by R S Surtees
And when Mr. Jorrocks reproved him for his improprieties, he replied that he (Jorrocks) “had ne business out a hontin’ on a drinkin’ day.”
CHAPTER XLVIII. MR. JORROCKS’S JOURNAL.
WE WILL AGAIN have recourse to our worthy friend’s journal for an outline of such proceedings as are not of sufficient importance to demand separate chapters to themselves. The following seems an original idea.
“Notice from the churchwardens and overseers, that in consequence of several mad dogs havin’ made their appearance, all dogs were to be muzzl’d, and requirin’ me to see that the ‘ounds were properly muzzl’d before they went out to hunt. Wrote and told them I didn’t believe there were such a set of jackasses in Her Majesty’s dominions as to suppose an M.F.H. would go out with a pack of muzzl’d hounds. — Absurd! This is Mello’s doing. Will pay him off.”
“New Year’s Day. — Sich a crowd! Sich compliments of the season, and sich screws. Old Doleful grinnin’ about on Fair Rosamond like Death on the Pale ‘Oss. Found in the Cloud Quarries, but might as well have been in the clouds, the field surrounded it so, and drove the fox into the mouth of the ‘ounds. A young gentleman in nankeens and patent leather boots, rode over old Barbara. ‘That’s right!’ exclaimed Pigg, ‘ride amang em! — ride amang em! Kill a hund or two; we’ve plenty mair at hyem! It mun be a poor concern that wont stand a hund a-day.’ Differ from Pigg there though. Howsomever, old Barbara ain’t worth much. Declared she was the best in the pack notwithstandin’.
“Staunton Snivey. — Batsay brought up shavin’ water, saying Binjimin wished to be excused ‘unting, havin’ got the gout. All moonshine, I dare say! Boy has no passion for the chase. Have a good mind to stuff him full of Hunter’s pills, and see if they will have any effect upon him. Wot business has a boy like him with the gout? Only for rear admirals, town counsellors, and such like cocks. Caught Charley pinchin’ Belinda under the table. Mounted him on Xerxes, as Ben couldn’t go. Largish field. Captain Thompson (who never pays his three pounds) observed he never saw a pack of foxhounds without a whip before, and muttered somethin’ about Master livin’ out of the hounds. Shall set Fleecey at him.
“Drew Longford Plantations; then on to Fawsley Wood. Found immediately, but Reynard inclined to hang in cover. No great scent either, but cover surrounded with foot people and little holiday boys. Bin useful in coaxin’ them into crowds, to listen to his ‘hallegations,’ as he calls his lies. At length Reynard broke from the West end, and made straight for Iver Heath, runnin’ a wide circuit by Staunton Snivey, and over the hill, up to Bybury Wood. Scent poor and pace bad. All the holiday hobbledehoy boys treadin’ on the ‘ounds’ tails. A short check at Farmer Hayband’s, and thought all was over, when Priestess hit it off in a grass field behind the barn, and away they went with the scent improvin’ at every yard. Pace changed from an ‘unting run to a reg’lar bust, and quite straight over the cream of the country.
“How the tail lengthened! A quarter of a mile, increasin’ as they went. Young gen’lemen charged to bring home the brush, found their grass ponies beginnin’ to gape. Captain Shortflat made Duncan Nevin’s mare cry Capevi on Hutton Bank top, and many bein’ anxious to give in, great was the assistance he received. Major Spanker would bleed her in the jugular, Mr. Wells thought the thigh vein, and another thought the toe, so that the mare stood a good chance of bein’ bled to death, if Duncan’s man who was cruising about hadn’t fortinately cast up and saved her from her frinds.
“On the hounds went for Crew, passing Limbury, leaving Argod Dingle to the right, over the Lily-white Sand Railway near the station at Stope, pointing for Gore Cross, the fox finally taking refuge in a pig-sty behind the lodge of Button Park. Piggy at home and unfortunately killed, but who would grudge a pig after such a werry fine run?
“Pigg rode like a trump! — seven falls — knocked a rood of brick-wall down with his ‘ead. What a nob that must be! Charley left one of his Yorkshire coat-laps in a hedge — Barnington lost his hat — Hudson his whip — Mr. Ramshay a stirrup, and Captain Martyn his cigar-case. Only seven up out of a field of sixty — day fine and bright — atmosphere clear, as if inclining for frost — hope not.
“Jan. 7th. — Reg’lar decided black frost — country iron-bound — landscape contracted — roads dry as bones — mud scrapins like granite — never saw so sudden a change; thought yesterday it looked like somethin’; the day changed, and hounds ran so hard in the afternoon; Pigg thinks it won’t last, but I think it will; ‘opes he’ll be right.
“8th — Frost semper eadem, ‘arder as Ego would say: windows frost fretted — laurels nipped — water-jugs frozen — shavin’-brush stiff — sponge stuck to water-bottle, and towel ‘ard. Pigg still says it won’t last — wish he may be right — little hail towards night.
“9th. — Alternate sun and clouds — slight powderin’ of snow on cold and exposed places — largish flakes began to fall towards afternoon, and wind got up — purpleish sun-set — walked hounds before Sulphur Wells Hall, after feedin’, but they had a cold, dingy look, and I hadn’t heart to blow my ‘orn. Gabriel Junks doesn’t seem to care about the cold, and gives no indication of a change — Oh for one of his screams!
“10th. — Awoke, and found the country under two feet of snow. Well, it’s always somethin’ to know the worst, and be put out of suspense. Wind high, and drifted a large snow-wreath before the garden-gate — tempestersome day — Can’t stir out without gettin’ up to the hocks in snow. Desired Binjimin to sweep the way to the stable and kennel. Boy got a broom, and began ‘issing as if he were cleanin’ an ‘oss. Letter from Giles Shortland, requestin’ the M.F.H. to subscribe to a ploughin’ match at Tew. Answered that I should be werry ‘appy to subscribe, and wish I could see them at work. Old Dame Tussac came with eight turkey-heads in a bag — fox had killed them last night, and she wanted pay. The bodies were at home — told her to bring the bodies — will make werry good stock for soup: one doesn’t know but she may have sold the bodies. Wrote Bowker to go self and wife to sleep in my bed in Great Coram Street, to get it well haired. Shall run up to town and see the pantomime, and how things go on at the shop.
“Old Doleful called with a requisition for me to give a sportin’ lector — axed wot I should lector upon — said he thought ‘scent’ would be a very good subject. Told him, all that could be said about scent was that it was a werry queer thing. Nothin’ so queer as scent ‘cept a woman. Told him to compose an oration upon it himself if he could. He then said summering the ‘unter would be a good subject. Told him that corn and a run in the carriage was the true way of summering the ‘unter. Riding to ‘ounds he then thought would do. Told him I wasn’t a ‘g — u — r — r along! there are three couple of ‘ounds on the scent’ man at all, and ridin’ arter ‘ounds wouldn’t draw. Didn’t seem to take the difference but took his departure, which was just as well.
“Letter from Bowker.
“‘Honoured Sir, — Yours is received, and Mrs. B. and I will be proud to act the part of warming-pans. I suppose we may expect you in a day or two. You will be sorry to hear that poor Billy was hung this morning. He died game. As it was strongly suspected he had accomplices, a mitigation of punishment was offered if he would disclose his confederates. Billy listened sullenly to the offer, and passing his fingers through his thick curly hair, he said, ‘Look here, masters, if every hair on this head was a life, I wouldn’t peach to save a single one.’ At length he confessed— ‘I did boil the exciseman!’ said he. Poor Billy! All the little beggarly boys, and hoarse-throated scoundrels in the town, are screaming his dyingspeech and confession about, when ‘I did boil the exciseman,’ was all that he said. I am greatly distressed at poor Billy’s fate.
“Take him for all and all,
We ne’er shall look upon his like again.’
“‘London is suicidically gloomy to-day — I feel as if I could cut my throat — would that I could leave it! — But
‘The lottery of my destiny
Bars
me the right of voluntary choosing.’
“‘I’m about tired of old Twist. Our business is fast falling off, and an old man’s trade never rallies. Might I take the liberty of asking if you think a snuff and cigar shop would answer at Handley Cross? I have a splendid new nigger, five feet six, with a coronet full of party-coloured feathers on his head, a sky-blue jacket with gold lace, and a pair of broad red-striped trousers, leaving half his black thighs bare, that I thought of setting at the door in Eagle Street, but would reserve him for the Cross, if you thought it would do. Of course, I would carry on business in Eagle Street as well — at least for the present; but I have plenty of canisters, wooden rolls of tobacco to stock a branch establishment, and Mrs. Bowker fancies a change of air would do her asthma good. Pray excuse the freedom, and believe me to remain,
“‘Dear Sir,
“‘Yours most respectfully,
“‘Wm. Bowker.
“‘To J. Jorrocks, Esq.”’
CHAPTER XLIX. THE CUT ‘EM DOWN CAPTAIN’S QUADS.
CHRISTMAS, THAT WITHERING, relentless season, that brings so many people short up, having exercised its blighting influence on our cut-em-down Captain, the following hand-bill, having paid a visit to St. Botolph’s Lane, arrived in due course at Handley Cross, “with Mr. Castor’s compts.” written inside the envelope: —
HUNTERS FOR SALE. TO BE SOLD BY AUCTION, AT TWELVE O’CLOCK ON WEDNESDAY NEXT, BY MR. TAPPINGTON, IN THE IMPERIAL HOTEL YARD, LOOPLINE, (The property of an Officer going Abroad), the following very superior HORSES, well known with Sir Peregrine Cropper’s and Mr. Slasher’s hounds.
Ist. — Talavera, a brown bay, with black points, 7 years old, nearly thorough bred;
2nd. — Corunna, a bright chesnut, or bitter beer colour, 8 years old, also nearly thorough bred.
Loopline is at the Junction of the Lily-White Sand with the Gravelsin and Boodler Railways, and Trains stop there every hour.
Loopline.
“Humph,” said Mr. Jorrocks, reading it at breakfast as he dry-shaved his chin, “Humph — got to the end of his tether has he? thought ’ow it would be — not ‘zactly the time for buyin’ quads though, with a yard and a ‘alf of snow on the ground; ‘owsomever that ‘ill make ’em easier bought praps. — All the swells will be hup in town seeing their aunts or gettin’ their ‘airs cut. May as well ‘ave a ride in the rail as poke about i’ the snow — shall go second class though,” adding — X. was expensive and soon became poor, Y. was the wise man and kept want from the door.
Accordingly on the appointed day, our Master having filled one pantaloon pocket with sovereigns and five pound notes, and the other with samples of tea, proceeded on his destination, telling Mrs. Jorrocks he was going to meet Bugginson. Screech — hiss — whistle, roll, rattle, roll, porter! what’s this station? — whistle — hiss — screech — roll, rattle, roll,”tickets ready, please, Loopline station! Loopline station! change here for the Boodler line,” and he was there.
Loopline, with its piles of dirty snow and yards of icicles, looked very different to what it did on Mr. Jorrocks’s former visit, and even Castors seemed greatly the worse for wear. The Captain’s horses having in his judgment, nearly completed the awkward exploit of eating their heads off before the storm came, he felt morally certain that it would last for six weeks or two months, which would leave him desperately in the lurch. The consequence was he had taken it uncommonly to heart, and his buff waistcoat and drab shorts and continuations were a good deal roomier.
“Well, old bouy, ’ow goes it?” asked Jorrocks, greeting him familiarly as he found him pacing restlessly up and down the stable yard.
“Oh! sir, mister, mister, mister,” replied Castors, not being able to hit off the name, “Oh! sir, I’ve been hill, desperate hill. I’ve ‘ad the lumbago, sir, to an extent, sir, that’s ‘ardly creditable, sir.”
“You don’t say so,” observed Mr. Jorrocks compassionately, “why don’t you take a leetle o’ the old remedy— ‘ot with—”
“Ah, ‘ot with,” sighed Castors with a shake of his head, as he fixed his watery grey eyes earnestly on Jorrocks, to see if he was not one of the many customers with whom he drunk for the “good of the house.” “Ah, ‘ot with,” indeed!” repeated he, as if nothing loth to try the remedy.
“You don’t want to buy any tea?” said Mr. Jorrocks, producing a sample as he spoke.
“Oh, it’s Mr. Jorrocks!” now exclaimed Castors brightening up, “It’s Mr. Jorrocks, — you’d get a bill from me, sir, didn’t ye? a bill ‘bout the Capting’s ‘osses, ye know. You told me to send you one, you know.”
“Ah, ‘osses, indeed,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “No time this for buying ‘osses, old bouy — glass down to fecit — country bund hup in a hiron frost and like to continue under snow for the next two months;” Mr. Jorrocks breathing heavily on the bright pure atmosphere as he spoke.
“Too ‘ard to last, too ‘ard to last,” retorted Castors, fidgeting at the observation. “Never know’d it stand when it was so desp’rate ‘ard,” added he, with a heavy emphasis on the “desp’rate.” How he wished the Captain had gone to the Cross Keys, the White Hart, any house but his.
“You’d better look at the tea,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, still holding the sample out on the palm of his hand, “Tea ‘ill be hup you’ll see, and you’d better buy afore it rises. This is a first chop article — Lapsang Souchong.”
“Well, but I’m busy just now, I’m busy just now,” retorted Castors testily, “Come after the sale, sir, come after the sale, and we’ll see if we can do business.”
“Well,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, pocketing the sample, and buttoning his brown bear cloth jacket comfortably up to the throat, “I’ll go into the town and see what I can do with the grocers there;” so saying he swaggered off, without noticing Castors’ exclamation of “You’ll be back to the sale then! you’ll be back to the sale!”
Twelve o’clock came, but brought with it no symptoms of a start — Half-past, and still the same. Time is of little value in the country. At length as one o’clock drew near, a lank-haired seedy-looking half boots, half waiter sort of youth appeared with what at first sight might have been taken for Punch and Judy show, but which, on being placed on the ground, proved to be the auctioneer’s rostrum. This was a signal for sundry indolent looking, sportingly attired but horseless youths, and small dealers with their slangey attendants to turn in, and some dozen drab coated farmers, for it was market day, and general idlers mingling with the rest, the auctioneer swigged off the remains of his tumbler of brandy and water, and attended by a brilliant staff, consisting of the aforesaid seedy one, swaggered imposingly upon the scene. He was a burly, big-faced, impudent fellow, with a round of whisker, a consequential sort of hat, and a corporation so large as to look as if he had thriven in all the occupations he had turned his hand to — Hatter, Wine Merchant, Coal Merchant, Accountant, Land Agent, Temperance Hotel Keeper, Stationer, Broker, and General Negotiator.
