FISHERMEN'S OWN BOOK. 159 



The Frenchman's Stew, and the Disgusted Irishmen. 



BY DICK SKYLIGHT, 



On a pleasant evening in the Summer of 186 — , the sch. Clara F. Friend 

 came sailing into Gloucester harbor, having on board in addition to her reg- 

 ular crew a young Frenchman, whom we will call Louis D. One night, 

 while laying at anchor on the Bank, he had left his own vessel and swam on 

 board the Friend, which also lay anchored about a mile distant from the 

 French bark he had left. He could not speak a word of English at that 

 time, but by language of signs, which is understood by all men, he succeed- 

 ed in making the American fishermen aware of his desire to visit the United 

 States, and they cheerfully acceded to his wishes, assuring him that they 

 would take him home with them. 



On arriving in port the Friend was hauled into the wharf and well secured, 

 and, it being Saturday night, all her crew went home to stay over Sunday, 

 leaving the Frenchman alone on board. 



The following morning Louis was out bright and early, and having eaten 

 a hasty breakfast, took a stroll around the wharves to look at the vessels 

 and also to to get an idea of the place which he now saw for the first time. 

 During his wanderings about he saw a pet cat on the wharf at which the 

 vessel lay, and pussy, with trusting confidence, came running up to him, and 

 began purring and rubbing herself against his leg. Now this was a most 

 unfortunate thing for the cat ; she took the same risk of destruction that is 

 taken by the unwary whale which ventures inside of Race Point, or the 

 school of mackerel that comes flipping along near Cape Ann. As the eager 

 Frenchman took the unsuspecting feline up in his arms bright visions of a 

 delicious soup danced before his imagination. "Now for a fresh mess !" he 

 mentally exclaimed. 



"Oh, my! ugh! the cruel, nasty thing!" exclaims some fair reader, as 

 she pictures to herself her favorite Tabby in the grasp of such a remorse- 

 less cat destroyer. 



But Louis knew nothing and cared less about the prejudices of the Anglo- 

 Saxon race in regard to the place which the cat should occupy in domestic 

 economy. He had tramped the sun-burnt plains of Mexico as a soldier, 

 served a term on a man-of-war, and lastly, dined off salt grub and skate 

 chowders in the forecastle of a French fishing vessel, and had long before 

 this got over being fastidious, therefore he was no way loath to indulge in 

 the luxury of a cat stew, the principal ingredient for which he had so easily 



