Chapter VIII: Part 8

Next morning by daybreak, the shepherd, accompanied by a band of his neighbours, set out in search of the child, but, after a day spent in fruitless fatigue, he was at last compelled, by the approach of night, to descend from the mountain. On returning to his cottage he found that the dog, which he had lost the day before, had been home, and on receiving a piece of cake, had instantly gone off again. For several successive days the shepherd renewed the search for his child, but still, on returning at evening disappointed to his cottage, he found that the dog had been home, and, on receiving his usual allowance of cake, had instantly disappeared. Struck with this circumstance, he remained at home one day, and when the dog, as usual, departed with his piece of cake, he resolved to follow him, and find out the cause of his strange procedure. The dog led the way to a cataract, at some distance from the spot where the shepherd had left his child. The banks of the cataract almost joined at the top, yet separated by an abyss of immense depth, presenting that appearance which so often astonishes and appals travellers who frequent the Grampian Mountains, and indicates that these stupendous chasms were not the silent work of time, but the sudden effect of some violent convulsion of the earth. Down one of these rugged and almost perpendicular descents, the dog began, without hesitation, to make his way, and at last disappeared into a cave, the mouth of which was almost on a level with the torrent. The shepherd with some difficulty followed, but upon entering the cave, what were his emotions when he beheld his lost child eating with much satisfaction the cake which the dog had just brought to him, while the faithful animal stood by, eyeing his young charge with the utmost complacence.

From the situation in which the child was found, it appears that he had wandered to the brink of the precipice, and then either fallen or scrambled down till he reached the cave, which the dread of the torrent had probably prevented him from quitting. The dog had traced him to the spot, and afterwards prevented him from starving by giving up to him the whole, or the greater part of his own daily allowance. He appears never to have quitted the child by night or day, except when it was necessary to go for food, and then he was always seen running at full speed to and from the cottage.

This extraordinary and interesting anecdote is taken from the "Monthly Magazine" of April, 1802, and bears every appearance of authenticity. It affords an instance of the sense, affection, and self-denial of a faithful animal, and is recorded to his honour, and as an example to the whole race of human beings.

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Mr. Daniel, in the Supplement to his "Rural Sports," gives the following account of the shepherds' dogs in North Wales. He says, "The sheep in this country are the ancient Alpine sort, (how excellent the mutton is!) and that from their varying mode of life they assume very different habits to the sheep of an inland country, while those of the shepherds' dogs are no less conspicuous. The excellency of these animals renders sheep-pens in a great degree unnecessary. If a shepherd wishes to inspect his flock in a cursory way, he places himself in the middle of the field, or the piece of ground they are depasturing, and giving a whistle or a shout, the dogs and the sheep are equally obedient to the sound, and draw towards the shepherd, and are kept within reach by one or more dogs, until the business which required them to be assembled is finished. In such estimation was this breed of dogs, when cattle constituted one of the grand sources of wealth to the country, that in the laws of Hywell Dda, the legal price of one perfectly broken in for conducting the flocks or herds to or from their pasturage, was equal to that of an ox, viz. sixty denarii, while the price of the house-dog was estimated at only four, which was the value of a sheep. If any doubt arose as to the genuineness of the breed, or his having been _pastorally_ trained, then the owner and a neighbour were to make oath that he went with the flocks or herds in the morning, and drove them, with the stragglers, home in the evening."

I delight in seeing a shepherd's dog in full activity, anxious to obey the directions of his master. He runs with his utmost speed, encompassing a large space of open country in a short time, and brings those sheep that are wanted to the feet of his master. Indeed the natural talents and sagacity of this dog are so great, partly by being the constant companion of his master, and partly by education, that he may almost be considered a rational being. Mr. Smellie says, "that he reigns at the head of his flock, and that his _language_, whether expressive of blandishment or of command, is better heard and better understood than the voice of his master. Safety, order, and discipline are the effects of his vigilance and activity. Sheep and cattle are his subjects. These he conducts and protects with prudence and bravery, and never employs force against them, except for the preservation of peace and good order. He not only understands the language of his master, but, when too distant to be heard, he knows how to act by signals made with the hand." How well Delille describes this faithful animal!--

"Aimable autant qu'utile,
Superbe et caressant, courageux et docile,
Forme pour le conduire et pour le proteger.
Du troupeau qu'il gouverne il est le vrai berger;
Le Ciel l'a fait pour nous; et dans leur cours rustique,
Il fut des rois pasteurs le premier domestique."

Mr. Charles Darwin, in his interesting travels in South America, informs us, that when riding it is a common thing to meet a large flock of sheep, guarded by one or two dogs, at the distance of some miles from any house or man. He often wondered how so firm a friendship had been established, till he found that the method of education consisted in separating the puppy, while very young, from the mother, and in accustoming it to its future companions. In order to do this, a ewe is held three or four times a-day for the little thing to suck, and a nest of wool is made for it in the sheep-pen. At no time is it allowed to associate with other dogs, or with the children of the family. From this education, it has no wish to leave the flock, and just as another dog will defend his master, so will these the sheep. It is amusing to observe, when approaching a flock, how the dog immediately advances barking, and the sheep all close in his rear, as if round the oldest ram. These dogs are also easily taught to bring home the flock at a certain hour in the evening. Their most troublesome fault, when young, is their desire of playing with the sheep; for, in their sport, they sometimes gallop their poor subjects most unmercifully. The shepherd dog comes to the house every day for some meat, and immediately it is given him he skulks away as if ashamed of himself. On these occasions the house-dogs are very tyrannical, and the least of them will attack and pursue the stranger. The minute, however, the latter has reached the flock, he turns round and begins to bark, and then all the house-dogs take very quietly to their heels. In a similar manner, a whole pack of hungry wild dogs will scarcely ever venture to attack a flock when under the protection of even one of these faithful shepherds.

THE ST. BERNARD DOG.

"Thrill sounds are breaking o'er the startled ear,
The shriek of agony, the cry of fear;--
And the sad tones of childhood in distress,
Are echoing through the snow-clad wilderness!
And who the first to waken to the sound,
And quickly down the icy path to bound;
To dare the storm with anxious step and grave,
The first to answer and the first to save?--
'T is he--the brave old dog, who many a day
Hath saved lost wand'rers in that dreary way;
And now, with head close crouched along the ground,
Is watching eagerly each coming sound.
Sudden he starts--the cry is near--
On, gallant Bruno!--know no fear!
On!--for that cry may be the last,
And human life is ebbing fast!
And now he hurries on with heaving side,
Dashing the snow from off its shaggy hide;--
He nears the child!--he hears his gasping sighs,
And, with a tender care, he bears away the prize."
MRS. HOUSTOUN.

Sir Walter Scott said that he would believe anything of a St. Bernard dog. Their natural sagacity is, indeed, so sharpened by long practice and careful training, that a sort of language is established between them and the good monks of St. Bernard, by which mutual communications are made, such as few persons living in situations of less constant and severe trials can have any just conceptions of. When we look at the extraordinary sagacity of the animal, his great strength, and his instinctive faculties, we shall feel convinced how admirably he is adapted to fulfil the purpose for which he is chiefly employed,--that of saving lives in snow-storms.

The peculiar faculty of the St. Bernard dogs is shown by the curious fact, that if a whelp of this breed is placed upon snow for the first time, it will begin to scratch it, and sniff about as if in search of something. When they have been regularly trained, they are generally sent out in pairs during heavy snow-storms in search of travellers, who may have been overwhelmed by the snow. In this way they pass over a great extent of country, and by the acuteness of their scent discover if any one is buried in the snowdrift. When it is considered that Mount St. Bernard is situated about 8000 feet above the level of the sea, and that it is the highest habitable spot in Europe, and that the road which passes across it is constantly traversed, the great utility of the dogs is sufficiently manifest. Neither is the kindness, charity, and hospitality of the good monks less to be admired than the noble qualities of these dogs.

"Under every circumstance," says Mr. Brockedon, "in which it is possible to render assistance, the worthy religieuses of St. Bernard set out upon their fearful duty unawed by the storm, and obeying a higher Power; they seek the exhausted or overwhelmed traveller, accompanied by their dogs, whose sagacity will generally detect the victim though buried in the snow. The dogs, also, as if conscious of a high duty, will roam alone through the day and night in these desolate regions, and if they discover an exhausted traveller will lie on him to impart warmth, and bark and howl for assistance."[P]

Mr. Mathews, in his "Diary of an Invalid," gives this testimony in praise of the inmates of St. Bernard. "The approach," he says, "to the convent for the last hour of the ascent is steep and difficult. The convent is not seen till you arrive within a few hundred yards of it; when it breaks upon the view all at once, at a turn in the rock. Upon a projecting crag near it stood one of the celebrated dogs, baying at our advance, as if to give notice of strangers. These dogs are of a large size, particularly high upon the legs, and generally of a milk white, or of a tabby colour. They are most extraordinary creatures, if all the stories the monks tell of them are true. They are used for the purpose of searching for travellers who may be buried in the snow; and many persons are rescued annually from death by their means. During the last winter, a traveller arrived at the convent in the midst of a snow-storm, having been compelled to leave his wife, who was unable to proceed further, at about a quarter of a mile's distance. A party of the monks immediately set out to her assistance, and found her completely buried under the snow. The sagacity of the dogs alone was the cause of her deliverance, for there was no visible trace, and it is difficult to understand how the scent can be conveyed through a deep covering of snow.

"It is stated that the monks themselves, when out upon search for travellers, have frequently owed their preservation to their dogs, in a manner which would seem to show that the dogs are endued with a presentiment of danger.

"Many stories of this kind have been told, and I was anxious to ascertain their truth. The monks stated two or three cases where the dogs had actually prevented them from returning to the convent by their accustomed route, when it afterwards turned out, that if they had not followed the guidance of their dog in his deviation, they would have been overwhelmed by an avalanche. Whether the dog may be endued with an intuitive foreboding of danger, or whether he may have the faculty of detecting symptoms not perceptible to our duller senses, must be determined by philosophers."

That dogs and other animals, especially elephants, have this faculty, cannot be doubted. There is an instance on record of a dog having, by his importunity and peculiar gestures, induced his mistress to quit a washhouse in which she was at work, the roof of which fell in almost immediately afterwards. Dogs have been known to give the alarm of fire, by howling and other signs, before it was perceived by any of the inmates of the house. Their apprehension of danger is indeed very acute and very extraordinary, and may serve to account for and prove the accuracy of what has been stated respecting the instinct of the St. Bernard dogs.

These dogs, however, do not always escape being overwhelmed by a sudden avalanche, which falls, as is most usual, in the spring of the year. Two of the domestics of the convent, with two or three dogs, were escorting some travellers, and were lost in an avalanche. One of the predecessors of these dogs, an intelligent animal, which had served the hospital for the space of twelve years, had, during that time, saved the lives of many individuals. Whenever the mountain was enveloped in fogs and snow, he set out in search of lost travellers. He was accustomed to run barking until he lost his breath, and would frequently venture on the most perilous places. When he found his strength was insufficient to draw from the snow a traveller benumbed with cold, he would run back to the hospital in search of the monks.

One day this interesting animal found a child in a frozen state between the Bridge of Drouaz and the Ice-house of Balsora. He immediately began to lick him, and having succeeded in restoring animation, and the perfect recovery of the boy, by means of his caresses, he induced the child to tie himself round his body. In this way he carried the poor little creature, as if in triumph, to the hospital. When old age deprived him of strength, the prior of the convent pensioned him at Berne by way of reward. He is now dead, and his body stuffed and deposited in the museum of that town. The little phial, in which he carried a reviving liquor for the distressed travellers whom he found among the mountains, is still suspended from his neck.

The story of this dog has been often told, but it cannot be too frequently repeated. Its authenticity is well established, and it affords another proof of the utility and sense of the St. Bernard dogs. Neither can the benevolence of the good monks be too highly praised. To those accustomed to behold the habitations of man, surrounded by flowery gardens, green and pleasing meadows, rivulets winding and sparkling over their pebbly bottoms, and groves in which songsters haunt and warble, the sight of a large monastery, situated on a gigantic eminence, with clouds rolling at its foot, and encompassed only by beds of ice and snow, must be awfully impressive. Yet amidst these boundless labyrinths of rugged glens and precipices, in the very rudest seasons, as often as it snows or the weather is foggy, do some of those benevolent persons go forth, with long poles, guided by their sagacious dogs. In this way they seek the high road, which these animals, with their instinctive faculty, never miss, how difficult soever to find. If an unfortunate traveller has sunk beneath the force of the falling snows, or should be immersed among them, the dogs never fail to find the place of his interment, which they point out by scratching and snuffing; when the sufferer is dug out, and carried to the monastery, where means are used for his recovery.

The Count de Monte Veccios had a St. Bernard dog, which, as his master always had reported, could understand whatever he said to him; and the following short account deserves to be recorded, as it at once indicates memory, compassion, love, gratitude, and resentment in the faithful animal, even if we do not allow it to make good his master's opinion. The story is this:--

The Count had served long in the wars, and always had this faithful attendant with him. The republic of Venice had been signally indebted to his courage, but had not rewarded him. He had a favour to ask of the then General Morosini; and as that commander was a man of singular pride and arrogance, he was obliged to wait a favourable opportunity of presenting his suit. One day when the General himself had a favour to ask of the Doge (who was a person of high elegance, and celebrated for his love of expensive entertainments), he laid out half his fortune on a cold collation, to which he had invited the Doge, to put him in humour for his suit. Thinking this the most suitable time for his purpose, as he who was about to ask a favour for himself would hardly at that instant deny one to another, the Count went to him some hours before the Doge was expected, and was graciously received in the room where the table was prepared. Here he began to make his court to the General, by praising the elegance and pomp of the preparation, which consisted of many thousands of finely-cut vessels of Venetian glass, filled with the richest sweetmeats and cold provisions, and disposed on fine tables, all covered with one vast cloth, with a deep gold fringe, which swept the ground. The Count said a thousand fine things about the elegance and richness of the dessert, and particularly admired the profusion of expense in the workmanship of the crystal and the weight of the gold fringe. Thus far he was very courteously treated; and the lord of the feast pompously told him that all the workmen in Venice had been half a year employed about them. From this he proceeded to the business of his suit; but this met with a very different reception, and was not only refused, but the denial attended with very harsh language. The Count was shocked at the ill-nature of the General, and went away in a very melancholy mood. As he went out, he patted his dog upon the head, and, out of the fulness of his heart, said to him with an afflicted air, "_Tu vois, mon ami, comme l'on nous traite_,--You see, my friend, how I am used." The dog looked up wistfully in his face, and returned him an answer with his tears. He accompanied him till he was at some distance from the General's, when, finding him engaged in company, he took that opportunity of leaving him with people who might justify him if accused. Upon which the dog, returning back to the house of the haughty officer, entered the great room, and taking hold of the gold tassel at one of the corners of the cloth, ran forcibly back, and drew after him the whole preparation, which in a moment lay strewed on the ground in a vast heap of broken glasses; thus revenging his master's quarrel, and ensuring as unexpected a reception to the General's requests as the latter had given to those of the Count.

One of the St. Bernard dogs, named Barry, had a medal tied round his neck as a badge of honourable distinction, for he had saved the lives of forty persons. He at length died nobly in his vocation. In the winter of 1816, a Piedmontese courier arrived at St. Bernard on a very stormy day, labouring to make his way to the little village of St. Pierre, in the valley beneath the mountain, where his wife and children lived. It was in vain that the monks attempted to check his resolution to reach his family. They at last gave him two guides, each of whom was accompanied by a dog, one of which was the remarkable creature whose services had been so valuable. They set forth on their way down the mountain. In the mean time the anxious family of the poor courier, alarmed at his long absence, commenced the ascent of the mountain, in hopes of meeting him, or obtaining some information respecting him. Thus at the moment he and his guides were descending, his family were toiling up the icy steep, crowned with the snows of ages. A sudden crackling noise was heard, and then a thundering roar echoing through the Alpine heights--and all was still. Courier, and guides, and dogs, and the courier's family, were at the same moment overwhelmed by one common destruction--not one escaped. Two avalanches had broken away from the mountain pinnacles, and swept with impetuous force into the valley below.

THE BLOODHOUND.

"His snuffling nose, his active tail,
Attest his joy; then with deep op'ning mouth,
That makes the welkin tremble, he proclaims
Th' audacious felon; foot by foot he marks
His winding way, while all the listening crowd
Applaud his reasonings. O'er the watery ford,
Dry sandy heaths, and stony barren hills,
O'er beaten paths, with men and beasts distain'd,
Unerring he pursues; till at the cot
Arriv'd, and seizing by his guilty throat
The caitiff vile, redeems the captive prey:
So exquisitely delicate his sense!"--SOMERVILLE.

These noble dogs were also called "Slough dogs," in consequence of their exploring the sloughs, mosses, and bogs, in pursuit of offenders, called Moss-troopers. They were used for this purpose as late as the reign of James the First. In Scotland they are called the Sleuth-hound. It is the largest of any variety of hound, some of them having measured from twenty-six to twenty-eight inches to the top of the shoulder. They are beautifully formed, and have a noble expression of countenance, so finely portrayed in Sir Edwin Landseer's well-known and beautiful picture of "Dignity and Impudence." There is, as Colonel Hamilton Smith has observed, a kind of sagacious, or serious, solemn dignity about him, admirably calculated to impress the marauder with dread and awe. Indeed, so much is this the case, that I knew an instance of a bloodhound having traced a sheep-stealer to his cottage in Bedfordshire; and so great was the dread afterwards of the peculiar instinct of this dog, that sheep-stealing, which had before been very common in the neighbourhood, was put an end to. It has, therefore, often occurred to me, that if bloodhounds were kept for the general good in different districts, sheep-stealing would be less frequent than it is at present. They might also be usefully employed in the detection of rick-burners. At all events the suggestion is worth some consideration, especially from insurance offices. In 1803, the Thrapston Association for the Prosecution of Felons in Northamptonshire, procured and trained a bloodhound for the detection of sheep-stealers. In order to prove the utility of the dog, a man was dispatched from a spot where a great concourse of people were assembled, at ten o'clock in the forenoon, and an hour afterwards the hound was laid on the scent. After a chase of an hour and a half, the hound found him secreted in a tree many miles from the place of starting. The very knowledge that farmers could readily have recourse to the assistance of such a dog, would serve to prevent the commission of much crime.

To try whether a young bloodhound was well instructed, a nobleman (says Mr. Boyle) caused one of his servants to walk to a town four miles off, and then to a market-town three miles from thence. The dog, without seeing the man he was to pursue, followed him by the scent to the above-mentioned places, notwithstanding the multitude of people going the same road, and of travellers that had occasion to cross it. When the hound came to the chief market-town, he passed through the streets, without noticing any of the people there, till he got to the house where the man he sought was, and there found him in an upper room.

A sure way of stopping the dog was to spill blood upon the track, which destroyed the discriminating fineness of his scent. A captive was sometimes sacrificed on such occasions. Henry the Minstrel tells us a romantic story of Wallace, founded on this circumstance. The hero's little band had been joined by an Irishman named Fawdon, or Fadzean, a dark, savage, and suspicious character. After a sharp skirmish at Black Erneside, Wallace was forced to retreat with only sixteen followers. The English pursued with a border sleuth-bratch, or bloodhound. In the retreat, Fawdon, tired, or affecting to be so, would go no farther. Wallace having in vain argued with him, in hasty anger struck off his head, and continued the retreat. When the English came up, their hound stayed upon the dead body.

To the present group has been referred by some naturalists a dog of Spanish descent, termed the Cuban bloodhound. A hundred of these sagacious but savage dogs were sent, in 1795, from the Havanna to Jamaica, to extinguish the Maroon war, which at that time was fiercely raging. They were accompanied by forty Spanish chasseurs, chiefly people of colour, and their appearance and that of the dogs struck terror into the negroes. The dogs, muzzled and led in leashes, rushed ferociously upon every object, dragging along the chasseurs in spite of all their endeavours. Dallas, in his "History of the Maroons," informs us that General Walpole ordered a review of these dogs and the men, that he might see in what manner they would act. He set out for a place called Seven Rivers, accompanied by Colonel Skinner, whom he appointed to conduct the attack. "Notice of his coming having preceded him, a parade of the chasseurs was ordered, and they were taken to a distance from the house, in order to be advanced when the general alighted. On his arrival, the commissioner (who had procured the dogs), having paid his respects, was desired to parade them. The Spaniards soon appeared at the end of a gentle acclivity drawn out in a line, containing upwards of forty men, with their dogs in front unmuzzled, and held by cotton ropes. On receiving the command, 'Fire!' they discharged their fusils, and advanced as upon a real attack. This was intended to ascertain what effect would be produced on the dogs if engaged under a fire of the Maroons. The volley was no sooner discharged than the dogs rushed forward with the greatest fury, amid the shouts of the Spaniards, who were dragged on by them with irresistible force. Some of the dogs, maddened by the shout of attack while held back by the ropes, seized on the stocks of the guns in the hands of their keepers, and tore pieces out of them. Their impetuosity was so great that they were with difficulty stopped before they reached the general, who found it necessary to get expeditiously into the chaise from which he had alighted; and if the most strenuous exertions had not been made, they would have seized upon his horses." This terrible exhibition produced the intended effect--the Maroons at once capitulated, and were subsequently sent to Halifax, North America.

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Mr. John Lawrence, says that a servant, discharged by a sporting country gentleman, broke into his stables by night, and cut off the ears and tail of a favourite hunter. As soon as it was discovered, a bloodhound was brought into the stable, who at once detected the scent of the miscreant, and traced it more than twenty miles. He then stopped at a door, whence no power could move him. Being at length admitted, he ran to the top of the house, and, bursting open the door of a garret, found the object that he sought in bed, and would have torn him to pieces, had not the huntsman, who had followed him on a fleet horse, rushed up after him.

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Colonel Hamilton Smith says, that he was favoured with the following interesting notice of this dog from Sir Walter Scott, and which agrees exactly with some I have seen bred by Lord Bagot at Blithfield in Staffordshire, and some belonging to Her present Majesty.

"The only sleuth-hound I ever saw was one which was kept at Keeldar Castle. He was like the Spanish pointer, but much stronger, and untameably fierce,--colour, black and tawny, long pendulous ears,--had a deep back, broad nostrils, and was strongly made, something like the old English mastiff, now so rare."

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Wanley, in his "Wonders of the Little World," relates the following anecdote:--

"Anno Dom. 867.--Lothbroke, of the blood-royal of Denmark, and father to Humbar and Hubba, entered with his hawk into a boat alone, and by tempest was driven upon the coast of Norfolk in England; where being found, he was detained, and presented to Edmund, at that time King of the East Angles. The king entertained him at his court; and perceiving his singular dexterity and activity in hawking and hunting, bore him particular favour. By this means he fell into the envy of Berick, the king's falconer, who one day, as they hunted together, privately murdered and threw him into a bush. It was not long before he was missed at court. When no tidings could be heard of him, his dog, who had continued in the wood with the corpse of his master, till famine forced him thence, at sundry times came to court, and fawned on the king; so that the king, suspecting some ill matter, at length followed the trace of the hound, and was led by him to the place where Lothbroke lay. Inquisition was made; and by circumstance of words, and other suspicions, Berick, the king's falconer, was pronounced to be his murderer. The king commanded him to be set alone in Lothbroke's boat, and committed to the mercy of the sea, by the working of which he was carried to the same coast of Denmark from whence Lothbroke came. The boat was well known, and the occupant, Berick, examined by torments. To save himself, he asserted that Lothbroke had been slain by King Edmund. And this was the first occasion of the Danes' arrival in this land."

A planter had fixed his residence at the foot of the Blue Mountains, in the back settlements of America. One day the youngest of his family, a child of about four years old, disappeared. The father, becoming alarmed, explored the woods in every direction, but without success. On the following day the search was renewed, during which a native Indian happened to pass, accompanied by his dog, one of the true bloodhound breed. Being informed of the distress of the planter, he requested that the shoes and stockings last worn by the child might be brought to him. He made the dog smell to them, and patted him. The intelligent animal seemed to comprehend all about it, for he began immediately to sniff around. The Indian and his dog then plunged into the wood. They had not been there long before the dog began to bay; he thought that he had hit upon the scent, and presently afterwards, being assured of it, he uttered a louder and more expressive note, and darted off at full speed into the forest. The Indian followed, and after a considerable time met his dog bounding back, his noble countenance beaming with animation. The hound turned again into the wood, his master not being far behind, and they found the child lying at the foot of a tree, fatigued and exhausted, but otherwise unhurt.

Some of these dogs are kept by the keepers in the royal parks and forests, and are used to trace wounded deer. An officer in the 1st Life Guards has two noble dogs of this description, for one of which, I am informed, he gave fifty pounds. In fact, they are by no means uncommon in England. One distinguishing trait of purity in the breed is the colour, which is almost invariably a reddish tan, progressively darkening to the upper part, with a mixture of black upon the back.

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"In the Spanish West India Islands," says Bingley, "there are officers called chasseurs, kept in continual employment. The business of these men is to traverse the country with their dogs, for the purpose of pursuing and taking up all persons guilty of murder, or other crimes; and no activity on the part of the offenders will enable them to escape. The following is a very remarkable instance, which happened not many years ago.

"A fleet from Jamaica, under convoy to Great Britain, passing through the Gulf of Mexico, beat upon the north side of Cuba. One of the ships, manned with foreigners (chiefly renegado Spaniards), in standing in with the land at night, was run on shore. The officers, and the few British seamen on board, were murdered, and the vessel was plundered by the renegadoes. The part of the coast on which the vessel was stranded being wild and unfrequented, the assassins retired with their booty to the mountains, intending to penetrate through the woods to some remote settlements on the southern side, where they hoped to secure themselves, and elude all pursuit. Early intelligence of the crime had, however, been conveyed to Havanna. The assassins were pursued by a detachment of the Chasseurs del Rey, with their dogs; and in the course of a very few days they were every one apprehended and brought to justice.

"The dogs carried out by the Chasseurs del Rey are all perfectly broken in. On coming up with the fugitive, they bark at him till he stops; they then crouch near him, terrifying him with a ferocious growling if he attempts to stir. In this position they continue barking, to give notice to the chasseurs, who come up and secure their prisoner.

"Each chasseur can only hunt with two dogs. These people live with their dogs, and are inseparable from them. At home the animals are kept chained; and when walking out with their masters, they are never unmuzzled nor let out of ropes, but for attack.

"Bloodhounds were formerly used in certain districts lying between England and Scotland, that were much infested by robbers and murderers; and a tax was laid on the inhabitants for keeping and maintaining a certain number of these animals. But as the arm of justice is now extended over every part of the country, and as there are now no secret recesses where villany can be concealed, their services in this respect are become no longer necessary.

"Some few of these dogs, however, are yet kept in the northern parts of the kingdom, and in the lodges of the royal forests, where they are used in pursuit of deer that have been previously wounded. They are also sometimes employed in discovering deer-stealers, whom they infallibly trace by the blood that issues from the wounds of their victims.

"A very extraordinary instance of this occurred in the New Forest, in the year 1810, and was related to me by the Right Hon. G. H. Rose. A person, in getting over a stile into a field near the Forest, remarked that there was blood upon it. Immediately afterwards he recollected that some deer had been killed, and several sheep stolen in the neighbourhood; and that this might possibly be the blood of one that had been killed in the preceding night. The man went to the nearest lodge to give information; but the keeper being from home, he was under the necessity of going to Rhinefield Lodge, which was at a considerable distance. Toomer, the under-keeper, went with him to the place, accompanied by a bloodhound. The dog, when brought to the spot, was laid on the scent; and after following for about a mile the track which the depredator had taken, he came at last to a heap of furze fagots belonging to the family of a cottager. The woman of the house attempted to drive the dog away, but was prevented; and on the fagots being removed a hole was discovered in the ground, which contained the body of a sheep that had recently been killed, and also a considerable quantity of salted meat. The circumstance which renders this account the more remarkable is, that the dog was not brought to the scent until more than sixteen hours had elapsed after the man had carried away the sheep."

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An old writer--the author of "The History of the Buccaneers"--though full of prejudice against the Indians, thus describes some of the atrocities practised by the Spaniards:--

"The Spaniards having possessed themselves of these isles (South America), found them peopled with Indians, a barbarous people, sensual and brutish, hating all labour, and only inclined to killing and making war against their neighbours; not out of ambition, but only because they agreed not with themselves in some common terms of language; and perceiving that the dominion of the Spaniards laid great restrictions upon their lazy and brutish customs, they conceived an irreconcileable hatred against them, but especially because they saw them take possession of their kingdoms and dominions. Hereupon they made against them all the resistance they could, everywhere opposing their designs to the utmost; and the Spaniards, finding themselves cruelly hated by the Indians, and nowhere secure from their treacheries, resolved to extirpate and ruin them, since they could neither tame them by civility nor conquer them by the sword. But the Indians, it being their custom to make the woods their chief places of defence, at present made these their refuge whenever they fled from the Spaniards: hereupon those first conquerors of the New World made use of dogs to range and search the intricate thickets of woods and forests for those their implacable and unconquerable enemies; thus they forced them to leave their old refuge and submit to the sword, seeing no milder usage would do it: hereupon they killed some of them, and quartering their bodies, placed them in the highways, that others might take warning from such a punishment. But this severity proved of ill consequence, for instead of frightening them, and reducing them to civility, they conceived such horror of the Spaniards, that they resolved to detest and fly their sight for ever; hence the greatest part died in caves and subterraneous places of woods and mountains, in which places I myself have often seen great numbers of human bones."

* * * * *

It has been already stated, that in the West Indies bloodhounds were employed to hunt the runaway blacks. I had one of these Cuban bloodhounds given to me a few years ago, and finding him somewhat more ferocious than I liked, I made a present of him to a keeper in the neighbourhood. He was put into a kennel with other dogs, and soon killed some of them. Keepers, however, in going their rounds at night, are frequently accompanied by bloodhounds, and poachers are said to have a great dread of them.

THE TERRIER.

"Little favourite! rest thee here,
With the tribute of a tear!

* * * *

Thou hast fondled at my feet,
Greeted those I lov'd to greet;
When in sorrow or in pain,
On my bosom thou hast lain.
I have seen thy little eye
Full as if with sympathy."

There are so many varieties of terriers, and so many celebrated breeds of these dogs, that it would be a difficult task to give a separate account of each. Some have a cross of the bull-dog; and these, perhaps, are unequalled for courage and strength of jaw. In the latter quality they are superior to the bull-dog. Then there is the pepper-and-mustard breed, the Isle of Sky, the rough and smooth English terrier, and a peculiar breed, of which my own sensible little Judy, now reposing at my feet, is one, besides some others.

Perhaps there is no breed of dogs which attach themselves so strongly to man as the terrier. They are his companions in his walks, and their activity and high spirit enable them to keep up with a horse through a long day's journey. Their fidelity to their master is unbounded, and their affection for him unconquerable. When he is ill they will repose for hours by the side of his bed, as still as a mother watching over a sick and slumbering child; and when he is well they will frisk around him, as if their pleasure was renewed with his returning health. How well do I remember this to have been the case with my faithful old dog Trim! Nothing would induce him to make the slightest noise till I called him on my bed, when I awoke in the morning. Night or day, he never left me for many years; and when at last I was obliged to take a journey without him, his life fell a sacrifice to his affection for me. Alas, poor Trim!

This breed of dogs, the true English terrier, shows an invincible ardour in all that he is required to do, as well as persevering fortitude. In drawing badgers and foxes from their holes, the severe bites of these animals only seem to animate them to greater exertions; and they have been known to suffer themselves to be killed by the former sooner than give over the unequal contest.

The vignette at the end of this notice represents a favourite wire-haired terrier of mine, called Peter, well known for many years at Hampton Court. He had wonderful courage and perseverance, and was the best dog to hunt rabbits in thick hedge-rows I ever met with. He was also a capital water-dog; and he was frequently enticed by some of the officers quartered at Hampton Court to accompany them to the neighbouring lock of the river Thames, in which an unfortunate duck was to be hunted. I was assured that on these occasions Peter distinguished himself greatly, diving after the duck whenever it dived, and beating all the other dogs by his energy and perseverance. Peter was a general favourite, and perhaps this was partly owing to his being a great pickle. He was always getting into scrapes. Twice he broke either his shoulder-bone or his leg by scrambling up a ladder. He was several times nearly killed by large dogs, of which he was never known to show the slightest fear; and with those of about his own size he would fight till he died. He has killed sixty rats in a barn in about as many minutes; and he was an inveterate foe to cats. I remember once taking him with me on a rabbit-ferreting excursion. Before the ferrets were put in the holes, I made Peter quite aware that he was not to touch them; and he was so sensible a dog that there was no difficulty in doing this, although it was the first time he had seen a ferret. If a rabbit bolted from the hole he was watching, he killed it in an instant; but when the ferret made its appearance, Peter retreated a step or two, showing his teeth a little as if he longed to attack it. Towards the end of the day I had gone to a little distance, leaving Peter watching a hole. Presently I heard a squeak, and on turning round I saw the ferret dead, and Peter standing over it, looking exceedingly ashamed at what he had done, and perfectly conscious that he had disobeyed orders. The temptation, however, was too great for him to resist. Peter at last got into bad company, for he suffered himself to be enticed by the ostlers and others into the taps at Hampton Court, and they indulged him in his fondness for killing vermin and cats. He was a dog of extraordinary sense. I once gave him some milk and water at my breakfast, which was too hot. He afterwards was in the habit of testing the heat by dipping one of his paws into the basin, preferring rather to scald his foot than to run the risk of burning his tongue. He had other peculiarities. When I mounted my horse and wanted him to follow me, he would come a little distance, and then all at once pretend to be lame. The more I called the lamer he became. He was, in fact, aware of my long rides, and was too lazy to follow me. He played this trick very frequently. If I called him while I had my snuff-box in my hand, he would come to me, pretending to sneeze the whole of the time. I have said so much about Peter, because he was a good specimen of one of the small breed of terriers.

Terriers, more than any other breed of dogs, live so much in our rooms, and are so generally our companions during our walks and rides, that they naturally imbibe a great degree of sensibility of the least look or word of their master. This very sensibility makes them extremely jealous of any preference or attention shown by their master to another dog. I had an old terrier who never could bear to see me do this. He showed it not only by his countenance in a remarkable way, but would fall upon any dog he saw me caress. Mons. Blaze gives an instance of a dog having killed a young child, who had been in the habit of fondling a dog belonging to the same owner, and showing fear and dislike of him. Another dog was so strongly attached to his master that he was miserable when he was absent. When the gentleman married, the dog seemed to feel a diminution of affection towards him, and showed great uneasiness. Finding, however, that his new mistress grew fond of him, he became perfectly happy. Somewhat more than a year after this they had a child. There was now a decided inquietude about the dog, and it was impossible to avoid noticing that he felt himself miserable. The attention paid to the child increased his wretchedness; he loathed his food, and nothing could content him, though he was treated on this account with the utmost tenderness. At last he hid himself in the coal-cellar, and every means were used to induce him to return, but all in vain. He was deaf to entreaty, rejected all kindness, refused to eat, and continued firm in his resolution, till exhausted nature yielded to death.

I have seen so much of the sensitiveness and jealousy of dogs, owing to their unbounded affection for their masters, that I cannot doubt the truth of this anecdote, which was related by Mr. Dibdin. A lady had a favourite terrier, whose jealousy of any attentions shown to her by strangers was so great, that in her walks he guarded her with the utmost care, and would not suffer any one to touch her. The following anecdote will prove the unchanging affection of these dogs. It was communicated to me by the best and most amiable man I have ever met with, either in public or private life.

He had a small terrier, which was much attached to him. On leaving this country for America, he placed the dog under the care of his sister, who resided in London. The dog at first was inconsolable, and could scarcely be persuaded to eat anything. At the end of three years his owner returned, and upon knocking at the door of his sister's house, the dog recognised the well-known knock, ran down-stairs with the utmost eagerness, fondled his master with the greatest affection; and when he was in the sitting-room, the faithful animal jumped upon the piano-forte, that he might get as near to him as possible. The dog's attachment remained to the last moment of his life. He was taken ill, and was placed in his master's dressing-room on one of his cloaks. When he could scarcely move, his kind protector met him endeavouring to crawl to him up the stairs. He took the dog in his arms, placed him on his cloak, when the dog gave him a look of affection which could not be mistaken, and immediately died. There can, I think, be no doubt but that this affectionate animal, in his endeavour to get up the steps to his master, was influenced by sensations of love and gratitude, which death alone could extinguish, and which the approach of death prompted him to show. How charming are these instances of the affection of dogs to a kind master! and how forcibly may we draw forth the strongest testimonials of love from them, by treating them as they deserve to be treated! Few people sufficiently appreciate the attachment, fidelity, and sagacity of these too-often persecuted animals, or are aware how much they suffer from unkindness or harsh treatment.

Every one is acquainted with the pretty picture Sir Walter Scott has drawn of the affectionate terrier, which was the companion of his hero in "Guy Mannering." We see the faithful Wasp "scampering at large in a thousand wheels round the heath, and come back to jump up to his master, and assure him that he participated in the pleasures of the journey." We see him during the fight with the robbers, "annoying their heels, and repeatedly effecting a moment's diversion in his master's favour, and pursuing them when they ran away." We hear the jolly farmer exclaim--"De'il, but your dog's weel entered wi' the vermin;" and when he goes to see his friend in prison, and brings Wasp with him, we see the joy of the latter, and hear the remark elicited by it--"Whisht, Wasp--man! Wow, but he's glad to see you, poor thing." The whole race of pepper-and-mustard are brought before us--that breed which are held in such high estimation, not only as vermin-killers, but for their intelligence and fidelity, and other companionable qualities.

I could not deny myself the pleasure of introducing this account of the terrier, as it describes so well their courage, fidelity, and attachment. "Wasp," we are told, at the close of an eventful day, "crouched himself on the coverlet at his master's feet, having first licked his master's hand to ask leave." This is part of the natural language of the dog, and how expressive it is! They speak by their eyes, their tail, and by various gestures, and it is almost impossible to misunderstand their meaning. There is a well-known anecdote of two terriers who were in the habit of going out together to hunt rabbits. One of them got so far into a hole that he could not extricate himself. His companion returned to the house, and by his importunity and significant gestures induced his master to follow him. He led him to the hole, made him understand what was the matter, and his associate was at last dug out.

The following affords another proof of the sagacity of these dogs:--

A respectable farmer, residing in a village near Gosport, had a terrier dog who was his constant companion. His business frequently led him across the water to Portsmouth, to which place the dog regularly attended him. The farmer had a son-in-law, a bookseller at Portsmouth, to whose house he frequently went, taking the dog with him. One day, the animal having lost his master in Portsmouth, after searching for him at his usual haunts, went to the bookseller, and by various gesticulations gave him to understand that he had lost his master; his supplications were not in vain, for the bookseller, who understood his language, immediately called his boy, gave him a penny, and ordered him to go directly to the beach, and give the ferryman the money for his passage to the opposite shore. The dog, who seemed to understand the whole proceeding, was much pleased, and jumped directly into the boat, and when landed at Gosport, immediately ran home. He always afterwards went to the bookseller, if he had lost his master at Portsmouth, feeling sure that his boat-hire would be paid, and which was always done.

The same dog, when he was wet or dirty, would go into the barn till he was clean and dry, and then scratch at the parlour-door for admittance.