The service was read, the
volleys were fired over the grave, and with oppressed feelings we
returned to the boats, and pulled on board. It then appeared to me, and
to a certain degree I was correct, that as soon as we had paid our last
respect to his remains, we had also forgotten our grief. The yards were
again squared, the ropes hauled taut, working dresses resumed, and all
was activity and bustle. The fact is, that sailors and soldiers have no
time for lamentation, and running as they do from clime to clime, so
does scene follow scene in the same variety and quickness. In a day or
two, the captain appeared to be, although he was not, forgotten. Our
first business was to _water_ the ship by rafting and towing off the
casks. I was in charge of the boat again, with Swinburne as coxswain. As
we pulled in, there were a number of negroes bathing in the surf,
bobbing their woolly heads under it, as it rolled into the beach. "Now,
Mr Simple," said Swinburne, "see how I'll make them _niggers_ scamper."
He then stood up in the stern sheets, and pointing with his finger,
roared out, "A shark! a shark!" Away started all the bathers for the
beach, puffing and blowing, from their dreaded enemy; nor did they stop
to look for him until they were high and dry out of his reach. Then,
when we all laughed, they called us "_all the hangman tiefs_," and every
other opprobrious name which they could select from their vocabulary. I
was very much amused with this scene, and as much afterwards with the
negroes who crowded round us when we landed.
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