SEAT.
Some people tell you they ride by "balance," others by "grip." I think a
man might as well say he played the fiddle by "finger," or by ear.
Surely in either case a combination of both is required to sustain the
performance with harmony and success. The grip preserves the balance,
which in turn prevents the grip becoming irksome. To depend on the one
alone is to come home very often with a dirty coat, to cling wholly by
the other is to court as much fatigue in a day as ought to serve for a
week. I have more than once compared riding to swimming, it seems to
require the same buoyancy of spirits, the same venture of body, the same
happy combination of confidence, strength, and skill.
The seat a man finds easiest to himself, says the inimitable Mr.
Jorrocks, "will in all humane probability be the easiest to his 'oss!"
and in this, as in every other remark of the humorous grocer, there is
no little wisdom and truth. "If he go smooth, I am,"[95-1] said a
Frenchman, to whom a friend of mine offered a mount, "if he go rough, I
shall not remain!" and doubtless the primary object of getting into a
saddle, is to stay there at our own convenience, so long as
circumstances permit.
[95-1] _J'y suis._
But what a number of different attitudes do men adopt, in order to
insure this permanent settlement. There is no position, from the tongs
in the fender, to the tailor on his shop-board, into which the
equestrian has not forced his unaccustomed limbs, to avoid involuntary
separation from his beast. The dragoon of fifty years ago was drilled to
ride with a straight leg, and his foot barely resting on the stirrup,
whereas the oriental cavalry soldier, no mean proficient in the
management of horse and weapon, tucks his knees up nearly to his chin,
so that when he rises in the saddle, he towers above his little Arab as
if he were standing rather than sitting on its back. The position, he
argues, gives him a longer reach, and a stronger purchase for the use of
sword and spear. If we are to judge by illuminated copies of Froissart,
and other contemporary chronicles, it would seem that the armour-clad
knight of the olden time, trusting in the depth and security of his
saddle, _rode so long_ as to derive no assistance whatever from his
stirrups, sitting down on his horse as much as possible, in dread, may
be, lest the point of an adversary's lance should hoist him fairly out
of his place over a cantle six inches high, and send him clanging to the
ground, in mail and plate, surcoat, helmet and plumes, with his
lady-love, squires, yeomen, the marshals of the lists, and all his
feudal enemies looking on!
Now the length of stirrup with which a man should ride, and in its
adjustment consists much of the ease, grace, and security of his
position, depends on the conformation of his lower limbs. If his thighs
are long in proportion to his frame, flat and somewhat curved inwards,
he will sit very comfortably at the exact length that raises him clear
of his horse's withers, when he stands up in his stirrups with his feet
home, and the majority of men thus limbed, on the majority of horses,
will find this a good general rule. But when the legs are short and
muscular, the thighs round and thick, the whole frame square and strong,
more like wrestling than dancing, and many very superior riders are of
this figure, the leathers must be pulled up a couple of holes, and the
foot thrust a little more forward, to obtain the necessary security of
seat, at a certain sacrifice of grace and even ease. To look as neat as
one can is a compliment to society, to be safe and comfortable is a duty
to oneself.
Much also depends on the animal we bestride. Horses low in the withers,
and strong behind the saddle, particularly if inclined to "catch hold" a
little, require in all cases rather shorter stirrups than their easier
and truer-shaped stable-companions, nay, the varying roundness of barrel
at different stages of condition affects the attitude of a rider, and
most of us must have remarked, as horse and master get finer drawn
towards the spring, how we let out the stirrups in proportion as we take
in waistbelt, and saddle girths. Men rode well nevertheless, witness the
Elgin marbles, before the invention of this invaluable aid to
horsemanship; and no equestrian can be considered perfect who is unable
in a plunge or leap to stick on his horse bare-backed. Every boy should
be taught to ride without stirrups, but not till he is tall and strong
enough to grasp his pony firmly between his knees. A child of six or
seven might injure itself in the effort, and ten, or eleven, is an early
age enough for our young gentleman to be initiated into the subtleties
of the art. My own idea is that he should begin without reins, so as to
acquire a seat totally independent of his hands, and should never be
trusted with a bridle till it is perfectly immaterial to him whether he
has hold of it or not. Neither should it be restored, after his stirrups
have been taken away, till he has again proved himself independent of
its support. When he has learnt to canter round the school, and sit firm
over a leaping bar, with his feet swinging loose, and his hands in his
pockets, he will have become a better horseman than ninety-nine out of
every hundred who go out hunting. Henceforward you may trust him to take
care of himself, and _swim alone_.
In every art it is well to begin from the very first with the best
method; and I would instil into a pupil, even of the tenderest years,
that although his legs, and especially his knees, are to be applied
firmly to his pony's sides, as affording a security against tumbling
off, it is _from the loins_ that he must really ride, when all is said
and done.
I dare say most of us can remember the mechanical horse exhibited in
Piccadilly some ten or twelve years ago, a German invention, remarkable
for its ingenuity and the wonderful accuracy with which it imitated, in
an exaggerated degree, the kicks, plunges, and other outrages practised
by the most restive of the species to unseat their riders. Shaped in the
truest symmetry, clad in a real horse's skin, with flowing mane and
tail, this automaton represented the live animal in every particular,
but for the pivot on which it turned, a shaft entering the belly below
its girths, and communicating through the floor with the machinery that
set in motion and regulated its astonishing vagaries. On mounting, the
illusion was complete. Its very neck was so constructed with hinges
that, on pulling at the bridle, it gave you its head without changing
the direction of its body, exactly like an unbroken colt as yet
intractable to the bit. At a word from the inventor, spoken in his own
language to his assistants below, this artificial charger committed
every kind of wickedness that could be devised by a fiend in equine
shape. It reared straight on end; it lunged forward with its nose
between its fore-feet, and its tail elevated to a perpendicular, awkward
and ungainly as that of a swan _in reverse_. It lay down on its side; it
rose to its legs with a bounce, and finally, if the rider's strength and
dexterity enabled him still to remain in the saddle, it wheeled round
and round with a velocity that could not fail at last to shoot him out
of his seat on to the floor, humanely spread with mattresses, in
anticipation of this inevitable catastrophe. It is needless to say how
such an exhibition _drew_, with so horse-loving a public as our own. No
gentleman who fancied he could "ride a bit" was satisfied till he had
taken his shilling's worth and the mechanical horse had put him on his
back. But for the mattresses, Piccadilly could have counted more broken
collar-bones than ever did Leicestershire in the blindest and deepest of
its Novembers. Rough-riders from the Life-Guards, Blues, Artillery, and
half the cavalry regiments in the service, came to try conclusions with
the spectre; and, like antagonists of some automaton chess-player,
retired defeated and dismayed.
For this universal failure, one could neither blame the men nor the
military system taught in their schools. It stands to reason that human
wind and muscle must sooner or later succumb to mechanical force. The
inventor himself expressed surprise at the consummate horsemanship
displayed by many of his fallen visitors, and admitted that more than
one rough-rider would have tired out and subjugated any living creature
of real flesh and blood; while the essayists universally declared the
imitation so perfect, that at no period of the struggle could they
believe they were contending with clock-work, rather than the natural
efforts of some wild unbroken colt.
But those who succeeded best, I remarked (and I speak with some little
experience, having myself been indebted to the mattresses in my turn),
were the horsemen who, allowing their loins to play freely, yielding
more or less to every motion of the figure, did not trust exclusively
for firmness of seat to the clasp of their knees and thighs. The mere
balance rider had not a chance, the athlete who stuck on by main force
found himself hurled into the air, with a violence proportioned to his
own stubborn resistance; but the artist who judiciously combined
strength with skill, giving a little _here_ that he might get a stronger
purchase _there_, swaying his body loosely to meet and accompany every
motion, while he kept his legs pressed hard against the saddle,
withstood trick after trick, and shock after shock creditably enough,
till a hint muttered in German that it was time to displace him, put
such mechanism in motion as settled the matter forthwith.
There was one detail, however, to be observed in the equipment of the
mechanical horse that brings us to a question I have heard discussed
amongst the best riders with very decided opinions on either side.
Formerly every saddle used to be made with padding about half an inch
deep, sewn in the front rim of the flap against which a rider rests his
knee, for the purpose, as it would seem, of affording him a stronger
seat with its resistance and support.
Thirty or forty years ago a few noted sportsmen, despising such
adventitious aid, began to adopt the open, or plain-flapped saddle; and,
although not universal, it has now come into general use. It would
certainly, of the two, have been the better adapted to the automaton I
have described, as an inequality of surface was sadly in the way when
the figure in its downward perpendicular, brought the rider's foot
parallel with the point of its shoulders. The man's calf then
necessarily slipped over the padding of his saddle, and it was
impossible for him to get his leg back to its right place in time for a
fresh outbreak when the model rose again to its proper level.
As I would prefer an open saddle for the artificial, so I do for the
natural horse, and I will explain why.
I take it as a general and elementary rule, there is no better position
for a rider than that which brings shoulder, hip, knee, and heel into
one perpendicular line. A man thus placed on his horse cannot but sit
well down with a bend in his back, and in this attitude, the one into
which he would naturally fall, if riding at full speed, he has not only
security of seat, but great command over the animal he bestrides. He
will find, nevertheless, in crossing a country, or otherwise practising
feats of horsemanship requiring the exercise of strength, that to get
his knee an inch or two in advance of the correct line will afford such
leverage as it were for the rest of his body as gives considerable
advantage in any unusual difficulty, such as a drop-leap, for instance,
with which he may have to contend. Now in the plain-flapped saddle, he
can bend his leg as much as he likes, and put it indeed where he will.
This facility, too, is very useful in smuggling through a gap by a tree,
often the most convenient egress, to make use of which, with a little
skill and prudence, is a less hazardous experiment than it looks. A
horse will take good care not to graze his own skin, and the space that
admits of clearing his hips is wide enough for his rider's leg as well,
if he hangs it over the animal's shoulder just where its neck is set on
to the withers. But I would caution him to adopt this attitude carefully
and above all, in good time. He should take his foot out of the stirrup
and make his preparatory arrangements some three or four strides off at
least, so as to accommodate his change of seat to the horse's canter
before rising at the leap, and if he can spare his hand nearest the
tree, so as to "fend it off" a little at the same time, he will be
surprised to find how safely and pleasantly he accomplished a transit
through some awkward and dangerous fence.
But he must beware of delaying this little manoeuvre till the last
moment, when his horse is about to spring. It is then too late, and he
will either find himself so thrown out of his seat as to lose balance
and grip too, or will try to save his leg by shifting it back instead of
_forward_, when much confusion, bad language, and perhaps a broken
knee-pan will be the result.
Amongst other advantages of the open saddle we must not forget that it
is cheaper by twenty shillings, and so sets off the shape of his
forehand as to make a hunter look more valuable by twenty pounds.
Nevertheless, it is still repudiated by some of our finest horsemen,
who allege the sufficient reason that an inch or so of stuffing adds to
their strength and security of seat. This, after all is, the _sine qua
non_, to which every article of equipment, even the important items of
boots and breeches, should be subservient, and I may here remark that
ease and freedom of dress are indispensable to a man who wishes to ride
across a country not only in comfort, but in safety. I am convinced that
tight, ill-fitting leathers may have broken bones to answer for. Many a
good fellow comes down to breakfast, stiff of gait, as if he were
clothed in buckram, and can we wonder that he is hurt when thus hampered
and constrained, he falls stark and rigid, like a paste-board policeman
in a pantomime.
I have already protested against the solecism of saving yourself by the
bridle. It is better, if you _must_ have assistance, to follow the
example of two or three notoriously fine riders and grasp the cantle of
the saddle at the risk of breaking its tree. But in my humble opinion it
is not well to be in the wrong even with Plato, and, notwithstanding
these high authorities, we must consider such habits, however convenient
on occasion, as errors in horsemanship. To a good rider the saddle ought
to be a place of security as easy as an armchair.
I have heard it asserted, usually by persons of lean and wiry frames,
that with short legs and round thighs, it is impossible to acquire a
firm seat on horseback; but in this, as in most matters of skill, I
believe nature can be rendered obedient to education. Few men are so
clumsily shaped but that they may learn to become strong and skilful
riders if they will adopt a good system, and from the first resolve to
sit _in the right place_; this, I think, should be in the very middle of
the saddle, while bending the small of the back inwards, so that the
weight of the body rests on that part of a horse's spine immediately
behind his withers, under which his fore feet are placed, and on which,
it has been ascertained, he can bear the heaviest load. When the animal
stands perfectly still, or when it is extended at full speed, the most
inexperienced horseman seems to fall naturally into the required
position; but to preserve it, even through the regulated paces of the
riding school demands constant effort and attention. The back-board is
here, in my opinion, of great assistance to the beginner, as it forces
him into an attitude that causes him to sit on the right part of his own
person and his horse's back. It compels him also to carry his hands at a
considerable distance off the horse's head, and thus entails also the
desideratum of long reins.
The shortest and surest way, however, of attaining a firm seat on
horseback is, after all, to practise without stirrups on every available
opportunity. Many a valuable lesson may be taken while riding to covert
and nobody but the student be a bit the wiser. Thus to trot and canter
along, for two or three miles on end is no bad training at the beginning
of the season, and even an experienced horseman will be surprised to
find how it gets him down in his saddle, and makes him feel as much at
home there as he did in the previous March.
The late Captain Percy Williams, as brilliant a rider over a country as
ever cheered a hound, and to whom few professional jockeys would have
cared to give five pounds on a race-course, assured me that he
attributed to the above self-denying exercise that strength in the
saddle which used to serve him so well from the distance home. When
quartered at Hounslow with his regiment, the 9th Lancers, like other gay
young light dragoons, he liked to spend all his available time in
London. There were no railroads in those days, and the coaches did not
always suit for time; but he owned a sound, speedy, high-trotting hack,
and on this "bone setter" he travelled backwards and forwards twelve
miles of the great Bath Road, with military regularity, half as many
times a week. He made it a rule to cross the stirrups over his horse's
shoulders the moment he was off the stones at either end, only to be
replaced when he reached his destination. In three months' time, he told
me, he had gained more practical knowledge of horsemanship, and more
muscular power below the waist, than in all the hunting, larking, and
riding-school drill of the previous three years.
Grace is, after all, but the result of repressed strength. The loose
and easy seat that seems to sway so carelessly with every motion, can
tighten itself by instinct to the compression of a vice, and the
"prettiest rider," as they say in Ireland, is probably the one whom a
kicker or buck-jumper would find the most difficult to dislodge. No
doubt in the field, the ride, the parade, or the polo-ground a strong
seat is the first of those many qualities that constitute good
horsemanship. The real adept is not to be unseated by any catastrophe
less conclusive than complete downfall of man and beast; nay, even then
he parts company without confusion, and it may be said of him as of
"William of Deloraine," good at need in a like predicament--
"Still sate the warrior, saddle fast,
Till, stumbling in the mortal shock,
Down went the steed, the girthing broke,
Hurled in a heap lay man and horse."
But I have a strong idea Sir William did not let his bridle go even
then.