by R S Surtees
“Werry well — any thing for a quiet life — what shall we put then?”
Captain Doleful.— “Prince Albert, to be sure! and his harriers.”
“With all my ‘eart,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, placing the Prince’s name after her Majesty’s.
“We must have the Prince of Whales next, in course,” observed our master, “and all the rest of the Royal family,” putting it down, and asking the captain what should follow.
“Mr. Strider, the great racing man of these parts, will most likely come; and if so, you should give the Turf,” observed Captain Doleful. “Besides, he is a very likely man to become a member of the Hunt, if not to subscribe, now that there is a regular master, his only excuse for not doing so when the committee had the hounds being that he didn’t like partnership concerns in any thing but race-horses.”
“The Turf, and Mr. Strider’s good health!” Mr. Jorrocks wrote down — adding the words— “improve breed of ‘osses — promote sport — amuse lower orders — mount cavalry — lick the world,” as the headings for his speech.
“Come now, jog on,” said Mr. Jorrocks, looking at the nib of his pen, “we’ve only got five toasts ready as yet: shouldn’t we give Fox-unting?”
“Oh, certainly,” replied Captain Doleful; “that is a general toast, and acceptable to all; besides, Mr. Yarnley will be at the dinner,” observed Captain Doleful. “He has two capital covers, and one capital speech, which he likes letting off. Write down ‘Mr. Yarnley, and Promoters of Fox-hunting!’ for he doesn’t hunt himself, and only preserves foxes in order that he may have his health drunk at ordinaries and public dinners, when he tells the company how he has always preserved foxes, and does preserve foxes, and will preserve foxes, and so forth.”
Mr. Jorrocks then added Mr. Yarnley’s name to the list of toasts, adding the words, “proprietors of covers and promoters of fox-’unting,” and the following headings for a speech, “Considerate gentleman — free from selfishness — good example.” “We should cheer this toast, I think,” added Mr. Jorrocks, “‘specially as I s’pose the gemman takes no rent for his covers.”
“I believe not,” replied Captain Doleful, upon which Mr. Jorrocks put the word “cheers” after “good example.”
“Now Coursing should come, I think,” remarked Captain Doleful, “and Captain Couples’s health. He’s a great man at the Deptford meeting, and thinks coursing the only sport worth living for.”
“He must be a werry big blockhead, then,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, laying down his pen, and stretching out his legs as though he were going to take “the rest.” “A werry remarkable jackass, indeed, I should say. Now of all slow, starvation, great-coat, comforter, worsted-stockin’, dirty-nose sort of amusement, that same melancholy coursin’ is to me the most miserably contemptible. It’s a satire on racin’.”
“Never mind,” said Captain Doleful, “Couples’s guineas will be as good as any other man’s; and, as I said before, a chairman is not expected to swear to all he says — your business is to endeavour to please every one, so that they may go home and tell their wives and daughters what a jolly, delightful, at-all-in-the-ring sort of gentleman Mr. Jorrocks is.”
“Aye, that’s all werry good,” grunted our master, “but conscience is conscience arter all, and coursin’ is coursin’. It’s as bad as drinkin’ the ‘Andley-Cross waters to have to praise what one doesn’t like. I’ll give the Merry ‘Arriers afore Coursin’, howsomever,” said Mr. Jorrocks, putting down the words Hare-’unting; “Will there be any currant-jelly boy to return thanks? — I’m sure there will, indeed, for I never knew a mixed party yet without a master of muggers among them.”
To this toast Mr. Jorrocks added the word— “nose — fine music — pleasant — soup.” “Now,” said he, “we’ve got the Queen and the Staggers — Prince Halbert — Prince of Whales — Strider and the Turf — Fox-’unting — Yarnley and Proprietors of Covers — the Merry ‘Arriers.”
“Put ‘Coursing’ next, then,” said Doleful; “it will follow hare-hunting very well, and be all in the soup line.”
“Well, if you must have it, you must,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, writing down the word: “coursin’.” “Who acknowledges the toast? — ah, Couples — Captain, I think you said he is? Captain Couples — a werry good man too — blow me tight though if I knows what to say in givin’ on it.”
“Oh, say it’s classical, and a fine bracing amusement.” Mr. Jorrocks added the words “fine amusement.”
“Well, that’s eight bumpers from the chair,” observed Captain Doleful; “and now we’ll let you take your breath a little — unless Mr. Snapper comes, when you must give pigeon-shooting and the triggers generally. I’ll now toast the Chair.”
“The Chair,” wrote Mr. Jorrocks, “that’s me. Cheers in course.”
“In course,” replied Captain Doleful, adding, “I shall butter you uncommon.”
“With all my ‘eart — I can stand a wast of praise,” replied Mr. Jorrocks.
“Well, then, after that, and after your speech, which of course will be highly complimentary to the company, and full of promises of what you will do, you must propose my health — as master of the ceremonies of Handley Cross Spa.”
“And as a great sportsman!” added Mr. Jorrocks.
“No, no, I’d rather not,” exclaimed Doleful in alarm; “the fact is, I only hunt on the sly. If the Dowagers thought I did not devote my whole time and energies to the town amusements, they would grumble, and say I was always out hunting instead of attending to the important duties of my post. No; just confine yourself to the M.C. department, not forgetting to insinuate that it is my ball-night, and to express a hope that all the company will honour it with their presence; you might say something, apparently half-facetiously, in the way of a hint about giving guineas for their tickets; for some people are getting into the dirty trick of paying at the door.”
“Werry good,” said Mr. Jorrocks, writing down “Capt. Doleful, M.C., not sportsman — pleasant feller — nice ball — pumps in pocket — tickets at bar — guinea. You’ll be ‘cheer’d,’ I s’pose?”
“Of course,” said the Captain— “all the honours — one cheer more if you can get it.”
Cricketing, quoit-playing, shooting, badger-baiting, steeple-chasing, hurdle-racing, crow-shooting, and divers other sporting, extraordinary, and extravagant toasts were then added; some to fit people that were known to be coming, others put down to take the chance of any amateur of the amusement presenting himself unexpectedly at the table.
“Werry well now,” said Mr. Jorrocks at last, dotting up the column of toasts with his pen, “that’s two, four, six, seven, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen. Sixteen bumper toasts, with speeches both goin’ and returnin’, to say nothin’ of shoutin’, which always tells on weak ‘eads. Wot shall we say next?”
“Oh!” said Captain Doleful, in an indifferent sort of way, as much as to say the important business of the evening would be finished on drinking his health; “why just pass the bottle a few times, or if you see a gentleman with a singing face, call on him for a song; or address your neighbour right or left, and say you’ll trouble him to give a gentleman and his hounds.
“A gen’lman and his ‘ounds,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “but they’ll have had a gen’leman and his ‘ounds when they’ve had me.”
“Ah, but that’s nothing— ‘a gentleman and his hounds,’ is a fine serviceable toast at a hunt-dinner. I’ve known a gentleman and his hounds — a gentleman and his hounds — a gentleman and his hounds — serve chairman, vice-chairman, and company throughout the live-long evening, without the slightest assistance from any other source. Fox-hunters are easily pleased, if you do but give them plenty to drink. Let me, however, entreat of you, above all things, to remember my ball, and do not let them oversit the thing, so as not to get to it. Remember, too, it’s a fancy one, and they’ll take more dressing.”
“Aye, aye, I’ll vip them off to you when I think they’ve had enough,” r
eplied Mr. Jorrocks.
CHAPTER XXX. SERVING UP A HUNT DINNER.
THE IMPORTANT NIGHT drew on, and with it the cares and excitement of a double event. The interests of all hearts and minds were centred in that day. None looked beyond. The dinner and dance formed the boundary of their mental horizon. At an early hour in the afternoon numerous rural vehicles came jingling into Handley Cross, with the mud of many counties on their wheels. Here was Squire Jorum’s, the chairman of quarter sessions, green chariot, with fat Mrs. Jorum and three fat little Miss Jorums crammed inside, young Mr. Jorum having established himself alongside a very antediluvian-looking coachman, in dark drab, with a tarnished gold-band on a new hat, who vainly plied the thong and crop of a substantial half pig-driver, half horse-breaker’s whip, along the ribs and hind-quarters of a pair of very fat, square-tailed, heavy, rough-coated, coarse-headed, lumbering nags, to induce them to trot becomingly into the town. Imperials, a cap-box, a maid in the rumble, all ensconced in band-boxes, proclaim their destiny for that day. Captain Slasher, with a hired barouche and four black screws, all jibbing and pulling different ways — the barouche full of miscellaneous foot cornets in plain clothes (full of creases of course), dashes down East Street, and nearly scatters his cargo over the road, by cutting it fine between Squire Jorum’s carriage and the post. A yellow dennet passes by, picked out with chalk, mud, and black stripes: two polar bear-looking gentlemen, in enormous pea-jackets, plentifully be-pocketed, with large wooden buttons, are smoking cigars and driving with a cane-handled hunting-whip. Then a “yellow,” with the driver sitting on the cross-bar, whose contents, beyond a bonnet and a hat, are invisible, in consequence of the window having more wood than glass in its composition, works its way up, and in its turn is succeeded by another private carriage with a pair of posters.
Then there was such a ringing of bells, calling of waiters, cursing of chambermaids, and blasting of boots, at the various hotels, in consequence of the inability of the houses to swell themselves into three times their size, to accommodate the extraordinary influx of guests. “Very sorry, indeed,” says Mr. Snubbins, the landlord of the Dragon, twisting a dirty duster round his thumb, “very sorry, indeed, sir,” speaking to a red-faced big-whiskered head, thrust out of a carriage window, “we are full to the attics — not a shake-down or sofa unoccupied; can get you a nice lodging out, if you like — very comfortable.
“D — your comfortables, you lying thief! — do you suppose I can’t do that for myself? Well, if ever you catch me coming to your house again I hope I may be—” The wish was lost by some one pulling the irate gentleman back into his chaise, and after a short parley inside, during which three reasonable single gentlemen applied to Mr. Stubbins for the accommodation of a room amongst them to dress in for dinner, the boy was ordered to drive on, and make the grand tour of the inns.”
Weary, most weary were the doings at the Dragon. Ring a ding, ding a ding dong, went the hostler’s bell at the gate; “Room for a carriage and pair?”
“Whose o’ it?”
“Mrs. Grout’s!”
“No, quite full!” The hostler muttering to himself, “Mrs. Grouts and two feeds — sixpence for hostler.” Ring a ding, ding a ding, ding a ding dong. Hostler again— “Coming out!” “Who now?” “Squire Gooseander! four posters, piping hot, white lather, boys beery, four on to Hollinshall, bait there, back to hall — sixpence a mile for good driving — out they come — there’s your ticket — pay back and away.”
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, went a little bell, as though it would never stop.
“Waiter!” roared a voice from the top of the house, that came like a crash of thunder after the insignificant precursor, “am I to ring here all day? Where’s the boots? I sent him for a barber an hour ago, and here I’ve been starving in my shirt-sleeves ever since.”
“Now, Jane, Miss Tramp wants her shoes.”
“Where’s the chambermaid?” exclaimed a gentleman, rushing half frantic down-stairs; “here’s a man got into my room and swears he will dress in it.”
“Oh! I begs pardon, sir,” replied the chambermaid, trying to smooth him over, “we really are so full, sir, and I didn’t think you’d be coming in so soon, sir.”
“Waiter! somebody has changed my place at dinner! I was next Mr. Walter Dale, and now they’ve put me below Mr. Barker — between him and Mr. Alcock: who the devil’s done it?”
“Boots! Porter! Boots! run down to Mr. Ingledew the tailor’s — you know him, don’t you? Corner of Hill Street — just as you turn off the esplanade; and tell him he’s sent me the wrong coat. Not half the size of my own — more like a strait-jacket than any thing else. And here! desire Mrs. Kirton to send some ball gloves for me to try on — lemon colour or white — three and sixpenny ones.”
“Lauk, I’ve come away and left Miss Eliza’s stockings, I do declare!” exclaims Jemima Thirlwell, Miss Eliza Rippon’s lady’s maid, pale with fear, “what shall I do? Never was any thing so unlucky — just took them to run my hand through and see they were all right, and left them hanging over the back of the chair. Know as well where they are as possible — but what’s the use of that when they are ten miles off?”
“Waiter, what time’s dinner?”
“Five o’clock, sir, and no waiting — Mr. Jorrocks swears he’ll take the chair at five precisely, whether it’s served or not,” adds the waiter, with a grin.
Then there was such work in the kitchen — Susan Straker, the cook, like all the sisterhood, was short in her temper, and severe and endless were the trials it underwent in consequence of the jingling and tinkling of the bells calling away the chambermaids who were to have assisted her in the kitchen. Then Mr. Jorrocks deranged her whole system by insisting upon having a sucking pig and roast goose that she intended for centre dishes, right under his nose at the top of the table; added to which, the fish was late in coming, and there was not half as much maccaroni in the town as would make an inn dish.
“Now, Jun,” said Mrs. Jorrocks to her loving spouse, taking a finishing look of our hero as he emerged from his bed-room in the full dress uniform of his hunt, “see and conduct yourself like a gen’leman and with dignity, and, above all, keep sober — nothing so wulgar or ungenteel as gettin’ intosticated. Belinda and I will call for you at ten minutes before ten, to take you on to the ball; for, in course, it carn’t commence till we come, and it won’t be politeful to keep people waitin’ too long.”
“Jest so,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, adjusting a capacious shirt-frill in the glass. “Binjimin, I say, run and fatch the fly.”
Mr. Jorrocks was uncommonly smart. Sky-blue coat lined with pink satin, finely starched white waistcoat, new canary-coloured shorts, below which stood a pair of splendid calves, encased in ganze white silk stockings, and his feet appeared in shining shoes with silver buckles. At either knee a profusion of white riband dangled in graceful elegance, looking for all the world like wedding favours. Benjamin, notwithstanding his boasting and taunting to Samuel Strong, knew his master too well, and the taste of his whip also, to attempt any of the exclusive tricks in the way of service, he gave himself credit for acting; so settling himself into his frock-coat, and drawing on a pair of clean white Berlins, sufficiently long at the fingers to allow the ends to dribble in the soup-plates, he wiped his nose across his hand, and running away down to the stand, very soon had a fly at the door. Jorrocks stepped in, and Benjamin mounted behind with all the dignity of a seven-foot figure footman. Away they dash to the Dragon.
Notwithstanding the descent of a drizzling rain, and the “inclement season of the year,” as newspapers phrase it, there was a crowd of servants, post-boys, beggars, and loiterers hanging about the arched gate-way of the Dragon to get a sight of our renowned hero alighting from his fly; and great was the rushing and jostling to the door as it drew up. Mr. Snubbins, the landlord, a choleric round-faced little man, with a snub nose and a pimple on the end of it, had put himself into a white waistcoat, with his bes
t blue coat and black kerseymere shorts, to officiate behind Mr. Jorrocks’ chair, and hearing our master’s name bandied about on his arrival, met him at the foot of the stairs with all becoming respect, and proceeded to conduct him into the waiting-room. There was a strongish muster; but two melancholy mould-candles, in kitchen candlesticks, placed on the centre of a large table, shed such a dismal ray about the room, that little was distinguishable, save a considerable mass of white, and an equally large proportion of a darker colour. Some thirty or forty members of the Hunt, strangers and others, were clustered about, and there was a dull, funeral sort of hum of a conversation, interrupted every now and then by the recognition of friends, and the entrance of another arrival into the dingy apartment. Then there was the usual hiding of hats and cloaks — the secretion of umbrellas, goloshes, and sticks, and the expression of hopes that they might be forthcoming when wanted.
Meanwhile the savoury smell of dinner fighting its way up the crowded staircase, in the custody of divers very long-coated post-boys turned waiters, and a most heterogeneous lot of private servants, some in top-boots, some in gaiters, some few in white cotton stockings, and the most out-of-the-way fitting liveries, entered the waiting-room, and the company began to prepare for the rush. All things, soup, fish, joints, vegetables, poultry, pastry, and game, being at length adjusted, and the covers taken off to allow them to cool, Mr. Snubbins borrowed a candle from the low end of the table, and forthwith proceeded to inform Mr. Jorrocks that dinner was served.
Great was the rush! The worthy citizen was carried out of the waiting-room across the landing, and half-way up the dining-room, before he could recover his legs, and he scrambled to his seat at the head of the table, amidst loud cries of “Sir, this is my seat! Waiter, take this person out.”— “Who are you?”— “You’re another!”— “Mind your eye!”— “I will be here!”— “I say you won’t though!”— “That’s my bread!”
