On the afternoon of March 8th, 1871, I was called to the bed-side of an
old and intimate friend who resided at Newport, Rhode Island. He had
spent six weeks of the winter at the Everett House in New York, the
latter part of the time confined to his room, and when I saw him he was
very near his end.
Our friendship was very close and of many years standing, and we had had
an understanding between us to the effect that the one who survived the
other should inspect, and, at his discretion, destroy, letters and other
private papers left by the one deceased.
In pursuance of that understanding my friend handed me a package of
keys, and requested me to take the boat that afternoon for Newport, to
go to his house, to open his safe, to look over his letters and other
papers, and to destroy such as I might think ought not to be preserved.
I arrived at Newport at one o’clock the next morning, and drove directly
to his house. As I opened the front gate, a hundred feet or more from
the front door of the house, his Irish setter dog “Charlie” came
bounding down through the lawn to greet me. When he discovered I was not
his master, he showed signs of great disappointment, but, when he came
to realize that I was an old friend, he was better satisfied. The
servants let me in, and I went to rest in the bed usually occupied by my
absent friend, “Charlie” taking his usual place upon and at the foot of
the bed.
In a seemingly short time,—about four o’clock, I was startled from a
sound sleep by the most unearthly and weird moan I had ever heard. In a
moment I discovered “Charlie” sitting up upon the bed with his nose
pointed to the ceiling, in great agony of mind, pouring forth with all
his strength the uncanny wails of a broken heart. I spoke to him, but
did not succeed in quieting him until all the servants in the house came
to the room to ascertain the cause of such an unusual disturbance.
At seven o’clock I received a message telling me my friend had passed
away at ten minutes past four o’clock that morning.
During every moment of my entire stay at Newport, “Charlie” was always
at my side, and could not be coaxed away from me, and, when I departed
the next evening, he went with me to the wharf, and resisted our
separation almost to the point of biting the servant who was to take him
back to the house.
During the six weeks of his master’s absence, “Charlie” slept outside
the front door, ready and hoping to greet his master whenever he might
return, as was his custom, by one of the Sound steamboats.
I need not write that this unusual incident left a lasting impression
upon my mind. I have never attempted to solve it and never shall, as I
am quite satisfied that it was an example of natural phenomena entirely
beyond my comprehension.
The chief character in this narrative, was a most quiet, dignified, and
gentlemanly dog. During my six or seven years of intermittent
intercourse with him, I never knew him to do an ungentlemanly act. He
was a veritable Chesterfield among dogs, and his noble and gentle
bearing was a model even for men. He was also the most beautiful of his
race, perfect in his combination of colors, for he had many all
perfectly blending into an artistic and harmonious whole. His
intellectual qualities were quite in keeping with his physical beauties.
His forehead was large, indicating a well rounded and well developed
brain, which was deposited between a pair of the most beautiful large,
soft, brown, and expressive eyes imaginable.
He had never been taught tricks of any kind, but, by the application of
his natural understanding and constant reflective observation, had
gradually developed a rare amount of exact intelligence in relation to
many things. This rare intellectual development was largely due to his
constant companionship with his master. In the field, the road, the
stable, the bedroom, the dining-room, and at the table, he was usually
addressed and treated like a human being. At the three daily meals he
had his napkin adjusted to his neck, and sat at the right of his master,
and I think it may be written of him that, although his table manners
were of the dog sort, wherein the tongue played the most important part,
they were unexceptional, and that he was never known to commit a breach
of good table manners.
Next to his master, I was his oldest and most intimate friend. Often,
when the former was away, I was left in charge as the head of the house;
on such occasions “Charlie” would adopt me as a substitute for his
master, but upon his master’s return he would leave me and resume his
accustomed intercourse with the friend who, to him, was superior to all
others. He walked with me whenever ordered to do so by his master, but
not otherwise; I could not coax him even to a short promenade.
Not having been in Newport at the time, I cannot write of his conduct
there while his master was ill in New York, but was informed by the
servants that he was always, night and day, on the lookout for his
return, and that they often experienced considerable difficulty in
coaxing him into the kitchen for his meals. They arranged for him a
comfortable bed near the front door, where he passed his nights, while
his days were spent in anxiously watching at the lawn gate, in the vain
hope of seeing the loved form of his kind master, whom he was never to
behold again.
This was a rare instance (though probably not among dogs similarly
situated) of affection and devotion. But then the chief actor in the
pathetic little drama was ONLY A DOG.
This loving dog, however, in his simple and direct way, silently, but
not the less effectually for all that, taught human beings a lesson,
showing an extent of unselfish fidelity and affection which they would
do well to imitate.
In closing, I may repeat what Sir John Lubbock once said, that at some
future time, twenty thousand pounds would be offered as a reward to any
one who would teach a dog to talk, and that then the world will be
astonished to learn how insufficiently the knowledge of man’s most
disinterested friend has been appreciated.