by R S Surtees
“That’s an N, James,” observed Mr. Jorrocks,’looking attentively at the button.
“No, it’s a B,” replied Pigg, “at least it should be a B; or else it’s an R for Ridley.”
“This is Elcho’s,” continued he, proceeding with the exhibition—” a lord’s hat, with a lot o’ sarpents below.”
“Them’s letters,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, trying to decipher them.
“Elcho’s a grand man,” observed Pigg, without noticing his late master’s observation; “ar’s thinkin’ of shiftin’ him to t’other leg,” turning the left one partially round, “and then ard Squire Lambton and he may glower at each other. Take these black ‘uns off,” said Pigg, “and put an Elcho on each side, perhaps. Ah, he’s a grand man, Elcho! Ah, how he can ride! Ah, how he can go! Ah, what a pack o’ hunds he has! — Ah, how he does dust the foxes! Ye should see his ard dog Contest. Faith he’s gotten wor ard huss, Arterxerxes.”
— “Arterxerxes! you don’t say so, James,” exclaimed Mr.
Jorrocks.
“Ay, has he,” replied Pigg, turning the quid in his mouth; “grand huss he is too — not the best Elcho has though, by mony.”
“Yell, I’m glad to hear the old ‘oss is in good ‘ands,” observed Mr. Jorrocks cheerfully; “he carried me well sometimes.”
“He was ower mony for thou,” observed Pigg. “He was aye tumblin’ of ye down. Do you mind when we bad to saw ye out o’ the thorn hedge?”
“‘Deed do I!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, in ecstasies; “wot a run that was! saw them pin the warmint in the corner of the stubble-field by the stacks, as I was stuck up aloft in the thorn. Those were fine times, James! those were fine times!”
“Ay were they!” replied Pigg, wiping his tobacco-stained mouth across the back of his hand. “Sink it, what brandy we used to drink! Have never had a real good drench since, but yance at Squire Russell’s. Sink,” added he, giving his knee-cap a hearty slap, “if the butler didn’t give me as much brandy as ever I could haud (hold). Grand man, Squire Russell! That’s his button,” added Pigg, pointing to a gilt one, with twisted letters. “Ar’ll have him put higher up when ar shifts Elcho,” added Pigg, eyeing its present position. “Thir, on the gaiters, are mostly dead ‘uns,” observed Pigg, glancing down his legs. “The twe top ‘uns are Handley Cross, wor and buttons. This yean, with the raised sarpents,” taking hold of a yellow button with raised letters at the top of the right leg, “was Lord Londondarry’s. He got the Sedgefield country when Squire Lambton gave it up. Ard Price gave me the button. That plain yean was Squire Williamson’s. Ah, he was a grand man for the hoont. The next was the ard Duke o’ Cleveland’s. Got a duke’s hat, you see,” added he, turning the button for Mr. Jorrocks’s inspection. “Raby hoont, as it was called,” added Pigg, letting it go again. “Ar’s getten another duke’s button somewhere,” continued the showman, looking at his legs. “Buccleuch’s; ay, here it’s,” said he, “among the whick uns,” pointing to one at his breeches knees. “Duke’s hat, you see,” said he, “and B, for Buccleuch — grand man, Buccleuch; Mr. Williamson, the huntsman, gav me the button — grand man, Mr. Williamson!”
“Ay, ay, you’re all grand men you Scotchmen, accordin’ to your own accounts,” interrupted Mr. Jorrocks; “ it’s the old story of ‘claw me, and I’ll claw ye.’”
“Sink, ar’s ne Scotchman,” replied Pigg, indignant at the observation. “It’s all gospel what I’ve telled ye.”
“Vy, if you’re not a Scot, you’re next door to one,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “jest as much a Scot as a Borough man’s a Londoner.”
“Why, ye ard gouk,” exclaimed Pigg, “doesn’t ar tell ye ar lives aside canny Newcastle; how the deavil then can ar be a Scot?”
“Vy, I don’t know,” replied Mr. Jorrocks soothingly, “you certainly speak rayther Scotchy.”
“Hoot, that’s all fancy,” replied Pigg; “it’s just because ar’s getten a plaide” added he, taking hold of the thing on which they were sitting.
“Yell,” observed Mr. Jorrocks smilingly, “it may be — it may be, my good frind — let us talk about Deavilboger and his farm.”
“Sink the farm!” exclaimed Pigg, “ar nivèr talks about farmin’ when ar can talk about huntin’ — yean wad ha thought now you’d have liked to have heard tell all about mar grand buttons,” said Pigg, looking lovingly down his legs.
“Dash your buttons,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks aloud; “tell me what do you do when you’re not cattle-drivin’?”
“Why, I works for mar cousin, Deavilboger,” growled Pigg; “ploughs, dikes, sows, reaps — aught in fact.”
“Tell me, now,” asked Mr. Jorrocks, “has Deavilboger a ball?”
“Bull! ay!” exclaimed Pigg, “grand bull, best i’ the country, took two prizes — gold shoe-horn — silver wine-funnel.”
“And you’re not reg’larly hired to Deavilboger, I s’pose?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks.
“Not by the year,” replied Pigg; “I warks piece-wark,”
“Yot’s that?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks.
“Why, se much for dein’ se much — ten shillin’s for turnin’ a middin — five shillin’s for cleanin’ a fard, and se on.”
“Humph,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, not catching all the last sentence. “I s’pose,” observed he, “that reg’lar wages are better than piece-work.”
“Ne doot,” replied Pigg, “ne doot; but yean cannot always get them, ye ken.”
“Humph,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, considering bow he should sound him. “I s’pose you’d like to get a good place?”
“Ne doot,” replied Pigg, “ne doot, where there are some hunds.”
“You wouldn’t like a farm-servant’s place, I s’pose?” observed Mr. Jorrocks.
“A faith, ar’s not sarcy! ar’d turn my hand to aught.”
“Or go anywhere?” asked Mr. Jorrocks.
“Ah, aril places is alike to me,” replied Pigg. “Ar’s getten a bit shop enow that mar missus keeps, but ar could soon shut that up.”
“Yot, you’ve got a missus, ‘ave you?” observed Mr. Jorrocks.
“Housekeeper, that’s to say,” replied Pigg, “housekeeper — ar niver marries them” added he, with a shake of the head.
“And vot do you sell?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks.
“Why, tape, pins, thread, buttons, galluses, onything — ye didna want ne galluses, ar’s warn’d, de ye?”
“No vot?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks.
“Galluses” repeated Pigg— “things to had your breeks up by,” explained he.
“No, but I thinks you do,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, looking at the great interregnum between Pigg’s red waistcoat and shags.
“Ah, sink, ar never wears neane,” replied Pigg, turning his quid; “but I mun be gannin,” added he, with a start, “it’s foour o’clock, I see!”
“How do you see that?” asked Mr. Jorrocks.
“By the shearers yonder,” replied Pigg, his keen eye glancing to a distant hill where the workpeople had just left off. “Well, ar’s main glad to see thou,” said he, rising himself from the bank with his staff—” deed is ar” continued he, standing and looking at his late master, adding—” ye dinna drink ne brandy now, ar’s warn’d.”
“I’ll give you summut to get a glass with,” observed Mr.
Jorrocks, with a smile, diving his hand into his breeches pocket, and producing a great five-shilling piece. “There,” said he, “there’s a dollar for you, and when you’ve delivered your cattle, if you come hack this way I’ll give you another, and meanwhile I’ll try to get you a place.”
“Ah, you’re a grand man,” replied Pigg, taking the five-shilling piece, with a duck of the head. “Ah, you are a grand man,” repeated he, as he eyed it. “Ye dinna want ne sarvant yoursel, ar’s warn’d?”
“I lives about a mile and an ‘alf from here,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, pointing in the direction of the village of Hillingdon. “You ask for Squire Jorrocks; anybody can tell ye where I lives.”
“Rum betch, that fellow!” said Mr. Jorrocks aloud to himself, as Pigg left him; “shouldn’t wonder if he might suit me.”
CHAPTER XXV.
THAT WELL-KNOWN NAME awakens all my woes.”
ANOTHER letter with the Marquis’s coronet again threw the village of Hillingdon into commotion. His lordship wanted another turn with his agricultural friend, or rather a little flirtation under pretence of a visit to him. Thus he wrote: —
DONKEYTON CASTLE.
“DEAR MR. JORROCKS, — I was glad to hear your bull arrived safe, and sorry to hear that your coachman was taken ill at our house the other day — I hope, however, he is better, and that there is nothing to prevent your receiving me at Hillingdon Hall on Thursday next, when I purpose driving over, and staying all night. Pray write me a line, saying if it will be convenient, and with best regards to the ladies, believe me, dear Mr. Jorrocks, yours very truly, “BRAY.”
The following is Mr. Jorrocks’s answer: —
“HILLINGDON HALL TO WIT.
“MY DEAR LORD MARQUIS, — Yours, of no date, is received, and note the contents. We shall be most proud to receive you on Thursday — dinner at five, and no waitin’. My bull arrived safe; thanks to your lordship for lending of me your wan. It would have taken his lordship a precious long time to waddle here. I don’t think he can go much above a mile an hour. But he’s a noble quadruped! Uncommon! The admiration of the country. All the ladies come to look at him. Dare say he’s cost me a dozen of wine already — sponge biscuits in proportion. Wot you calls my ‘coachman,’ is my bouy Binjimin, I s’pose; some o’ your long, lazy Johnnies made him drunk. Scandalous work! Howsomever, I licked him uncommon; and if your chaps had their licks too, it wouldn’t do them no harm. Intoxication is a beastly wice. Bad in a man, but shockin’ in a bouy. I wonders you great men don’t keep a private treadmill for your Johnnies. Howsomever that’s enough! so ‘oping to see you, I remain, my dear Lord, yours to serve,
“JOHN JORROCKS, J.P.
August 29th, 184-.
“To THE MOST NOBLE THE MARQUIS OF BRAY.”
Mr and Mrs. Jorrocks had a most solemn argument as to who they should have to meet the Marquis. Mr. Jorrocks rather inclined to Mrs. Flather, while Mrs. Jorrocks insisted upon inviting Mr and Mrs. Trotter and Eliza. In fact, she had done it before she argued the point; and finding that to be the case, Mr. Jorrocks invited the Flathers also, so that between them they made what Mr. Jorrocks called “a pretty kettle of fish.”
The day but one before that fixed for the Marquis’s visit, Mr. Jorrocks, while taking his daily stroll, ascended the hill leading up to Mr. Heavytail’s pet farm. Mr. Heavytail was exceedingly busy, preparing for his harvest home. The shearers were at work on the north side of the hill, and the golden grain stood in well-filled stooks in most of the fields around. It had been a capital harvest. The weather had been all that could be wished, and Mr. Heavytail was going to evince his gratitude by giving his servants and labourers a plentiful repast at the close. The large barn was swept out, rustic chandeliers hung from the rafters, and block-tin candle-holders were stuck promiscuously into the walls. Mrs. Heavytail was equally busy. She was making mountainous plum-puddings, and skewering corresponding rounds of beef — cheese, too, appeared likely to be abundant.
“Vell, Mr.’Eavytail,” said Mr. Jorrocks, poking his way into the barn, with his hands behind his back, in his usual vacant sort of way, “vot are you arter now? goin’ to give a lector, are you?” added he, looking at the illuminatory preparations.
“GOOD MORNIN’, SIR,” roared Mark, as if Jorrocks was half a mile off; “GETTING READY FOR OÜR HARVEST HOME, YOU SEE,” continued he, pointing to the candles and some old banners, with the usual agricultural mottoes, “Live, and let live,”
“Speed the plough,” and so on, upon them.
“So,” said Mr. Jorrocks, eyeing the proceedings, “goin’ to ‘ave a little procession, are ye? speech — frinds and fellow-farmers!” continued he, extending his right arm.
“IT’S FOR OUR SUPPER NIGHT, SIR,” roared Heavytail—” FINISH OUR HARVEST ON THURSDAY — GIVE THE MEN A SUPPER, WIVES A TEA, THEN COME IN HERE AND DANCE — ALL DRESSED
UP, MEN AS WOMEN, WOMEN AS MEN, AND SO ON.”
“Vot fun!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, shuffling with his feet as if he would set to.
“FIDDLERS TO PLAY!” continued Mark, pointing to a chair, “STRONG ALE FOR THE MEN, TEA FOR THE LADIES
AGAIN.”
“Tea for the ladies again!” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “I’d give them a little strong ale too, I thinks! And is this annual?” asked Mr. Jorrocks, “once a year, in fact?” seeing Mark didn’t take the first question.
“OH YES,” replied Mark, “EVERY YEAR — GRAND FUN.”
“So I should think,” observed Mr. Jorrocks aloud to himself; “vish I was a real farmer,” added he, “instead of one of these harm-chair ‘umbugs — peellosiphers what they call.”
But to return to the ladies.
When Mrs. Flather and Mrs. Trotter found they were both invited (which they speedily learned from the servants, from that rural parliament, “the well”), each made up her mind not to go, and nothing but the dread of the other stealing a march prevented their sending excuses. It was quite clear how it was — Mr. Jorrocks wanted to keep in with both; at all events he wouldn’t give either of them a lift. The result was, that each mother strove her utmost to set her daughter off to advantage. Mrs. Flather adhered to the blue silk that did so much execution at Donkeyton Castle, while Mrs. Trotter arrayed the beautiful brunette in a new pale pink silk, with an old rich point-lace berthe, that varying fashion had twice seen in favour. She had also got her a new bustle of very liberal dimensions.
The Marquis arrived in his broughan, as before, in ample time to allow his French valet to make an uncommon swell of him. His fair hair hung over his ears in longer ringlets than usual, and his shirt frill and front were perfect curiosities in the way of lace and needle-work. A very stiff starcher rose above the low velvet collar of his light blue coat, the neckcloth matching in whiteness the purity of his waistcoat, while his nankeen trousers were slightly shaped over the instep, to display the exquisite texture of his stockings, and his small buckles and French-polished pumps. Kings, brooches, buttons, chains, &c., were in their usual profusion.
Scarcely had the Marquis flourished round the drawingroom, and lisped out the usual nothings about the company worsted work, the view, and the weather, ere Benjamin announced Mrs and Miss Flather, who greeted the visitor in a motherly and half-bashful lover-like sort of way. Before he had got in full swing with the fair Emma, the door opened again, and lo! the goodly proportions of Mrs. Trotter filled the portal, followed by her diminutive husband and her eye-dazzling daughter.
The Marquis was thunderstruck. He never thought his agricultural friend would be such a fool as invite them together, especially after the hint Mr. Jorrocks had volunteered on his way to Mr. Jobson’s. The consequence was the Marquis was tongue-tied, and instead of indulging in all manner of high-flown sentiment in a lover-like undertone, he was obliged to speak up, while the mothers sat watching each move like the lookers-on at a chess table.
A most tedious dinner was the result. Nor did the Marquis’s misery end with the retirement of the ladies, for little Trotter stayed, and the conversation turned upon turnips. At length the trio returned to the drawing-room, and after a yawning, uneasy hour, Mrs. Flather said something about avoiding the evening dew, and having forced Mrs. Trotter into an assent, cloaks, shawls, and bonnets were sought out, and the meeting dispersed.
“It’s a werry fine evenin’,” observed Mr. Jorrocks to the Marquis, as he returned from setting them to the door—” werry fine evenin’ indeed,” added
he, looking at his great noisy watch, and finding that it still wanted a quarter to nine. “Wot shall we do with ourselves?”
“We might have set the ladies home if we’d thought of it,” observed the Marquis, who had thought of it very intently, but did not know how to manage it.
“We might so,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, with a vacant yawn.
“I’ve ‘alf a mind,” said he, after a pause, “to stroll up to Mr.’Eavytail’s pet farm, and see what they’re a doin’ in the dancin’ line. It’s only right for us jestices to patronise the amusements of the lower horders,” continued he, anxious for an excuse to do what he wanted.
“Oh, is it his harvest home?” asked the Marquis.
“Yes,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “it’s a sort of a masquerade thing, as I understands it. Dress up, King o’ Bohemia — Timour the Tartar — William the Conqueror — Doctor Pangloss — then ‘ands across and back again, down the middle and hup again.” Mr. Jorrocks suiting the action to the word, and throwing himself about in attitudes.
“We might have some fun, I think,” observed the Marquis, anxious for anything rather than bed; “only it wouldn’t do to go as we are.” —
“Oh no,” replied Mr. Jorrocks— “dress up certainly. I’ve got a werry fine Scotch dress — kilts, filly-bag (philibeg), and all, wot I used to cut about in London in, that I could sport, only I don’t know wot to put you in. My tops would be too big for you,” added he, glancing at his own legs and at the Marquis’s, “or I could rig you out as an ‘untsman.”
“Oh, both my legs would go into one of your boots,” observed the Marquis: “besides, I should be lost in the coat.” —
“It would be rayther like a dressin’-gown, p’raps,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; “it’s roomy for me even,” added he feeling his great fat sides.
“I’ll tell you wot we could do though,” exclaimed he, after a few minutes’ consideration. “We might dress you hup as a gal, and deuce a soul will ever know you. We’ve got some o’ my niece Belinda’s things, wot she left when she got married, that’ll jest about fit you,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, eyeing the Marquis’s dimensions. “Werry pretty gal you’ll make too,” added the Cockney Squire.
