He must have unconsciously given a twist to his hand, for the line fell in a kink round Abner's neck just as the whale went down with a rush.Struggling, clutching at the fatal noose, the hapless man went flying out through the incoming sea, and in one second was lost to sight for ever.Too late, the harpooner cut the line which attached the wreck to the retreating animal, leaving the boat free, but gunwale under.We instantly hauled alongside of the wreck and transferred her crew, all dazed and horror-stricken at the awful death of their late comrade.
I saw the tears trickle down the rugged, mahogany-coloured face of the captain, and honoured him for it, but there was little time to waste in vain regrets.It was necessary to save the boat, if possible, as we were getting short of boat-repairing material; certainly we should not have been able to build a new one.So, drawing the two sound boats together, one on either side of the wreck, we placed the heavy steering oars across them from side to side.We then lifted the battered fore part upon the first oar, and with a big effort actually succeeded in lifting the whole of the boat out of water upon this primitive pontoon.Then, taking the jib, we "frapped" it round the opening where the bows had been, lashing it securely in that position.
Several hands were told off to jump into her stern on the word, and all being ready we launched her again.The weight of the chaps in her stern-sheets cocked her bows right out of water, and in that position we towed her back to the ship, arriving safely before dusk.
That evening we held a burial service, at which hundreds of natives attended with a solemnity of demeanour and expressions of sorrow that would not have been out of place at the most elaborate funeral in England or America.It was a memorable scene.The big cressets were lighted, shedding their wild glare over the dark sea, and outlining the spars against the moonless sky with startling effect.When we had finished the beautiful service, the natives, as if swayed by an irresistible impulse, broke into the splendid tune St.Ann's; and I afterwards learned that the words they sang were Dr.Watts' unsurpassable rendering of Moses' pean of praise, "O God, our help in ages past." No elaborate ceremonial in towering cathedral could begin to compare with the massive simplicity of poor Abner's funeral honours, the stately hills for many miles reiterating the sweet sounds, and carrying them to the furthest confines of the group.
Next day was Sunday, and, in pursuance of a promise given some time before, I went ashore to my "flem's" to dinner, he being confined to the house with a hurt leg.It was not by any means a festive gathering, for he was more than commonly taciturn; his daughter Irene, a buxom lassie of fourteen, who waited on us, appeared to be dumb; and his wife was "in the straw." These trifling drawbacks, however, in nowise detracted from the hospitality offered.The dining-room was a large apartment furnished with leaves, the uprights of cocoa-nut tree, the walls and roof of pandanus leaf.Beneath the heaps of leaves, fresh and sweet-scented, was the earth.The inner apartment, or chamber of state, had a flooring of highly-polished planks, and contained, I presume, the household gods; but as it was in possession of my host's secluded spouse, I did not enter.
