Aileen Aroon, A Memoir

Chapter Twenty Seven.

The Story of Aileen’s Husband, Nero – Continued

“You see, dear,” I continued, “that Nero had even in his younger days a very high sense of humour and fun, and was extremely fond of practical joking, and this trait of his character sometimes led his master into difficulties, but the dog and I always managed to get over them. At a very early age he learned to fetch and carry, and when out walking he never seemed happy unless I gave him something to bring along with him. Poor fellow, I daresay he thought he was not only pleasing me, but assisting me, and that he was not wrong in thinking so you will readily believe when told that, in his prime, he could carry a large carpet bag or light portmanteau for miles without the least difficulty. He was handy, therefore, when travelling, for he performed the duties of a light porter, and never demanded a fee.

“He used to carry anything committed to his charge, even a parcel with glass in it might be safely entrusted to his care, if you did not forget to tell him to be very cautious with it.

“I was always very careful to give him something to carry, for if I did not he was almost sure to help himself. When going into a shop, for instance, to make a purchase, he was exceedingly disappointed if something or other was not bought and handed to him to take home. Once I remember going into a news-agent’s shop for something the man did not happen to have. I left shortly, taking no thought about my companion, but had not gone far before Nero went trotting past me with a well-filled paper bag in his mouth, and after us came running, gasping and breathless, a respectable-looking old lady, waving aloft a blue gingham umbrella. ‘The dog, the dog,’ she was bawling, ‘he has run off with my buns! Stop thief!’

“I stopped the thief, and the lady was gracious enough to accept my apologies.

“Not seeing me make any purchase, Nero had evidently said to himself – ‘Why, nothing to carry? Well, I don’t mean to go away without anything, if my master does. Here goes.’ And forthwith he had pounced upon the paper bag full of buns, which the lady had deposited on the counter.

“At Sheerness, bathers are in the habit of leaving their boots on the beach while they enjoy the luxury of a dip in the sad sea waves. They usually put their stockings or socks in the boots. When quite a mile away from the bathing-place, one fine summer’s day, I happened to look round, and there was Nero walking solemnly after me with a young girl’s boot, with a stocking in it, in his mouth. We went back to the place, but I could find no owner for the boot, though I have no doubt it had been missed. Don’t you think so, birdie?”

“Yes,” said Ida; “only fancy the poor girl having to go home with one shoe off and one shoe on. Oh! Nero, you dear old boy, who could have thought you had ever been so naughty in the days of your youth!”

“Well, another day when travelling, I happened to have no luggage. This did not please Master Nero, and in lieu of something better, he picked up a large bundle of morning papers, which the porter had just thrown out of the luggage van. He ran out of the station with them, and it required no little coaxing to make him deliver them up, for he was extremely fond of any kind of paper to carry.

“But Nero was just as honest, Ida, when a young dog as he is now. Nothing ever could tempt him to steal. The only thing approaching to theft that could be laid to his charge happened early one morning at Boston, in Lincolnshire. I should tell you first, however, that the dog’s partiality for rabbits as playmates was very great indeed. He has taken more to cats of late, but when a young dog, rabbits were his especial delight.

“We had arrived at Boston by a very early morning train, our luggage having gone on before, the night before, so that when I reached my journey’s end, I had only to whistle on my dog, and, stick in hand, set out for my hotel. It was the morning of an agricultural show, and several boxes containing exhibition rabbits lay about the platform.

“Probably the dog had reasoned thus with himself: —

“‘Those boxes contain rabbits; what a chance to possess myself of a delightful pet! No doubt they belong to my master, for almost everything in this world does, only he didn’t notice them; but I’m sure he will be as much pleased as myself when he sees the lovely rabbit hop out of the box; so here goes. I’ll have this one.’

“The upshot of Nero’s cogitations was that, on looking round when fully a quarter of a mile from the station, to see why the dog was not keeping pace with me, I found him marching solemnly along behind with a box containing a live rabbit in his mouth. He was looking just a little sheepish, and he looked more so when I scolded him and made him turn and come back with it.

“Dogs have their likes and dislikes to other animals and to people, just as we human beings have. One of Nero’s earliest companions was a beautiful little pure white Pomeranian dog, of the name of ‘Vee-Vee.’ He was as like an Arctic fox – sharp face, prick ears, and all – as any dog could be, only instead of lagging his tail behind him, as a fox does, the Pomeranian prefers to curl it up over his back, probably for the simple reason that he does not wish to have it soiled. Vee-Vee was extremely fond of me, and although, as you know, dear Nero is of a jealous temperament, he graciously permitted Vee-Vee to caress me as much as he pleased, and me to return his caresses.

“It was a sight to see the two dogs together out for a ramble – Nero with his gigantic height, his noble proportions, and long flat coat of jetty black, and Vee-Vee, so altogether unlike him in every way, trotting along by his side in jacket of purest snow!

“Vee-Vee’s jacket used to be whiter on Saturday than on any other day, because it was washed on that morning of the week, and to make his personal beauties all the more noticeable he always on that day and on the next wore a ribbon of blue or crimson.

“Now, mischievous Nero, if he got a chance, was sure to tumble Vee-Vee into a mud-hole just after he was nearly dried and lovely. I am sure he did it out of pure fun, for when Vee-Vee came downstairs to go out on these occasions, Nero would meet him, and eye him all over, and walk round him, and snuff him, and smell at him in the most provoking teasing manner possible.

“‘Oh! aren’t you proud!’ he would seem to say, and ‘aren’t you white and clean and nice, and doesn’t that bit of blue ribbon, suit you! What do you think of yourself, eh? My master can’t wash me white, but I can wash you black, only wait till we go out and come to a nice mud-heap, and see if I don’t change the colour of your jacket for you.’

“Vee-Vee, though only a Pomeranian, learned a great many of Nero’s tricks; this proves that one dog can teach another. He used to swim along with Nero, although when first going into the water he sometimes lost confidence, and got on to his big friend’s shoulders, at which Nero used to seem vastly amused. He would look up at me with a sparkle of genuine mirth in his eye as much as to say —

“‘Only look, master, at this little fool of a Vee-Vee perched upon my shoulder, like a fantail pigeon on top of a hen-house. But I don’t mind his weight, not in the slightest.’

“Vee-Vee used to fetch and carry as well as Nero, in his own quiet little way. One day I dropped my purse in the street, and was well-nigh home before I missed it. You may judge of my joy when on looking round I found Vee-Vee coming walking along with the purse in his mouth, looking as solemn as a little judge. Vee-Vee, I may tell you, was only about two weeks old when I first had him; he was too young to wean, and the trouble of spoon-feeding was very great. In my dilemma, a favourite cat of mine came to my assistance. She had recently lost her kittens, and took to suckling young Vee-Vee as naturally as if she had been his mother.”

“How strange,” said Ida, “for a cat to suckle a puppy.”

“Cats, Ida,” I replied, “have many curious fancies. A book5 that I wrote some little time since gives many very strange illustrations of the queer ways of these animals. Cats have been known to suckle the young of rats, and even of hedgehogs, and to bring in chickens and ducklings, and brood over them. This only proves, I think, that it is cruel to take a cat’s kittens away from her all at once.”

“Yes, it is,” Ida said, thoughtfully; “and yet it seems almost more cruel to permit her to rear a large number of kittens that you cannot afterwards find homes for.”

“A very sensible remark, birdie. Well, to return to our mutual friend Nero: about the same time that he had as his bosom companion the little dog Vee-Vee, he contracted a strange and inexplicable affection for another tiny dog that lived quite a mile and a half away, and for a time she was altogether the favourite. The most curious part of the affair was this: Nero’s new favourite was only about six or seven inches in height, and so small that it could easily have been put into a gentleman’s hat, and the hat put on the gentleman’s head without much inconvenience to either the gentleman or the dog.

“When stationed at Sheerness, we lived on board H.M.S. P – , the flagship there. On board were several other dogs. The captain of marines had one, for example, a large, flat-coated, black, saucy retriever, that rejoiced in the name of ‘Daidles’; the commander had two, a large fox-terrier, and a curly-coated retriever called ‘Sambo.’ All were wardroom dogs – that is, all belonged to the officers’ mess-room – and lived there day and night, for there were no fine carpets to spoil, only a well-scoured deck, and no ladies to object. Upon the whole, it must be allowed that there was very little disagreement indeed among the mess dogs. The fox-terrier was permitted to exist by the other three large animals, and sometimes he was severely chastised by one of the retrievers, only he could take his own part well enough. With the commander’s curly retriever, Nero cemented a friendship, which he kept up until we left the ship, and many a romp they had together on deck, and many a delightful cruise on shore. But Daidles, the marine Officer’s dog, was a veritable snarley-yow; he therefore was treated by Nero to a sound thrashing once every month, as regularly as the new moon. It is but just to Nero to say that Daidles always commenced those rows by challenging Nero to mortal combat. Wild, cruel fights they used to be, and much blood used to be spilled ere we could part them. As an instance of memory in the dog, I may mention that two years after Nero and I left the ship, we met Captain L – and his dog Daidles by chance in Chatham one day. Nero knew Daidles, and Daidles knew Nero, long before the captain and I were near enough to shake hands.

“‘Hullo!’ cried Nero; ‘here we are again.’

“‘Yes,’ cried Daidles; ‘let us have another fight for auld lang syne.’

“And they did, and tore each other fearfully.

“Nero’s life on board this particular ship was a very happy one, for everybody loved him, from the captain downwards to the little loblolly boy who washed the bottles, spread the plasters, and made the poultices.

“The blue-jackets all loved Nero; but he was more particularly the pet of the marine mess. This may be accounted for from the fact that my servant was a marine.

“But every day when the bugle called the red-coats to dinner —

“‘That calls me,’ Master Nero would say; then off he would trot.

“His plan was to go from one table to another, and it would be superfluous to say that he never went short.

“Nero had one very particular friend on board – dear old chief engineer C – . Now my cabin was a dark and dismal one down in the cockpit, I being then only junior surgeon; the engineer’s was on the main deck, and had a beautiful port. As Mr C – was a married man, he slept on shore; therefore he kindly gave up his cabin to me – no, not to me, as he plainly gave me to understand, but to Nero.

“Nero liked his comforts, and it was C – ’s delight of a morning after breakfast to make Nero jump on top of my cot, and put his head on my pillow. Then C – would cover him over with a rug, and the dog would give a great sigh of satisfaction and go off to sleep, and all the din and all the row of a thousand men at work and drill, could not waken Nero until he had his nap out.

“On Sunday morning the captain went round all the decks of the ship inspecting them – the mess places, and the men’s kits and cooking utensils, everything, in fact, about the ship was examined on this morning. He was followed by the commander, the chief surgeon, and by Nero.

“The inspection over, the boats were called away for church on shore. Having landed, the men formed into marching order, band first, then the officers, and next the blue-jackets. Nero’s place was in front of the band, and from the gay and jaunty way he stepped out, you might have imagined that he considered himself captain of all these men.

“Sometimes a death took place, and the march to the churchyard was a very solemn and imposing spectacle. The very dog seemed to feel the solemnity of the occasion; and I have known him march in front all the way with lowered head and tail, as if he really felt that one of his poor messmates was like Tom Bowling, ‘a sheer hulk,’ and that he would never, never see him again. You remember the beautiful old song, Ida, and its grand, ringing old tune —

“It was on board this ship that Nero first learned that graceful inclination of the body we call making a bow, and which Aileen Aroon there has seen fit to copy.

“You see, on board a man-o’-war, Ida, whenever an officer comes on the quarter-deck, he lifts his hat, not to any one, remember, but out of respect to Her Majesty the Queen’s ship. The sailors taught Nero to make a bow as soon as he came upstairs or up the ship’s side, and it soon came natural to him, so that he really was quite as respectful to Her Majesty as any officer or man on board.

“My old favourite, Tyro, was so fond of music that whenever I took up the violin, he used to come and throw himself down at my feet. I do not think Nero was ever fond of music, and I hardly know the reason why he tolerated the band playing on the quarter-deck, for whenever on shore if he happened to see and hear a brass band (a German itinerant one, I mean), he flew straight at them, and never failed to scatter them in all directions. I am afraid I rather encouraged him in this habit of his; it was amusing and it made the people laugh. It did not make the German fellows laugh, however – at least, not the man with the big bassoon – for Nero always singled him out, probably because he was making more row than the others. A gentleman said one day that Nero ought to be bought by the people of Margate, and kept as public property to keep the streets clear of the German band element.

“But Nero never attempted to disperse the ship’s band – he seemed rather to like it. I remember once walking in a city up North, some years after Nero left the service, and meeting a band of volunteers.

“‘Oh,’ thought Nero, ‘this does put me in mind of old times.’

“I do not know for certain that this was really what the dog thought, but I am quite sure about what he did, and that was, to put himself at the head of that volunteer regiment and march in front of it. As no coaxing of mine could get the dog away, I was obliged to fall in too, and we had quite a mile of a march, which I really had not expected, and did not care for.

“Nero’s partiality for marines was very great; but here is a curious circumstance: the dog knows the difference between a marine and a soldier in the street, for even a year after he left garrison, if he saw a red-jacket in the street, he would rush up to its owner. If a soldier, he merely sniffed him and ran on; if a marine, he not only sniffed him, but jumped about him and exhibited great joy, and perhaps ended by taking the man’s cap in a friendly kind of a way, and just for auld lang syne.

“Nero’s life on board ship would have been one of unalloyed happiness, except for those dreadful guns. The dog was not afraid of an ordinary fowling-piece, but a cannon was another concern, and as we were very often at general quarters, or saluting other ships, Nero had more than enough of big guns. Terrible things he must have thought them – things that went off when a man pulled a string, that went off with fire and smoke, and a roar louder than any thunder; things that shook the ship and smashed the crockery, and brought his master’s good old fiddle tumbling down to the deck – terrible things indeed. Even on days when there was no saluting or firing, there was always that eight o’clock gun.

“As soon as the quartermaster entered the wardroom, a few seconds before eight in the evening, and reported the hour to the commander, poor Nero took refuge under the sofa.

“He knew the man’s knock.

“‘Eight o’clock, sir, please,’ the man would say.

“‘Make it so,’ the commander would reply, which meant, ‘Fire the gun.’

“This was enough for Nero; he was in hiding a full minute before they could ‘make it so.’”

“Is that the reason,” asked Ida, “why you sometimes say eight o’clock to him when you want him to go and lie down?”

“Yes, birdie,” I replied. “He does not forget it, and never will as long as he lives. If you look at him even now, you will see a kind of terror in his eye, for he knows what we are talking about, and he is not quite sure that even here in this peaceful pine wood some one might not fire a big gun and make it eight o’clock.”

“No, no, no,” cried Ida, throwing her arms around the dog, “don’t be afraid, dear old Nero. It shan’t be eight o’clock. It will never, never be eight o’clock any more, dearest doggie.”

Chapter Twenty Eight.

The Story of Aileen’s Husband, Nero – Continued

“You promised,” said my little companion the very next evening, “to resume the thread of Nero’s narrative.”

“Very prettily put, birdie,” I said; “resume the thread of Nero’s narrative. Did I actually make use of those words? Very well, I will, though I fear you will think the story a little dull, and probably the story-teller somewhat prosy.

“Do you know, then, Ida, that I am quite convinced that Providence gave mankind the dog to be a real companion to him, and I believe that this is the reason why a dog is so very, very faithful, so long-suffering under trial, so patient when in pain, and so altogether good and kind. When I look at poor old Nero, as he lies beside you there, half asleep, yet listening to every word we say, my thoughts revert to many a bygone scene in which he and I were the principal actors. And many a time, Ida, when in grief and sorrow, I have felt, rightly or wrongly, that I had not a friend in the world but himself.