Billy Whiskers' Travels

by Frances Trego Montgomery

He had good reason to say that last, for the sharp horns of the two goats had ripped his trousers' legs until they were in shreds, and there were some sharp red marks on his legs, too. Billy Mischief and his mother only capered in joy. What did they care about poor Hans trying to get his breath on top of the fence? They were together, and together they were going to America!

It was not long until the gate of the pen was opened and all the goats were driven out through a fenced runway across a fenced gangplank and through a wide, dark doorway into the hold of the cattle ship. Billy and his mother found themselves in a long, low compartment, dimly lighted by little round windows close under the ceiling. The goats were driven up to the forward end of the boat and put on both sides of the center aisle, behind strong, high bars. By this arrangement Billy and his mother were separated, in spite of all they could do to keep together, and could only stand close to the bars looking sorrowfully at each other across the aisle. They soon quit this, however, because of a new interest. Some surprising passengers came to join them. First, six big camels were driven in, two by two, and fenced off next to the goats; then a herd of small elephants followed these and then came a vast number, of snarling, growling animals in strong cages; lions and tigers and other fierce wild beasts. An American circus that had been traveling in Europe was on its way back home.

At last the ship was loaded and began to move out of its slip toward the ocean. The wild animals had been nervous and noisy before, but as soon as the ship began to move they became still more excited. The elephants trumpeted, the tigers snarled, the hyenas set up their screeching cry, the lions roared. It was a perfect pandemonium of shrieks and howls and yells, and for the first time in his life Billy trembled with fear. It was not for long, however. Billy was a brave goat and a smart goat, and he knew that so long as those fierce animals stayed in their cages they could not hurt anything. The only thing that bothered him was that he remembered how he had broken out of his own crate in the railroad train.

This was the worst trip Billy ever made. The animals were never quiet for more than a minute at a time. There would be a lull when none of them would make any noise, and Billy would lie down, hoping for a moment of rest. All at once some animal would grunt, the next one would grumble, the next one would growl, the next one would snarl, and by that time they would all be at it; then suddenly the hyenas would begin. Then one of the fiercer animals would begin to roar and the old hubbub would begin all over again, winding up always with the lions' deep and terrifying "Hough! Hough! Hough!"

Billy got tired of it by-and-by, and thought that he would like to go away into some quiet corner and rest. A great many of the goats had been thinking the same thing, and one after another they had been trying the stout boards, some of them attempting to push them out or break them and some trying to pry them loose with their stout horns. None of them, however, had the patience and strength and determination of Billy, and at last, down in one corner, he found a board that did not seem so strongly fastened as the others, and on this board he began prying cautiously with his horns. Billy would pry carefully until he was tired, then lie down and rest a while, then go at it again. For nearly an hour he worked at it and at last he was rewarded by having the board come loose. He squeezed out through it and the board sprang back into place. Another goat tried to follow but he did not know the trick, and in place of pulling with his horns, pressed against the board, so Billy was the only one to get loose.

Billy trotted between the long rows of animals, being very careful to keep in the exact center of the aisle and as far away from all of them as he could. One of the elephants reached out his long trunk and caught Billy by the tail, but it was only a playful nip, and, after jerking Billy back a little piece, the elephant let him go. Billy looked around at the big gray beast and saw by his twinkling eyes that it was only in fun, so, kicking up his heels, he trotted on with a friendly "baah!" The lions and tigers and the leopards snarled and howled at him as he went past, while the hyenas laughed—if the terrible noise they make can be called laughing.

One of the elephants reached out his long trunk.

Down toward the middle of the ship was a steep stairway up to an open doorway that led out on the deck, and up this Billy climbed with ease. It was delightful, after that close, stuffy place, to stand on the cool, breeze-swept deck. The steamer was making good headway now and all around was the ocean; the shore was only a low, hazy line, away out there at the edge of the water. Billy was interested in the gaily colored circus wagons, some of which, crowded out of the lower hold, were grouped on the big, bare after-deck, and Billy did not notice, until up very close to him, that a big, fat man was leaning over the rail. It was Hans Zug, and although the ship was riding easy and the ocean was very calm, Hans was already beginning to feel very sorry that he had not staid on solid land.

"Ach, I am so sick!" groaned poor Hans. "I wish I could die, yet! I should feel me so much better!"