by R S Surtees
“Here’s old Jorrocks, I do declare”, exclaimed one, as Jorrocks drove the fire-engine up at as quick a pace as his horse would go. “Why, what a concern he’s in”, said another, “why, the old man’s mad, surely”.— “He’s good for a subscription,” added another, addressing him. “I say, Jorrocks, old boy, you’ll give us ten pound for our hounds won’t you? — that’s a good fellow.” “Oh yes, Jorrocks promised us a subscription last year,” observed another, “and he is a man of his word — arn’t you old leather breeches?” “No, gentlemen,” said Jorrocks, standing up in the fire-engine, and sticking the whip into its nest, “I really cannot — I wish I could, but I really cannot afford it. Times really are so bad, and I have my own pack to subscribe to, and I must be ‘just before I am generous.’” “Oh, but ten pounds is nothing in your way, you know, Jorrocks — adulterate a chest of tea. Old —— here will give you all the leaves off his ash-trees.” “No,” said Jorrocks, “I really cannot — ten pounds is ten pounds, and I must cut my coat according to my cloth.” “By Jove, but you must have had plenty of cloth when you cut that coat you’ve got on, old boy. Why there’s as much cloth in the laps as would make a pair of horse-sheets.” “Never mind,” said Jorrocks, “I wear it, and not you.” “Now,” said Jorrocks in an undertone to the Yorkshireman, “you see what an unconscionable set of dogs these stag-’unters are. They’re at every man for a subscription, and talk about guineas as if they grew upon gooseberry-bushes. Besides, they are such a rubbishing set — all drafts from the fox’ounds. — Now there’s a chap on a piebald just by the trees — he goes into the Gazette reglarly once in three years, and yet to see him out, you’d fancy all the country round belonged to him. And there’s a buck with his bearing-rein so tight that he can hardly move his neck,” pointing to a gentleman in scarlet, with a tremendous stiff blue cravat— “he lives by keeping a mad-house and being werry high, consequential sort of a cock, they calls him the ‘Lord High Keeper!’ — I’ll tell ye a joke about that fellow,” said he, pointing to a man alighting from a red-wheeled buggy— “he’s a werry shabby screw, and is always trying to save a penny. — Well, he hires a young half-witted hawbuck for a servant, who didn’t clean his boots to his liking, so he began reading the Riot Act one day, and concluded by saying, ‘I’m blowed if I couldn’t clean them better myself with a little pump-water.’ — The next day, up came the boots duller than ever.— ‘Bless my soul,’ exclaimed he, ‘why, they are worse than before, how’s this, sir?’— ‘Please, sir, you said you could clean them better with a little pump-water, so I tried it, and I do think they are worse!’ Haw! haw! haw! — Yon chap in the black plush breeches and Hessians, standing by the ginger-pop tray, is the only man what ever got the better of me in the ‘oss-dealing line, and he certainlie did bite me uncommon ‘andsomely. I gave him three and twenty pounds, a strong violin case with patent hinges, lined with superfine green baize, and an uncut copy of Middleton’s Cicero, for an ‘oss that the blacksmith really declared wasn’t worth shoeing. — Howsomever, I paid him off, for I christened the ‘oss Barabbas — who, you knows, was a robber — and the seller has gone by the name of Barabbas ever since.”
“Well, but tell me, gentlemen, where do we dine?” inquired Jorrocks, turning to a group who had just approached the fire-engine. “We don’t know yet,” said a gentleman in scarlet, “the deer has not come yet; but yonder he is,” pointing up the road to a covered cart, “and there are the hounds just coming over the hill at the back.” The covered cart approached, and several went to meet it. The cry of “Oh, it’s old Tunbridge,” was soon heard. “Well, we shall have a good dinner,” said Jorrocks, “if that is the case. Is it Tunbridge?” inquired he eagerly of one of the party who returned from the deer-cart. “Yes, it’s old Tunbridge, and Snooks has ordered dinner at the Wells for sixteen at five o’clock, so the first sixteen that get there had better look out.” “Here, bouy,” said Jorrocks in an undertone to his servant, who was leading his screws about on the green, “take this ‘oss out of the carriage, and give him a feed of corn, and then go on to Tunbridge Wells, and tell Mr. Pegg, at the Sussex Arms, that I shall be there with a friend to the dinner, and bid him write ‘Jorrocks’ upon two plates and place them together. — Nothing like making sure,” said he, chuckling at his own acuteness.
“Now to ‘orse — to ‘orse!” exclaimed he, suiting the action to the word, and climbing on to his great chestnut, leaving the Yorkshireman to mount the rat-tail brown. “Let’s have a look at the ‘ounds”, turning his horse in the direction in which they were coming. Jonathan Griffin took off his cap to Jorrocks, as he approached, who waved his hand in the most patronising manner possible, adding “How are you, Jonathan?” “Pretty well, thank you, Mister Jorrocks, hope you’re the same.” “No, not the same, for I’m werry well, which makes all the difference — haw! haw! haw! You seem to have but a shortish pack, I think — ten, twelve, fourteen couple— ‘ow’s that? We always take nine and twenty with the Surrey”. “Why, you see, Mister Jorrocks, stag-hunting and fox-hunting are very different. The scent of the deer is very ravishing, and then we have no drawing for our game. Besides, at this season, there are always bitches to put back — but we have plenty of hounds for sport. — I suppose we may be after turning out,” added Jonathan, looking at his watch— “it’s past eleven.”
Footnote 16: Poor Jonathan, one of the hardest riders and drinkers of his day, exists, like his pack, but in the recollection of mankind. He was long huntsman to the late Lord Derby, who, when he gave up his staghounds, made Jonathan a present of them, and for two or three seasons he scratched on in an indifferent sort of way, until the hounds were sold to go abroad — to Hungary, we believe.
On hearing this, a gentleman off with his glove and began collecting, or capping, prior to turning out — it being the rule of the hunt to make sure of the money before starting, for fear of accidents. “Half a crown, if you please, sir.” “Now I’ll take your half a crown.” “Mr. Jorrocks, shall I trouble you for half a crown?” “Oh, surely,” said Jorrocks, pulling out a handful of great five-shilling pieces; “here’s for this gentleman and myself,” handing one of them over, “and I shan’t even ask you for discount for ready money.” The capping went round, and a goodly sum was collected. Meanwhile the deer-cart was drawn to the far side of a thick fence, and the door being opened, a lubberly-looking animal, as big as a donkey, blobbed out, and began feeding very composedly. “That won’t do,” said Jonathan Griffin, eyeing him— “ride on, Tom, and whip him away.” Off went the whip, followed by a score of sportsmen whose shouts, aided by the cracking of their whips, would have frightened the devil himself; and these worthies, knowing the hounds would catch them up in due time, resolved themselves into a hunt for the present, and pursued the animal themselves. Ten minutes having expired and the hounds seeming likely to break away, Jonathan thought it advisable to let them have their wicked will, and accordingly they rushed off in full cry to the spot where the deer had been uncarted. Of course, there was no trouble in casting for the scent; indeed they were very honest, and did not pretend to any mystery; the hounds knew within an inch where it would be, and the start was pretty much like that for a hunter’s plate in four-mile heats. A few dashing blades rode before the hounds at starting, but otherwise the field was tolerably quiet, and was considerably diminished after the three first leaps. The scent improved, as did the pace, and presently they got into a lane along which they rattled for five miles as hard as ever they could lay legs to the ground, throwing the mud into each other’s faces, until each man looked as if he was roughcast. A Kentish wagon, drawn by six oxen, taking up the whole of the lane, had obliged the dear animal to take to the fields again, where, at the first fence, most of our high-mettled racers stood still. In truth, it was rather a nasty place, a yawning ditch, with a mud bank and a rotten landing. “Now, who’s for it? Go it, Jorrocks, you’re a fox-hunter,” said one, who, erecting himself in his stirrups, was ogling the opposite side. “I don’t like it,�
�� said Jorrocks; “is never a gate near?” “Oh yes, at the bottom of the field,” and away they all tore for it. The hounds now had got out of sight, but were heard running in cover at the bottom of the turnip-field into which they had just passed, and also the clattering of horses’ hoofs on the highway. The hounds came out several times on to the road, evidently carrying the scent, but as often threw up and returned into the cover. The huntsman was puzzled at last; and quite convinced that the deer was not in the wood, he called them out, and proceeded to make a cast, followed by the majority of the field. They trotted about at a brisk pace, first to the right, then to the left, afterwards to the north, and then to the south, over grass, fallow, turnips, potatoes, and flints, through three farmyards, round two horse-ponds, and at the back of a small village or hamlet, without a note, save those of a few babblers. Everyone seemed to consider it a desperate job. They were all puzzled; at last they heard a terrible holloaing about a quarter of a mile to the south, and immediately after was espied a group of horsemen, galloping along the road at full speed, in the centre of which was Jorrocks; his green coat wide open, with the tails flying a long way behind that of his horse, his right leg was thrust out, down the side of which he kept applying his ponderous hunting whip, making a most terrible clatter. As they approached, he singled himself out from the group, and was the first to reach the field. He immediately burst out into one of his usual hunting energetic strains. “Oh Jonathan Griffin! Jonathan Griffin!” said he, “here’s a lamentable occurrence — a terrible disaster! Oh dear, oh dear — we shall never get to Tunbridge — that unfortunate deer has escaped us, and we shall never see nothing more of him — rely upon it, he’s killed before this.” “Why, how’s that?” inquired Griffin, evidently in a terrible perturbation. “Why,” said Jorrocks, slapping the whip down his leg again, “there’s a little girl tells me, that as she was getting water at the well just at the end of the wood, where we lost him, she saw what she took to be a donkey jump into a return post-chaise from the ‘Bell’, at Seven Oaks, that was passing along the road with the door swinging wide open! and you may rely upon it, it was the deer. The landlord of the ‘Bell’ will have cut his throat before this, for, you know, he vowed wengeance against us last year, because his wife’s pony-chaise was upset, and he swore that we did it.” “Oh, but that’s a bad job”, said the huntsman; “what shall we do?” “Here, Tom,” calling to the whipper-in, “jump on to the Hastings coach” (which just came up), “and try if you can’t overtake him, and bring him back, chaise and all, and I’ll follow slowly with the hounds.” Tom was soon up, the coach bowled on, and Jonathan and the hounds trotted gently forward till they came to a public-house. Here, as they stopped lamenting over their unhappy fate, and consoling themselves with some cold sherry negus, the post-chaise appeared in sight, with the deer’s head sticking out of the side window with all the dignity of a Lord Mayor. “Huzza! huzza! huzza!” exclaimed Jorrocks, taking off his hat, “here’s old Tunbridge come back again, huzza! huzza!” “But who’s to pay me for the po-chay,” said the driver, pulling up; “I must be paid before I let him out.” “How much?” says Jonathan. “Why, eighteen-pence a mile, to be sure, and three-pence a mile to the driver.” “No,” says Jorrocks, “that won’t do, yours is a return chay; however, here’s five shillings for you, and now, Jonathan, turn him out again — he’s quite fresh after his ride — and see, he’s got some straw in the bottom.”
Old Tunbridge was again turned out, with his head towards the town from whence he took his name, and after a quarter of an hour’s law, the pack was again laid on. He was not, however, in very good wind, and it was necessary to divide the second chase into two heats, for which purpose the hounds were whipped off about the middle, while the deer took a cold bath, after which he was again set a-going. By half-past three they had accomplished the run; and Mr. Pegg, of the “Sussex Arms,” having mounted his Pegasus, found them at the appointed place by the Medway, where old Tunbridge’s carriage was waiting, into which having handed him, they repaired to the inn, and at five o’clock eighteen of them sat down to a dinner consisting of every delicacy of the season, the Lord High Keeper in the chair. Being all “hungry as hunters,” little conversation passed until after the removal of the cloth, when after the King and his Majesty’s Ministers had been drunk, the President gave “The noble, manly sport of stag-hunting,” which he eulogised as the most legitimate and exhilarating of all sports, and sketched its progress from its wild state of infancy when the unhappy sportsmen had to range the fields and forests for their uncertain game, to the present state of luxurious ease and elaborate refinement, when they not only brought their deer to the meet, but by selecting the proper animal, could insure a finish at the place they most wished to dine at — all of which was most enthusiastically applauded; and on the speaker’s ending, “Stag-hunting,” and the “Surrey staghounds,” and “Long life to all stag-hunters,” were drank in brimming and overflowing bumpers. Fox-hunting, hare-hunting, rabbit-hunting, cat-hunting, rat-catching, badger-baiting — all wild, seasonable, and legitimate sports followed; and the chairman having run through his list, and thinking Jorrocks was getting rather mellow, resolved to try the soothing system on him for a subscription, the badgering of the morning not having answered. Accordingly, he called on the company to charge their glasses, as he would give them a bumper toast, which he knew they would have great pleasure in drinking.— “He wished to propose the health of his excellent friend on his right — MR. JORROCKS (applause), a gentleman whose name only required mentioning in any society of hunters to insure it a hearty and enthusiastic reception. He did not flatter his excellent friend when he said he was a man for the imitation of all, and he was sure that when the present company recollected the liberal support he gave to the Surrey foxhounds, together with the keenness with which he followed that branch of amusement, they would duly appreciate, not only the honour he had conferred upon them by his presence in the field that morning, and at the table that day, but the disinterested generosity which had prompted him voluntarily to declare his intention of contributing to the future support of the Surrey staghounds (immense cheers). He therefore thought the least they could do was to drink the health of Mr. Jorrocks, and success to the Surrey foxhounds, with three times three,” which was immediately responded to with deafening cheers.
Old Jorrocks, after the noise had subsided, got on his legs, and with one hand rattling the five-shilling pieces in his breeches-pocket, and the thumb of the other thrust into the arm-hole of his waistcoat, thus began to address them.— “Gentlemen,” said he, “I’m no orator, but I’m an honest man — (hiccup) — I feels werry (hiccup) much obliged to my excellent friend the Lord High Keeper (shouts of laughter), I begs his pardon — my friend Mr. Juggins — for the werry flattering compliment he has paid me in coupling my name (hiccup) with the Surrey fox’ounds — a pack, I may say, without wanity (hiccup), second to none. I’m a werry old member of the ‘unt, and when I was a werry poor man (hiccup) I always did my best to support them (hiccup), and now that I’m a werry rich man (cheers) I shan’t do no otherwise. About subscribing to the staggers, I doesn’t recollect saying nothing whatsomever about it (hiccup), but as I’m werry friendly to sporting in all its ramifications (hiccup), I’ll be werry happy to give ten pounds to your ‘ounds.” — Immense cheers followed this declaration, which lasted for some seconds. When they had subsided, Jorrocks put his finger on his nose and, with a knowing wink of his eye, added: “Prowided my friend the Lord High Keep — I begs his pardon — Juggins — will give ten pounds to ours!”
V. THE TURF: MR. JORROCKS AT NEWMARKET
“A MUFFIN — and the Post, sir,” said George to the Yorkshireman, — on one of the fine fresh mornings that gently usher in the returning spring, and draw from the town-pent cits sighs for the verdure of the fields, — as he placed the above mentioned articles on his usual breakfast table in the coffee-room of the “Piazza.”
With the calm deliberation of a man whose whole
day is unoccupied, the Yorkshireman sweetened his tea, drew the muffin and a select dish of prawns to his elbow, and turning sideways to the table, crossed his legs and prepared to con the contents of the paper. The first page as usual was full of advertisements. — Sales by auction — Favour of your vote and interest — If the next of kin — Reform your tailor’s bills — Law — Articled clerk — An absolute reversion — Pony phaeton — Artificial teeth — Messrs. Tattersall — Brace of pointers — Dog lost — Boy found — Great sacrifice — No advance in coffee — Matrimony — A single gentleman — Board and lodging in an airy situation — To omnibus proprietors — Steam to Leith and Hull — Stationery — Desirable investment for a small capital — The fire reviver or lighter.
Then turning it over, his eye ranged over a whole meadow of type, consisting of the previous night’s debate, followed on by City news, Police reports, Fashionable arrivals and departures, Dinners given, Sporting intelligence, Newmarket Craven meeting. “That’s more in my way,” said the Yorkshireman to himself as he laid down the paper and took a sip of his tea. “I’ve a great mind to go, for I may just as well be at Newmarket as here, having nothing particular to do in either place. I came to stay a hundred pounds in London it’s true, but if I stay ten of it at Newmarket, it’ll be all the same, and I can go home from there just as well as from here”; so saying, he took another turn at the tea. The race list was a tempting one, Riddlesworth, Craven Stakes, Column Stakes, Oatlands, Port, Claret, Sherry, Madeira, and all other sorts. A good week’s racing in fact, for the saintly sinners who frequent the Heath had not then discovered any greater impropriety in travelling on a Sunday, then in cheating each other on the Monday. The tea was good, as were the prawns and eggs, and George brought a second muffin, at the very moment that the Yorkshireman had finished the last piece of the first, so that by the time he had done his breakfast and drawn on his boots, which were dryer and pleasanter than the recent damp weather had allowed of their being, he felt completely at peace with himself and all the world, and putting on his hat, sallied forth with the self-satisfied air of a man who had eat a good breakfast, and yet not too much.
