The Sportswoman's Library.
Vol. I.
[Illustration: _THE MARCHIONESS OF WORCESTER._]
THE SPORTSWOMAN'S LIBRARY.
EDITED BY FRANCES E. SLAUGHTER.
VOLUME I.
[Illustration]
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS AND OLD PRINTS.
WESTMINSTER:
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO.,
2, WHITEHALL GARDENS,
1898.
* * * * *
DEDICATED
BY PERMISSION TO THE
MARCHIONESS OF WORCESTER
A KEEN SPORTSWOMAN AND WIFE
OF ONE OF THE FOREMOST
SPORTSMEN OF THE AGE.
BIRMINGHAM:
PRINTED AT THE GUILD PRESS, 45, GREAT CHARLES STREET.
THE SPORTSWOMAN'S LIBRARY.
Vol. I.
Contents.
Preface.
1. Englishwomen and Sport The Editor.
2. Fox Hunting Mrs. Burn.
3. Hare Hunting The Editor.
4. Shooting The Hon. Mrs. Lancelot Lowther.
5. Fishing for Tarpon Mrs. Murphy-Grimshaw.
6. Archery Mrs. Berens and Miss Walrond.
7. Skating Miss May Balfour.
8. Golf Miss Starkie-Bence.
9. Croquet Mrs. Spong.
Appendix A. Golf Rules and Glossary.
Appendix B. Croquet Rules.
PREFACE.
When I look at the completed MSS. of the first volumes of the
_Sportswomans' Library_, I feel deeply grateful to the many good
sportswomen who have aided me in my work, not only for the great stores
of practical knowledge they have brought to bear on the several subjects
of which we have treated, but for the way in which they have
collaborated with me. For this my warmest thanks are due to them one and
all.
The object we have placed before us, is to give women the information
and help they are not likely to find in those books, which are written
chiefly from a man's point of view, and we have therefore avoided, as
far as possible, trenching on ground that has been already adequately
covered by those who, to sportsmen and sportswomen alike, are the best
authorities on the various subjects. If, therefore, our writings
sometimes seem to be wanting in completeness, it is, I venture to
think, to be attributed to this cause.
When I first gathered round me the body of contributors, some of whom
were personally unknown to me, I could but feel that the many threads I
held in my hand might prove to be a very "tangled skein," before the
work was brought to completion. This foreboding, however, I am glad to
say, was entirely without foundation, for each writer threw herself into
her part with such genuine determination to do the best she could for
the _matter_ of her work, that the minor details as to the _manner_ in
which it should be given to the world, did not assume undue proportions,
and there has been nothing to throw the slightest shadow over the
harmony in which we have worked. That the effort we have thus jointly
made to give some help to our sister-sportswomen may be successful, is
to wish the writers the best reward they can have, for the labour they
have bestowed.
Besides my fellow workers, I have a debt of gratitude to discharge to
all who have so kindly assisted me in my work. Foremost among these I
must acknowledge the valuable help given by Lady Gifford, Mrs.
Pryse-Rice, Mrs. Cheape, and Miss Lloyd, of Bronwydd, without whose
assistance I could not have ventured to write on the subject of
Hare-Hunting: by Mr. T. F. Dale, author of _The Game of Polo_, whose
great practical knowledge of sport has made him an invaluable referee on
many important questions: by another good sportsman, Captain the Hon. R.
C. Drummond, who generously gave me the benefit of his advice on matters
which have been a life-long study to him: by Elizabeth, Lady Wilton;
Lady Theodora Guest, Lady Gerard, Lady Dorothy Coventry, Mrs. Wrangham,
Mrs. T. E. Harrison, Miss Serrell, Mr. C. H. Bassett, late Master of the
Devon and Somerset Staghounds; Mr. Ian Heathcoat-Amory, Master of the
Tiverton Staghounds; Mr. W. L. Wyllie, A.R.A.; Miss Maud Earl, Miss
Walrond, Mr. Cuthbert Bradley, Dr. Lewis Mackenzie, Miss Florence
Ritson, and Mrs. Dudley Smith.
I must also acknowledge the help so readily given by Mr. Charles
Lancaster, and Messrs. Holland and Holland, on the sport with which
their names are so closely connected, and I must thank those
photographers who have exercised their skill on our behalf, viz.:
Messrs. Lombardi and Co., who, from the first, have helped us largely;
Messrs. Lambert Weston, J. Weston and Son, Stuart, Becken, and A.
Debenham.
My thanks are also due to the Proprietors of _Baily's Magazine_, _The
Field_, _The Gentlewoman_, and _The Lady's Pictorial_ for the use of
blocks which have been re-produced in their pages.
Lastly, I must discharge the debt of gratitude I owe Messrs. A.
Constable and Co., for the unfailing courtesy I have met with at their
hands, and for the hearty way in which they have thrown themselves into
the interests of the book.
Whether we have all succeeded in our object, viz., to give clear,
practical directions to women in the several out-door recreations of
which we have written, it is for our readers to determine, and on their
verdict will depend the extension of our plan to other branches of
sports and pastimes.
To the great body of sportsmen, who so far have held almost undisputed
sway in the realm of sporting literature, I would plead:
"Softly, my Masters!
Do me this right--hear me with patience."
The Editor.
Beeding,
March 31st, 1898.
[Illustration: _Lombardi and Co. 13, Pall Mall, East._
MISS FRANCES SLAUGHTER.]
ENGLISHWOMEN AND SPORT.
In all ages of the world's history, women have taken part in the
out-door recreations in which men have ever delighted, the extent to
which they have joined in these health-giving exercises being regulated,
by the amount of freedom and independence allowed to the sex, by the
unwritten laws of the spirit of the age. In a consideration of the
subject that is rather suggestive than attempting to deal with the
matter in any final sense, we can perhaps trace in the easiest way the
position held by women in the world of sport, at different epochs of our
history, by seeing how the subject was regarded by the authors of the
period.
[Illustration]
In the romances of the middle ages--to go no further back in our
researches--sport for all divisions of the upper classes of society was
regarded with a favourable eye. The nobles, the superior clergy, and the
dames of high degree had their deeds of prowess in the field extolled by
the literary lights of the time. For a noble not to care for hunting was
considered nothing less than a disgrace, while the clergy were expected
to require the relaxation of the chase, and to them was given the right
to hunt in their own parks and enclosures. Of this privilege they seem
to have availed themselves to some purpose, as at the time of the
Reformation the see of Norwich is said to have possessed no less than
thirteen deer parks. The wives of the nobles and those who ruled over
the religious houses for women, seem to have had an almost equal amount
of liberty in sharing in these recreations, and in organising hunts for
themselves. The doings of these gay dames--for the religious habit seems
to have made but little difference--are extolled by the poets, and if
the feats recorded of them are true, they must not only have been
accomplished horsewomen but very keen and determined huntresses. On
many occasions, we are told, they organised hunting parties, "winding
the horn, rousing the game and pursuing it by themselves." Nor, in spite
of what it is the fashion of the present time to say of that period of
our history, do the stay-at-home embroidery-loving dames come in for the
same share of praise at the hands of the old writers.
In hawking especially women were proficient, and one scribe even tells
us that they excelled their husbands and brothers in the knowledge and
exercise of the art of falconry, from which, however, he deduces the
ungallant conclusion that the pastime was to be regarded as "frivolous
and effeminate."
At the time of the great revival of letters, the art of falconry was at
the height of its popularity, and both in England and in other countries
of Europe it was the rule for women of noble birth to train, handle, and
fly their own hawks. It was the seventeenth century which saw the decay
of this sport as a royal and aristocratic amusement, for though in the
early years of the age it was still the most popular form of recreation
in the field, by the time the following century had dawned it was all
but extinct.
After this, during the eighteenth century, there is no doubt that the
prowess of women in the field suffered an eclipse, and the few bold
spirits who from time to time broke through the trammels that restrained
their less enterprising sisters, were regarded with a certain amount of
suspicion and distrust. To come to the days when the writings of Sir
Walter Scott opened up a new field of enchantment to his readers, we
know that his creation of Di Vernon needed excuse at the hands of the
author for her sport-loving tastes, as the presumption was against her
being a true specimen of the "womanly" woman, in the best sense of the
word.
Whyte Melville, entirely devoted to the chase as he was himself, is yet
doubtful of the place of his heroines in the hunting field, and in his
well-known novel, _Kate Coventry_, he seems to consider it a reasonable
condition on the part of the man Kate is about to marry, that she should
give up hunting when she becomes his bride. In the pages of Surtees,
which give such a vivid picture of the fox-hunter's life in the first
half of the century, the woman who hunts is nearly always an
adventuress, while in the social sketches of Trollope sport has no place
in the life of his otherwise charming heroines.
[Illustration]
But gradually and surely women once more made good their position in the
realm of sport, one of the early books to take a decided line in this
matter being, I believe, a little-known novel entitled _A Matched Pair_.
In this book which was published anonymously, a young man and woman who
have kindred tastes, are brought together through their common love of
hunting, and an amusing instance of the prevailing spirit, is given at
their wedding breakfast. When the hour is drawing near for the departure
of the bride and bridegroom, news is brought to the latter that the
M.F.H. of the country has met with an accident, which will keep him from
the saddle for the remainder of the season. The lady of course is told
the news, and she receives the suggestion that their honeymoon should be
given up, in order that her husband may stay and hunt the hounds, with
the most obliging readiness. This incident I give from memory, as it is
now many years since I have seen the book. The strangest thing about the
incident, perhaps is, that such a truly sporting couple should not have
delayed their marriage till the end of the hunting season.
It is during the last ten years that women have come to be reckoned as a
power in the land, in the matter of sport, and it is now a matter of
course for the novelists of the day to make their leading
women-characters of almost all classes, join in some one or more form of
out-door recreation. Vivid pictures of the hunting-field, the banks of
the salmon river, the croquet lawn and the golf links, show the love of
the nineteenth century maid and matron for the healthy out-door
exercise, which has given to the younger generation a physique that
would have been regarded with wondering awe, not unmixed with
disapproval, by their gentle and delicate great-grandmothers.
In a bird's-eye view, too, of the course of our history, we may note
that at the time of the absence of the great body of the nobles in the
Holy Land in the days of the Crusades, the women, so many of whom had
been left in charge of the castles and lands of their lords, came very
prominently forward in the domain of sport, as well as in the social
life of the period. On the return of the warriors, this liberty seems in
some degree to have been curtailed, and whether this is to be attributed
to any undue exercise of freedom during their time of independence, or
to the fact of the minds of their lords and masters having been effected
by the Oriental ideas as to the conduct of women, does not seem very
clear.
[Illustration]
The restraint however was but temporary, and when the highest place in
the land was filled by a woman, and "Queen Bess" ruled her subjects with
a judicious determination none could gainsay, her humbler sisters shared
in the reflected glory of her fame. Elizabeth herself, as we all know,
was an ardent sportswoman, and took the keenest delight in a run with
hounds, or a trial of skill with the cross-bow, long after she had
passed the age, at which even modern Dianas are wont to retire from an
active share in the fatigues of the hunting-field.
The reign of Queen Anne on the other hand, although the Sovereign
herself and the members of her court were lovers of the chase, seems to
have had a distinctly depressing effect on the independent position of
women. It was not till the present century, when our beloved Queen by
her conduct on the throne, and in her private life, gave such a stimulus
to the position of her sex, that women came forward to take their share
in the sports, as well as in the more serious duties of our national
life, in a way that was new in the world's history.
That the young Queen whose every act was eagerly copied by her girl
subjects, could have ridden after hounds as she did in the early years
of her reign, without having many followers, is not to be supposed. Thus
indirectly--for Victoria's early succession to the duties of a sovereign
left her but little time for the enjoyment of the lighter side of
life--Her Majesty's example has probably had not a little to do with the
increased love of sport among the women of the present day.
In the history of sport, therefore, as in other departments of our life
as a nation, the name of Victoria will be remembered as the great
benefactor of women, by having given them larger, truer conceptions of
life, and by opening to them spheres of usefulness and pleasure which
the deadening influence of the eighteenth century, seemed to have closed
to them for ever.
The Editor.
[Illustration: _Speight. Rugby._
_MRS. BURN._]
FOX HUNTING.
"My dear young lady, you would enjoy your hunting so much more if you
would _only_ watch the hounds!" I once heard a Master of Hounds say to
an eager young woman whose only aim and object seemed to be to get on.
Such indeed was her anxiety to do this that she was quite oblivious of
the fact, she was meanwhile riding the hounds off the line. The M.F.H.
quoted being one of the finest huntsmen in England, I have remembered
his words. For it is simply wonderful to think of the hundreds upon
hundreds of people in Great Britain, who hunt regularly week after week
in the season, and who never "watch the hounds!" Talk and chatter when
they draw, gallop of course and jump--most probably--when they run, but
"know what they are doing?" _No._
And yet to anyone who is really fond of hunting, the greatest charm of
all is in watching the hounds and in taking an intelligent interest in
the hunt itself. Not that this interest is given to all, for crowds come
out, some because they can afford it and it is the right thing to do,
some to see their friends, and others to _ride_, and lastly some, not
many, to _hunt_.
These last have generally been "bred to it," as a man would say, and
have the love of hunting born in them, and so they are able to enjoy
themselves when others do not. For even though the scent be bad, and
they "cannot run a yard," these few will take a pleasure in watching
hounds really hunt, and will hug themselves with delight as they
distinguish old Rhapsody feather up a furrow away from the rest till she
can assure herself that it is right, and then with a note like a bell
bring all the others flying to her cry, till one after another they pick
up the line and proclaim that it is good.
Part of the charm of hunting is the beauty of its surroundings. I know
nothing prettier than the different scenes of a hunt. To watch the
hounds put into covert, to stand at a corner and see down the ride the
huntsman's red coat and all the hounds round him, among the brown
leaves on the ground and the dark trees in the background is simply a
picture, and time after time in each hunting day such pictures appear,
and delight the eye. Then the joy of listening to the cry, and not only
the cry, for it does one good to hear the huntsman cheering the hounds
in covert, especially if he has a good voice and can blow a good note on
his horn.
Even the smell of the dank leaves turned over as the hounds rustle
through them is delightful, and like all loved scents it brings back
more than anything else the days of long ago.
I never go out cub-hunting now without that scent bringing back to me
the old days at Brigstock, when my father[1] hunted the Pytchley hounds.
In Spring and early Autumn we always went to the Woodlands, for the
Woodland Pytchley had not then become a separate pack, and I once more
seem to see him, long of leg and lithe of limb on the raking chestnut
mare, and hear his cheery voice drawing those great woods. And as I
listen to his view halloa I feel a thrill run through me, and in fancy I
see them striding down the broad grass ride, while the hounds fly to him
from every side, and with an "over, over, over, over," which simply
make one shiver, he cheers them over the ride, while they swing to the
right and crash into the covert with a glorious burst of music like a
chime of silver bells. It is odd how these things remain in one's heart.
[Footnote 1: Colonel J. Anstruther-Thomson.]
"Wire and silence" will be the end of hunting, so he says; he being my
father whom on all things venatic I firmly believe.
I suppose hardly one "hunting" woman out of every hundred who go out,
ever know how many couple of hounds there are out, or think of counting
them while the Master sits outside the covert blowing them to him. Yet
this is interesting in itself, and if you know the hounds personally all
the more so, as you watch them come tumbling through the fence by ones
and twos and go smiling up to their huntsman's side, with a satisfied
expression as if they were saying "here I am anyhow."
[Illustration: _ELIZABETH, COUNTESS OF WILTON, ON WILLOUGHBY._]
Hunting in the provinces has that great advantage over the shires, that
you have fewer people out, and consequently you really can take an
interest in the hound work and watch what they are doing, and when they
run you can keep your eye on them all through, and ride to them, whereas
in a fashionable country you get cramped up at a corner of a covert with
three or four hundred people hemming you in, behind a narrow gateway may
be, hardly wide enough for one horse to get through at a time. Your
horse probably gets frightened in the thick of the fray, and tries to go
backwards instead of forwards, the man's horse in front of you has his
ears back and a ribbon in his tail, while those behind keep cramming on
with cries of "_Get_ on, _do_, or else let _me_ come," so by the time
you have sniggled yourself through this turmoil, hounds have slipped
away and are out of sight. You may then ride for all you are worth, but
you probably will never see the _hounds_ again until they kill, or at
any rate check. So you must e'en be content with galloping in the wake
of somebody else's back, and trust to luck that he is going the right
way, but it is dull work compared to picking your own places and using
your own head to get to hounds the shortest way.
Of course the country in the shires makes up for almost anything, and to
stride away over the pasture lands of Leicestershire or Pytchleydom, is
truly the realisation of the "Happy Hunting Grounds." After you have
once learned to find your way over a cramped country, intersected with
lime and mortar walls and barbed wire, in Scotland, or after you have
scaled the heights and fathomed the depths of the banks and drains in
Ireland, then to go down for a hunt in the shires is a holiday worthy of
the name. "Call this a ditch?" you exclaim inwardly as you flick over an
English fence, after encountering those gruesome dykes in Meath. True, I
only hunted in Meath one season, but my private verdict at the end of
the time was, "a splendid education, but an awful experience as far as
the fences are concerned." But then I do not like a ditch I cannot see
the bottom of, especially when it has sheer cut-out sides which every
person in front of you makes bigger and bigger. I also have a vivid
recollection of seeing several top hats (nothing else) wandering up and
down on the level of the ground, as other brave souls went at those
ditches and cleared them and their contents, human, equine and all. This
was on a pleasant spot in Meath, known as the "Bush Farm," and I don't
mind saying that for appalling fences I have never met its equal, and
devoutly trust I may never come in contact with its superior, unless I
am mounted either on a bird or a balloon. But for sport it was
undefeated, and the beautiful old turf was a pleasure to ride on. A
great blessing too it is having no ridge and furrow, for really
sometimes in England, the Bay of Biscay "is jokes" compared to the
ground you ride over. The continued galloping up and down is so hard on
horses, and though of course one knows the dodge of taking them
slantways, still it is not half such fun as swinging away over smooth
grass.
One thing about Ireland--and when I say Ireland, I am thinking only of
the county Meath, for I have never hunted with any other pack over
there, barring one day in Kildare--is that a pony can get over it. It
will creep about and jump like a cat, and cross the country as it never
could in England. Then, too, people do not seem to hurt themselves so
often when they fall over there, and that no doubt is because they ride
_slowly_ at their fences, but then how one misses the gates. It is
almost impossible to believe at first that there really are not any, but
the cruel fact is proved time after time, till at last you are forced to
own that it is only too true.
Scotland, some years ago, before so much wire crept in, was as good a
school as need be to teach anyone how to get to hounds. You sometimes
had to crawl and creep, and sometimes to jump a bit of timber standing,
perhaps uphill in a corner, or an awkward place under a tree, with
generally a wire somewhere through it or standing handy by, and it is a
great thing to _learn_ where there are difficulties, for it teaches you
to use your head, which is as important out hunting as it is in daily
life. Yet how few people seem to hunt with their heads. As long as they
can gallop and jump in sight of someone else's coat tails, there are
many who seem to be quite content, and will assure you they enjoy their
hunting immensely.
But this is not the _real_ way.
To use your own judgment, to have a quick eye to hounds, and as they
turn and swing to cut off the corners, to save your horse by choosing
the weak places in the fences and the best going in the fields, this is
the science of riding to hounds. Yet very few know how to do it, and
fewer still have the gift of being able to make a horse gallop. In a
crowded country where everything depends on your getting a start much
also depends on this.
To be _strong_ on a horse is given to few, to ride light to very few,
and yet to be a really good horsewoman one ought to be both. It is
pretty to see a really good man or woman riding to hounds. How they keep
flitting along to one side of the pack, never seeming in a hurry, but
always moving on, down the furrows and over the gaps, and those who try
to catch them will find they are always in front and generally clean.
One great thing to learn, and especially I think for a woman, is to go
quietly and not to splash. One hates to see the women of a hunt always
on the gallop, going from covert to covert across the fields. It looks
so much better, and _is_ so much wiser to trot quietly over them than to
go helter skelter past everybody else, probably squelching muddy water
over them as you go, and incurring the condemnation of the opposite sex,
who, if they are sportsmen of the right sort, will seldom be seen
bustling between times.
Not only to ride your horse quietly, but to _be_ quiet yourself is also
an advantage. I shall never forget once in Leicestershire, after an
almost blank day, the whole field was drawn up to one side of a small
spinney by the road, and all our hopes of retrieving the day lay in our
getting a fox away from the far corner of the wood. All who understood
the importance of keeping quiet were dumb, and we could not help feeling
a little bit bored by one good lady, who in strident tones gave an
exhaustive history of her aluminium watch. Her listener would evidently
have gladly cut her short had his manners been less good, and the rest
of us wished heartily that both she and her watch were at the bottom of
the sea. Poor lady, she hunted with the greatest regularity several days
a week, but she had never learned the _why_ of things out hunting.
Then there are what may be called the "let _me_ come" women--those who
have to gallop at their fences because they dare not go at them slower,
and if anybody happens to be before them think it necessary to shout. I
know, of course, that opinions differ as to riding fast or slow at a
fence, though personally I hold to the latter, and cannot help thinking
that people who always ride at them fast are afraid to do so any slower.
Certain it is that a horse will jump a place more surely and more
cleverly if you give him time to see what he is going at, and most of
them can jump very much bigger places even standing than people
generally give them credit for. If you take a pull to steady your horse
when you are a little distance from your fence, you will probably
arrive at the other side far more collectedly, and be striding away
again over the next field, before others who allow their horses to
gallop on right up to the fence are near you. They are going too fast to
notice the grip before they arrive at it, and consequently their horse
takes off from the wrong leg and lands like a star-fish in the next
field, then stumbles, pecks, and recovers again before he is once more
set in motion. All this takes time and tires the horse, moreover should
the luckless animal thus ridden fail to recover from the stumble and
peck, he will give his rider a far worse fall than if he had gone at it
slower.
"Hands" of course have everything to do with the niceties of riding, and
"hands" cannot be taught. But, after all, _thinking_ has a great deal to
do with good riding, and if people would but remember that horses are
not machines, that they _do_ feel and their poor mouths _are_ sensitive,
it would go far towards improving their horsemanship and hands. I am
sure that half the falls we get are due to our own faulty riding, though
we all know how we say if our horse falls with us he is a stupid brute
for doing it, yet if the same mishap should occur while a groom is on
his back, it is then _he_ who gets that title for letting him down. We
read sometimes about people "lifting" their horses, but I do not know
what that means. One must _trust_ them to a great extent, and any
interference at the critical moment is most likely to land them head
over heels.
I remember hearing a well-known coper say to a friend of mine who could
ride a runaway horse without being even pulled, "Ah, but then you've got
the fingers." I once tried to explain to my sister that she must "carry
her own hands," and she laughed at me for telling her to try and make
them be like souflés. "Anything will pull if you pull at it," I have
often been told, but it is _not_ easy to be like a souflé when you are
going forty thousand miles a minute, skew-ways on at a double wire fence
with a river in between.
How women long ago could possibly ride across country without a third
pommel is a mystery to me. Yet we are told they went well. I cannot
credit their having been able to ride anything but patent safety horses,
for one needs all the strength the third pommel gives to steer an
awkward horse along, though of course one's knee should hang below it in
the ordinary way of riding. I believe the great tip in women's riding is
to ride off the right leg. So much strength is to be got out of pressing
the leg against the saddle flap, and it is noticeable what a much
prettier seat those have who rise in trotting off the right thigh than
others who laboriously rise out of the stirrup.
[Illustration: _LANCER, IRISH HORSE._
(_Property of Mrs. Burn._)]
Another thing that often strikes me is how few women carry their stirrup
foot in the right place. The proper position for the left foot is to
hang in a straight line from the knee, with the foot easy in the
stirrup, not pressed against it, but home in it _I_ think, though I see
many who only touch it with their toes. It is pitiful to ride behind a
woman and see the sole of her foot sticking up at the back, yet some
find they get their grip in this way, so they tell me, the grip which
_should_ come from the pressure I mentioned before, of the right leg
against the saddle flap.
A well-known woman to hounds was once pointed out to me as a wonder on a
horse. So she was, very good; _but_ if she had ridden with a spur she
would have been killed long before, for she rode with her toe out and
her heel pressed against her horse's ribs. Why many women have not
broken their necks before now I do not know. Those who ride with a loose
rein, for instance. I once saw a gallant girl galloping hard across a
heavy plough, with her reins hung over one finger. It may have been
smart, it certainly was brave, but the sad thing was it showed her
ignorance so patently that one pitied her from the heart, and her horse
still more, for had he not been one of the cleverest in England he must
have tumbled her head over heels.
Women out hunting should take their chance with the rest, and never
trade on the chivalry of the opposite sex, for this is what makes them
unpopular in the hunting field.
If they are not brave enough to take their own place at a fence, they
must be content to wait their turn at the gap or gate. If they are wise
they will keep on the very _outside_ of the crowd in a gateway, as they
will pass through quicker like that than if they go straight into the
mass of struggling humanity, which will probably jam them out the more
they try to get in front.
If you hunt, be ready to help other people, "and do unto all men as you
would they should do unto you."
Don't let a loose horse gallop past you, because you happen to be a
woman, but _catch_ him. Always do what is wanted promptly. If the
Master says "hold hard," or only holds up his hand, "stop." It would be
very bad form for a woman to lead the way on such an occasion by going
on, as the Master cannot so well tell _her_ what is in his heart, as he
probably would if the delinquent were a man. If you should make a
mistake and earn a reproof, hold your tongue, and remember an M.F.H.'s
life is not a happy one, and there is more to worry and aggravate him
every hour of every hunting day, than his field ever dreams of. So
instead of feeling angry at his speaking to you, be sorry that you have
deserved it. Remember too that most people out hunting are exactly like
a flock of sheep, so if you show the way over a seedfield for instance,
or by unnecessarily jumping fences when hounds are not running, your
example is very likely to be followed, and the result will be damage
done and consequent trouble.
Women are more generally accused of riding jealous than men, but real
good sportsmen of either sex will never think of such a thing. Of course
being "alone with the hounds" is a pleasure that cannot be denied, and
there is an uncontrollable feeling of joy when one happens to be among
the favoured few who get well away. But that is more because it gives
you a better chance of being with hounds, and more room to ride, than
when you are surrounded by hundreds of people hustling and bustling all
over the place. Live and let live, is just as sound a maxim out hunting
as elsewhere.
Always make way for the huntsman at a gate, over a gap, or wherever it
may be. Let him pass, for it is his proper place to be with his hounds.
Always too, wait for dismounted men. If anyone has to get off to open a
gate or break down an impracticable place, cut a wire, or for whatever
cause it may be, pull up and wait till he is on again. For remember no
horse will stand still to be mounted while others are galloping past
him, though strange to say few people seem to think of that. It is
rather hard on a man after letting you through a gap or gate to see you
gallop away, leaving him to struggle with his impatient horse which
assuredly will give him little chance of getting on again in a hurry.
Possibly you might be able to help him by holding his horse's head till
he is up. There are so many little things like this that can be done
quietly, by a woman being quick to see what is wanted, and just being
helpful without being officious.
If you arrive first at a gate, open it, and swing it back for the
others, that is to say, if you are sure you won't make a mess of it, and
only keep the whole crowd waiting while you fumble helplessly between
your whip and the latch. If you think you cannot open it, do not try,
but pull back and let somebody else do it for you, and so save time. No
one will thank you for it if you get in the way, and then only fumble.
It always distresses me to hear men saying, as alas, they often do, and
very often I fear with every excuse, "a woman of course," or, "a lady as
usual," when a hound has been kicked or a man jumped on. It is so
unnecessary, for why should not a woman use her brains as much as anyone
else out hunting.
I remember once hearing of a lady, who had not much experience, and was
mounted on a kicking horse. She stood among the crowd in a gateway with
her horse kicking viciously at everybody near, till at last an
exasperated man could bear it no longer, and remonstrated, saying,
"Really, Mrs. Smith, do you know your horse is kicking most
dangerously?" "Oh, yes," she replied with an innocent smile, "I know,
but I assure you I don't mind." Such innocence is sweet, but out
hunting it is as well to remember to turn your horse's heels to the
hedge, and his head to the hounds when they are coming past you, and if
your horse kicks to keep out of the crowd. For the sake of all other
women who hunt, do not risk their reputation by doing a stupid thing, or
not doing a kindly action whenever you get the chance, and try never to
give anyone an excuse for wishing that women should not come out
hunting. That warning shout of "seeds," or "young grass," in an agonised
tone from the Master himself, is too often unheeded by the hard riding
woman who has not taken in the fact, that in her anxiety to "show them
all the way," she is careering alone across a newly-sown field, while
the rest of the people have gone round on purpose to avoid doing damage
to the land. It is extraordinary how few people take such a state of
things in, but it is as well to know young grass or sown wheat when you
see it, and having seen, to avoid riding over it as much as possible,
also to shut the gates behind you if you can, and in all ways to try to
keep friendly with the farmers, for on them depends the continuance of
hunting.
Now a word on the disagreeable subject of falling and getting into
difficulties. In the latter case I hold with the words of Solomon, who
said, "Their strength shall be in _sitting still_," and he generally
talked sense, though perhaps he was not thinking of hunting when he made
the remark. Anyhow, the best thing under difficulties is to keep your
head and sit still. Take your foot out of the stirrup, so that you may
get clear away as soon as opportunity offers and good sense dictates. A
good thing is to kick your foot free of the stirrip before you get into
the mess, if you think it at all likely to occur. It is well to be as
free as possible, and not to meddle with your horse's head, for he will
probably be as keen to set himself straight again as you are, if he only
gets the liberty to do so.
One can but speak from experience, and my own is this, that since I
learned to ride slow at my fences, I have not had one-third of the falls
I used to get before. By riding slow, I mean taking a pull about three
or four lengths from the fence, and getting your horse to go steady and
_look_. When once you are over, you can go striding away again as fast
as you like, and so not lose your "pride of place." Indeed you are far
more likely to keep it in that way, than if you gallop over your
fences, for before long the _over_ will relapse into _through_, and then
it will be only a question of time how soon you will measure your length
on the ground.
Of course one is bound to fall sometimes, however good the horse,
however good the horsewoman. Blind fences, wire, a wide place on the far
side, or the sun low so that it catches your horse's eyes, are all
pretty well bound to knock you over, and then the main thing is to fall
clear. Nowadays we are mercifully seldom hung up, thanks to our safety
skirts and safety stirrups, without both of which no woman should, in my
opinion, be allowed to hunt. It is wise to minimise the dangers of
hunting as much as possible, and I think that in one's clothes and
saddlery for hunting, everything should be as plain and as _safe_ as
possible.
[Illustration: _COMET._
(_Property of Lady Gerard._)]
I believe myself in Champion and Wilton's safety stirrup, and dislike
hunting on a saddle without it, though some people "crab" them, and say
they come off at the wrong moment. If indeed this does happen, the
stirrups must require mending, or else the movement of the rider has
caused the leather flap which protects the bar to rise, which of course
will set the stirrup leather free. But this is obviously not the
stirrup's fault. I also like the arrangement on the off flap, so that
you can tighten your own girths, for it is nonsense to say that women's
girths should "never need tightening." They need it far more than men's
as a rule, and if you can pull them up a hole or two after a gallop,
yourself, it is a great convenience, and much better than making some
unfortunate man, or his groom, fumble about at a buckle covered with mud
below the horse's body, as on other saddles.
As for the safety habits, I believe in the apron skirt, for in that you
must fall clear. I have tried several so-called safety habits, and have
been hung up both on the near and the off side, but since I took to the
apron I have had no more danglings. Of course the drawback to the apron
is its appearance off the saddle, when it is certainly too scanty to be
becoming. I have, however, overcome that difficulty by having an extra
"modesty," made of the very thinnest serge, which I always carry under
the near flap of my saddle, so that it does not show, and yet when I get
off to ease my horse's back, I can put it on and feel quite independent
and happy. I therefore commend this plan to others, as being far
handier than buttoning the extra covering inside their habit skirt, and
much nicer than going without altogether.
Women, as a rule, are not particular enough about the way they put their
boots on. Though they would be very much surprised if they saw a man out
hunting with the tags of his boots sticking out, they seem to forget
that anything wrong in the way they are put together, is sure to be
noticed, and that it is only when our clothes are right that they
attract no attention. One should always study, therefore, to be neat and
clean-looking beyond everything.
I know many men assert that no woman should ever wear a spur. Of course
they are chivalrous enough to add, because women should never ride a
horse that needs one. Such a state of things would indeed be delightful,
but as there are some in the world still, who would rather go out on
anything than not go out at all, and that "anything" is as often as not
a refusing brute of a hireling, as cunning as a monkey, I cannot agree
with the opinion. In saying this, however, please note I do not mean by
a spur, that horrible sort of a dagger which works with a spring, and is
commonly sold as a "lady's spur," for of all the dangerous and cruel
inventions, that is about the worst. I mean the ordinary small man's
spur, with the rowels blunted, and of course this should only be worn by
those who know how to use it, never by a beginner, or indeed by any but
a really fine horsewoman, for if the foot is not carried in the right
position you are sure to touch your horse with it unwittingly, and if
you make a mistake you will probably have to pay for it. If your horse
is very hot and eager, too, you will be better without it.
One of the most useful things for a woman to learn, is to be able to get
on her horse off the ground by herself. If you cannot do this, you are
so utterly dependent on the kindness of the long-suffering man. It is
very easy to learn, if you have any spring in your body. You simply put
your left foot in the stirrup, catch hold of the cantle of your saddle
with your left hand, and the pommel and reins in your right, and up you
go. Be careful, however, not to knock up the flap over the stirrup bar,
if it be a safety, in doing this, or out it will come, and down you will
flop again. Of course the main thing is, that your horse should stand
still and allow you to mount. A horse is generally so tactless about
this, he will fidget and dance and never give you a chance, but, by
taking the off reins up short in your left hand, you have at least so
much control over his curvetting, that by pulling his head away, you
make him turn his body and saddle towards you. But mind in doing this he
does not trample on your toes, which he is very likely to do.
Of course you should always try to get your horse on lower ground than
yourself, and if he is still too high, you must let down the stirrup
until you can reach it. Always try and sandwich your horse between
yourself and a fence or house, so that he cannot revolve round and
round, as they are so fond of doing at the critical moment. Try, also,
not to tickle or kick him with your toe, after it is in the stirrup, as
that will probably induce him to kick you off before you are safely on.
It is really a marvel how few men can jump a woman on to her horse
properly, and how few women go up as they should. The operation is quite
easy, if only the man can be persuaded to _stand still_ and merely give
his hand a little heave upwards. The majority of men who do not know, no
sooner feel the foot on their hand than they count hard and run
backwards towards the horse's head, carrying the unfortunate woman's
foot with them. Thus, instead of sending her up, dragging her down till
the whole thing ends in a wild struggle, she clinging round the pommels
with her chest, chin, and arms. Too degrading an exhibition. If the man
will stand still and take it quietly, and if the woman will just spring
off her right leg and straighten her left knee, she will arrive in her
saddle gracefully and lightly, and the man will not have felt her weight
at all. It is best to come to a thorough understanding with the man
before you begin, as to when he expects you to spring. If this is to be
when he counts three, or as soon as your foot is in his hand? Do not in
any case allow him to have hold of the hem of your skirt with your foot.
Unless this is free it will hold you down, and a sort of
Jack-in-the-box-performance will begin. You spring and the man's hand
remains inert, then he jerks up your left foot when you are standing
stolidly on the right, and generally the end of all is that you arrive
in a heap on your saddle, and finish by kicking the man in the face.
How to have a quick eye to hounds? Yes, how? But I do not know. It is a
gift which few have, and most people have _not_. To keep looking out
for the hounds in front and all round if you are _not_ seeing them, and
to keep your eye on the leading hounds if you _are_ in that lucky
position, to notice every turn and be quick to turn with them, to cut
off the corners and go the shortest way, a sort of anticipation without
anticipating, that is all I can say about it. Never ride exactly
_behind_ the hounds, as if they check you are thus sure to hustle them
on over the line and incur the wrath of the huntsman besides spoiling
your own sport and everybody else's. Ride either to one side or the
other of the pack, down wind for choice, about forty yards in their
wake, so as to give hounds plenty of room to swing or stop, should they
come to a check.
As there is hardly one woman in fifty or a hundred who can go her own
line and pick her way all through a run--or perhaps it would be more
courteous to say _I_ do not _know_ many who, if put down in a country on
an ordinary hunter alone with the hounds, could find their way into and
out of ten fields in succession; it is as well for most women to have a
pilot. First, though, ascertain that the man is willing to accept this
onerous position. Then be careful _to give him room_, not to ride in his
pocket or get in his way, and above all things to give him time at his
fences to land _or fall_ without jumping on him.
[Illustration: _MISS SERRELL ON COLLEEN._]
When you have once chosen your pilot, obey him. If at a gate or in a
crowd, or for any other reason, even if you do not understand it, he
should want you to go first, _Go!_ Nip through quickly and quietly, and
don't keep others waiting whatever you do. Take your turn whenever it
comes, and take every chance that offers without hanging back, which
hinders other people, and without hustling, which annoys them. In fact,
if after you have achieved being _quiet_ out hunting you succeed in
being quick, you will have begun to grasp the situation.
It is as well for your own comfort and that of other people to ride sane
horses as far as in you lies. I once had a ride on an insane one, and it
was far from satisfactory. It was perfectly immaterial to that horse
whether he arrived at his fence with his head or his tail foremost. Now
it is not a pleasant sensation to waltz round and round, or to find
yourself bounding backward towards an impenetrable black bullfinch and
at the last moment to whip round and swish through or over as chance
befalls. It was rather like having a hunt on a wild cat, for I never
knew where or how he intended either to take off or land, but he would
not fall, though the bridle _behind his ears_ was a mass of mud and
grass, after one double distilled peck into a boggy field.
Of course a woman has not half the strength on a phlegmatic horse that a
man has to "gar them gang," as we say in the North. A man can squeeze a
half-hearted one over a fence, where a woman would be simply powerless
to do anything, and I think the worst sort of a horse a woman can ride
is a refuser. It is bad for her in every way, for body, temper, and
nerve. One can forgive a horse everything if he will but try, but a
sulky or funking brute, who grows more and more slack as he nears each
fence until he collapses at the brink, is too high a trial, especially
when the fight which must come generally ends in rearing, which is of
all things most dangerous for a woman.
I once had a racehorse given me, which had been spoiled in training,
with the temper simply of a fiend. In racing, he never would try, but
always shut up just when he ought to have won with ease, for to give the
devil his due--and he _was_ one--he could gallop. That horse out hunting
was simply purgatory; he could jump like a stag, which was the most
irritating part of the whole thing, and sometimes he would gallop and
jump with the best for a few fields, then all of a sudden collapse,
stop, dig in his toes, and that was the end of my hunt, for no power on
earth after that would induce him to go _forwards_. Backwards he would
go all round the field, with intervals of rearing. I saw him fall
backwards twice in one day, when one of the whippers-in was riding him,
because he refused to go through an open gate.
Riding a refuser does I think teach one to be strong on a horse; but is
it worth it? You can always acquire strength to a certain degree by
riding different horses, which is a far more agreeable form of
education, and much more interesting than always sticking to two or
three of your own. For a beginner, of course, it is necessary she should
above all things have confidence in her horse that he will carry her
safely, so that when she finds one she had better stick to him. A made
hunter in the prime of life with nice manners, easy paces, and good
temper is the horse for her, for he will carry her safely without
fatigue, and for that there is nothing like the action of a
thoroughbred, whose low, slinking stride hardly makes one rise. A woman
should not ride too big a horse for her size, as a great stride is very
tiring, especially when hacking on the roads. One of the greatest
luxuries is a smooth hack, and if you wish to keep warm on your way to
the meet, then, instead of driving, to canter along the grassy sides of
our English roads on a thoroughbred polo pony, is one of the most
delightful sensations in life.