At sea the body is sewn up in a canvas sack, which is heavily weighted at the foot, and this is laid on a "coaming" (a part of one of the hatches), which takes the place of a bier. The whole is covered with a Union Jack, which is fastened to the four corners of the "coaming," so that when the time comes to commit the body to the deep the one end of the "coaming" is raised and the body slips off into the water, leaving the flag in its place. 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. [Illustration: 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. "Well, it's your own look-out, and you have to take the risk yourself." A little farther down I came across one of the engineers, and he asked me the same question. I told him I had taken a few snap-shots, and he said, "You have? I wouldn't have done it for anything you could have given me." "Why not?" I asked. "Don't you know that to photograph a funeral on board ship is about the most unlucky thing you could do? Anyhow, it's your own risk, so it does not matter to me. Still, I would not take such a risk myself." Not being superstitious, no harm accrued from my daring. [Illustration: SHOWING THE FLAG LEFT BEHIND, AFTER THE BODY HAS GONE. _From a Photograph._]