Thousands of pathetic tales could be told of the sufferings of poor
dumb animals and the sympathy of some kind human souls for them. The
following one is from the Secretary of a Humane Society:--
The wife of a small country farmer wrote to me: "I can't bear sending
the cattle to market. I always keep out of the way, for every animal
on the place knows me, and they look at me so sadly, and, knowing
what they're going to, I feel sometimes that I'd rather give the
whole thing up, than go on rearing them to be knocked about and
killed.
"I went to the market once myself to see a young beast being sold,
but I'll never go again. I had fed it with my own hands every day,
till it was like a child. I went to the market-town by train, and the
young bullock was driven by road. I walked a little way out to meet
it, and at last met it coming tramping along, and the drover told me
he had had the greatest difficulty to get it along the last few
miles; it had become so tired. You see it had not had much exercise,
as when you are fattening things, it does not do to let them run
about too much, or they'll 'run all the meat off their bones' again,
as the saying is.
"When I went to Smithfield, I was ready to faint as I saw the men
shouting and swearing, and slashing away with thick sticks. The poor
things were so confused and knocked about that they didn't know what
to do, and I went up to the man who seemed to be in charge of the
pens that our auctioneer was going to sell from, and asked him if he
would be kind to my poor bullock when it came. He only cursed it an
laughed a mocking laugh, and said, 'Oh, yes, ---- it, I'll be gentle
with it. You wait, missis, and see! Do you think I'm here to coddle
any ---- beasts? If you do, you're ---- well mistaken.'
"I couldn't bear to see what would happen. I couldn't stand it, so I
went away, and then the men (dealers) simply stood and talked, and
haggled with the farmers; and the drovers shouted and yelled, and
hooted, and knocked the things about, and hit them on the nose and
over the eyes, and poked and prodded them with sharp pointed sticks;
and the dogs yapped and barked, and I never heard a single word of
pity, or saw a sign of pity for the poor, tired, bruised, panting,
and terrified creatures.
"It was a terribly hot day, and I wandered about the town all the
afternoon, able to think of little else than of my poor bullock, and
of what had become of it, when, as I was going to the station to my
train, I met three or four cattle coming driven along. Suddenly one
of them caught sight of me, and in spite of all the men could do came
rushing up towards me. It was my poor bullock; but, oh, so terribly
altered. I should hardly have known it.
_"It seemed beside itself with joy to see me, and stood by me lowing
so pitifully, as much as to say, 'Oh, I'm so glad I've found you! I
know I'm safe now, and you won't let these awful men carry me off
again'._
"At last they managed to get it to move on by flogging it savagely,
and, heart-sick and conscience-smitten, I went to the station; and
when I got the money that it was sold for it seemed to me like 'the
price of blood.' But what can I do?
"I suppose the proper thing is to get hardened and to think nothing
about it, like other people; but it is so dreadful that I can never
go to market to see another of my poor beasts sold."