CHAPTER IV.
HOW TO DRESS.—A COUNTRY-GIRL'S IDEAS UPON THE SUBJECT.—HOW TO PUT ON YOUR RIDING-GEAR.—HOW TO PRESERVE IT.—FIRST ROAD-RIDE.—BACKING. —REARING, AND HOW TO PREVENT IT.
Having now mastered the art of riding, you will of course be desirous of appearing in the parks and on the public roadways, and exhibiting the prowess which it has cost you so much to gain.
For your outfit you will require, in addition to the articles already in your possession, a nice well-made habit of dark cloth. If you are a very young girl, grey will be the most suitable; if not, dark blue. If you live in London, pay a visit to Mayfair, and get Mr. Wolmershausen to make it for you; if in Dublin, Mr. Scott, of Sackville Street, will do equally well; indeed, for any sort of riding-gear, ladies' or gentlemen's, he is not to be excelled. If you are not within easy distance of a city, go to the best tailor you can, and give him directions, which he must not be above taking. Skirt to reach six inches below the foot, well shaped for the knee, and neatly shotted at end of hem just below the right foot; elastic band upon inner side, to catch the left toe, and to retain the skirt in its place. It should be made tight and spare, withoutone inchof superfluous cloth; jacket close-fitting, but sufficiently easy to avoid even the suspicion of being squeezed; sleeves perfectly tight, except at the setting on, where a slight puffiness over the shoulder should give the appearance of increased width of chest. No braiding nor ornamentation of any sort to appear. A small neat linen collar, upright shape, with cuffs to correspond, should be worn with the habit, no frilling nor fancy work being admissible—the collar to be fastened with a plain gold or silver stud.
The nicest hat to ride in is an ordinary silk one, much lower than they are usually made, and generally requiring to be manufactured purposely to fit and suit the head. Of course, if you are a young girl, the melon shape will not be unsuitable, but the other is more in keeping, more becoming, and vastly more economical in the end, although few can be induced to believe this. It is the custom in many households to purchase articles for their cheapness, without any regard to quality or durability, and this you should endeavour to avoid. Speaking from experience, the best things are always the cheapest. I pay from a guinea to a guinea and a half for a good silk hat, and find that it wears out four felt ones of the quality usually sold at ten and sixpence. There is no London house at which you can procure better articles or better value than at Lincoln, Bennett, & Co., Sackville Street, Piccadilly. For nearly half a century they have been the possessors of an admirable contrivance, which should be seen to be appreciated, by which not alone is the size of the head ascertained, but its precise shape is definitely marked and suited, thus avoiding all possibility of that distressing pressure upon the temples, which is a fruitful source of headache and discomfort to so many riders. Hats made at this firm require no elastics—if it be considered desirable to dispense with such—as the fit is guaranteed. Never wear a veil on horseback, except it be a black one, and nothing with a border looks well. A plain band of spotted net, just reaching below the nostrils, and gathered away into a neat knot behind, is the mostdistingué. Do not wear anything sufficiently long to cover the mouth, or it will cause you inconvenience on wet and frosty days. For dusty roads a black gauze veil will be found useful, but avoid, as you would poison, every temptation to wear even the faintest scrap of colour on horseback. All such atrocities as blue and green veils have happily long since vanished, but, even still, a red bow, a gaudy flower stuck in the button-hole, and, oh, horror of horrors! a pocket handkerchief appearing at an opening in the bosom, looking like a miniature fomentation—these still occasionally shock the eyes of sensitive persons, and cause us to marvel at the wearer's bad taste.
I was once asked to take a young lady with me for a ride in the park, to witness a field-day, or polo match, or something or another of especial interest which happened to be going forward. I would generally prefer being asked to face a battery of Zulus rather than act aschaperoneto young ladyéquestriennes, who are usually ignorant of riding, and insufferably badly turned out. However, upon this occasion I could not refuse. The lady's parents were kind, amiable country folks, who had invested a portion of their wealth in sending their daughter up to town to get lessons from a fashionable riding-master, and to ride out with whomsoever might be induced to take her.
Well, the young lady's horse was the first arrival: a hired hack—usual style; bones protruding—knees well over—rusty bridle—greasy reins—dirty girths—and dilapidated saddle, indifferently polished up for the occasion.
The young lady herself came next, stepping daintily out of a cab, as though she were quite mistress of the situation. Ye gods! What a get up! I was positively electrified. Her habit—certainly well made—was of bright blue cloth, with worked frills at the throat and wrists. She wore a brilliant knot of scarlet ribbon at her neck, and a huge bouquet in her button-hole. Her hat was a silk one, set right on the back of her head, with a velvet rosettte and steel buckle in front, and a long veil of grey gauze streaming out behind. When we add orange gloves, and a riding-whip with a gaudy tassel appended to it, you have the details of a costume at once singular and unique.
I did not at first know whether to get a sudden attack of the measles or the toothache, and send her out with my groom to escort her, but discarding the thought as ill-natured, I compromised matters by bringing her to my own room, and effecting alterations in her toilet which soon gave her a more civilised appearance. I set the hat straight upon her head, and bound it securely in its place, removed from it the gauze and buckle, and tied on one of my own plain black veils of simple spotted net. I could not do away with the frillings, for they were stitched on as though they were never meant to come off; but the red bow I replaced with a silver arrow, threw away the flowers, removed the whip-tassel, and substituted a pair of my own gloves for the cherished orange kid. Then we set out.
I wanted to go a quiet way to the park, so as to avoid the streets of the town, but she would not have it. Nothing would do that girl but to go bang through the most crowded parts of the city, the hired hack sliding over the asphalte, and the rider (all unconscious of her danger) bowing delightedly to her acquaintances as she passed along. Poor girl! that first day out of the riding-school was a gala day for her.
The nicest gloves for riding are pale cream leather, worked thickly on the backs with black. A few pairs of these will keep you going, for they clean beautifully. A plain riding-whipwithouta tassel, and a second habit of dark holland if you live in the country, will complete your necessary outfit.
I shall now give you a few hints as to the best method of putting on your riding gear, and of preserving the same after rain or hard weather. Your habit-maker will, of course, put large hooks around the waist of your bodice, and eyes of corresponding size attached to the skirt, so that both may be kept in their place, but if you have been obliged to entrust your cloth to a country practitioner, who has neglected these minor necessaries, be sure you look to them yourself, or you will some day find that the opening of your skirt is right at your back, and that the place shaped out for your knee has twisted round until it hangs in unsightly crookedness in front of the buttons of your bodice.
Let it be a rule with you to avoid using any pins. Put two or three neat stitches in the back of your collar, so as to affix it to your jacket, having first measured to see that the ends shall meet exactly evenly in front, where you will fasten them neatly with a stud. The ordinary system of placing one pin at the back of the collar and one at either end is much to be deprecated. Frequently one of these pins becomes undone, and then the discomfort is incalculable, especially if, as often occurs, you are out for a long day, and nobody happens to be able to accommodate you with another.
Pinning cuffs is also a reprehensible habit, for the reason just stated. Two or three little stitches where they will not show, upon the inner side of the sleeve, will hold the cuff securely in its place and prevent it turning round or slipping up or down, any of which will be calculated to cause discomfort to the rider.
It is not a bad method, either, to stitch a small button at the back of the neck of the jacket, upon the inner side, upon which the collar can be secured, fastening the cuffs in the same manner to buttons attached to the inner portion of each sleeve. In short, anything in the shape of a device which will check the unseemly habit of using a multiplicity of pins, may be regarded as a welcome innovation, and at once adopted.
It is a good plan, when you undress from your ride, to ascertain whether your collar and cuffs are sufficiently clean to serve you another day, and if they are not, replace them at once by fresh ones; for it may happen that when you go to attire yourself for your next ride, you may he too hurried to look after what should always be a positive necessity, namely, perfectly spotless linen.
There is a material, invented in America and as yet but little known amongst us here, which is invaluable to all who ride. It is called Celluloid, and from it collars, cuffs, and shirt-fronts are manufactured which resemble the finest and whitest linen, yet which never spot, never crush, never become limp, and never require washing, save as one would wash a china saucer, in a basin of clear water, using a fine soft towel for the drying process. I do not know the nature of the composition, but I can certainly bear testimony to its worth, and being inexpensive as well as convenient, it cannot fail, when known, to become highly popular.
The adjusting of your hat is another important item. Stitch a piece of black elastic (the single-cord round kind is the best) from one side—the inner one of course—to the other, of just sufficient length to catch well beneath your hair. This elastic you can stretch over the leaf of your hat at the back, and then, when the hat is on and nicely adjusted to your taste in front, you have only to put back your hand and bring the band of elastic deftly under your hair. The hat will then be immovable, and the elastic will not show. In fastening your veil, a short steel pin with a round black head is the best. The steel slips easily through the leaf of the hat, and the head, being glossy and large, is easily found without groping or delay, whenever you may desire to divest yourself of it.
I shall now tell you how to proceed with the various items of your toilet on coming home, after being overtaken by stress of weather. No matter how wealthy you may be, or how many servants you may be entitled to keep, always look after these things yourself.
Hang the skirt of your habit upon a clothes-horse, with a stick placed across inside to extend it fully. Leave it until thoroughly dry, and then brush carefully. The bodice must be hung in a cool dry place, but never placed near the fire, or the cloth will shrink, and probably discolour.
Dip your veil into clear cold water, give it one or two gentle squeezes, shake it out, and hang it on a line, spreading it neatly with your fingers, so that it may take no fold in the drying.
Your hat comes next. Dip a fine small Turkey sponge, kept for the purpose and freed from sand, into a basin of lukewarm water, and draw it carefully around the hat. Repeat the process, going over every portion of it, until crown, leaf, and all are thoroughly cleansed; then hang in a cool, airy place to dry. In the morning take a soft brush, which use gently over the entire surface, and you will have a perfectly new hat. No matter how shabby may have been your headpiece, it will be quite restored, and will look all the better for its washing. This is one of the chief advantages of silk hats. Do not omit to brush after the washing and drying process, or your hat will have that unsightly appearance of having been ironed, which is so frequently seen in the hunting-field, because gentlemen who are valeted on returning from their sport care nothing about the management of their gear, but leave it all to the valet, who gives the hat the necessary washing, but is too lazy or too careless to brush it next day, and his master takes it from his hand and puts it on without ever noticing its unsightliness. Sometimes it is the master himself whose clumsy handiwork is to blame; but be it master or servant, the result is too often the same.
Should your gloves be thoroughly, or even slightly wetted, stretch them upon a pair of wooden hands kept for the purpose, and if they are the kind which I have recommended to you—I mean the best quality of double-stitched cream leather—they will be little the worse.
Having now, I think, exhausted the subject of your clothing, and given you all the friendly hints in my power, I am ready to accompany you upon your first road ride.
Go out with every confidence, accompanied of course by a companion or attendant, and make up your mind never to be caught napping, but to be ever on the alert. You must not lose sight of the fact that a bird flitting suddenly across, a donkey's head laid without warning against a gate, a goat's horns appearing over a wall, or even a piece of paper blown along upon the ground, may cause your horse to shy, and if you are not sitting close at the time, woe betide you! Always remember the rule of the road, keep to your left-hand side, and if you have to pass a vehicle going your way, do so on the right of it. Never neglect this axiom, no matter how lonely and deserted the highway may appear, for recollect that if you fail to comply with it, and that any accident chances to occur, you will get all the blame, and receive no compensation.
Never trot your horse upon a hard road when you have a bit of grass at the side on which you can canter him. Even if there are only a few blades it will be sufficient to take the jar off his feet.
If you meet with a hill or high bridge, trot him up and walk him quietly down the other side. If going down a steep decline, sit well back and leave him his head, at the same time keeping a watchful hand upon the rein for fear he should chance to make a false step, that you may be able to pull him up; but do not hold him tightly in, as many timid riders are apt to do, thus hobbling his movements and preventing him seeing where he is to put his feet. If he has to clamber a steep hill with you, leave him unlimited head-room, for it is a great ease to a horse to be able to stretch his neck, instead of being held tightly in by nervous hands, which is frequently the occasion of his stumbling.
Should your horse show temper and attempt to back with you, leave him the rein, touch him lightly with your heel, and speak encouragingly to him; should he persist, your attendant must look to the matter; but a horse who possesses this dangerous vice should never be ridden by a lady. I have surmised that yours has been properly trained, and doubtless you might ride for the greater portion of a lifetime without having to encounter a decided jibber, but it is as well to be prepared for all emergencies. Should a horse at any time rear with you, throw the rein loose, sit close, and bring your whip sharply across his flank. If this is not effectual, you may give him the butt-end of it between the ears, which will be pretty sure to bring him down. This is a point, however, upon which I write with considerable reserve, for many really excellent riders find fault with the theory set forth and adopted by me. One old sportsman in particular shows practically how seriously he objects to it by suffering himself to be tumbled back upon almost daily by a vicious animal, in preference to adopting coercive measures for his own safety.
My reasons for striking a rearing horse are set forth with tolerable clearness in one of the letters which form an appendix to this volume; but, although I do it myself, I do not undertake the responsibility of advising others to do likewise, especially if a nervous timidity form a portion of their nature. I am strongly of opinion, however, that decisive measures are at times an absolute necessity, and that the most effectual remedy for an evil is invariably the best to adopt. I have heard it said by two very eminent horsemen that to break a bottle of water between the ears of a rearing animal is an excellent and effectual cure. Perhaps it may be—and, on such authority, we must suppose that it is—but I should not care to be the one to try it, although I consider no preventive measure too strong to adopt when dealing with so dangerous a vice. A horse may be guilty of jibbing, bolting, kicking, or almost any other fault, through nervousness or timidity, but rearing is a vicious trick, and must be treated with prompt determination. It would be useless to speak encouragingly to a rearer; he is vexing you from vice, not from nervousness, and so he needs no reassurance—do not waste words upon him, but bring him to his senses with promptitude, or whilst you are dallying he may tumble back upon you, and put remonstrance out of your power for some time to come, if not for ever. In striking him, if you do so, do not indulge in the belief that you are safe because he drops quickly upon his fore-legs, but on the contrary, be fully prepared for the kick or buck which will be pretty sure to follow, and which (unless watched for) will be likely to unseat even a most skilful rider. Both rearing and plunging may, however, be effectually prevented by using the circular bit and martingale, procurable at Messrs. Davis, saddlers, 14, Strand, London. This admirable contrivance should be fitted above the mouthpiece of an ordinary snaffle or Pelham bridle. It is infinitely before any other which I have seen used for the same purpose, has quite a separate headstall, and should be put on and arranged before the addition of the customary bridle. Being secured to the breastplate by a standing martingale, it requires no reins.
CHAPTER V.
RUNNING AWAY.—THREE DANGEROUS ADVENTURES.—HOW TO ACT WHEN PLACED IN CIRCUMSTANCES OF PERIL.—HOW TO RIDE A PULLER.—THROUGH THE CITY.—TO A MEET OF HOUNDS.—BOASTFUL LADIES.—A BRAGGART'S RESOURCE.
In the event of a horse running away, you must of course be guided by circumstances and surroundings, but my advice always is, if you have a fair road before you, let him go. Do not attempt to hold him in, for the support which you afford him with the bridle only helps the mischief. Leave his head quite loose, and when you feel him beginning to tire—which he will soon do without the support of the rein—flog him until he is ready to stand still. I warrant that a horse treated thus, especially if you can breast him up hill, will rarely run away a second time. He never forgets his punishment, nor seeks to put himself in for a repetition of it.
I have been run away with three times in my life, but never a second time by the same horse. It may amuse you to hear how I escaped upon each occasion.
The first time, I was riding a beautiful little thoroughbred mare, which a dear lady friend—now, alas! dead—had asked me to try for her. The mare had been a flat-racer, and, having broken down in one of her trials, had been purchased at a cheap rate, being still possessed of beauty and a considerable turn of speed.
Well, we got on splendidly together for an hour or so on the fifteen acres, Phœnix Park, but, when returning homewards, some boys who were playing close by struck her with a ball on the leg. In a second she was off like the wind, tearing down the long road which leads from the Phœnix to the gates. She had the bit between her teeth, and held it like a vice. My only fear was lest she should lose her footing and fall, for the roadway was covered from edge to edge with new shingle. On she went in her mad career, amidst the shrieks of thousands, for the day was Easter Monday, and the park was crowded. Soldiers, civilians, lines of policemen strove to form a barrier for her arrest. In vain! She knocked down some, fled past others, and continued her headlong course.
All this time I was sitting as if glued to my saddle. At the mare's first starting I had endeavoured to pull her up, but finding that this was hopeless, I left the rein loose upon her neck. Having then no support for her head, she soon tired, and the instant I felt her speed relaxing I took up my whip and punished her within an inch of her life. Imadeher go when she wanted to stop, and only suffered her to pull up just within the gates, where she stood covered with foam and trembling in every limb.
Her owner subsequently told me that during the three years which she afterwards kept her she never rode so biddable a mare.
I must not forget to mention the comic side of the adventure as well as the more serious. It struck me as being particularly ludicrous upon that memorable occasion that an old gentleman, crimson with wrath, actually attacked my servant in the most irate manner because he had not clattered after me during the progress of the mare's wild career. "How dare you, sir," cried this irascible old gentleman, "how dare you attempt to neglect your young lady in this cowardly manner?" Nor was his anger at all appeased when informed that I as a matron was my own care-taker, and that my attendant had strict injunctionsnotto follow me in the event of my horse being startled or running away.
My next adventure was much more serious, and occurred also within the gates of the Phœnix Park.
Some troops were going through a variety of manœuvres preparing for a field-day, and a knot of them had been posted behind and around a large tree with fixed bayonets in their hands. Suddenly they got the order to move, and at the same instant the sun shone out and glinted brilliantly upon the glittering steel. I was riding a horse which had lately been given me; a fine, raking chestnut, with a temper of his own to manage. He turned like a shot, and sped away at untold speed. I had no open space before me; therefore I durst not let him go. It was an enclosed portion of the park, thickly studded with knots of trees, and I knew that if he bore me through one of these my earthly career would most probably be ended. I strove with all the strength and all the art which I possessed to pull him up. It was of no use. I might as well have been pulling at an oak-tree; it only made him go the faster.
Happily my presence of mind remained. I saw at once that my only chance was to breast him against the rails of the cricket-ground, and for these I made straight, prepared for the shock and for the turn over which I knew must inevitably follow. He dashed up to the rails, and when within a couple of inches of them he swerved with an awful suddenness, which, only that I was accustomed to ride from balance, must have at once unseated me, and darted away at greater speed than ever. Right before me was a tree, one heavy bough of which hung very low—and straight for this he made, nor could I turn his course. I knew my fate, and bent on a level with my saddle, but not low enough, for the branch caught me in the forehead and sent me reeling senseless to the ground.
I soon got over the shock, although my arm (which was badly torn by a projecting branch) gave me some trouble after; but the bough was cut down the next day by order of the Lord Lieutenant, and the park-rangers still point out the spot as the place where "the lady was nearly killed."
My third runaway was a hunting adventure, and occurred only a few months since.
I had a letter one morning from an old friend, informing me that a drag-hunt was to take place about thirty miles from Dublin to finish the season with the county harriers, and that he, my friend, wished very much that I would come down in my habit by the mid-day train and ride a big bay horse of his, respecting which he was desirous of obtaining my opinion. I never take long to make up my mind, so, after a glance at my tablets, which showed me that I was free for the day, I donned my habit, and caught the specified train.
At the station at the end of my journey I found the big bay saddled and awaiting me, and having mounted him I set off for the kennels, from a field near which the drag was to be run. I took the huntsman for a pilot, knowing that the servant, who was my attendant, was rather a duffer at the chase.
The instant that the hounds were laid on and the hunt started, my big mount commenced to pull hard, and by the time the first fence was reached his superior strength had completely mastered mine. He was pulling like a steam-engine, head down, ears laid backward, neck set like iron. My blistered hands were powerless to hold him. He rushed wildly at the fence, and striking the horse of a lady who was just landing over it, turned him and his rider a complete somersault! I subsequently learned that the lady escaped unhurt, but I could not at the moment pause to inquire, for my huge mount, clearing the jump and ten feet beyond it, completely took head, and bore me away from the field
Over park, over pale,Through bush, through briar,
Over park, over pale,Through bush, through briar,
Over park, over pale,
Through bush, through briar,
until my head fairly reeled, and I felt that some terrible calamity must ensue.
Happily he was a glorious fencer, or I must have perished, for he jumped every obstacle with a rush; staked fences, wide ditches—so wide that he landed over them on his belly—tangled gorse, and branches of rivers swollen by recent rains; he flew them all. At length, when my strength was quite exhausted and my dizzy brain utterly powerless and confused, I beheld before me a stone wall, a high one, with heavy coping-stones upon the top. At this I resolved to breast him, and run my chance for life or death in the turn over, which, from the pace at which we were approaching it, I knew must be a mighty one. In a moment we were up to it and, with a cry to heaven for mercy, I dug him with my spur and sent him at it. To my utter astonishment, for the wall was six and a half feet high, he put down his head, rushed at it, cleared it without ever laying a shoe upon the topmost stones, and landed with a frightful slip and clatter, but still safely on his feet—where? in the midst of a farm-yard.
Were it not that this adventure actually occurred to myself, I should be strongly tempted to question its authenticity. That there are horses—especially Irish ones—quite capable of compassing such a jump, there cannot be the slightest doubt; but I have never before or since seen one who could do it without being steadied as he approached the obstacle. In the ordinary course of events a runaway steed would strike it with his head and turn over,—which was what I expected and desired—but no such thing occurred, and to the latest hour of my life it must remain a mystery to me that upon the momentous occasion in question neither horse nor rider was injured, nor did any accident ensue. Nothing more disastrous than a considerable disturbance in the farm-yard actually occurred; but it was indeed a mighty one.
Such a commotion amongst fowls was surely never witnessed; the ducks quacked, the turkeys screeched, the hens ran hither and thither; two pigs, eating from a trough close by, set up a most terrific squalling, dogs barked, and two or three women, who were spreading clothes upon a line, added to the general confusion by flinging down the garments with which they had been busy and taking to their heels, shrieking vociferously. In the meantime the big bay, perceiving that he had run to the end of his tether, stood snorting and foaming, looking hither and thither in helpless amazement and dismay; whilst I, relieved at length of my anxiety, burst first into tears, and then into shouts of hearty laughter, as I fully took in the absurdity of the situation.
After a considerable delay one of the women was induced to come forward and listen to a recital of my adventure; and the others, being assured that "the baste" would not actually devour them, came near me also, and we held an amicable council as to the possibility of my ever getting out, for the gates were locked, and the owner of the property was away at a fair in the neighbouring town and had the key stowed away in his pocket. To jump the wall again was impracticable. No horse that ever was foaled could do it in cool blood; nor was I willing to risk the experiment, even if my steed made no objection.
At length we decided upon the only plan. I dismounted, and, taking the rein over my arm, led my mighty hunter across the yard, induced him to stoop his head to enter by a back door through a passage in the farmhouse, and from thence through the kitchen and front door, out on to the road. I have a cheerful recollection of an old woman, who was knitting in the chimney-corner, going off into screams and hysterics as I and my big steed walked in upon her solitude, a loose shoe and a very audible blowing making the entrance of my equine companion even moreprononcéthan it would otherwise have been. The poor old creature flung down her needles, together with the cat which had been quietly reposing in her lap, and kicking up her feet yelled and bellowed at the top of a very discordant voice. It took the combined efforts of all four women to pacify her, and she was still shrieking long after I had mounted the big bay and ridden him back to inform his owner of how charmingly he had behaved.
I have now told you three anecdotes, partly for your amusement and partly for your instruction; but I would not have you think that it would be at all times and under all circumstances a wise thing to ride a runaway horse against so formidable an obstacle as a stone wall. Mine was, I hope, an exceptional case. When the animal was led down to meet me at the station, I saw, not without misgiving, that I was destined to ride in a so-called "safety-stirrup," and at the time when he took head with me my foot was fixed as in a vice in this dangerous and horrible trap, from which I could not succeed in releasing it. Feeling that my brain was whirling, and that I could not longer maintain my seat in the saddle, I rode for an overthrow, which I deemed infinitely better than being dragged by the foot over an intricate country, and most probably having my brains scattered by a pair of crashing heels. If a horse should at any time run away with you, keep your seat whilst youcando so, and whilst you have anything of a fair road before you; but if there is any danger of your being thrown or losing your seat whilst your foot is caught, then by all means ride for a fall; put your horse at something that will bring him down, and when heisdown struggle on to his head, that he may not rise until somebody has come to your assistance. Of course the experiment is fraught with excessive danger, but it is notcertaindeath, as the other alternative must undoubtedly be. I cannot, however, wish you better than to hope most fervently that you may never be placed in a position which would necessitate your making a choice between two such mighty evils. Avoid riding strange horses. No matter how accomplished a horsewoman you may become, do not be too ready to comply with the request to try this or that unknown mount. I have done it myself, often, and probably shall again;[1]but my experience prompts me to warn others against a practice which is frequently fraught with danger to a lady. A horse knows quite well when a strange or timid rider gets upon his back, and if he does not kill you outright, he will probably make such a "hare" of you as will not be at all agreeable, either for yourself or for the lookers-on.
Whenever you take a young horse upon grass, whether he be a stranger to you or otherwise, be prepared for a certain show of friskiness which he does not usually exhibit upon the road. The soft springy turf beneath his feet imbues him with feelings of hilarity which he finds himself powerless to resist, and so you, his rider, must prepare for his little vagaries. He will, most probably, in the first place try a succession of bucks, and for these you must prepare by sitting very close to your saddle, your knee well pressed against the leaping-head, and your figure erect, but not thrown back, as the shock, or shocks to your spine would in such a case be not only painful but positively dangerous, and should therefore be carefully avoided. He will next be likely to romp away, pulling you much harder than is at all agreeable, and seemingly inclined to take head with you altogether. As a remedy against this you must neither yield to him nor pull against him. I have heard fairly good riders advocate by turns both systems of management, especially the former; indeed, the expression, "Drop your hands to him," has become so general amongst teachers of the equestrian art, that it has almost passed into a proverb. I do not advocate it, nor do I deem it advisable ever to pull against a pulling horse. When an animal tries to forereach you, you should neither give up to him nor yet pull one ounce against him. Close your fingers firmly upon the reins and keep your arms perfectly motionless, your hands well down, without giving or taking one quarter of an inch. In a stride or two he will be sure to yield to your hand, at which moment you should immediately yield to him, and his wondrous powers of intelligence will soon enable him to discern that you are not to be trifled with. Were you to give up to him when he rushes away or romps with his head he would very soon be going all abroad, and would give you a vast amount of trouble to pull him into proper form. Above all things, keep clear of trees, of which I myself have an unbounded dread. Should you have occasion to ride through a city, give your eyes and attention to your horse, and not to passing acquaintances, for in the present dangerous tangle of tramlines, slippery pavements, and ill-driven vehicles, it will require all your energies to bring you safely through. Never trot your horse through a town or city: walk him quietly through such portion of it as you have to pass, and leave him abundant head-room, that his intelligence may pick out a way for his own steps.
A very nice ride for a lady is to a meet of the hounds, if such should occur within reasonable distance, say from four to eight miles. The sight is a very pretty one, and there is not any reason why you should not thoroughly enjoy it; but having only ridden to see the meet, you must be careful not to interfere with, nor get in the way of those about to ride the run. Nothing is more charming than to see three or four ladies, nicely turned out, arrive to grace the meet with their presence, but nothing is more abominable than the same number of amazons coming galloping up in full hunting toggery, although without the least idea of hunting, and rushing hither and thither, frightening the hounds and getting in everybody's way, as though they were personages of the vastest possible importance, and meant to ride with a skill not second to that of the Nazares. Such women are the horror and spoliation of every hunting-field. They dash off with the hounds the moment the fox is found, but happily the first fence stops them, and a fervent thankfulness is felt by every true lover of the chase as they pause discomfited, look dismally at the yawning chasm, and jog crestfallen away to the road.
There are many ladies, and estimable ladies, too, who take out their horses every hunting-day, and by keeping upon the roadways see all that they can of the hounds. Sometimes they are fortunate, sometimes not; it depends upon the line of country taken. Their position is, in my opinion, a most miserable one; yet they must derive enjoyment from it, else why do they come? They surely cannot imagine that they are participating in the hunt; yet it affords them amusement to keep pottering about, and enables them to make their little harmless boast to credulous friends of their "hunting days," and the "runs" they have seen throughout the season. Indeed, so far does this passion for boasting carry the fair sex, that I myself know two young ladies who never saw a hound in their lives, except from the inside of a shabby waggonette, yet who brag in so audacious a manner that they have been heard to declare to gentlemen at evening dances, "Really we cawn't dawnce; we are so tired! Out all day with the Wards—and hadsuch a clipping run!"
This sort of thing only makes us smile when we hear it amongst ladies, but when men resort to it we become inspired with sufficient contempt to feel a longing desire to offer them severer chastisement than our derision.
I once asked a little mannikin, who had given himself the name and airs of a great rider, if he would be kind enough to pilot me over an intricate piece of country with which I was unacquainted. The creature pulled his little moustaches, and sniffed, and hemmed and hawed, and finally said, "Aw, I'm sure I should be delighted, but you see I rideso deuced hard, I should not expect a lady to be able to keep up with me." I said nothing, but acted as my own pilot, and took opportunity to watch my hard-riding friend during the course of the run. He positively never jumped a fence, but worked rampantly at locks of gates, and bribed country-folks to let him pass through. The last I saw of him he was whipping his horse over a narrow ditch, preparatory to scrambling it himself on foot.
And this man was only one of many, for the really accomplished rider never boasts.
[1]This was written previous to the accident which has disabled me.
PART III.
HUNTING.
CHAPTER VI.
HUNTING-GEAR.—NECESSARY REGARD FOR SAFE SHOEING.—DRIVE TO THE MEET.—SCENE ON ARRIVING.—A WORD WITH THE HUNTSMAN.—A GOOD PILOT.—THE COVERT SIDE.—DISAPPOINTMENT.—A LONG TROT.
Now that you are thoroughly at home on your saddle—in the park, on the road, and over the country—you are doubtless longing to display your prowess in the hunting-field, and thither we shall have much pleasure in accompanying you.
Your outfit will be the first thing to consider; and do not be alarmed when I tell you that it will require a little more generosity on the part of papa than you have hitherto called upon him to exercise.
To commence with your feet—which I know is contrary to custom—you will need two pairs of patent Wellington boots. These are three guineas per pair, but are a beautiful article, and will last a long time with care. Woollen stockings of light texture, with a pair of silk ones drawn over, are the most comfortable for winter wear. A small steel spur to affix to your left heel will be the next item required. The nicest kind are those with a strap attached, which crosses the instep, and buckles securely at the side. Of course, all ladies' spurs are spring ones, displaying no rowels which could tear the habit, but simply one steel projection with spring probe within, which, when pressed to the horse's side, acts most efficiently as an instigator. Latchford's patent is the best.
Two pairs of chamois riding-trousers, cloth from the hip down, and buttoning quite close at the ankle to allow of the boot going over, will be the next necessary; and you must also provide yourself with two riding corsets of superior shape and make.
Three habits of strong dark cloth, one of them thoroughly waterproof, will be required—the skirts to be made so short as barely to cover the foot, and so spare as to fit like glove, without fold or wrinkle. If a hunting-habit be properly cut it will require no shotting, which will be an advantage to your horse in diminishing the weight which he would otherwise have to carry. An elastic band nicely placed upon the inside in position to catch around the toe of the right foot will be sufficient to answer all purposes. You cannot do better, to procure an article such as I describe, than entrust your order to Wolmershausen (whom I believe I have already named in a former chapter), corner of Curzon Street, Mayfair, where you will not fail to find your instructions intelligently carried out. This firm has a speciality for skirt-cutting,—is, indeed, unapproachable in this particular branch, of what is in reality an ART; and even in these days of eager competition the old-established house suffers from no rivalry, and holds its own in the widely-contested field.
A very neatly-made waterproof jacket will be an addition to your wardrobe, as also a cape with an elastic band from the back to fasten around the waist, and hold the front ends securely down. This latter is an almost indispensable article. It is so light that it can be carried with ease in your saddle-strap, and in case of an unexpected shower can be adjusted in a single instant and without assistance, which is not the case with a jacket. It should be made with a collar, which can be arranged to stand up close around the neck, and thus prevent the possibility of damp or wet causing you cold or inconvenience. I approve of the jacket for decidedly wet days, when it should be donned on going out, but for a showery day the cape is preferable, as it can be much more easily taken off and again put on.
Two silk hats, with the addition of a melon-shape if you desire it—a long-lashed hunting-whip, and a plentiful supply of collars, cuffs, gloves, veils, and handkerchiefs, will complete your outfit. I, hunting four days a week, find the above quite sufficient, and if you care your things (having got them in the first instance of the best quality) it is surprising how long they may be made to serve. I have told youhowto take care of them, but believe me, if you leave the task to servants the end will prove disappointing. You will never be one-half so well turned out, and your outlay will be continual.
It is an excellent precaution for a hunting-day, to look the previous morning at your horse's shoes; and do this yourself, for it not unfrequently happens that a careless groom will suffer him to go out with a loose shoe which gradually becomes looser, and finally drops off, perhaps in the middle of an exciting run, and obliges you to leave your place with the hounds and seek the nearest forge. All this sort of thing could, in nine cases out of ten, be obviated by a little care and forethought, but the majority of riders are too grand, or too careless, or too absurdly squeamish about the "propriety" of entering a stable, and not unfrequently too ignorant of things they ought to know, to see to such matters themselves, and so they are passed over and neglected. A groom is too often utterly careless. He is bound to send your horse from the yard looking shiny, and sleek, and clean. Any deviation from this would at once attract your attention, and arouse your displeasure. The groom knows this, and acts accordingly; but he also knows what you do not—that one of the shoes is three-parts loose; it will probably hold very well until you begin to go, and then it will drop off and leave you in a fix, perhaps miles away from a village where the damage could be repaired. The groom knew all about it, very likely, the day before, but he saw that you were not troubling yourself, and why should he? You never made any inquiry about such matters, nor seemed to interest yourself in them, and why should he be troubled concerning them? A loose shoe is nothing to him: it does not causehimany inconvenience, not it; then why worry himself? He does not want to bring the horse down to the forge through mud and rain, and stand there awaiting the smith's convenience; not a bit of it. He is much more comfortable lolling against the stable-door and smoking a pipe with Tom, Dick, or Harry.
It frequently occurs in the hunting-field that a horse loses a shoe in going through heavy ground, or in jumping a fence where he brings his hind feet too close upon the front ones, and, catching the toe of the hind shoe in the heel of the front, drags the latter forcibly off, and leaves it either on the ground behind him or carries it for a field or two hanging by one or two nails to his hoof, before it finally drops off.
The moment you are made aware that your horse has cast a shoe, which will generally be by somebody informing you of the fact, ascertain at once which of the animal's feet has been left unprotected. If the lost shoe happens to be a hinder one, the matter is less serious, but if a front one should be cast, do not lose any time in inquiring your road to the nearest smithy, and, whilst wending your way thither, be careful to keep as much as possible upon the grass by the roadside, that the shoeless foot may not become worn, nor suffer from concussion by coming in contact with the hard road.
It is a good plan to send your horse early to the meet: quite in the morning; or, should the distance be a long one, despatch him the previous evening in charge of a careful servant, and stable him for the night as near as possible to the point at which you may require him upon the following day. If you are fortunate enough to have a friend's house to send him to, so much the better a great deal; but under any circumstances it is pleasanter both for you and your animal that he should be fresh and lively from his stable, and not that you should get upon him when he is half-jaded and covered with mud, after a long and tiresome road journey.
To drive to the meet or go by train yourself is the most agreeable way. Some ladies ride hacks to covert, and then have their hunters to replace them, but this is tiresome, and not to be advocated for various reasons. If the morning is fine the drive will be pleasant, and you can then send your conveyance to whatever point you deem it most likely the hunt will leave off. You must, of course, exercise your judgment in the endeavour to decide this, but you may assist it considerably by asking the Master or the huntsman to be kind enough to give you a hint as to the direction in which they will most probably draw.
We will, then, surmise that you drive to the meet. It is an excellent plan, whether you drive or go by train, to take with you a small bag containing a change of clothing; leave this in charge of your servant, with directions where he is to meet you in the evening, and then, should you come to grief in a dyke or river you can console yourself with the knowledge that dry garments are awaiting you, and that you will not have to encounter the risk of cold and rheumatism by sitting in drenched habiliments in a train or vehicle. You will also, if wise, take with you a foot-pick and a few yards of strong twine. Even if you should not require them yourself you may be able to oblige others, which is always a pleasure to a right-minded and unselfish huntress. Take, likewise, a few shillings in your pocket to reward, if necessary, the wreckers, whose tasks are at all times difficult and laborious, and too often thankless.
Arrived at the meet, your horse and servant are waiting for you in good time and order; but it is a little early yet, and so you look about you.
What a pretty sight it is! How full of healthful interest and charming variety! The day is bright and breezy—a little bit cloudy, perhaps, but no sign of rain. A glorious hunting morning altogether. Numbers of vehicles are drawn up, filled with happy-looking occupants, mostly ladies and children. There are a good many dog-carts, polo-carts, and a few tandems, from which gentlemen in ulsters and long white saving-aprons are preparing to alight. It is nice to see their steeds, so beautifully groomed and turned out, led up to the trap-wheels for them to mount, without the risk of soiling their boots. Very particular are these gentlemen. The day is muddy, and they know they must be splashed and spattered as they ride to the covert-side, but they will not leave the meet with a speck upon horse or rider. There is a military-looking man—long, tawny moustache, and most perfect get-up—divesting himself of his apron, and frowning because his snow-white breeches are disfigured by just one speck of dirt; probably it would be unobservable to anybody but himself, yet he is not the less annoyed. A dapper little gentleman, in drab shorts and gaiters, is covertly combing his horse's mane; and a hoary old fox-hunter, who has just mounted, has drawn over close to the hedge, and extends first one foot and then the other for his servant to remove the blemishes which mounting has put upon his boots. This extreme fastidiousness is carried by some to an absurd excess. I remember upon one occasion seeing a gentleman actually re-enter his dog-cart and drive sulkily away from the meet because he considered himself too much splashed to join the cavalcade which was moving away to the covert, although he was fully aware that a trot of a few hundred yards upon the muddy road in company with numerous other horses would, under any circumstances, have speedily reduced him to the condition which he was then lamenting.
A few ladies come upon the scene, and many more gentlemen; and then comes the huntsman in proud charge of the beauties. The whips and second horsemen come also, and the Master drives up about the same time, and loses not a moment in mounting his hunter. The pack looks superb, and many are the glances and words of commendation which it receives.
Always have a smile and pleasant word for the huntsman and whips. They deserve it, and they value it. I always make it a point to have a little conversation with them before we leave the meet—in fact, I know many of the hounds in the various packs by name, and I love to notice them. Nothing pleases the huntsman more than to commend his charge: it makes him your friend at once. Many a time when I have been holding good place in a run, we have come across some dangerous fence which it would be death to ride in a crowd, and the huntsman's shout of "Let the lady first!" has secured me a safe jump, and a maintenance of my foremost position.
All being now ready, you mount your horse. It would be well if some gentleman friend or relative would look first to his girths, &c.; but, should such not be available, do not be above doing it yourself. Servants, even the best, are, as aforesaid, often careless, and a horse may be sent out with girths too loose, throat-lash too tight, runners out, or any of the thousand and one little deficiencies which an interested and careful eye will at once detect.
Of course you have not come to hunt without having secured a good pilot. You have, I hope, selected somebody who rides well and straight—boldly, and yet with judgment—for, believe me, a display of silly recklessness does not constitute good riding, however it may be thought to do so by ignorant or silly persons. Your pilot will ride a few yards in advance of you, and it will be your duty to keep him well in view, and not to get separated from him. This latter you may at times find difficult, as others may ride in between, but you must learn smartness, and be prepared for all emergencies. Moreover, if your pilot be a good one, he will see that you keep close to him, and, by glancing over his shoulder after clearing each obstacle, will satisfy himself that you also are safely over, and that no mischance has befallen you. Any man who will not take this trouble is unfit to pilot a lady, for whilst he is careering onward in all the glories of perfect safety, she may be down in some ugly dyke, perhaps ridden on, or otherwise hurt; and, therefore, it is his bounden duty to see that no evil befals her. I cannot say that I consider the position of a trusty pilot at all an enviable one, and few men care to occupy it in relation to a beginner or timorous rider, although they are ever anxious to place their services at the disposal of a lady who is known to "go straight."
In selecting a pilot, do so with judgment. Choose one who knows the country, and who will not be too selfish nor too grand to take care of you; for, remember, you are only a beginner, and will need to be taken care of. If, then, you have secured the right sort of man, and your own heart is in the right place, you may prepare to enjoy yourself, for a real good day's hunting is the keenest enjoyment in which man or woman can hope to participate in this life.
The trot to the covert-side is usually very pleasant. You and your horse are quite fresh. You meet and chat with your friends. The two, three, or four miles, as the case may be, seem to glide away very fast. Then comes the anxious moment when the beauties are thrown in, and all wait in eager suspense for the whimper which shall proclaim Reynard at home. But not a hound gives tongue this morning. You can see them—heads down, sterns up, beating here and there through the gorse—but, alas! in silence; and, after a while, someone says, "No fox here!" and presently your ear catches the sound of the huntsman's horn, and the hounds come trooping out, almost as disappointed as the field.
Then the master gives the order for the next or nearest covert, and there is a rush, and a move, and a long cavalcade forms upon the road, headed, of course, by the hounds. Get well in front, if you can, so as to be quite up when they reach their next try, for sometimes they find as soon as ever they are thrown in, and are far away over the country before the stragglers come up, and great, then, are the lamentations, for hunting a stern-chase is, to say the least of it, not cheerful. You will have another advantage, also, in being well forward, for your horse will get the benefit of a temporary rest, whilst those who, by lagging, have lost time at the start, are obliged to follow as best they can upon the track, bucketing their horses, and thus depriving them of the chance of catching their wind—which is, in a lengthened run, of very material consequence.
One especial difference you observe between road-riding and hunting: you are obliged to trot at a fast swinging pace such long tiresome distances from covert to covert, without pause or rest, and you feel already half tired out. Hitherto, when riding on the road, or in the park, if you felt fatigued you have only had to pull up and walk; but on hunting days there is no walking. The time is too precious, these short, dark, wintry days, to allow of such "sweet restings." The evening closes in so rapidly that we cannot afford to lose a moment of our time, and so we go along at a sweeping pace. Nobody who is unable to trot long distances without rest has any business hunting.