The wickets were pitched, and so were a couple of marquees for the
rest and refreshment of the contending parties. The game had not yet
commenced. Two or three Dingley Dellers, and All-Muggletonians, were
amusing themselves with a majestic air by throwing the ball carelessly
from hand to hand; and several other gentlemen dressed like them, in
straw hats, flannel jackets, and white trousers--a costume in which they
looked very much like amateur stone-masons--were sprinkled about the
tents, towards one of which Mr. Wardle conducted the party.
Several dozen of 'How-are-you's?' hailed the old gentleman's arrival;
and a general raising of the straw hats, and bending forward of the
flannel jackets, followed his introduction of his guests as gentlemen
from London, who were extremely anxious to witness the proceedings of
the day, with which, he had no doubt, they would be greatly delighted.
'You had better step into the marquee, I think, Sir,' said one very
stout gentleman, whose body and legs looked like half a gigantic roll of
flannel, elevated on a couple of inflated pillow-cases.
'You'll find it much pleasanter, Sir,' urged another stout gentleman,
who strongly resembled the other half of the roll of flannel aforesaid.
'You're very good,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'This way,' said the first speaker; 'they notch in here--it's the
best place in the whole field;' and the cricketer, panting on before,
preceded them to the tent.
'Capital game--smart sport--fine exercise--very,' were the words which
fell upon Mr. Pickwick's ear as he entered the tent; and the first
object that met his eyes was his green-coated friend of the Rochester
coach, holding forth, to the no small delight and edification of a
select circle of the chosen of All-Muggleton. His dress was slightly
improved, and he wore boots; but there was no mistaking him.
The stranger recognised his friends immediately; and, darting forward
and seizing Mr. Pickwick by the hand, dragged him to a seat with
his usual impetuosity, talking all the while as if the whole of the
arrangements were under his especial patronage and direction.
'This way--this way--capital fun--lots of beer--hogsheads; rounds of
beef--bullocks; mustard--cart-loads; glorious day--down with you--make
yourself at home--glad to see you--very.'
Mr. Pickwick sat down as he was bid, and Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass
also complied with the directions of their mysterious friend. Mr. Wardle
looked on in silent wonder.
'Mr. Wardle--a friend of mine,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Friend of yours!--My dear sir, how are you?--Friend of my
friend's--give me your hand, sir'--and the stranger grasped Mr. Wardle's
hand with all the fervour of a close intimacy of many years, and then
stepped back a pace or two as if to take a full survey of his face and
figure, and then shook hands with him again, if possible, more warmly
than before.
'Well; and how came you here?' said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile in
which benevolence struggled with surprise. 'Come,' replied the
stranger--'stopping at Crown--Crown at Muggleton--met a party--flannel
jackets--white trousers--anchovy sandwiches--devilled kidney--splendid
fellows--glorious.'
Mr. Pickwick was sufficiently versed in the stranger's system of
stenography to infer from this rapid and disjointed communication
that he had, somehow or other, contracted an acquaintance with the
All-Muggletons, which he had converted, by a process peculiar to
himself, into that extent of good-fellowship on which a general
invitation may be easily founded. His curiosity was therefore satisfied,
and putting on his spectacles he prepared himself to watch the play
which was just commencing.
All-Muggleton had the first innings; and the interest became intense
when Mr. Dumkins and Mr. Podder, two of the most renowned members of
that most distinguished club, walked, bat in hand, to their respective
wickets. Mr. Luffey, the highest ornament of Dingley Dell, was pitched
to bowl against the redoubtable Dumkins, and Mr. Struggles was selected
to do the same kind office for the hitherto unconquered Podder. Several
players were stationed, to 'look out,' in different parts of the field,
and each fixed himself into the proper attitude by placing one hand on
each knee, and stooping very much as if he were 'making a back' for
some beginner at leap-frog. All the regular players do this sort of
thing;--indeed it is generally supposed that it is quite impossible to
look out properly in any other position.
The umpires were stationed behind the wickets; the scorers were prepared
to notch the runs; a breathless silence ensued. Mr. Luffey retired a few
paces behind the wicket of the passive Podder, and applied the ball
to his right eye for several seconds. Dumkins confidently awaited its
coming with his eyes fixed on the motions of Luffey.
'Play!' suddenly cried the bowler. The ball flew from his hand straight
and swift towards the centre stump of the wicket. The wary Dumkins was
on the alert: it fell upon the tip of the bat, and bounded far away over
the heads of the scouts, who had just stooped low enough to let it fly
over them.
'Run--run--another.--Now, then throw her up--up with her--stop
there--another--no--yes--no--throw her up, throw her up!'--Such were
the shouts which followed the stroke; and at the conclusion of which
All-Muggleton had scored two. Nor was Podder behindhand in earning
laurels wherewith to garnish himself and Muggleton. He blocked the
doubtful balls, missed the bad ones, took the good ones, and sent them
flying to all parts of the field. The scouts were hot and tired; the
bowlers were changed and bowled till their arms ached; but Dumkins and
Podder remained unconquered. Did an elderly gentleman essay to stop the
progress of the ball, it rolled between his legs or slipped between
his fingers. Did a slim gentleman try to catch it, it struck him on the
nose, and bounded pleasantly off with redoubled violence, while the slim
gentleman's eyes filled with water, and his form writhed with anguish.
Was it thrown straight up to the wicket, Dumkins had reached it before
the ball. In short, when Dumkins was caught out, and Podder stumped
out, All-Muggleton had notched some fifty-four, while the score of the
Dingley Dellers was as blank as their faces. The advantage was too great
to be recovered. In vain did the eager Luffey, and the enthusiastic
Struggles, do all that skill and experience could suggest, to regain the
ground Dingley Dell had lost in the contest--it was of no avail; and in
an early period of the winning game Dingley Dell gave in, and allowed
the superior prowess of All-Muggleton.
The stranger, meanwhile, had been eating, drinking, and talking, without
cessation. At every good stroke he expressed his satisfaction and
approval of the player in a most condescending and patronising manner,
which could not fail to have been highly gratifying to the party
concerned; while at every bad attempt at a catch, and every failure to
stop the ball, he launched his personal displeasure at the head of the
devoted individual in such denunciations as--'Ah, ah!--stupid'--'Now,
butter-fingers'--'Muff'--'Humbug'--and so forth--ejaculations which
seemed to establish him in the opinion of all around, as a most
excellent and undeniable judge of the whole art and mystery of the noble
game of cricket.
'Capital game--well played--some strokes admirable,' said the stranger,
as both sides crowded into the tent, at the conclusion of the game.
'You have played it, sir?' inquired Mr. Wardle, who had been much amused
by his loquacity. 'Played it! Think I have--thousands of times--not
here--West Indies--exciting thing--hot work--very.' 'It must be rather a
warm pursuit in such a climate,' observed Mr. Pickwick.
'Warm!--red hot--scorching--glowing. Played a match once--single
wicket--friend the colonel--Sir Thomas Blazo--who should get the
greatest number of runs.--Won the toss--first innings--seven o'clock
A.m.--six natives to look out--went in; kept in--heat intense--natives
all fainted--taken away--fresh half-dozen ordered--fainted also--Blazo
bowling--supported by two natives--couldn't bowl me out--fainted
too--cleared away the colonel--wouldn't give in--faithful
attendant--Quanko Samba--last man left--sun so hot, bat in
blisters, ball scorched brown--five hundred and seventy runs--rather
exhausted--Quanko mustered up last remaining strength--bowled me
out--had a bath, and went out to dinner.'
'And what became of what's-his-name, Sir?' inquired an old gentleman.
'Blazo?'
'No--the other gentleman.' 'Quanko Samba?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Poor Quanko--never recovered it--bowled on, on my account--bowled off,
on his own--died, sir.' Here the stranger buried his countenance in a
brown jug, but whether to hide his emotion or imbibe its contents, we
cannot distinctly affirm. We only know that he paused suddenly, drew a
long and deep breath, and looked anxiously on, as two of the principal
members of the Dingley Dell club approached Mr. Pickwick, and said--
'We are about to partake of a plain dinner at the Blue Lion, Sir; we
hope you and your friends will join us.' 'Of course,' said Mr. Wardle,
'among our friends we include Mr.--;' and he looked towards the
stranger.
'Jingle,' said that versatile gentleman, taking the hint at once.
'Jingle--Alfred Jingle, Esq., of No Hall, Nowhere.'
'I shall be very happy, I am sure,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'So shall I,'
said Mr. Alfred Jingle, drawing one arm through Mr. Pickwick's, and
another through Mr. Wardle's, as he whispered confidentially in the ear
of the former gentleman:--
'Devilish good dinner--cold, but capital--peeped into the room this
morning--fowls and pies, and all that sort of thing--pleasant fellows
these--well behaved, too--very.'
There being no further preliminaries to arrange, the company straggled
into the town in little knots of twos and threes; and within a quarter
of an hour were all seated in the great room of the Blue Lion Inn,
Muggleton--Mr. Dumkins acting as chairman, and Mr. Luffey officiating as
vice.
There was a vast deal of talking and rattling of knives and forks, and
plates; a great running about of three ponderous-headed waiters, and a
rapid disappearance of the substantial viands on the table; to each and
every of which item of confusion, the facetious Mr. Jingle lent the aid
of half-a-dozen ordinary men at least. When everybody had eaten as much
as possible, the cloth was removed, bottles, glasses, and dessert were
placed on the table; and the waiters withdrew to 'clear away,'or in
other words, to appropriate to their own private use and emolument
whatever remnants of the eatables and drinkables they could contrive to
lay their hands on.
Amidst the general hum of mirth and conversation that ensued, there was
a little man with a puffy Say-nothing-to-me,-or-I'll-contradict-you sort
of countenance, who remained very quiet; occasionally looking round
him when the conversation slackened, as if he contemplated putting in
something very weighty; and now and then bursting into a short cough
of inexpressible grandeur. At length, during a moment of comparative
silence, the little man called out in a very loud, solemn voice,--
'Mr. Luffey!'
Everybody was hushed into a profound stillness as the individual
addressed, replied--
'Sir!'
'I wish to address a few words to you, Sir, if you will entreat the
gentlemen to fill their glasses.'
Mr. Jingle uttered a patronising 'Hear, hear,' which was responded to
by the remainder of the company; and the glasses having been filled,
the vice-president assumed an air of wisdom in a state of profound
attention; and said--
'Mr. Staple.'
'Sir,' said the little man, rising, 'I wish to address what I have to
say to you and not to our worthy chairman, because our worthy chairman
is in some measure--I may say in a great degree--the subject of what I
have to say, or I may say to--to--' 'State,' suggested Mr. Jingle.
'Yes, to state,' said the little man, 'I thank my honourable friend, if
he will allow me to call him so (four hears and one certainly from
Mr. Jingle), for the suggestion. Sir, I am a Deller--a Dingley Deller
(cheers). I cannot lay claim to the honour of forming an item in the
population of Muggleton; nor, Sir, I will frankly admit, do I covet that
honour: and I will tell you why, Sir (hear); to Muggleton I will readily
concede all these honours and distinctions to which it can fairly
lay claim--they are too numerous and too well known to require aid or
recapitulation from me. But, sir, while we remember that Muggleton has
given birth to a Dumkins and a Podder, let us never forget that Dingley
Dell can boast a Luffey and a Struggles. (Vociferous cheering.) Let me
not be considered as wishing to detract from the merits of the former
gentlemen. Sir, I envy them the luxury of their own feelings on this
occasion. (Cheers.) Every gentleman who hears me, is probably acquainted
with the reply made by an individual, who--to use an ordinary figure of
speech--"hung out" in a tub, to the emperor Alexander:--"if I were not
Diogenes," said he, "I would be Alexander." I can well imagine these
gentlemen to say, "If I were not Dumkins I would be Luffey; if I were
not Podder I would be Struggles." (Enthusiasm.) But, gentlemen of
Muggleton, is it in cricket alone that your fellow-townsmen stand
pre-eminent? Have you never heard of Dumkins and determination? Have you
never been taught to associate Podder with property? (Great applause.)
Have you never, when struggling for your rights, your liberties, and
