Disquietude in mounting is a very serious fault. Some horses plunge and dance in a highly dangerous manner—the result of nervousness, or of having at some time or another been frightened by some mischance. When this is the case the horse ought to be held for a moment or two by the snaffle rein only, quite close to the cheek, and be spoken to at the same time in a soothing manner. He should never on any account be scolded, and by-and-by, when he quiets down a little, the groom should stand at his head, and hold the snaffle-reins firmly but lightly in both hands. If you perceive that he (the attendant) is not thoroughly master of his business, it will be yours to see that he does not by any movement bring the curb into action, or pinch the horse’s jaw.
Running away is a desperate vice for a lady to have to grapple with, and my own experiences of it warn me to put others on their guard. If a horse is known to be a runaway, never be induced to trust yourself upon his back. He will do it again at some time or another, even though his first offence may have almost passed out of mind, and it will be better that you should give him a wide berth. I must candidly say, however, that I would rather, for my own safety, ride ten practised runaways—what are called old hands at it—than one mad, frightened horse that had lost his wits from some real cause of alarm.
The best advice that I can give in either case is this: Do not keep a dead pull upon the reins, because that will not be a particle of use; in fact, by doing so you will only be supporting his head, and giving him stamina to go faster. Try by a succession of strong jerks and pulls to prevent him getting fully into his stride, for once he does so you may bid good-bye to any chance of stopping him until he has run himself clean out. A horse that is not a confirmed runaway may be checked by sawing his mouth hard with the snaffle, but my advice is, do not try to stop him at all, if you have fair going ground before you, or that you can possibly breast him up any sort of incline. In such case, let him go—sit close down in your saddle—and when you feel him slacken, take up your whip in earnest, and give it him within an inch of his life. This latter advice, however, only applies to “rogues”—animals who habitually run away and endanger their riders. To whip a really startled horse would be both cruel and unwise; nor is it ever judicious to do so in cases where the going is not both fair and open in front of you. If run away with in park or street, you must endeavour to keep clear of trees and vehicles, and strive to get your horse stopped as best you can. Happily, such catastrophes do not very often occur.
I am against the theory that a rider ought in all instances to stick to a runaway horse. As a rule it is better to do so, but there are decidedly a few exceptions. A pet idea of my own is to bring him down, in whatever way it can best be done; but I do not for a moment want to persuade others to do this. One man’s meat is another man’s poison; and on this principle a plan which is, or has been, successful in my own hands might prove a dangerous failure in another’s. I once stopped a maddened horse that had made away with me at Melton, by letting him have his head for about a furlong, or something less, and then giving him one stupendous tug with the reins. The sudden jerk to his mouth caused him to cross his legs, and he came down a “thundering cropper,” giving me one, of course, also; but riding, as I always did, in a plain racing stirrup, without having my foot thrust “home,” I got clear off, and escaped without any more serious injury than a very severe shaking. The sensation was not a nice one, I confess, and the peril was great; but, on the whole, I should prefer it again to enacting Mazeppa, or something like it, on the back of a wild steed, who would probably not stop until he had landed his rider at that fatal bourne from whence no traveller returns.
CHAPTER XIII.
A LESSON IN LEAPING.
Surmising that you are now as perfect as possible in park and road riding, you must qualify yourself as a huntress by learning to jump every kind of obstacle that will be likely to come in your way. Indeed, it is advisable for every rider, even though destined to spend a lifetime without ever hearing the music of the hounds, to acquire practice in leaping, as a means of improving the seat and securing immunity from possible danger and inconvenience. I mean to convey, that to a lady equestrian who knows nothing of sitting over a jump, a long ride in the country will be likely to prove somewhat embarrassing, seeing that newly-cut ditches and small sheep-hurdles are frequently to be met with, and where some members of the party jump them and others hang back, the difference of opinion will not tell in favour of the laggards. To be ready for all emergencies is the rule of good riding, and even if country difficulties have not to be encountered, there may be times—probably will be—when an animal will bounce suddenly forwards, or bound into the air from very exuberance of spirits, and if his rider has not learned to sit over a fence it will be ten to one against her keeping her position in the saddle. An unprepared or untaught rider is always thrown forward by a horse’s leap, and the object to be gained by teaching is to be able to offer suitable resistance to this—and to do so, no matter how sudden or unexpected the movement may be.
Some excellent authorities assert that a lady’s first leaping lessons ought always to be in a school. I object to the word “always” in this instance, and should like to substitute “generally.” Without in the very least depreciating the excellence of school teaching—for it sometimes is excellent, though oftener the reverse—I have nevertheless undertaken to teach “riding without a master,” and with this object in view I shall offer a few hints upon the subject in a simple, common-sense fashion, which I hope may prove profitable to those who wish to learn.
I think it an excellent plan, if in the country, to begin by practising over fallen trees—or if a place can be found where two or three of these have been felled together and are lying at short distances from one another, so much the better. Such a spot affords capital schooling-ground. Small ditches too, and cuttings, are very nice—and so are little streams that don’t call for much exertion on the part of the rider to enable her to get over them. If, however, your surroundings are not such as will admit of your practising over natural obstacles of an easy nature, have one or two artificial ones erected, in the shape of small hurdles, interwoven with gorse or some such matter, but strive to avoid taking your first leaps over a bar—a thing at which many horses are apt to go “slovenly,” owing to the fact that they see the daylight underneath, and have sense to know quite well that they are only being humbugged.
When you have acquired a certain amount of confidence over such trifling obstacles as I have mentioned, it will be well for you to enlist the services of a good rider, and ask him to pilot you over a few easy fences, and to show you the way through a gap or two, with perhaps a small ditch on the off or landing side. You must avoid being too ambitious, or over-confident, if you happen, fortunately, to get on well at first. The horse on which you practice should be a steady, easy jumper, neither too flippant nor at all apt to refuse, and you should ride him without a spur, until such time as you are qualified to take him into the hunting-field.