The Sargassons have a very pretty theory about death.
They believe that those to whom the messenger comes when the sun is shining brightly are transported straight away to the sweet-water heaven, where they may wade and disport themselves to all eternity. To those, on the other hand, who receive the call of death in the hours of darkness or in foggy weather, there must needs be a preparatory period before they can enjoy the future life. I never met a Sargasson who was not a believer in fore-ordination. What is to be they believe will be. While I witnessed many deathbed scenes, I never heard a reproach or a regret uttered that the end did not come when most desirable. Those who passed away in the night accepted the verdict as a punishment for some act, known or unknown, committed by them during their lives.
The funeral of the Kantoon took place on the following day. The dear old man was sewed up in the only bit of tarpaulin left on board, and, weighted with our last anchor, was brought to the gangway. There we all took our final leave, after the Sargasson form, each member of the ship’s company approaching solemnly, with bared head, and placing his right hand over the heart of the dead. No sound of lamentation or grief was expressed or permitted, but the body, resting on a long board, was gently pushed, feet foremost, into the sea.
Half an hour later, while I was busied with my duties in getting the ship in trim, little Fidette had taken her place far out on the bowsprit, and sat dangling her feet in the water, nursing her prettiest and most petted pink and green octopus.
CHAPTER XX.
MAKING NEW BOATS.
Good fortune does not always bring happiness.
This turn in my affairs, however, attractive from a Sargasson viewpoint, caused me heartache. The death of the good Kantoon had changed the whole current of my life. My marriage with Fidette, that I had counted upon to seal the promise of her father to have the command of my old ship at her moorings, not far distant, was the tie that now bound me absolutely to the Happy Shark. Without the potent influence of the dead commander, I could hardly hope, newcomer as I was, to be selected for the important trust I coveted.
The courage that I had shown during the attack of the boarding party had reconciled all the opposing factions to my leadership and command. If, indeed, I had lacked anything in spirit or ferocity, Fidette’s unexampled success with the mock oranges confirmed me in my position.
I would be associated with the other Commanders in the Seaweed Sea; would assemble and kneel with them around the Sacred Fire at the annual Guna-Gamus.