There is always a certain amount of pleasure to be derived¹ from the tracing of any subject of interest back to its origin. We have already seen how—like a noble river, which has its fountain-head in some mountain lakelet that would scarcely serve as a washing-basin for a Cyclops—the grand cod-fishing industry, which has enriched the world, and found employment for thousands of men for centuries, had its commencement in the crew of the Water Wagtail! we shall now show that another great industry, namely, the Newfoundland seal-fishery, had its origin in the same insignificant² source.

 

King Grummidge was walking one morning along the shore of Wagtail Bay, with hands in pockets, hat on back of head, and that easy roll of gait so characteristic of nautical³ men and royalty⁴. He was evidently troubled in mind, for a frown rested on his brow, and his lips were compressed. It might have been supposed that the cares of state were beginning to tell upon him, but such was not the case: food was the cause of his trouble.

 

“Fish, fish, fish,” he growled⁵, to Little Stubbs, who was his companion in the walk. “I’m sick tired o’ fish. It’s my opinion that if we go on eatin’ fish like we’ve bin⁶ doin’ since we was cast away here, we will turn into fish, or mermaids⁷, if not somethin’ worse. What are ye laughin’ at?”

 

“At the notion o’ you turnin’ into a maid of any sort,” replied Stubbs.

 

“That’s got nothin’ to do wi’ the argiment,” returned Grummidge sternly, for his anxieties were too serious to permit of his indulging in levity⁸ at the time. “What we’ve got to do is to find meat, for them auks are nigh as dry as the fish. Meat, lad, meat, wi’ plenty o’ fat, that’s the question o’ the hour.”

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