To be able to fall well is an art in itself—but it is one at which, unfortunately, very few ladies excel; therefore, not to fall at all will in their case be much better than to do so in even the most artistic fashion.

At the same time to dispense with falls must in a measure mean to dispense with riding also—that is, with riding straight to hounds; and as this latter enjoyment is, to a keen sportswoman, the very greatest pleasure that earth can possibly afford, I cannot wish to see any of my readers deprived of it, and have therefore determined to devote this chapter to the subject of various kinds of falls—the circumstances under which they generally happen, the way to avoid meeting them, and the best method of escaping being injured by them when they chance to occur.

To escape falls will to many ladies be the most interesting portion of my subject; therefore, we will consider it first.

To begin, then: you should decline riding any save the most perfect horses. A rusher, refuser, runaway, or anything else associated with the vices which have already been treated of, should be at once put beyond the pale of your favour; nothing short of positive perfection should ever tempt you to mount. Secondly, you must never on any account be in a hurry, nor allow others to hustle you. Though hounds may be in full cry within a field of you, and only a single small fence dividing, you must take your time, deliberately, and without flurry. Thirdly, you must never under any circumstances make for the fastest route, nor jump a big place to get on terms with the pack; on the contrary, you must let the hard-riding fraternity go by on all occasions, and then, warned by their mishaps, calmly pick your own places, and get through gaps and gates as best you can. Fourthly, you must watch the very first signs of tiring that are visible in your horse, and on perceiving them give in at once, and either ride or rail him quietly home. Fifthly, you must be decidedly wealthy, to allow of your purchasing marvels that can never by any chance contrive to put a foot astray. Sixthly, you must be a first-class judge of horseflesh, to enable you to find out such unheard-of acquisitions: and seventhly, you must possess a calmness of temperament very rarely to be met with among horsewomen—coupled with a wisdom to which that of Solomon, or Minerva, was a mere bagatelle.

I fancy, having got thus far, that I hear some lady asking rather disconsolately why I thus jest about serious matters, and whether it is really not possible, except on the conditions I have named, for an equestrian to ride to hounds without receiving falls,—and I at once answer that, according to my ideas of straight riding, it certainly is not. Whenever I hear a lady boast that she can ride two, three, or four days a week without ever getting a tumble, I at once surmise that she must be a very mild goer indeed; that she never rides hard except on exceptional days, when a country with which she is perfectly familiar happens to be traversed, and that the click of her horse’s hoofs is heard far oftener upon the roads than is the thunder of them on the broad fields, where bullfinch and yawning chasm offer difficulties with which the “cautious ones” do not care to meddle.

There is no denying the fact that if you mean to harden your heart and go straight, not stopping to take mental measurements of any obstacle that you may chance to encounter, falls will assuredly be your portion, and probably a good many of them, too; for you must remember that no matter how perfect may be your skill in the saddle, or how admirable the training of your steed, such things cannot afford you complete immunity from danger, so long as the hunting-field is flooded (which it unfortunately is) with ignorant horsemen, mounted on all kinds of animals—rough-riders, who care little about jostling and cannoning, provided that they themselves succeed in getting foremost places—and children, chiefly young boys, whose parents indulge them with mounts (no matter of what sort, provided they have four legs to carry them) during the long Christmas vacation, and who, with the fearlessness of ignorance, dash hither and thither, without any regard whatever for their own safety, much less for that of others.

One of the very worst falls I ever got in my life was caused by a schoolboy on a pony. The little chap burst wildly through a hedge close to Notley Abbey, where I happened to be waiting quietly, in hopes that the fox might break that way—and, cannoning right against me, caught my horse on the quarters, and turned him a complete somersault, burying me beneath his weight. Fortunately there were not many out, for it was a Chilton day, and the weather was very boisterous; had things been otherwise I could not have escaped being ridden over, for the game broke at the precise instant of my fall, and the field, such as it was, came streaming right over the fatal fence. On another occasion, when down at the bottom of a deep drain, a horsebreaker on a colossal mount tumbled crash on top of me, and neither of us looked handsome when dragged out—nor for a good many days after.

It is, therefore, manifest that however valuable skill and good horseflesh may undoubtedly be, we are largely dependent upon others for our safety, or its reverse, when we go to hunt, and as Carlyle’s theory of “mostly fools” is never in any place so clearly set forth as in the hunting-field, it will be well not to go thither with an over-confident feeling respecting our own powers, but rather to adopt the pithy prayer of the old Hobb’s Hill huntsman, “From all bad riders and wild horses, good Lord deliver us!”

I would have you bear in mind that it will be a grand help to you upon all occasions to keep cool, to avoid flurry and fuss, and above all things to steer clear of “funk,” which is as bad as panic, or a trifle worse. It is the least flurried riders who always come off the best, in two senses of the word,—therefore, while falls are not by any means to be made light of, they should be taken as coolly as possible, nor should demonstration of any sort ever be made over them. I saw a lady get two falls one day with Sir Bache Cunard’s pack at Holt Wood, and although her face was a sorry sight when turning homewards after the last one, she made infinitely less fuss about it than did an irrepressible damsel who had merely scraped her cheek against a thorn-bush.

You should never jump off at once when a horse bungles, but keep steady in the middle of your saddle and give him plenty of rein. Time enough for a man to show his quickness when his knee touches the ground, and for a lady in a similar predicament the best course will be to sit still, deal him out unlimited rope, grip his mane firmly—leaving his mouth alone—and ten to one he will recover himself. Of course I am speaking now of the plan to be pursued in case of a slow fall: one that is preceded by a scramble—in fact, a “bungle” as I have chosen to call it. When an animal comes down a weighty cropper, there is seldom much time for reflection, or choice of action either; the great point then is to come off as best you can.

To roll clear of the horse is the secret in most heavy falls, and this can only be done where the foot is absolutely free from the stirrup, and the habit from the pommels of the saddle. For this reason I again most strongly advocate the use of a plain racing-stirrup for ladies in the hunting-field, as it has not any sort of machinery that can possibly get out of order, and is therefore independent of the variable attentions bestowed upon such matters by unthinking grooms. A good plain stirrup, made large enough to release the foot, even if thrust “home,” is the safest and best in which an equestrian can ever ride. I approve (as already stated) of the spring-bar attachment, and think that every lady before setting out to hunt ought to see for herself that the spring is open. I know that this theory is not a popular one among horsewomen, as they think it is apt to entail the loss of a stirrup in a quick run; but this is an error, for the stirrup-leather will seldom or never come away if properly treated (by which I mean not leant upon)—except in case of strong pressure being brought to bear upon it, as, for instance, in the event of a fall. An accomplished horsewoman will never ride from the stirrup, but will use it merely as a support for the foot, and will be altogether independent of it, even if entirely taken away.

With untrained riders it is, of course, different, and to their churning motion in the saddle, and heavy hang upon the stirrup-leather, one half the sore backs and other sufferings to which ladies’ horses are liable, are altogether attributable.

A habit-skirt, if properly constructed, cannot possibly catch upon the pommels when the wearer receives a fall. I have already given suitable instructions concerning the cut of habits, and would here take occasion to say that a marvellously improved plan, introduced by Thomas & Sons, of South Molton Street, has been lately shown me. It consists of cutting the skirt with one seam less than usual, and making it without any hem around the bottom. Of this latter I greatly approve. It has frequently happened that a skirt, when caught on the pommel, has torn downwards as far as the hem, and been there arrested, owing to the resistance offered by the strength of the doubled cloth. Where the hem is done away with, this danger ceases to exist, and the skirt looks if anything better than those that are finished in the ordinary way. I strongly recommend the innovation.

The most dangerous fall that a lady can get is one into a deep ditch, or drain, with her horse on top of her; the least dangerous is when he comes down with her on the flat, and gives her a chance to roll clear of him. The best course to pursue in the first instance is to remain perfectly quiet, provided the horse does so also, until rescued. If your head happens to get under water, or that you are in any physical suffering entailed by the position in which you are placed, it will of course be incumbent upon you to endeavour to extricate yourself from it, but even in so awful a moment you should strive to remember that a prostrate horse will be far less likely to injure you than a struggling one, and that if you begin to move, or to pull his head about (as I have seen some frightened ladies do), he will probably make violent efforts to get upon his feet, and may hurt you very severely before help arrives.

If the place is very deep, and narrow at the bottom, and that you are partially under the horse, strive for your life to keep his head down, in order that he may not attempt to rise, and so trample you in his endeavours. He cannot get up so long as you can prevent his lifting his head; therefore, if you can contrive to throw a leg across it, or an arm, or any other portion of your body, do so, but never drag at the rein when in such a position. Strive if possible, however, to retain a light hold of it, in order that, in the event of the animal managing to regain his feet without mischief, he may not get altogether away from you. Coolness and courage will be the best companions upon so trying an occasion.

When a thoroughly practised horsewoman gets a fall of this description, it is generally through riding a beaten horse at a place that is too big for his exhausted powers to carry him safely over—an error into which almost all enthusiastic riders are apt to be led; or it may occur through the landing-ground being rotten, or broken away. When this latter is the case, the horse’s hind legs slip from beneath him, and he hangs for a dreadful moment, half-in, half-out of the ravine, beating a frantic tattoo with his fore-feet upon the brink, while the hinder ones struggle to find something that may serve as an assistance against the otherwise inevitable going back. A moment like this is supremely dreadful for both horse and rider. The latter, if a man, may swing himself off in the twinkling of an eye, and jump on to the bank, keeping a hold of the bridle all the while, and by it may assist his mount to regain terra firma when he is safely landed there himself; I have seen it done by smart horsemen over and over again,—but no lady that ever entered a hunting-field can possibly do it without a hand being stretched from the bank to assist her.

I recall instances, and think of them with horror, of finding myself hanging over an abyss—for such it always seems to an excited fancy—watching my horse’s forelegs striving to plant themselves, feeling the struggling quarters seeking some help from below, seeing the scarlet nostril laid level with the earth, the eager neck outstretched, the panting muscles brought strongly into play—hearing the anxious snort, dealing out abundant rein, and uttering words of encouragement in the vain hope that the horse may succeed in righting himself—conscious, nevertheless, that he is sinking lower and lower, seeing then a friendly hand outstretched to assist me, feeling the welcome grip of it, clutching strongly at it as it drags me to the bank, knowing that I have never let go the bridle during that terrible moment of suspense, making use of it then to draw my brave horse to a place of safety, looking down with a shudder into the chasm from which we have both escaped, and finally, with a laugh, and a Laus also, jumping merrily into the saddle again, and scurrying away in the hope of picking up the hounds.

But there came an instance of misadventure which ended less happily—when there was no strong hand to rescue or help—when the awful backward crash occurred only too surely, and oblivion followed, to be succeeded in time by a consciousness that for ever and ever the sight of happy hunting-fields, and the sound of huntsman’s horn and hounds’ joyful opening-out were gone away, to be known no more on earth. Such things are sad awakenings from sweet fitful dreams. I pray that all my young readers may be spared them; and with more than one fate to warn, I urge that discretion may at all times usurp the place of valour or ambition, and that no feat may be attempted which will be likely to involve dire, if not fatal results. Better be a live dog than a dead lion; and a few who are now disabled would rather have their bodies intact to-day, than have ever known the uncertain pleasures that are attendant upon being Kings and Queens of an hour. I do not say that it is so with myself. A short life and a merry one is much more suited to my elastic temperament; but there are others, young, beautiful women, whose feet have only touched the threshold of life’s loveliest and brightest doorway, who are nevertheless looking back—with tears.

To resume, however. The second description of fall on which I have touched: namely, one on the flat, is only dangerous according as the horse may or may not attempt to roll when down. If he falls fairly on his knees and nose, you may manage (as I have explained) to retain your seat in the saddle, and may even assist him to get upon his legs; many fine horsewomen do it: but if you try the experiment you must not forget to sit well back, not only in order to take the weight off his shoulders, but to save yourself from getting knocked in the face. If you watch the movements of a fallen animal, you will perceive that at the instant that he steadies himself on his knees when rising, he instinctively flings up his head, a motion absolutely necessary for the restoration of his balance; if at such a moment you happen to be leaning forward in the saddle, you will be certain to receive severe punishment, and perhaps be disabled for the remainder of the day.

If, in falling, the horse turns over upon his side, you cannot do any better than strive to get clear of him; but do not on any account let go the rein if you can possibly help it. So long as you can keep hold of it you will not only prevent your mount from getting away over the country, but will save yourself from possible contact with his heels, for it stands to reason that he cannot have both his back and fore-quarters turned to you at one and the same time, and if you have a hold of his head he certainly cannot twist himself round to kick at you. I know quite well that there is an ignorant idea abroad relative to the danger of holding on to the bridle of a fallen horse. “Let him go! let him go!” shrieks the multitude, when any mishap is witnessed; and the poor, unlearned, frightened rider follows the foolish advice, and away goes the steed, with reins and stirrups flying—lashing out, perhaps, in his exuberance at finding himself free—and is perhaps not brought back until the wearied owner has had to relinquish all hope of catching up the hunt, and been compelled also to walk some miles of the road homewards.

No, never if you can help it, relinquish your hold of the bridle when you and your horse are together making the acquaintance of mother earth, but remember the rule, “a long rein,” even when not upon his back.

Should a horse peck with you, a very nasty kind of fall, I tell you candidly that you will be almost certain to come off over his head, unless you are sitting glued to your saddle and very far back indeed; but, as this is a sort of tumble which does not often happen, except when riding a deep drop, or crossing something very wide, you may prepare yourself for possible contingencies when going at the jump by allowing your body, from the waist upwards, to lie back almost to the croup, while you deal out unlimited rein, and keep your seat as firmly as any rock. In this way you cannot possibly be pulled over the animal’s head, and by leaving him plenty of bridle you will still further stave off the probability of mischance.

When a horse falls with you into water, stick to him if you possibly can, and clutch firmly by his mane, while leaving him the entire length of the bridle. If you happen to come right off, keep alongside of him as well as you are able, retaining a light hold of the rein, and assisting yourself by the saddle, the stirrup, or any other thing that may present itself, provided it does not in any respect hamper his movements or interfere with his mouth. I strongly advocate keeping the bridle in your hand if you can possibly manage it, but you should not on any account make use of it as a means of support. To do so will be to drag your horse’s head under water, a thing involving very serious results. So long as you leave an animal abundant room to stretch his neck he will not drown, even in the deepest river, and if you keep a cool head, and assist yourself by the saddle until you can lay hold of some side bushes, or until assistance shall arrive, neither will you, however near it you may fancy yourself to be.

When a horse falls with you into a ditch and immediately regains his footing without unseating you, do not allow him to essay getting out at the same spot at which he bungled, for probably the bank may be rotten, or broken away by the hoofs of other horses, and may thus occasion him to go back again. You should rather urge him forward a little distance, in whichever direction his head is turned, and as soon as your eye detects a sound spot in the bank, collect him for his effort, throw him the reins, and sit well back while he struggles up the side. I do not mean that you are to hang back, this will only impede him, but keep your head well away from him, or his may strike you a blow that will take you a long time to forget.

Do not neglect, however, in the event of walking a horse along a ditch which is skirted by thorn or hedge, to look out for protruding brambles, and push them aside with your hand as you go forward, lest your face suffer. On no account neglect this precaution.

The instructions given in the present chapter will be found especially applicable to ladies who are fond of cutting out a line of country for themselves, or whose pilots may either have got lost in the fray, or may not be sufficiently quick in turning to the rescue to prove of any immediate assistance in case of need.

In a forthcoming chapter on “hunting,” I shall have something to say on each of these subjects.