160 FISHERMEN'S OWN BOOK. 



secured. It is not necessary to speak here of the modus operandi of prepar- 

 ing the stew ; suffice it to say that in due course of time it was ready. 



While this was transpiring a market boat, manned by a crew of hardy 

 Irishmen, came in the harbor and hauled alongside of the wharf at which 

 the Friend lay. It was now near noon, and the olfactories of the new 

 comers were greatly refreshed by the smell of the savory stew which was 

 then in process of cooking. 



Louis, being socially inclined, soon made the acquaintance of the boat's 

 crew, and with true French politeness invited them, in broken English, to 

 partake of his dinner. This was an opportunity for a good "feed" not to 

 be neglected, and soon the party of six or eight were seated at the table 

 and busily employed in gratifying their appetite, the stew being highly ap- 

 preciated and praised by all the invited guests, who innocently supposed it 

 was made of chickens or some sort of game. 



"Be dad, that's a foine stew, Larry, me b'y," said one of the fishermen to 

 his shipmate, after dinner, and while they were filling and lighting their 

 dudeens for a "schmoke." 



" Yer right there, Mike, but phat was it made of I'd like ter know ? Divil 

 the bit can I tell phat kind of a bird it was." 



" Sure, it's aisy enough ter find out. Say, me b'y," addressing the French- 

 man, "phat kind of a bird did yer make that soup of ?" 



Now Louis, though he comprehended the meaning of the question, could 

 not answer it in English; therefore he did the next best thing, that is, 

 quickly stepped into the forehold and brought out the "bird's" skin, which 

 he displayed to the amazement and disgust of his visitors. 



"Howly mither ! " one exclaimed as he caught sight of the skin and the 

 species of animal which had figured as the basis of the soup was made ap- 

 parent to him. 



"Dear Jasus !" shouted another, grabbing his dudeen in his hand, and 

 turning pale ; "the dirty haythen has been feeding us with a cat." 



A rush was now made for the deck, and never, perhaps, was seen a group 

 of men more thoroughly demoralized and sickened than these now unhappy 

 Irishmen. Each one seemed as intent on getting rid of his dinner as he 

 had been to eat it, while poor Louis, the innocent cause of all this trouble, 

 looked on in wonder, not clearly comprehending the situation, and hardly 

 knowing what to expect. 



It is not necessary to describe the closing scene more in detail, since the 

 imagination can best fill up the picture. It is safe to say, however, that the 

 Frenchman's cat stew has never been forgotten by any of those who partook 

 of it, the particulars of which, as related above, were told the writer some 

 years later by the principal actor, Louis, himself. 



