Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour

  CHAPTER LI

  FARMER PEASTRAW'S DINE-MATINEE

  There are pleasanter situations than being left alone with twenty couple ofeven the best-mannered fox-hounds; far pleasanter situations than beingleft alone with such a tearing, frantic lot as composed Sir HarryScattercash's pack. Sportsmen are so used (with some hounds at least) tosee foxes 'in hand' that they never think there is any difficulty ingetting them there; and it is only a single-handed combat with the packthat shows them that the hound does not bring the fox up in his mouth likea retriever. A tyro's first _tete-a-tete_ with a half-killed fox, with thebaying pack circling round, must leave as pleasing a souvenir on thememory as Mr. Gordon Cumming would derive from his first interview with alion.

  Our friend Mr. Sponge was now engaged with a game of 'pull devil, pullbaker' with the hounds for the fox, the difficulty of his situation beingheightened by having to contend with the impetuous temper of ahigh-couraged, dangerous horse. To be sure, the gallant Hercules was a gooddeal subdued by the distance and severity of the pace, but there are fewhorses that get to the end of a run that have not sufficient kick left inthem to do mischief to hounds, especially when raised or frightened by thesmell of blood; nevertheless, there was no help for it. Mr. Sponge knewthat unless he carried off some trophy, it would never be believed he hadkilled the fox. Considering all this, and also that there was no one totell what damage he did, he just rode slap into the middle of the pack, asMarksman, Furious, Thunderer, and Bountiful were in the act of despatchingthe fox. Singwell and Saladin (puppies) having been sent away howling, theone bit through the jowl, the other through the foot.

  'Ah! leave him--leave him--leave him!' screeched Mr. Sponge, trampling overWarrior and Tempest, the brown horse lashing out furiously at Melody andLapwing. 'Ah, leave him! leave him!' repeated he, throwing himself off hishorse by the fox, and clearing a circle with his whip, aided by the hoofsof the animal. There lay the fox before him killed, but as yet littlebroken by the pack. He was a noble fellow; bright and brown, in the fullvigour of life and condition, with a gameness, even in death, that no otheranimal shows. Mr. Sponge put his foot on the body, and quickly whipped offhis brush. Before he had time to pocket it, the repulsed pack broke in uponhim and carried off the carcass.

  'Ah! dash ye, you may have _that_,' said he, cutting at them with his whipas they clustered upon it like a swarm of bees. They had not had a wild foxfor five weeks.

  'Who-hoop!' cried Mr. Sponge, in the hopes of attracting some of the field.'WHO-HOOP!' repeated he, as loud as he could halloo. 'Where canthey all be, I wonder?' said he, looking around; and echo answered--where?

  The hounds had now crunched their fox, or as much of him as they wanted.Old Marksman ran about with his head, and Warrior with a haunch.

  'Drop it, you old beggar!' cried Mr. Sponge, cutting at Marksman with hiswhip, and Mr. Sponge being too near to make a trial of speed prudent, theold dog did as he was bid, and slunk away.

  Our friend then appended this proud trophy to his saddle-flap by a piece ofwhipcord, and, mounting the now tractable Hercules, began to cast about insearch of a landmark. Like most down countries, this one was somewhatdeceptive; there were plenty of landmarks, but they were all the samesort--clumps of trees on hill-tops, and plantations on hill-sides, butnothing of a distinguishing character, nothing that a stranger could say,'I remember seeing that as I came'; or, 'I remember passing that in therun.' The landscape seemed all alike: north, south, east, and west, equallyindifferent.

  'Curse the thing,' said Mr. Sponge, adjusting himself in his saddle, andlooking about; 'I haven't the _slightest_ idea where I am. I'll blow thehorn, and see if that will bring any one.'

  So saying, he applied the horn to his lips, and blew a keen, shrill blast,that spread over the surrounding country, and was echoed back by thedistant hills. A few lost hounds cast up from various quarters, in theunexpected way that hounds do come to a horn. Among them were a few brandedwith S,[4] who did not at all set off the beauty of the rest.

  ''Ord rot you, you belong to that old ruffian, do you?' said Mr. Sponge,riding and cutting at one with his whip, exclaiming, 'Get away to him, yebeggar, or I'll tuck you up short.'

  He now, for the first time, saw them together in anything like numbers, andwas struck with the queerness and inequality of the whole. They were of allsorts and sizes, from the solemn towering calf-like fox-hound down to thelittle wriggling harrier. They seemed, too, to be troubled with variouscomplaints and infirmities. Some had the mange; some had blear eyes; somehad but one; many were out at the elbows; and not a few down at the toes.However, they had killed a fox, and 'Handsome is that handsome does,' saidMr. Sponge, as, with his horse surrounded by them, he moved on in quest ofhis way home.

  At first, he thought to retrace his steps by the marks of his horse'shoofs, and succeeded in getting back to the dean, where Sir Harry's houndschanged foxes with Lord Scamperdale's; but he got confused with theimprints of the other horses, and very soon had to trust entirely tochance. Chance, we are sorry to say, did not befriend him; for, afterwandering over the wide-extending downs, he came upon the little hamlet ofTinkler Hatch, and was informed that he had been riding in a semicircle.

  He there got some gruel for his horse, and, with day closing in, now setoff, as directed, on the Ribchester road, with the assurance that he'couldn't miss his way.' Some of the hounds here declined following him anyfarther, and slunk into cottages and outhouses as they passed along. Mr.Sponge, however, did not care for their company.

  Having travelled musingly along two or three miles of road, now thinkingover the glorious run--now of the gallant way in which Hercules had carriedhim--now of the pity it was that there was nobody there to see--now of theencounter with Lord Scamperdale, just as he passed a well-filled stackyard,that had shut out the view of a flaming red brick house with a pea-greendoor and windows, an outburst of 'hoo-rays!' followed by one cheermore--'hoo-ray!' made the remaining wild hounds prick up their ears, andour friend rein in his horse, to hear what was 'up.' A bright fire in aroom on the right of the door overpowered the clouds of tobacco-smoke withwhich the room was enveloped, and revealed sundry scarlet coats in the fullglow of joyous hilarity. It was Sir Harry and friends recruiting at FannerPeastraw's after their exertions; for, though they could not make much ofhunting, they were always ready to drink. They were having a rareset-to--rashers of bacon, wedges of cheese, with oceans of malt-liquor. Itwas the appearance of a magnificent cold round of home-fed beef, red withsaltpetre and flaky with white fat, borne on high by their host, thatelicited the applause and the one cheer more that broke on Mr. Sponge's earas he was passing--applause that was renewed as they caught a glimpse ofhis red coat, not on account of his safety or that of the hounds, butsimply because being in the cheering mood, they were ready to cheeranything.

  'Hil-loo! there's Mr. What's-his-name!' exclaimed brother Bob Spangles, ashe caught view of Sponge and the hounds passing the window.

  'So there is!' roared another; 'Hoo-ray!'

  'Hoo-ray!' yelled two or three more.

  'Stop him!' cried another.

  'Call him in,' roared Sir Harry, 'and let's liquor him.'

  'Hilloo! Mister What's-your-name!' exclaimed the other Spangles, throwingup the window. 'Hilloo, won't you come in and have some refreshment?'

  'Who's there?' asked Mr. Sponge, reining in the brown.

  'Oh, we're all here,' shouted brother Bob Spangles, holding up a tumbler ofhot brandy-and-water; 'we're all here--Sir Harry and all,' added he.

  'But what shall I do with the hounds?' asked Mr. Sponge, looking down uponthe confused pack, now crowding about his horse's head.

  'Oh, let the beef-eaters--the scene-shifters--I meant to say theservants--those fellows, you know, in scarlet and black caps, look afterthem,' replied brother Bob Spangles.

  'But there are none of them here,' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, looking back onthe deserted road.

  'None of them here!' hiccuped Sir Harry, who had now got reeled to thewindow. 'None o
f them here,' repeated he, staring vacantly at the unevenpack. 'Oh (hiccup) I'll tell you what do--(hiccup) them into a barn or astable, or a (hiccup) of any sort, and we'll send for them when we want to(hiccup) again.' 'Then just you call them to you,' replied Sponge,thinking they would go to their master. 'Just you call them,' repeated he,'and I'll put them to you.'

  '(Hiccup) call to them?' replied Harry. 'I can't (hiccup).'

  'Oh yes!' rejoined Mr. Sponge; 'call one or two by their names, and therest will follow.'

  'Names! (hiccup) I don't know any of their nasty names,' replied Sir Harry,staring wildly.

  'Towler! Towler! Towler! here, good dog--hoop!--here's your liquor!' criedbrother Bob Spangles, holding the smoking tumbler of brandy-and-water outof the window, as if to tempt any hound that chose to answer to the name ofTowler.

  There didn't seem to be a Towler in the pack; at least, none of themqualified for the brandy-and-water.

  'Oh, I'll (hiccup) you what we'll do,' exclaimed Sir Harry: 'I'll (hiccup)you what we'll do. 'We'll just give them a (hiccup) kick a-piece and sendthem (hiccuping) home,' Sir Harry reeling back into the room to the blackhorse-hair sofa, where his whip was.

  He presently appeared at the door, and, going into the midst of the hounds,commenced laying about him, rating, and cutting, and kicking, and shouting.

  SIR HARRY OF NONSUCH HOUSE]

  'Geete away home with ye, ye brutes; what are you all (hiccup)ing hereabout? Ah! cut off his tail!' cried he, staggering after a venerableblear-eyed sage, who dropped his stern and took off.

  'Be off! Does your mother know you're out?' cried Bob Spangles, out of thewindow, to old Marksman, who stood wondering what to do.

  The old hound took the hint also.

  'Now, then, old feller,' cried Sir Harry, staggering up to Mr. Sponge, whostill sat on his horse, in mute astonishment at Sir Harry's mode ofdealing with his hounds. 'Now, then, old feller,' said he, seizing Mr.Sponge by the hand, 'get rid of your quadruped, and (hiccup) in, and makeyourself "o'er all the (hiccups) of life victorious," as Bob Spangles says,when he (hiccups) it neat. This is old (hiccup) Peastraw's, a (hiccup)tenant of mine, and he'll be most (hiccup) to see you.'

  'But what must I do with my horse?' asked Mr. Sponge, rubbing some of thedried sweat off the brown's shoulder as he spoke; adding, 'I should like toget him a feed of corn.'

  'Give him some ale, and a (hiccup) of sherry in it,' replied Sir Harry;'it'll do him far more good--make his mane grow,' smoothing the horse'sthin, silky mane as he spoke.

  'Well, I'll put him up,' replied Mr. Sponge, 'and then come to you,'throwing himself, jockey fashion, off the horse as he spoke.

  'That's a (hiccup) feller,' said Sir Harry; adding, 'here's old Pea himselfcome to see after you.'

  So saying, Sir Harry reeled back to his comrades in the house, leaving Mr.Sponge in the care of the farmer.

  'This way, sir; this way,' said the burly Mr. Peastraw, leading the wayinto his farmyard, where a line of hunters stood shivering under a longcart-shed.

  'But I can't put my horse in here,' observed Mr. Sponge, looking at theunfortunate brutes.

  'No, sir, no,' replied Mr. Peastraw; 'put yours in a stable, sir; put yoursin a stable'; adding, 'these young gents don't care much about theirhorses.'

  'Does anybody know the chap's name?' asked Sir Harry, reeling back into theroom.

  'Know his name!' exclaimed Bob Spangles; 'why, don't you?'

  'No,' replied Sir Harry, with a vacant stare.

  'Why, you went up and shook hands with him, as if you were as thick asthieves,' replied Bob.

  'Did I?' hiccuped Sir Harry. 'Well, I thought I knew him. At least, Ithought it was somebody I had (hiccup)ed before; and at one's own (hiccup)house, you know, one's 'bliged to be (hiccup) feller well (hiccup) witheverybody that comes. But surely, some of you know his (hiccup) name,'added he, looking about at the company.

  'I think I know his (hiccup) face,' replied Bob Spangles, imitating hisbrother-in-law.

  'I've seen him somewhere,' observed the other Spangles, through a mouthfulof beef.

  'So have I,' exclaimed some one else, 'but where I can't say.'

  'Most likely at church,' observed brother Bob Spangles.

  'Well, I don't think he'll corrupt me,' observed Captain Quod, speakingbetween the fumes of a cigar.

  'He'll not borrow much of me,' observed Captain Seedeybuck, producing amuch tarnished green purse, and exhibiting two fourpenny-pieces at one end,and three-halfpence at the other.

  'Oh, I dare say he's a good feller,' observed Sir Harry; 'I make no doubthe's one of the right sort.'

  Just then in came the man himself, hat and whip in hand, waving the brushproudly over his head.

  'Ah, that's (hiccup) right, old feller,' exclaimed Sir Harry, againadvancing with extended hand to meet him, adding, 'you'd (hiccup) all youwanted for your (hiccup) horse: mutton broth--I mean barley-water,foot-bath, everything right. Let me introduce my (hiccup) brother-in-law,Bob Spangles, my (hiccup) friend Captain Ladofwax, Captain Quod, Captain(hiccup) Bouncey, Captain (hiccup) Seedeybuck, and my (hiccup)brother-in-law, Mr. Spangles, as lushy a cove as ever was seen; ar'n't you,old boy?' added he, grasping the latter by the arm.

  All these gentlemen severally bobbed their heads as Sir Harry called themover, and then resumed their respective occupations--eating, drinking, andsmoking.

  These were some of the debauched gentlemen Mr. Sponge had seen beforeNonsuch House in the morning. They were all captains, or captains bycourtesy. Ladofwax had been a painter and glazier in the Borough, where hemade the acquaintance of Captain Quod, while that gentleman was an inmateof Captain Hudson's strong house. Captain Bouncey was the too well-knownbetting-office keeper; and Seedeybuck was such a constant customer of Mr.Commissioner Fonblanque's court, that that worthy legal luminary, ondischarging him for the fifth time, said to him, with a very significantshake of the head, 'You'd better not come here again, sir.' Seedeybuck,being of the same opinion, had since fastened himself on to Sir HarryScattercash, who found him in meat, drink, washing, and lodging. They wereall attired in red coats, of one sort or another, though some of which wereof a very antediluvian, and others of a very dressing-gown cut. Bouncey'shad a hare on the button, and Seedeybuck's coat sat on him like a sack.Still a scarlet coat is a scarlet coat in the eyes of some, and the coatswere not a bit more unsportsmanlike than the men. To Mr. Sponge'sastonishment, instead of breaking out in inquiries as to where they had runto, the time, the distance, who was up, who was down, and so on, they beganrecommending the victuals and drink; and this, notwithstanding Mr. Spongekept flourishing the brush.

  'We've had a rare run,' said he, addressing himself to Sir Harry.

  'Have you (hiccup)? I'm glad of it (hiccup). Pray have something to(hiccup) after it; you _must_ be (hiccup).'

  'Let me help you to some of this cold round of beef?' exclaimed CaptainBouncey, brandishing the great broad-bladed carving knife.

  'Have a slice of 'ot 'am,' suggested Captain Quod.

  'The finest run I ever rode!' observed Mr. Sponge, still endeavouring toget a hearing.

  'Dare say it would,' replied Sir Harry;' those (hiccup) hounds of mine areuncommon (hiccup).' He didn't know what they were, and the hiccup came veryopportunely.

  'The pace was terrific!' exclaimed Sponge.

  'Dare say it would,' replied Sir Harry; 'and that's what makes me (hiccup)you're so (hiccup). Pea, here, has some rare old October--(hiccup) bushelsto the (hiccup) hogshead.' 'It's capital!' exclaimed Captain Seedeybuck,frothing himself a tumblerful out of the tall brown jug.

  'So is this,' rejoined Captain Quod, pouring himself out a liberalallowance of gin.

  'That horse of mine carried me MAG_nificently_!' observed Mr. Sponge, witha commanding emphasis on the MAG.

  'Dare say he would,' replied Sir Harry; 'he looked like a (hiccup)er--awhite 'un, wasn't he?'

  'No; a _brown_,' replied Mr. Sponge, disgusted at the mistake.

  'Ah, well; but there _was_ somebod
y on a white,' replied Sir Harry.'Oh--ah--yes--it was old Bugles on my lady's horse. By the (hiccup) way(hiccup), gentlemen, what's got Mr. Orlando (hiccup) Bugles?' asked SirHarry, staring wildly round.

  'Oh! old Bugles! old Pad-the-Hoof! old Mr. Funker! the horse frightened himso, that he went home crying,' replied Bob Spangles.

  'Hope he didn't lose him?' asked Sir Harry.

  'Oh no,' replied Bob; 'he gave a lad a shilling to lead him, and theytrudged away very quietly together.'

  'The old (hiccup)!' exclaimed Sir Harry; 'he told me he was a member of theSurrey something.'

  'The Sorry Union,' replied Captain Quod. 'He _was_ out with them once, andfell off on his head and knocked his hat-crown out.'

  'Well, but I was telling you about the run,' interposed Mr. Sponge, againendeavouring to enlist an audience. 'I was telling you about the run,'repeated he.

  'Don't trouble yourself, my dear sir,' interrupted Captain Bouncey; 'weknow all about it--found--checked--killed, killed--found--checked.'

  'You _can't_ know all about it!' snapped Mr. Sponge; 'for there wasn't asoul there but myself, much to my horror, for I had a reg'lar row with oldScamperdale, and never a soul to back me.'

  'What! you fell in with that mealy-mouthed gentleman, who can't (hiccup)swear because he's a (hiccup) lord, did you?' asked Sir Harry, hisattention being now drawn to our friend.

  '_I did_,' replied Mr. Sponge; 'and a pretty passage of politeness we hadof it.'

  'Indeed! (hiccup),' exclaimed Sir Harry. 'Tell us (hiccup) all about it.'

  'Well,' said Mr. Sponge, laying the brush lengthways before him on thetable, as if he was going to demonstrate upon it. 'Well, you see we had adevil of a run--I don't know how many miles, as hard as ever we could laylegs to the ground; one by one the field all dropped astern, except thehuntsman and myself. At last he gave in, or rather his horse did, and I wasleft alone in my glory. Well, we went over the downs at a pace that nothingbut blood could live with, and, though my horse has never been beat, and isas thorough-bred as Eclipse--a horse that I have refused three hundredguineas for over and over again, I really did begin to think I might get tothe bottom of him, when all of a sudden we came to a dean.'

  'Ah! Cockthropple that would be,' observed Sir Harry.

  'Dare say,' replied Mr. Sponge; 'Cock-anything-you-like-to-call-it for me.Well, when we got there, I thought we should have some breathing time, forthe fox would be sure to hug it. But no; no sooner had I got there than acountryman hallooed him away on the far side. I got to the halloo as quickas I could, and just as I was blowing the horn,' producing Watchorn's fromhis pocket as he spoke; 'for I must tell you,' said he, 'that when I sawthe huntsman's horse was beat, I took this from him--a horn to a foothuntsman being of no more use, you know, than a side-pocket to a cow, or afrilled shirt to a pig. Well, as I was tootleing the horn for hard life,who should turn out of the wood but old mealy-mouth himself, as you callhim, and a pretty volley of abuse he let drive at me.'

  'No doubt,' hiccuped Sir Harry; 'but what was _he_ doing there?'

  'Oh! I should tell you,' replied Mr. Sponge, 'his hounds had run a fox intoit, and were on him full cry when I got there.'

  'I'll be bund,' cried Sir Harry, 'it was all sham--that he just (hiccup)and excuse for getting into that cover. The old (hiccup) beggar is alwaysat some trick, (hiccup)-ing my foxes or disturbing my covers or something,'Sir Harry being just enough of a master of hounds to be jealous of theneighbouring ones.

  'Well, however, there he was,' continued Mr. Sponge; 'and the firstintimation I had of the fact was a great, gruff voice, exclaiming, "Who theDickens are you?"

  '"Who the Dickens are you?" replied I.'

  'Bravo!' shouted Sir Harry.

  'Capital!' exclaimed Seedeybuck.

  'Go it, you cripples! Newgate's on fire!' shouted Captain Quod.

  'Well, what said he?' asked Sir Harry.

  '"They commonly call me the Earl of Scamperdale," roared he, "and those areMY HOUNDS."

  '"They're _not_ your hounds," replied I.

  '"Whose are they, then?" asked he.

  '"Sir Harry Scattercash's, a devilish deal better fellow," replied I.

  '"Oh, by Jove!" roared he, "there's an end of everything, Jack," shouted heto old Spraggon, "this gentleman says these are not my hounds!"

  '"I'll tell you what it is, my lord," said I, gathering my whip and ridingclose up as if I was goin' to pitch into him, "I'll tell you what it is;you think, because you're a lord, you may abuse people as you like, but byJingo you've mistaken your man. I'll not put up with any of your nonsense.The Sponges are as old a family as the Scamperdales, and I'll fight you anynon-hunting day you like with pistols, broadswords, fists orblunder-busses."'

  'Well done you! Bravo! that's your sort!' with loud thumping of tables andclapping of hands, resounded from all parts.

  'By Jove, fill him up a stiff'un! he deserves a good drink after that!'exclaimed Sir Harry, pouring Mr. Sponge out a beaker, equal parts brandyand water.

  Mr. Sponge immediately became a hero, and was freely admitted into theircircle. He was clearly a choice spirit--a trump of the first water--andthey only wanted his name to be uncommonly thick with him. As it was, theyplied him with victuals and drink, all seeming anxious to bring him up tothe same happy state of inebriety as themselves. They talked and theychattered, and they abused Old Scamperdale and Jack Spraggon, and laudedMr. Sponge up to the skies.

  Thus day closed in, with Farmer Peastraw's bright fire shedding itscheering glow over the now encircling group. One would have thought that,with their hearts mellow, and their bodies comfortable, their minds wouldhave turned to that sport in whose honour they sported the scarlet; but no,hunting was never mentioned. They were quite as genteel as Nimrod's swellfriends at Melton, who cut it altogether. They rambled from subject tosubject, chiefly on indoor and London topics; billiards, betting-offices,Coal Holes, Cremorne, Cider Cellars, Judge and Jury Courts, there being anevident confusion in their minds between the characters of sportsmen andsporting men, or gents as they are called. Mr. Sponge tried hard to getthem on the right tack, were it only for the sake of singing the praises ofthe horse for which he had so often refused three hundred guineas, but henever succeeded in retaining an hearing. Talkers were far more plentifulthan listeners.

  At last they got to singing, and when men begin to sing, it is a sign thatthey are either drunk, or have had enough of each other's company. SirHarry's hiccup, from which he was never wholly free, increased tenfold, andhe hiccuped and spluttered at almost every word. His hand, which shook soat starting that it was odds whether he got his glass to his mouth or hisear, was now steadied, but his glazed eye and green haggard countenanceshowed at what a fearful sacrifice the temporary steadiness had beenobtained. At last his jaw dropped on his chest, his left arm hunglistlessly over the back of the chair, and he fell asleep. Captain Quod,too, was overcome, and threw himself full-length on the sofa. CaptainSeedeybuck began to talk thick.

  Just as they were all about brought to a standstill, the trampling ofhorses, the rumbling of wheels, and the shrill twang, twang, twang of thenow almost forgotten mail horn, roused them from their reveries. It wasSir Harry's drag scouring the country in search of our party. It had beento all the public-houses and beer-shops within a radius of some miles ofNonsuch House, and was now taking a speculative blow through the centre ofthe circle.

  It was a clear frosty night, and the horses' hoofs rang, and the wheelsrolled soundly over the hard road, cracking the thin ice, yet hardlysufficiently frozen to prevent a slight upshot from the wheels.

  MR. BUGLES PREFERS DANCING TO HUNTING]

  Twang, twang, twang, went the horn full upon Farmer Peastraw's house,causing the sleepers to start, and the waking ones to make for the window.

  'COACH-A-HOY!' cried Bob Spangles, smashing a pane in a vainattempt to get the window up. The coachman pulled up at the sound.

  'Here we are. Sir Harry!' cried Bob Spangles, into his brother-in-law'sear, but Sir Harry was to
o far gone; he could not 'come to time.' Presentlya footman entered with furred coats, and shawls, and checkered rugs, inwhich those who were sufficiently sober enveloped themselves, and those whowere too far gone were huddled by Peastraw and the man; and amid much hurryand confusion, and jostling for inside seats, the party freighted thecoach, and whisked away before Mr. Sponge knew where he was.

  When they arrived at Nonsuch House, they found Mr. Bugles exercising thefiddlers by dancing the ladies in turns.