The Two Admirals

“And yet the name of Oakes is to be met with among their bravest knights, and most faithful followers.”

“The Oakes, like the pines, have been timbers in every ship that has floated,” returned the vice-admiral, half-unconscious himself, of the pun he was making.

For more than a minute Sir Gervaise continued his walk, his head a little inclined forward, like a man who pondered deeply on some matter of interest. Then, suddenly stopping, he turned towards his friend, whom he regarded for near another minute, ere he resumed the discourse.

“I wish I could fairly get you to exercise your excellent reason on this matter, Dick,” he said, after the pause; “then I should be certain of having secured you on the side of liberty.”

Admiral Bluewater merely shook his head, but he continued silent, as if he deemed discussion altogether supererogatory. During this pause, a gentle tap at the door announced a visiter; and, at the request to enter, Atwood made his appearance. He held in his hand a large package, which bore on the envelope the usual stamp that indicated it was sent on public service.

“I beg pardon, Sir Gervaise,” commenced the secretary, who always proceeded at once to business, when business was to be done; “but His Majesty’s service will not admit of delay. This packet has just come to hand, by the arrival of an express, which left the admiralty only yesterday noon.”

“And how the devil did he know where to find me!” exclaimed the vice-admiral, holding out a hand to receive the communication.

“It is all owing to this young lieutenant’s forethought in following up the Jacobite intelligence to a market-town. The courier was bound to Falmouth, as fast as post-horses could carry him, when he heard, luckily, that the fleet lay at anchor, under Wychecombe Head; and, quite as luckily, he is an officer who had the intelligence to know that you would sooner get the despatches, if he turned aside, and came hither by land, than if he went on to Falmouth, got aboard the sloop that was to sail with him, for the Bay of Biscay, and came round here by water.”

Sir Gervaise smiled at this sally, which was one in keeping with all Atwood’s feelings; for the secretary had matured a system of expresses, which, to his great mortification, his patron laughed at, and the admiralty entirely overlooked. No time was lost, however, in the way of business; the secretary having placed the candles on a table, where Sir Gervaise took a chair, and had already broken a seal. The process of reading, nevertheless, was suddenly interrupted by the vice-admiral’s looking up, and exclaiming –

“Why, you are not about to leave us, Bluewater?”

“You may have private business with Mr. Atwood, Sir Gervaise, and perhaps I had better retire.”

Now, it so happened that while Sir Gervaise Oakes had never, by look or syllable, as he confidently believed, betrayed the secret of his friend’s Jacobite propensities, Atwood was perfectly aware of their existence. Nor had the latter obtained his knowledge by any unworthy means. He had been neither an eavesdropper, nor an inquirer into private communications, as so often happens around the persons of men in high trusts; all his knowledge having been obtained through native sagacity and unavoidable opportunities. On the present occasion, the secretary, with the tact of a man of experience, felt that his presence might be dispensed with; and he cut short the discussion between the two admirals, by a very timely remark of his own.

“I have left the letters uncopied, Sir Gervaise,” he said, “and will go and finish them. A message by Locker” – this was Sir Gervaise’s body-servant – “will bring me back at a moment’s notice, should you need me again to-night.”

“That Atwood has a surprising instinct, for a Scotchman!” exclaimed the vice-admiral, as soon as the door was closed on the secretary. “He not only knows when he is wanted, but when he is not wanted. The last is an extraordinary attainment, for one of his nation.”

“And one that an Englishman may do well to emulate,” returned Bluewater. “It is possible my company may be dispensed with, also, just at this important moment.”

“You are not so much afraid of the Hanoverians, Dick, as to run away from their hand-writing, are ye? Ha – what’s this? – As I live, a packet for yourself, and directed to ‘Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Bluewater, K.B.’ By the Lord, my old boy, they’ve given you the red riband at last! This is an honour well earned, and which may be fitly worn.”

“’Tis rather unexpected, I must own. The letter, however, cannot be addressed to me, as I am not a Knight of the Bath.”

“This is rank nonsense. Open the packet, at once, or I will do it for you. Are there two Dick Bluewaters in the world, or another rear-admiral of the same name?”

“I would rather not receive a letter that does not strictly bear my address,” returned the other, coldly.

“As I’ll be sworn this does. But hand it to me, since you are so scrupulous, and I will do that small service for you.”

As this was said, Sir Gervaise tore aside the seals; and, as he proceeded rather summarily, a red riband was soon uncased and fell upon the carpet. The other usual insignia of the Bath made their appearance, and a letter was found among them, to explain the meaning of all. Every thing was in due form, and went to acquaint Rear-Admiral Bluewater, that His Majesty had been graciously pleased to confer on him one of the vacant red ribands of the day, as a reward for his eminent services on different occasions. There was even a short communication from the premier, expressing the great satisfaction of the ministry in thus being able to second the royal pleasure with hearty good will.

“Well, what do you think of that, Richard Bluewater?” asked Sir Gervaise, triumphantly. “Did I not always tell you, that sooner or later, it must come?”

“It has come too late, then,” coldly returned the other, laying the riband, jewels, and letters, quietly on the table. “This is an honour, I can receive, now, only from my rightful prince. None other can legally create a knight of the Bath.”

“And pray, Mr. Richard Bluewater, who made you a captain, a commander, a rear-admiral? Do you believe me an impostor, because I wear this riband on authority no better than that of the house of Hanover? Am I, or am I not, in your judgment, a vice-admiral of the red?”

“I make a great distinction, Oakes, between rank in the navy, and a mere personal dignity. In the one case, you serve your country, and give quite as much as you receive; whereas, in the other, it is a grace to confer consideration on the person honoured, without such an equivalent as can find an apology for accepting a rank illegally conferred.”

“The devil take your distinctions, which would unsettle every thing, and render the service a Babel. If I am a vice-admiral of the red, I am a knight of the Bath; and, if you are a rear-admiral of the white, you are also a knight of that honourable order. All comes from the same source of authority, and the same fountain of honour.”

“I do not view it thus. Our commissions are from the admiralty, which represents the country; but dignities come from the prince who happens to reign, let his title be what it may.”

“Do you happen to think Richard III. a usurper, or a lawful prince?”

“A usurper, out of all question; and a murderer to boot. His name should be struck from the list of English kings. I never hear it, without execrating him, and his deeds.”

“Pooh – pooh, Dick, this is talking more like a poet than a seaman. If only one-half the sovereigns who deserve to be execrated had their names erased, the list of even our English kings would be rather short; and some countries would be without historical kings at all. However much Richard III. may deserve cashiering in this summary manner, his peers and laws are just as good as any other prince’s peers and laws. Witness the Duke of Norfolk, for instance.”

“Ay, that cannot be helped by me; but it is in my power to prevent Richard Bluewater’s being made a knight or the Bath, by George II.; and the power shall be used.”

“It would seem not, as he is already created; and I dare to say, gazetted.”

“The oaths are not yet taken, and it is, at least, an Englishman’s birth-right, to decline an honour; if, indeed, this can be esteemed an honour, at all.”

“Upon my word, Rear-Admiral Sir Richard Bluewater, you are disposed to be complimentary, to-night! The unworthy knight present, and all the rest of the order, are infinitely indebted to you!”

“Your case and mine, Oakes, are essentially different,” returned the other, with some emotion in his voice and manner. “Your riband was fairly won, fighting the battles of England, and can be worn with credit to yourself and to your country; but these baubles are sent to me, at a moment when a rising was foreseen, and as a sop to keep me in good-humour, as well as to propitiate the whole Bluewater interest.”

“That is pure conjecture, and I dare say will prove to be altogether a mistake. Here are the despatches to speak for themselves; and, as it is scarcely possible that the ministry should have known of this rash movement of the Pretender’s son, more than a few days, my life on it, the dates will show that your riband was bestowed before the enterprise was even suspected.”

As Sir Gervaise commenced, with his constitutional ardour, to turn over the letters, as soon as his mind was directed to this particular object, Admiral Bluewater resumed his seat, awaiting the result, with not a little curiosity; though, at the same time, with a smile of incredulity. The examination disappointed Sir Gervaise Oakes. The dates proved that the ministers were better informed than he had supposed; for it appeared they had been apprised about the time he was himself of the intended movement. His orders were to bring the fleet north, and in substance to do the very thing his own sagacity had dictated. So far every thing was well; and he could not entertain a doubt about receiving the hearty approbation of his superiors, for the course he had taken. But here his gratification ended; for, on looking at the dates of the different communications, it was evident that the red riband was bestowed after the intelligence of the Pretender’s movement had reached London. A private letter, from a friend at the Board of Admiralty, too, spoke of his own probable promotion to the rank of admiral of the blue; and mentioned several other similar preferments, in a way to show that the government was fortifying itself, in the present crisis, as much as possible, by favours. This was a politic mode of procedure, with ordinary men, it is true; but with officers of the elevation of mind, and of the independence of character of our two admirals, it was most likely to produce disgust.

“D – n ‘em, Dick,” cried Sir Gervaise, as he threw down the last letter of the package, with no little sign of feeling; “you might take St. Paul, or even Wychecombe’s dead brother, St. James the Less, and put him at court, and he would come out a thorough blackguard, in a week!”

“That is not the common opinion concerning a court education,” quietly replied the friend; “most people fancying that the place gives refinement of manners, if not of sentiment.”

“Poh – poh – you and I have no need of a dictionary to understand each other. I call a man who never trusts to a generous motive – who thinks it always necessary to bribe or cajole – who has no idea of any thing’s being done without its direct quid pro quo, a scurvy blackguard, though he has the airs and graces of Phil. Stanhope, or Chesterfield, as he is now. What do you think those chaps at the Board, talk of doing, by way of clinching my loyalty, at this blessed juncture?”

“No doubt to get you raised to the peerage. I see nothing so much out of the way in the thing. You are of one of the oldest families of England, and the sixth baronet by inheritance, and have a noble landed estate, which is none the worse for prize-money. Sir Gervaise Oakes of Bowldero, would make a very suitable Lord Bowldero.”

“If it were only that, I shouldn’t mind it; for nothing is easier than to refuse a peerage. I’ve done that twice already, and can do it a third time, at need. But one can’t very well refuse promotion in his regular profession; and, here, just as a true gentleman would depend on the principles of an officer, the hackneyed consciences of your courtiers have suggested the expediency of making Gervaise Oakes an admiral of the blue, by way of sop! – me, who was made vice-admiral of the red, only six months since, and who take an honest pride in boasting that every commission, from the lowest to the highest, has been fairly earned in battle!”

“They think it a more delicate service, perhaps, for a gentleman to be true to the reigning house, when so loud an appeal is made to his natural loyalty; and therefore class the self-conquest with a victory at sea!”

“They are so many court-lubbers, and I should like to have an opportunity of speaking my mind to them. I’ll not take the new commission; for every one must see, Dick, that it is a sop.”

“Ay, that’s just my notion, too, about the red riband; and I’ll not take that. You have had the riband these ten years, have declined the peerage twice, and their only chance is the promotion. Take it you ought, and must, however, as it will be the means of pushing on some four or five poor devils, who have been wedged up to honours, in this manner, ever since they were captains. I am glad they do not talk of promoting me, for I should hardly know how to refuse such a grace. There is great virtue in parchment, with all us military men.”

“Still it must be parchment fairly won. I think you are wrong, notwithstanding, Bluewater, in talking of refusing the riband, which is so justly your due, for a dozen different acts. There is not a man in the service, who has been less rewarded for what he has done, than yourself.”

“I am sorry to hear you give this as your opinion; for just at this moment, I would rather think that I have no cause of complaint, in this way, against the reigning family, or its ministers. I’m sure I was posted when quite a young man, and since that time, no one has been lifted over my head.”

The vice-admiral looked intently at his friend; for never before had he detected a feeling which betrayed, as he fancied, so settled a determination in him to quit the service of the powers that were. Acquainted from boyhood with all the workings of the other’s mind, he perceived that the rear-admiral had been endeavouring to persuade himself that no selfish or unworthy motive could be assigned to an act which he felt to proceed from disinterested chivalry, just as he himself broke out with his expression of an opinion that no officer had been less liberally rewarded for his professional services than his friend. While there is no greater mystery to a selfish manager, than a man of disinterested temperament, they who feel and submit to generous impulses, understand each other with an instinctive facility. When any particular individual is prone to believe that there is a predominance of good over evil in the world he inhabits, it is a sign of inexperience, or of imbecility; but when one acts and reasons as if all honour and virtue are extinct, he furnishes the best possible argument against his own tendencies and character. It has often been remarked that stronger friendships are made between those who have different personal peculiarities, than between those whose sameness of feeling and impulses would be less likely to keep interest alive; but, in all cases of intimacies, there must be great identity of principles, and even of tastes in matters at all connected with motives, in order to ensure respect, among those whose standard of opinion is higher than common, or sympathy among those with whom it is lower. Such was the fact, as respected Admirals Oakes and Bluewater. No two men could be less alike in temperament, or character, physically, and in some senses, morally considered; but, when it came to principles, or all those tastes or feelings that are allied to principles, there was a strong native, as well as acquired affinity. This union of sentiment was increased by common habits, and professional careers so long and so closely united, as to be almost identical. Nothing was easier, consequently, than for Sir Gervaise Oakes to comprehend the workings of Admiral Bluewater’s mind, as the latter endeavoured to believe he had been fairly treated by the existing government. Of course, the reasoning which passed through the thoughts of Sir Gervaise, on this occasion, required much less time than we have taken to explain its nature; and, after regarding his friend intently, as already related, for a few seconds, he answered as follows; a good deal influenced, unwittingly to himself, with the wish to check the other’s Jacobite propensities.

“I am sorry not to be able to agree with you, Dick,” he said, with some warmth. “So far from thinking you well treated, by any ministry, these twenty years, I think you have been very ill treated. Your rank you have, beyond a question; for of that no brave officer can well be deprived in a regulated service; but, have you had the commands to which you are entitled? – I was a commander-in-chief when only a rear-admiral of the blue; and then how long did I wear a broad pennant, before I got a flag at all!”

“You forget how much I have been with you. When two serve together, one must command, and the other must obey. So far from complaining of these Hanoverian Boards, and First Lords, it seems to me that they have always kept in view the hollowness of their claims to the throne, and have felt a desire to purchase honest men by their favours.”

“You are the strangest fellow, Dick Bluewater, it has ever been my lot to fall in with! D – – e me, if I believe you know always, when you are ill treated. There are a dozen men in service, who have had separate commands, and who are not half as well entitled to them, as you are yourself.”

“Come, come, Oakes, this is getting to be puerile, for two old fellows, turned of fifty. You very well know that I was offered just as good a fleet, as this of your own, with a choice of the whole list of flag-officers below me, to pick a junior from; and, so, we’ll say no more about it. As respects their red riband, however, it may go a-begging for me.”

Sir Gervaise was about to answer in his former vein, when a tap at the door announced the presence of another visiter. This time the door opened on the person of Galleygo, who had been included in Sir Wycherly’s hospitable plan of entertaining every soul who immediately belonged to the suite of Sir Gervaise.

“What the d – – I has brought you here!” exclaimed the vice-admiral, a little warmly; for he did not relish an interruption just at this moment. “Recollect you’re not on board the Plantagenet, but in the dwelling of a gentleman, where there are both butler and housekeeper, and who have no occasion for your advice, or authority, to keep things in order.”

“Well, there, Sir Gervaise I doesn’t agree with you the least bit; for I thinks as a ship’s steward – I mean a cabin steward, and a good ‘un of the quality – might do a great deal of improvement in this very house. The cook and I has had a partic’lar dialogue on them matters, already; and I mentioned to her the names of seven different dishes, every one of which she quite as good as admitted to me, was just the same as so much gospel to her.”

“I shall have to quarantine this fellow, in the long run, Bluewater! I do believe if I were to take him to Lambeth Palace, or even to St. James’s, he’d thrust his oar into the archbishop’s benedictions, or the queen’s caudle-cup!”

“Well, Sir Gervaise, where would be the great harm, if I did? A man as knows the use of an oar, may be trusted with one, even in a church, or an abbey. When your honour comes to hear what the dishes was, as Sir Wycherly’s cook had never heard on, you’ll think it as great a cur’osity as I do myself. If I had just leave to name ‘em over, I think as both you gentlemen would look at it as remarkable.”

“What are they, Galleygo?” inquired Bluewater, putting one of his long legs over an arm of the adjoining chair, in order to indulge himself in a yarn with his friend’s steward, with greater freedom; for he greatly delighted in Galleygo’s peculiarities; seeing just enough of the fellow to find amusement, without annoyance in them. “I’ll answer for Sir Gervaise, who is always a little diffident about boasting of the superiority of a ship, over a house.”

“Yes, your honour, that he is – that is just one of Sir Jarvy’s weak p’ints, as a body might say. Now, I never goes ashore, without trimming sharp up, and luffing athwart every person’s hawse, I fall in with; which is as much as to tell ‘em, I belongs to a flag-ship, and a racer, and a craft as hasn’t her equal on salt-water; no disparagement to the bit of bunting at the mizzen-topgallant-mast-head of the Cæsar, or to the ship that carries it. I hopes, as we are so well acquainted, Admiral Bluewater, no offence will be taken.”

“Where none is meant, none ought to be taken, my friend. Now let us hear your bill-of-fare.”

“Well, sir, the very first dish I mentioned to Mrs. Larder, Sir Wycherly’s cook, was lobscous; and, would you believe it, gentlemen, the poor woman had never heard of it! I began with a light hand, as it might be, just not to overwhelm her with knowledge, at a blow, as Sir Jarvy captivated the French frigate with the upper tier of guns, that he might take her alive, like.”

“And the lady knew nothing of a lobscous – neither of its essence, nor nature?”

“There’s no essences as is ever put in a lobscous, besides potaties, Admiral Bluewater; thof we make ‘em in the old Planter” – nautice for Plantagenet – “in so liquorish a fashion, you might well think they even had Jamaiky, in ‘em. No, potaties is the essence of lobscous; and a very good thing is a potatie, Sir Jarvy, when a ship’s company has been on salted oakum for a few months.”

“Well, what was the next dish the good woman broke down under?” asked the rear-admiral, fearful the master might order the servant to quit the room; while he, himself, was anxious to get rid of any further political discussion.

“Well, sir, she knowed no more of a chowder, than if the sea wern’t in the neighbourhood, and there wern’t such a thing as a fish in all England. When I talked to her of a chowder, she gave in, like a Spaniard at the fourth or fifth broadside.”

“Such ignorance is disgraceful, and betokens a decline in civilization! But, you hoisted out more knowledge for her benefit, Galleygo – small doses of learning are poor things.”

“Yes, your honour; just like weak grog – burning the priming, without starting the shot. To be sure, I did, Admiral Blue. I just named to her burgoo, and then I mentioned duff (anglice dough) to her, but she denied that there was any such things in the cookery-book. Do you know, Sir Jarvy, as these here shore craft get their dinners, as our master gets the sun; all out of a book as it might be. Awful tidings, too, gentlemen, about the Pretender’s son; and I s’pose we shall have to take the fleet up into Scotland, as I fancy them ‘ere sogers will not make much of a hand in settling law?”

“And have you honoured us with a visit, just to give us an essay on dishes, and to tell us what you intend to do with the fleet?” demanded Sir Gervaise, a little more sternly than he was accustomed to speak to the steward.

“Lord bless you, Sir Jarvy, I didn’t dream of one or t’other! As for telling you, or Admiral Blue, (so the seamen used to call the second in rank,) here, any thing about lobscous, or chowder, why, it would be carrying coals to New Market. I’ve fed ye both with all such articles, when ye was nothing but young gentlemen; and when you was no longer young gentlemen, too, but a couple of sprightly luffs, of nineteen. And as for moving the fleet, I know, well enough, that will never happen, without our talking it over in the old Planter’s cabin; which is a much more nat’ral place for such a discourse, than any house in England!”

“May I take the liberty of inquiring, then, what did bring you here?”

“That you may, with all my heart, Sir Jarvy, for I likes to answer your questions. My errand is not to your honour this time, though you are my master. It’s no great matter, after all, being just to hand this bit of a letter over to Admiral Blue.”