Many of the horses had never jumped inside a building before, and used to the open showyard, were made nervous, almost frantic, by the colours, the music, the people, and the general strangeness of the surroundings, intensified by the glare of the electric light, and the unfortunate illumination of the trees. So greatly were the nerves of some of the best-known leapers affected, that often the judges and messenger boys were sent scurrying when a nervous horse refused his jump, and careered at full speed round the ring.
So for an hour, in quick succession, followed each other the best horses and horsemen of Europe—some conspicuous for a close, immovable, jockey-like seat, the English hunters for dash, and the Belgians for coolness and neatness. The difference in the way the men of foreign nationalities sat their horses, keenly interested Chris, for they did so, if not as gracefully, at least more effectively than the average English rider in a jumping competition. Some of them began, continued, and finished the course crisply, and at high speed, with an unmoved seat, even when heavy men. He noted that the foreigner rides with long stirrups, and more by balance than the Englishman, though there was one exception, his stirrups were as short as a jockey's, his knees crooked high, and pressed very tight—so steady and sympathetic a seat Chris had seldom seen.
No one could help admiring the Belgian officer's riding, how he never touches his horse's mouth, but sits as if he were part of the horse, even if it jumped a little slowly, or "stickily," as we should say. More than once, delightful instances of the kindness of these officers to their horses were given. When a fence was refused, no rough words were used, or resentment shown—a pat of the neck, an encouraging whisper, and the horse tried again, succeeded, and seemed even happier in his success than his gentle master.
One of the most interesting figures in the jumping competitions, the champion jump rider of Belgium, appeared in a finely-fitting uniform, with black coat, and blue riding breeches. A lithe figure with the moustachios of the Continental officer, he had a perfect seat, and took the jumps, and rode his horse at top speed at the high jump instead of at a canter, as is usually thought necessary for high jumping. Chris was also keen to observe how the horses threw up their heels with a curious sharp jerk, or wriggle, when in the act of topping an obstacle, the result of their being trained to clear bars which are slightly raised as they take their leap.
After all, thought Gay, it was very like steeplechasing, with the sinister ambulance and perfect medical arrangements in the background ... that was why it interested Chris to the exclusion of herself.... She watched his face closely, as the reckless boy she had seen at Elsinore, time after time appeared, and after more than one crushing fall, limped from the arena, only to reappear, indomitable as ever, and going at the stiffest obstacles with an unconcern that Chris himself could not have beaten. Both rode for the sheer zest and love of it, both counted accidents as mere incidents that did not seriously interfere with their pleasure; yes—they would have made a pair of dare-devils to ride against each other, and there was keen envy in Chris's eyes as he watched the other.
The only round without a mistake was to the credit of Belgium and Holland, and though a famous Dorset yeoman rode the fastest, and one of the most faultless courses on a superb horse, undoubtedly the honours were with the foreigners. They must have got quite a wrong impression of our hunters ridden by officers, for whether it were that the horses were unaccustomed to the scene, or that the riders felt awkward, and communicated their nervousness to their horses, they gave a very different account of themselves to what they would do any day in a cross-country run.
"Just fancy that out of us all, there is only one Englishman who can compete with our visitors!" exclaimed Gay ruefully to Rensslaer, who had joined them towards the close of the steeplechase competition.
"And what can you expect?" he said quietly. "A young horse-owner in this country either hunts or plays polo, or both, but he never troubles himself with showing horses, except occasionally at the semi-private shows of Ranelagh and Hurlingham. You see, the English no longer regard horsemanship as a national sport—the foreigners do; we are all wrong in that respect."
"There's far more of the circus than of legitimate sport about the sort of thing we have just seen," said Tom Bulteel; "in short, it doesn't appeal to the hunting man at all. Who wants the high jump, or the wide jump for horses? English jumping is practically confined to the hunting field, and the steeplechase course, and all the best hunters, if well ridden, can be taught to cross all reasonable country, while the 'chasers' are schooled to jump what is known as the regulation course."
"Hear, hear!" cried Effie, and Tom went on warmly.