heavy-headed mastiff that guarded Sir Harry Lee's Manor-house,
Ditchley, in Oxfordshire.[9] The sound of his deep growl was the
terror of all the gipsies and vagrants in the county, and there was a
superstition among the country people, that he was never known to
sleep. Even if he was seen stretched out on the stone steps leading up
to the front entrance of the house, with his massive head resting on
his great fore-paws, at the sound of a footfall, however distant, his
head would be raised, his ears fiercely cocked, and an ominous
stiffening of the tail would warn a stranger that his movements were
being closely watched, and that on the least suspicion of anything
strange or abnormal in his behaviour, he would be called to account by
Leo. Strangely enough, the mastiff had never been a favourite of his
master's. The fact that dogs of his breed are useless for purposes of
sport, owing to their unwieldy size and defective sense of smell, had
prevented Sir Harry from taking much notice of him. He looked upon the
mastiff merely as a watch-dog. The dog would look after him, longing
to be allowed to join him in his walk, or to follow him when he rode
out, through the lanes and fields round his house, but poor Leo's
affection received little encouragement. So long as he guarded the
house faithfully by day and night, that was all that was expected of
him: and as in doing this he was only doing his duty, and fulfilling
the purpose for which he was there, little notice was taken of him by
any of the inmates of the house. His meals were supplied to him with
unfailing regularity, for his services as insuring the safety of the
house were fully recognised; but as Sir Harry had not shown him any
signs of favour, the servants did not think fit to bestow unnecessary
attention on him. So he lived his solitary neglected life, in summer
and winter, by night and day, zealous in his master's interests, but
earning little reward in the way of notice or affection.
[9] More about this gentleman and his dog may be read in
_Woodstock_, by Sir Walter Scott.
One night, however, something occurred that suddenly altered the
mastiff's position in the household, and from being a faithful slave,
he all at once became the beloved friend and constant companion of Sir
Harry Lee. It was in winter, and Sir Harry was going up to his bedroom
as usual, about eleven o'clock. Great was his astonishment on opening
the library door, to find the mastiff stretched in front of it. At
sight of his master Leo rose, and, wagging his tail and rubbing his
great head against Sir Harry's hand, he looked up at him as if anxious
to attract his attention. With an impatient word Sir Harry turned
away, and went up the oak-panelled staircase, Leo following closely
behind him. When he reached his bedroom door, the dog tried to follow
him into the room, and if Sir Harry had been a more observant man, he
must have noticed a curious look of appeal in the dog's eyes, as he
slammed the door in his face, ordering him in commanding tones to 'Go
away!' an order which Leo did not obey. Curling himself up on the mat
outside the door, he lay with his small deep-sunk eyes in eager
watchfulness, fixed on the door, while his heavy tail from time to
time beat an impatient tattoo upon the stone floor of the passage.
Antonio, the Italian valet, whom Sir Harry had brought home with him
from his travels, and whom he trusted absolutely, was waiting for his
master, and was engaged in spreading out his things on the toilet
table.
'That dog is getting troublesome, Antonio,' said Sir Harry. 'I must
speak to the keeper to-morrow, and tell him to chain him up at night
outside the hall. I cannot have him disturbing me, prowling about the
corridors and passages all night. See that you drive him away, when
you go downstairs.'
'Yes, signor,' replied Antonio, and began to help his master to
undress. Then, having put fresh logs of wood on the fire, he wished
Sir Harry good-night, and left the room. Finding Leo outside the door,
the valet whistled and called gently to him to follow him; and, as the
dog took no notice, he put out his hand to take hold of him by the
collar. But a low growl and a sudden flash of the mastiff's teeth,
warned the Italian of the danger of resorting to force. With a
muttered curse he turned away, determined to try bribery where threats
had failed. He thought that if he could secure a piece of raw meat
from the kitchen, he would have no difficulty in inducing the dog to
follow him to the lower regions of the house, where he could shut him
up, and prevent him from further importuning his master.
Scarcely had Antonio's figure disappeared down the passage, when the
mastiff began to whine in an uneasy manner, and to scratch against his
master's door. Disturbed by the noise, and astonished that his
faithful valet had disregarded his injunctions, Sir Harry got up and
opened the door, on which the mastiff pushed past him into the room,
with so resolute a movement that his master could not prevent his
entrance. The instant he got into the room, the dog's uneasiness
seemed to disappear. Ceasing to whine, he made for the corner of the
room where the bed stood in a deep alcove, and, crouching down, he
slunk beneath it, with an evident determination to pass the night
there. Much astonished, Sir Harry was too sleepy to contest the point
with the dog, and allowed him to remain under the bed, without making
any further attempt to dislodge him from the strange and unfamiliar
resting-place he had chosen.
When the valet returned shortly after with the piece of meat with
which he hoped to tempt the mastiff downstairs, he found the mat
deserted. He assumed that the dog had abandoned his caprice of being
outside his master's door, and had betaken himself to his usual haunts
in the basement rooms and passages of the house.
Whether from the unaccustomed presence of the dog in his room, or from
some other cause, Sir Harry Lee was a long time in going to sleep that
night. He heard the different clocks in the house strike midnight, and
then one o'clock; and as he lay awake watching the flickering light of
the fire playing on the old furniture and on the dark panels of the
wainscot, he felt an increasing sense of irritation against the dog,
whose low, regular breathing showed that he, at any rate, was sleeping
soundly. Towards two in the morning Sir Harry must have fallen into a
deep sleep, for he was quite unconscious of the sound of stealthy
steps creeping along the stone corridor and pausing a moment on the
mat outside his room. Then the handle of the door was softly turned,
and the door itself, moving on its well-oiled hinges, was gently
pushed inward. In another moment there was a tremendous scuffle
beneath the bed, and with a great bound the mastiff flung himself on
the intruder, and pinned him to the floor. Startled by the unexpected
sounds, and thoroughly aroused, Sir Harry jumped up, and hastily lit a
candle. Before him on the floor lay Antonio, with the mastiff standing
over him, uttering his fierce growls, and showing his teeth in a
dangerous manner. Stealthily the Italian stole out his hand along the
floor, to conceal something sharp and gleaming that had fallen from
him, on the dog's unexpected onslaught, but a savage snarl from Leo
warned him to keep perfectly still. Calling off the mastiff, who
instantly obeyed the sound of his master's voice, though with
bristling hair and stiffened tail he still kept his eyes fixed on the
Italian, Sir Harry demanded from the valet the cause of his unexpected
intrusion into his bedroom at that hour, and in that way. There was so
much embarrassment and hesitation in Antonio's reply, that Sir Harry's
suspicions were aroused. In the meantime the unusual sounds at that
hour of the night had awakened the household. Servants came hurrying
along the passage to their master's room. Confronted by so many
witnesses, the Italian became terrified and abject, and stammered out
such contradictory statements, that it was impossible to get at the
truth of his story, and Sir Harry saw that the only course open to him
was to have the man examined and tried by the magistrate.
[Illustration: 'AND PINNED HIM TO THE GROUND']
At the examination the wretched valet confessed that he had entered
his master's room with the intention of murdering and robbing him, and
had only been prevented by the unexpected attack of the mastiff.
Among the family pictures in the possession of the family of the Earls
of Lichfield, the descendants of Sir Harry Lee, there is a full-length
portrait of the knight with his hand on the head of the mastiff, and
beneath this legend, 'More faithful than favoured.'
_DOLPHINS, TURTLES, AND COD_
Stories from Audubon
From _Audubon's Life_, by Robert Buchanan. Sampson Low & Co.
In the excellent life of Mr. Audubon, the American naturalist
(published in 1868 by Sampson Low, Marston & Co.), some curious
stories are to be found respecting the kinds of fish that he met with
in his voyages both through the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico.
Audubon's remarks about the habits of dolphins are especially
interesting, and will be read with pleasure by everybody who cares for
'the sea and all that in them is.'
Dolphins abound in the Gulf of Mexico and the neighbouring seas, and
are constantly to be seen chasing flying fish, which are their food.
Flying fish can swim more rapidly than the dolphins, which of course
are far larger creatures; but if they find themselves much
outnumbered, and in danger of being surrounded, they spread the fins
that serve them for wings, and fly through the air for a short
distance. At first this movement throws out the dolphins, who are
unable to follow the example of their prey, but they soon contrive to
keep up with the flying fish by giving great bounds into the air; and
as the flying fish's powers are soon exhausted, it is not long before
the hunt comes to an end and the dolphins seize the fish as they
tumble into the sea.
Sailors are fond of catching dolphins, and generally bait their hooks
with a piece of shark's flesh. When the fish is taken, its friends
stay round it till the last moment, only swimming away as the dolphin
is hauled on board. For its size, which is generally about three feet
long and has rarely been known to exceed four feet, the dolphin has a
remarkably good appetite, and sometimes he eats so much that he is
unable to escape from his enemy, the bottle-nosed porpoise. A dolphin
that was caught in the Gulf of Mexico was opened by the sailors, and
inside him were counted twenty-two flying fish, each one six or seven
inches long, and all arranged quite neatly with their tails foremost.
Before they have their dinner they are full of fun, and their
beautiful blue and gold bodies may often be seen leaping and bounding
and diving about the ship--a sight which the sailors always declare
portends a gale. Indeed, the stories to which dolphins give rise are
many and strange. The negroes believe that a silver coin, fried or
boiled in the same water as the fish, will turn into copper if the
dolphin is in a state unfit for food; but as no one can swear that he
has ever seen the transmutation of the metal, it may be suspected that
the tale was invented by the cook for the sake of getting an extra
dollar.
* * * * *
About eighty miles from the Peninsula of Florida are a set of low,
sandy banks known as the _Tortuga_ or _Turtle Islands_, from the
swarms of turtles which lay their eggs in the sand, and are eagerly
sought for by traders.
Turtles are of many sorts, but the green turtle is considered the
best, and is boiled down into soup, which is both rich and
strengthening. They are cautious creatures, and never approach the
shore in the daylight, or without watching carefully for some time to
see if the coast is indeed clear. They may be seen on quiet moonlight
nights in the months of May and June, lying thirty or forty yards from
the beach, listening intently, and every now and then making a loud
hissing noise intended to frighten any enemies that may be lurking
near. If their quick ears detect any sound, however faint, they
instantly dive and swim to some other place; but if nothing is
stirring, they land on the shore, and crawl slowly about with the aid
of their flappers, until they find a spot that seems suitable for the
hatching of their eggs, which often number two hundred, laid at one
time. The operations are begun by the turtle scooping out a hole in
the burning sand by means of her hind flappers, using them each by
turns, and throwing up the sand into a kind of rampart behind her.
This is done so quickly that in less than ten minutes she will often
have dug a hole varying from eighteen inches to two feet. When the
eggs are carefully placed in separate layers, the loose sand is laid
over them, and the hole not only completely hidden but made to look
exactly like the rest of the beach, so that no one could ever tell
that the surface had been disturbed at all. Then the turtle goes away
and leaves the hot sand to do the rest.
In course of time the young turtles, hardly bigger than a
five-shilling piece, leave their shells, and make their way to the
water, unless, before they are hatched, their nest has been discovered
by men, or by the cougars and other wild animals, who feed greedily on
them. If they belong to the tribe of the green turtles, they will at
once begin to seek for sea plants, and especially a kind of grass,
which they bite off near the roots, so as to get the tenderest parts.
If they are young hawk-bills, they will nibble the seaweed, and soon
go on to crabs and shell-fish, and even little fishes. The loggerheads
grow a sharp beak, which enables them to crack the great conch shells,
and dig out the fish that lives inside, while the trunk turtle, which
is often of an immense size but with a very soft body, loves
sea-urchins and shell-fish. All of them can swim so fast that they
often seem to be flying, and it needs much quickness of eye and hand
to spear them in the water. Even to catch them on shore is a matter of
great difficulty, and in general more than one man is required for the
service. The turtle is raised up from behind by a man on his knee,
pushing with all his might against her shoulder; but this has to be
done with great caution, or else the hunter may get badly bitten. When
the turtle is fully raised up, she is thrown over on her back, and,
like a sheep in a similar position, can seldom recover herself without
help. The turtles, when caught, are put into an enclosure of logs with
a sandy or muddy bottom through which the tide flows, and here they
are kept and fed by their captors till they are ready for the market.
Unlike most creatures, their price is out of all proportion to their
weight, and a loggerhead turtle weighing seven hundred pounds has been
known to cost no more than a green turtle of thirty.
* * * * *
Early in May, and well into June, the seas extending northwards from
Maine to Labrador are alive with ships just starting for the cod
fishing. Their vessels are mostly small but well stocked, and a large
part of the space below is filled with casks, some full of salt and
others empty. These empty ones are reserved for the oil that is
procured from the cod.
Every morning, as soon as it is light, some of the crew of each ship
enters a small boat, which can be sailed or rowed as is found
necessary. When they reach the cod banks every man boards up part of
his boat for the fish when caught, and then takes his stand at the end
with two lines, baited at the opening of the season with salted
mussels, and later with gannets or capelings. These lines are dropped
into the sea on either side of the boat, and when the gunwale is
almost touching the water and it is dangerous to put in any more fish,
they give up work for the morning and return to the harbour. In
general, fishing is a silent occupation, but cod fishers are rather a
talkative race, and have bets with each other as to the amount of the
'takes' of the respective crews. When they get back to their vessels,
often anchored eight or ten miles away, they find that the men who
have been left behind have set up long tables on deck, carried the
salt barrels on shore, placed all ready the casks for the livers, and
cleared the hold of everything but a huge wedge of salt for the
salting. Then, after dinner, some of the men row back to the cod
banks, while the others set about cleaning, salting, and packing the
fish, so as to be quite finished when the men return from their second
journey. It is almost always midnight before the work is done, and the
men can turn in for their three hours' sleep.
If, as often happens, the hauls have been very large, the supply soon
threatens to become exhausted, so on Sunday the captain sails off for
a fresh bank. Then, the men who are the laziest or most unskilful in
the matter of fishing take out the cargo that has been already salted,
and lay it out on scaffolds which have been set up on the rocks. When
the sun has dried the fish for some time, they are turned over; and
this process is repeated several times in the day. In the evening they
are piled up into large stacks, and protected from the rain and wind.
In July the men's work is in one way less hard than before, for this
is the season when the capelings arrive to spawn upon the shores, and
where capelings are, cod are sure to follow. Now great nets are used,
with one end fastened to the land, and these nets will sometimes
produce twenty or thirty thousand fish at a haul.
With so many men engaged in the cod fishing, and considering the
number of diseases to which cod are subject, it is perhaps quite as
well that each fish should lay such a vast supply of eggs, though out
of the eight million laid by one fish which have been counted, it is
calculated that, from various causes, only about a hundred thousand
come to maturity.
_MORE ABOUT ELEPHANTS_
From _The Wild Elephant_. Sir J. Emerson Tennent.
Long, long ago, when the moon was still young, and some of the stars
that we know best were only gradually coming into sight, the earth was
covered all over with a tangle of huge trees and gigantic ferns, which
formed the homes of all sorts of enormous beasts. There were no men,
only great animals and immense lizards, whose skeletons may still be
found embedded in rocks or frozen deep down among the Siberian
marshes; for, after the period of fearful heat, when everything grew
rampant, even in the very north, there came a time of equally intense
cold, when every living creature perished in many parts of the world.
When the ice which crushed down life on the earth began to melt, and
the sun once more had power to pierce the thick cold mists that had
shrouded the world, animals might have been seen slowly creeping about
the young trees and fresh green pastures, but their forms were no
longer the same as they once were. The enormous frames of all sorts of
huge monsters, and the great lizard called the ichthyosaurus, had been
replaced by smaller and more graceful creatures, who could move
lightly and easily through this new world. But changed though it
seemed to be, one beast still remained to tell the story of those
strange old times, and that was the elephant.
Now anybody who has ever stood behind a big, clumsy cart-horse going
up a hill cannot fail to have been struck with its likeness to an
elephant; and it is quite true that elephants and horses are nearly
related. Of course in the East, where countries are so big and marches
are so long, it is necessary to have an animal to ride of more
strength and endurance than a horse, and so elephants, who are, when
well treated, as gentle as they are strong, were very early trained as
beasts of burden, or even as 'men-of-war.'
In their wild condition they have a great many curious habits. They
roam about the forests of India or Africa in herds, and each herd is a
real family, who have had a common grandfather. The elephants are very
particular as to the number of their herd; it is never less than ten,
or more than twenty-one, but being very sociable they easily get on
terms of civility with other herds, and several of these groups may be
seen moving together towards some special pond or feeding ground. But
friendly as they often are, each clan keeps itself as proudly distinct
from the rest as if they were all Highlanders. Any unlucky elephant
who has lost his own herd, and tries to attach himself to a new one,
is scouted and beaten away by every member of the tribe, till, like a
man who is punished and scorned for misfortunes he cannot help, the
poor animal grows desperate, and takes to evil courses, and is hunted
down under the name of 'a rogue.'
Elephants have a great idea of law and order, and carefully choose a
leader who is either strong enough or clever enough to protect the
herd against its enemies. Even a female has sometimes been chosen, if
her wisdom has been superior to that of the rest; but male or female,
the leader once fixed upon, the herd never fails to give him absolute
obedience, and will suffer themselves to be killed in their efforts to
save his life.
[Illustration: 'LONG, LONG AGO.' THE ELEPHANT DREAMS OF HIS OLD
COMPANIONS]
As everyone knows, during the dry season in India water becomes very
scarce, and even the artificial tanks that have been built for
reservoirs are very soon empty. About the middle of this century, an
English officer, Major Skinner by name, had drawn up to rest on the
embankment of a small Indian tank, which, low though it was,
contained the only water to be found for a great distance. On three
sides of the tank there was a clearing, but on the fourth lay a very
thick wood, where the herd lay encamped all day, waiting for darkness
to fall, so that they might all go to drink. Major Skinner knew the
habits of elephants well, and what to expect of them, so he sent all
his natives to sleep, and climbed himself into a large tree that
sheltered the tank at one corner. However, it appeared that the
elephants were unusually cautious that night, for he sat in his tree
for two hours before a sound was heard, though they had been lively
enough as long as the sun was shining.
Suddenly a huge elephant forced his way through the thickest part of
the forest, and advanced slowly to the tank, his ears at full cock,
and his eyes glancing stealthily round. He gazed longingly at the
water for some minutes, but did not attempt to drink--perhaps he felt
it would be a mean advantage to take of his comrades--and then he
quietly retraced his steps backwards till he had put about a hundred
yards between himself and the water, when five elephants came out of
the jungle and joined him. These he led forward, listening carefully
as before, and placed them at certain spots where they could command a
view both of the open country and the forest. This done, and the
safety of the others provided for, he went to fetch the main body of
the herd, which happened to be four or five times as large as usual.
Silently, as if preparing for an assault, the whole of this immense
body marched up to where the scouts were standing, when a halt was
signalled, so that the leader might for the last time make sure that
no hidden danger, in the shape of man, lion, or tiger, awaited them.
Then permission was given, and with a joyful toss of their trunks in
the air, in they dashed, drinking, wallowing, and rolling over with
delight, till one would have thought it had been years since they had
tasted a drop of water, or known the pleasures of a bath.
From his perch in the tree Major Skinner had been watching with
interest the movements of the herd, and when he saw that they had
really had their fill, he gently broke a little twig and threw it on
the ground. It seemed hardly possible that such a tiny sound could
reach the ears of those great tumbling, sucking bodies, but in one
instant they were all out of the tank, and tearing towards the forest,
almost carrying the little ones between them.
Of course it is not always that elephants can find tanks without
travelling many hundreds of miles after them, and on these occasions
their wonderful sagacity comes to their aid. They will pause on the
banks of some dried-up river, now nothing but a sandy tract, and feel
instinctively that underneath that sand is the water for which they
thirst. But then, how to get at it? The elephants know as well as any
engineer that if they tried to dig a hole straight down, the weight of
their bodies would pull down the whole side of the pit with them, so
that is of no use. In order to get round this difficulty, long
experience has taught them that they must make one side to their well
a gentle slope, and when this is done they can wait with perfect
comfort for the water, whose appearance on the surface is only a
question of time.
[Illustration: THE ELEPHANT FALLS ON HIS KNEES BEFORE THE LITTLE
SCOTCH TERRIER]