Anthony Trollope - The Palliser Novels - Complete Series - All 6 Books in One Edition

“I hope I see you well, Sir William,” said Maxwell, greeting the master. Calder Jones also made his little speech, and so did Vavasor.

“Humph—well, yes, I’m pretty well, thank’ee. Just move on, will you? My mare can’t stir here.” Then some one else spoke to him, and he only grunted in answer. Having slowly been assisted up on to his horse,—for he was over seventy years of age,—he trotted off to the hounds, while all the farmers round him touched their hats to him. But his mind was laden with affairs of import, and he noticed no one. In a whispered voice he gave his instructions to his huntsman, who said, “Yes, Sir William,” “No, Sir William,” “No doubt, Sir William.” One long-eared, long-legged fellow, in a hunting-cap and scarlet coat, hung listening by, anxious to catch something of the orders for the morning. “Who the devil’s that fellow, that’s all breeches and boots?” said Sir William aloud to some one near him, as the huntsman moved off with the hounds. Sir William knew the man well enough, but was minded to punish him for his discourtesy. “Where shall we find first, Sir William?” said Calder Jones, in a voice that was really very humble. “How the mischief am I to know where the foxes are?” said Sir William, with an oath; and Calder Jones retired unhappy, and for the moment altogether silenced.

And yet Sir William was the most popular man in the county, and no more courteous gentleman ever sat at the bottom of his own table. A mild man he was, too, when out of his saddle, and one by no means disposed to assume special supremacy. But a master of hounds, if he have long held the country,—and Sir William had held his for more than thirty years,—obtains a power which that of no other potentate can equal. He may say and do what he pleases, and his tyranny is always respected. No conspiracy against him has a chance of success; no sedition will meet with sympathy;—that is, if he be successful in showing sport. If a man be sworn at, abused, and put down without cause, let him bear it and think that he has been a victim for the public good. And let him never be angry with the master. That rough tongue is the necessity of the master’s position. They used to say that no captain could manage a ship without swearing at his men. But what are the captain’s troubles in comparison with those of the master of hounds? The captain’s men are under discipline, and can be locked up, flogged, or have their grog stopped. The master of hounds cannot stop the grog of any offender, and he can only stop the tongue, or horse, of such an one by very sharp words.

“Well, Pollock, when did you come?” said Maxwell.

“By George,” said the literary gentleman, “just down from London by the 8.30 from Euston Square, and got over here from Winslow in a trap, with two fellows I never saw in my life before. We came tandem in a fly, and did the nineteen miles in an hour.”

“Come, Athenian, draw it mild,” said Maxwell.

“We did, indeed. I wonder whether they’ll pay me their share of the fly. I had to leave Onslow Crescent at a quarter before eight, and I did three hours’ work before I started.”

“Then you did it by candlelight,” said Grindley.

“Of course I did; and why shouldn’t I? Do you suppose no one can work by candlelight except a lawyer? I suppose you fellows were playing whist, and drinking hard. I’m uncommon glad I wasn’t with you, for I shall be able to ride.”

“I bet you a pound,” said Jones, “if there’s a run, I see more of it than you.”

“I’ll take that bet with Jones,” said Grindley, “and Vavasor shall be the judge.”

“Gentlemen, the hounds can’t get out, if you will stop up the gate,” said Sir William. Then the pack passed through, and they all trotted on for four miles, to Cranby Wood.

Vavasor, as he rode on to the wood, was alone, or speaking, from time to time, a few words to his servant. “I’ll ride the chestnut mare in the wood,” he said, “and do you keep near me.”

“I bean’t to be galloping up and down them rides, I suppose,” said Bat, almost contemptuously.

“I shan’t gallop up and down the rides, myself; but do you mark me, to know where I am, so that I can change if a fox should go away.”

“You’ll be here all day, sir. That’s my belief.”

“If so, I won’t ride the brown horse at all. But do you take care to let me have him if there’s a chance. Do you understand?”

“Oh, yes, I understand, sir. There ain’t no difficulty in my understanding;—only I don’t think, sir, you’ll ever get a fox out of that wood to-day. Why, it stands to reason. The wind’s from the northeast.”

Cranby Wood is very large,—there being, in truth, two or three woods together. It was nearly twelve before they found; and then for an hour there was great excitement among the men, who rode up and down the rides as the hounds drove the fox from one end to another of the enclosure. Once or twice the poor animal did try to go away, and then there was great hallooing, galloping, and jumping over unnecessary fences; but he was headed back again, or changed his mind, not liking the northeast wind of which Bat Smithers had predicted such bad things. After one the crowd of men became rather more indifferent, and clustered together in broad spots, eating their lunch, smoking cigars, and chaffing each other. It was singular to observe the amazing quantity of ham sandwiches and of sherry that had been carried into Cranby Wood on that day. Grooms appeared to have been laden with cases, and men were as well armed with flasks at their saddlebows as they used to be with pistols. Maxwell and Pollock formed the centre of one of these crowds, and chaffed each other with the utmost industry, till, tired of having inflicted no wounds, they turned upon Grindley and drove him out of the circle. “You’ll make that man cut his throat, if you go on at that,” said Pollock. “Shall I?” said Maxwell. “Then I’ll certainly stick to him for the sake of humanity in general.” During all this time Vavasor sat apart, quite alone, and Bat Smithers grimly kept his place, about three hundred yards from him.

“We shan’t do any good to-day,” said Grindley, coming up to Vavasor.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Vavasor.

“That old fellow has got to be so stupid, he doesn’t know what he’s about,” said Grindley, meaning Sir William.

“How can he make the fox break?” said Vavasor; and as his voice was by no means encouraging Grindley rode away.

Lunch and cigars lasted till two, during which hour the hounds, the huntsmen, the whips, and old Sir William were hard at work, as also were some few others who persistently followed every chance of the game. From that till three there were two or three flashes in the pan, and false reports as to foxes which had gone away, which first set men galloping, and then made them very angry. After three, men began to say naughty things, to abuse Cranby Wood, to wish violently that they had remained at home or gone elsewhere, and to speak irreverently of their ancient master. “It’s the cussidest place in all creation,” said Maxwell. “I often said I’d not come here any more, and now I say it again.”

“And yet you’ll be here the next meet,” said Grindley, who had sneaked back to his old companions in weariness of spirit.

“Grindems, you know a sight too much,” said Maxwell; “you do indeed. An ordinary fellow has no chance with you.”

Grindley was again going to catch it, but was on this time saved by the appearance of the huntsman, who came galloping up one of the rides, with a lot of the hounds at his heels.

“He isn’t away, Tom, surely?” said Maxwell.

“He’s out of the wood somewheres,” said Tom;—and off they all went. Vavasor changed his horse, getting on to the brown one, and giving up his chestnut mare to Bat Smithers, who suggested that he might as well go home to Roebury now. Vavasor gave him no answer, but, trotting on to the point where the rides met, stopped a moment and listened carefully. Then he took a path diverging away from that by which the huntsmen and the crowd of horsemen had gone, and made the best of his way through the wood. At the end of this he came upon Sir William, who, with no one near him but his servant, was standing in the pathway of a little hunting-gate.