Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “A Yorkshire frind o’ mine went to a union ‘unt, where men from three countries attended. — The field was frightful! Three ‘underd and fifty ‘ossmen, all determined to ride, and as jealous as cats. Now my frind being a true-born Briton, and not to be made to ride over nothin’ on compulsion, started away in quite a different line to wot the fox broke, followed by an ‘underd ‘ossmen, or more. The ‘arder he went, the ‘arder they rode, and fearin’ he might fall, and be flummox’d, he made for a windmill on a neighbouring ‘ill, and stuck his ‘oss’s tail to the sails.

  “Up came his followers, puffin’ and blowin’ like so many grampuses. ‘Vich vay? vich vay? vich vay are th’ ‘ounds gone?’ gasped they.

  “‘‘Ounds!’ exclaimed my frind: ‘I’ve been ridin’ away from you all the time; ‘ounds be gone t’other way?’” (“Haw, haw, haw!” a laugh in which the whole room joined, till the mirth got up into a roar, which Mr. Jorrocks availed himself of to pay his respects to a stiff tumbler of brandy and water that now began to send forth its fragrance from the table at the rear of the platform).

  Smacking his lips, he thus resumed —

  “So much for the force of example, gen’lemen; — had my frind been in black, the crowd wouldn’t have come. Still the colour’s good, and it ar’n’t the use, but the abuse, that I complains on. For my part I likes a good roomy red rag, that one can jump in and out of with ease. These fine tight things,” continued he, taking hold of his sky-blue coat, lined with pink silk, and looking at his canary-coloured shorts, “are all well enough for dancin’ in, but for real scrimmagin’ out-door work, there’s nothin’ like room and flannel; — good long-backed coats, with the waistcoat made equally warm all round, and the back to come down in a flap, and plenty of good well-lined laps to wrap over one’s thighs when it rains.” — Mr. Jorrocks suiting the action to the word, and describing the cut of each article as he went on. “Berlin gloves are capital for ‘unting in,” continued he; “they keep your ‘ands warm, and do to rub your nose upon in cold weather.

  “Youngsters should be cautious o’ spurs; — they may use them wot is called incontinently, and get into grief. I disagree with Geoffry Gambado, who recommends the free use of them, as tendin’ to keep the blood in circulation, and preventin’ one’s toes catchin’ cold. He recommends spurrin’ i’ the shoulder, where he says an ‘oss has most feelin’, because he has most weins; adding, that by spurrin’ at his body, five times in six your labour is lost; for if you are a short man, you spur the saddle-cloth only; if a leggy one, you never touch him at all; and if middlin’, the rider wears out his own girths, without the ‘oss being a bit the better for it; but my own opinion is, that the less ingenuous youth uses them the better.

  “A slight knowledge o’ farmin’ promotes the true enjoyment of the chase. What so ‘umiliatin’ as to see a big farmer bullyin’ a little man in leather and scarlet for ridin’ over his seeds, when the innocent is ignorant of havin’ done nothin’ o’ the sort. Seeds, my beloved ‘earers, are what grow into clover, or new-land hay; they come hup arter the corn-crop, and when that is reaped, if an inquiring sportsman will examine the ground, he will see little green herbs, like crow’s feet, shootin’ hup ‘mong the stubble, which rear themselves into stalks with expandin’ leaves; and those glorious pink and white balls, called clover, wot smell so fragrantly as one loiters pensively along the shady dusty lanes.

  “Now, if the iron-shod ‘unter careers over these young and tender plants, leavin’ his copyright behind him, and it comes wet shortly arter, the standin’ water perishes the plants, and leaves the farmer to water his bed with tears and lamentation. Oh, miserable bunch-clod!

  “So it is with wheat. If you see a field nicely laid away, the surface all smooth, and the furrows all open, you may conclude that is wheat, even though the tender green blades — the promissory notes of life’s comin’ year, are not yet apparent. Some labour ‘ard to make themselves believe that it increases the crop to ride over it, and many a hargument I’ve held with farmers in favour of that position myself, but no man, who treats himself to a little undisguised truth, can make himself believe so, unless, indeed, he is satisfied that a drove of hoxen would improve the prospects of a flower-garden by passin’ a night in frolicsome diwersion. The wheat-field is the farmer’s flower-garden! — It is to it that he looks for the means of payin’ his rent, and giving his hamiable wife and accomplished darters a new piannet, and a scarlet welwet bonnet a-piece, with a black feather drooping over the left hear (Mr. Jorrocks looking slyly at Mrs. J. as he said this); and young and heedless men, if even they have no compassion on the old cock-farmer, should think what distress they will cause to the hens if they lose their scarlet welwet bonnets with the appurtenances. Some wags say that wheat is called ‘ard corn, because it stands a wast of ridin’ over; but I maintains that it no more means that, than that ‘ard-money currency means ‘money’ ard to get at,’ — or that an ‘ard rider means a man wot will trot down ‘Olborn ‘ill on a frosty mornin’. Let every feelin’ man, then, consider, when he is about to ride over wheat, that he is about to trample under foot scarlet welwet bonnets, and with them the farmer’s darters’ best and tenderest ‘opes.

  “And here let me observe, that I cannot help thinkin’ that that celebrated man, Gambado, has been the unconscious means of many a field of wheat being trampled down. When such great men talk lightly on a subject, little minds catch the infection, and far outstrip the author’s most sanguinary conceptions.

  “Speaking in laudatory terms of the merits of the dray ‘oss — merits that no one will deny — Gambado talks of the figure they are calculated to made on the road or in the field. ‘Scarce any of them,’ says he, ‘but is master of thiry stone and hupwards!’ (Roars of laughter.) ‘What a sublime scene would it be,’ continues he, ‘to see fourscore or a ‘underd of these hanimals on the full stretch over a piece of wheat, to catch sight of an ‘ound!’ (Roars of laughter.)

  “Gentlemen,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, looking very irate, “I’m sorry for your mirth — (hisses and laughter) — shocked at your immorality, in fact! — Dash my vig if I arn’t!” (Renewed laughter and cheers.)

  “Such undecent mirth would disgrace a Cockney! A Cockney looks upon a farmer as an inferior crittur! — a sort of domestic conwict, transported far beyond the bills o’ mortality, and condemned to wander in ‘eavy ‘ob-nailed shoes amid eternal hacres o’ dirt and dandylions. I ‘opes such is not your opinion. — (Loud cries of “No, no,” and cheers.) I’m glad sich wickedness finds no response here.” Mr. Jorrocks again retired, and recomposed himself with another draught of brandy and water.

  “Now,” said he, licking his lips, as he returned to the front of the platform; “let ingenuous youth suppose himself at the meet, and that he has been presented to the M.F.H., to whom the greatest respect and reverence should always be paid, for there’s no man to compare to him i’ point o’ greatness. The meet is the place for lettin’ off the fulminatin’ balls of wit; but unless young green’orn be a tolerably jawbacious sort of chap, he had better be a listener at first. There are a few stock jokes that do for any country, the ready appliance of which stamps the user as a wag or a sportsman among those who don’t know no better. ‘Dear sir,’ says one man to another, ridin’ a wite-faced ‘oss, ‘I fears your nag is werry bad!’

  “‘Ow so?’ inquires t’other, all alarm.

  “‘Vy, he’s all vite in the face!’ (“Haw! haw! haw!”)

  “‘Yours is an expensive nag, I see,’ observes a second.”

  “‘Not more than other people’s,’ is the answer.”

  “‘Yes, he is; for I see he wears boots as well as shoes,’ pointing to speedy-cut boots.”

  “‘‘Ave I lost a shoe in coming?’ inquires a gentleman, who with a late start has come in a hurry.”

  “‘They’re not all on before!’ exclaims half-a-dozen woices, ready with the joke.”

  “‘Does you’re mother know you are out?’ is a familiar inquir
y that may be safely hazarded to a bumptious boy in a jacket. ‘More dirt the less hurt!’ is a pleasant piece o’ consolation for a friend with a mud mask; and ‘One at a time, and it will last the longer!’ is a knowin’ exclamation to make to a hundred and fifty friends waiting for their turns at an ‘unting-wicket. ‘Over you go; the longer you look the less you’ll like it!’ may be ‘ollo’d to a friend lookin’ long at a fence. ‘Hurry no man’s cattle! you may keep a donkey yourself some day!’ is the answer to the last. When you see a lawyer floored, sing out, ‘There’s an ‘oss a layin’ down the law!’ If a chap axes if your nag will jump timber, say, ‘He’ll leap over your ‘cad.’ These, and sich as these, are your tickets for soup, as the cook said when she basted the scullion with the hox-tail! (Loud laughter.)”

  “Flattery is easier accomplished than wit, and the meet is a place where butter, with a little knowledge, will go a long way. All masters of ‘ounds like praise. Some are so fond on it, that they butter themselves. If you see ‘ounds’ ribs, and their loins are well filled and flanks hollow, you may say they look like their work; if they’re fat, say they are werry even in condition; if lean, that they look like goin’ a bust; if jest noways in ‘ticklar, you can’t get wrong if you say, you never saw a nicer lot. If you see some with clips on the hears, or along the backs, you may conclude they are new comers, and ax where they are from. Rich coloured ‘ounds you may liken to the Belvoir, and then you can talk of Goodhall and Guider, or of the Quorn Trueman, or even go back as far as Furrier and Hosbaldeston; and swear you never saw sich legs and feet; in short, let legs and feet, or legs and loins, be the burthen o’ your song. Beware of callin’ ‘ounds dogs, or sterns tails. Sich a slip would make the M.F.H. turn tail on you directly.

  “It looks werry knowin’ to take a bit o’ biscuit out of your pocket, as you are lookin’ over the ‘ounds, and make them rise on their hind legs to receive it, while you scrutinise them werry attentively. This is a most scientific proceedin’ and will immediately stamp you as a werry knowin’ ‘and, if not for an M.F.H. himself. Still let your talk be of legs and loins, with an occasional mention of helbows and shoulders. Perfection! symmetry! ‘andsome! level! bone! breedin’! conditon! Lord Enry! Sir Richard, Sir Tatton, Mr. Jorrocks, — are terms that may be thrown in at random, jest as the butter seems to go down. If, however, ingenuous youth’s afraid o’ bein’ tempted out of his depth, it’s a safe wentur to look werry approvinly at the pack generally, and then say that ‘they’re larger nor some he has seen, and not so large as others.’ (Laughter.) In sayin’ this, it may p’raps be well jest to feel his ‘oss with the spur, so as to make him wince, which will give him an excuse for withdrawin’ on the score o’being afear’d o’ kickin’ the ‘ounds, and save him from bein’ axed to name the larger or smaller packs he’s seen, which might be inconwenient.”

  “‘Untsmen are either ‘eaven-born or hidiots — there’s no medium. Every schoolboy can criticise their performance. It’s ‘stonishin’ how quickly ‘untsmen are run up and down, jest like the funds, with the bulls and the bears. As no M.F.H. keeps what he considers a fool, it may be well to commence in the soapy line; for even though a master may abuse a servant himself, he may not fancy his field doing so too.

  “At the meet, every man’s time is accordin’ to his own conwenience. Should he have been too early, the ‘ounds have come late; and should he be late, the ‘ounds were there afore their time. The last man always says that there’s no one else comin’, as in course he does not see the wit of waitin’ after he arrives.

  “Among the many followers of the chase, there be some men wot start with wot seems like a good mould-candle passion for the chase, but, somehow or other, after a few seasons, it simmers down to little better nor a fardin’ rushlight. After the first brush of the thing is over, they begin to economise their ‘osses in November, that they may have them fresh about Christmas; or they don’t work them much in February, as they wish to save a couple to take to town in the spring; or tool their missesses about in the Booby Hutch. Ven I hear chaps talk this way, I always reckon upon seein’ their coats nailin’ the happle-trees up afore long.

  “Some are much greater ‘oss coddles than others. When Tat wrote to Ferguson to know vot he wanted for ‘Arkaway, and whether the ‘oss was in work, Ferguson replied, ‘The price of ‘Arkaway is six thousand guineas, and I’unts him twice and thrice a-week!’ (roars of laughter.)”

  “Some men keep servants to be their masters.

  “‘I shall ride the roan, to-morrow, Jones,’ says a gen’lman to his grum.

  “‘Can’t, sir; just given him a dose o’ physic.’

  “‘Well, then, the black. He’s not been out since yesterday week.’

  “‘His turn’s not till Toosday.’

  “‘Oh, never mind! Just let me have a look at him.’

  “‘Can’t. Stable’s done up — not to be hopen till four; so mizzle, master.’

  “In course these chaps have ‘igh wages,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “or they could’nt ‘ave such himperence. They are the bouys wot won’t let their masters buy osses o’ men o’ my woracity and judgment, unless they ‘ave their ‘reglers,’ five per cent. on the price, or as much more as they can get. A man wot would be master of his stable, must never consult his grum about a quad. Consult ’im forsooth!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks. “Why, there is not one grum i’ fifty that knows when an ‘oss he has the care on is lame. They’ll go slouchin’ to cover on ‘osses that their masters pronounce lame the moment they mount. A man with a strong bouy and a hash-plant is generally master of his stud; a master with a bouy and no hash-plant is like a fiddle without a stick.”

  “More ‘osses are ruined from want o’ work than from the excess on’t. Take a season through, and ’ow werry few days there are on which there is really any thing for gen’lmen’s ‘osses to do; though, to be sure, such days generally come in a heap; yet, as no one can say how long a run o’ luck will last, my adwice is, to keep goin’ as long as ever you can. A man can get but six days a-week if he labours ever so, and there are werry few wot would not rayther have four, or maybe two. The flash o’ ridin’ long distances to meet one pack of ‘ounds, when another’s at ‘and, arises from the pleasure of sportin’ a red coat through a longer line o’ country, and vinkin’ at the gals on the road, or from a desire to be talked of as havin’ done so, and as being werry keen ‘ands. I generally find them werry great fools!

  “There is another way that would-be sportsmen have of showin’ their keenness. Durin’ a storm it is not unusual for the M.F.H. to advertise that th’ ‘ounds will meet at the kennel the first day the weather permits. Well, as soon as ever the eves begin to drop, the would-bes put on their red coats and go to the kennel, continuin’ the process day after day until the thaw really arrives; they throw up, and swear they von’t ‘unt with him any more.

  “‘Not hung yourself yet, Gilhespie?’ suitin’ the haction to the word by feelin’ your neck and cockin’ your thumb under your hear, is a fine sportin’ interrogatory to put to a frind in the street durin’ a frost. All these mendacious means let ingenuous youth despise. It’s one thin’ to cover your hignorance and another to help you to imperance. I does the former only.”

  “And now,” continued the worthy lecturer, casting his eyes up to his canopied curtain, as he jingled the silver in his canary-coloured shorts, “And now, if I had a few words ‘bout cost, ‘bout old £ s. d,, I think I’d be ready for a start. The cost of ‘unting, my beloved ‘earers, like all other things, depends a’most entirely on ’ow you go about it. The only really indispensable outlay is the subscription to the ‘ounds, which ought always to be paid punctual in adwance, jest like you ‘ave to pay the stakes at a race. Whoever wants, the M.F.H. should be paid. Prudence and ‘conomy are all right and proper in everything ‘cept ‘unting. For ‘unting there must be a liberal outlay, and no grumblin’. Mus’nt do like dirty Harry Tight who, when Fleecy axed wot he would subscribe to my ‘ounds, exclaimed, ‘Sub
scribe! I wouldn’t insult Mr. Jorrocks by offerin’ of him money!” (Laughter and hisses.) “Insult,” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, looking very irate, “jest as if I was a likely man to be insulted with the hoffer of money. Much more likely to insult ’im for not offerin it.” (Laughter and applause.)”

  “Well, then, the requirements o’ the master bein’ satisfied,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, buttoning up and slapping his breeches’-pocket, “let ingenuous youth turn his ‘tention to the stable. It’s no use givin’ a publican and sinner a guinea or five-and-twenty shillings a week for keepin’ your quadrupeds, when you can rent a stable and keep them yourself for ten or twelve shillin’. There’s not even the benefit of any flash i’ the thing, which is wot moves many men to the ‘orrors o’ the chase. Still less use is it wastin’ your substance on old Bonnyface’s ‘ouse, with his sixpenny breakfasts for ‘alf-a-crown, and dinners i’ like proportion, when you can get a comfey rumph lodgin’ and find yourself for ‘alf or a third o’ the money. There are no people want puttin’ to rights so much as the innkeepers. Kiver ‘acks are all gammon for men wi’ short studs. An ‘ack can do nothin’ but ‘ack, while he will cost as much as a third ‘oss wot will both ‘ack and ‘unt. Let ingenuous youth then learn to dispense with the useless appendage. I often think,” continued Mr. Jorrocks musingly, “that it would be a capital thing to pass ingenuous youth generally through a sort of Chobham camp to learn ’em wot they can really do without.”

  “Ingenuous youth, ‘aving now got all the implements o’ the chase scraped together, and the early rains of dear delightful November — the best and plisantest month i’ the year— ‘avin well salivated the ground, forthwith let ’im put all my precepts in practice, istead o’ sneakin’ off to Boulogne or Paris for the winter, arter talkin’ ‘bout the delights of ‘unting all the summer.