As for the hounds, after my first riding in among them, I tell you honestly, I never saw so much as the tip of one of their tails;nothing in this world did I see except Trumpeter's dun-colored mane, and that I gripped firm: riding, by the blessing of luck, safe through the walking, the trotting, the galloping, and never so much as getting a tumble.
There was a chap at Croydon very well known as the "Spicy Dustman,"who, when he could get no horse to ride to the hounds, turned regularly out on his donkey; and on this occasion made one of us.
He generally managed to keep up with the dogs by trotting quietly through the cross-roads, and knowing the country well. Well, having a good guess where the hounds would find, and the line that sly Reynolds (as they call the fox) would take, the Spicy Dustman turned his animal down the lane from Squashtail to Cutshins Common;across which, sure enough, came the whole hunt. There's a small hedge and a remarkably fine ditch here: some of the leading chaps took both, in gallant style; others went round by a gate, and so would I, only I couldn't; for Trumpeter would have the hedge, and be hanged to him, and went right for it.
Hoop! if ever you DID try a leap! Out go your legs, out fling your arms, off goes your hat; and the next thing you feel--that is, Idid--is a most tremendous thwack across the chest, and my feet jerked out of the stirrups: me left in the branches of a tree;Trumpeter gone clean from under me, and walloping and floundering in the ditch underneath. One of the stirrup-leathers had caught in a stake, and the horse couldn't get away: and neither of us, Ithought, ever WOULD have got away: but all of a sudden, who should come up the lane but the Spicy Dustman!
"Holloa!" says I, "you gent, just let us down from this here tree!""Lor'!" says he, "I'm blest if I didn't take you for a robin.""Let's down," says I; but he was all the time employed in disengaging Trumpeter, whom he got out of the ditch, trembling and as quiet as possible. "Let's down," says I. "Presently," says he; and taking off his coat, he begins whistling and swishing down Trumpeter's sides and saddle; and when he had finished, what do you think the rascal did?--he just quietly mounted on Trumpeter's back, and shouts out, "Git down yourself, old Bearsgrease; you've only to drop! I'LLgive your 'oss a hairing arter them 'ounds; and you--vy, you may ride back my pony to Tuggeridgeweal!" And with this, I'm blest if he didn't ride away, leaving me holding, as for the dear life, and expecting every minute the branch would break.
It DID break too, and down I came into the slush; and when I got out of it, I can tell you I didn't look much like the Venuses or the Apollor Belvidearis what I used to dress and titivate up for my shop window when I was in the hairdressing line, or smell quite so elegant as our rose-oil. Faugh! what a figure I was!
I had nothing for it but to mount the dustman's donkey (which was very quietly cropping grass in the hedge), and to make my way home;and after a weary, weary journey, I arrived at my own gate.
A whole party was assembled there. Tagrag, who had come back;their Excellencies Mace and Punter, who were on a visit; and a number of horses walking up and down before the whole of the gentlemen of the hunt, who had come in after losing their fox!
"Here's Squire Coxe!" shouted the grooms. Out rushed the servants, out poured the gents of the hunt, and on trotted poor me, digging into the donkey, and everybody dying with laughter at me.
Just as I got up to the door, a horse came galloping up, and passed me; a man jumped down, and taking off a fantail hat, came up, very gravely, to help me down.
"Squire," says he, "how came you by that there hanimal? Jist git down, will you, and give it to its howner?""Rascal!" says I, "didn't you ride off on my horse?""Was there ever sich ingratitude?" says the Spicy. "I found this year 'oss in a pond, I saves him from drowning, I brings him back to his master, and he calls me a rascal!"The grooms, the gents, the ladies in the balcony, my own servants, all set up a roar at this; and so would I, only I was so deucedly ashamed, as not to be able to laugh just then.
And so my first day's hunting ended. Tagrag and the rest declared I showed great pluck, and wanted me to try again; but "No," says I, "I HAVE been."THE FINISHING TOUCH.
I was always fond of billiards: and, in former days, at Grogram's in Greek Street, where a few jolly lads of my acquaintance used to meet twice a week for a game, and a snug pipe and beer, I was generally voted the first man of the club; and could take five from John the marker himself. I had a genius, in fact, for the game;and now that I was placed in that station of life where I could cultivate my talents, I gave them full play, and improved amazingly.
I do say that I think myself as good a hand as any chap in England.
The Count and his Excellency Baron von Punter were, I can tell you, astonished by the smartness of my play: the first two or three rubbers Punter beat me, but when I came to know his game, I used to knock him all to sticks; or, at least, win six games to his four:
and such was the betting upon me; his Excellency losing large sums to the Count, who knew what play was, and used to back me. I did not play except for shillings, so my skill was of no great service to me.
One day I entered the billiard-room where these three gentlemen were high in words. "The thing shall not be done," I heard Captain Tagrag say: "I won't stand it.""Vat, begause you would have de bird all to yourzelf, hey?" said the Baron.
"You sall not have a single fezare of him, begar," said the Count:
"ve vill blow you, M. de Taguerague; parole d'honneur, ve vill.""What's all this, gents," says I, stepping in, "about birds and feathers?""Oh," says Tagrag, "we were talking about--about--pigeon-shooting;the Count here says he will blow a bird all to pieces at twenty yards, and I said I wouldn't stand it, because it was regular murder.""Oh, yase, it was bidgeon-shooting," cries the Baron: "and I know no better sbort. Have you been bidgeon-shooting, my dear Squire?
