TICKLE-ME-QUICK.
Being naturally of a retiring disposition, and in no sense the hero of the
tale which I am about to tell, I shall say no more concerning myself than
is absolutely necessary. At the same time, it is essential to a right
comprehension of what follows that I say something about myself, and
better that I should say it now than interrupt the even flow of my
narrative later on.
My name is Geoffrey Bacon, and I have reason to believe that I was born at
a place in Essex called (appropriately enough) Dedham. My family is one of
the oldest in the county, and (of course) highly respectable; but as the
question is often put to me by friends, and will naturally suggest itself
to my readers, I may as well observe, once for all, that I am _not_ a
descendent of the Lord Keeper Bacon, albeit, if he had had any children, I
have no doubt I should have been.
My poor mother died in giving me birth; my father followed her when I was
ten years old, leaving me with his blessing (nothing else), to the care of
his aunt, Miss Ophelia Bacon, by whom I was brought up and educated. She
was very good to me, but though I was far from being intentionally
ungrateful, I fear that I did not repay her goodness as it deserved. The
dear old lady had made up her mind that I should be a doctor, and though I
would rather have been a farmer or a country gentleman (the latter for
choice), I made no objection; and so long as I remained at school she had
no reason to complain of my conduct. I satisfied my masters and passed my
preliminary examination creditably and without difficulty, to my aunt's
great delight. She protested that she was proud of me, and rewarded my
diligence and cleverness with a five-pound note. But after I became a
student at Guy's I gave her much trouble, and got myself into some sad
scrapes. I spent her present, and something more, in hiring mounts, for I
was passionately fond of riding, especially to hounds, and ran into debt
with a neighboring livery-stable keeper to the tune of twenty pounds. I
would sometimes borrow the greengrocer's pony, for I was not particular
what I rode, so long as it had four legs. When I could obtain a mount
neither for love nor on credit, I went after the harriers on foot. The
result, as touching my health and growth, was all that could be desired.
As touching my studies, however, it was less satisfactory. I was spun
twice, both in my anatomy and physiology. Miss Ophelia, though sorely
grieved, was very indulgent, and had she lived, I am afraid that I should
never have got my diploma. But when I was twenty-one and she seventy-five,
my dear aunt died, leaving me all her property (which made an income of
about four hundred a year), with the proviso that unless, within three
years of her death, I obtained the double qualification, the whole of her
estate was to pass to Guy's Hospital. In the mean time the trustees were
empowered to make me an allowance of two guineas a week and defray all my
hospital expenses.
On this, partly because I was loath to lose so goodly a heritage, partly,
I hope, from worthier motives, I buckled-to in real earnest, and before I
was four-and-twenty I could write after my name the much coveted capitals
M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P. All this while I had not once crossed a horse or looked
at a hound, yet the ruling passion was still strong, and being very much
of Mr. Jorrock's opinion that all time not spent in hunting is lost, I
resolved, before "settling down" or taking up any position which might be
incompatible with indulgence in my favorite amusement, to devote a few
years of my life to fox-hunting. At twenty-four a man does not give much
thought to the future--at any rate I did not.
The next question was how to hunt three or four days a week on four
hundred a year, for though I was quite willing to spend my income, I was
resolved not to touch my capital. To begin with, I sold my aunt's cottage
and furniture and took a couple of rooms for the winter at Red Chimneys, a
roomy farm-house in the neighborhood of Treydon. Then, acting on the great
principle of co-operation, I joined at horse-keeping with my good friend
and old school-fellow, Bertie Alston, a London solicitor. Being both of us
light-weights, we could mount ourselves cheaply; the average cost of our
stud of four horses did not exceed forty pounds apiece. Moreover, when
opportunities offered, we did not disdain to turn an honest penny by
buying an animal cheap and selling him dear, and as I looked after things
myself, bought my own forage, and saw that I had full measure, our stable
expenses were kept within moderate limits. Except when the weather was
bad, or a horse _hors de combat_, I generally contrived to get four days'
hunting a week--three with the fox-hounds and one with Mr. Vigne's
harriers--for, owing to his professional engagements, Alston could not go
out as often as I did. But as I took all the trouble and responsibility,
it was only fair that I should have the lion's share of the riding.
At the end of the season we either sold the horses off or turned them into
a straw-yard, and I went to sea as ship's surgeon. In this capacity I made
voyages to Australia, to the Cape, and to the West Indies; and the summer
before I first saw Mr. Fortescue I had been to the Arctic Ocean in a
whaler. True, the pay did not amount to much, but it found me in
pocket-money and clothes, and I saved my keep.
Having now, as I hope, done with digressions and placed myself _en
rapport_ with my readers, I will return to the principal personage of my
story.
The next time I met Mr. Fortescue was at Harlow Bush. He was quite as well
mounted as before, and accompanied, as usual, by Rawlings and two grooms
with their second horses. On this occasion Mr. Fortescue did not hold
himself nearly so much aloof as he had done at Matching Green, perhaps
because he was more noticed; and he was doubtless more noticed because the
fame of his wealth and the lavish use he made of it were becoming more
widely known. The master gave him a friendly nod and a gracious smile, and
expressed a hope that we should have good sport; the secretary engaged him
in a lively conversation; the hunt servants touched their caps to him with
profound respect, and he received greetings from most of the swells.
We drew Latton, found in a few minutes, and had a "real good thing," a
grand run of nearly two hours, with only one or two trifling checks,
which, as I am not writing a hunting story, I need not describe any
further than to remark that we had plenty of fencing, a good deal of hard
galloping, a kill in the open, and that of the sixty or seventy who were
present at the start only about a score were up at the finish. Among the
fortunate few were Mr. Fortescue and his pilot. During the latter part of
the run we rode side by side, and pulled up at the same instant, just as
the fox was rolled over.
"A very fine run," I took the liberty to observe, as I stepped from my
saddle and slackened my horse's girths. "It will be a long time before we
have a better."
"Two hours and two minutes," shouted the secretary, looking at his watch,
"and straight. We are in the heart of the Puckeridge country."
"Yes," said Mr. Fortescue, quietly, "it was a very enjoyable run. You like
hunting, I think?"
"Like it! I should rather think I do. I regard fox-hunting as the very
prince of sports. It is manly, health-giving, and exhilarating. There is
no sport in which so many participate and so heartily enjoy. We enjoy it,
the horses enjoy it, and the hounds enjoy it."
"How about the fox?"
"Oh, the fox! Well, the fox is allowed to exist on condition of being
occasionally hunted. If there were no hunting there would be no foxes. On
the whole, I regard him as a fortunate and rather pampered individual; and
I have even heard it said that he rather likes being hunted than
otherwise."
"As for the general question, I dare say you are right. But I don't think
the fox likes it much. It once happened to me to be hunted, and I know I
did not like it."
This was rather startling, and had Mr. Fortescue spoken less gravely and
not been so obviously in earnest, I should have thought he was joking.
"You don't mean--Was it a paper-chase?" I said, rather foolishly.
"No; it was not a paper-chase," he answered, grimly. "There were no
paper-chases in my time. I mean that I was once hunted, just as we have
been hunting that fox."
"With a pack of hounds?"
"Yes, with a pack of hounds."
I was about to ask what sort of a chase it was, and how and where he was
hunted, when Cuffe came up, and, on behalf of the master, offered Mr.
Fortescue the brush.
"Thank you," said Mr. Fortescue, taking the brush and handing it to
Rawlings. "Here is something for you"--tipping the huntsman a sovereign,
which he put in his pocket with a "Thank you kindly, sir," and a gratified
smile.
And then flasks were uncorked, sandwich-cases opened, cigars lighted, and
the conversation becoming general, I had no other opportunity--at that
time--of making further inquiry of Mr. Fortescue touching the singular
episode in his career which he had just mentioned. A few minutes later a
move was made for our own country, and as we were jogging along I found
myself near Jim Rawlings.
"That's a fresh hoss you've got, I think, sir," he said.
"Yes, I have ridden him two or three times with the harriers; but this is
the first time I have had him out with fox-hounds."
"He carried you very well in the run, sir."
"You are quite right; he did. Very well."
"Does he lay hold on you at all, Mr. Bacon?"
"Not a bit."
"Light in the mouth, a clever jumper, and a free goer."
"All three."
"Yes, he's the right sort, he is, sir; and if ever you feel disposed to
sell him, I could, may be, find you a customer."
Accepting this as a delicate intimation that Mr. Fortescue had taken a
fancy to the horse and would like to buy him, I told Jim that I was quite
willing to sell at a fair price.
"And what might you consider a fair price, if it is a fair question?"
asked the man.
"A hundred guineas," I answered; for, as I knew that Mr. Fortescue would
not "look at a horse," as Tawney put it, under that figure, it would have
been useless to ask less.
"Very well, sir. I will speak to my master, and let you know."
Ranger, as I called the horse, was a purchase of Alston's. Liking his
looks (though Bertie was really a very indifferent judge), he had bought
him out of a hansom-cab for forty pounds, and after a little "schooling,"
the creature took to jumping as naturally as a duck takes to water. Sixty
pounds may seem rather an unconscionable profit, but considering that
Ranger was quite sound and up to weight, I don't think a hundred guineas
was too much. A dealer would have asked a hundred and fifty.
At any rate, Mr. Fortescue did not think it too much, for Rawlings
presently brought me word that his master would take the horse at the
price I had named, if I could warrant him sound.
"In that case it is a bargain," I said, "for I can warrant him sound."
"All right, sir. I'll send one of the grooms over to your place for him
to-morrow."
Shortly afterward I fell in with Keyworth, and as a matter of course we
talked about Mr. Fortescue.
"Do you know anything about him?" I asked.
"Not much. I believe he is rich--and respectable."
"That is pretty evident, I think."
"I am not sure. A man who spends a good deal of money is presumably rich;
but it by no means follows that he is respectable. There are such people
in the world as successful rogues and wealthy swindlers. Not that I think
Mr. Fortescue is either one or the other. I learned, from the check he
sent me for his subscription, who his bankers are, and through a friend of
mine, who is intimate with one of the directors, I got a confidential
report about him. It does not amount to much; but it is satisfactory so
far as it goes. They say he is a man of large fortune, and, as they
believe, highly respectable."
"Is that all?"
"All there was in the report. But Tomlinson--that's my friend--has heard
that he has spent the greater part of his life abroad, and that he made
his money in South America."
The mention of South America interested me, for I had made voyages both to
Rio de Janeiro and several places on the Spanish Main.
"South America is rather vague," I observed. "You might almost as well say
'Southern Asia.' Have you any idea in what part of it?"
"Not the least. I have told you all I know. I should be glad to know more;
but for the present it is quite enough for my purpose. I intend to call
upon Mr. Fortescue."
It is hardly necessary to say that I had no such intention, for having
neither a "position in the county," as the phrase goes, a house of my own,
nor any official connection with the hunt, a call from me would probably
have been regarded, and rightly so, as a piece of presumption. As it
happened, however, I not only called on Mr. Fortescue before the
secretary, but became his guest, greatly to my surprise, and, I have no
doubt, to his, although he was the indirect cause; for had he not bought
Ranger, it is very unlikely that I should have become an inmate of his
house.
It came about in this way. Bertie was so pleased with the result of his
first speculation in horseflesh (though so far as he was concerned it was
a pure fluke) that he must needs make another. If he had picked up a
second cab-horse at thirty or forty pounds he could not have gone far
wrong; but instead of that he must needs go to Tattersall's and give
nearly fifty for a blood mare rejoicing in the name of "Tickle-me-Quick,"
described as being "the property of a gentleman," and said to have won
several country steeple-chases.
The moment I set eyes on the beast I saw she was a screw, "and vicious at
that," as an American would have said. But as she had been bought (without
warranty) and paid for, I had to make the best of her. Within an hour of
the mare's arrival at Red Chimneys, I was on her back, trying her paces.
She galloped well and jumped splendidly, but I feared from her ways that
she would be hot with hounds, and perhaps, kick in a crowd, one of the
worst faults that a hunter can possess.
On the next non-hunting day I took Tickle-me-Quick out for a long ride in
the country, to see how she shaped as a hack. I little thought, as we set
off, that it would prove to be her last journey, and one of the most
memorable events of my life.
For a while all went well. The mare wanted riding, yet she behaved no
worse than I expected, although from the way she laid her ears back and
the angry tossing of her head when I made her feel the bit, she was
clearly not in the best of tempers. But I kept her going; and an hour
after leaving Red Chimneys we turned into a narrow deep lane between high
banks, which led to Kingscote entering the road on the west side of the
park at right angles, and very near Mr. Fortescue's lodge-gates.
In the field to my right several colts were grazing, and when they caught
sight of Tickle-me-Quick trotting up the lane they took it into their
heads to have an impromptu race among themselves. Neighing loudly, they
set off at full gallop. Without asking my leave, Tickle-me-Quick followed
suit. I tried to stop her. I might as well have tried to stop an
avalanche. So, making a virtue of necessity, I let her go, thinking that
before she reached the top of the lane she would have had quite enough,
and I should be able to pull her up without difficulty.
The colts are soon left behind; but we can hear them galloping behind us,
and on goes the mare like the wind. I can now see the end of the lane, and
as the great park wall, twelve feet high, looms in sight, the horrible
thought flashes on my mind that unless I pull her up we shall both be
dashed to pieces; for to turn a sharp corner at the speed we are going is
quite out of the question.
I make another effort, sawing the mare's mouth till it bleeds, and
tightening the reins till they are fit to break.
All in vain; she puts her head down and gallops on, if possible more madly
than before. Still larger looms that terrible wall; death stares me in the
face, and for the first time in my life I undergo the intense agony of
mortal terror.
We are now at the end of the lane. There is one chance only, and that the
most desperate, of saving my life. I slip my feet from the stirrups, and
when Tickle-me-Quick is within two or three strides of the wall, I drop
the reins and throw myself from her back. Then all is darkness.