Will Weatherhelm. The yarn of an old sailor about his early life and adventures

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Preface

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The favorable reception the early part of my old friend Will Weatherhelm’s adventures met with, has induced me to add a further and very considerable portion, derived from the same source as the first.

It contains accounts of some of the most remarkable naval events which occurred during tiie early part of that great war when all the world was in arms against Old England, among which I may mention the masterly retreat of Vice-Admiral Cornwallis from an overwhelming French fleet, and the gallant action fought by Captain (afterward Sir Henry) Trollope in the “ Glatton,” a fifty-gun ship,

. once an East Indiaman, with four French frigates — one of greater size than his own, and the same number of smaller vessels — when he compelled them, shattered and defeated, to seek for safety by flight. Many other equally interesting events are recorded in the narrative.

From the large amount of fresh matter which I have introduced it must be looked upon as a new work rather than as a second edition.

I desire to dedicate the present work, as I had the pleasure of doing the former, to my old friend Charles Gilbert Duncan, Esq., of Lerwick, a countryman of Will Weatherlielm, as true and kind-hearted an Islander as ever stepped: but as he is a man whose modesty is equal to his worth — for both of which qualities his countrymen and his fair countrywomen are especially known wherever they go — I before merely gave his initials, but I hope that he will now allow me to mention his name in full.

He will, I am sure, recognize the scenes described in the history of my hero during fiiis visit to Shetland. And I must here advise those who have a few weeks to spare from their daily toils, before they wander away south, to go to that beautiful group of islands and judge of their correctness; and besides enjoying some most lovely and picturesque scenery, if they are as kindly welcomed as I was, they may well be content. All I have now to do is to bespeak

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PREFACE.

the same reception for “Will Weatherhelm ’ ’ from those for whom it is my pride to write, as has been obtained by “ Peter the Whaler,” “Neil D’Arcy,” “The Three Midshipmen,” and several other voyagers and travelers who have placed their memoirs in my hands for publication.

London, 1879.

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Chapter I

My father’s land— Born at sea— My school life— Aunt Bretta— Spoiled by overindulgence — Enticed to sea— The “ Kite ” schooner— Contrast of a vessel in port and a vessel at sea— My shipmates— My name fixed in more ways than * one— A gale— Repentance comes too late— Suspicious customers— A narrow escape— Naples and its Bay.

My father, Eric Wetherholm, was a Shetlander. He was horn in the Isle of Unst, the most northern of those far-otf islands, the Shetlands. He loved his native land, though it might be said to be somewhat backward in point of civilization, though no trees are to be found in it much larger than gooseberry bushes, or cattle trigger than sheep; though its climate is moist and windy, and its winter days but of a few hours’ duration. But, in spite of these drawbacks, it possesses many points to love, many to remember. Wild and romantic, and, in some places, grand scenery, lofty and rocky precipices, sunny downs and steep hills, deep coves with clear water, in which the sea-trout can be seen swimming in shoals, and, better still, kind, honest, warm hearts, modest women with sweet smiles, and true, honest men.

Ouce only in my youth was I there. I remember well on a bright summer’s day, standing on one of the highest of its lofty hills, sprinkled with thousands of beautiful wild-flowers, and, as I looked over the hundreds of isles and and islets of every variety of form, grouping round the mainland, as the largest island is called, I though! that in all my wanderings I had never seen a greener or more lovely spot floating on a surface of brighter blue; truly, 1 felt proud of the region which my poor father claimed as the place of his birth. I knew very little of his early history. Like the larger proportion of Shetland men, he followed the sea from his boyhood, and made several voyages, on board a whaler, to Baffin’s Bay. Once his ship had been nipped by the ice, whirled helplessly against an iceberg, when he alone with two companions escaped the de-

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struction -which overwhelmed her. Finally he returned home, and, sickened of voyages in icy regions, became mate of a merchantman trading out of the port of Hull round the English coast. On one occasion, his brig, having received severe damage in a heavy gale, put into Plymouth harbor to obtain repairs. He there met an old shipmate, John Trevelyn, who had given up the sea and settled with his family on shore.

John had a daughter, Janet Trevelyn, and a sweet, good girl I am certain she must have been. Before the brig sailed my father obtained her promise to marry him. He shortly returned, when she became his wife, and accompanied him to Shetland. But the damp, cold climate of that northern land was a sore trial to her constitution, accustomed, as she had been, to the soft air of her native Devonshire, and she entreated that he would rather take her with him to sea than leave her there. Fortunately, as he considered it, the owners of the brig he had served in offered him the command of .another of their vessels, and he was able to fulfill the wishes of his wife, as well as to please his own inclination, though for her sake he would rather have left her in safety on shore, for he too well knew all the dangers and hardships of the sea to desire to expose her to them.

My father had very few surviving relatives. His mother and sister were the only two of whom I know. His father and tw r o brothers had been lost in the Greenland fishery, and several of his uncles and cousins had been scattered about in different parts of the world, never to return to their native islands. When, therefore, he found that Shetland would not suit my mother’s health, he tried to persuade my grandmother and Aunt Bretla to accompany him to Devonshire. After many doubts and misgivings as to how they could possibly live in that warm country far away to the south among a strange people, who could not understand a word of Erse, they at length, for love of him and his young wife, agreed to do as he wished. As soon as he was able he fetched them from Shetland to Hull, whence he conveyed them to Plymouth in his own vessel, and left them very comfortably settled in a little house of their owm in the outskirts of the town. Though small, it was neat and pleasant, and they soon got accustomed to the change, though they complained at first lhat the days in summer were very short compared to those in their own country. This was the year before I was born. My mother, though she had now a home where she could have remained, was so reconciled to a sea life, and so fond, I may say, of my* father, that she preferred living on board his vessel

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to the^enjoyment of all the comforts of the shore. On one memorable occasion, a new brig he commanded, called the “ Janet Trcvelyn,” in compliment to my mother, was bound round from Hull to Cork harbor in Ireland, and was to have put into Plymouth to land her, seeing that she was not in a fit state to continue the voyage, when a heavy south-westerly gale came on, and the brig was driven up Channel again off the Isle of Wight. During its continuance, while the brig was pitching, bows under, with close-reefed topsails only on her, with a heavy sea running, the sky as black as pitch, the ocean a mass of foam, and with the wind howling and whistling as if eager to carry the masts out of her, I was born. My poor mother had a heavy time of it, and it was a mercy she did not die, But oftentimes delicate, fragile-looking women go through far more than apparently strong and robust persons. She had a fine spirit and patient temper, and what is more, she put a firm trust in One who is all-powerful to save those who have faith in Him, both for this life and for eternity.

The brig was hove to, and though more than once she narrowly escaped being run down by ships coming up Channel, she finally reached Plymouth, and my mother and I were landed in safety. Thus I may say that I hare been at sea from my earliest days. Old Mrs. Wetherholm was delighted to receive my poor mother and me, and took the very fondest care of us, as did Aunt Bretta, while my father proceeded on his voyage.

Soon after this I was christened under a name which may sound somewhat fine to southern ears, Willand Wetherholm; but, as will be seen, I did not very long retain it.

My mother had another trial soon after this. My grandfather, John Trevelyn, who had for some time been ailing, died and left her without any relations that I ever heard of on his or her mother’s side of the house. Thus she became more than ever dependent on my father and his mother and sister. She had no cause to regret this, however, for kinder, gentler-hearted people never existed.

Two years more passed away, and I throve and grew strong and fat, and what between grandmother, and mother, and aunt, ran a great chance of being spoiled. My father had been so frightened about my mother before, that he would never take her to sea again; but he often said that he would endeavor, when he had laid by a little more money, to give it up himself, and to come and live with her on shore. It is a dream of happiness in which many a poor sailor indulges, but how few are able to realize! He was expected

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round at Plymouth, on his way to the Mediterranean, but day after day passed and he did not arrive. My mother began to grow very anxious, so did my grandmother and aunt. A terrific gale had .been blowing for some days, when the Eddystone was nearly washed away, and fearful damage was done to shipping in various parts.

At length the news reached them that the brig had put into Saltcombe range. It is a wild-looking yet land-locked harbor on the Devonshire coast. Black rocks rise sheer up out of the water on either side of the entrance, and give it a particularly melancholy and unattractive appearance. One of the owners had come round in the brig, but he had landed and taken a post-chaise back toward London. In the morning the brig ‘sailed, and by noon the gale was blowing with its fiercest violence. In vain my poor mother watched and waited for his return; from that time to the present neither my father nor any of his crew were again heard of. The brig with all hands must have foundered, or, as likely as not, been run down at no great distance from Plymouth itself. My mother, who had borne so bravely and uncomplainingly her own personal sufferings, sunk slowly but surely under this dispensation of Providence. She never found fault with the decrees of the Almighty, but the color fled from her cheeks, her figure grew thinner and thinner. Scarce a smile lighted up her countenance, even when she fondly played with me. Her complaint was incurable, it was that of a broken heart, and I was left an orphan.

Most of my father’s property had gone to purchase a share in the brig, which had been most fatally uninsured, and thus an income remained barely sufficient for the support of my grandmother and aunt. They, poor things, took in work, and labored hard, night and day, that they might supply me with the food and clothhig they considered I required, and, when I grew older, to afford me such an education as they deemed suitable to the son of one holding the position my father had in life. Aunt Bretta taught me to read pretty well, and to write a little, and I was then sent to a day-school to pick up some knowledge of arithmetic and geography Small enough was the amount I gained of either, and whether it was owing to my teacher’s bad system or to my own stupidity I don’t know, but I do know that I very quickly lost all I gained,' and by the time I was twelve years old I was a strong, stout lad, with a large appetite and a very ill-stored head.

Though I had not picked up much information at school I had some companions, and they were generally the wildest and least

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manageable of all the boys of my age and standing. The truth was, I am forced to confess, my grandmother and aunt had spoiled me. They could not find it in their hearts to deny me anything, and the consequence was that I generally got my own way whether it was a good or bad one. I should have been altogether ruined had they not set me a good example, and instilled into my mind the principles of religion. Often the lessons they taught me were forgotten, and years passed away, when some circumstance recalled them to my mind, and they brought forth a portion, if not all, of the fruits they desired. Still I grew up a wayward, headstrong boy. I heard some friends say that my heart was in its right place, and that I should never come to much harm, and that satisfied me; so I did pretty well what I liked without any qualms of conscience or fears for the consequences.

. I am not going to describe any of my youthful pranks, because I suspect that no good will come from my doing so. If I did not reap all the evil consequences I deserved, others might fancy that they may do the same with like impunity and find themselves terribly mistaken. One of my chief associates was a boy of my own age, called Charles Iffley. His mother, like mine, was a Devonshire woman, and his father was mate of a merchantman belonging to the port of Hull, but trading sometimes to Plymouth, and frequently to ports up the Straits of Gibraltar. Charley and I had many tastes in common. He was a bold dashing fellow, with plenty of pluck, and what those who disliked him called impudence. One thing no one could deny, that he was just the fellow to stand a friend at a pinch, and that, blow high or blow low, he was always the same — merry-hearted, open-handed, and kind. These qualities, however, valuable as they are, if not backed by right principle and true religion, too often in time of temptation have been known miserably to fail. On a half-holiday, or whenever we could get away from school, Charley and I used to steal down to the Harbor, and we generally managed to borrow a boat for a sail, or we induced one of our many acquaintances among the watermen to take us along with him to help him pull, so that we soon learned to handle an oar as well as any lads of our age, as also pretty fairly to sail a boat. When we returned home lale in an evening, and I went back to supper, my poor old grandmother would complain bitterly of the anxiety I had caused her, and when I saw her grief, I used to promise to amend, but I am sorry to say that when temptation came iri my way I forgot my promise and repeated my fault.

At length the schooner to which Charley’s father belonged came

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into Pymoutk harbor. I went on board with my friend, and he showed me all over her; I thought her a very fine vessel, and how much I should like to go to sea in her. The next day he appeared at our house in great glee, and told my grandmother and Aunt Bretta that he had come to wish them good-bye, that his father had bound him apprentice to the owners of the schooner, and that he was to go to sea in her that very voyage. I was sorry to part with him, and I could not help envying him for being able to start at once to see the world. When he was gone, I could talk of nothing else but of what Charley was going to see, and of what he was going to do; and I never ceased trying to persuade my grandmother and aunt to let me go and be a sailor also. Poor things, I little thought of the grief I was causing them.

“ Willand, my dear laddie, ye ken that your father, and your grandfather, and two uncles were all sailors, and were lost at sea — indeed, I may well say that such has been the hard lot of all the males of our line— then why should ye wish without reason or necessity to go and do the same, and break your old grandmother’s heart, who loves ye far better than her own life’s blood,” said the kind old lady, taking me in her arms and pressing me to her bosom. “ Be content to stay at home, laddie, and make her happy.”

" Oh, that ye will, Willand dear,” chimed in Aunt Bretta; “ we’ll get a wee shoppie for ye, and may be ye’ll become a great merchant, or we’ll just rent a croft up the country here, and ye shall keep cows, and sheep, and fowls, and ye shall plow, and sow, and reap, and be happy as the day is long. Won’t that be the best life for. Willand, grannie? It’s what he is just fitted for, and there isn’t another like it.”

1 shook my head. All these pictures of rural felicity or of mercantile grandeur had no charms for m«. I had set my heart on being a rover, and seeing all parts of the world, and I believe that had I been offered a lucrative post under Government with nothing to do, 'without a moment’s hesitation I should have rejected it, lest it might have prevented me from carrying my project into execution. Still for some time 1 did not like to say anything more on the subject, and the kind creatures began to hope that I had given up my wishes to their remonstrances. Had they from the first taught me the important lessons of self-denial and obedience, they might have found that I was willing to do so; but I had no idea of sacrificing my own wishes to those of others, and I still held firmly to my resolution of leaving home on the first opportunity.

I was one day walking down High Street, Plymouth, when I saw

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advancing toward me a fine sailor-like-looking lad, with a wellbronzed jovial countenance.

“ Why, Will, old boy, you don’t seem to know me?” he exclaimed, stretching out his hand, which seemed as hard as Iron.

“ Why, I scarcely did, Charley, till I heard your voice,” I answered, shaking him warmly by the hand. “ You’ve grown from a boy almost into a man. There’s nothing like the life of a sailor for hardening a fellow, and malting him fit for anything. I see that plainly.”

“ Then come to sea with me at once,” he replied; “ I can get you a berth aboard our schooner, and we’ll have a merry life of it altogether, that we will.”

I liked his confident and self-satisfied way of talking; but I said I was afraid I could not take advantage of his offer, though I would try and get leave from my grandmother.

“ Leave from your grandmother!” he exclaimed with a taunting laugh; “ take French leave from the old lady. You are far better able to judge what you like than she is, and she can’t expect to tie you to her apron-strings all your life, can she?”

“ No, but she is very kind and good to me, and I’m young yet to leave her and Aunt Bretta. Perhaps, when I am older, she will not object to my going away,” I replied.

“ Pooh, pooh! feeds you with bread and milk, and lollipops; and as to being too young — why, you *are not much more than a year younger than I am, and fully as stout, and I should like to know who would venture to say that I am not fit to go to sea. I would soon show him which was the best man of the two.”

These remarks, for I will not call them reasons, had a great effect on me. I thought Charley the finest fellow I had ever known, and I promised to be guided by him entirely. I did not consider how ungrateful and foolish I was. How could he really care about me, or know what was for my best interests? He only thought of pleasing himself by getting a companion whom he knew from experience he could generally induce to do what he liked. I forgot all the love and affection, all the tender care I had received from my grandmother and aunt since my birth, and that I ought on every account to have consulted their feelings and opinions on the most important step I had hitherto taken in life. Instead of this, I made up my mind if they should say no, as Charley expressed it, to cut my stick and run. Many have done as I did, and bitterly repented their folly and ingratitude every day afterward to the end of their lives. It stands to reason that those who have brought us up and

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watched over us in helpless infancy or in sickness, instructed us and fitted us to enler on the active duties of life, must feel' far greater interest in our future welfare than can any other person. We, as boys, are deeply interested in a shrub or a tree we have planted, in a dog we have brought up from a puppy; and we may be certain that our parents or guardians are far more interested in our welfare, and therefore I repeat, do not go and follow my example, and run counter to their'advice and wishes.

I spent the afternoon with Charley Iflley on board the “Kite” schooner, of which his father was mate. She was a fine craft, with a handsomely fitted up cabin. She had been a privateer in the last war, and si ill carried six brass guns on deck, which were bright and polished, and took my fancy amazingly. She had also a long mahogany tiller bound with brass, and with a handsomely carved head of a kite which I much admired. These things, trifles as they were, made me still more desire 1o belong to so dandy -looking a cralt. The captain was on shore, but Mr. Iffley, the mate, did the honors of the vessel, and talked largely of all her good qualities, and finally told me that for the sake of his son, who was my best friend, if I had a mind to go to sea, he would make interest to get me apprenticed to her owners. I did not exactly understand what that signified; but I thanked him very much, and said that I left the matter in his and his son’s hands.

“ All right, Will, we’ll make a sailor of you before long!” exclaimed Charley, clapping me on the back.

Mr. Iffley was not a person, from his appearance, very well calculated to win the confidence of a >oung lad. He was a stout, short man, with huge, red, carroty whiskers, and a pock-marked face, small ferretty eyes, a round knob for a nose, and thick lips, which he smacked loudly both when speaking and after eating and drinking. However, Charley seemed to hold him in a good deal of respect and awe, an honor my friend did not pay to many people. This I found was owing much to the liberal allowance of rope-end which the mate dealt out to his son whenever he neglected his duty or did anything else to displease him; but of course Master Charley did not confide this fact to me, but allowed me to discover it for myself. In the evening I wenl back to my grandmother’s. I wanted Charley to accompany me, but he said that he thought he had better keep out of the way, or out of sight. This I have since found the Tempter— that great enemy of man — always does when he can. He does his best to hide the hook with which he angles for souls, as well as to conceal himself; and we may justly be suspi-

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cious of people who dare not come forward to explain their objects and intentions regarding us. Even in a worldly point of view, the caution I give is very necessary. It was not, however, till long, long after that I found all this out. I had not been seated at the tea-table many minutes before I opened the subject which lay nearest my hearl. My kind grandmother and Aunt Bretta used all the arguments they could think of to induce me to stay at home, and so powerful and reasonable did they seem, that had I not been ashamed of facing Charley and confessing that I was defeated, I should, at all events for the time, have yielded to their wishes. They pictured to me all the horrors of being shipwrecked and being cast on a barren island, or tossed about at sea on a raft, or having to live among savages, or being half starved or parched with thirst — indeed, they had little difficulty in finding subjects on which to enlarge. They also reminded me that, as I had no friends and no interest, if I went to sea they could do nothing for me, and that though Mr. Iftley might be a very kind man, he could not be expected to care so much for me as he would for his own son, and perhaps I might have to remain before the mast all my life. All this I knew was very true, but I could not bear the idea of being laughed at by Charley and his father, and in my eagerness I swore vehemently that go to sea I would, in spite of everything they could say; and I declared that I didn’t mind though I. might be cast away a dozen times, or go wandering about the ocean and never come back — indeed, I scarcely know what wicked and foolish things I said on the occasion.

My poor grandmother and aunt were dreadfully shocked at the way I had expressed myself. They had too much respect for an oath themselves, even though it was as rash as mine, to endeavor to make me break it, and with tears streaming down her face my grandmother told me that, if silch was my resolution, she had no longer the wish to oppose it. There was something very sad in her countenance, and the words trembled on her lips as she spoke, I remember. It was not so much, however, because of my wish to go to sea, as of my rank ingratitude and want of tenderness.

“ Oh, Willand! ye dinna ken what harm ye have done, laddie,” said Aunt Bretta, as I parted from her to go to roost in my little attic room, which she had fitted up so neatly for my use.

At first I was inclined to exult at having made the first step toward the accomplishment of my wishes, and I was thinking how proud I should be when I met Charley the next morning, to be able to tell him that I had triumphed over all difficulties and was ready

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to accept his offer; but then the recollection of what Aunt Bretta had said, and a consciousness of the nature of my own conduct , came over me, and I began to be sorry for what I had done. In the morning, however, before breakfast, Charley called for me, and when I t:»ld him that I had got leave to go, he said he would come in and comfort the poor women. This he did in a rough kind of way. He told them that we were going to make only a short summer voyage — out to the Mediterranean and back; that if I liked it I might then be apprenticed, and if not, that I might come on shore; that I should have seen a little of the world, and that no great harm would be done.

The matter once settled, no people could have exerted themselves more than did my two kind relatives to get me ready for sea. They knew exactly what was wanted, and in three or four days my entire kit was ready and stowed away in a small sea-chest, which had belonged to some member of my family who had escaped drowning. It received no little commendation when it was hoisted up the side of the “ Kite.”