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
My crew consisted of twenty men and a midshipman. When we arrived off
the mouth of the harbour, we perceived four vessels lying at anchor, and
pulled directly in. We had, however, no opportunity of trying our flag
of truce, for as soon as we came within range of musket-shot a volley
from two hundred concealed militiamen struck down four of my men. There
was then nothing left for it but to board, and bring out the vessels.
Two of them were aground, and we set them on fire, it being dead low
water (thanks to the delay in the morning): in doing this, we had more
men wounded. I then took possession of the other two vessels, and
giving one of them in charge of the midshipman, who was quite a lad, I
desired him to weigh his anchor. I gave him the boat with all the men
except four whom I kept with me. The poor fellow probably lost more
men, for he cut his cable, and got out before me. I weighed my anchor,
but had one of my men killed by a musket-ball in doing it. I stood out
after the midshipman. We had gained an offing of four miles, when a
violent gale and snow-storm came on. The sails belonging to the vessel
all blew to rags immediately, being very old. I had no resource except
to anchor, which I did on a bank, in five fathom water. The other
vessel lost all her sails, and, having no anchor, as I then conjectured
and afterwards learned, drifted on shore and was dashed to pieces, the
people being either frozen to death, wounded, or taken prisoners.
The next morning I could see the vessel lying on shore a wreck, covered
with ice. A dismal prospect to me, as at that time I knew not what had
become of the men. My own situation was even less enviable; the vessel
was frail, and deeply laden with salt: a cargo, which, if it by any
means gets wet, is worse than water, since it cannot be pumped out, and
becomes as heavy as lead; nothing could, in that event, have kept the
vessel afloat, and we had no boat in case of such an accident. I had
three men with me, besides the dead body in the cabin, and a pantry as
clear as an empty house--not an article of any description to eat. I
was four miles from the shore in a heavy gale of wind, the pleasure of
which was enhanced by snow and the bitterest cold I ever experienced.
We proceeded to examine the vessel, and found that there was on board a
quantity of sails and canvas that did not fit, but had been bought with
an intention of making up for this vessel, and not before she wanted
them; there was also an abundance of palms, needles, and twine: but to
eat there was nothing except salt, and to drink nothing but one cask of
fresh water. We kindled a fire in the cabin, and made ourselves as warm
as we could, taking a view on deck now and then to see if she drove or
if the gale abated. She pitched heavily, taking in whole seas over the
forecastle, and the water froze on the deck. The next morning we found
we had drifted a mile nearer to the shore, and the gale continued with
unabated violence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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