Then he completed his job, and with a sense of unutterable relief slid down to the deck.  A strange sight met his eyes.  Bulger and Parmiter were lying side by side; there was blood on the deck; and Captain Barker stood over them with a marlinspike, his eyes blazing, his face distorted with passion.  In consternation Desmond slipped out of the way, and asked the first man he met for an explanation.

It appeared that Parmiter, who was at the wheel when the squall struck the ship, had put her in stays before the sail was furled, with the result that she heeled over and Desmond had narrowly escaped being flung into the sea.  Seeing the boy’s plight, Bulger had sprung forward, and, knocking Parmiter from the wheel, had put the vessel on the other tack, thus giving Desmond the one chance of escape which, fortunately, he had been able to seize.  The captain had been incensed to a blind fury, first with Parmiter for acting without orders and then with Bulger for interfering with the man at the wheel.  In a paroxysm of madness he attacked both men with a spike; the ship was left without a helmsman, and nothing but the promptitude of the melancholy mate, who had rushed forward and taken the abandoned wheel himself, had saved the vessel from the imminent risk of carrying away her masts.

Later in the day, when the squall and the captain’s rage had subsided, the incident was talked over by a knot of seamen in the forecastle.

“You may say what you like,” said one, “but I hold to it that Parmiter meant to knock young Burke into the sea.  For why else did he put the ship in stays?  He en’t a fool, en’t Parmiter.”

“Ay,” said another, “and arter that there business with the block, eh?  One and one make two; that’s twice the youngster has nigh gone to Davy Jones through Parmiter, and it en’t in reason that sich-like things should allers happen to the same party.”

“But what’s the reason?” asked a third.  “What call has Parmiter to have such a desperate spite against Burke?  He got a lickin’, in course, but what’s a lickin’ to a Englishman?  Rot it all, the youngster en’t a bad matey.  He’ve led a dog’s life, that he have, and I’ve never heard a grumble, nary one; have you?”

“True,” said the first.  “And I tell you what it is.  I believe Bulger’s in the right of it, and ‘tis all along o’ that there Diggle, hang him!  He’s too perlite by half, with his smile and his fine lingo and all.  And what’s he keep his hand wropt up in that there velvet mitten thing for?  I’d like to know that.  There’s summat mortal queer about Diggle, mark my words, and we’ll find it out if we live long enough.”

“Wasn’t it Diggle brought Burke aboard?”

“Course it was; that’s what proves it, don’t you see?  He stuffs him up as he’s to be supercargo; call that number one.  He brings him aboard and makes him ship boy; that’s number two.  He looks us all up and down with those rat’s eyes of his, and thinks we’re a pretty ugly lot, and Parmiter the ugliest, how’s that for number three?  Then he makes hissel sweet to Parmiter; I’ve seed him more’n once; that’s number four.  Then there’s that there block:  five; and today’s hanky panky:  six; and it wants one more to make seven, and that’s the perfect number, I’ve heard tell, ’cos o’ the Seven Champions o’ Christendom.”