And now it is time for me to tell you how first I met Will.
I was the jest of the ship. The mids in the gun-room hit off the
keynote of my personal appearance when they christened me Tubby the
very first day I went on shipboard; and Tubby I remained till I was
given a command on the captured sloop _St. Malo_, in the year 18--. It
was recognised at once that I could stand a good deal more than my
share of gun-room wit without quarrelling, though I showed no
deficiency in pluck when it came to going aloft in heavy weather, or
steering a boat under heavy fire; and I was popular, I believe, though
no one thought me worth considering. I was not born to be considered:
I was born to attach myself to a strong nature, to subordinate myself
to its will and enjoy its glory as if it were my own. My friendship
with Will has filled my life. For all the years during which we were
shipmates, my thoughts were hardly ever off Will Hardres; and now that
we are both of us laid on the shelf on this windy coast of Kent,
because Europe is so exhausted that there will never be any wars
again, my little crib is within an old pony's amble of his
mansion-house of Eastry, and my wife, his sister, leads me the same
dance as Will led me--God bless her!
I am not like to forget the first day we met. The wind was roaring;
the sky was a feather-bed of clouds; the ships were forging up and
down at their anchors; their cables and timbers were cracking rather
than creaking, even under the lee of the land; and the waves looked
like sweeping away the narrow spit of shore which shuts out the sea
and makes Brading Harbour.
We had a noble fleet. A few men-of-war on their way out to join my
Lord St. Vincent, Commander-in-Chief in the Mediterranean, and with
them the Portugal, Gibraltar, and Mediterranean convoy, lay in the
roads between St. Helen's, in the Isle of Wight, and Spithead, on the
morning of that 8th of April, 1798, waiting for the gale to drop or
shift from the south-west, till when they were wind-bound,--for the
Mediterranean.
Our ship, the _Vanguard_, a fine seventy-four, was one of the nearest
in-shore, for we had the Admiral aboard.
Walking up and down the slippery deck with Berry, our Captain, was a
most remarkable-looking little man. His shoulders were made to appear
narrower than they really were by the loss of his right arm and the
way he pulled his coat round it. A certain peculiarity in his gait was
probably due to the same cause. The flowing hair which almost
concealed his ears, the ruddy skin and bright blue eyes would alone
have attracted attention. It was a small face, with certain very
marked features. The forehead was lofty, though narrow; the nose was
long, and almost straight; the chin, though very strong, was not
broad; and his mouth, which was noticeably large, was the most
extraordinarily sensitive mouth I have ever seen. In remarking its
size, it was not the length that you noted, but the range and
flexibility of the lips. This contributed largely to the wonderful
expressiveness of the face.
His eyebrows, too, were very marked; they were bent rather than
curved, and had a curious little upward curl at the end. But his eyes,
with his mouth, were the features of his face. For being of the
bright blue which is hardly ever dissociated from courage and
resoluteness, they gave the face its strength; and they were the most
remarkable I have ever seen in this way,--that while cruelty, or at
the least callousness, and insensibility to any emotions but animal
passions and anger, are frequently the other characteristics of eyes
of this particular bright blue, his eyes had instead the tenderness,
the sensibility, the imaginativeness of large eyes which sometimes
look greyish-brown and sometimes brownish-grey.
And herein lay the index to his whole character. For once in the
world, dark-eyed genius was found in the same body as blue-eyed
recklessness. He had at once head and heart and backbone. And
sometimes his poor little weakling body was wrung almost dry of blood
by the mighty soul which struggled within it. But as Will's eyes first
fell on him that day he was a little thin man, crooked with the loss
of his arm, and with wild hair tumbling over a small weather-ruddied
face with petulant eyes and mouth.
That was his expression when worried with forced inaction, or being
chained to mere routine with no prospect of an occasion which demanded
ability to meet it. But when such an occasion arose this expression
was replaced by the smiling serenity and confidence of the portrait
painted in the year of the Nile.
The narrowness of chin and forehead, and the general smallness of the
face, I have always considered as the physiognomical expression of the
concentration and intenseness of his character.
This little man was the great Admiral who was one day to be Lord
Nelson, and leave such a name behind him as no sailor who ever sailed
the sea left before him, or is ever like to leave. I was standing to
take orders, when suddenly the Admiral cried out, "The devil take
this wind, Berry! If the _Boadicea's_ news be true, the French in
Brest will be ready for sea before it blows out, and I shall have to
fight them with my hands tied by the convoy. I hate this convoying,--I
don't mind what the odds are in a fair fight. But they shall sink
every King's ship among us before they get away with any of my convoy.
Sink, I say!--there shall be no question of capturing any fighting
ship in my fleet. I hope that trial of Williamson's will have its
effect on officers going into action. I was sorry for him: I do not
grudge him getting off with his life; I daresay that there were some
favourable circumstances, and it is ever a virtue to lean to the side
of mercy. But as to myself, upon the general question that if a man
does not do his utmost in time of action, I think but one punishment
ought to be inflicted. Not that I take a man's merit from his list of
killed and wounded, for but little may be in his power; and if he does
his utmost in the station he is placed, he has equal merit to the man
who may have his ship beat to pieces, but not his good fortune. I
would have every man believe I shall only take my chance of being shot
by the enemy, but if I do not take that chance I am certain of being
shot by my friends."
"I am sure, sir, that there is no captain in this fleet but thinks the
same."
"I am glad of that, Berry. I'm glad of that. But I say, the devil take
this wind!--I shall never be quit of the sea-sickness till we are out
of this. Why, this very morning ... but no matter. We want some luck,
Berry."
"I fear we cannot command that, sir; though Nelson's luck is a proverb
in the service. I know of no charm for luck except to whistle for the
wind. I do not know how to unwhistle it."
"Is it a proverb, Berry, my luck?"
"You may take my word for that, sir."
The great little Admiral stroked his firm chin, and a glad light
broke into his eyes.
"Strange!" he said, "that they talk of men being born under a lucky
star. That is not the way I look at it, but I have always believed
that I was born to do the work of Providence, which is perhaps what
they mean. And I think that Providence gives its little signs to those
whom it chooses for its instruments. But I have had no signs
here--everything is as thick as St. Helen's Church. It is not a church
now, you know, Berry, only a tower--only the shell of a tower, I
think, kept standing and washed with white as a beacon to mariners.
And, even lying in-shore like this, we cannot see the beacon, it is so
thick. However long is it since we were able to communicate with
shore, Berry?"
"More than a week, sir."
"And we have to take that draft on board to fill the places of those
sick and missing men?"
"Yes, sir, thirty of them."
"Thirty-one: at fewest there were twenty-five in hospital and either
five or six missing, when I wrote to their Lordships; but since then I
find that William O'Brien is missing, and that he boasted to his watch
that he always meant to desert when he got the opportunity."
"He was not a Norfolk man, sir."
"No, Berry; I would not lose him so lightly if he were a Norfolk man.
There is the greatest difference between a forced man and a man who
voluntarily offers his life to preserve his country. These Norfolk
lads are all volunteers, come for the honour of the country, because
their Admiral is a Burnham man."
"A hundred and more of them."
They were silent for a bit, but presently the Admiral began again.
"I am sorry that young Hardres could not get to us--him that Lord
Eastry wrote to me to have Thomas Irwine's place, 'the finest and
bravest boy Lord Eastry knew.' He was the sort we want. I met Harry
Fleet when he was captain of the _Ramillies_, and a finer captain
never sailed, of the old bull-dog sort, who did not know as much as I
like my captains to know, but who always laid their ships alongside of
the enemy. They were wonderful men to fight, those three Fleets! And
this young Hardres was the finest and bravest boy Harry Fleet ever
knew. What's that coming along from the west'ard, youngster? You take
my glass: I can't use it yet without feeling dizzy. I can't quite
shake off that miserable sea-sickness, while we are lying-to doing
nothing."
"Looks like a Portsmouth smack, sir," I said, after peeping for a bit;
"but she's only carrying such a rag of sail that I cannot quite make
her out."
"It takes a bold man," said the Admiral, "to carry that on a day like
this. He must have despatches on board from the Admiralty, or he'd
never have put out."
"There are two passengers, I make out now, sir."
"Very important despatches, Berry. The French must have got out of
Brest."
"They'll be alongside in a minute, sir, with this wind."
As she came alongside and caught the rope I flung to her, the man at
the tiller sang out to lower the gangway. "Lady on board, sir."
The Captain looked at the Admiral. The weather was too rough for
lowering a gangway.
"Lower away," said the Admiral, with that little smile he wore after
he had prayed, when going into battle: "please God nothing shall ever
frighten me--not even a lady."
The gangway was lowered, and strong arms, using all their dexterity,
flung the larger bundle of oilskins into the arms of the sailor
standing on the bottom step; they were going to follow with the
thinner, taller bundle, but it shook them off with indignation. The
larger bundle was passed up; the other scrambled up and stood on the
deck bareheaded in front of the Admiral and the Captain. The Admiral
conducted them along the slippery and unsteady deck to his state-room
under the quarter-deck, and with his own hands peeled the oilskins
from the lady, while the Captain gave orders for cordials, and the
other bundle slipped back to the door of the state-room and began to
lay off its oilskins there.
It was a little, slim, fair woman who stood before the hero, quite
thinly clad when she removed the cloak under the oilskins, and
evidently a widow, but of some years' standing. She was the
gentlest-looking creature imaginable, except for a certain firmness
about the pathetic little mouth. The Admiral had signed to me to
follow; he gave me the oilskins to hold. It was just like him: not
until he had made the most solicitous inquiries and had offered her
everything in the ship, did he ask whom he had the honour of
addressing.
She took a sip of the cordial, and put her hand up to her silky fair
hair, and finding how wet it was, gave it a little shake, as if she
expected to dry herself like a dog. And after the shake she looked at
the Admiral, who was re-beginning his inquiry with a considerable
amount of trepidation, when she cut him short with:
"I am Mrs. Hardres: is it too late? We have been waiting in Portsmouth
since the beginning of the storm, and this is the first day we have
been able to get a boat to bring us off."
"My missing midshipman," he cried gaily. "Madam, it is never too late
to get a good officer; but where is he?"
"Will!" called his mother. But there was no Will to be found. The
Admiral, with the smile for which any man in his fleet was ready to
die, flew to the door of the state-room in front of Mrs. Hardres. She
knew where to look for her son. He was standing just outside the door
in his new midshipman's rig. His oilskins were lying folded in a neat
pile on the deck beside him, though it had come on to rain in
torrents.
"Come in, Will," said the Admiral, in his best-pleased manner; and his
satisfaction as he scanned him, face and figure, was evident, though
he expressed it indirectly.
"He's a big fellow for a midshipman, Mrs. Hardres. I was a post
captain at twenty-one."
"The only son of a widow, Sir Horatio. But the time has come when the
widow must give her mite."
Tears came into the Admiral's eyes. I never knew a man of such
delicate sensibilities: though he did not know what fear meant, he
could weep like a child.
"How old are you, Will?"
"Eighteen, sir," said Will.
"You must make haste and be a lieutenant."
Our Admiral would not hear of Mrs. Hardres going off until the storm
abated. In those days regulations were not so hard-and-fast about the
presence of ladies on board a man-of-war, and the men who had brought
her were willing enough to stay. They had run down to the ship before
the wind, and they knew what it meant beating back against that wind
and that sea. Towards evening the sea fell a good bit, and the thick
weather cleared off, though it continued to blow; and shortly before
dark we made out an Admiralty tender, which proved to have our thirty
men aboard. The Admiral was delighted, and making his excuses to Mrs.
Hardres, went off to write despatches.
When he had written them and paraded the new draft, he stepped up to
Mrs. Hardres and said:--
"You shall go back, madam, in the state that befits a gallant
officer's mother. Lieutenant Morris, of the tender, shall take charge
of you," and at the same time he gave the men who had brought her
their golden guinea apiece, for bringing him luck.
"We shall have a change in the wind now, Berry," he said, "within a
day or two. I know that this lady's coming is the sign I was waiting
for."
And dinner was then served, put forward for Mrs. Hardres. And then,
after many protestations of the Admiral's kindness, and a grim, silent
leave-taking, with hardly-kept-back tears, from her boy, the gangway
was let down again. As she was leaving the ship, she said, "You will
take care of him, Sir Horatio?"
The Admiral looked at her in his way.
"I do not mean in the face of the enemy," she said warmly, the pitiful
mouth, for the moment, taking the proud curves of her son's; "but I
have only a slender purse,--his father was killed when he was a
lieutenant."
"As regards that last, my dear madam, you may be perfectly easy, for
your son will be a very lucky fellow if he gets on shore twice in a
year. And for the rest, I shall look after him as if he were my own
son, and you know where I should wish my son to be in the moment of
honour."