“Oh dear, no,” answered Leslie, perceiving with annoyance that the man was connecting the presence of the shark under the counter with Purchas’s invisibility; “merely a rather sharp bilious attack, which is now over, I am glad to say. He will probably be on deck again to-morrow.”
Then, as the carpenter—who had been keeping out of the way during Miss Trevor’s presence on deck—came aft, Leslie gave over the charge of the brig to him, and turned in.
The remainder of the first watch, and the whole of the middle watch, passed without incident save that, when Leslie went on deck at midnight, he found that the wind had softened down somewhat—as was indeed to be expected, with the brig drawing so near to the equator—the vessel’s speed having dropped to about four knots. But the weather held superbly fine, and the barometer remained absolutely steady; Leslie therefore retired to his bunk at the end of the middle watch with a perfectly easy mind, and the fixed determination to have Purchas on deck and under the head pump at seven bells, when he himself would be called.
It was still quite dark when he was startled out of a profound sleep by a sudden loud outcry on deck, followed by a rushing and scuffling of feet overhead accompanied by the flapping of canvas, as though the brig had been suddenly luffed into the wind.
Leslie was well acquainted with the vagaries of equatorial weather, and therefore, under the apprehension that a squall was threatening, he sprang from his berth and dashed up on deck without waiting to exchange his pyjamas for other clothing. As he emerged from the companion he came into violent contact with some one who was evidently about to make a hasty descent of the ladder; and when the pair had recovered from the shock, he discovered that he had collided with the carpenter, who betrayed every symptom of the most violent agitation; while the entire crew, apparently, shouting to each other excitedly, were grouped upon the stern grating. The brig had been luffed into the wind, and everything, including studding-sails, was flat aback. It was well for the craft, and all concerned, that the wind had fallen light, or there would have been mischief up aloft, and plenty of wreckage among the lighter spars.
“What in the world is the matter, Chips?” demanded Leslie testily, as with a single glance he took in the full condition of affairs.
“Oh, Mr Leslie, sir, something awful has just happened!” exclaimed the man addressed, stammering with agitation and excitement. “I were standin’ as it might be just there,” pointing to a spot on the deck about midway between the skylight and the mainmast, “fillin’ my pipe, when out of the corner of my heye I seen somebody step out of the companion on deck; and fust of all I thought ’twas you; but, lookin’ again, I see as it was the skipper—not Cap’n Potter, you’ll understand, sir, he bein’ dead and buried; but Cap’n Purchas. I were just goin’ up to him to say how glad I were to see ’im about again, when he steps over to the binnacle, takes a peep into the compass-bowl, and then, afore a man could say ‘Jack Robinson,’ up he jumps on to the starn gratin’, from there to the taffrail—an’ overboard! Scotty, there, who was at the wheel, owns that he more’n half guessed, from the queer look in the skipper’s heyes, that somethin’ was wrong, and made a grab at ’im as ’e passed; but Mr Purchas were miles too quick for ’im, and Scotty on’y reached the taffrail in time to see the pore man strike the water. And the next second that devil of a shark that have been followin’ of us had ’im!”
Leslie reeled as though he had been struck a heavy blow. Here was another tragedy; the second that had happened within the short space of time that had elapsed since he had joined this unlucky brig. And even as he had blamed himself for being in some sort responsible for the first, so now he reproached himself as being in a measure responsible for this. He felt that he had been remiss. In his anxiety to shield the unhappy man from the observation and unfavourable comment of the crew, he had carefully concealed from everybody the true cause of Purchas’s retirement, leaving the man alone to recover from his drunken bout instead of telling off somebody to watch him. Had he done this, he reflected in self-reproach, this dreadful thing would not have happened. The need for concealment was now past, however; so, rallying his faculties, he called all hands to group themselves round him, as he had something to say to them.
“My lads,” he began, “I believe that you all profoundly regret the awful thing that has just happened; for Mr Purchas was a most kind and considerate officer to every one of you. But none of you can regret his terrible end so much as I do; for I feel that I am to some extent to blame for it. A certain wise man has said, ‘Of the dead speak nothing but good;’ and it is well to carry out this precept, so far as is possible. There are occasions, however, when the truth—the whole truth—must be told, even though it reflect discredit upon those who are gone; and this is one of them. I am sorry to be obliged to tell you that what really ailed Mr Purchas was—drunkenness! Very little more than a week had elapsed after Captain Potter’s death when I discovered in Mr Purchas a tendency to take rather too much rum. I spoke to him about it, with the result that he promised to be more moderate in his potations. But he did not keep his promise, and upon one occasion, at least, he was so thoroughly intoxicated that he slept through his entire watch, stretched out upon a hencoop.”
“Ay, ay, sir; that’s gospel truth. I remember it perfectly,” murmured two or three of the men, interrupting.