Part 5
Although, however, a horse, when his blood is hot, does not appear to notice a fall, he thinks a good deal about it in the stable; and, accordingly, the next time he comes out, instead of being infuriated, he only evinces a superabundance of eagerness and excitement to follow the hounds, which his rider can gradually and often rapidly succeed in allaying, until the animal may be honestly warranted as "steady with hounds," which means that, although he will follow them over anything till he drops, he has lived to learn that to enable him to do so he had better not unnecessarily maim his legs or tumble himself head over heels. With this mixture of high courage and discretion he does his best; and, as affecting evidence of this truth, although, after having been ten or twelve hours out of his stable, with apparent cheerfulness, he brings his rider home, yet it is the latter only that then proves to be "as hungry as a hunter," while the exhausted stomach of the "vrai Amphitryon"--the real hunter, remains for many hours, and sometimes days, without the smallest appetite for corn or beans.
If this plain statement be correct, leaving humanity entirely out of the question, how ignorant and contemptible is that man who is seen during a run not only to be spurring his horse with both heels whenever he comes to deep ploughed ground or to the bottom of a steep hill, but who, just as if he were singing to himself a little song, or, "for want of thought," whistling to himself a favourite tune, throughout the run, continues, as a sort of idle accompaniment to his music, to dangle more or less severely the rowel of one spur into the side of a singed hunter, who all the time is a great deal more anxious to live with the hounds than he is! But, as dishonesty is always the worst policy, so does this discreditable conduct produce results opposite to those expected to be attained; for instead of spurring a poor horse throughout a run hastening his speed, it has very often put a fatal end to it.
In riding to hounds it occasionally happens that a resolute, experienced hunter, knowing what he can break through, what he must clear, and who has learned to be cunning enough never to jump farther than is necessary, approaches a fence on the other side of which a horse and rider have been just observed to disappear in a brook that has received them. Now, if throughout the run the rider has never once touched his faithful horse with spurs, and if on reaching this fence both rowels suddenly are made to prick him, in an instant he understands the friendly hint, and accordingly, by exerting much greater powers than he had intended, he saves himself and his benefactor from a bad fall. In a few cases of this nature the use of spurs to a sportsman is not only excusable, but invaluable. On no account, however, should they be used to propel a hunter to the end of a run, but, on the contrary, whenever the noble animal tells his rider honestly that he is distressed, he should gratefully be patted on the neck, pulled up, and walked carefully to the nearest habitation, where he can rest and obtain a few gulps of warm gruel. Humanity will not disapprove of this course; but we also recommend young sportsmen to adopt it, to maintain their pleasures and to save their own purses. To ride a distressed horse at a strong fence, is very likely to break a collar-bone, that will require a surgeon and half the hunting season to mend. To ride him to death, entails extortion from the breeches-pocket of a sum of money--usually of three figures--to replace him.
+How To Treat a Hunter in the Field.+
Of the Ten Commandments which man is ordered to obey, it may truly be said that there is no one which it is not alike his interest as well as his duty to fulfil. In every station in life in which it may have pleased God to call him, he rises by being honest--sinks by being dishonest; gains more by forgiving an injury than by avenging it; creates friends by kindness--enemies by unkindness; causes even bad servants to be faithful by making them happy; and thus, while he is apparently serving others, in reality he is materially benefiting himself.
By a similar dispensation of Providence, it is the interest as well as the duty of man to be merciful to the animals created for his use.
The better they are fed, and the more carefully they are attended to, the more valuable they become. If by any accident they be either maimed or lamed, money is gained by giving them rest, lost by forcing them to continue to move; in short, while sickness is costly so long as it remains uncured, any neglect which causes a diseased animal to die, inflicts upon the owner thereof a fine exactly equal to what would have been gained had he been saved.
This humane regulation of Nature, which may justly be entitled "a law for the protection of animals from cruelty," applies to every hunting stable, large as well as small, not only in the United Kingdom, but throughout the world. Indeed if it be lucrative to a man to take care of the sheep, oxen, and other animals he is rearing merely to eat, it is most especially his interest by every attention in his power to enable his hunter to carry him safely; and yet, on this vital subject, for such it is, there usually exists in the horseman a want of consideration which, to any one who will reflect on the subject, must appear highly reprehensible.
It may readily be admitted that hunting men, generally speaking, make great efforts first to obtain horses sufficiently strong to carry them, and secondly, to increase their strength by administering to them plenty of the very best food, with every thing that science can add, to improve what is called their condition. But, strange to say, after having thus made every possible exertion to create or constitute a power sufficient to carry them, after having at great expense and infinite trouble amassed it, they unscientifically exhaust it; and accordingly at the end of a long day it continually happens that a rider dislocates a bone, cracks a limb, or loses his life, from having as it were, like an improvident spendthrift, simply from want of consideration, expended funds necessary for his existence.
When Alexander the Great pompously asked Diogenes what he could do to serve him, the cynic curtly replied, "_Get out of my sunshine._" In like manner if a heavy man, patting his hunter on the neck, were to ask "What can I do to please you?" the dumb animal, if he could but speak, would just as bluntly reply, "_Get off my back_;" and yet men, especially heavy ones, will throughout a long day sit smiling in their saddles, without reflecting that by doing so they are every minute and every hour wearying muscles which, after having carried them brilliantly in one run, are, if a second fox can be found, to be required to carry them through another.
A deal board of the length of a horse's back, with its ends resting on the bottoms of two chairs, would break, a stout pole would snap, and a rod of iron would bend, under the feet of a heavy man jumping upon them only for a few minutes; and yet the same heavy man who in the same short period would become dead tired of carrying even his only child, neglects to consider the mechanical effects caused by the mere pressure (to say nothing of the concussion produced by jumping) for seven or eight hours of fourteen, sixteen, or eighteen stone on a horse's back, which is not a solid bone, but one scotched or sawn by Nature into a decreasing series of twenty-nine vertebræ (namely, dorsal, 18; lumbar, 6; sacral, 5), averaging less than two inches in length and breadth.
The wearying effects which the infliction of weight produces on the muscular powers of a horse may be practically demonstrated as follows:
In crossing a particular region in the plains of South America, in which there are literally no inhabitants to assist in catching the horses, it is necessary for the attendant on the traveller to select and drive a troop of them, which continue to gallop before him in high spirits, while the animal beneath him, unaccustomed to extra weight, becomes weaker and fainter, until with bleeding sides, drooping head, and panting flanks, he is left standing by himself on the plain completely exhausted.
No less than five times is the traveller obliged to repeat the operation of remounting what is called, what is considered, and what really is "a fresh horse," which in his turn, solely by his rider's _weight_, becomes tired, without metaphor, almost "to death," in the presence of the unmounted horses, who, with nothing to carry but their own carcases, are still showing no signs whatever of distress.[E]
Now although a horse highly fed and in good wind and condition has greater muscular power than those in the state of nature just described, it is undeniable that the difference between carrying weight and no weight must produce in each of them similar results; that is to say, those muscles which are oppressed suffer by the amount of weight inflicted upon them, multiplied by the time they are subjected to it, and again negatively enjoy the periods of rest, be they ever so short, during which they are relieved from it.
And yet, although every body learns by daily experience that the imposition of weight tires his own muscles, that the abstraction of weight instantly relieves them; and although it is a known fact that when two thorough-bred horses are racing together, an addition of only seven pounds weight will cause the bearer of it to be "distanced," yet men of rank, intelligence, wealth, and generous feelings, are, at the outside of a covert which the hounds are drawing, to be constantly seen late in the day with cigars in their mouths, conversing and occasionally even extolling to each other the qualifications of the noble animals on whose backs they have been thoughtlessly sitting for six or eight hours, as hard as a hen upon a nest full of eggs just about to hatch.
In the army when a soldier who has committed an offence is sentenced to crawl for several hours up and down a parade "in heavy marching order," it is justly called "_punishment drill_."
In like manner, if an unruly horse were to be sentenced merely to stand in his stable for ten hours with a sack of heavy oats, weighing (at forty-two pounds the bushel) exactly twelve stone, the punishment or pain his muscles would undergo in bearing such a weight for so long a time would be so severe that by almost everybody it would be termed "cruel." But if, instead of being quiescent, the sack of oats could by mechanical contrivances be continually lifted up, and then by a series of heavy blows dropped down upon vertebræ which have nothing but muscles to support them, the punishment would be condemned as excruciating; and yet this excruciating punishment is quite unnecessarily inflicted upon hunters by a lot of good-humoured heavy men, simply from neglecting to reflect that if they would, only even for a minute or two, occasionally unload their saddles, to walk a little, stand still a little, or, while the hounds are drawing, sit placidly upon the stile or gate that is often close beside them, they would not only perform an act of mercy, but they would impart or rather restore strength, tone, and activity to muscles which, if vigorous, can carry them safely, but which, if exhausted, must inevitably fail when tested by a severe run.
In deference and in reference to this law of Nature, it may truly be added that the proprietor of a valuable stud of horses would gain a great deal of money as well as ensure safety if he would select and set apart, say two of them for his groom to ride to covert, leading by his side, with an empty saddle, the horse that is to _hunt_; by which arrangement the cheap hack, which from the covert-side has only to return to his stable, would carry, and the costly hunter which is to endure the toil of a long day would for two, three, and occasionally four hours be relieved from the weight of about a sack of oats, to say nothing of but too often a pair of hard and heavy hands; and thus the wealthy rider, on descending from the box of his four-in-hand drag, would, at a saving rather than an expenditure of money, have secured for himself the benefit of mounting a fresh hunter, instead of one more or less tired by what in our statistical returns are designated "_preventible causes_."
[Footnote E: The ancient Greeks practised riding two or three horses tied together: the horseman vaulting from the tired to the fresh one.]
+How To Bring a Hunter Home.+
Of the long list of hunters annually killed by what is called "a severe day," about one-third may be said to have died from bad riding, and two-thirds by improper treatment after the run was over.
Supposing, as is often the case, that the majority of the horses that are "in at the death" have been out of their stables from seven to eight hours, that they have been conspicuous in two or three runs, and that, with the lower edge of the sun nearly touching the horizon, they have to travel from fifteen to twenty miles to their stables, a question of vital importance has to be determined, namely, whether they are to perform that exertion in the way most agreeable to their riders, or most advantageous to themselves.
In the settlement of this problem the poor horses have, of course, neither voice nor vote. On their behalf, therefore, we will endeavour to contrast the attentions that ought to be bestowed upon them, with the inconsiderate treatment to which they are usually subjected.
In a severe day's work a hunter suffers from a combination of three causes: violent muscular exertion, an overexcitement of the circulation of the blood, and debility of his whole system caused by abstinence from food.
Of these causes, the latter produces by far the worst results; for although to the muscles may be given rest, and to the circulation repose, the stomach of a horse is so small and, in comparison to his noble spirit, so delicate, that on becoming empty and exhausted it is in an unfit state to digest food, and accordingly is beneficently deprived by Nature of appetite to receive it.
Now, under all these circumstances, it is evident that the most humane, and, taking the money value of the poor animal into consideration, the most economical course which the rider can pursue is as follows:
As soon as the day's sport is over, the hunter should be led, or ridden, at a walk for about a mile to some stable--it little matters whether it be good, bad, or indifferent--or strawyard, where he can stand for a minute or two.
When the object for which he has been taken there has been accomplished, about a third of a pail of gruel, or lukewarm water, with a mouthful or two of hay, should be given to him. To prevent his being chilled, the instant he has swallowed it he should be mounted; and whatever be the distance he has to accomplish, he should then be ridden homewards at a constant steady pace of about seven miles an hour.
After a staghunt in which the hunter may have been galloping principally on roads, soft ground (if it be not deep) should be selected; but when, as is usually the case in fox hunting, the muscles have, during the greater part of the day, been struggling in heavy soil, he should be permitted to travel, as he invariably tries to do, on the hard road.
As they proceed together, if the rider will dismount for a few minutes to lead his horse down or up any very steep hill, both animals will be greatly relieved. With this exception, however, there should be no alteration of pace or stoppage of any sort or kind.
If, at the quiet rate described, the hunter begins to blunder, it will be proper that he should be what is termed "wakened" by a word of remonstrance, or, if that prove insufficient, by a slight touch of the spur. But if, as is usual, the noble animal travels safely, the duller he is encouraged to go, the greater will be the relief to that over excitement of the circulation of his blood, and that violent palpitation of his heart, from which he has suffered.
By this treatment a hunter in good condition can, in the shortest possible time, be brought home not only cool in body and tranquil in mind, but with limbs _less_ wearied than when they took leave of the hounds.
On entering his stable, in the manger of which he should find, ready to welcome him, a handful or two of picked sweet hay, his bridle should be taken off, his girths unloosened, and then, before his body is touched, all his four legs, after being cleared only of rough dirt, should, without a moment's delay, be swathed from the knees and hocks to the hoofs by rough bandages of coarse common drugget, which maintain in the extremities that healthy circulation which, from the minuteness of their veins, is prone, after great exhaustion, to stagnate, producing (especially when caused by the ignorant custom of washing the legs) disorganisation and disease throughout the whole system, as the following fact will exemplify.
Several seasons ago almost every hunter in Leicestershire and Northamptonshire was afflicted by a combination of lumps, bumps, swelled legs, and cracked heels, caused by the extraordinary wetness of the ground, and the consequent ablutions of the legs. After the veterinary surgeons had in vain nearly exhausted their pharmacopœia, the oldest and most experienced among them directed that on no account should horses' legs, after hunting, be washed; and wherever this plain, sensible prescription was followed, all the symptoms just described rapidly subsided.
If the hunter, as is now-a-days almost invariably the case, has been singed, the less he is excited and tormented by cleaning (the main object of which, with many strappers, seems to be to make the poor animal crouch his back, bite his manger, and violently work all his legs as if they were on a tread-mill) the better.
At the expiration of about an hour white flannel bandages should, however, be substituted for the coarse ones, under which the dirt will then be found to crumble away like warm sand.
If his ears (the opposite extremities or antipodes of his legs) have become cold, circulation therein should be restored by the groom quietly rubbing them with a cloth; and as soon as they are dry, and the animal what is called "comfortable," a pailful of warm gruel given to him at intervals, a bran mash, a rackful of hay, a clean stall, some chilled water, and a fresh bed, will do all that is possible to procure for him a night's rest, free from fever; and this vital object having been accomplished, _the next day_ he may receive without injury, and indeed with great benefit, his usual allowance of the best oats and beans.
Now, in contrast to the mode of treatment just described, we will endeavour to offer to our readers a similar sketch of that which, especially by what are termed "fast men" (possibly because "lucus à non lucendo" they make it a rule never to "fast" or abstain from any thing they desire to do), is usually adopted.
After the run is over, while one sturdy hound that all the rest seem to be afraid of is stealing straight away with the poor fox's head, and while another at his utmost speed, chased by several, is meandering through the pack with a lump of unsavoury, very dirty fur in his mouth, groups of riders, some sitting astride, some like pretty ladies with a right leg hanging over the saddle's pommel, some with cambric handkerchiefs mopping moist heads and red faces, and some adjusting mustachios, are to be seen reciting to each other incidents aqueous, terrestrial, and amphibious, of the run. Here and there, one of the most handsome, as he talks, leans forward for a moment to pat the neck of his thorough bred animal in grateful acknowledgment of the particular feat he is describing.
In what is considered by all to be hardly a quarter of an hour, (for when men sit conversing about themselves, they little know how fast old father Time gallops), this joyous _conversazione_ ends by the talkers, after giving to each other here and there a farewell nod, radiating in masses along roads, or across a fence or two, to gain the road that leads to their respective homes; but as, by this time, in almost every mouth a newly-lighted cigar happens to be gleaming, they resume their talk as they walk towards an object described at the back of the head of almost every one, in the humane words "gruel for _my horse_," to be obtained, not exactly at the first farm, but at the first great town, be it even half a dozen or so, miles off.
On reaching the best hotel, at which there is seldom hot water enough ready for all the cavalcade, the horses are handed over to that lot of idle attendants who, some out of the stable and some from the bar, greedily rush forward to grasp their bridles. "+Gruel+" is most kindly ordered for them all; but as it is voted that there is no great necessity to see them drink it, the landlord's smiling invitation is accepted, and in a few minutes, by one of those extraordinary contingencies that nobody could have anticipated, each gentleman rider is to be seen, in high glee and good-humour, sipping from a tumbler (which for some quaint reason or other happens to contain a silver spoon) something that is evidently very wet and very _warm_. Alas! little thinking that his poor faithful horse, whose performances he had so lately been describing, with cold clammy ears is shivering, chilled by having just drank too freely of "a summut," without a spoon in it, that was wet and _cold_.
On mounting, and clattering out of the paved yard of the hotel, most of the riders fancy they are all the better--many of their horses feel that they are all the worse for the half hour's rest and "gruelling" that was ordered for them. But although the quadrupeds leave behind them the fatal pail, the silver spoon has apparently accompanied the bipeds, who, like the favoured children of Fortune, are, externally as well as internally, under the influence of ardent spirits.
All thoroughly happy, they think neither of their horses nor their homes; but, according to the subject of their conversation, and the state of their cigars, they walk, trot, sometimes very slow, and sometimes very fast, until, on coming to a portion of the road bounded by grass, although their poor horses have had an overdose of both excitement and of heavy ground, they touch them with their spurs, to re-enjoy, for a short distance, a hand-gallop.
In short, travelling at what may either be described as "every pace," or "no pace at all," they unnecessarily excite and fatigue their horses; and yet, after all, though undoubtedly "fast men," they are often considerably more than an hour longer in getting home than if they had proceeded at a _slow_, quiet, steady, but unceasing rate.
On reaching this goal the poor horse who, from eight o'clock in the morning, has been working on an empty stomach, is led by his bridle to his stable. The rich man prepares himself for his dinner. Since he breakfasted, at a quarter before nine in the morning, he has, at a low average, enjoyed the slight intoxication of very nearly a cigar per hour, besides certain refreshments which he brought out with him, and the few crumbs of comfort at the hotel at which he stopped to give "gruel" to his horse.