Among the gunboats doing duty on the inland waters of North Carolina, in
the early Spring of 1862, which composed what Commodore Goldsborough
designated his “Pasteboard Fleet,” was the Louisiana, commanded by
Commander Alexander Murray, who was noted for his efficiency and good
nature. His treatment of his crew made him one of the most popular
officers in the whole fleet. He entered into all of their sports, and
sympathized with the discomforts of forecastle life. He was fond of
animal pets, and always welcomed the arrival of a new one. At the time
of which I am writing, his ship carried quite a collection of tame birds
and four-footed favorites.
Among them was a singular little character known as “Jeff.” He was a
perfectly black pig of the “Racer Razor Back” order, which, at that
time, were plentiful in the coast sections of the more southern of the
slave-holding States. They were called “racers” because of their long
legs, slender bodies, and great capacity for running; and “Razor Backs”
on account of the prominence of the spinal column. The origin of this
particular species of the porcine tribe is unknown, but there is a
tradition to the effect that their progenitors were a part of the drove
that came to the coast of Florida with De Soto when he started on the
march which ended with the discovery of the Mississippi River. History
records the fact that a large number of animals were brought from Spain
for food, and that a considerable number of them succeeded in getting
away from the expedition soon after the landing was effected.
Our particular specimen of this wandering tribe of natural marauders was
captured by a boat’s crew of the Louisiana in one of the swamps adjacent
to Currituck Sound, when he was a wee bit of an orphaned waif not much
larger than an ostrich-egg. He was an ill-conditioned little mite that
had probably been abandoned by a heartless mother, possibly while
escaping from the prospective mess-kettle of a Confederate picket. In
those days Confederate pickets were not very particular as to quality or
kind of food, and I have a suspicion that even a “Razor Back” would have
been a welcome addition to their _menu_.
When “Jeff” was brought on board, his pitiful condition excited the
active sympathy of all, from the commander down to the smallest powder
monkey, and numerous were the suggestions made as to the course of
treatment for the new patient. The doctor was consulted, and, after a
careful diagnosis, decided there was no organic disease: want of
parental care, want of nourishment, and exposure, were held responsible
for “Jeff’s” unfavorable condition. It was decided to put him on a light
diet of milk, which proved an immediate success, for, within forty-eight
hours after his first meal, the patient became as lively as possible. As
days and weeks went on, there appeared an improvement of appetite that
was quite phenomenal, but no accumulation of flesh. His legs and body
grew longer; and, with this lengthening of parts, there came a
development of intellectual acuteness that was particularly surprising.
He attached himself to each individual of the ship. He had no favorites,
but was hail-fellow-well-met with all. He developed all the playful
qualities of a puppy, and reasoned out a considerable number of problems
in his own way, without the aid of books or schoolmaster. His particular
admirers declared that he learned the meaning of the different whistles
of the boatswain: that he knew when the meal pennant was hoisted to the
peak, could tell when the crew was beat to quarters for drill, and often
proved the correctness of this knowledge by scampering off to take his
place by one particular gun division which seemed to have taken his
fancy.
I can testify personally to only one item in the schedule of his
intellectual achievements. It is a custom in the navy for the commander
of a ship to receive any officer of rank of either branch of the service
at the gangway of the ship. In this act of courtesy he is always
accompanied by the officer of the deck, and often by others that may
happen to be at hand. After the advent of “Jeff,” whenever I went on
board the Louisiana he was always at the gangway, and seemingly was
deeply interested in the event. It may be said of him, generally, that
he was overflowing with spirits, and took an active interest in all the
daily routine work of his ship. He had a most pertinacious way of poking
his nose into all sorts of affairs, not at all after the manner of the
usual pig, but more like a village gossip who wants to know about
everything that is going on in the neighborhood.
In the gradual development of “Jeff’s” character, it was discovered that
he had none of the usual well-known traits of the pig. He was more like
a petted and pampered dog, was playful, good-natured, and expressed
pleasure, pain, anger, and desire, with various squeals and grunts,
delivered with a variety of intonations that were very easily
interpreted. He was never so happy as when in the lap of one of the
sailors, having his back stroked. His pleasure upon those occasions was
evinced by the emission of frequent good-natured grunts and looking up
into the face of the friendly stroker. When on shore, he followed like a
dog, and was never known to root. Except in speech and appearance, he
was the counterpart of a happy, good-natured, and well-cared-for
household dog—possibly, however, rather more intelligent than the
average canine pet.
The Fourth of July, 1862, was a gala day at Roanoke Island. The camps of
the island and the vessels in the harbor were _en grande fête_. Colors
were flying, bands playing, drums beating, patriotic steam was up to
high pressure, and a goodly number of glasses of “commissary” were
consumed in wishing success to the cause. The good old day, so dear to
the hearts of Americans, was made more glorious by the exchange of camp
hospitalities and an indulgence in such simple hilarity as the occasion
seemed to require; but “Jeff” was not forgotten. Early in the morning,
he was bathed and scrubbed, more than to his heart’s content, and then
patriotically decorated. In his right ear was a red ribbon, in his left
a white one; around his neck another of blue, and at his mizzen, or, in
other words, his tail, he carried a small Confederate flag. Thus adorned
he was brought on shore to pay me a visit, and, as he came through my
door, he appeared to be filled with the pride of patriotism and a
realization of the greatness of the occasion. His reward for this
unusual demonstration was instantaneous, and consisted of some apples
and a toothsome dessert of sugar. Afterward he made the round of the
camps with a special escort of warrant officers and devoted Jack Tars.
From after accounts it appeared that he had been so well received that
his escort experienced much difficulty in finding their way back to the
ship.
During this triumphant march over the island an incident occurred which
developed the slumbering instinct of the swamp “racer.” In a second, as
it were, and seemingly without cause, “Jeff” was seen to move off at a
tremendous pace at right angles with the line of march. He was seen,
after he had run a few yards, to make a great jump, and then remain in
his tracks. The pursuing party found him actively engaged in demolishing
a moccasin, which he had crushed by jumping and landing with his feet
upon its head and back. Hogs of this particular kind are famous
snake-killers. A big rattler or a garter snake is all the same to them.
They advance to the attack with the greatest impetuosity, and a feast
upon snake is the usual reward of exceptional bravery.
In his habits of eating, “Jeff” was a confirmed and persistent
_gourmand_, and in time paid the usual penalty for over-indulgence of a
very piggish sort of appetite. While the meal pennant was up, it was his
habit to go from one forecastle mess to another, and to insist upon
having rather more than his share of the choice morsels from each. In a
short time he came to the repair shop very much the worse for wear, with
an impaired digestion and a cuticle that showed unmistakable evidence of
scurvy. For the first, he was put upon short rations; for the second,
sand baths on shore were prescribed. Under this treatment poor “Jeff”
lost all his buoyancy of spirits and his habitual friskiness, and became
sad and dejected, but bore his troubles with becoming patience. He took
to the cool sand baths at once, and gave forth many disgruntled grunts
when lifted out of them.
The last time I saw “Jeff,” July 10, 1862, he was buried up to his ears
in the cool sands of the Roanoke Island shore, with eyes upturned and
looking like a very sad pig, but I fear none the wiser for his offences
against the rights of a well-regulated digestion.
This account has not been written for the only purpose of glorifying the
one particular pig, or pigs in general, but rather to call attention to
the fact that this universally despised animal, by associating with
human beings and receiving gentle treatment, may develop interesting
traits of character, which would otherwise remain unknown; and also to
prove that kindness bestowed upon lower animals may be appreciated and
reciprocated in a manner which the upper animal, man, who boasts of his
superiority, would do well to imitate.