“And serve him right, too,” the sailors unanimously cried, “what was the use of killing a poor brute when he could get nothing out of him?”
With such anecdotes as this Jim Splice diverted his companions. But there was on board of the schooner that day another subject, which contributed largely to the merriment of the sailors. This was no less a personage than Jack Jimmy. After the examination of the master fisherman, he, together with his companions, had been released from the custody under which they had at first been placed on their arrival on board of the schooner, and after having been admonished that if he threw himself overboard again, as he had once done from the fishing-boat, he would be quietly permitted to be drowned, he was left at full liberty to range the deck at large. When, however, the revelry began, still feeling strange, and fearing lest he should be in the way of the men, he had carefully rolled himself up at the foot of the mainmast, with his head supported by both his hands; and his eyes, the white parts of which could be seen at an extraordinary distance, eagerly fixed on the movements of the sailors. He had sat for a considerable time quiet and unobserved, merely giving vent now and then to his wonder, when that was heightened by any astonishing event in the day’s amusement, by a laconic—“Awh! wha dish ya Baccra debble foo true—Garamighty! look pan dem!”
When, however, the other things which had afforded amusement to the sailors, began to pall; when the dancing had become fatiguing, the songs had been exhausted, and Jim Splice’s stories had lost part of their attraction, the sailors began to look about for other excitement. It was at this moment, an unhappy one for him, that their eyes fell on the unfortunate Jack Jimmy: he was observed in his crouching position, where it was difficult to distinguish him from the ideal of a rolled up ouran-outan.
Struck with the peculiar comicality of the exhibition, the first sailor that remarked him burst out into an immoderate fit of laughter, and then touched his neighbour and pointed him out; the next did the same to his companion, until all eyes were fixed on Jack Jimmy.
“What have we here?” cried a maudlin young sailor, as he stood up and ran towards the object of attraction the others immediately followed.
“Let us see what is in that fellow, mates.”
“Ho, the little prisoner!” rang among the merry men.
Three or four of them immediately tapped him on the head jocosely, and asked him to sing: Jack Jimmy trembling with fear, opened his eyes and mouth at once, “Massa, me no sabee sing,” he replied.
“Come, old boy! stand up—you must sing,” said one of them, and they pulled up poor Jack Jimmy from his recumbent position.
If the appearance of the little man was calculated to raise laughter when he was crouching, it was much more so when he was standing up; and really there was something in him peculiarly comical. He was a little man of about four feet and a half, thickly set, and strong; his face was rounded at the mouth, and his long bony jaws projected to an extraordinary length in front. He seemed to have no brow, there was no distinction between his face and forehead; his huge large eyes looked like balls inserted into two large holes, bored on an even surface, while what was intended for a nose, was miserably abbreviated and flat, added the culminating point to an ugliness which was almost unique. To crown this extraordinary combination, a short crop of scattered hair grew on the top of his head, while the other parts were bare and shining, and now stained a dirty white with water.