Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  SONG.

  This morn while in bed I was lying,

  I thought on the pleasures of life

  And amused myself vastly by trying

  To hargue the point with my wife.

  She thought ’twas enchanting to ride

  On a donkey which warn’t werry wicious,

  Tho’ the trot gave a stitch in the side

  The canter was truly delicious!

  “Delicious!” says I, “Mrs S.,

  Provided you’re not in no haste,

  But then — but there’s nevertheless

  No accounting, we all know, for taste.”

  “Some sails in their yachts on the sea, Some passes their time in a punt, But of all the enjoyments to me There’s none like a jolly good hunt!

  There’s NONE like a JOLLY GOOD HUNT!”

  Here Benjamin enters with four coloured foxes’ heads made of china, for drinking cups, each cup holding about half a pint, and which the guest must either drink or hold in his hand, for they only stand when turned down. Each man takes one, and the horse-pail being moved into the centre of the group, Jorrocks deals out the punch in a wooden boat which floats on the liquor. This species of drinking being-rather calculated to upset the strongest head, after Green’s health and a few other bumpers had been disposed of, Jorrocks became very loquacious. After telling some wonderful stories about hunting, “Those hats,” said he, “that you see on the sideboard are all trophies of sporting prowess. That on the right of the lamp with the biggest of the fox-brushes in it was won in a most miraculous manner. I was driving to Croydon — (No, no, Mr Jorrocks! You told that story at your dinner party in the Jaunts and Jollities. Go on to the next hat. E. D. C.)

  “See wot a contrast there is between the hat I won off Timothy Truman and this nasty dog-hair thing (taking a hat from behind the lamp) that Nodding Homer paid me with for the bet I had with him that he was choked off writing any more in the Old Magazine! Why, it really is not worth five shillings, and all the brushing in the world will never bring it into condition — a hollow-coated, staring thing! Indeed, I’ve some thoughts of having it shaved for next summer’s wear. It’s a hat to be sure, and being won in a bet, I should not like to draft it, but it cuts a werry sorry figure beside my others. Now there’s a tile, see!” said he, balancing a white one with green rims on his finger-tip:— “This I won too by an almost supernatural exertion, and a most prodigious display of nerve and physical force — but fill up your foxes’ heads again, and I’ll tell you all about it. You are the right sort of fellows, and I don’t often get such good listeners. Mr Hackermann, you’ve spilt some punch over your trousers. Mr Spiers, help yourself — brim him! That’s right! Now, Green. Here’s — fox-hunting — huzza! huzza! huzza! Whoop! Talli-ho! Talli-ho! Hark forward! Hard forward! Away! Away! Well, as I was saying, posterity won’t credit how I won that hat. I was riding one day, just for the sake of an airing—”

  Here, a little bit of something thrown from the street against the window and a slight ‘hem’ rather threw him out — he paused; but Green handing him the thread of his discourse, he resumed—” I was riding, you see, just for pleasure, up by Hampstead to Jack Straw’s Castle and so on—” Here another salute against the window and a significant cough again diverted his attention. “Excuse me one moment, gentlemen,” said he; and getting up he left the room.

  A colloquy at the open street door between him and a female ensued, in which “Well, but, my leetle dear — you should not have come now — I’ve got some friends in the parlour,” was overheard; and just as Green, who is always doing the polite, was proposing the health of their “worthy, excellent, sporting, spirited host,” the apparent calm suddenly changed to a tremendous storm, and a voice frantic with rage was heard.

  “Oh, you old willain — you waggahone! I’ve caught you at last — you old brute! I’ll have a DIWORCE! I will! — I will!” and Mrs Jorrocks, brandishing a large stick, followed her husband into the parlour, screaming and striking at him and all that came in her way like a perfect fury.

  Over went the horse-pail and the punch, down went the epergne, wax candles, and hats — the foxes’ heads flew in all directions, and in the general rush and scramble to get away Mr Spiers, on reaching home, was shocked to find that he had run away with Nodding Homer’s dog-hair hat, instead of his own genuine Jupp.

  III. A HUNTING BREAKFAST.

  “COME, SHAKE HANDS — shake hands and be friends!” cried old Jorrocks a week or two back, bursting into our sanctum sanctorum without waiting for the ceremony of announcement, and holding his great mutton fist out for us to take hold of. “Come, shake hands, do,” said he, seeing our astonishment at his conduct after the saucy letter he wrote us on the subject of his intended magazine. “I really have known no joy since the unfortunate hour I penned that ere unlucky epistle; but I’ve come to my senses, and I find it’s much easier to talk about starting a magazine than to start, most especially with such incomprehensible talent as is engaged in yours; and I’ve come to make it up with you; and to show I’m not affronted I’ve come to ask you to breakfast with me to-morrow at halfpast seven by St Paul’s and to take a day with the Surrey, who are as handy as ladies’-maids — not above four miles from Croydon, and all over turf, and all that sort of thing.”

  “Why, but Mr Jorrocks,” said we, somewhat astonished and drawing back from his proffered salute, “this is a sudden change, indeed; and you really must excuse our saying that we don’t know whether we are addressing a friend or a foe; you abuse us like pickpockets one day and then come to make friends the next.”

  “Werry true, werry true,” said Jorrocks, still holding out his paw;— “but then I was aggriwated, and I thought as how you had been treating me with neglect, and you know we hauthors don’t like to be slighted; but really never, no never was I so un-appy as since penning that ere unfortunate epistle; and the jokes that used to be cut upon me at the free and easy club at the Magpie and Stump when my articles did not appear in your excellent work are nothing to what I have endured since I started my hopposition. But it was all hambition that tempted me, Mr Editor, not cupidity; I’m not the man to skin a flea for the sake of the hide and tallow. I did not care for the coin, Mr Editor, indeed I didn’t; it was all hambition — so now make friends; and, talking of hambition, I’ve got one of the finest ‘ams you ever clapt eyes on in the whole of your memorable existence. Saw the hog alive — sixteen score within a pound; must come — know you like a fork breakfast — dejeune à la fanchette, as we say in France, eh? Like my Lord Mayor’s fool, I guess, love what’s good. Well, all right, do come, that’s a good fellow — no ceremony, you know — us fox-hunters hates ceremony — where there’s ceremony there’s no friendship. Now, you will come, won’t ye?”

  Thus the old grocer went rattling on until he was blown, when we got a few words edged in.

  “Now you old cockney cormorant,” said we, eyeing him with one of our fiercest looks, “what the devil do you mean by intruding your ugly ill-conditioned carcase upon our privacy? Are you not aware that it is highly indecorous for one editor — for such, I suppose, you have the vanity to call yourself — to enter another’s room in this manner? How do we know but that you have come here with a sinister motive — perhaps to see what we have got for the next number — or, may be, to walk off with a bundle of manuscript!”

  “Never such a thing! Never such a thing, Mr Editor,” said he, bursting out afresh. “It wouldn’t be no use to me now, so don’t say such a thing; on the contrary, I’ve got some matter left on hand, which, to show that I’m not offended, I’ll send to you, and whatever I can do for you or your work I will; and you may say what you like of me for the future — anything but that I’m a cuckold — and I’ll never be offended again at nothing; no, never no more; so now let us be friends — forget and forgive — come, shake hands — do.”

  “Well, you old blockhead,” said we at length, unable to keep our countenance any longer, “we’ll forgive you on condition t
hat you will make an affidavit before the Lord Mayor, whenever we may require it, that you consider yourself the greatest ass in Christendom, with the exception of Nodding Homer of your hunt, and Gilbert Forester of the Luggage Van; and that you give each of our sporting compositors a pound and a half of your best gun-powder tea, by way of a salve to their nerves for the shock they sustained by seeing you placard the walls with your ugly bills, you Dr-Eady-looking tinker.”

  “I’ll do anything you require,” said Jorrocks, “only let us be ‘as we were’ again, as we used to say in the Lumber Troop, for really I walue your favours more than I can find words to express, and hambition shall never get the better of me any more. So now about the breakfast — the dejeune à la fanchette; suppose we say halfpast seven, and no waiting? If we take an hour and a quarter to get through it, then there will be two hours and a quarter left to ride to cover in, and we need not mind being there much before they throw off, as I don’t think I have any business to transact at the cover-side, and I can take any orders I may be favoured with in the course of the run.”

  “Be it so,” said we, “and now, Jorrocks, make yourself scarce, for we are going to try and make English of one of our contributor’s papers, which we assure you is by no means an easy job at times, and we must be alone; so good-bye — be off — that’s a fine fellow!”

  “One word more,” said Jorrocks, hopping back with his finger to his nose, just as he was going to close the door—” when you come, ring the area bell, and then Mrs J. won’t hear; know you don’t like Mrs J., no more than myself.”

  About the appointed hour we reached Jorrocks’s house in Great Coram Street, just as the old fellow had opened the door to look down the street for us. He was dressed in the Surrey hunt coat — scarlet with a green collar (made like a dressing-gown), drab unmentionables, grey worsted stockings and green slippers, his boots airing before the fire.

  “So glad to see you,” said he. “Here’s a charming morning indeed — regular southerly wind and a cloudy sky — rare scenting, it will be — think I could almost run a fox myself! Come in — never mind your hat, hang it anywhere, but don’t make a noise. I stole away and left Mrs J. snoring, so it won’t do to wake her, you know. By the way, you should see my hat! Batsay! fatch my hat out of the back parlour! I’ve set up a new green silk cord with a gold frog to fasten it to my button-hole — werry illigant, I think, and werry suitable to the dress — quite my own idea — have a notion all the Surrey chaps will get them; for between you and I, I set the fashions, and what is more I sometimes set them at a leap, too. But now, tell me, have you any objection to breakfasting in the kitchen? More retired you know — besides which you get everything hot and hot, which is what I call doing a bit of plisure.”

  “Not at all,” said we, “so lead the way!”

  Down we walked to the lower regions; a nice comfortable-looking place, with a blazing fire, half the floor covered with an old oil-cloth, and the rest exhibiting the cheerless aspect of the naked flags. About a yard and a half from the fire was placed the breakfast table; in the centre stood a magnificent uncut ham, with a great quartern loaf on one side and a huge Bologna sausage on the other; besides these there were nine eggs, two pyramids of muffins, a great deal of toast, a dozen ship-biscuits and half a pork pie, while a dozen kidneys were spluttering on a spit before the fire, and Betsey held a gridiron covered with mutton chops on the top; altogether there was as much as would have served ten people.

  “Now sit down,” said Jorrocks, “and let us be doing, for I am as hungry as a hunter. Hope you are peckish, too. What shall I give you? Tea or coffee? But take both — coffee first and tea after a bit. If I can’t give you them good, don’t know who can. You must pay your devours as we say in France to the ‘am, for it is an especial fine one; and do take a few eggs with it. There! I’ve not given you above a pound of ‘am, but you can come again, you know — waste not, want not. Now take some muffins, do pray! Batsay! Bring some more cream, and set the kidneys on the table; the learned editor is getting nothing to eat. Have a chop with your kidney; werry luxterous — I could eat an elephant stuffed with grenadiers, and wash them down with an ocean of tea; but pray lay in to the breakfast, or I shall think you are still offended. There now! Take some tea and toast or one of those biscuits, or whatever you like. Would a little more ‘am be agreeable? Batsay! Run into the larder and see if your Missis left any of that cold chine of pork last night — and hear! Bring the cold goose, and any cold flesh you can lay hands on; there are really no wittles on the table. I am quite ashamed, Mr Editor, to set you down to such a scanty fork breakfast; but this is what comes of not being master in your own house. Hope your hat may long cover your family, Mr Editor; rely upon it, it is ‘cheaper to buy your bacon than to keep a pig.’”

  Just as Jorrocks uttered these last words the side-door opened and without either with your leave or by your leave in bounced Mrs Jorrocks in an elegant dishabille (or ‘dish of veal’ as Jorrocks pronounced it) with her hair tucked up in papers, and on her feet a pair of worsted slippers worked with roses and blue lilies.

  “Pray, Mister J.,” said she, taking no more notice of ourself than if we had been enveloped in Jack the Giant Killer’s coat of darkness, “what is the meaning of this? I found it in your best coat pocket which you had on last night; and I do desire, Sir, that you will tell me how it came there. Good morning, Sir,” spying us at last. “Perhaps you know where Mr Jorrocks was last night, and perhaps you can tell me who this person is whose card I have found in the corner of Mr Jorrocks’s best coat pocket?”

  “Indeed, Madam,” we replied, “Mr Jorrocks’s movements of yesterday evening are quite a secret to us. It is the night that he usually spends at the Magpie and Stump, but whether he was there or not we cannot pretend to say, not being a member of the free and easy club. As for the card, Madam—”

  “There then! Take it and read it!” interrupted Mrs J.

  We took the card accordingly — a delicate pale pink with blue borders and gilt edges — and read (we would fain put it all in dashes and asterisks), “Miss Juliana Granville, John Street, Waterloo Road.”

  [Mrs Jorrocks had, reason for her wrath: see Mr Jorrocks’s “Farewell Valentine to Miss J —

  G — le on his going to Cheltenham,” in THOUGHTS

  ON HUNTING AND OTHER MATTERS.]

  IV. THE OYSTER MATCH.

  SCENE I.

  Exterior of the Yorkshire Stingo.

  (Enter Simpkins and Jorrocks — the latter muffled up in an antique camlet cloak, with a shocking bad hat, and looking remarkably seedy.)

  Simpkins. Hail, mighty Jorrocks! Leader of the chase!

  Thou prince of sportsmen — teacher of the pace!

  How wags the world with thee? So rare we meet, A glimpse of Jorrocks now becomes a treat.

  Jorrocks. Thanks, Peter Simpkins, drollest of the droll, Methinks I’m pretty bobbish on the whole, Yet fear these London fogs, they feel so damp, You know I’m very subject to the cramp.

  Simpkins. Yes — I perceive it, by that horrid shiver, That yellow look: Pray, Jorrocks, “How’s your liver?”

  Jorrocks. Nay, prithee jest not— ’tis beyond a joke When mighty Jorrocks muffles in his cloak.

  Simpkins. I do beseech thee if I’ve raised your bile Pardon my error — deign again to smile, And as a proof I meant nought by my laugh, What say you to a pot of half-and-half?

  Jorrocks. Aye! And we’ll bolt some oysters, and by jingo Surprise the natives at the Yorkshire Stingo; By the great gods — Mars, Bacchus, and Apollo, I never felt more ready for a swallow.

  Ye gods! I’d eat more oysters (for a bet)

  Than the immortal Dando ever eat Will’t take the odds?

  Simpkins. — Why, Jorrocks, as for that I seldom bet — but now I’ll bet a hat.

  Jorrocks. Done, Peter Simpkins! If we don’t to-night Disturb poor Dando’s spirit — blow me tight!

  Simpkins. Well said! Move on, six dozen is the mark, Move on, move on! I long to
see the lark!

  (They enter the Yorkshire Stingo.)

  SCENE II.

  Interior of the Yorkshire Stingo.

  Jorrocks. Waiter! What ho! The rascal’s mighty slow, Waiter, I say! — art coming, Sir?

  Voice without.— ‘Ullo!

  Coming, Sir, coming! — [Enter Waiter.

  Jorrocks. — Aye! Just as boy stirs, Creeping to school! Go fetch six dozen oysters!

  [Exit Waiter.

  (Re-enter Waiter with a tray full of oysters. Jorroclcs, without a word, immediately falls to with a most voracious appetite. He finishes the six dozen in no time. As he bolts the 12nd oyster Dando’s Spirit rises through a trapdoor and walks steadily towards him.)

  Jorrocks. Thunder and lightning! Here’s the ghost of Dando!!!

  The Spirit (in a low sepulchral tone). Heu mihi! Jorrocks, heu! quis tabs fando Temperet a lachrymis? Zounds! Can a man do More than myself? Give us your hand, O!

  (The Spirit seizes Jorrocks by the wrist; Jorrocks swoons and Peter Simpkins sneaks out of the apartment. After a few seconds Jorrocks comes to. Stretched on the floor at full length, he fixes his eyes in amazement on the spectre who stands over him.)

  Jorrocks. Angels and ministers of grace defend me! Down to the Devil don’t, dear Dando, send me! Wretch that I am. Ah woe is me. Alas!

  That ever I was born so great an ass! Presumptuous booby! Striving thus to beat The man who once performed so great a feat! Now, by my soul I swear — list, list, O list!

  I’ll never back my own against Dando’s twist.

  The Spirit. Swear!

  Jorrocks. By the Great Harry, if again I try To eat what Dando ate — then let me die!

  The Spirit. Enough! Remember me!

  [Vanishes.

  Jorrocks. — Though somewhat in a flurry, Egad! I shan’t forget thee in a hurry.