We had a most
animated hunt through water, mud, roots of trees, open forest and
all kinds of ground, but I ran into him at last in heavy ground,
and I dare say he recollects the day of the month.
In the mean time, Palliser had heard the roaring of the elephant,
followed by the screaming and yelling of the coolies, and
succeeded by a shot. Shortly after he heard the prolonged yells
of the hunted villager while he was hastening toward my
direction. This combination of sounds naturally led him to
expect that some accident had occurred, especially as some of the
yells indicated that somebody had come to grief. This caused him
a very laborious run, and he arrived thoroughly blown, and with a
natural desire to kick the recreant villager who bad caused the
yells.
If the ground had been ever tolerably dry, we should have killed
a large number of elephants out of this herd; but, as it
happened, in such deep mud and water the elephants had it all
their own way, and our joint bag could not produce more than
seven tails; however, this was far more than I had expected when
I first saw the herd in such a secure position.
On our return to the village we found Palliser's horse terribly
gored by a buffalo, and we were obliged to leave him behind for
some weeks; fortunately, there was an extra pony, which served
him as a mount home, a distance of a hundred and fifty miles.
This has been a sad digression from our argument upon instinct
and reason, a most unreasonable departure from the subject; but
this is my great misfortune; so sure as I bring forward the name
of an elephant, the pen lays hold of some old story and runs
madly away in a day's shooting. I now have to speak of the
reasoning powers of the canine race, and I confess my weakness.
I feel perfectly certain that the pen will serve me the same
trick, and that it will be plunging through a day's hunting to
prove the existence of reason in a hound and the want of it in
the writer. Thrash me, good critics; I deserve it; lay it on
with an unsparing thong. I am humiliated, but still willful; I
know my fault, but still continue it.
Let us think; what was the subject? Reason in dogs, to be sure.
Well, every one who has a dog must admit that he has a strong
share of reason; only observe him as he sits by your side and
wistfully watches the endless transit of piece after piece, bit
after bit, as the fork is conveying delicate morsels to your
mouth. There is neither hope nor despair exhibited in his
countenance - he knows those pieces are not for him. There is an
expression of impatience about the eye as he scans your features,
which seems to say, "Greedy fellow! what, not one bit for me?"
Only cut a slice from the exterior of the joint - a piece that he
knows you will not eat - and watch, the change and eagerness of
his expression; he knows as well as you do that this is intended
for him - he has reasoned upon it.
This is the simple and every-day performance of a common
house-dog. Observe the pointers in a field of close-cut stubble
- two well-broken, reasonable old dogs. The birds are wild, and
have been flushed several times during the day, and the old dog
has winded them now in this close-cut stubble, from which he
knows the covey will rise at a long range. Watch his expression
of intense and yet careful excitement, as he draws upon his game,
step by step, crouching close to the ground, and occasionally
moving his head slowly round to see if his master is close up.
Look at the bitch at the other end of the field, backing him like
a statue, while the old dog still creeps on. Not a step farther
will he move: his lower jaw trembles with excitement; the guns
advance to a line with his shoulder; up they rise,
whiz-z-z-z-z-z-z! - bang! bang! See how the excitement of the
dog is calmed as he falls to the down charge, and afterward with
what pleasure he follows up and stands to the dead birds. If
this is not reason, there is no such thing in existence.
Again, look at the sheep-dog. What can be more beautiful than to
watch the judgement displayed by these dogs in driving a large
flock of sheep? Then turn to the Mont St. Bernard dog and the
Newfoundland, and countless instances could be produced as proofs
of their wonderful share of reasoning power.
The different classes of hounds, being kept in kennels, do not
exhibit this power to the same amount as many others, as they are
not sufficiently domesticated, and their intercourse with man is
confined to the one particular branch of hunting; but in this
pursuit they will afford many striking proofs that they in like
manner with their other brethren, are not devoid of the
reasoning power.
Poor old "Bluebeard!" - he had an almost human share of
understanding, but being simply a hound, this was confined to elk
hunting; he was like the foxhunter of the last century, whose
ideas did not extend beyond his sport; but in this he was
perfect.
Bluebeard was a foxhound, bred at Newera Ellia, in 1847, by F. J.
Templer, Esq.
