Fox hunting; Horses; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal narratives
I did remember his horse, and I had seen him "yoomp." It had long
been a subject of regret to think that such an animal should be in
the regiment, yet not on my own picket-line. It was well known that
great prices had been offered for him, only to make Gluckmansklegge
fling his eye-glass loose, and grin in derision. "Fuchs is--how you
call?--'heelty,' an gesund; wenn you like, your Ike will go to my
company to bring him." I did like, and I had no scruples against
buying him for one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Ike, a handsome
contraband, went early the next morning with a halter for the Fuchs,
and I was up bright and betimes to try him.
I had only seen the horse before under the saddle, perfectly equipped,
perfectly bitted, and perfectly ridden, an almost ideal charger. There
was a great firebrand scar on the flat of each shoulder, where he had
been fired for a cough,--so said Gluckmansklegge;--others intimated
that this effaced a U. S. brand; but, except this, not a sign of a
blemish. In form, action, style, color (chestnut), and training he
was unexceptionably good, and might well excite the envy of all good
horsemen who saw him _under the saddle_. Knowing him so well, I went
rather eagerly to the picket-line to refresh myself with the added
sensation that the actual ownership of such a horse must give.
There stood the new purchase,--a picture of the most abject misery;
his hind legs drawn under him; the immense muscles of his hips lying
flabby, like a cart-horse's; his head hanging to the level of his
knees, and his under-lip drooping; his eyes half shut, and his long
ears falling out sidewise like a sleepy mule's. I had bought him for a
safe price, and he would probably do to carry Ike and the saddle-bags;
but I felt as far as ever from a mount for myself, and went back to my
tent wiser and no happier than before.
Presently Ike appeared with the coffee, and asked how I liked the new
horse.
"Not at all."
"Don't ye? well now, I reckon he's a consid'able of a hoss."
I sent him to look at him again, and he came back with a very
thoughtful air,--evidently he had been impressed. At last he said,
"Well now, Colonel, I don't reckon you bought that hoss to look at him
on the picket-line, did ye?"
"No, Ike, or he should be sold out very cheap; but he is not the
_kind_ of horse I supposed he was; he ought to work in a mule-team."
"Well now, Colonel, mebbe he is; but you can't never tell nothin' about
a hoss till you get him between ye; and I reckon he's a consid'able of
a hoss, I reckon he is."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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