Chapter 8

The fox-hounds are still smaller than the stag-hounds, are generally white in colour, with clouds of black and tan. They have been known to run at full speed for ten hours, during which the hunters were obliged to change their horses three times, or abandon the pursuit.

The Harrier and the Beagle are still smaller varieties: as the name indicates, the former are used exclusively for hunting the hare, and have nearly superseded the beagle, which is chiefly valuable for its very musical note. There was a fancy breed of them in the time of Queen Elizabeth, so small, that they could be carried in a man's glove, and were called singing dogs. They used to be conveyed to the field in paniers.

Turnspits are descended from ill-made hounds, which they resemble in body, but have very short, and even crooked legs. They are rough or smooth. They are said also to be derived from terriers, and it seems to me that the perpetuation of malformation in several breeds will produce the turnspit. They derive their name from having been used to turn the kitchen spit, being put into an enclosed wheel, placed at the end for the purpose. It is a curious fact, that now the office is abolished, the race has become nearly extinct. I extract the following from Captain Brown's "Popular Natural History," to prove, that if turnspits had crooked legs, they had not crooked wits:--"I have had in my kitchen," said the Duke de Liancourt, to M. Descartes, "two turnspits, which took their turns regularly every other day in the wheel; one of them, not liking his employment, hid himself on the day he should have wrought, when his companion was forced to mount the wheel in his stead; but crying and wagging his tail, he intimated that those in attendance should first follow him. He immediately conducted them to a garret, where he dislodged the idle dog, and killed him immediately." The following occurrence at the Jesuit's College at Flêche, shows that others of the species have kept the turnspit to this disagreeable duty. When the cook had prepared the meat for roasting, he found that the dog which should have wrought the spit had disappeared. He attempted to employ another, but it bit his leg and fled. Soon after, however, the refractory dog entered the kitchen, driving before him the truant turnspit, which immediately, of its own accord, went into the wheel. A company of turnspits were assembled in the Abbey Church of Bath, where they remained very quietly. At one part of the service, however, the word "spit" was pronounced, rather loudly. This reminded the dogs of their duty, and they all rushed out in a body, to go to their respective dwellings.

From the word "Spanish" being often prefixed to the name of the Pointer, it is supposed that these dogs came to us from the Peninsula; but as all dogs came from the East, their more ancient origin is to be ascribed to the Phoenicians, who brought them, not only to that country, but probably to England, although many think they were not known here before 1688.

In consequence of long training, the peculiar faculty of pointing at game has become an innate quality on their part; young dogs inherit it, and they only require that discipline which is necessary to make all puppies behave themselves. If we look at a pointer, the first remark which naturally arises, is that he is a large, indolent hound. He is however, extremely docile and affectionate. The black are said to be the best, but they vary in color; their fur is quite smooth, and they are considered very valuable dogs. Mr. Gilpin speaks of a brace of pointers, who stood an hour and a quarter without moving. This, however, was exceeded by Clio, a dog belonging to my father, who stood with her hind legs upon a gate for more than two hours, with a nest of partridges close to her nose. She must have seen them as she jumped over the gate, and had she moved an inch, they would have been frightened away. My father went on, and having other dogs, did not miss Clio for a long time; at length he perceived she was not with the rest, and neither came to his call or whistle; he went back to seek her, and there she stood, just as she had got over the gate. His coming up disturbed the birds, and he shot some of them; but Clio when thus relieved, was so stiff that she could not move, and her master sat down on the grass and rubbed her legs till she could bend them again. She died of old age, having been with us fourteen years from her birth; there were no signs of illness: and she went out in the morning with the shooting party. The first question on the return of the sportsmen was, an inquire for Clio; search was made, and she was found quite stiff in the stable, having apparently come home to die.

Of the general intelligence of the pointer, the following is a proof. A gentleman shooting in Ireland, with a dog totally unused to fetch and carry, killed a snipe. It fell in soft, boggy ground, where he could not get to pick it up. After some vain efforts to approach it, he hied on the pointer, by saying, "Fetch it, Fan! fetch it." She seemed for a moment puzzled at such an unusual proceeding, and looked round inquisitively once or twice, as if to say; What do you mean? Suddenly the sportsman's dilemma seemed to flash upon her. She walked on, took the bird in her mouth quite gently, and carried it to where the ground was firm; but not one inch further would she bring it, despite all the encouragement of her master, who now wished to make her constantly retrieve. This, however, was the first and last bird she ever lifted.

A favourite pointer was lent by a gentleman to a friend; but after some years of trial, finding the dog would not hunt with him, the friend requested his master, then in Ireland, to receive him back. He was conveyed in a packet from Bristol to Cork, and his owner went to meet his dog. The vessel was at some distance from the shore; but seeing him on the deck, the gentleman hailed the sailors, and requested he might be sent in a boat. No sooner, however, did the dog hear his master's voice, than he leaped into the water, and with great demonstrations of joy swam to him on the shore. Such meetings have frequently been too much for dogs, who have died from excessive joy at seeing those they loved, after a long absence.

The sporting dog called the Setter, is distinguished by his long, silky hair, and has consequently been considered as a large spaniel. The head shews an unusual development of brain; and his character for affection and intelligence corresponds with this formation. He is very handsome, is said to have come from Spain to this country, and his original colour to have been deep chestnut, or white. He is now marked with brown, or black, as well as having these colours.

A gentleman in Ireland received a present of a beautiful black setter puppy, from an unknown hand. He bred and cherished him, and the memory of Black York is still fresh in his country; not only for his perfect symmetry, his silky, raven black hair, but for his gentle, submissive disposition. He was a nervous dog when young, for even a loud word alarmed him, which, combined with his mysterious arrival, and an involuntary affection, induced his master to transfer him from the kennel to the drawing-room. From that time York acquired confidence, and lost his timidity; he first walked out with the nursemaids and children, and then accompanied his master. The latter went one morning to a rushy field, to look at some newly born foals; and there York pointed to a snipe. The bird rose, and pitched some hundred yards away, York's nose detected him a second time: he crept on a dozen paces, and couched again. This circumstance betokened his natural perfections; but with his temperament, the firing a gun might be a dangerous trial. He was taken day after day to mark the snipes, and praised for his conduct. After this, his master took his gun and an attendant, with orders to the latter, if York should attempt to levant or run away, he was to catch him in his arms. It occurred as he had anticipated; poor York was dreadfully frightened; every limb quivered, but he was soothed by caresses, and encouraged to go where the dead snipe was lying. In a moment he appeared to comprehend the whole. He smelled the snipe, looked at the gun, then in his master's face, and became bolder when he there saw approbation. Another point, another shot, and another snipe; and York and his master returned home; the gun was put in the corner, and the snipes close by, on the carpet. A dozen times, while his master was drinking his wine, York stole quietly to the corner, smelled the snipes, and examined the gun. From that day he gave up walking with the nursemaids, and became a matchless field dog.

York was never willingly separated from his master, and was very unhappy at his absence; he soon ascertained, that a carpet bag put into the gig, was the signal for going away; and one day, he secretly followed, and only shewed himself when he thought he was at such a distance that he could not be sent back again. He was taken into the gig, and by this means escaped a sad death.

While he was away, a mad dog infected the kennel, and nine setters, and two Skye terriers were obliged to be killed, Black York alone remaining. "From the moment," says York's master, "I took him from the kennel to the parlour, he cut all low connections; on the human race his affections seemed to be concentrated, and on one occasion, he gave a marked instance of his fidelity and intelligence. His mistress had gone with her maid to the beach to bathe, and a general permission had been given to the servants to go to the neighbouring fair a mile off. The young nurse, in the giddiness of girlhood, left the baby in his cot. According to the then existing custom, the hall-door was wide open and, save the sleeping baby, Black York and cats, no living thing held possession of the premises. A strange priest arrived, to ask and receive hospitality. He entered the hall, and the dog, otherwise quiet, sprang forward and assailed him like a tiger. The priest retreated, York's back was ridged for battle, and a mouthful of unquestionable teeth hinted to his Reverence, that the canine customer would prove an ugly one. He retreated accordingly, and York sat down beside his sleeping charge. There he remained on guard until the absent mother returned; when she entered the drawing room, her four legged representative laid his tongue gently across the infant's face, and without opposition permitted Father Malachi to walk in."

Equally interesting is the biography of Mr. Bell's setter, Juno, who from a puppy was one of the best dogs that ever entered a field. "She appeared to be always on the watch, to evince her love and gratitude to those who were kind to her;" and she had other than human friends. "A kitten, which had been taken from its mother, shewed the usual horror of cats at Juno's approach. She however seemed determined to conquer the antipathy, and by the most winning perseverance completely attached the kitten to her; and as she had lately lost her puppies, she became its foster-mother. Juno also played with some tame rabbits, enticing them by her kind manner; and so fond was she of caressing the young of her own species, that when a spaniel of my father's had puppies, and all but one were destroyed, Juno would take every opportunity of stealing this from its mother, and lick and fondle it with the greatest tenderness. When the poor mother discovered the theft, she hastened to bring back her little one; only to be stolen again at the first opportunity, until at length, Juno and Busy killed the poor puppy between them, from excess of tenderness."

I close this account of the setter, by giving an instance of the remarkable power of dogs to return to their homes from a distance, so often cited, and which was exemplified by my father's setter Flush, a dog of remarkable beauty and value. His master drove him in his dog cart as far as London, a distance of above fifty miles, being the first stage of a shooting excursion in another county. The carriage was so constructed, that the opening to admit air was above, and not at the sides, so that Flush could not possibly have seen any part of the road. On his arrival in town, the groom tied him up by a cord, with access to a kennel in the yard of the inn where my father stopped. He saw him the last thing at night, but in the morning the rope had been severed, and the dog was gone. All inquiries proved fruitless, it was supposed the great value of the dog had tempted some one to purloin him, and in great trouble his master wrote home his lamentations. Late in the evening of the day in which he was missed, my mother heard a scratching and whining at the front door, as she passed through the hall. Not supposing in any way it could relate to her, she did not heed it. In about half an hour a smothered bark met her ears, and then she ordered a servant to open the hall door and ascertain the cause. There was poor Flush--wet, dirty, hungry, and weary; with the remainder of the rope hanging to his neck. He had never been a house dog, and that he should seek the dwelling-house rather than the stable at some little distance, was another proof of his sagacity; he knew he should be there more immediately cared for, and so he was. My mother fed him herself; and, stretched before the fire, he forgot his troubles. The joyful news was conveyed to my father, as fast as the post would take it, and from that time Flush was a companion in the drawing-room, as well as in the shooting excursion.

The infinite variety of spaniels almost precludes a separate enumeration of each in a limited work, I shall, therefore, confine myself to a few general remarks. He may be called a small setter, as the setter is called a large spaniel, having the same long hair and ears; but the former is even more silken in its texture. With some it curls more, and is a little harsher, and these are fonder of the water than the others. Their attachments are strong, their intelligence great, and the beauty of some of them makes them much sought as pets; they are, however, generally useful to the sportsman. The only fault which can be laid to their charge, and this perhaps only extends to a few, is, that they are apt to love strangers as well as friends. As an instance to the contrary, was a beautiful little red and white Blenheim, who was most unsociable, and whose affections were most difficult to win. I, however, succeeded, when on a visit to her mistress; and two years after, when I repeated my visit, expected to have the same difficulty. She, however, when the first bark had been given, became silent, and she did not favour me with a sly bite on the heel, as she was in the habit of doing to strangers. Before the evening was over, the recognition was complete, and she jumped into my lap. Her mistress took pains to prevent her from coming in contact with vulgar dogs, always thought her possessed of the most refined habits, and was sure she never would be too fat, because she ate so delicately. One evening, a small, social party of us were listening to the music of Handel, executed by two of the finest performers in the world, when through the door, which stood a little way open, Fanny glided in, with a large piece of fat and skin in her mouth. I thought I was the only person who saw her, and remained quite still; presently my eye caught that of the gentleman of the house, who made a sign that he also had discovered her, and our equanimity was much disturbed. She crouched rather than walked round the room, dragging her _bonne bouche_ over the rich folds of the delicately-tinted silk damask curtains, as they lay upon the ground, till she reached a very obscure corner under the piano, where she proceeded to enjoy herself. As soon as the glorious music was concluded, "Did you see Fanny?" was the exclamation, and the delinquent was dragged out before the last morsel was devoured; so there was proof positive. The next morning the cook told her mistress that she was in the habit of stealing such morsels as I have described, and hiding them, and that she only took them out to eat when she [the cook] was gone to church. Poor Fanny's reputation for refinement was for ever clouded.

In the same house lived a larger spaniel, of the variety which takes to the water, and named Flora. She was an excellent house-dog, and, generally speaking, under no restraint. Some alarm, however, occasioned by a real or reported accident, caused the magistrate of the town in which her master resided, to issue an order, that no dogs should leave the premises of their owners without being muzzled. Accordingly, Flora, when she went out with the servant, had this instrument put on; she hated it at first, tried all she could to get it off, but at length appeared to become indifferent to the confinement which it produced. In consequence of this, it was, perhaps, more carelessly buckled on, and one day it came off, and the man stooped to put it in its place; Flora, however, was too quick for him, she took it up in her mouth, plunged with it into a neighbouring pond, and when she reached the deepest part, dropped the muzzle into it, and swam back, with her countenance expressing delight.

All dogs enjoy the sport to which they are bred, and M. Blase tells us, that he was once shooting near Versailles, when his friend, M. Guilleman, accompanied him, with permission to kill wild ducks on the preserve. There was but one dog between them, but at the first shot, a fine spaniel ran up to them at full speed. He plunged into the water, and caressing M. Guilleman, seemed to say--"Here I am at your service; amuse me, and I will amuse you." The gentlemen pursued their sport all day, and the dog proved excellent. No one appeared to own him; but the sport over, off he set at full gallop, and they saw him no more. They spoke of him to the keeper of the water, who informed them, that the dog belonged to a sportsman living two leagues distant, who was at that time laid up with the gout. "The dog knows," added the keeper, "that persons come to shoot here every Sunday; and on that day, regularly makes his appearance. Having done his duty for the first sportsman whom he meets, he returns to his master."

Mr. Martin, in his clever little treatise on dogs, vouches for the truth of the following story:--"One morning, as a lady was lacing her boots, one of the laces broke. She playfully said to her pet spaniel who was standing by her, 'I wish you would find me another boot lace,' but having managed to use that which was broken, she thought no more about it. On the following morning, when she was again lacing her boots, the dog ran up to her with a new silken boot-lace in his mouth. This created general amazement; for where the dog had obtained it no one could tell. There was no doubt, however, that he had purloined it from some one else."

A black and white spaniel, belonging to a friend of mine, seemed to understand everything said to him, and if his master whispered in his ear, "Find something for your master," every loose article which he could carry was sure to be laid at his master's feet, and frequently the ladies of the family were obliged to lock their work-boxes, to prevent their contents from being carried off by Dash. If one glove were missing, and the other were shown to him, he did not rest till he had found it; and, one day I saw him push a pile of music-books off a What-not, and drag a glove out which had been deemed irrecoverable. A countryman, charged with a letter to be delivered to Dash's master, arrived at the house while that gentleman was at breakfast. The man was shown into a parlour, where he was about to sit down, when a growl saluted his ears. Turning round, he saw Dash lying in a chair near the fire-place, who reared his head, and the ring of the bell-pull hanging close by, he put his paw in it. As often as the man attempted to sit, so often did Dash growl; till at last the stranger's curiosity being excited, as to what the dog would do if he persevered, he sat down in a chair. Dash then effectually pulled the bell; and the servant who answered the summons, was much astonished when he heard who had rung. He, however, was equally pleased, for it explained a mystery which had long puzzled him and his fellow servants. It seemed, that whenever any of them sat up for their master or mistress when they were out, the parlour bell was sure to ring immediately after they had settled themselves to sleep. Of course they had never suspected the spaniel, although, when they afterwards discussed the matter, they recollected that when they awoke, he was not to be seen. There was no doubt that directly he saw their eyes closed, he went to the bell in order to rouse them to watchfulness.

Even surpassing these histories of reason and fidelity, is that which Mr. Bell relates, in nearly the following terms:--"My friend was travelling on the continent, and his faithful dog was his companion. One day, before he left his lodgings in the morning, with the expectation of being absent till the evening, he took out his purse in his room, for the purpose of ascertaining whether he had taken sufficient money for the day's occupation, and then went his way, leaving the dog behind. Having dined at a coffee-house, he took out his purse, and missing a Louis d'or, searched for it diligently, but to no purpose. Returning home late in the evening, his servant let him in with a face of sorrow, and told him that the poor dog was very ill, as she had not eaten anything all day, and what appeared very strange, she would not suffer him to take her food away from before her, but had been lying with her nose close to the vessel without attempting to touch it. On my friend entering the room, she instantly jumped upon him, then laid a Louis d'or at his feet, and immediately began to devour her food with great voracity. The truth was now apparent; my friend had dropped the money in the morning, when leaving the room, and the faithful creature finding it, had held it in her mouth until his return enabled her to restore it to his own hands; even refusing to eat for a whole day, lest it should be out of her custody."

All dogs trained for the service may become Retrievers or finders of game, which they bring to their master without injury. Spaniels, however, are generally preferred. Mr. St. John had one called Rover, a black water-spaniel, who noticed everything that was spoken, and acted accordingly. If at breakfast-time his master said, "Rover must stop at home to-day, I cannot take him out," Rover never offered to go: but if he said, "I shall take Rover with me to-day," the moment breakfast was over, he was on the alert, never losing sight of his master. Plans were frequently made for the ensuing morning in the dog's presence; and one day he was not taken; ever after, when Rover heard over night what was to take place, he started alone, very early, and met the party, sitting in front of the road with a peculiar kind of grin on his face, expressing a doubt of being well received, in consequence of coming without permission. Directly, however, he saw he was well received, he threw off his affected shyness, and jumped about with delight.

Though a most aristocratic dog in his usual habits, when staying in England with Mr. St. John, he struck up an acquaintance with a rat-catcher and his curs, assisting them in their business, watching at the rat-holes where the ferrets were in, and being the best dog of all; for he never gave a false alarm, or failed to give a true one. The moment he saw his master, however, he cut his humble friends, and declined their acquaintance in the most comical manner.