Roving Jack, The Pirate Hunter — page 121: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

—— - - -<. = és ~ ROVING JACK, THE PIRATE HUNTER. a The lieutenant then cast his eye around for some man to send aloft. Simon Smut was the only one who happened to be disengaged, “Here, you sir.” “Ullo, mister, vat's yer good pleasure ?”” “Is that the way you speak to your officers, you long-legged, lubberly son of a salt-junk cask !” “My father were a ’spectibel member 0’ s’ciety ” commenced Simon, when a stinging blow from a notted cord cut short his explanations. ‘““Up with you, rascal, up to the mast-head, and clear away the halyard! Begone! and if I don’t keelhaul you when you come down, may I be eaten ogee and sunk to Davy Jones! Up with you !’ The lieutenant flourished his instrument of pun- ishment with such show of violence that Simon was glad to escape—up the rigging or anywhere to avoid the wordy passion of his officer. Now, Simon, as our readers are pretty well aware, had a great genius for shirking any kind of work, Hitherto he had studiously kept from going aloft—at least, only to a little height, and that for his own amusement. He would have swarmed up a chimney twice the height of the ship’s main-mast without fear, and joyfully have uttered his cry of triumph on reaching the top. But, to ascend to the giddy height he was now ordered, made him tremble, and he stopped. “Go on, sir!” roared the imperious voice of the officer. ‘‘ No loitering,” Poor Simon crept on and on. The wind was blowing freshly; there was a heavy swell on the bosom of the ocean, and the good ship rolled from side to side. At length, he reached the mast-head, and com- menced his task, But neither his awkwardness nor his timidity had escaped notice. Two tars on deck had just completed their task of stowing away shot in the racks, and were de- termined to have some sport. “My eye, Bill! See that lubber there go up the top-m’st like the bear goes up the greasy pole at the Tower,’’* Bill cocked his eye aloft, and spurted a mouthful of tobacco juice oyer the bulwarks. “Let’s have a game with the lubberly young dog,” said he. ‘‘ Come along.” The two active sailors were not half the time it had taken Simon Smut in journeying to the same altitude, They each took an end and placed themselves astride the spar immediately below Simon. Upon this spar would be his first resting place when he came down. Simon was not long. He slid down the mast gently. He was just congratulating himself on the com- pletion of the most dangerous portion of his task, when he felt himself jerked about in a very strange manner, * Some years ago a collection of wild beasts was kept at the Tower of London. The Zoological Gardens were not then in existence. He could not have believed that the wind and sea would have produced such an eccentric action on the mast and rigging, He looked to the right hand. He looked to the left hand ! There, on each side of him, sat a grinning sailor, astride the yard, jumping up and down on a rough see-saw principle, which greatly discomposed Simon’s nerves, _ “Stop, will yer?” he cried, clinging to the mast in desperation. ‘ Hit jogeles a feller?” The sailors laughed, and continued to “joggle” him more violently than before. “Carn’t yer leave hoff when a cove axes? I shall fall, 1 know! Ho! vot a fall is there, my country- men !” “Stick to it, my lad—lash yourself to the mast ! You’ll do well for a storm-signal,” said the sailor called Bill. “They'll think we've got the blue peter flying at the main,” said the other, ““My name is Norval—I mean Simon, and I haint got no acquaintance with yer blue Peters, nor kany other coloured natives.” ‘Ha, ha, ha!” laughed both the sailors, and at the sound the lieutenant’s watchful eye was directed towards them. ** Ahoy, there ! Come down on deck.” The two able-bodied seamen rapidly obeyed the command, and stood before the officer. “No skylarking,”’ said he. ‘ To your work !” The men touched their hats, and stepped forward. But they cast an eye aloft, as did the officer, to see what had become of their lubberly companion, Simon Smut, He was nowhere to be seen, though a dull, heavy plunge in the water told them plainly enough that he had fallen overboard. The ship was at once hove to ; but, ere the boats could be lowered, the light suddenly faded. A dark cloud had passed before the setting sun. Some old spars, tubs, and other articles were thrown overboard, in the hope that he might be able to reach one of them, and all that night they cruised to and fro as near the spot as possible, But when morning came Simon Smut was not to be seen. j His fate remained in uncertainty. Had he met with a sudden death, and gone straight to the depths of the sea, had some huge monster swallowed him, or had he been drifted away by the tide? No one could tell, Report was duly made, and the words ‘“ Lost at sea,’ written opposite his name in the ship’s books. Some one or two were sorry; they had felt kindly disposed towards the romantic chimney- sweep, and looked upon him as a kind of pet dog. But Simon Smut was not drowned. Perhaps his destiny might be more closely con- nected with a rope; but that must be seen here- after. A pickle-tub that had been thrown overboard came near him as he struggled with the waves; he seized it, and was saved. All through the night the angry ocean hurried him forward ; and just as day began to break he found his feet strike against the sandy beach of a little green island, EO CoOOKS, COL;