WOLVES.

Strong, gaunt, ferocious, cunning, cowardly, and sinister-looking,

wolves (Canis Lupus) still inhabit the forest and mountainous districts

of Europe, Asia, and America; a few being occasionally met with in

plains. Happily they have been extirpated from Great Britain and

Ireland, but in many parts of populous countries on the European

Continent, an unusually severe winter brings them to the habitations of

man.

Their resemblance to dogs, internally and externally, has led to the

supposition, that they were the original parents of the latter; but I

have elsewhere alluded to this unsettled question.

The muscles of the head, neck, and shoulders of wolves, are extremely

powerful, and the snap with which they bite is never to be mistaken,

being apparently peculiar to them. They drink by suction, and it is

said, that if the offspring which they have by a dog, should lap, they

take a dislike to it. The cry which they make is not a regular bark, but

a hoarse, ugly noise, and the howl which they delight in setting up at

night, is one of the most melancholy sounds possible. They vary much in

colour, being white, black, grey, brown, etc. Their digitigrade walk,

sharp muzzle, oblique eyes, and hanging tail, in their wild state, are

less conspicuous in domestication, and they then gradually assimilate

themselves in appearance to our hounds.

Innumerable are the true histories which have been transmitted to us

concerning wolves. Their nightly prowling, their quiet, untiring

perseverance in pursuit, their skulking disposition, their artful

stratagems, all impart a mystery to them which has been heightened by

fear, and the natural proneness of man to magnify tales of horror.

Wolves are too suspicious to be often taken in traps; and when pursued

they run with their noses almost touching the ground, their eyes glowing

like fire, the hair of their head and neck bristled up, their tail drawn

close to their legs. Their usual height at the shoulders is about two

feet and a half; their young are born in caverns or gloomy recesses, and

the female wolf is furious in their defence. They often fight with each

other; and it is said, if a wounded wolf come among his fellows, he is

immediately torn in pieces and devoured.

Mr. Lloyd, in his "Field Sports in the North of Europe," tells us of a

peasant who, in the neighbourhood of St. Petersburgh, met with the

following narrow escape:--"He was pursued by eleven of these ferocious

animals, while he was in his sledge. At this time he was only about two

miles from home, towards which he urged his horse at the very top of his

speed. At the entrance of his residence was a gate, which happened to be

closed at the time; but the horse dashed this open, and thus his master

and himself found refuge in the courtyard. They were followed, however,

by nine out of the eleven wolves; but very fortunately, at the very

instant these had entered the enclosure, the gate swung back on its

hinges, and thus they were caught as in a trap. From being the most

ferocious of animals, now that they found escape impossible, they

completely changed, and so far from offering molestation to any one,

they slunk into holes and corners, and allowed themselves to be

slaughtered, almost without making resistance."

A more tragic occurrence happened to an unfortunate woman, also in

Russia, and is related by the same gentleman:--"A woman, accompanied by

three of her children, was one day in a sledge, when they were pursued

by a number of wolves. She put the horse into a gallop, and drove

towards her home with the utmost speed. She was not far from it; but

the ferocious animals gained upon her, and were on the point of rushing

on to the sledge. For the preservation of her own life, and that of the

remaining children, the poor, frantic creature cast one of them to her

blood-thirsty pursuers. This stopped their career for a moment; but,

after devouring the poor child, they renewed the pursuit, and a second

time came up with the vehicle. The mother, driven to desperation,

resorted to the same horrible expedient, and threw another of her

offspring to her ferocious assailants. The third child was also

sacrificed in the same way, and soon after, the wretched being reached

her home in safety. Here she related what had happened, and endeavoured

to palliate her own conduct, by describing the dreadful alternative to

which she had been reduced. A peasant, however, who was among the

bystanders, and heard the recital, took up an axe, and with one blow

cleft her skull in two, saying, at the same time, 'that a mother who

could thus sacrifice her children for the preservation of her own life,

was no longer fit to live.' The man was committed to prison, but the

Emperor subsequently granted him a pardon."

The tame wolf at the Jardin des Plantes, is described by M. Frederic

Cuvier, in the following manner:--"This animal was brought up as a young

dog, became familiar with every person whom he was in the habit of

seeing, and in particular followed his master everywhere, evincing

chagrin at his absence, obeying his voice, and showing a degree of

submission, scarcely differing in any respect from that of the most

thoroughly domesticated dog. His master being obliged to be absent for a

time, presented his pet to the Jardin des Plantes, where the animal,

confined in a den, continued disconsolate, and would scarcely take his

food. At length, however, his health returned; he became attached to his

keepers, and appeared to have forgotten all his former affection; when,

after eighteen months, his master returned. At the first word he

uttered, the wolf, who had not perceived him among the crowd, recognized

him, exhibited the most lively joy, and, being set at liberty, lavished

on his old friend the most affectionate caresses. A second separation

and return was followed by similar demonstrations of sorrow, which,

however, again yielded to time. Three years had passed, and the wolf was

living happily in company with a dog, when his master again returned,

and the still remembered voice was instantly replied to by the most

impatient cries, which were redoubled as soon as the poor fellow was at

liberty, when, rushing to his master, he threw his fore-feet on his

shoulders, licking his face with every mark of the most lively joy, and

menacing his keepers, who offered to remove him, and towards whom, not a

moment before, he had been showing every mark of fondness. A third

separation, however, seemed to be too much for this faithful animal's

temper; he became gloomy, desponding, refused his food, and for a long

time his life appeared to be in danger. His health, however, returned;

but he no longer suffered the caresses of any but his keepers, and

towards strangers manifested the original savageness of his species."

There was another wolf at the same Menagerie, who was very docile and

affectionate, distinguishing those whom he knew from strangers, and

seeking their caresses. We were very good friends, and I often played

with him, so that he knew my voice. After an absence of two years, to my

great surprise, he recognized it, dashed to the bars of the den, thrust

his paws out to greet me, and gave every sign of delight. It is

probable, that this circumstance, combined with another, may have given

rise to the history related by Captain Brown, in his "Popular Natural

History," of which I now beg to give a correct version:--"Mme. Ducrest

[then Mlle. Duvaucel] and I were going out at Baron Cuvier's front door,

when a man, holding something tied up in a handkerchief, asked if we

belonged to the house. On replying in the affirmative, he offered his

bundle; she shrank from it, as the same thing had occurred to me a few

days before, and I received the dried and tattooed head of a New

Zealander; but he opened the handkerchief, and displayed a beautiful

little wolf puppy, covered with silky black hair. She joyfully received

it; we carried it to the keepers of the Menagerie, and orders were given

that it might be fed on soup and cooked meat. The wolf continued to be

very handsome, very playful, and very tame for about a year, when she

became a mother, and from that time was savage and unsociable to human

beings, never recovering her former amiable disposition. She was from

the Pyrenees."

The following story is told by a gentleman who was sporting in Hungary

at the time the circumstance occurred:--"About dusk, just as the last

sledge had arrived within a quarter of a mile of a village on the way

homeward, and had cleared the corner of a wood which had bounded the

road at a few yards distance for a considerable length; the owner, who

was seated behind, with his back to the horses, espied a wolf rush out

of the angle of the wood, and give chase to the sledge at the top of his

speed. The man shouted to the boy who was driving, 'Farkas! farkas!' (a

wolf! a wolf!). Itze het! itze het! (drive on),' and the lad, looking

round in terror, beheld the animal just clearing the gripe which ran

along the road they had passed. Quick as lightning, with shout and whip,

and with all his might, he urged the horses to gain the village. Away

they flew at their fullest stretch, as if sensible of the danger behind

them, conveyed to them by the exclamation of the lad, and the dreaded

name of the animal which he shouted in their ears. The man turned his

seat and urged the boy still more energetically to lash the horses to

their very utmost speed. He did not need any further incentive, but

pushed on the nags with frantic exertion. The sledge flew over the

slippery road with fearful speed; but the wolf urged yet more his utmost

pace, and gained fast upon it. The village was distant about two hundred

yards below the brow of the hill; nothing but the wildest pace could

save them, and the man felt that the wolf would inevitably spring upon

them before they could get to the bottom. Both shouted wildly as they

pursued their impetuous career, the sledge swerving frightfully from one

side of the road to the other, and threatening every moment to turn

over. The man then drew his thick bunda (sheep-skin) over his head; he

looked behind and saw the fierce, panting beast within a few yards of

him; he thought he felt his hot breath in his face; he ensconced his

head again in his bunda, and, in another moment, the wolf sprang upon

his back, and gripped into the thick sheep skin that covered his neck.

With admirable presence of mind the bold-hearted peasant now threw up

both his hands, and grasping the wolf's head and neck with all his

strength, hugged him with an iron clutch to his shoulders. 'Itze het,'

now shouted the cool fellow, and holding his enemy in a death grip,

they swept into the village, dragging the fierce brute after them, in

spite of his frantic efforts to disengage himself. The shouts of the boy

and man, with the mad speed and noise of the horses, brought the

villagers out to see what was the matter. 'Farkas! farkas!' shouted

both, and the peasants immediately seeing their perilous position, gave

chase with their axes, calling out to the man to hold on bravely. At

length the boy succeeded in slackening the speed of the animals, the

sledge stopped, and the peasants, rushing on, dispatched the ferocious

creature upon the man's back, whose arms were so stiffened with the

immense muscular exertion he had so long maintained, that he could

hardly loose them from the neck of the dead wolf."

An unfortunate clergyman, in the neighbourhood of Eauxbonnes in the

Basses Pyrenees, was not as fortunate as the Slovack peasant; for, as he

was returning from visiting the sick in January, 1830, he was beset by

hungry wolves, and torn to pieces by them; the fragments which they

left, and the blood upon the snow, alone telling his fate.

The North American wolves are not as gaunt as those of Europe, having

shorter legs, thicker fur, shorter muzzle, broader heads, more bushy

tail, and being altogether more compact. Their habits, however, are much

the same, A farmer in New Hampshire was one night awakened by a noise

in his hog-pen; on looking out he saw, what he supposed to be a fox, on

the low, sloping roof of the sty. He went out, but found that the animal

was a grey wolf, which, instead of making off, fiercely attacked him,

rushing down the roof towards him; and before the man had time to move

back, the wolf had bitten his arm three times, with his quick and

repeated snaps, lacerating it from the elbow to the wrist; then,

however, he leaped from the roof to the ground, and by so doing lost his

advantage; for the man succeeded in seizing him on each side of the neck

with his hands, and held him firmly in that position till his wife, whom

he called out, came up with a large butcher's knife, and cut the beast's

throat. It was three months before the man's arm was healed; every

incision, it was said, piercing to the bone.[5]

A white wolf always attends the bull, called buffalo, of Western

America; besides which the same country affords other varieties. Among

them are the Coyotes, or Medicine Wolves, of the Indians, who show them

great reverence. They are small, sagacious, and cunning; assemble in

packs, and hunt in troops of from three to thirty, along the runs of

deer and antelopes, and run down their quarry. When game has been killed

by hunters, they sit patiently at a short distance, while larger wolves

prowl around, pouncing on the pieces thrown to them by the men, and

which the small ones drop instantly. They keep watch round a camp at

night, and gnaw the skin ropes of horses and cattle.

When the Coyotes, or small white wolves, of Mexico, lose all hope of

escape, they curl themselves up and await death. If impelled by hunger,

one snatches a piece from the hunter, while he cuts up his game, the

whole herd rush upon it, fight, growl, and tear each other for it. Mr.

Ryan, from whose lively descriptions these notices are taken, was for

days followed by a large grey wolf, and every evening when he encamped,

the wolf squatted himself down, and helped himself whenever he could.

Something, however, was generally left for him; and he became so tame,

that he stopped when the party stopped, and when anything was killed,

walked round and round, licking his jaws in expectation of his share. No

one ever molested him, and, therefore, he continued quite harmless. This

sort of proceeding will sometimes take place with a whole pack.

Mr. Ruxton one day killed an old buck, and left it on the ground, where

six small wolves were in attendance. Ten minutes after he left his game,

the six wolves came up with him, one of which had his nose and face

besmeared with blood, and he seemed to be almost bursting. Thinking it

impossible they should have devoured the buck in so short a time, he had

the curiosity to return and see what impression they had made upon it,

and why they had left it. To his astonishment, he found only the bones

and some of the hair remaining, the flesh having been taken off as if it

had been scraped with a knife. They flourish their tails, snarl, bite,

squeak, and swallow the whole time of their meal; and if kindly treated,

will come and warm themselves by the fires of the hunters when they are

asleep, and sit nodding their own heads with drowsiness.

The Esquimaux dogs, though very bold when attacking bears, are so much

afraid of wolves, that they scarcely make any resistance when set upon

by them. Sir John Richardson tells us, that a wolf, wounded by a

musket-ball, returned after dusk, and carried off a dog from among fifty

others, who howled piteously, but did not dare to try and rescue their

companion.

Several wolves will combine, and, forming a semicircle, creep slowly

towards a herd of deer, if there be a precipice near, and hemming them

in gradually, so as not to alarm them suddenly, drive them to the edge

of the precipice; then they all at once set up the most terrific yells,

and taking flight, the poor deer leap over the precipice, where the

wolves follow them at their leisure by a safer path, to feed on their

mangled carcases.

On one occasion, a troop of nine white wolves endeavoured to practise

the same trick upon Sir John Richardson, evidently intending to drive

him into the river. However, when he rose up they halted, and on his

advancing, made way for him to go to the tents.

The lovers of tragic histories will find many of the most fearful kind

among the legends of all countries where wolves abound; all probably

founded on fact, but mostly interwoven with romance. There cannot be

anything much more shocking than that of the solitary traveller,

galloping into a village pursued by these beasts, and knocking at the

doors, earnestly entreating for refuge. The inhabitants were mostly

buried in sleep; some few heard and did not move, others had a dim,

confused notion of what was passing, and also remained in their beds;

while others again did not hear anything. The next morning the sad event

was told by finding the traveler's cloak and a few bones.

[5] Gosse's Canadian Naturalist.