Great American Horse Stories

by Sharon B. Smith

  The Belmont Stakes did not, of course, present a real contest. No one in the great throng had expected that it would. The public as well as horsemen have given up any idea that any three-year-old in the country can make Man o’ War get out of a gallop. It was not a race but an exhibition by a great horse and as such it more than satisfied everyone who saw the colt in action. There is pleasure enough for those present in the thought that they have seen the world’s greatest racehorse and moreover have been witnesses of his record-making performance. Man o’ War finds himself in the position of Alexander of yore, seeking new worlds to conquer, and as there are no horses of his age to race with him he has only the reduction of records for various distances as a stimulus.

  David Harum is Withdrawn

  It was the original intention to send two horses against the Fair Play colt in the Belmont Stakes, but W. R. Coe’s David Harum was withdrawn and only G. W. Loft’s Donnacona was left to act as a running mate. Donnacona is a high class colt, one of the best of his age and it is something of a measure of the greatness of Man o’ War that Donnacona finished a sixteenth of a mile back of the winner although doing his best to the end.

  There was scarcely any speculation on the race. Man o’ War was quoted at the prohibitive odds of 1 to 20 as against 12 to 1 for the Loft colt. Practically the only wagers made were by persons who wanted, for the sake of sentiment, to say that they had made a bet on Man o’ War.

  The start for the Belmont is made from a chute which leads across the straightaway track into the training track. From this latter the horses turn into the main track at the turn, which leads to the stretch.

  As the barrier went up Man o’ War popped to the front and jockey Clarence Kummer, wearing his gold stirrups again, let the Fair Play colt run with a fair flight of speed from the beginning. Man o’ War never waits for a pacemaker. His habit of running races is to go to the front and bid his rival to come on and catch him.

  Through the training track course Man o’ War maintained a lead of about two lengths, and was still under restraint, while Donnacona was moving along at a fast clip and apparently had something left. As the horses reached that point where they turned into the main track Donnacona moved up resolutely until he closed the gap of daylight which had appeared between the horses since the start. From the stands it appeared that he was right at the heels of the champion, and the Loft horse was moving with fine speed.

  Flashes Away from Rival

  Kummer looked back and, seeing Donnacona, gave Man o’ War his head. The son of Fair Play developed a new rate of speed in half a dozen strides. He began to move away from his rival as though the latter was anchored. At the turn into the stretch Man o’ War was four lengths in front, and he had not yet been permitted to run as it was quite evident he wished to.

  As Man o’ War reached the stretch the crowd began to yell to Kummer to let him run, for it was the desire of everyone to see a new record made. Kummer did as they desired. Instead of taking a pull on his mount, as he had done in his previous race, he let Man o’ War step along all through the stretch, although at no time urging him. He simply let the colt run freely, and then it became evident how he outclasses the others of his age. He not only left a wide margin between him and Donnacona, but he made a joke of the race as such. He gained a length with every two strides and, although his head was still held high in the air, he increased his lead by a sixteenth of a mile in the distance of the stretch. Man o’ War was around the turn and being pulled up as Donnacona crossed the finish line.

  There was great cheering for the champion when he came back to the stands and general congratulations for Mr. Riddle for the establishment of the new world’s record. Horsemen who watched the race thought the Fair Play colt could have reduced the mark by at least another fraction of a second had he been in the least extended. Though he was fairly flying through the stretch, he was not running at his top speed. Kummer sat perfectly still on him, neither urging nor restraining him, and perhaps one touch of the whip would have taken another two-fifths from the time. This was the first time that Man o’ War had ever raced at such a distance, but when he pulled up he was not even breathing hard.

  VII

  Legendary Horses

  22

  How I Bought and Trained Captain

  by His Owner, W. A. Sigsbee

  When George Wharton James and W. A. Sigsbee met at the Panama-Pacific Exposition in San Francisco in 1915, it was the coming together of two accomplished showmen, an encounter that proved profitable to each of them. James was a respected writer of travelogues and nature books. Sigsbee was an admired trainer of horses. But each made his fortune by presenting himself to the public, James with dramatic readings to audiences and Sigsbee by demonstrating the accomplishments of the horses he had trained.

  James was fascinated with what he saw in San Francisco: a horse named Captain who appeared to be able to count, differentiate between colors, make change, and play “Nearer My God to Thee” on the chimes. James believed there was no fraud involved, although he acknowledged that the horse probably didn’t understand the words to the hymn. He also thought it was possible that Captain was taking unwitting cues from Sigsbee, even if they weren’t visible.

  But James was sufficiently impressed to produce a book two years later that told the story of Captain, whom he called “The Horse with the Human Brain.” Part of the book was his own analysis, part was a first-person (or first-horse) account of Captain’s take on the situation, and part was Sigsbee’s story of how he found and trained his famous horse. Here is Sigsbee’s contribution.

  I was brought up in the horse business. My father and uncles were horsemen before I was born. They lived in Dane County, Wisconsin, twelve miles from Madison, and there I first saw the light. One of my uncles had trotting horses, and almost as soon as I could do anything I used to go and help him. When I was fourteen years old I was regularly employed by him during my vacations, to help on the farm, in the stables, and to accompany him to the trotting track.

  I soon learned to ride as a jockey, and up to the time I was eighteen years old that was my occupation. Then I began to work for myself. I bought, educated or trained, and then sold horses and dogs. I was much interested in them and always seemed to have fair success in their management.

  As I grew older I used to go with my own horses to the County and State Fairs, the latter being held at Madison. When I was twenty-four years old I married, settled down on a farm, and as horse-trading seemed to be the business I was especially adapted for, naturally I followed it. Whenever my neighbors wanted a horse that was extra well trained they would come to me, and if I showed them one that could do a few tricks, they liked it nonetheless, and were not unwilling to pay a little extra for the pains I had taken.

  The year after I was married I moved to Humboldt, Iowa, where I bought another farm and for four more years continued my work as farmer and horse-trader. Then I bought the Park Hotel, in the town of Humboldt, which I ran for eleven years, never, however, for one moment losing my interest in horses. In fact, it was one of the most profitable parts of my business.

  Many farmers, show-men, circus-men, and others came to the town and stopped at my hotel, so I was never away from the atmosphere of the horse ring. Many a time, when they were in a tight place, the show or circus men would come and ask me to help them out, for my reputation as a trainer had spread, and it was pretty generally understood that I was an exceptional hand for teaching horses and dogs rather unusual and interesting tricks.

  In time the great circus masters, like Barnum and Bailey, Al Ringling, and others, came to me and asked me to train horses for them, so that my horse business grew, and with it my reputation. Naturally I was always on the lookout for colts that promised well, or horses that seemed extra intelligent, and my eyes were keen for mares that showed a superior order of intelligence that were soon to have colts.

  About this time my eyes
were attracted to a beautiful mare, evidently with foal. No sooner did I see her than I wanted her. I found on inquiry that she had been bred to a spotted Arabian, as fine and beautiful a creature as she herself was. Satisfied that she was what I wanted, I purchased her. Already I had begun to speculate as to what I should do with her colt. If it was a prettily shaped animal, was as intelligent as the father and mother, I decided it should receive the best education I was capable of giving.

  As the days of the mare’s time passed I grew more and more anxious. My hopes were raised high, and I was correspondingly expectant and at the same time afraid. What if the colt should prove stupid? I awaited the birth of that colt as eagerly as a royal family awaits the birth of the child of a king, hence you can understand my delight and satisfaction, when the little lady came, that I found her faultless in appearance, neat, trim, dainty, and beautiful, with intelligent eyes and face and every indication of being a most superior animal.

  From the hour of her birth I watched her far more closely than many a child is watched. I was in and out of the stable a score of times a day. While she appeared intelligent, I wanted to know with certainty as soon as I could. I was not long in discovering, and this was how it was done. My barn had double doors—one on each side. As it was warm weather I had both doors open to allow a current of air through the building. When the colt was four or five days old, I wished to hitch up the mare and drive her but did not think it wise to let so small and young a colt go along. So I closed the doors and left her inside. She became much excited at being separated from her mother; ran around wildly, whinnied, and generally fretted. But I felt she would have to learn to lose her mother, so I drove away and left her to fight it out as best she could.

  The next day I went into the barn and groomed down the mare, the colt apparently paying no attention, but the moment I took the harness from its peg and began to put it upon the mother the little miss ran out of doors. I thought I had scared her in some way and paid no particular attention, but when I was ready to drive away and tried to get her back into the barn she positively refused to go or be driven. She was as resolved to stay out as I was to have her go in, and it was only when I secured additional help that I was able to get her inside.

  The same thing occurred on the following day, and then I began to suspect that the colt knew as well as I did what was going on and was resolved not to be left behind. So I called to my wife to come and watch with me, while we experimented. So long as I merely fussed around with the mare, cleaning her, etc., it was all right, but the moment I touched the harness and made it appear I was going to hitch up, out shot the colt from the barn in a moment. We tried this out a dozen times and always with the same result. This occurred when she was nine days old, and with conviction I turned to my wife and exclaimed: “She’ll do, the little Trixie; she’s got brains, and I’ll begin to train her right away.” Thus she got her name, and I started upon her education.

  In my past experience I had taught many horses to respond to questions with a Yes or No, to paw out numbers, to kiss me, to sit down, lie down, roll over, and other similar simple tricks. I would ask if they would like a drink, a feed of oats, a lump of sugar, etc., and teach them how to answer with a nod of the head, and with a shake when I asked: “Shall I whip you?” or “I guess you don’t want any feed today,” but with Trixie I determined to go further than this and see if she really could be trained, or, better still, educated in any degree.

  Thus began Trixie’s education, which continued persistently for eighteen months. Every day I kept at it, and it might be interesting here to state that while I was educating Trixie, she was educating me. I learned a great deal about horses and horse nature in those eighteen months. In due time I had trained her so that she could pick out numbers on call, colors, could add, subtract, multiply, and divide; could count with her feet, sit in a chair, on my lap, and answer questions.

  I then decided to take her out on the road and give exhibitions with her. But first of all I decided to give a test exhibition at our County Fair, at Humboldt, my own town. Of course I was well known, and my horse training proclivities were the subject of conversation all throughout the country, but few knew how much I had accomplished with Trixie. Hence that first appearance was a great surprise to my neighbors. Needless to say, it was also a wonderful success. Every one was delighted with the exhibition and marveled at the intelligence the beautiful little creature displayed.

  I now started to go throughout the country with confidence. I knew what Trixie could do and what the effect of the exhibition would be upon an audience. In those days an educated horse was unknown. There were a few trained circus horses, but a horse like mine excited great wonder and interest. My method was to go to county and other fairs, explain what Trixie could do, and I would undertake to exhibit her before the grandstand between races. The Fair Associations would engage me, and thus I would earn a good financial return.

  Soon after we began to travel I changed the colt’s name to Princess Trixie, and this was the name by which she was ever afterwards known. About this time I came in contact with William Harrison Barnes, of Sioux City. He had been a newspaper reporter but was naturally a showman, and shortly before I met him he had drifted into the show business. He was exhibiting such horses as “The Pacing Wonder,” “Johnny, the Guideless Wonder,” and when he saw the Princess there was nothing for it but that he should become my partner and go along with us. For four years we traveled together, Barnes making the business arrangements for our appearance at carnivals, state fairs, amusement parks, and under the auspices of various organizations.

  Then I sold Princess Trixie to him, continuing to travel with him for four years, after which I returned to Humboldt, bought another farm, and for two or three years did a little desultory training of horses, as before. Let me here, in parenthesis, tell of Princess Trixie’s unfortunate end. Barnes showed her all over the country to the great delight of all who ever saw her, until about ten years ago, when she was killed in a railway wreck at Baltimore.

  Soon after my return to Humboldt I was urged by Dode Fisk, of Wonewoc, Wisconsin, to plan and organize for him a show of trained horses, dogs, monkeys, etc., with a one-ringed circus. I did so, doing all the training of the animals myself. When we were ready to travel we had a sixteen-wagon show and I was appointed the arena director. For four years I occupied this position, helping build up the show all the time, and at the end of three years we ceased traveling in wagons and became an eleven-car railway show. It was my regular duty to keep the animals in good condition, see that they were healthy and kept up to their work, and to train any new stock we might buy.

  Four years of this life tired my wife, and she expressed the desire to get away from a large show. She wanted a rest at home, she said, and then, if I desired to travel she suggested I buy a young horse or a colt, train or educate it, and we would travel with that, without all the hard work, flurry, and daily excitement attendant upon a large show. In the main I agreed with my wife and, anyhow, I felt that she ought to be considered as much as myself, so I began looking out for such a horse as I had in mind. I wanted another Trixie or, better, but scarcely hoped to find one very soon, or very easily.

  I was nearer to the end of my search, however, than I supposed, for almost immediately I heard of just such a colt as I was looking for at Oregon, Ill. Right away I went to see him, and there, to my unspeakable delight, I found Captain. His owner was Judge Cartwright, a great lover of and breeder of good horses. Captain was of standard bred trotting stock, and was half brother to the famous Sydney Dillon. His sire was the well-known horse Syed and his dam was the almost equally well-known Robey.

  At first sight he pleased me immensely, and I sought to gain all the information possible about him. I learned that as a colt he was very friendly and playful, showing keen intelligence. He also possessed great speed, sometimes pacing in the pasture as fast as his mother could run. This had led his owner, as soon as he
was two years old, to train him for ninety days for the development of speed, so that he was able to step his mile in 2:16. He undoubtedly would have made a fast pacing horse with further training. But fate had another destiny in store for him. I resolved to buy him.

  Naturally Judge Cartwright hated to part with so promising an animal, but I candidly laid my heart’s desire before him. I showed him the influence it would have upon the rising generation if I could demonstrate that animals can reason, that they are capable of thought. Then I expatiated upon the easier life Captain himself would live than if he were to become a regular racehorse, and I appealed to the feeling of pride he—the judge—would possess were I successful—as I knew I should be—at having introduced so world famous a horse as Captain would become, that he had bred and reared. And, finally, to clinch the matter, I produced a certified check for a thousand dollars, which I placed in his hand.

  Thus the purchase was made, with the express understanding that Judge Cartwright should always be given the credit for the raising of Captain. Perhaps here I ought to state that the colt’s name up to this time had been Sid Bell. As I felt my whole future life’s work and fame were going to center on this beautiful, young, and intelligent creature, I renamed him, calling him by the name by which I was known to all my professional associates, Captain Sigsbee.

  It was not long before we became intimately acquainted. He was a handsome fellow, a dappled chestnut, fifteen and one half hands high, with broad forehead, large, intelligent eyes, well-shaped ears, deep, sensitive nostrils, mobile mouth, strong nose, a most pleasing face, and perfectly formed in every way.

  I was satisfied from the first that in Captain I had a great subject for education. Already I began to plan what I would teach him. I was assured I could go far beyond anything I had hitherto done, even with the clever Trixie. One day in conversation with a group of horsemen, among whom was Al Ringling, the great circus master, I stated some of my expectations. Ringling laughed at me, especially when I declared my intention of so educating a horse that he could do things blindfolded. He freely declared that he had no faith in horse education. He believed that horses could be trained only under the whip and spur.