CHAPTER XXXIII

THE LECTOR RESUMED

“Well now,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, returning, rubbing his lips preparatory to resuming his reading, “Peter does a bit o’ cunnin’, and I’ll elucidate it. The fox you know’s i’ cover—Rashworth or ’Igh Wood Grove, let us say, and the thing is to take care that he doesn’t slip away unseen—upon this Peter says, ‘Now ’astes the wipper-in to the other side o’ the cover; he is right unless he ’ead the fox.’ That’s capital,” observed Mr. Jorrocks,—“he’s right unless he’s wrong; right one day p’rhaps, and wrong another, for he can’t control the fox, who may fancy to break at one pint one day and another the next. Howsomever,” mused our master, “that shows the adwantage o’ havin’ some one to blow hup when things go wrong, and Cook—I think it is who tells of an M.F.H., who kept a wip on purpose to be blown hup, and who he used to make ride along side any ‘go-along’—there are three couple of ’ounds on the scent cove, while the M.F.H. lectord the man as if he had committed the ‘forepaw,’ adding at the end, with a frown and a shake of his vip, (bad word), ‘ye, sir, I may (bad word) you, at all ewents!’ (Laughter and applause.)

“But come, let’s see wot our hauthor makes on ’im in cover,” resumed Mr. Jorrocks, returning to his Beckford —“Peter’s at the potry again, I declare,” said he, clearing his throat for the following:—

“Werry fine!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, turning up his eyes to the sporting looping of his canopy, “werry fine indeed! ‘The forest thunders, and the mountains shake.’ That’s jest wot my beauties make them do. Dash my vig, but they kick hup a pretty dust when they once begin. But let us follow Peter into cover, for if his country was anything like wot it is now, he’d be pretty much at ’ome in one I reckon.” Mr. Jorrocks then read as follows:—“ ‘Listen! the ’ounds have turned. They are now i’ two parts: the fox has been ’eaded back.’ The wip’s been wrong,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, with a shake of his head, “or,” continuing his reading, “ ‘we have changed at last.’ Changed at last,” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, sorrowfully, “bad luck to those changes,” observed he, “they are the werry deuce and all in ’unting. Arter one’s ridden oneself red ’ot, and nearly galloped one’s ’oss’s tail off, and think it’s full time to be ’andling the warmint, to ’ave a gen’lman goin’ away as fresh as a four-year-old. Dash my buttons, but I remembers a desp’rate cunnin’ Charley,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, “that used to go away from Ticklefield-gos, in Crampshire, and, after runnin’ a wide ring, would return and pashin’ hup another fox, would lie quiet hisself. As it happened, ’owever, his substitute was a mangey one, and desp’rate disgusted we used to be at findin’ we were ridin’ arter a thing like a rat ’stead of a beautiful cleanfurred Reynard.

“But Peter,” says Mr. Jorrocks, “’opes to ’old on with the ’unted fox, and this is what he says to his Ben”— Mr. Jorrocks reading—“ ‘Now, my lad, mind the ’untsman’s alloo, and stop to those ’ounds which he encourages,’—which doesn’t mean that the vip’s to make a haffidavit that that’s the ’untsman’s alloo,” continued he, looking knowingly at Ben, for a reason which will appear in Mr. Jorrocks’s Journal, “but that he’s to stop all such ’ounds as are not runnin’ the way the ’untsman’s ollooin’; he’s to maintain to the ’untsman’s olloo in short, and stop sich ’ounds as diwide from it,” explained Mr. Jorrocks.

“Well, let’s ave that sentence over again,” said he, referring to his volume.

“ ‘Now, my lad, mind the ’untsman’s halloo, and stop to those ’ounds which he encourages.’ He is right! that doubtless is the ’unted fox;—that doubtless is the ’unted fox,” repeated Mr. Jorrocks, thoughtfully,—“ay,” added he, “they’re all the ’unted foxes that anybody sees. Howsomever, we’ll take Peter’s word for it, and at ’im again. Well now,” continued the worthy lecturer, conning the page, “’ere’s a reg’lar yard and a ’alf o’ potry, describin’, wot Pomponious would call the ‘second bust, almost as terrible as the fust’—the difference atwixt Peter and Pompey, ye see, bein’,” added Mr. Jorrocks, looking off the book, “that Peter is all for the pack, and Pompey for the performers, or ‘customers,’ as they call the crack riders i’ the cut-me-downs. How somever,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, reverting to the poetry, “it’s a prime sample of a sportin’ scurry, and if I shalln’t be fatiguein’ on ye, I’ll spout it.” (Cries of “No, no, go on; go on,” and applause.)

Our great master then read as follows:—

Great applause followed the reading of the above. When it subsided, our master, taking the “Chase and Road” volume from the table at the back of the platform, said, “Let us jest take a peep at frind Pomponious under similar circumstances. ‘The squire’s ’ounds are runnin’ with a brest-’igh scent over the cream of the cut-me-down country, and most musically do the light notes o’ Wocal and Wenus fall on the ear of those who may be within reach to catch ’em. But who is so fortinate i’ this second bust ‘nearly as terrible as the fust?’ asks Hego. ‘Our fancy supplies us again,’ says he, ‘and we think we could name ’em all. If we look to the left, nearly abreast o’ the pack, we see six men goin’ gallantly, and quite as straight as the ’ounds themselves are goin’; and on the right are four more, ridin’ equally well, though the former ’ave rayther the best of it, owin’ to ’avin’ ’ad the inside o’ the ’ounds at the last two turns, which must be placed to the chapter of haccidents. A short way i’ the rear, by no means too much so to enjoy this brilliant run, are the rest o’ the élite o’ the field, who had come hup at the fust check; and a few who, thanks to the goodness o’ their steeds, and their determination to be with the ’ounds, appear as if dropped from the clouds. Some, ’owever, begin to show symptoms o’ distress. Two ’osses are seen loose in the distance—a report is flyin’ ’bout that one o’ the field is badly ’urt, and somethin’ is ’eard of a collar-bone bein’ broken, others say it is a leg; but the pace is too good to inquire. A crackin’ o’ rails is now ’eard, and one gen’l’man’s ’oss is to be seen restin’, nearly balanced, ’cross one on ’em, his rider bein’ on his back i’ the ditch, which is on the landin’-side. ‘Who is he?’ says Lord Brudenel to Jack Stevens. ‘Can’t tell, my lord; but I thought it was a queerish place when I came o’er it afore ’im.’ It is evidently a place o’ peril, but the pace is too good to ’ford ’elp.

“So,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, closing the volume with a clap, and chucking it to Pigg in the background, “they cut ’im down, but don’t ’ang ’im up to dry.” (Laughter and applause.)

“’Old ’Ard!” now exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks at the top of his voice, advancing to the front of the platform, causing silence throughout the room. “’Old ’Ard!” repeated he, holding up his hand; “appallin’ sound!” added he, mournfully, “fearful to the forrard, and dispiritin’ to all. Now’s the time that the M.F.H., if he has any mischief in him and ’appens to be hup, will assuredly let drive at some one.

“ ‘’Old ’Ard,’ explained the worthy lecturer, “means that gen’l’men are to stop their ’osses, a thing easier said than done, sometimes. Then if any troublesome stranger, or unpunctual payer, appears to be forrard, he is sure to catch it.

“ ‘Thank you, Mr. Red Veskit!’ or ‘I’m much obleged to that gen’l’man with the big calves for over-ridin’ my ’ounds!—werry much ’bleged to him!—most ’ticklarly ’bleged to him!—most confoundedly ’bleged to him!— G—d d——d ’bleged to him!—Wish the devil had him, big calves and all!’

“Meanwhile the ’untsman makes his cast, that’s to say, trots his ’ounds in a circle round where they threw up: ‘threw up’ doesn’t mean womitin’, mind, but standin’ starin’ with their ’eads up, instead of keepin’ them down, tryin’ for the scent. As this is a critical moment, young gen’l’men should refrain from inwitin’ the ’untsmen or whips to follow them over gates or dangerous leaps. All should be ’tentive. A cast is a thing to criticise, on the principle of the looker-on seein’ the most of the game. If there are no big fences in the way, and the ’untsman knows how far the ’ounds ran with a scent, he will probably hit it off pretty soon. That will be science.

“If the leaps are large, he may not be so lucky, and then Mr. Red Veskit, or the gen’l’man with the big calves, will catch it again.

“Should anyone ’int that they have seen a better cast, little buoys will go home and tell their ma’s they don’t think much of Jack Jones, and Jack’s character will begin to go. A fish-fag’s ware isn’t more perishable than an ’untsman’s fame; his skill is within the judgment of every one—‘Cleverest feller alive!’—‘Biggest fool goin’!’

“But to the run! The Chass I sing! A run is either a buster—elbows and legs throughout—or it is sharp at first, and slow arterwards; or it is slow at first and sharp arterwards. The first is wot most frequently finishes the fox; and when every ’ound owns the scent, unless Old Reynard does the hartful dodge, by lyin’ down in an ’edge-row, or skulkin’ among cattle or ship, in all humane probability his life arn’t worth twenty minutes’ purchase from the find.

“The second class run—sharp at first and slow arterwards—is the most favourable to the fox; for the longer it lasts, the slower the ’ounds go, until they get to wot the old Agony coachmen used to call Parliament-pace— that is to say, some six miles an ’our, when they are either run out o’ scent, or a big ’are jumps up afore them, and leads them astray. It’s then, ‘Ware ’are Wenus! Wictory, for shame!’ and off ’ome.

“The third class—slow at first, and sharp arterwards —is hawkward for the fox, but good for beginners, for they get warm in the progress, instead of being choked at the start. The thing improves, jest like a hice-cream i’ the eatin’.

“No two men ’gree upon the merits of a run, ’less they ’appen to be the only ones to see it, when they arrange that wot one says t’other shall swear to; your real jealous bouys can’t bear to see many at the finish. In relatin’ a run to an absent friend, it is always allowable to lay on fifty per cent. for presence.

“Talking of a run, ingenuous youth should speak in praise of the ’ead the ’ounds carried. This doesn’t mean that they ran with an ’ead of no sort in their mouths, but that they packed well together, and each strived to be first. It is this wot distinguishes a real pack of fox-’ounds from your trencher-fed muggars, and constitutes the charm o’ the chase. If the death of a fox be all that’s desired, a gun will do the business much cleaner and better than Muggins and Co.’s towlers.

“What looks so contemptible as a stringin’ lot o’ towlin’ beggars toilin’ in long line over the ’eavy fallows, and the fox gettin’ knocked on the ’ead because the dogs are too tired to kill him themselves? Out upon sich outrages! say I. But to the legitimate run.

“Not bein’ in at the death is reckoned slow, and numerous are the excuses of defaulters—losin’ a shoe is one of the commonest; assistin’ a friend in trouble, another; ’oss falling lame, a third; thrown out in turnin’ ’ounds, a fourth; anything but the real one— want o’ nerve. Nerve means pluck: in Alderman Harley’s time, they called it courage. Still it’s quite lawful for men to ’unt, even though they won’t ride over the moon. ’Deed you might as well say that a man has no business at Hepsom who can’t ride a race, as that a man has no business at an ’unt that won’t undertake to be in at the death. Let every man do his best, and grind away as long as he can; at all ewents, until either he or his ’oss tire, or he gets thrown out, in which latter calamity let ’im remember the mustard-pot, and not go ridin’ straight an end, as if it were unpossible for the ’ounds to turn to the right or to the left. Let him pull hup a bit on a risin’ ground, and as he sits moppin’ his nob, let ’im examine the landscape, and see wot cattle are starin’ or scampering about, and rely upon it, the ’ounds are not far off. If ingenuous youth, after ridin’ the line, sees ’osses bein’ led about a green field, and red coats standin’ in a ring, he may conclude bold Reynard is capevi’d, and, by quickenin’ his pace, may steal quietly in afore the worry.

“But we’ll let old Peter kill his fox, for dash my vig, there’s nobody can do it like him. Let’s see, where was I?” continued Jorrocks, resuming that volume—“Ah, I have it, the fox has been ’eaded or they have changed at last.—‘Now for a moment’s patience!’ cries Peter,— ‘We press too close upon the ’ounds! ’Untsman, stand still! as they want you not. ’Ow admirably they spread! ’Ow wide they cast! Is there a single ’ound that does not try? if there be, ne’er shall he ’unt again. There Trueman is on the scent—he feathers, yet still is doubtful—’tis right! ’ow readily they join ’im! See those wide-casting ’ounds, ’ow they fly forrard to recover the ground they ’ave lost! Mind Lightnin’, ’ow she dashes; and Mungo ’ow he works! Old Frantic, too, now pushes forrard; she knows as well as we, the fox is sinkin’:—

“And, dash my vig, he makes me pant too,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, holding his obese sides. “However, judicious Peter gives one a little breathin’ time here, in these conwenient words:—

“ ‘’Untsman! at fault at last? ’Ow far did you bring the scent? ’Ave the ’ounds made their cast? Now make yours—you see that ship-dog as coursed the fox; get forrard with your ’ounds, and make a wide cast,’ during which time,” continued the worthy lecturer, “we are all ’sposed to be sittin’ quietly givin’ our quads the wind, and all ’oldin’ our tongues—a most desirable thing,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, looking knowingly round the room.

“Peter, who ’as his ears well cocked with an ’and behind the right one,” continued the worthy lecturer, “gives tongue with,—

“ ‘’Ark! that halloo is indeed a lucky one. If we can ’old ’im on, we may yet recover ’im; for a fox, so much distressed, must stop at last. We shall now see if they will ’unt as well as run; for there is but little scent, and the himpendin’ cloud still makes that little less. ’Ow they enjoy the scent! see ’ow busy they all are, and ’ow each in his turn prewails!’

“Capital writin’!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks; “feels for all the world as if I was there. Now for a bunch of ’ints for an ’untsman!

“ ‘’Untsman! be quiet! Whilst the scent was good, you pressed on your ’ounds; it was well done; when you came to a check, you stood still and interrupted them not: they were arterwards at fault; you made your cast with judgment and lost no time—you now must let ’em ’unt;—with such a cold scent as this you can do no good; they must do it all themselves; lift ’em now, and not an ’ound will stoop again. Ha! a ’igh road at sich a time as this, when the tenderest nosed ’ound can ’ardly own the scent; ’ave a little patience, and let ’em, for once, try back.’

“Oh, that weary scent!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, “that weary, incomprehensible, incontrollable phenomenon! ‘Constant only in its inconstancy!’ as the hable hauthor of the noble science well said. Believe me, my beloved ’earers,” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “there’s nothin’ so queer as scent, ’cept a woman!” (Hisses, mingled with laughter and applause.)

“’Ark to Beckford!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, resuming his reading as the noise subsided. “ ‘We must now give ’em time:—see where they bend towards yonder furze brake. I wish he may ’ave stopped there! Mind that old ’ound, ’ow he dashes o’er the furze; I think he winds ’im. Now for a fresh en tapis! ’Ark! they ’alloo! Aye, there he goes.’

“Pop goes the weasel again!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, straddling and working his arms, as if he were riding. He then resumed his reading.

“ ‘It is nearly over with ’im; had the ’ounds caught view, he must ha’ died. He will ’ardly reach the cover; see ’ow they gain upon ’im at every stroke! It is an admirable race! yet the cover saves ’im.

“ ‘Now be quiet, and he cannot ’scape us; we ’ave the wind o’ the ’ounds, and cannot be better placed: ’ow short he runs! he is now in the werry strongest part o’ the cover. Wot a crash! every ’ound is in, and every ’ound is runnin’ ’im. That was a quick turn! Again, another! he’s put to his last shifts. Now Mischief is at his ’eels, and death is not far off. Ha! they all stop at once; all silent, and yet no hearth is hopen. Listen! now they are at him agin! Did you ’ear that ’ound catch ’im? they over-ran the scent, and the fox had laid down be’ind ’em. Now, Reynard, look to yourself! ’Ow quick they all give their tongues! Little Dreadnought, ’ow he works ’im! the terriers, too, they are now squeakin’ at ’im! ’Ow close Wengeance pursues! ’ow terribly she presses! it is jest up with ’im! Gods! wot a crash they make; the ’ole wood resounds! That turn was werry short! There! now! aye, now they’ave ’im! Who-hoop!’ ”

Here Mr. Jorrocks put his finger in his ear, and gave a “Who-hoop!” that shook the very rafters of the room, which being responded to by the party, a noise was created that is more easily imagined than described.

Three cheers for Mr. Jorrocks were then called for and given with such vehemence as to amount to nine times nine, and one cheer more, during which the worthy master kept bowing and scraping on the platform, until he got a crick in his neck from the exercise.