so with that elasticity which you will love; and then, after
that, the journey home is, it is
occasionally something almost
too
frightful to be contemplated. You can,
therefore, if it so
please you, station yourself with other patient long-suffering,
mindful men at some corner, or at some central point
amidst the
rides, biding your time, consoling yourself with cigars, and not
swearing at the vile perfidious, unfoxlike fox more frequently
than you can help. For the fox on such occasions will be abused
with all the calumnious epithets which the
ingenuity of angry men
can
devise, because he is exercising that
ingenuity the
possession of which on his part is the
foundation of fox-
hunting.
There you will remain, nursing your horse, listening to chaff,
and hoping. But even when the fox does go, your difficulties may
be but
beginning.
It is possible he may have gone on your side of the wood; but
much more
probable that he should have taken the other. He loves
not that crowd that has been abusing him, and steals away from
some silent distant corner. You, who are a
beginner, hear nothing
of his going; and when you rush off, as you will do with others,
you will hardly know at first why the rush is made. But some one
with older eyes and more
experienced ears has seen signs and
heard sounds, and knows that the fox is away. Then, my friend,
you have your place to win, and it may be that the distance shall
be too great to allow of your
winning it. Nothing but experience
will guide you
safely through these difficulties.
In
drawing forests or
woodlands your course is much clearer.
There is no question, then, of
standing still and
waiting with
patience,
tobacco, and chaff for the coming start. The area to be
drawn is too large to admit of
waiting, and your only duty is to
stay as close to the hounds as your ears and eyes will
permit, remembering always that your ears should serve you much
more often than your eyes. And in
woodlandhunting that which you
thus see and hear is likely to be your
amusement for the day.
There is "ample room and verge enough" to run a fox down without
any visit to the open country, and by degrees, as a true love of
hunting comes upon you in place of a love of riding, you will
learn to think that a day among the
woodlands is a day not badly
spent. At first, when after an hour and a half the fox has been
hunted to his death, or has succeeded in
finding some friendly
hole, you will be wondering when the fun is going to begin. Ah
me! how often have I gone through all the fun, have seen the fun
finished, and then have wondered when it was going to begin; and
that, too, in other things besides
hunting !
But at present the fun shall not be finished, and we will go back
to the wood from which the fox is just breaking. You, my pupil,
shall have been patient, and your
patience shall be rewarded by a
good start. On the present occasion I will give you the exquisite
delight of
knowing that you are there, at the spot, as the hounds
come out of the
covert. Your success, or want of success,
throughout the run will depend on the way in which you may now
select to go over the three or four first fields. It is not
difficult to keep with hounds if you can get well away with them,
and be with them when they settle to their
running. In a long and
fast run your horse may, of course, fail you. That must depend on
his power and his condition. But, presuming your horse to be able
to go, keeping with hounds is not difficult when you are once
free from the thick
throng of the riders. And that thick
throngsoon makes itself thin. The difficulty is in the start, and you
will almost be offended when I suggest to you what those
difficulties are, and suggest also that such as they are even
they may
overcome you. You have to choose your line of riding. Do
not let your horse choose it for you instead of choosing it for
yourself. He will probably make such attempts, and it is not at
all im
probable that you should let him have his way. Your horse
will be as
anxious to go as you are, but his
anxiety will carry
him after some other special horse on which he has fixed his
eyes. The rider of that horse may not be the guide that you would
select. But some human guide you must select. Not at first will
you, not at first does any man, choose for himself with serene
precision of
confident judgment the line which he will take. You
will be flurried,
anxious, self-diffident,
conscious of your own
ignorance, and
desirous of a leader. Many of those men who are
with you will have objects at heart very
different from your
object. Some will ride for certain points, thinking that they can
foretell the run of the fox. They may be right; but you, in your