PHYSIOGNOMY OF THE HORSE—SAGACITY, FIDELITY, SOCIABILITY, &c.;
ANECDOTES—INSANITY.
THE physiognomy of the horse is an interesting subject. Those who have
made it their study can read the animal’s passions and purposes in his
face. The following hints on this topic are chiefly from Professor
Youatt:—
The eye enables us with tolerable accuracy to guess at the animal’s
temper. If much of the white is seen, he is not to be lightly trusted.
The mischievous horse is always slyly on the look out for opportunities
to indulge his malice, and the frequent backward direction of the eye,
which makes the white most perceptible, is only to give surer effects to
the blow which he is about to aim.
The quality of the horse’s vision differs from that of man. The former
can take in a wider range in consequence of the lateral position of the
eyes and their distance apart; and when the animal, with its head down,
is quietly grazing, it can see objects with facility in every direction
round it. Man’s vision is more limited in range, but it is probable more
acute, because the black lining of the human eye renders it a more
perfect camera obscura, and gives more vividness to the pictures formed
within it. The lining membrane of the horse’s eye is of a beautiful sea
green colour, in consequence of which it absorbs so much the less light,
and thereby affords increased power of vision in the night. Every rider
must be aware from experience that his horse can discern surrounding
objects, when the gloom of evening conceals them from his own eyesight.
All animals who have to seek their food by night have the interior of
the eye more or less bright; in the wolf and the dog it is grey; and in
all varieties of the cat species it is yellow; the eyes of the lion have
been compared to two flaming torches in the night. There are individuals
of the human race called Albinos, whose eyes look red like those of
ferrets, from the absence of the usual black pigment, and these persons
are almost blind by day, but see with ease in what to other men seems
thick darkness.
“Many persons erroneously suppose that the flow of tears, caused by
bodily pain or emotions of the mind, is peculiar to man. But Shakspere
says of the wounded stag:—
“The big round tears
Coursed one another down his innocent nose
In piteous chase;”
and horses are repeatedly seen to weep under acute pain or brutal usage.
Mr. Lawrence, speaking of the cruelty exercised by some dealers in what
they call “firing” a horse before he is led out for sale, in order to
rouse every spark of mettle, says, “More than fifty years have passed
away, and I have before eyes a poor mare stone blind, exquisitely
shaped, and showing all the marks of high blood, whom I saw unmercifully
cut with the whip a quarter of an hour before the sale, to bring her to
the use of her stiffened limbs, _while the tears were trickling down her
cheeks_.”
The size, setting on, and motion of the ear, are important points. Ears
rather small than large, placed not too far apart, erect and quick in
motion, indicate both breeding and spirit; and if a horse is in the
frequent habit of carrying one ear forward, and the other backward, and
especially if he does so on a journey, he will generally possess both
spirit and continuance. The stretching of the ears in contrary
directions shows that he is attentive to every thing that is passing
round him; and while he is doing this he cannot be much fatigued, or
likely soon to become so. It has been remarked, that few horses sleep
without pointing one ear forward and the other backward, in order that
they may receive notice of the approach of objects in every direction.
When horses or mules march in company at night, those in front direct
their ears forward, those in the rear direct them backward, and those in
the centre turn them laterally or across; the whole troop seeming thus
to be actuated by one feeling which watches the general safety.
The ear of the horse is one of the most beautiful parts about him, and
by few things is the temper more surely indicated than by its motion.
The ear is more intelligible even than the eye; and a person accustomed
to the horse can tell, by the expressive motion of that organ, almost
all that he thinks or means. When a horse lays his ears flat back on his
neck, he most assuredly is meditating mischief, and the stander by
should beware of his heels or his teeth. In play the ears will be laid
back, but not so decidedly or so long. A quick change in their position,
and more particularly the expression of the eye at the time, will
distinguish between playfulness and vice.
The hearing of the horse is remarkably acute. A thousand vibrations of
the air, too slight to make any impression on the human ear, are readily
perceived by him. It is well known to every hunting man, that the cry of
hounds will be recognised by the horse, and his ears will be erect, and
he will be all spirit and impatience, a considerable time before the
rider is conscious of the least sound. Need any thing more be said to
expose the absurdity of _cropping_? The cruel and stupid custom of
cutting off the ears of the horse began (to its shame be it said!) in
Great Britain, and was so obstinately pursued for many years, that, at
length, it became hereditary in some cases, and a breed of horses born
without ears was produced. Fortunately for this too often abused animal,
cropping is not now the fashion. The practice of lopping off two-thirds
of the tail, is more excusable, on the ground of convenience to the
rider. In wet weather and miry roads, the switching of a long drabbled
swab is not desirable. The question of long tails or short tails, is a
question between comfort and beauty of form. Now, much as we may value
the former, we think it ought not quite to overbear all consideration
for the latter; and we are glad to see that in this instance, too,
fashion is beginning to side with reason and good taste.
The lips of the horse are his hands; they serve both as organs of touch
and as instruments of prehension, as may be seen when the animal is
feeding. He gathers up his corn with them, and collects the grass into a
tuft before he bites it. The lips should be thin, but firm and regularly
closed. Flabby, pendulous lips indicate weakness or old age, or dulness
and sluggishness.
It is thought, perhaps, with some degree of truth, that indications of
character may be drawn from the shape of the nose: but the rules in this
case are the reverse of those applicable in judging of human noses; for,
in the horse, the prominent Roman nose bespeaks an easy, good-tempered
kind of beast, but rather of a plebeian order of mind and body; the
horse with a straight, or Grecian nose, may be good or bad tempered, but
not often either to any great excess; but a hollow nose (a cocked one,
as we should say, in speaking of the human face) generally indicates
some breeding, especially if the head is small, but occasionally
accompanied by a vicious, uncontrollable disposition. “There is another
way, however,” says Mr. Youatt, “in which the nasal bones do more
certainly indicate the breed; viz., by their comparative length or
shortness. There is no surer criterion of a well-bred horse than a
broad, angular forehead, prominent features, and a short face; nor of a
horse with little breeding than a narrow forehead, small features, and
lengthened nose. The comparative development of the head and face
indicates, with little error, the preponderance of the animal or
intellectual principle.”
As the horse breathes only through the nose, it is important that the
openings into that cavity should be free, and capable of dilating
sufficiently to allow of the passage of a large volume of air when the
animal is put to his speed. The expanded nostril is a striking feature
in the blood horse, especially when he has been excited and not
overblown. What a sudden effect is given to the countenance of the
hunter, when his ears become erect, and his nostrils dilate, as he first
listens to the cry of the hounds, and snorts and scents them afar off!
And the war-horse—“the glory of his nostrils is terrible!”
The following anecdote, related by Professor Kügler, of Halle, proves
both the sagacity and the fidelity of the horse:—A friend of his, riding
home through a wood on a dark night, struck his head against a branch of
a tree, and fell stunned to the ground. The horse immediately returned
to the house they had left, and which was now closed, for the family had
gone to bed. He pawed at the door until some one rose and opened it, and
then he turned about; and the man, wondering at the affair, followed
him. The faithful and intelligent animal led him to the place where his
master lay senseless. A still more interesting incident, of a similar
kind, occurred in this country:—A little girl, the daughter of a
gentleman in Warwickshire, playing on the banks of a canal which runs
through his grounds, fell into the water, and would in all probability
have been drowned, had not a small pony, which had long been kept in the
family, plunged into the stream, and brought the child safely to land.
Mr. Jesse gives an instance of what may fairly be called the sensibility
of the horse, and his keen perception of danger. A friend of his was
riding a horse one day in India, attended by a spaniel which had long
been its companion. The dog ran into some long grass, and came out
crying and shaking its head; the horse, contrary to his usual custom,
not only avoided the dog, but showed the utmost dread of his coming near
him. The dog soon died, and upon examination it was found that he had
been bitten in the tongue by a venomous snake.
But the horse’s sensibility is not a selfish quality; he often displays
the most generous solicitude, to avoid injuring other creatures. It is
not an uncommon thing for a fallen soldier to escape without one touch
of a hoof, though a charge of cavalry pass over his prostrate body,
every animal in the line leaping clear over him. An old horse belonging
to a carter in Strathnegie, Fifeshire, had become particularly familiar
with the ways of children, for his master had a large family. One day,
as this animal was dragging a loaded cart through a narrow lane near the
village, a young child happened to be sprawling in the road, and would
inevitably have been crushed by the wheels, if the sagacious old horse
had not prevented it. He carefully took up the child by the clothes with
his teeth, carried it for a few yards, and then placed it on a bank by
the wayside, moving slowly all the while, and looking back as if to
satisfy himself that the wheels of the cart had cleared it.
Gregarious in the wild state, the horse retains the same sociable
disposition in domestication, and shows a great aversion to be left
alone. This companionable temper appears very pleasingly in the field,
in the gambolings of horses with each other, in their manifest curiosity
when a strange horse comes in sight, and the animated gestures and
neighings with which they try to strike up an acquaintance, and, above
all, in the little kind offices they perform mutually. It is an
every-day occurrence to see two horses gently scratching each other; and
Mr. Jesse speaks of it as a well-known fact, that in hot countries where
the blood of the horses is heated by the climate, they are in the
constant habit of bleeding each other, and sometimes of bleeding
themselves, by biting the neck or the shoulder. So strong is the horse’s
aptitude for friendship, that he will attach himself to almost any kind
of animal rather than remain solitary. White, of Selborne, relates an
instance of this kind between a horse and a hen. These two incongruous
animals spent much of their time together in a lonely orchard, where
they saw no creature but each other, and by degrees an apparent regard
sprang up between them. The fowl would approach the quadruped with notes
of complacency, rubbing herself quietly against his legs, whilst the
horse would look down with satisfaction, and move with the greatest
caution and circumspection lest he should trample on his diminutive
companion. In the portrait of the celebrated Godolphin Arabian is seen a
cat, which was his inseparable companion in the stable, and died really
broken hearted for his loss. Another race-horse and cat were great
friends, and the latter generally slept in the manger. When the horse
was going to have his oats, he always took up the cat by the skin of her
neck, and dropped her into the next stall, that she might not be in his
way while he was feeding. At all other times he seemed pleased to have
her near him. Eclipse was fond of a sheep, and Chillaby, called from his
great ferocity, the Mad Arabian, whom only one of the grooms dared to
approach, and who savagely tore to pieces the image of a man purposely
placed in his way, had his peculiar attachment to a lamb that used to
spend many an hour in butting away the flies from his friend.
“A gentleman of Bristol had a greyhound, which slept in the stable along
with a very fine hunter of about five years of age. These animals became
mutually attached, and regarded each other with the most tender
affection. The greyhound always lay under the manger beside the horse,
which was so fond of him, that he became unhappy and restless when the
dog was out of his sight. It was a common practice with the gentleman to
whom they belonged, to call at the stable for the greyhound to accompany
him in his walks: on such occasions the horse would look over his
shoulder at the dog with much anxiety, and neigh in a manner which
plainly said—‘Let me also accompany you.’ When the dog returned to the
stable, he was always welcomed by a loud neigh—he ran up to the horse
and licked his nose; in return, the horse would scratch the dog’s back
with his teeth. One day, when the groom was out with the horse and
greyhound for exercise, a large dog attacked the latter, and quickly
bore him to the ground; on which the horse threw back his ears, and, in
spite of all the efforts of the groom, rushed at the strange dog that
was worrying at the greyhound, seized him by the back with his teeth,
which speedily made him quit his hold, and shook him till a large piece
of the skin gave way. The offender no sooner got on his feet, than he
judged it prudent to beat a precipitate retreat from so formidable an
opponent.”
Another instance of attachment between a horse and a dog is related by
Capt. Brown in his “Biographical Sketches:” “My friend, Dr. Smith, of
the Queen’s County Militia, Ireland, had a beautiful hackney, which,
although extremely spirited, was at the same time wonderfully docile. He
had also a fine Newfoundland dog, named Cæsar. These animals were
mutually attached, and seemed perfectly acquainted with each other’s
actions. The dog was always kept in the stable at night, and uniformly
lay beside the horse. When Dr. Smith practised in Dublin, he visited his
patients on horseback, and had no other servant to take care of the
horse, while in their houses, but Cæsar, to whom he gave the reins in
his mouth. The horse stood very quietly, even in that crowded city,
beside his friend Cæsar. When it happened that the doctor had a patient
not far distant from the place where he paid his last visit, he did not
think it worth while to remount, but called to his horse and Cæsar. They
both instantly obeyed, and remained quietly opposite the door where he
entered, until he came out again. While he remained in Maryborough,
Queen’s County, where I commanded a detachment, I had many opportunities
of witnessing the friendship and sagacity of these intelligent animals.
The horse seemed to be as implicitly obedient to his friend Cæsar as he
could possibly be to his groom. The doctor would go to the stable,
accompanied by his dog, put the bridle upon his horse, and giving the
reins to Cæsar, bid him take the horse to the water. They both
understood what was to be done, when off trotted Cæsar, followed by the
horse, which frisked, capered, and played with the dog all the way to
the rivulet, about three hundred yards distant from the stable. We
followed at a great distance, always keeping as far off as possible, so
that we could observe their manœuvres. They invariably went to the
stream, and after the horse had quenched his thirst, both returned in
the same playful manner as they had gone out.
“The doctor frequently desired Cæsar to make the horse leap over this
stream, which might be about six feet broad. The dog, by a kind of bark,
and leaping up towards the horse’s head, intimated to him what he
wanted, which was quickly understood; and he cantered off, preceded by
Cæsar, and took the leap in a neat and regular style. The dog was then
desired to bring him back again, and it was speedily done in the same
manner. On one occasion Cæsar lost hold of the reins, and as soon as the
horse cleared the leap, he immediately trotted up to his canine guide,
who took hold of the bridle, and led him through the water quietly.”
“A gentleman,” says Mr. Jesse, “who resides near Southampton, had a
retriever, a large half-bred Newfoundland dog, that had formed a
friendship with a horse, which, at the time I am referring to, was
turned out into a paddock near the house. The dog, hunting one day by
himself, was caught in a snare by the leg, and after struggling some
time, during which its cries were heard, he disengaged himself so far
from his confinement as to break the string of the snare, the wire being
still attached to the limb. In this situation he was observed by my
friend and his host to go to the horse in the paddock, and seemed at
once to make him aware of his distress. The horse gently put his nose
down to the dog, and the dog having licked it, lifted up the leg to
which the snare was attached in a manner which could not be mistaken.
The horse immediately began to try to disengage the snare, by applying
his teeth to it in a gentle and cautious manner, although he was unable
to succeed in removing it. This is by no means a solitary instance of
the sympathy which animals show for each other when in distress.”
Man may fully avail himself of this amiable disposition of the horse; it
is rarely the latter’s fault if he and his owner are not on the best
possible terms. How often has the horse been found grazing by the side
of his drunken prostrate master, whom he would not leave. “We have
seen,” says Mr. Blaine, “a child of five years old purposely sent by the
wife of the coachman to quiet an unruly and noisy coach-horse, for to no
other person would he yield such obedience; but a pat from her tiny
hand, or her infantile inquiry—‘What is the matter with you?’ was
sufficient to allay every obstreperous symptom. But it was to her only
he yielded such submission, for otherwise he was a high-spirited and
really intractable animal. Often has this child been found lying asleep
on the neck of the horse, when he had laid himself down in his stall,
and so long as she continued to sleep, so long the horse invariably
remained in his recumbent position.”
There is something almost mysterious in the manner in which the horse
contrives to pick his way in safety through dangerous and deceitful
ground, and to discover and avoid perils of which his master is quite
unsuspicious. In all doubtful cases the animal’s head should be left
free, that he may put his nose to the ground, and examine it by touch,
as well as by sight and hearing (the muzzle is the peculiar organ of
touch in the horse), and he will then seldom fail to judge promptly and
unerringly whether or not he may venture to proceed. But even when the
animal is confined in harness and restrained from the free use of all
his faculties, he sometimes exercises his wonderful instinct in the
happiest manner. In the very month in which we are writing (January,
1846), several hundred feet of the viaduct of Barentin over the Rouen
and Havre railway came down with a sudden crash. Just before the fall,
Monsieur Lorgery, flour merchant of Pavilly, was about to cross one of
the arches in his cabriolet, when the horse stopped short and refused to
pass. M. Lorgery struck the animal with his whip, but all in vain—he
refused to stir. At the moment while his unsuspecting driver was still
urging him on, the fall took place.
It is partly owing to the faculty of discerning the obscurest traces of
a frequented, or at least a practicable road, and partly to that
tenacious power of memory which enables a horse to recognise a road he
has once traversed, that bewildered travellers, from the days of
knight-errantry downwards, have found it good policy to throw the reins
on their steed’s neck, and trust themselves implicitly to his guidance.
Along with this retentive memory the horse combines a very business-like
observance of habit and routine. The author of “The Menageries” knew a
horse which, being accustomed to make a journey once a week with the
newsman of a provincial paper, always stopped at the houses of the
several customers, although they were sixty or seventy in number. But
further, there were two persons in the route who took one paper between
them, and each claimed the privilege of receiving it first on the
alternate Sunday. The horse soon became accustomed to this regulation;
although the parties lived two miles asunder, he stopped once a
fortnight at the door of the half-customer at Thorpe, and once a
fortnight at that of the half-customer at Chertsey; and never did he
forget this arrangement, which lasted several years, or stop
unnecessarily after he had once thoroughly understood the rule.
The docility and intelligence of the horse are abundantly shown in the
feats he is trained to perform in the Circus; but those which he is
self-taught are still more interesting. Lord Brougham in his
“Dissertations” says, he knew a pony that used to open the latch of the
stable door, and also raise the lid of the corn chest; and he notices
the instance of a horse opening the wicket-gate of a field by pressing
down the upright bar, as a man would do,—“actions,” he observes, “which
the animals must have learned from observation, as it is very unlikely
that they were taught.” Such feats are not uncommon; but the following
is, we believe, unique. In 1794, a gentleman in Leeds had a horse which,
after having been kept up in the stable for some time, and turned out
into a field where there was a pump well supplied with water, regularly
obtained a quantity therefrom by his own dexterity. For this purpose,
the animal was observed to take the handle into his mouth, and work it
with his head, in a way exactly similar to that done by the hand of man,
until a sufficiency was procured.
The force of habit is particularly strong in the old hunter and in the
war-horse. The Tyrolese, in one of their insurrections in 1809, took
fifteen Bavarian horses, and mounted them with fifteen of their own men;
but in a skirmish with a squadron of the same regiment, no sooner did
these horses hear the trumpet and recognise the uniform of their old
masters, than they set off at full gallop, and carried their riders, in
spite of all their efforts, into the Bavarian ranks, where they were
made prisoners. But inveterate habits are contracted in peace as well as
in war, _domi militiæque_, a truth which was curiously exemplified in a
case that fell under our own observation. Some ladies of our
acquaintance in Essex bought a very respectable, middle aged,
black-coated horse, to draw their four-wheeled open chaise, driven by
their own fair hands. At first they were greatly pleased with their
bargain; the horse was as strong as an elephant, as gentle as a lamb,
and as sedate as a parish clerk. But he soon gave proof of very
ungenteel propensities. No sooner did a public house come in view than
he would rush up to the door, in defiance of whip and rein, and persist
in remaining there a reasonable drinking time, thereby exposing the
reputation of his mistresses to very shocking surmises. It afterwards
came out that he had learned these ways of a jolly old farmer in whose
possession he had been for some years.
There is a story told of a famous trotter belonging to a butcher, which
attracted the admiration of a gentleman by its splendid action, and was
bought by him at a very high price. But no long time elapsed before the
purchaser came to the conclusion that he had been taken in; the horse
was decidedly a dull, lazy brute; it was all over with his fine
trotting; and the butcher who sold him was, no doubt, aware that the
animal laboured under some unsoundness that destroyed his former high
qualities. The gentleman took the horse to its former owner, and
indignantly denounced the fraud that had been practised upon him. The
butcher listened in silence to the stormy harangue, and then turning to
one of his men, who was leaving the shop with a tray of meat on his
shoulder, he said to him, “Here, Dick, jump up, just as you are, and let
us see if the horse can’t trot a bit.” The man did so, and off started
the horse in the very best style. The gentleman was amazed and
confounded: “I can never make him go like that!” he said. “That’s a
pity, sir,” replied the butcher; “you see it is not his fault. But I’ll
tell you what it is; you just please to mount, and _let me put a tray of
meat on the saddle before you_, and then I warrant you’ll say he goes
fast enough!”
Horses often exhibit a good deal of cunning. The late General Pater, of
the East India service, was a remarkably fat man. While stationed at
Madras, he purchased a charger, which, after a short trial, all at once
betook himself to a trick of lying down whenever he prepared to get upon
his back. Every expedient was tried, without success, to cure him of the
trick; and the laugh was so much indulged against the general’s
corpulency, that he found it convenient to dispose of his horse to a
young officer quitting the settlement for a distant station up the
country. Upwards of two years had subsequently elapsed, when, in the
execution of his official duties, General Pater left Madras to inspect
one of the frontier cantonments. He travelled, as is the usual custom in
India, in his palanqueen (a covered couch carried on men’s shoulders).
The morning after his arrival at the station, the troops were drawn out;
and, as he had brought no horses, it was proper to provide for his being
suitably mounted, though it was not very easy to find a charger adapted
to his weight. At length an officer resigned to him a powerful horse for
the occasion, which was brought out duly caparisoned in front of the
line. The general came forth from his tent, and proceeded to mount; but
the instant the horse saw him advance, he flung himself flat upon the
sand, and neither blows nor entreaties could induce him to rise. It was
the general’s old charger, which, from the moment of quitting his
service, had never once practised the artifice until this second
meeting. The general, who was an exceedingly good-humoured man, joined
heartily in the universal shout that ran through the whole line on
witnessing this ludicrous affair.
[Illustration: SIR ROBERT GILLESPIE’S DARING FEAT.]
Courage is a quality of great importance in a horse, and some possess it
in a high degree. It is worthy, too, of remark, that there is often
something more than mere natural indifference to danger, something of an
intellectual character in the courage of the horse. He _learns_ to
overcome his fears. At the sight of a tiger a horse has been known to
become wholly paralysed with terror, and incapable of resistance, or
even of flight; and yet this instinctive dread of mortal foes can be
eradicated by education, and a reliance on the protection of man. A
remarkable proof of this is, that the hunting leopard is allowed by the
well-trained horse to spring on his back, either behind or before his
master, when he goes a-field in pursuit of game. One of the most signal
instances of courage on the part of horse and rider, and of perfect
concert between both, is that recorded of the late Sir Robert Gillespie
and his Arab. Sir Robert being present on the race-course of Calcutta
during one of the great Hindoo festivals, when many thousands are
assembled to witness all sorts of shows, was suddenly alarmed by the
shrieks and commotion of the crowd. On being informed that a tiger had
escaped from his keepers, he immediately called for his horse, and, with
no other weapon than a boar-spear snatched from one of the by-standers,
he rode to attack this formidable enemy. The tiger was probably amazed
at finding himself in the middle of such a number of shrieking beings
flying from him in all directions; but the moment he perceived Sir
Robert, he crouched in the attitude of preparing to spring upon him; and
that instant the gallant soldier passed his horse in a leap over the
tiger’s back, and struck the spear through his spine. It was a feat
requiring the utmost conceivable unity of purpose and movement on the
part of horse and rider, almost realising for the moment the fable of
the centaur. Had either swerved or wavered for a second, both had been
lost. But the brave steed knew his rider. The animal was a small grey,
and was afterwards sent home as a present to the Prince Regent.
Sir Robert fell subsequently at the storming of Kalunga. Another horse
of his, a favourite black charger, bred at the Cape of Good Hope, and
carried by him to India, was, at the sale of his effects, competed for
by several officers of his division, and finally knocked down to the
privates of the 8th dragoons, who contributed their prize money, to the
amount of £500 sterling, to retain this commemoration of their late
commander. The charger was always led at the head of the regiment on a
march, and at the station of Cawnpore was usually indulged with taking
his ancient post at the colour stand, where the salute of passing
squadrons was given at drill and on reviews. When the regiment was
ordered home, the funds of the privates running low, he was bought for
the same sum by a gentleman, who provided funds and a paddock for him,
where he might end his days in comfort; but when the corps had marched,
and the sound of the trumpet had departed, he refused to eat, and on the
first opportunity, being led out to exercise, he broke from his groom,
and galloping to his ancient station on the parade, after neighing
aloud, dropped down and died.
It is not surprising that an animal endowed in so high a degree as the
horse is with mental and moral faculties, should occasionally be
subject, like man, to derangement of these faculties. The disordered
actions, the fury, the caprices, and the vices which are sometimes shown
by the brute, are in the highest degree analagous to certain forms of
human insanity. The following anecdotes are related by Mr. Youatt, on
the authority of Professor Rodet, of Toulouse:—
A horse, seven years old, was remarkable for an habitual air of
stupidity, and a peculiar wandering expression of countenance. When he
saw any thing he had not been accustomed to, or heard any sudden or
unusual noise, whether it was near or at a distance, or sometimes when
his corn was thrown into the manger without the precaution of speaking
to him or patting him, he was frightened to an almost incredible degree;
he recoiled precipitately, every limb trembled, and he struggled
violently to escape. After several useless efforts to get away, he would
work himself into the very highest degree of rage so that it was
dangerous to approach him. This state of excitement was followed by
dreadful convulsions, which did not cease until he had broken his
halter, or otherwise freed himself from his trammels. He would then
become calm, and suffer himself to be led back to his stable, nor would
any thing more be seen but an almost continual uneasiness, and a
wandering and stupid expression of countenance. He had belonged to a
brutal soldier, who had beaten him shamefully: but before he fell into
that man’s hands he had been perfectly quiet and tractable.
A Piedmontese officer possessed a beautiful mare, and one that would
have been in all respects serviceable, but for a peculiarity that
rendered her exceedingly dangerous: that was a decided aversion to
paper, which she recognised the moment she saw it, and even in the dark,
if two leaves were rubbed together. The effect produced by the sight or
sound of it was so prompt and violent, that she several times unhorsed
her rider. She had not the slightest fear of objects that would terrify
most horses. She regarded not the music of the band, the whistling of
the balls, the roaring of the cannon, the fires of the bivouacs, or the
glittering of arms. The confusion and noise of an engagement made no
impression on her; the sight of no other white object offended her. No
other sound moved her, but the view or the rustling of paper roused her
to madness.
A mare was perfectly manageable, and betrayed no antipathy to human
beings, to animals of other kinds, or to horses, except they were of a
light grey colour; but the moment she saw a light grey horse she rushed
towards it and attacked it with the greatest fury. It was the same at
all times and everywhere. She was all that could be wished on the
parade, on the route, in the ranks, in action, and in the stable; but if
she once caught a glimpse of a grey or white horse she rested not until
she had thrown her rider or broken her halter, and then she rushed on
the object of her dislike with the utmost fury. She generally contrived
to seize the animal by the head or throat, and held him so fast that she
would suffocate him, if he were not promptly released from her bite.
Another mare exhibited no dread except of white inanimate objects, as
white mantles or coats, and particularly white plumes. She would fly
from them if she could; but if unable to accomplish this, she would rush
fiercely upon them, strike at them with her forefeet, and tear them with
her teeth.
One of these horses, the second, was by long and kind attention divested
of its insane terror, and became, perfectly quiet and useful; but the
other three bid defiance to all means of cure, and to coercion amongst
the rest. The cases of all four were as decided instances of monomania,
or insanity confined to one object, as ever were exhibited in the human
being.
[Illustration]
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