Such an extensive collection of farm-stock as we carried in the was, like the method of with it, probably unique. Certainly so in my experience, and in that of all the shipmates with whom I have ever discussed the matter. For this reason, a dirty ship upon the high seas is an anomaly, something not to be imagined; that is, in the sense of loose dirt, of course, because sailors will call a ship dirty whose paint and have been scrubbed or weathered off, and, through poverty or meanness, left unrenewed. The Belle would no doubt have looked clean to the average landsman, but to a sailor she was offensively , and the language used at night when handling the running gear (i.e. the ropes which regulate the sails, &c., aloft, and are, when disused, coiled on pins or on deck) was very wicked and . In fact, as Old Nat remarked one Sunday afternoon, when the watch had been roused to ship, and all the inhabitants of the farmery, disturbed from their roosting places or , were unmusically seeking fresh quarters, “Ef thishyer—— old mud-scow’s out much longer we sh’ll hev’ ’nother aboard when we du arrive. People ’ll think we cum fr’m the Chinchees with gooanner.”
 
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But, as I have said, the Belle was certainly an exception. I joined a magnificent steel clipper called the Harbinger in Adelaide as second mate, and, on taking my first walk round her, discovered that she too was well provided in the matter of farm-stock, besides, to my , for I had thought the day for such things long past, carrying a cow. But all the arrangements for the housing, feeding, and general comfort of the live-stock on board were on a most elaborate scale, as, indeed, was the ship’s equipment generally. The cow-house, for instance, was a massive erection of solid teak with fittings and fastenings, large enough to take two cows comfortably, and outside till it looked like a huge cabinet. Its place when at sea was on the main hatch, where it was nearly two feet off the deck, and by means of ring-bolts was so firmly that only a sea breaking on board could possibly move it. Its solidly-built doors opened in halves, of which the lower half only was kept fastened by day, so that Poley stood at her window gazing out at the blue expanse of the sea with a mild, abstracted air, which immediately vanished if any one inadvertently came too near her . She had a way of suddenly her big soapy into the back of one’s neck while the victim’s attention was taken up elsewhere that was disconcerting. And one night, in the middle watch, she created a veritable sensation by walking into the forecastle unseen by anybody on deck. The watch below were all sound asleep, of course, but the unusual footsteps, and long breaths, like escaping steam, emitted by the visitor,[130] soon roused them by their . Voice called unto voice across the darkness (and a ship’s forecastle at night is a shade or so darker than a coal-cellar), “What is it? Light the lamp, somebody”; but with that vast mysterious monster floundering around, no one dared venture out of the present security of his . It was really most alarming—waking up to such an invisible horror as that, and, as one of the fellows said to me afterwards, “All the creepy I’d ever read in books come me head at once, until I was almost dotty with ’fraid.” This situation was relieved by one of the other watch, who, coming in to get something out of a chum’s chest, struck a match, and by its pale revealed the huge bulk of poor Poley, who, scared almost to drying up her milk, was endeavouring to bore her way through the bows in order to get out. The butcher was hurriedly roused from his quarters farther aft, and, muttering maledictions upon ships and all sailors, the sea and all cattle, slouched to the spot. His voice immediately the wanderer, who turned round at its first angry words and marched out of the forecastle, leaving a contribution in her wake as a of her visit.
 
Between the butcher and Poley a charming affection existed. She loved him most fondly, and the Cardigan jacket he wore was a proof thereof. For while engaged in her, which he did most every morning, she would reach round whenever possible and lick him wherever she could touch him. In consequence of this affectionate habit[131] of hers his Cardigan was an object of derision to all on board until upon our arrival in Town one of our departing passengers divided a case of extra special whisky among the crew. The butcher being of an absorbent turn, shifted a goodly quantity of the seductive fluid, and presently, feeling very tired, left the revellers and disappeared. Next morning he was nowhere to be found. A prolonged search was made, and at last the missing man was discovered peacefully by the side of the cow, all unconscious of the fact that she had licked away at him until nothing remained of his Cardigan but the sleeves, and in addition a great deal of his shirt was missing. It is only fair to suppose that, given time enough, she would have removed all his clothing. It was a depraved appetite certainly, but as I have before noticed, that is not among animals at sea. It was her only , however, from in that direction. Truly her opportunities were small, being such a close prisoner, but the to me was how, in the absence of what I should say was proper food, she kept up her supply of milk for practically the whole voyage. She never once set foot on shore from the time the left London until she returned, and as green food was most difficult to obtain in Adelaide, she got a taste of it only about four times during our stay. Australian hay, too, is not what a dainty English cow would be likely to hanker after; yet with all these drawbacks it was not until we had crossed the Line on the homeward passage that her milk began to seriously in amount. Thenceforward[132] it decreased, until in the Channel the butcher handed in to the one morning a contribution of about a gill, saying, “If you want any more, sir, you’ll have to put the suction hose on to her. I sh’d say her milkin’ days was done.” But for long previous to this the ingenious butcher had been raiding the cargo (of wheat) for his pet, and each day would present her with two bucketfuls of boiled wheat, which she seemed to amazingly. Partly because of this splendid feeding, and partly owing to the regular washing and groomings she received, I imagine she was such a picture of an animal when she stepped out of the ship in London as I have only seen at cattle shows or on advertisement cards. You could not see a bone; her sides were like a wall of meat, and her skin had a sheen on it like satin. As she was led away, I said to the butcher, who had been assisting at her , “I suppose you’ll have her again next voyage, won’t you, butcher?” “No fear,” he answered . “She’s gone to be butchered. She’ll be prime beef in a day or two.” I looked at him with something like . He seemed to think it was a grand idea, although even now the mournful call of his old favourite was ringing in his ears. At last I said, “I wonder you can bear to part with her; you’ve been such chums all the voyage.” “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he replied. “I looked after her ’cause it’s my bisness, but I’d jest as leave her myself as not.” With that he left me to resume his duty.
 
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But in the fervour of my recollections of Poley, I have quite neglected another most important branch of the Harbinger’s family of animals, the sheep. Being such a large ship, she had an immense house on deck between the main hatch and the mast, in which were a donkey-engine and , a second cabin to accommodate thirty passengers, petty officers’ quarters, carpenters’ shop, and . And still there was room between the fore end and the fore mast to admit of two massive pens, built of teak, with galvanised bars in front, being secured there one on top of the other. When I joined the ship these were empty, and their interiors scrubbed as clean as a kitchen table. That morning, looking up the , I saw a curious procession. First a tall man, with an air of quiet want of interest about him; by his side marched a , a splendid fellow, who looked conscious that he was called upon to play an important part in the scheme of things. Behind this solemn pair came a small flock of some thirty sheep, and a wise old dog, keeping a go............