When I became possessed of Steamer, I had such a pair as few people were privileged to sit behind. For four years I enjoyed as much happiness as can be absorbed by mortal horse-owner in connection with an unsurpassable pair of harness horses. They were simply perfect as to style, speed, and action. I never was passed, never even challenged, on the road by any other pair. Railway, the slower horse of the two, had done, by measurement, eight miles in half an hour. So at their best, both horses at speed, it may be guessed how they made a buggy spin behind them. Then they were a true match; one a little darker than the other, but so much alike in form, colour, and courage, that strangers never knew them apart. They became attached readily, and would leave other horses and feed about together, when turned into a paddock or the bush.
A check, however, was given to exultation during the first days of my proprietorship. Both horses when bought were low in flesh—in hard condition, certainly, but showing a good deal of bone. A month's stabling and gentle exercise caused them to look very different. The new buggy came home—the new harness. They were put together for the first time. Full of joyful anticipation I mounted the driving seat, and told the groom to let go their heads. Horror of horrors! 'The divil a stir,' as he remarked, could be got out of them. Collar-proud from ease and good living, they declined to tighten the traces. An indiscreet touch or two with the whip caused one horse to plunge, the other to hold back. In half-and-half condition I had seen both draw like working bullocks. Now 'they wouldn't pull the hat off your head,' my Australian Mickey Free affirmed.
By patience and persuasion I prevailed upon them at length to move off. Then it was a luxury of a very high order to sit behind them. How they caused the strong but light-running trap to whirl and spin!—an express train with the steam omitted. Mile after mile might one sit when roads were good, careful only to keep the pace at twelve miles an hour; by no means to alter the pull on the reins lest they should translate it into an order for full speed. With heads held high at the same angle, with legs rising from the ground at the same second of time, alike their extravagant action, their eager courage. As mile after mile was cast behind, the exclamation of 'Perfection, absolute perfection!' rose involuntarily to one's lips.
In this 'Wale,' where deceitful dealers and plausible horses abound, how rare to experience so full-flavoured a satisfaction! None of us, however, are perfect all round. Flawless might be their action, but both Steamer and his friend Railway had 'a little temper,' the differing expressions of which took me years to circumvent. Curiously, neither exhibited the least forwardness in single harness.
Railway was by temperament dignified, undemonstrative, proud. If touched sharply with the whip he turned his head and gazed at you. He did not offer to kick or stop; such vulgar tricks were beneath him. But he calmly gave you to understand that he would not accelerate his movements, or start when unwilling, if you flogged him to death. No whip did he need, I trow. The most constant horse in the world, he kept going through the longest day with the tireless regularity of an engine.
They never became quite free from certain peculiarities at starting, after a spell or when in high condition. Years passed in experiments before I wrote myself conqueror. I tried the whip more than once—I record it contritely—with signal ill-success. It was truly wonderful why they declined to start on the first day of a journey. Once off they would pull staunchly wherever horses could stand. Never was the day too long, the pace too fast, the road too deep. What, then, was the hidden cause, the premier pas, which cost so much trouble to achieve?
Nervous excitability seemed to be the drawback. The fact of being attached to a trap in double harness appeared to overexcite their sensitive, highly-strung organisations. Was it not worth while, then, to take thought and care for a pair which could travel fifty or sixty miles a day—in front of a family vehicle filled with children and luggage—for a week together, that didn't cost a shilling a year for whip-cord, and that had never been passed by a pair on the road since I had possessed them? Were they not worth a little extra trouble?
Many trials and experiments demonstrated that there was but one solution. Success meant patience, with a dash of forethought. A little saddle-exercise for a day or two before the start. Then to begin early on the morning of the eventful day; to have everything packed—passengers and all—in the buggy—coach fashion—before any hint of putting to. Both horses to be fed and watered at least an hour before. Then at the last moment to bring them out of the stable, heedfully and respectfully, avoiding 'rude speech or jesting rough.' Railway especially resented being 'lugged' awkwardly by the rein. If all things were done decently and in order, this would be the usual programme.
Steamer, more excitable but more amiable, would be entrusted to a groom. Silently and quickly they would be poled up, the reins buckled, and Railway's traces attached. All concerned had been drilled, down to the youngest child, to be discreetly silent. It was forbidden, on pain of death, to offer suggestion, much less to 't-c-h-i-c-k.' The reins were taken in one hand by paterfamilias, who with the other drew back Steamer's traces, oppressed with an awful sense of responsibility, as of one igniting a fuse or connecting a torpedo wire, and as the outer trace was attached, stepped lightly on to the front seat. The groom and helper stole backward like shadows. Steamer made a plunging snatch at his collar; Railway followed up with a steady rush; and we were off—off for good and all—for one hundred, two hundred, five hundred miles. Distance made no difference to them. The last stage was even as the first. They only wanted holding. Not that they pulled disagreeably, or unreasonably either. I lost my whip once, and drove without one for six months. It was only on the first day of a journey that the theatrical performance was produced.
But this chronicle would be incomplete without reference to the sad alternative when the start did not come off at first intention. On these inauspicious occasions, possibly from an east wind or oats below sample, everything went wrong. Steamer sidled and pulled prematurely before the traces were 'hitched,' while Railway's reserved expression deepened—a sure sign that he wasn't going to pull at all. The other varied his vexatious plungings by backing on to the whippletree, or bending outwards, by way of testing the elasticity of the pole.