Rensselaer Union, Volume 10, Number 19, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 January 1878 — THE TRUMPETER’S HORSE. [ARTICLE]

THE TRUMPETER’S HORSE.

.1 was nearly forty years of age, and felt myself so safely anchored in the peaceable haven of a bachelor’s life that nothing would induce me to run the risk of disturbing it by marriage. But 1 had reckoned without the trumpeter’s horse. It was at the end of September, 1864, that I arrived at Paris from Baden, intending only to remain four-and-twenty hours. I had invited four or five friends to join me in Poitou for the hunting season, and, as they were to arrive at the beginning of October, I had only allowed myself a week at La Roche Targe to prepare for their reception. A letter from home awaited my arrival at Paris, bringing me the disastrous intelligence that out of twelve horses five had fallen ill or lame during my stay in Baden, so that I was under the necessity of remounting my cavalry before I left Paris. I made the round of all the horsedealers of the Champs Elysees, where I was shown a collection of screws, the average price of which was £l2O, but I was neither in a humor nor in cash to throw away mv money upon such useless beasts, it was Wednesday, the day of Cheri’s autumn sale; I went to the Rue de Ponthieu, and purchased at a venture eight horses, which cost me all together £2OO. “ Out of the eight,” said I to myself, “ there will be surely four or five which will go.” Among these horses there was one which, 1 confess, I bought principally oh account of his coat. The catalogue did not assign to him any special qualifications as a hunter. All that it stated was, “Brutus, a saddle-horse, aged, well-broken.” It was a large dappled gray horse, but never had I seen one better marked, its smooth, white skin, dappled over with fine black spots so regularly distributed. The next morning I left for La Roche Targe, and the following day my horses arrived. My first care was for Brutus. This gray horse had been running for the last forty-eight hours in my head, and I was anxious to try his paces, and see what he was good for. He had long teeth, and every mark of a repectable age, a powerful shoulder, and he carried his head well; but what I most admired in Brutus was the way in which he looked at me, following every movement with his attentive, intelligent, inquisitive eye. Even my words seemed to interest him; he leaned his head on one side as if to hear me, and when I had finished speaking replied with a merry neigh. The other seven horses were brought out to me in succession, but t hey resembled .any other horses, and Brutus certainly was different from them all. I was anxious to take a little ride in the country, in order to make his acquaintance. Brutus allowed himself to bo saddled, bridled and mounted as a horse who knew his work, and we started quietly together, the best friends possible. He had a beautiful mouth, and answered to every turn of the rein, arching his neck and champing his bit. His paces were perfect ; he began by a slow, measured canter, raising his ieet very high and letting them fall with the regularity of a pendulum. I tried him at a trot and a short gallop, but when I sought to quicken his pace he began to amble in grand style. “Ah,” said I, “I see how it is; I nave bought an old horse out of the cavalry ridingschool at Saumur.” I was about to turn homeward, satisfied with the talents of Brutus, when a shot was heard a short distance off. It was one of my keepers firing at a rabbit, for which shot be it said, en passant, he afterward received ahandsome present from my wife. I was then exactly in the center of an open space where six long green roads meet. On hearing the shot, Brutus stopped short and put his ears forward in an attitude of attention. T was surprised to see him so impressionable. After the brilliant' military education I assumed he had received in his youth, he must be well accustomed to the report of a gun. I pressed my knees against him to make him move on, but Brutus would not stir. I tried to back him, to make him turn to the right or to the left, but in vain. I made him feel my riding-whip, but still he was immovable. Brutus was not to be displaced; and yet, do not smile—for mine is a true history—each time I urged him to move, the horse turned his head round and gazed upon me with an eye expressive of impatience and surprise, and then relapsed into his motionless attitude. There was evidently some misunderstanding between me and my horse. I saw it in his eyes. Brutus was saying, as plainly as he could without spijakino-, “I, horse, do what I ought to do, ana you, horseman, do not perform your part.’’ I was more puzzled than embarrassed. “ What a strange horse Cheri has sold me! and why does he look non mu in such a way?” I was about

to proceed to extremities and administer to him a good thrashing, when another shot was f •ed. The horse thc i made one bound. I thought I had gained my point, and again tried to start him, but in vain. He stopped short and planted himself m9re resolutely than ever. I then got into a rage and my riding-whip entered into play. 1 took it in both hands and struclc the horse right and left. But Brutus, too, lost patience, and, finding passive resistance unavailing, defended himself by roaring, kicking and plunging, and in the midst of the battle, while the horse capered and kicked, and I, exasperated, was flogging him with the loaded butt-end of my broken whip, Brutus, nevertheless, found time to look at me, not only with impatience and surprise, but with rage and indignation. While I required of the horse the obedience he refused, he, on his part, was expecting of me something 1 did not do. * How did this end? To my shame be it spoken, I was relentlessly and disgracefully unseated. Brutus saw there was nothing gained by violence, so judged it necessary to employ malice. After a moment’s pause, evidently Eassed in reflection, the horse put down is head and stood upright on his fore legs, with the address and equilibrium of a clown upon his hands. I wad consequently deposited upon the sand, which, fortunately, happened to be rather thick in the place where I fell. tried to raise myself, but I cried out and fell stretched with my face toward the ground. I felt as if a knife were sticking in my left leg. The hurt did not prove serious—the snapping of one of the small tendons—but not the less painful. I succeeded, however, in turning myself, and sat down; but while 1 was rubbbing my eyes, which were filled with sand, I saw the great

foot of a horse descend gently upon my head, and again extend me on my back. I then felt quite disheartened, and was ruminating in my mind what this strange horse could be, when I felt a quantity of sand strike me in the face. I opened my eyes and saw Brutus throwing up the dust with both fore and hind feet, trying to bury me. This lasted for several minutes, when, apparently thinking me sufficiently interred, Brutus knelt by my grave, and then galloped round me, describing a perfect, circle. 1 called out to him to stop. He appeared to be embarrassed; but seeing my hat, which had been separated from me in my fall, he took it between his teeth and galloped down one of the green paths out of my sight I was left alone. I shook off the sand which covered me, and with my arm and right leg—my left I could not move—dragged myself to a bushy bank, where I seated myself, and shouted with all my might for assistance. But no answer; the wood was perfectly silent and deserted. I remained alone in this wretched condition above half an hour, when I saw Brutus in the distance, returning by the same road by which he went, enveloped in a cloud of dust. Gradually. as it cleared away, I saw a little carriage approaching—a pony-chaise—-and in the pony-chaise a lady, who drove it, with a small groom in the seat behind. A few instants after Brutus arrived covered with foam. He stopped before me, let fall my hat at his feet, and addressed me with a neigh, as much as to say: “I have done mv duty, I have brought you help.” But I did not trouble myself about Brutus and his explanations; I had no thought or looks save for the beautiful fairy who had come to my aid, and who, jumping from her little carriage, trippea lightly up to me, and suddenly two exclamations were uttered at the same moment: “ Mme. de Noriolis!” “ Mons, de la Roche Targe!” I have an aunt between whom and myself my marrying is a source of continual dispute. “ Marry,” she would say. “ I will not,” was my answer. “ Would you have a young lady? There are Miss A, Miss B, Miss C.” “ But I won’t marry.” “ Then take a widow; there are Mrs. D, Mrs. E, Mrs. F,” etc. “ But marry I will not.” Mme. de Noriolis was always in the first rank among my aunt’s widows. To tell me she was rich, lively and pretty was unnecessary; but after setting forth all her attractions, my aunt would take from her secretary a map of the district where she lived, and point out how the estates of Noriolis and La Roche Targe joined, and she had traced a red line upon the map uniting the two properties, which she constantly obliged me to look at. “ Eight hundred acres within a ringfence! a fine chance for a sportsman. ’ But I would shut my eyes and repeat as before, “ I will never marry.” Yet, seriously speaking, I was afraid of Mipe. de Noriolis, and always saw her head eneifcled with an aureole of my aunt’s Ted line. Charming, sensible, talented and 800 acres witinn a ringfence! Escape for your safety if you will not marry. And I always did escape; but this time retreat was impossible. I lay extended on the turf, covered with sand, my hair in disorder, my clothes in tatters, and my leg stiff. “What are you doing here?” inquired Mme. de Noriolis, “What has happened?” I candidly confessed I had been thrown.

“ But you are not much hurt?” “No; but I have put something out in my leg—nothing serious, I am sure.” “ Aqd where is the horse which has played you this trick?” = - I pointed out Brutus, who was quiet. Jy—grazing upon thp shoots of thq broom. . “ How! it is him, the good horse! He has amply repaired his wrongs, as I will relate to you later. But you must go home directly.” “ How? I cannot move a step.” “ But I am going to drive you home, at the risk of compromising you.” And calling her little grooin Bob; she led me gently by one arm, while Bob took the other, and ltlhde me get into her carriage. Five minutes afterward we were moving in the direction of La Roche Targe, she holding the reins and driving the pony with a light hand; I looking at her, confused, embarrassed, stupid, ridiculous. Bob was charged to lead back Brutus. “Extend youb leg quite straight,” said Mme. de Noriolis, “ and vl will drive you very gently, to avoid jolting.” When she saw me comfortably installed, “ tell me,” she said. “ how you were thrown, and I will explain how I came to your assistance.” ' I began my story, but when I spoke of the Offorte of Brutus to unseat me after the two shots, “ 1 understand it all,” she exclaimed; “you have bought the trumpeter’s horse.” ‘ “ The trumpeter's horse?” “ Yes, that explains it all. You have seqnmany scenes in the Cirque

de I’lmperatrioe, the peiformanoe of the trumpeter’s hone. A Chasseur d’Afrique enters the arena upon a gray horse; then come the Arabs, who fire upon him, and he is wounded and falls; and, as you did not fall, the horse, indignant at your not performing your part in the’ piece, threw you down. What did he ao next?” I related the little attempt of Brutus to bury me. “ Exactly like the trumpeter’s horse. He sees his master wounded; bnt the Arabs may return and kill him, so what does the horse do? He buries him and gallops off, carrying away the colors that they may not fall into the hands of the Arabs.” “ That is my hat which Brutus carried off.” “Precisely. He goes to fetch the vivandiere—the vivandiere of to-day being ybnr humble servant, the Countess ae Noriolis. Your greatgray horse galloped into my court-yard, where I was standing on the doorsteps putting on my gloves, and ready to get into my carriage. My grooms seeing a horse saddled and bridled, with a hat in his mouth, and without a rider, tried to catch him, but he escapes their pursuit, goes straight up to the steps, and kneels before me. The men again try to capture him, but he gallops off, stops at the gate, turns round, and looks at me. I felt sure he was calling me, so I jumped into my carriage ana set off. The horse darts through roads not always adapted for carriages, but I follow him, and arrive where I find you.” At the moment Mme. de Noriolis had finished these words the carriage received a fearful jolt, and we saw in the air the head of Brutus, who was standing erect on his hind legs behind us. Seeing the little black seat of the carriage untenanted, he had taken the opportunity of giving us another specimen of his talents by executing the most brilliant of all his circus performances. He had placed his fore feet upon the back seat of the little carriage, and was tranquilly continuing his route, trotting upon his hind legs alone, Bob striving in vain to replace him upon four. Mme. de Noriolis was so frightened she let the reins escape from her hands and sank fainting in my arms. With my left hand I recovered the reins, with my right hand I supported Mme. de Noriolis, my leg all the time causing me most frightful torture. In this manner Mme. de Noriolis made her first entry into La Roche Targe. When she returned there six weeks later she had become my wife. “ Such, indeed, is life!” she exclaimed. “ This would never have come to pass if you had not bought the trumpeter’s horse.”— London Society.