THE EVILS WHICH ARE OCCASIONED BY MODERN STABLES.
Those gentlemen who have deeply studied such subjects, assert that man
is incapable of originating a single idea. Certainly an intelligent
being would not have been required to originate anything if, when
intending to confine an active animal, he had been expected to credit
the joyous creature with the common attributes of life. It could have
evinced no excessive servility if, before the building was raised for
such a purpose, nature and her requirements had been, in some slight
measure, considered.
It obviously is folly for mortal pride to contend against those
ordinizations which govern the universe. However, in the case of
exercising power over the horse, centuries of defeat and ages of loss
seem incapable of causing mankind to relinquish a hopeless struggle.
The strife has been going forward almost from the commencement of
time; nevertheless, human beings, though always beaten, press onward
to perpetuate the contest. They scorn to retreat, and will suffer
rather than own a victor; they will not, to make an advantageous peace,
desert a silly custom or discard an ancient usage. They can sustain
punishment; they can endure chastisement; but, like land crabs, when
once upon the march, they cannot deviate from the line which they
have adopted. They can abuse the master, but they cannot listen to
the instructor. “Nature,” men exclaim in chorus, “is very stubborn.”
“Horse property,” respond another gang of culpables, “is particularly
hazardous!”
All this noise, however, might at any moment be avoided, would the
human race only stoop to employ a little reflection. Would man not
fight quite so obstinately, but merely think over the cause of combat,
he might possibly be a gainer in happiness as well as in pocket. Could
he only condescend to admit the horse is a living creature, he would
take a step toward his recognition of the truth, because a fact would
have been acknowledged. This being granted, then let mortals, in their
collective capacity, decide in what the lowest proof of life--mere
animal existence--does prominently consist.
It does not require any vast expenditure of thought to discover that
life is action; “to be,” is synonymous with “to do;” therefore it
is a sheer necessity of existence that an animated being must be
doing something. Such is the primary consequence of existence. Thus,
to breathe and to move, imply one act; since, if the lungs cease to
dilate, respiration immediately terminates, and, with it, animation
comes to an end. Yet it remained for mortal perversity to rebuke the
first principle of established philosophy, when stables were built in
which a breathing animal was to be treated as it were an inanimate
chattel.
Nature, like a kind mother, is to this day endeavoring to teach her
wayward children a plain truth, which they may hourly behold enforced
by visible examples. The willful brood appears to be in no hurry to
learn. Man still treats the horse as though he honored the quadruped
by enslaving it, and ennobled a life by conferring upon the animal the
title of his servant. He acts as though, by such conduct, sufficient
reason was exhibited why he should oblige the creature to resign its
instincts and relinquish its desires.
The equine race, when in a wild state, are gregarious, or congregate
in herds. Man captures such a quadruped and places it in a stable,
built to enforce the extreme of solitary confinement. The plain is the
natural abode of the herd; on their speed depends both their pleasure
and their safety. Man ties the domesticated horse to a manger, and
pays a groom to enforce absolute stagnation upon innate activity. The
“panting steed” is the most timid of living beings. Man insists the
charger is possessed of extraordinary courage; he declares it delights
in the tumult of battle; and he esteems it a glorious achievement to
brutally coerce the timorous sensibility. The mild-eyed horse is,
perhaps, the most simple of all the breathing beauties which adorn a
wondrous world. Man declares all of the gentle breed have dangerous
propensities, and are most inherently vicious.
Before subjugation, the creature fed off the surface of the earth. Man
builds a house specially designed for the captive, in which the corn is
placed on a level with the chest, and the hay is stationed as high up
as the head. The animal is gifted with affections; it longs to gratify
their promptings; it yearns for something upon which its abundant love
may gush forth,--a fellow-prisoner--a goat--a dog--a cat--a fowl; no
matter what, so it be some living object on which may be lavished that
excess of tenderness which, confined to its own breast, renders being
miserable. Man esteems it his primary duty to clear the stable of all
possible companionship; but the creature which would rejoice, were it
only permitted to worship its enslaver, he rarely approaches without a
loud voice, a harsh word, or a harsher blow announcing his presence to
the captive.
The inhabitant of such a prison, a domesticated horse miserably
drags through a shortened life, under human _protection_. The
nearest approach it can make to freedom is its period of exhausting
labor. It always rejoices to quit its confinement; but, enfeebled
by imprisonment, and subservient to man’s exactions, it ever gladly
returns to the place of its sorrow. In proportion as its limbs are
finely made and its actions are graceful is it prized. It is never
esteemed for its instincts or credited with intelligence. It lives
in so limited a space that, in comparison with the dimensions of its
abode, a man in a sentry-box dwells in a mansion; or a lion in a cage
roams over a domain. A reasonable and an intelligent being commands his
horse should be fastened to such a spot, and supposes that a living
organism is to endure the confinement which does not permit the body to
turn round; that animated functions are to exist where most ordinary
exercises are rendered impossible: nevertheless, he anticipates the
creature will appear bounding with health in answer to his requirements.
To be sure, the prisoner, although its head be fastened, (a restraint
not imposed upon the most savage of carnivorous beasts,) is permitted
now to bear upon one leg, and then to change it for the other. It may
perhaps lie down or stand up, without provoking chastisement. Neither
head nor tail are forbid a _proper_ degree of motion. But at this
point all indulgence is exhausted. It is tied to a rope two yards in
length; but it may not go even to the extent of its tether; neither may
it move close up to the manger; both acts are equally unpardonable: a
_properly_ behaved animal should stand quietly in the center of its
compartment, and always remain there when not lying down.
It is beaten if its head be raised just to peep over the paling, to
exchange a rub of the nose and to give, as well as accept, a warm
stream of fragrant breath to and from its nearest fellow-misery.
It must taste the full flavor of its captivity: no trivial act may
distract attention from the horror of its position. It must lie down
where it stands; and stand where it laid down. It must not display the
grace and ease of motion with which it has been endowed; nor must it
indulge the kindly feelings Providence has gifted it with. To exert
the faculties which the All-wise has planted in a beautiful body, man
regards as evidence of its vicious disposition; though it has yet to be
demonstrated that nature ever bestows any quality without an intention
that the gift should be actively employed.
The feelings of the master are more than sympathized in by the groom. A
servant’s pride always induces him to exaggerate both the virtues and
the vices of his employer. What in the superior is a mere anticipation,
which gratifies when it becomes realized, in the bosom of the dependent
swells to a positive demand, compliance with which it is noble, at
every hazard, to insist upon. The man, therefore, permits the cat to
pur; but among the horses he is resolved to enforce the extreme of
quietude.
The menial does not inquire whether an exquisite adaptation of sight,
so as to inspect the minutest particle and to view the most distant
object; whether a sensibility of hearing, to which movements are
audible, when to the duller perceptions of the proprietor no sound
vibrates on the air; whether a keenness of scent which can appreciate
qualities in substances that to human sense are devoid of odor; or
whether that fleetness of motion, which the Creator permitted as
a protection, the ease of which machinery, when urged over common
roads, has failed to rival,--the servant does not inquire whether such
attributes were given by nature only to be fastened by the head, or to
be confined within a space in which absolute stagnation must ultimately
induce bodily incapacity. For nature’s intentions the groom cares
nothing. “He has his doty to discharge and he will do it! Master wishes
the osses to be kept quiet on a arternoon; and he’s the chap as will
see the guv’nor is not disappointed!”
Such a doom can alone be varied by the hours of labor and the periods
of feeding. To the animal thus surrounded, recreation is impossible,
and its lodging is so small that bodily ease is unattainable. Yet
the horse is kept for the use of its limbs; those who have observed
the quadruped canter round the field into which it has been newly
loosed, know that enjoyment is not incompatible with its existence.
No pleasure, however, can be permitted within the stable. There, the
slightest rustle or the gentlest indication of motion is jealously
noted. Most equestrians like their quadrupeds to be still after
feeding; because perfect quietude is supposed to promote digestion and
to encourage thrift among the horses. The groom loves silence, because,
to his mind, it is so nice and so respectable. Besides, when no sound
disturbs the monotony of the building, the groom can luxuriate in the
sense of absolute idleness--a feeling which most servants recognize and
enjoy. If any sound interferes with the afternoon’s luxury, a harsh and
taunting shout rebukes the inconsiderate disturber. “Now! Then! There!
What ails you?”
The dreaded accents of the tyrant’s voice may, for a space, banish the
oppression of captivity. The animals, under the influence of newly
awakened terror, may be enabled to shrink into absolute silence; but,
as the fear fades, the full reality of their position cannot otherwise
than be felt in all its horrors. Fed upon stimulating food, how their
spirits must languish, and how poignantly the aching limbs must suggest
those pleasures there is no prospect of the prisoners ever again
enjoying! Every little incident is seized upon with an eagerness which
attests the prevalence of utter despair. Should a visitor enter the
building, every head is raised and every eye is turned toward the
welcome intruder.
[Illustration: A STRANGER HAS ENTERED THE STABLE.]
The universal bustle which follows his appearance bespeaks how the
lucky arrival has allowed the limbs to be stretched and the positions
to be altered. For a moment or two, the straw is in audible commotion,
while the sinkers, or blocks fastening the collar reins, may knock
against the mangers, and the noise elicits no angry remonstrance.
But as joy hailed his appearance, so does the dullness deepen on the
stranger’s departure. From that moment, any relaxation becomes a fault.
All pastime is unlawful; the most innocent amusement must be practiced
silently and in secret. Certain animals, however, try to get through
the long hours of enforced idleness by quietly nibbling at the topmost
rail of the manger. Large portions of tough wood are often removed
after this fashion; and to him who can rightly interpret signs, a thick
post bitten away, fiber by fiber, will present melancholy evidence of
that longing for employment which could induce so great a waste of
perseverance; for animals are naturally great economists of labor.
[Illustration: NIBBLING THE WOOD-WORK.]
Other prisoners will endeavor to cheat the time by licking their
mangers, apparently in the hope that some stray grain of corn may have
escaped previous attention. The soft tongue of the horse, passed over
the hardened surface of the wood, occasions no noise. Often a few
grains will have lodged in the corners; then the effort to displace
these affords a long game. Others, from want of something to do, or
from finding impure air and inactivity do not, in accordance with
the general doctrine, promote equine digestion, learn “to crib;” a
few, from the operation of the like causes, become perfect as “wind
suckers.” All “speed the weary hours” as they best can; and many heads
are turned round to discover if it be feeding time again; not that they
are hungry, but eating is an occupation, and they sadly wish for some
employment.
Certain quadrupeds, under these circumstances, adopt a habit, which
is the more remarkable because hours of tedium have generated the
like indulgence in human beings. Mortals, when compelled to remain
stationary, and forced to preserve silence, often strive to kill
time by rocking to and fro, or by “see-sawing” their bodies. Such a
pitiable excuse for amusement is very common among the little people
whose undeveloped limbs are perched on high forms, and in whose hands
are fixed very uninteresting primers, from which the infant mind
wanders into vacuity during the hours of imprisonment which occur in
those abominations termed “Preparatory Schools.” The horse, also, when
forbidden the pleasures in which nature formed it to delight, will move
its head methodically from one side of its stall to the other, and will
continue thus engaged for hours together.
So exciting a pastime, most sane people might deem to be harmless
enough. It interferes with nobody; if it can amuse the solitude of
the creature, it should certainly excite no person besides. But in
the arbitrary notions of rectitude entertained within the stable,
such a very simple custom is punished as a positive “vice.” A horse
which “see-saws” is said “to weave,” and “weaving” is, by grooms,
esteemed highly culpable. What the poor animal is “weaving,” no one can
point out; but, supposing an idle time to be so creditably employed,
“weaving,” though not a highly remunerative occupation, nevertheless
does not usually entail penal severity upon the offender. But grooms
act upon their own convictions, and disregard the general morals of
mankind. When a monotonous sound, however gentle, but long continued
and regularly repeated, falls upon the ear of watchful ignorance, the
awful fact that one of the imprisoned is endeavoring to cheat its
misery, causes the lash to be grasped; the smart of a well-directed
thong cuts short the melancholy recreation, to inform the captive that
its keeper is determined the fullest flavor and the most distant relish
of the situation shall be silently appreciated.
The imagination cannot picture a harder fate! Man, under such a
doom, would be relieved by insanity. The horse has few pleasures;
but nature makes all life suffer acutely when forced to continue
inactive. The creature cannot seek occupation in what young ladies term
accomplishments. It has no power to consume its existence in silent
study. Like all animal vitality, its delight is to do, and that is
the very thing which the groom insists it shall not perform. It can
taste no other kind of pleasure. All created beings have some sphere
of enjoyment. Activity constitutes that of the equine race; but to
prevent an innocent creature knowing the only happy sensation of which
its nature is capable, the animal is placed in a compartment; tied up
to a manger; while, behind, there sits a man who is specially engaged
to chastise the smallest infraction of the prevailing silence of the
prison-house.
It remained for human perversity to conceive a life without a pastime,
and vexatiously to impose this terrible fate upon the creature whose
existence is devoted to man’s service. When in the field, the horse
is never idle. The only amusement of the simple animal lies in its
perpetual occupation. What a despairing sorrow must therefore afflict
such an existence, when dragging through its time under the fostering
care of the enslaver! Yet how proudly do some intellectual beings boast
of their stables and of the ceaseless attention lavished on their
studs! What is it this assiduity realizes to the creature on which it
is expended? Stagnation to the active, and solitude to the gregarious.
Movement draws down punishment, as it were a fault. Any attempt to
while away the tedious hours is esteemed “a vice;” sensation must
be checked, and feeling, man insists, shall be suppressed. But who,
among the millions of intellectual masters, sufficiently understands
the quadruped over which they all usurp authority, to regard the huge
bulk of that endurance as the embodiment of the acutest form of every
possible earthly misery?
To ascertain how far the foregoing remarks are founded upon reason, let
it be supposed that man and horse were to change places, though the
two animals, not being alike on the score of comprehension, no trial
could be exactly equitable. Restlessness of spirit is the invariable
attendant upon weakness of intellect. The advantage must, therefore,
preponderate upon that side where intelligence might lose a sense
of self in the excitement of thought, or where reflection could be
amused by passing observation. But, granting all advantages to the
human being, be it imagined that, for a single week, man inhabited a
stall; shut in from all society; standing on one spot by day, and lying
there by night; having the same food and the water brought to him at
regular intervals; being obliged to make his meals without turning
round; but, all the while, with his nose fastened close to a blank,
white wall. After one single week of such probation, what does the
reader conjecture would be the report delivered by the groom, who sat
behind with the whip, ready to enforce silence? In what respect, does
imagination picture, would be the distinction between man and horse?
Stable propriety conceives that the dumb inhabitant of such a building
is fitly occupied when gazing upon the whitened interior of its prison.
It is barely possible that stable-men may think this a most engrossing
amusement; but there evidently exist horses which are so naturally
perverse as to imagine that sight was, by an all-wise Creator, bestowed
for a more active purpose than to merely look at vacancy when at home,
and to be blinded by blinkers when abroad. These are, generally, the
new-comers. Colts, not thoroughly broken in, or quite inured to the
customs of civilized equine existence, are such wayward creatures!
In their inexperience, they are too impatient; the first taste of
captivity is apt to generate in them a desire to look around, or to
gaze on the fellow-beings about them.
Inspired by a feeling of dissatisfaction with the boards which human
care has placed on either side of their compartment, these youngsters
are likely to gratify the promptings of the moment, by rearing up and
by lodging the forefeet within the manger. Their heads are thus raised
above the limit of their partitions. Where the corn is commonly thrown,
the front hoofs now repose; and, as a consequence, the view instantly
becomes more extended. The scene is novel; the exalted quadruped can
exchange glances with its companions. The prospect is pleasing, and the
sensation it awakens is decidedly gratifying. But, unhappy creature!
While its eyes drink in delight, it cannot perceive the angered visage
of the groom; nor can it even think of his existence, till the smart
of a well-placed lash recalls the sufferer back to the hopelessness of
that solitude, under submission to which it can alone hope to escape
from positive torture.
This grave offense, like too many human failings, is engendered by
idleness. The offending animal was without occupation. Its spirit was
sick with inactivity. Therefore, in despair, it indulged that forbidden
gratification which most men in their own persons do not view as
meriting severe corporal punishment, or find to be a very stimulative
amusement, when, to kill time on a rainy day, they glance out of the
windows of their apartments. The equine sin was, however, of no greater
magnitude; if it could, with strict justice, be said to attain to such
lofty dimensions. The culpability, nevertheless, lay in an animal
acting as though it had a right to use its own life for its selfish
enjoyment. A horse obviously is the property of its master. The title
to such property is absolute. The creature, consequently, has no right
to act on its own authority; and to do this, regardless of the peril
incurred, is positively contemplative dishonesty, which merited the
heaviest possible visitation!
[Illustration: A HORSE WITH THE FORELEGS IN THE MANGER.]
The altitude assumed, certainly, was not altogether safe. Mangers are
built to merely uphold grain and chaff. Carpenters, in their collective
capacity, are a knowing set, and are notorious for manufacturing
articles of a strength merely proportioned to their uses. A heavy
weight resting on fragile boards might have broken or have displaced
some of them. In such a case, the animal having fallen through the
opening, probably would, in its fright, have fractured a limb. The
inside of its manger, assuredly, did not offer a secure foundation
for a steed to stand upon; but, when tracing causes, we are bound to
inquire, who or what provoked the act? The chastisement, it is true,
has, according to this world’s custom, been inflicted upon the weaker
and the more simple; but consummation of such an act cannot establish
the justice of the usage.
The circumstances of the case presuppose something condemnatory on the
part of the horse, the contemplation of whose conduct could excite
such indignation in the groom. This fact is further supported by that
surprise which mingled with the anger of the man. Even his habitual
lassitude was conquered, through the energy aroused by the spectacle of
such enormity! His bile boiled; his voice grew indistinct with passion;
would excitement have permitted clearness of speech, oaths might have
been overheard; the cat was thrown aside without the smallest show of
ceremony; the servant leaped to his feet; with evident determination he
seized the whip and essayed to punish the offense.
Discarding inferential evidence, and looking at the case for positive
testimony, it may be well, before we engage in such an inquiry, to
determine whether the horse has done wrongly, and whether the servant
has acted rightly--the conduct of each being temperately reviewed.
The quadruped, standing in the manger, and being naturally a timid
creature, the sight of a whip and the smart of its application might
cause the terrified life to perform several very energetic and
eccentric movements. If the animal’s fault laid in its mounting on so
frail a platform, that, certainly, was a reason which should not have
excited the groom to chastisement during the perilous position. Fear
often banishes caution, and the exhibition ground of the contention,
then, being specially limited, any alarm was calculated to provoke the
danger which it was the office, and doubtless the intention, of the
groom to dispel. During the struggles caused by sudden fright, hair is
often removed and sores established. A horse, surprised by terror, has
engendered fearful blemishes; troublesome wounds have been produced,
and prominences of bone have been fractured by the wild efforts of
timidity, when excited by horror. The horse had no business to stand
in the manger; but, being a non-reasoning animal, we may overlook that
transgression. The man, however, being an intellectual agent, did very
wrong in flogging the steed while the quadruped retained its perilous
position.
To beat a horse, admits of justification by appealing to custom; but
to flog a horse when tied to a manger and confined to a stall, is
certainly gratifying the human passion at the risk of injury to that
property which every owner is supposed to possess in the perfect
condition of his animal. Now man, being blessed with power to think,
violated his duty when he indulged his own instincts at the hazard of
harm to his employer, or when he chastised the colt for braving the
possibility of injury; since, by so doing, he was guilty of defying the
probability of damage, and therefore stands convicted of a worse fault
than that for which he punished his charge.
Let us now endeavor to ascertain the real extent of that misdeed the
contemplation of which provoked an amount of anger sufficient to
banish prudence from among the virtues of a reasonable being. The
colt is, in the first place, located and fastened within the stable.
The fact certifies to no choice having been exercised on the part
of the culprit; therefore it is blameless, so far as being inside a
building might imply an error. It was fastened within a defined and an
arbitrarily limited department. The animal, however, did not plan the
edifice, erect the partitions, or halter its own head to one of the
mangers; consequently, so far it must be esteemed guiltless. But the
creature, being there, leaped into a receptacle intended for food, and
placed before it, thus obtaining a power of seeing around it.
The last act argues discontent, and discontent has never been ranged
with amiable qualities. Still, it is not commendable to be contented,
when we possess ability to improve our situation. Eyes certainly
are natural gifts; their presence supposes a divine permission that
sight should be exercised, since the wish to use them is an innate
impulse. Man himself often endures much inconvenience and pays large
sums, simply to gratify his eyes with the momentary spectacle of some
gorgeous procession. The act, which has never been accused as a crime
in the lords of the creation, should not, therefore, be esteemed
unpardonable when exemplified by an animal which is occupying an
inappropriate position.
Next, let us ask, what excuse can be urged to extenuate a deed which
has already been shown to be less than a fault, and to be far removed
from the category of crime? The horse is formed by nature with a love
of action. In a modern stable it is tied by the head, while the stall
partitions are of sufficient height to isolate its misery. The poor
quadruped may have stood where it stands for several consecutive hours.
The manger is fixed directly before it; the receptacle has been empty
some time; the thing is clearly not wanted now to hold food: yet,
there the open box remains. The head is tied to it; the animal cannot
escape from looking on and into it; till speculation, which concern
the possible intention implied by the fixature of the article, takes
absolute possession of the equine mind.
At last a bright idea descends; the manger is thought to be placed
where it is, as an easy step for the animal’s feet to rest upon. The
wood-work is situated at a convenient distance from the ground. Man
could not have supposed the horse wanted victuals lifted to its mouth,
when every field exhibits one of the tribe lowering its head to gather
herbage from the earth? Such a notion is ridiculous! The corn must be
cast into the manger, simply because the thing is ready to receive it;
but its real purpose has only been recently discovered. A slight but
pleasing effort raises the forefeet on to the imaginary platform. The
creature is delighted with its elevated position, for the view from
it is agreeably extended. Assuredly, to discover a new use for an old
article, merits esteem; and blame, if any blame be called for, should
light on him who has imprudently placed temptation before an idle
spirit, believing animal nature to be too passive for any temptation to
affect it. Man, therefore, was disappointed by the quadruped proving
more intelligent than he bargained for. The exhibition of intelligence
should form no excuse for chastisement, though disappointment is too
apt to expend its rage in blows.
There remains, however, to decide whether the act on the horse’s part,
not being a fault, may be justly esteemed to be a virtue. A dull,
phlegmatic beast had slept away the time “between the feedings;” had
been content, so no exertion had been demanded. All men abhor what, in
stable phraseology, is termed “a slug.” It certainly is meritorious to
seize every opportunity of displaying that sort of temper which our
superiors desire should be presented. All horse owners love a gay,
lively, spirited nag. Leaping into the manger was a proof of animation.
The act may have violated stable propriety; but the simple nature of
the quadruped could not comprehend those regulations which man is
incapable of communicating to the equine understanding; therefore the
rules of the place were nothing to the captive. The culpability should
rest upon him who planned a building with fixtures capable of being
readily perverted. Leaping into the manger was certainly commendable,
so far as it testified to intelligence, intrepidity, and liveliness.
The blame must reside with him who doomed a gregarious creature to
solitary existence, and fixed before the prisoner a feeding trough,
certainly at an inviting altitude.
There is another supposed “vice” which animals doomed to lengthened
and solitary confinement occasionally exemplify. Some gentlemen own
several horses. Those parties possess ranges of stables, and every
stall is occupied. When a person has a stud at his command, he is
apt to conceive a dislike for riding. Days, and even weeks, may pass
without the saddle or the carriage being ordered for the master’s
gratification. During such a period, the grooms are supposed to give
the animals a healthful amount of exercise.
But when superiors neglect their duty, inferiors will probably follow
the example. A powerful propensity to imitate is one of the human
peculiarities; the truth of this observation is far more vigorously
illustrated in the stable than in the mansion. Much time may have
gone by since some of the horses sniffed the breeze or looked upon
the face of heaven; let the period be still further extended, and the
grooms will not complain. The quadrupeds may continue idle, and gorge
until their livers burst with disease; but their custodians can never
tire of too little employment. When an establishment is thus managed,
the grooms do not generally rise till the hour for morning exercise
has passed; if a stray thought of the captives should trouble their
consciences, the qualm is always quieted with, “Oh! let the poor devils
enjoy a long rest.”
Breach of one obligation, like the falling of a first brick, is seldom
a solitary mishap. The stable attendant, not being kept strictly to
his work, grows to regard his own likings more than to consider his
master’s orders. These people are always pleased with the exhibition
of fat. The proprietor may talk about condition; but the servant knows
his master’s favorite hunter should carry a “_little_” fat. It looks so
gentlemanly to see a horse that is well fed. Every groom has a rare,
secret nostrum which will load any animal with fat in a week. He will
spend his perquisites to purchase this mysterious powder, a spoonful
of which, given in a mash, at night, acts like a charm. At the same
time, he serves out the oats and beans pretty generously. He fills the
rack, heaps the manger, gives a dose of his secret mixture, and then,
slapping the horse under the flank, exclaims, “There, old boy! I think
you may enjoy yourself now!”
[Illustration: A HORSE WASTING THE HAY.]
We are told an alderman was once solicited for halfpence by a
crossing-sweeper, because the man was “so hungry.” The city magnate
paused, looked at his petitioner, and, with feeling, exclaimed, “Lucky
dog! I wish I was also hungry.” The horse, wanting exercise, stares at
the provender, but has no appetite. The food piled up before it is,
to the animal, no other than “matter out of place.” Desire is needed
to give value to such abundance; and a non-reasoning being cannot
be expected to prize that which it does not require. It cannot eat,
but it lacks amusement. The hay is before it. In sheer idleness, a
few stalks are pulled from the rack. Of these, one may be leisurely
masticated; but the remainder, after having been twisted about by the
lips, are allowed to fall upon the litter. The sport is followed up
until the rack is emptied; and the creature is a little happier, under
a conviction that it has escaped from absolute stagnation.
Yet, when we consider the heap of “prime upland” which has been
spoiled, the subject cannot be allowed to pass without one word of
inquiry. Who or what is to blame, when so much fodder is wasted? No
animal will prize food after its cravings are appeased. Fowls, having
eaten, trample the superabundant barley under foot; dogs will sleep
beside, or bury, a half-gnawed bone; nay, man himself, subsequent to a
good dinner, nauseates the greasy smell from the kitchen, and abhors
the sight of a reeking joint; school-boys form bread seals out of their
breakfast superfluity; and domesticated gentlemen, located at the
bottom of the table, have, when dinner was finished, been frequently
known to amuse their fingers by making crumbs upon the cloth. Then the
act of wasting victuals, after satiety has been achieved, being, with
various beings, all but universal, the deed cannot be urged as a heavy
accusation against a simple animal.
Yet the scattered hay having been observed by the master, the groom
then severely punishes the wasteful quadruped. In that case, however,
it is the master’s observation, which the animal could not possibly
prevent, that drew down its chastisement; the blows can establish no
fault on the part of the horse. Its stomach being crammed, the creature
could eat no more. The hay, however, was converted to some use. It
was made to lighten the heavy hours of captivity. Such a purpose may
not have fulfilled the proprietor’s intention; but it was the only
service the captive could put it to. The sin, if there be any sin,
certainly must remain with him who piled up provender before an animal
which was without an appetite. Waste was indulged when fodder was thus
misappropriated; and the horse endured punishment from the hand of
the individual who, had strict justice been administered, should have
received the lashes on his own person.
Simple natures, when entirely disengaged, generally make their
own employment, and that employment, being intended for a passing
amusement, commonly consists of what thrifty people designate
“mischief.” The knowledge that displeasure will follow upon discovery,
may spice the proceeding which otherwise might want interest. At all
events, so it is with children; and it may be thus with animals. When
a heaped manger is before a satiated quadruped, the impossibility of
feeding makes the creature meditate upon the uses to which the grain
can possibly be applied. None can be discovered. The head of the
captive is tied, and the manger is fixed. At length, in carelessness
of spirit, a mouthful is taken from the heap. The portion cannot be
swallowed, so the lips are moved, and, as they part, the corn falls
over them upon the ground. This may not be a very exciting recreation;
but the prisoner is restless with repletion. It cannot sleep; and the
grain passing over the lips, in which equine feeling concentrates,
produces a slight and a novel sensation.
[Illustration: WASTING CORN.]
Can any man seriously pronounce that an animal, standing in enforced
solitude and compulsory idleness, is to blame for such conduct? Boys,
during their school days, when wanting appetite, or having unnecessary
food before them, will not they, in satiety, play with needless
abundance? Are men to demand that prudence from an animal which we
should certainly not anticipate in the young of our own species? Yet
the child enjoys a certain amount of confidence; and its misdoing
is, therefore, aggravated by a certain abuse of trust. The horse is
confined between boards, and enjoys not the smallest personal liberty.
The severity of captivity argues that no reliance reposes upon the
captive’s discretion. All responsibility is lost, when all freedom of
action is denied. Yet the poor prisoner is cruelly beaten for playing
with food, although the true fault rested upon him who was too idle
to give the exercise which would have generated appetite; and was too
lazy to proportion the animal’s sustenance to the requirements of its
situation.
Moreover, if we had listened to the man’s speech, as he entered the
servants’ hall, we should have heard a boast, that the horse had
been _given_ a good supper. Now, when a thing is given, all right of
ownership passes away with the transfer. The groom, obviously, lost
every remnant of title to its possession when he presented the corn to
the animal as a free gift; and the beating which he administered to the
quadruped was, therefore, an act of wanton severity. The horse had as
great a right as the late Duke of Newcastle, to do as it pleased with
its own. The flogging could be no more than the gratification of an
evil passion--out of which motive is generated the most serious crimes;
and, consequently, it was anything but a commendable action in the
groom who needlessly chastised a quadruped.
Within the same stable is lodged young master’s favorite mare. It is
a beautiful creature: not so slight as to be weedy, but made to carry
weight with ease, with speed, and with action. The young master on this
occasion has traveled to London by rail, and the entire day has been
passed by the mare within the walls of its abode. The fellow quadrupeds
have had their exercise; but the groom dislikes this horse. It will
not remain by itself, while the pipe is enjoyed with a pint of “early
purl;” the man’s pride revolts against drinking his morning’s stomachic
in the street. Besides, the animal, when first taken into the open air,
will perform a variety of caperings. Young master likes such nonsense:
but more than once it has thrown the groom. The mare is, therefore,
abhorred with all the malice of a little mind. Yet the creature is
all grace and animation; it is only pleasantly excited, when its
master gets into the saddle. Can horses possibly possess aristocratic
predilections, and can the quadrupeds tell whether hirelings or
proprietors are seated on their backs?
The mare is no favorite in the stable. Its feeling of vitality is too
powerful to admit of that perfect quietude which the monarch of the
locker loves should pervade his dominion. It is always making some
noise. Moving about; looking around; nibbling the wood-work; soiling
its coat or rumpling its hair. A most perverse brute to look after! It
can’t be alone and continue quiet! It will not suppress its spirit;
hang its head and appear to fall asleep like the other wretches.
Such an animal, weary of captivity, has pawed its bed, till not a
single straw remains within the reach of the forefeet. The manger has
been repeatedly licked, till the possibility of a stray oat no longer
stimulates further endeavor. The quadruped has strained its neck and
elevated its head, till it is quite tired of staring around at nothing.
It lacks amusement, and is half inclined to provoke a beating rather
than endure the weight of silence and the horror of that monotony which
pervades its abode. In this state of restlessness, the vision alights
upon the collar-rope. It essays to catch hold of it. The cord, however,
being fastened near to the halter, of course it moves with every motion
of the head. The feat is not, therefore, so easy as to lack excitement.
The prisoner becomes quite elated. A new pastime has at last been
discovered!
At first the rope is seized between the lips. The tether, however,
often escapes from such a hold: the teeth, therefore, are ultimately
employed. The texture of the firmest cord is easily compressed by the
muscular power of the horse’s jaw! The substance is not unpleasant to
bite; nor is the taste of hemp altogether disagreeable. The teeth,
consequently, do not relinquish their grip with the termination of
the game. The thing is, from mere vacuity, bitten with different
degrees of force. Fiber after fiber yields, till, without any design
or the slightest intention, the substance is divided. The creature is
then released; but it does not at first comprehend that its bond is
destroyed. At length, the welcome truth is recognized, and, bounding
with delight, the released captive scampers about the gangway, peering
into forbidden places, and reveling in its temporary freedom!
[Illustration: GNAWING THE COLLAR-ROPE.]
The amazement of the groom is excited at the spectacle of a horse
enjoying liberty! No thought is wasted upon the intelligence which was
able to achieve so great a blessing. All animals, within the building,
are credited only with evil qualities; nothing praiseworthy is looked
for or expected to be displayed by them. The only virtue a horse is
esteemed capable of exhibiting is brutish submission. The groom, seeing
the creature roving about, exclaims in anger, “That wicket beast, agin!
It is up to every ‘vice!’”
Another and a stouter rope is procured. The fastening is renewed, and
made more strong than it was before. But what has been accomplished
once, will be repeated. It may be some days before limited intelligence
can recall the precise manner in which its accidental pleasure was
secured; but, after an interval, the audacious animal is again in
possession of unlawful license. Such occasions subsequently occur more
quickly. Till, at length, the groom, puzzled and aggravated by the
ingenuity of his charge, substitutes a thick chain for that which had
hitherto been represented by a hempen tether.
Iron is not so pleasant to the teeth, neither will it yield so readily
to force as did the hemp. The chain is, consequently, an effectual
check to some animals. Others, however, are not thus readily subdued.
The recollection of forbidden sweets, once tasted and longingly
remembered, stimulates their faculties. The teeth soon instruct the
understanding that iron cannot be bitten. Is there no other way of
breaking the fetter? All living things, when desirous of freedom, pull
violently against the bond which restrains them. The quadruped adopts
the general artifice. The chain stretches. It perceptibly yields. Then,
all the strength and weight are brought to bear: the fetter breaks.
Only, the door is locked for the night, when this second offense is
consummated; and the horse is the next morning discovered by its groom,
careering about the gangway or sharing the stall of a companion.
[Illustration: BREAKING LOOSE.]
That which one chain is powerless to retain may, nevertheless, be
confined by double fetters. The groom, accordingly, has a second ring
fixed upon the manger rail. A stout leathern strap is then buckled
round the upper portion of a horse’s neck. To that additional and
heavier chain, passing through the second ring, an extra sinker is
fastened. The head of the animal has, by this plan, to endure a double,
or more than a double, weight. A constant drag, therefore, does not
improve the carriage of the crest; but it may serve to remind the
quadruped of its recent successful plan of escape, while it certainly
cannot otherwise than stimulate the desire for liberty.
The struggles which, in the first instance, were so effective, being
now proved powerless, the groom would joyously chuckle over his
contrivance, only perseverance in the horse is causing its neck-strap
to interfere with the personal appearance of the animal. Constant
friction and perpetual strain have made an unsightly notch in the mane,
while the neck-strap has generated a circular mark totally devoid of
hair. The mane is nature’s embellishment, and neither horse nor lady
looks more pleasing, when their flowing tresses have been partially
destroyed.
This is very vexing. Yet, when bad begins, worse generally remains
behind. Animals which have adopted an idea seem incapable of
relinquishing the notion. The creature having once broken its tether
resorts to its former plan of operations; it pulls and pulls, only the
bonds not yielding to the same force as before, the horse, following
the groom’s principle, increases the strength requisite to overpower
the difficulty.
[Illustration: THE EFFECT OF THE COLLAR-STRAP.]
A man being defeated in his first essay, probably would resign himself
to sullen despair. But the horse is possessed of a different order of
mind. Man can conceive a futurity; animals have a knowledge only of the
past. All the tales told of animal instincts are capable of explanation
by reference to their experience. Chastisement or chiding must be often
repeated before brute intelligence can connect the infliction of pain
with the commission of certain acts. But, the two being associated,
the teaching is generally retained, and, apparently, remains as
fresh in the memory upon the day of death as it was upon the first
acknowledgment of the lesson. The horse is, however, expected only to
obey certain signs, and submit to certain restraints. Its intellect
remains, therefore, in a great measure uncultivated. What has been once
must be again, embraces the range of its understanding.
The additional chain, consequently, makes no alteration in the behavior
of the horse. Present failure only excites to increased exertion. The
entire weight and the utmost strength are brought to bear upon the
fastenings. The simple quadruped, incapable of calculating the probable
results of the sudden absence of resistance, plies with greater energy,
till the chains snap, and the huge body, instantaneously released,
shoots violently backward. Bones have been broken. Lameness is the
general result; but lucky, indeed, is the creature which can rise after
such a misfortune, and merely display several huge portions of its skin
abraded.
The reader is here invited to examine the facts which have resulted
in this serious damage to living property. To bind the strong is not
necessarily to subdue the strong. To fetter the creature in whose
welfare man has an interest, is evidently a defiance of probabilities,
though it may not have been intended so to operate when the bonds
were secured. The majority of horses can be stayed by a simple show
of authority. We see a boy hold an animal from which the strong man
has newly dismounted. So also would many a human culprit be secure in
the old-fashioned prisons. Jails, however, are not erected with any
regard for the passiveness of their inhabitants; but such edifices are
built of a strength which may defy the efforts of the resolute, and are
planned with an intent to counteract the ingenuity of the most cunning.
Not so with stables. These edifices are erected to confine a creature
possessing ten times the strength of any human being. The partitions,
however, are of wood, and the bonds usually of rope. Those who are most
fluent about the “vices” of the equine race evidently never thought
upon the possibility of the animal conceiving a wish to escape; for
so very unequal are most stables to their contemplated uses, that the
author has known a horse, in the delirium of agony, kick into ruins the
building which, during health, had for years served to confine its huge
capability of destruction.
[Illustration: THE CHAINS HAVE BEEN SUNDERED.]
The stable, however, is essentially a prison; and so long as it retains
that character, it should be of sufficient strength to resist the
wildest efforts of the captives. Not being thus, it reflects disgrace
on those who put it to uses for which the building is unsuited. The
animal, being in bondage, loses all responsibility. Its safe custody is
the duty of its self-constituted keepers. It has no trust reposed in
it; and, obviously, can violate no faith. It is held in durance by the
right of the strong; and if in the struggle which ensues it can prove
the strongest, clearly the right which imprisoned it is upturned.
In another point of view, the decision must be favorable to the animal.
Nature has gifted the horse with faculties, and blessed it with
instincts. Foremost among these faculties is, a facility of varied
motion, displayed in particular yearnings; as a fondness for fresh air,
green fields, and a desire to roam abroad, unfettered, in the company
of its kind. Man violently seizes the quadruped; without caring for
the innate promptings of nature, he forces his slave to live, severed
from all its longings and away from all it loves. Which is the horse
to obey? Is it to deny the charter planted by its _Maker_ within its
bosom? Or is it any crime to rebel against the will which will shorten
its life, withhold its pleasures, and cripple its body,--studying
nothing but the pigmy’s personal gain and heartless advantage?
Then, when the reader turns to the consideration of the custodian’s
conduct. Had the circumstances deprived him of all choice, and limited
his means of restraining to a doubling of the customary bonds? It is
folly for the weak to engage in a muscular contest with the powerful.
It is madness for the feeble to place dependence on straws, when the
design is to bind a giant. In both respects the groom was in fault. Had
he only thought for an instant, reason would have suggested that plan
by which the resistance of the horse might have been subdued, and his
master’s property might have continued uninjured.
The animal’s struggles expressed merely a dislike to the rope attached
to the head. Two fastenings were not calculated to remove the
abhorrence which a single bond excited. Had the horse been led from the
stall and placed in the solitary chamber of a loose box, the change had
quieted its spirit. At so small an expense might all the subsequent
damage have been avoided. But a loose box does not acknowledge the
pride of man, to use all the life with which this world abounds
according to his convenience. It was for pride’s sake that mortality
waged the battle; and in loss did pride undergo defeat.
Endeavor to explain the reason why a valuable horse has been damaged,
to any professed groom, and try to make him understand how the
miscalled accident might have been avoided;--the man, while you are
speaking, will put on that look of dogged indifference which informs
you the fellow has closed his comprehension against every argument.
When you cease talking, the servant stares you in the face, and
replies, “He wants no gentl’man to teach him his doty;” and, by so
saying, announces a determination to persevere in that course of
conduct which has induced such lamentable consequences. There are
men in this world who only employ their reason to perpetuate their
ignorance. It is one thing to teach; but it is more difficult to find a
pupil willing to be instructed.
In many genteel families, stables are esteemed as places in which
lumber may be stored; while grooms are regarded as odd men, always
ready to be engaged upon any passing necessity. The stable attendant
is seldom upon the locker; and the one animal, kept for fashionable
purposes, is commonly left much to its own society. The creature,
thus housed, does not generally get its meals with regularity. Many
hours are made longer, endeavoring to discover the pastime which shall
lighten the tedium of its confinement. A melancholy game with such
quadrupeds consists in an endeavor to hit the collar-rope with the hoof
of the fore extremity.
This recreation, to the reader doubtless appears easy; but to the horse
it presents difficulties sufficiently numerous to keep up excitement.
The rope is a small object; it is situated high up; it occupies a
central situation. The sinker to which it is attached keeps it always
straight, and prevents it from being lowered. The cord, moreover, being
fastened to the head of the quadruped, moves with every motion of the
body; the neck cannot be held stationary when the limb is raised to
any unusual height. The game may endure for months, without the animal
being so unfortunate as to succeed. At length the hoof hits the mark
and becomes fixed. The horse instinctively pulls against any restraint.
The tether is thereby rendered tense, and the pain of the situation
becomes extreme. At last, by a violent effort, the foot passes over
the bond, and the poor captive is fixed, until the groom enters the
building and removes the sinker.
[Illustration: A FORELEG OVER THE COLLAR-ROPE.]
The lightest consequence must be, the hair abraded from the back of
the limb, the skin lacerated, and the muscles of the neck sprained by
the efforts to escape from constriction. Lameness, of some duration,
is the usual result. Inquire the cause of mishap, and the groom will
petulantly inform you “it were occasioned by the pranks of that fidgety
beast, which is always up to some mischief.” Perhaps you object to
this explanation, replying, “‘Mischief’ is not a fitting term, since
it supposes intentional annoyance to another; whereas the horse has
injured no one but itself.” The man stares with surprise, and rejoins,
“Ar’nt it, though! But it has injured me! When shall I ever hear the
last of it?” Truly, the stable mind must quit the scene of its present
labors, before it will submit to be enlightened. It is now so protected
by a wall of selfishness, ignorance, and prejudice, that it is open to
no assault.
This misfortune is, however, gravely reckoned one of the “vices” of
the stable. It is seldom repeated; but a single instance is sufficient
to confer the “vicious” character. Poor animal! When even mishaps are
regarded as the planned results of its deliberate wickedness. Having so
many virtues, yet not credited with a single good quality! Wholly and
entirely misunderstood! Else, who in this accident would not perceive
intelligence striving to invent some solitary pastime, which might
while away the flagging hours? Else, who would not recognize that this
evil arose out of the foolish custom of tying up an active creature to
a manger? Else, who could fail to discern that a loose box would have
rendered such an injury a positive impossibility?
The author is aware that were horses fitly housed and properly
treated, the expense of maintaining these creatures must be increased.
But against all additional cost there are benefits to be balanced.
The animal would live more than thrice as long; it would, for so
much greater period, be fit for its master’s service. The accidents
occasioned by modern stables would be abolished; the sickness and the
disease, produced by inappropriate food, by rigid confinement and
impure air, would cease to exist. With change of building, there should
also be a thorough change in the stable attendant. The present race of
knowing deformities are too full of tricks to be worthy a gentleman’s
trust. The groom should be forbidden ever to mount an animal, save in
obedience to his superior’s special command. Now the men ride at their
pleasure; as a consequence, they very rarely walk. The quadruped is
supposed to be only one person’s property; but the poor drudge has to
serve “two masters.”
Under the present system, the horse is relinquished to the pleasure of
the servant. The man’s report constitutes the all of a proprietor’s
knowledge. The mansion, therefore, reflects the ignorance and the
prejudice of the stable. The persons occupying the buildings should
change places. Most masters ride slowly, merely exercising the nags.
Most grooms love speed, and in reality wear out the lives which
credulity thinks sacred to another’s service. Yet, though surrounded
by abuse, ill-treated and often robbed of its food, the creature has
no voice with which to accuse or to complain. There is no one who even
cares for its welfare. It is credited with every “vice” and supposed to
delight in malice. It is imprisoned, beaten, libeled, and nevertheless
gentlemen are often encountered who pride themselves upon the care and
the money which are lavished upon their stables.
When all that concerns mankind--the formation of their houses, their
kind of food, their dress and manners, their laws and customs--have,
with the progress of the period, thoroughly changed; even to such an
extent has this alteration been accomplished that it has been often
said, were our ancestors resuscitated, they would not recognize the
land of their birth; it becomes very painful for the mind to perceive
that the habits and usages which formerly surrounded the horse remain
to this day all but unaltered. It is a proof of the indifference which
encircles the stable, when the buildings erected to receive horses at
the Royal Veterinary College, and which date from the last century,
are, at the present moment, regarded as models of perfection. Man cares
only for himself: of his property in the life which he imprisons, he
evidently takes no heed. He pays dearly for his carelessness; and “the
beast within his gate” shares none of those blessings which Providence
has allowed the human race to enjoy, although religion should teach him
that the mere mention of such a possession by Deity, ought to enforce a
duty upon humanity!
Another so-named “vice” of the horse is frequently the occasion of more
serious results than any of the before-mentioned accidents. No person
has hitherto explained why the skin should be more irritable by night
than during the daytime. Such, however, is the case with horses, as it
is with men. A quadruped in the morning is often found disfigured by
the hair being removed from comparatively large surfaces. Itchiness has
provoked the animal to rub itself against any prominence, or to scratch
its body with the toe of its iron shoe; this indulgence has caused the
blemish.
Itching and scratching are numbered among the worst “vices” of the
stable. Such faults, however, are only discovered in their effects; the
groom never estimates, when flogging an animal for this wickedness,
how far the abhorred sin may have been produced by stimulating diet,
by want of exercise, and by impure atmosphere. No! He clothes up the
body of the animal; shuts every window; stops every cranny; and locks
the stable door for the night. The last meal being consumed, and the
quadrupeds not being inclined for sleep, they one and all begin to
itch. Legs are nibbled; necks are rubbed; and tails are lashed. At
length one is sensible of an irritation behind the ear. The head is
turned toward the side; the body is curved to the full extent; and the
hind leg brought forward. Then, the groom not being present, the toe of
the hind shoe can touch the part, and the horse luxuriates in a hearty
titillation.
When the head was turned toward the quarters, however, the collar-rope,
being attached to the halter, was also stretched in that direction.
The hind foot having performed its office, a desire is felt to return
it to the natural position. The attempt is made; but this is found to
be impracticable. The creature strains against the opposing force, but
its struggles only render its comfortless attitude the more fixed.
The truth is, that while devoted to the act which allays cuticular
irritability, the pastern has slipped over the collar-rope. Such a
mishap not only fixes the leg, but fastens the head. With the neck bent
and one leg disabled, the animal cannot exert half its power; neither
can simplicity comprehend the source of its unnatural constraint.
Long continuance of the position becomes painful; alarm seizes upon
timidity; the struggles grow desperate; and the poor quadruped, at
length, is cast with terrible violence upon the straw which had been
shaken down for its repose.
[Illustration: CAST IN THE COLLAR-ROPE.]
The animal is lucky which should be overthrown in a limited space and
escape serious misfortune. It can hardly encounter such an accident and
rise from the ground uninjured. The slightest consequences are contused
wounds or fractures of small osseous prominences. The worst result,
however, usually follows the body being forcibly contorted throughout
an entire night. Bones have been dislocated, or a limb has been so
sprained as never to have recovered its functions. Necks have never
afterward been restored to their pristine grace of motion; and, in
short, a valuable servant has, by such a misfortune, been so “wrenched
from its propriety,” as to be rendered utterly useless. Nevertheless,
the groom will persevere in hailing the fate of an animal which has
been cast in the collar-rope as a just punishment induced by the
sufferer’s inveterate “vice.”
Carters are open to complaint, because their horses are “cast in
the halter,” even to a greater degree than those of town grooms. In
agricultural districts, it is a common practice to turn the teams out
to graze during the night, and to take them from the field to work
in the morning. Some animals, however, prove troublesome to catch,
preferring the cool grass and partial liberty to exhausting toil
upon an arid roadway. To facilitate the capture of such quadrupeds,
many carters, when freeing the creature, will not remove the halter,
but suffer it to remain, because this affords a ready hold for the
person who fetches in the horses on the following day. The result is
easily anticipated. The ear itches. The foot, scratching the part,
gets entangled, and that which was a valuable horse on the previous
night, is found, in the dawning light, to be a disabled cripple, or a
worthless carcass.
The sane mind will, however, behold in this misfortune only a startling
proof of the folly which ties the head to a manger, and leaves the
animal at the hazard of a fearful accident. Such events have been
common ever since the race was first domesticated; yet, to this day,
the custom is practiced. Where one quadruped enjoys a loose box, ten
thousand are confined to the manger. Neither loss nor the spectacle of
the misery produced by his folly seems able to instruct man where the
life of another is delivered over to his keeping. As, in America, the
master coerces and lashes his slave, so, in England, do proprietors
starve, torture, and slay the animals which all pretend to love. The
devotion of a life cannot even purchase those necessaries which are
needful for the preservation of health. Though the strength and the
service are contingent upon the maintenance of bodily vigor, man,
with the capriciousness of tyranny, is neglectful of that upon the
continuance of which the value of his possession entirely depends.
It may be urged that the size of the horse’s body necessarily limits
the dimensions of its abiding-place. This is a strange reason; but it
is one commonly used among architects. We, however, do not apply the
principle to our own race. Because the Horse Guards are tall men, we do
not insist they should sleep in infants’ _cots_, or wear the clothes
of children. Giants are not forced to inhabit the houses fit only for
dwarfs. Neither do we carry out the maxim with other creatures. Large
rabbits boys put into large hutches. Were smaller horses desired,
ponies, even no higher than full-sized dogs, are not scarce. But
greater weight and strength enable the quadrupeds to perform larger
services. Does it not seem like meanness to select size for our own
purposes, yet, where the creature is concerned, to make size a motive
for stinting the necessities? The horse is useful to man in proportion
to its magnitude; and the poor slave, therefore, ought not to feel the
bulk to be its misfortune!
The author cannot here report the grooms’ opinions upon such a topic,
though, doubtless, these persons would be the advocates of misrule.
There is no class, however, which suffers more than stable-men, from
the present custom of confining horses. On cold, wintry nights, when
snow is on the ground, these persons, who generally live above the
stable, are often awakened from their first sleep, forced to leap from
warm beds, and, thinly clad, to hurry down stairs to quiet the horses.
The entire stable are lashing out at the same moment. Each hoof seems
to be leveled at the stall post, which all violently strike; hence the
disturbance.
But what occasions horses to kick by night? That question is perhaps
best answered by another. What occasions children to cry by night?
Both wake suddenly, and each finds darkness or solitude and silence
around it. The horse is a timid creature, and it is of a limited
intelligence. Children are not generally conspicuous for courage, and,
in them, the reason is undeveloped. Infants are born with a natural
sense of helplessness; hence they are the easy victims of alarm, and
when frightened, they scream aloud. Horses are brought into the world
with an instinctive dependence on the propulsion of the heels, and when
frightened, they kick. Children have startled up from fearful dreams,
and have screamed themselves into fits. Animals also dream; horses
having awakened suddenly, have used their heels as a defense, and have
been found lying dead upon the ruins of a battered wall in the morning!
The feet, when cast out, hit the stall post. The blackness of night
prevails throughout the place; or fear being kindled, the vision is
abused. No eye can pierce utter darkness, and terror lends shape or
form to every obstacle which the hoof encounters. The dread which sleep
has generated, the awakened perception seems to confirm. The animal
lashes out with redoubled violence. The noise made by the act soon
arouses its companions. Nothing is so sympathetic as horror. Armies
have been actuated by panics. Why, therefore, should animals escape
from such senseless emotions? When thousands of men have scampered away
from no existing peril, cannot the reader understand that many animals
may be impelled by a feeling of fear, when no danger is present?
This is sooner admitted, when it is perceived that the fancy is active
in proportion as the intellect is weak: the groom, not having a very
powerful understanding, nor having yet slept off the potions and
fumes of the previous evening, curses those “vicious varmints,” as he
shiveringly opens the stable door. No sooner, however, does the candle
illumine, or his presence destroy the loneliness of the place, than
fearful eyes cast backward glances, and seeing nothing, all instantly
becomes silent. Our engraving of the above incident represents every
horse in action; though, frequently, the more slothful will remain
passive, notwithstanding the tumult which prevails around them.
[Illustration: KICKING IN THE NIGHT.]
This is the effect invariably produced, as soon as the quadrupeds have
sufficiently mastered their terror to regain their natural perceptions.
Sometimes, however, a minute may elapse before consciousness is
perfectly restored. That is the period of danger. Many silly fellows,
impatient of their thin clothing, pierced by the frosty air, will
approach the animals, during the interval, without remembering that
though his voice may produce its usual effect, his costume is
altogether a disguise. The man not being recognized, his strange figure
may renew the general alarm: when the gangway, having on both sides the
hind feet of terrified horses projected into it, becomes anything but a
safe promenade.
Now, what produced this excitement of the stable? It was not the dream
of one animal which caused it. That may have commenced the tumult,
but it was not of itself necessary to the perpetuation of the uproar.
The hoof of one quadruped striking the stall post also was distinct
from the subsequent noise, which started into existence only with the
spread of alarm. Then was generated the terror; for the feeling must
have preceded the act, which announced itself by violence. It was the
darkness or the silent solitude of the night which allowed full play
to the fancy, and conjured up those shadows that drove the horses into
temporary madness.
Had not the heads been fastened, the animals, by moving about, could in
some measure have tested the reality of their fears. But, fastened to
one spot, the fact of having no ability to escape augmented that alarm
which the darkness of the stable and the oppression of silence caused
and subsequently confirmed. A loose box and a little light would have
rendered this noise an impossibility! The horse’s eye can see perfectly
in that dusk which to the feebler vision of man might represent an
approach to positive blackness. There are few horsemen who, when riding
by night, have not had reason to be grateful to the keen perception of
their four-footed servants. There are, however, fewer horsemen who are
aware whence the animal derives this faculty of distinguishing objects
in all but perfect darkness.
Cats, owls, and other creatures are popularly reported to see in the
dark. The discernment of every form of vision is disabled by _perfect_
darkness; but the eyes of such animals are so constructed as to collect
and reflect upon the optic nerve any remaining ray of light. The horse
has an eye endowed with a similar faculty. Most people must have
observed that horses assemble under the trees, and apparently sleep
during the daytime. Who, however, ever beheld one of the equine race
resting during the night? When summer prevails, night is the feeding
time of these quadrupeds. When the flies are no longer abroad, but the
dewy grass is cool and crisp to the bite,--when the absence of glare
soothes the sight is the period of equine enjoyment and the season of
equine watchfulness. Does not the reader acknowledge intention in such
circumstances? The carnivora, all of which delight in the flesh of the
steed, prowl by night, and abound in those regions of which the horse
was originally a native. For the conservation of the tribe, therefore,
these creatures were formed very fleet, very enduring, but no less
quick to detect the approach of an enemy, being as restless by night
as the beasts which esteem the horse’s carcass a favorite repast.
The steed, therefore, does not require a chandelier to be fully
illumined and to be suspended in the middle of the gangway. An ordinary
night light would enable the animal to see perfectly over a large
building; and the expense, when divided among numerous individuals,
would for each be too small for any English coin to represent. No
light, however, could prevent some quadruped occasionally waking up,
and in the fright of imperfect consciousness flinging out both its
heels. Such accidents no forethought could anticipate. But a slight
flame, only sufficient to dispel absolute darkness, would mitigate if
not quite abolish those panics during which every foot in the stable is
employed to create the greatest attainable noise.
There is another so-called “vice,” which is more directly brought
home to the groom than any of the previous mishaps. Probably the
statement may, to the reader, appear impossible, which asserts that
the servant can impose upon the master so many of his own faults as
proofs of “mischief” on the part of an innocent quadruped which it is
the menial’s duty to look after. This cheat the fellow is enabled to
practice chiefly because he is supposed to be incapable of explaining
or of distorting those circumstances which he reports. Thus mishaps
are called according to their final effects; and no notice is ever
given to the causes which led to such results. A horse is said to have
“leapt into the manger;” “to have broken loose;” “to have gnawed the
collar-rope;” “to have got one leg over the collar-rope;” “to have cast
itself in the collar-rope,” etc.
Were inquiries instituted, the truth, no doubt, would be speedily
discovered, and long ago a remedy would have been apportioned.
No domestic, however, enjoys so much of the master’s implicit
confidence as he who governs the stable. Persons, moreover, of the
class respectable are far more swayed by their servants than might
be pleasant for the gentlemen to acknowledge. Under this feeling, a
vast amount of abuse lies concealed, for the weakness is by no means
responded to by respect from the inferior. The “respectable” is always
asserting his dignity, and afterward compounding for hastily-spoken
words. The groom neither forgets nor forgives these verbal injuries,
although his mind is amply stored with maxims against upstarts, to
protect his vanity from any wholesome teaching which the admonitions
might convey.
Gentlemen, when detained late abroad, generally ride home fast;
partly, from a consciousness that it is long past their usual hour of
“retiring for the night,” and partly, because they know the groom is
“waiting up” for their return. When the stable is reached, the coat
of the horse may be wet with perspiration; or a badly-made saddle
may have disturbed the smoothness of the hair; or the night may prove
rainy, and the animal be brought home drenched to the skin. There are
other causes; but be they what they may, the master walks off to bed,
while the servant, noting the example, extracts from it no additional
humor to discharge his duty. The man is, likewise, cross and sleepy.
He turns the horse into the stall without attempting to dress it. He
places oats and hay before the quadruped, and says, “If gentl’men will
remain out till all ’ours o’ the night, they may sit up and dress
their oss ’emselves; for it is rather too much to expect any se’vant,
after a ’ard day’s work, to keep out of his bed and do it for ’em.”
Accordingly, the man hurries to his room, and soon sleeps soundly.
The quadruped, when the satisfaction of hunger allows the personal
feelings to be appreciated, becomes aware that the partial dryness
of the coat has produced much irritability of the skin. The animal,
therefore, throws itself down, and commences to enjoy the luxury of
a roll among the straw. Darkness disables the vision; but, were the
light at its greatest power, the horse, in its state of torture,
would probably notice nothing about it, for domestication destroys
the natural instincts of all animals, making man the custodian of the
cares as well as the bodies of the captives. The paving of the stall,
also, being highest near to the manger, the inclination of the floor,
together with the writhing of the body, occasions the quadruped to
insensibly slide backward, until the tension of the collar-rope forbids
its further progress.
This check induces the wish to rise; an attempt is made to bring the
legs under the body for that object. But as this movement is endeavored
to be accomplished, the hinder shins strike violently against some
hard substance. The effort is renewed again and again; till the
animal, deprived of sight and prevented from supplying the loss of
one sense by the exercise of another, ultimately becomes alarmed, and
the struggle commences, during which the hind legs are certain to be
bruised, abraded, or other evils are sure to be inflicted upon the
organs of propulsion. Nor is this all the peril in which the creature
is now placed. Noise awakens the natural timidity of the companions;
and should other horses be startled by the violent drumming on the
partitions, probably they will become the victims of alarm. The sight
of the animals is likewise useless in the utter darkness; and horses,
when frightened, usually “hang back,” or try to escape from the ropes
which fasten the heads to the several mangers.
Under such an impulse, the obtruding legs stand a good chance of being
broken; and the animal then must remain in its misery till master has
approved the employment of a pistol. Should nothing beyond bruise
and abrasion be present, the groom himself undertakes the immediate
relief. Another man is procured, and the knot below the sinker being
untied, the head is released from the manger. But it is not usual for
quadrupeds, after such a misfortune, to rise immediately. However, the
servant always hopes for the best, so he and his assistant jointly pull
at the tail till the legs are free from impediment, and then leave the
wounded creature for master’s wonder and inspection.
[Illustration: A HORSE CAST BY ROLLING IN THE MANGER.]
[Illustration: A HORSE BEING RELEASED FROM THE PREVIOUS SITUATION.]
The remedies applied to all injuries (excepting fractures) which occur
in the stable are equally simple, and few in number. These consist of
a lotion, composed of two ounces of tincture of arnica, which is put
into a pint bottle, to be subsequently filled up with water. This is
used till all symptoms of bruise or swelling have disappeared, after
which another lotion is to replace the first. This last is formed by
adding one grain of chloride of zinc to every ounce of water, or one
scruple to each measured pint of fluid. These lotions are to be applied
frequently, not directly to the injury itself, but a sponge, saturated
with each liquid, is to be squeezed dry above the sore, the moisture
being allowed to trickle over the wound.
The strongest testimony, however, against stables, as such buildings
are at present erected, is perhaps borne by the animals which inhabit
those places. The horse is a delicate test, which man would do well
to attentively observe when he is desirous of ascertaining the
healthfulness of any locality. Naturally it is all animation and gayety
of spirit. But, however much these qualities may be esteemed, such
equine recommendations will soon fade before the joint influence of
impure air and close confinement, although you may groom and feed at
discretion. The natural period of life is diminished one-half, while
much more than half of the remaining years is rendered useless by age,
prematurely brought on by inappropriate treatment.
[Illustration: THE EXPRESSION OF COUNTENANCE INDUCED BY LONG STAGNATION
IN THE STALL OF A WELL-PROVIDED STABLE.]