Day 325. Flying fish and salt horse: a seafaring tale
20th June 1860:
Wednesday 20th. The sick man much worse this morning. I took him some arrowroot at 1 PM when a great change had taken place in him. Two men are keeping watch over him as they have done ever since he was bad. He kept getting gradually worse and at 10 minutes to 5 PM he exchanged Time for Eternity. And I hope and trust he is now in Heaven.
Death is at all times solemn but never so much so as at sea. To use a homely but expressive phrase, you miss a man so much at sea. A score of men are shut up in a ship on the wide, wide sea and for months and months see no forms and hear no other voices but their own, one is taken suddenly from among them and they miss him at every turn. There are no new faces to fill up the gap. There is only his empty berth in the forecastle, One wanted at the pumps. One less to take the wheel, and in fact one less every where.
All these things make death peculiarly solemn and the effect of it remains upon the crew for some time. There is more kindness shown by the officers to the crew, and by the crew to one another. The oath and loud laugh is not so frequent. The dead man is seldom mentioned.
The ship that was ahead out of sight this morning, still calm the sea as smooth as a mirror but the weather is frosty and cold. Pumps carefully attended.
The sick man, Tom, finally passes away after a fever. Richard is unusually reflective and insightful on the effect of a death at sea on the rest of the crew. There is no minister on board to give a context for the loss, but the captain would have undoubtedly had experience of such situations, and perhaps had words of comfort to offer.