It was now pretty evident what the fate of poor puss was likely to be,
and why the lead was made fast to her feet. The rope-yarn was tied
round her neck; they each shook one of her paws, and pretended to cry.
One of the urchins held in his hand a fife, into which he poured as
much flour as it would hold out of the handkerchief, the other held
the end of the rope-yarn: every ceremony was gone through that they
could think of.
"Are you ready?" said the executioner, or he that held the line.
"All ready," replied the boy with the fife.
"Fire the gun!" said the hangman.
The boy applied one end of the fife to his mouth, blew out all the
flour, and in this humble imitation of the smoke of a gun, poor puss
was run up to the batten, where she hung till she was dead. I am
ashamed to say I did not attempt to save the kitten's life, although I
caused her foul murder to be revenged by the _cat_.
After the body had hung a certain time, they took it down and buried
it in the shot-locker; this was an indictable offence, as the smell
would have proved, so I lodged the information; the body was found,
and as the facts were clear, the law took its course, to the great
amusement of the bystanders, who saw the brats tied upon a gun, and
well flogged.
The boatswain ate the kitten, first, he said, because he had
"_larned_" to eat cats in Spain; secondly, because she had _not_ died
a natural death (I thought otherwise); and his last reason was more
singular than either of the others: he had seen a picture in a church
in Spain, of Peter's vision of the animals let down in the sheet, and
there was a cat among them.
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