Trunnell made no remark at this.  The steward brought in our drinks and informed the skipper loudly that there was no one in the crew who had held holy orders.

“Never mind, then, steward,” said Thompson.  “I’ll wait till it rains and get it fresh from heaven.”

In a moment Trunnell rose and went into his room with a rough “good night.”  Thompson arose and passed through the door in the bulkhead, and I went on deck to take charge.

The night was quiet, and I leaned over the poop rail, looking into the water alongside, which appeared as black as ink.  The Pirate had little or no headway, for it was now dead calm.  Forward at the bends a sudden flare of phosphorescent fire would burn for a moment alongside when the heavy ship rolled deeply and soused her channels under.  The southerly swell seemed to roll quickly as if there were something behind it, and the topsails slatted fore and aft with loud flaps as they backed and filled with the motion.  It was a bad night for wearing out gear, and I was glad Trunnell had rolled up the lighter canvas.  Chafing gear had been scarce aboard, and nothing is so aggravating to a mate as to have his cotton or spars cut by useless rolling in a quiet seaway.  If sails can be kept full of wind, they will last well enough with care; but let them slat for a few days, and there is more useless wear than would take place in a month of ordinary weather, with no headway to pay for it.

While I looked into the dark water I noticed a long thin streak of fire moving slowly alongside.  It wavered and snaked along, growing brighter at times and then dying out almost completely.  Suddenly it turned at the fore channels and came slowly aft.  I looked harder at the black surface below me and tried to see what caused the disturbance.  In an instant I beheld a huge shadow, blacker than the surrounding water, outlined faintly with the phosphorescent glow.  It was between twenty and thirty feet in length, and had the form of a shark.  The grim monster swam slowly aft and rounded the stern, then sank slowly out of sight into the blackness beneath.

There is something so uncanny in the silent watchfulness of these giants of the deep that a sailor always feels unpleasantly disposed toward them.  I thought how ghastly would be the ending of any one who should get overboard that night.  The sudden splash, the warm water about the body, and the heads of the fellows at the rail starting to pull the unfortunate aboard.  Then the sudden grisly clutch from below, and the dragging down out of sight and sound forever.

I began to actually reckon the amount of arsenic I should put into a chunk of beef to trick the giant at his last meal.

“Sharp lightning on port bow, sir,” came the news from the forward; for, although I was supposed to be able to see well enough, I had taught the men of my watch to sing out at everything unusual, more to be certain that they were awake than anything else.