Category Archives: 18th century

Black Shuck the Spectral Dog, Agent of Good?

Posted on by

The charming title of The Prettiest Book for Children, Being the History of the Enchanted Castle…Governed by the Giant Instruction (1770),  must have sent mixed messages to its readers, wrote Ida S. Simonson in a 1924 issue of Library Journal.  The narrator Don Stephano Bunyano, a “strange, outlandish fellow in a flowered gown and hairy cap, with a long blue beard and white wand,” might have fascinated children if he had not made this “irritating, mean confession: “As soon as I rise in the morning I wash my hands and face and comb my hair and my long blue beard.”

What didn’t catch Simonson’s attention was the aggressive behavior the big black dog Shocky, Bunyano’s faithful companion.  When he sniffs out a naughty boy, said Bunyano, “he seizes them fast either by the lappet of their coats or the tail of their gowns, growling and snarling all the while, as if he would tear them to pieces in an instant.  And so perhaps he would: but…I always make the best of my way to prevent any mischief.  If my little prisoner is then willing to own  his fault, and promise amendment, I give Shocky a gentle slap with my wand, and he quits his hold immediately: but if the boy or girl should prove so obstinate as to refuse to do either, or perhaps turn impudent or sulky, and give me ill language, then he will be sure to shake them to some purpose: nor can I make him let them go, before he hath heartily frightened them and punished them to his own liking, even though I should beat him to pieces.”

Bunyano admits that he cannot control the dog in all situations, the worst being when the animal gets it in his head to terrify recalcitrant children to punish them for bad acting    I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Shocky acts like a lot like a bugbear, which the OED defines as “an imaginary evil spirit or creature said to devour naughty children” invoked by adults trying to terrify small children into good behavior. A bugbear can also be a historical figure like the Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell or Napoleon.

It can’t be a coincidence that the name of Bunyano’s dog is  “Shocky,” which summons up the spectral dogs of English folklore which were known as Shuck, Black Shuck, Old Shuck, or old Shock and were believed to have roamed Norfolk, Suffolk, the Cambridgeshire fens, and Essex for centuries.  “Shock” was the name given to the Maltese breed of small dogs with shaggy coats, while “Shuck” comes from the Old English “scucca,” meaning “devil” or “fiend” according to the OED.  Don Bunyano’s dog looks less like a Maltese and more like his ghostly relatives.  Black Shuck is reputed to be a large (even huge) black dog with a shaggy coat, sometimes with the fiery red eyes of a supernatural creature, or only one in the middle of the forehead like a Cyclops.  The earliest known description of a devil dog was Abraham Fleming’s 1577 illustrated account of an appearance in Bungay.  The next known description appeared for another 180 years in Notes & Queries, the Victorian journal beloved of antiquarians, collectors, and folklorists eager to report any fascinating bits and pieces they had discovered.  Others were turn up compilations on the byways of regions with which these phantom dogs were long associated.  They supposedly to haunted deserted places like lanes or fields in the dead of night, their howls presaging the deaths of anyone unfortunate enough to meet them.

This eighteenth-century appearance of a sanitized Black Shuck in The Prettiest Book looks as if it is unknown to academic and amateur folklorists.  If Bunyano’s Shocky has been overlooked, one reason could be the author succeeded in removing him from his origins in credulity and superstition.  Reforming a well-known figure from popular culture for a more polite child readership was something of a hallmark of the Newbery brand.  Two other such characters are associated with Newbery children’s books: Woglog the great giant, who after being defeated by Tom Trip and his dog Jowler, terrified gamblers and drunkards into changing their ways; and Tom Thumb won the hand of a giant princess and taught her illiterate father the king how to read.

The British traditional lore about spectral dogs has not withered away, but stayed surprisingly robust.  Sightings of the devil dog are reported more often than you might suppose and in 2014 its skeletal remains were supposedly discovered.   Writers, musicians, artists, and videogame designers used the beast in their work.  Perhaps the first to do so was  Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in The Hound of the Baskervilles.   The Norfolk hell hound is clearly the model for  J. K. Rowling’s  Padfoot, the frightening, huge black dog,  into which antimage Sirius Black transforms when he must take cover.  Black Shuck has also been mentioned in songs by British rock bands The Darkness and Down I go, been the subject of Mark Allard-Wills’ graphic novel The Burning Black illustrated by Ryan Howe, and made a character in the 2020 video game Assassin Creed: Valhalla.  I strongly suspect that the author of The Prettiest Book would not have approved of all this nonsense at all…

 

 

Benjamin Harris’s Protestant Tutor (1679): Teaching Religion, Reading, and Writing in a Time of Crisis

Posted on by

Soft metal cut from the T. Norris and A. Bettesworth edition, ca. 1715. Cotsen 2039.

Late seventeenth century journalist and printer Benjamin Harris probably would have gotten his bearings pretty fast in our toxic media environment.   Familiar with bad actors, feverish conspiracy theories,  succession crises, bitter factional combat, and brutal rhetoric, only the technologies would have been new to him. Harris would have quickly grasped how much mightier social media was than the coffee house as a channel for rumors and gossip.  His fellow bookseller John Dunton remarked that, “I should have been much concerned if Ben Harris had given me a good word, for his commendation is the greatest reproach that an honest man can meet with. He is so far from having any dealings with truth or honesty, that his solemn word, which he calls as good as his bond, is a studied falsehood, and he scandalises truth and honesty in pretending to write for it.”

Title page of the 1707 edition. Cotsen 379.

Someone with these particular gifts would not seem especially well-suited for a sideline writing children’s books. Examine the contents of his Protestant Tutor, Instructing Children to Spel and read English, and Grounding them in the True Protestant Religion, and Discovering the Errors and Deceits of the Papists, and his loudly proclaimed priorities have quite a bit in common  with those of contemporary American authors on the right who have self-published children’s books than one might suppose.   Harris was, like many of them, neither a professional educator nor writer, but he felt confident enough to offer the public a book that would challenge dangerous mainstream ideas circulating pernicious ideas and values.

He abhorred Roman Catholicism with the deadly fury of a conspiracy theorist and a cultural warrior.  A member of the Particular Baptists, who believed Christ died only for the elect like Calvin, he rejoiced in the letter dedicatory that the Papists’ diabolic strategy “to destroy King Charles II, his government and the Protestant religion by disseminating “their cursed Opinions among the Ignorant, as they have demonstrated by vast numbers of Popish Primers, Catechisms, Manuals, and a multitude of such Romish Trash and Trumpery, which they intended to have dispersed like a General Infection  among the youth of this nation” had been foiled.

Cotsen 2039

To convince parents and heads of school “to strengthen and confirm this young Generation in Protestant Principles, by the methods whereby they [the Roman Catholics] intended to Debauch them,”  he argued that now was the time “to arm our Innocent Children against the cursed and continual practices of our Romish Adversaries, who designed not only the Murder and destruction of the bodies, but the ruin and Damnation of the souls of our poor Children with the utter Extirpation of the Protestant Religion from under Heaven.”  Better they die than “be bred up in Popish Superstition and Idolatry, or otherwise to be Imprisoned, Rackt, Tortured and Burnt at the stake as our Fathers have been before us.”

Harris attempts to plant seeds of hate so deeply in his young readers’ minds that they will never forget the horrors Protestants have suffered for their faith. The reading lessons retelling the scriptural accounts of Moses, Christ’s  crucifixion, and long quotations from Revelations invite children to identify with God’s chosen ones and turn deaf ears to the call of Babylon.  The blatantly sectarian catechism says little about  justification by faith alone, its chief preoccupation being to list all Romish practices to be shunned, like obeying the Pope, worshipping images or saints’ relics, praying to the Virgin Mary, and buying pardons.

The martyrdom of John Rogers, better known from its inclusion in The New England Primer. This version of the scene is more detailed and better executed than most. Cotsen 2039.

Cotsen 379.

The minister John Roger’s exhortation to his wife and nine children days before he was burned at the stake leads off the history of “Cruelties, Treasons, and Massacres committed by the Papists” since Bloody Mary’s reign illustrated with ghoulishly crude but effective cuts of the faithful being disemboweled upside down,  the Spanish Armada, the Gunpowder Plot, the Irish atrocities against the Protestants in 1641, the Huguenot massacre in Paris, and the great fire of London of 1666, supposedly an act of Papist arson.   Rome is ridiculed through an account of the pope-burning procession through London in 1679.   It took place on November 17, the day Elizabeth I ascended the throne which was observed as a Protestant holiday. The description of the order of the groups in the parade, their costumes, the exchanges between the Pope and his privy counselor the Devil, the crowning of Elizabeth’s statue, the fireworks, and great bonfire are drawn from the explanation on the satirical print “The Solemn Mock Procession of the Pope, Cardinals, Jesuits, Fryers” published by Jonathan Wilkins in 1680.   In spite of having to reformat the procession from the print’s much larger horizontal format to a small vertical one, Harris’s cutter preserved a remarkable amount of detail.Even after the tumult of the Exclusion Crisis died down, the explosive mix of faith, fear, and ridicule in The Protestant Tutor remained available for another forty years: the English Short Title Catalog lists editions in 1680, 1683, 1685, 1690, 1707, 1713, 1716, and ca. 1720.  One factor explaining its longevity could be the way Harris bulked up the sections of reading instruction to make it more widely useful without cutting the anti-Catholic propaganda.. Attractive additions to the 1707 edition include two engraved leaves of writing samples, directions for cutting pens, and a section of model letters for business correspondence, while ca. 1720 featured an engraved alphabet lottery plate.  He also brought the little book of martyrs down to the present day, there being plenty to document since 1679 when the book first appeared.A greater motivation to keep the Protestant Tutor in print must have been Harris’s fear of a Stuart restoration to the English throne, a fear that was not groundless in light of Irish and Scottish Jacobite activity from the 1690s into the 1700s.   The title page of the 1713 edition states bluntly that the text will inform readers of what can be expected from a “Popish successor” to the ailing Queen Anne, who had failed to produce an heir, then throws its support behind the future George I.  The anti-Jacobitism is even stronger in the last known edition, issued by Thomas Norris and Andrew Bettesworth, which includes a new section,  “A Timely Memorial to all true Protestants, Demonstrating the Certainty of a horrid and damnable Popish Plot carried on in Great Britain, in order to destroy his Majesty King George, and Royal Family, introduce a Popish Successor, and involve these Kingdoms in blood and Fire.”  It contains a passage on the 1715 Jacobite uprising in Scotland with an explicit reference to its leader,  John Erskine, 6th Earl of Mar, suggesting that it may have been issued as earlier than the date the English Short-Title Catalog proposed.  If Benjamin Harris had lived to see the Jacobite army headed up by Bonnie Prince Charlie defeated at the Battle of Culloden, (or his sons shared in his anti-Papistical fervor), perhaps another edition would have been issued in 1745…

For such a notorious children’s book, Harris’s Protestant Tutor has not received much serious attention, perhaps because it has been hard for us in the 20th and 21st centuries  to believe that it was actually put into children’s hands. Indeed it was, as this opening from Cotsen’s 1707 edition with the illustration of London on fire shows, the blank filled up with annotations in a childish hand.  Its preliminary pages are likewise filled with signatures of its owners, as are the ones in the ca. 1715 edition.    While not as famous or influential as The New England Primer, in which Harris was also supposed to have had a hand, this preliminary look at the contents, illustration, and publication history of the much more radical Tutor demonstrates why it is important to understand, not dismiss, the motives and methods of authors who believe children (or at least those of their tribe)  must be saved from the dark forces of their times.