by R S Surtees
“Hoot ye, and yer lamin’!” exclaimed Pigg; “ye’ll never de ne good that way, it’s nabbut wastin’ paper.”
“Is it though?” replied Mr. Jorrocks, with a look as much as to say, “you know nothing about it.”
“This is to teach farmers ’ow to farm, beaks ’ow to do jastice, fox-’unters ’ow to feed and ride their ‘osses— ‘old the mirror up to natur, as it were, show wirtue its own featurs, wice its own form, and — all that sort o’ thing,” concluded our worthy friend, not being able to finish the quotation.
“Why, why,” said Pigg impatiently, “ar’ll tell mar frind he needn’t stop wi’ his dogs. Ar see thou’ll just stuff and eat and write on till thou dees of apperplexy.”
“I hopes not,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, starting up in alarm.
“But thou will,” replied Pigg, “if thou doesn’t take mair exercise.”
“Exercise!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks; “arn’t I always on the move, either ridin’ Dickey Cobden, or drivin’ him, or quiltin’ him, of which he takes an uncommon quantity?”
“Ay, but that’s ne exercise for a man that eats and drinks as ye de: ham collops and eggs for breakfast, roast beef and plum-puddin’ for dinner, with a quart of wine after it, and a hot supper again at bed-time. Sink, ye should shake yourself up with a hont; thou’ll dee to a certainty if thou doesn’t.”
“Don’t talk that way, James Pigg; don’t talk that way,” interrupted Mr. Jorrocks, looking down at his plummy legs, the calves of which appeared rather too large for his Hessian boots. “I’m no fatter nor I was,” added he, nipping his waist with both hands.
“Deed but thou is; thou’ll be seventeen stone, if thou’s a pund.”
“Nonsense, Pigg, nonsense!” replied Mr. Jorrocks snappishly. “Well, tell your friend I’m busy just now, and take him into the kitchen, and give him a run at the wittles — summut to eat and drink, you know; and by the time he’s done, I’ll have got through my papers, and shall be able to speak to him,” continued our friend, turning his papers, so as to give Pigg a hint to retire.
“Cuss that Pigg’s imperence,” observed Mr. Jorrocks to himself, rising and stalking up and down the little room a few times. “Fat indeed!” continued he; “apoplexy, indeed! I likes that.” Saying which, our friend brought up before the little looking-glass against the wall, and proceeded to examine his features. “Nonsense!” exclaimed he, after a short survey; “doesn’t look a bit older nor I did twenty years ago, may be a leetle stouter,” added he, tapping his stomach, “but, as to seventeen stone, that’s quite out o’ the question.”
Pigg, however, had frightened Mr. Jorrocks. Our fat friend had felt himself not quite the man he was, and he feared, from Pigg’s telling him of it, it must be more apparent than he imagined. Mr. Jorrocks was still rather conceited about his looks. Our friend threw himself into his arm-chair, and thought the matter over.
“Strong exercise is a great promoter o’ health,” observed he to himself at length, rising and ringing the bell. “Somehow, I felt a deal better after the race with the ‘oss-stealer — at least, I should if it hadn’t been the wrench I got in my back from the un’andsome trick they played me in pullin’ of my seat out from an under me. Tell Pigg I want him,” said he to Benjamin, who now answered the summons.
“I think you said somethin’ about there bein’ a man here with some ‘ounds,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, as Pigg made his appearance.
“Think!” exclaimed Pigg; “why, didn’t ar tell ye as plain as ar could speak that there was an acquentance o’ mine here with some?” —
“Possibly you might,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; “possibly you might. I was werry busy at the time, arrangin’ the Journal o’ General Genius. Are they fox’ounds?” inquired he.
“Foxhunds! No; harriers — beagles, that’s to say.”
“Beagles!” repeated Mr. Jorrocks; “quite little things in fact. I doesn’t know wot to say ‘ about beagles. Be rayther infra dig., wouldn’t it?” asked he, eyeing his factotum.
“Infra what?” exclaimed Pigg.
“Infra dignitate,” stammered out Mr. Jorrocks.
“Why, ivery man to his pretension,” replied Pigg; “hut, for mar pairt, ar should say hontin’ was far finer fun nor diggin’ taties.”
“Ah, you misunderstand me, I see,” observed Mr. Jorrocks; “I mean to say that it will hardly do for an ex’M.F.H.’ to keep ‘arriers.”
“Hoots, ye and your X. ‘M.P.H.’s!’ A hont’s a hont. Call them mine, if you like. Sink, ar wonder what mar cousin Deavilboger wad say, to hear tell ar’d set up a pack o’ hunds! See Mr. Pigg’s hunds in the papers!”
“That would be a go!” replied Mr. Jorrocks.
“Yer tied to have a pack,” observed Pigg, interrupting a reverie into which his master had fallen. “What the devil are ye to de with yoursel’ all the winter? Ye canna gan glowering about the country with your bull, makin’ fond speeches at fairs, and ye say the birds winna wait for you to shut them — ye’ll get as fat as a bullock!”
“Let’s see the ‘ounds,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, getting his hat, desirous of putting an end to so uncomplimentary a conversation.
“Come this way,” replied Pigg, leading the way, “ar’s getten them in the stable.”
“Here, Jovey,” exclaimed Pigg to his acquaintance, who was taking his ease in the kitchen. “T’ard Squire wants to see hunds.”
Forth sallied a very dog-stealer-looking fellow, clad in a very greasy-collared cut-away brown coat with fancy buttons, tartan waistcoat, drab breeches, and square-toed leggings buttoning over the knee-cap, and thick shoes.
“Your servant, sir,” said he, ducking a thick, black, curly head, surmounting a copper-coloured face, to Mr. Jorrocks.
The hounds were a most primitive lot. A couple of blue mottled beagles, a couple and a half of black-and-tan harriers, a couple of large, yellow, twenty-inch, Cumberland drag-hounds, with docked stems, and a couple and a half of long-backed, long-eared, dew-lapped, crooked-legged southern hounds, that could run under the bellies of the drag-hounds.
“My vig!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, as they poured out of the stable, and the southern hounds set up a howl that seemed well calculated to last for ever. The harriers frisked about, and one of the drag-hounds dashed at a turkey-cock, and very nearly got him down.
“Steady there!” cried Jovey, running to the rescue, and giving Bouncer a tremendous crack with the couples. “Ay, but ye should see them hont!” cried he to Pigg, anxious for the credit of the establishment.
“Five pounds!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks; “vy, they’re only fit to put under a pear-tree.” —
“Ar’ll put saddle on t’ard nag,” said Pigg, without noticing his master’s observation, “and ye can ride up t’ fell, and see sport like; ar kens where there’s a hare sittin.’”
“Yell,” said Mr. Jorrocks aloud to himself, “I can go and see the fun at all events; looking costs nothin’; but I shouldn’t like the editor o’ Bell’s Life or none o’ the sportin’ perihodicals to see me.” So saying, our friend was quickly on Dickey Cobden, and set off by the road for the high ground, while Pigg and his “acquentance,” with the motley pack at their heels, took the short cut through the fields.
It was a fine autumnal day, moist, without much sunshine. The cobwebs hung upon the bushes, and the heavy night dew remained in full force where the sun had not touched.
“Shouldn’t wonder if there’s a scent,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, looking at the dew under the wall.
On our friend rode, gradually rising the high hill on the south side of the valley, above the village of Hillingdon, the enclosures getting larger and larger, as he approached the table-land of the summit, which had lately been heathery common, and was divided into those great fields that generally denote recent enclosure. Mr. Jorrocks stopped to puff as he gained the summit of the hill, under the usual “corpulent gentleman’s” excuse of admiring the landscape. It was a fine prospect too. The silvery thread of the sparkling riv
er wound among well-wooded hanks, whose trees were now diversified with all the rich autumnal tints. The river separated fertile pastures of alluvial soil, mingled with the bright-coloured stubble and rich green turnip fields.
The country was thrown into sudden undulating hills, displaying the rude grey stone rocks on the summits of those that were not capped with plantations or forest trees.
“Now,” said Pigg, coming up with Jovey and the motley pack, “here’s a grand country for a hont. Sink, ar believe - we may trail up tiv her,” added he, dashing the dew from the heath with his foot. “Which is your finder now?” asked he of his friend.
“This yean,” replied Jovey, pointing to a little fat blue-mottled bitch, with very bright prominent gazelle sort of eyes, looking more like a dowager’s lap-dog than a hound.
“What de ye call her?” asked Pigg.
“Trusty,” replied his friend; adding, “yooi Trusty, good bitch.” —
Trusty acknowledged the compliment by wagging her fat stem.
“Then let’s uncouple her,” said Pigg, “and see if she can make aught of the trail: ar kens where she’ll be sitting, but we may as well see if the hunds can tell us.”
Accordingly, the plethoric Trusty was released from one of the dock-tailed drag-hounds, called Tapster, which Jovey kept in the couple by his side. Trusty then began her inquiries. First, she dashed a little semicircle in advance, sniffing and smelling with curious nose at every bit of heather or tufty grass against which the game might have brushed; Pigg looking on with critical eye, calculating when she was likely to hit it off. Presently Trusty began to feather, but spoke not.
“Sink, she’s been there!” exclaimed Pigg, eyeing the bitch, and getting forward himself to see if he could prick puss upon a sandy piece of ground formed by the rain washing over a cart track.
“Ay, has she,” added he, stooping and pricking her.
Trusty now gave a flourish and a whimper, and then struck forward with a scent and full note.
“Keep them i’ the couples, Jovey,” exclaimed Pigg, as Trusty’s note drew a deep lengthened howl from the southern hounds, and the dragmen and harriers dashed to get to her. “Sink, ar say, get a haud on ’em!” added he, as a couple of the southern hounds caught the fat little bitch in the rear, and sent her sprawling neck and croup a few yards in advance. “Sink, ar say, get a haud on ’em!” added he, “or they’ll play the varra deuce with t’ard bitch.”
Pigg ran to Trusty’s rescue, who, sadly disconcerted at this uncourteous treatment, lay yelping and sprawling on her back. “Poor thing!” said Pigg, taking her up in his arms and patting her pretty sleek sides, “did they upset thee?” asked he, putting her face towards his: “they shanna come nigh thee again though,” added he, coaxing her, as he set her down on her legs, saying, as he patted her, “now, canny bitch, try for her again.”
Trusty, however, was sadly disconcerted, and some minutes elapsed before she had sufficiently recovered her composure to proceed with the unravelment of the Gordian knot of puss’s rambles. At last she touched a scent, and, forgetting her grievance, set too again as briskly as ever. Mr. Jorrocks sat on Dickey Cobden, eyeing her critical examinations and bustling movements.
“Ah, she’s a grand bitch!” exclaimed Pigg; “she’s worth five punds hersel,” added he, pointing her to his master.
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, thinking he’d never give it.
She now made a wider flourish forward; and again a whimper, followed by a full note, proclaimed her on the line of the morning scent.
“She’ll be i’ you whin,” observed Pigg, in a whisper, to his master, pointing to a patch of gorse on a hillside at a little distance. “Ye keep them great beggars quiet,” added he, turning to Jovey, who was well-nigh pulled away by the united exertions of the nine hounds, all striving to get “to cry.” —
On Trusty went, now bustling and flourishing, now stopping and turning to pick puss’s trail step by step; now twisting and bending as she had done whenever a green blade had tempted her out of her way. Pigg was right as to puss’s line. Trusty’s tender nose led her towards the gorse patch, and Jovey, by Pigg’s request, having given the noisy hounds a crack on the head apiece, to keep them quiet, stood while the bitch worked the trail towards it.
Now she got among the green prickly furze, and sniffed this way and that among the straggling bushes, while Pigg peered in to see if he could detect puss sitting. Now he took his stick and gently divided the bushes, lifting up those that laid low, and poking the grassy tults in the neighbourhood. No puss.
“Sink, she’s gean on,” said he, filling his mouth with tobacco, and eyeing the bitch flourishing outside. “Ar ken where she is, thoogh,” continued he, eyeing some brown rushes higher up. “How way! canny man, how way!” cried he to his master, waving his arm onwards, “she’s oop hill!”
“Sink, ar sees her!” at length cried he, catching the little bitch up in his arms as she was rolling more noisily and energetically upwards.
“Vere, James? Yere?” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks.
“Haud thee gob,” said he, “haud thee gob,” repeated he, putting his finger to his nose; “ye tak t’ard bitch down to Jovey, and then ye come back and we’ll put her away quietly, and lay hunds on after she gets fairly started.” So saying, Pigg put Trusty on to Mr. Jorrocks’s saddle-pommel, and our worthy Squire trotted down hill with her to Jovey.
Our friend was quickly back, all anxious for the start.
“Yere is she now, James?” exclaimed he, as with staring eyeballs be jerked and jagged Dickey Cobden up the hill. “Vere is she, I say?” repeated be, looking all ways but the right.
“Why, here!” said Pigg; “God sink, ye’re lookin’ half-a-mile off!”
“Vere?” again exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, as wise as before.
“God bliss mar soule! t’ard man must be blind,” said Pigg; “why, here she’s, just aside ye, not two yards frae your buss’s foot.”
“Get off t’ard nag,” said Pigg, seeing his master could not catcb the place, “and ar’ll show ye ber,” added be, laying bold of Dickey Cobden’s bridle. “Now thou sees you bit rough grass,” said Pigg, pointing to a tuft two or three yards in advance.
“Yes,” said Mr. Jorrocks.
“Why, then, doesn’t thou see her great muckle eyes starin’ at ye?” asked Pigg.
“No,” replied Mr. Jorrocks.
“No!” exclaimed Pigg; “why, thou must be blind. Here, tak mar stick,” said be, “and give ber a poke,” banding Mr. Jorrocks his oaken staff.
Our friend then went as directed.
“Touch her ahint,” said Pigg, motioning his master which way to use the stick.
Mr. Jorrocks did so, and out puss started.
“My vig! there she goes!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, as a great banging bare bounced out before him; “who’d have thought there was anything but a tuft of grass?” added he, climbing on to Dickey Cobden to be ready for a start.
Pigg shaded the sun from his eyes with his band, while be ran up the bill and watched puss’s course.
“Vy don’t you lay on the ‘ounds?” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, astonished at Pigg’s slowness.
“Let her get cannily away first,” said Pigg, running on to the brow of the hill to watch her course. Presently he returned. “Now then, sit quietly there,” said be to his master, “while Jovey uncouples the hunds, and we’ll just let them take up the scent by theirsels.”
Pigg then went to Jovey, and the motley lot were soon uncoupled, frisking, howling, and towling, according to their respective makes.
“Gan quietly up hill,” said Pigg, “she’s away o’er back on it, just past low end of quarry like.”
The drag-hounds dashed forward expecting to be laid on the line; while the southern hounds, Jingler, Jumper, and Towler, having struck a trail scent, sat on their haunches, proclaiming, with upturned heads to heaven, the grand intelligence, bringing the beagles and harriers to them to confirm their story and partake of the scent.
On they went, slow and sure; now a blue mottle, now a southern; now a southern, now a blue mottle; proclaiming, and the rest certifying, the truth of the statements. Presently they worked up to puss’s form; and then there was such a rush at it, as if they would eat the very grass of which it was composed.
“Get them forrard, Jovey,” said Pigg, “or, sink them, they’ll sing there all day; and let’s put the couples on to them greet yellow hunds, or they’ll kill her at view,” added he, coaxing one of the dock-tail drag-hounds towards him.
The pack was now reduced to four couple, of which the black-and-tan harriers seemed inclined to take the lead. They all clustered on the scent, and each hound having satisfied himself that there was no mistake, they dropped their sterns and began to run.
“Now, they’ll gan!” exclaimed Jovey, eyeing them; adding, “ah, they re a grand lot!”
Forward they went, all in a cluster, much music and little progress; and just as they swung a cast to assure themselves that puss had passed a gate, the great drag-hounds broke away from Jovey, and served the pack the same trick with the couples that they had practised upon Trusty.
“Sink them brutes!” exclaimed Pigg; “ar’ve a good mind to fell them,” added he, eyeing the pack scattered and sprawling in all directions.
“Stop till t’others get o’er the wall,” replied Jovey; “we’ll be shot on ’em then.”
Jovey was a true prophet. The hare, after passing the quarry, had struck through a meuse in the wall a little lower down, through which the big hounds could not pass; and Pigg having fastened the gate as soon as his master got into the field, the great dock-tailed drag-hounds were left yammering, yelping, and jumping, each pulling the other back as he attempted the wall. Puss had taken along the inside of the wall, and the scent being good, the pack lengthened out like a telescope, and away they went at a famous pace, Pigg and Jovey running their best, and Mr. Jorrocks rising in his stirrups, and holding Dickey Cobden hard by the head.
