by R S Surtees
“‘Time trieth troth,’ says the proverb, but ‘November trieth truth’ i’ the ‘unting line, and men that don’t like ‘unting, had much better not give themselves the trouble of pretendin’ they do, for they’re sure to be found out, and branded for ‘umbugs for their trouble. It’s a werry rum thing ’ow few men there are who candidly say they don’t like it. They’ve all been keen sportsmen at some time or other o’ their lives. Every man,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, sententiously, “wot prefers his ‘ealth to the interests o’ the Seidletz pooder makers, will get as much ‘unting as ever he can afore Christmas. (Great laughter and applause.) So now let’s be doin’!” added he, rubbing his elbows against his sides as if anxious for the fray.
“Let us s’pose the last, last fumigatin’ piece o’ conceit has cast up, and the M.F.H. gives the hoffice to the ‘untsman to throw off. ‘Osses’ ‘eads turn one way, th’ ‘ounds brisk up at the move, the coffee-room breaks up, frinds pair off to carry out jokes, while the foot people fly to the ‘ills, and the bald-’eaded keeper stands ‘at in ‘and at the gate, to let th’ ‘ounds into cover.
“Eleu in!” at length cries the ‘untsman, with a wave of his ‘and. and in an instant his ‘osses’ ‘eels are deserted. The vipper-in has scuttled round the cover, and his rate and crack are ‘eard on the far side. ‘Gently, Conqueror! Conqueror, have a care! Ware are! ware are!’”
Here Mr. Jorrocks paused, apparently for the purpose of recollecting something.
“There’s a bit o’ potry due here,” observed he; “but somehow or other it von’t come, to halloo! ‘Great, glorious, and free, First flower o’ the hocean, first—’” continued he. “No, that von’t do, that was old Dan’s dodge. Yet it’s somethin’ like that, too; can no one help me? Ah, I have it: —
‘Delightful scene!’
When all around is gay, men, ‘osses, dogs;
And in each smilin’ countenance appears
Fresh bloomin’ ‘ealth, and uniwersal joy.’
And yet that’s not exactly the place it should have come in at nouther,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, recollecting himself; “that scrap is meant for the meet; throwin’ off is thus described by Peter Beckford, or some other gen’l’man wot described it to him. Howsomever it von’t do to waste a cotation, so you can jest joggle t’other one back in your minds to the right place. This is throwin’ off: —
‘See! ow they range
Dispersed, ’ow busily this way and that,
They cross, examinin’ with curious nose
Each likely ‘aunt. ‘Ark! on the drag I ‘ear
Their doubtful notes, preludin’ to a cry
More nobly full, and swelled with every mouth.’
“Now that’s poetry and sense too,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, smacking his lips! “which is more than poetry always is; for a poet, you see, has to measure his words, and werry often the one that would best express vot he vonts von’t fit in with t’others, so he’s obliged to halter his meanin’ altogether, or mount a lame stee. For my part I likes prose best, and I reckon Peter’s prose better nor most men’s werse. Hear ’ow he finds his fox.” Mr. Jorrocks then took his newly-bound Beckford from the table at the back of the platform, and read as follows: —
“‘Ow musical their tongues! And as they get near to him, ’ow the chorus fills! ‘Ark! he is found. Now, vere are all your sorrows and your cares, ye gloomy souls! or where your pains and aches, ye complainin’ ones! one holloo has dispelled them all. Vot a crash they make! and hecho sceminly takes pleasure to repeat the sound. The ‘stonished traveller forsakes his road; lured by its melody, the listenin’ ploughman now stops his plough, and every distant shepherd neglects his flock, and runs to see him break. Vot joy! vot heagerness in every face!’”
“Now,” said Mr. Jorrocks, smacking his lips again, “that’s what I call real prime stuff — the concentrated essence of ‘untin’ — the XXX of sportin’, so different from the wire-spun, wishy-washy yarns of modern penny-a-liners, who smother their meanin’ (if they have any) in words. If I’ve read Peter once, I’ve read him a hundred times, and yet I finds somethin’ fresh to admire every time. Wernor and Hood, Birchin Lane, published this edition in 1796; and on the title-page is pasted a hextract from a newspaper that would adorn a monument. ‘Monday, 8th March, 1811, at his seat, Stapleton, in Dorsetshire, Peter Beckford, Esq., aged 70. Mr. Beckford was a celebrated fox-’unter, and hauthor of ‘Letters on ‘Unting.’ There’s an inscription for a marble monument! ‘Multum in parvo,’ as Pomponius Ego would say. Blow me tight! but I never looks at Billy Beckford supplicatin’ the king on his marble monument in Guildhall, but I exclaims, ‘Shake Billy from his pedestal and set up Peter!’ (Hisses and applause.)
“I once wrote my epitaph, and it was werry short, —
‘Hic jacet Jorrocks,’
was all wot I said; but the unlettered ‘untsman, or maybe M.F.H., might pass me by, jest as he would a dead emperor. Far different would it be should this note follow,— ‘Mr. J. was a celebrated fox-’unter, and lectorer upon ‘unting.’ Then would the saunterin’ sportsman pause as he passed, and drop a tribute to the memory of one who loved the chase so well. But I’m gettin’ prosaic and off the line. Let us ‘ark back into cover! The chase, I sings! Let’s see.
“We had jest found our fox. Well, then, let’s at Peter again, for there’s no one boils one hup into a gallop like him. Here’s description of the thief o’ the world afore he breaks.” Mr. Jorrocks reads:—”’Mark ’ow he runs the cover’s hutmost limits, yet dares not wentur forth; the ‘ounds are still too near! That check is lucky! Now if our frinds ‘ead him not, he will soon be off!’”
“Talli-ho!” screamed Mr. Jorrocks, at the top of his voice. ‘Dash my vig, that’s the cry!” continued he, holding his hand in the air. “See ’ow pale the gen’leman in light scarlet and bishop’s boots is turnin’, and how delighted old Jack Rasper, in the cut-away olive, broad cords, and hoganys is; his low-crowned ‘at’s in the hair, for he sees the warmint, a sight more glorious nor the lord mayor’s show; yet he ‘olloas not! Ah, it’s talli-ho back! The fox is ‘eaded by you puppy in purple, strikin’ a light on the pommel of his saddle. ‘Ope he’ll soon be sick! Th’ ‘ounds turn short, and are at him again. Have at him, my beauties! Have at him, my darlins’! Have at him, I say! Yonder he goes at t’other end! — now he’s away! Old Rasper has him again! ‘Talli-ho, away!’ he cries. The old low-crowned ‘at’s in the hair, and now every man ‘oops and ‘ollows to the amount of his superscription. Twang! twang! twang! goes the Percival; crack! crack! crack! go the whips; ‘ounds, ‘osses, and men, are in a glorious state of excitement! Full o’ beans and benevolence!”
“So am I, my beloved ‘earers,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, after a pause; “and must let off some steam, or I shall be teachin’ you to over-ride the ‘ounds.” So saying, Mr. Jorrocks retired to the back of the platform, and cooled himself with a fresh glass of hot brandy and water. Presently he returned, and thus resumed his discourse.
“Oh! my beloved ‘earers, if I’d been at the great Mr. Pomponius Hego’s helbow when in describin’ this critical period of the chase he penned the words, ‘go along, there are three couple of ‘ounds on the scent, ‘I’d ha’ seen if I could’nt ha’ got him to put in ‘now ‘old your jaws, and ‘old ‘ard! and let ’em settle quietly to the scent.’ Believe me, my beloved ‘earers, the words ‘go along, there are three couple of ‘ounds on the scent,’ have lost many a run and saved the life of many a warmint. ‘Ow I likes to see the ‘ounds come quietly out, settlin’ and collectin’ together, gradually mending their pace as they go, till they brew up a reg’lar bust. That’s the way to make the foxes cry ‘Capevi!’” added he. (Laughter and applause.)
“Here let me hobserve,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “that it’s a grand thing for ingenuous youth to get a view of the warmint at startin’; by so doing he gets a sort of wested interest in the fox, and rides arter him as he would arter a thief with his watch. There’s a knack in d
oin’ this, and some men are cleverer at it than others, but half the battle consists in not being flurried— ‘Yonder he goes! yonder he goes! Talli-ho! talli-ho!’ exclaim a dozen people, pointin’ different ways — and hearin’ that a fox is a quick travellin’ beast, ingenuous youth begins to look some half-a-mile a-head; whereas, if the people were to cry ‘Here he is! here he is!’ pointin’ downwards, Spooney would take a nearer range, and see that a fox travels more like a cat nor a crow. Folks overlook the fox, jest as one overlooks a mustard-pot under one’s nose.
“Well, then, my beloved ‘earers, glorious talli-ho! talli-ho! — whose very echo kivers me all over with the creeps — is holloaed and repeated, and responded and re-echoed, and th’ ‘ounds are settlin’ to the scent. As soon as ever you ‘ear the cry, make up your minds either to go on or go ‘ome. But I won’t s’pose that any man will stop stirrin’ till the puddin’s done; at all ewents, not till he sees a fence, so thrust your ‘eads well into your ‘ats, tighten your reins, ‘arden your ‘earts, and with elbows and legs, elbows and legs, get forrard to the ‘ounds.” Mr. Jorrocks suiting the action to the word, straddling and working an imaginary horse with his arms.
“Now we are away! The cover’s wacated, and there’s not another within four miles, which courtesy will call fourteen! Vich vay’s the vind? South-east, as I live. Then he’s away for Brammelkite Brake! Now for your topographical dictionaries, or, vot is still better, some gemman with a map of the country in his ‘ead. The field begins to settle into places, like folks at the play. If there’s no parson to pilot the way, gen’l’man with ‘osses to sell take the first rank. Every one now sees who are there, and many may be wantin’ at the end to tell who come in so; a rasper well negotiated at this time o’ day has sold many a screw. After the gen’l’man with ‘osses to sell comes the ‘untsman, entreatin’ the gen’l’men with ‘osses to sell not to press upon the ‘ounds; but as he only talks to their backs, they regard the exhortation as a mere figure o’ speech. The top-sawyers of the ‘unt will be close on the ‘untsman. There will not be many of these; but should there be a barrack in the neighbourhood, some soger officers will most likely mex up and ride at the ‘ardest rider among ’em. The dragon soger officer is the most dangerous, and may be known by the viskers under his nose. A foot soger officer’s ‘oss is generally better in his wind than on his legs. They generally wear chin wigs, and always swear the leaps are nothin’ compared with those in the county they come from — Cheapside, p’raps.
“In the wake of the top-sawyers and soger officers will come your steady two ‘oss men, their eyes to the ‘ounds, their thoughts in the chase, regardless of who crams or who cranes. These generally wear cords, their viskers are greyish, and their brown top-boots look as if they have never been wite.
“The ‘safe pilot’ is generally a man with a broad back, clad in bottle-green, with plain metal buttons, white neckcloth, striped veskit, drab kerseys, with ribbons danglin’ over a ‘hogany top; or may be in the scarlet coat of the ‘unt, with a hash-plant, to denote that he is a gate-opener, and not a leaper: a man of this sort will pilot a youngster all day without ridin’ over a fence. He knows every twist, every turn, every gate, every gap, in the country, and though sometimes appearin’ to ride away from the ‘ounds, by skirtin’ and nickin’, will often gain Reynard’s p’int afore them — p’raps afore Reynard himself!
“We must not follow him, but ‘streak it ‘across the country a bit, as brother Jonathan would say, and this is the time that, if ingenuous youth’s ‘oss has any monkey in him, he will assuredly get his dander up and show it. The commonest occurrence in all natur’ is for him to run away, which is highly disagreeable. Geoffrey Gambado well observes, that when a man is well run away with, the first thing that occurs to him is how to stop his ‘oss. Some will run him at a ditch, which is a werry promisin’ experiment, if he leaps ill, or not at all: others try a gate-post, but it requires a nice eye to hit the centre with the ‘oss’s ‘ead, so as not to graze your own leg. Frenchmen — and Frenchmen ride as well now as they did in Gambado’s time — will ride against one another;and Geoffrey tells a good story of an ingenious Frenchman he saw make four experiments on Newmarket Heath, in only one of which he succeeded. His ‘oss ran away with him whilst Gimcrack was runnin’ a match, and the Count’s ‘opes of stoppin’ him being but small, he contrived to turn him across the course and rode slap at Gimcrack, ‘opin’ to effect it by a broadside; but Gimcrack was too quick for the Count, and he missed his aim. He then made full at Lord March, but unluckily only took him slautin’: baffled in this second attempt, the Count relied on the Devil’s Ditch as a certain check to his career, but his ‘oss carried him clean over; and had not the rubbin’-house presented itself, the Count asserted he werily believed he should soon have reached London. Dashin’ at the rubbin’-’ouse, with true French spirit, he produced the desired effect; his ‘oss, not being able to proceed, stopped, and that so suddenly that Ducrow himself would have kissed his own saw-dust. The count, it is true, came off but tolerably well; the ‘oss broke his ‘ead and the count’s likewise, so that, accordin’ to the opinion of two negatives makin’ an affirmative, little or no ‘arm was done, an ingenious, if not a satisfactory, mode of disposin’ of damage.
“And here let me observe, that to ‘unt pleasantly two things are necessary — to know your ‘oss and to know your own mind. An ‘oss is a queer critter. In the stable, on the road, or even in a green lane, he may be all mild and hamiable — jest like a gal you’re a courtin’ of — but when he gets into the matrimony of the ‘unting-field among other nags, and sees th” ounds, which always gets their danders up, my vig! it’s another pair of shoes altogether, as we say in France. Howsomever, if you know your ‘oss and can depend upon him, so as to be sure he will carry you over whatever you put him at, have a good understandin’ with yourself afore ever you come to a leap, whether you mean to go over it or not, for nothing looks so pusillanimous as to see a chap ride bang at a fence as though he would eat it, and then swerve off for a gate or a gap. Better far to charge wiggorously, and be chucked over by the ‘oss stoppin’ short, for the rider may chance to light on his legs, and can look about unconsarnedly, as though nothing particklar had ‘appened. I’m no advocate for leapin’, but there are times when it can’t be helped, in which case let a man throw his ‘eart fearlessly over the fence and follow it as quick as ever he can, and being well landed, let him thank Providence for his luck, and lose no time in lookin’ for the best way out. Thus he will go on from leap to leap, and from field to field, rejoicin’; and havin’ got well over the first fence, it’s ‘stonishin” ow fearlessly he charges the next. Some take leapin’-powder — spirits of some sort — but it’s a contemptible practice, unworthy of ingenuous youth.
“The finest receipt, however, for makin’ men ride is shakin’ a sportin’ hauthor. afore them at startin’. Crikey! ’ow I’ve seen ’em streak across country so long as he remained in sight! Coves wot wouldn’t face a water-furrow if they had had their own way, under the impulse of glory, will actually spur their steeds!
“Gentlemen wot take their ideas of ‘unting from Mr. Hackermann’s pictor-shop in Regent’s Street must have rum notions of the sport. There you see red laps flyin’ out in all directions, and ‘osses apparently to be had for catchin’. True, that in ‘unting men will roll about — but so they will on the road; and I’d rayther have two bumps in a field than one on a pike. Danger is everywhere! An accomplished frind o’ mine says, ‘Impendet omnibus periculum’ — Danger ‘angs over an omnibus: and ‘Mors omnibus est communis,’ — You may break your neck in an omnibus: but are we, on that account, to shun the wehicle of which the same great scholar says, ‘Wirtus parvo pretio licet ab omnibus,’ — Wirtue may ride cheap in an omnibus? Surely not!
“Still, a fall’s a hawful thing. Fancy a great sixteen’ and ‘oss lyin’ on one like a blanket, or sittin’ with his monstrous hemispheres on one’s chest, sendin’ one’s werry soul out o’ one’
s nostrils! Dreadful thought! Vere’s the brandy?” Hereupon Mr.Jorrocks again retired to the back of the platform to compose his nerves.
“Now, my beloved ‘earers,” continued he, returning and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand,— “Now, my beloved ‘earers, let’s draw on old Peter for a run, for I really think a good suck of ’im is a’most as good as a tuck out at the Ship and Turtle Tavern.
“Here we ‘ave ’im,” continued Mr.Jorrocks, opening at the place, and proceeding to read with all due energy and emphasis; “‘Mind, Galloper, ’ow he leads them? It’s difficult to ‘stinguish which is first, they run in such good style; yet he is the foremost ‘ound. The goodness of his nose is not less excellent than his speed:— ’ow he carries the scent! and when he loses it, see ’ow eagerly he flings to recover it again! There — now he’s at ‘ead again! See ’ow they top the ‘edge! Now, now they mount the ‘ill! — Observe wot a ‘ead they carry; and show me, if thou canst one shuffler or shirker ‘mongst ’em all: are they not like a parcel of brave fellows, who, when they gage in an undertakin’, determine to share its fatigue and its dangers equally ‘mongst ’em?’
“Capital!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, smacking his lips. “Excellent indeed. That’s jest precisely like my ‘ounds.
“Dash my vig, if I could but get a clever feller like Leech to draw me a panorama o’ the chase, with all my beauties goin’ like beans— ‘eads up and sterns down, and a lot o’ trumps ridin’ as they should do — near enough to ‘ear their sweet music, but not too near to prevent their swingin’ and spreadin’ like a rocket to make their own cast, I’d — I’d — I’d — bow! Halbert Smith and his wife mountain and his black box right down Sin Jimses street into the Thames, and set hup i’ the ‘Giptian ‘All myself.” (Great laughter and applause.) When it subsided, Mr. Jorrocks, returning to his volume, said,
