“Hitherto Turk’s appetite had been good; he had never been known to desert a bone until it was as bare and as shiny as his own teeth. He gradually began to leave off his inroads upon the farmer’s kitchen, and the wife thought he must in consequence be sick. In vain he was tempted with the choicest bits, raw and cooked; he gazed at them with a longing look, and even condescended to snuff in their savoury odours, but that was all. One bite sufficed for his breakfast, two or three for his dinner, and be retired into the farthest end of his kennel supperless.
“A Brummagem dog-fancier was sent for, and notwithstanding Turk’s determined opposition, some medicine was forced down his throat, which, it was said, would give him an appetite as good as a famished gorilla in about a couple of days. But the two days passed without restoring his appetite; he grew thinner and thinner, and the farmer at last gave him up as incurable, assigning as his reason that he must be in a ‘dog consumption.’
“Shortly after this unaccountable disease had set in, it had been noticed that, the animal quitted his kennel every night as it was growing dark, and trotted down the road; but no one knew what these twilight expeditions were undertaken for. But the plot was drawing to a head. One evening he departed, as usual, down the road. His tortures were about to end, and his long fast be followed by a feast. Nearing the well-known garden where he had so often met Prim, his movements became curious. He moved like a ghost, and stopped to listen, but nothing was stirring. Finally he reached the opening in the fence; he pushed his head stealthily through the hole, his neck followed his head, his body followed his neck, his tail followed his body, and now Turk was fairly in the garden, where he had never been before. Being satisfied with this experiment (which had been repeatedly made since he had brought his plan of fasting into operation, but never successfully until this occasion) he returned to the road and began to bark. In a few moments an answering yelp was heard—Prim was hastening to his doom. Suddenly his little head was popped out of the opening of the fence. A sharp growl escaped Turk—he was too eager for his revenge; and Prim, instead of coming through the hole on to the road (where Turk had often tried to coax him without effect), gave a defiant ‘wow, wow, wow,’ and was making his way back to his kennel, as much as to say, ‘I can’t accommodate you to-night.’ Quick as lightning, Turk darted towards the hole. At the same instant, a loud report was heard; the figure of a man appeared upon the scene. It was the enraged stonebreaker. Turk rolled over, mortally wounded by a shot from an old blunderbuss. ‘Ha! ha! you would steal my dinner, would you, and then rip a good pair of corduroy breeches off my legs all to pieces, would you?’ said the old man, giving him a kick over the ribs. Turk made answer by one prolonged howl of disappointment, pain, and despair, which grew fainter and fainter, until it ceased altogether, and he died the victim of his own selfish and revengeful disposition. By the timely arrival and interposition of the stonebreaker the life of Prim was saved, but he never appeared happy afterwards, probably from the fear of encountering Turk and paying with his life the consequences of his harmless joke.”
I have endeavoured as far as I could to render the recruit’s dog-story as it was given, with as little alteration as possible. When finished, we asked him how he became possessed of Prim? His answer was that he had exchanged a small French poodle with the gentleman for the little hero of the tale. Prim was allowed to accompany the recruit to head-quarters; he lived some years in the regiment, and finally got worried through venturing too near a large monkey kept chained behind the stables, around whom he was accustomed to dance and make fun of him, much in the same manner as he had done with Turk and the large dogs who passed his old master’s residence at Handsworth.
Chapter Nineteen.
For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodjer’s pride;
The sodjer’s wealth is honour.
The brave, poor sodjer ne’er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember he’s his country’s stay
In day and hour o’ danger.
Burns.