“I have no earthly manner of objection,” said Anthony. “I suppose there’s lots of sawdust there, and the exhibition will, at any rate, be a private one. Allons!” and we departed for the amphitheatre.
We enquired for a couple of peaceable hacks, which were forthwith furnished us. I climbed up with some difficulty into the saddle, and having submitted to certain partial dislocations of the knee and ankle, at the hands of the master of the ring, (rather a ferocious Widdicomb, by the way,) and having also been instructed in the art of holding the reins, I was pronounced fit to start. Anthony, whose legs were of a parenthetical build, seemed to adopt himself more easily to his seat.
“Now then, trot!” cried the sergeant, and away we went with a wild expenditure of elbow.
“Toes in, toes in, gentlemen!” continued our instructor; “blowed but you’d drive them wild if you had spurs on! You ain’t been at the dancing-school lately, have you? Steady—steady—very good. Down your elbows, gentlemen, if you please! them bridles isn’t pumps. Heads up! now gallop! Bravo! very good. Screw in the knees a little. Hold on—hold on, sir, or damme you’ll be off!”
And sure enough I was within an ace of going over, having lost a stirrup, when the sergeant caught hold of me by the arm.
“I’ll tell you what, gents,” he said, “you’ll never learn to ride in this ’varsal world, unless you tries it without the irons. Nothing like that for giving a man a sure seat. So, Bill, take off the stirrups, will you! Don’t be afeard, gentlemen. I’ll make riders of you yet, or my name isn’t Kickshaw.”
Notwithstanding the comforting assurances of Kickshaw, I felt considerably nervous. If I could not maintain my seat with the assistance of the stirrups, what the mischief was I to do without them? I looked rebelliously at Anthony’s stirrup, but that intrepid individual seemed to have nerved himself to meet any possible danger. His enormous legs seemed calculated by nature to embrace the body of his charger, and he sat erect like an overgrown Bacchus bestriding a kilderkin of beer.
“Trot, gentlemen!” and away we went. I shall never forget the agony of that hour! The animal I rode was peculiarly decided in his paces; so much so that at each step my os coccygis came down with a violent thump upon the saddle, and my teeth rattled in my head like dice in a backgammon-box. How I managed to maintain my posture I cannot clearly understand. Possibly the instinct of self-preservation proved the best auxiliary to the precepts of Sergeant Kickshaw; for I held as tight a hold of the saddle as though I had been crossing the bridge of Al Sirat, with the flames of the infernal regions rolling and undulating beneath.
“Very good, gentlemen—capital!—you’re improving vastly!” cried the complimentary sergeant. “Nothing like the bare saddle after all—damme but I’ll make you take a four-barred gate in a week! Now sit steady. Gallop!”
Croton oil was a joke to it! I thought my whole vitals were flying to pieces as we bounded round the oval building, the speed gradually increasing, until in my diseased imagination we were going at the pace of Lucifer. My head began to grow dizzy, and I clutched convulsively at the pommel.