A SWELL HUNTSMAN
One evening the rattle of Puff's pole-chains brought, in addition to the
usual rush of shirt-sleeved helpers, an extremely smart, dapper little man,
who might be either a jockey or a gentleman, or both, or neither. He was a
clean-shaved, close-trimmed, spruce little fellow; remarkably natty about
the legs--indeed, all over. His close-napped hat was carefully brushed, and
what little hair appeared below its slightly curved brim was of the
pepper-and-salt mixture of--say, fifty years. His face, though somewhat
wrinkled and weather-beaten, was bright and healthy; and there was a
twinkle about his little grey eyes that spoke of quickness and watchful
observation. Altogether, he was a very quick-looking little man--a sort of
man that would know what you were going to say before you had well broke
ground. He wore no gills; and his neatly tied starcher had a white ground
with small black spots, about the size of currants. The slight interregnum
between it and his step-collared striped vest (blue stripe on a
canary-coloured ground) showed three golden foxes' heads, acting as studs
to his well-washed, neatly plaited shirt; while a sort of careless turn
back of the right cuff showed similar ornaments at his wrists. His
single-breasted, cutaway coat was Oxford mixture, with a thin cord binding,
and very natty light kerseymere mother-o'-pearl buttoned breeches, met a
pair of bright, beautifully fitting, rose-tinted tops, that wrinkled most
elegantly down to the Jersey-patterned spur. He was a remarkably well got
up little man, and looked the horseman all over.
As he emerged from the stable, where he had been mastering the ins and outs
of the establishment, learning what was allowed and what was not, what had
not been found fault with and, therefore, might be presumed upon, and so
on, he carried the smart dogskin leather glove of one hand in the other,
while the fox's head of a massive silver-mounted jockey-whip peered from
under his arm. On a ring round the fox's neck was the following
inscription: 'FROM JACK BRAGG TO HIS COUSIN DICK.'
Mr. Puffington having drawn up his mail-phaeton, and thrown the ribbons to
the active grooms at the horses' heads in the true coaching style,
proceeded to descend from his throne, and had reached the ground ere he was
aware of the presence of a stranger. Seeing him then, he made the sort of
half-obeisance of a man that does not know whether he is addressing a
gentleman or a servant, or, maybe, a scamp, going about with a prospectus.
Puff had been bit in the matter of some maps in London, and was wary, as
all people ought to be, of these birds.
The stranger came sidling up with a half-bow, half-touch of the hat,
drawling out:
''Sceuuse me, sir--'sceuuse me, sir,' with another half-bow and another
half-touch of the hat. 'I'm Mister Bragg, sir--Mister Richard Bragg, sir;
of whom you have most likely heard.'
'Bragg--Richard Bragg,' repeated our friend, thoughtfully, while he scanned
the man's features, and ran his sporting acquaintance through his mind's
eye.
'Bragg, Bragg,' repeated he, without hitting him off.
'I was huntsman, sir, to my Lord Reynard, sir,' observed the stranger, with
a touch of the hat to each 'sir.' 'Thought p'r'aps you might have known his
ludship, sir. Before him, sir, I held office, sir, under the Duke of
Downeybird, sir, of Downeybird Castle, sir, in Downeybirdshire, sir.'
'Indeed!' replied Mr. Puffington, with a half-bow and a smile of
politeness.
'Hearing, sir, you had taken these Mangeysterne _dogs_, sir,' continued the
stranger, with rather a significant emphasis on the word
'_dogs_'--'hearing, sir, you had taken these Mangeysterne _dogs_, sir, it
occurred to me that possibly I might be useful to you, sir, in your new
calling, sir; and if you were of the same opinion, sir, why, sir, I should
be glad to negotiate a connexion, sir.'
'Hem!--hem!--hem!' coughed Mr. Puffington. 'In the way of a huntsman do you
mean?' afraid to talk of servitude to so fine a gentleman.
'Just so,' said Mr. Bragg, with a chuck of his head, 'just so. The fact is,
though I'm used to the grass countries, sir, and could go to the Marquis of
Maneylies, sir, to-morrow, sir, I should prefer a quiet place in a somewhat
inferior country, sir, to a five-days-a-week one in the best. Five and six
days a week, sir, is a terrible tax, sir, on the constitution, sir; and
though, sir, I'm thankful to say, sir, I've pretty good 'ealth, sir, yet,
sir, you know, sir, it don't do, sir, to take too great liberties with
oneself, sir'; Mr. Bragg sawing away at his hat as he spoke, measuring off
a touch, as it were, to each 'sir,' the action becoming quick towards the
end.
'Why, to tell you the truth,' said Puff, looking rather sheepish, 'to tell
you the truth--I intended--I thought at least of--of--of--hunting them
myself.'
'Ah! that's another pair of shoes altogether, as we say in France,' replied
Bragg, with a low bow and a copious round of the hand to the hat. 'That's
_another_ pair of shoes altogether,' repeated he, tapping his boot with his
whip.
'Why, I _thought_ of it,' rejoined Puff, not feeling quite sure whether he
could or not.
'Well,' said Mr. Bragg, drawing on his dogskin glove as if to be off.
'My friend Swellcove does it,' observed Puff.
'True,' replied Bragg, 'true; but my Lord Swellcove is one of a thousand.
See how many have failed for one that has succeeded. Why, even my Lord
Scamperdale was 'bliged to give it up, and no man rides harder than my Lord
Scamperdale--always goes as if he had a spare neck in his pocket. But he
couldn't 'unt a pack of 'ounds. Your gen'l'men 'untsmen are all very well
on fine scentin' days when everything goes smoothly and well, and the
'ounds are tied to their fox, as it were; but see them in difficulties--a
failing scent, 'ounds pressed upon by the field, fox chased by a dog, storm
in the air, big brook to get over to make a cast. Oh, sir, sir, it makes
even me, with all my acknowledged science and experience, shudder to think
of the ordeal one undergoes!'
'Indeed,' exclaimed Mr. Puffington, staring, and beginning to think it
mightn't be quite so easy as it looked.
'I don't wish, sir, to dissuade you, sir, from the attempt, sir,' continued
Mr. Bragg; 'far from it, sir--for he, sir, who never makes an effort, sir,
never risks a failure, sir, and in great attempts, sir, 'tis glorious to
fail, sir'; Mr. Bragg sawing away at his hat as he spoke, and then sticking
the fox-head handle of his whip under his chin.
Puff stood mute for some seconds.
'My Lord Scamperdale,' continued Mr. Bragg, scrutinizing our friend
attentively, 'was as likely a man, sir, as ever I see'd, sir, to make an
'untsman, for he had a deal of ret (rat) ketchin' cunnin' about him, and,
as I said before, didn't care one dim for his neck, but a more signal
disastrous failure was never recognized. It was quite lamentable to witness
his proceeding.'
'How?' asked Mr. Puffington.
'How, sir?' repeated Mr. Bragg; 'why, sir, in all wayses. He had no dog
language, to begin with--he had little idea of making a cast--no science,
no judgement, no manner--no nothin'--I'm dim'd if ever I see'd sich a mess
as he made.'
Puff looked unutterable things.
'He never did no good, in fact, till I fit him with Frostyface. _I_ taught
Frosty,' continued Mr. Bragg. 'He whipped in to me when I 'unted the Duke
of Downeybird's 'ounds--nice, 'cute, civil chap he was--of all my
pupils--and I've made some first-rate 'untsmen, I'm dim'd if I don't think
Frostyface does me about as much credit as any on 'em. Ah, sir,' continued
Mr. Bragg, with a shake of his head, 'take my word for it, sir, there's
nothin' like a professional. S-c-e-u-s-e me, sir,' added he, with a low bow
and a sort of military salute of his hat; 'but dim all gen'l'men 'untsmen,
say I.'
Mr. Bragg had talked himself into several good places. Lord Reynard's and
the Duke of Downeybird's among others. He had never been able to keep any
beyond his third season, his sauce or his science being always greater than
the sport he showed. Still he kept up appearances, and was nothing daunted,
it being a maxim of his that 'as one door closed another opened.'
Mr. Puffington's was the door that now opened for him.
What greater humiliation can a free-born Briton be subjected to than paying
a man eighty or a hundred pounds a year, and finding him house, coals, and
candles, and perhaps a cow, to be his master?
Such was the case with poor Mr. Puffington, and such, we grieve to say, is
the case with nine-tenths of the men who keep hounds; with all, indeed,
save those who can hunt themselves, or who are blest with an aspiring whip,
ready to step into the huntsman's boots if he seems inclined to put them
off in the field. How many portly butlers are kept in subjection by having
a footman ready to supplant them. Of all cards in the servitude pack,
however, the huntsman's is the most difficult one to play. A man may say,
'I'm dim'd if I won't clean my own boots or my own horse, before I'll put
up with such a fellow's impudence'; but when it comes to hunting his own
hounds, it is quite another pair of shoes, as Mr. Bragg would say.
Mr. Bragg regularly took possession of poor Puff; as regularly as a
policeman takes possession of a prisoner. The reader knows the sort of
feeling one has when a lawyer, a doctor, an architect, or any one whom we
have called in to assist, takes the initiative, and treats one as a
nonentity, pooh-poohing all one's pet ideas, and upsetting all one's
well-considered arrangements.
Bragg soon saw he had a greenhorn to deal with, and treated Puff
accordingly. If a 'perfect servant' is only to be got out of the
establishments of the great, Mr. Bragg might be looked upon as a paragon of
perfection, and now combined in his own person all the bad practices of all
the places he had been in. Having 'accepted Mr. Puffington's situation,' as
the elegant phraseology of servitude goes, he considered that Mr.
Puffington had nothing more to do with the hounds, and that any
interference in 'his department' was a piece of impertinence. Puffington
felt like a man who has bought a good horse, but which he finds on riding
is rather more of a horse than he likes. He had no doubt that Bragg was a
good man, but he thought he was rather more of a gentleman than he
required. On the other hand, Mr. Bragg's opinion of his master may be
gleaned from the following letter which he wrote to his successor, Mr.
Brick, at Lord Reynard's:
'HANBY HOUSE, SWILLINGFORD.
'DEAR BRICK,
'If your old man is done daffling with your draft, I should like to have
the pick of it. I'm with one Mr. Puffington, a city gent. His father was a
great confectioner in the Poultry, just by the Mansion House, and made his
money out of Lord Mares. I shall only stay with him till I can get myself
suited in the rank of life in which I have been accustomed to move; but in
the meantime I consider it necessary for my own credit to do things as they
should be. You know my sort of hound; good shoulders, deep chests, strong
loins, straight legs, round feet, with plenty of bone all over. I hate a
weedy animal; a small hound, light of bone, is only fit to hunt a kat in a
kitchen.
'I shall also want a couple of whips--not fellows like waiters from
_Crawley's_ hotel, but light, active _men_, not boys. I'll have nothin' to
do with boys; every boy requires a man to look arter him. No; a couple of
short, light, active men--say from five-and-twenty to thirty, with bow-legs
and good cheery voices, as nearly of the same make as you can find them. I
shall not give them large wage, you know; but they will have opportunities
of improving themselves under me, and qualifying themselves for high
places. But mind, they _must be steady_--I'll keep no unsteady servants;
the first act of drunkenness, with me, is the last.
'I shall also want a second horseman; and here I wouldn't mind a mute boy
who could keep his elbows down and never touch the curb; but he must be
bred in the line; a huntsman's second horseman is a critical article, and
the sporting world must not be put in mourning for Dick Bragg. The lad will
have to clean my boots, and wait at table when I have company--yourself,
for instance.
'This is only a poor, rough, ungentlemanly sort of shire, as far as I have
seen it; and however they got on with the things I found that they called
hounds I can't for the life of me imagine. I understand they went stringing
over the country like a flock of wild geese. However, I have rectified that
in a manner by knocking all the fast 'uns and slow 'uns on the head; and I
shall require at least twenty couple before I can take the field. In your
official report of what your old file puts back, you'll have the kindness
to cobble us up good long pedigrees, and carry half of them at least back
to the Beaufort Justice. My man has got a crochet into his head about that
hound, and I'm dimmed if he doesn't think half the hounds in England are
descended from the Beaufort Justice. These hounds are at present called the
Mangeysternes, a very proper title, I should say, from all I've seen and
heard. That, however, must be changed; and we must have a button struck,
instead of the plain pewter plates the men have been in the habit of
hunting in.
'As to horses, I'm sure I don't know what we are to do in that line. Our
pastrycook seems to think that a hunter, like one of his pa's pies, can be
made and baked in a day. He talks of going over to Rowdedow Fair, and
picking some up himself; but I should say a gentleman demeans himself sadly
who interferes with the just prerogative of the groom. It has never been
allowed I know in any place I have lived; nor do I think servants do
justice to themselves or their order who submit to it. Howsomever the
crittur has what Mr. Cobden would call the "raw material" for sport--that
is to say, plenty of money--and I must see and apply it in such a way as
will produce it. I'll do the thing as it should be, or not at all.
'I hope your good lady is well--also all the little Bricks. I purpose
making a little tower of some of the best kennels as soon as the drafts are
arranged, and will spend a day or two with you, and see how you get on
without me. Dear Brick,
'Yours to the far end,
'RICHARD BRAGG.
'To BENJAMIN BRICK, Esq.,
'Huntsman to the Right Hon. the Earl of Reynard,
'Turkeypout Park.
'P.S.--I hope your old man keeps a cleaner tongue in
his head than he did when I was premier. I always say
there was a good bargeman spoiled when they made him
a lord.
'R.B.'