The captains looked at one another. They had been speaking of this matter only a few minutes before, but they feigned unconsciousness.
"What man do you mean, Sefami Bunt?" asked Captain Zeno, severely. "The prisoner who was caught stealin' hens from Palmyry Henshaw last week?"
The man nodded. "Says he wants somethin' to do!" he said. "Says he'd like to do chores round for his victuals. Says he doesn't like my victuals."
The captains chuckled. Sefami Bunt was a bachelor, and his housekeeping was not supposed to be of a high order.
"Have ye got him in the jail?" asked Captain Asy Bean.
The lantern-jawed man shifted uneasily to the other foot. "Wal, I hev!" he admitted. "But he doesn't seem to be contented with that." Then, after a pause, "I brung him with me. 'T want safe to leave him, for the jail door sags so I can't lock it, and the chain is bust. So 'f you'd like to see him for yerselves – "
"Where is he?" asked the captains in chorus.
Sefami Bunt gave a backward jerk with his head. "I tied him to the leg o' the table," he said. "The boys is mindin' of him. Sh'll I fetch him up?"
Receiving an affirmative answer, he disappeared, and returned, dragging the prisoner by the collar.
The latter, the instant he caught sight of the assembly of mariners, shook off his keeper with a single movement; then, making his obeisance in true seaman fashion, he glanced quickly round the room, and stood still, cap in hand, in an attitude of respectful humility.
He was a short, thick-set man, evidently of great strength; a sailor, every inch of him, from the gold rings in his ears to the way he set his feet down. Jet-black curls clustered about his brown, smiling face. His dark eyes were alive with intelligence and humour. His open shirt displayed a neck elaborately tattooed, while hands and wrists were a museum of anchors, hearts and crosses.
"Will you speak to him, Cap'n Bean?" said one or two of the other captains in low tones.
"Wal, I don't want to be settin' myself up," replied Captain Asy, "but if it's the wish" – he glanced round the circle, and ascertained that it was the wish. Whereupon, clearing his throat and assuming a quarter-deck frown, he asked, in majestic tones, "What is your name, prisoner?"
The dark eyes looked intelligence. "Name, honourable captains? Giorgios Aristides Evangelides Paparipopoulos."
"Great Andes!" exclaimed Captain Asy. "We've got the whole archipelago, and no mistake. What do they call ye? Hey?"
"Ah!" – the brown face flashed into a bewildering smile, an ivory revelation. "Call me? Jim!"
The captains breathed again.
"That's more civilized!" said Captain Asy. "Now, you Jim, what have you got to say for yourself?"
It appeared that Jim had a great deal to say for himself. He was not happy, he must inform the honourable captains. He complained of his quarters, of his jailer, of his fare. He had, it was true, stolen a hen, being very hungry and having no money to seek the so honourable hotel. The hen was almost uneatable, but – he had stolen her. He had been condemned to three months' imprisonment in the jail, and it was well. But – here he waxed eloquent, pathetic. "I haf been in jail, honourable captains, before. Never for great offence, but – I have been. But never like zis! Ze rain come in upon my bed. I try to shut ze door, for ze wind blow at me, but he not shut. I sleep, and ze ship come in ze door and eat me."
"Hold on there!" said Captain Asy. "What do you mean by that? Hey? Ship come in the door?"
"Yes, honourable captain; t'ree gre't big ship. I hear 'baa! baa!' I wake suddainlee, and zey are eat my foot."
"Sheep, he means!" the jailer explained. "The' warnt but two, I guess. Fact, they got a way o' wand'rin' int' the jail, but they wouldn't ha' hurt him any. He's dretful skeered for one that's knocked about pooty nigh the world over, from what he says."
"But!" the prisoner maintained, turning a candid face upon the court; "is it a jail – for ship to walk in and eat – what you say neeble – ze foots of prisoners?"
"No! no! 'taint!" "That's so!" "He's right, gentlemen!" came from the assembled captains.
"Zen," Jim continued, "ze mess! Salted backbone of hog – must I eat always zis? Never for t'ree mont's ozer sing? Honourable captains, I die."
"Wal!" said Sefami Bunt, with a hint of bluster in his voice, "I guess if backbone's good enough for me, it's good enough for him! 'Twas a good hawg! and, anyway, I've got to use it!"
"Sold the rest and salted down the backbone for yourself and prisoner?" queried Captain Asy Bean.
The jailer nodded, and repeated in an injured tone:
"'Twas a good hawg! Anybody could ha' seen him fattenin' any time they mind to pass by."
"And I tell Mr. Bont," – Jim resumed the thread of his narrative, smiling apology around, – "I tell him, 'Let-a me go!' not ron avay, of course; I cannot ron avay if I wish. It is island. I tell him 'Let-a me go and work! I make ze door good; I mend ze windows; I do for ozer people work, perhaps zey give me ozer mess.' Is it not?" with a sudden flash and gleam of eyes and teeth.
There was a short pause. "How did you come here, anyway?" queried Captain Bije Tarbox.
It appeared that Jim had fallen overboard from his vessel. It was night, and his fall had not been noticed. Fortunately, the vessel was, even at the moment, passing the Island. He was a good swimmer, used to being in the water for a long time – briefly, behold him! He stole the hen. He was taken, brought before the "selected gentlemen." That was his story.
"Just step outside with Bunt a minute, my man," said Captain Asy Bean, "and we'll settle your case." Then, as the door closed behind the smiling criminal and his gloomy guardian, Captain Asy turned to the others:
"Gentlemen, this story may or may not be true. It sounds fishy; but, anyhow, the man must have come from somewhere, and I d'no as it matters much, s'long as he's here now. Question is, what to do with him now he is here. Just like them seleckmen, lettin' the jail go to rack an' ruin, an' then clappin' a man in thar for the sheep to nibble."
"Man's a seaman, anyhow," said Captain Bije Tarbox. "Ought t' ha' been sent straight to us."
"That's so!" assented the captains all.
"Wal!" resumed Captain Asy, "'pears to me the straight thing is for us to send for the seleckmen – they'll be goin' by to dinner direckly, an' we can toll 'em in an' say to 'em – "
"Thar she blows!" sang out Captain Abram.
"Where away?" asked Captain Moses Packard.
"Weather bow!" was the reply; and then the talk went on again.
Part II
Palmyra Henshaw was sitting in her neat kitchen, with folded hands. The kettle was singing cheerfully, the cat was purring contentedly by the stove; but for once Miss Palmyra's mood did not chime in with the singing or the purring. She had sprained her ankle the day before, and it was now so painful, that, after dragging it about till her work was "done up" (for, land sakes! she couldn't sit down in the dirt; and her kitchen had to be cleaned up, if she did it on her hands and knees), she was fain now to sit down and put the offending member up on a chair.
She looked at the poor foot with great displeasure. It was badly swollen; she had had to put on a green carpet slipper, one of an old pair of her father's; and the contrast with her other foot, in its trim, well-blacked shoe, was anything but pleasant.
As she sat thus in silent discomfort, she heard the sound of the pump in the yard. Somebody was working the handle up and down with firm, regular strokes.
"Well, what next?" said Miss Palmyra, fretfully, peering out of the window and trying to gain a sight of the intruder. "I sh'd like to know who's at that pump without askin' leave or license. I left the pail out there, too, didn't I? Like