hey were to get
under weigh, and with the dying lad on board they once more left Cape
Coast Castle and shaped a course for Sierra Leone. The wind still
continued light, and in order to keep them from gloomy thoughts or
apprehensions, Murray set all hands to work to fish. They had plenty of
lines and bait this time, and as they sailed along the sea seemed
literally alive with fish of every description. There were bonettas,
and dolphins, and skipjacks without number, all affording sport and very
pleasant provender; while the seaman's arch-enemies, the sharks, cruised
round them as if they had made up their minds that they were to become
their prey. Poor Wasser had lingered on from day to day, it appearing
that each hour would prove his last, when, just at daybreak on the
fourth morning, after leaving harbour, he called Murray, with a faint
voice, to his side. "Me go, massa! me go up dere, good-bye," he
whispered, and with his hand pointing upwards, he fell back. His arms
dropped by his side, and Murray saw that the faithful lad was dead. A
funeral at sea is often an impressive ceremony. That of poor Wasser was
short, for though there were few in attendance it was not the less sad;
for by his gentle and obliging manners, and his coolness and courage in
danger, he had won the affection and respect of all with whom he had
sailed. The body was sewn securely up in his blankets and hammock, with
such heavy weights as could be spared fastened to the feet; and when
launched overboard, after Murray had read the funeral service, it shot
quickly out of sight.

"Well, Tom, I don't think as how Jack Shark will be able to grab the
poor fellow before he gets safely down to the bottom."

I do not know exactly what sort of a notion sailors have of the bottom
of the ocean, but I rather think they have an idea that it is a
comfortable sort of a place, where people can spend their time
pleasantly enough, if they can but once contrive to reach it without
being caught by a shark or other marine monster.

When they had got over the feelings produced by Wasser's death, the
little crew managed to amuse themselves tolerably well. Murray taught
his parrots to sing and whistle, and to talk, till they became
wonderfully tame and fond of him; while Paddy contrived to instruct his
monkey Queerface, as he called him, so well, that he fully rivalled his
old friend Quirk on board the _Racer_. Paddy used to observe that as
Queerface could act