VICES, AND DISAGREEABLE OR DANGEROUS HABITS.
IN the last chapter we gave instances of mischievous propensities
directed only against certain kinds of objects, and displaying all the
characters of what is called monomania. These are rare cases; but it is
not uncommon to find horses, whom no jury would pronounce insane, but
who are addicted to the worst and most malevolent practices, such as
kicking, biting, and plunging without provocation, or to shying and
starting from mere wantonness, to the great danger and annoyance of
their riders. These and other vices are partly the effect of a naturally
bad temper, and partly of bad education. Horses, for instance, that are
teased by the thoughtless play of grooms and stable boys, will begin by
pretending to bite or kick their tormentors; by-and-by they will do so
in earnest, and at last the habit will be permanently confirmed. Almost
all veterinary surgeons are agreed in considering it hopeless to attempt
the cure of these vices when once established. Professor Stewart says,
“I have seen biters punished until they trembled in every joint and were
ready to drop, but have never in any case known them to be cured by this
treatment, or by any other. The lash is forgotten in an hour, and the
horse is as ready and determined to repeat the offence as before. He
appears unable to resist the temptation, and in its worst form biting is
a species of insanity.” But, according to Burckhardt, the traveller,
there is a method known to the Egyptian soldiery for curing the
propensity to bite, and practised by them with unfailing success. They
roast a leg of mutton, take it hot from the fire, and present it to the
offending animal. He plunges his teeth in it, they stick fast in the hot
meat, and the pain he endures makes him careful for the future to bite
at nothing but his lawful food. Mr. Morier mentions a singular method he
saw practised in Persia to subdue the temper of a very vicious horse
that had resisted every other kind of treatment. The horse was muzzled,
and turned loose in an enclosure, there to await the attack of two
horses whose mouths and limbs were at liberty, and which were turned in
to attack him. So effectually did this discipline operate that he became
completely altered, and as remarkable for docility as he had previously
been for savage obstinacy.
It is related, we know not on what authority, that a novel kind of
jockeyship was once tried with triumphant success in one of those cases
we are here speaking of. A well-known nobleman, so runs the tale, had a
wild horse which nobody could ride. “I know not what your lordship can
do with him,” said some one, “but to set the monkey on his back.” So
they put a pad on the horse, and clapped the monkey upon it with a
switch in his hand, wherewith he belaboured the horse, and set him into
a furious kicking and galloping, but pug still kept his seat. The horse
lay down on the ground; but when he threw himself on one side, the
monkey was upon the other. He ran into a wood to brush his rider off;
but the monkey dodged from side to side so as to avoid every tree and
bush, until at last the horse was so sickened and fatigued and broken
spirited, that he ran home to the stable for protection. When the monkey
was removed, a boy was put in his place, and managed the horse with
ease. The animal never gave any trouble afterwards.
Old books of farriery mention a plan for taming intractable horses,
which, we believe, has gone out of fashion only on account of the
trouble attending it. We should be glad to see it revived, for we are
inclined to think it would be attended with very good results. The horse
was tethered in his stall, with his tail to the manger, prevented from
lying down and kept without food or sleep for forty-eight hours or more;
men, who relieved each other by turns, being stationed at his head to
rouse him whenever he began to dose. This method was the same in
principle as that by which falconers used to tame their hawks; and there
can be little doubt that the discipline which could subdue those savage
and impetuous birds, would have been no less efficacious in bringing
down the unruly temper of the more generous quadruped.
We have now to speak of certain horse-taming exploits, which have in
them a strong tincture of the marvellous, but which are, nevertheless,
authenticated by undeniable evidence.
At the Spring meeting of 1804, Mr. Whalley’s horse, King Pippin, was
brought on the Curragh of Kildare to run. He was a horse of the most
strangely savage and vicious disposition. His particular propensity was
that of flying at and worrying any person who came within his reach;
and, if he had an opportunity, he would turn his head round, seize his
rider by the leg with his teeth, and drag him down from his back. For
this reason he was always ridden with what is called a _sword_; this is
a strong flat stick, having one end attached to the check of the bridle,
and the other to the girth of the saddle—a contrivance to prevent a
horse of this kind from getting at his rider.
King Pippin had long been difficult to manage, and dangerous to go near;
but on the occasion in question, he could not be got to run at all:
nobody could put the bridle on his head. There was a large concourse of
people assembled on the Curragh; and one countryman, more fearless than
the rest of the lookers on, volunteered his services to bridle the
horse. No sooner had he commenced operations, than King Pippin seized
him somewhere about the shoulders, and shook him as a dog does a rat.
Fortunately for the poor fellow his body was very thickly covered with
clothes, for on such holiday occasions an Irishman of his class is fond
of displaying his wardrobe, and if he has three coats in the world, he
is sure to put them all on. Owing to this circumstance, the horse never
fairly got hold of his skin, and the man escaped with little injury,
except the rent and ruined condition of his holiday attire.
[Illustration: A VICIOUS RACEHORSE.]
The WHISPERER was now sent for. This mysterious horse-tamer soon
arrived, was shut up with the horse all night, and in the morning
exhibited the hitherto ferocious animal following him about the course
like a dog—lying down at his command—suffering his mouth to be opened,
and any person’s hand to be introduced into it—in short, as quiet almost
as a sheep. He came out the same meeting and won his race, and his
docility continued satisfactory for a considerable period; but at the
end of three years his vice returned, and then he is said to have killed
a man, for which he was destroyed.
The man who effected the wonder we have just recounted was an awkward,
ignorant rustic of the lowest class, of the name of Sullivan, but better
known by the appellation of the Whisperer. His occupation was
horse-breaking. The nickname he acquired from the vulgar notion of his
being able to communicate to the animal what he wished by means of a
whisper; and the singularity of his method seemed in some degree to
justify the supposition. How his art was acquired, or in what it
consisted, he never disclosed. He died about 1810. His son, who followed
him in the same trade, possessed but a small portion of the art, having
either never learned the true secret, or being incapable of putting it
into practice. The wonder of his skill consisted in the celerity of the
operation, which was performed in privacy, without any apparent means of
coercion: every description of horse or even mule, whether previously
broken or unhandled, whatever their peculiar habits or vices might have
been, submitted without a show of resistance to his magical influence,
and in the short space of an hour became gentle and tractable. This
effect, though instantaneously produced, was generally durable. Though
more submissive to him than to others, the animals seemed to have
acquired a docility unknown before.
When sent for to tame a vicious beast, for which he was either paid
according to the distance, or generally two or three guineas, he
directed the stable, in which he and the object of the experiment were,
to be shut, with orders not to open the door until a signal was given.
After a _tête-à-tête_ of about half an hour, during which little or no
bustle was heard, the signal was made, and upon opening the door, the
horse appeared lying down, and the man by his side playing with him like
a child with a puppy dog. From that time he was found perfectly willing
to submit to any discipline, however repugnant to his nature before.
Mr. Croker, to whom we are indebted for this account, once saw this
man’s skill tried on a horse which could never before be brought to
stand still for a smith to shoe him. “The day after Sullivan’s half
hour’s lecture,” he says, “I went, not without some incredulity, to the
smith’s shop, with many other curious spectators, where we were
witnesses of the complete success of his art. This, too, had been a
troop horse, and it was supposed, not without reason, that after
regimental discipline had failed, no other would be found availing. I
observed that the animal appeared terrified whenever Sullivan either
spoke to or looked at him: how that extraordinary ascendancy could have
been obtained it is difficult to conjecture.
“In common cases this mysterious preparation was unnecessary. He seemed
to possess an instinctive power of inspiring awe, the result, perhaps,
of natural intrepidity, in which, I believe, a great part of his art
consisted: though the circumstance of the _tête-à-tête_ shows that, on
particular occasions, something more must have been added to it. A
faculty like this would in some hands have made a fortune, and I
understand that great offers were made to him for the exercise of his
art abroad. But hunting was his passion: he lived at home in the style
most agreeable to his disposition, and nothing could induce him to quit
Duhallow and the fox-hounds.”
We have been told by a merchant long resident in Mexico, that it is a
common practice in that country to tame the most violent horses by a
very simple but singular method, namely, by putting the horse’s nostrils
under a man’s armpit. Our informant assures us that the most refractory
brute instantly becomes tractable on inhaling the odour of the human
body. This strange statement is corroborated by a fact first made known
by Mr. Catlin, and both together may perhaps afford a clue to the
mystery of the Whisperer’s proceedings. Mr. Catlin tells us, that when
an Indian of the Rocky Mountains runs down and nooses a wild horse, one
of his first steps is to place his hand over the eyes of the struggling
animal, and breathe into its nostrils, when it soon becomes docile, and
is so completely conquered that it submits quietly ever after.
Mr. Ellis, a gentleman of Cambridge, happened to read Mr. Catlin’s
statement, and felt a natural desire to ascertain how far this mode of
horse-taming might be employed among British horses. He tried the
experiment on a filly not a year old, that had been removed from her dam
three months before, and since that time had not been out of the stable;
he tried it, too, under manifest disadvantage, for the filly, which was
quite wild, was in the open air, with several strangers about her, and
both the owner and the amateur were rather seeking amusement from the
failure, than knowledge from the success, of their experiment. It was
with great difficulty Mr. Ellis managed to cover the eyes of the restive
and frightened animal. At length he succeeded, and _blew_ into her
nostrils. No particular effect seemed to follow. He then _breathed_ into
her nostrils, and the moment he did so the filly at once desisted from
her violent struggles, stood still and trembled. From that time she
became very tractable. Another gentleman also breathed into her
nostrils, and she evidently enjoyed it, and kept putting up her nose to
receive the breath. On the following morning she was led out again. She
was perfectly tractable, and it seemed to be almost impossible to
frighten her.
Shying is a very troublesome vice, and is only to be overcome by a rider
of great firmness and good temper. Blows will scarcely ever cure vicious
habits originating in fear; they will only increase them, for the horse
will be possessed with the dread of two evils instead of one; viz., the
object itself from which he starts away, and the punishment that is to
follow. Sometimes his shying is the consequence of defective sight; and
then he must be taught to rely on his rider, and to learn from him that
the object of his terror is not at all formidable. The tone of the
voice, half chiding, half encouraging, and a gentle pressure of the
heel, will be perfectly understood by the animal, and he will soon come
to trust in his rider’s judgment: on the other hand, if the latter show
any symptoms of timidity, they will be instantly detected by the horse,
and the mischief will be greatly aggravated. In other cases the vice
proceeds from skittishness or affectation, and must be differently dealt
with. “Horses,” says Mr. Lawrence, “generally fix on some particular
shying butt; for example, I recollect having, at different periods,
three hacks, all very powerful: the one made choice of a windmill for
the object or butt; the second a tilted wagon; and the third, a pig led
in a string. It so happened, however, that I rode the two former when
amiss from a violent cold; and they then paid no more attention to
either windmills or tilted wagons, than to any other objects, convincing
me that their shying, when in health and spirits, was pure affectation;
an affectation however, which maybe speedily united with obstinacy and
vice. Let it be treated with marked displeasure, mingled with gentle but
decided firmness, and the habit will be of short endurance.”
Mr. Blaine once purchased a horse with an excellent character for
steadiness, except that he was always much alarmed at a passing
carriage, whether it was coming towards or overtaking him. A tilted
wagon or a stage-coach were such objects of dread as no power could get
him to face. “We knew it would be in vain to oppose human physical force
to brute fears, and that it was only by introducing favourable
recollections derived from those very objects, greater in degree than
the fears hitherto entertained of them, that we could conquer this
dangerous propensity. We began by leading the horse, previously
exercised and fasted, towards a cart filled with clover hay: the smell
of the hay was irresistible, and soon dissipated all dread of the
stationary cart; but when it was purposely moved gently onwards, he
became rather discomposed; a little coaxing, however, induced him to
follow it, and we had the pleasure, at this his first lesson, of seeing
him proceed confidently with the cart round a farm-yard, and finally
into the road. To vary the effect, after he had steadily walked by the
side of the carriage a certain time, we restrained him so that it got
ahead of him; when he again reached it, slight indications of fear
appeared, as he had to make his way up to the side of the cart, for we
had a coverlet purposely drawn over the back, that he might not reach
the hay from behind. We next passed the cart altogether, but it was a
few paces only, and then turned him round to the other side of it; but
his whole mind was so intent on the clover, that with the most trifling
symptoms only of alarm, he fell to again on the hay, which finished
lesson the first. Our next attempt was with a sieve, full of corn
(presented to him on an empty stomach), which he could only reach from
the tailboard of a tilted wagon—an awful object! After a few snortings
and sniffings, here also hunger overcame his fears, and he munched the
oats with great relish; but when the wagon was put in motion, his dread
for a little time got the better of his appetite, and the flapping of
the covering of the tilt appeared to him most portentous: his fears even
in this case, however, soon gave place to confidence, through the
skilfulness of a groom to whom he was much attached. This man mounted
the wagon, and, resting on the tailboard, offered the oats to the horse,
at the same time calling and encouraging him. This worked wonders; nor
shall we readily forget the knucker of acknowledgment with which the
confiding brute followed the groom’s call as the wagon moved on,
occasionally dipping his nose into the sieve. After a few more lessons
of a similar kind, one or two of which were varied by giving him hay
from the window of a stage-coach, he lost all fear of carriages, and his
former owner would willingly have taken him back at a very considerable
increase of price.”
The stomach was long ago discovered to be an excellent medium of
education; its lessons, aided by habit, are infallible. Here is another
example of this truth:—Mr. Grant, a merchant of London, asked a friend
if he knew of a saddle nag for sale; the other replied, that he himself
had one to dispose of, which he could recommend were it not for his
unconquerable dread of swine, which rendered him dangerous either to
ride or drive, and on which account alone he must part with him. Mr.
Grant was not a person to be dismayed at trifles; and being convinced he
could remedy this evil, he bought the horse, and set about its cure by
purchasing a sow and a large litter of pigs. The horse, sow, and pigs
were all turned together into a sort of barn stable, where they were
never disturbed except to give them food. The snortings, kickings,
squeakings, and gruntings were for two or three days, great and
continual, and the consequence was, that three or four of the younglings
were demolished; but gradually the uproar ceased, and in a fortnight’s
time the lady mother was to be seen under the belly of the horse, busily
employed in searching for the grains of corn left in the straw, with her
progeny as actively engaged around her. Well might White, in his
“Natural History of Selbourne,” remark, that “interest makes strange
friendships.”
With respect to the proper mode of administering punishment in these
cases, we will adduce another example from Mr. Blaine: “At Harlow Bush
Fair we were struck with the appearance of a likely nag; but as we saw
our salesman was evidently one of a suspicious order, we squared our
expectations accordingly; and after having cheapened the nag to a very
low price, considering his figure, we bought him, after such a trial as
this sort of places afford, and this sort of persons allow. On the next
day we mounted our purchase, and proceeded five or six miles on the
Hertfordshire road, the horse performing well in all his paces, riding
to a good mouth, and being apparently as tractable as one could wish. We
were, however, still aware, that either he must have been stolen, or
that, according to stable slang, ‘a screw was loose’ somewhere, which
would soon jingle,—and a turnpike-gate was to unfold the secret; for
this gate he would not go through, not from any fear of the gate itself,
but from mere restiveness. We battled it with him for some time, but it
was to no purpose, and we were too well acquainted with horses to push
matters to extremities; for even had we forced him through at this time,
he would, without doubt, have repeated the same trick whenever the same
spirit moved him. A radical cure was our object, and so we refrained
from any further attempts to force him onwards, but, placing his head
under the wall of the toll-house bar, we sat quietly on his back an
hour. We then tried to pass him through the gate; but as his
determination appeared to remain in full force, we gave him another hour
of stationary riding, during which he was evidently very uneasy and
oppressed with the weight he carried, unrelieved as he was by any change
of position or any locomotion. At the end of the second hour we believe
we might have forced him through, as his resistances were now feeble;
but as they yet evidently existed, we gave him another half hour of
waiting, and then he went through the gate as tractably as any horse
could do. We did not let the matter rest here, but rode him fully ten or
twelve miles further than we had intended, purposely to give him notice
that implicit obedience would be exacted of him in future, on pain of a
punishment not at all to his taste. He never afterwards showed the
smallest disposition to rebel, although, as we learned subsequently, he
had, several times before coming into our possession, been passed from
hand to hand in the Rothings of Essex, as utterly incorrigible.”
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[Illustration]