The Two Admirals

J >> J. Fenimore Cooper >> The Two Admirals

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40

On the other hand, Sir Gervaise was as simple as a child in matters of
this sort. He had a reverence for his Creator, and such general notions
of his goodness and love, as the well-disposed are apt to feel; but all
the dogmas concerning the lost condition of the human race, the
mediation, and the power of faith, floated in his mind as opinions not
to be controverted, and yet as scarcely to be felt. In short, the
commander-in-chief admitted the practical heresy, which overshadows the
faith of millions, while he deemed himself to be a stout advocate of
church and king. Still, Sir Gervaise Oakes, on occasions, was more than
usually disposed to seriousness, and was even inclined to be devout; but
it was without much regard to theories or revelation. At such moments,
while his opinions would not properly admit him within the pale of any
Christian church, in particular, his feelings might have identified him
with all. In a word, we apprehend he was a tolerably fair example of
what vague generalities, when acting on a temperament not indisposed to
moral impressions, render the great majority of men; who flit around the
mysteries of a future state, without alighting either on the
consolations of faith, or discovering any of those logical conclusions
which, half the time unconsciously to themselves, they seem to expect.
When Bluewater made his last remark, therefore, the vice-admiral looked
anxiously at his friend; and religion for the first time since the other
received his hurt, mingled with his reflections. He had devoutly, though
mentally, returned thanks to God for his victory, but it had never
occurred to him that Bluewater might need some preparation for death.

"Would you like to see the Plantagenet's chaplain, again, Dick?" he
said, tenderly; "you are no _Papist_; of _that_ I am certain."

"In that you are quite right, Gervaise. I consider all churches--_the_
one holy _Catholic_ church, if you will, as but a means furnished by
divine benevolence to aid weak men in their pilgrimage; but I also
believe that there is even a shorter way to his forgiveness than through
these common avenues. How far I am right," he added, smiling, "none will
probably know better than myself, a few hours hence."

"Friends _must_ meet again, hereafter, Bluewater; it is irrational to
suppose that they who have loved each other so well in this state of
being, are to be for ever separated in the other."

"We will hope so, Oakes," taking the vice-admiral's hand; "we will hope
so. Still, there will be no ships for us--no cruises--no victories--no
triumphs! It is only at moments like this, at which I have arrived, that
we come to view these things in their proper light. Of all the past,
your constant, unwavering friendship, gives me the most pleasure!"

The vice-admiral could resist no longer. He turned aside and wept. This
tribute to nature, in one so manly, was imposing even to the dying man,
and Galleygo regarded it with awe. Familiar as the latter had become
with his master, by use and indulgence, no living being, in his
estimation, was as authoritative or as formidable as the
commander-in-chief; and the effect of the present spectacle, was to
induce him to hide his own face in self-abasement. Bluewater saw it all,
but he neither spoke, nor gave any token of his observation. He merely
prayed, and that right fervently, not only for his friend, but for his
humble and uncouth follower.

A reaction took place in the system of the wounded man, about nine
o'clock that night. At this time he believed himself near his end, and
he sent for Wycherly and his niece, to take his leave of them. Mrs.
Dutton was also present, as was Magrath, who remained on shore, in
attendance. Mildred lay for half an hour, bathing her uncle's pillow
with her tears, until she was removed at the surgeon's suggestion.

"Ye'll see, Sir Gervaise," he whispered--(or "Sir Jairvis," as he always
pronounced the name,)--"ye'll see, Sir Jairvis, that it's a duty of the
faculty to _prolong_ life, even when there's no hope of _saving_ it; and
if ye'll be regairding the judgment of a professional man, Lady
Wychecombe had better withdraw. It would really be a matter of honest
exultation for us Plantagenets to get the rear-admiral through the
night, seeing that the surgeon of the Caesar said he could no survive the
setting sun."

At the moment of final separation, Bluewater had little to say to his
niece. Ho kissed and blessed her again and again, and then signed that
she should be taken away. Mrs. Dutton, also, came in for a full share of
his notice, he having desired her to remain after Wycherly and Mildred
had quitted the room.

"To your care and affection, excellent woman," he said, in a voice that
had now sunk nearly to a whisper--"we owe it, that Mildred is not unfit
for her station. Her recovery would have been even more painful than her
loss, had she been restored to her proper family, uneducated, vulgar,
and coarse."

"That could hardly have happened to Mildred, sir, in any circumstances,"
answered the weeping woman. "Nature has done too much for the dear
child, to render her any thing but delicate and lovely, under any
tolerable circumstances of depression."

"She is better as she is, and God be thanked that he raised up such a
protector for her childhood. You have been all in all to her in her
infancy, and she will strive to repay it to your age."

Of this Mrs. Dutton felt too confident to need assurances; and receiving
the dying man's blessing, she knelt at his bed-side, prayed fervently
for a few minutes, and withdrew. After this, nothing out of the ordinary
track occurred until past midnight, and Magrath, more than once,
whispered his joyful anticipations that the rear-admiral would survive
until morning. An hour before day, however, the wounded man revived, in
a way that the surgeon distrusted. He knew that no physical change of
this sort could well happen that did not arise from the momentary
ascendency of mind over matter, as the spirit is on the point of finally
abandoning its earthly tenement; a circumstance of no unusual occurrence
in patients of strong and active intellectual properties, whose
faculties often brighten for an instant, in their last moments, as the
lamp flashes and glares as it is about to become extinct. Going to the
bed, he examined his patient attentively, and was satisfied that the
final moment was near.

"You're a man and a soldier, Sir Jairvis," he said, in a low voice, "and
it'll no be doing good to attempt misleading your judgment in a case of
this sort. Our respectable friend, the rear-admiral, is _articulo
mortis_, as one might almost say; he cannot possibly survive half an
hour."

Sir Gervaise started. He looked around him a little wistfully; for, at
that moment, he would have given much to be alone with his dying friend.
But he hesitated to make a request, which, it struck him, might seem
improper. From this embarrassment, however, he was relieved by
Bluewater, himself, who had the same desire, without the same scruples
about confessing it. _He_ drew the surgeon to his side, and whispered a
wish to be left alone with the commander-in-chief.

"Well, there will be no trespass on the rules of practice in indulging
the poor man in his desire," muttered Magrath, as he looked about him to
gather the last of his professional instruments, like the workman who is
about to quit one place of toil to repair to another; "and I'll just be
indulging him."

So saying, he pushed Galleygo and Geoffrey from the room before him,
left it himself, and closed the door.

Finding himself alone, Sir Gervaise knelt at the side of the bed and
prayed, holding the hand of his friend in both his own. The example of
Mrs. Dutton, and the yearnings of his own heart, exacted this sacrifice;
when it was over he felt a great relief from sensations that nearly
choked him.

"Do you forgive me, Gervaise?" whispered Bluewater.

"Name it not--name it not, my best friend. We all have our moments of
weakness, and our need of pardon. May God forget all _my_ sins, as
freely as I forget your errors!"

"God bless you, Oakes, and keep you the same simple-minded, true-hearted
man, you have ever been."

Sir Gervaise buried his face in the bed-clothes, and groaned.

"Kiss me, Oakes," murmured the rear-admiral.

In order to do this, the commander-in-chief rose from his knees and bent
over the body of his friend. As he raised himself from the cheek he had
saluted, a benignant smile gleamed on the face of the dying man, and he
ceased to breathe. Near half a minute followed, however, before the last
and most significant breath that is ever drawn from man, was given. The
remainder of that night Sir Gervaise Oakes passed in the chamber alone,
pacing the floor, recalling the many scenes of pleasure, danger, pain,
and triumph, through which he and the dead had passed in company. With
the return of light, he summoned the attendants, and retired to his
tent.

CHAPTER XXXI.

"And they came for the buried king that lay
At rest in that ancient fane;
For he must be armed on the battle day,
With them to deliver Spain!--
Then the march went sounding on,
And the Moors by noontide sun,
Were dust on Tolosa's plain."

MRS. HEMANS.

It remains only to give a rapid sketch of the fortunes of our principal
characters, and of the few incidents that are more immediately connected
with what has gone before. The death of Bluewater was announced to the
fleet, at sunrise, by hauling down his flag from the mizzen of the
Caesar. The vice-admiral's flag came down with it, and re-appeared at the
next minute at the fore of the Plantagenet. But the little white emblem
of rank never went aloft again in honour of the deceased. At noon, it
was spread over his coffin, on the main-deck of the ship, agreeably to
his own request; and more than once that day, did some rough old tar use
it, to wipe the tear from his eyes.

In the afternoon of the day after the death of one of our heroes, the
wind came round to the westward, and all the vessels lifted their
anchors, and proceeded to Plymouth. The crippled ships, by this time,
were in a state to carry more or less sail, and a stranger who had seen
the melancholy-looking line, as it rounded the Start, would have fancied
it a beaten fleet on its return to port. The only signs of exultation
that appeared, were the jacks that were flying over the white flags of
the prizes; and even when all had anchored, the same air of sadness
reigned among these victorious mariners. The body was landed, with the
usual forms; but the procession of warriors of the deep that followed
it, was distinguished by a gravity that exceeded the ordinary aspects of
mere form. Many of the captains, and Greenly in particular, had viewed
the man[oe]uvring of Bluewater with surprise, and the latter not
altogether without displeasure; but his subsequent conduct completely
erased these impressions, leaving no other recollection connected with
his conduct that morning than the brilliant courage, and admirable
handling of his vessels, by which the fortunes of a nearly desperate day
were retrieved. Those who did reflect any longer on the subject,
attributed the singularity of the course pursued by the rear-admiral, to
some private orders communicated in the telegraphic signal, as already
mentioned.

It is unnecessary for us to dwell on the particular movements of the
fleet, after it reached Plymouth. The ships were repaired, the prizes
received into the service, and, in due time, all took the sea again,
ready and anxious to encounter their country's enemies. They ran the
careers usual to English heavy cruisers in that age; and as ships form
characters in this work, perhaps it may not be amiss to take a general
glance at their several fortunes, together with those of their
respective commanders. Sir Gervaise fairly wore out the Plantagenet,
which vessel was broken up three years later, though not until she had
carried a blue flag at her main, more than two years. Greenly lived to
be a rear-admiral of the red, and died of yellow-fever in the Island of
Barbadoes. The Caesar, with Stowel still in command of her, foundered at
sea in a winter's cruise in the Baltic, every soul perishing. This
calamity occurred the winter succeeding the summer of our legend, and
the only relieving circumstance connected with the disaster, was the
fact that her commander got rid of Mrs. Stowel altogether, from that day
forward. The Thunderer had her share in many a subsequent battle, and
Foley, her captain, died rear-admiral of England, and a vice-admiral of
the red, thirty years later. The Carnatic was commanded by Parker, until
the latter got a right to hoist a blue flag at the mizzen; which was
done for just one day, to comply with form, when both ship and admiral
were laid aside, as too old for further use. It should be added,
however, that Parker was knighted by the king on board his own ship; a
circumstance that cast a halo of sunshine over the close of the life of
one, who had commenced his career so humbly, as to render this happy
close more than equal to his expectations. In direct opposition to this,
it may be said here, that Sir Gervaise refused, for the third time, to
be made Viscount Bowldero, with a feeling just the reverse of that of
Parker's; for, secure of his social position, and careless of politics,
he viewed the elevation with an indifference that was a natural
consequence enough of his own birth, fortune, and high character. On
this occasion,--it was after another victory,--George II. personally
alluded to the subject, remarking that the success we have recorded had
never met with its reward; when the old seaman let out the true secret
of his pertinaciously declining an honour, about which he might
otherwise have been supposed to be as indifferent to the acceptance, as
to the refusal. "Sir," he answered to the remark of the king, "I am duly
sensible of your majesty's favour; but, I can never consent to receive a
patent of nobility that, in my eyes, will always seem to be sealed with
the blood of my closest and best friend." This reply was remembered, and
the subject was never adverted to again.

The fate of the Blenheim was one of those impressive blanks that dot the
pages of nautical history. She sailed for the Mediterranean alone, and
after she had discharged her pilot, was never heard of again. This did
not occur, however, until Captain Sterling had been killed on her decks,
in one of Sir Gervaise's subsequent actions. The Achilles was suffered
to drift in, too near to some heavy French batteries, before the treaty
of Aix-la-Chapelle was signed; and, after every stick had been again cut
out of her, she was compelled to lower her flag. His earldom and his
courage, saved Lord Morganic from censure; but, being permitted to go up
to Paris, previously to his exchange, he contracted a matrimonial
engagement with a celebrated _danseuse_, a craft that gave him so much
future employment, that he virtually abandoned his profession.
Nevertheless, his name was on the list of vice-admirals of the blue,
when he departed this life. The Warspite and Captain Goodfellow both
died natural deaths; one as a receiving-ship, and the other as a
rear-admiral of the white. The Dover, Captain Drinkwater, was lost in
attempting to weather Scilly in a gale, when her commander, and quite
half her crew, were drowned. The York did many a hard day's duty, before
her time arrived; but, in the end, she was so much injured in a general
action as to be abandoned and set fire to, at sea. Her commander was
lost overboard, in the very first cruise she took, after that related in
this work. The Elizabeth rotted as a guard-ship, in the Medway; and
Captain Blakely retired from the service with one arm, a yellow admiral.
The Dublin laid her bones in the cove of Cork, having been condemned
after a severe winter passed on the north coast. Captain O'Neil was
killed in a duel with a French officer, after the peace; the latter
having stated that his ship had run away from two frigates commanded by
the _Chevalier_. The Chloe was taken by an enemy's fleet, in the next
war; but Captain Denham worked his way up to a white flag at the main,
and a peerage. The Druid was wrecked that very summer, chasing inshore,
near Bordeaux; and Blewet, in a professional point of view, never
regained the ground he lost, on this occasion. As for the sloops and
cutters, they went the way of all small cruisers, while their nameless
commanders shared the usual fates of mariners.

Wycherly remained at Wychecombe until the interment of his uncle took
place; at which, aided by Sir Reginald's influence and knowledge, and,
in spite of Tom's intrigues, he appeared as chief mourner. The affair of
the succession was also so managed as to give him very little trouble.
Tom, discovering that his own illegitimacy was known, and seeing the
hopelessness of a contest against such an antagonist as Sir Reginald,
who knew quite as much of the facts as he did of the law of the case,
was fain to retire from the field. From that moment, no one heard any
thing more of the legacies. In the end he received the L20,000 in the
five per cents, and the few chattels Sir Wycherly had a right to give
away; but his enjoyment of them was short, as he contracted a severe
cold that very autumn, and died of a malignant fever, in a few weeks.
Leaving no will, his property escheated; but it was all restored to his
two uterine brothers, by the liberality of the ministry, and out of
respect to the long services of the baron, which two brothers, it will
he remembered, alone had any of the blood of Wychecombe in their veins
to boast of. This was disposing of the savings of both the baronet and
the judge, with a very suitable regard to moral justice.

Wycherly also appeared, though it was in company with Sir Gervaise
Oakes, as one of the principal mourners at the funeral obsequies of
Admiral Bluewater. These were of a public character, and took place in
Westminster Abbey. The carriages of that portion of the royal personages
who were not restrained by the laws of court-etiquette, appeared in the
procession; and several members of that very family that the deceased
regarded as intruders, were present incog. at his last rites. This,
however, was but one of the many illusions that the great masquerade of
life is constantly offering to the public gaze.

There was little difficulty in establishing the claims of Mildred, to be
considered the daughter of Colonel Bluewater and Agnes Hedworth. Lord
Bluewater was soon satisfied; and, as he was quite indifferent to the
possession of his kinsman's money, an acquisition he neither wished nor
expected, the most perfect good-will existed between the parties. There
was more difficulty with the Duchess of Glamorgan, who had acquired too
many of the notions of very high rank, to look with complacency on a
niece that had been educated as the daughter of a sailing-master in the
navy. She raised many objections, while she admitted that she had been
the confidant of her sister's attachment to John Bluewater. Her second
son, Geoffrey, did more to remove her scruples than all the rest united;
and when Sir Gervaise Oakes, in person, condescended to make a journey
to the Park, to persuade her to examine the proofs, she could not well
decline. As soon as one of her really candid mind entered into the
inquiry, the evidence was found to be irresistible, and she at once
yielded to the feelings of nature. Wycherly had been indefatigable in
establishing his wife's claims--more so, indeed, than in establishing
his own; and, at the suggestion of the vice-admiral--or, admiral of the
white, as he had become by a recent general promotion--he consented to
accompany the latter in this visit, waiting at the nearest town,
however, for a summons to the Park, as soon as it could be ascertained
that his presence would be agreeable to its mistress.

"If my niece prove but half as acceptable in appearance, as my _nephew_,
Sir Gervaise," observed the duchess, when the young Virginian was
introduced to her, and laying stress on the word we have
italicised--"nothing can be wanting to the agreeables of this new
connection. I am impatient, now, to see my niece; Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe has prepared me to expect a young woman of more than common
merit."

"My life on it, duchess, he has not raised your expectations too high.
The poor girl is still dwelling in her cottage, the companion of her
reputed mother; but it is time, Wychecombe, that you had claimed your
bride."

"I expect to find her and Mrs. Dutton at the Hall, on my return, Sir
Gervaise; it having been thus arranged between us. The sad ceremonies
through which we have lately been, were unsuited to the introduction of
the new mistress to her abode, and the last had been deferred to a more
fitting occasion."

"Let the first visit that Lady Wychecombe pays, be to this place," said
the duchess. "I do not command it, Sir Wycherly, as one who has some
slight claims to her duty; but I solicit it, as one who wishes to
possess every hold upon her love. Her mother was an _only_ sister; and
an _only_ sister's child must be very near to one."

It would have been impossible for the Duchess of Glamorgan to have said
as much as this before she saw the young Virginian; but, now he had
turned out a person so very different from what she expected, she had
lively hopes in behalf of her niece.

Wycherly returned to Wychecombe, after this short visit to Mildred's
aunt, and found his lovely bride in quiet possession, accompanied by her
mother. Dutton still remained at the station, for he had the sagacity to
see that he might not be welcome, and modesty enough to act with a
cautious reserve. But Wycherly respected his excellent wife too
profoundly not to have a due regard to her feelings, in all things; and
the master was invited to join the party. Brutality and meanness united,
like those which belonged to the character of Dutton, are not easily
abashed, and he accepted the invitation, in the hope that, after all, he
was to reap as many advantages by the marriage of Mildred with the
affluent baronet, as if she had actually been his daughter.

After passing a few weeks in sober happiness at home, Wycherly felt it
due to all parties, to carry his wife to the Park, in order that she
might make the acquaintance of the near relatives who dwelt there. Mrs.
Dutton, by invitation, was of the party; but Dutton was left behind,
having no necessary connection with the scenes and the feelings that
were likely to occur. It would be painting the duchess too much _en
beau_, were we to say that she met Mildred without certain misgivings
and fears. But the first glimpse of her lovely niece completely put
natural feelings in the ascendency. The resemblance to her sister was so
strong as to cause a piercing cry to escape her, and, bursting into
tears, she folded the trembling young woman to her heart, with a fervour
and sincerity that set at naught all conventional manners. This was the
commencement of a close intimacy; which lasted but a short time,
however, the duchess dying two years later.

Wycherly continued in the service until the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle,
when he finally quitted the sea. His strong native attachments led him
back to Virginia, where all his own nearest relatives belonged, and
where his whole heart might be said to be, when he saw Mildred and his
children at his side. With him, early associations and habits had more
strength, than traditions and memorials of the past. He erected a
spacious dwelling on the estate inherited from his father, where he
passed most of his time; consigning Wychecombe to the care of a careful
steward. With the additions and improvements that he was now enabled to
make, his Virginian estate produced even a larger income than his
English, and his interests really pointed to the choice he had made. But
no pecuniary considerations lay at the bottom of his selection. He
really preferred the graceful and courteous ease of the intercourse
which characterized the manners of James' river. In that age, they were
equally removed from the coarse and boisterous jollity of the English
country-squire, and the heartless conventionalities of high life. In
addition to this, his sensitive feelings rightly enough detected that he
was regarded in the mother-country as a sort of intruder. He was spoken
of, alluded to in the journals, and viewed even by his tenants as the
_American_ landlord; and he never felt truly at home in the country for
which he had fought and bled. In England, his rank as a baronet was not
sufficient to look down these little peculiarities; whereas, in
Virginia, it gave him a certain _eclat_, that was grateful to one of the
main weaknesses of human nature. "At home," as the mother-country was
then affectionately termed, he had no hope of becoming a privy
councillor; while, in his native colony, his rank and fortune, almost as
a matter of course, placed him in the council of the governor. In a
word, while Wycherly found most of those worldly considerations which
influence men in the choice of their places of residence, in favour of
the region in which he happened to be born, his election was made more
from feeling and taste than from any thing else. His mind had taken an
early bias in favour of the usages and opinions of the people among whom
he had received his first impressions, and this bias he retained to the
hour of his death.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40