CHAPTER VII.
HORSES AND STABLES.
Time passed, and back to the East we had come. On a certain day my wife and myself, together with a couple of friends, yclept Mr. and Mrs. De Gex, engaged a carriage and pair to take us some twenty or thirty miles into the country to see some wonderful sights—what they were is quite immaterial at this late date. A pleasant drive and charming day we had. The night we were to spend at a little village inn.
The mistress of the small establishment received us right warmly, so that a perfect glow of pleasure pervaded one’s inner man.
“Ah,” said Mrs. De Gex, who was inclined towards sentimentalism, “how true are the words of the poet!
‘Whoe’er has traveled life’s dull round,
Where’er his stages may have been,
May sigh to think that he has found
His warmest welcome at an inn.’”
The innkeeper told our driver to leave the carriage outside on the road. One of the party asked if that would be safe.
“If it is not,” I replied, “Boniface is responsible, for I remember that, in England, a man drove up to an inn on a fair day and asked the landlord if he had room for the horse, and a servant of the establishment put it into the stable, while the traveler took his coat and whip into the house, where he got some refreshment. The hostler placed the gig in the open street, (outside the inn-yard) where he was accustomed to leave the carriages of guests. The gig having been stolen, the publican was held liable.”[302]
“That seems rather hard, when, perhaps, the yard was full,” some one remarked.
“The landlord was not bound to receive the gig if he had not sufficient accommodation for it. The guest did not know whether there was room or not; and as the hostler took the horse, he had a right to assume that there was. If the proprietor had wished to protect himself he should have told the traveler that he had no room in the yard, and that he would have to put the gig in the street, where, however, he would not be liable for it. He did not do so, and had to bear the penalty.[303] And it has been held in this country that an innkeeper would be responsible in the same way where a guest’s servant had placed his master’s property in an open, uninclosed space, by the direction of the hostler, and upon being assured that it would be quite safe there.”[304]
“Mr. Justice Story once said that in the country towns of America it is very common to leave chaises and carriages at inns under open sheds all night, and also to leave stable doors open and unlocked; and that if, under those circumstances, a horse or a chaise should be stolen, it would deserve consideration how far the innkeeper would be liable,”[305] said Mr. De Gex, my companion, who had looked inside a law-book or two.
“I fancy it has been considered,” I replied, “and the innkeeper has met with little consideration, and is held bound to protect the property of those whom he receives as his guests. In one instance, the driver put his loaded sleigh in the wagon-house of the inn, where such things were usually placed; and the doors of the shed having been broken open and property stolen, the landlord was held bound to make good the loss, without loss of time.[306] But Dr. Theophilus Parsons, who knows something of these matters, says that if a horse or carriage is put in an open shed with the owner’s consent or by his direction, the innkeeper will not be liable for their loss, and that where this is usually done and the owner of the horse knows the custom and gives no particular instructions, it may be presumed that he consented and took the risk upon himself.”[307]
“Suppose we inspect the stable and see what accommodation there is for our equine friends.” We entered. “Rather risky place to put two city horses in,” De Gex continued. “Look at the flooring. A nag of any spirit, not accustomed to the place, might kick through it and break its leg.”
“Well,” I said, “the innkeeper is bound to provide safe stabling for the horses of his guest, and if any evil betide the animals from being improperly tied, or the stalls being in bad repair, full compensation may be recovered.[308] He is responsible from the moment he receives the quadrupeds until they leave; even after the owner has paid his bill and his man is harnessing them to go;[309] and, as a rule, the statutory laws limiting the liability of hotel-keepers do not apply to horses or carriages.”
“Your view is the one a lawyer (a man without a heart) might take of it, but a merciful man is merciful to his beast and does not like to run the chance of its being killed.”
“The tavern-keeper’s liability extends even to the death of the animals in his care,”[310] I remarked.
“Still, one should himself exercise reasonable care and caution,” returned De Gex. “I remember a gentleman, who kept his horse at an inn, rode out one evening and on returning himself took it into the stable and tied it up in the stall in which it had usually been kept. The next morning the horse was found dead in the same stall, its head wedged fast in the trough, which was made of a hollow beech log having a bulge in the middle, thus rendering that part wider than the top. The poor beast had evidently killed itself in trying to extricate its head. The owner brought an action against the publican, but had to bear the loss, not only of his horse but also of the suit.”[311]
“Yet I know that where a horse had been choked to death by its halter, and it was proved that it was tied under the superintendence and direction of the owner himself, and in reply the owner proved that the stall in which it had been was in very bad condition, it was held that the innkeeper could not give further evidence.[312] And when another innkeeper agreed with the owner of a horse to entertain the man in charge one day in every week, or oftener if he should chance to stop at the inn with the horse, furnish the latter with provender and allow it to be kept in a particular stall: no one but the man in charge took care of the horse; yet on its being injured in its stall, the innkeeper was held answerable.”[313]
“And look, besides, there are no proper partitions between the stalls,” said my friend, “and some other nag might kick one of ours; and you know that it was decided in the old country that under such circumstances the publican would not be liable for the injuries so inflicted, unless it could be proved that he did not take due and proper care in excluding vicious and kicking horses.”[314]
“Hah!” I exclaimed. “But that case has since been doubted, and it can scarcely be accepted as good law.[315] Well, what shall we do?”
“Let’s tell them to turn the nags into the field,” said De Gex.
“If you do, and they are lost, stolen or injured, we cannot look to our host for recompense, unless Master Boniface himself be guilty of negligence, as by putting them in a field where pits or ditches abound or fences and gates are broken or open. If, however, he should put them into the pasture of his own accord, he would be answerable;[316] for then the field would be considered as part of the inn premises. Although Story thinks that the latter rule should be qualified, as it is such a common custom in America in the summer time to put horses in a pasture, he says the implied consent of the guest may fairly be presumed, if he knows the practice.”[317]
“Well, let us send them over to the other house, where the stabling appears better, while we ourselves lodge here,” again suggested Mr. De G.
“That might do,” I made answer; “for an innkeeper is bound to receive a horse, even though the owner chooses to go elsewhere.[318] And it is clearly settled that in the eyes of the law a man becomes a guest at a place of public entertainment by having his horse there, though he himself neither lodges nor takes refreshments there.”[319]
“But I thought that an innkeeper was not bound to take the goods of a man who merely wishes to use the house as a place of deposit;[320] nor liable for things so left there, except as an ordinary bailee.”[321]
“Oh, that rule only applies to dead things out of which the man can make no profit; but with animals the innkeeper is chargeable, because he makes something out of keeping them. And, as I said, it has been frequently held that he is liable for the loss of a horse, although its owner puts up at a different place. But there is some doubt.”[322]
“Will he also be liable for the carriage?” asked my companion.
“Yes, and for the harness as well; for the compensation paid for the horses will extend the host’s responsibility to such articles. And the owner will be able to sue for damages if anything happens to our nags, although they have been hired by us.[323] If a servant brings his master’s horse to an inn, and while there it is stolen, of course the master can sue the innkeeper;[324] and for all such legal purposes the hirer of goods will be deemed the owner’s servant.”
“Suppose a horse-thief stops at an inn and there loses his prize, can the owner then sue the landlord?”
“No; he must, under those trying circumstances, look simply to the person who first deprived him of his faithful nag,”[325] I replied.
“The other innkeeper may charge pretty well for the horses, if we stay here ourselves,” suggested De Gex.
“In the good old days of yore he could not have done that, for innkeepers were bound to ask only a reasonable price, to be calculated according to the rates of the adjoining market, without getting anything for litter;[326] and if they made a gross overcharge, the guests had only to tender a reasonable sum, and have them indicted and fined for extortion.[327] But I fear me those halcyon days have passed. Do you know that if a man is beaten at an inn the proprietor is not answerable, although if the man’s horse should be so treated, even if it were not known who did it, the publican will be liable?”[328]
“That is queer law. Why is it?”
“Because in ages long since gone by an innkeeper’s liability was confined to one’s bona et catalla, and injury to a man is not damage to his bona et catalla.”
“Well, I am sure I don’t see what would damage his ‘bones and cartilage,’ if a good beating did not. Let us join the ladies.”
“I think we had better, after that atrocious attempt at a pun,” I replied. “Well said the Autocrat of the Breakfast Table, ‘a pun is prima facie an insult to the person you are talking with. It implies utter indifference to, or sublime contempt for, his remarks, no matter how serious.’”
We found our better halves had gone out for a walk. Knowing that their feminine curiosity would soon bring them to a standstill we started in pursuit, and speedily came up with them as they stood gazing at some rose bushes in a pretty flower garden.
“Did you ever see such bea-u-ti-ful roses?” screamed Mrs. De Gex, whose voice, when pitched in a high key, was as melodious as a peacock’s.
“And so many!” added Mrs. Lawyer.
“I am somewhat a believer in the doctrine of metempsychosis,” said Mr. De Gex.
“What has such a horrid thing to do with roses?” asked his wife.
“Merely that, if it be true, I may have seen finer and more numerous flowers long, long ago.”
“Explain,” I exclaimed.
“Well, when in another form I may, at the beginning of the Christian era, have been present at the regatta near lovely Baiæ and seen the whole surface of the Lucrine Sea strewn with these flowers, according to custom; or I may have been present at some of old Nero’s banquetings, when he caused showers of rose-leaves to be rained down upon the assembled guests; or, in fact, I may have been at Heliogabalus’ dinner party, when such heaps of these same flowers were flung over the revelers that several were smothered to death. That frail beauty, Cleopatra, was wont to spend immense sums on roses, and at one entertainment, that she gave in honor of her friend Anthony, she had the whole floor covered more than a yard deep.”
“How delightful!” chorused the ladies.
“The Sybarites used to sleep upon beds stuffed with rose-leaves. That old tyrant Dionysius, at his revels, constantly reclined on a couch made of the blossoms. Verres, with whom Cicero had the tussle, was accustomed to travel through his province reclining gracefully on a mattrass full of them; and not content with this, he had a wreath of roses round his head and another around his neck, with leaves intertwined. And Antiochus, when he wanted to be uncommonly luxurious, would sleep in a tent of gold and silver upon a bed of these flowers.”
“Did they indulge in attar?”
“I cannot say, but at his parties, Nero—that champion fiddler of Rome—would have his fountains flinging up rose-water; and while the jets were pouring out the fragrant liquid, white rose-leaves were on the ground, in the cushions on which the guests lay, hanging in garlands on their noble brows, and in wreaths around their necks. The couleur de rose pervaded the dinner itself, and a rose pudding challenged the appetites of the guests, while, to assist digestion, they indulged in rose wine. Heliogabalus was so fond of this wine that he used to bathe in it.”
“What a waste!” said my wife.
“Whose? That girl’s?” I asked.
“You horrid man!” returned my wife. “But I know you pretend to dislike roses.”
“Yes,” I said, “if metempsychosis is correct, I must have been killed two or three times during the Wars of the Roses. I believe, with the ancient Aztecs, that sin and sorrow came into the world through the first woman plucking a forbidden rose.”
“He is, perhaps, not quite so bad as the lady who had such a strong antipathy to this queen of flowers that she actually fainted when her lover approached her wearing an artificial one in his button-hole; nor as good Queen Bess’s lady-in-waiting, who disliked the flower so much that her cheek actually blistered when a white one was placed upon it as she slept. He is most like Tostig of old,” continued my wife.
“He cannot smell a rose but pricks his nose
Against the thorn and rails against the rose.”
Our position changed and so did the subject.
* * * * * *
The next day when we went over for our horses we found a most interesting discussion going on between the landlord and a man of a class somewhat too common in these hard times, an impecunious lawyer, concerning the right of the former to detain the horse of the latter for the hotel bill of the owner.
“You can’t do it,” said the poverty-stricken disciple of Coke. “No innkeeper can detain the other goods and chattels of a guest for payment of the expenses of a horse, nor a horse for the expenses of the guest. You can only keep my horse for the price of its own meat, and that has been paid for.[329] If a man brought several horses to your old inn, each one could be detained only for its own keep, and not for that of the others; and if you let the owner take away all but one, you could not keep that one until your whole bill was paid, but you would have to give it up on tender of the amount due for its keep.[330] Hullo!” he added, as he saw me, “here’s a gentleman who knows all about such things. “Is not what I state correct?” he coolly asked.
“Certainly,” I said, turning to the landlord. “Mr. Blackstone’s law is better than his pay; though, perhaps, Mr. Story may be said to doubt his last statement.”[331]
“But,” said Boniface, a short, fat man, made without any apparent neck at all—only head and shoulders like a codfish—“but the rascal did not pay me for the last time he put up his old beast here, and I’ll keep it now till I am paid or till it dies, which latter event will probably happen first to such a bag of bones.”
“You can’t do that, old boy,” said Mr. B., delightedly.
“He is right again,” I replied. “If you let a guest take away his horse, unless, indeed, he merely takes it out for exercise, day by day, animo revertendi,[332] it amounts to giving him credit and a relinquishment of your right of lien, so that you can’t afterwards retake it. And even if the man was to come back and run up another account for the keep of his horse, although you might detain it for the latter debt, you could not for the former.”[333]
“But have I no lien upon the horse of a guest? Besides, I did not let him take it away. He went off with it at daybreak, before any one was up, the villain,” said mine host, waxing more and more wrathy as the thought of past grievances recurred to him.
“He, he, he!” laughed B. “You might have retaken it if you had been spry enough, and then you might have kept it; but now it’s too late, too late, too late, as the song says.”[334]
“Exactly so,” I added. “Of course, my dear sir, there is little doubt but what you have a right to detain a horse, brought to you by a traveler, for its keep.[335] And if you kept that old nag you would have a perfect right to continue to charge for the food supplied from day to day, while it remained in your possession, and that although Mr. B. distinctly told you that he would not be responsible for anything supplied to his horse; because otherwise your security would soon be reduced to the value of an old hide and bones.[336] But then cui bono?”
“What’s that?” asked the astonished innkeeper.
“I mean, what would you gain by the additional outlay of good fodder?” I explained.
“Why, I would make the old thing work!” replied the man.
“No, indeed!” said Blackstone. “You would have no right to ride on my horse, or use him for your own benefit in any way.”[337]
“You would have no more right to use it for your own pleasure and benefit than a man who distrains a cow for rent has to enjoy the fruits of her ruminations. You could only ride the horse for the purpose of preserving its health by proper exercise,”[338] I remarked.
“I am dashed if I’d do that,” cried the publican, waxing fierce.
“You would have to do it,”[339] shrieked Blackstone, triumphantly.
“Well,” then roared the master of the establishment, “I’d sell the blamed thing quick enough.”
“If you did you would get yourself into hot water, and have to pay me the full value of the beast; for an innkeeper can’t sell a horse he detains for its board without the consent of the owner.[340] Ho! ho! ho!” laughed the little rascal.
The poor landlord looked at me with such a despairing glance—a look of a dying duck in a thunder-storm—that I could scarce restrain my risible faculties as I remarked:
“I am afraid your adversary is correct, and not even if a horse were to eat its head off could you sell it, unless you chanced to live in London or Exeter. Your only remedy would be to sue for the price of the food, get judgment, and then sell.[341] You cannot sell a right of lien, or transfer the property, without losing your right and rendering yourself liable to an action. One must proceed by suit.”[342]
The landlord turned to the rascally attorney, and shaking his fist at him, exclaimed: “Get out, and if ever you darken my door again—look out!”
“Keep cool, sir, keep cool, the day is warm. Don’t shake your fist in my face, sir. It is not the first time I’ve done the old chap,” added my unworthy confrere, turning to us with a look of importance; “and it will not be the last, unless I’ve read law for naught.”
“How did you take him in before?” I queried.
“Well, some years ago I was hard up—not the first, perhaps not the last time I have been in that state—and I knew not how to get my team fed for a week or two. So, believing that money had a considerable influence with our friend here, I got a chap to run off with my ponies, bring them here, and throw out some hints that it would be all right in a pecuniary point of view if they could be kept in the stable for a few days until the affair blew over. All went merry as a marriage bell. I advertised for horses lost, stolen, or strayed, and after some three weeks happened here and quite accidentally, you know, found my span. Of course mine host wanted pretty good pay, but I talked to him like a father; told him that I knew that if a traveler brings to an inn the horse of a third person, the innkeeper has a perfect right to detain it for its keep; that of course he was not bound to inquire whose horse it was;[343] that that highly estimable and worthy occupant of the bench in days that are no more, I mean Judge Coleridge, said that with reference to an innkeeper’s lien there was no difference between the goods of a guest and those of a third person brought by a guest.[344] This pleased the old rascal. Then I pleaded poverty, but Shylock was unmoved; then I assumed an appearance of anger at his keeping my horses and went away.”
“But how did that help you?” I asked impatiently, growing weary of a story that was long enough for the ears of an antediluvian patriarch.
“Oh, I had not left the worthy’s house five minutes before I happened, quite accidentally, you know, to meet the man who had taken the horses. Back we came. Boniface admitted that he was the one who had brought my ponies to the inn. Then said I: ‘Sir, this man has confessed that he told you that he did not own the horses, that he had stolen them; you, therefore, became a party to his crime and have no right to keep my horses any longer for their charges. See—here is the law;’ and I showed him Oliphant on Horses, page 129;[345] and the fellow at once caved in. Ta-ta, Mr. Lawyer.”
And so off went the man to practice his knaveries and trickeries on some other unfortunate members of the genus homo. The only consolation of a virtuous man is that
“Doubtless the pleasure is as great
Of being cheated as to cheat.”
“Well,” said my friend, who had all this time been standing by, a silent but not an unbenefited listener, “Well, it strikes me that the law concerning innkeepers and horses needs what Lord Dundreary thought the country did, that is to say, namely, to wit, improving!”
“True for you,” I replied. “For instance, until recently it was doubtful whether an innkeeper who detains a horse as a pledge for its keep, can detain also the saddle and bridle, or even the halter which fastens it to the stall.[346] And where a man stopped with his horse at an inn under suspicious circumstances, and the police ordered the innkeeper to retain the animal, it was held that the poor landlord had no lien.[347] And if a neighbor leaves his nag with an innkeeper to be fed and kept, allowing him to use it at his pleasure, and a creditor of the owner seize it for a debt, the poor publican has no lien for the animal’s keep;[348] nor would he have, where he boards the horses of a stage line, under a special agreement.”[349]
“What about a livery-stable keeper?” asked De Gex.
“Down in Georgia, it was held that he had a right of lien on horses and buggies left in his keeping;[350] but everywhere else, it is considered that he has no such lien, for the contract with him is that the owner is to have the horse whenever required;[351] and the claim of a lien would be inconsistent with the necessary enjoyment of the property.”[352]
“Suppose the livery man pays out money to a vet. for advice?”
“That would make no difference.[353] But if a man who is both an innkeeper and a livery-stable keeper receives a horse, and does not say he takes it in the latter capacity, he has all the responsibilities of an innkeeper, as well as all his privileges.[354] On the other hand, if an innkeeper receives horses and carriages on livery, the fact that the owner on a subsequent day takes refreshment at the inn will not give the innkeeper an innkeeper’s rights.[355] I was almost forgetting to say that even a livery-stable keeper may have a lien by express agreement;[356] and if he exercises any labor or trouble in the improvement of the animals, he will have a lien for his charges.[357]
“Well, I rather fancy that the ladies will think we have not almost, but altogether, forgotten them, and intend to pass another night here. Let us be off.”