At nine o'clock the boatswain and his mates pipe all hands to bury the dead. A broad plank which is usually kept for the purpose, is brought to the lee gangway; one end resting on the gunwale, the other raised upon a shot box. The body having been previously sewed up in his hammock by the sail-maker, and three or four shot sewed in at the feet, is brought up and laid upon the plank, with the feet towards the water. The burial service is now commenced by the Parson, who reads the service at sea All heads are uncovered, and every officer and man are at the burial, and the most solemn stillness prevails, and when he comes to the part, " We commit his body to the deep," the inner end of the plank is lifted sufficiently high to let the body slide off, when the solemn plunge echoes back, gone, to be seen no more until the sea is commanded to yield up its dead.
While sailing over the Mediterranean one cannot but be impressed with the fact that he is passing over buried nations, millions on millions, whose bones now lie at the bottom probably in a state of complete preservation. Antediluvian bodies, that at the receding of the waters were washed into the Mediterranean, Sidonians, Tyrians, Phcenecian, Roman fleets, besides the myriads of modern nations that have perished here. And who knows but it is owing to the decomposition of such a vast amount of animal matter, that this sea exhibits that luminous phosphorescent appearance at night. After finishing our cruise on the Barbary Coast we returned to Mahon. Winter had now commenced, and we were ordered to fit the ship for home, to be ready to sail early in the Spring.
We spent our Christmas in Mahon, which is always an exciting time on board a man-of-war. According to the old custom, a double allowance of grog was served out, and also according to custom the day given to the men as a holyday. Man-of-wars men generally on these occasions save a great portion of their grog until evening, when they calculate to have a good time. About sundown however, Mr. whiskey began to get rather noisy, and somewhat quarrelsome withal. While we lay at Barcelona a few months before, there came off to the ship a short, chunky, good looking fellow, representing himself as a shipwrecked sailor, who had travelled all the way from Malaga to Barcelona, he wished to ship with us, and was accordingly shipped.
He had no clothes except what he stood in; and upon his head an old Scotch cap. He gave his name as John Williams. For some time after he came on board, he appeared much reserved, wishing to avoid everybody, and would sit for hours on a shot box with his arms folded, as though involved in deep thought. He was a firstrate sailor, and in a few weeks gradually became more familiar; still there appeared something very mysterious about him. which gave room for much conjecture among those who noticed him. On the Christmas day which I have just alluded to, he appeared more cheerful than usual, but kept perfectly sober, or rather, he showed no appearance of having drank more than his allowance.
Soon after the hammocks were piped down, I noticed a fight just under the top-gallant forecastle; I went forward, and found it was Williams, engaged with one of the forecastle men, who was much heavier than himself, and the way he put the licks into this big fellow was a caution to all boxers. The latter, though he had drank enough to make him quarrelsome, yet, was by no means drunk. Williams, by a well directed blow between the eyes, would drop him as fast as he could get up, and when he was down, the other would lift up both hands, saying, u 1 am clear of you" meaning, I don't strike you while down. And when he had given this man enough, declared himself ready for another.
At this stage of the proceedings I went below to my room, which was right under the battle ground. But had hardly got seated before I heard a shuffling on deck, which I knew was another fight. I just stepped up, and sure enough, Williams was at it again with a fellow as large as the other, whom he also handsomely flogged. The effect of the whiskey by this time was manifest throughout the berth deck. Half-drunken songs, fighting, yelling; the master mate of the berth deck, singing out for the master-at-arms, to put some crazy fellows in irons; but this functionary was drunk too. "You, Tom Wilson, if you don't make less noise there, I'll ram a grape-shot down your throat." "Ship's corporal, put out those lights there immediately." " The ship's corporal is gone ashore, sir, in an iron pot," Right along-side of my room was an old fellow, that had a favorite song which he sung only when about two-thirds sprung.