induce other ladies to look round their own neighbourhoods, and see
what can be done in this way in a friendly spirit, without the
formalities of committees and subscriptions.
It is not unlikely that among the tenant farmers or freeholders of our
lady's acquaintance may be one, who from age or "bad times" has been
obliged to retire to a smaller sphere, but whose heart is still true to
fox-hunting, and who would delight in being of use, if he only knew
how. Such a man, mounted on an old pony, could be of the greatest
service in a hunting country. He would follow in the track of the
horsemen, shutting the gates they have invariably left open, and would
have an eye on the perverse young horses and wandering sheep which do
not "love the fold," but prefer to _rush_ madly, like their betters,
after the fascinations of a pack of hounds.
There may be instances in which the mistress of the hounds herself is
content to "take a back seat" and to humbly watch her husband's prowess
without emulating it, and in such a case she can do a good deal in the
way of shutting gates, calling attention to stray stock, and noting
damage done to fences and crops.
It is quite impossible for a master to see half the delinquencies
committed by his field, though he is, of course, held responsible for
them, but if the rearguard of the merry chase, so to say, was brought
up by an official, whose business it was to detect the offenders who
get off and "jump on top" of fences, it would be a cheaper and more
satisfactory arrangement in the long run.
In a wet season it should be borne in mind that it hurts _all_ crops to
be ridden over, grass as well as arable, and therefore roads and
headlands should be strictly adhered to when going from covert to
covert. Any considerable damage should be apologised for, if possible
at once, and if people were not so desperately afraid of paying for
their amusement (because that amusement is called hunting), an
acknowledgement given there and then to the sufferer would do him no
harm, and the cause of fox-hunting a great deal of good. A season or
two ago, a whole field of ardent (?) sportsmen in a crack country
allowed themselves to be delayed for a long time bandying words at an
occupation bridge, with a man who had "turned awkward," and who was
completely in his rights within stopping the way if he chose.
It seems curious that among a hundred horsemen, worth among them,
probably, as many thousands a year, no one seems to have been struck
with the idea of producing a sovereign to pay for the cutting up of the
grass that must follow the passage of such a squadron.
But perhaps we have dwelt too long on the seamy side of the duties of a
mistress of hounds. Let us turn to the more agreeable contemplation of
her pleasures.
Should she belong to a hunting family, she will have heard from her
father, ever since she can remember, stories of the "brave days of
old," of Meynell, and Musters, and the giants of those days. She will
have learnt to sing "Osbaldeston's voice, reaching the heavens, boys,"
to repeat the "Billesdon Coplow" and "Ranksborough Gorse," and in the
intervals of schoolroom lessons she will have been taken to see packs
now, perhaps, become historical.
If a dweller in the North Country, the name of Ralph Lambton will be
familiar to her; and in the South, legends of John Ward and Mr
Farquharson of Badminton, and Berkeley, have been the delight of her
youth.
Should she be fortunate enough to live in "the Shires" she may, from an
early age, have looked up at the towers of Belvoir, where hunting and
hospitality are a byword and a delight, and she may just remember the
glories of Quorn, and Sir Richard, of Lord Henry, and the Burton, like
Mr Bromley Davenport,
"Nourishing a verdant youth,
With the fairy tales of gallops, ancient runs devoid of truth."
The kind cheery voices of Captain Percy Williams and Mr Anstruther
Thomson, always indulgent and encouraging to young people, may have
fostered her natural love of the chase, and she may, while hunting with
the former, have imbibed some idea of riding, from the sight of the
celebrated Dick Christian handling the young horses at Rufford.
She will have looked with a reverential awe at blind Mr Foljambe of
Osberton, who was able to judge of any hound by the sense of touch,
long after that of sight was denied him, and who still hunted led by a
groom.
Perhaps a little private hunting with beagles, or foxhound puppies, may
have given our future mistress an interest in individual hounds, their
treatment and characteristics, so that by-and-by, when she has to do
with things on a larger scale, it is easier for her to know one hound
from another, and to appreciate their differences, than if she had
never seen less than seventeen or eighteen couple together.
Very likely it may have been her dream from childhood to marry a Master
of Hounds, so when, as the old song says,--
"A young Country Squire requested her hand,
Whose joy 'twas to ride by her side,
So domestic a prospect what girl could withstand,
She became, truly willing, his bride."
Then would follow the interest of making acquaintance with the country,
with all classes of people in it, with the coverts, lanes, and
bridle-paths, the lovely little bits that most people never see at all,
to say nothing of the pleasant companionship of hounds, horses, and
hunt-servants.
Captain Percy Williams's advice to a young M. F. H. was, "Stay at home
with your wife and your hounds," but how can a man do so, if his wife
is all agog to drag him to London or abroad directly the hunting season
is over? Hounds should be a summer as well as a winter pastime, but
whether they are so or not depends almost entirely on the wife of their
possessor.
When all is said and done, two people who are young, happy, and
like-minded, can scarcely find an enjoyment greater than that of going
out hunting together with their own hounds. To be starting on a nice
horse, on a fine morning, for one long day of happiness, is a delight
that can only be enhanced by sharing it with a kindred soul, and best
of all if that soul is a husband's.
Then the greetings from all classes at the meet, the feeling of giving
pleasure to so many, the pride in the hounds, and the skill of the
huntsman, tempered though it be with anxiety for the success of the
day's sport, all go to warm the heart and fire the imagination as
nothing else does.
And as the hours pass imperceptibly, and the brown woods open their
vistas, and yellowing pastures alternate with dark hedgerows, and the
chiming of hounds with the distant holloas, there is the anticipation
of an
"Oak Room with a blazing fire
To end a long day's ride,
And what to them is chance and change
While they sit side by side."
Years afterwards, when many other things have turned to bitterness or
disappointment, comrades of the hunting field will be a solace and a
pleasure to each other, and the mistress of the hounds, when no longer
following their cry, will be with them in spirit, will be interested to
the points of each run, the performance of each pack, and her heart
will ever beat true to
"The friends for whom, alive or dead, her love is unimpaired;
The mirth, and the adventure, and the sport that they have shared."
LINA CHAWORTH MUSTERS.
FOX-HUNTING.
"The sport of kings, the image of war without its guilt, and only
five-and-twenty per cent of its danger."
There are many ladies very well qualified to write a valuable paper on
the art of riding over a country, but, possibly, the following short
sketch--from the _hunting_ more than the riding point of view--may
be of interest, as I am sorely afraid ladies are sometimes apt to
forget the presence of the _hounds_, and little consider the trouble
and anxiety it takes to bring into the field a really efficient pack.
Some masters may have the good fortune to start with a ready-made and
perfect pack of hounds--a most perishable possession--as a very short
time of unintelligent management will reduce the finest pack in the
kingdom to a comparatively worthless one--but the majority have to
begin from the bottom for themselves.
Fortunately, draft hounds are plentiful, and a hundred couple or more
can easily be bought--out of which (taking care to get quit of any
_good-looking_ ones) forty couple sufficient for a start may be got.
Now as to horses.
Many people suppose that any sort of screw is good enough for a
servant's horse. No more fatal or uneconomical error exists.
A huntsman's horse should be as near perfection as can be got; and this
cannot be had for little money.
A huntsman has sufficient to do to attend to his business, without
being a rough rider at the same time, and ought to feel himself to be
the best mounted man in the field, or thereabouts.
If he is put on inferior animals, he has a very strong temptation to
feed his hounds back to his horse. A really strong pack of hounds on a
_good_ scent will run away from any horse living.
And that wonderful huntsman one hears of "who is always with his
hounds," nine times out of ten always has his hounds _with him_.
All servants' horses should be well-bred, strong, and short-legged, for
it must be borne in mind that they have much harder work than
gentlemen's horses, therefore care should be taken that they are
qualified to carry a good deal more weight than would appear necessary
to the uninitiated.
Hounds and horses having been bought, we must now proceed to man the
ship.
To begin with--The Master.
Let us suppose an M. F. H., who has been properly taught the trade (for
it is impossible for anybody, be he never so rich, to satisfactorily
perform the duties of this important position, unless he has been
thoroughly grounded in the _rudiments_).
Such an one is always courteous and kindly to those with whom he is
brought in contact, be they connected with the agricultural interest,
or members of his field. There is a vast deal of human nature in
people, and a little civility goes a long way.
An ill-mannered master is a curse to any country, and a mere
"Field-Damner" is a creature unfit to live.
Few know the troubles of keeping a country, and the cordial
co-operation of the master in this work is of vital importance.
Our supposititious M. F. H., however, thoroughly appreciates this
obligation, and, bearing this in mind, he will select for his huntsman
a respectable, well-mannered servant. Nothing farmers and keepers
detest so much as an ill-conditioned, uncivil man.
The first necessity in a huntsman is, that he should be a man whom
hounds are fond of, and who is fond of them. He should be in constant
companionship with his hounds, taking the greatest care in keeping them
off their benches as much as possible. The neglect of this somewhat
troublesome duty in many kennels results in lameness.
He must be an early man in the morning, as hounds ought to be finished
feeding by eight o'clock the day before hunting.
He should carefully watch the constitution of each hound, and feed it
accordingly.
It is _impossible_ for hounds to drive and run hard unless they are fed
strong, and are full of muscle.
A thin hound is a weak hound and tires at night.
Hounds ought always to be cast in front of their huntsman, but this
cannot be done unless they are really strong and vigorous.
If to these important qualifications can be added a fine horseman, so
much the better; but riding is really a secondary consideration in a
huntsman, provided he is workman enough to keep pretty handy with his
hounds.
There is no occasion to give young gentlemen a lead over the country,
let them find the way for themselves.
A good cheery voice is also a valuable property in a huntsman.
For his whipper-in, he will have a young man who has learnt his duty,
as described in a little book called _Hints to Huntsmen_,[2] by heart.
If he knows that, and _practises_ it, he will have all the necessary
knowledge.
[2] _Hints to Huntsmen_, by Colonel Anstruther Thomson,
published by Fifeshire Journal Office, Cupar-Fife.
A more abominable sight does not exist than the _hard-riding_
whipper-in, he is, for the most part, a useless, conceited lad, who
will never do any good in this world or the next.
The second whip should be a nice, quiet boy, and a good horseman.
Having got our establishment into working order, we will now take it
out for a hunt, which I will try to describe from the point of view
indicated in my opening paragraph.
For a right good place to find a fox, give me a smallish wood. As a
rule, hounds come away from a wood _settled_ to their fox, which is not
the case from a gorse, the first whip having been sent on to view the
fox away.
The field being placed by the master (who remains with them)[3] in a
favourable position, our huntsman throws his hounds into covert,
encouraging them to spread and draw, being careful that they are in
front of his horse. When a well-known voice proclaims the hitting of
the drag, he cheers the pack to that hound, calling it by name, as
"Hark to Melody! Hark to her! Hark!" But they fly to one another of
themselves, and shortly there is a grand cry.
[3] You will recollect that our master has been _taught_, and
knows that whip's work is not his duty.
One ring round the wood, and the whipper-in's "Tally-ho, gone
awa-a-a-y" is heard, he having taken good care to let the fox well away
before holloa-ing. The huntsman now makes his way as fast as possible
to the holloa, at the same time blowing his horn for the information of
the field--
[Music]
--as the hounds leave the covert, well settled to the scent.
And now, I think, you can appreciate my preference of a wood to a
gorse.
Then, what a scene of excitement. Men and women in such a fuss and
hurry. In the whole lot only about three really calm and collected--the
master (seeing a useful scent, and hounds with a fair start, is, for
once in a way, delighted to say, "Catch them if you can!"), and an
oldish man or two still able to take their part, if hounds _really_
run.
Let me, like black care, sit behind one of these latter, and view the
chase through his spectacles. He knows every gate and gap in the
country for miles round, but this morning he sees he must desert his
favourite paths if he wants to see the hounds run. All the dash of
twenty years ago returns to him, as he slips his steady old hunter over
a somewhat awkward corner, and (before most of the young ones take in
the situation) is making the best of his way to the down-wind side of
the now flying pack.[4]
[4] If you have a chance, always get the down-wind side of
hounds running, because, even if you lose sight of them, you
can still hear the cry, while, if you are up-wind, it is
extraordinary what difficulty you have in hearing them.
Well, here we are. And, first, let us take a look at the hounds. For a
scratch lot, they are well together, and the careful kennel management
of the summer shows itself.
Now for the horsemen, see the _hard_ gentleman of tender years
GALLOPING from sheer funk at fences, that one of the old school jumps
out of the most collected canter. And then, oh, ye gods, the girls!
brave beyond words, jamming their unfortunate horses into every sort of
difficulty, with elbows squared, and the sole of their foot exposed to
the astonished gaze of those behind them.
Alas! alas! the art of equitation will soon be a lost one.
Fifteen minutes racing pace takes the nonsense out of all. The fox
turns sharply down-wind, and the huntsman--who has been riding
carefully and quietly--knows they have overrun it. Not one word does he
say, letting his hounds swing their own cast. As they do not recover
the line, he is compelled to give them a bit of assistance.
With such a scent, he can go a little fast; so, at a sharp trot,
he makes his cast back, his whip putting the hounds on to him. No
noise nor rating, such as is only too frequently heard. An ugly
black-and-white brute hits the scent down a hedgerow. He cheers the
pack to him, well knowing it was not the lack of beauty that caused the
old dog to be where he is.
Now, stand back and see them hunt, with nothing to mar your pleasure in
watching the wonderful instinct of a high-bred foxhound, except the
chatter of the male and female thrusters, describing to each other the
wonderful leaps they have severally surmounted.[5]
[5] If you go out hunting, _hunt_. There is nothing more
irritating to the real sportsman than the incessant chatter
and laughter of people who take no intelligent interest in
the business of hunting.
The fox now runs the road for a quarter of a mile. Whatever you do,
keep off them, and give hounds room to turn.[6]
[6] When hounds run down a road, get your horse on the grass
siding. Nothing is so apt to force hounds beyond the scent as
the rattle of horses' feet behind them.
The chase continues down-wind. How they swing and try. Look how they
drive as they hit the scent, then spread themselves like a fan, only to
fly together again as a trusted comrade speaks to the line.
"All this comes of condition," as my old gentleman says.
Hark! a holloa forward.
Do you think a sensible man will lift them?
No; so long as they can carry on, he knows they will go quicker than he
can take them.
More patient hunting, through sheep and over bad ground, the huntsman
cheering his hounds, but never interfering with them, as they work out
all the turns of a sinking fox for themselves.
They'll have him directly, one can see by the determined rush of the
older hounds. Sure enough! In another minute they run from scent to
view, and pull their fox down in the open.
Five-and-forty minutes, and I ask you if this is not a sporting hunt.
My old friend dismounts, leading his horse away, at the same time
remarking,--
"It is a nasty sight to see ladies watching a poor fox pulled to
pieces."
Although a note on the subject of blowing a hunting-horn may not be of
great interest to many people, still, I venture to think, no harm can
be done in placing before your readers how a huntsman ought to
communicate on that instrument with his hounds and field.
When he views a fox--
[Music]
In-drawing (especially in a big wood)--
[Music]
if hounds are wide of him, they stop to _listen_ to the first note, and
_go_ to the second. To stop hounds off heel or riot--
[Music]
To call hounds in the open to cast--
[Music]
"Gone away"--
[Music]
To draw hounds out of covert--
[Music]
When a fox is killed--
[Music]
also,
[Music]
Some people only use the long rattle at the death, but my opinion is
that the eight very sharp notes should be blown, as hounds know that
they mean a _fox_, and a fox _only_, whether alive or dead.
TEAM AND TANDEM DRIVING.
BY MISS ROSIE ANSTRUTHER THOMSON.
Being almost a beginner myself, it is with diffidence that I commence
to relate my small experiences in four-in-hand driving. It is only
because I have had the advantage of watching a first-rate coachman in
my father that I venture to do so--having taken care to gather from him
many hints and wrinkles as to what to do, and _not_ to do, and more
especially the _reason_ WHY.
It is, I know, supposed to be easier to drive a team than a tandem,
because two horses abreast are believed to be less foolish than two
single horses. Personally, I think _all_ horses are astonishingly
foolish at times, and, for a lady, a tandem is much less heavy.
Of course it depends in a measure on people's _hands_ whether horses
feel heavy and hang, but the weight of four horses on a woman's wrist
is decidedly a strain, until, through practice, she becomes accustomed
to the feeling--that is, unless the team is so perfectly trained that
they almost drive themselves.
In driving a team, the first thing to be learnt is the art of
"catching" a four-in-hand whip. It certainly _looks_ easy enough, and
many a time have I watched my father, with one upward turn of his
wrist, catch it unerringly every time, and felt--"Of _course_ any
duffer could do that!"--eagerly proclaiming my ability to do it too.
This, however, is an altogether different affair. No twisting, no
jerking is allowed, but simply a turn of the wrist, making something
like a figure eight in the air, and leaving the thong caught on the
stick (never try to catch your thong _with_ the stick) with a loop
above and a few turns round the stick below, which brings both lash and
stick into your hand together. It is an impossible thing to describe,
and the only way to learn it is to get some patient friend to show you
how. And you will require all your Job-ish propensities, for it is by
no means easy at first, and it makes you feel very foolish when all
your efforts fail, after it has looked so ridiculously simple in the
hands of an expert. Nothing looks worse than people essaying to drive a
team _without_ knowing how to catch their whip, and their wild attempts
to attain that end are almost pathetic, for the flourishes they make,
end invariably only in a hopeless complication and tangle.
Having mastered your whip, the next thing to do is to defeat your
reins--and beware that they do not defeat you, for they are very
mixing, and the numbers one has to deal with make one almost giddy,
after the ordinary single pair. In driving a team, or a tandem, you
should not hold your reins one through each finger, as in riding, but
put one rein--your near leader's--over the top of the fore-finger of
your left-hand, and the other leader's rein--the off--and the near
wheeler's reins BOTH between your first and middle fingers (the
leader's upmost), while your off wheeler's rein comes lowest of all,
between your middle and third finger. It looks rather complicated on
paper, but is really very quickly learnt, especially if the wheeler's
reins are a little different in colour, having probably become darker
through more constant wear.
Mind you take your reins _before_ you get on to your box, and _never_
commit the folly of getting into a carriage before your coachman, or
coachwoman, has hold of the reins, for it is both dangerous and
foolish.
Before you take the reins, it is well to look round all the harness and
satisfy _yourself_ that the curb chains and throat-lashes are loose
enough (grooms are so fond of pulling everything up as tight as it will
go, and often seem to treat throat lashes and curb chains on the same
principle as girths). See that the bits are not too short in the
horses' mouths, that your leaders are properly coupled, and also your
wheelers. You cannot be too particular about detail in this case, and
mind the pole chains are not too tight. They should be easy, so that
they can just swing--the pole carrying itself without resting any
weight on the horses' collars.
After you have seen that all is right, go round to the off side wheeler
and take your leader's reins from off his pad, put them in your
left-hand, with forefinger between, then pick up your wheeler's in your
_right_-hand, with forefinger between. Now pass them on to their
ultimate destination (one on each side of the third finger of your
left-hand), and draw the _near_ reins through your fingers till you get
them so short (while you are still on the ground) that they will all
come even when you are sitting on your box. Nothing denotes a muff more
than omitting to do this. Of course the driver must judge how much rein
to take in, with his or her eye, before getting up.
As you cannot swarm on to your box hampered by the reins in your
left-hand, you must take them in your right until you have settled
yourself comfortably, and are sitting (not standing) firmly on your
seat, which should not slant up too much, for one gets more purchase if
one is not merely leaning against the box. Once there, change your
reins back into your left-hand, take the whip out of the socket, catch
it, drop your hand, and set sail.
The correct thing, I believe, is to have the whip ready caught and laid
across the wheeler's quarters. That is what they did in old coaching
days, and the driver used to take it up with his reins together in his
right-hand, with the whip pointing towards his right shoulder. He then
got up, with reins and whip all ready to start as soon as he said the
word "Go!"
It would be a good thing if grooms at the horses' heads _would_ let
go the _instant_ you give them the hint to do so. Nothing is more
irritating to both horse and driver than a man who will hold on after
you have started.