THE CAST-AWAY. 143 



It was really wonderful what a cargo Matta- 

 poisett could carry. He was a little uncertain in 

 his steps, and he had an air of general inaccuracy 

 that shook one's faith in his mental stability, yet 

 his tongue had not forgotten its cunning. 



The song as a song was a genuine triumph. 

 Ah, yes ; but the selection was most unfortunate. 

 It was entitled " The Sailor's Grave," and ran like 

 this: — 



" Our bark was far, far from the land, 

 When the fairest of our gallant band, 

 Grew deadly pale and weaned away, 

 Like the twilight hours of an autumn day. 

 We watched him through long hours of pain ; 

 Our cares were great, our hopes in vain. 

 At death's stroke he showed no coward alarms, 

 But smiled and died in bis messmates' arms. 



" We had no costly winding-sheet, 

 We placed two-pound shot at his feet ; 

 He lay in his hammock as snug and proud 

 As a king in his long robe, marble bound. 

 We proudly decked his funeral vest, 

 With the stars and stripes across his breast — 

 We gave him these as a badge of the brave, 

 And then he was fit for a sailor's grave. 



"Our voices failed, our hearts grew weak, 

 Hot tears were seen on brownest cheek, 

 A quiver played on the lip of pride, 

 As we lowered him over the ship's dark side. 

 A plunge, and a splash, and it all was o'er, 

 The billows rolled as they rolled before ; 

 But many a wild prayer ballowed the wave, 

 As he sank to rest in a sailor's grave." 



It may seem strange till you stop to think of it, 

 but no applause rewarded the song. Each man 



