Will Weatherhelm: The Yarn of an Old Sailor

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“What is it, Billy?” asked Mr Merton.

“A hurricane!” was the answer.

The hurricane came. The spirit of the whirlwind rode triumphantly through the air. Earth and ocean felt his power; trees were torn up by the roots; houses were overthrown; the water rose in huge waves—hissing, and foaming, and leaping madly around us. Our topmasts had been struck; every stitch of canvas closely furled, and everything on deck securely lashed. The fierce blast of the tempest struck the little vessel; round and round she was helplessly whirled. Away we drove out to sea, and we thought we were safe; but our hopes were to prove vain. Once more we approached the shore with redoubled speed; the frowning rocks threatened our instant destruction; we could do nothing for our preservation. To anchor was utterly useless. We shook hands all round; on, on we drove. A yellow sandy bay appeared between two dark rocks; a huge sea carried us on; safely between the two rocks it bore us; up the beach it rolled. The schooner drew but little water. High up the sea carried us stem on. We rushed forward, and springing along the bowsprit, leaped on to the sand, and before another sea could overtake us we were safe out of its reach. We fell down on our knees and uttered a prayer of thanksgiving for our preservation. In ten minutes not a fragment of the schooner held together. We had truly reason to be grateful.

“Another time wrecked,” said I to Mr Merton.

“Yes, Will; but another time saved,” was his answer.

We got safe to the village of Morant Bay, where we were very kindly received, and the next day were forwarded over land to Kingston, there to await the arrival of the Montezuma. She came into Port Royal Harbour in about a week, not having felt the hurricane. As the agent had a full cargo for her, she only remained a short time, and at length I found myself on the way to the shores of old England.

“There is no fear now but what I shall get to Plymouth at last,” I thought to myself as I walked the deck in my watch the first wight after we had got well clear of the land, and were standing out into the broad Atlantic. Then I remembered my rash oath, and in spite of all Mr Merton’s reasonings, I could not help believing that its consequences would still follow me. “Home! home! with all its endearments, is not for you. The time of your probation is yet unfulfilled!—your punishment is not accomplished!”—a voice whispered in my ear. I could not silence it. Still I thought that it was only fancy. Just then Charley Iffley joined me in my walk; we were in the same watch. Hitherto I had never told him of my belief that a curse was pursuing me. I should have been wiser not to have mentioned the subject to him; still I thought that he was so much changed that he would sympathise with me. I told him all that had occurred from the moment when I first expressed my wish to go to sea to my grandmother and aunt, and reminded him of all the sufferings I had endured, and the number of times I had been shipwrecked. Instead, however, of treating the subject in the gentle, serious way Mr Merton had done, he burst into a loud fit of laughter.

“Nonsense, Will,” he exclaimed, “you’ll next accuse me of being your evil spirit, and of tempting you to sin. Many a man has been shipwrecked as often as you have who has been sent to sea against his own will; and if he swore at all, it was that he might speedily get on shore. Get that idea out of your head as soon as possible.”

I was anxious enough to follow Charley’s advice, but do all I could, the idea came back and back again whenever I found myself during my watch at night taking a turn by myself on deck.

Charley was already out of his indentures, and as he had become a steady fellow and a good seaman, he hoped to be made mate on his next voyage. At last the day arrived when the term of my apprenticeship expired, and I was to be a free man, able to take any berth offered to me. My only wish, however, after I had paid my family a visit, was to be employed in the service of my present owners. To commemorate the event, Charley proposed having a feast in our mess, and he managed to purchase from the third mate, who acted as a sort of purser, various articles of luxury and an additional bottle of rum. We were very jolly, and very happy we thought ourselves, and blew all care to the winds. The passengers and the captain were making merry in the same way in the cabin, drinking toasts, and singing songs, and making speeches, and telling funny stories, so the cabin-boy told us as he came forward convulsed with laughter. The wind was fair and light, the sea was smooth, and no ship floating on the ocean could have appeared more free from danger. Suddenly there was a cry—a cry which, next to “Breakers ahead,” is the most terror-inspiring which can strike on a seaman’s ear. It was, “Fire! fire! fire!” Who uttered it? A man with frantic haste—horror in his countenance—rushed up from the after hold. “Fire! fire! fire!” he repeated. In an instant fore and aft the revellers in dismay sprang from their seats and hurried on deck. The captain was calm and collected, had he lost his presence of mind, who could have hoped to escape? With rapid strides he reached the after-hatchway, out of which streams of smoke were gushing forth. He summoned the passengers and some of the crew to provide themselves with buckets, and to heave water down upon the spot whence the smoke seemed to come, while the rest of the crew were employed in pumping water into the hold. Wet sails and blankets were brought, and, led by Mr Merton, some of the more daring of the men leaped down with them, in the hopes of stifling the flames before they burst forth. I followed the second mate; I knew the risk, but I resolved to share it with him. “More blankets! more sails!” we shouted. They were hove down to us; but in vain we threw them over the lower hatchway. Thicker and thicker masses of smoke came gushing forth, and we were obliged to cry out to be drawn up, and were almost overpowered before we reached the deck. Two of our number had been left behind. Mr Merton and I were about to return, when a loud explosion was heard. Part of the deck was torn up, and flames burst fiercely forth through the hatchway. It was very evident that some of the rum casks had ignited, as was afterwards ascertained, by a candle having been carelessly left burning in the hold.