The Two Admirals

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"Very well, Sir Gervaise; the spar shall be righted in the morning
watch," quietly returned the captain.

"Now, there's Goodfellow, half-parson as he is; the man contrives to
keep his sticks more upright than any captain in the fleet. You never
see a spar half an inch out of its place, on board the Warspite."

"That is because her captain trims every thing by his own life, sir,"
rejoined Greenly, smiling. "Were we half as good as he is, in other
matters, we might be better than we are in seamanship."

"I do not think religion hurts a sailor, Greenly--no, not in the least.
That is to say, when he don't wedge his masts too tight, but leaves play
enough for all weathers. There is no cant in Goodfellow."

"Not the least of it, sir, and that it is which makes him so great a
favourite. The chaplain of the Warspite is of some use; but one might as
well have a bowsprit rigged out of a cabin-window, as have our chap."

"Why, we never bury a man, Greenly, without putting him into the water
as a Christian should be," returned Sir Gervaise, with the simplicity of
a true believer of the decency school. "I hate to see a seaman tossed in
the ocean like a bag of old clothes."

"We get along with that part of the duty pretty well; but _before_ a man
is dead, the parson is of opinion that he belongs altogether to the
doctor."

"I'd bet a hundred guineas, Magrath has had some influence over him, in
this matter--give the Blenheim a wider berth, Sir Wycherly, I wish to
see how she looks aloft--he's a d----d fellow, that Magrath,"--no one
swore in Sir Gervaise's boat but himself, when the vice-admiral's flag
was flying in her bows;--"and he's just the sort of man to put such a
notion into the chaplain's head."

"Why, there, I believe you're more than half right, Sir Gervaise; I
overheard a conversation between them one dark night, when they were
propping the mizzen-mast under the break of the poop, and the surgeon
_did_ maintain a theory very like that you mention, sir."

"Ah!--he did, did he? It's just like the Scotch rogue, who wanted to
persuade me that your poor uncle, Sir Wycherly, ought not to have been
blooded, in as clear a case of apoplexy as ever was met with."

"Well, I didn't think he could have carried his impudence as far as
that," observed Greenly, whose medical knowledge was about on a par with
that of Sir Gervaise. "I didn't think even a doctor would dare to hold
such a doctrine! As for the chaplain, to him he laid down the principle
that religion and medicine never worked well together. He said religion
was an 'alterative,' and would neutralize a salt as quick as fire."

"He's a great vagabond, that Magrath, when he gets hold of a young hand,
sir; and I wish with all my heart the Pretender had him, with two or
three pounds of his favourite medicines with him--I think, between the
two, England might reap some advantage, Greenly.--Now, to my notion,
Wychecombe, the Blenheim would make better weather, if her masts were
shortened at least two feet."

"Perhaps she might, Sir Gervaise; but would she be as certain a ship, in
coming into action in light winds and at critical moments?"

"Umph! It's time for us old fellows to look about us, Greenly, when the
boys begin to reason on a line of battle! Don't blush, Wychecombe; don't
blush. Your remark was sensible, and shows reflection. No country can
ever have a powerful marine, or, one likely to produce much influence in
her wars, that does not pay rigid attention to the tactics of fleets.
Your frigate actions and sailing of single ships, are well enough as
drill; but the great practice must be in squadron. Ten heavy ships, in
good _fleet_ discipline, and kept at sea, will do more than a hundred
single cruisers, in establishing and maintaining discipline; and it is
only by using vessels _together_, that we find out what both ships and
men can do. Now, we owe the success of this day, to our practice of
sailing in close order, and in knowing how to keep our stations; else
would six ships never have been able to carry away the palm of victory
from twelve--palm!--Ay, that's the very word. Greenly, I was trying to
think of this morning. Daly's paddy should have had a palm-branch in its
hand, as an emblem of victory."

CHAPTER XXVI.

"He that has sailed upon the dark-blue sea,
Has viewed at times, I ween, a full fair sight;
When the fresh breeze is fair as breeze may be,
The white sail set, the gallant frigate tight;
Mast, spires and strand, retiring to the sight,
The glorious main expanding o'er the bow,
The convoy spread like wild swans in their flight,
The dullest sailer waring bravely now,
So gaily curl the waves before each dashing prow."

BYRON.

As Sir Gervaise Oakes' active mind was liable to such sudden mutations
of thought as that described in the close of the last chapter, Greenly
neither smiled, nor dwelt on the subject at all; he simply pointed out
to his superior the fact, that they were now abreast of the Thunderer,
and desired to know whether it was his pleasure to proceed any further.

"To the Carnatic, Greenly, if Sir Wycherly will have the goodness to
shape his course thither. I have a word to say to my friend Parker,
before we sleep to-night. Give us room, however, to look at Morganic's
fancies, for I never pass his ship without learning something new. Lord
Morganic's vessel is a good school for us old fellows to attend--hey!
Greenly?"

"The Achilles is certainly a model vessel in some respects, Sir
Gervaise, though I flatter myself the Plantagenets have no great
occasion to imitate her, in order to gain a character."

"_You_ imitate Morganic in order to know how to keep a ship in
order!--Poh! let Morganic come to school to _you_. Yet the fellow is not
bashful in battle neither; keeps his station well, and makes himself
both heard and felt. Ah! there he is, flourishing his hat on the poop,
and wondering what the deuce Sir Jarvy's after, now! Sheer in,
Wychecombe, and let us hear what he has to say."

"Good evening, Sir Gervaise," called out the earl, as usual taking the
_initiative_ in the discourse; "I was in hopes when I saw your flag in
the boat, that you were going to do me the favour to open a bottle of
claret, and to taste some fruit, I have still standing on the table."

"I thank you, my lord, but business before pleasure. We have not been
idle to-day, though to-morrow shall be still more busy. How does the
Achilles steer; now her foremast is in its place?"

"Yaws like a fellow with his grog aboard, Sir Gervaise, on my honour! We
shall never do any thing with her, until you consent to let us stay her
spars, in our own fashion. Do you intend to send me Daly back, or am I
to play first lieutenant myself, admiral?"

"Daly's shipped for the cruise, and you must do as well as you can
without him. If you find yourself without a second astern, in the course
of the night, do not fancy she has gone to the bottom. Keep good
look-outs, and pay attention to signals."

As Sir Gervaise waved his hand, the young noble did not venture to
reply, much less to ask a question, though there was not a little
speculation on the poop of the Achilles, concerning the meaning of his
words. The boat moved on, and five minutes later Sir Gervaise was on the
quarter-deck of the Carnatic.

Parker received the commander-in-chief, hat in hand, with a solicitude
and anxiety that were constitutional, perhaps, and which no
consciousness of deserving could entirely appease. Habit, however, had
its share in it, since, accustomed to defer to rank from boyhood, and
the architect of his own "little fortune," he had ever attached more
importance to the commendation of his superior, than was usual with
those who had other props to lean on than their own services. As soon as
the honours of the quarter-deck had been duly paid--for these Sir
Gervaise never neglected himself, nor allowed others to neglect--the
vice-admiral intimated to Captain Parker a desire to see him in his
cabin, requesting Greenly and Wycherly to accompany them below.

"Upon my word, Parker," commenced Sir Gervaise, looking around him at
the air of singular domestic comfort that the after-cabin of the ship
presented, "you have the knack of taking a house to sea with you, that
no other captain of the fleet possesses! No finery, no Morganics, but a
plain, wholesome, domestic look, that might make a man believe he was in
his father's house. I would give a thousand pounds if my vagabonds could
give the cabin of the Plantagenet such a Bowldero look, now!"

"Less than a hundred, sir, have done the little you see here. Mrs.
Parker makes it a point to look to those matters, herself, and in that
lies the whole secret, perhaps. A good wife is a great blessing, Sir
Gervaise, though you have never been able to persuade yourself into the
notion, I believe."

"I hardly think, Parker, the wife can do it all. Now there's Stowel,
Bluewater's captain, he is married as well as yourself--nay, by George,
I've heard the old fellow say he had as much wife as any man in his
majesty's service--but _his_ cabin looks like a cobbler's barn, and his
state-room like a soldier's bunk! When we were lieutenants together in
the Eurydice, Parker, your state-room had just the same air of comfort
about it that this cabin has at this instant. No--no--it's in the grain,
man, or it would never show itself, in all times and places."

"You forget, Sir Gervaise, that when I had the honour to be your
messmate in the Eurydice, I was a married man."

"I beg your pardon, my old friend; so you were, indeed! Why, that was a
confounded long time ago, hey! Parker?"

"It was, truly, sir; but I was poor, and could not afford the
extravagances of a single life. _I_ married for the sake of economy,
Admiral Oakes."

"And love--" answered Sir Gervaise, laughing. "I'll warrant you,
Greenly, that he persuaded Mrs. Parker into that notion, whether true or
not. I'll warrant you, he didn't tell _her_ he married for so sneaking a
thing as economy! I should like to see your state-room now, Parker."

"Nothing easier, Sir Gervaise," answered the captain, rising and opening
the door. "Here it is, air, though little worthy the attention of the
owner of Bowldero."

"A notable place, truly!--and with a housewife-look about it that must
certainly remind you of Mrs. Parker--unless, indeed, that picture at the
foot of your cot puts other notions into your head! What young hussy
have you got there, my old Eurydice?--Hey! Parker?"

"That is a picture of my faithful wife, Sir Gervaise; a proper
companion, I hope, of my cruise?"

"Hey! What, that young thing your wife, Parker! How the d--l came she to
have you?"

"Ah, Sir Gervaise, she is a young thing no longer, but is well turned
towards sixty. The picture was taken when she was a bride, and is all
the dearer to me, now that I know the original has shared my fortunes so
long. I never look at it, without remembering, with gratitude, how much
she thinks of me in our cruises, and how often she prays for our
success. _You_ are not forgotten, either, sir, in her prayers."

"I!" exclaimed the vice-admiral, quite touched at the earnest simplicity
of the other. "D'ye hear that, Greenly? I'll engage, now, this lady is a
good woman--a really excellent creature--just such another as my poor
sainted mother was, and a blessing to all around her! Give me your hand,
Parker; and when you write next to your wife, tell her from me, God
bless her; and say all you think a man ought to say on such an occasion.
And now to business. Let us seat ourselves in this snug domestic-looking
cabin of yours, and talk our matters over."

The two captains and Wycherly followed the vice-admiral into the
after-cabin, where the latter seated himself on a small sofa, while the
others took chairs, in respectful attitudes near him, no familiarity or
jocularity on the part of a naval superior ever lessening the distance
between him and those who _hold subordinate commissions_--a fact that
legislators would do well to remember, when graduating rank in a
service. As soon as all were placed, Sir Gervaise opened his mind.

"I have a delicate piece of duty, Captain Parker," he commenced, "which
I wish entrusted to yourself. You must know that we handled the ship
which escaped us this morning by running down into her own line, pretty
roughly, in every respect; besides cutting two of her masts out of her.
This ship, as you may have seen, has got up jury-masts, already; but
they are spars that can only be intended to carry her into port.
Monsieur de Vervillin is not the man I take him to be, if he intends to
leave the quarrel between us where it is. Still he cannot keep that
crippled ship in his fleet, any more than we can keep our prize, and I
make no doubt he will send her off to Cherbourg as soon as it is dark;
most probably accompanied by one of his corvettes; or perhaps by a
frigate."

"Yes, Sir Gervaise," returned Parker, thoughtfully, as soon as his
superior ceased to speak; "what you predict, is quite likely to happen."

"It _must_ happen, Parker, the wind blowing directly for his haven. Now,
you may easily imagine what I want of the Carnatic."

"I suppose I understand you, sir;--and yet, if I might presume to
express a wish--"

"Speak out, old boy--you're talking to a friend. I have chosen you to
serve you, both as one I like, and as the oldest captain in the fleet.
Whoever catches that ship will hear more of it."

"Very true, sir; but are we not likely to have more work, here? and
would it be altogether prudent to send so fine a ship as the Carnatic
away, when the enemy will count ten to six, even if she remain?"

"All this has been thought of; and I suppose your own feeling has been
anticipated. You think it will be more honourable to your vessel, to
keep her place in the line, than to take a ship already half beaten."

"That's it, indeed, Sir Gervaise. I do confess some such thoughts were
crossing my mind."

"Then see how easy it is to rose them out of it. I cannot fight the
French, in this moderate weather, without a reinforcement. When the rear
joins, we shall be just ten to ten, without you, and with you, should be
eleven to ten. Now, I confess, I don't wish the least odds, and shall
send away somebody; especially when I feel certain a noble two-decked
ship will be the reward. If a frigate accompany the crippled fellow,
you'll have your hands full, and a very fair fight; and should you get
either, it will be a handsome thing. What say you _now_, Parker?"

"I begin to think better of the plan, Sir Gervaise, and am grateful for
the selection. I wish, however, I knew your own precise wishes--I've
always found it safe to follow them, sir."

"Here they are, then. Get four or five sets of the sharpest eyes you
have, and send them aloft to keep a steady look on your chap, while
there is light enough to be certain of him. In a little while, they'll
be able to recognise him in the dark; and by keeping your night-glasses
well levelled, he can scarcely slip off, without your missing him. The
moment he is gone, ware short round, and make the best of your way for
Cape la Hogue, or Alderney; you will go three feet to his two, and, my
life on it, by day-light you'll have him to windward of you, and then
you'll be certain of him. Wait for no signals from me, but be off, as
soon as it is dark. When your work is done, make the best of your way to
the nearest English port, and clap a Scotchman on your shoulder to keep
the king's sword from chafing it. They thought me fit for knighthood at
three-and-twenty, and the deuce is in it, Parker, if you are not worthy
of it at three-and-sixty!"

"Ah! Sir Gervaise, every thing you undertook succeeded! You never yet
failed in any expedition."

"That has come from attempting much. My _plans_ have often failed; but
as something good has generally followed from them, I have the credit of
designing to do, exactly what I've done."

Then followed a long, detailed discourse, on the subject before them, in
which Greenly joined; the latter making several useful suggestions to
the veteran commander of the Carnatic. After passing quite an hour in
the cabin of Parker, Sir Gervaise took his leave and re-entered his
barge. It was now so dark that small objects could not be distinguished
a hundred yards, and the piles of ships, as the boat glided past them,
resembled black hillocks, with clouds floating among their tree-like and
waving spars. No captain presumed to hail the commander-in-chief, as he
rowed down the line, again, with the exception of the peer of the realm.
He indeed had always something to say; and, as he had been conjecturing
what could induce the vice-admiral to pay so long a visit to the
Carnatic, he could not refrain from uttering as much aloud, when he
heard the measured stroke of the oars from the returning barge.

"We shall all be jealous of this compliment to Captain Parker, Sir
Gervaise," he called out, "unless your favours are occasionally extended
to some of us less worthy ones."

"Ay--ay--Morganic, you'll be remembered in proper time. In the mean
while, keep your people's eyes open, so as not to lose sight of the
French. We shall have something to say to them in the morning."

"Spare us a night-action, if possible, Sir Gervaise! I do detest
fighting when sleepy; and I like to see my enemy, too. As much as you
please in the day-time; but a quiet night, I do beseech you, sir."

"I'll warrant you, now, if the opera, or Ranelagh, or a drum, or a
masquerade, were inviting you, Morganic, you'd think but little of your
pillow!" answered Sir Gervaise, drily; "whatever you do yourself, my
lord, don't let the Achilles get asleep on duty; I may have need of her
to-morrow. Give way, Wychecombe, give way, and let us get home again."

In fifteen minutes from that instant, Sir Gervaise was once more on the
poop of the Plantagenet, and the barge in its place on deck. Greenly was
attending to the duties of his ship, and Bunting stood in readiness to
circulate such orders as it might suit the commander-in-chief to give.

It was now nine o'clock, and it was not easy to distinguish objects on
the ocean, even as large as a ship, at the distance of half a league. By
the aid of the glasses, however, a vigilant look-out was kept on the
French vessels, which, by this time, were quite two leagues distant,
drawing more ahead. It was necessary to fill away, in order to close
with them, and a night-signal was made to that effect. The whole British
line braced forward their main-yards, as it might be, by a common
impulse, and had there been one there of sufficiently acute senses, he
might have heard all six of the main-top-sails flapping at the same
instant. As a matter of course the vessels started ahead, and, the order
being to follow the vice-admiral in a close line ahead, when the
Plantagenet edged off, so as to bring the wind abeam, each vessel did
the same, in succession, or as soon as in the commander-in-chief's wake,
as if guided by instinct. About ten minutes later, the Carnatic, to the
surprise of those who witnessed the man[oe]uvre in the Achilles, wore
short round, and set studding-sails on her starboard side, steering
large. The darkest portion of the horizon being that which lay to the
eastward, or, in the direction of the continent, in twenty minutes the
pyramid of her shadowy outline was swallowed in the gloom. All this
time, la Victoire, with the Druid leading and towing, kept upon a
bowline; and an hour later, when Sir Gervaise found himself abeam of the
French line again, and half a league to windward of it, no traces were
to be seen of the three ships last mentioned.

"So far, all goes well, gentlemen," observed the vice-admiral to the
group around him on the poop; "and we will now try to count the enemy,
to make certain _he_, too, has no stragglers out to pick up waifs.
Greenly, try that glass; it is set for the night, and your eyes are the
best we have. Be particular in looking for the fellow under jury-masts."

"I make out but ten ships in the line, Sir Gervaise," answered the
captain, after a long examination; "of course the crippled ship must
have gone to leeward. Of _her_, certainly, I can find no traces."

"You will oblige me, Sir Wycherly, by seeing what _you_ can make out, in
the same way."

After a still longer examination than that of the captain, Wycherly made
the same report, adding that he thought he also missed the frigate that
had been nearest le Foudroyant, repeating her signals throughout the
day. This circumstance gratified Sir Gervaise, as he was pleased to find
his prognostics came true, and he was not sorry to be rid of one of the
enemy's light cruisers; a species of vessel that often proved
embarrassing, after a decided affair, even to the conqueror.

"I think, Sir Gervaise," Wycherly modestly added, "that the French have
boarded their tacks, and are pressing up to windward to near us. Did it
not appear so to you, Captain Greenly?"

"Not at all. If they carry courses, the sails have been set within the
last five minutes--ha! Sir Gervaise, that is an indication of a busy
night!"

As he spoke. Greenly pointed to the place where the French admiral was
known to be, where at that instant appeared a double row of lights;
proving that the batteries had their lanterns lit, and showing a
disposition to engage. In less than a minute the whole French line was
to be traced along the sea, by the double rows of illumination, the
light resembling that which is seen through the window of a room that
has a bright fire, rather than one in which lamps or candles are
actually visible. As this was just the species of engagement in which
the English had much to risk, and little to gain, Sir Gervaise
immediately gave orders to brace forward the yards, to board
fore-and-main tacks, and to set top-gallant-sails. As a matter of
course, the ships astern made sail in the same manner, and hauled up on
taut bowlines, following the admiral.

"This is not our play," coolly remarked Sir Gervaise; "a crippled ship
would drop directly into their arms and as for any success at long-shot,
in a two-to-one fight, it is not to be looked for. No--no--Monsieur de
Vervillin, show us your teeth if you will, and a pretty sight it is, but
you do not draw a shot from me. I hope the order to show no lights is
duly attended to."

"I do not think there is a light visible from any ship in the fleet, Sir
Gervaise," answered Bunting, "though we are so near, there can be no
great difficulty in telling where we are."

"All but the Carnatic and the prize, Bunting. The more fuss they make
with us, the less will they think of them."

It is probable the French admiral had been deceived by the near approach
of his enemy, for whose prowess he had a profound respect. He had made
his preparations in expectation of an attack, but he did not open his
fire, although heavy shot would certainly have told with effect.
Indisposed to the uncertainty of a night-action, he declined bringing it
on, and the lights disappeared from his ports an hour later; at that
time the English ships, by carrying sail harder than was usual in so
stiff a breeze, found themselves out of gun-shot, on the weather-bow of
their enemies. Then, and not till then, did Sir Gervaise reduce his
canvass, having, by means of his glasses, first ascertained that the
French had again hauled up their courses, and were moving along at a
very easy rate of sailing.

It was now near midnight, and Sir Gervaise prepared to go below.
Previously to quitting the deck, however, he gave very explicit orders
to Greenly, who transmitted them to the first lieutenant, that officer
or the captain intending to be on the look-out through the night; the
movements of the whole squadron being so dependent on those of the flag
ship. The vice-admiral then retired, and went coolly to bed. He was not
a man to lose his rest, because an enemy was just out of gun-shot.
Accustomed to be man[oe]uvring in front of hostile fleets, the situation
had lost its novelty, and he had so much confidence in the practice of
his captains, that he well knew nothing could occur so long as his
orders were obeyed; to doubt the latter would have been heresy in his
eyes. In professional nonchalance, no man exceeded our vice-admiral.
Blow high, or blow low, it never disturbed the economy of his
cabin-life, beyond what unavoidably was connected with the comfort of
his ship; nor did any prospect of battle cause a meal to vary a minute
in time or a particle in form, until the bulk-heads were actually
knocked down, and the batteries were cleared for action. Although
excitable in trifles, and sometimes a little irritable, Sir Gervaise, in
the way of his profession, was a great man on great occasions. His
temperament was sanguine, and his spirit both decided and bold; and, in
common with all such men who see the truth at all, when he did see it,
he saw it so clearly, as to throw all the doubts that beset minds of a
less masculine order into the shade. On the present occasion, he was
sure nothing could well occur to disturb his rest; and he took it with
the composure of one on _terra-firma_, and in the security of peace.
Unlike those who are unaccustomed to scenes of excitement, he quietly
undressed himself, and his head was no sooner on its pillow, than he
fell into a profound sleep.

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