Chapter V: Part II (3)

Upon one occasion all our elephants were seized with a sudden panic, and very nearly annihilated the camp. We had halted for two or three days at a large station where an energetic engineer officer had prepared, as a great treat for the Commander-in-Chief, various noisy military shows winding up with the springing of a mine. When the important evening arrived, the whole camp went to see the sight except me, for I must tell you as a secret that I hate reviews; the noise and dust and smell of gunpowder is so disagreeable to me that I never go to one if it is possible to avoid it: upon this occasion I was, as usual, the only person left in camp except a few servants to prepare dinner; every one had departed two or three hours before to assist at the grand affair, and many had chosen to ride to the place of inspection on an elephant, thinking they could then dismount and select a good place to see the show on foot. When the sun had set, I came out of my tent and walked up and down the broad street formed by the principal tents; for a wonder, instead of sand, I had nice turf under my feet, and I strolled up and down for a long time, rather enjoying the profound quiet, which was a contrast to the usual bustle and chatter of the camp. I was just beginning to feel hungry and to wonder when the ‘tomasha,’ or festival, would be over, when I heard a loud explosion, and saw clouds of stones and dust fly up into the air some way off. This was the springing of the mine, and I congratulated myself on being so far away in peace and safety; but I soon changed my mind about the safety, for in a few minutes there was a regular stampede of terrified elephants returning to camp. Some had thrown off their riders and were galloping about, trumpeting and bellowing with terror; and even those whose mahouts still clung to them had quite broken away from all control, and did just as they liked. I stood still, watching the huge beasts entangle themselves in the long ropes stretching out from the tents, and pulling down one after another of our canvas homes. In more than one case the pole of a ‘single tent’ snapped, causing great ruin beneath, and I saw the cooks with their assistants swarming out like bees from a disturbed hive, whilst the elephants ruthlessly trampled their preparations under foot, and beat down their little mud ovens.

You have no idea of the state of confusion to which the trim, orderly encampment was reduced in about five minutes. As for me, I had observed with great satisfaction that the sentries in front of His Excellency’s tent, instead of running away as every one else did, fixed their bayonets, and drew up close together, prepared to stand a charge of this very heavy cavalry, so I prudently sought shelter behind them: however, their bravery was not put to the test, for, although three elephants came very near, they turned tail and galloped off, frightened still more by the scarlet coats and gleaming steel. A great crowd of people had now appeared on the scene, for every one at the review had seen the elephants’ dismay when the fortification flew up into the air, and those on horseback set off at once to try and turn the terrified animals back. They all considered that the encampment had escaped wonderfully, but I thought a good deal of mischief had been done. Our tent, however, was not touched, which was entirely owing to the presence of mind of the Khansamah, who snatched up a gay table-cover and rushed out, brandishing its folds in the face of the nearest elephant and fairly frightening him off. He repeated this performance several times with great success, much to my amusement. We made the old man a present afterwards for his pluckiness. He was terribly exhausted with all his dancing, and I felt quite sorry to have to tell him that we should be obliged to ask a great many people to dinner that evening, whose tents had been pulled down by the elephants; however, the old man made his usual graceful reverence, and merely observed, ‘Good, very good, protector of the poor.’

About a week before we reached Umballah we had a day, or perhaps I should say a morning, of antelope-hunting with cheetahs. As soon as I came back to England, I went to the Zoological Gardens in the Regent’s Park to see the cheetahs there, and found they were very much smaller than those belonging to the Maharajah of this territory, who lent them to our Commander-in-Chief. It had been arranged at dinner the evening before, that I was to accompany the hunting party, so our fleetest and steadiest horses were sent on over night to a little village fifteen miles off, and quite out of the line of march. The next day the camp moved to the new ‘ground’ as usual, but, instead of marching with it, we joined the hunting party at daylight, and started as soon as the horses could see their way, for the village of mud huts where the cheetahs awaited us. A gallop of an hour and a half brought us to it, and we found fresh horses and a delicious cup of coffee ready. But the great attraction in my eyes was the cart containing the cheetahs, which I cautiously approached whilst the saddle was being transferred to my grey Arab. I saw two very fierce handsome animals, quite as large as panthers, each with a leathern hood over its eyes, and a strong muzzle round its jaws, from both sides of which was an iron chain secured to the cart. No one ventured to go very near them, as their keepers informed us, with much complacency, they were ‘hugely hungry,’ having been purposely kept without food for two days. Two white bullocks were yoked to each cart, the driver, as usual, sitting _on_ the yoke, with his face towards the cart, and occasionally hastening the poor beasts onwards by a twist of their tails. A pretty little kid was held in the dusky arms of another attendant, who was seated behind the cheetah and its keeper; a rough wooden bowl and a large knife were now put upon each cart, and, as all the preparations had been completed, we mounted our fresh horses. Before starting, the ‘shikari,’ or huntsman in charge of the expedition, looked us all carefully over to see that we had no fluttering garments about us. The gentlemen buttoned up their loose light coats, and my veil was condemned at once by the shikari’s grave, reproachful eyes, so it was soon stowed away in the pocket of the saddle, and we set off. The two carts with the cheetahs went first, and we divided ourselves into two parties of three each, and kept well hidden by the cart, which was thus between us and a large herd of antelopes feeding in the middle of a plain belted by trees. It was such a beautiful scene! The dew glistening on every blade of grass, the immense extent of open country around us, with here and there a patch of cultivation to mark where a village stood, the background of giant mountains whose peaks were only to be discerned in this early morning light before the haze and heat of the day covered them up with soft filmy vapour, and the long level beams of the rising sun lying like shafts of the purest gold over all the fair earth. Do you know I felt very much ashamed of myself! It seemed so horrible to have come out on such a bright, glorious morning, to hunt to the death poor, beautiful, unoffending animals. It was too late, however, for me to turn back, but I was very unhappy all the time; and if it had not been for the shikari’s sharp eyes, my waving habit-skirt, as I hung back a little behind the cart, would have warned the antelopes of their danger; but he evidently had no notion of allowing my qualms of conscience to interfere with the sport, so he kept strict watch over me, and politely but firmly pointed out my proper position. All this time we were circling round and round the herd of antelopes, drawing nearer and nearer with each circle, until we had approached quite close to a fine buck feeding a little apart from the others. A few whispered words from the shikari to the keeper of the cheetah, who was in the foremost cart, and the man unfastened very gently the iron chains which secured the fierce brute to the cart, and cheetah as well as keeper slipped noiselessly down on the ground under cover of a little bush. Still the carts crept slowly on with the drivers crooning a low monotonous song; I could see everything by turning my head, and looking back as we moved away from the bush. In half a moment the heavy collar was off the cheetah’s neck, and the hood lay on the grass behind him; with a soft whisper in his ear, just as if he had been a tame cat instead of a ravenous wild beast, the keeper took the huge head between his hands, turned it in the direction of the buck (who was keeping an eye on the carts), and let the cheetah go, at the same moment gliding quite under shelter of the bush. Exactly as a cat would approach an unsuspecting mouse, did the cheetah steal through the long grass towards his prey: crouching flat to the ground, he crept along with his terrible eyes fixed on it till he was within about fifty yards off; then up he rose sudden and swift, with every hair of his magnificent coat bristling on end, with his powerful tail lashing the ground, and his lips drawn back from the strong cruel teeth. Two enormous bounds carried him close to the buck, who stood for an instant as if paralysed, and then turned to fly; but it was too late; a third spring with a howl of fury brought the cheetah on his back, with his teeth in the graceful neck which a moment before had held the antlered head up so proudly. I saw the buck drop on his knees, and the keeper rush up to secure the cheetah again before he should begin to tear the venison, and then I could see no more; the gentlemen galloped off to the spot, and I remained under shelter of the cart with my face buried in my hands, sobbing as if my heart would break. I was so sorry for the poor buck!

We were too far from the camp for me to return alone, so I was obliged, very reluctantly, to go after another herd of antelopes who were reported to be feeding tranquilly a few miles nearer our destination. We cantered towards the open plain with the carts lumbering behind us, and both the cheetahs once more securely fastened on them. As soon as the scout who had been sent running on before, came back to tell the shikari the position of the herd, we were ranged in our old order, and went through precisely the same manœuvres, except that in this case, to my great joy, the antelope turned his head the least bit sooner, saw the cheetah high up in the air taking his second bound towards him, and was off like a flash of lightning to join the others, who were scampering away for their lives. I had hardly time to express my joy at the buck’s escape before one of my companions said very coolly, ‘Now we must look out for ourselves,’ and gathering up his reins, drew a large revolver from his holster, and came between my horse and the cheetah, who now turned round and stood looking fixedly at the little group, as if he were debating on which horse he should spring. He looked so handsome and so wicked,—his fur bristled up, his tail slowly giving angry little thumps on the ground at each side, his head thrown well back, and his fierce ravenous eyes gazing at us, whilst a low sound, between a snarl and a growl, came from his mouth. I felt like the poor buck, quite paralysed with fright, and gazed at the cheetah without moving, till the spell of his cruel hungry eyes was broken by the lad who had held the kid in his arms running fearlessly up to him with the large wooden bowl in his hands. I thought the cheetah would have sprung on him, as his form seemed to dilate, and his eyes gleamed still brighter at sight and smell of prey so near him; but the boy quickly and fearlessly flung the contents of the bowl—the poor kid’s life-blood—straight in his face—dropped it, and fled. The cheetah was half blinded by the sudden shock, and stood irresolute for a moment licking the warm blood which was streaming over his jaws. That bewildered instant was quite enough for his keeper, who glided under cover of a shrub near him, ran out, and slipped the hood over his eyes and the collar round his throat, in the twinkling of an eyelid. The cheetah’s whole demeanour changed as if by magic; he slunk along by the keeper’s side looking quite ashamed of himself, whilst the man heaped reproaches on him for having missed his prey. It seemed bad enough to lose his breakfast, without being also well scolded for it.

As soon as the cheetah was chained on the cart again, a discussion arose as to where we should go next; but by this time the sun had become very hot, and I was much too hungry and tired to go farther away from my canvas home; and as I saw the sharp points of the tents, like white vandykes, on the blue horizon, I turned Claude’s head that way, and set off home straight across country, with my ‘syce’ or groom running by my side. He either did not or would not understand me when I told him, in my best Hindoostanee, to remain behind and let me gallop on alone, for he merely said, ‘Very good, Mr. Lady,’ and kept on running close to my horse. Perhaps he did not like to let Claude out of his sight, and thought it would be better for all parties if I went slowly, which at last I was obliged to do, reaching the camp in time for a late but much ‘better-than-never’ breakfast.

We had no more hunting expeditions after this, for we were getting near the foot of the Himalaya mountains; the towns and villages were closer together, and the cultivation more extended. One afternoon we went to shoot peacocks in a dense patch of tall sugar-canes; but although the birds really were perfectly wild and very strong on the wing, I felt more ashamed of myself than ever. I could not dismiss from my mind the memory of many tame peacocks who had fed out of my hand in England, and it seemed very ruthless to return home with five splendid young birds dangling at our elephant’s huge side. They were excellent eating, and I remembered so well that when I was a child, and read historical accounts of great feasts in olden time, I had been filled with indignation at the idea of our ancestors including peacocks in their bill of fare. I little thought I should ever eat them myself, and so will some of you perhaps, one of these fine days.

The beginning of March saw the camp in great confusion and bustle, packing up and arranging for its final dispersion till the next cold season. Some of its inhabitants returned to Calcutta, poor creatures! some went to the various large stations we had marched through; and the fortunate remainder went up to the mountains whose grand outlines had been before us in our daily march for some time past, each day’s new camp bringing us nearer to them. The weather was becoming very disagreeable on the plains, hot dusty days followed by nights of oppressive stillness. Each morning, as I came out of my tent at the earliest dawn of day to mount Claude or Rajah, I used to look at those glorious mountains rising up, chain beyond chain, till the snowy summits were lost in the light clouds above them; and the listless, languid feeling, which was already creeping over me at the first breath of the hot wind on the plains, gave place to hope and courage. I often had that verse in the Psalms brought vividly to my mind, ‘I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help.’ The great object of everybody’s life here seemed to be to get away to the hills in the hot weather; and their anxiety was not to be wondered at, for it often makes the difference of their life or death whether they can have this change or not.

I lived among these beautiful mountains for five months after our camp broke up at Kalka, at the very foot of the mountain range; but as these are only stories of our life whilst we were actually housed in tents, I must not tell you about my delightful walks, and rides up and down the steep hill-sides. But during the last week of my camp life I had a little adventure, with the account of which I shall end my tales for the present.

First of all it is necessary to explain that, on the night of my story, there were very few gentlemen in camp. The Commander-in-Chief wished to visit a military station close by, but did not think it necessary to move the whole encampment thither, especially as there were difficulties about water; so the tents were pitched in a favourable spot, and in the afternoon His Excellency, with most of the officers at the head of departments, rode over to dine and sleep at the neighbouring fort, intending to make their inspection early the following morning, and join the camp during its march to the next ‘ground’—all of which plan was successfully carried out; but it is of what befell me during the night that I must tell you.

You will remember there were only four ladies in camp, and, as it happened, each of us was bereft of her husband by this arrangement about the fort. We agreed to dine together, and a very pleasant evening we had, separating as early as usual to allow of a good sleep before five o’clock the next morning. It must have been about nine that I was sitting before my toilet glass reading, whilst my ayah was slowly and sleepily brushing my hair. I had particularly enquired about the fastening of the tent, going myself round the outer verandah to see that no one was inside its shelter; the ayah and I were carefully shut up within the canvas walls, as if we had been wild birds anxious to fly away. Nevertheless, I had a disagreeable feeling that some one was watching me; I suddenly looked up, and there, sure enough, reflected in the glass, saw a pair of bright eyes fixed on mine. The rest of the face I could not see, for the curtain of scented grass which formed the door between my bedroom and the outer part of the verandah, was lined with crimson cotton to about the height of an ordinary person; so only by standing on tiptoe could a tall man even peep over this lining. I exclaimed in Hindoostanee, ‘Ayah! there’s a man in the tent.’ The ayah’s first care was to veil her face most carefully, as she was of very high caste, and then she slowly glided away, with many exclamations of ‘A bad fellow, a thief,’ to call the watchman. I ventured into the verandah, but no trace of an opening could I see. When the watchman appeared, he had to call the kelasses, and it took them at least five minutes to pull up the pegs which fastened the tent-door curtain securely down. The most careful search on all sides failed to find the supposed thief, or even any crevice by which he could have got in, so I had to be satisfied with the watchman’s assurance that, when _he_ was the guardian, no harm _could_ come near me. I confess that I kept the ayah up a long time, but at last she looked so sleepy that I was obliged to dismiss her, and sat on the edge of my bed, wondering whether it was fancy that had shown me those bright gleaming eyes in the looking-glass. At last I collected the two or three little trinkets which lay on the table, and as I was placing them under my pillow, looked again towards the grass curtain: there were the eager, wild-looking eyes, and a strip of dusky brown could also be plainly seen. I sprang up, and with a loud call to the ayah (which, however, failed to awaken her) pushed aside the curtain; all was darkness and silence. I took the little lamp in my hand, and carefully searched the whole tent: there certainly was no one in it. I was sleepy and tired, and could not keep awake any longer, so I got into bed, leaving the lamp burning on the dressing-table close to my head.

It must have been about one o’clock in the morning when I was awakened by the loud beating of some one’s heart quite close to my ears. Even before I was thoroughly awake I remembered the watching eyes of the night before, and did not make a sound, only opening my eyes a little. I saw on the opposite wall the shadow of a man at the head of my bed, bending over me, and with one arm under my pillow gently drawing away the lockets and watch I had placed beneath it for safety. Although I am really a dreadful coward, I did not feel in the least frightened upon this occasion. My first thought was how I should triumph over the old watchman who scouted the idea of danger, and my next was the wild idea that I could take the thief captive myself. I made up my mind what I should do, and then suddenly sat up in bed, putting out my right arm and clutching firm hold of the dressing-table so as to imprison the man behind it, whilst with my left hand I caught his arm as tightly as I could, and shouted in Hindoostanee, in French, as well as in English, for help. My ayah awoke directly, but did not get up; she lay still and screamed at the pitch of her voice; but, alas! my strength was not sufficient to keep my captive for a moment. He did not seem in the least disconcerted at the outcry, nor was he rough; he very gently but firmly moved my arm, which I fondly hoped was going to prove a barrier, shook himself free from the other detaining hand, paused to blow out the nightlight, and was gone ages before the valiant watchman had come to my assistance. Our cries had awakened a young aide-de-camp sleeping near, who immediately volunteered his services. He returned to his own tent for his revolver, and whilst he and the watchman were searching outside for the robber, I heard the report of a pistol, which awakened the whole camp. This was followed by loud yells and howls of pain, and my new ally ran past me with a very pale and scared face, saying, ‘Oh, I’m afraid I’ve shot your watchman—I’m going for the doctor;’ and so he had, but fortunately only in the leg. As the poor man was creeping softly round the tent, he came plump upon Captain N——, who was also prowling about. My brave watchman, supposing it was the robber, instantly took to his heels, and my hasty aide-de-camp promptly discharged his revolver at the retreating figure, and with much too good an aim. The great riddle, however, still remained unanswered, ‘How did the robber get in or out of the tent?’ but it was soon solved in an absurd way. My tent was soon half full of people who came to know what was the matter, and whilst I was explaining the position in which I saw the man, one of my auditors suddenly fell _through_ the tent, disappearing as if by magic. He had leaned against the canvas wall, and it had opened from top to bottom. There was the secret door! A sharp knife had made a clean cut from roof to carpet, and as the thief slipped through, the canvas closed behind him, leaving no trace of his passage. The kelasses were the only sufferers by this adventure, for they were not given the customary ‘backsheesh’ when the camp broke up a few days later, as there was a strong suspicion that they knew more of the intended robbery than they chose to acknowledge. They came to implore my intercession, bearing trays of sweetmeats and wreaths of flowers to propitiate me; but I could not follow their line of defence at all, and my endeavours to get the edict, which had deprived them of their present, revoked, proved fruitless.

_ABOUT DOGS._

The worst of a pet dog is that one gets so fond of it. When old age, or accident, or disease deprives you of your faithful friend, your unfailing sympathiser, you ‘go heavily as one that mourneth;’ and cold hard people, who have never known of what true and noble affection dogs are capable, wonder that you can be so silly as to fret after a dog. But if any children who read these pages have ever had a dog of their very own, they will understand exactly what I mean. Dogs do not forget us, why should we be ashamed of preserving a tender recollection of them? If it were possible for the gates of the grave to unclose, and its silent inmates to come back to this busy world of ours, who would stop to greet them, who would welcome their return more ecstatically than the dog they had fed and befriended? Whenever I hear a person say, ‘I don’t like dogs,’ I distrust that person, and I would not choose him for my own friend. Whenever I see anyone, big or little, child or grown-up man, deliberately cruel to a dog, I detest them. Of course there is a great difference between pampering a dog until you ruin both its health and temper, making it a plague to everyone, and being careful and considerate of your dog-friend, seeing that it has enough food and water, warmth, and, above all, exercise. People say a dog loves best the person who feeds it. I have not found this to be the case, unless with a greedy little beast: the finest and best dogs are most attached to those who take them out for a walk or a run; and I always think, that what shows the real nobility of a dog’s nature is, that if they do you a service they love you better than ever afterwards.

It is not, however, about dogs in general that I am going to write, but of my own particular friends. They have not always been my private property, for I have a large circle of acquaintances among dogs; and no compliment which anyone in the world could pay me would flatter me half so much as a poor half-starved homeless cur following me in the street. One of my dearest and most faithful friends came to me in that way: he was benighted on a large desolate common, near a cottage I had just visited; and ‘Luck’ (for so he was christened on the spot) attached himself to my side, insisted on accompanying me home, and never left me from that time till his death, five years later. He was a large, handsome, black water-spaniel, and had evidently strayed for a long distance; he was footsore and travel-stained; his coat was torn and ragged, and his bones were sticking through his skin. For the first night he slept in the stable, and had for supper only stale odds and ends of bread soaked in boiling skim-milk, for I was afraid to give him too much to eat at first. The next morning he had a bath with plenty of soap and warm water, and I cut off all the tangled hair of his coat. He spent the remainder of that day on an old rug by the kitchen fire, and it was nearly a week before he could run about gaily, for he was evidently an old dog when this terrible misadventure befell him. Talk of the gratitude of human beings, it was nothing to Luck’s gratitude, which lasted as long as his life; and he was a wise dog, for he profited by the experience of those dreadful wintry days, and took very good care never to stray or run away again. For the first three months after he gave himself to me, I sought diligently for his rightful owner, but never found anyone to claim him.

My little sister Jessie, whose acquaintance you have already made in the stories about Jamaica, was still more devoted to dogs than I am; and one of my most distinct childish memories is of a dreadful fright she gave us all. I must tell you about it. We were living in the country, and I well remember the long bright summer’s day on which I went through such agonies of suspense and fear. About an hour after breakfast, when my lessons were over, our dear, nice little governess prepared to take us out for a walk. Jessie had been sent to play in the garden a few moments before, whilst I lingered over a refractory sum which would not prove itself. At last it came right and I was released; but, when Miss Lewis called Jessie to join us, no Jessie was to be found. One of the servants had seen her leave the house, and that was the only news of the little girl whom we all loved and petted so much. The garden, grounds, and even the fields were thoroughly searched before Miss Lewis could make up her mind to alarm Mamma, who was in very delicate health. Oh! how well I remember the actual sickness which came over me when Mamma asked, with a trembling voice, ‘Have you examined the well.’ Now this well was a most peculiar one. In the centre was the ordinary brick round hole with a powerful windlass over it, but on each side extended a large deep cistern with only a very narrow brick coping. We knew these cisterns were full of water, for there had been heavy rain lately, and it was quite possible for a small child to drown itself in either of them. Mamma wished me to remain with her; but I could not endure to be quiet, so I set off with the others to this dangerous place. It was the work of half an hour at least to convince ourselves that Jessie was neither in the well nor the cisterns, and I was nearly frantic with misery whilst the search was going on.

A messenger on horseback was despatched for my father, who was absent, and on his arrival the servants were divided into regular parties to examine every possible hiding-place. An old man who attended to the cows had attracted my attention early in the day by wiping his eyes constantly with his sleeve whilst he was looking about, and saying to himself, ‘pooty little dear.’ To this sympathising individual I immediately attached myself, and holding tight on to his horny hand wandered for miles hither and thither all day. I had an instinctive feeling that old Jim would not scold Jessie if we discovered her, whereas any of the others would be sure to lecture her well all the way to the house.

At last sunset came and Jim proceeded to collect the cows and drive them to a ruinous old shed to milk them. I still followed him closely, and as the first cow leisurely entered her stall I heard a sweet little voice say, ‘Oh, don’t walk on me, please!’ There was Jessie, buried in hay, hungry and tired, but with an air of patient endurance nursing tenderly in her arms half-a-dozen pointer puppies! She had discovered that old Juno had increased her already numerous progeny during the night, and she had spent the whole day in what she called ‘helping her to take care of all ‘dem babies.’ We asked her if she had heard our calls, and she said, ‘Yes, but de babies were asleep, and I couldn’t wake ’em by saying where I was.’ Poor little Jessie, she could not understand what suffering she had caused us, and thought Nurse very hard-hearted for refusing to permit her to resume her duties the next day. The matter was referred to the authorities, but when Nurse hinted, as delicately as so elegant a personage could, at the number of fleas which pervaded the little girl’s clothes, it was decided at once in the negative, much to old Juno’s relief probably.

We had dogs of all sorts and sizes during our childhood, and, as well as I can remember, the ugliest were always the best beloved. If any particularly hideous mongrel was condemned to death, Jessie and I invariably interceded for it, and when we gained our point, watched over and tended it with the greatest care, stoutly maintaining its beauty and talent against all detractors. At last, one happy day, when we were both nearly grown up, we were each given a real Carthagena dog. What little beauties they were, something like a Maltese poodle, only smaller. They were as white as little puff-balls, with lovely silky hair; they never grew any bigger than they were when we got them, and their health was excellent. Every morning we washed them in a basin, dried them in the sun, combed their coats till they shone like floss silk, and trimmed the hair off their delicate little feet. The last touch to their toilettes was to put on a little collar of either blue or scarlet ribbon or velvet. Whenever we had any pocket money, it all went in new collars for ‘Caprice’ and ‘Chico.’ Caprice was so called because he had a natural rosette of black fluff on his forehead amid his snowy locks, whilst Chico (or little darling) was about the size of a sixpenny toy-lamb. They both slept all day in my work-basket on the table out of harm’s way. They were fed entirely on biscuit and milk, and Caprice lived to a good old age, but Chico’s fate was appalling, and cost both Jessie and me many bitter tears.

I must tell you here that Jessie had another pet dog, a fierce Cuban bloodhound: it was kept chained up all day and only loosed at night as a safeguard to the house and grounds. ‘Turk’ was a splendid animal, but ferocious to everyone except Jessie. I never could get over my uneasiness when I saw him leaping on her, licking her cheek, or mumbling her little hand affectionately. Jessie always fed him herself, and declared his bad temper was much exaggerated. One summer evening we had been out to a little party given at a house near ours, and had walked home; it was a lovely, soft, moonlight night, and, the moment the garden gate was opened, Turk bounded up to us with the sternest intentions of expelling or killing us all on the spot. However, Jessie induced him to forego these resolutions for the present, and he accompanied us to the hall door, which was quickly opened by our maid. Close upon her footsteps trotted tiny Chico, uttering sleepy little barks. Turk had never seen his small rival, and the instant he perceived that Chico was really a living, moving dog (for at first he must have thought that he was a toy), he bounded upon the poor little beastie. Before Jessie could stop him, we heard a yelp and a snap; Turk had bitten Chico in two! It was a dreadful moment, for Jessie’s despair is not to be described, and Turk saw no reason why he should not finish his supper, and looked up in Jessie’s horrified face with a self-satisfied air, as much as to say, ‘Thus perish all intruders.’ This tragedy had one good result in Turk’s banishment, for Jessie could not bear to see the murderer of Chico; so the bloodhound was sent away to a distant friend, where he became the terror of all the evildoers in the neighbourhood.

I think Punch, a great tawny mastiff, was Turk’s successor. He distinguished himself by keeping a bishop at bay. You see he was no respecter of persons, and, as the bishop happened to have on papa’s shoes whilst his own boots were being dried, Punch sternly refused to allow his lordship to leave the room. We waited and waited for more than an hour; luncheon was getting cold; still the poor bishop remained in my father’s dressing-room, whither he had been conducted; and at last he was discovered, very tired and hungry, but unable to stir. Punch was lying down in front of the chair (fortunately he permitted the poor man to sit down) with his head resting on his own forepaws, and keeping an unwearying watch on the shoes; they were not to be taken out of the room on any terms, and even Jessie had great difficulty in making him understand that it was all right.

Punch was very fond of the water, and would go into a river after a stick as well as if he had been a retriever. Upon one occasion I was sitting in the verandah teaching my youngest sister, a tiny little trot of about six years old, to work. It was a distasteful employment, and the seam appeared quite endless to both of us. You must not be shocked if I tell you, it was a little night-dress of her own that Laura was employed upon. It had been finished very successfully, as we thought; but this unfortunate seam was badly done, and had to be unpicked and neatly sewn again. At last the finishing stitches were put in, and with a sigh of relief Laura jumped up. At this unlucky moment Punch appeared, evidently in the mood for a game of play, and the idea occurred to Laura to dress him up in her garment. Of course I ought to have prevented it, but I satisfied my conscience by a very feeble remonstrance, and aided and abetted this piece of mischief. Punch certainly looked exquisitely ridiculous with his forepaws through the sleeves, and, when we buttoned the little collar securely round his throat, both Laura and I were too much amused at his appearance to think of the consequences to her newly-finished work. Suddenly Punch—who up to that time had been as grave as a judge—gave a mighty bound, knocking Laura over and nearly upsetting me, and, like a flash of lightning, he tore down the garden walk, leapt a low hedge, and we heard a great splash. We rushed after him. There was Punch, still in his white robe, swimming about in the brook. How absurd the effect was no words of mine can tell you. In a few moments he was out again on the other side, rolling on the bank, tearing about the field trying to get rid of the wet clinging calico. It was no use; the stuff was new, and would not tear easily. Into the brook again he plunged, and at last scampered away to the stable, where he succeeded in tearing off his clothing. It was all very well whilst it lasted, and Laura and I laughed till we cried; but we felt very foolish when it came to the point of going into the house, and announcing that no work was forthcoming.

Shall I tell you of Toddy and Sykes? I think I must, although it does not speak well for the character of my favourites; still one must be an impartial historian. Sykes was a white bull terrier of a truculent aspect, a foe to all the cats in the vicinity of his home. He was not allowed inside the house, nor even to enter the gardener’s cottage on account of a bad habit he had of constantly sharpening his teeth on the furniture. He gnawed legs of chairs and tables until they were quite unfit for use; so the gardener objected to his presence in his small domicile quite as much as did the lady at the great house. Well, under these circumstances, the only cat allowed about the place thought, that if she set up her nursery in the gardener’s kitchen, she would be able to preserve her innocent offspring from the monster, Sykes. Alas! she was mistaken. Looking through the open door, he, Sykes, saw a charming picture of domestic felicity, which he forthwith determined to disturb. There was the old tabby mamma with seven sweet little babies lying on a bit of carpet by the fire. She was licking her children carefully all over, whilst they were cuddling up to her, crawling over each other, and groping about for her soft touch. The kitchen was empty, and the only sounds were the mingled mews and purrs of the pussies. Sykes dared not enter, but still he resolved to exterminate that family of kittens. What was to be done? He trotted off to the great house, walked up the steps, and looked in at the hall door; there he saw Toddy lying in the sunshine on a tiger-skin.

Now Toddy was a beautiful young lady Skye terrier, her appearance was captivating, her manners perfection, and her general character and disposition most sweet and amiable. What fiendish arguments Sykes used to persuade her to be his accomplice I don’t know; but it is certain that, after Sykes had stood at the open door, uttering impatient little yapps, for a moment or two, Toddy rose from her tiger-skin, stretched herself, and at last joined the villanous Sykes on the steps. A whispered consultation took place, accompanied by much wagging of Sykes’s tail, and at last the pair were seen to set off to the gardener’s cottage. They were followed; and here I am happy to be able to state that Toddy evidently hesitated, but at length Sykes overcame her remaining scruples, and she entered the kitchen. The old tabby felt no alarm when Toddy carefully took up one of the kittens in her mouth and brought it out to Sykes—was not Toddy well-known to be an excellent amateur nurse, and most tender and considerate to all sorts of baby things? Sykes received the poor little kitten in his cruel jaws, gave it one nip, which silenced its weak voice, retired under a shrub, and despatched it. In the meantime Toddy had brought him another, which shared the same fate; and doubtless all would have fallen victims to this treacherous arrangement, if Toddy’s mistress had not interfered, and made her heartily ashamed of her cruel conduct. For many days after that, if you said, ‘O Toddy, kittens!’ Toddy would slink away with drooping tail and cringing head, as if she quite understood her fault; but as for Sykes, he was hopeless: the same words addressed to him would put him in a state of furious excitement, and he would rush about searching for them with clearly expressed intentions of instant annihilation.

Now, after these naughty little dogs, let us turn to the story of a beautiful, noble, generous doggie. He was not my own, but he was a great friend of mine, and so was his lovely little mistress. I can’t tell you his real name, because I know if ever his mistress saw these lines she would cry: so we will call him Hero. He was such a magnificent brown retriever, with eyes like yellow topazes. Sometimes their glance was as soft as a dove’s; but let any one appear inclined to molest the queen of his loyal heart, and they would gleam like fire, whilst he looked ready to do or to dare anything in her defence. When she walked, Hero stalked solemnly by her side, supremely happy if her hand rested on his broad head: he thought it his duty to protect her unless she was driving, and then he raced by the carriage making wide circuits, but ever returning to say, by a joyous short bark, ‘I am here, don’t be afraid;’ his grand feathery tail waving so proudly as he galloped about the soft turf.

I have seen him breast huge rolling waves to fetch out a stick, and when he caught sight of his mistress (who was a perfect water-baby by the way) swimming in the sea, Hero would plunge in to her rescue, and insist on fetching her out by her hair, or the sleeve of her pretty bathing dress, quite regardless of her own wishes on the subject. Although he belonged to a rough race of dogs, Hero was as dainty in his habits and person as a young lady. Bread was his only food, varied by a bit of biscuit as a great treat; consequently he was sweet as a nut, and in addition to his sea baths he had daily fresh-water ones, so his coat was silky and glossy as any little girl’s curls. Poor Hero! it makes me sad even now to think of his end.

He had been staying down in the country, a short distance from London, and had very reluctantly returned to the comparative confinement of a town life; the weather was very bad, snowy and wretched, and he could not be taken out for his usual long walks, so we noticed that he was rather restless. One bitter winter’s morning he dashed out into the garden the moment the door was opened, very early, and after a few rapid circuits make a sudden spring at the wall, cleared it by a tremendous bound, and scampered off as hard as he could. By the time they missed him he was miles away, and in spite of placards and advertisements in all the papers, days passed without any tidings of our beloved Hero. At last there came a dirty, ill-spelled note, saying that the writer had seen the advertisement, and that just such a dog had rushed into his shop some days previously, in a state of great exhaustion and suffering, having met with an accident. We hurried immediately to the address, and I can hardly make you understand how painful it was to ask questions each of which proved clearly that our poor Hero had first been exposed to cold and hunger, and at last had met a cruel death. We ascertained that when he dashed into this little shop—far away from his own home, but on the road to the country place he had left—he had just received a frightful gash; blood was streaming from his side, and he kept making short snaps at the gaping wound after the manner of dogs; but the ignorant people thought he was dangerous, and called in a policeman, who looked at the poor dog from a respectful distance, and immediately pronounced sentence of death against him. A chemist from next door was hastily summoned to execute this decree, he administered an enormous dose of poison, and in half a second Hero’s sufferings were over. Our only comfort was to hear that his death was speedy, but we could not help thinking something might have been done to try to cure him first.

There were so many different stories about the way he met with his wound, that we could not arrive at any certainty. Some said they saw him run over by a cart, but he was so clever and accustomed to the streets, _that_ seemed improbable. Another witness said that he had been seen to make a dash at a joint of meat in a butcher’s shop, and that the butcher straightway flung a cleaver at him; but the strictest inquiries failed to throw any light on this tale. Then a third witness described minutely a deadly combat with another dog, in which Hero was defeated and left for dead on the battlefield; but we knew our favourite’s strength and courage too well to believe that he could be vanquished in a duel.

At last we sorrowfully gave up the attempt to find out how he had been killed, and devoted ourselves to the recovery of his body; but it had been buried, and we did not like to have it dug up again, so we contented ourselves with paying a fancy price for his skin, which had been taken off first, and with this melancholy relic we were obliged to return. But first we had to refund sundry small sums which had been expended for beer. Hero’s death must have caused quite a smart influx of trade to the nearest publichouse, for, according to the statement of our friend the tallow-chandler (whose shop Hero had selected as his refuge), everybody in the neighbourhood had consumed ‘a pot o’ beer’ on the strength of the event; even the tidy mistress of the establishment had felt herself to be so ‘put about’ by the tragedy, that she also had required extra refreshment.

Hero’s successor, who was exactly like him in appearance, had an element of suspicion in his character which Hero did not possess. Upon one occasion, I was taking my five o’clock tea with the lady who owned both Hero and Brownie, when she went upstairs to dress for a drive; but first she poured out her tea to get cool, begged me to take mine, but not to allow the servants to remove hers, saying, as she left the room, ‘Now don’t let them touch it.’ I nodded, and went on with my newspaper. Presently I stretched out my hand for my cup of tea, which was a little way off. A low deep growl startled me; there was Brownie, who knew me almost as well as he did his dear little mistress, sitting up on his haunches gazing steadily at me with an expression of eye which was not at all pleasant. I thought to myself, ‘this is all nonsense, of course the dog knows me; surely he doesn’t think I am a thief.’ But that was just what Brownie _did_ think apparently, and he soon showed me that I was on no account to touch any thing on the table. This state of things was very disagreeable, for I don’t like cold tea, and I was rather thirsty. Suddenly there flashed into my mind the recollection of Brownie’s well-known love for bread and butter. I put out my hand for some saying, in a most conciliatory tone, ‘Good old boy, he shall have some bread and butter then.’ Up rose Brownie, terrible in his indignation at the idea of a bribe; he put both of his broad paws on my lap and growled ferociously, looking at me steadily, his beautiful eyes gleaming with an honest rage. He would not even turn his head towards the tempting plate lest his resolution should waver. I tried again to get my tea. This time came a louder growl and a snap. Nothing would content Brownie but my giving up all idea of eating or drinking for the present, and I was obliged to console myself with the newspaper; but I soon finished it, and then I discovered that Brownie would not hear of my getting another. No; I was to sit still and not touch anything. At last his mistress returned, and Brownie greeted her affectionately, accompanied her to the tea-table, and then came up to me wagging his tail and licking my hands, and saying as plainly as possible, ‘I don’t mind having some bread and butter _now_;’ but I felt very much aggrieved and rather cross, for my tea was quite cold!