American Adventures: A Second Trip 'Abroad at home'. Julian Street
was determined that when we started again we should not run over the lawn if I could possibly prevent it. Therefore I had the groom head the horse down the drive, and the moment he released him, I touched Dr. Bell with the spurs. The result was magical. He started on a run but kept in the road where I wanted him to be, giving me, for the moment, a sense of having something almost like control over him. At the foot of the drive was a gate which I knew could be opened without dismounting, by pulling a rope, and as no horse, unless quite out of his mind, will deliberately run into a gate, I had reason to hope that Dr. Bell would stop when he got there. Imagine my feelings, then, when on sight of the gate he not only failed to slacken his pace, but actually dashed at it faster than ever. Within a few feet of the barrier he seemed to pause momentarily, hunching himself in a peculiar and alarming manner: then he arose, sailed through the air like a swallow, came down beyond like a load of trunks falling off from a truck, and galloped down the highway, seemingly quite indifferent to the fact that the stirrups were flapping at his sides and that I had moved from the saddle to a point near the base of his neck.
My position at the moment was one of considerable insecurity. By holding on to his mane and wriggling backward I hoped to stay on, provided he did not put down his head. If he did that, I was lost. Fortunately for me, however, Dr. Bell did not realize with what ease he could have dropped me at that moment, and by dint of cautious but eager gymnastics, I managed to regain the saddle and the stirrups, although in doing so I pricked him several times with the spurs, with the result that, though he ran faster than ever for a time, he must have presently concluded that I didn't care how fast he went; at all events, he slackened his pace to a canter, from which, shortly, I managed to draw him down to a trot and then to a walk.
I am glad to say that not until now had we met any vehicle. Even while he was running, even while I was engaged in maintaining a precarious seat upon his neck, I had found time to hope fervently that we should not encounter an automobile. I was afraid that he would jump it if we did.
Now, however, I saw a motor approaching. Dr. Bell saw it, too, and pricked up his ears. Seizing the reins firmly in one hand, I waved with the other, signalling to the motorist to stop, which he did, pulling out into the ditch. Meanwhile I talked to Dr. Bell, patting him on the neck and telling him to go on and not to be afraid, because it was all right. Dr. Bell did go on. He went up to the front of the motor, past the side of it, and on behind it, without showing the least sign of alarm. He did not mind it at all. But the man in the motor minded. Annoyed with me for having stopped him unnecessarily, he shouted something after me. But I paid no attention to him. Under the circumstances, it seemed the only thing to do. I might have gotten off; I might conceivably have beaten him; but I never could have held the horse while doing it, or have gotten on again.
Presently, when I was changing the position of the reins, which were hurting my fingers because I had gripped them so tight, I accidentally shifted the gears in some way, so to speak, sending Dr. Bell off at a pace which was neither a trot nor a canter, but which carried us along at a sort of smooth, rapid glide. At first I took this gait to be a swift trot, and attempted to post to it; then, as that did not work, I sat still in the saddle and, finding the posture comfortable, concluded that Dr. Bell must be single-footing. I had never single-footed before. Just as I was beginning to like it, however, he changed to a trot, then back to single-footing again, and so on, in a curious puzzling manner.
Except for the changes of gait, we were now going on rather well, and I had begun, for the first time, to feel a little security, when all of a sudden he swerved off and galloped with me up a driveway leading toward a white house which stood on a hill two or three hundred yards from the road. Again I tried to stop him, but when I pulled on the reins he shook his head savagely from side to side and snorted in a loud and threatening manner.
As we neared the house I saw that two ladies were sitting on the porch regarding our approach with interest. I hoped that Dr. Bell would find some way of keeping on past the house and into the fields, but he had no such intention. Instead of going by, he swung around the circle before the porch, and stopped at the steps, upon which the two ladies were sitting.
One of them was a white-haired woman of gentle mien; the other was a girl of eighteen or twenty with pretty, mischievous eyes.
Both the ladies looked up inquiringly as Dr. Bell and I stopped.
I lifted my hat. It was the only thing I could think of to do at the moment. At this they both nodded gravely. Then we sat and stared at one another.
"Well?" said the old lady, when the silence had become embarrassing.
I felt that I must say something, so I remarked: "This is a very pretty place you have here."
At this, though the statement was quite true, they looked perplexed.
"Is there any message?" asked the young woman, after another pause.
"Oh, no," I answered lightly. "I was riding by and thought I'd take the liberty of coming up and telling you—telling you that although I am a Northerner and a stranger here, I love the South, the quaint old Southern customs, the lovely old houses, the delicious waffles, the—"
"That is very gratifying," said she "I am sorry to say we are all out of waffles at present."
"Oh, I don't want any now," I replied politely.
"Well, if you don't mind my asking, what do you want?"
"I want," I said, desperately, "to see your groom for a moment, if possible."
"He's gone to town," she replied. "Is there anything I can do? I see that your stirrup leather is twisted." With that she arose, came down, removed my foot from the stirrup, in a businesslike manner, reversed the iron, and put my foot back for me.
I thanked her.
"Anything else?" she asked, her wicked eye twinkling.
"Perhaps," I ventured, "perhaps you know how to make a horse single-foot?"
"There are different ways," she said. "With Dr. Bell you might try using the curb gently, working it from side to side."
"I will," I said. "Thank you very much."
"And," said the girl, "if he ever takes a notion to bolt with you, or to go up to some house where you don't want him to go, just touch him with the curb. That will fix him. He's very soft-bitted."
"But I tried that," I protested.
She looked at my reins, then shook her head.
"No," she said, "you've got your curb rein and your snaffle rein mixed."
"I am very much indebted to you," I said, as I changed the position of the reins between my fingers.
"Not at all," said she. "I hope you'll get safely back to the Claymont. If you want to jump him, give him his head. He'll take off all right."
"Thanks," I returned. "I don't want to jump him."
Then lifting my hat and thanking her again, I wiggled the curb gently from side to side, as directed, and departed, singlefooting comfortably.
Dr. Bell and I got home very nicely. He wanted to jump the gate again, but I checked him with the curb. After pulling the rope to open the gate I must have got the reins mixed once more, for as I was nearing the house, calm in the feeling that I had mastered the animal, and intent upon cantering up to the porch in fine style, Dr. Bell swerved suddenly off to the stable, went into the door, and, before I could stop him, entered his stall.
There I dismounted in absolute privacy. It was quite easy. I had only to climb on to the partition and drop down into the next stall, which, by good fortune, was vacant.
With a single exception, this was the only riding I did in the South, and on the one other occasion of which I speak I did not ride alone, but had, surrounding me, the entire Eleventh United States Cavalry.
CHAPTER XIII
INTO THE OLD DOMINION