I RIDE A HORSE
And vaulted with such ease into his seat
As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds,
To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus
And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
--KING HENRY IV.
Claymont Court, near Charles Town, the house in which my companion and I
were so fortunate as to be guests during our visit to this part of the
country, is one of the old Washington houses, having been built by
Bushrod Corbin Washington, a nephew of the first President. It is a
beautiful brick building, with courts at either end, the brick walls of
which, connecting with the house, extend its lines with peculiar grace,
and tie to the main structure the twin buildings which balance it,
according to the delightful fashion of early Virginia architecture. The
hexagonal brick tile of the front walk at Claymont Court, and the square
stone pavement of the portico, resemble exactly those at Mount Vernon,
and are said to have been imported at the same time; and it is believed
also that the Claymont box trees were brought over with those growing at
Mount Vernon.
The estate was sold out of the Washington family in 1870, when it was
acquired by a Colonel March, who later sold it to a gentleman whose wild
performances at Claymont are not only remembered, but are commemorated
in the house. In the cellar, for instance, bricked up in a room barely
large enough to hold it, whence it cannot be removed except by tearing
down a heavy wall, stands a huge carved sideboard to which the young man
took a dislike, and which he therefore caused to be carried to the
cellar and immured, despite the protests of his family. It is said that
upon another occasion he conceived the picturesque idea of riding his
horse upstairs and hitching it to his bedpost; and that he did so is
witnessed by definite marks of horseshoes on the oak treads of the
stair. Later Frank R. Stockton purchased the place, and there he wrote
his story "The Captain of the Toll-Gate," which was published
posthumously.
But in all its history this glorious old house has never been a happier
home, or a more interesting one, than it is to-day. For now it is the
residence of four young ladies, sisters, who, because of their divergent
tastes and their complete congeniality, continually suggest the fancy
that they have stepped out of a novel. One of them is the Efficient
Sister, who runs the automobile and the farm of two or three hundred
acres, sells the produce, keeps the accounts, and pays off the men;
another is the Domestic Sister, who conducts the admirable ménage;
another is the Sociological and Artistic Sister, who draws and plays and
thinks about the masses; while the fourth is the Sprightly Sister Who
Likes to Dance.
Never had my companion or I seen a more charming, a more varied
household, an establishment more self-contained, more complete in all
things from vegetables to brains. No need to leave the place for
anything. Yet if one wished to look about the country, there was the
motor, and there were the saddle horses in the stable--all of them
members of old Virginian families--and there were four equestrian young
ladies.
"Would you-all like to ride to-day?" one of the sisters asked us at
breakfast.
To my companion, horseback riding is comparatively a new thing. He had
taken it up a year before--partly because of appeals from me, partly
because of changes which he had begun to notice in his topography.
Compared with him I was a veteran horseman, for it was then a year and
three months since I had begun my riding lessons.
I said that I would like to ride, but he declared that he must stay
behind and make a drawing.
Sometimes, in the past, I had thought I would prefer to make my living
as a painter or an illustrator than as a writer, but at this juncture it
occurred to me that, though the writer's medium of expression is a less
agreeable one than that of the graphic artist, it is much pleasanter to
ride about with pretty girls than to sit alone and draw a picture of
their house. I began to feel sorry for my companion: the thought of our
riding gaily off, and leaving him at work, made him seem pathetic. My
appeals, however, made no impression upon his inflexible sense of duty,
and I soon ceased trying to persuade him to join us, and began to
speculate, instead, as to whether all four sisters would accompany me,
or whether only two or three of them would go--and if so, which.
"What kind of horse do you like?" asked one.
Such a question always troubles me. It is embarrassing. Imagine saying
to a young lady who likes to ride thoroughbred hunters across fields and
over ditches and fences: "I should like a handsome horse, one that will
cause me to appear to advantage, one that looks spirited but is in
reality tame."
Such an admission would be out of character with the whole idea of
riding. One could hardly make it to one's most intimate male friend, let
alone to a girl who knows all about withers and hocks and pastern
joints, and talks about "paneled country," and takes the "Racing
Calendar."
To such a young lady it is impossible to say: "I have ridden for a
little more than a year; the horses with which I am acquainted are
benevolent creatures from a riding school near Central Park; they go
around the reservoir twice, and return automatically, and they sigh
deeply when one mounts and again when one gets off."
No; that sort of thing will not do at all; for the horse--besides having
been placed in a position more aristocratic than ever, through the
philanthropies of Henry Ford--is essentially "sporty." You must be a
"sport" or you must keep away from him. You must approach him with dash
or you must not approach him at all. And when a young lady inquires what
kind of horse you like, there is but one way to reply.
"It doesn't matter at all," I answered. "Any horse will do for me."
Then, after a little pause, I added, as though it were merely an amusing
afterthought: "I suppose I shall be stiff after my ride. I haven't been
on a horse in nearly two months."
"Then," said the sympathetic young lady, "you'll want an easy ride."
"I suppose it _might_ be more sensible," I conceded.
"Better give him the black mare," put in the Efficient Sister.
"She hasn't been out lately," said the other. "You know how she acts
when she hasn't been ridden enough. He might not know just how to take
her. I was thinking of giving him 'Dr. Bell.'"
"Dr. Bell's too gentle," said the Efficient Sister.
"Which horse do you think you'd like?" the other asked me. "Dr. Bell has
plenty of life, but he's gentle. The black mare's a little bit flighty
at first, but if you can ride her she soon finds it out and settles
down."
I want to ask: "What happens if she finds out that you _can't_ ride her?
What does she do then?" But I refrained.
"She's never thrown anybody but a stable boy and a man who came up here
to visit--and neither one of them could ride worth a cent," said the
Efficient Sister.
Meanwhile I had been thinking hard.
"What color is Dr. Bell?" I asked.
"He's a sorrel."
"Then," I said, "I believe I'd rather ride Dr. Bell. I don't like black
horses. It is simply one of those peculiar aversions one gets."
They seemed to accept this statement, and so the matter was agreeably
settled.
When, at ten o'clock, I came down dressed for riding, my companion was
out in front of the house, making a drawing; the four young ladies were
with him, all seemingly enchanted with his work, and none of them in
riding habits.
"Who's going with me?" I asked as I strolled toward them.
They looked at one another inquiringly. Then the Efficient Sister said:
"I'd like to go, but this is pay day and I can't leave the place."
"I have to go to town for some supplies," said the Domestic Sister.
"I want to stay and watch this," said the Sociological and Artistic
Sister. (She made a gesture toward my companion, but I think she
referred to his drawing.)
"I'm going away to a house party," said the Sprightly Sister who Likes
to Dance. "I must pack."
"You can't get lost," said the Domestic Sister.
"Even if you should," put in the Efficient Sister, "Dr. Bell would bring
you home."
During this conversation my companion did not look up from his work,
neither did he speak; yet upon his back there was an expression of
derisive glee which made me hope, vindictively, that he would smudge his
drawing. However inscrutable his face, I have never known a man with a
back so expressive.
"Here comes Dr. Bell," remarked the Sociological and Artistic Sister, as
a negro groom appeared leading the sorrel steed.
"Well," I said, trying to speak debonairely as I started toward the
drive, "I'll be going."
I wished to leave them where they were and go around to the other side
of the house to mount. I had noticed a stone block there and meant to
use it if no one but the groom were present; also I intended to tip the
groom and ask him a few casual questions about the ways of Dr. Bell.
I might have managed this but for a sudden manifestation of interest on
the part of my companion.
"Come on," he said to the young ladies, "let's go and see him off." It
seemed to me that he emphasized the word "off" unpleasantly. However I
tried to seem calm as we moved toward the drive.
Dr. Bell had a bright brown eye; there was something alert in the gaze
with which he watched us moving toward him. However, to my great relief
he stood quite still while two of the sisters who preceded me by a few
steps, went up and patted him. Evidently he liked to be patted. I
decided that I would pat him also.
I had approached him from the left and in order to mount I now found it
necessary to circle around, in front of him. I was determined that if
the horse would but remain stationary I should step up to him, speak to
him, give him a quick pat on the neck, gather the reins in my hand,
place my foot swiftly in the stirrup, take a good hop, and be on his
back before any one had time to notice.
Dr. Bell, however, caused me to alter these plans; for though he had
stood docile as a dog while the sisters patted him, his manner underwent
a change on sight of me. I do not think this change was caused by any
personal dislike for me. I believe he would have done the same had any
stranger appeared before him in riding boots. The trouble was, probably,
that he had expected to be ridden by one of the young ladies, and was
shocked by the abrupt discovery that a total stranger was to ride him.
This is merely my surmise. I do not claim deep understanding of the
mental workings of any horse, for there is no logic about them or their
performances. They are like crafty lunatics, reasoning, if they reason
at all, in a manner too treacherous and devious for human comprehension.
Their very usefulness, the service they render man, is founded on their
own folly; were it not for that, man could not even catch them, let
alone force them to submit, like weak-minded giants, to his will.
The fact is that, excepting barnyard fowls, the horse is the most
idiotic of all animals, and, pound for pound, even the miserable hen is
his intellectual superior. Indeed, if horses had brains no better than
those of hens, but proportionately larger, they would not be drawing
wagons, and carrying men upon their backs, but would be lecturing to
women's clubs, and holding chairs in universities, and writing essays on
the Development of the Short Story in America.
Horse lovers, who are among the most prejudiced of all prejudiced
people, and who regard horses with an amiable but fatuous admiration
such as young parents have for their babies, will try to tell you that
these great creatures which they love are not mentally deficient. Ask
them why the horse, with his superior strength, submits to man, and they
will tell you that the horse's eye magnifies, and that, to the horse,
man consequently appears to be two or three times his actual size.
Nonsense! There is but one reason for the yielding of the horse: he is
an utter fool.
Everything proves him a fool. He will charge into battle, he will walk
cheerfully beside a precipice, he will break his back pulling a heavy
wagon, or break his leg or his neck in jumping a hurdle; yet he will go
into a frenzy of fright at the sight of a running child, a roadside
rock, or the shadow of a branch across the path, and not even a German
chancellor could shy as he will at a scrap of paper.
As I passed in front of Dr. Bell he rolled his eyes at me horribly, and
rose upon his hind legs, almost upsetting the groom as he went up and
barely missing him with his fore feet as he brought them to earth again.
"What's the matter with him?" I asked, stopping.
"I guess he just feels good," said the Efficient Sister.
"Yassuh, tha 's all," said the groom cheerfully. "_He's_ aw' right.
Gentle ath a lamb."
As he made this statement, I took another step in the direction of the
horse, whereat he reared again.
"_Well_, now!" said the groom, patting Dr. Bell upon the neck. "Feelin'
pretty good 's mawnin', is you? There, there!"
Dr. Bell, however, paid little attention to his attendant, but gazed
steadily at me with an evil look.
"Does he always do like that?" I asked the Domestic Sister.
"I never saw him do it before," she said.
"Maybe he doesn't admire the cut of your riding breeches," suggested my
companion.
"Oh, no, suh," protested the groom. "It 's jes' his li'l way tryin' t'
tell you he likes de ladies t' ride him better 'n he likes de gemmen."
"He means he doesn't want me to ride him?"
"Yassuh, da 's jes' his li'l idee 't he 's got _now_. He be all right
once you in de saddle."
"But how am I to get in the saddle if he keeps doing that?"
"I hold 'im all right," said the groom. "You jes' get on 'im, suh. He
soon find out who 's boss."
"I think he will," said my heartless companion.
"Nevvah you feah, suh," the man said to me. "Ah knowed the minute Ah saw
yo' laigs 't you was a _horse_man. Yassuh! Ah says t' ole Gawge, Ah
says, 'Dat gemman's certain'y been 'n de cava'ry, he has, wid dem fine
crooked laigs o' hisn.'"
"You should have told that to Dr. Bell, instead," suggested my
companion.
At this every one laughed. Even the groom laughed a wheezy, cackling
negro laugh. The situation was becoming unbearable. Clearly I must try
to mount. Perhaps I should not succeed, but I must try. As I was
endeavoring to adjust my mind to this unpleasant fact the Efficient
Sister spoke.
"That horse is going to be ridden," she said firmly, "if I have to go
upstairs and dress and ride him myself."
That settled it.
"Now you hold him down," I said to the groom, and stepped forward.
As I did so Dr. Bell reared again, simultaneously drawing back sidewise
and turning his flank away from me, but this time the Efficient Sister
hit him with a crop she had found somewhere, and he came down hastily,
and began to dance a sort of double clog with all four feet.
After several efforts I managed to get beside him. Gathering the reins
in my left hand I put my foot up swiftly, found the stirrup, and with a
hop, managed to board the beast.
As I did so, the groom let him go. Both stirrups were short, but it was
too late to discuss that, for by the time I was adjusted to my seat we
had traveled, at a run, over a considerable part of the lawn and through
most of the flowerbeds. The shortness of the stirrups made me bounce,
and I had a feeling that I might do better to remove my feet from them
entirely, but as I had never ridden without stirrups I hesitated to try
it now. Therefore I merely dug my knees desperately into the saddle
flaps and awaited what should come, while endeavoring to check the
animal. He, however, kept his head down, which not only made it
difficult to stop him, but also gave me an unpleasant sense as of riding
on the cowcatcher of a locomotive with nothing but space in front of me.
Once, with a jerk, I managed to get his head up, but when I did that he
reared. I do not care for rearing.
To add to my delight, one of the dogs now ran out and began to bark and
circle around us, jumping up at the horse's nose and nipping at his
heels. This brought on new activities, for now Dr. Bell not only reared
but elevated himself suddenly behind, to kick at the dog. However, there
was one good result. We stopped running and began to trot rapidly about
in circles, dodging the dog, and this finally brought us back toward the
house.
"My stirrups are too short!" I shouted to the groom.
"Ride oveh heah, suh," he called back.
I tried to do it, but Dr. Bell continued to move in circles. At last,
however, the man managed to catch us by advancing with his hand
extended, as though offering a lump of sugar, at the same time talking
gently to my steed. Then, while my companion held the bit the negro
adjusted the stirrup leathers. I was glad of the breathing spell. I
wished that it took longer to adjust stirrups.
"You'd better go out by the drive this time," said the Efficient Sister.
"I intended to before," I told her, "but he didn't seem to understand
the signals."
"You've got spurs on. Give him the spur."
As a matter of fact, I had hesitated to give him the spur. It seemed to
me that he was annoyed with me anyway, and that the spur would only
serve to increase his prejudice. I wanted to rule him not by brute force
but by kindness. I wished that I could somehow make him know that I was
a regular subscriber to the S.P.C.A., that I loved children and animals
and all helpless creatures, both great and small, that I used the dumb
brutes gently and only asked in return that they do the same by me. But
how is one to communicate such humanitarian ideas to a big, stupid,
wilful, perverse, diabolical creature like a horse?
I was determined that when we started again we should not run over the
lawn if I could possibly prevent it. Therefore I had the groom head the
horse down the drive, and the moment he released him, I touched Dr. Bell
with the spurs. The result was magical. He started on a run but kept in
the road where I wanted him to be, giving me, for the moment, a sense of
having something almost like control over him. At the foot of the drive
was a gate which I knew could be opened without dismounting, by pulling
a rope, and as no horse, unless quite out of his mind, will deliberately
run into a gate, I had reason to hope that Dr. Bell would stop when he
got there. Imagine my feelings, then, when on sight of the gate he not
only failed to slacken his pace, but actually dashed at it faster than
ever. Within a few feet of the barrier he seemed to pause momentarily,
hunching himself in a peculiar and alarming manner: then he arose,
sailed through the air like a swallow, came down beyond like a load of
trunks falling off from a truck, and galloped down the highway,
seemingly quite indifferent to the fact that the stirrups were flapping
at his sides and that I had moved from the saddle to a point near the
base of his neck.
My position at the moment was one of considerable insecurity. By holding
on to his mane and wriggling backward I hoped to stay on, provided he
did not put down his head. If he did that, I was lost. Fortunately for
me, however, Dr. Bell did not realize with what ease he could have
dropped me at that moment, and by dint of cautious but eager gymnastics,
I managed to regain the saddle and the stirrups, although in doing so I
pricked him several times with the spurs, with the result that, though
he ran faster than ever for a time, he must have presently concluded
that I didn't care how fast he went; at all events, he slackened his
pace to a canter, from which, shortly, I managed to draw him down to a
trot and then to a walk.
I am glad to say that not until now had we met any vehicle. Even while
he was running, even while I was engaged in maintaining a precarious
seat upon his neck, I had found time to hope fervently that we should
not encounter an automobile. I was afraid that he would jump it if we
did.
Now, however, I saw a motor approaching. Dr. Bell saw it, too, and
pricked up his ears. Seizing the reins firmly in one hand, I waved with
the other, signalling to the motorist to stop, which he did, pulling out
into the ditch. Meanwhile I talked to Dr. Bell, patting him on the neck
and telling him to go on and not to be afraid, because it was all right.
Dr. Bell did go on. He went up to the front of the motor, past the side
of it, and on behind it, without showing the least sign of alarm. He did
not mind it at all. But the man in the motor minded. Annoyed with me for
having stopped him unnecessarily, he shouted something after me. But I
paid no attention to him. Under the circumstances, it seemed the only
thing to do. I might have gotten off; I might conceivably have beaten
him; but I never could have held the horse while doing it, or have
gotten on again.
Presently, when I was changing the position of the reins, which were
hurting my fingers because I had gripped them so tight, I accidentally
shifted the gears in some way, so to speak, sending Dr. Bell off at a
pace which was neither a trot nor a canter, but which carried us along
at a sort of smooth, rapid glide. At first I took this gait to be a
swift trot, and attempted to post to it; then, as that did not work, I
sat still in the saddle and, finding the posture comfortable, concluded
that Dr. Bell must be single-footing. I had never single-footed before.
Just as I was beginning to like it, however, he changed to a trot, then
back to single-footing again, and so on, in a curious puzzling manner.
Except for the changes of gait, we were now going on rather well, and I
had begun, for the first time, to feel a little security, when all of a
sudden he swerved off and galloped with me up a driveway leading toward
a white house which stood on a hill two or three hundred yards from the
road. Again I tried to stop him, but when I pulled on the reins he shook
his head savagely from side to side and snorted in a loud and
threatening manner.
As we neared the house I saw that two ladies were sitting on the porch
regarding our approach with interest. I hoped that Dr. Bell would find
some way of keeping on past the house and into the fields, but he had no
such intention. Instead of going by, he swung around the circle before
the porch, and stopped at the steps, upon which the two ladies were
sitting.
One of them was a white-haired woman of gentle mien; the other was a
girl of eighteen or twenty with pretty, mischievous eyes.
Both the ladies looked up inquiringly as Dr. Bell and I stopped.
I lifted my hat. It was the only thing I could think of to do at the
moment. At this they both nodded gravely. Then we sat and stared at one
another.
"Well?" said the old lady, when the silence had become embarrassing.
I felt that I must say something, so I remarked: "This is a very pretty
place you have here."
At this, though the statement was quite true, they looked perplexed.
"Is there any message?" asked the young woman, after another pause.
"Oh, no," I answered lightly. "I was riding by and thought I'd take the
liberty of coming up and telling you--telling you that although I am a
Northerner and a stranger here, I love the South, the quaint old
Southern customs, the lovely old houses, the delicious waffles, the--"
"That is very gratifying," said she "I am sorry to say we are all out of
waffles at present."
"Oh, I don't want any now," I replied politely.
"Well, if you don't mind my asking, what _do_ you want?"
"I want," I said, desperately, "to see your groom for a moment, if
possible."
"He's gone to town," she replied. "Is there anything I can do? I see
that your stirrup leather is twisted." With that she arose, came down,
removed my foot from the stirrup, in a businesslike manner, reversed the
iron, and put my foot back for me.
I thanked her.
"Anything else?" she asked, her wicked eye twinkling.
"Perhaps," I ventured, "perhaps you know how to make a horse
single-foot?"
"There are different ways," she said. "With Dr. Bell you might try using
the curb gently, working it from side to side."
"I will," I said. "Thank you very much."
"And," said the girl, "if he ever takes a notion to bolt with you, or to
go up to some house where you don't want him to go, just touch him with
the curb. That will fix him. He's very soft-bitted."
"But I tried that," I protested.
She looked at my reins, then shook her head.
"No," she said, "you've got your curb rein and your snaffle rein mixed."
"I am very much indebted to you," I said, as I changed the position of
the reins between my fingers.
"Not at all," said she. "I hope you'll get safely back to the Claymont.
If you want to jump him, give him his head. He'll take off all right."
"Thanks," I returned. "I don't want to jump him."
Then lifting my hat and thanking her again, I wiggled the curb gently
from side to side, as directed, and departed, singlefooting comfortably.
Dr. Bell and I got home very nicely. He wanted to jump the gate again,
but I checked him with the curb. After pulling the rope to open the gate
I must have got the reins mixed once more, for as I was nearing the
house, calm in the feeling that I had mastered the animal, and intent
upon cantering up to the porch in fine style, Dr. Bell swerved suddenly
off to the stable, went into the door, and, before I could stop him,
entered his stall.
There I dismounted in absolute privacy. It was quite easy. I had only to
climb on to the partition and drop down into the next stall, which, by
good fortune, was vacant.
With a single exception, this was the only riding I did in the South,
and on the one other occasion of which I speak I did not ride alone, but
had, surrounding me, the entire Eleventh United States Cavalry.