Ladies in the Field: Sketches of Sport

by Unknown

For a right good place to find a fox, give me a smallish wood. As a rule, hounds come away from a wood settled to their fox, which is not the case from a gorse, the first whip having been sent on to view the fox away.

The field being placed by the master (who remains with them)[ [3] in a favourable position, our huntsman throws his hounds into covert, encouraging them to spread and draw, being careful that they are in front of his horse. When a well-known voice proclaims the hitting of the drag, he cheers the pack to that hound, calling it by name, as "Hark to Melody! Hark to her! Hark!" But they fly to one another of themselves, and shortly there is a grand cry.

One ring round the wood, and the whipper-in's "Tally-ho, gone awa-a-a-y" is heard, he having taken good care to let the fox well away before holloa-ing. The huntsman now makes his way as fast as possible to the holloa, at the same time blowing his horn for the information of the field—

—as the hounds leave the covert, well settled to the scent.

And now, I think, you can appreciate my preference of a wood to a gorse.

Then, what a scene of excitement. Men and women in such a fuss and hurry. In the whole lot only about three really calm and collected—the master (seeing a useful scent, and hounds with a fair start, is, for once in a way, delighted to say, "Catch them if you can!"), and an oldish man or two still able to take their part, if hounds really run.

Let me, like black care, sit behind one of these latter, and view the chase through his spectacles. He knows every gate and gap in the country for miles round, but this morning he sees he must desert his favourite paths if he wants to see the hounds run. All the dash of twenty years ago returns to him, as he slips his steady old hunter over a somewhat awkward corner, and (before most of the young ones take in the situation) is making the best of his way to the down-wind side of the now flying pack.[ [4]

Well, here we are. And, first, let us take a look at the hounds. For a scratch lot, they are well together, and the careful kennel management of the summer shows itself.

Now for the horsemen, see the hard gentleman of tender years galloping from sheer funk at fences, that one of the old school jumps out of the most collected canter. And then, oh, ye gods, the girls! brave beyond words, jamming their unfortunate horses into every sort of difficulty, with elbows squared, and the sole of their foot exposed to the astonished gaze of those behind them.