There was a Hush, always, as I picked out the letters and numbers, and a great Cry of amazement when I spelt out just the answer. Besides getting the names, the Questions were all fairly Common: young Maids wanted to know if they would be married, and how many Children they would have, and would they have a lovely Home; Boys wanted me to guess their Age, and never complained if I Added to the Figure, while Men—who rarely participated, unless at the Insistence of their Wives—asked about only the most practical sorts of things, such as what price Apples would bring at Market this year, or what Horse they should wager upon at the Races. And my Master, since he made it his business to know a great deal about exactly such matters, was always able to give me a serviceable Reply, and when a Guess had to be made, one that pleased the Querent. At the end of my performance, I was to make a little Bow, and spell out ‘G-O-O-D-B-Y-E’, which always led to a great round of Applause, and a great take at the Nobbins (which is what we showfolk call the Money that is dropped in as a Hat is Passed).
We did a very good business indeed at these Fairs, and by the time we arrived at the town of Prescot, we had taken in nearly a hundred Pounds, and Mr Bisset gave it out to Sam that we might consider carrying on to Liverpool, where he had a Friend who was the Proprietor of a Garden, said to be a veritable Vauxhall in Miniature, where we might draw far larger Crowds. There was only one Difficulty with this Plan, and that was the matter of Licences. The Magistrates in those days were often simply Men of the Town, of some Age and Dignity, whose usual purview was small disputes over Property, or minor civil offenders such as Disturbers of the Peace. When the time came each year for the Fair, they quite naturally extracted a Fee from all who would exhibit there. The fee was a standard one—amounts of five pounds or thereabouts were common—but the Magistrate was quite free to Increase it, for any arbitrary Reason, or, should the mood take him, to deny a Licence, even when a man was quite Ready to pay for it. Agricultural exhibitors, and vendors of food, were passed through quite Routinely, but as showmen we often faced a much more lengthy, and sometimes capricious, line of Questioning. Was the show harmful to public Morals in any way? Were the Animals treated in a Humane manner? Was there any Trick or Deception by which the poor honest fair-goer was to be taken for his hard-earned money? We sometimes had to run through our whole routine for the Magistrate’s benefit, and he and his Men might demand to see, and Inspect, any part of our Apparatus for signs of trickery.
Nearly all of the time, we were eventually allowed to put on our Show, though we were often assessed a higher Rate, to reimburse the Town for the trouble of examining us, or to stand surety against any later Discovery of deceit. Mr Bisset was a charming man, although I must say his power to charm Magistrates was as nothing before his gift with Animals. And this, as it happened, was precisely the Issue with Liverpool, as the Lord Mayor there, who was in charge of licences, was widely known to be especially Hostile to showmen. Never the less, with a ready venue, and the promise of great Profit, we hazarded the Journey, and the next day arrived in the little hamlet of Wavertree. From here, it would be but a short journey on foot into the City, and we could at least make Enquiry, to ‘test the waters’, as humans say, and see whether our Hopes might be given something to Feed upon. In the mean-time, our Bodies, at least, were well watered and fed, as we were lodged at Green Bank, near Mossley Hill, where an acquaintance of Mr Bisset kept a small dairy farm. Sam remained with me, thankfully, for I should not have liked to be left with Strangers, and we waited anxiously to see what the Result of our Master’s enquiries might be.
It was late that night when he returned, and his Mood was darker than I had ever known it. The Lord Mayor’s secretary had kept him waiting the better part of the Afternoon, and when at last he was Admitted, had given him only a very brief and Dismissive interview. Mr Bisset had exerted all his power, and with the assistance of some Friends of his in the City, had persuaded him to reconsider, but only to this extent: he must examine the Pig in question, without any interference, and all alone—nothing else would do!—and if at last he were satisfied that there was no Deception, he would consider granting permission for its Exhibition. Our Master was, of course, gravely Troubled at this, for he believed that without his Presence, and his Signals, I would be unable to Demonstrate my intelligence, and all would be Ruined. Of course Sam and I knew better, but we could not, even at this juncture, bring ourselves to Disclose to Mr Bisset my true Knowledge of Letters. We feared either that it would Break his Spirit, by making it seem that he was no longer Needed, or cause him to fly into a Rage at this betrayal of his Secrets. Never the less, Sam at least persuaded him that he should come along; perhaps the Lord Mayor would not mind if a young boy, said merely to be the pig’s keeper, stayed by him.
This thought so delighted Mr Bisset that he at once agreed, and proposed that, in a single night, he would train Sam with at least a perfunctory set of signals, so that he could, if permitted, transmit them to me in His Lordship’s presence. Sam, of course, already knew them all, but went along with the ruse, as being the easiest Solution to both his and Mr Bisset’s Predicament, and of course, so did I. We ran through the signals for ‘YES’ and ‘NO’ and even risked ‘MAYBE’, which, at five letters, was as far as our Master ventured to trust us. By means of these three replies, he hoped, we might be able to Convince His Lordship that, under the strictest measures, there was neither Fraud nor Deceit in this our Show, but that it was in fact an innocent, and indeed an Instructive, demonstration of the Native Wit of the Porcine race. It was quite late by the time we had completed our exercises, and as we were due in Town at ten the next Morning, we all retired at once, Mr Bisset to his Friend’s cottage, and Sam and myself—as had become our habit—to a common bed of Straw in the back of the Wagon. And there we slept, deeply and Soundly, as we had never slept before, and woke Refreshed, as though we had drunk the waters of Elysium, and wandered the hills of Paradise.
7
Our journey into Liverpool was not a Long one, for although we travelled entirely by Foot, it did not consume more than half an Hour. That noted City was not quite so Built up in those days as it has since become, save along the Quays, where a great deal of Business was done; the greater number of the Buildings were of a Low sort, and the lanes not much different from those of the smaller Towns, save that they were more Numerous and Crowded. We shortly arrived at the Town Hall, an impressive stone edifice with tall vaulted Windows, and a Roman sort of Portico. We were informed that it had once been topped by a square Tower, which had recently been Dismantled, in order that a round dome could take its Place, but at the time of our Visit, this work was Incomplete, and the roof quite Flat. Our Appearance on the Steps caused quite a commotion, for although a Pig in the streets of Liverpool was quite beneath anyone’s Notice, a Pig on the Steps of the Town Hall was cause of Clamour and Outcry. Never was I more Offended, or taken Aback at the human Prejudice of feeling, than I was when two tall men dressed in the Livery of the City, came upon me with great Brooms, as though to Sweep me off their stairs!
Fortunately, at just this Moment, the Lord Mayor’s secretary came forward, and motioned us back down the stairs, explaining that our Examination was to take place in a builder’s Yard on the opposite Corner of the Square. Here, with the blank brick faces of the neighbouring Buildings for our Enclosure, we were met by the Lord Mayor, a red-cheeked, huffing man by the name of James Blackburn. He did not exhibit any Sympathy of any kind—which hardly surprised me—but more than that, he seemed to possess a sort of Anti-Feeling that was so pronounced as to be almost a Feeling. My master was dismissed at once, though to his great Relief, Sam was permitted to remain. Mr Blackburn retained only his Secretary, who took his station at a little Table in the corner of the Yard, quill in Hand, to transcribe the Proceedings.
‘Ah, so this is the Celebrated “sapient” Pig, eh? Is that correct?’
No one else seeming ready to answer, Sam ventured a ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And of what does his Sapience consist, eh? Can you tell me how many Ounces in a Gill? Name the