positions; he was acting--he was at the theatre. A minute's silence,
and he murmured the burden of some roaring song. He had reached the old
house at last--how hot the room was. He had been ill, very ill, but he
was well now, and happy. Fill up his glass. Who was that, that dashed it
from his lips? It was the same persecutor that had followed him before.
He fell back upon his pillow and moaned aloud. A short period of
oblivion, and he was wandering through a tedious maze of low-arched
rooms--so low, sometimes, that he must creep upon his hands and knees to
make his way along; it was close and dark, and every way he turned, some
obstacle impeded his progress. There were insects, too, hideous crawling
things, with eyes that stared upon him, and filled the very air around,
glistening horribly amidst the thick darkness of the place. The walls
and ceiling were alive with reptiles--the vault expanded to an enormous
size--frightful figures flitted to and fro--and the faces of men he
knew, rendered hideous by gibing and mouthing, peered out from among
them; they were searing him with heated irons, and binding his head with
cords till the blood started; and he struggled madly for life.
'At the close of one of these paroxysms, when I had with great
difficulty held him down in his bed, he sank into what appeared to be
a slumber. Overpowered with watching and exertion, I had closed my eyes
for a few minutes, when I felt a violent clutch on my shoulder. I awoke
instantly. He had raised himself up, so as to seat himself in bed--a
dreadful change had come over his face, but consciousness had returned,
for he evidently knew me. The child, who had been long since disturbed
by his ravings, rose from its little bed, and ran towards its father,
screaming with fright--the mother hastily caught it in her arms, lest he
should injure it in the violence of his insanity; but, terrified by the
alteration of his features, stood transfixed by the bedside. He grasped
my shoulder convulsively, and, striking his breast with the other hand,
made a desperate attempt to articulate. It was unavailing; he extended
his arm towards them, and made another violent effort. There was a
rattling noise in the throat--a glare of the eye--a short stifled
groan--and he fell back--dead!'
It would afford us the highest gratification to be enabled to record Mr.
Pickwick's opinion of the foregoing anecdote. We have little doubt that
we should have been enabled to present it to our readers, but for a most
unfortunate occurrence.
Mr. Pickwick had replaced on the table the glass which, during the last
few sentences of the tale, he had retained in his hand; and had
just made up his mind to speak--indeed, we have the authority of Mr.
Snodgrass's note-book for stating, that he had actually opened his
mouth--when the waiter entered the room, and said--
'Some gentlemen, Sir.'
It has been conjectured that Mr. Pickwick was on the point of delivering
some remarks which would have enlightened the world, if not the Thames,
when he was thus interrupted; for he gazed sternly on the waiter's
countenance, and then looked round on the company generally, as if
seeking for information relative to the new-comers.
'Oh!' said Mr. Winkle, rising, 'some friends of mine--show them in.
Very pleasant fellows,' added Mr. Winkle, after the waiter had
retired--'officers of the 97th, whose acquaintance I made rather oddly
this morning. You will like them very much.'
Mr. Pickwick's equanimity was at once restored. The waiter returned, and
ushered three gentlemen into the room.
'Lieutenant Tappleton,' said Mr. Winkle, 'Lieutenant Tappleton, Mr.
Pickwick--Doctor Payne, Mr. Pickwick--Mr. Snodgrass you have seen
before, my friend Mr. Tupman, Doctor Payne--Doctor Slammer, Mr.
Pickwick--Mr. Tupman, Doctor Slam--'
Here Mr. Winkle suddenly paused; for strong emotion was visible on the
countenance both of Mr. Tupman and the doctor.
'I have met THIS gentleman before,' said the Doctor, with marked
emphasis.
'Indeed!' said Mr. Winkle.
'And--and that person, too, if I am not mistaken,' said the doctor,
bestowing a scrutinising glance on the green-coated stranger. 'I think I
gave that person a very pressing invitation last night, which he thought
proper to decline.' Saying which the doctor scowled magnanimously on the
stranger, and whispered his friend Lieutenant Tappleton.
'You don't say so,' said that gentleman, at the conclusion of the
whisper.
'I do, indeed,' replied Doctor Slammer.
'You are bound to kick him on the spot,' murmured the owner of the
camp-stool, with great importance.
'Do be quiet, Payne,' interposed the lieutenant. 'Will you allow me to
ask you, sir,' he said, addressing Mr. Pickwick, who was considerably
mystified by this very unpolite by-play--'will you allow me to ask you,
Sir, whether that person belongs to your party?'
'No, Sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'he is a guest of ours.'
'He is a member of your club, or I am mistaken?' said the lieutenant
inquiringly.
'Certainly not,' responded Mr. Pickwick.
'And never wears your club-button?' said the lieutenant.
'No--never!' replied the astonished Mr. Pickwick.
Lieutenant Tappleton turned round to his friend Doctor Slammer, with a
scarcely perceptible shrug of the shoulder, as if implying some doubt of
the accuracy of his recollection. The little doctor looked wrathful, but
confounded; and Mr. Payne gazed with a ferocious aspect on the beaming
countenance of the unconscious Pickwick.
'Sir,' said the doctor, suddenly addressing Mr. Tupman, in a tone which
made that gentleman start as perceptibly as if a pin had been cunningly
inserted in the calf of his leg, 'you were at the ball here last night!'
Mr. Tupman gasped a faint affirmative, looking very hard at Mr. Pickwick
all the while.
'That person was your companion,' said the doctor, pointing to the still
unmoved stranger.
Mr. Tupman admitted the fact.
'Now, sir,' said the doctor to the stranger, 'I ask you once again,
in the presence of these gentlemen, whether you choose to give me your
card, and to receive the treatment of a gentleman; or whether you impose
upon me the necessity of personally chastising you on the spot?'
'Stay, sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'I really cannot allow this matter to
go any further without some explanation. Tupman, recount the
circumstances.'
Mr. Tupman, thus solemnly adjured, stated the case in a few words;
touched slightly on the borrowing of the coat; expatiated largely on its
having been done 'after dinner'; wound up with a little penitence on his
own account; and left the stranger to clear himself as best he could.
He was apparently about to proceed to do so, when Lieutenant Tappleton,
who had been eyeing him with great curiosity, said with considerable
scorn, 'Haven't I seen you at the theatre, Sir?'
'Certainly,' replied the unabashed stranger.
'He is a strolling actor!' said the lieutenant contemptuously, turning
to Doctor Slammer.--'He acts in the piece that the officers of the 52nd
get up at the Rochester Theatre to-morrow night. You cannot proceed in
this affair, Slammer--impossible!'
'Quite!' said the dignified Payne.
'Sorry to have placed you in this disagreeable situation,' said
Lieutenant Tappleton, addressing Mr. Pickwick; 'allow me to suggest,
that the best way of avoiding a recurrence of such scenes in future will
be to be more select in the choice of your companions. Good-evening,
Sir!' and the lieutenant bounced out of the room.
'And allow me to say, Sir,' said the irascible Doctor Payne, 'that if I
had been Tappleton, or if I had been Slammer, I would have pulled
your nose, Sir, and the nose of every man in this company. I would,
sir--every man. Payne is my name, sir--Doctor Payne of the 43rd.
Good-evening, Sir.' Having concluded this speech, and uttered the last
three words in a loud key, he stalked majestically after his friend,
closely followed by Doctor Slammer, who said nothing, but contented
himself by withering the company with a look. Rising rage and extreme
bewilderment had swelled the noble breast of Mr. Pickwick, almost to the
bursting of his waistcoat, during the delivery of the above defiance. He
stood transfixed to the spot, gazing on vacancy. The closing of the door
recalled him to himself. He rushed forward with fury in his looks, and
fire in his eye. His hand was upon the lock of the door; in another
instant it would have been on the throat of Doctor Payne of the 43rd,
had not Mr. Snodgrass seized his revered leader by the coat tail, and
dragged him backwards.
'Restrain him,' cried Mr. Snodgrass; 'Winkle, Tupman--he must not peril
his distinguished life in such a cause as this.'
'Let me go,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Hold him tight,' shouted Mr. Snodgrass; and by the united efforts of
the whole company, Mr. Pickwick was forced into an arm-chair. 'Leave
him alone,' said the green-coated stranger; 'brandy-and-water--jolly
old gentleman--lots of pluck--swallow this--ah!--capital stuff.' Having
previously tested the virtues of a bumper, which had been mixed by the
dismal man, the stranger applied the glass to Mr. Pickwick's mouth; and
the remainder of its contents rapidly disappeared.
There was a short pause; the brandy-and-water had done its work; the
amiable countenance of Mr. Pickwick was fast recovering its customary
expression.
'They are not worth your notice,' said the dismal man.
'You are right, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick, 'they are not. I am ashamed
to have been betrayed into this warmth of feeling. Draw your chair up to
the table, Sir.'
The dismal man readily complied; a circle was again formed round the
table, and harmony once more prevailed. Some lingering irritability
appeared to find a resting-place in Mr. Winkle's bosom, occasioned
possibly by the temporary abstraction of his coat--though it is scarcely
reasonable to suppose that so slight a circumstance can have excited
even a passing feeling of anger in a Pickwickian's breast. With this
exception, their good-humour was completely restored; and the evening
concluded with the conviviality with which it had begun.
CHAPTER IV. A FIELD DAY AND BIVOUAC--MORE NEW FRIENDS--AN INVITATION TO
THE COUNTRY
Many authors entertain, not only a foolish, but a really dishonest
objection to acknowledge the sources whence they derive much valuable
information. We have no such feeling. We are merely endeavouring to
discharge, in an upright manner, the responsible duties of our editorial
functions; and whatever ambition we might have felt under other
circumstances to lay claim to the authorship of these adventures, a
regard for truth forbids us to do more than claim the merit of their
judicious arrangement and impartial narration. The Pickwick papers are
our New River Head; and we may be compared to the New River Company. The
labours of others have raised for us an immense reservoir of important
facts. We merely lay them on, and communicate them, in a clear and
gentle stream, through the medium of these pages, to a world thirsting
for Pickwickian knowledge.
Acting in this spirit, and resolutely proceeding on our determination
to avow our obligations to the authorities we have consulted, we frankly
say, that to the note-book of Mr. Snodgrass are we indebted for the
particulars recorded in this and the succeeding chapter--particulars
which, now that we have disburdened our consciences, we shall proceed to
detail without further comment.
The whole population of Rochester and the adjoining towns rose from
their beds at an early hour of the following morning, in a state of the
utmost bustle and excitement. A grand review was to take place upon the
lines. The manoeuvres of half a dozen regiments were to be inspected by
the eagle eye of the commander-in-chief; temporary fortifications had
been erected, the citadel was to be attacked and taken, and a mine was
to be sprung.
Mr. Pickwick was, as our readers may have gathered from the slight
extract we gave from his description of Chatham, an enthusiastic admirer
of the army. Nothing could have been more delightful to him--nothing
could have harmonised so well with the peculiar feeling of each of his
companions--as this sight. Accordingly they were soon afoot, and walking
in the direction of the scene of action, towards which crowds of people
were already pouring from a variety of quarters.
The appearance of everything on the lines denoted that the approaching
ceremony was one of the utmost grandeur and importance. There were
sentries posted to keep the ground for the troops, and servants on the
batteries keeping places for the ladies, and sergeants running to and
fro, with vellum-covered books under their arms, and Colonel Bulder, in
full military uniform, on horseback, galloping first to one place and
then to another, and backing his horse among the people, and prancing,
and curvetting, and shouting in a most alarming manner, and making
himself very hoarse in the voice, and very red in the face, without any
assignable cause or reason whatever. Officers were running backwards and
forwards, first communicating with Colonel Bulder, and then ordering the
sergeants, and then running away altogether; and even the very privates
themselves looked from behind their glazed stocks with an air of
mysterious solemnity, which sufficiently bespoke the special nature of
the occasion.
Mr. Pickwick and his three companions stationed themselves in the front
of the crowd, and patiently awaited the commencement of the proceedings.
The throng was increasing every moment; and the efforts they were
compelled to make, to retain the position they had gained, sufficiently
