that those unacquainted with his habits and achievements can scarcely
believe the record. He has been known to rival the St. Bernard in
tracking both men and sheep who have become buried in the snow, the
mastiff in defending his master's property and the Newfoundland in
procuring assistance he was unable to render himself. But it is in the
pursuit of his special duties that he displays the most remarkable
powers; and many illustrations might be given of his extraordinary skill
and fidelity. Happily for him he found in the Ettrick Shepherd an
historian as well acquainted with his prowess as he was able to record
its exercise; from whose writings we are able to quote several
remarkable illustrations.
"My dog Sirrah," says he, "was, beyond all comparison, the best dog I
ever saw: he was of a surly and unsocial temper,--disdaining all
flattery, he refused to be caressed; but his attention to my commands
and interests will never again, perhaps, be equalled by any of the
canine race. Well as I knew him, he often astonished me; for, when hard
pressed in accomplishing the task that he was put to, he had expedients
of the moment that bespoke a great share of the reasoning faculty.
"About seven hundred lambs, which were once under my care at weaning
time, broke up at midnight, and scampered off in three divisions across
the hills, in spite of all that I and an assistant lad could do to keep
them together. 'Sirrah, my man!' said I, in great affliction, 'they are
awa'.' The night was so dark that I could not see Sirrah, but the
faithful animal heard my words--words such as of all others were sure to
set him most on the alert; and without much ado he silently set off in
search of the recreant flock. Meanwhile I and my companion did not fail
to do all in our power to recover our lost charge. We spent the whole
night in scouring the hills for miles around, but of neither the lambs
nor Sirrah could we obtain the slightest trace. It was the most
extraordinary circumstance that had occurred in my pastoral life. We had
nothing for it (day having dawned), but to return to our master, and
inform him that we had lost his whole flock of lambs, and knew not what
had become of them. On our way home, however, we discovered a body of
lambs at the bottom of a deep ravine, called the Flesh Cleuch, and the
indefatigable Sirrah standing in front of them, looking all around for
some relief, but still standing true to his charge. The sun was then up;
and when we first came in view of them, we concluded that it was one of
the divisions which Sirrah had been unable to manage until he came to
that commanding situation. But what was our astonishment, when we
discovered by degrees that not one lamb of the whole flock was wanting!
How he had got all the divisions collected in the dark, is beyond my
comprehension. The charge was left entirely to himself, from midnight
until the rising of the sun; and if all the shepherds in the forest had
been there to have assisted him, they could not have effected it with
greater propriety. All that I can farther say is, that I never felt so
grateful to any creature below the sun, as I did to my honest Sirrah
that morning."
The Sheep-dog's Fidelity.
"The late Mr. Steel, flesher in Peebles," says James Hogg, "had a bitch
whose feats in taking sheep from the neighbouring farms into the
Flesh-market at Peebles, form innumerable anecdotes in that vicinity,
all similar to one another. But there is one instance related of her,
that combines so much sagacity with natural affection, that I do not
think the history of the animal creation furnishes such another. Mr.
Steel had such an implicit dependence on the attention of this animal to
his orders, that, whenever he put a lot of sheep before her, he took a
pride in leaving them to herself, and either remained to take a glass
with the farmer of whom he had made the purchase, or took another road
to look after bargains or other business. But one time he chanced to
commit a drove to her charge at a place called Willenslee, without
attending to her condition as he ought to have done. This farm is five
miles from Peebles, over wild hills, and there is no regularly defined
path to it. Whether Mr. Steel remained behind, or chose another road, I
know not; but, on coming home late in the evening, he was astonished at
hearing that his faithful animal had not made her appearance with the
flock. He and his son, or servant, instantly prepared to set out by
different paths in search of her; but, on their going out to the street,
there was she coming with the drove, not one missing; and marvellous to
relate, she was carrying a young pup in her mouth! She had been taken in
travail on those hills; and how the poor beast had contrived to manage
the drove in her state of suffering is beyond human calculation, for her
road lay through sheep the whole way. Her master's heart smote him when
he saw what she had suffered and effected: but she was nothing daunted;
and having deposited her young one in a place of safety, she again set
out full speed to the hills, and brought another and another, till she
removed her whole litter one by one; but the last one was dead. The
stories related of the dogs of sheep-stealers, he continues, are fairly
beyond all credibility. I cannot attach credit to some of them without
believing the animals to have been devils incarnate, come to the earth
for the destruction both of the souls and bodies of men. I cannot
mention names, for the sake of families that still remain in the
country; but there have been sundry men executed, who belonged to this
district of the kingdom, for that heinous crime, in my own days; and
others have absconded, just in time to save their necks. There was not
one of these to whom I allude who did not acknowledge his dog to be the
greatest aggressor. One young man in particular, who was, I believe,
overtaken by justice for his first offence, stated, that after he had
folded the sheep by moonlight, and selected his number from the flock of
a former master, he took them out, and set away with them towards
Edinburgh. But before he had got them quite off the farm, his conscience
smote him, as he said (but more likely a dread of that which soon
followed), and he quitted the sheep, letting them go again to the hill.
He called his dog off them; and mounting his pony, he rode away. At that
time he said his dog was capering and playing around him, as if glad of
having got free of a troublesome business; and he regarded him no more,
till, after having rode about three miles, he thought again and again
that he heard something coming up behind him. Halting, at length, to
ascertain what it was, in a few minutes up came his dog with the stolen
animals, driving them at a furious rate to keep up with his master. The
sheep were all smoking, and hanging out their tongues, and their guide
was fully as warm as they. The young man was now exceedingly troubled,
for the sheep having been brought so far from home, he dreaded there
would be a pursuit, and he could not get them home again before day.
Resolving, at all events, to keep his hands clear of them, he corrected
his dog in great wrath, left the sheep once more, and taking colley with
him, rode off a second time. He had not ridden above a mile, till he
perceived that his assistant had again given him the slip; and
suspecting for what purpose, he was terribly alarmed as well as
chagrined; for daylight now approached, and he durst not make a noise
calling on his dog, for fear of alarming the neighbourhood, in a place
where they were both well known. He resolved therefore to abandon the
animal to himself, and take a road across the country which he was sure
the other did not know, and could not follow. He took that road; but
being on horseback, he could not get across the enclosed fields. He at
length came to a gate, which he shut behind him, and went about half a
mile farther, by a zigzag course, to a farm-house where both his sister
and sweetheart lived; and at that place he remained until after
breakfast time. The people of this house were all examined on the trial,
and no one had either seen the sheep or heard them mentioned, save one
man, who came up to the aggressor as he was standing at the stable-door,
and told him that his dog had the sheep safe enough down at the Crooked
Yett, and he needed not hurry himself. He answered, that the sheep were
not his--they were young Mr. Thomson's, who had left them to his charge,
and he was in search of a man to drive them, which made him come off his
road." The fidelity of this animal cost his master his life.
The St. Bernard Dog.
The St. Bernard Dog always honoured for his work's sake, resembles the
Newfoundland in form, hair, colour, and size. "There is another race,"
says Colonel Smith, "trained to the same service, with close short hair,
and more or less marked with grey, liver colour and black clouds." Bass,
a famous St. Bernard, the property of Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, is thus
described by him in a letter to Mr. W. H. Lizars printed in Vol. XIX of
"The Naturalist's Library":--"My St. Bernard was brought home direct
from the Great St. Bernard, when he was a puppy of about four or five
months. His bark is tremendous; so loud, indeed, that I have often
distinguished it nearly a mile off. He had been missing for some time,
when, to my great joy, one of the letter-carriers brought him back; and
the man's account was, that in going along a certain street, he heard
his bark from the inside of a yard, and knew it immediately. He knocked
at the gate, and said to the owner of the premises, 'You have got Sir
Thomas Lauder's big dog.' The man denied it. 'But I know you have,'
continued the letter-carrier; 'I can swear that I heard the bark of Sir
Thomas's big dog; for there is no dog in or about all Edinburgh that has
such a bark.' At last, with great reluctance, the man gave up the dog to
the letter-carrier, who brought him home here. But though Bass's bark is
so terrific, he is the best-natured and most playful dog I ever saw; so
much so, indeed, that the small King Charles's spaniel, Raith, used to
tyrannize over him for many months after he came here from abroad. I
have seen the little creature run furiously at the great animal when
gnawing a bone, who instantly turned himself submissively over on his
back, with all his legs in the air, whilst Raith, seizing the bone,
would make the most absurd and unavailing attempts to bestride the
enormous head of his subdued companion, with the most ludicrous
affectation of the terrible growling, that might bespeak the loftiest
description of dog-indignation. When a dog attacks Bass in the street or
road, he runs away rather than quarrel; but when compelled to fight by
any perseverance in the attacking party, he throws his enemy down in a
moment, and then, without biting him, he lays his whole immense bulk
down upon him, till he nearly smothers him. He took a particular fancy
for one of the postmen who deliver letters here, whose duty it was,
besides delivering letters, to carry a letter bag from one
receiving-house to another, and this bag he used to give Bass to carry.
Bass always followed that man through all the villas in this
neighbourhood where he had deliveries to make, and he invariably parted
with him opposite to the gate of the Convent of St. Margaret's, and
returned home. When our gate was shut here to prevent his following the
postman, the dog always leaped a high wall to get after him. One day
when the postman was ill, or detained by some accidental circumstance,
he sent a man in his place. Bass went up to the man, curiously scanning
his face, whilst the man rather retired from the dog, by no means liking
his appearance. But as the man left the place, Bass followed him,
showing strong symptoms that he was determined to have the post-bag. The
man did all he could to keep possession of it. But at length Bass seeing
that he had no chance of getting possession of the bag by civil
entreaty, raised himself up on his hind-legs, and putting a great
forepaw on each of the man's shoulders, he laid him flat on his back in
the road, and quietly picking up the bag, he proceeded peaceably on his
wonted way. The man, much dismayed, arose and followed the dog, making
every now and then an ineffectual attempt to coax him to give up the
bag. At the first house he came to, he told his fears, and the dilemma
he was in; but the people comforted him, by telling him that the dog
always carried the bag. Bass walked with the man to all the houses at
which he delivered letters, and along the road till he came to the gate
of St. Margaret's, where he dropped the bag and returned home."
The St. Bernard at Work.
"The convent of the Great St. Bernard is situated near the top of the
mountain known by that name, near one of the most dangerous passages of
the Alps, between Switzerland and Savoy. In these regions the traveller
is often overtaken by the most severe weather, even after days of
cloudless beauty, when the glaciers glitter in the sunshine, and the
pink flowers of the rhododendron appear as if they were never to be
sullied by the tempest. But a storm suddenly comes on; the roads are
rendered impassable by drifts of snow; the avalanches, which are huge
loosened masses of snow or ice, are swept into the valleys, carrying
trees and crags of rock before them. Benumbed with cold, weary in the
search for a lost track, his senses yielding to the stupifying influence
of frost which betrays the exhausted sufferer into a deep sleep, the
unhappy man sinks upon the ground, and the snow-drift covers him from
human sight. It is then that the keen scent and the exquisite docility
of these admirable dogs are called into action. Though the perishing man
lie ten or even twelve feet beneath the snow, the delicacy of smell with
which they can trace him offers a chance of escape. They scratch away
the snow with their feet; they set up a continued hoarse and solemn
bark, which brings the monks and labourers of the convent to their
assistance. To provide for the chance that the dogs, without human help,
may succeed in discovering the unfortunate traveller, one of them has a
flask of spirits round his neck, to which the fainting man may apply for
support; and another has a cloak to cover him. These wonderful exertions
are often successful; and even where they fail of restoring him who has
perished, the dogs discover the body, so that it may be secured for the
recognition of friends; and such is the effect of the temperature, that
the dead features generally preserve their firmness for the space of two
years." One of these dogs is said to have saved as many as forty lives
and finally to have fallen a victim to an avalanche.
The Greyhound.
The Greyhound is characterised by elegance of form and grace of
movement; he has also great powers of speed and endurance, is mild and
affectionate in disposition and sagacious in matters other than those
connected with the chase. "The narrow, sharp head, the light half
hanging ears, the long neck, the arched back, the slender yet sinewy
limbs, the deep chest, showing the high development of the breathing
organs, and the elevated hind quarters, says Mrs. Bowdich, all shadow
forth the peculiar qualities of these dogs. Their coat has been adapted
to the climate in which they originally lived: here it is smooth; but
becomes more shaggy as they are from colder regions." "The Scotch
Greyhound (_Canis Scoticus_)," she continues, "generally white, with
black clouds, is said to be the most intellectual of all, and formerly
to have had so good a scent as to be employed as a bloodhound. Maida,
whose name is immortalized as the favourite of Sir Walter Scott, was a
Scottish greyhound. The Irish is the largest of all the western breeds,
and is supposed to owe this distinction to mingling with the great
Danish dog. To it Ireland owes the extirpation of wolves, though it now
scarcely exists itself but in name."
The greyhound is now principally bred for sporting purposes, coursing
being the favourite amusement. The great speed and endurance of the dog
is shown in this pastime. Mr. Jesse records several instances of dogs
who have died from exhaustion rather than give up the chase, in one of
which it is stated that two dogs and a hare were found dead within a few
yards of each other after a run of several miles. Mr. Daniel in his
rural sports gives an instance in which a brace of greyhounds chased a
hare a distance of four miles in twelve minutes.
The Greyhound's Affection.
Washington Irving tells the following story of a greyhound's affection
for his master. "An officer named St. Leger, who was imprisoned in
Vincennes (near Paris) during the wars of St. Bartholomew, wished to
keep with him a greyhound that he had brought up, and which was much
attached to him; but they harshly refused him this innocent pleasure,
and sent away the greyhound to his house in the Rue des Lions Saint
Paul. The next day the greyhound returned alone to Vincennes, and began
to bark under the windows of the tower, where the officer was confined.
St. Leger approached, looked through the bars, and was delighted again
to see his faithful hound, who began to jump and play a thousand gambols
to show her joy. He threw a piece of bread to the animal, who ate it
with great good will; and, in spite of the immense wall which separated
them, they breakfasted together like two friends. This friendly visit
was not the last. Abandoned by his relations, who believed him dead, the
unfortunate prisoner received the visits of his greyhound only, during
four years' confinement. Whatever weather it might be, in spite of rain
or snow, the faithful animal did not fail a single day to pay her
accustomed visit. Six months after his release from prison St. Leger
died. The faithful greyhound would no longer remain in the house; but on
the day after the funeral returned to the castle of Vincennes, and it is
supposed she was actuated by a motive of gratitude. A jailor of the
outer court had always shown great kindness to this dog, which was as
handsome as affectionate. Contrary to the custom of people of that
class, this man had been touched by her attachment and beauty, so that
he facilitated her approach to see her master, and also insured her a
safe retreat. Penetrated with gratitude for this service, the greyhound
remained the rest of her life near the benevolent jailor. It was
remarked, that even while testifying her zeal and gratitude for her
second master, one could easily see that her heart was with the first.
Like those who, having lost a parent, a brother, or a friend, come from
afar to seek consolation by viewing the place which they inhabited, this
affectionate animal repaired frequently to the tower where St. Leger had
been imprisoned, and would contemplate for hours together the gloomy
window from which her dear master had so often smiled to her, and where
they had so frequently breakfasted together."
The Lurcher.
"The rough, large-boned, ill-looking Lurcher," says Mrs. Bowdich, "is
said to have descended from the rough greyhound and the shepherd's dog.
It is now rare; but there are some of its sinister-looking mongrel
progeny still to be seen. They always bear the reputation of being
poachers' dogs, and are deeply attached to their owners. They have a
fine scent; and a man confessed to Mr. Bewick, that he could, with a
pair of lurchers, procure as many rabbits as he pleased. They never give
tongue, but set about their work silently and cautiously, and hunt hares
and partridges, driving the latter into the nets of the unlawful
sportsmen." He is a dog to whom a bad name has been given, and who has
found a bad name but one step from hanging.
The Bloodhound.
The Bloodhound (_Canis Sanguinarius_) whether because less needed now
than formerly or not, is less cultivated and is therefore more rare. Mr.
Bell's description of the breed is as follows:--"They stand twenty-eight
inches high at the shoulder; the muzzle broad and full; the upper lip
large and pendulous; the vertex of the head protuberant; the expression
stern, thoughtful, and noble; the breast broad; the limbs strong and
muscular; and the original colour a deep tan, with large black clouds.
They are silent when following their scent; and in this respect differ
from other hounds, who are generally gifted with fine deep voices.
Numbers, under the name of sleuth-hounds, used to be kept on the
Borders; and kings and troopers, perhaps equally marauders, have in
olden times found it difficult to evade them. The noble Bruce had
several narrow escapes from them; and the only sure way to destroy their
scent was to spill blood upon the track. In all the common routine of
life they are good-natured and intelligent, and make excellent
watch-dogs. A story is related of a nobleman, who, to make a trial
whether a young hound was well instructed, desired one of his servants
to walk to a town four miles off, and then to a market town three miles
from thence. The dog, without seeing the man he was to pursue, followed
him by the scent to the above-mentioned places, notwithstanding the
multitude of market-people that went along the same road, and of
travellers that had occasion to come; and when the bloodhound came to
the market town, he passed through the streets without taking notice of
any of the people there, and ceased not till he had gone to the house
where the man he sought rested himself, and where he found him in an
upper room, to the wonder of those who had accompanied him in this
pursuit."
The Scent of the Bloodhound.
A strong characteristic of the Bloodhound is of course his remarkable
scent for blood.
"Bloodhounds," says Bingley, "were formerly used in certain districts
lying between England and Scotland, that were much infested by robbers
and murderers; and a tax was laid on the inhabitants for keeping and
maintaining a certain number of these animals. Some few are yet kept in
the northern parts of the kingdom, and in the lodges of the royal
forests, where they are used in pursuit of deer that have been
previously wounded. They are also sometimes employed in discovering
deer-stealers, whom they infallibly trace by the blood that issues from
the wounds of their victims. A very extraordinary instance of this
occurred in the New Forest, in the year 1810, and was related to me by
the Right Hon. G. H. Rose. A person, in getting over a stile into a
field near the Forest, remarked that there was blood upon it.
Immediately afterwards he recollected that some deer had been killed,
and several sheep stolen in the neighbourhood; and that this might
possibly be the blood of one that had been killed in the preceding
night. The man went to the nearest lodge to give information; but the
keeper being from home, he was under the necessity of going to
Rhinefield Lodge, which was at a considerable distance. Toomer, the
under-keeper, went with him to the place, accompanied by a bloodhound.
The dog, when brought to the spot, was laid on the scent; and after
following for about a mile the track which the depredator had taken, he
came at last to a heap of furze fagots belonging to the family of a
cottager. The woman of the house attempted to drive the dog away, but
was prevented; and on the fagots being removed a hole was discovered in
the ground, which contained the body of a sheep that had recently been
killed, and also a considerable quantity of salted meat. The
circumstance which renders this account the more remarkable is, that the
dog was not brought to the scent until more than sixteen hours had
elapsed after the man had carried away the sheep."
The Stag-Hound.
"The stag hound," says Colonel Smith, "was a large stately animal, equal
or little less than the blood hound, and originally, like that race,
slow, sure, cautious and steady." "The modern hound is perhaps still
handsomer, though somewhat smaller; and the breed having been crossed
with the fox hound is now much faster." The stag hunt having declined in
public favour they have ceased to be bred in packs for hunting purposes.
A Stag-Hunt.