Complete Works of R S Surtees Read online

  The Complete Works of

  R. S. SURTEES

  (1805-1864)

  Contents

  The Novels

  Handley Cross

  Hillingdon Hall

  Hawbuck Grange

  Mr Sponge’s Sporting Tour

  Ask Mamma

  Plain or Ringlets

  Mr Facey Romford’s Hounds

  Young Tom Hall’s Heart-aches and Horses

  The Shorter Fiction

  Jorrocks’ Jaunts and Jollities

  Mr. Jorrocks

  The Non-Fiction

  The Horseman’s Manual

  Hints to Railway Travellers

  Nimrod

  Fox-Hunting

  Fox-Hunting in Past and Present Times

  Thoughts on Fortune-Hunting

  The Biography

  Brief Biography: R. S. Surtees by Thomas Seccombe

  The Delphi Classics Catalogue

  © Delphi Classics 2018

  Version 1

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  The Complete Works of

  R. S. SURTEES

  By Delphi Classics, 2018

  COPYRIGHT

  Complete Works of R. S. Surtees

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by Delphi Classics.

  © Delphi Classics, 2018.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

  ISBN: 978 1 78656 117 6

  Delphi Classics

  is an imprint of

  Delphi Publishing Ltd

  Hastings, East Sussex

  United Kingdom

  Contact: [email protected]

  www.delphiclassics.com

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  The Novels

  The gatehouse of Hamsterley Hall, County Durham — Surtees’ birthplace

  Hamsterley Hall, County Durham

  Handley Cross

  Illustrated by John Leech

  This satirical comic novel was first published in 1843, having been serialised in The New Sporting Magazine from 1838 to 1839. It is the first full-length novel to feature John Jorrocks. Surtees’ comic protagonist had first appeared in short pieces, published throughout the 1830’s and collected as Jorrocks’ Jaunts and Jollies in 1838. Jorrocks is a cockney grocer turned Master of Hounds and the novel’s energetic, episodic and sprawling plot relates the comic scrapes in which the character finds himself embroiled. Handley Cross was not initially a big hit, partly due to its focus on the increasingly niche world of the hunt, which was becoming more and more the exclusive preserve of the upper classes (a transition that Surtees’ novel chronicles). As the nineteenth century progressed, however, the book (and Jorrocks) became increasingly popular, partly due to rural nostalgia in an increasingly industrialised age.

  Although not set in any specific real location, Surtees based the landscape of the novel on the north of England. The same could not be said of the novel’s characters. Jorrocks’ Geordie sidekick James Pigg is based on Joe Cross, a Slaley huntsman and the episode where Pigg jumps into a melon frame is based on a real event involving Cross.

  How the novel first appeared in its serial publication – a monthly part

  Title page of the first edition

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE.

  CHAPTER I. THE OLDEN TIMES.

  CHAPTER II. THE RIVAL DOCTORS AND M.C.

  CHAPTER III. THE RIVAL ORATORS.

  CHAPTER IV. THE HUNT BALL.

  CHAPTER V. THE HUNT COMMITTEE.

  CHAPTER VI. THE CLIMAX OF DISASTER.

  CHAPTER VII. MR. JORROCKS.

  CHAPTER VIII. CAPTAIN DOLEFUL’S DIFFICULTIES.

  CHAPTER IX. THE CONQUERING HERO COMES.

  CHAPTER X. THE CONQUERING HERO’S PUBLIC ENTRY.

  CHAPTER XI. THE ORATIONS.

  CHAPTER XII. CAPTAIN DOLEFUL AGAIN.

  CHAPTER XIII. A FAMILY DINNER.

  CHAPTER XIV. MR. JORROCKS AND HIS SECRETARY.

  CHAPTER XV. THE COCKNEY WHIPPER-IN.

  CHAPTER XVI. SIR ARCHEY DEPECARDE.

  CHAPTER XVII. THE PLUCKWELLE PRESERVES.

  CHAPTER XVIII. A SPORTING LECTOR.

  CHAPTER XIX. HUNTSMAN WANTED.

  CHAPTER XX. JAMES PIGG.

  CHAPTER XXI. A FRIGHTFUL COLLISION! BECKFORD v. BEN.

  CHAPTER XXII. THE CUT-’EM-DOWN CAPTAINS.

  CHAPTER XXIII. THE CUT-’EM-DOWN CAPTAIN’S GROOM.

  CHAPTER XXIV. BELINDA’S BEAU.

  CHAPTER XXV. MR. JORROCKS AT EARTH.

  CHAPTER XXVI. A QUIET EYE.

  CHAPTER XXVII. ANOTHER BENIGHTED SPORTSMAN

  CHAPTER XXVIII.

  CHAPTER XXIX. COOKING UP A HUNT DINNER.

  CHAPTER XXX. SERVING UP A HUNT DINNER.

  CHAPTER XXXI. THE FANCY BALL.

  CHAPTER XXXII. ANOTHER SPORTING LECTOR.

  CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LECTOR RESUMED.

  CHAPTER XXXIV. MR. JORROCKS’S JOURNAL.

  CHAPTER XXXV. THE “CAT AND CUSTARD-POT” DAY.

  CHAPTER XXXVI. JAMES PIGG AGAIN!!!

  CHAPTER XXXVII. MR. JORROCKS’S JOURNAL.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN DAY.

  CHAPTER XXXIX. MR. MARMADUKE MULEYGRUBS.

  CHAPTER XL. THE TWO PROFESSORS.

  CHAPTER XLI. ANOTHER CATASTROPHE.

  CHAPTER XLII. THE GREAT MR. PRETTYFAT.

  CHAPTER XLIII. M.F.H. BUGGINSON.

  CHAPTER XLIV. PINCH-ME-NEAR FOREST.

  CHAPTER XLV. A FRIEND IN NEED, &C.

  CHAPTER XLVI. THE SHORTEST DAY.

  CHAPTER XLVII. JAMES PIGG AGAIN!!!

  CHAPTER XLVIII. MR. JORROCKS’S JOURNAL.

  CHAPTER XLIX. THE CUT ‘EM DOWN CAPTAIN’S QUADS.

  CHAPTER L. POMPONIUS EGO.

  CHAPTER LI. THE POMPONIUS EGO DAY.

  CHAPTER LII. A BAD CHURNING.

  CHAPTER LIII. THE PIGG TESTIMONIAL.

  CHAPTER LIV. THE WANING SEASON.

  CHAPTER LV. PRESENTATION OF THE PIGG TESTIMONIAL.

  CHAPTER LVI. SUPERINTENDENT CONSTABLES SHARK AND CHIZELER.

  CHAPTER LVII. THE PROPHET GABRIEL.

  CHAPTER LVIII. ANOTHER LAST DAY.

  CHAPTER LIX. ANOTHER SPORTING LECTOR.

  CHAPTER LX. THE STUD SALE.

  CHAPTER LXI. THE PRIVATE DEAL.

  CHAPTER LXII. WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR; OR, THE A.D.C.

  CHAPTER LXIII. MR. JORROCKS’S DRAFT.

  CHAPTER LXIV. DOLEFUL v. JORROCKS.

  CHAPTER LXV. THE CAPTAIN’S WINDFALL.

  CHAPTER LXVI.
JORROCKS IN TROUBLE.

  CHAPTER LXVII. THE COMMISSION RESUMED.

  CHAPTER LXVIII. THE COURT RESUMES.

  CHAPTER LXIX. BELINDA AT SUIT DOLEFUL.

  CHAPTER LXX. BELINDA AT BAY.

  CHAPTER LXXI. DOLEFUL PREPARED FOR THE SIEGE.

  CHAPTER LXXII. MRS. JORROCKS FURIOUS.

  CHAPTER LXXIII. MR. BOWKER’S REFLECTIONS.

  CHAPTER LXXIV. MR. JORROCKS TAKING HIS OTIUM CUM DIGGING A TATY.

  CHAPTER LXXV. DOLEFUL AT SUIT BRANTINGHAME.

  CHAPTER LXXVI. THE GRAND FIELD DAY.

  CHAPTER LXXVII. A SLOW COACH.

  CHAPTER LXXVIII. THE CAPTAIN CATCHES IT.

  CHAPTER LXXIX. THE CAPTAIN IN DISTRESS.

  CHAPTER LXXX. WHO-HOOP!

  Frontispiece of an 1854 edition

  John Leech (1817-1864), the caricaturist and illustrator of many of Surtees’ novels.

  TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

  LORD JOHN SCOTT.

  ONE OF THE BEST OF BRITISH SPORTSMEN,

  This Volume is Inscribed,

  BY HIS OBLIGED AND FAITHFUL SERVANT,

  THE AUTHOR

  PREFACE.

  MR. JORROCKS, HAVING for many years maintained his popularity, it is hoped that, with the aid of the illustrations, he is now destined for longevity.

  The Author, in the present edition, not being tied to space or quantity, has had a better opportunity of developing his sporting hero than before.

  The reader will have the kindness to bear in mind, that the work merely professes to be a tale, and does not aspire to the dignity of a novel.

  London, October, 1854.

  CHAPTER I. THE OLDEN TIMES.

  “I RESPECT HUNTING in whatever shape it appears; it is a manly and a wholesome exercise, and seems by nature designed to be the amusement of the Briton. — Beckford.

  WHEN Michael Hardey died, great was the difficulty in the Vale of Sheepwash to devise how the farmers’ hunt was to be carried on. Michael, a venerable sportsman of the old school, had long been at the head of affairs, and without paying all expenses, had enjoyed an uninterrupted sway over the pack and country.

  The hounds at first were of that primitive sort, upon which modern sportsmen look down with contempt. Few in number, uneven in size, and ill-matched in speed, they were trencher-fed all the year round, and upon any particular morning that was fixed on for a hunt, each man might be seen wending his way to the meet followed by his dog, or bringing him along in a string.

  “There was Invincible Tom, and Invincible Towler, Invincible Jack, and Invincible Jowler.”

  Day would hardly have dawned are the long-poled sportsmen assembled with their hounds. Then they would trail up to puss. Tipler would give the first intimation of her erratic wanderings o’er the dewy mead. Then it was, “Well done Tipler! Ah, what a dog he is!” Then Mountain would throw his tongue, and flinging a pace or two in advance, would assume the lead. “Well done, Mountain! Mountain for ever” — would be the cry. Tapster next would give a long-drawn howl, as if in confirmation of his comrades’ doings in front, and receive in turn the plaudits of his master. Thus they would unravel the gordian knot of puss’s wanderings.

  Meanwhile other foot-people try the turnips, cross the stubbles, and beat the hedges, in search of her —

  Yon tuft upon the rising ground seems likely for her form. Aye, Tipler points towards it. Giles Jolter’s hand is raised to signal Invincible Towler, but half the pack rush towards him, and Jolter kicks puss out of her form to save her from their jaws. “Hoop! Hoop! Hoop! There she goes!” What a panic ensues! Puss lays her long ears upon her back, and starts for the hill with the fleetness of the wind. The pack, with more noise than speed, strain every nerve, and the further they go the further they are left behind. Their chance seems out altogether. The hare crosses over the summit of the hill, and the hounds are reduced to their noses for the line. “Now, Mountain! Now, Tipler! Now, Bonnets-o’-Blue. Ah, what dogs they are!”

  Puff, puff, puff, go the sportsmen, running and rolling after their darlings, with little leisure for shouting. Then, having gained the summit of the hill, the panting pedestrians would stand lost in admiration at the doings of their favourites down below, while the more active follow in their wake, trusting to a check to let them in. When a check ensued, how bipeds and quadrupeds worked! While the latter were sniffling about, going over the same ground half a dozen times, the former would call their hounds to them, and either by pricking or lifting over difficult ground contrive to give them a lead. The hunt is up again, and away they all go. The hounds strain over the grass, dash through the furze, making the spinney resound with their cry, and enter upon the fallow beyond. Mountain alone speaks to the scent, and hills re-echo his voice. — Now he’s silent. — She’s squatted.

  The prickers are at work again, trying each furrow, and taking the rigs across. How close she lies!

  “Hoop!” She jumps up in the middle of the pack, and Mountain gets a mouthful of fur. That was a close shave! — too close to be pleasant. The hill people view her, and now every move of puss and the pack is eagerly watched. “That’s right! that’s right! over the stubble. Tipler’s just going her very line. Ah, he’s taken up the hedge instead of down, and Mountain has it. Now, Mountain, my man!”

  She runs round the sheep, but Mountain hits her off beyond. Now she doubles and springs back, but they work through the problem, and again puss has nothing to trust to but her speed. Her strength begins to fail. She makes a grand effort, and again leaves her pursuers in the lurch. Slow and sure they ring her funeral knell after her, each note striking terror into her breast as she pricks her long ears and sits listening.

  She nears her own haunt but dare not enter. The hill people descend to join the tussle at the end. Poor puss! her large bright eyes are ready to start out of her head. Her clean brown fur is clotted and begrimed, and her strength is all but exhausted. Another view!

  “Poor is the triumph o’er the timid hare.”

  Now what a noise of men and hounds as they view her again. It is a last chance. She passes into the next grass field, and a friendly hedge conceals her from their view. She steals up the furrow, and reaches the wall at the high end. It is high and loose, and a few stones are out in the middle. Puss jumps in.

  Up come the hounds. Mountain and Tipler, and Gamester, and Bonnets-o’-blue, Merryman, and Ferryman, and then a long tail, yelping, yapping, puffing, and blowing.

  Over they go into the lane. Now up, now down, now backwards, now forwards, now round about, but no puss.

  Up come the field. “Now, Mountain, my man, hit her off!” cries his master, vaulting over the wall, and stooping to prick the hare on the road. But no prints are there.

  “She must have flown!” observes one.

  “Or sunk into the ground,” says another.

  “Or you tinker man’s knocked her on the head,” observes a third, pointing to a gipsy camp at the cross roads, and away they all go to demand the body of puss.

  The tinker man shows fight on having his cauldron searched, and several stout wenches emerging from the tattered cart awning, a battle royal ensues, and further attention is completely diverted from puss.

  Well done, puss!

  To proceed —

  The next step in the Handley Cross Hunt, was getting a boy to collect the hounds before hunting.

  They lay wide, and sometimes Mountain’s master couldn’t come, consequently, Mountain was not there; sometimes Tipler’s master was absent, and the pack lost the services of Tipler’s unerring nose.

  Next, some of the farmers began to ride. At first they came out with young horses, just to let them see hounds — then as the horses got older they thought they might as well work them till they sold them, and at last it ended in their riding as a matter of course. Foremost among the riders was Michael Hardey. He had always been a great promoter of the hunt, breeding his hounds as he did his horses, for speed and substance. Some used to say they were rayther too swift for a hare. Others
, however, followed his example, and in course of time the heavy towling harriers were converted into quick and dashing hounds.

  Time rolled on, and Michael at length became looked upon as the master or manager of the pack. Having been always more addicted to fox than to hare, he had infused a spirit into the country which ended in making the wily animal their quarry.

  The hounds were still kept at walks during the summer, but Michael fitted up a kennel at his farm to which they were brought towards the autumn. Peter, the pedestrian huntsman, was taken into Michael’s service, clothed and mounted.

  Of course all this was done by subscription. Some gave Michael cash, some gave him corn, some hay, others straw, and all the old horses in the country found their way to his farm.

  They were then called fox-hounds.

  The first day of the first season, after their metamorphosis, the hounds met at Handley Cross — the Godfather of our work. It was a pretty village, standing on a gentle eminence, about the middle of the Vale of Sheepwash, a rich grazing district, full of rural beauties, and renowned for the honest independence of its inhabitants. Neither factory nor foundry disturbed its morals or its quietude — steam and railroads were equally unknown. The clear curl of white smoke, that rose from its cottage chimneys, denoted the consumption of forest wood, with which the outskirts of the vale abounded. It was a nice clean country. The hazel grew with an eel-like skin, and the spiry larch shot up in a cane-coloured shoot. Wild roses filled the hedges, and fragrant woodbine clambered every where. Handley Cross was a picturesque spot: it commanded an almost uninterrupted view over the whole vale. Far, to the north, the lofty Gayhurst hills formed a soft and sublime outline, while the rich vale stretched out, dotted with village spires, and brightened with winding silvery streams, closed in on either side with dark streaks of woodland tracts. To the south, it stretched away to the sea. Handley Cross was a simple, unpretending village; the white-washed, thatched-roofed cottages formed a straggling square, round a village green, in the centre of which, encircled with time-honoured firs, on a flight of rude stone steps, stood the village cross, the scene of country hirings. Basket-making was the trade of the inhabitants; a healthy and prosperous one, if the looks of its followers, and the vine-clad and rose-covered fronts of the cottages might be taken as an index. It had but one public-house — the sign of the Fox and Grapes, and that was little frequented — had it been otherwise, there would most likely have been two.