"From where is the sloop?" "From around
the world," I again replied, very solemnly. "And alone?" "Yes; why
not?" "And you know me?" "Three thousand years ago," cried I, "when
you and I had a warmer job than we have now" (even this was hot). "You
were then Jenkinson, but if you have changed your name I don't blame
you for that." Mr. Jenkins, forbearing soul, entered into the spirit
of the jest, which served the _Spray_ a good turn, for on the strength
of this tale it got out that if any one should go on board after dark
the devil would get him at once. And so I could leave the _Spray_
without the fear of her being robbed at night. The cabin, to be sure,
was broken into, but it was done in daylight, and the thieves got no
more than a box of smoked herrings before "Tom" Ledson, one of the
port officials, caught them red-handed, as it were, and sent them to
jail. This was discouraging to pilferers, for they feared Ledson more
than they feared Satan himself. Even Mamode Hajee Ayoob, who was the
day-watchman on board,--till an empty box fell over in the cabin and
frightened him out of his wits,--could not be hired to watch nights,
or even till the sun went down. "Sahib," he cried, "there is no need
of it," and what he said was perfectly true.
At Mauritius, where I drew a long breath, the _Spray_ rested her
wings, it being the season of fine weather. The hardships of the
voyage, if there had been any, were now computed by officers of
experience as nine tenths finished, and yet somehow I could not forget
that the United States was still a long way off.
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