Pyg (12 page)

And yet, as I soon discovered, my immediate Destiny was in one most Significant manner divided from that of Men. Upon the death of Mr Bisset, I was no longer a Friend or
Relation, but instantly transformed into a piece of
Property
, a Good, a
Chattel
, whose disposition would be consigned neither to an orphanage, nor to distant relatives, but rather to
the auctioneer’s
Hammer
. Along with the rest of what was referred to in the Bills as Mr Bisset’s ‘Menagerie’, I was consigned to be sold on Saturday next, the
proceeds to be given to his heirs and assigns, as soon as these should be located. I envied even Mr
Dobbs
who, released from his contract with his late unfortunate Employer, was at least
free to seek his fortunes elsewhere.

Through the grace of the Innkeeper, we were permitted to remain on his Premises until the date fixed for our Auction. Never did I endure a more melancholy Period than this: without a Friend of
any kind, and only the daily slops to mark the hours of my
Existence
, I was as alone as I had been as a young Pig in my sty. Nay,
more
alone—for then, at least, I enjoyed the
companionship of
Pigs
and knew no other sort, whereas now I was no longer fitted for their Company, nor any more for that of Men. My greatest dread, indeed, was of being returned to those
thought to be of ‘my own kind’, for among them all my Distinctions would be undone, and my Shame would be complete. I found only slightly less dreadful the prospect of being purchased
by some other
Exhibitor
, for in the light of Mr Bisset’s passing and my own impending
Sale
, such relations had taken a most
Material
cast, and seemed to me little more
desirable than to be
Enslaved
. I knew not then, as I do now, the long history of the bondage of one race of humans to another, which so damned the name of Humanity to Either, but if I had, I
can be sure, it would have been cold comfort indeed. For to see oneself in such a History is to gain only the Company of
Misery
, and not its end.

On the morning of this terrible turn, we were loaded for a final time upon our Master’s old wagon, which had been covered with advertisements for the event, and driven about Town by Mr
Dobbs. After making several long and jostling circuits of the
City
, we were at last brought round to the edge of the Market-square, where a pavilion had been erected, with a platform at its
front, from which the auctioneer could address the bidders, and display us, his
Wares
. A strangely Festive atmosphere prevailed, with a great variety of vendors and street-sellers strolling
amidst the crowds of townsfolk, and even a few Families of the better class all in their Sunday dress, with their
Children
in tow, attired as little Facsimiles of themselves. I had learnt
enough history to know that a similarly celebratory air attended public Hangings at
Tyburn
, and doubtless the Burnings of
Heretics
too once brought forth their share of jongleurs and
Jesters and sellers of meat-pies. I reflected on the whole vast history of Humans, so far as I knew it, and gave a snort of
Despair
. There was nothing else to say: it having been greatly
tested over the course of my brief Existence, I had finally lost all
Faith
in the creatures I had come among.

As the ‘celebrated sapient Pig’, I was the great Feature of the whole affair, and thus all the other Animals were set to be sold before me. And so, the singing Cats with all their
operatic Dress were knocked down for 10
s
. 6
d
., and the Monkeys with their Barrel-organ fresh Transported by means of a
Guinea.
The Turkeys, now destined to have more than their
Feet put to the Fire, brought only 3
s
., while the Horses—whose many wondrous tricks and ability to Steer themselves were found
Liabilities
rather than Assets by the
bidders—were sold at
Fifteen
for the pair. The dogs and the Hare were quickly dispatched at 10
s
. for the lot, the Finches delivered from one
Cage
to another for
half-crown. Finally, my time on the Block arrived, and I was most Rudely handled, turned out of my crate on to the stage for all to gawp. Those in the crowd nearest me laughed and jeered and
pointed, and one of the boys there pulled the Medal off my
Waistcoat
, and would have taken the garment itself had not the Auctioneer had at him with his Stick.

I had only just recovered from this Indignity when the sound of another scuffle reached my ears. At the edge of the pitch, there drew up a bold young man, riding a horse stained and splattered
with the mud of travel. Much to the displeasure of those present, he was forcing his way through the Crowd, preceded by a remarkably vociferous boy who shouted, ‘Make way! Make way!’ as
though his master were a Monarch, and the crowd merely his
Subjects.
Drawing near to the platform, but hidden to my view by the Columns that held up the tent, the tall Rider at last stopt
and called out loudly and repeatedly in a voice that stirred my soul: ‘This Auction must be stopt!’

The Auctioneer, unable to ignore or silence him, at last gave answer: ‘And why must it be stopt? Who are you to make such a demand?’

‘My name is Samuel Nicholson, and I am the business partner and rightful heir of Silas Bisset. I have here an order from Sir William Dunkinfield, High Sheriff of Cheshire, that these
proceedings be stopt!’

This threw the whole assembly into chaos, as the Bidders loudly cried against any such judgment, with the Auctioneer alternately endeavouring to calm them, and to address this unwelcome
Newcomer
. But all this Noise was sweet
Music
to my ears, I having heard, against all hope, the Voice of my Benefactor, only grown a bit
deeper
as his Frame stretched taller.
Finding that he could progress no further on his
Horse
, Sam dismounted and hurried to the side of the
Platform
, whence he leapt up in a single bound, and stood stoutly by my
Side
.

11

I
t would be impossible to describe with any fidelity to fact my Feelings on the great
Occasion
of this my reunion with my
Benefactor
.
To be hurled down by Fortune is one thing, but to be hurled
Up
is another; indeed, I could scarcely credit my senses, and thought for a time that perhaps I had simply been struck
unconscious, and that the whole affair was merely the creature of my own Fancy, a
Dream
in which—naturally enough—all my Hopes were to be fulfilled. And yet, as I did not Waken
up, nor was this vision of happiness suddenly dispelled by one of Sorrow, I came at last to accept it as an actual Occurrence.

The Uproar caused by the sudden appearance of my Benefactor was enormous, and did not die down for a considerable time. The Bidders were the most offended that their Currency had obtained for
them no Commodities, even as several of them had already Paid. After much cajoling, the Auctioneer at last agreed to refund their monies, and by this means our ‘Menagerie’ was almost
completely reunited. I say ‘almost’ as, despite our considerable exertions, the purchaser of the Turkeys was nowhere to be found, and their career as Country Dancers had come to a
sudden and unhappy Close. Never the less, given the painful means of producing this effect, it was not entirely unmerciful that their next encounter with suffering would likely be both Brief and
Final.

Having done us the good Turn of refunding the money paid by the Bidders, the Auctioneer insisted that, in consequence of his Expenses, and the great Disappointment of losing his commission on
these Sales, he be given some form of compensation. To this we agreed, and at my suggestion Sam paid him with the small purse of Guineas I had received at the commencement of all this Trouble, with
the hope that this unasked-for
Fee
would settle our accounts with Fortune. Sam even managed, by advertising a modest Reward, to fetch back my Medallion, so I was very nearly restored to my
original state, save for a few tears to my Waistcoat. We now had to look to ourselves, and to what devices we could contrive, to make our way forward, and this Accounting was easily made: we had,
besides ourselves, the Horses, the Dogs, the Cats, the Monkeys, the Finches, the Hare and the Wagon with all its crates and other appurtenances, all of Mr Bisset’s stage properties, including
his fine suit of Cloathes and silk hat, and (our debts to the Innkeeper having been paid) about twenty pounds in ready money. We were, in short, comfortable for the Moment, but without some steady
source of
Income
, our resources would soon be depleted.

Sam, very greatly to his credit, was Reluctant at first to take up Mr Bisset’s former trade, fearing that our having publicly to Stage ourselves as Master and Animal would have a
deleterious effect upon our
Friendship
, which was so very dear to us Both. And although now, looking back, I will admit that his
Anxiety
was not entirely without substance, I argued
then—and would argue
now
—that this was, after all, the best and indeed the
Only
thing to do. For having already, at the very commencement of our Relations, stept outside
our Natural places and understandings, our entire career was founded upon a
Fracture,
and any attempt to mend it, would far more likely
End
it. Neither of us could ever be wholly at
home among our own Kind, and the Stage was the only place where our Differences could truly be
Appreciated.

We still had the addresses for the London bookings that Mr Bisset had arranged before his injury and illness, and Sam wrote to them in hopes that, by claiming the delay of ‘unavoidable
circumstances’, we might possibly revive at least a few. In the mean-time, we charted a Course that would take us through a series of solid market towns—studiously avoiding the larger
cities—yet bring us by degrees closer to London. Thus we bent our way to Crewe, Stafford and Wolverhampton, and thence to Coventry by way of
Tamworth
. From there, our route would pass
through Leamington Priors and Banbury, and next to Oxford where, Sam said with a laugh, we might gain some
Learning
to our Advantage. From there we were to follow the valley of the Thames
(more or less), calling at South Weston, Beacon’s Bottom, High Wycombe, Baker’s Wood and Ealing, before making our final approach to the great
Metropolis
.

Our last necessity before leaving Chester was to make a visit to the Tailor’s to have Mr Bisset’s suit altered. It struck me strangely then, and still does now, to behold how one
man’s
Habiliments
may be re-tailored for Another, and how quickly—merely by way of pins and needles—this
Transformation
may be accomplished. When we returned the
next day, Sam stept, quite literally, into our Master’s old shoes—and his frock coat and cravat as well. He looked every inch the
Impresario
, and although it seemed strange to me
to see him thus, I soon reflected that, since the audiences in the towns knew nothing of our previous Shows, they could hardly be surprised by the Substitution. This same Tailor very capably
repaired my Waistcoat, adding in the process just a small amount of gold trim, an addition which I will confess was made entirely to suit my
Vanity
.

The Boy who had accompanied Sam on his journey to Chester—whose name was
Bannon
—remained with us, serving in the very role formerly occupied by my Benefactor, and he proved as
bright and capable in that capacity as anyone of his years could be. He, too, had been employed by Mr Sweet at Astley’s equestrian establishment in Dublin, and had been so cruelly treated
there that Sam felt it his duty to bring him away with him. From them both I heard the tale of their Escape, which was not easily managed, for Mr Sweet—a man whose
Nature
so belied his
Name as to make one Shudder—was the very strictest of taskmasters. He had kept them constantly employed from dawn to dusk, locking them in a room adjoining the Stables each night. It was only
through the kindness of a frequent patron of the place, a young man by the name of Barker, that they were finally able to make their way to freedom. Mr Barker brought them two suits of fine
Cloathes
, which they hurriedly donned in a darkened corner of the stables while he kept watch. And then, with a confidence that did him credit, he led them out of the front door as though
they were his own
Children
, and thence they passed into the Dublin streets, unnoticed until it was far too late for Mr Sweet to make pursuit. Mr Barker paid their fare on the ferry to
Holyhead, giving them ten Shillings each in ready money besides.

In speaking with the ferryman, they soon had intelligence of Mr Bisset’s crossing—for who could forget a man with such a singular collection of Animals—and every one of them so
well trained!—and picked up our trail to Chester. And then, as soon as he came upon one of the Bills for the Auction of ‘Mr Bisset’s Menagerie of Marvels’, he at once knew
to make haste. But how, I asked, had he managed to obtain a Warrant from the High Sheriff of Chester? ‘Ah, that was easy enough,’ Sam declared. ‘I never did have one! It was only
an old bit of legal script I’d found, with the wax seal still dangling—see here!’ He showed it to me. It was scrawled and composited in some legal hand, and I could make out not a
word of it—which was, indeed, its very strength. The Auctioneer, even if he had been a lettered man—and few enough were in those parts—would never have been able to scry its
meaning on his own. And so, just as Sam had calculated, he preferred settling his accounts in some other way than getting entangled in a mire of legalities. We all enjoyed a good laugh at his
expense, though my own joy was (at best) half-hearted. For what if Sam’s plan had failed? It made me pale as parchment to think on it.