THE MORGAN GOES TO MONTPELIER TO LIVE.
Sometimes Justin Morgan rode his horse to Williston to visit his friend, the Hon. Lemuel Bottom, who was a lover of good horses; sometimes they went to Hinesburgh, a short distance from Burlington. They were constantly on the go from one town to another, meeting new people and horses and having fresh experiences.
Hinesburgh was a quiet little village, and, although there were two saw-mills, they did not have “bees” as they did at Randolph; the scenery was beautiful, and the bedding so good that Morgan enjoyed his trips in spite of the lack of excitement which he had grown to love at Chase’s Mill.
His first military experience was when he took his place under an empty saddle in the procession that conducted the body of Col. Israel Converse to his grave. Colonel Converse had been a brave soldier and greatly beloved by his townspeople; over his open grave Morgan heard for the first time a military salute and smelled the acrid odor of gunpowder. For a long time he was thrilled by the memory.
As time increased Master Morgan’s health declined rapidly; in 1795-96 he grew too weak to work, and sold his horse to one William Rice, of Woodstock, who in turn sold him to Jonathan Shepard, a sturdy blacksmith living in the little town of Montpelier.
Shepard was also landlord of the Farmer’s Inn, which stood within a doughnut’s toss of his forge. He was an energetic, thrifty man, and Colonel Davis engaged him to do some clearing on his farm, seeing that he now had a good strong young horse. Thus Morgan once more became a farm-horse, but as Shepard was well to do and kind, he fared well in his new home.
His dinner in a pail, and oats in a sack for the Morgan, Shepard would go out for a day’s plowing or clearing the while Mistress Shepard remained at home to serve customers at the Inn.
A “halloo” from the forge would make the blacksmith hurry back to aid a passing traveller whose horse had cast a shoe or whose wagon or “shay” needed mending. He would leave the Morgan in the care of Maximus Fabius Davis, the son of Colonel Davis, who—as boys went, in Morgan’s estimation—was pleasant enough. Morgan was ever fond of men and women, already grown, but the stage of childhood, required to develop them into such, did not seem to interest him.
Now and again Maxy would ride him home in the evening, and if there chanced to be a horse at the forge anxious for a test, there would be a race or some trial at pulling. Tales of his speed and strength spread for miles around, and all who called at the Inn or the forge were anxious to see him. But they always said afterward it was a shame to turn such a fine animal into a mere farm-horse. Shepard had his answer ready, that he “was but a farmer himself, and needed a good plow-horse—not a racer eating its head off in his stable.”
Through honesty and that thrift for which the Vermonter is famous Shepard soon acquired considerable wealth, and wanting a larger place he exchanged the Morgan, his smithy, and the Farmers’ Inn for the large farm on Dog River, belonging to James Hawkins. Thus, Morgan changed owners, but not homes, for Hawkins came to Montpelier to live. The horse was glad of this, for he liked the musical ring of the hammer on the anvil and the glare of the forge as the handle of the bellows was raised and lowered.
Montpelier, organized in 1793, was a village of little consequence, but one of its citizens was a man of parts, staunch and true, and destined to rise to the high position of Secretary of State. His name was David Wing, Jr., and he often borrowed the Morgan from Hawkins for as much as a week at a time. Under the comfortable saddle of Master Wing, Morgan first saw the beautiful Winooski, with its sweep of eddies and currents, its foaming rapids and singing falls. David loved nature and good scenery as much as Morgan and their trips were sweet and pleasant through lovely, fertile valleys and across densely wooded hills; along frequented highways or vague trails through the forests.
Sometimes they went as far as Burlington and Morgan had to cross many streams and wade through foaming, circling water, which, when very deep, gave him a sense of adventure. He was always ready to swim if the need came, and would have hesitated at nothing his rider set him to do, such confidence did he feel in Man-wisdom.
If they were not in a hurry David would allow him to play along the way, knowing well enough the horse would not abuse the privilege. He rode with a loose rein, and on the way home would let the Morgan choose his own gait and trail. The firm touch on the bridle was as light as a woman’s, but Morgan was not fooled by it. He well knew this was a rider who would brook no impertinence, and it kept him steady and respectful, even while he took advantage of the permission to frolic a little.
These two saw many strange sights in their wanderings—sights that later history proved were the making of a fine and sturdy race of men and horses.
Ofttimes, in bitter winter weather, they passed little bare-foot children on their way to school, carrying their shoes in their cold hands, to put on, in a very elegant manner, at the school-house door; to walk in them would have been wilful extravagance, though their toes were blue with cold! If, by chance, they found a cow lying down, chewing on her morning cud, they would disturb her rudely and make her get up, that they might put their bare feet on the spot she had so nicely warmed for her own comfort.
But better and more prosperous times were coming, and it was not long before shoes were looked upon as a necessity for children, not an extravagance, though they were ever evil-smelling things—the leather being home-tanned and home-cured and needing much greasing at night to keep it soft enough to make the shoes wearable. They made an unseemly clumping on the floor, and were very ugly, but their aim being use, not beauty, this was no drawback.
Sometimes kind and gentle Mistress Hannah Wing rode the Morgan to a quilting bee, or meeting, or to such entertainments as ladies saw fit to attend. She was good to him and made his visits to their barn most pleasant. In the mornings she would come tripping out, her arms full of dew-wet clover or grass, just cut, or she would have a dish of goodies from the kitchen—some carrots or turnips. ’Twas no wonder the horse loved her and called to her, as she drew near, with his affectionate little neigh. He always hoped David might buy him from Hawkins; he loved the Wings and they returned his friendship. And a horse never knows when he may change owners. He can only hope his next one may be the one of his choosing, which does sometimes happen.
The minds of the Vermonters in those days dwelt on higher things than fashions, especially with the men, and the wearing of beavers was not common, unless perhaps the hat was inherited. Hats were so much better made then, and so expensive, that a beaver lasted from thirty to forty years, and was passed on from father to son. In this way it had come to be looked on as frivolous and extravagant to be seen in a new one; if any man had the courage to buy such, he left it out in the weather a few nights to “take that new look off” before he wore it in public.
At this time David Wing was town-clerk, and one day on his return from a trip to Boston, by stage, he brought home something in what was unmistakably a hatbox.
Gossip concerning so important a man soon flew about, and the box became town-talk before the day was over. Women folks came, on one pretext or another, to call on Mistress Wing. Some asked her rule for wheaten cake, others how she made her cheeses, and so on. But it did not take their clever hostess long to find out the true aim of their calls, and being right proud of the hat herself, she took it out of the box and showed it to them all. ’Twas very tall and glossy, and shaped liked the rain barrel; the brim was so low in front it would hide its wearer’s nose completely; suddenly it curved sharply at the sides in the manner of a drawn bow; and, all told, it was an elegant bit of the latest Boston fashion.
’Twas to be worn, Mistress Wing informed her callers, for the first time at meeting the next Sabbath.
Many were the exclamations of “Land sakes!” and “Do tells!” that the sight of the hat provoked, and much pleased was Mistress Hannah to be able to awaken so much admiration for her husband’s taste.
Unfortunately David did not wait until the Sabbath to wear his new hat; had he done so history, in all likelihood, would never have recorded the fact that he had owned a beaver.
The very next morning he came swinging out of the house looking most gentlemanly in his high stock, ruffled shirt and shining boots. On his head sat, most jauntily, the new hat.
David was off for a town meeting.
Down the road cantered Morgan, meeting many acquaintances who paused in speechless admiration until they passed out of sight. Some with envy, alack; some with criticism of the extravagance, but others with friendly nod of greeting and approval.
The sun shone, the crisp air was fragrant with pine needles, and birds chirped in the trees that fringed the highway. Morgan champed his bit and curvetted from one side of the road to the other, his heart full of the morning freshness.
Suddenly a yellow dog came in sight, and the horse, full of fun and spirit, lowered his head and made a dash at him, remembering his colt-days and the game of “Red-Coats.” The dog tucked his tail between his hind legs and made off down the road at lightning speed.
This was enough to rouse Morgan; even though he did not like dogs, he thought it might be a race. Helter, skelter, he started; ever fleet in running, he was soon gaining slowly, but surely, on the dog, who was little more than a yellowish brown streak on the landscape.
Morgan heard David say, good-naturedly:
“Go it, my boy, stop when you get good and ready; I am having as much fun as you.”
Once, as the dog glanced hurriedly back over his shoulder, the horse saw his tongue hanging out—he looked almost winded, but his pace was long and even, like Morgan’s, and his flapping ears responded rhythmically to his gait.
Morgan tossed his head and made a movement with his tail as much as to indicate he had just begun to race. The rapid clatter of his own hoofs on the hard road was music to him.
Seconds passed. Then the dog disappeared at a sharp bend in the road.
Losing sight of him for a moment nerved Morgan to a sudden spurt. With all his power impelling him he, too, rounded the corner—and ran headlong into two horsemen who had been jogging peacefully and unsuspectingly along the quiet and seemingly deserted highway.
What a reckoning there was! Never was such confusion! Lawyer Buckley slid from the back of his pony and his books broke from the strap and were scattered over the road; Dr. Pierce’s saddle bags burst open and pills and bandages fell out as if to offer their help in the emergency.
Morgan, realizing he had caused all the trouble, kept his presence of mind admirably, and stood firm and motionless where his front feet had plowed into the earth at his sudden halt. David did not lose his seat, but the stop, without any warning, almost threw him over Morgan’s head.
When things had steadied a bit, and explanations and apologies made, David noticed for the first time, as he put his hand up to remove his hat, and wipe the perspiration from his brow, that his beaver was missing.
Under the very feet of Dr. Pierce’s nag, who stood still snorting her expostulations, it was found. Lawyer Buckley picked it up, shaking his head with ill-concealed satisfaction.
“’Tis but a crushed and torn rag,” he said, brushing it the wrong way with the sleeve of his coat; “but you have that young Morgan to thank for the prank.”
At these words Morgan was more mortified than ever, though he could not help glancing furtively about for the dog and pricking his ears back and forth for sounds. Soon he espied and heard him a short way ahead, yelping from the cover of his owner’s hut, surrounded by a protecting and gaping crowd of small bare-foot children who had assembled from the other side of the house to find out what the matter was.
It is not necessary to relate with what fallen crest Morgan bore his rider home after the day closed in. The hat, so lately the envy of the whole town, hidden under his rider’s coat, to be laid away until Mistress Hannah could restore it to some of its first magnificence.