He used to sit in the weather-bow of a night till a flying-fish came on board, then catch it and come aft with it to his master, and go back and wait for another. The men averred that these fish flew at Tom’s eyes, because they looked like a couple of ship’s lanterns in the dark. Perhaps this was the true explanation. At all events, the fish did fly on board, and were duly cooked for breakfast every morning; and if there be anything nicer for breakfast than a broiled flying-fish, I have yet to learn something new about the sea, and things in general.
Years and years after this, Tom—our hero, not the cat—used to look back to the days he spent on board of the lazy ’Liza as among the most delightful—dreamily delightful—in all his experience of a seafarer’s life.
Ah! but they came to an end in a sadly unexpected way.
CHAPTER XV.
“NEXT INSTANT THE SHIP WAS STRUCK AND STAVED.”
“IF this breeze keeps,” said Captain Barnaby Blunt—“if this breeze keeps up, we should sight Chatham to-morrow.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Tom.
“Yes. We are here now, I reckon,” continued Blunt, sticking a pin in the chart that was spread out on the cabin table.
Something called the worthy Yank on deck just then, and Tom closed his book.
“I say, Brandy, little boy.”
“I’se a-listenin’, sah, propah.”