Part 1 (2/2)
THEODORE AYRAULT DODGE.
BROOKLINE, Ma.s.s., _April, 1885_.
PATROCLUS AND PENELOPE.
A CHAT IN THE SADDLE.
I.
We are fast friends, Patroclus, and many's the hour since, five years ago, I bought you, an impetuous but good-tempered and intelligent three-year-old colt, whom every one thought too flighty to be of much account, that you and I have spent in each other's company upon the pretty suburban roads of Boston. And many's the scamper and frolic that we've had across the fields, and many's the quiet stroll through the shady woods! For you and I, Patroclus, can go where it takes a goodish horse to follow in our wake. I wonder, as I look into your broad and handsome face, whether you know and love me as well as I do you. Indeed, when you whinny at my distant step, or rub your inquisitive old nose against my hands or towards my pocket, begging for another handful of oats or for a taste of salt or sugar; or when you confidingly lower your head to have me rub your ears, with so much restful intelligence beaming from your soft, brown eyes, and such evident liking for my company, I think you know how warm my heart beats for you. And how generous the blood which courses through your own tense veins your master knows full well. If I had to flee for my life, Patroclus, I should wish that your mighty back, tough thews, and n.o.ble courage could bear me through the struggle. For I never called upon you yet, but what there came the response which only the truest of your race can give.
No, Pat! you've got all the sugar you can have to-day. My pockets are not a grocer's shop. Stand quiet while I mount, and you and I will take our usual stroll.
Patroclus is said to have been sired in the Old Country out of a cavalry mare brought over by an English officer to Quebec, and there foaled in Her Majesty's service. Even this much I had on hearsay. But he has the instincts of the charger in every fibre,--and perhaps the most intelligent and best saddle beasts among civilized nations belong to mounted troops. As old Hiram Woodruff used to say, Patroclus makes his own pedigree. I know what he is; I care not whence he came.
No need to extol your points. Though there be those of higher lineage, and many a speedier horse upon the turf, or perchance a grander performer after hounds, thrice your value to whoso will find fault or blemish upon you, my Patroclus! You are blood-bay and glossy as a satin kerchief. You are near sixteen hands; short coupled enough to carry weight, and long enough below to take an ample stride. You tread as light as a steel watch-spring quivers. A woman's face has rarely a sweeter or more trusting look than yours in repose; a falcon's eye is no keener when aroused. You will follow me like a dog, and your little mistresses can fondle you in stall or paddock. You have all the life and endurance of the thoroughbred, the intelligence of the Arab, the perfect manners of the park, and the power and discretion of a Midland Counties hunter. Like the old song, you have
”A head like a snake, and a skin like a mouse, An eye like a woman, bright, gentle, and brown; With loins and a back that would carry a house, And quarters to lift you smack over a town.”
May it be many a year yet, Patroclus, before I must pension you off for good!
You stand for me to mount as steady as a rock. And you know your crippled master's needs so well that you would do it in the whirl of a stampede. I will leave the reins upon your neck and let you walk whither your own fancy dictates, for I am lazily inclined; though indeed I know from your tossing head that you fain would go a livelier gait. So long as you can walk your four full miles an hour, you will have to curb your ardor for many a long stretch, while your master chews the cud of sweet and bitter fancies.
As we saunter along, the reflections bred of thirty odd years in the saddle come crowding up. From a Shelty with a scratch-pack in Surrey a generation since, to many a cavalry charge with bugle-clash and thundering tread on Old Dominion soil now twenty years ago, the daily life with that best of friends,--save always one,--the perfect saddle horse, brings many thoughts to mind. What if we jot them down?
II.
The most common delusion under which the average equestrian is apt to labor in every part of the world is that his own style of riding is the one _par excellence_. Whether the steeple-chaser on his thoroughbred, or the Indian on his mustang is the better rider, cannot well be decided. The peculiar horsemans.h.i.+p of every country has its manifest advantages, and is the natural outgrowth of, as well as peculiarly adapted to, the climate, roads, and uses to which the horse is put. The cowboy who can defy the bucking broncho will be unseated by a two-year-old which any racing-stable boy can stick to, while this same boy would hardly sit the third stiff boost of the ragged, gra.s.s-fed pony. The best horseman of the desert would be nowhere in the hunting-field. The cavalry-man who, with a few of his fellows, can carve his way through a column of infantry, may not be able to compete at polo with a Newport swell. The jockey who will ride over five and a half feet of timber or twenty feet of water would make sorry work in pulling down a la.s.soed steer. Each one in his element is by far the superior of the other, but none of these is just the type of horseman whom the denizen of our busy cities, for his daily enjoyment, cares to make his pattern.
The original barbarian, no doubt, clasped his undersized mount with all the legs he had, as every natural rider does to-day. When saddle and stirrups came into use, followed anon by spurs, discretion soon taught the grip with knee and thigh alone, the heels being kept for other purposes than support. It must, however, be set down to the credit of the original barbarian that he probably did not ride in the style known as ”tongs on a wall.” This certainly not admirable seat originated with the knight in heavy armor, and has since been adhered to by many nations, and, through the Spaniards, has found its way to every part of the Americas. But as a rule, wild riders have the bent knee which gives the firmest bareback seat. The long stirrup and high cantle must not be condemned for certain purposes. When not carried to the furthest extreme they have decided advantages. It is by no means sure that any other seat would be equally easy on the cantering mustang for so many scores of miles a day as many men on the plains customarily cover. And though for our city purposes and mounts it is distinctly unavailable, one must be cautious in depreciating a seat which is clung to so tenaciously by so many splendid riders. It is a mistake to suppose that the Southerners and Mexicans, as well as soldiers, all ride with straight leg. While you often see this fault carried to an extreme among all these, the best hors.e.m.e.n I have generally observed riding with a naturally bent knee. And it takes a great deal to convince a good rider of any of these cla.s.ses that a man who will lean and rise to a trot knows the A B C of equestrianism.
[Ill.u.s.tration: PLATE III.
THE RACK OR RUNNING WALK.]
Whether the first saddle had a short seat and long stirrups, _a la militaire_, or a long seat with short ones, _a l'Anglaise_, matters little. Though the original home of the horse boasts to-day the shortest of stirrups (and even in Xenophon's time this appears to have been the Asiatic habit), a reasonably long one would seem to have been the most natural first step from the bareback seat. If so, what is it that has gradually lengthened the seat of the Englishman, who represents for us to-day the favorite type of civilized horsemans.h.i.+p, and if not the best, perhaps nearest that which is best suited to our Eastern wants?
No doubt, in early days, horses were mainly ridden on a canter or a gallop. If perchance a trot, it was a mere shog, comfortable enough with a short seat and high cantle. The early horse was a short-gaited creature. But two things came gradually about. Dirt roads grew into turnpikes; and the pony-gaited nag began, about the days of the Byerly Turk, nearly two hundred years ago, to develop into the long-striding thoroughbred. The paved pike speedily proved that a canter sooner injures the fetlock joints of the forelegs and strains the sinews of the hind than a trot, and men merciful unto their beasts or careful of their pockets began to ride the latter gait. But when the step in the trot became longer and speedier as the saddle horse became better bred, riders were not long in finding out that to rise in the stirrups was easier for both man and beast, and as shorter stirrups materially aid the rise, the seat began to grow in length. It has been proved satisfactorily to the French, who have always been ”close” riders, that to rise in the trot saves the horse to a very great percentage, put by some good authorities at as high a figure as one sixth.
Moreover, it was not a strange step forward. That it is natural to rise in the trot is shown by there being to-day many savage or semi-civilized tribes which practice the habit in entire unconsciousness of its utility being a disputed point anywhere.
Another reason for shortening the leathers no doubt prevailed. The English found the most secure seat for vigorous leaping to be the long one. Of course a little obstacle can be cleared in any saddle; but with the long seat, the violent exertion of the horse in a high jump does not loosen the grip with knees and calves, but at most only throws one's buckskin from the saddle, as indeed it should not even do that. For the knees being well in front of, instead of hanging below, the seat of honor, enables a man to lean back and sustain the jar of landing without parting company with his mount, while a big jump with stirrups too long, if it unseats you at all, loosens your entire grip, or may throw you against the pommel in a highly dangerous manner.
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