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
I had hardly a mark; most of our midshipmen were absent in prizes; but
the two seniors of our berth, an old master's mate past promotion, and
the surgeon's assistant, who had held my wrist when I was cobbed,
were present as the supporters of Murphy during the combat. I always
determined whenever I gained a battle to follow it up. The shouts of
victory resounded in the berth--the youngsters joined with me in songs
of triumph, and gave great offence to the trio. The young Esculapius,
a white-faced, stupid, pock-marked, unhealthy-looking man, was fool
enough to say, that although I had beaten Murphy, I was not to suppose
myself master of the berth. I replied to this only by throwing a
biscuit at his head, as a shot of defiance; and, darting on him before
he could get his legs from under the table, I thrust my fingers into
his neckcloth, which I twisted so tightly, that I held him till he
was nearly choked, giving his head at the same time two or three good
thumps against the ship's side.
Finding that he grew black in the face, I let him go, and asked if
he required any further satisfaction, to which he replied in the
negative, and from that day he was always dutiful and obedient to me.
The old superannuated mate, a sturdy merchant seaman, seemed greatly
dismayed at the successive defeats of his allies, and I believe would
have gladly concluded a separate peace. He had never offered to come
to the assistance of the doctor, although appealed to in the most
pitiable gestures.
This I observed with secret pleasure, and would the more willingly
have given him a brush, as I saw he was disinclined to make the
attempt. I was, however, determined to be at the head of the mess. At
twelve o'clock that night I was relieved from the first watch, and
coming down, I found the old mate in a state of beastly intoxication.
Thus he went to his hammock, and fell asleep. While he lay "dormant,"
I took a piece of lunar caustic, which I wetted, and drew stripes
and figures all over his weather-beaten face, increasing his natural
ugliness to a frightful degree, and made him look very like a New
Zealand warrior. The next morning, when he was making his toilet, my
party were all ready prepared for the _éclaircissement_. He opened
his little dirty chest, and having strapped an old razor, and made a
lather in a wooden soap-box, which bore evident marks of the antique,
he placed a triangular piece of a looking-glass against the reclining
lid of the chest, and began the operation of shaving. His start back
with horror, when he beheld his face, I shall never forget: it outdid
the young Roscius, when he saw the ghost of Hamlet. Having wetted his
fore-finger with his tongue, the old mate tried to remove the stain of
the caustic, but the "d----dpot" still remained, and we, like so many
young imps, surrounded him, roaring with laughter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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