Will Weatherhelm: The Yarn of an Old Sailor

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Our owners were very respectable people, and understood their business, so they were generally well served. Captain Horner, of the Montezuma, was a good sailor. The crew consequently looked up to him, though he kept himself aloof from them. He was what the world calls a very good sort of man, but as to his religion and morals I was not able to form an opinion. It may seem strange that I, a young apprentice, should have thought at all on the subject. Perhaps, if those in command knew how completely their conduct and behaviour are canvassed by those under them, they would behave very differently to what they do. Our second mate, Josias Merton by name, was a man worthy of remark. He was a very steady, serious-minded person, and yet full of life and fun. He prided himself on his knowledge of his profession in all its details. His heart was kind and gentle, and he was at the same time brave and determined, active and prompt in action. He never undertook what he did not believe, after due consideration, he could accomplish, and therefore seldom failed in what he undertook. Both Charley and I owed him much, for he spared no pains to improve us and to instruct us in our profession.

As soon as I was well, I was placed in a watch and had begun to know and to do my duty. The Atlantic afforded me the sight of many objects to which I had been unaccustomed in the Mediterranean. I remember one night coming on deck, and after I had looked to set what sail was set, and how the ship was steering, I cast my eyes over the calm ocean. It was very dark. There was no moon, and clouds obscured the stars. I gazed with amazement. The whole surface of the deep, far as the eye could reach, was lighted with brilliant flashes. I bent over the side. The sea was alive with fish of every size and shape. Some were leaping up, ever and anon, out of the water; others were chasing their smaller brethren through it; others, again, rolled over in it, or lay floating idly near, as if looking up with their bright eyes to watch the ship, the invader of their liquid home. People talk of the lack-lustre of a fish’s eye. They are acquainted only with a dead fish. Did they ever remark the keen, bright, diabolical eye of a shark watching for his expected victim? I know nothing in nature more piercing, more dread-inspiring. Here were collected sharks, and pilot-fish, and albicores, bonettas, dolphins, flying-fish, and numberless others, for which old Mr Stunt, to whom I applied, could give me no name. The very depths of the ocean seemed to have sent forth all their inhabitants to watch our proceedings.

“I suppose that it is the shining copper on the ship’s bottom attracts them,” said the old man. “They take it to be some big light, I conclude.” Whether he was right or not I have never since heard any one give an opinion.

The first place at which we touched was Bridgetown, in the island of Barbadoes. I thought the Bay of Carlisle, with the capital Bridgetown built round its shores, and the fertile valleys, and rich fields of sugar-cane, altogether a very lovely spot. The West India Islands are divided into what are called the Windward and Leeward Islands. The wind, it must be understood, blows for nine months of the year from the east. The most eastern islands are therefore called the Windward Islands, and those in the western group the Leeward Islands. Of all the Caribbean Islands, Barbadoes is the most windward, and the Havannah the most leeward. We had to land cargo and passengers, and to take in cargo at several islands. We commenced, therefore, at the windward ones. In that way I became acquainted with a considerable portion of the West India Islands, and very beautiful places I saw on them. The Montezuma was not long in getting a full cargo, and then she prepared to return home. The last place at which we touched was Kingston in Jamaica. At length, I thought to myself, I shall once more see Old England, and satisfy my kind grandmother and Aunt Bretta that I am still alive. I hope that I may leave this vessel without her being shipwrecked, as has been the fate of every one I have yet been on board. Just as this idea had crossed my mind the captain sent for me, and said that he was going to leave Mr Merton in charge of a small schooner, which was to be employed in running between the different islands to collect cargo to be ready for the return of the ship, and that he wished me to remain.

“You will be soon out of your indentures, and if you behave well, as I have no doubt you will, I will promise you a mate’s berth,” he added.

This was indeed more than I could have expected; and though I was disappointed in not going home, I thanked the captain very much for his good opinion of me and kind intentions, and accepted his offer. The Montezuma sailed for England, and I found myself forming one of the crew of the Grogo schooner. We had a very pleasant life of it, because the black slaves did all the hard work, taking in and discharging cargo, and bringing water and wood off to us.

I might fill pages with descriptions of the curious trees and plants and animals I saw in the West Indies. There is one, however, which I must describe. I was asking Mr Merton one day the meaning of the name of our schooner. He laughed, and said that grogo is the name of a big maggot which is found in the Cockarito palm or cabbage tree. This maggot is the grub of a large black beetle. It grows to the length of four inches, and is as thick as a man’s thumb. Though its appearance is not very attractive, it is considered a delicious treat by people in the West Indies, when well dressed, and they declare that it has the flavour of all the spices of the East. These maggots are only found in such cabbages as are in a state of decay. The Cockarito palm often reaches fifty feet in height. In the very top is found the most delicate cabbage enclosed in a green husk, composed of several skins. These are peeled off, until the white cabbage appears in long thin flakes, which taste very like the kernel of a nut. The heart is the most delicate, and, being sweet and crisp, is often used as a salad. The outside when boiled is considered far superior to any European cabbage. One of the most important trees in the West Indies is the plantain tree. It grows to the height of about twenty feet, and throws out its leaves from the top of the stem so as to look something like an umbrella. The leaves when fresh are of a shining sea-green colour, and have the appearance of rich satin. When the young shoots come out, they split and hang down in tatters. From the top grows a strong stalk about three feet long, which bends down with the weight of its purple fruit, each of which is in shape like a calf’s heart—a considerable number form one bunch. Each tree produces but one bunch at a time. The plantain, when ripe, forms a delicious fruit, and when boiled or roasted, it is used instead of potatoes. It forms a principal portion of the food of the negroes. The cassava forms another important article of the food of the blacks. The plant grows about four feet high; the stem is of a grey colour, and divides near its top into several green branches, from which spring red stalks with large leaves. There are two species, the sweet and bitter cassava. The bitter is excessively poisonous till exposed to the heat of fire. The root is like a coarse potato. It is dried and then grated on a grater formed by sharp pebbles stuck on a board, and the juice which remains is then pressed out by means of an elastic basket, into which the grated root is stuffed. The farina thus produced is made into thin cakes and baked. Tapioca is the finer portion of the farina.

I might, as I was saying, fill my pages with an account of the wonderful productions of those fertile islands, of the value of which I do not think even now my countrymen are fully aware. One curious circumstance I must mention in connection with them and my paternal country, Shetland, though I did not hear it till very many years afterwards. It shows how intimately the interests of distant parts of the world are united. The slaves in the West Indies were supplied by their masters with salt-fish, which fish were caught by the Shetlanders off their coasts. When the slaves were emancipated, they refused any longer to eat the description of food which they had been compelled to consume during their servitude, and the Shetland fish-dealers had not thought in the meantime of looking out for fresh markets. The consequence was, they were ruined; the herring boats were laid up, and the fishermen had to go south in search of employment.

However, that has nothing to do with my story. The Grogo was very successful, and we were looking forward every day for the return of the Montezuma. I could not help telling Mr Merton one day of my rash oath which I had made in the presence of my grandmother, and how I had been wrecked in every vessel I had sailed in from the time I came to sea. He tried to reason me out of the belief that I was the cause of the loss of the vessels. He said the oath was wicked, there was no doubt of that, but that others had lost their lives and some their property, while I each time had suffered less than anybody else. I saw the strength of his reasoning, but still I was not convinced. I felt that I had deserved all the hardships I had endured, and I fully expected to be wrecked again. What followed may seem very strange. All I can do is to give events as they occurred. Two days after this we lay becalmed about ten miles from the land off Port Morant, to the eastward of Kingston in Jamaica. We had an old man of colour, who acted as pilot and mate on board. He had been below asleep. At last he turned out of his hot, stifling berth, and came on deck. He looked round the horizon on every side.

“Captain,” said he, “I wish we were safe in port. There’s something bad coming.”