Tears were unknown among the People of the Salted Seas.
As we crossed the side of the ship to enter the Unk-ta-hee, we observed that a small but neat cabin had been fitted up astern for my Fidette. It was a rude affair, formed of reed matting, and occupied a space in the barge just aft the chief paddler. It was barely long enough for the little creature to rest at full length, but was without a roof to protect the inmate from the rain or dew. As I have said before, Sargassons never desired to be sheltered from the rain; had they dwelt in houses, like other people, their structures would have been roofless. The heat of the sun was very oppressive to them. Had the crew of the Happy Shark lived ashore they probably would have burrowed in the ground and passed the heat of the day in cellars.
No sooner had Fidette and I stepped into the great barge than the command was given to push off, and after a few moments the paddlers gradually increased the speed of the heavy wooden canoe.
We stood up in the open part of the barge, waving a farewell to our comrades on the Happy Shark. We did not know that we were taking final leave of the vessel. As long as possible we kept the dear old craft in sight. To Fidette the tenderest memories centred about the only home she had ever known.
We were bound upon a journey, the exact purport of which we did not understand, and we were troubled in our minds as to its outcome.
On the barge, which sat low in the water, it was not possible to keep the Happy Shark in sight for more than an hour. At the end of that time new scenes and new incidents attracted our attention, and the long afternoon passed agreeably. We were rowed within close proximity to more than two hundred derelicts, all inhabited, all having their individual social organizations, and all amenable to the supreme direction of the Chief Kantoon, who existed on some far-away and stately ship, unseen and unknown by sight to almost everybody in the entire nation, but always revered, respected and obeyed.
Just at dark we passed very near a ship in the last stages of dry rot. The antique craft had become so excessively buoyant that it stood high out of water, and was liable to capsize at any moment. The crew of that vessel might have allowed some water to enter the hold to have submerged their craft to the load line, but they dared not remove the plugs from the hull, for when these were once extracted by the Kantoon, with the ceremonial usual on such occasions, Sargasson formality forbade a stopping of the inflow of water.
To me the scene was very pathetic, and I imagined that I could see in the resigned and beatific countenances of the various members of the crew a foreknowledge of their impending doom. I nowhere saw any exhibitions of fear, desire to escape, or, what was equally sad to me, of hope.
As we progressed, the ships were arranged more closely together—less intervening sod separating them.
The twilight was very brief, but just before the sun took its last drop into the water and night came, we passed a vessel on which was a band of musicians, who produced the most extraordinary noises that had ever greeted my ears. The instruments were chiefly of wood, constructed after the manner of dulcimers, and the musical sounds were produced by beating upon strips of wood of various sizes, which hung from the standing rigging. The effect was weird, and, although a defective note frequently marred the harmony, it was a pleasing diversion, not only for the Sargassons, but for me. Our thirty paddlers were allowed to rest and listen to the Sargasson national hymn.