sister suffered under such a dreadful state of nervous alarm, that Mr.
Tupman found it indispensably necessary to put his arm round her waist,
to keep her up at all. Everybody was excited, except the fat boy, and he
slept as soundly as if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby.
'Joe, Joe!' said the stout gentleman, when the citadel was taken, and
the besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner. 'Damn that boy, he's gone
to sleep again. Be good enough to pinch him, sir--in the leg, if you
please; nothing else wakes him--thank you. Undo the hamper, Joe.'
The fat boy, who had been effectually roused by the compression of a
portion of his leg between the finger and thumb of Mr. Winkle, rolled
off the box once again, and proceeded to unpack the hamper with more
expedition than could have been expected from his previous inactivity.
'Now we must sit close,' said the stout gentleman. After a great many
jokes about squeezing the ladies' sleeves, and a vast quantity of
blushing at sundry jocose proposals, that the ladies should sit in the
gentlemen's laps, the whole party were stowed down in the barouche; and
the stout gentleman proceeded to hand the things from the fat boy (who
had mounted up behind for the purpose) into the carriage.
'Now, Joe, knives and forks.' The knives and forks were handed in, and
the ladies and gentlemen inside, and Mr. Winkle on the box, were each
furnished with those useful instruments.
'Plates, Joe, plates.' A similar process employed in the distribution of
the crockery.
'Now, Joe, the fowls. Damn that boy; he's gone to sleep again. Joe!
Joe!' (Sundry taps on the head with a stick, and the fat boy, with some
difficulty, roused from his lethargy.) 'Come, hand in the eatables.'
There was something in the sound of the last word which roused the
unctuous boy. He jumped up, and the leaden eyes which twinkled behind
his mountainous cheeks leered horribly upon the food as he unpacked it
from the basket.
'Now make haste,' said Mr. Wardle; for the fat boy was hanging fondly
over a capon, which he seemed wholly unable to part with. The boy sighed
deeply, and, bestowing an ardent gaze upon its plumpness, unwillingly
consigned it to his master.
'That's right--look sharp. Now the tongue--now the pigeon pie. Take
care of that veal and ham--mind the lobsters--take the salad out of the
cloth--give me the dressing.' Such were the hurried orders which issued
from the lips of Mr. Wardle, as he handed in the different articles
described, and placed dishes in everybody's hands, and on everybody's
knees, in endless number. 'Now ain't this capital?' inquired that jolly
personage, when the work of destruction had commenced.
'Capital!' said Mr. Winkle, who was carving a fowl on the box.
'Glass of wine?'
'With the greatest pleasure.' 'You'd better have a bottle to yourself up
there, hadn't you?'
'You're very good.'
'Joe!'
'Yes, Sir.' (He wasn't asleep this time, having just succeeded in
abstracting a veal patty.)
'Bottle of wine to the gentleman on the box. Glad to see you, Sir.'
'Thank'ee.' Mr. Winkle emptied his glass, and placed the bottle on the
coach-box, by his side.
'Will you permit me to have the pleasure, Sir?' said Mr. Trundle to Mr.
Winkle.
'With great pleasure,' replied Mr. Winkle to Mr. Trundle, and then the
two gentlemen took wine, after which they took a glass of wine round,
ladies and all.
'How dear Emily is flirting with the strange gentleman,' whispered the
spinster aunt, with true spinster-aunt-like envy, to her brother, Mr.
Wardle.
'Oh! I don't know,' said the jolly old gentleman; 'all very natural, I
dare say--nothing unusual. Mr. Pickwick, some wine, Sir?' Mr. Pickwick,
who had been deeply investigating the interior of the pigeon-pie,
readily assented.
'Emily, my dear,' said the spinster aunt, with a patronising air, 'don't
talk so loud, love.'
'Lor, aunt!'
'Aunt and the little old gentleman want to have it all to themselves,
I think,' whispered Miss Isabella Wardle to her sister Emily. The young
ladies laughed very heartily, and the old one tried to look amiable, but
couldn't manage it.
'Young girls have such spirits,' said Miss Wardle to Mr. Tupman, with an
air of gentle commiseration, as if animal spirits were contraband, and
their possession without a permit a high crime and misdemeanour.
'Oh, they have,' replied Mr. Tupman, not exactly making the sort of
reply that was expected from him. 'It's quite delightful.'
'Hem!' said Miss Wardle, rather dubiously.
'Will you permit me?' said Mr. Tupman, in his blandest manner, touching
the enchanting Rachael's wrist with one hand, and gently elevating the
bottle with the other. 'Will you permit me?'
'Oh, sir!' Mr. Tupman looked most impressive; and Rachael expressed her
fear that more guns were going off, in which case, of course, she should
have required support again.
'Do you think my dear nieces pretty?' whispered their affectionate aunt
to Mr. Tupman.
'I should, if their aunt wasn't here,' replied the ready Pickwickian,
with a passionate glance.
'Oh, you naughty man--but really, if their complexions were a
little better, don't you think they would be nice-looking girls--by
candlelight?'
'Yes; I think they would,' said Mr. Tupman, with an air of indifference.
'Oh, you quiz--I know what you were going to say.'
'What?' inquired Mr. Tupman, who had not precisely made up his mind to
say anything at all.
'You were going to say that Isabel stoops--I know you were--you men are
such observers. Well, so she does; it can't be denied; and, certainly,
if there is one thing more than another that makes a girl look ugly it
is stooping. I often tell her that when she gets a little older she'll
be quite frightful. Well, you are a quiz!'
Mr. Tupman had no objection to earning the reputation at so cheap a
rate: so he looked very knowing, and smiled mysteriously.
'What a sarcastic smile,' said the admiring Rachael; 'I declare I'm
quite afraid of you.'
'Afraid of me!'
'Oh, you can't disguise anything from me--I know what that smile means
very well.'
'What?' said Mr. Tupman, who had not the slightest notion himself.
'You mean,' said the amiable aunt, sinking her voice still lower--'you
mean, that you don't think Isabella's stooping is as bad as Emily's
boldness. Well, she is bold! You cannot think how wretched it makes me
sometimes--I'm sure I cry about it for hours together--my dear brother
is SO good, and so unsuspicious, that he never sees it; if he did, I'm
quite certain it would break his heart. I wish I could think it was only
manner--I hope it may be--' (Here the affectionate relative heaved a
deep sigh, and shook her head despondingly).
'I'm sure aunt's talking about us,' whispered Miss Emily Wardle to her
sister--'I'm quite certain of it--she looks so malicious.'
'Is she?' replied Isabella.--'Hem! aunt, dear!'
'Yes, my dear love!'
'I'm SO afraid you'll catch cold, aunt--have a silk handkerchief to
tie round your dear old head--you really should take care of
yourself--consider your age!'
However well deserved this piece of retaliation might have been, it was
as vindictive a one as could well have been resorted to. There is no
guessing in what form of reply the aunt's indignation would have vented
itself, had not Mr. Wardle unconsciously changed the subject, by calling
emphatically for Joe.
'Damn that boy,' said the old gentleman, 'he's gone to sleep again.'
'Very extraordinary boy, that,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'does he always sleep
in this way?'
'Sleep!' said the old gentleman, 'he's always asleep. Goes on errands
fast asleep, and snores as he waits at table.'
'How very odd!' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Ah! odd indeed,' returned the old gentleman; 'I'm proud of that
boy--wouldn't part with him on any account--he's a natural curiosity!
Here, Joe--Joe--take these things away, and open another bottle--d'ye
hear?'
The fat boy rose, opened his eyes, swallowed the huge piece of pie he
had been in the act of masticating when he last fell asleep, and slowly
obeyed his master's orders--gloating languidly over the remains of the
feast, as he removed the plates, and deposited them in the hamper. The
fresh bottle was produced, and speedily emptied: the hamper was made
fast in its old place--the fat boy once more mounted the box--the
spectacles and pocket-glass were again adjusted--and the evolutions of
the military recommenced. There was a great fizzing and banging of guns,
and starting of ladies--and then a Mine was sprung, to the gratification
of everybody--and when the mine had gone off, the military and the
company followed its example, and went off too.
'Now, mind,' said the old gentleman, as he shook hands with Mr. Pickwick
at the conclusion of a conversation which had been carried on at
intervals, during the conclusion of the proceedings, 'we shall see you
all to-morrow.'
'Most certainly,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'You have got the address?'
'Manor Farm, Dingley Dell,' said Mr. Pickwick, consulting his
pocket-book. 'That's it,' said the old gentleman. 'I don't let you off,
mind, under a week; and undertake that you shall see everything worth
seeing. If you've come down for a country life, come to me, and
I'll give you plenty of it. Joe--damn that boy, he's gone to sleep
again--Joe, help Tom put in the horses.'
The horses were put in--the driver mounted--the fat boy clambered up by
his side--farewells were exchanged--and the carriage rattled off. As the
Pickwickians turned round to take a last glimpse of it, the setting sun
cast a rich glow on the faces of their entertainers, and fell upon the
form of the fat boy. His head was sunk upon his bosom; and he slumbered
again.
CHAPTER V. A SHORT ONE--SHOWING, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, HOW Mr. PICKWICK
UNDERTOOK TO DRIVE, AND Mr. WINKLE TO RIDE, AND HOW THEY BOTH DID IT
Bright and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and beautiful the
appearance of every object around, as Mr. Pickwick leaned over the
balustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating nature, and waiting for
breakfast. The scene was indeed one which might well have charmed a far
less reflective mind, than that to which it was presented.
On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in many places,
and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below in rude and heavy
masses. Huge knots of seaweed hung upon the jagged and pointed stones,
trembling in every breath of wind; and the green ivy clung mournfully
round the dark and ruined battlements. Behind it rose the ancient
castle, its towers roofless, and its massive walls crumbling away, but
telling us proudly of its old might and strength, as when, seven hundred
years ago, it rang with the clash of arms, or resounded with the noise
of feasting and revelry. On either side, the banks of the Medway,
covered with cornfields and pastures, with here and there a windmill, or
a distant church, stretched away as far as the eye could see, presenting
a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful by the changing
shadows which passed swiftly across it as the thin and half-formed
clouds skimmed away in the light of the morning sun. The river,
reflecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened and sparkled as it
flowed noiselessly on; and the oars of the fishermen dipped into the
water with a clear and liquid sound, as their heavy but picturesque
boats glided slowly down the stream.
Mr. Pickwick was roused from the agreeable reverie into which he had
been led by the objects before him, by a deep sigh, and a touch on his
shoulder. He turned round: and the dismal man was at his side.
'Contemplating the scene?' inquired the dismal man. 'I was,' said Mr.
Pickwick.
'And congratulating yourself on being up so soon?'
Mr. Pickwick nodded assent.
'Ah! people need to rise early, to see the sun in all his splendour, for
his brightness seldom lasts the day through. The morning of day and the
morning of life are but too much alike.'
'You speak truly, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'How common the saying,' continued the dismal man, '"The morning's too
fine to last." How well might it be applied to our everyday existence.
God! what would I forfeit to have the days of my childhood restored, or
to be able to forget them for ever!'
'You have seen much trouble, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick compassionately.
'I have,' said the dismal man hurriedly; 'I have. More than those who
see me now would believe possible.' He paused for an instant, and then
said abruptly--
'Did it ever strike you, on such a morning as this, that drowning would
be happiness and peace?'
'God bless me, no!' replied Mr. Pickwick, edging a little from the
balustrade, as the possibility of the dismal man's tipping him over, by
way of experiment, occurred to him rather forcibly.
'I have thought so, often,' said the dismal man, without noticing the
action. 'The calm, cool water seems to me to murmur an invitation to
repose and rest. A bound, a splash, a brief struggle; there is an eddy
for an instant, it gradually subsides into a gentle ripple; the waters
have closed above your head, and the world has closed upon your miseries
