And here was this blindly
imitative nation trying to turn them into heavy cavalry. As long as the
little beasts were gravely trotting in circles they did not mind their
work. But when it came to slashing at the Turk's head they objected
very much indeed. I affiliated myself to a section who, armed with long
wooden swords, were enjoying some Turk's-heading. Out started a pony at
the gentlest of canters, while the rider bundled all the reins into one
hand, and held his sword like a lance. Then the pony shied a little shy,
shook his shaggy head, and began to passage round the Turk's head. There
was no pressure of knee or rein to tell him what was wanted. The man on
top began kicking with the spurs from shoulder to rump, and shaking up
the ironmongery in the poor brute's mouth. The pony could neither rear,
nor kick, nor buck; but it shook itself free of the incubus who slid
off. Three times I saw this happen. The catastrophe didn't rise to the
dignity of a fall. It was the blundering collapse of incompetence plus
worsted gloves, two-handed riding, and a haystack of equipment. Very
often the pony went at the post, and the man delivered a back-handed cut
at the Turk's head which nearly brought him out of his world-too-wide
saddle. Again and again this solemn performance was repeated. I can
honestly say that the ponies are very willing to break rank and leave
their companions, which is what an English troop-horse fails in; but I
fancy this is more due to the urgent private affairs of the pony than
any skill in training. The troops charged once or twice in a terrifying
canter. When the men wished to stop they leaned back and tugged, and the
pony put his head to the ground, and bored all he knew. They charged me,
but I was merciful, and forebore to empty half the saddles, as I
assuredly could have done by throwing up my arms and yelling "Hi!" The
saddest thing of all was the painful conscientiousness displayed by all
the performers in the circus. They had to turn these rats into cavalry.
They knew nothing about riding, and what they did know was wrong; but
the rats must be made troop-horses. Why wouldn't the scheme work? There
was a patient, pathetic wonder on the faces of the men that made me long
to take one of them in my arms and try to explain things to
him--bridles, for instance, and the futility of hanging on by the spurs.
Just when the parade was over, and the troops were ambling off,
Providence sent diagonally across the p