Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour

  CHAPTER XX

  THE F.H.H.

  Nor was Sponge wrong in his conjecture, for it was a quarter to nine ereSpigot appeared with the massive silver urn, followed by the train-bandbold, bearing the heavy implements of breakfast. Then, though the youngladies were punctual, smiling, and affable as usual, Mrs. Jawleyford wasabsent, and she had the keys; so it was nearly nine before Mr. Sponge gothis fork into his first mutton chop. Jawleyford was not exactly pleased;he thought it didn't look well for a young man to prefer hunting to thesociety of his lovely and accomplished daughters. Hunting was all very welloccasionally, but it did not do to make a business of it. This, however, hekept to himself.

  'You'll have a fine day, my dear Mr. Sponge,' said he, extending a hand, ashe found our friend brown-booted and red-coated, working away at thebreakfast.

  'Yes,' said Sponge, munching away for hard life. In less than ten minutes,he managed to get as much down as, with the aid of a knotch of bread thathe pocketed, he thought would last him through the day; and, with a hastyadieu, he hurried off to find the stables, to get his hack. The piebald wassaddled, bridled, and turned round in the stall; for all servants that areworth anything like to further hunting operations. With the aid of thegroom's instructions, who accompanied him out of the courtyard, Sponge wasenabled to set off at a hard canter, cheered by the groom's observation,that 'he thought he would be there in time.' On, on he went; nowspeculating on a turn; now pulling a scratch map he had made on a bit ofpaper out of his waistcoat-pocket; now inquiring the name of any place hesaw of any person he met. So he proceeded for five or six miles withoutmuch difficulty; the road, though not all turnpike, being mainly over goodsound township ones, It was at the village of Swineley, with itschubby-towered church and miserable hut-like cottages, that his troubleswere to begin. He had two sharp turns to make--to ride through astraw-yard, and leap over a broken-down wall at the corner of a cottage--toget into Swaithing Green Lane, and so cut off an angle of two miles. Theroad then became a bridle one, and was, like all bridle ones, very plain tothose who know them, and very puzzling to those who don't. It was evidentlya little-frequented road; and what with looking out for footmarks (nownearly obliterated by the recent rains) and speculating on what queercorners of the fields the gates would be in, Mr. Sponge found it necessaryto reduce his pace to a very moderate trot. Still he had made good way; andsupposing they gave a quarter-of-an-hour's law, and he had not beendeceived as to distance, he thought he should get to the meet about thetime. His horse, too, would be there, and perhaps Lord Scamperdale mightgive a little extra law on that account. He then began speculating on whatsort of a man his lordship was, and the probable nature of his reception.He began to wish that Jawleyford had accompanied him, to introduce him. Notthat Sponge was shy, but still he thought that Jawleyford's presence woulddo him good.

  Lord Scamperdale's hunt was not the most polished in the world. The houndsand the horses were a good deal better bred than the men. Of course hislordship gave the _tone_ to the whole; and being a coarse, broad,barge-built sort of man, he had his clothes to correspond, and looked likea drayman in scarlet. He wore a great round flat-brimmed hat, which beingadopted by the hunt generally, procured it the name of the 'F.H.H.,' or'Flat Hat Hunt.' Our readers, we dare say, have noticed it figuring away,in the list of hounds during the winter, along with the 'H.H.s,' 'V.W.H.s,'and other initialized packs. His lordship's clothes were of the large,roomy, baggy, abundant order, with great pockets, great buttons, and lotsof strings flying out. Instead of tops, he sported leather leggings, whichat a distance gave him the appearance of riding with his trousers up to hisknees. These the hunt too adopted; and his 'particular,' Jack (JackSpraggon), the man whom he mounted, and who was made much in his own mould,sported, like his patron, a pair of great broad-rimmed, tortoise-shellspectacles of considerable power. Jack was always at his lordship's elbow;and it was 'Jack' this, 'Jack' that, 'Jack' something, all day long. But wemust return to Mr. Sponge, whom we left working his way through theintricate fields. At last he got through them, and into Red Pool Common,which, by leaving the windmill to the right, he cleared pretty cleverly,and entered upon a district still wilder and drearier than any he hadtraversed. Peewits screamed and hovered over land that seemed to growlittle but rushes and water-grasses, with occasional heather. The groundpoached and splashed as he went; worst of all, time was nearly up.

  In vain Sponge strained his eyes in search of Dundleton Tower. In vain hefancied every high, sky-line-breaking place in the distance was themuch-wished-for spot. Dundleton Tower was no more a tower than it was atown, and would seem to have been christened by the rule of contrary, forit was nothing but a great flat open space, without object or incident tonote it.

  Sponge, however, was not destined to see it.

  As he went floundering along through an apparently interminable and almostbottomless lane, whose sunken places and deep ruts were filled with clayeywater, which played the very deuce with the cords and brown boots, thelight note of a hound fell on his ear, and almost at the same instant, asomething that he would have taken for a dog had it not been for the noteof the hound, turned, as it were, from him, and went in a contrarydirection.

  Sponge reined in the piebald, and stood transfixed. It was, indeed, thefox!--a magnificent full-brushed fellow, with a slight tendency to greyalong the back, and going with the light spiry ease of an animal full ofstrength and running.

  'I wish I mayn't ketch it,' said Sponge to himself, shuddering at the ideaof having headed him.

  It was, however, no time for thinking. The cry of hounds became moredistinct--nearer and nearer they came, fuller and more melodious; but,alas! it was no music to Sponge. Presently the cheering of hunters washeard--'FOR--_rard_! FOR--_rard_!' and anon the rate of awhip farther back. Another second, and hounds, horses, and men were inview, streaming away over the large pasture on the left.

  There was a high, straggling fence between Sponge and the field, thickenough to prevent their identifying him, but not sufficiently high toscreen him altogether. Sponge pulled round the piebald, and gatheredhimself together like a man going to be shot. The hounds came tearing fullcry to where he was; there was a breast-high scent, and every one seemed tohave it. They charged the fence at a wattled pace a few yards below wherehe sat, and flying across the deep dirty lane, dashed full cry into thepasture beyond.

  'Hie back!' cried Sponge. 'Hie back!' trying to turn them; but instead ofthe piebald carrying him in front of the pack, as Sponge wanted, he took torearing, and plunging, and pawing the air. The hounds meanwhile dashedjealously on without a scent, till first one and then another feelingashamed, gave in; and at last a general lull succeeded the recent joyouscry. Awful period! terrible to any one, but dreadful to a stranger! ThoughSponge was in the road, he well knew that no one has any business anywherebut with hounds, when a fox is astir.

  'Hold hard!' was now the cry, and the perspiring riders and lathered steedscame to a standstill.

  'Twang--twang--twang,' went a shrill horn; and a couple of whips, singlingthemselves out from the field, flew over the fence to where the hounds werecasting.

  'Twang--twang--twang,' went the horn again.

  Meanwhile Sponge sat enjoying the following observations, which a westerlywind wafted into his ear.

  'Oh, d--n me! that man in the lane's headed the fox,' puffed one.

  'Who is it?' gasped another.

  'Tom Washball!' exclaimed a third.

  'Heads more foxes than any man in the country,' puffed a fourth.

  'Always nicking and skirting,' exclaimed a fifth.

  'Never comes to the meet,' added a sixth.

  'Come on a cow to-day,' observed another.

  'Always chopping and changing,' added another; 'he'll come on a giraffenext.'

  Having commenced his career with the 'F.H.H.' so inauspiciously and yetescaped detection, Mr. Sponge thought of letting Tom Washball enjoy thehonours of his _faux-pas_, and of sneaking quietly home as soon as thehounds hit off the scent; b
ut unluckily, just as they were crossing thelane, what should heave in sight, cantering along at his leisure, but theredoubtable Multum in Parvo, who, having got rid of old Leather by bumpingand thumping his leg against a gate-post, was enjoying a line of his own.

  'Whoay!' cried Sponge, as he saw the horse quickening his pace to have ashy at the hounds as they crossed. 'Who--o--a--y!' roared he, brandishinghis whip, and trying to turn the piebald round; but no, the brute wouldn'tanswer the bit, and dreading lest, in addition to heading the fox, heshould kill 'the best hound in the pack,' Mr. Sponge threw himself off,regardless of the mud-bath in which he lit, and caught the runaway as hetried to dart past.

  'For-rard!--for-rard!--for-rard!' was again the cry, as the hounds hit offthe scent; while the late pausing, panting sportsmen tackled vigorouslywith their steeds, and swept onward like the careering wind.

  Mr. Sponge, albeit somewhat perplexed, had still sufficient presence ofmind to see the necessity of immediate action; and though he had so latelycontemplated beating a retreat, the unexpected appearance of Parvo alteredthe state of affairs.

  'Now or never,' said he, looking first at the disappearing field, and thenfor the non-appearing Leather. 'Hang it! I may as well see the run,' addedhe; so hooking the piebald on to an old stone gate-post that stood in theragged fence, and lengthening a stirrup-leather, he vaulted into thesaddle, and began lengthening the other as he went.

  It was one of Parvo's going days; indeed, it was that that old Leather andhe had quarrelled about--Parvo wanting to follow the hounds, while Leatherwanted to wait for his master. And Parvo had the knack of going, as well asthe occasional inclination. Although such a drayhorse-looking animal, hecould throw the ground behind him amazingly; and the deep-holding clay inwhich he now found himself was admirably suited to his short, powerful legsand enormous stride. The consequence was, that he was very soon up with thehindmost horsemen. These he soon passed, and was presently among those whoride hard when there is nothing to stop them. Such time as these sportsmencould now spare from looking out ahead was devoted to Sponge, whom theyeyed with the utmost astonishment, as if he had dropped from the clouds.

  A stranger--a real out-and-out stranger--had not visited their remoteregions since the days of poor Nimrod. 'Who could it be?' But 'the pace,'as Nimrod used to say, 'was too good to inquire.' A little farther on, andSponge drew upon the great guns of the hunt--the men who ride _to_ hounds,and not _after_ them; the same who had criticized him through thefence--Mr. Wake, Mr. Fossick, Parson Blossomnose, Mr. Fyle, LordScamperdale, Jack himself, and others. Great was their astonishment at theapparition, and incoherent the observations they dropped as they gallopedon.

  'It isn't Wash, after all,' whispered Fyle into Blossomnose's ear, as theyrode through a gate together.

  'No-o-o,' replied the nose, eyeing Sponge intently.

  'What a coat!' whispered one.

  'Jacket,' replied the other.

  'Lost his brush,' observed a third, winking at Sponge's docked tail.

  'He's going to ride over us all,' snapped Mr. Fossick, whom Sponge passedat a hand-canter, as the former was blobbing and floundering about the deepruts leading out of a turnip-field.

  'He'll catch it just now,' said Mr. Wake, eyeing Sponge drawing upon hislordship and Jack, as they led the field as usual. Jack being at arespectful distance behind his great patron, espied Sponge first; andhaving taken a good stare at him through his formidable spectacles, tosatisfy himself that it was nobody he knew--a stare that Sponge returned aswell as a man without spectacles can return the stare of one with--Jackspurred his horse up to his lordship, and rising in his stirrups, shot intohis ear--

  'Why, here's the man on the cow!' adding, 'it isn't Washey.'

  'Who the deuce is it then?' asked his lordship, looking over his leftshoulder, as he kept galloping on in the wake of his huntsman.

  'Don't know,' replied Jack; 'never saw him before.'

  'Nor I,' said his lordship, with an air as much as to say, 'It makes nomatter.'

  His lordship, though well mounted, was not exactly on the sort of horsefor the country they were in; while Mr. Sponge, in addition to being on thevery animal for it, had the advantage of the horse having gone the firstpart of the run without a rider: so Multum in Parvo, whether Mr. Spongewished it or not, insisted on being as far forward as he could get. Themore Sponge pulled and hauled, the more determined the horse was; till,having thrown both Jack and his lordship in the rear, he made for oldFrostyface, the huntsman, who was riding well up to the still-flying pack.

  'HOLD HARD, sir! For God's sake, hold hard!' screamed Frosty, whoknew by intuition there was a horse behind, as well as he knew there was aman shooting in front, who, in all probability, had headed the fox.

  'HOLD HARD, sir!' roared he, as, yawning and boring and shakinghis head, Parvo dashed through the now yelping scattered pack, makingstraight for a stiff new gate, which he smashed through, just as a circuspony smashes through a paper hoop.

  'Hoo-ray!' shouted Jack Spraggon, on seeing the hounds were safe. 'Hoo-rayfor the tailor!'

  'Billy Button, himself!' exclaimed his lordship, adding, 'never saw such athing in my life!'

  'Who the deuce is he?' asked Blossomnose, in the full glow ofpulling-five-year-old exertion.

  'Don't know,' replied Jack, adding, 'he's a shaver, whoever he is.'

  Meanwhile the frightened hounds were scattered right and left.

  'I'll lay a guinea he's one of those confounded waiting chaps,' observedFyle, who had been handled rather roughly by one of the tribe, who haddropped 'quite promiscuously' upon a field where he was, just as Sponge haddone with Lord Scamperdale's.

  'Shouldn't wonder,' replied his lordship, eyeing Sponge's vain endeavoursto turn the chestnut, and thinking how he would 'pitch into him' when hecame up. 'By Jove,' added his lordship, 'if the fellow had taken the wholecountry round, he couldn't have chosen a worse spot for such an exploit;for there never _is_ any scent over here. See! not a hound can own it. OldHarmony herself throws up.

  The whips again are in their places, turning the astonished pack toFrostyface, who sets off on a casting expedition. The field, as usual, sitlooking on; some blessing Sponge; some wondering who he was; others lookingwhat o'clock it is; some dismounting and looking at their horses' feet.

  'Thank you, Mr. Brown Boots!' exclaimed his lordship, as, by dint ofbitting and spurring, Sponge at length worked the beast round, and camesneaking back in the face of the whole field. 'Thank you, Mr. Brown Boots,'repeated he, taking off his hat and bowing very low. 'Very much obl_e_gedto you, Mr. Brown Boots. Most particklarly obl_e_ged to you, Mr. BrownBoots,' with another low bow. 'Hang'd obl_e_ged to you, Mr. Brown Boots!D--n you, Mr. Brown Boots!' continued his lordship, looking at Sponge as ifhe would eat him.

  'Beg pardon, sir,' blurted Sponge; 'my horse--'

  'Hang your horse!' screamed his lordship; 'it wasn't your horse that headedthe fox, was it?'

  'Beg pardon--couldn't help it; I--'

  'Couldn't help it. Hang your helps--you're _always_ doing it, sir. Youcould stay at home, sir--I s'pose, sir--couldn't you, sir? eh, sir?'

  Sponge was silent.

  'See, sir!' continued his lordship, pointing to the mute pack now followingthe huntsman, 'you've lost us our fox, sir--yes, sir, lost us ourfox, sir. D'ye call that nothin', sir? If you don't, _I_ do, youperpendicular-looking Puseyite pig-jobber! By Jove! you think because I'm alord, and can't swear, or use coarse language, that you may do what youlike--but I'll take my hounds home, sir--yes, sir, I'll take my houndshome, sir.' So saying, his lordship roared HOME to Frostyface;adding, in an undertone to the first whip, 'bid him go to Furzing-fieldgorse.'