Will Weatherhelm: The Yarn of an Old Sailor

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Things were done in those days which would not be thought of at the present time. Men were wanted to work the ships which were to fight England’s battles, and men were to be got by every means, fair or foul. Often, indeed, very foul means were used. While we were expecting to be paid off, down came an order to draft us off into other ships. In spite of the bloody battles we had fought, in spite of all we had gone through, our prayers were not heard—we were not even allowed to go on shore; and, without a moment’s warning, I found myself on board the Spartite, 74, commanded by Sir Francis Laforey, and ordered off at once to sea. I had barely time to send a letter on shore to tell my wife what had occurred, and no time to receive one from her. Well, I did think that my heart would break this time; but it did not. I was miserable beyond conception, but still I was buoyed up with the feeling that I had done my duty, and that my miseries, great as they were, would come some day to an end.

We formed one of a large squadron of men-of-war, under Lord Collingwood, engaged in looking out for the French and Spanish fleets. We continually kept the sea cruising off the coast of Spain and Portugal, and occasionally running out into the Atlantic, or sweeping round the Bay of Biscay. From August to September of this memorable year, 1805, we were stationed off Cadiz to watch the enemy’s fleet which had taken shelter there, and in October we were joined by Lord Nelson in his favourite ship the Victory. We all knew pretty well that something would be done, but we little guessed how great was the work in which we were about to engage. The French and Spanish fleets were inside Cadiz harbour, and we wanted to get them out to fight them. This was a difficult matter, for they did not like our looks. That is not surprising, particularly when they knew who we had got to command us. Lord Nelson, however, was not to be defeated in his object. Placing a small squadron inshore, he stationed other ships at convenient distances for signalling, while the main body of the fleet withdrew to a distance of eighteen leagues or so from the land.

The enemy were deceived, and at length, on the 19th and 20th, their whole fleet had got out of the harbour. No sooner was Lord Nelson informed of this, than he stood in with his entire fleet towards them.

At daybreak on the memorable 21st October 1805, the combined French and Spanish fleets were in sight, about twelve miles off, the centre of the enemy’s fleet bearing about east by south of ours. At 6 a.m. we could from the deck see the enemy’s fleet, and, as I afterwards learned, the Victory was at that time about seven leagues distant from Cape Trafalgar. At about 10 a.m. the French Admiral Villeneuve had managed to form his fleet in close order of battle; but owing to the lightness of the wind, some of the ships were to windward and some to leeward of their proper stations—the whole being somewhat in the form of a crescent. We had at an early hour formed into two columns, and bore up towards the enemy. The Victory led the weather division, in which was our ship. We had studden sails alow and aloft; but the wind was so light that we went through the water scarcely more than two knots an hour. I am not about to give an account of the battle of Trafalgar, for that is the celebrated action we were then going to fight. It has been too often well described for me to have any excuse for making the attempt. Indeed, when once it began, even the officers knew very little about the matter, and the men engaged in working the guns knew nothing beyond what they and their actual opponents were about. All I know is, that Lord Nelson was afraid the enemy would try and get back into Cadiz, and in order to prevent him, he resolved to pass through the van of his line.

At 11:40 a.m. Lord Nelson ordered that ever-memorable signal to be made—“England expects that every man will do his duty.”

Nobly, I believe, one and all did their duty; and, oh! may Englishmen never forget that signal in whatever work they may be engaged. It was received with loud cheers throughout the fleet both by officers and men. The Royal Sovereign, Lord Collingwood’s ship, led the lee division, and at ten minutes past noon commenced the action, by passing close under the stern of the Santa Anna, discharging her larboard broadside into her, and her starboard one at the same time into the Fougueux. These two ships fired at her in return, as did the San Leandro ahead, and the San Justo and Indomitable, until other ships came up and engaged them. The action was now general. All that could be seen were wreaths of smoke, masts and spars falling, shattered sails, shot whizzing by, flames bursting out with a tremendous roar of guns, and a constant rattle of musketry; ships closing and firing away at each other, till it appeared impossible that they could remain afloat.

In the afternoon I know that we and the Minotaur bore down on four heavy ships of the combined squadron, which we hotly engaged, and succeeded in cutting off the Spanish Neptuno. She was bravely defended; but in two hours we compelled her to strike her flag, with the loss of her mizzen-mast and fore and main-topmast. No seamen could have fought more bravely than did the Spaniards on this occasion; but their bravery did not avail them. As the spars of the enemy’s ship went tumbling down on deck, and his fire slackened, we one and all burst into loud cheers, which contributed not a little to damp his courage. I forgot my own individuality, my own sorrows and sufferings, in the joy of the crew at large. I felt that a great and glorious victory was almost won—the most important that English valour, with God’s blessing, had ever achieved on the ocean. I felt certain that the victory would be gained by us. My spirits rose. I cheered and cheered away as loudly as the rest. Many of our people had been struck down and carried below, though comparatively few had been killed outright. I saw my messmates wounded; but it never for a moment occurred to me that I should be called on to share their fate. Suddenly, as I was hauling away at my gun, I felt a stunning terrific blow. I tottered and fell I was in no great pain, only horribly sick. The blood left my checks. It seemed to be leaving me altogether. “Carry him below,” I heard some one say. “He’s not dead, is he?” Then I knew that I was badly wounded; I did not know how badly. I was almost senseless as I was conveyed below, where I found myself with a number of my shipmates, who had lately been full of life and activity, strong, hearty men, now lying pale and maimed or writhing in agony. One of the surgeons soon came to me and gave me restoratives, and I then knew where I was, and that my left arm was shattered, and my side wounded. I thought at that time that I had suffered a very great misfortune; but I had reason afterwards to believe that I ought to have been thankful for what had occurred. I said that we were engaged with the Spanish ship the Neptuno. In spite of the hammering we gave her, her people continued to serve her guns with undaunted courage. At length, when we had knocked away her mizzen-mast and main and fore-top masts, and killed and wounded a number of her people, and sent many a shot through her hull, her crew, seeing that numbers of the combined fleet had already succumbed to British valour, hauled down their colours. I heard the cheering shout given by my shipmates, and discovered the cessation of the firing from no longer experiencing the dreadful jar which the guns caused each time they were discharged. As soon as any of our boats could be got into a condition to lower, the prize was taken possession of. I found afterwards that my name was called over to form one of the prize crew; but when it was known that I was wounded, another hand was sent in my place. I had been selected by the first lieutenant, who looked on me as a steady man, and wished to recommend me for promotion. I give an account of what befell the prize as narrated to me by a shipmate.

“You know, Weatherhelm,” said he, when I met him some months afterwards, “that I formed one of the prize crew sent to take possession of her. Before we got her sufficiently into order to be manageable, we fell on board the Téméraire, one of our own squadron. We little thought at that time that our beloved chief was lying in the cockpit of the Victory mortally wounded. He had been struck by the fatal bullet at 1:25, while walking his quarter-deck, and at 4:30 he expired without a groan. Lord Nelson had directed that the fleet with the prize should anchor as soon as the victory was complete; but Lord Collingwood, who now took the command, differed on the subject, and ordered the ships to keep under way, being of opinion that the less injured ships might the better help the crippled ones. Our ship was less injured than most; for we only had our main-topmasts wounded. Our prize, however, was in a very crippled condition. She had lost her fore and mizzen-masts by the board, and as it was late in the afternoon before we took possession of her, after which we had to secure the prisoners and send them on board our ship and the Minotaur, it was nearly night before we could begin putting the ship to rights. We had then in the dark to work away to set up a jury, fore, and mizzen-mast. We laboured all night, and by the morning had them both standing. The morning after that never-to-be-forgotten battle broke dark and lowering, giving every indication of a gale. How little prepared to encounter it were the greater portion of the ships which had been engaged in the desperate struggle! Down came the gale upon us from the westward. Every instant it increased, and very soon our two jury-masts were carried away, leaving us a helpless wreck on the raging waters. The Spanish coast was under our lee, and towards it we were rapidly driving.

“A lee shore, on any occasion, is not a pleasant object of contemplation, but still worse was it for us when we remembered that it was inhabited by our enemies, whose ships we had just so soundly thrashed. We tried to range one of our cables to bring up, but it was useless to trust to it a moment, it had been so much injured by the shot. It soon became evident that if the gale continued, we should drive ashore or go down. Anxiously we looked out to windward, but in the prospect on that side there was very little to cheer us, and still less was there on the other side, where a few miles off only the sea broke on the rock-bound, inhospitable shore. Towards that shore we were rapidly driving. The gale came down on us stronger and stronger. ‘There’s no help for it!’ exclaimed our commanding officer with a deep sigh, for he felt, as we all did, that it was very hard to win a prize and to have helped to win a great victory, and then to lose our prize and perhaps our lives. ‘Up with the helm—keep her dead before the wind!’ he added, going forward with his glass, as did the other officers, looking out for a spot free from rocks into which to run the ship. Evening was coming on, and he saw that it was better to go on shore in the day-time, when we might take advantage of any chance of saving ourselves, instead of at night, when our chance would be small indeed. Orders were given for every man to prepare as best he could to save himself. On we drove towards the shore. We had a large number of prisoners on board. As we approached the land they were all released, the danger pointed out to them, and they were told to try and save themselves, the officers promising that they would try and help them.

“There was little time for preparation. Every moment the gale was increasing. The roar of the surf on the shore was terrific, sadly warning us of the fate of the ship once cast within its power. Even the bravest turned pale as they saw the danger. The Spaniards, bravely as they had fought, tore their hair, shrieked, and called on their saints to help them, but did little to make ready for the coming catastrophe. We, with our axes, tore up the decks, and each man provided himself with a spar or bit of timber on which he might float when washed overboard, as we expected soon to be. Darkness overtook us sooner even than we had calculated. In thick gloom, with a driving rain and a howling wind, the ship was hove in among the breakers. She struck with terrific violence. The sea broke furiously over us. I know little more. I received a blow on my head, I suppose. When I came to myself, I was lying on the beach and unable to move. Then I saw lights approaching, and I found myself lifted up and carried to a cottage, where my head was bound up and food was given me. I found the next day that not ten of the prize crew had escaped, but that of the Spaniards upwards of forty had been washed safely on shore. I was treated kindly, but afterwards carried off to prison. A Spanish prison is one of the last places in which a man would like to take up his abode; and, my dear Weatherhelm, you may believe me, I am right glad to find myself exchanged and once more treading the shores of Old England.” Such was the account my old shipmate gave me; and then I felt, as I have said, that I should be thankful for what had happened to me. To return to my own adventures. Our ship had a long passage home, for in her crippled condition we could carry very little sail. This gave me a longer time to recover before landing. From my abstemious habits, I did not suffer as much as many of my companions in misfortune, several of whom died of their wounds from inflammation setting in, caused by their previous intemperate mode of life.