Pyg (2 page)

In my own case, it is difficult to say exactly
when
I acquired my name. For, at the time ‘Toby’ was first bestowed upon me, it was as much a Noise to me as my grunts were to
my masters; I had no idea of Language, or any association between such sounds and my own Being. That Gift was later Bestowed upon me by a bright young lad of the name of Samuel Nicholson, Mr
Lloyd’s nephew, who was at the time living at his uncle’s Farm. Sam was fond of pigs, and even without the aid of Language, this was instantly discernible to every Inhabitant of the
Sty. Our Elders, who had lived long enough to see the previous generation sent to Slaughter, were of course more cautious than myself and the other younger Pigs, who swarmed about the edge of the
Sty in competition for a proffered carrot. And, for reasons that to this day I cannot precisely Determine, Sam took a liking to me, and I to
Him.
Soon, he would Spy me out as soon as he
neared the rail, and begin each Visit with some special treat—a slab of Cabbage, some Greens, or a slice of
Turnip
—intended only for me, after which he would toss a few kitchen
scraps to the rest.

In part no doubt due to this favourable Treatment, I quickly grew to be the largest and ruddiest of my
Farrow
(a word then used to Signify the Pigs born alongside one). Sam was delighted
with this, as indeed was Mr Francis Lloyd himself, though for
Opposite
reasons. For his part, Sam fancied that I would, after the fashion of a household Pet, soon come to his Call and form
the sort of Intimacy that is common (for example) between Boys and Dogs; whereas Mr Francis Lloyd fancied that I might win the Ribbon at the Salford Horse and Livestock Fair, and earn him a
considerable Bonus per pound besides, when the time came after to sell me. As for Sam, he was, as I should express it now, of that very Age which cannot quite
Peep
over the Sill of adulthood
but believes it to be little more than an Extension of childish existence—only on Tip-toes. Thus he had no conception whatsoever of these his Uncle’s plans. And as for the
Uncle—why, if there was a thing he thought
Less
of than his nephew’s connections with one of his Pigs, I cannot imagine it.

2

T
here is scant Consolation, when regarding one’s life with what
Humans
, who have a proclivity for accidental doublings of meaning,
call ‘Hind-sight’, in saying that what happened was Necessary, and what was Necessary indeed
Happened
, And yet so it was with me: had it not been for the Fortuitous circumstance
of Sam’s youthful sentiment, there can be little doubt that, instead of this my
Book
before you on your Table, you would have a rasher of Bacon and a Rack of
Ribs
—and that
these would be my only mortal remains. And even granted that, it was a far from Easy thing that I would be able to make my
Escape
with only a Boy of thirteen years as my Guide, for there
were many matters still Hanging in the Balance without any of which, each occurring precisely as it did, I would with equal sureness have met the
Fate
intended by my owner. Among your kind,
such things are quite commonly credited to Divine
Providence
, but as I recall, the good Lord dealt only once with Pigs—which was when he sent into them a Horde of
Demons
,
causing them to leap off a Cliff to their Deaths—so I will, I hope, be forgiven if I do not give
Thanks
to that particular Source.

Now, as I say, my
Benefactor
—that is, young Samuel Nicholson—had no idea in his head of my being bid upon, or sent to be Slaughtered by the highest bidder. On the contrary,
much as any other lad his Age, he regarded the Fair as chiefly an occasion for Amusement, for seeing Mr Punch strike Mistress Judy with his long stick, for taking in a Penny Gaff or a
Raree
show, for wandering the Gypsy stalls amidst great heaps of China plates, and—lastly—for a fine repast of ginger beer and Cake. Of course he had always known there were animals: of the
three days of the Fair, one was set aside for Horses, one for Cows, and one for Pigs. Yet his wanderings never brought him to the Pens in which the animals were kept, nor to the auction-yards where
they were bought and sold, and least of all to the far edge of the pitch where stood the great wagons, ready to bear their unlucky Passengers on their final Journey to some distant
Abattoir
.

In my own case, I was favoured by my owner with a stout and capacious Cart, with rails, that I might make my procession into Town in a manner likely to draw the admiration of other breeders and
buyers. Sam took it into his head to decorate this cart, hanging streamers and bits of coloured Foil about its sides, along with a banner upon which he had written, in his own boyish hand,
‘TOBY the Celebrated PIG’. Just what it was for which I was
Celebrated
he did not specify, but doubtless those who saw it made it out in this Sense: that I was celebrated for
being
Young
and
Large
, and therefore sweet and succulent. Indeed, as the cart wound its way through the narrow, muddy streets of the market, Sam led the way with a Bell upon a stick,
declaring, ‘Make way! Make way! Make way for Toby, the Wonderful Pig!’ He did not realise it, of course, but all this fuss was certain to have but one Effect—to raise the interest
of the crowd, and to hasten my
Sale
to an Eager buyer. I myself did not quite discern the Danger since, as with all Pigs, our first trip to Market was generally our Last, but there were
rumours enough among my Brothers and Sisters—and occasionally from the few older and wiser Pigs in the yard—that offered various Explanations, none of them
Pleasant
, for why none
who Went had ever been known to Return.

From my Cart, I was unceremoniously turned out into a Pen, with the other contenders for the Prize. A Committee 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

F
or 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
.