"I want a hero:--an uncommon want,
When every year and month send forth a new one;
'Till, after cloying the gazelles with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;--"
BYRON.
In consequence of the unsteadiness of the father's nerves, the duty of
raising Mildred in his arms, and of carrying her to the cottage,
devolved on the young man. This he did with a readiness and concern
which proved how deep an interest he took in her situation, and with a
power of arm which showed that his strength was increased rather than
lessened by the condition into which she had fallen. So rapid was his
movement, that no one saw the kiss he impressed on the palid cheek of
the sweet girl, or the tender pressure with which he grasped the
lifeless form. By the time he reached the door, the motion and air had
begun to revive her, and Wychecombe committed her to the care of her
alarmed mother, with a few hurried words of explanation. He did not
leave the house, however, for a quarter of an hour, except to call out
to Dutton that Mildred was reviving, and that he need be under no
uneasiness on her account. Why he remained so long, we leave the reader
to imagine, for the girl had been immediately taken to her own little
chamber, and he saw her no more for several hours.
When our young sailor came out upon the head-land again, he found the
party near the flag-staff increased to four. Dick, the groom, had
returned from his errand, and Tom Wychecombe, the intended heir of the
baronet, was also there, in mourning for his reputed father, the judge.
This young man had become a frequent visiter to the station, of late,
affecting to imbibe his uncle's taste for sea air, and a view of the
ocean. There had been several meetings between himself and his namesake,
and each interview was becoming less amicable than the preceding, for a
reason that was sufficiently known to the parties. When they met on the
present occasion, therefore, the bows they exchanged were haughty and
distant, and the glances cast at each other might have been termed
hostile, were it not that a sinister irony was blended with that of Tom
Wychecombe. Still, the feelings that were uppermost did not prevent the
latter from speaking in an apparently friendly manner.
"They tell me, Mr. Wychecombe," observed the judge's heir, (for this Tom
Wychecombe might legally claim to be;) "they tell me, Mr. Wychecombe,
that you have been taking a lesson in your trade this morning, by
swinging over the cliffs at the end of a rope? Now, that is an exploit,
more to the taste of an American than to that of an Englishman, I should
think. But, I dare say one is compelled to do many things in the
colonies, that we never dream of at home."
This was said with seeming indifference, though with great art. Sir
Wycherly's principal weakness was an overweening and an ignorant
admiration of his own country, and all it contained. He was also
strongly addicted to that feeling of contempt for the dependencies of
the empire, which seems to be inseparable from the political connection
between the people of the metropolitan country and their colonies. There
must be entire equality, for perfect respect, in any situation in life;
and, as a rule, men always appropriate to their own shares, any admitted
superiority that may happen to exist on the part of the communities to
which they belong. It is on this principle, that the tenant of a
cock-loft in Paris or London, is so apt to feel a high claim to
superiority over the occupant of a comfortable abode in a village. As
between England and her North American colonies in particular, this
feeling was stronger than is the case usually, on account of the early
democratical tendencies of the latter; not, that these tendencies had
already become the subject of political jealousies, but that they left
social impressions, which were singularly adapted to bringing the
colonists into contempt among a people predominant for their own
factitious habits, and who are so strongly inclined to view everything,
even to principles, through the medium of arbitrary, conventional
customs. It must be confessed that the Americans, in the middle of the
eighteenth century, were an exceedingly provincial, and in many
particulars a narrow-minded people, as well in their opinions as in
their habits; nor is the reproach altogether removed at the present day;
but the country from which they are derived had not then made the vast
strides in civilization, for which it has latterly become so
distinguished. The indifference, too, with which all Europe regarded the
whole American continent, and to which England, herself, though she
possessed so large a stake on this side of the Atlantic, formed no
material exception, constantly led that quarter of the world into
profound mistakes in all its reasoning that was connected with this
quarter of the world, and aided in producing the state of feeling to
which we have alluded. Sir Wycherly felt and reasoned on the subject of
America much as the great bulk of his countrymen felt and reasoned in
1745; the exceptions existing only among the enlightened, and those
whose particular duties rendered more correct knowledge necessary, and
not always among them. It is said that the English minister conceived
the idea of taxing America, from the circumstance of seeing a wealthy
Virginian lose a large sum at play, a sort of _argumentum ad hominem_
that brought with it a very dangerous conclusion to apply to the sort of
people with whom he had to deal. Let this be as it might, there is no
more question, that at the period of our tale, the profoundest ignorance
concerning America existed generally in the mother country, than there
is that the profoundest respect existed in America for nearly every
thing English. Truth compels us to add, that in despite of all that has
passed, the cis-atlantic portion of the weakness has longest endured the
assaults of time and of an increased intercourse.
Young Wycherly, as is ever the case, was keenly alive to any
insinuations that might be supposed to reflect on the portion of the
empire of which he was a native. He considered himself an Englishman, it
is true; was thoroughly loyal; and was every way disposed to sustain the
honour and interests of the seat of authority; but when questions were
raised between Europe and America, he was an American; as, in America
itself, he regarded himself as purely a Virginian, in contradistinction
to all the other colonies. He understood the intended sarcasm of Tom
Wychecombe, but smothered his resentment, out of respect to the baronet,
and perhaps a little influenced by the feelings in which he had been so
lately indulging.
"Those gentlemen who are disposed to fancy such things of the colonies,
would do well to visit that part of the world," he answered, calmly,
"before they express their opinions too loudly, lest they should say
something that future observation might make them wish to recall."
"True, my young friend--quite true," put in the baronet, with the
kindest possible intentions. "True as gospel. We never know any thing of
matters about which we know nothing; that we old men must admit, Master
Dutton; and I should think Tom must see its force. It would be
unreasonable to expect to find every thing as comfortable in America as
we have it here, in England; nor do I suppose the Americans, in general,
would be as likely to get over a cliff as an Englishman. However, there
are exceptions to all general rules, as my poor brother James used to
say, when he saw occasion to find fault with the sermon of a prelate. I
believe you did not know my poor brother, Dutton; he must have been
killed about the time you were born--St. James, I used to call him,
although my brother Thomas, the judge that was Tom's father, there--said
he was St. James the Less."
"I believe the Rev. Mr. Wychecombe was dead before I was of an age to
remember his virtues, Sir Wycherly," said Dutton, respectfully; "though
I have often heard my own father speak of all your honoured family."
"Yes, your father, Dutton, was the attorney of the next town, and we all
knew him well. You have done quite right to come back among us to spend
the close of your own days. A man is never as well off as when he is
thriving in his native soil; more especially when that soil is old
England, and Devonshire. You are not one of us, young gentleman, though
your name happens to be Wychecombe; but, then we are none of us
accountable for our own births, or birth-places."
This truism, which is in the mouths of thousands while it is in the
hearts of scarcely any, was well meant by Sir Wycherly, however plainly
expressed. It merely drew from the youth the simple answer that--"he was
born in the colonies, and had colonists for his parents;" a fact that
the others had heard already, some ten or a dozen times.
"It is a little singular, Mr. Wychecombe, that you should bear both of
my names, and yet be no relative," continued the baronet. "Now, Wycherly
came into our family from old Sir Hildebrand Wycherly, who was slain at
Bosworth Field, and whose only daughter, my ancestor, and Tom's
ancestor, there, married. Since that day, Wycherly has been a favourite
name among us. I do not think that the Wychecombes of Herts, ever
thought of calling a son Wycherly, although, as my poor brother the
judge used to say, _they_ were related, but of the half-blood, only. I
suppose your father taught you what is meant by being of the half-blood,
Thomas?"
Tom Wychecombe's face became the colour of scarlet, and he cast an
uneasy glance at all present; expecting in particular, to meet with a
look of exultation in the eyes of the lieutenant. He was greatly
relieved, however, at finding that neither of the three meant or
understood more than was simply expressed. As for his uncle, he had not
the smallest intention of making any allusion to the peculiarity of his
nephew's birth; and the other two, in common with the world, supposed
the reputed heir to be legitimate. Gathering courage from the looks of
those around him, Tom answered with a steadiness that prevented his
agitation from being detected:
"Certainly, my dear sir; my excellent parent forgot nothing that he
thought might be useful to me, in maintaining my rights, and the honour
of the family, hereafter. I very well understand that the Wychecombes of
Hertfordshire have no claims on us; nor, indeed, any Wychecombe who is
not descended from my respectable grandfather, the late Sir Wycherly."
"He must have been an _early_, instead of a _late_ Sir Wycherly, rather,
Mr. Thomas," put in Dutton, laughing at his own conceit; "for I can
remember no other than the honourable baronet before us, in the last
fifty years."
"Quite true, Dutton--very true," rejoined the person last alluded to.
"As true as that 'time and tide wait for no man.' We understand the
meaning of such things on the coast here. It was half a century, last
October, since I succeeded my respected parent; but, it will not be
another half century before some one will succeed me!"
Sir Wycherly was a hale, hearty man for his years, but he had no unmanly
dread of his end. Still he felt it could not be very distant, having
already numbered fourscore and four years. Nevertheless, there were
certain phrases of usage, that Dutton did not see fit to forget on such
an occasion, and he answered accordingly, turning to look at and admire
the still ruddy countenance of the baronet, by way of giving emphasis to
his words.
"You will yet see half of us into our graves, Sir Wycherly," he said,
"and still remain an active man. Though I dare say another half century
will bring most of us up. Even Mr. Thomas, here, and your young namesake
can hardly hope to run out more line than that. Well, as for myself, I
only desire to live through this war, that I may again see His Majesty's
arms triumphant; though they do tell me that we are in for a good thirty
years' struggle. Wars _have_ lasted as long as _that_, Sir Wycherly, and
I don't see why this may not, as well as another."
"Very true, Dutton; it is not only possible, but probable; and I trust
both you and I may live to see our flower-hunter here, a post-captain,
at least--though it would be wishing almost too much to expect to see
him an admiral. There has been _one_ admiral of the name, and I confess
I should like to see another!"
"Has not Mr. Thomas a brother in the service?" demanded the master; "I
had thought that my lord, the judge, had given us one of his young
gentlemen."
"He thought of it; but the army got both of the boys, as it turned out.
Gregory was to be the midshipman; my poor brother intending him for a
sailor from the first, and so giving him the name that was once borne by
the unfortunate relative we lost by shipwreck. I wished him to call one
of the lads James, after St. James; but, somehow, I never could persuade
Thomas to see all the excellence of that pious young man."
Dutton was a little embarrassed, for St. James had left any thing but a
godly savour behind him; and he was about to fabricate a tolerably bold
assertion to the contrary, rather than incur the risk of offending the
lord of the manor, when, luckily, a change in the state of the fog
afforded him a favourable opportunity of bringing about an apposite
change in the subject. During the whole of the morning the sea had been
invisible from the head-land, a dense body of vapour resting on it, far
as eye could reach; veiling the whole expanse with a single white cloud.
The lighter portions of the vapour had at first floated around the
head-land, which could not have been seen at any material distance; but
all had been gradually settling down into a single mass, that now rose
within twenty feet of the summit of the cliffs. The hour was still quite
early, but the sun was gaining force, and it speedily drank up all the
lighter particles of the mist, leaving a clear, bright atmosphere above
the feathery bank, through which objects might be seen for miles. There
was what seamen call a "fanning breeze," or just wind enough to cause
the light sails of a ship to swell and collapse, under the double
influence of the air and the motion of the hull, imitating in a slight
degree the vibrations of that familiar appliance of the female toilet.
Dutton's eye had caught a glance of the loftiest sail of a vessel, above
the fog, going through this very movement; and it afforded him the
release he desired, by enabling him to draw the attention of his
companions to the same object.
"See, Sir Wycherly--see, Mr. Wychecombe," he cried, eagerly, pointing in
the direction of the sail; "yonder is some of the king's canvass coming
into our roadstead, or I am no judge of the set of a man-of-war's royal.
It is a large bit of cloth, too, Mr. Lieutenant, for a sail so lofty!"
"It is a two-decker's royal, Master Dutton," returned the young sailor;
"and now you see the fore and main, separately, as the ship keeps away."
"Well," put in Sir Wycherly, in a resigned manner; "here have I lived
fourscore years on this coast, and, for the life of me, I have never
been able to tell a fore-royal from a back-royal; or a mizzen head-stay
from a head mizzen-stay. They are the most puzzling things imaginable;
and now I cannot discover how you know that yonder sail, which I see
plain enough, is a royal, any more than that it is a jib!"
Dutton and the lieutenant smiled, but Sir Wycherly's simplicity had a
cast of truth and nature about it, that deterred most people from
wishing to ridicule him. Then, the rank, fortune, and local interest of
the baronet, counted for a good deal on all such occasions.
"Here is another fellow, farther east," cried Dutton, still pointing
with a finger; "and every inch as big as his consort! Ah! it does my
eyes good to see our roadstead come into notice, in this manner, after
all I have said and done in its behalf--But, who have we here--a brother
chip, by his appearance; I dare say some idler who has been sent ashore
with despatches."
"There is another fellow further east, and every inch as big as his
consort," said Wychecombe, as we shall call our lieutenant, in order to
distinguish him from Tom of the same name, repeating the very words of
Dutton, with an application and readiness that almost amounted to wit,
pointing, in his turn, at two strangers who were ascending to the
station by a path that led from the beach. "Certainly both these
gentlemen are in His Majesty's service, and they have probably just
landed from the ships in the offing."
The truth of this conjecture was apparent to Dutton at a glance. As the
strangers joined each other, the one last seen proceeded in advance; and
there was something in his years, the confident manner in which he
approached, and his general appearance, that induced both the sailors to
believe he might be the commander of one of the ships that had just come
in view.
"Good-morrow, gentlemen," commenced this person, as soon as near enough
to salute the party at the foot of the flag-staff; "good-morrow to ye
all. I'm glad to meet you, for it's but a Jacob's ladder, this path of
yours, through the ravine in the cliffs. Hey! why Atwood," looking
around him at the sea of vapour, in surprise, "what the devil has become
of the fleet?"
"It is lost in the fog, sir; we are above it, here; when more on a level
with the ships, we could see, or fancy we saw, more of them than we do
now."
"Here are the upper sails of two heavy ships, sir," observed Wychecombe,
pointing in the direction of the vessels already seen; "ay, and yonder
are two more--nothing but the royals are visible."
"Two more!--I left eleven two-deckers, three frigates, a sloop, and a
cutter in sight, when I got into the boat. You might have covered 'em
all with a pocket-handkerchief, hey! Atwood!"
"They were certainly in close order, sir, but I'll not take it on myself
to say quite as near together as that."
"Ay, you're a dissenter by trade, and never will believe in a miracle.
Sharp work, gentlemen, to get up such a hill as this, after fifty."
"It is, indeed, sir," answered Sir Wycherly, kindly. "Will you do us the
favour to take a seat among us, and rest yourself after so violent an
exertion? The cliff is hard enough to ascend, even when one keeps the
path; though here is a young gentleman who had a fancy just now to go
down it, without a path; and that, too, merely that a pretty girl might
have a nosegay on her breakfast-table."
The stranger looked intently at Sir Wycherly for a moment, then glanced
his eye at the groom and the pony, after which he took a survey of Tom
Wychecombe, the lieutenant, and the master. He was a man accustomed to
look about him, and he understood, by that rapid glance, the characters
of all he surveyed, with perhaps the exception of that of Tom
Wychecombe; and even of that he formed a tolerably shrewd conjecture.
Sir Wycherly he immediately set down as the squire of the adjacent
estate; Dutton's situation he hit exactly, conceiving him to be a
worn-out master, who was employed to keep the signal-station; while he
understood Wychecombe, by his undress, and air, to be a sea-lieutenant
in the king's service. Tom Wychecombe he thought it quite likely might
be the son, and heir of the lord of the manor, both being in mourning;
though he decided in his own mind that there was not the smallest family
likeness between them. Bowing with the courtesy of a man who knew how to
acknowledge a civility, he took the proffered seat at Sir Wycherly's
side without farther ceremony.
"We must carry the young fellow to sea with us, sir," rejoined the
stranger, "and that will cure him of looking for flowers in such
ticklish places. His Majesty has need of us all, in this war; and I
trust, young gentleman, you have not been long ashore, among the girls."
"Only long enough to make a cure of a pretty smart hurt, received in
cutting out a lugger from the opposite coast," answered Wychecombe, with
sufficient modesty, and yet with sufficient spirit.
"Lugger!--ha! what Atwood? You surely do not mean, young gentleman, la
Voltigeuse?"
"That was the name of the craft, sir--we found her in the roads of
Groix."
"And then I've the pleasure of seeing Mr. Wychecombe, the young officer
who led in that gallant attack?"
This was said with a most flattering warmth of manner, the stranger even
rising and removing his hat, as he uttered the words with a heartiness
that showed how much his feelings were in unison with what he said.
"I am Mr. Wychecombe, sir," answered the other, blushing to the temples,
and returning the salute; "though I had not the honour of leading; one
of the lieutenants of our ship being in another boat."
"Yes--I know all that--but he was beaten off, while you boarded and did
the work. What have my lords commissioners done in the matter?"
"All that is necessary, so far as I am concerned, sir, I do assure you;
having sent me a commission the very next week. I only wish they had
been equally generous to Mr. Walton, who received a severe wound also,
and behaved as well as man could behave."
"That would not be so wise, Mr. Wychecombe, since it would be rewarding
a failure," returned the stranger, coldly. "Success is all in all, in
war. Ah! there the fellows begin to show themselves, Atwood."
This remark drew all eyes, again, towards the sea, where a sight now
presented itself that was really worthy of a passing notice. The vapour
appeared to have become packed into a mass of some eighty or a hundred
feet in height, leaving a perfectly clear atmosphere above it. In the
clear air, were visible the upper spars and canvass of the entire fleet
mentioned by the stranger; sixteen sail in all. There were the eleven
two-deckers, and the three frigates, rising in pyramids of canvass,
still fanning in towards the anchorage, which in that roadstead was
within pistol-shot of the shore; while the royals and upper part of the
topgallant sails of the sloop seemed to stand on the surface of the fog,
like a monument. After a moment's pause, Wychecombe discovered even the
head of the cutter's royal-mast, with the pennant lazily fluttering
ahead of it, partly concealed in vapour. The fog seemed to settle,
instead of rising, though it evidently rolled along the face of the
waters, putting the whole scene in motion. It was not long ere the tops
of the ships of the line became visible, and then living beings were for
the first time seen in the moving masses.
"I suppose we offer just such a sight to the top-men of the ships, as
they offer to us," observed the stranger. "They _must_ see this
head-land and flag-staff, Mr. Wychecombe; and there can be no danger of
their standing in too far!"
"I should think not, sir; certainly the men aloft can see the cliffs
above the fog, as we see the vessels' spars. Ha! Mr. Dutton, there is a
rear-admiral's flag flying on board the ship farthest to the eastward."
"So I see, sir; and by looking at the third vessel on the western side
of the line, you will find a bit of square bunting at the fore, which
will tell you there is a vice-admiral beneath it."
"Quite true!" exclaimed Wychecombe, who was ever enthusiastic on matters
relating to his profession; "a vice-admiral of the red, too; which is
the next step to being a full admiral. This must be the fleet of Sir
Digby Downes!"
"No, young gentleman," returned the stranger, who perceived by the
glance of the other's eye, that a question was indirectly put to
himself; "it is the southern squadron; and the vice-admiral's flag you
see, belongs to Sir Gervaise Oakes. Admiral Bluewater is on board the
ship that carries a flag at the mizzen."
"Those two officers always go together, Sir Wycherly," added the young
man. "Whenever we hear the name of Sir Gervaise, that of Bluewater is
certain to accompany it. Such a union in service is delightful to
witness."
"Well may they go in company, Mr. Wychecombe," returned the stranger,
betraying a little emotion. "Oakes and Bluewater were reefers together,
under old Breasthook, in the Mermaid; and when the first was made a
lieutenant into the Squid, the last followed as a mate. Oakes was first
of the Briton, in her action with the Spanish frigates, and Bluewater
third. For that affair Oakes got a sloop, and his friend went with him
as his first. The next year they had the luck to capture a heavier ship
than their own, when, for the first time in their service, the two young
men were separated; Oakes getting a frigate, and Bluewater getting the
Squid. Still they cruised in company, until the senior was sent in
command of a flying squadron, with a broad pennant, when the junior, who
by this time was post, received his old messmate on board his own
frigate. In that manner they served together, down to the hour when the
first hoisted his flag. From that time, the two old seamen have never
been parted; Bluewater acting as the admiral's captain, until he got the
square bunting himself. The vice-admiral has never led the van of a
fleet, that the rear-admiral did not lead the rear-division; and, now
that Sir Gervaise is a commander-in-chief, you see his friend, Dick
Bluewater, is cruising in his company."
While the stranger was giving this account of the Two Admirals, in a
half-serious, half-jocular manner, the eyes of his companions were on
him. He was a middle-sized, red-faced man, with an aquiline nose, a
light-blue animated eye, and a mouth, which denoted more of the habits
and care of refinement than either his dress or his ordinary careless
mien. A great deal is said about the aristocracy of the ears, and the
hands, and the feet; but of all the features, or other appliances of the
human frame, the mouth and the nose have the greatest influence in
producing an impression of gentility. This was peculiarly the case with
the stranger, whose beak, like that of an ancient galley, gave the
promise of a stately movement, and whose beautiful teeth and winning
smile, often relieved the expression of a countenance that was not
unfrequently stern. As he ceased speaking, Dutton rose, in a studied
manner, raised his hat entirely from his head, bowed his body nearly to
a right angle, and said,
"Unless my memory is treacherous, I believe I have the honor to see
Rear-Admiral Bluewater, himself; I was a mate in the Medway, when he
commanded the Chloe; and, unless five-and-twenty years have made more
changes than I think probable, he is now on this hill."
"Your memory is a bad one, Mr. Dutton, and your hill has on it a much
worse man, in all respects, than Admiral Bluewater. They say that man
and wife, from living together, and thinking alike, having the same
affections, loving the same objects, or sometimes hating them, get in
time to look alike; hey! Atwood? It may be that I am growing like
Bluewater, on the same principle; but this is the first time I ever
heard the thing suggested. I am Sir Gervaise Oakes, at your service,
sir."
The bow of Dutton was now much lower than before, while young Wychecombe
uncovered himself, and Sir Wycherly arose and paid his compliments
cordially, introducing himself, and offering the admiral and all his
officers the hospitality of the Hall.
"Ay, this is straight-forward and hearty, and in the good old English
manner!" exclaimed the admiral, when he had returned the salutes, and
cordially thanked the baronet. "One might land in Scotland, now,
anywhere between the Tweed and John a'Groat's house, and not be asked so
much as to eat an oaten cake; hey! Atwood?--always excepting the
mountain dew."
"You will have your fling at my poor countrymen, Sir Gervaise, and so
there is no more to be said on the subject," returned the secretary, for
such was the rank of the admiral's companion. "I might feel hurt at
times, did I not know that you get as many Scotsmen about you, in your
own ship, as you can; and that a fleet is all the better in your
judgment, for having every other captain from the land o' cakes."
"Did you ever hear the like of that, Sir Wycherly? Because I stick to a
man I like, he accuses me of having a predilection for his whole
country. Here's Atwood, now; he was my clerk, when in a sloop; and he
has followed me to the Plantagenet, and because I do not throw him
overboard, he wishes to make it appear half Scotland is in her hold."
"Well, there are the surgeon, the purser, one of the mates, one of the
marine officers, and the fourth lieutenant, to keep me company, Sir
Gervaise," answered the secretary, smiling like one accustomed to his
superior's jokes, and who cared very little about them. "When you send
us all back to Scotland, I'm thinking there will be many a good vacancy
to fill."
"The Scotch make themselves very useful, Sir Gervaise," put in Sir
Wycherly, by way of smoothing the matter over; "and now we have a
Brunswick prince on the throne, we Englishmen have less jealousy of them
than formerly. I am sure I should be happy to see all the gentlemen
mentioned by Mr. Atwood, at Wychecombe Hall."
"There, you're all well berthed while the fleet lies in these roads. Sir
Wycherly, in the name of Scotland, I thank you. But what an extr'ornary
(for so admirals pronounced the word a hundred years ago) scene this is,
hey! Atwood? Many a time have I seen the hulls of ships when their spars
were hid in the fog; but I do not remember ever to have seen before,
sixteen sets of masts and sails moving about on vapour, without a single
hull to uphold them. The tops of all the two-decked ships are as plainly
to be seen, as if the air were without a particle of vapour, while all
below the cat-harpings is hid in a cloud as thick as the smoke of
battle. I do not half like Bluewater's standing in so far; perhaps, Mr.
Dutton, they cannot see the cliffs, for I assure you we did not, until
quite close under them. We went altogether by the lead, the masters
feeling their way like so many blind beggars!"
"We always keep that nine-pounder loaded, Sir Gervaise," returned the
master, "in order to warn vessels when they are getting near enough in;
and if Mr. Wychecombe, who is younger than I, will run to the house and
light this match, I will prime, and we may give 'em warning where they
are, in less than a minute."
The admiral gave a ready assent to this proposition, and the respective
parties immediately set about putting it in execution. Wychecombe
hastened to the house to light the match, glad of an opportunity to
inquire after Mildred; while Dutton produced a priming-horn from a sort
of arm-chest that stood near the gun, and put the latter in a condition
to be discharged. The young man was absent but a minute, and when all
was ready, he turned towards the admiral, in order to get the signal to
proceed.
"Let 'em have it, Mr. Wychecombe," cried Sir Gervaise, smiling; "it will
wake Bluewater up; perhaps he may favour us with a broadside, by way of
retort."
The match was applied, and the report of the gun succeeded. Then
followed a pause of more than a minute; when the fog lifted around the
Cæsar, the ship that wore a rear-admiral's flag, a flash like lightning
was seen glancing in the mist, and then came the bellowing of a piece of
heavy ordnance. Almost at the same instant, three little flags appeared
at the mast-head of the Cæsar, for previously to quitting his own ship,
Sir Gervaise had sent a message to his friend, requesting him to take
care of the fleet. This was the signal to anchor. The effect of all
this, as seen from the height, was exceedingly striking. As yet not a
single hull had become visible, the fog remaining packed upon the water,
in a way to conceal even the lower yards of the two-deckers. All above
was bright, distinct, and so near, as almost to render it possible to
distinguish persons. There every thing was vivid, while a sort of
supernatural mystery veiled all beneath. Each ship had an officer aloft
to look out for signals, and no sooner had the Cæsar opened her three
little flags, which had long been suspended in black balls, in readiness
for this service, than the answers were seen floating at the mast-head
of each of the vessels. Then commenced a spectacle still more curious
than that which those on the cliff had so long been regarding with
interest. Ropes began to move, and the sails were drawn up in festoons,
apparently without the agency of hands. Cut off from a seeming
communication with the ocean, or the hulls, the spars of the different
ships appeared to be instinct with life; each machine playing its own
part independently of the others, but all having the same object in
view. In a very few minutes the canvass was hauled up, and the whole
fleet was swinging to the anchors. Presently head after head was thrown
out of the fog, the upper yards were alive with men, and the sails were
handed. Next came the squaring of the yards, though this was imperfectly
done, and a good deal by guess-work. The men came down, and there lay a
noble fleet at anchor, with nothing visible to those on the cliffs, but
their top-hamper and upper spars.
Sir Gervaise Oakes had been so much struck and amused with a sight that
to him happened to be entirely novel, that he did not speak during the
whole process of anchoring. Indeed, many a man might pass his life at
sea, and never witness such a scene; but those who have, know that it is
one of the most beautiful and striking spectacles connected with the
wonders of the great deep.
By this time the sun had got so high, as to begin to stir the fog, and
streams of vapour were shooting up from the beach, like smoke rising
from coal-pits. The wind increased, too, and rolled the vapour before
it, and in less than ten minutes, the veil was removed; ship after ship
coming out in plain view, until the entire fleet was seen riding in the
roadstead, in its naked and distinct proportions.
"Now, Bluewater is a happy fellow," exclaimed Sir Gervaise. "He sees his
great enemy, the land, and knows how to deal with it."
"I thought the French were the great and natural enemies of every
British sailor," observed Sir Wycherly, simply, but quite to the point.
"Hum--there's truth in that, too. But the land is an enemy to be feared,
while the Frenchman is not--hey! Atwood?"
It was, indeed, a goodly sight to view the fine fleet that now lay
anchored beneath the cliffs of Wychecombe. Sir Gervaise Oakes was, in
that period, considered a successful naval commander, and was a
favourite, both at the admiralty and with the nation. His popularity
extended to the most distant colonies of England, in nearly all of which
he had served with zeal and credit. But we are not writing of an age of
nautical wonders, like that which succeeded at the close of the century.
The French and Dutch, and even the Spaniards, were then all formidable
as naval powers; for revolutions and changes had not destroyed their
maritime corps, nor had the consequent naval ascendency of England
annihilated their navigation; the two great causes of the subsequent
apparent invincibility of the latter power. Battles at sea, in that day,
were warmly contested, and were frequently fruitless; more especially
when fleets were brought in opposition. The single combats were usually
more decisive, though the absolute success of the British flag, was far
from being as much a matter of course as it subsequently became. In a
word, the science of naval warfare had not made those great strides,
which marked the career of England in the end, nor had it retrograded
among her enemies, to the point which appears to have rendered their
defeat nearly certain. Still Sir Gervaise was a successful officer;
having captured several single ships, in bloody encounters, and having
actually led fleets with credit, in four or five of the great battles of
the times; besides being second and third in command, on various similar
occasions. His own ship was certain to be engaged, let what would happen
to the others. Equally as captains and as flag-officers, the nation had
become familiar with the names of Oakes and Bluewater, as men ever to be
found sustaining each other in the thickest of the fight. It may be well
to add here, that both these favourite seamen were men of family, or at
least what was considered men of family among the mere gentry of
England; Sir Gervaise being a baronet by inheritance, while his friend
actually belonged to one of those naval lines which furnishes admirals
for generations; his father having worn a white flag at the main; and
his grandfather having been actually ennobled for his services, dying
vice-admiral of England. These fortuitous circumstances perhaps rendered
both so much the greater favourites at court.