by R S Surtees
0 5 0
Gig hire, including ostler and horse’s keep
0 12 0
Paid conveyance from Nutfield to Rushton to see and try to get up evidence, including ostler
0 11 6
Gig hire for Superintendents Shark and Chizeler from Gilderdale to Airylane, making inquiry after a certain witness, including ostler
0 11 6
Personal expenses for that day and night for Superintendents Shark and Chizeler
0 7 6
Extra expenses for Superintendent Shark’s horse at Gilderdale, 4 nights, he having to use it occasionally in making inquiries into the above very serious and aggrivated case, including ostler
0 12 6
Total
5 17 6
“Well,” said Mr. Jorrocks, with a chuck of his chin, after reading it; “I dessay it’s all right — at least I doesn’t know nothin’ to the contrary — you’d better take it to the chap who employed you, and see wot he says.”
“O, this, Sir,” replied the Superintendent, putting on a bold face; “this, Sir, is the mere preliminary charge that is always borne by the prosecutor, Sir; that is to say, Sir, by the party, Sir, losing the property, Sir; even, Sir, if it had gone before the magistrate, Sir, Augustus Frederick Emanuel Smith, Esquire, of East Rosemary Hall, no part of these costs would have been allowed in the certificate of expenses, under the seventh of George the Fourth, Chapter sixty-four, Section twenty-two,” the Superintendent thinking to floor our Master with a redundancy of law.
“Well, but,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, dry-shaving his chin; “well, but s’pose the party likes to lose his property, there’s no law ‘gin his bein’ ‘commodated, I s’pose.”
“Why, no, Sir; certainly not, Sir;” replied the Superintendent, looking rather blank: “only that, Sir, is a case, Sir, the law does not contemplate, Sir.”
“Well, but neither does the law contemplate keepin’ you and your quad, and then havin’ you joltin’ ‘bout wi’ Chizeler in a ‘ired gig, livin’ at inns and places, as if you ‘ad nothin’ from the county.”
“Ah, that you see, Sir,” replied the andaunted Shark; “that you see, Sir, was in consequence of my having to go out of my own district, Sir, you see, Sir, in consequence of information I received, Sir, I proceeded at once into Superintendent Constable Chizeler’s district, and—”
“Well! but surely you can follow your fox, that’s to say, your thief, into another man’s country, and take ’im, prowided you don’t dig ’im,” retorted Mr. Jorrocks, indignantly, reasoning by analogy to fox-hunting.
“Yes, Sir; exactly so, Sir;” replied the complaisant policeman. “Yes, Sir; exactly so, Sir; only you see, Sir, it is necessary, Sir, to have the original warrant backed by a magistrate of the county into which you follow him.”
“But if you haven’t got a warrant. If you’re takin’ a bye on your own ‘count; ’ow then?” asked Mr. Jorrocks.
The policeman was posed.
“Well, I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout nothin’ o’ the sort,” resumed Mr. Jorrocks, twisting and turning the bill about, to see if he would like it better in any other position. “Well, I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout nothin’ o’ the sort — it may be all right and proper ‘irin’ gigs and ‘osses when you are paid for keepin’ your own, and chargin’ pussonal expenses, you and Chizeler, when you’re paid for keepin’ yourselves; but I doesn’t goinside i’ that ‘pinion. Wot I says is this, that if a man likes to be robbed, it’s werry ‘ard if he mayn’t be indulged, but a man had better be both robbed and murder’d than ‘ave sich a bill as this sent in to ’im. Zounds, Sir! You do take my life when you take the means whereby I live,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, boiling up, as he doubled up the bill, and thrust it back upon his visitor.
And the disgusted Superintendent, who had arranged for having a lark with Superintendent Chizeler at Jollyfield hiring, retired very much disgusted at our Master’s spiritless parsimony, declaring that it was utterly impossible to expect Superintendent Constables to do their duty, if they were not properly supported.
CHAPTER LVII. THE PROPHET GABRIEL.
“THAT WAS GABRIEL Junks!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, rising from his seat, and rushing to the window.
Sure enough it was Gabriel Junks; and after a short pause, another scream, more shrill and piercing, confirmed Mr. Jorrocks’s surmise. Seizing his hat he rushed into the garden.
It was a misty sort of morning, and the sun was labouring through the flitting clouds that obscured its brightness. The wind, too, had got into the south, and there was a fresh, growing feeling in the air that spoke of spring and returning vegetation. The peacock again screamed, and sought the shelter of a laurel.
“As sure as my name’s John Jorrocks, there’s goin’ to be rain,” observed our worthy master, scrutinising the bird. “As sure as my name’s John Jorrocks, there’s goin’ to be rain,” repeated he. “Pe-pe-pe-pe-pe-pe!” exclaimed he, scraping the crumbs from the bottom of his pockets and throwing them to his prophet.
Gabriel Junks rushed from his retreat, and having picked up the crumbs, stood eyeing Mr. Jorrocks with a head-on-one-side sort of leer, which he at length broke off by another loud scream, and then a rattling spread of his tail. Mr. Jorrocks and the bird were thus standing vis-à-vis when James Pigg made his appearance.
“I’ll lay a guinea ‘at to a ‘alf-crown gossamer, there’s goin’ to be rain,” said Mr. Jorrocks to his huntsman, pointing to the bird.
“Deil bon me if ar care,” replied Pigg; “ar hasn’t getten ne seeds, nor nothin’ — may be Deavilboger wad like a sup,” his mind harking back to “canny Newcassel.”
“Well but, don’t ye see, if it rains we can have an ‘unt,” said Mr. Jorrocks, astonished at his huntsman’s stupidity.
“Se we can!” exclaimed Pigg, all alive; “dash it! ar niver thought o’ that now — another bye-day — sick a one as the first — ay?”
“Vy no — not exactly,” said Mr. Jorrocks, not relishing an entire repetition; “but s’pose we have another turn at the old customer — go out early, and drag up to the warmint, find him when he’s full — may be a cock, or a hen, or a Gabriel Junks aboard,” looking at the bird still strutting about with his tail spread.
“Sink it, aye!” said Pigg; “let’s gan i’ the morn.”
Mr. Jorrocks.— “If it comes wet we will. We can feed th’ ‘ounds at all ewents, and be ready for a start.”
The day continued hazy, but still no rain fell. Junks, however, persisted in his admonitions, and Mr. Jorrocks felt so certain it would rain, that he had Pigg into the parlour in the evening to make arrangements for the morning. Mrs. Jorrocks, Belinda, and Stobbs, had gone out to tea, and Mr. Jorrocks was left all alone.
Master and man had an anxious confabulation. Mr. Jorrocks was all for Pinch-me-near, while Pigg recommended Hew-timber Forest.
Of course Jorrocks carried his point.
About nine Betsey brought the supper-tray, and Jorrocks would treat Pigg to a glass of brandy-and-water. One glass led to another, and they had a strong talk about hunting. They drank each other’s healths, then the healths of the hounds.
“I’ll give you old Priestess’ good ‘ealth!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, holding up his glass. “Fine old betch, with her tan eye-brows — thinks I never saw a better ‘ound — wise as a Christian!” Pigg proposed Manager. Mr. Jorrocks gave Ravager. Pigg gave Lavender; and they drank Mercury, and Affable, and Crowner, and Lousey, and Mountebank, and Milliner — almost all the pack, in short, each in turn being best. A, what a dog one was to find a fox. A, what a dog another was to drive a scent.
The fire began to hiss, and Mr. Jorrocks felt confident his prophecy was about to be fulfilled. “Look out of the winder, James, and see wot’un a night it is,” said he to Pigg, giving the log a stir, to ascertain that the hiss didn’t proceed from any dampness in the wood.
James staggered up, and after a momentary grope about the room — for they were sitting without candles — exclai
med, “Hellish dark, and smells of cheese!”
“Smells o’ cheese!” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, looking round in astonishment; “smells o’ cheese! — vy, man, you’ve got your nob i’ the cupboard — this be the vinder;” continued he, rising and opening some shutters painted like the cupboard door in the other corner. Mr. Jorrocks undid the fastening and threw up the sash.
The night was dark — black as pitch — not a star was visible, and a soft warm rain was just beginning to fall.
“Didn’t I tell you so?” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, drawing in his hand, and giving his thigh a hearty slap; “didn’t I tell you so?” repeated he, “I was certain it was a goin’ to rain, that Gabriel Junks was never wrong! — Is better than all your wanes, and weathercocks, and Aneroid glasses wot ever were foaled. We’ll drink his ‘ealth in a bumper!” So saying, Mr. Jorrocks and Pigg replenished their glasses, and drank to “the health of Gabriel Junks.”
Pigg then would treat his master to a song — a song about ard Squier Lambton and his hunds; so, ejecting his quid and filling a bumper, he chaunted the following, our Master chiming in, and substituting the name of Jorrocks for that of Lambton in the chorus:— “Though midnight her dark frowning mantle is spreading, Yet time flies unheeded where Bacchus resides; Fill, fill then your glasses, his power ne’er dreading, And drink to the hounds o’er which Lambton presides. Though toast after toast with great glee has been given, The highest top-sparkling bumper decides, That for stoutness, pace, beauty, on this side of Heaven, Unrivalled the hounds o’er which Lambton presides! Then drink to the foxhounds, The high mettled foxhounds, We’ll drink to the hounds o’er which Lambton presides. “Let Uckerby boast of the feats of the Raby, And Ravenscar tell what the Hurworth have done, But the wide-spreading pastures of Sadberge can swear to The brushes our fleet pack of foxhounds have won Then that Sedgefield, our country, all countries outvies, sir, The highest top-sparkling bumper decides, That we’ve foxes can fly, sir, or sinking must die, sir, When pressed by the hounds o’er which Lambton presides. Then drink, &c. “Of their heart-bursting ‘flys’ let the Leicestershire tell us, Their plains, their ox fences, and that sort of stuff, But give me a day with the Sedgefield brave fellows, When horses ne’er flinch, nor men cry, hold, enough. Whilst the blood of old Cæsar our foxes can boast, sir, May Lambton their only dread enemy be, And the green waving whins of our covers my toast, sir, Oh! the hounds and the blood of old Lambton for me. Then drink, &c.”
And Jorrocks did drink, and did whoop, and did holloa, and did shout, till he made himself hoarse. His spirits, or the brandy spirits, seemed to have fairly run away with him. At length he began to cool down and think of the morrow.
“Now you and I’ll have an ‘unt,” observed Mr. Jorrocks.
“Squier Stobbs ‘ll gan te, ar’s warn’d,” observed Pigg.
“Oh, never mind him,” replied Jorrocks, with a chuck of the chin, “never mind him; no sayin’ when he may be ‘ome — gone fiddlin’ out with the women.”
“He’s aye ticklin’ the lasses’ hocks,” observed Pigg.
“You and I, at all ewents, will have an ‘unt, and see if we can’t pivy that tormentin’ old customer. Never was sich a fox in this world. Do believe he’ll be the death o’ me, if I don’t finish him. — Shall never get through the summer, for thinkin’ on ’im. So now we’ll start at six — or call it ‘alf-past five, and see if we can’t do the trick afore breakfast. My vig! if we do, wot a blow-out we’ll have — you shall have a gallon of XX, and a werry big-bottled gooseberry-tart for your breakfast.”
“Ar’d rayther have a ham-collop,” replied Pigg, replenishing his mouth with tobacco.
“So you shall,” rejoined Mr. Jorrocks; “and poached heggs into the bargain.”
The other arrangements were soon made — and the brandy being finished, master and man separated for the night.
CHAPTER LVIII. ANOTHER LAST DAY.
PIGG HAVING CURLED himself up in his clothes on the kitchen-table, awoke with the first peep of day. He was at the stables betimes, and dressed and fed the horses himself. Mr. Jorrocks was equally early, having been greatly tormented by the old customer, who had appeared to him in his dreams in a variety of ways — now running between his legs and upsetting him, now nearly blinding him with a whisk over his eyes from his sandy brush, again, as the chairman of a convivial meeting of foxes who did nothing but laugh and make finger fans to their noses at him, crying, “Ah, cut his tail! Cut his tail!” and mimicking his holloas and hunting noises; next sitting on a high stool, in his own counting-house, writing a letter to “Bell’s Life” and the “Field,” declaring he was the worst sportsman and greatest humbug that ever got upon a horse; anon, as a bull, with a tremendous fox’s brush, charging him, as Gollarfield’s bull charged him on the Hardpye Hill day, which ended as usual in our master flooring Mrs. Jorrocks, who vowed she would appeal to Dodson and the court for the protection of injured ribs. Altogether Jorrocks was sadly put out and was full of envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness against the old customer. Charley Stobbs, to whom Pigg had sent word by Betsey, appearing just as our master got down, rather encouraged him to hope for the best, and sent him stumping to the door in better spirits.
It was a lovely morning! Mild and balmy — the rain had ceased, and the sun rose with unclouded brilliancy, drawing forth the lately reluctant leaves, and opening the wild flowers to its earliest rays. The drops hung like diamonds on the bushes, and all nature seemed refreshed.
“This be more like the thing,” said Mr. Jorrocks, hoisting himself into his saddle with a swag that made old Arterxerxes grunt again; “if there arn’t a scent this mornin’, there arn’t no hallegators;” with which wise observation he turned his horse towards the kennel.
“Turn ’em all out,” said he to Pigg, adding aloud to himself, “We’ll ‘ave a good cry at all ewents.”
The hounds partook of the general hilarity. Out they rushed with joyous cry, and set the horses capering with their frolicking.
The dry and dusty roads were watered — the hedgerows were filled with the green luxuriance of spring, and the golden poplar stood in bright relief among the dark green pines and yews. If a fox-hunter can welcome spring, such a day would earn his adoration. All nature was alive, but hardly yet had man appeared to greet it. Presently the labourers began to appear at their cottages. The undressed children popped about the doors, cocks crew lustily, the lambs gambolled about the ewes, and indignant ganders flew at the hounds’ and horses’ heels.
“Sink them goslin’s!” said Pigg, eyeing a whole string of them; “ar wish fox had ivery one o’ you.”
Our friends’ frequent visits having made them well acquainted with the way to the valuable forest, they popped through gates and gaps, and made short cuts through fields and farms, that greatly reduced the distance they travelled on the first occasion. After a couple of hours steady butter and eggs bumping, they found themselves on Saddlecombe-hill, overlooking an oak-clad ravine that gradually lost itself in the general sterility of the wide forest. A slight change was just visible on the oak-buds; the young birch had got its plum-coloured tinge, while here and there the spiry larch in verdant green, or the dark spruce or darker fir, broke the massive heaviness of the forest.
Jorrocks pulled up, as well to reconnoitre as to see if he could hit off the smuggler’s cave, which he had never been able to do, though he made as diligent search as the agitation of pursuing the old customer would allow. He now eyed the sun-bright forest far and near, north, south, east and west, but identifying feature he saw none. It might be anywhere.
The hounds presently interrupted the reverie, by setting up the most melodious cry; and our master, awakening to a sense of what he had come out for, proceeded to distribute his forces as he thought best for circumventing the old customer.
“You take the far side, and cross by the crag,” said Mr. Jorrocks to Pigg; “Charley will keep on this, and ven I hears you twang th’ ‘orn, I’ll throw th’ ‘ounds into cover;
” saying which, Mr. Jorrocks turned short round, and Stobbs assumed the place that Pigg had just occupied in the rear.
“Dash it, wot a mornin’ it is!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, turning up his jolly face, beaming with exultation; “wot a many delicious moments one loses by smooterin i’ bed! — dash my vig! if I won’t get up at five every mornin’ as long as I live! Glad I’ve got on my cords ‘stead o’ my shags, for it’s goin’ to be werry ‘ot,” continued he, looking down on a pair of second or third-hand whites. “Yooi over, in there!” to the hounds, with a wave of his hand, as Pigg’s horn announced he had taken his station.
In the hounds flew, with a chirp and a whimper; and the crack of Pigg’s whip on the far side sounded like a gun in the silence around.
“Yooi, spread and try for him, my beauties!” holloaed Mr. Jorrocks, riding into cover among the stunted underwood.
The pack spread, and try in all directions — now here, now there, now whiffing with curious nose round the hollies, and now trying up the rides.
“There’s a touch of a fox,” said Mr. Jorrocks to himself, as Priestess put her nose to the ground, and ran mute across the road, lashing her sides with her stern. A gentle whimper followed, and Mr. Jorrocks cheered her to the echo. “The warmint’s astir,” said he; “that’s jest where we hit on him last time.” Now Priestess speaks again in fuller and deeper notes, and Ravager and Lavender, and the rest of the pack rush to the spot. How beautifully they flourish — eager, and yet none will go an inch without the scent.
“Vell done, old’ooman! speak to him again!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, delighted to hear the old bitch’s tongue; “a fox for a pund; ten if you like!”
The pack have now got together, and all are busy on the scent. The villian has been astir early, and the drag is rather weak.
