er
heard.

"You sabbee me?" he shouted. "You know me, ah? Well; me Jim, me
pilot--been pilot now long time."

"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 scibbee,--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!
leeepy 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. Our unceremonious entrance, therefore, was
regarded as highly insulting, and tending to depreciate both the
dignity and lucrativeness of his office.

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.

In short, Jim, the pilot, is quite a character in his way; and no one
visits Tahiti without hearing some curious story about him.

CHAPTER XXVII.

A GLANCE AT PAPEETEE--WE ARE SENT ABOARD THE FR