Will Weatherhelm: The Yarn of an Old Sailor

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Still I insisted on putting on my own clothes and setting off; but when I attempted to get up, I found that I could scarcely walk across the room, much less could I hope to trudge over the links, and rough rocks and sand which lined the shore along which I wished to proceed. I was obliged, therefore, to consent to go to bed, and to try and sleep. At first I thought that would be impossible, but my old sailor habits triumphed over the anxiety I felt, and the rest I so much needed came to me.

In less than four hours I awoke. I found myself alone; so I sprang up and put on my clothes, resolved that nothing should stop me from proceeding on my journey. I felt far stronger than I could have expected.

“Stay till my laddies come in, and hear what account they have to give ye,” said the kind-hearted old fisherman, making me sit down once more in the porch in front of his cottage.

The roof was the bow of a small boat, which made a good shelter from the sun, and the supporting-posts the jawbones of a whale which had been stranded on the shore.

That I might have something to distract my mind he gave me a stick that I might fashion it to support my steps as I walked along. When I had cut it to the required length I sprang up, saying I would go on some little way, at all events, begging his son to follow me; when we saw the young man approaching the cottage from the north, I ran forward to meet him.

“Have you heard anything of the smack?” I inquired, in breathless haste.

“No; not a sign of her. There was a big ship lost with all hands—not a soul escaped—in the early part of the night; but often when the big ship goes down the small one swims; ye ken that, mon,” was the answer.

Although he had been out for some hours, he insisted on accompanying me when he found that I had resolved on proceeding, till we should fall in with his brothers. The old man gave me his blessing, and the old wife and the rest of the family parted most kindly with me—they were all so much interested in the account I had given them of myself. As to receiving any remuneration, they would not hear of it.

We toiled on over the links; sometimes I thought that my knees would have given way under me. At last the old weather-beaten tower of Broughty Castle appeared in sight, the ancient guardian to the entrance of the Tay. “We’ll just sit down here till the ferry-boat is ready to cross,” said my companion, throwing himself on the grass bank under the crumbling walls. “Maybe my brother will be coming over just now, and he will tell us what he has learned.”

I suggested that the smack might have run up to Dundee, but he said that was not in the least likely. If she had come in there she would have brought up off Broughty itself. We made inquiries, before sitting down, of some fishermen who had been on the shore all the morning, and certainly no vessel, they said, answering the description of the smack had come in. At any other time my eye would have dwelt with pleasure on the scenery which is presented by the beautiful estuary of the Tay, but now I could only think of the object of my search. I was leaning back on the grass, hoping to recover strength to proceed, when my companion jumped up and ran down toward the water’s edge.