My feminine readers may feel inclined to ‘skip’ this chapter with the remark: ‘Well, the stables are not in my department’; but I think the wife of an official in Nigeria will usually find that her husband has more work of his own to do than he can well squeeze into each day, and, however slight her previous knowledge on the subject may be, the certainty that, unless she bestirs herself and gives personal attention and supervision, the ponies will be neglected, ill-fed and uncleanly, will, I feel sure, be sufficient stimulus to any true Englishwoman. For she naturally loves horses, and cannot but be fond of her wiry little thirteen-hand ponies in Nigeria; because they are, as a rule, sweet-tempered, willing, honest little souls, whose mistress will, in almost every case, have reason to remember how gallantly they carried her on such and such a march, and how cleverly they climbed and negotiated the nasty places, and forded uncertain-looking rivers. This alone will give them a strong claim on her loving care, and she will admit, after a time at all events, that it is worth while to learn all she can on the subject, and to spend half an hour every morning at the stables, inspecting each pony and his house, and another half-hour after the evening ride to see them dried, rubbed down and fed. For ourselves, I hardly think we could sleep in peace unless we had paid our usual visit to the stables to satisfy ourselves that all was well there, the ponies comfortable and well supplied with grass.
The morning visit may well be spent in what would appear to the new-comer to be childish reiteration of most elementary instruction to the man who makes a profession of looking after your horse. For instance, it is quite necessary to demand to be shown the inside of your ponies’ feet every day: your horse-boy—until trained—takes no personal interest in them, and assuredly will not clean them out on his own initiative, so, without your daily examination, a tiresome attack of thrush may lay your pony up for weeks or months, or a painful little stone, picked up perhaps in the last canter home, may remain there all night to his great discomfort. At present the ponies are not shod in this country, and though we may advance to metalled roads I hope for the sake of their owners and themselves they will never require it, for I can see heavy additional trials in store for them both, when the shoeing art is imperfectly learned and slovenly applied.
Each horse has his own attendant, but the grass-cutter of India is not kept, as the grass is so near and in such quantities that it can usually be cut from one’s own compound, or at least from a few yards off. Here the watchful eye is necessary; the ‘doki (horse) boy’ (who, as a rule, is a combination of utter incapacity, laziness and complete ignorance) likes immensely to be left at home when you go for a ride. He will then cut a bundle of the coarsest and wettest marsh grass he can find—naturally—as ten minutes’ work will produce a bigger bundle than half an hour’s cutting of the fine, short grass which is so infinitely better. He will then squat down on the ground and engage in a process that is absolutely blood-curdling to the unaccustomed onlooker; the grass is taken in small bundles, grasped by his left hand, while his right foot is firmly planted on the ends of the stalks; he then chops up the grass, a most murderous-looking weapon falling rapidly, and without, apparently, any special aim, within half an inch of his foot at each blow. I used to feel quite sick with apprehension, and even now I always expect to see five brown toes fly up into the air! The doki-boy forthwith conveys this mass of wet stuff into the pony’s stable for his consumption during the night, thus forming a sound basis for colic in the morning. Don’t let him do it. Even if dhoob grass is not to be had, make him cut the grass before midday, and have it well spread out in the sun, so that the pony gets it thoroughly dried. Remember, he does not want real food at night, only something comforting to munch, that will employ his mind harmlessly and happily, and divert his attention from trying to break loose and go off to fight any other pony he can find near at hand.
The main horse food out here is guinea-corn simply shredded off the large stalk, the little stems being left, to ensure the pony eating slowly, and thus digesting his meal. It is not easy to lay down a rule for quantity, as ponies vary, and the size of stalks of guinea-corn also varies; the best thing for the pony’s owner to do is to ask the advice of the neighbour who appears to have the best-kept ponies, or, if there are no neighbours, let him or her ask the ponies themselves by watching them feed. It soon becomes easy to determine whether they are getting enough; that is the main point, for I believe that a pony can scarcely be over-fed in this country. Try them with twelve large stalks of guinea-corn for each feed, i.e. about half a bundle per day to each pony. The guinea-corn is sold in bundles, varying a little in size and price, according to whether the district is a corn country or not; as a rule a fair-sized bundle costs, roughly, a shilling.
On tour, in places where guinea-corn was not to be had, and the ponies doing hard work, we have given them crushed Indian corn (maize); they liked it and throve on it. Dusa (bran) should invariably be mixed with the feeds, be they of maize or guinea-corn, three large handfuls to each feed; the ponies are fond of it, nothing is better for them, and it can always be obtained easily. The majority, too, will drink far more readily and copiously if a handful of dusa is stirred into the water.
Country potash (konwa) is a daily article of diet with the Nigerian pony. He has it, a piece about the size of a walnut, thoroughly dissolved in his water, and he thinks so much of it that often he will not drink without it. N.B.—Keep the konwa yourself and give it out every day, for it is also an article of diet for the doki-boy!
I expect the ponies would much enjoy lucerne if the garden could be made to produce it, but I am sorrowfully compelled to admit that after growing a crop of carrots with infinite care, and triumphantly bearing them off to the stables as a wonderful treat, the ungrateful ponies spit them out contemptuously and would have none of them!
The stables themselves must be rather a shock to an English mind: they are just circular huts—one for each pony—either with mud walls and a conical thatched roof, or else with walls of grass matting. Mud walls have the advantage of windows, which give a breeze, but bring possibilities of flies and wasps at the same time. Doors are usually wanting; the pony is picketed by one of his feet to a wooden post about two feet high, round which he can circle by means of a ring upon it. The post is driven into the ground in the middle of his stable. The ponies are quite accustomed to this method; they have their heads free, and they can lie down or walk around as they feel inclined. We always prefer the plan of fixing three bars firmly in the doorway, dispensing with the picketing arrangement, and thus giving the ponies the luxury of a loose box. The stable floor is of ordinary hardened mud, and should be freshly sanded every day. Bedding is not required.
A few words as to the doki-boy. He is lazy, and utterly ignorant of his job, usually downright frightened of his pony, and at every whisk of the latter’s tail, will make agonized appeals to his better feelings, uttering apprehensive clucks the while. Still, even the raw material, if he is docile and willing, is quite teachable, and he is, I think, invariably kind to his pony. His sins are mostly those of omission.
You will have to begin from the very beginning in your education of him, and see all his work, for your own sake and the pony’s. For instance, I remember one evening, when a pony came in much heated after polo, we stood by while our horse-boy, quite our best and most intelligent, proceeded to rub him down as usual, after which, to our horror, he shook out a clean rubber and began to fan the sweating pony with it! This, on a distinctly chilly evening after sunset!
Mr Lafone’s ‘White Mouse.’ (p. 261)
Riding Astride—a locally made skirt! (p. 265)
Hand-rubbing is quite unknown, and will be most unwillingly adopted, but it is worth any amount of tiresome teaching and repetition of the same order; there is absolutely nothing that will so quickly improve the looks and condition of ponies. We have them tethered close to the verandah each morning and afternoon, and superintend the hand-rubbing ourselves, no pony’s toilet being considered complete till his doki-boy is himself in a healthy perspiration. The ponies, too, enjoy the process, especially if they are rewarded for steadiness and patience by many pieces of juicy sugar-cane, which, by the way, is most useful for fattening up a thin pony, as well as being a handy little delicacy to carry on one’s visits to the stables. It should be peeled and cut in small pieces three inches long.
The new doki-boy, too, has no idea how to put on a saddle and bridle, and for many days I fear you will have to take them off, as every strap will be united to the wrong buckle, and put them on yourself before him, which usually ends in broken nails, dirty hands, much heat and a lost temper. But never trust the doki-boy’s powers until you are quite sure of them, as it is really dangerous to life and limb; you can hardly imagine how many subtle ways he can invent of putting on a bridle the wrong way. He also prefers to drag it off without undoing the curb-chain or throat-lash, a most reprehensible piece of laziness that has to answer for many a docile pony showing temper and refusing to be bridled without an unpleasant struggle. It is an excellent thing to cultivate an unforgettable habit of loosening girths, curb-chain and throat-lash oneself on dismounting.
One word more of warning: water must not be given after food. It seems an absurdly superfluous caution, but I can assure you it has been done, is done to-day, and will be done as long as the pony’s welfare is not cared for personally by his owner. It is, as every one knows, most dangerous, on account of colic and indigestion, and may frequently account for the ingenuous statement of the doki-boy that ‘Allah has given the doki a pain in his stomach!’ Water should be given quite half an hour before the corn, the latter being well spread out on the ground to ensure slow feeding and thorough digestion.
Saddlery must, of course, be brought out from England, and should be selected with the greatest care; all metal work must be non-rusting, and head-stalls and girths chosen to fit ponies from thirteen to fourteen hands. I have found it a very satisfactory plan to adopt the Richards’ numdah (I believe the patent is called the ‘Wykeham’); the saddle itself has no stuffing and fits on to the numdah, which, being specially soft, adapts itself to the shape of the pony, and thus avoids the only too frequent cause of a sore back or wither. It is about three inches in thickness and, having absorbed all the perspiration, can be easily dried in the sun, the under surface being well beaten and brushed to prevent it from getting hard or caked. I have ridden over two thousand miles on one of these numdahs, and I will venture to say that it is practically impossible to give a pony a sore back. It can be imagined what a blessing that is on the march, when it is so difficult to lay him up for a few days even; besides, all the bother of continually re-stuffing a saddle is done away with. Any saddle can be fitted with a ‘Wykeham’ numdah by Messrs. Richards, at Winchester, for a guinea.
When choosing a saddle, take care to select one (with a cut-back tree, of course) that is not longer than necessary; the Nigerian ponies are much shorter in the barrel than English horses, and are apt to get their backs rubbed with a long saddle.
As the result of my own experience, I most strongly advise every woman who intends to do much riding out here, especially in the way of marching, to abandon her side-saddle altogether, and adopt the ‘astride’ position. In the first place, it is far more comfortable and less tiring on a long march; secondly, it does away with the necessity of bringing out special saddlery for oneself, it makes one quite independent of being ‘put up,’ and also enables one to march in the most comfortable of clothes, a short divided skirt or bloomers, putties and shooting boots; thirdly, and most important of all, it is the greatest blessing to the pony. No matter how straight you sit, sooner or later the strain of a side-saddle begins to tell on a pony, from the mere fact that the weight of the rider’s two legs is on one side of him! I noticed this especially at Katāgum when riding horses which had never carried a side-saddle before, and so sensitive were they to the innovation that it was almost impossible to keep them in the road at all—they bored so badly to the near side.
Bring out also picketing gear; it is much more durable than country rope, and does not rub the hair off the ponies’ feet. It consists of a stout iron ring, with a short chain, attached to a wide padded leather bracelet, buckling round the pony’s fetlock. You will have to teach the horse-boys how to clean saddlery; I think there is nothing better than beeswax and soft soap, but saddle soap can usually be bought. The mai-doki’s incorrigible laziness comes out here; unless frequently watched and stood over, he confines himself to giving the seat of one’s saddle a polish like a mirror, and never touches one of the out-of-sight straps and parts, which need far the most care and softening. Bits must be well dried and wiped directly they are taken out of the pony’s mouth, and the whole of the saddlery should be kept in the house. A saddle stand is easily made by any native carpenter, and is by no means an eyesore in the verandah, if the saddles are well polished and the bridles shining.
Only on one occasion on the march I lost sight of my saddle, which was carried off to the doki-boys’ quarters, and to what use it was put I cannot fathom; I only know that, the next morning, it appeared with the seat deeply scratched and scored, and looking five years older! The African servant is utterly devoid of respect for valuable belongings; he possesses nothing himself that is worth taking care of, and he listens with polite but bored submission while you very forcibly point out his crimes of destruction, but he is obviously indifferent, really, to the damage done, and thinks it all rather a silly fuss. ‘Is not a saddle still a saddle even if it is hideously scratched and ill-treated?’ When removing a saddle from a pony, he delights to dump it down on the ground, anywhere, in sand, dust or mud, the side flaps crushed underneath anyhow, although there may be half a dozen people standing by, ready to carry it off to its proper place.
I fear these pages may seem full of dismal discouragement and gloomy warnings, so, before leaving the subject, I will repeat once more that the doki-boy is a criminal only from ignorance, that he is teachable, and that, possibly, he appears a greater sinner because his evil deeds, as a rule, are—or should be—committed before his master’s eyes, which is, in itself, some little comfort!
The rainy season, from June till November, is the most unhealthy time for ponies, especially in the Niger valley. They are very subject to colic and to the peculiar form of horse-sickness which is attracting so much attention from the medical and veterinary officers. It shows itself in fever, weakness of the loins, swollen glands, and wasting away, accompanied by a voracious appetite, and, so far, has not been definitely diagnosed, though every effort is being made to understand its nature by examining specimens of blood, etc. Arsenic has been suggested as a cure, but at present it seems to me that, once the doctor or veterinary surgeon has discovered the peculiar bacillus in the blood, there is little or no hope of the pony’s complete recovery, and the best thing for the unfortunate owner to do is to sell him for what he will fetch, or give him away to a native. The native can frequently patch up a sick pony till he is quite fit enough for the light work they give him, though he would be quite useless for polo or hard marching. I have seen only too many good little ponies die, and, once they sicken, I always feel that the dosing and nursing is rather hopeless work, and the sure bullet the kinder way; though, if it is determined to make a fight for the pony’s life, the only way is to employ a native horse-doctor—he may know more about it than we do, and he certainly cannot well know less!
There are very few other ills that the West African stable is heir to, if ordinary care and supervision are given. It is worth mentioning that the mai-doki will ascribe everything that he cannot account for as the result of cold, from a mosquito bite up to a serious sprain, and ‘Sainye ya kamma shi!’ (‘he has caught cold’) will become a familiar sounding phrase, and will have to be politely but firmly discouraged.