'"I want to speak to you," said the young lady; "only a word. Only one
word, dearest."
'"Must I get down?" inquired my uncle. The lady made no answer, but she
smiled again. Such a smile, gentlemen! It beat the other one, all to
nothing. My uncle descended from his perch in a twinkling.
'"What is it, my dear?" said my uncle, looking in at the coach window.
The lady happened to bend forward at the same time, and my uncle thought
she looked more beautiful than she had done yet. He was very close to
her just then, gentlemen, so he really ought to know.
'"What is it, my dear?" said my uncle.
'"Will you never love any one but me--never marry any one beside?" said
the young lady.
'My uncle swore a great oath that he never would marry anybody else,
and the young lady drew in her head, and pulled up the window. He jumped
upon the box, squared his elbows, adjusted the ribands, seized the whip
which lay on the roof, gave one flick to the off leader, and away
went the four long-tailed, flowing-maned black horses, at fifteen good
English miles an hour, with the old mail-coach behind them. Whew! How
they tore along!
'The noise behind grew louder. The faster the old mail went, the faster
came the pursuers--men, horses, dogs, were leagued in the pursuit. The
noise was frightful, but, above all, rose the voice of the young lady,
urging my uncle on, and shrieking, "Faster! Faster!"
'They whirled past the dark trees, as feathers would be swept before
a hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, haystacks, objects of every kind
they shot by, with a velocity and noise like roaring waters suddenly let
loose. But still the noise of pursuit grew louder, and still my uncle
could hear the young lady wildly screaming, "Faster! Faster!"
'My uncle plied whip and rein, and the horses flew onward till they were
white with foam; and yet the noise behind increased; and yet the young
lady cried, "Faster! Faster!" My uncle gave a loud stamp on the boot in
the energy of the moment, and--found that it was gray morning, and he
was sitting in the wheelwright's yard, on the box of an old Edinburgh
mail, shivering with the cold and wet and stamping his feet to warm
them! He got down, and looked eagerly inside for the beautiful young
lady. Alas! There was neither door nor seat to the coach. It was a mere
shell.
'Of course, my uncle knew very well that there was some mystery in the
matter, and that everything had passed exactly as he used to relate
it. He remained staunch to the great oath he had sworn to the beautiful
young lady, refusing several eligible landladies on her account, and
dying a bachelor at last. He always said what a curious thing it was
that he should have found out, by such a mere accident as his clambering
over the palings, that the ghosts of mail-coaches and horses, guards,
coachmen, and passengers, were in the habit of making journeys regularly
every night. He used to add, that he believed he was the only
living person who had ever been taken as a passenger on one of these
excursions. And I think he was right, gentlemen--at least I never heard
of any other.'
'I wonder what these ghosts of mail-coaches carry in their bags,'
said the landlord, who had listened to the whole story with profound
attention.
'The dead letters, of course,' said the bagman.
'Oh, ah! To be sure,' rejoined the landlord. 'I never thought of that.'
CHAPTER L. HOW Mr. PICKWICK SPED UPON HIS MISSION, AND HOW HE WAS
REINFORCED IN THE OUTSET BY A MOST UNEXPECTED AUXILIARY
The horses were put to, punctually at a quarter before nine next
morning, and Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller having each taken his seat, the
one inside and the other out, the postillion was duly directed to repair
in the first instance to Mr. Bob Sawyer's house, for the purpose of
taking up Mr. Benjamin Allen.
It was with feelings of no small astonishment, when the carriage drew up
before the door with the red lamp, and the very legible inscription of
'Sawyer, late Nockemorf,' that Mr. Pickwick saw, on popping his head out
of the coach window, the boy in the gray livery very busily employed
in putting up the shutters--the which, being an unusual and an
unbusinesslike proceeding at that hour of the morning, at once suggested
to his mind two inferences: the one, that some good friend and patient
of Mr. Bob Sawyer's was dead; the other, that Mr. Bob Sawyer himself was
bankrupt.
'What is the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick to the boy.
'Nothing's the matter, Sir,' replied the boy, expanding his mouth to the
whole breadth of his countenance.
'All right, all right!' cried Bob Sawyer, suddenly appearing at the
door, with a small leathern knapsack, limp and dirty, in one hand, and a
rough coat and shawl thrown over the other arm. 'I'm going, old fellow.'
'You!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
'Yes,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'and a regular expedition we'll make of it.
Here, Sam! Look out!' Thus briefly bespeaking Mr. Weller's attention,
Mr. Bob Sawyer jerked the leathern knapsack into the dickey, where it
was immediately stowed away, under the seat, by Sam, who regarded the
proceeding with great admiration. This done, Mr. Bob Sawyer, with the
assistance of the boy, forcibly worked himself into the rough coat,
which was a few sizes too small for him, and then advancing to the coach
window, thrust in his head, and laughed boisterously. 'What a start it
is, isn't it?' cried Bob, wiping the tears out of his eyes, with one of
the cuffs of the rough coat.
'My dear Sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, with some embarrassment, 'I had no
idea of your accompanying us.'
'No, that's just the very thing,' replied Bob, seizing Mr. Pickwick by
the lappel of his coat. 'That's the joke.'
'Oh, that's the joke, is it?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Of course,' replied Bob. 'It's the whole point of the thing, you
know--that, and leaving the business to take care of itself, as it seems
to have made up its mind not to take care of me.' With this explanation
of the phenomenon of the shutters, Mr. Bob Sawyer pointed to the shop,
and relapsed into an ecstasy of mirth.
'Bless me, you are surely not mad enough to think of leaving your
patients without anybody to attend them!' remonstrated Mr. Pickwick in a
very serious tone.
'Why not?' asked Bob, in reply. 'I shall save by it, you know. None of
them ever pay. Besides,' said Bob, lowering his voice to a confidential
whisper, 'they will be all the better for it; for, being nearly out of
drugs, and not able to increase my account just now, I should have been
obliged to give them calomel all round, and it would have been certain
to have disagreed with some of them. So it's all for the best.'
There was a philosophy and a strength of reasoning about this reply,
which Mr. Pickwick was not prepared for. He paused a few moments, and
added, less firmly than before--
'But this chaise, my young friend, will only hold two; and I am pledged
to Mr. Allen.'
'Don't think of me for a minute,' replied Bob. 'I've arranged it all;
Sam and I will share the dickey between us. Look here. This little bill
is to be wafered on the shop door: "Sawyer, late Nockemorf. Inquire of
Mrs. Cripps over the way." Mrs. Cripps is my boy's mother. "Mr. Sawyer's
very sorry," says Mrs. Cripps, "couldn't help it--fetched away early
this morning to a consultation of the very first surgeons in
the country--couldn't do without him--would have him at any
price--tremendous operation." The fact is,' said Bob, in conclusion,
'it'll do me more good than otherwise, I expect. If it gets into one
of the local papers, it will be the making of me. Here's Ben; now then,
jump in!'
With these hurried words, Mr. Bob Sawyer pushed the postboy on one side,
jerked his friend into the vehicle, slammed the door, put up the steps,
wafered the bill on the street door, locked it, put the key in his
pocket, jumped into the dickey, gave the word for starting, and did the
whole with such extraordinary precipitation, that before Mr. Pickwick
had well begun to consider whether Mr. Bob Sawyer ought to go or not,
they were rolling away, with Mr. Bob Sawyer thoroughly established as
part and parcel of the equipage.
So long as their progress was confined to the streets of Bristol, the
facetious Bob kept his professional green spectacles on, and conducted
himself with becoming steadiness and gravity of demeanour; merely giving
utterance to divers verbal witticisms for the exclusive behoof and
entertainment of Mr. Samuel Weller. But when they emerged on the open
road, he threw off his green spectacles and his gravity together, and
performed a great variety of practical jokes, which were calculated to
attract the attention of the passersby, and to render the carriage and
those it contained objects of more than ordinary curiosity; the least
conspicuous among these feats being a most vociferous imitation of
a key-bugle, and the ostentatious display of a crimson silk
pocket-handkerchief attached to a walking-stick, which was occasionally
waved in the air with various gestures indicative of supremacy and
defiance.
'I wonder,' said Mr. Pickwick, stopping in the midst of a most sedate
conversation with Ben Allen, bearing reference to the numerous good
qualities of Mr. Winkle and his sister--'I wonder what all the people we
pass, can see in us to make them stare so.'
'It's a neat turn-out,' replied Ben Allen, with something of pride in
his tone. 'They're not used to see this sort of thing, every day, I dare
say.'
'Possibly,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'It may be so. Perhaps it is.'
Mr. Pickwick might very probably have reasoned himself into the belief
that it really was, had he not, just then happening to look out of
the coach window, observed that the looks of the passengers betokened
anything but respectful astonishment, and that various telegraphic
communications appeared to be passing between them and some persons
outside the vehicle, whereupon it occurred to him that these
demonstrations might be, in some remote degree, referable to the
humorous deportment of Mr. Robert Sawyer.
'I hope,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that our volatile friend is committing no
absurdities in that dickey behind.'
'Oh dear, no,' replied Ben Allen. 'Except when he's elevated, Bob's the
quietest creature breathing.'
Here a prolonged imitation of a key-bugle broke upon the ear, succeeded
by cheers and screams, all of which evidently proceeded from the throat
and lungs of the quietest creature breathing, or in plainer designation,
of Mr. Bob Sawyer himself.
Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Ben Allen looked expressively at each other, and
the former gentleman taking off his hat, and leaning out of the coach
window until nearly the whole of his waistcoat was outside it, was at
length enabled to catch a glimpse of his facetious friend.
Mr. Bob Sawyer was seated, not in the dickey, but on the roof of the
chaise, with his legs as far asunder as they would conveniently go,
wearing Mr. Samuel Weller's hat on one side of his head, and bearing, in
one hand, a most enormous sandwich, while, in the other, he supported
a goodly-sized case-bottle, to both of which he applied himself with
intense relish, varying the monotony of the occupation by an occasional
howl, or the interchange of some lively badinage with any passing
stranger. The crimson flag was carefully tied in an erect position
to the rail of the dickey; and Mr. Samuel Weller, decorated with Bob
Sawyer's hat, was seated in the centre thereof, discussing a twin
sandwich, with an animated countenance, the expression of which
betokened his entire and perfect approval of the whole arrangement.
This was enough to irritate a gentleman with Mr. Pickwick's sense of
propriety, but it was not the whole extent of the aggravation, for a
stage-coach full, inside and out, was meeting them at the moment,
and the astonishment of the passengers was very palpably evinced. The
congratulations of an Irish family, too, who were keeping up with
the chaise, and begging all the time, were of rather a boisterous
description, especially those of its male head, who appeared to consider
the display as part and parcel of some political or other procession of
triumph.
'Mr. Sawyer!' cried Mr. Pickwick, in a state of great excitement, 'Mr.
Sawyer, Sir!'
'Hollo!' responded that gentleman, looking over the side of the chaise
with all the coolness in life.
'Are you mad, sir?' demanded Mr. Pickwick.
'Not a bit of it,' replied Bob; 'only cheerful.'
'Cheerful, sir!' ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. 'Take down that scandalous red
handkerchief, I beg. I insist, Sir. Sam, take it down.'
Before Sam could interpose, Mr. Bob Sawyer gracefully struck his
colours, and having put them in his pocket, nodded in a courteous manner
to Mr. Pickwick, wiped the mouth of the case-bottle, and applied it to
his own, thereby informing him, without any unnecessary waste of words,
that he devoted that draught to wishing him all manner of happiness and
prosperity. Having done this, Bob replaced the cork with great care, and
looking benignantly down on Mr. Pickwick, took a large bite out of the
sandwich, and smiled.
'Come,' said Mr. Pickwick, whose momentary anger was not quite proof
against Bob's immovable self-possession, 'pray let us have no more of
this absurdity.'
'No, no,' replied Bob, once more exchanging hats with Mr. Weller; 'I
didn't mean to do it, only I got so enlivened with the ride that I
