Such is the animal of which I now propose to give a few characteristic anecdotes.
About the year 1742, a lady, who resided in a lone house in Cheshire, permitted all her servants, except one female, to go to a supper and dance at a Christmas merry-meeting, held at an inn about three miles distant, and kept by the uncle of the maid who had remained in the house with her mistress. The servants were not expected back till the morning; consequently the doors and windows were, as usual, secured, and the lady and her servant were going to bed, when they were alarmed by the voice of some persons apparently attempting to break into the house. Fortunately a great mastiff dog, named Cæsar, was in the kitchen, and set up a tremendous barking, which, however, had not the effect of intimidating the robbers. The maid-servant distinctly heard that the attempt to enter the house was made by the villains endeavouring to force a way through a hole under the sunk story in the adjoining back-kitchen or scullery. Being a young woman of courage, she went towards the spot, accompanied by the dog, and patting him on the back, exclaimed, "At him, Cæsar!" The dog made a furious attack on the person who seemed to be at the hole, and gave something a violent shake, when all became quiet, and the animal returned to her with his mouth all besmeared with blood. She afterwards heard some little bustle outside of the house, which soon was stilled. The lady and servant sat up until morning, without farther molestation, when, on going into the court, a quantity of blood was found on the outside of the wall. The other servants, on their return, brought word to the maid that her uncle, the innkeeper, had died suddenly during the course of the night—they understood of a fit of apoplexy—and was intended to be buried that day. The maid got leave to go to the funeral, and was surprised to find the coffin on her arrival screwed down. She insisted on taking a last view of the body, which was most unwillingly granted; when, to her great surprise and horror, she found his death had been occasioned from his throat being torn open. What had happened the evening before immediately rushed to her imagination, and it appeared too evident to her that she had been the innocent cause of her uncle's death; and, upon further inquiry, it was proved that he and one of his servants had formed the design of robbing the house and murdering the lady, in her unprotected condition, during the absence of her servants; but, by the watchfulness and courage of her dog, their design was frustrated.
An anecdote is related of a mastiff, who, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, when Lord Buckhurst was ambassador at the Court of Charles the Ninth, alone and unassisted, successively engaged a bear, a leopard, and a lion, and pulled them all down.
Very extraordinary stories have been told of these and some other kinds of dogs discovering and circumventing plans to injure the persons of their masters, in which it is difficult to place implicit credit. We give one of the most marvellous of these anecdotes, as it is usually related:—
Sir H. Lee, of Ditchley, in Oxfordshire, ancestor of the late Earls of Lichfield, had a mastiff which guarded the house and yard, but had never met with any particular attention from his master. In short, he was not a favourite dog, and was retained for his utility only, and not from any partial regard.
One night, as Sir Harry was retiring to his chamber, attended by his favourite valet, an Italian, the mastiff silently followed them up-stairs, which he had never been known to do before, and, to his master's astonishment, presented himself in the bed-room. Being deemed an intruder, he was instantly ordered to be turned out; which, being complied with, the poor animal began scratching violently at the door, and howling loudly for admission. The servant was sent to drive him away. Discouragement, however, could not check his intended labour of love; he returned again, and was more importunate to be let in than before. Sir Harry, weary of opposition, though surprised beyond measure at the dog's apparent fondness for the society of a master who had never shown him the least kindness, and wishing to retire to rest, bade the servant open the door, that they might see what he wanted to do. This done, the mastiff, with a wag of the tail, and a look of affection at his lord, deliberately walked up, and crawling under the bed, laid himself down, as if desirous to take up his night's lodging there.
To save farther trouble, and not from any partiality for his company, this indulgence was allowed. The valet withdrew, and all was still. About the solemn hour of midnight the chamber door opened, and a person was heard stepping across the room. Sir Harry started from sleep; the dog sprung from his covert, and seizing the unwelcome disturber, fixed him to the spot. All was dark: Sir Harry rang his bell in great trepidation, in order to procure a light. The person who was pinned to the floor by the courageous mastiff roared for assistance. It was found to be the favourite valet, who little expected such a reception. He endeavoured to apologise for his intrusion, and to make the reasons which induced him to take this step appear plausible; but the importunity of the dog, the time, the place, the manner of the valet, raised suspicions in Sir Harry's mind, and he determined to refer the investigation of the business to a magistrate.
The perfidious Italian, alternately terrified by the dread of punishment and soothed by the hope of pardon, at length confessed that it was his intention to murder his master, and then rob the house. This diabolical design was frustrated solely by the unaccountable sagacity of the dog and his devoted attachment to his master. A full-length picture of Sir Harry, with the mastiff by his side, and the words, "More faithful than favoured," is still preserved among the family pictures.
Presentiments of approaching danger, such as those now related, are to be traced only to the animal's close observation and watchful jealousy of disposition. Looks, signs, and movements are noticed by him which escape an ordinary observer. The idea that dogs have presentiments of death, and howl on such occasions, is a superstition now all but vanished.
In October 1800, a young man going into a place of public entertainment at Paris, was told that his dog (a fine mastiff) could not be permitted to enter, and he was accordingly left with the guard at the door. The young man was scarcely entered into the lobby, when his watch was stolen. He returned to the guard, and prayed that his dog might be admitted, as, through his means, he might discover the thief: the dog was suffered to accompany his master, who intimated to the animal that he had lost something; the dog set out immediately in quest of the strayed article, and fastened on the thief, whose guilt on searching him was made apparent: the fellow had no less than six watches in his pocket, which being laid before the dog, he distinguished his master's, took it up by the string, and bore it to him in safety.