“Jowin,” he resumed, after a pause, “sing me a song.”
“Well, you are a queer codger,” said Jarwin, laughing in spite of himself; “if ever there was a man as didn’t feel up to singin’, that’s me at this moment. Howsomedever, I ’spose it must be done. Wot’ll you ’ave? ‘Ben Bolt,’ ‘Black-eyed Susan,’ ‘The Jolly Young Waterman,’ ‘Jim Crow,’ ‘There is a Happy Land,’ or the ‘Old Hundred,’ eh? Only say the word, an’ I’ll turn on the steam.”
Big Chief made no reply. As he appeared to be lost in meditation, Jarwin sat down, and in a species of desperation, began to bellow with all the strength of his lungs one of those nautical ditties with which seamen are wont to enliven the movements of the windlass or the capstan. He changed the tune several times, and at length slid gradually into a more gentle and melodious vein of song, while Big Chief listened with evident pleasure. Still there was perceptible to Jarwin a dash of sadness in his master’s countenance which he had never seen before. Wondering at this, and changing his tunes to suit his own varying moods, he gradually came to plaintive songs, and then to psalms and hymns.
At last Big Chief seemed satisfied, and bade his slave good-night.
“He’s a wonderful c’racter,” remarked Jarwin to Cuffy, as he lay down to rest that night, “a most onaccountable sort o’ man. There’s sumthin’ workin’ in ’is ’ead; tho’ wot it may be is more nor I can tell. P’raps he’s agoin’ to spiflicate me, in consikence o’ my impidence. If so, Cuff, whatever will became o’ you, my poor little doggie!”
Cuffy nestled very close to his master’s side at this point, and whined in a pitiful tone, as if he really understood the purport of his remarks. In five minutes more he was giving vent to occasional mild little whines and half barks, indicating that he was in the land of dreams, and Jarwin’s nose was creating sounds which told that its owner had reached that blessed asylum of the weary—oblivion.
Next day our sailor awakened to the consciousness of the fact that the sun was shining brightly, that paroquets were chattering gaily, that Cuffy was still sleeping soundly, and that the subjects of Big Chief were making an unusual uproar outside.
Starting up, and pulling on a pair of remarkably ancient canvas trousers, which his master had graciously permitted him to retain and wear, Jarwin looked out at the door of his hut and became aware of the fact that the whole tribe was assembled in the spot where national “palavers” were wont to be held. The “House” appeared to be engaged at the time in the discussion of some exceedingly knotty question—a sort of national education bill, or church endowment scheme—for there was great excitement, much gesticulation, and very loud talk, accompanied with not a little angry demonstration on the part of the disputants.
“Hallo! wot’s up?” inquired Jarwin of a stout savage who stood at his door armed with a club, on the head of which human teeth formed a conspicuous ornament.
“Palaver,” replied the savage.