“So, as soon as he dives down the companion to take the time of the chronometer below, the old lady goes up to the helmsman—all bridling up and curtseying down, the same as a ship in a heavy head sea.
“‘Good-morning, Mr Sailor,’ says she.
“‘Mornin’,’ says the man at the wheel, who was a rough old shellback, and didn’t waste his words like Pat Doolan here.
“‘Is it really true, Mr Sailor,’ says the old lady, ‘as how there are fishes in the sea in these latitoods, as can fly in the air, like birds? The capting told me to ax you, or I wouldn’t trouble you.’
“‘Bless you, mum, no trouble at all,’ answered the man. ‘In course there be flying fish hereabouts; you’ll see flocks of ’em presently.’
“‘And are they very large, Mr Sailor?’ says the old lady.
“‘Large, mum?’ repeats the helmsman, looking around as if in search of something to liken the size of the fish to. ‘Why, I’ve seed em as big round as—aye, as the stump of that there mizzen-mast there!’
“‘My good gracious!’ screams the old lady, ‘Why, they must be larger nor crocodiles!’
“‘Aye, all that,’ says the man, as cool as you please. ‘The last voyage I was on, my mate was in the foretop of the vessel I was in, looking out to windward, when pop jumps one of ’em right down his throat!’
“‘And the fish was as big as the mizzen-mast there?’ says the old lady, curious like, in her surprise at the chap’s awful bender; although she didn’t misdoubt his telling her the truth, for she would ha’ took in anything!