CHAPTER LXIX
HOW OTHER THINGS CAME OFF
'Twere hard to say whether Lucy's joy at Sponge's safety, or LordScamperdale's grief at poor Spraggon's death, was most overpowering. Eachfound relief in a copious flood of tears. Lucy sobbed and laughed, andsobbed and laughed again; and seemed as if her little heart would burst itsbounds. The mob, ever open to sentiment--especially the sentiment ofbeauty--cheered and shouted as she rode with her lover from the winning tothe weighing-post.
'A', she's a bonny un!' exclaimed a countryman, looking intently up in herface.
'She is that!' cried another, doing the same.
'Three cheers for the lady!' shouted a tall Shaggyford rough, taking offhis woolly cap, and waving it.
'Hoo-ray! hoo-ray! hoo-ray!' shouted a group of flannel-clad navvies.
'Three for white jacket!' then roared a blue-coated butcher, who had won asmany half-crowns on the race.--Three cheers were given for the unwillingwinner.
'Oh, my poor dear Jack!' exclaimed his lordship, throwing himself off hishorse, and wringing his hands in despair, as a select party ofthimble-riggers, who had gone to Jack's assistance, raised him up, andturned his ghastly face, with his eyes squinting inside out, and the foamstill on his mouth, full upon him. 'Oh, my poor dear Jack!' repeated hislordship, sinking on his knees beside him, and grasping his stiffening handas he spoke. His lordship sank overpowered upon the body.
The thimble-riggers then availed themselves of the opportunity to ease hislordship and Jack of their watches and the few shillings they had aboutthem, and departed.
When a lord is in distress, consolation is never long in coming; and LordScamperdale had hardly got over the first paroxysms of grief, and gatheredup Jack's cap, and the fragments of his spectacles, ere Jawleyford, whohad noticed his abrupt departure from the stand and scurry across thecountry, arrived at the spot. His lordship was still in the full agony ofwoe; still grasping and bedewing Jack's cold hand with his tears.
'Oh, my dear Jack! Oh, my dear Jawleyford! Oh, my dear Jack! 'sobbed he, ashe mopped the fast-chasing tears from his grizzly cheeks with a red cottonkerchief. 'Oh, my dear Jack! Oh, my dear Jawleyford! Oh, my dear Jack!'repeated he, as a fresh flood spread o'er the rugged surface. 'Oh, what atr-reasure, what a tr--tr--trump he was. Shall never get such another.Nobody could s--s--lang a fi--fi--field as he could; no hu--hu--humbug'bout him--never was su--su--such a fine natural bl--bl--blackguard'; andthen his feelings wholly choked his utterance as he recollected how easilyJack was satisfied; how he could dine off tripe and cow-heel, mop up fatporridge for breakfast, and never grumbled at being put on a bad horse.
The news of a man being killed soon reached the hill, and drew theattention of the mob from our hero and heroine, causing such a spread ofpopulation over the farm as must have been highly gratifying toScourgefield, who stood watching the crashing of the fences and thedemolition of the gates, thinking how he was paying his landlord off.
Seeing the rude, unmannerly character of the mob, Jawleyford got hislordship by the arm, and led him away towards the hill, his lordshipreeling, rather than walking, and indulging in all sorts of wild,incoherent cries and lamentations.
'Sing out. Jack! sing out!' he would exclaim, as if in the agony of havinghis hounds ridden over; then, checking himself, he would shake his head andsay, 'Ah, poor Jack, poor Jack! shall never look upon his like again--shallnever get such a man to read the riot act, and keep all square.' And then afresh gush of tears suffused his grizzly face.
The minor casualties of those few butchering spasmodic moments may bebriefly dismissed, though they were more numerous than most sportsmen seeout hunting in a lifetime.
One horse broke his back, another was drowned, Multum-in-Parvo was cut allto pieces, his rider had two ribs and a thumb broken, while FarmerSlyfield's stackyard was fired by some of the itinerant tribe, and all itsuninsured contents destroyed--so that his landlord was not the only personwho suffered by the grand occasion.
Nor was this all, for Mr. Numboy, the coroner, hearing of Jack's death,held an inquest on the body; and, having empanelled a matter-of-factjury--men who did not see the advantage of steeple-chasing, either in apolitical, commercial, agricultural, or national point of view, and who,having surveyed the line, and found nearly every fence dangerous, and thewall and brook doubly so, returned a verdict of manslaughter against Mr.Viney for setting it out, who was forthwith committed to the county gaol ofLimbo Castle for trial at the ensuing assizes, from whence let us join thebenevolent clerk of arraigns in wishing him a good deliverance.
Many of the hardy 'tips' sounded the loud trump of victory, proclaimingthat their innumerable friends had feathered their nests through theiragency; but Peeping Tom and Infallible Joe, and Enoch Wriggle, 'theoffending soul,' &c, found it convenient to bolt from their respectiveestablishments, carrying with them their large fire-screens, camp-stools,and boards for posting up their lists, and setting up in new names in otherquarters; while the Hen Angel was shortly afterwards closed, and thepresentation-tureen made into 'white soup.'
So much for the 'small deer.' We will now devote a concluding chapter tothe 'great guns' of our story.
CHAPTER LXX
HOW LORD SCAMPERDALE AND CO. CAME OFF
Our noble master's nerves were so dreadfully shattered by the lamentablecatastrophe to poor Jack, that he stepped, or rather was pushed, intoJawleyford's carriage almost insensibly, and driven from the course toJawleyford Court.
There he remained sufficiently long for Mrs. Jawleyford to persuade himthat he would be far better married, and that either of her amiabledaughters would make him a most excellent wife. His lordship, after verymature consideration, and many most scrutinizing stares at both of themthrough his formidable spectacles, wondering which would be the leastlikely to ruin him--at length decided upon taking Miss Emily, the youngest,though for a long time the victory was doubtful, and Amelia practised her'Scamperdale' singing with unabated ardour and confidence up to the last.We believe, if the truth were known, it was a slight touch of rouge, thatAmelia thought would clench the matter, that decided his lordship againsther. Emily, we are happy to say, makes him an excellent wife, and has notgot her head turned by becoming a countess. She has improved his lordshipamazingly, got him smart new clothes, and persuaded him to grow bushywhiskers right down under his chin, and is now feeling her way to a pair ofmoustaches.
Woodmansterne is quite another place. She has marshalled a properestablishment, and got him coaxed into the long put-a-way company rooms.Though he still indulges in his former cow-heel and other delicacies, theydo not appear upon table; while he sports his silver-mounted specs on alloccasions. The fruit and venison are freely distributed, and we have comein for a haunch in return for our attentions.
Best of all, Lady Scamperdale has got his lordship to erect a handsomemarble monument to poor Jack, instead of the cheap country stone heintended. The inscription states that it was erected by Samuel, Eighth Earlof Scamperdale, and Viscount Hardup, in the Peerage of Ireland, to theMemory of John Spraggon, Esquire, the best of Sportsmen, and the firmest ofFriends. Who or what Jack was, nobody ever knew, and as he only left a hatand eighteen pence behind him, no next of kin has as yet cast up.
Jawleyford has not stood the honour of the Scamperdale alliance quite sowell as his daughter; and when our 'amaazin' instance of a pop'lar man,'instigated perhaps by the desire to have old Scamp for a brother-in-law,offered to Amelia, Jaw got throaty and consequential, hemmed and hawed, andpretended to be stiff about it. Puff, however, produced such weightytestimonials, as soon exercised their wonted influence. In due time Puffvery magnanimously proposed uniting his pack with Lord Scamperdale's,dividing the expense of one establishment between them, to which hislordship readily assented, advising Puff to get rid of Bragg by giving himthe hounds, which he did; and that great sporting luminary may be seen's-c-e-u-s-e'-ing himself, and offering his service to masters of houndsany Monday at Tattersall's--though he still prefers a 'quality place.'
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Benjamin Buckram, the gentleman with the small independence of his own, weare sorry to say has gone to the 'bad.' Aggravated by the loss he sustainedby his horse winning the steeple-chase, he made an ill-advised onslaught onthe cash-box of the London and Westminster Bank; and at three score yearsand ten this distinguished 'turfite,' who had participated with impunity innearly all the great robberies of the last forty years, was doomed totransportation. And yet we have seen this cracksman captain--for he, too,was a captain at times--jostling and bellowing for odds among some of thehighest and noblest of the land!
Leather has descended to the cab-stand, of which he promises to be adistinguished ornament. He haunts the Piccadilly stands, and has what hecalls ''stablish'd a raw' on Mr. Sponge to the extent ofthree-and-six-pence a week, under threats of exposing the robbery Spongecommitted on our friend Mr. Waffles. That volatile genius, we are happy toadd, is quite well, and open to the attentions of any young lady who thinksshe can tame a wild young man. His financial affairs are not irretrievable.
And now for the hero and heroine of our tale. The Sponges--for our friendmarried Lucy shortly after the steeple-chase--stayed at Nonsuch House untilthe bailiffs walked in. Sir Harry then bolted to Boulogne, where he shortlyafterwards died, and Bugles very properly married my lady. They are nowliving at Wandsworth; Mr. Bugles and Lady Scattercash, very 'much thoughtof'--as Bugles says.
Although Mr. Sponge did not gain as much by winning the steeple-chase as hewould have done had Hercules allowed him to lose it, he still did prettywell; and being at length starved out of Nonsuch House, he arrived at hisold quarters, the Bantam, in Bond Street, where he turned his attentionvery seriously to providing for Lucy and the little Sponge, who had nowissued its prospectus. He thought over all the ways and means of makingmoney without capital, rejecting Australia and California as unfit forsportsmen and men fond of their _Moggs_. Professional steeple-chasing Lucydecried, declaring she would rather return to her flag-exercises atAstley's, as soon as she was able, than have her dear Sponge risking hisneck that way. Our friend at length began to fear fortune-making was not soeasy as he thought--indeed, he was soon sure of it.
One day as he was staring vacantly out of the Bantam coffee-room window,between the gilt labels, 'Hot Soups' and 'Dinners,' he was suddenly seizedwith a fit of virtuous indignation at the disreputable frauds practised byunprincipled adventurers on the unwary public, in the way of bettingoffices, and resolved that he would be the St. George to slay this greatdragon of abuse. Accordingly, after due consultation with Lucy, he investedhis all in fitting up and decorating the splendid establishment in JermynStreet, St. James's, now known as the SPONGE AND CIGAR BETTING ROOMS, whoserichness neither pen nor pencil can do justice to.
We must, therefore, entreat our readers to visit this emporium of honesty,where, in addition to finding lists posted on all the great events of theday, they can have the use of a _Mogg_ while they indulge in one of Lucy'sunrivalled cigars; and noblemen, gentlemen, and officers in the householdtroops may be accommodated with loans on their personal security to anyamount. We see by Mr. Sponge's last advertisements that he has L116,300 tolend at three and a half per cent.!
'What a farce,' we fancy we hear some enterprising youngsterexclaim--'what a farce, to suppose that such a needy scamp as Mr. Sponge,who has been cheating everybody, has any money to lend, or to pay bets withif he loses!' Right, young gentleman, right; but not a bit greater farcethan to suppose that any of the plausible money-lenders, or infallible'tips' with whom you, perhaps, have had connection have any either, in caseit's called for. Nay, bad as he is, we'll back old Soapey to be better thanany of them,--with which encomium we most heartily bid him ADIEU.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Query, 'snob'?--Printer's Devil.
[2] The Poetical Recorder of the Doings of the Dublin Garrison dogs, in_Bell's Life_.
[3] _Vide_ 'Barnwell and Alderson's Reports.'
[4] 'S,' for Scamperdale, showing they were his lordship's.
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