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
Order was, however, soon restored: my mother recovered her
composure--my father shook me by the hand--the company all agreed that
I was a very fine, interesting boy--the ladies resumed their seats,
and I had the satisfaction to observe that my sudden appearance had
not deprived them of their appetites. I soon convinced them that
in this particular, at least, I also was in high training. My
midshipman's life had neither disqualified nor disgusted me with the
luxuries of the table; nor did I manifest the slightest backwardness
or diffidence when invited by the gentlemen to take wine. I answered
every question with such fluency of speech, and such compound interest
of words, as sometimes caused the propounder to regret that he had put
me to the trouble of speaking.
I gave a very florid description of the fight; praised some admirals
and captains for their bravery, sneered at others, and accused a few
of right down misconduct. Now and then, by way of carrying conviction
into my auditors' very souls, I rammed home my charges with an oath,
at which my father looked grave, my mother held up her finger, the
gentlemen laughed, and the ladies all said with a smile, "Sweet
boy!--what animation!--what sense!--what discernment!" Thinks I to
myself, "You are as complete a set of gulls as ever picked up a bit of
biscuit!"
Next morning, while my recent arrival was still warm, I broke the
subject of my chest to my father and mother at breakfast; indeed, my
father, very fortunately for me, began by inquiring how my stock of
clothes held out.
"Bad enough," said I, as I demolished the third egg, for I still had a
good appetite at breakfast.
"Bad enough!" repeated my father, "why you were extremely well fitted
with everything."
"Very true, sir," said I; "but then you don't know what a man-of-war
is in clearing for action; everything not too hot or too heavy is
chucked overboard with as little ceremony as I swallow this muffin.
'Whose hat-box is this?' 'Mr Spratt's, sir.' 'D----n Mr Spratt, I'll
teach him to keep his hat-box safe another time; over with it'--and
away it went over the lee gangway. Spratt's father was a hatter in
Bond Street, so we all laughed."
"And pray, Frank," said my mother, "did your box go in the same way?"
"It kept company, I assure you. I watched them go astern, with tears
in my eyes, thinking how angry you would be."
"Well, but the chest, Frank, what became of the chest? You said that
the Vandals had some respect for heavy objects, and yours, I am sure,
to my cost, had very considerable specific gravity."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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