our intention to bore the reader with a nautical log, but merely to record the most interesting events which befell the "Big Ann" and some of her passengers.—She was three weeks out of Plymouth—the Bay of Biscay passed—sea sickness had disappeared, and every thing on board went on in a regular routine. She had experienced fine weather and fair breezes. Hugh found his companions, with a few exceptions, agreeable and well-bred men. A case of sickness was reported in the steerage, and the "doctor" (every man of physic soon attains his degree on board ship) pronounced it typhus. The sick man grew worse and worse. He was brought on deck, where an awning was spread over him, and every attention possible was paid to the poor sufferer, but he died in a few days in the arms of his wife and daughter, leaving them without a protector.
The friends of the deceased, who was an Irish Catholic, would not allow the Protestant Chaplain on board to read prayers over the body. The day he died he was buried. The sun shone down brightly and the water was calm, clear, and deeply blue. Not a word was uttered as the corpse was brought to the gangway sewn in canvass and laid on a grating, with the union jack for a pall. A common sympathy for death seemed to unite all, both Catholics and Protestants, then. The crew and passengers stood uncovered at the ship's side. A gesture was the only signal given, and the corpse slid from the grating and faded into "the remarkable silence of the grave," amid the unuttered prayers and ill-suppressed sobs of the mourners.
Having sighted the Cape de Verde and several other Islands, all went on prosperously until they neared the Cape of Good Hope. The wind had increased greatly during the day, and sail after sail had been taken in, and others reefed, until only a very little canvass remained set. The sea was rising, and there was every indication of the continuance of foul weather. Now
