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
We arrived at Halifax fully manned, and immediately received orders to
proceed to sea, "to sink, burn, and destroy." We ran for Boston Bay,
when, on the morning we made the land, we discovered ten or twelve sail
of merchant vessels. The first we boarded was a brig; one of our boats
was lowered down; I got into her, and jumped on the deck of the Yankee,
while the frigate continued in chase of the others. The master of the
vessel sat on a hen-coop, and did not condescend to rise or offer me the
least salute as I passed him; he was a short, thick, paunchy-looking
fellow.
"You are an Englishman, I guess?"
"I guess I am," I said, imitating him with a nasal twang.
"I thought we shouldn't be long in our waters afore we met some of you
old-country sarpents. No harm in what I said, I hope?" added the
master.
"Oh, no," said I, "not the least; it will make no difference in the long
run. But where do you come from, and where are you bound?"
"Come from Smyrna, and bound to Boston, where I hope to be to-morrow
morning, by the blessing of God, and a good conscience."
From this answer, I perceived that he was unacquainted with the war, and
I therefore determined to play with him a little before I gave him the
fatal news. "And pray," said I, "what might your cargo consist of? You
appear to be light."
"Not so light neither, I guess," said the man; "we have sweet-oil,
raisins, and what we calls notions."
"I have no notion," said I, "what they might be. Pray explain
yourself."
"Why you see, notions is what we call a little of all sorts like. Some
likes one thing, you know, and some another: some likes sweet almonds,
and some likes silk, and some likes opium, and some" (he added, with a
cunning grin) "likes dollars."
"And are these the notions with which you are loaded?" said I.
"I guess they are," replied Jonathan.
"And what might your outward cargo have been?" said I.
"Salt fish, flour, and tobacco," was his answer.
"And is this all you have in return?" I asked. "I thought the Smyrna
trade had been a very good one."
"Well, so it is," said the unwary Yankee. "Thirty thousand dollars in
the cabin, besides the oil and the rest of the goods, ain't no bad
thing."
"I am very glad to hear of the dollars," said I.
"What odds does that make to you?" said the captain; "it won't be much
on 'em as'll come to your share."
"More than you may think," said I. "Have you heard the news as you came
along?"
At the word "news," the poor man's face became the colour of one in the
jaundice. "What news?" said he, in a state of trepidation that hardly
admitted of utterance.
"Why, only that your president, Mr Madison, has thought fit to declare
war against England."
"You're only a joking?" said the captain.
"I give you my word of honour I am serious," said I; "and your vessel is
a prize to His Britannic Majesty's ship, the ---."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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