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
"Frank," said the poor girl, "before we meet again, I shall probably be
a mother; and this hope alone alleviates the agony of separation. If I
have not you, I shall, at least, be blest with your image. Heaven grant
that it may be a boy, to follow the steps of his father, and not a girl,
to be as wretched as her mother. You, my dear Frank, are going on
distant and dangerous service--dangers increased tenfold by the natural
ardour of your mind: we may never meet again, or if we do, the period
will be far distant. I ever have been, and ever will be constant to
you, till death; but I neither expect, nor will allow of the same
declaration on your part. Other scenes, new faces, youthful passions,
will combine to drive me for a time from your thoughts, and when you
shall have attained maturer years, and a rank in the navy equal to your
merits and your connections, you will marry in your own sphere of
society; all these things I have made up my mind to, as events that must
take place. Your person I know I cannot have--but do not, do not
discard me from your mind. I shall never be jealous as long as I know
you are happy, and still love your unfortunate Eugenia. Your child
shall be no burthen to you until it shall have attained an age at which
it may be put out in the world: then, I know you will not desert it, for
the sake of its mother. Dear Frank, my heart is broken; but you are not
to blame; and if you were, I would die imploring blessings on your
head." Here she wept bitterly.
I tried every means in my power to comfort and encourage this
fascinating and extraordinary girl; I forget neither vows nor promises,
which, at the time, I fully intended to perform. I promised her a
speedy, and I trusted, a happy meeting.
"God's will be done," said she, "come what will. And now, my dearest
Frank, farewell--never again endanger your life and character for me as
you did last night. I have been blest in your society, and even with
the prospect of misery before me, cannot regret the past."
I tenderly embraced her, jumped into a wherry, at Point, and desired the
waterman to take me on board the _I---_, at Spithead. The first
lieutenant was on deck when I came up the side.
"I presume it was you whom we fired at last night?" said he, smiling.
"It was, sir," said I; "absolute necessity compelled me to go on shore,
or I should not have taken such an extraordinary mode of conveyance."
"Oh, with all my heart," said the officer; "had you told me you intended
to have swum on shore, I should not have prevented you; I took you for
one of the pressed men, and directed the marines to fire at you."
"The pressed men are extremely obliged to you," thought I.
"Did you not find it devilish cold?" continued the lieutenant, in a
strain of good humour, which I encouraged by my manner of answering.
"Indeed I did, sir," said I.
"And the jollies fired tolerably well, did they?"
"They did, sir; would they had had a _better mark_."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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