out to sea," he wrote, "I read some prayers over him, and then he
was thrown over the side, the sailors saying 'God bless you!' as the
body sunk." This sad duty made him feel solemn and reflective, but more
than likely as not he was called upon immediately on arrival on board,
as "master's mate of the spirit-room," to attend the serving out of grog
to the ship's company! Extremes meet on board a man-of-war, and the
times for moralizing are short and scant.

So time sped, Midshipman Perkins performing his multifarious duties with
alacrity and approval, and having some perilous adventures by flood and
field in pursuit of wild game, until July, 1857, when the monotony of
the cruise was broken by a trip to the banks of Newfoundland for the
protection of our fishing interests, and including visits at Boston, St.
John's, and Halifax.

The people of the Provinces were very hospitable, and the contrast
between the dusky damsels of the isthmus and the ruddy-cheeked belles of
St. John's and Halifax was brightening in the extreme; and young
Perkins, ever gallant in his intercourse with the sex, and a good
dancer, found much favor with the Provincial beauties, and doubtless
made up for past deprivations, in the alluring contact with their
charms.

Returning southward in the fall, the ship cruised among the West Indies,
visiting, among other ports, Cape Haytien, the old capital of the island
of Hayti, to inquire into the imprisonment of an American merchant
captain. This place, before the French Revolution, had been a city of
great magnificence and beauty--the Paris of the Isles; and the old
French nobility, possessing enormous landed estates and large numbers of
slaves, lived in a state of almost fabled grandeur and luxury; but negro
rule, the removal of the seat of government to Port-au-Prince, and the
great earthquake of 1842, have destroyed all but a semblance of its
former glory and importance.

Among other sights visited by the officers was the old home of Count
Cristoff, a castle of great size and strength, built on one of the
highest hills, some twelve miles back of the town. It was told of the
old Count that he used every year to bury large sums of money from his
revenues, and then shoot the slave who did the work, that the secret of
the spot might be known only to himself.

In January, 1858, Midshipman Perkins was detached from the Cyane, and he
bade adieu forever to her dark, cramped-up, tallow-candle lighted
steer