Pyg. Russell Potter

of three Judges, chosen from among those Farmers and Victuallers whose experience in the selling and buying of Pigs was longest, made their way round this pen, Examining each one of us—there were Ten in all—with a quite distressing sort of Professional eye. I was peered at, prodded, poked and pondered over; my Mouth was rudely forced open and my Teeth examined, and the same things were done to each of Us, to the great Interest of all present, which they signified with much muttering and grumbling. You would think that it was only by Degrees of dissatisfaction we were to be distinguished, to hear ourselves discussed in such Undertones, but apparently at this High level of appraisal, it was the Lack of Faults that was wanted, and this could not be measured without Counting each of them. I regard it as a great Blessing that I was not at that time acquainted with Human speech, or else I should have begun with a very Poor opinion of myself, which might have prevented the Progress I was later able to make.

      At length, when the judges were apparently satisfied that they had noted down every blemish upon our Characters and Physiognomy, they retired into a little booth to write down their judgment. When they returned, the most senior among them had a length of Blue ribbon in his hand, which he turned and presented—to my great consternation—to Mr Francis Lloyd! Sam, of course, was on his feet in an instant, cheering and proclaiming me the Champion of the Fair, but all I could wonder was Why, after it was I who had undergone such Irksome and provoking examinations, the Ribbon was to be given to my ‘Owner’ and not to me! It is a source of some comfort, despite its Manner of being awarded, that this Prize has since been returned to my Possession, and indeed lies before me now as I undertake to write this, my Life.

      After a brief interval, the other Pigs were discharged to their Owners, and I was returned to my Cart, upon which Sam had affixed the prize Ribbon, for a further procession through the Fair, during which, like a new-Crowned Monarch, I received the Applause of my Subjects. All the while this was happening, however, Mr Francis Lloyd was busy talking with potential Buyers, and by the time I had completed my peregrinations, he had apparently settled upon a Price. I was then turned out into a small crate, that could scarcely accommodate me, then hoisted on a Balance with which I was duly Weighed, and found to amount to twenty stone, four pounds, a very good Sum, I have since been told, for a Pig under a year old. At the time, I had no notion of this, but was greatly Alarmed that I might be separated from my Benefactor, and looked about most anxiously for him. Sam, alas, had been detained by a group of his Friends, who proposed that my Championship be celebrated with a quaff of Ale they had procured for the occasion from a nearby Tavern, and as he had no idea of the Danger I was in, he happily accepted their Invitation. My attempt to look about was met with a harsh reproach from my new Owner, who promptly struck me with a Bamboo cane, causing me to squirm about so greatly that I Broke out from the weighing-box and, for a glorious moment, had my Freedom.

      It was to be short-lived, as this man—whose name I later learnt was Wilson—was prepared for such Contingencies, and soon had me caught in a sort of Noose at the end of a Pole he kept handy for such Occasions. With this foul Instrument about my Neck, I was led up a narrow ramp into the enormous Cart, which he employed to bring home his new Purchases. I found myself in a dark enclosure, filled with bits of the most filthy Straw, amidst which were not a few of my Brother and Sister animals, in various states of shock and Dismay.

      Now, it is a well-known Fact that Humans, being Sons of Narcissus, quite readily—and kindly, they imagine—extend the Mirror of their Sensibility to other Creatures, assigning them the same sort of feeling and Expression as Themselves. Thus, were they to describe such a Scene, they would make it out that the fellow-feeling among such a group would lead to instant Friendship, and mutual Pledges of assistance. But, of course, this was never So; we Pigs are Alien to such things, having no Idea, nor occasion to Construct, that which Men call a Self. In its place, we have only this poor conceit: that we live, we eat, we shudder and we Die to suit men’s tables. Have we voice? None. Have we some sense of what is to Come? Indeed we do, but little it profits us. Most vitally, we have no more Acquaintance with such a Human thing as Language to either Possess or Express such feelings as the more feeling among Men attribute to us. So, in respect of these my Companions, as well as of Myself, I can say only that we possessed a common and a Mute terror that could not be Communicated if we would, save in squeals and grunts that would do no Justice, either to ourselves or to any People who chanced to hear it—and thus we remained Silent.

      3

      For a very long time, the cart remained Stationary, and gave at least the Comfort that no further Indignities were to be wrought upon us, but as the Sun declined outside, and the dark within Deepened, there came a series of most alarming Sounds. First, the Ramp, by which I had entered, was taken up, and stowed away; second, there was the clattering noise of a team of Horses being backed up and Hitched to the wagon. Similar yet fainter sounds in the Vicinity made it clear enough: the Fair was Over, and it was time now for the Purchasers to drive on with their Purchases. It was just at this Moment when, like an Angel’s Clarion call from out of a dismal Cloud, I heard my Benefactor’s voice raised aloud. I could not, of course, understand the Sense of his Utterances, but the distress in his tone was clear; a moment later, I heard with it the voice of Mr Francis Lloyd, attempting to calm and then command his Nephew to silence. This resulted only in his greater cries, and harsher Remonstrances from the Uncle, amidst which the voice of Mr Wilson was soon added to the Din.

      What the result of this Outcry might have been, I was never to know, for before it could conclude, Mr Wilson put the whip to his Horses and set off down the Lane at a Frightening rate. The voices faded into the distance, although it seemed to me that Sam’s, for a moment at least, was endeavouring to keep Pace. Heedless of such pleas, my new Owner drove the wagon onwards as though it were a Fire-engine racing to extinguish some horrific Blaze. It was a good while later when, his horses snorting with exhaustion, the Lane growing every moment rougher and (so it seemed) more twisted, he was obliged to slow his Progress and, as we soon came to a steep incline, had for a time to Halt. The Wretchedness felt by those within would be impossible to Overstate; we had been tossed about among the foetid Straw, and hurled both against each Other and the walls of our Enclosure, so severely that we were much Bruised, and nearly knocked Senseless. And yet even in this Wounded state, I felt a great leaping in my heart as I detected, just a few inches from where I lay, the unmistakable sound of a Boy breathing.

      I uttered no answering Cry, and gave no sign of Recognition, knowing without having to be told that it would be an Awful thing to disclose the presence of this youthful Stowaway to our infernal Conductor. And, indeed, it was not long before he once more cracked his Whip and sent us speeding over the hill and Down, with every living thing Careering about as though we were so much Laundry in a Mangle cranked by a Madman. It was nearly dawn, and I could just make out the singing of a Lark through the mire-spattered slats of my Confine, when we pulled into Mr Wilson’s premises. I thought, too, that I could hear my Breathing boy, but with the rattle and ring of our Ride in my ears, I could not be absolutely certain. The sound of our Owner speaking with one of his Hands, and the sound of the horses being unhitched and led to his Stables, gave us at least a partial Augury of Peace, and I suppose that I must almost instantly have fallen Asleep. My next recollection was of being awakened by the sound of the Ramp as it was once more attached to our Enclosure, as the dim glimmer of the afternoon Sun painted stripes upon the floor. Up we went, and over, and were Herded by men with long Poles into a Pen, which was, if such were possible, more Filthy than our previous habitation. The belief that Pigs, simply because they appreciate the cooling properties of some lovely clean Mud, are therefore inured to any sort of Refuse, or even love to Gambol in Faeces or Garbage, has such wide circulation among Humans that we could scarce Dissuade them from it if we Could speak—and Mr Wilson’s faith in this notion was stronger than Most. The stench that arose from the admixture of kitchen slops, manure and Urine suggested that this pen had not been cleaned out in many Months, if not Years.

      Never the