“I vas schvim ashore,” answered Jan Steenbock, in reply to this question from the skipper, who followed his recital carefully, with his inquisitive long nose twitching every now and then, and his billy-goat beard wagging as he nodded his head, watching apparently to catch the other tripping in his story. “I vas schvim ashore and go to landt all raite.”
“What became o’ ye then?”
“I vas shtop heres till I vas pick oop by a passing sheep.”
“Her name, mister?” again interrogated Captain Snaggs, with keen pertinacity. “Thet is if ye reck’lects.”
“Oh, yase, I vas remembers very well,” rejoined the other, equal to the occasion. “She vas ze whaling barque Jemima Greens, of Bostone, I zinks.”
“Thet’s right; I knows her,” interrupted the skipper, quite satisfied. “Joe Davis master, hey?”
“Yase, joost zo,” replied the other, “dat vas ze name of ze cap’en, I remembers.”
“An’ how long did ye remain aboard her?”
“Vor more dan vore months. She vas veeshing vor ze whale ven she pick me oop vrom here; and I vas hab to vait till she vas load up mit ze oils, ven she vas go zouth, and landt me at Valparaizo. Vrom dat port I vas vork mein passage back to England ze next zommer—and dat vas dree year ago.”
“Waal, thet’s a tall yarn, anyhow,” said the skipper, when Jan Steenbock had thus concluded his strange history; “but, dew ye mean ter say ez how ye hev never ben nigh this place hyar agen sin’ thet time?”