Rab and His Friends | Page 3

no use
kicking the little dog; that would only make him hold the closer. Many
were the means shouted out in mouthfuls, of the best possible ways of
ending it. "Water!" but there was none near, and many cried for it who
might have got it from the well at Blackfriar's Wynd. "Bite the tail!"
and a large, vague, benevolent, middle-aged man, more desirous than
wise, with some struggle got the bushy end of Yarrow's tail into his
ample mouth, and bit it with all his might. This was more than enough
for the much- enduring, much-perspiring shepherd, who, with a gleam
of joy over his broad visage, delivered a terrific facer upon our large,
vague, benevolent, middle-aged friend,--who went down like a shot.
Still the Chicken holds; death not far off. "Snuff! a pinch of snuff!"
observed a calm, highly-dressed young buck, with an eye-glass in his
eye. "Snuff, indeed!" growled the angry crowd, affronted and glaring.
"Snuff! a pinch of snuff!" again observes the buck, but with more
urgency; whereon were produced several open boxes, and from a mull
which may have been at Culloden he took a pinch, knelt down, and
presented it to the nose of the Chicken. The laws of physiology and of
snuff take their course; the Chicken sneezes, and Yarrow is free!
The young pastoral giant stalks off with Yarrow in his arms,

comforting him.
But the Bull Terrier's blood is up, and his soul unsatisfied; he grips the
first dog he meets, and discovering she is not a dog, in Homeric phrase,
he makes a brief sort of amende, and is off. The boys, with Bob and me
at their head, are after him: down Niddry Street he goes, bent on
mischief; up the Cowgate like an arrow,--Bob and I, and our small men,
panting behind.
There, under the single arch of the South Bridge, is a huge mastiff,
sauntering down the middle of the causeway, as if with his hands in his
pockets: he is old, gray, brindled, as big as a little Highland bull, and
has the Shakespearian dewlaps shaking as he goes.
The Chicken makes straight at him, and fastens on his throat. To our
astonishment the great creature does nothing but stand still, hold
himself up, and roar,--yes, roar; a long, serious, remonstrative roar.
How is this? Bob and I are up to them. HE IS MUZZLED! The bailies
had proclaimed a general muzzling, and his master, studying strength
and economy mainly, had encompassed his huge jaws in a home-made
apparatus constructed out of the leather of some ancient breechin. His
mouth was open as far as it could; his lips curled up in rage,--a sort of
terrible grin; his teeth gleaming, ready, from out the darkness; the strap
across his mouth tense as a bow-string; his whole frame stiff with
indignation and surprise; his roar asking us all around, "Did you ever
see the like of this?" He looked a statue of anger and astonishment done
in Aberdeen granite.
We soon had a crowd: the Chicken held on. "A knife!" cried Bob; and a
cobbler gave him his knife: you know the kind of knife, worn away
obliquely to a point, and always keen. I put its edge to the tense leather;
it ran before it; and then!--one sudden jerk of that enormous head, a
sort of dirty mist about his mouth, no noise,--and the bright and fierce
little fellow is dropped, limp and dead. A solemn pause; this was more
than any of us had bargained for. I turned the little fellow over, and saw
he was quite dead; the mastiff had taken him by the small of the back
like a rat, and broken it.
He looked down at his victim appeased, ashamed, and amazed, snuffed
him all over, stared at him, and, taking a sudden thought, turned round
and trotted off. Bob took the dead dog up, and said, "John, we'll bury
him after tea." "Yes," said I, and was off after the mastiff. He made up

the Cowgate at a rapid swing; he had forgotten some engagement. He
turned up the Candlemaker Row, and stopped at the Harrow Inn.
There was a carrier's cart ready to start, and a keen, thin, impatient,
black-a-vised little man, his hand at his gray horse's head, looking
about angrily for something. "Rab, ye thief!" said he, aiming a kick at
my great friend, who drew cringing up, and, avoiding the heavy shoe
with more agility than dignity, and watching his master's eye, slunk
dismayed under the cart, his ears down, and as much as he had of tail
down too.
What a man this must be,--thought I,--to whom my tremendous hero
turns tail! The carrier saw the muzzle hanging, cut and useless, from his
neck, and I eagerly told