Ladies in the Field: Sketches of Sport

by Unknown

I do not think women are good judges of pace, and although they are seldom afraid of jumping, they hardly ever gallop. Men will say it is because they sit on one side and have not the power to make a horse gallop. This is obviously true in the case of many horses, but there are some who, roused by the nervous force in their riders, will gallop without being squeezed, and who want nothing more than to be held together and left alone.

There is a great deal of nonsense talked about "lifting" and "recovering" a horse. More horses have recovered themselves by being left alone in moments of difficulty than by all the theories ever propounded. When a horse pecks with a man he is thrown forward; a woman, if she is sitting properly and not hanging her toe in a short stirrup, is, if anything, thrown back, and, from the security of her seat, is able to recover her horse with more natural advantage than a man. A woman's seat is strong, but never balanced; a horse refusing suddenly to the left may upset her balance without moving her in her seat. When a horse bucks, from the very fact that to keep on, she must sit tight, it is so tiring that the chances are she will be bucked off sooner than a man. If she gets the least out of her saddle she cannot, by reason of the pommels, get back, whereas a horse may play cup and ball with a man for a long time without missing him.

There are two classes of hunters that a woman should not be mounted on; the two that Whyte Melville says want coercion.

"The one that must be steered, and the other smuggled over a country." A nervous, fractious brute will go as well, if not better, with a woman than with a man on him.

It is, I suppose, a want of independence in the feminine character that makes most women follow some particular man. They are nearly always beautifully mounted, and have keen enough observation to measure the height of a fence, and see the weak place. You will hear a man say to his wife,—"I must give Favourite a turn, dear, she is getting sticky," and he will take his wife's mare, an accomplished hunter, wise as a chaperon, and ride her with a cutting whip. It is probably the result of always following another horse, which has taken the spirit of emulation out of the mare, robbing her of a sense of responsibility and a chance of being among the first few in a fine run.

A man seldom rides as hard if he is followed by a lady. He loses his dash.

At one time no woman could fall without a certainty of being dragged by her habit skirt, or her stirrup; but now, at anyrate, that danger has been removed, by Scott's[1] apron skirt, and Mayhew's[ [1] patent side saddle.

I saw a narrow escape once, some years ago. A young lady of indifferent nerve, mounted by a male relative on an uncongenial horse, trotted slowly down hill to a high fence to see what was on the other side. The horse, supposing he was meant to jump the fence, not unnaturally proceeded to do so, much against the lady's will. Her weak resistance succeeded in landing him on his head, in a deep ditch on the other side. She fell off, and was hung up by her habit skirt. The horse recovered himself, and, feeling a heavy weight on one side of him, was seized with a panic of fear, and, laying back his ears, thundered along in the ditch which had a gravelly bottom. A gentleman, unconscious of what had happened, rode down to the fence from the other side, and cannoned upon landing against the loose horse and prostrate lady; they all rolled over together. As the lady's head had apparently been bumping the grass bank for some twenty yards, we supposed she was killed; but, on extrication, she was discovered to be unhurt. The man had broken his collar-bone. Her habit was of the old-fashioned kind, and did not give way.

Everyone has seen similar casualties, and men, as well as women, dragged on their heads; it is the most alarming part of hunting.

I am told that there is a great art in falling, and certainly it requires judgment to know when to hold on and when to let go of the reins. There can be nothing more exasperating to a man than to loose his horse in a trifling accident, when he has a first-rate place at the beginning of a run. A friend of mine looking over a dealer's yard stopped before a flea-bitten mare. He said he would like to see her run out, as she looked like suiting him. The dealer replied,—"I could not honestly recommend her to you, sir, she would run away with you." "But," said my friend, "she is the very animal I want! The last one I had ran away without me."