THE RIDERS OF THE WORLD.
Many customs and habits, by reason of their peculiar surroundings and
requirements, have become necessities, and, indeed, second nature to
some people; while to others, whose observation has shown the graces
and beauties of these same customs and habits, they are studied with
great diligence and application, and acquired, as far as such things
can be acquired, as accomplishments.
To the Bedouin of the Arabian Desert, the Cossack, the Vacquero, the
Gaucho, and last, but the peers of any of these, our native Indian
and our own cowboy, the horse is a necessity; and woe be unto that
man who by fraud, stealth, or force attempts to despoil the owner of
his animal, his pet. Pleasures, comforts, necessities, aye, living
itself, would be impossible to either of these if his horse was not
part of his worldly possessions. The desert, the pampas, the llanos,
and the prairie without horses would, for the uses of man, be as an
ocean without ships or boats. But to the fashionables of the world
the art of horsemanship is a beautiful and admirable accomplishment,
a means of healthful exercise. The rider’s grace of carriage, his
easy seat, his courageous bearing, like the fit of his handsome
tailor-made riding-suit, are objects of pride to himself, and causes
of congratulation from his associates. Gentlemen riders occasionally
replace their jockeys on the race-course for the display of their grace
and ability. But, after all, how poor their best efforts seem, how
awkward their most graceful carriage, and how uncertain and timid their
most heroic riding appears when put in actual contrast to the native
ease, grace, daring, and picturesque riding of those “to the manor
born.” The one is, to quote from familiar slang, “born in the saddle,”
“looks as if part of his horse,” while the other easily betrays his
hours of study and of practice.
[Illustration: NIP AND TUCK.]
As children we have all read of the Arab, but we remember him
principally by recollecting his love for his horse. From our school-boy
days the Arab and his horse have been as one to us. His somewhat
fantastic costume and the complicated trappings of his steed were
beautiful pictures to us, and we recall them yet. These Bedouins of
the Arabian Desert are not only recognized as among the best horsemen
of the world, but are the beau ideal of Eastern pathfinders. The
Cossack of the Caucasian line is by inheritance and inclination among
the most fearless and graceful horsemen of the world. His system of
warfare, which bears a striking similarity to that which prevailed on
the American frontier a few years ago, is the finest school for the
development of military horsemanship since the days of Saladin and
Cœur de Leon. The Cossacks of the Caucasian line are entitled to be
called the flower of that great horde of irregular cavalry, the Cossack
Military Colonies, that dwell along the southern frontier of the
Russian Empire. They spring from the same branch of the great Cossack
family, the Zaporogians, which Byron immortalized in his great poem
“Mazeppa.” On their light steppe horses, which are as fierce and active
as themselves, they have proven themselves worthy of their fierce and
warlike sires. Experts as swordsmen, as well as horsemen, they met
their old enemies, the Russians, on equal terms.
As picturesque, and more gaudy in appearance and trapping than
either the Bedouin or the Cossack, is the wily Vacquero of our
neighboring Mexico. Agile, hardy, and dashing, adepts in the work of
lasso-throwing, as well as with arms, they are alike interesting in
exhibition and dangerous as foes.
But of all these native-born and wonderful horsemen of lands other
than our own, perhaps the most complete, the most daring and dangerous
in war, the most phenomenal trailer, the greatest pathfinder, is the
wonderful Gaucho from the llanos of the Argentine Republic. From his
earliest infancy the half-wild horses have been his intimates and
familiars. When the American or English boy is just learning to stand
on his feet alone, the infant Gaucho is being taught by his fond
mother to steady himself on the back of one of the ponies of the herd.
At the age of four years he can ride the wildest colt that roams the
pampas, and from that time he and his horse are practically one; and to
unseat him would be almost to tear from the horse a portion of his own
anatomy. He is by virtue of his home life and occupations completely
dependent on his horse. He spends most of his life on horseback, and is
associated with the wild equine to a greater degree than any member of
the other equestrian races of the world. Armed with the deadly bolas
he is a terrible foe to either bird, beast, or man. The bolas consists
of a number of rawhide thongs fastened to a central thong and with an
iron ball at each of the ends. He is possibly the most expert lassoer
in the world; and when in pursuit of animal or bird he hurls the deadly
bolas with unerring skill. From a distance of sixty feet he causes it
to inextricably entangle about the legs, bringing the victim helpless
to the ground. When tracking his foe across the pathless continent, his
fearful skill and persistence make the work of the Cuban bloodhound and
the Bedouin of the desert appear like child’s play. It is interesting
to note that the Gaucho himself makes nearly everything connected with
his outfit, from the saddle in which he rides to the boots which cover
his feet.
[Illustration: WILD RIDERS OF THE PLAINS.]
Though these horsemen of the Orient and of South America are
picturesque types of the riders of the world, the list would indeed be
incomplete if we omitted our own Indian and cowboy. To the former no
price is too high, no danger too threatening to risk, no undertaking
too hazardous to attempt, that will win for him a horse. His wealth is
told in the number of his horses, and while he may keep his promise of
peace to the settler, he can rarely resist “borrowing” one of his
horses if occasion seems to him to demand the need of it. Whether in
pursuit of game, indulging in his peculiarly interesting sports, or
on the war-path, his pony is his friend and companion. It would at
times appear as though the wish, the thought, of the rider was in some
mysterious way communicated to the horse without word of mouth or touch
of bridle-rein, so quick are their changes of movement or direction and
so seldom is a correction made.
Indian warfare was made far more dangerous to the pioneer of
comparatively later days by reason of the red man’s introduction to the
horse. In the earliest conflicts between the hereditary owners of this
continent and the white aggressor, the horse and his uses were unknown
to the former. His fighting, like his hunting, had to be done on foot.
An Indian attack in those days could not be made with the suddenness
or the rush, nor could his retreat be so quickly accomplished, as in
after years. And it was not until Cortez brought over his horses that
the “long-felt want” was satisfied. Now, like a veritable Centaur, he
strides his animal, his command so complete that it appears his arms
and hands are not needed for use in his horsemanship, but left free to
handle his bow and arrow or his rifle.
Just here it may be well to say a few words relative to the noble
animal whose duties and services have commanded the admiration of
mankind.
It seems to be a settled fact that the horse is of Moorish origin, as
also is his accompaniment, the saddle.
To follow the theory of other able writers, the horse is thought to
be a native of the plains of Central Asia, but the wild species from
which it is derived is not certainly known. The Asiatic horse with its
one digit was in turn evolved from ancestors with polydactyl feet.
Some instances have been known in modern times, and ancient records
give stories, of horses presenting more than one toe. Julius Cæsar’s
horse is said to have had this peculiarity. Suetonius, the writer,
describes this horse as being almost human, with the hoofs cleft like
toes. This author says: “It was born in Cæsar’s own stables, and as the
soothsayers declared that it showed that its owner would be lord of the
world, he reared it with great care, and was the first to mount it. It
would allow no other rider.” Most of the polydactyl horses found in
the present day have been raised in the southwest of America, or from
that ancestry bred. In this way their connection with the mustang, or
semi-wild stock of that region, becomes at least probable.
This same raw-boned, small, or medium-sized horse, called the mustang,
possesses a well-authenticated claim to noble origin. Horses of good
Berber blood were brought over by the Spanish conquerors under Cortez
and De Soto, and it is a most reasonable supposition that these
invaders selected the very best and strongest specimens of the breed
for use in their daring ventures. It is not surprising that the natives
of Mexico, when for the first time they saw approaching them men on
horses, both clad in glittering armor, were filled with terror. To them
it seemed that man and horse were one, a veritable four-legged warrior,
and they fled precipitately to the fastnesses of their own mountains to
escape contact with this monstrosity.
In good time the climate and surroundings wrought many changes in
the horse that first landed on the shores of Mexico, and the breed
eventually became what is now known as the “American mustang,” perhaps
the hardiest specimen of the genus horse now known. From this origin
evoluted the finest breeds of horses now claimed to be American bred.
During the visit of the Wild West to Paris, General Cody, by
invitation, called on Rosa Bonheur, the famous painter of horses. Three
years prior to this time Miss Bonheur had received from America three
fine mustang ponies, two of which had, despite all effort, remained
uncontrollable and therefore, of course, useless to her. These latter
she generously tendered to General Cody as a present. Her surprise when
Cody calmly accepted the offer, and assured her that “his boys” would
have but little trouble in catching and controlling these animals,
can hardly be described. True to his assurance, Cody soon had two of
his “boys” on hand, and in a short time the apparently uncontrollable
“Appach” and “Clair de Lune” were lassoed by the “boys,” saddled and
mounted. This scene was witnessed not only by the great artist herself
but by numbers of marveling neighbors, who, by peeping through their
window-shutters, saw for the first time a lasso hunt. The quick,
accurate, and successful work of the American cowboy astonished and
interested all these witnesses to a wonderful degree.
To the cowboy’s dexterous horsemanship, added to his courage and
endurance, has been largely due the protection of the lives and
property of the early emigrants to the great West. For years the
dissemination of news was entirely dependent upon these heroic riders.
Now the success and preservation of the vast cattle interests are made
possible only by the watchful care of the cowboy and his pony--the one
practically helpless without the other.
The “view halloo” of the English hunting gentleman may be inspiriting
to those accustomed to it, but how it lacks in vigor, in earnestness,
in actual music, the famous cowboy yell as he and his pony dash upon
game or hostile Indians. This latter carries with its sound the
conviction of heartiness, determination, and enthusiasm with which he
begins a sport, faces a danger, or encounters a foe. To those who have
seen Gen. W. F. Cody (“Buffalo Bill”) give exhibitions of this method
of riding, it will readily be understood how difficult it is in words
to illustrate the strange peculiarity of its singular attractiveness.
To this man of ideas is due the thought of gathering together in one
congress the representatives of all these types of horses and riders.
And, as with Cody to resolve is to act, this interesting assemblage is
ready for public contemplation at the World’s Fair.
It may not be inappropriate in this chapter to quote the words of the
famous king of poets in eulogy of that noble animal, the horse.
SHAKESPEARE ON THE HORSE.
Imperiously he leaps, he neighs, he bounds,
And now his woven girths he breaks asunder;
The bearing earth with his hard hoof he wounds,
Whose hollow womb resounds like heaven’s thunder;
The iron bit he crushes ’tween his teeth,
Controlling what he was controlled with.
His ears up-pricked, his braided hanging mane
Upon his compassed crest now stands on end;
His nostrils drink the air, and forth again,
As from a furnace, vapors doth he send;
His eye, which scornfully glisters like fire,
Shows his hot courage and his high desire.
Sometimes he trots, as if he told the steps
With gentle majesty and modest pride;
Anon he rears upright, curvets, and leaps,
As who should say, “Lo! thus my strength is tried;
And this I do to captivate the eye
Of the fair breeder that is standing by.”
What recketh he his rider’s angry stir,
His flattering “Holla,” or his “_Stand, I say_”?
What cares he now for curb or pricking spur,
For rich caparisons or trapping gay?
He sees his love, and nothing else he sees,
Nor nothing else with his proud sight agrees.
Look! When a painter would surpass the life
In limning out a well-proportioned steed,
His art with nature’s workmanship at strife,
As if the dead the living should exceed,
So did this horse excel a common one,
In shape, in color, courage, pace, and bone.
Round-hoof’d, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long,
Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostrils wide,
High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong,
Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide.
Look! What a horse should have he did not lack,
Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
BUFFALO BILL’S EQUINE HEROES.
Mr. Cody is a great lover of man’s best friend among the animal
kingdom--the horse. The peculiar career he has followed has made his
equine friend such a sterling necessity as a companion, an assistant,
a confidant, that he admits, as every frontiersman and scout does, a
great deal depends, even life itself in innumerable emergencies, on the
general sagacity of this noble brute. For the purposes of the trail,
the hunt, the battle, the pursuit, or the stampede it was essentially
necessary to select, for chargers with which to gain success, animals
excelling in the qualities of strength, speed, docility, courage,
stamina, keen scent, delicacy of ear, quick of sight, sure-footed,
shrewd in perception, nobleness of character, and general intelligence.
History records, and a grateful memory still holds dear, numberless
famous quadruped allies that Buffalo Bill has during his long career
possessed, and many are the stories told on the frontier and in the
army of Old Buckskin Joe, Brigham, Tall Bull, Powder-Face, Stranger,
and Old Charlie.
[Illustration: COMRADES.]
Old Buckskin Joe was one of his early favorites, who by long service
in army-scouting became quite an adept, and seemed to have a perfect
knowledge of the duties required of him. For this reason, when ordered
to find and report the location of the savages in their strongholds,
at times hundreds of miles away over a lonely country, infested by
scouting parties of hostiles liable at any instant to pounce upon
one, Old Buckskin was always selected by Cody to accompany him on the
trail when the work was dangerous. Mounted on another horse, he would
let Buckskin follow untrammeled, even by a halter, so as to reserve
him fresh in case of discovery and the terrible necessity of “a ride
for life.” Quick to scent danger, he instinctively gave evidence of
his fears, and would almost assist his saddling or quickly insert his
head in the bridle, and once on his back Joe was always able to bid
defiance to the swiftest horses the Indians possessed, and the longer
the chase the farther they were left in his rear. On one occasion his
master descried a band of 100 warriors, who gave them chase from the
headwaters of the Republican River to Fort McPherson, a distance of 195
miles. It was at a season when the ponies were in good condition, and
the savage band, though thirsting for the scalp of their well-known
foe, Pa-he-has-ka (the long-haired scout), dropped behind until on the
last fifty miles but fifteen of the fleetest were in pursuit, Buckskin
leaving them out of sight twenty miles from the fort.
This ride, famed in army annals, caused Old Buckskin to go blind, but
the gratitude of his master was such that Joe was kept and carefully
attended to until his death, which occurred a few years ago at Cody’s
home, North Platte. Buckskin was accorded a decent funeral, and a
tombstone erected over his remains inscribed “Old Buckskin Joe, the
horse that on several occasions saved the life of Buffalo Bill by
carrying him safely out of the range of Indian bullets. Died of old
age, 1882.”
Brigham was another celebrity of his race, and it was on his back Mr.
Cody clinched his undisputed title of “King Buffalo-killer,” and added
permanency to the name of Buffalo Bill by killing _sixty-nine buffalo
in one run_; and such was this steed’s knowledge of hunting that game
that he discarded saddle and bridle while following the herd, killing
the last half while riding this renowned pet of the chase _bareback_.
Many other tried and true ones have enhanced his love for their race,
the last of the famous old-timers being owned and ridden by him in his
daily exhibitions with the Wild West, traversing the continent five
times, traveling thousands of miles, and never missing a performance.
Old Charlie possessed all the virtues that go to form a “noble horse.”
Charlie was broken in by Mr. Cody, and has never been ridden by any
one else (except Miss Arta Cody, an accomplished horse-woman), and for
many years has been the participant of all his master’s skirmishes,
expeditions, long rides, and hunts; has been ridden over all kinds
of rough country, prairie-dog towns, mountain and plain; has never
stumbled or fallen, being beyond a doubt one of the surest-footed
animals man ever rode; and for endurance is a second Buckskin Joe, if
not better, on one occasion, in an emergency, having carried his master
over a prairie road _one hundred miles in nine hours and forty-five
minutes_, rider and trappings weighing 243 pounds. Old Charlie’s great
point was his wonderful intelligence, which caused him to act in a
manner as to almost lay claim in his conduct to judiciousness. In the
most lonely or unattractive place, or in one of the most seductive to
equine rambles, when his master removed saddle and bridle, he could
trust Charlie to stay where he was left, wrap himself in a blanket,
take the saddle for a pillow, go to sleep contented, knowing his
faithful steed would be close at hand, or, after browsing fully, would
come and lie close beside him, sink into slumber, with ear at tension,
one eye open, and at the slightest disturbance arouse him to meet the
threatened danger. All the Indians in the country, keen as he was to
scent them, intuitively as he dreaded them, could not make him leave,
or stampede him, until his owner was mounted, challenging in this
respect the instincts of the highest class of watch-dog.
He cared not how much load you put on his back, having carried 500
pounds of buffalo-meat; would pull as much by tying a lariat to the
pommel as an ordinary horse with a collar; would hold the strongest
buffalo or steer, but when a harness was placed on his back and a
collar round his neck he would not pull an ounce, and if not soon
relieved would viciously resent the (to him) seeming degradation.
Alas! poor Charlie died while crossing the ocean on the homeward-bound
voyage, and was buried at sea with all the honors that would have been
shown to a human being.
In his death Buffalo Bill lost a friend he will never forget.
[Illustration: KICKING BEAR, OGALALLA SIOUX WAR CHIEF.]