“Don’t forget Admiral Dashleigh,” said Mr. Beaumont.
“No; who can forget him that knows him?” said Walsingham: “a warm, generous friend, open-hearted as he is brave—he came to Captain Walsingham the day before the court-martial was to sit. ‘I know, Walsingham, you don’t like my cousin Jemmison (said he), nor do I much, for he is a puppy, and I never could like a puppy, related to me or not; be that as it may, you’ll do him justice, I’m sure; for though he is a puppy he is a brave fellow—and here, for party purposes, they have raised a cry of his being a coward, and want to shoot him pour encourager les autres. What you say will damn or save him; and I have too good an opinion of you to think that any old grudge, though you might have cause for it, would stand in his way.’ Walsingham answered as usual, that his opinion and his evidence would be known on the day of trial. Dashleigh went away very ill-satisfied, and persuaded that Walsingham harboured revenge against his relation. At last, when he was called upon in court, Walsingham’s conduct was both just and generous; for though his answers spoke the exact truth, yet he brought forward nothing to the disadvantage of Jemmison, but what truth compelled him to state, and in his captain’s favour; on the contrary, he spoke so strongly of his intrepidity, and of the gallant actions which in former instances he had performed in the service, as quite to efface the recollection of his foppery and epicurism, and, as much as possible, to excuse his negligence. Walsingham’s evidence absolutely confuted the unjust charge or suspicion of cowardice that had been raised against Jemmison; and made such an impression in his favour, that, instead of being dismissed the service, or even having his ship taken from him, as was expected, Jemmison got off with a reprimand.”
“Which I am sure he well deserved,” said Mr. Palmer.
“But certainly Walsingham was right not to let him be run down by a popular cry, especially as he had used him ill,” said Mr. Beaumont.
“Well, well!—I don’t care about the puppy,” cried Mr. Palmer; “only go on.”
“No sooner was the trial over, and the sentence of the court made known, than Admiral Dashleigh, full of joy, admiration, and gratitude, pushed his way towards Walsingham, and stretching out his hand, exclaimed—‘Shake hands, Walsingham, and forgive me, or I can’t forgive myself. I suspected you yesterday morning of bearing malice against that coxcomb, who deserved to be laughed at, but not to be shot. By Jove, Walsingham, you’re an honest fellow, I find.’ ‘And have you but just found that out, admiral?’ said Walsingham, with a proud smile. ‘Harkee, my lad,’ said Dashleigh, calling after him, ‘remember, I’m your friend, at all events.—Take it as you will, I’ll make you mine yet, before I’ve done with you.’ Walsingham knew that at this time Admiral Dashleigh’s friends were in power, and that Dashleigh himself had great influence with the Admiralty; and he probably treated the admiral thus haughtily, to show that he had no interested views or hopes. Dashleigh understood this, for he now comprehended Walsingham’s character perfectly. Immediately after the trial, Walsingham was made commander, in consequence of his having saved the Dreadnought, and his having taken l’Ambuscade. With this appointment Dashleigh had nothing to do. But he never ceased exerting himself, employing all the interest of his high connexions, and all the personal influence of his great abilities, to have Walsingham made post, and to get him a ship. He succeeded at last; but he never gave the least hint that it was done by his interest; for, he said, he knew that Walsingham had such nice notions, and was such a proud principled fellow, that he would not enjoy his promotion, if he thought he owed it to any thing upon earth but his own merit. So a handsome letter was written by the secretary of the Admiralty to Captain Walsingham, by their lordships’ desire, informing him, ‘that in consideration of his services and merit, his majesty had been pleased to make him post-captain, and to appoint him to the command of l’Ambuscade (the prize he took), which would be sent out on the first occasion.’ The secretary ‘begged leave to add expressions of his private satisfaction on an appointment so likely to be advantageous to the public,’ &c. In short, it was all done so properly and so plausibly, that even Walsingham never suspected any secret influence, nor did he find out the part Dashleigh had taken in the business till several months afterwards, when a discreet friend mentioned it by accident.”
“I was that discreet friend,” said Mr. Beaumont.
“Well, all this is very good, but there’s no love in this Story,” said Mr. Palmer. “I hope your hero is not too proud to fall in love?”
“Too proud!—We are told, you know, that the greatest hero, in the intervals of war, resigned
‘To tender passions all his mighty mind.’”