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CHAPTER V

How to ride a Horse on three Legs

Fame never permits her votaries to rest, and once a man has gained a certain reputation for any thing, he is wise who can be the humblest under it, because he is conscious only of demerit. Should Fame desert him, he will never sink under it. He will say, "I had a great deal more than I deserved; let me be content." Wise man indeed! Doctor Gambado, however, found that Fame did not desert him nor his practice. He was the more sought after, the more personally-retired he would become. Bread-street is not now celebrated for the worthies it was an hundred years ago; but there are worthy men in it, and perhaps worthier than those an hundred years ago, though not so celebrated for eccentricities. Man's nature alters very materially under the impression of time. Men inveigh against fashion; but the most convenient fashion is that which is the simplest after all. Clerical habits alter; externally they go for a class, a profession, or degree. We hope that external feature will never be mistaken for internal; or the clergy would be black indeed. Quakerism used to be a badge of simplicity in dress and manners, till the self-possession of prosperity destroyed the equanimity of judgment; and men set them down for exactly their worth. But gently, my steed, gently; too long soliloquies generally make a man yawn.

Doctor Gambado had to go from London to York, and to visit no less a person than one of the greatest ecclesiastical dignitaries of the land, as the following letter will show.

"Precincts, York, October 10th, 1774.

"Sir, – Doctor Greathead is desirous of consulting you, as speedily as possible; and if you have an eminent veterinary surgeon, who can accompany you, the Doctor will pay all expenses, as he has a favourite horse very ill. Travel post, if you please.

I am sir, your humble servant,

George Gotobed, Hon. Sec. &c. &c."

Characteristic of simplicity was the Doctor's letter, that very instant, to John Tattsall, written on a scrap and sent by his own servant.

"John, – Will you be ready to start for York in an hour?

"Your's, – Gambado."

John's reply was more laconic.

"Yes.

"Your's, – J. T."

In one hour see this loving couple off for York. Each confiding in the other's integrity, they each took plenty of money with them. At that time, travelling by post or by coach was no joke. In a general way, from London to York was a four days' journey; but now, four hours will do great things.

We are not going to bother our readers with a description of all the adventures of these worthies on their way. How many times they were upset. How many times the post boy's horse fell down. How many spokes, fellies, or hobs, were splintered. Let it suffice that, with two such resolute men inside, who were never at a loss for contrivances under the very worst circumstances, they were sure to get safely through the journey.

Had the reader seen the blunderbuss, – yes, the bell-mouthed brass blunderbuss, – with a strange springing bayonet at the muzzle, the moment it was discharged, and this placed in the fore front of the carriage, directly opposite the sword case behind, he would indeed have said the Doctor was well provided against any robbers of the Yorkshire Ridings.

John, too, had a brace of pistols under his belt. They had no occasion, however to use them. They were conspicuous enough to every post-boy, waiter, and stable-keeper. Whether that kept them from an attack, we know not; but they were not attacked, and arrived safely at the then celebrated Precincts, close to the Cathedral.

They found the great Doctor Greathead, seated in an invalid chair, about four o'clock in the afternoon. His first words of salutation were those of hospitality.

"Gentlemen, have you had any refreshment after your journey?"

Doctor Gambado declared they had only just stept out of the carriage.

"Before I converse with the gentlemen, show them into the refectory. I will be prepared, half an hour hence, for our consultation."

Glad was Doctor Gambado, to refresh his stomach after travel, and not less glad John Tattsall to partake of the great divine's hospitality.

They did ample justice to the good things set before them; and as neither of them had any favour to ask of this great man, but both had something to confer, they were in no fear of taking too much or too little.

The butler was very attentive, and asked if they had had any adventures upon the road. Of course he received a courteous reply. The Doctor inquired if there was any thing new in York. New York was then unknown; but York New Theatre was then the go all over the north. It was just finished in most exquisite style, and was in fact the lion of the north.

"You will have plenty to see, sir," said the butler, "if you never were at York before. Our Minster is the wonder of the world."

"But your master, he must be a wonder?"

Very few masters are wonders in their butler's eyes, though many a butler becomes a wonder in the service of his master.

"There is nothing very wonderful about my master, except his present indisposition; and I most sincerely hope that your visit may do him good."

The butler had great respect for Doctors, and for Doctors that had before them the title of Right Reverend, or His Grace, or My Lord, or The Venerable; and these or some of these, he was accustomed to see every day; but an M.D. F.R.S. was not often in his view. He had noted these letters upon Doctor Gambado's card. The other gentleman had no card, and, therefore, he concluded that he was the greater man.

The footman came in to announce that his master was ready to receive Doctor Gambado and his friend.

There was something formidable in entering the presence of so great a divine as Doctor Greathead; but they were not going in for an examination of themselves, but to examine.

"Now, my friends, I can talk to you. I did not like talking to starving men, lest they should be ready to eat me up; and you will say, they would have enough to do to do that. But there are no cannibals at York, or I might have been eaten up long ago. Still, I regret to say that I have a disease preying upon my vitals; and except you can prescribe a cure, Doctor, I am afraid it is all up with me."

"We can prescribe no cure, without understanding the nature of the complaint."

"But it is that which puzzles the faculty in York. They say I have no bodily complaint; that it is all upon the nerves; and therefore it is, that in applying to my friend, Doctor Turnbull, to know if he knew any physician in London celebrated for his knowledge of the treatment of nervous cases, he mentioned you as the author of a book upon the nervous system; and I desired my secretary to write to you. You have well done to come to us, and we hope to receive benefit from your advice."

"I am obliged to Doctor Turnbull, for the mention of my name; but I must make some inquiries about your bodily health?"

"How is your appetite?" "Good."

"How is your sleep?" "Good."

"How is your sight?" "Good."

"How is your pulse?" "Try it."

"What do you say yourself?" "It is good."

"Have you any fever?" "None."

"Have you any particular pain?" "No."

"Do you walk much?" "No."

"Do you ride much?"

"I can ride no longer; and I fear this is one of the painful causes of my strange distemper."

"Are you accustomed to horseback exercise?"

"Constant: I used to ride on the Carlisle road every day, till about a month since, and now I never ride."

"Why not?"

"I have lost the fancy or taste for it, and somehow I care no longer about it."

"Ah! that's bad! That's bad of itself. You met with no accident, to give your nervous system a shock, did you?"

"None whatever, except that my favourite old horse could go no longer, and I no longer felt inclined to go."

"But there are other horses that might be had equally as good."

"None, sir, None! I do not believe there is another horse in England that could carry me, like my old gray."

"If Yorkshire cannot suit you, I know no other county in the kingdom likely to do so. Surely, Doctor Greathead, you must be deceived in this respect?"

"Deceived or not, Doctor Gambado, I am not deceived in saying this, that I will ride no other horse; and, in fact, I would rather ride that horse on three legs, if he could be made to go upon them, then any other horse upon four."

Great men as well as little men have singular crotchets in their heads sometimes; and if these crotchets cannot be altered, they will go on in such a monotonous tone that they never get out of it. The Doctor was a learned scholar, and a very good divine; but his favourite horse was as dear to him as a lady's favourite cat or cap could be to her.

He had rode the same horse ten years, and had got so attached to him, that when that horse was seized with a lameness in the off hind leg, and could no longer stand or go upon it, the Doctor's sympathies increased with his favourite, though he was no longer any use to him. Like his master, the animal fed well, and could sleep well, but he could not go.

"Have you seen my horse?"

"I came to see yourself first, Doctor, and I can have no objection to go and see your horse, in company with my friend Mr. John Tattsall, who I should say knows more of a horse than any man living; and can make a horse go, I verily believe, on three legs."

The very idea gave animation to Doctor Greathead's features.

"I will walk with you to the stables."

He rang the bell, ordered his hat, gloves, and even his riding whip, so precocious was the idea that the Doctor had conceived of being able to mount once more his favourite gray.

The horse was led out, and came out upon three legs; the other evidently of no use to him. In fact he could not put it to the ground.

John examined the sturdy old fellow, who had a small head and stout legs; he pronounced him to be afflicted with an incurable disease in the coffin-bone, and said he never could go upon that leg. He looked at all the other limbs, and pronounced them all right.

"A fine old horse, your Reverence; a fine old horse, fit to carry your worship's weight; but he never will go again upon all fours."

"Can he ever be made to go upon three?"

"I see no reason to doubt it. The disabled limb is only such from the fetlock to the hoof; if the joint could be supported from the hock to the fetlock, and pressure be produced so as to keep that leg up to his body, without any weight falling upon the tendons of the foot, I see no reason why the horse should not canter upon three legs, – I do not say with the same ease as he would upon four sound ones; but certainly easier far than he could upon the four as they now are."

"You are a sensible man, sir, and what you say seems feasible. What would you suggest?"

"Let one of your grooms go and get a Yorkshire weaver's strap that will go once round the animal's body, and at the same time catch up the animal's leg, – and fasten it with a stout Birmingham buckle, so that the power shall be exerted in the leg bone without the fetlock or the foot; and I think your Reverence will be able to show to all the world how to ride a horse on three legs."

"Good! good! Let it be done immediately: I verily believe it can be done."

It literally was done, and in one hour Doctor Greathead showed that he himself was alive again. He mounted his favourite gray; and though the animal laid its ears, and lifted up its hind quarters, rather higher than usual, it went; and did perform what the Doctor never expected it to do again – namely, carried him a mile on the Carlisle road, and that without a fall.

It did the Doctor good whenever he did ride it. How often that was, we have no record to tell us.

He paid the Doctor of Medicine and his friend John Tattsall more than would have purchased three fine Yorkshire horses. In fact he paid for his whim.

He was cured of his whim.

And Doctor Gambado and his friend John returned to town satisfied.

 
If men have fancies, bugbears of the mind,
And money, too, to pay for what they want;
Why should they not, like Doctor Greathead, find
Their fancies made to profit more than cant?
We all have fancies! what more should we say,
Than if we would indulge them, we must pay?
 

CHAPTER VI

Tricks upon Travellers

The descent from the sublime to the ridiculous is a very easy transition in this mortal life. Even in the moments of utmost seriousness, we have seen something flit across the vision of the brain, or eye, or the spirit, that for a moment diverts the current of thought from the simplicity of the most devout and earnest Christian. Every moment we learn a new lesson of life and thought, from nature or from grace.

Thoughts are continually arising as to the probability of doing anyone any good, in these narratives. They form a diversion of thought, and much must depend upon the disposition of the mind of the reader. A good man will make some good out of every thing, and a bad man will find nothing good in anything.

To look simply at the picture, and to laugh at it, is easy; but to say, that they who played tricks upon others deserved to be whipped out of them, might be easier said than done.

Among the Doctor's patients was a singular mean old gentleman, Sir Abraham Crusty, who was recommended by the Doctor to ride out hunting, or to give the hounds a look, by way of diversion to his usual nothingness in his country-box. Sir Abraham had retired from city friends, city business, city thoughts, – to enjoy, as he hoped, the breezes and the green fields, and rural occupation at his country seat in Surrey; but being very hypochondriacal and very mean as well, he was desirous of being as economical as possible, and not desirous of being considered a regular fox-hunter.

He could look on, enjoy the variety, and not be expected to pay anything towards the support of the hounds. Hence he would drop in upon them, look at them, ride a little way with them, and then return quietly to his own mansion. He would not keep a hunting stud, nor any man-servant to ride out with him. He was old enough to take care of himself, wise to do his own will, and mean enough to think about nobody else but himself.

When he consulted the Doctor, and was told what to do, he asked him if he could tell him the best way to do it. "Go to John Tattsall's, buy a steady hunter with good strong limbs, and one that will make no mistake."

He did so: but John mistook him for an old farmer, and, consequently, gave him a good old hunter for a very little money. Any body might take Sir Abraham Crusty for what they pleased, so long as they did not take too much of his money; and that he took care not to throw away upon even saddle, bridle, or riding whip, for he rode on an old saddle covered with a thick cloth, and had a drover's cart whip for his hunting whip; and few would imagine Sir Abraham was going out to follow the hounds. He used to go himself overnight to the King Charles in the Oak, sleep there, and, as if he were merely a travelling man of business, who came for lodging for man and beast, he paid packman's fare for supper at night, and breakfasted upon eggs and bacon in the morning; and started off quietly for the covert's side, without any intention of being considered a hunter.

He went, however, one day with a very bitter complaint to Doctor Gambado, saying, he thought his horse would be the death of him, for that he never started from the Royal Oak without such a violent fit of kicking, that he was afraid of a fall; and that made him so nervous, he thought the Doctor ought to return him his fee, and Mr. Tattsall take the horse back and allow him something handsome for his keep of it.

"And so I will," replied the Doctor, "if John Tattsall do not cure him, or at least account for his kicking."

"Where do you say he exhibits these tricks?" said John.

"At the Royal Oak, Norwood."

John was there the next Easter hunt day. So was Sir Abraham.

John saw him start, and saw that two urchins, viz. the post boy and the boots, stuck a stick under his tail, which seldom fell off until the old gentleman had had quite enough of the kicking. But once the stick dropped, the old horse went quiet enough.

When Sir Abraham was gone, John came from his dormitory, and soon put this question to the lads:

"Why do you treat that old gentleman in this shabby way?"

"Vy, sar, because he is a shabby, crusty old fellow, and treats all the sarvents of the hestablishment in the shabbiest vay. He pays for his bed, and for his 'orse's bed, – for his board, and his 'orse's board, – but he never gives Sal anything, vat beds him up at night, nor Bill anything, vat beds his 'orse up, – nor me anything, vat cleans his old boots for him; so ve just shows him vun of our tricks upon travellers: that's all, and sarves him right."

This was told to the Doctor, who, the next time he saw Sir Abraham, said to him:

"Sir Abraham, you will forgive my honesty; but, if you wish to cure your horse of kicking at the Royal Oak, you must know how to be penny wise, and pay the chambermaid, the hostler, and the boots. I am sure you will never be pound foolish."

Sir Abraham took the hint, and the horse never kicked again at the King Charles in the Oak.

 
To all their dues, let no man flinch to pay,
If he would prosper in an honest way;
Customs are good, if carried not too far,
And a good custom, oft prevents a jar;
Sir Abraham's horse no more gave out his kicks,
Nor John nor Bill on travellers played tricks.