An Old Cavalry Horse Objects To Buggy Riding

March 5, 1885-Indian Journal

When at the closing of the war we were stationed at San Antonio, having little to do, we determined to enjoy a buggy ride. We had a great big, good-natured horse that had followed us from far Alabama, a dapple-grey, with flowing mane and tail, and it did seem as though he would handle a buggy like a joy forever. The horse had never been hitched to a buggy before, but he behaved himself the best he knew how. He looked around at the buggy and at the man in it as much to say: "box, this may be all right, but is a mean trick to play on a cavalry horse. However, if you can tell me what you want me to do, I'll do it or bust a trace." He didn't understand the pull of the reins, and we had to get out to turn him around. He rubbed his nose on our shoulder and looked out of his eyes as though he would ask if he had done right so far and seemed to say: " I have been prepared for anything since I left the Confederate service from a thousand mile raid in short rations, to a race with a Quartermaster's mule, but I had never expected to come to this," and a tear seemed to linger on his eyelid as he put his nose in his master's shirt bosom and snorted some of his foam there.

On returning to the town a company of cavalry were drilling on the plaza, and just then an idiot with a bugle began to blow a call and the cavalrymen started across the plaza in company front. That settled the buggy ride. "General Grierson" started off an a run, buggy and all and wheeled in front of the third platoon, three paces in front, right where he knew there ought to be a Second Lieutenant, and turned his eye to the right to dress on the other platoon commanders. The rear of the buggy was breaking up the ranks of the platoon, and we were never so embarrassed in the world. The Captain yelled to us to get out of the way, an orderly rode up and to the old grey by the bit, and then it occurred to the horse that the buggy was in the way, and he began to kick it to pieces. The cross bar and dashboard were kicked over into the platoon, and he was just pulverizing the running gear and box when a dozen men grabbed him and we crawled out from under the wreck, and when we got out the horse had turned around facing us, with the shafts still hitched to him, and he was trying to in his horse sense way, to tell us what he thought of a cavalryman that would appear on duty in such a way, and bring reproach on a good, honest, well-brought up horse. The company stopped drilling to laugh, broke ranks, and went into the Menger House at our expense, the livery man took his buggy back on a dray and the writer paid for the buggy, put on the saddle again and rode away, and the old horse, when we got into the road turned his head and nibbled the rider's boot-leg and winked as much as to day: "'There, boss, this is something like it. This is the way we used to do in the Confederacy. Buggy riding makes me sick."-Peck's Sun

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