When “Jeff” was brought on board, his pitiful condition excited the active sympathy of all, from the commander down to the smallest powder monkey, and numerous were the suggestions made as to the course of treatment for the new patient. The doctor was consulted, and, after a careful diagnosis, decided there was no organic disease: want of parental care, want of nourishment, and exposure, were held responsible for “Jeff’s” unfavorable condition. It was decided to put him on a light diet of milk, which proved an immediate success, for, within forty-eight hours after his first meal, the patient became as lively as possible. As days and weeks went on, there appeared an improvement of appetite that was quite phenomenal, but no accumulation of flesh. His legs and body grew longer; and, with this lengthening of parts, there came a development of intellectual acuteness that was particularly surprising. He attached himself to each individual of the ship. He had no favorites, but was hail-fellow-well-met with all. He developed all the playful qualities of a puppy, and reasoned out a considerable number of problems in his own way, without the aid of books or schoolmaster. His particular admirers declared that he learned the meaning of the different whistles of the boatswain: that he knew when the meal pennant was hoisted to the peak, could tell when the crew was beat to quarters for drill, and often proved the correctness of this knowledge by scampering off to take his place by one particular gun division which seemed to have taken his fancy.

I can testify personally to only one item in the schedule of his intellectual achievements. It is a custom in the navy for the commander of a ship to receive any officer of rank of either branch of the service at the gangway of the ship. In this act of courtesy he is always accompanied by the officer of the deck, and often by others that may happen to be at hand. After the advent of “Jeff,” whenever I went on board the Louisiana he was always at the gangway, and seemingly was deeply interested in the event. It may be said of him, generally, that he was overflowing with spirits, and took an active interest in all the daily routine work of his ship. He had a most pertinacious way of poking his nose into all sorts of affairs, not at all after the manner of the usual pig, but more like a village gossip who wants to know about everything that is going on in the neighborhood.

In the gradual development of “Jeff’s” character, it was discovered that he had none of the usual well-known traits of the pig. He was more like a petted and pampered dog, was playful, good-natured, and expressed pleasure, pain, anger, and desire, with various squeals and grunts, delivered with a variety of intonations that were very easily interpreted. He was never so happy as when in the lap of one of the sailors, having his back stroked. His pleasure upon those occasions was evinced by the emission of frequent good-natured grunts and looking up into the face of the friendly stroker. When on shore, he followed like a dog, and was never known to root. Except in speech and appearance, he was the counterpart of a happy, good-natured, and well-cared-for household dog—possibly, however, rather more intelligent than the average canine pet.

The Fourth of July, 1862, was a gala day at Roanoke Island. The camps of the island and the vessels in the harbor were en grande fÊte. Colors were flying, bands playing, drums beating, patriotic steam was up to high pressure, and a goodly number of glasses of “commissary” were consumed in wishing success to the cause. The good old day, so dear to the hearts of Americans, was made more glorious by the exchange of camp hospitalities and an indulgence in such simple hilarity as the occasion seemed to require; but “Jeff” was not forgotten. Early in the morning, he was bathed and scrubbed, more than to his heart’s content, and then patriotically decorated. In his right ear was a red ribbon, in his left a white one; around his neck another of blue, and at his mizzen, or, in other words, his tail, he carried a small Confederate flag. Thus adorned he was brought on shore to pay me a visit, and, as he came through my door, he appeared to be filled with the pride of patriotism and a realization of the greatness of the occasion. His reward for this unusual demonstration was instantaneous, and consisted of some apples and a toothsome dessert of sugar. Afterward he made the round of the camps with a special escort of warrant officers and devoted Jack Tars. From after accounts it appeared that he had been so well received that his escort experienced much difficulty in finding their way back to the ship.

During this triumphant march over the island an incident occurred which developed the slumbering instinct of the swamp “racer.” In a second, as it were, and seemingly without cause, “Jeff” was seen to move off at a tremendous pace at right angles with the line of march. He was seen, after he had run a few yards, to make a great jump, and then remain in his tracks. The pursuing party found him actively engaged in demolishing a moccasin, which he had crushed by jumping and landing with his feet upon its head and back. Hogs of this particular kind are famous snake-killers. A big rattler or a garter snake is all the same to them. They advance to the attack with the greatest impetuosity, and a feast upon snake is the usual reward of exceptional bravery.

In his habits of eating, “Jeff” was a confirmed and persistent gourmand, and in time paid the usual penalty for over-indulgence of a very piggish sort of appetite. While the meal pennant was up, it was his habit to go from one forecastle mess to another, and to insist upon having rather more than his share of the choice morsels from each. In a short time he came to the repair shop very much the worse for wear, with an impaired digestion and a cuticle that showed unmistakable evidence of scurvy. For the first, he was put upon short rations; for the second, sand baths on shore were prescribed. Under this treatment poor “Jeff” lost all his buoyancy of spirits and his habitual friskiness, and became sad and dejected, but bore his troubles with becoming patience. He took to the cool sand baths at once, and gave forth many disgruntled grunts when lifted out of them.

The last time I saw “Jeff,” July 10, 1862, he was buried up to his ears in the cool sands of the Roanoke Island shore, with eyes upturned and looking like a very sad pig, but I fear none the wiser for his offences against the rights of a well-regulated digestion.

This account has not been written for the only purpose of glorifying the one particular pig, or pigs in general, but rather to call attention to the fact that this universally despised animal, by associating with human beings and receiving gentle treatment, may develop interesting traits of character, which would otherwise remain unknown; and also to prove that kindness bestowed upon lower animals may be appreciated and reciprocated in a manner which the upper animal, man, who boasts of his superiority, would do well to imitate.