by R S Surtees
“Oh yes he has,” replied Stobbs— “saw him trying on his tops as I came down stairs, and his red coat and waistcoat were lying on the kitchen table.
“Indeed,” replied Mr. Jorrocks— “wonder ’ow he looks in ’em. Only a hugly beggar out on ’em.”
“He’s a varmint looking chap,” observed Stobbs.
“Yes, he is,” assented Mr. Jorrocks; “‘ope he’s keen.”
“How’s Ben off that way?” asked Stobbs.
“Oh, Bin’s a fine bouy.” observed Jorrocks, “and I makes no doubt ‘ill train on. Rome wasn’t built in a day, Constantinople nouther.”
“Certainly not,” assented Stobbs, thinking if Ben made a sportsman he was very much mistaken.
After a vigorous attack upon the muffins, kidneys, fried ham, marmalade, and other good things adorning Mr. Jorrocks’s breakfast table, our Yorkshire friend again tried to draw the great M.F.H. for a day.
“Couldn’t we give the ‘ounds a trot out by way of exercise, think ye?” asked he.
“Don’t know,” grunted Jorrocks from the bottom of his coffee-cup. “Wot good would that do?”
“Make ’em handy,” replied Stobbs.
“‘Andy enough,” replied our master, bolting a large piece of muffin, “‘Andy as ladies’ maids. Can do everything ‘cept pay their own pikes.”
Despite this confident assertion, Stobbs still stuck to him. First he proposed that Pigg and he should take the hounds out together. This Jorrocks wouldn’t stand. “Be sure to get into mischief.” Then Stobbs thought it would do Jorrocks a vast deal of good to have a hump on one of his great rough horses. Our master couldn’t quite gainsay this, though he did look out of the window, observing that the sun had risen very red, that he thought it would rain, and he shouldn’t like to get wet.
“Oh, it ‘ill not rain,” replied Stobbs— “not till night at least,” ad led he confidently.
“Don’t know that,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks; “Gabey seems to be of a different ‘pinion,” added he, as the noble old peacock now emerged from under a sun-bright Portugal laurel, and stretching his neck, and flapping his wings, uttered a wild piercing scream.
“Dash my vig, but that looks like it!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks; adding, as he caught up his right foot with a shake of his head, “Gabriel Junks is seldom wrong, and my corns are on his side.”
Still Stobbs persevered, and, by dint of agitation, at length succeeded in getting Jorrocks not only to go out, but to have a draw in Newtimber Forest; Stobbs observing, and Jorrocks assenting, that there would be very little more trouble in running the hounds through the cover than in trotting them along the road. And, with some misgivings, Jorrocks let Stobbs go to make the arrangements, while he applied himself vigorously to his letters.
CHAPTER XXVI. A QUIET EYE.
PIGG WAS ALL eager for the fray, and readily came into Stobbs’s suggestion, that they should go out, and just take their chance of finding a fox, and of his going to ground or not as luck and his courage served.
“Ar’ll gan to’ ard Duncan’s, and get his grey for wor Ben,” said Pigg, “gin ye’ll set the lad on to seddle the rest;” adding, “the Squi-er ar’s warned ‘ill ride Arterxerxes.”
Off then Pigg went to Duncan Nevins, and returned with a woe begone looking horse in a halter, before Stobbs had made any progress in his department. Ben was not to be found. Neither at Mrs. Candy the tart-woman’s, nor at Mrs. Biffin’s apple-stall, nor at Strap the saddler’s, nor at any of his usual haunts, was anything to be heard of the boy.
The fact was, he had been unable to resist a ride at the back of a return chaise passing along Juniper Street, and being caught by his apron in the spikes, had been carried nearly to Copse Field before he got himself disentangled.
The oracle Gabriel having continued his monitions, Mr. Jorrocks thought to make the absence of the boy an excuse for not going, but now having both Stobbs and Pigg ranged against him, he was soon driven from the attempt. Pigg said “Squi-er Stobbs wad de quite as weal as Ben,” and Jorrocks, little loth at heart perhaps, at length hoisted himself on to Arterxerxes with a swag that would have sent a light-carcassed horse over, letting the now smartly-clad Pigg ride the redoubtable Xerxes. So with Stobbs in front, Jorrocks with the hounds, and Pigg behind, they set off at a gentle trot, telling the inquirers that they were only going to exercise, a delusion that Mr. Jorrocks’s hat seemed to favour.
Bump, bump, — jog, jog, — on they went; Mr. Jorrocks now chiding, now coaxing, now dropping an observation fore or aft, now looking at the sky, and now at his watch.
“Des say we shall find pretty soon,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “for they tells me the cover has not been disturbed this long time; and there’s lots of lyin’ — nice, and dry, and warm — foxes like damp beds as little as Christians. Uncommon pretty betch, that Barbara, — like Bravery as two peas, — by Billin’sgate out o’ Benedict, I think. ‘Opes we may get blood; it’ll do them a deal o’ good, and make them steady for the Beef and Carrots. Wen we gets the ‘ounds all on the square, we ‘ill ‘ave the great Mr. Pomponious Hego to come and give us a good hoiling. Nothin’ like soap.
“Hooi! you chap with the turnip-cart!” now roared our master, to a cartman coming up; “vot do your mean by stickin’ your great ugly wehicle right afore my ‘ounds! — Mr. Jorrocks’ ‘ounds, in fact! I’ll skin ye alive!” added he, looking at the man, who stood staring with astonishment. And again they went, bump, bump, jog, jog, at that pleasant post-boy pace, that has roused the bile of so many sportsmen, and set so many riders fighting with their horses.
At length they reached the cover side, — a long wood stretching up the sides of a gently sloping hill, and widening towards the summit. On the crown there stood a clump of Scotch firs and hollies, forming a landmark for many miles round. Turning from the high-road into a grass field on the right, the party pulled up to reconnoitre the ground, and make their final arrangements.
“Now,” said Mr. Jorrocks, standing erect in his stirrups, and pointing with his whip, which had the effect of making half the pack break towards the cover,— “Now,” said he, as soon as he had got them turned, “this is a good big wood— ‘two ‘undred acres or more — and they tells me the foxes generally lie on the risin’ ground, towards the clump. The vind’s north-vest; so if we puts hin at this point, we shall draw up it, and p’rhaps get close to the warmint at startin’, which is a grand thing; but, howsomever, let’s be doin’. Draw your girths, Pigg, or your ‘oss ‘ll slip through his saddle. Now observe, there are three rides — one on each side, one hup the middle, all leadin’ to the clump; and there are cross ones in all directions; so no man need be ‘fraid o’ losin’ himself. Now let’s put in. Pigg, open the wicket.”
“It’s locked,” observed Pigg, running the hammer of his whip into the rails, throwing himself off his horse, and pulling a great clasp-knife out of his pocket as he spoke. “Sink, but it aye gars mar knife laugh to see a lock put upon leather,” added he, as he drew the huge blade across the stiff band that secured the gate. Open flew the wicket — in went the pack with a dash, a crash, and a little music from the riotous ones, which gradually yielded to the “Have a cares!” and “Gently, Wenus;” “Gently, Lousey” (Louisa), with the cracks of the whips of Mr. Jorrocks and his huntsman.
“Now, Pigg, my frind, let’s have a touch o’ north country science,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, bringing his horse alongside of his huntsman’s. “I’d like well to kill a fox to-day; I’d praise you werry much if we did.”
“Aye, aye,” said Pigg. “Hoic in, Lousey! Solid puddin’s better nor empty praise. Have at him there, Statesman, old boy, — ye look like a finder. Deil bon me, but ar thought ar winded him at the crossin’ there,” added Pigg, pulling his horse short back to a cross ride he had just passed. “Hoic in there, Priestess, ould gal,” said he, to an old black and white bitch, feathering round some gorse among the underwood; waving his hand as he spoke. “That’s gospel, ar warrant ye,” continued he, watching her
movements.
“What will’t tak for t’ard nag?” inquired Pigg, of a besom-maker, who now came down the ride with a wretched white Rosinante, laden with stolen brushwood.— “Have at him, there, Challenger!” speaking to a hound.
“Twenty shillin’,” replied the man.
“Gie ye eight!” was the answer.— “Yooi, push him up!” to the hound.
“Tak’ twelve,” rejoined the tinker. “Good horse — can get up of hisself, top puller and all!”
“Aye, but we dinna want him to poole; we want him to eat,” replied Pigg. “Had still!” exclaimed he; “ar has him! — Tally Ho!” roared Pigg, cramming his spurs into his horse, and dashing past Jorrocks like a shot. Out went both horns — twang — twang — twang sounded Pigg’s; wow! wow! wow! went Jorrocks’s in deeper and more substantial notes, and in a very short time, the body of the pack were laid on the scent, and opened the concert with an overpowering burst of melody.
“Oh, beautiful! beautiful!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, in raptures, as each hound put his nose to the ground, and acknowledged the correctness of the scent. “Oh, beautiful indeed!” added he, thumping the end of his horn upon his thigh, as though he were cutting large gun-waddings out of his breeches. “‘Ow true to the line! best ‘ounds in England, by far — never were such a pack! Shall have a rare Chevy — all alone to ourselves; and when I gets home I’ll write an account to ‘Bell’s Life,’ and ‘The Field,’ which nobody can contradict. Hark forrard! hark forrard! hark forrard! away!” continued he, ramming the spurs into Arterxerxes’s sides, to induce him to change his lumbering trot into a canter, which having accomplished, Mr. Jorrocks settled himself into a regular home seat in his saddle, and pounded up a grass ride through the centre of the wood in a perfect frenzy of delight, as the hounds worked their way a little to his right with a full and melodious cry.
“Hould hard, ye sackless ould sinner!” now cried Pigg, crossing the main ride at a canter, and nearly knocking Jorrocks off his horse, as he charged him in his stride. “Had (hold) bye, ar say!” he roared in his master’s ear; “or ar’ll be dingin’ on ye down — fox crossed reet in onder husse’s tail, and thou sits glowerin’ there and never see’d him.”
Out went both the horns again — twang! — twang! — twang; wow! wow! wow!
“Hark together! hark! get forrard, hounds, get forrard!” cried Mr. Jorrocks, cracking his ponderous whip at some lingerers that loitered on the ride, questioning the correctness of their comrades’ cry. “Get forrard, I say!” repeated he, with redoubled energy. “Confound your unbelievin’ souls!” added he, as they went to cry. “Now they are all on him again! Oh, beautiful, beautiful!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, in ecstacies. “I’ll lay five punds to a fiddler’s farthin’ they kill him. Mischief in their cry! — a rare scent — can wind him myself.” So saying, he gathered up his reins again, thrust his feet home in the stirrups, crammed the spurs into his horse, and rolled back on the ride he had just come up. “Hark!” now cried our master, pulling up short and holding his hand in the air, as though he had a hundred and fifty horsemen at his tail to check in their career. “Hark!” again he exclaimed; “whoay, ‘oss, whoay!” trying to get Arterxerxes to stand still and let him listen. “Now, fool, vot are you champing the bit for? — whoay, I say! He’s turned short again! Hoick back! Hoick back! They’ve overrun the scent,” continued he, listening, as the chorus gradually died out; “or,” added he, “he may have got to ground.”
“Tally ho!” new screamed Jorrocks, as a magnificent fellow in a spotless suit of ruddy fur crossed the ride before him at a quiet, stealing, listening sort of pace, and gave a whisk of his well-tagged brush on entering the copse-wood across. “Hoop! hoop! hoop! hoop!” roared Mr. Jorrocks, putting his finger in his ear, and holloaing as loud as ever he could shout; and just as he got his horn fumbled past the guard, Dexterous, Affable, and Mercury, dashed across the ride, lashing their sterns and bristling for blood, and Pigg appeared a little below cantering along with the rest of the pack at his horse’s heels. “Here, Pigg! there, Pigg!” roared Mr. Jorrocks; “just by the old hoak-stump. — Gently now! ah, ware ‘eel — that’s not the vay of him; he’s hover to the left, I tells ye. That’s him! Mercury has him. Hoick to Mercury, hoick! get away, get away, get away, ‘ounds! hoick together! hoick together! Oh, Pigg, wot a wopper he is!” observed Mr. Jorrocks, as Pigg joined him in the ride. “The biggest fox whatever was seen — if we do but kill him — my vig! I’ll eat his tongue for supper. Have it grilled, ‘cum grano salis,” with a lee-tle Cayenne pepper, as Pomponius Hego would say.”
“Aye,” replied Pigg, grinning with delight, his cap-peak in the air and the tobacco-juice streaming down his month like a Chinese mandarin. “Ar’ll be the death of a shillin’ mysel’!” Saying which he hustled his horse and turned to his hounds.
Away they go again full cry across the cover to the utmost limits, and then back again to the far side. Now the fox takes a full swing round, but won’t quit — now he cuts across — now Mr. Jorrocks views him, and swears he’ll have his brains as well as his tongue for supper. Pigg has him next, and again comes Mr. Jorrocks’s turn. “Dash my vig, but he’s a tough ‘un!” observed Mr. Jorrocks to James Pigg, as they met again on the rising ground at the top of the ride, where Mr. Jorrocks had been fifteen times and Pigg seventeen, both their horses streaming with perspiration, and the blue and yellow worsted fronts of the bridles embossed with foam. “Dash my vig, bu it’s a million aud a half of petties,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, looking at his watch, and seeing it wanted but twenty minutes to four, “that we adwertised, for there’s a wast o’ go left in him yet, and he’ll take the shine out of some of our ‘ounds before he is done with them — send them dragglin’ ‘ome with their sterns down — make ’em cry capevi, I’m thinking.”
“Niver fear!” exclaimed Pigg— “niver fear! — whativer ye de keep Tamboreen a rowlin’ — yonder he gans! ar wish it mayn’t be a fresh un. Arn’t draggled a bit.”
“Oh, I ‘opes not!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, the picture of despair; “Would eat him, brush and all, sooner than that. Oh, dear! oh, dear! a fresh fox would be cruel— ‘ounds deserve him — worked him well.”
“Now they begin to chass!” exclaimed Pigg, listening to the ripening chorus. “Aye, but there’s a grand scent! — Ar’ll be the death of a shillin’ if we de but kill him. How way, ould man, how way,” continued Pigg, cheeringly, jerking his arm to induce his master to follow. “Whativer ye de, keep Tamboreen a rowlin’!” continued Pigg, spurring and jagging his horse into a canter.
On man and master go — now they meet Charley, and all three are together. Again they part company for different rides, each according to his fancy. There is an evident improvement in the scent, but whether from a fresh fox, or the hounds having got nearer the hunted one, is matter of doubt. Mr. Jorrocks is elated and excited beyond expression. The hounds are evidently working the fox, but the fear of a fresh one rather mars his enjoyment. The hounds turn short, and Pigg and Charles again join Mr. Jorrocks.
“A! man alive, but they are a dustin’ his jacket!” exclaimed Pigg, pulling up to listen;— “iv’ry hund’s at him;” saying which he pulled out a large steel box and stuffed his mouth full of tobacco.
A sudden pause ensues — all still as death — not a note — not even a whimper!
“Who hoop!” exclaims Mr. Jorrocks in ecstacies— “Who hoop! I say — heard the leadin’ ‘ound crack his back! Old Cruiser for a guinea!”
“Yonder they gan!” cried Pigg, pointing to a hog-backed hill on the left, over which three couple of hounds were straining to gain the body of the pack — saying which he clapt spurs to his horse and dashed off at full gallop, followed by Charles.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, the picture of despair— “wot shall I do? wot shall I do? — gone away at this hour — strange country — nobody to pull the ‘edges down for me or catch my ‘oss if I gets spilt, and there’s that Pigg ridin’ as if there was not nev
er no such man as his master. Pretty kettle of fish!” continued Mr. Jorrocks, trotting on in the line they had taken. A bridle-gate let him out of cover, and from the first hill our master sees his hounds going like pigeons over the large grazing grounds of Beddington Bottoms, with Pigg and Stobbs a little in the rear, riding as hard as ever their horses can lay legs to the ground.
“‘Ow that Scotch beggar rides!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, eyeing Pigg going as straight as an arrow, which exclamation brought him to his first fence at the bottom of the hill, over which both horsemen had passed without disturbing a twig.
“‘Old up, ‘oss!” roared Mr. Jorrocks, seizing the reins and whip with one hand and the cantrel of the saddle with the other, as Arterxerxes floundered sideways through a low fence with a little runner on the far side. “‘Old up!” repeated he, as they got scrambled through, looking back and saying. “Terrible nasty place — wonders I ever got over. Should ha’ been drund to a certainty if I’d got in. Wouldn’t ride at it again for nothin’ under knighthood — Sir John Jorrocks, Knight!” continued he, shortening his hold of his horse. “And my ladyship Jorrocks!” added he. “She’d be bad to ‘old — shouldn’t wonder if she’d be for goin’ to Halmack’s. Dash my buttons, but I wish I was off this beastly fallow,” continued he; “wonderful thing to me that the farmers can’t see there’d be less trouble i’ growin’ grass than in makin’ these nasty rutty fields. ‘Eavens be praised, there’s a gate — and a lane too,” saying which he was speedily in the latter, and gathering his horse together he set off at a brisk trot in the direction he last saw the hounds going.
Terribly deep it was, and great Arterxerxes made a noise like the drawing of corks as he blobbed along through the stiff, holding clay.
Thus Mr. Jorrocks proceeded for a mile or more, until he came upon a red-cloaked gipsy wench stealing sticks from a rotten fence on the left.
