Authors: James Fenimore Cooper
"I believe le Grand Monarque and Marshal Saxe give a different account
of that matter, Sir Wycherly," drily observed the former; "and it may be
well to remember that there are two sides to every story. Whatever may
be said of Dettingen, I fancy history will set down Fontenoï as any
thing but a feather in His Royal Highness' cap."
"You surely do not consider it possible for the French arms to overthrow
a British army, Sir Gervaise Oakes!" exclaimed the simple-minded
provincial—for such was Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, though he had sat in
parliament, had four thousand a year, and was one of the oldest families
in England—"It sounds like treason to admit the possibility of such a
thing."
"God bless us, my dear sir, I am as far from supposing any such thing,
as the Duke of Cumberland himself; who, by the way, has as much English
blood in his veins, as the Baltic may have of the water of the
Mediterranean—hey! Atwood? By the way, Sir Wycherly, I must ask a
little tenderness of you in behalf of my friend the secretary, here, who
has a national weakness in favour of the Pretender, and all of the clan
Stuart."
"I hope not—I sincerely hope not, Sir Gervaise!" exclaimed Sir
Wycherly, with a warmth that was not entirely free from alarm; his own
loyalty to the new house being altogether without reproach. "Mr. Atwood
has the air of a gentleman of too good principles not to see on which
side real religious and political liberty lie. I am sure you are pleased
to be jocular, Sir Gervaise; the very circumstance that he is in your
company is a pledge of his loyalty."
"Well, well, Sir Wycherly, I would not give you a false idea of my
friend Atwood, if possible; and so I may as well confess, that, while
his Scotch blood inclines him to toryism, his English reason makes him a
whig. If Charles Stuart never gets the throne until Stephen Atwood helps
him to a seat on it, he may take leave of ambition for ever."
"I thought as much, Sir Gervaise—I thought
your
secretary could never
lean to the doctrine of 'passive obedience and non-resistance.' That's a
principle which would hardly suit sailors, Admiral Bluewater."
Admiral Bluewater's line, full, blue eye, lighted with an expression
approaching irony; but he made no other answer than a slight inclination
of the head. In point of fact,
he
was a Jacobite: though no one was
acquainted with the circumstance but his immediate commanding officer.
As a seaman, he was called on only to serve his country; and, as often
happens to military men, he was willing to do this under any superior
whom circumstances might place over his head, let his private sentiments
be what they might. During the civil war of 1715, he was too young in
years, and too low in rank to render his opinions of much importance;
and, kept on foreign stations, his services could only affect the
general interests of the nation, without producing any influence on the
contest at home. Since that period, nothing had occurred to require one,
whose duty kept him on the ocean, to come to a very positive decision
between the two masters that claimed his allegiance. Sir Gervaise had
always been able to persuade him that he was sustaining the honour and
interests of his country, and that ought to be sufficient to a patriot,
let who would rule. Notwithstanding this wide difference in political
feeling between the two admirals—Sir Gervaise being as decided a whig,
as his friend was a tory—their personal harmony had been without a
shade. As to confidence, the superior knew the inferior so well, that he
believed the surest way to prevent his taking sides openly with the
Jacobites, or of doing them secret service, was to put it in his power
to commit a great breach of trust. So long as faith were put in his
integrity, Sir Gervaise felt certain his friend Bluewater might be
relied on; and he also knew that, should the moment ever come when the
other really intended to abandon the service of the house of Hanover, he
would frankly throw up his employments, and join the hostile standard,
without profiting, in any manner, by the trusts he had previously
enjoyed. It is also necessary that the reader should understand that
Admiral Bluewater had never communicated his political opinions to any
person but his friend; the Pretender and his counsellors being as
ignorant of them, as George II. and his ministers. The only practical
effect, therefore, that they had ever produced was to induce him to
decline separate commands, several of which had been offered to him;
one, quite equal to that enjoyed by Sir Gervaise Oakes, himself.
"No," the latter answered to Sir Wycherly's remark; though the grave,
thoughtful expression of his face, showed how little his feelings chimed
in, at the moment, with the ironical language of his tongue. "No—Sir
Wycherly, a man-of-war's man, in particular, has not the slightest idea
of 'passive obedience and non-resistance,'—that is a doctrine which is
intelligible only to papists and tories. Bluewater is in a brown study;
thinking no doubt of the manner in which he intends to lead down on
Monsieur de Gravelin, should we ever have the luck to meet that
gentleman again; so we will, if it's agreeable to all parties, change
the subject."
"With all my heart, Sir Gervaise," answered the baronet, cordially;
"and, after all, there is little use in discussing the affair of the
Pretender any longer, for he appears to be quite out of men's minds,
since that last failure of King Louis XV."
"Yes, Norris rather crushed the young viper in its shell, and we may
consider the thing at an end."
"So my late brother, Baron Wychecombe, always treated it, Sir Gervaise.
He once assured me that the twelve judges were clearly against the
claim, and that the Stuarts had nothing to expect from
them
."
"Did he tell you, sir, on what ground these learned gentlemen had come
to this decision?" quietly asked Admiral Bluewater.
"He did, indeed; for he knew my strong desire to make out a good case
against the tories so well, that he laid all the law before me. I am a
bad hand, however, to repeat even what I hear; though my poor brother,
the late Rev. James Wychecombe—St. James as I used to call him—could
go over a discourse half an hour long, and not miss a word. Thomas and
James appear to have run away with the memories of the rest of the
family. Nevertheless, I recollect it all depended on an act of
Parliament, which is supreme; and the house of Hanover reigning by an
act of Parliament, no court could set aside the claim."
"Very clearly explained, sir," continued Bluewater; "and you will permit
me to say that there was no necessity for an apology on account of the
memory. Your brother, however, might not have exactly explained what an
act of Parliament is. King, Lords, and Commons, are all necessary to an
act of Parliament."
"Certainly—we all know that, my dear admiral; we poor fellows ashore
here, as well as you mariners at sea. The Hanoverian succession had all
three to authorize it."
"Had it a king?"
"A king! Out of dispute—or what we bachelors ought to consider as much
better, it had a
queen
. Queen Anne approved of the act, and that made
it an act of Parliament. I assure you, I learned a good deal of law in
the Baron's visits to Wychecombe; and in the pleasant hours we used to
chat together in his chambers!"
"And who signed the act of Parliament that made Anne a queen? or did she
ascend the throne by regular succession? Both Mary and Anne were
sovereigns by acts of Parliament, and we must look back until we get the
approval of a prince who took the crown by legal descent."
"Come—come, Bluewater," put in Sir Gervaise, gravely; "we may persuade
Sir Wycherly, in this manner, that he has a couple of furious Jacobites
in company. The Stuarts were dethroned by a revolution, which is a law
of nature, and enacted by God, and which of course overshadows all other
laws when it gets into the ascendant, as it clearly has done in this
case. I take it, Sir Wycherly, these are your park-gates, and that
yonder is the Hall."
This remark changed the discourse, and the whole party proceeded towards
the house, discussing the beauty of its position, its history, and its
advantages, until they reached its door.
"Monarch and ministers, are awful names:
Whoever wear them, challenge our devoir."
YOUNG.
Our plan does not require an elaborate description of the residence of
Sir Wycherly. The house had been neither priory, abbey, nor castle; but
it was erected as a dwelling for himself and his posterity, by a Sir
Michael Wychecombe, two or three centuries before, and had been kept in
good serviceable condition ever since. It had the usual long, narrow
windows, a suitable hall, wainscoted rooms, battlemented walls, and
turreted angles. It was neither large, nor small; handsome, nor ugly;
grand, nor mean; but it was quaint, respectable in appearance, and
comfortable as an abode.
The admirals were put each in possession of bed-chambers and
dressing-rooms, as soon as they arrived; and Atwood was
berthed
not
far from his commanding-officer, in readiness for service, if required.
Sir Wycherly was naturally hospitable; but his retired situation had
given him a zest for company, that greatly increased the inborn
disposition. Sir Gervaise, it was understood, was to pass the night with
him, and he entertained strong hopes of including his friend in the same
arrangement. Beds were ordered, too, for Dutton, his wife, and daughter;
and his namesake, the lieutenant, was expected also to sleep under his
roof, that night.
The day passed in the customary manner; the party having breakfasted,
and then separated to attend to their several occupations, agreeably to
the usages of all country houses, in all parts of the world, and, we
believe, in all time. Sir Gervaise, who had sent a messenger off to the
Plantagenet for certain papers, spent the morning in writing; Admiral
Bluewater walked in the park, by himself; Atwood was occupied with his
superior; Sir Wycherly rode among his labourers; and Tom Wychecombe took
a rod, and pretended to go forth to fish, though he actually held his
way back to the head-land, lingering in and around the cottage until it
was time to return home. At the proper hour, Sir Wycherly sent his
chariot for the ladies; and a few minutes before the appointed moment,
the party began to assemble in the drawing-room.
When Sir Wycherly appeared, he found the Duttons already in possession,
with Tom doing the honours of the house. Of the sailing-master and his
daughter, it is unnecessary to say more than that the former was in his
best uniform—an exceedingly plain one, as was then the case with the
whole naval wardrobe—and that the last had recovered from her illness,
as was evident by the bloom that the sensitive blushes constantly cast
athwart her lovely face. Her attire was exactly what it ought to have
been; neat, simple, and becoming. In honour of the host, she wore her
best; but this was what became her station, though a little jewelry that
rather surpassed what might have been expected in a girl of her rank of
life, threw around her person an air of modest elegance. Mrs. Dutton was
a plain, matronly woman—the daughter of a land-steward of a nobleman in
the same county—with an air of great mental suffering, from griefs she
had never yet exposed to the heartless sympathy of the world.
The baronet was so much in the habit of seeing his humble neighbours,
that an intimacy had grown up between them. Sir Wycherly, who was
anything but an acute observer, felt an interest in the
melancholy-looking, and almost heart-broken mother, without knowing why;
or certainly without suspecting the real character of her habitual
sadness; while Mildred's youth and beauty had not failed of producing
the customary effect of making a friend of the old bachelor. He shook
hands all round, therefore, with great cordiality; expressing his joy at
meeting Mrs. Dutton, and congratulating the daughter on her complete
recovery.
"I see Tom has been attentive to his duty," he added, "while I've been
detained by a silly fellow about a complaint against a poacher. My
namesake, young Wycherly, has not got back yet, though it is quite two
hours past his time; and Mr. Atwood tells me the admiral is a little
uneasy about his despatches. I tell him Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe, though
I have not the honour of ranking him among my relatives, and he is only
a Virginian by birth, is a young man to be relied on; and that the
despatches are safe, let what may detain the courier."
"And why should not a Virginian be every way as trustworthy and prompt
as an Englishman, Sir Wycherly?" asked Mrs. Dutton. "He
is
an
Englishman, merely separated from us by the water."
This was said mildly, or in the manner of one accustomed to speak under
a rebuked feeling; but it was said earnestly, and perhaps a little
reproachfully, while the speaker's eye glanced with natural interest
towards the beautiful face of her daughter.
"Why not, sure enough, my dear Mrs. Dutton!" echoed the baronet. "They
are
Englishmen, like ourselves, only born out of the realm, as it
might be, and no doubt a little different on that account. They are
fellow-subjects, Mrs. Dutton, and that is a great deal. Then they are
miracles of loyalty, there being scarcely a Jacobite, as they tell me,
in all the colonies."
"Mr. Wycherly Wychecombe is a very respectable young gentleman," said
Dutton; "and I hear he is a prime seaman for his years. He has not the
honour of being related to this distinguished family, like Mr. Thomas,
here, it is true; but he is likely to make a name for himself. Should he
get a ship, and do as handsome things in her, as he has done already,
His Majesty would probably knight him; and then we should have
two
Sir
Wycherly Wychecombes!"
"I hope not—I hope not!" exclaimed the baronet; "I think there must be
a law against
that
. As it is, I shall be obliged to put Bart. after my
name, as my worthy grandfather used to do, in order to prevent
confusion; but England can't bear two Sir Wycherlys, any more than the
world can bear two suns. Is not that your opinion, Miss Mildred?"