“‘I wonder whether it eats men,’ ses the skipper. ‘Perhaps it’ll come for some of us.’
“‘There ain’t many on deck for it to choose from,’ ses the mate, looking at ’im significant like.
“‘That’s true,’ ses the skipper, very thoughtful; ‘I’ll go an’ send all hands on deck. As captain, it’s my duty not to leave the ship till the last, if I can anyways help it.’
“How he got them on deck has always been a wonder to me, but he did it. He was a brutal sort o’ a man at the best o’ times, an’ he carried on so much that I s’pose they thought even the sarpint couldn’t be worse. Anyway, up they came, an’ we all stood in a crowd watching the sarpint as it came closer and closer.
“We reckoned it to be about a hundred yards long, an’ it was about the most awful-looking creetur you could ever imagine. If you took all the ugliest things in the earth and mixed ’em up—gorillas an’ the like—you’d only make a hangel compared to what that was. It just hung off our quarter, keeping up with us, and every now and then it would open its mouth and let us see about four yards down its throat.
“‘It seems peaceable,’ whispers the fust mate, arter awhile.
“‘P’raps it ain’t hungry,’ ses the skipper. ‘We’d better not let it get peckish. Try it with a loaf o’ bread.’
“The cook went below and fetched up half-a-dozen, an’ one o’ the chaps, plucking up courage, slung it over the side, an’ afore you could say ‘Jack Robinson’ the sarpint had woffled it up an’ was looking for more. It stuck its head up and came close to the side just like the swans in Victoria Park, an’ it kept that game up until it had ’ad ten loaves an’ a hunk o’ pork.
“‘I’m afraid we’re encouraging it,’ ses the skipper, looking at it as it swam alongside with an eye as big as a saucer cocked on the ship.
“‘P’raps it’ll go away soon if we don’t take no more notice of it,’ ses the mate. ‘Just pretend it isn’t here.’