I suppose it was a plain head, but anyone who had sat behind it and seen its ears prick at sight of the coming “lep” would not think much of its plainness. I hunted her for ten seasons, and she never gave me a fall that was not strictly necessary. Since her retirement from the Hunt stables she has acted as nursery governess to a succession of rising riders, and at the age of seventeen she carried Martin for a season, and thought little, with that feather-weight, of keeping where both of them loved to be, at “the top of the Hunt.”
The West Carbery Hunt was once honoured by a visit from an American hunting woman, a lady who had been sampling various British hunts and who was a critic whose good opinion was worth having. She was an accomplished rider and a very hard goer, and her enjoyment of such sport as we were able to show her was eminently gratifying. She made, however, one comment upon the country which has not been forgotten. We had a ringing fox who rather overdid his anxiety to show the visitor a typical West Carbery line. He took us round and about a particularly typical hill more often than was requisite, and he declined to demonstrate the fact that we possessed any grass country, or any sound and civilised banks. Our visitor had the hunt, such as it was, with the best, and spoke with marked enthusiasm of the agility of our horses. Later I heard her discussing the events of the day.
“We jumped one place,” said my visitor, “and I said to myself, ‘Well, I suppose that never on God’s earth shall I see a thing like that again!’ And after that,” she went on, “we jumped it five times.”
I might prolong this chapter indefinitely with stories of hunting; of old times in Meath, with Captain “Jock” Trotter, or Mr. John Watson, when Martin and I hunted there with our cousins, Ethel and Jim Penrose; of characteristically blazing gallops with the Galway Blazers, in recent years, ably piloted by Martin’s eldest brother, Jim Martin; of many a good day at home in our own country. But an end must be made, and this chapter may fitly close with a letter of Martin’s. The hunt of which she writes did not take place with the West Carbery, but the country she describes is very similar to ours, and the incidents might as well have occurred here.
V. F. M. to the Hon. Mrs. Campbell. (December.)
“We had an unusual sort of hunt the other day, when the hounds, unattended, put a fox out of a very thick wood and up a terrible hill; when we caught them up there ensued much scrambling and climbing; there were even moments when, having a bad head, I was extremely frightened, and, in the middle of all this, a fallow doe joined up from behind, through the riders, and got away over the hill-top. To the doe the hounds cheerfully attached themselves, and we had much fun out of it, and it was given to us to see, as they went away, that one hound had a rabbit in his mouth. It is not every day that one hunts a fox, a deer and a rabbit at the same moment. It was like old hunting scenes in tapestry. C., the old huntsman, and his old white horse went like smoke in the boggy, hilly country. It was pleasant to see, and the doe beat the hounds handsomely and got back safely to the wood, to which, in the meantime, the fox had strolled back by the avenue.
“Last week we drew another of the minor mountains of this district, and the new draft got away like lightning after a dog! who fled over a spur of the hill for his paternal home. All went out of sight, but the row continued. C. sat and blew his horn, and the poor Whip nearly burst himself trying to get round them. Then they reappeared, half the pack by this time, going like mad, and no dog in front of them! We then had a vision of an old humpbacked man with a scythe, like the conventional figure of ‘Time,’ set up against a furzy cliff, mowing at the hounds in the full belief that they were going to pull him down. They swept on up the hill and disappeared, having, in the excursion with the dog, put up a fox! E. had divined it and got away with them. By cleaving to C. I caught them all right, otherwise I should have been left with everyone else at the bottom of the hill, saying funny things about the dog. It was touching to hear C. saying to E. in triumph, ‘Where are your English hounds now, Miss?’ She had praised the United, and this sank into the soul of C., and indeed it was his beloved black-and-tan Kerry beagles and Scalliwags who were in front, and the rest not in sight. The new English draft were probably occupied in crossing themselves instead of the country—for which I don’t blame them. Personally, however, I feel as if an open grass country, and a smart pack, and a sound horse, would be very alarming.”
The reference to “a sound horse” may be explained by the fact that owing to her exceeding short sight we insisted on her being mounted only on old and thoroughly reliable hunters, who were able to take care of her as well as of themselves; it need hardly be added that such will not invariably pass a vet.
It was ten years from the date of her bad accident before she was able to get out hunting again; this chapter may well end with what she then wrote to Mrs. Campbell.
“I have once more pottered forth with the hounds, and have had some real leps, and tasted the wine of life again.”