back, and leave his friends to enjoy themselves. It was, therefore, with
a very rueful air that he replied--
'Why, I suppose I must.'
'Ain't the gentleman a shot, Sir?' inquired the long gamekeeper.
'No,' replied Wardle; 'and he's lame besides.'
'I should very much like to go,' said Mr. Pickwick--'very much.'
There was a short pause of commiseration.
'There's a barrow t'other side the hedge,' said the boy. 'If the
gentleman's servant would wheel along the paths, he could keep nigh us,
and we could lift it over the stiles, and that.'
'The wery thing,' said Mr. Weller, who was a party interested, inasmuch
as he ardently longed to see the sport. 'The wery thing. Well said,
Smallcheek; I'll have it out in a minute.'
But here a difficulty arose. The long gamekeeper resolutely protested
against the introduction into a shooting party, of a gentleman in a
barrow, as a gross violation of all established rules and precedents.
It was a great objection, but not an insurmountable one. The gamekeeper
having been coaxed and feed, and having, moreover, eased his mind by
'punching' the head of the inventive youth who had first suggested the
use of the machine, Mr. Pickwick was placed in it, and off the party
set; Wardle and the long gamekeeper leading the way, and Mr. Pickwick in
the barrow, propelled by Sam, bringing up the rear.
'Stop, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, when they had got half across the first
field.
'What's the matter now?' said Wardle.
'I won't suffer this barrow to be moved another step,' said Mr.
Pickwick, resolutely, 'unless Winkle carries that gun of his in a
different manner.'
'How AM I to carry it?' said the wretched Winkle. 'Carry it with the
muzzle to the ground,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'It's so unsportsmanlike,' reasoned Winkle.
'I don't care whether it's unsportsmanlike or not,' replied Mr.
Pickwick; 'I am not going to be shot in a wheel-barrow, for the sake of
appearances, to please anybody.'
'I know the gentleman'll put that 'ere charge into somebody afore he's
done,' growled the long man.
'Well, well--I don't mind,' said poor Winkle, turning his gun-stock
uppermost--'there.'
'Anythin' for a quiet life,' said Mr. Weller; and on they went again.
'Stop!' said Mr. Pickwick, after they had gone a few yards farther.
'What now?' said Wardle.
'That gun of Tupman's is not safe: I know it isn't,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Eh? What! not safe?' said Mr. Tupman, in a tone of great alarm.
'Not as you are carrying it,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am very sorry to
make any further objection, but I cannot consent to go on, unless you
carry it as Winkle does his.'
'I think you had better, sir,' said the long gamekeeper, 'or you're
quite as likely to lodge the charge in yourself as in anything else.'
Mr. Tupman, with the most obliging haste, placed his piece in the
position required, and the party moved on again; the two amateurs
marching with reversed arms, like a couple of privates at a royal
funeral.
The dogs suddenly came to a dead stop, and the party advancing
stealthily a single pace, stopped too.
'What's the matter with the dogs' legs?' whispered Mr. Winkle. 'How
queer they're standing.'
'Hush, can't you?' replied Wardle softly. 'Don't you see, they're making
a point?'
'Making a point!' said Mr. Winkle, staring about him, as if he expected
to discover some particular beauty in the landscape, which the sagacious
animals were calling special attention to. 'Making a point! What are
they pointing at?'
'Keep your eyes open,' said Wardle, not heeding the question in the
excitement of the moment. 'Now then.'
There was a sharp whirring noise, that made Mr. Winkle start back as if
he had been shot himself. Bang, bang, went a couple of guns--the smoke
swept quickly away over the field, and curled into the air.
'Where are they!' said Mr. Winkle, in a state of the highest excitement,
turning round and round in all directions. 'Where are they? Tell me when
to fire. Where are they--where are they?'
'Where are they!' said Wardle, taking up a brace of birds which the dogs
had deposited at his feet. 'Why, here they are.'
'No, no; I mean the others,' said the bewildered Winkle.
'Far enough off, by this time,' replied Wardle, coolly reloading his
gun.
'We shall very likely be up with another covey in five minutes,' said
the long gamekeeper. 'If the gentleman begins to fire now, perhaps he'll
just get the shot out of the barrel by the time they rise.'
'Ha! ha! ha!' roared Mr. Weller.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, compassionating his follower's confusion and
embarrassment.
'Sir.'
'Don't laugh.'
'Certainly not, Sir.' So, by way of indemnification, Mr. Weller
contorted his features from behind the wheel-barrow, for the exclusive
amusement of the boy with the leggings, who thereupon burst into a
boisterous laugh, and was summarily cuffed by the long gamekeeper, who
wanted a pretext for turning round, to hide his own merriment.
'Bravo, old fellow!' said Wardle to Mr. Tupman; 'you fired that time, at
all events.'
'Oh, yes,' replied Mr. Tupman, with conscious pride. 'I let it off.'
'Well done. You'll hit something next time, if you look sharp. Very
easy, ain't it?'
'Yes, it's very easy,' said Mr. Tupman. 'How it hurts one's shoulder,
though. It nearly knocked me backwards. I had no idea these small
firearms kicked so.'
'Ah,' said the old gentleman, smiling, 'you'll get used to it in time.
Now then--all ready--all right with the barrow there?'
'All right, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller.
'Come along, then.'
'Hold hard, Sir,' said Sam, raising the barrow.
'Aye, aye,' replied Mr. Pickwick; and on they went, as briskly as need
be.
'Keep that barrow back now,' cried Wardle, when it had been hoisted over
a stile into another field, and Mr. Pickwick had been deposited in it
once more.
'All right, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, pausing.
'Now, Winkle,' said the old gentleman, 'follow me softly, and don't be
too late this time.'
'Never fear,' said Mr. Winkle. 'Are they pointing?'
'No, no; not now. Quietly now, quietly.' On they crept, and very quietly
they would have advanced, if Mr. Winkle, in the performance of some very
intricate evolutions with his gun, had not accidentally fired, at the
most critical moment, over the boy's head, exactly in the very spot
where the tall man's brain would have been, had he been there instead.
'Why, what on earth did you do that for?' said old Wardle, as the birds
flew unharmed away.
'I never saw such a gun in my life,' replied poor Mr. Winkle, looking at
the lock, as if that would do any good. 'It goes off of its own accord.
It WILL do it.'
'Will do it!' echoed Wardle, with something of irritation in his manner.
'I wish it would kill something of its own accord.'
'It'll do that afore long, Sir,' observed the tall man, in a low,
prophetic voice.
'What do you mean by that observation, Sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle,
angrily.
'Never mind, Sir, never mind,' replied the long gamekeeper; 'I've
no family myself, sir; and this here boy's mother will get something
handsome from Sir Geoffrey, if he's killed on his land. Load again, Sir,
load again.'
'Take away his gun,' cried Mr. Pickwick from the barrow, horror-stricken
at the long man's dark insinuations. 'Take away his gun, do you hear,
somebody?'
Nobody, however, volunteered to obey the command; and Mr. Winkle, after
darting a rebellious glance at Mr. Pickwick, reloaded his gun, and
proceeded onwards with the rest.
We are bound, on the authority of Mr. Pickwick, to state, that
Mr. Tupman's mode of proceeding evinced far more of prudence and
deliberation, than that adopted by Mr. Winkle. Still, this by no means
detracts from the great authority of the latter gentleman, on all
matters connected with the field; because, as Mr. Pickwick beautifully
observes, it has somehow or other happened, from time immemorial, that
many of the best and ablest philosophers, who have been perfect lights
of science in matters of theory, have been wholly unable to reduce them
to practice.
Mr. Tupman's process, like many of our most sublime discoveries, was
extremely simple. With the quickness and penetration of a man of
genius, he had at once observed that the two great points to be attained
were--first, to discharge his piece without injury to himself, and,
secondly, to do so, without danger to the bystanders--obviously, the
best thing to do, after surmounting the difficulty of firing at all, was
to shut his eyes firmly, and fire into the air.
On one occasion, after performing this feat, Mr. Tupman, on opening his
eyes, beheld a plump partridge in the act of falling, wounded, to
the ground. He was on the point of congratulating Mr. Wardle on his
invariable success, when that gentleman advanced towards him, and
grasped him warmly by the hand.
'Tupman,' said the old gentleman, 'you singled out that particular
bird?'
'No,' said Mr. Tupman--'no.'
'You did,' said Wardle. 'I saw you do it--I observed you pick him out--I
noticed you, as you raised your piece to take aim; and I will say this,
that the best shot in existence could not have done it more beautifully.
You are an older hand at this than I thought you, Tupman; you have been
out before.' It was in vain for Mr. Tupman to protest, with a smile of
self-denial, that he never had. The very smile was taken as evidence to
the contrary; and from that time forth his reputation was established.
It is not the only reputation that has been acquired as easily, nor are
such fortunate circumstances confined to partridge-shooting.
Meanwhile, Mr. Winkle flashed, and blazed, and smoked away, without
producing any material results worthy of being noted down; sometimes
expending his charge in mid-air, and at others sending it skimming along
so near the surface of the ground as to place the lives of the two
dogs on a rather uncertain and precarious tenure. As a display of
fancy-shooting, it was extremely varied and curious; as an exhibition
of firing with any precise object, it was, upon the whole, perhaps a
failure. It is an established axiom, that 'every bullet has its billet.'
If it apply in an equal degree to shot, those of Mr. Winkle were
unfortunate foundlings, deprived of their natural rights, cast loose
upon the world, and billeted nowhere. 'Well,' said Wardle, walking up to
the side of the barrow, and wiping the streams of perspiration from his
jolly red face; 'smoking day, isn't it?'
'It is, indeed,' replied Mr. Pickwick. The sun is tremendously hot, even
to me. I don't know how you must feel it.'
'Why,' said the old gentleman, 'pretty hot. It's past twelve, though.
You see that green hill there?'
'Certainly.'
'That's the place where we are to lunch; and, by Jove, there's the boy
with the basket, punctual as clockwork!'
'So he is,' said Mr. Pickwick, brightening up. 'Good boy, that. I'll
give him a shilling, presently. Now, then, Sam, wheel away.'
'Hold on, sir,' said Mr. Weller, invigorated with the prospect of
refreshments. 'Out of the vay, young leathers. If you walley my precious
life don't upset me, as the gen'l'm'n said to the driver when they was
a-carryin' him to Tyburn.' And quickening his pace to a sharp run, Mr.
Weller wheeled his master nimbly to the green hill, shot him dexterously
out by the very side of the basket, and proceeded to unpack it with the
utmost despatch.
'Weal pie,' said Mr. Weller, soliloquising, as he arranged the eatables
on the grass. 'Wery good thing is weal pie, when you know the lady
as made it, and is quite sure it ain't kittens; and arter all though,
where's the odds, when they're so like weal that the wery piemen
themselves don't know the difference?'
'Don't they, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Not they, sir,' replied Mr. Weller, touching his hat. 'I lodged in the
same house vith a pieman once, sir, and a wery nice man he was--reg'lar
clever chap, too--make pies out o' anything, he could. "What a number
o' cats you keep, Mr. Brooks," says I, when I'd got intimate with him.
"Ah," says he, "I do--a good many," says he, "You must be wery fond o'
cats," says I. "Other people is," says he, a-winkin' at me; "they ain't
in season till the winter though," says he. "Not in season!" says I.
"No," says he, "fruits is in, cats is out." "Why, what do you mean?"
says I. "Mean!" says he. "That I'll never be a party to the combination
o' the butchers, to keep up the price o' meat," says he. "Mr. Weller,"
says he, a-squeezing my hand wery hard, and vispering in my ear--"don't
mention this here agin--but it's the seasonin' as does it. They're all
made o' them noble animals," says he, a-pointin' to a wery nice little
