CHAPTER XXXIII
A SWELL HUNTSMAN
One evening the rattle of Puff's pole-chains brought, in addition to theusual rush of shirt-sleeved helpers, an extremely smart, dapper little man,who might be either a jockey or a gentleman, or both, or neither. He was aclean-shaved, close-trimmed, spruce little fellow; remarkably natty aboutthe legs--indeed, all over. His close-napped hat was carefully brushed, andwhat little hair appeared below its slightly curved brim was of thepepper-and-salt mixture of--say, fifty years. His face, though somewhatwrinkled and weather-beaten, was bright and healthy; and there was atwinkle about his little grey eyes that spoke of quickness and watchfulobservation. Altogether, he was a very quick-looking little man--a sort ofman that would know what you were going to say before you had well brokeground. He wore no gills; and his neatly tied starcher had a white groundwith small black spots, about the size of currants. The slight interregnumbetween it and his step-collared striped vest (blue stripe on acanary-coloured ground) showed three golden foxes' heads, acting as studsto his well-washed, neatly plaited shirt; while a sort of careless turnback of the right cuff showed similar ornaments at his wrists. Hissingle-breasted, cutaway coat was Oxford mixture, with a thin cord binding,and very natty light kerseymere mother-o'-pearl buttoned breeches, met apair of bright, beautifully fitting, rose-tinted tops, that wrinkled mostelegantly down to the Jersey-patterned spur. He was a remarkably well gotup little man, and looked the horseman all over.
As he emerged from the stable, where he had been mastering the ins and outsof the establishment, learning what was allowed and what was not, what hadnot been found fault with and, therefore, might be presumed upon, and soon, he carried the smart dogskin leather glove of one hand in the other,while the fox's head of a massive silver-mounted jockey-whip peered fromunder his arm. On a ring round the fox's neck was the followinginscription: 'FROM JACK BRAGG TO HIS COUSIN DICK.'
Mr. Puffington having drawn up his mail-phaeton, and thrown the ribbons tothe active grooms at the horses' heads in the true coaching style,proceeded to descend from his throne, and had reached the ground ere he wasaware of the presence of a stranger. Seeing him then, he made the sort ofhalf-obeisance of a man that does not know whether he is addressing agentleman or a servant, or, maybe, a scamp, going about with a prospectus.Puff had been bit in the matter of some maps in London, and was wary, asall people ought to be, of these birds.
The stranger came sidling up with a half-bow, half-touch of the hat,drawling out:
''Sceuuse me, sir--'sceuuse me, sir,' with another half-bow and anotherhalf-touch of the hat. 'I'm Mister Bragg, sir--Mister Richard Bragg, sir;of whom you have most likely heard.'
'Bragg--Richard Bragg,' repeated our friend, thoughtfully, while he scannedthe man's features, and ran his sporting acquaintance through his mind'seye.
'Bragg, Bragg,' repeated he, without hitting him off.
'I was huntsman, sir, to my Lord Reynard, sir,' observed the stranger, witha touch of the hat to each 'sir.' 'Thought p'r'aps you might have known hisludship, sir. Before him, sir, I held office, sir, under the Duke ofDowneybird, sir, of Downeybird Castle, sir, in Downeybirdshire, sir.'
'Indeed!' replied Mr. Puffington, with a half-bow and a smile ofpoliteness.
'Hearing, sir, you had taken these Mangeysterne _dogs_, sir,' continued thestranger, with rather a significant emphasis on the word'_dogs_'--'hearing, sir, you had taken these Mangeysterne _dogs_, sir, itoccurred to me that possibly I might be useful to you, sir, in your newcalling, sir; and if you were of the same opinion, sir, why, sir, I shouldbe glad to negotiate a connexion, sir.'
'Hem!--hem!--hem!' coughed Mr. Puffington. 'In the way of a huntsman do youmean?' afraid to talk of servitude to so fine a gentleman.
'Just so,' said Mr. Bragg, with a chuck of his head, 'just so. The fact is,though I'm used to the grass countries, sir, and could go to the Marquis ofManeylies, sir, to-morrow, sir, I should prefer a quiet place in a somewhatinferior country, sir, to a five-days-a-week one in the best. Five and sixdays a week, sir, is a terrible tax, sir, on the constitution, sir; andthough, sir, I'm thankful to say, sir, I've pretty good 'ealth, sir, yet,sir, you know, sir, it don't do, sir, to take too great liberties withoneself, sir'; Mr. Bragg sawing away at his hat as he spoke, measuring offa touch, as it were, to each 'sir,' the action becoming quick towards theend.
'Why, to tell you the truth,' said Puff, looking rather sheepish, 'to tellyou the truth--I intended--I thought at least of--of--of--hunting themmyself.'
'Ah! that's another pair of shoes altogether, as we say in France,' repliedBragg, with a low bow and a copious round of the hand to the hat. 'That's_another_ pair of shoes altogether,' repeated he, tapping his boot with hiswhip.
'Why, I _thought_ of it,' rejoined Puff, not feeling quite sure whether hecould or not.
'Well,' said Mr. Bragg, drawing on his dogskin glove as if to be off.
'My friend Swellcove does it,' observed Puff.
'True,' replied Bragg, 'true; but my Lord Swellcove is one of a thousand.See how many have failed for one that has succeeded. Why, even my LordScamperdale was 'bliged to give it up, and no man rides harder than my LordScamperdale--always goes as if he had a spare neck in his pocket. But hecouldn't 'unt a pack of 'ounds. Your gen'l'men 'untsmen are all very wellon fine scentin' days when everything goes smoothly and well, and the'ounds are tied to their fox, as it were; but see them in difficulties--afailing scent, 'ounds pressed upon by the field, fox chased by a dog, stormin the air, big brook to get over to make a cast. Oh, sir, sir, it makeseven me, with all my acknowledged science and experience, shudder to thinkof the ordeal one undergoes!'
'Indeed,' exclaimed Mr. Puffington, staring, and beginning to think itmightn't be quite so easy as it looked.
'I don't wish, sir, to dissuade you, sir, from the attempt, sir,' continuedMr. Bragg; 'far from it, sir--for he, sir, who never makes an effort, sir,never risks a failure, sir, and in great attempts, sir, 'tis glorious tofail, sir'; Mr. Bragg sawing away at his hat as he spoke, and then stickingthe fox-head handle of his whip under his chin.
Puff stood mute for some seconds.
'My Lord Scamperdale,' continued Mr. Bragg, scrutinizing our friendattentively, 'was as likely a man, sir, as ever I see'd, sir, to make an'untsman, for he had a deal of ret (rat) ketchin' cunnin' about him, and,as I said before, didn't care one dim for his neck, but a more signaldisastrous failure was never recognized. It was quite lamentable to witnesshis proceeding.'
'How?' asked Mr. Puffington.
'How, sir?' repeated Mr. Bragg; 'why, sir, in all wayses. He had no doglanguage, to begin with--he had little idea of making a cast--no science,no judgement, no manner--no nothin'--I'm dim'd if ever I see'd sich a messas he made.'
Puff looked unutterable things.
'He never did no good, in fact, till I fit him with Frostyface. _I_ taughtFrosty,' continued Mr. Bragg. 'He whipped in to me when I 'unted the Dukeof Downeybird's 'ounds--nice, 'cute, civil chap he was--of all mypupils--and I've made some first-rate 'untsmen, I'm dim'd if I don't thinkFrostyface does me about as much credit as any on 'em. Ah, sir,' continuedMr. Bragg, with a shake of his head, 'take my word for it, sir, there'snothin' like a professional. S-c-e-u-s-e me, sir,' added he, with a low bowand a sort of military salute of his hat; 'but dim all gen'l'men 'untsmen,say I.'
Mr. Bragg had talked himself into several good places. Lord Reynard's andthe Duke of Downeybird's among others. He had never been able to keep anybeyond his third season, his sauce or his science being always greater thanthe sport he showed. Still he kept up appearances, and was nothing daunted,it being a maxim of his that 'as one door closed another opened.'
Mr. Puffington's was the door that now opened for him.
What greater humiliation can a free-born Briton be subjected to than payinga man eighty or a hundred pounds a year, and finding him house, coals, andcandles, and perhaps a cow, to be his master?
Such was the case with poor Mr. Puffington, and such, we grieve to
say, isthe case with nine-tenths of the men who keep hounds; with all, indeed,save those who can hunt themselves, or who are blest with an aspiring whip,ready to step into the huntsman's boots if he seems inclined to put themoff in the field. How many portly butlers are kept in subjection by havinga footman ready to supplant them. Of all cards in the servitude pack,however, the huntsman's is the most difficult one to play. A man may say,'I'm dim'd if I won't clean my own boots or my own horse, before I'll putup with such a fellow's impudence'; but when it comes to hunting his ownhounds, it is quite another pair of shoes, as Mr. Bragg would say.
Mr. Bragg regularly took possession of poor Puff; as regularly as apoliceman takes possession of a prisoner. The reader knows the sort offeeling one has when a lawyer, a doctor, an architect, or any one whom wehave called in to assist, takes the initiative, and treats one as anonentity, pooh-poohing all one's pet ideas, and upsetting all one'swell-considered arrangements.
Bragg soon saw he had a greenhorn to deal with, and treated Puffaccordingly. If a 'perfect servant' is only to be got out of theestablishments of the great, Mr. Bragg might be looked upon as a paragon ofperfection, and now combined in his own person all the bad practices of allthe places he had been in. Having 'accepted Mr. Puffington's situation,' asthe elegant phraseology of servitude goes, he considered that Mr.Puffington had nothing more to do with the hounds, and that anyinterference in 'his department' was a piece of impertinence. Puffingtonfelt like a man who has bought a good horse, but which he finds on ridingis rather more of a horse than he likes. He had no doubt that Bragg was agood man, but he thought he was rather more of a gentleman than herequired. On the other hand, Mr. Bragg's opinion of his master may begleaned from the following letter which he wrote to his successor, Mr.Brick, at Lord Reynard's:
'HANBY HOUSE, SWILLINGFORD.
'DEAR BRICK,
'If your old man is done daffling with your draft, I should like to havethe pick of it. I'm with one Mr. Puffington, a city gent. His father was agreat confectioner in the Poultry, just by the Mansion House, and made hismoney out of Lord Mares. I shall only stay with him till I can get myselfsuited in the rank of life in which I have been accustomed to move; but inthe meantime I consider it necessary for my own credit to do things as theyshould be. You know my sort of hound; good shoulders, deep chests, strongloins, straight legs, round feet, with plenty of bone all over. I hate aweedy animal; a small hound, light of bone, is only fit to hunt a kat in akitchen.
'I shall also want a couple of whips--not fellows like waiters from_Crawley's_ hotel, but light, active _men_, not boys. I'll have nothin' todo with boys; every boy requires a man to look arter him. No; a couple ofshort, light, active men--say from five-and-twenty to thirty, with bow-legsand good cheery voices, as nearly of the same make as you can find them. Ishall not give them large wage, you know; but they will have opportunitiesof improving themselves under me, and qualifying themselves for highplaces. But mind, they _must be steady_--I'll keep no unsteady servants;the first act of drunkenness, with me, is the last.
'I shall also want a second horseman; and here I wouldn't mind a mute boywho could keep his elbows down and never touch the curb; but he must bebred in the line; a huntsman's second horseman is a critical article, andthe sporting world must not be put in mourning for Dick Bragg. The lad willhave to clean my boots, and wait at table when I have company--yourself,for instance.
'This is only a poor, rough, ungentlemanly sort of shire, as far as I haveseen it; and however they got on with the things I found that they calledhounds I can't for the life of me imagine. I understand they went stringingover the country like a flock of wild geese. However, I have rectified thatin a manner by knocking all the fast 'uns and slow 'uns on the head; and Ishall require at least twenty couple before I can take the field. In yourofficial report of what your old file puts back, you'll have the kindnessto cobble us up good long pedigrees, and carry half of them at least backto the Beaufort Justice. My man has got a crochet into his head about thathound, and I'm dimmed if he doesn't think half the hounds in England aredescended from the Beaufort Justice. These hounds are at present called theMangeysternes, a very proper title, I should say, from all I've seen andheard. That, however, must be changed; and we must have a button struck,instead of the plain pewter plates the men have been in the habit ofhunting in.
'As to horses, I'm sure I don't know what we are to do in that line. Ourpastrycook seems to think that a hunter, like one of his pa's pies, can bemade and baked in a day. He talks of going over to Rowdedow Fair, andpicking some up himself; but I should say a gentleman demeans himself sadlywho interferes with the just prerogative of the groom. It has never beenallowed I know in any place I have lived; nor do I think servants dojustice to themselves or their order who submit to it. Howsomever thecrittur has what Mr. Cobden would call the "raw material" for sport--thatis to say, plenty of money--and I must see and apply it in such a way aswill produce it. I'll do the thing as it should be, or not at all.
'I hope your good lady is well--also all the little Bricks. I purposemaking a little tower of some of the best kennels as soon as the drafts arearranged, and will spend a day or two with you, and see how you get onwithout me. Dear Brick,
'Yours to the far end,
'RICHARD BRAGG.
'To BENJAMIN BRICK, Esq.,
'Huntsman to the Right Hon. the Earl of Reynard,
'Turkeypout Park.
'P.S.--I hope your old man keeps a cleaner tongue in his head than he did when I was premier. I always say there was a good bargeman spoiled when they made him a lord.
'R.B.'
Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Page 33