Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “Very much obliged indeed,” replied the Captain, feeling all the time that he was “thanking her for nothing.”— “They are, I believe, highly respectable. She, I understand, is the daughter of a gentleman who was about the court of King George the Third. The young lady is very pretty, and Jorrocks himself really seems a very excellent old fellow.”

  “What, you are talking about Mr. Jorrocks, are you?” inquired Mr. Barnington, looking up from his “omelette” with an air of sudden enlightenment on his countenance.

  “Why yes, Solomon!” replied his loving spouse, “who did you think we were talking about?”

  “Why you called them Horrocks! how was I to know who you meant?”

  “How were you to know who we meant? why what matter does it make whether you know or not? Take the cheese away, Mountford, and don’t make this room smell like a beer-shop.”

  “Stay! I want some,” interposed Mr. Barnington.

  “Then take it into your master’s room,” replied Mrs. Barnington. “Go and stuff yourself there as much as you like; and send for your friend Horrocks, or Jorrocks, or whatever you call him to keep you company.”

  And after an evening of this agreeable dog and cat-ing, varied with occasional intercessions for the Jorrocks family, the gallant Captain at length made his adieus and retired to his confectioner’s.

  We will now see what our newly arrived friends are about.

  CHAPTER XIV. MR. JORROCKS AND HIS SECRETARY.

  “SEND MY SEC. here,” said Mr. Jorrocks, with great dignity, to Snubbins, the landlord of the Dragon; who, in compliance with Doleful’s directions, was waiting to receive his orders. “Send my Sec. here,” he repeated, seeing the man did not catch what he said.

  “Your Sec., sir,” repeated the landlord, “it’ll be your boy, I presume?” turning to the waiter, and desiring him to send the ostler to stand by the horses’ heads while Mr. Jorrocks’s boy came up-stairs.

  “No, not my bouy,” replied Mr. Jorrocks with a frown, “so you presumes wrong.”

  “Your maid, then?” inquired the sharp waiter, thinking to hit what his master had missed.

  “No, nor my maid neither,” was the worthy grocer’s answer,— “what I want is my Sec., the Secretary to my ‘unt in fact.”

  “Oh! the Secretary to the hunt, that will be Mr. Fleeceall,” rejoined the landlord with a grin of satisfaction.— “Run up to Lavender Lane, and tell Mr. Fleeceall that Mr. Jorrocks has arrived, and wishes to see him.”

  “Tell him to come directly,” said Mr. Jorrocks, adding, in a mutter, “I dosen’t understand why he’s not here to receive me. Fatch me up a glass of cold sherry negus with. — Public speakin’ makes one werry dry.”

  Before the with was well dissolved, so as to enable our hero to quench his thirst at a draught, our one-eyed friend entered the room, hat in hand, and presented himself to Mr. Jorrocks.

  “Now I wants to see you about my ‘ounds,” said Mr. Jorrocks, with an air of authority.— “Where are they?”

  “Some, I believe, are in the kennel, others are in the Vale with the various farmers,” replied Mr. Fleeceall.

  “Some in the Wale!” repeated Mr. Jorrocks with surprise, “vy arn’t they all in kennel? you surely knew I was a comin’, and ought not to have had things in this hugger-mugger state. — Whose fault is it? Where’s the kennel-book?”

  “The kennel-book?” repeated Mr. Fleeceall with surprise.

  “Yes, the kennel-book, you know what that is surely — the list of the ‘ounds in fact.”

  “Oh, I beg your pardon — I don’t think there is any regular kennel-book — at least I never had one — all that I do, is to receive the subscriptions, — write to gentlemen that are in arrear, or are likely to subscribe, — tax poultry bills, — and prevent extortion in general.”

  “Well, all werry useful in its way,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “but a secretary to an ‘unt is expected to know all about the ‘ounds too, and everything besides — at least he’s no Sec. for me if he don’t,” added he, his eyes sparkling with animation as he spoke.

  “Oh, I do,” replied Mr. Fleeceall with trepidation, “only Captain Doleful has had all our people so busy, preparing for your reception, that we really have not been able at so short a notice to make our arrangements so perfect as we could wish. I know all the hounds well.”

  “Then put on your’at and come with me to the kennel. It’s full moon to-night, so we needn’t mind about time.”

  Fleeceall hesitated, but seeing Mr. Jorrocks was resolute, he put a good face on the matter, and boldly led the way. As he piloted Mr. Jorrocks through sundry short cuts, he contrived to insinuate, in a casual sort of way, that things would not be in such apple-pie order as he might expect, but that a day or two would put everything right. Calling at Mat Maltby’s for the key of the kennel, he enlisted young Mat into the service, desiring him to stand by and prompt him what to say; he very soon had the new master before the rails of the kennel. The hounds raised a melodious cry as they jumped against the paling, or placed themselves before the door, and anger flew from Mr. Jorrocks’s mind at the cheerful sound. “Get back, hounds! get back! Bonny-bell, have a care!” cried Mat, as they pushed against the door, and prevented its opening. “Perhaps you’ll take a switch, sir,” said he, turning to Mr. Jorrocks, and handing a hazel-rod from a line hanging on the rails beside the door. “Get back, hounds!” again he cried, and inserting his right hand with a heavy double-thonged whip through an aperture between the door and the post, he loosened the thong, and sweeping it round among their legs, very soon cleared a space so as to enable the master to enter. Mr. Jorrocks then strutted in.

  The kennel was quite of the primitive order, but dry and airy withal. It consisted of two rooms, while the feeding-troughs in the half-flagged yard showed that the hounds dined out of doors. A temporary boiling-house was placed behind, and the whole of the back part adjoined close upon the New Ebenezer Chapel.

  Great was Mr. Jorrocks’s surprise and indignation at finding that the pack was without a huntsman, whipper-in, or horses.

  He was perfectly thunderstruck, and it was some time ere his rage suffered his tongue to give vent to his thoughts.

  It was a “reg’lar do,” and he’d “wesh his ‘ands of the concern at once.” He’d “shoot Doleful first though — skin him alive in fact.”

  Fleeceall attempted to soothe him, but finding he was only adding fuel to the fire, he suffered his anger to exhaust itself on the unfortunate and now luckily absent Captain. Mr. Jorrocks was very wroth, but considering how far he had gone, and how he would be laughed at if he backed out, he determined to let it be “over shoes over boots,” so he stuck out his legs and proceeded to examine the hounds.

  “Plenty of bone,” observed he, with a growl.

  “Oh, lots of bones!” replied Fleeceall, “that corner’s full,” pointing to the bone-house.

  “Are they steady?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks.

  “Middling,” replied Fleeceall, anxious to be safe.

  “Vot, they’re not riotous are they? Never ‘unted bagmen or nothin’ of that sort?” inquired our master.

  “Oh dear no,” replied Fleeceall, “ran a boy, I believe, one day.”

  “Ran a boy!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “never heard of sich a thing! He must have had a drag.”

  “They bit his drag,” replied Fleeceall, laughing.

  “It were a young hound bit an old ‘ooman,” interposed Mat, anxious for the credit of the pack, “he had a bone, and she would have it from him, and the boy got atween the two.”

  “Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, not altogether relishing the story whichever way it was. The hounds were a fine lashing-looking lot, chiefly dogs, with a strong family likeness running through the pack. There were few old ones, and the lot were fairly average. Worse packs are to be found in great kennels. Mr. Jorrocks remained with them until he had about mastered their names, and there appearing no help for the matter, he resolved to do the best he could with his
boy until he could meet with a huntsman. — Ordering the feeder to be there by day-break, and have the hounds ready for him to take out to exercise, he thrust his arm through Fleeceall’s, and desired him to conduct him back to the Dragon.

  As they went he lectured him well on the duties of his office. “Now, you see, sir,” said he, “I dosn’t want one of your fine auditin’ sort of Secs., what will merely run his eye over the bills, and write his initials on the back, right or wrong, as many do, but I wants a real out-and-out workin’ chap, that will go into them hitem by hitem, and look sharp ater the pence, without leavin’ the pounds to take care of themselves. A good Sec. is a werry useful sort of h’animal, but a bad un’s only worth ‘anging. In the first place you must be werry particklar about gettin’ in the subscriptions. That is always uppermost in a good Sec’s mind, and he should never stir out of doors without a list in his pocket, and should appear at the coverside with a handful of receipts, by way of a hint to wot hav’nt paid. Now, you must get an account book with ruled columns for pounds, shillings, and pence, and open a Dr. and Cr. account with every man Jack on ’em. You can’t do better nor follow the example o’ the Leamington lads who string up all the tradespeople with the amount of their subscriptions in the shops and public places. Its clearly the duty of every man to subscribe to a pack of ‘ounds — even if he has to borrow the money. ‘No tick,’ mind, must be the order of the day, and every Saturday night you must come to me with your book, and I shall allow you two glasses of spirit and water whilst we overhaul the accounts. You must be all alive in fact. Not an ‘oss must die in the district without your knowin’ of it — you must ‘ave the nose of a wultur, with the knowledge of a knacker. Should you make an ‘appy ‘it (hit) and get one with some go in him, I’ll let you use him yourself until we wants him for the boiler. In the field, a good Sec. ought always to be ready to leap first over any awkward place, or catch the M.F.H.’s ‘oss, if he ‘appens to lead over. In all things he must consider the M.F.H. first, and never let self stand in the way. Then you’ll be a good Sec., and when I dosn’t want a Sec. no longer, why you’ll be able to get a good Sec.’s place from the character I shall give you.

  “Now, here we are at the Dragon again. — Come up stairs and I’ll make you acquainted with your missis,” saying which, Mr. Jorrocks led the way; and was met on the landing by the knock-knee’d, greasy-collared waiter, who ushered them into the room, where Mrs. Jorrocks and Belinda, fatigued with the doings of the day, had laid themselves down on a couple of sofas, waiting for the return of Mr. Jorrocks to have their tea.

  “This be my Sec.,” said Mr. Jorrocks to his spouse, with the air of a man introducing a party for whom there is no occasion to put oneself out of the way. Mrs. Jorrocks, who had bolted up at the opening of the door, gave a sort of half bow, and rubbing her eyes and yawning, very quietly settled herself again on the sofa. Tea passed away, when the ladies having retired, Mr. Jorrocks and Fleeceall very soon found out that they had a taste in common, viz. — a love of brandy and water, wherewith they sat diluting themselves until the little hours of the morning, in the course of which carouse, Fleeceall dexterously managed to possess himself of every particle of his worthy patron’s history and affairs. How much he had in the funds, how much in Exchequer bills, how much in railways, and how much in the Globe Insurance Office.

  A page or two from Mr. Jorrocks’s Journal, which he has kindly placed at our disposal, will perhaps best elucidate the doings of the early days of his reign over the Handley Cross fox-hounds.

  “Saturday. — Awoke with desperation ‘ead ach — Dragon brandy car’nt be good — Dreamed the Lily-vite-sand train had run off with me, and chucked me into the channel — Called to Binjimin — the boy snorin’ sound asleep! — only think, snorin’ sound asleep, the werry mornin’ after comin’ down to whip into a pack of fox-’ounds — fear he has no turn for the chase. Pulled his ears, and axed him what he was snorin’ for. Swore he wasn’t snorin’! — Never heard a boy of his size tell such a lie in my life. Rigged for ‘unting, only putting on my hat ‘stead of my cap, — and on ‘orseback by daylight — Xerxes full of fun — Arterxerxes dullish — Bin. rode the latter, in his new tops and spurs— ‘Now,’ said I to Bin. as we rode to the kennel, ‘you are hentering upon a most momentous crisis — If you apply yourself diligently and assiduously to your callin’, and learn to be useful in kennel, and to cheer the ‘ounds with a full melodious woice — such a woice, in fact, as the tall lobster-merchant with the green plush breeches and big calves, that comes along our street of a still evenin’, with his basket on his ‘ead, cryin’ ‘Lob-sters! fine Lob-sters!lob’ has, there is no sayin’ but in course of time you may arrive at the distinguished ‘onour of readin’ an account of your doin’s in ‘Bell’s Life’ or the ‘Field;’ but if you persist in playin’ at marbles, chuck farthin’, and flyin’ kites, ‘stead of attendin’ in the stable, I’ll send you back to the charity school from whence you came, where you’ll be rubbed down twice a day with an oak towel, and kept on chick-weed and grunsell like a canary bird, — mark my words if I von’t.’

  “Found Mat Maltby at the kennel weshin’ the flags with a new broom, and ‘issing for ‘ard life — werry curious it is, wet or dry, soft or ‘ard, these chaps always ‘iss. ‘Ounds all delighted to see me — stood up in my stirrups looking over the rails, ‘olloain’, cheerin’, and talkin’ to them. Yoicks Dexterous! Yoicks Luckey-lass! Yoicks Rallywood! Good dog. Threw bits of biscuit as near each of them as I could pitch them, calling the ‘ounds by name, to let them see that I knew them — Some caught it in their mouths like Hindian jugglers— ‘Let ’em out Mat,’ at last cried I, when back went the bolt, open went the door, and out they rushed full cry, like a pent up ‘urricane, tearin’ down Hexworthy Street into Jireth Place, through Mornington Crescent, by the Bramber Promenade into the High Street, and down it with a crash and melody of sweet music that roused all the old water-drinkin’ maids from their pillows, galvanised the watchmen, astonished the gas-light man, who was making way for daylight, and reg’larly rousing the whole inhabitants of the place.

  “Clapt spurs to Xerxes and arter them, hollain’ and crackin’ my whip, but deuce a bit did they ‘eed me — On they went! sterns up and ‘eads too, towlin’, and howlin’, and chirpin,’ as though they had a fox afore them. Butchers’ dogs, curs, setters, mastiffs, mongrels of all sorts and sizes, flew out as they went, some joinin’ cry, others worryin’ and fightin’ their way, but still the body of the pack kept movin’ onward at a splittin’ pace, down the London-road, as wild as hawks, without turning to the right or the left, until they all flew, like a flock of pigeons, clean out of sight. ‘Oh, dear! oh, dear!’ cried I, pullin’ up, fairly exhausted, at the third mile stone, by the cross-roads from Cadger’s House and Knowlton, ‘I’ve lost my ‘ounds, and I’m ruined for ever.’ ‘Blow your ‘orn!’ cried a countryman who was sittin’ on the stone, ‘they are not far afore you, and the dogs not far afore them:’ but blow me tight, I was so blown myself, that I couldn’t raise a puff — easier to blow one’s ‘orse than one’s ‘orn. To add to my grief and infinite mortification, Binjimin came poundin’ and clatterin’ along the hard road, holloain’ out as he went, ‘Buy Lob-ster-r! fine Lob-ster-r-r!’

  “The pack had turned down Greenford Lane, and I jogged after them, sorely puzzled, and desperate perplexed. On I went for a mile or more, when the easterly breeze bore the ‘ounds’ cry on its wings, and pushin’ forward, I came to a corner of the road, where the beauties had thrown up short before an Italian plaster of Paris poll-parrot merchant, who, tray on head, had the whole pack at bay around him, bellowin’ and howlin’ as though they would eat him. ‘Get round them, Binjimin,’ cried I, ‘and flog them away to me,’ and takin’ out my ‘orn, I blew for ‘ard life, and what with view holloas, and cheerin’, and coaxin’, with Bin at their sterns, succeeded in gettin’ most of them back to their kennel. Plaster of Paris poll-parrot merchant followed all the way, indulgin’ in frightful faces an
d an unknown tongue.”

  The Journal then branches off into a mem. of what he did at breakfast in the eating line, how he paid his bill at the Dragon, after disputing the brandy items, adding that though attendance was charged in the bill, the servants all evinced a disposition to shake hands with him at parting, which he thought was making matters worse instead of better. He also recorded how he moved to Diana Lodge, which he did not find quite so commodious as he expected. The day’s entry closes with a mem. that he had stewed beef-steaks for dinner.

  “Sunday. — Up by cock-crow, and into the kennel. Dexterous and Mercury been fightin’ about a bone, and Mercury got a bloody ear. Lector’d Bin and Mat upon the unpropriety of leavin’ bones about. Made Bin. call over the ‘ounds by name, double-thongin’ him when he made a mistake.

  “Mrs. Jorrocks in a desperation fidget to get to church. Never know’d her so keen afore. Secret out — got a new gown, and a bonnet like a market gardener’s flower basket. With all her keenness contrived to start just as the bells gave over ringin’ — Beadle, in blue and gold, with a cocked ‘at on his head, and a white wand in his hand, received us at the door, and handed us over to the sexton, in deep blue, bound with black velvet, who paraded us up the ‘isle, and placed us with much clatterin’ in the seat of honour just afore the pulpit. Church desperate full, and every eye turned on the M. E. H. — Mrs. J. thought they were lookin’ at her! poor deluded body. Belinda, dressed in lavender, and lookin’ werry wholesome. Lessons long — sermon excellent — all about ‘onering one’s superiors, meaning the M.F.H. doubtless.

  “After church, friend Miserrimus came and shook ‘ands with us all round. Gave him ‘unbounded pleasure’ to see us all so bloomin’ and well. Mrs. J. delighted, and axed him to dine. Five, and no waitin’. Walked down High Street. Mrs. Jorrocks on one arm, Belinda on t’other. Doleful in the gutter. Fine thing to be a great man. Every body stared — many took off their ‘ats. — Country people got off the flags. ‘That’s Mr. Jorrocks,’ said one. ‘Which?’ cried another. ‘Do show him to me,’ begged a third. ‘Jorrocks for ever!’ cried the children. Nothing like being a great man. Kennel at two — feedin’-time — plaster of Paris poll-parrot merchant outside, still in a great rage, but didn’t catch what he said. Many people came and wondered how I knew the names of the ‘ounds — all so much alike, they said, Take them a lifetime to know them. Miserable ignoramusses.