The next morning, being the third day after leaving Martinico, I was awakened soon after daybreak by a succession of groans which came from the captain's stateroom. I entered the room, and was greatly alarmed at finding Captain Adams laboring under a severe attack of illness. He was seized with pains in the head and back, accompanied with scorching fever. His pulsations were strong, quick, and irregular. He said he must have caught a violent cold the night before, by remaining on deck without his coat or hat. I did not contradict him; but I had seen persons in a similar condition, and I knew he was suffering from yellow fever in its most alarming form.
All the medical skill I possessed was put in requisition; but the captain grew worse, and before night he was aware of the true character of the disease, and seemed to feel there was no chance for his recovery. I strove to minister consolation and inspire him with hope, but in vain. He acknowledged that life had charms of the most attractive description; fortune had favored him beyond his expectations; he had relations and friends whom he dearly loved; and there was one bright being in his native town to whom he had plighted his vows of affection, and to whom he hoped to have been united for life if Providence had willed his return. But he was resigned to the will of the Almighty. He did not even murmur at the fate which he knew awaited him. He prayed to his God to pardon the sins he had committed, and looked forward with hope to a glorious immortality.
The breeze had been light and the sea remarkably smooth since we left St. Pierre; and the brig, steering to the north-west, had made slow progress. On the morning after the captain was taken sick we expected to be in sight of Porto Rico; and Captain Adams asked Mr. Ricker, the mate, if any land was in sight. The mate thoughtlessly replied, "'The Dead Man's Chest' can just be seen off deck." This was the English name of a small island, or cluster of rocks, some five or six miles south of Porto Rico, resembling in appearance a coffin, and called, in Spanish, "Moxa del Muerta."
Captain Adams remarked, in a soliloquizing strain, "The Dead Man's Chest? Already in sight? Well, it will soon be wanted; I am ready."
The sufferings of this excellent man were intense. The pains in his head and back kept increasing; yet his mind was tranquil, and he retained command of his mental faculties until the last moment of his life. During his illness he expressed kindness for others, and made suggestions to the mate about sailing the brig and carrying on the work. As he grew weaker, he gave explicit directions to Mr. Ricker in regard to the duties which would devolve upon him at his death, and intrusted me with a solemn message to his dearest friends, which I afterwards faithfully delivered.
On the third day after the fever commenced the BLACK VOMIT set in. This is generally regarded as a fatal symptom, being almost always the precursor of death. But the fortitude of the captain never for a moment forsook him. He was sustained in that dread hour by a guiltless conscience and a steadfast, deep-rooted, religious principle.
A few hours after this alarming prognostic made its appearance, he died, while I was bathing his forehead; and a prayer hung upon his lips, even as the spirit left the earthly tabernacle. He died as became a Christian; and his features in death were tranquil as those of a sleeping infant.
His body was soon afterwards brought on deck, where the whole ship's company were assembled. The funeral rites were simple, but solemn and impressive; and far away from the friends of his youth, with no heart-stricken relatives to gather around the coffin, and form a mournful procession to the grave, and hallow the burial spot with the tears of affection, the mortal remains of our worthy commander were launched into the deep. They were committed, not to the silent tomb, but to that vast burial place, that "God's Acre" of almost illimitable extent, where deep caves, and recesses invisible to mortal eye, have served for ages as the last resting place of myriads of human beings, cut off untimely, without warning note of preparation, from the hopes and disappointments, the joys and sorrows, of this world; where, without headstone or monument, inscription or epitaph, to mark the place, with only the rushing winds to mourn their departure, and the murmuring waves to chant their requiem,
"After life's fitful fever, they sleep well."
It is remarkable that in no part of the world, in any age, has the sea been selected as a burial place for the dead. Indeed, the idea of being drowned at sea, or dying on shipboard to be intombed in the fathomless ocean, is so abhorrent to many individuals that it is with fear and trembling they trust themselves on the water. It was a belief of the ancients, that to insure happiness hereafter, the dead body of a human being must be covered with earth; otherwise the departed spirit would never enter the Elysian Fields, but wander restless on the nether banks of Styx, in full view of delights and joys which it could never expect to realize.