The Two Admirals. Джеймс Фенимор Купер

I venerate the brave defenders of the island. Nor do I know that seamen have less to say, than other men.”

      “I am glad to hear you confess this, for – shall I be frank with you, and take a liberty that would better become a friend of a dozen years, than an acquaintance of a day; – and, yet, I know not why it is so, my dear child, but I feel as if I had long known you, though I am certain we never met before.”

      “Perhaps, sir, it is an omen that we are long to know each other, in future,” said Mildred, with the winning confidence of unsuspecting and innocent girlhood. “I hope you will use no reserve.”

      “Well, then, at the risk of making a sad blunder, I will just say, that ‘my nephew Tom’ is any thing but a prepossessing youth; and that I hope all eyes regard him exactly as he appears to a sailor of fifty-five.”

      “I cannot answer for more than those of a girl of nineteen, Admiral Bluewater,” said Mildred, laughing; “but, for her, I think I may say that she does not look on him as either an Adonis, or a Crichton.”

      “Upon my soul! I am right glad to hear this, for the fellow has accidental advantages enough to render him formidable. He is the heir to the baronetcy, and this estate, I believe?”

      “I presume he is. Sir Wycherly has no other nephew – or at least this is the eldest of three brothers, I am told – and, being childless himself, it must be so. My father tells me Sir Wycherly speaks of Mr. Thomas Wychecombe as his future heir.”

      “Your father! – Ay, fathers look on these matters with eyes very different from their daughters!”

      “There is one thing about seamen that renders them at least safe acquaintances,” said Mildred, smiling; “I mean their frankness.”

      “That is a failing of mine, as I have heard. But you will pardon an indiscretion that arises in the interest I feel in yourself. The eldest of three brothers – is the lieutenant, then, a younger son?”

      “He does not belong to the family at all, I believe,” Mildred answered, colouring slightly, in spite of a resolute determination to appear unconcerned. “Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe is no relative of our host, I hear; though he bears both of his names. He is from the colonies; born in Virginia.”

      “He is a noble, and a noble-looking fellow! Were I the baronet, I would break the entail, rather than the acres should go to that sinister-looking nephew, and bestow them on the namesake. From Virginia, and not even a relative, at all?”

      “That is what Mr. Thomas Wychecombe says; and even Sir Wycherly confirms it. I have never heard Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe speak on the subject, himself.”

      “A weakness of poor human nature! The lad finds an honourable, ancient, and affluent family here, and has not the courage to declare his want of affinity to it; happening to bear the same name.”

      Mildred hesitated about replying; but a generous feeling got the better of her diffidence. “I have never seen any thing in the conduct of Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe to induce me to think that he feels any such weakness,” she said, earnestly. “He seems rather to take pride in, than to feel ashamed of, his being a colonial; and you know, we, in England, hardly look on the people of the colonies as our equals.”

      “And have you, young lady, any of that overweening prejudice in favour of your own island?”

      “I hope not; but I think most persons have. Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe admits that Virginia is inferior to England, in a thousand things; and yet he seems to take pride in his birthplace.”

      “Every sentiment of this nature is to be traced to self. We know that the fact is irretrievable, and struggle to be proud of what we cannot help. The Turk will tell you he has the honour to be a native of Stamboul; the Parisian will boast of his Faubourg; and the cockney exults in Wapping. Personal conceit lies at the bottom of all; for we fancy that places to which we belong, are not places to be ashamed of.”

      “And yet I do not think Mr. Wycherly at all remarkable for conceit. On the contrary, he is rather diffident and unassuming.”

      This was said simply, but so sincerely, as to induce the listener to fasten his penetrating blue eye on the speaker, who now first took the alarm, and felt that she might have said too much. At this moment the two young men entered, and a servant appeared to request that Admiral Bluewater would do Sir Gervaise Oakes the favour to join him, in the dressing-room of the latter.

      Tom Wychecombe reported the condition of the dinner-table to be such, as to render it desirable for all but three and four-bottle men to retire. Hanoverian toasts and sentiments were in the ascendant, and there was every appearance that those who remained intended to make a night of it. This was sad intelligence for Mrs. Dutton, who had come forward eagerly to hear the report, but who now returned to the window, apparently irresolute as to the course she ought to take. As both the young men remained near Mildred, she had sufficient opportunity to come to her decision, without interruption, or hindrance.

      Chapter VII

      “Somewhat we will do.

      And, look, when I am king, claim thou of me

      The earldom of Hereford, and all the moveables

      Whereof the king my brother was possessed.”

Richard III.

      Rear-Admiral Bluewater found Sir Gervaise Oakes pacing a large dressing-room, quarter-deck fashion, with as much zeal, as if just released from a long sitting, on official duty, in his own cabin. As the two officers were perfectly familiar with each other’s personal habits, neither deviated from his particular mode of indulging his ease; but the last comer quietly took his seat in a large chair, disposing of his person in a way to show he intended to consult his comfort, let what would happen.

      “Bluewater,” commenced Sir Gervaise, “this is a very foolish affair of the Pretender’s son, and can only lead to his destruction. I look upon it as altogether unfortunate.”

      “That, as it may terminate. No man can tell what a day, or an hour, may bring forth. I am sure, such a rising was one of the last things I have been anticipating, down yonder, in the Bay of Biscay.”

      “I wish, with all my heart, we had never left it,” muttered Sir Gervaise, so low that his companion did not hear him. Then he added, in a louder tone, “Our duty, however, is very simple. We have only to obey orders; and it seems that the young man has no naval force to sustain him. We shall probably be sent to watch Brest, or l’Orient, or some other port. Monsieur must be kept in, let what will happen.”

      “I rather think it would be better to let him out, our chances on the high seas being at least as good as his own. I am no friend to blockades, which strike me as an un-English mode of carrying on a war.”

      “You are right enough, Dick, in the main,” returned Sir Gervaise, laughing.

      “Ay, and on the main, Oakes. I sincerely hope the First Lord will not send a man like you, who are every way so capable of giving an account of your enemy with plenty of sea-room, on duly so scurvy as a blockade.”

      “A man like me! Why a man like me in particular? I trust I am to have the pleasure of Admiral Bluewater’s company, advice and assistance?”

      “An inferior never can know, Sir Gervaise, where it may suit the pleasure of his superiors to order him.”

      “That distinction of superior and inferior, Bluewater, will one day lead you into a confounded scrape, I fear. If you consider Charles Stuart your sovereign, it is not probable that orders issued by a servant of King George will be much respected. I hope you will do nothing hastily, or without consulting your oldest and truest friend!”

      “You know my sentiments, and there is little use in dwelling on them, now. So long as the quarrel was between my own country and a foreign land, I have been content to serve; but when my lawful prince, or his son and heir, comes in this gallant and chivalrous manner, throwing himself, as it might be, into the very arms of his subjects, confiding all to their loyalty and spirit; it makes such an appeal to every nobler feeling, that