There is
always something which helps you to realize it when it happens, and to
recall it when it has passed. A man is shot down by your side in
battle, and the mangled body remains an object, and a real evidence;
but at sea, the man is near you- at your side- you hear his voice,
and in an instant he is gone, and nothing but a vacancy shows his
loss. Then, too, at sea- to use a homely but expressive phrase- you
miss a man so much. A dozen men are shut up together in a little bark,
upon the wide, wide sea, and for months and months see no forms and
hear no voices but their own and one is taken suddenly from among
them, and they miss him at every turn. It is like losing a limb. There
are no new faces or new scenes to fill up the gap. There is always an
empty berth in the forecastle, and one man wanting when the small
night watch is mustered. There is one less to take the wheel and one
less to lay out with you upon the yard. You miss his form, and the
sound of his voice, for habit had made them almost necessary to you,
and each of your senses feels the loss.
All these things make such a death peculiarly solemn, and the effect
of it remains upon the crew for some time.
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