The Two Admirals (22 page)

"Not unless it was Sir Wycherly's desire to say, that Sir Reginald,
being descended from a younger son, was nobody—as yet, had no
woman—and I believe he is not married—and was poor, or had 'no
thing
.'"

"And is Sir Wycherly such a desperate scholar, that he would express
himself in this hieroglyphical manner, on what I fear will prove to be
his death-bed?"

"Why, Sir Gervaise, Sir Wycherly was educated like all other young
gentlemen, but has forgotten most of his classics, in the course of a
long life of ease and affluence. Is it not probable, now, that his
recollection has returned to him suddenly, in consequence of this
affection of the head? I think I have read of some curious instances of
these reviving memories, on a death-bed, or after a fit of sickness."

"Ay, that you may have done!" exclaimed Sir Gervaise, smiling; "and
poor, good Sir Wycherly, must have begun afresh, at the very place where
he left off. But here is Atwood, again."

After a short consultation, the three chosen witnesses returned to the
bed-side, the admiral being spokesman.

"The express will be off in ten minutes. Sir Wycherly," he said; "and
you may hope to see your relative, in the course of the next two or
three days."

"Too late—too late," murmured the patient, who had an inward
consciousness of his true situation; "too late—turn the will round—Sir
Reginald, Tom;—Tom, Sir Reginald. Turn the will round."

"Turn the will round!—this is very explicit, gentlemen, to those who
can understand it. Sir Reginald, Tom;—Tom, Sir Reginald. At all events,
it is clear that his mind is dwelling on the disposition of his
property, since he speaks of wills. Atwood, make a note of these words,
that there need be no mistake. I wonder he has said nothing of our brave
young lieutenant, his namesake. There can be no harm, Mr. Rotherham, in
just mentioning that fine fellow to him, in a moment like this?"

"I see none, sir. It is
our
duty to remind the sick of
their
duties."

"Do you not wish to see your young namesake, Lieutenant
Wycherly
Wychecombe, Sir Wycherly?" asked the admiral; sufficiently emphasizing
the Christian name. "He must be in the house, and I dare say would be
happy to obey your wishes."

"I hope he is well, sir—fine young gentleman—honour to the name, sir."

"Quite true, Sir Wycherly; and an honour to the
nation
, too."

"Didn't know Virginia was a
nation
—so much the better—fine young
Virginian
, sir."

"Of your
family
, no doubt, Sir Wycherly, as well as of your name,"
added the admiral, who secretly suspected the young sailor of being a
son of the baronet, notwithstanding all he had heard to the contrary.
"An exceedingly fine young man, and an honour to any house in England!"

"I suppose they
have
houses in Virginia—bad climate; houses
necessary. No relative, sir;—probably a
nullus
. Many
Wychecombes,
nulluses
. Tom, a
nullus
—this young gentleman, a
nullus
—Wychecombes of Surrey, all
nulluses
—Sir Reginald no
nullus
; but a
half
—Thomas, James, Charles, and Gregory, all
whole
. My brother, Baron Wychecombe, told me—before died."

"
Whole what
, Sir Wycherly?" asked the admiral, a little vexed at the
obscurity of the other's language.

"Blood—
whole blood
, sir. Capital law, Sir Gervaise; had it from the
baron—first hand."

Now, one of the peculiarities of England is, that, in the division of
labour, few know any thing material about the law, except the
professional men. Even their knowledge is divided and sub-divided, in a
way that makes a very fair division of profit. Thus the conveyancer is
not a barrister; the barrister is not an attorney; and the chancery
practitioner would be an unsafe adviser for one of the purely law
courts. That particular provision of the common law, which Baron
Wychecombe had mentioned to his brother, as the rule of the
half-blood
, has been set aside, or modified, by statute, within the
last ten years; but few English laymen would be at all likely to know of
such a law of descent even when it existed; for while it did violence to
every natural sentiment of right, it lay hidden in the secrets of the
profession. Were a case stated to a thousand intelligent Englishmen, who
had not read law, in which it was laid down that brothers, by different
mothers, though equally sons of the founder of the estate, could not
take from each other, unless by devise or entail, the probability is
that quite nine in ten would deny the existence of any rule so absurd;
and this, too, under the influence of feelings that were creditable to
their sense of natural justice. Nevertheless, such was one of the
important provisions of the "perfection of reason," until the recent
reforms in English law; and it has struck us as surprising, that an
ingenious writer of fiction, who has recently charmed his readers with a
tale, the interest of which turns principally on the vicissitudes of
practice, did not bethink him of this peculiar feature of his country's
laws; inasmuch as it would have supplied mystery sufficient for a dozen
ordinary romances, and improbabilities enough for a hundred. That Sir
Gervaise and his companions should be ignorant of the "law of the
half-blood," is, consequently, very much a matter of course; and no one
ought to be surprised that the worthy baronet's repeated allusions to
the "whole," and the "half," were absolutely enigmas, which neither had
the knowledge necessary to explain.

"What
can
the poor fellow mean?" demanded the admiral, more concerned
than he remembered ever before to have been, on any similar occasion.
"One could wish to serve him as much as possible, but all this about
'
nullus
,' and 'whole blood,' and 'half,' is so much gibberish to
me—can you make any thing of it,—hey! Atwood?"

"Upon my word, Sir Gervaise, it seems a matter for a judge, rather than
for man-of-war's men, like ourselves."

"It certainly can have no connection with this rising of the Jacobites?
That
is an affair likely to trouble a loyal subject, in his last
moments, Mr. Rotherham!"

"Sir Wycherly's habits and age forbid the idea that he knows more of
that
, sir, than is known to us all. His request, however, to 'turn the
will round,' I conceive to be altogether explicit. Several capital
treatises have appeared lately on the 'human will,' and I regret to say,
my honoured friend and patron has not always been quite as orthodox on
that point, as I could wish. I, therefore, consider his words as
evidence of a hearty repentance."

Sir Gervaise looked about him, as was his habit when any droll idea
crossed his mind; but again suppressing the inclination to smile, he
answered with suitable gravity—

"I understand you, sir; you think all these inexplicable terms are
connected with Sir Wycherly's religious feelings. You may certainly be
right, for it exceeds my knowledge to connect them with any thing else.
I wish, notwithstanding, he had not disowned this noble young lieutenant
of ours! Is it quite certain the young man is a Virginian?"

"So I have always understood it, sir. He has never been known in this
part of England, until he was landed from a frigate in the roads, to be
cured of a serious wound. I think none of Sir Wycherly's allusions have
the least reference to
him
."

Sir Gervaise Oakes now joined his hands behind his back, and walked
several times, quarter-deck fashion, to and fro, in the room. At each
turn, his eyes glanced towards the bed, and he ever found the gaze of
the sick man anxiously fastened on himself. This satisfied him that
religion had nothing to do with his host's manifest desire to make
himself understood; and his own trouble was greatly increased. It seemed
to him, as if the dying man was making incessant appeals to his aid,
without its being in his power to afford it. It was not possible for a
generous man, like Sir Gervaise, to submit to such a feeling without an
effort; and he soon went to the side of the bed, again, determined to
bring the affair to some intelligible issue.

"Do you think, Sir Wycherly, you could write a few lines, if we put pen,
ink, and paper before you?" he asked, as a sort of desperate remedy.

"Impossible—can hardly see; have got no strength—stop—will try—if
you please."

Sir Gervaise was delighted with this, and he immediately directed his
companions to lend their assistance. Atwood and the vicar bolstered the
old man up, and the admiral put the writing materials before him,
substituting a large quarto bible for a desk. Sir Wycherly, after
several abortive attempts, finally got the pen in his hand, and with
great difficulty traced six or seven nearly illegible words, running the
line diagonally across the paper. By this time his powers failed him
altogether, and he sunk back, dropping the pen, and closing his eyes in
a partial insensibility. At this critical instant, the surgeon entered,
and at once put an end to the interview, by taking charge of the
patient, and directing all but one or two necessary attendants, to quit
the room.

The three chosen witnesses of what had just past, repaired together to a
parlour; Atwood, by a sort of mechanical habit, taking with him the
paper on which the baronet had scrawled the words just mentioned. This,
by a sort of mechanical use, also, he put into the hands of Sir
Gervaise, as soon as they entered the room; much as he would have laid
before his superior, an order to sign, or a copy of a letter to the
secretary of the Navy Board.

"This is as bad as the '
nullus
!'" exclaimed Sir Gervaise, after
endeavouring to decipher the scrawl in vain. "What is this first word,
Mr. Rotherham—'Irish,' is it not,—hey! Atwood?"

"I believe it is no move than 'I-n,' stretched over much more paper than
is necessary."

"You are right enough, vicar; and the next word is 'the,' though it
looks like a
chevaux de frise
—what follows? It looks like
'man-of-war.' Atwood?"

"I beg your pardon, Sir Gervaise; this first letter is what I should
call an elongated n—the next is certainly an a—the third looks like
the waves of a river—ah! it is an m—and the last is an
e—n-a-m-e—that makes 'name,' gentlemen."

"Yes," eagerly added the vicar, "and the two next words are, 'of God.'"

"Then it is religion, after all, that was on the poor man's mind!"
exclaimed Sir Gervaise, in a slight degree disappointed, if the truth
must be told. "What's this A-m-e-n—'Amen'—why it's a sort of prayer."

"This is the form in which it is usual to commence wills, I believe, Sir
Gervaise," observed the secretary, who had written many a one, on board
ship, in his day. "'In the name of God, Amen.'"

"By George, you're right, Atwood; and the poor man was trying, all the
while, to let us know how he wished to dispose of his property! What
could he mean by the
nullus
—it is not possible that the old gentleman
has nothing to leave?"

"I'll answer for it, Sir Gervaise,
that
is not the true explanation,"
the vicar replied. "Sir Wycherly's affairs are in the best order; and,
besides the estate, he has a large sum in the funds."

"Well, gentlemen, we can do no more to-night. A medical man is already
in the house, and Bluewater will send ashore one or two others from the
fleet. In the morning, if Sir Wycherly is in a state to converse, this
matter shall be attended to."

The party now separated; a bed being provided for the vicar, and the
admiral and his secretary retiring to their respective rooms.

"Bid physicians talk our veins to temper,
And with an argument new-set a pulse;
Then think, my lord, of reasoning into love."

YOUNG.

While the scene just related, took place in the chamber of the sick man,
Admiral Bluewater, Mrs. Dutton, and Mildred left the house, in the old
family-coach. The rear-admiral had pertinaciously determined to adhere
to his practice of sleeping in his ship; and the manner in which he had
offered seats to his two fair companions—for Mrs. Dutton still deserved
to be thus termed—has already been seen. The motive was simply to
remove them from any further brutal exhibitions of Dutton's cupidity,
while he continued in his present humour; and, thus influenced, it is
not probable that the gallant old sailor would be likely to dwell, more
than was absolutely necessary, on the unpleasant scene of which he had
been a witness. In fact, no allusion was made to it, during the quarter
of an hour the party was driving from the Hall to the station-house.
They all spoke, with regret,—Mildred with affectionate tenderness,
even,—of poor Sir Wycherly; and several anecdotes, indicative of his
goodness of heart, were eagerly related to Bluewater, by the two
females, as the carriage moved heavily along. In the time mentioned, the
vehicle drew up before the door of the cottage, and all three alighted.

If the morning of that day had been veiled in mist, the sun had set in
as cloudless a sky, as is often arched above the island of Great
Britain. The night was, what in that region, is termed a clear
moonlight. It was certainly not the mimic day that is so often enjoyed
in purer atmospheres, but the panorama of the head-land was clothed in a
soft, magical sort of semi-distinctness, that rendered objects
sufficiently obvious, and exceedingly beautiful. The rounded, shorn
swells of the land, hove upward to the eye, verdant and smooth; while
the fine oaks of the park formed a shadowy background to the picture,
inland. Seaward, the ocean was glittering, like a reversed plane of the
firmament, far as eye could reach. If our own hemisphere, or rather this
latitude, may boast of purer skies than are enjoyed by the mother
country, the latter has a vast superiority in the tint of the water.
While the whole American coast is bounded by a dull-looking sheet of
sea-green, the deep blue of the wide ocean appears to be carried close
home to the shores of Europe. This glorious tint, from which the term of
"ultramarine" has been derived, is most remarkable in the Mediterranean,
that sea of delights; but it is met with, all along the rock-bound
coasts of the Peninsula of Spain and Portugal, extending through the
British Channel, until it is in a measure, lost on the shoals of the
North Sea; to be revived, however, in the profound depths of the ocean
that laves the wild romantic coast of Norway.