The Two Admirals

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"I believe le Grand Monarque and Marshal Saxe give a different account
of that matter, Sir Wycherly," drily observed the former; "and it may be
well to remember that there are two sides to every story. Whatever may
be said of Dettingen, I fancy history will set down Fontenoi as any
thing but a feather in His Royal Highness' cap."

"You surely do not consider it possible for the French arms to overthrow
a British army, Sir Gervaise Oakes!" exclaimed the simple-minded
provincial--for such was Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, though he had sat in
parliament, had four thousand a year, and was one of the oldest families
in England--"It sounds like treason to admit the possibility of such a
thing."

"God bless us, my dear sir, I am as far from supposing any such thing,
as the Duke of Cumberland himself; who, by the way, has as much English
blood in his veins, as the Baltic may have of the water of the
Mediterranean--hey! Atwood? By the way, Sir Wycherly, I must ask a
little tenderness of you in behalf of my friend the secretary, here, who
has a national weakness in favour of the Pretender, and all of the clan
Stuart."

"I hope not--I sincerely hope not, Sir Gervaise!" exclaimed Sir
Wycherly, with a warmth that was not entirely free from alarm; his own
loyalty to the new house being altogether without reproach. "Mr. Atwood
has the air of a gentleman of too good principles not to see on which
side real religious and political liberty lie. I am sure you are pleased
to be jocular, Sir Gervaise; the very circumstance that he is in your
company is a pledge of his loyalty."

"Well, well, Sir Wycherly, I would not give you a false idea of my
friend Atwood, if possible; and so I may as well confess, that, while
his Scotch blood inclines him to toryism, his English reason makes him a
whig. If Charles Stuart never gets the throne until Stephen Atwood helps
him to a seat on it, he may take leave of ambition for ever."

"I thought as much, Sir Gervaise--I thought _your_ secretary could never
lean to the doctrine of 'passive obedience and non-resistance.' That's a
principle which would hardly suit sailors, Admiral Bluewater."

Admiral Bluewater's line, full, blue eye, lighted with an expression
approaching irony; but he made no other answer than a slight inclination
of the head. In point of fact, _he_ was a Jacobite: though no one was
acquainted with the circumstance but his immediate commanding officer.
As a seaman, he was called on only to serve his country; and, as often
happens to military men, he was willing to do this under any superior
whom circumstances might place over his head, let his private sentiments
be what they might. During the civil war of 1715, he was too young in
years, and too low in rank to render his opinions of much importance;
and, kept on foreign stations, his services could only affect the
general interests of the nation, without producing any influence on the
contest at home. Since that period, nothing had occurred to require one,
whose duty kept him on the ocean, to come to a very positive decision
between the two masters that claimed his allegiance. Sir Gervaise had
always been able to persuade him that he was sustaining the honour and
interests of his country, and that ought to be sufficient to a patriot,
let who would rule. Notwithstanding this wide difference in political
feeling between the two admirals--Sir Gervaise being as decided a whig,
as his friend was a tory--their personal harmony had been without a
shade. As to confidence, the superior knew the inferior so well, that he
believed the surest way to prevent his taking sides openly with the
Jacobites, or of doing them secret service, was to put it in his power
to commit a great breach of trust. So long as faith were put in his
integrity, Sir Gervaise felt certain his friend Bluewater might be
relied on; and he also knew that, should the moment ever come when the
other really intended to abandon the service of the house of Hanover, he
would frankly throw up his employments, and join the hostile standard,
without profiting, in any manner, by the trusts he had previously
enjoyed. It is also necessary that the reader should understand that
Admiral Bluewater had never communicated his political opinions to any
person but his friend; the Pretender and his counsellors being as
ignorant of them, as George II. and his ministers. The only practical
effect, therefore, that they had ever produced was to induce him to
decline separate commands, several of which had been offered to him;
one, quite equal to that enjoyed by Sir Gervaise Oakes, himself.

"No," the latter answered to Sir Wycherly's remark; though the grave,
thoughtful expression of his face, showed how little his feelings chimed
in, at the moment, with the ironical language of his tongue. "No--Sir
Wycherly, a man-of-war's man, in particular, has not the slightest idea
of 'passive obedience and non-resistance,'--that is a doctrine which is
intelligible only to papists and tories. Bluewater is in a brown study;
thinking no doubt of the manner in which he intends to lead down on
Monsieur de Gravelin, should we ever have the luck to meet that
gentleman again; so we will, if it's agreeable to all parties, change
the subject."

"With all my heart, Sir Gervaise," answered the baronet, cordially;
"and, after all, there is little use in discussing the affair of the
Pretender any longer, for he appears to be quite out of men's minds,
since that last failure of King Louis XV."

"Yes, Norris rather crushed the young viper in its shell, and we may
consider the thing at an end."

"So my late brother, Baron Wychecombe, always treated it, Sir Gervaise.
He once assured me that the twelve judges were clearly against the
claim, and that the Stuarts had nothing to expect from _them_."

"Did he tell you, sir, on what ground these learned gentlemen had come
to this decision?" quietly asked Admiral Bluewater.

"He did, indeed; for he knew my strong desire to make out a good case
against the tories so well, that he laid all the law before me. I am a
bad hand, however, to repeat even what I hear; though my poor brother,
the late Rev. James Wychecombe--St. James as I used to call him--could
go over a discourse half an hour long, and not miss a word. Thomas and
James appear to have run away with the memories of the rest of the
family. Nevertheless, I recollect it all depended on an act of
Parliament, which is supreme; and the house of Hanover reigning by an
act of Parliament, no court could set aside the claim."

"Very clearly explained, sir," continued Bluewater; "and you will permit
me to say that there was no necessity for an apology on account of the
memory. Your brother, however, might not have exactly explained what an
act of Parliament is. King, Lords, and Commons, are all necessary to an
act of Parliament."

"Certainly--we all know that, my dear admiral; we poor fellows ashore
here, as well as you mariners at sea. The Hanoverian succession had all
three to authorize it."

"Had it a king?"

"A king! Out of dispute--or what we bachelors ought to consider as much
better, it had a _queen_. Queen Anne approved of the act, and that made
it an act of Parliament. I assure you, I learned a good deal of law in
the Baron's visits to Wychecombe; and in the pleasant hours we used to
chat together in his chambers!"

"And who signed the act of Parliament that made Anne a queen? or did she
ascend the throne by regular succession? Both Mary and Anne were
sovereigns by acts of Parliament, and we must look back until we get the
approval of a prince who took the crown by legal descent."

"Come--come, Bluewater," put in Sir Gervaise, gravely; "we may persuade
Sir Wycherly, in this manner, that he has a couple of furious Jacobites
in company. The Stuarts were dethroned by a revolution, which is a law
of nature, and enacted by God, and which of course overshadows all other
laws when it gets into the ascendant, as it clearly has done in this
case. I take it, Sir Wycherly, these are your park-gates, and that
yonder is the Hall."

This remark changed the discourse, and the whole party proceeded towards
the house, discussing the beauty of its position, its history, and its
advantages, until they reached its door.

CHAPTER V.

"Monarch and ministers, are awful names:
Whoever wear them, challenge our devoir."

YOUNG.

Our plan does not require an elaborate description of the residence of
Sir Wycherly. The house had been neither priory, abbey, nor castle; but
it was erected as a dwelling for himself and his posterity, by a Sir
Michael Wychecombe, two or three centuries before, and had been kept in
good serviceable condition ever since. It had the usual long, narrow
windows, a suitable hall, wainscoted rooms, battlemented walls, and
turreted angles. It was neither large, nor small; handsome, nor ugly;
grand, nor mean; but it was quaint, respectable in appearance, and
comfortable as an abode.

The admirals were put each in possession of bed-chambers and
dressing-rooms, as soon as they arrived; and Atwood was _berthed_ not
far from his commanding-officer, in readiness for service, if required.
Sir Wycherly was naturally hospitable; but his retired situation had
given him a zest for company, that greatly increased the inborn
disposition. Sir Gervaise, it was understood, was to pass the night with
him, and he entertained strong hopes of including his friend in the same
arrangement. Beds were ordered, too, for Dutton, his wife, and daughter;
and his namesake, the lieutenant, was expected also to sleep under his
roof, that night.

The day passed in the customary manner; the party having breakfasted,
and then separated to attend to their several occupations, agreeably to
the usages of all country houses, in all parts of the world, and, we
believe, in all time. Sir Gervaise, who had sent a messenger off to the
Plantagenet for certain papers, spent the morning in writing; Admiral
Bluewater walked in the park, by himself; Atwood was occupied with his
superior; Sir Wycherly rode among his labourers; and Tom Wychecombe took
a rod, and pretended to go forth to fish, though he actually held his
way back to the head-land, lingering in and around the cottage until it
was time to return home. At the proper hour, Sir Wycherly sent his
chariot for the ladies; and a few minutes before the appointed moment,
the party began to assemble in the drawing-room.

When Sir Wycherly appeared, he found the Duttons already in possession,
with Tom doing the honours of the house. Of the sailing-master and his
daughter, it is unnecessary to say more than that the former was in his
best uniform--an exceedingly plain one, as was then the case with the
whole naval wardrobe--and that the last had recovered from her illness,
as was evident by the bloom that the sensitive blushes constantly cast
athwart her lovely face. Her attire was exactly what it ought to have
been; neat, simple, and becoming. In honour of the host, she wore her
best; but this was what became her station, though a little jewelry that
rather surpassed what might have been expected in a girl of her rank of
life, threw around her person an air of modest elegance. Mrs. Dutton was
a plain, matronly woman--the daughter of a land-steward of a nobleman in
the same county--with an air of great mental suffering, from griefs she
had never yet exposed to the heartless sympathy of the world.

The baronet was so much in the habit of seeing his humble neighbours,
that an intimacy had grown up between them. Sir Wycherly, who was
anything but an acute observer, felt an interest in the
melancholy-looking, and almost heart-broken mother, without knowing why;
or certainly without suspecting the real character of her habitual
sadness; while Mildred's youth and beauty had not failed of producing
the customary effect of making a friend of the old bachelor. He shook
hands all round, therefore, with great cordiality; expressing his joy at
meeting Mrs. Dutton, and congratulating the daughter on her complete
recovery.

"I see Tom has been attentive to his duty," he added, "while I've been
detained by a silly fellow about a complaint against a poacher. My
namesake, young Wycherly, has not got back yet, though it is quite two
hours past his time; and Mr. Atwood tells me the admiral is a little
uneasy about his despatches. I tell him Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe, though
I have not the honour of ranking him among my relatives, and he is only
a Virginian by birth, is a young man to be relied on; and that the
despatches are safe, let what may detain the courier."

"And why should not a Virginian be every way as trustworthy and prompt
as an Englishman, Sir Wycherly?" asked Mrs. Dutton. "He _is_ an
Englishman, merely separated from us by the water."

This was said mildly, or in the manner of one accustomed to speak under
a rebuked feeling; but it was said earnestly, and perhaps a little
reproachfully, while the speaker's eye glanced with natural interest
towards the beautiful face of her daughter.

"Why not, sure enough, my dear Mrs. Dutton!" echoed the baronet. "They
_are_ Englishmen, like ourselves, only born out of the realm, as it
might be, and no doubt a little different on that account. They are
fellow-subjects, Mrs. Dutton, and that is a great deal. Then they are
miracles of loyalty, there being scarcely a Jacobite, as they tell me,
in all the colonies."

"Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe is a very respectable young gentleman," said
Dutton; "and I hear he is a prime seaman for his years. He has not the
honour of being related to this distinguished family, like Mr. Thomas,
here, it is true; but he is likely to make a name for himself. Should he
get a ship, and do as handsome things in her, as he has done already,
His Majesty would probably knight him; and then we should have _two_ Sir
Wycherly Wychecombes!"

"I hope not--I hope not!" exclaimed the baronet; "I think there must be
a law against _that_. As it is, I shall be obliged to put Bart. after my
name, as my worthy grandfather used to do, in order to prevent
confusion; but England can't bear two Sir Wycherlys, any more than the
world can bear two suns. Is not that your opinion, Miss Mildred?"

The baronet had laughed at his own allusion, showing he spoke half
jocularly; but, as his question was put in too direct a manner to escape
general attention, the confused girl was obliged to answer.

"I dare say Mr. Wychecombe will never reach a rank high enough to cause
any such difficulty," she said; and it was said in all sincerity; for,
unconsciously perhaps, she secretly hoped that no difference so wide
might ever be created between the youth and herself. "If he should, I
suppose his rights would be as good as another's, and he must keep his
name."

"In such a case, which is improbable enough, as Miss Mildred has so well
observed," put in Tom Wychecombe, "we should have to submit to the
_knighthood_, for that comes from the king, who might knight a
chimney-sweep, if he see fit; but a question might be raised as to the
_name_. It is bad enough as it is; but if it really got to be _two_ Sir
Wycherlys, I think my dear uncle would be wrong to submit to such an
invasion of what one might call his individuality, without making some
inquiry as to the right of the gentleman to one or both his names. The
result might show that the king had made a Sir Something Nobody."

The sneer and spite with which this was uttered, were too marked to
escape notice; and both Dutton and his wife felt it would be unpleasant
to mingle farther in the discourse. Still the last, submissive, rebuked,
and heart-broken as she was, felt a glow on her own pale cheek, as she
saw the colour mount in the face of Mildred, and she detected the strong
impulses that urged the generous girl herself to answer.

"We have now known Mr. Wychecombe several months," observed Mildred,
fastening her full, blue eye calmly on Tom's sinister-looking face; "and
we have never known any thing to cause us to think he would bear a
name--or names--that he does not at least think he has a right to."

This was said gently, but so distinctly, that every word entered fairly
into Tom Wychecombe's soul; who threw a quick, suspicious glance at the
lovely speaker, as if to ascertain how far she intended any allusion to
himself. Meeting with no other expression than that of generous
interest, he recovered his self-command, and made his reply with
sufficient coolness.

"Upon my word, Mrs. Dutton," he cried, laughing; "we young men will all
of us have to get over the cliff, and hang dangling at the end of a
rope, in order to awaken an interest in Miss Mildred, to defend us when
our backs are turned. So eloquent--and most especially, so lovely, so
charming an advocate, is almost certain of success; and my uncle and
myself must admit the absent gentleman's right to our name; though,
heaven be praised, he has not yet got either the title or the estate."

"I hope I have said nothing, Sir Wycherly, to displease _you_," returned
Mildred, with emphasis; though her face was a thousand times handsomer
than ever, with the blushes that suffused it. "Nothing would pain me
more, than to suppose I had done so improper a thing. I merely meant
that we cannot believe Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe would willingly take a
name he had no right to."

"My little dear," said the baronet, taking the hand of the distressed
girl, and kissing her cheek, as he had often done before, with fatherly
tenderness; "it is not an easy matter for _you_ to offend _me_; and I'm
sure the young fellow is quite welcome to both my names, if you wish him
to have 'em."

"And I merely meant, Miss Mildred," resumed Tom, who feared he might
have gone too far; "that the young gentleman--quite without any fault of
his own--is probably ignorant how he came by two names that have so long
pertained to the head of an ancient and honourable family. There is many
a young man born, who is worthy of being an earl, but whom the law
considers--" here Tom paused to choose terms suitable for his auditor,
when the baronet added,

"A _filius nullius_--that's the phrase, Tom--I had it from your own
father's mouth."

Tom Wychecombe started, and looked furtively around him, as if to
ascertain who suspected the truth. Then he continued, anxious to regain
the ground he feared he had lost in Mildred's favour.

"_Filius nullius_ means, Miss Mildred, exactly what I wish to express; a
family without any legal origin. They tell me, however, that in the
colonies, nothing is more common than for people to take the names of
the great families at home, and after a while they fancy themselves
related."

"I never heard Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe say a word to lead us to suppose
that he was, in any manner, connected with this family, sir," returned
Mildred, calmly, but quite distinctly.

"Did you ever hear him say he was _not_, Miss Mildred?"

"I cannot say I ever did, Mr. Wychecombe. It is a subject that has
seldom been introduced in my hearing."

"But it has often been introduced in his! I declare, Sir Wycherly, it
has struck me as singular, that while you and I have so very frequently
stated in the presence of this gentleman, that our families are in no
way connected, he has never, in any manner, not even by a nod or a look
of approbation, assented to what he must certainly know to be the case.
But I suppose, like a true colonist, he was unwilling to give up his
hold on the old stock."

Here the entrance of Sir Gervaise Oakes changed the discourse. The
vice-admiral joined the party in good spirits, as is apt to be the case
with men who have been much occupied with affairs of moment, and who
meet relaxation with a consciousness of having done their duty.

"If one could take with him to sea, the comforts of such a house as
this, Sir Wycherly, and such handsome faces as your own, young lady,"
cried Sir Gervaise, cheerfully, after he had made his salutations;
"there would be an end of our exclusiveness, for every _petit maitre_ of
Paris and London would turn sailor, as a matter of course. Six months in
the Bay of Biscay gives an old fellow, like myself, a keen relish for
these enjoyments, as hunger makes any meat palatable; though I am far,
very far, indeed, from putting this house or this company, on a level
with an indifferent feast, even for an epicure."

"Such as it is, Sir Gervaise, the first is quite at your service, in all
things," rejoined the host; "and the last will do all in its power to
make itself agreeable."

"Ah--here comes Bluewater to echo all I have said and feel. I am telling
Sir Wycherly and the ladies, of the satisfaction we grampuses experience
when we get berthed under such a roof as this, with woman's sweet face
to throw a gleam of happiness around her."

Admiral Bluewater had already saluted the mother, but when his eye fell
on the face and person of Mildred, it was riveted, for an instant, with
an earnestness and intentness of surprise and admiration that all noted,
though no one saw fit to comment on it.

"Sir Gervaise is so established an admirer of the sex," said the
rear-admiral, recovering himself, after a pause; "that I am never
astonished at any of his raptures. Salt water has the usual effect on
him, however; for I have now known him longer than he might wish to be
reminded of, and yet the only mistress who can keep him true, is his
ship."

"And to that I believe I may be said to be constant. I don't know how it
is with you, Sir Wycherly, but every thing I am accustomed to I like.
Now, here I have sailed with both these gentlemen, until I should as
soon think of going to sea without a binnacle, as to go to sea without
'em both--hey! Atwood? Then, as to the ship, my flag has been flying in
the Plantagenet these ten years, and I can't bear to give the old craft
up, though Bluewater, here, would have turned her over to an inferior
after three years' service. I tell all the young men they don't stay
long enough in any one vessel to find out her good qualities. I never
was in a slow ship yet."

"For the simple reason that you never get into a fast one, that you do
not wear her fairly out, before you give her up. The Plantagenet, Sir
Wycherly, is the fastest two-decker in His Majesty's service, and the
vice-admiral knows it too well to let any of us get foot in her, while
her timbers will hang together."

"Let it be so, if you will; it only shows, Sir Wycherly, that I do not
choose my friends for their bad qualities. But, allow me to ask, young
lady, if you happen to know a certain Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe--a
namesake, but no relative, I understand, of our respectable host--and
one who holds a commission in His Majesty's service?"

"Certainly, Sir Gervaise," answered Mildred, dropping her eyes to the
floor, and trembling, though she scarce knew why; "Mr. Wychecombe has
been about here, now, for some months, and we all know something of
him."

"Then, perhaps you can tell me whether he is generally a loiterer on
duty. I do not inquire whether he is a laggard in his duty to you, but
whether, mounted on a good hunter, he could get over twenty miles, in
eight or ten hours, for instance?"

"I think Sir Wycherly would tell you that he could, sir."

"He may be a Wychecombe, Sir Wycherly, but he is no Plantagenet, in the
way of sailing. Surely the young gentleman ought to have returned some
hours since!"

"It's quite surprising to me that he is not back before this," returned
the kind-hearted baronet. "He is active, and understands himself, and
there is not a better horseman in the county--is there, Miss Mildred?"

Mildred did not think it necessary to reply to this direct appeal; but
spite of the manner in which she had been endeavouring to school her
feelings, since the accident on the cliff, she could not prevent the
deadly paleness that dread of some accident had produced, or the rush of
colour to her cheeks that followed from the unexpected question of Sir
Wycherly. Turning to conceal her confusion, she met the eye of Tom
Wychecombe riveted on her face, with an expression so sinister, that it
caused her to tremble. Fortunately, at this moment, Sir Gervaise turned
away, and drawing near his friend, on the other side of the large
apartment, he said in an under tone--

"Luckily, Atwood has brought ashore a duplicate of my despatches,
Bluewater, and if this dilatory gentleman does not return by the time we
have dined, I will send off a second courier. The intelligence is too
important to be trifled with; and after having brought the fleet north,
to be in readiness to serve the state in this emergency, it would be
rare folly to leave the ministry in ignorance of the reasons why I have
done it."

"Nevertheless, they would be almost as well-informed, as I am myself,"
returned the rear-admiral, with a little point, but quite without any
bitterness of manner. "The only advantage I have over them is that I
_do_ know where the fleet is, which is more than the First Lord can
boast of."

"True--I had forgot, my friend--but you must feel that there _is_ a
subject on which I had better not consult you. I have received some
important intelligence, that my duty, as a commander-in-chief, renders
it necessary I should--keep to myself."

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