CHAPTER XIII.

A LESSON IN LEAPING.

Surmising that you are now as perfect as possible in park and road riding, you must qualify yourself as a huntress by learning to jump every kind of obstacle that will be likely to come in your way. Indeed, it is advisable for every rider, even though destined to spend a lifetime without ever hearing the music of the hounds, to acquire practice in leaping, as a means of improving the seat and securing immunity from possible danger and inconvenience. I mean to convey, that to a lady equestrian who knows nothing of sitting over a jump, a long ride in the country will be likely to prove somewhat embarrassing, seeing that newly-cut ditches and small sheep-hurdles are frequently to be met with, and where some members of the party jump them and others hang back, the difference of opinion will not tell in favour of the laggards. To be ready for _all_ emergencies is the rule of good riding, and even if country difficulties have not to be encountered, there may be times--probably will be--when an animal will bounce suddenly forwards, or bound into the air from very exuberance of spirits, and if his rider has not learned to sit over a fence it will be ten to one against her keeping her position in the saddle. An unprepared or untaught rider is always thrown forward by a horse’s leap, and the object to be gained by teaching is to be able to offer suitable resistance to this--and to do so, no matter how sudden or unexpected the movement may be.

Some excellent authorities assert that a lady’s first leaping lessons ought always to be in a school. I object to the word “always” in this instance, and should like to substitute “generally.” Without in the very least depreciating the excellence of school teaching--for it sometimes _is_ excellent, though oftener the reverse--I have nevertheless undertaken to teach “riding without a master,” and with this object in view I shall offer a few hints upon the subject in a simple, common-sense fashion, which I hope may prove profitable to those who wish to learn.

I think it an excellent plan, if in the country, to begin by practising over fallen trees--or if a place can be found where two or three of these have been felled together and are lying at short distances from one another, so much the better. Such a spot affords capital schooling-ground. Small ditches too, and cuttings, are very nice--and so are little streams that don’t call for much exertion on the part of the rider to enable her to get over them. If, however, your surroundings are not such as will admit of your practising over natural obstacles of an easy nature, have one or two artificial ones erected, in the shape of small hurdles, interwoven with gorse or some such matter, but strive to avoid taking your first leaps over a bar--a thing at which many horses are apt to go “slovenly,” owing to the fact that they see the daylight underneath, and have sense to know quite well that they are only being humbugged.

When you have acquired a certain amount of confidence over such trifling obstacles as I have mentioned, it will be well for you to enlist the services of a good rider, and ask him to pilot you over a few easy fences, and to show you the way through a gap or two, with perhaps a small ditch on the off or landing side. You must avoid being too ambitious, or over-confident, if you happen, fortunately, to get on well at first. The horse on which you practice should be a steady, easy jumper, neither too flippant nor at all apt to refuse, and you should ride him without a spur, until such time as you are qualified to take him into the hunting-field.

When going straight at a leap, sit firmly in the centre of your saddle, your head well up, your eyes looking right between your horse’s ears, the snaffle reins in both hands, with just a slight feeling upon your mount’s mouth, without _any_ attempt at holding him back or clinging by the bridle to secure your own safety. Never on any account contract the habit of clutching short at the reins, or at any part of the saddle, in order to help you in preserving your balance--nor should you throw up your hands, which must in all instances be kept low and steady. When approaching a leap, bend your body slightly backwards from the waist up, at the same time keeping your seat firmly in the middle of the saddle, that you may not be disconcerted by the action of the loin-muscles of the horse. The degree to which this “leaning back” is to be carried must of course depend altogether upon the size and nature of the leap to be accomplished; for example, at a big-drop, or down-jump, a good rider will almost touch the horse’s croup, but you must never lose sight of the fact that it is the _shoulders_ that are to be bent flexibly backwards (returning to an upright position on landing), and not any part of the body that lies below the waist.

The two great secrets of leaping are, to sit like a centaur while your waist and shoulders adapt themselves pliantly to the movements of your horse--and never to interfere with his mouth. Plenty of headroom has always been my cry; I believe that where it is attended to there is very rarely an accident. Horses, even those that are not very highly trained, are marvellously clever, and will generally put their feet in the right places if allowed to see where they _are_ to put them, but a rider might just as well blindfold a horse at once--tie a thick bandage across his eyes--and then expect him to fence safely, as draw the reins so tight when he is rising that even if not absolutely thrown down by the action, he is prevented from seeing where he is expected to land. A horse cannot possibly do his work well or generously when compelled to carry his rider with his mouth--nor can a rider derive the pleasure that he is seeking while sitting altogether wrongly in the saddle.

It is quite beautiful to see the way in which young horses fence when their mouths are not interfered with. I have often taken a raw youngster out over a trappy country, with only leading reins on him, or long ropes, and have jumped alongside of him over the little ditches, transported with delight at the manner in which he gathered his haunches under him, and the clever way in which, on landing, he planted his feet. It is really charming to watch them, and most sad to think and know that by-and-by, when some professedly fine, but in reality totally ignorant rider gets upon their backs, every second fence or so will witness a cropper, and the young, fleet-limbed, spirited creatures will be beaten, and pulled at, and called “brutes,” and sworn at too, as though it were not the clumsy hands at their mouths that were in reality bringing them to grief.

Good hunters are, times out of number, thrown down by their riders. A lady, for instance, borrows a mount for a day, and hears from his owner (who perhaps knows very little indeed about horsemanship) that he’s a “capital goer, but wants a little _lifting_ at his fences.” I have heard that idiotic expression made use of hundreds, nay, thousands of times. Well, out she goes; the animal, fresh and buoyant, starts away at a nailing pace, and when not interfered with goes skying over obstacles from which others are turning away,--but the half-frightened rider on his back has that word “lifting” imprinted upon her sensitive brain, and the moment the horse takes off at the first big fence, up go her hands with a sudden haul at the bridle, and the animal, surprised and thrown off his balance by the action, lands unevenly, if he lands at all, and very likely gives her a severe fall.

There is not one on earth who is more against permitting any “slummucking,” or romping, or going “abroad,” than I am myself; to keep a horse well collected has always been my teaching; leave him his head when coming up to a fence; let him stretch his neck to see what it is; keep a light, _very_ light, feeling upon the snaffle when he makes his effort; and, as he lands, but _not_ till then, give him a gentle support with _both_ hands--especially if the jump is a very big one, in order that he may not “peck.” Bear in mind, however, that if you attempt this support too soon--when he is in the air, for instance, or in fact until he needs it--you will undoubtedly throw him down. Practice will teach you all these things far better than anything else, but a careful study of them should not on any account be despised.

Horses do not as a rule like schooling. I believe they abhor it; there is not any kind of excitement about it--no emulation, no company, nothing, in short, to keep up the “go,”--therefore I maintain that more falls are to be had when practising in this way (owing to the fact that animals will not jump so generously as when actually going the pace), than are ever to be met with in the hunting-field. Still, it must occasionally be done, especially where young hunters are to be kept in practice--and I strongly advise you to undertake the doing of it yourself, rather than entrust your favourites to a heavy-handed groom, who will rattle the lives half out of them, and cram them at their fences in a manner calculated to spoil them utterly for your own subsequent use.

Never believe anybody who tells you that the best equestrians sit forward when their horses jump, and backward when they land. Such is really not the case at all. In some instances they may have begun by doing so--taught probably by a military riding-master to think it the proper thing--but one or two sounding knocks upon the nose or in the middle of the forehead, received through inability to regulate the precise time for the two distinct movements, have taught them to discard the theory as nonsensical, which it most certainly is.

I believe a great deal in having _confidence_, and in the power of imparting the same feeling to your horse; also, in keeping both him and yourself in perfect good temper. Ride him with judgment, and he will soon learn to understand exactly what it is that you want of him. Never take him too fast at wide ditches, or at fences that necessitate a _rise_; in all such instances suffer him to measure his stride;--give him time--don’t hustle him--(an unwise and horrid habit), let him gather his hind legs well under him, and on no account hold him hard on the curb. Remember, likewise, that you must _always_ leave him sufficient length of rein to enable him to extend his neck.

I am against going over fast, even at water, unless the place is a formidably wide one. I think that undue haste _must_ prevent a horse from measuring his stride, and that this is the reason why animals so frequently take-off too soon, and consequently either over-jump themselves, or land short. They have done it with myself, many times, in the early days of my riding career; there is scarcely a branch of the Lara in which I have not been ducked, and surely _experientia docet_. Moreover, a horse cannot possibly last in anything like a fast run, unless he is kept collected. A sprawler very soon comes to the end of his tether, while fair-and-easy goes far in the day. This is particularly the case where ridge and furrow, or marshy ground, have to be traversed.

You should accustom your horse to do small places slowly; blind fences and ugly _trappy_ obstacles must be negotiated with deliberation, for the very worst falls are got through hustling animals at such things as these.

You should never take your horse’s attention for a moment from his work. A bad rider comes “fighting up” to a fence: spurring, striking, and jagging at his horse’s mouth--and somehow the good riders are not sorry when the fretted animal jerks his tormentor off, and gallops away without him. A mind at ease and undisturbed is absolutely essential to a fencer; to strike or spur him at a critical moment will probably throw him out of his stride, and may be the means also of throwing the rider out of the saddle.

There are certain varieties of jumps which it will be well to consider in detail, especially as beginners are apt to think that if they succeed with tolerable credit in getting over a few small cuttings in the country, they are fully qualified to take foremost place in the ranks of fair Dianas.

In timber-jumping, to begin with, you must remember that a horse quite fresh from his stable will naturally be able to accomplish much more than when half pumped out; and as a fall over timber is much nastier for a lady than almost any other description of casualty, I strongly advise you not to urge an animal that has jumped, say, four feet of timber with you at the first go off, to do more than three, or three and a-half, at the second. The reason is simply this: to accomplish timber safely a horse _must_ rise _well_ at it; this he cannot do if at all pumped out, and the consequence is that he hits it with his knees, or chest, and gives himself and his rider a terrific fall. There are fences that may be taken at a swing, others that can be scrambled over, and others again that must be negotiated deliberately, requiring more coolness than courage to accomplish the doing of them safely--but timber _must_ be got over in thoroughly hunter-like fashion, or a terrific crash will be the result. High stiff rails, or gates, have more perils for riders than any other obstacle that can be met with in the hunting-field, not even excepting walls; for many hunters will go collectedly and steadily at these latter, when a four or five-barred gate, with the daylight showing through and letting them see what is on the other side will be either refused, or done in decidedly slovenly fashion, in which case the latter state is infinitely worse than the first.

In taking an up-jump, throw your head and shoulders well back, so that you may escape being struck in the face, and leave your horse unlimited headroom, for the danger of a leap of this description is, that the animal may not get his quarters sufficiently under him to land safely on his legs, and may in consequence be in danger of going back: in such case, if he is in the slightest degree trammelled about the mouth, he will be unable to stretch his neck or make the necessary struggle to recover himself.

Many ladies have a horror of going over water, the dread of immersion being no doubt the paramount cause of it; but I have always thought that a good wide brook, or a narrow branch of a river, was about the safest of all obstacles to encounter. In saying this, I of course mean where the banks are sound, for if either the taking-off or landing-ground happens to be marshy or rotten, there is nothing more conducive to a ducking.

Horses do not, as a rule, enjoy jumping water; some blood ones don’t object to it, but most animals hate it, and will refuse if they can, especially where they have at any time had what is called “a cold bath.” Should you ever happen to be riding a horse who, on seeing water, gradually shortens his stride, and “shuts up” as he approaches it, do not try to get him over, for you may be certain that he will not have it. All very fine, it may be, to talk about not allowing yourself to be conquered, but the strongest effort in the world won’t make a horse jump water safely when he once refuses it, and it will not be pleasant to stand cudgelling him upon the bank, while he plants his toes in the sedges every time that you bring him back to it, with an air as though he were saying, “You may keep me here till doomsday, but over it I _won’t_ go, unless you hire a skiff to carry me.”

A good water-jumper, going skimming along, ought to clear eighteen or twenty feet: even five-and-twenty not being over-much accounted of (with Irish horses, at all events) where the banks are sound; yet, as a rule, a brimming brook of fourteen feet will generally stop at least half a large field. There are two reasons for this: firstly, if the water is visible from a distance, horses slacken, and riders funk; and secondly, if it runs between banks, they gallop up to look at it, and then, all is lost.

The better bred a horse is, the better water-jumper he will assuredly be. Coarse-bred horses who are clever enough at ordinary fences, will almost always go clumsily at water, if they can be got to go at it at all; the reason being that clean-bred horses are the only really good _stayers_, and as deep or wide water is seldom met with at the beginning of a run, they alone have the stamina to carry them safely over, after galloping perhaps a stiff line of country for thirty minutes or so, with scarcely any check. When jumping water, give your horse a very long rein, and don’t touch him with the curb. Steady him when coming up to it, and again on landing, in order that he may get safely away on the other side, and not either peck or sprawl.

If you have to jump a thorn fence, and that it is leaning _towards_ you, be sure there is something ugly on the other side, and go at it with sufficient determination to give your horse the necessary impetus for a safe get-over. If, on the other hand, the ditch is on the taking-off side, and that the hedge leans away from you, take him very steadily and deliberately--letting him see exactly what he has to do.

Finally, if the horse that you are riding happens to be old, or what is called “dickey,” namely, shaky on the forelegs, be careful about jumping him when the ground is hard. This applies likewise to tender-footed animals. I have ridden horses in February who travelled delightfully over soft slushy ground, and fenced splendidly when up to their fetlocks in mud,--yet, when March came round, and lands were dry and hard, they stood still and shivered at the sight of even an ordinary sheep-hurdle or small scoured drain. To force a horse to jump, under such circumstances is inhuman and unwise.