occupied their attention during the two hours that ensued. At one time
there was a sudden pressure from behind, and then Mr. Pickwick was
jerked forward for several yards, with a degree of speed and elasticity
highly inconsistent with the general gravity of his demeanour; at
another moment there was a request to 'keep back' from the front, and
then the butt-end of a musket was either dropped upon Mr. Pickwick's
toe, to remind him of the demand, or thrust into his chest, to insure
its being complied with. Then some facetious gentlemen on the left,
after pressing sideways in a body, and squeezing Mr. Snodgrass into the
very last extreme of human torture, would request to know 'vere he vos
a shovin' to'; and when Mr. Winkle had done expressing his excessive
indignation at witnessing this unprovoked assault, some person behind
would knock his hat over his eyes, and beg the favour of his putting his
head in his pocket. These, and other practical witticisms, coupled with
the unaccountable absence of Mr. Tupman (who had suddenly disappeared,
and was nowhere to be found), rendered their situation upon the whole
rather more uncomfortable than pleasing or desirable.
At length that low roar of many voices ran through the crowd which
usually announces the arrival of whatever they have been waiting for.
All eyes were turned in the direction of the sally-port. A few moments
of eager expectation, and colours were seen fluttering gaily in the air,
arms glistened brightly in the sun, column after column poured on to the
plain. The troops halted and formed; the word of command rang through
the line; there was a general clash of muskets as arms were presented;
and the commander-in-chief, attended by Colonel Bulder and numerous
officers, cantered to the front. The military bands struck up
altogether; the horses stood upon two legs each, cantered backwards, and
whisked their tails about in all directions; the dogs barked, the mob
screamed, the troops recovered, and nothing was to be seen on either
side, as far as the eye could reach, but a long perspective of red coats
and white trousers, fixed and motionless.
Mr. Pickwick had been so fully occupied in falling about, and
disentangling himself, miraculously, from between the legs of horses,
that he had not enjoyed sufficient leisure to observe the scene before
him, until it assumed the appearance we have just described. When he
was at last enabled to stand firmly on his legs, his gratification and
delight were unbounded.
'Can anything be finer or more delightful?' he inquired of Mr. Winkle.
'Nothing,' replied that gentleman, who had had a short man standing on
each of his feet for the quarter of an hour immediately preceding. 'It
is indeed a noble and a brilliant sight,' said Mr. Snodgrass, in whose
bosom a blaze of poetry was rapidly bursting forth, 'to see the gallant
defenders of their country drawn up in brilliant array before its
peaceful citizens; their faces beaming--not with warlike ferocity, but
with civilised gentleness; their eyes flashing--not with the rude
fire of rapine or revenge, but with the soft light of humanity and
intelligence.'
Mr. Pickwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium, but he
could not exactly re-echo its terms; for the soft light of intelligence
burned rather feebly in the eyes of the warriors, inasmuch as the
command 'eyes front' had been given, and all the spectator saw before
him was several thousand pair of optics, staring straight forward,
wholly divested of any expression whatever.
'We are in a capital situation now,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking round
him. The crowd had gradually dispersed in their immediate vicinity, and
they were nearly alone.
'Capital!' echoed both Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle.
'What are they doing now?' inquired Mr. Pickwick, adjusting his
spectacles.
'I--I--rather think,' said Mr. Winkle, changing colour--'I rather think
they're going to fire.'
'Nonsense,' said Mr. Pickwick hastily.
'I--I--really think they are,' urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhat alarmed.
'Impossible,' replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly uttered the word, when
the whole half-dozen regiments levelled their muskets as if they had
but one common object, and that object the Pickwickians, and burst forth
with the most awful and tremendous discharge that ever shook the earth
to its centres, or an elderly gentleman off his.
It was in this trying situation, exposed to a galling fire of blank
cartridges, and harassed by the operations of the military, a fresh body
of whom had begun to fall in on the opposite side, that Mr. Pickwick
displayed that perfect coolness and self-possession, which are the
indispensable accompaniments of a great mind. He seized Mr. Winkle by
the arm, and placing himself between that gentleman and Mr. Snodgrass,
earnestly besought them to remember that beyond the possibility of
being rendered deaf by the noise, there was no immediate danger to be
apprehended from the firing.
'But--but--suppose some of the men should happen to have ball cartridges
by mistake,' remonstrated Mr. Winkle, pallid at the supposition he was
himself conjuring up. 'I heard something whistle through the air now--so
sharp; close to my ear.' 'We had better throw ourselves on our faces,
hadn't we?' said Mr. Snodgrass.
'No, no--it's over now,' said Mr. Pickwick. His lip might quiver, and
his cheek might blanch, but no expression of fear or concern escaped the
lips of that immortal man.
Mr. Pickwick was right--the firing ceased; but he had scarcely time
to congratulate himself on the accuracy of his opinion, when a quick
movement was visible in the line; the hoarse shout of the word of
command ran along it, and before either of the party could form a
guess at the meaning of this new manoeuvre, the whole of the half-dozen
regiments, with fixed bayonets, charged at double-quick time down upon
the very spot on which Mr. Pickwick and his friends were stationed. Man
is but mortal; and there is a point beyond which human courage cannot
extend. Mr. Pickwick gazed through his spectacles for an instant on the
advancing mass, and then fairly turned his back and--we will not say
fled; firstly, because it is an ignoble term, and, secondly, because Mr.
Pickwick's figure was by no means adapted for that mode of retreat--he
trotted away, at as quick a rate as his legs would convey him; so
quickly, indeed, that he did not perceive the awkwardness of his
situation, to the full extent, until too late.
The opposite troops, whose falling-in had perplexed Mr. Pickwick a few
seconds before, were drawn up to repel the mimic attack of the sham
besiegers of the citadel; and the consequence was that Mr. Pickwick and
his two companions found themselves suddenly inclosed between two lines
of great length, the one advancing at a rapid pace, and the other firmly
waiting the collision in hostile array.
'Hoi!' shouted the officers of the advancing line.
'Get out of the way!' cried the officers of the stationary one.
'Where are we to go to?' screamed the agitated Pickwickians.
'Hoi--hoi--hoi!' was the only reply. There was a moment of intense
bewilderment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violent concussion, a
smothered laugh; the half-dozen regiments were half a thousand yards
off, and the soles of Mr. Pickwick's boots were elevated in air.
Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle had each performed a compulsory somerset
with remarkable agility, when the first object that met the eyes of
the latter as he sat on the ground, staunching with a yellow silk
handkerchief the stream of life which issued from his nose, was his
venerated leader at some distance off, running after his own hat, which
was gambolling playfully away in perspective.
There are very few moments in a man's existence when he experiences
so much ludicrous distress, or meets with so little charitable
commiseration, as when he is in pursuit of his own hat. A vast deal of
coolness, and a peculiar degree of judgment, are requisite in catching a
hat. A man must not be precipitate, or he runs over it; he must not rush
into the opposite extreme, or he loses it altogether. The best way is to
keep gently up with the object of pursuit, to be wary and cautious, to
watch your opportunity well, get gradually before it, then make a rapid
dive, seize it by the crown, and stick it firmly on your head; smiling
pleasantly all the time, as if you thought it as good a joke as anybody
else.
There was a fine gentle wind, and Mr. Pickwick's hat rolled sportively
before it. The wind puffed, and Mr. Pickwick puffed, and the hat rolled
over and over as merrily as a lively porpoise in a strong tide: and
on it might have rolled, far beyond Mr. Pickwick's reach, had not its
course been providentially stopped, just as that gentleman was on the
point of resigning it to its fate.
Mr. Pickwick, we say, was completely exhausted, and about to give up the
chase, when the hat was blown with some violence against the wheel of a
carriage, which was drawn up in a line with half a dozen other vehicles
on the spot to which his steps had been directed. Mr. Pickwick,
perceiving his advantage, darted briskly forward, secured his property,
planted it on his head, and paused to take breath. He had not been
stationary half a minute, when he heard his own name eagerly pronounced
by a voice, which he at once recognised as Mr. Tupman's, and, looking
upwards, he beheld a sight which filled him with surprise and pleasure.
In an open barouche, the horses of which had been taken out, the better
to accommodate it to the crowded place, stood a stout old gentleman,
in a blue coat and bright buttons, corduroy breeches and top-boots,
two young ladies in scarfs and feathers, a young gentleman apparently
enamoured of one of the young ladies in scarfs and feathers, a lady of
doubtful age, probably the aunt of the aforesaid, and Mr. Tupman, as
easy and unconcerned as if he had belonged to the family from the first
moments of his infancy. Fastened up behind the barouche was a hamper
of spacious dimensions--one of those hampers which always awakens in a
contemplative mind associations connected with cold fowls, tongues, and
bottles of wine--and on the box sat a fat and red-faced boy, in a state
of somnolency, whom no speculative observer could have regarded for an
instant without setting down as the official dispenser of the contents
of the before-mentioned hamper, when the proper time for their
consumption should arrive.
Mr. Pickwick had bestowed a hasty glance on these interesting objects,
when he was again greeted by his faithful disciple.
'Pickwick--Pickwick,' said Mr. Tupman; 'come up here. Make haste.'
'Come along, Sir. Pray, come up,' said the stout gentleman. 'Joe!--damn
that boy, he's gone to sleep again.--Joe, let down the steps.' The fat
boy rolled slowly off the box, let down the steps, and held the carriage
door invitingly open. Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle came up at the
moment.
'Room for you all, gentlemen,' said the stout man. 'Two inside, and one
out. Joe, make room for one of these gentlemen on the box. Now, Sir,
come along;' and the stout gentleman extended his arm, and pulled first
Mr. Pickwick, and then Mr. Snodgrass, into the barouche by main force.
Mr. Winkle mounted to the box, the fat boy waddled to the same perch,
and fell fast asleep instantly.
'Well, gentlemen,' said the stout man, 'very glad to see you. Know
you very well, gentlemen, though you mayn't remember me. I spent some
ev'nin's at your club last winter--picked up my friend Mr. Tupman here
this morning, and very glad I was to see him. Well, Sir, and how are
you? You do look uncommon well, to be sure.'
Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment, and cordially shook hands with
the stout gentleman in the top-boots.
'Well, and how are you, sir?' said the stout gentleman, addressing
Mr. Snodgrass with paternal anxiety. 'Charming, eh? Well, that's
right--that's right. And how are you, sir (to Mr. Winkle)? Well, I
am glad to hear you say you are well; very glad I am, to be sure. My
daughters, gentlemen--my gals these are; and that's my sister, Miss
Rachael Wardle. She's a Miss, she is; and yet she ain't a Miss--eh, Sir,
eh?' And the stout gentleman playfully inserted his elbow between the
ribs of Mr. Pickwick, and laughed very heartily.
'Lor, brother!' said Miss Wardle, with a deprecating smile.
'True, true,' said the stout gentleman; 'no one can deny it. Gentlemen,
I beg your pardon; this is my friend Mr. Trundle. And now you all
know each other, let's be comfortable and happy, and see what's
going forward; that's what I say.' So the stout gentleman put on his
spectacles, and Mr. Pickwick pulled out his glass, and everybody stood
up in the carriage, and looked over somebody else's shoulder at the
evolutions of the military.
Astounding evolutions they were, one rank firing over the heads of
another rank, and then running away; and then the other rank firing
over the heads of another rank, and running away in their turn; and then
forming squares, with officers in the centre; and then descending the
trench on one side with scaling-ladders, and ascending it on the other
again by the same means; and knocking down barricades of baskets, and
behaving in the most gallant manner possible. Then there was such a
ramming down of the contents of enormous guns on the battery, with
instruments like magnified mops; such a preparation before they were let
off, and such an awful noise when they did go, that the air resounded
with the screams of ladies. The young Misses Wardle were so frightened,
that Mr. Trundle was actually obliged to hold one of them up in the
carriage, while Mr. Snodgrass supported the other; and Mr. Wardle's
