The Dog Crusoe and his Master. Robert Michael Ballantyne

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of vengeance. “Vengeance is Mine, I will repay, saith the Lord.” But these men knew not what God said, because they never read His Word, and did not own His sway.

      Young Varley’s enthusiasm was considerably damped when he learned the errand on which the trappers were bent. From that time forward he gave up all desire to visit the mountains in company with such men, but he still retained an intense longing to roam at large among their rocky fastnesses, and gallop out upon the wide prairies.

      Meanwhile he dutifully tended his mother’s cattle and sheep, and contented himself with an occasional deer-hunt in the neighbouring forests. He devoted himself also to the training of his dog Crusoe—an operation which at first cost him many a deep sigh.

      Every one has heard of the sagacity and almost reasoning capabilities of the Newfoundland dog. Indeed, some have even gone the length of saying that what is called instinct in these animals is neither more nor less than reason. And, in truth, many of the noble, heroic, and sagacious deeds that have actually been performed by Newfoundland dogs incline us almost to believe that, like man, they are gifted with reasoning powers.

      But every one does not know the trouble and patience that is required in order to get a juvenile dog to understand what its master means when he is endeavouring to instruct it.

      Crusoe’s first lesson was an interesting, but not a very successful one. We may remark here that Dick Varley had presented Fan to his mother to be her watch-dog, resolving to devote all his powers to the training of the pup. We may also remark, in reference to Crusoe’s appearance (and we did not remark it sooner, chiefly because up to this period in his eventful history he was little better than a ball of fat and hair), that his coat was mingled jet-black and pure white, and remarkably glossy, curly, and thick.

      A week after the shooting match Crusoe’s education began. Having fed him for that period with his own hand, in order to gain his affection, Dick took him out one sunny forenoon to the margin of the lake to give him his first lesson.

      And here again we must pause to remark that, although a dog’s heart is generally gained in the first instance through his mouth, yet, after it is thoroughly gained, his affection is noble and disinterested. He can scarcely be driven from his master’s side by blows, and even when thus harshly repelled is always ready, on the shortest notice and with the slightest encouragement, to make it up again.

      Well, Dick Varley began by calling out, “Crusoe! Crusoe! come here, pup.”

      Of course Crusoe knew his name by this time, for it had been so often used as a prelude to his meals, that he naturally expected a feed whenever he heard it. This portal to his brain had already been open for some days; but all the other doors were fast locked, and it required a great deal of careful picking to open them.

      “Now, Crusoe, come here.”

      Crusoe bounded clumsily to his master’s side, cocked his ears, and wagged his tail—so far his education was perfect. We say he bounded clumsily, for it must be remembered that he was still a very young pup, with soft, flabby muscles.

      “Now, I’m goin’ to begin yer edication, pup; think o’ that.”

      Whether Crusoe thought of that or not we cannot say, but he looked up in his master’s face as he spoke, cocked his ears very high, and turned his head slowly to one side, until it could not turn any further in that direction; then he turned it as much to the other side, whereat his master burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Crusoe immediately began barking vociferously.

      “Come, come,” said Dick, suddenly checking his mirth, “we mustn’t play, pup, we must work.”

      Drawing a leathern mitten from his belt, the youth held it to Crusoe’s nose, and then threw it a yard away, at the same time exclaiming in a loud, distinct tone, “Fetch it.”

      Crusoe entered at once into the spirit of this part of his training; he dashed gleefully at the mitten, and proceeded to worry it with intense gratification. As for “Fetch it,” he neither understood the words nor cared a straw about them.

      Dick Varley rose immediately, and rescuing the mitten, resumed his seat on a rock.

      “Come here, Crusoe,” he repeated.

      “Oh! certainly, by all means,” said Crusoe—no! he didn’t exactly say it, but really he looked these words so evidently, that we think it right to let them stand as they are written. If he could have finished the sentence he would certainly have said, “Go on with that game over again, old boy; it’s quite to my taste—the jolliest thing in life, I assure you!” At least, if we may not positively assert that he would have said that, no one else can absolutely affirm that he wouldn’t.

      Well, Dick Varley did do it over again, and Crusoe worried the mitten over again—utterly regardless of “Fetch it.”

      Then they did it again, and again, and again, but without the slightest apparent advancement in the path of canine knowledge,—and then they went home.

      During all this trying operation Dick Varley never once betrayed the slightest feeling of irritability or impatience. He did not expect success at first; he was not, therefore, disappointed at failure.

      Next day he had him out again—and the next—and the next—and the next again, with the like unfavourable result. In short, it seemed at last as if Crusoe’s mind had been deeply imbued with the idea that he had been born expressly for the purpose of worrying that mitten, and he meant to fulfil his destiny to the letter.

      Young Varley had taken several small pieces of meat in his pocket each day, with the intention of rewarding Crusoe when he should at length be prevailed on to fetch the mitten, but as Crusoe was not aware of the treat that awaited him, of course the mitten never was “fetched.”

      At last Dick Varley saw that this system would never do, so he changed his tactics, and the next morning gave Crusoe no breakfast, but took him out at the usual hour to go through his lesson. This new course of conduct seemed to perplex Crusoe not a little, for on his way down to the beach he paused frequently and looked back at the cottage, and then expressively up at his master’s face. But the master was inexorable; he went on and Crusoe followed, for true love had now taken possession of the pup’s young heart, and he preferred his master’s company to food.

      Varley now began by letting the learner smell a piece of meat which he eagerly sought to devour, but was prevented, to his immense disgust. Then the mitten was thrown as heretofore, and Crusoe made a few steps towards it, but being in no mood for play he turned back.

      “Fetch it,” said the teacher.

      “I won’t,” replied the learner mutely, by means of that expressive sign—not doing it.

      Hereupon Dick Varley rose, took up the mitten, and put it into the pup’s mouth. Then, retiring a couple of yards, he held out the piece of meat and said, “Fetch it.”

      Crusoe instantly spat out the glove and bounded towards the meat—once more to be disappointed.

      This was done a second time, and Crusoe came forward with the mitten in his mouth. It seemed as if it had been done accidentally, for he dropped it before coming quite up. If so it was a fortunate accident, for it served as the tiny fulcrum on which to place the point of that mighty lever which was destined ere long to raise him to the pinnacle of canine erudition. Dick Varley immediately lavished upon him the tenderest caresses and gave him a lump of meat. But he quickly tried it again lest he should lose the lesson. The dog evidently felt that if he did not fetch that mitten he СКАЧАТЬ