Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “Why, now, it’s not for me to say,” replied Pigg, turning his quid, “but ar’s fond o’ hunds, and ar’d de my best te please ye.”

  “Well,” thought Mr. Jorrocks, “that’s summut at all events, let me be master, which is agreeable. Wouldn’t ha’ been so with Mr. Bragg I guess. You can ride I’spose?” observed he, addressing the applicant in a more conciliatory tone.

  Pigg.— “Ride! aye, ar wish ar’d nout else te de.”

  Mr. Jorrocks.— “And clean an ‘oss?”

  Pigg.— “Aye, ne doubt, — grum him, that’s to say.”

  “You’ll be werry keen, I s’pose?” said Mr. Jorrocks, brightening as he went.

  “Ar’s varra hungry, if that’s what ye mean,” replied Pigg, after a moment’s consideration.

  “No,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “I means, you’ll be desperation fond of ‘unting.

  “Fond o’ huntin’! Oh faith is I — there’s nout like huntin.”

  “Dash my vig! so say I,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, still brightening up, “so say I! it’s the real Daffy’s Elixir! The Cordial Balm o’ Gilead! The concentrated Essence o’ Joy! — Vot weight are you? you’re long in the leg,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, surveying him from head to foot.

  “Ar’s lang, but ar’s leet,” replied Pigg, looking down at his spindle shanks, “ar’s sure ar dinna ken what ar weighs — may be elivin stun.”

  “In course you’re a bachelor?” observed Mr. Jorrocks.

  “Oh quite,” replied Pigg, “ar niver fashes the women folk.”

  Mr. Jorrocks.— “Vot’s your pedigree? ’ow are you bred in fact?”

  Pigg.— “A — why — sink” — hesitated the speaker, twisting the hat about hurriedly, “ar dinna ken nout about that. Ar de believe though, gin ar had me dues, ar’d be a gen’lman this day — only ye see, sir, you see,” continued he, “mar fore elder John, ye see John Pigg, willed away arle wor brass to the Formory, ye see, and left me wi’ fairly nout. Gin ye gan to the Newcassel Formory, ye’ll see arle aboot it, in great goud letters, clagged agin the walls. Sink! but he’d better ha gien me it.”

  “Humph,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, not catching a quarter of this hurried run-together sentence. “Humph,” repeated he, looking him over attentively, thinking how to get him to speak English. “Wot d’ye say your father was?” at length asked he.

  Pigg.— “Ah, ar dinna ken nout about that; ar’s heard tell ar was dropped some where i’ Canny Newcassel, but ar niver kenned ne body i’ the shape o’ father or friend but mar coosin Deavilboger — you’ll hav’ heard tell of mar coosin Deavilboger, ne doot.”

  “Can’t say as ’ow I have,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; “is he a great man for the ‘unt?”

  “No, deil a bit,” laughed Pigg, “it was just that we fell out about. Says Deavilboger to me yen mornin, as I was gannin to Gosforth Gates to see the hunds throw off, says he to me says he, ‘If thou doesn’t yoke thy cart and gan and lead tormots, thou needn’t fash thyself to come back here ony more; ar’ll hav’ne gentlemen sportsmen ‘bout mar farm.’

  “Says ar, to Deavilboger, ‘Deavilboger,’ says ar, ‘thou surely wadn’t grudge a man the matter of a hunt, ar that’s always i’ the way and ready to oblige;’ but he’s a deuce of a man when he’s angered is mar coosin Deavilboger, and he swore and cussed that if ar went ar shouldn’t come back — A, a, a, how he did swear and cuss — ar really think he didn’t leave a part o’me uncussed— ‘cept my teeth and nails, so ye see we quarrelled and parted ye see.

  “But he’s a good man i’ the main, is mar coosin Deavilboger,” continued Pigg, “only he canna bear the hunds, and as sure as iver winter cam round the Deavil an’ I were sure to have a dust; but that’s all done now and ended, so ar’ll always speak well o’ the ard Deavil, for he was a good frind to me, and gav’ me monny an ard suit o’ claes, and monny a half-crown at the Cow Hill and such like times — dare say he gave me this very hat ar hev i’ my hand,” continued Pigg, thrusting out the little chapeau as he spoke.

  “Can you ‘unt a pack of ‘ounds?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks, wishing to get Pigg on to the old tack.

  “Why now it’s not for me to say,” replied Pigg, “but ar’s used to hunds, and ar’s fond o’ hunds, and have travelled all o’er the world amaist — Bliss ye, all the sportin’ gentlemen ken me, King o’ Hungary and all!”

  “Well, you shall eat as your ‘ungry,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, not catching the last sentence, “but I wants to know more about you and your pretensions — an ‘untsman holds a conspikious place in the world’s eye, and it be’oves an M.F.H. to be werry ‘tickler wot’un a one he selects. Tell me now can you holloa?”

  “Hoop, and holloa, and TALLI-HO!” exclaimed Pigg, at the top of his voice, his eyes sparkling with animation.

  “Gently,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, partaking of his enthusiasm, “you’ll frighten the ladies; tell me now, wot wage do you want?”

  “What wage? A ar dinne ken! — we’ll not differ ‘bout the matter o’ wage — What is ar to de?”

  “Vy, you’ll have to ‘unt and feed the ‘ounds, clean two ‘osses, look arter the tackle; see that all’s on the square, in fact.”

  “Ar can de all that,” replied Pigg, “and break yeer ‘ard bones into the bargain.”

  “Humph? Werry kind,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks.

  “Ar mean ‘ard kennel bones,” explained Pigg, seeing Mr. Jorrocks looked irate.

  “Oh, I twig,” replied our master, resuming his smile, “break ’em for the farmers — for turnip manure, in fact — We’ll go on ‘bout the wage.”

  “Ar’d like to have my vittels i’ the house, if you have ne objection,” resumed Pigg,

  “In the ‘ouse,” said Mr. Jorrocks, considering, “I doesn’t know about that — to be sure you are light i’ the girth, and don’t look like a great grubber, but ‘unting makes one werry ‘ungry.”

  “Bless ye, ar eat nout,” replied Pigg, rubbing his hand over his stomach, to show how flat it was, “and ar’d take a vast less wage gin ar were fund in the house.”

  Mr. Jorrocks.— “S’pose then, we say eighteen pounds, your meat, and a suit of clothes.”

  Pigg.— “Say twenty, and ar’ll find mysel’, — ar’ve a capital cap ar got in a raffle, and a red coat ‘ard Sebright gave me.”

  “No, no,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “none of your cast-offs. The ‘Andley Cross ‘ounds must be turned out properly.

  “Well, then,” replied Pigg, “you mun hev it your own way; see gi’ us my arles.”

  “Your wot?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks.

  Pigg.— “My arles! we always get arles i’ wor country.”

  Mr. Jorrocks.— “Wot all your wittles at once?”

  Pigg.— “No, man — sir, ar mean — summut to bind bargain like.”

  Mr. Jorrocks.— “I twig! See, there’s a shillin’ for you. Now go and get your dinner — be werry keen, mind.”

  Pigg ducked his head as he took the money, and slouched joyfully out of the room.

  Jorrocks then threw himself back in his red morocco huntingchair, hoping he might answer, and wishing that he hadn’t been rather precipitate in the bargain. If Pigg didn’t suit, his boots wouldn’t fit anybody else. Still he looked more promising than any of the others, and Jorrocks hoped he was keen.

  “It might ha’ been better p’raps,” said he, as he took up a leg to nurse, and entered upon a study of the ceiling— “it might ha’ been better if I’d made some inquiries about him — but confound it, wot tradesman can tell anything about an ‘untsman, and who else could I ask? Anything’s better nor Bin. bellowin’ ‘boiled lobsters’ arter one, or the ‘ounds runnin’ into Plaster o’ Paris Poll Parrot merchant’s. Con-found it,” continued Jorrocks, shaking his head, “Mr. Payne and Goodhall, and these swells i’ the cut-me-downs, do the thing so easy, that it makes us fools o’ natur think we can do the same, but dash my buttons, findin’ a fox and killin’ on ’im are werry different things.” Then Jorrocks’s run-away imagination ca
rried him right into the cut-me-down countries; to Misterton, to Arthingworth, to Bardon Hall with Sir Richard, to Croxton Park with the Belvoir.

  CHAPTER XXI. A FRIGHTFUL COLLISION! BECKFORD v. BEN.

  AS OUR FRIEND fancied himself luxuriating in a run with the Cottesmore from the top of Ranks-borough Hill, he was suddenly disturbed by a loud cry of

  “Murder! Murder! Murder! Here, Sir! Here!” and Benjamin came bursting into the room with anger and fear depicted in his face, exclaiming, “Please, Sir! here, Sir! that great hugly beast’s taken the shoulder o’ mutton onto his plate, and swears the taters and gravy are good enough for Betsay and me.”

  “Taken the shoulder of mutton onto his plate,” repeated Mr. Jorrocks in astonishment, “impossible, Binjimin! the man told me he had no appetite at all.”

  “Oh but he has,” retorted Benjamin with redoubled energy, “and he swears he’ll pick his teeth with the bone, and break my ‘ead with it when he’s done — I never see’d such a great hugly beast in all my life.”

  “Vell, I’ll go and see arter this,” said Mr. Jorrocks, shaking his head, and buttoning up his breeches pockets, as he rose from his chair with the air of a man determined to show fight.

  “How now!” roared Jorrocks, bursting into the kitchen, to the atonishment of James Pigg, who, knife in hand, was cutting away at the shoulder of mutton to the infinite indignation of Betsay, who seemed about to contend for her share of the prog.

  “How now!” repeated Mr. Jorrocks in a still louder voice, which had the effect of making Pigg drop the mutton and jump up from the table.

  “Didn’t you tell me,” said Mr. Jorrocks, speaking very slowly at the commencement, and boiling up as he went on, “didn’t you tell me as ’ow that you hadn’t no happetite, and yet I finds you seizin’ the meat wot’s to serve the kitchen for dinner and the parlour for lunch — Vot do you mean by sich haudacity, you great long-legged Scotch sinner?”

  “‘Ord bliss ye,” replied Pigg, “ar was nabbut teasin’ yon bit bowdekite,” pointing to Benjamin; “mar appetite may be a bit brisker this morn than at most times, for ar had a lang walk, but ar wasn’t gannin’ to eat all the grub; only that bit bastard wad set up his gob, and say ar was to be in onder him, see ar thought ar’d jist let him see whether or no at startin’.”

  “Vell, but,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, calmly, but firmly, “fightin’ von’t do: I doesn’t grudge you the matter o’ the mutton, but there must be unanimity and concord, or we shalln’t kill no foxes. Binjamin’s a fine bouy,” continued he, looking at him, “and will fulfil the duties of his station, by which means alone a man can rise to heminence and distinction — hem! get fat and rich, werry great things, hem! — give satisfaction, and gain unbounded applause, hem! — so now jest be’ave and settle yourselves quietly to your dinners, and don’t let me have any more nonsense” — saying which Mr. Jorrocks walked deliberately out of the kitchen, and shut the door loudly upon the party. But though our worthy friend had thus apparently settled the difficulty, he was too good a judge not to see the importance of an early understanding between Pigg and Benjamin as to their relative situations; and, as the latter had to be lowered to the advancement of the former, Mr. Jorrocks had to summon all his dexterity to reduce the one without giving a triumph to the other. Not that Ben would have been difficult to replace, or indeed any loss, but Mr. Jorrocks did not like losing all the training he had given him, and which he still flattered himself would work him into a good and cheap servant. Besides, Jorrocks had committed himself to Ben by ordering him another pair of top boots in lieu of the brown paper ones, and it was hopeless expecting to get another pair of legs that they would fit. Mr. Jorrocks knew the boy too well to suppose that he would easily brook having any one put over him, and the way of doing it occupied our master’s thoughts all the afternoon, and through his dinner. As the shades of evening were succeeded by winter’s darkness, and Mr. Jorrocks had emptied his third beaker of brandy and water, he stirred his fire, and rang for candles.

  Benjamin speedily appeared, but, instead of allowing the youth to depart upon bringing the composites, he ordered him to take a chair on the other side of the table, and listen to what he had to say. Mr. Jorrocks then arranged the candles so that one threw a light on the boy and the other on his book, without their being too near the fire to suffer from the heat. Thus prepared, he gave the fire a finishing poke, and clearing the voice with a substantial hem! addressed the boy as follows: —

  “Now, Binjimin,” said he, “the ‘igh road to fame and to fortin’ is open to you — there is no saying what keenness, combined with sagacity and cleanliness, may accomplish. You have all the ingredients of a great man about you, and hopportunity only is wantin’ to dewelope them.”

  “Yez-ir,” said Benjamin, assenting to the proposition.

  “You must eschew tip cat, and marbles, and takin’ backs from bouys i’ the streets,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “and turn the main-cock o’ your mind entirely on to what Mr. Delmé Radcliffe well calls the Noble Science.”

  “Yez-ir,” assented Benjamin again.

  Mr. Jorrocks paused, for it was as far as he had arranged matters in his mind, and the answer rather put him out. “Now, Binjimin,” at length resumed he, opening his book apparently at random as he spoke, “this book is the werry best book wot ever was written, and is worth all other works put together. It is the himmortal Peter Beckford’s Thoughts upon ‘Unting. Thoughts upon ‘Unting!” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, casting up his eyes to the ceiling, “My vig, wot a title! Take any page of the book you like, and it’s full of reason and genuine substantial knowledge. See!” said Mr. Jorrocks, “I’ve opened it at page 268, and how his opinions tally with my own.

  “‘Hegerness and impetuhosity,’ says he, ‘are such essential parts of this diwersion, that I am never more surprised than when I see a fox-’unter without them.’ “Charmin’ idea!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, looking up again at the ceiling. “Dash my vig! how true it is. Whoever heard of a lazy fox-’unter? A man may be late for everything — late to bed, late to breakfast, late to the lord mayor’s show — but if he’s a real out-and-outer, he’ll never be late at the kiver side. Vot, I ax, should be done with a man wot is slack? Wot should be done with a man wot is slack, I axes you, Binjamin?” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, after pausing for an answer.

  Benjamin was beat for a reply; but seeing his master’s glistening optics fixed upon him, he at length drawled out, “Don’t know I’m sure.”

  “Don’t know, you beggar!” responded Mr. Jorrocks, bristling as he spoke, “I’ll tell you then, you warmint. He should be ‘ung — choked — tucked up short in fact!”

  “Yez-ir,” said Benjamin, quite agreeable.

  “Now then,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, searching in the table of contents for the chapter he wanted, “I wants to tell you wot the great Mr. Beckford says about the vipper-in, and I begs you’ll pay ‘tikler ‘tention to it, for every word deserves to be printed i’ letters o’ gold, and then, when you understand the duties o’ your hoffice, James Pigg and you will go ‘and-in-’and together, like the sign of the Mutual Assurance hoffice, and we shall have no more wranglin’ about shoulders o’ mutton or who’s to have the upper ‘and.— ‘Unting is a thing,” continued the M.F.H., “wot admits of no diwersity of opinion — no diwision of interests. We must be all on one side like the ‘andle of a tin-pot, or like Bridgenorth election. The master, the ‘ounds, and the servants, are one great unity, radiatin’ from a common centre, like the threads of a Bedfordshire bobbin pillow — hem — and all that sort o’ thing — Now,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, turning to the book,— “here’s the chapter wot I wonts, — No. 9, page one hundred and twenty-two, and again, let me entreat your earnest attention.” Mr. Jorrocks then commenced reading as follows: —

  “‘With regard to the vipper-in, he should be attentive and obedient to the ‘untsman;’ — attentive and obedient to the ‘untsman, you hear, Binjimin, that is to say, always on the look-out for orders, and r
eady to obey them — not ‘anging back, shufflin’, and tryin’ to shirk ’em, but cheerful and willin’; ‘and as his’ oss, ‘says the immortal author, ‘will probably have most to do, the lighter he is the better, though if he be a good ‘ossman the objection of his weight will be sufficiently counterbalanced.’

  “Then mark what he says —

  “‘He must not be conceited.’ — That’s a beautiful idee,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, fixing his eyes on the boy, and one to which I must ‘eartily say ‘ditto.’

  “‘He must not be conceited!’ No, indeed he must not, if he’s to serve under me, and wishes to ‘scape the ‘quaintance of my big vip. No conceited beggar will ever do for J. J. ‘I had one formerly,”’ continued Mr. Jorrocks, reading on, “‘who, ‘stead of stoppin’ the ‘ounds as he ought, would try to kill a fox by himself. — This fault is unpardonable.’

  “Dash my vig if it isn’t,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “a nasty, dirty, shabby, selfish trick into the bargain.— ‘Ow I would trounce a chap wot I caught at that game — I’d teach him to kill foxes by himself. But ‘ark to me again, Binjimin.

  “‘He should always maintain to the ‘untsman’s holloa, and stop such ‘ounds as diwide from it.’

  “That’s excellent sense and plain English,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, looking at the boy. “‘He should always maintain to the ‘untsman’s holloa.’ Do ye ‘ear, Binjimin?”

  “Yez-ir,” replied the boy.

  “‘When stopped, he should get forrard with them, arter the ‘untsman.’

  “Good sense again,” observed Mr. Jorrocks.

  “‘He must always be content to hact a hunder part.’

  “Mark those words, Binjimin, and let them be engraved on your mind’s memory.”

  “‘He must always be content to hact a hunder part.’ Mr. Jorrocks then omitted the qualifying sentence that follows, and proceeded in his reading.