A certain degree of romance will always be attached to the history of
the Irish wolf-dog, but so contradictory are the accounts handed down
to us respecting it, that, with every disposition to do justice to
the character of this noble animal, the task is one of no small
difficulty.
This dog seems to have flourished, and to have become nearly extinct,
with the ancient kings of Ireland, and, with the harp and shamrock, is
regarded as one of the national emblems of that country. When princely
hospitality was to be found in the old palaces, castles, and baronial
halls of fair Erin, it is hardly possible to imagine anything more
aristocratic and imposing than the aspect of these dogs, while
attending the banquets of their masters. So great, indeed, was their
height, that it has been affirmed, that when their chieftain was
seated at table these dogs could rest their heads on his shoulders.
However this may have been, it is certain that the bold, majestic, and
commanding appearance of the animal, joined to the mild and softened
look with which he regarded those to whom he was attached, and whom he
was always ready to defend, must have rendered him worthy of the
enthusiasm with which the remembrance of him is still cherished by the
warm-hearted people of Ireland.
The following anecdote, which has been communicated to me by an
amiable Irish nobleman, will at all events serve to show the peculiar
instinct which the Irish wolf-dog was supposed to possess.
A gentleman of an ancient family, whose name it is unnecessary to
mention, from his having been engaged in the troubles which agitated
Ireland about fifty or sixty years since, went into a coffee-room at
Dublin during that period, accompanied by a noble wolf-dog, supposed
to be one of the last of the breed. There was only one other gentleman
in the coffee-room, who, on seeing the dog, went up to him, and began
to notice him. His owner, in considerable alarm, begged him to desist,
as the dog was fierce, and would never allow a stranger to touch him.
The gentleman resumed his seat, when the dog came to him, showed the
greatest pleasure at being noticed, and allowed himself to be fondled.
His owner could not disguise his astonishment. "You are the only
person," he said, "whom that dog would ever allow to touch him without
showing resentment. May I beg of you the favour to tell me your
name?"--mentioning his own at the same time. The stranger announced
it, (he was the last of his race, one of the most ancient and noble in
Ireland, and descended from one of its kings.) "I do not wonder," said
the owner of the dog, "at the homage this animal has paid to you. He
recognizes in you the descendant of one of our most ancient race of
gentlemen to whom this breed of dogs almost exclusively belonged, and
the peculiar instinct he possesses has now been shown in a manner
which cannot be mistaken by me, who am so well acquainted with the
ferocity this dog has hitherto shown to all strangers."
Few persons, Sir Walter Scott excepted, would perhaps be inclined to
give credit to this anecdote. So convinced was he of the extraordinary
instinct exhibited by dogs generally, that he has been heard to
declare that he would believe anything of a dog. The anecdote,
however, above related, was communicated to me with the strongest
assurance of its strict accuracy.
In a poem, written by Mrs. Catherine Philips, about the year 1660, the
character of the Irish wolf-hound is well portrayed, and proves the
estimation in which he was held at that period.
"Behold this creature's form and state!
Him Nature surely did create,
That to the world might be exprest
What mien there can be in a beast;
More nobleness of form and mind
Than in the lion we can find:
Yea, this heroic beast doth seem
In majesty to rival him.
Yet he vouchsafes to man to show
His service, and submission too--
And here we a distinction have;
That brute is fierce--the dog is brave.
He hath himself so well subdued,
That hunger cannot make him rude;
And all his manners do confess
That courage dwells with gentleness.
War with the wolf he loves to wage,
And never quits if he engage;
But praise him much, and you may chance
To put him out of countenance.
And having done a deed so brave,
He looks not sullen, yet looks grave.
No fondling play-fellow is he;
His master's guard he wills to be:
Willing for him his blood be spent,
His look is never insolent.
Few men to do such noble deeds have learn'd,
Nor having done, could look so unconcern'd."
This is one of the finest descriptions of a noble dog which I have yet
met with in English poetry. Courage and modesty are well portrayed,
and contrasted.
The following anecdotes relate to an animal which must have strongly
resembled the Irish wolf-dog:--
Plutarch mentions a certain Roman in the civil wars, whose head nobody
durst cut off for fear of the dog that guarded his body, and fought in
his defence. The same author relates that King Pyrrhus, in the course
of one of his journies, observed a dog watching over a dead body; and
hearing that he had been there three days without meat or drink,
ordered the body to be buried, and the dog taken care of and brought
to him. A few days afterwards there was a muster of the soldiers, so
that every man had to march in order before the king. The dog lay
quiet for some time; but when he saw the murderers of his late master
pass by, he flew upon them with extraordinary fury, barking, and
tearing their garments, and frequently turning about to the king;
which both excited the king's suspicion, and that of all who stood
about him. The men were in consequence apprehended, and though the
circumstances which appeared in evidence against them were very
slight, they confessed the crime, and were accordingly punished.
Montfaucon mentions a similar case of attachment and revenge which
occurred in France, in the reign of Charles V.[E] The anecdote has
been frequently related, and is as follows:--A gentleman named
Macaire, an officer of the king's body-guard, entertained, for some
reason, a bitter hatred against another gentleman, named Aubry de
Montdidier, his comrade in service. These two having met in the Forest
of Bondi, near Paris, Macaire took an opportunity of treacherously
murdering his brother-officer, and buried him in a ditch. Montdidier
was unaccompanied at the moment, excepting by a dog (probably a
wolf-hound), with which he had gone out, perhaps to hunt. It is not
known whether the dog was muzzled, or from what other cause it
permitted the deed to be accomplished without its interference. Be
this as it might, the hound lay down on the grave of its master, and
there remained till hunger compelled it to rise. It then went to the
kitchen of one of Aubry de Montdidier's dearest friends, where it was
welcomed warmly, and fed. As soon as its hunger was appeased the dog
disappeared. For several days this coming and going was repeated, till
at last the curiosity of those who saw its movements was excited, and
it was resolved to follow the animal, and see if anything could be
learned in explanation of Montdidier's sudden disappearance. The dog
was accordingly followed, and was seen to come to a pause on some
newly-turned-up earth, where it set up the most mournful wailings and
howlings. These cries were so touching, that passengers were
attracted; and finally digging into the ground at the spot, they found
there the body of Aubry de Montdidier. It was raised and conveyed to
Paris, where it was soon afterwards interred in one of the city
cemeteries.
The dog attached itself from this time forth to the friend, already
mentioned, of its late master. While attending on him, it chanced
several times to get a sight of Macaire, and on every occasion it
sprang upon him, and would have strangled him had it not been taken
off by force. This intensity of hate on the part of the animal
awakened a suspicion that Macaire had had some share in Montdidier's
murder, for his body showed him to have met a violent death. Charles
V., on being informed of the circumstances, wished to satisfy himself
of their truth. He caused Macaire and the dog to be brought before
him, and beheld the animal again spring upon the object of its hatred.
The king interrogated Macaire closely, but the latter would not admit
that he had been in any way connected with Montdidier's murder.
Being strongly impressed by a conviction that the conduct of the dog
was based on some guilty act of Macaire, the king ordered a combat to
take place between the officer and his dumb accuser, according to the
practice in those days between human plaintiffs and defendants. This
remarkable combat took place on the isle of Notre Dame at Paris, in
presence of the whole court. The king allowed Macaire to have a strong
club, as a defensive weapon; while, on the other hand, the only
self-preservative means allowed to the dog consisted of an empty cask,
into which it could retreat if hard pressed. The combatants appeared
in the lists. The dog seemed perfectly aware of its situation and
duty. For a short time it leapt actively round Macaire, and then, at
one spring, it fastened itself upon his throat, in so firm a manner
that he could not disentangle himself. He would have been strangled
had he not cried for mercy, and avowed his crime. The dog was pulled
from off him; but he was only liberated from its fangs to perish by
the hands of the law. The fidelity of this dog has been celebrated in
many a drama and poem, and there is a monument of him in basso relievo
still to be seen in the castle of Montargis. The dog which attracted
such celebrity has been usually called 'the dog of Montargis,' from
the combat having taken place at the chateau of that name.
The strength of these dogs must have been very great. A nobleman
informed me, that when he was a boy, and staying on a visit with the
Knight of Kerry, two Irish wolf-dogs made their escape from the place
in which they were confined, and pulled down and killed a horse, which
was in an adjoining paddock.
The following affecting anecdote of an Irish wolf-dog, called "the dog
of Aughrim," affords a proof of the extraordinary fidelity of these
animals to their masters, and puts to shame the vaunted superiority of
many human brutes.
At the hard-fought battle of Aughrim, or Vidconnel, an Irish officer
was accompanied by his wolf-hound. This gentleman was killed and
stripped in the battle, but the dog remained by his body both by day
and night. He fed upon some of the other bodies with the rest of the
dogs, yet he would not allow them or anything else to touch that of
his master. When all the other bodies were consumed, the other dogs
departed, but this used to go in the night to the adjacent villages
for food, and presently to return again to the place where his
master's bones were only then left. This he continued to do from July,
when the battle was fought, until the January following, when a
soldier being quartered near, and going that way by chance, the dog,
fearing he came to disturb his master's bones, flew upon the soldier,
who, being surprised at the suddenness of the thing, unslung his
carbine, he having been thrown on his back, and killed the noble
animal. He expired with the same fidelity to the remains of his
unfortunate master, as that master had shown devotion to the cause of
his unhappy country.
In the "Irish Penny Journal" there is an interesting account of the
Irish wolf-dog, from which the following anecdote is taken.
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 fixed upon for doing so, as that was their
wonted time for leaving their lairs 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
enclosed 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. But, secure as this fold was deemed, it was often
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 twelve years of
age, 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 the other. He steals with all the caution
of a cat, nor will you hear him, but the dog will, and 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, 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.
This anecdote is taken from a biography of a Tyrone family, published
in Belfast in 1829.
It is now time to attempt a description of this celebrated dog, and
here our difficulties commence. Some writers have affirmed that it was
rough-coated, and had the appearance of a greyhound--
"The greyhound! the great hound! the graceful of limb!
Rough fellow! tall fellow! &c.;"
while others assert that it was of a mastiff-like appearance, and
smooth, strong, and tall. All we can do is to bring forward the
different evidence we have been able to collect, and then to let our
readers judge for themselves.
In an old print of Patrick Sarsfield, Earl of Lucan, there are two
wolf-dogs, which are represented as smooth, prick-eared, and with
somewhat bushy tails. Lord Lucan distinguished himself in several
engagements, and commanded the second troop of Irish Horse Guards, to
which he was appointed by James II., and received his death wound,
behaving most gallantly at the head of his countrymen, in 1693, when
the allies, under William III., were defeated by Marshal Luxembourg at
the battle of Landen. He was probably attended by his faithful
wolf-dogs on that occasion, when he uttered those sublime words which
no Irishman will ever forget--"Oh that this was for Ireland!" thus
showing his love and affection for his native country as he was
expiring in the arms of victory.
An old and amiable acquaintance, Mr. Aylmer Bourke Lambert, now, alas!
no more, communicated an account of the wolf-hound to the Linnean
Society, which may be found in the third volume of their
"Transactions." He had in his possession an old picture of one of
these dogs, which, at the sale of his effects, was purchased by the
Earl of Derby; the dog is represented as smooth-haired, with a
somewhat wide forehead, and having no appearance of the greyhound, but
more of that of the mastiff.
In February, 1841, Mr. Webber presented to the Royal Irish Academy an
ancient stone, on which was carved a rude bas-relief, supposed to be
the representation of a dog killing a wolf. Mr. Webber accompanied the
present with a communication, to the effect that the stone was taken
from the castle of Ardnaglass, in the barony of Tireragh, and county
of Sligo, and was said to commemorate the destruction of the last wolf
in Ireland. The current tradition in the place from whence it came
was, that some years after it was supposed that the race of wolves was
extinct, the flocks in the county of Leitrim were attacked by a wild
animal, which turned out to be a wolf; that thereupon the chieftains
of Leitrim applied to O'Dowd, the chieftain of Tireragh (who possessed
a celebrated dog of the breed of the ancient Irish wolf-dog), to come
and hunt the wolf. This application having been complied with by
O'Dowd, there ensued a chase, which forms the subject of an ancient
Irish legend, detailing the various districts through which it was
pursued, until at length the wolf was overtaken and killed in a small
wood of pine-trees, at the foot of one of the mountains of Tireragh.
The quarter of land on which the wolf was killed is to this day called
_Carrow na Madhoo_, which means "the dog's quarter." In commemoration
of the event, O'Dowd had a representation of it carved on stone, and
placed in the wall of his baronial residence. It is difficult to form
an opinion of the shape of a dog from so rude a representation, except
that it appears to have had a wide forehead and pricked ears.
A gentleman, who in his youth saw one of these dogs, informs me that
it was smooth, strong, and partaking somewhat of the character and
appearance of a powerful Danish dog. This agrees with the account
given of it by some writers, especially in "The Sportsman's Cabinet,"
a work more remarkable for the truth and fineness of its engravings,
than for the matter contained in it. Buffon also forms much the same
opinion. That great strength must be necessary to enable a dog to
compete with a wolf, cannot be doubted, and perhaps there is no breed
of the rough greyhound now known capable of competing with a wolf
single-handed. Her Majesty has now in her possession one of the finest
specimens of the Highland deer-hound. He has great strength and
height, is rough-coated, wide across the loins, and altogether a noble
animal. Powerful, however as he is, it may be questioned whether such
a dog would be a match for a wolf, which the Irish hounds undoubtedly
were. This circumstance alone would lead us to suppose, that we must
look to a different breed than that of greyhounds as the antagonists
of the wolf.
But it is time to turn to the other side of the question.
In a very agreeable, well-written article in the "Irish Penny Journal"
of May, 1841, the author brings forward strong evidence to prove that
the celebrated Irish wolf-dog resembled a greyhound in form. He will,
I hope, allow me to quote some of his arguments, which show
considerable research and historical information. He says:--
"Public opinion has long been divided respecting the precise
appearance and form of this majestic animal, and so many different
ideas have been conceived of him, that many persons have been induced
to come to the conclusion that no particular breed of dogs was ever
kept for wolf-hunting in Ireland, but that the appellation of
'wolf-dog' was bestowed upon any dog swift enough to overtake and
powerful enough to contend with and overcome that formidable animal.
While some hold this opinion, others suppose that though a particular
breed was used, it was a sort of heavy mastiff-like dog, now extinct.
It is the object of the present paper to show, that not only did
Ireland possess a peculiar race of dogs, exclusively devoted to
wolf-hunting, but that those dogs, instead of being of the mastiff
kind, resembled the greyhound in form; and instead of being extinct
are still to be met with, although they are very scarce. I myself was
once in a very gross error respecting this dog, for I conceived him
to have been a mastiff, and implicitly believed that the dogs of Lord
Altamont, described in the third volume of the Linnean 'Transactions'
by Mr. Lambert, were the sole surviving representatives of the Irish
wolf-dog. An able paper, read by Mr. Haffield about a year ago, before
the Dublin Natural History Society, served to stagger me in my belief,
and subsequent careful inquiry and research have completed my
conversion. I proceed to lay before my readers the result of that
inquiry, and I feel confident that no individual, after reading the
evidence which I shall adduce, will continue to harbour a doubt
respecting the true appearance and form of the ancient Irish wolf-dog.
"We are informed by several disjointed scraps of Celtic verse, that in
the times of old, when Fionn Mac Cumhaill, popularly styled Finn Mac
Cool, wielded the sceptre of power and justice, we possessed a
prodigious and courageous dog, used for hunting the deer and wild
boar, and also the wolf, which ravaged the folds and slaughtered the
herds of our ancestors. We learn from the same source that these dogs
were also frequently employed as auxiliaries in war, and that they
were 'mighty in combat, their breasts like plates of brass, and
greatly to be feared.' We might adduce the songs of Ossian, where the
epithets 'hairy-footed,' 'white-breasted,' and 'bounding,' are
singularly characteristic of some of the striking peculiarities of the
dog in question, and strangely coincide with the descriptions
furnished by other writers respecting him. Mac Pherson must, at all
events, have been at the pains of considerable research if he actually
forged the beautiful poems, which he put forth to the world under
Ossian's name. The word 'Bran,' the name given to Fingal's noble
hound, employed by others than Ossian, is Celtic, and signifies
'Mountain Torrent,' implying that impetuosity of course and headlong
courage which the dog possessed. I have said that many assert the
Irish wolf-dog to be no longer in existence. I have ventured a denial
of this, and refer to the wolf-dog or deer-dog of the Highlands of
Scotland, as his actual and faithful living representative. Perhaps I
am wrong in saying representative. I hold that the Irish wolf-dog and
the Highland deer-dog are one and the same, and I now proceed to cite
a few authorities in support of my position.
"The Venerable Bede, as well as the Scotch historian John Major,
informs us that Scotland was originally peopled from Ireland under the
conduct of Renda, and that one half of Scotland spoke the Irish
language as their mother-tongue. Many persons, also, are doubtless
aware that, even at this present time, the Gaelic and Erse are so much
alike, that a Connaught man finds no difficulty in comprehending and
conversing with a Highlander. Scotland also was called by the early
writers Scotia Minor, and Ireland, Scotia Major. The colonization,
therefore, of Scotland from Ireland admits of little doubt. As the
Irish wolf-dog was at that time in the enjoyment of his most extended
fame, it was not to be expected that the colonists would omit taking
with them such a fine description of dog, and which would prove so
useful to them in a newly established settlement, and that, too, at a
period when hunting was not merely an amusement, but one of their main
occupations, and also their main source of subsistence. The Irish
wolf-dog was thus carried into Scotland, and became the Highland or
Scottish wolf-dog, changing in process of time his name with his
country; and when wolves disappeared from the land, his occupation was
that of deer-hunting, and thus his present name.
"In Ireland the wolves were in existence longer than in Scotland, but
as soon as wolves ceased to exist in the former country, the dogs were
suffered to become extinct also, while in Scotland there was still
abundant employment for them after the days of wolf-hunting were
over--the deer still remained; and useful as they had been as
wolf-dogs, they proved themselves, if possible, still more so as
deer-hounds.
"That the Irish wolf-dog was a tall, rough greyhound, similar in every
respect to the Highland dog of the present day (of which an engraving
is given) cannot be doubted from the following authorities. Strabo
mentions a tall greyhound in use among the Pictish and Celtic nations,
which he states was held in high esteem by our ancestors, and was even
imported into Gaul for the purposes of the chase. Campion expressly
speaks of the Irish wolf-dog as a 'greyhound of great bone and limb.'
Silaus calls it also a greyhound, and asserts that it was imported
into Ireland by the Belgae, and is the same with the renowned Belgic
dog of antiquity, and that it was, during the days of Roman grandeur,
brought to Rome for the combats of the Amphitheatre. Pliny relates a
combat in which the Irish wolf-dog took a part: he calls them 'Canes
Graii Hibernici,' and describes them as much taller than the mastiff.
Holinshed, in speaking of the Irish, says, 'They are not without
wolves, and greyhounds to hunt them.' Evelyn, speaking of the
bear-garden, says, 'The bull-dogs did exceeding well, but the Irish
wolf-dog exceeded; which was a tall greyhound, a stately creature, and
beat a cruel mastiff.'
"Llewellyn, prince of Wales, was presented by King John with a
specimen of this kind of dog. These animals were in those days
permitted to be kept only by princes and chiefs; and in the Welsh laws
of the ninth century we find heavy penalties laid down for the maiming
or injuring of the Irish greyhound, or, as it was styled in the code
alluded to, 'Canis Graius Hibernicus;' and a value was set on them,
equal to more than double that set on the ordinary greyhound.
"Moryson, secretary to Lord-deputy Mountjoy, says, 'The Irishmen and
greyhounds are of great stature.' Lombard remarks, that the finest
hunting dogs in Europe were produced in Ireland: 'Greyhounds useful to
take the stag, wild boar, or wolf.' Pennant describes these dogs as
scarce, and as being led to the chase in leather slips or thongs, and
calls them 'the Irish greyhound.' Bay mentions him as the greatest dog
he had ever seen. Buffon says, he saw an Irish greyhound, which
measured five feet in height when in a sitting posture, and says that
all other sorts of greyhounds are descended from him, and that in
Scotland it is called the Highland greyhound: that it is very large,
deep-chested, and covered with long rough hair.
"Scottish noblemen were not always content with such specimens of this
dog as their own country produced, but frequently sent for them to
Ireland, conceiving, doubtless, that they would be found better and
purer in their native land. The following is a copy of a letter
addressed by Deputy Falkland to the Earl of Cork, in 1623:--
'My Lord,
'I have lately received letters from my Lord Duke of Buccleuch and
others of my noble friends, who have entreated me to send them
some greyhound dogs and bitches, out of this kingdom, of the
largest sort, which I perceive they intend to present unto divers
princes and other noble persons; and if you can possibly, let them
be white, which is the colour most in request here. Expecting your
answer by the bearer, I commit you to the protection of the
Almighty, and am your Lordship's attached friend,
'FALKLAND.'
"Smith, in 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.'
"Perhaps sufficient evidence has now been adduced to demonstrate the
identity of the Irish wolf-dog with the Highland deer-hound. I may,
however, in conclusion, give an extract from the excellent paper of
Mr. Haffield, already alluded to, as having been read before the
Dublin Natural History Society, and which was 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 says that Sir
John 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 greyhound
'Gayer;' a marked distinction, the word 'Cu' signifying a champion.'
"The colour of these dogs varies, but the most esteemed are dark
iron-grey, with white breast. They are, however, to be found of a
yellowish or sandy hue, brindled, or even white. In former times, as
will be seen from Lord Falkland's letter quoted above, this latter
colour was by many preferred. It is described as 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."
Goldsmith asserts that he had seen a dozen of these dogs, and informs
us "that the largest was about four feet high, or as tall as a calf of
a year old. They are generally of a white or cinnamon colour, and more
robust than the greyhound--their aspect mild, and their disposition
gentle and peaceable. It is said that their strength is so great, that
in combat the mastiff or bull-dog is far from equal to them. They
commonly seize their antagonists by the back and shake them to death.
These dogs were never serviceable for hunting, either the stag, the
fox, or the hare. Their chief utility was in hunting wolves, and to
this breed may be attributed the final extirpation of those ferocious
animals in England and Wales in early times in the woody districts."
Having thus given these different accounts of the Irish wolf-dog, I
may add that some persons are of opinion that there were two kinds of
them--one partaking of the shape and disposition of the mastiff, and
the other of the Highland deer-hound. It is not improbable that a
noble cross of dogs might have been made from these two sorts. At all
events I have fairly stated the whole of the information I have been
able to obtain respecting these dogs, and my readers must form their
own opinions. The following anecdote, recently communicated to me, is
given in the words of the writer:--
"Two whelps were made a present to my brother by Harvey Combe, of a
breed between the old Irish wolf-dog and the blood-hound. My brother
gave them to Robert Evatt, of Mount Louise, county Monaghan. One died
young, but the other grew to be a very noble animal indeed.
Unfortunately he took to chasing sheep, and became an incorrigible
destroyer of that inoffensive but valuable stock. Evatt found he could
not afford to keep such a marauder, and as he was going to Dublin he
took up the sheep-killer, in order to present him to the Zoological
Society as a fine specimen of the breed. His servant was holding him
at the door of the hotel when a gig drove up, and the gentleman
alighted. The dog sprung from the servant's hold, and jumping into the
gig with one bound, seized the mat at the bottom of the gig, which was
made of sheepskin, and with another bound made away with his woolly
prize, and was brought back with difficulty, after a long and
fatiguing pursuit."
This is one of the most desperate cases of sheep-hunting in dogs I
ever met with. It is said, that this propensity may be got rid of by
tying a cord covered with wool to the dog's lower jaw, so that the
wool may be kept in the mouth.
I should mention, that in a manuscript of Froissart in the British
Museum, which is highly illuminated, there is a representation of the
grand entrance of Queen Isabel of England into Paris, in the year
1324. She is attended by a noble greyhound, who has a flag, _powdered_
with fleurs-de-lys, bound to his neck.
Greyhounds were a favourite species of dog in the middle ages. In the
ancient pipe-rolls, payments are frequently made in greyhounds. In
Hawes' "Pastime of Pleasure," (written in the time of Henry VII.) Fame
is attended by two greyhounds, on whose golden collars, "Grace" and
"Governaunce" are inscribed in diamond letters.
In the pictures of Rubens, Snyders, and other old masters, some of the
powerful dogs there represented would appear to be a breed between the
greyhound and mastiff. Nothing can exceed the majestic and commanding
appearance of these dogs, and such a breed would be most likely to
produce the sort of animal most capable of contending with the wolf.
The Irish wolf-dogs were formerly placed as the supporters of the arms
of the ancient Monarchs of Ireland. They were collared _or_, with the
motto,
"Gentle when stroked--fierce when provoked."
Mr. Scrope, in his agreeable book on deer-stalking in Scotland, has
communicated an account from Mr. Macneill, of Colonsay, of the
Highland deer-hound, in which are some interesting remarks relative to
the Irish wolf-dog, and from which I shall make a few extracts.
In making these extracts, it is impossible not to be struck with a
remark in the work referred to, that from modern writers we learn
nothing further respecting the Irish wolf-dog, than that such a race
of dogs at one time existed in Ireland, that they were of a gigantic
size, and that they are now extinct.
One great obstacle in the way of investigating the history of this dog
has arisen from the different appellations given to it, according to
the fancy of the natives in different parts of the country, such as
Irish wolf-dog, Irish greyhound, Highland deer-hound, and Scotch
greyhound, and this circumstance may have produced the confusion in
fixing its identity.
In the fourth century a number of dogs, of a great size, were sent in
iron cages from Ireland to Rome, and it is not improbable that the
dogs so sent were greyhounds, particularly as we learn from the
authority of Evelyn and others, that the Irish wolf-dog was used for
the fights of the bear-garden. "Greyhound" probably means a "great
hound."
Holinshed, in his "Description of Ireland and the Irish," written in
1586, has the following notice:--"They are not without wolves, and
greyhounds to hunt them, bigger of bone and limb than a colt;" and in
a frontispiece to Sir James Ware's "History of Ireland," an
allegorical representation is given of a passage from the Venerable
Bede, in which two dogs are introduced, bearing a strong resemblance
to that given by Gesner, in his "History of Quadrupeds," published in
1560.
The term _Irish_ is applied to Highland dogs, as everything Celtic
(not excepting the language) was designated in England; probably in
consequence of Ireland being, at that period, better known to the
English than Scotland. This is, perhaps, a proof of the similarity of
the Irish and Scotch deer-hounds.
Of the courage of the ancient deer-hound there can be little doubt,
from the nature of the game for which he was used. If any proof were
wanting, an incident mentioned by Evelyn in his Diary, in 1670, when
present at a bull-fight in the bear-garden, is conclusive. He says,
"The bulls (meaning the bull-dogs) did exceeding well, but the Irish
wolf-dog exceeded, which was a tall greyhound, a stately creature,
indeed, who beat a cruel mastiff."
Here, perhaps, is a proof that the Irish wolf-dog was a greyhound; and
there can be little doubt that it is the same dog we find mentioned
under the name of the Irish greyhound.
Buffon remarks that "the Irish greyhounds are of a very ancient race.
They were called by the ancients, dogs of Epirus, and Albanian dogs.
Pliny gives an account of a combat between one of these dogs, first
with a lion, and then with an elephant. In France they are so rare,
that I never saw above one of them, which appeared, when sitting, to
be about five feet high. He was totally white, and of a mild and
peaceable disposition."
The following description of these dogs, translated from a Celtic
poem, is probably an accurate one:--
"An eye of sloe, with ear not low,
With horse's breast, with depth of chest,
With breadth of loin, and curve in groin
And nape set far behind the head--
Such were the dogs that Fingal bred."
It is probable that even in Scotland very few of the pure breed of
dogs are left, but those which are show a surprising combination of
speed, strength, size, endurance, courage, sagacity, docility, and it
may be added, dignity. The purest specimens of the deer-hound now to
be met with are supposed to be those belonging to Captain M'Neill of
Colonsay, two of them being called Buskar and Bran. And here let me
give an extract from an interesting and graphic account, published by
Mr. Scrope, of the performance of these dogs in the chase of a stag.
Let us fancy a party assembled over-night in a Highland glen,
consisting of sportsmen, deer-stalkers, a piper and two deer-hounds,
cooking their supper, and concluding it with the never-failing
accompaniment of whisky-toddy. Let us fancy them reposing on a couch
of dried fern and heather, and being awoke in the morning with the
lively air of "Hey, Johnny Cope." While their breakfast is preparing,
they wash and refresh themselves at a pure mountain stream, and are
soon ready to issue forth with Buskar and Bran. The party proceeds up
a rocky glen, where the stalker sees a stag about a mile off. He
immediately prostrates himself on the ground, and in a second the rest
follow his example. We will not follow all the different manoeuvres of
the deer-stalker and his followers, but bring them at once near the
unconscious stag. After performing a very considerable circuit, moving
sometimes forwards and sometimes backwards, the party at length arrive
at the back of a hillock, on the opposite side of which the stalker
said, in a whisper, the deer was lying, and that he was not distant a
hundred yards. The whole party immediately moved forward in silent and
breathless expectation, with the dogs in front straining in the slips.
On reaching the top of the hillock, a full view of the noble stag
presented itself, who, having heard the footsteps, had sprung on his
legs, and was staring at his enemies, at the distance of about sixty
yards.
"The dogs were slipped; a general halloo burst from us all, and the
stag, wheeling round, set off at full speed, with Buskar and Bran
straining after him.
"The brown figure of the deer, with his noble antlers laid back,
contrasted with the light colour of the dogs stretching along the dark
heath, presented one of the most exciting scenes that it is possible
to imagine.
"The deer's first attempt was to gain some rising ground to the left
of the spot where we stood, and rather behind us, but, being closely
pursued by the dogs, he soon found that his only safety was in speed;
and (as a deer does not run well up-hill, nor like a roe, straight
down hill) on the dogs approaching him, he turned, and almost retraced
his footsteps, taking, however, a steeper line of descent than the one
by which he ascended. Here the chase became most interesting--the dogs
pressed him hard, and the deer getting confused, found himself
suddenly on the brink of a small precipice of about fourteen feet in
height, from the bottom of which there sloped a rugged mass of stones.
He paused for a moment, as if afraid to take the leap, but the dogs
were so close that he had no alternative.
"At this time the party were not above one hundred and fifty yards
distant, and most anxiously waited the result, fearing, from the
ruggedness of the ground below, that the deer would not survive the
leap. They were, however, soon relieved from their anxiety, for though
he took the leap, he did so more cunningly than gallantly, dropping
himself in the most singular manner, so that his hind legs first
reached the broken rocks below; nor were the dogs long in following
him. Buskar sprang first, and, extraordinary to relate, did not lose
his legs. Bran followed, and, on reaching the ground, performed a
complete somerset. He soon, however, recovered his legs, and the chase
was continued in an oblique direction down the side of a most rugged
and rocky brae, the deer, apparently more fresh and nimble than ever,
jumping through the rocks like a goat, and the dogs well up, though
occasionally receiving the most fearful falls.
"From the high position in which we were placed, the chase was visible
for nearly half a mile. When some rising ground intercepted our view,
we made with all speed for a higher point, and, on reaching it, we
could perceive that the dogs, having got upon smooth ground, had
gained on the deer, who was still going at speed, and were close up
with him. Bran was then leading, and in a few seconds was at his
heels, and immediately seized his hock with such violence of grasp, as
seemed in a great measure to paralyse the limb, for the deer's speed
was immediately checked. Buskar was not far behind, for soon
afterwards passing Bran, he seized the deer by the neck.
Notwithstanding the weight of the two dogs which were hanging to him,
having the assistance of the slope of the ground, he continued
dragging them along at a most extraordinary rate (in defiance of their
utmost exertions to detain him), and succeeded more than once in
kicking Bran off. But he became at length exhausted--the dogs
succeeded in pulling him down; and though he made several attempts to
rise, he never completely regained his legs.
"On coming up, we found him perfectly dead, with the joints of both
his forelegs dislocated at the knee, his throat perforated, and his
chest and flanks much lacerated.
"As the ground was perfectly smooth for a considerable distance round
the place where he fell, and not in any degree swampy, it is difficult
to account for the dislocation of his knees, unless it happened during
his struggles to rise. Buskar was perfectly exhausted, and had lain
down, shaking from head to foot much like a broken-down horse; but on
our approaching the deer he rose, walked round him with a determined
growl, and would scarcely permit us to get near him. He had not,
however, received any cut or injury, while Bran showed several
bruises, nearly a square inch having been taken off the front of his
fore-leg, so that the bone was visible, and a piece of burnt heather
had passed quite through his foot.
"Nothing could exceed the determined courage displayed by both dogs,
particularly by Buskar, throughout the chase, and especially in
preserving his hold, though dragged by the deer in a most violent
manner."
It is hoped that this account of the high spirit and perseverance of
the Scotch deer-hound will not be found uninteresting. This noble
creature was the pride and companion of our ancestors, and for a long
period in the history of this country, particularly in Ireland, the
only dog used in the sports of the field. When we consider the great
courage, combined with the most perfect gentleness of this animal, his
gigantic, picturesque, and graceful form, it must be a subject of
regret that the breed is likely to become extinct. Where shall we find
dogs possessing such a combination of fine and noble qualities?
* * * * *
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, and the 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, half strangled 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 them gently,
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.