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“Who shall have this?” he called.

“Mr. Bligh!” replied Cole.

“No! No!” the captain interrupted. “There must be no precedence here, Mr. Cole: you will begin with anyone’s name, at random. Should we catch another bird, the order must be changed. The purpose of this old custom is to be fair to all.”

Peckover laid down the bit of breast and took up a wing. “Who shall have this?”

“Peter Lenkletter!”

The wing was handed to the quartermaster. When Bligh’s turn came, he was so unfortunate as to get a foot with nothing on it but the web, and a shred or two of sinew where it had been disjointed, but he gnawed this miserable portion with every appearance of relish, and threw away nothing but the barest bones. The head and beak fell to me; and it amazes me, as I write, to recollect with what enjoyment I swallowed the eyes, and crunched the little skull between my teeth as I sucked out the raw brains. Small as the amount of nourishment was, I fancied that it brought me an immediate increase of strength. I was happy when Nelson got a rich, red morsel of the breast. He wished to share it with me, and when I refused, he lingered long over it. “The noddy eats well!” he said. “No pheasant at home ever seemed better flavoured!”