Mother Carey's Chicken Part 20

"Don't talk about it, sir," said the stowaway in a shamefaced fas.h.i.+on.

"Only too glad to have recollected about the matches."

"Ah," said the mate; "and if you could only recollect the scoundrel who sent them, he should pay for the damage, eh, Captain Strong?"

"Yes," said the captain; "it was a cruel trick, for the sake of saving a few pounds. But, as I said before, Jimpny, I shall not forget last night's work."

"I thank you kindly, sir," said the man, "but I don't want nothing, only a chance to get on a bit."

"And that," said the captain, "you have found."

The damaged cargo was thrown overboard, the hold pumped dry, and exposed to the air as much as possible, and the risk they had all run began to be looked upon as a thing of the past. But there was one personage, if he could be so styled, who did not recover quite so quickly from the troubles of that night, and that was Jacko, who suffered so severely from the overpowering nature of the smoke in the hold that he became quite an invalid, and had to be brought up on deck by Billy Widgeon, and laid upon a wool mat in the sun.

The poor animal was very ill, but his ludicrous aspect and caricature-like imitation of sick humanity excited laughter among pa.s.sengers and men. He used to lie perfectly still, with his face contracted into comical wrinkles; but his eyes were bright and always on the move, while, if Bruff were away from his side for five minutes, he would begin to chatter uneasily, and then howl till the dog returned, to take hold of his arm, and pretend to bite him, ending by lying down and watching him with half-closed eyes.

After a while Bruff would utter a remonstrant growl, for Jack would set to work trying to solve the problem why the dog's curly coat would not lie down smooth and straight; and in his efforts to produce that smoothness that he was accustomed to see upon his own skin, he sometimes tugged vigorously enough to cause pain.

Mark was watching the pair one day, when Billy Widgeon came up.

"Why don't he get better?" said Mark. "He ought to be all right by now."

Billy Widgeon looked at the monkey, which seemed to be watching them both intently, and mysteriously drew Mark aside.

"That there settles it, Mr Mark, sir," he said.

"Settles what?"

"'Bout his being so ill, sir. I see it all just then in his wicked old eyes."

"I don't understand you, Billy."

"Don't you? He's a-gammoning on us, sir."

"Gammoning us?"

"Yes, sir. That's his artfulness. He likes to be carried down to his snug warm bed, and carried up again, and set here in the sun, and being fed with figs and sweet biscuits and lumps of sugar. It's my 'pinion that he's as well as you and me."

"No, no," said Mark. "I believe the poor thing is very ill."

"I don't, sir, and if you'll let me, I'll cure him in a minute."

"But you'd hurt him."

"Well, sir, I might hurt his feelings, but I wouldn't hurt him nowheres else."

"What will you do, then?"

"Here, hold hard," said Billy in a whisper. "Don't talk so loud; he's a-watching of us."

Mark glanced in the direction of the monkey, and sure enough the animal had drawn himself up a little, and was peering at them over the dog's back, as the latter lay down at full length in the suns.h.i.+ne.

"That's his artfulness, Mr Mark, sir," whispered Billy. "I've had the keer of that there monkey ever since he come aboard, and have stood by him many's the time when the men was up to their larks, and wanted to make him pick up red-hot ha'pennies, and to give him pepper pills to eat. Why, there was one chap used to spend hours setting traps for him.

What d'yer think he used to do?"

"I don't know," replied Mark.

"Well, I'll just tell you, sir: he used to shove a little thin old file through a cotton reel, and make a drill of it. You know what a drill is, sir?"

"Yes, I've seen it used," said Mark; "worked to and fro with a steel bow and catgut."

"That's him, sir; only my messmate hadn't no steel bow and no catgut, but he made hisself a sort of bow out of a bit o' cane and some string, and then he used to get a few nuts and stick 'em one at a time in a crack, and drill holes in the sides. When he'd done this, he used to sit o' nights and pick all the kernels out, a bit at a time, with a pin, just the same as you used to do with the periwinkles, sir."

"That I never did," said Mark, laughing, as he seated himself outside the bulwark, and gazed down in the clear water while he listened.

"Well, I used to, sir, and werry nice they is."

"I daresay, but go on."

"Well, sir, he used to pick all the kernels out, and when they was empty, fill 'em up with snuff, and plug the holes with a bit o' tar."

"What for?"

"That's just what I'm a-coming to, sir, only you keeps a-interrupting so. Then he used to put these here nuts full o' snuff in one pocket, and some good uns in the other, and wait till he see Jack. Fust time he did it, I didn't know there was any game on, and I see him give Jack a nut. He cracked it, and ate the kernel, and then my mate give him another, and he cracked and ate that, and held out his hand for more.

This time he give him one full o' snuff, but Jack tasted the tar as stopped up the hole, and was too many for him. He wouldn't crack it, but chucked it away. I thought it was only a bad one, for I never smelt the snuff; but what does my mate do but begs a bit o' wheeling sacks o'

the steward."

"A bit of what?" said Mark.

"Wheeling sacks, sir; what they fastens up letters with."

"Oh, sealing wax," cried Mark.

"Yes, sir, I said so--sealing wax, and stops up the holes with that.

Jack didn't taste that, and first time he cracks one o' them bad uns he gets his mouth full o' snuff, and there he was a-coughing and sneezing for 'bout half an hour, while as soon as he see as it was a trick, he jumps on my back and bites me in the neck, and runs away to get up in the rigging and swear--oh my eye, but he did swear!"

"Nonsense, Billy! a monkey can't swear."

"But he did, sir. He went on calling us all the names he could lay his tongue to in monkey, and whenever my mate give him nuts again, he used to crack 'em on the deck with a marline-spike. Then my mate used to try it on with other tricks, but I wouldn't have it, and I've had no end o'

rows with my messmates on account o' that little chap, for I've got to love him like a brother a'most--ah, more than you do your dog; but he's that howdacious artful that I get ashamed on him. He aren't got no more morals than a lobster, as would pinch his best friend's finger off as soon as look at him."

"And Jack bites you, then, same as he would anyone else?"

"More, sir; ever so much more. Why, I'm all over his bites."

"And so you think he's shamming?" said Mark.

"I'm sure of it, and I'm a-going to cure him."

"What will you do?"