The Horse and His Rider / Or, Sketches and Anecdotes of the Noble Quadruped, and of Equestrian Nations

by Rollo Springfield

THE CAPTAIN’S STORY.

M.—I was quartered, you see, with my company in the fort beyond the Terek—this was about five years ago. One autumn a party arrived with provisions, and accompanied by an officer, a young man of about five-and-twenty, who reported that he was ordered to remain with me in the fort. I could see at once from his appearance, and the freshness of his accoutrements, that he had not been long in the Caucasus; so I took him by the hand, and said ‘Very glad to see you; you will find your quarters here rather dull; however, we will be as sociable with each other as possible; so call me if you please by my plain name, Maxim Maximitch.’ His own, by the by, was Gregorii Alexandrovitch Petchorin. He was a very fine young fellow, I assure you, only a little odd. For instance, he would hunt the whole day long in rain and cold; every body else would be half frozen, and knocked up, but he not a bit. Another time he would sit in his room, and if a breath of air was stirring, he would declare he was chilled to the bones; if the window-shutter flapped to, he would start and turn pale, and yet I have seen him dash at a wild boar all alone. Ay, he had very odd ways, surely, and he must have been very rich, for you never saw such a lot of costly things as he had with him. He stayed with me a full year, and good reason I have to remember that year, for it caused me a great deal of anxiety and sorrow; but I will not think of that now.

There was a friendly prince residing about six versts from the fort, whose son, a lad about fifteen, was in the habit of visiting us every day, for one thing or another. Petchorin and I took a great liking to him. What a smart, nimble chap he was! There was nothing he could not do. He could pick up his cap from the ground, or load and fire off his gun at full gallop. But there was one bad thing in him; he had a desperate hankering after money. Gregorii Alexandrovitch once promised in joke, that he would give him a ducat, if he would steal him the best ram out of his father’s flock—and what do you think? the young scamp dragged him in to us the very next night by the horns. But if ever, as happened now and then, we took it into our heads to make fun of him, his eyes would flash fire, and his hand was on his dagger in an instant. O Asamat, I used to say to him, you will never wear a grey head on your shoulders, your unruly temper will be the ruin of you.

Once the old prince came in person to invite us to the wedding of his eldest daughter, and of course we could not civilly refuse. When we entered the hamlet, a pack of dogs ran at us barking furiously. The women hid themselves as soon as they saw us, and those whose faces we did get a glimpse of, were any thing but beauties. ‘I had a much higher idea of the Circassian women,’ said Petchorin to me. ‘Have a little patience’, said I, smiling, and keeping my thoughts to myself.

There was a great concourse already assembled in the prince’s house. It is the custom, you are aware, among the Asiatics to keep open house for all comers on these occasions. They received us with all possible marks of respect, and led us into the guest chamber; but first I took care to notice privately where they put our horses, in case any thing should happen, you know.

L.—What are their marriage ceremonies?

M.—Nothing very remarkable. First, the mollah reads something out of the Koran, then presents are made to the young couple, and to all their relations; they eat, they drink busa; the zhighitofka begins; and there is always some greasy rogue mounted on a lame old rip of a horse, to amuse the worshipful company with his grotesque capers, and his jokes. By and by, when it grows dark, the ball, as we should call it, begins. An old beggar strums upon a three stringed instrument—I forget what they call it; the lads and lasses stand up in two rows opposite each other, clap hands and sing. A girl and a young man then step into the middle space, and sing alternate verses, just whatever comes into their heads, and the rest join in chorus. Petchorin and I were seated in the place of honour, and all of a sudden, our host’s youngest daughter, a girl about sixteen, stepped up to my friend, and sang to him—what shall I call it?—a sort of compliment.

L.—But the words, the words,—do you happen to remember them?

M.—Well I believe they were something to this effect: ‘Beautiful, in truth, are our young zhighit dancers, and their caftans are richly adorned with silver; but the young Russian officer is more beautiful than they, and his laces are of gold. He towers among them like a poplar, but it is not his destiny to grow and flourish in our garden.’ Petchorin rose and bowed, laying his hand on his forehead and his breast, and requested me to reply for him. I knew their language very well, and translated his answer.

When the girl had left us, I whispered my comrade, Well what say you now? What do you think of that girl? ‘Charming!’ he exclaimed; ‘what is her name?’ ‘Her name is Bela,’ I answered. And beautiful indeed she was! tall, slender, with eyes as black as the gazelle’s, that seemed to look into your very soul. Petchorin, completely captivated, never took his eyes off her, and she frequently shot a stolen glance upon him from beneath her jetty eyelashes. But Petchorin was not the only one whose gaze was riveted on the lovely princess: there was another pair of eyes in the corner of the room, that glared upon her incessantly, with passionate fire. I looked sharply that way, and recognized my old acquaintance, Kasbitch. Now things were in such a position, you must know, with respect to this man, that he could neither be regarded as decidedly friendly to the Russians, nor be pronounced decidedly the reverse. There were many suspicious against him, though nothing definite could ever be brought home to him. It often occurred, that he brought us sheep into the fort, and offered them at a low price; but he would never higgle: whatever price he asked first, we had always to give him, for he would sooner have let his head be chopped off, than bate a kopeck. It was whispered that he was fond of knocking about with the Abreks beyond the Kuban, and to say the truth of him, he had very much the cut of a robber: rather small, well knit, broad shouldered, and as nimble as any wild cat! His Tartar frock, beshmet they call it, was always torn and patched, but his weapons were bright, and adorned with silver. And then his horse, it was renowned throughout all Kabarda, and a better it would certainly be impossible to conceive. It was not without reason, all the marauders envied him the possession of such an animal, and more than one attempt was made to steal it from him, but never with success. I can see that horse now, as plainly as if it stood before me, black as pitch, its limbs slender and strong as steel, its eyes a match for Bela’s; and then for bottom! it would clear its full fifty versts at full speed; and so tractable, that it would follow its master like a dog, ay! it knew even what he said. Very often he did not even tether it. Take it for all in all, it was the very model of a robber’s horse.

Kasbitch was more sullen that evening than usual, and I noticed that he had on a shirt of mail under his beshmet. It is not for nothing, thinks I, he wears that shirt of mail; he has something in his head, I’m sure.

The guest room was very close, and I went out of doors to breathe the fresh air. Night had now settled on the mountains, and the mists were creeping forth from the glens. The thought struck me I would go into the shed where our horses stood, and see if they had fodder. I had an excellent horse with me, and more than one Kabardan had already looked at him with an approving eye; so I thought a little caution could do no harm at all events.

Groping along the boarded wall, I suddenly heard voices. One of them I recognized instantly for that scamp Asamat’s, our host’s son; the other person spoke less, and in a lower tone. What are they coshering about? thought I; not about my horse, is it? With that I squatted down by the wall, determined not to lose a word; but the noise of the singing, and the din within doors now and then drowned a part of the conversation in which I was so much interested.

‘You have a splendid horse,’ said Asamat. ‘Were I master here, and had a herd of three hundred mares, I would freely give the half of them for your courser, Kasbitch.’

Aha, Kasbitch! said I to myself; and I called to mind the shirt of mail.

‘Ay,’ replied Kasbitch, after a moment’s silence, ‘there is not his like in all Kabarda. Once—this was beyond the Terek—I set out with the Abreks to capture Russian herds of horses. The attempt was a failure, and we scattered, one this way, another that. Four Cossacks were after me. I could hear the villains shout behind me, and before me was a thick forest. I bent down in the saddle, commended myself to Allah, and for the first time in my life dealt my horse a blow with my whip. He darted like a bird through the branches, my clothes were torn in shreds, and the twigs lashed me in the face. My horse leaped over the stumps of trees, and burst the thick underwood asunder with his chest. As far as myself was concerned, I should have done better to have turned my horse loose in the copse, and hid myself in the wood, but I could not part from him, and the prophet rewarded me. Some bullets whistled over my head, and I heard my pursuers close behind me. Suddenly a deep chasm yawned before me—my courser recoiled on his haunches—and leaped. His hind feet slipped on the further bank, and he hung on by his fore feet. I dropped the rein, and let myself fall into the chasm: that saved him, he regained his footing. The Cossacks saw the whole affair, but none of them thought of descending in search of me. They believed, no doubt, I must have broken my neck, and I heard them dash after my horse to catch him. The blood curdled in my breast. I crept through the deep grass along the bottom of the channel, and looked out: the wood ended there, and some of the Cossacks were just riding out of it into the open country, and I saw my Karagos running straight towards them. The whole pack made at him with a yell; he turned; they followed him a long, long while; and one in particular was twice near flinging the noose over his neck. I shook from head to foot, shut my eyes, and began to pray. Some moments afterwards I opened them again, and behold, there goes my Karagos, with his tail at full stretch, flying like the wind, and the Cossacks creeping away one after the other, on their jaded horses far off towards the Steppe. By Allah! every word I tell you is the truth, the strict truth! I staid in the chasm till a late hour of the night. All at once—guess what, Asamat!—I heard a horse running along the bank, snorting, whinnying, and pawing the ground. I knew the voice of my Karagos, and it was he, indeed, my trusty comrade! Since that day we are inseparable.’

And I could hear him patting his horse’s polished neck, and calling him by all the endearing names he could think of.

‘If I had a herd of a thousand mares,’ cried Asamat, ‘I would give them every one for your Karagos.’

‘Like enough; but I would not let him go for them,’ said Kasbitch, with indifference.

‘Hark ye, Kasbitch,’ said Asamat coaxingly. ‘You are a good fellow, you are a brave zhighit; my father, you see, fears the Russians, and will not let me go to the mountains; now give me your horse, and I will do every thing you desire. I will steal you my father’s best rifle, his best shashka—any thing you will. His shashka is a genuine gurda: only hold it out in your hand, and the blade strikes into the flesh of its own accord; and his shirt of mail is as good as yours every bit.’

Kasbitch made no answer.

‘The first time I saw your horse,’ continued Asamat, ‘as it whirled round beneath you, and dashed away with expanded nostrils, the stones flashing fire beneath its hoofs, something, I know not what, seized hold of my soul, and from that moment I could never bear to look at any other. I scorned my father’s best and fleetest steeds, I should have been ashamed to be seen on the back of one of them. I was completely overcome with grief, and would sit pining the livelong day on a rock, and every moment I had before my eyes your black horse, with his stately step, his back straight and smooth as an arrow, and his bright eyes that looked into mine, as if he would speak to me. I shall die Kasbitch, if you will not let me have him.’

Asamat’s voice faltered, and I fancied I heard him crying. Now I must tell you Asamat was a most hardened and vicious chap, from whom there was no forcing a tear, even when he was a nursed child. A scornful laugh was the only answer to his tears.

‘Hear me,’ said Asamat, with a firm voice: ‘My mind is made up for any thing—every thing! Shall I steal my sister for you? How she dances! How she sings! and she embroiders in gold, that it is a wonder to see! The Turkish padisha hardly possesses such a girl—Well! Only say the word. Wait for me to-morrow night in the glen yonder, by the waterfall; I will take her that way as if to the neighbouring hamlet, and she is yours. What say you, is not Bela well worth your courser?’

Kasbitch was silent for a long, long while; at last instead of replying, he began to chant an old ditty, half aloud:

‘Down in our hamlet many are the beauteous maidens

Stars are gleaming in the dark heaven of their eyes.

Sweet it were to own their love, a lot, indeed, to envy!

But sweeter still than this is young and lusty freedom.

For gold you may buy beauties, ay, as many as you will,

But a steed of highest mettle is a treasure beyond price,

Swift as the wind he flies over the Steppes,

And fickleness and falsehood have no place in him.’

It was to no purpose Asamat importuned him to accept his proposal, and wept, and raved, and swore; Kasbitch lost patience at last.

‘Go along, silly boy!’ he said. ‘You ride my horse! With the first three steps he would fling you off, and break your neck on the stones.’

‘Me!’ screamed Asamat, in a fury, and the boy’s dagger clashed on the coat of mail. But a vigorous hand shook him off, and dashed him with such violence against the boarded wall that it rocked with the blow. Here’s a pretty piece of work! thought I; so I hurried to the stall, bridled our horses, and led them to the backdoor. In two minutes there was a tremendous row in the house. What happened there was briefly this: Asamat rushed in, with his beshmet torn, crying out that Kasbitch wanted to murder him. All present sprang up, seized their weapons, and the brawl began. All were shouting, blows, and firing; but Kasbitch was already in the saddle, and broke, like an incarnate fiend, through the throng, brandishing his shashka. Petchorin wanted to see how it would end, but he took my advice, and we rode straight home.

L.—And how did it fare with Kasbitch?

M.—The usual luck of these fellows; he got clear off whether wounded or not, Heaven only knows! They have as many lives as cats, these robbers. I saw one of them, for instance, in battle, pierced like a sieve with bayonet holes, yet still laying about him with his shashka. [The captain paused awhile, and then continued, stamping on the ground]: One thing I shall never forgive myself: the devil put it into my head, when I got back to the fort, to tell Petchorin all I had overheard in the shed. He smiled, with such a sly air,—he had his reasons for it, as you shall see.

Asamat came to the fort some three or four days after the wedding, and, as usual, made for Petchorin’s quarters, where he was always pampered with dainties. I was present: the conversation turned on horses, and Petchorin began to cry up Kasbitch’s horse, it was so spirited, so handsome, so like an antelope—in short, by his account, there was not such another on the face of the earth. The little Tartar’s eyes began to glow, but Petchorin pretended not to notice this. I turned the talk to other subjects, but he somehow contrived always to bring it back to Kasbitch’s horse. The same thing invariably occurred as often as Asamat visited us. At the end of three weeks I could plainly perceive that the boy was growing pale and wasted, just as the effects of love are described in romances. Curious!

Now it was not till some time after, do you see, that I got at the rights of this whole piece of roguery. Petchorin tantalized him to that degree, that he was ready to drown himself. At last he said to him, ‘I see, Asamat, you have taken a great fancy to this horse; but you have no more chance of ever getting him than of seeing the back of your own neck. Tell me, though, what would you give the man who should procure you the animal?’

‘Any thing he desired,’ replied Asamat.

‘If that is the case, I am your man; you shall have the horse, but on one condition—swear that you will fulfil it.’

‘I swear! You, too, swear.’

‘Very good. I swear the horse shall be yours; only you must give me your sister Bela in return. The bargain I think will be a profitable one for you.’ Asamat was silent.

‘You will not do it? As you please. I thought you were a full grown man, but I see you are still only a boy. It is too soon for you to back a horse like’—

Asamat was on fire. ‘But my father?’ said he.

‘Does he never leave home?’

‘Well, he does, sometimes.’

‘Then it is done?’

‘Done!’ whispered Asamat, as pale as death. ‘The time?’

‘The first time Kasbitch comes here. He promised to bring ten sheep to the fort. Leave the rest to me. Do you do your part, Asamat.’

And thus they arranged the whole affair between them, no very creditable affair, to say the least of it. I expressed this opinion subsequently to Petchorin; but he merely replied, that the barbarian Circassian girl was very well off to get so good a husband as himself, for according to the way of thinking of her own people, he was in every respect her husband; and that Kasbitch was a robber who deserved to be punished. Judge for yourself, what answer I could make to that? But, at that time, I knew nothing of the preconcerted bargain. Well, behold you! Kasbitch came at last, and asked, did we want sheep or honey? I desired him to bring them on the following day. ‘Asamat,’ said Petchorin, ‘to-morrow Karagos will be in my possession; if Bela is not here this night, you shall never see the horse.’

‘Good,’ said Asamat, and off he ran to the hamlet. In the evening, Petchorin armed himself and rode out of the fort. How they managed the thing I cannot tell; all I know is that the sentinel saw a girl laid crossways on Asamat’s saddle, her hands and feet bound, and her head muffled up in a thick veil.

Next day Kasbitch came with ten sheep for sale. After putting up his horse he came in to me. I entertained him with tea, because, though he was a robber, we were on terms of hospitality. We were chatting about one thing and another, when all on a sudden, I saw Kasbitch start and change colour. ‘What is the matter?’ said I.

‘My horse! my horse!’ he cried, trembling all over.

‘Well, I did hear the sound of a horse. Some Cossack, I suppose’——

‘No! Russian treachery! treachery!’ he bellowed, dashing headlong out of doors, like a wild panther. In two bounds he was in the open air. The sentinel at the gate levelled his piece at him, and barred his way: he leaped over the soldier’s gun, and ran with all his might and main along the road. The dust was flying at a distance—Asamat was gallopping away on the back of Karagos. Kasbitch uncased his gun as he ran, and fired, then stood motionless till he had assured himself he had missed his aim; then howled with rage, flung the weapon from his hand, shattering it against the stones, and began to cry like a child. Numbers had gathered around him from the fort—he heeded nothing: they lingered with him, tried to talk with him, and at last left him. I ordered the money for the sheep to be laid beside him: he never touched it; but lay with his face on the ground like a dead man. Would you believe it? He lay there the whole livelong night. It was not till next morning he returned to the fort, and entreated our people to tell him the name of the thief. The sentinel, who had seen Asamat untie the horse and gallop away with him, did not think it necessary to make any secret of the matter. Kasbitch’s eyes flashed fire at that name, and, turning on his heel, he made straight for the hamlet where Asamat’s father lived. But he did not find him there. He had gone from home for six days; and that was one of the helping circumstances of the plot, for otherwise Asamat could hardly have carried off his sister.

But when the father returned, there was neither son nor daughter in the place. The thieving villain! he well knew he could never save his neck if he let himself be caught. So from that hour he was never seen again. Probably he joined some band of Abreks, or had his hot head cooled for him beyond the Terek or the Kuban. His route was in that direction. The father soon afterwards paid the penalty of his son’s crime. Kasbitch never doubted but that Asamat had stolen the horse with the privity and consent of his father; at least so I conjecture. Accordingly he lay in lurk one day, by the road, some two versts from the hamlet. The old man was returning from a fruitless search after his daughter; his usdens (retinue of vassals) were some distance behind him. It was dusk, and he was riding slowly along, as a man in deep grief might do, when Kasbitch sprang, like a cat, from behind a bush, leaped up behind the old man, stabbed and flung him on the ground, then seized the reins and away! Some usdens saw the whole proceeding from a hill, and hotly pursued the murderer, but in vain.

[Honest Maxim Maximitch severely remonstrated with his subaltern when he became aware of the shameful act the latter had committed; but the mischief was irreparable, and the good-natured captain contented himself with trying to make the best of a bad business. Bela herself, after her first resentful emotions had subsided, yielded to her fate, and even acknowledged that since she first saw Petchorin she had never ceased to think of him. The Captain continued thus]:

She was a charming girl, this Bela. I grew as attached to her, at last, as if she were my own daughter, and she was fond of me too. You must know I have no family; I have heard nothing these twelve years of my father and mother. Formerly I had not sufficient means to maintain a wife, and now, you know, the time is gone by when I could fairly think of the like; it was a godsend to me, therefore, to have some one to spoil. She often sang to us, or danced Lesgish dances—and what a dancer! I have seen our ladies of the provinces—I was once at a ball of the nobles at Moscow, twenty years ago—but what was all I saw there compared with her! Petchorin dressed her out like a doll, with every thing that was costly and pretty. She grew more beautiful, too, with us, every day; it was wonderful. Her face and hands lost their sunburnt hue, a soft tinge of red appeared on her cheeks—and how merry she could be, and what tricks she would often play upon me, the darling wanton! God be gracious to her!

For four months every thing went on as well as heart could wish. Petchorin, as I believe I told you before, was uncommonly fond of the chase. Formerly all his delight was in the woods, after the wild boars and the deer, but now he hardly ever went outside the gates of the fort. All at once, however, I observed he was grown pensive, and would walk up and down the room with his hands behind his back. Then he went out one morning to shoot, without saying a word to any one, and stayed out the whole day. Presently this happened a second time, and then again and again. There’s something wrong, thought I; I’ll lay my life on it, a black cat has jumped between the pair.

[It was so. Petchorin’s passion was beginning to cool, and Bela was growing unhappy. One day, when Petchorin was away hunting, she walked out with the captain on the ramparts.]

Our fort stood on high ground, and the view from the ramparts was very fine. On the one side was an open tract, bounded by ravines, beyond which was a wood, stretching up to the crest of the mountain; here and there hamlets were seen smoking, and horses grazing. On the other side ran a small stream scattering its spray over the thick copse that clothed a rocky hill, an offshoot from the main chain of the Caucasus. We sat on the angle of a bastion, so that we had a full view on both sides. Suddenly I saw a man ride out of the wood on a grey horse. He came towards us, stopped on the other side of the brook, and began to make his horse caper about as if he was mad. ‘What the deuce is that?’ said I. ‘Look yonder, Bela, your eyes are younger than mine; what sort of a zhighit is that? For whose amusement is he playing such antics?’

She looked towards the horseman, and cried out, ‘It is Kasbitch! And that is my father’s horse!’ she said, grasping my hand. She trembled like an aspen leaf, and her eyes flashed. ‘Ha! the robber!’ cried I, and, looking more closely, I saw sure enough it was Kasbitch with his swarthy features, and his clothes as ragged and dirty as ever.

‘Come here,’ said I, to the sentry; ‘look to your piece, and shoot me that fellow yonder. You shall have a silver ruble if you hit him.’ ‘Very well, your honour; but he never stops a moment in one spot.’ ‘Call to him to stand still,’ said I, laughing. ‘Holla, my good fellow,’ shouted the sentinel, beckoning to the horseman, ‘stand still a bit, will you? what do you keep wheeling about in that way for?’ Kasbitch actually stopped, and appeared to listen, thinking, probably, that we wanted to parley with him—but no such thing; my grenadier levelled—puff!—the piece flashed in the pan. Kasbitch struck the spur into his horse, and it made a side bound. Then, standing up in the stirrups, he shouted out something in his own tongue, shook his nagaika (whip) at us, and was off.

About four hours afterwards Petchorin came back from hunting. Bela threw herself on his neck; and not one word of complaint did she utter, not one word of reproach for his long absence. But for my part, I could not help expostulating with him. ‘For God’s sake,’ said I, ‘only think! Kasbitch was just now on the other side of the stream, and we fired at him: it was the greatest chance that you did not fall in with him. These Gorzans are a vindictive race. You fancy he has no suspicion that you abetted Asamat. I will lay you a bet he recognized Bela. I know he took a great liking to her a year ago: he told me so himself; and also, that, when he should have raised the means to make her father the necessary presents, he would probably become her suitor.’ This made Petchorin thoughtful. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we must be more cautious. Bela, from this day forth, you must not show yourself on the ramparts.’

I had a long explanation with him in the evening. I was vexed at his change of conduct towards the poor girl: for, besides his spending half his time in field-sports, his behaviour was cold, he seldom showed her marks of fondness, and she was manifestly beginning to fall away in flesh: her little face became smaller, and her large eyes grew dim. If he asked her, ‘What ails you Bela; are you fretting?’ she would answer, ‘No.’ ‘Is there any thing you wish for?’ ‘No.’ ‘Are you grieving for your brother and sister?’ ‘I have no brother and sister.’ It often happened that for whole days together you could not get a word out of her, but yes and no.

---

Kasbitch did not show himself again; only I could not get it out of my head, that he had not come to the fort for nothing, and that he had some mischief in view.

One day it chanced that Petchorin prevailed on me, to accompany him to hunt the boar. I had refused for a long while; the sport, indeed, was any thing but new to me, and offered me no temptation. He forced me, however, to go with him; so we set out early in the morning, taking with us an escort of five soldiers. We beat about the bushes and the grass, till ten o’clock, but started no game. ‘I think we had better go home,’ said I; ‘what is the good of stopping here? This is plainly no lucky day.’ But in spite of heat and fatigue, Gregorii Alexandrovitch would not go back empty handed. That was just his way: whatever he took into his head, must be: it was easy to see his mother had made a spoiled pet of him in his childhood. At last about noon we discovered a boar—bang! bang!—but it would not do; the boar made for the bulrushes, and escaped; the day was decidedly an unlucky one. After we had rested, and taken breath a little, we set out on our way home.

We rode side by side in silence, with our reins slackened, and had nearly reached the fort, which was only concealed from our view by the copse. Suddenly we heard a shot. We looked in each other’s faces: the same suspicion flashed upon us both: we galloped headlong in the direction of the fort, and saw a group of soldiers on the ramparts; they pointed towards the open country, and there sped a horseman with the swiftness of an arrow, holding something white before him on the saddle bow. Gregorii Alexandrovitch gave a loud screech, that the very best Tchetchenz could not have beaten, whipped out his rifle from the case, and away with him, myself following.

Fortunately, as our sporting had not been lucky, our horses were still fresh; they cleared the ground at a great rate, and every moment brought us nearer and nearer to the object of our pursuit. At last I recognized Kasbitch; only I could not make out what it was he carried before him. I was now again alongside of Petchorin, and called out to him that it was Kasbitch. He cast a look at me, nodded, and lashed his horse.

At last we were but a rifle shot from the robber. Whether it was that Kasbitch’s horse was fatigued, or that it was worse than ours, at any rate, he did not make good way. I warrant he thought of his Karagos at that moment.

Looking round at Petchorin, I saw him present his rifle while galloping at full speed. ‘No firing!’ I shouted to him; ‘reserve your charge, we will catch him yet.’ But such is youth; it never gives fire at the right moment. The shot went off whilst I was speaking, and the ball struck the horse in the hind leg; it still kept on for a few paces, stumbled, and fell on its knees. Kasbitch was instantly on his feet, and now we saw that he had a female closely muffled up in his grasp. It was Bela—poor Bela! He shouted something to us in his own language, and raised his dagger to strike. There was no time to be lost, I fired almost at random, and thought for certain I had hit him in the shoulder, for his arm instantly, fell. When the smoke had cleared away, there lay the wounded horse on the ground, and Bela beside it; but Kasbitch, throwing away his rifle among the bushes, clambered up the rocks like a cat. What would I not have given to bring him down thence with a ball! but both our pieces were discharged. We sprang from our horses and rushed to Bela. Poor creature, she lay motionless, with the blood gushing from her wound. What a miscreant! Had he even stabbed her to the heart—at least it would have been all over at once—but in the back! it was a genuine robber’s stroke. She was insensible: we tore up her veil, and stanched the wound as well as we could: in vain Petchorin kissed her cold lips—nothing could bring her back to consciousness.

Petchorin mounted; I lifted her from the ground, and placed her carefully before him on the saddle; he put his arm round her, and we rode back to the fort. We sent for the surgeon; he was rather drunk, but he came; and having examined the wound, he told us she could not live two days. He was wrong however—

L.—Did she recover?

M.—No. The surgeon was only thus far mistaken, that she did survive for two days.

L.—But tell me, how had Kasbitch contrived to carry her off?

M.—In this way. Contrary to Petchorin’s express desire, she had gone out of the fort to the stream. The weather you see, was very hot, so she sat down on a stone, and bathed her feet in the water. Just then Kasbitch stole along, pounced upon her, clapped his hand upon her mouth, dragged her into the thicket, where he sprang on his horse with her, and was off. Meanwhile she had been able to cry out; the sentinels were alarmed; they fired, but missed; and at that moment we came up.

L.—But what was Kasbitch’s motive for carrying her off?

M.—Motive? Why, they are all notorious robbers, these Circassians. If any thing is badly watched, you may be sure they will not leave it alone. Many a thing may be of no use to them, but they steal it for all that. Besides he had long had a fancy for the girl.

L.—And Bela died?

M.—She died; but she suffered long, and we also with her. She became conscious again about ten, that night. We were sitting by her bedside. The moment she opened her eyes, she called for Petchorin. ‘Here I am, my zhaneshka’ (my little soul), he said, taking her hand in his. ‘I shall die,’ she said. We began to comfort her, and told her the surgeon had promised for certain he would bring her round. She shook her head, and turned her face to the wall: she was loath to die.

During the night she began to be delirious; her head burned, and feverish shiverings repeatedly convulsed her frame. She spoke in disjointed phrases, of her father and her brother; she would go to the mountains, to her home. Then she talked of Petchorin, calling him by all sorts of endearing names, or upbraiding him for having ceased to love his zhaneshka.

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Well, well! it was a good thing she died; for what would have become of her, had Petchorin forsaken her? It would certainly have come to that, soon or late. One thing I confess, particularly distressed me: she never once uttered my name before she died; and yet I am sure I loved her like a father. Well, God forgive her for it!—And indeed for that matter, who am I, that she should think of me in her last moments?

L.—How did Petchorin bear it?

M.—Petchorin was a long time ill; he wasted away, poor fellow: we never spoke again of Bela, from that time forth. Three months afterwards he was transferred to another regiment, and left Georgia; we have never met since.

L.—Did you never hear what became afterwards of Kasbitch?

M.—Of Kasbitch? I really do not know. I am told indeed that there is among the Shapsooks, on our right flank, a certain Kasbitch, a wild dare devil, that rides at a foot-pace in his red beshmet, in front of our artillery, and bows politely when a cannon ball whizzes past him; but it can hardly be the same.

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CHAPTER IX
RUNJEET SINGH’S FAMOUS HORSE LYLEE—ANECDOTES—PERSIAN HORSES.

IT is no unusual circumstance in the East for deadly feuds, such as that detailed in the last chapter, to be occasioned by disputes for the possession of a horse. Quarrels of this kind are very common among the Arab tribes of the Desert, and are often perpetuated from generation to generation. The fatal beauty of Helen scarcely caused more disasters than have severally followed the abduction of many a famous steed. Runjeet Singh, the great ruler of the Punjaub, had a horse named Lylee, which he computed to have cost him 60 lakhs of rupees (£600,000) and the lives of 12,000 soldiers, having been the occasion of several wars. It was the property of Yar Mohammad Khan, of Peshawer; and Runjeet Singh, after a long contest with that potentate, made the delivery of the animal to him a primary condition of peace. Yar Mohammad tried many stratagems to evade this demand; first, he declared the horse was dead, and when this was discovered to be a falsehood, he made several attempts to palm off other horses on the conqueror, instead of the real Lylee. In the course of the negotiations, Yar Mohammad died, and was succeeded by his brother Sooltan Mohammad Khan, who also prevaricated as long as he could. But at last General Ventura, an Italian in Runjeet’s service, ended the matter by a bold stroke. Entering the reception room one day, he once more formally demanded Lylee, and when Sooltan Mohammad began to quibble as usual, Ventura called up his soldiers, whom he had posted in the courtyard of the palace, and pronounced the Khan a prisoner in his own capital. This so astounded the Khan, that he ordered the horse to be brought forthwith, and Ventura quitted Peshawer, with his costly booty.

Lylee was full sixteen hands high, and was magnificently apparelled. His bridle and saddle were splendid, and round his knees he had gold bangles. He was seen by Lieut. Barr’s party in 1839, when he was old, and disappointed their expectations. He was then a speckled grey, overloaded with fat, filthily dirty, and his heels, for want of paring and exercise, were so high, that he limped along with much difficulty. A Dakhini, for which the Maharajah had given about £1000, in their opinion far exceeded Lylee in beauty.

Runjeet Singh’s passion for horses has passed into a proverb in the East: it amounted almost to insanity. He was never weary of talking to and caressing his favourite steeds; they were continually in his thoughts, and almost constantly in his sight, adorned in the most sumptuous style. Their bridles were overlaid with gold or enamel, a plume of heron’s feathers was fixed to the headstall, strings of jewels were hung round the animals’ neck, under which were fastened suleymans or onyx stones, highly prized on account of the superstitions connected with them. The saddles were likewise plated with enamel and gold, and set with precious stones, the pummels being particularly rich. The housings were of Cashmere shawls fringed with gold, and the crupper and the martingales were ornamented in the same style as the other furniture. Even a cart-horse, sent him by the King of England, was dressed out in the same fashion. His Majesty wished to make a suitable return for the shawl tent presented to him through Lord Amherst, by the old Lion of the Punjab, and a very extraordinary selection was made, upon whose advice is not known. A team of cart-horses—four mares, and one stallion, were sent out from England, under the notion that Runjeet would be glad to rear a larger breed than the native Punjabees. But the fact was, he cared only for showy saddle horses, of high courage, well broken in to the manège of Hindustan, that he could himself ride on parade, or on the road, or set his favourites upon. Accordingly, when the cart-horses arrived at his court, the stallion was immediately put into the breaker’s hands, and taught the usual artificial paces. This animal, with its enormous head and coarse legs, stood always in the palace yard, or before the tent of the chief, blazing with gold and precious stones, and was sometimes honoured by being crossed by Runjeet Singh himself. The mares were never looked at, and were held in utter indifference.

When Runjeet Singh had become weak, he adopted a singular method of mounting the tall horses on which he loved to ride. A man knelt down before him, over whose neck, he threw his leg, whereupon the man rose, with the Maharajah upon his shoulders, and approached the horse. Runjeet then putting his right foot into the stirrup, and holding by the horse’s mane, threw his left leg, over the man’s head and the back of the horse, into the stirrup on the other side.

The Persian cavalry was anciently the best in the East, but the improved incomparable Arab breed of horses was not then in existence. The modern Persian horses seldom exceed fourteen, or fourteen and a half hands high; but, on the whole, they are taller than the Arabs. Their usual fodder is barley and chopped straw; and they are fed and watered only at sunrise and sunset, when they are cleaned. Their bedding is horsedung, dried in the sun, and pulverized. They are carefully clad in clothing suited to the season, and in summer they are kept entirely under shade during the heat of the day. At night, besides having their heads secured with double ropes, the heels of their hind legs are confined by cords of twisted hair, fastened to iron rings and pegs, driven into the earth. The same custom prevailed in the time of Xenophon, and for the same reason: to secure them from attacking, and maiming each other. As a further precaution, their keepers always sleep on the rugs amongst them; but sometimes, notwithstanding all this care, they break loose, and then the combat ensues. A general neighing, screaming, kicking, and snorting, soon rouses the grooms, and the scene for a while is terrible. Indeed no one can conceive the sudden uproar of such a moment, who has not been in Eastern countries to hear it. They before their heads and haunches stream with blood. Even, in skirmishes with the natives, the horses take part in the fray, tearing each other with their teeth, while their masters are at similar close quarters on their backs.

The ancient Persians sedulously taught their children three things: to ride, to shoot with the bow, and to speak the truth. Their modern descendants never speak the truth when they can help it; archers they are not, although notorious for drawing the long bow; but horsemanship is still in great esteem amongst them. The following amusing anecdote is related by Sir John Malcolm:—

“Before the year 1800,” he says, “no political mission from an European nation had visited the court of Persia, for a century; but the English, though only known in that country as merchants, had fame as soldiers, from the report of their deeds in India. An officer of one of the frigates, who had gone ashore to visit the envoy, when mounted on a spirited horse, afforded no small entertainment to the Persians by his bad horsemanship. The next day, the man who supplied the ship with vegetables, and who spoke a little English, met him on board, and said, ‘Don’t be ashamed, sir, nobody knows you: bad rider! I tell them, you, like all English, ride well, but that time they see you, very drunk!’ We were much amused at this conception of our national character. The Persian thought it would have been a reproach for a man of a warlike nation not to ride well, but none for an European to get drunk.”

The horses of the Toorkmans, or Turkmans, are much esteemed in Persia, and in the adjacent countries. Turkestan, the native region of these nomads, lies north-east of the Caspian, but their tribes are widely dispersed over Persia, Asia Minor, and Syria. Their horses are large, swift, and possess extraordinary powers of endurance, though their figures are somewhat ungainly. When a Turkman starts on an expedition, he takes with him some hard balls of barley-meal, which are to serve both him and his horse for subsistence until his return. But sometimes in crossing the Desert, when he finds himself unusually faint and weary, he opens the jugular vein of his horse, and drinks a little of the animal’s blood, by which he is himself refreshed, and thinks that the horse, too, is relieved. Some of these men and horses have been known to travel nine hundred miles, in eleven successive days.

The Othmanlis or Ottomans, the founders of the great empire that bears their name, were a branch of the Turkman stock. Othman, the first of their dynasty, was the chief of a small horde, a mere handful of men; his grandson Amurath I, was he who conquered Adrianople. The first conquests of the Turks were achieved by freemen; but, after the taking of Constantinople, a new military institution was established; and the relation between the commander and his warlike servants resembled much more the personal subjection of the Mamelukes to their Beys, than the free allegiance owned by the bands of the west to their Condottieri. The invincible army of the Sultan—the terrible cavalry of whom it was proverbial, that

“—where the Spahi’s hoof hath trod,

The verdure flies the bloody sod—”

and the Janissaries, who boasted that they had never fled in battle, were all slaves; torn from their Christian parents in childhood, and reared up under a system of discipline, admirably adapted to the end proposed. It combined the hardihood of the Spartans, the strictness and decorum of the monastic rule, with every encouragement that could nurture the aspiring spirit, and confirm the devoted fidelity of the young soldier. The youths thus brought up, forgot their childhood, their parents, their homes; knew no native land, but the Serai; no lord and father, but the Grand Signior; no will, but his; no hope, but of his favour: they knew no life, but one passed in rigid discipline and unconditional obedience; no occupation, but war in the Sultan’s service; no personal purpose, unless it were plunder in this life, and, in death, the paradise thrown open to him who fought for Islam. The glory of the Moslem is departed, and the Sultan’s army is now a rabble, more formidable to their friends, than to their enemies—but let us see what they were in the plenitude of their strength.

First, we behold the Timarli marshalled beneath the banners of their respective corps; they carry bows and quivers, iron maces and daggers, scimitars and lances; they know how to use these various weapons, at the right moment, with the utmost dexterity; they are trained with rare skill to pursue, and to retire, now to hang back in alert suspense, now to dash forward and scour the country. Their horses, too, claim attention; they come mostly from Syria, where they have been reared with the utmost care, and fondled almost like children. Judges indeed, objected that they were somewhat ticklish to the stirrup, apt to swerve aside, and hardmouthed; this, however, was rather the fault of the riders, who used severe bits, and short stirrups; otherwise the animals were docile, serviceable, as well on mountainous and stony ground, as on the plain; indefatigable, and always full of spirit. The most accomplished riders were furnished from many a district. It was surprising to see them hurl their maces before them, gallop after them, and catch them again ere they fell. Turning half round, with the horses at full speed, they would discharge their arrows backwards, with unerring aim. Next to these, the Porte sent forth its paid Spahis and its Janissaries. The former, in addition to their scimitars, were armed with lances, bearing small flags; some were also furnished with bows. A few were equipped with coats of mail and morions, but rather for show than for service; their round shields, and their turbans, seemed to them defence enough. The Janissaries, lastly, marched in long flowing garments, armed with scimitars and arquebus; in their girdles the handjar, and the small hatchet; dense in their array, their plumes like a forest. It was as though the camp was the true home of this people. Not only was it kept in admirable order, so that not an oath or altercation was to be heard, no drunken man, no gambling was to be seen in it, nor any thing to be found that would offend either sight or smell; it was also to be remarked, that the life the soldier led at home was but meagre, and sorry, compared with the magnificence of the camp. For every ten Janissaries, the Sultan maintained a horse to carry their baggage; every five and twenty had a tent, that served them in common; in these they observed the regulations of their barracks, and the elder were waited on by the younger. No Spahi was so mean that he did not possess a tent of his own. How gallant and glittering was their array, as they rode in their silken surcoats, their parti-coloured, richly-wrought shields on their left arms, their right hands grasping the costly mounted sword, feathers of all hues waving in their turbans! But surpassingly splendid was the appearance of their leaders. Jewels hung from their horses’ ears, and studded their saddles and housings; chains of gold depended from their bridles. The tents shone with Turkish and Persian decorations; here the booty was laid up, and a numerous retinue of eunuchs and slaves, were in attendance.

The modern Turks in general, prefer the Turkman horse, to the more slender Arabian of pure blood. Their style of riding is very trying to the limbs of the animal, their most favourite manœuvre being to make a dead stop when gallopping at the utmost speed. In order to practise this injurious trick, they use a terribly severe bit, which destroys all the fine sensibility of the mouth. The Bedouins, on the contrary, never use any thing more severe than a snaffle. One of the most precious qualities of the Turkman horse, according to some amateurs, is the admirable instinct with which it seconds its rider in the fight, and itself takes an active part against the foe.

Stevens, in his travels in Egypt, describes a curious scene, highly characteristic of the Turk, and his equestrian sports:—

“It was an excessively hot day,” he says; “you, who were hovering over your coal fires, or moving about wrapped in cloaks or greatcoats, can hardly believe that, on the 20th of January, the Arabs were refreshing their heated bodies by a bath in the Nile, and that I was lying under my tent actually panting for breath. I had plenty to occupy me, but the heat was too intense; the sun seemed to scorch the brain, while the sands blistered the feet. I think it was the hottest day I experienced on the Nile.

“While leaning on my elbow, looking out of the door of my tent towards the temple of Luxor, I saw a large body of Arabs, on foot, on dromedaries, and on horseback, coming down towards the river. They came about half-way across the sandy plain between the temple and the river, and stopped nearly opposite to my tent, so as to give me a full view of all their movements. The slaves and pipe-bearers immediately spread mats on the sand, on which the principal persons seated themselves; and, while they were taking coffee and pipes, others were making preparations for equestrian exercises. The forms and ceremonies presented to my mind a lively picture of preparing the lists of a tournament; and the intense heat and scorching sands reminded me of the great passage of arms in Scott’s Crusaders, near the Diamond of the Desert, on the shores of the Dead Sea.

“The parties were on horseback, holding in their right hands long wooden spears, the lower ends resting on the sand, close together, and forming a pivot around which their movements were made. They rode round in a circle, with their spears in the sand, and their eyes keenly fixed on each other, watching an opportunity to strike; chased, turned, and doubled, but never leaving the pivot; occasionally the spears were raised, crossed, and struck together, and a murmuring ran through the crowd like the cry in the fencing-scene in Hamlet, ‘a hit, a fair hit’ and the parties separated, or again dropped their poles in the centre for another round. The play for some time seemed confined to slaves and dependents; and among them, and decidedly the most skilful, was a young Nubian. His master, a Turk, who was sitting on the mat, seemed particularly pleased with his success.

“The whole of this seemed merely a preliminary, designed to stir up the dormant spirit of the masters. For a long time they sat quietly puffing their pipes, and probably longing for the stimulus of a battle-cry to rouse them from their torpor. At length one of them, the master of the Nubian, slowly rose from the mat, and challenged an antagonist. Slowly he laid down his pipe, and took and raised the pole in his hand; but still he was not more than half roused. A fresh horse was brought him, and, without taking off his heavy cloth mantle, he drowsily placed his left foot in the broad shovel stirrup, his right on the rump of the horse, behind the saddle, and swung himself into the seat. The first touch of the saddle seemed to rouse him; he took the pole from the hand of his attendant, gave his horse a severe check, and, driving the heavy corners of the stirrups into his sides, dashed through the sand on a full run. At the other end of the course he stopped, rested a moment or two, then again driving his irons into his horse, dashed back at full speed; and when it seemed as if his next step would carry him headlong among the Turks on the mat, with one jerk he threw his horse back on his haunches, and brought him up from a full run to a dead stop. This seemed to warm him a little; his attendant came up and took of his cloak, under which he had a red silk jacket and white trowsers, and again he dashed through the sand, and back as before. This time he brought up his horse with furious vehemence; his turban became unrolled, he flew into a violent passion, tore it off and threw it on the sand, and, leaving his play, fiercely struck the spear of his adversary, and the battle at once commenced. The Turk, who had seemed too indolent to move, now showed a fire, and energy, and an endurance of fatigue, that would have been terrible in battle. Both horse and rider scorned the blazing sun and burning sands, and round and round they ran, chasing, turning, and doubling within an incredibly small circle, till an approving murmur was heard among the crowd. The trial was now over, and the excited Turk again seated himself upon the mat, and relapsed into a state of calm indifference.”

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CHAPTER X
ARABIAN HORSES.

THE modern Arabs have three breeds of horses, the Atteich, the Kadishi, and the Kohlani. The two former are drudges, or hackneys; the Kohlani is the thorough-bred race; and, according to the popular legend, is descended from the favourite mares of the prophet. Mahomet, as the story runs, was once engaged in battle for three days, during all which time his warriors never dismounted, nor did their mares eat or drink. At last, on the third day, they came to a river, and the prophet ordered that the animals should be unbridled, and turned loose. Mad with thirst, the whole ten thousand rushed headlong to the river, and just as they were on the brink the prophet’s bugle sounded their recall. Ten thousand mares heard the call, but five only obeyed it; and, leaving the water untasted, returned to their standard. Then the prophet blessed these docile mares, and adorned their eyelids with kohl, after the manner of the women in the East; hence they were called Kohlani, which means blackened. They were ridden from that time forth by the prophet himself, and his companions, Ali, Omar, Abubekr, and Hassan, and from them are descended all the noble steeds of Arabia.

The great excellence of the Arab horse is owing partly to the extreme and undeviating care of the Bedouins to keep up the purity of the blood; and partly to the friendly and familiar treatment the animal receives in its master’s tent, where it is the pet of his children, and a watchful observer of all his domestic concerns. The Bedouin’s mare (they never ride horses) displays all the sagacity and fidelity of the dog; she will never suffer her sleeping master to be surprised by his foes without a warning. It is, therefore, no wonder that to obtain Arab mares, by purchase, is a matter of extreme difficulty. The people of the Desert themselves often give as much as £200 for a celebrated mare, not to be sold to strangers. The sum of £500 has even been given; which, considering the value of money in Arabia and Syria, is enormous. Buckhardt mention a sheikh, who had a mare of great celebrity, for the half-share in the ownership of which he paid £400. This subdivision of ownership is very curious. Sir John Malcolm was informed that the property in a brood mare was sometimes divided amongst ten or twelve Arabs.

In the Desert a mare of high breed is seldom sold without the seller reserving the half, or two-thirds of her. If he sells half, the buyer takes the mare, and is obliged to let the seller take the mare’s next filly, or the buyer may keep the filly and return the mare. If the Arab has sold but one-third of the mare, the purchaser takes her home, but must give the seller the fillies of two years, or else one of them and the mare. The fillies of all subsequent years belong to the buyer, as well as all the male colts produced on the first or any following year. It thus happens that most of the Arab mares are the joint property of two or three persons, or even of half-a-dozen, if the price of the mare be very high. A mare is sometimes sold on the remarkable condition, that all the booty obtained by the man who rides her shall be shared between him and the seller.

It is not among the Arabs alone we find horses, like ships, shared among several owners: the same thing prevails in some parts of Ireland. An amusing instance is mentioned in Lord George Hill’s “Facts from Gwendore:”—“In an adjacent island, belonging to this estate, three men were concerned in one horse; but the poor brute was rendered useless, as the unfortunate foot of the supernumerary leg remained unshod, none of them being willing to acknowledge its dependancy, and accordingly it became quite lame. There were many intestine rows upon the subject; at length one of the ‘company’ came to the main land and called on a magistrate for advice, stating, that the animal was entirely useless now; that he had not only kept decently his proper hoof, at his own expense, but had shod this fourth foot twice to boot; yet the other two proprietors resolutely refused to shoe more than their own foot.”

To steal a horse is reckoned in the Desert code of morals, a highly honourable exploit, if the sufferer be a stranger, or a man of another tribe, which means nearly the same thing as an enemy. Each tribe forms as it were a distinct nation, occupying a certain tract of land, over which it roams continually, in proportion as the pasture is exhausted by the cattle. Now as the whole of this space is necessary for the annual subsistence of the tribe, all who encroach on it are regarded as enemies and robbers, and a war ensues. Events of this kind are of frequent occurrence, and the manner of proceeding on the occasion is very simple. The offence being made known, they mount their horses, and endeavour to surprise the aggressors’ camp, and plunder their cattle. If they find the enemy prepared to meet them, a parley ensues, and the matter is frequently made up; otherwise they encounter each other at full speed with fixed lances, which they sometimes dart, notwithstanding their length, at the flying foe. The victory is rarely contested; it is decided by the first shock; and the vanquished take to flight full gallop over the naked plain of the Desert. Night generally favours their escape from the conqueror. The tribe, which has lost the battle, strikes its tents, removes to a distance by forced marches, and seeks an asylum among its allies.

Boundless generosity, and insatiable covetousness, are strangely mingled in the character of the sons of the Desert. Without wishing to justify the Bedouin’s spirit of rapine, we may observe that it is displayed only towards reputed enemies. Among themselves they are remarkable for a good faith, a disinterestedness, a generosity that would do honour to the most civilized people. What is there more noble than that right of asylum so respected among all the tribes! A stranger, nay, even an enemy, touches the tent of a Bedouin, and from that instant his person becomes inviolable. It would be reckoned an indelible shame to satisfy even a just vengeance at the expense of hospitality. If once the Bedouin has eaten bread and salt with his guest nothing can induce him to betray him.

A Bedouin, named Jabal, possessed a mare of great celebrity. Hassad Pacha, then governor of Damascus, wished to buy the animal, and repeatedly made the owner the most liberal offers, which Jabal steadily refused. The pacha then had recourse to threats, but with no better success. At length one Jafar, a Bedouin of another tribe, presented himself to the pacha, and asked what would he give the man who should make him master of Jabal’s mare. “I will fill his horse’s nosebag with gold,” replied Hassad, whose pride and covetousness had been irritated to the highest degree by the obstinacy of the mare’s owner. The result of this interview having gone abroad, Jabal became more watchful than ever; and always secured his mare at night with an iron chain, one end of which was fastened round her hind fetlock, whilst the other, after passing through the tent cloth, was attached to a picket driven into the ground under the felt that served himself and his wife for a bed. But one midnight Jafar crept into the tent, and, insinuating his body between Jabal and his wife, he pressed gently now against the one, now against the other, so that the sleepers made room for him right and left, neither of them doubting that the pressure came from the other. This being done, Jafar slit the felt with a sharp knife, drew out the picket, loosed the mare, and sprang on her back. Just before starting off with his prize, he caught up Jabal’s lance, and poking him with the butt end, cried out, “I am Jafar! I have stolen your noble mare, and I give you notice in time.” This warning, be it observed, was in accordance with the usual practice of the Desert on such occasions: to rob a hostile tribe is considered an honourable exploit, and the man who accomplishes it is desirous of all the glory that may flow from the deed. Poor Jabal, when he heard the words, rushed out of the tent and gave the alarm; then mounting his brother’s mare, and accompanied by some of his tribe, he pursued the robber for four hours. The brother’s mare was of the same stock as Jabal’s, but was not equal to her; nevertheless, she outstripped those of all the other pursuers, and was even on the point of overtaking the robber, when Jabal shouted to him, “Pinch her right ear, and give her a touch with the heel.” Jafar did so, and away went the mare like lightning, speedily rendering all further pursuit hopeless. The pinch in the ear and the touch with the heel, were the secret sign by which Jabal had been used to urge the mare to her utmost speed. Every Bedouin trains the animal he rides, to obey some sign of this kind, to which he has recourse only on urgent occasions, and which he makes a close secret, not to be divulged even to his son. Jabal’s comrades were amazed and indignant at his strange conduct; “O thou father of a jackass!” they cried, “thou hast helped the thief to rob thee of thy jewel!” But he silenced their upbraidings, by saying, “I would rather lose her than sully her reputation. Would you have me suffer it to be said among the tribes, that another mare had proved fleeter than mine? I have at least this comfort left me, that I can say she never met with her match.”

The trick of jockeyship above-mentioned, is not peculiar to the Desert; we trace it even in the Western world. The celebrated clockmaker Sam Slick, talking over a racing project, in which he expects to take in the knowing ones, by deceiving them as to the fleetness of his favourite horse, Clay, expresses himself thus: “Clay is as cunning as a ’coon (racoon); if he don’t get the word g’lang (go along) and the Indgyan skelpin’ yell with it, he knows I ain’t in airnest:—he’ll purtend to do his best, and sputter away like a hen scratchin’ gravel, but he won’t go one mossel faster.”

There was in the tribe of Negde a mare no less renowned than Jabal’s, which Daher, a man of another tribe had bent his whole soul on possessing. Having in vain offered his camels and all his wealth for her, he determined to compass his ends by stratagem. He stained his face with herbs, dressed himself in rags, and tied up his legs so as to give himself the appearance of a crippled beggar. In this plight, he laid himself down on a spot where he knew that Nabee, the owner of the mare, would pass, and as soon as he saw him, he began to implore piteously for help, saying, he was unable to move, and was dying of hunger. Nabee told the poor wretch to mount behind him, and he would take him to his own tent, and supply his wants. “May your bounty be extolled,” replied the pretended cripple, “but I am unable to mount without assistance.” Thereupon the compassionate Nabee dismounted, and with much difficulty hoisted the suppliant into the saddle. As soon as Daher felt himself firmly seated, he clapped heels to the mare and started off, shouting, “I am Daher, and your mare is mine.” The plundered man called out to him to stop, and hear what he had to say, and the thief, knowing he was safe from pursuit, turned and halted, just out of reach of Nabee’s lance. “You have seized my mare,” said the latter; “since it is the will of Allah, I wish you prosperity, but I beseech you do not tell any one how you came by her.” “And why not?” said Daher. “Because another person might be really afflicted, and be left without succour. Were you to tell the tale, the consequence would be, that no one would do a single act of charity, for fear of being duped like me.”

Struck by these words, Daher instantly dismounted, restored the mare to her owner, and embraced him. Nabee went home with him as his guest; they remained together three days, and became sworn brothers.

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CHAPTER XI
FERAL HORSES OF AMERICA—INDIANS AND GAUCHOS.

THE multiplication of horses in America, since their introduction by the Spanish conquerors, has been prodigious. Innumerable herds, each consisting of many thousand animals, roam over the plains of both continents, from Patagonia to the south-western prairies of North America; and, notwithstanding the warfare waged on them by man, by whom they are slaughtered for their hides alone, their numbers would increase to a pernicious excess, were it not for the destruction caused among them by floods and droughts. The supply of water often fails in the sultry plains, and then the horses, tortured to madness, rush into the first marsh or pool they can find, trampling each other to death. Rivers have been rendered quite impassable by the stench of thousands that had plunged into them to slake their thirst, and had been drowned, being too much exhausted to crawl up the muddy banks. The beds of many streams in the Pampas are paved with a breccia of bones thus deposited. The periodical swellings of the rivers are no less fatal to them. The mares may be seen, during the season of high water, swimming about followed by their colts, and feeding on the tall grass, of which the tops alone wave above the waters. Thus they lead for some time an amphibious life, surrounded by alligators, water serpents, and other carnivorous reptiles, the marks of whose teeth are often printed on their thighs. The impetuous rush of a herd of wild horses impelled either by some panic or by raging thirst, is called a stampedo: one of them is, thus described in Murray’s Travels in North-America:—

“About an hour,” he says, “after the usual time to secure the horses for the night, an indistinct sound arose like the muttering of distant thunder; as it approached it became mixed with the howling of all the dogs in the encampment, and with the shouts and yells of the Indians; in coming nearer, it rose high above all these accompaniments, and resembled the lashing of a heavy surf upon a beach. On and on it rolled towards us, and, partly from my own hearing, partly from the hurried words and actions of the tenants of our lodge, I gathered it must be the fierce and uncontrollable gallop of thousands of panic-stricken horses. As this living torrent drew nigh, I sprang to the front of the tent, seized my favourite riding-mare, and, in addition to the hobbles which confined her, twisted the long lariat round her forelegs; then led her immediately in front of the fire, hoping that the excited and maddened flood of horses would divide and pass on each side of it. As the gallopping mass drew nigh our horses began to snort, prick up their ears, and then to tremble; and when it burst upon us they became completely ungovernable from terror; all broke loose, and joined their affrighted companions, except my mare, which struggled with the fury of a wild beast; and I only retained her by using all my strength, and at last throwing her on her side. On went the maddened troop, trampling, in their headlong speed, over skins, dried meat, &c., and throwing down some of the smaller tents. They were soon lost in the darkness of the night, and in the wilds of the prairie, and nothing more was heard of them save the distant yelping of the curs who continued their ineffectual pursuit.”

A HERD OF WILD HORSES IN NORTH AMERICA.

Where there is such a profusion of horses, the people cannot fail to be all riders; and such they are, bold and expert beyond all comparison with other nations. The Indians of the Pampas and the Prairies, whose forefathers fled in horror and dismay from the fatal apparition of the Spanish horses, are now literally ‘incorpsed and demi-natured with the brave beast.’ Many of the tribes, from being constantly on horseback from their infancy, can scarcely walk. Their legs have become too weak, from long disuse, for that kind of progression, and they loathe and despise it. The proudest attitude of the human figure, as they declare, is when a man, bending over his horse, lance in hand, is riding at his enemy. The occupation of their lives is war, especially against “the Christians,” and they pursue it for two objects,—to steal cattle, and for the pleasure of murdering the people; and they will even leave the cattle to massacre and torture their enemies, such is their ferocity, and their hereditary hatred to the descendants of the cruel oppressors of their fathers. The Gauchos, who themselves ride so beautifully, declare that it is impossible to vie with a mounted Indian; for that the Indians’ horses are better than their own, and also that they have such a way of urging them on by their cries, and by a peculiar motion of their bodies, that even if they were to change horses, the Indians would beat them. Mr. Darwin related a case in which this fact was proved.

At Cholechel, Bahia-Blanca, General Rosas’ troops encountered a tribe of Indians, of whom they killed twenty or thirty. The cacique escaped in a manner which surprised every one: the chief Indians have always one or two picked horses, which they keep ready for any urgent occasion. On one of these, an old white horse, the cacique sprung, taking with him his little son: the horse had neither saddle nor bridle. To avoid the shots the Indian rode in the peculiar method of his nation, namely, with an arm round the horse’s neck, and one leg only on its back. Thus hanging on one side he was seen patting the horse’s head, and talking to him. The pursuers urged every effort in the chase; the commandant three times changed his horse, but all in vain; the old Indian father and his son escaped, and were free. What a fine picture one can form in one’s mind: the naked bronze-like figure of the old man with his little boy, riding like a Mazeppa on the white horse, thus leaving far behind him the host of his pursuers!

Colt breaking is managed by the Gauchos, or Guassos, as they are called in Chili, with the lasso, much in the same way as by the Kalmucks. Their skill in the use of this instrument is extraordinary, and it was a weapon of great power in their hands during the war of independence. They never failed to dismount cavalry with it, or to throw down the horses of those who came within their reach. There is a well authenticated story of eight or ten Gaucho who had never seen a piece of artillery until one was fired at them in the streets of Buenos Ayres. Notwithstanding the effect of the fire they gallopped fearlessly up to it, placed their lassos over the cannon, and by their united strength fairly overturned it.

Another anecdote is related of them, which may be true, though it does not rest on such good authority. A number of armed boats were sent to effect a landing at a certain point on the coast guarded solely by these horsemen. The party in the boats caring little for an enemy unprovided with fire-arms, rowed confidently along the shore. The Guassos meanwhile were watching their opportunity, and the moment the boats came sufficiently near, dashed into the water, and throwing their lassos round the necks of the officers, fairly dragged every one of them out of their boats.

The idea of being thrown, let the horse do what it likes, never enters the head of a Gaucho: a good rider, according to them, is a man who can manage an untamed colt, or who, if his horse falls, alights unhurt on his own feet. “I have heard,” says Mr. Darwin, “of a man betting that he would throw his horse down twenty times, and that nineteen out of these he would not fall himself. I recollect seeing a Gaucho riding a very stubborn horse, which three times reared so excessively high as to fall backwards with great violence. The man judged with uncommon coolness the proper moment for slipping off, not an instant before or after the right time. Directly the horse rose, the man jumped on his back, and at last they started at a gallop. The Gaucho never appears to exert any muscular force. I was one day watching a good rider, as we were gallopping along at a rapid pace, and thought to myself, surely if the horse starts, you appear so careless on your seat, you must fall. At this moment a male ostrich sprang from its nest right beneath the horse’s nose. The young colt bounded on one side like a stag; but as for the man, all that could be said was, that he started and took fright as part of his horse.

“In Chili and Peru more pains are taken with the mouth of the horse than in La Plata, and this is evidently in consequence of the more intricate nature of the country. In Chili, a horse is not considered perfectly broken till he can be brought up standing, in the midst of his full speed, on any particular spot; for instance, on a cloak thrown on the ground; or until he will charge a wall, and, rearing, scrape the surface with his hoofs. I have seen an animal bounding with spirit, yet merely reined by a fore-finger and thumb, taken at full gallop across a court-yard, and then made to wheel round the post of a verandah with great speed, but at so equal a distance, that the rider, with outstretched arm all the while, kept one finger rubbing the post; then making a demivolte in the air, with the other arm outstretched in a like manner, he wheeled round with astonishing force in an opposite direction.

“Such a horse is well broken, and though this at first may appear useless, it is far otherwise: it is only carrying that which is daily necessary into perfection. When a bullock is checked and caught by the lasso, it will sometimes gallop round and round in a circle, and the horse being alarmed at the great strain, if not well broken, will not readily turn like the pivot of a wheel. In consequence, many men have been killed; for if the lasso once makes a twist round a man’s body, it will instantly, from the power of the two opposed animals, almost cut him in twain.

“In Chili I was told an anecdote which I believe was true, and it offers a good illustration of the use of a well broken animal. A respectable man, riding one day, met two others, one of whom was mounted on a horse which he knew to have been stolen from himself. He challenged them; they answered by drawing their sabres and giving chase. The man on his good and fleet beast kept just ahead; as he passed a thick bush he wheeled round it, and brought up his horse to a dead check. The pursuers were obliged to shoot on one side and ahead. Then instantly dashing on right behind them, he buried his knife in the back of one, wounded the other, recovered his horse from the dying robber, and rode home. For these feats in horsemanship two things are necessary; a most severe bit, like the Mameluke, the power of which, though seldom used, the horse knows full well; and large blunt spurs, that can be applied either as a mere touch, or as an instrument of extreme pain. I conceive that with English spurs, the slightest touch of which pricks the skin, it would be impossible to break a horse after the South American fashion.”

Nothing is done on foot by the Gauchos that can possibly be done on horseback. Even mounted beggermen are to be seen in the streets of Buenos Ayres and Mendoza. The butcher, of course, plies his trade on horseback, in the manner thus described by Basil Hall:—“The cattle had been driven into an enclosure or corral, whence they were now let out one by one, and killed; but not in the manner practised in England, where they are dragged into a house, and despatched by blows on the forehead with a poleaxe. Here the whole took place in the open air, and resembled rather the catastrophe of a grand field-sport than a deliberate slaughter. On a level space of ground before the corral were ranged, in a line, four or five Gauchos on horseback, with their lassos all ready in their hands, and opposite them another set of men, similarly equipped, so as to form a wide lane, extending from the gate of the corral to the distance of thirty or forty yards. When all was prepared, the leader of the Gauchos drew out the bars closing the entrance to the corral, and, riding in, separated one from the drove, which he goaded till it escaped at the opening. The reluctance of the cattle to quit the corral was evident, but when at length forced to do so, they dashed forward with the utmost impetuosity. It is said, that in this country even the wildest animals have an instinctive horror of the lasso; those in a domestic state certainly have, and betray fear whenever they see it. Be this as it may, the moment they pass the gate, they spring forward at full speed with all the appearance of terror. But were they to go ten times faster, it would avail them nothing against the irresistible lasso, which, in the midst of dust and a confusion seemingly inextricable, is placed by the Gauchos, with the most perfect correctness, over the parts aimed at. There cannot be conceived a more spirited or a more picturesque scene than was now presented to us. Let the furious beast be imagined driven almost to madness by thirst and a variety of irritations, and in the utmost terror at the multitude of lassos whirling all around him; he rushes wildly forward, his eyes flashing fire, his nostrils almost touching the ground, and his breath driving off the dust in his course. For one short instant he is free, and full of life and strength, defying, as it were, all the world to restrain him in his headlong course; the next moment he is covered with lassos; his horns, his neck, his legs are all encircled by those inevitable cords, hanging loose, in long festoons, from the hands of the horsemen, galloping in all directions, but the next instant as tight as bars of iron, and the noble animal lying prostrate on the ground motionless and helpless. He is immediately despatched by a man on foot, who stands ready for this purpose with a long sharp knife in his hand; and as soon as the body is disentangled from the lassos, it is drawn on one side, and another beast is driven out of the corral, and caught in the same manner.

While the more serious business was going on, a parcel of mischievous boys had perched themselves on a pile of firewood close to the corral; and being each armed in his way, with a lasso made of a small strip of hide, or of whipcord, got the first chance to noose the animals as they rushed out. They seldom failed to throw successfully, but their slender cords broke like cobwebs. One wicked urchin, indeed, more bold than the rest, mounted himself on a donkey that happened to be on the spot; and taking the lasso which belonged to it—for no description of animal that is ever mounted is without this essential equipment—and placing himself so as not to be detected by the men, he threw it gallantly over the first bullock’s neck. As soon as it became tight, away flew the astonished donkey and his rider: the terrified boy soon tumbled off; but poor Neddy was dragged along the ground, till a more efficient force was made to co-operate with his unavailing resistance.”

The immense abundance of horses in South-America cannot be more strongly exemplified than by the following statement:—

“I have still in my possession,” says Mr. Robertson, “a contract which I made in Goya, with an estanciero, for twenty thousand wild horses, to be taken on his estate at the price of a medio each; that is to say threepence for each horse or mare! The slaughter of them cost threepence a-head more; the staking and cleaning of the hides, once more, threepence; and lastly, a like sum for the carting to Goya: making the whole not one shilling for each skin. Of this contract ten thousand animals were delivered; the skins were packed in bales and sold in Buenos Ayres at six reals, or three shillings each, and they sold ultimately in England for seven or eight shillings, that is, for about twenty-eight or thirty times the first cost of the horse from which the skin was taken. Such is the accumulative value sometimes of the produce which is taken from the hands of the grower in one country before it gets into the hands of the consumer in another.”

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• Transcriber’s Notes:
  • Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
  • Typographical errors were silently corrected.
  • Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.