CHAPTER XIV.

MANAGING REFUSERS.

Riding refusers is unprofitable work for ladies, yet nothing seems to be more general in every hunting-field. I firmly believe that men ground their well-known objections to ladies hunting chiefly on this very thing,--nor is it altogether to be wondered at. What, for instance, can be more annoying to a well-mounted straight-going hunter than to have a lady get in front of him at a fence--the only negotiable spot in it, perhaps--and keep him and a number of others back, though hounds are running in the next field, while she whips, and kicks, and jags the mouth of a horse that is determined not to have it? Of course the rule in all such cases is that the rider of the refuser shall at once pull off and suffer the rest of the field to go by; but ladies never seem to remember that it applies to them, or ought at least to do so, quite as much as to their brethren or pilots, and so they resolutely hold the place, dragging first with one rein and then the other, and shouting “_Go_ on” with great apparent bravery, while the horse dances and sidles, and shows every tooth in his head, owing to the continued drag upon his mouth, and disgusted horsemen turn away with very naughty expressions scarce checked upon their lips, and gallop off to seek some other means of getting over.

I have seen this sort of thing scores of times, and have felt angry and sorry about it together--angry at witnessing the punishment to the horse, as well as at being kept back myself when I wanted to get forward, and sorry for the ignorance, and occasionally the _temper_, which was the cause of it all.

Most riders--ladies especially--seem to have a firmly-rooted conviction that horses only refuse from vice, and consequently they form an idea that to whip it out of them will be the very best method of procedure that they can possibly adopt. A more ignorant theory could not by any possibility be acted upon. Unskilled riders, or those who are unpossessed of sufficient bodily strength to pull their horses well together when coming up to a fence (so as to make the animals shorten their stride and collect themselves before reaching it), will frequently meet with refusals; whereas, an accomplished horsewoman, even though labouring under the disadvantage of being mounted upon a vastly inferior animal, will be carried safely over, without any attempt to baulk. The truth is, a horse that is ridden either wildly or carelessly at his fences will be almost certain to refuse them, because he feels instinctively that he cannot take the jump with safety, or knows perhaps that, owing to the non-regulation of his speed, he will be _compelled_ to take-off too soon, or not soon enough. This is one reason for refusing. Horses do not like endangering themselves; they are often more methodical, more cool-headed--shall I say more sensible?--than their riders; and where an animal feels that he cannot jump a place with safety to himself, he will generally decline having anything to do with it at all. There are, of course, some big, bold, fearless hearts--just as there are among riders--that will go for everything, houses included, should such happen to come in their way, and give no thought at all to consequences; but they are not always the best sort for ladies to ride. Something cool and collected will be found much better.

Allowing, then, that timidity--or, more properly speaking lack of _confidence_--is the primary cause of refusals, we have to consider it in juxtaposition with another, which will be far more difficult to deal with--namely, obstinacy, or sulk.

I know quite well that when readers arrive at this point they will at once want to be told how they are to distinguish between the two. I did, when I found that from time to time I had to contend against both evils. Well, I am about to tell you all that I know of it.

When you are coming up to something which you know quite well your horse can easily accomplish, and you nevertheless feel him give a sort of wriggle under you, while at the same time he begins to stiffen himself and drop out of his stride, you may know that he means roguery, and consequently be prepared for his sticking his toes in the ground when he gets up to it, and assuming a stony aspect, as though he were indifferent to consequences, and would be quite willing to stop there for a week, or even a fortnight, without grumbling, provided that you were obliging enough to carry him his water and corn with tolerable regularity. If, on the contrary, he gallops boldly up to the obstacle, throws his head forward, pulls it suddenly back, shivers slightly, and at once commences a _retrograde_ movement, while signs of sweating break out upon his skin, you may be certain that he is refusing from timidity and not from vice. He lacks confidence in his powers, for some reason or another, unknown perhaps to you, but of which he himself is perfectly cognisant. He may have weak hocks, and be afraid to venture upon propelling himself, for fear of falling short. The hind quarters--hind legs, in fact--are the real _propellers_, the front ones being chiefly serviceable as supports: and if a horse feels that he cannot depend upon himself behind, he will naturally hesitate about rising to a leap. Watch, for example, a dog when recovering from a fit of sickness. He may, perhaps, be very anxious to get upon some particular chair, couch, or window cushion, which in the days of his robust health was a perfectly easy jump for him--yet now he is so weak on his hind legs that, although a strong desire to take the leap is palpably present with him, timidity nevertheless keeps him standing looking at it, and moving uneasily about in front of it; crouching at one instant as though prepared to make his spring, and the next rising upwards with a sort of whine, as though he gave it hopelessly up. It is just because he is timid about propelling himself. The goal cannot be reached by a mere extension of the body, or by any action of the forelegs, and the hinder ones are, owing to their weakness, absolutely unable to accomplish their natural work.

It is precisely so with the horse. Where hocks or hind-quarters are in a condition that deprives him of proper propelling power, he will certainly hesitate about exercising or bringing them into muscular play; nor can we rightfully offer him either chastisement or blame.

Again, an animal’s hesitation about taking a jump may arise from a terror of experiencing painful concussion on landing. Corns will cause this, so will splints, or injured or tender ligaments of any description. It is often the case that when a horse baulks at a fence his rider is able to remember that he jumped the preceding one only half generously, and landed perhaps very gingerly after his effort. Where this is the case the animal should never be pressed. To compel him to take a leap for which he shows unwillingness may entail a bad fall for both him and his rider: the former being, under all circumstances, a good deal the more to be pitied.

When a horse refuses from timidity, and you yet have reason to know that there is nothing whatever wrong with him, take him back a bit from the fence, and send him at it again, sitting well down in your saddle, and catching a determined hold of his head, with the hands held low and the reins well apart. Speak encouragingly to him at the same time, and press him up with your leg on the near side, and the handle of your hunting-crop on the other; but do not on any account cut or spur him, unless you know him to be a rogue--in which case give him plenty of it, in a wise and temperate way; but never enter into a determined warfare with him unless you are absolutely certain that you can come off the victor.

My experience is that once a horse _resolutely_ baulks, with a fixed determination to continue to do so, no man on earth--and certainly no woman--can by any possibility conquer him while on his back. Under such circumstances it will be better to strive to accomplish the desired purpose in some other way; either get off, if you are in a suitable place for it, and that your reins and whip are long enough, and by so doing _make_ him have it, or--which will be better--take him to another part of the same fence, and don’t _begin_ by fighting him, but rather leave it to his honour to carry you generously over, and ten to one he will. I greatly disapprove of punishing a horse severely at one spot; it is highly calculated to give him a thorough hatred of jumping, and to spoil his temper also in a way that may not easily be remedied. Moreover, it is cowardly in the extreme, for the battle is almost entirely one-sided. Were the dumb combatant able to whip and spur and swear in return, the rider would have a very small chance of abusing him for any length of time together; but it is because the creature is ignorant of his own strength and power that he submits himself a slave to man’s too cruel rule.

Now, another hint or two before proceeding to a different subject.

Horses will sometimes refuse through feeling themselves “out of hand,” or being ridden timorously by inexperienced riders. Where this is likely to be the case, such a bridle as a Pelham, for instance, ought not to be employed, but rather a good powerful _double_ bridle, the curb of which may be used when galloping, and the pressure of it released for that of the snaffle when just coming up to a fence.

I have seen horses, many times, refuse through their riders having the horrid practice of throwing up the right arm just at the critical moment of rising: by way, I suppose, of affecting a hard-riding air, or perhaps of obtaining some imaginary balance of the body. The habit is a most hateful one, and frequently causes a horse to “rush,” in cases where he is too bold to baulk or absolutely to refuse. It is also extremely apt to make him swerve, owing to the fact that the pressure is retained on one side of his mouth only, in place of being preserved evenly upon both.

I may say in conclusion that that capital sportsman, Captain Horace Hayes, once told me of somebody, who, by a very clever expedient, cured a horse of refusing water-jumping. The animal, it appears, used always to baulk at water, and then, when pressed, jump right into the middle of it with a terrific splash. One day a happy thought struck his owner, and he at once proceeded to put it in practice. An artificial water-jump was by his direction constructed upon his own lands, and at the bottom of it, quite sunk from view by weighting, he placed a quantity of thorny bushes. When the affair was satisfactorily completed, he had the horse led quietly out, got upon his back, and rode him boldly at the obstacle. The animal tried to stop as usual, and ended (as usual also) by jumping slap into the middle; but on this notable occasion, he scrambled out with astonishing celerity, and ever afterwards fairly _flew_ every water-jump that he happened to come across. The thorns, easily picked out, did him no harm in the world, while the lesson was productive of an immensity of good.