“Begorrah,” as Mick said, “he can do ivv’rythin’ save spake; an’ thet the artful joker won’t do, faith, bekase he thinks, sure, we’ll make him wurrk!”
One day on our passage home to England, ‘Jocko’ got into as great disgrace as I did that time when I was ‘caught in the act,’ smoking, on board the Saint Vincent.
Master monkey, if you please, managed to get into the chaplain’s cabin through the scuttle, the door being locked on purpose to prevent his intrusion.
It was on a Saturday when this occurred, a day the Reverend Mr Tibbits devoted to composing his usual Sunday sermon, which lay on his desk neatly written out on the usual official foolscap; the worthy gentleman having just completed his task of attending to our spiritual needs on the morrow, and being then engaged in recruiting his own inner man, after his arduous labours, with lunch in the wardroom mess.
Hence, the chaplain’s temporal necessity was Jocko’s opportunity.
Seeing the fine field open for the exercise of his ingenious imagination, Jocko set to work as speedily as possible, to see what havoc he could make in the short time the sagacious animal knew he had at his disposal; and he seized hold in some way or other of a big quart bottle of ink which the chaplain kept for a reserve stock on top of the bookcase at the side—at least so it was thought afterwards, no one, of course, having seen him do it.
This, with an artistic idea of effect, the monkey poured liberally, not only over the sermon and other papers that lay on the table, but on the reverend gentleman’s sheets as well, Jocko probably thinking a black colour would be more suitable and in keeping with the clerical garments that hung from some clothes-pegs adjacent.
Next, Mr Jocko appropriated the chaplain’s Bible, and ‘diligently searched the Scriptures’ for some time, with great care tearing out those leaves, and there were many, containing passages which particularly struck his fancy.
A large prayer-book, whose type or binding offended him in some way or other, he took up with his paws and very carefully dropped through the scuttle, to refresh the souls of the fishes below.