“Yes,” said Poole; “we are much farther away than I thought.”
“But what an escape!” cried Fitz.
“Eh? What do you mean?”
“Look yonder; that streak of light gliding along and making the water flash. You can just make out now and then something dark cutting through it.”
“Ah, that’s plain enough,” said the boatswain; “a jack shark’s back fin, and a big un too.”
“Lucky for you both,” said Poole, “that you are safe on board.”
“Lucky for him, you mean,” said the boatswain. “That knife of mine’s as sharp as hands can make it. If I had let him have it he’d have shown white at daylight, floating wrong side up.”
“If you had hit him,” said Fitz.
“If I’d hit him, sir! A man couldn’t miss a thing like that. But of course there wouldn’t have been time to pick my spot.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Fitz, in a long-drawn sigh. “Seems to turn me quite over! That’s about the most horrible cry I know—Man overboard! It’s bad enough in the daylight, but on a night like this—”