I'm sure I could not bear the sight of it or to hear it grant again!" So saying, Captain Gillespie went below and took a stiff glass of grog to recover his nerves.

He must then have got into his cot for he did not appear on deck again until the middle watch--a most unusual thing for him to do.
"It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," however, and the aptness of the adage was well illustrated in the present instance, the men feasting on roast pork, besides putting by some tit-bits salted down for a rainy day, at the expense of "Old Jock's" superstitious fears.
It was wonderful, though, how many legs were owned by that one "last pig" which the captain had ordered to be chucked overboard, and which Mr Saunders had, instead, given over to Ching Wang's tender mercies for the benefit of himself and the crew, stipulating, however, that he was to have one of the best pieces stuffed and baked, the second mate being a great glutton always, and fond of good living.

Yes, it was wonderful for one pig to have no less than twelve legs! I will tell you how this was.
Tom Jerrold let me into the secret.

It seems that the apparent suicidal tendencies of the pigs who jumped into the sea in that mysterious way was caused by the fore-topgallant stu'n'sail halliards being dexterously fastened round them by a couple of the hands previously in sling fashion; and when the poor brutes were jerked overboard by the aid of these, they were allowed to tow under the keel of the ship until their squeals were hushed for ever, and then drawn inboard again and cut up in the forecastle.

When they were carved properly into pork, the men thought them none the less delicious because they had come to their death by water instead of by the ordinary butcher's knife; and, as I had the opportunity of testing this opinion in a savoury little pig's fry which Ching Wang presented me with the same evening for supper, I cannot but acknowledge that I agreed thoroughly with the judgment of the hands in the matter of "spiflicated pork," as Tom Jerrold called it.
"Dick, Dick, what do you think of it all ?" said I, chirping to the starling, who was whistling wide awake when I turned out next morning at "eight bells" after dreaming of the poor murdered pigs, on my way to the galley to get some hot coffee.