BIG JACK
“BIG JACK”
I WONDER how many of the little people in New York City have ever heard of “Big Jack”? Not many, I fancy; and yet Big Jack is quite an important character, and holds a very responsible position, which he fills with much dignity as well as credit to himself, and satisfaction to his employers.
His headquarters are at Broadway and Twenty-second Street, where he can usually be found at about ten o’clock in the morning, and from that hour, off and on, until about 5 P. M. In the intervals his business affairs call him to various parts of the city, but being extremely methodical in his habits, he is usually at his office about lunch-time.
You may be somewhat surprised to learn that he is strictly a vegetarian, confining his diet solely to cereals or fruit, with occasionally a few lumps of sugar. He should have been a Scotchman, judging by his fondness for oats, but he was born, I am told, in our own country.
Possibly his love for oats may account for his beautiful complexion, which is snowy white, with just a suggestion of pink showing through and telling of the warm, rich blood flowing underneath.
I first became acquainted with Jack about five years ago. Indeed, I must confess that we scraped acquaintance. It came about in this manner. I was standing with my little daughter upon the corner of Broadway and Twenty-second Street, waiting for an uptown car, when I became aware that we were being very closely regarded by a pair of unusually large and extremely beautiful brown eyes—eyes which were very eloquent, and seemed to say much more plainly than words could have done: “I am very favorably impressed with that little girl, and I should like to know her. Will she speak to me, do you think?”
I called the little girl’s attention to the big eyes looking at her so steadfastly, and, do you know, I believe she understood their language even better than I did, and yet I flatter myself that I am a pretty good interpreter of such glances. At any rate, she walked straight up to their owner and said: “Why do you look at me that-a-way? I just guess you know I keep lumps of sugar in my pocket to give to great, big lovely horses like you!”
Slowly a great white head with the most intelligent eyes I have ever seen was lowered to a level with the little maid’s face, and two or three queer, sidling steps taken to bring it closer to the outstretched arms. The owner seemed to realize that those little arms never gave any save the tenderest caresses, and he was very glad to feel one circle around his huge, soft neck, while the other carried a small hand to stroke a very silky muzzle, for Big Jack is a horse among horses. And big, indeed, he is—a giant of his kind.
There is nothing small about Jack either in his makeup or his manners. His head is massive, but magnificently formed, with thin, sensitive nostrils, wide-awake eyes placed widely apart, small, alert ears which point forward, or occasionally one is turned back as though to listen round the corner for the sound of a familiar voice, or a kindly word from his driver, who is justly proud of the big white creature.
And such a neck! I would not dare venture a guess as to the size of collar Jack wears, for the great neck arches up to a crest that is truly noble.
But his eyes tell more of his noble nature than all the rest of the head together; they are so big, so soft, so brown, and so eloquent. With them he talks to you, expressing by them love, kindness, expectancy, joy, and—sometimes—make-believe anger, for Jack is rarely angry in earnest.
But he resents the slightest approach to teasing by flashing his big eyes at his tormentor, and after they have seen the sharp eyes turned so keenly on them, not many have the hardihood to push matters too far.
Big Jack has hosts of friends, who always have a kind word for him, and a day rarely passes without someone bringing him a dainty of some sort.
His driver carries him an apple every morning when he goes to the stable to take him out for his day’s work, and Jack knows exactly the hour to expect him, and the instant his footfall is heard, greets him with a loud whinny.
After Jack has enjoyed his apple, his master lets him out of his stall, and that is Jack’s opportunity for a frolic. He prances about like a young colt until told to “go along and get his drink,” when he at once marches off to the water-trough and proceeds to drink up a few gallons. A good breakfast follows, and then he puts himself in position to be harnessed, gets into his shafts, and is ready for business. He knows exactly what is expected of him, and trots straight to the express office at Twenty-second Street and Broadway.
Jack does not move rapidly; it is not compatible with his size and dignity to do so, for he seems to realize his importance and to understand how utterly impossible it would be for the company to conduct the express business without his valuable assistance.
In front of his office Jack is king, and woe to any other horse who tries to usurp his special post. He knows precisely how that wagon should be backed in to the sidewalk to receive its daily load, and does not rest until he has brought it to exactly the proper position.
Then he settles down for a nap, and no one would imagine that the big white horse standing there with his head hanging down and eyes partly closed had half an ounce of sense in his great head. But stand aside for a few moments and watch him. Presently you see one ear turned slowly backward for apparently no cause at all. But Jack knows more than you do, and that ear is sharp, and has heard the patter of familiar feet and the sound of a sweet little voice. He cannot see behind him because, long ago, some stupid man, who thought he knew more about horses’ needs and natures than He who created them, decreed that they must wear a great patch of leather on each side of their heads in order that they may not know what is happening behind them; and blinders they are indeed.
But he did not stop up their ears, and Jack has that to be thankful for.
That pretty ear has heard a voice it recognizes, and when it has told its possessor that the owner of that voice is near enough to be seen, slowly the great head is raised and turned the least little bit to the right side, and the eyes, but a moment since so dull and sleepy,—so oblivious of surrounding affairs,—begin to beam with a wonderful softness.
Now comes dancing along a little girl about four years of age, with brown curls waving and brown eyes sparkling. A little girl who never walks; she skips and she prances, she jumps and she dances, as she holds her mother’s hand, and, I had better add, she chatters incessantly.
No wonder Jack has heard her. She comes up from behind him very quietly and says softly, “Good-morning, dear old Jack!”
Jack hitches a step or two closer to the sidewalk and waits; for Jack is a sly old fellow, and he knows it would never do to turn too quickly, and so spoil this pleasant little game of peek-a-boo.
“Who loves sugar, and how many lumps have I in my pocket for somebody?”
The word “sugar” has broken the charm, and Jack can no longer resist. The big, soft head comes down to the little girl’s outstretched arms and snuggles close up to her—so close that one passing by stops to say, “Oh, that horse will surely hurt that child.”
But Big Jack and Wee Winkles understand each other too well, and the great creature’s gentleness is a very beautiful lesson.
“Now, Jack,” she continues, “before we can have any sugar we must shake hands.”
Hardly are the words uttered when up comes a monstrous right foot, which two small hands grasp at the slender ankle; for to hold the hoof itself would be somewhat like trying to hold half a ton.
“That’s a dear horse. Now, find the buttons on my coat,—a lump of sugar for each button, you know.”
Very gently the soft muzzle travels up the front of the little coat, and a sly nip is given to the top button. The reward is instantly offered, and crunched with a relish. Before it has had time to slip down the huge throat, Jack has found the second button, and won his second lump. Four buttons in all, and four lumps of sugar.
A few more loving pats upon the dear old nose, the assurance that she “loves him dearly, dearly,” and Wee Winkles prances away up Broadway to Madison Square for her morning airing, while Jack watches her until she is lost in the throng.
Nearly every day, during the winter months in town for almost two years, Jack was visited, and no matter how long a time elapsed during the summer, when his little friend was out of town, Jack never forgot her, but upon her return showed his delight in every possible way.
But at length came a long separation, for the little girl moved far away uptown, where she lived for two years, and then moved to the country, and Big Jack was seen no longer. We often wondered whether he missed his morning visitor and lumps of sugar, but concluded that several other children, who knew and loved him, would doubtless remember him. Not only children loved Jack, but grown people find something very fascinating in the great creature, who is by turns affectionate or mischievous, and seems to act toward his friends with remarkable discrimination, showing to some all that is gentlest and sweetest—and this usually to the little people—in his disposition, and to others his mischief.
To see Jack dissemble is too funny for words to express. He will pretend he does not know a friend is near him until that friend slips his hand into his pocket for the apple or sugar which Jack knows all the time is there. Then he will turn his head slowly, very slowly, toward the individual, who may have been standing there for the past two minutes,—time is of no value to Jack,—then a quiet, scarcely perceptible change in the position of the ears, a surprised opening of the eyes, as though to say: “Why, really, are you there? I am surprised! I had no idea that you were within half a mile. So pleased to see you!”
Then the sweet morsel is accepted in the most gracious manner imaginable, as though his lordship were conferring a great favor by condescending to accept the attention.
And now I must tell you something which seems almost too wonderful to be true. After a lapse of five years we can tell a tale of Jack’s intelligence which is truly extraordinary, and which proves conclusively, if, indeed, the fact ever could be doubted, that our dumb friend has a memory which some of his two-footed friends might envy.
Not long since his little friend, now grown a large girl of nine years, went with her mother to the city to do some shopping, and, turning into Twenty-second Street from Sixth Avenue, the first object which met her eyes was Big Jack standing in front of one of the shops.
Although five years have passed over Jack’s head since we first met him,—and that is quite a number as horses’ lives are counted,—they have dealt very gently with him, and he is but little changed. Not quite so sleek, perhaps, and not so kittenish, for Jack has worked hard and steadily all these years, and work tells even upon the strongest horses; but the same old Jack stood before us, and could not be mistaken.
We were behind him, and his blinders prevented him from seeing us.
“Oh, mamma,” said his little friend, “do you think he will remember me if I speak to him? How I wish we had some sugar for the dear old fellow!”
I replied that we would step into a store close at hand and get a few lumps, and then we would test Jack’s memory. We soon had our sugar, and Wee Winkles—no longer “wee”—walked up from behind him as of old, and said in the voice which Jack had not heard for nearly four years, and which naturally must have changed considerably in that interval: “Good-morning, dear old Jack!” To my great astonishment, the recognition was instantaneous. Quick as a flash the great head was turned; and not only that, but a soft whinny told of the dear old fellow’s joy, as did also the quick snuggling down to the outstretched arms.
No one could possibly doubt these demonstrations of delight; and when they were followed by the voluntary upraising of the huge fore foot, as of old, for the—what shall I say—foot-shake? his little friend’s joy knew no bounds.
“Oh, mamma, mamma,” she cried, “did you ever know anything so wonderful?”
I replied that it was indeed very remarkable, and added, “Can it be possible that he has remembered all the tricks? Ask him about the s-u-g-a-r”—spelling the word lest the sound might recall the trick of the buttons.
“Who loves sugar, and how many lumps have I in my pocket for somebody?”
But, alas! fashions have changed in four years, and some coats have no buttons at all. In vain poor Jack felt about for the top button, then a little lower for where No. 2 should have been found, then at the other side for three and four, but no buttons were there; and Jack, utterly disgusted, manifested it by shaking his head and stamping his foot. His surprise was absurdly funny, and if he could have spoken I believe he would have said with withering scorn: “Well, if I were in your place I’d go straight home and sew on my buttons!”
Jack, however, got his four lumps despite the fashions, and was a very happy horse.
It is perhaps rather difficult to believe this little tale, but it is absolutely true from beginning to end, and has been written in order to give the little people who reside in that section of New York an opportunity to see and know big Jack, for I do assure you he is well worth seeing and knowing.
There are, I dare say, a great many very clever and very beautiful horses in our big city. Indeed, Wee Winkles and I know several ourselves. “Billy Borden,” for instance, who knows his milk route so well that his driver has only to say, “8 West Sixty-sixth, Billy,” or “9 West Sixty-fifth, Billy,” to have him go at once to these addresses, or any other with which he is familiar. Again, he will say: “No milk here to-day, Billy,” and Billy jogs on.
Then there is “Dan Sorrel,” who draws the milk-wagon which takes the milk to Central Park Dairy every morning. His driver often amuses the children who gather about his pet by saying:
“Now, Dan, I believe you are a Democrat.”
“No!” shakes the head.
“What! a Republican?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” and a stamping of both front feet, while the tail is slashed about like a banner to emphasize his sentiments.
Dan is great fun. Nor must we forget our old pet “Jingo” of the mounted policemen’s horses; for he was truly wonderful, and I might go on almost endlessly telling of his remarkable sagacity and cleverness.
Jingo and Wee Winkles were warm friends, for Winkles spent two winters in a home very near the West Seventy-second Street entrance to the Park, and each sunshiny day carried her lump of sugar to Jingo, who would perform all sorts of tricks in order to win his reward. He would waltz, go down upon his knees, shake hands, fetch a pocket-handkerchief which she made believe she had dropped, whisper in his rider’s ear, and do many things besides.
It is a never-ending source of surprise to me that so few people seem to understand the wonderful intelligence of horses, or the marvelous possibilities in developing that intelligence.
All my life I have either had horses of my own or been so fortunately situated that I might make the acquaintance of those belonging to others. I use the word “acquaintance” advisedly, for one must become acquainted, must be in sympathy with them, before they will show the best side of their horse natures.
I have frequently stopped in the street beside a horse who looked as though life had been a hard struggle for him, and whose every line of face and attitude showed a stolid endurance of the inevitable, as if fate had settled his lot beyond all power to change, and nothing remained but to endure and wait until death put an end to it all. After standing for a few moments unnoticed,—as though the poor creature were thinking within itself, “She is only one more, like all the rest, and will either pass on and take no notice of me, or say, ‘Get out of the way, you brute,’”—I would say softly, but without moving, “Come here, old fellow.”
At first there would not be the least response, save, perhaps, the slight turn of an ear; but upon repeating it two or three times in exactly the same tone, the head would turn slowly toward me, and a look of surprise come into the tired eyes, as though a gentle word were a thing before unknown.
At the third repetition I have rarely failed to have the poor old nose stretched out toward me for a gentle stroke, and the neck thus brought within reach of a kind pat.
Not infrequently have I had the owner of some such unfortunate say to me, “Hi, there! Look out! That horse’ll bite ye!” and have replied, “Oh, I think not; watch him a moment, and see if I am not right.”
I well recall one such instance, when I went up to intercede for a poor beast that was being cruelly lashed because it could not draw a load which was far beyond its strength.
I begged the driver to desist, which, I add to his credit, he did at once, getting down off his cart, whip in hand. As he did so I went up to the poor creature’s head, and was greeted with a series of snaps and plunges, as though his tormentors had driven him nearly wild. “Don’t go within tin feet av the baste!” exclaimed the man. “He’ll have the head off yer.”
“I hardly think so,” I said, and kept straight on, speaking softly and kindly to the trembling creature, while I reached out to take him by the rein.
Up flew the head as if to avoid a blow, telling all too eloquently how often the poor muzzle had smarted from one.
But dear Mother Nature is kind, and has endowed her dumb creatures with wonderful discerning powers; so not many minutes had passed before the poor tired head was nestled close to me, and soft strokes and gentle words seemed to act as a sedative upon nerves which were utterly unstrung.
The man stood by, open-mouthed. “Well, be all the powers!” said he; “the likes av that niver did I see in all me born days. I thought the baste would ate the very handle off me shovel!”
“He is better than you thought, is he not?”
“Faith, I believe ye’ve bewitched him,” he answered.
“Yes,” I said, “I have; but you can bewitch him in the same way if you will only try it. I wish you would.”
All this is a long way from Big Jack, and we must not forget our chief character in our sympathies for his less fortunate kindred.
But I want the little people who read this to realize how much that is lovable and beautiful dear Mother Nature has put right in our daily paths, if we will only raise our eyes to see and our voices to win it; for surely it cannot fail to help us by developing all that is best and loveliest in ourselves.