Colonel Moore, while commanding the troops in Dominica, lost his way
one evening after sunset.
As, in utter darkness, he was endeavouring to get home, he came to
several little imperceptible objects which he forced his horse to
cross. Shortly afterwards the animal stopped at one which he seemed
particularly afraid of.
The soldier, unwilling to halt between two opinions, but, on the
contrary, determined to proceed as he thought straight towards his
home, at almost full speed rode at the unknown impediment several
times in vain, until the animal, surrendering his instinctive fears,
and possibly knowledge, to the spurs that were propelling him, with
a violent jump into the air cleared the little low hedge, for such
it proved to be, bounding that awful precipice which, like a wall,
connected the upper story or table-land of the island with the ocean
which in solemn darkness reigned beneath it.
Colonel Moore states that during his passage on horseback
through the air, almost every event of his life, large as well as
small, at about the rate of the electric telegraph, which transmits its
ideas one hundred and eighty thousand miles in a second, flashed across
his mind as distinctly and as vividly as if they were recurring.
By a sort of clairvoyance, of which in medical annals there exist
recorded several similar instances, he saw all that in his lifetime
he had done or left undone, and was thinking, seriatim, of almost
every friend and relative, when, in an instant, all these bright fiery
thoughts on the past, present, or future tenses of his existence became
extinguished by a concussion which, depriving him of his senses, left
him with his legs in the sea and his body on the rocks, apparently dead.
While lying, corpse-like, in this lonely state, whose beneficent hand
was it that all of a sudden dashed upon his face the cool, fresh soft
water that recovered him? Whose voice was it that, almost at the same
moment, explained to him, not only the accident which had befallen him,
but the time that had elapsed since it occurred?
The hand that restored to him his senses was that which had already
graciously placed his head in safety upon the rock above the ocean
that would have drowned him, but in which his feet had been harmlessly
floating. It was the hand that had just created the tropical shower
which, as if administered to him by an angel, awakened him from his
swoon.
It was the hand that, "in the beginning," when the earth was without
form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep, had created
that "lesser light to rule the night," which, just before he fell, he
had observed rising from the horizon, but which now, shining above
his head, upon four upturned glittering horse-shoes (all he could see
of his mangled beast), made known to him, at a glance, that what had
evidently befallen him, according to the illuminated clock in the
heavens, must have occurred many hours ago.
With cool presence of mind, Colonel Moore, after making several
experimental movements, ascertained that he was severely cut about
the body and head; that his right ankle was dislocated, and that his
back was benumbed or paralysed by the concussion of his fall. As soon,
however, as the long wished-for sun rose, it shone upon his bare,
bleeding head with such excruciating force, that, as a protection
from its rays, he transferred his cotton neckerchief to his scalp and
forehead, leaving sticking up above them the two ends, which, like the
remainder, were stained with his red blood.
After remaining in extreme pain for several hours, to his great joy he
saw a boat full of sable natives rowing towards the spot on which, in
the head-dress just described, he was reclining. As soon as they came
near to him, in a faint tone he hailed them. On hearing his voice, for
a few moments they looked eagerly around in all directions, until they
espied him, when, instantly, just as if they had seen and were pursued
by an evil spirit, away they rowed at their utmost speed.
After a considerable interval another black man came clambering over
the rocks, intent only on catching fish.
As soon, however, as his eyes caught a glimpse of the poor sufferer's
bloody head and head-gear, the fisherman was evidently seized with the
same impression, and, accordingly, in a paroxysm of fear, chucking his
rod and line upwards to fall into the sea, as fast as his hands and
feet could carry him, he also, in his way, scrambled out of sight.
After a long, painful interval, Colonel Moore's servant, who, alarmed
by his master not having returned, had for many hours been in search
of him, at last tracked his horse's feet to the edge of the precipice,
and on looking over it, seeing about half way down a pockethandkerchief
sticking in the boughs of a small projecting tree, he returned to the
barracks, gave the alarm, and accordingly, as soon as a boat could be
procured, the soldiers, who rushed forward to man it, proceeded round
the rocks, until Colonel Moore (who knew nothing of his servant's
discovery) joyfully saw them pulling, as hard as they could lay to
their oars, towards him.
It need scarcely be added that, regardless of the overwhelming heat of
the sun, the gallant fellows succeeded in conveying their commanding
officer on their shoulders to the barracks, where he lay for some
months in great pain and danger.
However, in due time, the paralysed muscles of his back recovered
their tone, and eventually, without even being lame, he became
completely restored to the health, activity, and energy that had always
characterised him.
For a considerable time portions of his saddle, strips of the hide and
the broken bones of his horse, which, lacerated by the branches of the
trees through which the poor animal had fallen, was literally smashed
to atoms, were collected by people, who amassed a considerable amount
of money by exhibiting and selling them as relics in evidence of one
of the most extraordinary accidents that, under the superintending
direction of Divine Providence, has ever been survived by man.
[Footnote B: Beckford says, "First attribute of a good huntsman is
courage. Next, hands and seat."]
[Footnote C: The accident occurred _before_ dinner.]
+Mode of riding at Timber.+
In getting rapidly across a difficult country there are two sorts of
fences, each of which has to be jumped in a manner the very opposite
of that required by the other. A young hunter will leap almost any
ordinary fence, particularly if it be broad, as well, and, from his
impetuosity, often better than an old one. But there is one description
of barrier, called by hunting men "timber" (that is to say stiles,
gates, and rails, that cannot be broken), which requires, in both rider
and horse, a great deal more discretion than valour: indeed of "timber"
it may truly be said that it is the most dangerous and, on the other
hand, the safest fence a man can ride at.
If a young horse, highly excited, be ridden fast for the first time in
his life at a gate, it is very likely he will clear it; on the other
hand, it is quite certain that if, despising bars through which he can
see daylight, he resolves to break the top one, the penalty attached
to his mistake will be a very heavy one: indeed nothing can be more
disagreeable to a rider and frightful to look at than the result.
Now, of course, the obvious way of preventing this catastrophe is
simply to teach a horse--firstly, that he cannot break timber,--and
secondly, that he will have to suffer acute pain if he attempts to do
so. Accordingly, away from hounds and under no excitement, he should be
slowly ridden over two or three low rails that will not break, with an
unexpected little twitch at his rein sufficient to make them severely
strike his hind legs. The moment this is effected the rider should jump
off, to allay anything like excitement, and to allow the animal, who
will probably stand lifting up the injured leg, to feel, appreciate,
and reflect on the whole amount of the pain he has incurred. As soon
as it has subsided, he should be again quietly ridden two or three
times over the offending rails, which, it will then be found, nothing
can induce him to touch; and having thus, at a small cost, purchased
for himself very valuable experience, he may afterwards in the
hunting-field be carefully made to jump any ordinary amount of timber.
A sportsman can hardly ride too slowly at high timber; for as height
and width (that is to say to jump upwards or forwards) require
different efforts, it is a waste of the poor animal's powers to make
him do both when one only is required. In slowly trotting up to timber
of any height or description, the rider should carefully abstain from
attempting, by the bridle, to give his horse the smallest assistance.
On the contrary, the moment the animal begins to rise, his reins
should be loosened, to be drawn up and tightened only as he descends.
With the single exception we shall soon notice, this principle of
self-management applies to jumps of all sorts and sizes; for although,
by a firm management of his bridle, a hunter ought to be made to feel
as he approaches a fence that it is utterly impossible for him to
swerve from it, yet the instant he is on the brink of taking it, his
reins, as if by paralysis, should suddenly cease to afford him the
smallest help, or to interfere with the mode in which (with only half
a second to think) he may determine to deal with it. If he expects
assistance, it may arrive a little sooner or a little later than his
patience or impatience approves of, and thus between two stools (his
own will and that of his rider) both come to the ground; whereas, if
he knows that he has nothing to rely on but himself, he rises at his
timber in the best and safest possible manner--namely, _in his own way_.
If we should have succeeded in satisfying our readers that they cannot
ride too slowly at timber, we trust they will pardon us if we now
endeavour to enforce upon them as an equally immutable axiom, that it
is impossible for them to ride too fast at water.
+Water Jumping.+
Throughout England, and especially in Leicestershire and
Northamptonshire, there are two descriptions of brooks. In one the
water is about a foot or two below the level of the green fields
through which it peacefully meanders. In the other, though deep enough
to drown a man, it flows and occasionally rushes ten or twelve feet
below the surface, between two loamy banks as perpendicular as the
wall of a house. If a red, brown, or black coat, attended by a pair of
leather, kersey, or corduroy breeches, ending in boots, plunge together
into the first, they simply go in dry and come out wet. But, if a horse
fails to clear the chasm, he is liable not only to fall backwards upon
these articles of apparel, but afterwards, quite unintentionally, to
strike their owner during the awkward struggles of both animals to swim.
Now, although to some of our readers it may possibly appear that the
act of riding over "a bit of water" of the latter description has no
legal claim to be included in the schedule headed "the pleasures and
amusements of man," yet it may most truly be said that in a good run,
or even in a bad one, there exists nothing that gives an ordinary
rider more intense pleasure than the sight, say a quarter of a mile
before him, of those well-known willows that indicate to him the
line of beauty of the brook he is shortly to have the enjoyment of
encountering--provided always that he knows his horse to be, what
is justly called, "_good at water_." On the other hand, it would be
quite impossible to describe into how very small a compass the same
man's heart would gradually collapse, as it approached the very same
brook, on what is just as truly termed "_a brute at water_." In any
other description of fence the rider, if he has not ruined his horse's
courage by vacillation of hand or heart, may confidently rely that he
will accomplish it for him if he can, and if it cannot be accomplished,
that he will try to jump through or over it, or, generally speaking, a
good deal more than humanity dares to ride at.
If the bull-finch be too strong, the hunter may stick in it, or forcing
through it into the ditch on the other side, may leave his owner
hanging like a bird's-nest in its branches. An ox-fence--composed of
two ditches, a bank, a pair of hedges, and a stiff, low, oak rail--may
altogether prove too broad to be cleared. Timber also may be too high
to be topped; yet, in all these cases, if the rider be but willing,
the noble horse is always ready, ay, eager, to do his very best, and
many a broken back and prostrate carcase, divested of its saddle
and bridle, has been the melancholy result; and yet, with all this
superabundance of high courage, almost every horse instinctively
dislikes to jump water, an element which (until by a good rider it has
been unbewitched) he appears to conceive to be forbidden to him to
cross. For this reason, before a sportsman can ride with confidence at
a brook, he requires not only a stout horse, but to know what sort of
a heart lived beneath the waistcoat of the man by whom the animal was
last hunted, for however badly bred he may be, he may have been made
bold at water; while, on the other hand, however high-bred and handsome
he may appear, however splendidly and cleverly he may throughout the
run have been crossing single and double fences of every variety, yet,
by an irresolute pair of hands, he may have been spoiled at water.
Accordingly, when a gallant fox, followed after a short interval by a
pack of hounds and a large scattered body of men and horses, passing
like the shadows of summer clouds over the beautiful green sward of
Northamptonshire, glide rapidly towards a brook, there occasionally
appears among several of them a sudden transmigration of hearts and
bodies, which to a foreigner, who did not understand the reason, would
appear to be utterly inexplicable.
Although ten or twelve horses, gallantly taking it in their stride,
have proved the jump to be an easy one, two or three of the foremost
riders are seen to pull up, apparently afraid. In like manner, as
horses and horsemen who had been riding boldly approach, it becomes
evident to the meanest capacity, that the peg that holds in their
steam is getting--sometimes in the biped, sometimes in the quadruped,
and sometimes in both--looser and looser as they advance. The gallop
is observed gradually to faint into a canter, which, as they approach
the water, gets slower and slower, until souse! souse! souse! they one
after the other blunder into it.
While a horse here is swimming, and there is struggling, and while a
human head with handsome aristocratic features and black lank hair
looking like that of Don Quixote when drenched with curds and whey, is
seen rising in agony from below, two little thick-set, short-thighed
men in scarlet, who throughout the run had been shirking many a small
fence, cross the brook with terrific courage. That thoroughbred-mare,
which has been clearing everything, swerves, while the ugly brute
in her wake bucks over what she had refused as if he enjoyed the
fun, which he really does. See! at what a tremendous pace this
splendid-looking bay horse is galloping towards his doom. Both spurs
are in his sides; the slight waving movement of the arms and shoulders
of his fearless rider, and the firm grip of his hands, as he draws upon
first one side of the bit and then the other, appear altogether to
insure success. As soon, however, as the well-known rogue gets sight
of the glare of the water, though his head is in such a vice that it
is out of his power to swerve, and though his pace is such that it is
utterly impossible for him to stop, yet, as if all his four legs were
suddenly paralysed by fear, the high-bred sinner, all of a sudden,
refuses to lift them, and accordingly, for thirty or forty feet,
leaving behind a track like that of a railway, they slide along the
wet, rich, loamy turf, until horse, and gallant, glorious Charlie[D]
dive together, head-foremost, into the brook! In a few minutes, men in
coats of all colours, trotting up one after another, walk their horses
cautiously to the edge of the chasm, crane over as if to gaze at the
frightened frogs that inhabit it, and after thus losing more or less
of time they can never live to recover, canter or gallop in different
directions in quest either of a bridge or a ford.
Now, while this serio-comic picture is before the eyes of our readers,
that very small portion of them who have never been actors in such a
scene will no doubt be not a little astonished to learn that of all
fences on the surface of the globe there is no one that is so easy for
a horse to jump as water.
If the footmarks of a good horse that has galloped over turf be
measured, it will be found that in every stride his four feet have
covered a space of twenty-two feet. If, in cool blood, he be very
gently cantered at a common sheep-hurdle, without any ditch on one side
of it or the other, it will be found that he has cleared, or rather
has not been able to help clearing, from ten to twelve feet. In Egypt,
an antelope chased by hounds on coming suddenly to a little crack or
crevice in the ground caused by the heat of the sun, has been observed
at a bound to clear thirty feet, and yet, on approaching a high wall,
the same animal slackens his pace, stops for a second, and then pops
over it. Almost any horse, particularly a young one, if cantered at a
small prickly furze-hedge, would probably with a little skip rather
than a jump clear at least fourteen feet, which in water would form a
"brook" that would stop more than half of the large field of riders
who in Northamptonshire and Leicestershire follow the Pytchley, Quorn,
and Cottesmore hounds. Indeed, it not unfrequently happens that a
ditch of glittering water, not seven feet broad, over which every
hound has hopped hardly looking at it, will not only stop a number of
horses and riders, but in a few minutes will, to the utter disgust and
astonishment of the latter, _contain_ several of them.
To prevent, however, this unnecessary and apparently discreditable
botheration, all that is necessary is for the rider to overcome and
overrule the instinctive aversion which his horse, and possibly he
himself, have to jump water.
If, during a run with hounds, a young horse, that has never seen a
brook, going a good pace, without receiving from the hands of his rider
any tremulous check, arrives at, say a low hedge, on the other side
of which he suddenly sees a wide expanse of water, he is quite sure
to clear it; and having thus broken the spell, if he be afterwards
only fairly ridden, he will probably require no other instruction. If,
however, as but too often is the case, on arriving at water that can
be jumped favourably at a particular place, a young horse is obliged
to wait for his turn, and during that awful pause sees some hunters
refuse, and others splash in and flounder, he naturally combines
together theory and practice, and accordingly, when called upon,
refuses to do what he has always instinctively considered to be wrong;
and as, generally speaking, it is impossible at that moment to force
him, the run is lost.
Under this state of the case, the master of the culprit on some fine
non-hunting day, armed with spurs and a cut-whip, should conduct him
to any ugly-looking little ditch, not above half a dozen feet broad
(for it is the quality and not the quantity of the shining element
that creates his fear), and then, carefully abstaining to excite his
courage, ride him at it very slowly and timidly, on purpose to ensure
his refusing it, which, of course, he is quite certain to do. After
once again leading him into this trap, a duel, perfectly harmless to
the biped, must be fought. It may last ten minutes, a quarter, half
an hour, or possibly two hours; but, sooner or later, the little
misunderstanding is certain to end in the rebel all of a sudden doing
willingly, and then repeating five or six times, what, after all, was
nothing at all for him to do; and from that moment, if he be only
fairly "handled," he will remember, whenever he sees water, the lesson
which taught him that it was made on purpose to be crossed.
To maintain and encourage this doctrine, on coming in sight of a brook,
his courage, by very gentle touches of the spur, should be excited,
while, by pulling harder and harder at the bridle, his speed inversely
should be slightly diminished, until he arrives within about eighty
yards, when, gradually relaxing the reins, and yet grasping them
so firmly that it is impossible for him to swerve, his pace should
_always_ be made to freshen as he proceeds, until on arriving at the
brink it has attained its maximum. In short, in riding at a brook, a
horse should be taught to feel that no choice will be given to him to
go in or over, but that over he _must_ go, for want of time to jump in.
By this simple management a horse will very soon learn not only to rush
at water, but to enjoy the very sight of it; and as his rider can then
trust implicitly to his honour, we end as we almost began, by stating
that, although there exists no obstruction in a run that creates so
many sorrows as water, there is no fence that is so easy for a horse
to jump, if he will but try; in fact on coming to it at the top of his
speed, if he will only hop upwards a few feet, his momentum cannot fail
to carry him across; whereas, if in approaching it he slackens his
speed, nine times out of ten he may safely be booked to be "_in_."
[Footnote D: The Honourable C. C.]
+Modes of Swimming a Horse.+
In England, a hunting man, in deference to the thermometer and for
the love of his clothes, usually avoids forcing his horse to swim.
In a warm climate, however, the operation is attended with no danger
or inconvenience whatever. In riding gradually into deep water the
animal, just before he floats, appears to step rather uneasily, as if
on legs of different lengths; but the instant his feet take leave of
the ground, or if at once he plunges out of his depth from a bank, as
soon as his head comes up he proceeds as free from jolts of any sort
as a balloon in the air, grunting and groaning, nevertheless, heavily,
at the injustice of having a man's weight superadded to his own, the
specific gravity of which but little exceeds that of the element into
which he is striving not to sink. Instinctively, however, adjusting
himself to the most favourable position, which throws the hind part of
his body about a foot under water, he makes the best of a bad bargain,
and then all the rider has to do is not to destroy the poor animal's
equilibrium by pulling even an ounce at his bridle. Indeed, in crossing
a broad stream, the most effectual way to prevent over-balancing him,
and also to stop his grunting, is either to slip sideways from his
back, and then, half-swimming, to be dragged alongside him by a lock of
his mane firmly entwined among the fingers of the right hand, or, as is
invariably practised by the red Indians, to be towed by his tail, in
which case the man floating on the surface of the water is quite safe
from the heels of the horse struggling many feet below him. By this
plan, of course, the water, instead of the horse, sustains the weight
of the man.
+Judicious Riding.+
In a closely-enclosed country, with slow hounds, a cold scent, and a
fat huntsman, a good jumping nag is what is mainly required. But to
follow fleet hounds across large grass fields, however excellent may
be a horse's jumping, however clever at doubles, safe at timber, bold
at water; and though to all of these accomplishments be added every
qualification of hand, heel, head, and heart, which an experienced
rider can possibly possess, "the tottle of the whole" must inevitably
amount to "disappointment," unless the animal be able to maintain the
requisite pace. And yet in a run it does not at all follow that the
leading horse is the fastest, that the hindmost is the slowest, that
a heaving flank is an indication of impaired lungs, or a still one of
good wind. On the contrary, it is often but too true that the first
ought to have been the last, and the last the first; so much depends on
the manner in which the different horses have been ridden.
When a man, pursued by a detachment of cavalry, is riding to save his
own life, or when, at the risk of his life, he is trying to take away
that of a poor little fox, success in either case depends of course on
the pace at which he can proceed. Now it is a very common mistake in
both the instances we have named to endeavour to attain the desired
object by maintaining, like the seconds-hand of a clock, an equable
rate, whereas, just as a ship spreads out and unreefs all her canvas
when the wind is light, and before a hurricane scuds away under bare
poles, so should the pace which a rider exacts from his horse depend
on the state or character of the ground he has to traverse; that is to
say, he should hold him together and save him through deep-ploughed
land,--race him across light, dry turf,--grasping the mane, go slowly
up the last half of an ordinary hill,--spin him very fast indeed down
every declivity,--and in jumping fences endeavour, by tranquillizing
rather than exciting, to induce him to take as little out of himself at
each, as is possible.
With considerate treatment of this sort, a warrior or a sportsman may
go from a given point to another in a given time without distressing
his horse, while the hot-faced man who, in attempting to follow him,
has been straining through heavy ground, rushing up steep acclivities,
restraining in going down hills, and galloping at every fence, large
or small, has not only blown his poor horse, but as he sits astride
his panting body and bleeding sides, fancies he has done so _by going
fast_; and accordingly, when he sees afar off the fellow who, on an
inferior animal, has outstripped him, he contemptuously wonders to
himself how such a tortoise could possibly have beaten such a hare!
+Use and Abuse of Spurs.+
Buxtorff, in describing the horses, chariots, and riders of the ancient
Egyptians, says that the word "_Parash_," or rider, is derived from the
Hebrew root to prick, or spur.
In horsemanship there is no subject so worthy of consideration, most
especially by any one wearing the name of a gentleman, as the use and
the abuse of spurs. In riding horses that since their birth have been
roaming in a state of nature, that have never tasted corn, and that
have never been excited by men to race against each other, it would be
impossible to induce them to exhaust in man's service the _whole_ of
their strength except by punishment; for, as they have never obeyed any
other will than their own, so soon as they become tired, they attempt
not only to diminish their speed, but to stop altogether, and as their
bodies have no value whatever, and as their riders have spurs with
rowels an inch long, and no mercy, it might be supposed that, under
such circumstances, an uncivilized human being would be very apt to
inflict unnecessary punishment on the poor subdued animal beneath him.
But it is mercifully ordained that it is the interest as well as the
duty of man to husband the powers of the animals that serve him, and
accordingly the wild rider, when carefully observed, is found to be
infinitely more lenient in the use of his spurs than the comrade who
calls himself civilized, simply because the former by his own and his
hereditary experience has learned that the spur should be the _last_,
and not the _first_ resource of any rider who desires to be carried a
given distance in the smallest possible amount of time. Accordingly, to
attain this object, the animal on starting, without any punishment, is
restrained by his bridle, and encouraged, so long as it is possible
to do so, in his zeal to advance: when that begins to flag, by working
the bit in his mouth he is induced to proceed; when this fails, a
very slight touch of one spur becomes necessary, to be increased only
as required. When excitation on that side is found to have lost its
effect, it is tried very gently on the other; and thus does the wild
rider proceed, until he ends the distance by coming in violently
spurring with both heels at every step of a gallop, that, from sheer
faintness, has dwindled down to a rate of hardly six miles an hour.
Now a civilized traveller almost invariably commits not only the
unnecessary cruelty but the error of using his spurs the moment his
horse, as he fancies, _requires_ them; by which means he for a very
short time encourages, and then so completely discourages his poor weak
animal that he often fails altogether to get to the end of the distance
which his wild comrade, without the slightest desire to be merciful,
has rapidly and scientifically accomplished.
In the management, however, of horses in England, the conditions of the
case are totally different. Tied to mangers, in which they feast on dry
oats, beans, and hay, no sooner do they leave their stables than the
very sight of creation animates them; every carriage that trots by, and
every rider that passes, excites them. When brought into condition,
and then encouraged to compete against each other, their physical
strength, though artificially raised to the maximum, remains far behind
their instinctive courage and disposition to go till they die, in
almost any service in which they may be employed.
Under these circumstances, the _use_ of the spur is to enable man
to maintain his supremacy, and, whenever necessary, promptly and
efficiently to suppress mutiny in whatever form it may break out. If
a restiff horse objects to pass a particular post, he must be forced
to do so. If he refuses to jump water, he must, as we have described,
be conquered. But in every case of this nature a combination of cool
determination, plenty of time, and a little punishment, invariably form
a more permanent cure than a prescription composed only of the last
ingredient; for as anger, in a horse as in a man, is a short madness,
an animal under its influence is not in so good a state to learn and
remember the lesson of obedience which man is entitled to impart, as
when he has time given to him to observe that the just sentence to
which he is sternly required to submit, is tempered with mercy.
But if the _uses_ of the spur are few, its _abuses_ are many. On the
race-course, the eagerness and impetuosity of thorough bred horses to
contend against each other are so great, that for a considerable time
it is difficult to prevent them, especially young ones, from starting
before the signal is given. As soon as they are "off," it becomes all
that the best riders in the world can do merely to guide them: to stop
them would be impossible. Occasionally their very limbs "break down" in
their endeavours to win; and yet, while they are exerting their utmost
powers and strength,--to the shame of their owners and to the disgrace
of the nation, the riders are allowed, as a sort of show off, to end
the contest by whipping and spurring, which, nine times out of ten,
has the effect of making the noblest quadruped in creation do what is
technically called "+Shut Up+," which means that the ungenerous and
ungrateful punishment and degradation that have been unjustly inflicted
upon him have cowed his gallant spirit, and have broken an honest heart!
But the ignorance as well as the brutality of unnecessarily spurring a
hunter is even worse than that just portrayed. When a young horse that
has never seen a hound, is ridden up, for the first time in his life,
_not_ to a meet, at which the whole pack are to be seen, but merely to
the side of a covert, which, hidden from view, they are drawing, it
might reasonably be conceived that under such circumstances he could
not have an idea of their past, present, or future proceedings--we
mean, where they had come from, what they were doing, or what they
were going to do. However, no sooner does a hound, from laziness,
or possibly from feeling that he has been sufficiently pricked by
thorns, briars, and gorse, creep out for a few seconds before him,
than--"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!"--the young horse
pricks up his ears, stares intently at him, holds his breath, and, with
a heart beating so hard that it may be not only heard but felt by the
rider, he breaks out into a perspiration, which, on the appearance of
a few more hounds, turns into foam as white as soap-suds. On an old
hound--by a single deep tone, instantaneously certified by the sharp,
shrill, resolute voice of the huntsman--announcing to creation that the
one little animal which so many bigger ones have been so good as to
visit, is "at home," the young horse paws the ground; if restrained,
evinces a slight disposition to rear; until, by the time the whole
pack--encouraged by the cheery cry, "_Have at him!_"--in full chorus
have struck up their band of music, he appears to have become almost
ungovernable, and is evidently outrageously anxious to do--he knows
not what; and accordingly, when a sudden shriek, scream, or, as the
Irish term it, "screech," rather than a holla, from the opposite side
of the covert, briefly announces, as by a telegram, the joyous little
word "+Away!+" suiting his action to it, "_away_" the young horse
often bolts with his rider, just as likely "away" from the hounds as
with them. If he follows them, infuriated by ardour, which neither he
nor his rider have power to control, he looks at nothing, thinks of
nothing, until at full speed coming to say a stiff fence he disdains to
rise at, a lesson is offered to him, which, however, he is a great deal
too much excited to learn by heart; and so, before his rider has had
time enough to uncoil himself from his roll, the "young 'un," without a
thought or disposition to wait for the old gentleman, leaves him on the
ground to think about the hounds; while with dangling stirrups, reins
hanging loose on his neck, and outstretched neck and tail, he is once
again "up and at 'em!"
Although, however, a horse, when his blood is hot, does not appear
to notice a fall, he thinks a good deal about it in the stable; and,
accordingly, the next time he comes out, instead of being infuriated,
he only evinces a superabundance of eagerness and excitement to follow
the hounds, which his rider can gradually and often rapidly succeed in
allaying, until the animal may be honestly warranted as "steady with
hounds," which means that, although he will follow them over anything
till he drops, he has lived to learn that to enable him to do so he
had better not unnecessarily maim his legs or tumble himself head over
heels. With this mixture of high courage and discretion he does his
best; and, as affecting evidence of this truth, although, after having
been ten or twelve hours out of his stable, with apparent cheerfulness,
he brings his rider home, yet it is the latter only that then proves to
be "as hungry as a hunter," while the exhausted stomach of the "vrai
Amphitryon"--the real hunter, remains for many hours, and sometimes
days, without the smallest appetite for corn or beans.
If this plain statement be correct, leaving humanity entirely out of
the question, how ignorant and contemptible is that man who is seen
during a run not only to be spurring his horse with both heels whenever
he comes to deep ploughed ground or to the bottom of a steep hill, but
who, just as if he were singing to himself a little song, or, "for
want of thought," whistling to himself a favourite tune, throughout
the run, continues, as a sort of idle accompaniment to his music, to
dangle more or less severely the rowel of one spur into the side of a
singed hunter, who all the time is a great deal more anxious to live
with the hounds than he is! But, as dishonesty is always the worst
policy, so does this discreditable conduct produce results opposite to
those expected to be attained; for instead of spurring a poor horse
throughout a run hastening his speed, it has very often put a fatal end
to it.
In riding to hounds it occasionally happens that a resolute,
experienced hunter, knowing what he can break through, what he must
clear, and who has learned to be cunning enough never to jump farther
than is necessary, approaches a fence on the other side of which a
horse and rider have been just observed to disappear in a brook that
has received them. Now, if throughout the run the rider has never
once touched his faithful horse with spurs, and if on reaching this
fence both rowels suddenly are made to prick him, in an instant
he understands the friendly hint, and accordingly, by exerting
much greater powers than he had intended, he saves himself and his
benefactor from a bad fall. In a few cases of this nature the use of
spurs to a sportsman is not only excusable, but invaluable. On no
account, however, should they be used to propel a hunter to the end of
a run, but, on the contrary, whenever the noble animal tells his rider
honestly that he is distressed, he should gratefully be patted on the
neck, pulled up, and walked carefully to the nearest habitation, where
he can rest and obtain a few gulps of warm gruel. Humanity will not
disapprove of this course; but we also recommend young sportsmen to
adopt it, to maintain their pleasures and to save their own purses. To
ride a distressed horse at a strong fence, is very likely to break a
collar-bone, that will require a surgeon and half the hunting season to
mend. To ride him to death, entails extortion from the breeches-pocket
of a sum of money--usually of three figures--to replace him.
+How To Treat a Hunter in the Field.+
Of the Ten Commandments which man is ordered to obey, it may truly
be said that there is no one which it is not alike his interest as
well as his duty to fulfil. In every station in life in which it may
have pleased God to call him, he rises by being honest--sinks by
being dishonest; gains more by forgiving an injury than by avenging
it; creates friends by kindness--enemies by unkindness; causes even
bad servants to be faithful by making them happy; and thus, while he
is apparently serving others, in reality he is materially benefiting
himself.
By a similar dispensation of Providence, it is the interest as well as
the duty of man to be merciful to the animals created for his use.
The better they are fed, and the more carefully they are attended to,
the more valuable they become. If by any accident they be either maimed
or lamed, money is gained by giving them rest, lost by forcing them
to continue to move; in short, while sickness is costly so long as it
remains uncured, any neglect which causes a diseased animal to die,
inflicts upon the owner thereof a fine exactly equal to what would have
been gained had he been saved.
This humane regulation of Nature, which may justly be entitled "a law
for the protection of animals from cruelty," applies to every hunting
stable, large as well as small, not only in the United Kingdom, but
throughout the world. Indeed if it be lucrative to a man to take care
of the sheep, oxen, and other animals he is rearing merely to eat,
it is most especially his interest by every attention in his power
to enable his hunter to carry him safely; and yet, on this vital
subject, for such it is, there usually exists in the horseman a want of
consideration which, to any one who will reflect on the subject, must
appear highly reprehensible.
It may readily be admitted that hunting men, generally speaking, make
great efforts first to obtain horses sufficiently strong to carry
them, and secondly, to increase their strength by administering to
them plenty of the very best food, with every thing that science can
add, to improve what is called their condition. But, strange to say,
after having thus made every possible exertion to create or constitute
a power sufficient to carry them, after having at great expense and
infinite trouble amassed it, they unscientifically exhaust it; and
accordingly at the end of a long day it continually happens that a
rider dislocates a bone, cracks a limb, or loses his life, from having
as it were, like an improvident spendthrift, simply from want of
consideration, expended funds necessary for his existence.
When Alexander the Great pompously asked Diogenes what he could do
to serve him, the cynic curtly replied, "_Get out of my sunshine._"
In like manner if a heavy man, patting his hunter on the neck, were
to ask "What can I do to please you?" the dumb animal, if he could
but speak, would just as bluntly reply, "_Get off my back_;" and yet
men, especially heavy ones, will throughout a long day sit smiling
in their saddles, without reflecting that by doing so they are every
minute and every hour wearying muscles which, after having carried
them brilliantly in one run, are, if a second fox can be found, to be
required to carry them through another.
A deal board of the length of a horse's back, with its ends resting on
the bottoms of two chairs, would break, a stout pole would snap, and
a rod of iron would bend, under the feet of a heavy man jumping upon
them only for a few minutes; and yet the same heavy man who in the same
short period would become dead tired of carrying even his only child,
neglects to consider the mechanical effects caused by the mere pressure
(to say nothing of the concussion produced by jumping) for seven or
eight hours of fourteen, sixteen, or eighteen stone on a horse's back,
which is not a solid bone, but one scotched or sawn by Nature into a
decreasing series of twenty-nine vertebræ (namely, dorsal, 18; lumbar,
6; sacral, 5), averaging less than two inches in length and breadth.
The wearying effects which the infliction of weight produces on the
muscular powers of a horse may be practically demonstrated as follows:
In crossing a particular region in the plains of South America, in
which there are literally no inhabitants to assist in catching the
horses, it is necessary for the attendant on the traveller to select
and drive a troop of them, which continue to gallop before him in
high spirits, while the animal beneath him, unaccustomed to extra
weight, becomes weaker and fainter, until with bleeding sides, drooping
head, and panting flanks, he is left standing by himself on the plain
completely exhausted.
No less than five times is the traveller obliged to repeat the
operation of remounting what is called, what is considered, and what
really is "a fresh horse," which in his turn, solely by his rider's
_weight_, becomes tired, without metaphor, almost "to death," in the
presence of the unmounted horses, who, with nothing to carry but their
own carcases, are still showing no signs whatever of distress.[E]
Now although a horse highly fed and in good wind and condition
has greater muscular power than those in the state of nature just
described, it is undeniable that the difference between carrying weight
and no weight must produce in each of them similar results; that is to
say, those muscles which are oppressed suffer by the amount of weight
inflicted upon them, multiplied by the time they are subjected to it,
and again negatively enjoy the periods of rest, be they ever so short,
during which they are relieved from it.
And yet, although every body learns by daily experience that the
imposition of weight tires his own muscles, that the abstraction of
weight instantly relieves them; and although it is a known fact that
when two thorough-bred horses are racing together, an addition of only
seven pounds weight will cause the bearer of it to be "distanced," yet
men of rank, intelligence, wealth, and generous feelings, are, at the
outside of a covert which the hounds are drawing, to be constantly
seen late in the day with cigars in their mouths, conversing and
occasionally even extolling to each other the qualifications of the
noble animals on whose backs they have been thoughtlessly sitting for
six or eight hours, as hard as a hen upon a nest full of eggs just
about to hatch.
In the army when a soldier who has committed an offence is sentenced
to crawl for several hours up and down a parade "in heavy marching
order," it is justly called "_punishment drill_."
In like manner, if an unruly horse were to be sentenced merely to
stand in his stable for ten hours with a sack of heavy oats, weighing
(at forty-two pounds the bushel) exactly twelve stone, the punishment
or pain his muscles would undergo in bearing such a weight for so
long a time would be so severe that by almost everybody it would
be termed "cruel." But if, instead of being quiescent, the sack of
oats could by mechanical contrivances be continually lifted up, and
then by a series of heavy blows dropped down upon vertebræ which
have nothing but muscles to support them, the punishment would be
condemned as excruciating; and yet this excruciating punishment is
quite unnecessarily inflicted upon hunters by a lot of good-humoured
heavy men, simply from neglecting to reflect that if they would, only
even for a minute or two, occasionally unload their saddles, to walk
a little, stand still a little, or, while the hounds are drawing, sit
placidly upon the stile or gate that is often close beside them, they
would not only perform an act of mercy, but they would impart or rather
restore strength, tone, and activity to muscles which, if vigorous, can
carry them safely, but which, if exhausted, must inevitably fail when
tested by a severe run.
In deference and in reference to this law of Nature, it may truly be
added that the proprietor of a valuable stud of horses would gain a
great deal of money as well as ensure safety if he would select and
set apart, say two of them for his groom to ride to covert, leading by
his side, with an empty saddle, the horse that is to _hunt_; by which
arrangement the cheap hack, which from the covert-side has only to
return to his stable, would carry, and the costly hunter which is to
endure the toil of a long day would for two, three, and occasionally
four hours be relieved from the weight of about a sack of oats, to say
nothing of but too often a pair of hard and heavy hands; and thus the
wealthy rider, on descending from the box of his four-in-hand drag,
would, at a saving rather than an expenditure of money, have secured
for himself the benefit of mounting a fresh hunter, instead of one
more or less tired by what in our statistical returns are designated
"_preventible causes_."
[Footnote E: The ancient Greeks practised riding two or three horses
tied together: the horseman vaulting from the tired to the fresh one.]
+How To Bring a Hunter Home.+
Of the long list of hunters annually killed by what is called "a severe
day," about one-third may be said to have died from bad riding, and
two-thirds by improper treatment after the run was over.
Supposing, as is often the case, that the majority of the horses that
are "in at the death" have been out of their stables from seven to
eight hours, that they have been conspicuous in two or three runs,
and that, with the lower edge of the sun nearly touching the horizon,
they have to travel from fifteen to twenty miles to their stables, a
question of vital importance has to be determined, namely, whether they
are to perform that exertion in the way most agreeable to their riders,
or most advantageous to themselves.
In the settlement of this problem the poor horses have, of course,
neither voice nor vote. On their behalf, therefore, we will endeavour
to contrast the attentions that ought to be bestowed upon them, with
the inconsiderate treatment to which they are usually subjected.
In a severe day's work a hunter suffers from a combination of three
causes: violent muscular exertion, an overexcitement of the circulation
of the blood, and debility of his whole system caused by abstinence
from food.
Of these causes, the latter produces by far the worst results; for
although to the muscles may be given rest, and to the circulation
repose, the stomach of a horse is so small and, in comparison to his
noble spirit, so delicate, that on becoming empty and exhausted it
is in an unfit state to digest food, and accordingly is beneficently
deprived by Nature of appetite to receive it.
Now, under all these circumstances, it is evident that the most humane,
and, taking the money value of the poor animal into consideration, the
most economical course which the rider can pursue is as follows:
As soon as the day's sport is over, the hunter should be led, or
ridden, at a walk for about a mile to some stable--it little matters
whether it be good, bad, or indifferent--or strawyard, where he can
stand for a minute or two.
When the object for which he has been taken there has been
accomplished, about a third of a pail of gruel, or lukewarm water, with
a mouthful or two of hay, should be given to him. To prevent his being
chilled, the instant he has swallowed it he should be mounted; and
whatever be the distance he has to accomplish, he should then be ridden
homewards at a constant steady pace of about seven miles an hour.
After a staghunt in which the hunter may have been galloping
principally on roads, soft ground (if it be not deep) should be
selected; but when, as is usually the case in fox hunting, the muscles
have, during the greater part of the day, been struggling in heavy
soil, he should be permitted to travel, as he invariably tries to do,
on the hard road.
As they proceed together, if the rider will dismount for a few minutes
to lead his horse down or up any very steep hill, both animals will
be greatly relieved. With this exception, however, there should be no
alteration of pace or stoppage of any sort or kind.
If, at the quiet rate described, the hunter begins to blunder, it
will be proper that he should be what is termed "wakened" by a word
of remonstrance, or, if that prove insufficient, by a slight touch of
the spur. But if, as is usual, the noble animal travels safely, the
duller he is encouraged to go, the greater will be the relief to that
over excitement of the circulation of his blood, and that violent
palpitation of his heart, from which he has suffered.
By this treatment a hunter in good condition can, in the shortest
possible time, be brought home not only cool in body and tranquil in
mind, but with limbs _less_ wearied than when they took leave of the
hounds.
On entering his stable, in the manger of which he should find, ready to
welcome him, a handful or two of picked sweet hay, his bridle should be
taken off, his girths unloosened, and then, before his body is touched,
all his four legs, after being cleared only of rough dirt, should,
without a moment's delay, be swathed from the knees and hocks to the
hoofs by rough bandages of coarse common drugget, which maintain in
the extremities that healthy circulation which, from the minuteness of
their veins, is prone, after great exhaustion, to stagnate, producing
(especially when caused by the ignorant custom of washing the legs)
disorganisation and disease throughout the whole system, as the
following fact will exemplify.
Several seasons ago almost every hunter in Leicestershire and
Northamptonshire was afflicted by a combination of lumps, bumps,
swelled legs, and cracked heels, caused by the extraordinary wetness
of the ground, and the consequent ablutions of the legs. After the
veterinary surgeons had in vain nearly exhausted their pharmacopœia,
the oldest and most experienced among them directed that on no account
should horses' legs, after hunting, be washed; and wherever this plain,
sensible prescription was followed, all the symptoms just described
rapidly subsided.
If the hunter, as is now-a-days almost invariably the case, has been
singed, the less he is excited and tormented by cleaning (the main
object of which, with many strappers, seems to be to make the poor
animal crouch his back, bite his manger, and violently work all his
legs as if they were on a tread-mill) the better.
At the expiration of about an hour white flannel bandages should,
however, be substituted for the coarse ones, under which the dirt will
then be found to crumble away like warm sand.
If his ears (the opposite extremities or antipodes of his legs) have
become cold, circulation therein should be restored by the groom
quietly rubbing them with a cloth; and as soon as they are dry, and the
animal what is called "comfortable," a pailful of warm gruel given to
him at intervals, a bran mash, a rackful of hay, a clean stall, some
chilled water, and a fresh bed, will do all that is possible to procure
for him a night's rest, free from fever; and this vital object having
been accomplished, _the next day_ he may receive without injury, and
indeed with great benefit, his usual allowance of the best oats and
beans.
Now, in contrast to the mode of treatment just described, we will
endeavour to offer to our readers a similar sketch of that which,
especially by what are termed "fast men" (possibly because "lucus à non
lucendo" they make it a rule never to "fast" or abstain from any thing
they desire to do), is usually adopted.
After the run is over, while one sturdy hound that all the rest seem to
be afraid of is stealing straight away with the poor fox's head, and
while another at his utmost speed, chased by several, is meandering
through the pack with a lump of unsavoury, very dirty fur in his
mouth, groups of riders, some sitting astride, some like pretty ladies
with a right leg hanging over the saddle's pommel, some with cambric
handkerchiefs mopping moist heads and red faces, and some adjusting
mustachios, are to be seen reciting to each other incidents aqueous,
terrestrial, and amphibious, of the run. Here and there, one of the
most handsome, as he talks, leans forward for a moment to pat the
neck of his thorough bred animal in grateful acknowledgment of the
particular feat he is describing.
In what is considered by all to be hardly a quarter of an hour, (for
when men sit conversing about themselves, they little know how fast old
father Time gallops), this joyous _conversazione_ ends by the talkers,
after giving to each other here and there a farewell nod, radiating in
masses along roads, or across a fence or two, to gain the road that
leads to their respective homes; but as, by this time, in almost every
mouth a newly-lighted cigar happens to be gleaming, they resume their
talk as they walk towards an object described at the back of the head
of almost every one, in the humane words "gruel for _my horse_," to be
obtained, not exactly at the first farm, but at the first great town,
be it even half a dozen or so, miles off.
On reaching the best hotel, at which there is seldom hot water enough
ready for all the cavalcade, the horses are handed over to that lot
of idle attendants who, some out of the stable and some from the bar,
greedily rush forward to grasp their bridles. "+Gruel+" is most kindly
ordered for them all; but as it is voted that there is no great
necessity to see them drink it, the landlord's smiling invitation
is accepted, and in a few minutes, by one of those extraordinary
contingencies that nobody could have anticipated, each gentleman rider
is to be seen, in high glee and good-humour, sipping from a tumbler
(which for some quaint reason or other happens to contain a silver
spoon) something that is evidently very wet and very _warm_. Alas!
little thinking that his poor faithful horse, whose performances he had
so lately been describing, with cold clammy ears is shivering, chilled
by having just drank too freely of "a summut," without a spoon in it,
that was wet and _cold_.
On mounting, and clattering out of the paved yard of the hotel, most
of the riders fancy they are all the better--many of their horses feel
that they are all the worse for the half hour's rest and "gruelling"
that was ordered for them. But although the quadrupeds leave behind
them the fatal pail, the silver spoon has apparently accompanied the
bipeds, who, like the favoured children of Fortune, are, externally as
well as internally, under the influence of ardent spirits.
All thoroughly happy, they think neither of their horses nor their
homes; but, according to the subject of their conversation, and the
state of their cigars, they walk, trot, sometimes very slow, and
sometimes very fast, until, on coming to a portion of the road bounded
by grass, although their poor horses have had an overdose of both
excitement and of heavy ground, they touch them with their spurs, to
re-enjoy, for a short distance, a hand-gallop.
In short, travelling at what may either be described as "every pace,"
or "no pace at all," they unnecessarily excite and fatigue their
horses; and yet, after all, though undoubtedly "fast men," they are
often considerably more than an hour longer in getting home than if
they had proceeded at a _slow_, quiet, steady, but unceasing rate.
On reaching this goal the poor horse who, from eight o'clock in the
morning, has been working on an empty stomach, is led by his bridle
to his stable. The rich man prepares himself for his dinner. Since he
breakfasted, at a quarter before nine in the morning, he has, at a low
average, enjoyed the slight intoxication of very nearly a cigar per
hour, besides certain refreshments which he brought out with him, and
the few crumbs of comfort at the hotel at which he stopped to give
"gruel" to his horse.
Nevertheless, on the principle that "by-gones are by-gones," after
his ablutions, exactly as if he had been fasting, he sits down to a
capital meal, joyous conversation, luscious wine. In due time he "joins
the ladies," and as, with rosy cheeks, and with a cup of fragrant
coffee in his hand, he stands in patent-leather boots, whispering soft
nonsense, the butler, white in waistcoat and in tie, most respectfully
interrupts it to inform his Lordship that "Mr. Willo'thewhisp" has just
sent up a strapper from the stable to say that "Harkaway" "has took to
shaking, and seems very queer indeed all over!" and accordingly, on the
evening of the next day, the poor high-bred animal, with protruding
tongue, glacy eyes dishonoured by a few particles of dust, hollow
flank, and outstretched limbs, lies in his stall, stiff and stark, a
victim to the unintentional maltreatment and thoughtless mismanagement
of his noble master.
+How To dress for Hunting.+