The Horses Get A Little
Forage (Oats, Straw And All).
I should like you to see eight or
ten of these swift wiry little horses harnessed to a waggon, - a
mere flat platform on wheels.
In front stands a wild-looking
Hottentot, all patches and feathers, and drives them best pace, all
'in hand', using a whip like a fishing-rod, with which he touches
them, not savagely, but with a skill which would make an old stage-
coachman burst with envy to behold. This morning, out on the veld,
I watched the process of breaking-in a couple of colts, who were
harnessed, after many struggles, second and fourth in a team of
ten. In front stood a tiny foal cuddling its mother, one of the
leaders. When they started, the foal had its neck through the
bridle, and I hallooed in a fright; but the Hottentot only laughed,
and in a minute it had disengaged itself quite coolly and capered
alongside. The colts tried to plunge, but were whisked along, and
couldn't, and then they stuck out all four feet and SKIDDED along a
bit; but the rhenoster bushes tripped them up (people drive
regardless of roads), and they shook their heads and trotted along
quite subdued, without a blow or a word, for the drivers never
speak to the horses, only to the oxen. Colts here get no other
breaking, and therefore have no paces or action to the eye, but
their speed and endurance are wonderful.
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