estward. The captain took the
helm, and all hands were employed in clearing the decks and putting
things in order; Mr. Pierce being particularly active in the work,
saying but little, and looking unusually solemn.

I was on the weather side of the main deck, securing the lashings of the
long-boat, when I heard a splash in the water to leeward; at the same
moment the cook shouted out, with all the power of his African lungs,
"Goramity! Mr. Pierce is fell overboard!"

"The mate is overboard! The mate is overboard!" was now the cry from
every mouth.

"Hard-a-lee!" screamed the skipper, and at the same instant executed the
order himself by jamming the tiller hard down to leeward. "Haul the fore
sheet to windward! Clear away the long-boat! Be handy, lads! We'll save
the poor fellow yet."

And then the captain shouted to the unfortunate man, as he was seen not
far off in the wake, "Be of good cheer! Keep your head up! No danger!
We'll soon be alongside!"

I seized the cook's axe and cut away the lashings of the boat, and in a
space of time incredibly brief, the boat was lifted from the chocks by
main strength and launched over the side. We were about to shove off to
the struggling mate, when Captain Thompson, who had not taken his eyes
from the man after he had fallen overboard, and kept making signs and
giving him words of encouragement, exclaimed, in a mournful tone, "Avast
there with the boat! 'Tis no use. He's gone he's sunk, and out of sight.
We shall never see him again! Poor fellow poor fellow! May the Lord have
mercy on him!"

It appeared that Mr. Pierce had stepped on the lee gunwale for the
purpose of grasping a rope that was loose. His left hand was on one
of the main shrouds, when a sudden lurch disengaged his grasp and
precipitated him into the water. He was not a hundred yards from the
schooner when he disappeared. Whether his body struck against the side
of the vessel as he fell and he was thus deprived of the full use of his
limbs, whether he was panic-struck at the fate which appeared to await
him, or unable to swim, we could never learn. The simple, solemn fact,
however, was before us in all its terrible significance. The man who,
a few moments before, stood on the deck of the Schooner Mary, strong,
healthy, and in the meridian of life, was no longer with us. He was
removed without warning; buried in the depths of the ocean; cut off
by some mysterious agency, "And sent to his account With all his
imp