It will be well, when you are seated comfortably in your saddle and have felt your horse’s mouth a little, to inquire of your host (should the animal belong to him) whether or not he has any peculiarities, or “little tricks,” for which it may be as well you should be prepared. You will be almost certain to hear “No,” for it is a strange coincidence that men are quite as infatuated about their equine possessions as women are about their children, and will never on any account be induced to believe that such a thing as a fault can possibly exist in the nature or training of any of their stud. At the same time, it can be no harm to ask, and then, if the owner can be reluctantly brought to acknowledge that he “wants a bit of rousing,” you may prepare yourself for the discomforts of riding a slug, or, if the animal is allowed to be “a trifle skittish,” you can ask for an ounce or two of diachylon, or the same quantity of birdlime, to stick yourself well in the saddle!
Joking apart, it is really an unwise thing to be too foolhardy about riding strange horses. The most courageous equestrian in the world ought not to fancy herself above asking, in a pleasant off-hand way, for some information concerning the character of her casual mount; in fact, the more accomplished the rider, the more necessary it may be to do so, for there are many owners of horses who know very little themselves about riding, or of the perils attendant upon supplying ladies with unsuitable mounts—and the consequence is, that if there happens to be in the stable a creature whom that Irish groom, already mentioned, would call a “tattherin’ divil,” he is quietly told off on a hunting day, or otherwise, for the use of the lady or gentleman who may be esteemed the most capable of managing him.
A Hungerton farmer—one of a big class—once volunteered to lend me a magnificent high-flyer to negotiate the big thorn fences with the Quorn pack. I was foolish enough to accept, without asking anything about the animal, except whether he could jump; and when I tell you that between Beeby and Scraptoft he gave me two falls, that he knocked down a boy on a pony, and damaged a wrecker to the extent of a couple of sovereigns, besides bringing me home without a hat, and with my face well stuck over with thorns and a general need of surgical assistance all about me, it will be readily imagined that the “high-flyer” was not exactly an eligible beast for a lady to ride. But his owner only stood in the doorway laughing from ear to ear when he saw me, and uttered a great “guffaw” on hearing the recital of his property’s misdeeds. “Glory be to Christmas! I thought you could ride anything!” was all that he said, fairly doubled in two with merriment at the sight of my forlorn appearance,—and I answered crossly enough, that had I been as wise when setting out as I was on returning, I would have seen that the animal was differently bitted, and have clothed myself in sackcloth—to say nothing of ashes—instead of in the best hunting-gear of which I was possessed. “Well, you never asked me a word about him,” his owner said, still in a roar, “or I’d have told you that he was a rum one when once he got going!” and as I had nothing to say in reply to this, I took myself and my rags upstairs out of sight, and spent the next day in bed, with a leech to my eye, and plasters all over my body.
To return to the subject of road-riding.
Always strive to make your horse start from the door at a walk. If he is properly trained he will step nicely out, nodding his head as he goes; but no matter how quiet he may appear, it will not be well to leave him an entirely loose rein. You should keep a light but firm hold upon the bridle, so as to be ready at a second’s warning to bring restraining pressure to bear upon his mouth.
If you want a horse to walk fast, ride him with the snaffle only; but when in the park, or desirous of showing off, you will best bring out his action by a light use of the curb. If he is a very highly-mettled animal, and anxious to get off on first setting out, do not irritate him by keeping him back with too tight a rein. Allow him to trot away pretty freely at the beginning, and after awhile he will be almost certain to settle down and walk collectedly for you with a slack bridle. To hold a horse in, and then whip or spur him to make him walk, is but to turn his courage to vice. My counsel is, leave him his head, and when he attempts to break—namely, to get into a trot or canter—at a time when it is your wish that he should walk, pull him gently up and make him begin again. By adopting this method, and preserving as strict a command over your own temper as over the reins, you will soon teach almost any horse to walk correctly.
I believe that in no other pace can there be found such true experience of the meaning of “light hands.” This admirable attribute—which, it must be confessed, is generally confined to women—signifies absolute control over an animal with scarcely any display of force—a sort of elastic touch, by which accomplished riders convey their meaning to their mounts through the almost imperceptible action of the bit, acted upon by the reins held lightly with the fingers. This is a poor explanation, but it will do to serve as a guide, until experience shall have taught you far better than printed instructions ever can.
I would have you remember that although a very perfect walker may be permitted to go forward for a good space with a loose rein, he should never, if tired, be allowed to do so, for even one moment. Hold him with a firm, even hand, keeping a judicious watch upon the bridle, and drawing his head rather downward and toward his chest. By this means he will be constrained to bring his hind legs well and regularly under him.
Young riders are often exceedingly incautious when taking beaten horses home after a hunt, desiring to affect the seemingly careless seat and equally unstudied handling of the reins which are the prerogatives of finished horsewomen. These, having complete confidence in themselves, can afford a certain show of nonchalance, but it will not do for students to follow their “carelessness,” until their own claim to both “hands” and “seat” shall have become perfectly ensured.
You must, when walking, keep your horse collected: by which I mean that he is to be kept well on his haunches, and prevented from crossing his legs. Let him pick his own steps if going over rutty or uneven ground; move with him as he moves, turn as he turns, so as to be, as it were, a portion of him, and, when going round a corner, do not pull his head any further in that direction than will just enable you to see his eye.