend's steward,
with greater freedom; for he greatly delighted in Galleygo's
peculiarities; seeing just enough of the fellow to
find amusement, without annoyance in them. “I'll answer
for Sir Gervaise, who is always a little diffident about
boasting of the superiority of a ship, over a house.”

“Yes, your honour, that he is — that is just one of Sir
Jarvy's weak p'ints, as a body might say. Now, I never
goes ashore, without trimming sharp up, and luffing athwart
every person's hawse, I fall in with; which is as much as
to tell 'em, I belongs to a flag-ship, and a racer, and a craft
as hasn't her equal on salt-water; no disparagement to the
bit of bunting at the mizzen-top-gallant-mast-head of the
Cæsar, or to the ship that carries it. I hopes, as we are
so well acquainted, Admiral Bluewater, no offence will be
taken.”

“Where none is meant, none ought to be taken, my
friend. Now let us hear your bill-of-fare.”

“Well, sir, the very first dish I mentioned to Mrs. Larder,
Sir Wycherly's cook, was lobscous; and, would you believe
it, gentlemen, the poor woman had never heard of it!
I began with a light hand, as it might be, just not to overwhelm
her with knowledge, at a blow, as Sir Jarvy captivated
the French frigate with the upper tier of guns, that he
might take her alive, like.”

“And the lady knew nothing of a lobscous — neither of
its essence, nor nature?”

“There 's no essences as is ever put in a lobscous, besides
potaties, Admiral Bluewater; thof we make 'em in the
old Planter”—nautice for Plantagenet—“in so liquorish a
fashion, you might well think they even had Jamaiky, in

'em. No, potaties is the essence of lobscous; and a very
good thing is a potatie, Sir Jarvy, when a ship's company
has been on salted oakum for a few months.”

“Well, what was the next dish the good woman broke
down under?” asked the rear-admiral, fearful the master
might order the servant to quit the room; while he, himself,
was anxious to get rid of any further political discussion.

“Well, sir, she knowed no more of a chowder, than if
the sea wern't in the neighbourhood, and there wern't such
a thing as a fish in all England. When I talked to her of
a chowder, she gave in, like a Spaniard at the fourth or fifth
broadside.”

“Such ignorance is disgraceful, and betokens a decline in
civilization! But, you hoisted out more knowledge for her
benefit, Galleygo—small doses of learning are poor things.”

“Yes, your honour; just like weak grog—burning the
priming, without starting the shot. To be sure, I did, Admiral
Blue. I just named to her burgoo, and then I mentioned
duff (anglice dough) to her, but she denied that there
was any such things in the cookery-book. Do you know, Sir
Jarvy, as these here shore craft get their dinners, as our
master gets the sun; all out of a book, as it might be.
Awful tidings, too, gentlemen, about the Pretender's son;
and I s'pose we shall have to take the fleet up into Scotland,
as I fancy them 'ere sogers will not make much of a hand
in settling law?”

“And have you honoured us with a visit, just to give us
an essay on dishes, and to tell us what you intend to do
with the fleet?” demanded Sir Gervaise, a little more sternly
than he was accustomed to speak to the steward.

“Lord bless you, Sir Jarvy, I didn't dream of one or
t'other! As for telling you, or Admiral Blue, (so the seamen
used to call the second in rank,) here, anything about
lobscous, or chowder, why, it would be carrying coals to
New Market. I 've fed ye both with all such articles, when
ye was nothing but young gentlemen; and when you was
no longer young gentlemen, too, but a couple of sprightly
luffs, of nineteen. And as for moving the fleet, I know,
well enough, that will never happen, without our talking it
over in the old Planter's cabin; which is a much more

nat'ral place for such a discourse, than any house in England!”

“May I take the liberty of inquiring, then, what did bring
you here?”

“That you may, with all my heart, Sir Jarvy, for I likes
to answer your questions. My errand is not to your honour
this time, though you are my master. It's no great matter,
after all, being just to hand this bit of a letter over to Admiral
Blue.”

“And where did this letter come from, and how did it
happen to fall into your hands?” demanded Bluewater,
looking at the superscription, the writing of which he appeared
to recognise.

“It hails from Lun'nun, I hear; and they tell me it's to
be a great secret that you 've got it, at all. The history of
the matter is just this. An officer got in to-night, with
orders for us, carrying sail as hard as his shay would bear.
It seems he fell in with Master Atwood, as he made his landfall,
and being acquainted with that gentleman, he just
whipped out his orders, and sent 'em off to the right man.
Then he laid his course for the landing, wishing to get
aboard of the Dublin, to which he is ordered; but falling
in with our barge, as I landed, he wanted to know the where-away
of Admiral Blue, here; believing him to be afloat.
Some 'un telling him as I was a friend and servant of both
admirals, as it might be, he turned himself over to me for
advice. So I promised to deliver the letter, as I had a thousand
afore, and knowed the way of doing such things; and
he gives me the letter, under special orders, like; that is to
say, it was to be handed to the rear-admiral as it might be
under the lee of the mizzen-stay-sail, or in a private fashion.
Well, gentlemen, you both knows I understand that, too,
and so I undertook the job.”

“And I have got to be so insignificant a person that I
pass for no one, in your discriminating mind, Master Galleygo!”
exclaimed the vice-admiral, sharply. “I have suspected
as much, these five-and-twenty years.”

“Lord bless you, Sir Jarvy, how flag-officers will make
mistakes sometimes! They 're mortal, I says to the people
of the galley, and have their appetites false, just like the
young gentlemen, when they get athwart-hawse of a body,

I says. Now, I count Admiral Blue and yourself pretty
much as one man, seeing that you keep few, or no secrets
from each other. I know'd ye both as young gentlemen,
and then you loved one another like twins; and then I
know'd ye as luffs, when ye 'd walk the deck the whole
watch, spinning yarns; and then I know'd ye as Pillardees
and Arrestee, though one pillow might have answered for
both; and as for Arrest, I never know'd either of ye to get
into that scrape. As for telling a secret to one, I've always
looked upon it as pretty much telling it to t' other.”

The two admirals exchanged glances, and the look of
kindness that each met in the eyes of his friend removed
every shadow that had been cast athwart their feelings, by
the previous discourse.

“That will do, Galleygo,” returned Sir Gervaise, mildly.
“You're a good fellow in the main, though a villanously
rough one—”

“A little of old Boreus, Sir Jarvy,” interrupted the steward,
with a grim smile; “but it blows harder at sea than
it does ashore. These chaps on land, ar'n't battened down,
and caulked for such weather, as we sons of Neptun' is obligated
to face.”

“Quite true, and so good-night. Admiral Bluewater and
myself wish to confer together, for half an hour; all that it
is proper for you to know, shall be communicated another
time.”

“Good-night, and God bless your honour. Good-night,
Admiral Blue: we three is the men as can keep any secret
as ever floated, let it draw as much water as it pleases.”

Sir Gervaise Oakes stopped in his walk, and gazed at his
friend with manifest interest, as he perceived that Admiral
Bluewater was running over his letter for the third time.
Being now without a witness, he did not hesitate to express
his apprehensions.

“'T is as I feared, Dick!” he cried. “That letter is from
some prominent partisan of Edward Stuart?”

The rear-admiral turned his eyes on the face of his friend,
with an expression that was difficult to read; and then he
ran over the contents of the epistle, for the fourth time.

“A set of precious rascals they are, Gervaise!” at length
the rear-admiral exclaimed. “If the whole court was

culled, I question if enough honesty could be found to leaven
one puritan scoundrel. Tell me if you know this hand,
Oakes? I question if you ever saw it before.”

The superscription of the letter was held out to Sir Gervaise,
who, after a close examination, declared himself
unacquainted with the writing.

“I thought as much,” resumed Bluewater, carefully tearing
the signature from the bottom of the page, and burning
it in a candle; “let this disgraceful part of the secret die,
at least. The fellow who wrote this, has put `confidential'
at the top of his miserable scrawl; and a most confident
scoundrel he is, for his pains. However, no man has a
right to thrust himself, in this rude manner, between me and
my oldest friend; and least of all will I consent to keep this
piece of treachery from your knowledge. I do more than
the rascal merits in concealing his name; nevertheless, I
shall not deny myself the pleasure of sending him such an
answer as he deserves. Read that, Oakes, and then say if
keelhauling would be too good for the writer.”

Sir Gervaise took the letter in silence, though not without
great surprise, and began to peruse it. As he proceeded,
the colour mounted to his temples, and once he dropped his
hand, to cast a look of wonder and indignation towards his
companion. That the reader may see how much occasion
there was for both these feelings, we shall give the communication
entire. It was couched in the following words:

When Sir Gervaise had perused this precious epistle to
himself, he read it slowly, and in a steady, clear voice,
aloud. When he had ended, he dropped the paper, and
stood gazing at his friend.

“One would think the fellow some exquisite satirist,”
said Bluewater, laughing. “I am to be vigilant, and see
that you do not mutiny, and run away with the fleet to the
Highlands, one of these foggy mornings! Carry it up into
Scotland, as Galleygo has it! Now, what is your opinion
of that letter?”

“That all courtiers are knaves, and all princes ungrateful.
I should think my loyalty to the good cause, if not to
the man, the last in England to be suspected.”

“Nor is it suspected, in the smallest degree. My life on
it, neither the reigning monarch, nor his confidential servants,
are such arrant dunces, as to be guilty of so much
weakness. No, this masterly move is intended to secure
me, by creating a confidence that they think no generous-minded
man would betray. It is a hook, delicately baited
to catch a gudgeon, and not an order to watch a whale.”

“Can the scoundrels be so mean—nay, dare they be so
bold! They must have known you would show me the
letter.”

“Not they—they have reasoned on my course, as they
would on their own. Nothing catches a weak man sooner
than a pretended confidence of this nature; and I dare say
this blackguard rates me just high enough to fancy I may
be duped in this flimsy manner. Put your mind at rest;
King George knows he may confide in you, while I think it
probable I am distrusted.”

“I hope, Dick, you do not suspect my discretion! My
own secret would not be half so sacred with me.”

“I know that, full well. Of you, I entertain no distrust,
either in heart or head; of myself, I am not quite so certain.
When we feel, we do not always reason; and there
is as much feeling, as anything else, in this matter.”

“Not a line is there, in all my despatches, that go to betray
the slightest distrust of me, or any one else. You are
spoken of, but it is in a manner to gratify you, rather than
to alarm. Take, and read them all; I intended to show
them to you, as soon as we had got through with that cursed
discussion.”

As Sir Gervaise concluded, he threw the whole package
of letters on the table, before his friend.

“It will be time enough, when you summon me regularly
to a council of war,” returned Bluewater, laying the letters
gently aside. “Perhaps we had better sleep on this affair;
in the morning we shall meet with cooler heads, and just as
warm hearts.”

“Good-night, Dick,” said Sir Gervaise, holding out both
hands for the other to shake as he passed him, in quitting
the room.

“Good-night, Gervaise; let this miserable devil go over-board,
and think no more of him. I have half a mind to
ask you for a leave, to-morrow, just to run up to London,
and cut off his ears.”

Sir Gervaise laughed and nodded his head, and the two
friends parted, with feelings as kind as ever had distinguished
their remarkable career.