So Much For Burying A Man At Sea Without Saying
Prayers Over Him."
The thunder-gust which had hitherto detained the company was now at an
end.
The cuckoo clock in the hall struck midnight; every one pressed to
depart, for seldom was such a late hour trespassed on by these quiet
burghers. As they sallied forth they found the heavens once more
serene. The storm which had lately obscured them had rolled aways and
lay piled up in fleecy masses on the horizon, lighted up by the bright
crescent of the moon, which looked like a silver lamp hung up in a
palace of clouds.
The dismal occurrence of the night, and the dismal narrations they had
made, had left a superstitious feeling in every mind. They cast a
fearful glance at the spot where the buccaneer had disappeared, almost
expecting to see him sailing on his chest in the cool moonshine. The
trembling rays glittered along the waters, but all was placid; and the
current dimpled over the spot where he had gone down. The party huddled
together in a little crowd as they repaired homewards; particularly
when they passed a lonely field where a man had been murdered; and he
who had farthest to go and had to complete his journey alone, though a
veteran sexton, and accustomed, one would think to ghosts and goblins,
yet went a long way round, rather than pass by his own church-yard.
Wolfert Webber had now carried home a fresh stock of stories and
notions to ruminate upon.
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