has been preserved.[217] "An Irishman, of the name of Johnson, was
astonishing the town by his horsemanship. All London crowded to see his
feats of agility and his highly-trained steeds. Dr Johnson and Boswell
talked of this man's wonderful ability, and the Doctor thought that he
fully deserved encouragement on philosophical grounds. He proved what
human perseverance could do. One who saw him riding on three horses at
once, or dancing upon a wire, might hope, that with the same application
in the profession of his choice, he should attain the same success.
Burke, always ready to encourage his countrymen, and curious in all the
ramifications of ingenuity, went frequently to the circus. The favourite
performance of the evening was that of a handsome black horse, which, at
the sound of Johnson's whip, would leave the stable, stand with much
docility at his side, then gallop about the ring, and on hearing the
crack of the lash again return obediently to its master. On one
unfortunate occasion, the signal was disregarded. The horse-rider flew
into a rage, and by a blow between the ears, struck the noble animal to
the earth. The spectators thought the horse was dying, but they had
little time to reflect on the sight before they were surprised at seeing
a gentleman jump into the ring, rush up to Johnson, and with his eyes
flashing, and every muscle in the face quivering with emotion, shout
out, 'You scoundrel! I have a mind to knock you down.' And Johnson would
certainly have been laid sprawling in the sawdust beside his panting
steed, had not the friends of the gentleman interposed, and prevented
him inflicting such summary chastisement. This incident was long
remembered. When the relater of it, many years afterwards, heard Burke
declaiming, on the floor of the House of Commons, against injustice and
oppression, his mind naturally reverted to the time when he saw the same
hatred of all cruelty displayed by the same individual as he stood over
the prostrate body of the poor black horse, prepared to punish the
miscreant who had felled it to the ground."
DAVID GARRICK AND HIS HORSE.
In 1778 Sir Joshua Reynolds visited Dr Warton at Winchester College.
Here he was particularly noticed by George III. and his queen, who were
then making a tour through the summer encampments. The father of Lord
Palmerston, and David Garrick, the great actor, with others, visited
Warton at the same time.
Mr Northcote[218] relates that a whimsical accident occurred to Garrick
at one of the reviews, which Sir Joshua afterwards recounted with great
humour.
"At one of those field-days in the vicinity, Garrick found it necessary
to dismount, when his horse escaped from his hold and ran off; throwing
himself immediately into his professional attitude, he cried out, as if
on Bosworth field, 'A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!'"
This exclamation, and the accompanying attitude, excited great amazement
amongst the surrounding spectators, who knew him not; but it could not
escape his majesty's quick apprehension, for, it being within his
hearing, he immediately said, "Those must be the tones of Garrick! see
if he is not on the ground." The theatrical and dismounted monarch was
immediately brought to his majesty, who not only condoled with him most
good humouredly on his misfortune, but flatteringly added, that his
delivery of Shakspeare could never pass undiscovered.
This anecdote of Garrick at Winchester is told in the Rev. John Wool's
"Life of Warton." Mr Taylor says--"One can't help suspecting Roscius
took care to make his speech when he knew the king was within earshot--a
little bit of that 'artifice' of his which has left such an impression
in the theatre, that the phrase, 'As deep as Garrick,' is still current
stage slang."[219]
BERNARD GILPIN'S HORSES STOLEN AND RECOVERED.[220]
The biographer of the saintly Bernard Gilpin, the apostle of the
northern counties of England in the days of Edward VI., and Queens Mary
and Elizabeth, relates that, by the carelessness of his servant, his
horses were one day stolen. The news was quickly propagated, and every
one expressed the highest indignation. The thief was rejoicing over his
prize, when, by the report of the country, he found whose horses he had
taken. Terrified at what he had done, he instantly came trembling back,
confessed the fact, returned the horses, and declared he believed the
devil would have seized him directly had he carried them off, knowing
them to have been Mr Gilpin's. The biographer gives an instance of his
benevolent temper. "One day returning home, he saw in a field several
people crowding together; and judging that something more than ordinary
had happened, he rode up to them, and found that one of the horses in a
team had suddenly dropped down, which they were endeavouring to raise;
but in vain, for the horse was dead. The owner of it seeming much
dejected with his misfortune, and declaring how grievous a loss it was
to him, Mr Gilpin bade him not be disheartened; "I'll let you have,
honest man, that horse of mine," and pointed to his servant's. "Ah!
master," replied the countryman, "my pocket will not reach such a beast
as that." "Come, come," says Mr Gilpin, "take him, take him; and when I
demand my money, then thou shalt pay me."[221]
No wonder that the horses of the apostolic rector of Houghton-le-Spring
were safe, even in those horse-stealing times, and in that Border
county.
THE HERALD AND GEORGE III.'S HORSE.
One day, when Sir Isaac Heard was in company with George III., it was
announced that his majesty's horse was ready for hunting. "Sir Isaac,"
said the king, "are you a judge of horses?"--"In my younger days, please
your majesty, I was a great deal among them," was the reply.--"What do
you think of this, then?" said the king, who was by this time preparing
to mount his favourite; and, without waiting for an answer, added, "We
call him _Perfection_."--"A most appropriate name," replied the courtly
herald, bowing as his majesty reached the saddle, "for he _bears_ the
best of characters."[222]
ROWLAND HILL AND HIS HORSE AT DUNBAR.
Many stories of the excellent but eccentric Rowland Hill are told, but
often with considerable exaggeration. The following may be depended on
for its accuracy, as it was told by Robert Haldane.[223] It occurred at
Dunbar, in September 1797, during an evangelistic tour Hill and Haldane
were making in Scotland. They were sleeping at Mr Cunningham's, when,
in the morning, intending to proceed southward, on Mr Hill's carriage
being brought to the door, his horse was found to be dead lame. A
farrier was sent for, who, after careful examination, reported that the
seat of the mischief was in the shoulder, that the disease was
incurable, and that they might shoot the poor animal as soon as they
pleased. To this proposal Mr Hill was by no means prepared to accede.
Indeed, it seemed to Mr Haldane as precipitate as the conduct of an
Irish sailor on board the _Monarch_, who, on seeing another knocked down
senseless by a splinter, and supposing his companion to be dead, went up
to Captain Duncan, on the quarter-deck, in the midst of the action with
Languara, off St Vincent, and exclaimed, "Shall we jerk him overboard,
sir?" On that occasion the sailor revived in a short time, and was even
able to work at his gun. In the present instance the horse, too,
recovered, and was able to carry his master on many a future errand of
mercy. Meanwhile, however, the travellers availed themselves of Mr
Cunningham's hospitality, and remained for two days more at his place,
near Dunbar. In the evening Mr Hill conducted family worship, and after
the supplications for the family, domestics, and friends, added a
fervent prayer for the restoration of the valuable animal which had
carried him so many thousands of miles, preaching the everlasting gospel
to his fellow-sinners. Mr Cunningham, who was remarkable for the staid
and orderly, if not stiff, demeanour, which characterised the
anti-burghers, was not only surprised but grieved, and even scandalised,
at what he deemed so great an impropriety. He remonstrated with his
guest. But Mr Hill stoutly defended his conduct by an appeal to
Scripture, and the superintending watchfulness of Him without whom a
sparrow falls not to the ground. He persisted in his prayer during the
two days he continued at Dunbar, and, although he left the horse, in a
hopeless state, to follow in charge of his servant by easy stages, he
continued his prayer, night and morning, till one day, at an inn in
Yorkshire, while the two travellers were sitting at breakfast, they
heard a horse and chaise trot briskly into the yard, and, looking out,
saw that Mr Hill's servant had arrived, bringing up the horse perfectly
restored. Mr Hill did not fail to return thanks, and begged his
fellow-traveller to consider whether the minuteness of his prayers had
deserved the censure which had been directed against them.
A SAYING OF ROWLAND HILL'S.
Rowland Hill rode a great deal, and exercise preserved him in vigorous
health. On one occasion, when asked by a medical friend, who was
commenting on his invariably good health, what physician and apothecary
he employed, he replied, "My physician has always been a _horse_, and my
apothecary an _ass_!"[224]
HOLCROFT ON THE HORSE.
Thomas Holcroft, the novelist and play-writer, when a lad, was a stable
boy to a trainer of running horses. In his memoirs he has written a good
deal about the habits of the race-horse. He says of them:--"I soon
learned that the safehold for sitting steady was to keep the knee and
the calf of the leg strongly pressed against the sides of the animal
that endeavours to unhorse you; and as little accidents afford frequent
occasions to remind the boys of this rule, it becomes so rooted in the
memory of the intelligent, that their danger is comparatively trifling.
Of the temperaments and habits of blood-horses there are great
varieties, and those very strongly contrasted. The majority of them are
playful, but their gambols are dangerous to the timid or unskilful. They
are all easily and suddenly alarmed, when anything they do not
understand forcibly catches their attention, and they are then to be
feared by the bad horseman, and carefully guarded against by the good.
Very serious accidents have happened to the best. But, besides their
general disposition to playfulness, there is a great propensity in them
to become what the jockeys call vicious. High bred, hot in blood,
exercised, fed and dressed so as to bring that heat to perfection, their
tender skins at all times subject to a sharp curry-comb, hard brushing,
and when they take sweats, to scraping with wooden instruments, it
cannot be but that they are frequently and exceedingly irritated.
Intending to make themselves felt and feared, they will watch their
opportunity to bite, stamp, or kick; I mean those among them that are
vicious. Tom, the brother of Jack Clarke, after sweating a gray horse
that belonged to Lord March, with whom he lived, while he was either
scraping or dressing him, was seized by the animal by the shoulder,
lifted from the ground, and carried two or three hundred yards before
the horse loosened his hold. Old Forrester, a horse that belonged to
Captain Vernon, all the while that I remained at Newmarket, was obliged
to be kept apart, and being foundered, to live at grass, where he was
confined to a close paddock. Except Tom Watson, he would suffer no lad
to come near him; if in his paddock, he would run furiously at the
first person that approached, and if in the stable, would kick and
assault every one within his reach. Horses of this kind seem always to
select their favourite boy. Tom Watson, indeed, had attained to man's
estate, and in his brother's absence, which was rare, acted as
superintendent. Horses, commonly speaking, are of a friendly and
generous nature; but there are anecdotes of the malignant and savage
ferocity of some, that are scarcely to be credited; at least many such
are traditional at Newmarket.
Of their friendly disposition towards their keepers, there is a trait
known to every boy that has the care of any one of them, which ought not
to be omitted. The custom is to rise very early, even between two and
three in the morning, when the days lengthen. In the course of the day,
horses and boys have much to do. About half after eight, perhaps, in the
evening, the horse has his last feed of oats, which he generally stands
to enjoy in the centre of his smooth, carefully made bed of clean long
straw, and by the side of him the weary boy will often lie down; it
being held as a maxim, a rule without exception, that were he to lie
even till morning, the horse would never lie down himself, but stand
still, careful to do his keeper no harm.[225]
In one of Thomas Holcroft's novels, "Alwyn; or, The Gentleman Comedian,"
founded on his own adventures when a travelling actor, he gives the
character of an enthusiast who had conceived the idea of establishing a
humane asylum for animals, the consequences of which he describes. "I am
pestered, plagued, teased, tormented to death. I believe all the cats
in Christendom are assembled in Oxfordshire. I am obliged to hire a
clerk to pay the people; and the village where I live is become a
constant fair. A fellow has set up the sign of the Three Blind Kittens,
and has the impudence to tell the neighbours, that if my whims and my
money only hold out for one twelvemonth, he shall not care a fig for the
king. I thought to prevent this inundation, by buying up all the old
cats and secluding them in convents and monasteries of my own, but the
value of the breeders is increased to such a degree, that I do not
believe my whole fortune is capable of the purchase. Besides I am made
an ass of. A rascal, who is a known sharper in these parts, hearing of
the aversion I had to cruelty, bought an old one-eyed horse, that was
going to the dogs, for five shillings; then taking a hammer in his hand,
watched an opportunity of finding me alone, and addressed me in the
following manner: 'Look you, master, I know that you don't love to see
any dumb creature abused, and so, if you don't give me ten pounds, why,
I shall scoop out this old rip's odd eye with the sharp end of this here
hammer, now, before your face.' Ay, and the villain would have done it
too, if I had not instantly complied; but what was worse, the abominable
scoundrel had the audacity to tell me, when I wanted him to deliver the
horse first, for fear he should extort a further sum from me, that he
had more honour than to break his word. A whelp of a boy had yesterday
caught a young hedgehog, and perceiving me, threw it into the water to
make it extend its legs; then with the rough side of a knotty stick
sawed upon them till the creature cried like a child; and when I ordered
him to desist, told me he would not, till I had given him sixpence.
There is something worse than all this. The avaricious rascals, when
they can find nothing that they think will excite my pity, disable the
first animal which is not dignified with the title of Christian, and
then bring it to me as an object worthy of commiseration; so that, in
fact, instead of protecting, I destroy. The women have entertained a
notion that I hate two-legged animals; and one of them called after me
the other day, to tell me I was an old rogue, and that I had better give
my money to the poor, than keep a parcel of dogs and cats that eat up
the village. I perceive it is in vain to attempt carrying on the scheme
much longer, and then my poor invalids will be worse off than they were
before."[226]
A JOKE OF LORD MANSFIELD'S ABOUT A HORSE.
Lord Campbell[227] tells an anecdote of George Wood, a celebrated
special pleader at the time when Lord Mansfield was Chief-Justice.
Though a subtle pleader, George was very ignorant of _horse-flesh_, and
had been cruelly cheated in the purchase of a horse on which he had
intended to ride the circuit. He brought an action on the warranty that
the horse was "a good roadster, and free from vice." At the trial before
Lord Mansfield, it appeared that when the plaintiff mounted at the
stables in London, with the intention of proceeding to Barnet, nothing
could induce the animal to move forward a single step. On hearing this
evidence, the Chief-Justice with much gravity exclaimed, "Who would have
supposed that Mr Wood's horse would have _demurred_ when he ought to
have _gone to the country_." Any attempt, adds Lord Campbell, to explain
this excellent joke to _lay gents_ would be vain, and to _lawyers_ would
be superfluous.
GENERAL SIR JOHN MOORE AND HIS HORSE AT THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA.
Charles Napier served in Lord William Bentinck's brigade during the
retreat of the truly great and ill-used Moore at the battle of Corunna;
he was covered with wounds, and was carried off a prisoner. In his
"Biography" General Sir William Napier[228] has published a most
interesting description of the part his brother took in that battle, and
written in his own words. I extract a few vivid lines in which Moore and
his horse are brought before you. A heavy French column was descending
rapidly on the British line at the part where Napier was. "Suddenly I
heard the gallop of horses, and turning saw Moore. He came at speed, and
pulled up so sharp and close he seemed to have alighted from the air;
man and horse looking at the approaching foe with an intenseness that
seemed to concentrate all feeling in their eyes. The sudden stop of the
animal, a cream-coloured one, with black tail and mane, had cast the
latter streaming forward, its ears were pushed out like horns, while its
eyes flashed fire, and it snorted loudly with expanded nostrils,
expressing terror, astonishment, and muscular exertion. My first thought
was, it will be away like the wind; but then I looked at the rider, and
the horse was forgotten. Thrown on its haunches the animal came, sliding
and dashing the dirt up with its fore-feet, thus bending the general
forward almost to its neck; but his head was thrown back, and his look
more keenly piercing than I ever before saw it. He glanced to the right
and left, and then fixed his eyes intently on the enemy's advancing
column, at the same time grasping the reins with both his hands, and
pressing the horse firmly with his knees; his body thus seemed to deal
with the animal, while his mind was intent on the enemy, and his aspect
was one of searching intenseness, beyond the power of words to describe;
for a while he looked, and then galloped to the left, without uttering a
word."
NEITHER HORSES NOR CHILDREN CAN EXPLAIN THEIR COMPLAINTS.
Dr Mounsey, the Chelsea doctor, an eccentric physician, who was a great
friend of David Garrick, related to Taylor that he was once in company
with another physician and an eminent farrier. The physician stated that
among the difficulties of his profession, was that of discovering the
maladies of children, because they could not explain the symptoms of
their disorder. "Well," said the farrier, "your difficulties are not
greater than mine, for my patients, the horses, are equally unable to
explain their complaints."--"Ah!" rejoined the physician, "my brother
doctor must conquer me, as he has brought his cavalry against my
infantry!"[229]
HORSES WITH NAMES.
In this country most horses have a name, but in Germany this custom must
be unusual. Perthes, when on his way from Hamburg to Frankfort, remarked
at Boehmte--"It is a pleasing custom they have here of giving proper
names to horses. The horse is a noble and intelligent animal, and quite
as deserving of such a distinction as the dog; and when it has a name,
it has made some advance towards personality."[230]
"OLD JACK" OF WATERLOO BRIDGE.
In building Waterloo Bridge, the finest of Rennie's bridges, the whole
of the stone required was hewn in some fields on the Surrey side. Nearly
the whole of this material was drawn by one horse called "Old Jack," a
most sensible animal. Mr Smiles, in his "Life of John Rennie,"[231] thus
speaks of this favourite old horse--"His driver was, generally speaking,
a steady and trustworthy man; though rather too fond of his dram before
breakfast. As the railway along which the stone was drawn passed in
front of the public-house door, the horse and truck were usually pulled
up, while Tom entered for his 'morning.' On one occasion the driver
stayed so long that 'Old Jack,' becoming impatient, poked his head into
the open door, and taking his master's coat collar between his teeth,
though in a gentle sort of manner, pulled him out from the midst of his
companions, and thus forced him to resume the day's work."
SYDNEY SMITH AND HIS HORSES.
Sydney Smith, when rector of Foston-le-Clay, in Yorkshire, a living
which he got from Lord Chancellor Erskine in 1806, was in the habit of
riding a good deal. His daughter says that, "either from the badness of
his horses, or the badness of his riding, or perhaps from both (in spite
of his various ingenious contrivances to keep himself in the saddle), he
had several falls, and kept us in continual anxiety."[232] He writes in
a letter--"I used to think a fall from a horse dangerous, but much
experience has convinced me to the contrary. I have had six falls in two
years, and just behaved like the three per cents. when they fall. I got
up again, and am not a bit the worse for it any more than the stock in
question." In speaking of this he says, "I left off riding for the good
of my parish and the peace of my family; for, somehow or other, my horse
and I had a habit of parting company. On one occasion I found myself
suddenly prostrate in the streets of York, much to the delight of the
Dissenters. Another time my horse Calamity flung me over his head into a
neighbouring parish, as if I had been a shuttlecock, and I felt grateful
it was not into a neighbouring planet; but as no harm came of it, I
might have persevered perhaps, if, on a certain day, a Quaker tailor
from a neighbouring village to which I had said I was going to ride, had
not taken it into his head to call, soon after my departure, and request
to see Mrs Sydney. She instantly, conceiving I was thrown, if not
killed, rushed down to the man, exclaiming, 'Where is he?--where is
your master?--is he hurt?' The astonished and quaking snip stood silent
from surprise. Still more agitated by his silence, she exclaimed, 'Is he
hurt? I insist upon knowing the worst!'--'Why, please, ma'am, it is only
thy little bill, a very small account, I wanted thee to settle,' replied
he, in much surprise.
"After this, you may suppose, I sold my horse; however, it is some
comfort to know that my friend, Sir George, is one fall ahead of me, and
is certainly a worse rider. It is a great proof, too, of the liberality
of this county, where everybody can ride as soon as they are born, that
they tolerate me at all.
"The horse 'Calamity,' whose name has been thus introduced, was the
first-born of several young horses bred on the farm, who turned out very
fine creatures, and gained him great glory, even amongst the knowing
farmers of Yorkshire; but this first production was certainly not
encouraging. To his dismay a huge, lank, large-boned foal appeared, of
chestnut colour, and with four white legs. It grew apace, but its bones
became more and more conspicuous; its appetite was unbounded--grass,
hay, corn, beans, food moist and dry, were all supplied in vain, and
vanished down his throat with incredible rapidity. He stood, a large
living skeleton, with famine written in his face, and my father
christened him 'Calamity.' As Calamity grew to maturity, he was found to
be as sluggish in disposition as his master was impetuous; so my father
was driven to invent his patent Tantalus, which consisted of a small
sieve of corn, suspended on a semicircular bar of iron, from the ends of
the shafts, just beyond the horse's nose. The corn, rattling as the
vehicle proceeded, stimulated Calamity to unwonted exertions; and under
the hope of overtaking this imaginary feed, he did more work than all
the previous provender which had been poured down his throat had been
able to obtain from him."