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From that time forward I was never fortunate enough to have a cat for my very own for a long time. Nearly every ship I was in had a cat, or even two, but they were common property, and their attentions were severely impartial. Then it came to pass that I joined a very large and splendid ship in Adelaide as second mate. Going on board for the first time, a tiny black kitten followed me persistently along the wharf. It had evidently strayed a long way and would not be put off, although I made several attempts to escape from it, feeling that perhaps I might be taking it away from a better home than I could possibly give it. It succeeded in following me on board, and when I took possession of the handsome cabin provided for me in the after end of the after deckhouse facing the saloon, it installed itself therein, purring complete approval of its surroundings. Now, in spite of the splendour of the ship and the natural pride I felt in being an officer on board of her, it must be confessed that I was exceedingly lonely. The chief officer was an elderly man of about fifty-five who had long commanded ships, and he considered it beneath his dignity to associate with such a mere lad as he considered me. Besides, he lived in the grand cabin. I could not forgather with the saloon passengers, who rarely came on the main-deck at all where I lived, and I was forbidden to go forward and visit those in the second saloon. Therefore during my watch below I was doomed to solitary state, cut off from the companionship of my kind with the sole exception of the urbane and gentlemanly chief steward, who did occasionally (about once a week) spend a fraction of his scanty leisure in conversation with me. Thus it came about that the company of “Pasht,” as I called my little cat, was a perfect godsend. He slept on my pillow when I was in my bunk, when I sat at my table writing or reading he sat close to my hand. And if I wrote long, paying no attention to him, he would reach out a velvety paw and touch the handle of my pen, ever so gently, looking up at my face immediately to see if my attention had been diverted. Often I took no notice but kept on with my work, quietly putting back the intruding paw when it became too troublesome. At last, as if unable to endure my neglect any longer, he would get up and walk on to the paper, sitting down in the centre of the sheet with a calm assurance that now I must notice him that was very funny. Then we would sit looking into the depths of each other’s eyes as if trying mutual mesmerism. It generally ended by his climbing up on to my shoulder and settling into the hollow of my neck, purring softly in my ear, while I wrote or read on until I was quite stiff with the constrained position I kept for fear of disturbing him. Whenever I went on deck at night to keep my watch he invariably came with me, keeping me company throughout my four hours’ vigil on the poop. Always accustomed to going barefoot, from which I was precluded during the day owing to my position, I invariably enjoyed the absence of any covering for my feet in the night watches. My little companion evidently thought my bare feet were specially put on for his amusement, for after a few sedate turns fore and aft by my side, he would hide behind the skylights and leap out upon them as I passed, darting off instantly in high glee at the feat he had performed. Occasionally I would turn the tables on him by going a few feet up the rigging, when he would sit and cry, baby-like, until I returned and comforted him. I believe he knew every stroke of the bell as well as I did. One of the apprentices always struck the small bell at the break of the poop every half-hour, being answered by the look-out man on the big bell forward. “Pasht” never took the slightest notice of any of the strokes until the four pairs announced the close of the watch. Then I always missed him suddenly. But when, after mustering the mate’s watch and handing over my charge to my superior, I went to my berth, a little black head invariably peeped over the edge of my bunk, as if saying, “Come along; I’m so sleepy!” So our pleasant companionship went on until one day, when about the Line in the Atlantic, I found my pretty pet lying on the grating in my berth. He had been seized with a fit, and under its influence had rushed into the fo’c’s’le, where some unspeakable wretch had shamefully maltreated him under the plea that he was mad! I could not bear to see him suffer—I cannot say what had been done to him—so I got an old marline-spike, looped the lanyard about his neck, and dropped him overboard. And an old lady among the passengers berated me the next day for my “heartless brutality”!