Will Weatherhelm: The Yarn of an Old Sailor

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Now, my lads, is the time to take the ship from the hands of the Frenchmen!” he exclaimed. “If we delay, night is coming on, and the other frigate may get away. If we win back our own ship, it will allow our friend to go at once in chase of the enemy.”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when we all, seizing handspikes and boat-stretchers, and indeed anything we could convert into weapons, knocked over the sentry at the main hatchway, and springing on deck, rushed fore and aft, and while the Frenchmen stood at their guns, looking through the ports at their enemy and our friend, we overpowered them. Scarcely one of them made any resistance. In an instant we were on the upper deck, where the officers, seeing that the game was up, cried out that they gave in, and hauled down the French flag.

On this, didn’t we cheer lustily! The ship which had so opportunely come to our rescue was the fifty gun ship Leander, the Honourable John Talbot. Her crew cheered as she came up to us, and her captain asked us if we could hold our own against the Frenchmen without assistance. We replied that we could, and against twice as many Frenchmen to boot. We thought then that we could do anything. He told us we were fine fellows, and ordering us to follow him, he hauled his wind in chase of the Ville de Milan.

We took care to disarm all the Frenchmen; and, you may believe me, we kept a very sharp look-out on them, lest they should attempt to play us the same trick we had just played them.

The Ville de Milan had by this time got some miles away, but the Leander made all sail she could carry, and we had little doubt would soon come up with her. Still we could not help keeping one eye on the two ships, and the other on our prisoners. In little more than an hour after the French flag had been hauled down aboard the Cleopatra, as we hoped, never to fly there again, the Leander, with her guns ready to pour forth her broadside, ranged up alongside the Ville de Milan. The Frenchmen were no cowards, as we had found to be the case, but they naturally didn’t like her looks; and not waiting for her to fire, wisely hauled down their colours. Then once more we cheered, and cheered again, till our voices were hoarse. People have only to consider what the anticipation of a prison must be to British sailors, to remember that we fancied that we had lost our gallant ship, and that we were smarting under a sense of defeat, to understand our joy at finding ourselves once more at liberty. I had a joy far greater than any one, or at least than any one not situated as I was (and perhaps there were some as anxious as I was to return home), of feeling that I had now a far greater chance than had before occurred of once more setting foot on the shores of Old England, and of returning to my beloved wife.

The three ships all hove-to close together, while arrangements were made for our passage to England. The Leander put a prize crew on board the Ville de Milan, strengthened by some of our people, and our gallant captain, Sir Robert Laurie, and his officers once more took possession of their own ship. It was a happy meeting on board the Cleopatra, you may depend on that; and on the first Saturday afterwards, as may be supposed, there was not a mess in which ‘Sweethearts and wives’ was not drunk with right hearty goodwill. Some, and I trust that I was among them, felt that we owed our deliverance to a power greater than that of men, and thanked with grateful hearts Him who had in His mercy delivered us from the hand of our enemies. And oh! my fellow-countrymen, who read this brief account of my early days, I, now an old man, would urge you, when our beloved country is, as soon she may be, beset with foes, burning with hatred and longing for her destruction, that while you bestir yourselves like men and seize your arms for the desperate conflict, you ever turn to the God of battles, the God of your fathers, the God of Israel of old, and with contrite hearts for our many national sins, beseech Him to protect us from wrong, to protect our native land, our pure Protestant faith, our altars, our homes, the beloved ones dwelling there, from injury. Pray to Him—rely on Him—and then surely we need not fear what our enemies may seek to do to us.

Once more, then, we were on our way to England. I did believe that this time I should reach it, I could not fancy that another disappointment was in store for me. The weather, notwithstanding the stormy time of the year, proved moderate, and we made good way on our homeward voyage. While the boats were going backwards and forwards between the ships, I had observed in one of them a man whose countenance bore, I thought, a remarkable resemblance to that of Charles Iffley. Still I could not fancy it was Iffley himself. I asked some of the Leander’s people whether they had a man of that name on board, but they said that they certainly had not, and so I concluded that I must have been mistaken. The man saw me, but he made no sign of recognition, but neither, I felt, would Iffley have done so had he been certain of my identity. Still the countenance I had seen haunted me continually, and I could not help fancying that he was still destined again to work me some evil.

“Land! land ahead!” was sung out one morning, just as breakfast was over. The mess-tables were cleared in a moment, and every one not on duty below was on deck in a moment looking out for the shores we all so longed to see. It was the coast of Cornwall, not far from the Land’s End. Point after point was recognised and welcomed, as, with a fair breeze, we ran up Channel. Then the Eddystone was made, and the wind still favouring us, we at length dropped our anchor close together in Plymouth Sound. I could scarcely believe my senses when I found myself once more in British waters. Oh! how I longed to be able to go on shore and to set off at once for Portsmouth; but, in spite of all my entreaties, I could not obtain leave to go. The captain was very kind, and so was the first lieutenant, but they were anxious to get the ship refitted at once, to be able to get to sea to wipe out the discredit, as they felt it, of having been captured even by so superior a force. All I could do, therefore, was to sit down and write a letter to my wife to tell her of my arrival, and to beg her to send me instantly word of her welfare. I entreated her, on no consideration, to come to meet me; I did not know what accident might occur to her if she attempted to come by land or by sea. Travelling in those days was a very different matter to what it is at present. Even should no accident happen to her, I knew that before she could reach Plymouth I might be ordered off to sea. I felt bitterly that I was not my own master. I did not blame anybody. Who was there to blame? I could only find fault with the system, and complain that such a system was allowed to exist. Fortunate are those who live in happier days, when no man can be pressed against his will, or be compelled to serve for a longer time than he has engaged to do.

The three ships as we lay in the Sound were constantly visited by people from the shore, and the action between the Cleopatra and the Ville de Milan was considered a very gallant affair, and instead of getting blamed, the captain, officers, and crew were highly praised for their conduct. Our captain, Sir Robert Laurie, was presented with a sword of the value of a hundred guineas by the Patriotic Fund, as a compliment to his distinguished bravery, and the skill and perseverance which he exhibited in chasing and bringing the enemy to action. Indeed, we obtained more credit for our action, though we lost our ship, than frequently has been gained by those who have won a victory. The Ville de Milan was added to the British Navy under the name of the Milan, and classed as an eighteen-pounder thirty-eight gun frigate, and Sir Robert Laurie was appointed to command her. Our first lieutenant, Mr William Balfour, was also rewarded by being made a commander.

Day after day passed away, and I did not hear from my wife. Dreadful thoughts oppressed me. I began to fear that she was dead, or that, not hearing from me, or perhaps believing me lost, she had removed from Southsea. Indeed, I cannot describe all the sad thoughts which came into my head, and weighed down my heart. Then the tempter was always suggesting to me, “Why not run and learn all about the matter! What harm is there in deserting? Many a man has done it before. Who will think the worse of you if you do?” But I resisted the temptation, powerful as it was. I had undertaken to serve my country, and to obey those placed in authority over me; and I knew that their reasons were good for not allowing me to go on shore. Still I own it was very, very hard to bear. I had yet a sorer trial in store for me.