CHAPTER XIX.

IN THE HUNTING-FIELD.

A very tempting title truly, but before we can get there we must say a word about the preparation for it, and also about the journey to be taken to reach the desired goal.

To prepare, therefore, you should look first to your horse; you must get him into good hard-fed condition some time before the opening of the season, and either exercise him regularly yourself, or get somebody to do it for you. The subject of feeding I hope to discuss in a forthcoming chapter--as also that of shoeing, which is extremely important. I may here say, however, that my system of feeding hunters is in many points so widely different to that of others that I shall not undertake to advocate it openly, but shall merely state that I have found it answer most admirably in my own stable, and that many private friends to whom I have recommended it have endorsed my opinion of its excellence. The only portion of it to which I shall in this chapter refer, is concerning the _times_ at which I think the meals ought to be given. I advise that hunters be accustomed all the year round to do without a heavy midday meal: this practice to be adhered to during the summer months, as well as in winter; in fact, whether the animal is doing work or not. A good substantial feed at 7 A.M., and another twelve hours later, with one _of hay only_ (but plenty of it, and of the best) at noon, is all the food that need be given. Horses fed thus do not, on even very long days, miss anything except their midday repast, whereas, if accustomed to a solid feed of corn in the middle of the day, the vacuum created by the want of it must certainly tell upon the animals, and render them in a great degree unfitted for their tasks.

Let your horse, then, be fed as I have directed, and you will (confidently speaking) find him quite able and ready for the long days which are so trying to horses that are not in condition, as well as to many that are.

Look to his shoeing a day or two before you want to use him, and when I say “look,” I mean for you to do it yourself, and not merely inquire of the servant whether it has been done, unless, indeed, he is one of those treasures who are as rarely to be met with as the proverbial four-leaved shamrock, or the horse that is a day over six years old. Grooms will not, as a rule, trouble themselves much about the shoeing department, except at the most inconvenient times; when they don’t want you to go out, for instance, it is quite surprising how quickly they contrive to discover that the horse must go to the forge. I know all their little tricks perfectly well, and the length of time, too, that they generally find it necessary to be absent when that forge business is declared to be a necessity that cannot be done without; therefore, it will be well to look to it _always_ yourself, a good bit in advance, in order that you may not in any wise be taken unprepared.

Give a glance over your hunting-gear also, lest anything should be astray. It is not at the last moment that such things ought ever to be looked to. See that your gloves are in good order, and your riding-breeches perfectly whole--for, remember, there is a great and constant strain on this particular garment, and it will in consequence stand in frequent need of repairs. Make certain also that your skirt is neatly brushed, your hat in perfection, and your whip and spur in perfect readiness for use.

Having made these preparations, you must turn your thoughts from necessaries to possible contingencies, and hold yourself in readiness for such. Procure a small, tidy valise, and in it place a complete change of warm clothing. You can dispense with fashionable and costly articles, and put in merely such things as will prove convenient in the possible event of your being either dyked, or subjected to such a wetting from above as would render it unsafe for you to proceed homewards in your riding-habit. Of course, I am now surmising that you either drive or rail to the hunt, and return the same way.

If you ride a hack to covert, or jog your hunter at an easy pace, you will not only find it impossible to carry a change of clothing, but you will not have any need of such, because nobody ever catches cold, even from wet clothes, so long as motion and circulation are kept up; but if you have a long drive homewards after a hard and exciting day, or a journey (even a short one) to perform by rail, I strongly advocate the carrying of the valise. It will not prove a source of the least trouble to you. You can leave it either in your vehicle or at the railway station, and it is an inconceivable comfort to be able to get into a dry suit when every stitch that you have on is clinging to your body, heavy with wet and mud. I advise the labelling of the valise in plain letters, if it is to be left in any waiting-room. To attend to this may prevent a good deal of possible confusion. Many ladies think it a trouble, I know, to carry such things about with them--just as men, when they go out walking, consider it “a nuisance” to carry an umbrella or an overcoat, even on the most uncertain and showery days--paying the penalty, of course, in drenched garments, rheumatism, and catarrh. The “trouble” in the first instance is very small; in the second it may be serious.

Having then made all square and ready, we have next to consider in what way you intend to proceed to covert. If by rail or vehicle, and that you happen to have friends of an obliging sort living close to the proposed meet, you may perhaps find them willing to give accommodation to your mount for the preceding night. If so it will be very pleasant, both for you and your horse, as the animal will be as fresh as a daisy to carry you--a cheery thing for both parties. You must, however, remember that you will be under a very decided compliment--one which many may not desire to incur--to the friend who shows you this favour, inasmuch as putting up a horse signifies either putting up a servant also, or sending a groom to meet the animal at the station; at all events it entails extra stable duties, and these must be considered and paid for.

Supposing that you do not send your horse anywhere the night before, see to it that he gets off betimes in the morning, and, if going by road, give your servant directions to take him to some quiet corner or laneway close to the meet, and to wait for you there until you come. I regard this as a very much better plan than having him led _direct_ to the meet, and mounting him there in presence of an assembled crowd. Ladies who like a little bit of show generally prefer the latter way--but for true comfort, opportunity for overlooking the general turning-out of your horse, lengthening or shortening of stirrup-leathers, folding your muffling tidily away (instead of flinging it anywhere or anyhow into the vehicle), giving your groom directions where to meet you at the close of the day, and so forth, commend me to the former.

If a hunter is to be railed, let him go to the station well clothed, and send extra things along with him for coming home. Winter evenings are usually chilly, if not downright cold, and are very frequently damp as well; if, then, a heated animal, with every pore open from exercise and excitement, is called upon, unprepared, to encounter these combined atmospheric influences, coughs, catarrhs, rheumatic affections, and sometimes the more serious evils of inflamed or congested lungs, are certain to be the results.

Rise early yourself on a hunting morning; have a cold bath, if of a robust temperament--if not, tepid. Eat a moderate breakfast of white fish, cutlet, or steak, accompanied by dry toast or biscuit, and partake of very little liquid. Fill your flask with cold tea: it is more invigorating than either brandy or wine; and provide a small sandwich, or a biscuit or two, to put in the pocket of your saddle. This will be provision enough for the commissariat department.

If you have the luxury of riding a good hack to covert, and that the distance is not very far--say, from five to eight miles--you will be certain to enjoy it, and it will put you in fettle for the more serious business of the day. This again, like the bath, means if you are strong and hardy: in short, inured to long rides, and not by any means easily fatigued. If it be not so with you, it will be better to make arrangements to go by rail, or drive.

Some ladies ride their hunters quite long distances to meets, but as a rule they are not among the straight-going sort, being satisfied with seeing the first draw and the burst away over a good line of country, where the two or three preliminary fences are not such as to occasion many serious mishaps. I do not think that any lady who rides even moderately straight ought to hack her hunter for a longer distance than five or six miles of a good fair road, and the best way to take him will be at a brisk walk, alternated pretty frequently with a steady jog-trot, or a hand-gallop on the grass at the side. I do not at all object to a hunter being allowed to drink a little water before starting on his journey, although I know that very many disagree with me on the point; nor do I object to his having a few mouthfuls in the intervals of hunting; it will refresh him excessively, just as a small goblet of water would refresh _you_, although a large one might overload your stomach, or give you a chill.

On arriving at the meet, keep as quiet and as much in the background as you possibly can. It is better taste by far than to push forward in ever so small a degree. Do not trouble yourself with thinking about your own appearance, be it what it may; in all probability nobody will be minding you at all. If you are perfectly well turned-out, feel happy in the consciousness that you are so, but _shun display_; if indifferently, console yourself with the reflection that each man and woman present is occupied in admiring him or herself, and has neither time nor desire to admire you, or the reverse.

Do not expect that august personage, “the master,” to shake hands with you, even if acquainted, or to stop and talk. Salute him as he goes by, but nothing further.

Do not worry the huntsman with questions about the proposed draws, or anything else. If you know him, salute him, and say a word or two, if you like, about his hounds, but never expect him to answer you; his mind is on other matters bent.

Do not indulge in loud talking, or conspicuous laughter, which will be certain to render you remarkable and bring many eyes upon you. A quiet, ladylike demeanour will always ensure admirers.

When the order is given to go, and the huntsman moves off in front with his hounds, contrive to keep as close to him as you can, without an appearance of “push.” This for the obvious reason that a fox is very often found the moment (or nearly so) that hounds are thrown into covert, and if you are on the spot, you may get well away with the pack; whereas, at the end of a long cavalcade, on a narrow and difficult roadway, it will be ten to one against your doing anything better than hunting a stern chase for the remainder of the run.

It has for long been a vexed question whether or not the hunting-field is a suitable place for ladies, and I am certainly not going to discuss it _in extenso_, especially in a necessarily limited space. One or two things concerning it I may, however, be permitted to say.

Firstly, that timid ladies, those mounted on badly broken horses, and others (a large community) who push for first place while in reality only fitted to take third (in company with wheezy old gentlemen on fat cobs, farmers on green colts, and the numerous company of confessed road-riders), are a very _decided nuisance_ in the field; and, secondly, that ladies who possess courage (by which I do not mean the effrontery of ignorance and vanity combined), who are thoroughly well mounted, and who never get in anybody’s way, are, in my opinion, a charming addition to the delightful pleasures of the chase. If, then, you want to be considered an acquisition, be contented--especially if a beginner--to take second place: that is, not to force a way among the hard-riding lot, or expose yourself to the numerous perils which really first-flight men and women go out prepared to encounter--ay, and usually manage to get through safely, too, if not interfered with or endangered by second and third-class riders. By-and-by, when you have gained the knowledge and experience which getting up from the ranks will assuredly bring you, there will be an extra pleasure in finding yourself not only holding first place in the most difficult runs, but in knowing that you are _qualified_ to hold it, and are justified in declining to yield it up to others who may not have won their spurs.

If, however, you desire to render yourself thoroughly obnoxious to everybody, you can set about it in this way. Select for your mount something that is both fidgetty and showy, yet utterly “incapable.” Whenever you attempt a fence keep your horse at it, whether you have any chance of getting over or not, to the exclusion of half the field. When you get on fair ground, gallop madly forward and override the hounds, if you chance by a “fluke” to get near enough to them to do so. When there is a check, and the pack fails in hitting off the scent at once, slash at the nearest of them with your hunting-whip, and tell the animal playfully that it is “a naughty dog not to hunt better.” Always make a point of crowding at gaps and gateways, when hounds and field are struggling to get through. Never fail to effect an intimate acquaintance with the master, and be sure to call the huntsman, when speaking of him, “Bill Simmonds” or “Jim Brown,” although “Simmonds” or “Brown” may be quite enough for other people. Always follow this last-mentioned functionary into covert, and speak to him all the time that he is anxiously watching his hounds. Should you happen to view the fox away, swell out your lungs for a good bellow of _Tally ho-oooo!_ and gallop full tilt at him before ever a single hound has left covert, which wise proceeding will be certain to turn him back, and gain for you the blessings of all genuine lovers of sport. Finally, when the game at length breaks fair, rush away in advance of everybody else, with your chin to the sky, and your elbows flapping like the sails of a windmill; and when you have half-killed your ill-conditioned steed, and frightened the wits out of a score or two of old squires who have long ago lost their nerves (together with their appreciation of such “hard riding” as yours), then pull off, and dose everybody with whom you are acquainted, for the next week or two, with glowing accounts of the wonders that you performed on the opening day with the Dashshire hounds, and the merits, beauties, and achievments of the exquisite animal that carried you so brilliantly through the first run of the season. By adopting this mode of proceeding you will be certain to gain a host of admirers in the field, and will do much toward disabusing the public mind of the idea (very deeply implanted in it) that the hunting-field is not a place in which ladies ought to seek for sport.

Now, in conclusion, allow me in all seriousness to lay down a few maxims for your instruction. Never go to hunt without a good pilot. Young lovers are very nice for this purpose, although not always the safest. I recommend sharp _old_ foxhunters, who know the country, and who will give you a judicious lead. If you cannot secure a trustworthy leader, dispense altogether with the services of one, and cut out a line for yourself, _provided_ that you are mounted on a really first-class animal, one well up to your weight, and endowed with an infallible knowledge of where to put his feet. Keep the hounds in sight if you can, or, at any rate, within hearing, and ride rather wide of them, to right or left; never in their actual wake. Keep your horse well in hand all through, that he may not sprawl. Be quick at turning. Avoid, so far as is possible, deep heavy lands; and if traversing plough, keep along the headlands rather than pump your steed by galloping over ridge and furrow, as others frequently do. When obliged to get through gaps and gates put extra steam on when coming up to them, in order to be first; and if there is a crowd, hold your horse hard, and touch him lightly with your spur, that he may keep up his mettle and be ready to bound into full speed the instant you get clear of the ruck. If riding a young hot-blooded hunter, it will as a rule be safer for you to put him at a very big jump than to trust him in a crowded gangway. While riding hard, never so much as glance at the remainder of the field. Keep your eyes for your horse and for the _leading_ hounds, so as to keep exactly with them, and check _the very instant_ that they do.

Never distress your mount by taking unnecessary jumps. Don’t be a bit ashamed to make use of a convenient gate if you can get along with equal quickness that way; it will save your horse, and will enable you to hold your place much longer in the run; but, at the same time, never shirk a practicable jump when you want to go straight.

If riding a kicker, give warning to those in the rear of you to keep out of the way. Never jump over a fallen horseman; select another part of the fence to effect your leap. Do not continue to ride a beaten animal; pull off the moment that he hangs out signals of distress. When called upon to cross a ford, do so very cautiously, and if your horse makes a kind of _forward plunge_, and an attempt at swimming, throw him the reins at once or he will roll over. Do not on any account interfere with his mouth at such a time. Keep your left foot stuck well forward, or, better still, lift the leg right over the leaping-head, that it may not be struck by the horse’s hind foot--and at the same time take a firm grip of the up-pommel and the off-side of the saddle, to avoid being unseated when he makes his second plunge, which he will do the moment that he recovers his footing.

If the first run of the day be a good one, rest satisfied with it, and do not attempt another, unless you have a second horse out. If your mount should chance to lose a shoe, especially a fore one, make at once for the nearest forge. If one of the hind feet has sustained the loss, you may continue the run, provided the going is over soft ground--but when a fore shoe happens to go, pull off without a moment’s delay. I have always thought it an admirable plan to _carry_ a shoe, or slipper, slung on (in its neat leather case) cavalry-wise, to the saddle. This, in case of accident, obviates the necessity of waiting at the forge while the smith manufactures one--and of course on arrival at home it can readily be changed for a more durable foot-protector. I have even known some sage old sportsmen carry in their pockets a little American hammer and nail-box in one, and do their own shoeing when they found themselves in difficulties and at a distance from professional aid.

Dismount when there is a check, if only for an instant; and, when there is time, shift your saddle an inch back or forward, the first for preference. This will prove a great refreshment to your mount.

Be uniformly kind and courteous to everybody. If you chance to distinguish yourself by good riding, or good fortune, make no fuss about it, or look for adulation. Always carry a yard or two of twine, a pick, and a few shillings along with you; there may be uses for all.

When riding home, if you _do_ ride, grasp the first opportunity of getting your horse some warm gruel, and take him through a shallow ford or pond to wash the mud from his legs and belly. When you get him to his stable do not allow him to be tormented by elaborate grooming; see that he is given an abundance of straw to roll in, and a good bucket of linseed tea to drink; have his ears dried by pulling them, bandage his legs with flannel, and give him an abundance of _fresh air_, which is of far more consequence to an exhausted hunter than either food or water. I greatly disapprove of admitting draughts, especially thorough ones--but it is a dire mistake to cram a horse into a close stable, with every chink stopped up, and then put a huge quantity of hay and oats before him. Bad air and improper feeding soon do their work. Some valuable animal is taken ill, a farrier is sent for, he tries bleeding to stop the terrific action of the heart, and before morning the horse is dead.

I shall have something useful to say on this and kindred subjects in my chapter on “Doctoring,” later on.