A FRIEND IN NEED--THE FRENCHMEN CATCH A TARTAR--THE TABLES TURNED--
RETURN TO OLD ENGLAND--OFF AGAIN TO SEA--ENGLAND EXPECTS THAT EVERY MAN
WILL DO HIS DUTY--BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR--WRECK OF OUR PRIZE--MY ENEMY
FOUND--HOME--CONCLUSION.
I ought to have said that the larger portion of the ship's company and
all the officers had been removed at once on board the _Ville de Milan_.
I, with about sixty or seventy others, remained on board the
_Cleopatra_. I would rather have been out of the ship, I own. I could
not bear to see her handled by the Frenchmen. Often and often I felt
inclined to jump up and knock some of them down, just for the sake of
giving vent to my feelings. Of course I did not do so, nor did I even
intend to do so. It would have been utterly useless, and foolish in the
extreme. I only describe my feelings, and I dare say they were shared
by many of my shipmates.
Nearly a week thus passed, when one morning, as I was on deck, I saw a
large ship standing towards us. What she was I could not at first say.
The Frenchmen, at all events, did not like her looks, for I observed a
great commotion among them. The two frigates had already as much sail
set on their jury-masts as it was in any way safe to carry, so nothing
more could be done to effect their escape should it be necessary to run
for it, by the sail in sight being, what I hoped she was, a British
man-of-war.
How eagerly I watched to see what would be done! The French officers
kept looking out with their glasses, and constantly going aloft.
Soon the two frigates put up their helms and ran off before the wind,
and almost at the same instant I had the satisfaction of seeing the
stranger make all sail in chase.
One, at all events, was certain of being captured, for, knocked about as
they had been, they made very little way. Anxiously I watched to
ascertain to a certainty the character of the stranger. The Frenchmen,
I doubted not, took her to be an English man-of-war, and I prayed that
they might be right, but still I knew that their fears might cause them
to be mistaken.
Most of the English prisoners were sent below, but I managed to stow
myself away forward, and so was able to see what took place. On came
the stranger. Gradually the foot of her topsails, and then her courses
rose out of the water, and when at length her hull appeared I made out
that she was not less than a fifty gun ship, and I had little doubt that
she was English. The Frenchmen looked at her as if they would like to
see her blow up, or go suddenly to the bottom. I watched her in the
hope of soon seeing the glorious flag of Old England fly out at her
peak. I was not long kept in doubt.
As soon as the ship got near enough to make out the French ensign flying
on board the _Cleopatra_ and _Ville de Milan_, up went the British
ensign. Forgetting for the moment by whom I was surrounded, I could
scarcely avoid cheering aloud as I watched it fluttering in the breeze.
The Frenchmen, in their rage and disappointment, swore and stamped, and
tore their hair, and committed all sorts of senseless extravagances, and
I felt that it would be wise to keep out of their sight as much as
possible, as some of them might, perchance, bestow on me a broken head,
or worse, for my pains.
The two frigates closed for mutual support, but when I came to consider
the condition they were in, I had little doubt that the English ship
would be more than a match for them. The stranger had first been seen
soon after daybreak. The people had now just had their breakfasts.
They were not long below, for all were anxious to watch the progress of
their enemy. The weather had been all the morning very doubtful, and
thick clouds were gathering in the sky. My earnest prayer was that it
would continue moderate; I began, however, to fear that my hopes would
be disappointed. The clouds grew thicker and seemed to descend lower
and lower, while a mist arose which every instant grew denser.
At length, when I had for a short time turned my head away from our big
pursuer, I again looked out. What was my horror and disappointment not
to be able to see the English ship in any direction! I looked around
and tried to pierce the thick mist which had come on, but in vain; and
again my heart sank within me. The Frenchmen also searched for their
enemy; but when they could not find her, they, on the contrary, began to
sing and snap their fingers, and to exhibit every sign of satisfaction
at the prospect of escaping her.
One or two of my shipmates had slipped up on deck, and they returned
with the sad tidings below. After a little time I joined them. I found
them all deep in a consultation together. It was proposed that we
should rise upon the French prize crew, and, taking the frigate from
them, go in search of the English ship. Some were for the plan, some
were against it. It was argued that the _Ville de Milan_ would, at
every risk, attempt to stop us--that, short-handed as we were, we could
not hope to hold out against her--that we might very probably miss the
English ship, and then, if we fell in with another Frenchman, we should
very likely be treated as pirates.
I rather agreed with these last-mentioned opinions; still, as I have
said, I felt ready to undertake any enterprise, however desperate. Hour
after hour passed away. The Frenchmen kept walking the deck and rubbing
their hands, as the prospect of escape increased.
Suddenly we heard them stop. I slipped up again on deck; a breeze had
carried away the mist, and there, right away to windward, was the
English ship, much nearer than when she had last been seen. I did cheer
now, I could not help it. The Frenchmen were too much crestfallen to
resent by a blow what they must have looked upon as an insult, but an
officer coming up, ordered me instantly to go below.
I was obliged to comply, though I longed to remain on deck to see what
course events would take. The people below, as soon as they heard that
a friend was in sight, cheered over and over again, utterly indifferent
to what the Frenchmen might say or do. They did utter not a few
_sacres_ and other strange oaths, but we did not care for them.
The two frigates were, as I said, at the time I went below, close
together, with the French ensigns hoisted on the main-stays. The
British ship was coming up hand over hand after them. We tried to make
out what was going forward by the sounds we heard and the orders given.
Our ship was before the wind. Presently a shot was fired to leeward
from each frigate, and a lad who had crept up, and looked through one of
the ports, reported that the _Ville de Milan_ had hauled her wind on the
larboard tack, and that we were still running before it. We all waited
listening eagerly for some time, and at last a gun was fired, and a shot
struck the side of our ship. Then we knew full well that our
deliverance was not far off. The Frenchmen _sacre'd_ and shouted at
each other louder than ever. Our boatswain had been left on board with
us. He was a daring, dashing fellow.
"Now, my lads, is the time to take the ship from the hands of the
Frenchmen!" he exclaimed. "If we delay, night is coming on, and the
other frigate may get away. If we win back our own ship, it will allow
our friend to go at once in chase of the enemy."
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when we all, seizing handspikes
and boat-stretchers, and indeed anything we could convert into weapons,
knocked over the sentry at the main hatchway, and springing on deck,
rushed fore and aft, and while the Frenchmen stood at their guns,
looking through the ports at their enemy and our friend, we overpowered
them. Scarcely one of them made any resistance. In an instant we were
on the upper deck, where the officers, seeing that the game was up,
cried out that they gave in, and hauled down the French flag.
On this, didn't we cheer lustily! The ship which had so opportunely
come to our rescue was the fifty gun ship _Leander_, the Honourable John
Talbot. Her crew cheered as she came up to us, and her captain asked us
if we could hold our own against the Frenchmen without assistance. We
replied that we could, and against twice as many Frenchmen to boot. We
thought then that we could do anything. He told us we were fine
fellows, and ordering us to follow him, he hauled his wind in chase of
the _Ville de Milan_.
We took care to disarm all the Frenchmen; and, you may believe me, we
kept a very sharp look-out on them, lest they should attempt to play us
the same trick we had just played them.
The _Ville de Milan_ had by this time got some miles away, but the
_Leander_ made all sail she could carry, and we had little doubt would
soon come up with her. Still we could not help keeping one eye on the
two ships, and the other on our prisoners. In little more than an hour
after the French flag had been hauled down aboard the _Cleopatra_, as we
hoped, never to fly there again, the _Leander_, with her guns ready to
pour forth her broadside, ranged up alongside the _Ville de Milan_. The
Frenchmen were no cowards, as we had found to be the case, but they
naturally didn't like her looks; and not waiting for her to fire, wisely
hauled down their colours. Then once more we cheered, and cheered
again, till our voices were hoarse. People have only to consider what
the anticipation of a prison must be to British sailors, to remember
that we fancied that we had lost our gallant ship, and that we were
smarting under a sense of defeat, to understand our joy at finding
ourselves once more at liberty. I had a joy far greater than any one,
or at least than any one not situated as I was (and perhaps there were
some as anxious as I was to return home), of feeling that I had now a
far greater chance than had before occurred of once more setting foot on
the shores of Old England, and of returning to my beloved wife.
The three ships all hove-to close together, while arrangements were made
for our passage to England. The _Leander_ put a prize crew on board the
_Ville de Milan_, strengthened by some of our people, and our gallant
captain, Sir Robert Laurie, and his officers once more took possession
of their own ship. It was a happy meeting on board the _Cleopatra_, you
may depend on that; and on the first Saturday afterwards, as may be
supposed, there was not a mess in which `Sweethearts and wives' was not
drunk with right hearty goodwill. Some, and I trust that I was among
them, felt that we owed our deliverance to a power greater than that of
men, and thanked with grateful hearts Him who had in His mercy delivered
us from the hand of our enemies. And oh! my fellow-countrymen, who read
this brief account of my early days, I, now an old man, would urge you,
when our beloved country is, as soon she may be, beset with foes,
burning with hatred and longing for her destruction, that while you
bestir yourselves like men and seize your arms for the desperate
conflict, you ever turn to the God of battles, the God of your fathers,
the God of Israel of old, and with contrite hearts for our many national
sins, beseech Him to protect us from wrong, to protect our native land,
our pure Protestant faith, our altars, our homes, the beloved ones
dwelling there, from injury. Pray to Him--rely on Him--and then surely
we need not fear what our enemies may seek to do to us.
Once more, then, we were on our way to England. I did believe that this
time I should reach it, I could not fancy that another disappointment
was in store for me. The weather, notwithstanding the stormy time of
the year, proved moderate, and we made good way on our homeward voyage.
While the boats were going backwards and forwards between the ships, I
had observed in one of them a man whose countenance bore, I thought, a
remarkable resemblance to that of Charles Iffley. Still I could not
fancy it was Iffley himself. I asked some of the _Leander's_ people
whether they had a man of that name on board, but they said that they
certainly had not, and so I concluded that I must have been mistaken.
The man saw me, but he made no sign of recognition, but neither, I felt,
would Iffley have done so had he been certain of my identity. Still the
countenance I had seen haunted me continually, and I could not help
fancying that he was still destined again to work me some evil.
"Land! land ahead!" was sung out one morning, just as breakfast was
over. The mess-tables were cleared in a moment, and every one not on
duty below was on deck in a moment looking out for the shores we all so
longed to see. It was the coast of Cornwall, not far from the Land's
End. Point after point was recognised and welcomed, as, with a fair
breeze, we ran up Channel. Then the Eddystone was made, and the wind
still favouring us, we at length dropped our anchor close together in
Plymouth Sound. I could scarcely believe my senses when I found myself
once more in British waters. Oh! how I longed to be able to go on shore
and to set off at once for Portsmouth; but, in spite of all my
entreaties, I could not obtain leave to go. The captain was very kind,
and so was the first lieutenant, but they were anxious to get the ship
refitted at once, to be able to get to sea to wipe out the discredit, as
they felt it, of having been captured even by so superior a force. All
I could do, therefore, was to sit down and write a letter to my wife to
tell her of my arrival, and to beg her to send me instantly word of her
welfare. I entreated her, on no consideration, to come to meet me; I
did not know what accident might occur to her if she attempted to come
by land or by sea. Travelling in those days was a very different matter
to what it is at present. Even should no accident happen to her, I knew
that before she could reach Plymouth I might be ordered off to sea. I
felt bitterly that I was not my own master. I did not blame anybody.
Who was there to blame? I could only find fault with the system, and
complain that such a system was allowed to exist. Fortunate are those
who live in happier days, when no man can be pressed against his will,
or be compelled to serve for a longer time than he has engaged to do.
The three ships as we lay in the Sound were constantly visited by people
from the shore, and the action between the _Cleopatra_ and the _Ville de
Milan_ was considered a very gallant affair, and instead of getting
blamed, the captain, officers, and crew were highly praised for their
conduct. Our captain, Sir Robert Laurie, was presented with a sword of
the value of a hundred guineas by the Patriotic Fund, as a compliment to
his distinguished bravery, and the skill and perseverance which he
exhibited in chasing and bringing the enemy to action. Indeed, we
obtained more credit for our action, though we lost our ship, than
frequently has been gained by those who have won a victory. The _Ville
de Milan_ was added to the British Navy under the name of the _Milan_,
and classed as an eighteen-pounder thirty-eight gun frigate, and Sir
Robert Laurie was appointed to command her. Our first lieutenant, Mr
William Balfour, was also rewarded by being made a commander.
Day after day passed away, and I did not hear from my wife. Dreadful
thoughts oppressed me. I began to fear that she was dead, or that, not
hearing from me, or perhaps believing me lost, she had removed from
Southsea. Indeed, I cannot describe all the sad thoughts which came
into my head, and weighed down my heart. Then the tempter was always
suggesting to me, "Why not run and learn all about the matter! What
harm is there in deserting? Many a man has done it before. Who will
think the worse of you if you do?" But I resisted the temptation,
powerful as it was. I had undertaken to serve my country, and to obey
those placed in authority over me; and I knew that their reasons were
good for not allowing me to go on shore. Still I own it was very, very
hard to bear. I had yet a sorer trial in store for me.
Things were done in those days which would not be thought of at the
present time. Men were wanted to work the ships which were to fight
England's battles, and men were to be got by every means, fair or foul.
Often, indeed, very foul means were used. While we were expecting to be
paid off, down came an order to draft us off into other ships. In spite
of the bloody battles we had fought, in spite of all we had gone
through, our prayers were not heard--we were not even allowed to go on
shore; and, without a moment's warning, I found myself on board the
_Spartite_, 74, commanded by Sir Francis Laforey, and ordered off at
once to sea. I had barely time to send a letter on shore to tell my
wife what had occurred, and no time to receive one from her. Well, I
did think that my heart would break this time; but it did not. I was
miserable beyond conception, but still I was buoyed up with the feeling
that I had done my duty, and that my miseries, great as they were, would
come some day to an end.
We formed one of a large squadron of men-of-war, under Lord Collingwood,
engaged in looking out for the French and Spanish fleets. We
continually kept the sea cruising off the coast of Spain and Portugal,
and occasionally running out into the Atlantic, or sweeping round the
Bay of Biscay. From August to September of this memorable year, 1805,
we were stationed off Cadiz to watch the enemy's fleet which had taken
shelter there, and in October we were joined by Lord Nelson in his
favourite ship the _Victory_. We all knew pretty well that something
would be done, but we little guessed how great was the work in which we
were about to engage. The French and Spanish fleets were inside Cadiz
harbour, and we wanted to get them out to fight them. This was a
difficult matter, for they did not like our looks. That is not
surprising, particularly when they knew who we had got to command us.
Lord Nelson, however, was not to be defeated in his object. Placing a
small squadron inshore, he stationed other ships at convenient distances
for signalling, while the main body of the fleet withdrew to a distance
of eighteen leagues or so from the land.
The enemy were deceived, and at length, on the 19th and 20th, their
whole fleet had got out of the harbour. No sooner was Lord Nelson
informed of this, than he stood in with his entire fleet towards them.
At daybreak on the memorable 21st October 1805, the combined French and
Spanish fleets were in sight, about twelve miles off, the centre of the
enemy's fleet bearing about east by south of ours. At 6 a.m. we could
from the deck see the enemy's fleet, and, as I afterwards learned, the
_Victory_ was at that time about seven leagues distant from Cape
Trafalgar. At about 10 a.m. the French Admiral Villeneuve had managed
to form his fleet in close order of battle; but owing to the lightness
of the wind, some of the ships were to windward and some to leeward of
their proper stations--the whole being somewhat in the form of a
crescent. We had at an early hour formed into two columns, and bore up
towards the enemy. The _Victory_ led the weather division, in which was
our ship. We had studden sails alow and aloft; but the wind was so
light that we went through the water scarcely more than two knots an
hour. I am not about to give an account of the battle of Trafalgar, for
that is the celebrated action we were then going to fight. It has been
too often well described for me to have any excuse for making the
attempt. Indeed, when once it began, even the officers knew very little
about the matter, and the men engaged in working the guns knew nothing
beyond what they and their actual opponents were about. All I know is,
that Lord Nelson was afraid the enemy would try and get back into Cadiz,
and in order to prevent him, he resolved to pass through the van of his
line.
At 11:40 a.m. Lord Nelson ordered that ever-memorable signal to be
made--"England expects that every man will do his duty."
Nobly, I believe, one and all did their duty; and, oh! may Englishmen
never forget that signal in whatever work they may be engaged. It was
received with loud cheers throughout the fleet both by officers and men.
The _Royal Sovereign_, Lord Collingwood's ship, led the lee division,
and at ten minutes past noon commenced the action, by passing close
under the stern of the _Santa Anna_, discharging her larboard broadside
into her, and her starboard one at the same time into the _Fougueux_.
These two ships fired at her in return, as did the _San Leandro_ ahead,
and the _San Justo_ and _Indomitable_, until other ships came up and
engaged them. The action was now general. All that could be seen were
wreaths of smoke, masts and spars falling, shattered sails, shot
whizzing by, flames bursting out with a tremendous roar of guns, and a
constant rattle of musketry; ships closing and firing away at each
other, till it appeared impossible that they could remain afloat.
In the afternoon I know that we and the _Minotaur_ bore down on four
heavy ships of the combined squadron, which we hotly engaged, and
succeeded in cutting off the Spanish _Neptuno_. She was bravely
defended; but in two hours we compelled her to strike her flag, with the
loss of her mizzen-mast and fore and main-topmast. No seamen could have
fought more bravely than did the Spaniards on this occasion; but their
bravery did not avail them. As the spars of the enemy's ship went
tumbling down on deck, and his fire slackened, we one and all burst into
loud cheers, which contributed not a little to damp his courage. I
forgot my own individuality, my own sorrows and sufferings, in the joy
of the crew at large. I felt that a great and glorious victory was
almost won--the most important that English valour, with God's blessing,
had ever achieved on the ocean. I felt certain that the victory would
be gained by us. My spirits rose. I cheered and cheered away as loudly
as the rest. Many of our people had been struck down and carried below,
though comparatively few had been killed outright. I saw my messmates
wounded; but it never for a moment occurred to me that I should be
called on to share their fate. Suddenly, as I was hauling away at my
gun, I felt a stunning terrific blow. I tottered and fell I was in no
great pain, only horribly sick. The blood left my checks. It seemed to
be leaving me altogether. "Carry him below," I heard some one say.
"He's not dead, is he?" Then I knew that I was badly wounded; I did not
know how badly. I was almost senseless as I was conveyed below, where I
found myself with a number of my shipmates, who had lately been full of
life and activity, strong, hearty men, now lying pale and maimed or
writhing in agony. One of the surgeons soon came to me and gave me
restoratives, and I then knew where I was, and that my left arm was
shattered, and my side wounded. I thought at that time that I had
suffered a very great misfortune; but I had reason afterwards to believe
that I ought to have been thankful for what had occurred. I said that
we were engaged with the Spanish ship the _Neptuno_. In spite of the
hammering we gave her, her people continued to serve her guns with
undaunted courage. At length, when we had knocked away her mizzen-mast
and main and fore-top masts, and killed and wounded a number of her
people, and sent many a shot through her hull, her crew, seeing that
numbers of the combined fleet had already succumbed to British valour,
hauled down their colours. I heard the cheering shout given by my
shipmates, and discovered the cessation of the firing from no longer
experiencing the dreadful jar which the guns caused each time they were
discharged. As soon as any of our boats could be got into a condition
to lower, the prize was taken possession of. I found afterwards that my
name was called over to form one of the prize crew; but when it was
known that I was wounded, another hand was sent in my place. I had been
selected by the first lieutenant, who looked on me as a steady man, and
wished to recommend me for promotion. I give an account of what befell
the prize as narrated to me by a shipmate.
"You know, Weatherhelm," said he, when I met him some months afterwards,
"that I formed one of the prize crew sent to take possession of her.
Before we got her sufficiently into order to be manageable, we fell on
board the _Temeraire_, one of our own squadron. We little thought at
that time that our beloved chief was lying in the cockpit of the
_Victory_ mortally wounded. He had been struck by the fatal bullet at
1:25, while walking his quarter-deck, and at 4:30 he expired without a
groan. Lord Nelson had directed that the fleet with the prize should
anchor as soon as the victory was complete; but Lord Collingwood, who
now took the command, differed on the subject, and ordered the ships to
keep under way, being of opinion that the less injured ships might the
better help the crippled ones. Our ship was less injured than most; for
we only had our main-topmasts wounded. Our prize, however, was in a
very crippled condition. She had lost her fore and mizzen-masts by the
board, and as it was late in the afternoon before we took possession of
her, after which we had to secure the prisoners and send them on board
our ship and the _Minotaur_, it was nearly night before we could begin
putting the ship to rights. We had then in the dark to work away to set
up a jury, fore, and mizzen-mast. We laboured all night, and by the
morning had them both standing. The morning after that
never-to-be-forgotten battle broke dark and lowering, giving every
indication of a gale. How little prepared to encounter it were the
greater portion of the ships which had been engaged in the desperate
struggle! Down came the gale upon us from the westward. Every instant
it increased, and very soon our two jury-masts were carried away,
leaving us a helpless wreck on the raging waters. The Spanish coast was
under our lee, and towards it we were rapidly driving.
"A lee shore, on any occasion, is not a pleasant object of
contemplation, but still worse was it for us when we remembered that it
was inhabited by our enemies, whose ships we had just so soundly
thrashed. We tried to range one of our cables to bring up, but it was
useless to trust to it a moment, it had been so much injured by the
shot. It soon became evident that if the gale continued, we should
drive ashore or go down. Anxiously we looked out to windward, but in
the prospect on that side there was very little to cheer us, and still
less was there on the other side, where a few miles off only the sea
broke on the rock-bound, inhospitable shore. Towards that shore we were
rapidly driving. The gale came down on us stronger and stronger.
`There's no help for it!' exclaimed our commanding officer with a deep
sigh, for he felt, as we all did, that it was very hard to win a prize
and to have helped to win a great victory, and then to lose our prize
and perhaps our lives. `Up with the helm--keep her dead before the
wind!' he added, going forward with his glass, as did the other
officers, looking out for a spot free from rocks into which to run the
ship. Evening was coming on, and he saw that it was better to go on
shore in the day-time, when we might take advantage of any chance of
saving ourselves, instead of at night, when our chance would be small
indeed. Orders were given for every man to prepare as best he could to
save himself. On we drove towards the shore. We had a large number of
prisoners on board. As we approached the land they were all released,
the danger pointed out to them, and they were told to try and save
themselves, the officers promising that they would try and help them.
"There was little time for preparation. Every moment the gale was
increasing. The roar of the surf on the shore was terrific, sadly
warning us of the fate of the ship once cast within its power. Even the
bravest turned pale as they saw the danger. The Spaniards, bravely as
they had fought, tore their hair, shrieked, and called on their saints
to help them, but did little to make ready for the coming catastrophe.
We, with our axes, tore up the decks, and each man provided himself with
a spar or bit of timber on which he might float when washed overboard,
as we expected soon to be. Darkness overtook us sooner even than we had
calculated. In thick gloom, with a driving rain and a howling wind, the
ship was hove in among the breakers. She struck with terrific violence.
The sea broke furiously over us. I know little more. I received a
blow on my head, I suppose. When I came to myself, I was lying on the
beach and unable to move. Then I saw lights approaching, and I found
myself lifted up and carried to a cottage, where my head was bound up
and food was given me. I found the next day that not ten of the prize
crew had escaped, but that of the Spaniards upwards of forty had been
washed safely on shore. I was treated kindly, but afterwards carried
off to prison. A Spanish prison is one of the last places in which a
man would like to take up his abode; and, my dear Weatherhelm, you may
believe me, I am right glad to find myself exchanged and once more
treading the shores of Old England." Such was the account my old
shipmate gave me; and then I felt, as I have said, that I should be
thankful for what had happened to me. To return to my own adventures.
Our ship had a long passage home, for in her crippled condition we could
carry very little sail. This gave me a longer time to recover before
landing. From my abstemious habits, I did not suffer as much as many of
my companions in misfortune, several of whom died of their wounds from
inflammation setting in, caused by their previous intemperate mode of
life.
We at last reached Plymouth, and I was carried to the hospital. I
longed to write to my wife, and yet my heart sank within me when I
thought that I should have to tell her what a maimed and altered being I
was. I fancied that she would not know me, and would look on me with
horror. When the surgeon saw me, directly I was carried to the
hospital, he bid me cheer up, and said that he thought I should soon be
strong enough to move. Scarcely had he left me, when I heard a man
groaning heavily in the bed next to mine. The groans ceased. I asked
the sufferer what was the matter with him. I was startled when he
answered in a voice which I knew at once, "I am dying, and going I know
not where, with a thousand sins on my head unrepented of and
unforgiven." It was Iffley who spoke. I was not certain whether he
knew me. I answered, "There is forgiveness for the greatest of sinners.
Repent. Trust in Christ. His blood will wash away all your sins."
There was no reply for some time. I thought that he had ceased to
breathe.
"Who are you who says that?" he exclaimed suddenly; "you think that I do
not know you. I knew you from the first, and I believe you know me.
Can you forgive one who has injured you so severely--who would have
injured you still more had he found the opportunity? Weatherhelm, I ask
you, can you forgive me?"
I was silent for some minutes. There was a severe strife in my bosom.
I prayed earnestly for God's Holy Spirit. I uttered the words, "Forgive
us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us." I felt
that I could reply with sincerity, "Iffley, I do forgive you--from my
heart--truly and freely."
"Then I can believe that God will forgive me," he cried out with almost
a shriek of joy. "Yes, the chaplain here and others have talked to me
about it. I could not believe them. I felt that I was far too guilty,
and too wretched an outcast; but I am sure that what man can do, God
will do. Yes, Weatherhelm, you have given a peace to my heart I never
expected to dwell there. Go on, talk to me on that subject. Pray with
me. I have no time to talk on any other subject, to tell you of my past
career. That matters not. My hours are numbered. Any moment I feel
may be my last on earth. Go on, go on."
I did talk long and earnestly to him, and what I said seemed to increase
his comfort. Our conversation was interrupted by a visitor who came
round and read and talked to the poor wounded occupants of the wards.
He came to my bed. I looked up in his face, and recognised in him my
old friend and commander, Captain Tooke. He had left the sea, I found,
and having a competence, thus employed himself in visiting hospitals,
especially those which contained seamen, and in other works of a
labouring Christian. I told him what had occurred between me and
Iffley. He sat by the bedside of my former shipmate, and talked, and
read to him, and prayed with him. His voice ceased. I saw him bending
over Iffley. Slowly he turned round to me. "He is gone," he said in a
low voice. "He placed his hope on One who is ready and able to forgive,
and I am sure that he is forgiven." Captain Tooke promised to write to
my wife to break to her the news of my wound. I got rapidly round,--
indeed, the doctors said I might venture to move to my home whenever I
pleased. Just then business called Captain Tooke to Portsmouth, and he
invited me to accompany him. We found a vessel on the point of sailing
there. We had a quick and smooth run, and in two days we were put on
shore at the Point at the entrance of the harbour. A hackney coach was
sent for, and we drove to Southsea. When I got near the house where I
had left my uncle and aunt, and where I hoped to find my beloved wife, I
felt so faint that I begged to be put down, thinking that the fresh air
would revive me. Captain Tooke thought the same, and so, getting out of
the carriage, he told me to sit down on a low wall near at hand, while
he went on to announce my coming. While there, a little rosy,
fair-haired boy ran laughing by, as if trying to escape from some one.
I sprang forward, and putting out my hand, he took it and looked up in
my face. I cannot describe the tumultuous feelings which came rushing
into my bosom when I saw that child. "Who are you, my little fellow?
What's your name?" I asked, with a tremulous voice.
"Willand--Willand Wetherholm," he answered plainly.
Yes, my feelings had not deceived me. I took him up, he nothing loth,
though he looked inquiringly at my empty sleeve. "And your mother, boy,
where is she?" I asked, still more agitated.
"In there," he answered, pointing to our old abode. "She no guess I run
away."
I now went up to the house with the child hanging round my neck. I was
blessed indeed. There was my own dear wife, still pale from her anxiety
about me, weeping, but it was with joy at seeing me; and there were my
kind uncle and dear Aunt Bretta, just as I had always known her.
My tale is ended. I never went to sea again, but in a short time
obtained the same employment in which I was engaged when I was pressed.
Never after that did I for a moment doubt God's good providence and
loving-kindness to all those who put their trust in Him. He afflicts us
for our good. He tries us because He loves us. Reader, whatever may
occur, trust in God and in His Son, whose blood can alone wash away all
your sins. Love Him, confide in Him, and let your great hope, your
chief aim, be to dwell with Him for eternity.