 | CHAPTER XI. The two admirals |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
Yet fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit;
Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay;
To-morrow's falser than the former day.”
Dryden.
Although Admiral Bluewater devoted the minimum of
time to sleep, he was not what the French term matinal.
There is a period in the morning, on board of a ship of war,—
that of washing decks,—which can best be compared to the
This occurs daily, about the rising of the sun;
and no officer, whose rank raises him above mingling with
the duty, ever thinks, except on extraordinary occasions
that may require his presence for other purposes, of intruding
on its sacred mysteries. It is a rabid hour in a ship, and
the wisest course, for all idlers, and all watch-officers, who
are not on duty, is to keep themselves under hatches, if
their convenience will possibly allow it. He who wears a
flag, however, is usually reposing in his cot, at this critical
moment; or, if risen at all, he is going through similar
daily ablutions of his own person.
Admiral Bluewater was in the act of opening his eyes,
when the splash of the first bucket of water was heard on
the deck of the Cæsar, and he lay in the species of enjoyment
which is so peculiar to naval men, after they have
risen to the station of commander; a sort of semi-trance, in
which the mind summons all the ancient images, connected
with squalls; reefing top-sails in the rain; standing on the
quarter of a yard, shouting “haul out to leeward;” peering
over the weather hammock-cloths to eye the weather, with
the sleet pricking the face like needles;—and, washing
decks! These dreamy images of the past, however, are
summoned merely to increase the sense of present enjoyment.
They are so many well-contrived foils, to give
greater brilliancy to the diamonds of a comfortable cot, and
the entire consciousness of being no longer exposed to an
untimely summons on deck.
Our rear-admiral, nevertheless, was not a vulgar dreamer,
on such occasions. He thought little of personal comforts
at any time, unless indeed when personal discomforts obtruded
themselves on his attention; he knew little, or nothing,
of the science of the table, whereas his friend was a knowing
cook, and in his days of probation had been a distinguished
caterer; but he was addicted to a sort of dreaming of his
own, even when the sun stood in the zenith, and he was
walking the poop, in the midst of a circle of his officers.
Still, he could not refrain from glancing back at the past,
that morning, as plash after plash was heard, and recalling
the time when magna pars quorum FUIT. At this delectable
instant, the ruddy face of a “young gentleman” appeared
the eyes of his superior were actually open, the youngster
said—
“A note from Sir Gervaise, Admiral Bluewater.”
“Very well, sir,”—taking the note.—“How 's the wind,
Lord Geoffrey?”
“An Irishman's hurricane, sir; right up and down. Our
first says, sir, he never knew finer channel weather.”
“Our first is a great astrologer. Is the fleet riding flood
yet?”
“No sir; it 's slack-water; or, rather, the ebb is just
beginning to make.”
“Go on deck, my lord, and see if the Dover has hove in
any upon her larboard bower, so as to bring her more on
our quarter.”
“Ay-ay-sir,” and this cadet of one of the most illustrious
houses of England, skipped up the ladder to ascertain his
fact.
In the meanwhile, Bluewater stretched out an arm, drew
a curtain from before his little window, fumbled for some
time among his clothes before he got his spectacles, and then
opened the note. This early epistle was couched in the
following words—
“I write this in a bed big enough to ware a ninety in.
I 've been athwart ships half the night, without knowing it,
Galleygo has just been in to report `our fleet' all well, and
the ships riding flood. It seems there is a good look-out
from the top of the house, where part of the roads are visible,
Magrath, and the rest of them, have been at poor Sir Wycherly
all night, I learn, but he remains down by the head,
yet. I am afraid the good old man will never be in trim
again. I shall remain here, until something is decided; and
as we cannot expect our orders until next day after to-morrow,
at the soonest, one might as well be here, as on board.
Come ashore and breakfast with us; when we can consult
about the propriety of remaining, or of abandoning the
wreck. Adieu,
with Sir Wycherly's will, that makes me particularly
anxious to see you, as early as possible, this morning. “O.”
Sir Gervaise, like a woman, had written his mind in his
postscript. The scene of the previous night had forcibly
presented itself to his recollection on awakening, and calling
for his writing-desk, he had sent off this note, at the dawn of
day, with the wish of having as many important witnesses
as he could well obtain, at the interview he intended to
demand, at the earliest practicable hour.
“What the deuce can Oakes have to do with Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe's will?” thought the rear-admiral.
“By the way, that puts me in mind of my own; and of my
own recent determination. What are my poor £30,000 to
a man with the fortune of Lord Bluewater. Having neither
a wife nor child, brother nor sister of my own, I 'll do what
I please with my money. Oakes wont have it; besides,
he 's got enough of his own, and to spare. An estate of
£7000 a year, besides heaps of prize-money funded. I dare
say, he has a good £12,000 a year, and nothing but a
nephew to inherit it all. I 'm determined to do as I please
with my money. I made every shilling of it, and I 'll give
it to whom I please.”
The whole time, Admiral Bluewater lay with his eyes shut,
and with a tongue as motionless as if it couldn't stir. With
all his laissez aller manner, however, he had the promptitude
of a sailor, when his mind was made up to do a thing,
though he always performed it in his own peculiar mode.
To rise, dress, and prepare to quit his state-room, occupied
him but a short time; and he was seated before his own
writing-desk, in the after-cabin, within twenty minutes after
the thoughts just recorded, had passed through his mind.
His first act was to take a folded paper from a private
drawer, and glance his eye carelessly over it. This was
the will in favour of Lord Bluewater. It was expressed in
very concise terms, filling only the first side of a page.
This will he copied, verbatim et literatim, leaving blanks
for the name of the legatee, and appointing Sir Gervaise
Oakes his executor, as in the will already executed. When
For a passing instant, he felt tempted to insert the name of
the Pretender; but, smiling at his own folly, he wrote that
of “Mildred Dutton, daughter of Francis Dutton, a master in
His Majesty's Navy,” in all the places that it was requisite
so to do. Then he affixed the seal, and, folding all the
upper part of the sheet over, so as to conceal the contents,
he rang a little silver bell, which always stood at his elbow.
The outer cabin-door was opened by the sentry, who thrust
his head in at the opening.
“I want one of the young gentlemen, sentry,” said the
rear-admiral.
The door closed, and, in another minute, the smiling face
of Lord Geoffrey was at the entrance of the after-cabin.
“Who 's on deck, my lord,” demanded Bluewater, “beside
the watch?”
“No one, sir. All the idlers keep as close as foxes, when
the decks are getting it; and as for any of our snorers
showing their faces before six bells, it 's quite out of the
question, sir.”
“Some one must surely be stirring in the gun-room, by
this time! Go and ask the chaplain and the captain of
marines to do me the favour to step into the cabin—or the
first lieutenant; or the master; or any of the idlers.”
The midshipman was gone two or three minutes, when
he returned with the purser and the chaplain.
“The first lieutenant is in the forehold, sir; all the marines
have got their dead-lights still in, and the master is
working-up his log, the gun-room steward says. I hope
these will do, sir; they are the greatest idlers in the ship, I
believe.”
Lord Geoffrey Cleveland was the second son of the third
duke in the English empire, and he knew it, as well as any
one on board. Admiral Bluewater had no slavish respect for
rank; nevertheless, like all men educated under an aristocratic
system, he was influenced by the feeling to a degree
of which he himself was far from being conscious. This
young scion of nobility was not in the least favoured in
matters of duty, for this his own high spirit would have resented;
but he dined in the cabin twice as often as any
other midshipman on board, and had obtained for himself a
what passed for smart things in the cockpit and gun-room,
and which, out of all doubt, were pert things everywhere.
Neither the chaplain nor the purser took offence at his liberties
on the present occasion; and, as for the rear-admiral,
he had not attended to what had been uttered. As soon,
however, as he found others in his cabin, he motioned to
them to approach his desk, and pointed to the paper, folded
down, as mentioned.
“Every prudent man,” he said, “and, especially every
prudent sailor and soldier, in a time of war, ought to be
provided with a will. This is mine, just drawn up, by myself;
and that instrument is an old one, which I now destroy
in your presence. I acknowledge this to be my hand and
seal,” writing his name, and touching the seal with a finger
as he spoke; “affixed to this my last will and testament.
Will you have the kindness to act as witnesses?”
When the chaplain and purser had affixed their names,
there still remained a space for a third signature. This, by
a sign from his superior, the laughing midshipman filled
with his own signature.
“I hope you 've recollected, sir,” cried the boy, with glee,
as he took his seat to obey; “that the Bluewaters and
Clevelands are related. I shall be grievously disappointed,
when this will is proved, if my name be not found somewhere
in it!”
“So shall I, too, my lord,” drily returned Bluewater;
“for, I fully expect it will appear as a witness; a character
that is at once fatal to all claims as a legatee.”
“Well, sir, I suppose flag-officers can do pretty much as
they please with their money, since they do pretty much as
they please with the ships, and all in them. I must lean
so much the harder on my two old aunts, as I appear to
have laid myself directly athwart-hawse of fortune, in this
affair!”
“Gentlemen,” said the rear-admiral, with easy courtesy;
“I regret it is not in my power to have your company at
dinner, to-day, as I am summoned ashore by Sir Gervaise,
and it is uncertain when I can get off, again; but to-morrow
I shall hope to enjoy that pleasure.”
The officers bowed, expressed their acknowledgments, accepted
the invitation, bowed once or twice more each, and
left the cabin, with the exception of the midshipman.
“Well, sir,” exclaimed Bluewater, a little surprised at
finding he was not alone, after a minute of profound reverie;
“to what request am I indebted still to the pleasure of your
presence?”
“Why, sir, it 's just forty miles to my father's house in
Cornwall, and I know the whole family is there; so I just
fancied, that by bending on two extra horses, a chaise might
make the Park gates in about five hours; and by getting
under way on the return passage, to-morrow about this
time, the old Cæsar would never miss a crazy reefer, more
or less.”
“Very ingeniously put, young gentleman, and quite plausible.
When I was of your age, I was four years without
once seeing either father or mother.”
“Yes sir, but that was such a long time ago! Boys
can't stand it, half as well now, as they did then, as all old
people say.”
The rear-admiral's lips moved slightly, as if a smile
struggled about his mouth, and then his face suddenly lost
the expression, in one approaching to sadness.
“You know, Geoffrey, I am not commander-in-chief. Sir
Gervaise alone can give a furlough.”
“Very true, sir; but whatever you ask of Sir Gervaise,
he always does; more especially as concerns us of your
flag-ship.”
“Perhaps that is true. But, my boy, we live in serious
times, and we may sail in an hour's notice. Are you ignorant
that Prince Charles Edward has landed in Scotland,
and that the Jacobites are up and doing? If the French back
him, we may have our hands full here, in the channel.”
“Then my dear mother must go without a kiss, for the
next twelvemonth!” cried the gallant boy, dashing a hand
furtively across his eyes, in spite of his resolution. “The
throne of old England must be upheld, even though not a mother
nor a sister in the island, see a midshipman in years!”
“Nobly said, Lord Geoffrey, and it shall be known at
head-quarters. Your family is whig; and you do well, at
your time of life, to stick to the family politics.”
“A small run on the shore, sir, would be a great pleasure,
after six months at sea?”
“You must ask Captain Stowel's leave for that. You
know I never interfere with the duty of the ship.”
“Yes, sir, but there are so many of us, and all have a
hankering after terra firma. Might I just say, that I have
your permission, to ask Captain Stowel, to let me have a
run on the cliffs?”
“You may do that, my lord, if you wish it; but Stowel
knows that he can do as he pleases.”
“He would be a queer captain of a man-of-war, if he
didn't, sir! Thank you, Admiral Bluewater; I will write
to my mother, and I know she 'll be satisfied with the reason
I shall give her, for not coming to see her. Good-morning,
sir.”
“Good-morning,”—then, when the boy's hand was on
the lock of the cabin-door—“my lord?”
“Did you wish to say anything more, sir?”
“When you write, remember me kindly to the Duchess.
We were intimate, when young people; and, I might say,
loved each other.”
The midshipman promised to do as desired; and then
the rear-admiral was left alone. He walked the cabin, for
half an hour, musing on what he had done in relation to
his property, and on what he ought to do, in relation to the
Pretender; when he suddenly summoned his coxswain, gave
a few directions, and sent an order on deck to have his
barge manned. The customary reports went their usual
rounds, and reached the cabin in about three minutes more;
Lord Geoffrey bringing them down, again.
“The barge is manned, sir,” said the lad, standing near
the cabin-door, rigged out in the neat, go-ashore-clothes of
a midshipman.
“Have you seen Captain Stowel, my lord?” demanded
the rear-admiral.
“I have, sir; and he has given me permission to drift
along shore, until sunset; to be off with the evening gun of
the vice-admiral.”
“Then do me the favour to take a seat in my barge, if
you are quite ready.”
This offer was accepted, and, in a few minutes, all the
was seated in his barge. It was now so late, that
etiquette had fair play, and no point was omitted on the occasion.
The captain was on deck, in person, as well as
gun-room officers enough to represent their body; the guard
was paraded, under its officers; the drums rolled; the boatswain
piped six side boys over, and Lord Geoffrey skipped
down first into the boat, remaining respectfully standing,
until his superior was seated. All these punctilios observed,
the boat was shoved off from the vessel's side, the eight oars
dropped, as one, and the party moved towards the shore.
Every cutter, barge, yawl, or launch that was met, and which
did not contain an officer of rank itself, tossed its oars, as
this barge, with the rear-admiral's flag fluttering in its bow,
passed, while the others lay on theirs, the gentlemen saluting
with their hats. In this manner the barge passed the
fleet, and approached the shore. At the landing, a little
natural quay formed by a low flat rock, there was a general
movement, as the rear-admiral's flag was seen to draw
near; and even the boats of captains were shoved aside, to
give the naval pas. As soon, however, as the foot of Bluewater
touched the rock, the little flag was struck; and, a
minute later, a cutter, with only a lieutenant in her, coming
in, that officer ordered the barge to make way for him, with
an air of high and undisputed authority.
Perhaps there was not a man in the British marine, to
whom the etiquette of the service gave less concern, than to
Bluewater. In this respect, he was the very reverse of his
friend; for Sir Gervaise was a punctilious observer, and a
rigid enforcer of all the prescribed ceremonials. This was
by no means the only professional point on which these two
distinguished officers differed. It has already been mentioned,
that the rear-admiral was the best tactician in England,
while the vice-admiral was merely respectable in that
branch of his duty. On the other hand, Sir Gervaise was
deemed the best practical seaman afloat, so far as a single
ship was concerned, while Bluewater had no particular reputation
in that way. Then, as to discipline, the same distinction
existed. The commander-in-chief was a little of a
martinet, exacting compliance with the most minute regulations;
while his friend, even when a captain, had thrown
executive officer; or the first lieutenant; leaving to that important
functionary, the duty of devising, as well as of executing
the system by which order and cleanliness were
maintained in the vessel. Nevertheless, Bluewater had his
merit even in this peculiar feature of the profession. He
had made the best captain of the fleet to his friend, that had
ever been met with. This office, which, in some measure,
corresponds to that of an adjutant-general on shore, was
suited to his generalizing and philosophical turn of mind;
and he had brought all its duties within the circle and control
of clear and simple principles, which rendered them pleasant
and easy. Then, too, whenever he commanded in chief, as
frequently happened, for a week or two at a time, Sir Gervaise
being absent, it was remarked that the common service
of the fleet went on like clock-work; his mind seeming to
embrace generals, when it refused to descend to details. In
consequence of these personal peculiarities, the captains
often observed, that Bluewater ought to have been the senior,
and Oakes the junior; and then, their joint commands would
have produced perfection: but these criticisms must be set
down, in a great measure, to the natural propensity to find
fault, and an inherent desire in men, even when things are
perfectly well in themselves, to prove their own superiority,
by pointing out modes and means by which they might be
made much better. Had the service been on land, this
opinion might possibly have had more practical truth in it;
but, the impetuosity and daring of Sir Gervaise, were not
bad substitutes for tactics, in the straight-forward combats
of ships. To resume the narrative.
When Bluewater landed, he returned the profound and
general salute of all on or near the rock, by a sweeping, but
courteous bow, which was nevertheless given in a vacant,
slovenly manner; and immediately began to ascend the
ravine. He had actually reached the grassy acclivity above,
before he was at all aware of any person's being near him.
Turning, he perceived that the midshipman was at his heels,
respect alone preventing one of the latter's active limbs and
years from skipping past his superior on the ascent. The
admiral recollected how little there was to amuse one of the
determined to take him along with himself.
“You are little likely to find any diversion here, Lord
Geoffrey,” he said; “if you will accept of the society
of a dull old fellow, like myself, you shall see all I see, be
it more or less.”
“I 've shipped for the cruise, sir, and am ready and happy,
too, to follow your motions, with or without signals,” returned
the laughing youngster. “I suppose Wychecombe
is about as good as Portsmouth, or Plymouth; and I 'm sure
these green fields are handsomer than the streets of any
dirty town I ever entered.”
“Ay, green fields are, indeed, pleasant to the eyes of us
sailors, who see nothing but water, for months at a time.
Turn to the right, if you please, my lord; I wish to call at
yonder signal-station, on my way to the Hall.”
The boy, as is not usual with lads of his age, inclined in
“the way he was told to go,” and in a few minutes both
stood on the head-land. As it would not have done for the
master to be absent from his staff, during the day, with a
fleet in the roads, Dutton was already at his post, cleanly
dressed as usual, but trembling again with the effect of the
last night's debauch on his nerves. He arose, with great
deference of manner, to receive the rear-admiral, and not
without many misgivings of conscience; for, while memory
furnished a tolerable outline of what had occurred in the
interview between himself and his wife and daughter, wine
had lost its influence, and no longer helped to sustain his
self-command. He was much relieved, however, by the
discreet manner in which he was met by Bluewater.
“How is Sir Wycherly?” inquired the admiral saluting
the master, as if nothing had happened; “a note from Sir Gervaise,
written about day-break, tells me he was not, then,
essentially better.”
“I wish it were in my power to give you any good news,
sir. He must be conscious, notwithstanding; for Dick, his
groom, has just ridden over with a note from Mr. Rotherham,
to say that the excellent old baronet particularly desires
to see my wife and daughter; and that the coach will be
here, to take them over in a few minutes. If you are bound
be delighted to give you a seat.”
“Then I will profit by their kindness,” returned Bluewater,
seating himself on the bench at the foot of the staff;
“more especially, if you think they will excuse my adding
Lord Geoffrey Cleveland, one of Stowel's midshipmen, to
the party. He has entered, to follow my motions, with or
without signals.”
Dutton uncovered again, and bowed profoundly, at this
announcement of the lad's name and rank; the boy himself,
taking the salute in an off-hand and indifferent way,
like one already wearied with vulgar adulation, while he
gazed about him, with some curiosity, at the head-land and
flag-staff.
“This a good look-out, sir,” observed the midshipman;
“and one that is somewhat loftier than our cross-trees. A
pair of sharp eyes might see everything that passes within
twenty miles; and, as a proof of it, I shall be the first to
sing out, `sail, hoe!”'
“Where-away, my young lord?” said Dutton, fidgeting,
as if he had neglected his duty, in the presence of a superior;
“I 'm sure, your lordship can see nothing but the
fleet at anchor, and a few boats passing between the different
ships and the landing!”
“Where-away, sure enough, youngster?” added the admiral.
“I see some gulls glancing along the surface of the
water, a mile or two outside the ships, but nothing like a
sail.”
The boy caught up Dutton's glass, which lay on the seat,
and, in a minute, he had it levelled at the expanse of water.
It was some little time, and not without much sighting along
the barrel of the instrument, that he got it to suit himself.
“Well, Master Sharp-eyes,” said Bluewater, drily, “is it
a Frenchman, or a Spaniard?”
“Hold on, a moment, sir, until I can get this awkward
glass to bear on it. — Ay — now I have her—she's but a
speck, at the best—royals and head of top-gallant-sails—
no sir, by George, it 's our own cutter, the Active, with her
squaresail set, and the heads of her lower sails just rising.
I know her by the way she carries her gaff.”
“The Active!—that betokens news,” observed Bluewater,
necessarily bring on a crisis in his own career. “Sir Gervaise
sent her to look into Cherbourg.”
“Yes sir; we all know that—and, there she comes to tell
us, I hope, that Monsieur de Vervillin has, at last, made up
his mind to come out and face us, like a man. Will you
look at the sail, sir?”
Bluewater took the glass, and sweeping the horizon, he
soon caught a view of his object. A short survey sufficed,
for one so experienced, and he handed the glass back to the
boy.
“You have quick eyes, sir,” he said, as he did so; “that
is a cutter, certainly, standing in for the roads, and I believe
you may be right in taking her for the Active.”
“'T is a long way to know so small a craft!” observed
Dutton, who also took his look at the stranger.
“Very true, sir,” answered the boy; “but one ought to
tell a friend as far as he can see him. The Active carries
a longer and a lower gaff, than any other cutter in the navy,
which is the way we all tell her from the Gnat, the cutter
we have with us.”
“I am glad to find your lordship is so close an observer,”
returned the complaisant Dutton; “a certain sign, my lord,
that your lordship will make a good sailor, in time.”
“Geoffrey is a good sailor, already,” observed the admiral,
who knew that the youngster was never better pleased,
than when he dropped the distance of using his title, and
spoke to, or of him, as of a connection; which, in truth, he
was. “He has now been with me four years; having
joined when he was only twelve. Two more years will
make an officer of him.”
“Yes sir,” said Dutton, bowing first to one, and then to
the other. “Yes sir; his lordship may well look forward
to that, with his particular merit, your esteemed favour, and
his own great name. Ah! sir, they 've caught a sight of
the stranger in the fleet, and bunting is at work, already.”
In anchoring his ships, Admiral Bluewater had kept them
as close together, as the fog rendered safe; for one of
the great difficulties of a naval commander is to retain his
vessels in compact order, in thick or heavy weather. Orders
had been given, however, for a sloop and a frigate to weigh,
the fog left them, the preceding day, in order to sweep as
wide a reach of the horizon as was convenient. In order
to maintain their ground in a light wind, and with a strong
tide running, these two cruisers had anchored; one, at the
distance of a league from the fleet, and the other, a mile or
two farther outside, though more to the eastward. The sloop
lay nearest to the stranger, and signals were flying at her
main-royal-mast-head, which the frigate was repeating, and
transmitting to the flag-ship of the commander-in-chief.
Bluewater was so familiar with all the ordinary signals, that
it was seldom he had recourse to his book for the explanations;
and, in the present instance, he saw at once that it was
the Active's number that was shown. Other signals, however,
followed, which it surpassed the rear-admiral's knowledge
to read, without assistance; from all which he was
satisfied that the stranger brought intelligence of importance,
and which could only be understood by referring to the
private signal-book.
While these facts were in the course of occurrence, the
coach arrived to convey Mrs. Dutton and Mildred to the
Hall. Bluewater now presented himself to the ladies, and
was received as kindly as they had separated from him a
few hours before; nor were the latter displeased at hearing
he was to be their companion back to the dwelling of Sir
Wycherly.
“I fear this summons bodes evil tidings,” said Mrs. Dutton;
“he would hardly think of desiring to see us, unless
something quite serious were on his mind; and the messenger
said he was no better.”
“We shall learn all, my dear lady, when we reach the
Hall,” returned Bluewater; “and the sooner we reach it,
the sooner our doubts will be removed. Before we enter
the carriage, let me make you acquainted with my young
friend, Lord Geoffrey Cleveland, whom I have presumed to
invite to be of the party.”
The handsome young midshipman was well received,
though Mrs. Dutton had been too much accustomed, in early
life, to see people of condition, to betray the same deference
as her husband for the boy's rank. The ladies occupied, as
usual, the hind seat of the coach, leaving that in front to
brought Mildred and the midshipman opposite each other; a
circumstance that soon attracted the attention of the admiral,
in a way that was a little odd; if not remarkable.
There is a charm in youth, that no other period of life posesses;
infancy, with its helpless beauty, scarcely seizing
upon the imagination and senses with an equal force. Both
the young persons in question, possessed this advantage in
a high degree; and had there been no other peculiarity, the
sight might readily have proved pleasing to one of Bluewater's
benevolence and truth of feeling. The boy was turned
of sixteen; an age in England when youth does not yet put
on the appearance of manhood; and he retained all the
evidences of a gay, generous boyhood, rendered a little
piquant, by the dash of archness, roguery, and fun, that a
man-of-war is tolerably certain to impart to a lad of spirit.
Nevertheless, his countenance retained an expression of
ingenuousness and of sensitive feeling, that was singularly
striking in one of his sex, and which, in spite of her beauty
of feature, hair, and complexion, formed the strongest
attraction in the loveliness of Mildred; that expression,
which had so much struck and charmed Bluewater—haunted
him, we might add—since the previous day, by appearing
so familiar, even while so extraordinary, and for which he
had been unable to recollect a counterpart. As she now
sat, face to face with Lord Geoffrey, to his great surprise,
the rear-admiral found much of the same character of this
very expression in the handsome boy, as in the lovely
girl. It is true, the look of ingenuousness and of sensitive
feeling, was far less marked in young Cleveland, than in
Mildred, and there was little general resemblance of feature
or countenance between the two; still, the first was to be
found in both, and so distinctly, as to be easily traced, when
placed in so close contact. Geoffrey Cleveland had the reputation
of being like his mother; and, furnished with this
clue, the fact suddenly flashed on Bluewater's mind, that the
being whom Mildred so nearly and strikingly resembled,
was a deceased sister of the Duchess, and a beloved cousin
of his own. Miss Hedworth, the young lady in question,
had long been dead; but, all who had known her, retained
person and of mind. Between her and Bluewater there had
existed a tender friendship, in which, however, no shade of
passion had mingled; a circumstance that was in part owing
to the difference in their years, Captain Bluewater having
been nearly twice his young relative's age; and in part, probably,
to the invincible manner in which the latter seemed
wedded to his profession, and his ship. Agnes Hedworth,
notwithstanding, had been very dear to our sailor, from a
variety of causes,—far more so, than her sister, the Duchess,
though she was a favourite—and the rear-admiral, when his
mind glanced rapidly through the chain of association, that
traced the accidental resemblance of Mildred to this esteemed
object, had a sincere delight in finding he had thus been
unconsciously attracted by one whose every look and smile
now forcibly reminded him of the countenance of a being
whom, in her day, he had thought so near perfection. This
delight, however, was blended with sadness, on various accounts;
and the short excursion proved to be so melancholy,
that no one was sorry when it terminated.
| CHAPTER XI. The two admirals | |