My Shipmate Louise: The Romance of a Wreck, Volume 1 (of 3)Russell, William Clark
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My Shipmate Louise: The Romance of a Wreck, Volume 1 (of 3)
Russell, William Clark
Sea stories; Shipwrecks -- Fiction
The bell ceased; the midshipman struck ten o’clock upon it; the Jacks
on the quarter-deck made a lane, and down it from forward came four
hearty seamen, bearing upon their shoulders a hatch grating, on which
was the hammock containing the body, covered with England’s commercial
ensign. One end of this grating was rested upon the lee rail; then the
captain began to read the sea funeral service. Mr. Johnson, who stood
near me, stared thirstily at the scene; and methought Mr. Emmett, who
was perched on the rail to windward, rolled his eye over the mass of
colour that softened and brightened as the movement of the ship shifted
the shadows, as though some fancies of a startling canvas to be wrought
out of the spectacle were stirring in his mind. The captain paused in
his delivery; the ensign was whipped off, the grating tilted, and the
white hammock flashed overboard. I was at the lee rail, and glanced
down into the sea alongside as the hammock sped from the bulwark.
But the ocean coffin, instead of sinking, went floating astern like
a lifebuoy, bobbing bravely upon the summer tumble, and lifting and
sinking upon the swell as duck-like as a waterborne lifeboat.
I believe no man saw this but myself, everybody listening reverentially
to the closing words of the skipper’s recital from the Prayer-book. I
walked hastily aft to observe the hammock as it veered into our wake,
and beckoned to Mr. Cocker, who at once crossed the deck.
‘See there!’ cried I, pointing to the thing that was frisking in the
eddies upturned by our keel, and crawling into the distance to the slow
progress of the ship. ‘Friend Crabb seems in no hurry to knock at Davy
Jones’s door.’
‘I expect the fool of a sailmaker forgot to weight the body,’ said he.
‘Unless,’ he added, with a little change in his voice, as if he meant
what he said, whilst he did not wish me to suppose him in earnest, ‘the
chap was too great a rascal when alive to sink now that he’s nothing
but a body.’
‘I thought,’ I exclaimed, ‘that wicked sailors, like Falstaff, had an
alacrity in sinking.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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