The hole was dug:—Jack Jimmy adjusted the uniform and hair of the corpse, composed its features, and laid it carefully in it.
His arms again rose and fell as heavily as before:—the grave was closed, and made even with the ground. Jack Jimmy knelt at its foot, raised his eyes to heaven—his lips rapidly moved, and a heavy tear fell on the simple grave of the pirate captain.
It was about this time that a little fallucha came labouring over the still perturbed waves under four powerful sweeps. At its stern sat the captain and a lady.
Attracted by the signs of the shipwrecked pirates, she drew towards the shore.
The tale of the wreck was soon told. The lady raised her hands and held her forehead as if it were about to split asunder. She landed, and walked along the strand and studied each dead man’s face that she passed by. She arrived at the spot where Jack Jimmy was completing the grave, and was adjusting each tiny pebble in its proper place.
Her heart sank within her. Quickly she approached the one who was toiling in so sad a mood.
“Whose grave is this?” the lady quickly asked.
“My young massa’s,” Jack Jimmy slowly answered, without raising his eye from his work.
“What was his name?” again asked the lady.