Rab and His Friends and Other Papers. Brown John
she shone; and to see the gipsy, Hagar-like creature nursing her occasional Ishmael – playing with him, and fondling him all over, teaching his teeth to war, and with her eye and the curl of her lip daring any one but her master to touch him, was like seeing Grisi watching her darling "Gennaro" who so little knew why and how much she loved him.
Once when she had three pups, one of them died. For two days and nights she gave herself up to trying to bring it to life – licking it, and turning it over and over, growling over it, and all but worrying it to awake it. She paid no attention to the living two, gave them no milk, flung them awray with her teeth, and would have killed them, had they been allowed to remain with her. She was as one possessed, and neither ate, nor drank, nor slept, was heavy and miserable with her milk, and in such a state of excitement that no one could remove the dead pup.
Early on the third day she was seen to take the pup in her mouth, and start across the fields towards the Tweed, striding like a race-horse – she plunged in, holding up her burden, and at the middle of the stream dropped it, and swam swiftly ashore: then she stood and watched the little dark lump floating away, bobbing up and down with the current, and losing it at last far down, she made her way home, sought out the living two, devoured them with her love, carried them one by one to her lair, and gave herself up wholly to nurse them; you can fancy her mental and bodily happiness and relief when they were pulling away – and theirs.
On one occasion my brother had lent her to a woman who lived in a lonely house, and whose husband was away for a time. She was a capital watch. One day an Italian with his organ came – first begging, then demanding money – showing that he knew she was alone, and that he meant to help himself, if she didn't. She threatened to "lowse the dowg", but as this was Greek to him, he pushed on. She had just time to set Wasp at him. It was very short work. She had him by the throat, pulled him and his organ down with a heavy crash, the organ giving a ludicrous sort of cry of musical pain. Wasp, thinking this was from some creature within, possibly a whittret, left the ruffian, and set to work tooth and nail on the box. Its master slunk off, and with mingled fury and thankfulness, watched her disembowelling his only means of an honest living. The woman good-naturedly took her off, and signed to the miscreant to make himself and his remains scarce. This he did with a scowl; and was found in the evening in the village, telling a series of lies to the watchmaker, and bribing him with a shilling to mend his pipes – "his kist o'whussels."
JOCK
Was insane from his birth; at first an amabilis insania, but ending in mischief and sudden death. He was an English terrier, fawn-coloured; his mother's name Vamp (Vampire), and his father's Demon. He was more properly daft than mad; his courage, muscularity, and prodigious animal spirits making him insufferable, and never allowing one sane feature of himself any chance. No sooner was the street-door open, than he was throttling the first dog passing, bringing upon himself and me endless grief. Cats he tossed up into the air, and crushed their spines as they fell. Old ladies he upset by jumping over their heads; old gentlemen by running between their legs. At home, he would think nothing of leaping through the tea things, upsetting the urn, cream, etc., and at dinner the same sort of thing.
I believe if I could have found time to thrash him sufficiently, and let him be a year older, we might have kept him; but having upset an Earl when the streets were muddy, I had to part with him. He was sent to a clergyman in the island of Westray, one of the Orkneys; and though he had a wretched voyage, and was as sick as any dog, he signalized the first moment of his arrival at the manse, by strangling an ancient monkey, or "puggy," the pet of the minister, – who was a bachelor, – and the wonder of the island. Jock henceforward took to evil courses, extracting the kidneys of the best young rams, driving whole hirsels down steep places into the sea, till at last all the guns of Westray were pointed at him, as he stood at bay under a huge rock on the shore, and blew him into space. I always regret his end, and blame myself for sparing the rod. Of
DUCHIE
I have already spoken; her oddities were endless. We had and still have a dear friend, – "Cousin Susan" she is called by many who are not her cousins – a perfect lady, and, though hopelessly deaf, as gentle and contented as ever Griselda with the full use of her ears; quite as great a pet, in a word, of us all as Duchie was of ours. One day we found her mourning the death of a cat, a great playfellow of the Sputchard's, and her small Grace was with us when we were condoling with her, and we saw that she looked very wistfully at Duchie. I wrote on the slate, "Would you like her?'" and she through her tears said, "You know that would never do." But it did do. We left Duchie that very night, and though she paid us frequent visits, she was Cousin Susan's for life. I fear indulgence dulled her moral sense. She was an immense happiness to her mistress, whose silent and lonely days she made glad with her oddity and mirth. And yet the small creature, old, toothless, and blind, domineered over her gentle friend – threatening her sometimes if she presumed to remove the small Fury from the inside of her own bed, into which it pleased her to creep.
Indeed, I believe it is too true, though it was inferred only, that her mistress and friend spent a great part of a winter night in trying to coax her dear little ruffian out of the centre of the bed. One day the cook asked what she would have for dinner: "I would like a muttonchop, but then, you know, Duchie likes minced veal better!" The faithful and happy little creature died at a great age, of natural decay.
But time would fail me, and I fear patience would fail you, my reader, were I to tell you of Crab, of John Pym, of Puck, and of the rest. Crab, the Mugger's dog, grave, with deep-set, melancholy eyes, as of a nobleman (says the Master of Ravenswood) in disguise, large vis-aged, shaggy, indomitable, come of the pure Piper Allan's breed. This Piper Allan, you must know, lived some two hundred years ago in Cocquet Water, piping like Homer, from place to place, and famous not less for his dog than for his music, his news, and his songs. The earl of Northumberland, of his day, offered the piper a small farm for his dog, but after deliberating for a day, Allan said, "Na, na, ma Lord, keep yir ferum; what wud a piper do wi' a ferum?" 6 From this dog descended Davidson (the original Dandie Dinmont) of Hyndlee's breed, and Crab could count his kin up to him. He had a great look of the Right Honourable Edward Ellice, and had much of his energy and wecht; had there been a dog House of Commons, Crab would have spoken as seldom, and been as great a power in the house, as the formidable and faithful time-out-of-mind member for Coventry.
John Pym was a smaller dog than Crab, of more fashionable blood, being a son of Mr. Somner's famous Shem, whose father and brother are said to have been found dead in a drain into which the hounds had run a fox. It had three entrances; the father was put in at one hole, the son at another, and speedily the fox bolted out at the third, but no appearance of the little terriers, and, on digging, they were found dead, locked in each other's jaws; they had met, and it being dark, and there being no time for explanations, they had throttled each other. John was made of the same sort of stuff, and was as combative and victorious as his great namesake, and not unlike him in some of his not so creditable qualities. He must, I think, have been related to a certain dog to whom "life was full o' sairiousness," but in John's case the same cause produced an opposite effect. John was gay and light-hearted, even when there was not "enuff o' fechtin," which, however, seldom happened, there being a market every week in Melrose, and John appearing most punctually at the cross to challenge all comers, and being short-legged, he inveigled every dog into an engagement by first attacking him, and then falling down on his back, in which posture he latterly fought and won all his battles.
What can I say of PUCK 7 – the thoroughbred – the simple-hearted – the purloiner of eggs warm from the hen – the flutterer of all manner of Volscians – the bandy-legged, dear, old, dilapidated buffer? I got him from my brother, and only parted with him because William's stock was gone. He had to the end of life a simplicity which was quite touching. One summer day – a dog-day – when all dogs found straying were hauled away to the police-office, and killed off in twenties with strychnine, I met Puck trotting along Princes Street with a policeman, a rope round his neck, he looking up in the fatal, official, but kindly countenance in the most artless and cheerful manner, wagging his tail and trotting along. In ten minutes he would have been in the next world; for I am one of those who believe dogs have a next world,
I have to thank cordially the writer of the following letters. They are from the pen of Mr. Robert White, Newcastle-on-Tyne, author of the History of the Battle of Otterburn, and one of the last of the noble band of literary and local antiquarians of which "Muncaster" has so long been the seat, up to all traditional lore and story of the stouthearted Border. "In the second series of your Horo Subsecivæ. p. 162, you allude to the dog Crab being come of the pure 'Piper Allan's breed, and say that the said 'Piper Allan lived some two hundred years ago in Cocquet (Coquet) Water.' "In Northumberland and over the Borders, James Allan is generally known as Piper Allan. He was born about 1733, and after leading a strange life, towards his seventieth year he stole a horse at Gateshead in the county of Durham, and took it to Lilliesleaf in Roxburghshire, where he was apprehended and sent to Durham jail. He was found guilty, and received sentence of death, but was reprieved, and afterwards had his punishment mitigated to perpetual imprisonment. After being confined for nearly seven years, his health failed, and he was removed to the House of Correction, where he lived about five months, and died at Durham, November 13th, 1810, aged about 77 years. "Some time ago in Willis's Current Notes, which are now discontinued, an original letter of Sir Walter Scott was printed, in which is the following paragraph: – "'I should be glad to see a copy of the Alnwick work upon Allan, whom I have often seen and heard, particularly at the Kelso Races. He was an admirable piper, yet a desperate reprobate. The last time I saw him he was in absolute beggary, and had behaved himself so ill at my uncle's (Thomas Scott of Monklaw) house, that the old gentleman, himself a most admirable piper, would not on any account give him quarters, though I interceded earnestly for him, "the knave," as Davie tells Justice Shallow, "being my very good friend." He was then quite like a pauper, with his wife, and an ass, in the true gipsy fashion. When I first saw him at Kelso Races, he wore the Northumberland livery, a blue coat, with a silver crescent on his arm.' (Allan was piper to Her Grace the Duchess of Northumberland.) "The father of Jamie Allan was named Willie, and he also was a good piper, besides being an excellent fisher and a keen otter-hunter. He had two favourite dogs for the latter sport, – Charley and Phoebe, – and such was the wisdom of the former that he used to say, If Charley could speak he would sell the otter's skin.' Probably Crab may have been of this kind. "James Davidson of Hindlee was a great fox hunter, and his breed of terriers – the pepper-and-mustard class – were the best over all the country. I have seen the genuine breed long ago at Ned Dunn's of the Whitelee at the head of Redesdale. Among common dogs they were something like the Black Dwarf among men, long-bodied animals with strong short legs, wiry haired, and at the first look not unlike a low four-footed stool, such as I have seen in houses in the south of Scotland forty years ago. They were sent in to the fox when he was earthed, and fought him there. They seemed at first when out of doors to be shy, timid things, and would have slunk away from a fierce collie dog, but if he seized one of them, and the blood of the little creature got up, it just took a hold of him in a biting place, and held on, never quitting till he found to his cost he had caught a tartar." "I am now convinced, from what I have gleaned of the life of James Allan, and a notice in Mackenzie's History of Northumberland, that your Piper Allan was William, the father of James. He was born at Bellingham in 1704. He was nearly six feet high, of a ruddy complexion, and had much shrewdness, wit, and independence of mind. In early life he became a good player on the bagpipes. He mended pots and pans, made spoons, baskets, and besoms, ana was a keen and excellent fisher. In the Valley of Coquet he married a gipsy girl, named Betty, who bore him six children, and James was the youngest save one; but she died in the prime of life. He was married a second time to an unfortunate daughter of a Presbyterian minister. "Among his other pursuits, he excelled especially in the hunting of otters, and kept eight or ten dogs for that particular sport. Please turn to my previous letter, and in the passage, 'if Charley could speak,' etc., dele Charley and insert Peachem. This dog was Will's chief favourite, and such confidence had he in the animal, that when hunting he would at times observe, 'When my Peachem gi'es mouth, I durst always sell the otter's skin.' Charley was also an excellent dog. Lord Ravensworth once employed Willie to kill the otters that infested his pond at Eslington Hall, which he soon accomplished; and on going away, the steward, Mr. Bell, offered, in his Lordship's name, to buy Charley at the Piper's own price. Will turned round very haughtily, and exclaimed, 'By the wuns, his hale estate canna buy Charley! "He was a capital piper, and composed two popular tunes, 1 We'll a' to the Coquet and Woo,' and 'Salmon Tails up the Water.' These I never heard, and probably they may be lost. When his end drew near, he was something like Rob Roy in his neglect of religious impressions. When reminded that he was dying, he exclaimed, 'By Jing, I'll get foul play, then, to dee before my billie, wha's ten years aulder!' When still closer pressed to ponder on his condition, he said, 'Gi'e me my pipes, and I'll play ye "Dorrington Lads" yet.' Thus he exhausted his last breath in playing his favourite strain. He died 18th February 1779, aged seventy-five years, and was buried in Rothbury Churchyard. His son James was born at Hepple, in Coquetdale, March 1734. "The following verses on old Will are in the 'Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel:' —
I add another bit from Mr. White, too characteristic of that mixture of kindness and cruelty, of tenderness and pluck, – Dandie Dinmont, – and of the exercise, called one-sidedly "sport." It ends happily, which is more than the bigstorefarmer wished: – "The mother of the farfamed Peppers and Mustards was a dark-coloured, rough-haired bitch of the name of Tar. Davidson wanted a cat from some of the cottages at a distance from Hindlee, that he might have the young dogs tried upon it. One of his shepherds chanced to call at Andrew Telfer's house (the grandfather, I believe, of my late friend), where he saw baudrons sitting on the end of adresser near the door; and the house being low and dark, he swept her into his plaid-neuk on going out, and carried her home. Next morning she was introduced to a covered drain, which ran across the road, the said drain being closed up at one end, whereby she was compelled to give battle to her foes. A young terrier was the first to oppose her, and paid for its rashness by retreating from the drain with the skin almost torn from its nose. Another of the same age met with the same punishment, and Davidson, considerably irritated, brought forward Tar, the old dame, who, by her age and experience, he considered, would be more than a match for the cat. There was sore fighting for a time, till again Puss was victorious, and Tar withdrew from the conflict in such a condition that her master exclaimed, 'Confoond the cat, she's tumblt an e'e oot o' the bitch!' which indeed was the case. 'Tak awathe stanes frae the tapo' the cundy,' said Davidson, 'and we'll ha'e her worried at ance.' The stones were removed, and out leapt the cat in the middle of her enemies. Fortunately for her, however, it happened that a stone wall was continued up the side of the road, which she instantly mounted, and, running along the top thereof, with the dogs in full cry after her she speedily reached a plantation, and eluded all pursuit. No trace of her could be discovered; and the next time the shepherd called at Andrew Telfer's house, my lady was seated on the dresser, as demure as if nothing in her whole life had ever disturbed her tranquillity."
In The Dog, by Stonehenge, an excellent book, there is a woodcut of Puck, and "Dr. Wm. Brown's celebrated dog John Pym" is mentioned Their pedigrees are given – here is Puck's, which shows his "strain" is of the pure azure blood – "Got by John Pym, out of Tib; bred by Purves of Leaderfoot; sire. Old Dandie, the famous dog of old John Stoddart of Selkirk – dam Whin." How Homeric all this sounds! I cannot help quoting what follows – "Sometime a Dandie pup of a good strain may appear not to be game at an early age; but he should not be parted with on this account, because many of them do not show their courage till nearly two years old, and then nothing can beat them; this apparent softness arising, as I suspect, from kindness of heart" – a suspicion, my dear "Stonehenge," which is true and shows your own "kindness of heart," as well as sense.