Volume Ii Part 15 (1/2)
At the end of the manoeuvres I returned him to my friend with many thanks, and he very soon sold him as a broke charger for a long price.
Shortly after this I was dining with my friend at the mess of his regiment, and, after dinner, in the ante-room, I happened to remark to an officer, ”What a very good riding-master and staff they must have to break in so young a horse so thoroughly.” He looked rather amused, and replied, ”I suppose you refer to Red Rover?” (the name of the horse). I said, ”Yes.” ”Well,” he answered, ”you broke him!” I was, of course, greatly surprised, but found it was actually the case. The horse had never been ridden with troops until he was lent to me, and I feel not the slightest doubt that it was the fact of his being on that dangerous piece of ground, and my having my feet and hands both loose when the gun was fired so unexpectedly, that gave him confidence. I could not have influenced him in the slightest degree. Of course, if I had been on ordinary ground, and had seen that a gun was going to be fired, I should, naturally enough, have slightly tightened the reins and felt his mouth and pressed my legs to his side, and thus have drawn his attention to the fact that something was going to take place. As I did not, he took the noise as a matter of course, and did not notice it; and so, through mutual ignorance, we had perfect confidence in one another. But there is a sequel to this. Some months later I had a letter from my friend, telling me that if I wished to buy the horse I might get him for almost nothing, as the man he sold him to gave an awful character of him as a charger. As the horse was in the same district I happened to be in, I went to see him, and certainly the groom gave him a bad character. I got leave to try him, and very soon found that his present owner must be a very irritable, nervous man. The horse had had his mouth so jagged about with the bit that he never kept his head still for a minute, and, if you told him to mark a flank, directly it approached began to switch his tail and tried to kick, having evidently had frequent digs with the spur to make him steady.
Altogether the horse was quite spoiled for a charger through his rider's fidgets; and, as I did not care to take the trouble to try and break him again, I did not have anything more to do with him. But I think this was a striking proof of how a horse can be made and unmade.
SPORTING FOR MEN OF MODERATE MEANS
For your wealthy n.o.blemen, or large landed proprietors, it matters little what sport of any kind costs them, whether in horses, hounds, shooting, fis.h.i.+ng, yachting, racing, or coursing.
Yet very many rich men are the greatest screws possible--carrying out the old adage of ”the more you have, the more you want.” Love of sport is one of the boasted and general characteristics of an Englishman; but I am inclined to think that, after all, young England is not such an ardent sportsman or such a hard man as his father and grandfathers were. As a rule, they are more of the feather-bed and hearth-rug sort; but this by no means applies to all, for I know many good and indefatigable men, and there are hundreds I do not.
Our forefathers were, no doubt, earlier than we are--that is, they did not, in spite of their hard drinking at times, turn night into morning as we do. They went early to bed, and got up early; began hunting before daylight, and managed to kill their fox as twilight fell. Their soul was in sport, and we love to talk and hear about the grand, generous, though illiterate old squires of a hundred and fifty years ago. Men who always stirred their ale with a sprig of rosemary, and drank posset before going to bed; dined at one o'clock when they were at home; smoked their ”yard of clay,” wore topboots, buckskins, and a blue coat with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons--regular Squire Westerns, but perhaps a little more refined than that worthy was. But education--and that wonderful thing, ”steam,” which enables us to travel from one end of the kingdom to another in the course of a few hours--soon stamped the old country gentleman out. What should we think if we now saw the queer-fas.h.i.+oned coach, with its four long-tailed black horses, doing about five miles an hour? Some of our London swells, who cannot stoop to pick an umbrella up, would fall down in a fit, especially if the inmates of the said coach were any friends or relations of theirs.
Yes, the good old days are gone by--pa.s.sed for ever. Men now smoke their cigars, hunt and shoot for a couple of hours, and look with horror on the portraits of their ancestors with a pigtail, and whisp of white cambric round their necks.
Many, very many country gentlemen of a century ago never saw London; they might have heard of it, but it was the work of a week to get up, and another to get back, and a visit to London about once or twice in their lives was as much as many could boast of, and gave them food for gossip for years and years after.
Shootings in those days were not of much value, and a man might have had a great deal of sport for a very little money; but now all is changed, though it is only within the last thirty or forty years that Scotch shootings have risen in value; some moors that were rented then for fifty pounds per annum are now nearer five hundred.
Directly people found out they could get down to Scotland at comparatively little cost and trouble, the prices of shootings went up--and they will continue to rise. England is much wealthier than she was. Commerce is much more extended; money is easier; speculation is more rife; more gold discovered, which I cannot see makes one iota difference; yet in spite of all this, and the heavy taxes we groan under--many raised and ”thrust upon us” for the purpose of maintaining a lot of hungry foreigners, who, by the way, have the pick of all the good things. Well, well! that game will be played out before very many years are gone by; there will be a most signal ”check-mate,” a ”right-about,” and the usual ”Who'd have thought it?” ”Knew it was coming,” ”Always said so,” and so on. But to my mutton. Despite of the heavy price of things, heavy taxes, heavy rents, the Englishman is still a sportsman to his heart's core. If he does not make such a labour of it as his forefathers, he loves it just as well; his hounds and his horses are faster--he is faster, in many senses of the word; his guns do not take half an hour to load, and his pointers or setters can beat a twenty-acre field of turnips in something less than four hours; in fact, in many places dogs are going out of fas.h.i.+on, and the detestable system of ”driving” coming in. I hate a battue, and call it sport I cannot, and never will. It is true I go to them occasionally, get into a hot corner, and have the ”bouquet”--but still I cannot call it legitimate sport.
The man with moderate means must give up all idea of Scotch shooting, unless he goes very far north and gets some of the islands that are difficult of access; then it may still be done. Wild shooting, in many parts of Wilts.h.i.+re, Dorsets.h.i.+re, Devons.h.i.+re, and Cornwall may be had at reasonable prices: thirty years ago ground--and good ground--could be got at sixpence an acre; now it is eighteenpence and two s.h.i.+llings.
Very fair rough shooting may be rented in North or South Wales for about threepence an acre, and it is here, or in Ireland--which I shall presently touch upon--that the man of moderate means may have both shooting and fis.h.i.+ng.
In the first place, house-rent is cheap in Wales; in fas.h.i.+onable spots, of course, it is not; but those are the very places a sportsman must avoid: he must leave fas.h.i.+on, youth, and beauty behind him, and go in for sport, and sport only.
Having found a house and ground, he must then get a good keeper and dog-breaker.
Here he exclaims, ”Ah! a keeper! here's the commencement of expenses!”
Patience, my friend, and I'll tell you how your keeper shall pay himself, and put money into your pocket as well.
Of course, with wild shooting or any other you will want dogs; and for this purpose I recommend setters. Of course I presume you are a sportsman, and know all about it, for it would never do if you did not.
You must also, if you possibly can, get ground where there are plenty of rabbits--these are what pay; they cost nothing to keep, and are no trouble--every good rabbit is worth nearly a s.h.i.+lling to you to sell.
Your setters must be of a fas.h.i.+onable and first-cla.s.s strain; you must have three or four breeding b.i.t.c.hes; and the produce of these setters will not only pay your keeper, but your rent as well. You must advertise your puppies to be sold, and keep yourself before the public by constant advertis.e.m.e.nts. Your keeper will break at least four brace of setters for you to sell each year; and these dogs, according to their goodness and beauty, will be worth from fifty to a hundred guineas a brace, and even more. So you will not only be able to pay your man, but a good part of your rent and expenses as well: but you must go systematically to work, and make it a business combined with pleasure. You must understand that good and trustworthy keepers are like angels' visits, few and far between--but still they are to be had; and when you have one, regard him as the very apple of your eye, and never let a few pounds stand in the way. If you have a large extent of ground, a man who understands his business well will break more than four brace of dogs a year--aye, double the quant.i.ty, but it is better to have fewer done--and done well; get a good name for having the correct article, and you will always be able to dispose of more dogs than you can breed or break. Destroy all the crooked and weakly pups, keeping only those that will make braces, or any others that are really handsome. You can also break a couple of brace yourself--that is, if you have temper and patience. February is the time to commence with your young dogs. You can keep them at work for six weeks or two months; by that time good fis.h.i.+ng will be in. I care not to commence fis.h.i.+ng too early.
One of the first things you must do is to put up a good serviceable kennel, where your dogs can lie dry and warm. It must be well drained--if possible, with a stream of water running through it. You need not go to any great expense, but it must be _well paved_, and constantly hot-lime washed, to keep it sweet and wholesome, and the ticks and vermin under.
I will not here give any directions how they are to be made, because that depends a great deal on the place you have--the s.p.a.ce, convenience, and so forth--but wherever you build them, let there be a good large yard for the dogs to run about in. Let the benches they lie on fold back against the wall, so that you may wash under them; and made with a flap in front, that the dogs, when tired, cannot crawl under them, which they will very often do. Benches are generally made in bars three inches wide, with an inch s.p.a.ce between each, to let all the dust, small bits of straw, &c., through. Your dogs must always be _well bedded_--if straw is expensive and difficult to get, good dry fern will do very well. In Wales and Ireland I always had a lot of this cut every year at the proper time, stacked and thatched. Your _kennel must be kept scrupulously clean and washed out every morning_.
Feeding is a very important thing, and must be judiciously and regularly done, and always at the same hour; but as every one has his own ideas on this point, I will say no more about it.
The place, of all others, for good wild shooting and fis.h.i.+ng is Ireland. Here a man with moderate means may have all he wants--cheap house-rent; taxes few; living at much less cost than in England, and sport to his heart's content. It is, I admit, a wild life; but then it is a very pleasant, happy one.
The sea-voyage is nothing: those splendid steamers which run from Holyhead to Kingstown cross in a few hours, and you hardly, unless there is heavy weather, know you are at sea.
For the man whose heart is in sport, I know of no place so well adapted as Ireland. Wild ducks, snipe, grouse, and capital woodc.o.c.k shooting; hares, rabbits, partridges and pheasants; all that you want is the ground properly looked after.
Wherever you go, if economy is your object, you must never attempt hand-reared pheasants; the cost of feeding is very great, and, as I have often and often said before, a hand-reared pheasant, killed in December, costs little less than half a sovereign. Near a covert, if there is rough ground, it may be broken up, and barley or buck-wheat sown; this must not be cut, but left standing for the birds to go to whenever they are so inclined. This is a very inexpensive way of feeding. They are very fond of small potatoes, but these will do for your pigs.