CHAPTER XXXIV

MR. JORROCKS’S JOURNAL

A few more extracts from our distinguished friend’s journal will perhaps best put our readers in possession of the nature of the sport with his hounds, and doings generally, though being written on loose sheets of paper, and sometimes not very legible, we have had some little difficulty in deciphering it. Indeed, what appear to have been the best runs—especially those with a kill—are invariably the worst written, owing perhaps to our friend indulging in a third pint of port on what he calls “qualified days.”

On one occasion he seems to have been writing his journal and a letter to his traveller, Mr. Bugginson, together, and to have put into the journal what was meant for the traveller, and most likely sent to the traveller what was meant for the journal. However, our readers shall have it as we find it, and we will endeavour to supply any little deficiencies from such other sources as are open to us.

Mr. Jorrocks would seem to have had another bye-day with Ben while Pigg’s clothes were making, when Ben did not cut any better figure than he did on the boiled lobster one. Having got the hounds into cover, as soon as ever Mr. Jorrocks began to yoicks and cheer, and crack his whip, exhorting the hounds to “rout ’im out!” and “pash ’im hup!” Ben stood erect in his stirrups, and made the following proclamation, to the great amusement of the field:—

“I maintain that’s the old un’s holloo!” “I maintain that’s the old un’s holloo!” repeated he. “I maintain that’s the old un’s holloo!” he added for the third time, as he re-seated himself in his saddle, and scuttled away to astonish another group of sportsmen with a similar declaration.

Mr. Jorrocks adds to his confused note of the transaction:— “Incorrigible bouy! Good mind to stuff him full o’ Melton dinner pills, and see if they will give him any knowledge o’ the chase.”

He also seems to have had several “bye” and other days at “Pinch-me-near” forest, when a light-coloured fox beat him so often as to acquire the name of the “old customer.” We see on chronicling his losings generally, he adds the words—“the musciful man is musciful to his fox ”—just as if he could have killed him if he chose. That, of course, our readers will believe as much of as they like. We shouldn’t like to be a fox with old J. at our brush.

Some of his runs appear to have been severe, at least if we may judge by the entries of money paid for “catchin’ my ’oss”—“stoppin’ my ’oss”—and “helpin’ me on to my ’oss”—which our worthy friend enters with the most scrupulous accuracy.

The following is our master’s minute of his opening day:—

“Wednesday.—Round of beef and carrots—momentous crisis—first public day as an M.F.H.—morning fine, rather frosty—there betimes—landlord polite—many foot-folks—large field—Romeo Simpkins on Sontag— Captain Slack on Bull Dog—Miss Wells on Fair Rosamond — great many captains — found soon — ringin’ beggar—ran three rounds, and accounted for him by losin’ him—found again—a ditto with a ditto finish— good for the foot-folks—home at four —musciful man is musciful to the foxes. Paid for catching my ’oss, 6d.

“Found two petitions. One from Joshua Peppercorn prayin’ his honour the M.F.H. to subscribe to reinstate him in a cart ’oss, his own havin’ come to an untimely end of old age. Says the M.F.H.’s always subscribe. Replied as follows:—

“ ‘M. F. H. John Jorrocks presents his compliments to Mr. Joshua Peppercorn, and is sorry to hear of the death of his prad, but the M.F.H. ’as enough to do to mount himself and his men without subscribin’ to find other folks i’ quads.

“ ‘Diana Lodge.’

“Margaret Lucas had her patent mangle seized for rent and arrears of rent, and ’opes the master of the fox-dogs will do somethin’ towards redeeming it. Wrote as follows:—

“ ‘M. F. H. John Jorrocks presents his compliments to Mrs. Margaret Lucas, and is sorry to ’ear of the sitivation of her patent mangle, but the M.F.H. having laid it down as a rule never to subscribe to redeem patent mangles, can’t depart from it in her case.’

“People seem to think M.F.H.’s have nothin’ to do but give away tin. You know one a’n’t quite sure her mother mayn’t have sold her mangle! Besides, if I mistake not, this is one o’ the saucy jades wot laughed at me when I came ’ome with a dirty back.

“Mountain Daisy.—Saturday, and few farmers out.— Not many pinks, but three soger officers, two of them mounted by Duncan Nevin—a guinea and a ’alf a day each, and ’alf a guinea for a hack.—Drew Slaughterford, and up to the Cloud Quarries.—Priestess seemed to think she had a touch of a fox in the latter, but could make nothin’ on’t.—Trotted down to Snodbury Gorse— wants enclosin’—cattle get in. No sooner in, than out came a pig, then came a fox, then another pig—then another fox.—Got away with last fox, and ran smartly down to Coombe, where we was headed by a hedger, and we never crossed his line again.—Found a second fox in Scotland Wood—a three-legger—soon disposed of him.—Found a third in Dulverton Bog, who ran us out of light and scent; stopped the ’ounds near Apple dove.—Pigg says Charley Stebbs ‘coup’d his creels’ over an ’edge.—Scotch for throwin’ a somersault, I understands.—Paid for catchin’ my ’oss, 6d.”

We also glean from the journal that Mr. Jorrocks allowed Pigg to cap when they killed; but Pigg, not finding that process so productive as he wished, hit upon the following novel expedient for raising the wind: —Seeing that a great many young gentlemen appeared at the meet who never attempted to get to the finish, Pigg constituted himself a sort of insurance company, and issued tickets against hunting accidents—similar to what railway companies issue against railway ones. By these he undertook for a shilling a day, or five shillings the season, to insure gentlemen against all the perils and dangers of the chase—broken necks, broken backs, broken limbs, broken heads, and even their horses against broken knees.

Indeed, he went further than this, and we have been told by parties who were present and heard him, that he would send Ben among the outsiders at the meet, singing out, “Take your tickets, gents! please take your tickets! goin’ into a hawful country—desperate bull-finchers! yawnin’ ditches! rails that’ll nouther brick nor bend! Old ’un got his monkey full o’ brandy!” by which means, and occasionally by dint of swearing he’d “ride over some of them if he caught them down,” Pigg managed to extract a good deal of money.

Mr. Jorrocks, we may observe, seems to have been in the habit of filling his sherry flask with brandy when going into a stiff country—a thing of very frequent occurrence with our friend.

The following is the mixed entry between the traveller and the trespasser, if we may so call the fox—which we present as a true copy—“errors excepted,” as they say in the City:—

“When you go to ’Alifax, you’ll most likely see Martin Proudfoote, of Sharpset Hill. This cove’s father bit me uncommon ’ard, a’most the first journey I ever took, when a great stupid flock o’ sheep made slap for the gate, and reg’larly stopped the way, there being no way out ’cept over a most unpossible, ’eart-rendin’ ’edge, with a ditch big enough to ’old a cathedral church, which gave the infatuated fox considerable adwantage * * (illegible) * * for he had got early information that sugar had riz. * * (illegible) * * there bein’ only 3000 and odd bags of Mauritius, at from 29s. to 32s. for brown, and summut like the same quantity o’ wite Benares, and though * * (blot and illegible) * * we found ’im at the extremity of our wale country, and ran ’im for more nor an hour at a rattlin’ pace through the entire length o’ the grass-land, and then away for the open downs, crossin’ the river near the mill at Floater-heels, the ’ounds castin’ hup and down the banks to satisfy themselves the fox was not on their side, then returnin’ to the point to which they ’ad carried the scent, they all dashed in like a row o’ bouys bathin’, so (something wiped out with his finger—then half a line illegible). You must just do as you can about coffees, for I can’t possibly be always at your helbow to cast you, but be careful o’ the native Ceylon, and don’t give above 48s. per cwt. for good ordinary.. I’d be sweeter on either Mocha or Rio, for it isn’t possible to see a better or truer line ’unter than old Factor, or one that I should ’ave less ’esitation in usin’ as a stud-’ound, though some may say his flat feet are agin ’im, but ’andsome is wot ’andsome does, and I’ll always speak well o’ the bridge wot carries me over, so tell Fairlips it’s all gammon sayin’ the last sugars we sent him were not equal to sample—and that his customers can be no judges of quality or they wouldn’t say so. Tell him always to show an inferior sample first, and always to show wite sugars on blue paper—but if the man’s to be taught the first rudiments of his trade, it’s time he gave hup ’unting the country, for things can’t be done now as they used in old Warde and Sam Nichol’s time, when men fed their ’osses on new oats, and didn’t care to look into their pedigrees, and nothin’ but a fiat i’ bankruptcy will teach sich a chap wisdom, and in course the lighter we ride in his books the better, for giving away one’s goods is a most absurd prodigality, seasoned foxes bein’ as necessary to sport as experienced ’ounds—for you may rely upon it if we seek for comfort here below it will only be found in a ’ound and a pettikit; and wotever they may say about the merits of a slight dash o’ chicory in coffee, there’s more wirtue in the saddle than in all the doctor’s bottles put together, so I’d have nothin’ wotever to do with cheap tea,—and beware of supplyin’ any of the advertisin’ chaps, for scent of all things is the most fluctuatin’ and * * (illegible) there’s nothin’ so queer as scent ’cept a woman, and tradesmen undersellin’, and ’ounds choppin’ foxes in cover is more a proof of their wice”—(Inkstand apparently upset, making a black sea on the paper.)