Book: Our Boys

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All this occurred a good many years ago, and Joe Lambert is not called
Joe now, but Captain Lambert. He is one of the most prosperous men in
the little river city, and owns many large river steamers besides his
ferry-boats. Nobody is readier than he to help a poor boy or a poor
man; but he has his own way of doing it. He will never toss so much as
a cent to a beggar, but he never refuses to give man or boy a chance
to earn money by work. He has an odd theory that money which comes
without work does more harm than good.

GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON.




THE CHRISTMAS GIFT.


O you dear little dog, all eyes and fluff!
How can I ever love you enough?
How was it, I wonder, that any one knew
I wanted a little dog, just like you?
With your jet black nose, and each sharp-cut ear,
And the tail you wag--O you _are_ so dear!
Did you come trotting through all the snow
To find my door, I should like to know?
Or did you ride with the fairy team
Of Santa Claus, of which children dream,
Tucked all up in the furs so warm,
Driving like mad over village and farm,
O'er the country drear, o'er the city towers,
Until you stopped at this house of ours?
Did you think 'twas a little girl like me
You were coming so fast thro' the snow to see?
Well, whatever way you happened here,
You are my pet and my treasure dear--
_Such_ a Christmas present! O such a joy!
Better than any kind of a toy!
Something that eats and drinks and walks,
And looks so lovely and _almost_ talks;
With a face so comical and wise,
And such a pair of bright brown eyes!
I'll tell you something: The other day
I heard papa to my mamma say
Very softly, "I really fear
Our baby may be quite spoiled, my dear,
We've made of our darling such a pet,
I think the little one may forget
There's any creature beneath the sun
Beside herself to waste thought upon."
I'm going to show him what I can do
For a dumb little helpless thing like you.
I'll not be selfish and slight you, dear;
Whenever I can I shall keep you near.

CELIA THAXTER.




SOME EDUCATED HORSES.


[Illustration: A NOD OF GREETING.]

One of the most pleasing of modern English authors, Philip Gilbert
Hamerton, who is an artist as well as writer, and who loves animals
almost as he does art, says that it would be interesting for a man to
live permanently in a large hall into which three or four horses, of a
race already intelligent, should be allowed to go and come freely from
the time they were born, just as dogs do in a family where they are
pets, or something to that effect. They should have full liberty to
poke their noses in their master's face, or lay their heads on his
shoulder at meal-time, receiving their treat of lettuce or sugar or
bread, only they must understand that they would be punished if they
knocked off the vases or upset furniture, or did other mischief. He
would like to see this tried, and see what would come of it; what
intelligence a horse would develop, and what love.

The plan looks quixotic, does it not? But one thing you may be sure
of; he might have worse associates. There are grades of intellect--we
will call it intellect, for it comes very near, _so_ near that we
never can know just where the fine shading off begins between a
horse's brain and that of a man; and there are warm, loving equine
hearts. Many horses are superior to many men; nobler, more honorable,
quicker-witted, more loyal, and a thousand times more companionable.
Would you not rather, if you had to live on Robinson Crusoe's island,
have an intelligent, sympathetic horse and a devoted bright dog than
some people you know? One is inclined to favor Hamerton's notion after
seeing the Bartholomew Educated Horses, who can do almost anything but
speak.

[Illustration: BUCEPHALUS TAKES THE HAT.]

I am writing this for boys and girls who love animals, and for those
elderly people who are fond of them too, including the lady whom I
overheard saying that she had been nine times to see the remarkable
exhibition. The young folks were enthusiastic patrons of that little
theatre in Boston, where for more than a hundred afternoons and
evenings the "Professor," as he was called, showed off his four-footed
pupils. One forenoon he set apart for a free entertainment of as many
poor children as the house would hold, who went under the charge of
the truant officers and had an overwhelming good time.

There were sixteen of the animals, counting a donkey; grays, bays,
chestnut-colored beauties, and one who looked buff in the gaslight. In
recalling them, I cannot say that there was a white-footed one. What
consequence about white feet, you ask! Perhaps you know that they
make that of some account in the horse bazaars of the East. The Turks
say "two white fore feet are lucky; one white fore and hind foot are
unlucky;" and they have a rhyme that runs--

One white foot, buy a horse,
Two white feet, try a horse,
Three white feet, look well about him,
Four white feet, do without him.

[Illustration: THE CHAIR IS BROUGHT.]

They were all named. There was a Chevalier, a Prince, and a Pope; a
little pet, Miss Nellie, who looked as if she would be ready to drink
tea out of your saucer and kiss you after her fashion; Mustang, an
irrepressible and rude savage from the Rio Grande region; Brutus,
Caesar, and Draco; a Broncho beauty; a Sprite; a stately stepping
Abdallah; Jim, who was a character; and a Bucephalus, after that
storied steed who would suffer no one to ride but his master, the
Great Alexander, but for him to mount, would kneel and wait.

It is perhaps needless and an insult to their intelligence for me to
say that they all know their own names as well as you know yours. They
know, too, their numbers when they are acting as soldiers formed in
line waiting orders; the Professor passes along and checking them off
with his forefinger numbers them, then falling back, calls out for
certain ones to form into platoons, and they make no mistake. Their
ears are alert, their senses sharp, their memory good. "Number Two,"
"Number Four," and so on, answer by advancing, as a soldier would
respond to the roll-call.

They came around from the stable an hour before the performance and
went up the stairs by which the audience went; and a crowd used to
gather every afternoon and evening to see that remarkable and free
feat.

[Illustration: PRINCE.]

When the curtain rose there was to be seen a small stage carpeted
ankle deep with saw-dust, where Professor Bartholomew purposed to have
his horses act; first the part of a school, then of a court room, last
a military drill and taking of a fort. They came in one after another,
pretending, if that is not too strong a word, that they were on the
way to school, and that was the playground; and there they played
together, with such soft, graceful action, such caressing ways, and
trippings as dainty as in "Pinafore," until at the ringing of a bell
they came at once to order from their mixed-up, mazy pastime, and
waited the arrival of their teacher, the Professor, who entered with a
schoolmaster air, and gave the order.

"Bucephalus, take my hat, and bring me a chair!" as you might tell
James or John to do the same, and with more promptness than they would
have shown, Bucephalus came forward, took the hat between his teeth,
carried it across the stage and placed it on a desk, and brought a
chair.

[Illustration: SPRITE AS A MATHEMATICIAN.]

The master, seating himself, began the business of the day, saying,
"The school will now form two classes; the large scholars will go to
the left, the small ones to the right;" and six magnificent creatures
separated themselves from the group huddled together and went as they
were bid, while Nellie, the mustang, and other little ones, filed off
to the opposite side, and placed themselves in a row, with their heads
turned away from the stage. And there they remained, generally minding
their business, though sometimes one would get out of position, look
around, or give his neighbor a nudge which brought out a reprimand:
"Pope, what are you doing?" "Brutus, you need not look around to see
what I am about!" "Sprite, you let Mustang alone!" "Mustang, keep in
your place!"

He then called for some one to come forward and be monitor, and Prince
volunteered, was sent to the desk for some papers, tried to raise the
lid, and let it drop, pretending that he couldn't, but after being
sharply asked what he was so careless for, did it, and then brought a
handkerchief and made a great ado about wanting to have something done
with it, which proved to be tying it around his leg. Meanwhile one
of the horses behaved badly, whereupon the teacher said, "I see you
are booked for a whipping," and the culprit came out in the floor,
straightened himself, and received without wincing what seemed to be
a severe whipping; but in reality it was all done with a soft cotton
snapper, which made more sound than anything else.

[Illustration: ABDALLAH PACES.]

Mustang was called upon to ring the bell, a good-sized dinner-bell,
for the blackboard exercises by Sprite. He, too, made believe he
couldn't, seized it the wrong way, dropped it, picked it up wrong end
first, was scolded at, then took it by the handle, gave it a vigorous
shake, and after letting it fall several times, set it on the table.
Meanwhile a platform was brought in supporting a tall post, at the
top of which, higher than a horse could reach, was a blackboard having
chalked on it a sum which was not added up correctly. Sprite, being
requested to wipe it out, took the sponge from the table, and planting
her fore-feet on the platform, stretched her head up, and by desperate
passes succeeded in wiping out a part of the figures, and started to
leave, but seeing that some remained, went back and erased them.

One day she went through a process which showed conclusively that
horses can reason. She dropped the sponge the first thing, and it fell
down behind the platform out of her sight. She got down, and looked
about in the saw-dust for it, the audience curiously watching to see
what she would do next. She was evidently much perplexed. She knew
perfectly well that her duty would not be fulfilled until she had
rubbed the figures out, and the sponge was not to be found. Mr.
Bartholomew said nothing, gave her no look or hint or sign to help her
out of her predicament, but sat in his chair and waited. At last she
deliberately stepped on the platform again, stretched her head up and
wiped the figures out with her mouth, at which the audience applauded
as if they would bring the roof down. That was something clearly not
in the programme, but a bit of independent reasoning. Yet, having
done so much, she knew that something was not right. About that
sponge--what had become of it? It was her business to lay it on the
table when she was through using it. She hesitated, looked this way
and that, started to go, came back, dreadfully puzzled and uncertain,
suddenly spied it, set her teeth in it, put it on the table, and
went to her place, with a clear conscience, no doubt, and the people
cheered more wildly than before.

[Illustration: A GAME OF LEAP-FROG.]

This was to me one of the most interesting things I witnessed; and
connecting it with some facts Mr. Bartholomew communicated, it was
doubly so.

[Illustration: NELLIE ROLLS THE BARREL OVER THE "TETER."]

He said that it was his practice not to interfere or help; the horse
knew just what she was to do, and he preferred to wait and let her
think it out for herself. The other horses all knew too if there was
any failure or mistake, and the offender was closely watched by them,
and in some way reproved by them if they could get the opportunity,
and at times this little by-play became very amusing.

After this was most exquisite dancing by Bucephalus, and by Caesar,
whose steppings were in perfect rhythm to the music. Then the latter
turned in a circle to the right or the left and walked around defining
the figure eight, just as any one in the audience chose to request;
and Abdallah came in with a string of bells around her, and paced,
cantered, galloped, trotted, marched or walked as the word was given.
The horses were generally expected to come to the footlights and
bow to the audience at the close of any feat; occasionally one would
forget to do this, and then some of his comrades would shoulder or
buffet him, or Mr. Bartholomew would give a reminder, "That is not
all, is it?" and back would come the delinquent, and bow and bow
twenty times as fast as he could, as if there could not be enough of
it. At the close of one scene all the horses came up to the front in a
line, and leaning over the rope which was stretched there to keep them
from coming down on the people's heads, would bow, and bow again, and
it was a wonderfully pretty sight to see.

A game of leap frog was announced. "There are four of the horses that
jump," said Mr. Bartholomew. They like this least of any of their
feats, and those who can do it best are most timid. At first one horse
is jumped over, then two, three, are packed closely together, and
little Sprite clears them all at one flying leap, broad-backed and
much taller than herself though they are. Those who do not want to
try it beg off by a pretty pantomime, and Sprite is encouraged by her
master, who pats her first and seems to be saying something in her
ear. They like to get approval in the way of a caress, but beyond that
they are in no way rewarded.

[Illustration: PRINCE AND POPE PLAY AT SEE-SAW.]

Next Nellie rolled a barrel over a "teter plank" with her fore-feet,
and Prince and Pope performed the difficult feat, and one which
required mutual understanding and confidence, of see-sawing away up
in air on the plank; first face to face, carefully balancing, and then
the latter slowly turned on the space less than twenty inches wide,
without disturbing the delicate poise. This he considers one of the
most remarkable, because each horse must act with reference to the
other, and the understanding between them must be so perfect that no
fatal false movement can be made.

One of the grand tableaux represents a court scene with the donkey
set up in a high place for judge, the jury passing around from mouth
to mouth a placard labelled "Not Guilty," and the releasing of the
prisoner from his chain. But the military drill exceeds all else by
the brilliance of the display and the inspiring movements and martial
air. Mr. Bartholomew in military uniform advancing like a general,
disciplined twelve horses who came in at bugle call, with a crimson
band about their bodies and other decorations, and went through
evolutions, marchings, counter-marchings, in single file, by twos, in
platoons, forming a hollow square with the precision of old soldiers.
They liked it too, and were proud of themselves as they stepped to the
music. The final act was a furious charge on a fort, the horses firing
cannon, till in smoke and flame, to the sound of patriotic strains,
the structure was demolished, the country's flag was saved, caught up
by one horse, seized by another, waved, passed around, and amidst the
excitement and confusion of a great victory, triumphant horses rushing
about, the curtain fell.

[Illustration: THE GREAT COURT SCENE.]

It was from first to last a wonderful exhibition of horse
intelligence.

Trained horses, that is, trained for circus feats at given signals,
are no novelty. Away back in the reign of one of the Stuarts, a horse
named Morocco was exhibited in England, though his tricks were only as
the alphabet to what is done now. And long before Rarey's day, there
was here and there a man who had a sort of magnetic influence, and
could tame a vicious horse whom nobody else dared go near. When George
the Fourth was Prince of Wales, he had a valuable Egyptian horse who
would throw, they said, the best rider in the world. Even if a man
could succeed in getting on his back, it was not an instant he could
stay there. But there came to England on a visit a distinguished
Eastern bey, with his mamelukes, who, hearing of the matter which
was the talk of the town, declared that the animal should be ridden.
Accordingly many royal personages and noblemen met the Orientals at
the riding house of the Prince, in Pall Mall, a mameluke's saddle was
put on the vicious creature, who was led in, looking in a white heat
of fury, wicked, with danger in his eyes, when, behold, the bey's
chief officer sprung on his back and rode for half an hour as easily
as a lady would amble on the most spiritless pony that ever was
bridled.

[Illustration: STRETCHING HIMSELF.]

Some men have a tact, a way with animals, and can do anything with
them. It is a born gift, a rare one, and a precious one. There was a
certain tamer of lions and tigers, Henri Marten by name, who lately
died at the age of ninety, who tamed by his personal influence alone.
It was said of him in France, that at the head of an army he "might
have been a Bonaparte. Chance has made a man of genius a director of a
menagerie."

Professor Bartholomew was ready to talk about his way, but a part of
it is the man himself. He could not make known to another what is the
most essential requisite. He, too, brought genius to his work; besides
that, a certain indefinable mastership which animals recognize, love
for them, and a vast amount of perseverance and patient waiting. It is
a thing that is not done in a day.

He was fond of horses from a boy, and began early to educate one,
having a remarkable faculty for handling them; so that now, after
thirty years of it, there is not much about the equine nature that
he does not understand. He trained a company of Bronchos, which were
afterwards sold; and since then he has gradually got together the
fifteen he now exhibits, and he has others in process of training. He
took these when they were young, two or three years old; and not one
of them, except Jim, who has a bit of outside history, has ever been
used in any other way. They know nothing about carriages or carts,
harness or saddle; they have escaped the cruel curb-bits, the check
reins and blinders of our civilization. Fortunate in that respect. And
they never have had a shoe on their feet. Their feet are perfect, firm
and sound, strong and healthy and elastic; natural, like those of the
Indians, who run barefoot, who go over the rough places of the wilds
as easily as these horses can run up the stairs or over the cobble
stones of the pavement if they were turned loose in the street.

[Illustration: MILITARY DRILL.]

It was a pleasure to know of their life-long exemption from all
such restraints. That accounted in great measure for their beautiful
freedom of motion, for that wondrous grace and charm. Did you ever
think what a complexity of muscles, bones, joints, tendons and other
arrangements, enter into the formation of the knees, hoofs, legs of a
horse; what a piece of mechanism the strong, supple creature is?

These have never had their spirits broken; have never been scolded at
or struck except when a whip was necessary as a rod sometimes is for
a child. The hostlers who take care of them are not allowed to speak
roughly. "Be low-spoken to them," the master says. In the years when
he was educating them he groomed and cared for them himself, with no
other help except that of his two little sons. No one else was allowed
to meddle with them; and, necessarily, they were kept separate from
other horses. Now, wherever they are exhibiting, he always goes out
the first thing in the morning to see them. He passes from one to
another, and they are all expecting the little love pats and slaps
on their glossy sides, the caressings and fondlings and pleasant
greetings of "Chevalier, how are you, old fellow?" "Abdallah,
my beauty," and, "Nellie, my pet!" Some are jealous, Abdallah
tremendously so, and if he does not at once notice her, she lays her
ears back, shows temper, and crowds up to him, determined that no
other shall have precedence.

[Illustration: A PRETTY TABLEAU.]

They are not "thorough-breds." Those, he said, were for racers or
travellers; yet of fine breeds, some choice blood horses, some mixed,
one a mustang, who at first did not know anything that was wanted of
him.

"Why," said he, "at first some of them would go up like pop corn,
higher than my head. But I never once have been injured by one of them
except perhaps an accidental stepping on my foot. They never kick;
they don't know how to kick. You can go behind them as well as before,
and anywhere."

In buying he chose only those whose looks showed that they were
intelligent. "But how did he know, by what signs?" queried an
all-absorbed "Dumb Animals" woman.

"Oh, dear," he said, "why, every way; the eyes, the ears, the whole
face, the expression, everything. No two horses' faces look alike.
Just as it is with a flock of sheep. A stranger would say, 'Why, they
are all sheep, and all alike, and that is all there is to it;' but the
owner knows better; he knows every face in the flock. He says, 'this
is Jenny, and that is Dolly, there is Jim, and here's Nancy.' Oh,
land, yes! they are no more alike than human beings are, disposition
or anything. Some have to be ordered, and some coaxed and flattered.
Yes, flattered. Now if two men come and want to work for me, I can
tell as soon as I cast my eyes on them. I say to one, 'Go and do such
a thing;' but if I said it to the other, he'd answer 'I won't; I'm not
going to be ordered about by any man.' Horses are just like that. A
horse can read you. If you get mad, he will. If you abuse him, he will
do the same by you, or try to. You must control yourself, if you would
control a horse."

They must be of superior grade, "for it's of no use to spend one's
time on a dull one. It does not pay to teach idiots where you want
brilliant results, though all well enough for a certain purpose."

Some of these he had been five years in educating to do what we saw.
Some he had taught to do their special part in one year, some in two.
The first thing he did was to give the horse opportunity and time to
get well acquainted with him; in his words, "to become friends. Let
him see that you are his friend, that you are not going to whip him.
You meet him cordially. You are glad to see him and be with him, and
pretty soon he knows it and likes to be with you. And so you establish
comradeship, you understand each other. Caress him softly. Don't make
a dash at him. Say pleasant things to him. Be gentle; but at the same
time you must be _master_." That is a good basis. And then he teaches
one thing at a time, a simple thing, and waits a good while before
he brings forward another; does not perplex or puzzle the pupil by
anything else till that is learned, and some of the first words are
"come," "stand," "remain."

What a horse has once learned he never or seldom forgets. Mr.
Bartholomew thinks it is not as has sometimes been said, because a
horse has a memory stronger than a man, "but because he has fewer
things to learn. A man sees a million things. A horse's mind cannot
accommodate what a man's can, so those things he knows have a better
chance. Those few things he fixes. His memory fastens on them. I once
had a pony I had trained, which was afterwards gone from me three
years. At the end of that time I was in California exhibiting, and saw
a boy on the pony. I tried to buy him, but the boy who had owned him
all that time, refused to part with him; however, I offered such a
price that I got him, and that same evening I took him into the tent
and thought I would see what he remembered. He went through all his
old tricks (besides a few I had myself forgotten) except one. He could
not manage walking on his hind feet the distance he used to. Another
time I had a trained horse stolen from me by the Indians, and he was
off in the wilds with them a year and a half. One day, in a little
village--that was in California too--I saw him and knew him, and the
horse knew me. I went up to the Indian who had him and said, 'That is
my horse, and I can prove it.' Out there a stolen horse, no matter how
many times he has changed hands, is given up, if the owner can prove
it. The Indian said, 'If you can, you shall have him, but you won't
do it.' I said, 'I will try him in four things; I will ask him to trot
three times around a circle, to lie down, to sit up, and to bring me
my handkerchief. If he is my horse, he will do it.' The Indian said,
'You shall have him if he does, but he won't!' By this time a crowd
had got together. We put the horse in an enclosure, he did as he was
told, and I had him back."

Mr. Bartholomew said, "My motto in educating them is, 'Make haste
slowly;' I never require too much, and I never ask a horse to do what
he _can't_ do. That is of no use. A horse _can't_ learn what horses
are not capable of learning; and he can't do a thing until he
understands what you mean, and how you want it done. What good would
it do for me to ask a man a question in French if he did not know a
word of the language? I get him used to the word, and show him what
I want. If it is to climb up somewhere, I gently put his foot up and
have him keep it there until I am ready to have it come down, and
then I take it down myself. I never let the horse do it. The same with
other things, showing him how, and by words. They know a great number
of words. My horses are not influenced by signs or motions when they
are on the stage. They use their intelligence and memory, and they
associate ideas and are required to obey. They learn a great deal by
observing one another. One watches and learns by seeing the others.
I taught one horse to kneel, by first bending his knee myself, and
putting him into position. After he had learned, I took another in
who kept watch all the time, and learned partly by imitation. They are
social creatures; they love each other's company."

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