Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “In conclusion, sir,” it ended, “we beg to assure you that you possess alike the confidence and esteem of the inhabitants of this town and neighbourhood; and in the event of your acceding to our wishes, and becoming the manager of our magnificent hunt, we pledge ourselves to afford you our most cordial and strenuous support, and to endeavour by every means in our power to make you master of the Handley Cross fox-hounds, at the smallest possible expense and inconvenience to yourself.

  (Signed) Miserrimus Doleful, M.C., Captain half-pay.

  Duncan Nevin.

  Alfred Boltem.

  Simon Hookem.

  Walter Fleeceall.

  Judas Turnbill.

  Michael Grasper.”

  “Capital, indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, laying down the letter, clapping and rubbing his hands; “werry good indeed — most beautiful, in fact — wot honour I arrive at! — wonder what these chaps are now!” added he; saying which, in taking up the letter his eye caught the pink satin paper note. It was in the same fine lady-like running hand as the letter, and purported to be from Captain Doleful, explanatory of their motives, and vouching for the respectability of himself and brother requisitionists. Mr. Jorrocks was all delight, and being the child of impulse and generous feelings, his joy found vent in stamping on the floor, thereby summoning his servant the aforesaid Benjamin into his presence.

  Benjamin, or Binjimin, as Mr. Jorrocks pronounced the name, was one of those mischievous urchins that people sometimes persuade themselves do the work of a man without the wages. He was a stunted, pasty-faced, white-headed, ginnified boy, that might be any age from eight to eighteen, and as idle and mischievous a brat as it was possible to conceive; sharp as a needle, and quick as lightning, he was far more than a match for his over easy master, whom he cheated and deceived in every possible way. Whatever went wrong, Benjamin always had an excuse for it, which generally transferred the blame from his own to some one else’s shoulders, — a piece of ingenuity that required no small degree of dexterity, inasmuch as the light-porter of the warehouse, Betsey, a maid of all work, and a girl under her, were all he had to divide it among. Not a note came into the house, or a letter went out of it, but Benjamin mastered its contents; and Mrs. Jorrocks was constantly losing things out of the store-room and closets, which never could be traced to anybody.

  One unlucky Sunday morning, indeed, Mr. Jorrocks happened to turn back suddenly on his way to church, and caught him sitting in his easy chair at the breakfast table, reading Bell’s Life in London, and scooping the marmalade out of the pot with his thumb, when he visited Benjamin’s back with a summary horse-whipping; but that was the only time, during a period of three years, that he ever was caught in a scrape he could not get out of. This might be partly attributable to Betsey finding it convenient to be in with Benjamin, who winked at the visits of a genteel young man from a neighbouring haberdasher’s. The poor maid under Betsey, and the light porter, who was generally absent, were therefore the usual scape-goats, or somebody else’s servant, who had happened to come with a message or parcel. Such was Mr. Jorrocks’s domestic establishment, which, like most masters, he either thought, or affected to think, very perfect.

  We left our friend stamping for Benjamin, who made his appearance as soon as he could slip down-stairs and come up again, he having been watching his master through the keyhole since delivering the letter.

  “Now, Binjimin,” said Mr. Jorrocks, eyeing him with one of his benevolent looks, and not knowing exactly what to say; “now, Binjimin,” he repeated, “are the ‘osses all right?”

  “Yes, sir, and the wehicle too.”

  “Werry good,” replied Mr. Jorrocks— “werry good,” taking a half-emptied pot of Lazenby’s marmalade, out of a drawer in his library table. “See now! there’s a pot of marmeylad for you!” (Mr. Jorrocks had the knack of making the most of what he did, and treated the half pot as a whole one) and mind be a good bouy, and I make no doubt you’ll rise to be a werry great man — nothing gains man or bouy the respect and esteem of the world so much as honesty, sobriety, and cleanliness.”

  Mr. Jorrocks paused — He would have finished with a moral, wherein his own fortune should have furnished the example, but somehow or other, he could not turn it at the moment, so after scrutinizing Benjamin’s dirty face for a second, he placed the marmalade pot in his hand, and said, “now go and wesh your mug.”

  Uncommonly amiable and consequential was Mr. Jorrocks that morning. As he walked, or rather strutted into the city, he gave twopence to every crossing-sweeper in his line, from the black-eyed wench at the corner of Brunswick Square, to the breechless boy, with the red night cap, at St. Botolph’s Lane end; and he entered his dark and dingy warehouse with a smile on his brow, enough to illumine the dial of St. Giles’s clock in a fog. Most fidgetty and uneasy was he all the morning — every foot-fall made his eyes start from the ledger, and wander towards the door, in hopes of seeing some member of the Surrey, or some brother sportsman, to whom he might communicate the great intelligence. He went on ’Change with a hand in each breeches pocket, and a strut that plainly told how well he was to do with himself: still some dear-bought experience had given him a little prudence, and all things considered he determined to sleep on the invitation before he answered it. — Perhaps the pro’s and con’s of his mind will be best displayed by a transcript of what he wrote —

  “Gentlemen,

  “I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your favour of the 4th, and note the contents, which I assure you is most grateful to my feelings: in all you have said I most cordially goinside. — It’s pleasant to see humanity estimating one’s walue at the price one sets on oneself. I am a sportsman all over, and to the back-bone.— ‘Unting is all that’s worth living for — all time is lost wot is not spent in ‘unting — it is like the hair we breathe — if we have it not we die — it’s the sport of kings, the image of war without its guilt, and only five-and-twenty per cent. of its danger.

  “I have no manner of doubt at all, that I’m fully qualified for the mastership of the ‘Andley Cross fox-hounds, or any other— ‘unting has been my ‘obby ever since I could keep an ‘oss, and long before — a southerly wind and a cloudy sky are my delight — no music like the melody of ‘ounds. But enough of the rhapsodies, let us come to the melodies — the £ s. d. in fact. Wot will it cost? — In course it’s a subscription pack — then say how many paying subscribers have you? Wot is the nett amount of their subscriptions — how many couple of ‘ounds have you? Are they steady? Are they musical? How many days a week do you want your country ‘unted? Is stoppin’ expensive? What ‘un a country is it to ride over? Stiff, or light, or middlin’, or what? Enormous, endless woodlands without rides, stiff wales, with small enclosures and unreasonable raspers amid masses of plough; or pleasant copse-like covers, with roomy grass enclosures to reward the adventurous leaper with a gallop? Is it, in short, a country where a man can see ‘ounds without zactly ridin’ to tread on their tails? Are your covers wide of the kennel? Where is your kennel? I never heard of your ‘ounds before — wot stablin’ have you? Is ‘ay and corn costly? In course you’ll have your stock of meal by you? Are there any cover rents to pay — and if so, who pays them? How are you off for foxes? Are they stout and wild, and like to take a deal o’ killin’, or jest a middlin’ sort of hanimal that one may look to who-hoop-in pretty often? Write me fully — fairly — freely — frankly, in fact, and believe me to remain, gentlemen, all your’s to serve,

  “John Jorrocks, “Great Coram Street, London.

  “To Miserrimus Doleful, Esq., M.C., “Captain Half-pay, Handley Cross.”

  “Well, come this is more like business than any we have had yet,” observed Captain Doleful on reading the epistle— “though some of his questions will be plaguy troublesome to answer. What does he mean by ‘are they steady?’— ‘Are they musical?’ and as to the ‘stopping being expensive,’ of course that must depend a good deal upon how he lives, and whether he stops at a
n inn or not. — It’s a pity but I knew something about the matter, that I might make a satisfactory answer.”

  Fleeceall had Blaine’s Encyclopædia of Rural Sports, but as he was thought rather too sharp, Doleful determined to try what they could do without him; accordingly, he concocted the following epistle, which having copied on to a sheet of sea-green paper, he sealed with yellow wax, and deposited it in the post —

  “Dear Mr. Jorrocks,

  “Your kind and flattering letter has just come to hand, and I lose not a moment in supplying you with all the information in my power, relative to our celebrated dogs. Unfortunately the secretary to the hunt, Mr. Fleeceall, is absent on urgent business, consequently I have not access to those documents which would enable me to answer you as fully as I could wish. The dogs, as you doubtless know, are of the purest blood, having been the property for many years of that renowned sportsman, Michael Hardey, and are bred with the very greatest care and attention. It is perhaps not going too far to say that there is not such another pack in the world. There are at present thirty-two couple of old ones, in kennel, besides an excellent white terrier with a black eye. They are very steady and most musical. Their airing yard adjoins the Ebenezer chapel, and when the saints begin to sing, the dogs join chorus. Handley Cross, where the kenned is situated, is in the most beautiful, fertile, and salubrious part of the country, within two miles of the Datton station of the Lily-white-sand railway, and contains a chalybeate spa of most unrivalled excellence. The following is an accurate analysis of the water, taken by an eminent French physician, who came all the way from Rheims for the express purpose of examining it.

  ONE PINT (Wine measure).

  Sulphate of soda

  21 Grains.

  Sulphate of magnesia

  3 ½ Grains.

  Sulphate of lime

  4 ¼ Grains.

  Muriate of soda

  9 ¼ Grains.

  Oxide of iron

  1 Grains.

  Carbonic acid

  1 ¼ Grains.

  “To this unrivalled spring, invalids from every part of the world, from every quarter of the globe, flock in countless numbers; and it is unnecessary to point out to a sportsman like yourself either the advantages that a pack of hounds confer on such a place, or the benefits accruing to the master from having the support of men with whom, to use a familiar phrase, ‘money is no object.’ Indeed I think I may safely say, that keenness is all that is required, and a gentleman like you would meet with support that would galvanize your most sanguine expectations. You must excuse my saying more at present, as I have been out since daybreak, and there is a piece of cold roast beef standing before me at this moment, whose beautifully marbled side, and rich yellow fat with a delicately browned outside, in conjunction with a crisp lettuce-salad in a china bowl, peremptorily order me to conclude, which I do with the earnest exhortation for you at once to declare yourself for the high honour of the mastership of the Handley Cross hounds. Believe me to remain in extreme hunger, dear Mr. Jorrocks, very sincerely your’s,

  “Miserrimus Doleful, M.C., Capt. half-pay.”

  “Handley Cross.”

  “Dash my vig!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, laying down the letter, “what prime beef that must be! By jingo I almost fancy I see the joint, with the nice, curly, crisp, brown ‘orse radish, sticking to it in all directions. — I knows nothing better than good cold roast, tinged with red from the gravy in the centre. — Doleful must be a trump — feel as if I knew him. Keen fellow too — Peep-of-day boy. — Dare say he found the fox by the drag — Oh, vot joy is that! Nothing to compare to it. — Might as well have told me more about the ‘ounds too,” he observed, as a glimmering of caution shot across his mind.— “Should like to have a fair black and white understanding what they are to cost. I’m rich to be sure, but then a man wot’s made his own money likes to see to the spending of it.” Thereupon Mr. Jorrocks stuck his hands under his coat-laps and paced thoughtfully up and down the apartment, waving them sportively like the tail of a dolphin. Having pulled his wig about in all directions, he at last composed himself at his table, and drew up the following reply:

  “Dear Doleful,

  “Your agreeable favour has come to hand, and werry pleasant it is. It appears to be directed to two points — the salubriosity of ‘Andley Cross, and the excellence of the ‘ounds. On the first point I’m content. I make no doubt the water’s capital. Please tell me more about the ‘ounds and country — are you quite certain that people will not be backward in comin forward with the coin? I’ve lived a goodish while i’ the world — say a liberal alf under’d — and I’ve never yet found money good to get. So long as it consists of pen, ink, and paper work, it comes in like the hocean; many men can’t elp puttin their names down in subscription lists, specially when payin time’s far off, just as others can’t help noddin at auctions, but confound it, when you come to gether in the doits, there’s an awful fallin off. Now I think that no one should be allowed to hoop and holloa, or set up his jaw, wot hasn’t paid his subscription. Howsomever, you should know best; and suppose now, as you seem full of confidence, you underwrite me for so much, cordin to the number of days you want the country ‘unted.

  “Turn this over in your mind, and let me know what you think of it; also please tell me more about the ‘ounds and the country, for, in fact, as yet I knows nothin. Are there many old ounds in the pack? Are there many young ones to come in? What size are they? Are they level? Do they carry a good head? Have they plenty of bone? Cook says a weedy ound is only fit to ‘unt a cat in a kitchen — I says ditto to that. What sort of condition are they in? Can they trot out fifteen miles or so, ‘unt and come back with their sterns up, or do they whiles tire afore the foxes? How are you off for foxes? Are they ringers or straight runners? A ringer is only a hare with a tail to it. Do you ever hunt a bagman? Again I say, write to me without reserve — quite freely, in fact, and believe me, &c.,

  “Your’s to serve, “John Jorrocks, “Great Coram Street, London.”

  To Miserrimus Doleful, Esq, M.C., “Capt. Half-pay, Handley Cross Spa.”

  This letter was a poser, for the worthy M.C. had no notion of running risks, neither had he the knowledge necessary for supplying the information Mr. Jorrocks required; still he saw the absolute necessity of persevering in the negotiation, as there was no probability of any one else coming forward. In this dilemma, it occurred to him that a bold stroke might be the policy, and obviate further trouble.

  Accordingly he wrote as follows: —

  “Dear Mr. Jorrocks,

  “Your’s is just received. I was on the point of writing to you when it came. A rival has appeared for the mastership of the hounds: a great Nabob with a bad liver, to whom the doctors have recommended strong horse-exercise, has arrived with four posters, and an influential party is desirous of getting the hounds for him. Money is evidently no object — he gave each post-boy a half-sovereign, and a blind beggar two and sixpence. I have protested most strongly against his being even thought of until your final decision is known, which pray give immediately, and, for your sake, let it be in the affirmative. I can write no more — my best energies shall be put in requisition to counteract the sinister proceedings of others. Pray write immediately — no time is to be lost. In the greatest haste.

  “Faithfully yours, “Miserrimus Doleful, M.C. “Capt. Half-pay.”

  “To John Jorrocks, Esq., “Great Coram Street, “London.”

  This letter was a sad puzzler to our worthy friend. In his eyes a mastership of fox-hounds was the highest pinnacle of ambition, and the situation was the more desirable inasmuch as he had about got all the trade he could in the “cut-me-down” countries, and shame to say, they had rather put him out of conceit of the Surrey. Still long experience had tinctured his naturally ardent and impetuous mind with some degree of caution, and he felt the importance of having some sort of a bargain before entering upon what he well knew was an onerous and expensive undertaking. The pros and cons
he weighed and turned over in his mind, and the following letter was the result of his cogitations: —

  Dear Doleful, —

  “I will candidly confess that to be a master of fox-hounds, or M.F.H., would be a werry high step in the ladder of my hambition, but still I should not like to pay too dear for my whistle. I doesn’t wish to disparage the walue of your Nabob, but this I may say, that no man with a bad liver will ever make a good ‘untsman. An ‘untsman, or M.F.H., should have a good digestion, with a cheerful countenance, and, moreover, should know when to use the clean and when the dirty side of his tongue — when to butter a booby, and when to snub a snob. He should also be indifferent as to weather; and Nabobs all come from the east, where it is werry ‘ot — all sunshine and no fogs.

  “Again, if I am right, they hunt the jackall, not at all a sportin animal, I should say, from the specimen in the Zoologicals. Still, as I said before, I doesn’t wish to disparage the walue of your Nabob, who may be a werry good man, and have more money and less wit than myself. If he is to have the ‘ounds, well and good — I can go on as I ‘ave been doing, with the glorious old Surrey, and an occasional turn with the “cut-me-downs.” If I’m to have them, I should like to know a little more about the £.s. d. Now, tell me candidly, like a good fellow, without any gammon, wot you think they’ll cost, and wot can be raised in the way of subscription. Of course, a man that’s raised to the lofty position of an M.F.H. must expect to pay something for the honour; and so far from wishing to live out of the ‘ounds, I am well disposed to do what is liberal, but then I should like to know the extent of my liability. Dignity, in my mind, should not be too cheap, but betwixt you and I and the wall I rayther mistrust a water-drinker. To be sure there be two sorts o’ water-drinkers: those that drink it to save the expense of treating themselves with aught better, and those wot undergo water for the purpose of bringin their stomachs round to stand summut stronger. Now, if a man drinks water for pleasure, he should not be trusted, and ought to be called upon for his subscription in advance; but if he drinks water because he has worn out his inside by strong libations, in all humane probability he will be a goodish sort of fellow, and his subscription will be underwritten for a trifle. All this may be matter of no moment to a Nabob, but to a man vot’s risen from indigence to affluence by the unaided exertions of his own head, it is of importance; and I should like to know werry particularly how many of the subscribers are woluntary water-drinkers, and how many are water-drinkers from necessity.