The Sportswoman's Library, Vol. 2 of 2
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Title: The Sportswoman's Library, Vol. 2 of 2
Editor: Frances E. Slaughter
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPORTSWOMAN'S LIBRARY, VOL. 2 OF 2 ***
The Sportswoman's Library.
Vol. II.
[Illustration: _From a Sketch by W. L. Wyllie, A.R.A._
_For The Sportswoman's Library._
_PUNTS RACING._
(_THE START._)]
THE
SPORTSWOMAN'S LIBRARY.
EDITED BY
FRANCES E. SLAUGHTER.
VOLUME II.
[Illustration]
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
W. L. WYLLIE, A.R.A., CUTHBERT BRADLEY,
AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS.
WESTMINSTER:
ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO.,
NEW YORK:
LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO.,
1898.
DEDICATED
BY PERMISSION TO THE
MARCHIONESS OF WORCESTER
A KEEN SPORTSWOMAN AND WIFE
OF ONE OF THE FOREMOST
SPORTSMEN OF THE AGE.
BIRMINGHAM:
PRINTED AT THE GUILD PRESS. 45, GREAT CHARLES STREET.
THE SPORTSWOMAN'S LIBRARY.
Vol. II.
Contents.
Preface.
1. Cruising and Small Yacht Racing on the Solent.
Miss Barbara Hughes.
2. Punt Racing. Mrs. W. L. Wyllie.
3. In Red Deer Land. Mrs. Penn-Curzon.
4. Chase of the Carted Deer. The Editor.
5. Women's Hunters. The Editor.
6. Otter Hunting. Mrs. Wardell.
7. Salmon Fishing, with Notes on Trout and Coarse Fishing.
Susan, Countess of Malmesbury.
8. Fly Fishing. The Editor.
9. Driving. Miss Massey-Mainwaring.
10. Cycling. Mrs. A. C. Hills.
11. Fancy Figures and Musical Rides. Miss Van Wart.
12. Tennis. Miss Maud Marshall.
Appendix A. Glossary of Nautical Terms.
Appendix B. Rules of Lawn Tennis.
PREFACE.
When I look at the completed MSS. of the first volumes of the
_Sportswoman's Library_, I feel deeply grateful to the many good
sportswomen who have aided me in my work, not only for the great
stores of practical knowledge they have brought to bear on the several
subjects of which we have treated, but for the way in which they have
collaborated with me. For this my warmest thanks are due to them one
and all.
The object we have placed before us, is to give women the information
and help they are not likely to find in those books, which are written
chiefly from a man's point of view, and we have therefore avoided, as
far as possible, trenching on ground that has been already adequately
covered by those who, to sportsmen and sportswomen alike, are the
best authorities on the various subjects. If, therefore, our writings
sometimes seem to be wanting in completeness, it is, I venture to
think, to be attributed to this cause.
When I first gathered round me the body of contributors, some of whom
were personally unknown to me, I could but feel that the many threads
I held in my hand might prove to be a very "tangled skein," before
the work was brought to completion. This foreboding, however, I am
glad to say, was entirely without foundation, for each writer threw
herself into her part with such genuine determination to do the best
she could for the _matter_ of her work, that the minor details as to
the _manner_ in which it should be given to the world, did not assume
undue proportions, and there has been nothing to throw the slightest
shadow over the harmony in which we have worked. That the effort we
have thus jointly made to give some help to our sister-sportswomen may
be successful, is to wish the writers the best reward they can have,
for the labour they have bestowed.
Besides my fellow workers, I have a debt of gratitude to discharge
to all who have so kindly assisted me. Foremost among these I must
acknowledge the valuable help given by Lady Gifford, Mrs. Pryse-Rice,
Mrs. Cheape, and Miss Lloyd, of Bronwydd, without whose assistance I
could not have ventured to write on the subject of Hare-Hunting: by
Mr. T. F. Dale, author of _The Game of Polo_, whose great practical
knowledge of sport has made him an invaluable referee on many important
questions: by another good sportsman, Captain the Hon. R. C. Drummond,
who generously gave me the benefit of his advice on matters which have
been a lifelong study to him: by Elizabeth, Lady Wilton; Lady Theodora
Guest, Lady Gerard, Lady Dorothy Coventry, Mrs. Wrangham, Mrs. T. E.
Harrison, Miss Serrell, Mr. C. H. Bassett, late Master of the Devon and
Somerset Staghounds; Mr. Ian Heathcoat-Amory, Master of the Tiverton
Staghounds; Mr. W. L. Wyllie, A.R.A.; Miss Maud Earl, Miss Walrond, Mr.
Cuthbert Bradley, Dr. Lewis Mackenzie, Miss Florence Ritson, and Mrs.
Dudley Smith.
I must also acknowledge the help so readily given by Mr. Charles
Lancaster, and Messrs. Holland and Holland, on the sport with
which their names are so closely connected, and I must thank those
photographers who have exercised their skill on our behalf, viz.:
Messrs. Lombardi and Co., who, from the first, have helped us largely;
Messrs. Lambert Weston, J. Weston and Son, Stuart, Becken, and A.
Debenham.
My thanks are also due to the Proprietors of _Baily's Magazine_, _The
Field_, _The Gentlewoman_, and _The Lady's Pictorial_.
Lastly, I must discharge the debt of gratitude I owe Messrs. A.
Constable and Co., for the unfailing courtesy I have met with at their
hands, and for the hearty way in which they have thrown themselves into
the interests of the book.
Whether we have all succeeded in our object, viz., to give clear,
practical directions to women in the several outdoor recreations of
which we have written, it is for our readers to determine, and on their
verdict will depend the extension of our plan to other branches of
sports and pastimes.
To the great body of sportsmen, who so far have held almost undisputed
sway in the realm of sporting literature, I would plead:
"Softly, my Masters!
Do me this right--hear me with patience."
The Editor.
Beeding,
March 31st, 1898.
[Illustration: _MISS BARBARA HUGHES._
_Debenham and Smith._ _Southampton._]
CRUISING AND SMALL YACHT RACING ON THE SOLENT.
How can I with my poor pen do justice to all the delights of yachting
as practised on the Solent? We need a nautical Whyte Melville to
describe the joys of yacht-racing, and the real good sport which is its
chief characteristic.
What an exciting game it is, how enthralling, how interesting, and more
important still, how wholesome. What a benefit for city men to get
right away to the sea, and enjoy such a complete change and relaxation
as this racing affords. And how much they do appreciate it is shown by
the number of little boats owned by stockbrokers and others who can
only get down occasionally, but, nevertheless, keep their boats out
the whole season through, so as not to lose the chance of a sail when
their opportunity comes. Not on the principle that race-horses are
kept, either, as every one knows there is no chance of a racing boat
doing more than pay her own way at best, for the prizes are barely
adequate to meet the expenses.
Yacht-racing makes quite a new interest in life. The clever
mathematician can find a large field for his energies in the designing
line, and the keen sailor a never-wearying delight in developing to the
utmost the powers of the boat confided to him.
How much better than the London drawing-room's close atmosphere is the
fresh sea air, and the delightful freedom of bounding over the waves in
a well-equipped craft, with the additional pinch of excitement afforded
by racing. Let me assure you no fear of sea-sickness need deter any.
Many of us would not be proof against a long Channel swell in a large
steamer, but the motion of our little boats over the diminished waves
inside the Wight, is not likely to upset any but the most pronounced
bad sailor.
Besides, the excitement of racing drives away all qualms of that sort,
sea-sickness being, I believe, in most cases the result of boredom
and nervous anticipation as much as anything else. No one could hate
"yachting" as generally accepted more than I do. Anything so boring
as a long sea voyage in a great lumbering schooner, I cannot imagine.
The fact of "being taken," in nine cases out of ten, "where one would
not," without having a hand in the matter, with a large crew of slow
men to do all the work and take all the fun off one's hands, is to me
nothing but an aggravation. The deliberate "cut and dried" way in which
everything is done, the foresail being lowered and the peak eased when
about two miles from the moorings, and such cautious measures, fidget
me to death. There is this about racing, that one can never enjoy
cruising in the same way after one has experienced its far superior
joys. I must say, however, it is rather nice after the scrimmage of
a long day's racing, to get on board a solid old cruiser and bundle
peacefully home. But woe betide you if the wind is ahead, for you won't
get home that night. No, you must be of a very leisurely disposition,
and a great lover of Nature, for you to appreciate stereotyped
cruising. This kind of thing is about as different from our Solent
yachting, as the Derby is from a Margate donkey ride.
Of course I can understand the pleasure of cruising if the owner is
also master of his vessel, but such a state of things is the exception,
the owners mostly passing their time in standing about deck, or having
large meals below, utterly oblivious of their course, their compass,
or anything else. This must be a very stagnant amusement at the
best, impossible to an energetic disposition, and only suited to an
invalid, or man in his declining years. To people who lack any sporting
instincts, racing, I suppose, seems ridiculous, but if they love the
sea let them learn all about it, and navigate their own vessels like
men, instead of being mere passengers on board their own craft, while
their skipper is getting all the fun. Some women have taken their own
line in this matter, and having mastered the science of navigation,
are most enthusiastic on the subject, realising how it enhances a
hundred-fold the pleasures of a sea voyage.
The news of a large schooner being on the stocks now-a-days comes as
a surprise, as this type of vessel has almost entirely gone out of
fashion in this country. That is to say, though there are still several
to be seen about, the old ones being used because they are too good
to throw away, so to speak, no new ones have been built for years.
The advantages of steam are so great for cruising and travel, that
they outweigh the more pleasant sensation of sailing, which is the
schooner's only claim to superiority. The difference in the expense is
not very great after all, as you require double the crew in a sailing
craft, and at least double the time to accomplish your distance. So if
you want to get--say to Gibraltar--the chances are, that the extra time
for which you are paying your crew, would easily cover your coal bill
on the steamer. The auxiliary in nine cases out of ten proves a simple
farce. Many, I know, have never once set their sails. It requires all
the crew of an "out-and-out" sailing boat, and also the great unwieldly
spars, which make it a bad sea boat when not under canvas. I would only
recommend an auxiliary to a real wanderer, a born "man of the sea" like
Lord Brassey, for whom of course there is nothing like it. The variety
afforded in sailing and steaming on a lengthened sea trip, must be
attractive and resting, and when both courses are open, you would not
need to carry so much coal as in a steamer, or endure the wearisome
hours becalmed in a heavy swell, which are such a drawback to sailing.
The discomfort people will endure in the name of yachting, has always
been a marvel to me. The less they know about the life on board, the
more you will find they patiently put up with. They seem to think
because they are on a yacht, cleanliness, _cuisine_, even elbow-room
itself, should be entirely abjured. The miseries that rational,
civilised human beings will suffer in this respect, is a constant
source of wonder, to those who know how unnecessary they are. Not that
these sufferers do not like yachting, for they are even persuaded to
put their foot on board a yacht a second time after such experiences.
It is only novices in the game, however, that you will find suffering
these deprivations, for, believe me, there is no need for them. Do not
overcrowd your vessel, or cut her accommodation up into about a dozen
little cabins, into which you would not put a dog on land. You really
require double the room for living afloat that you do ashore, as even
your exercise has to be taken on board. There is nothing to prevent
your having most home comforts, a boiling hot sea-water bath every
morning, for example, and your meals served as well as they are in your
own house. Neither need you have a bed only two feet wide, so that
it is impossible to turn over without parting with the bedclothes. It
is no longer necessary to go about on all fours, even in a 20-tonner,
any size below which I would not recommend for a night's lodging.
[Illustration: _DAPHNE AND LIL._
_West and Son._ _Southsea._]
It is the custom of builders to furnish a small saloon with gigantic
sideboards, or lockers, as they are called. These are ugly, clumsy,
superfluous impediments, which are only made into receptacles for
every sort of rubbish, and take up an immense amount of room. There
is no need to have your store cupboard in the drawing-room, as by a
little ingenuity ample room can be devised in the pantry, and in a
safe on deck. Another plan is to have a passage down the side from
forward right away aft, which obviates the perpetual disturbance of
the stewards passing through your sitting-room. There is then only
one door, which necessarily makes a much cosier room. Unless you are
an assured good sailor, do not be beguiled into occupying the "after
cabin," which is likewise called the "ladies' cabin." How it earned
this appellation I am at a loss to explain, as I was always brought up
to suppose ladies came first, and if they are relegated to the after
cabin they very decidedly come off second-best. There is twice the
motion aft that there is in the middle of the vessel, and in a steamer
you feel twice the vibration, beside being right over the screw.
How one gets spoilt! I remember sailing about as proud as Punch in
an old Itchen ferry boat, with ragged sails and tarred topsides. The
distances we used to cover, and the weather we went through in this
old _Zephyr_ are a wonder to look back upon. The whole day, from nine
in the morning till nine at night, used to be spent on board, and the
experience never palled, as far as I remember. Large lunches were
always provided, in case of our getting becalmed, or stuck on the mud,
both very frequent occurrences. We were always out to tea, and to boil
the kettle in a choppy sea was the great excitement. There was only
a kind of dog-hole place forward, where this important function took
place. It was a severe test for the best "sailor" to balance a hot
lamp, head over ears in methylated spirits, the hot fumes of which
inundated the small cabin, while she patiently waited till the water
boiled.
It was even worse at night, when a smelly paraffin lamp which would
have made the atmosphere almost unbearable ashore, had to be endured,
and in a small and lively boat was certainly trying. When we were
"caught out" on our way home from some long expedition, the unfortunate
women of the party used to be thrust into this salubrious resort,
ostensibly for their own comfort, really and truly, to get them out
of the way. That _was_ a place, when there were half a dozen women in
there, a paraffin lamp, and the door shut! If one of us ventured so
much as to open a chink of door, it was instantly shut again, with
such exclamations from our male tyrants as--"Whatever you want to come
out for, into all this wet and cold, when you can be warm and cosy in
there, I can't think," upon which the brow-beaten female crawled back
disconsolate into her lair, muttering rebelliously. And yet we were
nothing daunted. Out we would be again with the dawn, to go through all
the same thing without a dissenting thought.
We had not even the luxury of a paid hand in those days, my brother,
and my sisters and myself doing all the work, which was a splendid
education in more ways than one. I reluctantly confess I am spoilt for
this sort of thing now, though I shall always look back upon the time
with pleasure, and I very much doubt if it was not one of the most
enjoyable experiences in my life. It was all so new, so different from
inland amusements, and I then learnt that a sea life has a charm all
its own.
In 1888 we hired a 40-ton old-fashioned yawl called the _Fox_, with
which we went in for the regular stereotyped cruising, as generally
accepted. It was not a success, and I cannot say I enjoyed it. My back
was always aching from stooping, and there was a permanent bruise on my
head from constant impact with the beams. Besides, we were always being
thwarted in our most urgent desires by the weather--as the skipper
said--_really_ by the incompetence of the vessel to cope with the
elements. It was never worth while for instance starting with a head
wind, as the time the yawl would take in accomplishing any distance,
would have worn even Job's patience to a shadow.
Of course we share the sailor's love of fishing, and two large trawlers
have been built at Brixham, by my brother and brother-in-law, for the
special purpose. The _Goddess_ was a huge great yawl, most comfortable
below, and a grand sea boat. We did plenty of trawling in her, miles
outside the Eddystone, and made some grand hauls. She had an enormous
great trawl-beam, and steam to get it with. Night was the best time
for fishing, and we were not spared if we happened to be enjoying our
beauty sleep, when the momentous four hours were up. The row of course
would have awaked the dead, and so we scrimmaged into our clothes and
rushed on deck ready to claw the great net on board. A waterproof
overall and indiarubber boots were essential for this performance,
and old gauntlet gloves were a precaution against stinging fish,
advisable for the uninitiated. What a grand sight it was. Picture a
bright moonlight night, when you were alone on the great rolling ocean,
nothing in sight except perhaps the fitful gleam of the Eddystone in
the far distance. The great vessel with shortened sail, dipping and
curtseying to the proud billows which toyed with her bulky form, as
though it was nothing more than a feather. Then amidst great shouting
and racket, the huge trawl-beam was brought slowly alongside, and the
heavy net was clawed on board full of treasures from "the hallowed
precincts of the deep." What a flippering was there, from whiting,
soles, red mullet, etc., etc. What wonderful curiosities do live in
Davey Jones' locker. All kinds of leggy, finny, and jelly mollusca,
none of them very appetising in appearance, and most of them imbued
with some formidable means of defence, such as a sting or a prickle.
Once we got two enormous dog-fish, measuring five foot long, they were
a great nuisance, as they cut the net all to pieces and were no good to
man or beast.
One of the best hauls we ever made was in the _Wayfarer_, my brother's
trawler, between Torquay and Dartmouth, when we had the whole deck full
of fish, mostly whiting and soles, and the trouble was to get rid of
them, even though we supplied every one in Dartmouth, and that in the
time of the regatta.
Brixham and Bosham fishermen are much pleasanter to deal with than
the self-styled "Yachtsmen," and they give much less trouble, do more
work and require less wage. The custom of making a friend of the
"Captain" is a huge mistake, as these individuals are usually the most
wholesale extortioners that exist. The exorbitant wages they demand
for filling a luxurious billet would stagger a longshoreman, and the
petty pilferings, nominally perquisites, in which they indulge are
what really make yachting so expensive. The familiar manner of some of
these brass-bound autocrats is simply atrocious. They seem to consider
themselves complete masters of the situation, and treat the owner and
his friends as so much superfluous cargo to be ordered about at their
desire. This, without any exaggeration, is the state of things on
numerous yachts I could name, more especially those with lady-owners.
To turn now to clothes, that all important point to members of my sex.
I can only venture to suggest the merest hints, as really it is not a
subject on which I am an authority, that is to say, if one is supposed
to practise what one preaches. Brown in any form is to be avoided on
the water, it is unspeakably ugly, and a number of people dressed in
brown on a boat would destroy its appearance, be it never so smart.
Nothing looks so well as white and red, or dark blue, but not black.
Blue gauze veils are useful, but not ornamental, though a broad-brimmed
sailor hat embraces both these virtues.
I have been twice to the Mediterranean, once in a sailing boat, the
_Goddess_, and once in a steam yacht, the _Normania_. So I will close
my cruising yarns with a description of what we experienced at the
hands of a Greek pilot. We were between the Piræus and Corfu one
evening when it came on suddenly very dark and dirty. Being a very
determined party of women on board, we made a stand for taking shelter
behind one of the islands. We all "held a board" on the chart, but
could see no harbour of refuge equal to sheltering our sumptuous craft.
The little Greek pilot however proved equal to the occasion. Pointing
out a small indentation in the coast, he urged us to confide in him,
and he would guarantee us a peaceful night. Accordingly we slowed down
the engines, and made for a faint red light. The chart, by the bye,
said this light should be green, but that was neither here nor there.
There was a rocky promontory sticking out with a lighthouse on the end,
where was the aforesaid red light that should have been _green_. This
our valiant pilot steered straight for. It was blowing a sirocco, with
thick rain and a heavy sea, nevertheless we all stood on the bridge to
watch the hazardous venture. On we went, straight for the rocks where
the rollers were breaking. It was becoming decidedly interesting, and
as the chart evidently did not consider the place worth its serious
attention, we could no longer look to that for guidance. Very soon
the darkness and hurly-burly of the storm lifted for a second, and
displayed a most disorganizing prospect. We were almost on the beach on
the starboard side, and could have thrown a biscuit into the lighthouse
window on the port, and there was land right ahead. We were in a little
pocket, a neck of rocks which ran parallel to the coast, taking the
fury of the waves, and affording a good shelter. But a tighter place
for a five hundred ton vessel could not be imagined. When we looked
out of our ports in the morning, we were still more astonished, for
without exaggeration we could have held easy converse with the people
ashore all round the vessel, while our bow positively overshadowed the
small quay. It was a place into which one would have hesitated to take
a 50-tonner with twin screws in broad daylight, and for a 500-tonner to
get in safely in a howling hurricane, and when it was pitch dark, was
indeed a feat of ingenuity.
Of course it entailed backing out, but as the yacht fortunately was a
very handy vessel, this was safely accomplished. Such little incidents,
which lend a piquancy to cruising dispel the monotony, and while they
keep up the interest in the manipulation of your vessel, also serve to
entertain your friends on getting home.
Yacht-racing is in every respect a sport suited to our sex. No unseemly
gymnastics, no over-straining or over-tiring, no cruelty can be laid
to its charge, in fact nothing to offend the most exacting upholder of
the feminine. Yet Yacht-racing is open to abuse, though even here in a
lesser degree, perhaps, than other amusements. Where it stands alone,
is that in it a woman can compete on equal terms with man.
Yacht-racing needs much study, and should not be attempted till the
ordinary art of sailing is thoroughly understood. It is the most
delightful education in the world, the most interesting and healthful.
It becomes so engrossing you will not rest till you understand the
whole thing, and know the why and wherefore of all the different moves.
It is not advisable to order a boat of your own till you have served
an apprenticeship as "hand." Very few people are now contented to go
as "hand" or "crew," every one preferring to "paddle his own canoe."
Nevertheless it is delightful to go in a well managed boat where you
have full confidence in the skipper, and a beginner should certainly
not be above it. She will then see how much there is in "handling,"
and realize how many races are won solely by clever management and
attention to small details. At any rate do not attempt to have a boat
of your own for the first time until you have secured an experienced
racing skipper. When you have done this be guided by him entirely to
start with, only you will do well to be still more particular than
he is in adhering to the Yacht Racing Association Rules, which of
course you should know by heart. If you are racing do what the skipper
tells you instantly, and do not wait to ask the reason first, do that
afterwards.
The great secret of racing is to keep your wits about you, do
everything "smartly," never hesitate or waver between two opinions at
a critical moment, for that will merely lose you the race. The need of
prompt decision is one of the most exciting features of racing, now it
has been brought to such perfection. One _faux pas_ and you are done if
the wind stops true, but on the other hand it seldom answers to give
up, as you need never despair of the wind veering round and coming to
the rescue, even if you have made a blunder. To be really good in a
boat you should have done some single-handed work, but this is not to
be recommended until you are well grounded in the rudiments of sailing,
or you will very shortly be "well grounded" on something harder still.
The single-handed matches in one-raters which were witnessed in 1895
and 1896 were excellent trials of skill, as was shown by the results.
It is impossible to exaggerate the difficulty of sailing those boats
single-handed in rough weather, for it is a task worthy of a Sandow and
a Carter rolled into one, and the greatest _kudos_ is therefore due to
those sportsmen who brought their boats safely across the winning line.
There were some "lame ducks" too, through no fault of their own, and
many I regret to say made but a poor show of their prowess. There is
plenty of variety, however, in racing without going to any extremes,
or attempting impossibilities like those single-handed matches. A
half-rater would be quite as much as one man could manage properly in
rough weather.
[Illustration: _Becken._ _Cowes._
_ONE-RATERS AT COWES._]
Every year affords fresh interests, as the type of boat alters, for
there is skill required to get them into trim and learn their ways.
Each individual boat, too, wants different handling, and it will often
be a surprise to an adept in one boat, to find himself quite adrift in
another. Steering has been steadily becoming more difficult hitherto,
but now I fancy there will be a return to the fixed rudders we began
with, which are much easier to handle than the balanced ones of later
years. The business will not then be as fidgety, or require such close
attention, as with balanced rudders your boat which may be ever so
light on her helm, will be constantly veering about and getting off her
course, if you do not keep an undeviating watch on your steering. Of
course it all makes it more interesting, because more difficult, but in
a way it is not an advantage for the helmsman to be entirely engrossed
with his steering, unless he can conscientiously rely on his "crew" to
do the rest.
To enjoy racing to the full you should have it all in your own hands
with no one to say you "nay," otherwise that spirit of independence--so
rarely enjoyed by our sex--is lost. The sensation of being master of
your own vessel, with the helm in your hand and a willing crew to
do your commands, unquestionably, these are elements which should
be experienced to be enjoyed. As a man is dependent on his eye for
shooting, his hands for driving, his pocket for betting, so does he
depend on his wits for sailing. To be a good skipper you must above all
things have a clear head and plenty in it, for there is much to learn
and to keep up. Yacht racing has now attained to a pitch of perfection
verging on science, and to succeed in it you must have observation,
self-control, perseverance, good ready judgment and self-reliance,
besides many other qualities too numerous to mention, such as patience
and cheerfulness. There is nothing to compare to yacht-racing in my
opinion for a woman's sport, calling into play as it does all these
qualities, besides giving the wholesome enjoyment of an ocean life.
I began my racing career practically in 1886, though I had had some
experience with a little boat called _Fairy_, which my father had
bought from Picket of Southampton. This boat had been built for letting
out to pleasure-parties, and was nearly as broad as she was long. Some
years before this he--my father--had built the 60-tonner _Vanguard_,
and as he was a great connoisseur on boats he made a good hit in buying
the little pleasure-boat, _Fairy_. She and the _Bird o' Freedom_ were
the pioneers of that now famous body the Solent classes. With some
slight alterations to the keel, and with the addition of a large jib to
the sail plan, little _Fairy_ proved herself capable of beating the
_Bird o' Freedom_, which was then the greatest flyer of the day. This
caused some surprise to the faculty--who were few in those days--and
some of them decided to try and beat her the following season.
Consequently 1886 saw the _Minima_ and _Tootsie_ added to the list, and
some jealous competitions ensued.
[Illustration: _West and Son._ _Southsea._
_READY FOR THE START._
(_MYNAH, HOOPOO, STORK, AND MOLLY._)]
The Royal Southampton and Portsmouth Corinthian Yacht Clubs came to the
rescue and gave fortnightly matches for the small craft, as well as
for the 25 and 30 footers. Then the fun grew fast and furious, for the
small boat racing having been given the necessary fillip, the designers
put their best foot foremost and the sport was fairly started. A
motley crew it was that assembled off the Town Quay every Saturday
fortnight. Most of the boats were of the nice little cruiser type,
slow as a country dinner party, nevertheless so enshrouded in canvas
as to present a most sporting appearance. Any deficiency in design was
balanced by unlimited additions in canvas, no expense being spared
in sailcloth to make up the necessary speed. And how zealous was the
competition! Life and death might have hung on the issue, judging by
the ardour and agility displayed in the management of the boats.
"Every dog has his day," and this was the heyday of the Dauntless
Amateur. An eager, perspiring, undefeated creature was he! Minus hat
and socks, having shed all superfluities in clothing, he gallantly
plied his task before the mast. Any effort to persuade him further
aft, or into the "well," were unavailing. He loved to stand boldly
up forward, the wind running riot through his hair, the poor boat
shoving along all out of trim, owing to his misplaced weight, while he
gallantly stood at attention, eager to signify that he was "ready for
anything." However we shall see our hatless, sockless friend no more,
his place being now filled by the peerless Itchen ferryman at thirty
shillings a week.
The richest man now has the best boat, and if he does not get it the
first time he goes on building till he succeeds. The same with the
crew, the man with well-lined pockets gets all the best men by paying
the best wages. But still even the designers are not wholly responsible
for what their craft will turn out, as was proved by Sibbick building
the unsuccessful _White Rose_ for the Duke of York. Other cases I could
also mention where money was no object, and boat after boat untiringly
turned out for the same owner, yet without success. Then some lucky
man may get a boat from the same designer which will clear the board
for two or three seasons, her capacities having been all unknown to the
designer himself.
How we managed in those days of unlimited canvas with only two hands
remains a mystery. What with the enormous topsail and all the extra
gear it entailed, the long spinnaker, boom, etc., and the largest
mainsail that could be crammed on, the wonder is that we ever gybed
round a mark at all, without capsizing the whole lot overboard. The
gear of course was very much stouter and the boats slower on their
helms than they are now, or it could not have been done. We have the
same crew on a one-rater now that we used to have on the 25-footer
_Lil_, which is most astonishing to think of when we compare the two
boats. True they are practically the same _length_, but with what a
difference in build. The _Lil_ was a regular ship with her enormous
spars and canvas, and her well timbered heavy hull and large cabin,
whereas these little one-raters are mere cockle shells without half
the amount of gear, nor are they nearly so hard on it. Nevertheless,
anyone will tell you it is impossible now-a-days to manage a one-rater
properly with less than two hands, and _that_ with only two sails
instead of four.
The first race I think ever sailed by women was between us--my sisters
and myself--in the _Fairy_, and the Miss Coxes in their sister ship
_Colinette_, I believe the Miss Hammersleys also formed part of the
rival crew. I have but a vague recollection of the whole thing, being
too young at the time really to grasp the situation in its full value,
or for it to make any great impression on my mind, as I was always
being taken racing in some boat or other. In 1885, we were again
rivals in _Verena_ and _Lil_, one of the Miss Coxes always going in
the former, and one of us in the _Lil_. These were great wholesome
boats with enormous sails, and we managed to do a lot of cruising
between the races, which in those days only took place once a week. The
_Lil_ had quite a nice deep cabin which was the pride of our lives,
pictures being hung in every available space, and little curtains and
cushions to match. Little _Fairy_ meanwhile was "not quite dead yet,"
and in 1888 "came up smiling" to fight the battle and the breeze in
a resuscitated form. That year she proved herself no mean opponent,
and succeeded in making the same figure of merit as _Thalassa_, the
champion of the previous year. This success was due to a fin keel, an
experiment of my father's which has since been through almost every
imaginable variation, and still holds sway in a modified form among the
smaller classes.
In 1887, Miss Cox built the _Madcap_ at Payne's, and divided the honour
with _Thalassa_, also a two-and-a-half-rater by Payne. The latter
belonged to Colonel Bucknill, whose daughters are now so well known on
the Solent. Miss Bucknill is indeed much sought after as a helmswoman,
and with good cause, as she has learnt the work thoroughly and is as
proficient at the helm as she is on the jib sheet. Her father has raced
steadily every season since 1886, and she has almost always accompanied
him and shared in the work most gallantly. I cannot be quite sure if we
sailed _Fairy_ or _Lil_ that year, 1887, but I think both went to the
line, my brother also designed a five-rater with but little success,
being young he had to buy his experience of course, and learnt the
advisability of going to Arthur Payne in future.
The year 1889 was a memorable one for us, as we were fortunate enough
to possess the champion two-and-a-half-rater by Payne. _Hummingbird_
was a charming boat in every respect, comparatively roomy, a good sea
boat, and a wonderful performer to windward. She gained twenty-five
firsts and four seconds, out of thirty-eight starts, and succeeded
in routing three creations of the famous G. L. Watson. It was one of
these, the _Thief_, which my sister, Mrs. Schenley, had the misfortune
to possess. A most uncomfortable little craft it was. Only about five
foot beam, with decks like sieves, and we were all crammed into little
holes or cockpit places with only our head and shoulders out, for
all the world like chickens coming out of an egg. That was really my
introduction to racing. I had to work hard, as it was not the boat to
take people in who did nothing. We were fortunate in securing Charlie
Devis, who is now considered almost if not quite the best skipper on
the Solent. He was then little more than a boy, so we were all young
and enthusiastic together, and despite the many drawbacks I think
we all enjoyed that season thoroughly. At any rate we were nothing
daunted, and only waited till the next year to renew our efforts in a
five-rater of the same type.
[Illustration: _West and Son._ _Southsea._
_THIEF._]
This was also Lord Dunraven's début on the Solent, and he was not
much better off than we were, having a sister ship to ours, by name
_Cosette_. Therefore, with the _Queen Mab_, _G.G._, _Lady Nan_ (Mrs.
Rudstan Reid), _Thalassa_ and _Madcap_ (Miss Cox), we had to be content
to compete for second honours, the _Hummer_ always carrying off the
first.
I might here put in a word in season, on the evils resulting from
keeping rival boats in the family. The battles are bound to be
re-fought over the domestic board again in the evening, and of the
two the wordy war is by far the most bitter and lasting. The envy and
jealousy of the defeated cannot fail to show itself, and even the
conqueror owes the other a grudge, for having so much as dared to get
in his way at the start! We learnt the lesson in 1887, and have kept
studiously clear of each other's hunting grounds ever since, even
counselling our friends not to put our fidelity to so severe a test as
to join the same class. It was this year that Mr. Philip Perceval made
his début with the _Lollypop_, a boat he bought from Mr. St. Julien
Arabin. Since that time Mr. Perceval has been an enthusiastic member of
yacht-racing circles, and is now almost as well known on the Solent as
Calshot Castle. Most lucky in his boats, whatever he touches must turn
to gold, and besides this phenomenal luck, he has unrivalled skill at
the helm and in the general manipulation of the craft. So his racing
record must be indeed a remarkable one. Perhaps some day he will be
persuaded to publish it, in all its branches.
At the end of this season, a ladies' match was sailed in the sister
ships _Cosette_ and _Queen Mab_. Miss Bucknill was at the helm of the
former, and Miss Harvey had the _Queen Mab_. It is much to be regretted
that Miss Harvey did not persevere in her racing career, as she showed
much ability and came of a nautical family. Her father, Mr. E. Harvey,
was well known as one of the original members of the squadron. The race
was very interesting and well managed, but far be it from me to say
which proved herself the better steerer. Lord Dunraven and Mr. Perceval
who now had the racing fever, had both built five-raters at Payne's
and divided the honours in that class. Mrs. Schenley determined to
make another experiment with Mr. Watson's design in the five-raters.
The _Valentine_, however, was a worse failure than the _Thief_ had
been, _Glycera_ and _Alwida_ being always first and second. The stern
chase became rather wearisome, and we did not keep at it so steadily
as we should have, only starting twenty-six times to the others forty.
We managed to pick up five first and four second prizes, chiefly in
light weather. The _Babe_, Mr. Payne's design, was champion of the
two-and-a-half-raters, and poor old _Hummer_, which had served us in
such good stead the year before, was clearly worsted. She was beginning
the season in her old style, when the dreaded advent of the _Babe_ put
an end to her prosperous career, and she had a hard struggle till the
end of the season to keep up her old traditions. I sailed many times
on _Hummer_ and _Cock-a-whoop_, my brother's two-and-a-half-rater,
and on the former I said less, but thought the more, as my father's
seamanship was undisputed, and his tactics a wonder to behold. That
year the inventive genius of Mr. Clayton, champion designer of the old
length classers, produced the _Dolphin_, also a two-and-a-half-rater.
She was looked at with decided disapproval and some disgust by the
rival faculty, as her over-hang was considered a crafty mode of
cheating the rule. So it was, and continues to be to this day in a
still larger degree, but after all it is the designer's object to
get as much as he can out of the rule, without paying for it in time
allowance. Miss Cox and her sister, now Mrs. Rudston Reid, both built
two-and-a-half-raters, which they sailed most conscientiously but
without much success. Miss Cox's _Mliss_ did the better of the two, the
_Troublesome_ not being a morsel of use except in light air. However,
it was a very strong class, and of course _every_ one could not expect
to win. Mrs. Schenley was at last persuaded, in 1891, to give Payne
an order, and he proved himself fully equal to the trust confided
in him, by producing that most delightful of boats the _Windfall_.
Seaworthiness, dryness, roominess, and lightness of helm were some
of her qualifications, besides her exceptional speed. War to the
knife ensued between us and Mr. Perceval, who had likewise got a new
five-rater from Payne. We came out of the fray each with thirty-four
flags, _Windfall's_ string however being the better by six firsts,
indicated her superiority by six conquests out of the forty deadly
conflicts. These struggles have never been renewed, the ordeal having
been too great for both sides.
The small pickings left over and above, namely nine first prizes and
twelve second, were shared by _Alwida_ and _Iernia_ respectively. The
latter boat, one of Fife's failures, was owned by that genial Irishman,
Mr. Langrishe, who had previously sold the famous _Samæna_ to join the
ranks of the owners of the smaller classes, to which he has remained
faithful ever since. He placed his confidence from the first in young
Mr. Charles Nicholson, who ultimately proved more than equal to the
trust reposed in him, and he designed the _Dacia_ in 1892. Miss Cox
was again at a discount with a most unattractive two-and-a-half-rater,
she called _Fiera_. This was one of the hard-mouthed type, and
wanted a fresh wind and a strong man at the helm. She gave a good
account of herself however on such occasions, and ran up a better
record than _Mliss_. Miss Harvey was the possessor of a very pretty
two-and-a-half-rater called _Undine_, built from a design by Mr.
Clayton. This last was still more of an advance towards the type of
the present day, and no doubt would have made a good performance then
if she had been raced. She only showed up once or twice, however, and
so of course never had a chance of getting into trim or anything else.
Possibly Miss Harvey was put off by a collision she had with the
_Windfall_ during the Cowes week. It was very unfortunate, but not her
fault as I can testify. Nevertheless it was none the better for that,
and I remember pointing out the best place on the _Windfall_ for her
to ram with the least danger. _Undine's_ bowsprit accordingly went
clean through _Windfall_, just forward of the mast, and then the two
boats got locked together and the spars began falling about our ears.
There was a strong wind and a still stronger tide, and we were rapidly
driven under the bows of a large steamer _Gladwyn_. The _Undine_ had
the inside berth between _Windfall_ and _Gladwyn_, and as _Windfall_
got across the tide she fairly ground poor little _Undine's_ frail
hull till the timbers groaned again. Meanwhile the gallant crew of the
_Gladwyn_ insisted on dragging us ladies up over the bows, and this was
the most alarming part of all, as it was such a height. The owner of
the _Gladwyn_, who was in the Squadron at the time, was much surprised
a little later to see a strange lot of rather dilapidated females,
being rowed ashore in his gig.
[Illustration: _West and Son._ _Southsea._
_NADADOR._]
I must not forget to mention that lively little club at Bembridge,
situated on a remote corner of the Wight, near to which is the double
attraction of a superior golf-links. The Bembridge Sailing Club, or
"B and S" Club, as it is irreverently called, was started in 1889 by
Colonel Moreton and Major du Boulay. Some of the rules were nothing if
not eccentric, and I am told the favourite hour for match sailing was
about midnight. The women were duly considered in this club, and most
ably did they acquit themselves in the one design class.
Miss Sutton was tempted out to the more easterly regattas, when she had
a half-rater called _Wee-Winn_, of which more later on. Miss Moreton,
Miss Hallows, and Mrs. Dudley Ward and her daughters, were among the
other Bembridge sailoresses, though of course many more came down in
August to this cheerful little resort.
The next year, 1892, both our family boats were beaten by a new talent,
young Mr. C. Nicholson. It was a great thing bringing a new brain to
bear on the matter, as for the previous five years Arthur Payne had
held the whole sway, and prior to that Mr. Clayton. These boats went
quite fast enough to make a good race of it amongst themselves, and
though they assuredly were hard to beat yet they _were_ beaten by the
_Dacia_ in the five-rater, and the _Gareth_ in the two-and-a-half-rater
class. The latter was the property of Mr. Henderson, who was indeed
fortunate, as he was a complete novice, to own the champion of three
seasons. Lord Dudley bought _Dacia_ from Mr. Langrishe in the middle of
the season for a fabulous price, nevertheless the latter was generally
to be seen at the helm. Lord Dunraven's _Cyane_, from Mr. Payne's
design, was at the old game of shovelling the first prizes into her
locker, until _Dacia_ came out and put a stop to it. The pace of this
flyer soon spread dismay in the class, which was not very well filled
even at first, and soon no one could be got to start against her,
until she went down to Torbay to show a boastful Scotch antagonist the
way round the course. The rivalry between North and South is always
exceedingly bitter, but latterly the Scotchmen have not thought it
_infra dig._ to come to the South for their best designs in the small
classes. It would be more patriotic, to say the least of it, if the
best Clyde amateurs were to challenge us in their home manufactures,
otherwise their triumphs are but reflected glories after all.
[Illustration: _West and Son._ _Southsea._
_MORWENA, STEERED BY MISS SUTTON._]
A little stranger from over the water appeared this year (1892), to the
order of Miss Winnie Sutton. _Wee Winn_, however, did not belie her
somewhat ambitious appellation, as is often the case. On the contrary,
she amply fulfilled it, and the tiny Yankee did her country great
credit, and that in what we flattered ourselves to be a very formidable
class. She had nine competitors from four different designers, and
yet fairly walked round the lot. Her performances were the signal
for further Yankee inroads, and 1893 saw two American boats, namely
_Meneen_ and _Morwena_, added to the list. So now there was an American
in all three classes from two-and-a-half downwards, and to our shame
be it said each one headed her class. It was not till the year 1897
either, that _Meneen_ may fairly be said to have been outclassed, her
construction also was a masterpiece of lightness and durability. Her
record was forty prizes in forty-nine starts, and this with seven
rivals, one of Mr. Nicholson's design and one of Mr. Payne's included.
Mrs. Hardie Jackson constantly accompanied her husband in _Meneen_, and
was as at home on the water as she is known to be in the saddle. This
was not a propitious year for South coast designers, as Fife held the
laurels in the five and likewise in the twenty class. The twenties
were a new institution promoted by Lord Dunraven, and they flourished
for four years as Solent classes, but last season (1897) no new ones
came to the line except towards the end of July.
In 1893 the race programmes were almost too well stocked, the scrimmage
on the line to get the start being a sight to behold, especially in
the one-rater class. There were considerably over a dozen of these,
and almost as many half raters, all determined to get the start of the
others over the line, and that sometimes a very narrow one as in the
Hamble river. The _Morwena_, champion of her class, was owned by one of
the sisters of Miss Winnie Sutton, and though her success did not cause
such a stir as _Wee Winn's_, she made almost as good a record. Miss
Cox's luck again failed her in _Kismet_, a two-and-a-half rater built
by Payne. I believe she also was a very hard boat to steer, in fact
worse than _Fiera_. My brother sailed the majority of races that year
in _Gareth_, whose performance was a good one but not so good as the
_Meneen's_. _Gareth_ started five times more than _Meneen_ and won two
more prizes, but _Meneen's_ figure of merit came out the highest. These
two consequently pretty well monopolised the prizes, but a few being
left for the other six, of which _Kismet_ picked up two firsts and six
seconds.
Mr. Jessop was the owner of the _Molly_, twenty rater, and _Coquette_,
half rater. He consequently often required a helmswoman for the latter,
which office he kindly offered me. Little _Coquette_ was an extremely
fast boat of Mr. Nicholson's design, and made one of the longest string
of flags ever recorded. _Wee Winn_, fortunately for us, only started
eleven times that season. In the same year (1893) the majority of
boats and the largest prize winners were of a good wholesome type,
but the three following seasons they went steadily down hill in this
respect. _Elf_ was considered an unsightly monster then, but there
have been many like her since, not a whit uglier or less exaggerated,
which have proved themselves also the fastest movers. _Flat Fish_
was a case in point. She was most aptly named; indeed, I think the
_Flounder_ would have been a still more appropriate designation. She
was put together with most wonderful despatch by Fay and Co., from Mr.
Soper's design, for my sister, Mrs. Schenley. The first two races she
came to pieces, owing to the hurry over her construction, and had to
go back for repairs. To hear the flump of her bow on to the water, it
was marvellous that anything could hold out; she was just the shape
of a spoon forward, and when driven against a head sea she naturally
made the splinters fly. Her nose was quite four inches higher in the
air by the end of the season, in fact she presented the most cheeky
appearance. A most powerful boat in a breeze, in all senses of the
word except perhaps the individual frame, she also required a Goliath
to steer her. My sister's and my united forces were unequal to the
task, and it used to amuse us to watch for the signal of distress
held out towards the end of a race by the boastful amateurs, whom we
requisitioned to steer on hard windy days. They were never keen to
repeat the experiment, and if they did, they were glad enough for us to
take turns. Our chief antagonist was _Fleur-de-Lys_, built by Fife and
owned by Major Montgomery, one of the few lucky yachtsmen who have not
followed up their successes, although a dweller on the scene of action.
Lady Sophia Montgomery occasionally accompanied her husband, and took
a keen interest in the fray and kept a jealous eye on the records of
the rival craft. Theirs was undoubtedly the better "all round" boat, as
_Flat Fish_ was no more good than a barge in light weather, although
she was conscientiously sailed in all the races for which she was
entered. In 1894 two new aspirants for yachting fame joined the ranks,
namely, the Hon. Mrs. Oliphant and Miss Lord. I can hardly say which
has proved herself the keenest sailor. Mrs. Oliphant was most fortunate
in securing an excellent two-and-a-half rater from Sibbick, called
_Zivolo_, which made a very good record, taking twenty-nine flags in
thirty-six starts. Although the boat was her own property, she very
wisely got others to steer at first, though she always accompanied the
ship. Now she no longer needs assistance, and though not possessing a
boat of her own this year, she has had several mounts on other peoples.
The _Rosemary_, a formidable customer to steer was in her hands the
latter part of this season, and though a slow boat Mrs. Oliphant often
led the fleet in her, and won two or three prizes. Miss Lord has had a
succession of one-raters since her début in 1895. She favoured Soper's
design at first, but latterly has adopted Sibbick's. All her boats have
been large prize winners.
[Illustration: _West and Son._ _Southsea._
_FLAT FISH._]
In 1895, yacht-racing was distinctly the fashionable sport. Lord
Dunraven was no doubt in a great measure responsible for this, he
having persuaded several friends to join the twenty-rater class. Lord
Lonsdale owned one of these, Lord Dudley another, Prince Batthyany
Stratmann, a pretty boat painted blue, and the unfortunate Baron von
Zedtwitz, who was subsequently drowned off his twenty-rater, the
_Isolde_.
Even Royalty patronized the Solent classes. The Duke of York had a
one-rater built at Sibbick's in less than a week, in which he took
a great interest though he did not venture himself to join in the
sport. The _White Rose_ was, however, in good hands, being most ably
sailed by his equerry, the Hon. Derek Keppel. She was not a success,
however, and when Mr. Keppel, who was called away at the end of August,
confided her to me, I made but a poor show with her, gaining only
one first in tour starts. Miss Cox was well to the fore in the same
class, also having got her craft from Sibbick. She made a string of
twenty-five flags, eleven of which were firsts. My brother had bought
an unsuccessful one-rater, he re-named _Fusee_, the year before. He and
I sailed this little boat in several races, I steering and he doing
the work. It _was_ fun, and the boat was well suited to this game as
she was only good for light water, directly it blew up at all she was
passed in spite of all we could do. So when my brother went abroad
at the end of June I got a boy to help, and sailed in the light wind
races throughout the season. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and got ten
prizes out of twenty starts, though poor little _Fusee_ was invariably
beaten on a reach except in the lightest air, and had to make up all
her time on the "beats." That August was a busy month, for on looking
back I find I raced every day, Sunday not excepted, as we used to have
duels in _Fusee_ and _White Rose_ with amateur crews. The class to
which these belonged (one-raters) was then and has remained the most
popular of all classes on the Solent. Once at Yarmouth, fourteen of
us started together over the line. It was grand fun and I was very
proud of leading at the end of the first round in little _Fusee_, but
unfortunately the wind dropped completely in the second round, and only
a few of us managed to complete the course at all. I think Mr. Paget's
_Soper_ got in first, and Miss Cox's _Mavis_ second.
1896 was also a great one-rater year, and Miss Cox had the honour
of leading the whole fleet in almost every race she sailed. She
had returned to her old ally, Arthur Payne, who designed her the
_Speedwell_. No praise is too high for this little champion, for she
still holds pride of place and has proved herself as seaworthy as
she is fast. I never steered such a wonderful boat, to windward she
positively edged along in the teeth of the wind and made all the others
look foolish, as she outpointed them to such a ridiculous extent. I
often sailed the old _Meneen_ that year, and she also was dependent on
her windward powers for her success, as being much shorter than the
others she could not be expected to reach with them. This was well
shown at some races at Seaview in August, when we headed the _Florence_
(Sibbick's crack owned by the Marquise de Serramezzana) every time to
windward, whereas she would pass us again on the reach. The _Florence_
got two firsts and one second, and we secured two seconds and one first
out of the three races. Mrs. Schenley had bought the _Corolla_, a
success of the previous season. We did very well with her until about
the end of July, when _Tatters_ became too much for us, some slight
alteration having given her the advantage over us. _Florence_ then
came out, and we left those two to fight it out to the bitter end.
These boats, both of which were of Sibbick's design, were extremely
fast, though they were not remarkably close-winded. Lord Albemarle
built _Valeria I._ at Payne's, and I sailed in her many times but
failed to score, there were certainly numerous and formidable rivals
and _Valeria_ came rather late to the fray. It must be an unlucky name
I think, as _Valeria II._ has not proved any better, though she is a
beautiful boat and great things were expected of her, being Payne's
design. _Tatters_, with Miss Lord at the helm, won first prize in
the Ladies' race (promoted by the _Gentlewoman_) on August 4th, Mrs.
Oliphant who had a good mount in the _Florence_ was second, Miss
Bucknill being third in _Meneen_, I fourth in _Valeria_, my sister last
in _Mem Sahib_. There was a fresh wind, and as the harbour was full of
yachts, and the course was all amongst them, considerable skill was
required in the handling. There were happily no casualties. Another
ladies' race in one-raters, with a diminished crew of one amateur,
was got up one evening at Cowes by Lord Harrington. There was a fine
scrimmage getting on board, most of the women or their boats being
late, the starting-gun--a 12-bore--was fired off in one of the bathing
machines, regardless of the entreaties of the competitors for time.
I was dragged on board the wrong boat at the last minute, my "mount"
being late, and off we went after _Speedwell_, but she was already a
speck in the distance, and we found we should never catch her again.
My sister and I had a deadly encounter in _Tartar_ and _Bodagh_, and
after jostling each other round and round and tacking and filling in a
remarkable manner only known to ourselves, I came out the best of it
and she gained third honours.
[Illustration: _Becken._ _Cowes._
_COROLLA, STEERED BY MISS HUGHES._]
In 1897, Mrs. Schenley joined the one-design class--with _Cresta_---
started the year before by Major Colville and Colonel Bucknill. These
boats proved very popular and much good racing has resulted. They are
ugly but wholesome, not very fast but answer their purpose well. We
did not race very assiduously that season as we were often otherwise
engaged. _Cresta_ won us about fourteen prizes, in thirty starts I
think. Many women sailed in this class, Mrs. Parry and Mrs. Tower
constantly accompanying their husbands, also Mrs. Towers Clark and
Mrs. Alwyne Greville were occasionally to be seen on the _C'lerk_ and
_Eileen_. These latter, however, never ventured to take the helm,
though they were much attached to the sport and nothing daunted by
weather. The boats owned by women this year were the _Fairy_, Miss
Lord, _Cresta_, Mrs. Schenley, and _Speedwell_, Miss Cox, while Mrs.
Oliphant was Queen Regent on the _Rosemary_. My sister, Miss Hughes,
constantly sailed the _Meneen_ and _Speedwell_, but she will never make
such a record as she did with the _Viva_, half-rater, lent her by Mr.
Wood, which was one of the largest prize-winners and most successful of
her class ever floated.
Half-raters are too small for my taste, and I think a two-and-a-half,
as the boats are built now, is the best size for a woman. Possibly
the day may come back when the five-raters will be as easy on their
helms as they were in 1891. My sister tells me she steered _Forella_,
five-rater, in quite a fresh wind this season and had no difficulty in
managing her, so perhaps I am not too sanguine in anticipating more
sport for us in this class.
[Illustration: _F. G. Stuart._ _Southampton._
_FAIRY, STEERED BY MISS LORD._]
My ideal mode of yachting would be to have a new two-and-a-half-rater
whenever the old one was worsted, with a five-rater perhaps now and
then to vary the monotony. A fifty-ton steamer, or one perhaps a little
smaller, to act as convoy is essential, and it should be fast and have
a good saloon, and a couple of rooms to change in if needed. Cowes is
the most convenient _pied-à-terre_ from a racing point of view, being
very central with regard to the more frequent regattas. Racing is not
a cheap amusement, but then, nothing nice ever is. To put it roughly,
the two-and-a-half-rater would cost £300 to build, and £100 to "run."
The steamer £2,500 to build, and £300 to "run," and the little house
at Cowes, one or two hundred for the season. Of lesser items connected
with racing there are several, the numerous club subscriptions for
one thing being no small matter. The expenses of yacht-racing have
been steadily on the increase, and I hope now they have attained their
maximum. We have had sixteen racing boats in the family during the last
twelve years, our last effort being made in the poor man's class, the
one designers, which fact speaks for itself. Many others are in the
same hole as ourselves, and are glad enough to find a means of racing
without so much expense. The one-design class was specially instituted
to meet this demand, as the boat only costs £200 to begin with, and all
the costs, wages, etc., are limited and prescribed by the rules. They
are fine little craft too, stiff and dry and light-helmed, in fact very
suitable boats for a woman to start her racing in. About fifty prizes
are given by Solent clubs for this class, though, of course, they are
not so well catered for elsewhere.
A trip to the Westward at the end of the Ryde week is a pleasant
change, the regattas at Torquay and Dartmouth being quite unique
spectacles. I know of nowhere in England where ceremony is so lightly
disregarded, or where conviviality is so essentially the order of the
day.
The late Prince Henry of Battenberg did honour to these festivities in
1894, and won himself golden opinions by his geniality, and genuine
enjoyment of the fun. He asked my brother to sail his twenty-rater,
_Asphodel_, during this time, and proved himself not only a lenient
master, but a kind friend and a keen sportsman.
My chronicle is now at an end. I am conscious of having made many
omissions, and though my love of yachting makes even writing on it a
welcome task, still I feel the futility of my endeavours to portray
adequately the pleasures of the sport, which it has been my life
interest to enjoy.
Barbara S. Hughes.
The following list of Racing Clubs of the Solent may be of use to those
interested in the sport:
Ent. Fee. Sub.
Royal Southampton Y.C. 2 gns. 3 gns.
Royal Portsmouth Y.C. 0 " 3 "
Royal Albert Y.C. 4 " 4 "
Royal Victoria Y.C. (Ryde) 5 " 6 "
Royal Southern Y.C. (Southampton) 4 " 4 "
Castle Y.C. (Calshot) 3 " 3 "
Bembridge Sailing Club 3 " 1 "
Island Sailing Club (Cowes) 1 " 1 "
Minima Y.C. (Hamble) 10/6 10/6
Hythe Y.C. (Hythe) 2 gns. 2 gns.
Seaview Sailing Club (Seaview) 1 " 1 "
[Illustration: _Lombardi and Co._ _13, Pall Mall East._
_MRS. W. L. WYLLIE._]
PUNT RACING.
The first punts on our river--the Medway--were simply flat-bottomed
shoe-shaped boats, which were built to slide over the mud, and were
principally used by muddies and watermen, or by those people who,
having boats anchored off the shore, required something they could push
over the intervening flat. With a wind astern or on a slight incline
in the mud, the slipping process was simple, the happy owner of one
of these primitive punts finding himself on the river with but little
trouble. A friend of ours at Gillingham determined to build himself one
in his own dining-room to use for rowing, and being of an ingenious
turn of mind, as he had to pull the punt up into his garden every time
she was used, he added a detachable wheel under the bow, and then by
fixing her oars on either side of the gunwale as handles, he was able
to wheel her up and down the causeway with the greatest ease. This
friend had long since found out that the Gillingham boy, boats, and
mud did not agree. He it was who first saw the possibility of the punt
being turned into a sailing boat, and when this idea occurred to him
he started building the _Snowflake_, an ordinary mud punt with square
chime, a centre plate and lug, which in its turn gave place to another
named _Crystabel_. A small club was then thought of, for the purpose of
opening up the healthy enjoyment of punt racing to the working class,
and it was soon formed and my husband invited to become Commodore. A
small subscription of half-a-crown, and a shilling entrance fee, made
it possible for the working man to enter, and most races were arranged
to suit his convenience. The money was paid to the officer of the day
before the start, and only by the boats competing.
[Illustration: _CRYSTABEL._ _NELSON._
_Sketch made by W. L. Wyllie_, A.R.A. _For The Sportswoman's Library._
_PUNTS RACING._]
Punts in those days only cost from £4 to £5, and we soon had several.
Our eldest son was promised a boat as soon as he could swim, which
hurried matters, and a new punt was laid down, finished and christened
_Nelson_ before the summer was out, but this, as well as all the
earlier ones, leaked. Then a real start was made. My husband being
fired with the idea of improving the breed, began cutting out
and drawing many models preparatory to building. The greenhouse was
found to be the only place long enough, so the boat throve though the
flowers faded, the pots grew chips and copper tacks to the despair of
the gardener, and we had no show of flowers that winter. In the early
spring, the new creation was taken into the little wood close at hand,
and there with the sweet primroses and bluebells growing all round her
was turned bottom up for all who were interested to come and sand-paper
her whenever there was a "spell oh" in the course of the day's work.
She was then finished off with a scarlet coat, and carried on the
shoulders of four men in procession to the beach, where the christening
ceremony was to be performed. At the moment, the family being full of
Lear's Nonsense Songs and Stories, the little girl insisted she must
have lavender water tinged with pink. So this of course was supplied.
The boys ran up flags and hurrahed enough for the launching of a
first-class cruiser, the men gave a big shove, and the little girl
broke her bottle, calling out good luck to _Scarlet Runner_. This
punt never leaked a drop, and sailed splendidly for her size, though
unlike the accommodating bicycle of a well-known song, she would _not_
hold two, and in a sea little but a man, mast and sail could be seen.
At this time bigger punts were built, principally by Mr. Baker, a
fruit-grower of Gillingham, who introduced a stronger, larger type with
much higher freeboard. From his little yard were launched _Tar Baby_,
_Go By_, _Satan_, and lastly _Black Bess_, which held her own against
all comers. The blacksmith also built _Ethel_ and _Mud Puppy_, so that
altogether there was a nice little class. _Scarlet Runner_, after
several alterations, ultimately beat _Black Bess_. Then came a decision
to sail under Y.R.A. rules, and bring the boats up to half-rating. This
in most cases meant building afresh, so once more Commodore started
chipping bits of nice soft wood, till the desired shape for the new
punt to hold two was arrived at. We then hunted for a building shed,
and at last settled on a loft over the stables, a nasty draughty place,
but one with plenty of room. The punt was drawn out life size on the
floor in chalk, and five nice fir planks were procured from the village
carpenter for the bottom. The centre plank was one inch thick, and the
two on either side three-quarter; a grown oak knee formed the stem, and
another the stern post, and to these a strong rope was fastened to
make into a tourniquet to give the proper rocker to the bottom. Every
day as it grew dusk, off we all went to that horrid cold loft, lit up
the lamps and started an abominable din of hammering, a boy generally
buzzing round the while with a broom to clear away some of the chips.
When I grew tired of crouching and holding a hammer to the rivets,
then the boy was victimised. The wheelwright came to lend a hand in
the evenings, and envy seized my soul as I watched him send home screw
after screw as if they were going into so much butter. Commodore
would not even leave his work to come in to dinner, and looking back
now, I really think it must have been a very uncomfortable time. The
sides were made out of one wide plank of Kauri pine without a join.
This was riveted to the beams and angles of Bull metal, and a devoted
friend put in the mast step, which to this day holds all the water it
catches, sending up a spirt as the mast drops into place. The centre
board case gave a good deal of trouble, but even this gave way to
patience. The seams were gone over with the greatest care with putty
and varnish, as we were determined she should not leak, and the mixture
proved most satisfactory, as whatever water the punt shipped ran out
of the centre board case, and never a drop came through the seams. I
was greatly distressed when the well was put in. I really could not
see how I could be expected to sit in any comfort on a butcher's tray,
which it resembled. The idea in itself no doubt was lovely, for any
water coming on board emptied itself out of the tray, which was flush
with the top of the centre-board case, down the case, thus making the
boat absolutely unsinkable. But fancy sitting for hours with one's
knees up to one's chin in a calm. I argued for a long time, and was
made to sit in position over and over again, my husband declaring it
was quite comfortable, but I could not see it. I agreed, however, to
waive the question till the punt should be afloat. So a light deck was
put on her, with canvas strained and painted over it, and then she
was turned bottom up on the tressels, and Commodore planed, whittled
and sand-papered till every line was beautifully fair. The rudder was
shipped on to the transom on the curved Bull metal gudgeons, so that if
it touched the bottom it slid up the gudgeons without coming off. It
could also be triced up with a line when sailing in shallow water.
[Illustration: _From a Drawing_
_By W.L. Wyllie_, A.R.A.
_PUNT: SEA MAIDEN._]
At last came the happy day for launching, when a cart was brought up
from the farm filled with straw, and pulled up close under the door
of the loft, the punt being lowered away carefully on the top. In
procession we followed down the old road to the brickfields, the little
girl[1] bringing up the rear in her chair. When the cart had been
backed as close down the river as possible, Sweet Pet dashed her bottle
of wine against the boat's side, and with a little excited shriek,
called out good luck to _Sea Maiden_, as the punt plunged into the
water.
That same evening, _Sea Maiden's_ sail plan was calculated, and drawn
out. We have very strong ideas of our own on the sit of a sail, and
had proved by many experiments that a sail that sits dead flat is a
mistake, but to make sure, we made one more trial with a lot of little
paper vanes stuck on pins, and setting our sail, pinned these right
across, shifting them time after time as we sailed about. Then we
came to the conclusion that there should be a fairly flat after-leach
curving very gradually to the luff, and that seams carried across
the sail in the direction of the wind, caused less deflection than
the usual seams up and down. Now the carpet was rolled up in the
drawing-room, and our union silk cut and ruled with the greatest care,
each seam with half-an-inch curve towards the luff over-lapping to form
pockets for the light ash battens, and a nice round after-leach and
foot. Then came the machining, which was simple enough, and fell to
my lot, and in time the sail was bundled up and sent off to be roped,
with strict injunctions that it was to be sewn loosely to the rope,
especially the luff. When it came home it was set between a tree and
a fence, where through the early spring it flapped gently up and down
whenever there was a light breeze, stretching and improving itself in
the sun. Sailing was then started in real earnest, so that we might
learn the ways of the boat, and get all the gear to work with the least
amount of trouble, before the racing came on. Our balance-jib looked
after itself, being laced to a light ash boom. In going to windward the
sheet was always fast, and when off the wind it could be goosewinged in
a second by letting the sheet run, and pulling on the lee-guy, so that
what little we lost in the size of the sail was counteracted by the
speed with which we could handle it.
[Illustration: _Drawn by W. L. Wyllie_, A.R.A. _For The Sportswoman's
Library._
_PUNTS RACING._
(_THE RACE._)]
That butcher's tray _was_ uncomfortable, and there was not a thing
in the boat I could lay hold of to keep myself on board. Only those
who have sailed punts can imagine the rapidity of their movements, and
my first attempts were certainly exciting, as only having the tiller
to hold on to, which naturally was not of much use, it came over with
me. I several times nearly went backwards into the river. After this,
Commodore cut a square out of the well, so that my feet could just fit
down, and framed it in with water-tight canvass, and so altered matters
that my real joy in sailing began. The feeling of being run away with
in a boat is glorious, and a good punt is hard to beat at this. The
excitement keeps you in a glow, though the water breaks all round and
over you. The first race in which I steered we won, and then began a
record on our own river. Punt after punt was built to beat us, but
still _Sea Maiden_ came in first. Emboldened by our wins, we took her
round to the Thames to try her against the half-raters. Our first race
was over the circular course off the Royal Corinthian Club, at Erith,
in a very strong wind. As we stepped on board the _Sea Maiden_, the
waterman, from a little grey steamer that was being repaired, begged
us to be careful, as it was blowing very hard and we should find more
sea on the other side. Mr. Hope thinking _Lotus'_ mainsail too big
for her, hoisted one belonging to a dinghy, the other boats starting
closely reefed. _Lotus_ led the first round, with _Sea Maiden_ a close
second, but the wind gradually lightening, _Lotus_ increased her lead.
We saw it was absolutely necessary to shake out our reefs, which we
dared not do whilst close-hauled, so we could only wait impatiently
as the stern of the leading boat grew smaller and smaller. At last we
got round the buoy, and out came our reefs in a minute. The effect was
magical, and we ran up to _Lotus_ hand over hand, till by the time we
reached Crayford Ness mark we were close astern. Mr. Hope could not
stand this, so began shaking out his reefs, but we now had a turn to
windward and at once passed him, and throughout the remainder of the
race kept the lead. The boat was looked at with great curiosity as we
came alongside the causeway. She was called a "Thing," an "Eggbox,"
and other uncomplimentary names, but all agreed that she could go in a
breeze.
[Illustration: _A. Debenham._ _Cowes._
_SEA MAIDEN._]
Next day was almost a perfect calm. A racing tide was running down the
wind to Greenhithe, and we were all mortally afraid of being drifted
over the line before gun-fire. Nevertheless, we thought it best
to risk it, and consequently stood away close hauled right into the
middle of the stream, the other boats meanwhile keeping in a little
eddy close to the shore. When the gun did go they were over the line
long before us, but we were in the middle of a swinging tide which
swept us away at four miles an hour, whilst the others were all trying
to work out of their little slack. On reaching Greenhithe we found we
had left our instructions behind, and could not remember on which hand
to leave the buoy, so to make no mistakes rounded first to port and
then to starboard. Unfortunately _Lotus_ came in sight as we rounded
the wrong way, and having also left her instructions behind was led
astray. Our very light draught enabled us to skirt the mud out of the
tide all the way back, and brought us in first again with a very long
lead. Our third race was sailed in a moderate breeze which fell to
almost a dead calm at the last. _Lotus_ led for the three rounds of the
circular course, and do what we would it seemed impossible to pass her;
however, at the very last, a stretch of strong tide had to be crossed
to reach the line, _Lotus_ left the slack first, sailing straight
for the mark. Seeing it was our last chance we kept away in the slack
much further down, then started across keeping the line on our weather
beam and the tide on the lee-bow, we slowly drifted crab-wise across
the broad stretch of river. It was a moment of intense excitement, the
wind had died down to a mere breath and a crowd of tugs, huge steamers
and drifting barges were coming up with the tide, we had to pick our
way through these as we both converged towards the bobbing flag-boat.
_Lotus_, seeing her mistake, set a spinnaker and tried to stem the
tide, but it was too late, and again _Sea Maiden_ took first gun, and
the Muriel Challenge cup for the best of three races.
The punt went on winning after this, till we were afraid of being
disliked on our own river, so put her in a railway truck and took
her down to the Solent, where the storm drum was up and a sou'wester
blowing in heavy squalls. As we started across from Portsmouth Harbour,
we reefed down small, for the sea was the biggest I had ever sailed
the boat in, the waves breaking completely over us, filling my bucket
and drenching us both to the skin. A strong tide too was running to
windward, but we got into the shelter of Wooton Creek in a very
short time, and were most hospitably received in the Canoe camp and
dried bit by bit. Our first race on the Solent was at Ryde, for the
hundred-guinea cup, presented by Mr. West. And here we met our old
enemy, _Lotus_, which had been doing wonders against the Isle of Wight
craft.
Unfortunately, Mr. Hope exclaimed as we came up, "Hullo, Mrs. Wyllie, I
think the race lies between the Thames and the Medway today." Now this
was most unlucky, as we have always found that wherever any bragging
is done we are sure to lose; and so it proved. Keeping an eye on the
time ball on Ryde Pier, _Sea Maiden_ was first over the line, the wind
was terribly light with a nasty bobbly swell which seemed to knock the
life out of her. The boats with heavy lead keels went through it better
than she did, and it was not long before we were passed. After rounding
the Stourbridge it was a close pinch to Gillicker point, with the
tide racing out and the sun blazing and dazzling one's eyes with its
reflection in the oily heaving water. It was a weary time, and as we
became mixed with the lagging members of the large fleet of one-raters
which had started before us, our chances for that day were lost. It
took the best part of a day to sail the one round. The Thames and
Medway were not in it, _Sea Maiden_ finishing an inglorious seventh.
[Illustration: _PUNTS RACING._]
Next day there was a little more wind, and _Lotus_ came in a very good
first, _Sea Maiden_ second, and _Wee Winn_ third. The moment the race
was over, the helm was put up and we ran across to Portsmouth hard,
and in two hours from the finish, the boat was safely placed on the
truck that was to take her to Burnham-on-Crouch, where we were to do
some racing, and where _Lotus_ took first each time. There we had a
week of first-class sport, some of the races being very exciting, one
especially so, for there was a long run in a heavy sea, ending up in
a jibe round the buoy which some did, and some did _not_ do. It was
a breathless moment as the boom came over and we careered away at a
tremendous pace, the boat rocking wildly from side to side, and the
waters seething all round and over us. Suddenly I found I had no grip
on the helm, the rudder having floated up on our following wave. She
broached to at once, and though, thanks to Commodore's prompt letting
go of the sheet, we managed to save a capsize, it was a close thing.
That year we sailed twenty-seven races, winning fifteen firsts, six
seconds, and two thirds, and ending the season on the Medway with a
series of matches in which we all changed boats and crews. It was on
a lovely autumn afternoon that we anchored our barge yacht under the
wood as committee boat, with tea, something stronger, dry clothes, and
a party of friends on board. In every case and with every crew _Sea
Maiden_ came in first, till we persuaded Lord Charles Beresford to sail
his _Undaunted_ with our sail, when she at once turned the tables. Next
year there were a number of new punts built, namely: _Mosquito_, _Star
Fish_, _Water Lily_, _Princess May_, and _Tartar_. The Royal Engineers,
too, built the _Terrible_ and _Powerful_, sister ships, with long
overhanging sterns, and Captain Mareney, R.E., with his own hands built
_Bébé_, which has proved the fastest of her class. In a strong wind the
_Bébé's_ speed is something quite phenomenal, and one race she sailed
in a hard gale, surprised everyone who saw her. Mr. G. C. Kerr's punt,
_L'Espérance_, besides being good-looking, sails very fast; and on
one occasion, in a light wind, beat the seventeen-ton, _Buccaneer_,
in a race to Sheerness and back, without time allowance. Owing to the
drawing of our punt, which appeared in the _Field_, there have been
many imitations of our flat-bottomed class started in different parts
of the world. The Puffins at Plymouth, a little fleet at Weymouth,
the new class at Southampton, and individual boats in Scotland,
Northumberland, Anglesea, Florida, and even distant Hong Kong. There
was a rumour that a challenger for the Seawanhaka Cup should take the
shape of a long flat punt, and for this purpose a drawing was made by
one of our most celebrated designers, but the Canadian holders of the
cup have accepted the American challenge, instead of that of the Minima
Yacht Club, so, this spring, the sound of the hammer will not be heard
in our loft.
M. A. Wyllie.
[Illustration: _MRS. PENN-CURZON._]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Mrs. Wyllie's invalid daughter.--Ed.
IN RED DEER LAND.
Books and Magazine articles dealing with the Chase and the habits of
the Red deer, are so many and so excellent that I feel diffident about
attempting to say anything on a subject that has been so thoroughly
thrashed out. In old days, or at any rate twenty-five years ago,
very few people wended their way Westward in the months of August
and September, to see what has now become such a popular sport. The
crowds at the present time are now enormous, often worse than the Quorn
fields, and the riders all full of zeal and desperately anxious not to
miss anything from find to finish, thus often causing the Master no
little anxiety, and trying his patience sadly.
In case my readers are not acquainted with the method in which
stag-hunting is conducted, I will try to give a brief history of a
day's sport. In the first place the deer must be harboured, that is
"slotted" or tracked into covert, and this requires great knowledge of
woodcraft on the part of him to whom the business is entrusted. The
harbourer's business is to find out that his deer is a warrantable,
_i.e._, a runnable, stag, which he can tell by the size of the slot,
or footprint on the ground, and he must also make sure that his quarry
has not passed through the covert. To do this he must search carefully
for a slot leading out of the wood, or if the covert be too large he
must make good as many of the paths round where he thinks his deer is
lying, as he can. The difference between the slot of a hind and a stag
is almost imperceptible to the ordinary eye, but if closely observed it
will be noticed that the slot of a stag is larger and has a wider heel
and blunter toes, also that an old heavy deer has his toes frequently
uneven in length, while a hind's toe is pointed, and she has a narrow
heel. In an old deer there is generally also a little space open
between her toes. The harbourer can tell whether a stag or hind has
been feeding, and though the signs believed in by some are disputed,
one infallible test is whether the ash shoots have been nibbled or not.
For while the hinds and young deer do not affect them, stags have a
perfect passion for them, and the delicacy seems to be as irresistible
to them as oysters and caviare are to a human gourmet.
The harbourer generally goes to the scene of action the day before the
meet, and gleans what information he can from those whose knowledge he
can rely on. With regard however to the feeding ground of the deer,
he will do well to depend entirely on his own eyes, and to form his
own conclusions. Next morning he must be afoot in the small hours,
and look for any fresh slot pointing towards the covert, made by the
deer returning from feeding. Should he see what he thinks belongs to
a warrantable deer, he must next make sure the animal has not gone
through the covert, and if the woods be very large, he must try and
localise him as much as possible. The late Miles, who was the harbourer
in the Devon and Somerset country for so many years, was a marvel in
doing this, for he seemed to know the habits of the deer as well as
they did themselves. His loss to the hunt was irreparable, for apart
from the harbouring, he was of unbounded assistance during the run, and
often when the deer seemed hopelessly lost, and Master and huntsman
were in despair, have I heard Miles's whistle and his cheery holloa,
saving the day at the eleventh hour.
For the business of tufting, as finding the deer is called, four or
five couples of the strongest hounds are required, as they will have to
run with the pack afterwards. Also, it is well to select those hounds
most inclined to throw their tongues, as their deep notes are more than
welcome in the big coverts, where they get out of sight. If the deer
has been well harboured and is inclined to leave covert quickly, so
much the better, but patience is often sorely wanted in stag hunting,
when a cunning old deer will double back into covert time after time,
and turn out his younger relations to try and get hounds off his line.
We will suppose, however, that the deer has chosen to break covert
quickly, and the welcome sound of Anthony's horn means that the body of
the pack, till now kennelled in a convenient barn or stable, will be
laid on. If the deer has chosen a good line, that is over the forest,
we must pull ourselves together and save our horses wherever possible,
knowing that we may gallop for eighteen or twenty miles or more.
It is wonderful how two or three miles over holding ground will
steady a field, and weed them to within reasonable bounds. I consider
Exmoor the worst possible country for a stranger to take his own line,
the best man to hounds on earth cannot tell some of the crossings by
instinct, many of the combes having only one even decent crossing, and
that has to be negotiated with care. Most people, however, seem to come
down with the idea that Exmoor is one vast bog, which is all nonsense,
for most of it is quite rideable, or at any rate you can pick your way
over it. The crossings are the worst drawbacks to riding straight to
hounds. A large majority of the field ride to points, and most annoying
it is, after you have galloped your hardest at the tail of hounds, to
see a batch of tourists who have been piloted by someone who knows
every inch of the country, and who has guessed the stag's point, with
comparatively fresh horses, while your own, no matter how carefully you
have nursed him, has pretty nearly had enough.
A deer will nearly always soil once, if not oftener during a run,
and it is marvellous how a plunge in one of the many streams, or a
roll in a peat hole, will refresh him. Stags, especially the older
and fatter ones, generally lie down after they have run for a time
if not pressed, that is if hounds are not laid on at once, and the
master generally gives a big heavy deer a little law. A fresh find is
a beautiful sight, and the tricks and dodges of a wily old stag would
fill many chapters. To anyone fond of seeing hounds work, and not only
anxious for a gallop, the sight of hounds trying to pick out the line
of their deer, when he has gone up or down stream, is alone worth going
out for. It is extraordinary how long a deer's scent will hold on the
moor. It is no uncommon thing for hounds to hunt up to, and kill their
stag, after he has been two hours ahead of them.
[Illustration: _HOUNDS OF THE DEVON AND SOMERSET PACK._
(_From a Picture in the possession of C. H. Basset, Esq., of Watermouth
Castle._)]
One thing in hunting the red deer impresses people very strongly who
have only seen foxhunting, and that is the way hounds tail on the moor.
Several explanations of this are given. One is that the deer running
in a straighter line than the fox, the fastest hound gets in front and
stays there, others say that it is easier to get through the heather
in a string, and again some hold that the scent of a deer being very
sweet, hounds run one behind another to get it all. When they do carry
a head, the sight of the big hounds, none under twenty-four-and-a-half
inches and all unrounded, racing over the heather, is a very fine
one. Deer almost invariably die in the water, either in one of the
numerous streams or rivers, or going to sea. In the last case they
have to be followed by boatmen, and are brought to shore and killed.
This is the greatest drawback to stag hunting, but it is no good being
sentimental about it. The deer do an immense amount of damage to the
farmer's crops, and if they were not killed in the chase they would
very soon be shot, and stag hunting would be no more, so that my advice
to those who cry out about the cruelty to "the poor dear stag," when
they see him being ignominiously towed to shore, is to stay at home, so
that their feelings may not be hurt by the sight.
It is wonderful how the more ignorant portion of the large field of
strangers, who condescend to honour Exmoor with their presence in the
stag-hunting season, grumble unceasingly at the sport. The country,
Master, hounds, and hunt servants, all come in for scathing criticism.
One has a great longing to let them try and hunt a deer themselves,
to convince them that it is not such A B C work as they seem to
think. Also, should the Master persist in remaining in a covert to
hunt the big deer he knows to be there, instead of laying on to the
four-year-old which has just broken away over a tempting line on the
forest, there is a chorus of discontented ones, "Oh, what rot this
is; why can't he go after a decent deer?" The malcontents, either
forgetting or not knowing that it is the fat old sinner now doing his
utmost to save his skin by turning out his younger relations, which
gorges himself nightly on the farmer's best turnips and corn, and
that it will be a poor consolation to the latter if hounds pursue a
young deer twenty odd miles and then lose him, while the author of the
mischief is left, possibly with a keener appetite than ever, after his
unwonted exertions.
There is always a hope that a big fat stag may be run up and killed,
should his whereabouts be a certainty, in time to lay on to another,
and I have often seen two deer killed in one day. A fat stag which
is merely blown and not exhausted, will waste a lot of valuable time
beating up and down the water, too out of breath to breast the hill
and give a gallop, and too strong to be pulled down. This gentleman is
a most unpleasant customer to tackle, as in fact is any deer at bay.
A stag is a grand looking beast when he stands with his back against
a rock, in one of the picturesque streams that abound on Exmoor, with
his lovely head well up, and great, sad, frightened eyes, the pack
baying round him and not daring to come within striking distance of
those death-dealing horns. The sooner then the huntsman, or one of the
willing farmers always at hand and ready to assist, can slip behind the
beast and lasso him, the better for everyone.
The head and slots of stags are the Master's perquisite, the skin and
inside and the hinds' heads belong to the huntsman, who generally
shares the liver with the farmers. The carcase is distributed amongst
the farmers on whose land the deer was found, and who highly appreciate
a bit of venison. The Master alone never gets any, and to speak for
myself I have only tasted hunted stag once. This was when my mother
was sent, by a kind neighbour, a haunch of a five-year old deer, which
had given us a run of nearly thirty miles, and very excellent it was.
I have never seen a more vicious stag either than this one, for though
he had run from Cloutsham to within five miles of my mother's home,[2]
he fought desperately and severely injured two hounds before he was
taken. I always remember that gallop too on account of the marvellous
way the puppies worked, with hardly any old hounds to help them, my
father[3] having saved the older hounds for the next day, when he was
meeting in a close woodland country, where he thought the inevitable
crowded field would work less havoc among the older and more sensible
hounds than on the puppies, many of which were hardly way-wise.
There is one delusion that strangers labour under who meditate a few
days with the Devon and Somerset Staghounds, and this is, that it
is absolutely necessary to ride "the horse of the country," as they
term it. I think this is quite a mistake. Any horse that looks where
he is going, and doesn't go yawing about with his head in the air,
will go well on Exmoor, at any rate after a time or two, but horses
accustomed to the country certainly get less frightened in soft ground
than strangers. In fact, a moor-bred animal wont go into a bog at
all. I have ridden all sorts and conditions of horses, and I think
I would choose animals that stand about 15.1 or 15.2., short-legged
and strong backed and with good shoulders, for though I have seen a
little straight-shouldered Exmoor pony canter down a hill without a
false step, when most people have been leading down it, yet I never
think it gives you a comfortable sensation to be sitting almost on
your horse's ears. Two things are absolute necessities, blood and
condition, without these one cannot hope to get to the end of a long
moorland gallop with comfort to either man or beast. I know no more
hopeless-looking objects than a poor underbred and underfed hireling,
floundering through the wet ground, remorselessly urged on by an
ambitious but ignorant tripper, whose pedigree will probably bear even
less looking into than his unfortunate steed's. For a very light weight
with extravagant ideas, polo ponies would be ideal mounts, being in
the height of condition, after the close of the season at Hurlingham,
and very fast and handy on their legs, but it is not everyone who can
afford or would care to risk valuable animals on such broken ground.
Some people hold that big horses are better than small ones, but I
cannot say I agree with them. A large horse shakes himself and his
rider to pieces galloping down the hills, and if you would see a long
run well, you must gallop down hills, and take it easy up them; he
also does not recover himself so quickly should he make a mistake over
the rough ground, and is more liable to strains and over-reaches in
the boggy land, to say nothing of the fact that he can frighten you to
death in the tiny narrow paths through the woods, where a false step
means rolling into the river many feet below. A small horse _may_ be
quite as dangerous, but I don't think he feels so clumsy, and again, a
small horse undoubtedly comes to time again sooner after a hard day.
One thing I specially dislike on the moor, and that is a hard puller.
People say, "what does it matter, when there's heaps of room." This is
all very well on a racecourse, but when you are on the verge of almost
a precipice intersected with ruts, peat holes and other trifles, with
either a bog or a river waiting for you at the bottom, it is very poor
fun to be hardly able to steady your horse, much less hold him, and
I have seen some very nasty falls resulting from the inability of an
unhappy sportsman to control his mount.
[Illustration: _PRINCESS, IRISH MARE._
(_Property of Mrs. Lewis Mackenzie._)]
You can also have a nasty fall if you try and descend the steep combes
sideways. It is a golden rule to ride a horse straight down. At the
worst then he can but sit down, but if you are half cantering, half
shambling down a hill sideways, and your mount puts a foot wrong, a
horrible fall is the probable result. It is a wonder to me, looking
at the crowd of people riding, most of them ignorant of the first
principles of horsemanship, why there are not more bad falls than there
are on Exmoor. Now and then it is true a man gets his face cut, or a
rib broken or something of that sort, but really bad accidents are most
rare. I suppose that the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, looks
after the welfare of the bold tripper, or perhaps the softness of the
ground has more to do with it.
I think Exford is the best centre for stag-hunting, that is if you
do not mind having absolutely nothing to do on the off days, or have
enough horses to go out with the foxhounds or harriers. Some people
like Minehead, others prefer Dulverton. Personally I prefer Porlock, as
it is quite close to the Moor meets, and is far and away the prettiest
place to stop in. Accommodation is good and moderate, hirelings are to
be obtained there and at Minehead, and are generally very good animals,
though I would advise anyone with a couple or more well-bred horses in
condition, to bring them down. The difference in comfort, especially in
the long distances hacking home, is great.
Special care should be taken of saddles for this work, for there
is no country where horses suffer so terribly from sore backs as
Exmoor. The steep climbs up and down hill, the great heat, followed by
standing still till a horse is chilled, then another gallop perhaps,
and lastly a long ride home, horse and man, or oftener woman, dead
beat, work absolute havoc in a stable full of otherwise sound horses.
I would advise anyone hunting with the staghounds to have all saddles
thoroughly fitted, if possible one for each horse, the horses' backs
hardened a little, and above all to see that the saddle is left on
the horse for some time after he is cool, whenever he comes in from
hunting. Very few persons will take the trouble to do this, especially
when a horse comes home about eleven o'clock at night, but it should
always be insisted on.
Towards the end of September is to my mind the pleasantest time on
Exmoor, and from the middle of the month to the time stag-hunting
ends, about the tenth of October, sport is generally far better than
earlier in the season. The deer break covert quicker, and run better,
the weather is cooler, and Cloutsham which has in the earlier part
of the season, been the happy picnic ground, to crowds of delighted
strangers, now affords a sure find of a good Stag. This is, thanks to
its kind owner and his son, who though not hunting-men themselves, are
most desirous of showing sport to others. So much has been said about
this opening function at Cloutsham and the beauty of the surrounding
scenery, which in fact cannot be over-rated, that I will not allude to
the "vast leafy combes," the "hazy outline of the Welsh coast," and
the "stately purple-clad hill of Dunkerry," except to warn those who
have never tried to gallop over the said Dunkerry that it is the most
deceptive bit of going to my mind in the whole of the stag-hunting
country. It is covered with rocks and stones, alternating with bogs,
and is generally productive of a lame horse. I never saw it look so
lovely as one day during hind-hunting.
It was a soft muggy day in November, and I was standing in a field
behind Cloutsham farm, when a hind went away over Dunkerry. As I was
riding a pony, I stood still and watched the proceedings. Anthony laid
on, and the whole hunt swept away up the hill, and as they did so down
came the fog like a curtain, but only covering half the hill. By and
bye, back came the hind, and ran into Sweet Tree, as the extension of
Cloutsham Wood on the Exford Road is called, and the hounds, huntsman
and field all came one by one out of the mist. It was like a ghost
hunt. Twice did that hind do the same thing, and then sent a young
sister to take her place, but hounds were luckily stopped and the wily
lady was captured, after a great deal of twisting and doubling up and
down the water.
Very few people have any idea of the different aspect the country wears
in the hind hunting season to what it does in stag-hunting time. In
August on your way to the meet, you pass dozens of people, walking,
riding, or driving, the latter with huge luncheon hampers, which are
most welcome later on. The meet may be at Culbone Stables, in which
case the Lynton road outside Lord Lovelace's plantation will be packed
with carriages, etc., and people will idle about and stand in groups
among the stunted fir trees, looking out on a calm blue sea. The stag
may after some time "go to moor," and then away go the field after
him, but for hours there will be carriages on the Lynton Road on the
chance he may turn back and go to sea, which he may very likely do.
In this case, those of the riders who have had enough, will turn
round at the top of the hill and go home, but the majority will ride
down through the Ashley Combe woods to the sea, and wait in the warm
August afternoon till the stag is brought to land. The fishermen from
Porlock Weir are always on the look out on a hunting day for a possible
windfall in the shape of a deer going to sea, which means a sovereign
in their pockets. The field meanwhile refresh themselves and their
horses at the picturesque little hotel, the Anchor, and after the last
rites of the chase have been gone through, ride home in the cool of the
evening.
In hind hunting on a bitter December day, we have a very different
picture. About four shivering women, or perhaps fewer, half a dozen
sporting farmers, the Master and the hunt servants form the field. The
women generally make a bolt for the little cottage at Culbone Stables,
and sit round the fire there till Anthony comes for the pack. The wind
is blowing half a gale, and sleet is falling, but once we are started
no one cares for the weather. Deer, unlike foxes, will run in the
teeth of the fiercest gale, and sometimes one is literally nearly blown
out of the saddle. The hind which has probably left her calf lying in
her bed, will run a big ring out to the Deer Park and back. With the
ground at its heaviest, the small field has to gallop its fastest to
keep the flying pack in sight. Back into Culbone the hind comes, and
we stop and listen, and wonder if she will go to sea, trying in the
meantime to get a little shelter from the icy wind under the larch
trees. But our friend has not had half enough yet, and may take us over
the same ground again, if she fails to induce another deer to take her
place, or possibly we may go away after a fresh hind without knowing
it; heart-rending work this for horses and hounds. Ultimately she will
go to sea, either down the steep cliffs of Glenthorne, or from Porlock
Weir, and the boatmen have to follow her, supposing it is not too
rough for their safety, while the field, by this time of still smaller
dimensions, wait patiently for the end. Then home we go. Porlock Weir
was comparatively sheltered, but once on top of the hill again, the
gale seems to have increased, and the sleet to be thicker, and by the
time we get home we are nearly frozen, and it is pitch dark. Yet to
my mind notwithstanding the horrible weather, hind hunting is a finer,
wilder sport than stag-hunting, and a run after a straight-going hind
in the spring when the weather is better, is hard to beat. Fog is the
great enemy to hunting in the winter. Often the hounds have to go home
from the meet, after waiting a couple of hours and more for it to lift.
[Illustration: _F. Downer._ _Watford._
_HEADS AT WATERMOUTH CASTLE._]
I do not think casual visitors have any idea of the immense strain on
hounds, horses and men that hunting from July to April entails, or they
would not grumble as much as they do when they get a poor day's sport.
Rather let them follow the example of one most genial tripper, who when
a friend of mine remarked we had had a shocking bad day, nothing but
wood work, said: "Well, I 'ear folks say they 'aven't 'ad a gallop,
but I always 'as a gallop, and what I do is this. I watch one of them
'scarlet bounders' (presumably the huntsman), and when he lays on to
the stag, I don't care where 'e is, I lays on to 'im. It takes a bit of
doing too, and I _always_ 'as a gallop!" Whether the "scarlet bounder"
was equally pleased with a noisy follower, when he wanted to catch the
slightest sound in covert, is another matter, but a jovial sportsman
of this sort is far more welcome to the West Country than those people
who go down and grumble at everything, and generally depart with the
donation of a few shillings to the deer damage fund.
It is out of this fund the farmers are paid for the harm done to their
crops by the deer, and richly they deserve some compensation, for
without their help stag-hunting on Exmoor would soon be a thing of the
past.
Edith Curzon.
THE TIVERTON STAGHOUNDS.
[Illustration: _SIR JOHN AMORY'S STAGHOUNDS._]
Though when Mr. Fenwick Bisset undertook to revive Stag-hunting on
Exmoor in 1855, the attempt was regarded almost as a forlorn hope. It
has now been found necessary to start a second pack in Devon, in order
to keep down the herds of red deer. The last established pack is a
private one belonging to Sir John Heathcoat Amory, and its popularity
with all classes of the sport-loving West country is very great. Mr.
Ian Amory hunts the hounds himself, and he is assisted by the Messrs.
Las Casas, who act as his whippers-in, the important duties of
the harbourer being also performed by an amateur. Everything in this
establishment is carried out in the most sportsmanlike manner, and the
time-honoured traditions of the hunt of the wild red deer are strictly
adhered to. The sport shown by this pack, since its institution in
1897, has been excellent, and to the sportswoman who dares not brave
the storm-swept expanse of Exmoor during the winter months, and yet
loves to share in the grand sport of hind-hunting, the less exposed
country hunted over by Sir John Amory's staghounds offers very great
advantages. The picturesque little town on the Exe, indeed, is likely
to take a high place among Western sporting centres, for it offers the
triple attraction of the pursuit of the stag, the fox and the hare in
its immediate neighbourhood.
[Illustration: _J. Weston and Son_ _Folkestone._
_MRS. CULPEPER CLARKE._]
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Near Ilfracombe.--Ed.
[3] Mr. C. H. Basset, then Master of the Devon and Somerset
Staghounds.--Ed.
THE CHASE OF THE CARTED DEER.
NOTE.--This article has been kindly read and approved by
Mrs. Culpeper Clarke, who was unfortunately prevented from
undertaking the task of writing it herself. In several cases
the valuable suggestions she has made will be found embodied
in the paper, marked by the initials C.F.C.C. At the special
request of the writer of the paper, Mrs. Culpeper Clarke has
consented to allow her photograph to appear.
Of all forms of the chase, that of the carted deer, has the unenviable
distinction of having been followed, discussed and written about, by a
greater number of people ignorant of the first elements of sport, than
any other. It has too the disadvantage of being scorned by some of the
boldest followers of the fox and the red deer, and thus while "crabbed"
by those incompetent to judge, it is a "thing of naught" in the hunting
calendar of some of the best sportsmen and women of the day. In spite
of this, however, the hunt of the carted deer is the source of pleasure
and health to many who otherwise would seldom or never be seen in the
hunting-field, and as such it deserves to be chronicled.
That certain objections have always been urged with more or less
weight against this particular form of sport, I am well aware, but I
will leave its defence to abler hands than mine, and while ready to
give help, if it may be, to any sister-sportswoman who would take it
up, I must say boldly that a day with fox or hare is in my opinion,
worth more than a dozen brilliant gallops after an enlarged deer. On
the score of humanity, however, there is undoubtedly nothing to be
said in its disfavour. The deer is well fed and cared for, and rarely
comes to harm when before the hounds, and though there are nervous deer
as nervous people, who will in the one case "funk" a possible fence,
and in the other show signs of extreme fear at the pursuit of hounds,
I do not believe in the agonies of terror of which the so-called
humanitarians are pleased to make so much. On this point, however, let
those who like Lord Ribblesdale, can wield the pen with as skilful a
hand as they can steer a horse across country, speak with the authority
which is theirs by right of profound knowledge, and long and unusual
experience. And if we should find that other forms of sport are for
whatever reason out of our reach, we may well be content to ride after
the carted deer with such sisters of the chase as Lady Julia Follett,
Lady Georgiana Curzon, Lady Downshire, and the brilliant horsewomen who
week after week are among the followers of the Wards over the stiffest
part of the Meath country. Can we go far wrong either in following such
sportsmen as Lord Coventry and Lord Ribblesdale, with the spirit of
Whyte-Melville inspiring us?
Let us then turn for a few words about the quarry of the Stag-hunt. The
animal pursued, whether it be Stag, Havier, or Hind, has been carefully
selected and most heedfully cared for, so that when it comes out for
a gallop it is in the very height of condition. It is not often that
it is asked to exert itself, for it comes out only in its proper turn,
and this in the larger hunting establishments would not be more than
three or four times in the course of the season. A Stag, fed on the
choicest oats and the best old hay is not easily fatigued, and probably
at the close of the day's proceedings, will not be nearly so "done" as
the horses that have ridden in its pursuit, or the men and women to
whom it has been giving pleasure. We all know the old history of Mr.
Henry Nevill's deer, which lived on terms of perfect amity with the
hounds kept for their chase, and I have myself seen a stag deliberately
trot down a road and look over the hedge at the pack, which had
considerately been stopped till his Lordship should get his second
wind. The exploits of a celebrated old hind too, which was on the best
of terms with all connected with her hunt, are still remembered in the
country in which she afforded sport. As soon as she was released she
would speed away, often for twenty miles or so, and when weary would
take refuge in a wood. Recognising the sign that the hunt was at an
end, the huntsman then stopped his hounds, leaving the hind in peace
till the deer-cart came up. When this had been backed to the boundary
fence of the covert where the deer was waiting, and the old driver had
given a low peculiar whistle, the keen ears and soft eyes of the hind
would appear through the bushes. If no enemy was in sight, she would
then jump lightly in the cart and be driven home. Let us hope she would
have a more comfortable journey than many a sportswoman, with weary
limbs and a weary horse to carry her, and many long miles stretching
between her and her abode.
[Illustration: _IN THE AIR. NO. 1._]
There are certain women who ride hard, for whom this form of the
chase has special advantages. For example there is the woman who from
whatever cause, whether from the care of a large household, or the
pressure of the duties that her literary or artistic, or it may be her
political tastes, have involved her in, finds it extremely difficult to
take a whole long day for her pleasure in the field, and to such an one
the short day with staghounds will be an inestimable boon. Again there
are women, whose social or domestic duties keep them in town during
the winter months, and to them a run with the staghounds will be a
much-prized form of recreation.
On the other hand it should be remembered that to some women who are
more or less of invalids, and who would yet rather not go out at all
than leave off before the run is over, the possible long day, and the
almost certain fast pace with staghounds, will be against this form
of sport. This, like most other matters connected with sport, will
depend very much whether the chase of the deer is _the_ sport of the
neighbourhood, when hounds will often make long days, or whether, as in
some good foxhunting countries, it is more or less subservient to the
chase of the fox.
There are others again whose lot is cast in a good stag-hunting
country, who honestly find a satisfying enjoyment in riding after the
hounds. These will like to make long days, and if they follow the chase
to the end, will be not less weary than their foxhunting sisters, by
the time they turn their steps homewards.
Let us see how such will fare.
Suppose that a run with Lord Rothschild's splendid pack is in prospect,
and that the meet is fixed for twelve o'clock. If time is of moment
to you, you may reckon that if you arrive at the rendezvous three
quarters of an hour later, you will find you still have a margin before
hounds are laid on. This will give you a comfortable morning's work,
before the cart is at the door. For remember, that a pony cart or dog
cart, or the more luxurious brougham, is very necessary to the comfort
of the hunter of the carted deer. In the first place the long distances
covered and the fast pace, make large demands on a woman's powers and
those of her horse, and she should, therefore, husband both till the
moment of the chase arrives. Equally for both horse and rider too, she
should, if possible, make the return journey also in the cart.
That this often will not be practicable, and for the same reason that
it is generally useless to have a second horse out stagging, does not
in any way detract from the comfort of having the cart at hand if it
can be managed. If, however, the deer should run too fast and too
far, for his cart to come up to him for many hours after the "take,"
then--and this will be the most frequent experience of the followers
of the chase--the rail may prove the best hack home for both woman and
horse.
The former will thus be saved a weary jog home, and her horse will
also be spared what, even if he is a good hack, will be the most
difficult part of the day's work to him. And though, of course, an
ideal woman's hunter should also be a perfect hack, how few even good
horses answer the description. What hunting woman cannot recall some
animal, and many it may be, which have served their turn, for which she
would not have taken centuries, if offered when he was sailing with
magnificent action over a grass country, but which on the journey home
at night, she would have been almost inclined to give away to the first
comer? But even with a good hack, it is a doubtful pleasure to ride him
after he has tired himself in the chase, and you will find it a relief
unspeakable to exchange the saddle for the cushions, and to drive or
train home, instead of striving to keep your weary hunter on his legs.
[Illustration: _T. Bennett and Sons._ _Worcester and Malvern_
_LADY DOROTHY COVENTRY ON SIXPENNY._]
But to return to the meet. When you get to the place of meeting
there will be three courses open to you as a rule. You can either
see the stag un-carted and the hounds laid on, or you can omit the
first ceremony and come on the scene with the hounds, which in well
regulated establishments will not have been allowed to catch a view
of the cart, or you can adopt another course, and wait till the stag
has completed his first circle, which he is almost sure to run before
leaving. If you incline to the last, and there is much to be said in
its favour, you will look out for some point, such as the crossing of
a road by the stag, and trotting quietly down to it, you will wait for
the hounds to come up. By the time they reach you, they will have got
over the first flurry with which staghounds always make for the line,
and will come chiming down as prettily as a pack of harriers.
[I think the best plan is to come into the field with the hounds, if
possible, pick your own place at the first fence--of course riding
wide of the hounds--and do your level best to get a good start. If
staghounds really run, a good start is every bit as important with them
as in the Shires, and that is one reason I think they are such good
training for judgment, decision and nerve. She who hesitates is sure to
be lost sooner or later, and when you have been out of a good thing two
or three times, because you did not push along at first, it does make
you keen.--C.F.C.C.]
Then you should ride to the hounds and watch them working. You will
observe that they string more than foxhounds--though they are foxhounds
in everything but the use to which they are put--but such packs as Lord
Rothschild's or the Queen's, will drive forward on a hot scent and work
out a cold one, in a way that will delight any lover of hound work. Now
you may, nay you _must_, ride somewhat closer to the pack than would be
quite orthodox with foxhounds, and if there should be anything like a
scent you will find that in spite of being a light weight, it may be,
and riding one of the best, it will take you all your time to live with
them. Nor will you be in any danger of overriding hounds. With a good
deer you will find you need all your judgment, horsemanship, coolness
and pluck to live to the end.
After you have been going some twenty or twenty-five minutes, perhaps,
hounds will run up to their deer. But the sport will not be over. If
possible at this point you should notice whether the deer has his mouth
open or shut, for this will tell you whether you may still look for a
long gallop or not. A deer, be it remembered, closes his mouth when
he is beaten, but as long as he has it open, you may be sure he has
not the smallest intention of being captured. You will find that with
the consideration for the feelings of the quarry which marks all the
proceedings, hounds will not be allowed to go on till ample time has
been given for the deer to get a good start. He may not unlikely be
encouraged by the friendly crack of a hunting crop by one of the field,
but otherwise his Lordship will be left to himself, and the hounds
meanwhile will stand with their sterns waving in eager impatience to
be off, and their eyes fixed on the face of the huntsman. It was a
grand sight to see poor Mark Howcutt at such a moment, in the vale
of Aylesbury. The loose thong of his whip, as he sat motionless in
front of hounds was enough to keep them in check, and when he quietly
gathered the thong up, they knew the moment had come, and casting
themselves on the line, they would break into a chorus of rejoicing,
and race eagerly away.
It is not till you see the stag soil, that you may begin to take things
easily, for this is generally a sign of the beginning of the end. It
is, however (and here I recall the words of Whyte Melville), an act of
courtesy to those who supply our sport, to stay and see the deer taken
before we leave. If you are up at the end of a good gallop over the
Vale, you may be pretty sure you will be able to hold your own wherever
fortune may lead you, even if the Quorn hounds should be running their
best from the Ashby Pastures, over the Twyford Vale to Burrough Hill,
or the Cottesmore lady-pack be racing in front of you from Ranksboro'
Gorse to Woodwell Head.
As stag-hunting begins later in the day than the pursuit of the fox,
so does it leave off earlier, and the sportswoman who shares in it
will generally find herself at home in time to get into a comfortable
tea-gown, and give what our neighbours call "five o'clock" to her
friends. There will then be the chance of a rest before dinner, and to
those who are not over-strong, or who have heavy social duties before
them, I would recommend the plan of a well-known rider to hounds in
Leicestershire, who goes quietly to bed and gets perhaps a couple of
hours sleep before her maid rouses her to dress for dinner. As many
women undoubtedly suffer from the strain entailed by the great demands
on their strength during the hunting season, the plan may help them
to keep both good looks and health, and will thus give them a keener
enjoyment in their favourite sport.
And now a word as to equipment, though this will be brief indeed,
as what applies to the follower of the fox applies in almost every
particular to her who rides after the stag. I would only suggest in
the latter case that the habit worn should be plain, and that the
distinctive collar of any Foxhunt of which you may be a member, is not
quite in place when you are following another form of sport. As to the
vexed question of the tall and the round hat, in the hunting-field,
some will declare in favour of comfort as represented by the latter,
while others will prefer the undeniable smartness of the ugliest
product of modern civilization.
[My advice to everyone is to take a change in a Gladstone, and leave it
either at the Inn where the meet is, or better still with the clothing
and horse-box, for it is a serious matter to get ducked in a brook and
then perhaps have a long train journey home, without the possibility of
dry clothes. I say this feelingly, as this year after the Stag in Kent,
I fell at a brook about 2.15--my watch stopped, so I know the hour--and
after finishing the run, I had to ride seven miles to Paddock Wood,
before training home. Of course I ought to have died of pneumonia after
this, but happily was none the worse.--C.F.C.C.]
The above note reminds me that if at any time you should get a wetting,
such as that described above, and have no welcome change at hand, you
will in nine cases out of ten experience no harm, if in train or cart
you cover your wet clothing with coat or rug, or even horse-cloth
should nothing else be available. Some may think even a probable chill
preferable to the last suggestion, but _verbum sap_.
The canteen for a day with staghounds will not require much thought,
for between the late breakfast and early tea, which generally are
possible, the demands of appetite will not be great. However, as there
will be no second horseman to rely on, the sportswoman will do well to
carry with her a few biscuits and a little cold essence of beef, or
a slice of plum pudding, and some port wine should she prefer it. (A
medical friend says there is nothing like Kola Wine.)
But now, last, though of more importance than all that has gone before,
we come to the question of the hunter. To leave out of count for the
moment, the points we should insist on for all women's hunters, the
first great requisite for a horse that is to follow staghounds, is
speed. For remember that the fastest possible form of the chase, is
when a pack of large-sized foxhounds, is in pursuit of a red deer hind,
over a grass country. A well-bred horse is essential, and other things
being equal, if clean thoroughbred, so much the better.
[From my eleven years' experience of Stag-hunting, I have come to the
conclusion that the most essential thing is that a hunter should be
well-seasoned. If you ride a young horse with the stag, which would go
perfectly well with foxhounds, he will go off his feed and fall all to
pieces, even if you are lucky enough not to strain or over-reach him. A
horse ought in my opinion to be quite seven years old, to take his turn
regularly once a week stagging.
I quite agree with what you say about breeding, but for a woman the
ideal horse for staghounds must not only be temperate, but in every
way good-mannered. I suppose it is the rush at starting, which of
course suggests racing, that excites them, but I know by experience
that a horse which is a comfortable mount for a woman with Foxhounds or
Harriers, may prove quite unmanageable if taken with Staghounds. A hot
horse, too, even if you can ride it, takes so much out of itself, that
it cannot stand the long days, and is sure to knock up. With the packs
I know in Surrey and Kent, a good timber jumper is essential, and in
Kent you also want a water jumper--a rare combination.--C.F.C.C.]
A good fencer will be the best to carry you in the Vale of Aylesbury or
the Ashford Vale; while if you go out with the Queen's, you will need
a stouter animal for their Beaconsfield country, and indeed for most
of the country of the Royal Hunt. With the Wards in Ireland, you will
need the very best class of horse you will ride with the Meath, and in
all countries where the chase of the carted deer is pursued, you will,
in my opinion, find size and scope important, as a large horse will
be going well within himself while a smaller one is at a stretch. As
however to every rule there is an exception, so an undoubted authority
tells me, that an Arab pony standing only 14·2, was well to the front
in a good run after stag one day this season (1897-8), and pounded some
gallant Dragoons over a six-barred gate.
Although the fences in most stag-hunting countries are generally of a
manageable size, yet as you have to gallop at them, you should have
a bold free horse under you. One too which has his wits about him
is perhaps, if that be possible, even more valuable after stag than
after fox or hare, the pace necessitating the promptest decision and
the greatest possible judgment in making the best of the unexpected,
which is sure to happen, even when you think you know every inch of the
country.
Stag-hunting then, we have seen, has its advantages, and I am not sure
that if your lot is cast in a provincial country where the interest
of watching hounds track their fox over flinty hills, from the depths
of one thick covert to the recesses of another, is seldom varied by a
gallop, you will not do well to take your place, at least occasionally,
with the followers of the local staghounds. Of course, I am taking
for granted that you are, more or less, interested in the working
of hounds; but if you should be one of the hard-riding brigade, who
frankly acknowledge they hunt to ride, then I should say that your best
place will _always_ be with staghounds, for with them you may reckon
on the gallop which with other hounds is, and always must be, a matter
of doubt. In most parts of the country you will find some staghounds
within reach, at least of the "iron covert hack," and in Ireland the
Wards and the Rosscommon are unrivalled for speed and incident in any
land. It is only, though, the youngest, and pluckiest, and best mounted
of us who can hope to live over the stiff Irish banks at the pace at
which the latter hounds go. A saddening thought, but true, as many a
good woman has found to her cost.
[Illustration: _IN THE AIR. NO. 2._]
If your hunting lot should be cast within distance of a stag-hound
kennel, I would strongly advise you to learn something about the
hounds. Your pleasure in the chase will be greater if you can
distinguish between the notes of a trusted hound and those of a
youngster which has not proved his right to your confidence. My own
reception by kindly Fred Cox, when I made my first visit to Lord
Rothschild's celebrated kennels, I have always felt to be a reproach to
my fellow-sportswomen on this point. It was during a frost in the early
days of 1895, that I determined to ask Cox to show me his beauties on
the flags. A telegram brought back a satisfactory reply, and I duly
presented myself at Cox's door. Mrs. Cox, however, was doubtful about
admitting me, and told me her husband was engaged to show the hounds to
a visitor at twelve o'clock.
"But I made an appointment for that hour," was my remark, and the
astonishment with which the old lady regarded me I shall never forget.
With uplifted hands she exclaimed, "Well, to be sure ma'am, we thought
you was a man!" and it was some little time, I could see, before the
old huntsman himself decided that though I had the misfortune to be a
woman, I was not altogether ignorant of what a good hound should be.
It will be a good thing when more women who ride to hounds know
sufficient of hound work to be able to take an intelligent interest in
the performance of the pack in the field, for those who can only enjoy
a mad gallop know but little of the inner joys of the hunting field.
Frances E. Slaughter.
[Illustration: _THE LADY THEODORA GUEST ON PEMBROKE._
(_With the Blackmore Vale Hounds._)]
HUNTERS.
The great question in buying horses to carry us with hounds is, of
course, expense. If our purses are deep and well-lined, then we can
ensure being well carried, provided of course we know sufficiently what
we want to be able to choose aright. But even with two or three hundred
guinea hunters, we may, according to good authority, only hope for the
superlatively good one, once in a lifetime. Yet if only once this joy
is to be ours it is worth trying for, the nearer perfection is our
horse the greater will our pleasure and comfort be in the hunting field.
In saying this I am speaking of the great majority of women, those,
who while being good riders and fair judges of what a horse should
be, are yet not among the exceptional few who can make any horse go
and most go well, and who can, therefore, lay claim to the title of
consummate horsewoman. That the latter is rare, even in these days of
hard riding, few will be found to deny, though perhaps many of us have
a belief deep down in our minds, to which we would not give utterance
for worlds, that we ourselves are above the average in our skill with,
and knowledge of, horseflesh.
So those who feel they have nothing to learn will not be likely to
trouble themselves with these few words on the choice of hunters, and
to the "exceptional few" there is certainly nothing to be said that
they do not know far better than one of their less-blessed sisters can
tell them. But with these reservations there may still be a goodly
proportion of riders to hounds, who will like to consider the subject
of what a hunter should and should _not_ be.
With a devout wish then that we could each truly say we find our
pleasure in any horse, because even if he is a bad one, the excitement
and interest of checking his faults and getting the best out of him,
will make up for our loss of pride of place, let us think for a moment
of the points essential for the average woman's hunter to possess.
These are, a well-laid shoulder, good carriage of the head and neck,
and good manners.
Many other qualities there are which are more or less desirable, but
the above are absolutely indispensable to a woman's safety, as well as
pleasure in the hunting field, and, from choice, no woman should buy a
horse that does not possess them.
A good shoulder, as we all know, means so much to the comfort of every
rider, whether man or woman, that too much stress cannot be laid on it.
But if desirable for all, to a woman it is the one point, for which,
if she have to choose, she will give up all else. Without a shoulder
which gives the play necessary for him to recover himself, a horse with
the dead weight of a woman on his back, has no chance in the case of
a slip-up, or peck, or any of the thousand-and-one trifles that will
scarcely receive passing notice, if he does put himself right and go on.
Strange as it may seem, some women who go fairly hard in the wake of
hounds, do not realise how all-important a matter this is. They do not,
in fact, seem to understand the enormous difference between the dead
pressure of our weight on a horse--light in comparison though this be
in reality--as we sit with our support entirely on one side, to that
of the man, who though in nine cases out of ten heavier than we are,
yet by the even distribution of pressure and the springiness afforded
by the double support of the grip of his legs on both sides of the
animal, may be described as _living_ weight. The advantage given by a
man's seat is, I believe, incalculable, as those of us who have done
long distance rides in uncivilised parts of the world, can say from
practical experience, yet I would not--even if it were of the smallest
use, in the face of popular opinion--advise women to start a crusade
against the existing state of things. We have crusades enough in these
days, without taking up the war of the saddle, a victory in which might
turn out to be a disastrous failure from other points of view.
That the head should be well put on, is again of special importance to
a woman, because beside the fact that she has less physical power than
a man as a rule, from the nature of her seat she has less control over
her horse, one therefore that carries his head badly, may prove beyond
her power altogether to control, and will certainly be unpleasant and
fatiguing to ride.
From the full clear eye which will look at you with such winning
intelligence, you may and indeed must, if the horse is a stranger to
you, make up your mind as to his character. And this is a test that
will never fail. I would, therefore, counsel an intending buyer to turn
resolutely from any horse that does not satisfy her in this respect,
however good his points may otherwise be.
This brings me to the subject of manners, and full as much may be said
on this important topic when we discuss the equine species, as when
our talk concerns the human race, for is it not true, and _equally_
true, that "manners maketh" both horse and rider what they are. But to
confine ourselves to the former for the present, and to see first what
he should _not_ be. A horse that is to give you pleasure in the hunting
field should not pull, and above all things must not rear, for nothing
is so likely to lead to a ghastly accident as this. He must not be a
refuser, as here a woman's physical lack of power will be against her.
If he fidgets, you will find a long day on his back most fatiguing, and
should he be a kicker your enjoyment will be marred. If, indeed, you
ride an animal with this fault, and one which at the same time has any
turn of speed, you should try to get to the front and stay there, for
so you will have more space and freedom than can otherwise be the case.
Wherever you are, remember you cannot be too careful to keep the active
heels out of reach of the hounds, and of your companions in the field.
It is most desirable that a hunter should be quiet at gates, and here,
perhaps, I may be allowed to remark that all women who ride to hounds
should be able to open a gate quietly and quickly, so if you are not
proficient in this, I should advise a little practice by yourself. In a
flying country your horse should be more than ordinarily bold, and as
clever as you can get him for a creeping country, for never forget that
you cannot drive or squeeze him as a man can. If you are a thorough
good horsewoman you may of course use spurs, and thus force him "where
he would not," but to raise the whip as you near a fence is to teach
your horse to swerve, for he very soon learns to expect and shrink
from the blow. Beside all these negative and positive qualities, the
perfect hunter must be a perfect hack _if possible_, and when you have
these combined you may congratulate yourself on having the horse of a
lifetime.
[Illustration: _LA CIGALE._
(_Property of Mrs. Gordon Canning._)]
A horse with the manners I have described will not be young, and I
should say, though each rider will have her own opinion about this,
that a horse is best for a good woman with hounds, when he is seven
off, or even over.
In height he may be about 16 to 16.1, and when buying, remember that
there is a certain class of horse which looks much smaller than it
really is. This is the animal with a large body on short legs, which
has the large bone, the good barrel, and the large knees and feet of
one that _stands_ much higher.
Whether you have one of these, or an upstanding creature which looks
all, and perhaps, more than he is, let him be as near thoroughbred
as you can afford to buy him. I think, myself, as I have said, that
old horses are on the whole safer to ride than young ones, though of
course if anything does go wrong with them, they have not the power
of recovery that a younger one has. A saying of that good judge Whyte
Melville is worth remembering. He was speaking of the horses that
would be at the end of a long run, and said, "it will always be found
that one or more of these is a thoroughbred, an old horse, and under
15.2," and is ridden by a lightweight, he might have added. At any
rate our lightweight is one point in our favour, and another is our
light-hands. I am firmly of opinion that in the matter of hands we
distinctly score in comparison with our husbands and brothers, who
in so many ways have the best of it in the saddle. For every man who
possesses the coveted "hands," you will find half-a-dozen women who
have them. We are too, quicker as a rule, to grasp a situation, or to
anticipate an impending fall, and indeed, if we were not, we should
rarely have time to free ourselves and get clear of our horse, for
unless we are _ready_ when the time comes we have no chance of escape,
as those have who can save themselves on either side, when they feel
their horses going.
[Illustration: _SILVER DOCTOR_
(_By Death or Glory._)
_The property of Mrs. T. E. Harrison. 1st Prize, Dublin Horse Show,
1897, and winner of 15 first prizes in Ireland._]
It is difficult to say what price you would have to give for animals
such as these, but any coming with a good character from a known
stable, would probably cost from £150 to £300, and _if you can afford
it_ the money would be well spent. With two good all-round horses,
such as I have attempted to describe, a woman would see more sport
than with three or four inferior ones to carry her. They will come out
sooner than less well-bred ones, and by good management and having
both out with hounds, their owner should be able to get two days a
week with them. Wherever possible I should always advise women to have
out two horses, for this plan not only economises horse flesh, but is
an immense saving of fatigue to them, as nothing is more tiring than
to ride a weary horse. An intelligent groom should know how to pick
up hounds in the middle of the day, if they should be anywhere near
home, and though in the case of a great run this would be out of the
question, then the enjoyment of the long gallop will have to make up to
them for the days when the horse will not be able to come out.
But inasmuch as many of us know by mournful experience that we cannot
afford to buy the best in the way of horse flesh, let us consider what
we can forego without risk to life or limb.
1. We may dispense with size, because if a light weight, we can ride
horses that would not carry the average man. This at once lessens the
price, as the demand is of course much smaller, and for £60 or £80,
or even less, you might meet with a serviceable and pleasant mount.
Of course to the few women who weigh as much or more than a man this
cannot apply, and indeed, for such I may say frankly that I know of no
way in which they can mount themselves with safety, except by buying
the best horses that money can procure.
2. The second way in which, if we must cut down our prices, we can do
so fairly safely, is in having less of strength behind the saddle. Not
that I would advise a horse with weak quarters under any circumstances,
but while the qualifications in front of the saddle of which I have
spoken are indispensable, I believe, if we do not ride over eleven
stone, we may make some sacrifice in the matter of power behind the
saddle. Those horses which are too light behind to carry heavy weights
with safety are often very pleasant to ride, and we may meet with them
at a very reasonable price.
3. Again, if we wish to keep within a moderate figure in the purchase
of our hunters, we need not reject those that are undeniably slack
in the couplings and have short back ribs, and consequently give the
impression of being very long in the back, always of course supposing
that they are suitable in other respects. Such horses are often
pleasant enough to ride, and as they could in no case be suitable for a
heavy weight, they should never be high priced. The great drawback
to having such, of course, is that they will not come out so often, or
stand so long a day as a truer shaped horse will.
[Illustration: _SKYSCRAPER._
(_Grandson of Hermit In Alarm._ _Property of Lady Gerard._)]
A counsel of perfection is to have a saddle for every horse in your
stable. This is so important that though it involves a considerable
outlay with every change in your horses, it will be found a real
economy in the end. When your saddles are overhauled, as they should
be at the beginning of the hunting season, every horse should have a
saddle fitted to it, and thus, and thus only, will you--provided of
course your stable management is what it should be--escape the sore
backs which will entail loss of sport in a way that is peculiarly
aggravating, when you know it might have been avoided.
As important and yet within the reach of everyone is for every horse
to have its own bridle. Never allow any departure from this rule, and
see yourself that the head piece of each horse fits easily and that the
throat lash is loose, also (and this is a point on which few grooms are
to be trusted) that the bit has been properly fitted to rest on the
right part of the mouth. This is of no slight importance, for a badly
fitting bridle will spoil the manners of the very best of horses.
I should advise a woman always to ride with a double bridle, for with
a snaffle her strength, as a rule, will not be sufficient to hold the
horse together when he is tired. With light-mouthed horses, either a
leather curb or a curb chain sewn in leather will be found the best. A
good hint given by an experienced horseman is to drop the snaffle and
ride lightly on the curb when going home after a long day, as this by
relieving the horse will be less tiring to his rider. Another thing to
remember is, that while in the morning when hacking to the meet you
will naturally choose the soft sidings of the roads, on returning at
night you should keep your horse on the crown of the road, as this will
be easier going for him and he will be less liable to stumble.
As samples of high-class hunters that have been ridden well up to
hounds in different countries, I would point to the horses reproduced
in these pages, and the choice between the speedy thoroughbred and the
clever Irish or provincial horse, must be dictated by the form of the
chase and the country over which he is to carry you, and by the depth
of purse to be reckoned with in the purchase.
Frances E. Slaughter.
[Illustration: _Elliott and Fry._ _55, Baker Street._
_MRS. WRANGHAM ON THE DUDE._]
[Illustration: _Elliott and Fry._ _55, Baker Street._
_MR. AND MRS. WARDELL._
(_With the Hawkstone-Otter Hounds._)]
OTTER-HUNTING.
Possibly no form of sport has grown into favour more than Otter-hunting
of late years. Fresh hunts are continually springing into existence,
and there are now in the United Kingdom some eighteen recognised packs
of Otterhounds. In speaking of a pack of "Otterhounds" one does not
necessarily imply that the pack are Otterhounds by breed, as Foxhounds,
both Welsh and English, are frequently pressed into the service of
Hunting the Otter, most, if not all packs of Otterhounds having some
Foxhounds among them. Besides these, many half-bred hounds are used,
that is a cross between Otterhound and Foxhound.
In fact for all round work the latter are often preferred, as the
cross-bred hounds possess the stamina, constitution, high courage and
dash of the Foxhound, together with the deep, musical note, heavy coat,
and grand appearance of the Otterhound.
Some packs of Otterhounds indeed are composed entirely of Foxhounds
entered to otters, and so keen do hounds get on the scent of the Otter,
that Foxhounds will become perfectly steady from hunting a fox, though
they may have run two or three seasons with a pack of foxhounds, as
soon as they have become accustomed to hunting their new quarry, and
are fairly entered to the Otter.
The true Otterhound is a large upstanding hound with hard shaggy coat,
long ears with the "roll" in them similar to that of the Bloodhound. In
colour, more of them are whole-coloured than Foxhounds, the commonest
colour being black with tan points, though they are also sometimes red,
and black and white. The Otterhound has a beautiful, deep melodious
note, which he uses freely when hunting, in fact one of his faults
is that he is apt to throw his tongue sometimes too freely and to be
"noisy."
For real sport, as a general rule, a mixed pack is to be preferred
_i.e._, one composed of Otterhounds, half-bred Hounds, and Foxhounds.
They must be in the best condition, have good sound, hard feet to stand
a long tramp along the road to the meet, perhaps several hours swimming
in very cold water, and then the long walk--sometimes fifteen or twenty
miles--back to their kennels at night.
The management of the Hounds in kennel is exactly like that of
Foxhounds. They should be regularly fed and exercised in exactly the
same manner as Foxhounds, the only difference being that they can be
kept "bigger" in condition, as Otterhounds do not have to go fast, but
have often long, slow, tiring hunts, and have to stand long exposure
to cold water. In addition to the hounds themselves, good terriers are
indispensable. These must be of good constitution, with good feet and
legs to stand the long journeys on the road, and as hard as nails in
every respect.
Otter-hunting is a sport that is followed on foot and is therefore one
that any woman, rich or poor, possessed of a good pair of legs and a
thick pair of boots, can join in whenever the meet is within reach.
Most packs have given up hunting at break of day, and meet at the more
reasonable hour of nine or ten. Having arrived at the meet, and after
a few minutes' law has been given for late comers, the hounds will
be put on to the river, and the business of the day will begin. The
Huntsman will always, if he knows his business, have some hounds on
each side of the river, so that not a holt or inch of the water may be
missed.
[Illustration: _GROUP OF OTTER HOUNDS._]
We will suppose that the river is being drawn up stream, for most
huntsmen, for various reasons too lengthy to go into here, prefer to
draw up stream. Perhaps several miles are traversed and no sign of an
otter. Suddenly one of the old hounds is seen to hang and lash his
stern at a bend of the river, the rest of the pack eagerly rush to
him, and soon are busy trying every stick and stone and tuft of grass
an otter may have touched during his nightly wanderings, and though
they cannot quite speak to it, there are unmistakeable signs that an
otter has been on the river. The whole pack know it too, and become
doubly keen and swim backwards and forwards across the river eagerly
examining with their trusty noses, every stone, island, or bit of
shingle where an otter may have touched. Every now and again they come
to some spit or bend in the river where he has touched, and then they
can just "feather" to it, and one old hound actually speaks, but it is
only a stale line and the rest of the pack can but just own it. A mile
higher up we come to a spot where a small brook joins the river we are
drawing, and in a moment a change comes over the scene. Across a bend
at the mouth of the brook every hound dashes forward on a hot drag, a
cheer from the Master--who is his own huntsman--a touch on his horn,
and away the whole pack of eighteen couples dart up the rocky dingle,
and with a musical chorus make the wooded valley ring again.
Here is a burning scent, and the ground being rough they get clean
away from the most of the field for nearly two miles, but at length
they check on an old weiring made of wattle work and covered with big
stones. One by one the old hounds leave this, and with a satisfied
shake plainly say they know their otter is not there. No doubt a place
where he has been lying the day before, but now he has moved on to
fresh quarters. The master makes a dash up stream to make quite sure
his otter is not above him, then a return is made to the main river, by
the nearest route. And now as we are quite sure the otter is not below
us we have every hope of a find. We soon strike the drag again, but
here there is more water, and consequently it is only across certain
bends or spots where the otter has landed, that hounds can speak to his
line.
[Illustration: _OTTER HOUND AND TERRIER_]
For nearly three miles they pick out his line up stream, trying every
hole and corner and tree stump where an otter might possibly lie,
till at length we come to a long deep pool half-a-mile in length, and
shaded by many overhanging trees. At the head of this is an old ash
tree, with roots spreading down to the water's edge. Hounds seem to
wind it before they get within twenty yards of the spot, and with a
dash and cry they rush at it, and begin baying and tearing the roots
with tooth and claw. Excitement is now at its height. "Look out below!"
shouts the master, and the first and second whippers-in make their best
pace to the fords above and below, accompanied by willing members of
the hunt, all anxious to help in the day's sport, whilst others put
themselves in likely spots to get a view if the otter should but show
his nose above water, or betray his whereabouts by the long line of
bubbles called "his chains." The hounds dart a little way down stream
to make sure that our quarry has not slipped away from the belt, but
they can make nothing of it and seem loath to leave the old ash tree,
most of the old hounds persisting in returning to it. At last, after
some difficulty, an entrance is made for one of the terriers, and after
a short scuffle inside, a line of silvery bubbles darts out from the
belt. Another minute and a ringing "Tally-ho" comes from down stream,
and away swim the hounds, every one in the pack speaking to him. Now
the hunt begins in real earnest. For two long hours they hunt him
in this pool, marking him first in one place, now in another, then
they swim him from one end to the other, and once he narrowly escapes
meeting his doom on the bank. Suddenly he disappears, and nothing can
be made of him for some twenty minutes, till at last one of the old
hounds hits him off below the lower ford. He has slipped by, unseen
in the muddy water and after going about a hundred yards or so down
stream, has taken to the land, through a thick covert overhanging the
river on the steep hillside. Every hound is now throwing his tongue
wildly on the line and making the woodland fairly rattle again with
their music, they are close behind him, after a couple of rings round
the big wood, and it seems as if he would never reach the river, but
the briars are very thick and the hounds have difficulty in getting
through, and he just manages to reach the water as one hound makes a
grab at him. Hounds, otter and one of the field all come tumbling down
into the water together. We are now in a deep pool half-a-mile lower
down the river, but there is little or no cover here and he gets no
rest. There is a capital scent on the water too, and hounds never give
him a moment's peace. He is constantly viewed and is getting dead beat.
At last he makes an attempt to get over the lower ford. But the hounds
are too close to him, and with a dash they are on him. Woo-whoop, and
another dog-otter is added to the tale of the slain after a capital
hunt of three-hours-and-a-half. With considerable difficulty he is
taken from the hounds, his head, tail, and pads are distributed to the
field and the hounds receive their well-earned blood.
To those women who can enjoy healthy exercise, good sport, and can
appreciate beautiful hound-work amidst lovely surroundings, and at a
time of year when they can get no other kind of hunting, my advice is
"come otter hunting." Having once come out, you will assuredly want to
come again.
The season for otter hunting commences as soon as the water is warm
enough, that is in March or April, and goes on till about the end of
September. Of course May, June, July and August are the best months,
as to hunt big rivers they must be low and the weather warm, to enable
hounds and men to stand many hours of water work.
[Illustration: _END OF THE SEASON._
(_Looking back._)]
The late Lord Hill hunted an otter for ten hours and eventually killed
it. Hunts of five to seven hours are of frequent occurrence, and often
end in the otter being left master of the situation.
One word of advice to those ladies who may be going out for the first
time. _Do not_ in your eagerness crowd on the hounds or get in front
of them when drawing. _Do not_ walk down the river the hounds are going
to draw, to find them, instead of coming to the meet. _Do not_, when
an otter is found, rush wildly about, up and down the bank in front of
hounds swimming their otter, in hope of seeing him. If you do, you will
be doing harm and spoiling the sport of others as well as your own.
Remember that thick boots and a short skirt are necessaries, if you
wish to enjoy your day with otter hounds.
L. Wardell.
[Illustration: _Alice Hughes._ _52, Gower Street._
_SUSAN, COUNTESS OF MALMESBURY._]
SALMON FISHING, WITH NOTES ON TROUT AND COARSE FISHING.
Autrefois, Carpillon fretin
Eut beau prêcher, il eut beau dire,
On le mit dans la poële à frire.
In olden days the little fish
In spite of all they could say or wish
Were fried in a pan and served on a dish!
La Fontaine's lines, to which I have appended a somewhat free
translation, could certainly not be applied to the modern
representative of the species, whose extensive educational privileges
on the subject of bait and flies have formed his mind, brought his
acquirements thoroughly up to date, and elevated him from an innocent
unresisting victim into an adversary whose cunning not unfrequently
out-matches our own, but of whom the true fisherman should scorn to
take an unfair advantage.
This being a sport in which delicacy of hand is more necessary than
mere brute strength, it is especially adapted to women who love fresh
air and beautiful scenery, and who are willing to bide the good time at
which the fish feel disposed to rise.
I should perhaps say here that my remarks are intended to apply to
salmon and trout fishing in rivers and lakes, taking incidentally such
"coarse fish," pike, perch, etc., as are to be found by the way.
Of all fish the salmon stands pre-eminent for his sporting qualities,
and next to him in order come trout of all kinds.
Salmon are a curious and interesting race, whose habits have been an
object of study to the naturalist for many years past. They are born in
the shallow reaches of rivers, the eggs taking from eighty to over a
hundred days to hatch, the exact length of incubation being determined
by the temperature of the water, and they sometimes remain in or near
their original quarters till they are from one to three years old, when
they migrate to the sea. By far the greater number, however, descend
to the sea within twelve to fifteen months after they are hatched out
from the _ova_. Up to this crisis in their history they are called
parr, and seldom exceed some three ounces in weight. As the period of
migration approaches--usually in the spring, though autumn migrations
also occur--the samlets increase in size; silvery scales replace their
barred markings, and they are known as smolts. Both parr and smolts
feed greedily in the rivers, but it is a curious fact that subsequent
to their first visit to the sea none of the salmon tribe appear to
feed in fresh water, the stomach almost invariably being empty when
examined. They remain in the sea for an uncertain period which may vary
from three or four months to as much as two years, and during this time
must certainly feed with voracity, as they increase many pounds in
weight. On their first return to fresh water as grilse they weigh from
two to eight pounds.
I have myself seen, in the Killery Bay, a shoal of salmon making for
the mouth of the Erriff river. They were apparently led by a large
fish, which from time to time sprang out of the water, I suppose to
reconnoitre the neighbourhood. The fisherman used to look out for this
leading fish, and run a net round the shoal. Salmon certainly do not
live in company in the rivers, whatever they may do in the sea. They
start on the journey up stream in shoals, but soon separate to take
up their quarters in the different pools through which they pass. They
are now promoted to the name of grilse, and attain the rank of salmon
on their second and all subsequent migrations. Their arrival in fresh
water is partly determined by conditions of weather and water; also by
the special circumstances of the river to which they belong, _i.e._,
whether it be early or late. The fish come up in prime condition, for
the purpose of spawning, and return eventually emaciated and most
unattractive-looking, after this has been accomplished. In the first
state they are called "clean" or "fresh-run" fish, and are a bright
silvery colour; in the second they are termed "kelts," become reddish
or dark in colour, and from being thick and cobby in shape appear long
and eel-like, the males having developed strange crooked snouts which
vanish in quite a miraculous way when they return to the sea. There is
no sign of this odd proboscis when they first enter the river, so that
it comes and goes, leaving no token of its presence behind.[4]
Salmon are now unfit for the table, and must be returned to the water
uninjured, when they are caught. I might here say, as I am regarding
the salmon from a culinary point of view, that it greatly enhances
the flavour and firmness of a clean fish, if he is "crimped" at once
on being landed. He should first be killed by a blow on the head, and
then cut into slices about an inch thick; taking out the joints of
the backbone and running a stout piece of cord through the hole thus
made. These slices may then be put into the river where the current is
not too strong, the string being secured to the bank by a stout peg,
and they should remain in the water for several hours until the flesh
"rises," as it is called, to the "crimp."
My appetite for crimped salmon received, however, on one occasion a
severe shock. I caught a beautiful fish weighing about eight or ten
pounds, in the Hampshire Stour. The keeper proceeded first to kill
him, and then began the crimping process. He advanced as far as the
shoulder, at which moment I told him to stop, saying he might have the
rest for himself. Thanking me, he laid his portion on the ground and
we went further down the river. In half-an-hour we returned, and a
friend who was with me and who had studied medicine, took up the head
and shoulders of the fish and showed it me. To my horror, the heart,
which was plainly visible and untouched by the cut of the knife, was
still beating strongly. My companion assured me it was merely muscular
action, but it was a ghastly sight, and for a long time I could not
face crimped salmon again.
The instinct of the fish urges them to run up the river as high as
possible, sometimes at a tremendous pace, and to make violent efforts
to leap all obstacles in their way.
When in this state of mind they very frequently turn into small
tributary streams, which, being flooded, allow them to pass up, but
where they are sometimes found almost high and dry and unable to
return, like a stranded whale of small proportions.
Sea trout also belong to the migratory species, and of them it may be
said, shortly, that they are, in appearance much like miniature salmon,
and have game and fighting qualities of very high order.
I may perhaps be allowed to say here that I have found mackerel, caught
in the sea with a light trolling rod and trout tackle, give a great
deal of sport. They are particularly muscular little fish, and the curl
of their lithe tapering bodies, and forked tails, seems to give them a
hold on the water which is out of all proportion to their actual size.
When caught, after they have been killed, the large vein in the throat
or gills should be torn. They bleed to quite an extraordinary extent,
but are much better eating and less oily when they have been treated
thus.
Bull-trout are something between the salmon and the sea-trout, and
are also migratory fish of much the same habits and characteristics.
They are very common in some rivers, less so in others, but I remember
seeing one caught in Dhulough, County Mayo. There were also in this
same place numbers of sea-trout which rose to the fly or came at a
minnow, but as far as we could learn there was no egress from the lake
by which these fish could get into the sea. They must, however, have
had some means of descent.
The Salmo Ferox, or Great Lake Trout grows to an enormous size,
weighing as much as thirty pounds. They give quite as good sport as a
salmon, and many of them were caught some years ago in Loch Arkaig. The
method of fishing was to troll for them in a boat, either with a fly
or with a small gudgeon or minnow, but always with pretty fine tackle,
heavily shotted so as to sink to a considerable depth. I hear that none
have been taken in this way for a very long time in that water.
There only remains to be mentioned the ordinary brown trout of our
streams and rivers, so common and so delicious when in good condition,
but by far the most wary and difficult to catch of all his tribe.
[Illustration: _The Cast for Salmon._]
One of the greatest initial mistakes made by the novice in
salmon-fishing is to continue flogging the water for hours together,
without intermission, and regardless of the state of the sky or water.
It is very difficult to give general directions as to the latter, for
circumstances vary in different rivers, and experience only can enable
the angler to judge when the right moment has come, but in floods or in
rising water no fish will, as a rule, pay the slightest attention to
the fly. As to the weather, a fresh breeze which ripples the current of
the river or the surface of the lake is always a point in the angler's
favour, and the sky should be overcast. A bright sun is generally fatal
to any chance of sport, but there are of course exceptions to this
rule. The largest salmon I ever caught, and which weighed thirty-two
pounds, rose to a fly just before sunset, after a cloudless day, during
which he had remained at rest close under the bank, holding a _levée_
of numerous visitors who came to admire his fair proportions as he lay
motionless and, apparently, without fear, within a foot of the surface
of the water.
I have seen fish rise as if they were mad, in a gale, with pelting
rain and flashes of lightning. In weather like this, my father caught
in one day some years ago, thirteen salmon and one hundred-and-seventy
sea trout to his own rod in the Erriff. It was a sort of convulsion
of nature and the fish seemed to look upon it as an opportunity for a
Saturnalia.
In all rivers and lakes with which I am acquainted I have found that
the Salmon rise at certain fixed hours morning and evening, and
sometimes also in the middle of the day. As salmon do not rise from
hunger, as far as we know, it is difficult to understand why this
should be. I leave the explanation to others and merely state the fact
as I have found it. In that part of the Hampshire Stour with which I
am best acquainted, the hours for rising were five in the morning, one
p.m., and sunset. At one p.m. the fish were so regular in their habits
that the servants' dinner-bell, which rang at that hour and was audible
for some miles round, came to be called the Salmon bell.
In Dhulough, Delphi, and Glendalough lakes, in County Mayo, the fish
were lotus-eaters, and preferred the afternoon for intercourse with the
human race.
In Pool Persyn, on the Usk, near Brecon, they never rose, as far as we
could find out, before twelve o'clock, or between two and four, when
I presume they had their siesta. No doubt a great deal depends on the
time of year and the amount of daylight. These peculiarities in a river
can only be ascertained by experience, or by consultation with someone
who knows the water, and should never be disregarded, as for all we
know to the contrary, fish may get used to the sight of a fly which
is constantly being dangled before their nose, and end by paying no
attention to it.
Another very important matter is to make oneself acquainted with the
haunts of the fish, the spots where they lie and rest on their way up
the river--I do not say "down" as well, because they must not then be
caught at all, owing to their condition.
In fine weather, therefore, when the sun is bright and the water
low, the wise fisherwoman will leave her rod at home and walk along
the bank, slowly and carefully examining the bed of the river and
ascertaining, as far as she can, where the fish are lying and where the
rocks and roots of trees, or "snags," as they are called, are situated.
This knowledge will assist her to cast her fly in the right and not in
the wrong place, and may avoid the loss of a fish which would otherwise
either accidentally or of _malice prepense_ entangle the line and snap
it by means of a resistance which he cannot get from a lissom rod and a
running line.
This is such a favourite trick with pike that it amounts to a
recognised dodge, and would almost seem to be the result of some form
of reasoning, however dim.
To flog the river for hours at a stretch, without having first
ascertained these simple facts, at a wrong time of day, or when, for
instance, the water is rising, is worse than useless, for it disgusts
the angler, and renders her incapable, from sheer fatigue, of throwing
a light fly when at last there is really a chance of a prize. Casting,
let us say, from forty to sixty feet of line with a heavy rod is hard
work for any woman; indeed, most men return from their first day's
sport with a stiffness in the muscles of the back and shoulders which
it takes a vast amount of "Elliman" to alleviate.
It is most important for a woman, in fishing for salmon, to husband her
strength, otherwise, if she hooks a heavy fish and is already tired
out, she may find it a difficult matter to play it safely, and to land
it eventually, after perhaps following and keeping strain on him for
some distance over unequal ground.
Thick waterproof boots, made high in the legs, gaiters if required,
a short skirt, a blouse or tennis flannel, strong belt of leather or
webbing and loose jacket, with a small hat well fixed on head, is the
most suitable costume to go out fishing in. I take for granted that
most women will not care to wade, a practice which is dangerous to
health and sometimes to life itself, even when waders are used, as few
women so hampered could regain their footing in a strong current once
they had lost it, or if they accidentally stepped into a hole.
Quiet colours, heather mixture and the like, should be worn, as fish,
and more especially trout, have a quick eye for a bright patch. White
objects are to be avoided. It is a well-known trick with poachers to
send a large piece of white paper floating down stream. Not a fish will
rise for hours afterwards. It seems to affect them as flying a kite
does partridges--they lie close and can be netted afterwards with ease.
Salmon are distinctly less clever than trout, and the same precautions
against being seen are not so necessary, although always advisable
even in the case of the former, which will also be attracted by a
much coarser form of lure. No doubt the reason is partly that we fish
for salmon and its varieties--the sea and bull-trout--in deeper water
of which the surface, being broken by the current, is roughened and
intercepts their view of the upper world. In trout streams this is not
nearly so much the case, as a rule, and where the banks rise high above
the water, trout require the greatest care, coaxing and delicacy in
handling to induce them to exchange a comfortable home for the angler's
creel.
When salmon are rising, they will take almost anything, and in thick
or heavy water I have caught them myself with the identical spoon-bait
which I used for mackerel in the sea.
It is difficult to fathom what is in the salmon's mind when he takes
either a spoon or a boiled prawn, objects which he can never have met
with in the sea in his natural state, but many fish will come at the
fly merely to drown it by striking at it with their tail, and are
ingloriously "foul-hooked" in consequence. When this happens they
are far more difficult to kill, and often lead their captor a pretty
dance before being finally gaffed or netted, the tail fin not being
so sensitive as the mouth, which the fish can therefore close, thus
swallowing no water when the strain begins to be severe.[5]
Before starting for a day's fishing it is necessary thoroughly to
examine the rod and tackle which are to be used. I recommend from
personal experience, for a woman, a light, well-balanced rod about
sixteen or seventeen feet in length. Greenheart is a very good wood,[6]
and mine, which is made of this, has lasted for years and is,
apparently, none the worse. All depends on the care which is taken of
it during the time it is not being used. I have always kept my rod in
a moderately warm place, where neither the damp could get at, to warp
and swell the wood, nor too great dryness make it brittle, and before
beginning the season I varnish it carefully to preserve it from wet.
Spare tops should be always kept ready in case of an emergency, but the
accomplished sportswoman will of course learn how to splice a broken
joint, as accidents do not always occur within reach of assistance.
Each joint, unless made with screw fastenings, is provided with brass
eyes; a piece of waxed thread should be fixed to these so that, being
wound round an eye in each joint, the whole rod can be securely put
together.
Having omitted this precaution on one occasion when I was fishing for
pike, I cast into the river, with my bait, the top joint of my trolling
rod, which floated in the water, but did not, strange to say, prevent
my hooking and landing a fish of seven or eight pounds.
Examine the reel carefully; take it to pieces, oil it, if necessary,
and work the handle to see that it runs smoothly without a hitch
before winding on the line. Large heavy reels and coarse tackle are, to
my mind, very inartistic and unsuitable for women, as they naturally
lessen the chance of hooking a fish, although, once hooked, all the
angler has to do is to hold on, "show the butt" persistently, keep the
point of the rod well up and tire out the fish by main force.
[Illustration: _Knot for Gut Loop._]
This manner of proceeding has always seemed to me to be taking an
unfair advantage of a salmon or trout. With a pike, of course, the
question is a different one, as he cuts the line with his teeth, if
you give him the chance and nothing but gimp is of any service. The
rings through which the line runs should also be examined to see that
they are secure and that the line itself, which is best of hemp for
salmon-fishing is free from kinks and not chafed anywhere, also that it
is wound evenly on the reel, from which it must run lightly and easily.
A check in the running of the line, when a large fish makes a sudden
dash, would almost certainly enable him to break away. Many people
waterproof or varnish the line to keep it from rotting, and its usual
length is from sixty to seventy yards, the gut cast at the end being
generally about three more and stained (according to the colour of the
water in which it is to be used) either with tea or coffee, or else ink
and water.
One very important point is to wet both line and cast thoroughly before
using; the former should be run through the rings in the rod, and casts
made on a lawn or other open space for practice and to remove kinks if
any. Lines must be thoroughly dried after use.
[Illustration: _Ordinary method of tying Gut._]
Most women buy their tackle ready made, or are accompanied by an expert
fisherman, but, if breakage in the cast takes place and no help be
at hand, they should know how to make a single and double slip-knot,
and how to put on fresh flies in case of need. It should always be
remembered that the two ends of gut about to be joined should be
thoroughly moistened before they are manipulated. Otherwise the knots
will not bind and the gut will break.
[Illustration: _Method of fastening Dropper to Cast._]
It is better for a woman, if not an expert, to keep to one fly, that
at the end of the cast, called the tail fly, unless she is fishing
for sea-trout in which case a smaller one, called the dropper, may be
employed a little higher up the cast, or it may be advisable to use
two different kinds of salmon flies, but they are apt to get entangled
and give a great deal of trouble, without any conspicuous advantage.
This is particularly the case where casting is interfered with by high
rocks, or trees and branches just behind the fisherman.
[Illustration: _Dropper and Cast._]
The length of my own favourite salmon and trout rods are seventeen and
eleven feet respectively, but many people recommend a length of not
over fourteen for the former, as a woman's strength is so much less
than a man's.
[Illustration: _Dropper and Cast._]
My own experience is, that in casting against a strong wind, a stiffish
rod of eighteen feet is quite within my powers, so much depending on
the balance of the whole apparatus, the size of the reel and weight of
the butt. In quiet weather my "Castle Connell," a foot less in length
and much more supple was very satisfactory.
Marvellous tales are told of long casts, but personally I have found
sixty feet or thereabouts to be the length of my tether, at least
so far as a satisfactory performance is concerned. This distance is
usually quite enough for all practical purposes, and it will be some
time before the angler can be certain of dropping his fly lightly and
surely on a given spot, even at forty feet.
Women should practise casting on lawns without a cast at the end of
their lines, as, when the fly is on, a novice has been known to hook
swallows and even inquisitive puppy-dogs. The "Spey" cast should be
studied as well as the ordinary method, the former being most useful
where there are high branches or rocks just behind the place where the
angler must stand.
The "Spey" cast consists in so switching the line that it shoots out
direct to the required spot without ever passing behind the angler's
head, while in the more ordinary method, the great secret is to send
the line right out at the back, and then with a dexterous turn of the
wrist to bring it forward. By raising the tip of the rod slightly just
before the fly touches the water, it will fall into its position in
a light and natural manner. Casting requires great care and patience
in practising, and many a time the beginner may find her flies firmly
embedded in her own back hair, instead of speeding swiftly through the
air to where the fish lies.
In casting a line either for salmon or trout it should be noted that
fish always lie with their heads up-stream, and that it is therefore
necessary to stand some distance above where they are supposed to be,
and cast across the water so that the fly may fall delicately and
gently, without the least splash, a little above their noses. It cannot
be too often repeated that, in fishing for trout, the great art is _not
to be seen_. The angler must therefore stand well back from the bank,
hide behind trees and bushes and crouch in hollows. Above all, it is
absolutely essential that the figure should never be seen against the
sky. She must keep her face to the sun, that her shadow may not fall on
the water, throwing her fly first of all under the near bank and then
by successive casts across the stream.
The salmon cast is naturally a longer and slower movement than that
which is used for trout, but in both instances it is often well to
allow the fly to sink a little before beginning to play it. For salmon
the line should be drawn gently and with successive movements of the
wrist up-stream and across the space which intervenes between the spot
where the fly has fallen and that at which the angler stands. The trout
cast is much more rapid, and the playing should be across and down
stream as well as up, the movements of the wrist being much lighter and
more varied. In both cases, when a fish is felt, a "strike" should be
made, at least, authorities, to whom I am bound to bow, insist on this
ceremony. Personally I believe that the fish, by this sharp turn of
the wrist, is as often lost as hooked, unless care be taken to chose
the actual moment when he has closed his jaws upon it. I have seen a
fly pulled right out of a salmon's mouth, and have been told by those
looking on and instructing me that I had done that same thing myself,
when I merely intended to strike. My impression is, therefore, that
the novice had better let her salmon hook themselves, which they will
certainly do if they come well at the fly.
The cast itself requires careful examination before it is used; it
should be stained to the required colour and tested with a steelyard up
to sixteen or seventeen pounds for finer tackle, and eighteen for that
which is coarser. Trout-casts, will not, of course, require or bear so
severe a strain, but should be tried to see whether there is any defect
either in the gut or in the knots which unite the several lengths of
which they consist.
Few women, I imagine, will care to make their own casts, although some
do, and for those I may mention that the best and cheapest gut is
to be had in the South of Spain, where it is about one-third of the
price which it fetches in England. Fly-making is very pretty work for
delicate fingers but tedious and, on the whole, not very remunerative,
as flies can be bought very cheap now-a-days. They may not be quite so
carefully finished as those of home manufacture, but they are, I must
admit, equally killing, although for years I placed implicit faith in
the latter.
There was one fly for which I had a special fancy; it is a combination
of orange-coloured silks and tinsel for the body with pheasant and
jay for the wings, peacock for the head and golden pheasant for the
tail. On one occasion, this "Orange Body" of private manufacture was
presented to a friend, who admired it greatly and sallied forth, on
slaughter bent.
He hooked a salmon almost with the first cast, struck with decision,
and behold, all the dressing of the hook including of course the eye,
came away and he lost his fish.
What had happened? The secret was this: that the cobbler's wax used for
fly-making had been mislaid, and an ordinary piece of wax-candle used
instead, the result being that the fish went away with the hook in his
mouth while the rest of the fly remained to adorn the cast.
Test your flies, therefore, see that they are thoroughly sound and that
the eye and piece of gut by which they are fastened to the cast are
not frayed. It is a good thing to try a new fly in a basin of water
or shallow pond to see whether it floats, as it should, horizontally,
and whether the wings have a life-like motion, as by repeated short
movements you play it with your hand.
Attention to all these little matters may seem very irksome at first,
but it is by these means that one angler will succeed when another who
precedes him on the same ground, will obtain no sport.
To give an accurate description of the different kinds of flies used
in salmon and trout fishing, would be quite impossible in so short an
article as the present one, but it should be said that, as a general
rule, the deeper and larger the river the larger and brighter will be
the flies required.
In thick or heavy water, after a flood, large bright coloured flies are
indicated, and the clearer the stream the smaller must be the size, and
the more neutral the colours tend to become. Most authorities seem to
agree that the size of flies is a much more important factor in their
killing qualities than the special materials of which they are made, or
the finish and delicacy of their manufacture. When fish do not seem to
be rising it is well to try them with another colour or make, and this
will often enable the angler to fill his basket, when otherwise the
day's sport must have been marked with a "duck's egg."
The same general rules also apply to trout fishing, but it should
be remembered that in the latter case, except when fishing in lakes
or rivers for the larger species which may fairly be angled for as
salmon, the shallow water, enabling the lure to be plainly seen,
requires less gaudy colours, and, of course, an immense reduction in
size.
I must not omit to mention the gaff and the landing-net, most important
parts of the angler's outfit. The former is best for large fish, under
which it is much more difficult to get a net.
There is always a great controversy raging as to whether it is best to
gaff "over" or "under," and the right place to accomplish the former
is said by some authorities to be the back just at the shoulder.
Personally I belong to those who gaff "under," and have always found it
much easier than the other.
When a fish is brought close to the bank, sometimes only half or
three-parts killed, he will generally make a dash for his life when he
sees a murderous-looking steel instrument close to him, so it must be
concealed from his view, and it is a good plan to have the gaff pretty
deep in the water before he is brought up to it then striking under and
drawing the gaff sharply forwards and upwards. I have landed some very
heavy fish in this way, and scarcely ever missed one.
Once I gaffed a beautiful salmon of at least eighteen pounds, on the
Usk, landed him triumphantly, and stood admiring him while the fly was
taken out of his mouth. He seemed quite dead, but just as we turned
away to what we hoped would be fresh conquests, with a vigorous flap of
his tail, he managed to slide over into the river and was lost to view.
I am afraid he was mortally wounded by the gaff, and must have died
before long. This was a lesson to me to remove my fish to some distance
from the water's edge and to make sure that they were really dead
before leaving them. The net should be used for "red" or "black" fish,
which must be returned to the river on account of their condition, with
as little injury as possible.
Grayling are not usually considered as interesting to catch as salmon
and trout, for, although they will sometimes make a desperate fight for
life, they will only too often sink down to the bottom of the stream
and remain there. They must be fished for with the same precautions
against being seen which are used for trout, and with several flies on
the cast, as they often move in shoals. They usually lie in the middle
of the river, in its lower reaches towards the sea, and when these are
broad, the angler is often compelled to wade to get the best chance at
them. They are caught with the fly as well as worms and other bait.
The cast should be made up-stream.
I must not forget to mention dry-fly fishing, which is particularly
suitable for women. This form of angling is usually necessary in chalk
streams, where trout will often refuse to be tempted by any other.
The cast must be made up-stream so that the fly drops on the nose of
the fish in a natural manner, and floats on the top of the water. The
moment the fly gets wet it is useless, and must be dried by making two
or three false casts in the air before returning to a real one on the
stream. The fly must be worked with the greatest delicacy of touch, and
allowed to float down with the current on the surface of the water.
COARSE FISH.
[Illustration: _Lead for Spinning. Double Swivel._]
The above title includes pike, perch, roach, dace, chub, bream, barbel,
and tench, the last of which is very good eating, its fat being almost
like that of the turtle. When the nobler varieties are not to be
obtained, coarse fish are by no means to be despised, either for the
table or for sporting purposes, and many a happy day may be spent on
rivers and lakes at a time of year when perhaps neither salmon nor
trout are available.
[Illustration: _Archer Spinner._]
My experience of pike fishing has been chiefly in the Hampshire Stour,
which has a gravelly bottom, so that those fish, which are apt to be
muddy in flavour, were superior to any I have tasted caught elsewhere.
They are to be taken either with a float and live bait, or else with
a trolling-rod and spinning tackle, baited with a dace or other small
fish. After the care and tact which must be displayed in salmon, and
especially in trout fishing, pike seem to be of a very inferior order
of intellect. No concealment of one's person at the river-side is
absolutely necessary, though it may be advisable sometimes, and the
splash made by the bait in the water when spinning and which is enough
to frighten all the trout in the pool, does not seem to affect the
appetite of the fish we are now dealing with.
[Illustration: _Bickerayke's Snap Tackle._]
As far as my experience goes, I should say that gimp is the only thing
that will hold a large pike, whose tactics are to cut the line with
his teeth, or to wind it round a rock or root in the bed of the river
and so defeat his human enemy. Even when safely landed he is still
dangerous for he has jaws like a tiger, fitted with large, sharp teeth,
which must be approached with caution. The trolling-rod is short and
stiff, with large rings so that the line can run freely; the latter
cannot of course be wound on the reel when fishing, unless in casting
from the reel, but must be drawn in by hand. Great care is required to
prevent entanglement, and the angler must beware of treading on his
line as he moves along.
I found, inside a pike of twenty-five pounds, caught in the Hampshire
Stour, a perch of three pounds, which had been swallowed whole. The
pike had, apparently, only regarded this as a _Hors d'oeuvre_ and not
as a square meal, since he came to my dace with the greatest voracity.
Perch fishing has always had great attractions for me, and I have
caught many beautiful baskets of them, also in the Hampshire Stour.
They are curious fish in some ways, and are to be found in large
companies in pools and lakes, at the time of year when they are in
season. When they are on the shallows they are not fit to eat, and will
not usually take the bait. We fished for them with a live minnow and
float, sometimes from the bank and sometimes from a punt. They do not
seem shy, and I have caught them with my hand in the water holding the
gut and minnow, but if once a perch is lost, no more will rise in that
pool.
They must have some means of communication with each other, for after
such an event the only thing to do is to move to another hole. When, by
the disappearance of the float under water, the angler becomes aware
that a fish has taken the bait, a short time should be allowed before
striking as it must be remembered that the perch has to swallow part
of the minnow before arriving at the hook. If left too long, the perch
will gorge the bait (and this applies also to pike), the result being
very unpleasant for all parties concerned. I have also caught perch
with a worm, in which case the bait should be almost on the bottom of
the river. The great attraction in this sport is that you can fish on a
brilliantly fine summer's day, and see the objects of your attentions
swimming about and playing regardless of you in the deep clear water.
[Illustration: _Pennell Flight for Small Baits._]
It is said that certain kinds of trout croak, but that roach do, I
myself can testify, and so distressing is the noise they emit that when
I have caught them by accident, I always returned them to the water
with great despatch.
Carp and tench are exceedingly shy fish and both prefer muddy and weedy
ponds to a clear running stream. In the former they may be caught with
paste and other forms of bait, but, to my mind, are hardly worth the
trouble and, if wanted for the table may just as well be circumvented
with a net, for all the sport they afford.
[Illustration: _Pennell Flight for Large Baits._]
Barbel and bream are very dull fish to catch with a rod and line; the
former especially dive at once and burrow sulking in the mud, opposing
merely dead weight to the angler's efforts. Dace and chub only remain
to be noticed. The former will take a fly very readily, and give very
good sport for their size, while chub are as shy as trout and as
difficult to catch, if once they obtain a sight of their antagonist on
the bank.
It has only been possible to give a very short account of the various
kinds of fresh-water fish, and numerous questions will occur to the
novice in angling, which must be elucidated partly by study of the many
excellent volumes already published on the subject, but chiefly by
experience and consultation with men who possess special knowledge of
their own locality.
Still, I hope I have said enough to encourage women to look into the
science of angling for themselves, and not to be entirely dependent on
the services and advice of anyone who may chance to accompany them.
S. H. Malmesbury.
[Illustration: _NATURAL FORMS OF FAVOURITE TROUT FLIES._]
FOOTNOTES:
[4] This hook or beak on the lower jaw of male salmon is a provision of
nature to enable them to rake those furrows in the gravel wherein the
female deposits her _ova_. It has been known to pierce entirely through
the upper jaw, causing the ultimate death of the fish.--Ed.
[5] The foul-hooked salmon, too, has far more leverage.--Ed.
[6] Rods of split cane are very largely used, and as they are light and
strong have much to recommend them.--Ed.
TROUT AND OTHER FLY FISHING.
This subject far from being treated exhaustively, or even with any
attempt at fulness, will, on the contrary, only be written of, so as to
give a few hints to those who love to wield the rod. Bottom fishing,
with the paraphernalia necessary to that branch of the sport, has
objections at least from a woman's point of view, but to fishing with
the fly there is no drawback, unless indeed you happen to be one of
those who hold that you should never pit your skill against one of the
lower animals in a struggle for life. Of all sports indeed there is
none more entirely suited to the powers of woman than fly-fishing. The
nicety, the quickness, the light-handedness, and care as to details,
and I think I may add _thoroughness_ in any pursuit they really take
to, in which women generally excel are all points in her favour the
moment she takes a rod in hand. Great strength is not needed, unless
indeed she choose to go after one of the leviathans of the deep, but
only constant and exhaustless patience. Yet it is the mention of the
last that will make many who know only of the sport by hearsay, look
scornful and say they see no fun in standing watching and waiting for
the bite that often never comes, and that they prefer something more
active. As it is no use arguing with people who are persuaded they
view the subject from a vastly superior standpoint, the only answer to
this is, "If you do not change your opinion after a week's--or even a
day's--experience--well, fly-fishing is not for you."
What I am anxious to impress upon all is, that fly-fishing is not
necessarily an expensive sport. For the best of salmon-fishing and the
right to try for trout in their choicest waters you must indeed pay,
but for the right to fish for their less thought of brethren there need
be but small demands on your purse.
My own experience one summer may be of some use to those who would fain
do likewise. My lot was cast in a part of Sussex where under the Downs
flowed a tiny but most beautiful little river. "No trout," had been
the answer given when I enquired as to the prospect of sport from its
banks, so sadly I made up my mind that beyond an occasional visit to a
trout stream, owned by some friends in the same county, my rod would be
idle that summer.
"If only it _was_ stocked with trout," was my frequent reflection as
I wandered along its banks and noted the swift flowing current and
the tempting stickles that looked a perfect paradise from a trouting
point of view. One evening as I stood watching the clear waters as they
rushed round and over some opposing rocks into a large pool, I caught
sight of a silvery, most graceful fish dart through the water at the
side of the eddy. Then when my eye became accustomed to the curious
light, as the rays of the setting sun fell slantways over the pool,
through the branches of a mighty oak tree that rose from the banks,
I saw another, and another. "Dace," was my verdict, and forthwith
dismissed them from my mind. But I had not reached home before the
thought of trying for those dace with fly came to me, and the next day,
trout rod in hand, and with a Black Palmer and Alder on the cast, I
made my first venture in what was to me quite a new branch of sport.
[Illustration: _Method of fastening Dropper to Cast._]
As the line flew out for the second time and the flies fell gently and
lightly on the water, I had but to wait a second before a faint thrill
ran through my hand and told me _something_ had touched the fly. Could
it be a bite? So different was it to the sudden onslaught of a trout,
that I hesitated whether or not to strike, and contrary to the usual
fate of the waverer, it was the momentary pause which gave me the fish.
A slight movement of the wrist and I had him fast, and then a delicious
few minutes followed while I played as game a dace as I ever wish to
measure skill with. Indeed I should not have been surprised when at
last my prize was safely caught in the landing net, to see the spotted
scales of a trout. But no, the slender, silvery, beautiful-headed fish
could be no other than a dace, and his captor at least was content with
the gallant bid he had made for his life.
If dace would take the fly, why not also roach and chub, and soon,
_faute de mieux_ it is true, but none the less with very considerable
enjoyment, I was fishing the little stream for all three kinds in turn.
On the gravelly bottom of a certain portion of the water, I found a red
Palmer very attractive to the roach which were there in considerable
numbers. Some of them were of fair size, the largest I took turning
the scales at 1-lb., but I am bound to confess that I found these fish
such very shy biters that I generally preferred to try either for dace
or chub. One roach, however, gave rather a novel experience by hanging
itself in a tree, and causing the greatest excitement among our party,
the members of which quickly came from their chosen spots to see and
admire. I was fishing from the shelter of a bush on the top of a high
steep bank, and with some trees close at the rear and a decidedly fresh
breeze blowing, it was not an easy matter to get the line safely out
at all. The water, however, was but little disturbed by the wind, from
which just there it was protected by the high ground, and the fish were
clearly visible in the water below. As there was nothing for it in such
a position but to swing the fish out if I caught one, I did not
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