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<h3> CHAPTER LXXXI. </h3>
<h3> HOW THEY BURY A MAN-OF-WAR'S-MAN AT SEA. </h3>
<p>Quarters over in the morning, the boatswain and his four mates stood
round the main hatchway, and after giving the usual whistle, made the
customary announcement—"<i>All hands bury the dead, ahoy!</i>"</p>
<p>In a man-of-war, every thing, even to a man's funeral and burial,
proceeds with the unrelenting promptitude of the martial code. And
whether it is <i>all hands bury the dead!</i> or <i>all hands splice the
main-brace</i>, the order is given in the same hoarse tones.</p>
<p>Both officers and men assembled in the lee waist, and through that
bareheaded crowd the mess-mates of Shenly brought his body to the same
gangway where it had thrice winced under the scourge. But there is
something in death that ennobles even a pauper's corpse; and the
Captain himself stood bareheaded before the remains of a man whom, with
his hat on, he had sentenced to the ignominious gratings when alive.</p>
<p>"<i>I am the resurrection and the life!</i>" solemnly began the Chaplain, in
full canonicals, the prayer-book in his hand.</p>
<p>"Damn you! off those booms!" roared a boatswain's mate to a crowd of
top-men, who had elevated themselves to gain a better view of the scene.</p>
<p>"<i>We commit this body to the deep!</i>" At the word, Shenly's mess-mates
tilted the board, and the dead sailor sank in the sea.</p>
<p>"Look aloft," whispered Jack Chase. "See that bird! it is the spirit of
Shenly."</p>
<p>Gazing upward, all beheld a snow-white, solitary fowl, which—whence
coming no one could tell—had been hovering over the main-mast during
the service, and was now sailing far up into the depths of the sky.</p>
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