The Story of “Gander.”
Let us understand each other at the outset, gentle reader. Gander, as you will suppose, was not a goose; but you will be surprised to hear that he was a “horse.” Why the creature got this name, I cannot tell, unless it was that he was white, and was always a leader among the horses. But, however the name originated, the following is a true story of him, as told to me by a gentleman of veracity.
In the year 1825, on a summer’s day, my friend left the vicinity of the Dunderberg mountain, in Rockland county, in the state of New York, with this and another horse, for a town on the Connecticut river. The other horse was bay, small, old, lean, and of a submissive aspect; while Gander, as I said before, was white, and, although somewhat advanced in years, was large, well-built, and quite proud in his bearing. These horses, together with a wagon, my friend had taken of a doubtful debtor, and at the above time left the vicinity of the Dunderberg, as I said, for his home, some hundred miles to the east.
For two reasons “Bay” was doomed to be the drudge on the journey. One was, that Gander and the wagon did not agree; the other was, that my friend chose to give him an easy journey, for the purpose of more readily converting him into cash on his reaching home. Gander, therefore, was tied behind.
“Matters being thus arranged,” my friend proceeded, “we commenced our journey; but we were destined not long thus to be linked together; for although Gander appeared to recognise his new master, he liked not the compulsory method I had taken to assure myself of his company. A single toss of his head was sufficient to break his halter, and he seemed to understand this snapping process to perfection; but, then, instead of running away, and thus securing for a time his freedom, he would stand still, quietly waiting for me to dismount and again attach him to his post.
“His late master had been abundant in commendation of his sagacity and other notable qualities, but assured me he would not be led. Not being inclined, however, to yield my belief without a trial, I had tied him, as above noticed. We had not proceeded far, however, before Gander gave intimation that indeed ‘he would not be led.’ Snap went the halter, again. With much good nature, I again tied it, but with precisely the same result. At length, it was quite plain the animal was willing to acknowledge his allegiance to his new master, although he had not been consulted in the transfer; but his submission must be voluntary—he would not be led like a criminal, especially with a halter about his neck.
“The rope was soon useless; and now necessity became the mother of invention. I slipped the remnant of the halter from his head, jumped into my wagon, and drove on. This movement seemed quite satisfactory to the hitherto disobliged animal; and from his future conduct, it was evident he had obtained his wishes. Immediately he came to the side of the vehicle;—afterwards he chose ‘Bay,’ for a time, as his companion; and thus, side by side, and cheek-by-jowl, with either drudge or master, he jogged on for an hour or two. Finally, however, he fell back to the rear of the wagon, and, singular as it may appear, he kept this spot to the end of his journey, with, perhaps, a single exception, which I shall by-and-by mention; excepting, also, that occasionally he turned upon the road-side, while ascending a hill, to crop a tuft of green grass. At such times, if for a moment he forgot his master till he had disappeared, in a few minutes more his shrill voice was heard, and he recovered his post behind, with all expedition.
“On the morning of the second day, we left Newburgh, and crossing the Hudson at Poughkeepsie, directed our course to Litchfield, in Connecticut. I had not travelled fast, however, and it was quite dusk, when I arrived at the foot of Mount Tom, within eight or ten miles of the end of my journey for the day. I had observed a few heavy clouds in the west, and now these were approaching and increasing with so great rapidity, that I had scarce a hope of escaping the impending storm. I was entirely unacquainted with the road over the mountain, but it was a long distance to any shelter which I had passed. I determined, therefore, to push forward.
“Had ‘Bay’ possessed my fears, I should have had some hope of escaping from the storm; but he was, of the two, the greater philosopher. The distant thunder had no terrors for him; besides, it was an up-hill journey, and this, instead of increasing his energy, seemed to be a good reason for abating his exertions. Consequently, before we had gained half the distance to the summit of the mountain, darkness was upon us; ominous drops of rain were beginning to fall, and the thunder was rolling overhead.
“In this dilemma, although sometimes aided by a flash of lightning, my situation became almost appalling. However, when it was impossible to see the road, I left my wagon, and, after feeling and ascertaining the way a few rods, I managed to guide my horse a short distance. This plan I had repeated several times, and was at the last returning to start again, when Gander, whom before I had scarcely thought of for an hour, advanced from his post, and planted himself immediately in front of ‘Bay.’ This extraordinary movement of the animal, (for he had only once before taken precedence on our journey,) was so very singular, that it at once occurred to me he had some good motive for it. His color was white; did his sagacity teach him that ‘Bay’ could see him, if not the road? Was his sight more keen than my own, and did he discover it? Did his instinct teach him that his color might render him conspicuous, even in darkness, so that we could follow him? Can this be called instinct, or was it reason? Let it be called by whatever name it may, I had before heard of the sagacity of the horse, but I was now to witness it.