A tall man with a kind face and smiling eyes, bordered above by unruly white eyebrows and below by an overlong nose and droopy white mustaches, stood comfortably in the entranceway. He wore the uniform of a Royal Navy admiral, complete with medals and a large medallion which he wore on a ribbon around his neck. He continued with his welcoming speech.
“I am Admiral Robert Barrett, Royal Navy, and, while not currently in command of anything,” he smiled at his own disarming honesty, “I am able to enjoy the flexibility of entertaining my colleagues in suitable style. I hope you will make yourselves comfortable and enjoy that which my humble hospitality can offer you. Remember, this is Gibraltar, not London!” He walked, marched, actually, up to the three captains, extending his hand to each in turn and continued talking, but in lowered tones meant for them and not the rest of us.
Not a one of us would have paid a whit of attention in any case, as several ladies in splendid attire appeared in the doorway just vacated by Admiral Barrett and held, at that moment, our undivided attention.
Aware that our gazes had fixed upon the ladies, Barrett again raised his voice. “Let me introduce the members of my household who will, of course, be joining us for dinner, and with whom, I imagine, you will become better acquainted as the afternoon and evening progress.” He stepped back to the door, bowed deeply to the wonderfully turned out damsels, took the first two, one on each arm, and stepped back into the room.
“On my right,” he turned his head and smiled at the dark-haired beauty whose hand rested comfortably in the crook of the his arm, “is Lady Jane Parker. Lady Jane has lived here on the Rock for most of her life and can likely answer any of your questions, should any of you have one, about our lovely little peninsula.” Lady Jane curtsied delicately and smiled demurely at the assemblage of Americans.
“And this is my sister, Lady Elizabeth Lovejoy, who has graced our household with her presence during the time her husband, Captain Sir Reginald Lovejoy, has been on the blockade with Admiral Lord Nelson.” Barrett rolled the Rs in his brother-in-law’s name so long, I supposed it must have included at least three of them! Lady Elizabeth curtsied a bit awkwardly and smiled, though somewhat less demurely, I thought, than did her friend. She was quite tall, whip-thin, and not unattractive.
The two women detached themselves from the admiral and moved gracefully into the van of the American officers, who parted like the Red Sea before Moses as they approached.
Their places were taken by two more ladies who were properly introduced to us, released into our midst, and immediately surrounded by several American officers who, elbowing each other more or less discretely, vied for their attention.
“And this, gentlemen, is my great good friend, Commodore Rodney Feath-erstone, late of Devonshire—he has arrived here only yesterday—who to his dismay, but my joy, is, like me, shore-bound!” Admiral Barrett smiled broadly again as he presented a distinguished-looking officer, who had even more pretty decorations and ribbons on his jacket than did his senior and who grimaced (was it good natured or not?) as he stepped into our gathering.
The Royal Navy certainly has a variety of decorations they give out! I wonder what he did to win all those?
I felt a sharp elbow in my side and turned to find Wheatley standing next to me, a wolfish grin on his still-pale face. “That fellow, the admiral, is what they call a “yellow admiral.” Means he ain’t got a command of any kind and likely won’t. Put ashore for good, like laying up a ship in ordinary.” His hoarse whisper blew a cloud of noxious odors in my direction, and I involuntarily took a step back. “And that other fellow, his ‘great, good friend’ is the same, I’d reckon. Not got much to do but go to parties.” This last bit of intelligence was mercifully whispered into my ear.
“Oh? And how are you so sure of that?” I threw back sharply, also whispering, and received a disapproving look from one of the officers, one I did not know. He must have been in one of the other ships.
Thomas merely smiled at me; either on account of knowing something I didn’t or my getting caught by an officer.
After a few more introductions (could they all be living here?), we were free to mix with the civilian guests. Of course, the ladies received much of the attention, especially from the younger members of our service, officer and mid alike. I separated myself from the throng, and a throng it had become, with eighteen or twenty Americans and some ten and more invited civilian guests as well as Admiral Barrett and his ‘household.’ I had found a painting, a most heroic image of a ship of the line engaged in desperate battle, and was studying it closely, more oblivious to the assemblage than not.
“Why do you not mingle with the other guests, young man? Do you not enjoy the art of conversation?” A woman, one to whom we had been introduced, stood at my elbow searching my face for some clue as to my behavior.
Forthright ain’t in it! She—who is she?—speaks her mind plain as day!
I struggled to select her name from the several I had heard and after a moment decided on one.
“Oh, no, Lady Lovejoy!” I watched a smile play at the corners of her mouth; I must have gotten it right! “I am only taking the opportunity to enjoy the wonderful paintings in the room. Truly, they are splendid! Among the best I have ever seen.” Not that I had actually seen that many pictures of ships, but these several were grand.
“I am impressed you remembered my name, but you should call me ‘Lady Elizabeth’ rather than ‘Lady Lovejoy’ And isn’t that just a marvelous painting? It is, of course, my husband’s last command, HMS Culloden. A fine vessel she. This painting you are admiring was done in celebration of her glorious participation in the Battle of Cape St. Vincent against the Spanish. February 14, 1797, it was, and Sir Reginald sailed in direct support of Lord Nelson.” She paused, squinted at the painting, withdrew a handkerchief from her sleeve, and stepped in front of me to wipe something she had spied from the frame. Though how ever she had seen anything on that magnificently carved and gilded piece of craftsmanship, I shall never figure. “That’s better,” she muttered as she stepped back to admire the painting and its now pristine frame. Then she smiled at me and continued, “The admiral, our host, was there with Lord Nelson on HMS Captain, you know. Took a notable role in the action.”
“Oh, ma’am. Yes, I am sure I have heard of that!”
Lady Elizabeth had moved to a sconce in which the candle had dripped some wax onto the crystal stem. After eyeing it for a moment, she tentatively scraped at the offending wax with a fingernail and followed that with her handkerchief. The sconce gleamed in the wake of her ministrations. She was about to attack another when we were called to table.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may we be seated, if you please.” Admiral Barrett stood near the middle of the long side of the table. He gestured to Lady Jane Parker to sit across from him, and a servant pulled out the appropriate chair for her. Lady Elizabeth, after dusting off the cushion with her napkin, took the seat on his right, refusing any help from admiral or servant alike.
The rest of us took seats at random, with, of course, the most popular being those adjacent to a lady. While each of us remained gentlemanly in our conduct, there were several times I waited, in vain, for a scuffle to break out as competitions for a particular chair were settled, first by size and then by seniority. I took a seat at the far end of the table, next to Lieutenant Hobbs. The other midshipmen found suitably distant seats and appeared as out of their depth as I as we considered what to do next.
While we had been chatting with our hosts, the table had been laid with an abundance of great silver warming dishes, wines in cut crystal decanters, water in pitchers, several great tureens of, I assumed, soup, and a great platter of cold meats that rested regally in the center of the table. Behind each chair stood a servant, ready to provide any of the dishes for his ‘master’ or replenish any glass that had gone dry. Never had I seen such splendor and grandeur.
I shot a glance at James, who sat several seats to my right, and saw him slack-jaw
ed and glassy-eyed at the prospect of the meal spread before him. I sensed he was about to reach for a dish of some delicacy that was near to him and cleared my throat loudly. Unlike the meal in Decatur’s Cabin on Argus, this time I caught his attention and stopped him with a tiny shake of my head. A worried look came over his face. I could almost hear him thinking that he would only be allowed to look but not partake of this array of gluttony.
I watched as our host and Lady Jane asked each of their respective servants to dish them up one or another of the selections set out. This, then, was how it was done. Gradually, and led by our host and hostess, we discovered that each of the dishes exceeded its predecessor in richness. The various wines (I heard mention of Madeira and Chianti and some Chateau or another) were heady, sweet or tart as appropriate, and in great supply. I watched in surprise as each measure of wine poured out was diluted with a smaller measure of water; appar-ently it was impolite to take your wine straight. Conversation was lively and, as the meal progressed, became more animated as comments were shouted, mostly by the American naval officers, from one end of the table to the other. The Englishmen and ladies among us maintained a quiet discourse confined to their immediate neighbor or the one directly across the table, and the behavior of their guests raised more than a few eyebrows.
As the more popular of the offerings became depleted, they were replaced with others. Ultimately, an entire roasted pig was carried in by two men and placed on a table alongside the one át which we sat. It was duly carved and portioned out to each of us along with further servings of vegetables and, of course, wine.
Hobbs had offered little in the way of conversation, preferring to engage the lady to his other side with his wit and wisdom. To my right, a gentleman, of greater years than I would have cared to guess, dozed fitfully, his head bouncing on his waistcoat as he dropped off, then caught himself. I wondered at first, horrified, if he had expired until he awoke with a start, a snort, and a fuzzy look around the table.
His skin appeared as parchment, stretched over the features of his face, exaggerating the bones and structure until I imagined I dined next to an elegantly dressed skeleton. A small pair of eyeglasses were perched in the middle of his significant nose, though why he bothered I could not imagine; they were so smudged and dirty that he could not possibly have seen through them. Unlike the other gentlemen in attendance, he wore no wig, and his sparse white hair fell to his collar from a fringe surrounding his bald pate. His voice, when he spoke to me, was thin and reedy, reminding me of the noise the crickets at home made in the summer. He told me his name was vander Muelen and his family had come to Gibraltar from Holland soon after the British had wrested it away from the Spaniards.
He studied me over the top of his spectacles. “I would imagine you know your history, young man? You were taught, I am sure, even in America, that the English could not have captured this fortress without the assistance of the Dutch? Indeed, it was an Anglo-Dutch force that finally took the Rock. A long and bloody battle it was, fought well before your own successful uprising in America. Skirmishes continued for nearly twenty years after.” The cricket voice cackled as he thought of the role his forebears had played in the history of Gibraltar. “My own father was here. He was a young man, of course, and after the initial fighting died out, decided to remain. He sent for my mother and me at home in Holland to join him. I was quite young at the time, having attained barely five or six years of age. Stayed here ever since!” And he dozed off again.
I noticed that the room had become warm and wondered could even so many candles create this much heat? The servant behind me must have noticed my discomfort as well; he kept my glass of cool, though still diluted, wine full. James seemed to have a similar problem; I observed a trickle of sweat running unnoticed down the side of his face. Lieutenant Hobbs, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine, though it did appear he was swirling a bit when I looked at him.
That must make it hard to eat. How does he do that and not fall out of his chair?
I resolved to keep my seat as well as a firm hand on the edge of the table which seemed to steady my world a bit.
Dessert was brought in by more servants (I think there were more servants than guests). While I think James might have managed to sample each and every delicacy, I was only able to test some four or five before I found myself completely incapable of eating another bite of anything. Fruit, compotes, cheeses, candies, little cakes called petits fours, jellies, and ice creams quickly disappeared, consumed by those with more foresight than I. My glass, still half full of one or another of the wines which had appeared in plenty, was removed to be replaced by another of a different shape; it was unthinkable that this new vessel should remain empty and indeed, the attentive servant behind me promptly filled it with a dark rich-looking wine, this time, without the water. A taste revealed incredible sweetness, too sweet, in fact, and I left the remainder of it untouched.
I had no idea how long we had been at this, but it seemed as if I had never been anywhere else. I sneaked a peek at my watch and discovered that over four hours had passed since we were invited to sit! And the candles, now much shorter, seemed to be carrying the burden of lighting the room.
I noticed a servant whisper into Admiral Barrett’s ear; the latter nodded and rose. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that our entertainment for the remainder of our evening has announced their readiness. So, if you would please to do so, let us move into the music hall. I am sure you will delight at what is in store for us there.”
The admiral assisted Lady Elizabeth Lovejoy with her chair, winning a scowl from her in the process. Soon all were standing, some of us a trifle unsteadily, and our host led the way to the music hall. While smaller by half than the dining hall, it was more opulent and contained several sparkling chandeliers which threw the warm glow of their candles around the room. Chairs had been set up in ranks. In the front, four gentlemen, each holding an instrument, were already seated before music stands. There were no pictures on the walls, two of which were pierced in four places by windows draped in a rich, heavy-appearing material on which was depicted some kind of scene. On closer examination, the decoration was created by thread, much of it gold, woven onto the fabric.
We took seats, seniority still holding sway over the choice of where, and Judd, Thomas, James and I found ourselves well in the back of the room along with a clutch of other midshipmen from Syren and the schooners.
“This might answer well, being near the door, Baldwin. Should one of us feel the need to escape what I suspect will be a sound akin to gutting a live cat, we can do so without causing a stir!” Thomas, ever the optimist, seemed to be feeling better than he had some four hours before. He eyed the musicians with a skeptical appraisal, as if he could discern their talent from their appearance.
Our host, the admiral, had stepped to the front of the room and stood among the musicians, who now had assumed a position of readiness. He cleared his throat and, in stentorian tones, addressed the assemblage.
“We are indeed privileged to have with us tonight the Royal Gibraltar String Quartet, who will play a selection of Joseph Haydn’s compositions. You will, I am sure, know that this wonderful German genius has produced an abundance of operatic scores and has triumphed, as has his music, wherever people have listened, including in the Court of our own King George III. While some of the selections we will hear are familiar and quickly recognizable, others will not be. Indeed, we will be honored to hear the very first performance of a string quartet finished only this summer by Herr Haydn right here in Gibraltar. It is my most sincere hope you will enjoy this wonderful music.” Barrett smiled at the man holding a violin to his neck, nodded, and sat down.
The gentleman with the violin tapped his bow on the music stand in front of him, then poised it over the strings of his instrument. On his nod, the group began to play. The song started out quietly with a repetitive melody; I had to strain to hear the notes. Then it built to a volume more readily heard and
repeated the musical phrase several more times before moving on to a different melody, carried in turn by first, a violin, then the cello, and, finally, the last violin, which was played by the one I took to be the leader. It was pretty music, and I enjoyed listening, distracted only slightly by Wheatley’s whispered comments and James’ fidgeting in his seat to my left. I discovered I could concentrate more on the music if I closed my eyes and let it wash over me and carry me along with its rising and falling strains.
I awoke with a start and Wheatley’s elbow in my ribs. The audience was applauding enthusiastically. With a scraping of chairs, many began to stand and yell out such things as “Bravo” and “Encore.” I joined in the applause, though refrained from shouting out anything. I looked around, taking in the grinning faces of my colleagues, the guttering candles in the chandeliers and sconces, and the backs of the other guests. Then the evening was over, and we departed after effusive thanks and farewells to our hosts.
“I give you joy on your opportunity to put those heathen devils in their place, young man. Would that I could join you!” Barrett said with a smile to me and James as we shook his hand.
“Do be careful!” Lady Elizabeth offered, with great sincerity, to be echoed by Lady Jane Parker a moment later.
I have little recall of our return to the docks beyond that it was raining quite steadily, but as I stepped aboard Argus, Bosun Anderson, who had been left in charge of the brig, pressed an envelope into my hand.
“Delivered from the port captain’s office, Mister Baldwin. A letter for you.”
1 took it and recognized my brother’s familiar hand in which had been written, “Oliver Baldwin, midshipman, USS ARGUS” on the envelope. How wonderful! Edward did leave a letter for me! I tore it open and, holding the pages near a lantern, quickly began to read. I found only that Philadelphia had departed for the blockade of Tripoli, and that they had a new first lieutenant, a David Porter. Then the pages seemed to swim in front of my eyes and despite several attempts to decipher the words, I could make no sense of them. Perhaps the rain was blurring the ink! I carefully folded it, stuffed it into a pocket to read on the morrow, and went to bed.
The Greater the Honor Page 16
