by A.H.A. Hamilton.
Originally published in Longman's Magazine (Longman, Green, & Co.) vol.3 #14 (Dec 1883).
Some years ago, while travelling in a remote part of Italy, I made the acquaintance of a singular character. He was a middle-aged Englishman, who had almost become an Italian, and who might have attracted little attention, had it not been for the horse on whose back he travelled—a most beautiful Arab, which he treated with an affectionate gentleness which I have never seen equalled in Europe. In fact, the confidential friendship between the man and his horse was similar to that which we sometimes observe in the case of a favourite dog.
It happened that we were both detained for a couple of days at a wayside inn on account of a bridge having been broken down by the sudden swelling of a mountain torrent, and thus we became more intimate than might have been expected at first, especially as the usual English reserve had been intensified in the case of my companion by long habits of loneliness.
When we were at last enabled to resume our respective journeys, he invited me to spend a few days with him at his home, a beautiful little nook on the coast of the Adriatic. There he had now been established for some years, employing himself in the cultivation of a few acres of ground and in the study of a few books, and avoiding all society except that of an Italian gardener and his wife, of the beautiful horse which I have already mentioned, and of a scarcely less intelligent dog.
There are some persons who have a gift of unconsciously inspiring confidence in others, and who therefore find themselves obliged to receive confessions, and accept trusts, often of a somewhat embarrassing nature. And thus it happened that my new friend, who had not for some years spoken to any countryman of his own, poured into my ears, before I left his remote cottage, a story so strange that I can hardly expect my readers to credit it, as I scarcely know whether to believe it myself. All I can say is that it was told to me in a manner perfectly free from wildness or exaggeration, and that I could trace no symptom of delusion or hallucination in the conduct of the solitary.
Further, he entrusted to my care a manuscript in which he had recorded the principal points of his story, and left it to my discretion to publish it if I thought fit. For himself, he was persuaded that every tie that had bound him to England had been so effectually severed, that his identification was impossible. He was of opinion, too, that the publication might be desirable, as experiences similar to his own have been the lot of many human beings, though very few have survived them, and scarcely any have been able or willing to record them. I think, therefore, that it will be best to allow him to tell his story almost in his own words.
I was the only son of a gentleman of moderate fortune, and, though I had one sister, I was always spoilt, especially by my mother. From my earliest years I was fond of animals, in the sense of killing or using them for my amusement, beginning by tormenting flies and teasing cats. I was sent to a good private school, where I learned something, and acquired a certain taste for Latin and English poetry, which never entirely deserted me, and which has revived more strongly than ever during the loneliness of my later years. Thence I went to a public school, where I forgot a good deal of what I knew, and acquired considerable knowledge of a different kind. I was bullied while I was a small boy, and became a most decided bully myself as soon as I grew into a big boy. My taste for cruelty became rapidly developed, not only at the expense of my schoolfellows, but also at that of birds, cats, rats, frogs, or any other unfortunate creatures that came into my power. In the holidays the same taste found a more legitimate expression in hunting, shooting, and fishing.
Soon after I had attained the age of eighteen, and when I was just about to leave school, I had the misfortune to lose my father. From that time I broke loose from all control. He had always been too indulgent to me, but I had a certain respect for him, and, had he lived, I should no doubt have complied with his wish that I should go to the university and perhaps have entered a profession. But now I was my own master. My mother was in feeble health, and too broken in spirit to direct my course, or to refuse me anything that I wanted. My other guardian tried for some time to save me from myself, but the insolence with which I met his proposals soon convinced him that it was useless for him to interfere. So I had my own way, surrounded myself with horses and dogs, hunted, shot, attended races, began to bet, and was proud to make acquaintance with some sporting characters. I soon became known as a hard rider, and astonished even my new friends by the savage way in which I rode a beautiful little chestnut mare to death in a steeple-chase. I did not think much of it at the time, but the sad look in her expressive eyes came back to me long afterwards, and haunts me even now. Just as I attained twenty-one my mother died, and I came into a fortune of about 80,000l. From that time my pace grew faster and faster. It is astonishing how easy it is to go downhill. I took to gambling in other ways besides racing, got into worse and worse company, tried to cheat others, got cheated myself, and before I was twenty-five was utterly ruined, and narrowly escaped a criminal prosecution.
So far my story is a commonplace one enough. I often think now how precisely Horace's description of a young Roman,
'Gaudet equis canibusque, et aprici gramine campi,
Cereus in vitium flecti, monitoribus asper,'
and the rest of it, suits a young Englishman of the present day.
I soon exhausted the patience and the pity of my father's friends, and from my own companions I had nothing to hope. It became necessary to do something to keep myself from starving. The only thing I could flatter myself I knew anything about was the management of horses. So I did what I had often heard of a gentleman doing. I obtained employment as a cabdriver.
At the same time I took to drinking. I had already, in the days of my luxury, acquired the habit of swallowing more than was good for me. But I now took to it not for pleasure, but to stupefy myself. And partly from that cause, and partly from my losses and vexations, my temper become more openly savage than it had ever been before, and I vented all my brutality on my wretched horse. And then I got pulled up and fined for cruelty. And then no decent cab-master would trust me with a horse and cab, and I had to get employment from a man who was, if possible, a greater blackguard than I had myself become. And so I got more and more degraded, and into worse and worse company, and my temper became more and more brutal, and I was always getting drunk, and fighting, and being taken up by the police. So it was no great fall when I made acquaintance with a gang of thieves, and was persuaded to join them in a burglary. I had to wait outside with a horse and trap while they went in for the plate. And, as it turned out, they half murdered an old gentleman, and I got caught, and was tried before a judge, and, being 'well known to the police,' I was sentenced to seven years' penal servitude.
After a short stay in gaol I was sent with others to the convict prison on Dartmoor. I can't describe the misery with which this part of my existence struck me, though I have suffered worse things since. The cold gloomy granite building, with its inscription 'Parcere subjectis ' (it had better have been 'Lasciate ogni speranza'), the constant wet, the hard work, to which I had never been accustomed, and which blistered my hands and made all my bones ache, the absence of every kind of comfort, the society of the most foul-minded and foul-tongued reprobates, the absolute privation of all news from the outer world, all these things must strike hard on any one, but struck with tenfold effect on one who had not long before been accustomed to the soft life of a gentleman. I had been used to every species of indulgence, and even in my cabdriving period I had found comfort in my gin and my pipe. Now everything of this kind was prohibited, and though the rule might sometimes be evaded by those convicts who were able to bribe a warder, any such infraction of regulation was most severely punished.
I was mad with rage and fury, and resolved to try to escape, even though I might be hanged for it.
One dark winter's day a party of us was working on the moor as usual. A thick bank of fog came sweeping up, and the warder, who well knew the danger of it, ordered us to fall in at once, in order to march back to the prison. I watched my opportunity when he was looking another way, and, swinging my spade round, felled him by a tremendous blow on the back of his head, and then ran for my life.
Not far from the place where we had been working there was a bank built up of earth and turf, after the manner of Devonshire, and for this I made. Just as I was scrambling up it I heard the crack of a rifle, and a bullet grazed my leg, and dropped with a thud into the bank. I got safely over, tumbled into a deep dry ditch on the other side, and doubled along it as fast as my legs could carry me. I was dimly conscious of two warders clearing the bank and plunging straight on into the fog beyond, which grew thicker every moment. Of them I saw no more. I fled on at my best pace until I was utterly exhausted, and dropped down in a hollow sheltered by a scanty growth of heather. Hungry, thirsty, wet, faint, and miserable, I yet felt a satisfaction in the hope that I had regained my liberty, and I fell asleep more soundly than I had ever slept on a prison bed.
J actually slept till sunrise. When I opened my eyes, a fresh breeze was blowing away the fog of the night before, and the moor was looking beautiful, as it can look on one of those few fine days that visit the English Siberia. I stretched: my stiff limbs, and tried to rub my eyes. Strange to say, I found that my hand could not reach my head. However, I found no difficulty in stretching my head down to meet my hand. But my hand felt strangely hard and rough. It had, in fact, become a horse's hoof.
I started up. I was broad awake now. I found myself standing on four legs. I stretched out my neck, turned my head round, and took a general survey of my legs and my body. There could be no doubt about it. They were the legs and body of a horse.
Though I retained a clear recollection of what I had been, I must somehow have acquired the mind of a horse as well as that of a man. I did not feel so much astonished as might be expected. The first idea that occurred to me was to find out what my face was like. I fancied that the old stories of Centaurs might perhaps be true, and that I might possibly have become half man and half horse.
Not far off there was a small pool of water. I trotted over to it, and looked at my reflection. The notion of the Centaur vanished. I found myself in all respects a horse. I was a bright chestnut horse, young and strong, broad-chested, clean-limbed, with brilliant eyes and flowing mane. I took a deep draught of water, and felt fresh and well.
Strange to say, my first sensations were by no means unpleasant. In the first place, I had regained my liberty. Then I had accustomed myself to look for pleasure in the animal senses, not in the intellect, and that kind of pleasure was by no means wanting. I felt conscious of extraordinary strength and swiftness. My powers of sight and hearing were developed to an extent unknown to human beings. I had no fingers, but my fore feet merely felt like clenched fists, and to that I was accustomed. My hind feet felt more comfortable than when encased in the prison boots.
I flung up my head and tail, and bounded over the moor in a stretching gallop.
A man on horseback is twice a man. He feels, if his horse be worth anything, far stronger, swifter, nobler, than before. I believe this is recognised throughout the world, and in all languages the eques, or cavalier, is the higher type of gentleman. At any rate, I felt this very strongly when I found myself not figuratively, but actually, identified with my horse. Never have I enjoyed a gallop on a horse's back as I enjoyed my first gallop on my own four legs.
The keen air of the moor soon made me feel hungry, and I set to work to crop the herbage. And here I found a new pleasure. My sense of taste and smell had become exquisitely delicate. I do not know whether this delicacy is possible to mankind, as I cannot remember the time when my taste was uncorrupted by meat, and alcohol, and tobacco.
But on Dartmoor the supply of grass and herbs fit for a horse is rather scanty, and it was the occupation of the whole day to satisfy my appetite.
Towards evening the weather again became cold and foggy, and the next day was very wet and miserable. As a gregarious animal, I began to feel the want of society, and I wandered about the moor in search of companions.
At last I discovered, under the lee of some large boulders of granite, a gipsy encampment, and two or three horses straying about near it. I approached them cautiously, and was received in a friendly way. We rubbed our noses together, and I was even allowed to pick at an armful of hay that had been provided for them.
Soon, however, I found myself an object of attention on the part of the gipsies. With the usual treachery which man employs in his dealings with what he is pleased to call the lower animals, one of them approached me with a measure of oats and the softest words he could muster, while another followed close behind him with a halter. The dry food looked very tempting after the wet and scanty herbage of the moor, and I was almost inclined to sell my liberty for a feed of oats. However, I was not quite so foolish, and, with a snort and a toss of the head, I turned round, flung up my heels, and was soon out of their reach. But the craving for company still kept me in the neighbourhood of the encampment, and I could hear the gipsies express their admiration of me as a 'proper beauty,' mingled with less polite language.
It was not long before they determined on another course of action. They caught two of their own horses, saddled, bridled, and mounted them, and started to circumvent me, taking care to approach me from opposite sides. I laughed inwardly at such an attempt, feeling conscious of strength and swiftness that would not be matched by any horse with the weight of a rider on his back. So I easily shot away from them, and then stopped and looked round, letting them approach me, and then starting off again, and in fact amusing myself by luring them on towards the middle of the moor.
However, they were more cunning than I. Gradually we reached a part of the moor where the ground was even rougher than the rest and more encumbered with boulders. Seeing a smooth piece of bright green turf, I naturally made for it. It gave way beneath my feet, and I found myself plunged deep into a Dartmoor bog.
Notwithstanding his great size and strength, a horse is essentially a timid animal. His organisation is as delicate as that of a young lady. Anyone can understand this who observes the extreme sensitiveness of his ear and eye. Though I still retained the memory of my human condition, I was now to all intents and purposes a horse. I was surprised at my own nervousness and want of presence of mind.
While I was struggling in the bog, the gipsies rapidly passed a halter over my head, and then fetched some ropes and planks, by means of which, aided by my own struggles, I was at last brought to terra firma. I was so exhausted and so dirty, that I was only too glad to submit to be groomed and cleaned, which operations took place amid many expressions of admiration on the part of the gipsies.
I was now tied up, and had a bucket of water and a good feed of oats. My spirits revived, and I resolved to make an attempt to regain my liberty at the first opportunity.
In the afternoon my masters proceeded to try their new horse. A saddle was placed on my back, a bit was forced into my mouth, and a young gipsy jumped into the pigskin. I reared, plunged, kicked, buck-jumped, and did all I could to unseat him. He was a good rider, though a brutal one, and I snffered severely from his whip and spurs, as well as from the horrible bit in my mouth. Half-mad with rage and pain, I at last reared higher than ever, overbalanced myself, and fell back on my rider. He was a good deal hurt, but did not let go the bridle, and the other gipsies came up and secured me.
I now heard them call me a vicious brute, and decide to break me in regularly. So now I had indeed a period of 'penal servitude,' such as was never contemplated by the judge who sentenced me. They 'lunged' me, put a dumb jockey on me, tied up one of my feet and kept me standing on three legs, brought me on my knees, and adopted all the devices by which men convince horses of their inferiority.
Meanwhile, I had full time to reflect on my position, and to make up my mind to accept the inevitable. I saw that it was impossible for a horse to live in a wild state in any part of England. I saw also that I was far too valuable an animal for the gipsies to keep for their own purposes. So I concluded that the best thing I could do was to behave quietly, and get sold to a gentleman, when I might probably be kindly treated; though I must resign all hopes of liberty.
Things turned out as I expected. As soon as I was at all presentable, the gipsies were most anxious to sell me, knowing that they would probably be suspected of having stolen me. So one of them took me to a fair, and sold me at a price which was no doubt important to them, but which seemed to me extremely small.
I was bought by a clergyman, and one by no means young, which surprised me considerably. He was a tall, active, wiry man, with the keenest of eyes and the pleasantest of voices, and, as I soon found, he was a born sportsman and a perfect rider. If it were ever possible to feel a pleasure in carrying a fellow creature on one's back, it would be in being ridden by such a one as my new master.
He took me up to Exmoor, and rode me with the staghounds. My nature had now become so identified with my outward shape, that I almost enjoyed hunting in this novel form. My memory of hunting from the human point of view stood me in good stead, and my master and I soon became distinguished beyond all other men and horses in that celebrated hunt.
This distinction, however, was fatal to my comfort. My master was a poor man, and, tempted by a very high price, he sold me at the end of the season to a rich sportsman of enormous weight.
I was summered confortably enough, but in the hot days of early autumn I was again taken out with the staghounds. I was young and strong in those days, and had carried my former master without difficulty, but I was quite unequal to the burden of such a mountain of flesh as now placed itself on my back. I did what I could, for by this time I was fully persuaded of the wisdom of the policy of submission. But it was of no use, and I was soon laid up with a strained back, from which I never quite recovered. A stupid veterinary surgeon was sent for, who pulled me about, and first thought it was my shoulder that was affected, then one of my hind legs, then my knee, and then my foot. So he tried one thing after another, and lanced me, and bandaged me, and blistered me, and almost vivisected me, while I was driven almost wild with pain and fury, and the inexpressible suffering of being unable to explain to him how utterly he had mistaken my case, and how worse than useless were all the tortures he was inflicting on me.
At last, in spite of his treatment, and merely in consequence of the rest which was permitted me, I got well enough to be considered sound. My master fortunately had sense enough to perceive that I was not up to his weight, as indeed no horse really was. So I was again sold, and this time to a young cavalry officer who had come down to hunt with the staghounds.
I was taken to his stables, and presently his young wife came to see the new horse. To my utter amazement I recognised my own sister, whom I had not seen for some years, during which she had been living with the guardian with whom I had chosen to quarrel. I had cared little for her in those days, as indeed I had cared for nothing but my own selfish pleasures. But now the case was completely altered. I felt all the gentleness, the longing for sympathy, which are natural to most horses. And my sister was one of those rare beings who have a peculiar insight into the nature of animals, who sympathise with all their feelings, and seem able to read their thoughts. She stroked my nose with her little soft hand, which appeared to exercise over me a kind of mesmeric influence. I returned her greeting as best I could with my velvety upper lip and my poor dumb tongue. She got me some bread and carrots, and I was soon installed as her prime favourite. Her husband was a good-natured sort of fellow, fond of horses and dogs in the ordinary way, and one who would not willingly ill-treat an animal, except in the way of sport. But he had not the peculiar gift possessed by my sister, and was inclined to laugh when she descanted on the human expression that she discovered in my eyes. She was probably ignorant of the speculations of Pythagoras and Empedocles, perhaps even of the story of Circe. Her imagination had lighted upon a doctrine which I believe to be true, that it is not uncommon for the soul of a man to be imprisoned in an animal, as a measure of punishment, or of purgatory.
In a material point of view I was now happy enough. I was kindly treated by everybody, and was daily petted and fed with dainties by my sister, My sole duty was to carry her when she rode, a duty which her light weight and light hand made a pleasure. My human memory told me exactly what I ought to do, and I became known as the most perfect lady's horse ever seen.
Mentally, however, I suffered much. That sad beseeching look which my sister noticed in my eyes was the only way I had of expressing what I felt. I was filled with a constant longing to tell her my story, and to reveal to her who I really was. The impossibility of doing this was a bitter pain to me. I believe, as I said before, that many persons have been placed in a position similar to mine, but the power of speech has been allowed to them only in a very few instances. Some of these are recorded in the early history of Rome, but the case of Balaam's ass is perhaps the best authenticated.
Evil days were now approaching. I noticed that my sister now rode seldom and more seldom. She was evidently becoming ill. I was tried in harness, and, I need not say, behaved my best. Then I was driven by her in a light carriage. But soon even this exertion became too much for her, and she faded away rapidly. She used to be wheeled out to the stables to feed and caress me, but at last the day came when she said farewell, with many tears on both sides. I heard her make her husband promise never to part with me, and I saw her no more. But I soon heard that all was over, and I followed her remains to the grave.
Her husband was broken-hearted, and I believe looked forward with satisfaction to the prospect of flinging his life away in the war that was now commencing. He kept his promise not to part with me, but to him I was only a horse, nor indeed was there any reason for peculiar care of me at a time when the blood of thousands of better men than I had ever been was poured out like water. He made me his charger, and I accepted my fate as inevitable.
The delicate organisation of a horse makes the noise and smoke of battle, and even of mimic battle, inexpressibly hateful to him. My first field-day was very painful, but that was a trifle compared with what followed. The regiment was ordered to the Crimea, and I was placed with many other horses on board a troop-ship.
The life of a domesticated horse is only tolerable when he has a loose box in which he can turn. To be tied up in an ordinary stall, especially when it is a sloping one, is little better than prolonged torture. But even that lot is enviable, compared with the indescribable sufferings endured on board a troop-ship. However, most of us survived them, and in course of time we landed in the Crimea. There our sufferings were almost as bad in a different way—hard work, cold, wet, and hunger.
At last there came a time when we, among the scanty squadrons of the Light Brigade, were drawn up at the end of a long valley, both sides of which were held by masses of the enemy's troops. The word was passed along in a whisper that we were going to charge the Russian army at the other end of the valley. There were mutterings and curses on the idiotic folly of him who ordered it; but the time was short. I heard my brother-in-law say, 'It is hard on the poor young fellows who would like to live!' And then he patted my neck, and I felt that we, at any rate, were agreed, and that death could not come too soon to both of us. And then the charge rang out loud, and we all dashed into a storm of shot and shell. Men and horses immediately began to fall to right and left of us, and my rider and I were racing with the leader, when we were both struck, and rolled over together. I struggled to my feet when the others had passed, and looked at what had been my sister's husband. There was only his body; his head had been carried off by a shot. Only a few minutes seemed to pass, and the broken wave of returning horsemen came back upon us. Notwithstanding my longing for death, the gregarious instinct prevailed, and with them I limped back again into the British lines. No one offered to catch me. There was more serious work to be done that day than to notice a wounded horse. I knew where a sort of hospital for sick horses had been established, and thither I managed to drag myself. I heard a discussion whether I should be shot at once, and heartily hoped that the question would be decided in the affirmative. But my wound was not a vital one, and the strangeness of the circumstance induced the veterinary surgeon to keep me alive. In after days hundreds of our men came to see the horse that went of his own accord to the hospital and reported himself wounded.
So it happened that I was saved to endure all the miseries of that horrible winter, when we used to be kept toiling with heavy burdens of shot and shell through miles of snow and mud; when we lay at night in the snow, and had often nothing but snow to eat. I saw hundreds of horses fall and die round me, and envied their fate. But my seven years of penal servitude had not yet expired, and I could not die.
The story of my wonderful instinct, as they called it, obtained for me some little consideration in that time of cruelty. And so it happened that I lived all through the war, and into the quiet time that succeeded it, and was one of the few horses that were brought back to England.
There was welcome enough for the Crimean heroes, but no thought for the horses who had borne the worst part of the work and the suffering, and without whom the victory could never have been achieved. In the confusion that followed the battle of Balaklava I had become mixed with the ordinary troopers, and was no longer recognised as an officer's charger. When we were inspected on our return to England, I, with many others, was pronounced unfit for service, and not worth bringing home. Among a number of cast horses I was sent to be sold by auction, and was bought for a very small price by a cab proprietor, in whom, to my indignation and horror, I recognised my former employer.
'Do as you would be done by' is a maxim inculcated upon children. I now experienced its converse. I was done by as I did. Many cabmen are good fellows enough, but my master was not one of them. Even the sufferings of the Crimea were scarcely as bad as the cruelty of London. I was stabled in a stall that was no better than a dung-heap, dark, and suffocating with the most fœtid odours. When I was taken out, the light almost blinded me. From morning to night my lot was hard work, little food, and constant flogging. I soon wasted away, and felt, with a bitter kind of satisfaction, that this could not last long. I became covered with raw places, to which the friction of the harness and the constant application of the whip added indescribable torture. I was now taken out only at night, in order to escape the observation of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty. I heard my owner say that I was not worth my keep, and I knew that it was intended simply to work me to death.
One night my driver took up a fare near Marlborough House. When we reached our destination, I happened to look round, and recognised my former master, the clergyman. His quick eye also recognised me, and I heard him say, 'Why, that horse once belonged to me! He looks down on his luck, poor fellow! Be kind to him, cabby, and here's sixpence extra for you.' My driver grinned, and proceeded to the next public-house. At last the end came. One night I was toiling along as usual, when a complete faintness came over me, and I fell 'all of a heap.' My driver tried to rouse me by a most unmerciful flogging, but I felt little of it. My seven years of penal servitude were at last over. I closed my eyes, and knew no more.
When I next regained consciousness, I found myself lying on the grass in the Green Park. The sun was rising on a brilliant May morning, and the world of London was awaking to work and pleasure.
I stretched myself, rubbed my eyes, and felt myself all over. I was again a man, strong and well, and not very old. I was dressed in a stable suit such as is worn by grooms. After a little consideration it appeared to me that the only thing I was fit for was the company of horses. I proceeded to a livery stable in Duke Street, which I had known in former times, and applied for employment.
The master looked me over sharply, and then said, 'The old story, I suppose—no character. Well, you look as if you knew something about horses. Do you think you could do anything with this one?'
He then opened the half-door of a loose box, and a savage black horse darted his head out, glared wildly round, and snapped at us. I caught his head between my hands, breathed into his nostrils, and whispered into his ear, The vicious animal, as he was called, because he had endeavoured to struggle against ill-treatment, whinnied with pleasure, and began to 'nuzzle' me with his nose and prehensile upper lip.
'Well, that's a rum go,' said the master. 'I have heard of that dodge, but never saw it before. I'll give you fifteen shillings a week, young man, and if you're worth more you shall have more.'
I was hungry, and by no means in a position to bargain, so I accepted his offer, and entered on my duties as stableman. But they did not continue long. My chief pleasure, indeed my only one, was to read the newspapers, and renew my acquaintance with the world from which I had been so long secluded. And so it happened that I noticed an advertisement in which I was desired, if still living, to apply to the old solicitors of my family in order to hear 'something to my advantage.'
I lost no time in waiting upon Mr. X. My former appearance had been so far restored that he found little difficulty in recognising me, and he knew enough of what had happened seven years before to induce him to abstain from asking inconvenient questions.
It appeared that an old aunt of mine had died, leaving a will made many years before, by which she gave me all her property. And so I became the owner of some hundreds a year. You may imagine that I settled my business and got out of England as soon as possible. I found a remote nook of Italy in which I established myself. I had lost all taste for human society. My sadness is incurable, but I find in the cultivation of my ground, and in the company of my horse, my dog, and my books, the means of passing my time without finding life a burden too heavy for me to bear.