I felt the poor captain tremble all over as I helped him along to the companion-ladder. He climbed up with the greatest difficulty; indeed, without my assistance he could not have got along. He at length reached the deck. He could scarcely stand, and was obliged to hold on by the companion-hatch. His face was pale as death. His white hair hung down on each side of his forehead, over which the skin seemed stretched like thin parchment. His lips had lost all colour, and his blue eyes, as he gazed around, had an unnatural brightness.
“Mr Kydd,” he said, “you have compelled me at a severe cost to come up on deck. I order you to heave the lead. And, men,” he cried out, “assist the mate to carry out my orders.”
Kydd was now obliged to obey. Going to the chains, he hove the lead. I looked over the side to watch him, and saw by the way the line slackened that bottom was found. Just at that moment I heard some one cry out, “See! see! What is the matter with the captain?” I ran aft. He had fallen to the deck. “Oh, father, father! speak to me!” cried Natty, who was by his side. I lifted up the old man’s head. David Hyslop had hastened to him, and was kneeling on the deck holding his hand. “He has swooned,” he said. “He should not have left his bed.”
“Can you do anything for him?”
“We will carry him below, but I fear the worst,” he whispered.
Just then the sails of the brig gave a loud, thundering flap, and yet there was no wind; but I felt that a huge wave coming along the ocean had passed under her. The passengers looked at each other with an expression of dismay in their countenances, not knowing what was next going to happen; while David and I, with the assistance of Stanley and Mr Rowley, began to carry the captain down below. Not without difficulty, as he was somewhat heavy, we placed him on his bed. David again felt his pulse.
“It is all over, I fear,” he said in a low voice, so that Natty could not hear. “Bring a glass! I cannot feel his heart beating.” His brother brought a small glass from their sisters’ cabin, and David held it over Captain Page’s mouth, and again felt his heart. “He is gone,” he said. “No human skill can restore him.”
Natty, who had been standing outside, now sprang into the cabin. “Oh, tell me!” he said, looking imploringly up at David, “tell me!—is my father likely to get better? Why will he not speak to me?”
David did not reply, but made a sign to me to lead him out of the cabin. I saw my cousin close the old man’s eyes as I took Natty by the hand and led him to the main cabin. I thought I would tell him at once what had happened; but a choking sensation came into my throat, and I could not utter a word.
“Is father not getting better,” he asked, after a time. “Why did he not speak to me just now?”