The following is a narrative of an escape from peril, and the rescue of
five lives by individual gallantry, rarely equalled, and never exceeded,
in the records of high and noble daring. It is from the pen of Captain
Bryan Milman (now General Milman), of the 5th Fusiliers, in a letter
addressed to his father, Major-General Milman, late of the Coldstream
Guards:
[Illustration: GENERAL BRYAN MILMAN.
_From a Photograph by Maull & Fox._]
"Mahebourg, Island of Mauritius,
"June 30, 1848.
"The following account of an almost miraculous escape that I and five
other officers have had from drowning will interest you all, I have no
doubt. The names of the others are Colquitt, Bellew, Fitzgerald, Home
(all of the 5th Fusiliers), and Palmer, a commissariat officer, in whose
boat we were at the time of the accident. Colquitt and Fitzgerald are in
the first battalion, and had come down here to stay with me and Bellew.
On the 25th we made a boating party, for them to visit one of our
detachments about fifteen miles from hence, at Grand River, south-east.
We left this about eleven a.m., and after reaching our destination all
safe, left it about three o'clock p.m. for home, the weather then
looking anything but promising. When about four miles from home and from
the shore, we were overset by a squall. It came upon us so suddenly that
we had no time to do anything; torrents of rain fell at the same time,
and there we were, drifting along on the side of the boat (which luckily
did not sink) without a chance of assistance, and the night setting in.
This happened about half-past five o'clock, and at this season it is
dark at six. We drifted in this way for about two hours, and at last
grounded in about seven feet of water. It was very nearly dark, and all
that we could see were the tops of the mountains in the horizon. We
supposed we were about two miles from shore. All of us but myself had
stripped on being upset, as I knew, if we came to a swim, that I could
take my clothes off in a moment. As it turned out, I think I was lucky
in this, for they perhaps, though wet, kept me a little warmer than my
companions. Nothing seemed to give us a chance of being saved, except
holding on till daylight, and as it was terribly cold, this seemed next
to impossible. At last it struck me I might be able to swim ashore to
procure assistance, and I got permission from the others to do so. Our
boatman, a Creole, who also said he would go, started with me to make
the attempt. I left them with a hearty 'God bless you!' from all. After
swimming some time, I lost sight of the boatman, and was left to myself.
I swam back a little, shouting as loud as I could; but getting no
answer, and feeling for my own sake that I must push on, I turned my
head towards the mountain tops (my only guides), and struck out my best.
I must have been swimming for more than an hour when I landed. I found
myself a little tired, and very much benumbed, barefooted, _en chemise_,
and not able to see ten yards before me, it was so dark. My first
impulse was to fall on my knees and thank Providence; after which,
curious to say, my military schooling came to my aid in the 'extension
motions,' which brought some little feeling into my limbs, and enabled
me to continue my work. After feeling my way for about half an hour
along the shore, shouting all the time, I came to a cottage, where I was
hospitably received. They told me that they had heard my cries some
time, but fancied I was some drunken man returning home, or else they
would have come out to my assistance. The poor black gave me some dry
clothes, and made me a cup of tea, and then conducted me to the
proprietor of the estate, who lived close by, and had the nearest
pirogue (a small boat like a canoe, dug out of a solid trunk of a large
tree) in the neighbourhood. M. Chiron, the name of the proprietor, a man
of colour, as soon as I explained my situation and my want of a boat to
go and assist the others, immediately offered to go himself, and his son
also insisted on going with him. I jumped at the offer, of course, and
we immediately walked down to where his pirogue was moored, and started,
myself at the bottom to serve as guide. By the blessing of Providence,
after about an hour's search, we heard the cries from the wreck. I think
I never felt so happy or so light-hearted in my life as I did at this
moment; for there were so many chances against us finding it. We could
not see many yards from our own boat. It was then about eleven o'clock,
so that my companions had been exposed on the boat for upwards of five
hours. Luckily, with great care, we got them safely into the pirogue,
without capsizing her; and by twelve o'clock we were safely housed under
M. Chiron's hospitable roof, who fed, clothed, and lodged us for the
night. In the morning, the unfortunate Creole boatman was found dead,
from cold and cramp, about half a mile from the place he was supposed to
have landed at. The kindness, hospitality, and truly courageous
assistance afforded us by M. Chiron, at the risk of his own life and
that of his son, are deserving of all praise. It was a service of danger
to go out even at all in a pirogue on such a rough night: much more to
go and seek for five drowning men three miles at sea. He wished his son
not to go; but the latter would not allow his father to go without him.
Constantly during our long search, when the son was getting tired of
pulling the boat, the father would cry out and encourage him, saying
'Courage, mon fils.'
(Signed) "BRYAN MILMAN,
"Capt. 5th Fusiliers."