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 escaped from these syrens without being bound to the mast, like
Ulysses; but, like him, I had nearly fallen a victim to a modern
Polyphemus; for though he had not one eye in the middle of his forehead,
after the manner of his prototype, yet the rays from both his eyes
meeting together at the tip of his long nose, gave him very much that
appearance. Ignorance, sheer ignorance, in this, as in many other
cases, was the cause of my disaster. A party of officers, in full
uniform, were coming from a court-martial. "Oh, oh!" said I, "here come
some of us." I seized my dirk in my left hand, as I saw they held their
swords, and I stuck my right hand into my bosom as some of them had
done. I tried to imitate their erect and officer-like bearing; I put my
cocked-hat on fore and aft, with the gold rosette dangling between my
two eyes, so that in looking at it, which I could not help doing, I must
have squinted. And I held my nose high in the air, like a pig in a
hurricane, fancying myself as much an object of admiration to them as I
was to myself. We passed on opposite tacks, and our respective
velocities had separated us to the distance of twenty or thirty yards,
when one of them called out to me in a voice evidently cracked in His
Majesty's service--"Hello, young gentleman, come back here."
I concluded I was going to be complimented on the cut of my coat, to be
asked the address of my tailor, and to hear the rakish sit of my hat
admired. I now began to think I should hear a contention between the
lords of the ocean, as to who should have me as a sample middy on their
quarter-decks; and I was even forming an excuse to my father's friend
for not joining his ship. Judge then of my surprise and mortification,
when I was thus accosted in an angry and menacing tone by the oldest of
the officers--"Pray, sir, what ship do you belong to?"
"Sir," said I, proud to be thus interrogated, "I belong to His Majesty's
ship the _Le ---_" (having a French name, I clapped on both the French
and English articles, as being more impressive.)
"Oh, you do, do you?" said the veteran, with an air of conscious
superiority; "then you will be so good as to turn round, go down to
Mutton Cove, take a boat, and have your person conveyed with all
possible speed on board of His Majesty's ship the _Le ---_" (imitating
me); "and tell the first lieutenant it is my order that you be not
allowed any more leave while the ship is in port; and I shall tell your
captain he must teach his officers better manners than to pass the
port-admiral without touching their hats."
While this harangue was going on, I stood in a circle, of which I was
the centre, and the admiral and the captains formed the circumference:
what little air there was their bodies intercepted, so that I was not
only in a stew, but stupefied into the bargain.
"There, sir, you hear me--you may go."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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