The mate was then
called, and preparations made for an instantaneous' burial. Laying
the body out on the forehatch, it was stitched up in one of the
hammocks, some "kentledge" being placed at the feet instead of shot.
This done, it was borne to the gangway, and placed on a plank laid
across the bulwarks. Two men supported the inside end. By way of
solemnity, the ship's headway was then stopped by hauling aback the
main-top-sail.
The mate, who was far from being sober, then staggered up, and holding
on to a shroud, gave the word. As the plank tipped, the body slid off
slowly, and fell with a splash into the sea. A bubble or two, and
nothing more was seen.
"Brace forward!" The main-yard swung round to its place, and the ship
glided on, whilst the corpse, perhaps, was still sinking.
We had tossed a shipmate to the sharks, but no one would have thought
it, to have gone among the crew immediately after. The dead man had
been a churlish, unsocial fellow, while alive, and no favourite; and
now that he was no more, little thought was bestowed upon him. All
that was said was concerning the disposal of his chest, which, having
been always kept locked, was supposed to contain money. Someone
volunteered to break it open, and distribute its contents, clothing
and all, before the captain should demand it.
While myself and others were endeavouring to dissuade them from this,
all started at a cry from the forecastle. There could be no one there
but two of the sick, unable to crawl on deck. We went below, and
found one of them dying on a chest. He had fallen out of his hammock
in a fit, and was insensible. The eyes were open and fixed, and his
breath coming and going convulsively. The men shrunk from him; but
the doctor, taking his hand, held it a few moments in his, and
suddenly letting it fall, exclaimed, "He's gone!" The body was
instantly borne up the ladder.
Another hammock was soon prepared, and the dead sailor stitched up as
before. Some additional ceremony, however, was now insisted upon,
and a Bible was called for. But none was to be had, not even a Prayer
Book. When this was made known, Antone, a Portuguese, from the
Cape-de-Verd Islands, stepped up, muttering something over the corpse
of his countryman, and, with his finger, described upon the back of
the hammock the figure of a large cross; whereupon it received the
death-launch.
These two men both perished from the proverbial indiscretions of
seamen, heightened by circumstances apparent; but had either of them
been ashore under proper treatment, he would, in all human
probability, have recovered.
Behold here the fate of a sailor! They give him the last toss, and no
one asks whose child he was.
For the rest of that night there was no more sleep. Many stayed on
deck until broad morning, relating to each other those marvellous
tales of the sea which the occasion was calculated to call forth.
Little as I believed in such things, I could not listen to some of
these stories unaffected. Above all was I struck by one of the
carpenter's.
On a voyage to India, they had a fever aboard, which carried off
nearly half the crew in the space of a few days. After this the men
never went aloft in the night-time, except in couples. When topsails
were to be reefed, phantoms were seen at the yard-arm ends; and in
tacking ship, voices called aloud from the tops. The carpenter
himself, going with another man to furl the main-top-gallant-sail in a
squall, was nearly pushed from the rigging by an unseen hand; and his
shipmate swore that a wet hammock was flirted in his face.
Stories like these were related as gospel truths, by those who
declared themselves eye-witnesses.
It is a circumstance not generally known, perhaps, that among ignorant
seamen, Philanders, or Finns, as they are more commonly called, are
regarded with peculiar superstition. For some reason or other, which
I never could get at, they are supposed to possess the gift of second
sight, and the power to wreak supernatural vengeance upon those who
offend them. On this account they have great influence among sailors,
and two or three with whom I have sailed at different times were
persons well calculated to produce this sort of impression, at least
upon minds disposed to believe in such things.
Now, we had one of these sea-prophets aboard; an old, yellow-haired
fellow, who always wore a rude seal-skin cap of his own make, and
carried his tobacco in a large pouch made of the same stuff. Van, as
we called him, was a quiet, inoffensive man, to look at, and, among
such a set, his occasional peculiarities had hitherto passed for
nothing. At this time, however, he came out with a prediction, which
was none the less remarkable from its absolute fulfilment, though not
exactly in the spirit in which it was given out.
The night of the burial he laid his hand on the old horseshoe nailed
as a charm to the foremast, and solemnly told us that, in less than
three weeks, not one quarter of our number would remain aboard the
ship - by that time they would have left her for ever.
Some laughed; Flash Jack called him an old fool; but among the men
generally it produced a marked effect. For several days a degree of
quiet reigned among us, and allusions of such a kind were made to
recent events, as could be attributed to no other cause than the
Finn's omen.
For my own part, what had lately come to pass was not without its
influence.
