on the upper deck, and
then near one of the middle ports was placed a coffin, covered with the
Union-Jack. There ought to have been a chaplain, but there was none;
and so the Captain came forward with a Prayer-book, and in an
impressive, feeling way, though not without difficulty, read the
beautiful burial service to be used at sea for a departed sister; and
the two women stood near the coffin, one holding a small infant; and
there stood William Freeborn, supported by Paul Pringle, for by himself
he could scarcely stand; and then slowly and carefully the coffin was
lowered into the waves, and as they closed over it, in the impulse of
the moment, the bereaved widower would have thrown himself after it, not
knowing what he was about, had not Paul Pringle held him back. Down
sank the coffin rapidly, and was hid to sight by the blue ocean--the
grave of many a brave sailor, and of thousands of the young, and fair,
and brave, and joyous, and of the proud and rich also, but never of a
more kind-hearted honest woman than was Molly Freeborn. So all on board
the _Terrible_ declared, and assuredly they spoke the truth.

CHAPTER TWO.

Onward across the Atlantic, as fast as her broad spread of white canvas
filled by the wind could force her, glided the staunch old
"seventy-four," which bore our hero and his fortunes, though at that
time they did not look very prosperous; nor was he himself, it must be
acknowledged, held in much consideration except by his own father and
his two worthy nurses. His fare, too, was not of the most luxurious,
nor suited to his delicate appetite. Milk there was none; and the
purser, not expecting so juvenile an addition to the ship's company, had
not provided any in a preserved state,--indeed, in those days, it may be
doubted whether such an invention had been thought of,--while a
round-shot had carried off the head of the cow in the last action in
which the _Terrible_ had been engaged. As she furnished fresh beef to
the ship's company, they would not have objected to a similar accident
happening again.

Poor Molly's child had, therefore, to be fed on flour and water, and
such slops as the doctor and the nurses could think of. They could not
have been unsuitable, for it throve wonderfully, and was pronounced by
all the ship's company as fine a child as ever was seen.

"Have you been and had a look at Molly Freeborn's baby?" asked Dick
Tarbrush of his messmate, Tom Buntline. "Do now, then.