The captain and first officer read the burial service between them, the other officers and men joining in the responses.
Never have I heard the service read more impressively than it was that December day, and during parts of the reading there were few dry eyes to be seen amongst the passengers. The beautiful words are impressive at any time, but at sea their beauty is magnified a hundredfold.
A few minutes after the service had commenced, at a signal from the first officer, the engines were stopped altogether, and then there was absolute stillness and silence, broken only by the voice of the captain and the ripple of the water as the ship still moved along her way.
"We, therefore, commit her body to the deep...." and at these words the men who had stood by the "coaming" on which the body rested raised it gently up, there was a dull splash, and the body sank to rise no more, until the great day when the deep shall give up her dead.
Everything was done in the most reverent spirit, and when at the close of the service the engines were again put full steam ahead, the "gangway" closed up, and the ordinary routine of ship-life resumed, I could not help thinking that there is something very grand in having the profound sea for a tomb. God seemed nearer in that solitude than in the crowded city.
ALLOWING THE BODY TO SLIDE INTO THE SEA.
From a Photograph.
As I was going down to my cabin a little later I met one of the officers, who said, "Not been taking the funeral, have you?"
"Yes," I replied.