Chapter 21

When the English author landed at Alexandria, there were many scenes and sounds to dispel all romantic notions; among these "a yelling chorus of donkey boys shrieking, 'Ride, sir!--donkey, sir!--I say, sir!' in excellent English. The placid sphinxes, brooding o'er the Nile, disappeared with that wild shriek of the donkey boys. You might be as well impressed with Wapping as with your first step on Egyptian soil.

"The riding of a donkey is, after all, not a dignified occupation. A man resists the offer first, somehow as an indignity. How is that poor little, red-saddled, long-eared creature to carry you? Is there to be one for you and another for your legs? Natives and Europeans, of all sizes, passed by, it is true, mounted upon the same contrivance. I waited until I got into a very private spot, where nobody could see me, and then ascended--why not say descended at once?--on the poor little animal. Instead of being crushed at once, as perhaps the writer expected, it darted forward, quite briskly and cheerfully, at six or seven miles an hour; requiring no spur or admonitive to haste, except the shrieking of the little Egyptian _gamin_, who ran along by asinus's side."[251]

BEST TO LET MULES HAVE THEIR OWN WAY.

Dr John Moore, in crossing the Alps, found they had nothing but the sagacity of their mules to trust to. "For my own part," he says, "I was very soon convinced that it was much safer on all dubious occasions to depend on theirs than on my own. For as often as I was presented with a choice of difficulties, and the mule and I were of different opinions, if, becoming more obstinate than he, I insisted on his taking my track, I never failed to repent it, and often was obliged to return to the place where the controversy had begun, and follow the path to which he had pointed at first.

"It is entertaining to observe the prudence of these animals in making their way down such dangerous rocks. They sometimes put their heads over the edge of the precipice, and examine with anxious circumspection every possible way by which they can descend, and at length are sure to fix on that which, upon the whole, is the best. Having observed this in several instances, I laid the bridle on the neck of my mule, and allowed him to take his own way, without presuming to control him in the smallest degree. This is doubtless the best method, and what I recommend to all my friends in their journey through life, when they have mules for their companions."[252]

ZEBRA.--"_Un âne rayée._"

A FRENCHMAN'S "DOUBLE-ENTENDRE."

When, in 1805, Patrick Lattin, an officer of the Irish Brigade, was residing in Paris, a M. de Montmorency, whose Christian name was Anne, made his appearance, announcing that he was enabled to return to France, in consequence of the First Consul having scratched his name on the list of _émigrés_. "_A present donc_," observed Lattin, "_mon cher Anne, tu es un Zèbre--un âne rayée._"[253]

FOOTNOTES:

[239] "The Poems of S. T. Coleridge," pp. 26, 27 (1844).

[240] "Memoirs of the Life of William Collins, R.A.," by his son, W. Wilkie Collins, vol. i. p. 232.

[241] Edition of Sir T. D. Lauder, Bart., vol. ii. p. 273.

[242] "Gilpin's Forest Scenery," vol. ii. p. 275. Edited by Sir T. D. Lauder.

[243] Mark Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 129.

[244] Lemon, "Jest Book," p. 307.

[245] Photius, quoted by Southey in his "Common-Place Book," first series, p. 588.

[246] "Memoirs of the Life of the Right Hon. Warren Hastings, compiled from original papers," by the Rev. G. R. Gleig, M.A., vol. iii. p. 367.

[247] "The Life and Writings of Henry Fuseli, Esq., M.A., R.A.," the former written and the latter edited by John Knowles, Esq., F.R.S., vol. i. p. 364.

[248] "A Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith," by his daughter, Lady Holland, &c., vol. i. p. 152.

[249] "Memoirs and Letters of Rev. Sydney Smith," vol. ii. p. 393.

[250] "A Century of Anecdote from 1760 to 1860," by John Timbs, F.S.A., vol. i. p. 252 (1864).

[251] "Notes of a Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo," by Mr M. A. Titmarsh, p. 177 (1846).

[252] "View of Society and Manners in France, Switzerland, and Germany," vol. i. pp. 191, 192 (9th edition).

CAMEL.

Truly the Ship of the Desert, and one that by Lewis and Henry Warren has afforded the subject of many a pleasing picture. The camel has a most patriarchal look about him.

CAPTAIN WILLIAM PEEL, R.N. REMARKS ON CAMELS.

Captain William Peel, in his "Ride through the Nubian Desert" (p. 89), writes--"We met once at a hollow, where some water still remained from the rains, 2000 camels, all together admirably organised into troops, and attended by only a few Arabs. On another occasion, we passed some camels grazing at such a distance from the Nile, that I asked the Arab attending where they went to drink? He said, he marches them all down together to the Nile, and they drink every eleventh day. It is now the cool season, and the heat is tempered by fresh northerly breezes. The Arab, of course, brings water skins for his own supply. All these camels were breeding stock. They live on thorns and the top shoots of the gum-arabic tree, although it is armed with the most frightful spikes. But very little comes amiss to the camel; he will eat dry wood to keep up digestion, if in want of a substitute. Instinct or experience has taught him to avoid the only two tempting-looking plants that grow in the desert,--the green eusha bush, which is full of milk-coloured juice, and a creeper, that grows in the sand where nothing else will grow, and which has a bitter fruit like a melon. I was surprised to learn that the leopard does not dare to attack the camel, whose tall and narrow flanks would seem to be fatally exposed to such a supple enemy. Nature, however, has given him a means of defence in his iron jaw and long powerful neck, which are a full equivalent for his want of agility. He can also strike heavily with his feet, and his roar would intimidate many foes. I never felt tired of admiring this noble creature, and through the monotony of the desert would watch for hours his ceaseless tread and unerring path. Carrying his head low, forward, and surveying everything with his black brilliant eye, he marches resolutely forward, and quickens his pace at the slightest cheer of the rider. He is too intelligent and docile for a bridle; besides, he lives on the march, and with a sudden sweep of the neck will seize, without stopping, the smallest straw. When the day's march is over, he passes the night in looking for food, with scarcely an hour to repose his limbs, and less than that for sleep. He closes the eye fitfully, the smallest noise will awake him. When lying down for rest, every part of the body is supported; his neck and head lie lightly along the sand, a broad plate of bone under the breast takes the weight off his deep chest, and his long legs lay folded under him, supporting his sides like a ship in a cradle."

A CAPTAIN IN THE ROYAL NAVY MEASURES THE PROGRESS OF "THE SHIP OF THE DESERT."

The dromedary has long and deservedly been called "the Ship of the Desert." A very gallant captain in the Royal Navy, the late Captain William Peel, son of the Prime Minister, calculated its rate of motion much after the manner in which he might have measured the path of his ship. He writes[254]--"In crossing the Nubian Desert I paid constant attention to the march of the camels, hoping it may be of some service hereafter in determining our position. The number of strides in a minute with the same foot varied very little, only from 37 to 39, and 38 was the average; but the length of the stride was more uncertain, varying from 6 feet 6 to 7 feet 6. As we were always urging the camels, who seemed, like ourselves, to know the necessity of pushing on across that fearful tract, I took 7 feet as the average. These figures give a speed of 2.62 geographical miles per hour, or exactly three English miles, which may be considered as the highest speed that camels lightly loaded can keep up on a journey. In general, it will not be more than two and a half English miles. My dromedary was one of the tallest, and the seat of the saddle was 6 feet 6 above the ground."

LORD METCALFE ON A CAMEL WHEN A BOY.

Charles Metcalfe, "first and last Lord Metcalfe," to whose care were successively intrusted the three greatest dependencies of the British crown, India, Jamaica, and Canada, and who died in 1846, was sent to Eton when eleven years old. His biographer relates,[255] that "it is on record, and on very sufficient authority, that he was once seen riding on a camel. 'I heard the boys shouting,' said Dr Goodall, many years afterwards, 'and went out and saw young Metcalfe riding on a camel; so you see he was always orientally inclined.'" This anecdote will serve as a comrade to that told by Mr Foss, in his "Lives of the Justices of England," of Chief-Baron Pollock. When a lad, one of his schoolmasters, fretted by the boyish energy and exuberant spirits of his scholar, said petulantly, "You will live to be _hanged_." The old gentleman lived to see his pupil Lord Chief-Baron, and, not a little proud of his great scholar, said, "I always said he would occupy an _elevated_ position."

FOOTNOTES:

[253] Quoted in Timbs' "Century of Anecdote," vol. i. p. 223 (1864).

[254] "A Ride through the Nubian Desert," by Captain W. Peel, R.N., p. 49.

STAGS AND GIRAFFE.

The deer family is rather numerous, and found in many different parts of the world. Reindeers abound in some parts even of Spitzbergen, and with musk oxen can find their food even under the winter snows of the Parry Islands. The wapiti and heavy large-headed elk or moose, retreat before the advancing civilisation of North America. The Indian mountains and plains have noble races of deer. No species, however, is more celebrated than our red deer. The giraffe is closely allied to the stag family. The Arabs name it the seraph, and indeed, that is the origin of its now best-known English name. Visitors should beware of going too near the male, for we have seen the dent made by one of the giraffe's bony knobs on a pannel close to its stall. We have heard of a young lady, who entered the garden one of those summer days when straw bonnets had great bunches of ripe barley mingled with artificial poppies as an ornament, and, going too near the lofty pallisade, found to her confusion and terror that the long lithe tongue of the giraffe had whisked off her Leghorn, flowers and all, and had begun leisurely to munch it with somewhat of the same gusto with which it would have eaten the branch of a graceful mimosa.

EARL OF DALHOUSIE AND THE FEROCIOUS STAG.

Mr Scrope relates an instance of unprovoked ferocity in a red deer at Taymouth, in which the present Earl of Dalhousie might have been seriously injured.

"In October 1836, the Hon. Mr and Mrs Fox Maule had left Taymouth with the intention of proceeding towards Dalguise; and in driving through that part of the grounds where the red deer were kept, they suddenly at a turn of the road came upon the lord of the demesne standing in the centre of the passage, as if prepared to dispute it against all comers. Mr Maule being aware that it might be dangerous to trifle with him, or to endeavour to drive him away (for it was the rutting season), cautioned the postilion to go slowly, and give the animal an opportunity of moving off. This was done, and the stag retired to a small hollow by the side of the road. On the carriage passing, however, he took offence at its too near approach, and emerged at a slow and stately pace, till he arrived nearly parallel with it. Mr Maule then desired the lad to increase his pace, being apprehensive of a charge in the broadside.

"The deer, however, had other intentions; for as soon as the carriage moved quicker, he increased his pace also, and came on the road about twelve yards ahead of it, for the purpose of crossing, as it was thought, to a lower range of the parks; but to the astonishment and no little alarm of the occupants of the carriage, he charged the offside horse, plunging his long brow antler into his chest, and otherwise cutting him.

"The horse that was wounded made two violent kicks, and is supposed to have struck the stag, and then the pair instantly ran off the road; and it was owing solely to the admirable presence of mind and sense of the postilion, that the carriage was not precipitated over the neighbouring bank. The horses were not allowed to stop till they reached the gate, although the blood was pouring from the wounded animal in a stream as thick as a man's finger. He was then taken out of the carriage, and only survived two or three hours. The stag was shortly afterwards killed."[256]

THE FRENCH COUNT AND THE STAG.

Mr Scrope, in his "Deer-Stalking," describes a grand deer-drive to Glen-Tilt, headed by the Duke of Athole. Many an incident of this and subsequent drives was watched by "Lightfoot," who was present, and whose pictures, under his name of Sir Edwin Landseer, have rendered the life of the red deer familiar to us, in mist, amid snow, swimming in the rapid of a Highland current, pursued and at rest, fighting and feeding, alive and dead, in every attitude, and at every age.

In this encounter, the Duke killed three first-rate harts, Lightfoot two, and other rifles were all more or less successful. A French count, whose tongue it was difficult to restrain,--and silence is essential to success in the pursuit,--at last fired into a dense herd of deer.

Mr Scrope adds,[257] "Everything was propitious--circumstance, situation, and effect; for he was descending the mountain in full view of our whole assemblage of sportsmen. A fine stag in the midst of the herd fell to the crack of his rifle. 'Hallo, hallo!' forward ran the count, and sat upon the prostrate deer triumphing. '_Hé bien, mon ami, vous êtes mort, donc! Moi, je fais toujours des coups sûrs. Ah! pauvre enfant!_' He then patted the sides of the animal in pure wantonness, and looked east, west, north, and south, for applause, the happiest of the happy; finally he extracted a mosaic snuff-box from his pocket, and with an air which nature has denied to all save the French nation, he held a pinch to the deer's nose--'_Prends, mon ami, prends donc!_' This operation had scarcely been performed when the hart, who had only been stunned, or perhaps shot through the loins, sprang up suddenly, overturned the count, ran fairly away, and was never seen again. '_Arrêtes, toi traître! Arrêtes, mon enfant! Ah! c'est un enfant, perdu! Allez donc à tous les diables!_'"

VENISON FAT.--REYNOLDS AND THE GOURMAND.

Northcote[258] says--"I have heard Sir Joshua Reynolds relate an anecdote of a venison feast, at which were assembled many who much enjoyed the repast.

"On this occasion, Reynolds addressed his conversation to one of the company who sat next to him, but to his great surprise could not get a single word in answer, until at length his silent neighbour, turning to him, said, 'Mr Reynolds, whenever you are at a venison feast, I advise you not to speak during dinner-time, as in endeavouring to answer your questions, I have just swallowed a fine piece of the fat, entire, without tasting its flavour.'"

STAG-TRENCH AT FRANKFORT-ON-THE-MAINE.

Goethe was born at Frankfort-on-the-Maine, August 28th, 1749. In his autobiography[259] he says--"The street in which our house was situated passed by the name of the Stag-trench; but as neither stags nor trenches were to be seen, we naturally wished to have the expression explained. They told us that our house stood on a spot that was once outside the town, and that where the street now ran had formerly been a trench in which a number of stags were kept. The stags were preserved and fatted here, because the Senate every year, according to an ancient custom, feasted publicly on a stag which was always at hand in the trench for such a festival, in case princes or knights interfered with the city's right of chase outside, or the walls were encompassed and besieged by an enemy. This pleased us, and we wished that such a lair for tame wild animals could have been seen in our times. Where is there a boy or girl who could not join in the wish of this man, who has been called the first European poet and literary man of the nineteenth century?"

GIRAFFE.

"Fancy," said Sydney Smith to some ladies, when he was told that one of the giraffes at the Zoological Gardens had caught a cold,--"fancy a giraffe with two yards of sore throat."

In one of the numbers of _Punch_, published in 1864, the quiz of an artist has made the giraffes twist their necks into a loose knot by way of a comforter to keep them from catching a cold, or having a sore throat. He has very audaciously caused to be printed under his cut, "A FACT."

FOOTNOTES:

[255] "Life and Correspondence of Charles Lord Metcalfe," by John William Kaye, vol. i., p. 8.

[256] "The Art of Deer-Stalking," p. 33.

[257] "Deer-Stalking," p. 229.

[258] "Life of Sir Joshua Reynolds," vol. i., p. 124.

[259] "Truth and Poetry from my own Life; the Autobiography of Goethe," edited by Parke Godwin, part i., p. 3.

SHEEP AND GOATS.

These are animals, at least the former, which seem to have been created in a domestic state. They are represented on the most ancient monuments. A head of a Lybian ram of very large size, in the British Museum, has great resemblance to nature, and there is one slab at least among the Assyrian monuments where sheep and goats, as part of the spoil of a city, are rendered with great skill. In the writings of the Ettrick Shepherd, many curious anecdotes of Scottish sheep are given.

HOW MANY LEGS HAS A SHEEP?

When the Earl of Bradford was brought before the Lord Chancellor to be examined upon application for a statute of lunacy against him, the Chancellor asked him, "How many legs has a sheep?"--"Does your lordship mean," answered Lord Bradford, "a live sheep or a dead sheep?"--"Is it not the same thing?" said the Chancellor.--"No, my lord," said Lord Bradford, "there is much difference: a live sheep may have four legs, a dead sheep has only two; the two fore-legs are shoulders; there are only _two legs of mutton_."[260]

GOETHE ON ROOS'S ETCHINGS OF SHEEP.

In the "Conversations of Goethe with Eckerman and Soret"[261] in 1824, he handed me some etchings by Roos, the famous painter of animals; they were all of sheep, in every posture and position. The simplicity of their countenances, the ugliness and shagginess of the fleece--all was represented with the utmost fidelity, as if it were nature itself.

"I always feel uneasy," said Goethe, "when I look at these beasts. Their state--so limited, dull, gaping, and dreaming--excites in me such sympathy, that I fear I shall become a sheep, and almost think the artist must have been one. At all events, it is most wonderful how Roos has been able to think and feel himself into the very soul of these creatures, so as to make the internal character peer with such force through the outward covering. Here you see what a great talent can do when it keeps steady to subjects which are congenial with its nature."

"Has not, then," said I, "this artist also painted dogs, cats, and beasts of prey with similar truth; nay, with this great gift of assuming a mental state foreign to himself, has he not been able to delineate human character with equal fidelity?"

"No," said Goethe; "all that lay out of his sphere, but the gentle, grass-eating animals--sheep, goats, cows, and the like--he was never weary of repeating; this was the peculiar province of his talent, which he did not quit during the whole course of his life. And in this he did well. A sympathy with these animals was born with him, a knowledge of their psychological condition was given him, and thus he had so fine an eye for their bodily structure. Other creatures were perhaps not so transparent to him, and therefore he felt neither calling nor impulse to paint them."[262]

LORD COCKBURN AND THE SHEEP.

Lord Cockburn, the proprietor of Bonaly, that pretty place on the slopes of the Pentlands, was sitting on the hill-side with the shepherd, and, observing the sheep reposing in the coldest situation, he observed to him, "John, if I were a sheep, I would lie on the other side of the hill." The shepherd answered, "Ay, my lord, but if ye had been a _sheep_, ye would hae had mair sense."[263]

WOOLSACK.

Colman and Banister, dining one day with Lord Erskine, the ex-chancellor, amongst other things, observed that he had then about three thousand head of sheep. "I perceive," interrupted Colman, "your lordship has still an eye to the woolsack."[264]

SANDY WOOD AND HIS PETS, A SHEEP AND A RAVEN.

Alexander Wood, a kind-hearted surgeon, who died in his native town of Edinburgh in May 1807, aged eighty-two, is alluded to by Sir Walter Scott in a prophecy put into the mouth of Meg Merrilees in "Guy Mannering"--"They shall beset his goat; they shall profane his raven," &c.

The editor of "Kaye's Edinburgh Portraits"[265] says that, besides his kindness of disposition to his fellow-creatures, "he was almost equally remarkable for his love of animals. His pets were numerous, and of all kinds. Not to mention dogs and cats, there were two others that _individually_ were better known to the citizens of Edinburgh--a sheep and a raven, the latter of which is alluded to by Scott in 'Guy Mannering.' Willy, the sheep, pastured in the ground adjoining to the Excise Office, now the Royal Bank, and might be daily seen standing at the railings, watching Mr Wood's passing to or from his house in York Place, when Willy used to poke his head into his coat-pocket, which was always filled with supplies for his favourite, and would then trot along after him through the town, and sometimes might be found in the houses of the doctor's patients. The raven was domesticated at an ale and porter shop in North Castle Street, which is still, or very lately was, marked by a tree growing from the area against the wall. It also kept upon the watch for Mr Wood, and would recognise him even as he passed at some distance along George Street, and, taking a low flight towards him, was frequently his companion during some part of his forenoon walks; for Mr Wood never entered his carriage when he could possibly avoid it, declaring that unless a vehicle could be found that would carry him down the closes and up the turnpike stairs, they produced nothing but trouble and inconvenience."

GENERAL CARNAC AND HIS SHE-GOAT.

It is pleasant to see, and not rare to find in men of warlike habits, a love for animals. The goat or deer that used often to march before a regiment with the band as they proceeded to a review in Bruntsfield Links, when the writer and his friends were boys, about 1826 to 1832, he well remembers. Nor is Edinburgh garrison singular.

General Carnac, in 1770, communicated to Dr William Hunter some observations on the keenness of smell and its exquisite sensibility. He says--"I have frequently observed of tame deer, to whom bread is often given, and which they are in general fond of, that if you present them a piece that has been bitten, they will not touch it. I have made the same observation of a remarkably fine she-goat, which accompanied me in most of my campaigns in India, and supplied me with milk, and which, in gratitude for her services, I brought from abroad with me."[266]

JOHN HUNTER AND THE SHAWL-GOAT.

HUNTER'S METHOD OF INTRODUCING STRANGE ANIMALS PEACEFULLY TO OTHERS IN HIS MENAGERIE.

It is pleasant to meet with a notice of the pursuits of the great anatomist, John Hunter, in a rather out-of-the-way book.[267] The ingenious way in which he introduced strange animals into his menagerie is worthy of notice.