THE CENTAUR—THE MONGOLS AND CALMUCKS—A RUSSIAN TABOON.
THE origin of the fabulous Centaur is referred by some of the learned to
the Steppes, whence the first horses, and probably their riders also,
passed into Thessaly. The equestrian skill acquired by the Thessalians
at an early period when the horse was unknown in the rest of Greece,
might have induced the imaginative beholders to declare in hyperbolical
language that the horse and rider were one body:—
“These gallants
Had witchcraft in ’t; they grew into their seat,
And to such wondrous doing brought their horse
As they had been incorpsed, and deminatured
With the brave beast.”
And thus what was at first but a figurative expression, may have come
afterwards to be regarded as standing for a literal truth. Or, as it is
still more likely, the appearance of the first mounted strangers may
have so terrified the native inhabitants, as to have sent them flying,
with an awful story in their mouths of the invasion of the country by a
set of monsters, half man, half quadruped. Thus it was in South America,
where the natives for a long while believed that the cavalry of the
invaders were composite animals, which they called Gachupins, a word
which continued to be applied as a nickname to the Spaniards, until they
were expelled from the continent. The Mongol Tartar of the Steppes is
just such a being as an artist would choose to form the human portion of
the more than half brutish figure of the Centaur. The upper portion of
his frame is well developed, but his weak and ill-formed legs seem made
only to hold him on his horse, on whose back he passes most of his life,
and with which he appears to form as it were one whole. The Tartar’s
head, round as a bullet, looks like a weight stuck on his body to
balance it in the gallop. No other expression than those of animal
impulses is discernible in his hard features, and small, black, oblique
eyes. He scarcely exhibits a trace of those spiritual conceptions which
are to be found among all other races, however rude; he possesses not
the least element of a mythology, or of a primitive religion. The
ancients, who make mention of this people, say that they worshipped the
sword as the emblem of physical force; and, according to the traditions
and songs of the Sclavonic nations, the Tartar has a new deity for every
day of his life, a saying which very significantly expresses a devotion
that regards only the enjoyments of each passing day. Blind obedience to
their leaders is instinctive in this race; and military discipline,
which among others is the elaborate work of art, is with them the
spontaneous impulse of nature. Their leaders, who have obtained such
hideous renown, combined in their own persons till the good and bad
qualities of their hordes; they were born to command armies, and
possessed the art of strategy in the highest degree, and were utterly
incapable of mercy. The deeds of Attila, the scourge of God, are well
known. Genghis Khan, sitting in his tent beneath the pole-star, issued
his orders to two armies, one of which was devastating India, the other
Germany. Nay, the inferior leaders often apprehended and fell in with
the general plan of operations without receiving any special
instructions; the whole host, the whole race, was evermore conducted by
the unfailing instinct that guides the vulture to its prey. Genghis Khan
could not read, he did not even know the history of his own race, and
yet he and the other Mongol conquerors were not barbarians, if the art
of creating wealth and power constitutes civilization. The Mongols were
sedulous to advance trade and manufactures. When they sacked a city,
they generally exempted the artisans from the general butchery, and
transported them to their own dominions. The system of posting was known
to them; Genghis Khan’s courier-stations extended from China to Poland.
It was his wish to establish everywhere one uniform system of weights
and measures, and it is said that he even hit upon the invention of
bank-notes.
Were we now to ask, what was the purpose of all the Mongol expeditions
to the remotest regions, it would not be easy to answer the question.
Their leaders did not set the least value on the wealth they seemed to
hunt after. Destruction was their only apparent object. It was once
coolly discussed by them in a council of war, whether it would not be
better to extirpate the whole population of Persia, and turn the entire
face of the country into pasture ground; and the plan was very near
being realized. The Mongol rulers always declared that it was their
vocation to chastise and exterminate mankind, a belief which is not yet
extinct in the race of Genghis Khan. The Mongols possess not one poet,
not one artist, nevertheless they can claim one architectural invention
as peculiarly their own, that, namely, of building up towers of living
men cemented together with mortar. Timur Lenk, or Tamurlane, used to
assist the masons with his own hand at this work. What is the greatest
bliss in this world? This question having been once propounded among the
sages and chief men, the Khan replied: “It is to vanquish the foe, to
outrage his wife before his eyes, to slaughter his children, and then to
torture himself to death.” The sovereign’s opinion exactly coincided
with that of the people.
Such is the character of the race that first perhaps deserved the name
of “tamers of horses.”
[Illustration: A CALMUCK EQUESTRIAN COURTSHIP.]
The Calmucks, a principal branch of the great Mongol stock, are more
widely dispersed over the globe than any other, even the Arabs not
excepted. Tribes of this people occur over all the countries of Upper
Asia, between 38° and 52° north latitude, and from the most northern
bend of the Hoang-ho to the banks of the Volga. They are the
_Hippophagi_, or eaters of horseflesh, of Pliny, and the more ancient
historians. They have very large settlements in the neighbourhood of
Taganrok, and there Dr. Clarke had an opportunity of studying their
habits and appearance. Calmuck men and women were continually galloping
their horses through the streets of the town, or lounging in the public
places. The women, he says, ride better than the men, and a male Calmuck
on horseback looks as if he was intoxicated, and likely to fall off
every instant though he never loses his seat; but the women sit with
much ease, and ride with extraordinary skill. We shall see however by
and by, that the men are better equestrians than the learned traveller
supposed. The ceremony of marriage among the Calmucks is performed on
horseback. A girl is first mounted and rides off at full speed. Her
lover pursues, and if he overtakes her she becomes his wife on the spot,
and then returns with him to his tent. But it sometimes happens that the
woman does not wish to marry the person by whom she is pursued, in which
case she will not suffer him to overtake her; and Dr. Clarke was assured
that no instance occurs of a Calmuck girl being thus caught unless she
has a partiality for her pursuer. If she dislikes him she rides, in
English sporting phrase, _neck or nothing_, until she has completely
escaped, or until the pursuer’s horse is tired out, leaving her at
liberty to return, to be afterwards chased by some more favoured
admirer.
Of all the inhabitants of the Russian empire, the Calmucks are the most
distinguished by peculiarity of feature and manners. In their personal
appearance they are athletic, and very forbidding. Their hair is coarse
and black, their language harsh and guttural. The Cossacks alone esteem
them, and intermarry with them; and these unions sometimes produce women
of very great beauty, although nothing is more hideous than a Calmuck.
High, prominent, broad cheek bones, widely separated from each other; a
flat and broad nose; coarse, greasy, jet black hair; scarcely any
eyebrows; and enormous prominent ears, constitute no very inviting
portrait. Their persons are indescribably filthy, and their habits
loathsome. They eat raw horseflesh, and may be seen tearing it like wild
beasts from large bones which they hold in their hands. Sometimes they
cook their meat, but not in a manner that would make it much more
inviting to an English stomach. They cut the muscular parts into steaks
which they place under their saddles, and after they have galloped
thirty or forty miles, they find the meat tender and palatable. This is
a common practice with them on their journeys. The author of Hudibras
alludes to this culinary process in terms more pointed than decorous.
Every body has heard of the fermented liquor called _koumiss_, which the
Calmucks, the Tartars, &c., manufacture from the milk of the mare. It is
produced by combining with six of warm milk, one part of warm water, and
a little very sour milk or old koumiss. The vessel is then covered with
a thick cloth and left in a moderately warm place for twenty-four hours,
until the whole mass becomes sour. After this it is twice beaten with a
stick in the shape of a churn staff, so as perfectly to mix together the
thick parts and the thin. This being done the process is complete, and
the liquor is ready for drinking.
A subsequent process of distillation obtains from this koumiss an ardent
spirit called _rack_ or _racky_, a name identical with that given to the
spirit manufactured in the East Indies. Dr. Clarke found some women in
the act of making it. “The still,” he says, “was composed of mud, or
very close clay. For the neck of the retort a cane was used; and the
receiver was entirely covered by a coating of wet clay. The brandy had
just passed over. The woman who had the management of the distillery,
wishing to give us a small taste of the spirit, thrust a stick with a
small tuft of camel’s hair into the receiver, dropped a portion of it on
the retort, and waving the instrument above her head, scattered the
remaining liquor in the air. I asked the meaning of this ceremony, and
was told it was a religious custom to give always the first of the
brandy which they drew from the receiver to their god. The stick was
then plunged into the liquor a second time, when more brandy adhering to
the camel’s hair, she squeezed it into the palm of her dirty hand, and
having tasted the liquor, presented it to our lips.”
A recent traveller, Madame de Hell, gives a more pleasing picture of the
Calmucks, whom she saw under favourable circumstances, being the guest
of one of their princes. The following is her account of an equestrian
entertainment she witnessed:—
“The moment we were perceived, five or six mounted men, armed with long
lassos (strong flexible thongs with running nooses) rushed into the
middle of the taboon (herd of half wild horses), keeping their eyes
constantly fixed on the young prince, who was to point out the animal
they should seize. The signal being given, they instantly galloped
forward and noosed a young horse with a long dishevelled mane, whose
dilated eyes and smoking nostrils betokened inexpressible terror. A
lightly-clad Calmuck, who followed them on foot, immediately sprang upon
the stallion, cut the thongs that were throttling him, and engaged with
him in an incredible contest of daring and agility. It would be
impossible, I think, for any spectacle more vividly to affect the mind
than that which now met our eyes. Sometimes the rider and his horse
rolled together on the grass; sometimes they shot through the air with
the speed of an arrow, and then stopped abruptly, as if a wall had all
at once risen up before them. On a sudden the furious animal would crawl
on its belly, or rear in a manner that made us shriek with terror, then
plunging forward again in his mad gallop, he would dash through the
taboon, and endeavour in every possible way to shake off his novel
burden.
“But this exercise, violent and dangerous as it appeared to us, seemed
but sport to the Calmuck, whose body followed all the movements of the
animal with so much suppleness, that one would have fancied that the
same spirit animated both bodies. The sweat poured in foaming streams
from the stallion’s flanks, and he trembled in every limb. As for the
rider, his coolness would have put to shame the most accomplished
horseman in Europe. In the most critical moments he still found himself
at liberty to wave his arms in token of triumph; and in spite of the
indomitable humour of his steed, he had sufficient command over it to
keep it almost always within the circle of our vision. At a signal from
the prince, two horsemen, who had kept as close as possible to the
daring centaur, seized him with amazing quickness, and gallopped away
with him, before we had time to comprehend this new manœuvre. The horse,
for a moment stupified, soon made off at full speed, and was lost in the
midst of the herd. These performances were repeated several times
without a single rider suffering himself to be thrown.
“But what was our amazement when we saw a boy of ten years come forward
to undertake the same exploit! They selected for him a young white
stallion of great size, whose fiery bounds and desperate efforts to
break his bonds, indicated a most violent temper.
“I will not attempt to depict our intense emotions during this new
conflict. This child, who, like the other riders, had only the horse’s
mane to cling to, afforded an example of the power of reasoning over
instinct and brute force. For some minutes he maintained his difficult
position with heroic intrepidity. At last, to our great relief, a
horseman rode up to him, caught him up in his outstretched arm, and
threw him on the croup behind him.”
We will now lay before our readers the economy of a Russian taboon, as
described by Kohl, the German traveller. A small number of stallions and
mares, placed under the care of a herdsman, are sent into the Steppe as
the nucleus of the herd. The foals are kept, and the herd is allowed to
go on increasing, until the number of horses is thought to be about as
large as the estate can conveniently maintain. A taboon seldom consists
of more than a thousand horses; but there are landowners in the Steppe,
who are supposed to possess eight or ten such taboons in different parts
of the country. It is only when the taboon is said to be full, that the
owner begins to derive revenue from it, partly by using the young horses
on the estate itself, and partly by selling them at the fairs, or to the
travelling horse-dealers in the employ of the government contractors.
The tabunshick, to whose care the taboon is intrusted, must be a man of
indefatigable activity, and of an iron constitution; proof alike against
the severest cold, and the most burning heat, and capable of living in a
constant exposure to every kind of weather, without the shelter even of
a bush.
It must be a matter of indifference to him whether he makes his bed at
night among the wet grass, or upon the naked earth, baked for twelve
hours by an almost vertical sun. In the coldest weather he can seldom
hope for the shelter of a roof; and though the hot winds blow upon him
like the blast of a furnace, and his skin cracks with very dryness, yet
he must pass the greater part of his day in the saddle, ready at every
instant to gallop off in pursuit of a stray steed, or to fly to the
rescue of a young foal attacked by a ravenous wolf. The shepherd and the
herdsman carry their houses with them. Their large wagons, that always
accompany them on their wanderings, afford shelter from the weather, and
a warm nest at night; but these are luxuries the tabunshick must not
even dream of. His charges are much too lively to be left to their own
guidance. His thousand horses are not kept together in as orderly and
disciplined a fashion as those of a regiment of dragoons; and it may be
doubted, whether an adjutant of cavalry has to ride about as much, and
to give as many orders, on a day of battle, as a tabunshick on the
quietest day that he spends in the Steppe. When on duty, a tabunshick,
scarcely ever quits the back of his steed. He eats there, and even
sleeps there: but he must beware of sleeping at the hours when other men
sleep; for while grazing at night, the horses are most apt to wander
away from the herd, and at no time is it more necessary for him to be on
his guard against wolves, and against those adventurous dealers in
horseflesh, who usually contrive that the money which they receive at a
fair, shall consist exclusively of profit. During a snow-storm, the poor
tabunshick must not think of turning his back to the tempest; this his
horses are too apt to do, and it is his business to see that they do not
take flight, and run scouring before the wind.
The dress of a tabunshick is chiefly composed of leather, fastened
together by a leathern girdle, to which the whole veterinary apparatus,
and a variety of little fanciful ornaments, are usually appended. His
head is protected by a high cylindrical Tartar cap, of black lambskin;
and over the whole he throws his sreeta, a large, brown, woollen cloak,
with a hood to cover his head. This hood, in fine weather, hangs behind,
and often serves its master at once for pocket and larder.
The tabunshick has a variety of other trappings, of which he never
divests himself. Among these, his harabnick holds not the least
important place. This is a whip, with a thick short stem, but with a
thong often fifteen or eighteen feet in length. It is to him a sceptre
that rarely quits his hand, and without which it would be difficult for
him to retain his riotous subjects in anything like proper order. Next
comes his sling, which he uses like the South American lasso, and with
which he rarely misses the neck of the horse whose course he is desirous
of arresting. The wolf club is another indispensable part of his
equipment. This club which mostly hangs at the saddle, ready for
immediate use, is three or four feet long, with a thick iron knob at the
end. The tabunshicks acquire such astonishing dexterity in the use of
this formidable weapon, that, at full gallop they will hurl it at a
wolf, and rarely fail to strike the iron end into the prowling bandit’s
head. The club, skilfully wielded, carries almost as sudden death with
it as the rifle of an American back-woodsman. A cask of water must also
accompany the tabunshick on every ride, for he can never know whether he
may not be for days without coming to a well. A bag of bread, and a
bottle of brandy are likewise his constant companions, besides a
multitude of other little conveniences and necessaries, which are
fastened either to himself, or his horse. Thus accoutred, the tabunshick
sallies forth on a mission that keeps his dexterity and his power of
endurance in constant exercise. His thousand untamed steeds have to be
kept in order with no other weapon than his harabnick; and this, it may
easily be supposed, is no easy task. His greatest trouble is with the
stallions, who, after spending their ten or twelve years on the Steppe,
without having once smelt the air of a stable, or felt the curb of a
rein, become so ungovernable, that the tabunshick will sometimes
threaten to throw up his office, unless such or such a stallion be
expelled from the taboon.
Such constant exposures to fatigue and hardship, make the average life
of a tabunshick extremely short. At the end of ten or fifteen years he
is generally worn out, and unfit for such arduous duty. His pay
therefore is proportionably high; for every tabunshick is a hired
servant, as no serf could be impelled by any dread of punishment to
exert that constant vigilance, without which the whole taboon would be
broken up in a few days. What the fear of the whip, however, cannot
effect in a slave, the hope of gain may insure from a freeman. The wages
of a tabunshick are regulated by the number of horses committed to his
care. For each horse he usually receives five or six rubles a year; so
that the guardian of a full taboon may earn his six thousand rubles
annually (£275), if he can keep the wolf and thief at bay; but every
horse that is lost the tabunshick must pay for; and horse stealing is
carried on so largely and dextrously on the Steppe, that he may
sometimes lose half a year’s wages in a single night. He must also pay
his assistants out of his own wages, and three assistants at least will
be required to look after a taboon of a thousand horses. Notwithstanding
all these drawbacks, however, the tabunshick, if he were vigilant and
careful, might always save money; but few of them do so, and it rarely
happens, that when invalided, they have hoarded together a little
capital to enable them to embark in any more quiet occupation.
The hardships to which they are constantly exposed, and the high wages
which they receive, make the tabunshicks the wildest dare-devils that
can be imagined; so much so, that it is considered a settled point, that
a man who has had the care of horses for two or three years, is unfit
for any quiet, or settled kind of life. No one, of course, that can gain
a tolerable livelihood in any other way, will embrace a calling that
subjects him to so severe a life; and the consequence is, that it is
generally from among the scamps of a village that servants are raised
for this service. They are seldom without money, and when they do visit
the brandy-shop, they are not deterred from abandoning themselves to a
carouse by the financial considerations likely to restrain most men in
the same rank of life. They ought, it is true, never to quit the taboon
for a moment, but they will often spend whole nights in the little
brandy-houses of the Steppe, drinking and gambling, and drowning in
their fiery potations all recollections of the last day’s endurance.
When their senses return with the returning day, they gallop after their
herds, and display no little ingenuity in repairing the mischief that
may have accrued from the carelessness of the preceding night.
The tabunshick lives in constant dread of the horse-stealer, and yet
there is hardly a tabunshick on the Steppe that will not steal a horse
if occasion presents itself. The traveller, who has left his horses to
graze during the night, or the villager, who has allowed his cattle to
wander away from his house, will do well to ascertain that there be no
taboon in the vicinity, or in the morning he will look for them in vain.
The tabunshick, meanwhile, takes care to rid himself, as soon as
possible, of his stolen goods, by exchanging them away to the first
brother herdsman that he meets, who again barters them away to another;
so that in a few days, a horse that was stolen on the banks of the
Dniepr, passes from hand to hand till it reaches the Bug or the Dniestr;
and the rightful owner may still be inquiring after a steed, which has
already quitted the empire of the Czar, to enter the service of a
Moslem, or to figure in the stud of a Hungarian magnate. The tabunshicks
have constantly little affairs of this kind to transact with one
another, for which the Mongolian tumuli, scattered over the Steppe,
afford convenient places of rendezvous.
Accustomed to a life of roguery and hardship, and indulging constantly
in every kind of excess, the tabunshick comes naturally to be looked
upon, by the more orderly class, as rather a suspicious character; but
his friendship is generally worth having, and his ill-will is always
dreaded. His very master stands a little in awe of him, for a tabunshick
is not a servant that can be dismissed at a day’s notice. When the
taboon has once become accustomed to him, the animals are not easily
brought to submit to the control of a stranger. The tabunshick,
moreover, has learned to know his horses; can tell the worth of each,
can advise which to sell and which to keep, and knows where the best
pasture ground may be looked for. Such a fellow, therefore, if
intelligent and experienced, whatever his moral character may be,
becomes necessary to his master, and, feeling this, is not long without
presuming upon his conscious importance. He plays his wild pranks with
impunity, and looks down with sovereign contempt upon the more decent
members of society, particularly upon the more honest shepherds and
cowherds, whom he considers, in every point of view, as an inferior
race.
At the horse-fairs, the tabunshick is always a man of great importance;
and it is amusing and interesting to see him, with his wild taboon, at
Balta and Berditsheff, where are held the greatest fairs between the
Dniepr and the Dniestr. The horses are driven into the market in the
same free condition in which they range over the Steppe, for if tied
together they would become entirely ungovernable. When driven through
towns and villages, the creatures are often frightened; but that
occasions no trouble to their drivers, for the herd is never more
certain to keep together than when made timid by the appearance of a
strange place. In the market-place the taboon is driven into an
enclosure, near which the owner seats himself, and the tabunshick enters
along with his horses. The buyers walk round to make their selection.
They must not expect the horses to be trotted out for their inspection,
as at Tattersall’s, but must judge for themselves as well as they can,
with the comfortable reflection, that, after they have bought the
animals, they will have ample time to become acquainted with them. “I
have none but wild horses to sell,” the owner will say. “Look at them as
long as you please. That horse I will warrant five years old, having
bred him on my own Steppe. Further than that I know nothing of him. The
price is a hundred rubles. Will you take him? If you say yes, I’ll order
him to be caught; but I’d advise you to make the tabunshick a present,
that he may take care not to injure the animal in catching it.” This
last caution is by no means to be neglected, for a horse, carelessly
caught, may be lamed for several weeks; and as the horse is never caught
till the bargain has been concluded, any injury done to the animal is
the buyer’s business, not the seller’s. If, on the other hand, the
tabunshick be satisfied with the fee given him, he goes about his task
in a much more methodical manner. The sling is thrown gently over the
neck of the designated steed, but the latter is not thrown with the jerk
to the ground. He is allowed for a little while to prance about at the
full length of his tether, till his first fright be over. Gradually the
wild animal becomes reconciled to the unwonted restraint, and the buyer
leads him away quietly to his stable, where it will often take a year’s
tuition to cure him of the vicious habits acquired on the Steppe.
After saying so much of the tabunshick, it will be but fair to give some
account of the life led by the riotous animals committed to his charge.
During what is called the fine season, from Easter to October, the
taboon remains grazing day and night in the Steppe.
During the other six months of the year, the horses remain under shelter
at night, and are driven out only in the day, when they must scrape away
the snow for themselves, to get at the scanty grass underneath. When we
say the horses remain under shelter, it must not be supposed that the
shelter in question resembles in any way an English stable. The shelter
alluded to consists of a space of ground enclosed by an earthen mound,
with now and then something like a roof towards the north, to keep off
the cold wind. There the poor creatures must defend themselves, as well
as they can against the merciless Boreas, who comes to them unchecked in
his course all the way from the pole. To a stranger it is quite
harrowing to see the noble animals, in severe weather, in one of these
unprotected enclosures. The stallions and the stronger beasts, take
possession of the shed; the timid and feeble stand in groups about the
wall, and creep closely together, in order to impart a little warmth to
each other. Nor is it from cold that they have most to suffer on these
occasions. Early in winter they still find a little autumnal grass under
the snow, and the tabunshick scatters a little hay about the stable to
help them to amuse the tedious hours of night. The customary
improvidence of a Russian establishment, however, seldom allows a
sufficient stock of hay, to be laid in for the winter. As the season
advances, hay grows scarce, and must be reserved for the more valuable
coach and saddle horses, and the tabunshick is obliged to content
himself with a portion of the dry reeds and straw stored up for fuel.
For these he has soon to battle it with the cook and the stove heaters,
whose interest never fails to outweigh that of the poor taboon horses.
These, if the winter last beyond the average term, are often reduced to
the thatch of the roofs, and sometimes even eat away one another’s tails
and manes; and that in a country where every year more grass is burnt
during the summer, than would suffice to provide a profusion of hay, for
a century of winters!—It will hardly be matter of surprise to any one,
to learn that the winter is a season of sickness and death to the horses
of the Steppe. After the mildest winter, the poor creatures come forth,
a troop of sickly looking skeletons; but when the season has been
severe, or unusually long, more than half of them, perhaps, have sunk
under their sufferings, or have been so reduced in strength that the
ensuing six months are hardly sufficient to restore them to their wonted
spirits. The year 1833 was remarkably destructive to the taboons, and
they had not recovered from its effects five years afterwards, when I
last visited the Steppe. In such years of famine, the most enormous
prices are sometimes paid for hay; yet every careful agriculturist may
secure his cattle against such sufferings, by a little industry and
forethought. In the proper season he may have as much hay as he pleases,
for the mere trouble of cutting it; and such is the dryness of the
climate during summer, that the hay may always be carried home, and
stacked within a few hours after it has been mown.
From the hardships of an ordinary winter, the horses quickly recover
amid the abundance of spring. A profusion of young grass covers the
ground as soon as the snow has melted away. The crippled spectres that
stalked about a few weeks before, with wasted limbs, and drooping heads,
are as wild and mischievous at the end of the first month, as though
they had never experienced the inconvenience of a six months’ fast. The
stallions have already begun to form their separate factions in the
taboon, and the neighing, bounding, prancing, gallopping, and fighting,
goes on merrily from the banks of the Danube to the very heart of
Mongolia.
In a taboon of a thousand horses, there are generally fifteen or twenty
stallions, and four or five hundred brood mares. The stallions, and
particularly the old ones, consider themselves the rightful lords of the
community. They exercise their authority with very little moderation,
and desperate battles are often fought among them, apparently for the
mere honour of the championship. In almost every taboon there is one
stallion who, by the rule of his hoof, has established a sort of
supremacy, to which his comrades tacitly submit. Factions, cabals, and
intrigues are not wanting. Sometimes there will be a general coalition
against some particular stallion, who, if he get into a quarrel, is
immediately set upon by ten or a dozen at once, and has no chance but to
run for it. There is seldom a taboon without two or three of these
objects of public animosity, who may be seen with a small troop of mares
grazing apart from the main body of the herd.
The most tremendous battles are fought when two taboons happen to meet.
In general, the tabunshicks are careful to keep at a respectful distance
from each other; but sometimes they are away from their duty, and
sometimes, when a right of pasturage is disputed, they bring their herds
together out of sheer malice. The mares and foals on such occasions keep
aloof, but their furious lords rush to battle with an impetuosity, of
which those who are accustomed to see the horse only in a domesticated
state, can form but a poor conception. Tho enraged animals lash their
tails, and erect their manes like angry lions; their hoofs rattle
against each other with such violence, that the noise can be heard at a
considerable distance; they fasten on one another with their teeth like
tigers; and their screamings and howlings are more like those of the
wild beasts of the forests, than like any sounds ever heard from a tame
horse. The victorious party is always sure to carry away a number of
captive mares in triumph; and the exchange of prisoners is an affair
certain to bring the tabunshicks and their men by the ears, if they have
been able to keep themselves out of the battle till then.
The spring, though in so many respects a season of enjoyment, is not
without its drawbacks. The wolves, also, have to indemnify themselves
for the severe fast of the winter, and are just as desirous as the
horses to get themselves into good condition again. The foals, too, are
just then most delicate, and a wolf will any day prefer a young foal, to
a sheep, or a calf. The wolf accordingly is constantly prowling about
the taboon during the spring, and the horses are bound to be always
prepared to do battle, in defence of the younger members of the
community. The wolf, as the weaker party, trusts more to cunning than
strength. For a party of wolves openly to attack a taboon at noon-day,
would be to rush upon certain destruction; and, however severely the
wolf may be pressed by hunger, he knows his own weakness too well, to
venture on so absurd an act of temerity. At night, indeed, if the taboon
happen to be a little scattered, and the wolves in tolerable numbers,
they will sometimes attempt a rush, and a general battle ensues. An
admirable spirit of coalition then displays itself among the horses. On
the first alarm, stallions and mares come charging up to the threatened
point, and attack the wolves with an impetuosity, that often puts the
prowlers to instant flight. Soon, however, if they feel themselves
sufficiently numerous, they return, and hover about the taboon, till
some poor foal straggle a few yards from the main body, when it is
seized by the enemy, while the mother, springing to its rescue, is
nearly certain to share the same fate. Then it is that the battle begins
in real earnest. The mares form a circle, within which the foals take
shelter. We have seen pictures in which the horses are represented in a
circle, presenting their hind hoofs to the wolves, who thus appear to
have the free choice to fight, or to let it alone. Such pictures are the
mere result of imagination, and bear very little resemblance to the
reality; for the wolf has, in general, to pay much more dearly for his
partiality to horseflesh. The horses, when they attack wolves, do not
turn their tails towards them, but charge upon them in a solid phalanx,
tearing them with their teeth, and trampling on them with their feet.
The stallions do not fall into the phalanx, but gallop about with
streaming tails, and curled manes, and seem to act, at once, as
generals, trumpeters, and standard bearers. When they see a wolf, they
rush upon him with reckless fury, mouth to mouth, or if they use their
feet as weapons of defence, it is always with the front, and not the
hinder hoof, that the attack is made. With one blow the stallion often
kills his enemy, or stuns him. If so, he snatches the body up with his
teeth, and flings it to the mares, who trample upon it till it becomes
hard to say what kind of animal the skin belonged to. If the stallion,
however, fail to strike a home blow at the first onset, he is likely to
fight a losing battle, for eight or ten hungry wolves fasten on his
throat, and never quit him till they have torn him to the ground: and if
the horse be prompt and skilful in attack, the wolf is not deficient in
sagacity, but watches for every little advantage, and is quick to avail
himself of it; but let him not hope, even if he succeed in killing a
horse, that he will be allowed leisure to pick the bones: the taboon
never fails to take ample vengeance, and the battle almost invariably
terminates in the complete discomfiture of the wolves, though not,
perhaps, till more than one stallion has had a leg permanently disabled,
or has had his side marked for life with the impress of his enemy’s
teeth.
These grand battles happen but seldom, and when they do occur, it is
probably always against the wolf’s wish. His system of warfare is a
predatory one, and his policy is rather to surprise outposts, than to
meditate a general attack. He trusts more to his cunning than his
strength. He will creep cautiously through the grass, taking special
care to keep to leeward of the taboon, and will remain concealed in
ambush, till he perceive a mare and her foal grazing a little apart from
the rest. Even then he makes no attempt to spring upon his prey, but
keeps creeping nearer and nearer, with his head leaning on his fore
feet, and wagging his tail in a friendly manner, to imitate, as much as
possible, the movements and gestures of a watchdog. If the mare,
deceived by the treacherous pantomime, venture near enough to the enemy,
he will spring at her throat, and despatch her before she have time to
raise an alarm; then, seizing on the foal, he will make off with his
booty, and be out of sight perhaps before either herd or herdsman
suspect his presence. It is not often, however, that the wolf succeeds
in obtaining so easy a victory. If the mare detect him, an instant alarm
is raised, and should the tabunshick be near, the wolf seldom fails to
enrich him with a skin, for which the fur merchant is at all times
willing to pay his ten or twelve rubles. The wolf’s only chance, on such
occasions, is to make for the first ravine, down which he rolls head
foremost, a gymnastic feat that the tabunshick on his horse cannot
venture to imitate.
As the summer draws on, the wolf becomes less troublesome to the taboon;
but a season now begins of severe suffering for the poor horses, who
have more perhaps to endure from the thirst of summer, than from the
hunger of winter. The heat becomes intolerable, and shade is nowhere to
be found, save what the animals can themselves create, by gathering
together in little groups, each seeking to place the body of his
neighbour between himself and the burning rays of a merciless sun. The
tabunshick often lays himself in the centre of the group, for he also
has nowhere else a shady couch to hope for.
The autumn again is a season of enjoyment. The plains are anew covered
with green, the springs yield once more an abundant supply of water, and
the horses gather strength at this period of abundance, to prepare
themselves for the sufferings and privations of winter. In autumn, for
the first time in the year, the taboon is called on to work, but the
work is not much more severe than the exertions which the restless
creatures are daily imposing upon themselves, while romping and rioting
about on the Steppe. The work in question is the thrashing of the corn.
A thrashing-floor, of several hundred yards square, is made, by cutting
away the turf, and beating the ground into a hard, solid surface. The
whole is enclosed by a railing, with a gate to let the horses in and
out. On such a floor, supposing the taboon to consist of a thousand
horses, five hundred score of sheaves will be laid down at once. The
taboon is then formed into two divisions, and five hundred steeds are
driven into the enclosure, stallions, mares, foals, and all, for when
in, the more riotous they are the better the work will be done. The gate
is closed, and then begins a ball of which it requires a lively
imagination to conceive a picture. The drivers act as musicians, and
their formidable harabnicks are the fiddles that keep up the dance
without intermission.
The horses terrified, partly by the crackling straw under their feet,
and partly by the incessant cracking of the whip over their heads, dart
half frantic from one extremity to the other of their temporary prison.
Millions of grains are flying about in the air, and the labourers
without have enough to do to toss back the sheaves that are flung over
the railing by the prancing, hard working thrashers within. This
continues for about an hour. The horses are then let put, the corn
turned, and the same performance repeated three times before noon. By
that time a thousand sheffel of corn have been thrashed, after a fashion
that looks more like a holiday diversion, than a hard day’s work; but in
such ah operation, more corn is lost than is gained on many large farms
in Germany.
[Illustration]
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[Illustration]