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 10s. 6d., 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 3s., 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 10s. 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
It 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.
The next morning, as the first of Phoebus’s beams was peeping over the ancient walls of Chester, we set out upon our way. And a weary way it was to be, for in nearly every town upon our route we were obliged to rethread the needle of our plans, as the authorities of every place unravelled them. We could only perform on a market-day, and these varied greatly from town to town; we could only perform within the market-square, or we could only perform outside it; we had to pass inspection of the Mayor, or the Bailiffs and Aldermen, or the Nuisance Authority, or the Examiner of Showmen and Van Dwellers. With each inspection, as a matter of course, came a Fee—sometimes as little as ten shillings, but often as great as five pounds, such that we were only rarely able to leave a town with any more money than we had had at the moment of our arrival, and frequently with less. What with lodging and food for our company, our twenty pounds were soon whittled down to twelve, to ten, to eight and to four. As we left Banbury for Oxford, we had but twelve Shillings to our name.
As for Audiences in these towns, I may say (I hope) without giving offence to any one place in Particular, that they were almost without exception raucous, disorderly and Rude. The Questions they posed to me were shouted and strewn with obscenities; the noise and the clatter of carts and street-sellers often quite overwhelmed my Benefactor, even when he declaimed at the very Top of his Voice. Small children poked me with carrots and twigs, threw rotted vegetables at the Cats and Monkeys, and took great delight in banging pots and pans to frighten the Horses. It was here, I believe, that our training by Mr Bisset proved its worth, for despite our Animal natures, we were not half so Beastly as the Humans in our midst. As for Sam, while these days were indeed a great Trial, they were also a sort of Crucible in which his baser Metals were by degrees burnt away, and his purer and Nobler substance Proofed against the corrosive contents of the human Stew. A showman’s life, alas, is not all Glory, for beneath the glitter and the tinsel lies much heartache, and the open road is often strewn with Thorns. Never the less, it is not a life that few who have come to know it would willingly set aside, even if Easier and Quieter occupations were softly to offer their Alternatives. Perhaps if our road had come to an end Prematurely, and our appearance in Banbury had been our last, we might have felt a twinge of Regret, but it was a wise chance that brought us next to Oxford Town, where our mutual Fortunes were to take a strange turn that neither of us could have anticipated.
The city of Oxford possesses a distinction that, even before I laid eyes upon it, places it in a most Favourable light: it contains within it the name of an Animal. You may prate if you will of other such towns, and scribblers may speculate all they like as to the origins of Shrewsbury, Ramsgate, Swanage, or Sparrows Green. I have heard tell even of a town named Swindon, whose name is said to derive from a Saxon compound meaning ‘the swine’s hill’. But of all these fair places, there is none that remains so dear to me as Oxford, for it was there that my Education, having already proceeded as far as my Benefactor’s little learning could take it, was so much further Developed that I could at last answer honestly to the Sobriquet of ‘the Sapient Pig’.
Yet another—and, at the time, seemingly more significant—feature of the town of Oxford was St Giles’s Fair, held from the first of September since the days of Queen Elizabeth, at a site adjacent to the Church of St Giles, where the Woodstock and Banbury Roads converged. It had taken diverse forms over the centuries, with sundry trades—the Gypsies with their heaps of China plates, the husbandmen of Oxfordshire with their livestock and cider, the toy-merchants with their dolls and miniature theatres—having precedence for sundry epochs, but with all being given at least some portion of the Pitch. The tariffs for this fair were not inconsiderable, and indeed our entire remaining purse of twelve shillings was thus forfeited—but the takings were likely to be far greater, for the officials were more welcoming than at other such Fairs, and its fame went far and wide. One hears now and then of the tensions between ‘Town and Gown’ in such places, but falling as it did within the Long Vacation, St Giles’s Fair was unequivocally a Town affair, and thus all the better attended by the common folk for miles around.
We arrived the night before its commencement and, having paid our Tariff, found lodgings nearby at a small Inn adjacent to a cider-house known as the Spotted Cow, which suited us well. For, although Sam and Bannon were put up in a cramped room with three other men, it had a leaded-glass Window that overlooked the Inn-yard, such that they could keep a watchful Eye upon myself and the other Animals. The whole place was filled with exhibitors, many of whom regaled the crowd with previews of their Attractions; among them we saw a Gypsy dancer who played with great skill upon the Tambourine, a Juggler who managed five flaming Torches at once, and an operator of the Lanterna Magica who threw macabre pictures of Skellingtons and Witches upon the Walls. My Benefactor fancied at first that he might give some Demonstration of my abilities, but thought the better of it after we narrowly escaped being Trampled by a passing party of Revellers carousing down the road. And so, rather than risking our necks in the crowded streets, we retired Early to our beds, that we might be the better Rested for our show.
We were very glad of it the next Morning, for we took our Breakfast while the other denizens of the Inn slept on, oblivious to the dawning of the day. We reached the pitch well before them and were able to lay claim to an excellent Pos
ition, in the midst of a patch of green near the foot of St. Giles’s cemetery, just opposite Black Hall. Here we soon drew a considerable crowd, as we were very nearly the first outpost of the Fair that travellers from the North encountered. Indeed, on several occasions, the town officers had to come round and clear the road of carriages, many of which had pulled over so that their passengers could take in our Show. We now greatly expanded our Bills, as much for our own relief as to add Variety to the programme, and brought back some parts of our Act—such as the telling of time and the reading of minds, which had been abandoned in the course of our Provincial tour. The result was that on the second day of the Fair we were even better attended than on the First, and were near to Exhaustion with Encores.
It was near the end of this day, and thus of the Fair itself, that we were approached after one performance by an elderly gentleman, dressed in the plain frock coat and bands of a churchman. As he conversed, he seemed to be smiling quietly to himself, as though he knew, or suspected he knew, some secret about us. He particularly wished to be introduced to me, and his manner was surprisingly natural. He bowed slightly, then turned to my Benefactor, whispering something in his Ear. Poor Sam blushed a bit but, not wanting to give offence, nodded—evidently agreeing to something the man had proposed, after which he stept back, permitting the old gentleman to examine the pasteboard Letters employed in my Performances. The man did not, as did most, turn them over in his hand to look for tricks or ruses, but instead quickly selected a great handful of them, which he then turned and placed upon the ground. I approached with great Curiosity, and saw that he had from them formed this Sentence: I-S I-T T-R-U-E T-H-A-T Y-O-U C-A-N R-E-A-D A-S W-E-L-L. At which, quite without thinking about it, I dashed over and spelt out: Y-E-S. The old fellow then took out a book from his satchel, and laid it before me. I saw that it was a copy of Ruddiman’s Rudiments of the Latin Tongue, a common school primer of the day. This time he did not spell, but asked me directly: ‘Mr Toby, are you acquainted with the Latin language?’
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