At first sight, any two things more difficult to bring into intimate relations than and life would appear impossible to find. Those unfortunate people who, having followed the calm, well-ordered round of pastoral progress through the steadily-succeeding seasons of many years, suddenly find themselves, by some freakish twist of fortune’s wheel, transferred to the of the mutable deep, become terribly conscious of their helplessness in the face of conditions so at with all their previous experience of settled, orderly life. The old order has changed with a , giving place to a bewildering disarrangement which seems to their shaken senses like a foretaste of some topsy-turvy world. Like sorrowful strangers in a strange land are they, wherein there is no sure foothold, and where, in place of the old familiar known and cherished so long, is a new element constant to nothing but change and—upon which they seem to be poised—the centre of a marginless circle of invariable variability. This of all is of course no less disconcerting to the humbler of the farmyard and meadow than it is to those who are ordinarily the august of their destinies. And a sudden change from the environment of the homestead, with all its large liberty and peaceful delights, to the , comfortless quarters which, as a rule, are all that shipboard arrangements allow them, at once brings them to a state of wretchedness wherein all their self-assertive individuality is reduced to a , voiceless protest against their hard and unmerited fate. Sea-sickness, too, that truly democratic leveller, does not spare animals, but inserts another set of totally new and unpleasant sensations into the already complicated disorganisation of their unfortunate position.  
In spite of these admittedly difficult factors, I have the to attempt the setting of certain phases of nautical life experienced by myself which have always appeared to me to bring into close contact two such widely differing spheres of existence as country life and sea life, principally in the management of farmyard animals at sea. Sailors are proverbially handy at most things, if their methods are unconventional, and I venture to hope that country readers will at least be amused by Jack’s antics when with the familiar creatures of the countryside.
 
With that wonderful to circumstances which, while pre-eminently characteristic of mankind, is also a notable quality of animals, they soon recover from their and malaise, arrange their locomotive powers to suit the mutations of their unsteady home, and learn (perhaps soonest of all) to[112] distinguish the very number of strokes upon the ship’s bell which announces the arrival of feeding-time. No doubt the attentions of the sailors have much to do with the rapidity of acclimatisation (if the term may be so employed) manifested by most of the animals, since sailors have justly earned a high reputation for taming and educating creatures of even the most and intractable . Nevertheless, this result is by some of the queerest and most ludicrous means (to a countryman) imaginable. But what does that matter, since the conditions of their existence then become, for the seaworthy animals, not only pleasant but profitable to their owners. And where they are presently allowed the run of the ship much fun ensues, fun, moreover, that has no parallel in country life as ordinarily understood. Perhaps my experiences have been more enlarged than falls to the lot of most seafarers, for I have been in several ships where the live-stock were allowed free warren; and although the system had many inconveniences and a great deal of extra labour upon the crew, there were also many compensations. But, like all things to the sea, the practice of carrying live-stock has been replaced by more modern methods. The custom of carrying fresh meat in refrigerators is rapidly gaining ground, and, in consequence, latter-day find fewer and fewer opportunities for educating in seafaring behaviour the usual farmyard animals that supply us with food. By few seamen will this be regarded as a misfortune, since they find their labour quite without the and disagreeable concomitants of carrying live-stock.
 
By far the largest portion of my experience of farmyard operations on board ship has been connected with pigs. These profitable animals have always been for their adaptability to sea life, and I believe, what I have often heard asserted, that no pork is so delicious as that which has been reared on board ship. Be that as it may, pigs of every nation under heaven where swine are to be found have been shipmates with me, and a complete study of all their characteristics and their behaviour under all sea circumstances would occupy a far greater number of pages than I am ever likely to be able or willing to give. Already I have endeavoured to set forth, in a former article, a of the brilliant, if , career of one piggy shipmate whose life was full of interest and his death a blaze of glory. But he was in nowise the most important member of our large and collection of grunters in that ship. Our skipper was an enthusiastic farmer during the brief periods he spent at Cellardyke between his voyages to the East Indies, and consequently it was not strange that he should devote a portion of his ample leisure to pig-breeding when at sea. For some reason, probably economical, we carried no or other animals for our meat, with the exception of the pigs, two large retriever dogs and two cats making up the total of our animal passengers, unless a large and active colony of rats that inhabited the of the hold be taken into account. The day before sailing from[114] Liverpool a handsome young pair of porkers, boar and sow, were borne on board in one sack by the seller, making the welkin ring with their protests. We already a black sow of Madras origin, whose temper was and unappeasable; in fact, she was the only animal I ever saw on board ship that could not be tamed. The first few days of our passage being stormy, the two young pigs suffered greatly from sea-sickness, and in their helpless, enfeebled state endured many things from the wrathful, long-snouted old Madrassee, who seemed to regard them both with aversion. She ate all their grub as well as her own, although, like the lean kine of , she was nothing benefited . But the sailors, finding the youngsters disposed, began to pet them, and in all possible ways to protect them from ill-usage not only by the savage Indian but by the black retriever Sailor, who had taken up his quarters in the fo’c’s’le and became furiously jealous of any attention shown to the pigs by his many masters. It should be noted that, contrary to the usual practice, those pigs had no settled abiding-place. At night they slept in some darksome corner beneath the top-gallant forecastle, wherever they could find a dry spot, but by day they roamed the deck whithersoever they listed, often getting as far aft as the sacred precincts of the quarter-deck, until , the brown retriever that guarded the after-end of the ship, them, and, leaping upon them, towed them forrard at full ............