GROOM AND COB--STRENGTH AND SYMMETRY--WHERE'S THE SADDLE?--THE FIRST
RIDE--NO MORE FATIGUE--LOVE FOR HORSES--THE PURSUIT OF WORDS--PHILOLOGIST
AND PEGASUS--THE SMITH--WHAT MORE, AGRAH?
And it came to pass that, as I was standing by the door of the barrack
stable, one of the grooms came out to me, saying, 'I say, young
gentleman, I wish you would give the cob a breathing this fine morning.'
'Why do you wish me to mount him?' said I; 'you know he is dangerous. I
saw him fling you off his back only a few days ago.'
'Why, that's the very thing, master. I'd rather see anybody on his back
than myself; he does not like me; but, to them he does, he can be as
gentle as a lamb.'
'But suppose,' said I, 'that he should not like me?'
'We shall soon see that, master,' said the groom; 'and, if so be he shows
temper, I will be the first to tell you to get down. But there's no fear
of that; you have never angered or insulted him, and to such as you, I
say again, he'll be as gentle as a lamb.'
'And how came you to insult him,' said I, 'knowing his temper as you do?'
'Merely through forgetfulness, master: I was riding him about a month
ago, and having a stick in my hand, I struck him, thinking I was on
another horse, or rather thinking of nothing at all. He has never
forgiven me, though before that time he was the only friend I had in the
world; I should like to see you on him, master.'
'I should soon be off him; I can't ride.'
'Then you are all right, master; there's no fear. Trust him for not
hurting a young gentleman, an officer's son, who can't ride. If you were
a blackguard dragoon, indeed, with long spurs, 'twere another thing; as
it is, he'll treat you as if he were the elder brother that loves you.
Ride! he'll soon teach you to ride if you leave the matter with him.
He's the best riding-master in all Ireland, and the gentlest.'
The cob was led forth; what a tremendous creature! I had frequently seen
him before, and wondered at him; he was barely fifteen hands, but he had
the girth of a metropolitan dray-horse; his head was small in comparison
with his immense neck, which curved down nobly to his wide back: his
chest was broad and fine, and his shoulders models of symmetry and
strength; he stood well and powerfully upon his legs, which were somewhat
short. In a word, he was a gallant specimen of the genuine Irish cob, a
species at one time not uncommon, but at the present day nearly extinct.
[Picture: A wild, grimy figure of a man]
'There!' said the groom, as he looked at him, half admiringly, half
sorrowfully, 'with sixteen stone on his back, he'll trot fourteen miles
in one hour, with your nine stone, some two and a half more; ay, and
clear a six-foot wall at the end of it.'
'I'm half afraid,' said I; 'I had rather you would ride him.'
'I'd rather so, too, if he would let me; but he remembers the blow. Now,
don't be afraid, young master, he's longing to go out himself. He's been
trampling with his feet these three days, and I know what that means;
he'll let anybody ride him but myself, and thank them; but to me he says,
"No! you struck me."'
'But,' said I, 'where's the saddle?'
'Never mind the saddle; if you are ever to be a frank rider, you must
begin without a saddle; besides, if he felt a saddle, he would think you
don't trust him, and leave you to yourself. Now, before you mount, make
his acquaintance--see there, how he kisses you and licks your face, and
see how he lifts his foot, that's to shake hands. You may trust him--now
you are on his back at last; mind how you hold the bridle--gently,
gently! It's not four pair of hands like yours can hold him if he wishes
to be off. Mind what I tell you--leave it all to him.'
Off went the cob at a slow and gentle trot, too fast and rough, however,
for so inexperienced a rider. I soon felt myself sliding off, the animal
perceived it too, and instantly stood stone still till I had righted
myself; and now the groom came up: 'When you feel yourself going,' said
he, 'don't lay hold of the mane, that's no use; mane never yet saved man
from falling, no more than straw from drowning; it's his sides you must
cling to with your calves and feet, till you learn to balance yourself.
That's it, now abroad with you; I'll bet my comrade a pot of beer that
you'll be a regular rough-rider by the time you come back.'
And so it proved; I followed the directions of the groom, and the cob
gave me every assistance. How easy is riding, after the first timidity
is got over, to supple and youthful limbs; and there is no second fear.
The creature soon found that the nerves of his rider were in proper tone.
Turning his head half round, he made a kind of whining noise, flung out a
little foam, and set off.
In less than two hours I had made the circuit of the Devil's Mountain,
and was returning along the road, bathed with perspiration, but screaming
with delight; the cob laughing in his equine way, scattering foam and
pebbles to the left and right, and trotting at the rate of sixteen miles
an hour.
Oh, that ride! that first ride!--most truly it was an epoch in my
existence; and I still look back to it with feelings of longing and
regret. People may talk of first love--it is a very agreeable event, I
daresay,--but give me the flush, and triumph, and glorious sweat of a
first ride, like mine on the mighty cob! My whole frame was shaken, it
is true; and during one long week I could hardly move foot or hand; but
what of that? By that one trial I had become free, as I may say, of the
whole equine species. No more fatigue, no more stiffness of joints,
after that first ride round the Devil's Hill on the cob.
Oh, that cob! that Irish cob!--may the sod lie lightly over the bones of
the strongest, speediest, and most gallant of its kind! Oh! the days
when, issuing from the barrack-gate of Templemore, we commenced our
hurry-skurry just as inclination led--now across the fields--direct over
stone walls and running brooks--mere pastime for the cob!--sometimes
along the road to Thurles and Holy Cross, even to distant Cahir!--what
was distance to the cob?
It was thus that the passion for the equine race was first awakened
within me--a passion which, up to the present time, has been rather on
the increase than diminishing. It is no blind passion; the horse being a
noble and generous creature, intended by the All-Wise to be the helper
and friend of man, to whom he stands next in the order of creation. On
many occasions of my life I have been much indebted to the horse, and
have found in him a friend and coadjutor, when human help and sympathy
were not to be obtained. It is therefore natural enough that I should
love the horse; but the love which I entertain for him has always been
blended with respect; for I soon perceived that, though disposed to be
the friend and helper of man, he is by no means inclined to be his slave;
in which respect he differs from the dog, who will crouch when beaten;
whereas the horse spurns, for he is aware of his own worth, and that he
carries death within the horn of his heel. If, therefore, I found it
easy to love the horse, I found it equally natural to respect him.
I much question whether philology, or the passion for languages, requires
so little of an apology as the love for horses. It has been said, I
believe, that the more languages a man speaks, the more a man is he;
which is very true, provided he acquires languages as a medium for
becoming acquainted with the thoughts and feelings of the various
sections into which the human race is divided; but, in that case, he
should rather be termed a philosopher than a philologist--between which
two the difference is wide indeed! An individual may speak and read a
dozen languages, and yet be an exceedingly poor creature, scarcely half a
man; and the pursuit of tongues for their own sake, and the mere
satisfaction of acquiring them, surely argues an intellect of a very low
order; a mind disposed to be satisfied with mean and grovelling things;
taking more pleasure in the trumpery casket than in the precious treasure
which it contains; in the pursuit of words, than in the acquisition of
ideas.
I cannot help thinking that it was fortunate for myself, who am, to a
certain extent, a philologist, that with me the pursuit of languages has
been always modified by the love of horses; for scarcely had I turned my
mind to the former, when I also mounted the wild cob, and hurried forth
in the direction of the Devil's Hill, scattering dust and flint-stones on
every side; that ride, amongst other things, taught me that a lad with
thews and sinews was intended by nature for something better than mere
word-culling; and if I have accomplished anything in after life worthy of
mentioning, I believe it may partly be attributed to the ideas which that
ride, by setting my blood in a glow, infused into my brain. I might,
otherwise, have become a mere philologist; one of those beings who toil
night and day in culling useless words for some _opus magnum_ which
Murray will never publish, and nobody ever read; beings without
enthusiasm, who, having never mounted a generous steed, cannot detect a
good point in Pegasus himself; like a certain philologist, who, though
acquainted with the exact value of every word in the Greek and Latin
languages, could observe no particular beauty in one of the most glorious
of Homer's rhapsodies. What knew he of Pegasus? he had never mounted a
generous steed; the merest jockey, had the strain been interpreted to
him, would have called it a brave song!--I return to the brave cob.
On a certain day I had been out on an excursion. In a cross-road, at
some distance from the Satanic hill, the animal which I rode cast a shoe.
By good luck a small village was at hand, at the entrance of which was a
large shed, from which proceeded a most furious noise of hammering.
Leading the cob by the bridle, I entered boldly. 'Shoe this horse, and
do it quickly, a gough,' said I to a wild grimy figure of a man, whom I
found alone, fashioning a piece of iron.
'Arrigod yuit?' said the fellow, desisting from his work, and staring at
me.
'Oh yes, I have money,' said I, 'and of the best'; and I pulled out an
English shilling.
'Tabhair chugam?' said the smith, stretching out his grimy hand.
'No, I shan't,' said I; 'some people are glad to get their money when
their work is done.'
The fellow hammered a little longer, and then proceeded to shoe the cob,
after having first surveyed it with attention. He performed his job
rather roughly, and more than once appeared to give the animal
unnecessary pain, frequently making use of loud and boisterous words. By
the time the work was done, the creature was in a state of high
excitement, and plunged and tore. The smith stood at a short distance,
seeming to enjoy the irritation of the animal, and showing, in a
remarkable manner, a huge fang, which projected from the under jaw of a
very wry mouth.
'You deserve better handling,' said I, as I went up to the cob and
fondled it; whereupon it whinnied, and attempted to touch my face with
its nose.
'Are ye not afraid of that beast?' said the smith, showing his fang.
'Arrah, it's vicious that he looks!'
'It's at you, then!--I don't fear him'; and thereupon I passed under the
horse, between its hind legs.
'And is that all you can do, agrah?' said the smith.
'No,' said I, 'I can ride him.'
'Ye can ride him, and what else, agrah?'
'I can leap him over a six-foot wall,' said I.
'Over a wall, and what more, agrah?'
'Nothing more,' said I; 'what more would you have?'
'Can you do this, agrah?' said the smith; and he uttered a word which I
had never heard before, in a sharp pungent tone. The effect upon myself
was somewhat extraordinary, a strange thrill ran through me; but with
regard to the cob it was terrible; the animal forthwith became like one
mad, and reared and kicked with the utmost desperation.
'Can you do that, agrah?' said the smith.
'What is it?' said I, retreating, 'I never saw the horse so before.'
'Go between his legs, agrah,' said the smith, 'his hinder legs'; and he
again showed his fang.
'I dare not,' said I, 'he would kill me.'
'He would kill ye! and how do ye know that, agrah?'
'I feel he would,' said I, 'something tells me so.'
'And it tells ye truth, agrah; but it's a fine beast, and it's a pity to
see him in such a state: Is agam an't leigeas'--and here he uttered
another word in a voice singularly modified, but sweet and almost
plaintive; the effect of it was as instantaneous as that of the other,
but how different!--the animal lost all its fury, and became at once calm
and gentle. The smith went up to it, coaxed and patted it, making use of
various sounds of equine endearment; then turning to me, and holding out
once more the grimy hand, he said, 'And now ye will be giving me the
Sassannach tenpence, agrah?'