Ailie received an equal portion with the others, but Jacko was doomed to drag out his existence on a very minute quantity of biscuit and water. He utterly refused to eat salt junk, and would not have been permitted to use tobacco even had he been so inclined, which he was not.
Although they were thus reduced to a small allowance of food—a smaller quantity than was sufficient to sustain life for any lengthened period—no one in the slightest degree grudged Jacko his small portion. All the men entertained a friendly feeling to the little monkey, partly because it was Ailie’s pet, and partly because it afforded them great amusement at times by its odd antics.
As for Jacko himself, he seemed to thrive on short allowance, and never exhibited any unseemly haste or anxiety at meal-times. It was observed, however, that he kept an uncommonly sharp eye on all that passed around him, as if he felt that his circumstances were at that time peculiar and worthy of being noted. In particular he knew to a nicety what happened to each atom of food, from the time of its distribution among the men to the moment of its disappearance within their hungry jaws, and if any poor fellow chanced to lay his morsel down and neglect it for the tenth part of an instant, it vanished like a shot, and immediately thereafter Jacko was observed to present an unusually serene and innocent aspect, and to become suddenly afflicted, with a swelling in the pouch under his cheek.
One day the men received a lesson in carefulness which they did not soon forget.
Breakfast had been served out, and Phil Briant was about to finish his last mouthful of biscuit—he had not had many mouthfuls to try his masticating powers, poor fellow—when he paused suddenly, and gazing at the cherished morsel addressed it thus—
“Shure, it’s a purty bit, ye are! Av there wos only wan or two more o’ yer family here, it’s meself as ’ud like to be made beknown to them. I’ll not ait ye yit. I’ll look at ye for a little.”
In pursuance of this luxurious plan, Briant laid the morsel of biscuit on the thwart of the boat before him, and, taking out his pipe, began to fill it leisurely, keeping his eye all the time on the last bite. Just then Mr Markham, who pulled the bow oar, called out—
“I say, Briant, hand me my tobacco-pouch, it’s beside you on the th’ort, close under the gun’le.”
“Is it?” said Briant, stretching out his hand to the place indicated, but keeping his eye fixed all the time on the piece of biscuit. “Ah, here it is; ketch it.”
For one instant Briant looked at the second mate in order to throw the pouch with precision. That instant was sufficient for the exercise of Jacko’s dishonest propensities. The pouch was yet in its passage through the air when a tremendous roar from Tim Rokens apprised the unhappy Irishman of his misfortune. He did not require to be told to “look out!” although more than one voice gave him that piece of advice. An intuitive perception of irreparable loss flashed across his soul, and, with the speed of light, his eye was again on the thwart before him—but not on the morsel of biscuit. At that same instant Jacko sat down beside Ailie with his usual serene aspect and swelled cheek!