Still no faintest haze of land showed above the rim of the sea when another glorious day dawned. It is a long sail from Tortuga to Jamaica, and here Sam’s instinct or sixth sense was of no avail and observations were necessary. He had never sailed [[253]]the course before, and while no doubt he could have found a spot on Jamaica’s bulk (for he could scarcely have missed it if he had come within thirty miles of its shores), to save time and make sure I “shot” the sun and worked out our position, all of which seemed a sort of witchcraft to the members of my crew.
“How are you going to get back to St. Croix?” I asked Sam when, having found our position, I had corrected the Bahaman’s course slightly. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get lost and go on sailing the Caribbean forever, like the Flying Dutchman?”
“Ah don’ ’fraid, Chief,” chuckled Sam. “Ah don’ knows ’bout th’ Dutch gentleman, but ef he did n’ manage for to mek po’t Ah ’m thinkin’ he mos’ cert’n’y was a stoopid nigger’, like Joe say. Why, Lordy, Chief! yo’ jus’ got for to sail east an’ yo ’s boun’ for to mek some islan’! Yo’ can’ ’void doin’ of it, Chief, no, sir. Yo’ can’ sail outen th’ Caribbean ’less yo’ parse ’twix’ some o’ th’ islan’s, an’ yo’ boun’ for to see he. An’ Ah can fotch St. Croix all right, Chief. Ah’ll sail nor’-east till Ah sees Cuba or Sant’ Domingo or Port’ Rico an’ gets mah bearin’s an’ heads for Fredericksted. Don’ worry ’bout me, Chief.”
“Well, it’s your funeral, Sam,” I laughed. [[254]]“But I suppose the longest way round is the shortest way home in your case.”
Sam looked puzzled, and a perplexed frown wrinkled his forehead.
“Yaas, sir,” he ventured at last. “Ah guess tha’s so, Chief; but, beggin’ yo’ pardon, Ah don’ un’erstan’ ’bout the fun’ral. Ah thinks yo’ mus’ be mistook, Chief; it’s mah weddin’ Ah’s goin’ to, an’ not a fun’ral, Chief.”
“Oho! so that’s it!” I exclaimed. “Why, you rascal, I thought you were too old to get married! Who’s the lucky young lady, Sam?”
The Bahaman shifted uneasily, and half turned his face; I could almost imagine that he blushed under his black skin.
“Tha’s why Ah’m goin’ to mek to get married,” he vouchsafed finally. “’Cause Ah’m gettin’ ’long in years, Chief. Long’s Ah’m young an’ fit the’ ain’ call for to take on th’ troubles o’ a companion, Chief. Lordy, the’s trouble ’nough by mahself! An’ Ah don’ have a home, rightly speakin’, Chief. But when Ah mek to get ol’ Ah jus’ mus’ cert’n’y fin’ some companion for to look arfter me.”
I roared. The idea of Sam needing any one to look after him was ludicrous; and, moreover, he was far from old—barely forty, I imagined.