Again, what may be a very taking display of horsemanship in Rotten Row, or Central Park, would look sadly out of place in rounding up a “bunch” of cattle on a Wyoming ranch. An equestrian might look very nice at a meet of fox-hounds, about whom we entertain grave doubts whether after forty minutes’ run across a stiff country he would be still well to the fore. The method that in one place is a near approach to perfection is worse than ridiculous in the other In this connection arises the fact that, though there are many brilliant exceptions, the great jockeys of the English flat are, generally speaking, by no means so much at home when following hounds as when braving the dangers of Tattenham Corner. Of course, however, it is by no means impossible, and it is often the case, that a man can adapt his style to his immediate circumstances, but it is rare to find a man who excels in all styles.
Some few years ago a “Britisher,” who though young had already made a name for himself in the noted hunting counties of Ireland and Leicestershire, migrated to the far West to try his luck in the ranching business. His scorn was great when he saw the unwieldy saddles that cowboys used, and he promptly determined to keep an English hunting saddle for his own use. His lesson was soon learnt, and after a few “almighty croppers,” he adapted himself to circumstances and the saddle of the country. Ere long his fame as a rider spread among the very “broncho busters” who had laughed at him on his first arrival. The finishing touch to his lasting renown was reached when he managed to sit a certain animal yclept the “Camel,” which had disposed of all previous aspirants to the honor of mounting him.
Such cases are rare, and though some few Englishmen have acquired a great reputation as riders in the West, the majority find that the style to which they have been brought up stands in their way when it comes to riding cow-ponies. Mayhap Buffalo Bill’s visit to Earl’s Court, London, may prove to have inculcated the necessary lesson.
One thing is very apparent to English visitors to New York, and it is that the English seat is now the thing. By the English seat we mean what is called, “across the herring pond,” the park seat, though we see occasionally symptoms of the adoption of the hunting seat. But before going farther, it would be well to say a few words as to the differences between the two. The park seat is the dandified style mostly taught in riding-schools. It is, however, an indispensable qualification of any man who wishes to “show” his horse. The general appearance is rather similar to that one may notice among the horsemen of the Southern States. Though a difference exists, it is hard to define, but may be summed up thus: while every Southerner seems part and parcel of the animal he bestrides, whence comes the common dictum that all Southerners are born cavalrymen, the possessor of a park seat, however perfect, lacks the appearance of being perfectly at home on his horse. The reason is obvious, viz., that the park seat is artificial, and the rider’s attention is chiefly given to producing good action on his hack’s part. He carries his hands high, often very high, and as he rides he “lifts” his horse, and is answered by correspondingly high action. The bit is often severe to further this. The rider’s feet are carried rather wide, and all the while the calf of the leg is never quite at rest, for while the grip of the knee is neglected, the calf is kept continuously but gently in motion. The spur never touches the flank, but the horse feels the necessary reminder at his ribs, and frets and moves with vigorous action as his rider wishes. In such a seat the foot is thrust but a short way through the stirrup, and rests on the iron at or about the ball of the great toe. The rider has, of course, to sit well down in his saddle, and stick to his horse mostly by balance, as the seat-preserving grip of the knee is so slightly maintained.
Youatt, in his book “The Horse,” gives the following instructions regarding the riding of hackneys: “He does wrong who constantly pulls might and main: he will soon spoil the animal’s mouth. He does worse who carelessly throws the reins on the neck of the horse. Always feel the mouth lightly, with a simultaneous pressure of both legs. By these means, the rider will insure a regularity of pace, and command the safety and speed of his horse. If he depends entirely upon the feeling of the hand, the mouth may become too sensitive, and refuse to have the proper bearing upon the bit.... Again, if the horseman neglects the elasticity and fine feeling of the hand, and makes too much use of his legs alone, a callous mouth and boring upon the bit will most likely result from the practice.... By this constant gentle feeling he will likewise be induced to carry his head well, than which few things are more conducive to the easy, beautiful, and safe going of the horse.”
To turn to the other style of English riding, it must be said that here there are many variations in style. The older school adopts a very short “leather” and feet thrust well home into a heavy stirrup, with a tendency to disregard the smaller niceties of the art. Look at an old gentleman nearly approaching the span of life allotted by the Psalmist, as he makes his way to covert. If he allows his horse to go out of a walk at all, the pace does not exceed a slow “jog” or trot, in fact, what is called the “huntsman’s jog.” He goes along, bump, bump, bumping, or, perhaps, for some hundred yards effecting a kind of shuffling rise from his saddle, while his knees seem to have no grip whatever on his horse’s sides and sway to and fro with every motion. Probably any stranger to the country could make many greater errors than to follow this old gentleman when hounds are running a rattling pace with a breast-high scent, for as necessity calls, a change takes place in his riding. See him as he lifts his flagging hunter at that stone-wall, his grip on the saddle is wonderful and he seems glued to it! This style is still common in England, and every man who has hunted there will see in his mind the picture of some white-haired old gentleman to whom this description might apply. Such men were the older generation who were content to rise before daylight, to ride long miles to the covert side without taking their horses out of a walk or a slow jog, so that they might arrive fresh and fit for the day’s sport. One may see them still, jogging behind the huntsman and his hounds, leaving the more rapid conveyances of train or tandem to sportsmen of the modern stamp.
One reaches the meet, and though the time appointed is eleven o’clock sharp, the master is not here yet. He belongs to the younger school of sportsmen with whom punctuality is not one of the cardinal virtues. But after twenty minutes, which are profitably employed in exchanging greetings and inquiries after absent friends, he is seen in the distance.
Down the bridle-path he comes as fast as his smart little covert-hack can lay legs to the ground. He is a perfect picture of the more modern school of cross country riding. A dim suspicion crosses the mind that he may at some period have held a commission in a crack cavalry regiment. Decidedly there is a soupçon of the military seat about him. Stirrups long, feet thrust in to an extent half way between the old hunting and the park style, hands kept low, sitting well down in the saddle, very probably with only a snaffle, or, at any rate, but a merciful double bridle, he looks as graceful a knight as ever championed dame of old in the jousting field.
In no costume is there such a happy blending of the dandified and workmanlike as in a well-appointed hunting man. Nowhere is the scorn showered on the luckless dude who has missed the workmanlike part of his equipment so great as in the hunting-field. The top-boots glittering in the gleam of sunshine in spite of their perfection of fit are stout enough to keep the wearer’s feet dry, should he do such an unlikely thing as take a walk in them on a rainy day. The spotless leathers are warm and comfortable—the smart “pink” is a roomy and serviceable garment. The resplendent silk hat will perhaps save the wearer a broken neck or fractured skull ere the day’s work is done. That milk-white scarf so neatly and dexterously tied that it also takes the place of collar, protects the throat and chest and relieves its wearer from the galling confinement of a collar. And the horse’s saddle and bridle, how simple and yet how handsome! not a buckle too much, but yet a man could rely on such work if he rode for his life.
