We were in the hands of an all-seeing Providence; we could but say “Thy will be done,” and leave the rest to Him.
“We had better bury the dead on shore, Ritchie?” said the captain.
He really was asking a question for information. He seemed to quite defer to Ritchie.
“I wouldn’t do that, sir. These canoe Indians are cannibals, and they’ll have ’em up and eat them as sure as one belayin’ pin’s like another. No, sir, it’ll be just as quick to tack ’em up and give ’em a sailor’s grave.”
“You see to that then, Ritchie. Will you take charge of the boat, Mr Jack? Thank you.”
The broken and buried corpses of the poor fellows were speedily sewn in hammocks, which were heavily weighted with iron, and taken out to sea as far as we dared to go; and then, while the solemn burial service was read by Ritchie, one by one they were dropped overboard, and sank into the murky water with sullen booming plash. As he closed the book, Ritchie looked round him on all sides, but there was no sign of savages to be seen, neither smoke on shore nor canoe at sea. Nor was there any sound to break the stillness except the plaintive cry of a sea-bird; and yet who could tell what eyes of Indians the forest might not hide?
On our return we found our comrades all very busy indeed.
Poor Mrs Coates, looking very pale and resigned, sat on the companion. Woman-like, even in this dire strait she had not forgotten to bring a basket with her, and Leila clutched another. Both were warmly clad, and both wore guanaco mantles, the very garments we had purchased at Sandy Point.
Captain Coates put another question to Ritchie:
“Should we or should we not fire the ship, Mr Ritchie, think you?”