When the toil was over Jim Billings went below with his mates,
and their dripping clothes soon covered the cabin floor with slush.

"Surely they changed their clothes?" I fancy I hear some innocent asking
that question. Ah! No. The smacksmen have no time for changes of
raiment. Jim huddled himself up like the rest: the crew turned in
soaking, and woke up steaming, just as the men do even nowadays.

Week in, week out, Jim Billings led that hard life, and he grew up
brawny and sound in spite of all his troubles. His frame was a mass of
bone and wire, and no man could accurately measure his strength. His
mind was left vacant of all good impressions; every purely animal
faculty was abnormally developed, and Jim's one notion of relaxation was
to get beastly drunk whenever he had the chance. Like too many more of
those grand seamen, he came to regard himself as an outcast, for he was
cut off from the world during about forty-six weeks of every year, and
he thought that no creature on earth cared for him. If he broke a finger
or strained a tendon, he must bear his suffering, and labour on until
his eight weeks were up; books, newspapers, rational amusements were
unknown to him; he lived on amid cursing, fighting, fierce toil, and
general bestiality.

Pray, what were Jim's recreations? When he ran up to London he remained
violently, aggressively drunk while his money lasted, and at such times
he was as dangerous as a Cape buffalo in a rage. With all his weight he
was as active as a leopard, and his hitting was as quick as Ned
Donnelly's. He enjoyed a fight, but no one who faced him shared his
enjoyment long; for he generally settled his man with one rush. He used
both hands with awful severity; and in short, he was one of the most
fearsome wild beasts ever allowed to remain at large. I have known him
to take four men at once, with disastrous results to the four, and, when
he had to be conveyed to the police-station (which was rather
frequently), fresh men were always brought round to handle him. Speaking
personally, I may say that I would rather enter a cage of performing
lions than stand up for two rounds with Mr. Billings. He only once was
near The Chequers, and I fear I entertained an unholy desire to see some
of our peculiar and eloquent pugilists raise his ire. Here was a pretty
mass of blackguard manhood for you! Everyone who knew him felt certain
that Jim would be sent to penal servitude in the end for killing some
ant