IN THE HUNTING-FIELD.
A very tempting title truly, but before we can get there we must say
a word about the preparation for it, and also about the journey to be
taken to reach the desired goal.
To prepare, therefore, you should look first to your horse; you must
get him into good hard-fed condition some time before the opening
of the season, and either exercise him regularly yourself, or get
somebody to do it for you. The subject of feeding I hope to discuss
in a forthcoming chapter--as also that of shoeing, which is extremely
important. I may here say, however, that my system of feeding hunters
is in many points so widely different to that of others that I shall
not undertake to advocate it openly, but shall merely state that I have
found it answer most admirably in my own stable, and that many private
friends to whom I have recommended it have endorsed my opinion of its
excellence. The only portion of it to which I shall in this chapter
refer, is concerning the _times_ at which I think the meals ought to
be given. I advise that hunters be accustomed all the year round to
do without a heavy midday meal: this practice to be adhered to during
the summer months, as well as in winter; in fact, whether the animal
is doing work or not. A good substantial feed at 7 A.M., and another
twelve hours later, with one _of hay only_ (but plenty of it, and of
the best) at noon, is all the food that need be given. Horses fed thus
do not, on even very long days, miss anything except their midday
repast, whereas, if accustomed to a solid feed of corn in the middle of
the day, the vacuum created by the want of it must certainly tell upon
the animals, and render them in a great degree unfitted for their tasks.
Let your horse, then, be fed as I have directed, and you will
(confidently speaking) find him quite able and ready for the long days
which are so trying to horses that are not in condition, as well as to
many that are.
Look to his shoeing a day or two before you want to use him, and when
I say “look,” I mean for you to do it yourself, and not merely inquire
of the servant whether it has been done, unless, indeed, he is one of
those treasures who are as rarely to be met with as the proverbial
four-leaved shamrock, or the horse that is a day over six years old.
Grooms will not, as a rule, trouble themselves much about the shoeing
department, except at the most inconvenient times; when they don’t
want you to go out, for instance, it is quite surprising how quickly
they contrive to discover that the horse must go to the forge. I know
all their little tricks perfectly well, and the length of time, too,
that they generally find it necessary to be absent when that forge
business is declared to be a necessity that cannot be done without;
therefore, it will be well to look to it _always_ yourself, a good bit
in advance, in order that you may not in any wise be taken unprepared.
Give a glance over your hunting-gear also, lest anything should be
astray. It is not at the last moment that such things ought ever
to be looked to. See that your gloves are in good order, and your
riding-breeches perfectly whole--for, remember, there is a great and
constant strain on this particular garment, and it will in consequence
stand in frequent need of repairs. Make certain also that your skirt
is neatly brushed, your hat in perfection, and your whip and spur in
perfect readiness for use.
Having made these preparations, you must turn your thoughts from
necessaries to possible contingencies, and hold yourself in readiness
for such. Procure a small, tidy valise, and in it place a complete
change of warm clothing. You can dispense with fashionable and costly
articles, and put in merely such things as will prove convenient in
the possible event of your being either dyked, or subjected to such
a wetting from above as would render it unsafe for you to proceed
homewards in your riding-habit. Of course, I am now surmising that you
either drive or rail to the hunt, and return the same way.
If you ride a hack to covert, or jog your hunter at an easy pace, you
will not only find it impossible to carry a change of clothing, but you
will not have any need of such, because nobody ever catches cold, even
from wet clothes, so long as motion and circulation are kept up; but
if you have a long drive homewards after a hard and exciting day, or a
journey (even a short one) to perform by rail, I strongly advocate the
carrying of the valise. It will not prove a source of the least trouble
to you. You can leave it either in your vehicle or at the railway
station, and it is an inconceivable comfort to be able to get into a
dry suit when every stitch that you have on is clinging to your body,
heavy with wet and mud. I advise the labelling of the valise in plain
letters, if it is to be left in any waiting-room. To attend to this
may prevent a good deal of possible confusion. Many ladies think it a
trouble, I know, to carry such things about with them--just as men,
when they go out walking, consider it “a nuisance” to carry an umbrella
or an overcoat, even on the most uncertain and showery days--paying the
penalty, of course, in drenched garments, rheumatism, and catarrh. The
“trouble” in the first instance is very small; in the second it may be
serious.
Having then made all square and ready, we have next to consider in what
way you intend to proceed to covert. If by rail or vehicle, and that
you happen to have friends of an obliging sort living close to the
proposed meet, you may perhaps find them willing to give accommodation
to your mount for the preceding night. If so it will be very pleasant,
both for you and your horse, as the animal will be as fresh as a daisy
to carry you--a cheery thing for both parties. You must, however,
remember that you will be under a very decided compliment--one which
many may not desire to incur--to the friend who shows you this favour,
inasmuch as putting up a horse signifies either putting up a servant
also, or sending a groom to meet the animal at the station; at all
events it entails extra stable duties, and these must be considered and
paid for.
Supposing that you do not send your horse anywhere the night before,
see to it that he gets off betimes in the morning, and, if going
by road, give your servant directions to take him to some quiet
corner or laneway close to the meet, and to wait for you there until
you come. I regard this as a very much better plan than having him
led _direct_ to the meet, and mounting him there in presence of an
assembled crowd. Ladies who like a little bit of show generally prefer
the latter way--but for true comfort, opportunity for overlooking
the general turning-out of your horse, lengthening or shortening
of stirrup-leathers, folding your muffling tidily away (instead of
flinging it anywhere or anyhow into the vehicle), giving your groom
directions where to meet you at the close of the day, and so forth,
commend me to the former.
If a hunter is to be railed, let him go to the station well clothed,
and send extra things along with him for coming home. Winter evenings
are usually chilly, if not downright cold, and are very frequently damp
as well; if, then, a heated animal, with every pore open from exercise
and excitement, is called upon, unprepared, to encounter these combined
atmospheric influences, coughs, catarrhs, rheumatic affections, and
sometimes the more serious evils of inflamed or congested lungs, are
certain to be the results.
Rise early yourself on a hunting morning; have a cold bath, if of a
robust temperament--if not, tepid. Eat a moderate breakfast of white
fish, cutlet, or steak, accompanied by dry toast or biscuit, and
partake of very little liquid. Fill your flask with cold tea: it is
more invigorating than either brandy or wine; and provide a small
sandwich, or a biscuit or two, to put in the pocket of your saddle.
This will be provision enough for the commissariat department.
If you have the luxury of riding a good hack to covert, and that the
distance is not very far--say, from five to eight miles--you will be
certain to enjoy it, and it will put you in fettle for the more serious
business of the day. This again, like the bath, means if you are
strong and hardy: in short, inured to long rides, and not by any means
easily fatigued. If it be not so with you, it will be better to make
arrangements to go by rail, or drive.
Some ladies ride their hunters quite long distances to meets, but as
a rule they are not among the straight-going sort, being satisfied
with seeing the first draw and the burst away over a good line of
country, where the two or three preliminary fences are not such as
to occasion many serious mishaps. I do not think that any lady who
rides even moderately straight ought to hack her hunter for a longer
distance than five or six miles of a good fair road, and the best way
to take him will be at a brisk walk, alternated pretty frequently with
a steady jog-trot, or a hand-gallop on the grass at the side. I do not
at all object to a hunter being allowed to drink a little water before
starting on his journey, although I know that very many disagree with
me on the point; nor do I object to his having a few mouthfuls in the
intervals of hunting; it will refresh him excessively, just as a
small goblet of water would refresh _you_, although a large one might
overload your stomach, or give you a chill.
On arriving at the meet, keep as quiet and as much in the background
as you possibly can. It is better taste by far than to push forward in
ever so small a degree. Do not trouble yourself with thinking about
your own appearance, be it what it may; in all probability nobody will
be minding you at all. If you are perfectly well turned-out, feel
happy in the consciousness that you are so, but _shun display_; if
indifferently, console yourself with the reflection that each man and
woman present is occupied in admiring him or herself, and has neither
time nor desire to admire you, or the reverse.
Do not expect that august personage, “the master,” to shake hands with
you, even if acquainted, or to stop and talk. Salute him as he goes by,
but nothing further.
Do not worry the huntsman with questions about the proposed draws, or
anything else. If you know him, salute him, and say a word or two, if
you like, about his hounds, but never expect him to answer you; his
mind is on other matters bent.
Do not indulge in loud talking, or conspicuous laughter, which will be
certain to render you remarkable and bring many eyes upon you. A quiet,
ladylike demeanour will always ensure admirers.
When the order is given to go, and the huntsman moves off in front
with his hounds, contrive to keep as close to him as you can, without
an appearance of “push.” This for the obvious reason that a fox is
very often found the moment (or nearly so) that hounds are thrown
into covert, and if you are on the spot, you may get well away with
the pack; whereas, at the end of a long cavalcade, on a narrow and
difficult roadway, it will be ten to one against your doing anything
better than hunting a stern chase for the remainder of the run.
It has for long been a vexed question whether or not the hunting-field
is a suitable place for ladies, and I am certainly not going to discuss
it _in extenso_, especially in a necessarily limited space. One or two
things concerning it I may, however, be permitted to say.
Firstly, that timid ladies, those mounted on badly broken horses, and
others (a large community) who push for first place while in reality
only fitted to take third (in company with wheezy old gentlemen on fat
cobs, farmers on green colts, and the numerous company of confessed
road-riders), are a very _decided nuisance_ in the field; and,
secondly, that ladies who possess courage (by which I do not mean the
effrontery of ignorance and vanity combined), who are thoroughly well
mounted, and who never get in anybody’s way, are, in my opinion, a
charming addition to the delightful pleasures of the chase. If, then,
you want to be considered an acquisition, be contented--especially if
a beginner--to take second place: that is, not to force a way among
the hard-riding lot, or expose yourself to the numerous perils which
really first-flight men and women go out prepared to encounter--ay, and
usually manage to get through safely, too, if not interfered with or
endangered by second and third-class riders. By-and-by, when you have
gained the knowledge and experience which getting up from the ranks
will assuredly bring you, there will be an extra pleasure in finding
yourself not only holding first place in the most difficult runs, but
in knowing that you are _qualified_ to hold it, and are justified in
declining to yield it up to others who may not have won their spurs.
If, however, you desire to render yourself thoroughly obnoxious to
everybody, you can set about it in this way. Select for your mount
something that is both fidgetty and showy, yet utterly “incapable.”
Whenever you attempt a fence keep your horse at it, whether you have
any chance of getting over or not, to the exclusion of half the field.
When you get on fair ground, gallop madly forward and override the
hounds, if you chance by a “fluke” to get near enough to them to do
so. When there is a check, and the pack fails in hitting off the scent
at once, slash at the nearest of them with your hunting-whip, and tell
the animal playfully that it is “a naughty dog not to hunt better.”
Always make a point of crowding at gaps and gateways, when hounds and
field are struggling to get through. Never fail to effect an intimate
acquaintance with the master, and be sure to call the huntsman, when
speaking of him, “Bill Simmonds” or “Jim Brown,” although “Simmonds”
or “Brown” may be quite enough for other people. Always follow this
last-mentioned functionary into covert, and speak to him all the
time that he is anxiously watching his hounds. Should you happen to
view the fox away, swell out your lungs for a good bellow of _Tally
ho-oooo!_ and gallop full tilt at him before ever a single hound has
left covert, which wise proceeding will be certain to turn him back,
and gain for you the blessings of all genuine lovers of sport. Finally,
when the game at length breaks fair, rush away in advance of everybody
else, with your chin to the sky, and your elbows flapping like the
sails of a windmill; and when you have half-killed your ill-conditioned
steed, and frightened the wits out of a score or two of old squires
who have long ago lost their nerves (together with their appreciation
of such “hard riding” as yours), then pull off, and dose everybody
with whom you are acquainted, for the next week or two, with glowing
accounts of the wonders that you performed on the opening day with the
Dashshire hounds, and the merits, beauties, and achievments of the
exquisite animal that carried you so brilliantly through the first run
of the season. By adopting this mode of proceeding you will be certain
to gain a host of admirers in the field, and will do much toward
disabusing the public mind of the idea (very deeply implanted in it)
that the hunting-field is not a place in which ladies ought to seek for
sport.
Now, in conclusion, allow me in all seriousness to lay down a few
maxims for your instruction. Never go to hunt without a good pilot.
Young lovers are very nice for this purpose, although not always the
safest. I recommend sharp _old_ foxhunters, who know the country, and
who will give you a judicious lead. If you cannot secure a trustworthy
leader, dispense altogether with the services of one, and cut out
a line for yourself, _provided_ that you are mounted on a really
first-class animal, one well up to your weight, and endowed with an
infallible knowledge of where to put his feet. Keep the hounds in
sight if you can, or, at any rate, within hearing, and ride rather
wide of them, to right or left; never in their actual wake. Keep your
horse well in hand all through, that he may not sprawl. Be quick
at turning. Avoid, so far as is possible, deep heavy lands; and if
traversing plough, keep along the headlands rather than pump your steed
by galloping over ridge and furrow, as others frequently do. When
obliged to get through gaps and gates put extra steam on when coming
up to them, in order to be first; and if there is a crowd, hold your
horse hard, and touch him lightly with your spur, that he may keep up
his mettle and be ready to bound into full speed the instant you get
clear of the ruck. If riding a young hot-blooded hunter, it will as a
rule be safer for you to put him at a very big jump than to trust him
in a crowded gangway. While riding hard, never so much as glance at
the remainder of the field. Keep your eyes for your horse and for the
_leading_ hounds, so as to keep exactly with them, and check _the very
instant_ that they do.
Never distress your mount by taking unnecessary jumps. Don’t be a bit
ashamed to make use of a convenient gate if you can get along with
equal quickness that way; it will save your horse, and will enable you
to hold your place much longer in the run; but, at the same time, never
shirk a practicable jump when you want to go straight.
If riding a kicker, give warning to those in the rear of you to keep
out of the way. Never jump over a fallen horseman; select another part
of the fence to effect your leap. Do not continue to ride a beaten
animal; pull off the moment that he hangs out signals of distress. When
called upon to cross a ford, do so very cautiously, and if your horse
makes a kind of _forward plunge_, and an attempt at swimming, throw him
the reins at once or he will roll over. Do not on any account interfere
with his mouth at such a time. Keep your left foot stuck well forward,
or, better still, lift the leg right over the leaping-head, that it
may not be struck by the horse’s hind foot--and at the same time take
a firm grip of the up-pommel and the off-side of the saddle, to avoid
being unseated when he makes his second plunge, which he will do the
moment that he recovers his footing.
If the first run of the day be a good one, rest satisfied with it, and
do not attempt another, unless you have a second horse out. If your
mount should chance to lose a shoe, especially a fore one, make at once
for the nearest forge. If one of the hind feet has sustained the loss,
you may continue the run, provided the going is over soft ground--but
when a fore shoe happens to go, pull off without a moment’s delay. I
have always thought it an admirable plan to _carry_ a shoe, or slipper,
slung on (in its neat leather case) cavalry-wise, to the saddle. This,
in case of accident, obviates the necessity of waiting at the forge
while the smith manufactures one--and of course on arrival at home it
can readily be changed for a more durable foot-protector. I have even
known some sage old sportsmen carry in their pockets a little American
hammer and nail-box in one, and do their own shoeing when they found
themselves in difficulties and at a distance from professional aid.
Dismount when there is a check, if only for an instant; and, when there
is time, shift your saddle an inch back or forward, the first for
preference. This will prove a great refreshment to your mount.
Be uniformly kind and courteous to everybody. If you chance to
distinguish yourself by good riding, or good fortune, make no fuss
about it, or look for adulation. Always carry a yard or two of twine, a
pick, and a few shillings along with you; there may be uses for all.
When riding home, if you _do_ ride, grasp the first opportunity of
getting your horse some warm gruel, and take him through a shallow ford
or pond to wash the mud from his legs and belly. When you get him to
his stable do not allow him to be tormented by elaborate grooming; see
that he is given an abundance of straw to roll in, and a good bucket
of linseed tea to drink; have his ears dried by pulling them, bandage
his legs with flannel, and give him an abundance of _fresh air_, which
is of far more consequence to an exhausted hunter than either food or
water. I greatly disapprove of admitting draughts, especially thorough
ones--but it is a dire mistake to cram a horse into a close stable,
with every chink stopped up, and then put a huge quantity of hay and
oats before him. Bad air and improper feeding soon do their work. Some
valuable animal is taken ill, a farrier is sent for, he tries bleeding
to stop the terrific action of the heart, and before morning the horse
is dead.
I shall have something useful to say on this and kindred subjects in my
chapter on “Doctoring,” later on.
[Illustration: THOROUGHLY OBNOXIOUS.]