Mr. Peter Macarthur informs me, that in the year 1821, when opposite to Falmouth, he was at breakfast with a gentleman, when a large Newfoundland dog, all dripping with water, entered the room, and laid a newspaper on the table. The gentleman (who was one of the Society of Friends) informed the party, that this dog swam regularly across the ferry every morning, and went to the post-office, and fetched the papers of the day.
Mr. Blaine, in his "Encyclopædia of Rural Sports," tells the following story:—A Newfoundland dog, of the small, smooth-haired variety, in coming to England from his native country, was washed overboard during a tempestuous night. As daylight appeared the gale ceased, when a sailor at the mast-head descried something far in the wake of the vessel, which, by the help of his glass, he was led to believe was the dog, which was so great a favourite with the crew that it was unanimously requested of the captain of the vessel to lie to, and wait for the chance of saving the poor brute. The captain, who had probably lost some time already by the storm, peremptorily refused to listen to the humane proposal. Whether it was the kindly feeling of the sailors, or the superstitious dread that if the dog were suffered to perish nothing would afterwards prosper with them, we are not informed; but we do know that, as soon as a refusal was made, the steersman left the helm, roundly asserting that he for one would never lend a hand to steer away from either Christian or brute in distress. The feeling was immediately caught by the rest of the crew, and maintained so resolutely, that the captain was forced to accede to the general wish; and the poor dog eventually reached the ship in safety, after having been, as we were informed, and implicitly believe, some hours in a tempestuous sea.
Bewick mentions an instance which shows the extraordinary sagacity of these dogs.
In a severe storm, a ship was lost off Yarmouth, and no living creature escaped, except a Newfoundland dog, which swam to the shore with the captain's pocket-book in his mouth. Several of the bystanders attempted to take it from him, but he would not part with it. At length, selecting one person from the crowd, whose appearance probably pleased him, he leaped against his breast in a fawning manner, and delivered the book to his care.
After mentioning this anecdote it will not be displeasing to read Lord Grenville's lines on his faithful Newfoundland, as they may now be seen at Dropmore, with the translation of them:—
TIPPO.
In Villa.
Tippo ego hic jaceo, lapidem ne sperne, viator,
Qui tali impositus stat super ossa cani.
Larga mî natura manu dedit omnia, nostrum
Quæcunque exornant nobilitantque genus:
Robur erat validum, formæ concinna venustas,
Ingenui mores, intemerata fides.
Nec pudet invisi nomen gessisse tyranni,
Si tam dissimili viximus ingenio.
Naufragus in nuda Tenbeiæ[K] ejectus arena,
Ploravi domino me superesse meo,
Quem mihi, luctanti frustra, frustraque juvanti,
Abreptum, oceani in gurgite mersit hyems.
Solus ego sospes, sed quas miser ille tabellas
Morte mihi in media credidit, ore ferens.
Dulci me hospitio Belgæ excepere coloni,
Ipsa etiam his olim gens aliena plagis;
Et mihi gratum erat in longa spatiarier[L] ora,
Et quanquam infido membra lavare mari;
Gratum erat æstivis puerorum adjungere turmis
Participem lusus me, comitemque viæ.
Verum ubi, de multis captanti frustula mensis,
Bruma aderat, seniique hora timenda mei,
Insperata adeo illuxit fortuna, novique
Perfugium et requiem cura dedit domini.
Exinde hos saltus, hæc inter florea rura,
Et vixi felix, et tumulum hunc habeo.
TIPPO.