At first he was not very successful. The men stared at the discs he put into their hands until their eyes ached, but for some time without effect. Bill was the first to yield, and to the astonishment of his friends passed into a soft magnetic slumber, from which he emerged to perform the usual idiotic tricks peculiar to mesmerised subjects.
“It’s wonderful what power you ’ave over em,” said Captain Bradd, respectfully.
Captain Zingall smiled affably. “At the present moment,” he said, “that man is my unthinkin’ slave, an’ whatever I wish him to do he does. Would any of you like him to do anything?”
“Well, sir,” said one of the men, “’e owes me ’arf a crown, an’ I think it would be a ’ighly interestin’ experiment if you could get ’im to pay me. If anything ’ud make me believe in mesmerism, that would.”
“An’ he owes me eighteenpence, sir,” said another seaman, eagerly.
“One at a time,” said the first speaker, sharply.
“An’ ’e’s owed me five shillin’s since I don’t know when,” said the cook, with dishonest truthfulness.
Captain Zingall turned to his subject. “You owe that man half a crown,” he said, pointing, “that one eighteenpence, and that one five shillings. Pay them.”
In the most matter-of-fact way in the world Bill groped in his pockets, and, producing some greasy coins, payed the sums mentioned, to the intense delight of everybody.
“Well, I’m blest,” said the mate, staring. “I thought mesmerism was all rubbish. Now bring him to again.”