Then more weird squeaking was heard, and a second pig imitated his comrade’s example, jumping also from the boat overboard—just as if they were playing the game of “follow my leader” which we often indulged in when sky-larking in the second dog-watch!
This was no sky-larking, however, for the captain on the poop, as well as Mr Saunders and myself up in the mizzen-top, had witnessed the whole of the strange occurrence the same as Tim Rooney, and all of us were equally astonished.
As for Captain Gillespie, being a very superstitious man, he seemed strongly impressed by what had happened. His voice quite trembled as he called out to Tim Rooney after a moment’s pause, during which he was too much startled to speak:
“Wha—what’s the matter with them, bosun?”
“Sorry o’ me knows,” replied Tim in an equally awestruck voice, either full of real or very well assumed terror, “barrin’ that the divil’s got howld av ’em; an’ it’s raal vexed I am, sorr, av spakin’ so moighty disrespectful av his honour jist now. Aye, take me worrud for it, cap’en, they’re possiss’d, as sure as eggs is mate!”
“I think the same, and that the deil’s got into ’em,” said Captain Gillespie gravely, wrinkling up his nose so much and nodding his head, and looking so like an old owl in the bright light of the moon which had rapidly risen, and was already shining with all the fulness and brilliancy it has in these southern latitudes, that it was as much as I could do to keep from bursting out laughing and so betraying my presence in the top above his head. I was all the more amused, too, when “Old Jock” turned to the second mate and added: “I look upon this as a visitation, and am glad I never killed the animals; for I would not touch one now for anything! Have the remaining brute chucked overboard, Saunders; it would be unlucky to keep it after what has happened. I’m sure I could not bear the sight of it or to hear it grant again!”
So saying, Captain Gillespie went below and took a stiff glass of grog to recover his nerves. He must then have got into his cot for he did not appear on deck again until the middle watch—a most unusual thing for him to do.
“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good,” however, and the aptness of the adage was well illustrated in the present instance, the men feasting on roast pork, besides putting by some tit-bits salted down for a rainy day, at the expense of “Old Jock’s” superstitious fears.
It was wonderful, though, how many legs were owned by that one “last pig” which the captain had ordered to be chucked overboard, and which Mr Saunders had, instead, given over to Ching Wang’s tender mercies for the benefit of himself and the crew, stipulating, however, that he was to have one of the best pieces stuffed and baked, the second mate being a great glutton always, and fond of good living. Yes, it was wonderful for one pig to have no less than twelve legs!
I will tell you how this was.