Hildebrand turned away, and, with a quick step, again descended to the cabin. Halyard, who was himself deeply affected at his friend’s demise, looked after him for a moment, with an eye brimming with tears; and then proceeded to pace the deck.
“Dead!” he muttered. “Well, life is but short; let us live well on the road, says the gentle Shepherd of Salisbury Plain.”
Meantime, the ship, favoured by a fresh breeze, progressed towards the haven in which she was to anchor. This was but a few miles from the river’s mouth, where a narrow islet, called Canvey Island, forms a breakwater to what, at high tide, may be called a small bay. A line of hills, or cliffs, covered with verdure, run round one side of the mainland; and, at the bottom of the bay, open on a vast extent of marsh, reaching almost to Tilbury. Just before the marsh presents itself, a little village, embracing some hundred houses, rises from the edge of the water, and slopes upward on the rearward heights; and, crowning one of these heights, beyond the verge of the village, a fine old church attracts the eye, and forms a conspicuous landmark at some distance.
The night had quite set in by the time that the cruizer reached the haven. On passing a little way inward, the water became very shallow, and Master Halyard began to doubt, for a brief space, whether she would be able to proceed. But a group of fishing-boats, some little distance in his advance, pointed out a route by which he could approach the shore safely, and, pursuing their track, he shortly effected that object.
It was right in front of the village, about a quarter of a mile from the shore, that he determined to come to an anchor. While he was superintending the unshipment of the anchor, he was joined by Hildebrand, dressed for a visit to the shore.
“Halyard,” said Hildebrand, “an’ I can find a funeral-man here, I shall send him aboard, and I have charged the pantler, who will wait upon him, how he is to be attended. Let me have a boat straightway.”
Accordingly, a boat, with two men at the oars, was quickly lowered, and skulled round to the ship’s side. Thereupon, Hildebrand took a brief leave of Halyard, and, without further ado, descended to the boat, and set out for the shore.
The boat landed on a patch of gravel, stretching out into the water, and falling back, in a long and gradual rise, on a row of cottages, opening into the village. As he stepped to the shore, Hildebrand ordered the boatmen, who were the same two that had accompanied him on a former occasion, to wait his return, and then set forward for the cottages. On approaching these, he was not sorry to observe, by the help of the moonlight, that long fishing-nets were hanging up on their exteriors, as that fact informed him that they were inhabited by a class of people who were associated with his profession, and with whom, consequently, he could converse freely. His expectations were so far realized, that he soon met with a fisherman, among the inmates of the nearest cottage, who engaged to bring him an undertaker—what he most needed; and immediately set off in quest of one. The undertaker quickly made his appearance; and Hildebrand, taking him aside, informed him what he required him for, and at once engaged him to perform it.
“The person deceased,” he concluded, “is a woman; but only my pantler, whom I have charged to attend thee, is advised hereof. Thou wilt be secret?”
“As death!” answered the man of funerals.