What Happened To Napoleon's Waterloo Steed?

My day to day routine involves caring for horses so it’s only natural that horse-think seeps into other aspects of my life, too. When I read historical fiction or watch documentaries about the sweeping battles of emperors and their long marches across continents, my thoughts usually begin to question what happened to the horses involved.

What was their story?

I’ve read about a few of the Queen’s horses and even pondered Alexander’s Bucephalus and the famous fear of his own shadow, but I worked with a horse recently whose name was Napoleon, which opened a new rabbit hole to ride into.

He piqued my curiosity. And — it’s a fitting namesake, to be honest; horse and man are both 169cm in height (16.2 hands high, in horse speak) and unfortunate owners of a burgeoning temper.

This fiery horse — and his indirect link to history — inspired me to think about Napoleon's mount during the Battle of Waterloo. What was that horse’s story?

It’s a tale indeed because modern historians aren’t certain that the specific named grey stallion existed, even though the bones of one of Napoleons horses rest in a museum in London. It’s a true mystery of mounts.

The lack of mention of the horse’s name in the imperial records make it so.

But what information we do have supposes that the stallion who so loyally carried the Frenchman through Waterloo was an Arabian nicknamed Marengo.

He was grey and small in size, only reaching 14.1 hands high (from hoof to the base of the neck where shoulder meets back — the wither). That’s technically the height of a large pony rather than a horse, the cut off between horse and pony being 14.2 hands high.

His namesake stems from Napoleon’s victory at the Battle of Marengo. The steed carried Napoleon through further war zones as in the Battle of Austerlitz, Jena-Auerstedt and, of course, the Battle of Waterloo.

It’s one thing to be a war mount but another to carry a rider who is less than inclined to learn how to actually ride. Napoleon only attended riding school for a year and was notorious for bouncing and banging about in the saddle. Ouch.

And while Marengo’s gritty feats of battle — and eight supposed injuries while partaking — are certainly interesting, what I find even more fascinating is what happened to him after his service ended.

Marengo was captured in 1815 by the British nobleman, William Petre. The horse was then shipped over the Channel to the United Kingdom where he lived as a stud until twenty-seven. Marengo was a trophy of war.

Well, they think it was Marengo.

He had the infamous “N” branding of the Imperial Stables and was small and grey. But the fact remains that records of the name Marengo do not exist. Not officially.

And the waters are further muddied by the fact that Napoleon would often name multiple steeds after the same battles he’d previously won.

There could have been five Marengo's for all we know! The Emperor liked Jaffa as a name, too.

This reminds me so much of an Irish farmer I worked for who would name every single new horse, Bob. It’s an easy way to avoid forgetting names, I suppose!

The journey didn’t end there for the supposed Marengo and this is where the fascinating bit kicks in for me. This is where I felt like a bit of a biomechanical detective.

His bones now stand on display in London.

It was after I looked at the bones that I gained some insight into the literal bone grinding journeys into battle he might have gone through.

No matter which steed of Napoleon’s these bones belonged to, it was clear that they saw pain under saddle.

The dots I marked in red show bones colliding, and these bones are positioned right where the front of the saddle and rear of the saddle would normally sit. This implies that the saddle wasn’t doing its job as pressure was focused in the front and back rather than spread evenly across the saddle’s length as it should be.

Either that or the horse was ridden “hollow”. Think of a slouching human with a disengaged core and hollow back. That’s “hollow” for horses. Poor posture leads to back issues and injury. Same same.

This condition is known as kissing spine and, in the modern day, often requires surgery to fix.

It’s extremely painful. I’ve worked with kissing spine horses who had behavioral problems as a result; they needed a year of rehabilitation to return to their old selves again. Seeing the affected versus healed x-rays of these horses was like night and day, and those ‘affected’ x-rays remind me of Marengo’s bones here — impacted.

It’s hard to say how accurate the stance and reassembly of Marengo’s bones are. Of course, there’s a chance that his bones didn’t appear set this way as he lived and breathed, but I found analyzing them an interesting exercise in trying to imagine the story a horse goes through, as they travel between our legs and through a war.

Did his saddle fit? Was Napoleon’s infamous lunging and thudding in the saddle a cause of pain to his horses? Was Marengo so well trained that he would work through that pain?

While it would be extremely difficult to confirm each answer, they’re worthy questions to ponder as analyzing the past often helps us do better in the future.

Not every horse is war horse material. Not every horse can work through pain like that (nor should they in the modern day).

I’m reminded to take care of my horses’ backs and properly fit the saddles that go on them. No matter what the myth and mystery behind Napoleon’s menagerie of little grey studs reveals, at least that notion is one based in reality.

There’s something both admirable but somber when considering horses ridden through war. It’s uplifting to think how equines helped shape the society we find ourselves in today, yet equally depressing to think of the pain they endured while doing so.

Each of these horses has a story, and just like the supposed Marengo’s bones, they hold hidden histories and secrets that reveal a little more than what is or isn’t written in the literal history books.

It’s funny how some things never change. My modern day horse friend named after Napoleon won’t have to put up with the rigors of battle, but he could fall prey to poor fitted tack or rough handling all the same.

And while he isn’t a little grey Arab stud who was whisked away to Britain for show, I’m sure he’ll make his rider feel like she could take on the world, too.

A good horse has a way of doing that.

Keep the curiosity alive — Elle.

Sources:

Hamilton, Jill. Marengo: The Myth of Napoleon’s Horse. London: Fourth Estate, 2000. 246 pages

https://www.nam.ac.uk/explore/marengos-makeover?source=post_page-----e426495bd792--------------------------------

(This piece was originally posted on Medium)