Pyg (10 page)

Not long after this, I must have fallen asleep, for my next recollection was of being awakened by an enormous clatter, like the crashing of a table laden with dishes as it was
knocked to the floor. There then came shouts and
Curses
, ffollowed by a series of dull thwacks, such as a heavy stick might make were it struck against a sack of Grain. Then the Door that
communicated with the Inn’s back stairs was suddenly thrust Open, and I beheld the figure of Mr Bisset in his Dressing-gown, which I saw was darkly stained with
Blood
. Immediately
after him came a tall
Figure
, clad in a double-breasted uniform of blue serge, wielding a night-stick.

‘
Mountebank!
God damn you to Hell! Your sort of
Filth
will not be tolerated in this City!’ shouted the figure.

‘Mercy! Mercy! I have a
Licence
from the Magistrate!’ replied my Master, raising his hands in an attempt to shield himself from further blows. ‘Good sir, if you are, as
you seem, a
Constable
, surely you will not see me so ill-used, I pray you, nor violate the
Peace
you are sworn to protect!’

‘Mercy? I’ll show you
Mercy
, you fifth-rate cheapjack Charlatan! You’ve ruined me, ruined my Wife, and made us the Laughing-stock of the entire city, you and that damned
Pig! I’ll not have it! Hear me! If you quit these Premises, and this
County
, no later than Noon on the
Morrow
, I will mercifully spare your life and
Property
. But if I
find you Here, I swear by my
Oath
, I’ll have you Flayed within an Inch of your Life, slice your damned Pig to
Ribbons
, and sell them in the Market for country Bacon! Your
operatic cats shall Gut my
Fiddle
, and I’ll hang your monkeys from the nearest Tree!’

At this, I heard from my Master a sound I had neither
Known
before, nor in my darkest dreams
Imagined
from any Creature, man or
Beast
. It was not merely a Sob, but a sort of
Bellow, a complete, contracted
Obeisance
, which sent a horrid Chill throughout my
Being
. For who, and under what Circumstances, could make himself so
Low
to Another as this?
Surely no Animal but
Man
could contrive it! Of course, I had regarded Mr Bisset in a very Dim light before this Moment, but I was
Repulsed
to Think that even the Worst of men could be
put
Down
by another whose Scruples, if any, were even
Lower
. The words of
Goethe
, whose work has so enlivened my later days, express the Occasion perfectly:

The Constable left my Master prostrate on the ground and strode off at a brisk March, as one who had done no more than his
Duty
. I was at a loss as to how I might Respond
to this awful
Occurrence
; along with all the other Animals, I was secured in my
Paddock
—but even if I was Freed, what could I, a Pig, do? Would my testimony be heard in
Court
? What weight would my account of this singular act of
Brutality
carry against that of a uniformed Officer of the
Law
? And even in the most practical of matters, I was
unable to Console or Aid Mr Bisset, or summon a Doctor to his side. I would have done all of these things, surely, if I only
Could
—but, absent some
Human
intervention, I was as
powerless as any Mute and
Uneducated
creature.

Fortunately, although I was the lone witness to this dreadful Attack, the Noise of it had roused a number of people, including the proprietor of the Inn, who soon came out into the Yard and
discovered the groaning figure of Mr Bisset. Along with several neighbours, he made an attempt to lift my Master to his feet; this failing, a narrow table was brought and used for a Pallet, on
which the injured party was conveyed upstairs to his rooms. A few moments later, I saw a young Boy sent out to fetch a
Doctor
, returning shortly with a person I am sure was a member of that
Profession as he wore a grey frock coat and carried a leathern bag, within which some variety of unseen Instruments could be heard rattling as he ran. Alas! Without Sam as my guide, I could gain no
further intelligence of Mr Bisset’s health until well into the next afternoon, when I heard a serving-girl remark about ‘poor Mr Bisset’. That he was ill, but not dead, I could
infer from the continued visitations of the Doctor, and the absence of any Undertaker or other gentleman in Mourning dress.

It was two more days before anyone came to attend to us
Animals
, other than the boy who brought our Slops, and this turned out to be Mr Atkins himself. He patted the horses, paused at the
case within which the Monkeys were confined, and then approached me with some trepidation, which I could not at first understand. He looked in all directions, like
Midas
’s wife about
to whisper her
Secret
to the bulrushes—clearly he was afraid lest someone see him talking to a
Pig
—then spoke to me in a quiet undertone.

‘Toby, my dear—
ehm
—your master, as you doubtless have sensed, has been very ill since he was attacked. We have,
ehm
, learnt something of his assailant—he
appears, indeed, to be the
Husband
of the lady who questioned you upon the stage—and he has been brought in and charged. Such an unfortunate turn of events! The Doctor says
there’s hope, though! Mr Bisset is possessed of a remarkable constitution! This morning he was able to stand without assistance, and he insists that he will continue his Tour and make his way
to
London
. It will be some time, though, before he will fully recover—until then, I’ll be sure you’re—
ehm
—comfortable. Yes,
ehm
, well, I do hope
you’re taking all this in—why, it
seems
as though you are, but
how
you do it passes my Understanding, I’m sure! Good day to you,
then—
ehm
—I’m sure Mr Bisset will come to see you as soon as ever he can.’

This awkward discourse concluded, Mr Atkins glanced about him again, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, and hurried back out of the gate. Another three days of ‘comfortable’
ignorance passed before, to my great surprise, Mr Bisset himself managed, with some assistance, to make his way downstairs. Leaning on the innkeeper’s arm, he made the rounds of the inn-yard,
stopping last at me. How he looked! A large swelling rose above one eye, and bits of sticking-plaster still adhered to his neck; one of his hands was wrapped in a cotton bandage, and he was
breathing heavily.

He and I had no need of words, really—in some way, we never had—but he stood a long while gazing upon me, and in his eyes I saw a strange, wistful look. He seemed to be casting his
mind back over his career as a trainer of
Animals
, and wondering if perhaps the undertaking had been worth while. I looked for but could not detect his old mien of Command, though I am sure
he could have Mustered it had he wished—but instead, his expression seemed almost
Apologetic
. And then I, with my little eye, sent back (as best I could) my forgiveness for his harsh
words, and his separating Sam and me. After all, I reflected, he had been given his Desserts, and then some, by that
Constable
, who, although mistaking Private rage for Civic duty, had in
some sense served as an agent of Justice, and a messenger of
Humility
. Mr Bisset seemed to take all this in, paused as if to speak, but merely smiled. Then, with a little wince of pain, he
turned, and the innkeeper helped him back inside and up the stairs. We would, I now knew, soon be back upon our
Way
.

10

B
y the end of the week, Mr Bisset was able to walk unassisted, and declared that he was anxious to get on with his
Tour
, which had been so
violently and unexpectedly interrupted. Never the less, he could no longer manage everything as he once had, being unable to lift or carry the many crates and props with which his wagon had to be
loaded, and thus was obliged to take on an Assistant for this purpose. The man he hired, a narrow, wiry young fellow by the name of Edward Dobbs, seemed likely enough for the job—he was
remarkably strong, and could carry a crate on each shoulder with no trouble at all—but his
Character
was far from reassuring. He was possessed of—or perhaps
by
—a
pair of sharp, dark-brown eyes that were constantly darting about, as though they could find no Rest on any thing, and this perpetual
Motion
extended into his limbs, his fingers and even to
his Toes, when I could see them. He also had a sort of
Stutter
in his speech, of which he seemed deeply ashamed, and thus rarely spoke at all, unless it was absolutely unavoidable. Worst of
all was his manner with us Animals: he seemed to regard us with a curious mixture of fear and
Contempt
; in all their wandering, his eyes never came to rest upon us, as if for them to do so
would threaten his very being. How I wished that Sam could return to take his place—but Mr Bisset would not hear of it, saying we had but just enough time to manage the few Engagements he had
arranged on our way to
London
without missing the Season there.

Our Journey commenced with the unavoidable crossing of the Irish
Sea
, which looked particularly cold and restless that day. Our conveyance was a modest Packet-boat, the
Maria
Eliza
, whose small size put her quite at the mercy of the Waves, pitching this way and that, such that even the most seasoned travellers were soon hanging at the rails, or lurching towards the
Heads, their countenances as grey as the sky. Mr Bisset, although he declared he had no Qualms about the voyage, soon found himself in a similar position, and hastily retired below Decks, where he
remained for the duration. The crates containing ‘livestock’, as we were considered, were lashed to the deck in the open air, which gave us a commanding
View
of the voyage, at
the expense of periodic dousings with salt-water whenever a wave crested over the rails. Alone among the passengers, Mr Edward Dobbs was entirely unaffected, which I attributed to the fact that he
was in even more constant
Motion
than the sea.

At the Isle of Man, we changed boats to a much larger vessel, the
Duchess of Athol
, where Mr Bisset was able to obtain a private berth, and myself and the other Animals were secured well
away from the rails, and provided with fresh straw. The sea had also grown somewhat calmer, with the result that most of us slept for the main part of the journey, awakening only at the sound of
the ship’s bell announcing that we were drawing near to Holyhead. We cleared the breakwater just as dusk was falling, and the great Lighthouse at the end of the pier was casting its brilliant
beams over the Harbour. With the assistance of many capable Hands, we were able to unload our Wagon and all our gear, but the hour being late, we were only able to travel a very short distance down
the main Road, stopping for the night at a modest Inn in the village of Four Mile Bridge, so named for its distance from Town, and its ancient crossing. The inn-yard was so small that my Master
left us in our Crates atop the
Wagon
, and we at once fell asleep where we lay, being greatly wearied by our
Voyage
.

The next morning, we set out at daybreak on the road to Chester, which was yet about eighty miles distant. The sky was grey, the wind cold, and the rain constant, such that although we replaced
our plain canvas cover with one of weather-cloth, we were soon all thoroughly chilled. Mr Bisset, though ensconced under a great heap of woollen rugs and blankets, was constantly shivering with the
cold; at last he was obliged to leave the management of the horses to Mr Dobbs, and retreat to the interior of the wagon. The towns along our route, all of them with impossible Welsh
names—Llanfairfechan, Llandudno and Llanddulas, to name but a few—sounded like something from
Gulliver
’
s Travels
, and offered likewise the most Lilliputian sort of
Accommodations—small rooms, small inn-yards and small beer. By the time we drew near once more to England, and to English names, they seemed almost
Shrunken
to our ears, and by the
time we passed through Holywell, Northup and the aptly named village of
Mold
that very substance seemed to be growing upon our Selves, so dark and dank had our Habitation become. The idea of
a metropolis of any Size, and lodgings more ample than a Thimble, was indeed the only
Hope
that kept us going.

We arrived in the vicinity of Chester on the afternoon of the fifth day of our Journey, and as if to signal the Blessing of heavens, the clouds parted and some rays of the Sun were briefly
disclosed. Now, this city was unlike any other that I have seen before, or since, in that it was still defined by its ancient Wall, and very few dwellings stood without it. The old Gates of the
City were like those of some medieval
Castle
, and I am reliably informed that the name of the place derives from the old Saxon word
Ceastre
, which has that very meaning. We found
admirable lodgings at the
Blue-Bell
Inn, which was formed of two identical houses that had been joined together as one, behind which was an ample
Yard
, with fine Stables and, to my
joy, an abundance of clean, dry
Straw
. Mr Bisset looked much the worse for our
Journey
, but on taking some warm Soup, he seemed more comfortable, and slept very soundly.