----"Ah, Montague,
If thou be there, sweet brother, take my hand,
And with thy lips keep in my soul awhile!
Thou lov'st me not; for, brother, if thou didst,
Thy tears would wash this cold congealed blood
That glues my lips, and will not let me speak.
Come quickly, Montague, or I am dead."
KING HENRY VI.
Sir Wycherly had actually been seized with a fit of apoplexy. It was the
first serious disease he had experienced in a long life of health and
prosperity; and the sight of their condescending, good-humored, and
indulgent master, in a plight so miserable, had a surprising effect on
the heated brains of all the household. Mr. Rotherham, a good
three-bottle man, on emergency, had learned to bleed, and fortunately
the vein he struck, as his patient still lay on the floor, where he had
fallen, sent out a stream that had the effect not only to restore the
baronet to life, but, in a great measure, to consciousness. Sir Wycherly
was not a _hard_ drinker, like Dutton; but he was a _fair_ drinker, like
Mr. Rotherham, and most of the beneficed clergy of that day. Want of
exercise, as he grew older, had as much influence in producing his
attack as excess of wine; and there were already, strong hopes of his
surviving it, aided as he was, by a good constitution. The apothecary
had reached the Hall, within five minutes after the attack, having
luckily been prescribing to the gardener; and the physician and surgeon
of the family were both expected in the course of the morning.
Sir Gervaise Oakes had been acquainted with the state of his host, by
his own valet, as soon as it was known in the servants'-hall, and being
a man of action, he did not hesitate to proceed at once to the chamber
of the sick, to offer his own aid, in the absence of that which might be
better. At the door of the chamber, he met Atwood, who had been summoned
from his pen, and they entered together, the vice-admiral feeling for a
lancet in his pocket, for he, too, had acquired the art of the
blood-letter. They now learned the actual state of things.
"Where is Bluewater?" demanded Sir Gervaise, after regarding his host a
moment with commiseration and concern. "I hope he has not yet left the
house."
"He is still here, Sir Gervaise, but I should think on the point of
quitting us. I heard him say, that, notwithstanding all Sir Wycherly's
kind plans to detain him, he intended to sleep in his own ship."
"That I've never doubted, though I've affected to believe otherwise. Go
to him, Atwood, and say I beg he will pull within hail of the
Plantagenet, as he goes off, and desire Mr. Magrath to come ashore, as
soon as possible. There shall be a conveyance at the landing to bring
him here; and he may order his own surgeon to come also, if it be
agreeable to himself."
With these instructions the secretary left the room; while Sir Gervaise
turned to Tom Wychecombe, and said a few of the words customary on such
melancholy occasions.
"I think there is hope, sir," he added, "yes, sir, I think there is
hope; though your honoured relative is no longer young--still, this
early bleeding has been a great thing; and if we can gain a little time
for poor Sir Wycherly, our efforts will not be thrown away. Sudden death
is awful, sir, and few of us are prepared for it, either in mind, or
affairs. We sailors have to hold our lives in our hands, it is true, but
then it is for king and country; and we hope for mercy on all who fall
in the discharge of their duties. For my part, I am never unprovided
with a will, and that disposes of all the interests of this world, while
I humbly trust in the Great Mediator, for the hereafter. I hope Sir
Wycherly is equally provident as to his worldly affairs?"
"No doubt my dear uncle could wish to leave certain trifling memorials
behind him to a few of his intimates," returned Tom, with a dejected
countenance; "but he has not been without a will, I believe, for some
time; and I presume you will agree with me in thinking he is not in a
condition to make one, now, were he unprovided in that way?"
"Perhaps not exactly at this moment, though a rally might afford an
opportunity. The estate is entailed, I think Mr. Dutton told me, at
dinner."
"It is, Sir Gervaise, and I am the unworthy individual who is to profit
by it, according to the common notions of men, though Heaven knows I
shall consider it any thing but a gain; still, I am the unworthy
individual who is to be benefited by my uncle's death."
"Your father was the baronet's next brother?" observed Sir Gervaise,
casually, a shade of distrust passing athwart his mind, though coming
from what source, or directed to what point, he was himself totally
unable to say. "Mr. Baron Wychecombe, I believe, was your parent?"
"He was, Sir Gervaise, and a most tender and indulgent father, I ever
found him. He left me his earnings, some seven hundred a year, and I am
sure the death of Sir Wycherly is as far from my necessities, as it is
from my wishes."
"Of course you will succeed to the baronetcy, as well as to the estate?"
mechanically asked Sir Gervaise, led on by the supererogatory
expressions of Tom, himself, rather than by a vulgar curiosity, to ask
questions that, under other circumstances, he might have thought
improper.
"Of course, sir. My father was the only surviving brother of Sir
Wycherly; the only one who ever married; and I am _his_ eldest child.
Since this melancholy event has occurred, it is quite fortunate that I
lately obtained this certificate of the marriage of my parents--is it
not, sir?"
Here Tom drew from his pocket a soiled piece of paper, which professed
to be a certificate of the marriage of Thomas Wychecombe, barrister,
with Martha Dodd, spinster, &c. &c. The document was duly signed by the
rector of a parish church in Westminster, and bore a date sufficiently
old to establish the legitimacy of the person who held it. This
extraordinary precaution produced the very natural effect of increasing
the distrust of the vice-admiral, and, in a slight degree, of giving it
a direction.
"You go well armed, sir," observed Sir Gervaise, drily. "Is it your
intention, when you succeed, to carry the patent of the baronetcy, and
the title-deeds, in your pocket?"
"Ah! I perceive my having this document strikes you as odd, Sir
Gervaise, but it can be easily explained. There was a wide difference in
rank between my parents, and some ill-disposed persons have presumed so
far to reflect on the character of my mother, as to assert she was not
married at all."
"In which case, sir, you would do well to cut off half-a-dozen of their
ears."
"The law is not to be appeased in that way, Sir Gervaise. My dear parent
used to inculcate on me the necessity of doing every thing according to
law; and I endeavour to remember his precepts. He avowed his marriage on
his death-bed, made all due atonement to my respected and injured
mother, and informed me in whose hands I should find this very
certificate; I only obtained it this morning, which fact will account
for its being in my pocket, at this melancholy and unexpected crisis, in
my beloved uncle's constitution."
The latter part of Tom's declaration was true enough; for, after having
made all the necessary inquiries, and obtained the hand-writing of a
clergyman who was long since dead, he had actually forged the
certificate that day, on a piece of soiled paper, that bore the
water-mark of 1720. His language, however, contributed to alienate the
confidence of his listener; Sir Gervaise being a man who was so much
accustomed to directness and fair-dealing, himself, as to feel disgust
at any thing that had the semblance of cant or hypocrisy. Nevertheless,
he had his own motives for pursuing the subject; the presence of neither
at the bed-side of the sufferer, being just then necessary.
"And this Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe," he said; "he who has so much
distinguished himself of late; your uncle's namesake;--is it true that
he is not allied to your family?"
"Not in the least, Sir Gervaise," answered Tom, with one of his sinister
smiles. "He is only a Virginian, you know, sir, and cannot well belong
to us. I have heard my uncle say, often, that the young gentleman must
be descended from an old servant of his father's, who was transported
for stealing silver out of a shop on Ludgate Hill, and who was arrested
for passing himself off, as one of the Wychecombe family. They tell me,
Sir Gervaise, that the colonies are pretty much made of persons
descended from that sort of ancestors?"
"I cannot say that I have found it so; though, when I commanded a
frigate, I served several years on the North American station. The
larger portion of the Americans, like much the larger portion of the
English, are humble labourers, established in a remote colony, where
civilization is not far advanced, wants are many, and means few; but, in
the way of character, I am not certain that they are not quite on a
level with those they left behind them; and, as to the gentry of the
colonies, I have seen many men of the best blood of the mother country
among them;--younger sons, and their descendants, as a matter of course,
but of an honourable and respected ancestry."
"Well, sir, this surprises me; and it is not the general opinion, I am
persuaded! Certainly, it is not the fact as respects the
gentleman--stranger, I might call him, for stranger he is at
Wychecombe--who has not the least right to pretend to belong to us."
"Did you ever know him to lay claim to that honour, sir?"
"Not directly, Sir Gervaise; though I am told he has made many hints to
that effect, since he landed here to be cured of his wound. It would
have been better had he presented his rights to the landlord, than to
present them to the tenants, I think you will allow, as a man of honour,
yourself, Sir Gervaise?"
"I can approve of nothing clandestine in matters that require open and
fair dealing, Mr. Thomas Wychecombe. But I ought to apologize for thus
dwelling on your family affairs, which concern me only as I feel an
interest in the wishes and happiness of my new acquaintance, my
excellent host."
"Sir Wycherly has property in the funds that is not entailed--quite
£1000 a year, beyond the estates--and I know he has left a will,"
continued Tom; who, with the short-sightedness of a rogue, flattered
himself with having made a favourable impression on his companion, and
who was desirous of making him useful to himself, in an emergency that
he felt satisfied must terminate in the speedy death of his uncle. "Yes,
a good £1000 a year, in the fives; money saved from his rents, in a long
life. This will probably has some provision in favour of my younger
brothers; and perhaps of this namesake of his,"--Tom was well aware that
it devised every shilling, real and personal, to himself;--"for a kinder
heart does not exist on earth. In fact, this will my uncle put in my
possession, as heir at law, feeling it due to my pretensions, I suppose;
but I have never presumed to look into it."
Here was another instance of excessive finesse, in which Tom awakened
suspicion by his very efforts to allay it. It seemed highly improbable
to Sir Gervaise, that a man like the nephew could long possess his
uncle's will, and feel no desire to ascertain its contents. The language
of the young man was an indirect admission, that he might have examined
the will if he would; and the admiral felt disposed to suspect that what
he might thus readily have done, he actually had done. The dialogue,
however, terminated here; Dutton, just at that moment, entering the room
on the errand on which he had been sent by Admiral Bluewater, and Tom
joining his old acquaintance, as soon as the latter made his appearance.
Sir Gervaise Oakes was too much concerned for the condition of his host,
and had too many cares of his own, to think deeply or long on what had
just passed between himself and Tom Wychecombe. Had they separated that
night, what had been said, and the unfavourable impressions it had made,
would have been soon forgotten; but circumstances subsequently conspired
to recall the whole to his mind, of which the consequences will be
related in the course of our narrative.
Dutton appeared to be a little shocked as he gazed upon the pallid
features of Sir Wycherly, and he was not sorry when Tom led him aside,
and began to speak confidentially of the future, and of the probable
speedy death of his uncle. Had there been one present, gifted with the
power of reading the thoughts and motives of men, a deep disgust of
human frailties must have come over him, as these two impure spirits
betrayed to him their cupidity and cunning. Outwardly, they were friends
mourning over a mutual probable loss; while inwardly, Dutton was
endeavouring to obtain such a hold of his companion's confidence, as
might pave the way to his own future preferment to the high and
unhoped-for station of a rich baronet's father-in-law; while Tom thought
only of so far mystifying the master, as to make use of him, on an
emergency, as a witness to establish his own claims. The manner in which
he endeavoured to effect his object, however, must be left to the
imagination of the reader, as we have matters of greater moment to
record at this particular juncture.
From the time Sir Wycherly was laid on his bed, Mr. Rotherham had been
seated at the sick man's side, watching the course of his attack, and
ready to interpret any of the patient's feebly and indistinctly
expressed wishes. We say indistinctly, because the baronet's speech was
slightly affected with that species of paralysis which reduces the
faculty to the state that is vulgarly called thick-tongued. Although a
three-bottle man, Mr. Rotherham was far from being without his devout
feelings, on occasions, discharging all the clerical functions with as
much unction as the habits of the country, and the opinions of the day,
ordinarily exacted of divines. He had even volunteered to read the
prayers for the sick, as soon as he perceived that the patient's
recollection had returned; but this kind offer had been declined by Sir
Wycherly, under the clearer views of fitness, that the near approach of
death is apt to give, and which views left a certain consciousness that
the party assembled was not in the best possible condition for that
sacred office. Sir Wycherly revived so much, at last, as to look about
him with increasing consciousness; and, at length, his eyes passed
slowly over the room, scanning each person singly, and with marked
deliberation.
"I know you all--now," said the kind-hearted baronet, though always
speaking thick, and with a little difficulty; "am sorry to give--much
trouble. I have--little time to spare."
"I hope not, Sir Wycherly," put in the vicar, in a consolatory manner;
"you have had a sharp attack, but then there is a good constitution to
withstand it."
"My time--short--feel it here," rejoined the patient, passing his hand
over his forehead.
"Note that, Dutton," whispered Tom Wycherly. "My poor uncle intimates
himself that his mind is a little shaken. Under such circumstances, it
would be cruel to let him injure himself with business."
"It cannot be done _legally_, Mr. Thomas--I should think Admiral Oakes
would interfere to prevent it."
"Rotherham," continued the patient, "I will--settle with--world; then,
give--thoughts--to God. Have we--guests--the house?--Men of
family--character?"
"Certainly, Sir Wycherly; Admiral Oakes is in the room, even; and
Admiral Bluewater, is, I believe, still in the house. You invited both
to pass the night with you."
"I remember it--now; my mind--still--confused,"--here Tom Wychecombe
again nudged the master--"Sir Gervaise Oakes--an Admiral--ancient
baronet--man of high honour. Admiral Bluewater, too--relative--Lord
Bluewater; gentleman--universal esteem. You, too, Rotherham; wish my
poor brother James--St. James--used to call him--had been
living;--you--good neighbour--Rotherham."
"Can I do any thing to prove it, my dear Sir Wycherly? Nothing would
make me happier than to know, and to comply with, all your wishes, at a
moment so important!"
"Let all quit--room--but yourself--head feels worse--I cannot delay--"
"'Tis cruel to distress my beloved uncle with business, or conversation,
in his present state," interposed Tom Wychecombe, with emphasis, and, in
a slight degree, with authority.
All not only felt the truth of this, but all felt that the speaker, by
his consanguinity, had a clear right to interfere, in the manner he had.
Still Sir Gervaise Oakes had great reluctance in yielding to this
remonstrance; for, to the distrust he had imbibed of Tom Wychecombe, was
added an impression that his host wished to reveal something of
interest, in connection with his new favourite, the lieutenant. He felt
compelled, notwithstanding, to defer to the acknowledged nephew's better
claims, and he refrained from interfering. Fortunately, Sir Wycherly was
yet in a state to enforce his own wishes.
"Let all quit--room," he repeated, in a voice that was startling by its
unexpected firmness, and equally unexpected distinctness. "All but Sir
Gervaise Oakes--Admiral Bluewater--Mr. Rotherham, Gentlemen--favour to
remain--rest depart."
Accustomed to obey their master's orders, more especially when given in
a tone so decided, the domestics quitted the room, accompanied by
Dutton; but Tom Wychecombe saw fit to remain, as if his presence were to
be a matter of course.
"Do me--favour--withdraw,--Mr. Wychecombe," resumed the baronet, after
fixing his gaze on his nephew for some time, as if expecting him to
retire without this request.
"My beloved uncle, it is I--Thomas, your own brother's son--your next of
kin--waiting anxiously by your respected bed-side. Do not--do
not--confound me with strangers. Such a forgetfulness would break my
heart!"
"Forgive me, nephew--but I wish--alone with these
gentle----head--getting--confused--"
"You see how it is, Sir Gervaise Oakes--you see how it is, Mr.
Rotherham. Ah! there goes the coach that is to take Admiral Bluewater to
his boat. My uncle wished for three witnesses to something, and I can
remain as one of the three."
"Is it your pleasure, Sir Wycherly, to wish to see us alone?" asked Sir
Gervaise, in a manner that showed authority would be exercised to
enforce his request, should the uncle still desire the absence of his
nephew.
A sign from the sick man indicated the affirmative, and that in a manner
too decided to admit of mistake.
"You perceive, Mr. Wychecombe, what are your uncle's wishes," observed
Sir Gervaise, very much in the way that a well-bred superior intimates
to an inferior the compliance he expects; "I trust his desire will not
be disregarded, at a moment like this."
"I am Sir Wycherly Wychecombe's next of kin," said Tom, in a slightly
bullying tone; "and no one has the same right as a relative, and, I may
say, his heir, to be at his bed-side."
"That depends on the pleasure of Sir Wycherly Wychecombe himself, sir.
_He_ is master here; and, having done me the honour to invite me under
his roof as a guest, and, now, having requested to see me alone, with
others he has expressly named--one of whom you are not--I shall conceive
it my duty to see his wishes obeyed."
This was said in the firm, quiet way, that the habit of command had
imparted to Sir Gervaise's manner; and Tom began to see it might be
dangerous to resist. It was important, too, that one of the
vice-admiral's character and station should have naught to say against
him, in the event of any future controversy; and, making a few
professions of respect, and of his desire to please his uncle, Tom
quitted the room.
A gleam of satisfaction shot over the sick man's countenance, as his
nephew disappeared; and then his eye turned slowly towards the faces of
those who remained.
"Bluewater," he said, the thickness of his speech, and the general
difficulty of utterance, seeming to increase; "the rear-admiral--I want
all--respectable--witnesses in the house."
"My friend has left us, I understand," returned Sir Gervaise, "insisting
on his habit of never sleeping out of his ship; but Atwood must soon be
back; I hope _he_ will answer!"
A sign of assent was given; and, then, there was the pause of a minute,
or two, ere the secretary made his appearance. As soon, however, as he
had returned, the three collected around the baronet's bed, not without
some of the weakness which men are supposed to have inherited from their
common mother Eve, in connection with the motive for this singular
proceeding of the baronet.
"Sir Gervaise--Rotherham--Mr. Atwood," slowly repeated the patient, his
eye passing from the face of one to that of another, as he uttered the
name of each; "three witnesses--that will do--Thomas said--must have
_three_--three _good_ names."
"What can we do to serve you, Sir Wycherly?" inquired the admiral, with
real interest. "You have only to name your requests, to have them
faithfully attended to."
"Old Sir Michael Wychecombe, Kt.--two wives--Margery and Joan. Two
wives--two sons--half-blood--Thomas, James, Charles, and Gregory,
_whole_--Sir Reginald Wychecombe, _half_. Understand--hope--gentlemen?"
"This is not being very clear, certainly," whispered Sir Gervaise; "but,
perhaps by getting hold of the other end of the rope, we may under-run
it, as we sailors say, and come at the meaning--we will let the poor man
proceed, therefore. Quite plain, my dear sir, and what have you next to
tell us. You left off without saying only _half_ about Sir Reginald."
"Half-blood; only _half_--Tom and the rest, whole. Sir Reginald, no
_nullius_--young Tom, a _nullius_."
"A _nullius_, Mr. Rotherham! You understand Latin, sir; what can a
_nullius_, mean? No such rope in the ship, hey! Atwood?"
"_Nullius_, or _nullius_, as it ought sometimes to be pronounced, is the
genitive case, singular, of the pronoun _nullus; nullus, nulla, nullum_;
which means, 'no man,' 'no woman,' 'no thing.' _Nullius_ means, 'of no
man,' 'of no woman,' 'of no thing.'"
The vicar gave this explanation, much in the way a pedagogue would have
explained the matter to a class.
"Ay-ay--any school-boy could have told that, which is the first form
learning. But what the devil can 'Nom. _nullus, nulla, nullum_; Gen.
_nullius, nullius, nullius_,' have to do with Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, the
nephew and heir of the present baronet?"
"That is more than I can inform you, Sir Gervaise," answered the vicar,
stiffly; "but, for the Latin, I will take upon myself to answer, that it
is good."
Sir Gervaise was too-well bred to laugh, but he found it difficult to
suppress a smile.
"Well, Sir Wycherly," resumed the vice-admiral, "this is quite
plain--Sir Reginald is only _half_, while your nephew Tom, and the rest,
are _whole_--Margery and Joan, and all that. Any thing more to tell us,
my dear sir?"
"Tom _not_ whole--_nullus_, I wish to say. Sir Reginald _half_--no
_nullus_."
"This is like being at sea a week, without getting a sight of the sun! I
am all adrift, now, gentlemen."
"Sir Wycherly does not attend to his cases," put in Atwood, drily. "At
one time, he is in the _genitive_, and then he gets back to the
_nominative_; which is leaving us in the _vocative_"
"Come--come--Atwood, none of your gun-room wit, on an occasion so solemn
as this. My dear Sir Wycherly, have you any thing more to tell us? I
believe we perfectly understand you, now. Tom is not _whole_--you wish
to say _nullus_, and not to say _nullius_. Sir Reginald is only _half_,
but he is no _nullus_."
"Yes, sir--that is it," returned the old man, smiling. "_Half_, but no
_nullus_. Change my mind--seen too much of the other, lately--Tom, my
nephew--want to make _him_ my heir."
"This is getting clearer, out of all question. You wish to make your
nephew, Tom, your heir. But the law does that already, does it not my
dear sir? Mr. Baron Wychecombe was the next brother of the baronet; was
he not, Mr. Rotherham?"
"So I have always understood, sir; and Mr. Thomas Wychecombe must be the
heir at law."
"No--no--_nullus_--_nullus_," repeated Sir Wycherly, with so much
eagerness as to make his voice nearly indistinct; "Sir Reginald--Sir
Reginald--Sir Reginald."
"And pray, Mr. Rotherham, who may this Sir Reginald be? Some old baronet
of the family, I presume."
"Not at all, sir; it is Sir Reginald Wychecombe of Wychecombe-Regis,
Herts; a baronet of Queen Anne's time, and a descendant from a cadet of
this family, I am told."
"This is getting on soundings--I had taken it into my head this Sir
Reginald was some old fellow of the reign of one of the Plantagenets.
Well, Sir Wycherly, do you wish us to send an express into
Hertfordshire, in quest of Sir Reginald Wychecombe, who is quite likely
your executor? Do not give yourself the pain to speak; a sign will
answer."
Sir Wycherly seemed struck with the suggestion, which, the reader will
readily understand, was far from being his real meaning; and then he
smiled, and nodded his head in approbation.
Sir Gervaise, with the prompitude of a man of business, turned to the
table where the vicar had written notes to the medical men, and dictated
a short letter to his secretary. This letter he signed, and in five
minutes Atwood left the room, to order it to be immediately forwarded by
express. When this was done, the admiral rubbed his hands, in
satisfaction, like a man who felt he had got himself cleverly out of a
knotty difficulty.
"I don't see, after all, Mr. Rotherham," he observed to the vicar, as
they stood together, in a corner of the room, waiting the return of the
secretary; "what he lugged in that school-boy Latin for--_nullus, nulla,
nullum_! Can you possibly explain _that_?"
"Not unless it was Sir Wycherly's desire to say, that Sir Reginald,
being descended from a younger son, was nobody--as yet, had no
woman--and I believe he is not married--and was poor, or had 'no
_thing_.'"
"And is Sir Wycherly such a desperate scholar, that he would express
himself in this hieroglyphical manner, on what I fear will prove to be
his death-bed?"
"Why, Sir Gervaise, Sir Wycherly was educated like all other young
gentlemen, but has forgotten most of his classics, in the course of a
long life of ease and affluence. Is it not probable, now, that his
recollection has returned to him suddenly, in consequence of this
affection of the head? I think I have read of some curious instances of
these reviving memories, on a death-bed, or after a fit of sickness."
"Ay, that you may have done!" exclaimed Sir Gervaise, smiling; "and
poor, good Sir Wycherly, must have begun afresh, at the very place where
he left off. But here is Atwood, again."
After a short consultation, the three chosen witnesses returned to the
bed-side, the admiral being spokesman.
"The express will be off in ten minutes. Sir Wycherly," he said; "and
you may hope to see your relative, in the course of the next two or
three days."
"Too late--too late," murmured the patient, who had an inward
consciousness of his true situation; "too late--turn the will round--Sir
Reginald, Tom;--Tom, Sir Reginald. Turn the will round."
"Turn the will round!--this is very explicit, gentlemen, to those who
can understand it. Sir Reginald, Tom;--Tom, Sir Reginald. At all events,
it is clear that his mind is dwelling on the disposition of his
property, since he speaks of wills. Atwood, make a note of these words,
that there need be no mistake. I wonder he has said nothing of our brave
young lieutenant, his namesake. There can be no harm, Mr. Rotherham, in
just mentioning that fine fellow to him, in a moment like this?"
"I see none, sir. It is _our_ duty to remind the sick of _their_
duties."
"Do you not wish to see your young namesake, Lieutenant _Wycherly_
Wychecombe, Sir Wycherly?" asked the admiral; sufficiently emphasizing
the Christian name. "He must be in the house, and I dare say would be
happy to obey your wishes."
"I hope he is well, sir--fine young gentleman--honour to the name, sir."
"Quite true, Sir Wycherly; and an honour to the _nation_, too."
"Didn't know Virginia was a _nation_--so much the better--fine young
_Virginian_, sir."
"Of your _family_, no doubt, Sir Wycherly, as well as of your name,"
added the admiral, who secretly suspected the young sailor of being a
son of the baronet, notwithstanding all he had heard to the contrary.
"An exceedingly fine young man, and an honour to any house in England!"
"I suppose they _have_ houses in Virginia--bad climate; houses
necessary. No relative, sir;--probably a _nullus_. Many
Wychecombes, _nulluses_. Tom, a _nullus_--this young gentleman, a
_nullus_--Wychecombes of Surrey, all _nulluses_--Sir Reginald no
_nullus_; but a _half_--Thomas, James, Charles, and Gregory, all
_whole_. My brother, Baron Wychecombe, told me--before died."
"_Whole what_, Sir Wycherly?" asked the admiral, a little vexed at the
obscurity of the other's language.
"Blood--_whole blood_, sir. Capital law, Sir Gervaise; had it from the
baron--first hand."
Now, one of the peculiarities of England is, that, in the division of
labour, few know any thing material about the law, except the
professional men. Even their knowledge is divided and sub-divided, in a
way that makes a very fair division of profit. Thus the conveyancer is
not a barrister; the barrister is not an attorney; and the chancery
practitioner would be an unsafe adviser for one of the purely law
courts. That particular provision of the common law, which Baron
Wychecombe had mentioned to his brother, as the rule of the
_half-blood_, has been set aside, or modified, by statute, within the
last ten years; but few English laymen would be at all likely to know of
such a law of descent even when it existed; for while it did violence to
every natural sentiment of right, it lay hidden in the secrets of the
profession. Were a case stated to a thousand intelligent Englishmen, who
had not read law, in which it was laid down that brothers, by different
mothers, though equally sons of the founder of the estate, could not
take from each other, unless by devise or entail, the probability is
that quite nine in ten would deny the existence of any rule so absurd;
and this, too, under the influence of feelings that were creditable to
their sense of natural justice. Nevertheless, such was one of the
important provisions of the "perfection of reason," until the recent
reforms in English law; and it has struck us as surprising, that an
ingenious writer of fiction, who has recently charmed his readers with a
tale, the interest of which turns principally on the vicissitudes of
practice, did not bethink him of this peculiar feature of his country's
laws; inasmuch as it would have supplied mystery sufficient for a dozen
ordinary romances, and improbabilities enough for a hundred. That Sir
Gervaise and his companions should be ignorant of the "law of the
half-blood," is, consequently, very much a matter of course; and no one
ought to be surprised that the worthy baronet's repeated allusions to
the "whole," and the "half," were absolutely enigmas, which neither had
the knowledge necessary to explain.
"What _can_ the poor fellow mean?" demanded the admiral, more concerned
than he remembered ever before to have been, on any similar occasion.
"One could wish to serve him as much as possible, but all this about
'_nullus_,' and 'whole blood,' and 'half,' is so much gibberish to
me--can you make any thing of it,--hey! Atwood?"
"Upon my word, Sir Gervaise, it seems a matter for a judge, rather than
for man-of-war's men, like ourselves."
"It certainly can have no connection with this rising of the Jacobites?
_That_ is an affair likely to trouble a loyal subject, in his last
moments, Mr. Rotherham!"
"Sir Wycherly's habits and age forbid the idea that he knows more of
_that_, sir, than is known to us all. His request, however, to 'turn the
will round,' I conceive to be altogether explicit. Several capital
treatises have appeared lately on the 'human will,' and I regret to say,
my honoured friend and patron has not always been quite as orthodox on
that point, as I could wish. I, therefore, consider his words as
evidence of a hearty repentance."
Sir Gervaise looked about him, as was his habit when any droll idea
crossed his mind; but again suppressing the inclination to smile, he
answered with suitable gravity--
"I understand you, sir; you think all these inexplicable terms are
connected with Sir Wycherly's religious feelings. You may certainly be
right, for it exceeds my knowledge to connect them with any thing else.
I wish, notwithstanding, he had not disowned this noble young lieutenant
of ours! Is it quite certain the young man is a Virginian?"
"So I have always understood it, sir. He has never been known in this
part of England, until he was landed from a frigate in the roads, to be
cured of a serious wound. I think none of Sir Wycherly's allusions have
the least reference to _him_."
Sir Gervaise Oakes now joined his hands behind his back, and walked
several times, quarter-deck fashion, to and fro, in the room. At each
turn, his eyes glanced towards the bed, and he ever found the gaze of
the sick man anxiously fastened on himself. This satisfied him that
religion had nothing to do with his host's manifest desire to make
himself understood; and his own trouble was greatly increased. It seemed
to him, as if the dying man was making incessant appeals to his aid,
without its being in his power to afford it. It was not possible for a
generous man, like Sir Gervaise, to submit to such a feeling without an
effort; and he soon went to the side of the bed, again, determined to
bring the affair to some intelligible issue.
"Do you think, Sir Wycherly, you could write a few lines, if we put pen,
ink, and paper before you?" he asked, as a sort of desperate remedy.
"Impossible--can hardly see; have got no strength--stop--will try--if
you please."
Sir Gervaise was delighted with this, and he immediately directed his
companions to lend their assistance. Atwood and the vicar bolstered the
old man up, and the admiral put the writing materials before him,
substituting a large quarto bible for a desk. Sir Wycherly, after
several abortive attempts, finally got the pen in his hand, and with
great difficulty traced six or seven nearly illegible words, running the
line diagonally across the paper. By this time his powers failed him
altogether, and he sunk back, dropping the pen, and closing his eyes in
a partial insensibility. At this critical instant, the surgeon entered,
and at once put an end to the interview, by taking charge of the
patient, and directing all but one or two necessary attendants, to quit
the room.
The three chosen witnesses of what had just past, repaired together to a
parlour; Atwood, by a sort of mechanical habit, taking with him the
paper on which the baronet had scrawled the words just mentioned. This,
by a sort of mechanical use, also, he put into the hands of Sir
Gervaise, as soon as they entered the room; much as he would have laid
before his superior, an order to sign, or a copy of a letter to the
secretary of the Navy Board.
"This is as bad as the '_nullus_!'" exclaimed Sir Gervaise, after
endeavouring to decipher the scrawl in vain. "What is this first word,
Mr. Rotherham--'Irish,' is it not,--hey! Atwood?"
"I believe it is no move than 'I-n,' stretched over much more paper than
is necessary."
"You are right enough, vicar; and the next word is 'the,' though it
looks like a _chevaux de frise_--what follows? It looks like
'man-of-war.' Atwood?"
"I beg your pardon, Sir Gervaise; this first letter is what I should
call an elongated n--the next is certainly an a--the third looks like
the waves of a river--ah! it is an m--and the last is an
e--n-a-m-e--that makes 'name,' gentlemen."
"Yes," eagerly added the vicar, "and the two next words are, 'of God.'"
"Then it is religion, after all, that was on the poor man's mind!"
exclaimed Sir Gervaise, in a slight degree disappointed, if the truth
must be told. "What's this A-m-e-n--'Amen'--why it's a sort of prayer."
"This is the form in which it is usual to commence wills, I believe, Sir
Gervaise," observed the secretary, who had written many a one, on board
ship, in his day. "'In the name of God, Amen.'"
"By George, you're right, Atwood; and the poor man was trying, all the
while, to let us know how he wished to dispose of his property! What
could he mean by the _nullus_--it is not possible that the old gentleman
has nothing to leave?"
"I'll answer for it, Sir Gervaise, _that_ is not the true explanation,"
the vicar replied. "Sir Wycherly's affairs are in the best order; and,
besides the estate, he has a large sum in the funds."
"Well, gentlemen, we can do no more to-night. A medical man is already
in the house, and Bluewater will send ashore one or two others from the
fleet. In the morning, if Sir Wycherly is in a state to converse, this
matter shall be attended to."
The party now separated; a bed being provided for the vicar, and the
admiral and his secretary retiring to their respective rooms.