by R S Surtees
Weel done, Cappy!” &c.
Great applause followed, producing another song, “The Keel Row,” after which came another stiff tumber of gin and water — then another song, or parts of a song rather — for the vocalist was fast becoming hors du combat; — his face turned green — his eye gradually glazed, and at length his chin sunk on his breast; but for the fortunate circumstance of the farmer’s boy being on the look-out, his tumbler would have dropped to the ground. They then carried Mr. Pigg off to bed, but not being able to get off his boots, they happed him up as he was.
The next morning when Farmer Butterfield came down-stairs, he found Pigg on his over-night seat, with his legs cocked over the back of a chair, with one of his boys blacking his boots. He had neither cold nor headache, and eat as much breakfast as if he had had no supper. His coat was dry, his waistcoat was dry, he was all dry together; the sun shone brightly, the lost hounds had cast up, and taken shelter in an out-house, his horse was freshish, and the pack poured out of the barn bright and glossy in their coats, though somewhat stiff in their limbs.
“If evir ye come to Handley Cross, wor ard maister will be glad to thank ye and pay ye,” said Pigg, grasping the farmer’s hand as he mounted, “and if evir ye gan to canny Newcassel, cast your eye o’er mar coosin Deavilboger’s farm — A! what tormot’s he has! Aye, and see his grand pedigree bull — A! what a bull he has!”
“You’re heartily welcome,” replied Farmer Butterfield, shaking Pigg by the hand, “and whenever you pass this way, give us a look in, there’ll always be a drop of eye-water in the bottle; stay, let’s open the gate for you;” running to the fold-yard from which Pigg emerged with the glad pack at his horse’s heels.
Mrs. Butterfield, her daughters and servants, were clustered at the door, to whom Pigg again returned thanks, and touching his cap, trotted down the lane on to the road, the brightness of the morning contrasting with the dark wildness of the hour in which he arrived. What a different place he had got to, to what he thought! On Pigg jogged, now coaxing a weakly hound, now talking to his horse, and now striking up the chorus of— “Cappy’s the dog, Talliho! Talliho!”
“Your master’s just gone through,” said Anthony Smith at the Barrow Hill Gate.
“Mar maister!” replied Pigg, “what Squire Jorrocks?”
“Yeas,” said the man, “he was axing if I could tell him what become of his hounds yesterday.”
“Indeed,” replied Pigg, “give me fourpence and a ticket.”
On Pigg trotted as well as he could with a pack of hounds without a whipper-in, and catching a view of Mr. Jorrocks’ broad red back rounding a bend of the road, he gave a puff of his horn that acted like magic.
Mr. Jorrocks stopped as though he were shot.
Turning short back, he espied his huntsman and the hounds, and great was the joy and exultation at meeting.
“Killed him did you say!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, in ecstasies, “vere’s his brush?”
“A, sink ’em, they’d spoil’d it,” replied Pigg, “afore iver I gat te them — but ar’s getten his head i’ my pocket!”
“Fatch it out!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “vy, man, you should ride with it at your osses’ side. Have you never a couple loup to your saddle? — run a bit of vipcord through his snout, and let the world see the wonders we’ve done — you’ve no proper pride about you! There now,” continued he, having adjusted the head at Pigg’s saddle side, “let the world see it — don’t let your coat lap hang over it.”
Thus Mr. Jorrocks and Pigg proceeded at a foot’s pace, relating their mutual adventures. Before they had got to the end of their stories, who but Charles should pop upon them from a by-road, and the three having got together again, they entered Handley Cross in triumphant procession, as though they had never parted. Rumours of the run had been rife all the morning, but in what direction it had been, nobody could tell. The stables and kennel were besieged by inquirers, and Mr. Fribbleton, the man-milliner, who edited the “Paul Pry,” having been granted an audience, managed from Mr. Jorrocks’s account to manufacture the following article for the second edition of his paper. It was headed —
“Brilliant Run with Mr. Jorrocks’s Hounds!
and proceeded —
“As this unrivalled pack were taking their daily exercise on the Summerton road, accompanied by the huntsman, their worthy master, and his friend, Mr. James Stobbs, a large dog-fox suddenly crossed before them, with which the pack went away in gallant style, despite all efforts to stop them, as they were advertised to meet at the Round-of-Beef and Carrots to-morrow. The place the fox so suddenly popped upon them was just at the four-mile-stone, near the junction of the Appledove road, and as there were some coursers on Arthington open fields, it is conjectured bold Reynard having been suddenly disturbed by the long dogs, had come upon the hounds in a somewhat ruffled state of mind, without dreaming of his danger. However, he was quickly convinced that there was some, by the cry of his redoubtable pursuers, and the shortness of his start caused him to put his best leg foremost; and setting his head for Wollaton Plantations, he went straight as an arrow towards them, passing near the main earths on Thoresby Moor, and going through the low end of the plantations, where they run out into a belt.
“Here he was chased by a woodman’s dog, and the hounds came to a momentary check; but Mr. Jorrocks, being well up, made a scientific cast forward, and getting upon grass, they hit off the scent at a meuse, and went at a racing pace down to Crowland, through Lady Cross Park, leaving Bilson a little on the right, and so on to Langford Plantations, from thence by King’s Gate to Hookem-Snivey, and on by Staunton-Snivey to the Downs, crossing at Depedean, leaving the Windmill to the right, and the Smugglers’ Cave on the left. Night and a hurricane now came on; but, despite all impediments, this truly gallant pack realised their fox at the foot of Gunston Crags. A few more minutes would have thrown the mantle of protection over the varmint, for the crags are strongholds, from whence foxes are seldom or ever dislodged. It was the biggest Reynard that ever was seen, and the tag of his tail was uncommonly large.
“The distance gone over could not have been less than five-and-twenty miles; and altogether it was the very finest run ever encountered in the annals of fox-hunting. Mr. Jorrocks went like a bird, and earned a title to a niche among the crack riders of England.
“The hounds lay out all night, but have arrived at Handley Cross in very fair order; and we trust this run is a prelude to a long career of brilliant sport that we shall have the good fortune to record under the auspices of their most sporting master, and his equally renowned and energetic Scotch huntsman — Charles Pigg.”
Mr. Jorrocks wrote the following letter to Bill Bowker: —
“Dear Bowker,
“Your’s to hand, and note the contents. We’ve had a buster! Three hours without a check and a kill! Should have been ‘appy to have sent old ‘Nunquam Dormio’ “ an account, but it was a bye on the sly, and no one being out, there are no names to bring in. It’s soapin’ chaps cleverly wot makes a run read. Howsomever, I hopes to have lots of clippers for him to record before long. Not that I cares about fame, but it’s well to let the ‘ounds have the credit of what they do. You say Dormio will spice the articles up with learning and Latin. Latin be ‘anged! — Greek too, if there’s any grown now-a-days. Now for the run.
“It’s an old sayin’, and a true ‘un, that a bad beginnin’ often makes a good endin’. We lost Binjamin at startin’; the little beggar was caught in the spikes of a po-chay, and carried a stage out of town — teach him to walk up street for futur’. Howsomever, off we set without him, and a tremendious run was the result. I send you the ‘Pry,’ and you can judge for yourself; the first part, about the find, must be taken ‘cum grano salis,’ with a leetle Quieanne pepper, as Pomponius Ego would say. We meant to have a private rehearsal as it were, and got a five-act comedy instead of a three. Indeed, it were like to have been a tragedy.
“Somehow or other I got to the Earl of Bram
ber’s, where there was a great spread, and I had a good blow-out, and a solemnish drink. Either I walked in my sleep and fell into a pond or some one pitched me into one, and I was as near drowned as a toucher. Howsomever, I got out, and werry attentive people were to me, givin’ me brandy, and whiskey, and negus, and all sorts of things. I slept pretty well after it, nevertheless; but when I awoke to get up, I seemed to be in quite a different room — no bell, no lookin’-glass, no wash-hand, no towels, no nothin’, but my ‘unting clothes were laid nice and orderly. I dressed, and found my way to the breakfast-room, when sich a roar of laughter greeted my entrance! Still, they were all werry purlite; but I observed, whenever a servant came in he nearly split his sides with laughin’. Well, jist as I was goin’ away, I caught a sight of myself in a glass, and, oh, crikey! my face was painted broad red and yellow stripes, zebra-fashion! I couldn’t be angry, for it was so werry well done; but it certainly was werry disrespectful to an M.F.H. Have no great fancy for lords — werry apt to make first a towel, and then a dish-clout on one. But enough of that.
“I hope the Slender has not been silly enough to shoot an exciseman; they are clearly not game. It will be haukward for them both if he has: of course he has too many legal friends not to get the best advice. I’m sorry to hear about Susan’s legs — they were a pair of uncommon neat ones, certainlie; all the symmetry of Westris’s, without the smallness. I don’t think blisterin’ would do them any good; rest — rest — with occasional friction: hand-rubbin’, in fact, is the best thing.
“Charley’s quite well, and slept last night at a lunatic’s, a poor chap wot went mad about ‘unting. You needn’t send him none of your nasty ‘baccy down here, for I don’t stand smokin’. As you say Snarle’s business has fallen off, you’ll have fewer common forms to copy, and more time for letter-writing. Tip us a stave when you’ve nothin’ to do, and believe me yours to serve,
“John Jorrocks.
“P.S. 1. I enclose you 5l. for the Slender. Tell him to buy a good hard-mouthed counsel with it. I fear Billy’s only a ‘lusus naturæ,’ or ‘loose ‘un by natur’,’ as Pomponius would say.
J. J.
“P.S. 2. Tell Fortnum and Mason to send me a dozen pots of marmeylad; also Gilbertson to send me three quartern loaves — two brown and a wite — every other day. Can’t get sich bread as his ’ere, and neither Alum nor Branfoote subscribe a dump to the ‘ounds, so its no use puzzonin’ oneself on their account. Also see Painter, and tell him if his turtle’s first chop, to send me six quarts, with a suitable quantity of punch.
J. J.”
CHAPTER XXIX. COOKING UP A HUNT DINNER.
CAPTAIN DOLEFUL, EVER anxious for the prosperity of the town and his own emolument, conceived that a hunt dinner on the night of his ball would have the effect of drawing divers rural parties to the town who might not otherwise honour him with their presence, and he lost no time in communicating the idea to the worthy master, Mr. Jorrocks.
Of course the éclat it would confer on the hunt, and the brilliancy it would reflect on Mr. Jorrocks’s mastership, were the main points Captain Doleful urged on behalf of his proposal; and Mr. Jorrocks, nothing loth to indulge in a good dinner, at which he was to play first fiddle, readily came into the proposition, and the following notice was inserted in the “Paul Pry:” —
“Mr. Jorrocks’s Fox Hounds!
“There will be a Hunt Dinner, at the Dragon Hotel, on the night of the Master of the Ceremonies’ Ball, at which Members of the Hunt and the public in general, are invited to attend.
“Mr. Jorrocks in the Chair!
“Tickets, twelve shillings each, to be had at the bar of the Dragon Hotel up to five o’clock on Monday evening, after which none can possibly be issued.”
Never was a happier device, or one more eminently successful. Not only did the visitors of the place hasten to secure tickets, but people from all the neighbouring towns showered in their orders by the post, and it soon became apparent that a bumper would be the result. The longest long room at the Dragon was soon declared inefficient for the accommodation of the party, and the masons and joiners were summoned to lay the adjoining bed-room to the end, which would afterwards be restored to privacy by the usual means of folding-doors. Then came the joining and fitting of tables, the measuring of cloths, the borrowing of knives, forks, glasses, salt-cellars, decanters, and waiters. Captain Doleful flew about the town like a lost dog in search of its master. When Mr. Snubbins, the landlord of the Dragon failed in accomplishing a loan, the Captain exerted his authority in compelling one. What with his ball and the dinner he scarcely had time for his meals.
On the Monday he bespoke an audience with Mr. Jorrocks to put the finishing stroke to his arrangements. He was duly received in the dining-room of Diana Villa, where pens, ink, and paper were laid for his coming. The dinner, he assured the worthy master, was calculated to make him eminent in the eyes of all men, and most materially to aid the financial department of the hunt. “There will be,” said he, “a gathering from all quarters. Men from every point — sportsmen of every shade and grade are about to assemble, and if you can manage to tickle the fancy of each with a speech, so as to make him believe his favourite sport is the best, there is no saying but in the happy mood that most men are in when pleased and half-drunk, you may draw a good many into becoming members or subscribing.”
“Well, there can be no difficulty whatsomever at all,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “in making them a werry ‘andsome speech — beautiful speech, I may say, but in course they can’t expect me to tell them that I consider any sport better than ‘unting.”
“Why as to that,” rejoined Captain Doleful, “it makes little odds what a man says on an occasion of this sort, especially a chairman, whose first care should be to put every one in good humour with himself; and if you were to outstep the real facts a little for once, no one would ever think of throwing it in your teeth on a future occasion. For instance now, Captain Couples, the great courser, has written for tickets for three, — himself, his son, and a friend, — in order that he may have the honour of making your acquaintance, and then of presenting his son in due form. Of course you will take an early opportunity during the evening of buttering him by introducing as a toast the beautiful sport of coursing, which you may say is one of the most classical and elegant of field-sports, and say that it is one which you feel a peculiar pleasure in proposing, inasmuch as you have been given to understand that one of the most distinguished patrons of the leash has honoured the Handley-Cross Hunt dinner with his presence, which affords you an opportunity of coupling with the sport the name of the gallant Captain Couples, and of course the toast will be responded to with a heavy round of cheers, which will lay the Captain open to the insinuating applications of Mr. Fleeceall, and you may reckon him, if not his son also, a member of your hunt for a year at all events, especially if you get him to pay the money down on the nail.”
“Humph!” said Mr. Jorrocks, turning it over in his mind whether he could do such violence to his feelings as to praise the sport of coursing, or call it sport at all, for the sake of the three sovereigns he would get by Captain Couples becoming a member of the hunt. Nothing daunted, Captain Doleful proceeded with his enumeration and recommendations. “Mr. Trippitt, the famous cricketer, will most likely come. He was the founder of the Winwicket Cricket Club, which beat all London at Lord’s the year before last; you should toast him and his club together, and of course you would string a lot of sentences together in praise of the game of cricket, which you are doubtless aware is most popular all over England. Then there is Mr. Ringmore, the quoit-player, and loads of people who keep some hobby or other for their private riding, who should all be toasted in turn.”
“Werry well,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “werry well, there cannot be not never no objection whatsomever at all to sayin’ somethin’ pleasant and soapy of all the warious amusements, but it is werry difficult and inconwenient to have so many cut and dried speeches, as well as one’s dinner aboard at th
e same time. If I could manage to couple two or three of them together, such as coursin’, fishin’, and fiddlin’, for instance, it would suit my constitution better.”
“Oh no! that would not do,” replied Captain Doleful, “because one of the objects in singling out a sport or diversion to give as a toast is the circumstance of some patron or follower being at table, who will make a speech in reply; but if you club two or three together, not only will you fail in getting any one to consider the toast as a compliment, but no one will rise to acknowledge it; because, though he may be a keen follower of one branch of sport, he may care nothing about the thing you couple with it — You understand?”
“Then we must jest dot down wot we think should be given,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, “and also wot I should say, for it is far more than probable, indeed I should say most likely, that in the heat and noise, and lush and flush, and one thing and another, I shall forget one half o’ the toast, and possibly give the coursin’ man to the fiddlin’ feller, or the cricketer instead of the quoit-player.” Thereupon Mr. Jorrocks took pen, ink, and paper, and proceeded to draw out his list of toasts.
“In course, ‘the Queen, and her stag ‘ounds,’ will come first,” observed he, writing the words at the head of a long slip of paper — adding, “bumper toast. Cheers. Do you think there will be any staggerin’ sinner there to acknowledge the toast?”
“Probably there will,” replied the Captain, “at all events, if there isn’t, I would say a few words in return, as it would not look well to let the toast pass without saying something on behalf of our young and virtuous queen. I can acknowledge it as Vice-president, and also as holding her Majesty’s commission.”
“Well, then,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “let’s see what should come next? Shouldn’t it be the ‘Andley-cross Fox-’ounds, and my werry good health?”
“No — that will be too soon. The Chairman’s health should never be given until the company have had a few glasses of wine to elate them for shouting. Besides, your health will be the toast of the evening, and things always become flat after that is given, and perhaps the company will begin to disperse.”
