Will Weatherhelm: The Yarn of an Old Sailor

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The Frenchmen little expected us, but they flew to their arms and made a stout resistance. Some were cut down—others were hove overboard—the cables were cut—our men flew aloft to loosen sails, and as quickly almost as I take to tell the story the ship was under weigh and standing out of the harbour. The other three boats were not so fortunate. The noise we made in attacking the first ship, our shouts, and the cries and curses of the enemy, aroused the people of the second ship, so that they had time to man their guns, of which she carried ten, before the boats got alongside. Our commanding officer, seeing this, ordered one of the midshipmen to take charge of his boat, in which I was, and of another in which was Mr Merton, to go to the assistance of our shipmates. With hearty cheers, to show that aid was coming, we pulled away towards them, but as we advanced we were received with a hot fire of musketry and round shot. The officer in the other boat, which was close to us, was killed, but Merton sprang to the helm, and cheering on the men, they pulled up towards the ship. Just then a round shot struck our boat, cutting her right in two, killing one man, and wounding two. Instantly she began to fill, and very soon we could not move her through the water. She was sinking under us. The shot came round us thick as hail. I could not see where the other boats were, or what had become of my shipmates, but I caught a glimpse of the ship standing out of the harbour. I thought I heard Mr Merton’s voice shouting out to the people, and I was pretty certain he was doing something; but what with the darkness, and the firing, and the confusion and noise, it was some little time before I could decide in which way to strike out. What became of my companions in the boat I could not tell. Looking up, I saw a vessel not far off from me, and so I swam away with all my strength towards her. I got hold of her cable and rested myself, hoping to see some of the boats, or perhaps the second ship; but when I looked found I saw that there was little chance of our people taking her, for she mounted, as we knew beforehand, ten guns, and that a strong crew had been put on board her was evident from the hot fire she kept up.

The Spaniards had aroused at last, and the forts were blazing away at the boats which were pulling with all their might down the harbour. All hope of regaining the frigate must therefore, I saw, be abandoned. The vessel I was hanging on to was a large schooner. Her people were all on deck, and, to my great satisfaction, I heard them talking English. By this I knew that she was an American, and I determined to trust to their kindness. I therefore hailed, “Schooner, ahoy! Just heave me a rope, will you, to save me from drowning.”

“Well, I don’t mind if I do,” said a man, looking over the bows; and he heaving me a rope’s-end, I quickly hauled myself up on board.

I found myself among three or four of the schooner’s crew. “You must come along aft to the mate,” said one of them.

I accordingly accompanied them aft, where we found the mate, who asked all about me, and I told him how we had come into the harbour to cut out the two West Indiamen.

“Well, small blame to you, my man,” said the mate. “We don’t wish you ill, but we must see what the captain has to say to you.”

The captain was on shore, but as soon as the firing was over he came on board. Meantime I watched as far as I could what was taking place, and I had the satisfaction of seeing one of the ships get out of the harbour, and I hoped the boats had reached her also. The American crew seemed inclined to treat me very civilly; and when the captain came off, and I told him all that I had told the mate, “Well, my man,” said he, “I am sorry for it, but I am afraid that I must take you before the Spanish governor to-morrow morning; because if I do not, I may get myself into trouble. However, go below, and get your wet clothes shifted. You shall have some food and a glass of grog, and we’ll see about it in the morning.”

I went below. I was soon rigged out in warm, dry things, had a jolly hot supper, and I must say was never more kindly treated in my life. When I turned in, I felt that I ought to be thankful that I had not been killed like some of my shipmates. But still I could not help thinking, “The curse is still following me—the boat I was aboard was the only one destroyed.”

The next morning, when I went on deck, I saw one of the officers doing duty. I looked at him hard. I was certain I knew his face. I put out my hand. “La Motte,” said I, “do you know me?”

“I should think I did indeed, Weatherhelm,” he answered, laughing, and shaking my fist warmly; “it is a good many years since we saw each other.” I told him that the captain said he would have to take me to a Spanish prison. “Oh, that is all nonsense,” he answered; “I’ll soon manage that. All you have to do is to join this craft, and we can protect you. I’ll just say that you are an old shipmate of mine, and I’ll soon make it all right.”