Original Penny Readings: A Series of Short Sketches

by George Manville Fenn

“Can’t see a soul, sir,” said the man.

Well, this was a change, to break the monotony. A boat was soon manned and put off, with both the captain and myself in the sternsheets; and then the men bent to their oars and rowed in the direction pointed out.

Before long we could see the canoe, for such it proved to be, lightly rising and falling upon the gentle swell; but it seemed unoccupied, and we rowed on till we were close up, but still no one showed.

At last the bow-man stood up with his boat-hook; and, as we closed up, laid hold of the light bark canoe, and drew it alongside. But it was not unoccupied.

There in the bottom, with fish that he had caught lying by him, in company with a spear and several fishing-lines and roughly-made hooks, was the owner of the canoe—a fine-looking, dusky-hued, half-clad savage, lying as though asleep, but quite dead—evidently from want of water; for there were fish enough in the canoe to have sustained life for some days.

To judge from appearances, it seemed that the poor fellow had either been borne out by some powerful current, or blown off the shore by one of the gales which sweep down from the coast; and in imagination I could paint the despair of the poor wretch toiling with his paddle to regain the land which held all that was dear to him. Toiling in his frail skiff beneath the fervour of the tropic sun, and toiling in vain till faint with the heat and parched with thirst, with the bright and sparkling water leaping murmuringly round, till exhausted he fell back, with the dull film of despair gathering on his eyes, and sank into a dreamy stupor filled with visions of home, green trees waving, and the gurgling of a stream through a cocoa-grove. Then to wake once more with renewed energy—to paddle frantically for the dim coastline; but still to find that his unaided efforts were useless, and that every minute he was farther away from the wished-for goal. Only a savage—untutored, unlettered; but yet a man made in God’s own image, and with the same passions as ourselves. Only a savage—and yet in his calm, deep sleep, noble, and lordly of aspect; and there he lay, with all around him placed orderly and neatly, and it seemed that, after that wild struggle for life, when nature prompts, and every pulse beats anxiously to preserve that great gift of the Creator—it seemed that he had quietly, calmly, let us say, too, hopefully—for dark is the savage mind indeed that has not some rays of light and belief in a great overruling Spirit—hopefully lain him down in the bottom of the canoe and gone to sleep.

There was not a man there, from the captain to the roughest sailor, but spoke in an under-tone in the presence of the remains of that poor savage; for now they were by the sacred dead—far away upon the mighty ocean, solemn in its calm, with the sun sinking to his rest, and sending a path of glory across the otherwise trackless waters—the sky glowing with his farewell rays, and everywhere silence, not even the sigh of the gale or the gentle lapping of the water against the boat.

I started as the captain gave the order to give way; and then found that the canoe was made fast, and slowly towed back to the ship, where it was hoisted on board.

An hour afterwards we were all assembled on deck, and bareheaded. The unclouded moon was nearly at the full, and shone brightly upon the scene, for in the latitudes where we then were night follows quickly upon sunset. Sewn up in a piece of sailcloth, and resting upon a plank, was the body of the poor savage; while taking their cue from the captain, sailors and passengers stood grouped around, silent and grave, as though the calm sleeping form had been that of a dear companion and friend.

Not another sound was heard, as in a deep, impressive voice the captain commenced reading the service for the burial of the dead. Solemn and touching at all times, but doubly so now, far out in the midst of the great wilderness of waters; and, besides, there was something mournful in the poor fellow’s fate, which made its way to the hearts of even the rudest seaman present.