Will Weatherhelm: The Yarn of an Old Sailor

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Presently the French frigate rounded to and brought up. It was just what we wanted, for if she had stood on, she might have run up the river and escaped us. All we now had to do was to get up alongside her, and we trusted to our guns to make her ours. We carried on, therefore, as we had been doing to reach her.

This probably made her suspect that all was not right, for in a few minutes, letting fall her topsails, she stood away to the southward.

“She has cut her cable, and is off again,” cried Dick; “however, she can’t get up the river, that’s one comfort, and we shall have her before long.”

The French ship was now under all the canvas she could spread, standing to the southward. We had the lead going, for we were running through a narrow channel, with a lighthouse on one side on some rocks, and a sandbank on the other. We had a pilot on board, however, who knew the coast, and our captain was a man of firm nerve. The men in the chains were singing out all the time. For my part, I know I was very glad when we cleared the danger, and once more ran off before the wind, followed by the commodore in the Pomone and the Anson frigate. Meanwhile the commodore sent off the Artois frigate and Sylph brig to examine two suspicious ships seen away to the south-west. Night was approaching, and just before darkness came down on the ocean, we were not more than two miles astern of the chase. We could still see her dimly through the gloom ahead, and we hoped to keep sight of her during the night. Suddenly, however, about nine o’clock, a heavy squall struck us, accompanied by thunder and lightning, with tremendous showers of rain. The order was given to shorten sail. We flew aloft; there was no time to be lost. The thunder rattled, almost deafening us, and the lightning flashed in our eyes. Between the flashes it was so dark that we had to feel our way on the yards, for as to seeing six inches from our noses, that was out of the question. For nearly an hour it blew fearfully hard, and when we came down from aloft and looked ahead, we could nowhere see the chase, nor were either of our consorts visible astern. We, however, continued standing to the southward as before. What had become of the other ships we could not tell.

“The weather seems to be clearing,” observed Dick; “if we keep a sharp look-out, the chances are we catch sight of the chase again.”

The third lieutenant, who was forward peering out with his hands on either side of his eyes, asked if any of us could see her.

“Yes, there she is!” cried Dick immediately afterwards, “away a little on the starboard bow.”

The lieutenant, looking again to assure himself that Dick was right, sung out to the captain. Immediately the order was given to make all sail. We were, during this time, scarcely more than a mile from the shore, but the wind held fair, and there were no rocks to bring us up. Thus we stood on until daybreak, when we found that we were about the same distance from the chase as we had been at sunset, while, looking round, we discovered the frigate and brig, hull down, in the north-west.

As the other vessels were so far off, we now fully expected that the Frenchman would make a stand-up fight of it, and that before many minutes were over we should be blazing away at her, for, as far as we could judge, she was as big if not bigger than our ship. All this time, however, she had neither hoisted ensign nor pennant. This seemed strange, as there was no doubt about her being a Government ship. For some time she stood on, edging away towards the land. “Perhaps there is danger ahead, and the Frenchmen hope to lead us upon it,” I observed to Dick.

“We are all right as to that,” he answered. “Our master knows the coast too well to run the ship ashore. I only wish we could see the enemy haul her wind to, and wait for us.”