Carlyle tells the story of a Blenheim cocker in Edinburgh, the most timid and reserved of its race, which shrank from all attention save that of its mistress, until one day on the street it made a sudden spring towards a tall, halting stranger, and fawned upon him in an ecstasy of delight. This was, of course, our own Sir Walter, whose great heart, like a magnet, drew to it all other hearts, whether bold or shy.
STATUE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, IN EDINBURGH.
His horses all fed from his hand, and preferred his attendance to that of the grooms; while, until lameness obliged him, in later years, to give up walking, he would never ride on Sunday, believing that “all domestic animals have a full right to their Sabbath of rest.” If his four-footed dependants were ill, he nursed and prescribed for them. When little Spice, an asthmatic terrier, was following the carriage, he would carry it over the brooks, that it might not get wet. In fine, he was always what too few are—“a gentleman, even to his dogs.”
Pets were so numerous at Abbotsford that their record must be brief. The long list of pet horses opens in his childhood with a Shetland pony called Marion—a dwarfish creature that fed from his hand, and ran in and out of the house like a dog. The pair were close friends, and passed hours together exploring the hills. In his twentieth year, or thereabouts, Lenore is mentioned as doing him good service, but ere long was succeeded by Captain, coal-black and full of mettle. Next came Lieutenant, and then Brown Adam, a special favorite, who would let none but his master ride him, and who, when saddled and bridled, would trot out of the stable by himself to the mounting-stone, and wait there for Sir Walter. Daisy, next in order, was “all over white, without a speck, and with such a mane as Rubens delighted to paint.” His temper, unfortunately, was less perfect than his mane, and eventually Sir Walter sold him. Daisy was succeeded by the original of Dandie Dinmont’s “Dumple,” in the shape of a sober cob named Sybil Grey; and the list closes with a staid old horse known indifferently as Donce Davie and the Covenanter.
In 1803, the canine favorite was Camp, a fine bull-terrier, “very handsome, very intelligent, and naturally very fierce, but gentle as a lamb among the children.” It is this dog that appears in the painting by Raeburn. He had considerable intellect in his way, and understood much that was said to him. Once he bit the family baker, and was severely punished for it—his offense being at the same time explained to him, says Scott. After this, “to the last moment of his life, he never heard the least allusion to the story, in whatever voice or tone it was mentioned, without getting up and retiring into the darkest corner of the room, with great appearance of distress. Then if you said, ‘The baker was well paid,’ or, ‘The baker was not hurt after all,’ Camp came forth from his hiding-place, capered, and barked, and rejoiced.”
He lost none of his brightness, although strength began to fail him in 1808, so that he could no longer accompany Sir Walter on his rides. But still when as evening drew on, the servant would say, “Camp, the shirra’s comin’ hame by the ford,” or “by the hill,” Camp would patter stiffly to the front door or back, as the direction might imply, and there await the master whom he could no longer follow. He died the ensuing year, in January, and was buried in the garden of Scott’s Edinburgh house, where even yet the place is pointed out. The whole family stood in tears around the grave, while Sir Walter himself, with sad face, smoothed the turf above his old companion. He had been invited to dine from home that night, but excused himself on account of the death of a dear old friend; and none wondered when they learned that the friend was Camp.
Contemporary with Camp were the two greyhounds, Percy and Douglas, who, though far less dear, were much petted. It is on record that despite Lady Scott’s fear of robbers, a window was always left open for these dogs to pass in and out. They lie buried at Abbotsford with other of their doggish kin. Percy, in particular, is honored by a stone of antique appearance, and this inscription, befitting some valiant knight:
“Cy git le preux Percie.”