"Jimmy Square Foot," his spirit was
transferred from Ratcliffe Highway to a volcanic island in the
Mediterranean called Stromboli. There he frequently appeared in his
professional garb, standing by the edge of the crater along with his
satanic friend who was reputed to have secured an eternal lease of this
rock in order to provide a suitable abode for some of those to whom he
had been closely attached during their earthly pilgrimage. Whenever the
volcano was unusually active, the sailors who were in the vicinity
would say, "Ah, Jimmy is taking it out of the old Baker to-night."

The first time I visited this part of the world, the vessel I served in
was creeping close past Stromboli with a light wind. Some of the
forecastle hands became reminiscent. They spoke of how they had been
fed on biscuits made by the gentleman whom they had seen standing by
the molten fire gesticulating to be taken from it. Strange tales were
related as to the reality of this notorious person's existence. I
listened with feverish greed to the yarns until my vision became
confused and I fancied him not only close by me but imagined I heard
his sombre cry of despair beseeching our compassion. The sailor's
delight in hyperbole led one of our comrades to relate most charmingly
the story of the baker's first appearance in Stromboli. An English
barque some years ago lay becalmed within a mile from the Stromboli
shore. The captain and officers knew the biscuit manufacturer well. The
chief officer whose watch it was walked the quarter deck in deep
meditation. A sailor who was at the wheel suddenly became aware of two
figures close to the crater. One was stoking and the other was
vehemently urging him to greater effort. He called out excitedly:

"Look! Who's that standing by the glare of the fire? My God, if we were
not safe on salt water I would say we were near enough to hell!"

"What do you mean?" asked the flurried chief officer.

"I mean," said the sailor, pointing towards the shore, "the flames and
the figures yonder. May heaven send a breeze so that we may get away
from the sight of it."

The mate was over-awed; he steadied his nerves, took up the telescope
and looked towards the crest of the hill for a few seconds. The glass
dropped suddenly from his hands on to the deck, and he exclaimed:

"The Lord save us! It is the London baker with Jimmy Square Foot. Jump
down and call the captain while I say a few words of prayer."

The hand who arou