The Two Admirals (72 page)

On hearing this, the whole party moved on; though the two lovely young
Virginians cast wistful and curious eyes behind them, at the wonders by
which they were surrounded.

"Is not this an extraordinary edifice, Wycherly?" half whispered Agnes,
the youngest of the sisters, as she clung to one arm of her brother,
Mildred occupying the other. "Can the whole world furnish such another?"

"So much for hominy and James' river!" answered the young man,
laughing—"now could you but see the pile at Rouen, or that at Rheims,
or that at Antwerp, or even that at York, in this good kingdom, old
Westminster would have to fall back upon its little tablets and big
names. But Sir Wycherly stops; he must see what he calls his land-fall."

Sir Wycherly had indeed stopped. It was in consequence of having reached
the head of the
choeur
, whence he could see the interior of the
recess, or chapel, towards which he had been moving. It still contained
but a single monument, and that was adorned with an anchor and other
nautical emblems. Even at that distance, the words "RICHARD
BLUEWATER, REAR-ADMIRAL OF THE WHITE," might be read. But the
baronet had come to a sudden halt, in consequence of seeing a party of
three enter the chapel, in which he wished to be alone with his own
family. The party consisted of an old man, who walked with tottering
steps, and this so much the more from the circumstance that he leaned on
a domestic nearly as old as himself, though of a somewhat sturdier
frame, and of a tall imposing-looking person of middle age, who followed
the two with patient steps. Several attendants of the cathedral watched
this party from a distance with an air of curiosity and respect; but
they had been requested not to accompany it to the chapel.

"They must be some old brother-officers of my poor uncle's, visiting his
tomb!" whispered Lady Wychecombe. "The very venerable gentleman has
naval emblems about his attire."

"
Do
you—
can
you forget him, love? 'Tis Sir Gervaise Oakes, the
pride of England! yet how changed! It is now five-and-twenty years since
we last met; still I knew him at a glance. The servant is old Galleygo,
his steward; but the gentleman with him is a stranger. Let us advance;
we
cannot be intruders in such a place."

Sir Gervaise paid no attention to the entrance of the Wychecombes. It
was evident, by the vacant look of his countenance, that time and hard
service had impaired his faculties, though his body remained entire; an
unusual thing for one who had been so often engaged. Still there were
glimmerings of lively recollections, and even of strong sensibilities
about his eyes, as sudden fancies crossed his mind. Once a year, the
anniversary of his friend's interment, he visited that chapel; and he
had now been brought here as much from habit, as by his own desire. A
chair was provided for him, and he sat facing the tomb, with the large
letters before his eyes. He regarded neither, though he bowed
courteously to the salute of the strangers. His companion at first
seemed a little surprised, if not offended at the intrusion; but when
Wycherly mentioned that they were relatives of the deceased, he also
bowed complacently, and made way for the ladies.

"This it is as what you wants to see, Sir Jarvy," observed Galleygo,
jogging his master's shoulder by way of jogging his memory. "Them 'ere
cables and hanchors, and that 'ere mizzen-mast, with a rear-admiral's
flag a-flying, is rigged in this old church, in honour of our friend
Admiral Blue, as was; but as is now dead and gone this many a long
year."

"Admiral of the Blue," repeated Sir Gervaise coldly. "You're mistaken,
Galleygo, I'm an admiral of the white, and admiral of the fleet in the
bargain. I know my own rank, sir."

"I knows that as well as you does yourself, Sir Jarvy," answered
Galleygo, whose grammar had rather become confirmed than improved, by
time, "or as well as the First Lord himself. But Admiral Blue was once
your best friend, and I doesn't at all admire at your forgetting
him—one of these long nights you'll be forgetting
me
."

"I beg your pardon, Galleygo; I rather think not. I remember
you
, when
a very young man."

"Well, and so you mought remember Admiral Blue, if you'd just try. I
know'd ye both when young luffs, myself."

"This is a painful scene," observed the stranger to Sir Wycherly, with a
melancholy smile. "This gentleman is now at the tomb of his dearest
friend; and yet, as you see, he appears to have lost all recollection
that such a person ever existed. For what do we live, if a few brief
years are to render our memories such vacant spots!"

"Has he been long in this way?" asked Lady Wychecombe, with interest.

The stranger started at the sound of her voice. He looked intently into
the face of the still fair speaker, before he answered; then he bowed,
and replied—

"He has been failing these five years, though his last visit here was
much less painful than this. But are our own memories perfect?—Surely,
I have seen that face before!—These young ladies, too—"

"Geoffrey—
dear
cousin Geoffrey!" exclaimed Lady Wychecombe, holding
out both her hands. "It is—it must be the Duke of Glamorgan, Wycherly!"

No further explanations were needed. All the parties recognised each
other in an instant. They had not met for many—many years, and each had
passed the period of life when the greatest change occurs in the
physical appearance; but, now that the ice was broken, a flood of
recollections poured in. The duke, or Geoffrey Cleveland, as we prefer
to call him, kissed his cousin and her daughters with frank affection,
for no change of condition had altered his simple sea-habits, and he
shook hands with the gentlemen, with a cordiality like that of old
times. All this, however, was unheeded by Sir Gervaise, who sat looking
at the monument, in a dull apathy.

"Galleygo," he said; but Galleygo had placed himself before Sir
Wycherly, and thrust out a hand that looked like a bunch of knuckles.

"I knows ye!" exclaimed the steward, with a grin. "I know'd ye in the
offing yonder, but I couldn't make out your number. Lord, sir, if this
doesn't brighten Sir Jarvy up, again, and put him in mind of old times,
I shall begin to think we have run out cable to the better end."

"I will speak to him, duke, if you think it advisable?" said Sir
Wycherly, in an inquiring manner.

"Galleygo," put in Sir Gervaise, "what lubber fitted that cable?—he has
turned in the clench the wrong way."

"Ay—ay, sir, they
is
great lubbers, them stone-cutters, Sir Jarvy;
and they knows about as much of ships, as ships knows of them. But here
is
young
Sir Wycherly Wychecombe come to see you—the
old
'un's
nevy."

"Sir Wycherly, you are a very welcome guest. Bowldero is a poor place
for a gentleman of your merit; but such as it is, it is entirely at your
service. What did you say the gentleman's name was, Galleygo?"

"Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, the
young
'un—the
old
'un slipped the
night as we moored in his house."

"I hope, Sir Gervaise, I have not entirely passed from your
recollection; it would grieve me sadly to think so. And my poor uncle,
too; he who died of apoplexy in your presence!"

"
Nullus, nulla, nullum.
That's good Latin, hey! Duke?
Nullius,
nullius, nullius.
My memory
is
excellent, gentlemen; nominative,
penna
; genitive,
pennæ
, and so on."

"Now, Sir Jarvy, since you're veering out your Latin,
I
should likes
to know if you can tell a 'clove-hitch' from a 'carrick-bend?'"

"That is an extraordinary question, Galleygo, to put to an old seaman!"

"Well, if you remembers
that
, why can't you just as reasonably
remember your old friend, Admiral Blue?"

"Admiral of the blue! I do recollect
many
admirals of the blue. They
ought to make me an admiral of the blue, duke; I've been a rear-admiral
long enough."

"You've
been
an admiral of the blue
once
; and that's enough for any
man," interrupted Galleygo, again in his positive manner; "and it isn't
five minutes since you know'd your own rank as well as the Secretary to
the Admiralty himself. He veers and hauls, in this fashion, on an idee,
gentlemen, until he doesn't know one end of it from t'other."

"This is not uncommon with men of great age," observed the duke. "They
sometimes remember the things of their youth, while the whole of later
life is a blank. I have remarked this with our venerable friend, in
whose mind I think it will not be difficult, however, to revive the
recollection of Admiral Bluewater, and even of yourself, Sir Wycherly.
Let
me
make the effort, Galleygo."

"Yes, Lord Geoffrey," for so the steward always called the quondam
reefer, "you does handle him more like a quick-working boat, than any on
us; and so I'll take an hopportunity of just overhauling our old
lieutenant's young 'uns, and of seeing what sort of craft he has set
afloat for the next generation."

"Sir Gervaise," said the Duke, leaning over the chair, "here is Sir
Wycherly Wychecombe, who once served a short time with us as a
lieutenant; it was when you were in the Plantagenet. You remember the
Plantagenet, I trust, my dear sir?"

"The Plantagenets? Certainly, duke; I read all about them when a boy.
Edwards, and Henrys, and
Richards
—" at the last name he stopped; the
muscles of his face twitched; memory had touched a sensitive chord. But
it was too faintly, to produce more than a pause.

"There, now," growled Galleygo, in Agnes' face, he being just then
employed in surveying her through a pair of silver spectacles that were
a present from his master, "you see, he has forgotten the old Planter;
and the next thing, he'll forget to eat his dinner. It's
wicked
, Sir
Jarvy, to forget
such
a ship."

"I trust, at least, you have not forgotten Richard Bluewater?" continued
the Duke, "he who fell in our last action with the Comte de Vervillin?"

A gleam of intelligence shot into the rigid and wrinkled face; the eye
lighted, and a painful smile struggled around the lips.

"What,
Dick
!" he exclaimed, in a voice stronger than that in which he
had previously spoken. "
Dick!
hey! duke?
good, excellent Dick?
We
were midshipmen together, my lord duke; and I loved him like a brother!"

"I
knew
you did! and I dare say now you can recollect the melancholy
occasion of his death?"

"Is Dick
dead
?" asked the admiral, with a vacant gaze.

"Lord—Lord, Sir Jarvy, you knows he is, and that 'ere marvel
constructure is his monerment—now you
must
remember the old Planter,
and the County of Fairvillian, and the threshing we guv'd him?"

"Pardon me, Galleygo; there is no occasion for warmth. When I was a
midshipman, warmth of expression was disapproved of by all the elder
officers."

"You cause me to lose ground," said the Duke, looking at the steward by
way of bidding him be silent: "is it not extraordinary, Sir Wycherly,
how his mind reverts to his youth, overlooking the scenes of latter
life! Yes,
Dick is
dead, Sir Gervaise. He fell in that battle in which
you were doubled on by the French—when you had le Foudroyant on one
side of you, and le Pluton on the other—"

"
I remember it!
" interrupted Sir Gervaise, in a clear strong voice,
his eye flashing with something like the fire of youth—"I remember it!
Le Foudroyant was on our starboard beam; le Pluton a little on our
larboard bow—Bunting had gone aloft to look out for Bluewater—no—poor
Bunting was killed—"

"Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, who afterwards married Mildred Bluewater,
Dick's niece," put in the baronet, himself, almost as eager as the
admiral had now become; "Sir Wycherly Wychecombe
had
been aloft, but
was returned to report the Pluton coming down!"

"So he did!—God bless him! A clever youth, and he
did
marry Dick's
niece. God bless them
both
. Well, sir, you're a stranger, but the
story will interest you. There we lay, almost smothered in the smoke,
with one two-decker at work on our starboard beam, and another hammering
away on the larboard bow, with our top-masts over the side, and the guns
firing through the wreck."

"Ay, now you're getting it like a book!" exclaimed Galleygo exultingly,
flourishing his stick, and strutting about the little chapel; "that's
just the way things was, as I knows from seeing 'em!"

"I'm quite certain I'm right, Galleygo?"

"Right! your honour's righter than any log-book in the fleet. Give it to
'em, Sir Jarvy, larboard and starboard!"

"That we did—that we did"—continued the old man earnestly, becoming
even grand in aspect, as he rose, always gentleman-like and graceful,
but filled with native fire, "that did we! de Vervillin was on our
right, and des Prez on our left—the smoke was choking us
all—Bunting—no; young Wychecombe was at my side; he said a fresh
Frenchman was shoving in between us and le Pluton, sir—God forbid! I
thought
; for we had enough of them, us it was. There she comes! See,
here is her flying-jib-boom-end—and there—hey! Wychecombe?—
That's
the
old Roman
, shoving through the smoke!—Cæsar himself! and there
stands Dick and young Geoffrey Cleveland—
he
was of your family,
duke—there stands Dick Bluewater, between the knight-heads, waving his
hat—
HURRAH!
—He's true, at last!—He's true, at last—
HURRAH!
HURRAH!
"

The clarion tones rose like a trumpet's blast, and the cheering of the
old sailor rang in the arches of the Abbey Church, causing all within
hearing to start, as if a voice spoke from the tombs. Sir Gervaise,
himself, seemed surprised; he looked up at the vaulted roof, with a gaze
half-bewildered, half-delighted.