His brown ringlets still clustered over his marble forehead, but they were
drenched in the cold sweat of death. The surgeon could do nothing for him,
and had left him; but our old captain--bless him for it--I little expected,
from his usual crusty bearing, to find him so employed--had knelt by his
side, and, whilst he read from the Prayer--book one of those beautiful
petitions in our Church service to Almighty God, for mercy to the passing
soul of one so young, and so early cut off, the tears trickled down the old
man's cheeks, and filled the furrows worn in them by the washing up of many
a salt spray. On the other side of his narrow bed, fomenting the rigid
muscles of his neck and chest, sate Mistress Connolly, one of three women
on board--a rough enough creature, Heaven knows! in common weather; but her
stifled sobs showed that the mournful sight had stirred up all the woman
within her. She had opened the bosom of the poor boy's shirt, and untying
the riband that fastened a small gold crucifix round his neck, she placed
it in his cold hand. The young midshipman was of a respectable family in
Limerick, her native place, and a Catholic--another strand of the cord that
bound her to him. When the Captain finished reading, he bent over the
departing youth and kissed his cheek. "Your young messmate just now
desired to see you, Mr Cringle, but it is too late, he is insensible and
dying." Whilst he spoke, a strong shiver passed through the boy's frame,
his face became slightly convulsed, and all was over!
The Captain rose, and Connolly, with a delicacy of feeling which many might
not have looked for in her situation, spread one of our clean mess
tablecloths over the body.
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