PUGSBY BROOK.
There was great talking about the old vixen as they all trotted away to
Cross Hall Holt;--how it was the same old fox that they hadn't killed
in a certain run last January, and how one old farmer was quite sure
that this very fox was the one which had taken them that celebrated run
to Bamham Moor three years ago, and how she had been the mother of
quite a Priam's progeny of cubs. And now that she should have been
killed in a stokehole! While this was going on a young lady rode up
along side of Mr. Price, and said a word to him with her sweetest
smile.
"You remember your promise to me, Mr. Price?"
"Surely, Mrs. Houghton. Your nag can jump a few, no doubt."
"Beautifully. Mr. Houghton bought him from Lord Mountfencer. Lady
Mountfencer couldn't ride him because he pulls a little. But he's a
perfect hunter."
"We shall find him, Mrs. Houghton, to a moral; and do you stick to me.
They generally go straight away to Thrupp's larches. You see the little
wood. There's an old earth there, but that's stopped. There is only one
fence between this and that, a biggish ditch, with a bit of a hedge on
this side, but it's nothing to the horses when they're fresh."
"Mine's quite fresh."
"Then they mostly turn to the right for Pugsby; nothing but grass then
for four miles a-head."
"And the jumping?"
"All fair. There's one bit of water,--Pugsby Brook,--that you ought to
have as he'll be sure to cross it ever so much above the bridge. But,
lord love you, Mrs. Houghton, that horse'll think nothing of the
brook."
"Nothing at all, Mr. Price. I like brooks."
"I'm afraid he's not here, Price," said Sir Simon, trotting round the
cover towards the whip, who was stationed at the further end.
"Well, Sir Simon, her as we killed came from the holt, you know," said
the farmer, mindful of his reputation for foxes. "You can't eat your
cake and have it too, can you, Sir Simon?"
"Ought to be able in a covert like this."
"Well, perhaps we shall. The best lying is down in that corner. I've
seen a brace of cubs together there a score of times." Then there was
one short low, dubious, bark, and then another a little more confirmed.
"That's it, Sir Simon. There's your 'cake.'"
"Good hound, Blazer," cried Sir Simon, recognising the voice of his
dog. And many of the pack recognised the well-known sound as plainly as
the master, for you might hear the hounds rustling through the covert
as they hurried up to certify to the scent which their old leader had
found for them. The holt though thick was small and a fox had not much
chance but by breaking. Once up the covert and once back again the
animal went, and then Dick, the watchful whip, holding his hand up to
his face, holloaed him away. "Gently, gentlemen," shouted Sir Simon,
"let them settle. Now, Mr. Bottomley, if you'll only keep yourself a
little steady, you'll find yourself the better for it at the finish."
Mr. Bottomley was a young man from London, who was often addressed
after this fashion, was always very unhappy for a few minutes, and then
again forgot it in his excitement.
"Now, Mr. Price," said Mrs. Houghton in a fever of expectation. She had
been dodging backwards and forwards trying to avoid her husband, and
yet unwilling to leave the farmer's side.
"Wait a moment, ma'am; wait a moment. Now we're right; here to the
left." So saying Mr. Price jumped over a low hedge, and Mrs. Houghton
followed him, almost too closely. Mr. Houghton saw it, and didn't
follow. He had made his way up, resolved to stop his wife, but she gave
him the slip at the last moment. "Now through the gate, ma'am, and then
on straight as an arrow for the little wood. I'll give you a lead over
the ditch, but don't ride quite so close, ma'am." Then the farmer went
away feeling perhaps that his best chance of keeping clear from his too
loving friend was to make the pace so fast that she should not be able
quite to catch him. But Lady Mountfencer's nag was fast too, was fast
and had a will of his own. It was not without a cause that Lord
Mountfencer had parted with so good a horse out of his stable. "Have a
care, ma'am," said Price, as Mrs. Houghton canoned against him as they
both landed over the big ditch; "have a care, or we shall come to grief
together. Just see me over before you let him take his jump." It was
very good advice, and is very often given; but both ladies and
gentlemen, whose hands are a little doubtful, sometimes find themselves
unable to follow it. But now they were at Thrupp's larches. George
Scruby had led the way, as becomes a huntsman, and a score or more had
followed him over the big fence. Price had been going a little to the
left, and when they reached the wood was as forward as any one.
"He won't hang here, Sir Simon," said the farmer, as the master came
up, "he never does."
"He's only a cub," said the master.
"The holt cubs this time of the year are nigh as strong as old foxes.
Now for Pugsby."
Mrs. Houghton looked round, fearing every moment that her husband would
come up. They had just crossed a road, and wherever there was a road
there, she thought, he would certainly be.
"Can't we get round the other side, Mr. Price?" she said.
"You won't be any better nor here."
"But there's Mr. Houghton on the road," she whispered.
"Oh-h-h," ejaculated the farmer, just touching the end of his nose with
his finger and moving gently on through the wood. "Never spoil sport,"
was the motto of his life, and to his thinking it was certainly sport
that a young wife should ride to hounds in opposition to an old
husband. Mrs. Houghton followed him, and as they got out on the other
side, the fox was again away. "He ain't making for Pugsby's after all,"
said Price to George Scruby.
"He don't know that country yet," said the huntsman. "He'll be back in
them Manor Cross woods. You'll see else."
The park of Manor Cross lay to the left of them, whereas Pugsby and the
desirable grass country away to Bamham Moor were all to the right. Some
men mindful of the big brook and knowing the whereabouts of the bridge,
among whom was Mr. Houghton, kept very much to the right and were soon
out of the run altogether. But the worst of it was that though they
were not heading for their good country, still there was the brook,
Pugsby brook, to be taken. Had the fox done as he ought to have done,
and made for Pugsby itself, the leap would have been from grass to
grass; but now it must be from plough to plough, if taken at all. It
need hardly be said that the two things are very different. Sir Simon,
when he saw how the land lay, took a lane leading down to the
Brotherton road. If the fox was making for the park he must be right in
that direction. It is not often that a master of hounds rides for
glory, and Sir Simon had long since left all that to younger men. But
there were still a dozen riders pressing on, and among them were the
farmer and his devoted follower,--and a gentleman in black.
Let us give praise where praise is due, and acknowledge that young
Bottomley was the first at the brook,--and the first over it. As soon
as he was beyond Sir Simon's notice, he had scurried on across the
plough, and being both light and indiscreet, had enjoyed the heartfelt
pleasure of passing George Scruby. George, who hated Mr. Bottomley,
grunted out his malediction, even though no one could hear him. "He'll
soon be at the bottom of that," said George, meaning to imply in horsey
phrase that the rider, if he rode over ploughed ground after that
fashion, would soon come to the end of his steed's power. But
Bottomley, if he could only be seen to jump the big brook before any
one else, would have happiness enough for a month. To have done a thing
that he could talk about was the charm that Bottomley found in hunting.
Alas, though he rode gallantly at the brook and did get over it, there
was not much to talk about; for, unfortunately, he left his horse
behind him in the water. The poor beast going with a rush off the
plough, came with her neck and shoulders against the opposite bank, and
shot his rider well on to the dry land.
"That's about as good as a dead'un," said George, as he landed a yard
or two to the right. This was ill-natured, and the horse in truth was
not hurt. But a rider, at any rate a young rider, should not take a
lead from a huntsman unless he is very sure of himself, of his horse,
and of the run of the hounds. The next man over was the gentleman in
black, who took it in a stand, and who really seemed to know what he
was about. There were some who afterwards asserted that this was the
Dean, but the Dean was never heard to boast of the performance.
Mrs. Houghton's horse was going very strong with her. More than once
the farmer cautioned her to give him a pull over the plough. And she
attempted to obey the order. But the horse was self-willed, and she was
light; and in truth the heaviness of the ground would have been nothing
to him had he been fairly well ridden. But she allowed him to rush with
her through the mud. As she had never yet had an accident she knew
nothing of fear, and she was beyond measure excited. She had been near
enough to see that a man fell at the brook, and then she saw also that
the huntsman got over, and also the gentleman in black. It seemed to
her to be lovely. The tumble did not scare her at all, as others coming
after the unfortunate one had succeeded. She was aware that there were
three or four other men behind her, and she was determined that they
should not pass her. They should see that she also could jump the
river. She had not rid herself of her husband for nothing. Price, as he
came near the water, knew that he had plenty to do, and knew also how
very close to him the woman was. It was too late now to speak to her
again, but he did not fear for his own horse if she would only give him
room. He steadied the animal a yard or two from the margin as he came
to the headland that ran down the side of the brook, and then took his
leap.
But Mrs. Houghton rode as though the whole thing was to be accomplished
by a rush, and her horse, true to the manner of horses, insisted on
following in the direct track of the one who had led him so far. When
he got to the bank he made his effort to jump high, but had got no
footing for a fair spring. On he went, however, and struck Price's
horse on the quarter so violently as to upset that animal, as well as
himself.
Price, who was a thoroughly good horseman, was knocked off, but got on
to the bank as Bottomley had done. The two animals were both in the
brook, and when the farmer was able to look round, he saw that the lady
was out of sight. He was in the water immediately himself, but before
he made the plunge he had resolved that he never again would give a
lady a lead till he knew whether she could ride.
Mr. Knox and Dick were soon on the spot, and Mrs. Houghton was
extracted. "I'm blessed if she ain't dead," said the whip, pale as
death himself. "H--sh!" said Mr. Knox; "she's not dead, but I'm afraid
she's hurt." Price had come back through the water with the woman in
his arms, and the two horses were still floundering about, unattended.
"It's her shoulder, Mr. Knox," said Price. "The horse has jammed her
against the bank under water." During this time her head was drooping,
and her eyes were closed, and she was apparently senseless. "Do you
look to the horses, Dick. There ain't no reason why they should get
their death of cold." By this time there were a dozen men round them,
and Dick and others were able to attend to the ill-used nags. "Yes;
it's her shoulder," continued Price. "That's out, any way. What the
mischief will Mr. Houghton say to me when he comes up!"
There is always a doctor in the field,--sent there by some benignity of
providence,--who always rides forward enough to be near to accidents,
but never so forward as to be in front of them. It has been hinted that
this arrangement is professional rather than providential; but the
present writer, having given his mind to the investigation of the
matter, is inclined to think that it arises from the general fitness of
things. All public institutions have, or ought to have, their doctor,
but in no institution is the doctor so invariably at hand, just when he
is wanted, as in the hunting field. A very skilful young surgeon from
Brotherton was on the spot almost as soon as the lady was out of the
water, and declared that she had dislocated her shoulder.
What was to be done? Her hat had gone; she had been under the water;
she was covered with mud; she was still senseless, and of course she
could neither ride nor walk. There were ever so many suggestions. Price
thought that she had better be taken back to Cross Hall, which was
about a mile and a half distant. Mr. Knox, who knew the country, told
them of a side gate in the Manor Cross wall, which made the great house
nearer than Cross Hall. They could get her there in little over a mile.
But how to get her there? They must find a door on which to carry her.
First a hurdle was suggested, and then Dick was sent galloping up to
the house for a carriage. In the meantime she was carried to a
labourer's cottage by the roadside on a hurdle, and there the party was
joined by Sir Simon and Mr. Houghton.
"It's all your fault," said the husband, coming up to Price as though
he meant to strike him with his whip. "Part of it is no doubt, sir,"
said Price, looking his assailant full in the face, but almost sobbing
as he spoke, "and I'm very unhappy about it." Then the husband went and
hung over his wife, but his wife, when she saw him, found it convenient
to faint again.
At about two o'clock the cortege with the carriage reached the great
house. Sir Simon, after expressions of deep sorrow had, of course, gone
on after his hounds. Mr. Knox, as belonging to Manor Cross, and Price,
and, of course, the doctor, with Mr. Houghton and Mr. Houghton's groom,
accompanied the carriage. When they got to the door all the ladies were
there to receive them. "I don't think we want to see anything more of
you," said Mr. Houghton to the farmer. The poor man turned round and
went away home, alone, feeling himself to be thoroughly disgraced.
"After all," he said to himself, "if you come to fault it was she nigh
killed me, not me her. How was I to know she didn't know nothing about
it!"
"Now, Mary, I think you'll own that I was right," Lord George said to
his wife, as soon as the sufferer had been put quietly to bed.
"Ladies don't always break their arms," said Mary.
"It might have been you as well as Mrs. Houghton."
"As I didn't go, you need not scold me, George."
"But you were discontented because you were prevented," said he,
determined to have the last word.