CHAPTER X.

REINS, VOICE, AND WHIP.

When you have decided to your own satisfaction that you are mistress of the art of riding from balance--can trot and canter in circles, and in a figure of 8, without reins or stirrup, with waist pliant and nicely hollowed, and shoulders well thrown back--you may, with advantage, take up the reins and learn the uses of them.

Learners, to whom I have endeavoured to expound this theory of teaching, have asked me once or twice whether there was not some less difficult way by which they might be taught; and I have no doubt that many among my lady readers are longing to ask me the same question. Certainly there is; in fact there are several ways which will be found very much less difficult than the one that I am striving to teach. Hosts of riding-masters will engage to perfect you (or very nearly so) in six lessons--will put you on a horse, give you a stirrup and a stout pair of reins, and adjure you volubly to “hold on,” taking very little further trouble about you; and if you are a plucky, intelligent girl you _will_ hold on, and will canter and trot too, in a sort of way, within the specified time,--and your instructor will take your money with a smile, and allow you to go out into the park and make a show of yourself, until some really kind disinterested friend warns you that things are entirely wrong, and persuades you to go and unlearn all that has already been taught you.

There are just two ways of doing everything in this world--the right and the wrong, and the latter is always, unfortunately, very much the easier of the two, although so much the more unsatisfying in the end. I am quite willing to acknowledge that some very nice horsewomen have learned all that they know of riding without ever having gone through one-half the labour which I have set forth as necessary; but those four little words, “all that they know,” contain the whole meaning of the matter. I am willing to allow, also, that there are prodigies in the world--at riding as at everything else--who can look nice, and go straight, and seemingly do nothing amiss, and who yet have never been taught to ride at all; but these are uncommon creatures, quite beyond the study of books on horsemanship, or on anything else. They form, in fact, the exceptions to the rule, that ladies who have learned to ride in the ordinary way and from ordinary teachers, do _not_ ride well, or correctly; and that even in cases where their appearance on horseback is fairly satisfactory, and their park riding quite as good as many others, the efforts made by them at cross-country riding are miserable, and dangerous to a degree. Balance-riders can alone negotiate a difficult country with safety. Hundreds of ladies get serious falls every season over the difficult doubles of our trying Ward country and the ragged fences of old Kildare, which they would never get had they in the first instance been properly taught. Therefore, being desirous, as I truly am, that all my lady readers shall excel at an art which is so well worth studying, I have laid down the best practical directions for their instruction, in the hope that they may accept and profit by them; and I promise fearlessly that by so doing they will be in the first flight when others are on the roadside, and in the saddle when those who trust for safety to rein and stirrup are exploring the slimy depths of some uncomfortable ditch.

Having now arrived at the question of holding the reins, we shall consider their uses and abuses from a common-sense point of view. You are not to regard them in any degree as a means of preserving your own equilibrium--this I have already taught you. To ride from a horse’s head is one of the gravest faults of which an equestrian can be guilty; nor must you depend altogether upon the bridle for the management of your mount, this is a very general error, and one that I want you strictly to avoid. Horses are controlled by three things: the reins, the voice, and the legs--and a lady rider must make her whip-handle serve her for the management and guidance of her mount on the off side, where a man has the advantage of having his right leg to assist him in the office. Of this more anon, for I mean to touch lightly upon the three controlling powers.

First, the reins. Teachers of the _haute école_ style of riding may possibly have told you wonders about military horsemanship, and how the movements of an animal may be regulated by certain subtle touches of the thumb or little finger. I must candidly say that I don’t believe a word of their efficacy for general-purpose riding. I do not think that a learner could ever be brought to understand such theories from printed rules, or to profit by them if understood. Put a girl, for instance, on a high-mettled hunter, loop the reins over the fingers of her left hand only--as fashionable riding-masters do in schools--give her the whip, pointed upwards (another general symptom of defective teaching) in her right hand, and then send her out, not over the smooth grass fields and through the convenient gates of beautiful Leicestershire, where, a few years ago, a whole day’s hunting might be had without having to jump a single fence, but away over the rugged plough and trying ridge-and-furrow which take the wind out of our Irish hunters. The high stone walls of Galway hunting-fields are excellent tests of skill; so also are the five-barred gates of Meath and Carlow, and the yawning chasms--sixteen feet wide and twenty deep--at which we in this hapless yet lovely old country have to steady our horses when coming up, and support them when over, or else lie gasping at the bottom, with broken ribs and damaged noses, and dreadful saddle-pommels making havoc with our frames at every struggle of our engulfed and terrified steeds. Send, I say, a _haute école_ rider out over Irish hunting-grounds, and see what good she can accomplish with the little finger of her left hand! Such teaching is a mere tirade of ornamental nonsense, for which, I believe, no pupil would in the end feel at all obliged.

I approve of taking the reins in both hands from the very beginning. It is a sensible method: one which all colt-breakers adopt, and they are not bad judges of such matters. Ladies, however, rarely adopt the practice; it is not allowed in many of the most approved schools--but, in my opinion, “Put both hands to your bridle” is excellent premonitory advice. Begin by riding with a bridoon, or snaffle rein, only. Let your fingers lie above it--not underneath,--the thumbs pointing toward one another, at a distance of about three or four inches apart, the off leather resting between the third and little fingers of the right hand, while the slack of the near passes between the first finger and the thumb. The illustration will show you what I mean, and demonstrate how by this rule both hands have equal command upon the bridle.

To shorten your reins quickly: let go the slack of the _off_ one with the left hand, and slip it forward on the _near_ leather, until you have judged (rapidly, of course) of the correct length; then take the off one between the thumb and forefinger of the left hand, and you establish a _cross-rein_, the right hand quitting its hold _instantly_, and taking up its original position. I append an illustration of my meaning, and strongly advise a little practice of it, which can be readily managed even in the house, by utilising tape or ribbon reins attached to the back of a chair. The method thus described is an admirable one for shortening a single bridle when coming up, say, to a fence at which a horse may require some holding; and I likewise append a little sketch of how the bridle ought to hang, and the hands be held, when going over.

When you want to ride leisurely, in park or on road, with the reins in one hand only--a thing at times not at all to be deprecated--draw the near rein between the third and little fingers of your left hand, and bring it out between the first and thumb, while the off one is made to cross it in the palm of the hand, thus:--

Then turn the hand with the knuckles _upward_, as here represented,

and a correct position will be ensured.

You should avoid working the fingers about when riding, as doing so is very apt to shift the bit in the horse’s mouth. Your hand may go back and forth with a “give-and-take” movement, but not from side to side on any account.

The best method of riding with double reins can, I think, be most effectually shown by illustration. This represents the reins held firmly, though not tightly, in both hands; while that on the next page shows an easy style of going--one that is nice to adopt when proceeding at a walking pace. When trotting, the reins may be dropped by the right hand, which should then be lowered to the level of the saddle--the whip pointing _downwards_.

If you wish to ride with one rein only, though with a double bridle, hold the snaffle rein in your left hand in the manner already described, and loop the curb over your little finger, in order that it may be readily taken up when required.

I may here say that, despite the directions which I have taken pains to give on the subject of holding reins I adhere to the belief that so long as they are held flat and smooth, there need not really be any _fixed rule_ about the handling of them. If elbows, shoulders, and wrists are in proper position, it matters comparatively little how fingers may be held--and beginners are, as a rule, a great deal too much worried and puzzled about a matter which generally simplifies itself according as a knowledge of more important things is acquired. At the same time, there is with this, as with everything else, a right and a wrong side to the subject; and in order to avoid the wrong, it will perhaps be as well to adopt the orthodox right method from the very beginning. There is, however, nothing at all wrong in occasionally moving the reins about and changing them from one hand to the other. All good riders do it, and it is vastly better than adopting the stiff, set style which would-be fine riders sometimes affect: namely, placing the hands in one position when setting out, and scarcely ever altering them from it. A good horsewoman will sedulously avoid everything that is stiff or ungraceful, and will move about in her saddle with as much pliant ease as though seated at home in an easy chair. The unsightly rigidity observable about the figures and demeanour of some lady-riders--especially those whose “teaching” has been too finely drawn--is certainly not a thing to be copied or admired.

Having now discussed the subject of reins, we come to consider the “Voice” as a means of controlling and managing the horse.

I have always considered the effect and power of the voice as second only in usefulness to those of the bridle. Horses are intelligent and sensitive beyond what most persons can be induced to think or believe. I know to a certainty that they not only listen to, and are influenced by, every sound that issues from their riders’ lips, but absolutely gather his meaning and desires from the various inflexions of his voice. I know that they love their masters and mistresses, and look to them for teaching, just as dependent children ask you what it is that you wish them to do. There is something inexpressibly beautiful in this loving intelligence on the part of animals--this sympathy between horse and rider, which, in a former chapter, I strove to say something about. Horses are in reality the very noblest of God’s created things--excepting, of course, man _as he ought to be_. They have, so far as their endowments permit, all the attributes that go to make the human character lovable and good, supplemented by a rare fidelity, such as is unhappily seldom met with among those who are fashioned in the Creator’s own image. I have read, and been told a great deal, about horses that were “obstinate brutes,” and “wicked devils,” and “outrageous beasts,” and everything else that was hateful and bad--and have listened with a bursting and indignant heart to accounts of thrashings, and starvings, and spurrings, and mouth-burnings, and other wickednesses, which have made me feel how infinitely superior was the so-called brute creation to that which it is made to serve. I confess that it has not been my lot to come across any specimens of this much-talked-of vicious sort, excepting in one or two rare instances, where I knew that vice had been engendered by bad and cruel treatment. I have no doubt that horses, like human beings, are sometimes born with evil natures--_sometimes_, but not very often. I have not met with any of them, and the few with whom I have ever had trouble have invariably been those whom wanton cruelty or rank injustice had in the first instance spoilt. There are very few horses indeed--even the most unruly--that cannot be tamed, or made amenable and obedient, by the hands and _voice_ of a kind and judicious trainer, and for this sort of work women are especially fitted. I mean, of course, women of courage and mind; not such as would scream at sight of a spider, or go into fits if a mouse chanced to cross the floor. A woman’s voice carries great power along with it, and the touch of her light firm hands can effect things at which a man’s would utterly fail. Gentleness goes ever in advance of force, and leading is preferable to driving. Even if you have to scold, or whip, there is a way of doing both that is temperate and wise, and that will never create ill-will between you and your horse. Fight an animal, and he will fight you in return; coax him by the gentleness of your action and the sound of your voice, and he will be pretty certain to yield. It is just the difference between “lead” and “drive.” Such, at least, has been my experience.

I saw a horse some time ago in the west of Ireland, caged like a wild beast, and fed with a pitchfork through the bars of his door. Nobody would go near him, he bore such a bad name, and the appellation his groom bestowed upon him--“A tattherin’ divil!”--was certainly more expressive than refined. I offered to buy him; his owner said I might have him for nothing; but I gave what I thought fair, and took the horse home. The creature was wild from savage treatment. He had known nothing but blows and threats, and angry epithets: things that he had learned to understand only too well, and was, seemingly ever expectant of, and waiting for. I taught him something different--and how?--by the simple power of my voice. It is not a particularly musical one, by any means, except in the ears of animals, but to one of these it has never yet uttered an angry word,--and the horse came to know it, and to listen for it, and to neigh at the sound of it, and by-and-by we got to understand one another quite well, and the great, big, foolish old head, all defaced and disfigured as it was by hard knocks and bad usage, used to rest lovingly upon my shoulder, while I stroked the ears that in former days had so often been laid back in angry vindictiveness against a harsh and cruel task-master. “He’ll take the nose off your face some day, the treacherous brute!” an ex-attendant upon my new pet once said to me. But, needless to say, it was a libel: my nose is still intact. The horse learned to love me, and to caress and obey from that feeling. I believe he would have died for me. When I hunted him he jumped the biggest places at a word from my lips. Without whip, curb, or spur I rode him for many a day, over the difficult Ward country, and he never once played me a shabby trick. Poor fellow! He had not a particle of beauty about him; indeed, I think he was ridiculously ugly, in all save prejudiced eyes; but he had an honest heart, one that would have broken rather than have grieved or disobeyed his owner; and when I had to shoot him (he broke his back, leaping a drain with a friend to whom I had unfortunately lent him for a day’s schooling), he turned such an eye upon me as I cannot to this day think of without a lump in my throat that is very seldom there.

The voice, as an instigator and soother, is alike powerful with the horse, if we only know how to use it; and being so, it is a pity that it should ever be employed for any other purpose than that which is good. Teach your horse from the beginning to know the sound of your voice--the various tones which signify approval, warning, encouragement, and reproof--and by them you can teach him to obey you, just as you can with the reins.

I do not altogether approve of speaking to strange horses when mounted upon them. Were I, for instance, to borrow a hunter for a day’s outing, I don’t think I should be inclined to talk much to him; I should fear that he might not understand me, and that mischief might consequently ensue. I have, in fact, seen men get tremendous falls in the hunting field through shouting at hired mounts, just when they were rising at their fences--frightening the animals out of their wits by so doing, and throwing them completely off their balance.

With your own horses, however, it ought to be quite a different thing. You should so accustom them to the sound of your voice that, no matter how it may be raised, it shall have no startling effect upon them. An intelligent animal will soon come to know and judge of your meaning by the tone in which you speak to him, and will learn his own name, too, marvellously quickly, if frequently called by it, a thing that will be a great aid to you in training him. He will very soon also comprehend the meaning of such terms, as “Trot,” “Canter,” “Stand,” “Walk,” and so forth, and will ere long obey every mandate that comes directly and firmly from your lips.

“Hi, over!” is, for instance, a capital incentive for making a horse fly his fences without hanging at them,--but you must never trade upon an animal’s intelligence for the purpose of fooling him, or showing off. I once knew a man who boasted that by simply saying “go!” he could make his mare jump fifteen feet of an ordinary field, and he tried it twice or thrice for the benefit of unbelieving acquaintances; but, when next he took the animal out to hunt, and raced her at a brook, with the hitherto magic word screamed loudly in her ear, it proved to be a very decided case of “go,” and “go in” also, for she just planted her toes on the brink of it, and, stopping short, sent her over-confident rider head foremost into the water.

The use of the whip as a means of managing a horse is, unfortunately, too often entirely misunderstood: to hurt, frighten, or coerce with it being seemingly the chief object with many riders. Allowing that all three may at times be necessary--as in the case of vicious horses, for instance--ladies will very rarely find it to be the case, their mounts being, generally speaking, of a gentle and docile type. Leaving, therefore, the abuses of the whip on one side, its uses in the hands of a competent horsewoman are usually reduced to the part which it may be made to fill in helping her to guide her mount on the off side--just as a man’s second leg assists him in doing--and, in like manner, to press him up to his work. This can, of course, be best accomplished by the aid of a stout hunting-crop, carried handle uppermost, as a rule: although there are times when to shift the position of the whip, and press the heaviest part against the horse’s flank, will be found very effectual, particularly when negotiating ugly trappy fences, or turning sharp corners at a brisk trot. For example, when, in the latter case, the turn is to the right, the rider’s body should be bent slightly to the off side of her mount, and her leg be pressed lightly but firmly against his flank on the near side. This preserves an even balance, and will often save a fast flippant trotter from coming right down. When the turn is to the left, the body should be inclined a little that way, while the whip handle is judiciously pressed against the off side, thus preventing the animal’s quarters from swinging too suddenly round.

I may here take occasion to say that corners ought never to be turned without both hands being put to the bridle, and a support given to both sides of the horse; if to the right, the leg the strongest--if to the left, the whip. When the pace is very quick, and the turn is a decidedly sharp one, the horse’s hind legs will need to be brought under him all the quicker, for which reason the body of the rider must sway _well_ with his motion, while the necessary support is, at the same time, given on either side.

I shall conclude my observations about the uses of the whip by saying--use it as little as you can to punish, and as much as you can to aid. Above all things, _never take it up in anger_, nor for a moment forget that the creature on whom the stroke is about to fall is sensitive to its lightest touch, and is fully capable of being ruled without severity.

The same remarks apply also to the spur--the abuses of which are even more general and lamentable than are those of the whip.