Our ship was ordered to Gibraltar, where we arrived soon after; and a packet coming in from England, I received letters from my father, announcing the death of my dearest mother.  O how I then regretted all the sorrows I had ever caused her; how incessantly did busy memory haunt me with all my misdeeds, and recall to mind the last moment I had seen her!  I never supposed I could have regretted her half so much.  My father stated that in her last moments she had expressed the greatest solicitude for my welfare.  She feared the career of life on which I had entered would not conduce to my eternal welfare, however much it might promise to my temporal advantage.  Her dying injunctions to me were never to forget the moral and religious principles in which she had brought me up; and, with her last blessing, implored me to read my Bible, and take it as my guide through life.

My father’s letter was both an affecting and forcible appeal; and never, in the whole course of my subsequent life, were my feelings so worked upon as they were on that occasion.  I went to my hammock with an aching head and an almost broken heart.  A retrospection of my life afforded me no comfort.  The numerous acts of depravity or pride, of revenge or deceit, of which I had been guilty, rushed through my mind, as the tempest through the rigging, and called me to the most serious and melancholy reflections.  It was some time before I could collect my thoughts and analyse my feelings; but when I recalled all my misdeeds—­my departure from that path of virtue, so often and so clearly laid down by my affectionate parent—­I was overwhelmed with grief, shame, and repentance.  I considered how often I had been on the brink of eternity; and had I been cut off in my sins, what would have been my destiny?  I started with horror at the dangers I had escaped, and looked forward with gloomy apprehension at those that still awaited me.  I sought in vain, among all my actions since I left my mother’s care, one single deed of virtue—­one that sprang from a good motive.  There was, it is true, an outward gloss and polish for the world to look at; but all was dark within:  and I felt that a keener eye than that of mortality was searching my soul, where deception was worse than useless.

At twelve o’clock, before I had once closed my eyes, I was called to relieve the deck, having what is called the middle watch, i.e. from midnight till four in the morning.  We had, the day before, buried a quarter-master, nick-named Quid, an old seaman who had destroyed himself by drinking—­no very uncommon case in His Majesty’s service.  The corpse of a man who has destroyed his inside by intemperance is generally in a state of putridity immediately after death; and the decay, particularly in warm climates, is very rapid.  A few hours after Quid’s death, the body emitted certain effluvia denoting the necessity of immediate interment.  It was accordingly sewn up in a hammock; and as the ship lay in deep water, with a current sweeping round the bay, and the boats being at the same time all employed at the dockyard, the first lieutenant caused shot to be tied to the feet, and, having read the funeral service, launched the body overboard from the gangway, as the ship lay at anchor.