“I’ve made a will, Miles, and you’ll find it in my desk.  There are some trifles given to you and yourn, but you want not gold, and the rest all goes to Kitty and her children.  There is a p’int, however, on which my mind is very ondetarmined, and I will now lay it before you.  Don’t you think it more becoming for a seaman to be buried in blue water, than to be tuck’d up in a church-yard?  I do not like tombstones, having had too much of them in ’arly youth, and feel as if I want sea-room.  What is your opinion, Miles?”

“Decide for yourself.  Your wishes will be our law.”

“Then roll me up in my cot, and launch me overboard, in the old way.  I have sometimes thought it might be well to lie at my mother’s side; but she’ll excuse an old tar for preferring blue water to one of your country church-yards.”

After this, I had several interviews with the old man, though he said nothing more on the subject of his interment, that of his property, or that of his departure.  Lucy read the bible to him, two or three times every day, and she prayed with him often.  On one occasion, I heard a low, sweet voice, near his cot, and taking a look, ascertained it was my little pet, my daughter Lucy, then only thirteen, reading a second time a chapter that her mother had gone through, only an hour before, with some of her own remarks.  The comments were wanting now, but the voice had the same gentle earnestness, the same sweet modulations, and the same impressive distinctness as that of the mother!

Marble lived until we had passed within the Gulf-Stream, dying easily and without a groan, with all my family, Neb and the first-mate, assembled near his cot.  The only thing that marked his end was a look of singular significance that he cast on my wife, not a minute before he breathed his last.  There he lay, the mere vestige of the robust hardy seaman I had once known, a child in physical powers, and about to make the last great change.  Material as were the alterations in the man, from what he had been when in his pride, I thought the spiritual or intellectual part of his being was less to be recognised than the bodily.  Certainly that look was full of resignation and hope; and we had reason to believe that this rude but honest creature was spared long enough to complete the primary object of his existence.

In obedience to his own earnest request, though sorely against the feelings of my wife and daughters, I buried the body of my old friend in the ocean, six days before we made the land.

And now it remains only to speak of Lucy.  I have deferred this agreeable duty to the last, passing over long years that were pregnant with many changes, in order to conclude with this delightful theme.