This fact appeared to give no little satisfaction to the crew, who raised a chorus whenever a rope had to be pulled or a brace taughtened, the fine weather and brighter surroundings making the sailors apparently forget, with that sort of happy knack for which seafaring folk are generally distinguished, all the rough time we had coming down Saint George’s Channel, when off the Tuskar, and the terrible events of the preceding day.
That very afternoon, indeed, the last act that was to blot out poor Sam Jedfoot’s memory from the minds of all the hands took place, the skipper ordering the usual auction of the dead man’s effects to be held on the fo’c’s’le; when, such is the comedy of life, the very men who were so indignant about the captain shooting him a few hours before now cut jokes about the poverty of the darkey’s kit, when his sea-chest was opened and its contents put up for sale to the highest bidder!
Sam’s banjo led to a spirited competition, Hiram Bangs finally succeeding in becoming its purchaser for five dollars, which Captain Snaggs was authorised to deduct from the American sailor’s wages—crediting it to the cook’s account, should the dead man’s heirs or assigns apply for any balance due to the poor darkey when the ship arrived in port.
The rest of the things only fetched a trifle; and, with the disposal of his goods and chattels, all recollection of the light-hearted Sam, who was once the life of the fo’c’s’le, passed out of everyone’s mind. Hiram stowed the banjo away in his box, for he could not play it, and had only bought it from its association with its late owner, who used to make him, he said, merry and sad, ‘jest as the durned nigger liked,’ with the melody he drew from the now silent strings.
And yet, somehow or other, it seemed destined that Sam should not be so soon forgotten, at least by me; for, in the evening, when I took in the cabin dinner and remained to wait at table, in lieu of the steward, who was too much occupied in cooking to come aft, Captain Snaggs brought up the subject again.
He was in high spirits at the manner in which the ship was travelling along, appearing to have quite recovered from his drinking bout; and when I uncovered the dish that I placed before him, he made a joke about it to the first-mate, who, according to custom, shared meals with the skipper in the cuddy and always sat down the same time that he did, the second-mate having to shift by himself, and eat when he had the chance between watches.
“Guess thaar ain’t no jalap in this lot, Flinders, hey?” said the captain, with a snigger; “thet thaar cuss of a stooard would be too skeart of my fixin’ him same ez I done thet durned nigger to try on any games, ye bet!”
“I reckon so, boss,” replied the other, with his mouth full, stuffing away in his usual fashion. “Ye potted the coon nicely, ye did; an’ sarved him right, too, fur meddlin’ with the grub. I thought I wer pizened sure!”
“An’ so did I, by thunder!” echoed Captain Snaggs, bringing his fist down with a bang on the table, that almost made Mr Flinders’ plate leap out of the ‘fiddle’ in which it was placed, to prevent it from spilling its contents as the ship rolled. “I did so, by thunder! I sw’ar, or else I wouldn’t a’ shot the cuss. Them hands furrud thinks I’m going to be sich a durned fool ez to call in at Bahia or Rio, an’ make a statement of the case, telling how the nigger got overboard; but ye catch me stoppin’ at any a port ’fore I drops anchor in ’Frisco. Ye knows better ner thet, Flinders, hey?”
The first-mate sniggered sympathetically at this, expressing by a wink his confidence in the skipper’s promise to the men; and the two laughed with much heartiness and fellow feeling over the credulity of those who had been so easily satisfied, and gone back to their work, confidently trusting in Captain Snaggs’ word and honour.