The Two Admirals. Джеймс Фенимор Купер

believe the Rev. Mr. Wychecombe was dead before I was of an age to remember his virtues, Sir Wycherly,” said Dutton, respectfully; “though I have often heard my own father speak of all your honoured family.”

      “Yes, your father, Dutton, was the attorney of the next town, and we all knew him well. You have done quite right to come back among us to spend the close of your own days. A man is never as well off as when he is thriving in his native soil; more especially when that soil is old England, and Devonshire. You are not one of us, young gentleman, though your name happens to be Wychecombe; but, then we are none of us accountable for our own births, or birth-places.”

      This truism, which is in the mouths of thousands while it is in the hearts of scarcely any, was well meant by Sir Wycherly, however plainly expressed. It merely drew from the youth the simple answer that – “he was born in the colonies, and had colonists for his parents;” a fact that the others had heard already, some ten or a dozen times.

      “It is a little singular, Mr. Wychecombe, that you should bear both of my names, and yet be no relative,” continued the baronet. “Now, Wycherly came into our family from old Sir Hildebrand Wycherly, who was slain at Bosworth Field, and whose only daughter, my ancestor, and Tom’s ancestor, there, married. Since that day, Wycherly has been a favourite name among us. I do not think that the Wychecombes of Herts, ever thought of calling a son Wycherly, although, as my poor brother the judge used to say, they were related, but of the half-blood, only. I suppose your father taught you what is meant by being of the half-blood, Thomas?”

      Tom Wychecombe’s face became the colour of scarlet, and he cast an uneasy glance at all present; expecting in particular, to meet with a look of exultation in the eyes of the lieutenant. He was greatly relieved, however, at finding that neither of the three meant or understood more than was simply expressed. As for his uncle, he had not the smallest intention of making any allusion to the peculiarity of his nephew’s birth; and the other two, in common with the world, supposed the reputed heir to be legitimate. Gathering courage from the looks of those around him, Tom answered with a steadiness that prevented his agitation from being detected:

      “Certainly, my dear sir; my excellent parent forgot nothing that he thought might be useful to me, in maintaining my rights, and the honour of the family, hereafter. I very well understand that the Wychecombes of Hertfordshire have no claims on us; nor, indeed, any Wychecombe who is not descended from my respectable grandfather, the late Sir Wycherly.”

      “He must have been an early, instead of a late Sir Wycherly, rather, Mr. Thomas,” put in Dutton, laughing at his own conceit; “for I can remember no other than the honourable baronet before us, in the last fifty years.”

      “Quite true, Dutton – very true,” rejoined the person last alluded to. “As true as that ‘time and tide wait for no man.’ We understand the meaning of such things on the coast here. It was half a century, last October, since I succeeded my respected parent; but, it will not be another half century before some one will succeed me!”

      Sir Wycherly was a hale, hearty man for his years, but he had no unmanly dread of his end. Still he felt it could not be very distant, having already numbered fourscore and four years. Nevertheless, there were certain phrases of usage, that Dutton did not see fit to forget on such an occasion, and he answered accordingly, turning to look at and admire the still ruddy countenance of the baronet, by way of giving emphasis to his words.

      “You will yet see half of us into our graves, Sir Wycherly,” he said, “and still remain an active man. Though I dare say another half century will bring most of us up. Even Mr. Thomas, here, and your young namesake can hardly hope to run out more line than that. Well, as for myself, I only desire to live through this war, that I may again see His Majesty’s arms triumphant; though they do tell me that we are in for a good thirty years’ struggle. Wars have lasted as long as that, Sir Wycherly, and I don’t see why this may not, as well as another.”

      “Very true, Dutton; it is not only possible, but probable; and I trust both you and I may live to see our flower-hunter here, a post-captain, at least – though it would be wishing almost too much to expect to see him an admiral. There has been one admiral of the name, and I confess I should like to see another!”

      “Has not Mr. Thomas a brother in the service?” demanded the master; “I had thought that my lord, the judge, had given us one of his young gentlemen.”

      “He thought of it; but the army got both of the boys, as it turned out. Gregory was to be the midshipman; my poor brother intending him for a sailor from the first, and so giving him the name that was once borne by the unfortunate relative we lost by shipwreck. I wished him to call one of the lads James, after St. James; but, somehow, I never could persuade Thomas to see all the excellence of that pious young man.”

      Dutton was a little embarrassed, for St. James had left any thing but a godly savour behind him; and he was about to fabricate a tolerably bold assertion to the contrary, rather than incur the risk of offending the lord of the manor, when, luckily, a change in the state of the fog afforded him a favourable opportunity of bringing about an apposite change in the subject. During the whole of the morning the sea had been invisible from the head-land, a dense body of vapour resting on it, far as eye could reach; veiling the whole expanse with a single white cloud. The lighter portions of the vapour had at first floated around the head-land, which could not have been seen at any material distance; but all had been gradually settling down into a single mass, that now rose within twenty feet of the summit of the cliffs. The hour was still quite early, but the sun was gaining force, and it speedily drank up all the lighter particles of the mist, leaving a clear, bright atmosphere above the feathery bank, through which objects might be seen for miles. There was what seamen call a “fanning breeze,” or just wind enough to cause the light sails of a ship to swell and collapse, under the double influence of the air and the motion of the hull, imitating in a slight degree the vibrations of that familiar appliance of the female toilet. Dutton’s eye had caught a glance of the loftiest sail of a vessel, above the fog, going through this very movement; and it afforded him the release he desired, by enabling him to draw the attention of his companions to the same object.

      “See, Sir Wycherly – see, Mr. Wychecombe,” he cried, eagerly, pointing in the direction of the sail; “yonder is some of the king’s canvass coming into our roadstead, or I am no judge of the set of a man-of-war’s royal. It is a large bit of cloth, too, Mr. Lieutenant, for a sail so lofty!”

      “It is a two-decker’s royal, Master Dutton,” returned the young sailor; “and now you see the fore and main, separately, as the ship keeps away.”

      “Well,” put in Sir Wycherly, in a resigned manner; “here have I lived fourscore years on this coast, and, for the life of me, I have never been able to tell a fore-royal from a back-royal; or a mizzen head-stay from a head mizzen-stay. They are the most puzzling things imaginable; and now I cannot discover how you know that yonder sail, which I see plain enough, is a royal, any more than that it is a jib!”

      Dutton and the lieutenant smiled, but Sir Wycherly’s simplicity had a cast of truth and nature about it, that deterred most people from wishing to ridicule him. Then, the rank, fortune, and local interest of the baronet, counted for a good deal on all such occasions.

      “Here is another fellow, farther east,” cried Dutton, still pointing with a finger; “and every inch as big as his consort! Ah! it does my eyes good to see our roadstead come into notice, in this manner, after all I have said and done in its behalf – But, who have we here – a brother chip, by his appearance; I dare say some idler who has been sent ashore with despatches.”

      “There is another fellow further east, and every inch as big as his consort,” said Wychecombe, as we shall call our lieutenant, in order to distinguish him from Tom of the same name, repeating the very words of Dutton, with an application and readiness that almost amounted to wit, pointing, in his turn, at two strangers who were ascending to the station by a path that led from the beach. “Certainly both these gentlemen are in His Majesty’s service, and they have probably just landed from the ships in the offing.”

      The truth of this conjecture was apparent to Dutton at a glance. As the strangers