Home › Curiosities Respecting Animals › Instances of Sagacity
Instances of Sagacity
end to warn those that approached of their danger. But it so happened, that one dreadful stormy night the lamps blew out, and the monitor, supposing that no one would in such a hurricane attempt to pass, wisely retired to shelter. After midnight, a traveller knocked at the door of an inn at Chepstow. "Who is there?" said the landlord, who had long retired to rest, and was now called out of bed.
The traveller mentioned his name, which was well known. "How did you come?" said the landlord. "How did I come? Why, over the bridge to be sure!" "What! on horseback?" "Yes." "No!" said the landlord, "that is impossible! however, as you are here, I'll let you in."
The host, when the traveller repeated his assertion, was staggered. He was certain that he must have come over the bridge, because there was no other way; but also knowing the state in which the passage was, he could only attribute the escape of the traveller and his horse to witchcraft. He, however, said nothing to him that night; but the next morning took him to the bridge, and showed him the plank that his horse must have passed over, at the same time that he pointed to the raging torrent beneath.
Struck with this circumstance, the traveller, it is said, was seized with an illness from which he did not speedily recover. It is from a respectable source that we insert the following narrative of the SAGACITY OF DOGS.
M. La Valee, in his Journey through the Departments of France, published in 1792, gives the following curious account of the manner in which the country people, in the neighbourhood of Peronne and Doulens, had trained their dogs to elude the vigilance of the officers of the revenue. At night, these animals were laden, each with a parcel of goods proportioned to its size; except one alone, who was their leader, and went without any burden. A crack of a whip was a signal for them to set out. The leader travelled a little distance before the rest; and, if he perceived the traces of any stranger, he returned to the other dogs: these either took a different way, or, if the danger was pressing, concealed themselves behind the hedges, and lay close till the patrole had passed. When they arrived at the habitation of their master's associate, they hid themselves in the neighbouring fields and hedges, while their leader went to the house, and scratched at the door, or barked, till he was admitted, when he lay quietly down, as at home: by this the smuggler knew that the caravan was come; and, if the coast was clear, he went out, when 2 B he gave a loud whistle, and the dogs came running to him from their several hiding-places!
Peltier, in his Annals of Paris, No. 164, for December, 1798, records the following anecdote:- At the beginning of the Revolution, a dog went daily to the parade before the palace of the Thuilleries, thrust himself between the legs of the musicians, marched with them, halted with them, and after the parade, disappeared until the next morning, when he resumed his occupation. The constant appearance of this dog, and the pleasure which he seemed to take in the music, made him a favourite with the band, who nicknamed him, Parade. One gave him food to-day, another to-morrow; and he understood, by a slight signal, and a word or two, whom he was to follow for his dinner; after which, faithful to his independence, the dog always withdrew, in spite of any caresses or threats. Sometimes he went to the opera, sometimes to the Comedie Italienne, and sometimes to the Theatre Feydeau; in each of which houses he found his way to the orchestra, and would lie down silently in one corner of it, until the performance was over. " I know not, (says Peltier) whether this dog be now alive: but I know many musicians, to whom his name, his figure, and the singularity of his habits, are perfectly familiar." In Petit's Campaign of Italy, under the chief consul Buonaparte, published in 1800, we have the following anecdote, which places this animal in the most engaging light: "In traversing the Alps over the mountain Great St. Bernard, many people perish among the almost inaccessible rocks, whose summits are covered with eternal snow. At the time we crossed them, the chapel of the monastery of St. Bernard was filled with dead bodies, which their dogs had discovered suffocated and benumbed under the snow. With what emotions of pleasure did I caress these dogs, so useful to travellers! how can one speak of them without being moved by their charitable instinct! Notwithstanding the paucity of our eatables, there was not a French soldier who did not manifest an eagerness to give them some biscuit, some bread, and even a share of their meat. Morning and evening, these dogs go out on discovery; and if in the midst of their wandering courses the echo of some unfortunate creature ready to perish reaches their attentive ears, they run towards those who call out, express their joy, and seem to bid the sufferer take courage, till they have been to procure assistance; in fact, they hasten back to the convent, and, with an air of inquietude and sadness, announce in a very discernible manner what they have seen. In that case, a small basket is fastened round the dog's neck, filled with food proper for re-animating life almost exhausted; and, by following the benevolent mes- HARTWELL