Do not worry the huntsman with questions about the proposed draws, or anything else. If you know him, salute him, and say a word or two, if you like, about his hounds, but never expect him to answer you; his mind is on other matters bent.
Do not indulge in loud talking, or conspicuous laughter, which will be certain to render you remarkable and bring many eyes upon you. A quiet, ladylike demeanour will always ensure admirers.
When the order is given to go, and the huntsman moves off in front with his hounds, contrive to keep as close to him as you can, without an appearance of “push.” This for the obvious reason that a fox is very often found the moment (or nearly so) that hounds are thrown into covert, and if you are on the spot, you may get well away with the pack; whereas, at the end of a long cavalcade, on a narrow and difficult roadway, it will be ten to one against your doing anything better than hunting a stern chase for the remainder of the run.
It has for long been a vexed question whether or not the hunting-field is a suitable place for ladies, and I am certainly not going to discuss it in extenso, especially in a necessarily limited space. One or two things concerning it I may, however, be permitted to say.
Firstly, that timid ladies, those mounted on badly broken horses, and others (a large community) who push for first place while in reality only fitted to take third (in company with wheezy old gentlemen on fat cobs, farmers on green colts, and the numerous company of confessed road-riders), are a very decided nuisance in the field; and, secondly, that ladies who possess courage (by which I do not mean the effrontery of ignorance and vanity combined), who are thoroughly well mounted, and who never get in anybody’s way, are, in my opinion, a charming addition to the delightful pleasures of the chase. If, then, you want to be considered an acquisition, be contented—especially if a beginner—to take second place: that is, not to force a way among the hard-riding lot, or expose yourself to the numerous perils which really first-flight men and women go out prepared to encounter—ay, and usually manage to get through safely, too, if not interfered with or endangered by second and third-class riders. By-and-by, when you have gained the knowledge and experience which getting up from the ranks will assuredly bring you, there will be an extra pleasure in finding yourself not only holding first place in the most difficult runs, but in knowing that you are qualified to hold it, and are justified in declining to yield it up to others who may not have won their spurs.
If, however, you desire to render yourself thoroughly obnoxious to everybody, you can set about it in this way. Select for your mount something that is both fidgetty and showy, yet utterly “incapable.” Whenever you attempt a fence keep your horse at it, whether you have any chance of getting over or not, to the exclusion of half the field. When you get on fair ground, gallop madly forward and override the hounds, if you chance by a “fluke” to get near enough to them to do so. When there is a check, and the pack fails in hitting off the scent at once, slash at the nearest of them with your hunting-whip, and tell the animal playfully that it is “a naughty dog not to hunt better.” Always make a point of crowding at gaps and gateways, when hounds and field are struggling to get through. Never fail to effect an intimate acquaintance with the master, and be sure to call the huntsman, when speaking of him, “Bill Simmonds” or “Jim Brown,” although “Simmonds” or “Brown” may be quite enough for other people. Always follow this last-mentioned functionary into covert, and speak to him all the time that he is anxiously watching his hounds. Should you happen to view the fox away, swell out your lungs for a good bellow of Tally ho-oooo! and gallop full tilt at him before ever a single hound has left covert, which wise proceeding will be certain to turn him back, and gain for you the blessings of all genuine lovers of sport. Finally, when the game at length breaks fair, rush away in advance of everybody else, with your chin to the sky, and your elbows flapping like the sails of a windmill; and when you have half-killed your ill-conditioned steed, and frightened the wits out of a score or two of old squires who have long ago lost their nerves (together with their appreciation of such “hard riding” as yours), then pull off, and dose everybody with whom you are acquainted, for the next week or two, with glowing accounts of the wonders that you performed on the opening day with the Dashshire hounds, and the merits, beauties, and achievments of the exquisite animal that carried you so brilliantly through the first run of the season. By adopting this mode of proceeding you will be certain to gain a host of admirers in the field, and will do much toward disabusing the public mind of the idea (very deeply implanted in it) that the hunting-field is not a place in which ladies ought to seek for sport.
Now, in conclusion, allow me in all seriousness to lay down a few maxims for your instruction. Never go to hunt without a good pilot. Young lovers are very nice for this purpose, although not always the safest. I recommend sharp old foxhunters, who know the country, and who will give you a judicious lead. If you cannot secure a trustworthy leader, dispense altogether with the services of one, and cut out a line for yourself, provided that you are mounted on a really first-class animal, one well up to your weight, and endowed with an infallible knowledge of where to put his feet. Keep the hounds in sight if you can, or, at any rate, within hearing, and ride rather wide of them, to right or left; never in their actual wake. Keep your horse well in hand all through, that he may not sprawl. Be quick at turning. Avoid, so far as is possible, deep heavy lands; and if traversing plough, keep along the headlands rather than pump your steed by galloping over ridge and furrow, as others frequently do. When obliged to get through gaps and gates put extra steam on when coming up to them, in order to be first; and if there is a crowd, hold your horse hard, and touch him lightly with your spur, that he may keep up his mettle and be ready to bound into full speed the instant you get clear of the ruck. If riding a young hot-blooded hunter, it will as a rule be safer for you to put him at a very big jump than to trust him in a crowded gangway. While riding hard, never so much as glance at the remainder of the field. Keep your eyes for your horse and for the leading hounds, so as to keep exactly with them, and check the very instant that they do.
Never distress your mount by taking unnecessary jumps. Don’t be a bit ashamed to make use of a convenient gate if you can get along with equal quickness that way; it will save your horse, and will enable you to hold your place much longer in the run; but, at the same time, never shirk a practicable jump when you want to go straight.
If riding a kicker, give warning to those in the rear of you to keep out of the way. Never jump over a fallen horseman; select another part of the fence to effect your leap. Do not continue to ride a beaten animal; pull off the moment that he hangs out signals of distress. When called upon to cross a ford, do so very cautiously, and if your horse makes a kind of forward plunge, and an attempt at swimming, throw him the reins at once or he will roll over. Do not on any account interfere with his mouth at such a time. Keep your left foot stuck well forward, or, better still, lift the leg right over the leaping-head, that it may not be struck by the horse’s hind foot—and at the same time take a firm grip of the up-pommel and the off-side of the saddle, to avoid being unseated when he makes his second plunge, which he will do the moment that he recovers his footing.
If the first run of the day be a good one, rest satisfied with it, and do not attempt another, unless you have a second horse out. If your mount should chance to lose a shoe, especially a fore one, make at once for the nearest forge. If one of the hind feet has sustained the loss, you may continue the run, provided the going is over soft ground—but when a fore shoe happens to go, pull off without a moment’s delay. I have always thought it an admirable plan to carry a shoe, or slipper, slung on (in its neat leather case) cavalry-wise, to the saddle. This, in case of accident, obviates the necessity of waiting at the forge while the smith manufactures one—and of course on arrival at home it can readily be changed for a more durable foot-protector. I have even known some sage old sportsmen carry in their pockets a little American hammer and nail-box in one, and do their own shoeing when they found themselves in difficulties and at a distance from professional aid.