Nature did not seem to have been generous enough to accord to him one single redeeming point; his head was joined by a short neck to square heavy shoulders, that rose about the ears of the little man; his legs were of the same shapeless proportions, and terminated at the base in large lumps of flesh, which seen unconnectedly with their appurtenant limbs, would scarcely have been taken for feet, if the short, chubby, and creasing toes, that were fixed to them, had not indicated their nature. To add more to this already ridiculous figure, the circumstance of dress was called in requisition. Jack Jimmy was clad in a dirty, ragged, checked shirt; with lower coverings that were once brown, but which were now of an obscure tawny color, acquired from the many incrustations of dirt that had been permitted to be formed upon them. The sleeves of the shirt were tucked up in a roll which seemed to have become perpetual from the smooth waxing which friction had imparted to it. The tawny trousers were done up in like manner; and on the lower exposed parts of the limbs, might be traced on the black skin, the embedded salt which had settled there while the water trickled down after the plunge of the preceding day.
All these peculiarities, set forth in active prominence by the fear and excitement of the present moment, were quite sufficient to overcome the gravity of more serious men than those who happened, at that time, to be at the height of their merriment.
“Garamighty, massa! me tell you me no sabee sing.”
“Well, you can dance, then;” and one of the sailors took a sword, and made so dexterously at the short legs of the little man, that, to protect those members, he began to jump about like a dancing puppet—to the infinite gratification of the sailors, who roared with laughter. This sport, however, soon ended.
“Hark ye!” said a sailor: “Sambo, if you can’t sing, you must submit to a penalty—bring up the old jib, Domingo,” he added to one of his mates, “or a blanket.”
“Yes, blanket him, ha! ha! ha!” cried all the men, “blanket him, ha! ha! ha!”
With the alacrity that sport alone can give, the sailors immediately brought a sail, into which they lifted the unfortunate Jack Jimmy, who, stupid with fear, all the while was crying—“Tap, massa—Garamighty!—you go kill me,—oh, Lard!—my mamee, oh!”
They raised him on the sail, and began to balance him about, but Jack Jimmy, in the extremity of his fear, apprehending that they were going to do something dreadful to him, took a leap to get out of the sail, and in doing so, was pitched flat on the deck.
He stretched himself out two or three times, feigning the last convulsions of death, and lay at his length with his eyes tightly closed. The sailors laughed; and, seeing clearly, from the heavings of his chest, that he was not so dead as he pretended to be, began to roll him violently about, as they said, in keeping with his own feint, to bring back life. But Jack Jimmy played his part well, and would neither open his eyes, nor show any other sign of existence.
At last, one of the sailors said, aloud—“I know what will bring back the poor fellow: yes, it would be a pity to let him die so; Jack, lend me your cigar.” Jack lent his cigar, and the sailor applied the lighted part to the thick great toe of the would-be defunct. He, however, would not move, but the sailor was persevering; Jack Jimmy remained quiet until the fire had fairly burnt through the thick skin, and had touched the more tender parts; when he felt it he was no longer dead; he sprang up briskly, on his resting part, and, catching hold of the toe, rubbed it with all his might, while he cried out—“Gad, Lard! me dead foo true;—wy—ee bun me foo true—Garamighty!”