CHAPTER XXXVIII
A DAY WITH PUFFINGTON'S HOUNDS
Day dawned cheerfully. If there was rather more sun than the strict rulesof Beckford prescribe, still sunshine is not a thing to quarrel with underany circumstances--certainly not for a gentleman to quarrel with who wantshis place seen to advantage on the occasion of a meet of hounds. Everythingat Hanby House was in apple-pie order. All the stray leaves that thecapricious wintry winds still kept raising from unknown quarters, andwhisking about the trim lawns, were hunted and caught, while a heavy rollerpassed over the Kensington gravel, pressing out the hoof and wheelmarks ofthe previous day. The servants were up betimes, preparing the house forthose that were in it, and a _dejeuner a la fourchette_ for chancecustomers, from without.
They were equally busy at the stable. Although Mr. Bragg did profess suchindifference for Mr. Sponge's opinion, he nevertheless thought it mightperhaps be as well to be condescending to the stranger. Accordingly, heordered his whips to be on the alert, to tie their ties and put on theirboots as they ought to be, and to hoist their caps becomingly on theappearance of our friend. Bragg, like a good many huntsmen, had a sort oftariff of politeness, that he indicated by the manner in which he salutedthe field. To a lord, he made a sweep of his cap like the dome of St.Paul's; a baronet came in for about half as much; a knight, to a quarter.Bragg had also a sort of City or monetary tariff of politeness--a tariffthat was oftener called in requisition than the 'Debrett' one, in Mr.Puffington's country. To a good 'tip' he vouchsafed as much cap as he gaveto a lord; to a middling 'tip' he gave a sort of move that might eitherpass for a touch of the cap or a more comfortable adjustment of it to hishead; a very small 'tip' had a forefinger to the peak; while he who gavenothing at all got a good stare or a good morning! or something of thatsort. A man watching the arrival of the field could see who gave the fives,who the fours, who the threes, who the twos, who the ones, and who were thegreat o's.
But to our day with Mr. Puffington's hounds.
Our over-night friends were not quite so brisk in the morning as theservants and parties outside. Puffington's 'mixture' told upon a good manyof them. Washball had a headache, so had Lumpleg; Crane was seedy; andCaptain Guano, sea-green. Soda-water was in great request.
There was a splendid breakfast, table and sideboard looking as if Fortnumand Mason or Morel had opened a branch establishment at Hanby House. Thoughthe staying guests could not do much for the good things set out, they werenot wasted, for the place was fairly taken by storm shortly before theadvertised hour of meeting; and what at one time looked like a mostextravagant supply, at another seemed likely to prove a deficiency. Eachman helped himself to whatever he fancied, without waiting for the ceremonyof an invitation, in the usual style of fox-hunting hospitality.
A few minutes before eleven, a 'gently, Rantaway,' accompanied by a slightcrack of a whip, drew the seedy and satisfied parties to the oriel window,to see Mr. Bragg pass along with his hounds. They were just glidingnoiselessly over the green sward, Mr. Bragg rising in his stirrups, asspruce as a game-cock, with his thoroughbred bay gambolling and pawing withdelight at the frolic of the hounds, some clustering around him, othersshooting forward a little, as if to show how obediently they would returnat his whistle. Mr. Bragg was known as the whistling huntsman, and was agreat man for telegraphing and signalizing with his arms, boasting that hecould make hounds so handy that they could do everything, except pay theturnpike-gates. At his appearance the men all began to shuffle to thepassage and entrance-hall, to look for their hats and whips; and presentlythere was a great outpouring of red coats upon the lawn, all straddling andwaddling of course. Then Mr. Bragg, seeing an audience, with a slightwhistle and wave of his right arm, wheeled his forces round, and trottedgaily towards where our guests had grouped themselves, within the lightiron railing that separated the smooth slope from the field. As he reinedin his horse, he gave his cap an aerial sweep, taking off perpendicularly,and finishing at his horse's ears--an example that was immediately followedby the whips, and also by Mr. Bragg's second horseman, Tom Stot.
'Good morning, Mister Bragg! Good morning, Mister Bragg!--Good morning,Mister Bragg!' burst from the assembled spectators: for Mr. Bragg was oneof those people that one occasionally meets whom everybody 'Misters.'Mister Bragg, rising in his stirrups with a gracious smile, passed a verypolite bow along the line.
'Here's a fine morning, Mr. Bragg,' observed Tom Washball, who thought itknowing to talk to servants.
'Y_as_, sir,' replied Bragg, 'y_as_,' with a slight inclination to cap;'_r-a-y_-ther more s_a_n, p'raps, than desirable,' continued he, raisinghis face towards the heavens; 'but still by no means a bad day, sir--no,sir--by no means a bad day, sir.'
'Hounds looking well,' observed Charley Slapp between the whiffs of acigar.
'Y_as_, sir,' said Bragg, 'y_as_,' looking around them with aself-satisfied smile; adding, 'so they ought, sir--so they ought; if _I_can't bring a pack out as they should be, don't know who can.'
'Why, here's our old Rummager, I declare!' exclaimed Spraggon, who, havingvaulted the iron hurdles, was now among the pack. 'Why, here's our oldRummager, I declare!' repeated he, laying his whip on the head of asolemn-looking black and white hound, somewhat down in the toes, andlooking as if he was about done.
'Sc-e-e-use me, sir,' replied Bragg, leaning over his horse's shoulder, andwhispering into Jack's ear; 'sc-e-e-use me, sir, but _drop_ that, sir, ifyou please, sir.'
'Drop what?' asked Jack, squinting through his great tortoiseshell-rimmedspectacles up into Bragg's face.
''Bout knowing of that 'ound, sir,' whispered Bragg; 'the fact is, sir--wecall him Merryman, sir; master don't know I got him from you, sir.'
'O-o-o,' replied Jack, squinting, if possible, more frightfully thanbefore.
'Ah, that's the hound I offered to Scamperdale,' observed Puffington,seeing the movement, and coming up to where Jack stood; 'that's the hound Ioffered to Scamperdale,' repeated he, taking the old dog's head between hishands. 'There's no better hound in the world than this,' continued he,patting and smoothing him; 'and no better _bred_ hound either,' added he,rubbing the dog's sides with his whip.
'How is he bred?' asked Jack, who knew the hound's pedigree better than hedid his own.
'Why, I got him from Reynard--no, I mean from Downeybird--the Duke, youknow; but he was bred by Fitzwilliam--by his Singwell out of Darling.Singwell was by the Rutland Rallywood out of Tavistock Rhapsody; but tomake a long story short, he's lineally descended from the BeaufortJustice.'
'Indeed!' exclaimed Jack hardly able to contain himself; 'that's undeniableblood.'
'Well, I'm glad to hear you say so,' replied Puffington. 'I'm glad to hearyou say so, for you understand these things--no man better; and I confessI've a warm side to that Beaufort Justice blood.'
'Don't wonder at it,' replied Jack, laughing his waistcoat strings off.
'The great Mr. Warde,' continued Mr. Puffington, 'who was justly partial tohis own sort, had never any objection to breeding from the BeaufortJustice.'
'No, nor nobody else that knew what he was about,' replied Jack, turningaway to conceal his laughter.
'We should be moving, I think, sir,' observed Bragg, anxious to put an endto the conversation; 'we should be moving, I think, sir,' repeated he,with a rap of his forefinger against his cap peak. 'It's past eleven,'added he, looking at his gold watch, and shutting it against his cheek.
'What do you draw first?' asked Jack.
'Draw--draw--draw,' replied Puffington. 'Oh, we'll draw RabbitboroughGorse--that's a new cover I've inclosed on my pro-o-r-perty.'
'Sc-e-e-use me, sir,' replied Bragg, with a smile, and another rap of thecap: 'sc-e-e-use me, sir, but I'm going to Hollyburn Hanger first.'
'Ah, well, Hollyburn Hanger,' replied Puffington, complacently; 'eitherwill do very well.'
If Puff had proposed Hollyburn Hanger, Bragg would have said RabbitboroughGorse.
The move of the hounds caused a rush of gentlemen to their ho
rses, andthere was the usual scramblings up, and fidgetings, and funkings, andwho-o-hayings and drawing of girths, and taking up of curbs, andlengthening and shortening of stirrups.
Captain Guano couldn't get his stirrups to his liking anyhow. ''Ord hangthese leathers,' roared he, clutching up a stirrup-iron; 'who the devilwould ever have sent one out a-huntin' with a pair of newstirrup-leathers?'
'Hang you and the stirrup leathers,' growled the groom, as his master rodeaway; 'you're always wantin' sumfin to find fault with. I'm blowed if itarn't a disgrace to an oss to carry such a man,' added he, eyeing thechestnut fidgeting and wincing as the captain worked away at the stirrups.
Mr. Bragg trotted briskly on with the hounds, preceded by Joe Banks thefirst whip, and having Jack Swipes the second, and Tom Stot, ridingtogether behind him, to keep off the crowd.
Thus the cavalcade swept down the avenue, crossed the Swillingfordturnpike, and took through a well-kept field road, which speedily broughtthem to the cover--rough, broomy, brushwood-covered banks, of about threeacres in extent, lying on either side of the little Hollyburn Brook, one ofthe tiny streams that in angry times helped to swell the Swill into ariver.
'Dim all these foot people!' exclaimed Mr. Bragg, in well-feigned disgust,as he came in view, and found all the Swillingford snobs, all the tinkersand tailors, and cobblers and poachers, and sheep-stealers, all thescowling, rotten-fustianed, baggy-pocketed scamps of the country rangedround the cover, some with dogs, some with guns, some with snares, and allwith sticks or staffs. 'Well, I'm dimmed if ever I seed sich a--' The restof the speech being lost amidst the exclamations of: 'Ah! the hunds! thehunds! hoop! tally-o the hunds!' and a general rush of the ruffians to meetthem.
CAPTAIN GUANO CAN'T GET HIS STIRRUPS THE RIGHT LENGTH]
Captain Guano, who had now come up, joined in the denunciation, inwardlycongratulating himself on the probability that the first cover, at least,would be drawn blank. Tom Washball, who was riding a very troublesometail-foremost grey, also censured the proceeding.
And Mr. Puffington, still an 'am_aa_izin' instance of a pop'lar man,'exclaimed, as he rode among them, 'Ah! my good fellows, I'd rather you'dcome up and had some ale than disturbed the cover'; a hint that the wilyones immediately took, rushing up to the house, and availing themselves ofthe absence of the butler, who had followed the hounds, to take a couple ofdozen of his best fiddle-handled forks while the footman was drawing themthe ale.
The whips being duly signalled by Bragg to their points--Brick to the northcorner, Swipes to the south--and the field being at length drawn up to hisliking, Mr. Bragg looked at Mr. Puffington for his signal (the only pieceof interference he allowed him); at a nod Mr. Bragg gave a wave of his cap,and the pack dashed into cover with a cry.
'Yo-o-icks--wind him! Yo-o-icks--pash him up!' cheered Bragg, standingerect in his stirrups, eyeing the hounds spreading and sniffing about, nowthis way, now that--now pushing through a thicket, now threading andsmelling along a meuse. 'Yo-o-icks--wind him! Yo-o-icks--pash him up!'repeated he, cracking his whip, and moving slowly on. He then varied theentertainment by whistling, in a sharp, shrill key, something like thechirp of a sparrow-hawk.
Thus the hounds rummaged and scrimmaged for some minutes.
'No fox here,' observed Captain Guano, bringing his horse alongside of Mr.Bragg's.
'Not so sure o' _that_,' replied Mr. Bragg, with a sneer, for he had agreat contempt for the captain. 'Not so sure o' that,' replied he, eyeingThunderer and Galloper feathering up the brook.
'Hang these stirrups!' exclaimed the captain, again attempting to adjustthem; adding, 'I declare I have no seat whatever in this saddle.'
'Nor in any other,' muttered Bragg. 'Yo-icks, Galloper! Yo-icks, Thunderer!Ge-e-ntly, Warrior!' continued he, cracking his whip, as Warrior pounced ata bunny.
The hounds were evidently on a scent, hardly strong enough to own, butsufficiently indicated by their feathering, and the rush of their comradesto the spot.
'A fox for a thousand!' exclaimed Mr. Bragg, eyeing them, and looking athis watch.
'Oh, d--mn me! I've got one stirrup longer than another now!' roaredCaptain Guano, trying the fresh adjustment. 'I've got one stirrup longerthan another!' added he in a terrible pucker.
A low snatch of a whimper now proceeded from Galloper, and Bragg cheeredhim to the echo. In another second a great banging brown fox burst fromamong the broom, and dashed down the little dean. What noises, whatexclamations rent the air! 'Talli-ho! talliho! talliho!' screamed a host ofvoices, in every variety of intonation, from the half-frantic yell of aparty seeing him, down to the shout of a mere partaker of the epidemic.Shouting is very contagious. The horsemen gathered up their reins, presseddown their hats, and threw away their cigar-ends.
''Ord hang it!' roared Captain Guano, still fumbling at the leathers, 'Ishall never be able to ride with stirrups in this state.'
'Hang your stirrups!' exclaimed Charley Slapp, shooting past him; adding,'It was your _saddle_ last time.'
Bragg's queer tootle of his horn, for he was full of strange blows, nowsounded at the low end of the cover; and, having a pet line of gaps andother conveniences that he knew how to turn to on the minute, he soon shotso far ahead as to give him the appearance (to the slow 'uns) of havingflown. Brick and Swipes quickly had all the hounds after him, and Stot,dropping his elbows, made for the road, to ride the second horse gently onthe line. The field, as usual, divided into two parts, the soft riders andthe hard ones--the soft riders going by the fields, the hard riders by theroad. Messrs. Spraggon, Sponge, Slapp, Quilter, Rasper, Crasher, Smasher,and some half-dozen more, bustled after Bragg; while the worthy master Mr.Puffington, Lumpleg, Washball, Crane, Guano, Shirker, and very many others,came pounding along the lane. There was a good scent, and the hounds shotacross the Fleecyhaughwater Meadows, over the hill, to the village ofBerrington Roothings, where, the fox having been chased by a cur, thehounds were brought to a check on some very bad scenting-ground, on thecommon, a little to the left of the village, at the end of a quarter of anhour or so. The road having been handy, the hard riders were there almostas soon as the soft ones; and there being no impediments on the common,they all pushed boldly on among the now stooping hounds.
'Hold hard, gentlemen!' exclaimed Mr. Bragg, rising in his stirrups andtelegraphing with his right arm. 'Hold hard!--pray do!' added he, withlittle better success. 'Dim it, gen'lemen, hold hard!' added he, as theystill pressed upon the pack. 'Have a little regard for a huntsman'sraputation,' continued he. 'Remember that it rises and falls with the sporthe shows'--exhortations that seemed to be pretty well lost upon the field,who began comparing notes as to their respective achievements, enlargingthe leaps and magnifying the distance into double what they had been.Puffington and some of the fat ones sat gasping and mopping their brows.
Seeing there was not much chance of the hounds hitting off the scent bythemselves, Mr. Bragg began telegraphing with his arm to the whippers-in,much in the manner of the captain of a Thames steamer to the lad at theengine, and forthwith they drove the pack on for our swell huntsman to makehis cast. As good luck would have it, Bragg crossed the line of the foxbefore he had got half-through his circle, and away the hounds dashed, at apace and with a cry that looked very like killing. Mr. Bragg was inecstasies, and rode in a manner very contrary to his wont. All again waslife, energy, and action; and even some who hoped there was an end of thething, and that they might go home and say, as usual, 'that they had had avery good run, but not killed,' were induced to proceed.
Away they all went as before.
At the end of eighteen minutes more the hounds ran into their fox in thelittle green valley below Mountnessing Wood, and Mr. Bragg had himstretched on the green with the pack baying about him, and the horses ofthe field-riders getting led about by the country people, while the ridersstood glorying in the splendour of the thing. All had a direct interest inmaking it out as good as possible, and Mr. Bragg was quite ready toappropriate as much praise as ever they liked to giv
e.
''Ord dim him,' said he, turning up the fox's grim head with his foot, 'butMr. Bragg's an awkward customer for gen'lemen of your description.'
'You hunted him well!' exclaimed Charley Slapp, who was trumpeter generalof the establishment.
'Oh, sir,' replied Bragg, with a smirk and a condescending bow, 'if RichardBragg can't kill foxes, I don't know who can.'
Just then 'Puffington and Co.' hove in sight up the valley, their facesbeaming with delight as the tableau before them told the tale. Theyhastened to the spot.
'How many brace is that?' asked Puffington, with the most matter-of-courseair, as he trotted up, and reined in his horse outside the circle.
'Seventeen brace, your grace, I mean to say my lord, that's to say _sur_,'replied Bragg, with a strong emphasis on the _sur_, as if to say, 'I'm notused to you snobs of commoners.'
'Seventeen brace!' sneered Jack Spraggon to Sponge, adding, in a whisper,'More like _seven_ foxes.'
'And how many run to ground?' asked Puffington, alighting.
'Four brace,' replied Bragg, stooping to cut off the brush.
We were wrong in saying that Bragg only allowed Puff the privilege ofnodding his head to say when he might throw off. He let him lead the 'liegallop' in the kill department.
Mr. Puffington then presented Mr. Sponge with the brush, and the usualsolemnities being observed, the sherry flasks were produced and drained,the biscuits munched, and, amidst the smoke of cigars, the ring broke up ingreat good-will.
Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Page 38
