As we held on toward the frigate and shipping, a canoe, coming out from among them, approached. In it were a boy and an old man—both islanders; the former nearly naked, and the latter dressed in an old naval frock—coat. Both were paddling with might and main; the old man, once in a while, tearing his paddle out of the water; and, after rapping his companion over the head, both fell to with fresh vigour. As they came within hail, the old fellow, springing to his feet and flourishing his paddle, cut some of the queerest capers; all the while jabbering something which at first we could not understand.

Presently we made out the following:—“Ah! you pemi, ah!—you come!—What for you come?—You be fine for come no pilot.—I say, you hear?—I say, you ita maitui (no good).—You hear?—You no pilot.—Yes, you d—me, you no pilot ’t all; I d—you; you hear?”

This tirade, which showed plainly that, whatever the profane old rascal was at, he was in right good earnest, produced peals of laughter from the ship. Upon which, he seemed to get beside himself; and the boy, who, with suspended paddle, was staring about him, received a sound box over the head, which set him to work in a twinkling, and brought the canoe quite near. The orator now opening afresh, it turned out that his vehement rhetoric was all addressed to the mate, still standing conspicuously on the bulwarks.

But Jermin was in no humour for nonsense; so, with a sailor’s blessing, he ordered him off. The old fellow then flew into a regular frenzy, cursing and swearing worse than any civilized being I ever heard.

“You sabbee²

“Ay,” cried Jermin, quite surprised, as indeed we all were, “you are the pilot, then, you old pagan. Why didn’t you come off before this?”

“Ah! me sabbee,—me know—you piratee (pirate)— see you long time, but no me come—I sabbee you—you ita maitai nuee (superlatively bad).”

“Paddle away with ye,” roared Jermin, in a rage; “be off! or I’ll dart a harpoon at ye!”

But, instead of obeying the order, Jim, seizing his paddle, darted the canoe right up to the gangway, and, in two bounds, stood on deck. Pulling a greasy silk handkerchief still lower over his brow, and improving the sit of his frock—coat with a vigorous jerk, he then strode up to the mate; and, in a more flowery style than ever, gave him to understand that the redoubtable “Jim,” himself, was before him; that the ship was his until the anchor was down; and he should like to hear what anyone had to say to it.

As there now seemed little doubt that he was all he claimed to be, the Julia was at last surrendered.

Our gentleman now proceeded to bring us to an anchor, jumping up between the knight—heads, and bawling out “Luff! luff! keepy off! keepy off!” and insisting upon each time being respectfully responded to by the man at the helm. At this time our steerage—way was almost gone; and yet, in giving his orders, the passionate old man made as much fuss as a white squall aboard the Flying Dutchman.

Jim turned out to be the regular pilot of the harbour; a post, be it known of no small profit; and, in his eyes, at least, invested with immense importance.³

The old man is something of a wizard. Having an understanding with the elements, certain phenomena of theirs are exhibited for his particular benefit. Unusually clear weather, with a fine steady breeze, is a certain sign that a merchantman is at hand; whale—spouts seen from the harbour are tokens of a whaling vessel’s approach; and thunder and lightning, happening so seldom as they do, are proof positive that a man—of—war is drawing near.