Patroclus and Penelope: A Chat in the Saddle

by Theodore Ayrault Dodge

Plate V.
AN EASY CANTER.

The present generation of new-fledged riders would fain tie us down to the English hunting-seat by laws like the Medes and Persians. This is a good pattern for our Eastern needs, but let us not call it the only one. It is, of course, well when in Rome to do as the Romans do, or at least so nearly like them as not to provoke remark. But every one cannot do this, and the old trooper is not apt to ride this way. And yet, there are thousands of ancient cavalry soldiers all over this country, North and South, who, naked weapon in hand, have done such feats of horsemanship as would shame most of the stoutest of to-day's fox-hunting, polo-playing riders. I do not refer to the obstacles they used to ride at,—which meant a vast deal more than merely an ugly tumble over a three-foot stone wall; I refer to their stout seats in the saddle, and the rough ground they were wont to cover when they rode down upon and over a belching wall of fire. For all which, whenever we see one of these old troopers out for a ride, modestly (for he is always modest) airing his army saddle, strong curb, and long and hooded stirrups, we may, perchance, notice the jeer of the stripling, whose faultless dress and bang-tailed screw are but a sham which hides his lack of heart. It always gives one's soul a glow of pride to see the well-known seat, and one is fain tempted to ride up to the old comrade and grasp him by the hand. A thorough rider will recognize his equal under any garb. It is pretense alone which merits a rebuke. You cannot make a poor rider a good one by mounting him in a fashionable saddle, any more than you can make a worthless brute a good horse by giving his tail the latest dock.

XIII.

Until within no great time the modified military seat has been the one which formed the basis of instruction. The riding-master, I presume, still insists, with civilian and recruit alike, on feet parallel with the horse, heels down, toes in, knee grip, and a hold of reins utterly unknown in the hunting-field. And with a certain reason, though indeed the old whip's rule of "'eels and 'ands down, 'ead and 'eart 'igh," is the whole of the story, after all. For the man who begins with a knee grip will never forget what his knees are for, and will not, like the good little dude we passed a while ago, show daylight between them and the saddle-flap at every rise. But the knee grip alone will not suffice for all occasions, despite our military or riding-school friends. A madly plunging horse or a big leap will instinctively call out a grip with all the legs a man can spare. Moreover, the closer you keep your legs to the horse without clasping him, the better. Go into the hunting-field or over a steeple-chase course, and you will find that the inside of your boot-tops—and not only yours, but every other jockey's as well—have been rubbed hard and constantly against the saddle. There lies the proof. At West Point, and in fact at every military school, the cadets are sometimes practiced to ride with a scrap of paper held to the saddle by the knee while they leap a bar, and at the same time thrust or cut with the sabre at a convenient dummy foe. I have seen a silver dollar so held between the knee and saddle. But the bar is not a succession of high stone walls, nor is the cadet riding a burst of several miles. And with a longer stirrup it is more natural to keep the foot parallel with the horse's side. To-day, the best riders do not so hold their feet. Cross-country a man certainly does not. The proof is forthcoming at the Country Club on any race-day, or at every meet here or in England, that a man riding over an obstacle of any size will use all the legs he can without digging his spurs into his horse's flanks, in a way he could not do with the feet parallel to the horse's sides.

The modern dispensation differs from the old one in not being tied to the military seat. The Rev. Sydney Smith objected to clergymen riding, but modified his disapproval in those cases when they "rode very badly and turned out their toes." A generation ago, a man was always thinking of the position of his feet, as he cares not to do to-day, if he sits firmly in the saddle, and boasts light hands.

XIV.

While on this subject, one cannot refrain from indulging in a friendly laugh at the attempt to bend our unreasonable Eastern weather to the conditions of a fox-hunting climate. The hunting season is that time of the year when the crops are out of the ground. In England, during the winter months, the weather is open and moist, and the soft ground makes falling "delightfully easy," as dear old John Leech has it. And the little hedges and ditches of some of the good hunting counties, or indeed the ox-fences and grassy fields of Leicestershire, are such as to make a day out a positive pound of pleasure, with scarce an ounce of danger to spice it, if you choose to ride with moderation. For the best rider in the Old Country is not the hare-brained cockney who risks both his horse's and his own less valuable neck in the field; it is he who chooses discreetly his course, and makes headway with the least exertion to his hunter compatible with his keeping a good place in the field. The man who appreciates how jumping takes strength out of a horse, or who is any judge of pace, is apt to save, not risk him. Few men willingly jump an obstacle which they can readily avoid without too much delay. Read the legends of the famous hunting-men of England, and you will find discretion always outranking valor. Any fool can ride at a dangerous obstacle. Courage of that kind is a common virtue. But it takes a make-up of quite a different nature to be in, as a rule, at the death. How many five-barred gates will a man jump when he can open them? How much water will he face when there is a bridge near by? Does not every one dismount in hilly countries to ease his horse? A good rider must be ready to throw his heart over any obstacle possible to himself and his horse, when he cannot get round it. But a discreet horseman puts his horse only at such leaps as he must take, or which will win him a distinct advantage.

England is naturally a hunting country. But here, Lord save the mark! there are no foxes to speak of. Scent won't lie, as a general thing, with the thermometer below thirty (though scent is one of those mysterious things which only averages according to rules, and every now and then shows an unaccountable exception), and the obstacles are snake fences or stone walls with lumpy, frozen ground to land on, or, belike, a pile of bowlders or a sheet of ice. A bad fall means potentially broken bones or a ruined horse, and while you are beating cover for the fox who won't be found, you are shaking with the cold, and your clipped or over-heated beast is sowing the seeds of lung-fever.