HOUNDS IN COVERT.--THE FIRST FENCE.--FOLLOW YOUR PILOT.--A RIVER-BATH.
--A WISE PRECAUTION.--A LABEL ADVISABLE.--WALL AND WATER JUMPING.
--ADVICE TO FALLEN RIDERS.--HOGGING.--MORE TAIL.
You have now arrived at the next covert, and have seen the hounds
thrown in. In an instant there is a whimper, taken up presently by one
and another, until the air rings with the joyous music of the entire
pack, as they rattle their game about, endeavouring to force him to
face the open. The whips are standing warily on the watch, the
huntsman's cheery voice is heard encouraging the hounds, the Master is
galloping from point to point, warning off idlers whose uninvited
presence would be sure to send the "varmint" back into his lair. Your
pilot, knowing that a run from here is a certainty, selects his vantage
ground. Being a shrewd man, he knows that no fox will face a keen
nor'-easter, nor will he be likely to brave the crowd of country
bumpkins, who, despite the Master's entreaties, are clustering about
yonder hedge. In short, there is only one point from which he
_can_ well break, and so your pilot prepares accordingly.
Another anxious moment ere the "Gone away! Tally-ho!" rings out upon
the keen air; and then follows that glorious burst which is worth
giving up a whole year of one's life to see. Hounds running breast
high, fairly flying, in fact; huntsmen, whips, horsemen, all in
magnificent flight, each riding hard for the foremost place, amid such
a chorus of delicious music as is never heard from any save canine
throats; and then, when the first big fence is reached, such hurry and
scurry! such tumbling and picking up again! such scrambling of dogs and
shouting of men! such cold baths for horses and riders! and oh, such
glory amongst the wreckers, as they stand tantalizingly at the edge of
the chasm in which so many are hopelessly struggling, whilst their
audacious cries of "What'll you give me, sir?" "Pull you out for a
sovereign, captain!" are heard and laughed at by the fortunate ones who
are safe upon the other side.
Your pilot has been a wise man. He selected his starting-point at the
sound of the very first opening out, and when the general scrimmage
took place he had his line chosen, and so has led you wide of the ruck,
yet in the wake of the hounds.
And here suffer me to advise you, if you should ever chance to be left
without a leader, do not fall into the mistake of following the others,
for my experience of hunting is that nine-tenths of those out do not
know _where_ they are going, nor where fox or hounds have gone
before them. Cut out a line for yourself, and follow the pack. A pilot
is, of course, a great acquisition, if he be a _good_ one, but
throughout some of my best runs I have performed the office for myself,
and have succeeded in being in at the death. But then I am not a
beginner, and I am surmising that _you_ are. Keep about six yards
behind your leader; follow him unswervingly, and jump after him, but
not on him. Always wait till he is well out of the way before you take
the fence in his wake. Your horse will jump more readily having the
example of his before him, but I cannot too well impress upon you the
necessity of allowing him to get well over before you attempt to
follow. One of the ugliest falls I ever got in my life was through
riding too close upon my leader. The run was a very hot one, and only
four of us were going at the time. None, in fact, but those who had
first-rate horses had been able to live through it. We came to a wide
branch of a river, swollen by recent rains. My pilot, going a rare
pace, jumped it safely; I came too fast upon him. My horse's nose
struck his animal's quarters, which, of course, threw my gallant little
mount off his balance, and prevented his landing. He staggered and fell
back, and we both got a drowning! I was dragged up with a boat-hook,
the horse swam on until he found a place to scramble up the bank, and
then galloped off over the country. I recollect standing dismally by
that river, my pilot and two wreckers scraping the mud from me, and
wringing my drenched garments, whilst two or three more were scouring
the adjacent lands in search of my truant steed. When, at length, he
was caught, I had eleven miles to ride to the place at which I had left
my trap, and was obliged on arriving to change every atom of my
clothing, and wash off the superabundant mud in a horse-bucket, kindly
lent for the occasion.
The fall involved the loss of the run, the loss of a habit, the loss of
many odd shillings to wreckers, the loss of my temper, a wound from the
boat-hook, and a heavy cold, the result of immersion on a perishing
winter day. All these disasters were the punishments consequent upon my
impetuosity in coming too close upon my leader; therefore, having thus
myself suffered, I warn you, from woful experience, never to tread upon
the horse jumping in advance of you. Allowing, even, that you do not
cannon against him, there is another casualty which may not improbably
occur. Supposing that he falls and throws his rider, your horse may in
alighting just chance to plant a foot upon the empty saddle of the
prostrate animal, the slippery nature of which throws him off his
balance, and you and he roll upon the earth together--perhaps receiving
a kick from your pilot's struggling mount. From this species of
accident many evils have from time to time arisen, and therefore I
dutifully endeavour to put you well upon your guard. I would also again
remind you that if you really mean to ride an intricate country, you
should never under any circumstances neglect to bring a change of
clothing, for you may at any moment be dyked, and to remain in wet
garments is highly dangerous,--not so long as you are exercising, but
during the journey to your home. It is not in the saddle, but in
vehicles and railway carriages that colds are contracted and the seeds
of disease are sown. It may not be out of place here to offer you a
piece of wholesome advice. Should you at any time have the ill-fortune
to be riding a kicking horse in the midst of a crowd, always put back
your hand when the cavalcade pauses, to warn those behind not to come
too close to the heels of your unquiet steed. By so doing you may save
an accident, and may, moreover, guard yourself from more than one
anathema. I once saw the horse of a fiery old General kicked by the
mount of a young nobleman, who thought it not worth his while to offer
an apology. "See here, young man," said the irate officer, riding up to
the offender's side, "whenever you come out to hunt on brutes like that
you should paste a danger-card upon your back, and not run the risk of
breaking valuable bones. I have said my say," he added, "and now _you
may go to the devil_!"
A few hints next as to jumping.
If, in the course of a run, you meet with stone walls, do not ride too
fast at them. Always steady your horse at such obstacles, and follow my
oft-repeated advice of leaving him abundant head-room. If you have to
cross a river or very wide ditch, come fast at it, in order that the
impetus may swing you safely over; few horses can cross a wide jump
without having what is called a "run at it." Never expect your animal
to take such obstacles at a stand, or under the disadvantages
consequent upon coming at them at a slow pace. Should the leap be a
river or wide water-jump, suffer your horse to _stretch forward his
head and neck_ when coming up to it. If you fail to do so, you will
most probably go in, for an animal who accomplishes his work requires
his liberty as an absolute necessity, and, if denied it, will teach
you, at the cost of a good wetting, to treat him next time with greater
consideration. You will frequently see men ride pretty boldly up to
some yawning chasm or ugly bullfinch--stop and look at it, hesitate an
instant, and then, by cruel spurring, urge an exhausted animal to take
it at a stand. This is truly bad horsemanship, and leads to many
direful results. A good rider will, on perceiving that the obstacle is
a formidable one, turn his horse round, take him some little distance
from it, and then, again turning, come fast at it--quick gallop, hands
down, horse's head held straight and well in hand, but without any
pulling or nervous reining in. Such a one will be pretty sure to get
safely over.
Should your horse, in jumping a fence, land badly, and slip his hind
legs into a gripe or ditch, do not wait more than an instant to see if
he can recover himself; you will know in that time whether he will be
likely to do so. The best advice I can give you is to kick your foot
free of the stirrup and jump off before he goes back. You will thus
keep your own skin dry; and, if you have been fortunate enough to
retain a light hold of the rein, you can rescue your horse without much
difficulty; for an animal, when immersed, makes such intelligent
efforts to release himself, that a very trifling assistance upon your
part will enable him to struggle safely to your side, when you can
remount him and try your chances of again picking up the hounds. Be
cautious, however, in pulling him up, that you do so over smooth
ground. I had a valuable young horse badly staked last season through
being dragged up over a clump of brushwood after a fall into the Lara
river.
Should your steed peck on landing over a fence you will be pretty
certain to come over his head, for this is an ugly accident, and one
very likely to occur over recently-scoured drains. You _may_,
however, save both yourself and him, if you are _smart_ in using
your hands in assisting him to recover his lost equilibrium.
In the event of your horse jumping short with you, either from having
taken off too soon or from any other cause, and falling upon you into a
gripe, you may (when you gain a little experience) be able to stick to
him without leaving the saddle. The first effort a fallen animal makes
is to try to get up; therefore, if you are not quite thrown, hold on to
his mane, and as he struggles to right himself make your effort to
regain your seat. Be guided, however, in doing this by observing with a
quick glance whether there are thorns or brambles overgrowing the
place, for if there are, and your horse on recovering himself strides
onward in the ditch, seeking a place at which he may get out, your face
will undoubtedly suffer. This sort of thing once occurred to me in the
course of a day's hunting. I held on to my animal when he fell, and
regained my seat without very much difficulty, but before I could
recover my hold of the bridle he had rushed forward, and my face was
terribly punished by the overhanging brambles.
Be very careful, in this matter of holding on to a fallen animal, not
to confound the mane with the rein. By clinging to the former you
assist yourself without in the smallest degree impeding the movements
of your horse; by clinging to the latter you seriously interfere with
his efforts at recovery, and most probably pull him back upon you.
And this brings me to the subject of hogging horses' manes. Never,
under any circumstances, allow an animal of yours to be thus
maltreated. Not only is it a vile disfigurement, depriving the horse of
Nature's loveliest ornament, but it also deprives the rider of a very
chief means of support in case of accident. Many a bad fall have I been
saved by clutching firmly at the mane, which an ignorant groom had oft
implored me to sacrifice; and many a good man and true have I seen
recover himself by a like action, when a hog-maned animal would
undoubtedly have brought him to grief. Grooms are especially fond of
this system of "hogging," and many a beauteous adjunct of Nature's
forming has been ruthlessly sacrificed to their ceaseless importunities
to be permitted to "smarten the baste." Tails, too, are remorselessly
clocked by these gentlemen of the stable; not that they really think it
an improvement, any more than they veritably admire the hogging
process, but it saves them trouble, it lightens their labours, they
have less combing and grooming to attend to. Tails were sent by Nature,
not merely as an ornament, but to enable the animal to whisk away the
flies, which in hot weather render its life a burthen. Man, the
ruthless master, by a cruel process of cutting and searing, deprives
his helpless slave of one of its most valued and most necessary
possessions. I do not myself advocate long switch tails, which are
rarely an ornament, being usually covered with mud; but I maintain that
"docking" is cruel and unnecessary, keeping the hairs closely and
evenly cut being quite sufficient for purposes of cleanliness, without
in any way interfering with the flesh; therefore, do not reject my
oft-repeated plea for "a little more tail."