Courtenay was assured in his own mind that none of the men
had been injured, seeing that he and Suarez, who occupied the most
dangerous position, were untouched. This fatality was a mere blunder
of fate, and it grieved him sorely.
Even while he bent reverently over the unlucky Chilean's body, the
deafening vibration of the fog-horn ceased, and he heard Elsie's glad
cry from the saloon:
"Oh my, here comes Joey! That means that Captain Courtenay has left
the bridge."
The girl's joyous exclamation, her prelude to a paean of thanks that
the dreadful necessary slaying of men had ceased, was a strange
commentary on the shattered form stretched at the commander's feet.
Among the small company on board, it had been decreed that one, at
least, after surviving so many perils, should never see home and kin
again.
He gave orders that the dead man should be carried to the poop to await
a sailor's burial; then he turned, and with less sprightly step
descended the main companion. In the saloon he found Elsie and
Christobal watching the stairs expectantly. The girl had the dog in
her arms, and Courtenay perceived, for the first time, that Joey's off
fore paw had been cut by the broken glass which littered the floor of
the chart-house.
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