The Sketches of Seymour by Robert Seymour (pdf to ebook reader txt) 📕

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"Ha! ha! werry good! - but I means game; - partridges and them sort o' birds."

"I never see any except what I've brought down."

"I on'y vish I may bring down all I see, that's all," chuckled the joyous Mr. Grubb.

"What's the matter?"

"I don't at all like that 'ere gun."

"Lor! bless you, how timorsome you are, 'tain't loaded."

"Loaded or not loaded, it's werry unpleasant to ride with that gun o' yours looking into one's ear so."

"Vell, don't be afeard, I'll twist it over t'other shoulder, - there! but a gun ain't a coach, you know, vich goes off whether it's loaded or not. Hollo! Spriggs! here you are, my boy, lord! how you are figg'd out - didn't know you - jump up!"

"Vere's my instrument o' destruction?" enquired the lively Augustus, when he had succeeded in mounting to his seat.

"Stow'd him in the boot!"

The coachman mounted and drove off; the sportsmen chatting and laughing as they passed through 'merry Islington.'

"Von't ve keep the game alive!" exclaimed Spriggs, slapping his friend upon the back.

"I dessay you will," remarked the caustic old boy with the pigtail; "for it's little you'll kill, young gentlemen, and that's my belief!"

"On'y let's put 'em up, and see if we don't knock 'em down, as cleverly as Mister Robins does his lots," replied Spriggs, laughing at his own wit.

Arrived at Highgate, the old gentleman, with a step-fatherly anxiety, bade them take care of the 'spring-guns' in their perambulations.

"Thankee, old boy," said Spriggs, "but we ain't so green as not to know that spring guns, like spring radishes, go off long afore Autumn, you know!"


CHAPTER II.

The Death of a little Pig, which proves a great Bore!


"Now let's load and prime - and make ready," said Mr. Richard, when they had entered an extensive meadow, "and - I say - vot are you about? Don't put the shot in afore the powder, you gaby!"

Having charged, they shouldered their pieces and waded through the tall grass.

"O! crikey! - there's a heap o' birds," exclaimed Spriggs, looking up at a flight of alarmed sparrows. "Shall I bring 'em down?"

"I vish you could! I'd have a shot at 'em," replied Mr. Grubb, "but they're too high for us, as the alderman said ven they brought him a couple o' partridges vot had been kept overlong!"

"My eye! if there ain't a summat a moving in that 'ere grass yonder - cock your eye!" "Cock your gun - and be quiet," said Mr. Grubb. The anxiety of the two sportsmen was immense. "It's an hare - depend on't - stoop down - pint your gun, - and when I say fire - fire! there it is - fire!"

Bang! bang! went the two guns, and a piercing squeak followed the report.

"Ve've tickled him," exclaimed Spriggs, as they ran to pick up the spoil.

"Ve've pickled him, rayther," cried Grubbs, "for by gosh it's a piggy!"

"Hallo! you chaps, vot are you arter?" inquired a man, popping his head over the intervening hedge. "Vy, I'm blessed if you ain't shot von o' Stubbs's pigs." And leaping the hedge he took the 'pork' in his arms, while the sportsmen who had used their arms so destructively now took to their legs for security. But ignorance of the locality led them into the midst of a village, and the stentorian shouts of the pig-bearer soon bringing a multitude at their heels, Mr. Richard Grubb was arrested in his flight. Seized fast by the collar, in the grasp of the butcher and constable of the place, all escape was vain. Spriggs kept a respectful distance.

"Now my fine fellow," cried he, brandishing his staff, "you 'ither pays for that 'ere pig, or ve'll fix you in the cage."

Now the said cage not being a bird-cage, Mr. Richard Grubb could see no prospect of sport in it, and therefore fearfully demanded the price of the sucking innocent, declaring his readiness to 'shell out.'

Mr. Stubbs, the owner, stepped forward, and valued it at eighteen shillings.

"Vot! eighteen shillings for that 'ere little pig!" exclaimed the astounded sportsman. "Vy I could buy it in town for seven any day."

But Mr. Stubbs was obdurate, and declared that he would not 'bate a farden,' and seeing no remedy, Mr. Richard Grubb was compelled to 'melt a sovereign,' complaining loudly of the difference between country-fed and town pork!

Shouldering his gun, he joined his companion in arms, amid the jibes and jeers of the grinning rustics.

"Vell, I'm blowed if that ain't a cooler!" said he.

"Never mind, ve've made a hit at any rate," said the consoling Spriggs, "and ve've tried our metal."

"Yes, it's tried my metal preciously - changed a suv'rin to two bob! by jingo!"

"Let's turn Jews," said Spriggs, "and make a vow never to touch pork again!"

"Vot's the use o' that?"

"Vy, we shall save our bacon in future, to be sure," replied Spriggs, laughing, and Grubb joining in his merriment, they began to look about them, not for fresh pork, but for fresh game.

"No more shooting in the grass, mind!" said Grubb, "or ve shall have the blades upon us agin for another grunter p'r'aps. Our next haim must be at birds on the ving! No more forking out. Shooting a pig ain't no lark
- that's poz!"


CHAPTER III.

The Sportsmen trespass on an Enclosure - Grubb gets on a paling and runs a risk of being impaled.


"Twig them trees?" - said Grubb.

"Prime!" exclaimed Spriggs, "and vith their leaves ve'll have an hunt there. - Don't you hear the birds a crying 'sveet,' 'sveet?' Thof all birds belong to the Temperance Society by natur', everybody knows as they're partic'larly fond of a little s'rub!"

"Think ve could leap the ditch?" said Mr. Richard, regarding with a longing look the tall trees and the thick underwood.

"Lauk! I'll over it in a jiffy," replied the elastic Mr. Spriggs there ain't no obelisk a sportsman can't overcome" - and no sooner had he uttered these encouraging words, than he made a spring, and came 'close-legged' upon the opposite bank; unfortunately, however, he lost his balance, and fell plump upon a huge stinging nettle, which would have been a treat to any donkey in the kingdom!

"Oh! - cuss the thing!" shrieked Mr. Spriggs, losing his equanimity with his equilibrium.

"Don't be in a passion, Spriggs," said Grubb, laughing.

"Me in a passion? - I'm not in a passion - I'm on'y - on'y - nettled!" replied he, recovering his legs and his good humour. Mr. Grubb, taking warning by his friend's slip, cautiously looked out for a narrower part of the ditch, and executed the saltatory transit with all the agility of a poodle.

They soon penetrated the thicket, and a bird hopped so near them, that they could not avoid hitting it. - Grubb fired, and Sprigg's gun echoed the report.

"Ve've done him!" cried Spriggs.

"Ve! - me, if you please."

"Vell - no matter," replied his chum, "you shot a bird, and I shot too! - Vot's that? - my heye, I hear a voice a hollering like winkin;
- bolt!"

Away scampered Spriggs, and off ran Grubb, never stopping till he reached a high paling, which, hastily climbing, he found himself literally upon tenter-hooks.

"There's a man a coming, old fellow," said an urchin, grinning.

"A man coming! vich vay? do tell me vich vay?" supplicated the sportsman. The little rogue, however, only stuck his thumb against his snub nose - winked, and ran off.

But Mr. Grubb was not long held in suspense; a volley of inelegant phrases saluted his ears, while the thong of a hunting-whip twisted playfully about his leg. Finding the play unequal, he wisely gave up the game - by dropping his bird on one side, and himself on the other; at the same time reluctantly leaving a portion of his nether garment behind him.

"Here you are!" cried his affectionate friend, - picking him up - "ain't you cotch'd it finely?"

"Ain't I, that's all?" said the almost breathless Mr. Grubb, "I'm almost dead."

"Dead! - nonsense - to be sure, you may say as how you're off the hooks! and precious glad you ought to be."

"Gracious me! Spriggs, don't joke; it might ha' bin werry serious," said Mr. Grubb, with a most melancholy shake of the head: - "Do let's get out o' this wile place."

"Vy, vat the dickins!" exclaimed Spriggs, "you ain't sewed up yet, are you?"

"No," replied Grubb, forcing a smile in spite of himself, "I vish I vos, Spriggs; for I 've got a terrible rent here!" delicately indicating the position of the fracture.

And hereupon the two friends resolving to make no further attempt at bush-ranging, made as precipitate a retreat as the tangled nature of the preserve permitted.


CHAPTER IV.

Shooting a Bird, and putting Shot into a Calf!


"On'y think ven ve thought o' getting into a preserve - that ve got into a pickle," said Sprigg, still chuckling over their last adventure.

"Hush!" cried Grubb, laying his hand upon his arm - "see that bird hopping there?"

"Ve'll soon make him hop the twig, and no mistake," remarked Spriggs.

"There he goes into the 'edge to get his dinner, I s'pose."

"Looking for a 'edge-stake, I dare say," said the facetious Spriggs.

"Now for it!" cried Grubb! "pitch into him!" and drawing his trigger he accidentally knocked off the bird, while Spriggs discharged the contents of his gun through the hedge.

"Hit summat at last!" exclaimed the delighted Grubb, scampering towards the thorny barrier, and clambering up, he peeped into an adjoining garden.

"Will you have the goodness to hand me that little bird I've just shot off your 'edge," said he to a gardener, who was leaning on his spade and holding his right leg in his hand.

"You fool," cried the horticulturist, "you've done a precious job - You've shot me right in the leg - O dear! O dear! how it pains!"

"I'm werry sorry - take the bird for your pains," replied Grubb, and apprehending another pig in a poke, he bobbed down and retreated as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Vot's frightened you?" demanded Spriggs, trotting off beside his chum, "You ain't done nothing, have you?"

"On'y shot a man, that's all."

"The devil!"

"It's true - and there'll be the devil to pay if ve're cotched, I can tell you - 'Vy the gardener vill swear as it's a reg'lar plant! - and there von't be no damages at all, if so be he says he can't do no work, and is obleeged to keep his bed - so mizzle!" With the imaginary noises of a hot pursuit at their heels, they leaped hedge, ditch, and style without daring to cast a look behind them - and it was not until they had put two good miles of cultivated land between them and the spot of their unfortunate exploit that they ventured to wheel about and breathe again.

"Vell, if this 'ere ain't a rum go!" - said Spriggs - "in four shots - ve've killed a pig - knocked