A very important point in the care of troop-horses is the prevention of predisposing causes of disease, such as exposure to extreme cold and heat. Of course this cannot be so well carried out in camp as in barracks, and the consequence is that disease is much more frequent in the former than the latter. I, for one, think it very questionable policy on the part of our Government to take horses out of warm barrack-stables and picket them in the open air, as at Aldershot and the Curragh camp, when there is neither war nor rumours of war. Such a course of proceeding only exposes the extreme ignorance of those who have the direction of these affairs. Alternately exposing either horses or human beings to heat and cold is the surest way of bringing on disease and undermining the constitution. The horses, at least of those regiments who are first on the roll for a campaign, ought to remain in camp, and never be allowed to enter a stable, the atmosphere of which is much warmer than the open air, and then they would be always in readiness to proceed to any part, without running the risk of disease and death by exposure, as occurred in the Crimea, where more than half the number of our cavalry were rendered non-effective from want of horses. This plan would not entail the necessity of submitting the men of the regiment to which the horses belong to the hardship of remaining constantly in camp, for there would be nothing to hinder them from being relieved by soldiers from other regiments, who could march to the camp with the whole of their kit and necessaries, and the men who are relieved could pack up their own kit and march out with the horses of the relieving corps. This system would be far better than, for instance, marching our troop-horses from the stables of barracks situate in the inland towns of England to Ireland, and exposing them to the cold blasts that, both in winter and summer, sweep through the camp at the Curragh of Kildare, one of the most bleak and cold parts of either Ireland or England. The soldiers themselves are aware of all this, and it is fast spreading discontent among them, especially those who are stationed at the latter place, where I have myself witnessed horses standing at their picket-posts nearly up to the hocks in mud, while a cold north-east wind was blowing and causing their backs to stick up and their coats to stare like hedgehogs. Let us hope that, if not for the sake of the poor animals, the legislature will, for the benefit of the service and consideration for the soldiers, see the necessity of changing so suicidal a policy as exposing our troops and troop-horses to such sudden changes from barracks (in some places absolutely in want of ventilation) to the most exposed places they can possibly select throughout the length and breadth of our proverbially capricious and changeable climate.
When horses become unserviceable from any cause, they are disposed of by public auction to the highest bidder. Many a gallant old trooper is now dragging out his existence in omnibuses, cabs, and the like, being generally bought for harness work. Every troop-horse is marked on the front of both hoofs of his fore-feet with the number and initials of the regiment in which he served. Sometimes these “cast horses” are bought by dealers, who file out the marks and sell them to novices as young fresh horses just up from the country; but an experienced man may always detect an old trooper by the hollow place left by filing out the marks; and if the horse be mounted, the rider may find out in an instant whether he has been a trooper if he will feel the off-rein and lightly press his left leg to the horse’s near side, or vice versâ, when the animal will commence to cross his legs and move sideways, as if to “dress” to some imaginary companions in forming line; for whenever a horse has been taught anything and practised in it he never forgets it, and needs but the necessary signals to again remind him that the movement is required.
It is a spirit-stirring sight to witness the embarkation of a cavalry regiment for a sea voyage. In the first place, it is considered advisable, when circumstances permit, for the embarkation to take place immediately after a day’s march, when the horses are more quiet and manageable, than when brought fresh out of stables, time being always allowed for wisping them over and picking out their feet to clear them from gravel or any dirt which may accumulate between the edge of the shoe and the sole of the foot (a point too often neglected by gentlemen’s grooms after their horses come in from a journey). When all is ready for business, a sling is passed under the horse’s belly, and also supports his chest and quarters; the ropes attached to this sling meet over the middle of the horse’s back, and are hitched to the chain of the windlass or crane. Two soldiers have each hold of a rein attached to the head-stall on either side of his head, while they soothe and allay his fears by hand and voice, or, if he violently resist, hold him by main force, until he is snatched from the ground and swung over that portion of the sea which intervenes between the beach and the vessel. Some troop-horses fight with all the strength and old-fashioned tactics for which they are especially famous, and they lead the sailors a nice dance when they are guiding them over the hatchway, and conducting them through it into the hold of the vessel.
Once deposited in the hold, however, and released from the slings, a lock of hay and the voice of his master will soothe the animal’s fears and reconcile him to his new situation. Horses that are embarked for Ireland are generally conducted on board by means of gangways, as the ships are brought sufficiently near to the piers at Liverpool for that purpose. Great care is taken that they are not overheated or overfed during a sea voyage, and, therefore, bran, with occasional doses of nitre, forms a large proportion of their daily food. The face, eyes, and nostrils of each horse are washed with a sponge and sea-water at every stable hour, and the hold of the vessel is ventilated by means of wind-sails. Sometimes, however, in stormy weather, the hatches have to be closed, or partially so, and it is then very close and hot below, but great advantage is in such cases obtained by washing the manger with vinegar and water, and occasionally sponging the nostrils of the horses with the same. The use of dumb bells, dancing, and any diversion calculated for the purpose of daily exercise, is permitted, in fact, encouraged as much as possible, in order to maintain the health and strength of the men, and they are put through the sword, carbine, and other exercises in parties, according to the extent of the accommodation on deck.
To return, however, to the relation of current events at head-quarters. While our regiment was lying in York, the country, especially the manufacturing districts, was much disturbed by what were called “Chartist riots,” or “plug drawing,” the latter term being derived from the rioters drawing the street plugs, so as to allow the water that supplied the mill with steam and power to escape and run to waste. The regiment was divided into detachments, and marched in various directions to be quartered in towns where the civil power was considered insufficient to preserve the public peace. Manchester, Oldham, Bolton, Bury, Blackburn, Hyde, and all the manufacturing towns in Lancashire, were in a state of siege for more than a month. Mills and warehouses were fired, machinery broken, shopkeepers were pilfered and openly robbed of their stock in trade, which the lawless mob either destroyed or consumed, and the peaceable inhabitants were kept in a continual state of terror bordering on despair. Nothing but the devoted loyalty of the soldiers, aided by the superhuman exertions of the police, preserved the whole country from revolution and the public buildings from being sacked by the off-scourings of society.
The detachment to which I belonged was despatched to Dudley, so as to be in readiness to aid the civil power in the Staffordshire Potteries. We were there upwards of three weeks, and never slept in bed; some of our horses were kept ready saddled, and we could have turned out the whole fully equipped in “field order” any time at a few minutes’ notice. No part of a soldier’s duty is more disagreeable than to be called out to quell a riot. To fire upon, ride down, or cut down with the sabre, indiscriminately, any individual that may come within reach, is a proceeding exceedingly repugnant to the feelings of a British soldier; therefore it was with no very pleasureable feelings that we one day noticed a mounted policeman ride hurriedly up to the Stork Hotel, where the commanding officer of the detachment was staying, and in a few moments afterwards the trumpeter sounded “Turn out the whole.” We rapidly formed; the command was given, “Threes right,” and off we marched at a swinging trot to the place indicated, a town some miles distant, where we found the house-tops literally swarming with human beings, who had ripped the tiles from the roofs to throw at the police and a small troop of yeomanry cavalry, who were totally surrounded by the mob, and getting by far the worst of it, no orders having been given by the civil authorities for the yeomanry to fire; which, indeed, it is questionable whether they could have performed with safety to themselves. As fast as the police arrested any of the mob, they were rescued. The road, or rather street, by which we approached the market-place (a wide thoroughfare) was crammed full of the most lawless-looking ruffians—men and women—it was ever my lot to see together, before or since, in England; they were all armed with sticks, pikes, stones, and some had old guns too, which they now and then fired—more from bravado, I should imagine, than from any intent to kill. The sea of human faces and glistening eyes were turned full upon us as we swept at a rapid trot round a corner into full view of the yelling, screaming mass.
The shops were all closed, and the timid inhabitants were here and there peeping from the corners of the window-blinds from the rooms above. Crash! crash! went the stones at the windows, wherever the mob were foiled in their attempts to break open the doors and plunder the shops. Barrels of ale were rolled into the streets and the ends driven in for the mob to drink out of, many using their hats for drinking-vessels; flitches of bacon and cheeses were handed to and fro over the heads of the rioters; loaves were pitched from the bakers’ shops among the people; a draper’s shop was on fire, and the contents of a toy-shop were showered among us, just as we arrived in the mêlée. The trumpet sounded “Walk,” and the babel of yells and shrieks was hushed as if by magic; not a stone was thrown, nor a weapon raised to attack us; all appeared astonished when we came upon the scene, and, with the exception of an occasional cry of “The regulars! the regulars!” scarce a sound was heard above a low hum of human voices, as if in conversation with each other.
The space immediately in our front was soon cleared, as the dense masses opened out, fell back, and trampled upon the more helpless. We walked our horses steadily on, with our sabres still in their scabbards, to the market-place, where our captain found the chief of police surrounded by yeomanry and his own men. An attempt had just been made to break open the doors and sack the town-hall, and they were all in a terrible state of excitement. We rapidly took up our ground and formed in double rank, with the yeomanry and police in our rear. Just then a shower of stones was hurled at us, but they did but little damage; the Riot Act was read, and the captain in command gave the order, in a clear, ringing voice, to draw swords; but when those ominous-looking weapons flashed in the blazing sun, the dense masses scampered off helter-skelter, and, with the exception of a few rioters, whom the police succeeded in apprehending, we were soon left alone in our glory.
Such is the amount of fear and respect with which disciplined soldiers are regarded by an infuriated and misguided mob, and the simple exhibition of such discipline is generally sufficient to prevent a collision with those pests of society, who, happily for the peace and prosperity of England, do not exist in numbers sufficient to endanger the peace and happiness of its respectable and industrious people.