by R S Surtees
“Oh, that weary scent!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “that weary incomprehensible, incontrollable phenomenon! ‘Constant only in its inconstancy!’ as the hable hauthor of the noble science well said. Believe me, my beloved ‘earers,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “there’s nothin’ so queer as scent, ‘cept a woman! (Hisses, mingled with laughter and applause.)
“‘Ark to Beckford!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, resuming his reading as the noise subsided. ‘We now must give ’em time: — see where they bend towards yonder furze brake. I wish he may ‘ave stopped there! Mind that old ‘ound, ’ow he dashes o’er the furze; I think he winds ’im. Now for a fresh en tapis! ‘Ark! they ‘alloo! Aye, there he goes.’
“Pop goes the weasel again!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, straddling and working his arms, as if he were riding. He then resumed his reading.
“‘It is nearly over with ’im; had the ‘ounds caught view, he must ha’ died. He will ‘ardly reach the cover; see ’ow they gain upon ’im at every stroke! It is an admirable race! yet the cover saves ’im.
“‘Now be quiet, and he cannot ‘scape us; we ‘ave the wind o’ the ‘ounds, and cannot be better placed: ’ow short he runs! he is now in the werry strongest part o’ the cover. Wot a crash! every ‘ound is in, and every ‘ound is runnin’ ’im. That was a quick turn! Again, another! he’s put to his last shifts. Now Mischief is at his ‘eels, and death is not far off. Ha! they all stop at once; all silent, and yet no hearth is hopen. Listen! now they are at him agin! Did you ‘ear that ‘ound catch ’im! they overran the scent, and the fox had laid down be’ind ’em. Now Reynard look to yourself! ‘Ow quick, they all give their tongues! Little Dreadnought, ’ow he works ’im! the terriers, too, they are now squeakin’ at ’im! ‘Ow close Wengeance pursues! ’ow terribly she presses! it is jest up with ’im! Gods! wot a crash they make; the ‘ole wood resounds! That turn was werry short! There! now! aye, now they ‘ave ’im! Who-hoop!’”
Here Mr. Jorrocks put his finger in his ear, and gave a “Who-hoop!” that shook the very rafters of the room, which being responded to by the party, a noise was created that is more easily imagined than described.
Three cheers for Mr. Jorrocks were then called for, and given with such vehemence as to amount to nine times nine, and one cheer more, during which the worthy master kept bowing and scraping on the platform, until he got a crick in his neck from the exercise.
CHAPTER XXXIV. MR. JORROCKS’S JOURNAL.
A FEW MORE extracts from our distinguished friend’s journal will perhaps best put our readers in possession of the nature of the sport with his hounds, and doings generally, though being written on loose sheets of paper, and sometimes not very legible, we have had some little difficulty in deciphering it. Indeed, what appear to have been the best runs — especially those with a kill — are invariably the worst written, owing perhaps to our friend indulging in a third pint of port on what he calls “qualified days.”
On one occasion he seems to have been writing his journal and a letter to his traveller, Mr. Bugginson, together, and to have put into the journal what was meant for the traveller, and most likely sent to the traveller what was meant for the journal. However, our readers shall have it as we find it, and we will endeavour to supply any little deficiencies from such other sources as are open to us.
Mr. Jorrocks would seem to have had another bye-day with Ben while Pigg’s clothes were making, when Ben did not cut any better figure than he did on the boiled lobster one. Having got the hounds into cover, as soon as ever Mr. Jorrocks began to yoicks and cheer, and crack his whip, exhorting the hounds to “rout ’im out!” and “pash ’im hup!” Ben stood erect in his stirrups, and made the following proclamation, to the great amusement of the field: —
“I maintain that’s the old un’s holloo!” “I maintain that’s the old un’s holloo!” repeated he. “I maintain that’s the old un’s holloo!” he added for the third time, as he re-seated himself in his saddle, and scuttled away to astonish another group of sportsmen with a similar declaration.
Mr. Jorrocks adds to his confused note of the transaction:— “Incorrigible bouy! Good mind to stuff him full o’ Melton dinner pills, and see if they will give him any knowledge o’ the chase.”
He also seems to have had several “bye” and other days at “Pinch-me-near” forest, when a light-coloured fox beat him so often as to acquire the name of the “old customer.” We see on chronicling his losings generally, he adds the words— “the musciful man is musciful to his fox” — just as if he could have killed him if he chose. That, of course, our readers will believe as much of as they like. We shouldn’t like to be a fox with old J. at our brush.
Some of his runs appear to have been severe, at least if we may judge by the entries of money paid for “catchin’ my oss” — stoppin’ my oss” — and “helpin’ me on to my oss” — which our worthy friend enters with the most scrupulous accuracy.
The following is our master’s minute of his opening day: —
“Wednesday. — Round of beef and carrots — momentous crisis — first public day as an M.F.H. — morning fine, rather frosty — there betimes — landlord polite — many foot-folks — large field — Romeo Simpkins on Sontag — Captain Slack on Bull Dog — Miss Wells on Fair Rosamond — great many captains — found soon — ringin’ beggar — ran three rounds, and accounted for him by losin’ him — found again — a ditto with a ditto finish — good for the foot-folks — home at four — musciful man is musciful to the foxes. Paid for catching my ‘oss, 6d.
“Found two petitions. One from Joshua Peppercorn prayin’ his honour the M.F.H. to subscribe to reinstate him in a cart ‘oss, his own havin’ come to an untimely end of old age. Says the M.F.H.’s always subscribe. Replied as follows: —
“‘M.F.H. John Jorrocks presents his compliments to Mr. Joshua Peppercorn, and is sorry to hear of the death of his prad, but the M.F.H. ‘as enough to do to mount himself and his men without subscribin’ to find other folks i’ quads.
“‘Diana Lodge.’
“Margaret Lucas had her patent mangle seized for rent and arrears of rent, and ‘opes the master of the fox-dogs will do somethin’ towards redeeming it. Wrote as follows: —
“‘M.F.H. John Jorrocks presents his compliments to Mrs. Margaret Lucas, and is sorry to ‘ear of the sitivation of her patent mangle, but the M.F.H. having laid it down as a rule never to subscribe to redeem patent mangles, can’t depart from it in her case.’
“People seem to think M.F.H.’s have nothin’ to do but give away tin. You know one a’n’t quite sure her mother mayn’t have sold her mangle! Besides, if I mistake not, this is one o’ the saucy jades wot laughed at me when I came ‘ome with a dirty back.
“Mountain Daisy. — Saturday, and few farmers out. — Not many pinks, but three soger officers, two of them mounted by Duncan Nevin — a guinea and a ‘alf a day each, and ‘alf a guinea for a hack. — Drew Slaughterford, and up to the Cloud Quarries. — Priestess seemed to think she had a touch of a fox in the latter, but could make nothin’ on’t. — Trotted down to Snodbury Gorse — wants enclosin’ — cattle get in. No sooner in, than out came a pig, then came a fox, then another pig — then another fox. — Got away with last fox, and ran smartly down to Coombe, where we was headed by a hedger, and we never crossed his line again. — Found a second fox in Scotland Wood — a three-legger — soon disposed of him. — Found a third in Dulverton Bog, who ran us out of light and scent; stopped the ‘ounds near Appledove. — Pigg says Charley Stebbs ‘coup’d his creels’ over an ‘edge. — Scotch for throwin’ a somersault, I understands. — Paid for catchin’ my oss, 6d.”
We also glean from the journal that Mr. Jorrocks allowed Pigg to cap when they killed; but Pigg, not finding that process so productive as he wished, hit upon the following novel expedient for raising the wind: — Seeing that a great many young gentlemen appeared at the meet who never attempted to get to the finish, Pigg constituted himself a sort of Insurance Company, and issue
d tickets against hunting accidents — similar to what railway companies issue against railway ones. By these he undertook for a shilling a day, or five shillings the season, to insure gentlemen against all the perils and dangers of the chase — broken necks, broken backs, broken limbs, broken heads, and even their horses against broken knees.
Indeed, he went further than this, and we have been told by parties who were present and heard him, that he would send Ben among the outsiders at the meets, singing out, “Take your tickets, gents! please take your tickets! goin’ into a hawful country — desperate bull finchers! yawnin’ ditches! rails that’ll nouther brick nor bend! Old ‘un got his monkey full o’ brandy!” by which means, and occasionally by dint of swearing he’d “ride over some of them if he caught them down,” Pigg managed to extract a good deal of money.
Mr. Jorrocks, we may observe, seems to have been in the habit of filling his sherry flask with brandy when going into a stiff country — a thing of very frequent occurrence with our friend. The following is the mixed entry between the traveller and the trespasser, if we may so call the fox — which we present as a true copy— “errors excepted,” as they say in the city: —
“When you go to ‘Alifax, you’ll most likely see Martin Proudfoote, of Sharpset-hill. This cove’s father bit me uncommon ‘ard, a’most the first journey I ever took, when a great stupid flock o’ sheep made slap for the gate, and reg’larly stopped the way, there being no way out ‘cept over a most unpossible, ‘eart-rendin’ ‘edge, with a ditch big enough to ‘old a cathedral church, which gave the infatuated fox considerable adwantage — (illegible) — for he had got early information that sugar had riz. — (illegible) — there bein’ only 3000 and odd bags of Mauritius, at from 29s. to 32s. for brown, and summut like the same quantity o’ wite Benares, and though — (blot, and illegible) — we found ’im at the extremity of our wale country, and ran ’im for more nor an hour at a rattlin’ pace through the entire length o’ the grass-land, and then away for the open downs, crossin’ the river near the mill at Floaterheels, the ‘ounds castin’ hup and down the banks to satisfy themselves the fox was not on their side, then returnin’ to the point to which they ‘ad carried the scent, they all dashed in like a row o’ buoys bathin’, so (something wiped out with his finger — then half a line illegible). You must just do as you can about coffees, for I can’t possibly be always at your helbow to cast you, but be careful o’ the native Ceylon, and don’t give above 48s. per cwt. for good ordinary. I’d be sweeter on either Mocha or Rio, for it isn’t possible to see a better or truer line ‘unter than old Factor, or one that I should ‘ave less ‘esitation in usin’ as a stud-’ound, though some may say his flat feet are agin ’im, but ‘andsome is wot ‘andsome does, and I’ll always speak well o’ the bridge wot carries me over, so tell Fairlips it’s all gammon sayin’ the last sugars we sent him were not equal to sample — and that his customers can be no judges of quality or they wouldn’t say so. Tell him always to show an inferior sample first, and always to show wite sugars on blue paper — but if the man’s to be taught the first rudiments of his trade, it’s time he gave hup ‘unting the country, for things can’t be done now as they used in old Warde and Sam Nichol’s time, when men fed their osses on new oats, and didn’t care to look into their pedigrees, and nothin’ but a fiat i’ bankruptcy will teach sich a chap wisdom, and in course the lighter we ride in his books the better, for givin’ away one’s goods is a most absurd prodigality, seasoned foxes bein’ as necessary to sport as experienced ‘ounds — for you may rely upon it if we seek for comfort here below, it will only be found in a ‘ound and a pettikit; and wotever they may say about the merits of a slight dash o’ chicory in coffee, there’s more wirtue in the saddle than in all the doctors’ bottles put together, so I’d have nothin’ wotever to do with cheap tea — and beware of supplyin’, any of the advertisin’ chaps, for scent of all things is the most fluctuatin’, and — (illegible) there’s nothin’ so queer as scent ‘cept a woman, and trademen undersellin’, and ‘ounds choppin’ foxes in cover is more a proof of their wice” — (Inkstand apparently upset, making a black sea on the paper.)
CHAPTER XXXV. THE “CAT AND CUSTARD-POT” DAY.
THE ABOVE DAY deserves a more extended notice than it receives in Mr. Jorrocks’s journal. He writes that “somehow or other in shavin’, he thought they’d ‘ave mischief,” and he went into the garden as soon as he was dressed to consult the prophet Gabriel Junks, so that he might take his pocket Siphonia in case it was likely to be wet, but the bird was not there. Then just as he had breakfasted and was about ready for a start, young May, the grocer, sent him a horse to look at, and as “another gen’l’eman” was waiting for the next offer of him Charley and Mr. Jorrocks stayed behind to try him, and after a hard deal, Mr. Jorrocks bought him for £30 — which he makes a mem.: “to call £50.”
Meanwhile Pigg and Ben trotted on with the hounds, and when they reached the meet — the sign of the Cat and Custard-Pot, on the Muswellroad, they found an immense assemblage, some of whom greeted Pigg with the familiar enquiry “what he’d have to drink?”
“Brandy!” replied Pigg, “brandy!” and tossing off the glass with great gusto, a second horseman volunteered one, then a third, then a fourth, then a fifth; for it is observable that there are people in the world will give away drink to any extent, who yet would be chary of offering either money or meat. Pigg, who as Mr. Jorrocks says in his journal, is only a lusus naturæ, or loose ‘un by natur’, tosses off glass after glass, smacking his lips and slapping his thigh, getting noisier and noisier with each succeeding potation. Now he would sing them a song, now he would take the odds ag’in Marley Hill, then he would tell them about Deavilboger’s farm, and how, but for his foreelder John, John Pigg, ye see, willin’ his brass to the Formary ye see, he’d ha been a gen’l’man that day and huntin’ his own hunds. Then as another glass made its appearance, he would take off his cap and halloo out at the top of his voice, making the hounds stare with astonishment, “Keep the tambourine a rowlin’!” adding as he tossed it off, “Brandy and baccy ‘ill gar a man live for iver!” And now when he was about at the noisiest, with his cap turned peak-backwards, and the tobacco juice simmering down the deeply indented furrows of his chin, our master and Charley appear in the distance, jogging on, not too quickly for consequence, but sufficiently fast to show they are aware they are keeping the field waiting.
“Here he comes! here’s Jorrocks! here’s the old boy! here’s Jackey at last!” runs through the meeting, and horsemen begin to arrange themselves for the reception.
“A — a — a sink!” exclaims Pigg, shaking his head, blinking and staring that way, “here’s canny ard sweetbreeks hissel!” adding with a slap of his thigh as the roar of laughter the exclamation produced subsided, “A — a — a, but ar de like to see his feulish ‘ard feace a grinnin’ in onder his cap!”
“How way, canny man; how way!” now shouts Pigg, waving his hand as his master approached. “How way! canny man, how way! and give us a wag o’ thy neif,” Pigg extending his hand as he spoke.
Mr. Jorrocks drew up with great dignity, and placing his fist in his side, proceeded to reconnoitre the scene.
“Humph!” grunted he, “wot’s all this about?”
“Sink, but ar’ll gi’ thou a gob full o’ baccy,” continued James, nothing daunted by his master’s refusal of his hand. “Sink, but ar’ll gi’ thou a gob full o’ baccy,” repeated he, diving into his waistcoat pocket and producing a large steel tobacco box as he spoke.
Mr. Jorrocks signified his dissent by a chuck of the chin, and an ominous shake of the head.
“A — a — a man!” exclaimed Pigg, now changing his tone, “but ar’ll tell thee of a lass well worth her licks!”
“You deserve your own, sir, for gettin’ so drunk,” observed Mr Jorrocks, haughtily.
Pigg.— “Ar’s as sober as ye are, and a deal wizer!”
Jorrocks, angrily.— “I’ll not condescend to compa
re notes with ye!”
Pigg. now flaring up.— “Sink! if anybody ‘ill had mar huss, ar’ll get off and fight him.”
Jorrocks, contemptuously.— “Better stick to the shop-board as long as you can.”
Pigg, furious.— “Gin ar warn’t afeard o’ boggin mar neif, ard gi’ thou a good crack i’ thy kite!”
Jorrocks, with emphasis.— “Haw — da — cious feller. I’ll ‘unt the ‘ounds myself afore I’ll put hup with sich himperence!”
Pigg, throwing out his arms and grinning in ecstacies.— “Ar’ll be death of a guinea but arl coom and see thee!”
Jorrocks, looking indignantly round on the now mirth-convulsed company.— “Who’s made my Pigg so drunk?”
Nobody answered.
“Did’nt leave his sty so,” muttered our master, lowering himself jockey ways from his horse.
“Old my quad,” said he to Charley, handing him Arterxerxes, “while I go in and see.”
Our master then stumped in, and presently encountering the great attraction of the place — the beautiful Miss D’Oiley — asked her, with a smiling countenance and a hand in a pocket, as if about to pay, “Wot his ‘untsman ‘ad ‘ad?”
“Oh, sir, it is all paid,” replied Miss D’Oiley, smiling as sweetly upon Jorrocks as she did on the generality of her father’s customers, for she had no more heart than a punch-bowl.
