"Have you seen the tiger?" was still the cry; and Sir Pimpleton having obtained some information, "Stole away—hark forward," was again the word.
They shot up Shooter's-hill without stopping to breathe, and when on the brow, an animal, with apparently a blood-red back, was seen scouring towards Blackheath. The baronet, with the lungs of a northerly gale, uttered the "view halloo," which was caught up and repeated by the rest. The hounds gave tongue and made play. It was a beautiful burst. The whip and spur were plied. The steeds, though jaded, knew well by instinct that the "warmint" was in sight, and kept up their speed, and down the hill they swept like a mountain torrent.
But the tiger was not to be easily caught. There was no jungle or hollow to hide in, and away he scudded over the heath with great velocity, as if sensible that the enemy was behind him. Once he was missed, and it was supposed had run to earth in a sand-pit; but the next moment he was seen on the other side climbing the bank to shorten his distance, and in a few minutes he was over the brow of the hill past the Green Man, and descending at a tremendous rate. The hunters followed hard upon him, the hounds in full cry, and again rose the shout from a dozen voices—"The tiger! the tiger!" But the tiger had disappeared amongst the horses, and they had now no clue to his advance, except from the amazed spectators, who hastily cleared the road at the novel and somewhat alarming spectacle. "The tiger! the chase!" exclaimed Sir Pimpleton. Three or four hands were extended to point out the direction he had taken; and those who had not "dropped off" still followed the hounds. Away they rattled through the Broadway, Deptford, amidst cries and cheers of "Go it, you'll catch him directly. Hurrah!" And they once more caught sight of the tiger on the line of road towards New Cross. Cheerily again sounded the "view halloo,"—the animal seemed to be sensible that his pursuers were spurring in hot haste after him—the turnpike-men enjoyed the sport and threw open their gates—hounds and horses, and men rattled through—the Bricklayers' Arms, the Elephant and Castle, Westminster-bridge, saw them rush past like a whirlwind, the tiger still in advance; nor did the chase cease till the baronet's town mansion, close to St. James's Park, was reached. A reeking pony stood at the door, which was open. Sir Pimpleton dismounted, cheering the hunters on—the game was all alive; the whole threw themselves from their horses, and hounds and men following, the baronet bounced into the drawing-room, where Lady Pettibones was receiving morning visits from dashing young spinsters and elderly dowagers.
"The tiger—my tiger," exclaimed Sir Pimpleton, in a wild and loud voice, "he has broke loose, and is now in the house."
Dreadful was the consternation at this announcement—a mouse crossing the floor would have been terrific, but to have a savage and sanguinary tiger ranging about, the thought was horrible. Shrieks and screams abounded—some ladies threw themselves into the arms of the gentlemen, others ran hurriedly about, and many, in their terror, could not distinguish between the ferocious animal and a hound, so as to tell "vich vos the tiger and vich vos the dog." At length, one of the whippers-in rushed through the door-way, exclaiming "We've got him, your honour, they're bringing him along." The confusion grew tenfold. Screams and shrieks mingled with the loud cheers of the hunters, and the mouthing of the hounds, when a couple of grooms appeared, dragging in a diminutive being in a scarlet jacket, buckskin tights, and white top-boots, with several dirty and ragged fish hanging by a long string in his hand; they placed him in the middle of the floor right before the baronet, and it was with difficulty that the hounds could be kept off.
"You rascal," vociferated Sir Pimpleton, raising his whip, "what do you mean by leading me such a dance! Didn't I lock you up for thieving—didn't I?"
"Vy yes, your honour," responded this perfect miniature of man; "but afore that, you ordered me to carry a bundle o' red-herrings to town, and give this here letter to deliver to her ladyship, and, when I came back, to bring down the cab; so I only obeyed orders." He held up the letter, and whilst trying to conceal the tattered fish, he looked smirkingly in the baronet's face, and added, "I say, your honour, that 'ere pony's worth his weight in gowld."
"Be off then, and take every care of him," said the more appeased baronet, looking at the fish and laughing. The lad, winking at the grooms, waited for no further orders. "And now, ladies and gentlemen," continued Sir Pimpleton, "that is Ben Gall, my tiger. Men, take off the hounds; we have had a capital run, gentlemen, which, no doubt, must have given you good appetites. Your horses shall have every attention—refreshment shall be immediately brought up for yourselves—a bumper of brandy round shall open the entertainment, and since we are all here together, why we'll wind up the day like true sons of Nimrod after an English Tiger Hunt."