new tent before we arrived, and in the old one after we had left it. The
country was so flat and level that it was difficult to believe we were
getting on, until our arrival at some great town marked our progress. I
don’t think any one was ill the whole time we were marching, and we had
only one accident. A dear little girl called Rose (a very white rose she
was, poor child) set her pinafore on fire one evening, just as we were
all dressing for a dinner-party at the Commander-in-Chief’s. I heard a
shriek from the tent opposite to mine, and rushed across the wide space
to see what was the matter. I was only in time to see Rosy’s mamma seize
a little pillar of flame—which turned out to be the child—in her arms,
thereby setting all the lace trimming on her evening dress in a blaze.
My toilette was not so far advanced, and I had on a very large wide
flannel dressing-gown, so I threw myself upon the blazing heap, and in a
second the tent ropes had been cut, and the canvas came huddling down on
us. This put us all out at once, but for fear we might still be
smouldering, the fire-engines began to play upon us, until I really
thought we should have been drowned; I struggled to free myself, and
shouted, as loud as I could, entreaties to the kelasses to leave off
pumping, and to lift up the flaps of the tent; but, alas! all my
Hindoostanee went out of my head, and I could only remember one word,
which means ‘take care;’ so the more I shrieked this out, the more they
replied, ‘Very good, lady-sahib, we are taking care,’ and pumped with
greater vigour than ever. Poor little Rose and her mamma had both
fainted, one from pain and the other from fright. At last some gentlemen
came to our rescue and got the canvas up and extricated us; how dripping
wet we all were! Rosy’s arms and chest were much burned, and the poor
little girl suffered terribly; but she was very good and patient, and in
a few weeks got quite well. I don’t think she will ever hold her
pinafore over a candle again.
The first large station we came to was Bareilly; this was after three
weeks’ marching; but our doings there would not interest you much. We
had reviews in the daytime, or rather in the early morning and late in
the evening, and balls at night. The only thing I find noticed in my
diary of those days is an account of some feats of horsemanship, which
we were invited to witness one afternoon. The performers were the
soldiers, a regiment of Irregular Cavalry, who marched with us. They
were mounted on wild-looking horses; and though the trappings were gay,
the effect of the whole was somewhat shabby. But the pace they went at
was wonderful. We stood in a tent verandah, and in front of the open
space before it were some empty soda-water bottles planted in the sand
with just their necks sticking out; at a signal some twenty or thirty
horsemen dashed out of the ranks—the regiment was drawn up opposite to
us, but a long way off—and with wild cries swooped down like eagles on
these bottles, sticking the points of their long slender lances into the
mouth of the bottle and lifting it out of the ground: fancy doing this
as you pass at full gallop! They did the same thing to a tent peg; then
there were some more bottles planted, and the men fired their carbines
at them as they passed rapidly, and I find it recorded that only two
missed out of twenty-eight riders. After that, the whole line charged
past us like a whirlwind, the men flung themselves out of their saddles
as they rushed by, holding still on to their bridle-reins however, ran a
few steps by the side of their horses, and then lightly vaulted in the
saddle again. The next feat was performed by a solitary horseman, who,
with the reins lying loosely before him, jumped up on his saddle as he
swept past us, fired off his carbine at a mark (they hardly ever
missed), then throwing his arms round his horse’s neck, clung on for a
few yards, at its side, so as to shelter himself from a supposed enemy;
when the imaginary danger was over, he swung back into his saddle and
quickly reloaded his piece: all this at full gallop. The bits they use
are tremendously powerful, so that they can check their horses
instantly, if necessary. They would have gone on much longer if it had
not been for the dust, but that was so dense after all this riding
about, that when His Excellency sent for the commanding officer to thank
him and pay him compliments on the skill and cleverness of his men, we
could hardly see either of them for the clouds of it, and the pretty
speeches were made and answered amid paroxysms of choking and coughing.
After leaving Bareilly we had a very monotonous time, only once
enlivened, when we halted for a day at a place called Gunnespore, by a
visit from the Nawab of Rampore, through whose territory we were
passing. He had behaved very well to the English at the time of the
Mutiny, three or four years before, so we made it a point to be very
civil and nice to him, for these native princes think a great deal of
ceremonious attention. The main street, formed by the principal tents,
was lined with soldiers as a guard of honour, and His Highness was
received at the door of the Commander-in-Chief’s tent by His Excellency
in person, with a brilliant staff behind and around him, bands playing,
colours flying, and everything as smart and gay as possible. As we
ladies had a great wish to see the show, some curtains (or ‘chicks’ as
they are called) of scented grass had been hung up, so as to screen off
a corner of the great tent, for the Nawab would have been terribly
shocked to see unveiled ladies, or indeed ladies at all, assisting at a
state ceremonial. Our presence would have spoiled it, so we were
carefully hidden away and entreated to keep very quiet! However, in
spite of these difficulties, we saw very well, and had an excellent view
of the Nawab’s elephant, who was not only a huge creature with a
splendid howdah of silver and ivory on his back, but had on his best
clothes, consisting of a magnificent saddle-cloth to go under the
howdah, about the size of a small carpet, and several enormous tassels
hanging about his head, the largest of which was of silver, and hung
down his nose in a most imposing manner. There were several other
elephants, also very smartly caparisoned, and as soon as they reached
the proper place, they all knelt; the Nawab and his attendants
scrambled, in as dignified a way as they could, down their ornamented
ladders; cordial and affectionate greetings were exchanged through the
medium of the interpreters, and the gay group entered the tent. I was so
disappointed in the Nawab! He was very fat and good-natured looking, but
in spite of his purple satin robes, embroidered in silver and edged with
large emeralds and pearls, he looked like an old cook in a
dressing-gown! It must have been his cap which made me think directly of
Gunter’s men, for although it was of white satin, and almost entirely
covered with jewels, it was just the same shape as theirs. At this part
of the ceremony, ‘necklaces of honour’ were put on, and I am very much
afraid we giggled at the ridiculous appearance of our husbands and
acquaintances, bedizened with large strings of silver knobs, or even
flowers in some cases; the contrast was so great between their stalwart
forms, bearded faces, and weather-stained uniforms, their breasts
covered with medals, and these trumpery wreaths hung round their necks!
However, it was kindly meant, and consequently well received. Trays of
sweetmeats were handed round, and they had to eat them; you would not
consider this a penance, I daresay, but wait till you are forty years
old, and have been in a great many battles: gunpowder spoils your taste
for comfits, I fancy. The visit lasted about twenty minutes, and was
occupied entirely by mutual compliments. At last the servants
reappeared, bearing salvers covered with beautiful embroidered cloths;
underneath the cloths were vases of filagree silver containing exquisite
scent-bottles filled with attar of roses: these were handed round. It
was all very nice except the perfume—that was horrible: the attar was in
the stage when it smells like turpentine. I know it to my cost, because
I insisted afterwards on seeing the box, and stole one drop of the
scent; it was so nasty I had to throw away my pocket-handkerchief, and
nearly scrubbed the skin off my hands trying to get rid of the smell.
After they had all gone through the pantomime of pouring the scent on
their hands, the Nawab retired and mounted his grand elephant, and, with
many bows and pretty speeches, they all went away to the sound of a
salute of artillery. In the evening the Commander-in-Chief, his staff,
and the principal officers, went in state to return His Highness’s
visit, and the next day we resumed our march.
We reached Meerut about January 16, remained there for nearly a week,
and then three long marches brought us as far as Delhi, which I thought
the most beautiful place I had ever seen. There are ruins in every
direction, but I have not time or space to tell you about them here, as
we must remember that this is only an account of camp life. A terrible
famine had raged the whole of the past year, and the sights and sounds
we encountered at this town were heartrending. Every officer and soldier
belonging to our camp subscribed a day’s pay for the starving people,
and a large sum was left in the hands of the Relief Committee. As for
me, I never went outside the tent without a bag of small coins called
‘pice,’ which was emptied in about two minutes. Returning one day to the
tent with my usual exhausted purse, a poor woman threw herself before me
holding up a child of about two years old in her arms. There was no need
to tell me they were starving, for their bones were literally sticking
out of their skins, and they had scarcely a shred of clothing over them.
I told her as well as I could that I had no more money, but if she would
wait a little she should have food, so I hurried into the tent and
snatched off the luncheon table a loaf of bread with one hand and a
large cake with the other, intending to return for some milk; I saw the
poor little starving baby’s eyes glisten ravenously, and he clutched the
cake, but before he could touch it, the mother had struck both the bread
and the cake out of my hands, and trampled them under her feet, scolding
me loudly all the time for attempting to ‘break her caste.’ She was so
deeply affronted, that she would not even accept some pice which I
offered her afterwards.
A few days after leaving Delhi we reached Kurnaul, where we had very
good snipe-shooting, but did not halt there, as it was important to push
on for Umballah. The heat was fiercer day by day, and the
Commander-in-Chief was anxious to break up the camp before the hot winds
set in. Between Kurnaul and Umballah we came in for a dust-storm; and as
I do not suppose you ever saw, or perhaps ever heard of, such a thing, I
must tell you a little about it.
Just as we had settled down quietly for the day in our tent, we were
startled by hearing the ‘tap tap’ of the kelasse’s heavy wooden hammer
on the tent-pegs. As they never require to drive the pegs further home,
except in case of a sudden storm, we knew at once that they expected
something of the kind; but as there was no symptom of rain, we could not
imagine why these precautions were necessary. However, all was bustle
and activity: the horses were led round to the lee side of their owners’
tents, and, instead of being fastened to a peg in the ground, each syce
stood by his horse’s head, holding tight on to the halter, so as to
soothe and pat it when it got frightened. All the servants who had
nothing to do, huddled themselves together in a corner of the verandah;
the saddles were brought under the same shelter, and at last the
preparations were completed by the Khansamah bringing in the
candlesticks, with the candles alight, and placing them in the centre
compartment of the tent. My ayah was hovering about me with a long strip
of white muslin in her hand, and made out from her incoherent speeches
that she wanted to tie up my head in it, but before I consented to this,
I took one more peep out of doors. From the weather-quarter a dense
black cloud was moving swiftly up, and every now and then the wind rose
in a sharp, short gust, which whistled and screamed among the cordage
and flaps of the tents. All around me I saw hasty preparations for
shelter going on, and my last glimpse was of the poor, much-enduring
cook abandoning the little mud ovens he had just constructed as a
substitute for a kitchen-range, and hurrying, with his assistants and
quantities of pots and pans, towards a little bell-tent which the
kelasses were pinning firmly down to the ground with great wooden pegs.
It is of great importance in a dust-storm to have the tent firmly
secured all round, for, if the wind once got underneath the canvas, the
whole tent would be whisked off to the sky in a moment! I am very much
afraid I should rather have liked to see some one else’s tent flying
away, it would have looked so funny: however, the kelasses had made such
good arrangements that no accidents happened.
In the camels’ camp I saw all the drivers making their charges kneel
down with their backs to the coming storm, whilst the men themselves
crouched on the lee side of the camels, but there was no time for me to
notice what the elephants were going to do, for the storm was almost
upon us; the outer air already felt suffocating, so I very reluctantly
retired to get my turban put on. Scarcely had the servants fastened
firmly to the ground the large curtain which formed our tent-door, and
which was generally festooned back with green wreaths of mango-leaves,
when the tent shook and swayed backwards and forwards, and in a few
moments everything was thickly covered with the finest dust, which had
filtered through the numerous folds of the canvas. It was impossible to
read or work, the candles only gave a little gleam of light through the
dense atmosphere, and all we touched was gritty. For four long hours our
imprisonment lasted, and it was not until sunset that the kelasses
pronounced it safe to release us. As soon as the tent flaps were lifted
up we all burst out laughing at each other—such objects you never saw!
No one had an eyebrow or an eyelash to be seen; the bronzed and red
complexions which outdoor life had produced, were all hidden under a
thick coating of dust, and we needed only a few streaks of paint to have
looked like Clown in the pantomime, for our faces were quite as white as
his. We could see the dense cloud moving on to the south-west, but all
was beautifully clear behind it; only a slight haze between us and it
showed that the atmosphere was not quite free from dust a little beyond
us. I looked at the horses,—they were all as white as if they had been
powdered with flour; so were their syces; and the ‘bheesties,’ or
water-carriers, were very busy filling the large goat-skins which serve
them as water-jugs, to give every live thing which had been outside a
good drink, and to wash the dust out of their eyes and ears. The camels
had buried their noses in the sand, and did not appear to have suffered
at all.
I went that afternoon to the elephants’ camp to see how they had fared,
and found them not at all the worse for the storm: the dense grove of
trees had been a great protection to them, and their attendants had
taken shelter in the little tents which the great creature carries for
his servants. Do you know, each elephant has a cook to bake his
chupatties, or little cakes, for him, a grass-cutter to go out and find
nice fresh long grass, or the green tops of the sugar cane, a bheestie
to supply him with quantities of water, and a tent-pitcher, or kelasse,
to look after the shelter of all these attendants; and then he has his
mahout, or rider, besides. This last personage is the only one whom the
elephant will obey, and I heard curious stories of the office of mahout
to the same elephant being handed down from father to son. One old man
told me calmly that his grandfather was my elephant’s first instructor,
but I cannot tell if he was right. When we paid them a visit upon the
afternoon of the storm, the huge beasts were taking a bath, or rather
giving it to themselves by filling their trunks with water and dashing
it over their heads, trumpeting and enjoying themselves immensely; at a
little distance the cooks were busy baking the chupatties—a muffin as
large as a soup-plate, and nearly as thick—in mud ovens, and the
grass-cutters had been down to a ‘jheel’ or pond near to wash the dust
off the large bundles of grass for the elephants’ suppers. We talked a
little to the mahouts, and one very picturesque old man seemed
exceedingly proud of his elephant’s superior slyness and cunning, and
begged us to stay and see him ‘cheat;’ so we waited till ‘Burra-sahib,’
or ‘Mr. Large,’ had finished his bath, and came slowly up to his mahout
for his supper. You must not suppose that the elephants walked about
just as they liked: they had a heavy, long iron chain fastened to one of
their hind legs, and this was attached to a small peg loosely driven
into the ground. If the elephant had made the smallest effort he could
easily have walked off with his peg, but he never tried to get away. The
mahout called out to the cook to bring the chupatties, and made us
retire behind a tree and watch what Burra-sahib did. As soon as the cook
went away the elephant put up his trunk and broke off a large bough of
the tree above him, which he laid on his head: this they generally do to
serve as a brush to keep off flies, so he knew _that_ was nothing
remarkable. He then looked slyly around him with his bright little
cunning eyes, and as he could not see his mahout he thought the coast
was clear, and hastily snatched up a chupattie, which he put under the
branch on the top of his head. I noticed how carefully he felt with his
flexible trunk if any edge was uncovered, and arranged the leaves so as
to hide his spoil completely. Burra-sahib then raised his voice and
bellowed for his supper in loud and discordant tones; the mahout ran up
as if he had been a long distance off, stood in front of him, and
commenced handing him the chupatties, counting as he did so, one, two,
three, and so on. The elephant received each in his trunk and put it
gently into his huge month, bolting it as if it had been a small pill.
Twelve chupatties was the allowance, and he required this sort of food
to keep him in good condition. When the mahout came to No. 11 muffin, he
looked about for the twelfth in great dismay, pretending that he could
not think what had become of it, and calling for the cook to scold him,
searching on the ground and wondering, in good Hindoostanee, ‘where that
other chupattie could be.’ The elephant joined in the search, turning
over an empty box which was near, and trumpeting loudly. The mahout was
delighted to see how much this farce amused me, and at last he turned
suddenly to the elephant, who was still hunting eagerly for the missing
chupattie, and reviled him as a thief and a ‘big owl,’ adding all sorts
of epithets, and desiring him to kneel down, which Burra-sahib did very
reluctantly. The mahout then scrambled up on his head, snatched off the
branch and flung down the chupattie, belabouring the elephant well with
the bough which had served to conceal it. It seems that this trick had
been played successfully many times before Burra-sahib was found out,
and the poor cook used to get into trouble and be accused of keeping the
missing chupattie for his own private consumption.
Our elephant was a great coward; he was abjectly afraid of a small Skye
terrier belonging to one of the party, and this little dog knew quite
well how to bully the huge creature. ‘Nettle’ would run along the road
behind a hedge or a mud wall, and suddenly jump out at the elephant,
barking furiously and making little dashes at his trunk. This terrified
him; he shied across the road, ran first forwards and to each side, and
finally turned round and shuffled away as fast as he could, with Nettle
snapping at his heels. It required a great deal of cuffing with the
battle-axe I have told you about, to bring him back to the right road if
once he was driven off it by the small dog.
[Illustration: _Nettle and the Elephant._—p. 144]
Upon one occasion all our elephants were seized with a sudden panic, and
very nearly annihilated the camp. We had halted for two or three days at
a large station where an energetic engineer officer had prepared, as a
great treat for the Commander-in-Chief, various noisy military shows
winding up with the springing of a mine. When the important evening
arrived, the whole camp went to see the sight except me, for I must tell
you as a secret that I hate reviews; the noise and dust and smell of
gunpowder is so disagreeable to me that I never go to one if it is
possible to avoid it: upon this occasion I was, as usual, the only
person left in camp except a few servants to prepare dinner; every one
had departed two or three hours before to assist at the grand affair,
and many had chosen to ride to the place of inspection on an elephant,
thinking they could then dismount and select a good place to see the
show on foot. When the sun had set, I came out of my tent and walked up
and down the broad street formed by the principal tents; for a wonder,
instead of sand, I had nice turf under my feet, and I strolled up and
down for a long time, rather enjoying the profound quiet, which was a
contrast to the usual bustle and chatter of the camp. I was just
beginning to feel hungry and to wonder when the ‘tomasha,’ or festival,
would be over, when I heard a loud explosion, and saw clouds of stones
and dust fly up into the air some way off. This was the springing of the
mine, and I congratulated myself on being so far away in peace and
safety; but I soon changed my mind about the safety, for in a few
minutes there was a regular stampede of terrified elephants returning to
camp. Some had thrown off their riders and were galloping about,
trumpeting and bellowing with terror; and even those whose mahouts still
clung to them had quite broken away from all control, and did just as
they liked. I stood still, watching the huge beasts entangle themselves
in the long ropes stretching out from the tents, and pulling down one
after another of our canvas homes. In more than one case the pole of a
‘single tent’ snapped, causing great ruin beneath, and I saw the cooks
with their assistants swarming out like bees from a disturbed hive,
whilst the elephants ruthlessly trampled their preparations under foot,
and beat down their little mud ovens.
You have no idea of the state of confusion to which the trim, orderly
encampment was reduced in about five minutes. As for me, I had observed
with great satisfaction that the sentries in front of His Excellency’s
tent, instead of running away as every one else did, fixed their
bayonets, and drew up close together, prepared to stand a charge of this
very heavy cavalry, so I prudently sought shelter behind them: however,
their bravery was not put to the test, for, although three elephants
came very near, they turned tail and galloped off, frightened still more
by the scarlet coats and gleaming steel. A great crowd of people had now
appeared on the scene, for every one at the review had seen the
elephants’ dismay when the fortification flew up into the air, and those
on horseback set off at once to try and turn the terrified animals back.
They all considered that the encampment had escaped wonderfully, but I
thought a good deal of mischief had been done. Our tent, however, was
not touched, which was entirely owing to the presence of mind of the
Khansamah, who snatched up a gay table-cover and rushed out, brandishing
its folds in the face of the nearest elephant and fairly frightening him
off. He repeated this performance several times with great success, much
to my amusement. We made the old man a present afterwards for his
pluckiness. He was terribly exhausted with all his dancing, and I felt
quite sorry to have to tell him that we should be obliged to ask a great
many people to dinner that evening, whose tents had been pulled down by
the elephants; however, the old man made his usual graceful reverence,
and merely observed, ‘Good, very good, protector of the poor.’
About a week before we reached Umballah we had a day, or perhaps I
should say a morning, of antelope-hunting with cheetahs. As soon as I
came back to England, I went to the Zoological Gardens in the Regent’s
Park to see the cheetahs there, and found they were very much smaller
than those belonging to the Maharajah of this territory, who lent them
to our Commander-in-Chief. It had been arranged at dinner the evening
before, that I was to accompany the hunting party, so our fleetest and
steadiest horses were sent on over night to a little village fifteen
miles off, and quite out of the line of march. The next day the camp
moved to the new ‘ground’ as usual, but, instead of marching with it, we
joined the hunting party at daylight, and started as soon as the horses
could see their way, for the village of mud huts where the cheetahs
awaited us. A gallop of an hour and a half brought us to it, and we
found fresh horses and a delicious cup of coffee ready. But the great
attraction in my eyes was the cart containing the cheetahs, which I
cautiously approached whilst the saddle was being transferred to my grey
Arab. I saw two very fierce handsome animals, quite as large as
panthers, each with a leathern hood over its eyes, and a strong muzzle
round its jaws, from both sides of which was an iron chain secured to
the cart. No one ventured to go very near them, as their keepers
informed us, with much complacency, they were ‘hugely hungry,’ having
been purposely kept without food for two days. Two white bullocks were
yoked to each cart, the driver, as usual, sitting _on_ the yoke, with
his face towards the cart, and occasionally hastening the poor beasts
onwards by a twist of their tails. A pretty little kid was held in the
dusky arms of another attendant, who was seated behind the cheetah and
its keeper; a rough wooden bowl and a large knife were now put upon each
cart, and, as all the preparations had been completed, we mounted our
fresh horses. Before starting, the ‘shikari,’ or huntsman in charge of
the expedition, looked us all carefully over to see that we had no
fluttering garments about us. The gentlemen buttoned up their loose
light coats, and my veil was condemned at once by the shikari’s grave,
reproachful eyes, so it was soon stowed away in the pocket of the
saddle, and we set off. The two carts with the cheetahs went first, and
we divided ourselves into two parties of three each, and kept well
hidden by the cart, which was thus between us and a large herd of
antelopes feeding in the middle of a plain belted by trees. It was such
a beautiful scene! The dew glistening on every blade of grass, the
immense extent of open country around us, with here and there a patch of
cultivation to mark where a village stood, the background of giant
mountains whose peaks were only to be discerned in this early morning
light before the haze and heat of the day covered them up with soft
filmy vapour, and the long level beams of the rising sun lying like
shafts of the purest gold over all the fair earth. Do you know I felt
very much ashamed of myself! It seemed so horrible to have come out on
such a bright, glorious morning, to hunt to the death poor, beautiful,
unoffending animals. It was too late, however, for me to turn back, but
I was very unhappy all the time; and if it had not been for the
shikari’s sharp eyes, my waving habit-skirt, as I hung back a little
behind the cart, would have warned the antelopes of their danger; but he
evidently had no notion of allowing my qualms of conscience to interfere
with the sport, so he kept strict watch over me, and politely but firmly
pointed out my proper position. All this time we were circling round and
round the herd of antelopes, drawing nearer and nearer with each circle,
until we had approached quite close to a fine buck feeding a little
apart from the others. A few whispered words from the shikari to the
keeper of the cheetah, who was in the foremost cart, and the man
unfastened very gently the iron chains which secured the fierce brute to
the cart, and cheetah as well as keeper slipped noiselessly down on the
ground under cover of a little bush. Still the carts crept slowly on
with the drivers crooning a low monotonous song; I could see everything
by turning my head, and looking back as we moved away from the bush. In
half a moment the heavy collar was off the cheetah’s neck, and the hood
lay on the grass behind him; with a soft whisper in his ear, just as if
he had been a tame cat instead of a ravenous wild beast, the keeper took
the huge head between his hands, turned it in the direction of the buck
(who was keeping an eye on the carts), and let the cheetah go, at the
same moment gliding quite under shelter of the bush. Exactly as a cat
would approach an unsuspecting mouse, did the cheetah steal through the
long grass towards his prey: crouching flat to the ground, he crept
along with his terrible eyes fixed on it till he was within about fifty
yards off; then up he rose sudden and swift, with every hair of his
magnificent coat bristling on end, with his powerful tail lashing the
ground, and his lips drawn back from the strong cruel teeth. Two
enormous bounds carried him close to the buck, who stood for an instant
as if paralysed, and then turned to fly; but it was too late; a third
spring with a howl of fury brought the cheetah on his back, with his
teeth in the graceful neck which a moment before had held the antlered
head up so proudly. I saw the buck drop on his knees, and the keeper
rush up to secure the cheetah again before he should begin to tear the
venison, and then I could see no more; the gentlemen galloped off to the
spot, and I remained under shelter of the cart with my face buried in my
hands, sobbing as if my heart would break. I was so sorry for the poor
buck!
We were too far from the camp for me to return alone, so I was obliged,
very reluctantly, to go after another herd of antelopes who were
reported to be feeding tranquilly a few miles nearer our destination. We
cantered towards the open plain with the carts lumbering behind us, and
both the cheetahs once more securely fastened on them. As soon as the
scout who had been sent running on before, came back to tell the shikari
the position of the herd, we were ranged in our old order, and went
through precisely the same manœuvres, except that in this case, to my
great joy, the antelope turned his head the least bit sooner, saw the
cheetah high up in the air taking his second bound towards him, and was
off like a flash of lightning to join the others, who were scampering
away for their lives. I had hardly time to express my joy at the buck’s
escape before one of my companions said very coolly, ‘Now we must look
out for ourselves,’ and gathering up his reins, drew a large revolver
from his holster, and came between my horse and the cheetah, who now
turned round and stood looking fixedly at the little group, as if he
were debating on which horse he should spring. He looked so handsome and
so wicked,—his fur bristled up, his tail slowly giving angry little
thumps on the ground at each side, his head thrown well back, and his
fierce ravenous eyes gazing at us, whilst a low sound, between a snarl
and a growl, came from his mouth. I felt like the poor buck, quite
paralysed with fright, and gazed at the cheetah without moving, till the
spell of his cruel hungry eyes was broken by the lad who had held the
kid in his arms running fearlessly up to him with the large wooden bowl
in his hands. I thought the cheetah would have sprung on him, as his
form seemed to dilate, and his eyes gleamed still brighter at sight and
smell of prey so near him; but the boy quickly and fearlessly flung the
contents of the bowl—the poor kid’s life-blood—straight in his
face—dropped it, and fled. The cheetah was half blinded by the sudden
shock, and stood irresolute for a moment licking the warm blood which
was streaming over his jaws. That bewildered instant was quite enough
for his keeper, who glided under cover of a shrub near him, ran out, and
slipped the hood over his eyes and the collar round his throat, in the
twinkling of an eyelid. The cheetah’s whole demeanour changed as if by
magic; he slunk along by the keeper’s side looking quite ashamed of
himself, whilst the man heaped reproaches on him for having missed his
prey. It seemed bad enough to lose his breakfast, without being also
well scolded for it.
As soon as the cheetah was chained on the cart again, a discussion arose
as to where we should go next; but by this time the sun had become very
hot, and I was much too hungry and tired to go farther away from my
canvas home; and as I saw the sharp points of the tents, like white
vandykes, on the blue horizon, I turned Claude’s head that way, and set
off home straight across country, with my ‘syce’ or groom running by my
side. He either did not or would not understand me when I told him, in
my best Hindoostanee, to remain behind and let me gallop on alone, for
he merely said, ‘Very good, Mr. Lady,’ and kept on running close to my
horse. Perhaps he did not like to let Claude out of his sight, and
thought it would be better for all parties if I went slowly, which at
last I was obliged to do, reaching the camp in time for a late but much
‘better-than-never’ breakfast.
We had no more hunting expeditions after this, for we were getting near
the foot of the Himalaya mountains; the towns and villages were closer
together, and the cultivation more extended. One afternoon we went to
shoot peacocks in a dense patch of tall sugar-canes; but although the
birds really were perfectly wild and very strong on the wing, I felt
more ashamed of myself than ever. I could not dismiss from my mind the
memory of many tame peacocks who had fed out of my hand in England, and
it seemed very ruthless to return home with five splendid young birds
dangling at our elephant’s huge side. They were excellent eating, and I
remembered so well that when I was a child, and read historical accounts
of great feasts in olden time, I had been filled with indignation at the
idea of our ancestors including peacocks in their bill of fare. I little
thought I should ever eat them myself, and so will some of you perhaps,
one of these fine days.
The beginning of March saw the camp in great confusion and bustle,
packing up and arranging for its final dispersion till the next cold
season. Some of its inhabitants returned to Calcutta, poor creatures!
some went to the various large stations we had marched through; and the
fortunate remainder went up to the mountains whose grand outlines had
been before us in our daily march for some time past, each day’s new
camp bringing us nearer to them. The weather was becoming very
disagreeable on the plains, hot dusty days followed by nights of
oppressive stillness. Each morning, as I came out of my tent at the
earliest dawn of day to mount Claude or Rajah, I used to look at those
glorious mountains rising up, chain beyond chain, till the snowy summits
were lost in the light clouds above them; and the listless, languid
feeling, which was already creeping over me at the first breath of the
hot wind on the plains, gave place to hope and courage. I often had that
verse in the Psalms brought vividly to my mind, ‘I will lift up mine
eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help.’ The great object of
everybody’s life here seemed to be to get away to the hills in the hot
weather; and their anxiety was not to be wondered at, for it often makes
the difference of their life or death whether they can have this change
or not.
I lived among these beautiful mountains for five months after our camp
broke up at Kalka, at the very foot of the mountain range; but as these
are only stories of our life whilst we were actually housed in tents, I
must not tell you about my delightful walks, and rides up and down the
steep hill-sides. But during the last week of my camp life I had a
little adventure, with the account of which I shall end my tales for the
present.
First of all it is necessary to explain that, on the night of my story,
there were very few gentlemen in camp. The Commander-in-Chief wished to
visit a military station close by, but did not think it necessary to
move the whole encampment thither, especially as there were difficulties
about water; so the tents were pitched in a favourable spot, and in the
afternoon His Excellency, with most of the officers at the head of
departments, rode over to dine and sleep at the neighbouring fort,
intending to make their inspection early the following morning, and join
the camp during its march to the next ‘ground’—all of which plan was
successfully carried out; but it is of what befell me during the night
that I must tell you.
You will remember there were only four ladies in camp, and, as it
happened, each of us was bereft of her husband by this arrangement about
the fort. We agreed to dine together, and a very pleasant evening we
had, separating as early as usual to allow of a good sleep before five
o’clock the next morning. It must have been about nine that I was
sitting before my toilet glass reading, whilst my ayah was slowly and
sleepily brushing my hair. I had particularly enquired about the
fastening of the tent, going myself round the outer verandah to see that
no one was inside its shelter; the ayah and I were carefully shut up
within the canvas walls, as if we had been wild birds anxious to fly
away. Nevertheless, I had a disagreeable feeling that some one was
watching me; I suddenly looked up, and there, sure enough, reflected in
the glass, saw a pair of bright eyes fixed on mine. The rest of the face
I could not see, for the curtain of scented grass which formed the door
between my bedroom and the outer part of the verandah, was lined with
crimson cotton to about the height of an ordinary person; so only by
standing on tiptoe could a tall man even peep over this lining. I
exclaimed in Hindoostanee, ‘Ayah! there’s a man in the tent.’ The ayah’s
first care was to veil her face most carefully, as she was of very high
caste, and then she slowly glided away, with many exclamations of ‘A bad
fellow, a thief,’ to call the watchman. I ventured into the verandah,
but no trace of an opening could I see. When the watchman appeared, he
had to call the kelasses, and it took them at least five minutes to pull
up the pegs which fastened the tent-door curtain securely down. The most
careful search on all sides failed to find the supposed thief, or even
any crevice by which he could have got in, so I had to be satisfied with
the watchman’s assurance that, when _he_ was the guardian, no harm
_could_ come near me. I confess that I kept the ayah up a long time, but
at last she looked so sleepy that I was obliged to dismiss her, and sat
on the edge of my bed, wondering whether it was fancy that had shown me
those bright gleaming eyes in the looking-glass. At last I collected the
two or three little trinkets which lay on the table, and as I was
placing them under my pillow, looked again towards the grass curtain:
there were the eager, wild-looking eyes, and a strip of dusky brown
could also be plainly seen. I sprang up, and with a loud call to the
ayah (which, however, failed to awaken her) pushed aside the curtain;
all was darkness and silence. I took the little lamp in my hand, and
carefully searched the whole tent: there certainly was no one in it. I
was sleepy and tired, and could not keep awake any longer, so I got into
bed, leaving the lamp burning on the dressing-table close to my head.
It must have been about one o’clock in the morning when I was awakened
by the loud beating of some one’s heart quite close to my ears. Even
before I was thoroughly awake I remembered the watching eyes of the
night before, and did not make a sound, only opening my eyes a little. I
saw on the opposite wall the shadow of a man at the head of my bed,
bending over me, and with one arm under my pillow gently drawing away
the lockets and watch I had placed beneath it for safety. Although I am
really a dreadful coward, I did not feel in the least frightened upon
this occasion. My first thought was how I should triumph over the old
watchman who scouted the idea of danger, and my next was the wild idea
that I could take the thief captive myself. I made up my mind what I
should do, and then suddenly sat up in bed, putting out my right arm and
clutching firm hold of the dressing-table so as to imprison the man
behind it, whilst with my left hand I caught his arm as tightly as I
could, and shouted in Hindoostanee, in French, as well as in English,
for help. My ayah awoke directly, but did not get up; she lay still and
screamed at the pitch of her voice; but, alas! my strength was not
sufficient to keep my captive for a moment. He did not seem in the least
disconcerted at the outcry, nor was he rough; he very gently but firmly
moved my arm, which I fondly hoped was going to prove a barrier, shook
himself free from the other detaining hand, paused to blow out the
nightlight, and was gone ages before the valiant watchman had come to my
assistance. Our cries had awakened a young aide-de-camp sleeping near,
who immediately volunteered his services. He returned to his own tent
for his revolver, and whilst he and the watchman were searching outside
for the robber, I heard the report of a pistol, which awakened the whole
camp. This was followed by loud yells and howls of pain, and my new ally
ran past me with a very pale and scared face, saying, ‘Oh, I’m afraid
I’ve shot your watchman—I’m going for the doctor;’ and so he had, but
fortunately only in the leg. As the poor man was creeping softly round
the tent, he came plump upon Captain N——, who was also prowling about.
My brave watchman, supposing it was the robber, instantly took to his
heels, and my hasty aide-de-camp promptly discharged his revolver at the
retreating figure, and with much too good an aim. The great riddle,
however, still remained unanswered, ‘How did the robber get in or out of
the tent?’ but it was soon solved in an absurd way. My tent was soon
half full of people who came to know what was the matter, and whilst I
was explaining the position in which I saw the man, one of my auditors
suddenly fell _through_ the tent, disappearing as if by magic. He had
leaned against the canvas wall, and it had opened from top to bottom.
There was the secret door! A sharp knife had made a clean cut from roof
to carpet, and as the thief slipped through, the canvas closed behind
him, leaving no trace of his passage. The kelasses were the only
sufferers by this adventure, for they were not given the customary
‘backsheesh’ when the camp broke up a few days later, as there was a
strong suspicion that they knew more of the intended robbery than they
chose to acknowledge. They came to implore my intercession, bearing
trays of sweetmeats and wreaths of flowers to propitiate me; but I could
not follow their line of defence at all, and my endeavours to get the
edict, which had deprived them of their present, revoked, proved
fruitless.
_ABOUT DOGS._
The worst of a pet dog is that one gets so fond of it. When old age, or
accident, or disease deprives you of your faithful friend, your
unfailing sympathiser, you ‘go heavily as one that mourneth;’ and cold
hard people, who have never known of what true and noble affection dogs
are capable, wonder that you can be so silly as to fret after a dog. But
if any children who read these pages have ever had a dog of their very
own, they will understand exactly what I mean. Dogs do not forget us,
why should we be ashamed of preserving a tender recollection of them? If
it were possible for the gates of the grave to unclose, and its silent
inmates to come back to this busy world of ours, who would stop to greet
them, who would welcome their return more ecstatically than the dog they
had fed and befriended? Whenever I hear a person say, ‘I don’t like
dogs,’ I distrust that person, and I would not choose him for my own
friend. Whenever I see anyone, big or little, child or grown-up man,
deliberately cruel to a dog, I detest them. Of course there is a great
difference between pampering a dog until you ruin both its health and
temper, making it a plague to everyone, and being careful and
considerate of your dog-friend, seeing that it has enough food and
water, warmth, and, above all, exercise. People say a dog loves best the
person who feeds it. I have not found this to be the case, unless with a
greedy little beast: the finest and best dogs are most attached to those
who take them out for a walk or a run; and I always think, that what
shows the real nobility of a dog’s nature is, that if they do you a
service they love you better than ever afterwards.
It is not, however, about dogs in general that I am going to write, but
of my own particular friends. They have not always been my private
property, for I have a large circle of acquaintances among dogs; and no
compliment which anyone in the world could pay me would flatter me half
so much as a poor half-starved homeless cur following me in the street.
One of my dearest and most faithful friends came to me in that way: he
was benighted on a large desolate common, near a cottage I had just
visited; and ‘Luck’ (for so he was christened on the spot) attached
himself to my side, insisted on accompanying me home, and never left me
from that time till his death, five years later. He was a large,
handsome, black water-spaniel, and had evidently strayed for a long
distance; he was footsore and travel-stained; his coat was torn and
ragged, and his bones were sticking through his skin. For the first
night he slept in the stable, and had for supper only stale odds and
ends of bread soaked in boiling skim-milk, for I was afraid to give him
too much to eat at first. The next morning he had a bath with plenty of
soap and warm water, and I cut off all the tangled hair of his coat. He
spent the remainder of that day on an old rug by the kitchen fire, and
it was nearly a week before he could run about gaily, for he was
evidently an old dog when this terrible misadventure befell him. Talk of
the gratitude of human beings, it was nothing to Luck’s gratitude, which
lasted as long as his life; and he was a wise dog, for he profited by
the experience of those dreadful wintry days, and took very good care
never to stray or run away again. For the first three months after he
gave himself to me, I sought diligently for his rightful owner, but
never found anyone to claim him.
My little sister Jessie, whose acquaintance you have already made in the
stories about Jamaica, was still more devoted to dogs than I am; and one
of my most distinct childish memories is of a dreadful fright she gave
us all. I must tell you about it. We were living in the country, and I
well remember the long bright summer’s day on which I went through such
agonies of suspense and fear. About an hour after breakfast, when my
lessons were over, our dear, nice little governess prepared to take us
out for a walk. Jessie had been sent to play in the garden a few moments
before, whilst I lingered over a refractory sum which would not prove
itself. At last it came right and I was released; but, when Miss Lewis
called Jessie to join us, no Jessie was to be found. One of the servants
had seen her leave the house, and that was the only news of the little
girl whom we all loved and petted so much. The garden, grounds, and even
the fields were thoroughly searched before Miss Lewis could make up her
mind to alarm Mamma, who was in very delicate health. Oh! how well I
remember the actual sickness which came over me when Mamma asked, with a
trembling voice, ‘Have you examined the well.’ Now this well was a most
peculiar one. In the centre was the ordinary brick round hole with a
powerful windlass over it, but on each side extended a large deep
cistern with only a very narrow brick coping. We knew these cisterns
were full of water, for there had been heavy rain lately, and it was
quite possible for a small child to drown itself in either of them.
Mamma wished me to remain with her; but I could not endure to be quiet,
so I set off with the others to this dangerous place. It was the work of
half an hour at least to convince ourselves that Jessie was neither in
the well nor the cisterns, and I was nearly frantic with misery whilst
the search was going on.
A messenger on horseback was despatched for my father, who was absent,
and on his arrival the servants were divided into regular parties to
examine every possible hiding-place. An old man who attended to the cows
had attracted my attention early in the day by wiping his eyes
constantly with his sleeve whilst he was looking about, and saying to
himself, ‘pooty little dear.’ To this sympathising individual I
immediately attached myself, and holding tight on to his horny hand
wandered for miles hither and thither all day. I had an instinctive
feeling that old Jim would not scold Jessie if we discovered her,
whereas any of the others would be sure to lecture her well all the way
to the house.
At last sunset came and Jim proceeded to collect the cows and drive them
to a ruinous old shed to milk them. I still followed him closely, and as
the first cow leisurely entered her stall I heard a sweet little voice
say, ‘Oh, don’t walk on me, please!’ There was Jessie, buried in hay,
hungry and tired, but with an air of patient endurance nursing tenderly
in her arms half-a-dozen pointer puppies! She had discovered that old
Juno had increased her already numerous progeny during the night, and
she had spent the whole day in what she called ‘helping her to take care
of all ‘dem babies.’ We asked her if she had heard our calls, and she
said, ‘Yes, but de babies were asleep, and I couldn’t wake ’em by saying
where I was.’ Poor little Jessie, she could not understand what
suffering she had caused us, and thought Nurse very hard-hearted for
refusing to permit her to resume her duties the next day. The matter was
referred to the authorities, but when Nurse hinted, as delicately as so
elegant a personage could, at the number of fleas which pervaded the
little girl’s clothes, it was decided at once in the negative, much to
old Juno’s relief probably.
We had dogs of all sorts and sizes during our childhood, and, as well as
I can remember, the ugliest were always the best beloved. If any
particularly hideous mongrel was condemned to death, Jessie and I
invariably interceded for it, and when we gained our point, watched over
and tended it with the greatest care, stoutly maintaining its beauty and
talent against all detractors. At last, one happy day, when we were both
nearly grown up, we were each given a real Carthagena dog. What little
beauties they were, something like a Maltese poodle, only smaller. They
were as white as little puff-balls, with lovely silky hair; they never
grew any bigger than they were when we got them, and their health was
excellent. Every morning we washed them in a basin, dried them in the
sun, combed their coats till they shone like floss silk, and trimmed the
hair off their delicate little feet. The last touch to their toilettes
was to put on a little collar of either blue or scarlet ribbon or
velvet. Whenever we had any pocket money, it all went in new collars for
‘Caprice’ and ‘Chico.’ Caprice was so called because he had a natural
rosette of black fluff on his forehead amid his snowy locks, whilst
Chico (or little darling) was about the size of a sixpenny toy-lamb.
They both slept all day in my work-basket on the table out of harm’s
way. They were fed entirely on biscuit and milk, and Caprice lived to a
good old age, but Chico’s fate was appalling, and cost both Jessie and
me many bitter tears.
I must tell you here that Jessie had another pet dog, a fierce Cuban
bloodhound: it was kept chained up all day and only loosed at night as a
safeguard to the house and grounds. ‘Turk’ was a splendid animal, but
ferocious to everyone except Jessie. I never could get over my
uneasiness when I saw him leaping on her, licking her cheek, or mumbling
her little hand affectionately. Jessie always fed him herself, and
declared his bad temper was much exaggerated. One summer evening we had
been out to a little party given at a house near ours, and had walked
home; it was a lovely, soft, moonlight night, and, the moment the garden
gate was opened, Turk bounded up to us with the sternest intentions of
expelling or killing us all on the spot. However, Jessie induced him to
forego these resolutions for the present, and he accompanied us to the
hall door, which was quickly opened by our maid. Close upon her
footsteps trotted tiny Chico, uttering sleepy little barks. Turk had
never seen his small rival, and the instant he perceived that Chico was
really a living, moving dog (for at first he must have thought that he
was a toy), he bounded upon the poor little beastie. Before Jessie could
stop him, we heard a yelp and a snap; Turk had bitten Chico in two! It
was a dreadful moment, for Jessie’s despair is not to be described, and
Turk saw no reason why he should not finish his supper, and looked up in
Jessie’s horrified face with a self-satisfied air, as much as to say,
‘Thus perish all intruders.’ This tragedy had one good result in Turk’s
banishment, for Jessie could not bear to see the murderer of Chico; so
the bloodhound was sent away to a distant friend, where he became the
terror of all the evildoers in the neighbourhood.
I think Punch, a great tawny mastiff, was Turk’s successor. He
distinguished himself by keeping a bishop at bay. You see he was no
respecter of persons, and, as the bishop happened to have on papa’s
shoes whilst his own boots were being dried, Punch sternly refused to
allow his lordship to leave the room. We waited and waited for more than
an hour; luncheon was getting cold; still the poor bishop remained in my
father’s dressing-room, whither he had been conducted; and at last he
was discovered, very tired and hungry, but unable to stir. Punch was
lying down in front of the chair (fortunately he permitted the poor man
to sit down) with his head resting on his own forepaws, and keeping an
unwearying watch on the shoes; they were not to be taken out of the room
on any terms, and even Jessie had great difficulty in making him
understand that it was all right.
Punch was very fond of the water, and would go into a river after a
stick as well as if he had been a retriever. Upon one occasion I was
sitting in the verandah teaching my youngest sister, a tiny little trot
of about six years old, to work. It was a distasteful employment, and
the seam appeared quite endless to both of us. You must not be shocked
if I tell you, it was a little night-dress of her own that Laura was
employed upon. It had been finished very successfully, as we thought;
but this unfortunate seam was badly done, and had to be unpicked and
neatly sewn again. At last the finishing stitches were put in, and with
a sigh of relief Laura jumped up. At this unlucky moment Punch appeared,
evidently in the mood for a game of play, and the idea occurred to Laura
to dress him up in her garment. Of course I ought to have prevented it,
but I satisfied my conscience by a very feeble remonstrance, and aided
and abetted this piece of mischief. Punch certainly looked exquisitely
ridiculous with his forepaws through the sleeves, and, when we buttoned
the little collar securely round his throat, both Laura and I were too
much amused at his appearance to think of the consequences to her
newly-finished work. Suddenly Punch—who up to that time had been as
grave as a judge—gave a mighty bound, knocking Laura over and nearly
upsetting me, and, like a flash of lightning, he tore down the garden
walk, leapt a low hedge, and we heard a great splash. We rushed after
him. There was Punch, still in his white robe, swimming about in the
brook. How absurd the effect was no words of mine can tell you. In a few
moments he was out again on the other side, rolling on the bank, tearing
about the field trying to get rid of the wet clinging calico. It was no
use; the stuff was new, and would not tear easily. Into the brook again
he plunged, and at last scampered away to the stable, where he succeeded
in tearing off his clothing. It was all very well whilst it lasted, and
Laura and I laughed till we cried; but we felt very foolish when it came
to the point of going into the house, and announcing that no work was
forthcoming.
[Illustration: _Punch’s toilet._—p. 180]
Shall I tell you of Toddy and Sykes? I think I must, although it does
not speak well for the character of my favourites; still one must be an
impartial historian. Sykes was a white bull terrier of a truculent
aspect, a foe to all the cats in the vicinity of his home. He was not
allowed inside the house, nor even to enter the gardener’s cottage on
account of a bad habit he had of constantly sharpening his teeth on the
furniture. He gnawed legs of chairs and tables until they were quite
unfit for use; so the gardener objected to his presence in his small
domicile quite as much as did the lady at the great house. Well, under
these circumstances, the only cat allowed about the place thought, that
if she set up her nursery in the gardener’s kitchen, she would be able
to preserve her innocent offspring from the monster, Sykes. Alas! she
was mistaken. Looking through the open door, he, Sykes, saw a charming
picture of domestic felicity, which he forthwith determined to disturb.
There was the old tabby mamma with seven sweet little babies lying on a
bit of carpet by the fire. She was licking her children carefully all
over, whilst they were cuddling up to her, crawling over each other, and
groping about for her soft touch. The kitchen was empty, and the only
sounds were the mingled mews and purrs of the pussies. Sykes dared not
enter, but still he resolved to exterminate that family of kittens. What
was to be done? He trotted off to the great house, walked up the steps,
and looked in at the hall door; there he saw Toddy lying in the sunshine
on a tiger-skin.
Now Toddy was a beautiful young lady Skye terrier, her appearance was
captivating, her manners perfection, and her general character and
disposition most sweet and amiable. What fiendish arguments Sykes used
to persuade her to be his accomplice I don’t know; but it is certain
that, after Sykes had stood at the open door, uttering impatient little
yapps, for a moment or two, Toddy rose from her tiger-skin, stretched
herself, and at last joined the villanous Sykes on the steps. A
whispered consultation took place, accompanied by much wagging of
Sykes’s tail, and at last the pair were seen to set off to the
gardener’s cottage. They were followed; and here I am happy to be able
to state that Toddy evidently hesitated, but at length Sykes overcame
her remaining scruples, and she entered the kitchen. The old tabby felt
no alarm when Toddy carefully took up one of the kittens in her mouth
and brought it out to Sykes—was not Toddy well-known to be an excellent
amateur nurse, and most tender and considerate to all sorts of baby
things? Sykes received the poor little kitten in his cruel jaws, gave it
one nip, which silenced its weak voice, retired under a shrub, and
despatched it. In the meantime Toddy had brought him another, which
shared the same fate; and doubtless all would have fallen victims to
this treacherous arrangement, if Toddy’s mistress had not interfered,
and made her heartily ashamed of her cruel conduct. For many days after
that, if you said, ‘O Toddy, kittens!’ Toddy would slink away with
drooping tail and cringing head, as if she quite understood her fault;
but as for Sykes, he was hopeless: the same words addressed to him would
put him in a state of furious excitement, and he would rush about
searching for them with clearly expressed intentions of instant
annihilation.
Now, after these naughty little dogs, let us turn to the story of a
beautiful, noble, generous doggie. He was not my own, but he was a great
friend of mine, and so was his lovely little mistress. I can’t tell you
his real name, because I know if ever his mistress saw these lines she
would cry: so we will call him Hero. He was such a magnificent brown
retriever, with eyes like yellow topazes. Sometimes their glance was as
soft as a dove’s; but let any one appear inclined to molest the queen of
his loyal heart, and they would gleam like fire, whilst he looked ready
to do or to dare anything in her defence. When she walked, Hero stalked
solemnly by her side, supremely happy if her hand rested on his broad
head: he thought it his duty to protect her unless she was driving, and
then he raced by the carriage making wide circuits, but ever returning
to say, by a joyous short bark, ‘I am here, don’t be afraid;’ his grand
feathery tail waving so proudly as he galloped about the soft turf.
I have seen him breast huge rolling waves to fetch out a stick, and when
he caught sight of his mistress (who was a perfect water-baby by the
way) swimming in the sea, Hero would plunge in to her rescue, and insist
on fetching her out by her hair, or the sleeve of her pretty bathing
dress, quite regardless of her own wishes on the subject. Although he
belonged to a rough race of dogs, Hero was as dainty in his habits and
person as a young lady. Bread was his only food, varied by a bit of
biscuit as a great treat; consequently he was sweet as a nut, and in
addition to his sea baths he had daily fresh-water ones, so his coat was
silky and glossy as any little girl’s curls. Poor Hero! it makes me sad
even now to think of his end.
He had been staying down in the country, a short distance from London,
and had very reluctantly returned to the comparative confinement of a
town life; the weather was very bad, snowy and wretched, and he could
not be taken out for his usual long walks, so we noticed that he was
rather restless. One bitter winter’s morning he dashed out into the
garden the moment the door was opened, very early, and after a few rapid
circuits make a sudden spring at the wall, cleared it by a tremendous
bound, and scampered off as hard as he could. By the time they missed
him he was miles away, and in spite of placards and advertisements in
all the papers, days passed without any tidings of our beloved Hero. At
last there came a dirty, ill-spelled note, saying that the writer had
seen the advertisement, and that just such a dog had rushed into his
shop some days previously, in a state of great exhaustion and suffering,
having met with an accident. We hurried immediately to the address, and
I can hardly make you understand how painful it was to ask questions
each of which proved clearly that our poor Hero had first been exposed
to cold and hunger, and at last had met a cruel death. We ascertained
that when he dashed into this little shop—far away from his own home,
but on the road to the country place he had left—he had just received a
frightful gash; blood was streaming from his side, and he kept making
short snaps at the gaping wound after the manner of dogs; but the
ignorant people thought he was dangerous, and called in a policeman, who
looked at the poor dog from a respectful distance, and immediately
pronounced sentence of death against him. A chemist from next door was
hastily summoned to execute this decree, he administered an enormous
dose of poison, and in half a second Hero’s sufferings were over. Our
only comfort was to hear that his death was speedy, but we could not
help thinking something might have been done to try to cure him first.
There were so many different stories about the way he met with his
wound, that we could not arrive at any certainty. Some said they saw him
run over by a cart, but he was so clever and accustomed to the streets,
_that_ seemed improbable. Another witness said that he had been seen to
make a dash at a joint of meat in a butcher’s shop, and that the butcher
straightway flung a cleaver at him; but the strictest inquiries failed
to throw any light on this tale. Then a third witness described minutely
a deadly combat with another dog, in which Hero was defeated and left
for dead on the battlefield; but we knew our favourite’s strength and
courage too well to believe that he could be vanquished in a duel.
At last we sorrowfully gave up the attempt to find out how he had been
killed, and devoted ourselves to the recovery of his body; but it had
been buried, and we did not like to have it dug up again, so we
contented ourselves with paying a fancy price for his skin, which had
been taken off first, and with this melancholy relic we were obliged to
return. But first we had to refund sundry small sums which had been
expended for beer. Hero’s death must have caused quite a smart influx of
trade to the nearest publichouse, for, according to the statement of our
friend the tallow-chandler (whose shop Hero had selected as his refuge),
everybody in the neighbourhood had consumed ‘a pot o’ beer’ on the
strength of the event; even the tidy mistress of the establishment had
felt herself to be so ‘put about’ by the tragedy, that she also had
required extra refreshment.
Hero’s successor, who was exactly like him in appearance, had an element
of suspicion in his character which Hero did not possess. Upon one
occasion, I was taking my five o’clock tea with the lady who owned both
Hero and Brownie, when she went upstairs to dress for a drive; but first
she poured out her tea to get cool, begged me to take mine, but not to
allow the servants to remove hers, saying, as she left the room, ‘Now
don’t let them touch it.’ I nodded, and went on with my newspaper.
Presently I stretched out my hand for my cup of tea, which was a little
way off. A low deep growl startled me; there was Brownie, who knew me
almost as well as he did his dear little mistress, sitting up on his
haunches gazing steadily at me with an expression of eye which was not
at all pleasant. I thought to myself, ‘this is all nonsense, of course
the dog knows me; surely he doesn’t think I am a thief.’ But that was
just what Brownie _did_ think apparently, and he soon showed me that I
was on no account to touch any thing on the table. This state of things
was very disagreeable, for I don’t like cold tea, and I was rather
thirsty. Suddenly there flashed into my mind the recollection of
Brownie’s well-known love for bread and butter. I put out my hand for
some saying, in a most conciliatory tone, ‘Good old boy, he shall have
some bread and butter then.’ Up rose Brownie, terrible in his
indignation at the idea of a bribe; he put both of his broad paws on my
lap and growled ferociously, looking at me steadily, his beautiful eyes
gleaming with an honest rage. He would not even turn his head towards
the tempting plate lest his resolution should waver. I tried again to
get my tea. This time came a louder growl and a snap. Nothing would
content Brownie but my giving up all idea of eating or drinking for the
present, and I was obliged to console myself with the newspaper; but I
soon finished it, and then I discovered that Brownie would not hear of
my getting another. No; I was to sit still and not touch anything. At
last his mistress returned, and Brownie greeted her affectionately,
accompanied her to the tea-table, and then came up to me wagging his
tail and licking my hands, and saying as plainly as possible, ‘I don’t
mind having some bread and butter _now_;’ but I felt very much aggrieved
and rather cross, for my tea was quite cold!
The most intelligent little dog of my acquaintance, however, is called
‘Tip.’ Good-natured people say he is a ‘fancy-pug;’ unkind friends
declare he is a mongrel; but all agree in saying that such charming
ugliness never before existed, and, as for sense and cleverness, his
equal would be hard to find. Tip’s mamma is a great beauty, a true
Japanese pug; his father was a thoroughbred English pug; but neither of
his parents are as sagacious as Tip. He resembles his mother in the
colour of his coat, which is quite different from that of an ordinary
pug, being just like a chestnut in hue, and is as glossy and sleek as
satin. It is not in consequence of Tip’s own instincts that his
appearance is so beautiful, for he hates his bi-weekly baths. If I say,
‘Tip come and be washed,’ he uncurls his tail, droops his ears, and sits
up to beg, shivering piteously, and from time to time holding out his
paw to shake hands, as if he thought that would avert his destiny. He
really enjoys the most luxurious bathing arrangements, warm water, a
good fire, his own sponge and soap, and a large sheet to be dried in. He
emerges from his tub looking quite beautiful, but still he is wretched
for some hours. When any one says, ‘Naughty Tip,’ he retires into a
corner and sits up with his face to the wall till he is forgiven. He has
a large and affectionate heart, but his entire devotion is kept for his
master whom he perfectly adores. He will only sleep at his feet with his
chin resting on them; and, when he leaves the house, Tip is miserable
till he returns, watching the door, searching every room for him, and
finally welcoming him home with the most frantic joy. To children he is
very partial, and perfectly good-tempered in spite of being pulled about
by them. A small brown baby was lately added to the establishment where
Tip’s home is, and he is most absurd about this infant. When he is left
alone with the little creature he guards it most carefully, and licks
its hands and feet assiduously; but, when his master speaks to the baby,
Tip’s jealousy is aroused, and he dashes about the room, barking, jumps
up on his master, licks his boots, does all he can to distract his
attention. Any one else may take as much notice as they like of poor
baby, but his papa is not to speak or even look at him without Tip’s
permission; and it is quite sad to see the expression of real suffering
in his large eyes whilst the baby is caressed. It is to be hoped this
feeling will subside, and his master is very careful not to wound his
feelings by neglect. A few days ago Tip discovered that the servants had
not filled his basin, which stands in the hall, with water, and that it
was quite empty; so he took in his mouth the piece of sulphur which is
kept in it, and trotted off to the room where his master was sitting,
laid it down at his feet, and retreated to a short distance wagging his
tail, as much as to say, ‘Pray help me in this little difficulty.’
There never was a more friendly and sociable dog than Tip, and he has a
large circle of acquaintances among both people and dogs; but his chosen
friend is a very handsome Gordon setter, ‘Royal’ by name. Now, although
Royal is ten times as big as Tip he is not nearly as clever;
consequently Tip looks after Royal when they are out walking, and is
full of anxiety because his big friend will roam so far away. Tip only
goes a certain distance, looks back anxiously, and tries to coax Royal
to return; then, if the other dog persists in keeping at a distance, Tip
gallops back and insists, by jumps and barks, on Royal’s being summoned;
nor will anything else satisfy him. It is so pretty to see these two at
play. Royal lies on his back with his four legs straight up in the air
and his great mouth wide open, into which Tip thrusts his head, and you
hear the bell on Tip’s collar ringing half way down Royal’s throat! Then
Tip jumps on Royal and walks up and down his broad beautiful chest. As
soon as this has gone on long enough Royal leaps suddenly up, and the
shock throws Tip high into the air as if he were a shuttle-cock! Then,
as he touches the ground, the game recommences by Royal pretending to
run away, and Tip scampering after him, bringing the big dog back by one
of his long silky ears. After some time Royal’s mistress says, ‘Now,
children, that is enough; sit down and be quiet;’ and they retreat to
different corners of the room and lie down, panting. Tip cannot
understand Royal’s taste for ices, and when he sees his big friend
enjoying himself at Gunter’s with a ‘strawberry cream,’ Tip sniffs at
the dainty, and looks up in his master’s face with a shiver of disgust,
for Tip prefers warmth, and is never so happy as when basking in the
sunshine.
I cannot give you a description of Tip’s varied accomplishments, for he
is always improving his education, and gives Royal lessons in begging,
walking, ‘on trust,’ &c.; but he has one game of play in which he
indulges when alone, and which is exceedingly ridiculous. He takes the
end of his tail firmly in his mouth—and this is the most difficult part
of the performance, as it is tightly curled over his back—and twirls
round and round until he falls down from giddiness; as soon as he can
get up he sets off again the reverse way, and he has been seen to go on
thus for half an hour. Tip often makes journeys by the underground
railway, which he hates, and, as soon as his master gets out of the
carriage, Tip scampers off up the steps until he comes to the ticket
collector; there he stops and sits down sedately, looking up in the
man’s face from time to time, as much as to say, ‘It’s all right,’ till
his master arrives with the tickets: as soon as these are given up Tip
knows he may pass, and sets off at full speed for the open street. The
reason of this conduct is, that he was once stopped by a ticket
collector and detained until his master claimed him: he evidently
learned how to manage in future.
I must end this chapter by telling you of a narrow escape poor Tip had
lately. His home is in a distant part of London, and he is fond of
disporting himself in the square in front of his dwelling. Into this
inclosure dogs are not generally admitted, but, as Shakspeare tells us,
that ‘Nice customs curtesy to great kings,’ so all rules are relaxed in
favour of a little dog who fascinates everybody in spite of his very
ugly face. Tip therefore is allowed to run after his ball within the
square, and he was thus amusing himself, much to the delight of his
young friends, when a small pack of beagles passed by the half-open gate
in charge of a feeble old coachman. The ball was instantly neglected,
and Tip darted out to welcome the strangers: but what a reception he met
with; the whole pack thought he was a hare, down went their heads up
went their sterns and uttering their musical cry they chevyed poor Tip
round and round the square. Every now and then Tip thought to himself,
‘This _must_ be all a mistake, they only want to play;’ so he would stop
his career and turn short round with the most amiable expression of
face, wagging his tail furiously as if he would say, ‘Now that’s enough,
pax;’ but he was instantly tumbled over and worried, so he had to pick
himself up as best he might and resume his flight. He never thought of
coming to his master for shelter; he evidently considered he could
manage matters alone; his mistress was frantic; she flew to the old
coachman, and scolded him well for bringing out such brutes; but he was
quite helpless and frightened, and only said, ‘I durs’n’t go near ’em;’
then she turned to see Tip’s master beating off some of the dogs, but
one vixen had got Tip down on the ground and was choking him, whilst
another was helping to worry him. The poor little doggie was quite
exhausted, and seemed to have resigned himself to his fate. He was all
over wounds, and his ugly little turned-up nose was a mass of bites. His
mistress thought it was time to rush to the rescue of her pet and
friend; so she boldly dashed in among the shrubs, and, in spite of
furious snaps and snarls, and getting her gown torn into ribbons, she
picked up her beloved Tip and carried him off in safety and triumph.
Tip’s gratitude was great, and he showed it in a thousand pretty ways,
though he was so thoroughly done he could hardly stand. Whenever he
afterwards passed any dog in the street which at all resembled his
enemies, the beagles, Tip gave them a very wide berth, and looked at
them with an expression which meant, ‘I’ll have nothing to say to you.’
Dear little Tip, long may he live! for his life is a very happy one; he
is so good-tempered and unselfish that everyone loves him; and he is not
in the least pampered or indulged, consequently he is always in perfect
health, and ready for a game of play. He has just brought me his little
collar and laid it at my feet, so I must leave off writing and take him
out for a walk; that is what he wishes me to do.