it toward
the main hatchway, awkwardly crawling under the tiers of hammocks,
where the entire watch-below was sleeping. As, unavoidably, we rocked
their pallets, the man-of-war's-men would cry out against us; through
the mutterings of curses, the corpse reached the hatchway. Here the
board slipped, and some time was spent in readjusting the body. At
length we deposited it on the gun-deck, between two guns, and a
union-jack being thrown over it for a pall, I was left again to watch
by its side.

I had not been seated on my shot-box three minutes, when the
messenger-boy passed me on his way forward; presently the slow, regular
stroke of the ship's great bell was heard, proclaiming through the calm
the expiration of the watch; it was four o'clock in the morning.

Poor Shenly! thought I, that sounds like your knell! and here you lie
becalmed, in the last calm of all!

Hardly had the brazen din died away, when the Boatswain and his mates
mustered round the hatchway, within a yard or two of the corpse, and
the usual thundering call was given for the watch below to turn out.

"All the starboard-watch, ahoy! On deck there, below! Wide awake there,
sleepers!"

But the dreamless sleeper by my side, who had so often sprung from his
hammock at that summons, moved not a limb; the blue sheet over him lay
unwrinkled.

A mess-mate of the other watch now came to relieve me; but I told him I
chose to remain where I was till daylight came.

CHAPTER LXXX.

THE LAST STITCH.

Just before daybreak, two of the sail-maker's gang drew near, each with
a lantern, carrying some canvas, two large shot, needles, and twine. I
knew their errand; for in men-of-war the sail-maker is the undertaker.

They laid the body on deck, and, after fitting the canvas to it, seated
themselves, cross-legged like tailors, one on each side, and, with
their lanterns before them, went to stitching away, as if mending an
old sail. Both were old men, with grizzled hair and beard, and shrunken
faces. They belonged to that small class of aged seamen who, for their
previous long and faithful services, are retained in the Navy more as
pensioners upon its merited bounty than anything else. They are set to
light and easy duties.

"Ar'n't this the fore-top-man, Shenly?" asked the foremost, looking
full at the frozen face before him.

"Ay, ay, old Ringrope," said the other, drawing his hand far back with
a long thread, "I thinks it's him; and he's further