For the first time that voyage an attempt was made to confine a portion of our farm-stock within a pen, instead of allowing them to roam at their own sweet will about the decks. For the skipper still cherished the idea that milk for tea and coffee might be obtained from the two goats that would be , if only their habit of grazing could be stopped. So the carpenter rigged up a tiny corral beneath the fo’c’s’le deck, and there, in penitential gloom, the goats were confined and fed, like all the rest of the animals, on last voyage’s biscuit and weevily pease. Under these depressing conditions there was, of course, only one thing left for self-respecting goats to do—refuse to any more milk. They did so; so promptly, in fact, that on the second morning the utmost energies of[120] the only sufficed to squeeze out from the pair about half-a-dozen teaspoonfuls of doubtful-looking fluid. This sealed their fate, for we had far too much stock on board to waste any portion of our upon non-producers, and the went forth—the drones must die. Some suggestion was made by a member of the after guard as to the possibility of the crew not objecting to goat as a change of diet; but with all the skipper’s boldness, he did not venture to make the attempt. The goats were , their hides were saved for gear, sheaths for knives, &c., but, with the exception of a portion that was boiled down with much disgust by the cook and given to the , most of the flesh was flung overboard. Then general complaints arose that while was a pleasant perfume taken in moderation, a little of it went a very long way, and that two musk deer might be relied upon to provide as much in one day as would suffice all hands for a year. I do not know how it was done, but two days after the of the goats the deer also vanished. Still we could not be said to enjoy much room to move about on deck yet. We had 200 fowls and forty ducks roaming at large, and although many of the former birds tried their wings, with the result of finding the outside of the ship a brief and uncertain abiding-place, the state of the ship’s decks was still . A week of uninterrupted fine weather under the blazing sun of the Bay of Bengal had made every one but the skipper sick of sea-farming, and consequently it was with many pleasurable anticipations[121] that we the first increase in the wind that a reduction of sail. It made the fellows quite gay to think of the that would presently take place. The breeze freshened all night, and in the morning it was blowing a moderate , with an ugly cross sea, which, with the Belle’s well-known clumsiness, she was allowing to break aboard in all directions. By four bells there were many gaps in our company of fowls. Such a state of affairs robbed them of the tiny of they had ever , and every little breaking sea that lolloped inboard drove some of them, with strident outcry, to seek refuge overboard. Presently came what we had been expecting all the morning—one huge mass of water extending from the break of the poop to the forecastle, which filled the decks rail high, and aft. were exceedingly for a time. The ducks took very to the new arrangement at first, sailing about, and tasting the bitter brine as if they rather liked the flavour. But they were vastly puzzled by the incomprehensible motions of the whole mass of water under them; it was a phenomenon all their previous experiences. The fowls gave the whole thing up, floating languidly about like worn-out feather brooms upon the flood of water, and hardly retaining enough energy to struggle when the men, splashing about like a crack team in a water-polo match, snatched at them and conveyed them in heaps to a place of security under the forecastle. That day’s breeze got rid of quite two-thirds of our feathered[122] friends for us, what with the number that had flown or been washed overboard and those unfortunates who had died in wet heaps under the forecastle. The old man was much annoyed, and could by no means understand the unwonted cheerfulness of everybody else. But, economical to the last, he ordered the steward to as many of the each day as would give every man one body apiece for dinner, in lieu of the usual of salt beef or pork. This royal command gave all hands great satisfaction, for it is a on board ship that to feed upon chicken is the height of epicurean luxury. Dinner-time, therefore, was awaited with considerable ; in fact, a good deal of sleep was lost by the watch below over the of such an unusual luxury. I went to the as usual, my mouth watering like the rest, but when I saw the dirty little Maltese cook the carcasses out of the , my appetite began to fail me. He carefully counted into my kid one to each man, and I silently bore them into the forecastle to the midst of the crowd. Ah me! how was their joy turned into sorrow, their sorrow into rage, by the rapidest of transitions. She was a hungry ship at the best of times, but when things had been at their worst they had never quite reached the present sad level. It is hardly possible to imagine what that feast looked like. An East Indian jungle is by no means a fleshy bird when at its best, but these poor had been living upon what little flesh they wore when they came on board for about ten days, the ration[123] of paddy and broken biscuit having been to keep them alive. And then they had been scalded , the feathers roughly wiped off them, and into a of furiously bubbling seawater, where they had remained until the wooden-headed Maltese judged it time to fish them out and send them to be eaten. They were just like ladies’ covered with old parchment, and I have serious doubts whether more than half of them were . I dare not attempt to reproduce the comments of my starving shipmates, unless I gave a row of dashes which would be suggestive but not enlightening. Old Nat the Yankee, who was the doyen of the forecastle, was the first to recover from the shock to a definite plan of action. “In my ’pinion,” he said, “thishyer’s ’bout reached th’ bottom . I stan’ bein’ starved; in these yer limejuicers a feller’s got ter stan’ that, but I be ’tarnally dod-gasted ef I kin see bein’ starved ’n’ insulted at the same time by the notion ov bein’ bloated with lugsury. I’m goin’ ter take thishyer kid full o’ bramley-kites aft an’ ask th’ ole man ef he don’t think it’s ’bout time somethin’ wuz said a............