"Not many years since one of Glengarry's tenants, who had some business with his chief, happened to arrive at Glengarry House at rather an early hour in the morning. A deer-hound perceiving this person sauntering about before the domestics were astir, walked quietly up to him, took him gently by the wrist with his teeth, and proceeded to lead him off the ground. The man, finding him forbearing, attempted resistance; but the dog, instantly seizing his wrist with redoubled pressure, soon convinced him that his attempt was in vain. Thus admonished, the man took the hint, and quietly yielded to his canine conductor, who, without farther injury, led him to the outside of the gate, and then left him. The whole of the dogs at Glengarry House were allowed to go at liberty at all times.
"The Highland greyhounds, or deer-hounds as they are called in the Highlands, have a great antipathy to the sheep-dogs, and never fail to attack them whenever an opportunity offers. A shepherd, whose colley had frequently been attacked by the deer-dogs of Glengarry singly, and always succeeded in beating them off on such occasions, was one day assailed by them in a body; and his life would have been in considerable danger, but for one of the keepers, who happened to pass at the time, and called them off.
"The following circumstance will prove the exquisite sense of smell possessed by the deer-hound. One of this breed, named Bran, when held in the leash, followed the track of a wounded stag, and that in most unfavourable rainy weather, for three successive days, at the end of which time the game was shot. He was wounded first within nine miles of Invergarry House, and was traced that night to the estate of Glenmoriston. At dusk in the evening the deer-stalkers placed a stone on each side of the last fresh print of his hoof, and another over it; and this they did each night following. On the succeeding morning they removed the upper stone, when the dog recovered the scent, and the deer was that day traced over a great part of Glenmoriston's ground. On the third day he was retraced to the lands of Glengarry, and there shot.
"My present dog, Comhstri, to great courage unites the quality of a gentle disposition, with much fidelity and attachment. Though not so large as some of his kindred, he is nevertheless as high-spirited and determined as any of his race, which the following circumstance will testify: 'About three years ago, a deer from the wood of Derrygarbh, whose previous hurts had been healed, came out of Glengarry's pass, who wounded it severely in the body with a rifle bullet. The deer-hounds were immediately laid on the blood-track. The stag was started in the course of a few minutes; the dogs were instantly slipped, and the fine animal ran to bay in a deep pool of water, below a cascade, on the Garyquulach burn. Comhstri immediately plunged in, and seized the stag by the throat; both went under water, surrounded with the white foam, slightly tinged with the deer's blood. The dog soon came to the surface to recover his breath; and before the other could do so, Comhstri dived, and again seized him by the throat. The stag was soon after taken out of the pool dead.
"Comhstri's colour is grey, with a white chest; but we have had them of different colours at Glengarry, such as pure white, black, brindled, and sand-colour.
"When the Highlanders dream of a black dog, it is interpreted to mean one of the clan of Macdonell; but if of a deer-hound, it denotes a chief, or one of the principal persons of that clan."
That the Scottish dogs were much prized in England from the earliest times, the following interesting account, taken from Holinshed's Chronicles, 'Historie of Scotland,' p. 71, printed in 1586, will show. "And shortlie after the return of these ambassadors into their countrie, divers young gentlemen of the Pictish nobilitie repaired unto King Crathlint, to hunt and make merie with him; but when they should depart homewards, perceiving that the Scotish dogs did farre excell theirs, both in fairnesse, swiftnesse, hardinesse, and also in long standing up and holding out, they got diverse both dogs and bitches of the best kinds for breed to be given them by the Scotish Lords; and yet not so contented, they stole one belonging to the king from his keeper, being more esteemed of him than all the others which he had about him. The master of the leash being informed hereof, pursued after them which had stollen that dog, thinking indeed to have taken him from them; but they not willing to part with him, fell at altercation, and in the end chanced to strike the maister of the leash through with their horsespeares that he died presentlie: whereupon noise and crie being raised in the countrie by his servants, diverse of the Scots, as they were going home from hunting, returned, and, falling upon the Picts to revenge the death of their fellow, there ensued a shrewd bickering betwixt them, so that of the Scots there died three score gentlemen, besides a great number of the commons, not one of them understanding (till all was done) what the matter meant. Of the Picts there were about an hundred slaine. This circumstance led to a bloody war betwixt the two nations."
The following interesting anecdote, related by Mr. Carr in his "Stranger in Ireland," there can be no doubt, I think, refers to the Irish wolf-dog. Mr. Carr says, that while on his journey to Ireland he "wandered to a little church, which owed its elevation to the following circumstance. Llewelyn the Great, who resided near the base of Snowdon, had a beautiful dog named Gelert, which had been presented to him by King John in 1205. One day, in consequence of the faithful animal, which at night always 'sentinelled his master's bed,' not making his appearance in the chase, Llewelyn returned home very angry, and met the dog, covered with blood, at the door of the chamber of his child. Upon entering it, he found the bed overturned, and the coverlet stained with gore. He called to his boy; but receiving no answer, he rashly concluded that he had been killed by Gelert, and in his anguish instantly thrust his sword through the poor animal's body. The Hon. Robert Spencer has beautifully told the remainder of the story.
'His suppliant looks, as prone he fell,
No pity could impart;
But still his Gelert's dying yell
Passed heavy on his heart.
Arous'd by Gelert's dying yell,
Some slumb'rer waken'd nigh:
What words the parent's joy could tell,
To hear his infant's cry?