"What?" asked the boys, eagerly.
THE TOMATTER VINES RIZ YOUNG LOBSTERS.
"A bluefish—a big fat six-pound bluefish. 'Name of grace!' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, sez he; an' Willum Smitzer he sez, sez he, 'Donner und blitzen,' w'ich the same it are Dutch fur, 'Squalls to leeward.' Waal, them sailor-farmers they tuk us all over the farm an' showed us the mos' picooliar crops wot any one ever seed in this 'ere world, an' ye can see a good many queer things 'ere ef ye jess keep your weather eye a-liftin'. They had strawberry bushes wot gave boiled red snapper, an' potato beds w'ere they dug up mussels. The tomatter vines riz young lobsters, an' the cucumbers was eels. The cherry-trees gave shrimps, an' scollops growed onto gooseberry bushes. Then the other Cap'n axed us fur to go an' eat dinner with 'em aboard their ship farm-house. O' course we accepted. But afore we got half-way through the dinner we was all sick; cos w'y, everythin' tasted so all-fired fishy. Then the farmer Cap'n he got mad, an' sez he to we, sez he,
"'Ef ye don't like our grub ye can go back to yer own ship.'
"'Three beans,' sez Cap'n Peleg Mahoney, that bein' French fur 'Werry good.'
"'An' don't ye ever come here again,' sez the other Cap'n.
"'Nicht an sein leben,' sez Willum Smitzer, that bein' Dutch fur 'Not ef we knows ourselves.' An' with that we went over the side an' started fur home. An' them fellers throwed overripe strawberries an' termatters at us till we looked like cod-fishermen. We went back to our ship an' told our men about it, an' they sez that nex' day they was a-goin' over an' break up that farm. But 'twarn't so to be. In the night it came on to blow from the opposite quarter, an' the anchor watch called all han's, sayin', the ice—the land—the wotever ye call 't are a-breakin' up.' We all turned out an' found the ship in the water an' drivin' clear o' the stuff. We got sail on her an' hove her to, but she jess blowed away to leeward. In the mornin' we could make out the Saragossa Sea away up to windward, an' could see the tops o' them bluefish-trees a-wavin' in the gale; but we couldn't never git back there. An', my sons," added the Old Sailor, very solemnly, "I don't b'lieve that no other ships 'ceptin' the Ham Bone an' that farm-house ship are ever bin there."