I stood beating about the bush for some time, for I didn’t want to let the man see what I was thinking of if I could help it. However, when he brought out the old brown horse to clean him down, I went up and patted him, and asked whether he was a good saddle horse.
“Ees, there warn’t much fault to find wi’[147] un,” said the fogger, stopping his hissing3 and rubbing for a moment, “leastways for them as didn’t mind a high goer.”
I didn’t quite know what he meant by a high goer, so I asked him if the brown was up to my weight.
“Lor’ bless ’ee, ees. He’d make no account o’ vivteen stun4. Be you to ride un up the hill, Sir, make so bold?” said he.
“Yes, at least I think so,” said I.
“Hev ’ee got arra loose tooth, Sir?” said he, grinning.
“No,” said I, “why?”
“’Cause he’ll be as likely as not to shake un out for ’ee, Sir, if you lets un hev his head up on the downs.”
I didn’t like this account of the brown horse, for as I hadn’t ridden much, he might take his head perhaps whether I let him have it or not. So I made up my mind not to ride. I thought I would go behind in the four-wheel, for I didn’t like to leave Miss Lucy all alone with the Parson for so long; but then I found out that one of the carter-boys was to go behind to look after the horses, and I didn’t choose to be put up side by side with him, to look ridiculous. There[148] was a big wagon6 going up, too, full of the farm servants, but that didn’t seem to suit me any better, so I settled with myself that I would just start and walk up.
Joe, luckily for me, thought he had settled every thing, and so at breakfast said nothing more about the old horse; though I was afraid he would every minute, and then I should have had to pretend I was going to ride, or they might have found out that I didn’t quite like the notion. I was very glad when I saw him fairly off after breakfast, cantering away on the chestnut7; and, very soon afterwards, I took a good stout8 stick of Joe’s in my hand, put my note-book in my pocket, and started off quietly by myself.
At first as I walked along I didn’t enjoy myself much for thinking of the four-wheel, and I was almost getting jealous of the Parson again. But I soon got over it, when I remembered how kind he had been the night before. And I felt, too, that if he really was making up to her there was very little chance for me, so I had better make up my mind anyhow to see and enjoy every thing I could. I don’t think I was very much in love at the time; if it had been[149] a week later I should have found it much harder perhaps.
I kept along the shady side of the road, for it was getting hot already, and crossed the canal, and kept making up towards the hills. I wasn’t sure of the way, but I knew that if once I got up the hill I should find the Ridgeway, and could follow it all the way up to the Castle. After a bit I fell in with groups of people, all going the same way; and so, following on with them, after about an hour’s walk, I came to the foot of the hills; and found a pretty little inn, standing9 back from the road, nestled into a plantation10, where everybody else seemed to be stopping; and so I stopped too, and sat down on the bench before the door to have a glass of beer before facing the pull up to the top.
In front of the door was an oak tree, and under the tree a big stone with some curious holes in it, into which pieces of wood were fitted, secured by a padlock and chain. I was wondering what it could be, when the landlord came out with some of his guests, and pulling out a key unlocked the padlock, and took the pieces of wood out of the holes. Then there was some talk between the young men and[150] their sweethearts, and first one and then another stooped down and blew into the hole at the top, and the stone made a dull moaning sound, unlike any thing I had ever heard. The landlord told me that when it was well blown on a still day, it could be heard for four or five miles, and I should think it could; for I left them blowing away when I started again, and heard the sound every now and then until I was close up to the Castle, though the wind blew from the south, and down the hill.
I should think a dozen parties, in all sorts of odd go-carts and other vehicles, or on foot, must have passed the Blowing-Stone in the ten minutes which I spent on the bench. So I got quite eager to be up at the Castle, and paid for my beer and started again. It is a very long stiff pull up Blowing-Stone Hill, and the road is not a very good one; so I soon began to pass the gigs and carts, most of which had to stop every hundred yards or so, to let the horses and donkeys get their wind. Half-way up, in the worst part of the hill, I found an old huckstering woman and a boy in great trouble. They had a little cart laden12 with poles and boards for a stall, and two great sacks of nuts and sweet-stuff;[151] and only one donkey in the shafts13, who had got one wheel of the cart into a deep chalk rut, and stood there like a post. The woman and boy were quite beat with dragging at his head, and trying to lift the wheel out of the rut, and as I came up she was “fairly giving out.”
“Lawk-a-massy! how ever be I to scawt[29] up? Do’ee lend a help, there’s a good soul,” said she to me.
Well, I couldn’t go by and leave her there, though I didn’t half like having to stop; so I helped to lift the wheel out, and then we pushed the cart up a few yards, and the old donkey tried to sidle it into another rut, and we had another fight with him. My blood got up at his obstinacy14; I don’t believe there ever was another such a donkey in the world; so the more he backed and sidled, the more I and the old woman and the boy fought. And then the people that passed us began to laugh and joke at us, and I got very angry at them, and the old woman, and everybody; but I set my teeth, and made up my mind to get him up to the top if I stayed there all day.
I should think we must have been nearly[152] half an hour at work, and had got on about three hundred yards or so, when a fine dog-cart on high wheels came up. I heard the gentlemen in it talking and laughing as they came near us; but I didn’t look up, and kept working away at the donkey, for I was afraid they would only joke at us.
“Oh deary me, deary me, Master Gaarge, be that you?” I heard the old woman call out; “now do’ee stop some o’ the chaps, and tell ’em to help. I be nigh caddled to death wi’ this drattled old jackass—oh dear, oh dear!”
“Why, Betty! what in the world are you after?” said a merry voice, which I thought I had heard before; and, looking up, I saw the young gentleman who had promised me the song.
“Oh, you see, Master Gaarge, I thought as I might turn a honest penny if I could only win up to the pastime wi’ some nuts and brandy-balls. So I loaned neighbour Tharne’s cart as he fetches coals from the canal wi’, and his ass11—and if ’twas Balaam’s ass hisself he couldn’t be no wus—and here I be; and if it hadn’t a been for this kind gentleman”—
“Well, stop your talk, Betty, and take hold[153] of his head,” said he, jumping out of his dog-cart and giving the reins17 to the one who was beside him. “Ah, good morning,” nodding to me, as he came to the back of the cart, “now then, with a will! shove away!”
So we shoved the cart hard against the donkey’s legs. “Don’t pull, Betty, let him have his head; just keep hold of the reins. Look out, boy; stop him making for the ditch;” and away went Master Neddy scrambling18 up hill, for he found that the cart was coming over his back if he didn’t move on. Master George was as strong as a ballast heaver, and the donkey seemed to find it out quick enough, for we were up the hill in no time.
“Bless your kind heart, Master Gaarge!” almost sobbed19 the old woman; “I be all straight now. Do’ee hev summat to suck now, or some nuts, and this kind gentleman too; you allus wur fond o’ suck;” and she began untying20 the neck of one of her sacks.
“Oh, Betty, you wicked old lone5 woman!” said he, “haven’t you made me ill often enough with your nastinesses fifteen years ago?”
“Dwont’ee, now, call ’em names, Master Gaarge.”
[154]
“Good-bye, Betty, and make haste up to the Castle before all the small boys are poisoned. I can give you a lift, Sir,” said he to me, “if you’ll jump up behind.”
I thanked him, and got up behind, by the side of one of the other young gentlemen, who I thought didn’t seem much to like having me there; and I felt very pleased, as we bowled along the Ridgeway, passing all the people who had been laughing at me and the donkey, that they should see that I was in such good company, and should be up at the Castle before any of them.
The whole Ridgeway was alive with holiday folk, some walking with their coats and bonnets21 off, some in great wagons22, some in all sorts of strange vehicles, such as I had never seen before (many of which Master George declared had been impressed by Alfred’s commissariat and hospital staff, in his wars against the Danes, when they were strong young traps); but from one and all there rose up a hum of broad Berkshire, and merry laughter, as we shot by them. Sometimes a yeoman in his gig, or on his stout hackney, would try to keep up with us, or to stop us from passing him, but Master George[155] was a reckless driver, and somehow or another, galloping23 or trotting25, on the right side or the wrong, he would pass; so in about ten minutes we had got over the two miles of downs, and were close up to the Castle.
Here the first thing I saw was Joe, with two other farmers, carrying a lot of little white and pink flags, and measuring ground.
“Please put me down, Sir,” said I, “there’s my friend.”
“Ah, yes,” said Master George, pulling up, “I see—you’re staying with Farmer Hurst. Well, I’m much obliged to you for helping26 poor old Betty—she’s a good struggling old widow body in our village; I’ve known her ever since I could walk and suck. Good morning, Mr. Hurst; likely to be a good muster27 to-day.”
“Mornin’, Sir,” said Joe, touching28 his hat, “I think so—there’s a smart lot of folk in the Castle already.”
“Well, I hope we may meet again,” said Master George to me, “I won’t forget the song for you,”—and away he drove towards the Castle.
“Why, Dick man, where’s the old horse?”[156] said Joe, looking as if I had come from the moon.
“Oh, I walked,” said I, “I prefer it, when I have time.”
“Come own it, Dick,” said he, “thou wast ashamed of the old horse’s long rough coat—I didn’t think thou hadst been such a dandy.”
“Upon my honour it was nothing of the sort,” said I, glad enough that he wasn’t on the right scent29.
“And how did you get along with one of our young squires30?” said he.
“Oh, he offered me a lift,” said I; and then I told him my story.
“Well, you always seem to fall on your legs,” said he; “who are they with him?”
“Oxford32 scholars, I think,” said I, “from their talk; but I didn’t get on much with them, they’re not so free spoken as he is. But what are you about here, Joe?”
“Oh, helping the umpires to measure out the course for the cart-horse race; look, there are the flags right along for half a mile, and the finish is to be up there by the side of the Castle, for all the folk to see. But come along, for I must be after the umpires; I see they want me.”
[157]
“I think,” said I, “I should like to go and see what’s going on in the Castle.”
“Very good,” said he, “then I’ll look after you when we’ve done this job;” and away he went.
I wouldn’t take time to go round by either of the entrances, but made straight across to the nearest point of the great earthworks, and scrambled34 over the outer bank, and down into the deep ditch, and up the inner bank, and stood there on the top, looking down on all the fun of the fair; for fair it was already, though it was very little past eleven o’clock in the morning.
There was the double line of booths and stalls which I had seen putting up the day before, making a long and broad street, and all decked out with nuts and apples, and ginger-bread, and all sorts of sucks and food, and children’s toys, and cheap ribbons, knives, braces35, straps36, and all manner of gaudy-looking articles. Opposite, on the north side, all the shows had got their great pictures up of the wonders which were to be seen inside, and the performers were strutting37 about on the stages outside, and before one of them an acrobat[158] was swinging backwards38 and forwards on the slack rope, and turning head over heels at the end of each swing. And every show had its own music, if it were only a drum and pan pipes, and all the musicians were playing, as loud as they could play, different tunes39. Then, on the east side, were the great booths of the publicans, all decked out now with flowers and cheap flags, with their skittle-grounds behind; and lots of gypsies, and other tramps, with their “three sticks a penny,” and other games. The west side was only occupied, as I said before, by the great white tent of the County Police, where the Committee were sitting, and Lord Craven’s tents some way in front; but these looked pretty and gay now, for they had hoisted40 some good flags; and there in the middle stood the great ugly stage, and the greasy41 pole. The whole space was filled with all sorts of people, from ladies looking as if they had just come from Kensington Gardens, down to the ragged42 little gypsy children, with brown faces and brick-coloured hair, all moving about, and looking very much as if they were enjoying themselves. So after looking a minute, I got down into the crowd, and set to work to see every thing I could.
[159]
I hadn’t been pushing about amongst the rest above five minutes, when two men stopped close by me, one (who was the Wantage crier, I found out afterwards) with his hand full of papers, and the other carrying a gong, which he began to beat loud enough to deafen43 one. When the crowd had come round him, the crier began, and I should think he might have been heard at Elm Close:—
“Oh yes! oh yes! by order of the Committee, all persons who mean to play for prizes, must enter their names on the umpires’ lists. Oh yes! oh yes! the umpires’ lists are open in the tent, and names may be entered from now till half-past twelve. Oh yes! a list of the umpires for the different games and sports may be seen on the board outside the tent-door. God save the Queen!”
As soon as he had done, he and the man with the gong went off to another part of the Castle, but I could see some of the men and boys, who had been standing round, sidling off towards the great tent to enter for some of the games, as I guessed. So I followed across the Castle to the space in front of the tent.
I could see, through the entrance, two or[160] three of the Committee sitting at a table, with paper and pens and ink before them; and every now and then, from the little groups which were standing about, some man would make a plunge44 in, and go up to the table; and, after a word or two with them, would enter his name on one or more of the lists, and then come out, sometimes grinning, but generally looking as if he were half ashamed of himself. I remarked more and more through the day what a shy, shamefaced fellow the real countryman was, while the gypsies and racing45 boys and tramps, who entered for the races, but not for the backsword or wrestling prizes, were all as bold as brass46, and stood chattering47 away to the Committee-men, till they were almost ordered out of the tent.
I sat down on the turf outside the tent to watch; for I felt very much interested in the games, and liked to see the sort of men who came to enter. There were not many very stout or tall men amongst them; I should say they averaged about eleven stone in weight, and five feet eight inches in height; but they looked a very tough race; and I could quite believe, while looking at them, what Joe told me one[161] day—“Though there’s plenty of quicker men, and here and there stronger ones, scarce any man that ever comes down our way—either at navigator’s work or loafing about, like the gypsies and tramps—can ever come up to our chaps in last, whether at fighting or working.”
There was one man amongst them who struck me particularly, I suppose because he wore a Crimean medal with four clasps, and went quite lame48 on a crutch49. I found out his history. Old Mattingly, the blacksmith of Uffington, had three sons when the Russian war broke out. They all went for soldiers. The first was shot through the hand, as that gray, deadly dawn broke over Inkermann, on the 5th of November, 1854. Had he gone to the rear he would probably have lived. He fought till the last Russian vanished along the distant road, and over the bridge heaped with slain50, like a gallant51 Berkshire lad—and then went to hospital and died of his wounds within a week. The second lies before Sebastopol in the advanced trenches52 of the right attack. The third, the young artilleryman, went through the whole war, and after escaping bayonet and shot and shell, was kicked by the horse of a wounded officer, and probably[162] lamed53 for life. According to the rules of the service, my informant seemed to think, he was not entitled to a pension for life, “but they had given him one for eighteen months after his discharge, so that he had almost a year of it to run; and perhaps he might learn blacksmith-work in that time, if he could stand at all, for that was mostly arm-work.”
I didn’t know what the regulations as to pensions were, or how long young Mattingly would take to learn blacksmith-work, but I did feel rather ashamed that England couldn’t afford to do a little more for such as he; and should be glad for my part to pay something towards it, if the Chancellor54 of the Exchequer55, or somebody, would find out a way to set this right. Or perhaps if this should ever meet the eye of the Commander-in-Chief, or of any of the gentlemen who were made K.C.B’s in the war-time, or of any other person who has interest in the army, they may see whether any thing more can be done for young Mattingly.
Many of the younger ones I could see hadn’t made up their minds whether or no they should enter, and were larking57 and pushing one another about; and I saw several good trials of[163] strength, and got an idea of what the wrestling was like before the lists were closed.
“Bi’st in for young geamsters prize at wrastlin’, shepherd?” asked a young carter with his hat full of ribbons, of a tight-made, neatly-dressed fellow, who had already won a second prize, I heard, at his village revel58.
The shepherd nodded.
“Mose, mun,” went on the carter, “thee shouldst go in. Thee bi’st big enough.”
Moses was an overgrown, raw-boned fellow, of about eighteen, in a short smock-frock and a pair of very dilapidated militia-trousers. He had been turning the matter over in his own mind for some time, and now, after looking the shepherd over for a minute, pulled his great hands out of his pockets, hunched59 up his shoulders, and grunted60 out—
“’Zay! Try a file[30] wi’ thee, shepherd.”
The bystanders all cheered. Moses, the militiaman, was rather a joke to them. The shepherd looked scornful, but was ready to try a file; but he stipulated61 that Mose must borrow some shoes instead of his great, iron-clouted high-lows, (no man is allowed to wrestle62, I found, with any iron on his shoes.)
[164]
This seemed likely to stop the fun. Moses pulled off his high-lows, and appeared in sinkers,[31] at which everybody roared; but no shoes were to be had. Then he offered to wrestle without shoes; but at last a pair were found, and Moses advanced with his great hands stretched out towards the shepherd, who, not deigning63 to take one hand out of his pocket, caught Mose’s elbow with the other. After one or two awkward attempts, and narrowly escaping some well-meant trips, Mose bored in; and before the shepherd could seize the militiaman’s collar with his second hand, over he went, and Mose was proclaimed winner of a file, amid shouts of laughter. Then they buckled64 to again, the shepherd doing his best; but somehow Mose managed to keep his legs; and when they went down, both fell on their sides, and it was only a dog-fall.
In another minute I saw the militiaman in the tent before the table.
“Plaze, Sur, put down Moses Tilling—young geamster—wrastlin’.”
After watching the tent till the lists were just closing, I started off to see if I could find Miss Lucy, who ought to have been up by this time,[165] and to get something to eat before the sports began. The luncheon65 I managed easily enough, for I went over to the great booth in which I had dined the day before, and sat down at the long table, where Peter welcomed me, and soon gave me as much as I could eat and drink. But when I had finished, and went out to look for my friends, I found it a very difficult business, and no wonder, for there were more than 20,000 people up on the Hill.
First I went to the outside of the Castle, where all the carriages were drawn66 up in long rows, to see if I could find the four-wheel amongst them. As I was poking67 about, I came close to a fine open carriage, and hearing a shout of merry laughter, looked up. There were a party at lunch; two ladies and some quite young girls inside, some boys on the box, and several gentlemen standing round, holding bottles and sandwiches; and they were all eating and drinking, and laughing at an old gypsy woman, who was telling the fortune of one of the ladies.
“Love’ll never break your heart, my pretty lady,” said the old woman; “let the Norwood gypsy see your hand, my pretty lady.”
[166]
The lady held out her right hand, and the little girls glanced at the lady, and one another, brimming with fun.
“It’s the other hand the gypsy ought to see. Ah, well, then, never mind,” she went on, as the lady looked quietly in her face, without moving a muscle, “the old Norwood gypsy can read it all in your eyes. There’s a dark gentleman, and a light gentleman, who’ll both be coming before long; there’ll be sore hearts over it, but the richest will win before a year’s out—” Here the girls clapped their hands, and burst into shouts, and the lady showed her other hand with a wedding-ring on, and went on quietly with her lunch.
“Ah! I never said she wasn’t married!” said the gipsy to the girls, who only laughed the more. I had got quite close up to the carriage, and at this moment caught the eye of the lady, who was laughing too; then I felt awkward all at once, and as if I was where I had no right to be. But she didn’t look the least annoyed, and I was passing on, when I saw that Mr. Warton was amongst the gentlemen on the other side of the carriage. “Ah,” thought I, “I wonder if he’ll know me now he’s with his fine friends?”[167] But the next minute I was ashamed of myself for doubting, for I heard him wish them good-bye, and before I was ten yards from the carriage, he put his arm in mine.
“Well, you never rode after all,” he began.
“No, Sir,” said I. “But where are they? I haven’t seen Joe this two hours.”
“Oh, not far off,” said he; “feeding, like the rest of us.”
And further down the line we found Joe, and Miss Lucy, and several friends of theirs, lunching on the turf by the four-wheel. So we sat down with them, but I didn’t half like the way in which Miss Lucy was running on with two young farmers, one on each side of her. She told me afterwards that she had known them ever since they were children together, but somehow that didn’t seem to me to mend the matter much. And then again, when Joe got up, and said it was time to move, for the sports would be just beginning, nothing would serve her but to walk off to Wayland Smith’s cave. I wonder whether she did it a little bit to provoke me; for she knew that I had been to see it the day before, and that I wanted particularly to see all the sports. But I don’t think it could have[168] been that after all, for when I said I should stay with Joe, she was just as pleasant as ever, and didn’t seem to mind a bit whether I or any one else went with her or not.
I am afraid I shall make a very poor hand at telling about the sports, because I couldn’t be in five or six places at once; and so I was kept running about, from the stage in the middle of the Castle out on to the downs to see the cart-horse race, and then back again into the Castle for the jingling68 match, and then out on the other side to the manger for the cheese races, and so on backwards and forwards; seeing the beginning of one sport, and the end of another, and the middle of a third. I wish the Committee would let the sports begin earlier, and then one might be able to see them all. However I must do the best I can, and just put down what I saw myself.
The first move for the sports was made a little before one, just as I got back into the Castle, after seeing Miss Lucy start for Wayland Smith’s cave. The Committee came out of their tent in a body, each man carrying the lists of the entries for the sports over which he was to preside. But instead of going different[169] ways, each to his own business, they walked across in a body to the stage, and stopped just underneath69 it, in the middle of a great crowd of men and boys; and then they shouted for silence, and the chairman spoke33:—
“We wish to say a few words, my men, to those who are going to play with the sticks or wrestle to-day. There has been a good deal of talk about these sports, as you all know; and many persons think they shouldn’t be allowed at all now-a-days—that the time for them has gone by. They say, that men always lose their tempers and get brutal70 at these sports. We have settled, however, to give the old-fashioned games a fair trial; and it will rest with yourselves whether we shall ever be able to offer prizes for them again. For, depend upon it, if there is any savage71 work to-day, if you lose your tempers, and strike or kick one another unfairly, you will never see any more wrestling or backsword on White Horse Hill. But we are sure we can trust you, and that there won’t be any thing to find fault with. Only remember again, you are on your trial, and the stage will be cleared at once, and no prizes given, if any[170] thing objectionable happens. And now, you can put to as soon as you like.”
The Committee then marched off, leaving a very large crowd round the stage, all eager for the play to begin.
The two umpires got up on to the stage, and walked round, calling out, “Two old gamesters at backsword, and two old gamesters at wrastlin’, wanted to put to.” But I suppose the chairman’s speech had rather taken the men by surprise, for no one came forward, though there was a crowd twenty deep round the stage.
“Who are the old gamesters?” I asked of the man next me.
“Them as has won or shared a first prize at any revel,” answered he, without looking round.
After a minute the chairman’s brother, who didn’t seem to have much scruple72 about these sports, jumped up on the stage, and blew an old French hunting-horn, till the young ones began to laugh; and then told the men not to be afraid to come up, for if they didn’t begin at once there wouldn’t be light to play out the ties.
At last there was a stir amongst the knot of Somersetshire men, who stood together at one[171] corner of the stage; and one of them, stepping up, pitched on to it his stumpy black hat, and then climbed up after it himself, spoke a word to the umpires, and began handling the sticks, to choose one which balanced to his mind, while the umpires proclaimed, “An old gamester wanted, to play with John Bunn of Wedmore.”
“There he stands, you see,” said Master George, who was close by me, though I hadn’t seen him before, “the only remaining representative of the old challenger at tourneys ready to meet all comers. He ought to have a herald73 to spout74 out his challenge in verse. Why not?”
“I don’t know what he could say more than the umpire has, Sir,” said I.
“He might blow his own trumpet75 at any rate,” said he; “somehow thus;” and he repeated, after a false start or two,—
THE ZONG OF THE ZUMMERZETSHIRE OWLD GEAMSTER.
I.
“Cham[32] a Zummerzetshire mun
Coom her to hev a bit o’vun.
[172]
Oo’lt[33] try a bout1? I be’ant aveard
Ov any man or mother’s zun.
II.
“Cham a geamster owld and tough,
Well knowed droo all the country zide,
And many a lusty Barkshire man
To break my yead hev often tried.
III.
“Who’s vor a bout o vriendly plaay,
As never should to anger move?
Zich spwoorts wur only meaned vor thaay
As likes their mazzards broke for love.”
John Bunn looked by no means a safe man to play with. He stood about five feet eleven, with spare long muscular limbs, a sallow complexion76, and thick shock head of black hair,—a good defence in itself against any common blow of a stick. But now that the ice was broken, his challenge was soon answered; and George Gregory, of Stratton, one of the best mowers in the Vale, appeared to uphold the honour of Berks and Wilts77. He stood half a head shorter than his opponent, but was, probably, the stronger man of the two, and had a sturdy and confident look, which promised well,[173] and was fair-haired, and, like David, ruddy to look upon.
While they were taking off coats and waistcoats, and choosing sticks, two wrestlers got up on the stage, and showed the shoes in which they were going to wrestle to the umpires, for approval; and stood at the ropes, ready to begin as soon as the first bout at backsword was over. The crowd drew a long breath, while Bunn and Gregory came forward, shook hands; and then throwing up their guards, met in the middle of the stage.
At the first rattle16 of the sticks, the crowd began cheering again, and pressed in closer to the stage; and I with them, for it was very exciting, that I felt at once. The coolness and resolution in the faces of the two men, as they struck and parried with those heavy sticks, trying all the points of each other’s play in a dozen rapid exchanges; the skill and power which every turn of the wrist showed; and the absolute indifference78 with which they treated any chance blow which fell on arm or shoulder, made it really a grand sight; and with all my prejudices I couldn’t help greatly admiring the players. “Bout,” cried Bunn, after a minute or[174] so, and down came their guards, and they walked to the side of the stage to collect coppers79 from the crowd below in the baskets of their sticks, while the two first wrestlers put to in the middle.
I suppose there are more unsettled points in wrestling, or it is harder to see whether the men are playing fair, for the crowd was much more excited now than at the backsword play, a hundred voices shouting to the umpires every moment to stop this or that practice. Besides, the kicking, which is allowed at elbow and collar wrestling, makes it look brutal very often; and so I didn’t like it so much as the backsword play, though the men were fine, good-tempered fellows, and, when most excited, only seemed to want what they called “fair doos.”
I stopped by the stage until Gregory had lost his head. How it happened I couldn’t see, but suddenly the umpires cried out “Blood!” The men stopped; Gregory put up his hand to his hair, found that the blood was really coming, and then dropped his stick and got down, quite as much surprised as I was. And two more old gamesters were called up, the first head being to Somersetshire.
[175]
But now I heard that the cart-horse race was just coming off, and so following the crowd, made my way across to the east of the Castle.
I scrambled up to the highest part of the bank, and so got a capital view of the scene below. The course was marked out all the way down to the starting-post by rows of little pink and white flags, and the Committee-men were riding slowly up and down, trying to get the people to keep back behind the flags. The line was, on the whole, pretty well kept; but as the crowd got thicker every minute, every now and then a woman with two or three children would wander out to escape the pressure from behind; or a young couple keeping company would run across, hoping to better their position; or a lot of uproarious boys would start out for a lark56, to try the tempers, and very possibly the whips, of the Committee.
Joe presently rode by the place where I was standing, and called out to me to come down and see the mounting. So I slipped out of the crowd, and ran down the back of the line to the starting-place. There I found the Squire31 and the umpires, passing the men and horses. Five or six were all ready; the great horses in their[176] thill harness, which jingled80 and rattled15 with every movement; and the carters perched up in the middle of the wood and leather and brass, in their white smock-frocks, with the brims of their break-of-days turned up in front, and a bunch of ribbons fluttering from the side, and armed with the regular long cart-whip. Just as I came up, Mr. Avery Whitfield’s bay horse, “King of the Isle,” was passed, and took his place with the others. He was one of the three favourites, I heard people say.
“Call the next horse.”
“Mr. Davenport’s gray mare81, Dairymaid,” shouts the umpire. Here she comes with old Joe Humphries, the jockey and horse breaker, on her back. He is in full jockey costume—cap, jacket, and tops, with a racing whip and spurs. The umpires look doubtfully at him, and consult the Squire. At first they seem inclined not to let Joe ride at all, but as the owners of the other horses don’t object, they only insist on his taking off his spurs and changing his whip for a common long carter’s whip. Then Dairymaid is passed, and then one other horse; eight in all. Two of the Committee gallop24 down in front to clear the course for the[177] last time; the word “Off” is given; and away go the great steeds in furious plunging82 gallop, making the whole hill shake beneath them, and looking (as I heard one of the Oxford scholars remark) like a charge of German knights83 in some old etching. Close after them came the umpires, the Committee-men, and all the mounted farmers, cheering and shouting pieces of advice to the riders; and the crowd, as they pass, shout and wave their hats, and then rush after the horses. How everybody isn’t killed, and how those men can sit those great beasts in the middle of that rattling84 mass of harness, were my puzzles, as I scrambled along after the rest.
Meantime, in the race, Dairymaid shoots at once some yards ahead, and improves her lead at every stride; for she is a famous mare, and old Joe Humphries understands the tricks of the course, and can push her and lift her in ways unknown to the honest carters and foggers, who come lumbering85 behind him—Joe even has time for a contemptuous glance over his shoulder at his pursuers. But the race is not always to the swift, at least not to those who are swiftest at starting. Half-way up the course, Dairymaid ceases to gain; then she shows signs of distress,[178] and scarcely answers to Joe’s persuasions86. “King of the Isle” is creeping up to her—the carter shakes his bridle87, and begins to ply88 his long cart-whip—they are crossing the Ridgeway, where stand the carter’s fellow-servants, Mr. Whitfield’s fogger, shepherd, ploughboys, &c. who set up a shout as he passes, which sends the bay right up abreast89 of the mare. No wonder they are excited, for the master has promised that the three guineas, the price of the new thill harness, shall be divided between them, if the bay wins.
In another fifty yards he is drawing ahead. All old Joe’s efforts are in vain; his jockeyship has only done him harm, whereas the carter’s knowledge of what his steed’s real powers are, has been the making of him, and he rides in, brandishing90 his long cart-whip, an easy winner.
Dairymaid is second, but only just before the ruck; and old Joe creeps away, let us hope, a humbler and a wiser man.
Of course I couldn’t see all this myself, because I was behind, but Joe told me all about the race directly afterwards. When I got up there was a great crowd round “King of the Isle,” from whose back the carter was explaining[179] something about the race. But I couldn’t stay to listen, for I heard that the races for the “prime coated Berkshire fives” (as they called the cheeses), were just coming off; so I hurried away to the brow of the hill, just above the Horse, where it is steepest; for I wanted of all things to see how men could run down this place, which I couldn’t get up without using both hands.
There stood Mr. William Whitfield, of Uffington, the umpire who had to start the race, in his broad-brimmed beaver91, his brown coat and waistcoat with brass buttons, and drab breeches and gaiters. I thought him a model yeoman to look at, but I didn’t envy him his task. Two wild-looking gypsy women, with their elf-locks streaming from under their red handkerchiefs, and their black eyes flashing, were rushing about amongst the runners, trying to catch some of their relations who were going to run; and screaming out that their men should never break their limbs down that break-neck place. The gypsies dodged92 about, and kept out of their reach, and the farmer remonstrated93, but the wild women still persevered95. Then, losing all patience, he would turn and poise96 the wheel,[180] ready to push it over the brow, when a shout from the bystanders warns him to pause, and, a little way down the hill, just in the line of the race, appear two or three giggling97 lasses, hauled along by their sweethearts, and bent98 on getting a very good view. Luckily at this moment the Chairman appeared, and rode his white horse down to the front of the line of men, where there seemed to me to be footing for nothing but a goat. Then the course was cleared for a moment, he moved out of the line, making a signal to the farmer, who pushed the wheel at once over the brow, and cried, “Off.” The wheel gained the road in three bounds, cleared it in a fourth monster bound which measured forty yards, and hurried down far away to the bottom of the manger, where the other two umpires were waiting to decide who is the winner of the race.
Away go the fourteen men in hot pursuit, gypsies, shepherds, and light-heeled fellows of all sorts, helter-skelter; some losing their foothold at once, and rolling or slipping down; some still keeping their footing, but tottering99 at every step; one or two, with their bodies well thrown back, striking their heels firmly[181] into the turf, and keeping a good balance. They are all in the road together, but here several fall on their faces, and others give in; the rest cross it in a moment, and are away down the manger. Here the sheep-walks, which run temptingly along the sides of the manger, but if they would look forward will take the runners very little nearer the bottom where the wheel lies, mislead many; and amongst the rest, the fleetest of the gypsies, who makes off at full speed along one of them. Two or three men go still boldly down the steep descent, falling and picking themselves up again; and Jonathan Legg, of Childrey, is the first of these. He has now gained the flat ground at the bottom, where after a short stagger he brings himself up, and makes straight for the umpires and the wheel. The gypsy now sees his error; and turning short down the hill, comes into the flat, running some twenty yards behind Jonathan. In another hundred yards he would pass him, for he gains at every stride; but it is too late; and we, at the top of the hill, cheer loudly when we see Jonathan, the man who had gone straight all the way, touch the wheel a clear ten yards before his more active rival.
[182]
I should have liked to have seen the boys’ races down the manger, but was afraid of missing some other sport, so I left farmer Whitfield at his troublesome post, shouting out the names of the boys and trying to get them into line, and went back into the Castle, where I found a crowd round the greased pole; and when I got up to it, saw a heavy-looking fellow, standing some five feet up the pole, with one foot in a noose100 of cord depending from a large gimlet, and the other leg hooked round the pole. He held in his right hand another large gimlet, which he was preparing to screw into the pole to support a second noose, and gazed stolidly101 down at a Committee-man, who was objecting “that this wasn’t fair climbing—that if gimlets and nooses102 were to be allowed, he could get up himself.” I thought he was right; but public feeling seemed to side with the climber; so the Committee-man gave in, declaring that there would be no more legs of mutton to climb for, if any thing but arms and legs were to be used.
“Rather a slow bit of sport this,” I said to an old gray-headed man, who was leaning on his stick at my side, and staring up at the performer.
[183]
“Ees, Zur,” answered he, “I dwon’t knaow but what it be.”
“Do you call it fair climbing, now?”
“Auh, bless’ee, not I. I minds seein’ the young chaps when I wur a buoy103, climin’ maypowls a deal higher nor that, dree at a time. But now-a-days ’um be lazy, and afraid o’ spwiling their breeches wi’ the grase.”
“Are there any maypoles about here now?”
“Never a one as I knows on, Zur, for twenty mile round. The last as I remembers wur the Longcott one, and Parson Watts104 of Uffington had he sawed up nigh forty year ago, for fear lest there should ha’ been some murder done about ’un.”
“Murder about a maypole! Why, how was that?”
“Auh! you see, Zur, this here Longcott maypowl wur the last in all these parts, and a wur the envy of a zight o’ villages round about. Zo, one cluttery[34] night in November, thirty of our Ashbury chaps thay started down to Longcott, and dug ’un up, and brought ’un cler away on handspikes, all the waay to the Crown’d Inn at Ashbury, and ’tis quite vour mil’d.”
[184]
“On handspikes! Why, how big was he, then?”
“Augh! a fyeightish sized ’un. How big? whoy a sight bigger, bless’ee, nor that ’un, and all the bottom half on ’un solid oak. When thay cum to put ’un up afore the bar winder of the Crown’d, a reached right up auver the tops o’ the housen. But zoon arter a wur put up, the Uffington chaps cum up, and tuk and carried ’un down ther’. Ther’ was a smartish row or two about ’un at Uffington arter that, but they watched ’un night and day; and when the Lambourn chaps cum arter ’un one night, they chucked scaldin’ water right auver’m. Zo then Parson Watts, he tuk and sawed ’un up, and guv ’un to the owld women at Christmas for virewood.”
I walked away from the pole, turning over in my mind whether Parson Watts was right or wrong in his summary method of restoring peace to his parish, and, somehow or other, found myself again close under the stage. Now, and throughout the day, I found no flagging there; whenever I passed there was the crowd of men standing round, and the old and young gamesters hard at work. So I[185] began to believe what Joe had said, that the countrymen thought more about these games than any thing else, and wouldn’t care to go to the pastime if they were stopped.
I found that the Ashbury men were carrying it all their own way in the wrestling, and that their champion, old Richens (the rat-catcher, an old gamester in his fiftieth year), would probably not even have to wrestle at all; for his own men were throwing all the gamesters of the other parishes, and of course would give up to him when it came to the last ties. The men all wrestle in sides, at least the old gamesters do; so that a man generally plays for his parish, and not for his own head, which is a better thing, I think.
As to the backsword play, the stage was strewed105 with splinters of sticks and pieces of broken baskets, and many a young gamester has had his first broken head in public. But, for the chief prize, matters are going hard with Berks and Wilts. The Somersetshire old gamesters have won two heads to one; and, as they have six men in, and Berks and Wilts only four, the odds106 are all in favour of the cider county, and against the beer drinkers.
[186]
In good time up gets an old gamester, who looks like the man to do credit to the royal county. It is Harry107 Seeley, of Shrivenham, the only Berkshire man in; for there has been some difference between Berks and Wilts, and Harry’s two mates haven’t entered at all. So he, being one of the true bull-dog breed, is in for his own head, against all odds, and is up to play the next Somersetshire man.
Harry is a fine specimen108 of an Englishman. Five feet eight high, with a bullet head, and light blue eye; high-couraged, cool, and with an absolutely imperturbable109 temper. He plays in a blue shirt, thin from age and wear, through which you may see the play of his splendid arms and chest. His opponent is a much younger man, about the same size; but a great contrast to Harry, for he has a savage and sly look about him.
They shake hands, throw themselves into position, and the bout begins. Harry is clearly the finer player, and his adversary110 feels this at once; and the shouts of anticipated victory, in the Berkshire tongue, rouse his temper.
Now comes a turn of the savage play, which ought never to be seen on a stage. The Somerset[187] man bends far back, and strikes upper cuts at the face and arms, and then savagely111 at the body. He is trying to maim112 and cow, and not to win by fair brave play. The crowd soon begin to get savage too; upper-cutting is not thought fair in Berks and Wilts; a storm begins to brew113, hard words are bandied, and a cry of “Foul,” and “Pull him down,” is heard more than once, and the Committee man, who watches from below, is on the point of stopping the bout.
But nothing puts out old Harry Seeley; no upper cut can reach his face, for his head is thrown well back, and his guard is like a rock; and though the old blue shirt is cut through and through, he makes no more of the welts of the heavy stick than if it were a cat’s tail. Between the bouts114 his face is cheery and confident, and he tells his friends to “hold their noise, and let him alone to tackle the chap,” as he hands round his basket for the abounding115 coppers.
Now I could see well enough why the parsons don’t like these games. It gave me a turn, to watch the faces round the stage getting savage, and I could see what it might soon[188] get to if there was much of this wild work. And there were Master George, and the two Oxford scholars, at the opposite corner of the stage, shouting till they were hoarse116 for old Seeley, and as savage and wicked-looking as any of the men round them; setting such a bad example, too, as I thought,—whereas it didn’t matter for a fellow like me, who was nobody,—so I shouted, and threw my coppers to old Seeley, and felt as wild as any of them, I do believe. Three bouts, four bouts pass; Harry’s stick gets in oftener and oftener. Has the fellow no blood in him? There it comes at last! In the fifth bout, Harry’s stick goes flashing in again, a fair down blow from the wrist, which puts the matter beyond all question, as the Somersetshire man staggers back across the stage, the blood streaming from under his hair. Loud are the shouts which greet the fine-tempered old gamester, as he pulls on his velveteen coat, and gets down from the stage.
“Why, Harry, thou’dst broke his yead second bout, mun, surely!” shout his admirers.
“No,” says Harry, dogmatically, “you see, mates, there’s no ’cumulation of blood belongs[189] to thay cider-drinking chaps, as there does to we as drinks beer. Besides, thay drinks vinegar allus for a week afore playin’, which dries up most o’ the blood as they has got; so it takes a ’mazin’ sight of cloutin’ to break their yeads as should be.”
After this bout all the other play seemed to be tasteless; so, promising117 myself to come back and see the ties played off, (unless Miss Lucy turned up in the mean time, in which case I shouldn’t have dared to go near the stage, and in fact I felt rather nervous already, lest she should have seen or heard of me there,) I marched off, and joined the crowd which was collecting round the jingling ring. That crowd was one of the pleasantest sights of the whole day. The jingling match seemed a very popular sport, especially with the women. There they were, of all ranks—for I’m certain I saw some young ladies in riding habits, and others in beautiful muslins, whom I, and Jem Fisher, and little Neddy have often seen riding with very great people in the Park, when we have managed to get down to Rotten Row on summer evenings—seated on the grass or standing round the ring, in all sorts of dresses, from fine silks down[190] to cottons at 2d. a yard, and all looking pleasant and good-tempered, and as if they were quite used to being mixed up like this every day—which I’m sure I wish they were, for my part, especially if the men were allowed to join in the crowd too, as we were round the jingling ring. For there were gentlemen, both parsons and others, and farmers, and ploughboys, and all manner of other men and boys.
I don’t know what sort of fun a jingling match is in general, but I thought this one much the slowest game I saw. The ring must have been forty yards across, or thereabouts, and there were only eight blindfolded118 men running after the bellman. To make it good fun, there should have been twenty-five or thirty at least. Then the bellman, who has his hands tied behind him, ought to have the bell tied round his neck, or somewhere where he can’t get at it to stop the ringing; but our bellman had the bell tied to his waistband behind, so that he could catch hold of it with his hands, and stop it when he was in danger. Then half the men could see, I’m sure, by the way they carried their heads up in the air, especially one gypsy, who, I think, won the prize at last. The[191] men who couldn’t see were worth watching, for they kept catching119 and tumbling over one another. One time they made a rush to the rope, just where some of the young ladies were sitting, and, as nearly as could be, tumbled over among them. I thought there would have been a great scrambling and screaming; not a bit of it—they never flinched120 an inch, or made the least cry, and I was very proud to think they were my countrywomen. After the bellman had been caught about a minute, there was a great laugh at one of the blinded men, who made a rush, and caught a Committee-man, who was standing in the ring, in his arms. But on the whole, I thought the game a poor one, and was glad when it was over.
I hurried away directly after the jingling match, and went across the Castle, and out on to the down where the cart-horse race had been run to see the foot-races, which were run over the last half of the same course, on which ten good stiff sets of hurdles121, at short distances apart, had been set up. I found a debate going on between the umpires and some of the men as to whether they were all to start together. The regular agricultural labourers were remonstrating123 as to some of the candidates.
[192]
“It bean’t narra mossel o’ use for we chaps to start along wi’ thay light-heeled gentry,” said one,—“Whoy, look ’ee here, zur’s one, and yander’s another, wi’ a kind o’ dancin’ pumps on, and that ’un at tother end wi’ a cricketin’ waistcut.”
“And there’s two o’ them little jockey chaps amongst ’em, sumweres, Zur,” said another, looking about for these young gentlemen, who dodged behind some of the bigger candidates.
“How can we help that?” said the umpire.
“Auh, Zur, thay be all too nimble by half for we to be of any account to ’em,” persisted the first speaker. “If twur for the sticks now, or wrastling—”
“Well, but what shall we do then?” interrupted the umpire.
“Let I pick out ten or a dozen on ’em to run by theirselves.” The umpires proposed this to the rest, and, no one objecting, told Giles, the protester, to pick out the ten he was most afraid of. This Giles proceeded to do with a broad grin on his face, and generally seemed to make a good selection. But presently he arrived at, and after a short inspection124 passed over, a young fellow in his blue shirt-sleeves and a[193] cloth cap, who to the umpire’s eye seemed a dangerous man.
“Why, Giles,” said he, “you’re never going to pass him over?”
“Auh, ees, Zur,” said Giles, “let he ’bide along wi’ we chaps. Dwont’ee zee, he’s a tipped and naayled ’un?”
When Giles had finished his selection, the first lot were started, and made a grand race; which was won by a Hampshire man from Kingsclere, the second man, not two feet behind, being a young Wiltshire farmer, who, having never been beaten in his own neighbourhood, had come to lose his laurels125 honourably126 at the Scouring127.
The running in the second race was, of course, not so good, but much more amusing. The “tipped and naayled ’uns” were a rushing lot, but very bad at rising. Hurdle122 after hurdle went down before them with a crash, and the most wonderful summersaults were executed. The second hurdle finished poor Giles, who charged it manfully, and found himself the next moment on his broad back, gazing placidly128 up into the evening sky. The cloth cap, notwithstanding his shoes, went easily ahead, and won[194] in a canter. I heard one of the umpires rallying Giles afterwards at his want of eyes.
“Ees, Zur,” said Giles, hunching129 up his great shoulders, “I wur tuk in, zure enough. He wur a town chap, arter all, as wouldn’t ha’ knowed a piece o’ clumpers afore he cum across to White Hos Hill.”
I left the umpires now to start the other races, and got back once again into the Castle. I was now beginning to get very tired in my legs, though not in my spirits, so I went and sat down outside the crowd, which was thicker than ever round the stage, for the ties were being played out. I could hear the umpires call every now and then for some gamester who was not forthcoming to play out his tie—“John Giles, if you beant on the stage in five minutes, to put to with James Higgins, you shall lose your head”—through all the cheers and shouts, which rose louder and louder now that every blow or trip might decide the prizes. And while I was sitting, the donkey races were run outside, and I heard were very good fun; especially the last one, in which no man rode his own donkey, and the last donkey had the prize. I hope my friend, the old suck-woman, entered[195] neighbour Thorne’s beast, for if she did, I’ll be bound he carried off the prize for her. They were the only sports that I didn’t manage to see something of.
It was now just five o’clock, the hour for the pig-race, which seemed to be a most popular sport, for most of the lookers-on at the stage went off to see it, leaving only a select crowd of old and young gamesters, most of whom had been playing themselves, and whom nothing could drag five yards from the posts until the ties were all played out. I was just considering whether I should move or stay where I was, when Master George came striding by and caught sight of me.
“Hullo,” said he, “how is it you’re not on the move? You must see the pig-race; come along.” So I got up and shambled along with him.
The pig was to be started on the slope below the west entrance, where the old gentleman had stood and lectured me the day before about Earl Sidroc. There was the spring cart, covered with a net, with a fine young Berkshire pig in it, just at the place where the Bersirkir (as he called them) made their last stand.[196] When we came up, the runners, thirty in number, with their coats and waistcoats off, were just being drawn up in line inside the Castle, from which place they were to be started, and run down through the west entrance out on to the open down, at the word “off.” It was thought that this rush down between the double banks, covered thickly with the crowd, would be the finest sight of the race. But the rush never came. Piggy was to have five minutes law, and the Committee-man who went down to turn him out put his snout towards Ashdown Park, and gave him a push in hopes that he would take straight away over the downs, and so get a good start. Of course, he turned right round and came trotting and grunting130 up towards the Castle, to see what all the bustle131 could be about. Then the crowd began to shout at him, and to press further and further down the outer earthworks, though all the Committee were there to keep the course clear for the regular runners; and at last, before half of the five minutes were over, the whole line broke up with a great shout, and the down was covered in a moment with countless132 men and boys in full chase of Piggy. Then the lawful133 candidates[197] could stand it no longer, and away they went too, cleaving134 their way through the press, the Committee riding after them as fast as was safe in such a crowd, to see fair play if possible at the finish.
In a minute or two, Piggy was mobbed, surrounded, seized first by one of the crowd, and then by a lawful runner. These tumbled over in their struggle without loosing their hold and more of their friends over them, and from the middle of the mass poor Piggy sent up the most vigorous and dismal135 squeals136, till the Committee-men rode in, laying about with their whips; and Farmer Whitfield, springing off, seized Piggy, and in another minute was cantering away with him towards Wayland Smith’s cave. Here he was turned out again for a fair race, and was won by Charles Ebury, of Fernham; who, fearing the results of his racing performances, sold him at once for 10s. to the Woolston carrier. But I am happy to say that he wasn’t really hurt, for I went to see him some days afterwards, and found him as hearty137 as pig could be.
Master George and I agreed, as we walked back to the Castle, that it is a shame to have a pig-race.
[198]
“No,” said he, “let men run any risk they like of broken heads or limbs for themselves; they may play or not as they like. But Piggy has no choice, and to let him run the risk of having the legs pulled out of his body before he is wanted for pork, isn’t fair.”
“He didn’t seem to think it was, certainly, Sir,” I said.
“No,” said he, laughing; “did you ever hear such a song as he made? No animal can talk like a pig. He can scold or remonstrate94 just as well as a Christian138. Any one who knows the language can tell you just what he is saying. Well,” he went on, “I see you don’t believe me; now I will go and hear what he has to say about this proceeding139, and give you it word for word.”
This was what he gave me afterwards, with the other songs he had promised me:—
THE LAY OF THE HUNTED PIG.
“Vathers, mothers, mothers’ zons!
You as loves yer little wuns!
Happy pegs141 among the stubble,
Listen to a tale of trouble;
Listen, pegs in yeard and stye,
How the Barkshire chaps zard I.
“I wur barn at Kingstone-Lisle,
Wher I vrolicked var a while,
As vine a peg140 as e’er wur zeen
(One of a litter o’ thirteen)
Till zome chaps wi’ cussed spite
Aimed ov I to make a zite,
And to have a ‘bit o’ vun,’
Took I up to Uffington.
“Up, vorights[35] the Castle mound142
They did zet I on the ground;
Then a thousand chaps, or nigh,
Runned and hollered arter I—
Ther, then, I till I wur blowed,
Runned and hollered all I knowed,
When, zo zure as pegs is pegs,
Eight chaps ketched I by the legs,
Two to each—’tis truth I tell ’ee—
Dree more clasped I round the belly143!
Under all they fellers lyin’—
Pegs!—I thought as I wur dyin’.
“But the Squire (I thenks I zee un),
Varmer Whitfield ridin’ wi’ un,
Fot I out o’ all thuck caddle,
Stretched athurt the varmer’s zaddle—
Bless ’em, pegs in yeard and stye,
Them two vrends as stuck to I.
“Barkshire men, vrom Hill and Vale,
All as ever hears this tale,
If to spwoort you be inclined,
Plaze to bear this here in mind—
Pegs beant made no race to win,
[200]
Be zhart o’ wind, and tight o’ skin,
Dwont’ee hunt ’em, but instead
At backswyrd break each other’s yead
Cheezes down the manger rowl—
Or try and clim the greasy powl.
“Pegs! in stubble yeard and stye,
May you be never zard like I,
Nor druv wi greasy ears and tail,
By men and bwoys drough White Horse Vale.”
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1
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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2
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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3
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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4
stun
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| vt.打昏，使昏迷，使震惊，使惊叹 | |
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5
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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6
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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7
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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9
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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10
plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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11
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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13
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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14
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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15
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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16
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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17
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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18
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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19
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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20
untying
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| untie的现在分词 | |
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21
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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22
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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23
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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24
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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25
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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26
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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27
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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28
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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29
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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30
squires
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| n.地主，乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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31
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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32
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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33
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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34
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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35
braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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36
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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37
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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38
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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39
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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40
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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42
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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43
deafen
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| vt.震耳欲聋；使听不清楚 | |
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44
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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45
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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46
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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47
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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48
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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49
crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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50
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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51
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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52
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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53
lamed
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| 希伯莱语第十二个字母 | |
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54
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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55
exchequer
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| n.财政部；国库 | |
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56
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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57
larking
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| v.百灵科鸟（尤指云雀）( lark的现在分词 )；一大早就起床；鸡鸣即起；（因太费力而不想干时说）算了 | |
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58
revel
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| vi.狂欢作乐，陶醉；n.作乐，狂欢 | |
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59
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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60
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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61
stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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62
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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63
deigning
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的现在分词 ) | |
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64
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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65
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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66
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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67
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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68
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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69
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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70
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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71
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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72
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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73
herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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74
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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75
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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76
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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77
wilts
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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78
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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79
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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80
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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81
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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82
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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83
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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84
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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85
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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86
persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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87
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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88
ply
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| v.(搬运工等)等候顾客，弯曲 | |
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89
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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90
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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91
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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92
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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93
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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94
remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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95
persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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97
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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98
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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99
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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100
noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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101
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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102
nooses
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| n.绞索，套索( noose的名词复数 ) | |
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103
buoy
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| n.浮标；救生圈；v.支持，鼓励 | |
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104
watts
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| （电力计量单位）瓦，瓦特( watt的名词复数 ) | |
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105
strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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106
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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107
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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108
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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109
imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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110
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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111
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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112
maim
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| v.使残废，使不能工作，使伤残 | |
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113
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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114
bouts
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| n.拳击（或摔跤）比赛( bout的名词复数 )；一段（工作）；（尤指坏事的）一通；（疾病的）发作 | |
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115
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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116
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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117
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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118
blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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119
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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120
flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
hurdles
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| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
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122
hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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123
remonstrating
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的现在分词 )；告诫 | |
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124
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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125
laurels
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| n.桂冠，荣誉 | |
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126
honourably
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| adv.可尊敬地，光荣地，体面地 | |
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127
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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128
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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129
hunching
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| 隆起（hunch的现在分词形式） | |
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130
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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131
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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132
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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133
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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134
cleaving
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的现在分词 ) | |
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135
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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136
squeals
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| n.长而尖锐的叫声( squeal的名词复数 )v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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137
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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138
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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139
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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140
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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141
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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142
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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143
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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