Wire fence with signFig. 136.—Wire board.
Some farmers appear to use wire in an unnecessary manner. For instance, placing it on the top of a gate (Fig. 140) seems to have noraison d’être, except to hurt unfortunate hunters which in breasting such a gate to push it open, are apt to get badly pricked and run suddenly back to avoid it, with the possible result of injury to both horses and riders behind them. Also, I have seen wire put up in fields in which there were no cattle, and removed after the hunting season, to duly appear again in the following one. Other tricks, such as sending sheep-dogs to head foxes, and stationing farm hands to shout “wire!” where there is none, have also come under my personal notice. Indeed it is impossible to live in the country, without observing such acts of hostility on the part of farmers towards “hunting people.” I cannot help thinking that much of this tension might be removed, if every hunt secretary followed the example of Colonel Francis Henry, the Hon. Secretary of the Duke of Beaufort’s Hunt, of whom we read inBaily’s Magazineof March, 1902:—“Colonel Henry, who, in the opinion of his numerous friends, seems to possess the secret of eternal youth, contrives to enquire personally into every complaint that is sent to him, whether relating todamaged fences, loss of poultry or, rarely, ‘wire offences.’ There is no better known figure in Gloucestershire than that of Colonel Henry on his hack, one of his own breeding by the way, which carries him on his long rides; he is wont to say that in dealing with a grievance ‘one visit is worth a dozen letters.’ His geniality, and the painstaking care with which he investigates every matter to which his attention is called, dissipate at their beginning many difficulties which, handled with less sympathetic diplomacy, would ‘come to a head’ and produce the friction which tells against sport. Landowners, farmers, and business men alike in the Badminton country are keen supporters of fox-hunting, and their attitude towards the sport is due in no small degree to the unremitting attention and care for their interests displayed by the honorary secretary both in winter and summer.” The truth of Colonel Henry’s remark that one visit is worth a dozen letters, was exemplified to me the other day by an old lady, a farmer’s wife, who regretted the sad change in “hunting people” since her young days, when they “used to come in and chat with me as affable as could be.” She mentioned the name of Mr. Wroughton, who partook of some of her “cowslip wine,” and so much was she impressed with the visit that every small detail of it, even the year, month, day and hour, and also where he sat in her parlour, remains a treasured memory. He made a friend who will always speak of him in the highest terms, because he was nice and civil to her, and it seems to be a matter for regretthat this friendly feeling is not more generally cultivated than it is in hunting districts.
Wire fence with red flagFig. 137.—Red flag.
Unfortunately, the old-fashioned motherly, hardworking farmer’s wife is a type of woman which is rapidly dying out, and the modern specimen belongs to that large and useless brigade of “perfect ladies” who are above their position and who regard work as undignified. I recently saw an advertisement from a farmer’s daughter who said in it that she had offers of plenty of mounts, but wanted some lady to give her a riding habit! Surely it would have been far better for her to have worked and earned one, instead of cadging in such a manner for her amusement? Proverbially bad as our fresh butter in the Midlands is, I fear the time is approaching when butter making will entirely cease, for, with few exceptions, farmers’ daughters are not trained to do dairy work. A modern “young lady” from a farm, who had been educated in a Board school, applied to a well known lady of title for a situation as governess; but her ladyship pointed out that her educational attainments did not qualify her for such a post, and suggested that she should obtain employment as a parlourmaid. Needless to say that the farmer’s daughter scorned the idea of thus “lowering” herself! Even the daughters of farm labourers nowadays ride their bicycles, instead of going out to service as their mothers and grandmothers did before them, and dress themselves ridiculously out of keeping with their position and surroundings. It seems very incongruous to see such girls living in indolence incountry villages, while the daughters of their parson, as frequently happens in large families, turn out and earn their own livelihood.
Wire with a wooden fenceFig. 138.—“’Ware wire.”
It would cost very little to give an annual ball, say, after the Hunt ball and before the decorations were taken down, to farmers and their wives and any local residents who help towards the support of hunting,and I feel sure that an entertainment of this kind would be productive of beneficial results. In order to make it a success, it would have to be attended by some of the members of the local Hunt, and not in any way bear the stamp of a charity ball; for untravelled middle-class people in this country are, as a rule, very “select,” and eaten up with social ambition, and many who would not think of attending a subscription dance, would be attracted by “an invitation Hunt ball.” Besides, after all, even if local residents and farmers pay their guinea to be present at an annual Hunt ball, they feel themselves rather “out of it,” if they are not personally acquainted with anyone in the room, and wisely avoid such dreary functions. It is recorded of Mr. Conyers that he once presented every farmer’s wife in his hunting district with a silk dress, saying that the ladies must be propitiated if hunting is to flourish.
Iron fenceFig. 139.—Iron hurdle.
One of the reasons why hunting is unpopular among farmers is the selfish and reckless manner in which many followers of a hunt ride over arable land; the greatest sinners in this respect being those who reside in towns, and who, knowing nothing about agriculture, err more from ignorance than indifference. Unless vegetation stares them in the face, they evidently think there is no harm in riding over ploughed land, no matter how distinctly the smoothly-harrowed surface and carefully prepared drains indicate the presence of seed underneath. In such a case, our best plan would be to skirt along, as near as possible, thehedge or other boundary, even if we have to go a little out of our way. Riding over cultivated “heavy” (clay) land, especially if its surface is wet, is particularly hurtful to the crop, because each imprint of a horse’s foot will form a small pool of water, which will rot the seed inside it. In “light” (sandy) land, thewater in such holes will quickly drain off, and little or no injury will be done. While hoping that young horsewomen will not allow their enthusiasm for hunting to outweigh their sense of prudence when steering their horses over farmers’ land, I would entreat them to also “hold hard” when approaching allotment ground, for this land is rented, as a rule, by the poorest of the poor, who have no gardens in which to grow vegetables, etc., for their use, and a small field of, say, a few acres may be cultivated by several villagers and their children in their “spare time of evenings.” Each tenant has his own patch of allotment land on which he grows what he requires for his use. In winter we may frequently see the entire field under wheat cultivation, as many poor families grow their own grain, which the local miller grinds into flour, and in this way they save the baker’s bill, as they make their own bread. To ride over and destroy their small crops is a sin which I am sure no lady would knowingly commit, and, therefore, it behoves us all to exercise due circumspection when we find ourselves on arable land.
Wooden gate with wire on topFig. 140.—Wire on top of gate.
Also, on pasture land we have need to temper valour with discretion, and especially after Christmas, when ewes and cows are heavy with young, and are not in a fit state to safely endure the dual evil of fright and violent exercise. Later on, when lambs have appeared, it is cruel to gallop so near these mothers and their young, as to cause suffering. Sheep are such stupid animals that they appear to have no idea of evadinga crowd; and cattle, as a rule, lose their heads from fright, and career madly about their fields, sometimes for two or three days after the sudden passing of a hunt. When a gate is negligently left open, and the terrified animals avail themselves of this method of escape, the unfortunate farmer will generally have great trouble in finding and bringing them back, because they often go long distances, and he has seldom any means of knowing what route they have taken. Horses give him far more trouble than cattle in this respect, because they can travel faster and farther. I have seen ladies who have the interests of hunting deeply at heart—Mrs. James Hornsby, for instance—ride back and fasten gates which have been carelessly left open.
One grievance which lies very near the heart of a farmer, because I suppose it frequently touches his pocket, is the damage done to his fences, especially during a check, by people who unnecessarily potter through small gaps, which, after they have finished, resemble open spaces. The farmer who has to get them mended speaks very bitterly about fox-hunting, especially if he has to do the repairing at his own expense, as he argues that if it was necessary to work a passage in this manner through his hedge, the field might have been content with one open door instead of making several. A farmer in the North Cheshire country was so irate on this point that on one occasion when the hunt wanted to cross his land, he and his men gave us a welcome with pitchforks!
A kind of farmer whom I despise is the man thathunts on the free list and pretends to support fox-hunting, while he keeps his land encompassed by wire during the entire season! I have known some of these men enjoy unmerited popularity with the Master, and even take charge of Hunt wire boards. Their non-hunting neighbours who take down wire and over whose land they ride with safety, are obviously the better supporters of hunting, although they may not be able to afford a nag, even if they had time to devote to the sport. The farmer who takes down his wire is naturally displeased with a Hunt which favours an individual who keeps it up; but I think if all Hunt secretaries were like Colonel Henry, such delinquents would soon be brought to book, for no Master would care to see with his hounds, a farmer who kept his land wired during the hunting season. Some of the illustrations of wired fences in this book have been photographed on the land of so-called “hunting farmers.” An even worse class of man than the double-dealing farmer is the wealthy landowner who preserves his coverts, shoots foxes, lets his shooting at a big profit, and then goes off to hunt in some fashionable centre, like Melton Mowbray. In Leicestershire he would be regarded as a hunting man, while in his own district he is known as a vulpicide, for Reynard is seldom, if ever, found in his coverts. One has only to live in the country, and pretend indifference about fox-hunting, to see the tricks which some farmers perform in order to prevent people from riding over their land. I remember in the North Cheshirecountry a big covert, which was always considered a certain find, being drawn blank, much to the huntsman’s surprise. As he called off his hounds, after a thorough investigation, a farmer said, with a smile: “I knew they wouldn’t find a fox here, for Mr. ——’s foxhound puppy, which he is walking, has been rummaging about this covert all morning!” It appears that Mr. Blank was a farmer whose land adjoined the said covert, and who had found his foxhound puppy more useful in driving away foxes than his sheepdogs.
Instead of doling out compensation to farmers as a form of charity, it would be much better for our hunting authorities to meet them on a level footing, get them to appoint a committee of their own, and pay that official body, every year, a certain proportion of the hunt subscriptions, to be applied according to the wishes of the Farmers’ Committee.
I have not enlarged on the subject of hunting pilotage, because, truth to tell, I have never indulged in the luxury of a pilot, as I have preferred to know the capabilities of my mount and to see and act for myself. I believe that any woman who can ride and manage her horse with intelligent forethought, has no more need of a paid pilot than has the small boy who takes his chance on his pony. If a lady has no male companion to remain with her during the day’s hunting, she should provide herself with a groom,whose services will be very useful to her, in the event of anything going wrong, and in helping her in various ways. It would be absurd for her to expect casual aid at every turn, in a large field composed chiefly of strangers, especially when its giver would be deprived of his place in a run.
Pilots seem to be going out of fashion, if we may judge by the large number of women who hunt safely without their assistance. The inexperienced huntress generally has her father, brother, husband, or some male friend or servant to show her the way, which is the safest and best method of learning to hunt, because they would know both the capabilities of the young lady and her mount, and could be trusted to keep her out of harm’s way. If a paid pilot is engaged, his horse should not be a better fencer than that of his charge. He should also know her riding form, and over what kind of jumps she intends him to lead her.
I would strongly impress on an inexperienced lady the necessity of learning to judge pace, that is to say, to know at what speed her horse is going. The chief duty of a pilot is to set the pace for her, and to select such fences as he knows her horse is capable of jumping, the former being more important than the latter, as it is far more difficult to learn. She should see that her pilot is safely over a fence before sending her horse at it. Only practice and natural aptitude can teach a lady to judge pace: it cannot be learnt from any book.
A lady should not deceive her pilot, any more than we should withhold the truth from our doctor or lawyer. If she feels more in skirting trim than in hard hunting nerve, she should not hesitate to say so; for we all like to take things easy at times, whether it be in hunting or in anything else, according as we feel fit or otherwise. There is no gainsaying that the human barometer is regulated to a great extent by the weather, as we may see by the big fields which greet the Master on a fine hunting morning.
The unpleasant disclosures which have been recently made in our Law Courts, concerning the free and easy conduct of a certain set of hunting men and women, may prejudice many mothers against hunting as a fitting pastime for their daughters; but the indiscretions of a few idle fast people should not be taken as a sample of the behaviour of an entire field. In the crowd and bustle of hunting, the large majority of the people are seriously engaged in the business of the day, and have no time to indulge in flirtations. Certainly no sane man would choose a meet or covert side, where he is surrounded by a crowd of people, to do his love-making. If the usual discretion is observed in the choice of a companion for a young lady going to and returning from a hunt, she would have far less opportunity for “frivol,” than in any ordinary ball room or theatre. We need only watch hunting men and women passing through a crowded gateway, to see that each one goes in turn, and that there is very little consideration for sex.
Although the subject of falling is not a pleasant one to discuss, still we cannot ignore it, for even the best horsewoman occasionally gets hurt by her horse falling with her. Accidents sometimes occur over the most trivial obstacles, and when least expected; and are not confined to jumping, for some of the worst falls have happened on the flat. I remember Captain King-King breaking three ribs and a collar-bone—a pretty good dose in one gulp—by his mount coming down with him on the flat when hunting in Leicestershire. The late Whyte Melville met his death by a similar accident; and poor Archbishop Wilberforce was killed while quietly hacking, by his horse putting his foot in a hole and throwing him on his head. Unfortunately, we are unable to learn the art of falling correctly, because we have only one neck, and, if we break that, our experiments must abruptly cease. We may, however, minimise the danger of its fracture by leaning well back at our fences, and by ducking our chins into our chests when we feel ourselves coming the inevitable cropper. The worst kind of fall is when a horse breasts a stiff fence and either turns a complete somersault, or falls violently on to his head. In the former case, the accident generally means severe internal injuries, to say the least of it; in the latter, a broken collar-bone or concussion of the brain. Such bad accidents are happily rare; for, if a horse can jump,he will certainly do his best to clear an obstacle with his fore legs, and if he catches his hind ones and comes down, our chances of either being killed, or crippled for life, are far smaller. In Leicestershire I once saw a stranger send his mount at a posts and rails fence about five feet high, which the animal breasted and went over with a sickening fall; but I could not help thinking that the man must have been either riding a hireling, or must have imagined that his horse was a wonderful jumper to have sent him at such a forbidding thing, especially as it had been avoided by the first flight people, and what they can’t jump, strangers may be perfectly certain ought to be left alone. In this case, the animal, which may have been easily able to take the jump, went at it unwillingly, for he saw it was not the line taken by other horses, and he was doubtless annoyed at being asked to incur what must have appeared to him an unnecessary risk. A similar thing occurred when a well-known Leicestershire lady broke her collar-bone. Horses were filing through the gate, and the lady, who was anxious to get forward, put her horse at a stiff posts and rails by the side of it. He apparently regarded the act as unnecessary, for he went at it in a half-hearted fashion, struck the fence, fell, and hurt his rider. It is the custom to say that the first flight people who ride safely over Leicestershire are mounted on the best horses that money can buy; but at the same time, we should remember that they seldom deceive their mounts by asking them to jump anything which is either impossible or unnecessary.Mr. Hedworth Barclay, who is one of the finest horsemen in Leicestershire, always rides with great judgment. If he did not, he would not have been safely carried for fourteen seasons by his brilliant hunter Freeman, and for an almost equally long time by Lord Arthur and Franciscan.
A great deal of ignorant nonsense has been written about people (and even horses!) taking “their own line,” but such scribes ought to go to Leicestershire and show how that can be done! Ladies who try to follow the teaching of such people, do so at great personal risk; for it is absurd for a stranger, however well she may ride or be mounted, to think that she can safely take her own line over an unknown country, and especially such a one as Leicestershire, which is in many parts entirely unjumpable. As it requires several seasons to learn the “lie of the land,” most people wisely prefer to hunt in a county they know. Some ladies make a great boast of their numerous falls. One recently told me that she had had fourteen croppers in a hunting season; but when I hear such talk, I cannot help thinking that there is something radically wrong with their riding, for our best horsewomen very seldom fall.
I have noticed that horses have been staked in hunting, through being taken sideways instead of straight, at their fences. It is most dangerous to ride an animal in this manner; because, if he makes a mistake and falls, he will come down on his side and may roll over on to his rider in his efforts to regainhis feet. We may observe that when a horse is lying on his side he invariably makes a preparatory half roll in rising from that position.
The first thing to do when a horse comes down, is to try to get clear as soon as possible, and to let go the reins, unless the rider can retain them without any risk. She is so encumbered by her skirt, even if it is only an apron, that she will probably get kicked or trodden on, if she hangs on to the reins. “Scrutator” wisely remarks that “so long as there is a chance of holding him together, the pigskin should not be abandoned, but when that chance is gone, by your horse’s fore-legs getting into the ditch on the other side, throw yourself clear of him to avoid a pommelling.” In such times of difficulty and danger, a lady should remember to leave her horse’s mouth alone, and not frighten him, at a moment when her life may depend on his remaining quiet. Whatever happens, she should never utter a startled cry, for that will do no good and may lead to disastrous results. Professor Sample, the American “Horse Tamer,” once found himself underneath a cart, while breaking a horse to harness with the long reins. Enveloped as he was in his driving reins, a bad accident might have resulted if he had not kept his presence of mind, while his faithful “Jo,” whom he called to his assistance as if nothing had happened, came and helped him out of his dangerous position. He then turned to the audience and calmly told them that he was showing them “how not to do it!” When a lady gets a bad fall out hunting, and we see herattended by men only, we should at once go to her assistance, whether we know her or not; because it is always better for a woman to have one of her own sex to help her and, if necessary, unloosen any garments which are matters that men know nothing about.
I nowturn to the pleasant subject of riding and hunting abroad, with special reference to India, where almost all our fellow countrymen and women ride and own horses. Even in lonely up-country stations which contain only a few white residents, gymkhanas are often got up by officers who train and ride their own horses and ponies. Nothing seems to give these good sportsmen greater pleasure than lending their equine favourites to their lady friends. Therefore, a visitor who is fond of riding, need never be at a loss for a mount, as I found during my four years’ residence in that hospitable land. I can truly say that I did not understand what real hospitality is, until I went to India, and shall always remember the great kindnesses my husband and I received from Native Princes. For instance, the late Maharajah of Vizianagram, who was devoted to horses, invited us to visit him, placed a furnished house, servants, horses, carriages, food, wines and every other comfort at our disposal, and considered our month’s stay much too short. Ladies in India who ride, obtain so much practice as a rule on various kindsof animals, that they soon become expert horsewomen. It is the custom there to ride twice a day: In the early morning afterchoti haziri(little breakfast), which usually consists of a cup of tea, a boiled egg, bread and butter; and in the evening. There is no law of trespass in India, and it is delightful to canter for miles while sharing the freedom of the Son of the Desert who is carrying you. There is nothing like these lonely scampers as a cure for petty worries, for you can put them so far behind you, that on your return you have forgotten their existence. Calcutta is an ideal riding city, with its beautifulmaidan(plain), where there are miles of springy turf for galloping, a large race-course with well-kept training and hacking tracks, and hurdles for those who desire jumping practice. There is also a Red Road, which is the Rotten Row of the place, for afternoon hacking among the beauty and fashion, so what more could the heart of man or woman desire? During the misnamed “cold weather,” women who are fond of cross country work, can ride once a week over made fences in the paperchases. The course is usually about three miles long, well supplied with fences, chiefly hurdles and stiff mud walls from three feet six to four feet six high. As the start takes place at about seven in the morning, and as the meets are some distance from the town, the devotees of sport have to be up at about five o’clock, dress by lamplight, send on their chasers, and drive or hack to the trysting place. Two “hares” carry the paper in bags slung across their shoulders and receive a quarter of an hour’s gracein which to plant their burden, where they know the coloured slips will take some finding. The hares ride over the fences, and by distributing their landmarks sparsely and in places where their pursuers can follow only in single file, they often make it difficult for the leading division to keep the line. Those who over-run the paper, of course imperil their chance of being among the first six, which is the number of “placed horses” in these paperchase records. A writer inLadies in the Field, while discussing this form of sport, says: “Any old screw, country-bred pony or short-shouldered Arab may be brought out on these occasions.” That author evidently had no experience of Calcutta paperchasing, because a horse for this work must not only be a fast galloper and clever jumper, but also must have a good mouth and temper, and be fit and well. In fact, the ideal paperchaser is a cross between a steeplechaser and a hunter, for he has to possess the speed and quick jumping qualities of the former, and the amiability and brains of the latter. Unless a lady has such a mount, it will be almost impossible for her to secure a coveted place among the first half dozen. Also, there are so many horses, say, forty or more, all galloping at the same fences, which are not broad enough for a quarter of that number to take abreast. Consequently, those behind have to see that the coast is clear, before they can proceed. Falls frequently occur, but serious accidents are happily rare. It is true that two men have been killed in these chases; but although ladies have taken part in themsince the early days when that fine horsewoman, Mrs. “Jim” Cook, set the example, I have not heard of any woman getting badly hurt. Mrs. Cook, who was known in India as the “Mem Sahib,” holds the record of being the only woman who has won the Paperchase Cup when competing against men. She won in 1881, was the only lady in about twenty starters, and her mount was appropriately named Champion. The late Lord William Beresford was second, and General Cook, her husband, was third. After I left India, Lord William gave a cup to be competed for by ladies only, which must have acted as a strong stimulant to those who had vainly tried to beat the “mere male.” Mrs. Murray was a most plucky rider, and made more than one good bid for the Paperchase Cup, which she well deserved to win. I had a very good Australian horse named Terence, by Talk of the Hills, which got placed in these chases, but when I hoped to do great things with him, I got typhoid fever and exchanged my residence to the General Hospital. The first time I took Terence, who was a beautiful jumper, to a paperchase, two horses fell in front of him at the first jump. A horse ridden by that good sportswoman, Mrs. Saunders, refused a hurdle in front of us, and Terence followed suit. After I had got him sailing away again, a horse ridden by Mr. Garth, a well known horseman, fell over a big blind ditch just in front of Terence, who luckily cleared the lot. Captain Turner was walking about minus horse and hat, and that famous G.R., Captain “Ding” Macdougal, had a nasty purl. In fact, thatchase was a chapter of accidents. Mr. “Tougal,” who had helped to lay the paper, told me afterwards that two of the unbreakable mud walls were four feet three inches high, which is a very formidable height, considering that the horses had to jump out of deep mud. That chase took place on 2nd January, 1890, and I think it was a far higher test of ’cross country cleverness, than hunters in the shires have to go through.
Mr. Clark, who lived and paperchased for several years in Calcutta, and who was a large horse dealer in Hilmorton, near Rugby, tells me that he frequently measured the mud walls which were built for these chases, and often found them full five feet high. The large majority of horses ridden in these events are well bred Australians, which, taking them all round, are the best jumpers I have ever seen. Some “country-breds” are fine fencers, but Arabs, delightful as they are for hacking, rarely distinguish themselves across country.
The Calcutta natives were always on the look-out for squalls, like the Irish “wreckers” of olden days. It was no uncommon sight to see a black man, with nothing on but akummerbund, running away to his lair, with a stirrup leather, hat, or even a pair of spurs belonging to some dethroned sportsman. The horse ridden by Mrs. Saunders in the paperchase I have alluded to, was a powerful “Waler” which, according to his importer, Mr. Macklin, had won nearly all the jumping prizes in Australia! He had evidently been spoiled at the competition business, like many otherhorses, for despite the careful handling of his mistress, he was useless as a paperchaser. We had, while living at Melton Mowbray, a black Irish horse which also had won prizes at show jumping, but he was a most determined refuser in the open, and had many other tricks of temper, so we soon got rid of him.
On off days, during the cold weather in Calcutta, Mr. Milton, who was a dealer and owner of large livery stables, used to invite the riding community to hunt jackals with his “bobbery pack.” The meet took place at the stables before daylight, and the “hounds” were carried to covert in a sort of water-cart. They were a most ferocious lot, to judge by the scuffling, squealing and snarling that took placeen route. When they were let out, they appeared to lose their heads; the greyhounds, whippets, fox-terriers, bull-terriers, pariahs and nondescripts scampering off in various directions and requiring a good deal of keeping in order. Naturally, the greyhounds and whippets did the coursing, and having sighted a jack, they soon put an end to him. Our huntsman’s chief anxiety, as far as I could see, was to arrive in time to secure a bit of the prey for the small fry. It was very interesting to watch the work of these “hounds,” and to note that the small terriers used their noses to advantage, and often put their speedier companions on the right track. I had many enjoyable scampers with Mr. Milton’s bobbery pack, which I believe is still going strong in the City of Palaces.
At Lucknow, paperchasing was nearly allied tosteeplechasing, for the course was flagged, and there was no paper to disturb the galloping. Few ladies took part in those functions, but I enjoyed my gallop on Mr. McAndrew’s pony, Suffolk Punch, which, after floundering a bit at the double, came down at the last fence, luckily without damaging either of us. The great drawback to the paperchasing at the capital of Oudh, was the blinding dust which was raised by the leading animals, and which almost obscured the fences in front of their followers. As I was only on a pony, all I could see in front of me was flitting shadows in a brown fog, so I left everything to my game little mount, who was galloping his hardest. For the same reason, dust thrown up by the leaders, is not unfrequently the cause of accidents at steeplechasing in India.
Near Bombay and Mozufferpore, jackals are hunted during the cold season by foxhounds sent out from England. In 1889, Mr. Rowland Hudson, Master of the Mozufferpore pack, had seventeen couple of foxhounds, nine of which were supplied by himself, and eight by subscription. These hounds were selected by the late Tom Firr, from the Quorn, Cottesmore, and Pytchley, and they accounted for fifteen brace of jackals from November to March, hunting only two days a week, and after having had several good runs. Foxhounds stand the heat of India badly, and most of them out there die of liver disease, despite the precaution taken of sending them to the hills during the hot months.
At Singapore, drag-hunting provides good sport in which ladies participate, and show their fine horsewomanship to admiring friends, when the run finishes over the fences on the racecourse. At Shanghai we can go paperchasing on China (Mongolian) ponies, which, despite their want of pace and somewhat three-cornered appearance, are very clever over bad ground. The ladies whom I had the pleasure of meeting in Shanghai, like those in India, were all devoted to riding, and I had many merry scampers across country with them. In the country round Tientsin, we had often to jump over ponderous coffins, for John Chinaman has a provoking way of omitting to bury his relations, after he has stowed them away in their long homes.
Having to stay for a month at Suez, I was greatly disappointed to find no better mounts than the very knowing Egyptian donkeys. As I had never ridden that kind of animal before, I sent my syce, Motee, to hire a couple for the day. To my surprise, the donkey owner came to tell me that I could not ride any of his animals unless he accompanied me! I assured him that I was capable of managing an ass, and would take every care of the beast entrusted to me. He smiled, apparently at my presumption, and as I saw that he would not let me have my way, I consented to the infliction of his company. At the appointed time he appeared on foot, leading two mokes and armed with a long thick stick. As he was evidently going to walk, I whispered to Motee to gallop after me as hard as hecould, and give the stick man the slip. This I found far easier said than done, because my donkey utterly ignored my commands, even when they were backed up by force, and would take orders only from his master. I saw the man trying to conceal a smile, as I whacked my placid mount with the energy of one who meant business, so impatiently asked him if he had fulfilled the promise he had given Motee to bring me his best donkeys. He assured me that I was sitting on the back of Mrs. Langtry, who was well known as the fastest animal in Suez, and by far the handsomest. He said he had Mrs. Cornwallis West, Ellen Terry, Mary Anderson, Mrs. Kendal, and other good mounts; but Mrs. Langtry was the pick of the basket for speed and endurance. I asked the name of Motee’s moke, which he said was his next best one, and found that it was called Mr. Gladstone! The pair were excellent friends, and insisted on walking side by side, although Motee did all he could to keep Mr. Gladstone behind. Disliking this aspect of affairs, I dealt Motee’s mount a couple of sharp cuts with my whip over the quarters, with the object of inducing him to set the pace. This resulted in such high kicking on the part of Mr. Gladstone, that Motee nearly fell off, and the man behind ran up yelling in such an angry tone, that I almost feared he would chastise me in a similar manner. He cooled down and then patronisingly told me that when I had grown older and had gained more experience in riding, I would not be guilty of cruelty to dumb animals. Having failed in my tactics, and paid formy ride, I resigned all further activity in the proceedings, and submitted to having the speed of my mount regulated by the stick from behind. When pursued, Mrs. Langtry would go off with a rush, pausing at intervals to listen for footsteps behind, and assure herself that the stick man was well out of reach. Once she relapsed into a dreamy reverie, and so far forgot herself as to allow her owner to wake her up with a tremendous whack, which sent her flying with such force that I was nearly jerked out of the saddle. Our destination was the First Castle, and I was glad to turn homewards. Motee did not appear to have enjoyed his share of the joke, for he looked very angrily at the donkey man as he removed my saddle, and said: “Dis no good ponies,Mem Sahib, plentytamasha.”
That evening when I was recounting my adventures at dinner, Count Carlo Sanminiatelli, who was staying at the same hotel, asked me in French if I was fond of riding. On hearing my reply, he at once placed at my disposal nearly three hundred remounts which were to be shipped later on to Massowah. These horses belonged to the Italian Government, which was expecting a row with King John of Abyssinia. After that, Motee and I used to disappear for hours in the desert every day, and we wended our way back to the hotel, only when the pangs of hunger forced us to do so. We would try sometimes as many as fifteen animals in a day, and I took the numbers of those which were nice to ride. In a very short time I hada list of more than a dozen of the nicest horses, which I intended to keep for my own hacking. As most of them had been accustomed to the barbarous Mameluke bit, which is used in Egypt, they took very kindly to my snaffle. The desert is a grand place for trying experiments with horses; for in it there is nothing to frighten or distract their attention from their work, and if one does happen to get a spill, the falling is very soft. As soon as the news of my doings became noised abroad in Suez, the riding men mustered in great force and borrowed several of the horses I had passed as quiet. It was amusing to see some of the horsemen sending all over the place to borrow a saddle, and in a couple of days we all met for a ride. One of the ladies rode very well, but she would not try any of the remounts, as she had her own Arab. There was seldom such excitement in Suez before, the lawn tennis ground became quite deserted, and everyone seemed to have gone riding mad.
Coursing steinbok with greyhounds used to be a popular sport in South Africa, but when my husband and I were in Kimberley in 1892, Mr. Fenn was establishing a pack of foxhounds. I fear the Jameson Raid and its dire results have sadly disturbed the harmony of that sporting community.
I cannot help thinking that the Germans are more devoted to riding than any other Continental nation. I have not hunted in Germany, as I was there only during the summer; but I sold a good hunter to a German Count who was a fine horseman and a Masterof Foxhounds. He told me that a large number of ladies hunted with his pack. I was particularly struck with the immense size and beauty of the riding schools in Berlin. In the Berliner Tattersall there are three large riding schools, and I seldom went there without seeing some ladies on horseback. In the largest riding school there is a gallery, a refreshment room, reading room, several dressing rooms, a bandstand, and seating accommodation for hundreds of people. The proprietor told me that in the winter months when the weather is too bad for outside riding, ladies ride in the schools, and various entertainments are given. I saw a large number of ladies riding in the Tiergarten, although it was out of the season, and I expected to find the ride as empty as Rotten Row in the winter months. As I went there before eight in the morning, our German cousins must be early risers. On the last occasion we visited the Tiergarten, we were on our way home from Russia, and, having a couple of hours to wait for our train, we strolled into the delightful wooded ride. It was about half-past seven on a cold March morning, and almost the first people I saw there were the Kaiser and the Kaiserin, so I no longer marvelled at German ladies’ taste for early rising.
When I was in the Bois de Boulogne last season, it was greatly frequented as usual, but it struck me that fewer women ride there now than formerly, and that motor cars have absorbed their attention.
Although the riding schools of Paris are not to becompared to those of Berlin, the worst of them is far superior to the two miserable civilian riding schools in St. Petersburg, where riding is almost entirely a military function. Very few Russian women ride, although history tells us that Peter III. kept a pack of hounds, and that his wife, Catherine II., according to her memoirs, listened to the loving solicitations of Soltikov while they were riding together “to find the dogs.” A saddle belonging to this amorous lady, which I saw at the Hermitage, was like an Australian buck-jumping saddle, with large knee rolls and a high cantle. It was covered with red velvet and decorated with cowrie shells. The side saddle appears to have been first used in Russia by the daughters of the Emperor Paul.
The Duchess of Newcastle, writing inLadies in the Field, on “the untidy slipshod way the riders are often turned out” in Rotten Row, terms this state of things “a disgrace to a country which is considered to have the best horses and riders in the world,” and wonders what foreigners must think of the sorry spectacle. This “floppy” untidyness of riding dress appears to have been introduced by the “new woman.” Twenty years ago, top hats and perfectly fitting habits werede rigueur; but now neither horses nor riders are so well trained for park hacking as they were in those days. The Duchess also points out that it is as cheap to be clean as dirty, and there is no reason why the horses should not be groomed, and their bits burnished.
I believeI am correct in stating that no woman who has ever hunted, professes any other feeling than that of ardent admiration for the hounds which provide her with sport; but I would like to see this admiration take, among hunting women, the more practical form of walking hunt puppies, in whose future well-being they should have a keen personal interest. There are two maiden ladies in Ireland, who, although they have never hunted, and are long past the age at which they are likely to do so, always, from sheer love of sport, walk a couple of foxhound puppies for their district hunt. We want, I think, more of this sporting Irish feeling among our sex, for I am sure that apart from all other considerations, a hunting woman would find more to interest her in the rearing and training of a foxhound puppy, whose career she could literally follow, than in spending money and time in clothing and nursing a useless pug or toy terrier. There is no more intelligent and charming companion for a womanthan a young foxhound, who appears to be able to do everything but speak, and even that he can do in a mute way, for when he is greatly troubled, he cries like a human being, with real tears. I am thinking as I write of a young Cottesmore pup I was walking at Melton Mowbray who, when a friend accidentally trod on his foot, came yelping up to me for sympathy with big tears rolling down his face. When I picked up this heavy lump of dog and soothed him, he at once stopped his yelping and his tears like a child.
Mr. Otho Paget in his interesting book,Hunting, says, “The whole future success of your breeding hounds rests on being able to get good walks,” and in order to ensure such success, he advises generosity in the matter of prize giving at the annual puppy show and the luncheon on that occasion, to be “as smart and festive as you can make it.” Mr. Paget considers that the “ideal home for a puppy” is a farmhouse; but even if this statement were correct—which I greatly doubt, seeing the poverty of many farmers and the neglected state of their own domestic animals—few farmers walk foxhound puppies even in classic Leicestershire. When a large landowner, good sportsman and lover of hunting like the late Duke of Rutland, makes an agreement with his tenant-farmers, to walk puppies, the work is certain to be carried out in a give and take manner which will cement good feeling between both parties, and will promote sport; but the practice which obtains in some badly managed hunts of sending a whipper-into dump down his cartload of puppies on any people who will consent to take them, is not only akin to cadging, but is also productive of many cases of neglect which ought to come before the notice of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Instead of deputing servants to dispose of young hounds in this casual manner, the Master or his Secretary should approach the residents of the district, and either personally, or by writing, arrange with them to walk puppies, so that they may be prepared to receive their young charges. Also, the Master or Secretary should visit the puppies at walk occasionally, as such practical interest taken in their welfare, would tend to encourage the walker in her by no means easy task of rearing the youngsters.
Mr. Otho Paget’s advice as to prize giving and a sumptuous lunch hardly, I think, meets the requirements of the case. We can dismiss the lunch, as very few of my sex care for “smart and festive” feeding, and as far as the prizes go for their trouble and expense with the animals, what is the use of judging puppies six months after they have returned from walk? The poor, neglected, half-starved animal who goes back to kennels all skin and bone may, if he be a well-shaped hound, show up better at the time of judging, than those who were returned full of good food and in hard exercise, but who may have lost in condition by fretting, or by having to live on shorter rations than before. Some puppies, as I know from experience, have either died during the six months’ interval, or havebeen drafted to another pack. Therefore it would be far more satisfactory and encouraging to puppy walkers for the judging to be on a day fixed for them to take their young charges to the kennels. In bygone days when country squires lived on their land and their tenants were under contract to walk puppies, the present arrangement no doubt answered well enough, because it was to the tenant’s interest to do his best to please his landlord; but times have changed since then. The large majority of people who hunt nowadays, rent hunting boxes for the season, and take so little interest in country life that they fly off to town on the first appearance of frost, and are not seen again until the land is fit to be ridden over. When the season ends, they disappear till the following one. Few of them know any of the resident farmers or inhabitants of hunting centres even by sight, or want to know them. This snobbish exclusiveness is very harmful to the interests of hunting, because the farmers are under no obligation to them—quite the reverse—and a farmer can, if he likes, refuse to allow them to ride over his land. Therefore, when hunting people show farmers no civility, the agriculturists naturally do not care to go to the trouble and expense of walking hunt puppies, as several farmers have told me, unless they are given a better inducement to do so than present arrangements offer. Then again, in judging puppies returned from walk, supposing the judging takes place at once, as it should do, only the condition of the puppies, and not their“points” should be taken into consideration; for the walker usually has to take any puppies that are given to him, and as he does not breed them, he cannot be held responsible for any defects which may be in their make and shape. The hunt puppy-show ought to be a function entirely apart from the walkers’ show, and until this is done, the unfortunate puppies will continue to be dumped down on any stranger who will consent to take them.
I cannot help thinking that the great mortality which takes place every season among young hounds, might be considerably lessened if the various hunts were to send out with the puppies, for the benefit of inexperienced walkers, a pamphlet or card of printed instructions concerning their feeding and general management. They should also request the walker to report any case of sickness, and should at once despatch a competent veterinary surgeon to investigate such cases and prescribe for the young patients. The inexperienced puppy walker, in her anxiety to get her charges strong, often gorges them to repletion with raw meat even before they have got any permanent teeth, which is as absurd as feeding an infant on raw steak. We know not how young hounds contract distemper, but they cannot be prevented in their daily walks from eating offal, and if the germs of the disease are taken into their bodies in this way, the hound whose system has been weakened by “heating” and unsuitable food will seldom recover. I do not wish to pose as an authority on this subject and am simply giving,for the benefit of ladies who find themselves placed in a similar predicament, my experience, or rather, at this stage, inexperience, in walking a couple of Cottesmore pups. I tried very hard to save those pups, nursed them night and day, and had them in my room at night, but both died. One of them was slowly recovering, but was so weak that he could hardly stand, and I was recommended to give him some fresh meat cut up small. This food occasioned a relapse, and next day he was dead. I notice that Mr. Otho Paget in his book onHuntingrecommends “a little raw fresh meat” for weakly pups, but possibly he would not advocate it for one getting over distemper. I attributed the death of my charges solely to improper feeding, and have since been successful in rearing others by feeding them at first on bread and milk, biscuits and gravy, scraps of cooked vegetables, and when meat has been given, I have taken care to see that it has beencooked. Even with the greatest attention to diet and exercise, that horror, distemper, has attacked them, but they have made a good recovery. At the time of writing I am walking a couple of Pytchley pups, which alas, will soon go to their permanent home. Both of them have had distemper, one in a very severe form, accompanied by an abscess in his throat, which prevented him from swallowing anything but beaten eggs and milk for several days. His portrait (Fig. 141) shows that he has now “grown into a hound,” and I am proud of him, for all of the Pytchley pups of the first, or spring batch, which were distributed inthis village died of distemper with the exception of my couple. My pups must have contracted the disease from a neighbouring farmer’s dog who died of it in great agony with an abscess in his throat. Possibly the adoption of some kind of muzzle would prevent puppies from eating diseased matter.