“The Dog Crusoe,” published in 1906, is a captivating tale that plunges readers into the heart of a wilderness struggle between pioneers, the untamed natural world, and its indigenous inhabitants. At its core, the story is elevated by the presence of a Newfoundland dog, a breed I hold in high regard. This review will delve into the memorable canine moments that make the book a standout in dog literature, exploring the detailed and authentic portrayal of the North American wilderness, its fauna, and its First Nations peoples, while also acknowledging the unfortunately prejudicial attitudes towards Native Americans prevalent at the time of its writing.
The author’s background, as gleaned from Goodreads and Wikipedia, adds significant depth to the narrative. At the tender age of sixteen in 1841, he embarked on a five-year sojourn in Canada, working for the Hudson’s Bay Company. This immersive experience, involving trade with local First Nations and Native Americans for furs, necessitated extensive travel by canoe and sleigh. These formative experiences became the bedrock for his debut novel, “The Young Fur Traders” (1856), penned after his return to Scotland. His prolific career saw him author over a hundred books, many of which were adventure stories crafted for young audiences.
Researching the complex relationships between the European settlers, referred to as ‘palefaces,’ and the indigenous peoples, ‘red-men,’ prompted a deeper dive into the history of the Indian Wars west of the Mississippi, which spanned from 1804 to 1924. Further exploration into the natural history of the Bison revealed a stark reality: by the late 1880s, fewer than 100 individuals remained in the wild. This statistic underscores the likely presence of the massive herds vividly depicted in the novel, which the author would have witnessed firsthand in the mid-1800s.
The protagonist of “The Dog Crusoe” is a young man named Dick Varley, who acquires the magnificent Newfoundland, Crusoe, through a shooting contest. This contest featured a unique skill known as “driving the nail,” a method still recognized among hunters of the American West. The challenge involved participants attempting to drive a nail, partially hammered into a plank or tree, completely into the wood from a distance of approximately fifty yards using rifle fire.
The book vividly depicts the abundant wildlife of the region. While the casual hunting and trapping described may elicit a wince from a modern reader, it was evidently commonplace during the era. Beyond the awe-inspiring presence of Bison herds, the narrative also includes a fascinating account of riding horses through extensive prairie dog towns. This unique ecosystem is further illuminated by the author’s whimsical speculation on the cohabitation of prairie dogs and owls:
“We have not been able to ascertain from travelers why the owls have gone to live with these doggies, so we beg humbly to offer our own private opinion to the reader. We assume, then, that owls find it absolutely needful to have holes. Probably prairie-owls cannot dig holes for themselves. Having discovered, however, a race of little creatures that could, they very likely determined to take forcible possession of the holes made by them. Finding, no doubt, that when they did so the doggies were too timid to object, and discovering, moreover, that they were sweet, innocent little creatures, the owls resolved to take them into partnership, and so the thing was settled—that’s how it came about, no doubt of it!”
While the wilderness details are compelling, my primary fascination lies with Crusoe, the dog. The author offers several profound passages that capture the essence of canine devotion:
“The love of a Newfoundland dog to its master is beyond calculation or expression. He who once gains such love carries the dog’s life in his hand, But let him who reads note well, and remember that there is only one coin that can purchase such love, and that is kindness. The coin, too, must be genuine, kindness merely expressed will not do, it must be felt.”
A peculiar yet endearing trait of Crusoe’s gentle demeanor was his ability to revert to an expression of nonchalant gravity the moment any perceived danger subsided.
Crusoe’s vocalizations were distinctive; he seldom barked in the conventional sense. Instead, he typically communicated through a prolonged, indignant roar, interspersed with barks, creating a sound akin to a distant thunderstorm with its intermittent, cannon-like cracks. This was not merely noise, but a resonant, purposeful utterance.
What truly elevates “The Dog Crusoe” are the moments when Crusoe emerges as a true hero. In one poignant episode, Dick finds himself held captive by Indigenous people. While relations are amicable, his freedom is restricted. When a young native child is swept away by a swift river current, the question arises: can Crusoe save the child?
“Save it, pup,” cried Dick, pointing to the child, which had been caught in an eddy, and was for a few moments hovering on the edge of the stream that rushed impetuously towards the fall.
The noble Newfoundland did not require to be told what to do. It seems a natural instinct in this sagacious species of dog to save man or beast that chances to be struggling in the water, and many are the authentic stories related of Newfoundland dogs saving life in cases of shipwreck. Indeed, they are regularly trained to the work in some countries; and nobly, fearlessly, disinterestedly do they discharge their trust, often in the midst of appalling dangers. Crusoe sprang from the bank with such impetus that his broad chest ploughed up the water like the bow of a boat, and the energetic workings of his muscles were indicated by the force of each successive propulsion as he shot ahead.
In a few seconds he reached the child and caught it by the hair. Then he turned to swim back, but the stream had got hold of him. Bravely he struggled, and lifted the child breast-high out of the water in his powerful efforts to stem the current. In vain. Each moment he was carried inch by inch down until he was on the brink of the fall, which, though not high, was a large body of water and fell with a heavy roar. He raised himself high out of the stream with the vigor of his last struggle, and then fell back into the abyss.
Another aspect of the book that deeply resonated with me was the author’s unique approach to giving the dog a voice. I generally find anthropomorphism in animal narrations to be unrealistic; however, “The Dog Crusoe” masterfully navigates this by reflecting the dialect and narrative style of the era, even providing a rationale for Crusoe’s “speech”:
“Now, Crusoe,” said Dick, sitting down on the buffalo’s shoulder and patting his favourite on the head, “we’re all right at last. You and I shall have a jolly time o’t, pup, from this time for’ard.”
Dick paused for breath, and Crusoe wagged his tail and looked as if to say—pshaw! “as if!”
We tell you what it is, reader, it’s of no use at all to go on writing “as if,’ when we tell you what Crusoe said. If there is any language in eyes whatever—if there is language in a tail, in a cocked ear, in a mobile eyebrow, in the point of a canine nose,—if there is language in any terrestrial thing at all, apart from that which flows from the tongue, then Crusoe spoke! Do we not speak at this moment to you? and if so, then tell me wherein lies the difference between a written letter and a given sign?
Yes, Crusoe spoke. He said to Dick as plain as dog could say it, slowly and emphatically, “ That’s my opinion precisely, Dick. You’re the dearest, most beloved, jolliest fellow that ever walked on two legs, you are; and whatever’s your opinion is mine, no matter how absurd it may be.”
Here is another instance where Crusoe’s thoughts are conveyed:
Dick was gazing in dreamy silence at the jutting rocks and dark caverns, and speculating on the probable number of bears that dwelt there, when a slight degree of restlessness on the part of Crusoe attracted him.
“What is’t, pup?” said he, laying his hand on the dog’s broad back.
Crusoe looked the answer, “I don’t know, Dick, but it’s something, you may depend upon it, else I would not have disturbed you.”
One final memorable episode involves Dick taming a wild horse named Charlie. Later, a stampede of wild horses surges through the trappers’ camp, and Charlie breaks free. Unbeknownst to Dick, Crusoe is aware of Charlie’s escape.
Little did Dick think, when the flood of horses swept past him, that his own good steed was there, rejoicing in his recovered liberty. But Crusoe knew it. Ay, the wind had borne down the information to his acute nose before the living storm burst upon the camp; and when Charlie rushed past, with the long tough halter trailing at his heels, Crusoe sprang to his side, seized the end of the halter with his teeth, and galloped off along with him.
It was a long gallop and a tough one, but Crusoe held on, for it was a settled principle in his mind never to give in. At first the check upon Charlie’s speed was imperceptible, but by degrees the weight of the gigantic dog began to tell, and after a time they fell a little to the rear; then by good fortune the troop passed through a mass of underwood, and the line getting entangled brought their mad career forcibly to a close; the mustangs passed on, and the two friends were left to keep each other company in the dark.
How long they would have remained thus is uncertain, for neither of them had sagacity enough to undo a complicated entanglement. Fortunately, however, in his energetic tugs at the line, Crusoe’s sharp teeth partially severed it, and a sudden start on the part of Charlie caused it to part. Before he could escape, Crusoe again seized the end of it, and led him slowly but steadily back to the Indian camp, never halting or turning aside until he had placed the line in Dick Varley’s hand.
The canine-centric moments throughout “The Dog Crusoe” are truly a delight. While I thoroughly enjoyed the remainder of the book, my contemporary perspective on the historical plight of Native Americans made me find myself rooting for the Indigenous peoples who endured such profound injustices during the westward expansion of the United States.
