Adventure stories -- Authorship; Marryat, Frederick, 1792-1848; Novelists, English -- 19th century -- Biography; Sea stories -- Authorship
even with contempt (and Hawke, Nelson, Cochrane, would have condemned
with him) such a piece of frantic swash-bucklery as the last fight of
the _Revenge_. The men who were daring with judgment, who risked for a
reason, who took care to cover themselves as they lunged, and who then
went all together, sword, hand, and foot, with the speed of lightning,
and with unerring accuracy of the eye which has brains behind it, were
his heroes. In any case Marryat would have arrived at these conclusions,
but he assuredly did so the sooner, and the more heartily, because for
three years he fought under a fighter of this stamp.
Marryat was fortunate in his messmates as well as in his captain. A
crack frigate of those days had the pick of the lieutenants’ list, and
of the “young gentlemen” who were to be the captains of the future. The
_Impérieuse_ had a particularly good staff, some of them old officers
of Cochrane’s, and in the midshipman’s mess Marryat met comrades who
were good fellows, and gentlemen too. He formed friendships which lasted
through life, particularly with Lord Napier, and with Houston Stewart.
I have thought it well to dwell at some length on Marryat’s entry into
the service, because its conditions are of vital importance in his life.
Whatever his training had been he would have been a writer. His private
log shows that from the beginning he found pleasure in the use of his
pen; but had he not been a naval officer he would have been a very
different writer, and, more, had he gone to sea in a less happy way, the
misfortune would not have failed to have its effects on him. The tamer
life of a line-of-battle ship, the tedium of a small craft engaged on
convoy, might have driven him back on shore by mere boredom. On board
the _Impérieuse_ he was able to live his life to the full. There he had
three years of active and daring fighting. The impression they made on
him was never effaced, and has been recorded by himself. In the private
log, quoted by his daughter, he sums up his memories in words which it
would be a dereliction of duty not to quote:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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