Cleveland Bays -- A Rare Breed

In the Summer 2019 issue of Trend & Tradition, the Magazine of Colonial Williamsburg, there is a wonderful article by Ben Swenson. If you are not receiving this magazine, it is sent to donors/subscribers to Colonial Williamsburg and is a much-appreciated benefit. 

The Cleveland Bay horses have been some of my favorites, with their beautiful rich brown coloring with contrasting black manes and socks. They are sturdy, strong, and temperamentally calm--what a great combination. Yet they have become a rare breed! That's because horse enthusiasts in modern times are looking for the best at some particular thing, e.g., fastest. But back in the colonial and Early American times, the Chapman horses or Cleveland Bays were the workhorses and preferred. According to Wikipedia the ancestors of the Cleveland Bays were the  Chapman Horses (which many of you historical fiction fans may be familiar with as medieval pack horses.)

The British royal family has been active in the push to maintain this rare breed (see two of their beautiful Cleveland Bays above). Swenson's article gives details on how Colonial Williamsburg is now actively involved with increasing the numbers of these beautiful animals. Their breeding program has resulted in the birth of a foal names Valiant who was born in late April. I hope I get to see him sometime soon! I am fortunate to live in the area, where so much is being done to preserve history and to keep beautiful horses like the Cleveland Bays continuing in their lineage.

Question: Will you be visiting Colonial Williamsburg soon and would you like to see Valiant?

Grooming Horses

Budweiser Clydesdale being Groomed 

Several years ago I got to watch the Budweiser Clydesdales being groomed, harnessed, and hitched for a local parade. Wow! That was a treat! Those horses are treated like rock stars. They ride in air conditioned semi trucks and travel with their personal attendants. 

They are beautiful beyond belief, but a far cry from the working horses our Colonial ancestors owned. While the Clydesdale in the photo was getting his "feathers" brushed and whitened to impress the crowd, Colonial horses needed a more practical level of grooming. 

In Full Harness

Horse harness is made of leather straps and metal buckles. These materials lay flat or shift and rub against the horse's hair and hide. While the horse's hair helps protect his hide, too much chafing will cause sore spots. When the farmer brushed his horse, he not only removed dirt and dried sweat, he checked for signs of missing hair or irritated skin. If he found those, he knew he needed to adjust or mend his harness, but he also applied a soothing ointment to the horse if needed.

Long, flowing tails are gorgeous to see flying behind a horse racing across a field. But long, flowing tails could also get caught in the hitch apparatus. The Clydesdales have their tails bobbed incredibly short as a fashion statement. They are bobbed shortly after birth, much as some breeds of dog have their tails bobbed. In Colonial times, a farmer wouldn't cut the actual tail of the horse but kept the hair trimmed so that it didn't get tangled in the hitch. Their horses still had plenty of tail to swat flies with.

Cash Yawning Wide

Saddle horses needed grooming attention as well. Not every saddle fits every horse, much like not every coat fits every human. A poorly-fitted saddle or worn blanket could rub hair off, leave sores, or even cut into a horse. Regular grooming allowed the owner or stableman to inspect for such things. Grooming before the saddle was applied also reduced the risk of trapping dirt or burrs under the blanket, a situation that could result in the rider meeting the road ... so to speak.

Last, but also import to a horse's health and well-being, was to check the horse's teeth at least yearly. Horses teeth, as they age, wear down from grazing. It would be fine if they wore evenly, but they rarely do. Sharp edges often form on the outer cusps of the molars, making grinding food more difficult and even wearing sores on the inside of the horse's cheeks. "Floating" the teeth is a method of using a rasp or a file to grind down the sharp points until they are blunted and even with the rest of the tooth. It's not a painful process, but trust me, horses don't like dental work any better than we do! Still, it needs to be done to keep them healthy, especially in their later years.

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Feeding Horses

Nugget in the Pasture

Our Colonial ancestors valued the horse for all the obvious reasons. Horses were their transportation, their workforce on the farm, and even their partner in battle. But Colonials didn't have a corner feed store with bags of mineral-added, scientifically formulated equine nutrition. So what did they do before Purina?

Pasture is the best feed for horses and it's readily available in warm weather. From the first green-up of Spring, until the snow lays thick on the land, horses can forage for food. Some horses, like Nugget here, are even good at pawing through the snow for the dried grasses underneath.

When they can't graze on pasture, a horse needs hay. Hay is simply grasses, legumes, and weeds that are cut at the peak of growth and dried. Farmers used a scythe to cut long, even swaths from the meadows and leave it to dry where it fell. In a couple of days, they'd hitch a team of horses to a wagon and with one person driving, others would "fork" loads of the dried hay onto the wagon until it was heaped full. Back near the barn, they'd stack the hay.

Haystacks

Haystacks weren't haphazard affairs. They were a combination of art and science. Properly formed, a haystack shed water and protected the feed through the coming winter until it was needed. Here's a good web page describing the process.

But hay alone was not enough to sustain horses who were worked hard. Oats, barley, and corn were all common grains fed to horses. This meant that farmers had to sow, cultivate, and harvest grains not only for the family's consumption but for their horses as well. Grains were only needed, however, during times of heavy work. During the winter months - unless the horses were used for logging - most got by just fine on hay alone.

Today, most of our horses are over-fed and under-worked, my own included. But in Colonial times, a horse wasn't a luxury or a pet, he was a vital part of the homestead and essential to the economy.

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No Hoof - No Horse

Trooper in His Shaggy Winter Coat

Last month Kelly Goshorn asked me to write about caring for horses. That made this month's blog topic an easy pick. I know a few things about horse care. Pictured here is my old horse, Trooper. He's twenty-five years old and needs some extra care in his senior years, but he's worth it.

In Colonial times, horses worked hard. They toiled in the fields, clipped along the roads, and packed goods into places where no roads existed. But they could do little of that if they were neglected.

"No hoof, no horse" was a famous saying back then and it's still well-known today. A horse without four good hooves is in serious trouble. Some people say that a horse has five hearts. In a way that's true. Besides the obvious beating organ in his chest, each of his hooves has a cushioned pad that, when pressed, helps push his blood supply back to his chest. Losing the use of a hoof damages his circulation. Even with today's advances in equine medicine, many horses with hoof injuries can't be saved. Probably the most famous being Barbaro, a racehorse who survived a shattered leg until laminitis, a very serious hoof condition, set in. 

Setting a Horse Shoe

To prevent problems, horses that are used frequently are fitted with horse shoes. The metal shoes are nailed into the hoof wall. There is no pain involved in this process. The hoof wall is like our fingernails, only stronger and much thicker. The shoes prevent the hoof from being chipped, over-worn, or otherwise damaged during hard use. On a regular basis, the shoes are removed so that the hoof walls can be trimmed back - much as we trim our nails - and then the shoes are reset onto the trimmed hooves. Our Colonial ancestors took their horses to a blacksmith or a farrier for shoeing.

Blacksmith Forged Hoof Pick

In between visits to the blacksmith or farrier, the owner or stableman would keep the horse's feet healthy with regular cleaning using a hoof pick to remove dirt, manure, and stones that could collect there. 

And finally, the horse needed somewhere dry to stand when he wasn't working. Damp is another enemy of a healthy hoof. While a horse can work all day in the damp fields, the hooves must be cleaned out and the horse given a dry place to rest afterwards to prevent bacteria from attacking the hoof and causing lameness or even death.

PeggThomas.com

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Horses - Again

You can't write historical fiction - at least not pre-twentieth century - without using horses in your story. The horse was instrumental to life. The world moved on the back of the horse.

I love horses. I've owned a handful over the years. This photo is not one of mine. He's Samson and he belongs to the Amish neighbor who cuts and bales my hayfield. He's a real working horse, just like those we write about.

Here are some horse scene disasters I've read in books recently. I'm paraphrasing:

She took off his bridle and slipped his harness over his head.

The author meant to use the word "halter" and not "harness." A harness is what Samson is wearing. It's a series of leather straps and metal buckles that attach the horse to whatever he's pulling. When tying up a horse, one uses a halter, which fits only over the horse's head.

She shook the reins and they rode off.

When riding a horse, you don't shake the reins. Riding reins are connected to a bit with a shank, a metal piece that extends down from the bit. The shank makes the bit's pressure more exact on the horse's mouth so he can understand the rider's commands. Shaking it would confuse the animal, giving it mixed signals. A rider touches the horse's sides with her heels to move the horse forward. The reins and bit are used only for direction and stopping the animal.

The horse loped along pulling the buggy.

Horses don't lope, canter, or gallop when pulling a buggy. Buggy horses are either trotters or pacers. Here's a good youtube video explaining the difference. While a horse can pull at a faster gait, it's not desired unless being chased by Indians or bandits, and even then it's extremely dangerous. At a lope, canter, or gallop, there is a point where all four of the horse's hooves are off the ground. If at that point the buggy were to strike an obstacle or fall into a rut, there is nothing to stabilize the buggy and a disaster could result.

What about the stage coaches? Yes, they were sometimes pulled at a faster pace, but they generally had four or six-horse hitch, so they were stabilized by more than one horse. Even so, the romantic notion (or Hollywood portrayal) of the galloping stage coach is mostly that - a romantic notion. A horse can go longer and cover more ground at a trot than at the faster gait.

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The Care and Feeding of Colonial Livestock

Google books is an invaluable resource!

It started, as so often happens, as a quest to find a scrap of research info. I just wanted to know whether or not a backcountry farmer would feed oats to his saddle horse. I mean, they couldn't just drive down to their local feed store and bring home a bag of Omelene.

I asked my trusty 18cLife Yahoo group, which led to a whole array of answers.

Among other things, I was pointed to a handy resource: an old book, now available online, titled The Discipline of the Light-Horse by Captain Hinde of the Royal Regiment of Foresters. I discovered that oats were, indeed, common provender for horses since at least colonial times, and I plan on taking time to read the entire book. Though written with an eye to the War of 1812, it contains many references to the American Revolution.

Something else I learned, though, was that Germanic settlers--Germans, yes, but also Dutch and other continental Europeans of varying religious backgrounds--were the ones who introduced the concept of large-scale farming with big barns and big hay wagons. The practice of farming the land on purpose (for "business," some said) and rotating crops were a curiosity to their British neighbors, who generally turned out their livestock to roam and graze, then herded them in as needed. Thus, the term "Cow Pens" where the famous South Carolina battle got its name was an actual area where pens were built for the periodic containment of cattle. Saddle and work horses might either be pastured or staked out to graze. Horses and cattle both do just fine on grass only, or hay with a bit of grain in the winter, but they'd need to spend a lot of time grazing because it takes a lot of grass to feed that large of an animal. Hogs and chickens or other yard fowl were also left to roam.

Cattle drives were a thing long before the West was won

The purpose of fencing or stables in colonial times, in the backcountry or on the frontier, was more for the purpose of keeping predators out than containing livestock.

The rich meadows and forests of South Carolina were actually considered cattle country at one time, and many savvy cattlemen were of African descent, whether enslaved or not, trusted with the keeping and care of herds. The Florida "Crackers" (as in, the cracking sound of the cattle drivers' whips) were also famed for their ability to work cattle in the harsh conditions of central Florida, through heat and torrential rains.

So, what did the colonial farmer raise crops for, if not to feed his livestock? The concept of the cash crop (tobacco, rice, indigo) dates back to at least the first settlement at Jamestown, and like it or not, much of the grains grown (corn, barley) went into grain liquor, especially the making of whiskey. (There's a whole discussion, in fact, on how the different spellings of whisky and whiskey denote a British-made product or an American-made one.)

I was able to find "provenance for my provender," in the case of whether to feed a favored saddle horse at least an occasional bit of oats, but it probably wasn't the norm for every farmer, especially not in the Carolinas.

Horses, Endurance and Distance

By Susan F. Craft
Author, A Writer’s Guide to Horses

        The Long Riders' Guild is the world's first international association of equestrian explorers, and is an invitation-only organization. It was formed in 1994 to represent men and women of all nations who have ridden more than 1,000 continuous miles on a single equestrian journey. Members currently reside in 45 countries.
        Because they constantly receive all manner of questions from writers about how to depict horses in their works, the Guild asked me to collaborate with them to compile A Writer’s Guide to Horses.
       
One question that authors ask quite a lot is, “How far can a horse travel in a day?”
Here’s an excerpt from the Guide that addresses that question.

Endurance of Horses
        Endurance depends on a wide variety of issues – condition of the animals prior to their departure; the season; that day’s weather; geographic challenges they face that day; proper fit of the riding and pack saddles; how often and accurately the animals are fed, and how talented the riders are.
        Based on a loose “ideal” situation, a Long Rider can hope to average between 15 and 25 miles a day.
        You don’t ride a horse cross country like you drive a car. That means the Long Rider usually rides for five days and then takes two days off to rest himself and his horses.


Scottish Long Rider, Catherine de Bourboulon,

rode from Shanghai to Moscow in the

mid-nineteenth century.

Gait or Pace
        Walk – 3 to 5 mph (four beat movement or gait)
        Trot – 8 to 10 mph (two beat movement)
        Canter – 15 mph (three beat movement)
        Gallop – 25 to 30 mph (A two-beat stride during which all four legs are off the ground simultaneously. This is a four-beat movement)
        A team of six horses pulling a light carriage will go faster and farther than a single horse pulling a very heavy wagon.

Distance

    “Every mile traveled is a mile survived. Distance is measured in time, not miles.”        

 How far a horse can travel in a day depends on –
• size of the horse
• age of the horse
• how much the rider weighs
• how talented the rider is
• how much gear, including saddle, bridle, saddle bags, etc., is the riding horse carrying in addition to the rider
• weather and what time of year the trip is being taken • geographic conditions – flat roads winding across pastures in Maryland; snake infested switchback trails in the Rocky Mountains; swamps, canebrakes, sand hills of South Carolina, the Steppes of Central Asia, the Himalayas, the marshes of France’s Camargue
• Writers should be aware of how the weather affects equestrian travel. Horses (like people!) find it very hard and tiring to struggle through mud or deep snow, which sometimes pull their shoes off. If there is a very sharp, cold wind, all horses will try to turn their backs to it, which can be maddening for the rider if they are trying to travel into the wind! • time period/era – i.e. late 19th century with accommodations for horse and rider found along all major roads in the eastern part of America; or early 21st century when you can’t find a horse shoer or a barn if your life depends on it; mid-1700s in back country US with little chance of equestrian services being offered at outposts or settlements.


Swiss Long Rider, Otto Schwarz, rode

48,000 kilometres on five continents in

the late twentieth century.

• if there is a pack horse in the equation; how much the pack saddle weighs; if the riding and pack mule get along
        Quote from a 1917 British cavalry manual regarding the average pace for travelers: “Distances covered in one hour, walk 4 miles, trot 8 miles, canter 9 miles, slow gallop 12, gallop 15 miles. The rate of marching should average about five miles an hour, including short halts. The rate of march will vary according to the nature of the country, the gradient of the roads and the climate.”

These excerpts from the Long Riders’ Guild Academic Foundation’s A Writer’s Guide to Horses regarding the sex, age, physical attributes, behavior, and feeding of horses. It is copyrighted material that is provided here with the permission and courtesy of the Long Riders’ Guild. Visit the website at www.lrgaf.org for more information about horses.

Nathaniel's Folly at Mount Woolaston

God bless you, my friends for joining me this morn. For those new, I am Nathaniel Griffith of Newport in the colony of Rhode Island, 1670. I see you noticed my lame leg. Aye, the Lord gave it to me to remind me of my folly. I was not always the God-fearing man I am now.

Come now, though. Sit by the fire. 'Tis cool this May rain. Not uncommon for Newport this time of year, but I'll be glad to see the summer warmth. Through the winter my hip aches with sharp pains radiating down me legs like burning knives. But at least I have my legs and my life.

Nigh thirty years ago I had an affinity for all things contrary to my father's Puritan ways. Me tad thought I might reform if I went to Harvard. I believe he hoped I'd be a clergyman when 'twas clear I had no taste for the sea or the shipping company. But the strict rules and teachings of Harvard only strengthened my resolve to rebel.

On break one winter I set out from the college to return home a different way, to my shame. I set out to find a wench at  Mount Woolaston (renamed Merry Mount by Thomas Morton for a time and later the town was called Braintree). Martin Saunders kept a house of entertainment there where a young man such as myself could enjoy a drink of wine. Aye, Mount Wollaston, er, Braintree could soothe my conscience as well for there resided the notable Anne Hutchinson. I also met the respectable William Coddington with whom I would join here in Newport in later years.

Who is Anne Hutchinson, you ask? She was a woman who dared to stand against the Puritans for their works-driven faith. Aye, but she also did not correct me in my wayward ways. Perhaps if she had . . . but I stray from my story.

'Twas late when I finally said goodbye to my wench. Martin Saunders had kept my glass full through the night so as to keep me from being cold on my ride. Folly, that be. I mounted my horse and swayed a top it. It staggered under my weight but steadied itself and turned home. An ice storm had come through and the roads were slippery. The horse slid. I felt the fall would never end as he scrambled to get his footing, tossing me about the saddle. Then as though the hand of God swatted it, the horse fell to its side, catching my leg beneath it and wrenching my hip. In my drunken stupor I hardly felt the pain, but I must have cried out for Reverend John Wheelwright found me and helped me to his home.

Not for several weeks did I return to my father's house, and that in shame. My father could not stand the sight of me. I had ruined my chances of ever being a clergyman and marred his stature in our town. I was ruined. Like Jacob in the Bible, I would spend the rest of my life walking with a halt. By God's mercy, He stopped my folly and soon after my sweet wife, though at the time she was my sister's handmaid, showed me a better way.

That story shall wait for another day. My goodwife, Sarah, has been encouraging me to write my story down. I should say our story, for her role is equal to, and perhaps greater than, mine. Suffice it to say for now the slipping of that horse changed the course of my life, and I am a better man today for it.

---

Lynn Squire here. Mount Wollaston did exist at what is now Qunicy, MA. Though the name changed several times through the years, the first half of the 1600's the area had a reputation for 'unholy' living. Martin Saunders did receive permission from the Puritans to have a house of entertainment in 1639 where he could sell wine (1640). As to a wench? Well, the reputation of the area was one of loose morals.

Braintree, MA and the surrounding area was home to many well-known characters, not only of the 17th century, but of later individuals, like John Adams and John Hancock.

As to the horse falling and injuring Nathaniel...can I have Nathaniel tell a story without me having a similar one? I also had a horse slip, fall on its side, and trap my leg beneath it. My ankle was seriously injured. After a great deal of physical therapy in an attempt to restore its strength, my doctor concluded I would spend the rest of my life wearing a brace. I spent perhaps a month in that brace. The Lord had a work for me to do, and I would be hindered if I were to wear the brace. One morning I decided to toss the brace aside and go about my business as the Lord deemed necessary. I praise the Lord that today I walk well without a brace or crutch of any sort. No one would know of the injury (except perhaps via x-ray or to look closely at the shape of the ankle and the scars). And I must add that when the horse fell on me I was of sound mind--not drunk or otherwise. To God be all glory.

Nathaniel Griffith and the Killer Filly

God bless you, dear friends for coming. And to ye who are new here, I am Nathaniel Griffith and this be my farm.

What's that you say? Am I of the Griffith Shipping Company? Yea, I am, but I've left the running of it to my uncle and my brother-in-law. I fear sailing is not for me. Though in truth, I have crossed the ocean a few times in search of good horseflesh.

Take this dapple gray filly. She's three and spirited. She's got fine straight legs, and if ye look at the peak above her eye, ye'll see she's kind too. Though the man who sold her to me thought not.

Me uncle sent word last fall of a man in Wales who'd brought some horses from Egypt. My sense of urgency to see these fine animals overwhelmed my fear of sailing. 'Twas a hard time to convince our Captain Hall to sail across the Atlantic in late November, but after some pressing, he agreed and we left the week after a fierce storm, the likes of which I'd never seen, hit our shores.  But I digress.

After a very difficult sail (having been blown off course), we arrived in Newport, Wales late January. I was convinced I'd sailed through hell, but upon my word, the horses Mr. Durham had in his possession were well worth the sail.

After two weeks recovering at my uncle's house, I mounted one of his fine steeds and road to Mr. Durham's farm. No sooner had I arrived than the man proudly presented five young stallions of Arabian breeding. I thought to barter a good price for them, but the filly in the back paddock caught my attention. She held her head and tail high and trotted the fence with an intelligent look in her eyes that superseded that of the stallions.

When I gestured to the filly, the man's countenance streaked with fear. "She's a killer," he said then shook his head.

I asked him what had happened.

He coughed and sputtered and stroked a tear from his cheek. "Me son, he was leading her from the back pasture a fortnight ago. I was at work in the barn and heard him bellow. I stuck my nose out the door and the mare jumped to her side, knocked my son down and trampled him."

I gasped and asked, "What gave her cause?"

"Aye, best we can tell it was a wolf pack on the hill." He twisted his neck, and his Adam's apple bobbed. "I'd known a horse to spook at such, but ne'er there be a time before that I see a horse jump upon a downed boy. I held in my hand a pitchfork and rushed to my boy, determined not to let the filly come at him again. Ye see, I'd not known the wolves were on the hill. Only that the filly stomped upon my lad." He shook his finger at the filly. "If I had my musket, I would have killed her right then." With a heavy sigh he lowered his hand and continued. "'Twas blood coming from my son's mouth and he gasped for air--terror claimed his eyes. He died in his bed later that night, not able to breathe for his broken chest."

I shook my head. "'Tis a hard thing to lose a son."

He walked toward his barn. "I'll give you that filly if you pay a fair price for those stallions." He tossed a halter to me. "She's not been handled since that day."

As you can see. I've brought the filly home. The stallions I've already sold to breeders in Boston and Providence. I'll work with her until she's safe enough for any man to handle. She'd not given us trouble on the ship home, and I expect little trouble from her now. 'Twas an unfortunate incident.

I see Dr. Clarke is waving you down. I'll not keep you as I've much work to do. Godspeed one and all.
___________________________________________________________________________

Like Mr. Durahm's son, I had a filly (her name was Copper) use me as a launching pad. The electric fence along the pasture snapped. She spooked, knocked me over, and in her attempt to get away, she stepped on my chest. In the moments immediately following I didn't feel the pain so much as the panic of not being able to breathe. My lung had been punctured by one of the many broken ribs. Not until I was in the ambulance did I feel the pain.

When I arrived at the hospital, I begged for relief from the pain, but they would not give me any until after a tube was stuck in my side to drain the punctured lung. I had been married only three weeks at this point and would spend the next two weeks in the hospital and a month after that recovering from the broken ribs. What a welcome my poor hubby had to being married to me. To this day I still feel the occasional pang where the ribs were broken and the tube had been inserted.

Once I was able to ride again, I continued to train the filly. While I could ride other horses without hesitation, handling Copper required a battle with fear I never thought I would ever experience with a horse. With the occasional help from others, I managed to train her well enough to sell her to an instructor who would use Copper in her riding program. So like Nathaniel, I was confident in the kind look in Copper's eye. She didn't mean to hurt me, but accidents do happen.

The first recorded Arabian stallion to have been brought to England was the Markham Arabian. He came to King James I in 1616. However, there is evidence that some Arabian horses were brought back by knights after the Crusades.

The Welsh pony is believed to have been influenced by Arabians as early as the Middle Ages, which agrees with the notion of the knights bringing horses back. While the official year the Welsh Pony was brought into America was 1884, I would venture to say that people coming from Wales would have brought a horse or two over with them, and some of these were quite likely born with the native welsh-type pony blood.

The first official import of Arabian breeding stock to America was in 1725 by Nathan Harrison of Virginia. So to be strictly accurate, Nathaniel Griffith didn't bring true Arabian stallions back with him. I just thought it fit the story. That said, I have no doubt that some horses brought over in the 17th century did have Arabian blood. The horses I have read about tended to be smaller than the stock commonly found in England, which is what the Europeans were doing--crossbreeding their horses with Arabians to make them lighter.

King James I's breeding program would have enhanced the Arabian influenced. This, along with the old knights' horses influence, made it possible for many of the horses brought to America to have had a great deal of Arabian blood in them without any formal recognition.

Nathaniel Griffith

Outside Newport, RI January 1675

Ah, please excuse my breeches dear friends. And my new friends, I'm Nathaniel Griffith. Please, come quickly into my house. Take my musket and this quiver of arrows. There's bows behind the door.

What is my concern? The Plymouth Colony in November sent a colonial militia against the Narragansett tribe. 'Tis a shame, I say. We, in Newport, have always found the Narragansett to be a friendly people. Nonetheless, it has happened.

In December, the colonial force found the Narragansett fort not far from here. With men from Plymouth, Massachusetts, and Connecticut (along with some Pequots and Mohicans), an attack was launched against the fort. Aye, it put all of us here in a fine mess. Many of the Narragansett people escaped, but face a winter with little food and shelter.

Which brings me to my breeches. I took supplies to those friends I'd made over the years. 'Twas midday, when I rode down a trail at a canter,  my chestnut mare as anxious as I to get home. Hearing some noise behind me, I looked over my shoulder and the next thing I knew I  sat upon the trail and not on me horse. It happened so quickly I had no time to know what hit me, but when I looked up I saw a rope strung across the trail at the height of a rider.

'Twas by the grace of God I escaped. My mare had stopped. No doubt, I'd yanked hard on her mouth when I'd been thrust from my seat. She stood looking at me, her head slightly tilted as though asking why I sat there and not on her back. I jumped to my feet and leapt upon her back then raced home.

As you saw when you joined me, I have just arrived home. No one pursued me, and I pray my goodwill toward the Indians will stay their anger against us. But I wish not to be caught unawares, nor do I wish to incite the militia against my friends. Many in Newport have taken in the wounded from that battle last month. Some of the wounded colonists from the north are heading home now. I fear, however, that this will not be the end of it.

What's this ye say? Ye must continue your journey? Have ye supplies? Aye, I thought not. I have a gelding who would make you a good pack animal. You may take him, and I will give you some of what we have, along with some arrows and two bows. I fear I have no ammunition to spare. I have not sufficient ammunition to protect ourselves through these months.

I wish you all Godspeed. Take care to stay out of the frozen swamp, for that is where many of the Narragansett warriors and their families fled.

---

Lynn Squire here,

When I was about eleven, I was up at our neighbor's farm playing cowboys and Indians. While galloping my sorrel mare away from said 'cowboys' (I was riding bareback and therefore an Indian) I looked over my shoulder and instantly found myself sitting on the ground. My horse had ridden under the clothesline, which hit me at chest level. When I landed on the ground I didn't know what had happened until (like Nathaniel) I looked up. Not until I had seen the line did I feel its sting.

At the time, I was rather embarrassed. What fool rides under a clothesline? But  now I chuckle whenever I think of it. Unfortunately, my mare was not as nice as Nathaniel's. She ran home without me!

Horse in the Bog by Lynn Squire

Welcome Friends and ye new visitors. I'm Nathanial Griffith. Please excuse the mud on my breeches and coat. We've just returned from a long ride under less than favorable conditions.

Aye, I see you looking at my poor old gelding. His hindquarters still quiver. He'll need a good rest, a warm mash, and warm blankets. While my nephew William attends to him, let me tell you the story.

A delegation from our church to lend moral support to Thomas Goold's church in Boston departed a week ago. We knew the trek to be dangerous for we feared the unrest among the Wampanoag Confederacy. However, 'twas not the Indians we need to have feared but the weather.

We set out, five of us with ten horses, three pack horses and seven mounts. As is our custom, we altered walking and riding so as to give the horses rest, yet cover ground quickly. We would make the seventy-five mile trip in two days, the most time lost being the crossing of Sakonnet River at Blue Bill Cove. Much happened along the way, including a foul storm that besought us from Porstmouth to Lynn, and another on the return from Quincy to Freetown.

'Twas that storm that flooded the narrow trail at many places, and while on our ride home the sun shone at times, the paths turned into soup. Three of the other men rode ahead of me, navigating through a particularly deep and wide quagmire. I saw that they made it through and thought to follow after.

My gelding lowered his nostrils and tilted his head to look at it. As you well know, a horse can only see close up with one eye at a time. He jigged a bit, but he's a goodly type, and with some urging leapt into the bog. I lurched forward and felt the panic in his stride as his neck came up to rear his front legs from the mud.

Fearing his struggle would only worsen the situation, I leapt from his back onto the edge of the mire. By this time I could see the coupling of his back straining and sinking as he fought to get his feet under him. At first I hauled on the bridle thinking to pull him from the mud then realized he needed his head free to act as a pendulum.

I was at a loss how to help him until Rev. Myles (a visiting minister from Wales who had joined our delegation) rode up. He had the good fortune to have a sturdy rope. Dismounting quickly, he tossed me an end while he took the other around the back and to the side of my gelding. Together we worked the rope under the buttocks of my gelding and then heaved the horse out of the bog.

The poor beast lay on his side, his lungs gasping for air and every muscle in his body quivering. The good reverend and I stripped off our cloaks and threw them over the horse's body. Knowing the cold would cause great harm, we could not let the gelding rest long. We'd need to get him to a warm, dry place. With much urging, and using the reverend's horse to help pull mine along, we managed to find a widening in the trail where we could build a fire.

As you can see, the gelding, though weak, has made it home. He'll recover in about a week's time with good care. 'Twas an unfortunate happening, and I would not wish it on any man or animal. If you don't mind, I shall bid you all adieu and help William fix the warm mash and blankets.

---

The storm in Northern California (where I live) at the first of this month, drew up many memories. Pulling horses out of mires and canals were some of them.When my husband and I sat before the fire in the comfort of our living room and watched the rain come down (some say at the rate of an inch an hour), I had the urge to put on my Stetson, my slicker, my boots, and my chaps, and head out to do something. What I don't know. In the past it would have been something to help in the comfort and care of our animals.

Between fifteen and twenty years ago, I lived and worked on a ranch in an area that flooded several months of the year. There were times when horses found themselves in the unfortunate position of sliding down a steep embankment into waters below or foolishly being ridden through a boggy spot on a trail, which the rider did not perceive to be deep. In our modern times, we could use a tractor with a front end loader and a sling to lift the horse to safety, but there were times when we had nothing but a lariat and muscles to drag a horse from a bog.

One such time happened when we were several miles from any camp or road, and the trail was either up the mountain or down the mountain. The poor horse was an older gelding, and we feared the incident would do him in, but God is merciful. We managed to get him to a corral at the top of the trail where a truck and trailer could take him back home. Lots of tender-loving care brought him back to full health.

The story Nathaniel told came to mind when reading Mr. Potter's Journal from Virginia to New England. His July 20, 1690 entry says:

I went from Onions to Eliza Town, there having been very much rain, in sight of Collonel Townlies my horse fell with me, and by Gods mercy I escaped drowning having been twice under water wet all my linnen and papers. (Travels in the American Colonies, by Newton D. Mereness p.5)

 I imagine the gentleman was quite uncomfortable, but I must admit I wondered what happened to the horse. :)

Horse Breeds

Aye, good-day me friends. Most of you know my father, Nathaniel Griffith. I am Joshua. I see you've come to watch the new horses come off the Griffith Lady. They be from England. They were set to arrive last fall, 1710, but a leak on the ship sent them back to England until repairs were made.

When last I was in London, I saw a beautiful coach pulled by four seal brown horses the owner called Thoroughbreds. His best mares, he said, were bred to the Byerley Turk, a stallion captured by Captain Robert Byerley at the Battle of Buda (1686). I believe it will be yet another 20 years, perhaps 1730, before we'll see such horses in the colonies.

While in Europe with my uncle, Davis Owen, we visited a riding school in Napels where the haut école of equitation was practiced.There we saw stocky black horses known as Friesians. Most stand no more than 15 hands high. These well-trained horses, along with the Andalusians, performed airs above the ground (movements involving the horse leaping and kicking out). These movements have been used in warfare for centuries.

The kings of France preferred the Andalusians, a Spanish breed, though I found the Friesians most beautiful. I fear we'd need to sell all our stock to buy one Andalusian.

A team of white marbled horses pulled our heavy wagon from Picardie, France to the Boulonnaise region. We were in search of good horses to improve our stock. Unfortunately, we were unable to bring this team with us to Newport. They were of the Boulonnaise breed and had a good reputation among breeders. Smaller types of these horses were used to transport fresh fish from the Channel coast to Paris in less than 24 hours. Of all the draft horses we saw in Europe, the Boulonnaise were perhaps the most noble. We learned, however, that some Percherons from France were taken to Quebec. Someday, I shall travel north to see these animals. Perhaps they will suit our breeding program.

We, in Rhode Island, have worked hard to breed a horse that is fleet and swift pacing. I have a stallion that will pace a mile in little more than two minutes. Our horses need also to be hardy. 'Tis not unusual to journey sixty, nigh even seventy miles in a day on forest paths. Something uncommon, I am told, in England. We call our horses Narragansett Pacers, and as long as there are narrow paths in which to ride, our horses will serve a purpose. Though I will say Uncle Davis feels our pacers will give way to coach horses when roads improve.

Well now, the barge has made shore, and I must go and collect our mares. Godspeed to you, my friends.

---

The first Thoroughbred to be brought to America was Bulle Rock. He was imported in 1730 by Samuel Gist of Hanover County, Virginia.

Perhaps the most well known French draft breed is the Percheron. However, in the 17th century the Boulonnaise seemed to be more popular. If I lived then, I would probably chose a Boulonnaise over a Percheron because of the size. Smaller, they would not only be easier to mount but easier to feed than the Percheron. My research seemed to suggest they were faster as well. Having ridden a Percheron, my legs would attest to the discomfort of riding such a broad back. However, I prefer to drive a team of Percherons over Belgians, but that is pure whimsy.

The Narragansett Pacer was the first horse breed developed in the United States and did indeed become well-known. Even George Washington owned one, and some say that Paul Revere's horse was a Narragansett Pacer. The breed did give way to coach horses, and by the end of the 19th century, was extinct. The last one was believed to have died in 1880.

This breed provided the foundation for other pacing breeds like the American Saddlebred, Standardbred, and Tennessee Walking Horse. We, at one time, believed that my own precious Ginger had American Saddlebred blood for she had the ambling gait. She could walk as fast as some horses trotted. The gait is easy to ride and ground covering.

Many breeds influenced our American breeds. However, most colonists would not have any one specific breed but more likely to have a type, such as a saddlehorse, a coach horse, or a wagon horse (draft horse). With the exception of the wealthy, horses were bought and sold based on their abilities not on breed or lineage. Growing up, and through my years as an instructor and trainer, I prided myself in working primarily with 'grade horses'--horses of no specific lineage. Like the colonialists, I was more interested in the tractability, conformation, and physical abilities of the horse than in lineage. My own Ginger frequently out-performed purebred horses worth thousands of dollars more than what we paid for her.

If you get a chance, read the story of Justin Morgan's horse. The story reflects well how a horse of relatively unknown lineage can rise to the top. It also gives a good picture of how the 18th century horse business worked.

Lynn Squire: Random Thoughts on Horses, by Nathaniel Griffin

'Tis a joy to see you again, my good friends. I see ye are watching our foals. They are a fine bunch. My uncle would say, "'Tis a fine field of foal colts ye have there." Aye, ye are right. They are not all colts. Some are fillies, a filly being a young female horse. But ye see, just as you or me may refer to a person as 'he' so me uncle, and many like him, refer to no particular foal as a 'colt', or 'foal colt'.

Did ye know that historically a 'colt' only referred to a young ass or camel? 'Tis true, I'm told.

Now ye see that chestnut, or red colored, one kicking up his heels? My uncle swears that all chestnuts have fire in their bellies. And the bay--brown body, black mane and tail--he claims those are lazy. Well, 'tis only a guide, not the rule, but I must admit I've experienced enough to say there might be something to it.

Did ye pass by my barn on the way here? Did ye happen to see my son's bidet? If ye don't know, a bidet is a pony. That one my uncle bought from a miner as a gift for his nephew.

'Tis interesting the sayings that use horses. Just the other day I heard someone speak of a man being hanged from the gallows. The good man said, "The fool was destined to ride a horse that was foaled of an acorn."

Of course my uncle never tires of telling me, "No man ought to looke a geuen hors in the mouth." And my neighbor, he says, "He ne'er consider'd it, as loth to look a Gift-horse in the mouth."

Two acquaintances of mine in London  have taken to nailing horseshoes above the door of their houses to prevent witches from entering their homes. Methinks I'll but me trust in God to protect me.

That small gray in the pen next to the garden is a jennet. Aye, 'tis what my grandfather would call a small Spanish horse. One of his dobbin, or farm horse, was bred to a Spanish horse and foaled a colt as small as that gray, yet as strong as an ox. 

My brother-in-law, Davis Owen, had the privilege of going to a manege, or riding school. That was before the English Civil War. His father, a royalist, lost everything, including his life. But 'twas my sister's good fortune. Davis came to Rhode Island to escape Oliver Cromwell. Now I benefit from his excellent training. Before he came, I was frequently unhorsed (thrown from my horse).

Now would ye look at that sun. It's lowered itself to the horizon. I best get my courser, the large horse behind me barn, unhitched and fed. He'll need a good curry, or rub down, as well.

May God richly bless you in your travels, my friends, and may your trotters give you a good ride home.

A Living Link to the Revolution: South Carolina's Marsh Tacky Horses

In June 2010, the Marsh Tacky horse, a breed now on the verge of extinction, became the official State Heritage Horse of South Carolina. If you’ve never heard of Marsh Tacky horses, you’re in good company. Most people haven’t, including me. What’s so important about this breed that they were designated an official State horse? you may ask. Turns out there’s a lot.

Marsh Tacky horses are descendants of the horses Spanish explorers left behind on the south Atlantic coast in the 1500s, which bred with the stock Spanish settlers later brought to the New World. From these breeds developed several distinct strains of horses, including the Marsh Tacky, North Carolina’s Banker Ponies, and Florida’s Cracker Horses. They are direct descendants of the horses common during the Golden Age of Spain, which are now almost completely extinct in Spain.

Marsh Tackies got their name from the fact that they live in marshy areas, and the term tacky, which means common. Feral herds adapted to the conditions of America’s southeastern coastal regions. Sturdy and smaller than many common breeds at only 13 to 15 hands high, Marsh Tackies adapted to swamps and wooded wetlands, surviving on marsh grass and other available forage that couldn’t sustain most breeds. Their distinctive gait provides a greater stability in the terrain, and when stuck in quagmires, they learned to lie down on their sides, pull their feet free, and get up, instead of panicking as most horses would.

These horses are also a link to the American Revolution. General Francis Marion’s soldiers relied on these horses for their hardiness and their ability to navigate the coastal regions with ease, and in fact, their gait is now called the Swamp Fox Trot. With many of his horses lost at sea, British Colonel Banastre Tarleton also made use of these horses during his capture of Charleston. And the breed saw service during the Civil War as well as during World War II, when they served in the Coast Guard’s Mounted Beach Patrol.

Marsh Tackies’ habitat originally ranged from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina to St. Simon’s Island, Georgia. They were widely used in the Gullah community for transportation, farming, and hunting until cars and trucks became prevalent. But by the mid twentieth century they could be found only on outlying islands. Fewer than 300 Marsh Tackies remain today, none in the wild, and efforts are being made to save the breed from extinction.

The links below provide more information on the Marsh Tacky breed and conservation efforts.

Marsh Tacky Association

Barnes Farm

Carolina Marsh Tacky Outdoors

Wikipedia

Information for this article was taken from “Living Links to the Revolution: South Carolina’s Marsh Tacky Horses,” American Spirit, May/June 2012.

Oats for Me or My Livestock?

Greetings, my good friends. And for those who are visiting for the first time, I am Nathaniel Griffith and this is my humble farm here on Aquidneck Island in the colony of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations. Please wait here while I get a measure of oats for my stallion.

What do you think of my plump grain? Not always have we been blessed with such good grain. When first I brought my family to this island I had but one horse, a milk cow, two beef cows and their calves, and five sheep with me from my father's farm near Boston (we were banished and our properties confiscated). In truth, we were blessed to have even that much livestock. They all fed upon what grass they could find and any undergrowth in the brush and woods.

Have you ever considered what it takes to grow this grain? Yea, it takes a bit of work. We came with only a small measure, not even enough to feed ourselves. I, my wife, and my sister worked to clear a small plot of land from the brush. We planted that small measure. 'Twas a dry year so twice a day we carried water from the brook down that path there to both the grain and the kitchen garden by the house. Through the summer we nurtured the grain, praying God might give us an abundant harvest, and He did. That first year the oats brought forth eighty-fold. This means eighty times more than what we seeded. Still that was less than eight bushels. The next year, I fear we had but thirty-fold. Hail had destroyed a good portion.

We labored with love to bring in that first crop. Myself, my wife, sister, and mother took one day to reap and bind the grain. Not a grain stalk was left standing, and we took great care when we threshed to not lose even a kernel. Each kernel was picked up from the threshing floor and the straw used for bedding, both for us and our animals.

Those first years the grain was not for our livestock but for ourselves. If we fed our horse every day for a year the measure of oats I just gave him, he would eat more than a hundred bushels. Those first few years we could not spare even a kernel for them. We ate what we could and saved some to plant each spring. In time, however, we continued to expand our cleared land and could grow more.

Yea, in time we were blessed to get eighty bushels of grain to an acre.  Indeed I'm told my grandfather only managed 8 or 9 bushels an acre in Wales nigh eighty years ago. I've heard tell of some here in the colonies getting even ninty bushels. I cannot think but that such a farmer was truly blessed by God.

Even today, however, I only feed grain to this stallion here during the breeding season. He needs the extra care at this time. But for the other livestock, our pasture suffices.

Look closely at the grass beneath your feet. You will see that there are a number of different plants, some clover, some timothy, and so on. This makes for good pasture and good livestock. This took years to grow and I had to import grass seed from England.

I wish you all Godspeed and may you count your many blessings today when you sit at your meal and enjoy the bread God has provided for you.

---

 A note from Lynn Squire:

I began to question how often bread was eaten by the early colonists. Growing up on a grain farm, I knew how hard we had worked to grow a crop--that with all the then-modern equipment, fertilizer, methodology, etc.

The early seventeenth century colonist did not eat a lot of wheat or oats (they ate nuts, berries, corn, meat and fish). They had a difficult time growing grain. While corn became a mainstay, even that wasn't as bountiful as it is today. I did find recorded where eighty-six bushels of corn was gleaned from one bushel of seed. A bushel of seed would cover approximately one acre of land. A bushel of corn weighs 56 lbs. One bushel could feed 10 people (the average household) for approximately 5 to 6 days.

Most farms were approximately fifty acres in New England. Livestock, buildings, kitchen gardens, pasture, etc. would be on those fifty acres.

The average acreage in England only produced about eight to nine bushels of grain to the acre. A lot of acreage would be needed to grow enough wheat, for example, to feed a family for a year. In time the colonists seemed to do better than those farmers in England.

I experimented in our backyard. Even though I would not have the same variety of grain the colonists would have had (which would be of poor quality than our present varieties), I scattered the grain on the soil in a manner similar to how the colonists would have. Yes my soil is different and the climate was different, but I felt it would still give me a feel for what the colonists would have experienced. Within a few months, I had first hand experience how little grain (grown from a handful of kernels) would grow in a small plot--not even enough to grind into flour for a loaf of bread.

Consider a few things. Rocks and trees and brush populated the land when the colonists arrived and needed to be cleared. I have memories of walking the fields to pick rocks and poison gophers. These were constant enemies of the farmer, as they would have been for the colonists.  The soil in most of New England was of poor quality. The birds would come. The mice would come. Floods and hail would come. Drought would come. As well as sickness. Even if the conditions were perfect, for those early colonists surviving on what they could grow on their farms would be difficult. How much more when you factor in nature.