AUNT ANNIE’S STORIES ABOUT HORSES.

No doubt some of my young readers have ponies of their own; but I am sure that even those who have not, like to hear stories about horses. Nearly all boys and girls in town or country have noticed in how many ways these strong and beautiful animals do good service to man; most of us, even grown-up people, take pleasure in watching a carriage go by with its well-groomed pair trotting proudly together, and have often admired the enormous creatures which drag with equal pride heavy carts and waggons. But you need not fear from this beginning that I am going to write you an essay upon the uses and habits of the horse, for you will learn all this in good time from natural-history books, or, what is much better, from your own observation; besides, ladies are not supposed to know much about horses, and I might make sad mistakes if I were to write of them in this fashion. But though my horse-talk may not be quite as accurate as a groom’s, still in my time I have seen so many horses of all sorts and sizes that I may perhaps be able to amuse you by some stories of those I have ridden or known; and I will begin with an account of our first steed ‘Grenadier.’

He was a shaggy little Shetland, no higher than the table, and more like a broad-backed Newfoundland dog than a pony. It was most absurd to see this tiny creature in its stall on a line with those of the big horses, and to read its name printed in large black letters on a white China tablet hung over its little toy manger; the name was so big, and ‘Granny’ (for we children soon shortened his name to that) was so small. He was an old pony when he was given to us, and so we could not expect to alter or improve any of his ways or manners. His chief peculiarity was his love of children: we must have teased him a great deal, yet he was always perfectly gentle and patient to us, allowing us to pull his tail, lift up his legs one after the other, creep under him, though we very soon grew too big for this; in fact, he would let us children do anything we liked with him. But the moment a grown-up person approached, Granny’s whole nature seemed to change; his eyes gleamed with rage under his shaggy forelock, he snorted with indignation, and the groom used to declare he was always in terror of his life whilst he was feeding or cleaning the pony. I remember well how delighted my sister and I were at some one saying, after listening to the stable-helper’s eloquent account of what he endured at Granny’s legs, ‘Why, my man, don’t you lift him up and put him in the manger, out of your way, whilst you clean his stall?’ It seemed quite possible.

One of my earliest recollections takes me back to a summer afternoon in the country; on the hall-door steps my father was standing with some other gentlemen, and they were talking about horses which were dangerous or difficult to ride. Grenadier’s name very soon came up in this discussion, and my father sent for him. I think I see the little creature now; a groom held the halter quite close to his muzzle, and he approached the group on the steps with many bounds and kicks, behaving in fact more like a lion than a discreet old pony, warranted ‘very quiet with children.’ He was so perfect of his kind that he excited a great deal of admiration; but all the gentlemen agreed that he seemed anything but amiable. However, at last the groom was induced by the promise of half-a-crown to mount Master Granny, but I don’t think he kept his seat for more than two minutes; then one of the gentlemen tried; and, lastly, my father, who was an excellent rider: but they all shared the fate of the groom, and were speedily deposited on the grass. By this time Granny had worked himself up into a fury, and would hardly let any one approach him: we were called to pacify him, and the moment we came near with our little hands outstretched, and our childish voices scolding him, Granny changed as if by magic, and first one and then the other little girl was lifted up and seated on the broad pad which was the only saddle on which we learned to ride. I can remember quite well the look of alarm on the gentlemen’s faces, and their entreaties to my father not to be so rash. I believe they expected to see us both—fearless little creatures that we were—killed before their eyes; but nothing was further from dear old Granny’s mind than hurting us in any way. With Jessie and I clinging to each other, and to his shaggy mane, he ambled gently and carefully about the lawn, taking the greatest care not to turn round sharply, or in any way peril the very slight amount of balance by which we kept ourselves on his back. As soon as he thought we had ridden long enough, he deliberately walked to where our nurse was, and stood perfectly still while she helped us down; indeed, I am ashamed to say that my favourite mode of alighting was to scramble to my feet on the pad, and then with a whoop of defiance at my unfortunate nurse, to jump off, tearing or soiling my frock in this exploit. Dear eccentric old Grenadier! he died long ago at an advanced age, petted and tended to the last by his little child-friends; one of his tiny hoofs was mounted as an inkstand, with his name and age engraved underneath it, and for many years Jessie and I used to cherish the China tablet painted with his name as a precious relic.

Master Granny and his Pets.—p. 82

The pony to which I was next promoted was called ‘Vic.’ He was much larger, but so very good and well-behaved, that I cannot find anything amusing to tell you about him; and we must pass on to ‘Alarm,’ a most beautiful bright bay pony with black points, the sole property of our schoolboy brother. Harry was very proud of this animal, but it really was a most dangerous beast to ride. My father’s theory about ‘Alarm’ was, that in his youth he must have been cruelly beaten or knocked about; for although he was treated with the utmost gentleness whilst in our possession, his temper never improved, and up to the last he could not be saddled without first having his eyes bandaged, as the sight of the saddle always seemed to drive him nearly wild with rage or terror.

When once Harry had scrambled on Alarm’s back, he contrived to stick on by the same wonderful power of adhesion which keeps sailors as well as schoolboys on horse and pony back, when, according to all the laws of gravitation, they ought to fall off.

I only saw Harry once pitched off Alarm, and then it was in so absurd a way, I must tell you about it. Jessie, Harry, and I were returning quietly home from a long ride, and at the turn of a lane we suddenly came upon a load of cut green grass by the roadside: there was no cart or anything near it—nothing but the soft green heap. Alarm shied violently at this, and absolutely refused to pass it; so Harry begged Jessie and me to go on first; we did so, and then turned round to watch our brother’s efforts to get the refractory pony up to the grassy heap. The groom entreated Harry to get off, and allow Alarm to be led past; but of course he would not listen to this suggestion, and, by dint of sundry coaxings and pattings, Alarm was induced to approach the object of his dread. But Harry would not be content until he had made the pony go quite close up to it, informing us, with an air of superior wisdom, that ‘that was the only way to prevent his being so foolish again;’ and at last he actually got Alarm’s nose near enough to smell the grass. But it seemed as if the pony did not approve of its perfume, for with a loud snort he flung up his heels so suddenly and so high, that poor Harry turned a somersault in the air, and was nearly buried in the heap of grass; whilst Alarm trotted off with his tail standing straight out, and arching his lovely glossy neck, as if he were very proud of having won the victory.

Alarm’s fate is unknown: he was sold, when Harry grew too big to ride him, to a gentleman who was very anxious to give him to his little boy; but, about three weeks later, his new owner returned to his home on foot, having started on Alarm’s back, and announced that the pony had thrown him and then got away. For some days after this, fragments of the saddle and bridle were brought in; but poor Alarm was never more seen or heard of, in spite of search and inquiry. It was a very hilly part of the country, and we can only suppose that he fell down some precipice and was killed. Harry mourned long and bitterly for his favourite, and never ceased regretting having consented to part with him.

Before Alarm passed out of our possession he was concerned in a wholesale massacre, of which I must tell you. I was extremely fond of taking care of the poultry, and had just persuaded Mamma to depose an old woman, who used to look after them, and I reigned in her stead. But, alas! my subjects died in the most terrible way, as soon as I assumed the reins of government, and I had an uneasy consciousness that, unless things improved very soon, the old woman would be triumphantly restored to her post. It was in the spring, when the turkeys were bringing out their broods, and the books on poultry-keeping, which I studied attentively, desired me to turn the young turkeys out every morning into a grass paddock, and to feed and shut them up again at night. Now there was exactly the paddock I wanted close to my poultry-yard, and into it I turned my turkey-hens, each with twelve or fourteen dear little chicks, crying ‘twee-twee-twee’ around her. When the time for shutting them up arrived, the turkey-mothers all answered my call, but they returned with only one or two chicks each, and looked disconsolately about them for the remainder. This was very dreadful, and in the course of two days I had lost about fifty baby-turkeys. I searched the paddock carefully, and found several flattened little bodies, but with no mark of a bite on them. There was nothing in the paddock except Alarm, and he, I thought, was perfectly quiet and harmless. I was in despair, and next morning prepared to spend the whole day sitting under a tree to watch what befell my last batch of young turkeys. Presently my attention was attracted by seeing a hen turkey, with outstretched wings and loud cries, flying at Alarm’s legs; it seemed very odd that she should assault the pony in this way without any provocation, so I came softly up behind him, and arrived just in time to see his uplifted foreleg descend on a youthful turkey, crushing it quite flat and dead with one pat. Yes! this was the way in which Alarm had amused himself for some days past, the result being, that out of at least a hundred fine healthy young turkeys, I had only about ten left. The worst of it was, that no one pitied me. Harry evidently thought it very clever of Alarm to devise this amusement; the old woman told Mamma I ought to have had the coops placed in the paddock, so as to keep the chicks within bounds; and the end of it was that I had to resign my place!

After I grew up, my wandering destiny led me into many countries, and it so happened that, in the course of my travels, I had to ride a great deal, and became acquainted with horses of various tempers and tricks; yet, with all this practice, I could not ride at all well. I was always frightened, never feeling quite at home on horseback. I do not like riding: perhaps for the reason that I have had too much of it all my life. Riding for pleasure, as you do in England, is very different from being obliged to take a long ride every day, and having no other means of getting about than on horseback; and then, in these foreign countries, the horses are generally only half-broken, and would not here be considered fit for a lady to ride.

One horse I was obliged to ride used to lie down in water, whenever we came to a river or brook, which was every day in the course of a long journey of several hundred miles. ‘Claude’ used to double up his legs at what he considered was a suitable place in the stream, and lie down deliberately for two or three minutes. It was so impossible to prevent him from doing this, that at last I looked upon it quite as a matter of course, and jumped off as soon as he showed the first symptom of a wish for a bath. By this means I seldom got wet much above my ankles; whereas, if I remained on whilst he lay down, he always tried to roll, and I got my saddle spoilt into the bargain. If Claude had done this only with me, I should of course have thought it was my bad riding; but he went through the same performance with excellent riders on his back, and quite regardless of all the chastisement they gave him. I must say I was delighted to find he was just as tiresome with other people.

During this long journey I rode several horses at different times: sometimes, if the stage was a very long one, and had to be accomplished quickly, we changed horses in the middle of it; and upon one occasion, just as I had mounted my second horse, and before I had gathered up the reins, or got my knee over the pommel of the saddle, he jerked his head free in some mysterious way, leaving his bridle in the hands of the groom who was holding him, and bolted home as hard as he could gallop! I held tight on with one hand to the front and with the other to the back of the saddle, and on we flew for seven or eight miles. We were not long about it, I can assure you, and we went so fast that everything appeared to be racing past us. My hat came off, my hair tumbled down my back, and I must have looked like a lunatic, sitting or rather clinging in this extraordinary way, with a very pale, scared face and bare head. At last we reached the place from which we had started; it was quite deserted, so I slipped off ‘Rajah’s’ back, went into the verandah and sat down, feeling most dreadfully shaken and frightened. There was no one there to look after the horse; but I was so disgusted at having all the way to go back again, that I did not care what became of him, and left him to his own devices. Presently I heard a great noise on the floor of the verandah, and there was Rajah coming to look for me, poking his pretty grey nose into my hand for his accustomed lump of sugar! Did you ever hear of such impertinence?

There never was his equal for bolting; once he bolted with me at an inspection of cavalry, taking offence at the sudden flashing of the soldiers’ sabres as they drew them to salute their inspecting officer. I must acknowledge it was rather startling; but the worst of it was that the horse upon which was mounted one of the high officials assisting at the ceremonial, bolted too, and the faster Rajah flew with the bit between his teeth and his tail standing straight out, the more the other horse tried to overtake him. It was a regular race for four miles, and I had no breath left at the end of it, for the pace was tremendous; nothing but a thoroughbred Arab in good condition could have kept it up so long: but I did not feel afraid of tumbling off upon that occasion, for I was fairly in the saddle, and had nothing to do except—as a dear little boy once said to me—‘stick on like a plaster.’ The ride back was very disagreeable, for my fellow-runaway was dreadfully sulky, and evidently thought the misadventure my fault, whereas I considered that if he could have pulled up his own horse, Rajah would have stopped much sooner.

But running away is nothing to kicking. I had once to ride a horse who never saw a pony without wanting to fight him; he used to paw at them with his forelegs and try to bite them; or, if he could not do that, he would make a grab at the poor rider’s leg, and often give it a nip. Whilst riding him, I did not dare to take my eyes off his ears; for when he laid them back, and I could see him trying to find out if I was watching, I knew what was coming. He would stop dead short in the middle of a canter, and begin to kick or suddenly dart across the road to bully another horse; fortunately, ‘Afreet’ had a tender mouth, so if I was on the watch, and could get his head well up in time, I had some chance of stopping his little game.

But as a contrast to all these horses I have been telling you about, who were the reverse of the proverb about ‘Handsome is, &c.,’ I must give you a short memoir of ‘Jack,’ who was not at all handsome, but who was the most clever and sensible animal I ever knew, as well as the most hard-working. I made dear old Jack’s acquaintance out in New Zealand three or four years ago, and I am happy to say he is still alive and well, gradually sinking into a green old age, beloved and respected by all who know him. Jack did not belong to any one person in particular: on the station where I lived he was called a ‘station screw,’ and was used by all who wanted him. Now I don’t exactly know what a ‘screw’ means. I believe it is something unkind when applied to a horse; but I know that whereas the more valuable horses used occasionally to meet with accidents, or have some ailment, Jack was never ill or unable to do what was required of him. I am afraid Jack’s exterior was clumsy and rather of the plough-horse kind; but then he could go like ‘Eclipse’ on an emergency; you could ride him all day; he would carry you a long weary journey, and when grander horses would be too tired to eat, Jack would calmly munch his oats as if he had not been a mile away from home, and look as fresh as a daisy next morning. If ever I have to ride in a circus, I will send for Jack! Any one could stand up on his back and jump through hoops or perform feats of agility, and Jack would canter or walk steadily round and round all the time. I have often ridden for miles on Jack with the reins knotted on his neck, and my hands in the pockets of my jacket to keep them warm. When my own showy mare was laid up, I rode Jack. If any one wanted to look for a stray horse or cow, they rode Jack. If a horse was wanted on a pinch to draw a cart or even a dog-cart, Jack was ‘all there.’ If mutton was wanted from the home station, ‘Where is Jack?’ was the first question. Other horses were very difficult to catch, but Jack walked confidingly up to you when he saw the halter in your hand. One defect he had, and only one; he certainly was very greedy. Jack would do anything for a feed of oats. He has been known to eat his own feed and that of two other horses also; and as for a haystack, Jack scented it miles away, and no fence could keep him out; at least no New Zealand fence, for they are only wire railings about three feet six inches high, and Jack quietly and cautiously steps over them, one leg at a time. I saw him caught in a fence once, as he was getting over it into a paddock of beautiful clover, and instead of struggling, he stood perfectly still; and when he saw me in the verandah, he whinnied to attract my attention, knowing I would come and help him at once.

Jack preferred a steady, sober pace, but upon occasion he could go very fast, as I will tell you. The horses in New Zealand are seldom or never kept in stables or even in paddocks, but roam all over the ‘run,’ in what are called ‘mobs;’ that is, several of them together. If a horse is wanted out of the mob, the only way to get it is to drive all the others, as well as the one you require, into a stock-yard, or enclosure made of strong, high posts and rails. On these occasions I generally begged to be allowed to help, for the sake of the pleasant ride on a lovely afternoon among the hills, and the excitement of finding the mob and driving them into the stock-yard. The horses were often very difficult to catch. If one saw us coming, perhaps he would give the alarm, and the whole mob would set off up the gorge of a river, or over a steep hill-pass, and we would have to go round a long way to turn and drive them back. The gentlemen of the party carried stock-whips, which they cracked from time to time, the report echoing among the quiet lonely valleys like that of a pistol. Sometimes I rode my own mare, Helen, but the galloping and shouting used to excite her very much, and it was all I could do to take care of myself when I was on her back; so I preferred dear, quiet, old Jack, whenever he was not wanted for the real business of the expedition; generally, however, he was in great request, as he was one of the best ‘stock-horses’ in all the country-side. Upon this occasion we had found the mob without much trouble, driven them into the stock-yard, caught the chestnut pony which was wanted, and were all returning quietly home in the gloaming, enjoying the beautiful sunset, and the fresh, sweet air which steals down the glens after a hot summer day. I was on Jack’s back, ambling gently along, when suddenly a wild cat started up under our feet and bolted into a large, thick bed of fern close by. In a moment the gentlemen were off their horses and, with many shouts and yells, were trying to help the dogs to get poor pussy out of her cover. I offered to hold the chestnut’s flax bridle, but my assistance was declined, and the sort of leading rein (also made of flax) was securely fastened to the stump of a Ti-ti palm close by. Jack evidently distrusted this arrangement, or else he knew more of the chestnut’s sly tricks than we did. At all events, he edged up to where the horse was hitched, and stood quite close to him, watching every movement attentively. And it was well he was so careful, for in the most exciting moment of the cat-hunt, when everybody’s attention was engaged, the pony threw up his head, gave a violent plunge and a pull back at the same time; a badly tied knot in the flax halter gave way, and off he flew like the wind to join the other horses, which were feeding in a large mob just in sight, at the entrance of the gorge of a river.

Before I knew what had happened, Jack was off after the runaway. Never have I been carried at such a pace. Jack did just as he liked; instead of going warily and carefully over the rough country, he jumped every hole or prickly bush which came in his way, to save the time required to go round it; when we reached a creek, instead of discreetly seeking for the best place at which to cross it, Jack scrambled down its steep, crumbling banks, splashed through the water, and was up the other side like a cat, and on again, watching every turn of the chestnut, who was doing his best to join the mob, with them to make a final bolt up the gorge and escape us for that night. Jack felt bound in honour to prevent this, so he laid himself well out to his work, and with the most wonderful instinct availed himself of every inch of ground by which he could gain the entrance to the gorge before the mob. He not only succeeded in heading the horses, but actually turned them into the stock-yard close by; and when I recovered my presence of mind, I found myself still on Jack’s back, who was standing across the open place where the slip-rail ought to have been put. He quite understood that I was incapable of jumping off and getting the long pole into its proper position, so as to keep all the horses in, and therefore he took this duty on his own shoulders. How he shook himself when we had reached this point! I was already jolted nearly to death, for I am bound to say that dear Jack’s paces were very rough when he galloped fast, and to be shaken violently directly after such a skelter was too trying. When the gentlemen came up, they could hardly speak for laughing, at which I was much affronted, for I felt we deserved great praise for our exertions; but it seems that we looked very absurd, tearing along like a whirlwind (both Jack and I being ordinarily very quiet and deliberate in our movements), jumping all obstacles, disappearing sometimes in the bed of a creek, and finally gaining the victory single-handed against some twenty horses.

I have one more story to tell you, and it takes me back again to the time when I was a little girl. My father came home one day, and announced that he had bought a very handsome horse to go in single harness. First of all we inquired what colour he was? A bright bay. Then we asked about his mane and tail; and lastly, some practical person demanded what price was to be paid for ‘Tom.’ I well remember the astonishment when my father said how very little his owner asked for him. Of course, the next question was, ‘Is he sound?’ ‘Oh yes, he is all right,’ Papa said; ‘but he has fits of obstinacy, and stands quite still for hours: however, I don’t think he will try any of his tricks with me.’

In due time Tom came home, and a very handsome horse he was, large and powerful, with splendid action, and very showy. I had overheard the gentlemen talking together about his having ‘a sullen eye,’ and I immediately flitted off to the stable to see what this sort of eye was like. To my disappointment, Tom’s eyes were just like those of all the other horses. Every morning, Papa used to take Tom out in a sort of light gig, with a groom by his side. I anxiously inquired how Tom had behaved; the answer was always the same, ‘Perfectly well.’ There was nothing I liked so much in those days as going out with my father for a morning drive, and at last, after some weeks of excellent behaviour on Tom’s part, and earnest entreaties on mine, I was allowed to accompany Papa again. Tom went as peacefully as a lamb; he was often tried by having to stop to allow a gate to be opened, but he never minded this check, and went on amiably afterwards, until one unlucky day, when Papa and I were alone. We came to a large white gate—how well I remember it now; I jumped out to open it as quickly as possible, so as not to try Tom’s temper; but running past him to scramble up again to my perch, I saw at once what they meant by a sullen eye. It was a look of sheer rage and obstinacy, such as you would not believe a horse could assume. It did not surprise me to find that Tom made no movement in reply to Papa’s ‘click.’ First of all, kindness and petting were tried; I did what I could to help by coaxing and patting. Tom stood as if he were carved out of wood; then my father beat him; Tom never winced. I remember Papa’s laughing at my suggestion that we were in fairy land, and that a wicked enchanter had turned Tom into stone. It really seemed like it, for time passed and Tom was motionless. The whip was broken, and my father’s arm was tired; still Tom did not stir. At last, when no one was touching him, he gave a sudden bound into the air, all four legs off the ground at once, and fell between the shafts, which snapped short off, sending Papa and poor little me flying into the dusty road. As soon as we had picked ourselves up and found we were not hurt, we went to Tom, who was lying perfectly still, with some blood on the dust by his head. He was quite dead; and after I grew up, and reminded Papa of that adventure, he told me that a veterinary surgeon examined poor Tom’s body, and found that he had burst a large vessel in his heart, from rage or indignation, we don’t know which. I was so sorry for Tom!

I have now told you all the horse-stories which I can remember, and must try to think of something else to amuse you with next time.