we reached home. Ten golden epochs, to be looked forward to with
feverish longing over the six hungry days between each. And when
off the Western Islands, Chips tackled the wicked old Madrassee sow
single-handed, in the pride of his prowess allowing no one to help
him although she was nearly as large as himself--ah! that was the
culminating point. Such a feast was never known to any of us before,
for in spite of her age she was succulent and sapid, and, as the
Irish say, there was “lashins and lavins.” When we arrived in the
East India Docks, we still had, besides the two progenitors of our
stock, eight fine young porkers, such a company as would have been
considered a most liberal allowance on leaving home for any ship I
have ever sailed in before or since. As for Denis and Jenny, I am
afraid to estimate their giant proportions. They were not grossly
fat, but enormously large--quite the largest pigs I have ever
seen--and when they were lifted ashore by the hydraulic crane, and
landed in the railway truck for conveyance to Cellardyke, to taste
the joys of country life on Captain Smith’s farm, there was a rush
of spectators from all parts of the dock to gaze open-mouthed upon
these splendid specimens of ship-bred swine. But few could be got
to believe that, eleven months before, the pair of them had been
carried on board in one sack by an undersized man, and that their
sole sustenance had been “hard-tack” and pea-soup.
III
Such an extensive collection of farm-stock as we carried in the
_Belle_ was, like the method of dealing with it, probably unique.
Certainly so in my experience, and in that of all the shipmates with
whom I have ever discussed the matter. For this reason, a _dirty_
ship upon the high seas is an anomaly, something not to be imagined;
that is, in the sense of loose dirt, of course, because sailors will
call a ship dirty whose paint and varnish have been scrubbed or
weathered off, and, through poverty or meanness, left unrenewed. The
_Belle_ would no doubt have looked clean to the average landsman,
but to a sailor she was offensively filthy, and the language used at
night when handling the running gear (_i.e._ the ropes which regulate
the sails, &c., aloft, and are, when disused, coiled on pins or on
deck) was very wicked and plentiful. In fact, as Old Nat remarked
casually one Sunday afternoon, when the watch had been roused to tack
ship, and all the inhabitants of the farmery, disturbed from their
roosting places or lairs, were unmusically seeking fresh quarters,
“Ef thishyer---- old mud-scow’s out much longer we sh’ll hev’ ’nother
cargo aboard when we du arrive. People ’ll think we cum fr’m the
Chinchees with gooanner.”
But, as I have said, the _Belle_ was certainly an exception. I joined
a magnificent steel clipper called the _Harbinger_ in Adelaide as
second mate, and, on taking my first walk round her, discovered that
she too was well provided in the matter of farm-stock, besides, to
my amazement, for I had thought the day for such things long past,
carrying a cow. But all the arrangements for the housing, feeding,
and general comfort of the live-stock on board were on a most
elaborate scale, as, indeed, was the ship’s equipment generally.
The cow-house, for instance, was a massive erection of solid teak
with brass fittings and fastenings, large enough to take two cows
comfortably, and varnished outside till it looked like a huge
cabinet. Its place when at sea was on the main hatch, where it was
nearly two feet off the deck, and by means of ring-bolts was lashed
so firmly that only a perfectly disastrous sea breaking on board
could possibly move it. Its solidly-built doors opened in halves, of
which the lower half only was kept fastened by day, so that Poley
stood at her window gazing meditatively out at the blue expanse of
the sea with a mild, abstracted air, which immediately vanished if
any one inadvertently came too near her premises. She had a way
of suddenly dabbing her big soapy muzzle into the back of one’s
neck while the victim’s attention was taken up elsewhere that was
disconcerting. And one night, in the middle watch, she created a
veritable sensation by walking into the forecastle unseen by anybody
on deck. The watch below were all sound asleep, of course, but the
unusual footsteps, and long inquisitive breaths, like escaping steam,
emitted by the visitor, soon roused them by their unfamiliarity.
Voice called unto voice across the darkness (and a ship’s forecastle
at night is a shade or so darker than a coal-cellar), “What is it?
Light the lamp, somebody”; but with that vast mysterious monster
floundering around, no one dared venture out of the present security
of his bunk. It was really most alarming--waking up to such an
invisible horror as that, and, as one of the fellows said to me
afterwards, “All the creepy yarns I’d ever read in books come
inter me head at once, until I was almost dotty with ’fraid.” This
situation was relieved by one of the other watch, who, coming in to
get something out of a chum’s chest, struck a match, and by its pale
glimmer revealed the huge bulk of poor Poley, who, scared almost to
drying up her milk, was endeavouring to bore her way through the
bows in order to get out. The butcher was hurriedly roused from his
quarters farther aft, and, muttering maledictions upon ships and all
sailors, the sea and all cattle, slouched to the spot. His voice
immediately reassured the wanderer, who turned round at its first
angry words and deliberately marched out of the forecastle, leaving a
lavish contribution in her wake as a memento of her visit.
Between the butcher and Poley a charming affection existed. She loved
him most fondly, and the Cardigan jacket he wore was a proof thereof.
For while engaged in grooming her, which he did most conscientiously
every morning, she would reach round whenever possible and lick him
wherever she could touch him. In consequence of this affectionate
habit of hers his Cardigan was an object of derision to all on board
until upon our arrival in Cape Town one of our departing passengers
divided a case of extra special Scotch whisky among the crew. The
butcher being of an absorbent turn, shifted a goodly quantity of
the seductive fluid, and presently, feeling very tired, left the
revellers and disappeared. Next morning he was nowhere to be found. A
prolonged search was made, and at last the missing man was discovered
peacefully slumbering by the side of the cow, all unconscious of the
fact that she had licked away at him until nothing remained of his
Cardigan but the sleeves, and in addition a great deal of his shirt
was missing. It is only fair to suppose that, given time enough,
she would have removed all his clothing. It was a depraved appetite
certainly, but as I have before noticed, _that_ is not uncommon
among animals at sea. It was her only lapse, however, from virtue
in that direction. Truly her opportunities were small, being such
a close prisoner, but the marvel to me was how, in the absence of
what I should say was proper food, she kept up her supply of milk
for practically the whole voyage. She never once set foot on shore
from the time the vessel left London until she returned, and as green
food was most difficult to obtain in Adelaide, she got a taste of it
only about four times during our stay. Australian hay, too, is not
what a dainty English cow would be likely to hanker after; yet with
all these drawbacks it was not until we had crossed the Line on the
homeward passage that her milk began to dwindle seriously in amount.
Thenceforward it decreased, until in the Channel the butcher handed
in to the steward one morning a contribution of about a gill, saying,
“If you want any more, sir, you’ll have to put the suction hose on
to her. I sh’d say her milkin’ days was done.” But for long previous
to this the ingenious butcher had been raiding the cargo (of wheat)
for his pet, and each day would present her with two bucketfuls of
boiled wheat, which she seemed to relish amazingly. Partly because
of this splendid feeding, and partly owing to the regular washing
and groomings she received, I imagine she was such a picture of an
animal when she stepped out of the ship in London as I have only seen
at cattle shows or on advertisement cards. You could not see a bone;
her sides were like a wall of meat, and her skin had a sheen on it
like satin. As she was led away, I said to the butcher, who had been
assisting at her debarkation, “I suppose you’ll have her again next
voyage, won’t you, butcher?” “No fear,” he answered sagely. “She’s
gone to be butchered. She’ll be prime beef in a day or two.” I looked
at him with something like consternation. He seemed to think it was a
grand idea, although even now the mournful call of his old favourite
was ringing in his ears. At last I said, “I wonder you can bear to
part with her; you’ve been such chums all the voyage.” “I don’t know
what you mean, sir,” he replied. “I looked after her ’cause it’s my
bisness, but I’d jest as leave slaughter her myself as not.” With
that he left me to resume his duty.
But in the fervour of my recollections of Poley, I have quite
neglected another most important branch of the _Harbinger’s_ family
of animals, the sheep. Being such a large ship, she had an immense
house on deck between the main hatch and the fore mast, in which
were a donkey-engine and condenser, a second cabin to accommodate
thirty passengers, petty officers’ quarters, carpenters’ shop, and
galley. And still there was room between the fore end and the fore
mast to admit of two massive pens, built of teak, with galvanised
bars in front, being secured there one on top of the other. When I
joined the ship these were empty, and their interiors scrubbed as
clean as a kitchen table. That morning, looking up the quay, I saw a
curious procession. First a tall man, with an air of quiet want of
interest about him; by his side sedately marched a ram, a splendid
fellow, who looked fully conscious that he was called upon to play
an important part in the scheme of things. Behind this solemn pair
came a small flock of some thirty sheep, and a wise old dog, keeping
a good distance astern of the mob, fittingly brought up the rear.
They were expected, for I saw some of the men, under the bo’sun’s
directions, carefully laying a series of gangways for them. And,
without noise, haste, or fuss, the man marched on board closely
followed by the ram. He led the way to where a long plank was laid
from the deck to the wide-open door of the upper pen. Then, stepping
to the side of it, without a word or even a gesture, he stood quite
still while the stately ram walked calmly up that narrow way,
followed by the sheep in single file. The leader walked into the pen
and right round it, reaching the door just as the fifteenth sheep
had entered. The others had been restrained from following as soon
as fifteen had passed. Outside he stepped upon the plank with the
same grave air of importance, and the moment he had done so the door
was slid to in the face of the others who were still following his
lead. Then the other pen was filled in the same easy manner, the ram
quitting the second pen with the bearing of one whose sublime height
of perfection is far above such paltry considerations as praise or
blame, while the dog stood aloof somewhat dejectedly, as if conscious
that his shining abilities were for the time completely overshadowed
by the performances of a mere woolly thing, one of the creatures he
had always regarded as being utterly destitute of a single gleam
of reasonableness. The ram received a carrot from his master’s
pocket with a gracious air, as of one who confers a favour, and
together the trio left the ship. The embarkation had been effected
in the quietest, most humane manner possible, and to my mind was an
object-lesson in ingenuity.
We had no swine, but on top of this same house there was a fine range
of teak-built coops of spacious capacity, and these were presently
filled with quite a respectable company of fowls, ducks, and geese,
all, of course, under the charge of the butcher. Happy are the
animals who have no history on board ship, whose lives move steadily
on in one well-fed procession unto their ordained end. Here in this
grand ship, had it not been for the geese, no one would have realised
the presence of poultry at all, so little were they in evidence until
they graced the glittering table in the saloon at 6 P.M. But the
geese, as if bent upon anticipating the fate that was in store for
them, waited with sardonic humour until deepest silence fell upon
the night-watches. Then, as if by preconcerted signal, they raised
their unmelodious voices, awaking sleepers fore and aft from deepest
slumbers, and evoking the fiercest maledictions upon their raucous
throats. Occasionally the shadowy form of some member of the crew,
exasperated beyond endurance, would be dimly seen clambering up
the end of the house, his heart filled with thoughts of vengeance.
Armed with a wooden belaying-pin, he would poke and rattle among the
noisy creatures, with much the same result as one finds who, having
a slightly aching tooth, fiddles about with it until its anguish is
really maddening. These angry men never succeeded in doing anything
but augmenting the row tenfold, and they found their only solace in
gloating over the last struggles of one of their enemies when the
butcher was doing his part towards verifying the statement on the
menu for the forthcoming dinner of “roast goose.”
But the chief interest of our farmyard, after all, lay in the sheep.
How it came about that such a wasteful thing was done I do not know,
but it very soon became manifest that some at least of our sheep
were in an interesting condition, and one morning, at wash-deck
time, when I was prowling around forrard to see that everything was
as it should be, I was considerably amused to see one of the sheep
occupying a corner of the pen with a fine young lamb by her side.
While I watched the pretty creature, the butcher came along to begin
his day’s work. When he caught sight of the new-comer he looked
silly. It appeared that he alone had been sufficiently unobservant of
his charges to be unprepared for this _dénouement_, and it was some
time before his sluggish wits worked up to the occasion. Suddenly
he roused himself and made for the pen. “What are you going to do,
butcher?” I asked. “Goin’ to do! W’y I’m agoin’ ter chuck that there
thing overboard, a’course, afore any of them haristocrats aft gets
wind of it. They won’t touch a bit o’ the mutton if they hear tell
o’ this. I never see such a thing aboard ship afore.” But he got no
further with his fell intent, for some of the sailors intervened on
behalf of the lamb, vowing all sorts of vengeance upon the butcher
if he dared to touch a lock of its wool; so he was obliged to beat
a retreat, grumblingly, to await the chief steward’s appearance and
lay the case before him. When that gentleman appeared, he was by no
means unwilling to add a little to his popularity by effecting a
compromise. It was agreed that the sailors should keep the new-comer
as a pet, but all subsequent arrivals were to be dealt with by the
butcher instanter, without any interference on their part. This, the
steward explained, was not only fair, but merciful, as in the absence
of green food there could only be a day or two’s milk forthcoming,
and the poor little things would be starved. Of course, he couldn’t
spare any of Poley’s precious yield for nursing lambs, besides
wishing to avoid the natural repugnance the passengers would have
to eating mutton in such a condition. So the matter was amicably
arranged.
Thereafter, whenever a lamb was dropped, and every one of those
thirty ewes presented one or two, the butcher laid violent hands upon
it, and dropped it overboard as soon as it was discovered. Owing
to the promise of sundry tots of grog from the sailors, he always
informed them of the fact, and pointed out the bereaved mother. Then
she would be pounced upon, lifted out of the coop, and while one
fellow held her another brought the favoured lamb. After the first
time or two, that pampered young rascal needed no showing. As soon as
he saw the sheep being held he would make a rush, and in a minute or
two would completely drain her udder. Sometimes there were as many as
three at a time for him to operate upon, but there never seemed to be
too many for his voracious appetite. What wonder that like Jeshurun
he waxed fat and kicked. He grew apace, and he profited amazingly by
the tuition of his many masters. Anything less sheep-like, much less
lamb-like, than his behaviour could hardly be imagined. A regimental
goat might have matched him in iniquity, but I am strongly inclined
to doubt it. One of the most successful tricks taught this pampered
animal was on the lines of his natural tendency to butt at anything
and everything. It was a joyful experience to see him engaged in
mimic conflict with a burly sailor, who, pitted against this immature
ram, usually came to grief at an unexpected roll of the ship; for
Billy, as our lamb was named by general consent, very early in his
career gat unto himself sea-legs of a stability unattainable by any
two-legged creature. I often laughed myself sore at these encounters,
the funniest exhibitions I had seen for many a long day, until one
night in my watch on deck, during a gale of wind, I descended from
the poop on to the main deck to hunt for a flying-fish that I heard
come on board. I was stooping down, the water on deck over my ankles,
to feel under the spare spars lashed alongside the scuppers, when
I heard a slight noise behind me. Before I had time to straighten
myself, a concussion like a well-aimed, hearty kick smote me behind,
and I fell flat in the water like a plaice. When I had scrambled to
my feet, black rage in my heart against things in general, I heard
a fiendish cackle of laughter which was suddenly suppressed; and
there, with head lowered in readiness for another charge, stood
Billy, only too anxious to renew his attentions as soon as he could
see an opening. For one brief moment I contemplated a wild revenge,
but I suddenly remembered that my place was on the poop, and I
went that way, not perhaps with the dignified step of an officer,
because that demoniacal sheep (no, lamb) was behind me manœuvring for
another assault. I lost all interest in him after that. A lamb is all
very well, but when he grows up he is apt to become an unmitigated
calamity, especially if sailors have any hand in his education. So
that it was with a chastened regret that I heard the order go forth
for his conversion into dinner. We were able to regale the pilot
with roast lamb and mint sauce (made from the dried article), and the
memory of my wrongs added quite a piquant flavour to my portion.
IV
It has always been a matter of profound thankfulness with me that
my evil genius never led me on board a cattle-boat. For I do think
that to a man who has any feeling for the lower animals these vessels
present scenes of suffering enough to turn his brain. And it does not
in the least matter what provision is made for the safe conveyance
of cattle in such numbers across the ocean. As long as the weather
is fairly reasonable, the boxed-up animals have only to endure ten
days or so of close confinement, with inability to lie down, and
the nausea that attacks animals as well as human beings. The better
the ship and the greater care bestowed upon the cattle-fittings the
less will be the sufferings of the poor beasts; but the irreducible
minimum is soon reached, and that means much more cruelty to animals
than any merciful man would like to witness. But when a gale is
encountered and the huge steamer wallows heavily in the mountainous
irregularities of the Atlantic, flooding herself fore and aft at
every roll, and making the cattlemen’s task of attending to their
miserable charges one surcharged with peril to life or limbs, then
the condition of a cattle-ship is such as to require the coinage of
special adjectives for its description. Of course it will be said
that human beings used to be carried across the ocean for sale in
much the same way, and men calling themselves humane were not ashamed
to grow rich on the receipts from such traffic; but surely that will
never be advanced as an excuse for, or a palliative of, the horrors
of the live cattle trade. I have passed through an area of sea
bestrewn with the bodies of cattle that have been washed overboard
in a gale--hurled out of the pens wherein they have been battered
to death--when the return of fine weather has made it possible, and
I have wished with all my heart that it could be made an offence
against the laws to carry live cattle across the ocean at all.
No, the nearest approach that ever I had to being shipmates with a
cargo of live stock was on one never-to-be-forgotten occasion, when,
after bringing a 24-ton schooner from a little village up the Bay
of Fundy to Antigua in the West Indies, I found myself, as you may
say, stranded in St. John, the principal port in that island. The
dry rot which seems to have unfortunately overtaken our West Indian
possessions was even then very marked in Antigua, for there was no
vessel there larger than a 100-ton schooner, and only two or three
of them, all Yankees with one exception, a Barbadian craft with the
queerest name imaginable, the _Migumoo-weesoo_. The shipping officer,
seeing that I was a certificated mate, very kindly interested himself
in me, going so far as to say that if I would take his advice and
assistance I would immediately leave St. John in the _Migum_, as he
called her, for that the skipper, being a friend of his, would gladly
give me a passage to Barbadoes. I hope good advice was never wasted
on me. At any rate this wasn’t, for I immediately went down to the
beach, jumped into a boat, and ordered the darky in charge to put me
on board the _Migum_. When we got alongside I was mightily interested
to see quite a little mob of horses calmly floating alongside with
their heads just sticking out of the water. The first thing that
suggested itself to me was that if those horses got on board with
their full complement of legs it would be little less than a miracle,
the harbour being notoriously infested with sharks. But presently I
reflected that there was really no danger, the darkies who were busy
with preparations for the embarkation of the poor beasts kicking up
such a deafening row that no shark would have dared venture within a
cable’s length of the spot. Everybody engaged in the business seemed
to be excited beyond measure, shouting, screeching with laughter, and
yelling orders at the top of their voices, so that I could not see
how anything was going to be done at all. The skipper was confined to
his cabin with an attack of dysentery, and lay fretting himself into
a fever at the riot going on overhead for want of his supervision.
As soon as I introduced myself he begged me to go and take charge,
but, although I humoured him to the extent of seeming to comply with
his request, I knew enough of the insubordinate ’Badian darkies to
make me very careful how I interfered with them. But going forward, I
found to my delight that they had made a start at last, and that two
of the trembling horses were already on deck. Four or five darkies
were in the water alongside, diving beneath the horses with slings
which were very carefully placed round their bodies, then hooked to
a tackle, by means of which they were hoisted on board, so subdued
by fear that they suffered themselves to be pushed and hauled about
the decks with the quiet submissiveness of sheep. There were twenty
of them altogether, and when they had all been landed on deck there
was not very much room left for working the schooner. However, as our
passage lay through the heart of the trade winds, and nothing was
less probable than bad weather, nobody minded that, not even when the
remaining deck space was lumbered up with some very queer-looking
forage.
As soon as the horses were on board we weighed, and stood out of
harbour with a gentle, leading wind that, freshening as we got
farther off the land, coaxed the smart craft along at a fairly good
rate. This lasted until midnight, when, to the darkies’ dismay,
the wind suddenly failed us, leaving us lazily rocking to the
gently-gliding swell upon the wine-dark bosom of the glassy sea.
Overhead, the sky, being moonless, was hardly distinguishable from
the sea, and as every brilliant star was faithfully duplicated
beneath, it needed no great stretch of imagination to fancy that we
were suspended in the centre of a vast globe utterly cut off from the
rest of the world. But the poor skipper, enfeebled by his sad ailment
and anxious about his freight, had no transcendental fancies. Vainly
I tried to comfort him with the assurance that we should certainly
find a breeze at daybreak, and it would as certainly be fair for us.
He refused consolation, insisting that we were in for a long spell
of calm, and against his long experience of those waters I felt I
could not argue. So I ceased my efforts and went on deck to enjoy the
solemn beauty of the night once more, and listen to the quaint gabble
of the three darkies forming the watch on deck.