“Mrs. Sparhawk,” began Mr. Brimmington—
“I ain’t no Sparhawk!” fairly shouted the enraged woman, as with a furious shove she sent the Cumbersome Horse staggering down the doorway mound; “this here’s Hiram Skinner, the meanest man in Pike County, and I’m his wife, let out to do day’s work. You’ve had one week of him—how would you have liked twenty years?”
17
A Drummer’s Horse
by R. M. Lockhart
from Our Dumb Animals, 1912
Our Dumb Animals was probably the first, and certainly the most important, of the publications devoted to animal welfare. Debuting in 1868, it was produced by the Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and was distributed throughout the United States. On the masthead of each issue the magazine declared, “We Speak for Those Who Cannot Speak for Themselves.” Almost all animals, wild and domestic, have been covered at one time or another during the life of the magazine, which exists today in the form of the MSPCA newsletter “Companion.”
Horses were a particular focus for the first fifty years of the publication, until they disappeared from city streets and rural roads. Some of the articles described the horrors of life for mistreated working horses, but others, like this one, painted a much happier picture.
As a traveling salesman in the Southern states, several years ago, with a route covering a wide stretch of country territory, it became necessary for me to have a horse and buggy to reach my customers. I purchased my outfit at Thomasville, Georgia, and prepared to start upon a long trip. From remarks which were made in my hearing, I must confess that I had some misgiving as to whether my horse would meet the requirements and prove a trusty roadster. I was informed that this horse was so wild and vicious that no one could drive him; that the owner had been anxious to sell him at any price on account of damages he had already done; that he had a predilection for smashing buggies and the unruly habit of madly running away under the least provocation.
The first thing I did was to cut off the blinders from the bridle so that my horse could see me and assure himself, whenever he liked, that I was with him, no matter where our business took us or what strange scenes or obstacles we encountered. I took pains to see that his harness fitted him and started off and for the next two months almost waited for him to run away.
He had shown no inclination to bolt through fear or sudden fright or any other cause up to this time; he had grown so affectionate and been so gentle that I began to travel with the lines fastened to a hook in the top of my vehicle to allow him to go as he pleased. He quickly learned to be guided by the motions of my hands and I thought at times I saw him turn his eyes towards me as if inquiring the right direction.
When I made my calls I left him standing untied and it mattered not how long I was away, he awaited patiently my return and greeted me with a joyous whinny and a rub of his head against my body. I taught him to obey the sound of a whistle. When I blew once, he stopped; twice, he started, and he never failed to respond.
His fondness for candy and fruit was like that of a child and wherever “sweets” were obtainable he reminded me of his expectation that I would buy. I had made a little agreement to give him such things for good behavior and kept my promise, but somehow I always felt that it was he who was rewarding me for my kindness.
I drove him for three years without a mishap, without a whip, and with that confidence that is born of a mutual understanding. When the nights were so dark that I could not see the road nor my horse, I gave him the reins and he brought me safely to my journey’s end.
No man ever traveled with a more faithful animal or a more agreeable companion. I have never driven a horse that so well fulfilled my requirements. When we had to part, and I must add that it brought me real sorrow, I put him in the hands of a friend who promised me that he would look well to his care. Wherever the faithful finally go, there will my good horse be.
18
White Dandy: Master and I—a Horse’s Story
by Velma Caldwell Melville
Another advocate of animal rights was a Wisconsin woman named Velma Caldwell Melville, who was widely published in women’s magazines of the late nineteenth century. Melville was an active supporter of Henry Bergh, a wealthy New Yorker who founded the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals in 1866. Twelve years later Melville was struck by the worldwide success of Black Beauty. Anna Sewell, the book’s English author, intended it as a morality tale for people who worked with horses, but its message of the horrors of mistreatment for working horses struck a chord with a much wider audience.
Melville decided that North America needed its own version of Black Beauty. Her book featured a horse named White Dandy and was written entirely in his voice. As in the original, other horse characters tell their stories of abuse.
From his earliest days, White Dandy knows nothing but kindness. His job as a riding and driving horse for Dr. Richard Wallace suits him perfectly and he’s an enthusiastic worker as the doctor goes about his rounds. While Dr. Wallace demands much, he is equally demanding that the hostlers who care for his beloved horse do their jobs kindly.
Dr. Wallace’s brother Fred, also a doctor, is less careful and White Dandy notices how the horses used by the doctor and his sons can be treated with thoughtlessness and occasional cruelty. The memories of these incidents frighten White Dandy when his master makes a momentous decision.
Chapter 11
One autumn Master determined to “go West.” Why he went I do not know, but he was to stay “some months,” they said. How I did hope he would take me along, but he did not.
“Be kind to Dandy,” was his parting injunction, as usual, to Herman, the man who had succeeded Park Winters as hostler. Of course, I did not know what going West means, and could not think that “some months” were longer than the time he had spent in Chicago. The morning he started he came into my stall and talked to me a long while. Among other things he said: “Be a good boy, Dandy, and when I come home we’ll go and live at the farm—you and I.”
I did miss him so! The days were all dreary, and I dreaded to go to sleep at night, because I would be obliged to awake to a fresh sense of my loss. I cannot begin to give all my experience during his absence, but will note a few instances. Of a truth, I realized as never before what it is to be a horse.
Dr. and Mrs. Wallace were not a happy couple. The latter was less outspoken than in the early days of her married life, but she was equally as self-willed, only more cunning and underhanded about it. Fred drank all the time, but people could not ordinarily tell when he was intoxicated. The barn boys said he could “carry a good deal.” The two boys, Chet and Carm, were wild and lawless. The former was smart and a great student, though. Poor Carm, better but weaker, was always in disgrace. His teacher and father called him a “numbskull,” and gradually the latter came to indulge Chet in everything and deny Carm just as prodigally.
There were two other children in the house now—Tommy and Elizabeth, or “Bobby,” as the little girl called herself, and others fell into the habit. I liked Bobby from the time Master first held the little yellow-haired creature on my back for a ride; and she always clapped her little hands on seeing me, and cried, “Dandy! Dandy!” I liked her for herself, and also because Dr. Dick loved her. It did me good to know that he had this little child to pet and think about.
Things went well enough for a week or so after Master left, then Chet began to drive me. Sometimes when the doctor would use me for a long drive in the day, soon after dark, while I was yet eating my supper, the boy, with some companion, would come into the barn and put my harness on. Herman would object, and there would be a fuss between them, always ending in my being hitched in a buggy or road cart and driven out. It was the second time that this occurred that I discovered that Chet was under the influence of liquor, as was also his companion, and they carried bottles with them. Chet used
the whip freely and I went as fast as I could, but the oftener they touched those bottles the harder they drove.
After what seemed to me hours of agony, they pulled up before a brilliantly lighted old building out in the country, hitched me, and staggered in. The wind was raw and cold, and the sweat pouring off me. I surely thought Chet would remember my blanket, but he didn’t, and there I had to stand one, two, three, four, or more dreadful hours. Long before they came out I was alternately chilling and burning. I ached and trembled.
They drove home as fast as they came, whipping nearly all the way, though I was doing my best. Herman swore profusely (people did not do that around the barn when Master was home) as he rubbed me down rapidly with a coarse cloth before blanketing me closely. How I felt!
And thirsty—it did seem I must have water or choke, but he gave me none for some reason. By morning I was so stiff I could scarcely move, my breath was short and came hard, and my skin was hot. Dr. Fred ordered me early.
“I don’t think Dandy is able to go out, sir, to-day,” Herman replied. “The young gentlemen had him out all night almost, and he is all stiffened up.”
Dr. Fred muttered something and ordered out the bays, calling out to Herman, as he drove off, to get Dr. Dick’s box of horse medicine and give me aconite—two-drop doses of the tincture every two hours—until the fever was gone; then to alternate bryonia, and thus according to directions given in the book with the box.
I noticed that I began to feel better pretty soon, and by afternoon Mrs. Wallace said she wanted me hitched up. Herman demurred, but had to finally give in. I was as stiff as ever when I got home again.
That very night Chet harnessed me again, despite Herman’s angry protest, and drove me ten miles. If only he had taken the trouble to look in my eyes, I am sure he must have seen how wretched I felt. This time he carelessly threw a blanket over me, but did not buckle it over my chest, and in a little while the wind had blown it half off me. It would have been entirely off—and it might as well have been—but for a corner catching on the top of the collar.
That time gray was showing in the east before he started for home. With vile, profane words he bade me “Get up,” emphasizing by stinging blows of the whip, saying to his companion that he must make the ten miles before his father was up. I suppose no man was ever compelled to stand tied to a post all night; if there had, he would surely be going up and down the earth preaching mercy and justice to those who have the power over horses. Another thing made that night especially wearing was the fact that I was tied short, and my front feet were much lower than my back ones. Such a strain as I was on!
It does seem that horses deserve the little consideration necessary to tie them in a decent spot. I have heard many of my kind speak of this matter. In some villages the hitching places along the sidewalks are most uncomfortable, the animals being obliged to stand on a twist, ofttimes with the front feet lower and in a mud puddle. Is it any wonder we sometimes protest by vigorously pawing the sidewalks, if we can reach them? Give us fair play.
Well, I was too lame to get out at all, after that night, for a week. I had rheumatism. Had Master been there to treat me, I might have recovered, but Herman knew nothing about horse doctoring, and so it ran on. If I did get a little better, it was only to be overdriven and exposed. Another time there was to be a horse race five miles off, and Chet drove Prince and I in the buggy.
Then I found out how it hurts a heavy-bodied, short-legged horse to be driven with a light-bodied, long-limbed one. He drove, as usual, just as fast as he could make us go, uphill and down the same. More than once I thought I should fall, and by the time he stopped I was whiter than even nature intended me to be, being covered with foam. Prince was not nearly so tired, but he said it irritated and fretted him to be driven with a horse of my build.
It was only a little country horse race, and the animals were chiefly working ones with neither inclination, strength, nor training for the racetrack. The men were wild with excitement, and betting was going on all around. After a while three men got on their horses’ backs and started. The crowd yelled and clapped their hands; the riders buried the cruel spurs in the horses’ sides, and leaned as far forward as possible.
Of course, some one had to beat, and it was a long-legged, bony creature that won the first heat. Three times the same ones run, and twice the long-legged one won, but the others had done their best; yes, more than that, I may say.
Poor things! There they stood, sweat and blood covering their sides, every nerve and muscle overstrained, and their masters cursing them for their defeat. The entire afternoon was consumed in this manner. Among others Prince was taken on the track. I knew by his eye, and the poise of his head he did not like it, but he behaved nicely until a cruel-looking fellow got on his back and dug the rowels in; with one bound he was off, and the rider had hard work to keep his seat. He won the heat, and I was scarcely enjoying his victory when, quick as a flash, he reached out and catching the fellow by the shoulder flung him headlong some feet away.
Someone caught the bridle strap, and, as soon as the fellow could pick himself up, he flew at the offender, dealing him a blow between the eyes with a club chancing to be handy. “Hold on!” Chet cried, but another, and another blow followed. My noble gray friend staggered, gathered up, staggered again, then fell. A half-dozen convulsive shivers passed over his frame and he was dead.
In a fury of anger and terror the young master sprang upon Prince’s slayer. They grappled, but strong hands separated them, and Chet had only to put my harness in the buggy, get on my back, and ride sorrowfully homeward. Dr. Fred was in a temper, to be sure, and immediately had an officer after the man who had killed his horse.
All night and, for many nights, I could not close my eyes without seeming to see poor Prince in the death throes, and all because he dared to resent unfair treatment. I heard Herman say that the fellow had paid for the horse, that Chet and his father had had a quarrel, and that Mrs. Wallace insisted on the former leaving home.
“Yes, she’s mighty keen fer the first woman’s boys to leave home,” remarked an old man who worked around the barn. “She’s wantin’ ’em out of the way so her young uns ’ll git the property.”
“Guess there won’t be enough to fight over if Dr. Dick stays away long,” Herman replied.
Speaking of horse races reminds me to say that if all racehorses, or those that are made to run, could tell their stories they would fill volumes with tales of injustice and suffering. All animals will, if humanely treated, do their best for their masters; but a kind word and reassuring pat will go much further toward winning a race than all the spurs and curses in the world. Many a race has been lost through the very efforts made to win it.
Coolness and self-possession are indispensable in both horse and rider. I remember being at a state fair with my master some years later, and witnessing a race. Among the competitors was a handsome little black horse, all grit and goodness, but, owing to its owner being partly intoxicated, it lost the stake, in consequence incurring his wrath. And how he did pound the noble little beast! A number of disapprovals arose from the multitude, but no one ventured to interfere. The animal was his, you know.
Chapter 12
I had no idea before that year’s experience that little things—at least what men call little things—could so affect the health and spirits of a horse. I had even felt a little scornful sometimes when I saw strong-looking animals go along with drooping heads, and noticed how dull and stupid they looked. But when I came to endure hardships and have no petting (though Herman was better to me than most men are to their own horses) I felt differently about it. We need encouragement.
Chet did not take me out after Prince’s tragic death for some time, but Dr. Fred drove me a great deal, as there was only the bays and myself then. Topsy had had no regular breaking yet, but Chet declared his intention of attending to the matter at once. When he did undertak
e it he frightened the poor thing almost to death, and what the outcome would have been I can only surmise, had not a humane man noticed him one day and chided him for his method, or rather lack of method.
“Let me show you my way,” he said.
I suppose Chet was getting tired of the job, so surrendered. From being always handled, Topsy was all right, so long as no harness was introduced, or any unusual noise made near her; but at the first unfamiliar sight or sound she was a bunch of terrified, prancing nerves, expecting the worst, and usually getting it, in the form of a whipping.
“She’s got to learn that I’m boss,” was a favorite expression of Chet’s.
“Well, my boy,” said the gentleman, “I suppose it is necessary for a horse to know it has a master, but it is equally necessary for us to recognize that they have rights, and also that bullying an animal is not being, in a manly sense, its master. Now I have broken scores of horses, and never yet whipped but one, and I have always hated myself for doing that.”
Then he began to gently rub Topsy’s head and neck with his hands, and later with a brush. She seemed to enjoy this, and when he let the latter gradually pass over her shoulders and back, she offered no resistance. He worked with her fifteen minutes or longer, then turned her into the little enclosure she occupied during the day.
I think I neglected to say I was resting out at the farm for a day or two when this occurred. In two or three hours the man came again, and repeated the handling and brushing, only this time he touched the whole body, talking kindly and reassuring all the while.
Great American Horse Stories Page 18
