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.