SCENE ON THE ‘THLEW-ĔE-CHŌH-DEZETH.’—Par. [487].
489. At my request, Sir G——e kindly drew the spirited sketch, which I have had engraved, of the scene he so vividly described.
CAPTAIN AND SUWARROW.
490. Dining one day at the hospitable board of Lord M——f, he told me, that many years ago an uncle of his, an excellent sportsman, lent him a brace of short-haired English dogs, yclept “Captain” and “Suwarrow,”—martial names! yet not inappropriate, you will think, when you hear some of their feats of strategy. “Captain,” moreover, had other warlike propensities; he was a close-knit, powerful dog, and there was no peace in any kennel he ever entered until its boldest inmates had conceded to him all the privileges of commander-in-chief.
491. Lord M——f and a friend had obtained permission to shoot on a considerable part of an extensive valley in Perthshire, lying at the foot of “Schiehallion;” but unfortunately they had not the sole right,—a similar favour had been granted to a lame man, but no lame sportsman, who for some days greatly annoyed them. Start when they would, and take what line they might, Dot-and-go-one with his old pointer was sure to be on the heather before them.
492. “Captain” and “Suwarrow” bore this for some time with greater apparent patience than the gentlemen. On one occasion, however, when the inferiority of the ground they were compelled to take was more than usually obvious, “Captain’s” blood was fairly roused,—he could stand it no longer. Leaving his companion, he crossed at full speed to the other side of the valley,—not, as might possibly be surmised, to wreak his vengeance upon the old pointer,—but, strange to say, to hunt at his best pace the good ground in front of his rival, and raise, not point, every grouse he could find. When he conceived he had done enough mischief, or perhaps thought he had driven a fair proportion of birds to Lord M——f’s side of the valley, he quietly returned to his usual duties—duties which, be it remarked, he always performed most steadily. As an evidence—on the evening of that very day, instead of pointing, as was his wont, he dropped, on unexpectedly getting into the midst of a pack, and did not stir an inch until all the birds had successively risen. You will surely think his right to be considered a first-rate tactician is fully proved:—when you read [530], you will perhaps allow that “Suwarrow” has an equally good, if not superior, claim to the title.
493. And will not these evidences of great sagacity and, except in the few last cases, instances of good breaking—and they might be multiplied, I was nearly saying, ad infinitum, for every sportsman could furnish some—convince you, that it is our own fault, if our high-bred pointers, setters, and retrievers (which can scarcely be surpassed in docility and intelligence), are indifferently educated? It is not that they cannot understand, but that we, either for want of patience or reflection, cannot make ourselves understood. The fault is ours, not theirs. They might, indeed, almost be taught anything—even things quite opposed to their nature—if we did but act more reasonably, and were not in most cases supinely content to stop so very far short of perfection, apparently grudging a little additional trouble.