REINS, VOICE, AND WHIP.
When you have decided to your own satisfaction that you are mistress of
the art of riding from balance--can trot and canter in circles, and in
a figure of 8, without reins or stirrup, with waist pliant and nicely
hollowed, and shoulders well thrown back--you may, with advantage, take
up the reins and learn the uses of them.
Learners, to whom I have endeavoured to expound this theory of
teaching, have asked me once or twice whether there was not some less
difficult way by which they might be taught; and I have no doubt that
many among my lady readers are longing to ask me the same question.
Certainly there is; in fact there are several ways which will be found
very much less difficult than the one that I am striving to teach.
Hosts of riding-masters will engage to perfect you (or very nearly so)
in six lessons--will put you on a horse, give you a stirrup and a stout
pair of reins, and adjure you volubly to “hold on,” taking very little
further trouble about you; and if you are a plucky, intelligent girl
you _will_ hold on, and will canter and trot too, in a sort of way,
within the specified time,--and your instructor will take your money
with a smile, and allow you to go out into the park and make a show of
yourself, until some really kind disinterested friend warns you that
things are entirely wrong, and persuades you to go and unlearn all that
has already been taught you.
There are just two ways of doing everything in this world--the right
and the wrong, and the latter is always, unfortunately, very much the
easier of the two, although so much the more unsatisfying in the end.
I am quite willing to acknowledge that some very nice horsewomen have
learned all that they know of riding without ever having gone through
one-half the labour which I have set forth as necessary; but those
four little words, “all that they know,” contain the whole meaning of
the matter. I am willing to allow, also, that there are prodigies in
the world--at riding as at everything else--who can look nice, and go
straight, and seemingly do nothing amiss, and who yet have never been
taught to ride at all; but these are uncommon creatures, quite beyond
the study of books on horsemanship, or on anything else. They form, in
fact, the exceptions to the rule, that ladies who have learned to ride
in the ordinary way and from ordinary teachers, do _not_ ride well, or
correctly; and that even in cases where their appearance on horseback
is fairly satisfactory, and their park riding quite as good as many
others, the efforts made by them at cross-country riding are miserable,
and dangerous to a degree. Balance-riders can alone negotiate a
difficult country with safety. Hundreds of ladies get serious falls
every season over the difficult doubles of our trying Ward country and
the ragged fences of old Kildare, which they would never get had they
in the first instance been properly taught. Therefore, being desirous,
as I truly am, that all my lady readers shall excel at an art which is
so well worth studying, I have laid down the best practical directions
for their instruction, in the hope that they may accept and profit by
them; and I promise fearlessly that by so doing they will be in the
first flight when others are on the roadside, and in the saddle when
those who trust for safety to rein and stirrup are exploring the slimy
depths of some uncomfortable ditch.
[Illustration: WALL JUMPING.
_page 108._]
Having now arrived at the question of holding the reins, we shall
consider their uses and abuses from a common-sense point of view. You
are not to regard them in any degree as a means of preserving your own
equilibrium--this I have already taught you. To ride from a horse’s
head is one of the gravest faults of which an equestrian can be guilty;
nor must you depend altogether upon the bridle for the management of
your mount, this is a very general error, and one that I want you
strictly to avoid. Horses are controlled by three things: the reins,
the voice, and the legs--and a lady rider must make her whip-handle
serve her for the management and guidance of her mount on the off side,
where a man has the advantage of having his right leg to assist him in
the office. Of this more anon, for I mean to touch lightly upon the
three controlling powers.
First, the reins. Teachers of the _haute école_ style of riding may
possibly have told you wonders about military horsemanship, and how the
movements of an animal may be regulated by certain subtle touches of
the thumb or little finger. I must candidly say that I don’t believe
a word of their efficacy for general-purpose riding. I do not think
that a learner could ever be brought to understand such theories from
printed rules, or to profit by them if understood. Put a girl, for
instance, on a high-mettled hunter, loop the reins over the fingers of
her left hand only--as fashionable riding-masters do in schools--give
her the whip, pointed upwards (another general symptom of defective
teaching) in her right hand, and then send her out, not over the
smooth grass fields and through the convenient gates of beautiful
Leicestershire, where, a few years ago, a whole day’s hunting might be
had without having to jump a single fence, but away over the rugged
plough and trying ridge-and-furrow which take the wind out of our Irish
hunters. The high stone walls of Galway hunting-fields are excellent
tests of skill; so also are the five-barred gates of Meath and Carlow,
and the yawning chasms--sixteen feet wide and twenty deep--at which
we in this hapless yet lovely old country have to steady our horses
when coming up, and support them when over, or else lie gasping at the
bottom, with broken ribs and damaged noses, and dreadful saddle-pommels
making havoc with our frames at every struggle of our engulfed and
terrified steeds. Send, I say, a _haute école_ rider out over Irish
hunting-grounds, and see what good she can accomplish with the little
finger of her left hand! Such teaching is a mere tirade of ornamental
nonsense, for which, I believe, no pupil would in the end feel at all
obliged.
[Illustration: REINS: TWO HANDS.]
I approve of taking the reins in both hands from the very beginning.
It is a sensible method: one which all colt-breakers adopt, and they
are not bad judges of such matters. Ladies, however, rarely adopt the
practice; it is not allowed in many of the most approved schools--but,
in my opinion, “Put both hands to your bridle” is excellent premonitory
advice. Begin by riding with a bridoon, or snaffle rein, only. Let your
fingers lie above it--not underneath,--the thumbs pointing toward one
another, at a distance of about three or four inches apart, the off
leather resting between the third and little fingers of the right hand,
while the slack of the near passes between the first finger and the
thumb. The illustration will show you what I mean, and demonstrate how
by this rule both hands have equal command upon the bridle.
[Illustration: SHORTENING REINS.]
[Illustration: AT A FENCE.]
To shorten your reins quickly: let go the slack of the _off_ one with
the left hand, and slip it forward on the _near_ leather, until you
have judged (rapidly, of course) of the correct length; then take the
off one between the thumb and forefinger of the left hand, and you
establish a _cross-rein_, the right hand quitting its hold _instantly_,
and taking up its original position. I append an illustration of my
meaning, and strongly advise a little practice of it, which can be
readily managed even in the house, by utilising tape or ribbon reins
attached to the back of a chair. The method thus described is an
admirable one for shortening a single bridle when coming up, say, to a
fence at which a horse may require some holding; and I likewise append
a little sketch of how the bridle ought to hang, and the hands be
held, when going over.
When you want to ride leisurely, in park or on road, with the reins
in one hand only--a thing at times not at all to be deprecated--draw
the near rein between the third and little fingers of your left hand,
and bring it out between the first and thumb, while the off one is
made to cross it in the palm of the hand, thus:--
[Illustration: REINS IN ONE HAND--FIRST POSITION.]
Then turn the hand with the knuckles _upward_, as here represented,
[Illustration: REINS IN ONE HAND--SECOND POSITION.]
and a correct position will be ensured.
You should avoid working the fingers about when riding, as doing so is
very apt to shift the bit in the horse’s mouth. Your hand may go back
and forth with a “give-and-take” movement, but not from side to side on
any account.
[Illustration: REINS FIRMLY IN BOTH HANDS.]
The best method of riding with double reins can, I think, be most
effectually shown by illustration. This represents the reins held
firmly, though not tightly, in both hands; while that on the next page
shows an easy style of going--one that is nice to adopt when proceeding
at a walking pace. When trotting, the reins may be dropped by the right
hand, which should then be lowered to the level of the saddle--the whip
pointing _downwards_.
If you wish to ride with one rein only, though with a double bridle,
hold the snaffle rein in your left hand in the manner already
described, and loop the curb over your little finger, in order that it
may be readily taken up when required.
[Illustration: WALKING PACE.]
I may here say that, despite the directions which I have taken pains
to give on the subject of holding reins I adhere to the belief that so
long as they are held flat and smooth, there need not really be any
_fixed rule_ about the handling of them. If elbows, shoulders, and
wrists are in proper position, it matters comparatively little how
fingers may be held--and beginners are, as a rule, a great deal too
much worried and puzzled about a matter which generally simplifies
itself according as a knowledge of more important things is acquired.
At the same time, there is with this, as with everything else, a right
and a wrong side to the subject; and in order to avoid the wrong, it
will perhaps be as well to adopt the orthodox right method from the
very beginning. There is, however, nothing at all wrong in occasionally
moving the reins about and changing them from one hand to the other.
All good riders do it, and it is vastly better than adopting the stiff,
set style which would-be fine riders sometimes affect: namely, placing
the hands in one position when setting out, and scarcely ever altering
them from it. A good horsewoman will sedulously avoid everything
that is stiff or ungraceful, and will move about in her saddle with
as much pliant ease as though seated at home in an easy chair. The
unsightly rigidity observable about the figures and demeanour of some
lady-riders--especially those whose “teaching” has been too finely
drawn--is certainly not a thing to be copied or admired.
Having now discussed the subject of reins, we come to consider the
“Voice” as a means of controlling and managing the horse.
I have always considered the effect and power of the voice as second
only in usefulness to those of the bridle. Horses are intelligent and
sensitive beyond what most persons can be induced to think or believe.
I know to a certainty that they not only listen to, and are influenced
by, every sound that issues from their riders’ lips, but absolutely
gather his meaning and desires from the various inflexions of his
voice. I know that they love their masters and mistresses, and look to
them for teaching, just as dependent children ask you what it is that
you wish them to do. There is something inexpressibly beautiful in
this loving intelligence on the part of animals--this sympathy between
horse and rider, which, in a former chapter, I strove to say something
about. Horses are in reality the very noblest of God’s created
things--excepting, of course, man _as he ought to be_. They have, so
far as their endowments permit, all the attributes that go to make the
human character lovable and good, supplemented by a rare fidelity,
such as is unhappily seldom met with among those who are fashioned
in the Creator’s own image. I have read, and been told a great deal,
about horses that were “obstinate brutes,” and “wicked devils,” and
“outrageous beasts,” and everything else that was hateful and bad--and
have listened with a bursting and indignant heart to accounts of
thrashings, and starvings, and spurrings, and mouth-burnings, and other
wickednesses, which have made me feel how infinitely superior was the
so-called brute creation to that which it is made to serve. I confess
that it has not been my lot to come across any specimens of this
much-talked-of vicious sort, excepting in one or two rare instances,
where I knew that vice had been engendered by bad and cruel treatment.
I have no doubt that horses, like human beings, are sometimes born
with evil natures--_sometimes_, but not very often. I have not met
with any of them, and the few with whom I have ever had trouble have
invariably been those whom wanton cruelty or rank injustice had in the
first instance spoilt. There are very few horses indeed--even the most
unruly--that cannot be tamed, or made amenable and obedient, by the
hands and _voice_ of a kind and judicious trainer, and for this sort of
work women are especially fitted. I mean, of course, women of courage
and mind; not such as would scream at sight of a spider, or go into
fits if a mouse chanced to cross the floor. A woman’s voice carries
great power along with it, and the touch of her light firm hands can
effect things at which a man’s would utterly fail. Gentleness goes ever
in advance of force, and leading is preferable to driving. Even if you
have to scold, or whip, there is a way of doing both that is temperate
and wise, and that will never create ill-will between you and your
horse. Fight an animal, and he will fight you in return; coax him by
the gentleness of your action and the sound of your voice, and he will
be pretty certain to yield. It is just the difference between “lead”
and “drive.” Such, at least, has been my experience.
I saw a horse some time ago in the west of Ireland, caged like a wild
beast, and fed with a pitchfork through the bars of his door. Nobody
would go near him, he bore such a bad name, and the appellation his
groom bestowed upon him--“A tattherin’ divil!”--was certainly more
expressive than refined. I offered to buy him; his owner said I might
have him for nothing; but I gave what I thought fair, and took the
horse home. The creature was wild from savage treatment. He had known
nothing but blows and threats, and angry epithets: things that he had
learned to understand only too well, and was, seemingly ever expectant
of, and waiting for. I taught him something different--and how?--by
the simple power of my voice. It is not a particularly musical one, by
any means, except in the ears of animals, but to one of these it has
never yet uttered an angry word,--and the horse came to know it, and
to listen for it, and to neigh at the sound of it, and by-and-by we
got to understand one another quite well, and the great, big, foolish
old head, all defaced and disfigured as it was by hard knocks and bad
usage, used to rest lovingly upon my shoulder, while I stroked the ears
that in former days had so often been laid back in angry vindictiveness
against a harsh and cruel task-master. “He’ll take the nose off your
face some day, the treacherous brute!” an ex-attendant upon my new pet
once said to me. But, needless to say, it was a libel: my nose is still
intact. The horse learned to love me, and to caress and obey from that
feeling. I believe he would have died for me. When I hunted him he
jumped the biggest places at a word from my lips. Without whip, curb,
or spur I rode him for many a day, over the difficult Ward country,
and he never once played me a shabby trick. Poor fellow! He had not a
particle of beauty about him; indeed, I think he was ridiculously ugly,
in all save prejudiced eyes; but he had an honest heart, one that would
have broken rather than have grieved or disobeyed his owner; and when
I had to shoot him (he broke his back, leaping a drain with a friend
to whom I had unfortunately lent him for a day’s schooling), he turned
such an eye upon me as I cannot to this day think of without a lump in
my throat that is very seldom there.
The voice, as an instigator and soother, is alike powerful with the
horse, if we only know how to use it; and being so, it is a pity
that it should ever be employed for any other purpose than that
which is good. Teach your horse from the beginning to know the sound
of your voice--the various tones which signify approval, warning,
encouragement, and reproof--and by them you can teach him to obey you,
just as you can with the reins.
I do not altogether approve of speaking to strange horses when mounted
upon them. Were I, for instance, to borrow a hunter for a day’s outing,
I don’t think I should be inclined to talk much to him; I should fear
that he might not understand me, and that mischief might consequently
ensue. I have, in fact, seen men get tremendous falls in the hunting
field through shouting at hired mounts, just when they were rising at
their fences--frightening the animals out of their wits by so doing,
and throwing them completely off their balance.
With your own horses, however, it ought to be quite a different thing.
You should so accustom them to the sound of your voice that, no matter
how it may be raised, it shall have no startling effect upon them. An
intelligent animal will soon come to know and judge of your meaning by
the tone in which you speak to him, and will learn his own name, too,
marvellously quickly, if frequently called by it, a thing that will be
a great aid to you in training him. He will very soon also comprehend
the meaning of such terms, as “Trot,” “Canter,” “Stand,” “Walk,” and so
forth, and will ere long obey every mandate that comes directly and
firmly from your lips.
“Hi, over!” is, for instance, a capital incentive for making a horse
fly his fences without hanging at them,--but you must never trade upon
an animal’s intelligence for the purpose of fooling him, or showing
off. I once knew a man who boasted that by simply saying “go!” he could
make his mare jump fifteen feet of an ordinary field, and he tried it
twice or thrice for the benefit of unbelieving acquaintances; but, when
next he took the animal out to hunt, and raced her at a brook, with the
hitherto magic word screamed loudly in her ear, it proved to be a very
decided case of “go,” and “go in” also, for she just planted her toes
on the brink of it, and, stopping short, sent her over-confident rider
head foremost into the water.
The use of the whip as a means of managing a horse is, unfortunately,
too often entirely misunderstood: to hurt, frighten, or coerce with
it being seemingly the chief object with many riders. Allowing that
all three may at times be necessary--as in the case of vicious horses,
for instance--ladies will very rarely find it to be the case, their
mounts being, generally speaking, of a gentle and docile type. Leaving,
therefore, the abuses of the whip on one side, its uses in the hands of
a competent horsewoman are usually reduced to the part which it may be
made to fill in helping her to guide her mount on the off side--just
as a man’s second leg assists him in doing--and, in like manner, to
press him up to his work. This can, of course, be best accomplished by
the aid of a stout hunting-crop, carried handle uppermost, as a rule:
although there are times when to shift the position of the whip, and
press the heaviest part against the horse’s flank, will be found very
effectual, particularly when negotiating ugly trappy fences, or turning
sharp corners at a brisk trot. For example, when, in the latter case,
the turn is to the right, the rider’s body should be bent slightly to
the off side of her mount, and her leg be pressed lightly but firmly
against his flank on the near side. This preserves an even balance, and
will often save a fast flippant trotter from coming right down. When
the turn is to the left, the body should be inclined a little that way,
while the whip handle is judiciously pressed against the off side, thus
preventing the animal’s quarters from swinging too suddenly round.
I may here take occasion to say that corners ought never to be turned
without both hands being put to the bridle, and a support given to
both sides of the horse; if to the right, the leg the strongest--if
to the left, the whip. When the pace is very quick, and the turn is
a decidedly sharp one, the horse’s hind legs will need to be brought
under him all the quicker, for which reason the body of the rider must
sway _well_ with his motion, while the necessary support is, at the
same time, given on either side.
I shall conclude my observations about the uses of the whip by
saying--use it as little as you can to punish, and as much as you
can to aid. Above all things, _never take it up in anger_, nor for a
moment forget that the creature on whom the stroke is about to fall is
sensitive to its lightest touch, and is fully capable of being ruled
without severity.
The same remarks apply also to the spur--the abuses of which are even
more general and lamentable than are those of the whip.
[Illustration: THE HORSE LEARNED TO LOVE ME.]