The following anecdote, which with the accompanying fine engraving is taken from the New Sporting Magazine for January 1839, presents a striking example of the same kind:—
"The incident which the artist has made the subject for our embellishment occurred with Lord Ossulston's stag-hounds, on Tuesday, the 1st of May, when the stag, after a fast run of an hour, jumped over a precipice, and broke his neck. The hounds were, at this time, close to his haunches, and a couple and a half of the leading dogs went over with the stag. Two of the hounds were so hurt that they could not move, andthe third was found by the greencoat first up, lying on the dead deer."
I am indebted to that clever and intelligent authoress, Mrs. S. Carter Hall, for her recollections of an Irish wolf-dog and his master, which I cannot do better than give in her own words:—
"When I was a child, I had a very close friendship with a genuine old wolf-dog, Bruno by name. He was the property of an old friend of my grandmother's, who claimed descent from the Irish kings. His name was O'Toole. His manners were the most courtly you can imagine; as they might well be, for he had spent much time and fortune at the French court, when Marie Antoinette was in her prime and beauty. His visits were my jubilees—there was the kind, dignified old gentleman, who told me tales—there was his tall, gaunt dog, grey with age, and yet with me full of play; and there were two rough terriers, whom Bruno kept in admirable order. He managed the little one by simply placing his paw upon it when it was too frisky; but Vixen, the large one, like many ladies, had a will of her own, and entertained some idea of being mistress. Bruno would bear a good deal from her, giving, however, now and then, a low deep growl; but when provoked too much, he would quietly lift the dog off the ground by the strength of his jaws (his teeth were gone), stand with her in his mouth at the doors until they were opened, and then deposit her, halfstrangled as she was, in a nettle-bed some distance from the house. The dog's discrimination was curious. If Vixen was thrown upon him, or if we forced her to insult him, he never punished her; but if she of her own accord teazed him more than his patience could bear, the punishment was certain to follow.
"O'Toole and his dogs always occupied the same room, the terriers being on the bed with their master. No entreaty, however, ever induced Bruno to sleep on anything softer than stone. He would remove the hearth-rug and lay on the marble. His master used to instance the dog's disdain of luxury as a mark of his noble nature.
"I should not omit to tell you, as characteristic of my old friend, that O'Toole was proud, and never would submit to be called 'Mr.' Meeting, one day, Lord Arne in Dame Street, Dublin, while the old man was followed by his three wolf-dogs, of which Bruno was the last, the young nobleman, who had also his followers in the shape of 'Parliament men,' said to the descendant of Irish kings, nodding to him familiarly at the same time, 'How do you do,Mr.O'Toole?' The old man paused, drew himself up, lifted his hat, made his courtly bow, and answered, 'O'Toole salutes Arne.' I can recall nothing more picturesque than that majestic old gentleman and his dog, both remnants of a bygone age. Bruno was rough, but not long-coated, very grave, observant, enduring every one, very fond of children, playing with themgently, but only crouching and fawning on his master; 'and that,' O'Toole would say, 'is a proof of my royal blood.' I could fill a volume with memoirs of that fine old man. He was more than six feet in height, and his dog always sat with his head on his master's knee."
This is altogether a pretty and interesting picture.
The sagacity of this fine breed is well illustrated in what follows:—
A gentleman walking along the road on Kingston Hill, accompanied by a friend and a noble deer-hound, which was also a retriever, threw his glove into a ditch; and having walked on for a mile, sent his dog back for it. After waiting a considerable time, and the dog not returning, they retraced their steps. Hearing loud cries in the distance, they hastened on, and at last saw the dog dragging a boy by his coat towards them. On questioning the boy, it appeared that he had picked up the glove and put it into his pocket. The sagacious animal had no other means of conveying it to his master than by compelling the boy to accompany him.
The following anecdotes are from Capt. Thomas Brown's now scarce work, "Biographical Sketches and Anecdotes of Dogs." He says:—
"Sir Walter Scott has most obligingly furnished me with the following anecdotes of his celebrated dog Maida:—
"I was once riding over a field on which the reapers were at work, the stooks being placed behind them, as is usual. Maida having found a hare, began to chase her, to the great amusement of the spectators, as the hare turned very often and very swiftly among the stooks. At length, being hard pressed, she fairly bolted into one of them. Maida went in headlong after her, and the stook began to be much agitated in various directions. At length the sheaves tumbled down; and the hare and the dog, terrified alike at their overthrow, ran different ways, to the great amusement of the spectators."
"Among several peculiarities which Maida possessed, one was a strong aversion to a certain class of artists, arising from the frequent restraints he was subjected to in having his portrait taken, on account of his majestic appearance. The instant he saw a pencil and paper produced he prepared to beat a retreat; and, if forced to remain, he exhibited the strongest marks of displeasure."
Ranaldson Macdonell, Esq. of Glengarry, has most kindly furnished the following interesting notices and anecdotes of the Scottish Highland greyhound:—
"Not many years since one of Glengarry's tenants, who had some business with his chief, happened to arrive at Glengarry House at rather an early hour in the morning. A deer-hound perceiving this person sauntering about before the domestics were astir,walked quietly up to him, took him gently by the wrist with his teeth, and proceeded to lead him off the ground. The man, finding him forbearing, attempted resistance; but the dog, instantly seizing his wrist with redoubled pressure, soon convinced him that his attempt was in vain. Thus admonished, the man took the hint, and quietly yielded to his canine conductor, who, without farther injury, led him to the outside of the gate, and then left him. The whole of the dogs at Glengarry House were allowed to go at liberty at all times.
"The Highland greyhounds, or deer-hounds as they are called in the Highlands, have a great antipathy to the sheep-dogs, and never fail to attack them whenever an opportunity offers. A shepherd, whose colley had frequently been attacked by the deer-dogs of Glengarry singly, and always succeeded in beating them off on such occasions, was one day assailed by them in a body; and his life would have been in considerable danger, but for one of the keepers, who happened to pass at the time, and called them off.
"The following circumstance will prove the exquisite sense of smell possessed by the deer-hound. One of this breed, named Bran, when held in the leash, followed the track of a wounded stag, and that in most unfavourable rainy weather, for three successive days, at the end of which time the game was shot. He was wounded first within nine miles of Invergarry House, and was traced that night to the estate of Glenmoriston. At dusk in the evening the deer-stalkers placed a stone on each side of the last fresh print of his hoof, and another over it; and this they did each night following. On the succeeding morning they removed the upper stone, when the dog recovered the scent, and the deer was that day traced over a great part of Glenmoriston's ground. On the third day he was retraced to the lands of Glengarry, and there shot.
"My present dog, Comhstri, to great courage unites the quality of a gentle disposition, with much fidelity and attachment. Though not so large as some of his kindred, he is nevertheless as high-spirited and determined as any of his race, which the following circumstance will testify: 'About three years ago, a deer from the wood of Derrygarbh, whose previous hurts had been healed, came out of Glengarry's pass, who wounded it severely in the body with a rifle bullet. The deer-hounds were immediately laid on the blood-track. The stag was started in the course of a few minutes; the dogs were instantly slipped, and the fine animal ran to bay in a deep pool of water, below a cascade, on the Garyquulach burn. Comhstri immediately plunged in, and seized the stag by the throat; both went under water, surrounded with the white foam, slightly tinged with the deer's blood. The dog soon came to the surface to recover his breath;and before the other could do so, Comhstri dived, and again seized him by the throat. The stag was soon after taken out of the pool dead.
"Comhstri's colour is grey, with a white chest; but we have had them of different colours at Glengarry, such as pure white, black, brindled, and sand-colour.
"When the Highlanders dream of ablackdog, it is interpreted to mean one of the clan of Macdonell; but if of a deer-hound, it denotes a chief, or one of the principal persons of that clan."
That the Scottish dogs were much prized in England from the earliest times, the following interesting account, taken from Holinshed's Chronicles, 'Historie of Scotland,' p. 71, printed in 1586, will show. "And shortlie after the return of these ambassadors into their countrie, divers young gentlemen of the Pictish nobilitie repaired unto King Crathlint, to hunt and make merie with him; but when they should depart homewards, perceiving that the Scotish dogs did farre excell theirs, both in fairnesse, swiftnesse, hardinesse, and also in long standing up and holding out, they got diverse both dogs and bitches of the best kinds for breed to be given them by the Scotish Lords; and yet not so contented, they stole one belonging to the king from his keeper, being more esteemed of him than all the others which he had about him. The master of the leash being informed hereof, pursued after them which hadstollen that dog, thinking indeed to have taken him from them; but they not willing to part with him, fell at altercation, and in the end chanced to strike the maister of the leash through with their horsespeares that he died presentlie: whereupon noise and crie being raised in the countrie by his servants, diverse of the Scots, as they were going home from hunting, returned, and, falling upon the Picts to revenge the death of their fellow, there ensued a shrewd bickering betwixt them, so that of the Scots there died three score gentlemen, besides a great number of the commons, not one of them understanding (till all was done) what the matter meant. Of the Picts there were about an hundred slaine. This circumstance led to a bloody war betwixt the two nations."
The following interesting anecdote, related by Mr. Carr in his "Stranger in Ireland," there can be no doubt, I think, refers to the Irish wolf-dog. Mr. Carr says, that while on his journey to Ireland he "wandered to a little church, which owed its elevation to the following circumstance. Llewelyn the Great, who resided near the base of Snowdon, had a beautiful dog named Gelert, which had been presented to him by King John in 1205. One day, in consequence of the faithful animal, which at night always 'sentinelled his master's bed,' not making his appearance in the chase, Llewelyn returned home very angry, and met the dog, covered with blood, at the door of the chamber of hischild. Upon entering it, he found the bed overturned, and the coverlet stained with gore. He called to his boy; but receiving no answer, he rashly concluded that he had been killed by Gelert, and in his anguish instantly thrust his sword through the poor animal's body. The Hon. Robert Spencer has beautifully told the remainder of the story.
'His suppliant looks, as prone he fell,No pity could impart;But still his Gelert's dying yellPassed heavy on his heart.Arous'd by Gelert's dying yell,Some slumb'rer waken'd nigh:What words the parent's joy could tell,To hear his infant's cry?Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread:But the same couch beneath,Lay a gaunt wolf all torn and dead,Tremendous still in death.Ah! what was then Llewelyn's pain?For now the truth was clear:—His gallant hound the wolf had slain,To save Llewelyn's heir.'[F]
'His suppliant looks, as prone he fell,No pity could impart;But still his Gelert's dying yellPassed heavy on his heart.
Arous'd by Gelert's dying yell,Some slumb'rer waken'd nigh:What words the parent's joy could tell,To hear his infant's cry?
Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread:But the same couch beneath,Lay a gaunt wolf all torn and dead,Tremendous still in death.
Ah! what was then Llewelyn's pain?For now the truth was clear:—His gallant hound the wolf had slain,To save Llewelyn's heir.'[F]
In order to mitigate his offence, Llewelyn built this chapel, and raised a tomb to poor Gelert; and the spot to this day is calledBeth-Gelert, or the Grave of Gelert."
I should not omit to mention, that in Mr. Windle'saccount of Cork, Kerry, &c., there is the following notice of the wolf and Irish wolf-dog.
"The last wolf seen in Ireland was killed in the neighbourhood of Annascuit, near Dingle, in 1710. The place is still known by the name of the Wolf's Step. The Irish called the wolf-dogSagh cliun; and old Campion, speaking of the Irish, says, They are not without wolves, and greyhounds to hunt them bigger of bone and limne than a colt."
This noble animal is also described as "similar in shape to a greyhound, larger than a mastiff, and tractable as a spaniel."
The following fact will serve to prove that the deer-hound is possessed of a fine sense of smelling, a circumstance which has been doubted by many persons.
The head keeper of Richmond Park is possessed of a famous old deer-hound bitch, remarkable for her sagacity, and for having taken five bucks in one day. After a battue in the Park in the winter of 1845, he directed one of the under-keepers to examine the ground carefully, which had been shot over the day before. He was accompanied by the old dog, who was to act as retriever. She came to a point in one of the covers, as was her custom when she seemed to find a rabbit; but the keeper, finding that it was a hare, called her off. After going some distance, the dog went back and pointed the hare a second time. The keeper put her up, and then found that she had been wounded, having had her hind leg broken. Here the fine senseof smelling was the more remarkable, as this old dog will not look at a hare, nor indeed can she be induced to run after one.
One of her progeny ran a wounded buck into the large pond in the Park, swam after it, killed it in the water, and then seizing it by the foot, swam with it to the shore.
Having now given my reader all the information I can gather on this dog of bygone times, I will gratify him with a letter I have received from a lady whose name is dear to Ireland, and highly placed in the ranks of English Literature:—
"Dear Sir,"I am much flattered by your compliment to my national erudition, a very scanty stock in my best of times, and now nearly used up, in 'furnishing forth' the pages of many an idle tale, worked out in the 'Irish Interest,' as the mouse nibbled at the lion's net,—the same presumption, if not with the same results! However, I will rub up my old 'Shannos,' as Elizabeth said of her Latin, and endeavour to recollect the little I have ever known on the subject of the Irish wolf-dog."Natural history is too much a matter of fact to have ever interested the poetic temperament of the Irish; Schools of Poetry, Heraldry, and Music, were opened (says the Irish historians), 'time immemorial.' St. Patrick found the Academies of Lismore andArmagh in a flourishing condition, when he arrived on his great mission; and the more modern College of Clonard (founded in the fifth century by Bishop Finnan), had a great reputation for its learning and learned professors. But it does not appear that there was any Chair of Natural History or Philosophy in these scholastic Seminaries. Their Transactions recorded the miracles of saints rather than the miracles of nature. And had some daring Cuvier, or enterprising Lyell or Murchison, opened those spacious cabinets, once'In the deep bosom of the ocean buried,'or entombed in mountain layers for unnumbered ages, the Druid priests would probably have immolated the daring naturalist under his highest oak. Is it quite sure that the Prior of Armagh, or the founder of the Royal Academy of Clonard, the good Saint Finnan himself, would have served them much better? Certain, however, it is, that the Druids, Bards, Filiahs, Senachies and Saints of Ireland, who left such mighty reputations behind them for learning, have not dropped one word on the subject of the natural history of their 'Isle of Song;' and though they may have dabbled a little in that prosaic pursuit, they probably soon discovered its perilous tendency, and sang with the last and most charming of Irish Bards,—'No, Science, to youWe have long bade a last and careless adieu.'"Nearly two thousand years after the foundation of the most learned Academies of Ireland, a pretty little Zoological Garden was opened in the capital of the country; but no living type of the Irish wolf-dog is to be found there, nor were any 'fossil remains' of the noble animal discovered in the Wicklow Mines,[G]which were worked some fifty years back, but which, for want of capital or perseverance, only furnished a few Cronobane halfpence, and materials for a musical farce to one of the most delightful farcical Irish writers of his time;[H]for in Ireland,'Tout finis par un chanson,'(as Figaro had it of the France of his age,) when worse results do not follow disappointment."The Irish wolf-dog, therefore, it may be asserted, belongs to the poetical traditions of Ireland, or to its remote Milesian histories. 'Gomer, the eldest son of Japhet, and others, the immediate posterity of Noah, after the dispersion of mankind at Babel, ventured (it is said), to 'commit themselves by ships upon the sea,' to search out the unknown corners of the world, and thus found out a western land called Ireland.'—(Dr. Warner.)"It is probable they were the first to disturb its tranquillity by the introduction of wolves, a fragment of the menagerie of the Ark; for all noxious and destructive animals and reptiles were brought into Ireland by her invaders. The soil and clime of the 'woody Morven,' however, though not genial to their naturalisation, was long a prey to one of the most ferocious animals imported by foreign aggression to increase and multiply. Ireland swarmed with wolves, and its colonists and aborigines would in time have alike shared the fate of 'little Red Riding Hood;' when, lo! up started the nobleCanis familiaris Hibernicus, which, greatly improved by a cross with the wolf itself, was found everywhere in fierce antagonism with foreign ferocity; and for his eminent services was not only speedily adopted by patriot kings and heroes, as part of their courtly and warlike parade, but sung by bards and immortalised by poets, as worthy of such illustrious companionship. It is thus Bran, the famous and beloved hound of Fingal, has become as immortal as his master; and a track is still shown on a mountain in Tyrone, near New Town Stuart, called 'The Track of the Foot of Bran, the Hound of Fionne Mac Cumhall.' So much for poetry and tradition. Modern naturalists, however, in their animal biography and prosaic view of things, have assigned the introduction of the wolf-dog in Ireland to the Danes, who brought it over in their first invasion; and its resemblance to 'Le gros Danois' of Buffon favours thesupposition. 'When Ireland swarmed with wolves,' says Pennant, 'these dogs were confined to the chase; but as soon as these animals were extirpated, the number of the dogs decreased, and from that period were kept chiefly for state.' Goldsmith mentions having only seen in his time in Ireland one Irish wolf-hound that was four feet high. And though the father of the late Marquis of Sligo endeavoured to preserve the breed, his kennels in latter years exhibited but a scanty specimen. These majestic and beautiful animals are now, I believe, quite extinct in Ireland, where their scarcity is accounted for by Mr. Pennant as 'the consequence of the late King of Poland having procured from thence by his agents as many as could be purchased.' The last notice taken of the Irish wolf-dog in fictitious narrative may, I believe, be found in one of my own national novels, 'O'Donnel,' where the hero and his hound are first introduced to the reader together. I borrowed the picture, as I gave it, from living originals, which in my earliest youth struck forcibly on my imagination, in the person of the celebrated Archibald Hamilton Rowan, accompanied by his Irish hound Bran!"This is all I know or can recollect of my noble and beautiful compatriot; but I remember that when some writer in 'Fraser's Magazine' styled me 'that Irish she wolf-dog,' I felt complimented by the epithet, since to attack the enemies of Ireland, and to worrywhen they could not destroy them, was the peculiar attribute of the species."I have the honour to be, dear Sir,"Most truly yours,"Sydney Morgan.""William Street, Albert Gate."
"Dear Sir,
"I am much flattered by your compliment to my national erudition, a very scanty stock in my best of times, and now nearly used up, in 'furnishing forth' the pages of many an idle tale, worked out in the 'Irish Interest,' as the mouse nibbled at the lion's net,—the same presumption, if not with the same results! However, I will rub up my old 'Shannos,' as Elizabeth said of her Latin, and endeavour to recollect the little I have ever known on the subject of the Irish wolf-dog.
"Natural history is too much a matter of fact to have ever interested the poetic temperament of the Irish; Schools of Poetry, Heraldry, and Music, were opened (says the Irish historians), 'time immemorial.' St. Patrick found the Academies of Lismore andArmagh in a flourishing condition, when he arrived on his great mission; and the more modern College of Clonard (founded in the fifth century by Bishop Finnan), had a great reputation for its learning and learned professors. But it does not appear that there was any Chair of Natural History or Philosophy in these scholastic Seminaries. Their Transactions recorded the miracles of saints rather than the miracles of nature. And had some daring Cuvier, or enterprising Lyell or Murchison, opened those spacious cabinets, once
'In the deep bosom of the ocean buried,'
or entombed in mountain layers for unnumbered ages, the Druid priests would probably have immolated the daring naturalist under his highest oak. Is it quite sure that the Prior of Armagh, or the founder of the Royal Academy of Clonard, the good Saint Finnan himself, would have served them much better? Certain, however, it is, that the Druids, Bards, Filiahs, Senachies and Saints of Ireland, who left such mighty reputations behind them for learning, have not dropped one word on the subject of the natural history of their 'Isle of Song;' and though they may have dabbled a little in that prosaic pursuit, they probably soon discovered its perilous tendency, and sang with the last and most charming of Irish Bards,—
'No, Science, to youWe have long bade a last and careless adieu.'
"Nearly two thousand years after the foundation of the most learned Academies of Ireland, a pretty little Zoological Garden was opened in the capital of the country; but no living type of the Irish wolf-dog is to be found there, nor were any 'fossil remains' of the noble animal discovered in the Wicklow Mines,[G]which were worked some fifty years back, but which, for want of capital or perseverance, only furnished a few Cronobane halfpence, and materials for a musical farce to one of the most delightful farcical Irish writers of his time;[H]for in Ireland,
'Tout finis par un chanson,'
(as Figaro had it of the France of his age,) when worse results do not follow disappointment.
"The Irish wolf-dog, therefore, it may be asserted, belongs to the poetical traditions of Ireland, or to its remote Milesian histories. 'Gomer, the eldest son of Japhet, and others, the immediate posterity of Noah, after the dispersion of mankind at Babel, ventured (it is said), to 'commit themselves by ships upon the sea,' to search out the unknown corners of the world, and thus found out a western land called Ireland.'—(Dr. Warner.)
"It is probable they were the first to disturb its tranquillity by the introduction of wolves, a fragment of the menagerie of the Ark; for all noxious and destructive animals and reptiles were brought into Ireland by her invaders. The soil and clime of the 'woody Morven,' however, though not genial to their naturalisation, was long a prey to one of the most ferocious animals imported by foreign aggression to increase and multiply. Ireland swarmed with wolves, and its colonists and aborigines would in time have alike shared the fate of 'little Red Riding Hood;' when, lo! up started the nobleCanis familiaris Hibernicus, which, greatly improved by a cross with the wolf itself, was found everywhere in fierce antagonism with foreign ferocity; and for his eminent services was not only speedily adopted by patriot kings and heroes, as part of their courtly and warlike parade, but sung by bards and immortalised by poets, as worthy of such illustrious companionship. It is thus Bran, the famous and beloved hound of Fingal, has become as immortal as his master; and a track is still shown on a mountain in Tyrone, near New Town Stuart, called 'The Track of the Foot of Bran, the Hound of Fionne Mac Cumhall.' So much for poetry and tradition. Modern naturalists, however, in their animal biography and prosaic view of things, have assigned the introduction of the wolf-dog in Ireland to the Danes, who brought it over in their first invasion; and its resemblance to 'Le gros Danois' of Buffon favours thesupposition. 'When Ireland swarmed with wolves,' says Pennant, 'these dogs were confined to the chase; but as soon as these animals were extirpated, the number of the dogs decreased, and from that period were kept chiefly for state.' Goldsmith mentions having only seen in his time in Ireland one Irish wolf-hound that was four feet high. And though the father of the late Marquis of Sligo endeavoured to preserve the breed, his kennels in latter years exhibited but a scanty specimen. These majestic and beautiful animals are now, I believe, quite extinct in Ireland, where their scarcity is accounted for by Mr. Pennant as 'the consequence of the late King of Poland having procured from thence by his agents as many as could be purchased.' The last notice taken of the Irish wolf-dog in fictitious narrative may, I believe, be found in one of my own national novels, 'O'Donnel,' where the hero and his hound are first introduced to the reader together. I borrowed the picture, as I gave it, from living originals, which in my earliest youth struck forcibly on my imagination, in the person of the celebrated Archibald Hamilton Rowan, accompanied by his Irish hound Bran!
"This is all I know or can recollect of my noble and beautiful compatriot; but I remember that when some writer in 'Fraser's Magazine' styled me 'that Irish she wolf-dog,' I felt complimented by the epithet, since to attack the enemies of Ireland, and to worrywhen they could not destroy them, was the peculiar attribute of the species.
"I have the honour to be, dear Sir,
"Most truly yours,
"Sydney Morgan."
"William Street, Albert Gate."
TAIL-PIECE.
NEWFOUNDLAND.
"Nor will it less delight th' attentive sage,T' observe that instinct which unerring guidesThe brutal race, which mimics reason's lore,And oft transcends.* * * *The dog, whom nothing can mislead,Must be a dog of parts indeed.Is often wiser than his master."—Sommerville.
"Nor will it less delight th' attentive sage,T' observe that instinct which unerring guidesThe brutal race, which mimics reason's lore,And oft transcends.* * * *The dog, whom nothing can mislead,Must be a dog of parts indeed.Is often wiser than his master."—Sommerville.
This noble dog may be justly styled the friend and guardian of his master. I had some doubts in making out my list of dogs, whether he ought not to take precedence of all others; but, after duly weighing thematter in my own mind, I have given the palm to the Irish wolf-hound, and the honest Newfoundland immediately follows him. I not only think that this precedence will gratify some of my friends in Ireland, who have called upon me to do justice to one of their favourite and national emblems, but it is, perhaps, due in strict justice to an animal who proved himself so great a benefactor to his native country. There is, moreover, such a degree of romance attached to the recollection of his fine qualities and imposing appearance, that I should be sorry to lessen them by appearing to give the preference to any other dog. At the same time I may be allowed to add, that I have seen such courage, perseverance, and fidelity in the Newfoundland dog, and am acquainted with so many well-authenticated facts of his more than ordinary sense and utility, that I think him entitled to be considered as little inferior to the Irish wolf-dog.
When we reflect on the docility of the Newfoundland dog, his affectionate disposition, his aptitude in receiving instruction, and his instantaneous sense of impending danger, we shall no longer wonder at his being called the friend of his master, whom he is at all times ready to defend at the risk of his own life. How noble is his appearance, and at the same time how serene is his countenance!
"Sa fierté, sa beauté, sa jeunesse agréableLe fit cherir de vous, et il est redoutableA vos fiers ennemis par sa courage."
"Sa fierté, sa beauté, sa jeunesse agréableLe fit cherir de vous, et il est redoutableA vos fiers ennemis par sa courage."
No animal, perhaps, can show more real courage than this dog. His perseverance in what he undertakes is so great, that he never relinquishes an attempt which has been enjoined him as long as there is a chance of success. I allude more particularly to storms at sea and consequent shipwreck, when his services, his courage, and indefatigable exertions, have been truly wonderful. Numerous persons have been saved from a watery grave by these dogs, and ropes have been conveyed by them from a sinking ship to the shore amidst foaming billows, by which means whole crews have been saved from destruction. Their feet are particularly well adapted to enable them to swim, being webbed very much like those of a duck, and they are at all times ready to plunge into the water to save a human being from drowning. Some dogs delight in following a fox, others in hunting the hare, or killing vermin. The delight of the Newfoundland dog appears to be in the preservation of the lives of the human race. A story is related on good authority of one of these dogs being in the habit, when he saw persons swimming in the Seine at Paris, of seizing them and bringing them to the shore. In the immediate neighbourhood of Windsor a servant was saved from drowning by a Newfoundland dog, who seized him by the collar of his coat when he was almost exhausted, and brought him to the banks, where some of the family were assembled watching with great anxiety the exertions of the noble animal.
Those who were much at Windsor, not many years since, must have seen a fine Newfoundland dog, called Baby, reposing occasionally in front of the White Hart Hotel. Baby was a general favourite, and he deserved to be so; for he was mild in his disposition, brave as a lion, and very sensible. When he was thirsty, and could not procure water at the pump in the yard, he has frequently been seen to go to the stable, fetch an empty bucket, and stand with it in his mouth at the pump till some one came for water. He then, by wagging his tail and expressive looks, made his want known, and had his bucket filled. Exposed as Baby was to the attacks of all sorts of curs, as he slumbered in the sun in front of the hotel, he seemed to think that a pat with his powerful paw was quite sufficient punishment for them, but he never tamely submitted to insult from a dog approaching his own size, and his courage was only equalled by his gentleness.
The following anecdote, which is well authenticated, shows the sagacity as well as the kindliness of disposition of these dogs. In the city of Worcester, one of the principal streets leads by a gentle declivity to the river Severn. One day a child, in crossing the street, fell down in the middle of it, and a horse and cart, which were descending the hill, would have passed over it, had not a Newfoundland dog rushed to the rescue of the child, caught it up in his mouth, and conveyed it in safety to the foot pavement.
My kind friend, Mr. T——, took a Newfoundland dog and a small spaniel into a boat with him on the river Thames, and when he got into the middle of the river, he turned them into the water. They swam different ways, but the spaniel got into the current, and after struggling some time was in danger of being drowned. As soon as the Newfoundland dog perceived the predicament of his companion, he swam to his assistance, and brought him safe to the shore.
A vessel went down in a gale of wind near Liverpool, and every one on board perishes. A Newfoundland dog was seen swimming about the place where the vessel was lost for some time, and at last came on shore very much exhausted. For three days he swam off to the same spot, and was evidently trying to find his lost master, so strong was his affection.
I have always been pleased with that charming remark of Sir Edwin Landseer, that the Newfoundland dog was a "distinguished Member of the Humane Society." How delightfully has that distinguished artist portrayed the character of dogs in his pictures! and what justice has he done to their noble qualities! We see in them honesty, fidelity, courage, and sense—no exaggeration—no flattery. He makes us feel that his dogs will love us without selfishness, and defend us at the risk of their own lives—that though friends may forsake us, they never will—and that in misfortune, poverty, and death, their affection will be unchanged,and their gratitude unceasing. But to return to the Newfoundland dog, and we shall again find him acting his part as a Member of the Humane Society.
A gentleman bathing in the sea at Portsmouth, was in the greatest danger of being drowned. Assistance was loudly called for, but no boat was ready, and though many persons were looking on, no one could be found to go to his help. In this predicament, a Newfoundland dog rushed into the sea and conveyed the gentleman in safety to land. He afterwards purchased the dog for a large sum, treated him as long as he lived with gratitude and kindness, and had the following words worked on his table-cloths and napkins—"Virum extuli mari."
A person, in crossing a plank at a mill, fell into the stream at night, and was saved by his Newfoundland dog, and who afterwards recovered his hat, which had fallen from his head, and was floating down the stream.
There can be no doubt but that dogs calculate, and almost reason. A dog who had been in the habit of stealing from a kitchen, which had two doors opening into it, would never do so if one of them was shut, as he was afraid of being caught. If both the doors were open, his chance of escape was greater, and he therefore seized what he could. This sort of calculation, if I may call it is so, was shown by a Newfoundland bitch. She had suckled two whelps until they were able to take care of themselves. They were,however, constantly following and disturbing her in order to be suckled, when she had little or no milk to give them. She was confined in a shed, which was separated from another by a wooden partition some feet high. Into this shed she conveyed her puppies, and left them there while she returned to the other to enjoy a night's rest unmolested. This shows that the animal was capable of reflecting to a degree beyond what would have been the result of mere instinct.
The late Rev. James Simpson, of the Potterrow congregation, Edinburgh, had a large dog of the Newfoundland breed. At that time he lived at Libberton, a distance of two miles from Edinburgh, in a house to which was attached a garden. One Sacrament Sunday the servant, who was left at home in charge of the house, thought it a good opportunity to entertain her friends, as her master and mistress were not likely to return home till after the evening's service, about nine o'clock. During the day the dog accompanied them through the garden, and indeed wherever they went, in the most attentive manner, and seemed well pleased. In the evening, when the time arrived that the party meant to separate, they proceeded to do so; but the dog, the instant they went to the door, interposed, and placing himself before it, would not allow one of them to touch the handle. On their persisting and attempting to use force he became furious, and in a menacing manner drove them back into the kitchen, where he kept them until the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Simpson,who were surprised to find the party at so late an hour, and more so to see the dog standing sentinel over them. Being thus detected, the servant acknowledged the whole circumstance, when her friends were allowed to depart, after being admonished by the worthy divine in regard to the proper use of the Sabbath. They could not but consider the dog as an instrument in the hand of Providence to point out the impropriety of spending this holy day in feasting rather than in the duties of religion.
After the above circumstance, it became necessary for Mr. Simpson, on account of his children's education, to leave his country residence, when he took a house in Edinburgh in a common stair. Speaking of this, one day, to a friend who had visited him, he concluded that he would be obliged to part with his dog, as he was too large an animal to be kept in such a house. The animal was present, and heard him say so, and must have understood what he meant, as he disappeared that evening, and was never afterwards heard of. These circumstances have been related to me by an elder of Mr. Simpson's congregation, who had them from himself.
I am indebted to the late amiable Lord Stowell for the following anecdote, which has since been verified by Mr. Henry Wix, brother of the archdeacon:—
A Newfoundland dog belonging to Archdeacon Wix, which had never quitted the island, was broughtover to London by him in January 1834, and when he and his family landed at Blackwall the dog was left on board the vessel. A few days afterwards the Archdeacon went from the Borough side of the Thames in a boat to the vessel, which was then in St. Katherine's Docks, to see about his luggage, but did not intend at that time to take the dog from the ship; however, on his leaving the vessel the dog succeeded in extricating himself from his confinement, jumped overboard, and swam after the boat across the Thames, followed his master into a counting-house on Gun-shot Wharf, Tooley Street, and then over London Bridge and through the City to St. Bartholomew's Hospital. The dog was shut within the square whilst the Archdeacon went into his father's house, and he then followed him on his way to Russell Square, but strayed somewhere in Holborn; and as several gentlemen had stopped to admire him in the street, saying he was worth a great deal of money, the Archdeacon concluded that some dog-stealer had enticed him away. He however wrote to the captain of the vessel to mention his loss, and made inquiries on the following morning at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, when he learnt that the dog had come to the gates late in the evening, and howled most piteously for admission, but was driven away. Two days afterwards the captain of the vessel waited on the Archdeacon with the dog, who had not only found his way back to the water's edge, on the Borough side, but, what is more surprising, swam across the Thames,where no scent could have directed him, and found out the vessel in St. Katherine's Docks.
This sagacious and affectionate creature had, previous to his leaving Newfoundland, saved his master's life by directing his way home when lost in a snow-storm many miles from any shelter.
The dog was presented to the Archdeacon's uncle, Thomas Poynder, Esq., Clapham Common, in whose possession it continued until its death.
Every particular has been faithfully given of this extraordinary occurrence. Here we see a dog brought for the first time from Newfoundland, and who can scarcely be said to have put his feet on ground in England, not only finding his way through a crowded city to the banks of the river, but also finding the ship he wanted in that river, and in which he evidently thought he should discover his lost master. It is an instance of sense of so peculiar a kind that it is difficult to define it, or the faculty which enables animals to find their way to a place over ground which they had not previously traversed.
A gentleman of Suffolk, on an excursion with his friend, was attended by a Newfoundland dog, which soon became the subject of conversation. The master, after a warm eulogium upon the perfections of his canine favourite, assured his companion that he would, upon receiving the order, return and fetch any articlehe should leave behind, from any distance. To confirm this assertion, a marked shilling was put under a large square stone by the side of the road, being first shown to the dog. The gentlemen then rode for three miles, when the dog received his signal from the master to return for the shilling he had seen put under the stone. The dog turned back; the gentlemen rode on, and reached home; but to their surprise and disappointment the hitherto faithful messenger did not return during the day. It afterwards appeared that he had gone to the place where the shilling was deposited, but the stone being too large for his strength to remove, he had stayed howling at the place till two horsemen riding by, and attracted by his seeming distress, stopped to look at him, when one of them alighting, removed the stone, and seeing the shilling, put it into his pocket, not at the time conceiving it to be the object of the dog's search. The dog followed their horses for twenty miles, remained undisturbed in the room where they supped, followed the chambermaid into the bedchamber, and secreted himself under one of the beds. The possessor of the shilling hung his trousers upon a nail by the bed-side; but when the travellers were both asleep, the dog took them in his mouth, and leaping out of the window, which was left open on account of the sultry heat, reached the house of his master at four o'clock in the morning with the prize he had made free with, in the pocket of which were found a watch and money, that were returnedupon being advertised, when the whole mystery was mutually unravelled, to the admiration of all the parties.[I]
Many years ago, I saw a horse belonging to a quartermaster in the 1st Dragoon Guards, when the regiment was quartered at Ipswich, find a shilling, which was covered with sawdust, in the riding-school at the Cavalry Barracks at that place, and give it to his owner. I thought this a wonderful instance of sagacity as well as docility, but how very far does this fall short of the intellectual faculty of dogs! I do not intend to assert that they are endowed with mental powers equal to those which the human race possess, but to contend that there is not a faculty of the human mind of which some evident proofs of its existence may not be found in dogs. Thus we find them possessed of memory, imagination, the powers of imitation, curiosity, cunning, revenge, ingenuity, gratitude, devotion, or affection, and other qualities. They are able to communicate their wants, their pleasures, and their pains, their apprehensions of danger, and their prospects of future good, by modulating their voices accordingly, and by significant gestures. They perfectly comprehend our wishes, and live with us as friends and companions. When the fear of man and dread of him were inflicted as a curse on the animal creation, the dog-kind alone seems an exception, and their sagacity and fidelity tothe human race was an incalculable blessing bestowed upon them. These remarks are fully borne out in a very interesting article on the dog in the "Quarterly Review" of September, 1843.
A fine, handsome, and valuable black dog of the Newfoundland species, belonging to Mr. Floyd, solicitor, Holmfirth, committed suicide by drowning itself in the river which flows at the back of its owner's habitation. For some days previous the animal seemed less animated than usual, but on this particular occasion he was noticed to throw himself into the water and endeavour to sink by preserving perfect stillness of the legs and feet. Being dragged out of the stream, the dog was tied up for a time, but had no sooner been released than he again hastened to the water and again tried to sink, and was again got out. This occurred many times, until at length the animal with repeated efforts appeared to get exhausted, and by dint of keeping his head determinedly under water for a few minutes succeeded at last in obtaining his object, for when taken out this time he was indeed dead. The case is worth recording, as affording another proof of the general instinct and sagacity of the canine race.
Mr. Nicol, late of Pall Mall, told me he saw an old foxhound deliberately drown itself, and was ready to make oath of it.
Mrs. Kaye, residing opposite Windsor Park Wall, Datchet, had a beautiful Newfoundland dog. For the convenience of the family a boat was kept, that theymight at times cross the water without the inconvenience of going a considerable way round to Datchet Bridge. The dog was so delighted with the aquatic trips, that he very rarely permitted the boat to go without him. It happened that the coachman, who had been but little accustomed to the depths and shallows of the water, intending a forcible push with the punt pole, which was not long enough to reach the bottom, fell over the side of the boat in the deepest part of the water, and in the central part of the current, which accident was observed by a part of the family then at the front windows of the house; sudden and dreadful as the alarm was, they had the consolation of seeing the sagacious animal instantaneously follow his companion, when after diving, and making two or three abortive attempts, by laying hold of different parts of his apparel, which as repeatedly gave way or overpowered his exertions, he then, with the most determined and energetic fortitude, seized him by the arm, and brought him to the edge of the bank, where the domestics of the terrified family were ready to assist in extricating him from his perilous situation.[J]
I have mentioned that revenge had been shown by dogs, and the following is an instance of it. A gentleman was staying at Worthing, where his Newfoundland dog was teased and annoyed by a small cur, which snapped and barked at him. This he bore, without appearing to notice it, for some time; but at last theNewfoundland dog seemed to lose his usual patience and forbearance, and he one day, in the presence of several spectators, took the cur up by his back, swam with it into the sea, held it under the water, and would probably have drowned it, had not a boat been put off and rescued it. There was another instance communicated to me. A fine Newfoundland dog had been constantly annoyed by a small spaniel. The former, seizing the opportunity when they were on a terrace under which a river flowed, took up the spaniel in his mouth, and dropped it over the parapet into the river.
Jukes, in his "Excursions in and about Newfoundland," says, "A thin, short-haired black dog, belonging to George Harvey, came off to us to-day; this animal was of a breed very different from what we understand by the term Newfoundland dog in England. He had a thin tapering snout, a long thin tail, and rather thin but powerful legs, with a lank body, the hair short and smooth. These are the most abundant dogs of the country, the long-haired curly dogs being comparatively rare. They are by no means handsome, but are generally more intelligent and useful than the others. This one caught his own fish; he sat on a projecting rock beneath a fish-lake or stage, where the fish are laid to dry, watching the water, which had a depth of six or eight feet, the bottom of which was white with fish-bones. On throwing a piece of codfish into the water, three or four heavy, clumsy-looking fish, called in Newfoundland sculpins, with great heads and mouths,and many spines about them, and generally about a foot long, would swim in to catch it. These he would 'set' attentively, and the moment one turned his broadside to him, he darted down like a fish-hawk, and seldom came up without the fish in his mouth. As he caught them he carried them regularly to a place a few yards off, where he laid them down; and they told us that in the summer he would sometimes make a pile of fifty or sixty a-day just at that place. He never attempted to eat them, but seemed to be fishing purely for his own amusement. I watched him for about two hours, and when the fish did not come I observed he once or twice put his right foot in the water, and paddled it about. This foot was white, and Harvey said he did it totollor entice the fish; but whether it was for that specific reason, or merely a motion of impatience, I could not exactly decide."
Extraordinary as the following anecdote may appear to some persons, it is strictly true, and strongly shows the sense, and I am almost inclined to add, reason of the Newfoundland dog.
A friend of mine, while shooting wild fowl with his brother, was attended by a sagacious dog of this breed. In getting near some reeds by the side of a river, they threw down their hats, and crept to the edge of the water, when they fired at some birds. They soon afterwards sent the dog to bring their hats, one of which was smaller than the other. After several attempts to bring them both together in his mouth, the dog at lastplaced the smaller hat in the larger one, pressed it down with his foot, and thus was able to bring them both at the same time.
A gentleman residing in Fifeshire, and not far from the city of St. Andrews, was in possession of a very fine Newfoundland dog, which was remarkable alike for its tractability and its trustworthiness. At two other points, each distant about a mile, and at the same distance from this gentleman's mansion, there were two dogs of great power, but of less tractable breeds than the Newfoundland one. One of these was a large mastiff, kept as a watch-dog by a farmer, and the other a stanch bull-dog, that kept guard over the parish mill. As each of these three was lord-ascendant of all animals at his master's residence, they all had a good deal of aristocratic pride and pugnacity, so that two of them seldom met without attempting to settle their respective dignities by a wager of battle.
The Newfoundland dog was of some service in the domestic arrangements, besides his guardianship of the house; for every forenoon he was sent to the baker's shop in the village, about half-a-mile distant, with a towel containing money in the corner, and he returned with the value of the money in bread. There were many useless and not over-civil curs in the village, as there are in too many villages throughout the country; but generally the haughty Newfoundland treated this ignoble race in that contemptuous style in which greatdogs are wont to treat little ones. When the dog returned from the baker's shop, he used to be regularly served with his dinner, and went peaceably on house-duty for the rest of the day.
One day, however, he returned with his coat dirtied and his ears scratched, having been subjected to a combined attack of the curs while he had charge of his towel and bread, and so could not defend himself. Instead of waiting for his dinner as usual, he laid down his charge somewhat sulkily, and marched off; and, upon looking after him, it was observed that he was crossing the intervening hollow in a straight line for the house of the farmer, or rather on an embassy to the farmer's mastiff. The farmer's people noticed this unusual visit, which they were induced to do from its being a meeting of peace between those who had habitually been belligerents. After some intercourse, of which no interpretation could be given, the two set off together in the direction of the mill; and having arrived there, they in brief space engaged the miller's bull-dog as an ally.
The straight road to the village where the indignity had been offered to the Newfoundland dog passed immediately in front of his master's house, but there was a more private and more circuitous road by the back of the mill. The three took this road, reached the village, scoured it in great wrath, putting to the tooth every cur they could get sight of; and having taken their revenge, and washed themselves in a ditch, theyreturned, each dog to the abode of his master; and, when any two of them happened to meet afterwards, they displayed the same pugnacity as they had done previous to this joint expedition.
There is a well-authenticated anecdote of two dogs at Donaghadee, in which the instinctive daring of the one by the other caused a friendship, and, as it should seem, a kind of lamentation for the dead, after one of them had paid the debt of nature. This happened while the Government harbour or pier for the packets at Donaghadee was in the course of building, and it took place in the sight of several witnesses. The one dog in this case was also a Newfoundland, and the other was a mastiff. They were both powerful dogs; and though each was good-natured when alone, they were very much in the habit of fighting when they met. One day they had a fierce and prolonged battle on the pier, from the point of which they both fell into the sea; and as the pier was long and steep, they had no means of escape but by swimming a considerable distance. Throwing water upon fighting dogs is an approved means of putting an end to their hostilities; and it is natural to suppose that two combatants of the same species tumbling themselves into the sea would have the same effect. It had; and each began to make for the land as best he could. The Newfoundland being an excellent swimmer, very speedily gained the pier, on which he stood shaking himself; but at the same time watching the motions of his late antagonist, which,being no swimmer, was struggling exhausted in the water, and just about to sink. In dashed the Newfoundland dog, took the other gently by the collar, kept his head above water, and brought him safely on shore. There was a peculiar kind of recognition between the two animals; they never fought again; they were always together: and when the Newfoundland dog had been accidentally killed by the passage of a stone waggon on the railway over him, the other languished and evidently lamented for a long time.
A gentleman had a pointer and Newfoundland dog, which were great friends. The former broke his leg, and was confined to a kennel. During that time the Newfoundland never failed bringing bones and other food to the pointer, and would sit for hours together by the side of his suffering friend.
During a period of very hot weather, the Mayor of Plymouth gave orders that all dogs found wandering in the public streets should be secured by the police, and removed to the prison-yard. Among them was a Newfoundland dog belonging to a shipowner of the port, who, with several others, was tied up in the yard. The Newfoundland soon gnawed the rope which confined him, and then hearing the cries of his companions to be released, he set to work to gnaw the ropes which confined them, and had succeeded in three or four instances, when he was interrupted by the entrance of the jailor.
A nearly similar case has frequently occurred inthe Cumberland Gardens, Windsor Great Park. Two dogs of the Newfoundland breed were confined in kennels at that place. When one of them was let loose, he has been frequently seen to set his companion free.
A boatman once plunged into the water to swim with another man for a wager. His Newfoundland dog, mistaking the purpose, and supposing that his master was in danger, plunged after him, and dragged him to the shore by his hair, to the great diversion of the spectators.
Mr. Peter Macarthur informs me, that in the year 1821, when opposite to Falmouth, he was at breakfast with a gentleman, when a large Newfoundland dog, all dripping with water, entered the room, and laid a newspaper on the table. The gentleman (who was one of the Society of Friends) informed the party, that this dog swam regularly across the ferry every morning, and went to the post-office, and fetched the papers of the day.
Mr. Blaine, in his "Encyclopædia of Rural Sports," tells the following story:—A Newfoundland dog, of the small, smooth-haired variety, in coming to England from his native country, was washed overboard during a tempestuous night. As daylight appeared the gale ceased, when a sailor at the mast-head descried something far in the wake of the vessel, which, by the help of his glass, he was led to believe was the dog, which was so great a favourite with the crew that it was unanimously requested of the captain of the vessel tolie to, and wait for the chance of saving the poor brute.The captain, who had probably lost some time already by the storm, peremptorily refused to listen to the humane proposal. Whether it was the kindly feeling of the sailors, or the superstitious dread that if the dog were suffered to perish nothing would afterwards prosper with them, we are not informed; but we do know that, as soon as a refusal was made, the steersman left the helm, roundly asserting that he for one would never lend a hand to steer away from either Christian or brute in distress. The feeling was immediately caught by the rest of the crew, and maintained so resolutely, that the captain was forced to accede to the general wish; and the poor dog eventually reached the ship in safety, after having been, as we were informed, and implicitly believe, some hours in a tempestuous sea.
Bewick mentions an instance which shows the extraordinary sagacity of these dogs.
In a severe storm, a ship was lost off Yarmouth, and no living creature escaped, except a Newfoundland dog, which swam to the shore with the captain's pocket-book in his mouth. Several of the bystanders attempted to take it from him, but he would not part with it. At length, selecting one person from the crowd, whose appearance probably pleased him, he leaped against his breast in a fawning manner, and delivered the book to his care.
After mentioning this anecdote it will not be displeasing to read Lord Grenville's lines on his faithfulNewfoundland, as they may now be seen at Dropmore, with the translation of them:—
TIPPO.
In Villa.