invited several of his neighbours to witness the performance of the
ass. Not till the light, however, had been taken away, would the
creature commence his operations, evidently conscious that he was
doing wrong.
A lock was afterwards put on the door, which completely baffled the
ingenuity of the cunning animal.
"OLD MUSTARD": A TALE OF THE WESTERN PIONEERS
By E. W. Frentz
When Grandmother Lane was a little girl her father came in one day
and said, "Wife, it is all settled at last. I have sold the farm.
Next week we will start West. There is a large company going from
here, and we must try to get ready to go with them."
Little Mary, as grandmother was then called, heard the news with
great delight, because she knew it would mean a long, long journey,
lasting months, and carrying them into a new country, where there
was never any cold weather and where great crops could be raised
without much hard work, and there would always be plenty to eat.
Besides, her family was not going alone, but many other families
whom they knew were going at the same time, so that she would have
some of her playmates with her all the way.
It was a wonderful sight when the great day came at last, and the
long wagon-train set out. In all there were more than forty wagons,
some drawn by four or six horses, and some by as many as eight big
oxen. And such strange wagons! They were more like little houses on
wheels, only instead of a roof there was a high frame overhead made
of hoops, and covered with canvas, so it made a sort of tent to
ride in by day, if you wished, and to sleep in at night. And from
these hoops hung all sorts of things--hams and pieces of bacon,
strips of dried pumpkin, pans to cook in, and clothes. Underneath
the big wagon, outside, swung the great kettles, in which the
larger things were cooked, and axes, and ropes and chains for
pulling the wagons out when they got stuck in the mud.
To little Mary it was all new and delightful. The big wagons
squeaked and groaned and swayed from side to side till the hams
hanging from the frame overhead would swing back and forth like the
pendulum of a clock. There were the shouts of the men to the horses
and oxen, the barking of the dogs that ran along the side of the
trail, the sharp cracking of the drivers' whips, and the
_ting-tang_ of the iron kettles swinging against each other.
And always they were passing through places that were new and
seeing things that were fresh and strange.
The wagon of Mr. Harding--that was grandmother's father--was drawn
by four oxen, but of them, known as Jerry, began to show signs of
sickness when they had been on the road a few days. The men gave
him medicine and doctored him all they could, but he seemed to grow
weaker all the time instead of better, and one morning, when they
went to yoke the oxen to the wagon, they found him dead.
For a day or two they went on with only three oxen. Then Mr.
Harding met a trader who was willing to sell him a pet ox that he
called "Old Mustard," to take the place of Jerry.
It was a very funny-looking ox, indeed, not like any that Mary or
anybody in her family had ever seen before. He had a very large,
round head, with shaggy hair matted on top, and on his back was a
large hump. In color he was a dirty yellow all over. That is why
the trader called him Mustard.
"He isn't very pretty," said the trader, "but he is strong and
good-natured, and will pull more than any ox of his size that I
ever saw. Besides, he will get on with less grass and less water.
He is a half-buffalo--he shows that in his huge head and shoulders.
For this reason he will be worth more to you than any scout or
watch-dog; he can smell Indians a mile away, and will fight them on
sight." Mr. Harding did not quite like to buy so strange an animal,
but he must get another ox somewhere, and so he took Old Mustard.
By the end of the first day he was very glad he had done so, for
the funny-looking yellow creature took its place at the tongue of
the cart and pulled steadily and well. And every day after that he
did his work faithfully, and seemed never to be sick or to feel
tired.
By the end of the fourth week the wagon-train had entered a country
where the Indians were known to be on the war-path, and trouble was
expected. They even found the remains of three partly burned
wagons.
Great care was now taken to send scouts ahead during the day and to
prepare the camp for defense at night.
The first thing that was done as soon as the stop was made for the
night was to "park" all the wagons, as they called it. The big
ox-carts were placed in a great circle and chained one to another.
Sometimes the cattle were picketed outside, to graze, with men
armed with guns to watch them, and sometimes they were driven
inside. But always the camp-fires were built in the circle, and
round them the different families gathered to cook and eat their
supper.
One night, when the wagons had been parked and every one had eaten
supper and gone to sleep, Old Mustard began to act very strangely.
At first he tossed his head and blew hard through his nostrils;
then he began to move about uneasily as far as his rope would let
him, and to snort and paw the ground.
When one of the guards went near him he turned upon him a pair of
eyes that were bright green and shiny. At last Mr. Harding happened
to think what the trader had told him.
"Do you suppose it can be that he scents Indians?" he asked one of
the other men.
"It may be," he said. "It is sure that he is excited over
something. Perhaps we had better be on the safe side and wake the
men."
Quietly Mr. Harding went from wagon to wagon, rousing the sleepers.
He had hardly finished when Old Mustard, with a terrible roar,
snapped the rope that held him, dashed to the edge of the circle,
leaped a cart-tongue, and thundered away into the darkness. Almost
instantly there came a scream and then the rushing charge of Indian
riders.
They were met by the men of the party, now all prepared for them
and protected by the circle of wagons. And finding that their
attack had been discovered too soon, the Indians drew off after the
first rush.
By the earliest flush of daylight a searching-party went out from
camp. It came upon poor Old Mustard grazing about, and not far away
lay an Indian trampled into the dust. The Indian was the foremost
of the band that was quietly creeping up on the camp when Old
Mustard had scented them, and not only given warning, but surprised
and killed the leader.
CARLO, THE SOLDIERS' DOG
By General Rush C. Hawkins
The Ninth New York Volunteers was organized in April, 1861, in the
City of New York. Two of the companies were made up of men from
outside the city. C was composed of men from Hoboken and Paterson,
New Jersey, and G marched into the regimental headquarters fully
organized from the town of Fort Lee in that State. With this last
named company came Carlo, the subject of this sketch.
When he joined the regiment, he had passed beyond the period of
puppyhood and was in the full flush of dogly beauty. He was large,
not very large,--would probably have turned the scales at about
fifty pounds. His build was decidedly "stocky," and, as horsey men
would say, his feet were well under him; his chest was broad and
full, back straight, color a warm dark brindle, nose and lips very
black, while he had a broad, full forehead and a wonderful pair of
large, round, soft, dark-brown eyes. Add to this description an air
of supreme, well-bred dignity, and you have an idea of one of the
noblest animals that ever lived.
His origin was obscure; one camp reunion asserted that he was born
on board of a merchant ship while his mother was making a passage
from Calcutta to New York; and another told of a beautiful mastiff
living somewhere in the State of New Jersey that had the honor of
bringing him into the world. It would be very interesting to know
something of the parentage of our hero, but since the facts
surrounding his birth are unattainable, we must content ourselves
with telling a portion of a simple story of a good and noble life.
It may be safe to assert that he was not a native American; if he
had been, he would have provided himself with the regulation
genealogical tree and family coat-of-arms.
During the first part of his term of service, Carlo was very loyal
to his company, marched, messed, and slept with it; but he was not
above picking up, here and there, from the mess tents of the other
companies a tid-bit, now and then, which proved acceptable to a
well-appointed digestion.
His first turn on guard was performed as a member of the detail
from Co. G, and always afterward, in the performance of that duty,
he was most faithful. No matter who else might be late, he was ever
on time when the call for guard mount was sounded, ready to go out
with his own particular squad. At first, he would march back to
company quarters with the old detail, but, as soon as he came to
realize the value and importance of guard duty, he made up his mind
that his place was at the guard tent and on the patrol beat, where
he could be of the greatest service in watching the movements of
the enemy.
In the performance of his duties as a member of the guard he was
very conscientious and ever on the alert. No stray pig, wandering
sheep, or silly calf could pass in front of his part of the line
without being investigated by him. It is possible that his
vigilance in investigating intruding meats was sharpened by the
hope of substantial recognition in the way of a stray rib extracted
from the marauding offender whose ignorance of army customs in time
of war had brought it too near our lines.
As a rule, Carlo, what with his guard duties and other purely
routine items, managed to dispose of the day until dress parade. At
that time he appeared at his best, and became the regimental dog.
No officer or soldier connected with the command more fully
appreciated "The pomp and circumstance of great and glorious war"
than he. As the band marched out to take position previous to
playing for the companies to assemble, he would place himself
alongside the drum-major, and, when the signal for marching was
given, would move off with stately and solemn tread, with head well
up, looking straight to the front. Upon those great occasions, he
fully realized the dignity of his position, and woe betide any
unhappy other dog that happened to get in front of the marching
band. When upon the parade field, he became, next to the colonel,
the commanding officer, and ever regarded himself as the regulator
of the conduct of those careless and frivolous dogs, that go
about the world like street urchins, having no character for
respectability or position in society to sustain.
Of those careless ne'er-do-wells the company had accumulated a very
large following. As a rule, they were harmless and companionable,
and were always on hand ready for a free lunch. It was only on
dress parade that they made themselves over-officious. Each company
was attended to the parade ground by its particular family of
canine companions, and, when all of them had assembled, the second
battalion of the regiment would make itself known by a great
variety of jumpings, caperings, barks of joy, and cries of delight.
To this unseasonable hilarity Carlo seriously objected, and his
actions plainly told the story of his disgust at the conduct of the
silly members of his race. He usually remained a passive observer
until the exercise in the manual of arms, at which particular
period in the ceremonies, the caperings and the barkings would
become quite unendurable. Our hero would then assume the character
of a preserver of the peace. He would make for the nearest group of
revellers, and, in as many seconds, give a half dozen or more of
them vigorous shakes, which would set them to howling, and warn the
others of the thoughtless tribe of an impending danger. Immediately
the offenders would all scamper to another part of the field, and
remain quiet until the dress parade was over. This duty was
self-imposed and faithfully performed upon many occasions.
After the parade was dismissed Carlo would march back to quarters
with his own company, where he would remain until the last daily
distributions of rations, whereupon, after having disposed of his
share, he would start out upon a tour of regimental inspection,
making friendly calls at various company quarters and by taps
turning up at the headquarters of the guard. His duties ended for
the day, he would enjoy his well-earned rest until reveille, unless
some event of an unusual nature, occurring during the night,
disturbed his repose and demanded his attention.
During the first year of his service in the field, Carlo was very
fortunate. He had shared in all the transportations by water, in
all the marchings, skirmishes, and battles, without receiving a
scratch or having a day's illness. But his good fortune was soon to
end, for it was ordained that, like other brave defenders, he was
to suffer in the great cause for which all were risking their
lives.
The morning of April 18, 1862, my brigade, then stationed at
Roanoke Island, embarked upon the steamer _Ocean Wave_ for an
expedition up the Elizabeth River, the object of which was to
destroy the locks of the Dismal Swamp canal in order to prevent
several imaginary iron-clads from getting into Albemarle Sound.
Among the first to embark was the ever ready and faithful Carlo,
and the next morning, when his companions disembarked near
Elizabeth City, he was one of the first to land, and, during the
whole of the long and dreary march of thirty miles to Camden Court
House, lasting from three o'clock in the morning until one in the
afternoon, he was ever on the alert, but keeping close to his
regiment. The field of battle was reached; the engagement, in which
his command met with a great loss, commenced and ended, and, when
the particulars of the disaster were inventoried, it was
ascertained that a Confederate bullet had taken the rudimentary
claw from Carlo's left fore-leg. This was his first wound, and he
bore it like a hero without a whine or even a limp. A private of
Co. G, who first noticed the wound, exclaimed: "Ah, Carlo, what a
pity you are not an officer! If you were, the loss of that claw
would give you sixty days' leave and a brigadier general's
commission at the end of it." That was about the time that
generals' commissions had become very plentiful in the Department
of North Carolina.
The command re-embarked, and reached Roanoke Island the morning
after the engagement, in time for the regulation "Hospital or Sick
Call," which that day brought together an unusual number of
patients, and among them Carlo, who was asked to join the waiting
line by one of the wounded men. When his turn came to be inspected
by the attending surgeon, he was told to hold up the wounded leg,
which he readily did, and then followed the washing, the
application of simple cerate, and the bandaging, with a
considerable show of interest and probable satisfaction.
Thereafter, there was no occasion to ask him to attend the
surgeon's inspection. Each morning, as soon as the bugle call was
sounded, he would take his place in line with the other patients,
advance in his turn, and receive the usual treatment. This habit
continued until the wound was healed.
Always, after this, to every friendly greeting, he would respond by
holding up the wounded leg for inspection, and he acted as though
he thought that everybody was interested in the honorable scar that
told the story of patriotic duty faithfully performed.
Later on, for some reason known to himself, Carlo transferred his
special allegiance to Co. K. and maintained close connection with
that company until the end of his term of service. He was regarded
by its members as a member of the company mess, and was treated as
one of them. But, notwithstanding his special attachments, there
can be no reasonable doubt about his having considered himself a
member of the regiment, clothed with certain powers and
responsibilities. At the end of his term he was fitted with a
uniform--trousers, jacket, and fez, and, thus dressed, he marched
up Broadway, immediately behind the band. He was soon after
mustered out of the service, and received an honorable discharge,
not signed with written characters, but attested by the good-will
of every member of the regiment.
A BRAVE DOG
By Sir Samuel W. Baker
When I was a boy, my grandfather frequently told a story concerning
a dog which he knew, as a more than ordinary example of the
fidelity so frequently exhibited by the race. This animal was a
mastiff that belonged to an intimate friend, to whom it was a
constant companion. It was an enormous specimen of that well-known
breed, which is not generally celebrated for any peculiar
intelligence, but is chiefly remarkable for size and strength. This
dog had been brought up by its master from puppyhood, and as the
proprietor was a single man, there had been no division of
affection, as there would have been had the dog belonged to a
family of several members. Turk regarded nobody but his owner. (I
shall now honour Turk by the masculine gender.)
Whenever Mr. Prideaux went out for a walk, Turk was sure to be near
his heels. Street dogs would bark and snarl at the giant as his
massive form attracted their attention, but Turk seldom
condescended to notice such vulgar demonstrations; he was a
noble-looking creature, somewhat resembling a small lioness; but
although he was gentle and quiet in disposition, he had upon
several occasions been provoked beyond endurance, and his attack
had been nearly always fatal to his assailants. He slept at night
outside his master's door, and no sentry could be more alert upon
his watch than the faithful dog, who had apparently only one
ambition--to protect, and to accompany his owner.
Mr. Prideaux had a dinner-party. He never invited ladies, but
simply entertained his friends as a bachelor; his dinners were but
secondary to the quality of his guests, however, who were always
men of reputation either in the literary world, or in the modern
annals of society. The dog Turk was invariably present, and usually
stretched his huge form upon the hearth-rug.
It was a cold night in winter, when Mr. Prideaux's friends were
talking after dinner, that the conversation turned upon the subject
of dogs. Almost every person had an anecdote to relate, and my own
grandfather being present, had no doubt added his mite to the
collection, when Turk suddenly awoke from a sound sleep, and having
stretched himself until he appeared to be awake to the situation,
walked up to his master's side, and rested his large head upon the
table.
"Ha ha, Turk!" exclaimed Mr. Prideaux, "you must have heard our
arguments about the dogs, so you have put in an appearance."
"And a magnificent specimen he is!" remarked my grandfather; "but
although a mastiff is the largest and most imposing of the race, I
do not think it is as sensible as many others."
"As a rule you are right," replied his master, "because they are
generally chained up as watch-dogs, and have not the intimate
association with human beings which is so great an advantage to
house-dogs; but Turk has been my constant companion from the first
month of his existence, and his intelligence is very remarkable. He
understands most things that I say, if they are connected with
himself; he will often lie upon the rug with his large eyes fixed
upon me as though searching my inward thoughts, and he will
frequently be aware instinctively that I wish to go out; upon such
times he will fetch my hat, cane, or gloves, whichever may be at
hand, and wait for me at the front door. He will take a letter or
any other token to several houses of my acquaintance, and wait for
a reply; and he can perform a variety of actions that would imply a
share of reason seldom possessed by other dogs."
A smile of incredulity upon several faces was at once perceived by
Mr. Prideaux, who immediately took a guinea from his pocket, and
addressed his dog. "Here, Turk! they won't believe in you! ... take
this guinea to No.--,--Street, to Mr.--, and bring me a receipt."
The dog wagged his huge tail with evident pleasure, and the guinea
having been placed in his mouth, he hastened towards the door; this
being opened, he was admitted through the front entrance to the
street. It was a miserable night; the wind was blowing the sleet
and rain against the windows; the gutters were running with muddy
water, and the weather was exactly that which is expressed by the
common term, "not fit to turn a dog out in;" nevertheless, Turk had
started upon his mission in the howling gale and darkness, while
the front door was once more closed against the blast.
The party were comfortably seated around the fire, and much
interested in the success or failure of the dog's adventure.
"How long will it be before we may expect Turk's return?" inquired
an incredulous guest.
"The house to which I have sent him is about a mile and a half
distant, therefore if there is no delay when he barks for admission
at the door, and my friend is not absent from home, he should
return in about three-quarters of an hour with an acknowledgment.
If, on the other hand, he cannot gain admission, he may wait for
any length of time," replied his master.
Bets were exchanged among the company--some supported the dog's
chances of success, while others were against him.
The evening wore away; the allotted time was exceeded, and a whole
hour had passed, but no dog had returned. Fresh bets were made, but
the odds were against the dog. His master was still hopeful....
"I must tell you," said Mr. Prideaux, "that Turk frequently
carries notes for me, and as he knows the house well, he certainly
will not make a mistake; perhaps my friend may be dining out,
in which case Turk will probably wait for a longer time"....
Two hours passed ... the storm was raging. Mr. Prideaux
himself went to the front door, which flew open before a fierce
gust the instant that the lock was turned. The clouds were
rushing past a moon but faintly visible at short intervals,
and the gutters were clogged with masses of half-melted snow.
"Poor Turk!" muttered his master, "this is indeed a wretched night
for you.... Perhaps they have kept you in the warm kitchen,
and will not allow you to return in such fearful weather."
When Mr. Prideaux returned to his guests he could not conceal his
disappointment. "Ha!" exclaimed one who had betted against the dog,
"I never doubted his sagacity. With a guinea in his mouth, he has
probably gone into some house of entertainment where dogs are
supplied with dinner and a warm bed, instead of shivering in a
winter's gale!"
Jokes were made by the winners of bets at the absent dog's expense,
but his master was anxious and annoyed. The various bets were paid
by the losers, and poor Turk's reputation had suffered severely....
It was long past midnight: the guests were departed, the storm
was raging, and violent gusts occasionally shook the house....
Mr. Prideaux was alone in his study, and he poked the fire until it
blazed and roared up the chimney....
"What can have become of that dog?" exclaimed his master to himself,
now really anxious; "I hope they kept him; ... most likely they
would not send him back upon such a dreadful night."
Mr. Prideaux's study was close to the front door, and his acute
attention was suddenly directed to a violent shaking and
scratching, accompanied by a prolonged whine. In an instant he ran
into the hall, and unlocked the entrance door.... A mass of
filth and mud entered.... This was Turk!
The dog seemed dreadfully fatigued, and was shivering with wet and
cold. His usually clean coat was thick with mire, as though he had
been dragged through deep mud. He wagged his tail when he heard his
master's voice, but appeared dejected and ill.
Mr. Prideaux had rung the bell, and the servants, who were equally
interested as their master in Turk's failure to perform his
mission, had attended the summons. The dog was taken downstairs,
and immediately placed in a large tub of hot water, in which he was
accustomed to be bathed. It was now discovered that in addition to
mud and dirt, which almost concealed his coat, he was besmeared
with blood!