Smith, in the second edition of his History of Waterford, says, “The
Irish greyhound is nearly extinct: it is much taller than a mastiff,
but more like a greyhound, and for size, strength, and shape, cannot be
equalled. Roderick, King of Connaught, was obliged to furnish hawks and
greyhounds to Henry II. Sir Thomas Rue obtained great favour from the
Great Mogul in 1615 for a brace of Irish greyhounds presented by him.
Henry VIII. presented the Marquis of Dessarages, a Spanish grandee, with
two goshawks and four Irish greyhounds.”
I have now adduced, I think, a sufficient number of authorities to
demonstrate the identity of the Irish wolf-dog with the Highland
deer-hound. I might adduce many more, but want of space prevents my
doing so. I may however, ere concluding, take the liberty of extracting
from the excellent paper of Mr Haffield, already alluded to as having
been read before the Dublin Natural History Society, the following
communication, received by that gentleman from Sir William Betham,
Ulster King at Arms, an authority of very high importance on any subject
connected with Irish antiquities. Sir William says:--“From the mention
of the wolf-dogs in the old Irish poems and stories, and also from what
I have heard from a very old person, long since dead, of his having
seen them at the Neale, in the county of Mayo, the seat of Sir John
Browne, ancestor to Lord Kilmaine, I have no doubt they were a gigantic
greyhound. My departed friend described them as being very gentle, and
that Sir J. Browne allowed them to come into his dining-room, where they
put their heads over the shoulders of those who sat at table: they were
not smooth-skinned like our greyhounds, but rough and curly-haired. The
Irish poets call the wolf-dog ‘Cu,’ and the common hound ‘Gayer;’ a
marked distinction, the word ‘Cu’ signifying a champion.”
The Highland or Irish wolf-dog is a stately majestic animal, extremely
good tempered and quiet in his disposition unless when irritated
or excited, when he becomes furious, and is, in consequence of his
tremendous strength, a truly formidable animal. The size of these dogs
has been much exaggerated. Goldsmith asserts that he saw several, some
of which were four feet high! We cannot of course credit this, but there
is no doubt that they were larger than most other dogs, and indeed the
Highland deer-hound is now the tallest dog in existence.
This animal is nearly extinct. Even Glengarry, whose dogs were once
so famous, has not one genuine specimen left, and but a few remain
scattered here and there through the north of Ireland and the Highlands
of Scotland. Mr Nolan’s dog “Oscar,” whose portrait heads this article,
is the finest specimen of the kind I have ever seen, standing 28½ inches
in height at the shoulders; their average height in their very best days
seems to have been about 30 inches. The colour of these dogs varies, but
the most esteemed are dark iron-grey, with white breast. This is the
colour of Oscar. They are, however, to be found of a yellowish or sandy
hue, brindled, and even white. In former times, as will be seen from Lord
Falkland’s letter quoted above, this latter colour was by many preferred.
One of the most remarkable facts respecting the size of this dog, is the
great disparity which exists between the sizes of the male and female of
the breed, many of the latter being very diminutive, while their male
offspring invariably attain the full stature of its race. Why will not
some of our Irish gentlemen and sportsmen turn their attention to this
splendid breed of dogs, and seek to prevent, ere it be too late, its
total extirpation?
Now, readers, there may be some among you who have thought my paper
somewhat dry and prosy; and in case you should forget the many times
I have amused you before, and cast me forth altogether from your good
graces, I shall conclude with an authentic statement of how the last
wolves existing in the county Tyrone were destroyed by means of the
Irish greyhound; my account is taken from a biography of a Tyrone family
published in Belfast in 1829. I thus venture to abridge the note to page
74.
In the mountainous parts of the county Tyrone the inhabitants suffered
much from the wolves, and gave from the public fund as much for the head
of one of these animals as they would now give for the capture of a
notorious robber on the highway. There lived in those days an adventurer,
who, alone and unassisted, made it his occupation to destroy these
ravagers. The time for attacking them was in the night, and midnight was
the best time for doing so, as that was their wonted time for leaving
their lair in search of food, when the country was at rest and all was
still; then issuing forth, they fell on their defenceless prey, and the
carnage commenced. There was a species of dog for the purpose of hunting
them, called the wolf-dog; the animal resembled a rough, stout, half-bred
greyhound, but was much stronger. In the county Tyrone there was then a
large space of ground inclosed by a high stone wall, having a gap at each
of the two opposite extremities, and in this were secured the flocks of
the surrounding farmers. Still, secure though this fold was deemed, it
was entered by the wolves, and its inmates slaughtered. The neighbouring
proprietors having heard of the noted wolf-hunter above mentioned, by
name Rory Carragh, sent for him, and offered the usual reward, with some
addition, if he would undertake to destroy the two remaining wolves that
had committed such devastation. Carragh undertaking the task, took with
him two wolf-dogs, and a little boy only twelve years old, the only
person who would accompany him, and repaired at the approach of midnight
to the fold in question. “Now,” said Carragh to the boy, “as the two
wolves usually enter the opposite extremities of the sheep-fold at the
same time, I must leave you and one of the dogs to guard this one while I
go to the other. He steals with all the caution of a cat, nor will _you_
hear him, but the _dog_ will, and positively will give him the first
fall; if, therefore, you are not active when he is down to rivet his neck
to the ground with this spear, he will rise up and kill both you and the
dog. So good night.”
“I’ll do what I can,” said the little boy, as he took the spear from the
wolf-hunter’s hand.
The boy immediately threw open the gate of the fold, and took his seat in
the inner part, close to the entrance; his faithful companion crouching
at his side, and seeming perfectly aware of the dangerous business he was
engaged in. The night was very dark and cold, and the poor little boy
being benumbed with the chilly air, was beginning to fall into a kind of
sleep, when at that instant the dog with a roar leaped across him, and
laid his mortal enemy upon the earth. The boy, was roused into double
activity by the voice of his companion, and drove the spear through the
wolf’s neck as he had been directed, at which time Carragh appeared,
bearing the head of the other.
I have not been able to ascertain with certainty the date of the death
of the last Irish wolf, but there was a presentment for killing wolves
granted in Cork in the year 1710. I am at present acquainted with an old
gentleman between 80 and 90 years of age, whose mother remembered wolves
to have been killed in the county of Wexford about the year 1730-40; and
it is asserted by many persons of weight and veracity that a wolf was
killed in the Wicklow mountains so recently as 1770. I have other legends
on the subject of wolf-hunting in Ireland in former times, but want of
space compels me, for the present at all events, to conclude, which I do,
trusting that what I have already written will gratify my readers.
An ancient Irish harp, popularly known as the harp of Brian Boriumha,
still preserved in Trinity College, Dublin, is ornamented with a figure
of the wolf-dog, which, as representing him under the form of a rough
strong greyhound, precisely similar to the animal now known as the
Highland deer-hound, furnishes an additional argument to the correctness
of the position above advanced.