The pleasures of instructing a young unbroken colt are so many and great, that my sole wonder is how owners of such animals can so often make up their minds to the demands of the professional breaker: an individual who, in many cases, deals harshly, and in many more with a lack of judgment which is as deplorable as it is common.

To enter minutely into the subject of breaking is not by any means my intention. Volumes might be written about it, and yet the difficulty which many persons experience in learning from books, might not even then be overcome. There are as many different ways of training a horse as there are of training an infant, and I cannot at all agree with the professedly wise ones who say that only one way can be correct. I have found a variety of methods answer almost equally well, and I may (in some instances) say, almost equally badly, also—because everything must depend upon the nature and disposition of the animal that is to be experimented upon.

Some children are naturally timid, shy, nervous, and retiring, and cannot be taught at all except by gentle encouragement—a sort of continual leading onward, without any attempt to drive—while others are so sullen, obstinate, and ill-conditioned, that gentleness seems thrown away upon them, and nothing save fear and force are capable of accomplishing any good. So it is, precisely, with horses; but, just as instances of dogged obstinacy and evil disposition are happily rare among children of well-bred parents, so in like manner have I found it to be with colts that have come of a good stock. I may here take occasion to say, however, that even with the most viciously disposed animals, such as future experience proved to be incapable of anything either good or generous, I invariably commenced with—and persevered in—the very gentlest treatment, discarding all force, ignoring the uses of whip and spur, and seeking to subdue by the mildest and most kindly methods, until compelled to adopt severer ones by the hopelessly unimpressionable and intractable nature of some among my misguided charges. Having, then, found so wide a difference of temper and disposition to exist in the various animals with which I had to do, I long ago came to the conclusion that to lay down any fixed laws for training was mere fallacy and nonsense; the system that works admirably with one may prove a dead failure with another, and taking this into account I cannot, I think, do better in a chapter like the present, than state the plan on which I always began to work, and which, as a rule, I found to succeed, better than any other.

Advising you by my own experience, I should say never, when you can help it, submit young animals to a so-called professional breaker, but rather take them in hand yourself, and make up your mind to three things: first, to bring all the patience of which you are possessed to bear upon your task, to enable you to govern by gentleness and forbearance, and not by tyranny and wrath; second, that a colt must be so handled and trained that he shall never find out his own strength or power; and third, that you must give the pupil every opportunity of seeing, smelling, feeling, and hearing things that will at first be strange to him, remembering that it is by the exercise of these senses that horses form their judgment of surrounding objects.

I greatly object to the system of lungeing young horses in a circle, or ring. The evils of it are sufficiently manifested in mill-horses; but even these are suffered to walk their rounds, whereas the breaker compels the youngster to trot, and even to canter when going in a comparatively narrow circle. Injury to the sight is the very commonest result of the practice, and even if it does not show immediately, or at the time, it certainly will later on. To travel round and round at a quick rate in an ordinary ring, forces blood to a young animal’s brain, and the faster and more excited the pace the more certain will be the result. The optic nerves may be said to originate from the sensorium—being, in fact, a continuation of the brain proper—and whenever the nervous centre is congested, the sight is the first sense that becomes impaired. There are other evils also connected with the system into which I need not go; suffice it to say that I regard it as a highly objectionable one.

The tuition of a colt may be begun when he is three months old, provided that he has been “gentled” almost from its birth. This can be done by frequently passing the hands over his body and down his limbs, dressing his mane and tail, pulling and stroking his ears, speaking caressingly to him, and in short winning his confidence by uniform manifestations of kindness and good will.

The earliest trappings should be a small bridle and surcingle made of very soft wash-leather, or calico—the intention being merely to indicate the maturer harness that is destined to succeed. Later on, when a cavesson is adopted, it must be most carefully fitted to the colt’s head. The noseband is not to be too high, lest it be deprived of power—or yet low enough to rest on the soft cartilages of the nose, for fear of impeding respiration and causing pain to the animal by any jerk that it may chance to receive. It must also fit sufficiently accurately not to turn round when the rein is drawn tight.

The first regular bit employed should be made of india-rubber, and this may be immediately followed by a very smooth plain snaffle, with players, or a “Rarey” bit, with wooden roller, which is very mild and nice for a beginner.

When you first adjust the mouthpiece do not rein the colt’s head up to any point beyond that at which he naturally holds it: no matter whether that be high or low. Give him his preliminary lessons in an enclosed place—a big barn or riding-school will be best, if you happen to be near one. Accustom your pupil to the sight of everything with which he is destined to make subsequent acquaintance: the mounting-block, saddle, stirrups, and so forth; and remember that you cannot talk to him too much, or give him too frequent handling.

Forbid the presence of other animals while you are acting as instructor, as also of any object, human or otherwise, that will be likely to distract your pupil’s attention. Stand and walk on his left side, keeping pretty well back from him—and deal him out plenty of rein, or strap—just letting him feel the weight of your hand when he attempts to run from you, but not on any account drawing him in. By degrees you can shorten the rein, and when he has learned to let you walk alongside of him without running back or showing timidity, begin to teach him to lead: not by pulling him after you, or hunting him forward, but by bringing him very very gently round in a half-circle—a plan which will oblige him to shift his foot and bend his neck to your guidance. Take him both to right and left in this way, encouraging and caressing him when he obeys you, and he will learn his lesson in a wonderfully short space of time.

As soon as you find that he leads well in an enclosed place, take him out into an extremely quiet paddock, not allowing anybody to come near you while you do it. A good method will be to grasp the reins, close to the jaw with your left hand, while your right catches the mane, and by this means lead him gently out for an open-air spell of instruction. Then proceed as when under cover, and repeat the lesson every day.

At eighteen months old a colt that has been bred on your own land ought to have gone through all the preliminaries of his education, and at that age the dumb-jockey may be brought into use with a pair of imitation legs and light little stirrups to hang on either side. Reins formed partially of india-rubber should be passed through the terrets and fastened to the bit, and these must not be drawn by any means tight, lest the colt be induced to bear upon them—or lest he rear, and fall backwards.

A quarter of an hour is the longest period that a lesson of this description ought to occupy, and the pupil’s mouth should be well wetted both before and after. If terror is excited, the utmost encouragement should be given, and no harshness be for even an instant resorted to.

These lessons may be continued, with slight variation, until the young animal shall have entered his third year, at which epoch a very light rider may be mounted on him, with rigid instructions not to interfere in any way with the bridle, except as a means of guiding. In fact, to prevent the possibility of his doing so to any mischievous degree, the india-rubber reins may with advantage be continued; but the best way of all will be to back the animal yourself: always provided that you are a sufficiently light weight for the purpose.

When the saddle is first placed in position, the extremest gentleness must be observed. Allow him, beforehand, to look at it, smell it, in short satisfy himself about it, and then proceed to rub it softly down his neck, pausing if he shows fear, and slipping it gradually backwards until you quietly lift it into its place. When it is fairly on his back, you should lift it again, and again replace it, and keep moving it gently about in order to give him confidence, and when you have induced him to stand quite still, fasten it with a racing surcingle instead of an ordinary girth, as it is more readily adjusted, and need not be drawn so tight.

To mount him successfully, place him so that the mounting-block shall be just behind his shoulder; ascend the block with the utmost coolness and quietness, and while standing on it proceed to pet your pupil, stroking him, talking to him, and “gentling” him as though he were a timid child. If he shows signs of alarm, go no further for a while, but wait quietly—no matter how long it may be—even deferring the lesson to another day, until he shall have gained complete confidence in your instructions. Half the horses that refuse to stand to be mounted have been rendered rider-shy (if I may coin a word) by scolding, and harsh treatment shown them in their early training. No attempt should be made at mounting a colt until he has become perfectly reconciled to his trainer’s standing over him, and also to the pressure of a hand on the saddle, and a foot passed in and out through the stirrup. To facilitate his standing quiet, place his head to a wall,—or, if he must be held, entrust the task to a steady quiet man, who will stand straight in front of him, fondling his nose and ears, and who will when necessary lay hold of the cheeks of the bridle, above the bit, but never of the bit itself, nor yet of the reins.

Do not, when mounted, touch the animal with your heel to start him, or attempt to meddle with his mouth in any hurried way. Speak to him coaxingly, and draw one rein very gently, in order to make him shift his leg and move—then walk him quietly about, repeating the lessons in turning, stopping, and backing, which you have already given him on foot If he shows restiveness, or an inclination to fight, slip off at once, and proceed with the old method of instruction—because you must not attempt to battle with him until you are quite certain that you can conquer. This is one of the most important principles in correct training, and one which, I regret to say, is most shamefully overlooked. “I won’t let him conquer me,” says the ignorant breaker, when the timid creature stands still and shivers, and refuses to do what it has not yet learned to comprehend. Greater nonsense could not possibly be spoken. There can be no victory, for either horse or man, until there has first been a battle, and if the man is wise he will not begin one, lest he should fail to prove himself the master, and the horse ever after refuse to obey his hand. Severity in training is merely an ebullition of the breaker’s temper, and there is no necessity for such when dealing with a creature that is really anxious to learn and obey. Gentle indications will, in all save extreme cases, accomplish tenfold more than brute force. Such, at all events, is my conclusion, after very close and practical study of the subject in hand.

Leaping ought not, as a rule, to be taught until the animal has attained its fourth year, nor ought the pupil to be mounted during the lessons for the first three or four months that are devoted to them. To lead in long reins, turning the colt in a nice quiet paddock that has a low hedge or gorsed hurdle across the middle of it, will be the proper method, and, as all young animals are imitative, it will be a great advantage to have an old skilled horse taken over the jump several times in easy fashion, in view of the youthful learner. I have made youngsters jump brilliantly over hurdles that were raised by degrees a great deal above their original height, by simply standing on the off side of them with a measure of corn in my hand, and shaking it temptingly, calling out cheerily at the same time, and always plentifully rewarding my pupils when the boundary had been cleared.

This sort of teaching is only pleasant excitement for the colt; it is not task-work; it injures neither structures nor temper, and is unattended by either accident or risk. The training of horses, both racers and hunters, as at present conducted, is conducive of many evils, as is proved amply by the fact that one-half the animals that come fresh from the trainers’ hands are debilitated by the wrong systems pursued, and are far less capable of enduring exertion than before they were taken in hand. The physicking, the brow-beating, the harshness, scolding, and fighting, are one and all tremendously pernicious and wrong. The vast majority of horses will, if properly treated, accept their duties without force; and even the most viciously inclined may be conquered, or at least subdued, without any approach to brutality.

I may cite one case as a sample of many: an animal I once bought for a song, and subsequently would not have sold for any money that could have been offered. By telling you of the method by which I contrived to cure him of his bad name, you may be guided how to act should any similar occasion chance to arise in your own stable.

By the aid of a powerful dose of physic—administered with extreme difficulty, I confess, by a strong and resolute man—and aided by a few light whiffs of chloroform, we succeeded in getting the horse so sick and stupid that he suffered himself to be handled almost without opposition. In fact, I could go up to his head, and stroke and fondle it as though he had been the quietest animal alive. We then littered a lofty shed with quite a foot deep of dung and straw (tan would, however, have been better for the purpose), and having led him into it we put on him a single-rein bridle, with a wooden gag-bit,—this latter because he presently showed an inclination to bite. We then tied up the reins quite close to the withers, put a breaking surcingle on him, passed a soft strap round the near pastern joint, lifted up the foot as though we were about to shoe him, and passing the strap round over the fore-arm, buckled it firmly, but in such a way as not to hurt the horse. I gentled him, as much as he would allow me, about the head, while my assistant worked, and we then led him about the shed for twenty minutes or more, on three legs, by which time he was tired, but seemingly too dull to be much irritated. The next operation was to place a second strap around the off fore-leg, draw it pretty tight, and pass the long end of it through one of the rings sewn on to the belly part of the surcingle. My helper then put a big strong glove on his right hand, caught a firm hold of the strap, and when the horse lifted his leg in an endeavour to hop, drew it gradually close, and brought him gently upon his knees. Our object was to make him lie down, for I never would countenance—under any pretence, or for any operation—the forcible casting of a horse with which I had anything whatever to do. Finding that he was sullen and would not move, I came to the near side of him, and drew his head gradually towards me by one rein, speaking soothingly to him all the while; I then bade my assistant go to his off side and bear against it, just behind the shoulder, with a steady, even, close pressure—and after about twelve minutes’ patient waiting, I had the joy of seeing him lie quietly down upon the litter. So far my plan of subduing by gentleness had succeeded.

The moment that he was fairly down I made his hind legs quite fast, and then began my plan of taming. I gently stroked every one of his limbs separately, rubbed his trembling head, pulled and fondled his ears, unbuckled the bit for an instant and gave him from my hand sliced carrots, lettuce, and I think an apple or two. He was in a wretched state, poor beast! for want of care and grooming, so I got a nice brush, and went caressingly over every part of his body with it, talking to him as though he had been a frightened child. After an hour or so we took off the straps, drew out his fore-legs, and encouraged him to get up. He seemed very dazed when he did so, but was seemingly quite subdued—and having given him a feed, we left him alone for the night.*