Among the killed on board the Xyphias was Captain Spear.
Whether it had been owing to his long enforced abstinence from his bane, strong drink, or to the long hours of solitude giving him ample time for reflection on the desert island, or to earlier and holier associations revived, or to all these influences combined, I do not know; but it is certain that a gradual change for the better had been stealing over this man for some time before the sea fight.
Up to the day of the engagement he had had the freedom of the ship. On that day, however, in the beginning of the action, Captain Yetsom, meeting him on deck, had said:
“I know how hard it is for a brave man to be cooped up in his quarters while a battle is going on; but prudential considerations oblige me to send you to yours. Were you at large here, unforeseen accidents might place it in your power to do us much injury.”
“Captain Yetsom,” said Spear, speaking earnestly and seeking to meet the eye of the commander of the Xyphias, “if you will give me the freedom of your deck during this engagement, I promise you upon my sacred honor that I will take no part in it against you or for your enemy. I owe the dogs who deserted me no love or service, Heaven knows! And even should circumstance place it in my power to harm you, or aid them, I will do neither. I swear it in the hearing of high Heaven!”
Captain Yetsom looked into the eyes that had been seeking his so earnestly, and saw in them such good faith as won his confidence.
“Well—I will trust you,” he said, and hurried off to his duties.
Spear had promised no more than this.
All through the exciting chase he had remained a silent, inactive spectator, brooding mournfully over—what?
Officers and men, passing rapidly on their hurried errands, sometimes glanced at this sombre figure like a statue there, and wondered carelessly what his thoughts and feelings might be.