and, to his astonishment, he perceived wounds of a serious nature:
the dog's throat was badly torn, his back and breast were deeply
bitten, and there could be no doubt that he had been worried by a
pack of dogs. This was a strange occurrence, that Turk should be
discomfited!
He was now washed clean, and was being rubbed dry with a thick
towel while he stood upon a blanket before the kitchen fire....
"Why, Turk, old boy, what has been the matter? Tell us all about
it, poor old man!" exclaimed his master.
The dog was now thoroughly warmed, and he panted with the heat of
the kitchen fire; he opened his mouth, ... _and the guinea which
he had received in trust dropped on the kitchen floor_!...
"There is some mystery in this," said Mr. Prideaux, "which I
will endeavour to discover to-morrow.... He has been set upon by
strange dogs, and rather than lose the guinea, he has allowed
himself to be half killed without once opening his mouth in
self-defence! Poor Turk!" continued his master, "you must have lost
your way, old man, in the darkness and storm; most likely confused
after the unequal fight. What an example you have given us wretched
humans in being steadfast to a trust!"
Turk was wonderfully better after his warm bath. He lapped up a
large bowl of good thick soup mixed with bread, and in half an hour
was comfortably asleep upon his thick rug by his master's bedroom
door....
Upon the following morning the storm had cleared away, and a
bright sky had succeeded to the gloom of the preceding night.
Immediately after breakfast, Mr. Prideaux, accompanied by his dog
(who was, although rather stiff, not much the worse for the rough
treatment he had received), started for a walk towards the house to
which he had directed Turk upon the previous evening. He was
anxious to discover whether his friend had been absent, as he
concluded that the dog might have been waiting for admittance, and
had been perhaps attacked by some dogs belonging to the house, or
its neighbours'.
The master and Turk had walked for nearly a mile, and had just
turned the corner of a street when, as they passed a butcher's shop
upon the right hand, a large brindled mastiff rushed from the
shop-door, and flew at Turk with unprovoked ferocity.
"Call your dog off!" shouted Mr. Prideaux to the butcher, who
surveyed the attack with impudent satisfaction.... "Call him
off, or my dog will kill him!" continued Mr. Prideaux.
The usually docile Turk had rushed to meet his assailant with a
fury that was extraordinary. With a growl like that of a lion, he
quickly seized his antagonist by the throat; rearing upon his hind
legs, he exerted his tremendous strength, and in a fierce struggle
of only a few seconds, he threw the brindled dog upon its back. It
was in vain that Mr. Prideaux endeavoured to call him off, the rage
of his favourite was quite ungovernable; he never for an instant
relaxed his hold, but with the strength of a wild beast of prey,
Turk shook the head of the butcher's dog to the right and left
until it struck each time heavily against the pavement ... The
butcher attempted to interfere, and lashed him with a huge whip.
"Stand clear! fair play! don't you strike my dog!" shouted Mr.
Prideaux. "Your dog was the first to attack!"
In reply to the whip, Turk had redoubled his fury, and, without
relinquishing his hold, he had now dragged the butcher's dog off
the pavement, and occasionally shaking the body as he pulled the
unresisting mass along the gutter, he drew it into the middle of
the street.
A large crowd had collected, which completely stopped the
thoroughfare. There were no police in those days, but only
watchmen, who were few and far between; even had they been present,
it is probable they would have joined in the amusement of a
dog-fight, which in that age of brutality was considered to be
sport....
"Fair play!" shouted the bystanders.... "Let 'em have it out!"
cried others, as they formed a circle around the dogs.... In
the meantime, Mr. Prideaux had seized Turk by his collar, while the
butcher was endeavouring to release the remains of his dog from the
infuriated and deadly grip....
At length Mr. Prideaux's voice and action appeared for a moment
to create a calm, and, snatching the opportunity, he, with the
assistance of a person in the crowd, held back his dog, as the
carcass of the butcher's dog was dragged away by the lately
insolent owner.... The dog was dead!
Turk's flanks were heaving with the intense exertion and excitement
of the fight, and he strained to escape from his master's hold to
once more attack the lifeless body of his late antagonist....
At length, by kind words and the caress of the well-known hand, his
fury was calmed down....
"Well, that's the most curious adventure I've ever had with a dog!"
exclaimed the butcher, who was now completely crestfallen....
"Why, that's the very dog! he is so--that's the very dog who came
by my shop late last night in the howling storm, and my dog Tiger
went at him and towzled him up completely. I never saw such a
cowardly cur; he wouldn't show any fight, although he was pretty
near as big as a costermonger's donkey; and there my dog Tiger
nearly eat half of him, and dragged the other half about the
gutter, till he looked more like an old door-mat than a dog; and I
thought he must have killed him ... and here he comes out as fresh
as paint to-day, and kills old Tiger clean off as though he'd been
only a biggish cat!"
"What do you say?" asked Mr. Prideaux ... "Was it your dog that
worried my poor dog last night, when he was upon a message of
trust? ... My friend, I thank you for this communication, but let
me inform you of the fact that my dog had _a guinea in his
mouth_ to carry to my friend, and rather than drop it he allowed
himself to be half killed by your savage Tiger. To-day he has
proved his courage, and your dog has discovered his mistake. This
is the guinea that he dropped from his mouth when he returned to me
after midnight, beaten and distressed!" said Mr. Prideaux, much
excited. "Here, Turk, old boy, take the guinea again, and come
along with me! you have had your revenge, and have given us all a
lesson." His master gave him the guinea in his mouth, and they
continued their walk.... It appeared, upon Mr. Prideaux's
arrival at his friend's house, that Turk had never been there;
probably after his defeat he had become so confused that he lost
his way in the heavy storm, and had at length regained the road
home some time after midnight, in the deplorable condition already
described.
UNCLE DICK'S ROLF
By Georgiana M. Craik
"I had been riding for five or six miles one pleasant afternoon. It
was a delicious afternoon, like the afternoon of an English summer
day. You always imagine it hotter out in Africa by a good deal than
it is in England, don't you? Well, so it is, in a general way, a
vast deal hotter; but every now and then, after the rains have
fallen and the wind comes blowing from the sea, we get a day as
much like one of our own best summer days as you ever felt
anywhere. This afternoon was just like an English summer afternoon,
with the fresh sweet breeze rustling amongst the green leaves, and
the great bright sea stretching out all blue and golden, and
meeting the blue sky miles and miles away.
"It wasn't very hot, but it was just hot enough to make the thought
of a swim delicious; so after I had been riding leisurely along for
some little time, shooting a bird or two as I went,--for I wanted
some bright feathers to send home to a little cousin that I had in
England,--I alighted from my horse, and, letting him loose to
graze, lay down for a quarter of an hour to cool myself, and then
began to make ready for my plunge.
"I was standing on a little ledge of cliff, some six or seven feet
above the sea. It was high tide, and the water at my feet was about
a fathom deep. 'I shall have a delightful swim,' thought to myself,
as I threw off my coat; and as just at that moment Rolf in a very
excited way flung himself upon me, evidently understanding the
meaning of the proceeding, and, as I thought, anxious to show his
sympathy with it, I repeated the remark aloud. 'Yes, we'll have a
delightful swim, you and I together,' I said. 'A grand swim, my old
lad'; and I clapped his back as I spoke, and encouraged him, as I
was in the habit of doing, to express his feelings without reserve.
But, rather to my surprise, instead of wagging his tail, and
wrinkling his nose, and performing any of his usual antics, the
creature only lifted up his face and began to whine. He had lain,
for the quarter of an hour while I had been resting, at the edge of
the little cliff, with his head dropped over it; but whether he had
been taking a sleep in that position, or had been amusing himself
by watching the waves, was more than I knew. He was a capital one
for sleeping even then, and generally made a point of snatching a
doze at every convenient opportunity; so I had naturally troubled
my head very little about him, taking it for granted that he was at
his usual occupation. But, whether he had been asleep before or
not, at any rate he was wide awake now, and, as it seemed to me, in
a very odd humor indeed.
"'What's the matter, old fellow?' I said to him, when he set up
this dismal howl. 'Don't you want to have a swim? Well, you needn't
unless you like, only _I_ mean to have one; so down with you,
and let me get my clothes off.' But, instead of getting down, the
creature began to conduct himself in the most incomprehensible way,
first seizing me by the trousers with his teeth and pulling me to
the edge of the rock, as if he wanted me to plunge in dressed as I
was; then catching me again and dragging me back, much as though I
was a big rat that he was trying to worry; and this pantomime, I
declare, he went through three separate times, barking and whining
all the while, till I began to think he was going out of his mind.
"Well, God forgive me! but at last I got into a passion with the
beast. I couldn't conceive what he meant. For two or three minutes
I tried to pacify him, and as long as I took no more steps to get
my clothes off he was willing to be pacified; but the instant I
fell to undressing myself again he was on me once more, pulling me
this way and that, hanging on my arms, slobbering over me, howling
with his mouth up in the air. And so at last I lost my temper, and
I snatched up my gun and struck him with the butt-end of it. My
poor Rolf!" said Uncle Pick, all at once, with a falter in his
voice; and he stopped abruptly, and stooped down and laid his hand
on the great black head.
"He was quieter after I had struck him," said Uncle Dick, after a
little pause. "For a few moments he lay quite still at my feet, and
I had begun to think that his crazy fit was over, and that he was
going to give me no more trouble, when all at once, just as I had
got ready to jump into the water, the creature sprang to his feet
and flung himself upon me again. He threw himself with all his
might upon my breast and drove me backwards, howling So wildly that
many a time since, boys, I have thought I must have been no better
than a blind, perverse fool, not to have guessed what the trouble
was; but the fact is, I was a conceited young fellow (as most young
fellows are), and because I imagined the poor beast was trying for
some reason of his own to get his own way, I thought it was my
business to teach him that he was not to get his own way, but that
I was to get mine; and so I beat him down somehow,--I don't like to
think of it now; I struck him again three or four times with the
end of my gun, till at last I got myself freed from him.
"He gave a cry when he fell back. I call it a cry, for it was more
like something human than a dog's howl,--something so wild and
pathetic that, angry as I was, it startled me, and I almost think,
if time enough had been given me, I would have made some last
attempt then to understand what the creature meant; but I had no
time after that. I was standing a few feet in from the water, and
as soon as I had shaken him off he went to the edge of the bit of
cliff, and stood there for a moment till I came up to him, and
then--just as in another second I should have jumped into the
sea--my brave dog, my noble dog, gave one last whine and one look
into my face, and took the leap before me. And then, boys, in
another instant I saw what he had meant. He had scarcely touched
the water when I saw a crocodile slip like lightning from a sunny
ledge of the cliff, and grip him by the hinder legs.
"You know that I had my gun close at hand, and in the whole course
of my life I never was so glad to have my gun beside me. It was
loaded, too, and a revolver. I caught it up, and fired into the
water. I fired three times, and two of the shots went into the
brute's head. One missed him, and the first seemed not to harm him
much, but the third hit him in some vital place, I hope,--some
sensitive place, at any rate, for the hideous jaws started wide.
Then, with my gun in my hand still, I began with all my might to
shout out, 'Rolf!" I couldn't leave my post, for the brute, though
he had let Rolf go, and had dived for a moment, might make another
spring, and I didn't dare to take my eyes off the spot where he had
gone down; but I called to my wounded beast with all my might, and
when he had struggled through the water and gained a moment's hold
of the rock, I jumped down and caught him, and somehow--I don't
know how--half carried and half dragged him up the little bit of
steep ascent, till we were safe on the top,--on the dry land again.
And then upon my word, I don't know what I did next, only I think,
as I looked at my darling's poor crushed limbs, with the blood
oozing from them, and heard his choking gasps for breath--I--I
forgot for a moment or two that I was a man at all, and burst out
crying like a child.
"Boys, you don't know what it is to feel that a living creature has
tried to give up his life for you, even though the creature is only
a soulless dog. Do you think I had another friend in the world who
would have done what Rolf had done for me? If I had, I did not know
it. And then when I thought that it was while he had been trying to
save my life that I had taken up my gun and struck him! There are
some things, my lads, that a man does without meaning any harm by
them, which yet, when he sees them by the light of after events, he
can never bear to look back upon without a sort of agony; and those
blows I gave to Rolf are of that sort. _He_ forgave them,--my
noble dog; but I have never forgiven myself for them to this hour.
When I saw him lying before me, with his blood trickling out upon
the sand, I think I would have given my right hand to save his
life. And well I might, too, for he had done ten times more than
that to save mine.
"He licked the tears off my cheeks, my poor old fellow; I remember
that. We looked a strange pair, I dare say, as we lay on the ground
together, with our heads side by side. It's a noble old head still,
isn't it, boys? (I don't mean mine, but this big one down here. All
right, Rolf! We're only talking of your beauty, my lad.) It's as
grand a head as ever a dog had. I had his picture taken after I
came home. I've had him painted more than once, but somehow I don't
think the painters have ever seen quite into the bottom of his
heart. At least, I fancy that if I were a painter I could make
something better of him than any of them have done yet. Perhaps
it's only a notion of mine, but, to tell the truth, I've only a
dozen times or so in my life seen a painting of a grand dog that
looks quite right. But I'm wandering from my story, though, indeed,
my story is almost at an end.
"When I had come to my senses a little, I had to try to get my poor
Rolf moved. We were a long way from any house, and the creature
couldn't walk a step. I tore up my shirt, and bound his wounds as
well as I could, and then I got my clothes on, and called to my
horse, and in some way, as gently as I could,--though it was no
easy thing to do it,--I got him and myself together upon the
horse's back, and we began our ride. There was a village about four
or five miles off, and I made for that. It was a long, hard jolt
for a poor fellow with both his hindlegs broken, but he bore it as
patiently as if he had been a Christian. I never spoke to him but,
panting as he was, he was ready to lick my hands and look lovingly
up into my face. I've wondered since, many a time, what he could
have thought about it all; and the only thing I am sure of is that
he never thought much of the thing that he himself had done. That
seemed, I know, all natural and simple to him; I don't believe that
he has ever understood to this day what anybody wondered at in it,
or made a hero of him for. For the noblest people are the people
who are noble without knowing it; and the same rule, I fancy, holds
good, too, for dogs.
"I got him to a resting-place at last, after a weary ride, and then
I had his wounds dressed; but it was weeks before he could stand
upon his feet again, and when at last he began to walk he limped,
and he has gone on limping ever since. The bone of one leg was so
crushed that it couldn't be set properly, and so that limb is
shorter than the other three. _He_ doesn't mind it much, I
dare say,--I don't think he ever did,--but it has been a pathetic
lameness to me, boys. It's all an old story now, you know," said
Uncle Dick, abruptly, "but it's one of those things that a man
doesn't forget, and that it would be a shame to him if he ever
_could_ forget as long as his life lasts."
Uncle Dick stooped down again as he ceased to speak, and Rolf,
disturbed by the silence, raised his head to look about him. As his
master had said, it was a grand old head still, though the eyes
were growing dim now with age. Uncle Dick laid his hand upon it,
and the bushy tail began to wag. It had wagged at the touch of that
hand for many a long day.
"We've been together for fifteen years. He's getting old now," said
Uncle Dick.
SCRAP
By Lucia Chamberlain
At the gray end of the afternoon the regiment of twelve companies
went through Monterey on its way to the summer camp, a mile out on
the salt-meadows; and it was here that Scrap joined it.
He did not tag at the heels of the boys who tagged the last
company, or rush out with the other dogs who barked at the band;
but he appeared somehow independent of any surroundings, and
marched, ears alert, stump tail erect, one foot in front of the
tall first lieutenant who walked on the wing of Company A.
The lieutenant was self-conscious and so fresh to the service that
his shoulder-straps hurt him. He failed to see Scrap, who was very
small and very yellow, until, in quickening step, he stumbled over
him and all but measured his long length. He aimed an accurate kick
that sent Scrap flying, surprised but not vindictive, to the side
lines, where he considered, his head cocked. With the scratched ear
pricked and the bitten ear flat, he passed the regiment in review
until Company K, with old Muldoon, sergeant on the flank, came by.
As lean, as mongrel, as tough, and as scarred as Scrap, he carried
his wiry body with a devil-may-care assurance, in which Scrap may
have recognized a kindred spirit. He decided in a flash. He made a
dart and fell in abreast the sergeant of Company K. Muldoon saw and
growled at him.
"Gr-r-r-r!" said Scrap, not ill-naturedly, and fell back a pace.
But he did not slink. He had the secret of success. He kept as
close as he could and yet escape Muldoon's boot. With his head
high, ears stiff, tail up, he stepped out to the music.
Muldoon looked back with a threat that sent Scrap retreating, heels
over ears. The sergeant was satisfied that the dog had gone; but
when camp was reached and ranks were broken he found himself
confronted by a disreputable yellow cur with a ragged ear cocked
over his nose.
"Well, I'm domned!" said Muldoon. His heart, probably the toughest
thing about him, was touched by this fearless persistence.
"Ar-ren't ye afraid o' nothin', ye little scrap?" he said. Scrap,
answering the first name he had ever known, barked shrilly.
"What's that dog doing here?" said the tall lieutenant of Company
A, disapprovingly.
"I'm afther kickin' him out, sor," explained Muldoon, and, upon the
lieutenant's departure, was seen retreating in the direction of the
cook-tent, with the meager and expectant Scrap inconspicuously at
his heels.
He went to sleep at taps in Muldoon's tent, curled up inside
Muldoon's cartridge-belt; but at reveille the next morning the
sergeant missed him. Between drill and drill Muldoon sought
diligently, with insinuations as to the character of dog-stealers
that were near to precipitating personal conflict. He found the
stray finally, in Company B street, leaping for bones amid the
applause of the habitants.
Arraigned collectively as thieves, Company B declared that the dog
had strayed in and remained only because he could not be kicked
out. But their pride in the height of his leaps was too evidently
the pride of possession; and Muldoon, after vain attempts to catch
the excited Scrap, who was eager only for bones, retired with
threats of some vague disaster to befall Company B the next day if
_his_ dog were not returned.
The responsibility, with its consequences, was taken out of Company
B's hands by Scrap's departure from their lines immediately after
supper. He was not seen to go. He slid away silently, among the
broken shadows of the tents. Company B reviled Muldoon. Scrap spent
the night in a bugler's cape, among a wilderness of brasses, and
reappeared the next morning at guard mount, deftly following the
stately maneuvers of the band.
"Talk about a dorg's gratitude!" said the sergeant of Company B,
bitterly, remembering Scrap's entertainment of the previous
evening.
"I'm on to his game!" muttered old Muldoon. "Don't ye see, ye
fool, he don't belong to any _wan_ of us. He belongs to the
crowd--to the regiment. That's what he's tryin' to show us. He's
what that Frinchman down in F calls a--a mascot; and, be jabers, he
moves like a soldier!"
The regiment's enthusiasm for Scrap, as voiced by Muldoon,
was not extended to the commanding officer, who felt that the
impressiveness of guard mount was detracted from by Scrap's
deployments. Also the tall lieutenant of Company A disliked the
sensation of being accompanied in his social excursions among
ladies who had driven out to band practise by a lawless yellow pup
with a bitten ear. The lieutenant, good fellow at bottom, was yet a
bit of a snob, and he would have preferred the colonel's foolish
Newfoundland to the spirited but unregenerate Scrap.
But the privates and "non-coms" judged by the spirit, and bid for
the favor of their favorite, and lost money at canteen on the next
company to be distinguished as Scrap's temporary entertainers. He
was cordial, even demonstrative, but royally impartial, devoting a
day to a company with a method that was military. He had personal
friends,--Muldoon for one, the cook for another,--but there was no
man in the regiment who could expect Scrap to run to his whistle.
Yet independent as he was of individuals, he obeyed regimental
regulations like a soldier. He learned the guns and the bugles,
what actions were signified by certain sounds. He was up in the
morning with the roll of the drums. He was with every drill that
was informal enough not to require the presence of the commanding
officer, and during dress parade languished, lamenting, in
Muldoon's tent. Barking furiously, he was the most enthusiastic
spectator of target practise. He learned to find the straying balls
when the regimental nine practised during "release," and betrayed a
frantic desire to "retrieve" the shot that went crashing seaward
from the sullen-mouthed cannon on the shore. More than once he made
one of the company that crossed the lines at an unlawful hour to
spend a night among the crooked ways of Monterey.
The regiment was tiresome with tales of his tricks. The height of
his highest leap was registered in the mess, and the number of rats
that had died in his teeth were an ever increasing score in the
canteen. He was fairly aquiver with the mere excitement and
curiosity of living. There was no spot in the camp too secure or
too sacred for Scrap to penetrate. His invasions were without
impertinence; but the regiment was his, and he deposited dead rats
in the lieutenant's shoes as casually as he concealed bones in the
French horn; and slumbered in the major's hat-box with the same
equanimity with which he slept in Muldoon's jacket.