|
THE TWO ADMIRALS
By JAMES FENIMORE COOPER SOME time since an American publisher invited a group of men, including among others Roosevelt, Barnes, Spears, Connolly, and the writer, to select the greatest six romances of the sea. The Two Admirals was the one of Cooper's sea tales included by a unanimous vote. Well does the book deserve its selection, for it is without question the greatest of all the novels of the sea, all of which I have read and not a few of which I have written. It has more of the best of Cooper, and less of his worst, than any of his naval or other romances. No writer was ever more at home on a ship's deck than Cooper-not even Marryat. And all his knowledge of the great deep, the way of ships therein, the habits and customs of sailors, has been utilized in full measure in this immortal story. It rings true alike to seamen and landsmen. There is a subsidiary story concerning the love-affairs of a gallant young sea officer, Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, and Mildred Dutton-Bluewater, a damsel as lovely, as delicate, and. as inane as Cooper at his worst could describe. Whenever she appeared she was either suffused with blushes or bursting into tears. On one occasion she wept steadily for above one half-hour! The supposed daughter of a drunken, retired officer and a woman of the middle class, Mildred turns out to be the lawful niece of one of the two admirals, just in time to soothe his dying hours, while her husband, a Virginian, turns up in the nick of time with the papers in his hands to prove his succession to the ancient title and lands of Wychecombe. All of which is excessively tiresome. Fortunately the greater part of the book is taken up with the doings of the two admirals. The puerile, pre-mid-Victorian romance will easily be forgotten, but the remainder will richly repay the reader. In 1745, when George II reigned in England, the young Pretender, Charles Ed-ward, made that daring and unsuccessful dash for a crown which came to a bloody end at Culloden in the following year. It is that abortive but gallant effort which furnishes the motive for the action of the novel. Vice-Admiral of the Red, Sir Gervaise Oakes commanded a well-fitted, well-officered, well-manned, homogeneous fleet of ships of the line which had been cruising in the Bay of Biscay. Associated with him was Richard Bluewater, Rear-Admiral of the White, second in command. These two men, both wedded to the service alone, had been shipmates and friends during a naval career of nearly forty years. Oakes was a typical English admiral, a superb sailor, a downright fighter; Bluewater, his complement and opposite, a subtle thinker and a brilliant tactician. The combination was ideal, as was the completeness of a friendship, not to say an affection, as sincere as it was lasting. Nothing had ever broken it; nothing, it was believed, ever would break it. In but one point did the true friends differ. Oakes was a Whig, Bluewater a Tory. It did not seem possible, however, for political considerations to interrupt their warm relations. The bold adventure of Charles Edward bade fair to do that very thing, however. For Bluewater, frank, unworldly sailor that he was, cleverly played upon by politicians, began to waver between the House of Hanover, whose commission he held, and the House of Stuart, to which his heart inclined. To bring matters to a head M. le Vice-Amiral le Comte de Vervillin sailed from Cherbourg with a fleet of such ships as fairly entitled him to challenge the English fleet of Vice-Admiral Oakes for the mastery of the narrow seas. The latter, more than willing to try out the matter, at once put to sea in a heavy gale of wind, his capital ships weighing anchor in succession, with long intervals between them so as to spread a broad clue to intercept the French. Bluewater with his division brought up the rear. The Rear-Admiral was obsessed with the idea that De Vervillin's course had something to do with the Pretender's effort, and his conscientious scruples threw him into a piteous state of indecision. The Vice-Admiral was not troubled by any such subtile casuistry. He only saw the enemy whom it was his duty to beat when, where, and how he could. After a series of the most brilliant tactical maneuvers and a successful minor engagement with the whole French fleet by his division alone-the two divisions had got separated in the mad gale and Bluewater had called his own ships around him-the Vice-Admiral found himself with five ships in the vicinity of the French, who were just double in number. Far away to windward the morning disclosed the five ships of the Rear - Admiral's division slowly standing down toward his superior under easy sail. Bluewater was still in his state of painful indecision. As soon as within signal distance, by using a private and personal code he sent the following pleading despatch to his considerate superior: "God sake make no signal-engage not." This signal plunged Oakes, fully aware of the state of his beloved junior's mind, into the most terrible dilemma. Without the assistance of Bluewater's division he could not hope to engage the enemy with the least chance of success. On the other hand, should he now withdraw without fighting he would have failed in his duty and would have been professionally ruined-and rightly. His mind was at once made up. Attack he would and must. Would the friendship between the two admirals stand the test he imposed upon it? Did the younger care more for Oakes and England than for the young prince and France? A short time would determine. Magnanimously refraining from making any embarrassing signal to his friend, which might force his hand untimely, Oakes boldly led down upon the waiting French line and with his five ships brought them to close action. The French were quick to take advantage of the opportunity given them by the hesitations of the English Rear-Admiral. Holding Oakes with five of his ships to leeward, De Vervillin threw the other five, under Des Prez, his contreamiral, on the windward side of the English, doubling on them, placing them between two fires. Although Oakes's division was fought with the fury of despair, the end was at hand, when the opportune arrival of Bluewater, who could not stand seeing his friend pounded to pieces and who threw political considerations to the wind and bore down on the triumphant French under a press of sail, completely changed the issue and wrested victory from defeat. All of which is set forth in a succession of sea pictures of surpassing grandeur. Bluewater, remorseful over his incertitude, actually carried the French Rear-Admiral's ship by boarding at the head of his men, receiving a mortal wound in the attack by way of expiation. Space allows me only to mention the masterly descriptions of ship-maneuvering and thrilling sea fighting. I can only refer to some of the well-drawn characters in the story-the two splendid admirals, their captains, the officers and seamen, especially old Galleygo, the admiral's steward, delineated out of a large experience with a sure hand. And the great ships themselves are imbued with personality so dear to a sea-man's heart. The touching scene at the close of the book, in which Oakes, old, infirm, forgetful, praying before the tomb of Bluewater in the great Abbey of Westminster, recalls the last battle the two had fought, and with all of his former fire and fervor describes again those moments of suspense preceding the glorious victory, fitly rounds out the tale. And then death unites him with the friend he had loved and lost. I have read the book a score or more of times with ever-increasing joy. I envy any one who takes ship for the first time to sail and fight with these two great masters of the sea. |