In the Wilds of Africa

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“He was our friend, and we would like to have a last look at his kind face,” answered the boatswain.

“Well, if the passengers do not mind your going into the cabin, I do not,” said the mate, turning aside.

Perhaps he did not quite like the expression of old Barker’s countenance. I led the way into the cabin, and the crew came, one by one, following the boatswain. “Well, you was an honest, kind man as ever lived, and that’s more than can be said of him who has stepped into your shoes,” said old Barker, apostrophising the captain. “He is less of a sailor than your little finger was; and as to sense, he has not as much as was in your thumb-nail.” The remarks of the other men, as they passed by, were still less complimentary to the new master; and had he heard them, he might well have doubted his power of keeping his crew in order. I felt, indeed, very anxious, for though I had thought very little of Kydd, I was not aware how he was despised and detested by the men.

I more than ever wished that a breeze would spring up, that they might have something to do, and that we might get away from this dangerous part of the coast. The calm, however, still continued, and at length the time came for lowering our late captain into his ocean grave. The sailmaker came aft with the boatswain to superintend the operation of enclosing him in a hammock, into which they fastened a pig of iron ballast.

“Them sharks shan’t have him, nohow,” observed the sailmaker; “for though the bottom may be a long way off, he will reach it pretty quickly, and lie quiet there till the day when we all come up from the land or sea—it will not then matter where we have lain in the meantime—to answer for ourselves. I only wish I was as sure to give as good an account of myself as he is.”

“Be quick there!” cried the mate from the deck. “There is a breeze coming up, I have a notion, and we shall have to trim sails. I wish to get this business over first.”

Kate had been keeping Natty by her side while this was going forward. Two of the other men now came below and assisted to carry the captain’s body on deck, where my cousin Stanley had got his prayer-book, and stood ready. The old boatswain had thrown a flag over the body, now placed on a plank, one end of which projected out of a port. While the funeral service of the Church of England was read, not a sound was heard except the unrepressed sobs which burst from poor Natty’s bosom, and the creaking of the yards and blocks as the brig moved imperceptibly from side to side. Then came the dull, sullen sound of a plunge, as, old Barker lifting up the end of the plank, the body slid off into the water. As I looked over the side I could see the white shrouded figure descending into the depths of ocean. Just as it disappeared, I caught sight of the dark form of a huge shark gliding towards it; but I had hopes that it had sunk far below the creature’s reach before he could seize it.

“Stow away that plank,” said the mate, the instant the captain’s body had been launched overboard. “I wish this breeze would come, though,” he added, glancing round.

Still he gave no orders to heave the lead, as the late captain had advised. I knew well enough that to remind him would only make him less likely to do it, so I said nothing, though I kept looking over into the water to see if there was any change of colour which might be produced by our getting nearer the land. Now again came one of those sullen flaps of the sails, showing that though we might seem to be at rest, the vessel was occasionally moved by no gentle force; and I could distinguish, as I looked eastward, a smooth undulation which seemed rolling away in that direction. Still the sky remained obscured as before, and a gauze-like mist hung over the ocean. The atmosphere felt hotter and more oppressive than ever. The passengers remained on deck, for the cabins were almost unbearable. The ladies were trying to read or work, but Kate alone continued to ply her active fingers. Miss Rowley scarcely turned a page, while little Bella kept looking with her large blue eyes at poor Natty, who sat with his head resting on his hands, utterly unable to recover himself. As I looked over the side I observed that the undulations I have spoken of became more and more frequent, on each occasion, as they passed, giving the brig a slow shake, and making the sails flap loudly as before. The crew were talking together, and, led by old Barker, were ranging the cable for anchoring, Mr Kydd having disappeared below. Suddenly he returned on deck.

“Who ordered you to do that?” he exclaimed in an angry tone. “Did I tell you I was going to bring the ship to an anchor?”