Part 12

The most surprising histories told of dogs are concerning their speech. Liebnitz reported to the French Academy of Sciences, that a dog had been taught to modulate his voice, so that he could distinctly ask for coffee, tea, and chocolate. After this we may believe that a dog was learning to say Elizabeth. I have often watched for such sounds, from energetic, clever dogs, who have evidently tried viva voce to make me acquainted with some circumstance, but never heard anything intelligible, and I cannot imagine that the organs of speech are bestowed upon a favoured few; without which the articulation of words must be impossible.

Volumes might be filled with these anecdotes of dogs, but I will here conclude my list with the picture given by Mr. St. John of his pets, portraying a happiness which contrasts strongly with the miserable condition of many ill-used animals, belonging to hard-hearted masters, who perform valuable services, and are yet kicked, spurned, or half-starved.

"Opposite the window of the room I am in at present," says this gentleman, "are a monkey and five dogs basking in the sun, a blood-hound, a Skye terrier, a setter, a Russian poodle, and a young Newfoundland, who is being educated as a retriever. They all live in great friendship with the monkey, who is now in the most absurd manner searching the poodle's coat for fleas, lifting up curl by curl, and examining the roots of the hair. Occasionally, if she thinks that she has pulled the hair, or lifted one of his legs rather too roughly, she looks the dog in the face with an inquiring expression to see if he be angry. The dog, however, seems rather to enjoy the operation, and, showing no symptoms of displeasure, the monkey continues her search; and when she sees a flea, catches it in the most active manner, looks at it for a moment, and then eats it with great relish. Having exhausted the game on the poodle, she jumps on the back of the blood-hound, and having looked into her face to see how she will bear it, begins a new search, but, finding nothing, goes off for a game at romps with the Newfoundland dog. While the blood-hound, hearing the voice of one of the children, to whom she has taken a particular fancy, walks off to the nursery. The setter lies dozing and dreaming of grouse; while the little terrier sits with ears pricked up, listening to any sounds of dog or man that she may hear; occasionally she trots off on three legs to look at the back door of the house, for fear any rat-hunt, or fun of that sort may take place without her being invited. Why do Highland terriers so often run on three legs, particularly when bent on any mischief? Is it to keep one in reserve in case of emergencies? I never had a Highland terrier who did not hop along constantly on three legs, keeping one of the hind legs up as if to give it rest."

A proof of the sudden attachments which dogs will form, is given by Mr. Murray, to whom the dog of his guide took a fancy. Mr. Murray passed the night in the house of his master, fed him, and the animal sat looking up in his face. The next morning the party started on foot to cross the Pyrenees, and when the guide had fulfilled his agreement and received his reward, he took his leave; the dog, however, followed Mr. Murray, and no threats or entreaties could prevail on him to turn back. He proceeded to an inn with his new friend, and Mr. Murray was making a bargain with the innkeeper to send the dog to his owner, when a boy came from the man, to claim the beast. He followed the boy two or three times for a few yards, and invariably returned. A strong cord was then tied round his neck, and the boy was told to lead him with that; but at a little distance, finding that he could not get rid of the cord, the dog leaped upon the boy, threw him down, dragged the cord out of his hand, and returned to Mr. Murray. After this it seemed inevitable that they should travel together. Mr. Murray sent for the master, bought the dog, and eventually took him to Scotland, having a place secured for him always in the diligence; and from the moment he arrived, he became the pet of the family.

Another instance of the same feeling in dogs, occurred to a sporting traveller in Norway (Mr. Lloyd, if I mistake not) to whom the dog of a peasant took the same sudden liking.

Boyle.

WOLVES.

Strong, gaunt, ferocious, cunning, cowardly, and sinister-looking, wolves (Canis Lupus) still inhabit the forest and mountainous districts of Europe, Asia, and America; a few being occasionally met with in plains. Happily they have been extirpated from Great Britain and Ireland, but in many parts of populous countries on the European Continent, an unusually severe winter brings them to the habitations of man.

Their resemblance to dogs, internally and externally, has led to the supposition, that they were the original parents of the latter; but I have elsewhere alluded to this unsettled question.

The muscles of the head, neck, and shoulders of wolves, are extremely powerful, and the snap with which they bite is never to be mistaken, being apparently peculiar to them. They drink by suction, and it is said, that if the offspring which they have by a dog, should lap, they take a dislike to it. The cry which they make is not a regular bark, but a hoarse, ugly noise, and the howl which they delight in setting up at night, is one of the most melancholy sounds possible. They vary much in colour, being white, black, grey, brown, etc. Their digitigrade walk, sharp muzzle, oblique eyes, and hanging tail, in their wild state, are less conspicuous in domestication, and they then gradually assimilate themselves in appearance to our hounds.

Innumerable are the true histories which have been transmitted to us concerning wolves. Their nightly prowling, their quiet, untiring perseverance in pursuit, their skulking disposition, their artful stratagems, all impart a mystery to them which has been heightened by fear, and the natural proneness of man to magnify tales of horror.

Wolves are too suspicious to be often taken in traps; and when pursued they run with their noses almost touching the ground, their eyes glowing like fire, the hair of their head and neck bristled up, their tail drawn close to their legs. Their usual height at the shoulders is about two feet and a half; their young are born in caverns or gloomy recesses, and the female wolf is furious in their defence. They often fight with each other; and it is said, if a wounded wolf come among his fellows, he is immediately torn in pieces and devoured.

Mr. Lloyd, in his "Field Sports in the North of Europe," tells us of a peasant who, in the neighbourhood of St. Petersburgh, met with the following narrow escape:—"He was pursued by eleven of these ferocious animals, while he was in his sledge. At this time he was only about two miles from home, towards which he urged his horse at the very top of his speed. At the entrance of his residence was a gate, which happened to be closed at the time; but the horse dashed this open, and thus his master and himself found refuge in the courtyard. They were followed, however, by nine out of the eleven wolves; but very fortunately, at the very instant these had entered the enclosure, the gate swung back on its hinges, and thus they were caught as in a trap. From being the most ferocious of animals, now that they found escape impossible, they completely changed, and so far from offering molestation to any one, they slunk into holes and corners, and allowed themselves to be slaughtered, almost without making resistance."

A more tragic occurrence happened to an unfortunate woman, also in Russia, and is related by the same gentleman:—"A woman, accompanied by three of her children, was one day in a sledge, when they were pursued by a number of wolves. She put the horse into a gallop, and drove towards her home with the utmost speed. She was not far from it; but the ferocious animals gained upon her, and were on the point of rushing on to the sledge. For the preservation of her own life, and that of the remaining children, the poor, frantic creature cast one of them to her blood-thirsty pursuers. This stopped their career for a moment; but, after devouring the poor child, they renewed the pursuit, and a second time came up with the vehicle. The mother, driven to desperation, resorted to the same horrible expedient, and threw another of her offspring to her ferocious assailants. The third child was also sacrificed in the same way, and soon after, the wretched being reached her home in safety. Here she related what had happened, and endeavoured to palliate her own conduct, by describing the dreadful alternative to which she had been reduced. A peasant, however, who was among the bystanders, and heard the recital, took up an axe, and with one blow cleft her skull in two, saying, at the same time, 'that a mother who could thus sacrifice her children for the preservation of her own life, was no longer fit to live.' The man was committed to prison, but the Emperor subsequently granted him a pardon."

The tame wolf at the Jardin des Plantes, is described by M. Frederic Cuvier, in the following manner:—"This animal was brought up as a young dog, became familiar with every person whom he was in the habit of seeing, and in particular followed his master everywhere, evincing chagrin at his absence, obeying his voice, and showing a degree of submission, scarcely differing in any respect from that of the most thoroughly domesticated dog. His master being obliged to be absent for a time, presented his pet to the Jardin des Plantes, where the animal, confined in a den, continued disconsolate, and would scarcely take his food. At length, however, his health returned; he became attached to his keepers, and appeared to have forgotten all his former affection; when, after eighteen months, his master returned. At the first word he uttered, the wolf, who had not perceived him among the crowd, recognized him, exhibited the most lively joy, and, being set at liberty, lavished on his old friend the most affectionate caresses. A second separation and return was followed by similar demonstrations of sorrow, which, however, again yielded to time. Three years had passed, and the wolf was living happily in company with a dog, when his master again returned, and the still remembered voice was instantly replied to by the most impatient cries, which were redoubled as soon as the poor fellow was at liberty, when, rushing to his master, he threw his fore-feet on his shoulders, licking his face with every mark of the most lively joy, and menacing his keepers, who offered to remove him, and towards whom, not a moment before, he had been showing every mark of fondness. A third separation, however, seemed to be too much for this faithful animal's temper; he became gloomy, desponding, refused his food, and for a long time his life appeared to be in danger. His health, however, returned; but he no longer suffered the caresses of any but his keepers, and towards strangers manifested the original savageness of his species."

There was another wolf at the same Menagerie, who was very docile and affectionate, distinguishing those whom he knew from strangers, and seeking their caresses. We were very good friends, and I often played with him, so that he knew my voice. After an absence of two years, to my great surprise, he recognized it, dashed to the bars of the den, thrust his paws out to greet me, and gave every sign of delight. It is probable, that this circumstance, combined with another, may have given rise to the history related by Captain Brown, in his "Popular Natural History," of which I now beg to give a correct version:—"Mme. Ducrest [then Mlle. Duvaucel] and I were going out at Baron Cuvier's front door, when a man, holding something tied up in a handkerchief, asked if we belonged to the house. On replying in the affirmative, he offered his bundle; she shrank from it, as the same thing had occurred to me a few days before, and I received the dried and tattooed head of a New Zealander; but he opened the handkerchief, and displayed a beautiful little wolf puppy, covered with silky black hair. She joyfully received it; we carried it to the keepers of the Menagerie, and orders were given that it might be fed on soup and cooked meat. The wolf continued to be very handsome, very playful, and very tame for about a year, when she became a mother, and from that time was savage and unsociable to human beings, never recovering her former amiable disposition. She was from the Pyrenees."

The following story is told by a gentleman who was sporting in Hungary at the time the circumstance occurred:—"About dusk, just as the last sledge had arrived within a quarter of a mile of a village on the way homeward, and had cleared the corner of a wood which had bounded the road at a few yards distance for a considerable length; the owner, who was seated behind, with his back to the horses, espied a wolf rush out of the angle of the wood, and give chase to the sledge at the top of his speed. The man shouted to the boy who was driving, 'Farkas! farkas!' (a wolf! a wolf!). Itze het! itze het! (drive on),' and the lad, looking round in terror, beheld the animal just clearing the gripe which ran along the road they had passed. Quick as lightning, with shout and whip, and with all his might, he urged the horses to gain the village. Away they flew at their fullest stretch, as if sensible of the danger behind them, conveyed to them by the exclamation of the lad, and the dreaded name of the animal which he shouted in their ears. The man turned his seat and urged the boy still more energetically to lash the horses to their very utmost speed. He did not need any further incentive, but pushed on the nags with frantic exertion. The sledge flew over the slippery road with fearful speed; but the wolf urged yet more his utmost pace, and gained fast upon it. The village was distant about two hundred yards below the brow of the hill; nothing but the wildest pace could save them, and the man felt that the wolf would inevitably spring upon them before they could get to the bottom. Both shouted wildly as they pursued their impetuous career, the sledge swerving frightfully from one side of the road to the other, and threatening every moment to turn over. The man then drew his thick bunda (sheep-skin) over his head; he looked behind and saw the fierce, panting beast within a few yards of him; he thought he felt his hot breath in his face; he ensconced his head again in his bunda, and, in another moment, the wolf sprang upon his back, and gripped into the thick sheep skin that covered his neck. With admirable presence of mind the bold-hearted peasant now threw up both his hands, and grasping the wolf's head and neck with all his strength, hugged him with an iron clutch to his shoulders. 'Itze het,' now shouted the cool fellow, and holding his enemy in a death grip, they swept into the village, dragging the fierce brute after them, in spite of his frantic efforts to disengage himself. The shouts of the boy and man, with the mad speed and noise of the horses, brought the villagers out to see what was the matter. 'Farkas! farkas!' shouted both, and the peasants immediately seeing their perilous position, gave chase with their axes, calling out to the man to hold on bravely. At length the boy succeeded in slackening the speed of the animals, the sledge stopped, and the peasants, rushing on, dispatched the ferocious creature upon the man's back, whose arms were so stiffened with the immense muscular exertion he had so long maintained, that he could hardly loose them from the neck of the dead wolf."

An unfortunate clergyman, in the neighbourhood of Eauxbonnes in the Basses Pyrenees, was not as fortunate as the Slovack peasant; for, as he was returning from visiting the sick in January, 1830, he was beset by hungry wolves, and torn to pieces by them; the fragments which they left, and the blood upon the snow, alone telling his fate.

The North American wolves are not as gaunt as those of Europe, having shorter legs, thicker fur, shorter muzzle, broader heads, more bushy tail, and being altogether more compact. Their habits, however, are much the same, A farmer in New Hampshire was one night awakened by a noise in his hog-pen; on looking out he saw, what he supposed to be a fox, on the low, sloping roof of the sty. He went out, but found that the animal was a grey wolf, which, instead of making off, fiercely attacked him, rushing down the roof towards him; and before the man had time to move back, the wolf had bitten his arm three times, with his quick and repeated snaps, lacerating it from the elbow to the wrist; then, however, he leaped from the roof to the ground, and by so doing lost his advantage; for the man succeeded in seizing him on each side of the neck with his hands, and held him firmly in that position till his wife, whom he called out, came up with a large butcher's knife, and cut the beast's throat. It was three months before the man's arm was healed; every incision, it was said, piercing to the bone.

A white wolf always attends the bull, called buffalo, of Western America; besides which the same country affords other varieties. Among them are the Coyotes, or Medicine Wolves, of the Indians, who show them great reverence. They are small, sagacious, and cunning; assemble in packs, and hunt in troops of from three to thirty, along the runs of deer and antelopes, and run down their quarry. When game has been killed by hunters, they sit patiently at a short distance, while larger wolves prowl around, pouncing on the pieces thrown to them by the men, and which the small ones drop instantly. They keep watch round a camp at night, and gnaw the skin ropes of horses and cattle.

When the Coyotes, or small white wolves, of Mexico, lose all hope of escape, they curl themselves up and await death. If impelled by hunger, one snatches a piece from the hunter, while he cuts up his game, the whole herd rush upon it, fight, growl, and tear each other for it. Mr. Ryan, from whose lively descriptions these notices are taken, was for days followed by a large grey wolf, and every evening when he encamped, the wolf squatted himself down, and helped himself whenever he could. Something, however, was generally left for him; and he became so tame, that he stopped when the party stopped, and when anything was killed, walked round and round, licking his jaws in expectation of his share. No one ever molested him, and, therefore, he continued quite harmless. This sort of proceeding will sometimes take place with a whole pack.

Mr. Ruxton one day killed an old buck, and left it on the ground, where six small wolves were in attendance. Ten minutes after he left his game, the six wolves came up with him, one of which had his nose and face besmeared with blood, and he seemed to be almost bursting. Thinking it impossible they should have devoured the buck in so short a time, he had the curiosity to return and see what impression they had made upon it, and why they had left it. To his astonishment, he found only the bones and some of the hair remaining, the flesh having been taken off as if it had been scraped with a knife. They flourish their tails, snarl, bite, squeak, and swallow the whole time of their meal; and if kindly treated, will come and warm themselves by the fires of the hunters when they are asleep, and sit nodding their own heads with drowsiness.

The Esquimaux dogs, though very bold when attacking bears, are so much afraid of wolves, that they scarcely make any resistance when set upon by them. Sir John Richardson tells us, that a wolf, wounded by a musket-ball, returned after dusk, and carried off a dog from among fifty others, who howled piteously, but did not dare to try and rescue their companion.