I hastened to the shabby ferry-house, and found the company scattered about the floor asleep. Arousing them as quickly as I could, I explained to them the situation.
They were four in all—two peddlers and two peasants. Unanimously I was proclaimed captain, and we went to the boat at once.
I took the seat at the stern and seized the rudder. One of the peddlers took one oar, one of the peasants took the other. The second peddler, still half asleep, tumbled into the dancing boat, and we only waited for the remaining countryman.
What was my astonishment when I perceived him dragging something that did not wish to go? What was it? What new passenger? Before he reached the boat, however, I could guess by the squeals and peculiar noises which my ear caught amid the howling of the wind and the roaring of the river, that it was a pig.
Now, this was too much. My very epaulets revolted against such a thing. To go on a perilous expedition in company with a pig, and, if successful, to divide the honors with the pig!
I protested hotly. The owner of the pig implored, and the crew—true to tradition—revolted against the captain and voted for the pig.
What could I do? The chances were equal. Without me they could not have the boat; without them I could not manage it.
Fortunately at that critical moment—for to resist would be to lose the mazurka, and to yield to lose authority, and heaven knows of what those Tartars would not be capable in case of danger, once in the middle of the stream!—a brilliant idea struck me. I have acknowledged already my ignorance of nautical principles, but I had read in my boyhood, like every one else, some piratical novels, and the idea of ballast flashed through my mind.
The pig would be our ballast! And with this in view, I ordered the men to bind the pig’s legs and throw it into the bottom of the craft.