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I was within an ace of losing my hold, and tumbling overboard. "Heaven have mercy on me, what's that?" "It's that skylarking son of a gun, Jem Sparkle's monkey, sir. You, Jem, you'll never rest till that brute is made shark bait of." But Jackoo vanished up the stay again, chuckling and grinning in the ghostly radiance, as if he had been the "Spirit of the Lamp."
The shark instantly sank to have a run, then dashed at his prey, raising his snout over him, and shooting his head and shoulders three or four feet out of the water, with poor Jackoo shrieking in his jaws, whilst his small bones crackled and crunched under the monster's triple row of teeth.
The monkey was hanging by the tail from the dolphin striker, admiring what John Crow called "his own dam ogly face in the water." "Tail like yours would be good ting for a sailor, jackoo, it would leave his two hands free aloft more use, more hornament, too, I'm sure, den de piece of greasy junk dat hangs from de Captain's taffril.
Jackoo, come up, sir: don't you see dat big shovel nosed fis looking at you? Pull your handout of the water Caramighty!" The negro threw himself on the gammoning of the bowsprit to take hold of the poor ape, who, mistaking his kind intention, and ignorant of his danger, shrunk from him, lost his hold, and fell into the sea.
There was a dreamy indistinctness about the outlines of the hills, even in the immediate vicinity, which increased as they receded, until the Blue Mountains in the horizon melted into sky. The crew were listlessly spinning oakum, and mending sails, under the shade of the awning; the only exceptions to the general languor were John Crow the black, and jackoo the monkey.
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