"Compound or weakness and of strength,
Mighty, yet ignorant of thy power!
Loftier than earth, or air, or sea,
Yet meaner than the lowliest flower!
MARGARET DAVIDSON.
Not a syllable of explanation, reproach, or self-accusation had passed
between the commander-in-chief and the rear-admiral, since the latter
received his wound. Each party appeared to blot out the events of the
last few days, leaving the long vista of their past services and
friendship, undisfigured by a single unsightly or unpleasant object. Sir
Gervaise, while he retained an active superintendence of his fleet, and
issued the necessary orders right and left, hovered around the bed of
Bluewater with the assiduity and almost with the tenderness of a woman;
still not the slightest allusion was made to the recent battles, or to
any thing that had occurred in the short cruise. The speech recorded at
the close of the last chapter, was the first words he had uttered which
might, in any manner, carry the mind of either back to events that both
might wish forgotten. The rear-admiral felt this forbearance deeply, and
now that the subject was thus accidentally broached between them, he had
a desire to say something in continuation. Still he waited until the
baronet had left the window and taken a seat by his bed.
"Gervaise," Bluewater then commenced, speaking low from weakness, but
speaking distinctly from feeling, "I cannot die without asking your
forgiveness. There were several hours when I actually meditated
treason--I will not say to my _king_; on that point my opinions are
unchanged--but to _you_."
"Why speak of this, Dick? You did not know yourself when you believed it
possible to desert me in the face of the enemy. How much better I judged
of your character, is seen in the fact that I did not hesitate to engage
double my force, well knowing that you could not fail to come to my
rescue."
Bluewater looked intently at his friend, and a smile of serious
satisfaction passed over his pallid countenance as he listened to Sir
Gervaise's words, which were uttered with his usual warmth and sincerity
of manner.
"I believe you know me better than I know myself," he answered, after a
thoughtful pause; "yes, better than I know myself. What a glorious close
to our professional career would it have been, Oakes, had I followed you
into battle, as was our old practice, and fallen in your wake, imitating
your own high example!"
"It is better as it is, Dick--if any thing that has so sad a termination
can be well--yes, it is better as it is; you have fallen at my _side_,
as it were. We will think or talk no more of this."
"We have been friends, and close friends too, for a long period,
Gervaise," returned Bluewater, stretching his arm from the bed, with the
long, thin fingers of the hand extended to meet the other's grasp; "yet,
I cannot recall an act of yours which I can justly lay to heart, as
unkind, or untrue."
"God forgive me, if you can--I hope not, Dick; most sincerely do I hope
not. It would give me great pain to believe it."
"_You_ have no cause for self-reproach. In no one act or thought can you
justly accuse yourself with injuring _me_. I should die much happier
could I say the same of myself, Oakes!"
"Thought!--Dick?--Thought! You never meditated aught against _me_ in
your whole life. The love you bear _me_, is the true reason why you lie
there, at this blessed moment."
"It is grateful to find that I have been understood. I am deeply
indebted to you, Oakes, for declining to signal me and my division down,
when I foolishly requested that untimely forbearance. I was then
suffering an anguish of mind, to which any pain of the body I may now
endure, is an elysium; your self-denial gave time--"
"For the _heart_ to prompt you to that which your feelings yearned to do
from the first, Bluewater," interrupted Sir Gervaise. "And, now, as your
commanding officer, I enjoin silence on this subject, _for ever_."
"I will endeavour to obey. It will not be long, Oakes, that I shall
remain under your orders," added the rear-admiral, with a painful smile.
"There should be no charge of mutiny against me in the _last_ act of my
life. You ought to forgive the one sin of omission, when you remember
how much and how completely my will has been subject to yours, during
the last five-and-thirty years,--how little my mind has matured a
professional thought that yours has not originated!"
"Speak no more of 'forgive,' I charge you, Dick. That you have shown a
girl-like docility in obeying all my orders, too, is a truth I will aver
before God and man; but when it comes to _mind_, I am far from asserting
that mine has had the mastery. I do believe, could the truth he
ascertained, it would be found that I am, at this blessed moment,
enjoying a professional reputation, which is more than half due to you."
"It matters little, now, Gervaise--it matters little, now. We were two
light-hearted and gay lads, Oakes, when we first met as boys, fresh from
school, and merry as health and spirits could make us."
"We were, indeed, Dick!--yes, we were; thoughtless as if this sad moment
were never to arrive!"
"There were George Anson, and Peter Warren, little Charley Saunders,
Jack Byng, and a set of us, that did, indeed, live as if we were never
to die! We carried our lives, as it might be, in our hands, Oakes!"
"There is much of that, Dick, in boyhood and youth. But, he is happiest,
after all, who can meet this moment as you do--calmly, and yet without
any dependence on his own merits."
"I had an excellent mother, Oakes! Little do we think, in youth, how
much we owe to the unextinguishable tenderness, and far-seeing lessons
of our mothers! Ours both died while we were young, yet I do think we
were their debtors for far more than we could ever repay."
Sir Gervaise simply assented, but making no immediate answer, otherwise,
a long pause succeeded, during which the vice-admiral fancied that his
friend was beginning to doze. He was mistaken.
"You will be made Viscount Bowldero, for these last affairs, Gervaise,"
the wounded man unexpectedly observed, showing how much his thoughts
were still engrossed with the interests of his friend. "Nor do I see why
you should again refuse a peerage. Those who remain in this world, may
well yield to its usages and opinions, while they do not interfere with
higher obligations."
"I!"--exclaimed Sir Gervaise, gloomily. "The thought of so commemorating
what has happened, would be worse than defeat to me! No--I ask no change
of name to remind me constantly of my loss!"
Bluewater looked grateful, rather than pleased; but he made no answer.
Now, he fell into a light slumber, from which he did not awake until the
time he had himself set for the marriage of Wycherly and Mildred. With
one uncle dead and still unburied, and another about to quit the world
for ever, a rite that is usually deemed as joyous as it is solemn, might
seem unseasonable; but the dying man had made it a request that he might
have the consolation of knowing ere he expired, that he left his niece
under the legal protection of one as competent, as he was desirous of
protecting her. The reader must imagine the arguments that were used for
the occasion, but they were such as disposed all, in the end, to admit
the propriety of yielding their ordinary prejudices to the exigencies of
the moment. It may be well to add, also, to prevent useless cavilling,
that the laws of England were not as rigid on the subject of the
celebration of marriages in 1745, as they subsequently became; and that
it was lawful then to perform the ceremony in a private house without a
license, and without the publishing of banns, even; restrictions that
were imposed a few years later. The penalty for dispensing with the
publication of banns, was a fine of £100, imposed on the clergyman; and
this fine Bluewater chose to pay, rather than leave the only great
object of life that now remained before him unaccomplished. This penalty
in no degree impaired the validity of the contract, though Mrs. Dutton,
as a woman, felt averse to parting with her beloved, without a rigid
observance of all the customary forms. The point had finally been
disposed of, by recourse to arguments addressed to the reason of this
respectable woman, and by urging the necessity of the case. Her consent,
however, was not given without a proviso, that a license should be
subsequently procured, and a second marriage be had at a more fitting
moment, should the ecclesiastical authorities consent to the same; a
most improbable thing in itself.
Mr. Rotherham availed himself of the statute inflicting the penalty, as
an excuse for not officiating. His real motive, however, was understood,
and the chaplain of the Plantagenet, a divine of character and piety,
was substituted in his place. Bluewater had requested that as many of
the captains of the fleet should be present as could be collected, and
it was the assembling of these warriors of the deep, together with the
arrival of the clergyman, that first gave notice of the approach of the
appointed hour.
It is not our intention to dwell on the details of a ceremony that had
so much that was painful in its solemnities. Neither Wycherly nor
Mildred made any change in their attire, and the lovely bride wept from
the time the service began, to the moment when she left the arms of her
uncle, to be received in those of her husband, and was supported from
the room. All seemed sad, indeed, but Bluewater; to him the scene was
exciting, but it brought great relief to his mind.
"I am now ready to die, gentlemen," he said, as the door closed on the
new-married couple. "My last worldly care is disposed of, and it were
better for me to turn all my thoughts to another state of being. My
niece, Lady Wychecombe, will inherit the little I have to leave; nor do
I know that it is of much importance to substantiate her birth, as her
uncle clearly bestowed what would have been her mother's property, on
her aunt, the duchess. If my dying declaration can be of any use,
however, you hear it, and can testify to it. Now, come and take leave of
me, one by one, that I may bless you all, and thank you for much
undeserved, and, I fear, unrequited love."
The scene that followed was solemn and sad. One by one, the captains
drew near the bed, and to each the dying man had something kind and
affectionate to say. Even the most cold-hearted looked grave, and
O'Neil, a man remarkable for a _gaité de c[oe]ur_ that rendered the
excitement of battle some of the pleasantest moments of his life,
literally shed tears on the hand he kissed.
"Ah! my old friend," said the rear-admiral, as Parker, of the Carnatic,
drew near in his customary meek and subdued manner, "you perceive it is
not years alone that bring us to our graves! They tell me you have
behaved as usual in these late affairs; I trust that, after a long life
of patient and arduous services, you are about to receive a proper
reward."
"I will acknowledge, Admiral Bluewater," returned Parker, earnestly,
"that it would be peculiarly grateful to receive some mark of the
approbation of my sovereign; principally on account of my dear wife and
children. We are not, like yourself, descended from a noble family; but
must carve our rights to distinction, and they who have never known
honours of this nature, prize them highly."
"Ay, my good Parker," interrupted the rear-admiral, "and they who have
ever known them, know their emptiness; most especially as they approach
that verge of existence whence the eye looks in a near and fearful
glance, over the vast and unknown range of eternity."
"No doubt, sir; nor am I so vain as to suppose that hairs which have got
to be grey as mine, can last for ever. But, what I was about to say is,
that precious as honours are to the humble, I would cheerfully yield
every hope of the sort I have, to see you on the poop of the Cæsar
again, with Mr. Cornet at your elbow, leading the fleet, or following
the motions of the vice-admiral."
"Thank you, my good Parker; that can never be; nor can I say, now, that
I wish it might. When we have cast off from the world, there is less
pleasure in looking back, than in looking ahead. God bless you, Parker,
and keep you, as you ever have been, an honest man."
Stowel was the last to approach the bed, nor did he do it until all had
left the room but Sir Gervaise and himself.
The indomitable good-nature, and the professional nonchalance of
Bluewater, by leaving every subordinate undisturbed in the enjoyment of
his own personal caprices, had rendered the rear-admiral a greater
favourite, in one sense at least, than the commander-in-chief. Stowel,
by his near connection with Bluewater, had profited more by these
peculiarities than any other officer under him, and the effect on his
feelings had been in a very just proportion to the benefits. He could
not refrain, it is true, from remembering the day when he himself had
been a lieutenant in the ship in which the rear-admiral had been a
midshipman, but he no longer recollected the circumstance with the
bitterness that it sometimes drew after it. On the contrary, it was now
brought to his mind merely as the most distant of the many land-marks in
their long and joint services.
"Well, Stowel," observed Bluewater, smiling sadly, "even the old Cæsar
must be left behind. It is seldom a flag-captain has not some
heart-burnings on account of his superior, and most sincerely do I beg
you to forget and forgive any I may have occasioned yourself."
"Heaven help me, sir!--I was far, just then, from thinking of any such
thing! I was fancying how little I should have thought it probable, when
we were together in the Calypso, that I should ever be thus standing at
_your_ bed-side. Really, Admiral Bluewater, I would rejoice to share
with you the remnant of life that is left me."
"I do believe you would, Stowel; but that can never be. I have just
performed my last act in this world, in giving my niece to Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe."
"Yes, sir;--yes, sir--marriage is no doubt honourable, as I often tell
Mrs. Stowel, and therefore not to be despised; and yet it _is_ singular,
that a gentleman who has lived a bachelor himself, should fancy to see a
marriage ceremony performed, and that, too, at the cost of £100, if any
person choose to complain, just at the close of his own cruise! However,
men are no more alike in such matters, than women in their domestic
qualities; and I sincerely hope this young Sir Wycherly may find as much
comfort, in the old house I understand he has a little inland here, as
you and I have had together, sir, in the old Cæsar. I suppose there'll
be no co-equals in Wychecombe Hall."
"I trust not, Stowel. But you must now receive my last orders, as to the
Cæsar--"
"The commander-in-chief has his own flag flying aboard of us, sir!"
interrupted the methodical captain, in a sort of admonitory way.
"Never mind that, Stowel;--I'll answer for his acquiescence. My body
must be received on board, and carried round in the ship to Plymouth.
Place it on the main-deck, where the people can see the coffin; I would
pass my last hours above ground, in their midst."
"It shall be done, sir--yes, sir, to the letter, Sir Gervaise not
countermanding. And I'll write this evening to Mrs. Stowel to say she
needn't come down, as usual, as soon as she hears the ship is in, but
that she must wait until your flag is fairly struck."
"I should be sorry, Stowel, to cause a moment's delay in the meeting of
husband and wife!"
"Don't name it, Admiral Bluewater;--Mrs. Stowel will understand that
it's duty; and when we married, I fully explained to her that duty, with
a sailor, came before matrimony."
A little pause succeeded, then Bluewater took a final and affectionate
leave of his captain. Some twenty minutes elapsed in a profound silence,
during which Sir Gervaise did not stir, fancying that his friend again
dozed. But it was ordered that Bluewater was never to sleep again, until
he took the final rest of the dead. It was the mind, which had always
blazed above the duller lethargy of his body, that buoyed him thus up,
giving an unnatural impulse to his physical powers; an impulse, however,
that was but momentary, and which, by means of the reaction,
contributed, in the end, to his more speedy dissolution. Perceiving, at
length, that his friend did not sleep, Sir Gervaise drew near his bed.
"Richard," he said, gently, "there is one without, who pines to be
admitted. I have refused even his tears, under the impression that you
felt disposed to sleep."
"Never less so. My mind appears to become brighter and clearer, instead
of fading; I think I shall never sleep, in the sense you mean. Whoever
the person is, let him be admitted."
Receiving this permission, Sir Gervaise opened the door, and Geoffrey
Cleveland entered. At the same moment, Galleygo, who came and went at
pleasure, thrust in his own ungainly form. The boy's face betrayed the
nature and the extent of his grief. In his mind, Admiral Bluewater was
associated with all the events of his own professional life; and, though
the period had in truth been so short, in his brief existence, the vista
through which he looked back, seemed quite as long as that which marked
the friendship of the two admirals, themselves. Although he struggled
manfully for self-control, feeling got the better of the lad, and he
threw himself on his knees, at the side of his bed, sobbing as if his
heart would break. Bluewater's eye glistened, and he laid a hand
affectionately on the head of his young relative.
"Gervaise, you will take charge of this boy, when I'm gone," he said;
"receive him in your own ship. I leave him to you, as a very near and
dear professional legacy. Cheer up--cheer up--my brave boy; look upon
all this as a sailor's fortune. Our lives are the--"
The word "king's," which should have succeeded, seemed to choke the
speaker. Casting a glance of meaning at his friend, with a painful smile
on his face, he continued silent.
"Ah! dear sir," answered the midshipman, ingenuously; "I knew that _we_
might all be killed, but it never occurred to me that an admiral could
lose his life in battle. I'm sure--I'm sure you are the very first that
has met with this accident!"
"Not by many, my poor Geoffrey. As there are but few admirals, few fall;
but we are as much exposed as others."
"If I had only run that Monsieur des Prez through the body, when we
closed with him," returned the boy, grating his teeth, and looking all
the vengeance for which, at the passing instant, he felt the desire; "it
would have been _something_! I might have done it, too, for he was quite
unguarded!"
"It would have been a very bad _thing_, boy, to have injured a brave
man, uselessly."
"Of what use was it to shoot you, sir? We took their ship, just the same
as if you had not been hurt."
"I rather think, Geoffrey, their ship was virtually taken before I was
wounded," returned Bluewater, smiling. "But I was shot by a French
marine, who did no more than his duty."
"Yes, sir," exclaimed the boy, impatiently; "and _he_ escaped without a
scratch. _He_, at least, ought to have been _massacred_."
"Thou art bloody-minded, child; I scarce know thee. _Massacred_ is not a
word for either a British nobleman or a British sailor. I saved the life
of that marine; and, when you come to lie, like me, on your death-bed,
Geoffrey, you will learn how sweet a consolation can be derived from the
consciousness of such an act; we all need mercy, and none ought to
expect it, for themselves, who do not yield it to others."
The boy was rebuked, and his feelings took a better, though scarcely a
more natural direction. Bluewater now spoke to him of his
newly-discovered cousin, and had a melancholy satisfaction in creating
an interest in behalf of Mildred, in the breast of the noble-hearted and
ingenuous boy. The latter listened with respectful attention, as had
been his wont, until, deceived by the tranquil and benevolent manner of
Bluewater, he permitted himself to fall into the natural delusion of
believing the wound of the rear-admiral less serious than he had
supposed, and to begin to entertain hopes that the wounded man might yet
survive. Calmed by these feelings, he soon ceased to weep; and,
promising discretion, was permitted by Sir Gervaise to remain in the
room, where he busied himself in the offices of a nurse.
Another long pause succeeded this exciting little scene, during which
Bluewater lay quietly communing with himself and his God. Sir Gervaise
wrote orders, and read reports, though his eye was never off the
countenance of his friend more than a minute or two at a time. At
length, the rear-admiral aroused himself, again, and began to take an
interest once more, in the persons and things around him.
"Galleygo, my old fellow-cruiser," he said, "I leave Sir Gervaise more
particularly in your care. As we advance in life, our friends decrease
in numbers; it is only those that have been well tried that we can rely
on."
"Yes, Admiral Blue, I knows that, and so does Sir Jarvy. Yes, old
shipmates afore young 'uns, any day, and old sailors, too, afore green
hands. Sir Jarvy's Bowlderos are good plate-holders, and the likes of
that; but when it comes to heavy weather, and a hard strain, I thinks
but little on 'em, all put together."
"By the way, Oakes," said Bluewater, with a sudden interest in such a
subject, that he never expected to feel again, "I have heard nothing of
the first day's work, in which, through the little I have gleaned, by
listening to those around me, I understand you took a two-decker,
besides dismasting the French admiral?"
"Pardon me, Dick; you had better try and catch a little sleep; the
subject of those two days' work is really painful to me."
"Well, then, Sir Jarvy, if you has an avarsion to telling the story to
Admiral Blue, I can do it, your honour," put in Galleygo, who gloried in
giving a graphic description of a sea-fight. "I thinks, now, a history
of that day will comfort a flag-hofficer as has been so badly wounded
himself."
Bluewater offering no opposition, Galleygo proceeded with his account of
the evolutions of the ships, as we have already described them,
succeeding surprisingly well in rendering the narrative interesting, and
making himself perfectly intelligible and clear, by his thorough
knowledge, and ready use, of the necessary nautical terms. When he came
to the moment in which the English line separated, part passing to
windward, and part to leeward of the two French ships, he related the
incident in so clear and spirited a manner, that the commander-in-chief
himself dropped his pen, and sat listening with pleasure.
"Who could imagine, Dick," Sir Gervaise observed, "that those fellows in
the tops watch us so closely, and could give so accurate an account of
what passes!"
"Ah! Gervaise, and what is the vigilance of Galleygo to that of the
All-seeing eye! It is a terrible thought, at an hour like this, to
remember that nothing can be forgotten. I have somewhere read that not
an oath is uttered that does not continue to vibrate through all time,
in the wide-spreading currents of sound--not a prayer lisped, that its
record is not also to be found stamped on the laws of nature, by the
indelible seal of the Almighty's will!"
There was little in common between the religious impressions of the two
friends. They were both sailors, and though the word does not
necessarily imply that they were sinners in an unusual degree, neither
does it rigidly imply that they were saints. Each had received the usual
elementary education, and then each had been turned adrift, as it might
be on the ocean of life, to suffer the seed to take root, and the fruit
to ripen as best they might. Few of those "who go down to the great deep
in ships," and who escape the more brutalizing effects of lives so rude,
are altogether without religious impressions. Living so much, as it
were, in the immediate presence of the power of God, the sailor is much
disposed to reverence his omnipotence, even while he transgresses his
laws; but in nearly all those instances in which nature has implanted a
temperament inclining to deep feeling, as was the case with Bluewater,
not even the harsh examples, nor the loose or irresponsible lives of men
thus separated from the customary ties of society, can wholly extinguish
the reverence for God which is created by constantly dwelling in the
presence of his earthly magnificence. This sentiment in Bluewater had
not been altogether without fruits, for he both read and reflected much.
Sometimes, though at isolated and distant intervals, he even prayed; and
that fervently, and with a strong and full sense of his own demerits. As
a consequence of this general disposition, and of the passing
convictions, his mind was better attuned for the crisis before him, than
would have been the case with most of his brethren in arms, who, when
overtaken with the fate so common to the profession, are usually left to
sustain their last moments with the lingering enthusiasm of strife and
victory.
On the other hand, Sir Gervaise was as simple as a child in matters of
this sort. He had a reverence for his Creator, and such general notions
of his goodness and love, as the well-disposed are apt to feel; but all
the dogmas concerning the lost condition of the human race, the
mediation, and the power of faith, floated in his mind as opinions not
to be controverted, and yet as scarcely to be felt. In short, the
commander-in-chief admitted the practical heresy, which overshadows the
faith of millions, while he deemed himself to be a stout advocate of
church and king. Still, Sir Gervaise Oakes, on occasions, was more than
usually disposed to seriousness, and was even inclined to be devout; but
it was without much regard to theories or revelation. At such moments,
while his opinions would not properly admit him within the pale of any
Christian church, in particular, his feelings might have identified him
with all. In a word, we apprehend he was a tolerably fair example of
what vague generalities, when acting on a temperament not indisposed to
moral impressions, render the great majority of men; who flit around the
mysteries of a future state, without alighting either on the
consolations of faith, or discovering any of those logical conclusions
which, half the time unconsciously to themselves, they seem to expect.
When Bluewater made his last remark, therefore, the vice-admiral looked
anxiously at his friend; and religion for the first time since the other
received his hurt, mingled with his reflections. He had devoutly, though
mentally, returned thanks to God for his victory, but it had never
occurred to him that Bluewater might need some preparation for death.
"Would you like to see the Plantagenet's chaplain, again, Dick?" he
said, tenderly; "you are no _Papist_; of _that_ I am certain."
"In that you are quite right, Gervaise. I consider all churches--_the_
one holy _Catholic_ church, if you will, as but a means furnished by
divine benevolence to aid weak men in their pilgrimage; but I also
believe that there is even a shorter way to his forgiveness than through
these common avenues. How far I am right," he added, smiling, "none will
probably know better than myself, a few hours hence."
"Friends _must_ meet again, hereafter, Bluewater; it is irrational to
suppose that they who have loved each other so well in this state of
being, are to be for ever separated in the other."
"We will hope so, Oakes," taking the vice-admiral's hand; "we will hope
so. Still, there will be no ships for us--no cruises--no victories--no
triumphs! It is only at moments like this, at which I have arrived, that
we come to view these things in their proper light. Of all the past,
your constant, unwavering friendship, gives me the most pleasure!"
The vice-admiral could resist no longer. He turned aside and wept. This
tribute to nature, in one so manly, was imposing even to the dying man,
and Galleygo regarded it with awe. Familiar as the latter had become
with his master, by use and indulgence, no living being, in his
estimation, was as authoritative or as formidable as the
commander-in-chief; and the effect of the present spectacle, was to
induce him to hide his own face in self-abasement. Bluewater saw it all,
but he neither spoke, nor gave any token of his observation. He merely
prayed, and that right fervently, not only for his friend, but for his
humble and uncouth follower.
A reaction took place in the system of the wounded man, about nine
o'clock that night. At this time he believed himself near his end, and
he sent for Wycherly and his niece, to take his leave of them. Mrs.
Dutton was also present, as was Magrath, who remained on shore, in
attendance. Mildred lay for half an hour, bathing her uncle's pillow
with her tears, until she was removed at the surgeon's suggestion.
"Ye'll see, Sir Gervaise," he whispered--(or "Sir Jairvis," as he always
pronounced the name,)--"ye'll see, Sir Jairvis, that it's a duty of the
faculty to _prolong_ life, even when there's no hope of _saving_ it; and
if ye'll be regairding the judgment of a professional man, Lady
Wychecombe had better withdraw. It would really be a matter of honest
exultation for us Plantagenets to get the rear-admiral through the
night, seeing that the surgeon of the Cæsar said he could no survive the
setting sun."
At the moment of final separation, Bluewater had little to say to his
niece. Ho kissed and blessed her again and again, and then signed that
she should be taken away. Mrs. Dutton, also, came in for a full share of
his notice, he having desired her to remain after Wycherly and Mildred
had quitted the room.
"To your care and affection, excellent woman," he said, in a voice that
had now sunk nearly to a whisper--"we owe it, that Mildred is not unfit
for her station. Her recovery would have been even more painful than her
loss, had she been restored to her proper family, uneducated, vulgar,
and coarse."
"That could hardly have happened to Mildred, sir, in any circumstances,"
answered the weeping woman. "Nature has done too much for the dear
child, to render her any thing but delicate and lovely, under any
tolerable circumstances of depression."
"She is better as she is, and God be thanked that he raised up such a
protector for her childhood. You have been all in all to her in her
infancy, and she will strive to repay it to your age."
Of this Mrs. Dutton felt too confident to need assurances; and receiving
the dying man's blessing, she knelt at his bed-side, prayed fervently
for a few minutes, and withdrew. After this, nothing out of the ordinary
track occurred until past midnight, and Magrath, more than once,
whispered his joyful anticipations that the rear-admiral would survive
until morning. An hour before day, however, the wounded man revived, in
a way that the surgeon distrusted. He knew that no physical change of
this sort could well happen that did not arise from the momentary
ascendency of mind over matter, as the spirit is on the point of finally
abandoning its earthly tenement; a circumstance of no unusual occurrence
in patients of strong and active intellectual properties, whose
faculties often brighten for an instant, in their last moments, as the
lamp flashes and glares as it is about to become extinct. Going to the
bed, he examined his patient attentively, and was satisfied that the
final moment was near.
"You're a man and a soldier, Sir Jairvis," he said, in a low voice, "and
it'll no be doing good to attempt misleading your judgment in a case of
this sort. Our respectable friend, the rear-admiral, is _articulo
mortis_, as one might almost say; he cannot possibly survive half an
hour."
Sir Gervaise started. He looked around him a little wistfully; for, at
that moment, he would have given much to be alone with his dying friend.
But he hesitated to make a request, which, it struck him, might seem
improper. From this embarrassment, however, he was relieved by
Bluewater, himself, who had the same desire, without the same scruples
about confessing it. _He_ drew the surgeon to his side, and whispered a
wish to be left alone with the commander-in-chief.
"Well, there will be no trespass on the rules of practice in indulging
the poor man in his desire," muttered Magrath, as he looked about him to
gather the last of his professional instruments, like the workman who is
about to quit one place of toil to repair to another; "and I'll just be
indulging him."
So saying, he pushed Galleygo and Geoffrey from the room before him,
left it himself, and closed the door.
Finding himself alone, Sir Gervaise knelt at the side of the bed and
prayed, holding the hand of his friend in both his own. The example of
Mrs. Dutton, and the yearnings of his own heart, exacted this sacrifice;
when it was over he felt a great relief from sensations that nearly
choked him.
"Do you forgive me, Gervaise?" whispered Bluewater.
"Name it not--name it not, my best friend. We all have our moments of
weakness, and our need of pardon. May God forget all _my_ sins, as
freely as I forget your errors!"
"God bless you, Oakes, and keep you the same simple-minded, true-hearted
man, you have ever been."
Sir Gervaise buried his face in the bed-clothes, and groaned.
"Kiss me, Oakes," murmured the rear-admiral.
In order to do this, the commander-in-chief rose from his knees and bent
over the body of his friend. As he raised himself from the cheek he had
saluted, a benignant smile gleamed on the face of the dying man, and he
ceased to breathe. Near half a minute followed, however, before the last
and most significant breath that is ever drawn from man, was given. The
remainder of that night Sir Gervaise Oakes passed in the chamber alone,
pacing the floor, recalling the many scenes of pleasure, danger, pain,
and triumph, through which he and the dead had passed in company. With
the return of light, he summoned the attendants, and retired to his
tent.