TALES OF THE SEA: 12 Maritime Adventure Novels in One Volume (Illustrated)
man, at least, will disappoint the malice of his enemies,” said the divine, taking the hard hand of the negro into his own; “the termination of his wrongs and his degradation approaches; he will soon be far beyond the reach of human injustice.—Friend, by what name is your companion known?”
“It is little matter how you hail a dying man,” returned Richard, with at melancholy shake of the head. “He has commonly been entered on the ship’s books as Scipio Africa, coming, as he did, from the coast of Guinea; but, if you call him S’ip, he will not be slow to understand.”
“Has he known baptism? Is he a Christian?”
“If he be not, I don’t know who the devil is!” responded Richard, with an asperity that might be deemed a little unseasonable. “A man who serves his country, is true to his messmate, and has no skulk about him, I call a saint, so far as mere religion goes. I say, Guinea, my hearty, give the chaplain a gripe of the fist, if you call yourself a Christian. A Spanish windlass wouldn’t give a stronger screw than the knuckles of that nigger an hour ago; and, now, you see to what a giant may be brought.”
“His latter moment is indeed near. Shall I offer a prayer for the health of the departing spirit?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!” answered Fid, gulping his words, and uttering a hem, that was still deep and powerful, as in the brightest and happiest of his days. “When there is so little time given to a poor fellow to speak his mind in, it may be well to let him have a chance to do most of the talking. Something may come uppermost which he would like to send to his friends in Africa; in which case, we may as well be looking out for a proper messenger. Hah! what is it, boy? You see he is already trying to rowse something up out of his ideas.”
“Misser Fid—he’m take a collar,” said the black, struggling for utterance.
“Ay, ay,” returned Richard, again clearing his throat, and looking to the right and left fiercely, as if he were seeking some object on which to wreak his vengeance. “Ay, ay, Guinea; put your mind at ease on that point, and for that matter on all others. You shall have a grave as deep as the sea, and Christian burial, boy, if this here parson will stand by his work. Any small message you may have for your friends shall be logg’d, and put in the way of coming to their ears. You have had much foul weather in your time, Guinea, and some squalls have whistled about your head, that might have been spaced, mayhap, had your colour been a shade or two lighter. For that matter, it may be that I have rode you down a little too close myself, boy, when over-heated with the conceit of skin; for all which may the Lord forgive me as freely as I hope you will do the same thing!”
The negro made a fruitless effort to rise, endeavouring to grasp the hand of the other, saying, as he did so,—
“Misser Fid beg a pardon of a black man! Masser aloft forget he’m all, misser Richard; he t’ink ‘em no more.”
“It will be what I call a d——‘d generous thing, if he does,” returned Richard, whose sorrow and whose conscience had stirred up his uncouth feelings to an extraordinary degree. “There’s the affair of slipping off the wreck of the smuggler has never been properly settled atween us, neither; and many other small services of like nature, for which, d’ye see, I’ll just thank you, while there is opportunity; for no one can say whether we shall ever be borne again on the same ship’s books.”
A feeble sign from his companion caused the topman to pause, while he endeavoured to construe its meaning as well as he was able. With a facility, that was in some degree owing to the character of the individual his construction of the other’s meaning was favourable to himself, as was quite evident by the manner in which he resumed,—
“Well, well, mayhap we may. I suppose they birth the people there in some such order as is done here below, in which case we may be put within hailing distance, after all. Our sailing orders are both signed; though, as you seem likely to slip your cable before these thieves are ready to run me up, you will be getting the best of the wind. I shall not say much concerning any signals it may be necessary to make, in order to make one another out aloft taking it for granted that you will not overlook master Harry, on account of the small advantage you may have in being the first to shove off, intending myself to keep as close as possible in his wake, which will give me the twofold advantage of knowing I am on the right tack, and of falling in with you”—
“These are evil words, and fatal alike to your own future peace, and to that of your unfortunate friend,” interrupted the divine. “His reliance must be placed on One, different in all his attributes from your officer, to follow whom, or to consult whose frail conduct, would be the height of madness. Place your faith on another”——
“If I do, may I be——”
“Peace,” said Wilder. “The black would speak to me.”
Scipio had turned his looks in the direction of his officer, and was making another feeble effort towards extending his hand. As Wilder placed the member within the grasp of the dying negro, the latter succeeded in laying it on his lips, and then, flourishing with a convulsive movement that herculean arm which he had so lately and so successfully brandished in defence of his master, the limb stiffened and fell, though the eyes still continued their affectionate and glaring gaze on that countenance he had so long loved, and which, in the midst of all his long-endured wrongs, had never refused to meet his look of love in kindness. A low murmur followed this scene, and then complaints succeeded, in a louder strain, till more than one voice was heard openly muttering its discontent that vengeance should be so long delayed.
“Away with them!” shouted an ill-omened voice from the throng. “Into the sea with the carcass, and up with the living.”
“Avast!” burst out of the chest of Fid, with an awfulness and depth that stayed even the daring; movements of that lawless moment. “Who dare to cast a seaman into the brine, with the dying look standing in his lights, and his last words still in his messmate’s ears? Ha! would ye stopper the fins of a man as ye would pin a lobster’s claw! That for your fastenings and your lubberly knots together!” The excited topman snapped the lines by which his elbows had been imperfectly secured, while speaking and immediately lashed the body of the black to his own, though his words received no interruption from a process that was executed with all a seaman’s dexterity. “Where was the man in your lubberly crew that could lay upon a yard with this here black, or haul upon a lee-earing, while he held the weather-line? Could any one of ye all give up his rations, in order that a sick messmate might fare the better? or work a double tide, to spare the weak arm of a friend? Show me one who had as little dodge under fire, as a sound mainmast, and I will show you all that is left of his better. And now sway upon your whip, and thank God that the honest end goes up, while the rogues are suffered to keep their footing for a time.”
“Sway away!” echoed Nightingale, seconding the hoarse sounds of his voice by the winding of his call; “away with them to heaven.”
“Hold!” exclaimed the chaplain, happily arresting the cord before it had yet done its fatal office. “For His sake, whose mercy may one day be needed by the most hardened of ye all, give but another moment of time! What mean these words! read I aright? ‘Ark, of Lynnhaven!’”
“Ay, ay,” said Richard, loosening the rope a little, in order to speak with greater freedom, and transferring the last morsel of the weed from his box to his mouth, as he answered; “seeing you are an apt scholar, no wonder you make it out so easily, though written by a hand that was always better with a marling-spike than a quill.”
“But whence came the words? and why do you bear those names, thus written indelibly in the skin? Patience, men! monsters! demons! Would ye deprive the dying man of even a minute of that precious time which becomes so dear to all, as life is leaving us?”
“Give yet another minute!” said a deep voice from behind.
“Whence come the words, I ask?” again the chaplain demanded.
“They are neither more nor less than the manner in which a circumstance was logged, which is now of no consequence, seeing that the cruise is nearly up with all who