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 crept cautiously along, feeling for the dead bodies. The first I
laid my hand on, made my blood curdle. It was the lacerated thigh of a
grenadier, whose flesh had been torn off by a hand-grenade. "Friend,"
said I, "if I may judge from the nature of your wound, your great coat
is not worth having." The next subject I handled, had been better
killed. A musket-ball through his head had settled all his tradesmen's
bills; and I hesitated not in becoming residuary legatee, as I was
sure the assets would more than discharge the undertaker's bill; but
the body was cold and stiff, and did not readily yield its garment.
I, however, succeeded in obtaining my object; in which I arrayed
myself, and went on in search of the colonel's sword; but here I had
been anticipated by a Frenchman. The colonel, indeed, lay there, stiff
enough, but his sword was gone. I was preparing to return, when I
encountered, not a dead, but a living enemy.
"_Qui vive_?" said a low voice.
"_Anglois, bête_!" answered I, in a low tone: and added, "_mais les
corsairs ne se battent pas_"
"_Cest vrai_" said he; and growling, "_bon soir_" he was soon out of
sight. I scrambled back to the castle, gave the countersign to the
sentinel, and showed my new great coat with a vast deal of glee and
satisfaction; some of my comrades went on the same sort of expedition,
and were rewarded with more or less success.
In a few days the dead bodies on the breach were nearly denuded by
nightly visitors; but that of the colonel lay respected and untouched.
The heat of the day had blackened it, and it was now deprived of all
its manly beauty, and nothing remained but a loathsome corpse.
The rules of war, as well as of humanity, demanded the honourable
interment of the remains of this hero; and our captain, who was the
very flower of chivalry, desired me to stick a white handkerchief on
a pike, as a flag of truce, and bury the bodies, if the enemy would
permit us I went out accordingly, with a spade and a pick-axe; but the
_tirailleurs_ on the hill began with their rifles, and wounded one of
my men. I looked at the captain, as much as to say, "Am I to proceed?"
He motioned with his hand to go on, and I then began digging a hole by
the side of a dead body, and the enemy, seeing my intention, desisted
from firing. I had buried several, when the captain came out and
joined me, with a view of reconnoitring the position of the enemy.
He was seen from the fort, and recognized; and his intention pretty
accurately guessed at.
We were near the body of the colonel, which we were going to inter;
when the captain, observing a diamond ring on the finger of the
corpse, said to one of the sailors, "You may just as well take that
off: it can be of no use to him now." The man tried to get it off, but
the rigidity of the muscle after death prevented his moving it. "He
won't feel your knife, poor fellow," said the captain; "and a finger
more or less is no great matter to him now: off with it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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