REVELATIONS
It is the custom at dog shows for the authorities to distribute
certificates on coloured cardboard of all the awards made by the
judges. At this show of Finn's great triumph, first prize cards
were all blue, second prize cards red, and third prize cards
yellow. The custom was for exhibitors proudly to affix these cards
to the wire net-work stretched above the bench of the winning dog.
So it fell out that soon after the judging of Wolfhounds was over,
two red cards and two blue cards were fixed over Kathleen's bench,
and the Mistress of the Kennels lavished considerable attention
upon her, lest she should be moved to jealousy of Finn. The
decoration of the wire-work over Finn's bench was most striking.
First, there were four blue first prize cards, for his sensational
win in Open, Limit, Novice, and Junior classes. Then there was a
very handsome card with ribbons attached, signifying that Finn had
won the Challenge Shield for the best Irish Wolfhound in the Show.
And then there were two other blue cards telling that Finn had won
two special prizes; one, a medal offered by a member of the Irish
Wolfhound Club for the best hound at the Show bred by its
exhibitor; and another, of two guineas, offered by a well-known
Irish sportsman for the biggest Irish Wolfhound in the Show. And so
Finn sat in state beneath a sort of dome consisting of no fewer
than seven trophies. It seemed a little hard on that magnificent
hound, his sire, who occupied the next bench, under the shelter of
but one solitary red card. But Dermot Asthore was a philosopher,
and, as has been said, weary of shows. He lay curled, like a great
cat, and slept stolidly, presenting nothing more conscious to the
passing throng than a small triangular section of one blood-shot
eye.
With Finn matters were otherwise. His numerous trophies won him
much attention, even from the large majority who were ignorant of
his great technical claims to fame. There was always a little group
in front of Finn's bench, and those of his admirers who had claims
upon the Master--besides many who had none--were continually begging
that he should be taken down from the bench, so that they might
admire his full stature. Then there were newspaper men with cameras
and note-books; and there were dealers with cheque-books, and a
ready hand and eye for deprecation. But these were given no sort of
encouragement by the Master. Finn received as much attention in the
evening papers that day as any leader of human society; and in the
papers devoted to doggy interests, a great deal more. He was
conscious of more of this than you might suppose, even though he
could not read newspapers: but the thing he was most keenly
conscious of was the fact that he had managed greatly to please the
Master and the Mistress of the Kennels. Finn felt happy and proud
about this, but, although he was taken down from the bench several
times and led into out-of-the-way corners where his chain could be
removed and he was able to stretch his limbs, still, he became
pretty thoroughly tired of the publicity and racket of the Dog Show
before he was led out of the building at ten o'clock that night,
with Kathleen, by the Master. The Mistress had gone home to Tara,
early in the evening; but the Master was sleeping in lodgings near
the Palace, which he had engaged on the clear understanding that he
was allowed to bring the Wolfhounds there with him. Finn had not
realized as yet that one of the penalties of the fame that he had
won lay in the fact that he was obliged to spend another two whole
days in the show building.
But though Finn and Kathleen knew it not, their lot was a far more
fortunate one than that of the great majority of their kind at the
Show. Knowing that they would be unhappy if left in the building at
night, that they probably would be too much wrought up to eat
there, and that they would feel being chained up for so long more
than most dogs, the Master had arranged to take them out at night,
in order that they might have half an hour's freedom before supper
and retirement to a sleeping place in the room he had taken for
himself. There were dogs in the Show whose masters did not come
near them after the judging on the first day, until the end of the
third day. These unfortunates were left to the rather chancy
attentions of the show attendants, who, with thousands of dogs to
care for, could hardly be expected to give any of them much
individual notice.
On the evening of the second day of the Show, while the Master was
engaged in conversation at some distance from Finn's bench, the
young hounds from the cottage by the Downs received a visit from a
man who showed the utmost admiration for them, and particularly, of
course, for Finn. This man, whose appearance rather reminded Finn
of one whom he had heard referred to as the gamekeeper, down in
Sussex, looked up Finn's name and ancestry in the show catalogue,
and gave particular heed to the fine display of prize cards over
his head. He fondled Finn for several minutes, and Finn knew by the
various smells which hung about the man that he was accustomed to
mixing a good deal with dog-folk. Before turning away, this
friendly and admiring man presented Finn with a small piece of meat
which he took from a paper-bag in one of his pockets; and, of all
the meat that Finn had ever tasted, this piece had the most
fascinating smell and the most provocatively exciting and pleasing
flavour. He meditated over this piece of meat for quite a long
time, and when, during the last afternoon of the Show, the friendly
stranger appeared before him again, Finn welcomed the man
effusively, and, with nose and paw, plainly asked for some more of
that fascinating meat. The man chuckled, and rubbed the backs of
Finn's ears in an affectionate manner for several minutes. What
Finn found more to the point was that, before leaving, the man did
present him with another small section of this delicious meat with
the fascinating smell. Finn wished there was more of it, but he
felt exceedingly grateful to the stranger for the one piece and for
the rest of his friendly attention.
By payment of a small fee the Master was enabled to take Finn and
Kathleen away from the Show much earlier on that evening than
before, and a few hours later they were all three being welcomed at
home by the Mistress of the Kennels and Tara. Tara, by the way, was
hardly able to spare time for a remark at first; she was so busy
sniffing all round Finn and Kathleen, and reading for herself the
sort of record of their recent adventures which their coats and her
delicate sense of smell provided. The three hounds dined
sumptuously, and in a row, while the Master and the Mistress sat
before them fighting their battles over again and discussing their
triumph in the show-ring. Then, the night being fine, the three
were allowed to wander out into the orchard for a quarter of an
hour or so before going to bed. The Master remained in his den
talking.
Directly Tara reached the orchard she barked out loud, "Who's
there?"--an unmistakable sort of bark one would have thought. But
the Master was pretty thoroughly tired, and, perhaps, the fact that
he was chatting with the Mistress prevented his understanding
Tara's bark. At all events, he paid no heed to it. Tara promptly
trotted across to the gate between the orchard and the open down,
followed closely by Finn and Kathleen. There, much to Finn's
delight, they found the friendly stranger of the Show. Tara eyed
the man with hauteur, as one whose acquaintance she had not made.
Kathleen remained modestly in the background. Finn, with lively
recollections of the peculiarly savoury meat which the stranger
dealt in, placed his fore-paws, on the top of the gate, and lolled
his tongue at the man in friendly greeting. The man gave Finn a
provokingly tiny fragment of the savoury meat, and rubbed the young
hound's ears in the coaxing way he had. Then he stepped back a pace
or two, and produced a large piece of the meat.
"Here, boy! Here, Finn! Jump, then, Finn!" The gate was less than
five feet high, and the seductive odour of this peculiar meat
floated just beyond it in the still night air. Finn drew back a
pace or two, and then, with a beautiful spring, cleared the gate
easily. While giving Finn the piece of meat he had been holding,
the man slipped a swivel on to the ring of the handsome green
collar, and attached to the swivel there was a strong leather lead.
The man moved on slowly, with another piece of meat in his hand,
and Finn paced with him, willingly enough. When Finn had finished
the next piece of meat he was a hundred yards away from the
orchard. He looked back then, and an uncomfortable thrill passed
through his young heart; a vague thrill it was, conveying no
definite fear or impression to his mind. Still, it was
uncomfortable. He had half a mind to go back and rejoin Tara and
Kathleen, and so, tentatively, he halted. If the friendly stranger
had tried to force Finn then, there would have been trouble. But he
did not. Instead, he bent down and played with Finn's ears, and
then brought another piece of meat out of his pocket. Holding this
out, he moved on again; and the dog followed, forgetful now of his
momentary thrill of discomfort. After all, he thought, vaguely,
very likely this unaccustomed night walk was all part of the Show
and its many novel experiences. There had been night walks at the
end of each show day. When Finn had had another morsel of the meat,
the friendly stranger put another collar on his neck, and removed
the green one. Then he began to trot, and Finn trotted with him,
quite contentedly. Finn was always glad to run.
So the two trotted for miles, through the mild, still October
night, the man breathing heavily. Once something made Finn pause
suddenly; and the pause let him into a secret. The collar he was
wearing now was different from any other he had known in his short
life. If you pulled against it, it slipped round your throat so
tightly as to stop your breathing instantly and absolutely. The
only thing to do was to go the way the collar and lead pulled;
then, immediately, the pressure relaxed. It was a collar that had
to be obeyed, that was evident. These "slip-collars" are well known
to some members of the Great Dane family, and particularly to those
who are owned by dealers; but their use came with rather a shock to
lordly young Finn, who, living the free and happy life he always
had lived, there beside the Sussex Downs, had rarely been asked to
wear a collar of any sort.
After a time, Finn and the stranger came to a little town, and
walked into the yard of an inn. There another man met them, to whom
Finn's friend said, hurriedly--
"I'll walk straight on. You drive on with the cart after me. Don't
stop till you're clear of the village."
"You've got him, then?" said the second man.
"Never you mind about that. Can't yer see I've got him? You get the
pony out."
And then Finn followed his leader out of the yard, and through the
quiet little village to the open country beyond. But by this time
Finn was beginning to feel that the night walk had been prolonged
far enough. There was no sign of any more of the aromatic meat
coming his way, and he had given up asking for it, and nosing the
man's pocket. He thought he would like to turn now, and get back to
Kathleen and Tara and the Master. The day, and its immediate
predecessors, had been tiring, and Finn thought with strong desire
of his fragrant wheaten straw bed in the coach-house at home. Yes,
it was certainly time to return.
Accordingly, Finn asked his leader to stop, and, finding that the
man took no notice, he asked again, through his nose, and urgently.
The man paid not the slightest heed to this, and that rather
angered Finn, who was not accustomed to being ignored; so he
planted his fore-feet firmly, and stopped dead. As the lead
tightened, the slip-collar pressed painfully on Finn's throat; but
he felt that the time had arrived to bring this excursion to an
end, and so steeled himself to ignore this pressure.
"None o' that, now!" said the man, with a new note in his voice, of
extreme harshness. "Come along now; d'ye hear!"
Finn's fore-legs remained rigid. He had made up his mind now, and
already he was beginning to regret having stayed so long with this
stranger.
The man now gave a powerful tug at the leather lead, and at that
the pressure of the slip-collar forced Finn's tongue out between
his teeth. This was really painful, but it was clear in Finn's mind
that he must go home, so he remained straining backward.
"Come on 'ere, ye brute!" growled the man savagely, and, with a
vicious jerk at the lead, he took a step to one side, and then
kicked Finn on the hind-quarters as hard as he could. That was the
first real blow Finn had ever received, and it taught him quite a
lot. Up till this point it had not occurred to him for a moment
that the man entertained any other than kindly, friendly feelings
for him. In fact, he supposed that every one entertained kindly
feelings towards him. He had never experienced any other sort of
attitude. But this savage kick was a revelation to him. Also, it
hurt. Finn turned in his tracks and plunged forward in the
direction from which, they had come with such sudden strength that
he almost dragged the lead from the man's strong hand, and would
undoubtedly have freed himself, but for the slip-collar. As it was,
the sudden jerk nearly throttled Finn, and brought him rolling on
his back with all four feet in the air. Before he could rise again,
the man had planted two ferocious kicks on his ribs; and Finn was
thankful then to draw a free breath by moving towards his
persecutor, so as to slacken the pressure on the lead. But, the
moment he had drawn breath, the desire to escape possessed him once
more, and he repeated his leap for freedom. This time the man was
prepared, and, in addition to the pressure brought about by Finn's
reaching the end of his tether, there was the savage extra pressure
of a quick backward jerk at the lead, to bring the hound on his
back a second time. This time the man kicked him very severely,
and, in addition, smote him violently on the nose with clenched
fist, as he staggered to his feet, gasping for breath.
Just then the dim, smoky lights of a cart appeared at the bend in
the road, twenty yards away, in the direction of the village.
"That you, Bill?" cried the man who held Finn, and an affirmative
answer reached him from the cart. "Come on, then, and let's get
this stubborn beast into the cart." He gave a savage jerk at Finn's
slip-collar as he spoke, and once more his nailed boot crashed
against the bewildered Wolfhound's ribs. The man had an itch of
anger and brutality upon him by this time. Finn leaped sideways
with a quick gasp as the man's boot struck him and the cruel collar
tightened; and at this sharp movement of his great body, there in
the middle of the road, the pony shied violently, just as it was
being drawn in to a standstill; the cart swerved sharply into the
hedge, and a cracking sound betrayed the breaking of a shaft.
This was the finishing touch required to round off the naturally
vicious temper of the man who held Finn into a passion of sullen,
brutal anger. He cursed unceasingly while the man in the cart made
the necessary repairs with cord and a couple of sticks from the
hedge; and with every curse there was a kick, or a vicious blow, or
a savage jerk at the torturing slip-collar, and sometimes all three
together. Finn could have killed the man with ease; but, so far,
the thought of even biting him never occurred to the Wolfhound.
Every hour that he had spent in the world had taught him that
humans were his friends, his very kindly protectors, his guardians
and governors, so to say. Every hour of his mother's life, with but
very few exceptions, had borne the same belief in upon her, and her
nature was the sweetest and gentlest imaginable. With his father,
now, the case was somewhat otherwise. There were those who said
that the rather taciturn and shy Dermot owed some of his
wonderfully heavy coat to the mesalliance of a forbear of his with
a Tibetan Sheep Dog of a half-wild sort, with a temper far from
reliable. But, as yet at all events, Finn's temper was that of a
clean run, well-bred English boy; frank, open, trusting, and
kindly; and, sorely as he ached, sorely bewildered as he felt under
the rain of blows and kicks, curses and strangling tugs at his
collar, he had as yet no thought of vengeance. His only desire was
for escape, and a return to the sweet, free life he knew beside the
Downs.
The man who held Finn instinctively recognised all this, and the
knowledge whetted the savagery of his temper, and withdrew all
restraint from its cruel indulgence. He had no conscious wish to
injure the hound; quite the contrary, since Finn represented money
to him, and money was what he desired more than anything else; but
he was tired, things seemed to be going ill with him, his temper
was thoroughly roused, and the innocent cause of all this, a
sensitive, living creature, was tethered and helpless beside him;
and so he kicked and cursed, and jerked at the lead, and found
relief in Finn's gasps of pain and want of breath.
When the shaft was mended, the tail-board of the little cart was
let down, and, with a savage kick at Finn's hind-quarters, the man
bade him "Get up, there, ---- ye! Get up, ye brute!" Another kick.
Poor Finn tried to squirm forward under the cart to escape the
heavy boot of his persecutor. Then he was furiously jerked backward
and half throttled.
"Steady with 'im, matey," said the other man. "Don't knock the
dollars off of 'im."
"Who asked you to shove your jaw in?" snarled the first man. "You
didn't get the brute, did ye--curse him!"
Another kick.
The other man was used to his friend's temper, and said nothing;
but he hated to see a valuable animal knocked about, just as he
would have hated to see money thrown in the gutter instead of into
a publican's till; so he stooped down and lifted Finn's fore-feet
from the ground, and placed them on the floor of the cart.
"My oath!" he said, "but 'e's a tidy weight, ain't he? Up ye go, my
bully boy!" And up Finn went, on the spur of another violent kick,
which broke the skin across one of his hocks. The lead was now
fastened close down to a staple in the floor of the cart, Finn
being forced down on his side by the simple process of being knelt
upon by his persecutor. To make doubly sure of him, his fore-legs
were then tightly lashed together with his own green collar; and
then the two men mounted the front of the cart and drove off.
The memory of that night's drive burnt itself deep into Finn's
young mind. He never really forgot it; that is to say, its effect
upon his attitude toward men and life was never completely lost.
His skin was broken in three or four places; every bone in his body
ached from the heavy kicks he had received; an intolerable thirst
kept him gasping for every breath he drew; the cramp set up in his
fore-legs by their being strapped tightly together, one across the
other, was an exquisite pain; and his muzzle was held hard down
against the grimy floor-boards of the cart, while his mind was full
of a black despairing fear of he knew not what. It was a severe
ordeal for one who, up till then, had never even known what it
meant to receive a severe verbal scolding; for one who had never
seen a man's hand lifted in anger.
An end came at last to this horrible drive.
"Thank Gawd, 'ere's 'orley!" said the man who drove; and after
another minute or two the little cart came to a standstill in a
walled-in yard. The pony was taken out and stabled, and then the
man addressed as "Matey," still sullen and sour, let down the tail-board
of the cart with a jerk, and dragged Finn out by the collar,
allowing him to fall with a thud from the cart to the ground,
rendered helpless by the strap round his fore-legs.
"'Ere, get up outa that!" growled the man, with a careless kick.
Then, seeing that Finn could not move, he bent down, unbuckled the
green enamelled strap, dragged it roughly away, and kicked the dog
again. Cramped and sore beyond belief, Finn staggered on to his
feet. A door was opened, and Finn was jerked and dragged into a
perfectly dark, evil-smelling hole, about four feet square, with an
earthen floor, from which horrible odours rose. The ground in this
place was filthy. It had no drainage and no ventilation, except a
few round holes in the door; which door was now slammed to and
locked on the outside.
"Ain't ye goin' to give 'im a drink, matey?" asked Bill, outside.
"Drink be blowed! Let 'im wait till mornin'. Come in an' 'ave one
yerself. I'm blessed glad this night's job's done; an' if I can't
make fifty quid out 've it, I shall want to know the reason why, I
can tell yer. Big, ugly brute, ain't 'e! Strong as a mule, too.
_I'd_ want to be paid pretty 'andsome fer the keepin' o' such a
brute; but the American gent's red 'ot ter get 'im, I can tell yer.
Biggest ever bred, they tell me. I think I shall 'ave to stick on
another tenner, eh, Bill? Come on!"
Their very voices were a misery to the shrinking, aching, choking
Finn, who stood shuddering in his fetid den, his sensitive nose
wrinkling with horror and disgust. His need of water was the thing
which hurt him the most cruelly; but the nature of his prison was a
good deal of a torture, too. Remember that his life so far had been
as cleanly and decent in detail as yours or mine. Certainly this
was a sad plight for the hero of the Kennel Club Show, and the
finest living descendant of a fifteen hundred year old line of
princes among dogs.
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