The Two Admirals

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"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 honour and obey. You are your own mistress,
Martha, I 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
any thing 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 any thing 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 _you_, at present,
but with this young lady, to whom, I hope, 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 hear 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 these young Wychecombes, and either of
them would be a 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 any thing 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 anyone 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 that one silly
act of mine. A man with the charges of a 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 he 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 birth. 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, but 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 will succeed better than myself, in
quieting the feelings of 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 IX.

----"Ah, Montague,
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile!
Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
That glues my lips, and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead."

KING HENRY VI.

Sir Wycherly had actually been seized with a fit of apoplexy. It was the
first serious disease he had experienced in a long life of health and
prosperity; and the sight of their condescending, good-humored, and
indulgent master, in a plight so miserable, had a surprising effect on
the heated brains of all the household. Mr. Rotherham, a good
three-bottle man, on emergency, had learned to bleed, and fortunately
the vein he struck, as his patient still lay on the floor, where he had
fallen, sent out a stream that had the effect not only to restore the
baronet to life, but, in a great measure, to consciousness. Sir Wycherly
was not a _hard_ drinker, like Dutton; but he was a _fair_ drinker, like
Mr. Rotherham, and most of the beneficed clergy of that day. Want of
exercise, as he grew older, had as much influence in producing his
attack as excess of wine; and there were already, strong hopes of his
surviving it, aided as he was, by a good constitution. The apothecary
had reached the Hall, within five minutes after the attack, having
luckily been prescribing to the gardener; and the physician and surgeon
of the family were both expected in the course of the morning.

Sir Gervaise Oakes had been acquainted with the state of his host, by
his own valet, as soon as it was known in the servants'-hall, and being
a man of action, he did not hesitate to proceed at once to the chamber
of the sick, to offer his own aid, in the absence of that which might be
better. At the door of the chamber, he met Atwood, who had been summoned
from his pen, and they entered together, the vice-admiral feeling for a
lancet in his pocket, for he, too, had acquired the art of the
blood-letter. They now learned the actual state of things.

"Where is Bluewater?" demanded Sir Gervaise, after regarding his host a
moment with commiseration and concern. "I hope he has not yet left the
house."

"He is still here, Sir Gervaise, but I should think on the point of
quitting us. I heard him say, that, notwithstanding all Sir Wycherly's
kind plans to detain him, he intended to sleep in his own ship."

"That I've never doubted, though I've affected to believe otherwise. Go
to him, Atwood, and say I beg he will pull within hail of the
Plantagenet, as he goes off, and desire Mr. Magrath to come ashore, as
soon as possible. There shall be a conveyance at the landing to bring
him here; and he may order his own surgeon to come also, if it be
agreeable to himself."

With these instructions the secretary left the room; while Sir Gervaise
turned to Tom Wychecombe, and said a few of the words customary on such
melancholy occasions.

"I think there is hope, sir," he added, "yes, sir, I think there is
hope; though your honoured relative is no longer young--still, this
early bleeding has been a great thing; and if we can gain a little time
for poor Sir Wycherly, our efforts will not be thrown away. Sudden death
is awful, sir, and few of us are prepared for it, either in mind, or
affairs. We sailors have to hold our lives in our hands, it is true, but
then it is for king and country; and we hope for mercy on all who fall
in the discharge of their duties. For my part, I am never unprovided
with a will, and that disposes of all the interests of this world, while
I humbly trust in the Great Mediator, for the hereafter. I hope Sir
Wycherly is equally provident as to his worldly affairs?"

"No doubt my dear uncle could wish to leave certain trifling memorials
behind him to a few of his intimates," returned Tom, with a dejected
countenance; "but he has not been without a will, I believe, for some
time; and I presume you will agree with me in thinking he is not in a
condition to make one, now, were he unprovided in that way?"

"Perhaps not exactly at this moment, though a rally might afford an
opportunity. The estate is entailed, I think Mr. Dutton told me, at
dinner."

"It is, Sir Gervaise, and I am the unworthy individual who is to profit
by it, according to the common notions of men, though Heaven knows I
shall consider it any thing but a gain; still, I am the unworthy
individual who is to be benefited by my uncle's death."

"Your father was the baronet's next brother?" observed Sir Gervaise,
casually, a shade of distrust passing athwart his mind, though coming
from what source, or directed to what point, he was himself totally
unable to say. "Mr. Baron Wychecombe, I believe, was your parent?"

"He was, Sir Gervaise, and a most tender and indulgent father, I ever
found him. He left me his earnings, some seven hundred a year, and I am
sure the death of Sir Wycherly is as far from my necessities, as it is
from my wishes."

"Of course you will succeed to the baronetcy, as well as to the estate?"
mechanically asked Sir Gervaise, led on by the supererogatory
expressions of Tom, himself, rather than by a vulgar curiosity, to ask
questions that, under other circumstances, he might have thought
improper.

"Of course, sir. My father was the only surviving brother of Sir
Wycherly; the only one who ever married; and I am _his_ eldest child.
Since this melancholy event has occurred, it is quite fortunate that I
lately obtained this certificate of the marriage of my parents--is it
not, sir?"

Here Tom drew from his pocket a soiled piece of paper, which professed
to be a certificate of the marriage of Thomas Wychecombe, barrister,
with Martha Dodd, spinster, &c. &c. The document was duly signed by the
rector of a parish church in Westminster, and bore a date sufficiently
old to establish the legitimacy of the person who held it. This
extraordinary precaution produced the very natural effect of increasing
the distrust of the vice-admiral, and, in a slight degree, of giving it
a direction.

"You go well armed, sir," observed Sir Gervaise, drily. "Is it your
intention, when you succeed, to carry the patent of the baronetcy, and
the title-deeds, in your pocket?"

"Ah! I perceive my having this document strikes you as odd, Sir
Gervaise, but it can be easily explained. There was a wide difference in
rank between my parents, and some ill-disposed persons have presumed so
far to reflect on the character of my mother, as to assert she was not
married at all."

"In which case, sir, you would do well to cut off half-a-dozen of their
ears."

"The law is not to be appeased in that way, Sir Gervaise. My dear parent
used to inculcate on me the necessity of doing every thing according to
law; and I endeavour to remember his precepts. He avowed his marriage on
his death-bed, made all due atonement to my respected and injured
mother, and informed me in whose hands I should find this very
certificate; I only obtained it this morning, which fact will account
for its being in my pocket, at this melancholy and unexpected crisis, in
my beloved uncle's constitution."

The latter part of Tom's declaration was true enough; for, after having
made all the necessary inquiries, and obtained the hand-writing of a
clergyman who was long since dead, he had actually forged the
certificate that day, on a piece of soiled paper, that bore the
water-mark of 1720. His language, however, contributed to alienate the
confidence of his listener; Sir Gervaise being a man who was so much
accustomed to directness and fair-dealing, himself, as to feel disgust
at any thing that had the semblance of cant or hypocrisy. Nevertheless,
he had his own motives for pursuing the subject; the presence of neither
at the bed-side of the sufferer, being just then necessary.

"And this Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe," he said; "he who has so much
distinguished himself of late; your uncle's namesake;--is it true that
he is not allied to your family?"

"Not in the least, Sir Gervaise," answered Tom, with one of his sinister
smiles. "He is only a Virginian, you know, sir, and cannot well belong
to us. I have heard my uncle say, often, that the young gentleman must
be descended from an old servant of his father's, who was transported
for stealing silver out of a shop on Ludgate Hill, and who was arrested
for passing himself off, as one of the Wychecombe family. They tell me,
Sir Gervaise, that the colonies are pretty much made of persons
descended from that sort of ancestors?"

"I cannot say that I have found it so; though, when I commanded a
frigate, I served several years on the North American station. The
larger portion of the Americans, like much the larger portion of the
English, are humble labourers, established in a remote colony, where
civilization is not far advanced, wants are many, and means few; but, in
the way of character, I am not certain that they are not quite on a
level with those they left behind them; and, as to the gentry of the
colonies, I have seen many men of the best blood of the mother country
among them;--younger sons, and their descendants, as a matter of course,
but of an honourable and respected ancestry."

"Well, sir, this surprises me; and it is not the general opinion, I am
persuaded! Certainly, it is not the fact as respects the
gentleman--stranger, I might call him, for stranger he is at
Wychecombe--who has not the least right to pretend to belong to us."

"Did you ever know him to lay claim to that honour, sir?"

"Not directly, Sir Gervaise; though I am told he has made many hints to
that effect, since he landed here to be cured of his wound. It would
have been better had he presented his rights to the landlord, than to
present them to the tenants, I think you will allow, as a man of honour,
yourself, Sir Gervaise?"

"I can approve of nothing clandestine in matters that require open and
fair dealing, Mr. Thomas Wychecombe. But I ought to apologize for thus
dwelling on your family affairs, which concern me only as I feel an
interest in the wishes and happiness of my new acquaintance, my
excellent host."

"Sir Wycherly has property in the funds that is not entailed--quite
L1000 a year, beyond the estates--and I know he has left a will,"
continued Tom; who, with the short-sightedness of a rogue, flattered
himself with having made a favourable impression on his companion, and
who was desirous of making him useful to himself, in an emergency that
he felt satisfied must terminate in the speedy death of his uncle. "Yes,
a good L1000 a year, in the fives; money saved from his rents, in a long
life. This will probably has some provision in favour of my younger
brothers; and perhaps of this namesake of his,"--Tom was well aware that
it devised every shilling, real and personal, to himself;--"for a kinder
heart does not exist on earth. In fact, this will my uncle put in my
possession, as heir at law, feeling it due to my pretensions, I suppose;
but I have never presumed to look into it."

Here was another instance of excessive finesse, in which Tom awakened
suspicion by his very efforts to allay it. It seemed highly improbable
to Sir Gervaise, that a man like the nephew could long possess his
uncle's will, and feel no desire to ascertain its contents. The language
of the young man was an indirect admission, that he might have examined
the will if he would; and the admiral felt disposed to suspect that what
he might thus readily have done, he actually had done. The dialogue,
however, terminated here; Dutton, just at that moment, entering the room
on the errand on which he had been sent by Admiral Bluewater, and Tom
joining his old acquaintance, as soon as the latter made his appearance.
Sir Gervaise Oakes was too much concerned for the condition of his host,
and had too many cares of his own, to think deeply or long on what had
just passed between himself and Tom Wychecombe. Had they separated that
night, what had been said, and the unfavourable impressions it had made,
would have been soon forgotten; but circumstances subsequently conspired
to recall the whole to his mind, of which the consequences will be
related in the course of our narrative.

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