The Dog and its Folklore by T. F. Thiselton Dyer 1880
It is not surprising that the dog — the faithful and intellectual companion of man — should have been from the earliest times the object of a very varied folklore; besides holding a conspicuous place among the traditions and legends of most countries. Indeed, the origin of that very widespread superstition which recognizes a death-omen in the howling of a dog may be traced to a notion in Aryan mythology which represents the soul as taking its departure in the hour of death to the distant land of spirits under the escort of a fleet greyhound. According to the Aryan religion, Yama was the first lightning-born mortal who discovered the way to the other world, where he has reigned ever since, and, for the sake of men, sends the wind under the form of a dog to conduct their souls at death across the heavenly waters and over the milky way to his home — the bright realm of bliss. Hence, whenever this messenger of death was heard, either howling outside the sick man's house or speeding along through the air with rapid pace, the inmates trembled, for they knew that at any moment the soul of their friend or relative might be required of him. Thus, even at the present day, the howling of a dog under the window is supposed to foretell death — a superstition deeply rooted everywhere in this as well as in most other countries. The Parsees of Bombay place a dog at the bedside of the person who is dying, that his eyes may rest upon the animal at the last moment, and so find comfort in the assurance that a prompt escort is in readiness to convey the soul to its everlasting abode. Such protection, too, is, according to the Parsee belief, of the highest value: for as soon as the soul arrives at the bridge Tchinavat a fierce combat for its possession takes place among the gods and the unclean spirits. If the soul be pure and good, then it is not only defended at this dread crisis by other souls of a like nature, but rescued by the dogs that guard the bridge. Another variation of the same legend substitutes the cow in the place of the dog, and hence it was made a religious ordinance of the Hindus that the dying person should during his last moments on earth take hold of the tail of the cow. The corpse, too, was drawn by cows to the funeral pile, and a black cow was led after it to the same spot, and slaughtered there, the flesh of the animal, says Mr. Kelly, "was heaped upon the corpse as it lay on the pile, and the hide was spread over all. Fire was then applied, and when the flames rose high a hymn was sung, in which the cow was invoked to ascend with the deceased to the land of the departed." Thus, it is a German notion, not yet extinct, that the milky way is the cow-path; and it is still a popular superstition that a cow breaking into the yard betokens a death in the family. Reverting, however, to the dog's howling as a death-omen, it is interesting to trace this piece of folk-lore to its source in Aryan mythology; being the survival of one of those numerous legends that have been transmitted to us by the stream of tradition from the distant past. Although, therefore, but a relic of heathen mythology, this superstition still retains its influence as a supernatural omen. As a plea, however, for its prevalence even among the educated, we might urge that it is not unnatural for the mind when unstrung and overbalanced by the presence of sickness and impending death to be over-sensitive, and to take notice of every little sound and sight which may seem to connect themselves with its anxiety. Reviewing very briefly the allusions to this superstition in times gone by, we find it referred to by Pausanias, who relates how, before the destruction of the Messenians, the dogs set up a fiercer howling than they were wont to do; and Virgil, speaking of the Roman misfortunes in the Pharsalic war, says:—
Obscoenique canes, importunaeque volucres, Signa dabant.
Capitolinus narrates, too, how the dogs by their howling presaged the death of Maximinus. At the present day this widely-known omen is found in every part of our country, in France and Germany, and even in Turkey. Thus, in Germany, a dog howling before a house portends a death or a fire. If it howls along the highway, this is considered in Westphalia as a certain token that a funeral will soon pass by that way. The same notion too exists in Denmark. Out of the innumerable instances recorded in this country respecting this popular superstition may be mentioned one related by Mrs. Latham in her "West-Sussex Superstitions." No slight consternation was caused at Worthing, a few years ago, by a Newfoundland dog, the property of a clergyman in the neighborhood, lying down on the steps of a house and howling piteously, refusing to be driven away. As soon as it was known that a young lady, long an invalid, had died there, so much excitement took place that the occurrence reached the owner of the dog, who came to Worthing to inquire into the truth of it. Unfortunately, however, for the lovers of and believers in the marvellous, it turned out that the dog had accidentally been separated from his master late in the evening, and had been seen running here and there in search of him, and howling at the door of the stable where he put up his horse and other places which he often visited in Worthing. It happened, also, that his master had been in the habit of visiting the particular house where the young lady had died, which at once accounted for the apparent mystery. In the same way, indeed, other similar in stances of this superstition might easily be cleared up, if only properly investigated at the time. An intelligent Londoner, however, told Mr. Kelly that he had often listened to the howling of the dog, and verified the fulfilment of this infallible omen. The dog's mode of proceeding on such occasions is generally this. The animal tries to get under the doomed person's window; but if the house stands within an enclosure, and it cannot find its way in, it will run round the premises or pace up and down before them. If it at last succeeds in making an entry, it will stop under the window, howl horribly, finish with three tremendous barks, and then hurry away. This performance is ascribed by some to the dog's keen sense of the odor of approaching mortal dissolution; whereas, others affirm that this animal can see the spirits which hover around the house of sickness ready at the moment of death to bear away the soul of the departed one. Thus, in the Odyssey, the dogs of Eumaeus are represented as terrified at the sight of Minerva, although she was then invisible to Telemachus. In both German and Aryan mythology the dog is said to see ghosts; and whenever Hela, the goddess of death, walks abroad invisible to human eyes, she is seen by dogs. In Wales it is thought that horses have also the gift of seeing spectres. Carriage-horses have been known, says Mr. Sikes, to display every sign of the utmost terror, when the occupants of the carriage could see no cause for fright. Such an occurrence is said to be highly ominous, and to portend that a funeral will soon pass by that way, bearing to his resting-place some person not dead at the time of the horses' fright.
Very nearly allied to the superstition which recognizes a death-omen in the howling of a dog is that of the spectral hounds which are said to be occasionally heard and seen in different parts of England and Wales. They are generally invisible; but their fearful yelping as it is heard passing swiftly through the air, resembles the fierce and angry note of the bloodhound. They are supposed to be "evil spirits hunting the souls of the dead, or, by their diabolical yelping, to betoken the speedy death of some person." In the north they are called "the Gabriel hounds." Wordsworth, alluding to one form of this superstition, evidently connects it with the German legend of the Wild Huntsman. He narrates the history of a peasant, poor and aged, yet endowed
With ample sovereignty of eye and ear;
Rich were his walks with supernatural cheer.
He the Seven Birds hath seen that never part,
Seen the Seven Whistlers on their nightly
round,
And counted them! And oftentimes will start,
For overhead are sweeping Gabriel's hounds,
Doomed with their impious lord the flying
hart
To chase forever on aerial ground.
Mr. Henderson relates that a few years ago, when a child was burned to death at Sheffield, the neighbors immediately called to mind how the Gabriel hounds had passed above the house not long before. He also tells of a person who was hastily summoned one night to the sickbed of a relative whose illness had suddenly assumed an alarming character. As he set out he heard the wild yelping of the creatures above his head; they accompanied him the whole way, about a mile, then paused, and yelped loudly over the house. He entered it, and found that the patient had just breathed her last. Mr. Holland, of Sheffield, describes in the following lines the superstition as it generally existed in Yorkshire:—
Oft have I heard my honored mother say
How she hath listened to the Gabriel hounds;
Those strange, unearthly, and mysterious
sounds,
Which on the ear through murkiest darkness
fell;
And how, entranced by superstitious spell,
The trembling villager not seldom heard,
In the quaint notes of the nocturnal bird
Of death premonished, some sick neighbor's
knell.
I, too, remember once, at midnight dark,
How these sky-yelpers startled me, and stirred
My fancy so, I could have then averred
A mimic pack of beagles low did bark!
Nor wondered I that rustic fear should trace
A spectral huntsman doomed to that long
moonless chase.
In Lancashire these spectre hounds are locally termed "Gabriel ratchets," and are supposed to foretell death or misfortune to all who hear their sound. Kennett has a curious note on the subject. He says: "At Wednesbury, in Staffordshire, the colliers going to their pits early in the morning hear the noise of a pack of hounds in the air, to which they give the name of Gabriel's hounds, though the more sober and judicious take them only to be wild geese making this noise in their flight." We have here the solution of this popular superstition, for it is a well-ascertained fact that these spectre hounds are no other than numerous flocks of wild geese, or other large migratory birds. Mr. Yarrell, the well-known ornithologist, writing in Notes and Queries, says that the species alluded to by Kennett is the bean goose, Anser segetum of authors. They are frequently very noisy when on the wing during night, and the sound has been compared to that of a pack of hounds in full cry. Reverting, however, once more to the Gabriel hounds: in Northamptonshire they go by the name of hell-hounds, and are regarded as ominous. The Devonshire tradition represents the "yeth-hounds" as the disembodied souls of unbaptized infants. They are sometimes called heath-hounds, heath and heather being both yeth in the north-Devon dialect. They were heard several years ago in the parish of St. Mary Tavy by an old man named Roger Burn. He was working in the fields, when he suddenly heard the baying of the hounds, the shouts and horn of the huntsman, and the smacking of his whip. This last point the old man quoted as at once settling the question: "How could I be mistaken? Why, I heard the very smacking of his whip." In Cornwall these mysterious hounds are known as the "devil and his dandy dogs;" and many wild and amusing stories are told respecting them, of which Mr. Couch, in his "Folk lore of a Cornish Village," gives a specimen. A poor herdsman was journeying homeward across the moors one windy night, when he heard at a distance the baying of hounds, which he soon recognized as the dismal yelping of the dandy dogs. He was three or four miles distant from his house, and, much alarmed, he hurried onward as fast as the treacherous nature of the soil and the uncertainty of the path would allow; but, alas! the melancholy yelping of the hoiyids and the dismal shout of the hunter came nearer and nearer. After a considerable run. they had so gained upon him that he could not help looking round at them. The huntsman was terrible to behold: he was black, had large grey eyes, horns, tails, and carried in his clawy hand a long hunting-pole. The dogs, a numerous pack, blackened the moor as far as was visible, each snorting fire, and yelping in the most frightful manner. No cottage, rock, or tree was near to give the poor herdsman shelter, and in this hopeless plight nothing apparently remained to him but to surrender himself to their fury, when a happy thought suddenly flashed upon him and suggested a means of escape. He had heard that no evil spirit can resist the power of prayer. Just then, as the hounds were about to rush upon him, he fell on his knees in prayer. Immediately, as if resistance had been offered, the hellhounds stood at bay, howling more dismally than ever; and at the same time the hunter shouted, "Bo shrove," which means "The boy prays." At this crisis the dogs drew off on some other errand, and the herdsman was allowed to go on his journey in peace. In Wales these spectre hounds are considered an omen of death, and are termed cwn annwn, or dogs of hell. They are said to howl through the air with a voice frightfully disproportionate to their size; and one peculiarity belonging to them is that the nearer they approach any one the less loud their voice sounds, whereas the farther off they are the louder is their cry. They are in themselves harmless, and have never been known to commit any mischief. According to one tradition, they are the hell-hounds which hunt through the air the soul of the wicked man as soon as it quits the body — a trace of the Aryan mythology already alluded to.
Once more, there is a notion prevalent in many places that whenever a calamity is at hand, or in localities where some accident or evil deed may have occurred, a spectral dog appears. This is described as often larger than a Newfoundland, being shaggy and black, with large ears and tail. Its form, however, is so decided, and its look and movements are so thoroughly natural, that many, we are informed, have often mistaken it for a real dog. Thus, in Lancashire this spectre dog bears the name of "Trash," or "Striker." The former name is given to it from the peculiar noise made by its feet when passing along, resembling that of a heavy shoe in a miry road. The latter term is in allusion to the sound of its voice when heard by those persons who are unable to see the appearance itself. It does not haunt particular spots, but makes itself visible to warn people of the approaching death of some relative or friend. Should any one be so courageous as to follow this strange apparition, it retreats with its eyes fronting the pursuer and vanishes on the slightest momentary inattention. Some years ago an accident happened to a Cornish mine whereby several men lost their lives. As soon as help could be procured a party descended, when the remains of the poor fellows were found to be mutilated beyond recognition. On being brought up to the surface, the clothes and a mass of man
gled flesh dropped from the bodies. A bystander, to spare the feelings of the relatives, hastily threw this unpleasant mass into the blazing furnace of an engine close at hand. Ever since that day the engineman declared that troops of little black dogs continually haunted the place. In Cambridgeshire this apparition is known under the name of "Shuck;" and in the Isle of Man it is termed the "mauthe doog." In his "Lay of the Last Minstrel" this superstition is thus alluded to by Sir Walter Scott:—
For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,
Like him, of whom the story ran,
Who spoke the spectre hound in Man.
Another belief, not at all uncommon, is that the spirits of wicked persons are punished by being doomed to wear for a long time the shape of a dog. Mr. Wirt Sikes relates an anecdote about a Rev. Mr. Hughes, a clergyman of the Church of England, in the Isle of Anglesea, the most popular preacher in the neighborhood in the last century. As he was going one night to preach, a spirit in the shape of a large greyhound jumped against him and threw him from his horse. The same thing happened another evening. The third time, therefore, he went on foot, and on approaching the haunted spot found that the spirit was chained. On questioning it the spirit replied that its unrest was due to a silver groat it had hidden under a stone when in the flesh, and which was the property of the Church of St. Elain. Many similar instances are found scattered here and there throughout the country, which are implicitly believed in by the peasantry, and not unfrequently have even deterred the wicked from the commission of crime.
Again, there is a belief that the spirit of a favorite dog which has died returns occasionally to visit its master and the haunts it frequented during life. "I was once informed by a servant," says Mrs. Latham, "whom I had desired to go down-stairs and try to stop the barking of a dog, which, I was afraid, would waken a sleeping invalid, that nothing would stop his noise, for she knew quite well, by his manner of barking, that the ghost of another dog was walking about the garden and terrifying him." This superstition varies in different localities, for in some it is said that the ghosts of dogs walk abroad unheard and unseen except by their own species; whereas in others they are distinctly visible to human beings. In days gone by it was customary to bury a dog alive under the cornerstone of a church, that its ghost might haunt the churchyard and drive off any who would profane it, such as witches. Among the numerous other pieces of folk-lore associated with this friend of man may be mentioned one which ascribes to it fetichistic notions. Mr. Fiske cites the case of a Skye terrier who, being accustomed to obtain favors from his master by sitting on his haunches, was in the habit of sitting before his pet india-rubber ball, placed on the chimneypiece, "evidently," to quote his own words, "beseeching it to jump down and play with him." As, however, it has been justly pointed out, it is far more reasonable to suppose that a dog who had been day by day drilled into a belief that standing upon his hind legs was pleasing to his master — and who, in consequence, had accustomed himself to stand on his hind legs when he desired anything — may have stood up rather from force of habit and eagerness of desire than because it had any fetichistic notions, or expected the india-rubber ball to listen to its supplications. Mr. Fiske argues however that the behavior of the terrier rested rather upon the assumption that the ball was open to the same kind of entreaty which prevailed with the master — implying not that the dog accredited the ball with a soul, but that in its mind the distinction between life and inanimate existence had never been thoroughly realized. Another idea relating to the dog is that it possesses extraordinary quickness in discerning character. It is said that, whereas it avoids ill-tempered persons, it will generally follow any stranger, if he be of a kind and cheerful disposition. According to some, too, the life of a dog is closely connected with that of its master, and if the latter die, the former will soon do likewise. Among the Highlanders, even at the present day, great care is taken that dogs do not pass between a couple that are going to be married, as endless ill-luck is supposed to result from such an unfortunate occurrence. Formerly, too, in Scotland and in the north of England, it was reckoned so ominous for a dog to jump over a coffin, that the wretched animal was at once killed without mercy. Mr. Henderson relates how, as a funeral party were coming from a lonely house on a fell, carrying a coffin, as they were unable to procure a cart, they set it down to rest themselves, when a collie dog jumped over it. It was felt by all that the dog must instantly be killed before they proceeded any farther, and killed it was.
Before concluding our remarks on the many superstitions relating to the dog, we must not omit to mention briefly some of those connected with hydrophobia (rabies). There is a very common idea prevalent even among the educated classes, that a strong sympathy exists between the cause of an injury and the victim. Hence, in the case of any one being bitten by a dog not mad, it is said that it should be killed at once, as this alone can insure the person's safety; otherwise, should the dog hereafter go mad, even years hence, he would be attacked with hydrophobia. The following extract from the Pall Mall Gazette for October 12, 1866, illustrates a singular remedy for hydrophobia until quite recently practised in Buckinghamshire: "At an inquest held on the body of a child which had died of hydrophobia, evidence was given of a practice almost incredible in civilized England. Sarah Mackness stated that, at the request of the mother of the deceased, she had fished the body of the dog by which the child had been bitten out of the river, and had extracted its liver, a slice of which she had frizzled before the fire, and had then given it to the child, to be eaten with some bread. The child ate the liver greedily, drank some tea afterwards, and then died in spite of this strange specific." A similar superstition prevails in Sussex. In an old manuscript receipt-book of cookery, quoted by a correspondent of Notes and Queries, the following charm occurs for the bite of a mad dog:—
To be written on an apple, or on fine white bread:
O King of Glory, come in peace,
Pax, Max and Max,
Hax, Max, Adinax, opera chudor.
To be swallowed three mornings fasting.
In one of Cervantes' novelas, "La Gitanilla," we read of a young man who, on approaching a gipsy camp by night, was attacked and bitten by dogs. An old gipsy woman undertook to cure his wounds, and her procedure was thus. She took some of the dog's hairs and fried them in oil; and, having first washed with wine the bites the man had in his left leg, put the hairs and oil over them. She then bound up the wounds with clean cloths and made the sign of the cross over them. This superstition, which is still found in our own country, is an instance of the ancient homoeopathic doctrine, that what hurts will also cure. It is mentioned in the Scandinavian Edda: "Dog's hair heals dog's bite."
T. F. Thiselton Dyer.
It is not surprising that the dog — the faithful and intellectual companion of man — should have been from the earliest times the object of a very varied folklore; besides holding a conspicuous place among the traditions and legends of most countries. Indeed, the origin of that very widespread superstition which recognizes a death-omen in the howling of a dog may be traced to a notion in Aryan mythology which represents the soul as taking its departure in the hour of death to the distant land of spirits under the escort of a fleet greyhound. According to the Aryan religion, Yama was the first lightning-born mortal who discovered the way to the other world, where he has reigned ever since, and, for the sake of men, sends the wind under the form of a dog to conduct their souls at death across the heavenly waters and over the milky way to his home — the bright realm of bliss. Hence, whenever this messenger of death was heard, either howling outside the sick man's house or speeding along through the air with rapid pace, the inmates trembled, for they knew that at any moment the soul of their friend or relative might be required of him. Thus, even at the present day, the howling of a dog under the window is supposed to foretell death — a superstition deeply rooted everywhere in this as well as in most other countries. The Parsees of Bombay place a dog at the bedside of the person who is dying, that his eyes may rest upon the animal at the last moment, and so find comfort in the assurance that a prompt escort is in readiness to convey the soul to its everlasting abode. Such protection, too, is, according to the Parsee belief, of the highest value: for as soon as the soul arrives at the bridge Tchinavat a fierce combat for its possession takes place among the gods and the unclean spirits. If the soul be pure and good, then it is not only defended at this dread crisis by other souls of a like nature, but rescued by the dogs that guard the bridge. Another variation of the same legend substitutes the cow in the place of the dog, and hence it was made a religious ordinance of the Hindus that the dying person should during his last moments on earth take hold of the tail of the cow. The corpse, too, was drawn by cows to the funeral pile, and a black cow was led after it to the same spot, and slaughtered there, the flesh of the animal, says Mr. Kelly, "was heaped upon the corpse as it lay on the pile, and the hide was spread over all. Fire was then applied, and when the flames rose high a hymn was sung, in which the cow was invoked to ascend with the deceased to the land of the departed." Thus, it is a German notion, not yet extinct, that the milky way is the cow-path; and it is still a popular superstition that a cow breaking into the yard betokens a death in the family. Reverting, however, to the dog's howling as a death-omen, it is interesting to trace this piece of folk-lore to its source in Aryan mythology; being the survival of one of those numerous legends that have been transmitted to us by the stream of tradition from the distant past. Although, therefore, but a relic of heathen mythology, this superstition still retains its influence as a supernatural omen. As a plea, however, for its prevalence even among the educated, we might urge that it is not unnatural for the mind when unstrung and overbalanced by the presence of sickness and impending death to be over-sensitive, and to take notice of every little sound and sight which may seem to connect themselves with its anxiety. Reviewing very briefly the allusions to this superstition in times gone by, we find it referred to by Pausanias, who relates how, before the destruction of the Messenians, the dogs set up a fiercer howling than they were wont to do; and Virgil, speaking of the Roman misfortunes in the Pharsalic war, says:—
Obscoenique canes, importunaeque volucres, Signa dabant.
Capitolinus narrates, too, how the dogs by their howling presaged the death of Maximinus. At the present day this widely-known omen is found in every part of our country, in France and Germany, and even in Turkey. Thus, in Germany, a dog howling before a house portends a death or a fire. If it howls along the highway, this is considered in Westphalia as a certain token that a funeral will soon pass by that way. The same notion too exists in Denmark. Out of the innumerable instances recorded in this country respecting this popular superstition may be mentioned one related by Mrs. Latham in her "West-Sussex Superstitions." No slight consternation was caused at Worthing, a few years ago, by a Newfoundland dog, the property of a clergyman in the neighborhood, lying down on the steps of a house and howling piteously, refusing to be driven away. As soon as it was known that a young lady, long an invalid, had died there, so much excitement took place that the occurrence reached the owner of the dog, who came to Worthing to inquire into the truth of it. Unfortunately, however, for the lovers of and believers in the marvellous, it turned out that the dog had accidentally been separated from his master late in the evening, and had been seen running here and there in search of him, and howling at the door of the stable where he put up his horse and other places which he often visited in Worthing. It happened, also, that his master had been in the habit of visiting the particular house where the young lady had died, which at once accounted for the apparent mystery. In the same way, indeed, other similar in stances of this superstition might easily be cleared up, if only properly investigated at the time. An intelligent Londoner, however, told Mr. Kelly that he had often listened to the howling of the dog, and verified the fulfilment of this infallible omen. The dog's mode of proceeding on such occasions is generally this. The animal tries to get under the doomed person's window; but if the house stands within an enclosure, and it cannot find its way in, it will run round the premises or pace up and down before them. If it at last succeeds in making an entry, it will stop under the window, howl horribly, finish with three tremendous barks, and then hurry away. This performance is ascribed by some to the dog's keen sense of the odor of approaching mortal dissolution; whereas, others affirm that this animal can see the spirits which hover around the house of sickness ready at the moment of death to bear away the soul of the departed one. Thus, in the Odyssey, the dogs of Eumaeus are represented as terrified at the sight of Minerva, although she was then invisible to Telemachus. In both German and Aryan mythology the dog is said to see ghosts; and whenever Hela, the goddess of death, walks abroad invisible to human eyes, she is seen by dogs. In Wales it is thought that horses have also the gift of seeing spectres. Carriage-horses have been known, says Mr. Sikes, to display every sign of the utmost terror, when the occupants of the carriage could see no cause for fright. Such an occurrence is said to be highly ominous, and to portend that a funeral will soon pass by that way, bearing to his resting-place some person not dead at the time of the horses' fright.
Very nearly allied to the superstition which recognizes a death-omen in the howling of a dog is that of the spectral hounds which are said to be occasionally heard and seen in different parts of England and Wales. They are generally invisible; but their fearful yelping as it is heard passing swiftly through the air, resembles the fierce and angry note of the bloodhound. They are supposed to be "evil spirits hunting the souls of the dead, or, by their diabolical yelping, to betoken the speedy death of some person." In the north they are called "the Gabriel hounds." Wordsworth, alluding to one form of this superstition, evidently connects it with the German legend of the Wild Huntsman. He narrates the history of a peasant, poor and aged, yet endowed
With ample sovereignty of eye and ear;
Rich were his walks with supernatural cheer.
He the Seven Birds hath seen that never part,
Seen the Seven Whistlers on their nightly
round,
And counted them! And oftentimes will start,
For overhead are sweeping Gabriel's hounds,
Doomed with their impious lord the flying
hart
To chase forever on aerial ground.
Mr. Henderson relates that a few years ago, when a child was burned to death at Sheffield, the neighbors immediately called to mind how the Gabriel hounds had passed above the house not long before. He also tells of a person who was hastily summoned one night to the sickbed of a relative whose illness had suddenly assumed an alarming character. As he set out he heard the wild yelping of the creatures above his head; they accompanied him the whole way, about a mile, then paused, and yelped loudly over the house. He entered it, and found that the patient had just breathed her last. Mr. Holland, of Sheffield, describes in the following lines the superstition as it generally existed in Yorkshire:—
Oft have I heard my honored mother say
How she hath listened to the Gabriel hounds;
Those strange, unearthly, and mysterious
sounds,
Which on the ear through murkiest darkness
fell;
And how, entranced by superstitious spell,
The trembling villager not seldom heard,
In the quaint notes of the nocturnal bird
Of death premonished, some sick neighbor's
knell.
I, too, remember once, at midnight dark,
How these sky-yelpers startled me, and stirred
My fancy so, I could have then averred
A mimic pack of beagles low did bark!
Nor wondered I that rustic fear should trace
A spectral huntsman doomed to that long
moonless chase.
In Lancashire these spectre hounds are locally termed "Gabriel ratchets," and are supposed to foretell death or misfortune to all who hear their sound. Kennett has a curious note on the subject. He says: "At Wednesbury, in Staffordshire, the colliers going to their pits early in the morning hear the noise of a pack of hounds in the air, to which they give the name of Gabriel's hounds, though the more sober and judicious take them only to be wild geese making this noise in their flight." We have here the solution of this popular superstition, for it is a well-ascertained fact that these spectre hounds are no other than numerous flocks of wild geese, or other large migratory birds. Mr. Yarrell, the well-known ornithologist, writing in Notes and Queries, says that the species alluded to by Kennett is the bean goose, Anser segetum of authors. They are frequently very noisy when on the wing during night, and the sound has been compared to that of a pack of hounds in full cry. Reverting, however, once more to the Gabriel hounds: in Northamptonshire they go by the name of hell-hounds, and are regarded as ominous. The Devonshire tradition represents the "yeth-hounds" as the disembodied souls of unbaptized infants. They are sometimes called heath-hounds, heath and heather being both yeth in the north-Devon dialect. They were heard several years ago in the parish of St. Mary Tavy by an old man named Roger Burn. He was working in the fields, when he suddenly heard the baying of the hounds, the shouts and horn of the huntsman, and the smacking of his whip. This last point the old man quoted as at once settling the question: "How could I be mistaken? Why, I heard the very smacking of his whip." In Cornwall these mysterious hounds are known as the "devil and his dandy dogs;" and many wild and amusing stories are told respecting them, of which Mr. Couch, in his "Folk lore of a Cornish Village," gives a specimen. A poor herdsman was journeying homeward across the moors one windy night, when he heard at a distance the baying of hounds, which he soon recognized as the dismal yelping of the dandy dogs. He was three or four miles distant from his house, and, much alarmed, he hurried onward as fast as the treacherous nature of the soil and the uncertainty of the path would allow; but, alas! the melancholy yelping of the hoiyids and the dismal shout of the hunter came nearer and nearer. After a considerable run. they had so gained upon him that he could not help looking round at them. The huntsman was terrible to behold: he was black, had large grey eyes, horns, tails, and carried in his clawy hand a long hunting-pole. The dogs, a numerous pack, blackened the moor as far as was visible, each snorting fire, and yelping in the most frightful manner. No cottage, rock, or tree was near to give the poor herdsman shelter, and in this hopeless plight nothing apparently remained to him but to surrender himself to their fury, when a happy thought suddenly flashed upon him and suggested a means of escape. He had heard that no evil spirit can resist the power of prayer. Just then, as the hounds were about to rush upon him, he fell on his knees in prayer. Immediately, as if resistance had been offered, the hellhounds stood at bay, howling more dismally than ever; and at the same time the hunter shouted, "Bo shrove," which means "The boy prays." At this crisis the dogs drew off on some other errand, and the herdsman was allowed to go on his journey in peace. In Wales these spectre hounds are considered an omen of death, and are termed cwn annwn, or dogs of hell. They are said to howl through the air with a voice frightfully disproportionate to their size; and one peculiarity belonging to them is that the nearer they approach any one the less loud their voice sounds, whereas the farther off they are the louder is their cry. They are in themselves harmless, and have never been known to commit any mischief. According to one tradition, they are the hell-hounds which hunt through the air the soul of the wicked man as soon as it quits the body — a trace of the Aryan mythology already alluded to.
Once more, there is a notion prevalent in many places that whenever a calamity is at hand, or in localities where some accident or evil deed may have occurred, a spectral dog appears. This is described as often larger than a Newfoundland, being shaggy and black, with large ears and tail. Its form, however, is so decided, and its look and movements are so thoroughly natural, that many, we are informed, have often mistaken it for a real dog. Thus, in Lancashire this spectre dog bears the name of "Trash," or "Striker." The former name is given to it from the peculiar noise made by its feet when passing along, resembling that of a heavy shoe in a miry road. The latter term is in allusion to the sound of its voice when heard by those persons who are unable to see the appearance itself. It does not haunt particular spots, but makes itself visible to warn people of the approaching death of some relative or friend. Should any one be so courageous as to follow this strange apparition, it retreats with its eyes fronting the pursuer and vanishes on the slightest momentary inattention. Some years ago an accident happened to a Cornish mine whereby several men lost their lives. As soon as help could be procured a party descended, when the remains of the poor fellows were found to be mutilated beyond recognition. On being brought up to the surface, the clothes and a mass of man
gled flesh dropped from the bodies. A bystander, to spare the feelings of the relatives, hastily threw this unpleasant mass into the blazing furnace of an engine close at hand. Ever since that day the engineman declared that troops of little black dogs continually haunted the place. In Cambridgeshire this apparition is known under the name of "Shuck;" and in the Isle of Man it is termed the "mauthe doog." In his "Lay of the Last Minstrel" this superstition is thus alluded to by Sir Walter Scott:—
For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,
Like him, of whom the story ran,
Who spoke the spectre hound in Man.
Another belief, not at all uncommon, is that the spirits of wicked persons are punished by being doomed to wear for a long time the shape of a dog. Mr. Wirt Sikes relates an anecdote about a Rev. Mr. Hughes, a clergyman of the Church of England, in the Isle of Anglesea, the most popular preacher in the neighborhood in the last century. As he was going one night to preach, a spirit in the shape of a large greyhound jumped against him and threw him from his horse. The same thing happened another evening. The third time, therefore, he went on foot, and on approaching the haunted spot found that the spirit was chained. On questioning it the spirit replied that its unrest was due to a silver groat it had hidden under a stone when in the flesh, and which was the property of the Church of St. Elain. Many similar instances are found scattered here and there throughout the country, which are implicitly believed in by the peasantry, and not unfrequently have even deterred the wicked from the commission of crime.
Again, there is a belief that the spirit of a favorite dog which has died returns occasionally to visit its master and the haunts it frequented during life. "I was once informed by a servant," says Mrs. Latham, "whom I had desired to go down-stairs and try to stop the barking of a dog, which, I was afraid, would waken a sleeping invalid, that nothing would stop his noise, for she knew quite well, by his manner of barking, that the ghost of another dog was walking about the garden and terrifying him." This superstition varies in different localities, for in some it is said that the ghosts of dogs walk abroad unheard and unseen except by their own species; whereas in others they are distinctly visible to human beings. In days gone by it was customary to bury a dog alive under the cornerstone of a church, that its ghost might haunt the churchyard and drive off any who would profane it, such as witches. Among the numerous other pieces of folk-lore associated with this friend of man may be mentioned one which ascribes to it fetichistic notions. Mr. Fiske cites the case of a Skye terrier who, being accustomed to obtain favors from his master by sitting on his haunches, was in the habit of sitting before his pet india-rubber ball, placed on the chimneypiece, "evidently," to quote his own words, "beseeching it to jump down and play with him." As, however, it has been justly pointed out, it is far more reasonable to suppose that a dog who had been day by day drilled into a belief that standing upon his hind legs was pleasing to his master — and who, in consequence, had accustomed himself to stand on his hind legs when he desired anything — may have stood up rather from force of habit and eagerness of desire than because it had any fetichistic notions, or expected the india-rubber ball to listen to its supplications. Mr. Fiske argues however that the behavior of the terrier rested rather upon the assumption that the ball was open to the same kind of entreaty which prevailed with the master — implying not that the dog accredited the ball with a soul, but that in its mind the distinction between life and inanimate existence had never been thoroughly realized. Another idea relating to the dog is that it possesses extraordinary quickness in discerning character. It is said that, whereas it avoids ill-tempered persons, it will generally follow any stranger, if he be of a kind and cheerful disposition. According to some, too, the life of a dog is closely connected with that of its master, and if the latter die, the former will soon do likewise. Among the Highlanders, even at the present day, great care is taken that dogs do not pass between a couple that are going to be married, as endless ill-luck is supposed to result from such an unfortunate occurrence. Formerly, too, in Scotland and in the north of England, it was reckoned so ominous for a dog to jump over a coffin, that the wretched animal was at once killed without mercy. Mr. Henderson relates how, as a funeral party were coming from a lonely house on a fell, carrying a coffin, as they were unable to procure a cart, they set it down to rest themselves, when a collie dog jumped over it. It was felt by all that the dog must instantly be killed before they proceeded any farther, and killed it was.
Before concluding our remarks on the many superstitions relating to the dog, we must not omit to mention briefly some of those connected with hydrophobia (rabies). There is a very common idea prevalent even among the educated classes, that a strong sympathy exists between the cause of an injury and the victim. Hence, in the case of any one being bitten by a dog not mad, it is said that it should be killed at once, as this alone can insure the person's safety; otherwise, should the dog hereafter go mad, even years hence, he would be attacked with hydrophobia. The following extract from the Pall Mall Gazette for October 12, 1866, illustrates a singular remedy for hydrophobia until quite recently practised in Buckinghamshire: "At an inquest held on the body of a child which had died of hydrophobia, evidence was given of a practice almost incredible in civilized England. Sarah Mackness stated that, at the request of the mother of the deceased, she had fished the body of the dog by which the child had been bitten out of the river, and had extracted its liver, a slice of which she had frizzled before the fire, and had then given it to the child, to be eaten with some bread. The child ate the liver greedily, drank some tea afterwards, and then died in spite of this strange specific." A similar superstition prevails in Sussex. In an old manuscript receipt-book of cookery, quoted by a correspondent of Notes and Queries, the following charm occurs for the bite of a mad dog:—
To be written on an apple, or on fine white bread:
O King of Glory, come in peace,
Pax, Max and Max,
Hax, Max, Adinax, opera chudor.
To be swallowed three mornings fasting.
In one of Cervantes' novelas, "La Gitanilla," we read of a young man who, on approaching a gipsy camp by night, was attacked and bitten by dogs. An old gipsy woman undertook to cure his wounds, and her procedure was thus. She took some of the dog's hairs and fried them in oil; and, having first washed with wine the bites the man had in his left leg, put the hairs and oil over them. She then bound up the wounds with clean cloths and made the sign of the cross over them. This superstition, which is still found in our own country, is an instance of the ancient homoeopathic doctrine, that what hurts will also cure. It is mentioned in the Scandinavian Edda: "Dog's hair heals dog's bite."
T. F. Thiselton Dyer.
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