I THINK OF THEE.

I think of thee, at twilight’s hour,When the last sunbeam sinks away;When night-birds sing in every bower,And herds and herdsmen homeward stray—When all is beauty, all is peace,When sorrows, cares, and sadness flee,Then my lone heart finds sweet release,In happy thoughts, dear one, of thee.I think of thee, when dawning dayCalls forth all nature’s freshened throng,When sporting lambkins skip and play,And birds pour forth their joyous song—When every eye with hope is bright,And every heart is light and free—When nature wakes from nature’s night,Then, dearest, then I think of thee.

I think of thee, at twilight’s hour,

When the last sunbeam sinks away;

When night-birds sing in every bower,

And herds and herdsmen homeward stray—

When all is beauty, all is peace,

When sorrows, cares, and sadness flee,

Then my lone heart finds sweet release,

In happy thoughts, dear one, of thee.

I think of thee, when dawning dayCalls forth all nature’s freshened throng,When sporting lambkins skip and play,And birds pour forth their joyous song—When every eye with hope is bright,And every heart is light and free—When nature wakes from nature’s night,Then, dearest, then I think of thee.

I think of thee, when dawning day

Calls forth all nature’s freshened throng,

When sporting lambkins skip and play,

And birds pour forth their joyous song—

When every eye with hope is bright,

And every heart is light and free—

When nature wakes from nature’s night,

Then, dearest, then I think of thee.

THE ARABS AT AMBOISE.

On the right bank of the Loire, close to one of the stations of the rail-road from Orleans to Nantes, which transports the traveler in a few hours from the centre of civilised France to the heart of Brittany, and all its wild traditions and druidical mysteries, stands an ancient and time-honored town—important in the history both of France and England, during a series of centuries—a town beloved of Anne of Brittany and of Mary Stuart, the scene of stirring and romantic adventures without number, all of which have paled before the interest it has excited of late years as the place of captivity of a great chief, and, within a few weeks, as forming a rich part of that spoil which the immense possessions of the house of Orleans is likely to furnish to the present ruler of the French nation.

Tourists on the Loire know the charming town of Amboise very well; and none ever missed, in days of yore, visiting its fine castle, whose high walls are bathed by the noble river. This pleasure has, however, long been denied them, for the captive whose misfortunes have excited so much sympathy throughout Europe, and whose “hope deferred” is still destined to “make his heart sick,” the ill-fated Abd-’el-Kader, with his followers, are still detained there, and likely so to be, in spite of the “I would if I could” of his supposed struggling friend, the nephew of another great prisoner of days gone by.

Amboise, a few years since, was a smiling, lively little town, and the castle was a pleasure-residence of the last king; the gardens were delicious, the little chapel of St. Hubert a gem, restored in all its lustre, and the glory of artists and amateurs. All is now changed: a gloom has fallen on the scene, the flowers are faded, the gates are closed, the pretty pavilions are shut up; there are guards instead of gardeners, and a dreary prison frowns over the reflecting waters, which glide mournfully past its towers.

If you pause awhile on the bridge of Amboise, and look up to the windows of the castle, you may, perhaps, see one or other of the captives seated sadly and motionlessly, or it may be slowly pacing along a high gallery which runs from tower to tower, but it is rare at present that the dispirited inhabitants of those dismal chambers have energy to seek even such recreation as this, and the traveler may drive through Amboise twenty times, without having his curiosity to see Lord Londonderry’sprotégégratified.

The writer of these pages happened to be in the neighborhood when Abd-’el-Kader was transferred from Pau, the birth-place of Henri Quatre, in the Pyrenees, to this once gay château on the Loire, and was amongst those who witnessed the arrival of the party.

The evening was very chilly and misty, and but few persons had been tempted to linger late by the river side; the attention, however, of those who had not yet “betaken them home,” was attracted by a steamboat full of passengers, coming from Paimbeuf, which stopped beneath the walls of the castle, and gave a signal apparently understood by a guard of soldiers, which had been loitering on the shore. The arrival of the steamer was immediately communicated to the governor of the castle, and much unwonted movement ensued.

A rumor of something remarkable soon spread throughout the town, and a concourse of people came hurrying over the bridge, in order to be present at the expected landing of prisoners of importance. There was no attempt to repress this curiosity, for no rescue was evidently feared; a double line of soldiers was, however, formed, and in silence and gloom a sad procession was soon formed of no less than eighty-two individuals, men, women and children, all covered with large mantles of white wool, of a fashion unseen in this part of the world since the great Saracen warrior Abd’eraman was driven back from Touraine by Charles Martel; the strangers thus attired took their way from the sandy shore of the Loire to the precipitous ascent of the dark towers before them.

These captives were the Arab chief Abd-’el-Kader, his mother, one of his brothers-in-law, his uncle, a patriarch of ninety, whose long, white beard fell to his girdle, and four of his wives. Following them came a train of attendants, all prisoners, and all sharing their master’s sorrows and mischances.

The heavy gateway closed upon the new guests, and the inhabitants of Amboise, somewhat awe-struck and impressed with pity, returned mournfully to their respective domiciles, no doubt thanking Heaven that they were denizens of free and happy France, generous, valiant, honorable and victorious!—alas, how long to remain so!

From that time a new amusement was provided for the pleasure-loving natives of the pretty but dreary old town, which still wears the characteristics of the past in its acutely pointed roofs, crowned with quaint belfrys, its arches spanning the streets, its antique chapel of St. Florentin, itspalais de justicetransformed into a barrack, and its little Château du Clos-Lucet, where, tradition says, Leonardo da Vinci, the great painter, passed the last years of his long life, and where he died.

Many a summer evening was henceforth spent by the citizens on the bridge, their pastime being to gaze curiously up toward the walls and windows of the castle; for, wandering along the terraces, which hang in mid air, might then be frequently seen, like a gliding spectre, the majestic form of an Arab, wrapped in a whiteburnous, with solemn steps pacing to and fro, unobservant and indifferent to the curiosity which he excited.

Compassion for these unfortunate strangers suggested, even amongst those in whose charge their safety was placed, alleviations to their griefs. The Arab servants of the chief were allowed to seek provisions for their repasts in the town itself, accompanied merely by a soldier, who did not molest them. All who applied for permission to behold Abd-’el-Kader were admitted to the castle precincts, and were introduced to his presence. At first he probably felt amused at the novelty of this proceeding, but at length he became annoyed at the persevering curiosity which left him no leisure for reflections, however doleful. His spirits, too, in the course of long months of hopeless anxiety, gave way, and he at length refused to be exhibited as a caged lion, to make sport to the inquisitive.

Not alone in the early stage of his captivity, but ever since he became their neighbor, the ladies of Amboise, with continuous kindness, showed their benevolent feeling both to him and to the females of his suite and their children. Delicacies from their kitchens, and little useful presentswere showered upon the poor captives, who received the attentions in the spirit in which they were given.

One instance of consideration gave particular gratification to the Emir. Madame de Villeneuve, thechâtellaineof Catherine de Medicis’ lovely castle of Chenonceau, so well-known to tourists, and so often described, sent Abd-’el-Kader a magnificent plant, a native of his own valleys of the Atlas. It is related that the Emir on receiving it burst into tears. He sent back the expression of his gratitude in the following characteristically poetical words:

“Too poor to offer you in return any thing worthy of your acceptance, not possessing even a flower that I can call mine, I will pray to Allah that for the love of his servant he will one day bestow Paradise upon you.”

Some time after this, the health of the Emir having suffered from confinement, he was allowed to ride on horseback in the neighborhood of Amboise, and the first excursion which he made was to the Château of Chenonceau, where his presence, no doubt,

“Made a little holyday,”

And his visit has added anothersouvenirto the list of those illustrious and interesting personages who have made the romantic retreat of Diana of Poitiers and her rival famous for all time.

Abd-’el-Kader used often to be seen at his devotions at the rising and setting of the sun. He is accustomed to prostrate himself in an angle of that very iron balcony from whence, in the days of the Medici, the conspirators of Amboise were hung as a public example to traitors. Leaning against the stone wall, he remains absorbed in his orisons, and tells his beads with the fervor of a prisoner and an exile.

The numerous portraits of him to be seen in Paris, particularly popular since Lord Londonderry’s letters have made his fine, melancholy, majestic face familiar to the world. He is little more than forty-five, and has a countenance which, but that Eastern countenances deceive, one would feel inclined not only to admire, but to trust. It is hard to say whether the French would do right to confide in it, but certain it is that he is the object of deep admiration. His large, mournful, gazelle eyes, his calm, beautiful mouth, and his rich, jet-black beard, have gained many a heart, both male and female; but his misfortunes are too interesting, too romantic, toopiquantsto be lightly parted with, and the French will probably keep the lion still caged as an object on which to exercise their sensibilities, unless indeed, the dispossessed owners of Amboise should take his place.

Sometimes the Emir would appear on his balcony accompanied by the ladies of his suite. One of them is said to be still young and very handsome. This is the report of a young Frenchman, whose patient curiosity was rewarded on a happy occasion, when the veiled fair one withdrew the envious screen of her beauties one day, imagining that she was unobserved, that she might the better gaze upon the fine river, and feel the soft breeze of an evening in June upon her cheek. Occasionally some of the children of the captives may be seen playing round their parents, as they stand motionless, looking from their high position. These little captives are of all shades, from white to ebony hue, and are by no means so silent or so still as their elders, for they clamor and climb and twist about upon the parapets in a manner quite startling to those who are watching them from below.

Some time ago the Bishop of Algiers, passing through Amboise, stopped to pay a visit to the Emir; he exhorted him to resignation—alas! what else could he preach?—and received the same answer as the illustrious prisoner always gives to those who seek to console him.

“I gave myself up on the sole condition that I should be conducted to Alexandria, in order to go to Mecca, where I desired to finish my days. The promise was given me: I ask for nothing further and I rely on the justice of Allah.”

The bishop said prayers in the exquisite little chapel of the castle already mentioned, as so beautifully restored by the unfortunate Louis Philippe, and which is in itself the most perfect specimen of art ever beheld, with its marble pictures of St. Hubert’s miracle, its elaborate doorways and vivid glass painting, rivaling the antique. A pretty little sentimental service was got up, of which the Arab captives were made the heroes, numerous prayers being addressed to Heaven for their welfare, both of body and soul. Probably the prisoners really felt grateful for the attention, even though neither the priest nor the shrine had relation to their own belief.

One of the suite, the oftenest seen in Amboise, was the butcher, Ben Salem, who officiated for his tribe, and whose office was looked upon as a solemn one. He had a fine muscular figure, with an intelligent and handsome face, and was upward of six feet high. When he immolated an animal he might be said, as has been apocryphally reported of Shakspeare, to have

“Done it in high style, and made a speech.”

About a year and a half ago poor Ben-Salem was found a drowned corpse, in the Loire; he is supposed to have perished while bathing, but the writer recollects at the time, to have heard it whispered that despair had caused him to commit suicide.

The attachment of the Arabs to their chief is intense; an instance of this excited immense interest in Paris some time since. A young man who had belonged to Abd-’el-Kader, was detained at Toulon, from whence he escaped, but instead of endeavoring to regain his own country, his sole desire was to behold his chief once more, and to die at his feet. He arrived at Amboise, no one knew how, having traversed France to its centre, and there, his clothes in tatters, his feet bleeding, and fainting with hunger and fatigue, he was overtaken, secured, and forced back again to his prison at Toulon, without having gained the object of so much energy and resolution.

How could the most severe guardians of the safety of France drive back such a servant from his master?

In the month of August, 1850, a party of the Arabs received permission to return to Africa. After extraordinary struggles between their love of country and of their master, forty men, women, and children, consented to profit by this clemency. Their parting was, however, a scene of desolation, agonizing to witness.

The railroad was to take back these sons and daughters of the Desert partly on their way, and a carriage filled with pale emaciated women, holding their children in the folds of their ample garments, bore them from the castle walls. The men pursued their journey on foot, a cart containing their wretched goods followed, and the patriarch of the tribe accompanied them to the station, where he took leave of them with sighs, tears, and exhortations, mixed with embraces. At the last moment a young woman, who was probably related to the patriarch, lost her presence of mind entirely—her veil thrown back in despair, she cast herself upon his bosom, concealing her face in his venerable white beard, and uttering cries that melted the hearts of the bystanders to hear.

One feature of this parting was remarkable; a young peasant woman of Amboise had been the wet-nurse of a little Arab child, and was now to take leave of the helpless infant whom she had tended till, from a half dying plant, it had become strong and healthy, and full of life. For more than a quarter of an hour the mother of the babe and its nurse remained in an agony of grief, mutually embracing and consoling each other, while the innocent object of their care wept for company. At length the poor sobbing Frenchwoman tore herself away, and the train moved off bearing away forever her cherished nurseling and its grateful but sorrowing parents.

Many of the children in Abd-’el-Kader’s suit died soon after their arrival, and the influence of the moist climate on all the attendants was felt severely by persons accustomed to go half clothed and with naked feet. The sisters of charity of Amboise and the medical men had many mournful scenes to go through, as the little Arab burial-ground, near the “Gate of Lions” of the castle, attests but too clearly.

The health of the Emir himself has, it is said, of late given way, and he has had to deplore the loss of several of its nearest friends. The tenderness and feeling shown to theseconquered enemies, proves, it must be confessed, that there is no want of kindliness in the hearts of at least thecountry peopleof France, whose impulses are generally for good, as we have every reason to acknowledge in the charitable promptitude and active benevolence shown to the unfortunate survivors of the Amazon, by the whole of the inhabitants of Brest from the highest to the lowest.

AT THE WATER’S EDGE.

———

BY PHŒBE CAREY.

———

There are little innocent ones,And their love is wondrous strong,Clinging about her neck,But they may not keep her long.Father, give her strengthTo loosen their grasp apart,And to fold her empty handsCalmly over her heart.And if the mists of doubtFearfully rise and climbUp from that river that rollsClose by the shore of time;Suddenly rend it away,Holy and Merciful One,As the veil of the temple was rent,When the mission of Christ was done.So she can see the climeWhere the jasper walls begin,And the pearl-gates, half unclosed,Ready to shut her in.So she can see the saints,As they beckon with shining hand,Leaning over the towers,Waiting to see her land.Saviour, we wait thy aid,For our human aid were vain;We have gone to the water’s edge,And must turn to the world again.For she stands where the waves of deathFearfully surge and beat,And the rock of the shore of lifeIs shelving under her feet.

There are little innocent ones,And their love is wondrous strong,Clinging about her neck,But they may not keep her long.

There are little innocent ones,

And their love is wondrous strong,

Clinging about her neck,

But they may not keep her long.

Father, give her strengthTo loosen their grasp apart,And to fold her empty handsCalmly over her heart.

Father, give her strength

To loosen their grasp apart,

And to fold her empty hands

Calmly over her heart.

And if the mists of doubtFearfully rise and climbUp from that river that rollsClose by the shore of time;

And if the mists of doubt

Fearfully rise and climb

Up from that river that rolls

Close by the shore of time;

Suddenly rend it away,Holy and Merciful One,As the veil of the temple was rent,When the mission of Christ was done.

Suddenly rend it away,

Holy and Merciful One,

As the veil of the temple was rent,

When the mission of Christ was done.

So she can see the climeWhere the jasper walls begin,And the pearl-gates, half unclosed,Ready to shut her in.

So she can see the clime

Where the jasper walls begin,

And the pearl-gates, half unclosed,

Ready to shut her in.

So she can see the saints,As they beckon with shining hand,Leaning over the towers,Waiting to see her land.

So she can see the saints,

As they beckon with shining hand,

Leaning over the towers,

Waiting to see her land.

Saviour, we wait thy aid,For our human aid were vain;We have gone to the water’s edge,And must turn to the world again.

Saviour, we wait thy aid,

For our human aid were vain;

We have gone to the water’s edge,

And must turn to the world again.

For she stands where the waves of deathFearfully surge and beat,And the rock of the shore of lifeIs shelving under her feet.

For she stands where the waves of death

Fearfully surge and beat,

And the rock of the shore of life

Is shelving under her feet.

ARAB AND CAMANCHEE HORSEMEN.

The admirable skill of the South Americans as horsemen is everywhere acknowledged, and has been described by many writers; the following account, however, by Mr. Darwin, is so truthful and spirited, that it conveys the best idea of their exploits:—

“One evening a ‘domidor’ (subduer of horses) came for the purpose of breaking in some colts. I will describe the preparatory steps, for I believe they have not been mentioned by other travelers. A troop of wild young horses is driven into the corral or large inclosure of stakes, and the door is shut. We will suppose that one man alone has to catch and mount a horse which as yet had never felt bridle or saddle. I conceive, except by a Guacho, such a feat would be utterly impracticable. The Guacho picks out a full-grown colt; and as the beast rushes round the circus, he throws his lasso so as to catch both the front legs. Instantly the horse rolls over with a heavy shock, and whilst struggling on the ground the Guacho, holding the lasso tight, makes a circle so as to catch one of the hind legs just beneath the fetlock, and draws it close to the two front. He then hitches the lasso, so that the three legs are bound together; then sitting on the horse’s neck, he fixes a strong bridle, without a bit, to the lower jaw. This he does by passing a narrow thong through the eye-holes at the end of the reins, and several times round both jaw and tongue. The two front legs are now tied closely together with a strong leathern thong, fastened by a slip-knot, the lasso which bound the three together being then loosed, the horse rises with difficulty. The Guacho, now holding fast the bridle fixed to the lower jaw, leads the horse outside the corral. If a second man is present—otherwise the trouble is much greater—he holds the animal’s head whilst the first puts on the horse-cloths and saddle and girths, the whole together. During this operation, the horse, from dread and astonishment at being thus bound round the waist, throws himself over and over again on the ground, and till beaten is unwilling to rise. At last, when the saddling is finished, the poor animal can hardly breathe from fear, and is white with foam and sweat. The man now prepares to mount by pressing heavily on the stirrup, so that the horse may not lose its balance; and at the moment he throws his leg over the animal’s back he pulls the slip-knot and the beast is free. The horse, wild with dread, gives a few most violent bounds, and then starts off at full gallop. When quite exhausted, the man by patience brings him back to the corral, where, reeking hot and scarcely alive, the poor beast is let free. Those animals which will not gallop away, but obstinately throw themselves on the ground, are by far the most troublesome.

“In Chili, a horse is not considered perfectly broken till he can be brought up standing in the midst of his full speed on any particular spot; for instance, on a cloak thrown on the ground; or again, will charge a wall and, rearing, scrape the surface with his hoofs. I have seen an animal bounding with spirit, yet merely reined by a fore-finger and thumb, taken at full gallop across a court-yard, and then made to wheel round the post of a veranda with great speed, but at so equal a distance that the rider with outstretched arm, all the while kept one finger rubbing the post, then making ademi-voltein the air with the other arm outstretched in a like manner, he wheeled round with astonishing force in the opposite direction. Such a horse is well-broken; and although this at first may appear useless, it is far otherwise. It is only carrying that which is daily necessary into perfection. When a bullock is checked and caught by the lasso, it will sometimes gallop round and round in a circle, and the horse being alarmed at the great strain, if not well broken, will not readily turn like the pivot of a wheel. In consequence many men have been killed; for if a lasso once takes a twist round a man’s body, it will instantly, from the power of the two animals, almost cut him in twain. On the same principle the races are managed. The course is only two or three hundred yards long, the desideratum being, to have horses that can make a rapid dash. The race-horses are trained not only to stand with their hoofs touching a line, but to draw all four feet together, so as at the first spring to bring into play the full action of the hind quarters. In Chili I was told an anecdote, which I believe was true, and it offers a good illustration of the use of a well-broken animal. A respectable man riding one day met two others, one of whom was mounted on a horse, which he knew to have been stolen from himself. He challenged them; they answered by drawing their sabres and giving chase. The man on his good and fleet beast kept just ahead; as he passed a thick bush he wheeled round it, and brought up his horse to a dead check. The pursuers were obliged to shoot on one side and ahead. Then instantly dashing on right behind them, he buried his knife in the back of one, wounded the other, recovered his horse from the dying robber, and rode home.” Animals are so abundant in these countries that humanity is scarcely known. Mr. Darwin was one day riding in the Pampas with a very respectable “Estanciero,” when his horse being tired, lagged behind. The man often shouted to him to spur him, when Mr. D. remonstrated that it was a pity, for the horse was quite exhausted, he cried: “Why not?—never mind. Spur him—it ismyhorse!” When, after some difficulty, he was made to understand that it was for the horse’s sake that the spurs were not used, he exclaimed with great surprise: “Ah! Don Carlosqui cosa!” The idea had never before entered his head.

In this country the powers of horses in swimming are but little tested, but in South America the case is different, as shown by an incident mentioned by Mr. Darwin. “I have crossed the Lucia near its mouth, and was surprised to observe how easily our horses, although not used to swim, passed over a width of at least six hundred yards. On mentioning this at Monteo Video, I was told that a vessel containing some mountebanks and their horses being wrecked in the Plata, one horse swam seven miles to the shore. In the course of the day I was amused by the dexterity with which a Guacho forced a restive horse to swim a river. He stripped off his clothes and jumped on its back, rode into the water till it was out of its depth; then slipping off the crupper he caught hold of the tail, and as often as the horse turned round, the man frightened it back by splashing water in its face. As soon as the horse touched the bottom on the other side the man pulled himself on, and was firmly seated, bridle in hand, before the horse gained the bank. A naked man on a naked horse is a fine spectacle. I had no idea how well the two animals suited each other. The tail of a horse is a very useful appendage. I have passed a river in a boat, with four people in it, which was ferried across in the same way as the Guacho. If a man and horse have to cross a broad river, the best plan is for the man to catch hold of the pommel or mane, and help himself with the other arm.”

The Turkoman horses are most highly prized in Persia, and are regularly trained by the Turkomans preparatory to their plundering expeditions. Before proceeding on a foray, these wild people knead a number of small hard balls of barley-meal, which, when wanted, they soak in water, and which serves as food both for themselves and their horses. It is a frequent practice with them in crossing deserts where no water is to be found, to open a vein in the shoulder of the horse and drink a little of his blood, which, according to their own opinion, benefits rather than injures the animal. It is confidently stated, that when in condition, their horses have gone one hundred and forty miles within twenty-four hours; and it has been proved that parties of them were in the habit of marching from seventy to one hundred and five miles for twelve or fifteen days together without a halt. During Sir John Malcolm’s first mission to Persia, he, when riding one day near a small encampment of Afshar families, expressed doubts to his Mehmander, a Persian nobleman, as to the reputed boldness and skill in horsemanship of their females. The Mehmander immediately called to a young woman of handsome appearance, and asked her, in Turkish, if she was a soldier’s daughter. She said she was. “And you expect to be a mother of soldiers?” She smiled. “Mount that horse,” said he, pointing to one with a bridle, but without a saddle; “and show this European Elchee the difference between a girl of a tribe and a citizen’s daughter.” She instantly sprang upon the animal, and setting off at full speed, did not stop till she had reached the summit of a small hill in the vicinity, which was covered with loose stones. When there, she waved her hand over her head, and came down the hill at the same rate at which she had ascended it. Nothing could be more dangerous than the ground over which she galloped; but she appeared quite fearless, and seemed delighted at having the opportunity of vindicating the females of her tribe from the reproach of being like the ladies of cities.

TheShrubat-ur-Reech, orDrinkers of the Wind, reared by the Mongrabins of the West, are shaped like greyhounds, and as spare as a bag of bones, but their spirit and endurance of fatigue are prodigious. On one occasion the chief of a tribe was robbed of a favorite fleet animal of this race, and the camp went out in pursuit eight hours after the theft. At night, though the horse was not yet recovered, it was ascertained that the pursuers had headed his track, and would secure him before morning. The messenger who returned with this intelligence, had ridden sixty miles in the withering heat of the desert without drawing bit. These animals are stated by Mr. Davidson, to be fed only once in three days, when they receive a large jar of camel’s milk; this, with an occasional handful of dates, is their only food.

The fullest and most interesting account of the Arab horse has been written by General Daumas, and its value is greatly enhanced by containing a letter on the subject, written entirely by the celebrated Abd-’el-Kader, and a very remarkable document this is. According to this high authority, a perfectly sound Arab horse can, without difficulty, travel nearly thirty miles daily for three or four months, without resting a single day; and such a horse can accomplish fiftyparasangs—not less than two hundred miles—in one day. When Abd-’el-Kader was with his tribe at Melonia, they maderazziasin the Djebel-amour, pushing their horses at a gallop for five or six hours without drawing bridle, and they accomplished their expeditions in from twenty to twenty-five days. During all this time their horses ate only the corn carried by their riders, amounting to about eight ordinary meals. They often drink nothing for one or two days, and on one occasion were three days without water. The Arabic language is very epigrammatic, and the Arabs assign the reasons for instructing their horses early in these proverbs: “The lessons of infancy are graven in stone; but those of age disappear like the nests of birds.” “The young branch without difficulty straightens itself—the large tree, never!” Accordingly, the instruction of the horse begins in the first year. “If,” says the Emir, “the horse is not mounted before the third year, at the best he will only be good for the course; butthathe has no need of learning—it is his natural faculty.” The Arabs thus express the idea, “Le djouad suivant sa race.” The high bred horse has no need of learning to run! The esteem of the Arab for his horse is conveyed in the following sentiment of the sage and saint, Ben-el-Abbas, which has been handed down from generation to generation: “Love thy horses—take care of them—spare thyself no trouble; by them comes honor, and by them is obtained beauty. If horses are abandoned by others, I take them into my family; I share with them and my children the bread; my wives cover them with their veils, and wrap themselves in their housings; I daily take them to the field of adventure; and, carried away by their impetuous course, I can fight with the most valiant.”

General Daumas thus describes a combat between two tribes, drawn from life, for he enjoyed many opportunities for witnessing such scenes:—“The horsemen of the two tribes are in front, the women in the rear, ready to excite the combatants by their cries and applause: they are protected by the infantry who also form the reserve. The battle is commenced by little bands of ten or fifteen horsemen, who hover on the flanks, and seek to turn the enemy. The chiefs, at the head of a compact body, form the centre.

“Presently the scene becomes warm and animated—the young cavaliers, the bravest and best mounted, dash forward to the front, carried away by their ardor and thirst for blood. They uncover their heads, sing their war-songs, and excite to the fight by these cries—‘Where are those who have mistresses? It is under their eyes that the warriors fight to-day. Where are those who by their chiefs always boast of their valor? Now let their tongues speak loud, and not in those babblings. Where are those who run after reputation? Forward! forward! children of powder! Behold these sons of Jews—our sabres shall drink their blood—their goods we will give to our wives!’ These cries inflame the horsemen—they make their steeds bound, and unsling their guns—every face demands blood—they mingle in the fray, and sabre cuts are everywhere exchanged.

“However, one of the parties has the worst of it, and begins to fall back on the camels which carry the women. Then are heard on both sides the women—on the one, animating the conquerors by their cries of joy—on the other, seeking to stimulate the failing courage of their husbands and brothers by their screams of anger and imprecation. Under these reproaches the ardor of the vanquished returns, and they make a vigorous effort. Supported by the fire of the infantry who are in reserve, they recover their ground, and throw back their enemy into the midst of the women, who, in their turn, curse those whom just before they had applauded. The battle returns to the ground which lies between the females of the tribes. At last, the party who have suffered most in men and horses, who have sustained the greatest loss, and have seen their bravest chiefs fall, take flight in spite of the exhortations and prayers of those bold men who, trying to rally them, fly right and left, and try to recover the victory. Some warriors still hold their ground, but the general route sweeps them off. They are soon by their women—then each, seeing that all is lost, occupies himself in saving that which is dearest; they gain as much ground as possible in their flight, turning from time to time to face the pursuing enemy. The conquerors might ruin them completely, if the intoxication of their triumph did not build a bridge of gold for the vanquished, but the thirst of pillage disbands them. One despoils a footman—another a horseman: this one seizes a horse—that a negro. Thanks to this disorder, the bravest of the tribe save their wives, and frequently their tents.”

Before 1800, no political mission from a European nation had visited the court of Persia for a century; but the English had fame as soldiers from the report of their deeds in India. An officer of one of the frigates which conveyed Sir John Malcolm’s mission, who had gone ashore at Abusheher, and was there mounted on a spirited horse, afforded no small entertainment to the Persians by his bad horsemanship. The next day the man who supplied the ship with vegetables, and who spoke a little English, met him on board, and said—“Don’t be ashamed, sir, nobody knows you—bad rider! I tell them you, like all English, ride well, but that time they see you,you very drunk.” The worthy Persian thought it would have been a reproach for a man of a warlike nation not to ride well, but none for a European to get drunk.

A touching incident is mentioned by Mungo Park as having occurred whilst he, friendless and forlorn, was pursuing his weary journeyings far in the interior of Africa. The simple narrative tells its own tale of accumulated misery:—“July 29th. Early in the morning my landlord observing that I was sickly, hurried me away, sending a servant with me as a guide to Kea. But though I was little able to walk, my horse was still less able to carry me, and about six miles to the east of Modibor, in crossing some rough, clayey ground, he fell; and the united strength of the guide and myself could not place him again upon his legs. I sat down for some time beside this worn-out associate of my adventures; but, finding him still unable to rise, I took off the saddle and bridle, and placed a quantity of grass before him. I surveyed the poor animal as he lay panting on the ground, with sympathetic emotion, for I could not suppress the sad apprehension that I should myself in a short time lie down and perish in the same manner, of fatigue and hunger. With this foreboding I left my poor horse, and with great reluctance I followed my guide on foot along the bank of the river until about noon, when we reached Kea, which I found to be nothing more than a small fishing-village.”

Torn with doubt and perplexity, heavy of heart and weary in body, the unhappy traveler returned westward to Modiboo, after two days’ journeying in company with a negro carrying his horse accoutrements. “Thus conversing,” says he, “we traveled in the most friendly manner until, unfortunately, we perceived the footsteps of a lion quite fresh in the mud near the river side. My companion now proceeded with great circumspection, and at last, coming to some thick underwood, he insisted that I should walk before him. I endeavored to excuse myself by alleging that I did not know the road, but he obstinately persisted; and after a few high words and menacing looks, threw down the saddle and went away. This very much disconcerted me, for as I had given up all hopes of obtaining a horse, I could not think of encumbering myself with a saddle; and taking off the stirrups and girths, I threw the saddle into the river. The Negro no sooner saw me throw the saddle into the water than he came running from among the bushes where he had concealed himself, jumped into the river, and by help of his spear brought out the saddle, and ran away with it. I continued my course along the bank, but as the wood was remarkably thick, and I had reason to believe that a lion was at no great distance, I became much alarmed, and took a long circuit through the bushes to avoid him. About four in the afternoon I reached Modiboo, where I found my saddle; the guide, who had got there before me, being afraid that I should inform the king of his conduct, had brought the saddle with him in a canoe. While I was conversing with the dooty, and remonstrating with the guide for having left me in such a situation, I heard a horse neigh in one of the huts, and the dooty inquired with a smile if I knew who was speaking to me. He explained himself by telling me that my horse was still alive, and somewhat recovered from his fatigue.” The happiness with which Park met his lost faithful steed may be conceived, for in him he had one friend left in the world.

Another lamented victim to African travel thus touchingly laments a grievous misfortune which befel him. Returning from an excursion to Kouka, Major Denham writes:—“I was not at all prepared for the news which was to reach me on returning to our inclosure. The horse that had carried me from Tripoli to Mourzuk and back again, and on which I had ridden the whole journey from Tripoli to Bornou, had died a very few hours after my departure for the lake. There are situations in a man’s life in which losses of this nature are felt most keenly, and this was one of them. It was not grief, but it was something very nearly approaching to it; and though I felt ashamed of the degree of derangement which I suffered from it, yet it was several days before I could get over the loss. Let it, however, be remembered, that the poor animal had been my support and comfort—may I not say, companion?—through many a dreary day and night—had endured both hunger and thirst in my service with the utmost patience—was so docile, though an Arab, that he would stand still for hours in the desert while I slept between his legs, his body affording me the only shelter that could be obtained from the powerful influence of a noonday sun: he was the fleetest of the fleet, and ever foremost in the race.”[14]

Captain Brown, in his “Biographical Sketches of Horses,” gives the following interesting account of a circumstance that occurred at the Cape of Good Hope. “In one of the violent storms that often occur there, a vessel was forced on the rocks, and beaten to pieces. The greater part of the crew perished miserably, as no boat could venture to their assistance. Meanwhile a planter came from his farm to see the wreck, and knowing the spirit of his horse, and his excellence as a swimmer, he determined to make a desperate effort for their deliverance, and pushed into the thundering breakers. At first both disappeared, but were soon seen on the surface. Nearing the wreck, he caused two of the poor seamen to cling to his boots, and so brought them safe to shore. Seven times did he repeat this perilous feat, and saved fourteen lives; but, alas! the eighth time, the horse being much fatigued, and meeting with a formidable wave, the gallant fellow lost his balance, and was overwhelmed in a moment. He was seen no more, but the noble horse reached the land in safety.”

Lieutenant Wellstead relates an adventure in his travels in Arabia, which illustrates the importance of being well mounted in that wild land:—“On my return from Obri to Suweik, contrary to the wish of the Bedouins, who had received intelligence that the Wahhábis were lurking around, I left the village where we had halted, alone, with my gun, in search of game. Scarcely had I rode three miles from the walls, when suddenly turning an angle of the rocks, I found myself within a few yards of a group of about a dozen horsemen who lay on the ground, basking listlessly in the sun. To turn my horse’s head and away was the work scarcely of an instant; but hardly had I done so when the whole party were also in their saddles in full cry after me. Several balls whizzed past my head, which Sayyid acknowledged by bounding forward like an antelope; he was accustomed to these matters, and their desire to possess him unharmed, alone prevented my pursuers from bringing him down. As we approached the little town I looked behind me; a sheikh better mounted than his followers was in advance, his dress and long hair streaming behind him, while he poised his long spear on high, apparently in doubt whether he was sufficiently within range to pierce me. My good stars decided that he was not; for, reining up his horse, he rejoined his party, whilst I gained the walls in safety! The day before Sayyid came into my hands he had been presented to the Im’am by a Nejd sheikh; reared in domesticity, and accustomed to share the tent of some Arab family, he possessed, in an extraordinary degree, all the gentleness and docility, as well as the fleetness, which distinguish the pure breed of Arabia. To avoid the intense heat and rest their camels, the Bedouins frequently halted during my journey for an hour about mid-day. On these occasions Sayyid would remain perfectly still while I reposed on the sand, screened by the shadow of his body. My noon repast of dates he always looked for and shared. Whenever we halted, after unsaddling him and taking off his bridle with my own hands, he was permitted to roam about the encampment without control. At sunset he came for his corn at the sound of my voice, and during the night, without being fastened, he generally took up his quarters at a few yards from his master. During my coasting voyages along the shore, he always accompanied me, and even in a crazy open boat from Maskat to India. My health having compelled me to return to England overland, I could not in consequence bring Sayyid with me. I parted with him as from a tried and valued friend.”

Among the North American Indians the Camanchees take the first rank as equestrians; racing, indeed, is with them a constant and almost incessant exercise, and a fruitful source of gambling. Among their feats of riding is one, described by Mr. Catlin, as having astonished him more than any thing in the way of horsemanship he had ever beheld; and it is a stratagem of war familiar to every young man in the tribe. At the instant he is passing an enemy, he will drop his body upon the opposite side of the horse, supporting himself with his heel upon the horse’s back. In this position, lying horizontally, he will hang whilst his horse is at its fullest speed, carrying with him his shield, bow, and arrows, and lance fourteen feet long, all or either of which he will wield with the utmost facility, rising and throwing his arrows over the horse’s back, or under his neck, throwing himself up to his proper position, or changing to the other side of the horse if necessary. The actual way in which this is done is as follows: A short hair halter is passed under the neck of the horse, and both ends tightly braided into the mane, leaving a loop to hang under the neck and against the breast. Into this loop the rider drops his elbow suddenly and fearlessly, leaving his heel to hang over the back of the horse to steady him and enable him to regain the upright position.

The following very singular custom prevails among the tribe of North American Indians, known as theFoxes. Of this Mr. Catlin was an eye-witness: “When,” says he, “General Street and I arrived at Kee-o-kuk’s village, we were just in time to see this amusing scene on the prairie, a little back of his village. The Foxes, who were making up a war-party to go against the Sioux, and had not suitable horses enough by twenty, had sent word to the ‘Sacs’ the day before, according to ancient custom, that they were coming on that day, at a certain hour, to ‘smoke’ that number of horses, and they must not fail to have them ready. On that day, and at the hour, the twenty young men who were beggars for horses were on the spot, and seated themselves on the ground in a circle, where they went to smoking. The villagers flocked round them in a dense crowd, and soon after appeared on the prairie, at half a mile distance, an equal number of young men of the Sac tribe, who had agreed each to give a horse, and who were then galloping them round at full speed; and gradually as they went around in a circuit, coming nearer to the centre, until they were at last close around the ring of young fellows seated on the ground. Whilst dashing about thus each one with a heavy whip in his hand, as he came within reach of the group on the ground, selected the one to whom he decided to present his horse, and as he passed gave him the most tremendous cut with his lash over the naked shoulders: and as he darted around again, he plied the whip as before, and again and again with a violent ‘crack,’ until the blood could be seen trickling down over his naked shoulders, upon which he instantly dismounted, and placed the bridle and whip in his hands, saying, ‘Here, you are a beggar; I present you a horse, but you will carry my mark on your back.’ In this manner they were all, in a little while, ‘whipped up,’ and each had a good horse to ride home and into battle.

Mr. Catlin gives an interesting account of his faithful horse “Charley,” a noble animal of the Camanchee wild breed, which had formed as strong an attachment for his master, as his master for him. The two halted generally on the bank of some little stream, and the first thing done was to undress Charley, and drive down the picket to which he was fastened, permitting him to graze over a circle limited by his lasso. On a certain evening, when he was grazing as usual, he managed to slip the lasso over his head, and took his supper at his pleasure as he was strolling round. When night approached, Mr. Catlin took the lasso in hand, and endeavored to catch him, but he continually evaded the lasso until dark, when his master abandoned the pursuit, making up his mind that he should inevitably lose him, and be obliged to perform the rest of the journey on foot. Returning to his bivouac, in no pleasant state of mind, he laid down on his bear-skin and went to sleep. In the middle of the night he awoke whilst lying on his back, and, half opening his eyes, was petrified at beholding, as he thought, the huge figure of an Indian standing over him, and in the very act of stooping to take his scalp! The chill of horror that paralyzed him for the first moment, held him still till he saw there was no need of moving; that his faithful horse had played shy till he had filled his belly, and had then moved up from feelings of pure affection, and taken his position with his fore feet at the edge of his master’s bed, and his head hanging over him, in which attitude he stood fast asleep.

When sunrise came the traveler awoke, and beheld his faithful servant at a considerable distance, picking up his breakfast among the cane-brake at the edge of the creek. Mr. Catlin went busily to work to prepare his own, and having eaten it, had another half-hour of fruitless endeavors to catch Charley, who, in the most tantalizing manner, would turn round and round, just out of his master’s reach. Mr. Catlin, recollecting the evidence of his attachment and dependence, afforded by the previous night, determined on another course of proceeding, so packed up his traps, slung the saddle on his back, trailed his gun, and started unconcernedly on his route. After advancing about a quarter of a mile, he looked back and saw Master Charley standing with his head and tail very high, looking alternately at him and at the spot where he had been encamped, and had left a little fire burning. Thus he stood for some time, but at length walked with a hurried step to the spot, and seeing every thing gone, began to neigh very violently, and, at last started off at fullest speed and overtook his master, passing within a few paces of him, and wheeling about at a few rods’ distance, trembling like an aspen leaf. Mr. Catlin called him by his familiar name, and walked up with the bridle on his hand, which was put over Charley’s head, as he held it down for it, and the saddle was placed on his back as he actually stooped to receive it; when all was arranged, and his master on his back, off started the faithful animal as contented as possible.

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