HOLDING ON TO A PROSTRATE HORSE.--IS IT WISE OR OTHERWISE?--AN
INDISCREET JUMP.--A DIFFICULT FINISH.--THE DANGERS OF MARSHY
GROUNDS.--ENCOURAGE HUMANITY.--A RECLAIMED CABBY!
To return to the subject of jumping.
In the event of an ordinary fall in landing over a fence, it is a vexed
question whether or not it is advisable to hold on by the rein whilst
your horse is on the ground. I do not now mean when he is sunk in a
ditch, but when he is prostrate upon even grass-land or upon smooth
earth. Many first-rate riders affirm that it is a highly dangerous
practice, therefore I am afraid to advocate it, and must speak with
reserve--as I did respecting the management of a rearing animal--but
for my own part I always do it. My experience is, that when a horse
struggles to his feet his movement is almost invariably retrograde. He
tries to get away, consequently his heels are turned from me; and so
long as I keep my hold of the bridle his head will be nearest me and
his feet furthest. He will not think of turning to kick me, unless he
be a vilely vicious brute, not worth his keep; and so I can hold him
with safety until I am up myself and ready to remount him. When my
horse falls with me on the flat, I roll clear of him without letting go
the rein, and as the only danger of a kick is whilst he is getting up,
I shield my head with one arm and slip the rein to its fullest length
with the other, thus allowing the animal so much head-room that he is
enabled to make that retrograde movement, or "dragging away," which is
natural to him, and which saves me from the possible contact of his
heels.
This is, in my opinion (which I cannot, of course, pretend to think
infallible), the best course to pursue. It is the one which I always
adopt, and I have never yet, except in one trifling instance, received
a kick from a fallen horse.
I remember one day, a couple of seasons ago, I was riding hard against
a very beautiful Imperial lady, who dearly loves a little bit of
rivalry. Neck and neck we had jumped most of the fences for forty
minutes or so, and both our steeds were pretty well beaten, for
the running had been continuous, without a check. We came to an
awful obstacle--a high thick-set hedge, so impenetrable that there
was no chance of knowing what might be on the other side. There was
but one little apology for a gap, and at this the Empress's pilot
rode--immediately putting up his hand as a warning to us not to follow,
and pointing lower down. I knew that when Bay Middleton thought there
was danger, it did, indeed, exist; but I was too much excited to stop.
We had the hunt all to ourselves, the hounds running right in front
of us, and not a soul with them. I came at the fence with whip, spur,
and a shout! My horse--than which a better never was saddled--rose to
the leap, and landing upon his head after a terrific drop, rolled
completely over. I was not much hurt, and whilst he was on his knees
getting up, I scrambled back to the saddle, and went on; but, oh! under
what dire disadvantages! My rein had caught upon a stake in the fence
and was broken clean off, and I fancy it was this chuck to my animal's
mouth which had thrown him out of his stride and caused him to blunder,
for it was the first and last mistake he ever made with me, nor could
I, in the hurry of regaining my seat unassisted, get my foot into the
stirrup; so I finished the run as if by a miracle, and astonished
myself even more than anybody else by bringing home the fox's brush as
a trophy that I was in at the death.
Always bear in mind when hunting that you are bound to save your horse
as much as possible. Jump no unnecessary fences; look out for a
friendly gate whenever you can find one at hand; and in going up hill
or over ploughed land, ease your animal and take your time. By acting
thus judiciously you will be able to keep going when others are
standing still. Always avoid bogs and heavy bottoms; they are most
treacherous, and swamp many an unwary hunter in their dangerous depths.
If you should ever have the bad fortune to be caught in one, dismount
at once, and lead your horse. It is not a pleasant thing to have to do,
but if you remain upon him, your weight, added to his own, will
probably sink him up to his saddle-girths, and there he will stick.
I would desire particularly to impress upon you that if your horse
carries you safely and brilliantly through one good run, you ought to
be contented with that, and not attempt to ride him a second. It is
through the unwise and cruel habit of riding beaten animals that half
the serious accidents occur. Also remember that if you are waiting at a
covert-side where there seems likely to be a delay, after your steed
has had a gallop or a long trot, you should get off his back and shift
your saddle an inch one way or the other, generally backwards, as
servants are usually apt in the first instance to place the saddle too
close upon the withers. By adopting this plan you will, when you again
get upon him, find him a new animal. If you or I were carrying a heavy
burthen upon our shoulders for a certain number of hours in precisely
the same position, would it not make a new being of us to have it eased
and shifted? And exactly so it is with the horse. A selfish man will
sit all day upon his beast, rather than take the trouble of getting off
his back; but against himself does it tell, for his animal is fagged
and jaded when that of a merciful man is able to keep its place in the
run.
There is nothing which should more fully engross the thoughts of the
humane hunter than kindly consideration towards the noble and beautiful
creature which God has sent to be the help of man. Your horse should be
your companion, your friend, your loved and valued associate, but never
your wronged and over-tasked slave. Humanity cries out with ready
uproar against the long list of grievances which animals have to
endure, yet how few of us exert ourselves to lighten the burthen by so
much as one of our fingers! There is not one of us who may not, if he
choose, be daily and hourly striving to curtail the load of misery
which the equine race is called upon to bear. We may not be fortunate
enough to possess horses ourselves upon which to exercise our humanity,
but can we not do something--yea, much--for others? Surely we can, if
we only possess the courage and the will. Even a word judiciously
spoken will often effect more than we could have hoped or supposed. Two
years ago I saw a cabman in Dublin cruelly ill-treating his horse. The
poor animal was resting its worn and tired body upon the stand, ready
for the wrench which its jaw would receive as soon as the next prospect
of a "fare" should excite the cupidity of its owner. One would have
thought that the sight of so much patient misery would have moved the
stoniest heart to suffer the hapless creature to enjoy its few moments
of needed repose. But no; the driver wanted some amusement, he was
weary of standing by himself, without some sort of employment to divert
his ignoble mind, and so he found such out. How? By beating upon the
front legs and otherwise cruelly worrying with the whip the poor
ill-used slave which he should have felt bound to protect. I saw it
first from a distance--more fully as I came near--and with a heart
bursting with sorrow and indignation, I crossed over and remonstrated
with the man. I said very little; only what I have tried to inculcate
in these pages--that humanity to quadrupeds is not only a duty which we
owe to their Creator, but will in time repay ourselves. I expected
nothing but abuse, and, indeed, the man's angry face and half-raised
whip seemed to augur me no good; but, suddenly, as something that I
said came home to him, his countenance softened, and, laying his hand
quite gently upon the poor beaten side of the animal which he had been
ill-treating, he said: "Well, if there was more like _you_, there
'ud be less like me! _that's_ the thruth, at all events." And then
he said no more, for he was satisfied that I knew I had not spoken in
vain. For two years that man has been my constant driver. He is almost
daily at my door: he drives me to and from the trains when going to and
returning from the hunts, and dearly loves to hear something of the
runs; nor is there a more humane driver nor a better cared horse in any
city of the empire.
I have related this true incident, not from any egotism--God is my
witness--but merely to show you how good is "a word in season." You may
speak many which may be, or may seem to be, of none effect, but, like
the "bread upon the waters," you know not when it may return unto you
blessed.