The Two Admirals (68 page)

"I believe you know me better than I know myself," he answered, after a
thoughtful pause; "yes, better than I know myself. What a glorious close
to our professional career would it have been, Oakes, had I followed you
into battle, as was our old practice, and fallen in your wake, imitating
your own high example!"

"It is better as it is, Dick—if any thing that has so sad a termination
can be well—yes, it is better as it is; you have fallen at my
side
,
as it were. We will think or talk no more of this."

"We have been friends, and close friends too, for a long period,
Gervaise," returned Bluewater, stretching his arm from the bed, with the
long, thin fingers of the hand extended to meet the other's grasp; "yet,
I cannot recall an act of yours which I can justly lay to heart, as
unkind, or untrue."

"God forgive me, if you can—I hope not, Dick; most sincerely do I hope
not. It would give me great pain to believe it."

"
You
have no cause for self-reproach. In no one act or thought can you
justly accuse yourself with injuring
me
. I should die much happier
could I say the same of myself, Oakes!"

"Thought!—Dick?—Thought! You never meditated aught against
me
in
your whole life. The love you bear
me
, is the true reason why you lie
there, at this blessed moment."

"It is grateful to find that I have been understood. I am deeply
indebted to you, Oakes, for declining to signal me and my division down,
when I foolishly requested that untimely forbearance. I was then
suffering an anguish of mind, to which any pain of the body I may now
endure, is an elysium; your self-denial gave time—"

"For the
heart
to prompt you to that which your feelings yearned to do
from the first, Bluewater," interrupted Sir Gervaise. "And, now, as your
commanding officer, I enjoin silence on this subject,
for ever
."

"I will endeavour to obey. It will not be long, Oakes, that I shall
remain under your orders," added the rear-admiral, with a painful smile.
"There should be no charge of mutiny against me in the
last
act of my
life. You ought to forgive the one sin of omission, when you remember
how much and how completely my will has been subject to yours, during
the last five-and-thirty years,—how little my mind has matured a
professional thought that yours has not originated!"

"Speak no more of 'forgive,' I charge you, Dick. That you have shown a
girl-like docility in obeying all my orders, too, is a truth I will aver
before God and man; but when it comes to
mind
, I am far from asserting
that mine has had the mastery. I do believe, could the truth he
ascertained, it would be found that I am, at this blessed moment,
enjoying a professional reputation, which is more than half due to you."

"It matters little, now, Gervaise—it matters little, now. We were two
light-hearted and gay lads, Oakes, when we first met as boys, fresh from
school, and merry as health and spirits could make us."

"We were, indeed, Dick!—yes, we were; thoughtless as if this sad moment
were never to arrive!"

"There were George Anson, and Peter Warren, little Charley Saunders,
Jack Byng, and a set of us, that did, indeed, live as if we were never
to die! We carried our lives, as it might be, in our hands, Oakes!"

"There is much of that, Dick, in boyhood and youth. But, he is happiest,
after all, who can meet this moment as you do—calmly, and yet without
any dependence on his own merits."

"I had an excellent mother, Oakes! Little do we think, in youth, how
much we owe to the unextinguishable tenderness, and far-seeing lessons
of our mothers! Ours both died while we were young, yet I do think we
were their debtors for far more than we could ever repay."

Sir Gervaise simply assented, but making no immediate answer, otherwise,
a long pause succeeded, during which the vice-admiral fancied that his
friend was beginning to doze. He was mistaken.

"You will be made Viscount Bowldero, for these last affairs, Gervaise,"
the wounded man unexpectedly observed, showing how much his thoughts
were still engrossed with the interests of his friend. "Nor do I see why
you should again refuse a peerage. Those who remain in this world, may
well yield to its usages and opinions, while they do not interfere with
higher obligations."

"I!"—exclaimed Sir Gervaise, gloomily. "The thought of so commemorating
what has happened, would be worse than defeat to me! No—I ask no change
of name to remind me constantly of my loss!"

Bluewater looked grateful, rather than pleased; but he made no answer.
Now, he fell into a light slumber, from which he did not awake until the
time he had himself set for the marriage of Wycherly and Mildred. With
one uncle dead and still unburied, and another about to quit the world
for ever, a rite that is usually deemed as joyous as it is solemn, might
seem unseasonable; but the dying man had made it a request that he might
have the consolation of knowing ere he expired, that he left his niece
under the legal protection of one as competent, as he was desirous of
protecting her. The reader must imagine the arguments that were used for
the occasion, but they were such as disposed all, in the end, to admit
the propriety of yielding their ordinary prejudices to the exigencies of
the moment. It may be well to add, also, to prevent useless cavilling,
that the laws of England were not as rigid on the subject of the
celebration of marriages in 1745, as they subsequently became; and that
it was lawful then to perform the ceremony in a private house without a
license, and without the publishing of banns, even; restrictions that
were imposed a few years later. The penalty for dispensing with the
publication of banns, was a fine of £100, imposed on the clergyman; and
this fine Bluewater chose to pay, rather than leave the only great
object of life that now remained before him unaccomplished. This penalty
in no degree impaired the validity of the contract, though Mrs. Dutton,
as a woman, felt averse to parting with her beloved, without a rigid
observance of all the customary forms. The point had finally been
disposed of, by recourse to arguments addressed to the reason of this
respectable woman, and by urging the necessity of the case. Her consent,
however, was not given without a proviso, that a license should be
subsequently procured, and a second marriage be had at a more fitting
moment, should the ecclesiastical authorities consent to the same; a
most improbable thing in itself.

Mr. Rotherham availed himself of the statute inflicting the penalty, as
an excuse for not officiating. His real motive, however, was understood,
and the chaplain of the Plantagenet, a divine of character and piety,
was substituted in his place. Bluewater had requested that as many of
the captains of the fleet should be present as could be collected, and
it was the assembling of these warriors of the deep, together with the
arrival of the clergyman, that first gave notice of the approach of the
appointed hour.

It is not our intention to dwell on the details of a ceremony that had
so much that was painful in its solemnities. Neither Wycherly nor
Mildred made any change in their attire, and the lovely bride wept from
the time the service began, to the moment when she left the arms of her
uncle, to be received in those of her husband, and was supported from
the room. All seemed sad, indeed, but Bluewater; to him the scene was
exciting, but it brought great relief to his mind.

"I am now ready to die, gentlemen," he said, as the door closed on the
new-married couple. "My last worldly care is disposed of, and it were
better for me to turn all my thoughts to another state of being. My
niece, Lady Wychecombe, will inherit the little I have to leave; nor do
I know that it is of much importance to substantiate her birth, as her
uncle clearly bestowed what would have been her mother's property, on
her aunt, the duchess. If my dying declaration can be of any use,
however, you hear it, and can testify to it. Now, come and take leave of
me, one by one, that I may bless you all, and thank you for much
undeserved, and, I fear, unrequited love."

The scene that followed was solemn and sad. One by one, the captains
drew near the bed, and to each the dying man had something kind and
affectionate to say. Even the most cold-hearted looked grave, and
O'Neil, a man remarkable for a
gaité de coeur
that rendered the
excitement of battle some of the pleasantest moments of his life,
literally shed tears on the hand he kissed.

"Ah! my old friend," said the rear-admiral, as Parker, of the Carnatic,
drew near in his customary meek and subdued manner, "you perceive it is
not years alone that bring us to our graves! They tell me you have
behaved as usual in these late affairs; I trust that, after a long life
of patient and arduous services, you are about to receive a proper
reward."

"I will acknowledge, Admiral Bluewater," returned Parker, earnestly,
"that it would be peculiarly grateful to receive some mark of the
approbation of my sovereign; principally on account of my dear wife and
children. We are not, like yourself, descended from a noble family; but
must carve our rights to distinction, and they who have never known
honours of this nature, prize them highly."

"Ay, my good Parker," interrupted the rear-admiral, "and they who have
ever known them, know their emptiness; most especially as they approach
that verge of existence whence the eye looks in a near and fearful
glance, over the vast and unknown range of eternity."

"No doubt, sir; nor am I so vain as to suppose that hairs which have got
to be grey as mine, can last for ever. But, what I was about to say is,
that precious as honours are to the humble, I would cheerfully yield
every hope of the sort I have, to see you on the poop of the Cæsar
again, with Mr. Cornet at your elbow, leading the fleet, or following
the motions of the vice-admiral."

"Thank you, my good Parker; that can never be; nor can I say, now, that
I wish it might. When we have cast off from the world, there is less
pleasure in looking back, than in looking ahead. God bless you, Parker,
and keep you, as you ever have been, an honest man."

Stowel was the last to approach the bed, nor did he do it until all had
left the room but Sir Gervaise and himself.

The indomitable good-nature, and the professional nonchalance of
Bluewater, by leaving every subordinate undisturbed in the enjoyment of
his own personal caprices, had rendered the rear-admiral a greater
favourite, in one sense at least, than the commander-in-chief. Stowel,
by his near connection with Bluewater, had profited more by these
peculiarities than any other officer under him, and the effect on his
feelings had been in a very just proportion to the benefits. He could
not refrain, it is true, from remembering the day when he himself had
been a lieutenant in the ship in which the rear-admiral had been a
midshipman, but he no longer recollected the circumstance with the
bitterness that it sometimes drew after it. On the contrary, it was now
brought to his mind merely as the most distant of the many land-marks in
their long and joint services.

"Well, Stowel," observed Bluewater, smiling sadly, "even the old Cæsar
must be left behind. It is seldom a flag-captain has not some
heart-burnings on account of his superior, and most sincerely do I beg
you to forget and forgive any I may have occasioned yourself."

"Heaven help me, sir!—I was far, just then, from thinking of any such
thing! I was fancying how little I should have thought it probable, when
we were together in the Calypso, that I should ever be thus standing at
your
bed-side. Really, Admiral Bluewater, I would rejoice to share
with you the remnant of life that is left me."

"I do believe you would, Stowel; but that can never be. I have just
performed my last act in this world, in giving my niece to Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe."

"Yes, sir;—yes, sir—marriage is no doubt honourable, as I often tell
Mrs. Stowel, and therefore not to be despised; and yet it
is
singular,
that a gentleman who has lived a bachelor himself, should fancy to see a
marriage ceremony performed, and that, too, at the cost of £100, if any
person choose to complain, just at the close of his own cruise! However,
men are no more alike in such matters, than women in their domestic
qualities; and I sincerely hope this young Sir Wycherly may find as much
comfort, in the old house I understand he has a little inland here, as
you and I have had together, sir, in the old Cæsar. I suppose there'll
be no co-equals in Wychecombe Hall."

"I trust not, Stowel. But you must now receive my last orders, as to the
Cæsar—"

"The commander-in-chief has his own flag flying aboard of us, sir!"
interrupted the methodical captain, in a sort of admonitory way.

"Never mind that, Stowel;—I'll answer for his acquiescence. My body
must be received on board, and carried round in the ship to Plymouth.
Place it on the main-deck, where the people can see the coffin; I would
pass my last hours above ground, in their midst."

"It shall be done, sir—yes, sir, to the letter, Sir Gervaise not
countermanding. And I'll write this evening to Mrs. Stowel to say she
needn't come down, as usual, as soon as she hears the ship is in, but
that she must wait until your flag is fairly struck."

"I should be sorry, Stowel, to cause a moment's delay in the meeting of
husband and wife!"

"Don't name it, Admiral Bluewater;—Mrs. Stowel will understand that
it's duty; and when we married, I fully explained to her that duty, with
a sailor, came before matrimony."

A little pause succeeded, then Bluewater took a final and affectionate
leave of his captain. Some twenty minutes elapsed in a profound silence,
during which Sir Gervaise did not stir, fancying that his friend again
dozed. But it was ordered that Bluewater was never to sleep again, until
he took the final rest of the dead. It was the mind, which had always
blazed above the duller lethargy of his body, that buoyed him thus up,
giving an unnatural impulse to his physical powers; an impulse, however,
that was but momentary, and which, by means of the reaction,
contributed, in the end, to his more speedy dissolution. Perceiving, at
length, that his friend did not sleep, Sir Gervaise drew near his bed.