 | CHAPTER VIII. The two admirals |  |
8. CHAPTER VIII.
Thursday is near; lay hand on heart, advise;
An' you be mine, I'll give you to my friend;
An' you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets.”
Romeo and Juliet.
Wychecombe Hall had most of the peculiarities of a
bachelor's dwelling, in its internal government; nor was it,
in any manner, behind, or, it might be better to say, before,
the age, in its modes and customs connected with jollifications.
When its master relaxed a little, the servants quite
uniformly imitated his example. Sir Wycherly kept a
plentiful table, and the servants' hall fared nearly as well as
the dining-room; the single article of wine excepted. In
lieu of the latter, however, was an unlimited allowance of
double-brewed ale; and the difference in the potations was
far more in the name than in the quality of the beverages.
The master drank port; for, in the middle of the last century,
few Englishmen had better wine—and port, too, that
was by no means of a very remarkable delicacy, but which,
like those who used it, was rough, honest, and strong;
while the servant had his malt liquor of the very highest
stamp and flavour. Between indifferent wine and excellent
ale, the distance is not interminable; and Sir Wycherly's
household was well aware of the fact, having frequently instituted
intelligent practical comparisons, by means of which,
all but the butler and Mrs. Larder had come to the conclusion
to stand by the home-brewed.
On the present occasion, not a soul in the house was
ignorant of the reason why the baronet was making a night
of it. Every man, woman, and child, in or about the Hall,
was a devoted partisan of the house of Hanover; and as soon
as it was understood that this feeling was to be manifested by
drinking “success to King George, and God bless him,” on
the one side; and “confusion to the Pretender, and his mad
son,” on the other; all under the roof entered into the duty,
if potations could do it.
When Admiral Bluewater, therefore, left the chamber of
his friend, the signs of mirth and of a regular debauch were
so very obvious, that a little curiosity to watch the result,
and a disinclination to go off to his ship so soon, united to
induce him to descend into the rooms below, with a view to
get a more accurate knowledge of the condition of the household.
In crossing the great hall, to enter the drawing-room,
he encountered Galleygo, when the following discourse took
place.
“I should think the master-at-arms has not done his duty,
and dowsed the glim below, Master Steward,” said the rear-admiral,
in his quiet way, as they met; “the laughing, and
singing, and hiccupping, are all upon a very liberal scale
for a respectable country-house.”
Galleygo touched the lock of hair on his forehead, with
one hand, and gave his trowsers a slue with the other, before
he answered; which he soon did, however, though with a
voice a little thicker than was usual with him, on account
of his having added a draught or two to those he had taken
previously to visiting Sir Gervaise's dressing-room; and
which said additional draught or two, had produced some
such effect on his system, as the fresh drop produces on the
cup that is already full.
“That's just it, Admiral Blue,” returned the steward, in
passing good-humour, though still sober enough to maintain
the decencies, after his own fashion; “that's just it, your
honour. They 've passed the word below to let the lights
stand for further orders, and have turned the hands up for a
frolic. Such ale as they has, stowed in the lower hold of
this house, like leaguers in the ground-tier, it does a body's
heart good to conter'plate. All hands is bowsing up their
jibs on it, sir, and the old Hall will soon be carrying as
much sail as she can stagger under. It's nothing but loose-away
and sheet-home.”
“Ay, ay, Galleygo, this may be well enough for the
people of the household, if Sir Wycherly allows it; but it
ill becomes the servants of guests to fall into this disorder.
If I find Tom has done anything amiss, he will hear more
of it; and as your own master is not here to admonish you,
would mortify him exceedingly to learn that his steward
had done anything to disgrace himself.”
“Lord bless your dear soul, Admiral Blue, take just as
many liberties as you think fit, and I 'll never pocket one
on 'em. I know'd you, when you was only a young gentleman,
and now you 're a rear. You 're close on our heels;
and by the time we are a full admiral, you 'll be something
like a vice. I looks upon you as bone of our bone, and
flesh of our flesh,—Pillardees and Arrestees—and I no more
minds a setting-down from your honour, than I does from
Sir Jarvy, hisself.”
“I believe that is true enough, Galleygo; but take my
advice, and knock off with the ale for to-night. Can you
tell me how the land lies, with the rest of the company?”
“You couldn't have asked a better person, your honour,
as I 've just been passing through all the rooms, from a sort
of habit I has, sir; for, d'ye see, I thought I was in the old
Planter, and that it was my duty to overlook everything, as
usual. The last pull at the ale, put that notion in my head;
but it 's gone now, and I see how matters is. Yes sir, the
mainmast of a church isn't stiffer and more correct-like,
than my judgment is, at this blessed moment. Sir Wycherly
guv' me a glass of his black-strap, as I ran through
the dining-room, and told me to drink `Confusion to the
Pretender,' which I did, with hearty good-will; but his
liquor will no more lay alongside of the ale they 've down
on the orlop, than a Frenchman will compare with an Englishman.
What 's your opinion, Admiral Blue, consarning
this cruise of the Pretender's son, up in the Highlands of
Scotland?”
Bluewater gave a quick, distrustful glance at the steward,
for he knew that the fellow was half his time in the outer
cabin and pantries of the Plantagenet, and he could not tell
how much of his many private dialogues with Sir Gervaise,
might have been overheard. Meeting with nothing but the
unmeaning expression of one half-seas-over, his uneasiness
instantly subsided.
“I think it a gallant enterprise, Galleygo,” he answered;
too manly even to feign what he did not believe; “but I
fear, as a cruise, it will not bring much prize-money. You
Sir Wycherly, Mr. Dutton, Mr. Rotherham, are still at the
table, I fancy—are these all? What have become of the
two young gentlemen?”
“There 's none ashore, sir,” said Galleygo, promptly;
accustomed to give that appellation only to midshipmen.
“I mean the two Mr. Wychecombes; one of whom, I
had forgot, is actually an officer.”
“Yes sir, and a most partic'lar fine officer he is, as every
body says. Well, sir, he 's with the ladies; while his
namesake has gone back to the table, and has put luff upon
luff, to fetch up leeway.”
“And the ladies—what have they done with themselves,
in this scene of noisy revelry?”
“They 'se in yonder state-room, your honour. As soon
as they found how the ship was heading, like all women-craft,
they both makes for the best harbour they could run
into. Yes, they 'se yonder.”
As Galleygo pointed to the door of the room he meant,
Bluewater proceeded towards it, parting with the steward
after a few more words of customary, but very useless caution.
The tap of the admiral was answered by Wycherly
in person, who opened the door, and made way for his superior
to enter, with a respectful obeisance. There was but
a single candle in the little parlour, in which the two females
had taken refuge from the increasing noise of the debauch;
and this was due to a pious expedient of Mildred's, in extinguishing
the others, with a view to conceal the traces of
tears that were still visible on her own and her mother's
cheeks. The rear-admiral was, at first, struck with this
comparative obscurity; but it soon appeared to him appropriate
to the feelings of the party assembled in the room.
Mrs. Dutton received him with the ease she had acquired in
her early life, and the meeting passed as a matter of course,
with persons temporarily residing under the same roof.
“Our friends appear to be enjoying themselves,” said
Bluewater, when a shout from the dining-room forced itself
on the ears of all present. “The loyalty of Sir Wycherly
seems to be of proof.”
“Oh! Admiral Bluewater,” exclaimed the distressed wife,
feeling, momentarily, getting the better of discretion; “do
“Not justly, perhaps, Mrs. Dutton; and yet it is what
millions mistake for it. This mode of celebrating any great
event, and even of illustrating what we think our principles,
is, I fear, a vice not only of our age, but of our country.”
“And yet, neither you, nor Sir Gervaise Oakes, I see,
find it necessary to give such a proof of your attachment to
the house of Hanover, or of your readiness to serve it with
your time and persons.”
“You will remember, my good lady, that both Oakes and
myself are flag-officers in command, and it would never do
for us to fall into a debauch in sight of our own ships. I
am glad to see, however, that Mr. Wychecombe, here, prefers
such society as I find him in, to the pleasures of the
table.”
Wycherly bowed, and Mildred cast an expressive, not to
say grateful, glance towards the speaker; but her mother
pursued the discourse, in which she found a little relief to
her suppressed emotion.
“God be thanked for that!” she exclaimed, half-unconscious
of the interpretation that might be put on her words;
“All that we have seen of Mr. Wychecombe would lead us
to believe that this is not an unusual, or an accidental forbearance.”
“So much the more fortunate for him. I congratulate
you, young sir, on this triumph of principle, or of temperament,
or of both. We belong to a profession, in which the
bottle is an enemy more to be feared, than any that the king
can give us. A sailor can call in no ally as efficient in
subduing this mortal foe, as an intelligent and cultivated
mind. The man who really thinks much, seldom drinks
much; but there are hours—nay weeks and months of idleness
in a ship, in which the temptation to resort to unnatural
excitement in quest of pleasure, is too strong for minds, that
are not well fortified, to resist. This is particularly the
case with commanders, who find themselves isolated by
their rank, and oppressed with responsibility, in the privacy
of their own cabins, and get to make a companion of the
bottle, by way of seeking relief from uncomfortable thoughts,
and of creating a society of their own. I deem the critical
command.”
“How true!—how true!” murmured Mrs. Dutton. “Oh!
that cutter—that cruel cutter!”
The truth flashed upon the recollection of Bluewater, at
this unguarded, and instantly-regretted exclamation. Many
years before, when only a captain himself, he had been a
member of a court-martial which cashiered a lieutenant
of the name of Dutton, for grievous misconduct, while in
command of a cutter; the fruits of the bottle. From the
first, he thought the name familiar to him; but so many
similar things had happened in the course of forty years'
service, that this particular incident had been partially lost
in the obscurity of time. It was now completely recalled,
however; and that, too, with all its attendant circumstances.
The recollection served to give the rear-admiral renewed
interest in the unhappy wife, and lovely daughter, of the
miserable delinquent. He had been applied to, at the time,
for his interest in effecting the restoration of the guilty officer,
or even to procure for him, the hopeless station he now
actually occupied; but he had sternly refused to be a party
in placing any man in authority, who was the victim of a
propensity that not only disgraced himself, but which, in
the peculiar position of a sailor, equally jeoparded the
honour of the country, and risked the lives of all around
him. He was aware that the last application had been successful,
by means of a court influence it was very unusual
to exert in cases so insignificant; and, then, he had, for years,
lost sight of the criminal and his fortunes. This unexpected
revival of his old impressions, caused him to feel like an
ancient friend of the wife and daughter; for well could he
recall a scene he had with both, in which the struggle between
his humanity and his principles had been so violent
as actually to reduce him to tears. Mildred had forgotten
the name of this particular officer, having been merely a
child; but well did Mrs. Dutton remember it, and with fear
and trembling had she come that day, to meet him at the
Hall. The first look satisfied her that she was forgotten,
and she had struggled herself, to bury in oblivion, a scene
which was one of the most painful of her life. The unguarded
of affairs.
“Mrs. Dutton,” said Bluewater, kindly taking a hand of
the distressed wife; “I believe we are old friends; if, after
what has passed, you will allow me so to consider myself.”
“Ah! Admiral Bluewater, my memory needed no admonisher
to tell me that. Your sympathy and kindness
are as grateful to me, now, as they were in that dreadful
moment, when we met before.”
“And I had the pleasure of seeing this young lady, more
than once, on that unpleasant occasion. This accounts for
a fancy that has fairly haunted me throughout the day; for,
from the instant my eye fell on Miss Mildred, it struck me
that the face, and most of all, its expression, was familiar to
me. Certainly it is not a countenance, once seen, easily to
be forgotten.”
“Mildred was then but a child, sir, and your recollection
must have been a fancy, indeed, as children of her age seldom
make any lasting impression on the mind, particularly
in the way of features.”
“It is not the features that I recognize, but the expression;
and that, I need not tell the young lady's mother, is
an expression not so very easily forgotten. I dare say Mr.
Wychecombe is ready enough to vouch for the truth of what
I say.”
“Hark!” exclaimed Mrs. Dutton, who was sensitively
alive to any indication of the progress of the debauch.
“There is great confusion in the dining-room!—I hope the
gentlemen are of one mind as respects this rising in Scotland!”
“If there is a Jacobite among them, he will have a warm
time of it; with Sir Wycherly, his nephew, and the vicar—
all three of whom are raging lions, in the way of loyalty.
There does, indeed, seem something out of the way, for
those sounds, I should think, are the feet of servants, running
to and fro. If the servants'-hall is in the condition I
suspect, it will as much need the aid of the parlour, as the
parlour can possibly—”
A tap at the door caused Bluewater to cease speaking;
and as Wycherly threw open the entrance, Galleygo appeared
of holding on by the casings.
“Well, sir,” said the rear-admiral, sternly, for he was no
longer disposed lo trifle with any of the crapulous set;
“well, sir, what impertinence has now brought you here?”
“No impertinence at all, your honour; we carries none
of that, in the old Planter. There being no young gentlemen,
hereabouts, to report proceedings, I thought I 'd just
step in and do the duty with my own tongue. We has so
many reports in our cabin, that there isn't an officer in the
fleet that can make 'em better, as myself, sir.”
“There are a hundred who would spend fewer words on
anything. What is your business?”
“Why, sir, just to report one flag struck, and a commander-in-chief
on his beam-ends.”
“Good God! Nothing has happened to Sir Gervaise—
speak, fellow, or I 'll have you sent out of this Babel, and
off to the ship, though it were midnight.”
“It be pretty much that, Admiral Blue; or past six bells;
as any one may see by the ship's clock on the great companion
ladder; six bells, going well on to seven—”
“Your business, sir! what has happened to Sir Gervaise?”
repeated Bluewater, shaking his long fore-finger
menacingly, at the steward.
“We are as well, Admiral Blue, as the hour we came
over the Planter's side. Sir Jarvy will carry sail with the
best on 'em, I 'll answer for it, whether the ship floats in old
Port Oporto, or in a brewer's vat. Let Sir Jarvy alone for
them tricks—he wasn't a young gentleman, for nothing.”
“Have a moment's patience, sir,” put in Wycherly, “and
I will go myself, and ascertain the truth.”
“I shall make but another inquiry,” continued Admiral
Bluewater, as Wycherly left the room.
“Why, d'ye see, your honour, old Sir Wycherly, who
is commander-in-chief, along shore here, has capsized in
consequence of carrying sail too hard, in company with
younger craft; and they 're now warping him into dock to
be overhauled.”
“Is this all!—that was a result to be expected, in such a
debauch. You need not have put on so ominous a face, for
this, Galleygo.”
“No, sir, so I thought, myself; and I only tried to look
as melancholy as a young gentleman who is sent below to
report a top-gallant-mast over the side, or a studding-sailboom
gone in the iron. D'ye remember the time, Admiral
Blue, when you thought to luff up on the old Planter's
weather-quarter, and get between her and the French ninety
on three decks, and how your stu'n-sails went, one a'ter
another, just like so many musherrooms breaking in peeling?”
Galleygo, who was apt to draw his images from his two
trades, might have talked on an hour, without interruption;
for, while he was uttering the above sentence, Wycherly
returned, and reported that their host was seriously, even
dangerously ill. While doing the honours of his table, he
had been seized with a fit, which the vicar, a noted three-bottle
man, feared was apoplexy. Mr. Rotherham had bled
the patient, who was already a little better, and an express
had been sent for a medical man. As a matter of course,
the convives had left the table, and alarm was frightening
the servants into sobriety. At Mrs. Dutton's earnest request,
Wycherly immediately left the room again, forcing
Galleygo out before him, with a view to get more accurate
information concerning the baronet's real situation; both the
mother and daughter feeling a real affection for Sir Wycherly;
the kind old man having won their hearts by his
habitual benevolence, and a constant concern for their
welfare.
“Sic transit gloria mundi,” muttered Admiral Bluewater,
as he threw his tall person, in his own careless manner, on
a chair, in a dark corner of the room. “This baronet has
fallen from his throne, in a moment of seeming prosperity
and revelry; why may not another do the same?”
Mrs. Dutton heard the voice, without distinguishing the
words, and she felt distressed at the idea that one whom she
so much respected and loved, might be judged of harshly,
by a man of the rear-admiral's character.
“Sir Wycherly is one of the kindest-hearted men, breathing,”
she said, a little hurriedly; “and there is not a better
landlord in England. Then he is by no means addicted to
indulgence at table, more than is customary with gentlemen
of his station. His loyalty has, no doubt, carried him this
wished.”
“I have every disposition to think favourably of our poor
host, my dear Mrs. Dutton, and we seamen are not accustomed
to judge a bon vivant too harshly.”
“Ah! Admiral Bluewater, you, who have so wide-spread
a reputation for sobriety and correct deportment! Well do
I remember how I trembled, when I heard your name mentioned
as one of the leading members of that dreadful
court!”
“You let your recollections dwell too much on these unpleasant
subjects, Mrs. Dutton, and I should like to see you
setting an example of greater cheerfulness to your sweet
daughter. I could not befriend you, then, for my oath and
my duty were both against it; but, now, there exists no
possible reason, why I should not; while there does exist
almost every possible disposition, why I should. This sweet
child interests me in a way I can hardly describe.”
Mrs. Dutton was silent and thoughtful. The years of
Admiral Bluewater did not absolutely forbid his regarding
Mildred's extreme beauty, with the eyes of ordinary admiration;
but his language, and most of all, his character,
ought to repel the intrusive suspicion. Still Mildred was
surpassingly lovely, and men were surpassingly weak in
matters of love. Many a hero had passed a youth of self-command
and discretion, to consummate some act of exceeding
folly, of this very nature, in the decline of life; and
bitter experience had taught her to be distrustful. Nevertheless,
she could not, at once, bring herself to think ill of
one, whose character she had so long respected; and, with
all the rear-admiral's directness of manner, there was so
much real and feeling delicacy, blended with the breeding
of a gentleman-like sailor, that it was not easy to suppose
he had any other motives than those he saw fit to avow.
Mildred had made many a friend, by a sweetness of countenance,
that was even more winning, than her general
beauty of face and form was attractive; and why should
not this respectable old seaman be of the number.
This train of thought was interrupted by the sudden and
unwelcome appearance of Dutton. He had just returned
his wife and daughter, to bid them prepare to enter the
chariot, which was in waiting to convey them home. The
miserable man was not intoxicated, in the sense which
deprives a man of the use of speech and limbs; but he had
drunk quite enough to awaken the demon within him, and
to lay bare the secrets of his true character. If anything,
his nerves were better strung than common; but the wine
had stirred up all the energies of a being, whose resolutions
seldom took the direction of correct feeling, or of right
doing. The darkness of the room, and a slight confusion
which nevertheless existed in his brain, prevented him from
noticing the person of his superior, seated, as the latter was,
in the dark corner; and he believed himself once more
alone with those who were so completely dependent on his
mercy, and who had so long been the subjects of his brutality
and tyranny.
“I hope Sir Wycherly is better, Dutton,” the wife commenced,
fearful that her husband might expose himself and
her, before he was aware of the presence in which he stood.
“Admiral Bluewater is as anxious, as we are ourselves, to
know his real state.”
“Ay, you women are all pity and feeling for baronets
and rear-admirals,” answered Dutton, throwing himself
rudely into a chair, with his back towards the stranger, in
an attitude completely to exclude the latter from his view;
“while a husband, or father, might die a hundred deaths,
and not draw a look of pity from your beautiful eyes, or a
kind word from your devilish tongues.”
“Neither Mildred nor I, merit this from you, Dutton!”
“No, you 're both perfection; like mother, like child.
Haven't I been, fifty times, at death's door, with this very
complaint of Sir Wycherly's, and did either of you ever
send for an apothecary, even?”
“You have been occasionally indisposed, Dutton, but
never apoplectic; and we have always thought a little sleep
would restore you; as, indeed, it always has.”
“What business had you to think? Surgeons think, and
medical men, and it was your duty to send for the nearest
professional man, to look after one you 're bound both to
do suppose, in a certain degree; and what can't be cured
must be endured; but Mildred is my child; and I 'll have
her respect and love, if I break both your hearts in order to
get at them.”
“A pious daughter always respects her parent, Dutton,”
said the wife, trembling from head to foot; “but love must
come willingly, or, it will not come at all.”
“We 'll see as to that, Mrs. Martha Dutton; we 'll see as
to that. Come hither, Mildred; I have a word to say to
you, which may as well be said at once.”
Mildred, trembling like her mother, drew near; but with
a feeling of filial piety, that no harshness could entirely
smother, she felt anxious to prevent the father from further exposing
himself, in the presence of Admiral Bluewater. With
this view, then, and with this view only, she summoned
firmness enough to speak.
“Father,” she said, “had we not better defer our family
matters, until we are alone?”
Under ordinary circumstances, Bluewater would not have
waited for so palpable a hint, for he would have retired on
the first appearance of anything so disagreeable as a misunderstanding
between man and wife. But, an ungovernable
interest in the lovely girl, who stood trembling at her father's
knee, caused him to forget his habitual delicacy of feeling,
and to overlook what might perhaps be termed almost a law
of society. Instead of moving, therefore, as Mildred had
both hoped and expected, he remained motionless in his
seat. Dutton's mind was too obtuse to comprehend his
daughter's allusions, in the absence of ocular evidence of a
stranger's presence, and his wrath was too much excited to
permit him to think much of anything but his own causes
of indignation.
“Stand more in front of me, Mildred,” he answered,
angrily. “More before my face, as becomes one who
don't know her duty to her parent, and needs be taught it.”
“Oh! Dutton,” exclaimed the afflicted wife; “do not—
do not—accuse Mildred of being undutiful! You know not
what you say—know not her obliga—you cannot know her
heart, or you would not use these cruel imputations!”
“Silence, Mrs. Martha Dutton—my business is not with
I may presume to speak a little plainly, as she is my own
child. Silence, then, Mrs. Martha Dutton. If my memory
is not treacherous, you once stood up before God's altar
with me, and there vow'd to love, honour, and obey. Yes,
that was the word; obey, Mrs. Martha Dutton.”
“And what did you promise, at the same time, Frank?”
exclaimed the wife, from whose bruised spirit this implied
accusation was torn in an agony of mental suffering.
“Nothing but what I have honestly and manfully performed.
I promised to provide for you; to give you food
and raiment; to let you bear my name, and stand before
the world in the honourable character of honest Frank
Dutton's wife.”
“Honourable!” murmured the wife, loud enough to be
heard by both the Admiral and Mildred, and yet in a tone
so smothered, as to elude the obtuse sense of hearing, that
long excess had left her husband. When this expressive
word had broken out of her very heart, however, she succeeded
in suppressing her voice, and sinking into a chair,
concealed her face in her hands, in silence.
“Mildred, come hither,” resumed the brutalized parent.
“You are my daughter, and whatever others have promised
at the altar, and forgotten, a law of nature teaches you to
obey me. You have two admirers, either of whom you
ought to be glad to secure, though there is a great preference
between them—”
“Father!” exclaimed Mildred, every feeling of her sensitive
nature revolting at this coarse allusion to a connection,
and to sentiments, that she was accustomed to view as
among the most sacred and private of her moral being.
“Surely, you cannot mean what you say!”
“Like mother, like child! Let but disobedience and disrespect
get possession of a wife, and they are certain to run
through a whole family, even though there were a dozen
children! Harkee, Miss Mildred, it is you who don't
happen to know what you say, while I understand myself
as well as most parents. Your mother would never acquaint
you with what I feel it a duty to put plainly before your
judgment; and, therefore, I expect you to listen as becomes
a dutiful and affectionate child. You can secure either of
good match for a poor, disgraced, sailing-master's daughter.”
“Father, I shall sink through the floor, if you say another
word, in this cruel manner!”
“No, dear; you 'll neither sink nor swim, unless it be by
making a bad, or a good choice. Mr. Thomas Wychecombe
is Sir Wycherly's heir, and must be the next baronet,
and possessor of this estate. Of course he is much the best
thing, and you ought to give him a preference.”
“Dutton, can you, as a father and a Christian, give such
heartless counsel to your own child!” exclaimed Mrs. Dutton,
inexpressibly shocked at the want of principle, as well
as at the want of feeling, discovered in her husband's advice.
“Mrs. Martha Dutton, I can; and believe the counsel to
be anything but heartless, too. Do you wish your daughter
to be the wife of a miserable signal-station keeper, when she
may become Lady Wychecombe, with a little prudent management,
and the mistress of this capital old house, and
noble estate?”
“Father—father,” interrupted Mildred, soothingly, though
ready to sink with shame at the idea of Admiral Bluewater's
being an auditor of such a conversation; “you forget yourself,
and overlook my wishes. There is little probability of
Mr. Thomas Wychecombe's ever thinking of me as a wife—
or, indeed, of any one else's entertaining such thoughts.”
“That will turn out, as you manage matters, Milly. Mr.
Thomas Wychecombe does not think of you as a wife,
quite likely, just at this moment; but the largest whales are
taken by means of very small lines, when the last are properly
handled. This young lieutenant would have you to-morrow;
though a more silly thing than for you two to
marry, could not well be hit upon. He is only a lieutenant;
and though his name is so good a one, it does not appear
that he has any particular right to it.”
“And yet, Dutton, you were only a lieutenant when you
married, and your name was nothing in the way of interest,
or preferment,” observed the mother, anxious to interpose
some new feeling between her daughter, and the cruel inference
left by the former part of her husband's speech.
“We then thought all lay bright before us!”
“And so all would lie to this hour, Mrs. Dutton, but for
family on him, little pay, and no fortune, is driven to a
thousand follies to hide his misery. You do not strengthen
your case by reminding me of that imprudence. But, Mildred,
I do not tell you to cut adrift this young Virginian, for
he may be of use in more ways than one. In the first place,
you can play him off against Mr. Thomas Wychecombe;
and, in the second place, a lieutenant is likely, one day, to
be a captain; and the wife of a captain in His Majesty's
navy, is no disreputable berth. I advise you, girl, to use
this youngster as a bait to catch the heir with; and, failing
a good bite, to take up with the lad himself.”
This was said dogmatically, and with a coarseness of
manner that fully corresponded with the looseness of the
principles, and the utter want of delicacy of feeling that
alone could prompt such advice. Mrs. Dutton fairly
groaned, as she listened to her husband, for never before
had he so completely thrown aside the thin mask of decency
that he ordinarily wore; but Mildred, unable to control the
burst of wild emotion that came over her, broke away from
the place she occupied at her father's knee, and, as if blindly
seeking protection in any asylum that she fancied safe,
found herself sobbing, as if her heart would break, in Admiral
Bluewater's arms.
Dutton followed the ungovernable, impulsive movement,
with his eye, and for the first time he became aware in
whose presence he had been exposing his native baseness.
Wine had not so far the mastery of him, as to blind him to
all the consequences, though it did stimulate him to a point
that enabled him to face the momentary mortification of his
situation.
“I beg a thousand pardons, sir,” he said, rising, and
bowing low to his superior; “I was totally ignorant that I
had the honour to be in the company of Admiral Bluewater
—Admiral Blue, I find Jack calls you, sir; ha-ha-ha—a familiarity
which is a true sign of love and respect. I never
knew a captain, or a flag-officer, that got a regular, expressive
ship's name, that he wasn't the delight of the whole
service. Yes, sir; I find the people call Sir Gervaise, Little
Jarvy, and yourself, Admiral Blue—Ha-ha-ha—an infallible
sign of merit in the superior, and of love in the men.”
“I ought to apologize, Mr. Dutton, for making one, so
unexpectedly to myself, in a family council,” returned the
rear-admiral. “As for the men, they are no great philosophers,
though tolerable judges of when they are well commanded,
and well treated.—But, the hour is late, and it was
my intention to sleep in my own ship, to-night. The coach
of Sir Wycherly has been ordered to carry me to the landing,
and I hope to have your permission to see these ladies
home in it.”
The answer of Dutton was given with perfect self-possession,
and in a manner to show that he knew how to exercise
the courtesies of life, or to receive them, when in the
humour.
“It is an honour, sir, they will not think of declining, if
my wishes are consulted,” he said. “Come, Milly, foolish
girl, dry your tears, and smile on Admiral Bluewater, for
his condescension. Young women, sir, hardly know how
to take a joke; and our ship's humours are sometimes a
little strong for them. I tell my dear wife, sometimes—
`wife,' I say, `His Majesty can't have stout-hearted and
stout-handed seamen, and the women poets and die-away
swains, and all in the same individual,' says I. Mrs. Dutton
understands me, sir; and so does little Milly; who is an
excellent girl in the main; though a little addicted to using
the eye-pumps, as we have it aboard ship, sir.”
“And, now, Mr. Dutton, it being understood that I am
to see the ladies home, will you do me the favour to inquire
after the condition of Sir Wycherly. One would not wish
to quit his hospitable roof, in uncertainty as to his actual
situation.”
Dutton was duly sensible of an awkwardness in the
presence of his superior, and he gladly profited by this commission
to quit the room; walking more steadily than if he
had not been drinking.
All this time, Mildred hung on Admiral Bluewater's shoulder,
weeping, and unwilling to quit a place that seemed to
her, in her fearful agitation, a sort of sanctuary.
“Mrs. Dutton,” said Bluewater, first kissing the cheek of
his lovely burthen, in a manner so parental, that the most
sensitive delicacy could not have taken the alarm; “you
this little trembler. I need hardly say that if I have accidentally
overheard more than I ought, it is as much a secret
with me, as it would be with your own brother. The
characters of all cannot be affected by the mistaken and
excited calculations of one; and this occasion has served to
make me better acquainted with you, and your admirable
daughter, than I might otherwise have been, by means of
years of ordinary intercourse.”
“Oh! Admiral Bluewater, do not judge him too harshly!
He has been too long at that fatal table, which I fear has
destroyed poor dear Sir Wycherly, and knew not what he
said. Never before have I seen him in such a fearful
humour, or in the least disposed to trifle with, or to wound the
feelings of this sweet child!”
“Her extreme agitation is a proof of this, my good
madam, and shows all you can wish to say. View me as
your sincere friend, and place every reliance on my discretion.”
The wounded mother listened with gratitude, and Mildred
withdrew from her extraordinary situation, wondering by
what species of infatuation she could have been led to
adopt it.
| CHAPTER VIII. The two admirals | |