fierce eyes, he
had many of the qualities which distinguished his noble prototype. He
had not the high honor to die carrying a slave to liberty, but when the
final accounts come to be squared up in the horses' heaven, it is
possible that the credit of having passed unflinchingly through the
battles of Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, and of having safely
carried a wounded soldier off each field may prove to be a little
something in favor of my splendid "Don." As a saddler, he came to me
practically unbroken. He was sold from the farm because he would jump
all fences, yet under the saddle, when I took him, he would not jump the
smallest obstacle. This is really as much of an art on the part of the
rider as with the horse. An unskilled rider is liable to seriously
injure both the horse and himself in jumping. If he is unsteady, the
motion of the horse as he rises to make his leap is liable to pitch him
over his head. On the other hand, if he clings back, a dead weight in
his saddle, he is liable to throw the horse backward. I have seen both
done. The secret of successful jumping is to give the horse his head as
he rises, feel your knees against his sides firmly, rising with him as
he rises and be again in your seat before his feet reach the ground.
This helps him and saves both a killing jounce. I finally trained him so
that as a jumper he was without a peer in our part of the army. I have
had the men hold a pole fully a foot higher than my head, as I stood on
the ground, and have jumped him back and forth over it as readily as
cats and dogs are taught to jump over one's arm. And the men insisted
that he cleared the pole at least a foot each jump.

This jumping of horses was considered quite an accomplishment in the
army, it being often a necessity on the march in getting over obstacles.
One day I saw our general's son, a young West Pointer, attached to his
father's staff, trying to force his Kentucky thoroughbred to jump a
creek that ran past division head-quarters. The creek was probably ten
to twelve feet wide and, like all Virginia creeks, its banks seemed cut
vertically through the soil and the water at the edges was about a foot
deep. After repeated trials the best the young man's horse could do was
to get his forefeet on the opposite bank. His hindfeet always landed in
the water. Mr. West Pointer was way above noticing in any way a poor
volunteer plebeian like myself mounted on an old plug like Don. But Don
ha