“WHEN the Pale was troubled by an eruption of the O'Byrnes and O'Moores in 1372”—Professor Ridgeway writes in his interesting and instructive work, “The Origin and Influence of the Thoroughbred Horse”—“who burned the priory of Athy, John Colton, the first Master of Gonville Hall (now Gonville and Caius College) and successively Dean of St Patrick's, Chancellor of Ireland, and Archbishop of Armagh, raised a force of twenty-six knights and a large body of men-at-arms and fell upon the Irish and defeated them with great slaughter.”

Upon referring to the records of this incident, to be found in several of our histories, it becomes evident that in the Pale at that time there must have been many horses of the stamp that to-day we speak of as the “great” horse.

The insurrection alluded to so lightly as “an eruption of the O'Byrnes and O'Moores” in reality was a serious affair, due, we are told, mainly to the almost total disregard of certain just demands made by O'Byrne, O'Moore and their followers. The Irish were for the most part badly mounted and poorly armed, many of their horses having been seized surreptitiously a short time prior to the outbreak, but they appear to have made a very gallant defence.

John Colton's men-at-arms were, however, nearly all of great weight and heavily armed, so it is not surprising to read that they “made short work of the Irish rebels.” Remarkable would it have been had they not done so, for we must bear in mind that their suppressors were of immeasurably superior strength.

A horse foaled some years after this, which lived to become famous in British history, was King Richard II.'s barbary, often called Roan Barbary. The king, we are told in rather extravagant language, “loved Roan Barbary as an only son,” and certainly it is true that he was exceptionally fond of this particular horse which poets, dramatists and writers of romance at various periods have all united in immortalising.

Richard's grief and rage at hearing that Bolingbroke had chosen Roan Barbary, of all horses, upon which to ride to Westminster when he went there to be crowned, has many times been described, Shakespeare himself referring to the incident in King Richard II. in the well-known line, “When Bolingbroke rode on Roan Barbary, that horse that thou so often hast bestrid.” Roan Barbary was a tall horse, well shaped and well schooled, but of uncertain temper. The king “could do with the steed whate'er he wished,” but some of the grooms hardly dared approach to groom it “lest he sideways kick them.”

It is interesting to note here that the history of early times, when it touches upon horses—which it does frequently—alludes upon many occasions to the partiality of particular horses for certain persons, and to their equally marked dislike for certain other persons.

The inference naturally would be that these particular horses were partial to the men who treated them humanely and disliked those who ill-treated them. If the early historians are to be believed, however, the horses' likes and dislikes for various persons were irrespective of the way they had been treated by such persons.

Particularly does this appear to have been the case with Roan Barbary, for we are assured that all who had charge of him, or to do with him in any way, treated him invariably “with kindness and great cordiality” (!) the king having issued strict orders that they should.

In the British Museum there may be seen to-day a French metrical history of the deposition of Richard II. which informs us that the king owned “many a good horse of foreign breed.”

Mr J. P. Hore, the well-known authority, is of opinion that “the thoroughbred English horse was characteristic of the nation” in the reign of Richard II., and adds that “horses were then recognised and their praises sung.”

There is no doubt that between 1377 and 1399 the interest taken in horses in this country by persons of almost every class developed rapidly. The agricultural community in particular had by then begun to turn its attention seriously to the rearing of a better stamp of horse, and we know that Chaucer, who lived from 1328 to 1400, tells us that his famous monk had “full many a daintie horse in stable.”

Chaucer's interesting references to the various sorts of horse in use in the fourteenth century are numerous, and they serve to show that persons of different rank rode horses of different stamp. Thus on that fine April morning when the motley party of pilgrims set out from the Bell at Southwark upon their hasty journey we find the Knight mounted on a big and powerful horse—naturally a knight wearing armour needed such a beast to carry him—whereas the steed ridden by “the Clerk of Oxenford” was “as leane as any rake.”

The Wife of Bath, on the other hand, with her “great spurs,” sat astride an “amblere”; the Ploughman rode “a mere”; the Shipman from Dartmouth rode “a rouncy as he couth”; while the Reeve “sat upon a fit good stot that was all pomely gray, and highte Scot.” In the “Knight's Tale” we find the King of Ynde riding “a horse of baye.”

Apparently at this time greater attention was paid to the breeding and rearing of horses for war than for hunting or for “speed competitions” or any other purpose. Evidently King Richard had become more fully aware of the possibilities that existed for the use of powerful cavalry than any of his predecessors had done. Indeed he is said to have expressed upon one occasion a strong wish that his army might one day consist of cavalry only.

He believed, too, that the heavier the chargers were the more formidable the regiment must be, and so wholly did this belief obsess him that upon occasions he betrayed a tendency to overlook the fact that the heaviest horses in the world, the most finely trained—in short, the best—must necessarily prove comparatively useless unless their riders, in addition to being brave and well armed, were thoroughly trained horsemen and well disciplined.

Referring again to Chaucer, we find in the “Squire's Tale,” which he did not finish, the well-known story of Cambuscan's wooden horse, and we find this also in “The Arabian Nights”—that series of delightful narratives said to have been first made known by Antoine Gallard, the French Oriental scholar. The famous brazen horse of romance is the same, for it was Cambuscan's, and Cambuscan was King of Sarra, in Tartary. Cambuscan possessed, so it was said, all the virtues that are popularly attributed to a king, yet withal none of a king's vices; also he was said to be passionately devoted to his queen, Elfeta, who bore him two sons, Algarsife and Cambalo, and one daughter, Canace.

We are further told that the King of Arabia and India presented Cambuscan with “a steed of brass, which between sunrise and sunset would carry its rider to any spot on earth.” To make the horse do this all that was necessary was that its rider should whisper into its ear the name of the place to which he wished to travel, and that he should then mount the horse and turn a pin set in its ear.

This done, the “animal” would go direct and at great speed to the place required, whereupon the rider turned another pin and descended. By turning a third pin it was possible to make the horse vanish and not reappear until its presence was again needed.

Aligero Clavileno was the full name of the winged horse with the wooden pin, the horse which Don Quixote rode upon the memorable occasion of his rescue of Dolorida and her companions.

But enough of fairy tales and nonsense. Coming to the subject of horse races in early times we find it gravely stated that “the earliest description of a horse race per se occurs in 1377,” though we know that race meetings of a sort were held long before that date. The whereabouts of the track where the races in 1377 took place has not been ascertained, but it is known that some of the horses which ran belonged to Lord Arundel, and some to the Prince of Wales, so soon to become Richard II.

At this meeting it was that a match was arranged to take place between the Prince and Lord Arundel, each to ride his own animal. The match was run, and as the name of the winner has not, so far as I have been able to ascertain, been handed down to us, we may conclude that the Prince's horse was beaten. Had the winner been ridden by a Prince of Wales some record of the victory would assuredly be extant.

That Richard II. was a fine horseman, as finished horsemanship was understood in those days, there can be but little doubt. Yet it is remarkable that the natural gift known as “hands”—that is to say the power some men have of controlling a horse by delicate manipulation of the reins as opposed to brute force—apparently was not taken into consideration in the early centuries, or else was not understood and consequently not cultivated. To-day, of course, a man with bad “hands” is not deemed a horseman, properly speaking.

Thus it comes that we find some of the early instructors in horsemanship deliberately advising the novice to catch hold of the reins tightly in order to keep his seat with greater ease! Some of the early pictures, too, of men on horseback show the rider with his hands firmly clenched, even when the horse is walking, the reins held quite tight.

It has been argued that men sheathed from head to foot in the heavy plate armour of the fifteenth century could not have ridden gracefully even had they wished to do so. Long before armour of that pattern had come into vogue, however, the riders apparently were indifferent horsemen inasmuch as they had for the most part bad “hands,” if we are to judge from early pictures and descriptions.

Many stories to do with horses have been woven round the celebrated French knight, Pierre du Terrail, Chevalier Bayard, and it is known that whatever the qualities, fictitious or otherwise, may have been that his horses are alleged to have possessed, Bayard was a fine rider, “the boldest horseman of his period” as one historian describes him.

Of medium height, slim, and a light weight, he was “of wholly irreproachable character”; hence the description which still clings to his memory—Le chevalier sans peur et sans reproche.

Truly remarkable are some of the feats of horsemanship attributed to him still. Thus it is said that he could ride any horse bareback and without a bridle, and that he rode in this way several savage animals which, when saddled and bridled, several famous horsemen were not able even to mount. But such stories must, of course, be believed only in part.

Probably the best horse owned by this knight was the one named Carman, or Carmen, a gift of the Duke of Lorrain. Particulars about its make and shape apparently are not on record, but Carman carried Bayard through several severe engagements, though thrice severely wounded.

It is said that Bayard was able to guide this horse by word of mouth alone, when he found it advisable to do so, and that upon some occasions the steed “would neigh in reply as though joyful at hearing its master's voice.”

Furthermore he could ride Carman over country no matter how rough, and the horse would never slip or stumble. It may in addition have been a clever fencer, for we read that the knight “rode with reckless daring at many obstacles” when mounted on his favourite steed.

In at least one work of fiction the Chevalier Bayard has been rather amusingly confounded with the mythological steed of the four sons of Aymon that bore the name Bayard and that used so conveniently to grow larger when more than one of the four sons wanted to mount it at the same time. The name is said to signify the colour of bright bay, and the legend still obtains that a hoof mark of this mythical horse remains to this day in the forest of Soignes, while another of its hoof marks may be seen on a rock near Dinant. It was of this horse that Sir Walter Scott wrote in The Lady of the Lake the following lines:—

The Earl of Warwick's coal-black charger, Black Saladin, is eulogised in almost every history of the Wars of the Roses; yet, when all is said, Black Saladin does not appear to have done anything sufficiently remarkable to have justified his earning the immortal reputation that he undoubtedly has obtained. A big, powerful animal, it must in justice be said of him that he carried his master creditably through several rather bloody encounters before man and horse were killed in the great conflict at Barnet.

According to Hume's “History of England”—and probably no history extant is more accurate in detail—Warwick, when he received the fatal thrust, was fighting on foot.

No trustworthy description is obtainable of the horse that Joan of Arc rode when she led the French army so successfully against the previously victorious troops of Henry VI. Only one indisputable statement relating to her leadership upon that famous occasion has been handed down to us, and that is that she rode astride.

Pictures innumerable have been painted that depict her as she is supposed to have appeared in the heat of the fray, and others that show her to us as she ought to have looked when the engagement was over. By basing our impressions solely upon such pictures we might well conclude that the Pucelle went into action riding a white horse; that in the thick of the fight she changed first on to a dun-coloured mare and then on to a bright bay mare; and that when the engagement was over she once more changed horses in order to ride back triumphant on a stallion as black as Black Saladin himself!

According to Mr Douglas Murray, whose “History of Joan of Arc,” published recently, is the most exhaustive and authoritative work we have upon the career of that heroic young woman, Joan would appear to have been quite a good horsewoman. “She rode horses so ill-tempered that no one else would dare to mount them.” The Duke of Lorraine, also the Duc d'AlenÇon, after seeing her skill in riding a course, each gave her a horse; and we read also of the gift of a war horse from the town of Orleans, and “many horses of value” sent from the Duke of Brittany. She had entered Orleans on a white horse, according to the Journal du SiÈge d'Orleans; but seems to have been in the habit of riding black chargers in war; and mention is also made by Chatelain of a “lyart” or grey.

A story, repeated in a letter from Guy de Laval, a grandson of Bertrand du Guesclin, relates that on one occasion when her horse, “a fine black war horse,” was brought to the door, he was so restive that he would not stand still. “Take him to the Cross,” she said; and there he stood, “as though he were tied,” while she mounted. This was at Selles, in 1429.

Two famous horses of the fifteenth century were King Richard's White Surrey, and Savoy, the favourite steed of King Charles VIII. of France, which was coal-black and took its name from the Duke of Savoy from whom King Charles had received it as a present.

The king rode White Surrey frequently when travelling in state. That he had many other white steeds seems obvious, and evidently he was extremely partial to horses of that colour, for we find him telling his nobles to use their influence to induce the wealthier section of his subjects to breed and rear horses “white and grey.”

Savoy, though what we should to-day term a “good plucked” horse, is said to have been “of mean stature,” also it had a blind eye. Charles VIII. nevertheless rode it in preference to any other horse in his stud, and that his stud was a very large one we are told by some of the earlier historians.

Not a graceful horseman, he nevertheless had a firm seat, and it is interesting to read that he was extremely sensitive upon the subject of his horsemanship. So emphatically was this the case that upon one occasion he severely rebuked one of his courtiers who had remarked unwittingly in his presence that men existed who were physically incapable of becoming good riders. According to this king, indeed, one of the duties of every gentleman was to become proficient in the art of horsemanship.

At about this time—that is to say towards the close of the fifteenth century—a book that has since been rightly or wrongly described as “the first work on sport ever issued in England” was published. When first it appeared it attracted much attention. Printed for Dame Julyana Berners, who evidently had much practical knowledge of horses and the way to manage them, it mentions incidentally that every good horse ought to possess the following fifteen “properties”:—

From the above list we may conclude that in spite of the unwieldy appearance of most of the horses shown in the early drawings there must have been plenty of active animals in England long before the second half of the sixteenth century. Most likely the large and clumsy horses belonged practically to the class that to-day we speak of as shire horses, and that the majority were employed for carrying men in armour, historians being unanimous in declaring that by the middle of the sixteenth century a man of medium height could not, when sheathed in armour, have weighed together with the armour worn by his horse less than some thirty stone, and that often he must have weighed more.

This no doubt is the reason we read so frequently that in the sixteenth century considerable attention was paid to breeding and rearing great horses of Flanders, Friesland, France and Germany.

The majority of our historians seem not to have realised fully that in Thomas Wolsey, afterwards Cardinal Wolsey, we had probably one of the finest horsemen of the period of Henry VII. and Henry VIII. The extreme brilliancy of Wolsey's public career possibly may have caused his lesser accomplishments to be eclipsed or over-looked, for that he possessed minor accomplishments is well known.

It was in Henry VII.'s reign, and probably about the year 1500, that Wolsey first had occasion to display his horsemanship in rather a prominent manner. For we read that “the king, having received a communication from the reigning emperor, Maximilian, and being at a loss as to how he should reply to it in the shortest possible time, turned abruptly to Thomas Wolsey to solicit his advice, Wolsey being at that time the king's chaplain; whereupon Wolsey replied without hesitation that if the king would entrust him with a despatch he would deliver it to the emperor with but little delay.”

After pondering the proposal for some moments, Henry accepted the offer, and a little later handed to Wolsey a sealed packet, urging him to convey it with all speed and not be hindered by anybody. This took place, we are told, at Richmond, at about noon. Then and there the chaplain mounted the horse he had ready, and rode away.

That he must have galloped almost all the way to Dover, changing horses several times, is certain, for he arrived there on the following morning before daylight. By noon on the day after he was at Calais, and at nightfall he personally handed King Henry's sealed dispatch to to the Emperor Maximilian. Having received Maximilian's reply, Wolsey at once mounted a fresh horse that had been saddled for him and set out once more for Calais, which town he reached on the same night, so that by the following evening he was again at Richmond.

The king, however, had already retired to rest, and Wolsey therefore was compelled to wait until the morning to deliver Maximilian's reply. It so happened that he was walking in the park when presently the king overtook him and at once began to upbraid him for his delay in starting for France. Wolsey remained silent and collected until the king had stopped speaking, then, without a word, he produced the despatch that he had brought from Maximilian.

King Henry, we are told, was thereupon “both amazed and delighted,” and with great rapidity the story of the chaplain's remarkable ride to Paris and back again was noised abroad.

Wolsey's reputation for horsemanship was firmly established from that time forward, and Henry, to mark his appreciation of the chaplain's exploit, bestowed upon him the deanery of Lincoln, and not long afterwards made him his almoner. Thus did the man obtain his first step to power who one day was to become the all-powerful Cardinal.

I have not been able to find in any books or documents particulars concerning the horses ridden by Wolsey in that famous journey. From what has been said, however, we may conclude that he rode horses of a stamp very different from the heavy, clumsy animals so plentiful in England at the time, for to have covered so many miles in so few hours the horses must have been of the swiftest, especially when it is remembered that the roads at that period were of the roughest possible description.

In later years, owing partly to his increasing weight, Wolsey almost entirely gave up riding. Yet the interest that he had always taken in horse breeding remained, and though his many and arduous duties occupied much of his leisure he nevertheless found time to devote some of his attention to the rearing of riding and driving horses, and to the breeding of shire horses.

Some of his Eastern sires, indeed—and we know that he had a large stud of them—are said to have been among the most valuable of the breeding stock that until then had ever been known, which may have been the reason that in after years Queen Elizabeth expended such vast sums upon increasing and still further improving the stud that had been Wolsey's.

Elizabeth, however, as we shall presently see, upon the whole took greater interest in “running horses” than in the clumsy shire stallions, and though it is said that she never was actually present at a race meeting held at Newmarket, she is known to have owned a number of race horses the majority of which were stabled near Greenwich and trained chiefly upon Blackheath.

In connection with Wolsey and his undoubted fondness for horses, it is interesting to learn that he cared but little for any form of gambling, though “the sight of a contest between running horses of high spirit delighted him.” Until the period when he gave up riding he preferred at all times to be himself on horseback rather than watch others, a statement that has been misinterpreted by one writer to mean that Wolsey preferred to ride in races rather than watch others ride races for him!

I believe I am right in saying that Wolsey never rode in any race of any kind, also that he took more active interest in the chase than in the turf—such turf, that is to say, as there was in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries to take interest in.

Upon that point Henry VII. held views somewhat different from his chaplain's. The spectacle afforded by a horse race gave him scant gratification, and as a result he did little to develop and encourage horse racing or to better the condition of the turf.

Probably the only ride in the nature of a horse race that did stir him into displaying enthusiasm was Wolsey's race just described. This feat Wolsey but rarely spoke about, save when questioned by friends. His technical knowledge of horses is said to have been profound, so much so that frequently men quite unknown to him would come many miles to obtain his opinion upon the condition of a sick horse, and usually he was willing to tender advice even to strangers.

Indeed his willingness to be of service when a horse was in distress appears to have remained one of Wolsey's marked characteristics until nearly the end of his life. Historians have for the most part depicted him a stern, unbending man from the time he was made Cardinal; yet he is known to have performed many small acts of kindness for which the world probably did not give him credit.

Whether the advice he tendered in cases of horse sickness was invariably sound is doubtful. The amazing ignorance of the anatomy of the human body that prevailed four hundred years ago leads naturally to the inference that ignorance of the anatomy of the horse must have been even greater. Probably the advice tendered by Wolsey was about upon a par in point of soundness with the advice that passed current towards the end of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth centuries for “wisdom in medicine and chirurgery.”

Certainly we do not find allusion made to such common modern ailments in horses as spavins, navicular, ringbones and splints. Cracked heels may have been a common frequent source of lameness, for the shoes ordinarily used were clumsy, crude things knocked into shape in a rudimentary way, even those with which the most valuable of horses were commonly shod.

The horse breakers and trainers of the early part of the sixteenth century seem to have been of one opinion as to the most effectual way of, so to speak, bringing a horse to his senses, and that was the simplest way of all—namely, by starving him!

That so barbarous, and, let it be added so wholly ineffectual a method should have been resorted to where horses were concerned is perhaps hardly to be wondered at when we bear in mind that only a little over a century ago the same method was employed with lunatics who showed signs of insubordination.

For the idea used to be—and it has not yet quite died out—that a high temper must primarily be the outcome of high feeding. We read that upon one occasion Henry VII. commanded that a horse he was to ride in a public procession be left unfed for twenty-four hours, and as no reason is assigned for the order we are justified in conjecturing that he must have felt inwardly nervous, possibly that he feared the animal might, if fed as usual, prove to be what we call to-day “a handful”!

In other respects the horses of some four hundred years ago would seem to have been treated at any rate with ordinary humanity.