Frank Mildmay; Or, The Naval OfficerMarryat, Frederick
History
Frank Mildmay; Or, The Naval Officer
Marryat, Frederick
Great Britain -- History, Naval -- 19th century -- Fiction; Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Officers -- Fiction; Sea stories
The other vessel lay a wreck, with her masts gone, and as it
were _in terrorem_, staring us in the face.
We felt the most pinching hunger; we had no fuel after the second day,
except what we pulled down from the bulkheads of the cabin. We amused
ourselves below, making a suit of sails for the vessel, and drinking
hot water to repel the cold. But this work could not have lasted long;
the weather became more intensely cold, and twice did we set the prize
on fire, in our liberality with the stove to keep ourselves warm. The
ice formed on the surface of the water in our kettle, till it was
dissolved by the heat from the bottom. The second night passed like
the first; and we found, in the morning, that we had drifted within
two miles of the shore. We completed our little sails this day, and
with great difficulty contrived to bend them.
The men were now exhausted with cold and hunger, and proposed that we
should cut our cable and run on shore; but I begged them to wait till
the next morning, as these gales seldom lasted long. This they agreed
to: and we again huddled together to keep ourselves warm, the outside
man pulling the dead man close to him by way of a blanket. The gale
this night moderated, and towards the morning the weather was fine,
although the wind was against us, and to beat her up to the ship was
impossible. From the continued freezing of the water, the bob-stays
and the rigging were coated with ice five or six inches thick, and the
forecastle was covered with two feet of clear ice, showing the ropes
coiled underneath it.
There was no more to be done: so, desiring the men to cut the cable,
I made up my mind to run the vessel on shore, and give myself up.
We hoisted the foresail, and I stood in with the intention of
surrendering myself and people at a large town which I knew was
situated about twelve miles farther on the coast. To have given myself
up at the place where the vessels had been captured, I did not think
would have been prudent.
When we made sail on the third morning, we had drifted within half a
mile of the shore, and very near the place we had left. Field pieces
had been brought down to us. They had the range, but they could not
reach us. I continued to make more sail, and to creep along shore,
until I came within a few cables' length of the pier, where men,
women, and children were assembled to see us land; when suddenly a
snow-storm came on; the wind shifted, and blew with such violence,
that I could neither see the port, nor turn the vessel to windward
into it; and as I knew I could not hold my own, and that the wind was
fair for our ship, then distant about forty miles, we agreed to up
helm and scud for her.
This was well executed. About eleven at night we hailed her, and asked
for a boat. They had seen us approaching, and a boat instantly came,
taking us all on board the frigate, and leaving some fresh hands in
charge of the prize.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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