Well, old man, in former times I have shipped horses, cattle, pigs, and asses on the _Pamir_, but I recommend mules if you want a little distraction. They have only four feet, but it seems as though they had twenty-five. When you put the girths around their bellies they begin to sniff and rear. When you start the winches and they are hoisted into the air, they are so astounded that they don’t say a word; they content themselves with relieving themselves because of the pressure on their bellies, but you can see by their sly expression and their panting breath that they are reserving themselves for later. And when they reach the deck and are out of the sling, they begin to dance, to run, and to let out a kick wherever they see a human face, and then it’s far from funny. We just missed having our eyes put out a hundred times, because there were a hundred mules. One jumped around so much that he went overboard. He knew how to swim and hooked it for the shore, and whatever may have been his adventures, the _Pamir_ did not carry _him_ along to Salonica. The hay came too. Fourgues had it put on top of the deck-house near the funnel. It was as hard as wood and as dry as asbestos. We had to wet it before the mules could eat it. Two men from the crew were appointed to look after them, because there was no one provided at Cette to escort them. I am glad it was they and not me. For twenty-four hours they were unable to approach those mules who kept showing their heels and skipping like kids, so that the two reservists fled with the hay! But when the beasts began to get hungry, they all held out their noses for the hay when it came, and after a few days the movie-man and the _croupier_ were chums with them. As none of the rest of the crew, Villiers and I included, could approach without seeing them wriggle their rumps, the movie-man and the _croupier_ got swelled head and said that they were the only ones aboard who understood animals. Fourgues, coming down from the bridge one night, wanted to approach them from starboard aft, whispering soft nothings to them in the language of Provence: “There, there, my little dear, _mon petit bichon_----”