by R S Surtees
“Beautiful country!” exclaimed our friend, casting his eye over the vast enclosures, some fifty, others near a hundred acres; “I’d no idea there was sich a country about ‘ome,” added he. “Hooi, you, sir!” exclaimed he to a man at plough in the adjoining enclosure; “run and open me that ’ere gate!” pointing towards one to which they were fast approaching.
The man obeyed orders, and Mr. Jorrocks trotted through. The hounds now turned a little to the left, but Mr. Jorrocks seeing a cart track, and knowing that it would lead to a gate or place of exit, preferred keeping his own line to running the risk of being pounded. The next fence was a young quickset one, protected by a rail, over which the hounds quickly scrambled, and then, having passed though a small turnip field near a shepherd’s hut, they came to a very high boundary-wall that seemed to present an insuperable barrier to further progress. Mr. Jorrocks ran his eyes up and down the wall, but could see nothing like a gate. It was a long, straight, formal, newly-built thing, with the coping-stone dashed with lime. The hounds could no more get over it than could our friend, and with loud clamour they all threw up.
“‘Olloo! you chap with the red tie!” cried our now puffing friend to a shepherd who had just appeared outside in his cabin; “vy don’t ye come and ‘elp these ere ‘ounds over the wall, and me over the wall?” adding to himself, “or I’ll summons you for an assault.”
The man came, and pulling up a flag from before a square aperture in the wall, the hounds got through, and casting themselves on the far side, quickly took up the scent again.
“Yell, but ’ow am I to get over?” inquired Mr. Jorrocks, staring at the man; adding, “you don’t s’pose I can squeeze through there?”
“There’s no way for you but round by Tommy Miller’s,” replied the man.
“‘Ow far’s that?” asked Mr. Jorrocks.
“Three-quarters of a mile and better; just to the right by yonder cottage, see,” pointing to a dwelling on the outline of the hill, up to which the wall ran.
“Confound it, that’s not the way the ‘ounds are goin’!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, as he stood erect in his stirrups, and saw them bending to the left, with Pigg and Jovey running inside them.
“Well, then, there’s no way in,” replied the man, “till you come to Mr. Coxon’s boundary-wall, and the gate’s kept locked.” —
“‘Ord rot the beggar!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “I wish he had the padlock on his nose; was ever sich an uncivilised wall as this seen? D’ye think I could squeeze through there?” inquired he, pointing to the place through which the hounds had passed.
“No doubt,” replied the man, “no doubt; but what will you do with your nag?”
“Vy, I must leave him with you,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, clambering down. “It’s only an ‘are ‘unt, and we’ll soon be done; valk him about quietly till I return, and I’ll give you a shillin’,” added he.
So saying, our bulky friend laid flat on the ground, and, heels first, backed and squeezed through the hole in the wall. Up he scrambled, and seeing the hounds rather tying on the scent, and Pigg and Jovey on a neighbouring eminence, Mr. Jorrocks rolled away quite fresh, the tassels of his Hessian boots clattering against his legs as he went.
“Forrard away!” cried he, as the hounds settled again to the scent, with all his old hunting energy, and away they all went full cry.
The enclosure was a large one, but being in grass, and the ground sound, our fat friend made a good fight across it. He was rather blown, however, when he came to the stone wall at the far side; and after he had lifted Trusty and Towler, who were in a somewhat similar predicament, over, he found he would be better of a little assistance himself. Twice his toes slipped out of the places he attempted to get them in, but a third effort succeeded in landing him on the top, where he sat for a minute eyeing the
“Strange confusion in the vale below,” and taking breath.
The hare had run into a brushwood-covered bank, forming one side of a small dell, through which ran a purling brook, and the southern hounds could not satisfy themselves that she had gone on. They made several advances towards the front, where old fat Trusty bustled with the scent, and as often returned to where they had last felt it themselves, as much as to say they did not believe her.
“Cuss your unbelievin’ souls,” muttered Mr. Jorrocks to himself, as he sat eyeing their proceedings; “those psalm-singin’ beggars require every step to be sworn to,” added he.
At last one of the black-and-tan harriers carried the scent out on to the fallow across the brook, and putting his head straight down the furrow, went away at a rattling pace across a very rough fallow.
“By jingo! they’re away again!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, who had not half recovered his wind.
He slid himself down the side of the wall, to the great damage of the Jorrockian jacket-buttons, and prepared to follow notwithstanding. Patter, patter, patter, went the, Hessian boot-tassels — blunder, blunder, blunder, went Mr. Jorrocks among the hard clods. Now up, now down; now along the furrow, now across the ridge.
“Oh dear; it’s ‘ard work!” said he to himself, before he had got half across the field, and he saw the hounds were running away ay from him. “Oh dear! vot a pain I’ve got in my side!” added he, stopping, and clapping his hand to his side.
On again he went, still tripping and stumbling across the fallow, with “bellows to mend” becoming more apparent at every step.
“Ord rot it, but I can’t run as I used,” added he, stopping, and clapping his hand to his forehead.
On again he went, unwilling to give in. A little strip of grass by the wall now rather favoured him, and as he jogged up it he heard the hounds more distinctly, though he had no time for looking. —
“‘Ard work ‘unting on foot,” gasped he, as he approached the cross wall. A projecting stone favoured his footing, and he mounted pretty briskly, just in time to see the hounds bend inward to the left.
“Thank God, they’re a turnin’!” said he, as he pulled out a great blue-and-white-spotted bandanna, and began mopping his head.
“How way, canny man! how way!” holloaed Pigg, waving his hat in the distance for his master to come on.
“Werry good howwayin’,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks; “but we’re not all sich ‘erring-gutted beggars as you, wot can run all day.” However, our friend complied with the request by dropping down the wall, and again started away in a trot.
It was a very poor one, a mere make-believe, and he would have got on quite as quick in a walk. Patter, patter, patter, still he went, puffing and wheezing, puffing and wheezing.
A projecting root at last caught his toe, and sent him rolling heavily over on the headland.
“There’s a go!” said he, turning over, and seeing he had split his drab stockingette tights at the knees, and crushed his low-crowned hat in. “Vell, can’t be ‘elped,” said he, scrambling up, and adjusting the hat as he went.
Our friend, however, was beat, and before he got half over the next field he acknowledged it. “Well, it’s no use!” exclaimed he, dropping down into a walk, as he eyed the hounds growing “Small by decrees, and beautifully less,” as they followed each other in long-drawn file up the rising ground in the distance. “It’s no use” repeated he, with a melancholy shake of the head. “It’s all U.P. with J. J. Ah!” continued he, “age will tell! I never thought to come to this” added he, with a deep sigh. “I’m gettin’ an old man,” said he, in a low tone, as he laid his hand on the wall to hoist himself up.
“Vell, I’ve had a fine time on it,” added he, seating himself astride it, for a view; “werry fine time on it. Deal o’ shug! deal o’ barley-shug! deal o’ sugar-candy too! but my day’s gone by. I feels I’m one o’ the ‘as beens. Melancholy thought!” ejaculated he; “who’d have thought it twenty years ago, or ten — ay, or even five, or yet one? Howsomever, never mind; care killed the cat! Dash my vig, I do believe ’ere comes the ‘are!”
Sure enough it was puss coming lobbi
ng along, inside the wall that joined the one across which our worthy friend was seated. She was coming at an easy listening sort of pace, with her trumpet ears pricked to catch the sound of her pursuers.
They were a long way behind, and puss knew it “Dash my vig, but she’s a fine ‘un!” observed Mr. Jorrocks, eyeing her white legs, clean fur, and vigorous canter. “Will take the shine out o’ Trusty and Co before she’s done, I guess. It can’t be the ‘unted ‘are,” continued he, eyeing her fresh appearance, as she sat listening and looking at our fat friend seated astride the wall. Having satisfied her curiosity, puss gave a tremendous jump backwards, and running her foil a short distance, quietly disappeared through a hedge, a little above where it joined the wall.
“It is her though; and yonder come Jovey and Pigg,” added Mr. Jorrocks, looking at the two toiling in the distance, with the hounds towling along a little on the left. “‘Ope they’ve got their nightcaps with them,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, eyeing their pace.
“Which way? which way?” cried Pigg, as soon as he got within hearing.
“To the left,” cried Mr. Jorrocks, waving his hat; adding, “she’s dead “beat!”
“Glad on’t, for wor hunds are maist beat tee. And Trusty’s run hersel into fits, and Boisterous and Thunderer are baith done,” replied Pigg.
The pack being thus reduced, Pigg and Jovey had to do the work of hounds as well as huntsmen; keeping a lookout for puss, and pricking her where they could. They had now to run with the hounds, instead of keeping inside them on the high ground. This, however, did not require any great exertion, for the hounds had long settled down into what hackney-coachmen call Parliament pace — six miles an hour.
“They von’t ketch her,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks to himself, lowering himself down the wall, thinking he might chance to see the finish with so reduced and dribbling a pack. As if to thwart our friend, the hounds took to running as soon as he got established on his legs and had started into an involuntary trot. It was, however, a very short one. The stitch in his side soon returned, and in less than two minutes our old friend was hors de combat.
“There’s an end of my ‘unting,” said he, dropping on to a large stone and bursting into tears.
CHAPTER XXXII.
YE GENEROUS BRITONS, venerate the plough.” — THOMSON.
AR wish t’ard man mayn’t ha’ lost hissel,” said Pigg to Jovey, as, after a long-continued effort with the remaining couple of hounds, they at last gave up the chase of poor puss, and commenced gathering the scattered pack, preparatory to returning home. “Hast seen owt on him?” continued Pigg, casting his eye over the surrounding country.
“He was sittin’ astride a stone wall the last time I see’d him,” replied Jovey.
“Ay, but he came away after that,” replied Pigg; “ar see’d him blunderin’ o’er the fallow below, makin’ after the hunds as it were. Ah dear! ar wish he mayn’t ha’ lamed hissel, or happen’d a misfortin,” observed Pigg anxiously; adding, “sink, he’s ‘ardly fit to be trusted frae heam by hissel.”—’
“Is he a very old gentleman?” asked Jovey.
“Why, no, he’s not se ard,” replied Pigg, “but he’s se daft — he’s lived i’ great towns all his life, and he thinks to see gas-lights and poliss stuck all about the country. Let’s call hunds together, and, maybe, while we’re callin’ them he may cast up;” so saying, Jovey and Pigg got on to an eminence and began halloaing—” Cop, come away! cop, come away! cop, hunds, cop! Here Trusty, here Jumper! cop Jumper! cop Jingler! evooy, evooy, hunds, evooy!” being a corruption of the words “here away, away hounds, away.”
The hounds came slowly crawling to halloo, from different parts; and, after half-an-hour spent in this way, our sportsmen had scraped three couple and a half together, and, no more appearing likely to cast up, Pigg proposed that Jovey should take one route, and he another, and try to recover Mr. Jorrocks and the rest’. “Ye tak dogs wi’ ye,” said Pigg, “and gan round you way,” waving his arm to the left, “and keep halloain’ as ye can, and see,” added he, “and keep an eye on the grund, and try to prick t’ard Squire by the heels; he’s getten a pair o’ Jemmy London bouts on, wi’ small taper heels, that gan a lang way into the grund, and, if ye keep a sharp look-out, ye may chance to come upon him by the track;” so saying, Pigg gave such of the hounds as seemed inclined to follow him a kick, and Jovey, by dint of coaxing, got them away after him.
“Ar wonder what’s getten t’ard man,” said Pigg to himself, striding along, looking in all directions, and taking an occasional peep at the ground to see if he could prick Mr. Jorrocks by the heels. “He’d niver gan heam,” said he to himself, “as long as hunds could run, surely, and yet there’s nout to see on him. Ar’ll dim this hill, for ar really think he mun ha’ happen’d a misfortin;” so saying, Pigg legged it up the hill as though he were just turning out fresh for the day.
“Yonder’s t’ard nag,” said he, as he reached the top and saw Dickey Cobden in the distance, pacing slowly up and down, in charge of the shepherd. “Where can t’ard Squire ha’ getten? Sink, he mun ha’ happen’d a misfortin!” added he, as broken legs and collar-bones flashed across his mind. “He’s safe enough afoot, though,” continued Pigg, recollecting himself; “he may ha’ brust hissel or died of apperplexy, though,” added he, as the prophecy of the morning returned to his recollection.
Pigg was in a great stew — he ran here and there, stood on walls, and climbed every eminence that commanded the surrounding country, and, like most people in a pucker, cast far away, and never thought of looking near home. The consequence was that Mr. Jorrocks, who had ensconced himself amid a group of projecting rocks, at the top of a narrow dell, with which the country abounded, was wholly overlooked by James Pigg.
“Sink, is you a corby?” said Pigg to himself, as Mr. Jorrocks’s hat moved above the top of the stones.
“Hup, hawway! hup! hup!” shouted Pigg, knocking his stick against a stone to try and frighten the bird. Mr. Jorrocks then popped his great red face over the rocks, to the great joy and astonishment of his man.
“God sink, if there bain’t his ard mug poppin’ over the stean!” exclaimed Pigg, starting off at full speed down hill to the place.
“Why, canny man,” said he, rushing breathless to the spot, “we’d ha’ thought that was ye? Sink, ar’ve been lookin’ for ye all o’er, and took thy hat for a corby! Gin ar’d had mar gon, there’s ne sayin’ but ar’d a shot thee. But what’s happened?” continued he; “thou’s not lamed thysel, hast thou?” continued Pigg, eyeing his master’s melancholy countenance.
“Vy, no,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “not exactly, at least; I’ve had a bad fall, though,” added he, pointing to his breeches’ knees.
“‘Deed, has thou?” said Pigg, eyeing Mr. Jorrocks’s legs; “broken thy knees, I declare. Why, that is a bad job; however, they’ll mend; but, ah dear, thou’s het!” added Pigg; “thy face looks just as though it had been blow’d red hot in a furnace. Ar’s warn’d thou’s tired,” added he, “thou’s not made for runnin’; bide where thou is, and ar’ll fetch t’ard nag to carry ye hame.”
“Oh, I can valk to the nag well enough,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, starting up, unwilling that Pigg should know the extent of his failure.
“Why! why!” said Pigg, “walk if ye like; but ar kens where t’ard nag is, and ar could seun get him for thee. Ah, but we’ve had a grand hont!” added he, wiping the tobacco streams from his mouth with his sleeve.
“‘Ave you killed her?” asked Mr. Jorrocks, with a spice of his old ardour.
“Why, noo,” drawled Pigg, “we didn’t kill her, somehow; but that’s all the better, ye ken — she’ll mak a grand hont another day.”
“Another day, indeed!” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “I should think one was enough.”
“Ay, but thou mun hont, if it’s nabbut te keep thysel out o’ mischief,” replied Pigg; “grand exercise — de ye far mair good nor farmin’.”
“But it von’t be so profitable
,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, with a shake of his head, as he trailed slowly along by the side of his man, with his hands behind his back.
“Ar doesn’t ken that,” said Pigg, with a shrug of the shoulders; “should say it wad de ye mair good nor farmin’ as ye farm.”
“That’s all you knows about the matter,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks. “The new lights o’ husbandry haven’t broke in upon your wooden ‘ead yet.”
“Ar wish they mayn’t Irik ye,” replied Pigg; “ar think thou’s gannin’ a fair way for the dogs.”
“I see you’re one of the old-fashioned, stubborn, stupid sort o’ sinners,” grunted Mr. Jorrocks. “Jest blunder on in your old-fashioned ways, without either talent to strike out a new inwention, or spirit enough to follow up what others diskiver — want enlightenment desp’rate.”
“They’ll lighten ye afore they’re done with ye, I’ll be bund,” replied Pigg, with a sniff of his nose across his hand.
“I thought you chaps had been clever in the north,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, after they had trudged on some time in silence.
“Oliver? ay,” said Pigg, “o’er diver to make sic asses o’ ourselves as they de hereabouts.”
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, not relishing the reception of his overture at reconciliation, “and vot’n hasses de ye see ’ere, pray?”
“Ah, asses!” exclaimed Pigg, at the top of his voice, “ar niver see’d sic wark! folks all gean clean mad together, ar think!”
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks again, wondering what Pigg had seen to astonish him.
“It was nabbut yesterday,” continued Pigg, “that ar called on Mr. Heavytail, and instead of findin’ him in his fields, sink if he wasn’t rollin’ a hogshead o’ sugar into the barn. ‘How now, Mr. Tail?’ says ar to him, says ar, ‘ are ye gannin’ te torn grosser?”Why, no,’ says he to me, says he,’ Mr. Pigg,’ says he, quite pertly,’ ar’s not gannin’ to tarn grosser.’ Then says ar to him, says ar, ‘What the deavil ar ye gannin’ to do wi’ all the sugar?’ — for ar see’d twe mair casks a standin’ where he was rowlin’ this yean te.”
