The Shadow in the Sea

When eight bells went, at four o’clock, and the other watch came on deck to relieve us, it had been broad daylight for some time.  Before we went below, the Second Mate had the three t’gallants set; and now that it was light, we were pretty curious to have a look aloft, especially up the fore; and Tom, who had been up to overhaul the gear, was questioned a lot, when he came down, as to whether there were any signs of anything queer up there.  But he told us there was nothing unusual to be seen.

At eight o’clock, when we came on deck for the eight to twelve watch, I saw the Sailmaker coming forrard along the deck, from the Second Mate’s old berth.  He had his rule in his hand, and I knew he had been measuring the poor beggars in there, for their burial outfit.  From breakfast time until near noon, he worked, shaping out three canvas wrappers from some old sailcloth.  Then, with the aid of the Second Mate and one of the hands, he brought out the three dead chaps on to the after hatch, and there sewed them up, with a few lumps of holy stone at their feet.  He was just finishing when eight bells went, and I heard the Old Man tell the Second Mate to call all hands aft for the burial.  This was done, and one of the gangways unshipped.

We had no decent grating big enough, so they had to get off one of the hatches, and use it instead.  The wind had died away during the morning, and the sea was almost a calm—­the ship lifting ever so slightly to an occasional glassy heave.  The only sounds that struck on the ear were the soft, slow rustle and occasional shiver of the sails, and the continuous and monotonous creak, creak of the spars and gear at the gentle movements of the vessel.  And it was in this solemn half-quietness that the Skipper read the burial service.

They had put the Dutchman first upon the hatch (I could tell him by his stumpiness), and when at last the Old Man gave the signal, the Second Mate tilted his end, and he slid off, and down into the dark.

“Poor old Dutchie,” I heard one of the men say, and I fancy we all felt a bit like that.

Then they lifted Jacobs on to the hatch, and when he had gone, Jock.  When Jock was lifted, a sort of sudden shiver ran through the crowd.  He had been a favourite in a quiet way, and I know I felt, all at once, just a bit queer.  I was standing by the rail, upon the after bollard, and Tammy was next to me; while Plummer stood a little behind.  As the Second Mate tilted the hatch for the last time, a little, hoarse chorus broke from the men: 

“S’long, Jock!  So long, Jock!”

And then, at the sudden plunge, they rushed to the side to see the last of him as he went downwards.  Even the Second Mate was not able to resist this universal feeling, and he, too, peered over.  From where I had been standing, I had been able to see the body take the water, and now, for a brief couple of seconds, I saw the white of the canvas, blurred by the blue of the water, dwindle and dwindle in the extreme depth.  Abruptly, as I stared, it disappeared—­too abruptly, it seemed to me.