The first duty now devolving upon us was to bury the dead. Old sailors are always averse to having dead men on board ship. All hands and the passengers gathered at the lee gangway, where the impressive Episcopal burial service was performed by the captain. The sun rose in calm sublimity out of the ocean in the eastern horizon as our shipmate’s body was launched into its watery grave. Just then a school of flying fish was seen to fly over the spot, followed by a school of dolphins, then a huge shark. This shark followed in the wake of our ship for several days afterward. In the afternoon Ambrose’s chest was brought on deck and an auction sale of its contents commenced. The captain acted as auctioneer. He first held up several small bundles, but no one bid for them. He next offered for sale a pair of trousers and a pea-jacket; then the bedding. He pleaded earnestly for some one to bid, but no one responded. Finally he took up several small packages which were tied up very neatly and labeled, and read the addresses.
The first was, "To my dear, loving mother, from her son Ambrose." The next, "To my little flaxen-haired sister, Fannie." Another, to "Brother Eddie." The auctioneer, our captain, then made some very touching remarks which brought tears to the eyes of both the passengers and the crew.
For several days after this sad event we were busy sending up the light yards, mending and bending sails, and rigging studding gear. I have heard of ships carrying many light sails, such as moonsails, star-gazers, skyscrapers, and heaven disturbers, but the Rainbow carried nothing above her sky-sails; but she did carry a standing
