I have already spoken; her oddities were endless. We had and still have a dear friend,—"Cousin Susan" she is called by many who are not her cousins—a perfect lady, and, though hopelessly deaf, as gentle and contented as ever Griselda with the full use of her ears; quite as great a pet, in a word, of us all as Duchie was of ours. One day we found her mourning the death of a cat, a great playfellow of the Sputchard's, and her small Grace was with us when we were condoling with her, and we saw that she looked very wistfully at Duchie. I wrote on the slate, "Would you like her?'" and she through her tears said, "You know that would never do." But it did do. We left Duchie that very night, and though she paid us frequent visits, she was Cousin Susan's for life. I fear indulgence dulled her moral sense. She was an immense happiness to her mistress, whose silent and lonely days she made glad with her oddity and mirth. And yet the small creature, old, toothless, and blind, domineered over her gentle friend—threatening her sometimes if she presumed to remove the small Fury from the inside of her own bed, into which it pleased her to creep.
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Indeed, I believe it is too true, though it was inferred only, that her mistress and friend spent a great part of a winter night in trying to coax her dear little ruffian out of the centre of the bed. One day the cook asked what she would have for dinner: "I would like a muttonchop, but then, you know, Duchie likes minced veal better!" The faithful and happy little creature died at a great age, of natural decay.
But time would fail me, and I fear patience would fail you, my reader, were I to tell you of Crab, of John Pym, of Puck, and of the rest. Crab, the Mugger's dog, grave, with deep-set, melancholy eyes, as of a nobleman (says the Master of Ravenswood) in disguise, large vis-aged, shaggy, indomitable, come of the pure Piper Allan's breed. This Piper Allan, you must know, lived some two hundred years ago in Cocquet Water, piping like Homer, from place to place, and famous not less for his dog than for his music, his news, and his songs. The earl of Northumberland, of his day, offered the piper a small farm for his dog, but after deliberating for a day, Allan said, "Na, na, ma Lord, keep yir ferum; what wud a piper do wi' a ferum?" * From this dog descended Davidson (the original Dandie Dinmont) of Hyndlee's breed, and Crab could count his kin up to him. He had a great look of the Right Honourable Edward Ellice, and had much of his energy and wecht; had there been a dog House of Commons, Crab would have spoken as seldom, and been as great a power in the house, as the formidable and faithful time-out-of-mind member for Coventry.
* I have to thank cordially the writer of the following
letters. They are from the pen of Mr. Robert White,
Newcastle-on-Tyne, author of the History of the Battle of
Otterburn, and one of the last of the noble band of literary
and local antiquarians of which "Muncaster" has so long been
the seat, up to all traditional lore and story of the stout-
hearted Border.
"In the second series of your Horo SubsecivÆ. p. 162, you
allude to the dog Crab being come of the pure 'Piper Allan's
breed, and say that the said 'Piper Allan lived some two
hundred years ago in Cocquet (Coquet) Water.'
"In Northumberland and over the Borders, James Allan is
generally known as Piper Allan. He was born about 1733, and
after leading a strange life, towards his seventieth year he
stole a horse at Gateshead in the county of Durham, and took
it to Lilliesleaf in Roxburghshire, where he was apprehended
and sent to Durham jail. He was found guilty, and received
sentence of death, but was reprieved, and afterwards had his
punishment mitigated to perpetual imprisonment. After being
confined for nearly seven years, his health failed, and he
was removed to the House of Correction, where he lived about
five months, and died at Durham, November 13th, 1810, aged
about 77 years.
"Some time ago in Willis's Current Notes, which are now
discontinued, an original letter of Sir Walter Scott was
printed, in which is the following paragraph:—
"'I should be glad to see a copy of the Alnwick work upon
Allan, whom I have often seen and heard, particularly at the
Kelso Races. He was an admirable piper, yet a desperate
reprobate. The last time I saw him he was in absolute
beggary, and had behaved himself so ill at my uncle's
(Thomas Scott of Monklaw) house, that the old gentleman,
himself a most admirable piper, would not on any account
give him quarters, though I interceded earnestly for him,
"the knave," as Davie tells Justice Shallow, "being my very
good friend." He was then quite like a pauper, with his
wife, and an ass, in the true gipsy fashion. When I first
saw him at Kelso Races, he wore the Northumberland livery, a
blue coat, with a silver crescent on his arm.' (Allan was
piper to Her Grace the Duchess of Northumberland.)
"The father of Jamie Allan was named Willie, and he also was
a good piper, besides being an excellent fisher and a keen
otter-hunter. He had two favourite dogs for the latter
sport,—Charley and Phoebe,—and such was the wisdom of the
former that he used to say, If Charley could speak he would
sell the otter's skin.' Probably Crab may have been of this
kind.
"James Davidson of Hindlee was a great fox hunter, and his
breed of terriers—the pepper-and-mustard class—were the
best over all the country. I have seen the genuine breed
long ago at Ned Dunn's of the Whitelee at the head of
Redesdale. Among common dogs they were something like the
Black Dwarf among men, long-bodied animals with strong short
legs, wiry haired, and at the first look not unlike a low
four-footed stool, such as I have seen in houses in the
south of Scotland forty years ago. They were sent in to the
fox when he was earthed, and fought him there. They seemed
at first when out of doors to be shy, timid things, and
would have slunk away from a fierce collie dog, but if he
seized one of them, and the blood of the little creature got
up, it just took a hold of him in a biting place, and held
on, never quitting till he found to his cost he had caught a
tartar."
"I am now convinced, from what I have gleaned of the life
of James Allan, and a notice in Mackenzie's History of
Northumberland, that your Piper Allan was William, the
father of James. He was born at Bellingham in 1704. He was
nearly six feet high, of a ruddy complexion, and had much
shrewdness, wit, and independence of mind. In early life he
became a good player on the bagpipes. He mended pots and
pans, made spoons, baskets, and besoms, ana was a keen and
excellent fisher. In the Valley of Coquet he married a gipsy
girl, named Betty, who bore him six children, and James was
the youngest save one; but she died in the prime of life. He
was married a second time to an unfortunate daughter of a
Presbyterian minister.
"Among his other pursuits, he excelled especially in the
hunting of otters, and kept eight or ten dogs for that
particular sport. Please turn to my previous letter, and in
the passage, 'if Charley could speak,' etc., dele Charley
and insert Peachem. This dog was Will's chief favourite, and
such confidence had he in the animal, that when hunting he
would at times observe, 'When my Peachem gi'es mouth, I
durst always sell the otter's skin.' Charley was also an
excellent dog. Lord Ravensworth once employed Willie to kill
the otters that infested his pond at Eslington Hall, which
he soon accomplished; and on going away, the steward, Mr.
Bell, offered, in his Lordship's name, to buy Charley at the
Piper's own price. Will turned round very haughtily, and
exclaimed, 'By the wuns, his hale estate canna buy Charley!
"He was a capital piper, and composed two popular tunes, 1
We'll a' to the Coquet and Woo,' and 'Salmon Tails up the
Water.' These I never heard, and probably they may be lost.
When his end drew near, he was something like Rob Roy in his
neglect of religious impressions. When reminded that he was
dying, he exclaimed, 'By Jing, I'll get foul play, then, to
dee before my billie, wha's ten years aulder!' When still
closer pressed to ponder on his condition, he said, 'Gi'e me
my pipes, and I'll play ye "Dorrington Lads" yet.' Thus he
exhausted his last breath in playing his favourite strain.
He died 18th February 1779, aged seventy-five years, and was
buried in Rothbury Churchyard. His son James was born at
Hepple, in Coquetdale, March 1734.
"The following verses on old Will are in the 'Lay of the
Reedwater Minstrel:'—
"A stalwart Tinkler wight was he,
And weel could mend a pot or pan;
And deftly 'ull could thraw a flee,
An' neatly weave the willow-wan'.
"An' sweetly wild were Allan's strains,
An' mony a jig an' reel he blew;
Wi' merry lilts he charm'd the swains,
Wi' barbed spear the otter slew.
'Nae mair he'll scan, wi' anxious eye,
The sandy shores of winding Reed;
Nae mair he'll tempt the finny fry,—
The king O' Tinklers, Allan's dead.
"Nae mair at Mell or Merry Night
The cheering bagpipes Wull shall blaw;
Nae mair the village throng delight,
Grim death has laid the minstrel law.
"Now trouts, exulting, cut the wave;
Triumphant see the otter glide,
Their deadly foe lies in his grave.
Charley and Phcebe by his side.
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John Pym was a smaller dog than Crab, of more fashionable blood, being a son of Mr. Somner's famous Shem, whose father and brother are said to have been found dead in a drain into which the hounds had run a fox. It had three entrances; the father was put in at one hole, the son at another, and speedily the fox bolted out at the third, but no appearance of the little terriers, and, on digging, they were found dead, locked in each other's jaws; they had met, and it being dark, and there being no time for explanations, they had throttled each other. John was made of the same sort of stuff, and was as combative and victorious as his great namesake, and not unlike him in some of his not so creditable qualities. He must, I think, have been related to a certain dog to whom "life was full o' sairiousness," but in John's case the same cause produced an opposite effect. John was gay and light-hearted, even when there was not "enuff o' fechtin," which, however, seldom happened, there being a market every week in Melrose, and John appearing most punctually at the cross to challenge all comers, and being short-legged, he inveigled every dog into an engagement by first attacking him, and then falling down on his back, in which posture he latterly fought and won all his battles.
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What can I say of PUCK *—the thoroughbred—the simple-hearted—the purloiner of eggs warm from the hen—the flutterer of all manner of Volscians—the bandy-legged, dear, old, dilapidated buffer? I got him from my brother, and only parted with him because William's stock was gone. He had to the end of life a simplicity which was quite touching. One summer day—a dog-day—when all dogs found straying were hauled away to the police-office, and killed off in twenties with strychnine, I met Puck trotting along Princes Street with a policeman, a rope round his neck, he looking up in the fatal, official, but kindly countenance in the most artless and cheerful manner, wagging his tail and trotting along. In ten minutes he would have been in the next world; for I am one of those who believe dogs have a next world, and why not? Puck ended his days as the best dog in Roxburghshire. Placide quiescas!
