Will Weatherhelm: The Yarn of an Old Sailor

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Numbers of persons were killed by the explosion, others were dreadfully mutilated, and scarcely a scrap of the old woman herself could be discovered. I felt grateful to Heaven that my dear wife and uncle had escaped. Had they come on with me, we should have been close to the spot and among the sufferers. I could not go back, though Jerry wanted to do so, as I had to be on board by noon, and there were but a few minutes to get alongside the ship.

I reported myself to the first lieutenant as having come on board.

“Very well,” he said, and just then it struck eight bells. I had not been long on board when I heard it reported that the Nymph was to go into dock, and that the crew would be turned over to other ships wanting hands. It was but too true, and I found that Dick Hagger, I, and others were to be transferred to the Culloden, 74, forming one of the Channel fleet, under Earl Howe, and then commanded by Captain Schomberg. She was soon ready for sea, and we went out to Spithead, where the ships were rapidly collecting. I had never seen so many men-of-war together, for there were thirty-four sail of the line, eight frigates, and smaller vessels.

No leave was granted, so I could not get on shore, for we were to be ready to start at a moment’s notice, directly intelligence should arrive from the numerous cruisers off the French coast that the Brest fleet had put to sea.

We had a mixed crew, and a bad lot many of them were—jailbirds, smugglers, who were good, however, as far as seamanship was concerned, longshore men, and Lord Mayor’s men, picked up from the London streets, the only difference between the two last being that the latter had tails to their coats,—one slip of the tailor made them both akin,—and we dubbed them K.H.B., or king’s hard bargains. Then we had a lot of ordinary seamen, and very ordinary they were. We A.B.’s were in the minority by a long chalk. Lastly came the marines; they were mostly steady men, and, as they had been at sea before, were better sailors than the ordinary seamen, besides which they knew their duty and did it. Without them I am very sure the crew could never have been kept under.

Flogging was the order of the day; scarcely a morning passed but we had two or three triced up, and the boatswain’s mates swore that they had never worn out so many cats-o’-nine-tails before.

I don’t know that it was the officers’ fault, for they knew no better way of maintaining discipline. It was because some hundreds of men, few of whom had ever served on board a man-of-war, were brought together.

I had been on board some days when I caught sight of a face I knew too well; it was that of Charles Iffley. I was certain it was him, though when I inquired I found that he had entered under the name of Charles Trickett.

I saw him start when he first recognised me, but he kept out of my way, and I had no wish to speak to him. His presence, I feared, boded me no good. Whether his feelings of revenge were satisfied, I could not tell; but if not, I was very sure that he would wreak them on my head if he could.

During the early spring, merchant vessels of all sizes, but mostly large ones, kept coming in until nearly a hundred were assembled, when the whole fleet, including men-of-war, amounted to one hundred and forty-eight sail,—three being of a hundred guns, four of ninety-eight, while a large number were seventy-fours. The merchantmen were bound out either to the West Indies or Newfoundland, and some of the men-of-war were intended to convoy them.