Culley says: "The Wild Breed, from being untameable, can only be kept within walls or good fences; consequently very few of them are now to be met with, except in the parks of some gentlemen, who keep them for ornament, and as a curiosity: those I have seen are at Chillingham Castle, in Northumberland, a seat belonging to the Earl of Tankerville."
The statement of their being untameable is a mere assertion, founded upon no evidence whatever. But so far is it from being the fact, that, notwithstanding every means are used to preserve their wildness, such as allowing them to range in an extensive park—seldom intruding upon them—hunting and shooting them now and then—notwithstanding these means are taken to preserve their wildness, they are even now so far domesticated as voluntarily to present themselves every winter, at a place prepared for them, for the purpose of being fed. From which it may reasonably be concluded, that were they restricted in their pasture, gradually familiarised with the presence of human beings, and in every other respect treated as ordinary cattle, they would, in the course of two or three generations, be equally tame and tractable.
Whilst writing the foregoing I was not aware that any attempt had been made to domesticate these so-called untameable oxen; but on reading an account of these cattle by Mr. Hindmarsh, of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, (bearing date about 1837,) I find the following paragraph.
"By taking the calves at a very early age, and treating them gently, the present keeper succeeded in domesticating an ox and a cow. They became as tame as domestic animals, and the ox fed as rapidly as a short-horned steer. He lived eighteen years, and when at his best was computed at 8 cwt. 14 lbs. The cow only lived five or six years. She gave little milk, but the quality was rich. She was crossed by a country bull, but her progeny very closely resembled herself, being entirely white, excepting the ears, which were brown, and the legs, which were mottled." These facts speak for themselves.
Culley, in giving their distinguishing characteristics, says: "Their colour is invariably of a creamy white; muzzle black; the whole of the inside of the ear, and about one third of the outside, from the tips downwards, red; horns white, with black tips, very fine, and bent upwards; some of the bulls have a thin upright mane, about an inch and a half, or two inches long."
That their colour is invariably white is simply owing to the care that is taken to destroy all the calves that are born of a different description. It is pretty well known to the farmers about Chillingham (although pains are taken to conceal the fact,) that the wild cows in the park not unfrequently drop calves variously spotted. With respect to the redness of the ears, this is by no means an invariable character, many young ones having been produced without that distinctive mark; and Bewick records, that about twenty years before he wrote, there existed a few in the herd with black ears, but they were destroyed. So far from the character here given of the horns being confined to those white cattle, it is precisely the description of the horns of the Kyloe oxen, or black cattle. The investiture of some of the bulls with a mane is equally gratuitous; Cole, who was park-keeper for more than forty years, and of course had ample means of observation, distinctly informed me that they had no mane, but only some curly hair, about the neck, which is likewise an attribute of the Kyloe Oxen.
Culley goes on to say: "From the nature of their pasture, and the frequent agitation they are put into by the curiosity of strangers, it is scarce to be expected that they should get very fat; yet the six years old oxen are generally very good beef, from whence it may be fairly supposed, that in proper situations they would feed well."
It would naturally be inferred from this, that the park in which they are kept is visited by strangers every day, who are allowed to drive them about, and disturb them in their feeding and ruminating, as boys hunt geese or donkeys on a common. This, however, is so far from being the case, that it frequently happens that the park is not visited for many weeks in succession, and certainly on an average it is not visited once a week. What is here meant by "the nature of their pasture," and "in proper situations they would feed well," it is difficult to say. The fact is, their pasture is both good and extensive, and they feed as well as animals always do who are left to themselves with plenty of food.
Their behaviour to strangers is thus described: "At the first appearance of any person, they set off at full speed, and gallop a considerable distance, when they make a wheel round, and come boldly up again, tossing their heads in a menacing manner; on a sudden, they make a full stop, at a distance of forty or fifty yards, looking wildly at the object of their surprise; but upon the least motion being made, they turn round again, and gallop off with equal speed; but forming a shorter circle, and, returning with a bolder and more threatening aspect, they approach much nearer, when they make another stand, and again gallop off. This they do several times, shortening their distance, and approaching nearer, till they come within a few yards, when most people think it prudent to leave them."
In the instance in which I had an opportunity of witnessing their method of receiving visitors, the fashion was somewhat different. The park-keeper who accompanied me described, as we rode through the park in quest of them, what would be their mode of procedure on our approach. This he did from observations so repeatedly made, as to warrant him in saying that it was their invariable mode. It was perfectly simple, and I found it precisely as he had described it. When we came in sight of them, they were tranquilly ruminating under a clump of shady trees, some of the herd standing, others lying. On their first observing us, those that were lying rose up, and they all then began to move slowly away, not exactly to a greater distance from us, but in the direction of a thickly wooded part of the park, which was as distant on our left as the herd was on our right. To reach this wooded part they had to pass over some elevated ground. They continued to walk at a gradually accelerating pace, till they gained the most elevated part, when they broke out into a trot, then into a canter, which at last gave way to a full gallop, a sort of "devil-take-the-hindmost" race, by which they speedily buried themselves in the thickest recesses of the wood. What they may have done in Mr. Culley's time, we must take upon that gentleman's word; but at present, and for so long as the present park-keeper can recollect, they have never been in the habit of describing those curious concentric circles of which Mr. Culley makes mention in the last quotation.