Speculative remarks with which the reader may or may not agree--Anold woman--Hopes and wishes commingled with hard facts--The dogCrusoe's education begun. It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humbleface. On such a face did Richard Varley lookevery night when he entered his mother's cottage. Mrs.
Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunesof her brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of herhusband. Love for her only brother induced her toforsake the peaceful village of Maryland and enter uponthe wild life of a backwoods settlement. Dick's motherwas thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face wasstamped with a species of beauty which neverfades--the beauty of a loving look. Ah! the brow of snowand the peach-bloom cheek may snare the heart of manfor a time, but the loving look alone can forge thatadamantine chain that time, age, eternity shall neverbreak.
Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attemptto analyze this look which characterized Mrs. Varley.
A rare diamond is worth stopping to glance at, evenwhen one is in a hurry. The brightest jewel in thehuman heart is worth a thought or two. By a lovinglook we do not mean a look of love bestowed on abeloved object. That is common enough; and thankfulshould we be that it is so common in a world that'soverfull of hatred. Still less do we mean that smileand look of intense affection with which some people--goodpeople too--greet friend and foe alike, and bywhich effort to work out their beau ideal of the expressionof Christian love they do signally damage theircause, by saddening the serious and repelling the gay.
Much less do we mean that perpetual smile of good-willwhich argues more of personal comfort and self-lovethan anything else. No; the loving look we speak ofis as often grave as gay. Its character depends verymuch on the face through which it beams. And itcannot be counterfeited. Its ring defies imitation. Likethe clouded sun of April, it can pierce through tears ofsorrow; like the noontide sun of summer, it can blazein warm smiles; like the northern lights of winter, itcan gleam in depths of woe;--but it is always the same,modified, doubtless, and rendered more or less patent toothers, according to the natural amiability of him or herwho bestows it. No one can put it on; still less canany one put it off. Its range is universal; it embracesall mankind, though, of course, it is intensified on a fewfavoured objects; its seat is in the depths of a renewedheart, and its foundation lies in love to God.
Young Varley's mother lived in a cottage which wasof the smallest possible dimensions consistent with comfort.
It was made of logs, as, indeed, were all the othercottages in the valley. The door was in the centre, anda passage from it to the back of the dwelling divided itinto two rooms. One of these was sub-divided by athin partition, the inner room being Mrs. Varley's bedroom,the outer Dick's. Daniel Hood's dormitory wasa corner of the kitchen, which apartment served also asa parlour.
The rooms were lighted by two windows, one on eachside of the door, which gave to the house the appearanceof having a nose and two eyes. Houses of this kindhave literally got a sort of expression on--if we mayuse the word--their countenances. Square windowsgive the appearance of easy-going placidity; longishones, that of surprise. Mrs. Varley's was a surprisecottage; and this was in keeping with the scene inwhich it stood, for the clear lake in front, studded withislands, and the distant hills beyond, composed a sceneso surprisingly beautiful that it never failed to call forthan expression of astonished admiration from every newvisitor to the Mustang Valley.
"My boy," exclaimed Mrs. Varley, as her son enteredthe cottage with a bound, "why so hurried to-day?
Deary me! where got you the grand gun?""Won it, mother!""Won it, my son?""Ay, won it, mother. Druve the nail almost, andwould ha' druve it altogether had I bin more used toJoe Blunt's rifle."Mrs. Varley's heart beat high, and her face flushedwith pride as she gazed at her son, who laid the rifle onthe table for her inspection, while he rattled off ananimated and somewhat disjointed account of thematch.
"Deary me! now that was good, that was cliver.
But what's that scraping at the door?""Oh! that's Fan; I forgot her. Here! here! Fan!
Come in, good dog," he cried, rising and opening thedoor.
Fan entered and stopped short, evidently uncomfortable.
"My boy, what do ye with the major's dog?""Won her too, mother!""Won her, my son?""Ay, won her, and the pup too; see, here it is!" andhe plucked Crusoe from his bosom.
Crusoe having found his position to be one of greatcomfort had fallen into a profound slumber, and onbeing thus unceremoniously awakened he gave forth ayelp of discontent that brought Fan in a state of franticsympathy to his side.
"There you are, Fan; take it to a corner and makeyourself at home.--Ay, that's right, mother, give hersomethin' to eat; she's hungry, I know by the look o'
her eye.""Deary me, Dick!" said Mrs. Varley, who now proceededto spread the youth's mid-day meal before him,"did ye drive the nail three times?""No, only once, and that not parfetly. Brought 'emall down at one shot--rifle, Fan, an' pup!""Well, well, now that was cliver; but--." Here theold woman paused and looked grave.
"But what, mother?""You'll be wantin' to go off to the mountains now, Ifear me, boy.""Wantin' now!" exclaimed the youth earnestly; "I'malways wantin'. I've bin wantin' ever since I couldwalk; but I won't go till you let me, mother, that Iwon't!" And he struck the table with his fist so forciblythat the platters rung again.
"You're a good boy, Dick; but you're too young yitto ventur' among the Redskins.""An' yit, if I don't ventur' young, I'd better not ventur'
at all. You know, mother dear, I don't want toleave you; but I was born to be a hunter, and everybodyin them parts is a hunter, and I can't hunt in thekitchen you know, mother!"At this point the conversation was interrupted by asound that caused young Varley to spring up and seizehis rifle, and Fan to show her teeth and growl.
"Hist, mother! that's like horses' hoofs," he whispered,opening the door and gazing intently in thedirection whence the sound came.
Louder and louder it came, until an opening in theforest showed the advancing cavalcade to be a party ofwhite men. In another moment they were in full view--aband of about thirty horsemen, clad in the leatherncostume and armed with the long rifle of the far west.
Some wore portions of the gaudy Indian dress, whichgave to them a brilliant, dashing look. They came onstraight for the block-house, and saluted the Varleyswith a jovial cheer as they swept past at full speed.
Dick returned the cheer with compound interest, andcalling out, "They're trappers, mother; I'll be back in anhour," bounded off like a deer through the woods, takinga short cut in order to reach the block-house beforethem. He succeeded, for, just as he arrived at thehouse, the cavalcade wheeled round the bend in theriver, dashed up the slope, and came to a sudden halton the green. Vaulting from their foaming steeds theytied them to the stockades of the little fortress, whichthey entered in a body.
Hot haste was in every motion of these men. Theywere trappers, they said, on their way to the RockyMountains to hunt and trade furs. But one of theirnumber had been treacherously murdered and scalpedby a Pawnee chief, and they resolved to revenge hisdeath by an attack on one of the Pawnee villages. Theywould teach these "red reptiles" to respect white men,they would, come of it what might; and they hadturned aside here to procure an additional supply ofpowder and lead.
In vain did the major endeavour to dissuade thesereckless men from their purpose. They scoffed at theidea of returning good for evil, and insisted on beingsupplied. The log hut was a store as well as a place ofdefence, and as they offered to pay for it there was norefusing their request--at least so the major thought.
The ammunition was therefore given to them, and inhalf-an-hour they were away again at full gallop overthe plains on their mission of vengeance. "Vengeanceis mine; I will repay, saith the Lord." But these menknew not what God said, because they never read hisWord and did not own his sway.
Young Varley's enthusiasm was considerably dampedwhen he learned the errand on which the trappers werebent. From that time forward he gave up all desireto visit the mountains in company with such men, buthe still retained an intense longing to roam at largeamong their rocky fastnesses and gallop out upon thewide prairies.
Meanwhile he dutifully tended his mother's cattle andsheep, and contented himself with an occasional deer-huntin the neighbouring forests. He devoted himselfalso to the training of his dog Crusoe--an operationwhich at first cost him many a deep sigh.
Every one has heard of the sagacity and almost reasoningcapabilities of the Newfoundland dog. Indeed, somehave even gone the length of saying that what is calledinstinct in these animals is neither more nor less thanreason. And in truth many of the noble, heroic, andsagacious deeds that have actually been performed byNewfoundland dogs incline us almost to believe that,like man, they are gifted with reasoning powers.
But every one does not know the trouble and patiencethat is required in order to get a juvenile dog to understandwhat its master means when he is endeavouringto instruct it.
Crusoe's first lesson was an interesting but not a verysuccessful one. We may remark here that Dick Varleyhad presented Fan to his mother to be her watch-dog,resolving to devote all his powers to the training of thepup. We may also remark, in reference to Crusoe'sappearance (and we did not remark it sooner, chieflybecause up to this period in his eventful history he waslittle better than a ball of fat and hair), that his coatwas mingled jet-black and pure white, and remarkablyglossy, curly, and thick.
A week after the shooting-match Crusoe's educationbegan. Having fed him for that period with his ownhand, in order to gain his affection, Dick took him outone sunny forenoon to the margin of the lake to givehim his first lesson.
And here again we must pause to remark that,although a dog's heart is generally gained in the firstinstance through his mouth, yet, after it is thoroughlygained, his affection is noble and disinterested. He canscarcely be driven from his master's side by blows; andeven when thus harshly repelled, is always ready, on theshortest notice and with the slightest encouragement, tomake 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 ithad been so often used as a prelude to his meals thathe naturally expected a feed whenever he heard it.
This portal to his brain had already been open forsome days; but all the other doors were fast locked,and it required a great deal of careful picking to openthem.
"Now, Crusoe, come here."Crusoe bounded clumsily to his master's side, cockedhis ears, and wagged his tail,--so far his education wasperfect. We say he bounded clumsily, for it must beremembered that he was still a very young pup, withsoft, flabby muscles.
"Now, I'm goin' to begin yer edication, pup; thinko' that."Whether Crusoe thought of that or not we cannotsay, but he looked up in his master's face as he spoke,cocked his ears very high, and turned his head slowlyto one side, until it could not turn any farther in thatdirection; then he turned it as much to the other side;whereat his master burst into an uncontrollable fit oflaughter, 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 youthheld 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 ofhis training; he dashed gleefully at the mitten, andproceeded to worry it with intense gratification. Asfor "Fetch it," he neither understood the words norcared a straw about them.
Dick Varley rose immediately, and rescuing themitten, resumed his seat on a rock.
"Come here, Crusoe," he repeated.
"Oh! certainly, by all means," said Crusoe--no! hedidn't exactly say it, but really he looked these wordssoevidently that we think it right to let them stand asthey are written. If he could have finished the sentence,he would certainly have said, "Go on with that gameover again, old boy; it's quite to my taste--the jolliestthing in life, I assure you!" At least, if we may notpositively assert that he would have said that, no oneelse can absolutely affirm that he wouldn't.
Well, Dick Varley did do it over again, and Crusoeworried the mitten over again, utterly regardless of"Fetch it."Then they did it again, and again, and again, butwithout the slightest apparent advancement in the pathof canine knowledge; and then they went home.
During all this trying operation Dick Varley neveronce betrayed the slightest feeling of irritability or impatience.
He did not expect success at first; he wasnot therefore disappointed at failure.
Next day he had him out again--and the next--andthe next--and the next again, with the like unfavourable result. Inshort,it seemed at last as if Crusoe'smind had been deeply imbued with the idea that hehad been born expressly for the purpose of worryingthat mitten, and he meant to fulfil his destiny to theletter.
Young Varley had taken several small pieces of meatin his pocket each day, with the intention of rewardingCrusoe when he should at length be prevailed on tofetch the mitten; but as Crusoe was not aware of thetreat that awaited him, of course the mitten never was"fetched."At last Dick Varley saw that this system would neverdo, so he changed his tactics, and the next morning gaveCrusoe no breakfast, but took him out at the usual hourto go through his lesson. This new course of conductseemed to perplex Crusoe not a little, for on his waydown to the beach he paused frequently and lookedback at the cottage, and then expressively up at hismaster's face. But the master was inexorable; he wenton, and Crusoe followed, for true love had now takenpossession of the pup's young heart, and he preferred hismaster's company to food.
Varley now began by letting the learner smell a pieceof meat, which he eagerly sought to devour, but wasprevented, to his immense disgust. Then the mittenwas thrown as heretofore, and Crusoe made a few stepstowards it, but being in no mood for play he turnedback.
"Fetch it," said the teacher.
"I won't," replied the learner mutely, by means ofthat expressive sign--not doing it.
Hereupon Dick Varley rose, took up the mitten, andput it into the pup's mouth. Then, retiring a couple ofyards, he held out the piece of meat and said, "Fetch it."Crusoe instantly spat out the glove and boundedtowards the meat--once more to be disappointed.
This was done a second time, and Crusoe came forwardwith the mitten in his mouth. It seemed as if ithad been done accidentally, for he dropped it beforecoming quite up. If so, it was a fortunate accident,for it served as the tiny fulcrum on which to place thepoint of that mighty lever which was destined ere longto raise him to the pinnacle of canine erudition. DickVarley immediately lavished upon him the tenderestcaresses and gave him a lump of meat. But he quicklytried it again lest he should lose the lesson. The dogevidently felt that if he did not fetch that mitten heshould have no meat or caresses. In order, however,to make sure that there was no mistake, Dick laid themitten down beside the pup, instead of putting it intohis mouth, and, retiring a few paces, cried, "Fetch it."Crusoe looked uncertain for a moment, then he pickedup the mitten and laid it at his master's feet. Thelesson was learned at last! Dick Varley tumbled allthe meat out of his pocket on the ground, and, whileCrusoe made a hearty breakfast, he sat down on a rockand whistled with glee at having fairly picked the lock,and opened another door into one of the many chambersof his dog's intellect.